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I
THE
^•/^^>d"3
NEW-YORK MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
VOLUME XXXIIL
NEW-YORKs PUBLISHED BY SAMUEL HUESTON, 139 NASSAU-STREET.
1849.
ITKW-TOIX :
WILLIAM OSBOBlf, PBIIfTKK,
TBIBUKS BUILDUrOS.
INDEX.
A.
Paok.
A Chapter on Women, 291
A Child at a Window. Bj Thoxas Macxbl-
I.AM, 146
A ConTenation In tiie Foroat By Captain
Albert Pike, 382
A Good Mother : an Extract, M
A Lay of Life. ByJ.A.BwAif, 65
Angela AVUaperlng : Tmating. By John
\Vatsmb 56
An Independent Epitaph, 235
A PaM at oar Improrementi. By Kit Kjbl-
VIN, 411
A Poet and hit Song. By Thomaa BCackxl*
X.AB, 393
A Remonatranoe to Byron, 235
Aahtabola: a brace ox Sonnets. 224
Autobiography of a Human SooL By ' Iota,'
102,388
B.
BBracRAzzAS. By P. O. Camsou, 516
Birth-Day Thoughta. By Chas. K. Clabxe, 437
Brief Notices of Recent Publications, 94
BuTLxm*8 HorsB Jurldica. Concluded, 95
•c.
Carmen Bellieosum. By a New Contributor, 101
Conundrumical Epigram, 12
Crossing the Feny. From the German of
Uhlaxd, 536
Curiosities of Oriental Literature, 283
D.
Dealings with Time. By J. Honetwclx., . .340 Disquisition upon Grecian Temples 14
EorroB's Table 74, 161, 262, 355, 452, 542
Elegiac Lines. By Rev. R. H. Bacon 203
Elegy In a New-England Church-yard. By
Tiio. W. Pabsons, Esq 526
Enry and Scandal. By Gael Benson, 5S7
Epigram on a Poor but rory Prolific Author, 140
Epigram : the Formalist, 423
EaUbltlon of the Natioaal Academy of De-
slfn, 468
F.
Paom, Fast-Days: an Epigram, « 856
G.
Good Wood : a Poetical Superscription. By
R. Baluanno, 13
Gossip with Readers and Correspondent... 81, 171, i»5, 359, 455, 546
H.
Historical Sketches of Georgia, 142
Homo Charity: an Epigram, 30
Horace and Juvenal as Satirists, 485
L
Indian Summer. By Wzlshiri^ Chilton, Esq., 217
J.
Jonas STrrss, Esq. : his Courtship, Misfor- tunes, etc., 129
L.
Lament for an EarlT Friend, 446
LeaTes from an African Journal. By John
Carroll Brent, Esq.,.. 41, 116, 206, 334, 399
Life of the Lily : a i<ong 48
Lines copied In a Stupid Volume of Stupid
Verso, 941
Lines to a Lady, with a head of Diana. By
T. W. Parsons, Esq., 198
Lines to Her who can understand them,... 409 Litebart Notices,. . .67, 155, 257, 350, 447, 537 Love for Lore: from the German. By
William Pitt Palmer, 55
Lore's Triumph over Philosophy. By H. J.
Drbnt, Esq., S96
M.
Macaul AT and the Puritans. By G boboe P.
Fisher, Esq., 508
Man and Woman's Mission, 100
Moonlight Monody at Sea, 321
italn Scenery and Life at the Weit|....57
578
Lulex,
N.
Paox. Notleet of late PabUcattonf, 375
O.
Our Spring Blrdi I the Blue-Bird, 438
Our Whiter Birdi. By W. H. C. Hosmu. Etq. 4(^904,300,483
Beminiscencee of the War of 1813. Num- ber One 377
S.
Sinipilar Death of a Young Bonapartb, 223
Skater's Song. By a New Correspondent,. 115 Sketches iVom the East By our Oriental
Correspondent, 337
8<mg: 'Aht no, 'twould nerer do,' etc
By John Watbbs 313
Sonnet : Our Neighbor's Rooster 381
Sonnet: toaBereared Mother 415
Sonnet : to my Lamp. By C. R. Clarkk,. .145 Stansas : Boys. Br John G. Saxc, Esq., ..152
Stanzas : Death's Gentleness, 297
Stanzas: Hcaren. By Casolixe BoWLKt,
England 107
Stanzas: the Actress, 322
Stanzas : the Blacksmith's Shop 428
Stanzas : the German Student*. 414
Stanzas : the Grist-Mill. By R. H. Stod-
DABD 313
Stanzas: Time, 220
T.
The Angel and the Child. By ' GazTTA,'.. 221 The Bible. By William B. Oddzc, Esq., . .153 The Bunknmville Chronicle 323, 430
Paoe. Hie Country Doctor. Dictated by Ql aubkb
Saul-r, M.D., 50
The Dark Hour, 990
Hie Falcon and DoTe : a Christmas CaroL
By W. P. Palmxb, 60
The Hostel: a Balhd, 331
The Insects of a Day. From the French, ..296 The Land of Gold : a Legend. By R. H.
Stoddakd, 394
The Mammoth Cave of Kentucky, 301
The Mate : a Sketch. By Mr*. M. E. Hxwrrr, 141 The Matter Accounted For. By John
Bbouohax, Esq., 197
The Old OakTree. By'GawTA,' 49
The Oregon Trail. By F. Pabkxan, Jr^ . .1, 106 The Preacher and the Gamester : a Western
Scene, O
The ReTolutions of 'Forty-Eight By H.
Bbdlow, Esq., 505
The Romance of the Tropics. By John £.
WAaaw, Esq 494
Hie Spirit's Ailment and Remedy, 915
The Spirit of the Falcon : from the original
Persian 218
The St Leger Papers : Second Serle8.948, 349,
439,471 The Stone House on the Susquehanna. By
RiCHAKD IIaywabdb. 22, 146, 942, 493
The Street Musician. By R. H. Stodoabi^.494 Tlie Trysting-Tree. By a New Contributor, S18
The Upper Realm of Silence, 242
The Use and Abuse of Talents : Saul and
Napolicow, 169
Tfiey Met By Mrs. J. W. Miacua, 218
Translations from HoBACx, 410
Trarels in Tartary and Mongolia. ByS.M.
pAaTBioox 314, 415
W.
Woman: from the German, 996
Woman's Rights : an Epigram, 595
WhatisLoTef By Jxssu Elliott, 496
THE KNICKERBOCKER,
Vol. XXXIII. JANUARY, 1849. No. 1.
THE OREGON TRAIL.
ar W. PAKKMAlt. JS.
DOWN THE ARKANSAS.
' Thkt quitted not their armor bright, Neither hj day nor yet by night ;
They lay down to rert
With corselet laced. Pillowed on buckler cold and hard.
They canred at the meal
With gloTes of steel, And they drank the red wine through the helmet barred.'
Thb Ljlt or TBB Last Mihstbbx..
Last summer the wild and lonely banks of the Upper Arkansas beheld for the first time the passage of an army. General Kearny on his march to Santa Fe, aaopted this route in preference to the old trail of the Cimanon. When we came down, the main body of the troops had already passed on ; Price's Missouri regiment, however, was still on the way, having left the frontier much later than the rest ; and about this time we began to meet them moving along the trail, one or two companies at a time. No men ever embarked upon a military expedition with a greater love for the work before them than the Missourians ; but if discipline and subordination be the criterion of merit, these soldiers were worthless indeed. Yet when their ex- ploits have rung through all America it would be absurd to deny that they were excellent troops. Their victories were gained in the teeth of every established precedent of warfare ; they were owing to a singular combination of military qualities in the men themselves. Without discipline or a spirit of subordination, they knew how to keep their ranks and act as one man. Doniphan's regiment marched through New Mexico more like a band of tree companions than like the paid soldiers of H modem government. When General Taylor complimented Doniphan on his success at Sacramento and elsewhere^
TOL. XZZllI. 1
The Oregon Trail. [January,
the Coloners reply very well illustrates the relations which subsisted between the officers and men of his command :
* I do n*t know any thing of the manoeuvres. The boys kept com- ing to me, to let them charge ; and when I saw a good opportunity, I told them they might go. They were off like a shot, and that 's all I know about it.'
The backwoods lawyer was better fitted to conciliate the good will than to command the obedience of his men. There were many serving under him, who both from character and education could bet- ter have held command than he.
At the battle of Sacramento his frontiersmen fought under every possible disadvantage. The Mexicans had chosen their own position ; they were drawn up across the valley that led lo their native city of Chihuahua ; their whole front was covered by entrenchments and defended by batteries of heavy cannon ; they outnumbered the in- vaders five to one. An eagle flew over the Ameiicans, and a deep murmur rose along their lines. The enemy's batteries opened ; long they remained under fire, but when at length the word was given, they shouted and ran forward. In one of the divisions when midway to the enemy a drunken oflicer ordered a halt ; the exaspe- rated men hesitated to obey.
* Forward, boys, for Gdd's sake !' cried a private from the ranks ; and the Americans rushed like tigers upon the enemy ; they bounded over the breastwork. Four hundred Mexicans were slain upon the spot and the rest fled, scattering over the plain like sheep. The standards, cannons and bagc^age were taken, and among the rest a wagon laden with cords, which the Mexicans, in the fulness of their confidence, had made ready for tying the American prisoners.
Doniphan's volunteers, who gained this victory, with others equally remarkable, passed up with the main army ; but Price's soldiers whom we now met, were men from the same neighborhood, precisely similar in character, manners and appearance. One forenoon as we were descending upon a very wide meadow, where we meant to rest for an hour or two, we saw a dark body of horaemen approacliing at a distance. In order to find water, we were obliged to luni aside to the river bank, a full half mile from the trail. Here we put up a kind of awning, and spreadin:: bufialo-robes on the ground, Shaw and I sat down to smoke beneath it.
* We are going to catch it now,' said Shaw ; * look at those fellows, there '11 be no peace for us here.'
And in good truth about half the volunteers had straggled away from the line of march, and were riding over the meadow toward us.
* How are you V said the firf«t who came up, alighting from his horse and throwing himself upon the ground. The rest followed close, and a score of them soon gathered about us, some lying at full length and some sitting on hoi-seback. They all belonged to a company raised in St. Louis. There were some ruffian faces among them, and some hage^ard with debauchery ; but on the whole they were extremely good looking men, superior beyond measure to the ordi- nary rank and file of an army. JbiZcept that they were booted to tho
1849.] The Oregon IVail.
knees, they wore their belts and military trappings over the ordinary dress of citizens. Beside their swords and holster pistols, they car- ried slung from their saddles the excellent Springfield carbines, load- ing at the breech. They inquired the character of our party, and were anxious to know the prospect of killing buffalo, and the chance that their horses would stand the journey to Santa Fe. All this was well enough, but a moment after a woi-se visitation came upon us.
* How are you, strangers, whar are you going and whar are you from V said a fellow, who came trotting up with an old straw hat on his head. He was dressed in the coarsest brown homespun cloth. His face was rather sallow from fever and-ague, and his tall figure, though strpng and sinewy, was quite thin, and had besides an angular look, which together with his boorish seat on horseback, gave him an appearance any thing but graceful. Plenty more of the same stamp were close behind him. Their company was raised in one of the frontier counties, and we soon had abundant evidence of their rustic breeding ; dozens of them came crowding round, pushing between our first visitors and staring at us with unabashed faces.
* Are you the captain V asked one fellow.
' What 's your business out here ] ' asked another.
' Where do you live when you *re at home ]* said a third.
* I reckon you 're traders,' surmised a fourth ; and to crown the whole one of them came confidentially to my side and inquired in a low voice, * What *s your partner's name V
As each new comer repeated the same questions, the nuisance be- came intolerable. Our military visitors were soon disgusted at the concise nature of our replies, and we could overhear them muttering curses against us, not loud but deep. While we sat smoking, not in the best imaginable humor, Tete Rouge's tongue was never idle. He never forgot his military character, and during the whole interview he was incessantly busy among his fellow soldiers. At length we placed him on the ground before us, and told liim that he might play the part of spokesmen for the whole. Tt te Rouge was delighted, and we soon had the satisfaction of seeing him talk and gabble at such a rate that the torrent of questions was in a great measure di- verted from us A little while after to our amazement, we saw a large cannon with four horses come lumbering up behind the crowd ; and the driver who was perched on one of the animals, stretching his neck so as to look over the rest of the men, called out : ' Whar are you from and what 's your business V The captain of one of the companies was among our visitors, drawn by the same curiosity that had attracted his men. Unless their bold, intelligent faces belied them, not a few in the crowd might with great advantage have changed places with their commander.
* Well, men,' said he, lazily rising frdm the ground where he had been lounging. * its getting late, I reckon we had better be moving.'
* I sha' n't start yet any how,' said one fellow who was lying half asleep with his head resting on his arm.
' Do n*t be in a hurry, captain,' added the lieutenant.
The Oregon Trail. [January,
' Well, have it your own way, we '11 wait awhile longer,' replied the obsequious commander.
At length however our visitors went straggling away as they had come, and we to our great relief, were left alone again.
No one can deny the intrepid bravery of these men, their intelli- gence and the bold frankness of their character, free fVom all that is mean and sordid. Yet for the moment the extreme roughness of their manners, half inclines one to forget their heroic qualities. Most of them seem without the least perception of delicacy or propriety, though among them individuals may be found in whose manners there is a plain courtesy, while their features bespeak a gallant spirit equal to any enterpiise. The bravery of the Missourians is not exclusively their own ; the whole American nation are as fearless as they ; but in roughness of bearing and fierce impetuosity of spirit they may bear away the palm from almost any rival.
No one was more relieved than Delorier by the departure of the volunteers ; for dinner was getting colder every moment. He spread a well -whitened buffalo-hide upon the grass, placed in the middle the juicy hump of a fat cow, ranged around it the tin plates and cups, and then acquainted us that all was ready. T^te Rouge, with his usual alacrity on such occasions, was the first to take his seat. In his former capacity of steamboat clerk he had learned to prefix the hon- orary Mister to every bo«ly's name, whether of high or low degree ; so Jim Gurney was Mr. Gumey, Henry was Mr. Henry, and even Delorier, for the first time in his life, heard himself addressed as Mr. Delorier. This did not prevent his conceiving a violent enmity against TCte Rouge, who in his futile thouprh pi*aiseworthy attempts to make himself useful, used always to intermeddle with cooking the dinners. Delorier's disposition knew no medium between smiles and sunshine and a downright tornado of wrath ; he said nothing to T(tte Rouge, but his wrongs rankled in his breast T6te Rouge, as I observed before, had taken his place at dinner ; it was his happiest moment ; he sat enveloped in the old buffalo coat, the sleeves turned up in preparation for the work and his short legs crossed on the grass before him ; he had a cup of cofiee by his side and his knife ready in his hand, and while he looked upon the fat hump ribs, his large eyes dilated with anticipation. Delorier sat just opposite to him, and the rest of us by this time had taken our seats.
• How is this, Delorier ] You have n't given us bread enough.'
At this Delorier's placid face fiew instantly into a paroxysm of con- tortions. He grinned with wrath, chattered, gesticulated and hurled forth a volley of incohei*ent words in broken English at the astonished T^te Rouge. It was just possible to make out that he was accusing him of h:tving stolen and eaten four large cakes which had been laid by for dinner. T6te Rouge, utterly confounded at this sudden attack, stared at Delorier for a moment in dumb amazement, with mouth and eye.s wide open. At last he found speech, and protested that the accusation was false ; and that he coula not conceive how he had offended Mr. Delorier, or provoked him to use such ungentlemanly expressions. The tempest of words raged with such fury that nothing
1849.] The Oregon Trail 5
else could be heard. But T^te Rouge from his greater command of English had a manifest advantage over Delorier, who after sput- tei-iug and grimacing for awhile, found his words quite inadequate to the expression of his wrath. He jumped up and vanished, jerking out between his teeth one furious sacre cnfan de garce^ a Canadian title of honor, made doubly emphatic by being usually applied to- gether with a cut of the whip to refractory mules and horses.
The next morning we saw an old buffalo-bull escorting his cow with two small calves over the prairie. Close behind came four or five large white wolves, sneaking stealthily through the long meadow- grass, and watching for the moment when one of the children should chance to lag behind his parents. The old bull kept well on his guard, and faced about now and then to keep the prowling ruffians at a distance.
As we approached our nooning place we saw fi^e or six buffalo standing at the very summit of a tall bluffl Trotting forward to the spot where we meant to stop, I flung off" my saddle and turned my horse loose. By making a circuit under cover of some rising ground, I reached the foot of the bluff* unnoticed, and climbed up its steep side. Lying under the brow of the declivity, I prepared to fire at the buffalo, who stood on the flat surface above, not five yards distant. Perhaps I was too hasty, for the gleaming rifle-barrel levelled over the edge caught their notice ; they turned and saw. Close as they were, it was impossible to kill them when in that position, and step- ping upon the summit, I pursued them over the high arid table-land. It was extremely ruijged and broken ; a great sandy ravine was chan- nelled through it, with smaller m vines entering it on each side, like tributary streams. The buffalo scattered, and I soon lost sight of most of them as they scuttled away through the sandy chasms ; a bull and a cow alone kept in view. For a while they ran along the edge of the great ravine, appearing and disappearing as they dived into some chasm and a^^ain emerged from it. At last they stretched out upon the broad prairie ; a boundless plain, nearly flat and almost devoid of verdure, for every short grass-blade was dried and shri- velled by the glaring sun. Now and then the old bull would face toward me ; whenever he did so I fell to the ground and lay motion- less. In this manner I chased them for about two miles, until at length I heard in front a deep hoarse bellowing. A moment after, a band of about a hundred bulls, before hidden by a slight swell of the plain, came at once into view. The fugitives ran toward them. Instead of mingling with the band, as I expected, they passed directly through, and continued their flight. At this I gave up the chase, and kneeling down, I crawled to within gunshot of the bulls, and with panting breath and trickling brow sat down on the ground to watch them ; my presence did not disturb them in the least. They were not feeding, and indeed there was nothing to eat ; but they seemed to have chosen that parched and scorching desert as the scene of their amusements. They were sporting together, after their clumsy fashion, under the burning sun. Some were rolliui? on the ground amid a cloud of dust ; others, with a hoarse rumbling bel«
The Oregon TVail. [January,
low, were butting their large heads together, while many stood mo- tionless, as if quite inanimate. Except their monstrous growth of tangled grizzly mane, they had no hair ; for their old coat had fallen off in the spring, and their new one had not as yet appeared. Some- times an old bull would step forward and gaze at me with a grim and stupid countenance ; then he would turn and butt his next neigh- bor ; then he would lie down and roll over and over in the dirt, kick- ing his hoofs in the air. When satisfied with this amusement, he would jerk his head and shoulders upward, and resting on his fore- legs, stare at me in this position, half blinded by his mane, and his fHce covered with dirt ; then up he would spring upon all fours, and shake his dusty sides ; turning half round, he would stand with his beard touching the ground, in an attitude of profound abstraction, as if reflecting on his puerile conduct. • You are too ugly to live !' thought I ; and aiming at the ugliest, I shot three of them in suc- cession. The rest were not at all discomposed at this ; they kept on bellowing and butting nnd rolling on the ground as before. Henry Chatillon always cautioned us to keep perfectly quiet in the presence of a wounded buffalo, for any movement is apt to excite him to make an attack ; so I sat still upon the ground, loading and firing with as little motion as possible. While 1 was thus employed, a spectator made his appearance : a little antelope came running up with re- markable gentleness to within fifly yards, and there it stood, its slen- der neck arched, its small horns thrown back, and its large dark eyes gazing on me with a look of eager curiosity. By the side of the shaggy and brutish monsters before me it seemed like some lovely young girl wandering near a den of robbers or a set of bearded pirates. The buffalo looked uglier than ever. • Here goes for ano- ther of you !' thought I, feeling in my pouch for a percussion-cap. Not a percussion-cap was there. My good rifle was useless as an old iron bar. One of the wounded bulls had not yet fallen, and I waited for some time, hoping every moment that his strength would fail him. He still stood firm, looking grimly at me, and from neces- sity disregarding Henry's advice, I rose and walked away. Many of the bulls turned and looked at me, but the wounded brute made no attack. I soon came upon a deep ravine which would give me shel- ter in case of emergency ; so I turned round and threw a stone at the bulls. They received it with the utmost indifference. Feeling insulted at their refusal to be frightened, I swung my hat, shouted, and made a show of running toward them ; at this they crowded to- gether and galloped off, leaving their dead and wounded upon the field. As I moved toward the camp I saw the last survivor totter and fill dead. My speed in returning was wonderfully quickened by the reflection that the Pawnees were abroad, and that 1 was de- fenceless in case of meeting with an enemy. 1 saw no living thing, however, except two or three squalid old bulls scrambling among the sand-hills that flanked the great ravine. When I reached camp the party were nearly ready for the aflemoon move.
We encamped that evening at a short distance from the river^ bank. About midnight, as we alllay asleep on the ground, the man
1849.] The Oregon Trail. 7
nearest to me, gently reaching out his hand, touched my shoulder, and cautioned me at the same time not to move. It was bright star- light. Opening my eyes and' slightly turning, I saw a large white wolf moving stealthily around the embers of our fire, with his nose close to the ground. Disengaging my hnnd from the blanket, I drew the cover from my rifle, which lay close at my side ; the motion alarmed the wolf, and with long leaps he bounded out of the camp. Jumping up, I fired after him, when he was about thirty yards dis- tant ; the melancholy hum of the bullet sounded far away through the night. At the sharp report, so suddenly breaking upon the still- ness, all the men sprang up. ' You 've killed him,* said one of them. ' No I have n*t,* said I ; * there he goes, running along the river.' * Then there 'a two of them. Do n't you see that one lying out yon- der V We went out to it, and instead of a dead white wolf, found the bleached skull of a buffalo. I had missed my mark, and what was worse, had grossly violated a standing law of the prairie. When in a dangerous part of the country, it is considered highly imprudent to fire a gun after encamping, lest the report should reach the ears of the Indians.
The horses were saddled in the morning, and the last man had lighted his pipe at the dying ashes of the fire. The beauty of the day enlivened us all. Even Ellis felt its influence and occasionally made a remark as we rode along, and Jim Gurney told endless stories of his cruisings in the United States' service. The buffalo were abun- dant, and at length a large band of them went running up the hills on the left.
' Do you see them buffalo V said Ellis, ' now I '11 bet any man I '11 go and kill one with my yager.'
And leaving his horse to follow on with the party, he strode up the hill after them Henry looked at us with his peculiar humorous expression, and proposed that we should follow Ellis to see how he would kill a fat cow. As soon as he was out of sight we rode up the hill afler him and waited behind a little ridue till we heard the report of the unfailing yager. Mounting to the top, we saw Ellis clutching his favorite- weapon with both hands and staring after the buffalo, who one and all were galloping off at full speed. As we descended the hill we saw the party straggling along the trail below. When we joined them, another scene of nmateiir hunting awaited us. 1 forgot to say that when we met the volunteers, T^^te Rouge had obtained a horse from one of them, in exchange for his mule, whom he feared and detested. This horse he christened James. James though not worth so much as the mule, was a large and strong animal. T^te Rouc^e was very proud of his new acquisition, and suddenly became ambitious to run a buffalo with him. At his request, I lent hin^ my pistols, though not without great misgivings, since when Tcte Rouge hunted buffalo the pursuer was in more danger than the pursued. . He hung the holsters at his saddle-bow ; and now as we passed along, a band of bulls lefl their grazing in the meadow, and galloped in a long file across the trail in front.
* Now 's your chance, T6te, come, let 'a aee you- kill a bull.'
Th$ Oregon Trail, [January,
Thus urged, the hunter cried, *get up !' and James, obedient to the signal, cantered deliberately forward at an abominably uneasy gait. TOte Rouge as we contemplated him from behind, made a most i*e- markable figure. He still wore the old buffalo coat ; his blanket which was tied in a loose bundle behind his saddle, went jolting from one side to the other, and a large tin canteen half full of water which hung from his pommel was jerked about his leg in a manner wJiich greatly embaiTassed him.
* Let out your horse, man ; lay on your whip !* we called out to him. The buffalo were getting farther off at every instant. James being ambitious to mend his pace, tugtred hard at the rein, and one of his rider's boots escaped from the stirrup.
* Woh ! I say, woh !' cried T6te Rouge, in great perturbation, and after much effort James* progress was ariested. The hunter came trotting back to the pirty, disgusted with buffalo- running, and he was received with overwhelming congratulations.
* Too good a chance to lose/ said Shaw, pointing to another band of bulls on the left. We lashed our horses and galloped upon them. Shaw killed one with each barrel of his gun. I separated another from the herd and shot him. The small bullet of the rifle pistol striking too far back, did not immediately take effect, and the bull ran on with unabated speed. Again and again I snapped the remaining pistol at him. I primed it afiesh three or four times, and each time it missed fire, for the touch-hole was clogged up. Returning it to the holster, I began to load the empty pistol, still galloping by the side of the bull. By this time he was grown desperate. The foam flew from his jaws and his tongue lolled out Before the pistol was loaded he sprang upon me, and followed up his attack with a furious rush. The only alternative was to run away or be killed. I took to flight and the bull bristling with fury, pursued me closely. The pistol was soon ready, and then looking back, I saw his head five or six yards behind my horse's tail. To fire at it would bo useless, for a bullet flattens against the adamantine skull of a buffalo bull. Inclining my body to the left, I turned my horse in that direction as sharply as his speed would permit. The bull rushing blindly on with great force and weight, did not turn so quickly. As I looked back, his neck and shoulder were exposed to view ; turning in the saddle, I shot a bullet through them obliquely into his vitals. He gave over the chase and soon fell to the ground. An English tourist repi*esents a situation like this as one of imminent danger ; this is a great mistake ; the bull never pursues long, and the horse must be wretched indeed, that can- not keep out of his way for two or three minutes.
And now we were come to a part of the country where we were bound in common prudence to use every possible precaution. We mounted guard at night, each man standing in his turn ; and no one overslept without drawing his rifle close to his side or folding it with him in his blanket One morning our vigilance was stimulated by our finding traces of a large Camanche encampment. Fortunately for us, however, it h;jd been abandoned nearly a week. On the next evening we found the ashes of a recent fire, which gave us at the ^
1849.] The Oregon Trail. 9
time some uneasiness. At length we reached the Caches, a place of dangerous repute ; and certainly it had a most dangerous appear- ance, consisting of sand-hills every where broken by ravines and deep chasms. Here we found the grave of Swan, killed at this place, probably by the Pawnees, two or three weeks before. His remains, more than once violated by the Indians and the wolves, were suffered at length to remain undisturbed in their wild burial- place. Swan, it was said, was a native of Northampton, in Massa- chusetts. That day more than one execration was discharged against the debauched and faithless tribe who were the authors of his death, and who even now might be following like blood-houndB on our trail.
About this time a change came over the spirit of T6te Rouge ; his jovial mood disappeared, and he relapsed into rueful despondency. Whenever we encamped, his complaints began. Sometimes he had a pain in the head ; sometimes a racking in the joints ; sometimes an aching in the side, and sometimes a heart-bum. His troubles did not excite much emotion, since they rose chiefly no doubt from his own greediness, and since no one could tell which were real and which were imaginary. He would often moan dismally through the whole evening, and once in particular I remember that about mid- night he sat bolt upright and gave a loud scream. * What *s the matter now V demanded the unsympathizing guard. T^te Rouge, rocking to and fro, and pressing his hands against his sides, declared that he suffered excruciating torment. * I wish,* said he, * that I was in the bar-room of the * St. Charles' only just for five minutes !'
For several days we met detached companies of Price's regiment. Horses would often break loose at night from their camps. One afternoon we picked up three of these stragglers quietly grazing along the river. It was nearly dark, and a cold, drizzling rain had set in ; but we all turned out, and after an hour's chase nine horses were caught and brought in. One of them was equipped, with sad- dle and bridle, pistols were hanging at the pommel oi the saddle, a carbine was slung at its side, and a blanket rolled up behind it. In the morning, glorying in our valuable prize, we resumed our jour- ney, and our cavalcade presented a much more imposing appear- ance than ever before. We kept on till the afternoon, when, far behind, three horsemen appeared on the horizon. Coming on at a hand-gallop, they soon overtook us, and claimed all the horses as belonging to themselves and othei-s of their company. They were of course given up, very much to the mortification of Ellis and Jim Gumey.
Our own hoi-ses now showed signs of fati<^ue, and we resolved to give them half a day's rest. We stopped at noun at a grassy spot by the river. After dinner Shaw and Henry went out to hunt ; and while the men lounged about the camp, I lay down to read iu the shadow of the cart. Looking up, I saw a bull grazing alone on the prairie more than a mile distant. I was tired of reading, and taking my rifle, I walked toward him. As I came near, I crawled upon the ground until I approached to within a hundred yards ; here I
▼OL. xxun. 2
10 The Oregon Trail. [January,
sat down upon the grass and waited till he should turn himself into a proper position to receive his death-wound. He was a giim old veteran. His loves and his battles were over for that season, and now, gaunt and war-worn, he had withdrawn from the herd to graze by himself and recruit his exhausted strength. He was miserably emaciated ; his mane was all in tatters ; his hide was bare and rough as an elephant's, and covered with dried patches of the mud in which he had been wallowing. He showea all his ribs whenever Jie moved. He looked like some grizzly old ruffian grown gray in blood and violence, and scowling on all the world from his misan- thropic seclusion. The old savage looked up when I first approached, and gave me one fierce stare ; then he fell to grazing again with an air of contemptuous indifierence. The moment after, as if suddenly recollecting himself, he threw up his head, faced quickly about, and to my amazement came at a rapid trot directly toward me. I was strongly impelled to get up and run, but this would have been very dangerous. Sitting quite still, I aimed, as he came on, at the thin part of the skull above the nose. After he had passed over about three-quarters of the distance between us, I was on the point of firing, when, to my great satisfaction, he stopped short. I had full opportunity of studying his countenance ; his whole front was covered with a huge mass of coarse matted hair, which hung so low that nothing but his two fore-feet were visible beneath it ; his short thick horns were blunted and split to the very roots in his various battles, and across his nose ana forehead were two or three large white scars, which gave him a grim, and at the same time, a whim- sical appearance. It seemed to me that he stood there motionless for a full quarter of an hour looking at me through the tangled locks of his mane. For my part, I remained as quiet as he, and looked quite as hard ; 1 felt greatly inclined to come to terms with him. • My friend,* thought I, * if you '11 let me off, I '11 let you off.' At length he seemed to have abandoned any hostile design. Very slowly and deliberately he began to turn about ; little by little his ugly brown side came into view, all beplastered with mud. It was a tempting sight I forgot my prudent mtentions, and fired my rifle ; a pistol would have served at that distance. Round spun the old bull like a top, and away he galloped over the prairie. He ran some distance, and even ascended a considerable hill, before he Jay down and died. After shooting another bull among the hills, I went back to camp.
At noon, on the fourteenth of September, a very large Santa Fe caravan came up. The plain was covered with the long files of their white -topped wagons, the close black carriages in which the traders travel and sleep, large droves of animals, and men on horse- back and on foot; They all stopped on the meadow near us. Our diminutive cart and handful of men made but an insignificant figure by the side of their wide and bustling camp. T^te Rouge went over to visit them, and soon came back with half a dozen biscuits in one hand and a bottle of brandy in the other. I inquired where he got them. • Oh,* said TCte Rouge, * I know some of the traders.
1849.] The Oregon Trail 11
Dr. Dobbs is there besides.' I asked who Dr. Dobbs might be, • One of our St. Louis doctors/ replied T6te Rouge. For two days past I had been severely attacked by the same disorder which had so greatly reduced my strength when at the mountains ; at this time I was suffering not a little from the sudden pain and weakness which it occasioned. T^te Rouge, in answer to my inquiries, declared that Dr. Dobbs was a physician of the first Standing. Without at all believing him, I resolved to consult this eminent practitioner. Walking over to the camp, I found him lying sound asleep under one of the wagons. He offered in his own person but an indifferent specimen of his skill, for it was five months since I had seen so cada- verous a face. His hat had fallen ofi*, and his yellow hair was all in disorder ; one of his arms supplied the place of a pillow ; his pan- taloons were wrinkled half way up to his knees, and he was covered with little bits of grass and straw, upon which he had rolled in his uneasy slumber. A Mexican stood near, and I made him a sign that he should touch the doctor. Up sprang the learned Dobbs, and sit- ting upright, he rubbed his eyes and looked about him in great be- wilderment. I regretted the necessity of disturbing him, and said I had come to ask his professional advice.
' Your system. Sir, is in a disordered state,' said he, solemnly, after a short examination.
I inquired what might be the paiticular species of disorder.
' Evidently a morbid action of the liver,* replied the medical man ; ' I will give you a prescription.'
Repairing to the back of one of the covered wagons, he scram- bled in ; for a moment I could see nothing of him but his boots. At length he produced a box which he had extracted from some dark recess within, and opening it, he presented me with a folded paper of some size. * What is it V said I. * Calomel,* said the doctor.
Under the cii'cumstances I would have taken almost any thing. There was not enough to do me much harm, and it might possibly do good ; so at camp that night I took the poison instead of supper.
That camp is worthy of notice. The traders warned us not to follow the main trail along the river, * unless,* as one of them ob- served, * you want to have your throats cut !* The river at this place makes a bend ; and a smaller trail, known as * The Ridge-path,* leads directly across the prairie from point to point, a distance of sixty or seventy miles.
We followed this trail, and after travelling seven or eight miles, we came to a small stream, where we encamped. Our position was not chosen with much forethought or military skill. The water was in a deep hollow, with steep, high banks ; on the grassy bottom of this hollow we picketed our horses, while we ourselves encamped upon the barren prairie just above. The opportunity was admira- ble either for driving off our horses or attacking us. Afler dark, as Tete Rouge was sitting at supper, we obsei-ved him pointing with a face of speechless horror over the shoulder of Henry, who was op- posite to him. Aloof amid the darkness appeared a gigantic black apparitioni solemnly swaying to and fro as it advanced steadily upon
12 An Epigram. [January,
U8. Henry, half vexed and half amused, jumped up, spread out his arms, and shouted. The invader was an old buffaJo-bull, who, with characteristic stupidity, was walking directly into camp. It cost some shouting and swinging of hats before we could bring him first to a halt and then to a rapid retreat.
That night the moon was full and bright ; but as the black clouds chased rapidly over it, we were at one moment in light and at the next in darkness. As the eveniug advanced, a thunder-storm came up ; it struck us with such violence that the tent would have been blown over if we had not interposed the cart to break the force of the wind. At length it subsided to a steady rain. My own situa- tion was a pleasant one, having taken Dr. Dobbs' prescription long before there was any appearance of a storm. I now lay in the tent, wrapped in a buifalo-robe, and in great pain, from the combined effect of the disease and the remedy. I lay awake through nearly the whole night, listening to the dull patter of the rain upon the canvass above. The moisture, which filled the tent and trickled from every thing in it, did not add to the comfort of the situation. About twelve o'clock Shaw went out to stand guard amid the rain and pitch darkness. Monroe, the most vigilant as well as one of the bravest among us, was also on the alert. When about two hours had
f>assed, Shaw came silently in, and touching Henry, called him in a ow quick voice to come out. * What is it 1' I asked. * Indians, I believe,' whispered Shaw ; ' but lie still ; I 'U call you if there 's a fight.'
He and Henry went out together. I took the cover from my rifle,
Sut a fresh percussion-cap upon it, and then, being in much pain, lay own again. In about five minutes Shaw came in again. ' All right,' he said, as he lay down to sleep. Henry was now standing euard in his place. He told me in the morning the particulars of Uie alarm. Munroe's watchful eye discovered some dark objects down in the hollow, among the horses, like men creeping on all- fours. Lying fiat on their faces, he and Shaw crawled to the edge of the bank, and were soon convinced that what they saw were In- dians. Shaw silently' withdrew to call Henry, and they all lay watching in the same position. Henry's eye is one of the best on the prairie. He detected after a while Uie true nature of the moving objects ; they were nothing but wolves creeping among the horses. It is very singular that when picketed near a camp horses seldom show any fear at such an intrusion. The wolves appear to have no other object than that of gnawing the trail-ropes of raw- hide by which the animals are secured. Several times in the course of the journey my horse's trail-rope was bitten in two by these nocturnal TiBitors.
E P I O R AM.
Wbt 'fl a mercileat man, with a memory bad. Like one with whom av'rice is a tin most beaettixig t
BecanM, if no better tolation be had. He if never for gtriag, but always for gettfaif .
1849.] A Poetical Superscription. 13
POKTIOAL SUPERSCRIPTION.
Tkb folio wins addrMV. wrttt«B on avery lus* •nvelope. ineloalng a quarto printed ahest. waa lataly traaamittad through tha Naw-York poat-offloa : and donbtlaaa It haa duly raachad tha wall-known philaathxopMt for whom It waa intanded.
In dear Canandaioua, Qaeen of the West,
A gentleman lives, and he 's one of the beet ;
Ay, one of a thousand, I vow and declare.
For where is the man who with him will compare
In acts of pure charity, generous and good ?
'i 'hough always performed as if under a hood ;
And as I am rhyming, and in a right mood.
His Name chimes to all these, but chiefly With Wood ;
Philanthropy guides and directs all his ways,
Without ostentation, or puffing, or praise ;
He 's just such an one as was Pope's Man of Ross,
Domg good to all men, without counting the loss.
To all meny did I say ? — that *s a terrible slander !
I humbly beg pardon ; but keep down thy dander !
The ladies — the dariings — the joy of our hearts —
Affirm that his equal is not in those parts ;
The widow, the orphan, the aged and poor,
Though ever so humble, find him. at their door,
Giving counsel and comfort — ay, frequently food —
And when frost pmches hardest, they often see Wood !
'T were frivolous folly to name him more Aill,
And, post-man, I know thou art not at all dull.
Then there 's auld Rob Morris,* who wins in yon den,
He *s the king of post-mastem and blandest of meur;
He has three score o' black sheep, all at bis conmiand.
To forward this jingle unto the right hand. You *11 find him, I think, not far from the druggery, (But all Canandaioua well know The Snuooert ! t)
Mayhap at Frank G 's, that handsome Apoixo,
Whose figure and features beat other men's hollow, A GoD-like creation — I must so express it, No mortal e'er saw him who did not confess it. If you do n't find him there, why then the best thing, Go up to The Palace and call on The KiNO,t Your monarch right royal, who keeps open house. Like a prince as he is ; making just the right use Of his wealth and his riches. God bless him, say I ! And thousands there are who will join in the cry. You '11 never again see his equal — no, never ! So generous, so noble, so courteous, so clever ; I 've ofl had the honor to share in his bounty, While living in old Ontario County, And met at his table the man of my heart,
* A VXBT old Scottish song, entitled Auld Rob Mobris, thoa commences :
' TBrna'a aald Roa MoBBia. wba wlna in yon glan. Ha *a tha kin« o' goda fallows, and wala of auld man : H« baa threa «cora o' black ahoap, and thrne aoora too. And auld Rob lioRnia la tha man ya maun loa.'
t Mb. W.'fl house has for many years been called the Snoggery. ITbb Hon. J. Q . . . o is nnirersslly known as King of CsBsadaifaa.
14 Disquisition upon Grecian Templei, [January,
Who inspireth these lines so slick and so smajt !
They can 't be called poetry, barely whim-wharos ;
But D'IsRAELi once published a book called * Flim-Flams.'
(I dont mean the monkey oft pictured in Punch,
But Isaac his father, the best of the bunch.)
This long superscription being now nearly ended,
You Ml say with old Sanciio, ' Less said, soonest mended.'
Now hark'ee, good post-man — I dont speak in thunder — But pry'thee be careful — do not make a blunder ; If you do ! — by the Powers that are Holy — I *11 pound thee. And fervently pray, may the devil confound thee ! No month — and no day — no Domini Anno, And only half signed, Robbrtus
Nola-bene : Remember, the postage is paid.
Post-scriptum : Do n't copy one word I have said.
A DISQUISITION UPON GRECIAN TEMPLES.
■XOOaXTATBD BT JAV TAX •lOKCR. AIT XUBBTO ARTItT, IVOtrtBlTT ABOHITBOT AlTD KMZOBT AOTBM-
TOBBR : OOMTAIMSBO AZ.SO. AUTBVHTSO AOOOUNT OF TRB Z.AST XXOWV
OFFIOIAX. APPBABAMOB OF SAMTA OX,AO«
Hollo there, knaves ! bring forth my best steed : I am for a Quix- otic expedition ! Ha ! mounted, and in the stirrups ; now hand me my lance. So ho ; is the shaft well balanced, and the steel sharp ? Well then, away let us go in search of adventures.
Here let me pause for a moment, to observe that if I had lived in the age of chivalry, I should have been a most pestiferous member of society. I should have had my nose and my lance in every brawl, in every tournament, in every feud : I should have spent my fortune, (Heaven save the mark!) in cbivalric games: I should have been another Sieur de Sandricourt. It is true that I am rather a slim fel- low now, but that b the result of education : yet have I nevertheless the true spirit of the meddling Knight En*ant.
What then, shall we tilt at to-day 1 Windmills ? No ; they are vulgar, and so scarce that you shall hardly find one this side M^tha's Vineyard. Grecian temples ? Ay ! Their name is legion, but what care I for odds !
How many are there in this country, who. like the celebrated Gre- cian scholar, Monsieur R6monde, have built * a house upon a Grecian model, that was uninhabitable V Millions ! which of the innumera- ble ones I behold, shall I attack first 1 Here stand I in the road, and see around me, a church, a lawyer's office, a court-house, a squirrel- cage, a private dwelling, a pigeon-house; all built on the plan of some unknown Grecian temple. To trouble the church, would bring the vestry or the eldere upon me ; to ride down the lawyer's office would make me liable to an action for assault and battery ; to attack tlie house of justice might cause me to be arrested for contempt of
1849.] Disquisition upon Grecian Temples. 15
court, and moreover, the wooden pillars might take away my lance from me ; to upset the squirrel cage would expose me to the anger of the ladies, or the children ; to disturh yon spruce mansion might subject me, like Sir Launcelot Greaves, to a writ ' de lunatico inqui- rendo ;' to violate that pigeon-house, might cause me ill-luck.
What then shall I do ] I will go home, and write about the matter.
On my way thither, I pass * a butcher, a baker, and a candlestick- maker,' a pickle-merchant, and a cobbler, each dwelling in a Grecian temple ; yonder, through the leafless trees, I catch a glimpse of a summer house, and another building that shall be nameless, also Gre- cian ; and as I near home, so help me Heaven, the apparition of a man in a white apron and cap, bearing in his hands a Grecian temple in confectionary, arises before me, and scares my horse almost out of his wits, insomuch that he nearly tramples under foot a lady and a small child.
Here then am I at home, sitting with pen in hand, wondering what will be the upshot of this article, and thinking how I shall begin the discussion I am about to enter into. I have it ! An apostrophe shall do the business for me.
Oh ! ghosts of architects of ancient Greece, what would you say, could ye arise and behold the caricatures of your exquisite works I Would ye laugh, or would ye weep 1 Would ye indignantly kick them over, or with a natural curiosity take a few of these parodies ' bock again' with you in the folds of your garments, to examme them with a miscroscope 1 Would ye —
But enough ot this ; and let me answer the question of a man at my elbow, who must, I should suppose, have been dwelling in the bowels of the eanh for the last twenty years.
* What,* says he ; ' what, is a Grecian temple ]'
* The Englishman mentioned in * The American in Paris,' ' I reply, ' describes them admirably :'
* You know. Sir, large white columns mingled with flights of steps, the whole being surmounted by long stone funnels. It seems too,' I continue, * that our people make the same mistake, that the master- mason in the same story falls into, when in reply to the assertion that a certain building is not a Grecian temple, he replies : ' It has beau- tiful columns all the same.' '
It is on this principle that an old Dutch-built, Dutch-shaped, Dutch- roofed, shingle-sided court-house, in a village not a thousand miles from New- York, has been embellished with a colonnade. What a combination ! Dutch-Greek : Greek-Dutch ! Upon my life, 't is worse than the doctrine of amalgamation.
There is some excuse, however, for this addition, in this fact, that you may travel through almost every county town in the United States, and by picking out Uie largest Grecian temple in the place, you will be tfderably sure to light upon the court-house. They have be- come almost convertible tenns. A man whom I have at this very moment pictured in my mind's eye, came down a little fuddled to a county town in this state, and having a case to be tried, stopped with-
16 Disquisition upon Crrenian Temples. [Januatyi
out hesitation at a large Grecian temple, which was however a piivate dwelling : being refused admittance, he turned away, exclaiming with virtuous indignation : * Wa-a-1, if that beant the court-house, it oughter be ashamed of itself V I agree with him.
For the engrafting of a mongrel Grecian portico on that old Dutch church of Sleepy-Hollow, which the pen of Irving hath rendered classic in the land, there is no such palliating circumstance. I have wondered when passing the court-house I wot of at night, that I have not heard such a discussion between the building and the columns as arose between the two * Biigs of Ayr,' on the occasion immortal- ized by Burns. * The publicity of the place undoubtedly prevents them from giving vent to their hostile feelings. No such considera- tion, however, affects the church, * famous in goblin story,* to which I have alluded. Accordingly, as might have been expected, there have been complaints made of that square-pillared excrescence, and' there- by hangs a tale' of which another personage is, or I am, as ye, O people, please to decide, the hero. If you will listen, I will repeat the story.
* Some few summers ago, I had spent an evening very pleasantly in the village of Sing- Sing : so pleasantly indeed, that I had not marked how time wore on, until on looking at my watch, I found that the hour had come, and gone again, when every respectable man, more especially in the country, should have been housed for the night. Having hastily taken leave of my host, I mounted my horse and set off for Tarrytown, where I was then staying.
' I soon passed the last house in the village, and casting my eyes upward to the heavens, I began to speculate upon the weather. It was one of those nights in the latter part of summer, when Autumn begins to jog her elbow, as if to put her in mind that the sceptre must soon pass into his hands. A dull, chill, north-easterly wind, was blowing up a storm : already the heavens were veiled with clouds of gray, which occasionally lightened up, as if to permit one to view for a moment the objects around him, and then closmg again more heavily, obscured each scarcely distinguished form. No plash of some distant paddle, no hum of some far-off blower, no sparks of pine, no flame of anthracite, no flap of sails, no creaking of wood against wood, told of the presence of any moving thing upon the waters of the Hudson.
* Make what you will of it, it is a solemn feeling, that of being alone with nature, and it is astonishing to a man in broad daylight, in the midst of his fellow creatures, when he thinks what a comfort it was to have had some living thing as a companion. The feeling is not fear, it amounts not even to apprehension of danger, but it is a vague, dreary, sense of loneliness, as if one were the last and only human being left upon the face of the earth. It speaks to his heart of his own insignincauce, hut it raises him to the contemplation of the God Omnipotent.
* While moralizing thus, I began to feel that the wind was chilling me through and through, and wishing myself safely established in a comfortable bed at home, 1 roused my horse to a smait trot, and he, nothixig loth, being in truth as anxious as myself to get home, bore
I*i49.J-
A Disquisition upon Grecian Temples.
17
me gallantly onward. As we pressed on, it seemed as if we were every moment on the point of entering some dark and arched cavern, which receded ever as we advanced, yet was before us still. The pace we kept soon brought us in view of the expiring embers of a lire, which had been kindled by some gipsys, who had made their resting place for the night by the side of the road, an event, porten- tous in that part of the world, where gipsys never before were seen. The red light of the decaying fire lit up the canvass-covered wagon in which they travelled, the trunks and branches of one or two trees near at hand, a few yards of earth around, and then was powerless to penetrate the darkness further. It was a picturesque scene, but it was no night to stop to admire the romantic. On we sped. I caught a glimpse of a half-shaved face, peering from one comer of the wagon as I passed by, but a turn in the road soon concealed the whole scene "from my backward view.
' My horse seemed frantic to reach home, and I let him choose his own speed.' As w« neared the old Dutch church, visions of * the headless horaeman of Sleepy-Hollow' rose in my mind. I strove to shake them off, but ' the galloping Hessian' was of old a persevering fellow, and he did not belie his character. I confess, that by the time I caught sight of the building, magnified as it seemed to me, by reason of the uncertain light, to twice its real dimensions, I began to feol so nervous as to find difficulty in keeping my saddle.
' Approaching the church from the north, the road descends over a sandy hill, directly past it : thence to a bridge over a mill-stream : crossing which, after a gentle rise, it soon makes a short turn to the east, and can no longer be commanded from the elevation on which the church i3 situated, on account of an intervening hill. Until I was nearly opposite the church, the wind had swept along in one of those wild, uncertain gusts, which precede the north-easterly storm, pre- venting me from hearing any thing distinctly ; but now, as it lulled for a moment, and sunk into a whisper, I thought :
But hold ! Let rae the rest rchearso Of what that night occurred, in verse ; For things so strange demand at least The tribute of a tyro's fist. Then, ye Dutch muses — hail, all hail I Aid me to tell my wondrous tale. Scarce was the hill descended half, %Vhcn I heard an angry laugh ; And then an oath in good broad Dutch ; Again, a peal of curses, such As should hare killed a Christian beast, Or brought him to his knees at least ; But mine was not a common horse, And did not take a common course. He was in fact, a true Dutch steed. Not fametl for tire, nor great for speed, But heavy, plodding, dull and slow, Ready to stop, but ne'er to go. Who loved full well to till his belly, (Which empty, be was melancholy,) And ever made 't a point to shy A Grecian temple passing by. (The only sign of spirit known, T* have been by him to mortals shown,) Short of wind, and plethoric, liating n rim as boys birch sticky vol.. XXXIII.
A trotter good, toward his stable, But leaving it to walk scarce able. 8t!ong of Umb, and stout of heart. He acted now no nervous part ; He pricked his cars, and gave a snort. Planted his feet, and stopped dead short.
* Pretty adventure this V I thought, ' To meet at night such fellows out. Mortal or spirit, body or spook. Meeting such here, can be no joke.* Toward • CastlH Phillip' in my fright I looked : but there I saw no light, Because a hill there rose between, And all the lights long quenched lied been.
I thought to pass the church at speed, And thereto spurred my faithless steed, He took it as a sore all'ront, But only winced, and gave a grunt, And well I knew he was a beast. That ne'er from purpose would desist. Nor run when once resolved to stand. If all the crackers in the laud, And all the nettles in that vale. Were clapt at onco beneath his tail;
18
Disqvisitien upon Grecian Temples,
[January,
So giving up the use of steel,
I mnde a whispered, soft, appeal :
' Come, pony, come ; now stir thy stomps ;
Keep me not here in doleful dumps.'
My courser would not more a peg.
But stiffer planted each fore-leg,
Then, by the side of locust grove,
And neither way would deign to more }
So, in default of dang'rous race,
I quiet kept my fearful place,
Content, since neither I could run -
Backward or forward, fate to shun.
To see, and hear, and mark the end
Of what might hap from foe or friend.
There rose a gust that smelt of rain, And then the voice began af ain : ' Fire and wrath, dander and fr/cxem, Bv all that 's Dutch, but I will fix 'em F Tnat foul committee I will scourge, And my plain con2:regation purge Of all such wicked spirits as Bring like catastrophes to pass. Oh ! I will swinge them in such sort As that thev long shall rue the sport They found in clapping classic nose Upon the direst of its foes 1'
Here indignation seemed to choke
The voice that mill-pond echoes woke,
Excepting here and there an oath,
In Dutch and English, each and both,
Commingled in such horrid wise,
That rose my hair, and popped my eyes.
And pony shook about his knees
Like silver poplar in a breeze.
In short, swearing so deep and grave
I never heard, and it should have
Uncanonized the daintiest saint
That e'er — but no — in one event —
Excepting only, luckless patron lord
Of old Dutch church with Grecian porch aboard I
Now by this time I did suspect. What soon I found to be the fact. That this was nothing more nor less Than the great Saint Nicholjls : For he of old was given to swearing. To rollicking, frolicking, midnight oJaring, To supper hot, and jolly rout. And none so likely to be late out.
Eager I waited to catch a sight Of this mysterious angry ^ght; And the thick clouds they lifted soon. As if to grant the wished-for boon. 1 looked : with joy I saw from far The joUiest saint in the calendar. The patron of Dutchmen and of pipes. Of toddies, sleighing, and of tripes, Of cookies, presents, and all good things, That New-Year's day to children brings.
How swelled iny heart with bursting pride. That I alone of all that sighed. To see him from the times of old. Worthy this honor had been held I Yet natheless, in his present mood. And anger fierce, I held it good Rather to watch each saintly freak. Than on his meditations break.
How was he dressed ? How did he look ? Sir, I tliat ni?ht no likeness took : Suffice to 9ay, the merest dunce Would sure hove known the saint at once :
And so it is in all such cases. When saints vouchsafe to show their faces, That he that's honored, straightway knows Their saintships, dressed in any clothe*. Yet this I '11 swear on Harlem stocks. That Nicholas looked orthodox. And that he wore on this occasion Doublet and hose in ancient fashion ; But you may go to Moore or Wkir, If yon would have a sketch more clear.
'T was not the usual time of year. When the stout saint is wont t' appear ; But of improvements he had heard. And curiosity had stirred Him up to take a hasty view Of what they had contrived of new; And there he stood before the porch. And railed away at that old church. Stomping his feet. ' gritting his teeth,' And getting most dreadfufly out of breath. And then he swore, as I have said. In a style that would have scared the dead. What wonder he should rave like mad, Being the first view he had had !
• They call those ' Grecian columns,' eh ?
Oood Lord I what would a Grecian say t
Four-sided gutters upright set;
Those hollow pipes will warp, I '11 bet;
I '11 have them down ; they '11 do some good,
Mending the bridges on the road.'
Why did they it ? How dared they •©,
In spite of me, this horror do T
I will eradicate the root
Of those on me such insult put t
Who knows but else 't will come to pass
That they shall stick in paintied glass ; I Apostles garbed in fancy dress, ! Lictors, vultures, and a mess
Of hieroglyphics, to confound
The neighborhood for ten miles roond t'
He motmtcd the steps, he stamped about, And his wrath escaped in a hellish shout, As the contrivers oi this addition He doomed in gross to worst perdition. I heard no name of those he scolded. And if I had. 1 had not told it ; But let the guilty soul be racked, For what I say 's a solemn fact
Asthmatic he grew, his voice it fell. And he was attacked with a coughing spell ; But the fat saint still sputtered away. And said whitt I think none ought to say ; Grumbled and growled, and fiercely stamped. Cursed and swore : ' yerjlucht und verdanU. The detestoble thing, it makes me sick . Der galgtn Schivenkcl — dcr teufel kolo dick !'
A moment's silence then he kept, (C thought perchance his anger slept,) When his thigh he roundly slapt, And then a peal of oaths ontrapt. Would lift a man from oflF his teet. And which I care not to repeat ; And then, from grief, or other cause. His saintship made a mournful pause.
My foolish stupid brute. Just here.
Whether in th' excess of fear
Or whether (as I do sospect.
Being descended in a line direct
From Brom Bones' far-tamed horse,)
Th' opinions of the saint he wishes to endorse,
1849.]
Diiquisition upon Chrecian Temples,
19
And chose this mode to express his pleasure
At the Bsint's uifer without measure.
After essaying thrice the note.
And thrice in raio, from brazen throat,
Now neighed a neigh so loud and shrill.
That, echoing far from hill to hill.
With the unexpected cry,
The Saint awoke from musings high.
< Coafbund,' thought I, ' the blundering beast I I'm in for a thrashing, at the least : Who knows but what the Saint, enraged, May bottle me up till his wrath 's assuaged I'
The Saint had heard : his teeth were set, His look I nerer rfull forget, As sweeping with his eye the road. Be cast on me a glance of blood.
Wrinkled his brow, and dark his cheek ; - Villain, your name V he shouted, ' speak I' As to the Saint I gave my name. His faiee no longer looked the same: The flush of anger atraightwav fled, A pleasant smile there beamed instead: '\ ou well may thank your stars,* he said,
* That in your veins Dutch blood flows red ; For otherwise, by waffle great,
(An oath inflexible as Fate.) I swear 1 would have chanffcd you to -* I would, I would — I hare it now— To Grecian column, sure as gun ; Ay, worse than that—- to wooden one !
' Hope to make a Grecian temple t By the Loan. I *11 make example Of all cuatriving of this deea And gire to them their proper meed. But mark rae now, and tell the truth, And seek not to deceive me. youth, Answer me, Sir ; had tou. or yours, A hand in itctting up this curse ? For it you" had' — • I swiar,' I cried,
* The monstrous charge I can't abide : Jfoi jptLtmof this crime I plead.
In the bennlf of all my blood ; •
A» sinful man. I swcHr to you.
Good Saint Nicholas, it is true.'
' Call me not saint, nor call me good ;
Hark in what strait you might have stood ;
On all abettors hear my curse.
And if you can, imagine worse !
* An old Dutch church ! A Grecian porch I Will I not well thehr bowels scorch I
Not a poor drop of arrack punch.
Not one Cat slice of reeking haunch,
Hhall pasa their throats, or wet their lips.
They fear me not, but for these sceptics,
I doom them all to be dyspeptics.
Their children I will leave in lurch.
Or in each stocking put a birch :
That Christmas more shall ne'er come round.
That ought that's good shall there be found:
The boys in empty socks shall look
In vain for toj or story book ;
And to fill full the bitter cup.
In time forget to hang them up I
Ay. more : no cookie shall be baked
For them, until vaj wrath is slaked ;
Until the extirpation of this wart,
Unworthy 8yn«>d old of Dort :
From old proportions they shall dwindle,
Till each is thin as any sphidle.
* To each of those that had a hand, Ib thi« oormption of the land.
In sorrow half, and half in wrath.
This horrid sentence I bequeath :
No pipe of Delft, at setting sun,
When the day's mowing hath been done,
Shall give its scent to summer air,
Or hide in smoke, each thought of care ;
Nor shall he watch, on Autumn days.
The Tspor mingling with the haze.
While pleasant vi«Ions throng his brain,
(Flitting out and in again.)
Of golden crops, and bams well-filled.
Of meadows nch, and fields well tilled,
Of goose well stuffed, and Christmas pies ;
No more, I say, such dreams shall rise.
But he shall think of stocks depressed,
And loans and bonds give him no rest ;
Nor yet when Winter comes, in doors,
Because of carpets on the floors.
Shall the blest weed his Joys increase,
And he be left to smoke In peace ;
His daughters, fashionable girls
Shall be, with airs and yara-long curls.
With bonneU French, and waspish waists.
Such as a Christian saint dete^A.
And they shall alway be pruvokiug
Their precious Sire about his smoking ;
' Father, 't is vulsar, and we hate
This horrid smell, early and late ;'
And then when spring tiHth brought the earth
Once more unto another birth.
Still, still the same his fate shall be,
N ver the smoke of pipe to see.
Or watch the spirals curling high.
Wooing the celling or the sky.
Each breach of rule shall be reported. And all his pleasures shall be thwarted ; And all shall live such dismal lives. And 1// be cursed with shrewish wives. This to their offspring shall enure Long as their race shall still endure.'
This execration touched not me ;
I felt for otktTf' misery.
And trembled in my stirrups at
This dreadful doom, this awful fate ;
And had 1 dared, had said a word
For those that he so much abhorred ;
Bntfeariug toexcit«" anew
The hurricane that lately blew.
I chained my tongue, and held my peace,
Waiting till rage and storm should cease :
Nor waited long ; lor as he stood,
Poftened his hiart and changed his mood.
Sobbing as if his heart would break.
With hands upraised, once more he spake :
' Oh, how degenerate the nation I
How fallen is my congregation I'
At these his words I gently smiled,
And, trusting to his aspect mild,
1 ventured to expostulate
And in extenuation state.
That this, 1 thought, was no doubt done
To shield them from the ruin or sun.
• Better to roast.' the saint brok« in,
' On earth to roast, than die in sin.
And try !' He ceased ; his ear had caught
A stray blast from the south : 't was fraught
With sound of distant cart or conch,
To warn the saint of man's approach.
' Lo, ye r he rri^d, * another sign
That all is past fi»r me and mine I
Time was, from here to Tarrylown
I mieht have pHSsed. and iarthcr down — ■
To Nyack, on the othqr shore,
20
Disquisition upon Grecian Temples.
[January,
And up the bay to Harerstraw — And heard no sound, and anen no light, At thit so late hour of the night. Did I but know (as sure as Fate) But where to go, I 'd emigrate !
'Farewell, mj son l-^-be true and bold. And stick to fashions that are old ; Lift up your roice and wield your pen For old Saint Nicholas ; and when Cast down by trouble or by care, Call upon him -'-he will be there.
' Impress on all the downright need
Of Christmas dinners, would they speed ;
Of hanging aye the stocking up.
And cracking to my health a cup ;
But most, inculcate upon all
Of Grecian counterfeits the fall ;
Your life and Interests shall then
Be dear to Dutch-descended men.
And you shall prosper; never ask
In Tain for punch or jolly flask,
And never want a cookie fresh.
Pipe, sausage, pie, or onion-hash;
And Tou shall flourish in your time,
And I will lengthen out your prime ;
And when you die, your memory.
If with nono else, shall dwell with me.'
He touched the door : the leaves flew wide—
As if in sympathy, they sighed.
Then closed once more, f Jooked again,
And there on Vrebich Fleipse's vane
(With his initials cut therein,)
The saint was poised, as used he 'd been
Upon the tight-rope to display
SUs active form for many a day.
Bat now the saint looked pale and wan,
And down his cheeks the tear-drops ran ;
The wind blew out his long gray beard,
Which, minffling with the mist, appeared
Like the weird moss that curtains round
The cypress tall in swampy ground ;
Around him wrapped his mantle old,
His motions still his anguish told ;
His breast heaved hard, his voice was choked ;
You scarce had thought he e'er had joked ;
His form, relieved against the sky,
Like shadowy statue loomed on high ;
And first he stood, his arms extended.
Then raised them up as down he bended,
And muttered low, as if addressing
The OoD of Heaven for a blessing ;
Thftn as he stood astride the steeple
He thus rebuked his haunts — his people ;
* Oh, Dutchmen I Dutchmen I where were ye When this reproach was cast on me T
Ah, wo is me ! — my time is past.
And 1 must flee the land at last I
And modem (damned) Improvement saints
Will occupy my anciei;£ haunts.
And lay out streets, for aught I know,
Cutting this very building through.
* How is my people changed in soul I How is that change evil and foul ! Good, steady, slow, and sleepy men — No vanity or speculation then t
They went to church, and slept all through A lermon, every Sunday, new ;
They made responses in their sleep. Or if they snored, made out to keep In tune with psalms that old and young In those old times together sung.
• My female congregation, too.
Of bonnets French then nothinsr knew ;
They followed in their moth.Ts' ways,
And so it chanced they ne'er missed* stays.
So, that old man that had mishap
To lose his hair, worejcotton cap.
Or went plain bald, nor used a wig,
That never could survive a jig. ,
• Potatoes then wero never steamed — Of steam-boats thev had never dreamed ; Of telegraphs and iron roads,
And all these modem linkumquods, ] That only aid the sharp and keen, ' AVhen dull men should have holpen been.
• Gone are the good of Sleepy Hollow, And I right soon must also follow : To that old race my heart still yearns, And straying memory still returns.
Bom within sound of the old church bell.
From children they loved its ringing well ;
Where they were bom they always tarried.
VVere christened there, there loved and married.
Lived to old age. and side by side
Yielded to fate ; and when thev died.
The clods upon their coffins frll.
And the same clapper tolled their knell.
They are no more, hut In their place
Has come an emii^rnting race
That care no whit for hearth or home —
The only wish they have, to roam.
• Not only here, but every where
My flocks are changed from what they were ; For now through nil my rlear loved land ^Scarcely a monument doth stand Of Dutchman's power, Dutchman's zeal, Of Dutchman's trowel, hammer, steel.
' How is the old Manhattan gone ! Of all my haunts remains not one ! Even the chimneys, narrow and tigat, Stifle my breath with anthracite ; And thru, so crooked and dark are they. 'T is equal chance I lose my way. There s no place left for me. I wis — My last old church, a posf»of!ice t And thousands throng, greedy of gold. Where gospel plain was preached of old : They 've changed it all — tore up the pews— Instead of grace they come for news ; They have turned the bones of my people out To the sight and the sneers of the gaping rout ; But why go on. when e'en in vain The saints 'gainst destiny complain f
' Old church, it rends my inmost heart,
But it must come, and wo must pnrt.
Farewell, old grave-yard of the race
That settled first this quiet place :
Ye bones that here for years have slept,
From surgeons and museums kept,
My jealous guardianship is o'er.
And I shall watch your tombs no more I
I will not seek, old bones, to deceive yo —
To the protection of TTu Law I leave ye ''
1849.]
Disquisition upon Grecian Temples,
21
Methou^bt ttnughtway a dismal croan Barst from beneath each old tomb-stone, And forth from each istuod a ghost, Sheeted and sad. a formidable host. No pale, distempered shades were they — Broad shouldered, sJdrted. (in. their day You would hare sworn, had you them seen, Good Dutchmen and Dutch wives they'd been,) Like stiff Dutch sloops, with breadth of beam, As Dutch thincp* all doth most beseem. Their sturdy figures thro* the darkness loomed Lnsty and large, as in their lires they bloomed.
The Dutch -Reformed cherubs, too.
From earrings quaint to chubby spectres grew ;
Upro*e they all from their stony sleep,
^V ith Toiccs rusty, fat and deep ;
Each in his dim unearthly form.
Adding his wail to the rising storm.
They all besought the saint with tears
(Their patron of so many years,)
Ilis ancient charge not to forsake,
Nor modem whima in dudgeon take ;
And down Imclt each on marrow-bone,
Except the cherubims. who 've none ;
Unfortunate lads I that can 't sit down.
The reason of which is very well known ;
For old Dame Nature, out of fun.
Gave them no place to sit upon :
Their wings kept time with a mournful whirr,
They served as a kind of orchestra
To the chorus which outran g,
As, supplicating, thus they sang :
' Saint Nicholas, we beg and pray,
And on our knees entreat. That jrou will never go away.
Or leave your ancient seat : Yield us not up to this i^aint Law —
A aaint we never Icnew nor saw t
' Oh. Saint I thou ever hnst been kind,
And we have loved you well ; And can you now make up your mind
Oar skeletons to sell f Thou canst not — shalt not — say not so —
Oh ! tell us quick— thou wilt not go I'
But there were other shades so gaunt. Their very look ray heart did daunt ; These dodged right warilr about The edges of that midnight rout ; Far too republican to bow the knee To king, siiint, sign or mystery ; Yielding alone to th(i mnjurity. The end and God of their idolatry.
Now these poor ghoAts were much at loss
Whether to join the rest, or cross ;
Of votes there was disparity,
And they were in minority,
And yet it almost made them faint
To think of worshipping a saint.
They wished the crowd to organize, *
To have a President and Vice,
A Secretary to record
The Resolutions, word by word —
To have the meeting called to order,
And all described by h Reporter.
At length one bolder than the rest
The sense of all in brief expressed ;
His voice was sharp, and had a twang,
And through his tuneful nose it rang,
As like an oysterman's tin bom
A?, any sound that e'er was bom. He made a motion with his paw : * Down with the Saint I we go for Law I*
The Saint at him reproachful looked. And that ringleaders name he booked ; (I fancy to his cost ho '11 know What the saint meant by doing so f) This done, he gazed upon them both, Those ftictious there, and first waxed wroth ; But melting tenderness again Would work within his heart and brain.
There was a conflict in his breast. And In his visage 't was confessed ; 'Tween love of years and sudden hate, 'Twcen andent pride and shame of late; Now one was strong, now one was weak ; But soon he oped his mouth to speak. But ere he spoke a rumbling sound Came thund'ring o'er the hollow ground. Over the adverse sandy ridge. And wheels swift rumbled o'er the bridge.
As quick as light he straddled a mill-stone. He plied his heels, and he was gone ; Cantered away, using the rod. As erst from Rome to Novogorod. At first his flight was dull and slow, Near to the earth, wabbling and low, Which I in my depravity Trac-?d to the force of gravity ; But soon the stone whirled faster round, And onward sped with buzzing sound ; And as he went, he gathered strength, And speedier drove, until at length With cheerliil and Ixarmonious roar He vanished like a shooting star.
Now I must say I do believe (With the philosophers' good leave) Those stones that from the heavens fall Arc but stray steeds from this saint's stall. Or else are real runaways. That, having thrown him from his place, When Humewhat overcome with liquor, Fall to the earth, no lightning quicker ; And though absurd perhaps this sounds, I say it not without some grounds ; For I did see a paragraph In next day's paper made me laugh : How that that night a star was seen, Sing-.^ing and Tarry town between, That bursted with a loud report. Just as a gian^horBC would snort.
But to return : the cherubs, too, And all the rest of that weird crew, As they contamination feared,' Dissolved themselves, and disappeared.
Slowly I gathered up the reins And of my wits the poor remains, Wond'ring upon the world's conruption And what had caused this interruption.
Two youths came fiercely driving on : Oh ! had they come as I had done. Ere this two pillars white had stood, Grecian, and warped, and of pine-wood, A warning by the public road Early to seek your own abode. And not be rambling out at night. Saints, spirits, chembs, to aflfrlgbt.
22
The Stone House on the Susquehanna. [January,
Gravely my cooner home I rode — Grarely the homeward path he trode ; Both moBing npon where we 'd been, On what we 'd heard, on what we 'd seen — And thinkinfr both, for aught I know, Of Grecian Temples' ebb and flow.
Reaching mr home, I went to bed» Nor word ot this adrenture said ; Before this time I 'to told to none What that night was said and done ; And only tell it now because It is my humor, and I please.
MORAL: oa SSD0OTXOW vaoM tks rasiciSBs.
Now from this tale— these fscts— let all men know. And feel, what perils from Greek temples flow ;
Let them not add, I say. whate'er they ao, To bnOding Dutch a Grecian portico I q, X. D.
THE STONE HOUSE ON THE SUSQUEHANNA.
OHA.PTBR TWBI.FTB.
* Thesk to hear Would DcsDEMOKA seriously incline/ Otbbx.z.o.
' Do you not feel a certain moisture ]' said the little Medico.
A small hand rested upon the forehead of the sufferer. ' Yes, ah, now I am happy ! — he will recover.'
* [ hope so, but we must be careful — no noise — very careful — eh!, his pulse is quite regular; one, two, three, four, and with his fingers upon his own wrist by way of confirmation, the little Medico left the apartment.
The sefiorita stole noiselessly over the mats which lay upon the cherry -red tiles that floored the room, re-arranged the cuitains around the window, re-placed a thin green silk shade in front of the lamp, once more touched with her sofl hand the forehead of the sleeper and then seating herself in a butaca, or easy-chair covered with lea- ther, she crossed one little foot over the other and said to herself
But there is no need to tell what was said ; the expression of her face, as she turned toward the sleeper, told the whole story.
When Harold awoke the next morning the wasting fever had pass- ed away, and although there was a dreamy consciousness of past events in his mind, yet the apartinent in which he lay was unknown, and he could not even remember how he had been brought to it. His eyes wandered around a room tastefully, nay, elegantly furnish- ed. Silk cuitains were looped up on each side of long windows that opened upon a broad verandah, latticed and overspread with clustering vine-leaves, through which the light and air<;ame tempered with shade and sweetness. There were miiTors too at either end of the chamber, and in a circular niche was a table covered with crimson
1849.] The Stone House on the Susquehanna. 23
cloth, upon which, between two vases of fresh-gathered flowers stood a large silver crucifix. Before this little shrine lay a cushion ; doubt- less for devotional purposes, but now a Spanish guitar rested upon it, and although the instrument was silent, the sympathetic air seemed to vibrate with familiar harmonies, and, like some ancient pageant, ushei*ed in with music, there arose in his mind a twilight vision of a leafy porch overlooking a river, and in the distance, mountains and the setting sun. While he lay there thus weaving threads of gold in the dark woof of his existence and wondering at all he saw around him, the door opened slowly and a well-known face presented itself.
* Eh ! eh ! 'ees better ! must no speak a, by-and-by — no speak a one word ;' and the good Padre pressed the wasted hand of his friend between his own plump little palms, and looked into his f^e with an expression of tender solicitude.
* Ah, Padre,' said Harold, faintly, * where am 1 1 and where is Ri- bas 1 Paez ] and '
' Must A no speak. Ribas is heve ; Paez lose all his men, and 'ee» gone to e Llanos ; Senor Elisondo live here and his daughter, very good, by-and-by e talk, more ; not now.'
Harold closed his eyes for a moment; when he opened them again he saw that another person was just entering the room. It was a young girl of about sixteen years, and as she stood within the door-way, her hands clasped together and her eyes upraised with an expression of thankfulness and devotion, there was something so beautiful in the attitude, so spiritual in her fine classical features, that it reminded him of an old picture of the Madonna that he had seen in the convent of San Francisco. It was but a moraentaiy glance, for before the Padre could say ' Adelaida !' she had disappeared.
* Eh ! eh ! Colonel, you do n't a know who watch you when you is sick. Ah ! you do n't a know,' and the Padre gave a significant nod of the head that implied a great deal. ' But here is e father. Bias Elisondo, my cousin,' he continued, as a brisk looking little gentleman entered the room.
Cousin ? — they were so much alike in manner and appearance that they might have been taken for brothers.
* Vou must not speak one word,' said the Padre; ' it is no good .for him.' But Bias must express his congratulations upon the re- covery of his guest, and then the chocolate was brought in upon a silver server, and the Medico arrived ; and although every one said that ' not one word must be spoken upon any account,' the conversa- tion was prolonged until late m the morning.
For several days Harold saw nothing of the beautiful daughter of his host, but as he recovered his strength and began to sit up, she came occasionally to visit him with Bias, and by-and-by the visits were prolonged, and she even ventured to take his arm for a short walk m the garden. Then, too, the good seuor must know the history of his life, and the tears stood in Adelaida's eyes when Harold told the sad story ; for even his imperfect knowledge of the language added a charm to it ; they felt how far he was from home ; and although
24 The SUme Hourif on the Susquehanna. [January,
one little episode had never been revealed by him to any human being, there was enough sorrow in the rest of the tile to awaken their warmest sympathies : so the time passed pleasantly enough, day after day his heart unfolded in the summer- warmth of their kindness ; once more the smile revisited his lip, and if not happy he was almost — content !
* Have you ever see such e beautiful little foot V whispered the Padre, one evening as AdelaiJa sat holding the guitar upon her knee, with one tiny slipper just dimpling the cushion that w^ be- neath it.
* Not for a long time,' replied Harold with a sigh, as if the ques- tion had recalled a distant remembrance.
* Do you not play, Colonel ]* said Adelaida.
* Sometimes/
* Do then sing something: ; something in English, for although I cannot understand the words, the music is an excellent interpreter.'
Harold took the guitar, and to a plaintive little melody that he had learned in happier days, he sang :
TO LDLA.
• Unloved I unhappy I yet my heart complaining. Still with a weary longing turns to theo, Like the fond dove the distant ark regaining, >Vhen its lone wings had swept tlie shoreless sea ; For still I love ! though life's brief dream is o'er. The dark sea rolls between ; we meet no more I
' Unloved I unhappy I joyless and apart From thee ; from home, which ne'er these eyes shall >-icw. And Hope, last lingering, leaves the blighted heart As from the fragile flower exhales the dew ; Yet still I love, though life's brief dream be o'er, The dark sea rolls between, we meet no more I'
* Ah, Senor !' said Adelaide, aichly, * you sing that song in remem- brance of some lady whom you love ; I can interpret that ; and it is some one very beautiful too, is it not 1 1 know { 1 know V And taking the guitar, she swept her fingers over the strings, and while her eyes twinkled with pleasure, improvised such witcheries, such wild, tender, meiTy and pathetic fantasias, that Harold's soul seemed drawn from its seat, and whirled like a feather in a tempest of melody ; then as the sounds subsided they seemed to define themselves into a march with the beat of drums and occasionally a distant gun, and as that too died away, she bent over the guitar aa if listening to the departing army, and as the last faint vibration lingered on the strings, fthe suddenly threw herarms around it and ran out upon the Venandah.
* She is a wild girl, Colonel,* said Bias.
The good Padre said nothing, he was probably thinking of the music, and if so, he was thinking very hard indeed about it.
Harold rose and went to the piazza to bring in the merry fugitive : she had thrown open the blinds, and the moon was shining brightly upon her face, but what was his surprise to see that her beautiful cye» were suffused with tears !
184J.] The Stone House o- the Susquehanna, 2.*)
OHAPTKR TllRTBlKTU.
'A^iDR they stood,
?I«»tron nrd chiM, and ]»itnes8 manhood — nil
Who met him on hia w^y — and let him paaa.' 7'an Lspkr.
Calpano bad been a constant visitor at the bouse of Bias Elisondo during the illness of his * clear friend' — for be was pleased to confer upon the Colonel that flattering epithet; and when bis keen, dark countenance, all vivacity and expression, was seen between the round, good-humored faces of the cousins, while he was narrating with vehement gestures some of his wonderful stories, it was as if two respectable shaddocks, growing on the same bough, bad waked up some bright morning and found a sharp little lemon grafted and growing between them ; and there was a sweet orange-blossom too at times in the group, for Adelaida was often a listener, and then the handsome face of the Llanero wore its most fascinating expression, and bis fine voice was modulated in a way that was more fascinating still. Then, too, bis graceful figure was handsomely set off by the becoming uniform he had worn since his arrival at Maturin ; and'no one could arrange a bouquet with more taste, or present it with more elegance than he ; beside, be had given Adelaida a beautiful young antelope ; and altogether bo was a great favorite with the family, including the intendant and house-keeper; who, although they quar- relled about every thing else, were united in this particular. So, when he came to take leave of the family, whidh happened a few days before the crisis took place that terminated so favorably for Harold, it was with regret on all sides ; and Bias had oflen told bis guest since, with a grave shake of the head and tight conti'action of the countenance, which was very like, if not quite, an expression, that Calpaiig was an excellent, good-hearted muchacho, (^oy,) an<l that be — meaning Harohl — had never met with a more pei*fect cahalero (gentleman) since the day he was bom. Nor was the good padre bcbintl in bis commendations, to which Adelaida assented ; so that Harold found the first impression wearing away ; and as it was known that Calpang bad gone on a mission of danger and difficulty, be even felt himself daily growing more desirous of seeing him return again in safety. With these thoughts in his mind the Colonel walked lei- surely along the narrow strt ets, now looking at the dark, low houses, with their prison-like, iron-barred windows, or thinking of the con- trast between the strange people around him and the familiar faces that be bad left behind upon the banks of the Susquehanna.
He had determined that morning to take up his abode with the rest of the officers at the convent of the Dominicans ; for although Adelaida had explained the event of the preceding evening by say- ing that music always exercise*! a saddening influence upon her, ye£ he felt ihat there might be another reason for it which he scarcely dared whisper to himself. So, strolling along, he soon came in sight of the head-quarters of Ribas. The Dominican convent, whi( h had been deserted by the monks, etond fronting one of the plazaa, with
VOL. XAXllI. 4
26 The Sfone House on tht Susquehanna, [January,
its gray, wiiidowless walls, as stern and unattractive as the men who had formerly inhabiied it. The old square bell-tower, however, looked cheerful enough, for it was gleaming in the light of the mom- ino^ sun, and the tri-colored flag of the republic (yellow, blue and red,) was waving gaily from its summit. Passing through the large gate into the spacious court-yard filled with soldiers, and glancing up at the double tiers of galleries where the officers were chatting and smoking or looking listlessly down in the yard below, he entered the chapel-room, where he found the commander-in-chiefl Ribas rose to welcome him, and the officers clustered around with renewed congratulations upon his recovery. While he was conversing and looking up at the skylight overhead, and thinking of the old dusty organ ai^ainst which were piled unpeaceful spears and muskets and gaudy banners, he saw Ribas start up suddenly, and at the san>e mo- ment several officers uttered the word * Lepero 1* Harold turned around and si w a man just entering the hall whose appearance was more dreaded by the Spaniards than the pestilence— a leper! On he came, his long ragged garments trailing in the dust, while his bare ghastly arms issued from the dark drapery that was wrapped sround his breast, and the deadly white face gleamed amid his black tangled elf locks with a sepulchral hideousness as appalling as if a sheeted corpse had risen from its mouldeiing bed and moved among the living. A leper ! On he came, and as he approached the table the pale lips opened, a sickly smile passed over the face, and Ribas and Harold saw with a shudder that the keen black eyes of the Half-breed were twinkling in the spectral orbits of the hideous appa- rition.
•Calpang!'
* Si, Excelencia; I knew that I would sui-pi'ise you. You thought I was a lepero. Well, if Boves had not thoup;ht. so— gheck ! (snap- ping his fingers with a gesture as if his head had been struck offi) We Llaneros know many things, and to counterfeit the leprosy is not tiie most difficult. A few days will get this poison from m-y skin ; but I forget — Urica !* and the leprous hand came down emphatically upon the table; 'Urica! — to-moiTow five hundred march against the village, and if you do not protect it '
* And Maturin ]' said Ribas.
* Maturin,' replied the lepero, looking down at his white hand, •^is safe ; I know that from what I have heard.'
* And what was that V said Harold.
* That was — ah ! Colonel, I am happy to see you once more among us,' raising his keen eyes and fixing them upon him — * that was, they are to attack Urica ; that is, about fi've hundred.'
' And the remainder V
' Are to remain where they are for the present. Of course our general will send a sufficient force to capture or defeat the detach- ment.'
* Of course — cierto,' replied Ribas.
*" Might I ask to assist in this expedition V said Harold. ' If you think you can bear the fatigue.'
1849.] The Stone House on tU SusqueJuinna. '2,1
* You may rely upon that, so let me bid you good-day. My arrangements will soon be completed/
Harold, happy in having found an excuse for parting with his kind friends, hastened to the house of the e;ood Bias. He found Adelaida sitting pensively alone in the verandah.
' Adelaida, I have come to bid you farewell.'
' Farewell V
' Yes, for a time. I do not know how to express my thanks for the kindness you have shown me. I once had a dear sister — you have awakened in my heart a feeling that — Adelaida/ said he, taking her small hand in both his own, ' Adelaida, to-day I must leave you, and' — (oh ! how the thoughts struggled tumultuously in his bosom ! It was not love, but a tender emotion nearly akin to it, which lan- ffuaee could not express) — 'Adelaida' — as he repeated her name tor Uie third time, he felt the hand he held in his own tremble ; her head sank back against the butaca, and he saw that her face had turned as white as marble — she had fainted !
In a moment the old house-keeper answered his call for assistance, and the usual remedies restored the fair Creole to consciousness ; but the tears rained from her long silken lashes, and taking his hand, as if to bid him farewell, she raised her eyes and looked up in his face. There was no mistaking that expression ; he felt in the depths of his soul for the first time that he was beloved I
The trumpets sounding up the street reminded him that he had bat a few minutes to spare ; so raising the hand sho had- placed in hifl own to his lips, he said once more, ' Farewell !* and taking his weapons from the top of the sideboard, he left the hospitable house of Bias Elisondo with a heavy heart.
It was late at night when the detachment under the command of General Bermudes reached Urica, a little village situated upon the banks of a clear stream that, winding its way through the plains, shone peacefully in the light of the full moon. So, after setting the sentries and making preparations for the next day, tlie soldiei-s lapsed into slumber and awaited the morning. But morning came, and noon, and nearly night, before they saw any thing of the enemy. At last the word passed from lip to lip, * They are coming !' The cavalry under Bermudes were soon in the saddle, and Harold un- sheathed the sword of Eric with a thiill of pleasure.
There was a wood on one side of the village, and the horsemen were stationed in the broad path that was cut through the centre of it, while a feint of resistance appeared in front of the village in the shape of branches and rude breast-works of earth, which ha i been thrown up during the day. Artillery they had none ; that was an arm of defence but little known out of the larger cities of Venezuela.
' Look !* said Ayucha, who was beside Harold in the wood; ' there are more xhan five hundred in that body coming toward us. Ah ! the half-breed will make my word good this day !*
* But our force is still larger than that.'
' We shall see — we shall see. How dark it is growing ! — there
23 The Stone Hov/c (•:: the Susquchinna, [Januaiy,
will be rain soon ;* for heavy clouds rolling up in dense masses in tlie west spread a gloom over the vast plains.
Meantime the enemy were approaching, and they could make out that they were almost all on foot ; and now a flash of light from the deepening west and a heavy clap of thunder. Involuntarily every man grasped his arms, as if the electric fluid liad nerved him for ihe conflict.
• They have halted,' said Ayucha ; * now is the time !* Another flash of light and peal of thunder.
• Forward !* said Bcrmudes, and the troop of cavalry poured out of the wood like a spring stream that had swept away its barriei-s. On, on, on — over the shallow river and over the plain, with the speed of winged falcons and the thunder of countless hoofs, with the
I clash of arms, and shouts, and the waving of numberless spears and swords. On, on, on — wild with the terrible excitement that is only tj be assuaged with human blood ! On, on, on — it is for liberty! How many lips that were now shouting * Viva la patria!* would shout when the next hour dawned upon the world { On, on, on ! Again there came a bright glare of light.
' My God !' said Harold to Ayucha, • did you see that V •What?'
• There is a large hody of horsemen coming fro rn the West ! That last flash revealed them.'
• I thought no less. Ah, Calpang, my words have come true when it is too late.*
It was indeed too late, for in the next moment the air was rent with the discharge of musketry from the enemy, and the horses of Bermudes were trampling down the foremost ranks who .had given way with the impetuous charge of the patriots. And Harold, his brain whirling with excitement, his horse plunging and rearing among the falling men, while his long sabre and j^owerful arm rose and fell with death in every blow, soon found himself separated from Ayu- cha, and in the centre of a group of wretches, as a wild fierce shout from behind told him that the hoi-scmen of Bnves had come up and were acting in the temble drama. But did his stout heart quail ? Not an instant — turning his good horse toward the S(jund, he had hewn a way through tho fierce crowd and uplifted weapons around him. if his horee had not stumbled over one of the dead bodies and thrown him. In an instant a dozen flushed and angry faces glared over him, his sword was wrested from his hand, and he saw a rufiian with a malignant smile raise it over his head to despatch him, when a powerful arm anested the blow and an uncouth voice said, • Pri- soner.' Whoever the spokesman was he seemed to have some au- thority, for they obeyed his orders and bound Harold as he lay uj)on the ground.
• 1 know you ; you know me,* said the man who had saved his life.
There was something familiar in the voice, but the features were so hidden with beard and moustache and smutched with blood, that be could not recognise the face.
1^49.] The Stone House fm the Susijuehanna, 29
* You know mc,' repeated the man, * Look, see dis !* and he raised hid left hand — the thumb was gone, and Harold knew that the man who stood over him was Schlauft*. He was the prisoner of the Westuhaiian.
Meanwhile Ayucha, armed with his machete, which broad and heavy like a short Roman sword, was [minted red with the blood of iho miscreants, had endeavored to cut his way lo his friend ; but the patnots assailed on every side, astounded witli the unexpected at- tack of the horsemen of Boves, and broken a«d dismayed, were fly- ing over the plain, and reluctantly he too w;is obliged to turn and fly with the i*est. And now the great rain came pouiing down with impetuous fury, and the lightning gleamca over the waste, revealing glimpses of the pursuing and the pursued ; of flying and conflicting groups ; of fallen men, and liderless horses with streaming manes and tails, running wildly in every direction. But Ayucha heard the sound of the river which lay between him and Uiica, and his horse, 8li!>ping and stumbling on the wet grass, still bore him onward, solitary, but still from the foe ; and now he gains the brink of the stream, that swollen into a torrent chafes through a rocky bed, its white foaming surface contrasting with the black ravine through which it was tumbling and ri»aring, while now and then the body of a man whirled past him, or a swimmintr horse, struggling and striving in vain to get a foothold. So, liding beside its brink to find a crossing place, he heard the shouts far away on his right in the direction of the defenceless village, and saw the clouds lift in the west, and a narrow strip of red light girdling the horizon. Suddenly the trampling of a horse alarmed him, and looking around he saw that a single horseman with a long spear, was close behind him. He felt for his machete ; it was gone ; but his horse sprang forward with the blow of the spur, and he unfastened the bow which until then he had not used. In an instant an arrow was notched in the string — the bow drawn — released! and the spearman fell from his saddle, was dragged along the ground, and then thrown senseless upon the plain.
* Who V said Ayucha, as the fallen man opened his eyes and glared wildly around him.
* Save my life ! you will be richly rewarded.'
* Who ] your name T said Ayucha, with the spear uplifted in the air.
* Boves ! a thousand doubloons *
* Save you V said Ayucha with a wild • laugh that rang into the clear air. * Y*tu .'* and down came the keen blade, through breast, and heart, and back, and deep, deep into the gi'ound that was be- neath him. ......
The storm that visited Matunn that evening, was but the precur- sor of another which swept over tlic city the next day, and left its tnires upon bloody thresholds, and streets heaped with the dead, and the blackened rafters of desolate houses ; a storm of fire and steel, more terrible in its eflects than the ancient passover ; a storm of men flushed with victory at Urica, and infuriated with the loss of
30 TIu Stone Htmsc on the Susquehanna, [January,
their leader : a storm that broke the limbs and snapped the sinews of patriotism, and cast it prostrate, apparently never to rise again.
And Harold, who had fearlessly looked at death, as he stood there a bound and unwilling spectator, felt his stout he^rt give way when he thought of the brave Ribas, and the kind-hearted Padre, and the good Bias, and, oh, misery ! misery ! gentle, innocent Ade- laida, with all her youth and beauty, exposed, defenceless, and in the power of those merciless ruffians. As the scanty train of cap- tives passed through the familiar street toward the convent of the Dominicans, soon to be their prison, Harold saw with surprise that while the neighboring houses were filled with the wild soldiery, the house of Bias Elisonda stood untouched. There was a feelinor of relief in the sight ; and then he heard too that Ribas had escaped. But that afternoon, while standing in the court-yard of the convent, now filled with prisoners and surrounded by a hostile guard, he heard shouts in the plaza, and the trampling of horses. ' Ribas ! Ri- bas! muera Ribas!' (death to Ribas) was the cry: the wide gate opened ; he saw his brave commander enter,. wounded and in irons; then he was thrust into a narrow cell, and Harold heard one of his companions whisper :
* Bolt and shackle — bolt and shackle, and a platoon of musketry ! That is his fate, and your's, and mine.'
euAPTKN rooRTCEvrn.
* around, around,
The snow ia on the frozen groond, Rirer and rill are frore and still, The warm lun lies on the cold side-hill ; And the giant trees in the forest sound As their ice-clasped arms ware to and fro. And they shirer their gyres with a stalwart blow.*
Thb widower sat by the stove, smoothing the rusty crape which was sewed on his dilapidated hat with blue thread in stitches an inch apart, and as he twisted it round beneath his thumb and foi-e-finger, fae looked moumftilly out at the pump that stood with a crown of snow on one side of its head and a beard of icicles, like a one-armed Lear in front of the window of the Susquehanna hotel.
' Bates]' said he.
'Well, Tot.'
The little man looked down at his bombazine waistcoat ; there was a cloth patch over each pocket ; it was decent, however ; a mark of respect to the departed, so he raised up his head again with a feel- ing of^ pride.
' Bates V
* Well, Tot ; that 's four times you 've begun and you hain't no furder yet.'
* Waal,' said Mr. Tippin, crossing one leg over the other, putting his ruined hat over his right eye, and looking at the red face of the sergeant with the other : * Waal, ever since I lost my Betsy I kinder feel lost myself; things aint as they useter be ; I can't work, Bates.
1849.] The Stone House on the Susquehanna. 31
T' other day a woman comes with a pair o' shoes busted out 't she wanted sewed. The miuit I seed 'em I thought o' Betsy. ' I can't mend them shoes,- sez 1 ; them there toes look jest like my Betsy's toes used tue look/ sez I, 'mam ; and I 'd no more draw a thread through 'em than I 'd draw a thread through you/ sez I. ' I honor your feelin*/ sez she, * Mr. Tippin ; and ef you '11 lend me a wax end I '11 sew 'em myself/ said she. ' Then there aint no one to call me to meals, Bates ; when 1 git hungry I go help myself, but that aint no meal ; that 's only a satisfying the cravin's of appetite ; then, things kinder get dusty from standin', and I do n't know what looks lonesomer than to see dust around on the things, as ef there wam't no one to use 'em ; and when I go ham at night there aint no one to let me in; no one — no. I can't stan' it« JBates ; ef there was some one to scold me jest a leetle I 'd feel better ; but to be d^ prived of that comfoit, 1 can't and I won't stan'' it,
* Waal, what be you goin' to dew ?'
* Sell eOut to Bill Skannet, that 's what I 'm going to do^ and then I *m on my way — *
'VVharl'
' To South Ameiiky,' said! Tot, folding his arms and shaking his hat over the other eye. ' To South Ameriky V
* Yes, did n't you see in the paper t' other day that there was a Curnele Herrman a prisoner in what now 's the name —^ Barcelony 1
' Yes.'
' And supposed to be fromr our state. Barcelony ? — yes that 's k,'
* You do n't suppose that its — '
* Yes I dew, I thmk it's jist Mr. Herrman, and I 'm a goin' to go thar, and may be I can bail him out or suthin'.'
' Bail him ebut ? the only way you can bail himr ^out is with a bago^ net ; yes and a good many on 'em/
* Waal any way to git him ^out ; and oh. Bates ! ef he would only come back here and marry you know who — up thar.'
•Miss Grey 1*
' The same, that 's her,'' said Tot, with a knowing look, as if he hai} divulged a profound secret.
* Waal, 1 can tell yer,' replied the sergeant, • that *ll never be. She is to be married this here spring, and her clothes is a doin' neow. I know ; my sister's darter is a workin' thar every day, and they say the old man is a goin' in bizness with his son-in-law, Mister Squiddy, itt New- York.'
* Bates,' said Tot, ' as a gineral thing I do n't think wimmen can ber relied on.'
* Of course not.'
* My Betsy was an exception ; she could. She was a woman that had her p'ints abeout her.'
* Jest so.'
* But afore I 'd believe that Miss Grey would go and marry that ere Yorker, I 'd believe she 'd go and marry that ere pump.'
* Ef that ere pump had money V said Bates.
32 The Stone ILm^c on 'Iic Si/Jiquelianna. ' [Janr.ary,
* Jest so,* replied Tot, ny if it hatl not struck him in that way he- fore. *Je^ so, as you say, * ef it had money;' but slie is such a pretty creatur, and arter we fe?«und the hole up thar whar the Jarmin was a goin* to blow *era up and wo told her father, and then we come to find heow that Heirman saved both their lives, and so lost his heJuse and sister. Oh, Bates ! ef she *s got any feelin' — *
* Aint she a woman 1' said the bachelor sergeant.
' Jest so — so she is, I do n't mean to dispute it, she is a woman ;* and Tot placed his hat over both eyes as if he had brought his reflec- tions to a close and was going to keep them so.
* Tot,' said the Serjeant, placing the fore finger of his right hand in the palm of his left and shutting one eye, while wrinkled sagacity lurked in the comer of the other — * Tot, wimmen 's alike, and ef you love 'em tew much it kinder sickens 'em.'
* That 's it,' replied Tot, putting his hand on the sergeant's knee, * now when I courted Betsy Bulwinkle 1 kept company with ano- ther gal, and so one night scz I, * Betsy, I like you, and I cum here to know ef its agreeable to you to be married.* * Can't say it is,' sez she. * I thought so,* scz I, * and I 'm jest a goin' over to ask John Bunco's darter.' * Won't you set deiiwn, Mr. Tippin,' sez she. • I can't stay,' sez T. * Lor, Mr. Tippin.' sez she, * you need not be in sich a hurry, let 's set down and talk it over,' scz she. So I sot deliwn and we talked it over, and we was married in three weeks from that very night. * But she 's gone,* continued Tot, mournfully, and * she wast a woman that had her p'ints.*
' Hallo !' said Bates, * there they come.'
And with the clang of bells ringing in the clear frosty air, and the horses tossing their heads with pride, and a multitude of fure di-ag- ging in the white snow, an elegant sleigh swept past the tavern. They could see that Mr. Grey was there, and Edla beautiful in a collar of swan-down, and Mr. Squiddy, and even Aunt Patty, wrap- ped up and furred to the rims of lier spectacles.
* Which way 're they bound ]* said Bates to the man who stood looking after them from the open gate.
' To New- York.'
* It 's the weddin' then V
* I reckon.'
* Tot,' said Bates, ' that 's the weddin' ; you need n't go to Barce- lony.*
* That's the weddin* heyl Her weddin' ! and him a pinin* in a prison in Barcelony ; him that loved her so that he would have died 'afore ho had seen her harmed. Oh, Bates ! to think that that are in*cent-looking purtey creatur' should have a heart as hard as a lap- stone. They call 'em the tender sex ? 1 'd like to know what for? Tender ! We 'm the tender sex ; we *ve got the tender hearts that melt like wax with the warm tears of affliction. I *ve known that 'ere boy for twenty years. Bates, and I tell ye he 's a man. And ef the hull world desarts him, I *11 stick to him. I '11 go to Barcelony. *T aint no use a shaking your liead — I '11 go ! When I make up my mind to dew a tiling 1 *il dew it ! That 's one o' my p'ints, Bates.
1849.] The Stone House on the Susquehanna. 33
I '11 go. You might jest as well try to stop that ere snow from melt- in' in summer as to stop me. I '11 go. As Dominie Whittle sez, ' en- treat me not to leave thee and from a followin' arter thee ; whar you go I '11 go, and whar you do n't go I wo n't go, and I '11 stick tew you till death do us part, and — what 's the rest. Bates V
* Can't say.'
' Never mind, that ere's the sent'ment,' and the little man thrust both his hands in his pockets, drew down the two tufts of grey fur that served for eyebrows, and looked at the frozen Lear as if he would Gorgonize him on the spot, and stop the motion of his one arm for- eveu
OBAPTIS rirTKBlTTa.
* The convent-bells are ringing,
But moamfallj and slow ; In the grey square turrent swinging.
With a deep sound, to and fro.
Heavily to the heart the; go t • Hark t the hymn is singing —
The song for the dead below ;
Or the living, who shortly shall be so 1' Paaisuia.
It was early dawn and the streets of Barcelona were wet with a heavy sea-fog that shrouded spire and turret, wall and houses in pierce- less gloom ; but already multitudes were thronging toward the plaza, and the sound of melancholy bells pealed through the murky air, mingled with shouts and drums, the tramping of armed men and the clatter of horsemen over the naiTow pavements. The sentinel on the wall paced carefully along his narrow path, fearful of a false step which might precipitate him on the rocks below. Vainly did he look toward the sea. Sea and land and sky were hidden in vapor ; the red flash of the morning gun and its startling report broke beneath his feet, but he could see neither gunner nor oranance through the heavy mist
In a little arched cell faintly illumined by a flickering taper that dimly lighted up rude walls of unhewn stone, a massive staple and chain, a hammock, and the prison window whose bare iron squares, were relieved against the cold gray sky — in that close cell which had been his abode for some months, and before whose door wa« a file of soldiers ready to lead him to execution, stood the con- demned with a smile upon his lips and a feeling of relief in his un- daunted heart, for the hour had come, the closing hour of a life de- voted to his country, the hour which was to consummate his career and elevate him to an equality with the patriots of antiquity ; the true heroes whose names will live when lines of kings are nameless and forgotten.
* The bells are tolling, padre !'
The good padre threw his arms around the neck of the prisoner, and his tears wet the cheeks of both as he embraced his friend for the last time.
Outside of the broad iron-rivetted gate of the prison soldiers are pressing back the crowd and clearing an open space, while two men
VOL. zzxiii. 5
31 The Sfane House on the Susquehatma. [January,
bring forward a heavy cljair covered with black cloth, and place it upon a platform against the wall, on one side of the gnte. Cheerily shines the sun through the mist, gleaming upon the damp walls of the houses, gilding the spires, and revealing the expectant faces of the populace.
And now a burst of music within the prison-yard makes every heart quake in unison with the drums ; the iron-bound doors swing open, and forth come musicians playing the dead-march, an^ then soldiers. File afler file of muskets wheel into the open plaza, and after them the priests in their white robes ; a space, ami then the prisoner, followed by the Spanish officers. * Rioas !' is whispered through the crowd. Calmly and firmly the brave republican strode beneath the portals of the gate. He cast one look upon the silent audience that were awaiting his death, one glance upward into the clear blue sky, the bright dome to which his spirit was hastening, and then, as if he were ascending a tribunal, he seated himself in the fatal chair and looked upon the preparations for his execution.
An officer now read from a paper : * Jost-ph Felix Ribas, a fnalig- nant traitor, after a long career of profliga/^y and crime, by the mercy of God delivered into the hands of his majesty* s loyal subjects in the valley of Pagua on the twentieth of December last. It ts decreed that Ac shaU suffer the punishment of death and decapitation for his eTiormities, and that his head shall be exposed in the public plaza at Caraccas as a foaming and an example. Long live the good Ferdinand the Seventh, King of Spain and the Indies P
There was a smile upon the lips of the prisoner when the officer concluded ; it hovered there while the platoon wheeled in front of him ; the ominous sound of the rammers as the soldiers drove home the cartridges deep in the barrels of the muskets did not disturb it, and there it rested when the bright instruments of death were raised and levelled.
The subaltern in command of the platoon turned to General Morales. He nodded.
« Fire !'
And as the fi'esh breeze dispersed the smoke the multitude saw that the body had fallen against the side of the chair, and that the blood was streaming from the gory head upon the black pall that covered the platform.
Reiterated discharges of musketry during the morning, indicative of the fate of the patriot officers, were heard by the solitary sentinel as he paced backward and forward on the wall ; and now, the guard having been relieved, he hastened to the quay, where a crowd of people were watching the movements of a schooner that could be seen in the distance beating up toward the town. A puff of smoke from the battery, the ball skipped across her bows, she rounded to, and the flag of the Northern republic fluttered up to the peak and 'streamed out gaily as she dropped anchor in the bay. A little boat put off from her side, and, impelled by the sturdy arms of the oars- men, soon shot over the sunny waves and gained the quay. There
1649.] The Stone House on the Susquehanna 35
was a brisk cross- fire of question and answer between one of the men who understood Spanish and an officer.
• A trader V
• Si, Senor/
* And her cargo V
• Flour, pork, butter, dry-goods/
* From what port V
* Boston.'
• Where is that V
* In the United States,' said the m^^n, passing his broad hand over his mouth, and taking out oif it a sumptuous chew of tobacco.
' Is this raly Barcelonj V said another one of the men, who was standing in the boat with his head peeping over the quay.
' This is the place, shipmate.'
' Waal, I wonder ef '
' Tod !' said a voice, and the sentinel stood in front of the spokes- man.
The little man shrank back as if an adder had suddenly uncoiled itself in front of him ; for the man who addressed him offered his ieft hand at the same time. ' Schlauff !' said he, trembling until the crape at the back of his hat fluttered like a miniature Bag, * be you alive ] Heow did you git through V
' Troo \ I got on a tree up dere in der vader dat was holded by der shore. Come up here.'
The little man scrambled up fearfully on the quay.
' Dere is a friend of you here.'
* I know it.'
• Do you want to get him from der prison out V
The little man swallowed something that appeared to be choking bim, and replied, * Come a-purpose.*
' Veil den, come vid me ;' and the German led him off through the gate, up the narrow streets, and away to a distant and secluded part of the toWn.
Meantime Padre Pacbeco, after parting with his unfortunate Gene- ral, was walking slowly through one of the deserted streets, sorrow- fully and alone ; when he saw a man coming toward him, dressed in the uniform of a Spanish ofHcer.
'Maldicion!' said the Padre, 'it is the accursed Llanero: vile serpent! villain!' continued he aloud, as C alp an g confronted him, ' listen to those sounds ; do you not fear that Heaven will strike you to the earth ? is it not through you that the best blood of your coun- try streams upon the pavement and mingles with the dust of this ac- cursed city 1 traitor I apostate ! can you smile while the noble Ribas lies yet warm and bleeding, from Uie wounds you have inflicted 1 You '
• Gently, srood Padre/ replied the Half-breed, * you forget ; but for me those muskets might be ringing for you ; so may mey yet ; be careful.'
* I care not. Brave Ribas ! does Heaven sleep while such as you perish, and such as he survive and triumph 1 Why should J live ?
36 The Stone House on tlie Susquehanna, . [JaDuary,
* Because I wish you to be present at my wedding.'
* Your wedding %* said the priest, surveying him contemptously, * Soga 1 it is false.'
'You will see to morrow after my duties in the plaza. She has consented. Adios!' and the Llanei'o passed on.
•Merciful queen of Heaven! Mary, mother of God! save her from that fate. Consented ] my Adelaida, my sweet girl, his wife ] Oh ! no, no, save her, merciful Mary, and all the saints ! save her, save her ; rather let her die, poor girl. But I may do something yet,' and the Padre hastened on, * I will see her and Bias ; better to have peiished in Maturin, I will see her; there mny be some way of escape, I can pass them at the gate ; the sentinel wil] re- spect the old padre ; once on the plains, there is a hope ;' and he opened the gate in front of the house. * Who are you ?'
A sentinel was pacing up and down the garden path ; he did not answer, but held up his hand with a respectful gesture, indicating that the padre must not advance.
* By whose ordere ]'
* Captain Calpang's.'
* Son,' said the padre, * do you know who I am ; do you see this cross upon my breast ]'
* I do, padre, but I can admit no one without his orders.*
* Son,' repeated the padre, advancing closer to the soldier, * do you not fear excommunication V
* I do, padre, but I must obey orders.'
* Son,' said the padre, suddenly springing upon him and wresting the musket from his grasp, * if you offer to cry out, I '11 blow your floul into the other world. Forward and open the door.'
* But, padre '
* No words ; open the door.' The man obeyed.
* Bias !' said the padre, calling, *Blas !'
The cousin showed his round face over the railing of the corri- dor. * Eh ! eh ! what 's all this V
* Down here quick, and tie this man. If you move V for the sol- dier showed signs of rebellion. * Quick, Bias; that cord around the hammock — around his arms — so; lie down, son, — around his legs — so, now your handkerchief ; we must gag him — bueno !' and the soldier lay gagged and bound upon the red tik^s of the hall.
* Ah, Adelaida !' said the padre, pressing the beautiful girl to his heart ; we must fly ; this is no place for you, nor me, nor any of ub. The accursed Calpang has threatened *
But Adelaida took the hands of the padre between her own, and looking up into his face with a mute expression of grief in her tearful eyes, replied :
* Alas ! father, I must remain ; I have sworn to marry him to-mor- row.'
* Who 1 not this reptile ; this Llanero !'
* Yes, father.'
' It is too true/ added Bias*
1849.] The Stone House an the Susquehanna. 37
• I will absolve you from your oath/ She made a eesture of denial.
'Heaven help us/ said the padre, we are all mad! 'Here/ continued the padre, taking the handkerchief from the mouth of the sendn^y ' swear upon this crucifix that you will never reveal to a living being what you seen or heard this morning.'
' I swear 1' and the sentinel kissed the cross.
The padre cut the cords and the soldier rose from the floor, took his musket, and with a glance of admiration at the brave priest, open- ed the door and agtdn was pacing up and down the narrow path- way.
' Adelaida,' said the padre, taking the weepine girl once more in his arms, ' I am going to the prison — Colonel Hermano yet lives ; to morrow terminates his existence, but I will tell him that you are to be married — married!' continued he with a trembling voice, while tears rolled down his cheeks, ' and perhaps the information will render happy the few remaining hours of his life.'
She smiled faintly, and her bright eyes slione through her tears, like the dawn breaking in a misty morning.
'Mad! mad!' said the nadre, hastily, ' fkrewell, I am going to the prison ; she is bewitchea ;' and the padre opened the door, brush- ed past the sentry, and walked rapidly toward the plaza.
' Capt'n,' said Tot, as he stood again upon the deck of the trader,
• heOw would you like to leave here to-night V
Captain Bilsey was a narrow-faced man, with a sharp collar on each side of his sharp physiognomy that seemed to have been cut for miniature models of a flying jib. He was habited in a linen jacket, duck pantaloons, a clean shirt, and yellow buckskin shoes ; and on the back of one of his hands, was a blue ship and on the other a blue anchor, that had been tatooed there when- he served bis apprentice- ship on board of a New- Bedford Whaler.
• Well,' replied he, after taking a couple of turns on the deck,
• that's jist what I 'd like to do. You see, Mr. Tippen, I cum here for tradin' ; well, they want my articles, but things look as if they aint
a goin' to pay for 'em ; now that don't suit, and I think the d d
picaronies want to git an excuse and clap on to the schooner. But we 're in the trap ; I aint got no pilot, and if I had. there 's the guns of the fort, and heow the devil to' get eOut I do n't know.'
• Can't you catch that yaller feller that fetched us up this morn- ing, and stick him away somewhere till you want him V
• Tippin.' said the Captain, looking down at him over his larboard flying jib. ' that idee 's woith a thousand. I '11 have him as sure 's my name is Bill Bilsey/
• And, Capt'n, do you see that are gray building, up there, with the wall around it ; just beyond them there two steeples V
• Captain Bilsey raised his hand with the ship on it over his eyes to keep out the sun, and looked in the direction indicated. ' Yes.'
• He 's in that ; him that I told you on. We must git him e5ut first, afore we start.
' Tipping replied Captain Bilsey, ' time and tide wait for no man ;
38 The Stone Ilouat am the Susquehanna. [January,
we must start with the wind ; if astern, good, if not, beat out But if I once get beyond the reach of them long irons in the battery, I 'm all right. I '11 lend you a boat, and if you do n't get aboard in time, I *\\ anchor off that long pint of sand and you can jine me. They *ve got no gardy-costers, and there I 'm aafe — come^ a little New-England on it,' and the two conspiratoiB disappeared down the companion way.
One anxious spectator had seen the arrival of the schooner. Through the iron gratings of his prison window he beheld her slen- der tapering spars i*elieved against the clear blue sky ; and, oh ! how the gushing recollections welled up from the daik caverns of me- mory ; ho saw the stripes and stars fluttering from the peak ; the flag of his native land — i)f home ! the dear country of his childhood ; and a desire for life once more arose in his bosom ; once more to clasp a fiiendly hand ; once more to hear the dear familiar language of old times^ and then death was welcome ! desirable. But all in- tercourse with the prisoners was forbidden ; even the padre had been i*efused admittance that afternoon, and with a heavy heart Harold saw the glow of sunset floating like sifled gold upon the bay. then deepen into night ; then dai kness — for a storm was rising, and he could hear the prophetic murmur of the distant 8ui*f ; yet he kept his station at the window, straining his eyes to get a glimpse of the schooner, vainly, except when the lightning revealed her for an in- stant, and then all was darker than befoi*e. It w^ now near mid- night, and he was saturated with the rain that drove through the bars of the cell windows ; sometimes a vivid flash discovered the sentry standing on the wall, which was about twenty feet from the prisqn ; there was a species of companionship in it, and he kept his eyes flxed upon that spot ; when to his surpiiso a sudden glare of light discovered another man upon the wall, and the two appeared to to drawing up something together from the outside. In a few minutes he was startled by a heavy body striking against the window, and thrusting forth his manacled hand he felt a round bar of wood like the tung of a ladder, and in the next instant a voice uttered his name in a whisper.
* Mister Herman !'
* Merciful Ood ! — who is that ]'
* T-o-t Tip-pin! There's no time to lose! Here's a file— I got another $' and the little man, afler giving Harold a hearty shake of the hand to convince him that something substantial was outside of the bars, went to work with a hearty good will.
* How did you get here 1* said Harold, filing away at his iron bracelets.
* Come in the • Lively Prudence,' ' replied Tot, cutting away at the bar.
* How did you get here ?'
' Never mind,' (for Tot did not think it politic to let Harold know to whom he owed his deliverance,) * woik away. I 'm behind time, for I missed the place, got below, and come nigh havin' a bagonet through me.'
1849.] An Epigram. 33
They continued their work for some time in silence.
• Who *8 that 'ere a-comin' thar V for a cone of light, like the ra- diation from a lantern, was visible through the fine rain, moving along the dark walls.
• Changing the guard.'
' Changing the guard ?' said Tot, letting the file drop in conster- nation ; * then it 's all up with us !'
In a few minutes the guard was relieved, Tot recovered his file, and worked with desperation at the stubborn casement. Meanwhile the rain died away, and a hazy indication of light through the clouds warned them of their danger ; they could even see the dark figure of the sentry as he walked past them on the wall.
• That 's three !' said Tot, in a whisper. ' And I am nearly through this.'
But it grew lighter every instant ; they could even see the round shape of the moon riding through the thin rack above them.
' Hush !' said Tot, turning his head ; ' he 's a-lookin' right at us !'
• Quien va V challenged the sentry.
Tot scrambled down the ladder, seized it with his powerful hands, ran across the dry ditch, and with well-directed aim struck the sen- tinel a blow that toppled him over the parapet just as his musket exploded. * Alerto ! alerto !' rang along the wall from the different sentries ; then a drum ; the guard turned out, torches flashed in the air, and Harold saw that Tot had escaped and that the soldiers were gathering around a ladder which rested against the wall. And now the moon unveiling her face like a beauteous' bride, gazed with her placid beauty upon the dimpling watei-s of the bay ; but where wa^ the schooner 1 Like a vision she had faded at the approach of light; and while Harold heard the clash of keys as the guard opened the *<loor of his cell, that prophetic voice seemed to ring again in his ears : * Bdt and sJiackle, bolt and xhackle, and a fie of musketry ! That is his fate, and yours, and mine /*
Day breaks again over the city ; once more the tolling bells, the gathering crowd ; once more the chair of sacrifice, the direful music, the opemng gate, the serried lines. The good padre accompanies the prisoner — the last of the patriots. With a firm step Harold mounts the platform ; he is seated and bound ; the fatal platoon wheels in front of him, and a fiush passes over his face ; for the offi- cer in command is Calpang, the half-breed !
E P I O B A M.
Anna, though not with many virtues blessed, 'Mid heartless gayeties inclined to roam,
Of one' domestic virtue is possessed : Hen is a charity — * begins at home.'
40 Our Winter Birds. [Jfinaary,
#ttr fS&inttx 3Bic^8.
THE SNOW-BIRD.
*Cax.x. the creatoret. Whoae naked oftturea lire in all the spight Of wreakful Hearen.'
A MTfTio thing it the gray niow-biid
That Cometh when winds are cold ; When an angry roar in the wood is heard,
And the flocks are in the fold. Though bare the trees, and a gloomy frown
Is worn by the wintry sky. On the frosted rail he settles down,
And utters a cheering cry: Why should a note so glad be heard ? A mystic thmg is the gray snow-bird.
n.
In sullen pauses of the storm
He waii>le0 out his lay, Though wing he hath to wal\ his form
From the chill north far away. Why wandereth not the feathered sprite
Through Heaven's airy halls, To a land where the blossom knows no blight.
And the snow-flake never falls : Why linger where the blast is heard? A mystic thing is the^ gray snow-bird.
Sweet offices of love belong
To the smaller tribes of earth. From the mead-lark, piping forth his song.
To the cricket on the hearth ; And the mystic bird of winter wild
His blithest note ontpouiB When the bleak snow-drift is highest piled
Upon our northern shores ; An envoy by our Father sent. To banish gloom and discontent
Oh ! we are taught by his gladsome strain
That the sunuiine will come back. Though scud thd clouds — a funeral train.
Arrayed in solemn black ; That the streams from si amber will awake.
The hoar-frost disappear. And the golden wand of Spring-time break
Green Wmter's icy spear : Then let our hearts with joy be stirred. For a herald glad is the gray snow-bird !
1849.] Leaves frotn an Afrxtan Jimmal, 4t
When my perished flower on the creaking bier
To a sunless couch was borne, Hope, like the snow-bird, came to cheer
My breast with anguish torn ; And I thought, in the winter of my grief,
Of a land of light and bloom, Where the yew-tree never dropped ^leaf
On love*s untimely tomb ; Where knit anew are broken ties. And tears stream not from mourilfiil eyes.
W. K. 9. U4
L£aV£s from an African journal^
UT JOllM
TH>: KROOilEN AND THEIR CANOES.
Saturday, Notbmbbr 27. -^ To-day bas been a wet, close an^ clammy one^ more disagreeable tban any we bave bad as yet. I baci iDtendetl spending it ash6re, bat found too mucb to attend to aboardt to indulge myself witb propriety. The little scbooner or pilot-boat from New- York has been dodging about the harbor all day, unwil^ ling to pay anchorage duty, and standing off and on for the super' cargo, v^bo is trying to drive some bargains ashore. Strong suspi-' cions of her honesty are-entertained among us and in town. Sne left during the night and stood out to sea.
I amused myself during leisure moments with watching and listen- ing to the Kroo crews of our wooding and provisioDing boats. Those who pull for us rejoice in queer names, such as ' Frying-pan/ ' Bob' and 'Jack Purser,' ' Fourtb-of-July,' etc., and so stand on the ship's books. In the launch, Ben Johnson, the head Krooman (.known and distin-* guished by a cleaner and longer gown and apron,) holds the ruddef and directs their movements. They start with a shrill and modu- lated squeak, something like that produced by boys with vine trum- eets, and when well under way enliven their labor at the oars by a- ind of bowling recitativoi the primitive native poetty and extempo- raneous melody of these rtfde barbarians. With song and incessant chattering they toil all day, eating notbine but rice and biscuit, and not taking their turn at the grog-tub, as do our sailors, twice in the twenty-four hours. Some of these fellows have been to other coun- tries ; one, for instance, to New- York, and another to LiverpooL I asked the latter how be liked England. He answered, ' Too mucb snow ; too cold.'
We are surrounded all day by small Kroo canoes, and their nakej owners wait patiently under the broiling sun from mom till nighty well content to. sell a few plantains or Iwnanas, and well pleased tdr VOL. xspcui. 6
42 Leaves frnm an Afriran Journal. [January,
pick up a few trifling silver pieces for their pains. The rower sits squatting, with his legs drawn up beneath him, in the centre and bot- tom of his long, narrow, light, high-bowed * dug-out,' and with his little paddle makes his buoyant canoe ' walk the water like a thing of life/ Sometimes a shocking bad straw hat adorns his woolly pate, the only approach to civilized costume ; but generally the perpen- dicular rays of the orb of day find his skull unprotected save by that covering which Nature has endowed the Kroo savage witli, for use, and not, most assuredly, by way of ornament. Their meals, while in this croutJiing attitude, they take from their thighs, placing the biscuits and fruits they manage to pick up on this convenient and natural table. These singular people, their strange-looking boats, and queer way of eating, form quite an important feature in our every-day's sights and observations.
THE PRESIDENT AND SUITE ON BOARD.
Monday, November 29. — The weather to-day is showery and menacing ; a heavy rain caught our boats, despatched about ten a. m. for the use of the p res dent and suite, who were to partake of a col- lation with the commodore The Liberian dignitary came off, the party pretty well sprinkled on the way, in a couple of hours, the weather having improved in the mean time, attended by three gen- tlemen of color — Colonel Forbes, his aid; the Rev. Mr. Payne, a Methodist missionary, his pastor; and a Mr. James, by profession a shoemaker. The captain of the ' Liberia Packet' had preceded the official deputation. The president and suite having been received with all due honor and ceremony, several o^the officers were invited to join the party in the cabin, and your humble servant among the number. After some time consumed in showing the ship and in conversation, the collation was announced as ready, and tne guests distributed at the well-filled board. Again were ducks, hams and chickens carved for our sable visitors, and healths drank and recipro- cated, while white waitera attended on the new republicans ; and though our gubernatorial banquet ashore, last Thursday, went some way toward accustoming us to the novelty of such particolored company, still I for one could not feel myself quite at ease under the circumstances of the case. I cannot wholly control the effect of •outhem education and habits, and do not believe that any amount of practice will reconcile me to such piebald association. Yet did the president and friends conduct themselves with great dignity and propriety, and prove by their remarks and answers that they were men of intelligence and observation. Indeed, the conduct of these people generally, so far as I have had an opportunity of observing,, m their social intercourse with each other and with strangers would put many a white man, with better gifts and opportunities, to the blush.
Toward the close of the collation the commodore requested that the company should be prepared to respond and do honor to the
1S49.] Leaves from an African Journal. 43
seDtiment he was about to propose, prefkcing it with the remark that the flag of Libeiia was then waving at the fore, and offered the health of President Roberts, and his sincere wishes that the republic might be prosperous and happy ; to which the governor responded by proposing that of the president of the United States, and his own thanks and those of his fellow citizens for the compliments paid and the kind reception they bad enjoyed. The entertHinment was soon brought to an end, the boat was presently manned, and our visitors departed, well satisfied and pleased with their excursion to the Jamestown.
We were informed by the President that he had just succeeded in. purchasing for two hundred dollars, from the natives at Little Sesters, a tract of land some twenty miles down the coast, which now gives them nearly all the territory to Cape Palmas, with the exception of Great Sesters. There is a large slave Victory at Little Sesters, owned by the Portuguese, and he intends to notify them at once of the sale, and to order them to remove. If they resist he will use force. The Government is anxious to complete the purchase of the entire line of coast from Cape Mount to Cape PHlmas, and is in negotiation for that purpose with the natives of the former place and Great Sesters. British and French claims clog the matter. It neems that these sales by the native tribes transfer political as well as territorial rights, and that the Liberian Government exercise political sway over their new subjects who choose to remain on the purchased tract and retain their customs and habits. When these customs and habits conflict with Christian laws and usa^s, the Government try to do away with such of them as are superstitious and cruel, as administenng sassy- wood, and other death-dealing, judicial ordeals, etc.
It is said that the English intend to destroy the great slave factory at the Gallinas next month, which, with the acts and declarations of the Ltberians, and with* other national inteference, may contribute aomewhat toward suppressing the infamous tiuflic in human flesh. It is by striking at the root ot the evil, and ailer excluding slave fac- tories, by establishing orderly and reputable settlements on their ruins, that the trade is to be crippled and suppressed, more than by armed cruizing, however active and zealous.
I had some interesting conversation! with Messrs. Payne and James on the subject of education, and am induced to infer, if their accounts be correct that the schooling of the children and natives is pretty well provided for. But as I am to procure more detailed information on this point, and about all other interesting matters which concern the republic upon our return, I will not now enter on the subject.
One «.f the subjects of conversation at table was the Chimpanzees, a kind of orang-outang, found some twenty miles in the interior from Monrovia, and paiticularly in the neighborhood of Cape Palmas. They vary in size from that of a small dog, to four or five feet in height, bear a ludicrous resemblance to the human family, and are even domesticated, and educated after a fashion. Sometimes they are dangerous. A story is told nf a settler being killed by a very large one, which got hold of the man's gun while he was resting hitn-
44 Liavesfrom an African Journal, [January,
aelf at the foot of a tree, and afler a struggle between them, the latter was so much injured as to sunriye but a few hours. The man's com- panion came to his aid too late tti saye him, but time enough to kill the animal. The natives believe that the Chimpanzee was their great progenitor, the first of the human family in Africa. Probably he lost the faculty of speech at the Tower of Btfbel. No tradition or au- thentic history has therefore come down to us on the subject.
I was somewhat amused after supper with the operation of pay- ing off the Rroomeu, who had been attached to our ship while in port. Gathered around the Purser, and their movements wati-bed by many of the officers and men, Ben Johnson, Ben Coffee, Frying Pan,Wee Peter, Jack Rope-yam, Half Dollar, etc., when their euphonious names were called, stepped forth and touched, with evident satisfaction, the small silver pittance allowed for their services. Not having about them the luxury of purse or pocket, the greasy fellows stowed the silver away in dirty cotton rag^ carried in their hats. It was not until the *Jl/sf had given Captain Ben Johnson, head krooman, a couple of ' man- of-wur books,' or recommendations for honesty and hard work, which they well deserved, that our sable acquaintances took their leave, to return to their lowly huts and many dames, provided with the means to buy more * fine woman,' and profiting by the select and pnzed advantages of the 'Griggre hush,^and their careful superintendents, the old Duennas. I really feel a great interest in these poor Kroo- men, and am sorry we do not take them with us on our cruise. I hope we shall get them again, or as good, on our return.
I regret that occupations on board, and the inconvenience of land- ing through the surt, at times very heavy, have prevented me from learning more about Monrovia and its people. My means of obser- vation have been irregular and scanty, and I have been obliged to put down such information and impressions as I considered worthy of preservation, in a vei^ desultory and superficial manner. I sus- pend my opinion of place and people until I get a better insight into mattei-s, and content myself with merely observing, that I have for the most pait been gratified, edified and instructed. But it is nothing more than fair to say that many unfavorable repmts and opinions have been freely expressed about the people and their prospects How far they are correct or false, I 'cannot at present venture to discuss. * Sub judice lis est.'
UNDER WAT.
TuBBOAT, November 30. — Although I heard the well-known hoarse call of the boatswain and his mates this mornin?, before five o'clock, for * all hands up anchor,* knowing that as an idler I would be in the way. and better therefore where 1 was, 1 kept my room, and only sallied forth to breakfast, to find ourselves once more under way, with a fine, calm day, and but a gentle breeze, within a few miles of Uie Cape, and a sail, believed to be a French man-of war, in sight. We are heading nor*west, to look after the schooner that dodged about Mesurado roads in so queer a manner, and of whom so much
1849.] heaves from an African Journal. 45
BUiipicion was entertaiDed. If she be a slayer, and bovering about the Gallinas, I hope we may be so lucky as to catch her.
Cape Mount is about thirty five miles from Cape Mesurado, and on a clear day these eminences may be seen from each other. The coast between is low, forming a large and regular curve, so that both these points become good Jand-marks to the navigator. Cape Mount is somewhat over eleven hundred feet in height, and to those ap- proaching it in front, presents a conical shape, and is visible a con- siderable distance out ut sea. Canot's slave factory was established in this lieighborhoo'l, but is now broken up. The nearest slave d6p(^t is at the Gallinas, and is known as Pedro Blanco's. Cape Mesur^do rises to an elevation of about six hundred feet, possesses the great requisites of good water at its base, and a light house on its summit, which, though feeble and badly attended to, still lights and directs the mariner some distance off into the roadstead. Both these Capes are well wooded and prominent objects in the prospect. A signal staff is erected ahmg^ide the light-house on Cape Mesurado, and vessels In the offing are promptly telegraphed.
THOnOHTS OF HOME.
Wednesday, Decbmber 1 . — We begin the new month, a few miles off Cape Mount, with a temperature of S0°, a pleasant little breeze to give us motion and a hazy atmosphere. 1 am thinking about home, and fancy folks gathered around the winter fire, and wrapping themselves up snugly before venturing out into the cold rain and chilly atmospheVe, while we, in these hot latitudes are hunt, ing for cool places, and wearing as light garments as the climate renders safe and prudent. People at home are now laying in their winter supplies and preparing for the celebration of Christmas, and all the domestic, comfortable fire-side enjoyments of the season ; while we, wanderers on the deep, have naught to look forward to, for the next ten mont(>8, but the same almost unvaried succession of sum- mer days and nights, and monotonous existence ; and yet it is plea- sant to ponder on past scenes and occupations, and by the contrast between former ana present position, extract salutary food for reflec- tion and excitement rrom by gone joys and sorrows. So far I take things as they are, and make myself comfortable and easy. If time goes by with muffled oar on this broad ocean, he does not often shake the nerves and startle the imagination by abrupt and violent move- ments; and though monotony and an enervating climate may imper- ceptibly deaden the fancy, and undermine the constitution, still the changes come on so gradual and gently, that we know not, feel not the operation.
While we were gliding past the Cape, the breeze still very light, a boat with three men aboard ventured out, and aAer dinner I went on deck to see them They turned out to be fish-men. and were dressed a little better than our friends the Kroomen, with their faces painted, flannel-shirts on, and those none of the cleanest. One of
46 Leaves from an African Journal, [January,
them wore a Scotcb-cap, no doubt considered an ornament and trea- sure. The fellow wbo paddled the canoe, and kept up with us u'ith- out much effort, was in still scantier costume, and more negro-looking than the two rather comely men who boarded us ; he had the back of his head shaved, and his lower jaw and lips projected in a re- markable degree. They brought off some fruit and fish for sale and barter. These fellows must be expert and fearless navigators, for they had pulled out some fi>ur miles from shore in a very slight boat, which leaked so fast as to keep one of the crew constantly bailing. They were just going over the side as I got on deck, so I had no time to converse with them. Both spoke a little English, and belong farther down the coast, being only on a visit to thid neighborhood.
A O E A 8 B .
Thursday, December 2. — A sail havinc^ been reported in sight early this morning, and her appearance and movements being deci- dedly suspicious, we are now busy giving chase. The schooner, supposed to be our New- York pilot-boat after slaves at the Gallinas, off which we now are, is about seven miles distant, (eleven, a. m.,) and we gain little or nothing upon her. We are making as much as possible out of our sails, keeping them wet and well trimmed, Hud watching, to profit by them, any change in the very light breeze, which prolongs the excitement and baffles our impatience to over- haul our light-footed fugitive. He seems unwilling to make a nearer acquaintance with us and wait to exchange compliments with a man- of-war brig, also in chase on our starboard quarts r, a boat from which is likewise pulling in hot pursuit, evidently doing better than either the stranger or ourselves in this calm sea and gentle breeze.
Half-past one. p. m. — Excitement still high. The breeze, having lulled into something very much like a calm, has again increased a little, and we are going ahead under a cloud of canvass, but not as fleetly as we would desire. The schooner is still several miles ahead, hull down, and has gained upon us somewhat since the lull came on. She is working with a zeal worthy of a better cause, and seems dispose* i to show us a clean pair of heels. Clapping on shin- sails and trimming ship with thiity two-pound shot, carried forward and anon aft by the crew, seem t<i bring us no nearer to the suspi- cious craft, and we are even fearful of being beaten by the British, also in full chase, and now so near us that with a spy-glass we can distinguish her guns and crew. She overtook the boat which she bad sent out in the forenoon, a half-hour ago, and is crowding all sail, like ourselves, in hopes of overhauling the stranger before night sets in.
Now that I have witnessed a chase at sea, I can i*ealize, to a con- .fiiderable extent, the interest of the occasion. Here, in sight of the low, desolate coast of Africa, are three well provided vessels ; strain- ing to the utmost limit their faculty of sailing. Skill, seamanship, a fine day, with a good breeze at times, to excite and encourage, all
1849.] ' Leaves Jratn an African Journal, 47
are united to keep all minds intent on the progress and issue of the struggle. Thougn with us, the interest felt in the matter is some- what damped and depressed by the British brig getting ahead, and threatening to OTerhaul the chase first, still we cannot abandon all hope of gettins^ up in time, and tbouffh faint that hope may be, as it is now four p. m., and the schoomer still hull down, and pushing on with a steadiness and speed which do credit to the skill of her crew, and the sailing qualities of the craft; and even though perchance she escape both the brig and ourselves, under the favoring shades of night, still shall we have enjoyed a day of excitement which should be marked with white chalk as a god-send in the long and dull suc- cession of those spent by cruisers on the monotonous coast of /Africa. A abort time before sunset, the relative positions of the paities to^ wards each other being very slightly altered, save by our losing ground, and the schooner and brig stealing somewhat ahead ; the former finding that John Bull would head him off nhore, to leeward, and we might do the same to windward, changed his course so as to aim for what he supposed was Shebar River, which, when once attained, might give him shelter and safety. Finding himself mistaken, he hauled off again to leeward ; and at it we went again, hand overhand, the one to ci'eep close in shore and dodge his pursuer during the night, the cruisers to bag him before it waxed too dark, or at least to hem him in, ready to be secured at break of day. Abandoning, at length, all idea of being in at tlie death, it was with regret and mortification that we saw the shades of night settle upon land and sea, and surrounding objects gradually shut out from the view. So, afler standing in until about a couple of miles from the shore, the Jamestown was brought to anchor, it being now nearly a dead calm, and a strong current setting inland, and d rifling us toward the beach. We are now in twelve fathoms water, with a star-lit night, and land close on the lee-beam. After rolling at an- chor for a couple of hours, during which time we knew the English- man was at work ; two or three blne-Iights having been shown in proof of his vigilance. It being thought that we were rather uncom- fortably near the shore, the anchor was got up, at Z a. m., and we were soon standing out before a brisk land breeze, intending to keep near enough to act as the case might require. Finding it rather too warm and close in my narrow room, I turned out with the rest, and kept the deck as an amateur until we had got fully under way.
THE OAMS BAOOED.
Friday, December 3.— My boy informed me, upon my awaking at seven bells, this morning, that the brig and schooner were lying close in shore, and that we were heading in to learn moie about the matter. Hurrying through my toilet, I ascended to the deck, and found the weather to be rainy and uncomfortable ; and going fo^*- ward, discovered the two vessels as they were reported. We were then some five miles from land, but nearing it at a good rate. When
48 Sr/ng : — The Lily, [January,
we were within a couple of miles, the curricle was called away, and the boarding: officer, or fiag-lieutenatit, started abont nine a. m. to learn the state of things in the schooner. We are all busy aboard speculating as to whether the stranger is our quondam acquaintance, the Boston, and are quite mortified at the Englishman having bagged the game before us. The behavior of our ship «<uring the recent trial, has convinced me that something is wrong with her, and othera also, better judges than myself I trust the department will either restore her to her former superior sailing tnm, or do some- thing to revive her former glories.
The boarding officer, on his return, reported the schooner to the Commpdore as Brazilian, and prize of the British brig Rapid. She had no slaves aboard, but was provided with a slave-deck. Both vessels got immediately under way; the prize under the charge of the brig's second lieutenant, for Sierra Leone, and the latter fur her cruising ground off the Gallinas : the Rapid is commanded by Com- mander Dixon, and has taken four prizes, but without slaves aboard, within the last eighteen months. It seems that the schonner not being able to weather the point that makes out at the mouth of Shebar river, some twelve miles distant, ran into the Bight, and anchored close to shore, but was overhauled by the brig's boats about 8 o'clock ; and the blue lights we saw,' announced the capture to the cruiser. When we anchored, she must have been within five miles of both. The chase lasted over twelve hours, and extended over a distance of about fifty miles. Small game it turns out to be for the brig, and as it is not, after all, our quondam acquaintance, we come in fur nothing but the excitement — no little blessing in this unexcitifng re- gion of the globe.
SONG.
In ! rac z.irv or tbe i ilt mat mot Bit lova \
The flower I love Is a lily white-; Tall and fair she stands In the rich sttnlight, Like a queen standing op on a festal wt^U Let gentlest care To her belong,' For the heart speaks oaf That sweet sad song : ' Ah ! the life of the lily may not be \oj^\*
The maid I love
Is a lily white ; Proudly she stands In her virgin right, As an angel might stand at the gates of light I will watch her here
With an arm so strong, The heart shall cease That wailing song : < Ah ! the lit* of the lily may not be long.' Thniijn, 1848.
1S49.]
The Old Oak Tree. 49
THE OLD OAK TREE,
■ T ORBTTA.
Do yoa laugh that I 'm coromnning, talking with the old Oak tree, Do you smile because I love it ; sneer to hear my ' senseless glee 7' Wonder what I see of * beauty* in the white and frozen ground, When the stream haJs hush'd its babblings, in its crystal prison bound, And my Oak is clothed in armor, with the moonlight floating o*er. Icy armor, glittering on it, like a steel-clad knight of yore.
Listen then ; it tells me stories — would that you could hear them all ; Would your ear could catch the murmurs that on mine so sweetly fall. How at first in budding beauty, forth it sprang from 'neath the soid ; Near the wave no sail had whitened, on the shore no pale face trod. Then the wild bird as it lingered but to rest its golden wing, Low would bend the tiny branches of the frail and trembling thing. Then the blast would lay it prostrate, even zephyr shake its form, Till the rolling lapse of cycles raised it up to brave the storm!
It had seen, it told me truly, it had seen the Indian's pride, ,
How without a cry he suffered, how without a moan he died ;
It had known him in his glory, long e'er yet the white wings gleamed
0*er the blue and quiet ocean, where no eastern banner streamed.
It had watchM with him their coming,' seen them crowd the friendly shore,
Lived to know their faith all broken, and the red man there no more !
• It had seen, it murmured softly, many a summer's leafy prime, Hail'd the fiist young truant zephyr harbinger from summer clime. It had watched the coming winter, centuries had watched it there ; And had braved the conqueror's terror, despot of the earth and air. It had caught the smile of morning, on its topmost branches shed ; And the gorgeous hues of even crown'd with gold its kingly head. It had seen the birth of flowers, untamed children of the sod, While around they shed their incense, offered up to nature's God. It had watch'd the fairy frolics in the glow-worm lighted dell ; But of all these midnight revels, though it saw, it might not tell. Yet I knew its leaves had shaded many a scene of mirth and glee. And I sat me down to hear them from the old and sturdy tree.
Then it told how once a lover there had wooed his youthliil bride. How through summer eve's she lingered, how at winter's birth she died ; How she perished like a flower, sister flowers drooping round. And its waving, ^thispering branches shadowed o'er her holy mound. Then it told how oft the lone one came and knelt upon the green, Watching still her form in Heaven, through the veU of stars between ; While the sounding winds around him woke a ceaseless requiem there, And the silent spirit priesthood answered back with voiceless prayer.
Then it told of storm and terror, lightning gleams athwart the night, While its giant arms outstretching battled with the tempest's might ; And it heard the cry of demons, rulers of the storm and cloud, SailiniT by on flashing pinions, shrieking through night's ebon shroud : And the far-ofl^ &Dg^ ocean sent its roar upon the air, While at every pause of conflict rote the thrieking of despair.
TOL. ZZ3UU. 7
60 The Country Doctor, [Jamiaryy
Then it told of quiet moniingB, Sabbath mominga, in the delU MThen it listened faintly thruling, to the white kirk's chiming bell ; And the distant half-heard echo of the singers chanted lays, Broke the holy noon-day stillness with the solemn sounds of praise.
Then the student had come daily, and the heavy tome had brought, Bathing his strong thirsty spirit in the mighty stream of thought There the lay to live for ages to his youthful heart was given ; There the wings of inspiration lifted his rapt soul to heaven. There he opened nature*s volume, and he read her mighty page ; There his youthful spirit kindled at the glowing words of age. Years on years he sought its coohiess m the pleasant summer's prime> Till his lofty brow was shaded by the passing wings of Time !
Oh, old tree ! live on with honor, tell us now the tales of yore ; Tell of winter's stem dominion, tell of summers gone before? Live, live on in pride and glory, noting all that passes near. Every scene of joy and gladness, every wo that claims a tear ; And some night, when stars are glowing high on evening's placid brow, Wilt thou murmur, softly sighingr, for the one who seeks thee now ? Wilt thou tell young hearts tnen beating, quick as hers once beat 'neath thee. How she came and sought thy shelter, how she loved her old Oak tree 7 Wilt thou say her look was gentle, wilt thou say her heart was kind. Will a dirge for her be given, softly to the sighing wind ? Wilt thou mourn her absent footsteps, wilt thou yearn to hear her glee ; Nature miss her faithful priestess, gone from 'neath the old Oak tree 7 Btkmore, 1848.
THE COUNTRY DOCTOR.
WRCTTSV AT TBBRaauSflT OF O r A O B ■ II • A D Z. T Z . IC . B .
Many long months have elapsed, dear Mr. Editor, since the aboye title, and the unpretending (many of them I fear good-for-nothing) sketches under it, appeared in your pages. Since that time, my old sulkey has gone to rack, my old horses' bones have gone to the mill to be ground up, and my entire equipage, which was a picture for a Hogarth, has become changed to a common-place respectability, which affords no picture at all. All the while I have been striving after experience, which is sometimes sweet, oftener bitter; and in the case of a medical man, they say it is not tn be bought without some tomb stones erected and some epitaphs composed. My friends have often met mb in the street, and said, * Mr, Saultz, why do you not complete those sketches 1' To this the same answers have been invariably returned. There is often a great interval betwixt resolve and endeavor ; but how many obstacles bar up the way to comple- tion ! You see. the foundation of a house d«g and the portico is never placed thereon. We write ' My Dear Sir,' at the head of a letter, and the words of affection remain buried in the heart or the
1849.] The CovnfTi/ Doctor. 61
hand ia palsied befora the signature is afExed. But the Country Doctor ! why he b on many scores the most miserable man in the world. His meals are half taken, (like the noxious medicine which he enjoins,) his sleep seldom arrives at the profundity of a »nore. Nothing which he takes iu hand, except the more desperate class of diseases, ever comes to an end. While he dips his pen in ink, his enemies are perhaps dipping theirs in the bittei-ness of gall It 's as much as he can do to save himself from being drummed out of the country ; deprived of his laurels by catnip-tea ; superseded by the Graefifenberg Pills; present at the tumble-down 4»f a jolly apo- pletic, and suspected of quenching his vital spark ; snubbed by the city practitioner, who rolls out into the country in a pompous car- riage, looks wiser than he is or ever will be ; takes snuff with sang froidy and charges four times as much as he ought ; in short, distract- ed on all hands, it is enough to bear his misfortunes meekly, without recalling them again to mind in a doleful naiTative ; at which, what tender-hearted person could abstain from tears ]
Nevertheless some things have accumulated in my port folio, to be elaborated in those happier moments when " the wicked cease from troubling." What 1 am now going to relate, is as true as the truest book which was ever composed. Delicacy has long caused me to- withhold the pen. But certainly the persons concerned, as they be* long not to the superstitious, can have no objection to the publica- tion of the facts. They fall under a class on which mental reasoning has oflen been expended in vain, and they shouLl be known, not so much to gratify the love of maiTel, as to awaken philosophical re- search. Were I the least inclined to superatition, or of an imagi- native turn, then their explanation might be found.' Nay, rather had they occurred in the middle- watches of the night ; when the strongest mind is easily excited by a brooding solemnity, and the thickly peo- pled brain, (like the earth and sea giving up the dead,) permits its images to revive. But what think you of a spectre at the blazing hour of high noon ? When the fumes of the hrain and the mists of the earth are alike dissipated ; when even poetry is at a discount, and nothing but common-places prevail. ' How do you do 1' * Where are you going V * Has the mail arrived ]' * What is the news V I challenge philosophy, with all her boasted train of natural causes, to solve in a satisfactory manner, what follows.
It was on the twelfth of May, Anno Domini, 1848, twelve M. That was the day, that was the hour. The fact is noted on the blank leaves of a learned work on Typhoid Fever.
The routine of business brought me to a house situated at some distance from the town. ' There was a case of bowel-complaint with- u^» (aggravated no doubt by the aforesaid Graefienburgh Company, whose insignia, blazoned upon the city-wa;ll with a purple impu- dence of colors, ought to be a shovel and spade, death*s head and bones, and every thing else which is deadly.) 1 shall note the circumstances with particularity. It was an old double-house, with a lawn in front, and pleasant walks round about. Having tied my halter to a chain depending from a poet ; I passed up the avenue, ascended the steps.
52 The Country Doctor, [January,
and rang the bell. I remember as I stood there the smell of the new grass was int' xicating in the roait, and the flowers of the spring beginning to burst their petals, filled the air with a fragrance by no means assafcetida. But just like a poor Country Doctor, when he is a little enteitained with these things and begins to moralize, the door opens on the chamber of sickness — it may be of death. I en- tered a broad h 11, and my feet being clogged with mud, I asked the servant for a mat ; she told me to walk through the hall to the back- door, where I would find one. I did so and in passing obserA^ed a young lady who resides with the family, standing in a little recess near the door. I nodded to her and while scraping my feet, heard her and the servant girl talking together ; but did not listen to what they said. An I came back to go up stairs, the servant girl said to her as I was passing :
* The Doctor, Miss M '
1 turned to her and said, * Good morning, Miss M ,' and she
replied :
* Good morning, Doctor.'
I then passed immediately up stairs, hurried to my patient's cham- ber, and opened the door. On looking into the room 1 experienced a shock which almost threw me back against the wall. Was I de- ceived 1 Could I credit my senses 1 For there sar at the extremity of the room, bolt upright in a high-backed chair, as if nothin;; had happened, so help me Heaven, the identical lady whom 1 had that in- stant addressed below stairs. Herself and the patient both noted the extremity of my surprise, and with one voice inquired the matter.
* What!* said I, 'going up and taking her hand, to find out if it were real flesh and blood instead of a mere shadow like that at Bel- shazzar's fea*»t, * are you here /'
* Why, what do you mean ]' she said, with unaffected astonish- ment. * I have been here all the morning. I have not left the room for two hours ]'
* Nay,' 1 replied, *but I left you thi^ instant below stairs. I said good morning to you, and you said the same to me.'
* Oh !* says she, * it was not I ; it was somebody else.'
•But,* said 1, more and more puzzled, 'yon are passing a joke upon me. Vou have flown up by a private stiiircase.'
* Upon my honor. I am not. There is no such thing in the house.'
* Well then,' s lid I, supposing that I might have been deceived by some person who resembled the lady, and about to dismiss the matter from my mind, * you must be about to double yourself in matrimony.'
Just here the door of the chamber was opened, and the servant- girl whom I had seen below entered, for I began to tliink that it might have been a sister of this one. She certainly wore a countenance which was honest, serious, and free from guile. Therewith I inter- rogated her on the spot.
* Mary, you observed when I entered just now the hall doorl' *Idid'
* To whom were you speaking, as I passed you in that recess by the back-door ?'
1849.] The Country Doctor, 53
'To Miss M .'
* Are you sure 1'
* Certainly ; there can be no doubt.'
* But might you not be deceived V
( La'ighiitg) * Sure, did n't I see her with my own eyesi'
* How did >he appear : as usual V
' I thought, Sir, she hnd a strange look about her.'
* But, Mary, she avers solemnly that she has not been out of this room in two hours.'
* What do you say, Sirl'
* She has never left this room.' (Pausing and turning as pale as ashes.)
* Great God ! '
* Come, come, cheer up. I have heard of worse cases than this, and no evil came of them afler all. Is there another servant in the house V
* Yes, my sister is in the kitchen.'
* Perhaps, Miss M will permit her to be called.'
* Certainly.'
In a moment the summons was obeyed. The other entered, and surprised, agitated, and frightened out of her wits, said thnt she was in the kitchen at the time, and had not lefl it during the morn- ing. She certainly bore no resemblance to Miss M . • Was
there any one in that house who did ]' I answer, there was not. • Hr»w then is this to be explained ]' I do aver positively that I could not be deceived in any one so familiar to me as that young woman, whom I knew and had seen there in all my visits. I say that I saw her at twelve, m., in the recess, and heard her talking; and in three seconds after, beheld her calmly seated up stairs ! I have knocked about the country a good deal, clambered up into cock-lofts and fell through trap doors, and seen queer things by night and by day, with the high and low, and this is the queerest thing that ever happened to me. What complicates the matter is, that this eidolon, or whatever it was, appeared to two of us, between whom there could have been no collusion ; and furthermore, the subject of it was greatly distressed. Moreover, who ever heard of a spirit speaking audibly to our ears 1 Why, their articulations are soft as breath breathed upon a window-pane ; they may try to talk, but their whispers must be understood by their own crew, whose food ^ nectar and ambrosia. They may add a note to theinrrpalpable delicacy of a celestial harmony. It appears to me that Virgil speaks of ghosts • evanishing into thin air ;* but they could no more speak than the possessor of the body who stalked with all his^ flesh and bones into their domains ; the very effort was preposterous. * Vox favrihus hcuit,* Nnw this would be our natural reasoning on the matter; and yet I tell you what, Horatio, the time is coming when even on this side the grave we shall step athwart the veil which par- titions off the flesh, and comprehend that man is a Spikit. As it is, the gross, the carnal, over-burdens, over balances the fine, the spi- ritual ; but sometimes the soul, as if impatient id waiting Sbr the
64 A Good Mother: an Extract. [January*
silver cord to be loosed and for the golden bowl to be broken, steps out all covered with chains to vindicate her nature. If the body is momentarily stunned or dead, she wanders off a little distance, spark- ling and flashing, until dragged back again ; if Bacchus kills the body, so that the limbs falter, or sleep occasions their paralysis, or even reverie makes one forget the contact of the world, then she is .elsewhere, clothed with a body which she may wear hereafter, and which may be seen, although it is just as much finer in its materiality than the present body as gases are than air, as air is than water, or water than earth ; in other words, as a woman's body is finer than man's, so the angelic is a step, and only a sfep, beyond woman's. But this will lead me to wander off — confound my weakness !
There is one thing farther to be said. I think we may set it down to superstition that such occunences as the above are sometimes con- sidered the precursors of immediate death, as I have heard and read of many where it did not follow ; or if so, we might account for it in this way : that the mind was in consequence so wrought upon as to induce dangerous symptoms and then death ; for we may imagine we die, and die imagining. I have heard of a criminal who chose to bleed to death, as die he must, and so he conceived that he might die softly. The surgeon brmdaged hi^ eyes, made as if to puncture his arm, and set water a-dripping. He waxed fainter and fainter, and died with all his blood in his veins — the more fool he ! But you may wish to know the result in this case. It shall be given truly, solemnly, whether it have an effect on the superstitious or not, as I would absolve my own mind, and in so curious a matter present philosophy only with the truth. It was not without misgivings im- possible to conceal (we all have our feelings of this kind, call it weakness, if you will, call it superstition,) that I found myself early on the next day about to visit the place where I had witnessed this day-spectre. A peculiar silence seemed to reign about the house, of which the windows in front were closed. I ran up the steps and pulled hard at the bell. No one answered. I entered the hall and listened for a foot-step, or for some signs of life. With a palpitating heart I then hurried up stairs, flung open the chamber-door, and looked within. There, stretched upon a pallet and ghastly pale, lay Miss M , violently ill with a nervous head-ache 1
GOOD mothek: an extract.
Woman is the heart of the family.
If man the ' head.' Good families would make
Good townB, a good republic. Congren, banks,
And tariflb to our families are toys :
L«t these their destiny fulfil, and spread
As spreads the air ; then at the Rio Grande
On one bank Charlbs should dwell ; across the stream
His neighbor Carlos live ; and Oregon
Would share the virtues and the wealth of Maine,
CoRNBUA show her sons in every house.
1849.] Love far Love. 55
LOTE FOR L OYE.
r»ox mm obrxaiv ot xx.ambr aoHiCTDT.
Low, oh knre ! for she shall me it Whom no miitnal fondnoM atin !
She two beinica^ bliai deferreth Who her own trae blin defen !
Love ! delight ie in the hdan'ce, Up or down, aa fortune wills ;
Bat the heart that love beirnileth Aye with deepest raptors thrilla
Boes not an to lore inTHe ns7 Not the youns: hird in its nest?
Not the flower in spring's nnfoldhii; 7 Not the soft winds of the West?
Waves that in the nvers ehtsle, Seek each other fain and for,
So the loadstone draws the iron, And one star another star.
Lore, oh love ! — ah ! what were dearer Than a glance from thee to me.
And from me to thee retnmins: ! Each to each, all each wonld see !
Each to each the sole sweet vision On the broad earth's mighty ball !
Fortune's irifts may seek or shun ns, Love regards them not at all.
Love, while yet the year is budding ;
Love and joy fly swiftly o'er, And the houri that hence have vanished,
Come to greet us never more !
All thiniKB speed to helpless rain, Naueht the torrent may oppose ;
Love ! and in its rushinur current Strew the blossoms of the rose :
That, when we the last have scattered,
Love may smile, the gift approved, ' Happy ye who 've no regretting ! Ye, who loving were beloved !' ilw.r«r&, ITovtmber, 1848.
56 Angels Whispering. [January,
ANOEL8 WHISPERING
▲KOaMS TBB' BCD OF DXAT S.
Mortal ! they aoiUy say
Peace to thy heart ! We too, yes, mortal !
Have been as thou art. Hope lifted, doubt depressed,
Seeing in part, Tried, troubled, tempted,
Sustained as thou art !
Mortal ! they gently say,
Be. our thoughts one ; Bend with us and pray,
« Thy blest Will be done !' Day flieth, night gathereth.
Death draweth nigh ; But He b, who conquereth.
Our Day-Spring on High I
Mortal, they sweetly say,
We Angels are ! We too, yes, mortal !
On Earth thy friends were : Long loved thee, glad made thee,
And to thy heart Christ sends us to aid thee.
His strength to impart
Mortal ! they brightly say.
This is His smile ! ^ In Earth, peace — Heaven, day —
Dismiss Care and Toil ! Time fadeth. Life gloweth,
Beameth on thee ! The Voice from Heaven floweth
Now, now, * Thou art free !'
Tbx first itansa of this attempt is taken from a beautiful poem in Blackwood's Magazine, in which famUyportniU make the address. jomx Watbm.
TRUSTING.
Mr soul dwells on Thee, and is satisfied!
I know, I feel that thou art near me now.
This hallowed Joy comes to my breast from thine ;
It hath the Virtue that thy love used bring
To heal the latent sorrows of my heart
With balmy restoration of sweet peace !
I know the haven of thy rest is made
Beyond the reach of Tempest and of Care !
Thou seesl now The Everlasting Arm
On which, in sweet companionship, we strove
Through faith to lean, failing from want of Faith.
* Oh we of little faith !* I hear Thee cry,
*How ooold we £ul with rach an arm above !' . ^
J 849.] Scenery and Lift at the West. bl
MOUNTAIN SCENERY AND LIFE AT THE WEST.
BT BAJUIT YArOOVUL
The mountainous country of Tennessee, especially in the yicinity of the Cumberland mountains, is noted for the peculiar beauty, gran- deur and wildness of its scenery. The broken rock-work of the cliffs which extend for miles along the sides of this beautiful range, present to the eye of the beholder one of the most impressive of scenes, for Nature is there in all her glory. The old jagged forest pines, which have braved the tempest for ages, stand up in dieir clus- tered erandeur around, while above is seen sailing in circles, a mere speck m the azure, the ravenous vulture in* quest of prey. Mountains as far as the eye can reach, appear in all their majesty, sketching on the clear blue sky one of the finest outlines ever beheld. The ma- jestic, the beautiful, the almost interminable forests, present them- selves to view on every side, above and below, like a dark green ocean ; while interspersed here and there appear cultivated spots of land, reminding one of islands. /
Far down in the beautiful valleys below, lovely streams are wind- ing along ; here, hid by the luxuriant foliage' which overreaches their limpid waters; anon they appear through the opening; now con- cealed from view by a sweep of the mountains ; while far, far in the dis- tance, they again appear like silver threads, until lost in the mazes of the forest. Casting your eye on either side, you behold mountains piled upon mountains, uptossing themselves like waves of the sea, until they grow dim in the distant horizon, and imagination leads the traveller to fancy others further on. Wending your way along the narrow mountain-paths, you occasionally meet with fiight^l preci- pices ; and should the faithful horse you may chance to ride, make one misstep, you would be plunged into the abyss below and dashed into a thousand pieces, ^ow descending, you fast lose the scene, and enter the dark, solemn forest densely matted with vines, almost excluding the light of day.
Suddenly a crackling of the brush is heard, and from the copse starts forth a deer ! Mark the graceful and beautiful animal, his ears pricked up, his head erect and antlers thrown back ; his nostrils dis- tended with fear. Now gathering his slender limbs for a spring, he bounds swiftly away, o'er hill and valley, through ravines, till lost in the distance. Innumerable songsters awake the woods with their sweet warblings. The beautiful wild flowers, rising up, shake off the morning dew, and open their cheeks to the* bnght sun. The stream with its gentle murmurings, broad and shallow, crosses and re-crosses the road perhaps forty times in ten miles, and in various places for many hundred yards, yt)ur course is directly through it,
VOL. XTXIII. 8
68 Scenery and Life at the West. [Januaiy,
Splash, splash go the feet of your horse in the water, for in the moun- tainous districts of the west, there are hut few hridges, and therefore the people have recourse to fording the streams, which after severe storms are often dangerous to hoth horse and rider from the height and rapidity which they then assume.
Emerging into the clearing, you behold the cabin of a settler, with its numerous outhouses, its ample cribs filled with com, its stacks of hay. Roaming at large in the woods are droves of hogs, whose pro- portions give evidence of good living, for it is the * mast year.' Tied to the fence, stands a fine horse ready saddled ; a rifle leans by the door, while a pack of hounds are lying by the roadside, basking in the sun and awaiting the chase. As you enter the cabin, the host, a stout athletic man, advances to meet you ; his countenance bronzed by exposure to all kinds of weather, with a frame which seems like iron. He bids the traveller a hearty welcome, inviting him to partake of the humble cheer. His dress consists of a huntin?-shirt made of homespun ; buckskin breeches and moccasins on his teet His wife is dressed with cloth of her own fabrication, not made in the fash- ionable style of the present day, when the efiects of tight lacing ruin the system ; but her dress ample, plain and neat, is confined together with buttons instead of hooks and eyes. She appears strong and healthy, and her children with their rosy cheeks, are cheerful and happy around her. The furniture of the cabin is very plain, being manufactured mostly in the neighborhood.
As these simple-hearted people extend their hand to the stranger* their heart goes with it, because they have lived so long in these moan- tain recesses, in the midst of a people as simple-hearted as themselves, and who have little idea of the deceit appertaining to densely popu- lated communities, where competition in different avocations of sor ciety, holds out temptation to all. He is earnest in his hospitality, for he regards you as his friend. The dinner hour at hand, a pressing invitation induces you to remain. A rough table of boards is drawn out ; spread with a neat white cloth, and covered with good things. On it appears one of the most prominent dishes of the country, a pone, or roll of hot corn-bread, with preserves of various kinds, and a variety of meats. A simple blessing is pronoimced by the host, and the company seat themselves, while &e ' gude woman' pours out for you ' a dish of coffee, the indispensable luxury of the country, which ss fi-equently used at every meal. It is thickened with cream, not milk such as one gets in the cities, too often diluted with water, but cream, rich cream, and sweetened with sugar obtained from yon maple grove just o'er the hill. You are bidden to help yourself, and you soon go to work in right good earnest, and will enjoy that plain substantial meal better than any dinner ever served up at either the Astor or the American.
Becoming acquainted with you, to please your host you must re- main until morning with him. After dinner you go with him and view his fields and stock, or perhaps he may invite you to hunt with him in the neighboring mountains. You can spend a pleasant after- noon in this way, if you are any thing of a sportsman ; for you will
1849.] Scenery and Life at the West, G9
always find plenty of game. Returning at evening, you find supper awaiting your aiiival ; it consists of bacon, hoe-cake, chicken, and buckwheat-cakes. Milk, and coffee sweetened with maple-sugar, constitute the beverage. You eat heartily, the table is cleared, the hostess takes from the chimney-comer a mould, and lighting a can- dle from it, places it in a board projecting from the waJl, which an- swers the purpose of a candlestick. By its dim light you look around the cabm.
In front of the fire-place hangs the trusty rifle, while over head, on a frame-work of poles stretched across the rafters, hang strings of dried pumpkins, dried venison, and articles of household property. You are entertained by the host with accounts of hunting expedi- tions, and perchance he may give you his own history, which' will serve to while away the evening agreeably. Bed-time approaches ; you mount the stairs upon the outside of xhi cabin for the loft above. Through the crevices of the logs you can discern the stars and feel the wind blow upon you, which at first seems strange to one accus- tomed to our well-built eastern houses ; you soon, however, become accustomed to these cabins, and will fall asleep, forgetting their chinks and crevices, awaking in the morning refreshed, and with re- newed vigor. The first thing you look for upon arising is the wash- ing i^paratus, and you are surprised when your host taps you on the shoulder and conducts you to the neighboring ' branch,' or brook, in the vicinity of the cabin ; upon arriving at which you perform your ablutions, and wipe yourself dry with a coarse towel. And now, reader, what do you think of mountain life at the West, as here depicted %
The above desciiption of a mountaineer, with the sketches of the wild romantic scenery of the country, is a common though not uni- yersal one. One of the most independent of men ; vieing in the enjoyment of every blessing with the wealthier inhabitant of large towns, he graduates his wants to his means ; and although he may not possess the fine mansion, equipage and dress of the wealthy landed proprietor, yet he leads a manly life, and breathes the pure, invigorating atmosphere of his native hills with the contented spirit of a free and independent man. There is a latent talent among these mountaineers which requires only an opportunity for develop- ment ; and the traveller occasionally meets with men of fine address, of high intelligence, in these remote regions, who are possessed of all that gives a zest to social intercourse. Isolated comparatively as it were from the world, Fashion with her sway has not stereotyped the manners, the modes of thought and expressions of these plain people ; and consequently you will see a strange as well as an amusing ori^nality of expression and ingenuity of metaphor fre- quently displayed. To one accustomed to the fascinating though hollow intercourse of the polished circles of eastern society, it is at first a painfrd revulsion, when compared with that of this more sim- ple race ; but soon overreaching this, you become accustomed to the new order of things, and learn to respect the simplicity, truth and nature of those western people.
€10
The Falcon and Dove.
[Januaij,
THE FALCON AND DOVE: A OHRIBTMAB CAROL.
BT WIZXZAX PITT PJXICBB. .
* Tell me, friend, the secret meaning
Of this sculptured riddle, pray ;' Quoth I to a sexton leaning On a tomb at shut of day.
Chiselled in the stone was lying God's dear book of hope and love,
And a semblant falcon flying As in terror from a dove.
Answered then the sexton hoary, Courteously as friend to friend,
* *T is a strange and moumfril stoiy.
But with sweetly smiling end.
' Where yon swarded hill, upswelling, Proudly lifrs its sylvan crown, Stands a haughty yeoman's dwelling Veiled in leafy shadows brown.
* Till that passion's noon was over.
And his sated heart craved ease, He had been a wayward rover Far and wide upon the t
* Wealth he brought at his returning,
Crold and gems in bright excess ; But with whom and whence the earning, Few so dull as not to guess :
* Swart, and scarred, and stem of bearing,
Prompt alike with oath and sneer — Every word and look declaring One whom men call bucanier.
' And there came a gentle creature To this pleasant vale with him, Grief in every palHd feature, Pain in every feeble limbw
< Son he seemed, tho' faint the semblance To that dark and ruthless man ; Faint as Ariel's resemblance To the earth-bom Caliban^
* Ne'er at parting, nor at meeting
Alter weary task well done. Fond farewell or kindly greeting Passed from scowling sire to son.
* Ne'er at curses' rare subsiding.
Ne'er at lull of stormy ire, Words of sweet or bitter chiding. Passed from patient son to sire.
( As the wife had home, while living. All his wrongs, serene and mild ; So, all bearing, all forgiving, SuflTered on the friendless child.
* Wherefore should a sire be wreaking
Outrage on an orphan son ?
Why, at every moment, seeking
Anguish for his only one ?
* Evil tongues had stung his bosom
With the rankling lie malign —
* What thou deem'st thy beings Moasoro
Is no real germ of thine I'
' Then did Hope's enchanted palace FaU in ruins, wall o'er wall ; Then afiection's honeyed chalice Change to hate's envenomed gall :
' And he longed with thirst immortal. Night and day without repose. For me hour when death's dark portal O'er his sinless child should close.
' Wherefore oft, with aim abhorrent. When he called to hunt the stag^ Led he o'er the rushing torrent, And along the dizzy crag :
* To his panting victim shouting
When he filtered mid the snares, * Onward ! fear grows bold by flouting — Danger strengthens whom it spares !*
< But a form unseen was near him Ever on his perilled way. O'er the roaring pass to cheer him. On the giddy steep to stay :
' Oft in sleep it rose before him Visibly a snow-white dove, And through swooping falcons bore him To a world of peace and love.
1849.]
The Falcon and Dove.
61
* Foiled in all his fiendlike scheming,
Shrieked the sire with knitted Im-ow, Wild as startled guilt in dreaming,
* Piince of darkness, aid me now !
* Take my broad fields black with cattle,
Take my glittering hoards diverse, All the gain of toil and battle ; Rid me of this living cone V
* And, anon, the light's dear pleasance
Faded dimly from the place. As a grim, gigantic Presence Lowered before him face to face.
* Raven shapes in croaking wonder.
Wild the lurid darkness cleft. And a booming crash of thunder Shook the mountains at the left.
* Spake the Fiend with fierce elation,
* Grold nor gems my aid control ; These are mortals' bright temptation.
Mine a brighter lure — the soul !
* Not thy soul, poor fool ! that pratest
Of thy heided lands and pelf; But the soul of him thou hatest ; Thine is coming of itself!
* Where yon new-sown fields are greening,
Send him forth at blush of day. Charged with threats of mortal meaning Keep the wasting fowls away.'
' * Be it so,' the father muttered ; And ere echo's nimble tone Half the fiat had reattered. Pale and grim he stood alone.
* Forth upon his fated mission
Went the child at blush of mom. Charged on peril of perdition
Well to watch and ward the com.
' Unrelaxed was his endeavor To obey the dire behest ; But the winged marauders never Left him briefest space for rest :
* When he chased them from the valley.
Swarmed they on the upland grain ; Soon, when frighted thence, to rally Li the vale's green lap again.
* Yet, with patient zeal, unshaken
Ran he on his panting round, Till of hope and strengm forsaken. Dropped he broathleM on the gnmnd
* Lo a strange form now beside him,
And a white dove hovering near !
This with yearning fondness eyed iiim.
That with fixed and fiendish leer.
* Then with bitter-sweet assertion
Feigningly the glozer said, * Long I 've watched thy lost exertion. And am come to bring thee aid.
' Mind no more the winged vexation Warping dark o'or hill and plain ; Mine shall be thy vain vocation Stringently to ward the grain.
* But as meed of faithful iperit,
When thy life's last moment dies. Let me gratefully inherit
That that o'er the threshold flies.'
* Sighed the youth, * Kind friend,that taskest Time and strengrth to toil for me. Though I wist not what thou askest, Be it thine whate'er it be.'
* Fled the snow-white'Dove thereafter.
Moaning as in mortal wo ; While a weird, unearthly laughter Heaved the rock-ribbed depths below.
' Sudden as an aspen's tremblance,
Changed the Phantom form and face. And a coal-black falcon's semblance Dusked the sunlight in its place.
* Prince of nature's air-dominion,
As of lurid realms below, Up he shot on whirring pinion, Like an arrow from the bow.
* On he swept with ruthless keenness,
Now in tangent, now in whirl ; Till o'er all the sprouting greeimess Hovered throstle, crow nor merle.
* Then young Eve with rosy features
Bade the child no longer stay. And her fireflies' fairy meteors Homeward lit his lonely way.
* There his sire's stern salutation
Thus assailed him, * Wretch abhorred ! Hast thou in thy bidden station, Faithfully kept watch and wan^?'
' * Yes, my father, well and duly
I have watched the broadcast grain y But thy quest to answer traly, All my effi>fts were in vain :
The Falcon and Dove.
[January,
< * Till a ttranger kind, befriending,
Sought me at the noon of day, And on raven wings ascending Chased the screammg hordes away/
' < Imp, with tenfold evil gifted.
Take one tithe of thy nnworth !* And the tyrant's arm uplifted Smote the trembler to the earth.
< Like the bloodrootVsnowy blossom
Dabbled in its crimson flood, Lay his pallid brow and bosom Weltering in their own heart's blood.
' On the moiTow, lone and dying. Gazed the child without a fear, On a shroud and coffin lying At his bedside on a bier.
< Glaring eyes the while were keeping
Watch within the open door, And a fiendlike shadow sleeping Grimly on the sunny floor.
< Suddenly the watcher started.
Shape and shadow fled amain, As the white Dove wildly darted Inward through the lifted pane.
* Round she fluttered, moaning ever, < Who of earth can speak thy loss, If, when soul from body sever. Thine yon fatal threshold cross?'
* Upright from his pale prostration.
Sprang the child with shuddering start. While each horror-chilled pulsation Iced the red life in his heart
< Then he cried with wild endearment,
' Hear me ! save me; Father dear ! Fold me in my ready cerement. Lay me on my waiting bier !
• O'er the awftd threshold bear me
Out beneath the blessed sky ; Let not, oh, for mercy, spare me, life and soul together die !'
' ' And a fierce voice muttered, < Never ! Hush thy supplicating breath ! Mav thy life and soul forever Perish utterly in death !'
< Backward on his couch astounded. Fell the child with mortal fear ;
And bis breaking heart-strings sounded Knell -like in his dying ear.
* Then two pitying pages entered.
And with angel firmness mild. All their yearning cares concentred On the lorn and friendless child.
* Tenderly they raised and laid him
In his coffin on the bier ; Tenderiy they thence conveyed him, Where the blue sky rounded clear.
' There, as fainter grew his breathing, Bright and brighter rose the smile O'er his marUe features wreathing Gleams of inward joy the virile.
* For before his placid vision,
Laid they, oped, God's Book of truth. Where the Saviour's sweet decision, Spake these words of tenderest truth :
' Saying, < Suffer, unforbidden. Little ones to come to me ; For of such, howe'er ye've chidden. Heaven's own blest immortals be !'
< Sudden now the light was parted.
By a shadow from above. As a coal-black frdcon darted Bolt-like at the hovering dove.
* On the coffin down they lighted,
Eye to eye and breast to breast ; And with wrestling beak united. Fierce the parting soul contest :
* While, his shrouded form upraismg.
Like the widow's son of Nain, Sat the child, intently gaiing On the weirdly warring twain.
* Now aloft in air they grappled,
Now beneath the bier they met ; Till the space around was dappled Thick with plumes ci white and jet
' Thrice the wonted Dove was routed.
Thrice her vengeful foe she fled ; While the gioating frither shouted,
* Bravely, Falcon, hast thou sped !'
< Braver yet is love's enduranoe.
Love in fruth's proof-armor braced,' Smiled the son wkh calm aamrancM,
* Lo, the chaser now the chased V
* Swift through cloudland's blue dominion
Fled the Falcon, round and round, Till the white Dove's swooping pinion. Dashed him cowering to the ground.
1819.]
The Preacher and the Gambler.
< Down he yanished, aa asunder
Gloomed beneath the jaws of night, And a wild, glad shont of thunder Shook the mountains at the right.
* Whence a hollow voice came booming,
< Let the bratling 'scape my lure,
Since the sire awaits my dooming,
Hither coming swift and sure V
* When the Dove regained her station, Smiling sweet, the sufferer lay ; Then, forever from temptation.
Murmuring, ' bless thee,' pasBod away.'
* As the pages thence were wending, In the cdm, bright skies above,
Saw they, side by side ascending, Dovelet white and snow-white dove !'
THE PREACHER AND THE GAMBLER.
A OOJeirB OM OOARD A eOUTH^WSBTBAll aTBAlCBB.
BT 3. n. ORVSM. n. o.
Persons of these two antagonistic portions of society are frequent- ly thrown into intimate fellowship and association with each other, especially while travelling on the steamers of the southern and west- em waters.
Some years since, a number of gamblers, with two or three cler- firyman, happened to be among the passengers on board of a steam- boat bound from Cincinnati to New-Orleans. The company on board was numerous ; but as something uncommon and extraordi- nary, from whatever cause, extra morality or otherwise, there was littlq or no gambling practised by the passengers on the trip down- ' ward.
Several days had passed in this way, when' a gambler, a wild, reckless, dare-devil sort of a chai*acter, began to grow impatient of the tedium of the voyage, and anxious for a chance of making his passage-money by victimizing some of the ' green-ones' in the crowd. Going up to one of the clergyman alluded to, (whom he was not aware was of that profession,) a smooth face, good-looking, affable, youngish man ; he slapped him on the back, and somewhat familiarly accosted him :
* Say, stranger ! dull music 'board, I reckon ! Come, take a drink, and let 's have a little life 'mongst us !'
* Thank you, my friend, I 'm a teetotaler, and never drink.*
* O-o-h ! — you arc, eh 1 Let 's have a hand at cards then.'
' There I 'm again at fault I do n't know one card from another, and can't play !'
' Scissors ! — I never see the like ! Here, young man, let me show you how.'
* I 'd rather not. Sir, if you please.'
* Brimstone-blazes 1 — can't we get up some little bit of deviltry or 'nother 1 I 'ra sick on 't pokin' 'round in this 'ere way. Wonder if we can 't get some * old boss' to give us a preach 1 That coon over there, with a white 'neckerchief, looks like one o' them gospel-
€4 The Preacher and the Gambler. [January,
shop men. 'Spose we ax him to give us a sarmon 1 I'd like to hear one, by jingo !*
' That j2:entleman, Sir, I presume to be a preacher, and its quite likely he '11 accommodate you.*
* You knows him, do n't you] Just git him to give us a snorting sarmint. I '11 hold his hat, d d if I do n't !'
' I will ask him,' replied the clergyman. He crossed over to his friend of the white cravat, and stated the wish of the gambler. Re- turning, however, he remarked that the preacher declined lecturing till a more convenient season.
* The devil he does ! Well, I 'm bound to have fun somehow or 'nother. Can't you spout a bit, my young sapling 1 'Spose you try it on, any how.'
* My friend, if I should preach, I should try to give you some un- easiness!'
* Then you are just the man for me. Git up here and gin us a sprinkling of brimstone ; stir up these old ironsides on board, give 'em an extra lick, and come the camp-meeting touch ; will ye 1 Here 's an old chap here, who 's got a hymn-book, and I can sing first-rate when I get agoing, if the lines are given out ; and mind ye, neighbor, give us a jam-up prayer ; blow and strike out as loud as ye can, and make *em think that a pack of well-grown prairie-wolves are coming, with a smart handful of thunder and liehtnin', and a few shovels full of a young airthquake. By the gracious Moses, we '11 have a trifle of sport then — wont we V
The gambler then helped the preacher to arrange for the sermon ; boiTowed the hymn-book, and sat down vnth an expression of mock- seriousness in his countenance.
By this time a crowd had gathered round to witness the proceed- ings, wondering what would be the upshot of the business. The preacher smoothed his face, selected a hymn, and then lifted up his hands and eyes in the attitude of prayer. Waxing warmer and warmer as he proceeded, he appealed to God in the most spirit- stirring and solemn manner ; he alluded to the gambler in a very pointed manner, and prayed for his salvation from the ruin to which he was so recklessly tending. Such was the force of his appeal, that a burning arrow seemed speedily sent to the gambler's soul. The prayer was followed by an excellent sermon by the young clergyman, who afterward said that he never felt more impressed in his life with the awful responsibility of his mission, or felt a fuller inspira- tion from on High to proclaim the wrath to come to dying and hell- deserving sinners.
The gambler * squirmed* under the gospel tRith ; yet uneasy as he was, he contrived to sit the sermon out ; but he could n't wait to participate in singing the closing hymn.
Shortly after all was over ; and going up to the clergyman, he said:
* I say, friend, you are a preacher, aint you V
* Yes, my friend, I have the honor to be an unworthy ambassador
1849.] A Lay of Lifo. 65
of Christ, atd hope to be made the means of convertiiig many souls to God.'
' Well, I thought as much ! But I tell you, I never had the sand so knocked from under me before in my life. If you preach in that way, there wont be many of us gamblers left, I tell you. But I sup- pose it 's all right ; my good mother used to pray, and I could n't help thinking of her when you cut me all up in little pieces, and put my singing pipes out of tune. I'd ha' giv* fifty dollars to have tnat 'ere saddle put on another horse.'
I suppose it is needless to say that the gambler required no farther preaching on that passage t his own conduct, and that of his con^ tederates, was such as to be a matter of no animadversion on the part of the clergyman and passengers, while they pursued theii^ Toyage4
LAY OP LIFE.
JIT J. A. aWAH.
Look upward : there lights glisten
Which time can never pale ; Whose glow will guide us safely
When other beacons fail ; And Heaven's broad gate unfolding'
Shall to the seeker tell How glorious the guerdon
Of them who labor well.
Look upward : thence good, augelr
Gaze on us night and day, And souls of the departed
Are beckoning us away : Are calling us to join them
Li their hi^er work aboye,' Where is a letter dwelling,
Where is a purer fove.
Look upward, but not always^
tieet flesh with spirit war ; For man is joined to Nature r
And must abide her law ; Must care for earthly travel,
As for the spirit's flight, Or, gating on all brightness.
He may fiedriitto night
Vol. xxzm. 9
66 A Lay of Life.
OmiM^t, Dtem^.lBm.
The roirit mast be tended,
And the flesh be borne in mind, Or they are to each other
Blind leaden of the faiind.*^ 'T it aan to caie with Maktha
For household duties meet. Nor cease to bow with Mart
haw at the Mabtb&'s feet
Look forwaid : there inviting
The goal we strive for siaads, Like Mecca to the pilgrim
Across the desert sands ; And in the conne of nature
We run through checkered ways, Now by a pleasant valley,
TTien in a tangled maze.
Look forward : then we see not
The bitterness of strife. Nor heed the paths of folly
That cross the path of Life ; Then of the wiles of pleasure
We never need to fear, Nor syren voice shall charm us
Her subtle song to hear.
Look forward, but not always ;
For far behind us lie The pleasant pictures painted
On youth's bright morning sky ; And green thou^ts in each bosom
Clmg round that olden time, As among the old oak branches
The ivy loves to climb.
There stands the cherished dwelling,
Wi^ the blue smoke o*er it curled^ Where first across its threshold
We stepped into the world ; And sofl eves at the window
Are gazmg on us yet, And silvery voices reach us
Which we would not forget
God bless our childish fancies !
God Mess the dear old past ! We never will forget it.
Though we journey far and fast. But sometimes like the rower
We '11 look back as we run ; So shall our toil be lighter.
Our work be better done.
LITERARY NOTICES.
Thc BsATrms or Sacskd Litcsatubx. Edited by Trobcas Wtatt, A. BL, author of ' The SMTod Tiblanu«* etc. pp. 890. Boeton and Cambridge : jAns Munxok and CoMPAmr.
Wb cannot conacientioiuly affinn that we very greatly afiect the style of the eight engravingB which make ap the * illuBtrationfl' of this well-printed volume. There is something black, dim, or smirchy abont mezzotint engravings, which in our judg- ment takes away half the force and sentiment of the best painting. Many of these illustrations are * good of their kind/ but their < kind' is not good. The contents of the work, which seem to have required little of what might strictly be termed < editing,* consist of extracts from printed discourses by several American divines of repute, with other published sketches, essays, poetry, etc., from eminent and non-eminent Ameri- can authors. Bryant's * Thanatopsis' is converted into < Consolation for Mortality,' and is so replete with errors, in words and in punctuation, as hardly to be recognisa- ble. Lest we be thought too severe in this charge, let us indicate a few of the blun- ders referred to. The author of * Thanatopsis' wrote :
'The oak
Shan fend its roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.'
It is here printed :
'The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mmak /'
Again, Bryant wrote :
*Tet not to thine eternal restbig<plaee Shalt thou retire alone,' etc.
Here it * limps, short of a foot,' with a new word interpolated:
* Yet not to thy tartUf resting-plaoe Shalt thoa retire,' etc.
The ' corrections,' however, in these cases may be a part of the ' editing* to which we have referred. The * Barean desert' is a new reading ; < yes' for < yet,' in the fourth line of the fortieth page is another ; the last * by* in the eleventh line of the same page, is a third ; while the punctuation throughout is as bad as bad can be. We are sony to be obliged to^peak thus of a work which, in its externals of paper, typography and binding, reflects credit upon the well-known house whence the volume proceeds ; and which contains several pieces of sacred erudition that serve to elucidate many r^ markaUe incidents in the BiUe. < With all its imperfections on its head,' the woriL is •till worthy of commendation to the Christian public.
66 Literary Notices, [January,
' ^oKBTs BT John G. Whittisb. nimtnted by H. Bilumos. In one Toloma. pp.381 Bostoai
BXNJAMIN B. MUSaST AND COXT ANt.
A MOST welcome.viBitor to the Banctum was this Ivge and beautiful vohime of an x>ld friend and correspondenty whom we have peraonally seen and heard from through the public press quite too infrequently in the last three or four yean. WHrrrica is a true poet He is never without vigor and warmth ; his imagination is seldom yague and never extravagant ; while his command of striliing and meUifluons language is one of his most remarkable characteristics. The contents of the book before us are embraced in four divisions : the first consists of < Poems' proper, * The Bridal of Penna.> cook' and ' Mogg Megone ;* the second, of ten < Legendary* sketches ; the third, * Voices of Freedom,' comprises between thirty and forty * lays of humanity,' the most of them being upon the subject of slavery and its collateral themes ; and about an equal number of * Miscellaneous' lyrics. Mr. Whittur introduces his volume ^th this modest and felicitous * Proem :'
< I Lovx the old melodlouf lays ^Vhich softly melt the age> through.
The songs of Spbksbb's golden days,
Arcadian Sidnxt's sUyery phrase, 8|rinkling our noon of time with freshest morning dew,
' Yet yainly in my quiet hours To breathe thdr marrellous notes I try;
I feel them, as the leaves and flowers
In silence feel the dewy showers, And drink with glad still lips the blessing of the sky.
• The rigor of a frozen clime, The harshness of an untaught ear,
The Jarring words of one whose rhyme Beat often Labor's hurried time, Or Duty's rugged march through storm and strlfb, are here.
' Of mvstic beauty, dreamy grace, No rounded art the lack supplies ;
Unskilled the subtle lines to trace,
Or softer shades of Nature 's face, I yiew her common forms with imanointed eyeSr
' Nor mine the seer-like power to show The secrets of the heart ana mind ;
To drop the plummet-line below
Our common world of joy and wo, A more intense despair or brighter hope to find.
' Yet here at least an earnest sense Of human riffht and weal Lb shown;
A hate of tyranny intense,
And hearty in its yehemence, As if my brother's pain and sorrow were my own.
* Oh, Freedom I if to me belong Nor migh^ Milton's gift divine.
Nor MAByBi.'s wit and gracefixl song, Still with a love as deep and strong As theirs, I lay, like theni, my best gifv on thy shrine I*
No one can mark the deep love of right and scorn of wrong which- pervade thei pages before us, without feeling the truth expressed in the sixth of the foregoing stanzas. As an evidence of the fervor with which Mr. Whittibr advocates the de- molition of abuses against nature and humanity, we would cite his * Prisoner for Pebt' It would not have been amisp, ^e think, to hayp ^ted in a note the fad
1849.]
Literary Notices.
69
upon which it is founded ; namely, that before the law aathorising imprisonment for debt had been abolished in Massachosetts, a revolutionary pensioner was confined in Chariettown jail for a debt of fourteen dpUars, and that on the Fourth of July he was seen waving a handkerchief from the bars of his cell in honor of the day. W& well remember the record of this incident in the newspapers of the time :
•THE PRISONER FORDEBT.
* Look on him 1^-* through hit dungeon gr«te
Feebly aod cold the morning light Comes ttesUng round him, dim snd late,
As if it loathed the light BacUning on hif ftrawy bed, His hand upholds his drooping head — ffis bloodlesf cheek is seamed and hard, Unshorn his gray, neglected beard ; And o'er hit bony fingers flow BUs long, dishevelled locks of snow.
* No grateful fire before him glows.
And yet the winter's breatti is chUl ; And o'er his half*clad nerson goes
The frequent ague tnrill ; Silent, save ever and anon, A sound, half murmur and half groan, Forces apart the painful grip Of the old sufferer's bearded lip { Of sad and crushing is the fiite Of old age chained and desolate I
* Just God I why lies that old man there f
A murderer shares his prison bed. Whose eye-balls, through his horrid hair,
Gleam on him fierce and red ; And the rude oath and heartless Jeer Fall ever on his loathing ear, And, or in wakefulness or sleep, Merve, flesh and pulses thrill and creep Whene'er that rnfllan's tossing limb, Crimson with murder, touches him.
* What has the gray-haired prisoner done T
Has murder sta&ed his hands with gore t Not so ; his crime 's a fouler one :
God kads tbk old man poos I For this he shares a felon's cell — The fittest earthly type of hell t For this, the boon for which he poured His young blood on the invader's sword. And counted light the fearful cost — His blood-gained liberty is lost I
* And so, for such a place of rest.
Old prisoner, dropped thy blood as rain On Concord's field, and Bunker's crest.
And Saratoga's plain T Look forth, thou man of many scars, Through thy dim dungeon's iron bars ; It must be Joy, In sooth, to see Yon monument upreared to thee — Filed granite and a prison-cell— The land repays thy service well I
* Go, ring the belli.and fire the guns.
And fling the starry baxmer out ; Shout ' Freedom I' ml your lisping ones
Give back their cradle shout : Let boastful eloquence declaim Of honor, liberty and &me ; Still let the poet^s strain be heard, ^^th • glory^ for each second word. And every thing with breath agree To praise ' our glorious liberty I'
' But when the patriot cannon jars That prison's cold and gloomy wall.
And through its grates the stripes and stars Rise on the wmd and fall —
Think ye that prisoner's aged ear
Rejoices in the general cheer T
Think ve his dim and failing eye
Is kindled at your pageantry T
Sorrowing of'^soul, and chamed of limb.
What is your carnival to him T
* Down with the x.aw that binds him thus f
Unworthy freemen, let it find No refuge from the withering curse
Of God and human kind I Open the prison's living tomb And usher from its brooding gloom The victims of your savage code To the free sun and air of God ; No longer dare as crime to brand The chastening of the Almiohtt's hand.'
Thanks to Humanity, the law was pat down ; nor can we doubt that the above spirited poem was more potent to that consummation than the speeches of a hundred iegislaton to the same end. We should be glad to quote at greater length from the beantifdl volume ui^der notice, but our limits forbid. We h?ive to content ourselves with recommending it cordially to our readers, as containing that which will ajQbrd them exalted pleasure, and make them, if they are Americans, proud of the author 88 their countryman. The illustrations are exceedingly good, and reflect credit not only upon the artist, but upon the liberality and enterprise of the publishers. The portrait of the author is excellent. The Quaker-bard, as we gaze at his face, seems
to say, all of yore, * Well, friend L , how dost thou like my productions V * We
have said f and are willing to have our 'judgment set aside,* if any of our readers, •hall disagree with ns*
70 Literary Notices. [January,
Essays and Rxvixws bt Edwin P. Whipplk. In two rolomei. New-Tork t D. Applktoh ASH CoMPAMT. Philadelphia: Gaomos 8. Applstoic.
Thbbe volumes contain the impreasions conveyed to the mind of the author by the perusal of certain works of Britbh and American authors ; which impressions, in the shape of what is termed * reviews,* have been from time to time given to the public through the < North -American' and other indigenous quarterly or monthly publications. In the first volume among other matters, are notices of Maoaulkt ; of nfaie of our more prominent American poets ; of a frill doxen of the best English bards of the nineteenth century ; with individual estimates of the genius of Bteon, Wo&dswo&th, Stdnbt Smith, Daniel Webster, Talfourd, James, etc Among the attractive articles of the second volume is a paper upon the < Old English Dramatists,' twelve of the chief of whom are served up after the manner of a true appreciator and with the skill of a felicitous commentator ; a paper upon South's Sermons ; another dis- CfMsing the merits of modem British critics ; with articles upon Shakspbaee'b critics, CoLBRiDOE, Sherioan, Prescott, and essays on the < Romance of Rascality,' ' The Croakers of Society and Literature,' etc. Of many of these, and of some other papers now republished in these volumes, we have spoken at large on their original appear- ance. The entire work is worthy of careful perusal and preservation.
RoBCANCs OP Yachting. Voyage the First By Joseph C. Hart, Author of *Mliiam Coffin,' etc. New* York : Harpsr and Bbothbbs.
Mr. Hart tells us in his preface that the present volume has been written mainly with a view to call the attention of yachters to the several phenomena ordinarily oc- curring at sea and on ship-board : among the incidental subjects treated of in the work, however, are these: The precedence claimed for the Puritans in the introduc- tion here of < freedom, religion, and civilization f the misrepresentations of Spanish female character, and the character of the Spanish people generally ; the original cause of the invasion of Spain by the Moon, in modem times supposed to be attribu- table to the violence done to the daughter of Julian ; and the position generally as- signed to Shakspearb as a superior literary genius. The arrogance and wantonness of British writers in regard to this country, are by no means forgotten among the other incidental matters. Now let us premise that our author writes naturally and with ease ; that he describes with a clear pencil what he sees < in the air, on the ocean, and the earth ;' that he property rebukes the < Yankee' division proper of this lepublic for an unfounded pretension to all the original freedom, religion, and civilization of the land ; that he visits Cadiz, the life and general attractions of which, outside and in- side of the walls, he pleasantly sets forth ; and that among other things, he tells the reader, (and on this point he should be authority,) how to navigate a yacht across the Atlantic or elsewhere. Here it will be seen, is materiel for a very pleasant book, and as such we commend it to the reader. But what shall we say of our author's ideas oonceming SnAKSPEARE? — Shakspeare, of whom Dr. Johnson said so eloquently, < Time, which is continually washing away the dissoluble fabrics of other authors, passes without injury by the adamant of hi* works ?' According to Mr. Hart, Shaks-
1849.] LUerary Notices. 71
riAftS was < no great Shakea,' alter alL He was quite a small intellect — of no great account, any way ; after his death, say a hundred years, the pla^s which bear his name were found among the lumber of a theatrical * property' -room, were attri- Imted to him, and thereafterward published as his own ! Rowb and Bktterton were the doer and abetter of this trick ! * Shall we go on ? — no !' Rather let us continue to think Shaxsfbask a clever man, who has written < some good pieces,* and our friend the author of the volume before us a ' clever fellow,' (in both senses of the term,) who has written one foolish one.
TBI GsxAT HoooASTT DuHONO. Bj W. BC. Thacxksat, Author of ' Vanity Fair, or Fen and Pencil Shetches of Engliih Society/ etc. New- York : Habpbk and Bsothsbs.
This is another of those life-like sketches of Anglo-Irish character, and English • medium' society in general, for which Thackbrat is becoming so deservedly pre- eminent It would be a difficult matter, we cannot help thinking, for any other writer in England, DioKSifs periiaps excepted, to take an old diamond brooch, the property of an ancient aunt, surrounded by thirteen locks of hair, belonging to a bokex^s dozen of sisters of her deceased husband, and around it to weave a story of kindred interest with the one before us. The old lady was very much attached to the hero, Bfr. Samuel Titmarsh ; she made him drink tea and play cribbage with her until he was tired half to death, when she was wont to relieve his fatigue with some ' infernal sour Mack currant wine.' which she called < Rosolio ;' and all this was undergone by him with fortitude, because she had j^mised that he should ulti- mately become heir to the 'Hogoartt property.' Let us here record a little disap- pointment of his:
* Wxix, I ffaooght after all this obaeqalonsnesa on my part, ^dmy annf a repeated promises, that the old lady would at least make me a present of a score of guineas (of wliich she had a power in the dnwer) : and so convinced was I that some such present was intended for me, that a yonng lady br the name of Bfiss Mabt Smith, with whom I had conrersed on the sub- ject, aetaaliy aettea me a little green dlk purse, which she gave me (behind Hick's hay-rick, •s yon tarn to the right up Churchy ard>lane) — which she gave me, I sav. Wrapped up in a bit of sDTer paper. There was something in the purse, too, if die truth must be known. First, tkcre was a thick curl of the glossiest, blackest hair vou ever saw in your life, and next, there was threepence ; that is to sav, the half of a silver sixpence, hanging by a little necklace of blue rib- bon. Ah, but I knew where the other half of the sixpence was, and envied that happy bit of divert
* Next day I was obliged, of course, to devote to Bfrs. Hoooaktt. Mr aunt was excessively mdous ; and by way of a treat brought out a couple of bottles of the black currant, of which Sbe made me drjtnk Uie greater part. At night, when all the ladies assembled at her party had gone off with their pattens and their maids, Mrs. Hoooaxtt, who had made a signal to me to slay, first blew out uree of the wax candles in the drawing-room, and taking the four^ in her hand, went and unlocked her escritoir.
* I can tell you my heart beat, thoagh I pretended to look quite unconcerned.
* * Bak, my dear,* said she, as she was fumbling with her keys, * take another glass of Rosolio (that was the name by which she baptized the cursed beverage^, it will do you good.' I took It and you miffht have seen my hand tremble as the bottle went click, click, against the glass. Bj tbe time I had swallowed it, the old lady had finished her operations at the bureau, and was coming towards me, the wax candle bobbing in one hand, and a large parcel in the other.
* Mow '8 nie time, thought I.
' * Saxuxl, my dear nephew,' said sh^ ' your first name you received from your sainted imcla,
S blessed husband ; and of all my nephews and nieces, you are the one whose conduct in has most pleased me.' ' When you consider that my aunt herself was one of seven married sisters, that all the Hoo- OABTRS were married in Ireland and mothers of numerous children, I must say that the com- pliment my aunt paid me was a very handsome one.
' ' Dear aunt,' says I, in a slow, agitated voice, ' I have often heard you say there were scvon- ty>ttiree of us in ul, and, believe me, I do think your high opinion of me very complimentary ' ' i ; I 'm unworthy of it — indeed I am.'
< * Bamobx,,' eontimied she, < I promised you a present, and here it is. I first thought of giv- ing you money; but yon are a regular lad, and do n't want it You are above money, dear Saxukz.. I give you what I value most in life— Uie p-^, the po— , the po-ortrait of my
72 Literary Notices. [January^
sainted Hoooaktt (tears), set in the locket which contains the valoable diamond that you have often heard mfe speak of. Wear it, dear Sam, for my sake ; and think of that angel in Hearen, and of your dtfar aimt Dosy/
' She put the machine into my hands ; it was tibout the size of the lid of a shaying-boz ; and I should as soon hare thought of wearing it, as of wearing a cocked hat and a pigteif. I was so disgusted and disappointed, that I really could not get out a single word.
* When I recovered my presence of'^mind a little, I took the locket out of the p(q>er(tiie locket indeed 1 it was as big as a hani>door padlock), and slowly put it i^to my shirt*
He becomes somewhat more reconciled to the gift, when he u informed that the gold in which the thing is set is worth £ye guineas, and rejects that he can have the diamond re-set as a hreast-pin, for two more ; and that a diamond-pin would give him a distingu^ air, although his clothes are something of the shabhiest. Having hidden his aunt good-by, he is about ta leave for London ; but let him tell his own fclory :
I had Mary's purse ready for my aunt* s donation, which nerer came, and with my own ',little Stock of money besides, that Mrs. HoooAstr's card-parties had lessenied by a good fiye-and* twenty shillings. I calculated that after paying my fare, I should get to town with a couple of seven-shillinff pieces in my pocket.
* I walked down the village at a deuce of a pace ; so quicks that if the thing had been possible, I should have overtaken ten o'clock that had passed by me two hours ago, when I was listeidBf to Mrs. H.'s long stores over her terrible Rosolio. The truth is, at ten I had an appoints&ent under a certain person's window, who was to have been looking at the moou at that hour, witii her pretty quilled night-cap on, and her blessed hair in papers.
* 'niere was the window shut, and not so much as a candle in it ; and though I hemmed and hawed, and whistled over the garden-palfhg, and sung a song of which Somebody was very fond, and even throw a pebble at the window, which hit it exactly at the opening of the lattice— I woke no one except a great brute of a house-dog, that veiled, and howled, and bounced so at tne over the rails, that I bought every moment he would have had my nose between his teeth.
' So I was obliged to go off as quickly as might be ; and the next morning mamma and mv sisters made breakfast tor.me at four, and at five came the True Blue light six-inside pott-cosui to London, and I got up on the roof without having seen Maay Skitb.
' As we passed the house it did seem as if the window-curtain in her room was drawn aside just a little bit. Certainly the window was open, and it had been shut the night before : but away went .the coach, and the village, cottage, and the churchyard, and Hick's hay-ncks, were soon out of sight
* ' My hi, what a pin !' said a stable boy, who was smokipg a cigar, to the guard, looUnfif at me and nutting his finger to his nose.
' The fact is, that I had never undressed since my aunt's party ; and being uneasy in mind and having all my cloUies to pack up, and thinking of somebody else, had quite forgotten Mrs. Hoa* oaktt's brooch, which I had stuck into my shirt-frill the night before.
Thus ends the first chapter. The second tells \A how the diamond is brought up to London, and produces wonderful effects, both in * the City* and at the * West End.' Especially does it make the reader acquainted with Mr. John Brough, Chief Director of the Independent West Diddlesez Assedation, a company whose * assurance* seems to have heen enough for aU the similar institutions in London, the financial schemet of which are recoij^ed with infinite truthfulness and humor. We wish we had space to permit Mr. Titmaii6h to describe in his own words, the manner in which he wai one day whisked into the magnificent carriage of Lady Doldrum, and the good luck which enured to him thenceforward. The sketches of that interesting mnemonic old dowager-countess, of the Ladies Preston and Rakes, and of the Earl of TiprorF, are in Thackeray's rich vein. But the picture of that Pecksniffian financibr, the chief director of the * I. W. D. Ass.,* is the ' credwnin' glory* of all ;^ ntr is it a character without its prototype, *here and elsewhere.* The diamond-pin succee- sively introduces the wearer to a dinner at Pentonville with Roundhand, Brouoh's chief clerk, a hen-pecked * spoon* of a husband, and subsequently to a fashionable hall at the residence of the Chief Director of the * Ind. W. Did. Ass.* There is some-' thing, as it seems to us, of the sly humor of Goldsmith in the ensuing sodne :
I84d.] Literary Notices, t<
* Theae is no 1X8« to describe the grand gala, nor the number of lamps in the lodge and in tile garden, nor the crowd of carriagea that came in the gates, nor the troops of carious people OQtude, nor the ices, fiddlers, wreatna of flowers and cold supper within. The whole descnp- fion was beaatlfull/ giren in a fashionable paper, bv a reporter who obsenred the same from the * Yellow Lion,' orer the way, and told it in his journal in the most accurate manner ; get> ting an account tf( the dresses of the great people from their footmen and coachmen whexf thej came to the ale-house for their porter. As for the names of the guests, they, you may be rare, found their way to the same newspaper ; and a great laugh was had at mv expense because, among the titles of the great people mentioned, my name appeared in the list of the
* honorablea.' Next day BmouoH adrertised * a hundred and fifty guineas reward for an emerald necklace lost at the party of JqHN Broxjoh, Esq., at Fulham.' Though some of our people ■aid that no such thing was lost at all, and that Bkouoh only wanted to advertise the aaagnifi- eence of his society ; hut this doubt was raised by persons not inrited, and enrious, no doubt.
* Well, I wore my diamond, as you may imagine, and rigged myself in my best clothes, Tiz., my blue coat and brass buttons, before mentioned, nankeen trowsers and silk stockines, a white waistcoat, and a pair of white gloves bought for the occasion ; but my coat was of country- make, very high in the waist and short in the sleeves ; and I suppose I must have looked rather Odd to s<nne of the great people assembled, for they stared at me a great deal, and a whole crowd formed to see me aance, which I did to the best of my power, performing all the stepa iccnrately, and with great ability, as I had been taught by our dancing-master in the countnr.
* And with whom do you wink I had the honor to dance f — with no less a person than Lady Jams PaxaroN, who, it appears, had just gone out of town, and who shook me most kindly by the hand when she saw me, and asked me to dance with her. We had my Lord Tiptoff and LadT Faswy Raicxs ft>r our vis-a-vu.
* You should have seen how the people crowded to look at us, and admired my dancing, too ; for I cut the very best of capers, quite difierent to the rest of the gents, (my lord among the dumber,) who walked through the quadrille as if they thought it a trouble, and stared at my activity with all their might. But when I have a dvhte, I like to enjoy myself; and Maat Smith often said I was the very best partner at our assemblies. While we were dancing, I told Lady Jakx how Roundhand, Gutch and I had come down three in a cab, beside the driver ; and my account of our adventures made her ladyship laugh, I warrant you. Lucky it was for me mat I did not go back in the same vehicle ; for the driver went and intoxicated himself at the * Yellow Lion,^ threw out Gutch and our head-clerk as he was driving them back, and actually fought Gutch afterward and blacked his eye,' because, he said, that Gutch's red velvet waistcoat frightened the horse.
* Lady Jans, however, spared me such an uncomfortable ride home ; for she iaid she had a fourth place in her carriage and asked me if I would accept it ; and positively, at two o'clock in the morning, there was I, after setting the ladies and my lord down, driven to Salisburv- aquare in a great thundering carriage, with flaming lamps and two tall footmen, who nearly knocked the door and the whole UtUe street down with the noise they made at the rapper. Ton should have seen Gus's head peeping out of a window in his white night-cap I He kept me up the whole night, telling him about the ball and the freat people I had seen there ; and next day he told at ttie office my stories, with his own usual embroideries upon them.'
Mr. TirMAKSH became afterward a frequent visitor at the Chief Director's, where
* on Sunday,' he writes, * a great bell woke us at eight, and at nine we all assembled in the breaklast-room, where Mr. Brouoh read prayers, a chapter, and made an ex- hortation afterward to us and all the members of the household, except the French cook, Monsieur Nonotonopaw, whom I could see frtmi my chair walking about in the shrubberies, in his white night-cap, smoking a cigar.' The result of the pious Chief Director's assiduous attentions to Mr. Titmarsh turns out to be, that Aunt HoooARTT invests her money in shares of the * I. W. D. Ass. ;' that all is lost ; and that Mr. TrrMxasH, now married to sweet Mart Smith, is thrown into prison for Uabaites which he had been indiiced, at Brouoh's instigation, to incur. The descrip- tion which ensues of scenes in the prison is as graphic and striking as any thing in the. Tolnme. But we must refer the reader to the book itself for * particulars,' as well as for the denouement of the.story ; m which it is conclusively riiown that a good wife is the best ^amond a man can wear in his bosom.
It is a curious thing to remark the ease with which one may detect the style and mnnner of a true observer, like Thackeray. Whether as the gossiping flunkey/
* Crawls Yellowplush,' the voyager from * Comhill to Cairo,' the recorder of the proceedings of * Vanity Fair,* or the painter of Brough, Chief Director of the * Inde- pendent West Diddlesex Association,' he can never rehiain * nominis vmbra**
YOL. xxxni. 10
E I) I T O R'S TABLE.
^nnbtrsatQ Itsiival of Saint 3)^ut)ola0.
. Wk have once more the pleasure, as the elected official organ of the Saint Nicholas Society, to present our readers with a brief record of the proceedings at their anniyersary festival, held at the City Hotel on the evening of the seventh ultuno. The Society, with their invited \ guests, assembled at the appointed hour ; and after the election of new, and reflection of old officers, proceeded, to the sound of inspiring music, to the banquetting-hall, where they were marshalled to their seats by the stewards. When the company were all seated, it was remarked that each of the four long tables, running lengthwise of the hall, was just comfortably filled. At the centre of the raised table, on the dais, sat the Presidknt, looking as happy as he felt, with his venerable cocked hat and brave insignia of dig- nified office ; while mounted before him, with head turned due * no*th-east-by-no*th- half-no'th,' stood that Detennmed Cock, which was presented to the Society at their last anniversary by Washington Irving. The chaplams of the Society, with the presidents of the several sister societies of the metropolis, were on each side of the President, and with their different orders and badges, added not a little to the pictur- esque affect Grace was invoked by the Rev. Mr. Johnson, one of the chaplains of the Society ; when there straitway ensued a great rattling of plates and popping of corks ; and a goodly number of colored gepi'man, clad in the quaint garb of old Peter Stuyvesant were < about,* with marvdlous ubiquity. When the viands and fluids had been sufficiently discussed, the President arose, mounted his hat, and addressed the Society as follows:
' BaoTHE&s OF St. IfiCHOLAS : Another year has again brought us together to celebrate the anniversary of our patron Saint, and to welcome to our festive board the representatives of those societies whose origin and purposes are, like our own, founded in charity and benevo* lence. In expressing the gratification I have in meeting so numerous an assemblage of the members of our Society, I may, I trust, be permitted at the same time briefly to express the feelings of a just pride at the honorable distinction which it has been your pleasure again to confer on mo, by electing me for a second term to preside over this Society. My best thanks and my whole duty are all that I can offer in return. It gives me great pleasure to be able to Inform yon that the funds of the Society are gradually increasing, and are from time to time
EdUar't TMe. 75
•afely ioTetted ; that onr aetual member* exceed three hundred ; end although it la true that but email demands for aid hare as yet at any time been made upon our treaaury, still, while we cannot but rejoice that such is the case, it Ls no less our duty, as it is our practice, to hus- band our means against the day of need, and for acts of charity, which doubtless, in the course of years, we shall be called upon to dispense. These great societies are among those which distinguish and add character to our great commercial city, where men of all nations congre* gate, and uniting their skill, their enterprise and their capital with the old Dutch stock, in- crease and render permanent the prosperity and wealth of the common hire. During the present year we hare had cause to rejoiee in the return of peace ; the waste of war has dis- appeared, and in its place hare come repose and quiet, and the gaUiering together of the means of this great and free people for the arts of peace and the bold and well-planned adrentuves of commerce, as well to its ancient haunts as to those distant and newly-acquired settlements where our language, our laws and our freedom are to be planted and cherished by the hands of Americans. We have, too, unlike the ancient world, recently and quietly gone through with an election for the Chief Magistrate of the Union ; a result arriyed at through the ballot •lone, and acquiesced in as the will of the minority ; the two great principles of our govern- ment, and upon the preservation of which depend the prosperity of our country and the per- petuity of our institutions. Amidst the general welfare^ we have to mourn the loss of several of our most distinguished members. Bince we last met, Hsnbt Bbjbvoobt and David S. Jonxs have finished their mortal career ; but they have left with us the memory of their great per- sonal worth, and excellences in their different spheres of life, and each, in his peculiar charac- ter, the taste, the knowledge and the fitness which adorned the places they filled among us.'
When the President had concluded these remarks, and the applause which they eli- cited had subsided, he proceeded to give the following regular toasts, which were re- peated by the Vice-Presidents, and received with tumultuous acclamation ; several of them, indeed, with nine hearty cheers :
St. Nicholas : Our Patron Saint, long canonized in our aflbctiona : BCay his genial worship be extended among our descendants.
OuA CiTT : Her destiny is onward ; it shall be the effort of her sons to make her fully worthy of her ancestry.
Tbx PaxsiDxMT or the Unitsd Statxs.
Thb GovKBNoa or the Stats or Nkw-Tobk.
Tkb Abkt: Honor to the names and the deeds which constitute its glory.
Tbx Navt: The Lakes, the Ocean and the Gulf, bear witness to their valor and their skill.
Thx Eahlt Fathxbs or Nkw AJCSTBaoAM : The stem they planted has become a giant tree : tihrongh all the grafts it still shows the vigor of the parent stock.
Qua SiSTsa Societies : St. Nicholas welcomes them right heartily to his board, and in the cup of good-fellowship again pledges them to advance the city of their adoption.
The natueal Alliance between the Dutch akd English Settlebs m Ameeica : Its beginning, the hospitality shown in Holland to the emigrants of the Mayflower ; its consumma- tkm, the union of their descendants here.
Qua BaoTHEE the GovEaNOH-ELEcr : The hereditary successor In offlee and character of the ttluatrioxis SrinrvESANT.
The Dauohtebs or Eve : The Mother tempted one man out of Eden : The Daughters make Cor oa a Paradise of the world.
After the regular toasts were gone through with, the Presidents of the Sister Socie- ties, present as guests, responded on hehalf of the associations whiph they represented. Taking the hint from a suggestion by the President of St. Nicholas, they spoke with brevity and to the point We regret that care was not taken to preserve a copy of their nmarks for publication ; but this was overlooked ; as it was also in the case of the brief bat felicitous speeches of the Vice-Presidents, which formed an excellent feature of the evening. The subjoined are the toasts by the Presidents of the sbter societies, and other invited guests :
Bt Majob HAVBittTSEi * Oht Dutck Anettum: The prosperitj of oar elty is a tribute ao
^S Edam's Table. [January,
leM to their Bagacity, which laid its foimdatioiia, than to the enterpriie which haa raiaad the aaperstmeture.'
Bt Da. Bkauu, PaxaiDXKfT of St. GxoaoK'a Socimr : * Nen-Yark : May her futwn equal her jMwt career.'
Bt Mb. Ikvin, Pbxsidknt of St. Andkxw's : * Tke Virtue of ike S&tOtnof IHetm AmtUrdam: A good foundation for a great and rirtaous community.'
By M08K8 H. GaiNNKLL, Fucsidxnt of thx Nsw-Enoijind Socdbtt : * Sahu Hickoku : The best-tempered and broadeat-bottomed saint in the calendar.'
Bt Uau giMMBRBfAW, Dutch Consui. : < Tke Oonetitution of tke Vniud StaUe and tke Ftmd^ mental Law of tke Netkerlande :' May other nations learn from them that no goremm«nt, how- ever free, can be permanent, unless its laws protect the proper^ as well aa the aocial rights of Individuals.'
Bt Javxs Rxtbu&n, PaKsiDSNT of St. Patbick's Socixtt : ' Tke Dutek Settiere of New-Am' tUrdam: While selecting a snug home for themselves, they established a haven for the exiles of all nations.'
Bt Ma. Connabd, Pbxsidbnt of thb Gbbman Socibtt : < Tke 014 Nem-Tork QenUeman : A living ex^ple to the Rising generation. May the race never expire.'
Bt thx Rbv. Db. Schoonuakxb, (in sonorous Dutch :) ' Net Santa date QeeeUeekap von Ifieam AmeterdaMj alle keyl en wnnrepoet tot deudfe leden : Lanck mogen sy betrachten Fatherlandts oar wankelbaer oprechtigheyt, eerlyckheydt van voomemen, en liefde tot deughtsaamheydt, vry^ heiten releaie.' {Tke St. NickoUu Society of Nao-Ameterdam : Health and prosperity to its memr bers. May they long cultivate that unbending integrity, honesty of purpose, and Uie love of liberty, virtue and religion, which has elevated the national character of Fatherlandi)
Bt a Guxst : * Our Dutek Anceetors : The first founders of civilization, science and religioa In this State. Their institutions wHl shine with increasing brightness to the remotest gensrar lions.'
Bt Mb. Zabbiskxx : *TkelaU Emigranu from BoUand: Like the Pilgrims of New-England, they fled firom the land of their fathers and the endeared associations ^f birth, in quest of eivU and religious liberty. We welcome them to our shores, the land of their choice and th^ future home of their children.'
Bt Hxnbt J. Bbxnt, a Guxst : < Tke Hudeon Rioer : Like the Flag of the United States, may it wave to every land the blessings and bounties and liberties of our country.'
Bt Dxnnino Duxb, of thx Couvrrrxx or Stxwabos : ' Tke Son$ of ^. Niekolae: Let them but be true to the customs of their ancestors, and all will be well with themselves and their descendants.'
Bt a Guxst : * The returning sense of public Justice, manifested hf the reflection of the Dutch to power, in the election of a Dutch Governor and a Dutch Mayor.*
While the company were yet eoyeloped in the wann smoke that curled lazily up- ward from the long pipes sent over by Messn. Wambersie and Ckoabwtck, of Rot- terdam, and presented to the Society hiy Gilbert Davis, Mr. Charles Kino, one of the Vice-Presidents, rose, and in conclusion of a few well-expressed observations, touching the power and glory of England, proposed the health of Hon. Maurice Power, member of the British Parliament, who was present as an invited guest. The gentleman thus honored responded as follows to the toast, in a manner which bespoke him an accomplished orator :
Mb. PaxsiDXNT, Vice-Presidents and Gentlemen of the St. Nicholas Sociktt : I need not, I am sure, here express how deeply sensible I am of the high honor that has Just been done me ; an honor which is in no small degree enhanced by the eloquent and complimentary terms with which you. Sir, have prefaced the toast, and the cordial and enthusiastie manner in which it has been received by the gentlemen of this Society, whose history, or rather the history of whose ancestors, both of the old world and the new, I have read and pondered over with admiratian and delight In that history, Sir, I foimd a people, whx), with nothing save the force of charac- ter, of virtue and of enterprise to rely upon, converted the undrained marshes of Holland into smiling meadows and rich pastures ; a people whose stock in trade consisted only' of a few fishing-boats, which were soon exchanged for those poble ships, with which the Dutch wers
1849.]
Editor's Table. 77
"woDt to sweep every sea, and carry their arti, their commerce and their civilization to the far- ttieat limits of the earth ; and by means of whicht they so increased and consolidated their •tcength, as to be able to hurl their haughty defiance at the greatest power the world then knew. Ut 8|r, Coming from the East, I seek to mark their progress in the West, what do I behold f A people, cultivating the same arts, and pursuing the same paths in the new world, which led 12iem to glory, and greatness, and dominion, in the old ; the gloomy fbrest converted into fruit- fdl fields ; opulent cities, and well-built towns established ; the hum of busy industry heard In localities where no other sound was ever heard before, save the howl of savage boasts, and jttie dismal song of the still more savage Indian ; that noble river traced to its source, on whose .bosom are now borne the rich products of the ' Far West,' to feed the hungry millions of Eu- Tope ; in a word, die foundations laid of this colossal power, which is destined, (and that at no distant day) to dictate terms to the rest of the world. With these considerations crowding vpon my mind, how could I feel otherwise than flattered at the compliment you have paid me, or how can I ever experience other than feelings of pride and satisfaction, when I reflect, that tile blood of the men who have done these deeds— the Knickxrbocxjbbs of New-York-r flows tiirongh tlie veins of the dearest objects of this heart T ^ I mean my wife and my children. My honorable tr\eod, Mr. Kino, has referred in terms of high eulogy to the great country with which I am connected, as a representative in Parliament I am happy to say, that those kindly jwntiments are fully reciprocated by every well-judging man in Great Britain. We look upon your greatness as though it were, in some measure^'our own; for what is so natural as that the |Mffent should rejoice at the grcfWing prosperity of her child t For my own part, I can safely promise, that no matter whether in a public or private station, my constant endeavor shall be to unite still more closely two nations that ought to be for ever bound to each other by their motoal interests, and by the stronger ties of blood, of language and religion.
Mr. PmssiDKNT, I should now close the remarks which I felt myself called upon to make, -If a higher and more sacred duty did not still remain to be performed ; that of conveying to this Society and to the people of this country, the thanks and gratitude of eight millions of my oouBtrymen, for the generous and disinterested aid which you afforded them, when in circum- atanoes of real distress. You are all doubtless familiar with the statements relative to the Into famine in Ireland. You have pictured to yourselves the sufferings of the wretched inhabi- tants of that Island; sufferings that exceed, in intensity and duration, those tragical distresses which fancy has fsigned to excite sorrow and commiseration. Sir, I have read in Tuucydides tiie account of the plague of Athens ; I have read in Manzoni a statement of ito ftivages in the dtSee of Northern Italy ; but neither the minute details of the one nor the luminous page of the other;— no, not even the sufferings of the wretched beings with which the great poet of Italy (Daictx,) peopled the Hell of his imagination, can parallel in horror the scenes of wo, on which 1 myself have gaxed, terror-stricken and bewildered, in several parte of Ireland ; fami- lies numbering as nuny as six, found dead together on their common bed of straw ; infanta togging at their dead mother's breasta, from which the nourishing fluid had receded long be- fore Ule was extinct ; the son found with his mouth filled with the flesh of his dead father's hand, which he had mangled and lacerated in the last desperate efforta to sustain agonized ex- istence ; yes, these are objecta, the bare contemplation of which makes the heart shudder and the blood run cold ; objecta over which I shall now throw a pall, lest I may disgust you Jiy faihter dwelling on them. While Ireland was enveloped in this gloom, without a ray of hope to cheer her, a voice was wafted across the billows of the Atlantic, conveying the glad tldinga of the great things that were being done for her in America. In a moment the aspect of things was changed. ' Hope elevated, and joy brightened her crest;' while the genius of Erin arose from her grave, and flinging from her form [the death-shroud that enveloped it, with hope in her eye, and promise on hor lips, bade her sons to be of good heart, for the gene- rous Americans were hastening to their assistance !
Mr. PowBB next alluded to the labors of the New- York Committee and stated that the names of MTftDKRT Van Schaick, Philip Honk, and the other members, were as familiar in Ireland as * inuekotd word** Tor all these acta of disinterested kindness. Ireland can now make no other re- torn than the prayers of eight millions of a grateful, a generous, and an enthusiastic people ; a people who will pray that no pestiferous breath may blight your crops ; no foreign foe pollute tiieae shores, or domestic enemy rend this glorious Union, under which you now flourish ; but puA lifcming Plenty ^guy ever shower her choicest blessings over this happy land ; while ' o' ev
78 Editor's Table. [January,
her happy homes and altars free the star-spangled banner may erer proudly ware, the terror of the oppressor and the ' hope of the oppressed !'
With this speech, admirable alike in matter, and in the manner of its delivery, wo must close our account of the proceedings of the last festival of the Saint Nicholas Society. It was one of the most pleasant of all our annual gatherings hitherto.
* American Artists' Benevolent Fund Society.' — We are glad to be able to announce a movement in this metropolis toward establishing an * American ArtitU^ Benevolent Fund Society,* after the plan of a kindred institution, chartered many years since in England, which has proved of the greatest benefit to British art, artists, and the bereaved families of artists. When the details are arranged by the com- mittee— who, to their honor be it spoken, have taken the initial of the matter de- terminedly in hand — and by those acting in concert with them, we shall present them in these pages. In the mean time we make the subjoined extract from the report of the committee in question :
' That a necessity exists at the present time for an institution such as we desire to establish will not, we think, be denied. There probably is no one among us who cannot call to mind instances where its beneficial effects would have been felt ; effects gratifying not only to the immediate recipients of its bounty, but to those in whose hearts I ires an abiding respect for the memory of the dead. Charity, always noble, never appears more so than when alleviating the wants of those who chance to be the helpless siirvivors of men whose lives have been de^ voted to the production of forms of beauty — it matters not whether in painting or sculpture ; enduring forms, whose refining influence is felt by all. If merit always conomanded the ^e* cess it deserves, the objects which we now have in view were vain and useless ; but such, unhappily, is not the case. It is needless to enquire into the cause of this undeniable wrong. The fact that it exists, and that in all probability it will not be removed imtil the entire fobrio of society is re-constnicted, is a sufficient argument in favor of the usefulness of establishing means that may, in part, remedy the existing evil. Many^ noble aspiration has been checked, many a soul, longing to express itself in the beautiful language of art, has been weighed down by the incubus of Fronpective Poverty; a demon, haimting the toiling artist in his studio— ^whis- pering in his ear words such as these : ' Stifle your desire for the far-off, unattained and dim ; make the labor of your hands simply available property ; create such things only as will be understood, and perhaps purchased by the many, if you would not have your wife and chil- dren— the jewels of your heart — thrown, when you die, upon the cold charities of a cold world.' Genius may, and in many memorable instances has, broken over these barriers in the way of its advancement ; triumphing nobly over the most unpropitious circumstances. In* deed, individual cases may be cited where poverty and its attendant misfortunes have served as spurs rather than checks to its onward career ; but these form only the exceptions to the rule.
*The formation of an ' American Artists' Benevolent Fund,* setting aside its more obvious philanthropic motive, would tend greatly to promote the cause of American art. Tell the struggling artist, who may have a family dependant upon his exertions for support, that, should he be unsuccessful in his efforts to provide for them a maintainance after his decease, they will yet be cared and provided for, by an institution from which, by the ud he lent it while living, he has given them a right to ask for support ; and by removing this fetter from his mind, you incite him to new and higher effort. Men of capital who are sincere lovera of art, (and there are many such in our city.) would gladly tender their aid in behalf of so lauda- ble an object; and the committee, in pressing the importance of speeJy and vigorous action in this matter, feci that they ore discharging a simple act of duty which they owe to hunoanity and to the cause of American art.'
We shall have great pleasure in promotmg, as &r as in our power, the laudable objects of this benevolent society.
1849.J
Editor's Table. 79
Am Indian Ezkcution. — We derive the followmg interesting account of an Indian Execution in Wisconsin, from a letter dated * Falls of St Croix,* more than three thousand miles from this present sanctum, iu August last. * You speak/ says our correspondent, * of making some use of my hastily-written letters ; if such be your wish, I will here jot down for you an imperfect description of an impressive scene which I lately witnessed, and of which you will have seen, if any, only a very brief account in one of our far-western papers.' The writer goes on to say :
* Some time since, In one of my letters to yon, I made mention of the murder of three white men, by Indians, near this place. That tragedy has closed by the execution of one Indian, named Lrnxx Saxtx, or ' Paunais,' and the infliction of forty stripes well laid on the back of a white man named FaxncmtCK Milleb. I will gire yon a summary of the facts in relation to this ease. About the fifteenth of May, a small Indian trading establishment, a few miles out of town, was piUaged by Indians, in the absence of the proprietor, Ifr. F. TomNKLz.. The Indians, it appears, were led on by Blnxxa, who was a rival trader. On Tobnci.z.'8 return to this place, a small party of Chippewa, or more properly, * Ob-jib* wa' Indians, of the ' Red Blanket* tribe, and somewhat noted for their insubordination to the whites, visited Toknkll's place, and after remaining several hours, Little Saux shot Tornell, and also an elderly man, an assistaat of Toxnell's, of the name of M'Elbav, and then burned the house. This was all done In open day ; although no elue to the real perpetrators of the crime, nor indeed to tile aetoal murder of Tornxlz. and M'Elbav was had until the fifth of June, when a party of men in search, on passing the place, discovered the remains of the latter, drawn from its plaee of concealment by beasts of prey. On the announcement of the news in the settle- mant, a meeting was called, a coroner chosen, (we hare none legally constituted here,) a jury summoned, and we all proceeded to the spot ; where, aided by the timely presence of a raven hovering above, we soon found the bodies of both the victims, half devoured by wolves I
' Am yon may well suppose, the discovery provoked feeling and aroused investigation^ which resnltsd in the arrest and confinement of four Indians, (Joe, Squao-a-ma, Ga-be-oa-oek, and Wasa.) believed to be accessory to the murder. They were sepArately examined, and unitedly aflfarmed that Lxttxe Saux committed the act. A party of twelve armed men was immedi* ately sent off about twenty miles to sectire his arrest On their return with the prisoner, a tribunal, composed of the first business men of the place, was constituted ; a thorough, dis- passionate and impartial investigation of the case was had, and on the following morning, at eight o'clock, In the presence of two or three hundred spectators, Indians and citizens. Little Savx was hung. The scene closed with the flogging of Milleb, as an abettor and prime iDOver in the transaction.
* For the commission of these acts, with the ettrane advocates of law and order, we hold no debate ; we desire only to explain. We claim, with them, to do reverence to the laws of God and man. A defensive action merely contemplates the adaptation of means to ends. The peculiarities of this case, and its propriety, can only be fully appreciated by those familiar with oar judicial condition ; the variety of aggravated cases of a similar character which have gone unpunished ; and above all, the peril that attends the lives of others from the attack of emboldened Indians. This case had just been preceded by another — a white man having been shot down by an Indian, in the presence of several witnesses ; while the Indian, after being taken into custody, was suffisred to escape. I was at the fort where he was confined ; and the poor fellow, as soon as he saw me, begged of me to let him go : * Ah I chief*whitc-man, let me go a little ways ; by-and-by I will come and heap presents on you, so good I' I pitied the poor fellow, for the white man had wronged him much and often, and beaten his squaw.
'The scene that morning was as orderly, impressive and solemn as any I ever beheld, under the authority of ordinary laws. There were emotions of sympathy apparent on many a manly brow ; but the Indian was firmness itself. I stood at his side through the whole affair, and he coolly smoked his pipe as if it was an every-day circumstance that was to happen. But when he bade his wife farewell, I could see the tear start in his eye. He looked round a moment on us all, then took his wife and brother by the hands, and said in his native tongue : * Farewell t Pauhais dies like a brave. Walt a littie ; Fa-oa-ka-ox (Wiutk Bikoh, his wife) by and by yov
80 Editor^i TabU [January,
^ — ■ —
will help me paddle my canoe again.' (it is the custom of the aqnaw t» sit in the bow of tiid canoe, whenever her husband hunts, and paddle it for him.) Ha then struck his breast, curled his lip. handed his pipe to his wife, climbed on the barrels which we had arranged for him; end when the rope was placed round his neck the barrels were pulled from imder him, and he died without a groan, or hardly a struggle — as ' a brave' should die. He was but twenty -two ^ars old, yet these were the second murders he had committed ; he baring killed, in all, three persons. There were his mother, his brothers, his squaw, and the chiefii of his trib^. I wish I could have painted the scene at the time ; the Indian hanging oa tiie tree ; the white man bound to the trunk, waiting for a flogging, with his dead accomplice before his eyes ; and the chiefs with their long pipes, and faaes painted of a sombre hue, sitting round on old stumps ; the oldest chief. Old Oak, of the Chippewa nation, in the midst ; all chanting a plaintive melody — the whole scene was impressive in the exbreme.
* While LiTTLB Saux was yet swinging in the air, and befbre Mzlles received his inflietkn of stripes, Indian Joseph Lapbaieis, one of the faithful to the Bsissien of the Rev. Mr. Bout- vntLL, addressed his kinsman present in the Chippewa language to the following import: * Brothers : I am of your blood, you will therefore listen to my eounseL You see one of our brethren hanging before you. It is Just. It is the white man's way of punishment for taUng^ the lives of their brethren. You will therefore take warning, and skua the counsel of bad white men and bad Indians. Go back to your hunting-grounds. Shun bad traders, and the white men will not hurt yoxi. You see they set our others free ', they* like Indians who tell the truth.' M II.LEB was then admonished by the acclamatioa of all present; that if he was ever again seen in the country he would «hare the fate of LmxE Saux, then hanging before hinn. On the whole, let us not be accused of barbarity to the Indians. The true question is, how can it be prevented t Our prepossessions and sympathies have long been with that receding race. In the chancery of Heaven condemnation is written against the enormous sin of selling whiskey to the Indians. For the reputation of our place, I can say that the sale of intoxicating drinke is not permitted within its precincts. For a short time after the hanging, tiie Indians evinced.
some disposition to hostility. I sent L away in consequence. We were at the time deatt>
tute of arms and ammunition ; we have plenty now, which I obtained at the fort All ie quiet at present, and we are no longer in fear. It is the general belief here that our prompt proceed- ings have intimidated the Indians ; but we are nevertheless prepared, and can at any time turn out one hundred armed men, which I will head in open field against the whole Ch4)pewa nation. I consider one white man a match for ten Indians ; and it Lb only a larger number than that that I allow to intimidate me when alone.'
There came with the fore^ing letter the head-dren which the Indian wore when he was executed ; a dashy adornment, flaunting^ with eagle-plumes and gay with vari- colored wampum heads ; together with a rough but very formidable-looking dagger, or short-sword, wit|i a sheath of panther-skin, ornamented with pdrcupine-qttiUs. These are trophies and mementoes of a scene which we can well believe will never be forgotten by any one who witnessed it We do not think that any of our readers will be disposed to condemn the summary execution performed upon this * bad Indian.* The necessities of the case, as set forth by our correspondent, would seem to have ym^ tified the extremest measures, both as an example of retributive power and justice, and as a warning to his red companions, who will doubtlen take good care to avoid' his fate.
Perhaps the reader will remember a little sketch, republished in the Knickekbocksjil- many years ago, taken, if we remember rightly, from the Batavia * Spirit of the Times* weekly gazette, descriptive of a similar execution in Genessee county. We recollect that the red victim was as ' cool as a cucumber,' and that there were some circumstances connected with hii execution that weoe very amusing, and we rather think somewhat ridiculous.
1849.] ' BdiUn^s Taih. 81
GoflKP WITH Bjeaderb AND C0RRE8PONDBNTB. — Many of our readen will have seen in the daily jonmali * full and particular* accounts of the recent Opening of the New- York and Erie Rail-Road to Binghamton. We shall not run the risk of giving a aeoond edition of * Johnny Thompson's news ;* but, avoiding particular detail, we can- not resist the inclination to record a few of the objects witnessed and thoughts awakened during the interesting excursion in question. And * in view of our subject, we remark ' fint,' that no excursion could be better planned. It was a luxury to sail in the evening in the splendid * Oregon* steamer to Piermont ; and most luxurious was the breakfast firepared next morning by Captain Saint John for his congregation, which consisted of the President and his Board of Directors, a large number of invited guests, inclu- ding among them the Common Council, and eminent metropolitan merchants and financien. We were off early in the morning ; insomuch that it was scarcely gray dawn until we were some twenty-five miles on our way, our fleet of cars convoyed by the snorting fire-horse ; cars which in space, comfort, and elegance, are not sur- psBMid by any in the United States. As we have already spoken in these pages of the aeenery and dififerent points of attraction on the line of the rail-road between Piermont and Port^ervis, we shall only ask the reader to survey with us some of the more utiiking scenes and occurrences of our first journey between the latter place and Bing- hamton. At about three miles from * the Port' we crossed the Delaware on the Com- pany's new bridge ; a most substantial structure, with massive stone piers, some eight hundred feet in length. The track now lies for three or four miles along a rocky ter- XBce, with a precipice sheer down a hundred feet below you, and above you the steep «ide of a mountain * frowning terrible, impossible to climb.' It was almost fearful to «weep like the wind along the iron track at this dizzy height, hanging as it were di- rectly over the river, rolling its waters, choked with snow-covered ice, to the main. This river, * by the way,' is by the way for a good portion of the onward distance ; ever rolling on, with solemn movement, bearing alike ice frozen in its stillness and con- cealed in its commotion ; like the river of life, which sweeps contentious foes and peace- Inl friends into one common ocean at last. Crossing the Lackawaxen by another Ividge, four hundred and fifty feet m length, we complete twenty miles from Port- Jervis, having encountered on the way scenery that it would be worth one's while to go a hundred miles io see. Let us premise, that the murky blue clouds which shut out the sun early in the morning, have proved to be foul with snow ; and that we have arrived at Narrowsburgh, a hundred cuid thirty -two miles from New-York, in the teeth ef a north-west storm of driving snow. Here, thanks to the care of Mr. Loder, the President, the Directors, and Mr. Ssymour, Superintendent-in-Chief, a liberal collation, well-flanked with hot and cold fluids, awaits us ; which having despatched, we are again under way. After leaving Narrowsburgh, (following the observant eye of our friend of * The Tribune* daily journal,) *^e road follows the eastern bank of the Dela- ware, through the same mountain wilderness, if possible of still wilder character. The snow now fell thick and fast, and the hills of pine and rock, seen through the driving flakes, had a look of dreary sublimity, which harmonized well with their rugged outlines. The streams were frozen in their leaps down the precipices, and hung in sheets of icy spar on the face of the rock. The primeval pines and hemlocks were bent down with their weight of snow, and half concealed the entrance to the dusky ravines slant- ing down to the river, which was swollen and turbid, and in many places neariy blocked
TOL. UUUU. 11
82 jSditm^M Table. [Janaary,
with ice. It was a rare privilege to witness a wild winter storm among the nnvisited wildernesses of the interiori with so much comfort Following the windings of the river, we passed Hancock, where a number of fine deer, brongfat in by the hunters, were swinging by the heels in full view of the care, and reached Deposit between eight and nine o'clock. At this place, where the ascent of the Summit ridge conmiencet, hundreds of people from the country around were collected, and huge bonfires sent their fiaming red light through the falling snow. Cannons were fired constantly, and the most vociferous cheere given and returned. A triumphal arch had been erected over the road, bearing the large lettere * Welcome' upon it, over which a noble * stag of ten tines' just killed, was standing upright' We leave Deposit with the snow four* teen inches deep on the rails, with a team of locomotives, harnessed tandem, who tofl up a grade of sixty feet to the mile, until we reach the Summit, whence we begin the descending grade to Binghamton. Nothing of a similar character in this country can compare with the scenery and the noble works of the hands of skill, labor, and capital, which succeed. Inclement as it was, there was an ' Old Kniok's head thrust out of the capacious window of the well-heated car, from Deposit to BinghamUm. In the thick night, roaring with driving snow, we now and then beheld the team ni iron horses, in the midst of the white steam-smoke that poured from theb snorting nostrils, and enveloped them, rushing through the snow ; now hurlmg the long tram over a bridge an hundred and seventy feet from the bottom of the ravine which it spanned, down which you saw for a moment the tall pines, standing like sheeted ghosts in the half-lighted gloom ; anon sweeping over a long viaduct, looking over which, far, far below you, yon see spread out the streets and lights of a village, over which you are actually passing ! At eleven o'clock at night we reached Binghamton, where we were received with every hospitable demonstration of welcome. The com> pany, preceded by the President and Directon, Common Council, and other guesti, were ushered into the D6p6t, a temporary and very spacious structure, through whidi extended tables, laughing (not * groaning*) under the weight of their good cheer, em- bracing all the come-atable luxuries of the season, not forgetting the varieties of *game peculiar to the sylvan region round about Most ample justice was done to the repast by all present ; and when this ' ceremony* (which was enjoyed * 9aru ceremonie,') had been concluded, the President, at the head of the table, stood high above the multitude, and in a clear voice submitted a report of the financial condition of the road, which was of such a favorable character as to command the loud applause of the stock- holdere, and othere deeply interested in the welfare of this great enterprise ; which, it may be well to state, without going into farther detail, will m a short time be in opera- tion fifty miles farther, and in less than three yean, under its present active and judi- cious management, will have reached Lake Erie ; receiving on either hand, at every station in its advance, those collateral tides of business frt)m the rich country which it travoFMs, that will eventually so swell the main stream, that the road must become one of the most commanding sources of profit in the State, if not in the Union. The iruitn difficulties liave been already overcome ; the remainder of the way to Lake Erie being of comparatively easy construction, and much of it already graded. The President and his large family of directon and guests were quartered by the hos- pitable Binghamtonians at several excellent hotels and among obliging private families, in which latter category we had the good fortune, in company with a few kindred spirits, to be placed. One can see and admire, even in winter, the beautiful situation of this delightftd town, reposing os it does at the confluence of two lovely streamif
1849.] Editor's TahU. 83
the SiwqmJianni and Chenango, and mmmnded by graeefiilly-eweeping moontainif With Tales < itietching in penaye quietnesB between.' We neyer thought to find at * SknangphiU^ lo loreiy and praeperoae a Tillage as Binghamton. It was ' a sight to see' when the ears left at noon to retnm to New- York. It was clear and cold $ the sleighing was superb ; the streets were full of snow-yehicles from all the country immd; and as the train moTed off, the Tery mountains around echoed the inter- ehaaged hurrahs that rose from the can and the long lines of citizens that thronged each side of the way. When we arrired at the great Starucca Viaduct, the first train of can stopped, and their occupants followed the President down the precipitous anow-coTered bank to the depths below. And well were they repaid for their trouble* A noUe bridge of hewn stone, eight hundred feet long, with seyenteen arches a hun- dred and ten feet high, met their eyes as they looked upward ; and they could gaze hot a moment before it was found necessary to giTe Tent to their enthusiastic ad- miration in six hearty cheers ; which had hardly been rendered, when six more were girren to the second train, which now came up, and swept like children's toy-cars akmg the dizzy height ; the passengers of the second train then went down and re- peated the admiring huzzahs, until * all rang again.' The train stopped, three or four mOes farther on, at the Cascade Rayine, an awful chasm, arched by a wonder- ftil bridge, with a single span of two hundred and seyeuty-fiye feet, one hundred and eighty-fiye feet aboye the stream ! As you stand far beneath this stupendous arch, amid the wild scenery of the desolate chaam which it spans, with its only possible yielding point the eternal rocks, the mind is filled with a sense of sublimity, which it
is impoanble to describe. But hold ! — we are getting beyond our tether. Of the
■oenes at Deposit ; of our journey back to Fiermont ; of the supper on board our friend Saint Jobn^ magnificent steamer < Oregon ;' of the resolutions, so well de- seryed, in commendation of the road ; of the talents and energy of Mr. Lodkr, the President, Major Brown, Chief Engineer, Mr. Sktmour, Chief Superintendent, Mr. Maish, the Secretary, etc. ; of the 'songs and rejoicings' of the occasion; of all these, we must foihear at present to speak ; haying ppace only for the expression of our film belief, that the New- York and Erie Rail-Road will within fiye years become one of the most profitable enterprises of the kind in the Union, if not in the world. . . . Hers is an exquisite limning of a good pastor, lately deceased. It is giyen by the Rey. Dr. Bbrman, in a ftmeral discourse, from which the annexed extracts are taken. The whole sketch is admirably written :
'TBS opeimeM tad benignity of his countenance were in perfect harmony with the frank. aeaa of his manaera and the benarolence of hia heart Hia kind and gentle worda fell plea- saatfy apoa the ear, and hia cordial aympathiea with erery human being with whom he stood la any endearing relation, touched tenderly upon the heart There was nothing that in any w^y aflected them, whether for weal or for wo, in which he was not concerned, and thoi&gh in 'tbe ebangea and chances of this mortal life,' he had much to endure, and therefore much to UoBt Ms sensibility in regard to others, yet to the Tery last he retained the same kindliness of fceliwg ; and in this respect at least left most men his debtors. . . . Hxb>, after a circle of tWiAty years, his thoughts fondly returned to the scene of his early labors ; and it was his espe* eial request seTcral months before his death, that his remains should be brought hither, in order, BO doabt that he might receive the tribute of grief and affoctiun from the friends who should surrtre him; and that his ashes might be mingled with those of his people. The tenderness of the thought cannot fldl to awaken a corresponding emotion in the hearts of those who hear mm. For how intimate were the ties which, though temporarily loosened, still bound you to each odier I . . . Thc greater part of you were, through his ministry, engrafted by baptism Isto the body of CHaisr'a Church, and regenerated with His Holy Spirit You were afterward tHghtp la his ahDople and hi^Py way, the value of the pririleges wUeh wa^ thus secured for
r
84 Editof'M Tahle. [January,
you, and affectiooately' urged to hold fast of them to the end, by leading * a godly and a Chrla- tian life.' In aicknesff and sorrow he was your guide and your comforter ; and in health and gladness the helper of your joy. When life was all hope, and the future was bliss, he Joined you in those holy bands which death alone could serer ; and when hope was blighted, he buried your dead and soothed your pangs. All this, and more than I can tell, wiH rise up before you in sweet and sad remembrance, as his mortal remains lie before you. May none of his whole- some instmction, his godly counsels, his affectionate admonitions, his acts of kindnesa and Ioto* OTer escape from your minds, or fail of their effect upon your hearts and Utcs I May you stOl keep up in death, as in life, your communion with him ; but in a higher and holier degree ttiaa can erer be realized while our friends are in the flesh.'
On a preceding pag;e will be found a poetical address to Willum Wood, £flq^
of Canandaigna ; a gentleman who was long and favorably known in New- York at
one of its most patriotic citi2ens» having, among many other good woAb, estabUshed
the Mercantile Library by his individaal exertions. It is chiefly owing to the stimnTns
excited by Mr. Wood among the young men of Canandaigua, that the streets of thai
lovely village are laid out with so mubh taste, and beautified with such an abundance
and variety of fine trees. In consequence of the recent death of Mn. Gokham, the
sister of this most estimable gentleman, he changed his residence, the well known
< Snuggery' referred to in the address. On taking possession of his new abode, his
friend and neighbor, the Hon. John Grbig, sent him the following elegant motto, to Bo
placed over his door :
* Inreni portatai, Sper et FortoHa valets, Sat me lusistis luditi nunc alias.'
This motto has been translated as follows by William JefferbY, Esq., nephew of Mr. Greig, and also by Judge Howell of Canandaigua :
' A port I have found, up a long flight of stairs, In which I now rest from lifers troubles and cares. Like a storm-battered bark, high and dry on the beacb» Which ocean's rough billows no longer can reach.
* So Fortune and Hope I I bid you good-by. Enough you 've beguiled me ; I speak with a sigh ; On others, 1 pray you now play your worst pranks, Just leave MX alone, and I give you my thanks I'
Did yott never fall in, reader, with a puerile, puttering person, who was alway* seeking to find coincidences, which when found, and * made note of,* were in reality no coincidences at all ? Such an one it was, who happening the other evening to remember, in the midst of an interesting conversation upon the great discoveries of the earth, that a dove was called columba in the Latin, broke in with this searching remark : * It *s a very curious coincidence, is n't it, that the old world was discovered by a CoLUM-6a, and the new world by a Cohuu-bus ? But when you come to pur- sue the subject in detail, is n't it very ex-/ro<f -nary that the one should' come from Noah, and the other from Ge-noa !' And the old * spoon' looked at the unwilling auditors, into whose conversation he had interpolated this sage suggestion, with mouth half open, and an * inquiring eye,' as if suggesting the surprise which the * coinci-^ dence' should awaken. . . . That is a very clever book, * Leaves from Margaret Smith's Journal in the Colony of Massachusetts y* now in the press of Messrs. Tick- NOR AND Company, Boston, if we may judge from a goodly portion of the printed sheets, which have been sent us for perusal. The first date in the diary is * May y* eighth, 1678 ;' and the natural antiquity of the style could hardly have been morar
1849.]
EdUar^9 Table, 80
^%
apparent had the author really been a pupil of the gentle ' Lady Willoughbt,* of whom * of coune' she must have been entirely ignorant ! Right quaint and pleasant reading is here, < any way,' as may be easily demonstrated, when the entire volume shall appear. We subjoin a passage or two, which will afford the reader some idea of the character of the work. The following is written after proceeding ' thorough the woods and along the borders of great marshes and meadows on the sea-shore,' through < Linne,' Wenham and Salem, to * Ipswich near Agawam :'
* This morning we moontod our Horses, and reached this place after a smart Ride of three fionrs. The Weather in the Morning was warm and soft as our Summer Days at Home ; and aa we rode tiirough the Woods, where the young Lesres trere flattering, and the white Bios- nnns of the Windflowers, and the hlue Violets and the yellow blooming of the Cowslips in the low Grounds, were seen on either Hand, and the Birds all the Time making a great and pleasing BCelody in the Branches, I was glad of Heart as a Child. Just before we reached Ajnwam, as I wais riding a little before of my Companions, I was startled greatly by the sight of an Indian. He was standing close to the Bridle-path, his half-naked Body partly bidden by a Clump of white Birches, throush which he looked out on me with eyes like two Uto Coals. • • • He was a tall Man, of very fair and comlie make, and wore a red woollen Blan- ket with Beads and small Clam-Shells jingling about it. His skin was swarthy, not black like a Moor or Guinea-Man, but of a Color not unlike that of tarnished copper Coin. He spoke but Utde, and tiiat in his own Tongue, very harsh and 8trange*Bounding to my Ear. Robxbt Pnot teUs me that he is Chief of the Agawams, once a great Nation in these Parts, but now very small and broken. As we rode on, and ftom the Top of a Hill got a fair View of the great Sea off at tte East, Robsbt Pikx bade me notice a little Bay, around which I could see four or five small peaked Huts or tents, standing Just where the white Sands of the Beach met the green Line of Grass and Bushes of the Uplands. * There,' said he, ' are their Summer Houses, wldch they build near unto their Fishing-grounds and Corn-fields.' • • • I looked into one of their Huts ; it was made of Poles, like unto a Tent, only it was covered with the silrer eolored Bark of the Birch, instead of hempen Stuff. A Bark Mat, braided of many exceeding briUiant colors, corered a goodlie Part of the Space inside, and f^om the Poles we saw Fishes hanging, and Strips of dried Meat. On a pile of^ Skins in Uie Comer sat a young Woman wiUi a Child a>nursing : they both looked sadlle wild and neglected ; yet had she withal a pleasant Face, and aa she bent over her little One, her long, straight and black Hair falling over him, Sad murmuring a low and very plaintive Melody, I forgot Every thing save that she was a Wo- man and a Mother, and I felt my Heart greatlv drawn toward her. So, giving my Horse in eharge, I ventured in to her, speakinff as kindly as I could, and asking to see her Child. She onderstood me, and with a Snoile held up her little Papoose^ as she called him ; who, to say Truth. I could not call very pretty. He seemed to have a wild, shy Look, like the Offspring of an untamed AnimaL'
There is a young married lady, * well known to this deponent,' to whom we have
just read the foregoing, in the sure anticipation of eliciting this remark : * Why, L ,
how perfect a description that is a( one of the Indian wigwams, and its occupants, that we saw at the Sault St Marie !' The western papoose it was, however, which unpreased the scene so vividly upon der memory ; for our own little folk were at that time ' far, far away,' and they had no representatives save the * counterfeit present- ment' afibrded by an indifferent daguerreotype, which, bad as it was, was often con- sulted, and sometunes with tears. The annexed extract contains agreeable reading :
* I WAS awakened Ais morning by the pleasant voice of my cousin, who shared my bed. She had arisen end thrown open the window looking toward the sunrising, and the aire came in soft and warm, and laden with the sweets of flowers and green growing things. And when I had gotten myself ready, I sat with her at the window, and I thmk I may say it was with a feeling of praise and thanksgiving that mine eyes wandered up and down over the green meadows, and com-fielda, and orchards of my new home. ' Where,^ thought I, ' foolish one, be the terrors of tile Wilderness which troubied thy daily Thoughts and thy nightly Dreams t Where be the ffloomy Shades, and desolate Mountains, and the wild Beasts, with their dismal Howlings and Kagea 1* Here all looked peaceful, and bespoke Comfort and Contentedness. Even the great Woods which climbed up the Hills in the Distance looked thin and soft, with their faint young leaves yellowish green. Intermingled with pale, silvezr Shades, indicating, as my Cousin saith, tbe diirerent Kinds of Trees, some of which, like the Willow, do put on their Leaves early, and others late, like the Oak, with which the whole Region aboundeth. A sweet, quiet Picture it was, with a warme Sun very bright and clear, shining over it, and the Great Sea, fflistening wiUi tile exceeding light, bounding the view of mine Eyes, but bearing my tiioughts, like swift Ships, to the Land of my Birth, and so uniting, as it were, the Newe VVorld with the Old. * Oh I' thought I, 'the merciful God, who reneweth the Earth and maketh it glad and brave with Greenery and Flowers of various Hues and Smells, and causeth his South winds to blow and his Rains to fall, that Seed-time may not fail, doth even here, in the ends of his Creation, prank tad beaotify tiM Work of hisBaads,nMdds(g the Desert places to rejoice, and the WUderaess t»
86 Editor's Table. [January,
blouom aa the Rote I Verily his Love ia over All — the Indisn HeathfOn as well as the English Christian. And what abundant Cause for Thanks have I, that I have been safely landed ob ■ Shore so faire andpleasant, and enabled to open mine Eyes in Peace and Love on so swoet • May morning I' And I was minded of a verse which I learned from dear and honored motiber ' when a chila :
* * Tbaoh me, my Ood. tby Lova to know. That thts now Light whtcb now I ■•«. May both th« Work and Workman chew. Than by tba 8an-boama I will climb to the*.' '
Such is the winning simplicity and feminine tendemesi of this little book ; to which, when it shall appear, we commend the attention of our readers. . . . < T&e Swedish Girl,* a spirited poem, written and published by Mrs. Anica P. Dinnibsi of the west, thirteen or fourteen yean ago, has been re-produced by mnother female writer, as we leam from the * New-Orleans Commercial Bulletin,* and published in ' The Female Poets of America' as original. Rather small business this, we shoukl say, and not the best way in the world to obtain a literary reputation. . . . Mr. Moses Y. Beach, so long proprietor of the New-York * Sun* newspaper, the firrt pad moet-widely circulated of all our penny dailies, celebrated his recent retirement from that extensive and rich establishment by a sui^Mr to his * brethren according to the press' in this city. The table, smiling sumptuously under its abundant hixary of potables and edibles, ran through the spacious parlors of his fine manson, in Chambers-street, opposite the Park, and was overlooked by an hundred headi such as are seldom exceeded for * volume' in any metropolitan assemblage ; and then came forth out of these heads things both new and old, which were rig^t pieaaaai to hear, and which were more parUculariy specified in the journals of the iiezt day. Mr. Beach resigned his proprietorial and editorial honors to his two sons, in an address as striking in the personal facts it contained, as in the modesty of its manner ; he was responded to in a kindred strain by * the boys,' upoA whom his mantle had de- scended; while numerous other speeches were made, which were received with marked applause.' The universal sentiment on retiring seemed to be, that our hont deserved no small honor for the spirit and good taste he had manifested in the generous conception and admirable execution of the dinner ; and many good wishes were ex- pressed, not only for * Beach' but for those < sons of Beach's* upon whom had devolved his arduous care's knd duties. . . . We have heard a great deal about * The RighU of Woman* from many an * Old Social Reform,' but we never saw them more felicitously set forth than in the following lines, by one of * the sex,' Mrs. E. LrrrLs:
* « The rights of women,' what are they t The right to labor and to pray ; The right to watch while others sleep, The right o'er others woes to weep ; The right to succor in distress, The right while others corse to bless ; The right to love whom others scorn, The right to comfort all that monm ; The right to shed new joy on earth, The right to feel the sours high worth, The right to lead the sonl to God Along the path her Saviour trod ; The path of meekness and of love, The path of faith that leads above ; The path of patience nnder wrong, The path in whi<^ the weak grow strong : Such woman's righto, and God will bless, And crown their champions with success.
It is no common loss which we record, in announcing the death, at Washmgtoiit D. C, on the fourteenth ultimo, of Colonel Wiluam Brbnt, Clerk for nearly a half a century of the Circuit, District, end Criminel Courte of the Pietriot ef Cehunbis.
1849.] Ediior't TdbU. 87
He was one of the ddeet and worthiest memben of the commanity in which he lived : Ira was descended firom ancest<ffB of great worth, who were among the earlier •ettlera of Virginia ; and no shade ever rested for a moment upon his rectitude and his honor. * He was the friend/ says the National Intelligencer daily journal, ^ of all men ; cBstinguished for the uniformity of his well-spent lifoi the excellence of his heart, and his retiring but univerMd benevolence. He was the best of husbands and the kindest of fathers.' The courts and grand juries of Washington codperated in paying the tribnte of their high regard, by adjourning to attend his ftineral, and by eihibiting those testimonials of respect and esteem which are the < good man's meed OB earth' when he leaves this for another existence. We had the pleasure to meet lira late Mr. BaBMT on two or three occasions recently in this city ; and, although at an advinced age, that ' fint appeal which is to the eye' bespoke him one of nature's noblemen. Tall, and of a commanding presence, dignified without austerity, and with benevolence stamped upon his features, he exemplified in his bearing, and in the unstudied courtesy of his manners, the characteristics of the true * gentleman of the old schooL' It could scarcely require the evidence of intimacy to convince one that Mr. Brent's character was just such an one as is universally awarded to his
* daOy life and converBation,' He has gone down to the grave < like a shock of com iblly ripe in its season,' having lived the life and died the death of a good man and a ehristian ; and while we deeply sympathixe with his bereaved family m their afflic- tiofn, we cannot lose sight of this consolation to his survivors, springing from his very grave. Mr. Brknt leaves behind him a family of several children, among whom are Hbhet J. Brent, Esq., the distinguished landscape-painter; John Carroll Brent, £sq., author of the * Leates from an African JoumaV in these pages, and Captain Tbomas Brent, of the United States' Navy. The followmg beautiful elegiac lines upon the death of Colonel Brent are from the pen of an old correspondent to this MEgazme. We copy them from the < National Intelligencer :'
Wxsp not because that he li dead to whom
Tour hearts were bound by nature's holiest tie ; No care can reach him in the peacefril tomb,
And he was foil of years and ripe to die. Cold cotusel to TOUT bleeding hearts, I know,
But time will heal these wounds, and ye shad cease To pour these tears of onavailing wo,
nor even sigh to think of his release. Blessed ire uej who sink from earth, when age
Has brought mo misty eye and furrow'd brow ; Ending at last a happy pilgrimage,
And lored fw kind, good deeds, as he is now : And round their names, through all the world's harsh strife,
Learing the lustre of a well-spent life. h. a. o.
■ Who but an Irishman,' writes a distinguished judicial friend, * subject as they all are to an extraordinary confusion of ideas, could give such an answer as this 7 Court : « How fast were you driving, James 7* Witness : « Oh, very slow ! your honor ; very slow !* Court : * But how slow, pray ?' Witness : * Why, your honor, between a walk and a stand.* Court : * I do n't understand that' Braot, of counsel, suggested that it was very plam. A hackman's stand is always on the walk ." . . . Messrs Bangs, Platt &Ca, at Number 304 Broadway, have been constituted the agents of
• Bohn's London Standard and Antiquarim Libraries,* the richest collection of val- uable and at the same time cheap works with which we are acquainted. We have Woi« vm three of the volumes, contaming ' Milton* s Prose Works,* and < Early 1VfosUerimP«(esltiM»'hiehidiDg among thamthat voracious old tourist. Sir Johh
88 Editor'9 Tahh, {January.
MAaNOEvuuLE. When engravings are given, they are in the highest rank of art ; while the paper, types, and execution are of the best We believe Messxsu Bangs, Platt & Co. have supplied the booksellers generally with the valuable works of this collection. . . . The following remarks upon Two New Picturet by Doughty, are from the same friend to whom we were indebted for a rece^t article upon a km- >dred theme in these pages :
' TO ras xotTOA or tks KMioxaBBOOKxa ifxaABXWB.
' You hare kindly allowed me the privilflge of contributing, from time to time, my cnrreBt thoughto upon the paintings of our New- York artists. I do not enjoy the acquaintance of many of them, and my avocations prevent my seeking them out, and speaking of them, in your Maga- zine as they would doubtless merit I frankly admit that of all the branches of pictorial art that of Landscape Painting affects me most I have endeavored, but in vain^ to go into rap- tures over the grand historical or symbolical pictures that seem to have been elevated, aa by common consent into the master-pieces of human admiration. I have wandered tiirough tlM vast galleries of Europe, and felt the heresy of m< admiran afBict my mind, on gazing at Uie rich coloring of Rubens, that giant essayist of paint Nude figures, with -cherry -colored knees, (and such fat knees I) and large wings sticking out from the back, never made me a disciple of the ' grand style.' Simple maidens without one heavenly expression, holding babiea in their arms, sitting in high-backed chairs, and a grizzly saint worshipping either the girl or the infant, on his marrow-bones, though painted by a Rathaxl, could never bend my heart in adoration at the excellence of his manner ; nor could I ever find in such groups any sublimity of conception; but I Aare stood entranced before the miraculous works ol Cz.audk. In the Louvre, as you enter the long gallery, Just on your right near the door, are tiiree or four paintings of Lobbaink. I well remember how I had longed to see one of these fur-famed efforts of genius. My mind had been filled with stories told by travellers who had seen his works ; they had spoken of his bright skies, of his limpid water, his breeze-blown trees, his velvet grass ; and I was prepared to look upon him as the master of all the great elements of his art. I turned from a huge picture by the Titan Rubens, and my eyes fell upon a sea-pott by Claude. A thrill of exquisite delight fluttered through my body ; I knew at once whose hand had made that picture t It seemed as if some fairy enchantment was over me, as I stood gazing in wonder at the wonderful. performance. The clouds, lifted by the struggling rays of the sun, had floated toward the top of the picture, while far in the west away out at sea, over the bluish-green horizon, ruflSed by the cooling breeze that is always wafted about over the swells of the ocean far out from land, the sun was about to set The gold that he shed over every object was the gold of ^eaven, and the old tower and the heaving waves glowed and glittered as it powdered them with its impalpable dust What were to me the strained limbs, the distorted postures, the academic drawing of those grand efforts that crowded the walls of the gallery of the Lourrc, to this one landscape t Such, feebly expressed here, were my feel- ings at my first introduction to a Claude. I had wondered at the industry of the old masters who dealt in groups of figures — their Jxbomss in churches, and Johns in wildernesses ; but my wonder was unmixed with reverence, with which I had hoped to have been excited upon examining their chefd'oeuvres. How different with 7V«(A, as it stood revealed through the imitations of sylvan nature upon my mind I
' I have been led into this train by the reminiscence of Claude ; and that leads me to a che- rished theme ; the pictures of our American Claude — Dougbtv. We were together at his studio a few days ago, and you, dear Knick., agreed with me in offering (aside) our sincere tribute of admiration of the several pictures that adorned his room. You will remember his large picture of a Lake Scene in New-Hampehire. How sober the coloring — how distant the dis- tance I And then that ridge of rocks on the right-hand-side across the lake, and the strag- gling trees that waved in the breeze borne along the valley that we knew lay beyond, and the grove of whispering beeches at the base, shadowing the tranquil water t How you might wander along the banks, and then steal through the thicket and hear the birds sing, and startie the sleeping rabbit from his form, or flush the long-billed woodcock, as with taper legs he marches up the gentle veins of water that, oozing from the rocks, helps to feed the limpid wealth of the quiet lake ! This picture is worked up with great skill ; it is a master-piece of difiScult and honest labor. There is no trick about it but all is faithfully done, and not over- done. A tender feeling pervades the compositioin, and lines are blended with a penoil of magic
1849.]
Ediiar's Table. . B9
There U no ■training after elfoct ; no startUng brightneaa, to.be broken up againit by lowering boughs of treea, placed trickiahly in the fore-gronnd ; no thunderssloud to make, by fearftd eon- traat, the water gleam the blighter ; bat the high pageantry of clondi roll on in their place, to the aolemnrmiuic and moToment of the religioua winda, and all ia calm and beaatifnlly itSll. *I am happy to learn that this picture is to be in the poiaoiaion of a wealthy and intellectaai gentleman of Maryland, who haa already aecured one of Douobtt** bMt pletnrea— hie ' Dream of llatjf: Douohtt ii getting higher prlcea for hti ploturea, dnce hie return from Europe; andioitahouldbe. He paints now with more care than before; he finda it more difflenlt to aatiafy himaelf; and hti mind ii ripened bythe opportunity he haa had of comparing worka of art abroad. He haa not changed hii style, but he elaborates more than formerly, and dig- niflea hii execution with a broader pencil. In composition he ii unequalled. He doei not huzl hii bruihei at the oanTsss, to produce startling effecta, nor doei he pile on the color until tiiat which ihould be fleecy cloud ii flinty rock ; but all is blended Tigorously, and with judgment Hie hand is senrant to the mind, and hti eye, that haa drank in Nature from her fountain-heads, la atin the aame cloae obserrant slaTC to his taste as erer. Long may it be ao with Douohtt I
* I am not boring you, am I, dear * Old Knxok.,' with tiiis sort of rambling, disjointed talk t If I am, throw it in the fire, or tear up my manuscript, and let the * gude wife and the winsome l»aims' make cigar-lighters of it, for fature use when I visit you in the ' sanctum.' Bear wiUi me a aecond longer, and I will only take off two more of those buttona that decorate joar new-year coat
* Douohtt has just finished another great picture, and he calls it a Flos o» ik» Sut^uAamma, Ton saw him when he commenced it How strange it all seemed to be to our uninitiated eyea I but he delred away, and when subsequently we strolled into his studio, how it had grown upon na ! The cheatBBt-tree that he planted on the side of the rirer had bloomed and blossomed, and we saw its green lesTes, Uke Honor arotmd the brow of Worth, spread around its lofty top. 1^ rirer flowed, and the hills seemed as if they had come out of a mist; and Che rocks, thoae gray sentinels to all lovely scenes, struck their granite roots deep into the loamy soil, and allowed the graceful rines and the modest moss to crawl and cluster on their flinty tops. Tlia cottage from whose chimney, like a homely prayer from an humble hearth, spirals the smoke, how it indicates the thought of the artist 1 Embowered among rirer-loring treea, it nestles, hq»- py home of tender lore, and recalls — I know ii did — many an hour of youth to us both. Could any thing better haTe been placed there f The fore-ground ii maaterly, and Uirowa into grand relief that bright gleam of nmihine, that itriree to riral with ita golden itream the chaster ■Drer of the rippling river.
* I have attempted to describe these two picturea, and have been led into too extended an aiticle. I had marked another picture ; but I know you are crowded, and I forbear, for I ami •ure there is not enough ipace for me ; and beaide, your friends will grumble if I eieroacb upon the California gold-minea of the Editob's ' Gossip.' '
Due esteemed friend < F. W. S.' sends us the follawiiig bnu$e of stanzas, for which he will please accept our hearty thanks :
o« mmmtMOt a bumdrbo ■xz.txb «voom« ■xox.oaai) iit a oBamKr-sroNB.
It was not for the good of doing, nor for fun. But merely for the sake of shovnng it could be done : Should many strive by such mpecls, for such renown. More men would stand on thdr heada than heels, And the world turn upside down.
TO A Z.ADT WITB aaAtTTZVUI. WHXTB TSBTB.
Tbit shine like diamonda in the light. To grace the charming girl ;
First IvoBT claimed them as her own, But gave them up to Pxabl.
Oh I may their lustre long endure With lauffhter to beguile ;
Tlie ready heralds of a Usa, And PABSiiTa of a Smilk.
▼oL. zxxni. 18
90
Editor's Table.
[Janaary,
Wb understand that our * lang-83rne' friend and ooUaborateur in the fields of litera- ture, Park Benjamin, has of late won golden opinioni as a lecturer. The New-Ha^ ven journals warmly eulogize his late essay on * Music,' pronounced in that delectable city before the Young Men*s Institute. It is said to have been * excellently composed and capitally spoken.' We learn farther that Mr. Benjamin is meditating a series of lectures * on his own hook,' which, from their subject, promise to be right interesting. That subject is * The men and countries of Eastern Europe,' to be divided into thrse parts, namely, lUyria and the Illyrians ; Hungary and the Hungarians ; Bohemia and the Bohemians ; thus comprehending the nations of Sclavonic origin. This employment of lecturing, by the way, is highly respectable, for it engages some of the best minds in the country. There is, moreover, no method by which intellectual instrootion and recreation can be imparted in a more popular maimer. . . . 'What a wonderfid thing,' said Bob White, the other day, at the New-Haven wharf, 'is the transmigra- tion of souls ! Here we are on the wharf at New-Haven, and to-morrow morning we 'II be in New-York !' The above was literally said this summer to a friend of ours. . . . An incident recorded in * M.'s paper on * Hereditary Descent in Ams- rica^ reminds us of an Irishman who was boasting that he < came of a very high family.' * Yes,' said a by-stander, * I saw one of your family so high that his fiset could n*t touch the ground !' . . . Haixeck somewhere asks, in his felicitous man- ner, for his laurel wreath * while ho 's alive to wear it.' A modem poet has depicted one whp had earned, but died without receiving it ; whose departure was alone an- nounced by the disappearance of the light from the solitary chamber where for yets he * wrote and wrought,' far into the lonely watches of the night :
* So ho lived. At last I mlfsed hhu ; Still might evening twilight fieOl, But no taper lit hii chamber, Lay no shadow on his wall. In the winter of his seasons, In the midnight of his day,
'Mid his writing
And inditing Death had beckoned him away. Ere the sentoice ho had planned Found completion at his hand.
'Who shall tell what schemes m^Jestto Peiish in the active brain f What humanity is robbed ol^ Ne'er to be restored again f What we lose, because we hoaor Overmuch the migfa^ dead,
And dispirit
Living^ merit, Heaping scorn upon its headf Or perchance, when older grown. Leaving it to die — alone 1'
Please scan the above lines once more, reader. They have made us sad — but read them once more. . . . < The Graffenberg PiV has efiected another remarkable cure, according to our correspondent, in an ' extrodn'ry case of primmatif deffiiess :* * My sekud child Mercy, by my thurd wife, Orlando, bekame unwell in the here, about four weeks bak ; korsing a good deal of trubble m making her undefBtand. Wo tryed awl the noetrus invenshions of the day ; put a peace of Mrs. Jertis' cold kandy hot into her here ; bathed it with rum frtmi the Bay State ; got a trumpet and a cor- net-a-pistol from the head player at Palmos' — did n't doo no good. At last, at the earnest littigations and prescriptions of the agent of the company, in some unknown part of New-Gensey, I aplied a box on the ear, and two internally ; a piece of Green Mounting ointment on the end of each phinger, she carrying in her pokket a kwarter of a ounce of sarseapperiller, and she immediately herd a voice. I think, respekkted Sur, that this invaluable institushion should be universally overspread throughout this land of liberty -poles, has the foundashion of such a system, entering as it does into the harts of all countrymen, and emenating as it most efiectually into the constitution of the nervous ponfaon of this great republic !' Yes — exactly. Our correspondent
1849.] Eikaf^s 3b5fe/ 9)
mentioiw another core ; the case of a very old and wealihy man in Brooklyn, who ' had the aakma ao bad that his fizicion gav* him up.' When < the pil' was * inserted, he was ' gashpin' for bref, and his frens was anxns to kno how aoon deth wood end his •orerings ; but *sprizin to relate, * the pil' restorationed his 'elth.' . . . Wb confess to mnch feeling in common with the writer of the article on 'The Natural Dread of Death ,** but we would commend to him, as applicable especially to his own case, these lemarks of Addison : < I know but one ¥niy of fortifying my soul against these gloomy presages and terrors of mind ; and that is, by securing to myself the friendihip and protection of that Being who disposes of eyents, and governs futurity. Hi sees at one view the whole thread of my existence ; not only that part of it which I have already passed through, but that which runs forward into all the depths of eternity. When I lay me down to sleep, I recommend myself to His care ; when I awake, I give myself up to His direction. Amidst all the evils that threaten me, I will look up to Him for help, and question not but He will either avert them, or turn them to my advantage. Though I know neither the time nor the manner of the death I am to die, I am not at all solicitous about it, because I am sure that He knows them both, and that he will not fail to support and comfort me under them.' Schiller, in his 'Yeaminga for Wonderland,^ has a very beautiful thought on the general theme of our correspondent :
* Wo is met what roUa between f
'T U a rapid river rushing ; 'Tif the strsam of Dkatit, I ween.
Wildly touinff, hoarsely gushiag ; While my very heart-strings quiver At the roar of that dread river t
'But I see a little boat
The rough waters gently riding ; How can sne so fearless float?
For I see no pilot guiding : Courage I — on t— there 's no retreating, SailB are spread in friendly greeting.'
Hxee are two clever anecdotes thrown in at the end of a pleasant letter from a friend in one of the midland counties of our Empire State : * A man on horseback
■topped opposite the little church in B the other day, upon which some repairs
were ia progress. He told one of the workmen that he thought it would be an ex- pensive job. * Yes,' replied the other ; * in my opinion we shall accomplish what our Dominie has been tr3ring in vain to do for the last thirty years.' * What is that V said his interrogator. * Why, in briugmg all the parish to repentance !* * Pretty good,' isn't it? Try to read this one, then: * Another : A person, riding on horseback through the same town, met one day an awkward fellow leading a calf, whom he accosted as follows : * How odd it looks to see one calf leading another I' * Yes,' re- plied the other, * but not so odd as to see a calf on horseback !' Now the horseman * went on his way, and I saw him no more.' ' . . . A friend, lately from foreign parts, writing to us on various topics, tells us the following story: ' After I had been a few weeks at the house of a relative in Scotland, I observed, among a twitteriug flock of swallows that fluttered and glanced around the turrets, one entirely gray. I had never seen an old swallow, that I knew to be old, before ; and I felt almost inclined to believe that this gray sire of the flock had been m some lime-kiln or flour-barrel, and was trying, in his up-and-down dancing, to shake off his coat of white. I was walking in the garden, however, one morning before breakfast, when I found my venerable friend lying dead and cold in my path, among the bright flowers. I took him up, and was not a little surprised to find that in truth he was gray, and doubtless had been getting gray for years. I respected his snow-besprinkled pate, and gave him Christian burial beneath a rose-bush. Who, beside myself, ever saw a gray mrallowT' . . . WmhtLveheeutuvoTedmth'J.De Cordova* 8 Map of the State of
92 Biitar** TaXk. [January,
Texas,* compiled from the records of the Greneral Land-Office of the State, by Ro- bert Creuzbaub., of Houston. Ever since Texas has been admitted into the Union, the want of an accurate map by which to determine the boundaries of our new sister has become greater than ever. Beside, a great amount of Texas lands are owned at the North, which giyes the state a peculiar importance among us. The tide of emi- gration, too, still sets strongly Texas-ward. Of Mr. Db Cobdoya's map w& can say in brief, that it is a faithful and accurate delineation of every county in the state, its towns, riyers and streams, all of which are correctly represented from actual surveyi. Mr. Aabon H. Bban, merchant. No. 39 Water-street, is the agent for the map in this city. —
* How excellent the alchemy that tarns
The turbid miati and cold yacuity
To azure day and golden purfled ere 1'
So thou^t we, when we rose, on the morning of the day after Christmas, which
pame holiday found the metropolis * clothed upon* with a mantle of smoky darkness,
that outvied the thickest November fog of London. Who ever saw such a Christmas
before in New- York T Pedestrians, houses even, were invisible across the street ;
while the ' water-cold,' as the Germans term it, permeated through every interstice
of one's outer defences. < What a day it was, to be sure !' — and what a totally dif"
f event day the next was !
* SwKXT day, so pure, ao calm. ^ bright— The bridal of the earth and sky.'
* You probably know,' writes a western friend, * that Sandusky City and its bay are famous for all kinds of game. Ver* well : now fancy to yourself a demure-look- ing, middle-aged man, sitting in the bar-room of McKinsteb's Exchange, (the best house in the place,) accosting a citizen with : * You have plenty of game here, I underrtand ?' * Wal, y-e-e — we have Ucre and Poker, and millions of ducks ; Bluff, quail out on the prairie. Loo, and prairie-hens ; but they are rather shy since fneX set in ; wild-geese, but you have to go to the head of the bay for them ; Whist, and lots of squirrels ; Brag — a mean game! I played that last night, and got completely cleaned out Suppose you caH, stranger?' But the stranger < sloped." . . . Read ^e following, horn Lowell's * Legend of Brittany* and thinic on it:
' OBiM-hearted world I that look'at with Lerite eyes On those poor fallen by too much faith in man ;
She that upon thy freezing threshold lies — Starred to more sinning by the savage ban.
Seeking such refuge because foulest vice More GoD-like uan thy virtue is, whose span
Shuts out the wretched only — is more free
From all her crimes than thou wilt ever be 1'
Messes. Long and Bbotheb have issued * Hydropathy and Homaopatky Impar* tially Appreciated,* by Edwi^ Lee, Esq., of London. The advocates and adversa- ries of Priesnitz and Hahnemann have hitherto carried on their warfare very much after the fashion of the Guelphs and Ghibelines. Each side> has usually assailed the other with a savageness savoring strongly of the * meat-axe' style. At last, how- ever, we have an umpire, evidently a scholar and a gentleman, who fearlessly comes forward to strike the balance, without caring m the least whether the combatants like it or not Those who really wish to get at the marrow of this hot controversy, will do well to peruse this well-written treatise. They will find no where in such small oompaa such a condensation of important facts and documents concerning the uses
1849.] EdUar^s Table. 93
and abusefl of wet sheets and * douches/ of * globules' and * triturations.' They will find too their stock of wisdom on these matters not only measurably but pleasurably enhanced. ... It is one of our choicest friends who writes us as follows : * How are you? I came to town on Saturday. A nigger sat next to me in the cars — a pretty ^ruce gentlemanly * Pancko' as * ever you see.' The sun shining directly through the window, I was forced to lean away from him, like the leaning tower of Pisa. At last he took umbrage. Said he, looking very black in the face, * Is my presence disagreeable to you?' * Not at all,' said I ; ' I was getting out of the 8un, not out of the shade* He said that * altered the case very much !' Behold I send you an epigram, composed three days ago :
•TO BOB. ON BREAKING THE TONGUE OP HIS WAGON.
* No matter, we shall not be long
Upon the highway laggin' ; For though your wagon 's lost a tongue, Your tongue it keeps a-waggin*.
* Also one
•TO BOB, WITH A BAD TOOTH-ACHE.
* You 'vE talked so long, and talked so fast,
Until your tongue is raw ; I 'm very glad to find at last "^ . You 're got to hold your jaw/
Thk pabGc, itaeeins, have called upon M essiB. Long and Brother for another edition of Dr. Diek9on*9 CkronO' Thermal System of Medicine. Five have already appeared in London, and it has been translated in France, Sweden and Germany. The * doc< torn disagree,' we believa, concerning Dr. Dickson's views, but they are spreading, evidently. Let them have a fair investigation. . . . We heard at the club the other erening a poier in the way of an argument. Two gentlemen were canvassing the merits of the Art-Union, and one was contending for money-prizes instead of pictures, as afibrding an opportunity to consult one's taste in purchasing paintings. * Supposing,' he argued, ' thai it was books which you drew, instead of pictures. You wish, for example, to get Irving's golden works, and you draw one of Simm's dull novels ; or you desired to get Baxter's * Saint's Rest,' and drew * Puffer Hopkins' or the ' Poems on Man in a Republic !' This argument was a clincher, and the position it established unassailable. . . . We have received a package of very interesting articles from our Oriental correspondent at Constantinople, which will receive inune- diate attention. He writes us from the Turkish capital, under date of October ele- venth : * I receive the Knickerbocker quite regularly, and thank you much for the attention. It goes the rounds here, and is quite in repute. Whenever the present royal family has sufficiently advanced in English, I think I *II get them to subscribe. Lnagine the venerable old gentleman on the title-page making his way into the se- raglio— the harem — among fair Circassians and the eunuchs ! And when they all came to the * latter end,' the Editor's * Gossip,' if they didn't laugh until they roused H. I. M., the present and last of their Caliphs, why — no better evidence would be required of their ignorance of the English language. By-the-by, I cannot let this opportunity pass without expressing my warm admiration of the ' Oregon Trail' and a piece of sweet poetry on Hero and Leander, by Mr. Anthon, in the Knicker- bocker. The latter is beautiful ; and I thought, on reading it, that I once more stood on the shore of the Dardanelles (Hellespont) at Sestos or Abydos, and witnessed the nd flcene of poor Hbko's lelf-aacrifice for her devoted lover. I propoM yet another
94 Editor's Tahle.
visit to Troy and Mount Ida ; and if I can conveniently do 80, I will, torch in hand, read these * strung pearls' of Mr. Anthon's sweet muse on the scene he has so gra- phically and so vividly described.'
Literary Record. — Among the recent issues of the Brothers Harper is ' The Forgenf: m Tale fry G. P. R. James, Esq.* It is one of Am 'noTels,' unmistakeably — and that is 'enough' for most of our readers, and 'too much* for us, 'by considerable.' The same publishers haTe judged public taste more correctly in the issue of a handsome volume, with numerous engrsT- ings, and an illuminated title-page, containing a 'History of King Charles the Firsts of England! by Jacob Abbott, whose experience in similar works is well known to the commimity; and in the republication from 'Pimch' of *Mayhew'$ Model Men^ Women and Children;' a capital and varied performance, in which there are keen satire, sly humor, sparkling wit, and no lack of strong, wholesome common sense. The illustrations, also, arc in excellent keeping with the text. . . . We have three interesting little books, prettily illustrated, and replete with good inculcations, from the press of Messrs. Stanford and Swords. The first, ' Cecil and hit Dog,' has enjoyed great popularity, and is a great favorite with youth, from the peculiar simplicity and truthfulness of the narrative, and the attractive style in which it Ulustrates the value of moral and religious principle in the young. The second, under the title of 'Alvays Happy,* con- tains anecdotes, all fruitful of good, ' of Felix and his sister Serena,' which were written for her children by a mother. A single fact is its sufficient praise ; it is from the ffleeroh London edition. The third is entitled 'CStnwm Berthage Stories,' and is the produolfoD of a lady, Mrs. Mary N. M'Donaxd. . . . Messrs. Gould, Kendall and Lincoln, BoftOD* hare issued in a handsome volume '2?r. WaylandCs Brown- University Sermon $,' a series of twenty-one discourses, extending through a period of four years, the subjects coming down to the recent revolutions in Eiirope, and the whole designed to designate and set forth the most important doctrines of the gospel Dr. Watland's high reputation will insure the wide dissemination of these Dis- courses. From the some house we have also another volume, by aa eminent and popular cler* gyman,Rev. E. L. Maooon, of Cincinnati^ which he entitles 'Protsrfts /)»rl^ PeopJcp' consistinf of illustrations of practical goodness drawn from the Book of Wisdom. The autlioir dSscusset the exalted principles of Christian morality in a manner adapted to the odmmoa omiqMreheB- sion ; nor, while he has relied mainly upon the teachings of the Holy Scriptures, has he been unmindful to consult those ethical writers, ancient sages, and asodem poets, who have recorded striking thoughts on the themes which he discusses; thus secdrtag 'the bestimpresaioniof tlie best minds in every age and clime.' . . We have heretofore noticed in the Knickbrbockkb the * Tales from Shakspearc, by Charles and Mary Lamb ;' and only recur to them now to say, that Messrs. C. S. Francis and Cohp any, Broadway, have issued them in a very handsome volumet liberally and prettily illustrated. In matter (of course) and in manner it is a charming vo- lume. . . . 'Count Raymond of TouUmse, and the Crusade against the Albigenses' is the title of an illustrated work from the popular pen of 'Charlotte Elizabeth,' and the last which ihe ever wrote. We have read it with great interest; but there is little need of our poor praise of the writings of one whose existence came to a close with the book before us. The work wiQ be widely read and as widely admired. . . . We are indebted to Messrs. Applston and Company for ' The Story of Little John' from the French of Charles Jeannel, a work which may be consulted with profit in the education of children, at that critical age when the mind is most susceptible of lasting impressions, and when the character is taking its bent for life. Prom the same publishers we receive 'Friday Christian, or the First-bom of Pitcaim's Island,' a narra- tive of varied interest, the sale of which is designed to aid the ' Governor Clark Episcopal Mission' of the State of Missouri. . . . 'The American Almanac,' from the press of LrrrLE and Brown, Boston, is what it purports to be ; a 'Repository of Useful Knowledge,' In the fullest sense of the term. The present, the twentieth volume of the work, contains full, authentic, and va- rled information concerning the complex affairs of the general and state governments, the finances, legislation, public institutions, internal improvements, expenditures and resources of the United SUtes. It is literally replcU with the most valuable intelligence, no where else ac- cessible ; and as such, is an almost invaluable work. . . . We would keep our readers advised that Mr. George Virtte continues regularly the publication in numbers of the 'Devotional I^umOy JK62e,' and tfaH there is not the slightest falling off in the excellence of the paper sad typography, nor in the superb engravings with which the work is embellished.
THE knickj:rbocker.
Vol. XXXIII. FEBRUARY, 1849. No. 2.
BUTLER'S HOR^ JURIDICiE.
BT rBAMKLtX J. SXCKKAX.
Tbb true spirit of laws must be ascertained irom the manner in which they are administered. Habeas-corpus and trial by jury, however fair they may seem on the statute-book, during the reign of James the Second were dead letters in the English constitution. And why 1 Because their noble provisions were not enforced in the courts of justice ; because the tribunals were filled with such men as Jeffiries, and others like him, who were willing to sacrifice at the altar- of prerogative the dearest rights of the people. As we shall shortly see, there was nothing in the laws of the barbarians which argued so strongly their weakness and inadequacy, as the manner in which the gravest issues were decided. The modes of trial adopted in settling matters of litigation were chiefly three : the trial by nega- tive proofs, the trial by ordeal, and the trial by wager of battle. Of these in their order.
First, of the trial by negative proofs. According to this, the per- son against whom a demand or accusation was brought, might clear himself in most instances by a negation, or swearing in conjunction with a certain number of witnesses mat he had not committed the crime laid to his charge. The number of these compurgators increased in proportion to the importance of the afiair ; sometimes as many as se- venty-two behig required. To allow the party accused to acquit him- self by swearing to his innocence and procuring his relations to swear that he had told the truth, was evidently reposing too much confi- dence in human nature. Penury, and subornation of perjury, are not the exclusive growth of modern times, but were in all probability frequently found interwoven with the natural simplicity and candor of the barbarian. Negative proofs are permitted at the present day, though with the concurrence of positive proofs. As soon as the
▼OL. xxxm. 13
96 Butler's HorcB Juridica. [February,
plaintiff has introduced bis witnesses in order to ground bis action, tbe defendant usually brings forward witnesses in support of bis side, after wbicb tbe judge, by comparing tbe testimonies, determines tbe law suitable to tbe facts of tbe case. The rule wbicb governs in tbe practice of our courts, is, tbat the obligation of jpTOving any fact lies upon the party who substantially asserts the affirmative ^ the issue, * Ei incumbit probatio, qui dicit, non qui negat* is tbe maxim of the common as well as of tbe Roman law. This rule is adopted, not because it is impossible to prove a negative, but because an opposite rule would not be so favorable to justice, and because the negative does not admit of tbat direct and simple proof of wbicb tbe affirma- tive is capable.
Secondly, of tbe trial by ordeal. This was of two kinds, either fire-ordeal or water-ordeal ; the former being confined to persons of higher i*ank, tbe latter to the common people. Fire-ordeal consisted in handling, without being burt, a piece of red-hot iron of tbe weight of one, two or three pounds, or in walking bare-foot and blind-fold over nine red-hot ploughshares, laid lengthwise at unequal distances ; and if the party escaped harmless, be was adjudged innocent ; other- wise he was condemned as guilty. Water-ordeal was performed either by plunging the bare arm up to the elbow in boiling water and escaping unhurt, or by casting the person suspected into a river or pond of cold water, and if be floated therein without any action of swimming, it was deemed an evidence of his Ruilt ; but if be sank be was acquitted. The trial by ordeal, according to Sir Wil- liam Blackstone, was known to tbe ancient Greeks ; and in proofed this he cites from the Antigone of Sophocles, where a person sus- pected by Creon of a misdemeanor oners to manifest his innocence by handling hot iron and walking over fire :
* J/icv J'Zroi^of Koi {liSpovs atpeiv j^epoiv irat vvp Siipirei¥t gal Btoif hpKCifiorcTif rd pf\Tt dpStraif p^rc rf ^vvctiivat rd npiypa /7ovXdl<r«yn, /i^r* eipyacpivu).**
A mode of trial in which so little depended on reason and so much on hazard, wbicb was incapable of convicting and bad no manner of connection either with innocence or guilt, which reHed so much upon special decrees of Providence, and so little upon the natural order of things, could only be received at a time when society was in a very simple state. We say incapable of convicting, because conviction was alike opposed by the length of time allowed to test tbe effect of tbe ordeal and tbe barbarians' peculiar habits of life. After the party accused bad thrust his hand in boiling water, it was inunedi- ately wrapped and sealed in a bag ; and if at the end of three days there appeared no mark, the accused was acquitted. Now among a warlike people, inured to the handling of arms, tbe impression made on a callous skin by tbe hot iron or boiling water would very seldom be perceptible at the expiration of tbree days ; and as to casting tbe
* Antioomjc, v. S7a
1849.] BuOer's Har€e Juridiea. 97
person suspected into a river or pond of cold water, the guilty by this mode were as sure of escape as they were of conviction. In- deed, the trial by ordeal, after making due allowance for the circum- stances of the time in which it obtained, was unreasonable, unjust, <K>ntrary to all equity.
The student of the early English chronicles^ will at once recall to mind the romantic story of Queen Emma, who so heroically passed the trial of fir&*ordeal. Accused by her ungrateful son, Edward the Confessor, of an unchaste familiarity with the bishop of Winchester, she offers to vindicate her innocence by this rude appeal to Provi- dence. The crafty Dane, the stem Saxon and the chivalrous Nor- man, forgetting their enmities, have assembled at Westminster to witness &e issue. At the appointed time the royal heroine appears. Her dark hair falling down her shoulders beautifully contrasts with the white woefles which partly envelope it, and her loose robe trail- ing behind her, wins the nomage of the graces. She is confident in the decree of the powers above. Summoning a resolution worthy of Cleopatra herself, she veils her eyes, makes bare her feet, passes the burning ploughshares, and walks a Queen as pure as the element that has just spared her tenderness.
Thirdly, of the trial by wager of battle. This seems to have owed its original to the mUitary spirit of the northern nations, as well as to their superstitious frame of mind ; it seems also to have been a natural consequence and a remedy of the law which established negative proora. Whenever it was the apparent intention of the de- fendant to elude an action unjustly by an oath, the most obvious re- medy suggested to the plaintiff, who apprehended and hoped that Heaven would give the victory to the side of justice, was to demand satisfaction for the wrong done to him by challenging bis opponent to single combat It is said that the Turks in their civil wars look upon the first victory as a decision of Heaven in favor of the victor ; so, among the German races, the issue of a combat was considered a special decree of Providence, ever ready to defend the right and punish the wrong. We learn from the writings of Tacitus that when one German nation intended to declare war against another, they endeavored to take some person of the enemy prisoner, whom they obliged to fight with one of their own people. If the event of the combat was favorable, they .prosecuted the war with vigor; if un- fevorable, terms of peace were proposed. A nation who thus set- tled public quarrels by a resort to single combat, might reasonably be expected to employ the same means in deciding the disputes of individuals. It is curious to observe that in England, even at the present day, this species of trial may be adopted at the option of the parties upon issue joined in a writ of right ; the last and most solemn decision of real property. Of course it~is much disused; yet as there is no statute in prohibition, it may be resorted to at the present time. From the reports of Sir James Dyer it appears that the last trial by battle in England was waged in the Court of Common Pleas
* Vide Baku's Chronicles, p. 18. *
98 Butler's Hora Juridica. [Febraary,
at Westminster in the thirteenth year of the reign of Queen Eliza- beth, and wEis held in Tothill Fields, 'won sine magna juris, consuLtih rum perturbatione,' says Sir Henry Spelman, who was present on the occasion. To this original of judicial combats may be traced the Iberoic madness of knight-errantry, as satirized in the pages of Don Quixotte, and the impious system of private duels which mars the civilization of our own age and country ; so remote is the con- nection often existing between historic causes and effects. Our limits will not permit us to inquire farther into this species of trial ; those who desire a fuller account may be referred to the concise style, profound research, rigid analysis and vigorous thought embo- died in the Spirit of Laws.
Such is a brief and imperfect view of the laws which governed the noithem nations upon their final settlement in the south. From the institutions to which the peculiar character and situation of these nations gave rise have sprung most of the governments of modem Europe. Thus the feudal system, which seems to have been an in- nate idea in the German mind, is the basis of the English no less than of the old French constitution ; and that, too, although the one fos- ters with parental care the privileges of the subject, while the other allowed popular rights to be absorbed in excessive prerogative. But whence this difference ? Why is it that of two neighboring nations, situated nearly under the same climate, and having a common origin, the one has reached a high point of liberty, while the other, until within a few months, was sunk under an almost absolute monai-chy ? A recurrence to history will furnish a satisfactory solution. It is well known that for a long time after the Norman conquest England was rendered a scene of confusion by the differences which arose be- tween the crown and the nobility. The former, by a series of suc- cessful encroachments,*had greatly augmented its power, while the latter had proportionately declined in importance. The haughty baron who had left his home in Normandy as the companion rather than the subject of the Conqueror, if not a criminal in the Aula Regis,, soon found himself, on pain of forfeiture, servilely repairing to the standard of the king. To free themselves fiom these and other rigors of the feudal government, the nobles in their depressed state found it necessary to call in the assistance of the people. At once the lord, the vassal, the inferior vassal, the peasant and the cottager formed a close and numerous confederacy. Previously, however, to lending their aid, the people stipulated conditions for themselves ; they were to be made partners of public liberty, and in consequence entitled to the protection of the law. Their importance once acknowledged, it was difficult to reconcile them to their former submission. The different orders of the feudal government being connected by ex- actly similar tenures, the possessors of the lower fiefs, the freemen, and the peasants, very early found that the same maxims which were laid down as true against the crown in behalf of the lords of the upper fiefe, applied also against the latter in behalf of themselves. In consequence of the extension of this doctrine through the diffe- rent ramifications of the people, the principle of primeval equality
1849.] BuOer^s Hara Juridiea. 99
was every where difiused and established, and that holy flame of po- pular freedom was then enkindled which to this day sheds its mild light over the whole realm of Eneland. About forty years after the conquest, in the reign of Henry Uie First, the e£Bcacy of this spirit of union and concerted resistance began more than at any other pre- vious period to be manifested. Henry, having ascended the throne to the exclusion of his elder brother, saw, amid the plots and jea- looflies by which he was surrounded, the necessity of conciliating the affection of his subjects. United as the numerous body of the people were with the privileged classes, he perceived that without their fiivor he must hold the crown bv a very precarious tenure ; ac- cordingly, in mitigating the rieor of the feudal system in favor of the loraa, he annexed as a condition to the charter which he granted that the lords should allow the same freedom to their respective vas- sals ; and at the same time, through his intervention, were abolished all those laws of the Conqueror which burdened most heavily the lower classes of the people. It would be easy to show that the same causes operated in a similar manner under the despotic government of King John ; but enoueh has been said to illustrate this point and to warrant the inference Uiat the free elements in the British consti- tution may be traced to that excessive power of the early English kings, which, by forcing the nobility into a combination with the peo- ple, rendered the latter sensible of their political impoitance, and induced finally a successful vindication of their political rights. But the history of the French constitution offers a striking contrast. In France the royal authority at an early period was very inconsidera- ble, while that of the nobility was exceedingly great While in England the mass of the people sought refuge m)m the king by combining with the nobles, m France mey at last sought refuge from the nobles by throwing themselves into the arms of the king. While in England the excessive prerogative of the kings was the means of making them weak, in France their audiority ^^as ultimately in- creased by the exorbitant power of the nobles. In England the gradual tendency was to tree institutions, to popular rights ; in France, to an absolute monarchy. In fine, the French and the Eng- lish constitutions, like two streams flowing from the same source, gradually diverged ; the one rolling on its baleful waters and gather- ing poisons in its course, the other fertilizing and making glad the countries through which it passed.
We have thus taken a cursory view of our subject. To embrace it in all its detail would require more ability and more research than we are able to bestow. That it is vested with interest will be readily conceded. The science of comparative jurisprudence, which con- sists in tracing out the analogies of the laws and institutions of diffe- rent countries, is daily becoming of more and more importance. From our increasing intercourse with the different nations of the earth, questions of the most perplexing character are constantly arising, which require in their solution more or less acquaintance with the elementary principles of foreign jurisprudence ; but to ob- tain this i
» elementary principles of foreign Jurisprudence ; but to ob- \ knowledge tnedust and silence of'^the past must be invaded ;
100 Man and Woman* i Misnon. [Febniarj,
time-honored institutions must be studied, for in them are wrapped up many of the laws and customs of our own day. Modem civili- zation is but the last stage of that progress which was long and long ago commenced :
' Thx £eet of houy tlma
Through flieir eternal course hare trayelled orer No ipeeehleaa, lifeless desert'
There is a chain running through humanity, whidb links the past with the present, and the present with the future. Let not that chain be broken. Let us not check a spirit of antiquarian research; but penetrating mists and darkness, let us learn from the Dodonean oracle of the past, lessons of wisdom to guide us in the future.
MAN AND WOMA^S MISSION,
A PAMA»B FROM 'PBtLO.*
Man does his mission ; woman is heraelf A mission, like the landscape. Her e^t Lies not in votingr, warring, clerical oil. Bat germinating grace, forth-potting virtue* The Demosthenic force of secret worth. And pantheism of truth and holiness.
She needeth not to push, when through all crowds She melts like quicksilver. The Amazons, Outwent they the Uue-eyed Sazouides? *The fairest smile that woman ever smHed, The softest word she ever gave her lover, The dimple in the cheek, the eye*s enchantment, The goodly-favoredness of hand or neck. The emphasis of nerves, the shuddering pulse. The PsYCHB veiled beneath the skin, the might Of gentleness, the sovereignty of good. Are all apostles, by Goo's right ; their office To guide, reprove, enlighten, and to save ; Their field the world, now white for harvesting, Her mission works with her development — Her scope to beautify whatever she touches : Her action is not running, nor her forte To nod like Jove, and set the earth a-shaking: Silent she speaks, and motionless she moves. As rocks are split by wedge of frozen water.
If woman feels the sacred fire of genius, Give her the liberty tp genius ow^ : But the world's greatness is diminutive. And what b small, the true magnificence, And a good mother |[reater than a queen.
1849.] Carmm BdUeoium. 101
CABMEN BELLIC08UM.
In their ngged reffimentaJs Stood the old ContioentalB,
YieldinjT not, When the grenadien were lungSng, And like hail fell the plunging
Cannon ihot:
When the fil«
Of theielee, From the imoky night-encampment, hore the hanner of the rampant
Unicom, And grammer, gnunmer, gmramer, rolled the roll of the dnnnmer,
Tluough the mom !
Thnn with eyw to the front all, And with gonf horizontal.
Stood our siree ; And the balls whistled deadly, And in streams flashing redly
Blazed the fires :
As the roar
On the shore Swept the strong battle-breakers o*er the green-sodded acre*
Of the plain. And louder, kmder, louder, cracked the Mack gunpowder,
Cracking amain !
Now like smiths at their forges Worked the red Saint Gkomoe's
Cannoniera, And the < villanous saltpetre' Rang a fierce discordant metre
Around their ears:
As the swift
Storm-drift, With a hot sweeping anger, came the horse-guards' clangor
On our flanks ; Tlicn higher, higher, higher burned the <^-fMhioned fire
Through the ranks !
Then the old-fashioned Colonel Gralloped through the white infemal
Powder cloud ; And his broad sword was swmging, And his brazen throat was ringing
Tmmpet loud :
Then the blue
Bullets flew, And the trooper-jaokets redden at the touch of the leaden
Rifle-faieath,
102 Autobiography of a Humam Soul [February,
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A HUMAN SOUL.
PART omb: bt iota.
When I first awoke to consciousness, I found myself bound by a tie of indescribable closeness to a frame composed of flesb and blood and bone and muscle, but originally sprung, as I bave since learned, from dust, and to dust doomed to return, £ougb I myself, in another state of existence, am destined to live for ever. This frame and I, coeval in our being, form to this day the body and soul o£ a mortal man.
How I entered into this body, by what means I am connected with it, whether I proceeded by ordinary generation from my earthly pa- rents, or emanated directly from that ALMicmiTT spirit who formed and who rules the Univene, are subjects which I frankly confess I do not understand ; subjects which have puzzled the brahis of thou- sands of my species for thousands of years, and which I am fully convinced are of those ' secret things' that ' belong with the Lord our God,' and which it is impossible for us in our present state to comprehend.
Of the first year of my existence I can say but little. I have rea- son to believe that my intellectual faculties lay during that period in a quiescent state, my perceptive powers being to some extent awakened ; and that I caused an infinite deal of trouble to those who had the charge of me, especially my kind and never- wearying mother. My birth-companion, the body, was at this time so weak and helpless, it could do nothing for itself; and I, as I have since heard, was so excessively cross, that I would scarcely permit any thing to be done for it.
Very soon my passions began to develope themselves ; and I a^ happy to say, that the principle of Love was, as near as I can tell, the first which awoke within me. This was manifested by the reluctance which I showed to leave the arms of my mother or nurse, and submit to the caresses of any one else. Followin|; thia, if not coeval with it, was Joy, for love naturally and of itself eneenders joy. . Fear, and Anger, and Sorrow, successively displayed uemselves. Sorrow, in- deed, might be said to have come into the world with me, fi>r my first sound was a sound of sorrow ; but that, I suspect, proceeded from an intuitive feelin? of self-preservation ; a physical sorrow, if I might use the expression, which did not require the exercise of my faculties. Pride, revenge, ambition, and shame, were at this time wholly un- known to me.
As I advanced in life, I became aware, that there were other beings made up like myself, of soul and body, who loved me and cared for me ; and I very soon learned to return their love, attaching myself however, more to some than to othen. I perceived, too, that thers
1849.] AiUolnography of a Huma$i Soul. 103
were other creatures, which lived and breathed like them, but yet were very different from them. Wherein the difference consisted I could not tell ; but from the earliest age I knew intuitively, that the dog which tumbled with me on the floor, and the kitten that purred herself to sleep in my lap, were animals inferior to myself. Since I grew older, 1 have indulged in speculations, and pondered on the speculations of others, in order to ascertain what was the essential difference between the Man and the Beast — between Reason and Instinct ; but am obliged to confess, that the investigations of adoles- cence amount to very little more than the intuitive perceptions of childhood. I am not without hope that the onward progress of science will throw more light on this sul^ect than has yet been done ; but it is a pretty difficult one, and apt to involve us in a labyrinth of speculation, from which extrication is well-nigh impossible. There are many who would admit that a dog, for instance, has reason ; which 18 just the same as saying that it has a soul ; but if we grant this, we must also grant that every individual of the brute creation, even to the animalcule and the zoophyte, has a soul ; a thinking, reasoning, immortal part And are we prepared to do this ? Hardly, 1 think.
But I am wading in waters beyond my depth, and lest 1 should get drowned in an ocean of conjecture, will hastily retrace my steps to thepoint from which I started.
Every day of my life brought an increase of strength to my body and an accession of new ideas to myself. At length to the great joy of those by whom I was surrounded, the glorious m£t of language was granted to me, and I was enabled by this medium to express those ideas, and receive others innumerable. And then began the joy, the delight, the rapture of existence ! Ten thousand rare and beautiful things became by degrees imparted to me ; ten thousand oew and wonderful sensations awoke at the same time within me. Before this, I had only vegetated, now I lived. The innumerable ob- jects of external nature ; the sunshine and the cloud, the waters and the skies, the trees and the flowers, the bird, the beast and the insect, by turns awoke* my delighted interest ; while the exquisite harmony of sound modulated into every variety of tone, made me thrill with delicious emotions which it is impossible to describe. By a series of admirable pieces of mechanism, called the senses, with the functions of which my reader is probably acquainted, every thing passing around me was instantaneously made known to me ; and I felt myself gradu- ally expanding like a flower opening its petals to the bright rays of the morning sun.
And ever and anon, as some new object was presented to me, would arise the earnest inquiry : * Who made it ]' nor could I be satisfied ontil all things were referred to their original source. So many and so searching were my questions on this subject, that as I have heard one, (herself a mother) remark ' a mother would need to be a good dieologian ;' yet so indefinite were my ideas, that when told that God made Uie trees, and the waters, and the sun, and the stars^ I would in- nocently ask : ' Did Hb make the houses and the tables and the chiiinr Ajod here let me remark, that children are nerer atheists.
▼OL. Tmn. 14
104 Autobiography of a Human Soul, [February,
Atheism is a monstrous and unuatural idea, originating in the pride of human learning, and rising up in direct opposition to an innate principle of our nature. I repeat it, it is never found in the minds of children.
'Who made all these things?' asks the newly awakened spirit; and when told that God made them it immediately rests satisfied. It believes, and is happy. Ah ! take, if you will, die boastful scepti- cism of the man, but give me the simple faith of the child.
It has been remarked by one of my species, that a man learns more in the first six years of his existence than in all his life beside. The remark is a just one ; but had the period been extended to twelve yeai:s, P think it would have had still gi-eater force. For if the know- ledge of simple language unfolded to me such treasures, and gave birth to so many new ideas, how shall I describe my sensations when with faculties further advanced and better able to grasp what was laid before them, I attained the power of studying the written language of my kind ; that priceless treasure which man alone, of all the ani- mals with which we are acquainted, possesses. What gleams of light broke in upon me ! What wonderful things in nature and art became known to me ! What a vast expanse of thought opened be- fore me ! Every thing was new, fresh and delightful, and with every accession to my knowledge, I could feel myself increasing in power, wisdom, energy and activity.
I must confess, however, that at this period I did not fully appre- ciate the privileges I enjoyed, but would sometimes turn with disgust from the avenues of learning, especially if they were thorny or toil- some, and give myself up with all my energies to some species of amusement, which, though frivolous and transient, contributed in the ^main to my good, as it strengthened my birth-companion and afforded i-efreshment and relaxation to myself. I would watch the motions of a kite with an interest as intense as if the fate of empires depended on its flight; I. would * chase the flying ball' with a speed which far outstripped the tardy and laborious efforts of my body ; nay, I would sometimes superintend with delighted interest, the mysterious femi- nine operation of dressing dolls, and even (blush, manhood !) permit the awkward, blundering, masculine fingera of my birth-companion to assist in the delicate task !
And here let me pause a moment in my narrative to advert to the wonderful, the incomprehensible connection which subsists between my birth-companion and myself. So closely are we bound together and so completely identiBed with each other, that it is next to impos- sible to tell where spirit begins and matter ends. The body cannot so much as lifl its hand to its head without the exercise of my will ; and I, though by far the most glorious, noble, and potent part, can do nothing, absolutely nothing, without the aid of the body, except in- deed to range at will over the regions of thought in complete dis- communion with and abstraction from every created being. I^hould the slightest injury be inflicted on any part of the body, instantaneous intelligence of the event is conveyed to me, and a sympathetic feeling of pain awakened ; while, on the other band, should any sudden or
1849*] Autobiography of a Human Soul. 105
powerful emotion arise within me, the heart will throb wildly and the blood will rush tumultuously to the cheeks, and the limbs will quiver and the tears gush in torrents from the eyes. These effects are pro- duced by means of certain vehicles called nerves, (of which my reader has probably heard) which intersect the body in every direc- tion and concentre in the brain ; but how that brain and these nerves communicate with me, is something which no mortal has yet found out.
Instead of seeking to penetrate the mystery, let us consider how admirably each part is adapted to its particular use. The hand, by means of which I at present express myself, is a perfect chef- d'oeuvre of art ; the foot, with its flexible arch, is most wonderfully calculated to support and propel the immense weight that rests upon it ; and so with the other parts of the body ; and when I look wiuiin on myself, I find passions, affections, emotions, and feelings, most beau- tifully adapted to every order of circumstances in which I may be placed. '
Let them talk as they may of the vastness of the universe ; of worlds extending beyond worlds in incomputable distance ; of suns whose light takes thousands of years to reach our earth ; there is nothing, in the whole wide range of creation, which proves more clearly and • incontestably the existence, the wisdom and the power of a God, than that compound of mortal and immortal, of spiritual and mate- rial, the body and soul of man. And never ^an 1 turn from the con- templation of this subject, without feeling myself lifled up toward the Almighty author of my being, and forced to exclaim with the Psalmist : ' I will praise Thee : for I am fearfully and wonderfully made !'
As I emerged from boyhood and became * content no more with girls to play,' I experienced many new sensations. I felt within me the workings of ambition ; I indulged in bright dreams of the future j and though still ardently thirsting after knowledge, I entered on a path till then almost untrodden and wandered with delight through the pleasant fields of fancy and imagination.
When I had existed for about eighteen years, a new and extraor- dinary feeling took possession of me. I fell in love ! It is impossi- ble to describe my sensations at this time : joy and fear and hope and uncertainty danced round and round within me and kept me in a perpetual whirl of excitement ; but joy, wild, fitful, passionate, ec- static joy, was the predominant feeling. It seemed as if the whole creation existed only for me and one other being toward whom I felt myself drawn by an irresistible impulse, a * nameless loneing/ so powerful, so subtle and so delightful, that I had neither the desire nor the ability to withstand it. If she smiled on me, all nature seemed to smile with sympathetic gladness ; if she frowned, the very black- ness of darkness was upon me and around me. Never did the sun shine so brightly as when he shone on us two together ; never did the wild flowers bloom so sweetly as when the fairy foot of her mor- tal body trod on them at the same moment with mine ; never did the •oond of music thrill bo exquisitely through me, as when it flowed
106 The Autobiography of a Human Soul. [February,
from her ripe lips, or leaped from her flying fingers. I was entranced ; I was spell-bound. I could think of nothing but my love. Every thing else seemed poor, miserable and of no account, in comparison with it. I read great quantities of poetry and even (shall I own it f ) tried to compose some ; but vain — vam was the attempt to give ut- terance to the burning thoughts that filled me.
'I loved, and was beloved tgaln ; In sooth it is a happy doom?
Before I reached this point of my existence, I had not conceived it possible for human life to afford such joy, such ecstasy, aa I then felt ; and when I had reached it, it did not seem possible that that ecstatic joy could ever have an end. But it had.
Circumstances obliged me to separate frx)m the object of my afiTec- tions and a considerable time elapsed before I again met her. I passed through new scenes, formed new associations and obtained new and far more extended views of life than I had had. I became acquainted with many individuals of the softer sex, more beautiful in form, more brilliant in intellect, more fascinating in manner and alto- gether more in accordance with my ideas of female perfection than she whom I had left. I began to think I had been too precipitate in fixing my choice. I looked about among them, conversed with them, flirted with them, and finally began to waver in my allegiance. At last I became careless, indifferent, cold, toward the idol of my boy- love.
Yet sometimes the recollection of how I had loved and especially of how I had been loved would come over me, like the soft land-breeze over the mariner, bringing with it many sweet associations and pleasant thoughts of other days. Then I would reason with myself^ how veiy wrong it was to forget my plighted vows ; and at length I resolved, not from any ardor of passion but meraly frx)m a high sense of honor, to return and renew them at the shrine where they had first been offered.
Animated therefore, by the high heroic feelings of a martyr, I sought the presence of her whom I had once regarded as the quintessence of female loveliness, but to my astonishment and mortification, I met with a repulse as decided and complete as it was unexpected. This stung me to the very quick, for 1 had learned by this time to think pretty highly of myself, and naturally supposed that every one else would do the same. I retired in high dudgeon ; and was ruminating sadly on the incomprehensible fickleness of woman, when I re- ceived the astounding intelligence that she, my once adored <me, was married !
And who, think you, had she married? Why, an old man, an ugly man ; a man with a coarse, hard, sordid soul ; a vridower, with grown-up sons and daughters. Why did she marry him 1 Need I answer the question ] He had ' great possessions ;' he had wealth, influence, station.
Thus burst the beautiful bubble » thus ended ' Love's young dxeamr
1849.] Stanzas: Heaven. 107
H E A Y E N .
ar oAuoi. iHS boulxv.of u v a z a. h d .
Oh ! talk to me of beaten : I love To hear about my home above ; For there doth many a loved one dwells In light and joy ineffable ! Oh ! tell me how they ihine and sing, While every harp ringa echoing ; And every glad and tearleaa eye ' Beams, like the bright aun, glorioualy ! Tell me of that victoriouB palm,
Each hand hi glory beareth ;
Tell me of that celestial charm
Each face in glwy weareih.
Oh ! happy, happy country ! where
There entereth not a sin ; And Death, that keeps its portals ftur.
May never once come in ; No change can turn their day to night/ The darkness of that land is light ; Sorrow and sighing Gop hath sent Far thence to endles^^banishment ; And never more ifrtij one dark toar
Bedim their jkraiming eyes, For every one ihey shed while here
In fearful agonies. Glitters a brij^ht and dazzling gem In their immortal diadem. >
Oh ! happy, happy country ! there Flourishes all that we deem fair ; And though no fields, nor forests green/ Nor bowery gacrdens, there are seen,
Nor perftimes load the breeze. Nor hears the ear material sound, Yet joys at Gtod's right hand are found/
The archetypes of these ; There is the home, the land of birth, Of all we dearest prize on earth ; The storms that rock this world beneatb
Must there forever cease : The only air the blessed breathe
Is purity and peace.
Oh ! happy, happy land ! in Thsk
Shines the unveil^ Divinity.
Shedding o'er each adoring breast
A holy calm, a halcyon rest ;
And Uiose blest souls whom Death did sever'
Have met to mingle joys forever !
Oh ! when will heaven unfold to me,
Oh ! when shall I its glories see ;
And my fiuntfiraaiy spirit itaiid
Within thttt iMppyJiKppy^Mndl
108 The Oregon Trail. [February,
THE OREGON TRAIL.
Br V. PAnciCAir, jk.
THE SETTLEMENT.
* And some are in a far conntree, And aome all reatleuly at home ; Bnt never more, ah never, we Shall meet to revel and to roam/ Sisoi of CoaijiTa.
Thb next day was extremely hot, and we rode from morning till night without seeing a tree, or a bush, or a drop of water. Our horses and mules suffered much more than we, but as sunset ap- proached they pricked up their ears and mended their pace. Water was not far off. When we came to the descent of th& broad, shallow valley where it lay, an unlooked for sight awaited us. The stream glistened at the bottom, and along its banks were pitched a multitude of tents, while hundreds of cattle were feeding over the meadows. Bodies of troops, both horse and foot, and long trains of wagons with men, women, and children were moving over the opposite ridge and descending the broad declivity in front These were the Mormon battalion in the service of government, together with a considerable number of Missouri Volunteers. The Mormons were to be paid off in California, and they were allowed to bring with them their fami- lies and property. Thera was something very striking in the half- military half-patriarchal appearance of these armed fanatics, thus on their way with their wives and children, to found, it might be, a Mormon empire in California. V^,q were much more astonished than pleased at the sight before us. In order to find an unoccupied campmg ground, we were obliged to pass a quarter of a mile up the stream and here we were soon beset by a swarm of Mormons and Missourians. The United States officer in command of the whole ' came also to visit us, and remained sometime at our camp.
In the morning the. country was covered with mist. We were always early risers, but before we were ready, the voices of men driving in the cattle sounded ail around us. As we passed, above their camp, we saw through the obscurity that the tents were falling, and the ranks rapidly forming ; and mingled with the cries of women and children, the rolling of the Mormon drums and the clear blast of their trumpets sounded through the mist
From that time to the journey's end, we met almost every day long trains of Government wagons laden with stores for the troops, and crawling at a snail's pace towards Santa F^.
T^te Rouge had a mortal antipathy to danger, but on a foraging expedition one evening, he achieved an adventure more perilous than haa yet befallen any man in the party. The night afler we left the Ridge- Path we encamped close to die river. At sunset we saw a train of wagons encamping on the trail, about three miles off; and though we saw them diBtmctly, our little cait, aa it afterward proved.
1849.] The Oregon Trail. 109
entirely escaped their view. For some days Tfite Rouge had been longing eagerly after a dram of whiskey. So, resolving to improve the present opportunity, he mounted his horse James, slung his can- teen over his snoulder and set foith in search of his favoiite liquor. Some hours past without his returning. We^lhought that he was lost, or perhaps that some stray Indian had snapped him up. While the rest fell asleep I remained on guard. Late at night a tremulous voice saluted me &om the darkness, and T^te Qouge and James soon became visible, advancing toward the camp. T^te Rouge was in much agitation and big with some important tidings. Sitting down on the shaft of the cart, he told the following story.
When he left the camp he had no idea, he said, how late it was. By the time he approached the wagoners it was perfectly dark ; and as he saw them all sitting around their fires within the circle of wagons, their guns laid by their sides, he thought he might as well give warning of his approach in order to prevent a disagreeable mistake. Raising his voice to the highest pitch, he screamed out in prolonged accents, * camp ahoy /' This eccentric salutation produced any thing but the desired result. Hearing such hideous sounds proceeding from the outer darkness, the wagoners thought that the whole Pawnee nation were about to break in and take their scalps. Up they sprang staring with terror. Each man snatched his gun ; some stood be- hind the wagons; some lay flat on the ground, and in an instant twenty cocked muskets were levelled full at the horrified Tdte Rouge, whojust then began to be visible through the darkness.
' Thar they come,' cried the master wagoner, * fire, fire, shoot that feller.'
* No, no !' screamed T^te Rouge, in an ecstasy of fright ; ' do n't fire, don't; I 'm a fnend, I 'm an American citizen !'
• You *re ^ friend, be you,' cried a gruff voice from the wagons,
* then what are you yelling out thar for, like a wild Injun. Come along up here if you 're a man.'
' Keep your guns p'inted at him,' added the master wagoner, ' may be he 's a decoy, like.'
T^te Rouge in utter bewilderment made his approach, with the gaping muzzles of the muskets still before his eyes. He succeeded at last in explaining his character and situation, and the Missourians admitted him into camp. He got no whiskey ; but as he represented himself as a great invalid and suffering much from coarse fare, they made up a contribution for him of rice, biscuit and sugar from their own rations.
In the morning at breakfast, T^te Rouge once more related this edifying story. We hardly knew how much of it to believe, though after some cross-questioning we failed to discover any flaw in the nar- rative. Passing by the wagonei-s' camp, they confirmed T6te Rouge's account in every particular.
' I would n't have been in that feller's place,' said one of them,
* for the biggest heap of money in Missouri.'
To T^te Rouge's great wrath they expressed a firm conviction that lie was crazy. We left them after giving them the advice not
110 The Oregon Trail. [February,
to trouble tbemselves about war-whoops in future, siuce they would be apt to feel an Indian's arrow before they beard bis voice.
A day or two after, we bad an adventure of another sort with a
Sarty of wagoners. Henry and I rode forward to hunt Afler that ay there was no probability that we should meet with buffalo, and we were anxious to kill one, for the sake of fresh meat They were 80 wild that we bunted all the morning in vain, but at noon as we ap- proached Cow Creek we saw a large band feeding near its margin. Cow Creek is densely lined with trees which intercept the view l^ yond, and it runs as we afterward found at the bottom of a deep trench. We approached by riding along the bottom of a ravine. When we were near enough, I held the horses while Henry crept toward the buffalo. I saw bim take bis seat within shooting distance, prepare his rifle and look about to select bis victim. The death of a &t cow was a dead ceitainty, when suddenly a great smoke sprang from the bed of the Creek with a rattling volley of musketry. A score of long-legged Missourians leaped out from among the trees and ran after the buffalo, who one and all took to their heels and vanished. These fellows had crawled up the bed of the Creek to within a hun- dred yards of the buffalo. Never was there a fairer chance for a shot. They were good marksmen ; all cracked away at once and yet not a buffalo fell. In fact the animal is so tenacious of life that it requires no little knowledge of anatomy to kill it, and it is very seldom that a novice succeeos in bis first attempt at approaching. The balked Missourians were excessively mortified, especially when Heniy told them tbat if they had kept quiet be would have killed meat enough in ten minutes to feed their whole party. Our friends who were at no great distance, bearing such a formidable fusilade, thought the Indians bad fired the volley for our benefit. Shaw came gallop- ing on to reconnoitre and learn if we were yet in tly land of the living.
At Cow Creek we found the very welcome novelty of ripe grapes and plums which grew there in abundance. At the little Arkansas, not much farther on, we saw the last buffalo, a miserable old bull, roaming over the prairie alone and melancholy.
From this time forward the character of the country was changing every day. We had Jeft behind us the great arid deserts, meagerly covered by the tufted buffalo-grass, with its pale green hue and its short shrivelled blades. The plains before us were carpetted with rich and verdant herbage sprinkled with flowers. In place of buf- falo we found plenty of priirie hens, and we bagged them by dozens without leaving the trail. In three or four days we saw before us the broad woods and the emerald meadows of Council Grove, a scene of striking luxuriance and beauty. It seemed like a new sensation as we rode beneath the resounding arches of these noble woods. Trees so majestic I thought I had never seen before; they were of ash, oak, elm, maple and hickory, their mighty limbs deeply over- shadowing the path, while enoiinous grape vines were entwined among them, purple with fruit. The shouts of our scattered party, and now and then the report of riflle, rang amid the breathing still-
1849.] Th€ Oregon TraO. Ill
ness of the forest. We rode forth again with regret into the hroad light of the open prairie. Little more than a hundred miles now separated us from the frontier settlements. The whole intervening country was a succession of verdant prairies, rising in hroad swells and relieved by trees clustering like an oasis around some spring, or * following the course of a stream along some fertile hollow. These are the prairies of the poet .and the novelist. We had lefl danger behipd us. Nothing was to be feared from the Indians of this region, the Sauks and Foxes, the Kanzas and the Osages. We had met with signal good foitune. Although for five months we had been travelling with an insufficient force through a country where we were at any moment liable to depredation, not a single animal had been stolen from us. And our only loss had been one old mule bitten to death by a rattlesnake. Three weeks afler we reached the frontier, the Pawnees and the Camanches began a regular series of hostilities on die Arkansas trail, killing men and driving off horses. They attacked without exception, every party, large or small, that passed daring the next six months.
Diamond Spring, Rock Creek, Elder Grove, and a dozen camping places beside, were passed all in quick succession. At Rock Creek we found a train of government provision wagons under the charge of an emaciated old man in his seventy-first year. Some restless American devil had driven him into the wilderness at a time when he should have been seated at his fireside with his grandchildren on his knees. I am convinced that he never returned; he was com- plaining that night of a disease, the wasting effects of which upon a younger and stronger man, I myself had proved from severe expe- rience. Long ere this no doubt the wolves have howled their moon- light carnival over the old man's attenuated remains.
Not long after we came to a small trail leading to Fort Leaven- worth, distant but one day's journey. T6te Rouge here took leave of us. He was anxious to go to the Fort in order to receive payment for his valuable military seiirices. So he and his horse James, afler an affectionate farewell set out together, taking with them as much provision as they could conveniently carry, including a large quantity of brown sugar. On a cheerless rainy evening we came to our last encamping ground. A dozen pigs belonging to some Shawanoe fitrmer, were grunting and rooting at the edge of the grove.
* I wonder how fresh pork tastes,' murmured one of the party, and more than one voice murmured in response. The fiat went forth : * That pig must die,' and a rifle was levelled forthwith at the coun- tenance of the plumpest porker. Just then a wagon train with some twenty Missourians, came out from among the trees. The marks- man suspended hia aim, deeming it inexpedient under the circum- stances to consummate the deed of blood.
The reader should have seen us at our camp in the grove that night, every man standing before the tree against which he had hung his little looking-glass and grimacing horribly as he struggled to re- move with a dull razor the stubble of a mondi's beard.
In the morning we made our toilet as well as circumstances would
VOL. zxxiii. 15
112 The Oregon TraU. [February,
permit, and that is saying but very little. In spite of the dreary rain of yesterday, there never was a brighter and gayer autumnal morning than that on which we returned to the settlements. We were pasa- ing through the countiy of the half-civilized Shawanoes. It was a • beautiful alternation of fertile plains and groves, whose foliage was just tinged with the hues of autumn, while close beneath them neatled the neat log-houses of the Indian farmers. Every field and meadow bespoke the exuberant fertility of the soil. The maize stood rustling in the wind, matured and dry, its shining yellow ears thrust out be- tween the gaping husks. Squashes and enormous yellow pumpkins lay basking in the sun in the midst of their brown and shrivelled leaves. Robins and blackbirds flew about the fences; and every thing in short betokened our near approach to home and civilization* The swelling outline of the mighty K>rests that border on the Mis- souri, soon rose before us and we entered the wide tract of shrubbery which forms their outskirts. We had passed the same road on our outward journey in the spring, but its aspect was totally changed. The young wild apple trees, then flushed with their fragrant blossoms, were now hung thickly with ruddy fruit Tall rank grass flourished by the roadside in place of the tender shoots just peeping from the warm and oozy soil. The vines were laden with dark purple grapes, and the slender stems of the maple, then tasselled with their clustezB of small red flowers, now hung out a gorgeous display of leaves stained by the frost with burning crimson. On every side we saw the token of maturity and decay where all had before been fresh and beautiful as the cheek of a young girl. We entered the forest, and ourselves and our horses were checkered as we passed along, by the bright spots of sunlight that fell between the opening boughs above. On either side the dark, rich masses of foliage almost excluded the sun, though here and there its rays could find their way down, striking through the broad leaves and lighting them with a pure trans- parent green. Squirrels barked at us from the trees; coveys of young partridges ran rustling over the leaves below, and the golden oriole, the blue-jay and the flaming red«bird darted among the shadowy branches. We hailed these sights and sounds of beauty by no means with an unmingled pleasure. Many and powerful as were the attrac- tions which drew us toward the settlements, we looked back even at that moment with an eager longing toward the wilderness of prairies and mountains behind us. For myself I had suffered more that sum- mer from illness than ever before in my life, and yet to this hour I cannot recall those savage scenes and savage men without a strong desire again to visit them.
At length for the first time during about half a year, we saw the roof of a white man's dwelling between the opening trees. A few moments after we were riding over the miserable log-bridge that leads into the centre of Westport. Westport had beheld strange scenes, but a rougher looking troop than ours with our worn equipments and broken-down horses, was never seen even there. We passed the well-remembered tavern, Boone'» grocery and old Vogle's dram-shop, and encamped on a meadow beyond. Here we were soon Tiaked
1849.] ' The Oregm Trail. 113
by a number of people who came to purcbase our borses and equi- page. ThiB matter disposed of, we nired a wagon and drove on to Kanzas landine. Here we were aeain received under the bospitable roof of our old friend Colonel Chick^ and seated under his porch, we looked down once more on the wild eddies of the Missouri.
Delorier made bis appearance in the morning, strangely trans- formed by the assistance of a hat, a coat and a razor. His little log- bouse was among the woods not far off. It seemed he had meditated giTme a ball on the occasion of his return, and had consulted Henry Cbatmon as to whether it would do to invite his bourgeois. Henry expressed bis entire conviction that we would not take it amiss, and die invitation was now proffered accordingly, Delorier adding as a special inducement that Antoine Lajeunesse was to play the fiddle^ We told bim we would certainly come, but before the evening arrived^ a steamboat which came down from Fort Leavenworth, prevented our being present at the expected festivities. * Delorier was on the rock at £e landing place, waiting to take leave of us.
* Adieu ! mes bourgeois, aflieu ! adieu !' he cried out as the boat put off; ' when yoU go another time to de Rocky Montagues I will go with you ; yes, I will go !'
He accompanied this patronizing assurance by jumping about/ swinging bis nat and grinning from ear to ear. As the boat rounded a dis^nt point, the last object that met our eyes was Delorier still lifting his bat and skipping like a monkey about the rock. We had taken leave of Mtmroe and Jim Gumey at Westport, and Henry Chatillon went down in the boat with as.
The passage to St. Louis occupied eight days, during about a third of wbicb time we were fast aground on sandbars. We passed the steamer Amelia crowded with a roarine crew of disbanded volun-' teen, swearing, drinking, gambling and fighting. At length one evening we reached the crowded levee of St. Louis. Repairing to' ihe Pknters' House, we caused diligent searcb to be made for our trunks, which afler some time were discovered stowed away in the fiuthest comer of the store-room. In the morning we hardly recog- nised each other ; a frock of broadcloth had supplanted the frock of buckskin ; well-fitted pantaloons took the place of the Indian leggins, and polished boots were substituted for the gaudy moccasins. We sallied forth, our bands encased in kid gloves and made calls at the bouses of our acquaintance. After we had been several days at St. Louis we heani news of T6te Rouge. He had contrived to reach Fort Leavenworth, where he had found the paymaster and received bis money. As a boat was just ready to start for St. Louis, he went oo board and engaeed his passage. This done, he immediately got drunk on shore, and the boat went off vdthout bim. It was some days before another opportunity occurred, and meanwhile the settler's stores fbmisbed him with abundant means of keeping up his spirits. Another steam-boat came at last, the clerk of which happened to be a friend of his, and W the advice of some charitable person on shore be persuaded T^te Rouge to remain on board, intending to detain bin there unci) die boat should leftve the Fort Ar first T^e Rougv
114 The Oregon Trail. [February,
was well contented with this arrangement, but on applying for a dram the bar-keeper at the clerk's instigation, refused to let him have it. Finding them both inflexible in spite of his entreaties, he became desperate and made his escape from the boat. The clerk found him afler a long search in one of the bairacks ; a dozen dragoons stood contemplating him as he lay on the floor, maudlin drunk and crying dismally. With the help of one of them the clerk pushed him on board, and our informant who came down in the same boat, declares that he remained in great despondency during the whole passage. As we left St. Louis soon after his arrival we did not see the wordi- less, good-natured little vagabond again.
On the evening before our departure, Henry Chatillon came to our rooms at the Planter's House to take leave of us. No one who met him in the streets of St. Louis, would have taken him for a hunter fresh from the Rocky Mountains. He was very neatly and simply dressed in a suit of dark cloth ; for although since his sixteenth year he had scarcely been for a month together among the abodes of men, he had a native good taste and a sense ^ propiiety which always led him to pay great attention to his personal appearance. His tali ath- letic figure with its easy flexible motions appeared to great advantage in his present dress ; and his fine face, though roughened by a thou- sand storms, was not at all out of keeping with it. We took leave of him with much regret ; and unless his changing features as he shook us by the hand much belied him, the feeling on his part was no less deep than on ours. Shaw had given him a horse at Westport. My good rifle which he had always been fond of using, as it was an ex- cellent piece, much better than his own, is now in his hands and per- haps at this moment its sharp voice is startling the echoes of the Rocky Mountains. On the next moiiiing we lefl: town, and after a fortnight of railroads and steamboats we saw once more the familiar dome of the Boston State-House.
I cannot take leave of the reader without adding a word of the true-hearted hunter who had served us throughout with such zeal and fidelity. Indeed his services had far surpassed the terms of his engagement. Yet whoever had been his employers, or to whatever closeness of intercourse they might have thought fit to admit him, he would never have changed the bearing of quiet respect which he con- sidered due to his bourgeois. If sincerity and honor, a boundless generosity of spirit, a delicate regard to the feelings of others and a nice perception of what was due to them, are the essential character- istics of a gentleman, then Henry Chatillon deserves the title. He could not write his own name, and he had spent his life among savages. In him sprang up spontaneously those qualities which all the refinements of life and intercourse with the highest and best of the better part of mankind fail to awaken in the brutish nature of some men. In spite of his bloody calling, Henry was always humane and merciful, he was gentle as a woman though braver than a lion. He acted aright from the free impulses of his large and generoua nature. A certain species of selfishness is essential to the sternness of spirit which bearo down opposition and subjects the will of others.
1849.] The Skater's Song. 116
to its own. Henry's character was of an opposite stamp. His easy eood-uature almost amounted to weakness ; yet while it unfitted him for any position of command, it secured the esteem and good-will of all those who were not jealous of his skill and reputation. The pol- ished fops of literature or fashion would laugh with disdain at the idea of comparing his merits with theirs. I deem them worthless by the side of that illiterate hunter.
THE SKATE R'S BONO.
On a winter night,
When the stars are brighti And the moon is shedding her pale cold light ;
When the wind from the north,
With a rush comes forth, And the whistlingtrees are white with frost ; When the leafless woods look dreary and dark, As they stretch out their limbs so cold and stark. And in many a tone with voices strong. Are singing their cheerless winter song:
AVhen the glittering dust
From the hard snow-crust Comes eddying down with the whirling gust,
Or with many a reel
And gliding wheel, It scuds away from the skater^s heel ; When the world is at rest, and all is still. Save the night owPs scream on the distant hill, When the crouching dog to his kennel has goncy And the shivering wolf is stalking alone :
Then with dashing spring.
For my curve and swing. Till the glistening ice with the iron ring ;
While the stinging blast
Is flying past. Fresh from the regions of Northland vast, And with graceful stroke and measured sweep Good time with the wailing wind I keep. As like phantom dark I swiftly glide. And with careless touch my course I guide :
When the world is at rest
I skate the best ; For the winter night I love to breast,
When no one is near,
Nor hearkening ear. The sound of the cracking ice can hear ^ When the dusky duck drives swiftly by, And is lost in the depths of- the dark blue sky. While his distant cry, in his lonely flight, Come* echoing clear through the ftosty night
116 Leaves from an African Journal. fPebmary,
When the Btreamen white
Of the Northern Li^t Are shooting np to the zenith Drigfht,
And the shadows slight
From its spirit-light Are gilding the ice with spangles dight ; Then my spirits are high, and with rushing cry, O'er the hard and ringing ice I fly: . My heart is in my flying feet.
And I make of them my coursers fleet !
LEAVElS FROM AN AFRICAN JOURNAL.
BT JOUM CARRO-Lt ARBNT.
AT SEA — A THUNDER OUST.
Wednesday^ December 8. — The storm which had been broodiDg during the day, caught us in the mid and morning watches. I was aroused by the quick, jerking and spiteful explosions of the thunder, and the dazzling flashes, and listened with some feeling of awe and excitement to the ragin? of the elements. Fart, loud and startling pealed the artillery of heaven, and sharp, and constant the celestial fires gleamed around us. So near indeed did the flashes seem to be. that 1 expected every instant to hear of the ship being struck. And when I reflected that we were out on the sohtary sea, with more than two hundred souls shut up in our little ^floating world, and the vessel filled with iron and other conductore, and loaded in addition with an uncomfortable quantity of powder and other inflammable ma- terials, and the forked lightning playing startlingly around our lonely path, I could but feel somewhat less comfortable and easy than in tny own safer quarters on terra firma. The officer of the deck, sup- posing riehtly diat I would admire the scene, was so kind as to send a boy to mvite me on deck to witness the elemental war ; but as the windows of the skies were open, and the rain coming down in tor- rents, and as I was not provided with insoluble armor, my love of excitement was not keen enough to seduce me to the outer world. Now that all is over and the ship, at 10 a. m., jumping on, some eight knots the hour before what is thought to be the Trades, I can well believe that those who have braved the elements under trying cir- cumstances, do not exaggerate when they confess that this aiBniay of electricity exceeded every thing hitherto experienced in all their wanderings. But we are just as much under the protection of a God on the changefiil ocean as on land, and from sucn visitations as the one we have just passed through unscathed, there is no such thing t& dodeing. I try to school myself into that confidence in Divine Providence and resignation to cifcumstances, so desirable for our own, aa well atf other people's comlbrt and trioiqaillity/ And
1849.] Leavtifrcm an African Journal. 117
though I GtfDnot gay that I would wish to paas through such another fiery ordeal, still, if come it must, I hope I may be able to see the sight in all its terrible beauty and sublimity. For one, however, I care not to make another and nearer acquaint&mce with that most fearful of all agencies, an African thunder-storm. Fortunately it was not attended by much wind, and has passed over, thank God, vrithout working us any mischief; ' like the frail &bric of a vision, and left no wreck behind.' As it is our first, I shall not be sorry if it also prove our last specimen of stormy weather in these hot latitudes. Speaking of this terrific storm, the officer of the deck assured me that it was, when at its height, one continued blaze of light, that two flashes would dart down at the same point of time, and dask the hissing . toaters up in cataracts vf foam, it was intensely dark between the dazzling flashes, and they seemed to fall perpendicularly, immedi* ately, upon the ship, from the heavy curtain overhead, which was torn and crossed in every direction, by the crashing thunder and the forked fire circulating with the speed of thought and like living light athwart the murky heavens. It seemed almost a miracle how we escaped fix>m the storm-rent atmosphere which enveloped us in its snake-like flames. Even we who kept below can somewhat fancy onr dangerous position.
APPROACBINa PORTO PRATA.
Thursday, Decbmbbk 9. — We are decidedly within the influence of the Trades, and that some degree or so sooner than we had anti- cipated to meet them. The ship is dashing along right merrilie through a rolling sea, and before a spanking Nor' Easter, making the water boil and flash around her, and taking in a sea now and then at the bridle-ports, to the great discomfort of Qiose, wardroom and steer- age, who appropriate £at region of our floating world to the luxury of smoking, lolling in grass hammocks, the interchange of cheerful conversation, and spinning nautical yams, relieved and varied by music, vocal and instrumental.
Breathing the temperate air, looking out upon the sun-lit tranquil sky and sea, and feeling the bracing breath of the steady Trades, I experience a sense of sweet relief and luxurious elation to know that vre have shaken ofi'the influence of Senegambian weather. For with that portion of the coast we have just lefk, I associate little else than monotony, thunder-storms, fogs, rains, and fever-laden dews, where, though the weather be not so bad as in the Bight of Benin, where it always pours and is never dry ; still let us hope that we have bid it a long,, if not a final, farewell. And yet one may cloy with weather so uniform and sunny as that into which we have entered, and sigh even, at times, for the rush of the tempest and the artillery of the skies, to change the scene and minister a little dose of excitement to the torpid spirits. But let the wind blow, as it now does, for some lew days nore, and sea and sky keep their smiling looks and humor, nid we iball make the luid again, and strive to eke out some iii^
118 Leaves from an African Journal. [Febraary,
terest and pleasure from the small stock on hand in the dull Island of St. Jago.
LAND — 8 T. JAGO
Sunday, December 12. — Land was discovered during the morn- ing watch, and with a fine, favorable breeze and lovely day, quite cool and keen enough for us, relaxed and enervated as we are now, 10 A. M., but a few miles from St. Jago, and expect to come to an- chor in an hour.
The prospect from the forecastle is really beautiful and pic- turesque. In front the irregular and bold peaks of St. Jago loom clear and distinct, the bright orb of day shedding its soft and beauti- fying rays upon their rugged sides. To the right the eye wanders over the sparkling waters, and falls delighted on the bold heights of Mayo, whilst away, on the larboard, towers uj) the famous volcano of Fogo, looming high and cloud-capped in the distance, its flanks clothed with mist, and its conical-shaped outlines contributing so strikingly to the charms of the panorama. Nothing but an eruption is wanted to make the scene complete, for grand and sublime must yon huge misty mass appear, belching forth fire and smoke from its raging entrails, and sti'iking terror to men's hearts by its power and activity. We have lost our chance, however, as the volcano has now gone to sleep, and probably for quite a long nap of it, since the outbreak which tenified the natives last spring. Would I were an artist competent to the task, and possessed the materials to commit to canvass a faint semblance of this lovely scene ! the feeble pen can do no justice to its merits, and the reader's fancy must supply the deficiency.
ASHORE — PORTO PRATA.
Tuesday, December 14, 1848. — I was somewhat afraid this morning that the weather would prevent me from visiting the shore for the first time since our return. But fortunately my apprehensions were groundless, and quite a large party started from our ship, some on duty and others for exercise and pleasure.
As my principal object was to take the exercise which long con- finement and sedentary habits rendered so pleasant and useful, I devoted most of my time to pedestrian loiterings about town. Las Sefioras Amelia and Clara, two gay and sociable Porto Pray a belles, well known and celebrated among naval visitors to St. Jago, contri- buted not a little to our amusement with sundry twangings^ of the Ught guitar, and such conversation and mutual understanding as we could eke out with our bungling attempts at Spanish, or the expres- sive signs of pantomime and eyes.
Luckily the day was cool and the sun obscured, so we did not ex- perience much inconvenience and fatigue from our pergrrinations and adventures. The aspect of the town is at present peculiarly dull
1849.] Leaves from an African Journal. 119
aod aninteresting. The sickly season is just drawing to a close, and the ' fashionables* have not as yet returned from the more salubrious locations among the Islands to which they periodically flee for health and safety. Now and then you see a good-sized, decently-built, and cleanly-looking basement, generally painted a bright yellow color, with red borders on the comers and red tiled roofs, and iron balconies in front, small but ornamental and convenient Among these houses pofisessing some claims to taste and respectability, those of the ' Com- mandante,' and Sig&or Cardozo, a rich inhabitant who owns a good deal of property in town and a fine ' hacienda' in the country, and the ' Padre' or Pastor of the only and plain little church the place can boast of, are the best in internal ana external furniture and ap- pearance. But the very large majority of the houses are one story, tow-pitched, straw- thatched and roughly- tiled huts, interspersed and redeemed here and there, with some decent habitations, crowded with women and children, for the most part any thing else than cleanly in appearance or manner.
The streets are rough, though many of them are wide and regular. Bat zigzag, dirty, narrow lanes and alleys meander like cow-paths through the dingy looking-hovels, and the eye and ear are oft offended by sights and sounds which are any thing but welcome and agreeable. The town is perched on an elevated extent of table land, isolated from the surrounding hills bv a deep, and in several places, broad ravine, which encloses and might render it with proper care and art, a position capable of beine well and successfully defended. The neighboring country is undulating and irregular; in some spots it rises to a considerable height, offering many picturesque views, when the clouds cling to the peaks, and sunshine and shadow shift across their desolate flanks of precipice and hill. The situation of the place in fact would impress the casual observer with its capacity of defence, if in good hands and under a good government But as , things are now, and are likely to continue, the military, nearly all men of a bituminous tint and complexion, are chiefly useflil and kept in service for the duty of keeping a bright look-out over the convicts, and the few miserable looking guns ranged in battery in the small and insignificant enclosure ycleped a fort, fit only for salutes and bad even at that. The so-called fortification commands the harbor, being located on the brink of the lofty cliffs which face and overlook the harbor, and if properly manned, served and victualled, might work some mischief to ships attacking in that direction.
Among other curiosities beside monkeys, 'burros' and goats, whose name is legion, and with which the natives seem to cultivate a fellow feeling, our worthy storekeeper, Mr. Morse, showed us three birds, belonging to Mr. Cardozo, and imported ft'om the coast. One, the ' Marabou' or African Stork, is a long, broad-billed bird, some three feet high, and owner of a stiff leg, which gives him an awk- ward and ludicrous style of locomotion. His principal merit lies in his tail, whence beautiful white feathers are extracted and sent to Europe and elsewhere, to be worn as ornaments by the fair daugh- teiB of mother Eve. The othexs are called the drown Birds, and
VOL. zzxni. 16
120 Leaves from an African Journal. [February,
are decidedly gi*aceful and pretty in their movements and appear- ance. They are about four feet in height, with small delicate heads, adorued widi a crown like the coronal of the sunflower, and some- what remarkable in addition for exceeding long necks and legs. Their walk is solemn and dignified ; maroou, yellow and white colors variegate their heads and bodies. It is quite a pleasant sight to see these strange and beautiful creatures strutting cautiously and gravely around the court, erecting, when angered or alarmed, the feathers on their crane-like necks, and then again billing and cooinjg with each other like a pair of turtledoves, in a manner peculiarly affectionate and caressing. I wish it were in my power to procure some of these African bipeds, and astonish my friends across the water with a sight at their strai^e and pleasing shapes and plumage.
The fruit, which is now ripe, remarkably large and delicious, is one of the few things we really enjoy in this place of exile. Such is the abundance of oranges, lemons, bananas, plantains, etc., that for twen- ty-five cents you may procure a hundred glorious, golden-hued, sweet, luscious specimens of the former, and the others at prices ridiculously insignificant. The only drawback in my enjoyment of these good things the Giver of all good doth send us, is, that I cannot hope ta transmit them home with a chance of preservation during the voyage. Just think of huge, juicy oranges, four for a cent, lemons equally re- markable for beauty, size and quality, at the same low price, and a fine, heavy bunch of ripe bananas for a ' dump,' about half a dime, and then feel your mouth water for the feast ! Oh ! for Aladdin's lamp to summon some one of the genii to my side, and send him on the wings of the morning, across the broad Atlantic, to my own loved liome, laden with the luscious offspring of these sunny climes !
, TRIP TO PIEDBA BSOAL.
Thursday, December 16. — Having ridden the restless wave» quite long enough, and to vary the exercise we have been so lone subjected to and tired of, in our floating world, the first lieutenant ana your humble servant, ventured to essay an equestrian expedition into the country back of Poito Praya. Behold us then surrounded by 8 group of scantily clothed and noisy natives, of all ages and both sexes, exhibiting for our choice and edification the merits of divers shabbily caparisoned and badly-groomed nags and borricos, and loud and importunate in their recommendation of themselves and their horse flesh. Our arrangements being at length completed afler a patience-exhausting detention and delay, and ^*uly delighted and re- lieved to shake off our too pressing attendants, off we started on the jaunt, and by dint of spurs, kicks and sticks, menaces and coaxings, managed as best we could to seduce or force our sorry-looking Rozi- nantes into a sort of locomotion bearing a distant resemblance to a gallop. Clattering through the jp-ass-clothed streets of this delectable metropolis of St. Jago, by one of our officers ycleped • the New- York' of the station^ and produciiig quite a sensation among die folks who
1849.] Leavei Jrom an African Journal. 121
had leisure to be idle, we soon emerged fit>m the straw-roofed hovels into the open country, and then and there held solemn consultation as to the programme and distribution of the day. Learning from Antonio, our juvenile cicerone, and bearer of our prog, that a couple of villages worthy our notice lay some few leagues over the rolhng and hiffh ground that uninvitingly stretched away before us to the cloud tipped hills beyond, we decided to jog on and explore the un- known region in that direction. So leaving the Trinidad road and valley to the left, we clambered up the steep, stony route which winds rough and narrow over hill and ravine, logging not over three knots to the hour. Our first halt was at a collection of half a dozen black- looking, poverty-stricken huts, where we indulged in a palaver with a party m dark gentlemen and ladies, who were all eyes, teeth and tongue, opening the first very wide, showing the second very plain and white, and wagging the third at a rate which would have run a fidr race with a miU-clapper. Leaving and taking nothing at this refreshing relay, we incontinently resumed our journey, and over- taking a short distance ahead a very black fellow upon a very small * bomco,' jogging on at his ease in the same direction as ourselves, a happy thought presented itself to my mind, and I proposed to hire beast and man, to g^ive our boy and grub a lifl, and guide us to the village, some few miles further, and called by our new acquaintance, Piedra Regal. Rather fatigued than otherwise, by our equestrian performances, rendered peculiarly irksome by the dulness of our coursers, and incommoded by the wind, which hig]^ and strong came booming over the table land, and darting into our faces, sharp and cutting through the frequent gorges, in due time we hove in sight of the home of our sable conductor. It is composed of a couple dozen huts or more in each settlement, on two hills overlooking a deep, stony, bush-covered ravine or fissure, and surrounded by a mountain scenery which is not deficient in natural beauty aad effect. Our ap- pearance, as we clambered down the slippery sides of the hills, lead- ing our horses by the bridle, it being rather too abrupt and stony to make the other kind of descent over-safe or comfortable, excited quite a flurry among the worthy villagers. We had hardly surmounted the perils and inconvenience of die passage, before our Piedra Rega- lian guide and ourselves were saluted by a chorus of shrill exclama- tions from the fair sex of the place nearest our picturesque cavalcade. Dismounting at the residence of Antonio the elder, our roadside ac- quaintance and chance guide, we were welcomed by the dingy inmates, and the smoke-stained parlor was soon besieged by a crowd of curious •pectatoi*s. Having reposed awhile, and distributed sundry cigars, and pulls at our liquor fiask, as some return for the hospitable, but rather too close attentions of our entertainers, we sallied forth upon a tour of observation through the town. It would beyond question have formed not an unfitting subject for the pencil of a Cruikshank, to have sketched the white men and their colored escort on this inte- resting occasion. The elite of the place did us the honor to show the lions, and we made half a dozen dives or descents into dark and dirty boreby and emerged right speedily not over pleased or attracted wiu
122 Leaves Jrom an African Journal. [Februtty,
the aspect or odors of these primitive accommodations. But the good creatures did their best, and seemed really gratified at our visit, and so all honor to their hospitable intentions.
In one or two of the huts we saw a few good forms and faces, par- ticularly two ffirls who were engaged when we entered in pounding com with sticks in a wooden vessel or mortar preparatory to work- ing it into cakes. But rude figures, ragged garments, strong yet clumsy shapes, pigs^ starved dogs, cackling poultry, half fed horses, sturdy borricos and swarms of annoying flies and gnats, predomi- nated as the features and specimens of the animated population of the place, and as to the natural productions I could see nothing but scrubby trees and bushes, rocks and pebbles. Fruits they know not of, and water is a treasure, for they bring it from a distance as we learned to our cost, by being so imprudent as to ask for some to give our horses. In hills and rugged ravines Piedra Regal can boast some merit, several elevated peaks within a short distance, making quite a respectable appearance. T^e soil is cut up in several places by rents ana fissures, the work in former ages of some natural convulsion or perchance volcanic agency.
More than, satisfied with our acquaintance with and inspection of the natives, having chartered our quondam guide for a few dumps more to give our boy another lift on our way to Porto Praya, we bade adieu to Piedra Re^al and our kind but primitive entertainers. Finding the air and exercise whet-stones to our appetites, we selected a couple of logs near the road for the scene of our lunch, and were soon busily engaged in doing justice to the substantials and liquids provided for the occasion. Bodi agreed that never before had tongue and chicken tasted sweeter, or wine and old Monongahela more to our taste and satisfaction, than when thus we two wearied wayfarers satisfied appetite with the former and drank to absent friends and associations and JiMM>llecttons close linked with home, in the latter, the sky our canopy and the rough unhewn log our seat and table. That the two Antonios luxuriated in the food and liquor, rare visitors to mortals poor as they, their smiling countenances and grateful looks gave ample testimony. Our inistic but well-enjoyed banquet over» we mounted our nags again, and to vary our returning route, Anto- nio accompanied us to show the way, and soon brought us to the brink of a precipice whence the eye ranged wide and frep over the deep and well- cultivated Trinidad Valley, its natural attractions, of no mean order, improved and embellished by the ' haciendas' of Sig- ner Cardozo and other thriving cultivators of the soil. Here, after we had taken our fill of hill and valley scenery, our faithful cicerone took his leave, with the warm expression of his thanks and an ofier of his services if we should visit Piedra Regal again, with a promise to procure for us, on short notice, horses, borricos, turkeys, chickens, ducks, eggs, etc., the principal riches and possessions of himself and his fellow townsmen. The poor fellow must have really felt what he so emphatically said, for our visit was a benediction to him ; and counting dumps and dinner, it was quite a harvest, and it may be long before he earns so much again. Therefore let me rocomiiieDd
1849.] L9a/9ei from an African J<mmal, 122
this attentive and faithful creature to all strangers who, like ourselves, may deem it worth their while to pay the place a visit. He is a man of note in his own little world, and will hail the white man as a lavored guest.
A brief ride soon brought us back to Porto Praya, and the sun- down boat was in waiting to transport us to the ship. And so ended the adventurea of a day. Should you, dear reaaer, ever tread in our footsteps, may you enjoy the trip as much as we did.
ClUDAD DE BIBEIBA ORANDX.
Saturday, DECEBfBisR 18. — The sun was bright, the wind free, and the sea not too roughly stirred up by the fresh nor'-easter, when a party composed of our first and flag-lieutenants, one of the youne gentlemen mm the steerage and myself, hoisted sail in the second cutter, on an expedition to Ciudad de Rebeira Grande, formerly the metropolis of the island, and distant some six miles on the coast to leeward. With a picked crew, a lively boat, favoring breeze, and a flowing sea, ' like a thing of life' we sped on along the desolate, inhospitable shore, looking now and then, Paul Pry like, into some eheltered bay and cove, where perchance some jutting promontory broke the wind and swe}], and enjoying at times the sight of some 'patches of refreshing verdure in some narrow gorge, attesting the nand of man, or the fertilizing smile of nature and presence of some mountain stream. But the general character of the coast is bleak and barren, made doubly so by the effects of the southern win- ter and the parching sun and winds, here and there jiresenting to the eye quite striking specimens of lofly cliffs, rent and scooped out into arch and cavern by the fierce and constant abrasion of the ocean ; ours was not alone a trip of pleasure, but in pait one of dis- covery. Every now and then the fore-sheet was taken in, when Toanding some surf beaten headland, or crossing some shallow shoal. And yet despite delays like these, and our following the indentations of the coast, we came in sight of Ciudad a little more than an hour after our departure from the ship.
The aspect of the town as we made it was decidedly picturesque. It lies at the bottom of a small bay, and nestles in part at the foot of the lofty cliffs pressing closely upon it, a portion of the town being perched upon the eminences around. The most prominent objects that attract the eye of the seaward visitor, are the ruins of an old fort upon the high hill in the background, and the large mass of ■tone and mortar situated nearer the beach, and known as the Cathe- dral and Archbishop's palace. We beached our boat on a smooth ahore at the foot of Cathedral hill, and were soon honored with the attendance of a group of natives, one of whom spoke a little English. Putting ourselves in charge of the most respectable-looking man of ibe party, a genteely-dressed and comely colored youth, whom we understand is second in office and dignity in Ciudad, we started on itTittt to the lioiis of the place. CStofamg up the steep path, we
124 Leaves from an African Journal. February,
reached the platform in front of the cathedral. Its external appear- ance possessed some pretensions to size and architectural taste, but gives sad proof of what time or rather man's neglect has made it. It faces the little bay, has two towers, in one a bell, in the other a clock, is about forty feet in width, two hundred long, and thirty high. It is built of stone, encrusted with small pieces of bnck, and stuccoed. What family of architecture it belongs to, I am not scientific enough to say, but as it, and the long, substantial-looking pile alongside, to the right as you face it, and looking immediately upon the ocean, were erected about 1793, and at the expense of the Portuguese government, it is to be inferred that the kind used in Portugal at the time has been adopted. If the exterior gave proof of decay and ne- glect, the interior was in a still more deplorable condition. Setting aside the mixture of blue, green, white and coarse gilding bestowed on pillar, altar, saints and emblems, there was really a creditable at- tempt at efiect in some parts of the edifice. The principal altar is reached by a fiight of steps, and the space in front, to the centre of the cross, in which shape the church is built, is railed off, and used and appropriated by the officiating clergy, for the * Lutrin,' and the cho- risters, dust-covered organ and antique mouldy books. The orna- ments of this altar, as of the others, are gaudily eilded and painted columns, and statuettes of saints, all looking decioedly the worse for wear. I counted nine altars, at which, were there priests and people enough, nine several masses could be simultaneously said and at- tended. One of these is in a large recess, or side chapel, with porce- lain walls, and painted on them rude pictures of the Last Supper, and divers othei* biblical scenes and incidents. A light was burn- ing within, indicating, I suppose, that the Host was there enshrined. On another altar I observed a small figure of the Archangel Michael, weighing two mortals in a pair of scales, emblematic, I imagine, of Divine Justice, and that one was tried and found wanting. There is also here a statuette of a black saint, Ethiopian I suppose, or proba- bly St. Augustine, or else some dark-skinned holy man of these islands, to suit and pay homage to native taste. There are three padres, colored. priests, in the place, and service is said on every Sunday in the cathedral, and two other churches, which we also visit- ed, are served by them likewise. There are no pews in this church, and slabs of sculptured stone have been inserted in the floor, to show that some old Portuguese hidalgo sleeps beneath. In a word, I could easily believe myself to be in some European cathedral, so similar is every thing to what I had been accustomed to on the continent. The genteel-looking cicerone I have mentioned, discovering that I was a Cath^^lic, and therefore understood the different parts and uses of the church, was particularly polite and attentive to me. I really felt awed, and yet much pleased, to tread once more, after such long exclusion from a church, the sacred precincts, and with a painfiu sentiment of sorrow for the evident decay and absence of befitting worship and worshippers, in a fane so large, roamed amid the crum- bling altars, and over the long-forgotten remains of the long-departed, ^pd while thus allowing my mind to make the moumfiU retrospect*
1849.] Leavis from an African Journal. '125
and picturing to myself the scenes and men once w^U known here, ^ould but feel surprised, that in so remote a place, with such a poor and sparse population, buildings like this and the neighboring palace ahould ever nave been constructed. At no time, and under no curcum- atances, in the most palmy days of Ribeira Ghrande, when governor, archbishop, priests and courtiers, gave it life and splendor, can I &icy how these broad pavements could be crowded, or yon deserted mansion filled.
Indulging in such thoughts as these, I followed my party into the atreet While we were thus lounging about, we were somewhat sur- prised by the appearance of a white man, in military costum6, who invited us to enter his house, and take a little repose. Accepting the invitation, we found that he was the commandante militaire of the place, detailed to take charge of the public stores, consisting of soipe four small saluting cannon, wan*anted, I suppose, not to go off, and therefore very slightly secured and guarded, the old ruined fort on the hill, and the ruins of the convent and church of Misericordia. Feeling rather fagged and worn out by our peregrinations of the morn- ing, we asked permission of El Fuiente Pasquale to order up our provender from the boat, and to make use of his ' sailed manger' for a lunch. Request cheerfully acceded to, the basket soon made its welcome appearance and the usual ceremonies and performances at- tendant on eating and drinking among strangers were soon and deco- rously Expedited and discharged. Having thus refreshed exhausted nature, and braced with new vigor for^ another expedition, my fellow- travellers procured a couple of mules, and a poor, lean rozinante of a horse, and started forth upon a visit to the valley which stretches back some distance between the cliffs into the country behind the town. Wishing to visit the ruined convent, situated in a fissure of the great mountain gorge, I availed myself of the escort of the commandant and the respectable-looking Diego who still kept hospitably at hand, to gratify my curiosity. Making our way along a mountain torrent which supplies the town with water, and climbing up a flight of rough stone steps, we reached the chapel, now nearly unroofed and fast going to decay, and stripped of every thing but a few tombstones, one bearing the date of 1662, and ornamented with well-carved coats of arms of those whose forgotten names they commemorate. On the same floor with the dormitory, in several of the cells yet distinct, though naught remaining but the shell, with roof and floor totter- ing to a fall, live some poor blacks, allowed by government the privilege of this neglected shelter, in return for the watch which they Keep over the ruin and decay of this once holy pile. The Friars, for it was those good men who built the dwelling, had selected a fit position for their wild abode. Protected on three sides by lofly cliffs, m the embrace whereof sheltered from the winds and storms, their lives passed quietly away, and their fruits and flowei-s got due sup- ply of sun, i-ain and trickling water from the mossy rocks ; the cowled brethren looked down upon the little metropolis at their feet, and out upon the broad sea beyond, while on every side nature's power and heaiity oairied their tiboughta and a&pirations up to nature's Qou^
126 heaves from an African Journal. [Februaiy,
While wandering through the silent and ruined chambers, and look- ing down upon the garden which the holy Friars made once to smile ana blossom along the mountain rivulet, I pondered on the changes that had been worked in this small theatre, and deemed it almost profanation to let the dwelling go to ruin, a family of dirty natives to seek its shelter, and hogs and donkeys to abuse its precincts. What a treat, if instead of all this misery, ruin and neglect, to see the wor- thy Friars going through their pious and charitable exercises and avocations, to hear the pealing organ and the holy chant, and to know and feel that this much maligned and ill treated order were here to give the poor food and raiment, and to administer to those who stood in need, religious instruction and consolation ! But the brethren have been driven by the mother country from their humble dwelling, and here and over the whole town and neighborhood, de- cay and desolation sit enthroned. Huts and ruined houses compose the town, and its poor agricultural population of some two thousand souls just manage to keep body and soul together, the very personifi- cations of misery and idleness. Quantum mutatusabillo I
On our way back to the commandant's quarters, we halted at a small distillery of aquadiente, a strong and potent liquor manufac- tured from the sugar-cane ; and looking in at the oldest church, con- siderably smaller than the Cathedral, also going fast to ruin, and yet used for Divine service, quite wearied out and glad to get repose, we were gathered together in the Fuientes unpretending parlor. Our party thus made complete by the accession of two ' young gen- tlemen* of the steerage, and the return of my travelling messmates firom their donkey trip up the valley, we proceeded to discuss the contents of our well-nlled basket. With toast and man}^a stirring cheer, we emptied the ' Cardigans' we had come provided with, and seldom would you find a party gayer and more chatty than was ours. But time will go by, and the best of friends must part So, when the bumpers had been drained and good substantials properly attended to, we tore ourselves from the affectionate embrace of our new-made friend, and with promise to pay another visit when opportunity oc- curred, and repeated apologies on his part for the poorness of his reception and enteitainment ; leaving the 'first' to return in com- any with the two Passed Midshipmen ' k cheval,' we were soon eading for the ship again. The weather was still clear and fine, but wind not near so favorable as when we came, so without resort- ing, however, to our oars, and making tacks from time to time, afler a couple of hours' work, we made our good old crafb again, and clam- bered up the side well pleased to terminate so well and safely the adventures of the day. Our equestiians had arrived a little time be- fore us, but what they gained in time, we made up in enjoyment, for give me a taut boat, companions few and choice,, a good and steady crew, with a stiff breeze and a sunny day, and I want no bet- ter sport, no other method of locomotion.
The portion of our party who varied the excursion by a ride up the yalley informed me that in spots the ravine is weU culttvate^ and the fruita and veg^ibles abundant apd IftfVge. Tfaia ii in grsat
I
1849.] The MaUer Accounted For. 127
contrast with most of the soil visible to one sailing along the coast, and approaching Ciudad from the water. In fact there are gorges and valleys in d^is otherwise desolate and sterile Island, which ap- pear like oases in a desert, and the productive fertility of nature m gracious and smiling moods might be rendered more than sufficient for the supply of these volcanic isles, were the people more indus- trious, the resources of cultivation and irrigation more attended to.and the government in Portugal heedfiil of aught else than grinding the substance out of its subjects, and using these dependencies for other purposes than a place of banishment for exiles and convicts. But the curse of government and tropical fertility on the one hand, and corresponding indolence in the people on the other, are shadowing and shedding a blight upon the land ; and I see but little or no rea- son to look forwsLrd to amelioration, or if drought and bad seasons afflict the Islands again, as in 1S32, that the natives will have learned wisdom from the past, or be better prepared to meet evil for the future. It is but another instance of a bad step-mother, and help- less, down-trodden children. The mother wants to keep the latter always in the minority, and to squeeze out of them every thing she can for her own selfish purposes, and the children are content to keep body and soul together, their thoughts confined to the gratifi- cation of animal wants, and their views an^ ambition limited to the narrow circle of their isles.
THE MATTER ACCOUNTED FOR.
A aoaoxtiTiOM : bt Jon<f buouotiAic*
GoD-CuPiD one day, with his quiver well stored,
Sallied forth, upon wickedness bent ; Right and left, his insidious love-messengers poured. And hearts by the hundred were shamefully scored,
To the mischievous archer's content. Till at last he encountered King Death on his way.
Whose arrows more fatally flew : In vain did the emulous urchin display All his CTod ; his companion still carried the day,
For his shafts were like destiny, true.
GoD-CuriD, annoyed at the other's success,
Invoked cousin Mercurt's aid, ^
Who having for mischief a talenf no less, Changed their quivers so featly, that neither could guess,
Such complete transpositions were made : The result, up to this very hour, you may see,
For when very old folk feel love's smart. Curd's arrows by Dkatu surely wielded must be ; But when Youth in its loveliness sinks to decay.
Death's quiver miist fiiruiih the dart !
VOL. ZZXHI. 17
128 Lmei to a Lady. [Febraary,
stanzas: to a lady.
wirm A HXAD ov bxasa.
If I were Pros, upon thee
My Vatican I would bestow ; But now my gifts must valued be
Simply for ii^at regard they show.
When Christmas came, I gave to one A fan, to keep love's flame alive,
Since even to the constant sun Tmlight and setting must arrive.
And to another — she who sent That splendid toy, an empty pmse — >
I gave, though not for satire meant, An emptier thing — a scrap of verM»
For thee I chose Diana's head. Graved by a cunning hand in Rome,
To whose dim shop my feet were led By sweet remembrances of home.
'T was with a kind of Pagan feeling That I my little treasure bought —
My moods I care not for conceiding — * Great is Diana !' was my thought
Methought, howe'er we change our creeds, Wheuer to Jovs or GrOD we bend,
By various paths religion leads All q>irits to a single end.
The goddess of the woods and fields. The healthful huntress, undefiled,
Now with her fkbled brother yields To sinless Makt and her child.
But chastity and troth remain Still the same virtues as of yore,
Whether we kneel in Christian fane Or old mythologies adore.
What though the symbol were a lie, Since the ripe worid hath wiser grown»
If any ffoodness grew thereby, I wiUnot scorn it for mine own.
So I selected Dian's head
From out the artist's glittering show ; And I will give this gift, I said,
UbIo the chiiliat maid I know.
1849. Jtmat StUes, E$gmre. 129
To her whoie quiet life hath been ^
The mirror of as calm a heart ; Above temptation from the din
Of cities and the pomp of art
Who still hath spent her active days.
Cloistered amid her happy hills. Not ignorant of worldly ways,
But loving more the woods and rills.
And thou art she to whom I give
This image of the virgin queen. Praying that thoa» like her, mayst live
llirice-blest in being seldom seen. t. w. r.
JONAS STITES, ESQUIREi
HIS COUBTBHIP, MISPORTONBS, AKD FINAL CATASTBOPHV.
BT ZATS ox.svsi.&irp.
* Now, Polly, keep a sharp look-out, and do n't lose sight of no- thin'. Deacon Warner is always dreadful particular about his coats, and I dare n*t for my life lift up the shears till it 's all cut ouL But mind and give me a true account of every trunk, box and bundle that comes off the wagon !'
'Well/ replied Polly, * there's so many men in the case, that there 's no seeing any thing ; I wish they 'd keep away. But good- ness gracious me !' continued the excited dress-maker, ' if there ain't a raal mahogany sofa ! — and as I live, a new set of chairs ! What is the man a-comin^ to V
The sleeve of Deacon Warner's coat received a sudden and awk- ward slit as Miss Parsons, smoothing her hair with both hands as she advanced, rushed to the side of her friend, and projected her head from the small window to see what was going on.
* Well, I never !' exclaimed she ; ' they 've jest lifted off a whole parcel of things, and there seems to be as many on as there was be- fore ! I wonder what 's in all those queer-shaped boxes 1'
' Mantel ornaments, likely,' replied Polly, ' and pink and white men and women leaning against trees, as they have down at Jere- miah Palmer's. But here comes whole rolls of carpets, and I do believe,' continued she, thrusting her head out of the window, to the imminent danger of that useful appendage, ' I do believe they *re Brussels !'
' Brussels !' was the rejoinder; ' I should think three-ply might be good enough. I do wonder, though, what is goine to happen ; car- penters have been hammering and banging and nailing at the house
130 .^moi Stites, Etquire. [February,
long enough to turn it into a palace ; and there 'a been a piazza put behind, and green blinds in front, and painting inside and out. Mr. Stites must be going to get married !*
* One thing I know,' said Polly ; * he must be pretty rich ; for he 's been saving up all along, and starving himself and his housekeeper to make a show now, I suppose. Why do n't you set your cap, Susan V
* O, la !' replied Miss Parsons, simpering, as she cut away with renewed vigor at the neglected coat ; * Mr. Stites would n't think of me, I guess !*
' Stranger things than that have happened,' was the sage remark.
* I do n't know,' said Miss Parsons, as she shook her head doubt- fully.
* Well, at any rate,' replied her friend, warming with the subject, ' it ain't likely that any body better would look at him. A person ought to get something for taking him off the hands of the public. He is no beauty, and beside '
* Why, Polly ! how can you ]' rejoined Miss Parsons, with a look of horror. * I 'm sure Mr. Stites is a very fine-looking man. So tall and commanding ! — he always reminds me of Lord Byron !'
* Lord Byron must have been a cross-looking old witch, then, with a face like a thunder-cloud, and hair standing every way but the right way, though he do^s try to make it curl. I should n't won- der if he put it up in papers at night, or else pinched it with the tongs. It 's always frizzing in a perfect snarl, jest as if some one had been at it that did n't know any thing about it.*
* Now, Polly, 1 'm ashamed of you !' returned the more senti- mental Miss Parsons ; * speaking so of Mr. Stites* hair, when it lays in such beautiful raven locks upon his brow !*
* Gray ones you mean. However, we won't dispute about hia beauty ; a long purse is better than a pfctty face, and when you 're Mrs. Stites I shall expect all your custom ; that is, if you ain't too proud. To crown the whole, if there ain't a pianny ! They're lifting it off as carefully as can be. Why, I never knew that Mr. Stites. played before.'
' That means something, you may depend upon it !' said Miss Parsons, in a positive tone. * He can't play on it himself, but he means to get some one who can. A great many people can't resist a piano. Heigho ! I wish I had learnt music !'
Miss Parsons again hurried to the window, and so did all Hazel- side, both old and young. Our quiet little village, snugly ensconced in the midst of woods and hills, afforded not many opportunities for wonder and astonishment, and therefore they were the more easily excited. When Seth Powell, the store-keeper, died, every body wondered who would succeed him, as he baa neither son nor ne- phew ; when the rich Squire Hilton's pretty daughter Mary married the poor young artist who went about from house to house taking portraits, every one was astonished ; and now that Mr. Stites chose to re-model and re-furnish his already comfortable house, every body both wondered and was astonished. Miss Polly Martin, the dresA^
1849.] Jonas Stites, Esquire, 131
maker, and Miss Susan Parsons, the tailoress, who lodged together and were sworn friends, beside being the presidibg goddesses of Hazelside, were extremely partial to * sight-seeing,' and let nothing of the kind escape them. Deacon Warner's coat was not completed, and old Mrs. Marbury's dress scarcely touched ; the afternoon being spent in discussing the merits and probable intentions of Mr. Stites.
All summer long had the pretty, low cottage been undergoing re- pairs. The birds and bees that surrounded the house had become alarmed on finding their songs unceremoniously cut short by the sound of the hammer and plane ; the timid little flowers crouched amid their sheltering leaves as rough footsteps passed close by them ; and the pretty, golden honeysuckle that for 60 many years had twined lovingly about the old pillar, perfuming the air around with its rich fragrance, hung its head mournfully as rough hands unclasped its clinging tendrils and flung it rudely to the ground ; and there it lay and withered, like a stricken heart deprived of its last hope ; it lay helplessly upon the ground, and as we passed we saw that the old honeysuckle was dead. We were all school-children then, and though big enough to know better, we wept tears of mingled grief and anger as, trudging mournfully past fhe house, we missed those delicious sprays, the gift of the housekeeper, that usually found their way to the desk ; and oh ! exquisite happiness, if they adorned the bosom of sweet Mary Grayton ! She did not seem a bit like a teacher; at least, like our childish views of shrewish-looking pre- ceptresses with birch in hand. Oh, no ! Mary had deep blue eyes
and locks of paley gold, and But what matters it talking of one
who early slept her long, last sleep, and whp, if she had lived, might have grown ccild and Careless like the rest of the world 1 And yet I cannot believe ■ ■ Yes, the dear old honeysuckle was dead ! taken away to make room for straight, stifi; starched-looking pillars, that were placed there for oniament, forsooth ! And yet they were neither Grecian nor Corinthian, nor any thing at all but Mr. Stites' own design and invention. I thought so ! they looked just like him ; tall, straight and unbending ; and when a warm, golden gleam of sunshine fell upon them, it was chilled as with the iciness of marble, they looked so white and chaste and cold. It did n't nestle there lovingly, as among the old vine-covered posts, but struggled to es- cape from the cold embrace.
There is something mournful in the idea of a change, even to the moving of a single shrub or tree from the place where it has always stood ; endeared perhaps by childish reminiscences. No woncler that the wanderer who has passed many years from the home of his childhood sighs as he perceives that the old house with its sloping front has vanished, to give place to a new, fresh, unsoilable-looking affair, exact and even as a geometrical square. Even the very roses and bean-vines know better than to twine themselves about those grand-looking pillars, as, white and solitary, they stanrl there, casting a chill on all around with their frosty strtteliness. How unlike the dear, old, rough-looking posts, round which the flowers clung so closely, and from which peeped timidly forth the sweet face of the
132 Jonas Stites, Esquire. [Februaiy,
early^ rose ! But Mr. Stites seems likely to be forgotten ; a common occurrence, by the way, until he counted his property by its tens of thousands.
In bis childhood Jonas Stites had very much resembled the other little boys who ran barefooted about the country, and had only been remarkable for driving hard bargains with his youthful companions. His parents were thrifty, saving people, and often remarked with pleasure that Jonas in his trading expeditions never came home empty- handed. Not he, indeed ! Every thin? he touched seemed lucky ; and even before his parents died he had amassed a snug little sum. He was an only child, and upon their death came into possession of a comfortable, even large property for a country gentleman ; and a few years afterward, by the fortunanate rise of some city lots, he found himself proprietor of what even in town would be termed a handsome fortune. But Mr. Stites was both prudent and frugal ; and instead of living in idleness on his money, industriously carried on his farming operations. He was a person of few words, and all that he uttered seemed carefully weighed beforehand ; therefore he was called sensible. But although it is the custom to term those peo- ple amiable who scarcely ever open their lips, and therefore say no- thing of course to the disadvantage of others, yet somehow or other this epithet was never bestowed upon Mr. Stites. He had lived in single blessedness until the age of tbrty-five, and as he could now be termed pretty well grown-up, he began to reflect upon the expedi- ency of taking unto himself a helpmate. Now it was not from any want of attraction in Mr. Stites that he remained so long single after this laudable resolve ; for his housekeeper, several years his junior, and not quite a fury, would not have said him nay had be laid himself and fortune at her feet ; neither would Miss Parsons, the tailoress over the way» or a great many other respectable spinsters of Hazelside. But he was particular ; the lady favored as the choice of Mr. Stites must be young, rich and handsome. Any age between fifteen and twenty he deemed a suitable match for his more steady years ; as to any young lady whose age outnumbered a score, she was entirely too passee for our youthful hero.
He had met with several rebuffs in his matrimonial adventures ; a Quaker lady, on the shady side of thirty, who one evening at a family party felt herself slighted by the pointed neglect of the difficult bachelor, took occasion to remark, as he was expatiating on the qua- lities requisite in a wife : ' But thee is neither young nor handsome thyself, Cousin Jonas ; therefore how can thee expect to get one that b 1 She may want some one young and handsome, too.'
Mr. Stites regarded this merely as the result of his non-attention* and strove not to be discomposed, although he could easily perceive that it afforded undisguised amusement to his sober relations. Our bachelor nourished in his own mind a theory which regards woman as something between a machine and a domestic animal. He con- sidered her a useful sort of person when she kept iu her proper ele- ment, the kitchen, but not by any means of an amphibious nature, that could exist in any other place as well; and came to the oondn-
1849.] Jonoi Stites, Esquire. 133
rion, that any woman who wore more than one bonnet a year, and made two visits in the short space of six months, must be fairly on the road to perdition. Probably these important clauses would be stipulated for in the marriage-contract. A word en passant to that portion of the male genus who perchance may entertain such senti- ments as Mr. Stites. The above-mentioned sex are undoubtedly very well in their place; useful to pay one's bills, and all that sort of thing ; but they certainly were never intended for ornament, and instead of joining in, should cry shame on all those crusty bachelors who advocate the staving at home of ladies to attend to Uieir house- hold concerns. Widowers generally know better.
Mr. Stites ventured on the very verge of a proposal to a fascinating young lady, an indulged city belle ; who gave the poor man a well- deserved night from the effects of which he scarcely ever recovered. The eentleman intending to be very sentimental and lover-like, in- quired as they walked together through a shady lane, ' how she would like to be a nurmer's wife V
Gracefully tossing back her long curls, the lady replied with a pretty indication of pettishness :
' Really, I cannot tell. It might perhaps be made supportable with an elegant carriage and pair of bays ready for a start at any moment ; servants in abundance, not awkward country ones ; all the new publications fresh from the press ; company continually staying at the house ; and pic-nic and boating excursions without number. But after all a farmer must be something superior to the common run to be at all endurable ; splendid in person, young, (' glancing at her discomfited companion') intellectual, refined ; for the social compan- lonahip of country life Arows people more together, and it is there- fore desirable that frequent companions be as anreeable as possible, or one soon wearies of them. ^But then it would be little better than a Gtreenlander, or a Ramschatkarite to pass the winter in the country; so with the most fashionable city boarding-house during the cold season, and all these little items one might possibly manage to keep off ennui ; that is if naturally gifled ynm a sunny disposition.'
She glanced at his countenance, and with difficulty suppressed the smile that rose to her lips. She spoke with the intention of aston- ishing him, and she had aone so ; Mr. Stites fairly gasped for breath. Instead of staying quietly at home, to mix bread and dam stockings, she would be gaddine around the country with her carriage and bays ! Here was an end to ul ideas of a city wife ; they were a giddy, thought- less, extravagant set, and should he venture to unite his fate with one of diese butterflies, she would pull the house down about his ears in a short time. He was pretty safe ; in this case it would have been as the old xjuaker said : ' Well agreed, friend, for 1 would not have thee/'
This is the experience of Jonas Stites, Esq., and is given to show what led him into the extravagance of repairing and refurnishing his house. In his intercourse wiSi womankind he had picked up much nsefiil information ; and sagely concluded that new furniture, and a home iiewly*reinodelled must have their due effect on the heart of
134 Joruu Stites, Esquire. [February,
any obdurate fair one. The piano had been the suggestion of a friend, and not without many misgivings did the frugal bachelor per- petrate this extravagance.
Of all the vai-ious sections of the feminine gender, * widders' ex- cited the particular aversion of Mr. Stites. On beholding one of that dreaded community approach he instantly dodged round the nearest comer, or took refuge within his own door. No pretence could in- veigle him into a house that contained a *lone woman.' He regarded them as master-pieces of deceit and cunning, and his sentiments to- ward them amounted to a holy horror. In vain were they represented as injured, imposed upon beings ; to all remarks of this kind he inva- riably answered :
* If they are imposed upon they take pretty good care to make it known.'
He was continually haunted by a vague fear that one of this hated class, a second * Mrs. Mac Stinger,* stood ready to prey upon his inexperience, and only waited her opportunity. He made with himself a solemn vow that when he changed his condition * for better or worse,' it should not be for a * widder j* because that would be * all worse and no better.'
The people of Hazelside, (that is those who had no better employ- ment) had for many years been accustomed to watch Mr. Stites as he went through the business of the day. Precisely at nine o'clock every morning, rain or shine, winter or summer, he sallied forth for the post-ofHce, obtained his paper, sat down to read it and talk over the news with the select coterie that usually throng country-stores, and at twelve o'clock to the minute returned home to dine. At two he peram- bulated the village, walked over his grounds and discussed politics till five. Then came tea, and the interval till bed-time was spent at home or abroad as the case might happen. All Hazelside knew pretty well when it was nine, twelve, two or five o'clock without con- sulting the time-piece, so regular and exact were his movements. They had been accustomed to this for several years ; therefore when Mr. Stites left them for a season to ' see a little more of the world/ everybody's feelings were as deeply touched as though some unto- ward event had removed the town o'clock.
Weeks passed, and no Mr. Stites ; Hazelside had talked over his mysterious disappearance until nothing more remained to be said, and things had gradually settled into their old position ; when most unexpectedly amved the new furniture, which soon set the village a wondering. Mr. Stites did not accompany this inundation of move- ables, but bis return was announced for Saturday or Sunday morning ; and people laid both journey and furniture to the account of a bride, who would make her first appearance at church. A bride in our quiet village ! and the bride too of Mr. Jonas Stites, the great man of the place. Of course she would be both * young and handsome,' that point had been settled long ago ; and all now left for wonder was her dress.
* I wonder how she wUl be dressed V observed Miss Parsons to her friend.
1849.] Jlmat SHtes, Es^ire. 135
* In white satin, of course/ replied Miss Martin, patronizingly, ' andi Icmg white veil ; brides always are.'
'I wonder if she will be proud V resumed the tailores^
• Very likely,' returned roily, * brides always are. I should n't wonder,' she continued, ' if she had feathers. I hope they '11 drive to church in a handsome carriage. I do love to see things genXB^V Miss Martin had a peculiar way of pronouncing ' genteel' which can hardly be giten on paper.
The important morning arrived. Before the service began, many eyes that should have known better, wandered from their hymn-books to the church door, from the church-door to Mr. Stites* empty pew, and from Mr. Stites' pew, back to the church-door again. All were eager to catch the first glimpse of the bride, and anxiously listened for the sound of carriage-wheels. Deacon Screamer had shaken his finger, knocked it dta the psalm-book, held it to his ear, and shaken it again ; a sure sign that he was beginning to set the tune, for the Deacon inclined to the opinion that music has its origin in the finger ends ; and as the first notes of that prolonged ' oo-oo-oo' which an- nounces the commencement of the hymn, fell upon their ears, all Hazekide beg^n to despair, for no Mr. Stites appeared.
They reverently kept their heads bowed during the old dominie's lone prayer, and Upon looking up at the conclusion, what should gieet theu* eyes but the gentleman himself! Tes, there he sat in his accus- tomed position, looking as unconcerned, and unconscious as possible. There had been no rolling of carriage-wheels, no exciting bustle to announce his arrival ; he had quietly glided in during prayer-time, and when they looked for Mrs, Stites, they were compelled to admit that she was still a creation of fancy, and from present appearances^ likely to remain so. What could it mean ! He surely was not going to marry the housekeeper, or if he were he would not have purchased new furniture, and a piano for her ; she would gladly have taken him Without. It was a mystery, and the people of Hazelside shook their heada in despair ; the more they tried to elucidate it, the more per- plexing did It become.
Had they only known that Mr. Stites returned with the express in- tention of seekmg out a wife from among those who were ' doomed to waste their sweetness on the desert air,' or in other words, grace with their presence the humble village of Hazelside, what a commo- tion there would have been ! Yet nevertheless, that very morning while they remained in blissful ignorance and wonder, the object of their undivided attention had already made his choice. Yes ! as Mr. Stites looked up in a dignified manner from his hymn-book, his glance was arrested by a pair of soft, yet mischievous-looking blue eyes that peeped out from a perfect wilderness of brown curls. Upon further investigation he discovered that the eyes and curls belonged to a pretty cottage bonnet, a graceful figure, and a young lady evidently Irithin the Ime he haid drawn to separate youth firom old a?e. He looked at those who were with her, her father aihd mother, and a well- gfown boy to whom she bore the relation of sister ; could that lovely tfotttre be little Oatodine Hanfby, she whom he had always eonaid-
toL. zzain. 18
1S6 Jonoi Stitea, Esquire. [February^
ered a mere child 1 Impossible ! ' When he went away he left her apparently as great a mischief as any laughter-loving school-girl; and now after the lapse of little more than a month, he suddenly per- ceived a beautiful, intelligent- looking woman ; in short, one every way worthy of Mr. Stites. Mr. Manby was gentlemanly and refined ; something rather superior to the rest of Hazelside ; and our bache- lor was well aware ihot he was a man of substance /
Mr. Stites determined to call on the first opportunity. He did call ; and Caroline utterly unconscious of his feelings toward herself, quietly turned him over to her maiden aunt, a very worthy lady about his own age, and went on with her work. Now that same work hap- pened to be a purse, which she most perseveringly netted whenever Mr. Stites was present. His visits increased so, both in length and frequency, and his attentions were always so perseveringly directed to heTf that Caroline could no longer suppose any one else the object of them. But with this conviction came two very opposite emotions ; fke first was naturally one of pleasure that she had made a conquest of the difficult old bachelor ; and the second was one of indignation, that instead of humbly admiring her at a distance, he should presume upon a return of the love which she had awakened. * The old thing ! she did n*t see what he had to recommend him.' Then she took up the purse, and as she glanced at the initials wrought in gold letters amid the silken threads, she smiled and blushed at the same time, for her thoughts wandered off to a certain Harry. — But never mind, we will not betray her secret.
This purse was certainly an everlasting occupation ] always being worked upon, and never finished. So thought Mr. Stites ; every time be went, there it was before him. At last he concluded that it must be for himself, and ventured to ask whom it was intended for ?
' For whom could it be intended, but my father ]' replied Caroline, bending her head still lower over her work, to conceal the color that rose in her cheek at this equivocation.
Almost any one but Mr. Stites would have been discouraged by her manner ; but that gentleman rejoiced in a happy feeling of self- complacency that spared him many embarrassments.
Now Caroline had imagined in her own mind that it would be a very proper and natural thing for her sober-minded lover and before- mentioned aunt to make a match of it, and therefore resolved to pro- mote such a circumstance as much as possible. Partly from mischief, partly with the idea of furthering this intention, she sec^tly de- spatched to the love-stricken swain a copy of vei-ses in a feigned hand, and without a signature, in which she set forth the miseries of unre- quited love, and represented herself as pining beneath the weight of concealed erief. This effusion she hoped would be set down to the account of Aunt Sophia ; and without informing any one of the note but her brother, who acted as messenger, she impatiently awaited the next visit of Mr. Stites. He, deluded man, had guessed the right source, and regarded it as a convincing proof of Miss Manby 's af- fection.
When he made hiB appearance, looking very conBciouB and foolish,
1849.] Jonas Stites, Esquire. 137
and seeking in vain for corresponding symptoms in Caroline's laugh- ing countenance, she turned the conversation on subjects of that nature, for the purpose of drawing him out. By hints and innuen- does, she extorted from him the desired confession, and then assumed a look of innocent surprise.
* Who could it have been ] ' she exclaimed. ' Such a strange pro- ceeding ! '
' If I could only discover the writer,* said Mr. Stites, with what was meant for a penetrating glance at his auditor, < 1 would leave no means untried. The poetry was beautiful ; and, poor thing ! from her own account she had long sufiered in silence ! '
' Is it possible ! ' ejaculated the lady, in a voice of indignant as- tonishment. ' Is it possible, Mr. Stites, that you can bestow a second thought on such a bold, forward creature 1 Why the very words . display an absence of all maidenly delicacy ! She should have wait- ed for you to declare your love before making that bold confession.'
Mr. Stites was rather puzzled ; she could not have written it, for she neither blushed nor looked conscious, but rather angry than otherwise. However, his self-satisfaction again came to his aid; and, although not the writer, she was evidently jealous. He there- fore replied, with a becoming consciousness of his own merits :
' I suppose she did wait as long as she could, and then she became desperate.'
Caroline now certainly did blush ; not from jealousy, as Mr. Stites supposed, but anger at hearing herself thus spoken of. She said nothing more on the subject, and the bewildered bachelor soon after took his leave, quite undecided whether to offer himself or not.
A few evenings after ho came again ; his manner was evidently intended for something particularly soft and insinuating, and Caro- line's bright eyes danced with mirth, as she saw how ill the attempt sat upon him. He fidgetted in his chair, changed his seat every five minutes, and followed her wherever she went. A few soft speeches insensibly slipt out, and every moment Caroline said to heraelf, ' now it's coming.* But it did not come — at least, not yet. Mr. Stites was fearful of irrevocably committing himself; he regarded himself as a prize set apart, for which spinsters of every degree were con- tending. He was afraid of being 'snapt up' — thrown away on some worthless candidate ; and determined to watch Miss Manby nar- rowly before asking the important question.
Now Caroline, on the other hand, had no wish that he should come to the point. She was not a coquette, and, as her mind was ali'eady made up respecting him, she did not care to make an enemy of him, which she foresaw would certainly be the case, in the event of a re- fusal. While pondering these things over in her own mind, she hit upon a happy expedient, which she felt sure would drive all thoughts oi love from the mind of the calculating suitor.
Her mother had been a beautiful woman, and from earliest child- hood Caroline regarded her with feelings little short of idolatry. One day, while gazing on her mothers charms, she inquired,
138 J(mas StiteSf Esquire. [February,
' Mamma, why do you not ha^e your portrait painted 1 It would be 80 pretty ! "
' I have no money to pay for |t, Cari*. I must wait till I get rich, or tiU you are rich,' replied Mrs. Manby, scarcely heeding the mean- ing of her words, while gazing on the animated countenance befofe her.
But Cari/ heeded their meaning, and treasured it well. She un- derstood that her mother was too poor to have her portrait taken, and, with childish disinterestedness, resolved to hoard up the presents of money she often received from generous relations, until she ob- tained enough for her mother's picture. Tempting visions of con- fectionary and toys certainly danced before her mind ; but adhering to her resolution, she csirefully treasured every dollar. At the end or five years, she handed her mother a hundred and fifty dollars, with an earnest request that she would immediately have her portrait taken. Mrs. Manby had long since forgotten her remark, and gazed upon the lovely girl in surprise, while a tear glistened in her eye, at this proof of filial love.
* No, Cari>',' she replied, 'I will not have it taken now, dear. I am an old woman now, and it would be foolish to waste this money on the picture of a faded face. If taken at all, youth would have been the most proper season — not when I am old and wrinkled. As to the money, Cari.',* she continued, with a smile, * we will place that at interest ; it may be useful to you at some future time, and, meanwhile, Miss Caroline Manby will be reported as quite an heiress. Take care that you do not become the prey of some fortune-hunter.'
Caroline laughed merrily at the idea ; but, although she begged, kissed, and entreated, her mother was inexorably, and the sum was placed with her father, at most unheard-of interest Mrs. Manby could not resist telling of this incident of her daughter's di^nterested affection, and the story spread rapidly. Every time it was repeated, the amount of Caroline's property became greater and greater, after the fashion of the * three black crovjrs,' and at length people dropped the original narrative altogether, and represented Miss Manby as an heiress in her own right — the favored niece of some deceased uncle, who in dying had invested her with all his worldly goods. Much merriment was excited in the little circle at home, by any mention of • Cari.'s fortune,' and she now resolved to put the disinterested- ness of her persevering suitor to the test.
Mr. Stites spoke of farming, hinted at its pleasures and comforts, expatiated on the beauty of a potato-field in full blossom, and dis-
Slayed the elegance and refinement of his taste in remarking that owers— garden flowere — were a complete humbug, and that he desired no lovelier specimens than the purple blossoms of that use- ful root.
Caroline coincided with his opinions in the most amiable manner ; took a hasty jump from potato-fields to houses and lands, and con- demned the unlover-like selfishness which leads a man to take pos- session of his wife's property for his own especial use.
Mr. Stites could not agree with her oi^ this poin^ and lookpd upoi^
1849.] Jonas SHtet, E$quire. 139
her with a gathering shade of distniBt in consequence of these senti- ments. Miss Manby was a gam at a discount
' One thing I am resolved on,' continued Caroline, warmly ; ' I have always entertained the greatest horror of being married solely for my money. It must be a dreadful, a blighting thing/ said she, with a fine snow of enthusiasm that entirely discomposed the cOm- mon-place bachelor, ' to find in lieu of that pure unayine love that lasts with life itself, a cold, heartless indifference ; a spirit of calcu- lation, that can see nothing to love but the paltry lucre that tempted it ! If ever I marry, my property shall be all settled on myself; so arranged, that no man can touch a cent of it without my consent !'
Her bright face suddenly changed from the sentimental to the mischievous, and she bent an inquiring glance on Mr. Stites. Un- conscious of every thing save the dreadful announcement that was still ringing in his ears, that unhappy and persecuted bachelor had started m>m his chair, and now stood, handkerchief in hand, wiping the cold dropR of perspiration from his brow. O, that imp of mis- chief! There he stood, overwhelmed, crushed, before her, and yet she could not resist a little teazing as a parting salute.
* More than this,' she continued, in a quiet tone ; ' I do not intend to marry any one who is not very wealthy himself — quite a million- aire ; and therefore it is but reasonable to expect him to settle a handsome sum on me — the half of his property, at the very least'
Mr. btites could bear no more ; his powers of endurance had been tasked to their utmost extent; and lorgetting love, etiquette and prudence, he seized his hat and hurried from the house, nor did he consider himself safe until he arrived at his own domicil, in a state of breathless terror.
As to Caroline, she could no longer contain herself Falling upon the sofi^ she gave way to such a prolonged fit of merriment, that Aunt Sophia, who at this juncture entered the apartment, almost doubted the possession of her senses. When the laughing heroine at length gained breath to relate her story, her auditors were reduced to the same situation as herself.
* Carl's property !' shouted Ned Manby ; ' that is too good ! and settling it on herself! O, dear ! Let me see — the interest of one hundred and fifty dollare per annum, at seven per cent 1 Why, Sis., it would almost keep you in sewing-cotton !'
But Can.' still meditated revenge on her mercenary lover. She was well aware of his antipathy to widows, and resolved to assail him on this most tender point. St. Valentine's day drew near ; and while others were occupied in the perusal of billets profusely orna- mented with hearts, darts, and most unnatural-looking Cupids, being as broad as they were long, and by no means ethereal in appearance, Mr. Stites received to his great dismay a very prettily-folded, lady- like epistle, containing a regular business-like advertisement for a husband by a widow lady with eight charming 'responsibilities.' This poetical effusion proceeded in the same style of other adver- tisements, and was characterized by an explicit manner that showed |he writer to b^ ve|ry much in ^Mn^est, and staifled Mr. Stiten out of
140 An Epigram. [February^
the small degree of equanimity still left. The lady stated in rhyme that she had ' no objections to go in the country ;' that is, if permitted to stay in the city from October till May. Now the paper, seal and all, exactly matched others in the possession of MiAS Caroline Manby ; and things, to say the least, certamly looked suspicious — very !
As to the unfortunate bachelor, his fear and dread had now as- sumed a tangible shape ; a resolute ' widder* was evidently in full pursuit ; but when the ' eight responsibilities' rose up before him, he fairly groaned with horror. She seemed to him ever at his side, ready to pounce upon her prey ; and forswearing matrimony, with an es- pecial anathema for the benefit of ' widders,* Mr. Stites again ab- sented himself from the village. Before his return we had a wed- ding, and a merry one it was too ; for the bride was pretty CarL' Manby, and the bridegroom the identical ' Harry,' the netting of whose purse had so annoyed Mr. Stites. It went off as all weddings do, and so to our great grief did the ' happy couple.'
But in the interim back came our missing bachelor ; and, alas ! he came not alone ! One Sunday morning, before the minister made his appearance, (I mention this particularly, for we never looked around afterward,) the church-door was pulled violently open, and up the aisle advanced a lady, followed at a respectful distance by Mr. Stites. There was rigid determination in the very air with which the bride (for go she was) flung open the pew-door, and having seated herself, composedly returned the stare of that surprised congrega- tion. She was neither young nor handsome, and very termagantish- looking withal, and yet she was Mrs. Stites. Ere long it came out that the lady in question had been a widow ; — only think of it, a real, actual widow ! and under her influence Mr. Stites seemed to be rapidly undergoing a taming process.
We could not imagine how she had conquered his prejudices against ' widders,' particularly as she appeared to possess no bal- ancing attraction ; but to an inquiry hazarded on this point, Mr. Stites replied, despondingly, * She would have me ! ' There was much more comprised in this short sentence than we were then aware of. Before long, reports reached us from the lady's native town ; and one who knew her well remarked : ' Whatever Lyd. Warner set down her foot to do was done, and that the case of Mr. Stites was but a feeble illustration, insomuch as he believed that she could al- most move a house from one place to another by the mere force of wilL' She certainly was a very resolute-looking person. Having arrived at this point, we will now leave Mr. Stites, merely observing, in conclusion, diat he was no longer the Mr. Stites of former days.
E P Z O R A M
ON ▲ POOX BDT "YBXT P&OX.IFI0 AUTBOR.
A MODERN novelist, compelled by need, Writes eighty pages ere the day is o'er ;
A1m» poor man ! I feel for him indeed, But pity bii afflicted readers more !
49.] The MaU: a SkeUh. 141
THE mate: a sketch.
itT una. u.
The wind is loudly pipingt
Like a boatswain in the gale. And the fisherman in yonder hay
Is takingr in his sail : The gull is springing upward
From the water's whitening crest, And, winging toward the headland,
Flies screaming to her nest
1 have a noble brother,
A mariner is he ; Therefore my prayer goes ever forth
With the Hulor on the sea. He hath been long a voyager,
And woudroBs tales can tell Of lands to us like fable.
And hap that him befell.
On the burning Indian Ocean
He hath chased the spouting whale. And amid the Polar ice-fields
He hath furled the fiiozen sail ; And on our far north-western eoast.
Where the trapper sets his snare. With the savage he hath hunted
The buffalo and bear.
He was but young, my brother-^
His yean were scarce a score. When, crowned as now with whitened hairy
He first came back to shore. 'tie was gaunt like to an Arab,
With bronzed and wasted cheek ; For the captain was a craven.
And the good ship sprung a leak.
Upon the broad Atlantic
Arose a sudden blast ; It rent her flowing topsail.
And wrenched away the mast They gave the sea her lading.
And the anchors from her prow. And drew the strong new main-sail
O'er the leak beneath her bow.
He was the mate, my brother —
And so he spake with glee. While the captain sat all downcast.
With his hands clasped round his knee :' ' Ho ! man the pumps, my messmates !
Work with a willing handy And the faithful Pilot oveifaead
Will hriag « Mie to land?
142 Hutarical Sketches of Georgia. [February,
They wrought both late and early,
To keep the good ship free, Wh ile the captain sat all downcast,
With his hands clasped round his knee ; Btt the men grew faint and fearful,
Till the mate alone stood there, With his young Y^enri full of courage
And his young head white with care.
For he thought upon his niother.
And the sinews of his hand Grew strong beneath her fancied Toice —
And BO they came to land. And now, when swells the tempest.
We hush our household glee, While our prayers go with the mariner
Abroad upon the sea.
HISTORICAL SKETCHES OF GEORGIA.
MOUarKR TBB.RB : CONCLUUIP-
Glancing our eyes over the pages of history, we find the colony of Georgia in a flourishing condition up to the time of the Revolu- tionary war. At its commencerhent, the command of the forces des- tined for the subjiigation of America was tendered to Oglethorpe, he being the senior officer on the King's Staff; but he declined it, giving to the ministry as his reason, that hei knew the Americans too well — that they never could be subdued by arms ; but that obedience could be secured by doing them justice, and redressing their wrongs. Sir WiUiam Howe, being the next officer in rank, was appointed and ac- cepted, and the war proceeded. Had Oglethorpe accepted this ap- pomtment, Georgia, his own colony, nurtured by his benevolence» would have been reclaimed to the mother country. It would have <iever joined the American confederacy, and would at this day have been a southern Canada, skirting the free states of the Union. As it was, the popularity of Sir James Wright, the royal governor, al- Inost effected it ; and had Oglethorpe's mfluence been brought to bear upon it, as commander-in-chief of the royal forces, the change would have been inevitable. But instead of this, he lived to see the little band of one hundred and sixteen emigrants, which came over with him in the ship Anne, who, over a century ago, first pitched their tents upon the bluff of' Yamacraw, grow and expand into a proprietary government — a royal province — a free, sovereign and udependant state, and taking rank with her sister colonies, among the noblest nations of the earUi ; and he lived to visit, and personally welcome to England the ambassador,* who came to represent at
* JOBK liuiii,seMii*Fi(iild«ift of ttMiniltod states.
1849.] HUtorical Sketches of Georgia, 143
England's court that colony which he planted more than half a cen- tury ago, u|>on the banks of the Savannah. In the expressive language of a modem writer, 'The infant became a sovereign, while its parent was still a subject'
After the fall of Savannah, in 177S, and the failure of the com- bined forces of the French and Americans, under General Count D'Estang and Greneral Lincoln, in 1779, the royal government was reestablished under that able executive, Sir James Wright ; and the whole of Georgia, save a little spot in the county of Wilkes, was sub^ jugated to the British arms.* Then was the midnight of the RevolU"* tion-^all seemed dark cmd gloomy — all that had been struggled for seemed to be lost to the eye of man ; but help was at hand, and, under the gallant and brave Clarke, the sturdy Pickens, widi the dauntless vsJor of the yeomanry of Wilkes, was this darkness dis- pelled ; the gray dawn of freedom soon burst forth, and, in three years from that gloomy time, the state was regenerated and disen- thralled. Had Wilkes County been conquered, liberty would have become extinct, and oppression would have reigned in its stead. Here at least ' die battle was not to the strong, nor the i*ace to the swifl.' It was not to the counsel of the people, that liberty was thus gained, but if we recur to that seven years* war, we will see that it was the counsel and will of the God of battles, who went forth to fight for them, and but for him the colony would have been trodden under foot, and utterly destroyed. While this is applicable to G^eorgia, it is applicable to the whole Union, for, though the signal and divine interposition of our liberties, by Him who doeth great wonders, when these liberties were at the point of being wrested from us, it was then that we were saved, as a nation, from British tyranny and British oppression.
It is now within a few months of one hundred and sixteen years, since the landing of Oglethorpe upon the Bluff of Yamacraw. Let OS review a little of her past histoiy— contrasting her infancy with her manhood.
Soon afler the Spanish invasion, the entire population of the colony of Georgia scarcely numbered four thousand souls ; and the only points of note were Ebenezer, Darien, St. Simons and Sa- ▼annab, which were the mere frontier outposts of a province whose rich interior was inhabited by numerous tribes of Indians. Then there were only five trading stores, and commerce employed but one Teesel and a few perriauguas.t Four or five schools, and as many churches, were all the educational and religious means of the colony, and the government was conducted by a body of distant trustees, and often exercised through unworthy agents.
The first colony which came over, brought with them their minis- ter, and the foundations of Savannah were laid amid prayera and thanksgivings. The first colonial minister was the Rev. Dr. Herbert, an Episcopalian, the Rev. Samuel Quiucy succeeded, and when he
* Historieal Collections of Georgia, Vol. I. t PeryfanifUM^ a nDill Spanish trading boau VOL. XXZIII. 19
144 Hutoricai Sketches (f Georgia. [Februaij,
left, was followed by the Rev. John Wesley, the founder of Mediod- ism. The Rev. George Whitfield, whose eloquence has justly styled him the ' prince of pulpit-orators,' succeeded Mr. Wesley ; and the only parish over which this eminent man was settled » was Christ Churchy m Savannah. His character and eloquence are too well known to admit here of description. Suffice it to say, however, he with others, such as Gronou, Wesley, Boyd and McLeod, will favorably compaiB with any clergy in any colony planted in America. It is true, that intestine troubles, Indian wars, and a sanguinary revolution, checked the growth of piety for a while, but the war over, the constitution and
fovemment of the state formed, the church arose and triumphed, 'rom the one church £rst organized at the founding of Savannah, hundreds have arisen throughout the land, opening £eir gates each Sabbath, inviting worshippers to their altars ; and hundreds of ministers have gone forth mto various parts of the state, proclaiming the gospel to their fellow-creatures ; and the very incense of devo- tion arises morning and evening, like a cloud of glory to heaven.
And what shall we say of the educational history of GTeorgia t The fii-st college south of William and Mary in Virginia, was Be- thesda College in Georgia. Founded by the celebrated Whitfield, he aimed to make it the first of universites ; and he labored in Eng- land and America to establish it on a solid foundation. His death, and the Revolution which soon followed, crushed the project, and now naught but ruins mark the spot, where the students of Bethesda, with their black gowns and square caps, lived and studied.* Ab Boon as the constitution of the state *had been settled, the great minds of her statesmen were turned to the cause of education, and the result was the organization of a State University, through the enter- prise of Jackson, Baldwin, Milledge, and other popular men of the state,! Legislation busied itself with the subject of common schools and county academies, while private enterprise started into operation numerous institutions for the improvement of the young. At this day, there are six chartered colleges,| with a large number of high schools and seminaries, over and above the many county academies and township schools. The state is supplied with sufficient educa- tional apparatus to train up the entire rising generation, though much of this is dormant and unemployed, the probable result of which is the sparseness of population. Says one of her distinguished citizens, * Could we but concentrate the energies of the popular mind — could we but educate the great body of her people — there would spring forth a literature that would give tone and shape to American genius ; and institutions of learning would arise, scattering their influence broadcast o'er the land, that should flourish like a tree of life, planted on each side of the river of life, bearing twelve manner of fruits, whose leaves should be for the healing of the nations.* So much for the cause of education in Georgia.
* Georffia Historical Collections.
t Hon. James Jackson, Hon. John Milledge, Oovernors of Georgia ; Hon. Abraham Baldwin, U. S. Senator from Georgia.
I Univerti^f of Georgia, Athtm; Mercer Unhmrtitf, Panidd; Ftwude CoUtge, Macon f Ogle- tkorptUmvertUif.Midmaff J^mor^ CMnge, Oa^brd ; Medical 0$U^F^ AMgutf,
1649.] To My Lamp. 145
Having viewed Georgia in her infancy, let us behold her in the strength of her manhood. But a short time, and what a change I The infant colony, though fifty years younger than any of the old thirteen states, is now third in size of the Union of twenty-eight — the scanty population of her few small towns and villages have in- creased to upwards of seven hundred thousand — the one vessel and few perriaugruas of her early commerce have given place to over aeven hundred, that ' go down t^ the sea, and do 1)usiness on the great waters,'-— the exports and imports, which were then valued at fif- teen hundred pounds, now exceed four millions of dollars — the broad fields and wide forests, once the domain of the red-man, have been peopled with towns and cities — ' the flaming courser, with iron hoo&/ now speedeth on its way, where once was the path of the Indian trader — the little school-house has its instructions echoed back by the horr of a hundred academies, and the humble church by the prayers and praises of a hundred temples. The government, which then mled with unequal and often tyrannical power, is now supplanted by popular institutions of her own framing, resting upon wUaom, juitice^ and moderation, as the pillars in her own dome of fireedom.* Be- hold Greorgia in her early days — then almost gasping for an inftint's breath, now standing up in the robust strength of her noble manhood. Behold her extensive boundaries — her teeming population — her pro- ductive agriculture — ^her flourishing literature — her religious institu- tions— her vast schemes of internal improvement — her civil and re- ligrious liberty, which she exerted herself so strenuously to secure — and tell me whether you can find any country that has more natural and internal resources than the State of Georgia.
October 13, 1848.
TO MY LAMP
■ r o. nr;!isKz..oi.*«xii*
Speechlxbb companion of my evening hoar,
Thou who with genial ray deligfat'st to cheer That weary season when the sleiKler flower
Droops low beneath the star's bright, dewy tetr ; Thou who when terror-driven Night succeeds
The swifl departure of the restless day, When forest-trees are swept as brittle-reeds,
And wind-gods hold their fBarftil, boist'rous sway ; Dost, like the beacon Hope within the soul.
With beaming eye, still cheer my peaceful hearth, As solemn measured hours above me roll.
Heavy with record of a busy earth. Ah ! when I roam from all I hold most dear,
I Ml oft recall thine eye, and what it beamed on here !
* The coat of trms of the StUe of Georgia refraseafcs a temple s«|iported bj three pUlacs i Wtodosif Justice, and Moderation.
146 The Stone House on the Susquehanna. [February,
CHILD AT A WINDOW.
BT TBOUAS la&CSXMAn.
But yeeter-noon my curious eye espied
A child out-looking through a window-paue : Urgent mv haste, yet, as I onward hied,
f turned to gaze upon the child again. Her face was fair, her eyes were bright and blue,
Her hair hung loosely, with peculiar grace Of curl or texture, glossiness or hue ;
But whether more of mirth were in her face. Or innocence, or modesty, *t were not
An easy word to say. A sweet red spot, And dimple beautified her cheek, and lent
A comely aspect to the child. She wore No gaudy dress, nor golden oniament ;
In her own native self her chiefest charm she bore.
THE STONE HOUSE ON THE SUSQUEHANNA.
CHAPTER StXTBVMTB.
• a palmer clad in black attyre,
Of rypcst yeares, and heares all hoarie gray, That with a staffe his feeble steps did stiro, Lest his long way his aged limbs should tire.*
SrKKiiRn's FAsaiK Qn«sxB.
Tot and the German had not heen alone in the attempted rescae ; a third person was anxiously waiting outside of the prison walls ; the faithful Padre was there, faithful to the last, * and ready ]* 'aye ready/ with his cassock rolled up, and his machete in his good right hand, he stood amid the pelting storm like a staunch old crusader, a represen- tation of the church-militant, and of his stout heart did knock somedele against his ribs, it was not occasioned by fear, but rather by the solici- tude with which he awaited the event. After parting that day with Bias and Adelaida, he heard of the arrival of the scnooner, and in the afternoon had walked down to the quay in hopes of meeting with some of the persons belonging to her that he might inform them that one of their countrymen was then in the prison under sentence of death. There was a vague idea in his mind that something might result from it, even a rescue did not seem altogether improbable, for General Morales (who succeeded Boves in the command of the divi- sion) had left immediately after the execution of Ribas with his troops, leaving only a scanty garrison in the city in consequence of a report
1849.1 Th€ Stone House on the Susquehanna. 147
that Paez with his Llaneros was in the neighborhood of Barcelona. But the quay was deserted when the Padre reached it, except that a solitary sentinel was pacing alone on the broad dusty path, for it was in the heat of the day, a little boat was tied to the wharf however, and so after arousing the harquero, who was asleep under the sail, he was soon by the side of ' The Lively Prudence.'
Now it happened that Tot and Captain Bilsey were still over the little decanter in the cabin when the Padre arrived, and if Tot viras surprised at this queer and unexpected addition to his forces, the Paare was not less astonished at the development of the plan of rescue. Thus it was that he happened to be on duty under the walls, when he was startled by the relief guard making the rounds. In a few minutes he was joined by Schlauff, who being the last man in the relief, had dropped unperceived from the wall, and together they had witnessed the fall of the sentry and the escape of Tot as related ; and then the three after clambering down the black, weedy rocks below the prison wall, held a short conference on the beach, and the Padre was left alone, while the clangof their retreating oars broke upon his ears like the echoes of a departing hope. Carefully keeping close to the rocks so as to escape observation, lor lights were glancing from window to window in the prison, and he could hear footsteps and shouts on the bank above as of persons in search of the fugitives, the Padre gained a footpath that led up to a narrow and secluded lane, and then threading the silent streets, he reached at last a deserted building which he had occupied since his arrival at Barcelona.
' Poor boy,' said he, shaking the rain-drops from his broad ' Don Basilio' hat while he looked up at the radiant moon that was peace- Ailly shining through the open window, ' poor boy, to die so young, so brave, a stranger here too, and Adelaida? but quien sahe! — God orders all 1 and the Padre, like a weary child that had exhausted its grief, laid down and slept in his hammock until morning.
The executions of the preceding day had inspired the inhabitants of Barcelona with a deep feeling of resentment against the Spanish General and his cruel soldiery. They had seen the headless body of Ribas dragged through the plaza and then cast aside in the prison- yard to await an ignbminious burial ; they had witnessed the execu- tion of young patriot officers, some of them the sons of their most beloved and respected citizens, expiring in the bloom of youth with * Viva la patria !' upon their lips ; they had suffered exactions, insults, emelties, every thmg from their oppressore, atid as they gathered again in the plaza there were indications of impending mischief in the compressed lips and the lowering brows, and the hushed, almost breathless calm which rested upon the multitude as the soldiers loaded their muskets in front of the latal chair.
' Room, room, muchachos, do you not see Juan the 'pilgrim ] This way, good father,' said a stout woman, thrusting back some bare- logg^ boys. An old man dressed in a long garment of black serge passed with uplifted arms through the crowd. His head and feet were bare, a crucifix hung by a chain around his neck, his long white hair and beard floated like radiated silver over the cape and cowl of
149 T%e Stone House on the SusquehamM, [February,
his dress, and as he moved along amidst the people, his lips muttering benedictions, while one withered hand held aloft a slender staff, every head bent low as at the coming of a prophet — the visitation of an evangelist !
' Juan the pilgrim !' murmured the crowd.
The old man walked directly on to the centre of the open square formed by the soldiers, when he was stopped by the sentinel. Putting him aside with his hand, he passed the executionary platoon and aa- cending the platform, stood beside the prisoner.
' My son,' said he, clasping his attenuated hands over the little ctoea at the top of his staff, and looking with tearful commiseration into Harold^s eyes : ' I hear that you are a stranger here and one who denies the true faith, you are a heretic ; do you not fear to die )'
« No, father.'
* Son,' said the old man trembling all over with emotion, * consider, it is dreadful to perish with denial at your heart. I once had a son like you, not my own son, but one whom I loved as well, brave, young, noble. I wronged him — and a daughter — ah ! I was happy. This is all I have left' continued he, lifting up the silver crucifix that had been hidden by the white hairs of his beard. ' This is all — it is my only hope ; let it be yours, my son.'
' A strange presentiment came into Harold's mind. ' Your daugh- ter's name,' said ^e, ' was Antonia.' >
* Blessed saints !' said the old man, letting his staff fall and clasping bis hands; 'it was.'
' And you received that cross from Ayucha the Zurina.'
* Merciftil Mary !' said the pilgrim, raising himself to his full height and gazing on Harold with dilated eyes : ' Do I hear? do I heart and where '
' What is all this V interrupted Captain Calpang, who had watched them with intense interest and began to fear that some untoward event might yet snatch the victim from his grasp. ' What is all this f Stand back, old man.'
* Where is she 1 My 'Tenia, my child V
* Do you hear ? stand back ;' and the half-breed rudely seized the old man by the arm and attempted to draw him away.
There was a commotion among the people, eager faces were crowd- ing forward and pressing upon the sentinels.
* My daughter ! My 'Tenia,' repeated Juan, struggling to release himself.
* For shame,' said Padre Pacheco, advancing, ' would you offer violence to an old man ?'
* You too ]' replied the half-breed, fUriously, and retreating to the
?latoon, ' stand aside from the chair. Ready ! — aim ! — stand aside say — fire !'
But not a g^n was discharged. The old man stood erect beside Harold with one hand resting upon his shoulder, facing the levelled nuskets.
' Do you bear, fire !' screamed the Llanero, his face black with paaaioii, and aeizing a musket from one of the soldiers, he aimed it at
1849.] Tks Stone House on the Susquehanna. 149
tbe breast of Harold and pulled the trigger. At that instant Rosano threw himself before the chair in hopes of arresting Calpang's inten- tion, the action was fiital, the ball struck the old man behind the left temple and a red stream oozed from the wound and mingled with his silver hairs as he fell at Harold's feet. A wild scream of horror burst from the crowd ; there was a rush to the centre of the plaza; in va;n did the soldiers oppose themselyes; the knife aeainst the musket! every time a bright blade gleamed in the air down went a Spaniard, and the Llanero was struck to the earth, dragged over the pavement, torn by the firm hands of the insurgents, pierced with a hundred poinards, and then raised iathe air and dashed to the ground a quiverine and mutilated corpse. Meanwhile the Padre, frantic with joy at ^is unexpected turn of affairs, drew forth his machete and severed the thongs with which Harold was bound, and together they raised the old pilgrim from the ground, but life had departed.
' See how beautiful he smile !' said the Padre ; ' I t'ink he see 'ees daughter ; don't-a you V
So, carefully depositing the body upon the platform, and making the sign of the cross upon the forehead of the departed, the padre waved his machete over his head, and looked around for some sol* dier to try its temper upon. But the priest- warrior must needs forego that pleasure, for except the dead scattered around the plaza, no Spamards were visible ; the remainder had made good their escape, and closed the heavy gate against the insurgents.
' Come, Colonel,' said he, with an expression of disappointment, ' 'e must- a save Bias and Adelaida ; 'ee 's no time to lose ;' and forcing his way through the crowd, he tui*nod into a narrow street, followed by Harold and a score of their wild companions.
From this place the scene was strikingly picturesque. A thin, bluish vapor, in broad, oblique bands, alternated with stripes of sun- light, pervaded the plaza, through which was visible a shifting and tumultuous assemblage of men, in every variety of costume, hurry- ing to and fro, armed with muskets, axes and cutlasses, their brawny hands and arms uplifted with fierce, energetic gestures of defiance, or pointing to the barred windows of the prison, from whence a dropping fire was kept up by the soldiers. Here a group hurried along with a huge beam to force the gate ; there others were return- ing an ineffectual fire against the besieged ; women were flitting from place to place, with words of encouragement, or tendering their assistance to the wounded. Occasionally a man would fall, as lome well-directed shot told ; at which a cry of vengeance would arise from his comrades, while the bell of the prison tolled vehe- mently for assistance, and the din of hammers and heavy strokes of the beam against the iron-studded gate mingled with the discharge of musketry and the shouts of the besiegers. Down that street and dirough another, with much turning and crossing, and now they reach the little gate before the house of Adelaida. The sentinel on duty fled at the approach of this fierce irruption, but he was soon ofotaken and slain in a oomer of the garden, and the Padre, after a
150 The Stone Home on the Susquehanna. [Febmary,
brief exhortation to his body-guard, ascended the steps of the piazza and entered the hall with Harold.
Lovely, lovely was the burthen which Harold held in his arms in the dim twilight of that hall ! He touched his lips to her burning cheek, he felt the gentle pressure of her loving arms, while the Padre laid down his broad hat on the floor, deliberately crossed his machete over it, and taking his cousin in his arms, gave him such an emphatic squeeze, that Bias turned red in the face, and exhibited fearful symptoms of an immediate attack of apoplexy.
It did not require much persuasion to induce Adelaida to fly firom Barcelona now that the wedding was brought to such an untimely end. No doubt it has been surmised by the reader that in betrothing herself to Calpang she had made the liberation of Colonel Herman the price of the sacrifice. But the wily half breed, when he swore to accomplish this, intended not only to liberate him from the prison of Barcelona, but also from the earth-prison, from all care and anxi- ety for the future, from unhappiness prospective and retrospective ; in feet, to send him to another world, where in all probability he would never again be in the Llanero's way. As we have seen, his benevolent designs were happily frustrated. And now let us accom- pany the fligitives through devious streets and narrow lanes, past the unfinished cathedral and across the open plazas, unquestionea by the people who were thronging toward the prison, whose dolorous bell still kept up its alarum, and then, having reached the range of rocks that skirted one side of the city, they took leave of their faithful guard, and so up beyond the Moro and away to a secluded place, where, behind two gray rocks that arose like towers from the water, in a little shaded nook, hollowed out like a shell and overbrowed with wild vines, lay the yawl of the * Lively Prudence,' like a peari in an oyster.
The little man was seated astride the bows of the boat, with his legs sticking out on each side like an equestrian statue of a squab Triton, and with a melancholy visage he peeled a banana, while Schlauff* was idly looking from under his broad sombrero at the open sea.
* This 'ere, that looks like a wegetibble sassige,' said Tot, and he took a promiscuous bite of it, ' is what you call a b'nanner, hey ]'
•Jah.'
* Waal, it 's got a mixed taste of lard and chestnuts. A b'nanner, hey 1 Grows ? Mercy on me ! what 's that ]' A handful of earth fell from the bank and peppered the remainder of his provender. He looked up ; there was a face peering at him through the vines above. The German sprang to his feet and drew his bayonet.
' It ees me,' said the Padre, thrusting his face still farther through the vine leaves, a round face with vine leaves clustered around, very like a Bacchus ; ' me. Take 'e boat round ; 'e is here.'
' Dominie,' said Tot, • I 'm cred'lus ; that's one of my p'ints ; but you do n't mean to say that he is eout V
' Take 'e boat round and see.'
* By thunder !' said the shoemaker, ' did you ever see sich a ]
1849.] The Seam House an the SusqueJuuma. 151
iBter 1 Here, Scblauff, above off, my boy.' Tbe German ran the boat out into tbe water, pulled bis sombrero over bis eyes, and took to his oar with a will. ' If be 's eout,* said Tot, with a shout of ex- ultation, ' I '11 go to meetin' to you. Dominie, alwus ; and mend your flhoes and famUy^s for notbin' as long as you live 1'
And now tbe yawl, rounding tbe rocks, brought within bis deliebted ▼lew the litde group standing upon a weedy ledge that shelved with a gentle declivity into the water. Happiness often takes up her abode in lowly places, and the heart of Tot dilated to welcome her flweet presence that day. He grasped Harold by the band with a fervor that would have cracked a walnut, he walked around him, be whistled, he laughed to himself, he crushed bis hat between bis hands, and then pulled it on like a refractory boot, and finally, turn* ing to Adelaida, said : ' Missus Herman, I g^ess V
' No entiendo.'
* You intend tew % — Jest so ; it 's all the same. Some people— waal — you know Miss Edla G. ]' said Tot, turning to Harold.
That simple question! and yet it thrilled through every fibre. 'Yea.'
* She 's a eoner — she 's married !'
* Married V That word, that sharp word ! keener than tbe shears of the Parcse, it shore asunder the last thread that linked him to home. 'Married !' He placed his hand hastily in his bosom, as if that could still the angry sea that heaved beneath it.
Adelaida turned from one to the other with questioning eyes.
* Come,' said Tot; ' Captain Bilsey 's a-waitin', and time are time.' ' Farewell, then,' said Harold, as he assisted Adelaida into the
boat ; ' adios ! We may meet again !' And moumfiilly taking her little band, he pressed it to his heart.
' What does thb mean ]' said she, turning pale. * Not with us 1*
* And leave those who perilled their lives for me in Barcelona to perish 1'
There was a little heart beside him that had perilled its all — its lifetime of happiness for him, yet he knew it not. She looked up in his face with an expression of sweet reproach, and replied : ' Do not leave us ; you are but one to them, but to us you are — all — the world !' That last sentence escaped unawares from her heart and lips at the same time ; she looked down and blushed deeply.
' Quick, quick ! the boat !' said the padre ; ' there is a troop of horsemen coming down the road yonder 1 Morales ! Quick 1 we are lost !'
Tbe band of Adelaida still rested in Harold's. She looked up in his face again, with mute supplication. He stood irresolute. In the depths of his soul a voice seemed to say, ' As well to die now.' Once more be pressed her hand to his heart, and said, * Thank Heaven, you are in safety. My fate is with those who rescued me from death. Farewell.' But die little hand still held his own, and a sweet, low voice, like a lute-tone, murmured, * I owe ray life to you. This day, from death, or worse than death, you have preserved me. If you vemain, I too will remain ; if you perish *
VOL. zxzni. 20
152 Boys. • February,
' Saints, guard ub ! ' said the padre. ' Are ye mad 1 Do you not see the tops of their lances, as they wind around the hill ] There is Morales. For those in Barcelona you can do nothing ; they are doomed ! '
The little hcmd Harold held in his own seemed to draw him toward the boat, without his will. He entered the yawl — ' doomed ! '
' All right ! ' said Tot, joyfully, who had listened to this long con- versation in Spanish with manifest impatience ; ' let her go ! ' — ^And go she did.
' Doomed ! ' repeated Harold, as the boat rounded the high rocks, and the cavalry of Morales thundered past the place they had just left. ' Doomed ! All that I touch withers-^ all that I loved — Alice, Edla — gone! and, later, Ribas, Ayucha, and these poor exiles. Alas ! I am not only doomed — I am also the doomer ! '
Impelled by the sturdy arms of Tot and Schlauff, the yawl soon reached the side of the Lively Prudence, where they were welcomed by Captain Bilsey. Schlauff clambered up the side, unobserved by Harold, and mingled with the crew. And now the yawl swings from the stem of the clipper, the anchor rises from the deep ooze, the rings creep up the masts, the sails fill, and. careering before the fresh breeze, the schooner cleaves, with her foaming bows, the flashing waters. Hour after hour passes, the blue land sinks, fades, vanishes, day passes — night — and with the morning rises upon the siffht the rocky island of Margueritta, the last stronghold of the pa^ fnots upon the Main.
' Thk noblest study of mankind is man'— The most perplexing one, no doubt, is woman ;
The subtlest stndv that the mind can scan, Of all deep problems, heavenly or human I
But of all studies in the round of learning. From Nature's marvels down to human toys.
To minds well fitted for acute discerning, The very queerest one is that of boys I
If to ask questions that would puzzle Plato, And all the schoolmen of the middle age, —
If to make precepts worthy of old Cato, Be deemed philosophy — your boy 's a sage I
If the possession of a teeming fancy, (Altnough. forsooth, the youngster does n't know it)
Which he can use in rarest necromancy, Be thought poetical — your boy 's a poet !
If a strong will, and most courageous bearing, If to be cruel as the Roman Nero ;
If all thi^t 's chivalrous, and all that 's daring, Can make a hero, then the boy 's a hero !
But changing soon with his increasing stature.
The boy is lost in manhood's riper age, And with him goes his former triple nature — No longer poet, hero, now, nor sage I HifkgaU, Vtrwumt, Deemtber 19, 1848.
L849.] Stanzas: The Bible. Id3
THE BIBLE;
irrsOTtONATCLT TXSCRlB^l/ Ti> UT T0U!«O OiCOOflTBR.
The Bible ! sucred book to souls uutaughti Bringing from darkness pure and perfect light ;
That nerved the ami of warriors, when they fought To hurl the Saracen from his proud height,
And placed the banner, with the red-cross wrought. On Zion*8 towers ; that pilgrims might
In safety trace their steps, and naught deter
From prayer beside the glorious sepulchre.
The Bible ! Let its champions gather near. And meet the Infidel, and * %ht him fair,*
In quiet converse ; not with sword or spear, Break they bis bubble, filled with naught save air.
Oh! HoMiMUM Salvator! canst thou hear The wicked man deny thee, and yet spare
The unbelieving worm? — H were sentence justi
* Of dust thou art — return thou unto dust I*
Without the Bible, where would man now be ?
Debased and fallen, as he 's ever been. Since Adam knew the first iniquity :
Deep, deep in ignorance, and full of sin, A creature who his Maker ne'er could see ;
But the Good Book, if he will look within. Gives chart to lead him upward ; true as the sta Which men did steer by, seen in heaven afar !
The Bible ! its bright precepts and commands Change from the savage to a noble state
Men who did worship idols, and whose hands Would slay a friend or brother in their hate.
And even covet all their neighbors* lands.
Turning deaf ear when poor were at their gate.
That Good Book tells us of the rich man's fate.
Who spumed poor Lazarus while he choice food ate.
The Bible has been sown in pagan lands, Where all was darkness, desolate and drear ;
As showers from heaven upon those burning sands The Gospel truths are told to many an ear :
The heathen kneeling holds aloft his hands. The. face upturned reveals the contrite tear ;
The glory thine. Good Book ! for souls thus sayed«
Where aU was gloomy, wicked, and depvayed.
154 The Bible.
Without the Bible, Sabbaths all were lost ;
Church bells might cease to ring myiting peals : Like to a vessel on the billows tost,
No compass raiding, to and fro she reels ; Or like the flock whose shepherd it has lost :
A common day ; for none contented feels Unless he 's seen that Sacred Book spread open. And from its page heard words of comfort spoken.
The Bible ! where the sad solemnity. If it were lost, or never had been known,
Of burial here on earth, or when at sea The body 's canvassed, shotted, and then thrown
In the blue water, on the veasePs lee?
Many a boy, seeing such scenes, has grown
A manly sailor : sinful though he be.
He looka at ocean, far from any land,
And knows the Aijuohtt holds it in His hand !
The Bible ! fint beheld in gloomy prison. By many a convict who can't understand
Why blood for blood — thus runs the wise decision — Must flow from him who breaks the sixth command.
Laws made by man he laughs at with derision ; Now with GrOD*s law in his red guilty hand
He trembles ; on his knees he falls, and cries :
Why did I ever this good Book despise 7
The Bible ! — read it with attentive care. And study well those points which appertam
To thy 8onl*s safety ; not on earth, but there.
From whence all bounties come. The dew, the rain.
The sun, the stars, < the virgin moon so fair,' All seem to whisper, ' Sin thou not again,
And thou eternally may'st with us rest.
And with the angels be forever blest'
The Bible ! — Lamp unto thy feet so bright, 'T will safely lead thee from this wicked sphere
To realms of bliss — eternal heaven ! A li^t Unto thy path, no danger need'st thou fear.
For He who blessed that Sacred Book, thy sight A touch divine will give, and then appear,
To guide thee raptured through this page of truth.
And bid thee love Him in thy day of youth.
The Bible ! — keep it near thee ; and be sure, If troubles o'er thy gentle spirit creep.
Flee to its bosom, for no leech can cure A mind disturbed so well. At night, when sleep
Begins t* o'eicome thee, let no pleasures lure lliee firom its sacred page, that thou may'st reap-
TndiB that on earth are no where to be found, I dfrinei and joya that know no boimd.
LITERARY NOTICES.
Sacbmd Aixbgobiss. By the ReT. W. Adams, M. A. L Shadow of ths Csom. IL Distamt H1X.L8. New-York : General Protestant Episcopal Sunday School Union : Dandbx. Dana, Jtu, Agent. Depository, Nnmber SO, John-street
The form of allegory is of all other methods perhape the best soited to rivet at- tention, to delight and to mstruct It is not only agreeable to diildren, the maae of readers, from capacity, from education, from habit, are not prepared to reason deeply. Talk of abstract things, and they turn a deaf ear ; they yawn at the con- ▼eisation ; they throw aside the book, and they sleep under the sermon ; but talk of their old friends, sticks, and stones and trees ; embody virtne and vice, and present them as familiar forms, and the mind is arrested. Tlie allegories of Holy Scripture are the most simple, touching, and beautiful. The outlines are so few, yet so dear, that the eager suggestive mind hastens to fill them up. Observe the parable of the ' Sower.' How prominent are the several parts of the picture. The husbandman^ the seed, the act of sowing, the way-side, the stones, the thorns, are clearly presented to the eye, and the instruction is comprehended. How many thousands have gathered food from the Fables of JEaop ! Cunning is abstract ; but let it be presented in the shape of a sly fox, with a Christmas-goose flung over his shoulders, or as a good swimmer expelling fleas to the extreme corn-cob, or as an epicure m cheese aad at the same time a lover of music, and the moral is treasured up and laid to heart The ' Filgrim's Progress' is an immortal work. It lies in the fore-ground of reading, and is a delight through which the educated all pass in their ascent fhnn childhood to age. It is the most elaborate work of the kmd ; a parable carried out, and filled up with the exquisite art of a great master. With respect to this, the class of works which we now notice may be considered as minor allegories, although perfectly carried out and finished. They have been perhaps more read and admired than any thing of the kind since the days of John Bumtan, although their best praises have not been loud. They have been the silent tears shed in their perusal. The < Shadow of the Cross* was the first allegory from the pen of the Rev. Mr. Adams, and its favorable recep- tion prepared the way for that continued series which has since followed, to cheer the Christmas holidays, and to impart instruction and delight to thoosands. It is written in the purest Saxon EInglish, and filled on every page with toacheeof the most tender beauty. If for chastity of style alone, it is worthy uf being read and admired with the finest models in the language. Alas ! the author of these exquisite productions hae gone whither the cross casts no ' shadow,' but the noon-tide ^on shmes cbnstantly, and '•DROIT tad aghing are done away/ What we hwe from hit pe» wt treanue-
156
Literary Notices.
[February,
up and lay to heart. He has gone to the Eternal City, and to the * Distant Hills,* which he has pictured so beautifully. Parents and others, who wish to furnish suita- ble presents for the young, will find at thb Depository, Number 20 John-street, a selection of the choicest books, whose external embellishments accord with that which is within. The page on which these works are printed is like a little slab of Parian marble ; so pure, so white, so polished ; and rivals the utmost luxury of the English press.
RHTincs or Travel : Ballads ard Poems. By Bataad Taylox, Anthorof * Views Afoot,' etc. New-Tork: Gsoeos P. Putnam.
The * rhymes of travel* contained in this well-printed volume are described by the author as being faithful records of his feelings while journeying in Europe, often noted down hastily by the way-side, and aspiring to no higher place than the memory of some pil^m who may, under like circumstances, look upon the same scenes. ' An ivy leaf from the tower where a hero of old history may have dwelt, or the simplest weed, growing over the dust that once held a great soul, is reverently kept for the memories it inherited through the chance fortune of the wind-sown seed.' Of the * Califomian Ballads,* which have already appeared in print, the author says, that in them he has attempted to give expression to the rude but heroic physical life of the vast desert and mountain region, stretching from the Cordilleras of New Mexico to the Pacific This country, in the sublime desolation of its sandy plains and stony moun- tains, streaked herd and there with valleys of ahnost tropical verdure, and the peculiar character of its semi-civilized people, seemed to afibrd a field in which the vigorous spirit of the old ballad might be transplanted, to revive and flourish with a new and vigorous growth.* We have always remarked one quality in the poetry of Mr. Tayloe, which does credit to his talents and his taste. He finishes his rhymes ; and the grace which pervades them springs not leas from an intuitive perception of what is felicitous, than from careful revision and pruning of redundancies. He never offends by unmeaning platitudes, nor dilutes a thought to eke out a line or a stanza. Observe the graceful diction of these stanzas from ' The Wayside Dream :*
' The deep and lordlv Danabe
Goes winding far below ; I see tiie white-walled hamlets
Amid his Tineyardfl glow, And southward throiuh the ether shine The Styrian hills of^snow I
* O'er many a league of landscape
Sleeps the warm haze of noon ; Hub wooing winds come freighted
With fragrant tales of June, And down amid the com and flowers
I hear the water's tune.
* The meadow lark is singing.
As if it still were mom ; Sounds Qirough the dark pine-forest
The hunters dreamy horn, And the shy cuckoo's plaining note
Mocks the maidens m the com.
* 1 watch the cloud-armada
Go sailinr up the sky, Lulled by tne murmuring mountain-grass,
Upon whose bed I lie, Aaa the ftint sound of noonday ohiaes
TltftiatMdlstaiwedist
* A warm and drowsy sweetness
Is stealing o'er my brain ; I see no more the Danube
Sweep through his royal plain ; I hear no more the peasant girls
Singing amid the grain t
' Soft, silvery wings, a moment
Seein resting on my brow ; Anin I hear the water,
But its voice is deeper now. And the mocking-bira and oriole
Are singing on the bough !
' The elm and linden branches Droop close and dark o'erhead.
And the foaming forest-brooklet Leaps down its rocky bed;
Be still, my heart I the seas are passed. The paths of home I tread I
* The showers of creamy blossoms
Are on the linden spray, /
And down the clover-meadow
They heap the scented hay, And, glad winds toss the ftresl Itavas^
AH the bright sumdisr day.'
1849.] Literary Notices. 157
Now here we have, in a ' California Ballad,' an equally faithful sketch from nature ;
and it will illaatrate, better than any thing we could indicate, the versatility of his ob-
•ervation and versification :
*Now aaddle El Canalo' — tke freflhexUng wind of mom Down in the flowery vega, is stirring tbxough the com ; The thin smoke of the ranches grows red ^th coming day, And the steed's impatient stamping is eager for the way t
' My glossy-limbed Canalo, thy neck is carved in pride, Thv slender ears pricked forward, thv nostril straining wide; And as thv quick neigh greets me, and I catch thee by the mane, I 'm off with the winds of morning — the chieftain of the plain I
' I feel the swift air whirring, and see along onr track, From the flinty -paved sierra, the sparks go streaming back ; And I clutch my rifle closer, as we sweep the dark defile, Where the red guerilla watches for many a lonely mUe I
*Thev reach not El Canalo ; with the swiftness of a dream We're passed the bleak Nerada, and Tul6's icy stream ; But where, on sweeping gallop, my bullet backward sped. The keen-eyed mouptain vultures will circle o'er the dead t'
Without asBsuroing, in the few remarks touching this volume for which we can find ■pace, to have noticed it as it deserves, we have yet the hope that the qualities which we have indicated may induce others to share with us the pleasure which we have enjoyed in its perusal. The volume is handsomely * got up,* and contains a picture by Rbbd of the author, which would be considerably better as a portrait if it reeem<« Ued him a little more.
TBs HiSToav OP Enolaicd. By Hon. T. B. Maoaulav. Volume First With a Portrait of tiie Author. New- York : Habpbk and Baomxas.
This first volume of a work which has been for some weeks announced, has al- ready met with an unexampled sale, and its circulation is still increasing. The author receives for it in England, as we gather from late London journals, an annuaf sum, for ten consecutive years, of three thousand dollars ; while the Messrs. Harpers pay him five hundred dollars per volume for the early proof-sheets. Nor is this a high compensation, when the great reputation of the author is taken into account. For vigor and grace of style ; for clear arrangement of fhots, and logical deductions there- from ; for artistical grouping and contrast of characters, scenes and events, we know not the historian who can fairly compare with Maoaulay. We should like to have some of our wordy writers, who in their style * cover a large piece of bread with a small piece of butter,' read over this volume with care, and observe the directness, the force, and the simplicity of its sentences : it afibrds a lesson which it would be well to re- member. Maoaulay is an Edinburgh man ; he was brought up in that cold Athens of intellect ; is intimate with all the literary magnates who have made the Edinburgh Review and Blackwood's Magazine so ^mous ; and is, we are informed, one of the few select Scotchmen who are appreciated beyond the frigid zone of Caledonian prejudices. We annex, as a specimen of MAdAULAY*s manner, a single extract, set- ting forth the * peculiar virtues ' of the English Puritaus, from whom came those ' tolerant worthies who landed on the * blarney-stone of New-England : '
*Ths Puritans in the day of their power had undoubtedly given cruel provocation. They pa|^ to have learned, if from nothing else, yet from their own diseoateots, from Hu/tr owa
158 Literary Notices. [February,
strangles, from their own rictory, from the fall of that proud hierarchy by which thcjr had been so heavily oppressed, that in England^ and the seTenteenth centory, it was not m tiie power of the civil magistrate to drill tiie minds of men into conformity with his own system of theology. They proved, however, as intolerant, and as meddling as ever Laud had been. They interdicted under heavy penalties the use of the Book of Common Prayer, not only in churches, but in private houses. It was a crime in a child to read bv the bed-side of a sick parent one of those beautiful collects, which had smoothed the grie» of forty venerations of Christians. Severe punishments were then denounced against such as shoula presume to blame the Calvinistic mode of worship. Clergymen of respectable character were not only ejected from their benefices by thousands, but were frequently exposed to the outrages of a fanatical rabble. Churches and sepulchres, fine works of art and curious remains of antiquity, were brutally defaced. The parliament resolved, that all pictures in the royal collection, which contained representations of Jxsus, or of the Visoin Mothjcr, should be burned. — Sculpture fared as ill as paintings. Nrmphs and Graces, the work of Ionian chisels, were delivered over to Puritan stone-masons to be made decent Against the lighter vices, the ruling faction waged war with a zeal little tempered bv humanity, or by common sense. Sharp laws were paMed against betting. It was enacted that adultery should be punished with deatlr. The illicit in« tercourse of the sexes, even where neither violence nor seduction was imputed, where no pub- lic scandal was given, where no conjugal right was violated, was made a misdemeanor. Public amusements, from the masques which were exhibited at the mansions of the great down to the wrestling matches, and grinning matches on village greens, were vigorously attacked. One ordinance directed that all Uie May -poles in England should forthwith be hewn down; another proscribed all theatrical diversions. The playhouses were to be dismantled, the spec- tators fined, the actors whipped at the cart* s tail.'
We obflerve that in England two large editions of this work have already been demanded, and a second will soon be issued by the American publishers.
Tex If OBTH-AmEXCAN Rkvikw, for the January Quarter. Boston : Chaslss C. Littlx akd Jamxs BaowN. New-York : Charles S. Francis and Coup ant.
Our time-honored Quarterly opens with an article upon ^Mr. Webster <u a DipU- matiat,* in which ample justice is awarded to the diplomatic abilities of that eminent statesman. In a period of general peace, certain questions arose which touched the national honor rather than immediate national interests ; and these were * rescued from the dominion of the passions, and subjected to the ordeal of reason and judgment by discussion and statement/ between two distinguished statesmen, representing the two countries. < Through the exertions of Mr. Webster, the United States,* says the re- Tiewer, < have gained all that was undertaken. Impressment has been rendered a nullity ; the question arising out of the case of the Creole stands upon an unanswered argument made six years ago, and therefore it is to be held unanswerable ; the right of search, m the judgment of Europe and America, is gone ; and for the invasion of our territory, by the burning of the Caroline, an apology, ample, but without injury to the pride of England, was obtained. To these may be added the settlement of the boundaries, the provisions for the suppression of the slave-trade, and the incorporation into the public code of thd mutual surrender of fugitives charged with crime ; that high moral obligation which the whole body of jurists, (lom Grotius down, have de- sired to see enforced, but could not declare to be part of the public law.' A genial and appreciative article upon the *Life and Works of Fielding' succeeds, in which the authorial and personal characteristics of that delightful writer are well discriminated^ We quite agree with the reviewer in this: ' If we consider Fielding's mind in respect either to its scope or its healthiness, we do not see how we can avoid placing it above . that of any English poet, novelist, or humorist of his century. In strength, depth, and massiveness of mind. Swift might be deemed his equal ; but Swift's perceptions were so distorted by his malignities, that he is neither so trustworthy nor so genial as FiBLDXNo. Pope, with all his brilliancy, and epigrammatic morality, and analogiet
1849. J LiUrary Noticei. 1A&
from the surfaces of things, appears little in comparison the moment he snaps and maris out his spiteful wit and rancorous pride. Addison and Goldsmith, with their deep and delicate humor, and mastery of the refinements of character, have not FiKLDiNo*8 range and fruitfulncss ; nor, perhaps, his occasional astonishing subtilty of insight into the unconscious operations of the mind.' The next two articles, upon *The Fathers of New -England,* and 'ElioVs Sketch of Harvard College,' we havd not as yet found occasion to read. A very able and intei^esting paper succeeds, upon • The Poetry of Spanish America.* It takes up eight Spanish-American hards, he-( lining with Hbrdia, and gives numerous specimens of their productions. We select the foUowmg passage from the notice of Gabriel Valdks, whose literary nom-do- plume was Placido, who was executed at Cuba in 1844, for aiding, as was alleged by his aocDsers, in the insifrrection in that island. After his sentence, and the night be^ lore his execution, he penned the following lines to his mother :
* I'ns appointed lot has come upon me, mother, The monrnful ending of my years of strife ; This changing world I leave, and to another, In blood and terror, goes my spirit* s life I ~ 5 th
But thoa, ^ef-smitten, cease thy mortal wee|>ing, And let thv Soul her wonted peace regain ; I fall for right and thoughts of ttiee are sweeping Across my iTre. to wake its dying strain : A-strain of Joy and gladness, iree, unfailing.
All-glorious and holy. pure, divine,
And innocent, rroconscious as the wailing
I uttered at my birth ; and I resign,
Even now, my life ; even now, descending slowly,
Faith's mantle foldis me to my slumbers holy.
Mother, farewell I God keep thee, and for ever !'
* *tKK next morning he was led out, witii nineteen others, to execution. He passed thrcngH the streets with the air of a conqueror, walking With a serene face and an unwavering step, and chanting his * Prayer,' with a calm, clear voice. When they reached the Plaza, he addressed his companions with words of brave and effectual consolation, and made all his preparations wlUi imdisturbed composure. He was to suffer first ; and when the signal was given, he step- pad into the square, and knelt with unbandaged e^es before the file of soldiers, who wers to execute the sentence. When the smoke of the first volley rolled away, it was seen that he had merely been wounded in the shoulder, and had fallen forward, bleeding and agonised. An farepressible murmur of pity and indignation ran Uirough the assembled ci'owd; butPLAcnx), still self-possessed, slowly recovered his knees, and drawing up his form to its greatest height, exclsimed, in a broken voice, * Farewell, World, ever pitiless to me I Fire — here V raising Us haad to his temples. The last tones of his voice were lost in the report of the muskets, ^tdt time more mercifully aimed.'
By the inhabitants of Cuba, says the reviewer, the memory of thih true son of thtf people will always be gratefully cherished. * Surely his death has not been m vain. It io by the fall of such victims that men's thoughts are turned against tyrants and their tyranny.' Of the article upon • The Significance of the Alphabet* we have been obliged to forego the perusal ; but not so with the ensuing paper upon *Humorous tmd Satvrieal Poetry i in which justice is rendered to the wit and humor, in this kin^# of Lowsll, who is nearly as well known under the name of Hosea Bioelow ss ho iiby his own patronymic. Against his opinion, in one respect, of Bryant, as etpreased in tho ' Fable for the Critics,' the reviewer quotes successfully, from that beautiftil poem, *An Evening Reverie,* origiftally writteu for this Magazine. Among the re- maining articles is an extended review of * Merry-Mount,' the new and successftd ro- mmoe of the early colonial history of Massachusetts, of which we had hoped to ho sUe to * eay oar eay' in the pfesent number, but which we reoerve for another oeeanMi.
TOL. zznii. tl
160 Literary Notices,
The Fimar or ths Knicxxsbockxss : a Tal« of 8ixte«n Hundred SeTenfey-Ttxroe. In one ▼olume : pp. 221. NeW'York : Gbobob P. Putn.aj[.
The reader who shall take up this book, expecting to find only a few scenes choeen mainly for their old-time representation, and a character or two peculiar to that ancient period, will be not a little surprised at encountering, as they will, a story of sustained interest, iuTolving stirring incident on sea and land, at an eventful era of our colonial history ; with various characters, extremely well depicted, and adventures of deep in- terest, vividly recorded. We should occupy our pages, crowded although they be, with an elaborate notice of this work, were it not for the fact that it has already been s6 long in print as to insure the exhaustion of a large edition, and a demand for another, which has heed put to press ; so that we should be * quite too late ' in the day with an expos6 in detail of the qualities of a book which is doubtless already in the hands of nine in ten of our readers. It is appropriately dedicated, by permission, to Washino- TON Irving, (who has made the honored name of Knickerbocker famous to ensuing generations,) and is introduced to the reader by a felicitous preface, which serves as a * salsa del libra,* or sauce to the book. It is neatly executed ; a matter seldom overlooked by the popular publisher from whose press it proceeds.
Tales op ths Ctcladss, and othrs Posits. Bv Henst J. Bbadpibld, Author of the * Alhe- naid,' etc. London : William Kioo, Old Bond-street.
Such is the title of a small and handsome London volume, which we have just finished readmg with a good deal of pleasure. The author is Capt. Henrt J. Brad- field, at present in this country, with whom we have had the pleasure, on one or two occasions, to meet His life (and he scarcely yet seems a middle-aged man) would appear to have been a very eventful one. He fought by land and sea in the cause of Greek independence under Lord Cochrane, whom he accompanied from England, General Sir Richard Church, Colonel Gordon, General Fabvier, etc. : and after visiting Egypt, Malta, Italy, Switzeriand, etc., he returned to England. On Leo> fold's accepting the throne of Belgium, he went there under his patronage, and had the honor of belonging to the foreign legion under Prince Achille Murat ; on leaving which, he was placed by the Kino uv the First Lancers, in which he remained until the conclusion of the war, when he received a colonial appointment under Her Bri-^ TANNIC Majesty's Government He has but recently arrived among us from the island of Dominica, where he held the appointment of Aid-de-camp and Secretary to the Governor, Colonel Macdonald. We hope hereafter to make the readers of the Knickerbocker better acquainted with the distinguished literary merits of Captain Bradfield than our crowded pages will now permit us to do. We may remark, in anticipation of future comments upon his popular productions, that the volume before us contains, among other excellent poems, a piece upon Marco Bozzaris, in the same measure as Halleck's, written in Greece ten yeare before Halleck wrote bis immortal poem. This is a < remarkable coincidence ;' as much so as the two dis- ooveren, Colum«6a and Coivaa-bus, mentioned in our last number ; one of whitli ' came from Noab» and the other firom Ga-noa V
E D I T O R'S TABLE.
Doot, Cats, Apss, Monkeys, Elbphantb ! — Do n't laugh, reader, and turn ut- terly away from this conglomeration of quadrupedal themes ; but do us the justice to nm your eye over the ensuing limnmgs, and then tell us whether they be of interest or no. Right well pleased should we be to sit down, for a half dozen consecutiYe evenmgs, in the sanctum, with W. J. Brodkrip, Esquire, Fellow of the British Royal Society, to a late London copy of whose admirable ' Zodlogical Reereatiotu^ we are indebted for the present article, and listen to the record of his pergonal acquaintance with * creatures of mark* in the animal world. Next to a consummation so much to be desired, we count the pleasure of reading from his own hand those word-pictures, which make us as it were to see with his eyes and to hear with his ears. We shall not now follow him in his observant and appreciative consideration of resident and migratory singing-birds ; nor trace with him the history, the * manners and customs' of the ' cooing cuckoo,' the solemn, supernatural owl, the chattering parrot, the gob- bling turkey, nor the graceful swan, ' fading in music ;' but with ' Set,' keenest of keen tenriere, from the distant isle of that name, looking with eyes of fire into our own, and his tail beating a recognitial tattoo upon the carpet, we are reminded to begin with Dogs ; those honest creatures, * who* are unequalled for affectionate though humble companionship, nay friendship ; for the amiable spirit that is ever on the watch to anticipate each wish of his master ; for the most devoted attachment to him in prosperity and adversity, in health and sickness ; an attachment alwajrs continued mito death, and frequently failing not even when the warm hand that patted him is clay-cold ; * who,' to please you, will do that which is positively painful to him ; who, though hungry, will leave his food for you ; who will quit the strongest temptation for you — who will lay down his life for you. Touching these true * gentlemen of the animal race' we shall now hear somewhat that our author has to say<
* Thebx if a law prohibiting the entrance of our firiends the don into the clnbs ; a law which one ia at fint dieposed to regard u harsh ; bat the reflection that moat of the members of a club ihow no backwardneat in availing themielTes of its prlTileges, reconciles the mind to Che inhospitable practice of making the worthy beasts sit in the porch, anxiously watching far the egress of their masters. Think of the assemblage of the doggies belonging to a thou- ssBd or twelre hundred masters, and the duels — the pnncipals, to be sure, nowadays never hit each oUier — which would spring out of the collision I But if they are not allowed to grace our assemblies within doors, there is no lack of them when men are gathered together vnder the canopy of heaven. At a fair, at a fight, at the most solemn spectacles ; wherever, in short, there is a crowd, there are dogs to be seen, as a matter of course, apparently discus- sing the matter in hand, or Inquiring of each new comer whether he had any thing to do wiUi the embassy, and getting into little coteries and fights of their own ; for, on these occasloas, ^ «q>ecially u there be a lady in the case. Jealousies an& suspicions do abound.
* When the citizens feasted the allied sovereigns, we were snugly placed, at an early how, aft the window of a most worthy trader ia the precious metals, upon Lodgate HIU ; one who
162 Editar'i Talk. [February,
had been prime warden of the worshipful company, and had two gowna, and erery thing handsome about him. His hospitable house was well filled with honest men and bonnie laaaea; but we, who had not been long in the small village, were constantly drawn from th^ well> spread table, and the bright eyes that surrounded it, to the window aforesaid, by the note of preparation. In the street were the heaps of gravel intended for smoothing the path of the Regent and the crowned heads. Workmen were*cmployed in levelling these heaps, which the dogs, already collected in considerable numbers, evidently considered as pitched exclu- sively for their accommodation. The thickening crowd were in their holiday suits, every thing was bright and gay, the dogs were frisky beyond expression, and the gravel heaps pro- duced the most social feelings among the assembled quadrupeds.
' By-ond-by the gravel was spread : the dogs, that had been chasing each other's tails from an early hour, began to be a little tired, but were still in good spirits. The troops now lined the streets, and at length there seemed to be a disposition on the part of the dogs to c<maider that they had had enough of the fete. Every now and then, a canine skeptic, who began te think that matters were taking an unpleasant turn, would go to the sides or the street and try to make his way through the living wall that bounded the carriage-way. In nine cases out of ten he was kicked back by the soldiers, and if some particularly enterprising individual sue- ceeded in passing them, a greater obstacle remained behind ; for there was no possibility of
getting through the conglomeration on the foot-pavemnnts ; trampled upon by the crowd and utt-ended by the soldiers, h^ was kicked back with curses into the arena, erst the scene of hi> gsyety, yelping and howling, and then and there immediately pitched into by his now hun- gry, peevish companions.
* Well, the day wore on ; the dogs lay down ; the usual cries. ' They are coming I' brought every body from the creature-comforts to the windows, and the usual disappointments sent them back to their more subctantial enjoyments. At last the pealing and tiring of bells an- nounced the advent of the kings of the earth. Hhouts were heard booming from the distance ; the heads in the crammed windows were all craning westward ; the procession was now com- ing in earnest. It was headed by a large body of distressed dogs, the phalanx increasing as it advanced. Worn out, kicked to death's door, and scarcely able to crawl, the miserable cun marched in solemn silence, with head depressed and slinking tail, to which here and there might be seen appended the badge of the order of the tin canister or kettle. By the side there was no escape ; they could not retreat ; and so the dejected wretches marshalled the way, un- willingly and slow, till our country's honor, and that of Europe, were roofed in the Guildhall of the city of London.'
You will go on with the author now, reader, wo arc quite sure: you cauH say, we tnut, with old Mathews* thick -tougued man in the crowd, thai yoa * ha't got ady idducebedt to bovc alo*g.* In tracing through supposed stocks the seeds of that amo- tion for man that so highly distinguishes the dog, Mr. Broderip relates on the par* ■ooal authority of Cuvier, the following anecdote of an ^ affectionate wolf!* Rathar fk misnomer, we had supposed, until now :
* Thk wolf was brought up and treated like a young dog ; he became familiar with ererj body whom he saw frequently, but he distinguished his master, was restless in his lUMeooe and ^appy in his presence, acting almost precisely as a favorite dog would act. But his master was under the necessity of being absent for a time, and the unfortunate wolf was presented to the ' M6nagerie du Roi,' where he was incarcerated in a den «— he who had * affectiooa, pas- sions t' Most disconsolate of wolvos was he. pour fellow I He pined — he refused his food; but the persevering kindness of his keepers had its effect upon his broken spirit; he became fond of them, and every body thoutrbt tnnt his ancient attachment was obliterated. Eighteen long months had elapsed since his inipri^jonnient, when his old master came to see him. Thb first word uttered by the man, who was mingled in the crowd, had a magical efl*ect. The poor wolf instantly recognised him with the most joyous demonstrationB, and being set at liberty, fawned upon his old friend and caressed him in the most affecting manner. We wish we pould end the story here ; but our wolf was again shut up, and another separation brought with it sadness and sorrow. A dog was given to him as a companion ; three years had elapsed since he last lost sieht of the object of his early adoration ; time had done much to soothe him, and his chum and he lived happily together ; when the old master came again.
' The * once familiar word' was uttered ; the impatient cries of the faithful creature, and Us eagerness to get to his master, went to the hearts of all ; and when he was let out of his cage, and rushed to him, and with his feet on his shoulders, licked his face, redoubling bis eriea of joy. because he who had been lost was found, the eyes of bearded men who stood by were moistened. His keepers, to whom a moment before he had been all fondness, now endeiaTorsd to remove him ; but all the wolf was then aroused within him. and he turned upon them witfi furious menaces. Again the time came when the feelings of this unhappy animal were to be sharply tried. A third separation was effected. The gloom and sullenness of the wolf wers of a more deep complexion, and his refusal of food more stubborn, so that his life appeured to be in danger. His health, indeed, if health it could be called, slowly returned ; but be was morose and misanthropic, and though the fond wretch endured the caresses of his keepers, he became savage and dangerous to all others who approached him. Hero was a noble temper ruined.'
Bell, in his * History of Bhtish Quadrupeds,' makes mention of a she wolf who would oomo to the fh>nt ban of her prison in the ZoQIogioal Meaafene of tfa* Et»
1849.]
Editm'i Table. 163
fent^ Park to be noticed ; * and when she had pupe, would bring them forward in Imit mouth to be fondled ; indeed, she was so pertinacious in her endeavors to intro- 4hiee them into society, that she killed all her little ones, one after the other, by rub- bing them against the bars, that they might be within reach of the caressing hand of man. It was as if the poor creature had said : * Do take me and mine out of this l^ace, and make pets of us !' There are not wanting high authorities for the theory that the domestic dog, with all its varieties, is the descendant of the wolf; there be- ing, to say nothing of the ' moral qualities* here indicated, little or no difference be- tween the skeleton of the wolf and the dog, while the skull is exactly similar. But * lomething too much' of wolves. * Retournons a nos chiens ;* and especially to this anecdote of a * knowing one :*
* In the WMt of England, not far from Bath, there lived, toward the close of the last een- tozv, a worthy clergyman, who was as benevolent as he was learned. There were torn-spits in UOM davs ; a most intelligent set they were ; and Tobt, who was an especial favorite, was a model of the breed, with legs worthy of the Oow Chrom himself, upon which he waddled alter his master every where, sometimes not a little to his annoyance ; but Tobv was a worthy, and he could not find it in his heart to snob him. Things, however, came at last to such a pass, tliat ToBT contrived somehow or other to find his way to the reading-desk on a Sunday, and when the door was opened he would whip in, well knowing that his reverend patron was too Und and too decorous to whip him out. Mow though it has been said that
" H« 'a a good dog tb&t goes to cbarch,'
tta exemplary Dr. B., who thought he hadiraced a smile upon the countenance of some of his psyishiooers on these occasions, felt the impropriety of the proceeding ; so Toby was locked v> in the stable on Sunday morning ; all to no purpose, however, for he scrambled through tte shut window, glass, lead and all, and trotted up the aisle after his annoyed master as usual. Mattnv were now getting serious ; so as soon as be bad on the Saturday caused the beef to re- Tolve to a turn which was to be served cold for the Sunday dinner — lor the good man chose that an around him should find the Sabbath a da^ of rest— Toby was taken out of the wheel, and his dinner was given to him ; but instead of bcin^ allowed to go at large to take his eve- slug walk after it Mollt, to make sure of him took him up by the neck, and putting him into the wood hole, where window there was none, drew the bolt and left him therein. Toby re- venged himself by ' drying up the souls' of the whole family with his inordinate exnostulatory yeOs daring the whole ot the remnant of Saturday and the greater part of Sunday. How- •vmr, there was no Toby dogging the heels of the surpliced minister, and it was concluded tbet tiie sufferings which the doggie and the family bad imdergone would have their effect. Well, tiie week wore on. Toby as amiable and as useful ai) ever, without a particle of sullenness ^fKmt him ; into the wheel went he right cheerfully, and made it turn more merrily than ever ; in short, parlor, kitchen, and all. were loud in his praise. However, as it drew toward twelve o'clock on the Saturday, Toby was missed. Poor Molly, the cook, was at her wit's end :
* ' Wb«r« *• tb«t vexatioua tuni>»plt gono 7'
was the question, and nobody could answer it. The boy who cleaned the knives was de- spatched to a distant bam where Toby was occasionally wont to reci%ate himself after his coHmiry labors by hunting rats. No — no Toby. The sturdy threshers, with whom he used sometimea to go home under the idea, as it was supposed, that they were the lords of the rat- preserve in the barn, and who, being fond of Toby, in common with the whole village, used •ecastonally to give him
' * Abltof tbelrsuppar, « bit of tbelr bed,*
knew nothing of him. Great was the consternation at the rectory I Hints were thrown oat tiiat * The Sasaengers' in the green lane had secreted him with the worst intentions, for he was plamp and sleek ; but their camp was searched in vain. The worthy family retired for the night, all mourning for Toby ; and we believe there is no doubt that when the reverend master oiUw bouse came down on Sunday morning his first question was : ' Any tidings of TosYt* A melancholy *No, Sir !' was the answer. After an early breakfast, the village schools were heard ; their rewards distributed, not without inquiries for Toby ; and when church-time eame, it is said that the rector, who walked the short distance in ^11 canonicals, looked over Ids shoulder more than once. He passed through the respectful country-people collected in tile little neen grave-yard, who looked up to him as their pastor and friend ; he entered the low-roofed old Korman porch, overhung with ivy. he walkea up the aisle, the well-filled pews OB either side bearing testimony thst his sober-minded fiock hungered not for the excitement of finatielBm ; he entered the reading-desk, and as he was adjusting his hassock, caught the eye of Tobt twinkling at him out of the darkest corner ! Need we sav more, than that after tnis Toby was permitted to go to church, with the unanimous approbation of the parish, as long as he Hvedt Now if this wairnot calculation on the part of Toby, we know not what else to term it; and we could refer our readers to well-authenticated stories in print — as our dear eld sane need to say, when she was determined to silence all incredulity^ that go as far, sad «viB livtfaar* t» show that these saimsls can calcalate intervals of time. It is this inteUectai
164 Editor's Table. [February,
aiitj, joined with their indiridualitj — for no two dogs are alike — that makes them fuch ad- mirable subjects for the gifted hand of Edwin Landsees. It is said that dogs hare been taught to utter, after a fashion, one or two simple words, not exceeding two STllables : how- erer this may be, no one, we apprehend, who has seen ' The Twa Dogs/ can dioabt that they converse.'
Our author generously interposes his * pen of steel' to rescue from utter contempt
the despised generation of French pugs. He says they are generous and affisctionate,
greatly delighting to be nursed in ladies* taps, and * understanding in a very short
time whether the conversation relates to them, though not addressed to them, nor
carried on in an altered tone, as indeed is the case with most sensible dogs.' It strikes
us that Landseer might almost copy thb group, without troubling the subjects to 'sit'
for him :
* It was amusing to see three of these little dogs in company with Rundt, a beautiful beagle, especially when a splendid fellow of a French pointer was occasionally admitted into the
Sarty. The well-educated pointer, who could do every thing but talk, as they sav, was or- ered into a chair, where he sat with a most becoming gravity, and there, wrapped m a cloak, and with his foraging-cap jauntily cocked over one eye, and a roll of paper in his month for a ciffar, he looked much more manly than the whey-faced bipeds who pollute our streets and add their mouthful of foul smoke to ' the fog and filthy air' of this reeking town. When the little lapless dogs on the carpet saw this, they would surround his chair, sitting up in the nsnal begging position, and hoping, apparently, that among his other accomplishments he had learned the all-Boothing art of nursing. Rundy generally took this opportunity of securing the best
Elace on the rug, where he lay stretched out on his side, before the fire. The suppliants find- ig that the Frenchman in the chair made no sign, and that they could produce no impression on the flinty hearts of the rest of the company, to each of whom in succession they had sat up, adjourned one after tiie other, and after sitting up for a moment to the recumbent Rurot, aat down upon him ; looking, as a friend once said, like a coroner's jury sitting on the body ; and indeed Rundt, who was good-tempered and used to the operation, lay as still as if he had been no longer of this world. They seemed to have the greatest objection to resting on the floor, richly Turkey-carpeted though it was. When they were thus seated, looking at the fire, with their backs to the company, the words ' >VeU. you may come,' uttered without any parti- cular emphasis, would bring them all in a moment bounding into the laps of the speakers. At night they were always on the lookout for a friend who would take them to bea ; otherwise the mat was their portion. At the well-known ' To bed I to bed !' they would rush from the snuggest of laps and gambol before you to your bedroom. As soon as they entered it, and were told ' You may go into bed,' they would creep in between the sheets at tne top and work their way down to the bottom, where they would lie all night at your feet, without moving, unless a particularly-favored Lilliputian was permitted to come up and lay its head on the pU- low or your arm.'
That the faithful creatures so well depicted by our author should sometimes be subject to the most frightful and fatal of all diseases,- which they communicate in their madness to their beloved master or mistress, is pronounced * one of those inscru- table dispensations that sets all our philosophy at naught :'
< TiiE chamber of a human being writhing under hydrophobia is a scene never to be forgot- ten by those who have had the misfortune to witness it. Tnere lies the wretched victim, undfir a certain sentence of death— death the most dreadful t His unsteady glistening eye wanders over the anxio\is faces that surround him ; the presence of any liqtLid — the noise of pouring it out — a polished surface, or any thing that suggests the idea of it, even the sudden admis- sion of a cold current of air — bring on the most agonizing paroxysms of spasm in the throat. Oh ! to see him strong in resolution, determined to make the rebel muscles obediMit ; to see and hear him
* * struggle witli the rlsiog flta.'
and sit up and say that he will take his medicine. And there he is, apparently calm ; the at- tendant approaches with the cup ; he receives it ; you almost think, so much does he seem to have his nerves under command, that he will drain it. He lifts it to his parched lips, his h^- gard eye rolls, the rising spasms overpower him. * I can't I* he faintly utters, and falls back m agony. We dare not go on ; it is too horrible !'
There ^onid seem to be much misconception of the true characteristics of a rabid dog. Mr. Broderip observes : ' It is an error to suppose that a mad dog always sho?ra aversion to water, as the name of the disease implies ; he will, on the contrary, some- times lap it — nay, swim across a river, without manifesting any of the horrcMr that marks the disease in man. The most sure symptom is a complete alteration of tem- per tnm the mild and the familiar to the sullen and the snarling ; he maps at all
1849.] Editor's Table. 165
objects, animate and inanimate, and gnaws them. E^en in this state his behavior often continues unaltered to his master or mistress ; and hence the cases which have •risen (torn having been licked by the tongue of such a dog on some part of the face or hands where the skin had been broken. Though he goes wildly about, apparently without an object, foaming at the mouth generally, and snapping as he proceeds, he niely gallops, but mostly keeps to a sullen trot, with his tail down.' The fact is not concealed, that although * hydrophobia generally makes its appearance in man be- tween the thirtieth and fortieth days after the communication of the virus, fatal cases, that have occurred after a lapse of .eighteen months, are on record ; and there is not wanting high authority for the assertion that a person cannot be considered perfectly safe till two years at least have passed, reckoning from the time when the injury Was leceived' But having sent our readers * to the dogs,' * pass we now' to the cats ; those * chosen allies of womankind,' so closely connected with the untranslatable word * comfort,' when associated with the domestic fireside. Our author contends, and we think with justice, that cats were brought into the world for quite another purpose than to be shod with walnut-shells, thrown off the church-tower with blown btadders tied to their necks, sent up into mid-heaven dangling at the tail of a kite, or made to navigate the horse-pond in a bowl, there to withstand the attack of a fleet of water-dogs. He records the case of a huge Thomas Gratmalkin, belonging to » little qntefol tailor, who lived near a Manual Labor School, that used to scratch up the choice seeds of the agricultural students as soon as they were deposited in the ground. The Schneider treated their complaints against these repeated trespasses with great contempt ; insomuch that one of the delegation of remonstrants remarked mysterioasly, that * he had better look out, or he would n't know his cat agam when lie saw it' * Now look you what befell :'
* AracB the exhibition of much inffenuit j, and many failures, the tregpaMer waa at lost eanghC, bagged and cairied Into a room, where a convention of outraged garuenera immediately pro- ceeded to conault upon his doom. Two or three of the greatest aufferers loudly gave ttieir voices for deat)i ; others were for sparing his life, but curtailing hia tail of its fair proportions, and otherwise maltreating him, so that he should never be the same cat again. At length the sage, who was merciful but determined, begged to be heard. He said that the tailor was hi ftnlt more than the cat, which did but after its kind in frequenting gardens, if suffered to go abroad at night He explained hi* plan, which was adopted nan. coti. ; and having dissolved sealing-wax quant, mff., in spirit of wme, dipped a brush tnerein ; and while two assistants, who wore bit and scratched worse than HooAaru's actress in the bam, held the victim, padnt^ the struggling Toumr all over of a bright vermilion, with a masterly hand. The taSUau vivant was then set down, and home he bolted in the gloaming. How the cat entered the tailor's house, and what the tailor thought of the advent, no one kneW ; but it was observed that the lidlor'a hair became rather suddenly gray. For two days nobody saw either him or his cat. On the third, he, remembering the threat of the philosophic gardener, walked into the school- Toom. at high-school time, with his vermilion quadruped under his arm, held him up before tibe master, and asked, with a solemn voice and manner, * if that was the way a cat ought to be treated V ' The master, who was taken by surprise, burst out into a fit of laughter, in wfadch be was of course joined by the boys. The crest-fallen tailor, without staying further to ques- tion, turned round, and with the port of a much-injured man, walked out with his rubicund cat under his arm, as he had walked in.'
A very interesting natural history of the cat is given, from which we gather, among other things, that the animal was domesticated among the Egyptians, being often found with the mummies in their cat-acombs, and sculptured on the monuments of that ancient country. If the readier has ever seen a cat pounce upon a hapless rnoofle, he will recognise in the following a very faithful picture : ^
' SoMC have found it difficult to account for the cause of the cat's proficiency in the art of iagenionsly tormenting. A scene of this sort is a horrible sight to any one of good feeling ; bat it is not at all clear that the cat, thouj^h she evidently takes great delight in we sport, per-
'^ I the contrvy, it seems that she
petrates the act as a mere gratification of wanton cruelty. On I
rssorts to this agonizing amusement as an exercise to sharpen ner powers, or to keep, as it
nwa, bar hand in. A kitfetn, three parts grown, is very much given to ttds pastime. Tbv
1(56 Editor's Table. [February.
mouse, ia itt paroxysmfl of terror, leaps aloft : the cat secures the rietim with a bound. 8he then remains quite quiet, giving the panting trembler time to recorer, and presently the poor mouse attempts to steal off gently. Hhe suffers him to go on — he aoickena his pace — he ia near the door — you feol almost certain that he is safe ; bounce I she pitches on the wretch, and has him secure. In this way the mouse is made to exhaust all his powers of strength and in* ;enuity in his anxious endearors to escape ; while the cat. like a cunning fencer, ia ezercisinf If tof ' .. . ^ .. -r .... ...
herself to foresee and counteract every attempt. Sometimes a cat with kittens will slightly cripple two or three young rats, which she keeps under surreillance, occaaionaT* ' -
one for the sport and practice <>f herself and family. Bat a cat knows better
this system with a bir(
winged prey at once.'
cripple two or three young rats, which she keeps under surreiUance, occaaionallr taming oat one for the sport and practice <>f herself and family. Bat a cat knows better tnan to portoe this system with a bird which she has knocked down with a coup de patU; no; she kills the
An amusing account is given of a counterfeit animal who did duty for a cat in the play of * Harlequin Whittinoton,' at one of the London theatres :
* When the rats ran about * to eat all np,' to the great consternation of the king, and the in- finite delight of the holiday children, both small and great, down the captain of the ship pot Whittinoton's cat. The cat did his dut^, and was always emelly severe npon one partlciuar scamperer, evidentlv not formed of paateboard, and made to feel * he was no actor tnere :' ao far so good, excepting that the principal pierformer was rather of the least for a pontomimie cat, and moreover pursued his prey more in the canine than the feline stvle. StiU he got ap- plause, and all went well, save with the poor real rat: who appeared for uat night only. Bat when the victorious 6at was brought forward to the floats in the arms of the captain, aor- rounded by the admiring king and queen and their whole court, panting from the recent de^ and with a real red elongation of tongue hanging out of his mouth, tSi the terrier was con- fessed I'
Oar author expresses strong doubts of the authenticity of the abnost sacred story of WHrrriNGTON and bis cat : * Cat it might have been, but it was no roooser. Do we not know that eatta signified a vessel 7 Does not the profound Bahxt acknow- ledge this, when under the word catta he says, Videtur gentu esse lunigii qmod et angU nos didmuSf a cat ? Did nH Philip once build a great ship, and was nH she named Catus 7 We hope here be truths.' Ruthless inconoclast ! what sort of aifii* ment is this ? * I Ml not believe it !' will be the world-wide exclamation of * diikbeB and youth.' We agree with our author touching the existence of afiection in the warm furry bosom of a cat We had an iustauee of this when, afler eight yean* ab- sence, we returned to the ' home of our childhood,' and were so cordially weloomsd by a ' colored TnoMAS-cat' that he became what Mrs. Gam? calls * a nugiance,' fiir he would not leave us under any circumstances. When we walked, he robbed against am legs, in and out, back add forth, all the while ; and whenever we sat down, he would jump up into our lap, purr, and try to salute us with his rather pointed moos- tache. A story is here given of a favorite cat that would not be parted from, its dying master ; was with difficulty driven from the chamber of death ; and even after tke body was ' compounded with the dust whereto 't was kin,' would return again and again to the grave, although repeatedly chased from the church-yard, and thero lie, braving hunger for hours. No, no ; Puss, although * a piteous, sqaalling, jarriBf lover,' is nevertheless often an affectionate creature, and we are glad to see the raea so well defended.
Some French author, whose name we forget, speakmg of mankmd, says they ne • moities singes et moities tigres.' Some of our readers, therefore, mnst needs aflfeet the subject of Monkeys ; an order of mammiferous animals which has always Been and always will be regarded with feelings of mingled interest and disgust, by reason of its amusing tricks and the caricature which it presents of * us humans f an appa« rent similarity only, however, which vanishes before anatomical investigration. We learn for the first time that these agile creatures are * excellent eating.' * Waiter^ a dish of monkey, rare !' is an order that we have never heard at an American resta»' rant. Here ensues an amusing anecdote of an ape at Plarfanarifo, Pntcb ' Tbf wfUer bad killed a female monkey :
1849.] Editor's Table. 167
« As she ctxTied on her back a young one, which had not been wounded, we took them both along with ns ; and when we returned to the plantation, my ape had not quitted the shoulders of its mother. It clung so closely to them, that I was obliged to have the assistance of a negro to disengage them ; but scarcely was it separated from her, when, like a bird, it darted upon a wooden block that stood near, covered with my father's peruke, which it embraced with its foor paws, nor could it be compelled to quit its position. Deceived by its instinct, it still imanned itself to be on the back of its mother, ana under her protection. As it seemed per* fectly at ease on the peruke, I resolved to suffer it to remain, and to feed it there with goats' milk. It continued in its error for three weeks ; but after that period, emancipating itself from its own authority, it quitted the fostering peruke, and by its amusing tricks became the friend and favorite of the whole family.'
It is difficult to suppress a smilo at the idea of a monkey cliuging to a full-bottom wig on a Mock, and fancying it its mother, when that mother couldn't even know that it was 'oat.' Tliere is a laughable story of a monkey, most quaintly told in * The Hundred Mery TalySf' printed in the year 1578, and accidentally discovered by CoNTBEAREa the lamented antiquarian. A master sends his Welch retainer with a letter to the Chief Justice, in order to obtsiin favor for a criminal who had been in the writer's flerrice, with directions to the said Welchman to return with an answer. The story then proceeds thus :
* This Welcheman came to the Chefe Justyce place, and at the gate saw an ape syttynge there in a cote made for hym. as they use to ajl^arell apes for disporte. This Welcheman dyd of his d^pe and made curtsye to the ape, and sayd : *M.j mayster recommendeth him to my lorde youre father, and sendeth him here a letter.' This ape toke this letter and opened it, and lokyd thereon, and after lokyd vpon the man, makynge many mockes and moyes, as the propertyes of apes is to do. This Welcheman, because he understood him not, came agayne to his mayster, accordynge to his commandos, and told hym he delyvered the letter unto my lorde chefe iustioe sonne, who was at the gate in a furred cote. Anone his mayster asked him what amswere he broughte f The man sayd he gaue hym an answere, but it was other Frenche or Laten, for he nnderstode him not. * But, 8yr,' quod he, ' ye nede not to fere, for I saw in Us countenance so moche, that I warranto you he wyll do your errande to my lorde his father.' This gen^lman in truste thereof made not anye further suite ; for lacke whereof his seruaunt that luMi done the felonye witl\in a monthe after was rayned at the kynge's benche, and caste, •ad afterwarde hanged.'
And what does the reader think is the moral which was educed from this incident by our quaint old author? * Some reflection, perhaps, upon the impunity of those attached to the great, with a hint at 6od*8 judgment against unjust judges?' No fluch thmg : ' By this ye may see that every wyse man ought to take hede that he ■ende not a folyssche seruante vpon a hasty message that is a matter of nede.' Not a bad specimen of the morality of * the good old times.' Have the goodness to laugh eneoaragingly at the following, if it isn't too much trouble:
* A M OBTKBT that was permitted to ran free had frequently seen the men-servants in the great ouaauj kitchen, with its huge fire-place, take down a powder*hom that stood on the chimney- piece and throw a few grains into the fire, to make Jemima and the rest of the maids jump sad scream, which they always did on such occasions very lustily. Puo watched his oppor- toni^, and when all was still, and he had the kitchen entirely to himself, he clambered up, got possession of the well-filled powder-horn, perched himself very gingerly on one of the hori- zontal wheels placed for the support of sauce-pans, right over the waning ashes of an almost extinct wood-fire, screwed off the top of the horn, and reversed it over the grate.
* The explosion sent him half way up the chimnev. Before he was blown up he was a smug, trim, well-conditioned monkey as you would wish to sec of a summer's day ; he came down a carbonadoed nigger in miniature, in an avalanche of burning soot. The d jAomb with which ho pitched upon the hot ashes, in the midst of the general flare-up, aroused him to a sense of his condition. He was missing for days. Hunger at last drove him forth, and he sneaked into tile house, close-singed, begrimed, and looking scared and devilish. He recovered with care, bat lUco some other great personages, he never got over bis sudden elevation and fall, but be- came a sadder if not a wiser monkey. If ever Puo forgot himself and was troublesome, you had oalj to take down a powder-horn in his presence, and he was off to his hole like a shot, SCToaming and clattering his jaws like a pair of castanets.'
Many other very amusing anecdotes of monkeys arc related ; especially of one
who, sitting in a child's high chair at his master's table, (a pcruked old bachelor,) saw
the guests helped to a piece of delicious p&tisscrie, while he was neglected. He was
tM well-bred to make any indecorous snatch at the attraction, ae moat monkey
VOL. XXXIII. 22
168 Editor's Table. [February,
would have done ; at last, however, he coold stand it no longer ; so looking to the right and left, and finally fixing his eyes on the guests opposite, he quietly lifted up his hand behind his master^s back, and gave his tail such a tug as made the powder fly, withdrew his hand in an instant, and sat with a vacant expression of the greatest innocence. People do n't like to have their tails pulled. His master gave him a look, and Jacko gave him another, which said as plainly as look could speak : * Do n't be angry ; do n't thrash me ; they did not see it ; I beg your pardon, but I mu9t have a bit of that apricot tart !' He was forgiven and helped.' The autlior mentions a sin- gular compact entered into between a monkey and a pig, the latter of which was to carry the monkey across an orchard, to a favorite apple-tree, on condition that the monkey should climb the tree and give it a shake, for the benefit of the * party of the first part' A clever monkey is mentioned by Humdoldt, whom he saw obtaining his rides without any such understanding. He used to bide his time, and every morn- ing caught a luckless pig, which he compelled to perform the part of his horse. Seated on pigback, he rode majestically about the whole day, clinging to his bristly steed as firmly as the * Old Man of the Sea' clung to Sinbad, the veracious voyager. We subjoiu one or two additional sketches, fancying that perchance our readers ' want to see the monkeys more.' The following is an incident in the life of one of the tribe from the old continent, a ' Wanderow' called, then at a London menagerie :
* He would run up his pole and throw himself over the cross-bar, so aa to swinff backward and forward, as he hung suspended by the chain which held the leaUiem strap that girt his loins. The expression of hi^ countenance was peculiarly innocent; but he waa sly, Tery aJty, and not to be approached with impunity by thOHc who valued their head-gear. He woald ait demurely on his cross-perch, pretending to look another way, or to examine a nut-shell ftr aome remnant of kernel, till a proper victim came within his reach ; when down the pole he mshed, and up he was again in the twinkling of an eye. leaving the bare-headed snrpriaed one minus hiti hat. at least, which he had the satisfaction of seeing undergoing a varie^ of meta- morphoses under the plastic hands of the grinning ravi^her. not at all calculated to improve a shape which the taste of a Moore, perhaps, had designed and executed. It was whispwed — korrescimtu referentcsl — that he once scalped a bishop who ventured too near, notwithstandiiif the caution given to his lordship by another dignitary of the church, and that it waa aome time before he could be made to give up, with much mowing and chattering, the weU-powdered wig which ho had profanely transferred from the sacred poll to his own. The lorde spiritoal of the present day, with one or two laudable exceptiona, are safe from such sacrilege ; now it would be nearly as difficult to take a wig oflf a bishop as it once was to take the * breeks' aS m Highlandraan.
' But another Wanderow confined in the open part of the gardens in the Regent* a Park was of a different temperament. Tiierc was raelancholy about this creature- He would climb his pole, ascend to his elevated housetop, and there sit for half an hour together, gazhig wistftdly at that distant portion of the park which presented, when viewed from bis poaltioii, Uie ap- pearance of a thick wood, every now and then looking down, as if he were contrasting tiie amooth-shaven painted pole to which they had fettered him with the nigged, living * colaoms of the evergreen palaces' of his fathers.'
A single anecdote of one of another species, that managed to escape from his cage into the enclosure of a menagerie at Paris, must close our Monktyana :
•Irbitated by the stubborn refusal of the baboon to return, his keeper, not very pnxdentiy, threatened him with a stick. This, instead of producing the desired effect, roused all tae ferocity of the beast, and be flew at the unfortunate man, whom he wounded so severely la the thigh as to endanger his life. The monkey continued at large, though almost every expe- dient to make him return to confinement was resorted to. No ; all would not do. At last it was recollected that the keeper's daughter, who had been kind to the prisoner, seemed to be a decided favorite; so the pretty Frenchwoman, tirie a qvatre ^pingles, appeared at a grated daot opposite to that of the cage through which the animal had to pass. But even so powerful s lure had no effect till n man approached the belle and pretended to caress her. This was too much : the poor jeHlous dupe could not bear the sight He darted furiously through the open door of his prison nt the hateful intruder, ond was inftontly secured. This was treacherous; but aa the lordn of the creation themselves, from Samson down to the Machkaths, have been the victimij of the dear delightful deluders, a monkey has nu right to complain.'
We have often seen a monkey leap upon an elephant ; why then may we not take* a similar leap from thn monkey * stand-point?' » We shall ; and we wish we had space
1849.] Editor^s TahU, 169
to copy the admirable description wnich Mr. Broderip gives of an elephant's trunk, that wonderful organ, which is almost equal toihc hand of man, and one of the most elaborate pieces of mechanism in the world : < The proboscis is the elephant's pump, his drinking-cnp, his water reservoir, \i\a jet (Tcau, from whose fountain he besprinkles his broad back and ample body ; his powdering apparatus, wherewith he puffii the collected dust over his moistened hide, to protect it from flies ; his foraging instrument, with which he collects his food, from the enormous leafy branch torn from the lofty tree, to the stalk of grass, or the barleycorn picked up from the ground ; his tooth- brush, (we have seen one rub his teeth with mud-dentifrice by its aid,) and his all- powerful arm. Such is this wonderful concentration of might and skill, capable of the most tremendous exertion and the most delicate adjustment, now dashing a strong Irving man against a wall, from which he falls a mashed and blood-stained inanimate mass, at the behest of an eastern tyrant, and anon gathering up the comfits granted aa the terrible brute's reward.' So various are the uses to which the elephant puts his trunk, that some closet zoologists have contended that an infant elephant nurses Urn mother with it! Not so, however, * by a trunk-full.' The error of the * trunk- socking faction' arose from their having seen the young elephant -'calf touching the breasts of its mother (which are situated on the chest) with its proboscis ; but it no more nuraea with that organ than a baby does with its hand. What is its mouth made for, we should like to know ! It has a mouth, and almost as much * openneaa when it smiles' as an anaconda. Here follows an instance of * combined eflbrt* on the part of elephants, without the direct guidance of man. The account is unde- niably authentic :
* Two elephants had been directed to knock down a wall, by Uie direction of their guides, who had dismissed them to their task with their trunks guarded by leather, and with the usual promise of fruit and spirituous liquors if thev performed it well. The elephants proceeded to their work, not singly, but doubling up their guarded trunks, they combined their forces, and swaying themselves in equal and measured time, these huge living battering-rams pro- pelled their broad fronts against the building. As it shook under the repetition of their over- powering and uniform shocks, they watched the vacillating equilibrium of the tottering wall, and harmg made, at the precisely proper moment, one grand, simultaneous effort, suddenly drew back to avoid the tumbling ruins. This may be * what we somewhat superciliously call iastfaict.' to use the expressive language of the author of ' Vnthck,' but it looks very like rea- son. Two men could not have wielded their instruments of dentruction with more efficiency and discretion. In the case of these elephants, the utmost possible advantage was taken of tifteir own organization. The broad and massive forehead, expanded and fortihed by the volu- minous cellular sinus which separates the external from the internal table of the skull, the short, compact neck, and the impulse of the well-balanced, overwhelming weight, were all brooght to Dear in the most effecnve manner.*
An elephant left alone has often acted according to the necessities of the case, with the most remarkable inU
•Takx, for example, the story told by the author of 'Twelve Years' Military Adventure,* hHm deeUrea that he had seen the wife of a guide give a baby in charge to an elephant while she went on some business, and had observed the sagacity and care of the unwieldy nurse, to Ids great amusement. The babe, with the restlessness of childhood, began, as soon as it was left to itself, to crawl about, getting; In the course of its vagaries sometimes under the huge laps of the animal, and at others becoming entangled anoong the branches of the trees on wUeh he was feeding. On such occasions the elephant would in the most tender manner dis- engage the child, either by lifting it out of the way with its trunk, or removing the impedi- asents to its progress in the same manner. When the child bad crawled so far as nearlv U> raaeh the limits of the elephant's range, (for he was chained by the leg to a stump driven into Ibe gnraad,) he would protrude his trunk and lift the child back, as gently as possible, to the spot whence it had started. No old woman could have tended her charge with more show of
Our readers have doubtless read many instances of the humorous revenge, taken by elephants upon visitors, or others, who have ' hurt their feelings' by discourteous €t mhospiiable treatment. The anecdote especially of the elephantine * squirt' that
170 Editor's Table. [February,
sprinkled with dirty water the tailor who pricked him with a needle, is familiar to
every school -boy. But we suspect the following wilt possess the merit of novelty:
' A vssT intelligent elephant wm shown, some years since, in a caravan of wild beasts at a £idr in the west ot England. One of those practical jokers, whose wit lies in pouring melted tmtter into a friend's pocket, or conveying a putrid oyster into his plate, had Men d<Ming out some gingerbread nuts of the first quality to the elephant, who received the instalments, small as they were, with satisfaction and gratitude, manifesting the latter by the spontaneona per> formance of some of his tricks between the somewhat protracted intervals of supply. Sod* denly his bene&ctor produced a large paper parcel, weighing some two or three pounds, and presented it en nuuae. The elephant took it as it was, and consigned the whole to his powerful crushing-mill. Hardly, however, had he swallowed the dose, before he gave a loud roar, and exhibited all the symptoms of suffering severely from internal heat, handing — yes, hmtding^ for the trunk acted as dexterously as a nand — the bucket to his keeper, as if b^eeehing for water, which was given to him, and of which he continued to pour floods sufficient to dnve a mUI down his capacious and burning throat.
* * Ha !' said the joker, addressing his victim, * those nuts were a trifle hot, old fellow, I gneis I* ' * You had better be off;* exclaimed the keeper, ' unless you want the bucket at your head;
and sarve you right, too I'
* The dispenser of ginger and pepper took the hint ; for there was an angry fflare in the drink- er's eye while the distressed beast was pumping up his sixth bucketful ; and in good time he took It ; for he had scarcely cleared the entrance of the show, when the empty bucket was hurled after him by the elephant with such force and correctness of aim, tiiat if he had been a moment later his joking would in all probability have been terminated with his life on the spot
' A year had passed away, and the wayfarers from the country villages trod over Uie withered leaves that had, when fresh, green and vigorous, shielded their heads from the burning sum- mer's sun, as they aeain bent their steps to the same annual autumnal fair, where the r^^^^Wlt had been before exhibited, and where ne was again ready to receive company.
' Our joker was again among his visitors, and, forgetful of his narrow escape from the bucket^ which at the time another wit observed he had been near kicking, came, as before, with one coat-pocket filled with ' best nuts,' and the other with hot nuts. He gave the elephant two or three nuts from the best sample, and then drew forth and presented him with a not one. No sooner had the elephant tasted it, than he seized the coat-tails of his tormentor, and with one whirling sweep with his trunk lifted him from the ground, till, the tails giving way, the man dropped half-dead with frieht, and with his coat reduced to a jacket. The elephant meanwhile quietly inserted the end of his trunk into the pocket containing the best nuts, and leisurely proceeded, keeping his foot on the coat-tails, to discuss every nut of them. When he had fin> ished the last, he tramnled upon the pocket containing the hot nuts, till he had reduced them to a mash ; and then, after having torn the tails to rags, threw the soiled fragments at the bead of his facetious firiend, amid the derision of the assembled crowd.'
But we most pause. We have given the reader an ample taste of the quality of these * Recreations ;* and he that would read more, let him proceed to that noble in- stitution, the * Mercantile Library,' at Clinton Hall, and inquire of the coarteons and gentlemanlike attendant there for the complete book, and if it be not * out* it ' shall be ^ given him.'
Fine-Arts Dbpository. — * Speaking generally, as a general thing,' we i say that our people probably have but a meagre idea of the modem French and Ger- man schools of art For this, of course, they have not heretofore been to blame ; as there were no worthy specimens of these schools accessible to the public, and oor ideas of continental art, as of continental literature, dinners, kisses, and all other things continental whatsoever, have been dribbled into our brains through Englirii goose-quiils. But now we have no longer this excuse : the comprehensive and really choicely-selected gallery of Goupil, Vibert, et Gib., on the comer of Broadway and Reade-street, has fairly supplied this deficiency ; and it will henceforth be an impardonable piece of ignorance not to know something of such exquisite artists as Delaroohb, Art Schbffer, Landille, Waldhullbr, Court, GRdNLaun and MuLLER, some of whose finest original works adom this gallery. Beside the traly sublime * Dead Christ,' by the great religious painter of modem Europe, Ajit Sghkt- rsR, you may see here an * Undine' by Mullbr, some frait and flower painting by Gr5ni.aud, several female figures and faces by Laudellb and Court, with a wealth of other beaatifiil things, not to be conjured ont of our ink-stand at the preMnt aittiiig.
1849.]
Ediiar's Table.
171
GfiaB? WITH Readers and CoRRKfPONDENTs. — * Ho ! for California !* < Ho ! for California !' Oh, certainly ; < ho ! for California !' But let us ask those who are « well off,' and only desire to be * better off;' who are about leaving wives and chil- dren, to seek for the * gold that perisheth ;' to read the following ' lAnes to a Gold Csiii,' written at Cherioal, India, by Letden, a Scottish poet :
' Slavs of the dark and dirty mine I What Tsnity has brought thee hero ?
How can 1 bear to tee Uiee shine So bright, whom I hare bought to deart The tent-ropes flapping lono I hear,
For twiUxht conTerse, arm in arm ; The Jacsars shriek bursts on mine ear,
Where mirth and music wont to charm.
*By Ch6ricAl's dark wandering streams,
Where cane-tufts shadow all Uie wild. Sweet risioms haunt my waking dreams
Of Teriot lored whUe still a chUd ;
Of castle rocks stupendous piled By Esk or Edin's classic wave.
Where lores of jouth and friendship smOed, Uneursed by thee, vile yellow slave I
' Fade, daj-dreams sweet, from memoir fade t
The perished bliss of youth's first prime, niat once so bright on fancy played,
BeTires no more in after time.
Far from my sacred natal clime, I haste to an untimely graro ;
The daring thoughu that soared sublime Are sunk in ocean's southern ware.
Slave of the mine I thy yellow Ught
Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear : A gentle Tision comes by night
My lonely widowed heart to cheer ;
Her eyes are dim with many a tear That once were guiding stars to mine :
Her fond heart throbs with many a fear : I cannot bear to see thee shine I
■ For thee, for thee, rile yellow slave I I left a heart that loved me true ;
I crossed the tedious ocean-wave, To roam in climes unkind and new : The cold wind of the stranger blew
Chill on my- withered heart : the grave Dark and untimely met my view —
And all for thee, vile yellow slave I
' Ha ! comest thou now so late to mock A wanderer's banished hesrt forlorn,
Now Uiat his frame the lightning shock Of stu-rays tipt with death has borne t From love, from friendship, country, toni^
To memory's fond regret the prey ; Vile slave I thy yellow dross I scorn —
Go mix thee witn thy kindred clay I'
How many who shall brave the ' son-rays tipped with death' that reveal the yel- low * slave of the mine' in California, will look back upon the scenes and friends they have left perhaps forever behind them ! . . . Has it come to this ? * Well, if ho8 .*' painting the human face has certainly come- in vogue again among certain belles of the metropolis ; ay, and among certain ci-devant married beaux, too, if we may trust anthentic report The art has its disadvantages, however. A * well-painted woman,' take she never so much pains to4nvite the approach of lovers, is obliged to keep them at a certain distance ; a sigh in a languishing lover, if brought too near her, would dasolve a feature ; and a kiss surreptitiously snatched by a forward one, might trans- fer the complexion of the mistress to the admirer — and that would * make it bad.* Apropos of this: what fine black hair, and glossy saUe moustaches some of our yoong friends and contemporaries, who have been counterfeiting gray hair and whis- kets so long, have lately permitted to assume their natural appearance ! As Placide aays in * The Man of Nerve,' they are now * Miles G. Aspens, twenty years of Mgel' . . . Isn't the ensuing epistle rather a good hit-off of the figurative or com- parative style, 80 common in certain portions of this good republic of onra? Just scan jt» reader, and see if you do n't think so :
' I wow take my pen in hand to write to you, to inform you that I got here as safe as a tldef la a mill, two days after I left you and the rest of my friends. I was crammed into a stage- wagon, where the passengers were as thick as crows in a corn-field, and the Jouncin' of the carriage made me as sick as death ; yet I am now, by the blessing of Heaven, perfectly re- covered, snd feel as hearty as a buck. I have bought a new suit of clothes, which sit as slick as a whistle ; and sure as a gun, if you should see me now, you would grin like a 'painter.' Hie gentleman thati live with is as sour as a erab ; but to make some amends for his iU-nators, Us wUip is as pleaMAt as a baskst of oUpii snd Us danghten srs as lively m a psa on a hot
172 Editor's Tahh. (Febraary,
■hovel ; though, to tell the truth, one of 'em is as homely aa a carpenter'a cheat of toola. I know I shan't like km, for he is as snappish as a mud-turtle if I let a customer go out of tho shop without tradin*. He says a merchant's clerk should have a tongue aa amootii aa goose- grease, and be able to lie without blushing ; and he should be as limber aa a weasel, and aa foil of bows when a lady comes in as a dog is of fleas. When he tells the women how much his goods cost him, he winks like a toad under a currant-bush. On Sunday I went to hear Mr. 8 -^ preach, who, boss says, is the only man that knows how to preach the gospel ; though I thought he was no more up to our parson than chalk is to cheese. Monday was mnater day, bat I was aa bu^y as a bee, and so did n't train ; but if I had, I should hare been as wet as a drownded rat, for it rained all day. Some of those who did train, looked as sour aa bonny-clabber; but they had to go, aa they were ' in for it,' as the toad said when he saw the man a-comhx'. Mr. Linchpin, the teamster, is waiting for this, and I must break off as short aa a goaf a taiL'
We have otmelyeci heard oar eastern fellow-citizens use almost every mmile con- tained in the above epistle. They sound oddly enough, however, when brought to- gether in one document . . . Admirb with us, reader, the following most * flowing' stanzas. You will remember them a long time ; for, to say nothing of the sentiment, there is such a happy collocation of words in the piece, that somehow or other it is impossible to forget it We read it for the first time twenty years ago neariyt and it is at this moment as vivid as ever in our memory :
* Onk eve of beauty, when the sun
Was on the stream of Guadalquirer, Togold converting, one by one,
The ripples of that mighty river; Beside me on the bank was seated
A Seville girl, with auburn hair, And eyes that might the world have cheated —
A wild, bright, wicked, diamond pair.
' She stooped and wrote upon the sand,
Just aa the loving sun waa going. With such a soft, small, shining hand.
You would have sworn 't was silver flowing : Her words were three, and not one more ;
What could Diana's motto be f The syren wrote upon the shore,
' Death I not inconstancy I'
* And then her two large languid eves
So turned on mine, the devil take me t I set the stream on fire with sighs,
And was the fool she chose to make me. Saint Francis would have been deceived
By such an eye and such a hand ; But one week more, and I believed
As much the woman aa the sand I'
A raiEND tells us, that sitting in an inn in Baltimore, the other day, he was struck with the singular appearance of an old Guinea negro, ' black as the ace of spades,' who was attending to some menial duty in the travellers' room. His face was scarred and seamed, his legs were dreadfully awry, and his hands seemed almost turned wrong side outward, and in form and color resembled more than any thing else the paws of a wild animal, or the hands of an orang-outang. Our informant inquired of Pompet what had occasioned these deformities. * Wal, dey ts beformities, massa, dat 's fac'. Wal den, I '11 tell you how dey come, maasa. 'Good many years ago, I whs in Inb wid a handsum black gal, and we was same as married ; and one day I see a nigger oomin' out o' de house. I knew dat man, an' uf I am a nigger I hab my feelin's. I was full ob de debbil in my heart ag*in him, 'cos I know'd him, and I know'd where he worked — e'yah ! e'yah ! He worked in a powder-mill ; and next day I went vp dar. I went to de door and looked in, and dar I see him; an' I took a ooalo^ file daft I
1849.] Editor^ 8 Table. 173
had bftmght akmgr, and (row'd it in on to do floor. Gor-amighty, massa, *fore I could get away myae*/, dere was do biggest flash o' lightnin' / ebber see, and dat was do last I know'd any t'ing ^nt dat business for two months. 'T would a-becn all right, dough, but de man 'twas dar was not de nigger I t'ought! He's a dead nigger his-se*f, dongfa, long ago ; and I was glad ob it when he went, 'cos he always looked at me as if he *d got de best ob it ; and he did got de best ob it, massa, dat 's fac' ; for I was n't de han'sumest nigger den dat dar was in Maryland — dat's sartain sure. E'yah ! e*yah!* He shambled away, and our friend saw him no more. ... Is there any one, among all our rcaden ; in the silence of the night-watches, or when the first thoughts of morning rush upon the re&wakened mind ; who has not sometimes felt with Sir Humphrby Davy, in his * Salmonia :' * I envy no quality of the mind or intellect in others, be ft genius, power, wit, or fancy ; but if I could choose what would be most delightful, and I believe most useful to me, I should prefer a firm reli- gious belief to every other blessing ; for it makes life a discipline of goodness ; creates new hopes, when all earthly hopes vanish ; and throws over the decay, the destruc- tion of existence, the most gorgeous of all lights ; awakens life even in death ; and from corruption and decay calls up beauty and divinity ; makes an instrument of torture and shame the ladder of ascent to Paradise ; and, far above all combinations of earthly hopes, calls up the most delightful visions of palius and amaranths ; the gardens of the blessed ; the security of everlasting joys, where the sensualist and the sceptic view only gloom, decay, annihilation and despair.' . . . Stammering, although somewhat inconvenient to those afflicted with it, and often exciting our sympathies for the sufferer, is sometimes witnessed under circumstances so ludicrous as to cause us momentarily to forget its true character. We heard a friend relate the other day the following authentic anecdote. A countryman, an inveterate stam- merer, trading at the city of St John, New-Brunswick, among other articles on his list of * wants' had a file. Stepping into a shop near at baud, (the owner of which happened himself to be a stutterer,) he hastily addressed the man at the counter with : • Ha-ha-ha-have you g-g-g(^-go-got any f-f-f-files V * N-n-n-no, Sir, we have n't g'g'tS6'fS^S^^ ^^y f-f-f-files.' Quick as thought the sensitive and excited countryman's fist was seen in immediate and dangerous proximity to the affrighted shop-keeper's nose, while he thundered out : * You inf-f-femal sc-sc-ouudrel you, what do you mean by mo-mo-mockiug me ?' ... In the Euphuistic stylo of compliment, we do not remember ever to have met a more felicitous thing than this :
' PaoiocTUKus stole fire, the poets all say, To enliven the image he 'd modelled of clav ; Had fair Uary boon with him, the beams of her ejes
To enliven the image he 'd modelled of clav Had fair Uary been with him, the beams of Would have saved him the trouble of robbing the skies.'
* Knocking head, in token of respect and thanks,' as the Chinese have it, the Editor hereof wishes * Isaac Watkins, Jr.,' (a * weak invention,' though not of * the enemy,) health and happiness. A better ' budget' is seldom opened :
' Doufn- E(ut, December^ 1848.
* Mr. Knick. : Overhauling the pigeon-holes and sly corners in the office of one of our vil- lage attorneys, for the purpose of cleaning up and ' setting to rights,' I fell upon divers ' cob- wriM,' some of which I have been tempted to send to you. Thus :
*How I GOT INTO Bu8iNX83. — About three months after my admission to the bar, my door was opened for the first time by a client Long and dreary days were those during which I Usteaed in vain for Uie foot-falls of my first client He came at length, in the person of a Green MovBtain boy, who had been arraigned for an assault on one Snow Houbk. Hastening to the oAee of tiie prosaeotiag attorney, big with the importance of a case, I found there tiie attorney,
174 Editof^s Tabu. [February,
the magistrate, (a shrewd Scotchman, who knew Robkrt Bubns, and had read ' Tarn O'Sbsmter* in the poet's manuscript,) the complainant, and sundry anxious spectators. The attorney for the prosecution, having read in magnificent style the complaint and warrant, proceeded to say :
* May it please your honor : it cannot hare escaped the court's attention, although it may not hare been noticed by the young gentleman who appears to be for the defence, yet, I say. It cannot hare escaped your attention, that I have departed from the usual form in drawing Chia warrant. I have not caused it to be issued in the name of ' Tub State or Maine,' as is the common practice. On making inquiry of the complainnnt into the suckumstances (he always pronoimced it so) of this case, I was of opinion that they were not sufficiently aggrarated to authorize me to grant a warrant in the name and behalf of the Statr, but would jutHfy me in ittuing one in the name of the gentleman injured, which I accordingly hare done. With this explanation, which I hope will be pufTectly satisfactory to the court, I will now state ' all and folly' the eri^ denoe which we expect to offer, and on which we shall rely for a conriction.' Having finished his * opening/ the learned counsel took his seat ; when I ventured a motion to quash the ' docu- ments,' for that they were not * in the name of the State of Maine.' ' 1 shall allow that motion,' said the justice, before the complainant's counsel had time to make any remarks thereon. The warrant was ' squashed.' I got my name up that day.
* My next call was from a young man, a son of one of the ' merchant princes' of Boston, who was at that time (in 1835, the season of the ' land fever,') stopping in * our village,' where his father had recently made some ' heavy' real-estate purchases. He was a wild boy, and teould tipple. One day he came into the office, a little * tight' and greatly excited. ' 'Squire,' said
he, • I want a warrant against J ^ the shoemaker, as quick as you can make it.' 'What
has he been doing f I asked. • Why, he 'a abuaed me shnmefully, and 1 won't submit to it I'
* Well, what has he done f Did he strike you V ' No, but he abused me ; he called me a d^d scoundrel, and / want to make him prove hie words ."
' Among other things I found in an old brown-covered note-book the following, which, re- lating as it does to the worthy deacon mentioned in a late number of your ' usefixl' Magazine, I transcribe ; remarking, however, that he was no deacon— only a Methodist On the conclu- sion of a long and fervent prayer at one of the nightly prayer-meetings in his own city, in a season of great awakening there, having dwelt on tiie mercy and goodness of God, as mani- fested in His works and His presence among them, he wound up his outpouring of gratitude by adding: * And now, O Lord, we would not wish to dictate^ but would humbly mggest the pro- prUty of a revival over In B r I'
* And another: Two members of the same society had become sureties to a contract for building a church, and one of them had been compelled to pay a large sum thereon ; and not being able to get his money from the society, the principal in the obligation sued his co-surety for contribution. At the trial, which was before Chief-Justice Wh^n, (one of the great men of Maine, now about to descend from the bench he has so long honored and dignified ; a rare, true man ; never coaxed nor scared from what he believed to be right, and a genial humorist withal ;) the ex-governor, of whom you have heard, was counsel for the defendant, and our deacon friend (but I hisist he was n't a deacon,) was a witness for the plaintiff. The plaintiff desired to prove by the witness that at a church-meeting the defendant had, at least by implica- tion, admitted his liability in the suit then pending. The witness stated that the defendant complained to the meeting that he had been sued for moneys which they had agreed to pay and ought to pay ; that they had neglected and refused to do what was right, and he was in consequence in danger of being hauled in and made to pay a large amount. ' He used,' said the witness, ' a great deal of hard language toward the brethren, and we thought he <t-6tMs^ some of them.' • Well, Mr. witness,' asked the ex-governor, ' what did you do ?' 'Why, he
talked very hard about us, and used unchristian language, and we — ah — ah ' * Did yoa
agree to pay the debt t' interrupted the ex-governor. ' No : he talked very hard, and we could not get along with him ; and so we had to — to turn him out ." ' Oh,' said the judge, looking orer hii double specs, ' you could n*t pay him, and so you excommunicated him /'
* 1 am, I hope,
' Excusably yours, — • Isaac Watkins, J».*
Wb sat the other day for a little while to see a free-spoken, ingenuous young man, who had few conceahneuts of plan or purpose, have his brains picked by one of your still, designing petsons, who dignify selfish meannses with the name of * tact' or
1849.J Editor's Table. 17/!^
* policy.' TheM are the sort of woridly ^ntry that we like especially to meet There is only one game to play with them. Fix a full round eye unwinkingly upon thein ; follow no * lead' of converBation ; exchange words eqiuilly with them ; and if they close a brief and careful sentence with an inquiring * I suppose?' or a conservative ' Yoa will do so, perhaps?' answer to the first,* Indeed?' and to the second, < Perhaps.' We say it with a full consciousness of the self-satire conveyed in the remark, never- theless we say it, that this kind of inquisitors would find our brains * very poor pick- ing.' . . . < Plbasx tell your correspondent,' says a friend, m a note to the EDrroft, < who writes you on the subject of * American Hereditary Aristocracy,* that the whole thing has been done extremely well in three stanzas by that very clever satiristr your old correspondent, John G. Saxb :
' Or all the notable things on euth, The queerest one is pride of birth
Among oar * fierce democracie !' A bridge across a hundred years. Without a prop to sare it from sneers. Not eren a couple of rotten peen ; A thing for hmghter, fleers and jeers,
Is American aristocracy I
' English and Irish, French and Seanish, German, Italian, Dutch and Danish, Crossing their veins nntil ttej ranish
In one conglomeration ! So subtle a tangle of blood, indeed, No heraldry lUmvsT will ever succeed In finding the circulation I
on it, my snobbish friend, eady
Tour family thread you can't ascend.
Without good reason to apprehend
You may find it waxed at the other end /
By some plebeian rocation I Or, worse than that, your boasted Line May end in a loop of stronger twine
That plaguea some worthy relation V
Wb have received some lines from Schenectady, entitled * The Dedd know not Anf- thing* So far as a knowledge of what constitutes poetry is concerned, our corres- pondent has shown that there are some of the living who have very little advantage over the dead. . . . The following lucid exposition of what constitutes an * interro- gatory* in law was lately made to a juvenile * inquiring mind' by a distinguished * law- yer at law :' * My dear, an interrogatory is a very explicit method, used principally in chancery proceedings, for obtaining a. correct answer to a simple question. Thus : ' Whether John Jones, on such a day, and at such a place, did, should, could» would might, or ought ; or whether he did n't, should n't, could n't, Would n't, might n't, or ought n't ; or if he did n't, should n't, could n't, would n't, might n't, or ought n't, why did n't he, should n't he, could n't he ' would n't he, might n't he, or ought n't he ; and if not on such a day, and at such a place, then whether at some o^Aer, and what, day and , place he did, should, could, would, might, or ought ; or whether he did n't, should n't, conkl n't would n't, might n't, or ought n't ; or under some other, and what peculiar, or if mot peculiar, under some other and what circumstances ; and if not, why not, or how otherwise, do it.* ' Certainly, Bunsby ; * if so be, then therefore ; why not V Our friend David Graham, and Arphaxed his * pardner,' might, would, could — * least- ways' they should — help to put an end to this utterly ridiculous formula. ... In a stirring and ekN|nent address delivered before the New- York Meehanio^ Jbstitote by
▼OL. zmn. 23
176 Edit&r^s Table. [February,
Colonel Zadogk Pratt, on the occasion of his recent inaaguration as President of that flourishing institution, we take the subjoined pregnant passage:
* I WISH to call your attendon for a moment to the present condition of Great Britain, the moit stable of any European monarchy. I find from authentic memoranda, that the mimber of persons owning lands in England is thirty tiiousand ; in Scotland, three thousand ; and Ire- land, six thousand ; only thirty-nine thousand in the whole ; learing more than twen^flve millions of the whole population, who do not own a single foot of Ooo's creation. In 1780, no farther back than that, the number of landed proprietors was two hundred and fifty thousand; so you may see how rapidly all the lands in Great Britain are passing into' the hands of the few; into the hands of the nobles, and favorites of Church and State. And I may add in this connec- tion, that while here, in our coimtry, every man has a voice in the government, and the choice ^ of his rulers ; in England, only one in nineteen is allowed the privilege of voting ; in Scotland, one in thirty : and in Ireland, one in forty -three. Is it strange, then, that under such institu- tions, where labor is degraded, and industnr deprived of its reward; where the poorly shel- tered and poorly fed millions are compellea to toil for landlords, priests and aristocrats : is it Btranffe that there should be misery and starvation, bloodshed, riots, and revolutiona f No ; it would seem more strange if there were none. The truth is, the people cannot always remafai down-trodden and oppressed. Their efforts during the year that has passed, have excited avr sympathy. The great Goo of BatUes will yet, we trust, crown their efforts with victory ; and we may still hope to see our hght shine across the ocean, and our great example pointing ever to the polar star of liberty and happiness.'
* I SEND to yon my last song. Yoo will be kind to examine and said of him what you think it deserve in your estime paper.* Thus writes to us that distinguished com- poser and musician, our friend Signor Ds Bbgnis, in a note accompan3ring a copy of 'When to Sad Mutic you lAaUn* a Song by Thomas Moore, Esq. It is a charming production, and its notes have been sung and its praises chanted many tioies in our hearing by very beautiful lips. It is dedicated to the composer's friend. Lumlet Frank- UN, E^., himself an excellent judge and exemplar of vocal skill and taste. Signor De Beonis, although he speaks English only * a few,' understands well the murersal language of music, and can make that speak to the bouI, irrespective of the word- dothmg of different nations. His compositions are all deservedly popular. Messn. Firth, Pond and Company are the publishere of the * Song* before us. . . . *Old Botodoin* is quite right Pancko himself, that eminent color* * gemblum* and poet, <uf he M a nigger,' excels the author of the *Song written for the Portland Ocean Fire Company* in felicity and power of. versification. But let not our partialitf for Mr. Pancko mislead our judgment Our readers shall decide for themselves. Air, * LuoT Long :'
* Old Four* was made in six weeks, And they made her mighty strong ; There aint no other ' tub^ With her can come along.
'Brake her down, bullies. Brake her down stout; Brake her down, my buUy-boys, And we 'II the fire put out
' Portland firemen they are good 'una. Though sometimes they act silly; There isn't one among 'em That can shine with Captain Wimnr.
* Our pipemen too are good *ima,
And they make the others stare, When they see ' Old Ocean's' A-ffying ttirough the air I'
' There is a corpse at the door for you !' said a wag of a carman the other day, with the frost sparkling on his whiskers, and his breath congealed on his long hair; frozen stiff and stark,' said he, * and with its skin on !' * Of course,* we thought ; * if it if a corpse, why not?' We went down to look at it Ah ! it was a sight to make one's mouth water : a noble deer, fat as a seal, with the loveliest dappled skin ; holding forth promise of such toothsome * saddles,' such delicious steaks, as might make Ancius himself smack his lips with even the foretaste. * Who hath done tfaisf we exclaimed : * it can be none other than Colonel Seymour, of Port-Jervis ; and is one of the fhiits of that great iron thoroughfare which penetrates the deer-haunts that lina the New-York and Erie Rail-Road' Yea, verily, and it 10M thai
1849.] EdUor't TahU. 177
gentleman ; and we ' bleflsed him unaware,' as have many friends since ; for a mere MTory doe never laid down an innocent life at the feet of the hunter. . . . < Thb fol- lowing,* writes a Philadelphia correspondent, * is a copy of a sermon deliyered at a meet- ing of the < colored brethren' at Willistown in this state, and was taken down at the time hy an old friend, who keenly enjoyed and still enjoys any thing quaint or original. I have transcribed it for yon, in the hope that it may contribute to the mosaic of the delightful * Gossip.' Thanks, ' G. D. S.' for both the * Sermon' and the compliment :
'Ummma dtt now, membs dot, my friends ; we imu all be bawn'obs 'gain ; an if yon no blief 4at, you naay go Philadelpbj an see. I apoie you wonda dat brack<a-man "peak ; dere 't is now, 4ere 'tis ; yoa lookafor great.ting ; but I spect you diaappint
* Well, letta us hear what John Bjlpatis say : why he tella yon Chsisx mak a Balamaas *peak ; yes he make a Brack-a-man 'peak too I De criptnre tellay ou ov Saiboub wa* temp' Ifirty year by de Dxbil who follow him all 'bout de wilderness, and offa him de hole world ; <for de DsBiL was President of de hole world den) but our Saibous wa' greater dan he ; an he say ' Get dee hin' me, Satan.' Now I *m juss gwine for say sumtlng -> Juss gwine to say^sum* ting, my friends ; you member Nicdshus ; ah I now I touch de great folk I Well, yoa member Nicdsmus ; poor, low, humble, in a manga ; our Saiboub come to Nicdbmus, not proud as I, an dee, an don ; He cure an' work a merade ; an say to de deal^ take up dia bed an walk ; you kno for what people muss take up dere bed and walk ? I tella you ; caoae dey so 'tiff an wicked. Ah, ah I you can no run 'way from our. Saiboub; if you go up to Heaven, he pulla you down ; if you go to de place torment, he pulla ypu up ; an if yon go Into de sea, he find you t Oh ! 't is fine, beautiful t'ing for be a ChristianI Now an idea Jusaa oome crosaa my min ; I war lookin for him ; I war lookin for de house Juoa. Wella, yoa member de house Juda ; how men lub darkness an (raid de light, cause he deed ebil. Dere 't is now, my friends, dere 't is now. Well, watta possel Paul say ? Why he bapatise wld water, bat say one comma 'hind him whose latchet not wordy for buckle ; he bapatise wid fire, an water of de Holt Goss. Now I comin to de marrow of it. You member de white 'tone in de «rlpCare «id letta ; well dat tone for bruise de sarpent Mosss held by the head in the wilderness t wella I 's'pose, indeed I 'spect, dere some dere in dis audence ob my roice no blief in Goo : Jussa like wicked man I was wid yes'day affemoon in our yard f He tella me de cripture lia, an Cbbisx 11a. Ah I but he had bottle rum in he hand I Dere 't is, my friends, dere 'tis. Besa* Its dies ; I warrant you he dies I
' Now my dear tender female sista's, now I 'peak to you ; an wa' 'tinUng bout de Jews ; de wicked Jews. I hope dere no 'tiflf Jews 'mong you, my dear tender female sista's. Aht some of yoa ma laflT, but 'tis solemn ting ; an you an I hab to ansa for it. I hab to ansa for preach, ypa hab to ansa for listen to mo. Oh I 't is beautiful ting for be a Christian I Wicked man shake when be dead ; but good man, if he no tief, no lia, when he dead he say : Oh I death whem are dou ting ( Grave, where are dou victory I'
One cannot help respecting the fervor and evident sincerity of this appeal, while it is •s impossible not to laugh at the jumbled matter and odd manner which characterise it The wliole is ' negro, all over.' ... * He is an English lad, of good character, just arrived in America ; his father is dead ; his mother, in the near prospect of an increase which is a blessing to the rich but not always to the indigent, is very poor and very ilL The little boy who hands yon this is himself far from well, as you can see ; but he is anxious, if he can get an opportunity, to be of service in a printing-office, with a por- tion of the duties of which he is already acquainted. Can you procure him something to do in the printing-office of the Kmickerbockbr 7 If you can, you will confer a great favor upon him, and a greater upon his mother and her little family — all * strangers in a strange land.' ' We do n't pretend to * quote,' exactly, in the fore- going; but we do pretend to give the spirit of a note which was brought us one in- dement December day in the winter of '46 by a pale, thin, soft-voiced English lad, from an ' old-country* friend resident in the metropolis, whose ' heart is in the right pboe.' The kmd-hearted gentleman by whose side we have sat for so many years,
178 Editor^s Table. [February,
reading with him the proof-sheets which he has printed for us, made the lad quite happy by giving him a situation, from which something was gained toward the sup* port of his mother and his little brother and sisters. After the lapse of three or four months, * one mom we missed him from his accustomed place' at the office, and on inquiry were informed that he had gone with his mother and family to * the west' One of the little fellow's office-friends has just shown us a note from him, dated at Milwaukie, and written on the back of a * Carrier's Address to the Patrons of tks MUwaukie Sentinel and Gazette,^ circulated by himself on New- Year's day, from which we learn that he is now doing well in the office of that flourishing jomnal, and that he is the author of the address, a copy of which he says he ' takes great pride' m sending to his friend. That as a mere boy, in pursuit of knowledge under such diffi- culties as we have indicated, he has good reason to be so, we think will be apparent from the following incidental picture of some of the * glories' of war, which we take frxMn the performance in question :
' Pkacx reigns throughoat our land ; no more the car Of blood-stained Olory rushes on 'mid war, Striking with ruthless hands one soldier down To give another little more renown ; What are the ' dories' that surround the sight, When the dim lantem, at the dead of night, Seeks through the corses scattered o'er Qxe plain The friend we lored, who ne'er shall speak again t What are the ' glories' of the scalding tear, Tom from the wife at her dead husband's bier ; Though the striped flag that dabbl«d in his blood The first he bore to heights where last he stood t What are the ' glories' that the path surround Of the sick soldier, sinking on tbe ground. Struck by the sunbeam on the red-not sand. Or straggling shot down by some fierce brigand t'
This, to be sure, is but a mere fragmentary * sample' of the Address, which contains many felicitous political * hits,' with which of course it does not become us to meddle. * Macte virtute,* * J. H. E.' . . . Since the slightly contradictory passage whidi we quoted recently from the * Spirit of the Timet^ weekly journal, (may the shadow of William T. Porter never be less !) we have seen nothing more forcible in that kind than the following: * Last night, yesterday morning, about two o'clock in the afternoon before breakfast, a hungry boy about forty years old, bought a aizpenc^ custard for a shilling, and threw it through a brick wall nine feet thick, and jumping over it broke his ankle right off above the knee, fell into a dry mill-pond and was drowned. About forty years after that, on the same day, an old cat had nine turkey gobblers, a high wind blew Yankee Doodle on a frying-pan, and knocked the old Dutch chum down, and killed two dead pigs at Boating, where a deaf and dumb man was talking French to his aunt Peter.' . . . There is a hit or two in the private note of our New-Orleans correspondent, which reminds us of the adroit satire conveyed by Fielding, through Jonathan Wild, in one of his Newgate con- ▼enations, previous to his execution : * I confess,' says that worthy, ' I look on this death of hanging to be as proper for a hero as any other ; and I solemnly declare, that had Alexander the Great been hanged, it would not in the least have dimin- ished my respiect for his memory !' . . . Never can we hear too often from the most esteemed friend who wrote us in early December as follows, from one of the very prettiest villages on ' old Long- Island's sea-girt shore :' * A howling storm baa been in process for the last twelve hours. The tide is so high, that it is within twenty
1849.] Editor's TahU. * 179
ieet of the chamber where I write. I can look out of the window, and by the light of the moon see the yeflsela writhing and struggling in the waves of the Long-Island Soond. On such a night the * Lexington* steamer went down, not far from this very ■pot ; and those who embarked upon the Atlantic perished. It is bitter cold. I hear * the wind walking over the dry leaves.' I have closed the windows, lighted up the fire with pine-knots, trimmed the argand, prepared the sedatives, and indite this •pistle to you. In the early part of this evening I encountered a very narrow escape, not to say singular adventure, which I proceed to record. I was walking up the hill lo the hospitabie mansion of a f^end, thb moon not yet risen, the night pitchy-dark ; wot, snowy ; the wind howling as aforesaid ; when I encountered in the middle of the path, which was very steep, (on the left was a high fence, on the right a close thicket,) something which made me start. Although small, and near to the ground, it was really ghost-like ; a small body, of a deep and dismal black, with a snow- white rim of white about its neck. It started from the dry leaves and bushes, in a hurried way, which made me jump two feet out of the path. ^ As soon as presence of mind was restored, * thinks I to myself,' * I zee zome'sing.' The whole narrative for- merly contained in the Knicke&bockbr burst at once upon my recollection. Whatever the sprite was, by a sort of intuitive perception I recognised him as the same which qipeared to the Heko of Yaphauk, when a new suit of broadcloth was thoroughly spoiled. My first thought was to act on the offensive ; to cry * Shu /' and let fly a stone ; but reflecting that his name was spelt S-k-u-n-k, and that I was no match fcr him in ofiensive tactics, I desisted. So I spoke not a word, and
' I rais'd not a atone,
But left hhn alone in hia glory.'
And it tDos glory: abounding in a superfluity of musk, which I felt thankful was distilled upon the surrounding bushes, and not on a cloak which was lent to me. I stood stock still, and as I did so, this offensive * crittur* tottled away down hill, with the airiness of a volatile essence.' ' Ah, ha ! mon ami — suppose what he was, eh ?* . « • Wb have lost sight of < Punch' for some months, save so far as glancing hastily at its illustrations went ; and truth to say, it seemed to be flagging in interest a Gttle. But it is now * recruiting' in a good degree ; and we learn that Douglas Jbbbold is again a prominent contributor to its columns. California and the gold- mines constitute very important literary and pictorial themes with Punch < about these ^yi.* Here is that great philosopher's < New -Year* a Carol .•*
' TUK daylight lengthens, and the sunshine strengtheni,
And tnings in general also look more clear ;
Trade growing brighter as the skies eet lighter :
Thus, in its cradle, smiles the new-bom year.
* Snow-drops now sleeping, shortly will be peeping
Forth, and the crocus lift its yellow cup; But faster thriving, sooner still reviTing, The markets are already looking up.
' To its meridian, with rise quotidian.
More highly soars the rolling orb of day ; And looms are spinning quicker, mills beginning With fresh velocity to whirl away.
* From hill and mountain, and from crystal fountabi,
Each dawn more early sweeps the fog and mist ; The ffloom dispelling, too, which has been dwelling So long on yam and wool, and eotton-twiit
180 Editor's Table. [Febraary,
* His arnu unfolding, better times behoWing,
Old Business takes his pen from o'er his ear, His ledger spreading, and a clean page heading, In hopeful flourivh, with another year.
* And Punch, the undrooping, all the public .whooping,
Shouting with might and main for joy and mirui, Rears these new columns on his former rolumes, To teach, refiorm, and jollify the earth.'
We have laughed * somedele' over the * Trial of the Horse-Guards Clock,'' whick
had fallen into evil habits, keeping * bad hoars/ and conducting altogether in such a
wayward manner as to alienate the confidence and regard of those who had been ae-
customed to ' look up to it' as an exemplar of high character. We extract a few
paragraphs from the * trial :'
' Tme prosecution was conducted by Mr. Bsikflbss, and the Clock appeared In person for its own defence.
* After opening the pleadings, in s loud voice Mr. Briefless proceeded to observe, that this was the most miserable moment of his existence. He was called upon to impugn the chanctsr of one who had long been looked up to as a pattern of correctness and probity : he meant die Horse Guards Clock. He felt it to be an awful sign of the general derangement of the Times, that the defendant should have been detected, after so many years of regularity, in going astray. He should not dwell upon this painful theme, but would proceed to call the witnesses tiw would prove this distressing case.
' The first witness called was Lord Dbnman, who said he had known th^ Clock for soms years, and had been in the habit of looking up to it with great respect. Witness had lately observed a marked alteration in the habiu of the Clock. It had stood with iu hands joinsa together, in which position it had remained motionless for many hour^ At other times wit- ness had seen the Clock spreading out its hands in opposite directions, as if there were some- thins internally wrong ; and this Tact was clearly perceptible by what was depicted on its face.
< Croas-etamined. — Believed the Clock intended well, and generally acted well ; but had bean given to understand that it refused to be wound up for it, even when its actions were regular. Considered the Clock double-faced, and in fature would not believe it, as he had done formerly.
' This being the case for the prosecution, the Clock was called upon for its defence ; and after a brief address, in the course of which it declared it was the first time it had ever stood in tibat position, or been known to stand at all, it called several witnesses to character.
' LoBD SiLBOY was a clerk in the treasury, and had frequently watched the Clock ; that is to say, had set his watch by it.
* Cro$$-€xamined bf Mr. Bbiefxess. — Watched the Clock because he had nothing particulsr to do. He often — like the Clock itself — had a good deal of time upon his hands. WoiUd not sav this was a cause of any particular sympathy between them. But such was the fact
^ After a few other witnesses, whose evidence went to nesylj the same effect. Ma. Cbhf Justice Punch proceeded to sum up, and the jury returned a verdict of Onil^, but strongly recommended the Clock to mercy, on account of its previous character. Ma. Chibf Jusnoi Punch then passed sentence in the following words :
* ' You have been convicted by a jury of your countrymen, upon the clearest evidence, of sa offence of a grave character —that of obtaining credit under false pretences. There may be some grounds for recommending you to mercy : you have not taken advantage of the recent revolutions to join in any precipitate movement, it is true ; but ^ou have made a stand ngiaaui regularity and order, by refusing to move at all. There is no evidence of any policeman having told you to move on ; but you know it was your duty to have moved on. and therefore that is no ex- cuse. The sentence of the court is, that you be bound over to keep the time for twelve months, and that you be kept to hard labor upon your own wheel during Her Majesty's pleasure.' '
If you observe the foregoing cloeely, reader, you will see that it is very adroitly done, being possessed of great correctness in a legal point of view, and much delicacy of double-entendre. ... An English friend, elsewhere more particularly designated in the present number, repeated to us the other evening the following stanza, which in the original version of Brucb*s Address opened that celebrated * call to battle.' It was shown to our friend by a Scottish gentleman named Stuart, who held the original in the hand-writing of the author :
' The sun was peeping o'er the heath, To light them to their field of death, When Bbuce, with soul-inspiring breath, His army thus addressed :
'Scots whahae wi' Wallack bled, Scots wham Bruce has often led,' etc.
i
We marvel thi^ the stanza was not retained. It opens the scene sablimaly, to our
1849.]
Editar^i TaUe. 181
conception. . . . Looking accidentally the other day over a number of the 'iSoulA- cm Literary Messenger,^ printed some eleven yean ago, when our esteemed contem- porary and friend, the lamented T. W. VVniTE, was the editor, we encountered^ in & well-written esny entitled * Spring Joys,* by Henry J. Brent, Esq., the distinguished landscape-painter, the following admirable sketch. Observe what a little thought can do with so simple a thing as a fly buzzing upon a window, and a spider setting a trap for him:
*How the morning ran glidea orer the window panps ; and lo ! an old weather-beaten apider is crawling forth from his wintry lair, with steady and ferocious steps. I will watch the aaaaa- sfai-giant. He spins out his coil of deadly rope, and takes a surrey of his dominion. The glassy sarface is his slaughter-house. He seems to prick up his ears, that Arab of the window, and his long black legs are tremulous vrith ecstasy as he hears the murmuring buzz of his rictim. Fool of a fly. keep off! His eyes are glistening, and his sides distend wiub his hungry panjjng, ■ad rapidly he whirls out his net Nearer and nearer comes the child of frolic and of sugar; the ridiculous and sensual fly. He cleaTcs the air with his sonorous wings ; he sees a thousand wiamatic and beautiful colors in the fflass; he sees the distant and glorious fields; the rose Dashes in their incipient bloom ; the cnerry blossoms and the apple flowers ; the green crass; ■ad he longs to perch himself upon the tapering ears of my browsing steed, and rapidly he dots against the glass. He cannot break the sand-blown barrier, and forthwith, with an aching pate, (so hard was it thumped, that I wonder his brains were not scattered out,) he commences- Us daioce on his fore-legs. How he kicks and cuffs and grumbles and growls, and then bursts forth in a wild and romantic bugle-note ; finally he settles in a comer and smooths down his raffled front, and strikes up his angular music with his elastic legs. Meantime the black giant Is baaily engaged. He keeps as silent as the grave ; liis fuzzy back is raised, and his ferocious eyes sparkle with savage joy ; he swings himself along the glass by one of his cables, and ap* pareatly without noticing the fly, he spins out with greedy haste the death-entniming seine^ The fly Is dreaming by this time of love and ragar-candy, having buzzed himself to sleep. Gently a thread is passed over one of his wings ; he feels it not, for his noddle is fllled wiu hsrmonioas memories of the last summer's p;lories. The spider works on ; anottier and ano' ttier impalpable thread is passed over his pmions ; the cord is tightened rotmd his legs, and foUv caught, and awake, tne poor fly sets up the wail of the prisoner I His gentle and heart- landing appeal is lost upon the desert air ; he is alone with the fly-eater, on a wide and desolate t field of ice I ^ not another fly is seen to speed to the rescue. A group of savage young spiders crawl out of their comers, and smirk at each other : they gaze around and watch from afkr tiie victory of their monarch : they sharpen their fangs for the flrst banquet of spring.
* The tragedy is drawing to a close : my heart is touched at the ghastly picture of tyranny, ■ad 1 feel now that I have read of rach scenes in Roman and Grecian liistory, in Engfish and
tte monster I he is now lor tlu; death-spring I It is now m;^ Ume. Mercy 1 1 have smashed Uie glass into a thousand atoms I The spider's bloody carcass is crimsoned and mangled upon the bael of my shoe, and the fly is away upon the wing through the soft air, without one buzz of titade. That same fellow will bite me on the nose, as in the ndd-day heat of June, I poke it > a tumbler of iced punch or port Such, alas I is the gratitude of flies and men.'
cratlti tatoa
If you can't see that scene, reader, and feel that it happened precisely as described, you want a pair of spectacles. Your * eyes are failing.' , . , SL Volentine*8 Day wiU soon be upon us, and how the tender love-missiles will fly upon the wings of — the wings of — of the penny-post ! Take this excellent one, instead of the silly verses which are ' made' and written or printed * to order.' There is a meaning in these lines :
' Love is no light, fantastic, trivial thing. Child of aa idle fancy, bom in dreams. That timeless withers like a flower in spring, If chance the sun withhold awhile his beams. It is the offspring of a truthful heart. Nursed by the best affections and pure thought, Reared up by Hope till it becomes a part Of man's religion, which can ne'er be bought Or sold, but freely gives as it receives Its joy back in itself ; and if not so 'T is recompensed, still it doth give, and weaves New blessings which it glories to bestow. Such is true love, and that rach love is mine Let Time be witness for thy Valentine.' a. e.
Thb&b is great pleasure to us in thinking, while jotting down these disjointed gos- i^piagi of on»— which art, after all, hot mere talks with ov iMden, whom wa
182 Editor's Table. [February,
very much desire to consider our personal friends — that there are many who Recog- nise the fact, that what interests one person — supposing him of course to be < a per- son as is a perton* — will interest others. Every such man or woman is but an epi- tome of the men-and-women public. * Leastways/ so we have been thinking, while reading the subjoined from a congenial correspondent who dates his miasive from Troy, in the * down-east' State of Maine : * While engaged in scribbling, to while away the tedium of a snowy afternoon in the * ked'utry,' it occurred to me that perhaps I might send you something not altogether unworthy of your notice. If therefore any of the following 'jerks desperate' (as I once heard an old woman pronounce the phrase 'jeu d^esprit,*) would not disgrace the 'Groesip,* etc., of your 'valuable periodical' — m newspaper correspondents invariably say — possibly you may find them of use in fill- ing out a page, ' for the want of something better.' So ' here goes :* A short time since there was seated in a car of the rail-road which leads from Portland ' down east,' a young man who ' scandalized' his fellow passengers by a constant use of pro- fane language. At last an old deacon, of the ' Free-will persuasion,' who had been listening in silent horror, approached, and commenced lecturing him for his wicked- neM ; remarking, among other things, that he was ' on the straight track to perdition.' The young man drew a ticket from his pocket, and after carefully scrutinixing it, said, with a look that 'mendicants description:' 'Just my d — d luck! I boaght
a ticket for Brunnoick!* The poetical post-office addreases in the last two or
three numben of the Knickbrbockbr brought to my mind one which I eoeountend
some years since :
• To the town of Belmont. State of 1
I *in sent, and ihall not fail, For I 're implicit confidence
In Uncle Sakukl's mail. Mtmaiter I fail not, at yoor peril. To giro ma to Misa S. D. Mcbbu.l 1*
' An attorney in this vicinity once addressed a man against whom he had a ' small denuuid for collection,' requesting him to ' call and settle.' Not receiving any aB« ■wer, however, he again wrote him, but with no better succefli. After having sent him a number of letters, he at last obtained one in return, in which the debtor said he would ' try and dew somethin' when sleddin' came,' and closed with : < But for God's sake, 'Squire, do n't write any more lettere, for it will take all the debt to pay the pottage /' 1 heard the following anecdote related a. few days since: An ava- ricious landlord threatened to turn a poor widow out into the street tot non-pajrment of rent* After beseeching him not to expose heraelf and ' fatherless children' to the peltings of the pitiless storm, and finding that her supplications had no effect to move his stony heart, she ejaculated : ' Have you no bowels of compassion 7' / No, Ma'am,' he replied ; ' not a bowel !' A few years since there was a profeasor at a neigh- boring college, with whom punctuality formed a part of his religion. Among other things, he was particular that every member of his class should be present at the fint recitation of every term, and if any were absent he called upon their claas-mates to state, if they could, the cause thereof. It once happened that one of hif pupils had died during the vacation, of which ' the old man' was not aware ; and noticing that his seat was vacant, when the class had assembled, he inquired after his whereabouts. Being a little deaf, he misunderstood the person, who answered, ' He is dead. Sir,' and proceeded with his customary remark : ' Not a sufficient excuse. Sir ; and I am astonished that any student should render such a one in my recitation-room V — I hftTe been ainnsed with foadof a volame of poetry, by Thomas RAwmUi^ * ef tUi
1849.]
Editor's Tahk.
183
ilk/ who 18 one of the laureate bank, ' and no mistake !* If I can procure a copy, I will aend it to you, that our * native poet' may acquire a < (j^orious immorality* by a notice in the pagea of the KiiicKcaBOOKER. The brief extracts which I give below ean aflEind you no better idea of the entire contents than a drop of water would of the Atlantic ocean. I should like to transcribe the * Ode to Napoleon,* which traces
the whole career of
♦ That proud exile,
Who tooored old Europe UkeaJOe!*
* BoNAPAftTB 1009 an * old file,* was n*t he ? Louis Napoleon, however, is * a young file,* and do n*t * bite* much. Here are some * lines on Winter :*
* Trx winter is stormy and cold.
We tremble at Bokxab' breath ; He seizes the poor UamUt0 tteer. While the fowls are a-freezing to death I'
What a pity it is that this * warm friend of humanity* had not a warmer hen^ hooM ! . . . We have been thmking to-night — while selecting from a great store of * floating literature,* the accumulations of years, a desultory literary collection for a fHend departing for California — we h&ve been thinking, what a treasure by-and-by, as years roll on, will be the newspapere and magazines of this era. Fancy, ^thos. afieetion, humor, breathe in them, which * time cannot destroy.* Even ten yean have sanctified to our fancy and to our heart much that we have dasually glanced over to-night Here, for example, in an ancient issue of the ' National Magaxine and Republican Retieio,* printed at Washington years smce, are some ' Lines to my Young Brother in Heaven,* which have brought up the hours of memory in long review. When th^y were written, the sad event which now sends them home to out own heart was ' yet in the onward distance of unknown fate.* The simplicity of the . poem is the sfanplicity of all true emotiou ; its brevity of expression the brevity of un- firittered heart^feeling. We select a few stanzas :
« Hs left uf when his heart was high.
With Hope's effUgent flame ; And Glory's fire was in his eye. To UghVhlm on to fame.
• How little thought we then, that he, ' Tlie yoongest of us all, Hm victim of the grave would be— > The very first to fall I
* Bis mound is green ; a kinsman's hand
Has raised it o'er his head, And nightly does my spirit stand
By my young brothcnr's bed I
* I think when we together played
About our father's ground. Or arm in arm in manhood strayed' Tlie city's walks around.
* I hear |iis voice, that mellow Toice,
That nerer spake unkind. Or If it did, so soon *t was flown. Ho pang was left behind.
* Dear Brother ! — years may pass away.
And fire may scathe my neart, And other memories decay, But thine shall not depart i' b. j.
Wb have had the pleasure, in the course of the month, of attending two very at public entertamments. The first was The Printers? Festival, held at the in Broadway. The hall was close-crowded during the literary exercises^ wfaieli were of much interest, as well as during the supper. Mayor Haepee presided with his aeoustomed ability, and the meeting was addressed by several gentlemen eowieeted with the daily press. The poem by Mr. Bouene, and the oration upon Feamklui fay Mr. Jbwbtt, were both excellent productions; but the latter, being de- Kverad in a clear, solid voice, had a marked efiect upon the audience. It has been pub- liriMd, and will receive attention at our handsln the next number. Many eminent wiitMB wwe pwa^t, chief among whom we noted Mr. Ieving and Mr. Bevant, the
roL. zzzni. 34
184 Editof^t Table. [Fefamary,
loiter of whom < came to call,* and made an excellent ipeech. *TheBmmt J.iimwr- •ory' was celebrated at the Hotel de Parb in Broadway on the twenty-fifth of Jairaary, the birth-day of the renowned bard We have seldom witnessed a more agreeable gatl^^ring. William U. Maxwell, Esq., the President, officiated as chahrman, ■•- listed on his right by Mr. Barclay, Her Majesty's Cousnl for New- York, and Mr. YouNO, Editor of the * Albion* weekly journal ; and on his left by Dr. J. S. Baatlitt and L. Gayloro Clark, Editor of the Knickerbocker. The toasts, regular and volunteer, were given and received with great enthusiasm ; * honest mirth and genial sentunent' were the order of the evening ; which was enlivened by many admi- ' rable Scottish songs, admirably sung ; to say nothing of an entire Italian opeim, ' instrumentation* and all, sustained singly by the President ; a most unique per- formance, which will not speedily be forgotten by any who had the gratification to hear it. The * season* was one to be * marked with a white stone ;* and when next it oocun, * may we be there to see !* . . . We have just remarked a man on the ' other* side of Broadway, walkmg up pensively and alone, to whom the sudden acqui- sition of wealth has given the power and the inclination to * give up busine«* and to ' do nothing* for the rest of his life. Ah ! whether it be < the ton* or not, it is evi- dently the hardest work in the world to do nothing. We know of at least a baker's doien of pexsons, in our own range of acquaintance, who are trying to * kill time :*
< kUl time /* How they will pray one day for the life of the time they would now kill 1 Do yon remember Charles Lamb*8 deseription of his sensations on being eman- cipated from bis daily labor in the India House 7 * It was like passing from life iats eternity. I wandered about, thinking I was happy, but feeling that I was not When all is holiday there are no holidays.* Think of this, thou man of sudden wealth ; and if it shall so chance that thou hast been a tallow-chandler in thy dajrs of usefribMSi, make a clause in thy bill of sale that shall reserve to thee the right of still t at the * factory' on * melting-days !'...* The merciful man is merciful to his 1 and it speaks well for the good feeling of our northern correspondent, that amid the holiday festivities he could think of the wants of so unpoetical an animal as a juve- nile pofker, touching which he has indited a * Christmas Carol,' from which we segre- gate a few stanzas :
* I KNCLOSK you herewith a ahort tale of a pig, Who although he waa smaU, jet felt himaeu big; He went Chriatmaa-eTe, and a door-bell he nmg; At tiie door, for a stocking, a meal-bag he hong.
' On the night before Chriatmaa, in satire he said, * If the folks are not pigs, in the mom I '11 be fed :' After making this speech, he ran to the hay. And there, with his fellow-pigs ' spoon-fashion' lay.
He sees in his slumbers an * ocean of meal,' and is indulging in such a dream of
< provant' as visited Ichabod Crane's steed in the stable of old Baltvb Van Tassbu when ' the pale morning chills his eye ;' he rises, and repairs to the door to see wkit Samta Claus has done for him. The catastrophe is touching :
'Wrrs high expectations, he ran for his stocking; And such disypointment !-> for a pig it was shocki&ff : For instead of corn-meal, as the story now goes, The poor fisllow got naaght bat a ring in Ua noael
' And now, my dear friend, I most charns yon remember All the poor and the needy, in dreary Deeember; And whUe yon hare plenty, ay, thouaandi in store, Ofdrhre aot unblessed e'en aplg from your door I*
1849.] EdiUfr's Taile. 181^
Wb have received the proBpectutof a new weekly joarnal, to be entitled 'The Spirit of ike Union,* to be edited by J. W. Brycb, Esq., and published by Mr. A. CimNiNOHAM . We thall have occasion to speak of the paper on its appearance. We haTa uraeh ooafidence in the tact and ability of the editor, and doabt not that he will Meceed in eetaMiahing his journal upon a permanent basis. He has our best wishes Id that and. . . . Just been OTer-lookin|r, fh>m one of the windows of the sanctum» the noUe g^ronnds of the * Biriiop Moorb Place/ so long the admiration of the deni- leiis of the north-western section of the metropolis. There, at leasli is the original •oil of Manhattan island; there stand the trees which were fanned by the firee wfaids that swept over the bosom of the Hudson two hundred years ago. With oommendabi* spirit, the worthy proprietor declined the de -* grading* sjrstem which has brought the thonmgh&res of New-Tork to a dead level ; and when the commissionerB were 'sink* ing* streets in all the squares around him, he built a masBire stone wall to protect the home of his fathers and his * native soil.' But what is he now doing? It is a still BBorning ; not a breath of air is abroad ; but as we live, there goes one of those old aaoestral trees ; and we hear the sound of the fall thereof, * like the sound of the fUl of a mighty oak in the stillness of the woods.' Eloquent author of ' Christmas f son of a noUe sire ; good old Kniokerbockbr ! tell those * hack'-men to disperse, go sway, clear out, and * get along !' Our malison on them ! They are destro3ring hi kalf an hour what God himself, in the * course of nature,' could not create in seventy yaais! 'Fore heaven, there goes anoMer monarch of the primitive forest! Shut down the window, Kfttt : we can't be an innocent and at the same time unresisting witness of such sacrilege! . . . That was a clever song (written too by a young fire- Ban attached to one of the engines) which was sung on board the ' Oregon' steamer, when our naerry party were returning to town, aAer the late ezcuision on the Erie BaU-Road to Binghamton. We have not space for it, however, at the late hour at which we receive it It was sung half a dozen times by Mr. Hoxib, standmg up on a ^-goods' box, above the passengera, who joined enthusiastically in the chorus, until ^ stormy welkin fairiy rang again :
* Thxn carry me back to Laekawaek, To Lackawazien ihore ; O carrr me back to Lackawack, And I 'II come back no more !'
It sets forth the disasters attending the clearing of the track, at Big Eddy, of the and ice which had accumulated upon it ; in doing which, the water in the iO gave out ; * nine men froze their toes ;' and the stokers
* Had nothing to eat, except bean' meat, And nothing to drink at all ;'
while sleep was out of the question. It was truly a matter-of-fact song, which vividly illustrated to the stock-holders, and other guests of the company, some of the dif- ficulties which had been overcome in securing their gratification and comfort ... 'I happened to be in Baltimore,' writes a friend, * a few days ago, and called in at a
hotel, opposite the Railway Station, to take a seat, to rest myself before the
fctigue of a New- York rail-travel, when there passed me, away down on the floor, amid the quids of deiimct tobacco and the cracks, a dwarf-man, aged about forty years. He swaggered across the large expanse of the travellers'-room, and climbed up into a chair. I looked at him, and saw that the HtUe wretch was gloriously drunk. The hotel-keepertwhom I knew well, came to xne and said: * |>o you see that man?
186 Editar^s TahU. [February,
that little rat ? He is the uoisiest, most troublesome fellow I eyer knew. On the steps, goings up or down, he makes the dreadfulest fuss : when he is down, no body can have any peace — howling^, yelling, fighting, drinking! Good Lonp! Ify dear Sir, I would pay his bill at any other hotel in the city, if I could get rid of him f All this time the little * dwarf under review* sat with his boots dangling near the floor, and his queer old-fashioned phiz shaking and twisting about like a dock in a thunder-storm. It was really the most discrepant cause-and-efiect case I ever saw in my life ; and I thought in a moment how * Old Knick.' would have laughed had he seen the * subject under notice.' . . . ' The Oregon TSraiV is concluded m the present number. It has attracted much attention at home and abroad ; and it wiU soon appear, simultaneously in London and New-York, in an illustrated edition. It well deserves that honor. . . . The beautiful < Odd^Fellow^a CertificaU of Mtm* bership,* of which we made mention in a recent number, is to be had of the agent, Mr. Albro Lyons, Number 144, Centre-street. Nothing half so tasteful has been got up for the same purpose ; and its price is exceedingly reasonable. . . . You will have, I think, a pleasant bit of reading in the newspapers presently, (if so * dis- poged,* as < Saieet Gamp' would say,) in the detailed account of the prize-fight be- tween two gentlemen of * the fancy,' well known in Qotham. Hykk will * open the ball ;' Sullivan will * rattle in right and left ;' on ' konks' heavy * deliveries' will be made ; good * fibbing* and * tidy in-fighting' may be expected ; each will < get it on the muzzle ;' * renewed visitations' will * tap the claret ;' an ' upper cut' will < sever the cuticle ;' there will be * good counters' and * getting well home' on < nobs' and dexter and sinister * ogles,' while other blows may * lack powder.' Well, well ; ' it takes all sorts of * sport* to suit all sorts of people ;' and on this stupendous truism, if you please, gentlemen of the jury, * we rest' . . . Our attention has recently been called to several articles published in the daily and Sunday papers, written over ths i^om-de-plume of * Henry.' We do not know when we have read a more striking and truthful story than one caUed * The Young Widow and her Daughter,* which has appeared in recent numbers of the < Sunday Mercury* The style is very pecn- liar. Other stories from the same pen ore appearing in * The Sun,* which have at- tracted much attention. Mr. * Henry' seemiB to have hit upon a new * vein,' and he is evidently quite at home in working it Mercantile or commercial literature is a new article in the New- York market ; and yet we do not exactly know why it should be. We shall be happy to hear from * Henry ;' and if his time is not too much occu- pied with the daily and weekly press, we shall be glad to give a * taste of his quality* in the Knickerbocker. . . . « The Laet Words of a Wife ." — what a touching theme, and how exquisitely is it treated in these two stanzas. Alas ! that in some devoted circle Death should keep them always painfully apposite :
' Rbfexsr me with the bright blue violet,
And put the pale faint-scented prlmroae near, For I am breathing yet : Shed not another tear ; But when mine eyes are set, Scatter the fresh flowera thick upon my bier, And let iny early grave with morning dew be wet
' Touch me once more, beloved I ere my hand Have not an aniwer for thee ; kits my cheek. Ere the blood fix and stand.
When fliU the hectic streak, Oive me thy last command. Before Ilie all undisturbed and meek. Wrapt in the cold white folds of fiueral swathiag-bSBd.'
1849.] BdUar's Table. 187
' I MuiT tell yon a ' good one' which happened this sommer on the same day that I went up the North River on board the * Hendrick Hudson.' After the passengers had retired to their berths, the following dialogue ensued in the ladies'- cabin, of which the door was left partly open to promote the circulation of air. A rheumatic lady and an asthmatic old lady could not each be satisfied with reference to the door. They kept tiiiging oat in alternate strains from their night-caps : the rheumatic, ' Chamber- maid, shut that door ! I shall die :' the asthmatic, * Chambermaid, ope^ that door — 1 ■ban die !' So the contention went on for some time, and the yellow maid, with a bandana handkerchief on her head, was fairly flustered. At last an old gentleman, distiirbed by the altercation, and not wishing to show any partiality, sang ont from his own bsrth : * Chambermaid, for Heaven's sake open that door, and kill one of those ladies, and then shut it and kill t' other !' . . . Wi have been talkmg with our seaden for some fifteen years ; saying all sorts of things, upon all sorts of subjects, in all sorts of ways, 'as they sholde comen into y* minde.' In penonal prea-r ance, thonsands of ns have never met ; and perhaps a great majority of yon fancy that the old gentleman with the pipe and pen, who presides on the cover of the Knicx-^ iftBOCKSR, is a faithful * counterfeit presentment' of the Editor thereof. Shall we nadeceive you? Shall we let you know what manner of person we are of 7 Our dqectioDs to this consummation have been overruled by those who are entitled^to a fcifc in the matter ; and therefore * Old Knick.' will soon be among you. An en- giaving, in the very fint style of the art, will be immediately commenced of Eixiorr'a portrait of the individual who, with no small reluctance, pens this subsection of hia < Gvmp* which announces the * circumstance.' It will have at least one agreeable effect It will set forth, if indeed that were at all needed, the great genius of Chaelbi I* Eluott, a native townsman and a cherished friend, who in seizing and trans- ftning to canvass the lineaments of the human face has no superior on this side of the Atlantic, if he has on the other — which we doubt. . . . Extract of a letter fttom ' Our Own Correspondent :* * My man of the house has just come in, shivering with the cold. He has been exhuming a baby, for which he received five doUais, Ha says he would like to dig up a baby a day for that price, cold as it was !' * Hu- manity, where is thy blush ."...< Go5no'|. am came !' said a round blue-eyed German to us in Broadway, the other day. * No ! — ktis he though ?' we inquired, not knowing Guno'l from a jungle, with another musical * lion' in it at the same time. ' He is ver^ goot music,' said our friend ; * goot? — he is more better ash goot ; he is aiahe — nisehe ! I go see him now !' And he went . . . What a glorious book is ' Irving's Life and Voyages of Columbus I* We have just been reading over PoTN All's beautiful edition of this work, with renewed admiration. So clear and pure is I&vnfo's style, so natural his descriptions of scene, character and event, that we may say of his hero with CowriR :
* Hx trarelfl, and I too — I tread hli deck, Ascend hia topmast, through his peering eyea Diacorer countries ; with a kindred heart Stiffev hia woes, and share in hia eacapes ; While fancy, like the finger of a clock, Runa the great circuit, and la still at home.'
Yes, ' at home,' here in the sanctum, (and thousands of homes beside,) with only a book ; a < silent yet eloquent companion.' Mr. Putnam's edition of Mr. Irvino's eoUected works is meeting with an extraordinary sale, both in England and in this coontiy. . . . < Whin I came north to take passage for Europe, four or &ve yearn afo,*mida pUun-apokanaovthem-bom friend to ua the other day, * I had an iavatarata
188 EdUar*s Table. [Februarjr,
flouthem prejudice against men and things north of Mason and Dixon's line. After a few years' residence abroad, in which my Ioto of country was constantly iDcreased, I returned to my native land. And when, after long riding the wild blue waves of the Atlantic, in our noble steamer, we approached the American coast, bow it stirred my very soul to feel the land-wind from off my native shores ! It did not blow from Carolina, nor from Virginia, nor from Maryland ; it came from my country ; and I have long since ceased to find, in any mere geographical division, a line of demarca- tion that should separate Americans and brothen !' . . . W. T.*s note — a never- forgotten school-companion of our boyhood — brought the water-drops to our cheek.
Well do we remember his
* gray eyet, Ut up
With rammer liglitomgi of a tool Brim fUll of summer warmth.'
Alas, William ! all things must change : * friends must be torn asunder, and swept along in the current of events, to see each other seldom — perhaps no mora. For- ever and ever, in the eddies of time and accident, we whirl away !' . . . < Lese- Pointafor the Valentine -Writer' is the name of a charmmg miniature bbok by Miss Feancis Grbin. There are very few among the various valentine-writers to wiiom some one of these * Fomts' will not to be * m point' Bashful swains and sentimen- tal maidens, here is your vade-mecum. Miss Green, the author, also edits < The Young People*» Magazine,* a work which is conmiendable for many distineliw merits, which we may find leisure hereafter more particularly to set forth. ... A very copious < Literary Record,* embracing notices at length of the ' Memoir of Dr. MiLNOE,' of the < American Quarterly Register,' of Lbland's fine critique upon Snn- hauser's * Head of Christ,' Bascom's * Methodist Quarteriy Review,' Young's * Songt of Beeanoee,' 'The Mother's Journal,' * Southern Quarteriy Review,' * The Fatroon,' etc.9 etc., placed in type for the present issue, will appear in our next. Among asveral brief articles omitted from the ' Gossip,' is an obituary tribute to the late John Blake. Correspondents, literary and personal, will be presently attended to. < Anooi anon T ladies and gentlemen!
TO THE READERS OF TEE KNICILERBOCKSR.
It will be leen, by reference to the first page of the corer of the present number, and to the * ContenU'-leai; that the interest of Bfr. Aixbn, the former publisher of the KMiCKXRBOonEB, his passed by purchase into new hands, and that the work will hereafter be publldied bj Ifr. Samuel Hubston, from the same office as heretofore. We hare great pleasure in infonntsf our readers that arrangements hare been made not only to continne, but greaflj to enhanes the interest and attraction of the Magazine. It will be made, as it has been, the medium for the best minds in America ; it will be promptly issued by the first day of every month, in a style of typography unsurpassed by any similar work in America; an engraving, in the very best style of the art, will be giren occasionally, commencing with a portrait of tiie Emroa; and should the encouragement be commensurate, valuable etchings of interesting Amerteaa scenes, by distinguished natiTe painters, will now and then be ' thrown in,' for the gratification of our subscribers. And now, reader — yott, dear Sir, we mean — will rou personally show tUs to oiM friend, (Hs would be better ;) and if for years, or for a shorter period, you hare ex^ofoi pleasure in the perusal of the Kit icxkiuiockkb, impel others to share monthly wiUi you tiie same en}oymentt Then would it surely bless him that gives, not less than him that ' takes' % fPofsstBiks,'stesBtBrt Ifyea,<beashamiiefebefaniiseipro6hybufesme. fVyil»IHwiil
THE KNICKERBOCKER.
Vol. XXXIII. ' MARCH, 1849. No. 3.
THE USE AND ABUSE OF TALENTS.
•AdX. OV TAB«OS ▲»!> ITArOXJIOV.
In this fair and noble creation, where variety is unbounded and individuality stamped upon every thing, whether physical or intellec- tual, there appear at intervals men whose strong energies and mighty minds prove that they were formed not only to bless or curse the land in which they dwell, and to dazzle mankind during the brief period of their mortal existence, but to stamp their impress upon a worlds and to be held up as beacons to guide or warn all future gene- rations. He who is the source of thought, from whom the most bril- liant human intellect is but a feeble emanation, a ray of the sun's light, bestows these powers, and leaves their possessors in a measure TOO to use them either for good or evil ; setting before them how- ever the rich rewards intended for the diligent, and the fearful pun- ishments reserved for those who with the miser bury their talents, or with the prodigal ' waste them in riotous living.' The strong bias to evil which belongs to our corrupt nature too oflen leads to the per- version of God's most precious gifls ; and thus intellect, the distin- iniishing mark between man and the brute creation, the connecting fink between man and his Creator, is by many turned as a keen weapon a^inst Him who bestowed il, and exhausts itself in fruitless efforts to disprove his existence or subvert his authority. There are however those who knowing the value of the treasure committed to their trust, and feeling their deep responsibility for its proper employ- ment, bum with an ardent desire to expend their intellectual wealth for the glory of Him who has so enriched them, and who will well repay their labor and devotion.
Saul of Tarsus was a choice specimen of human nature : his Ungly intellect has rarely found an equal, his powerful energies have VOL. zxnii. 25
190 TJie Use and Abuse of Talents. [March,
never been surpassed ; ere his mind was illuminated from above, ere liis heart had been purified from the grossness of earthly passion, or his human pride had bowed down before the loftiness of the Most High, he devoted his activity and strength to what he hcUeved to he the right, for in persecuting even unto death the lowl v followers of the lowly Jesl's, he * verily thought that he was doing God ser\'ice :' in- deed the misdirected zeal of Saul of Tarsus teaches us how infinitely important it is not only to press vigorously onward, but to be sure that progress is made in the light direction. The unflinching severity which the agony and death of the holy Steph«^n could not unnerve, the burning zeal which sought to crush the Church of Christ, the firmness of purpose which * haling men and wemen* drew them forth to judgment and to martyrdom, if left to their own unchecked and unguided strength would have been as scathing flames to consume and annihilate j but the treasures contained in this chosen vessel were not destined to be thus lavished in the service of the Prince of Dark- ness ; for the glowing affections of such a heart there was but one worthy object. While on his way to Damascus, commissioned to de- stroy, Saul of Tarsus was suddenly anested in his coui*se by a voice of Almigiitv power. The spirit of truth descended to dispel the dark clouds of error, the spirit of love to overcome the hardness of the unrenewed heait, the spirit of humility to bring down each high imagination and self exalting thought; and he who was thus checked in his stern career * was not disobedient unto the heavenly vision ;' but sinking to the earth, and casting the crown of his pride at the feet of the very Being whose followers he had come forth to blast and destroy, he exclaimed from the depths of an humbled heart, • Lord what wilt thou have me to do V
The pure and lofty character of Paul the apostle was the fruit of this work of God's most Holy Spirit upon the heart of Saul of Tarsus. He whose high intellectual powers had been cultivated by the hand of an able master and invigorated by active exercise, now brought his all — the strength of his powerful reason, tiie force of bis noble eloquence, the beauty of his chastened imagination, the fervor of his glowing heart — and laid them like the royal gifts of gold, and frankin- cense, and myrrh at the feet of the holy Jesus.
In the inspired story of his after life, who can read without emotion of the perfect self-renunciation which was the peculiar characteristic of St. Paul ? Crucifying the flesh, he devoted himself body, soul and spirit to the service of his Lord, and rejoiced in Him who had- called him to these * abundant labors ;* * in weariness and painfulness, in watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness,* he pressed onward, exerting every energy of his power- ful nature to spread through a perishing world the knowledge of an all-sufficient Saviour ; setting his foot upon the powers of earth, the prifec for which ho contended was an imperishable crown ; deaf to the syren voice of plensuie, })ut thirsting for the rich melodies of Heaven, he was caught up into paradise and heard unspeakable words which * it is not lawful for a man to utter ;* refusing to yield even to the sweet claims of friendship and affection, li<* replied to those who
1849.] The Uie and Ahuse of TaUnU. 191
would bave turned him from the ru^eed pathway which led to the attainment of a martyr's crown : * What mean ye to weep and to break mine heart 1 for I am ready not to bo bound only, but also to die at Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus.'
With a manly courage he met every danger, and faced every foe ; with a heavenly wisdom he confounded the subtle, and convinced the unbelieving ; and although with lowliest humility he spake of himself as the * chief of sinners/ ho yet seemed constrained before he as- cended to take possession of his waiting throne to give his own testi- mony to the energy of mind and fidelity of heart with which his work had been accomplished. * I have fought a good fight/ he ex- claims, ' I have finished my course, I have kept the faith ; henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day/
What nobler pattern save one can we set before us than that of the holy Paul ] What merely human being ever better improved the talents committed to his care, or devoted himself to the highe9t and noblest objects with more eainest zeal and untiring energy { Would each in his measure emulate this bright example, and re- nouncing every thought of je^ bring his all, whether it be treasured hoards of gold and jewels, or but two poor mites, so it be his all, and expend it freely and wisely for the glory of God, and the good of man, how would the sterile desert blossom as the rose, and the parched earth be refreshed and watered, as the garden of the Lord !
Years, ages, centuries, had rolled away, when another master spirit appeared upon earth. Placed in the middle rank of society, he yet seemed born to command, and was early recognised among his fellows as the guiding mind. Living at a period of most extra- ordinary confusion, when infernal spirits seemed to have taken pos- session of fair and beautiful France, and made it their home, their battle-field and dwelling-place ; where every preexisting institution was overthrown, and Christianity hei-self derided, despised, and de- nied ; Napoleon Bonaparte, with resistless power, seized upon the strange and conflicting elements by which he was surrounded, and constructed for himself a lofty throne, and most extended empire. Nation after nation was brought under his dominion ; crowns and sceptres were his play-things ; his renown filled the earth, and men trembled at the name of one whose iron-frame shrank from no fatigue ; whose indomitable soul dreaded no danger ; whose heart of steel melted not at human suffering ; whose lavish hand spared neither blood nor treasure to accomplish his designs ; who ruthlessly tore away the tender chords of affection, and at the voice of stern ambition, even startled from her resting place in his own bosom the only dove which had ever made her nest there, and condemned him- self to a cheerless and solitaiy grandeur ; and thus, dwelling in his gorgeous palace of ice, he could feed upon the thought of his great- ness and renown, while the heart that had trusted him lay bleeding at his feet.
Napoleon Bonaparte, like the sainted Paul, was endowed with lofty powers ; but the talents taken from the rich treasury of Heaven^
192 * The Use. and Abuse of Talents, [March,
and intrusted to him for improvement and increase, were debased by being employed for earthly purposes and selfish ends. The un- tiring energy of the holy Apostle fainted not, as he passed throngh perils by sea and land, pointing out the road to eternal life, and urging men to press onward in its steep and rugged pathway. The same quality in the warrior was engaged in leadmg his fellow- creatures to scenes of carnage and death. The one ' endured hard- ness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ;' the other braved fatieue and danger to obtain universal enipire over men ; the one crucified the flesh and sacrificed human affections to promote the glory and win the favor of his Lord ; the other cast out all sofler feelings, and tore away the clinging tendiils of his heart, that he might sacrifice all other passions upon the altar of his insatiable ambition. The one trode upon the pomp and grandeur of earth as toys unworthy the regaxd of an immortal spiiit; the other enshrined them in his heart of heaits, and made them the gods of his idolatry. The one submitted to be looked upon as the * off-scouring of all things ;' the other sought supreme dominion. The one rebuked the vices, shaded the anguish, pitied the weakness, and strengthened the hearts of his brethren, and in his widely-diflfused, yet tender sympathy, became * all things to all men ;' the other, renouncing human fellowship, made himself the centre of his thoughts'and ends. The far-seeing vision of the one glanced over eternity, and aimed at the ever-increasing expansion of his faculties and affections ; the eagle eye of the other sought a fame wide as the earth's limits, and enduring as time ; but was closed to the prospect of unbounded space and never-ending duration. The one aspired to a heavenly throne — a diadem of clustering stars ; the other sought a crown of earthly glory — a sceptre of temporal power. As the close of life drew on, with what different sensations must those two immortal beings have awaited its approach ! One looking forward, the other backward ; one dwelling in thought upon his mansion of rest, the green pastures and still waters where his worn and weary soul would find a sure repose, and feasting his mind*s eye with coming scenes of unimaginable beauty, and his ear with the harping of many harps, and the joyous welcome of those who would crown with ready hands the hero of so many well-fought fields, and the glad * well done* of his Lord, and waiting eagerly yet patiently for the unbarring of the goldqn portals, for the laying aside his faded garments, and putting on the robes of grace and purity and life ; the other chained to a rock, with the vulture of disappointed ambition gnawing at his vitals, looking back upon his lost dominion, his throne in ruins, his affections stifled, his subjects ruled by those of other blood ; listening to the voice of a reproving conscience and the wail of agony ascending from his many fields of carnage ; humbled by the littleness of those who ruled this once mighty ruler ; and thus awaiting death. Let us hope that the voice of power which arrested Saul of Tarsus in his wild career made itself heard too in this lion- heart before the chain was broken which bound the immortal spirit to its mortal dwelling, saying * Peace, be still !* to its fierce passions, and awakening more lofly desires, a purer hope, a strong, undying, holy Faffh.
1849.] Stanzas on a PortraU. 193
In observing the career of these athletic spirits, we cannot but perceive that while one presses earnestly and steadily onward, with hand outstretched to grasp the prize, the other has mistaken the goal and been lured from the straight path by a glittering bauble dropped from the hand of one who is ever watching for his prey, and who even attempted to win the homage of the high and holy One by showing liim * the kingdoms of this world and the glory of them.' He in his mighty strength resisted, but the weaker creature yielded to the se- duction ; and how fleeting were the glories which he won ! Hia §omp and power have passed away ; ' dust has returned to its kin- red dusty and the spirit unto God who gave it,' and we know no more ; but in the track of light left by the ' chariot of fire and horses of fire' by which the sainted Paul ascended, we can almost see his onward path from one degree of glory to another, throughout the circling ages of eternity.
Now which example is most worthy of emulation 1 Shall the glowing exhortations and steadfast life of the victorious apostle pre- vail on those who are yet in the battle-field to strain every nerve for conquest, having the eye fixed upon a heavenly prize 1 or shall the hungering for ^is world's fading splendor lead them to follow the track of him who,. after attaining the height of earthly glory, has passed away, and left nothing behind him but the name of Napoleon Bonaparte ? v m. x.
0TANZAS ON A PORTRAIT.
World ! I turn mine eyes from thee*
Thy dreams of California gold ; And with devoted ecstasy
A scene of present bliss behold : For Beaaty*s smile, her Parian brow. And loveliness, inspire me now !
By that look there is a thought,
Half mystiBed from mortal sight ; By some ereative impulse wrou^t.
Imagination veiled from light ! And I would gjive a world to know, Doth it token joy or wo 7
I am spell-bound ; for that look
In life could waken up the fire Of high ambition ; scorn to brook
A tyrant's thraldom ; and inspire The warrior and the baid to brave Peril to win thee — or a grave !
Still there is a gentleness
Awakening a milder strain ; Those lips which now each other press
Could in their pressure soften pain. And chase away all worldly care — An angers smile is beaming there ! hbm&t j. B«&pr»r9.
J«t».r0r*, FAruary, 1S49.
194 A Planetary Dialogue, [March,
PLANETARY DIALOGUlS/
BT rCCIOS C. IlIXTU.
TuE hours had circled tho busy earth,
Tho kiugr of day sought his western bed, Obsequious clouds at his biddiug stepped forth
With gold and with crimson to curtain his head ; And now, as the light of his chamber grew dim,
Till blown out for his majesty's special reposei The world thought with no RK>re concern upon him.
Unless now and then his dread majesty's nose Chanced to wake up the mountains and woods with asnore. Portending, the wise thought, a terrible shower.
But his sleep was too heavy to trouble them long,
And the couriers of Night, being sure of the fact, Ordered out the black carriage, which trundled along
On the firmament's broad and shadowy tract, Amiouncing to all the approach of their lord
With retinue sable, in silence profound : Then the autocrat spoke his imperial word,
And sudden there broke on the darkness around His million stars, through his empire beaming, And comets wide their meteor banners streaming.
Of the principal courtiers that honored his state
A bright one^ had wandered to regions unknown ; One's curtains were drawn as his car drove elate,^
Without excellent spectacles witnessed by none ; But four, in full dress, drove openly on
In the gaze of the multitude thronging below, Iiending lustre unwonted to Night's dusky throne,
And setting the firmament * all of a glow:' Those who saw it inquired, in a rapt admiration. What occasioned this wondrous illumination 7
There was Jupiter, chief of the peerage of Night,
With his four brilliant stars,* and his ribbons^ to match. There was Mars, a choleric, bloody old knight.
Always ready for battle, and * up to the scratch ;' His grandfather, Saturv, (a blade in his day.
Who had turned all his family into the street,^ Bejewelled and ringed, in his bravest array,
Came out with the rest his liege monarch to greet ; Also Venus, tho belle of all seasons ; between us. The court were all moonshine without the said Venus.
1 Those who arc observant of colcstial phenomena, or of the newspapers, may recoUcct that au unusual number of planets hare been risible during the past winter. -• MEacuRV, not visible.
:iHERSciiKLL, risible only through a telescope. 4 Uis fatcUitei. '' His belu.
1849.] A Planitari/ Dialogue. 195
The four maids of honor were not left behind,
Cbrks, Pallas and Vesta, and chief of them, fvso ; But their ladyship's office the fair ones confined
Somewhat in the rear, as undoubtedly you know. To spare farther description, the chronicles show
That seldom, if ever, the court of old Night Has displayed to the gaze of his subjects below
A pageant so wondrous, so dazzlingly b^ght. The procession moved on, majestic and slow. While the spheres discouned music harmonious and low.
But hark ! a deep voice ; O, how .thrilling its notes !
liike jGolian melody, hushes all heaven, The soul of all music, the gush of sweet thoughts,
A whisper of joy to the firmament riven ! All eyes to the west were admiringly bent.
Where, gliding along iu full beauty and power, Fair Venus, erect in her chariot, lent
The charm of her presence to crown the glad hour Of imperial revelry. Thus she addressed Her brave cousin Mars, whoso towering crest She saw grimly flashing some leagues to the west :
* Well met, my cousin, once again ! Where in the universe hast Men ?
'T is many a night and many a day Since last I saw thy waving plume,
And a long, lonely, weary way. In solitude and silent gloom,
I 've wandered through the boundless sky,
Longing, but all in vain, for thee. My path was paved with starry light, But what is day, and what is night?
"Where every face is strange to me, And where no voice is heard to bless, All heaven is but a wilderness !
* Time was, ere we were called away
Up to our destined sphere above, 'T was ours amid the flowers to play,
Or on the sounding sands to rove. Canst thou forget one sunny hour.
Soon darkened to tempestuous night, 1 trembled at the ocean's power.
Thou chided my infantile fright ? * Wherefore from thy mother fleo. Fair daughter of the briny sea?* Now, after so long absence met.
Why do thy chariot-wheels delay ? Thy coursers in the race are fleet,
'T is Venus calls thee — haste away !'
There was silence. Mars waved his towering crest, As his chariot drove o*er the star-paved road,
And thus the brave knight his fair cousin addressed, As a chivalrous warrior undoubtedly should :
* Fair Queen of Love ! I bless the voice
Whose kindly words my coming greet ; Once bidden, I 've no other choice Than to obey cofflmands so sweet
196 A PUoMtary Dialcgue. [Bfaich^
Fomtthee! 't wai my liTeliett dread
That when far abeent from thy agfat My form had from thy memory fled.
Like the day's dying light ! Oft, conrring o*er the farthest verge
Of Night°8 domain, where dreuy wavea Of desert light unshadowed sonre,
I 'to enyied the most abject Maves Whose base employ lends Miss so high As toiling underneath thine eye. No longer chide me then, I pnthee, I die, fair Vsnds, to be with thee !'
< Die! 'tis wellsaid! Methmks thy life
Is most invulnerably secured, On that poor score, Anom danger, if
Absence like thine may be endured. Long < out of sight' as thou hast been,
If thou wert also < out of mind,' It would not have been strange, I ween.
And scarcely could be thought unkind. But where has been thine embassy t What quarrels dire have called for thee 7 Sure, nothing but thy warlike trade Of thee has such an exile made.'
[<0, lady flur! I prithee c
With cruel, causeless words like these,
More venomous than Indian dart
To wound my true and loyal heart ;
Driven, by our sovereign's dread commands^ To wander far beyond thy sight,
A sentinel of distant lands.
From my watch-tower's accessless height I 've gazed on fields of rugged fight
On many a continent and isle.
That made my blood wax young the while.
< O ! in the days now past and gone.
When in my youthful prime. My sword Vulcanian would alone.
In a brief moment's time. Have swept the field like a mountain wave, And made the dark ground one terrible grave !
* I 've seen the ocean dyed with gore, Heard shrieks above the tempest's roar, And strength and beauty sink beneath The chill of all-devouring Death, Under my fixed and watchful eye. Intently gazing from the sky ; Yet. far as I have fled away, My heart hath nevey learned to stray ; Loyal and true it lingered still, And waiteth now for Vxnus* smile ; Therefore frown not, but smile again ! Shall I long, long sue in vain 7'
»i9.] A Planetary Dialogue. 197
YENX78.
' Fie ! fie ! Tea warrion all prorame
We 're weak enongrh to adore you mighti Ab if a helmet's gandy plume,
And trophies c/i yictorions fight» Were all a lady need require To set her poor weak heart on fire ! Ah, me ! of those whose toss has proved
Thy valor in the mnrderons strife, There have been hearts that vamly loved,
Vainly ; for thou hast drank their life ; Robbed their sweet breath to swell the cry Of victory through the listening sky ! O ! to inspire Fame's trumpet Uast, What hapless myriads breathe their last ! And those who hear it, let them fear ; The notes that thrill upon their ear Were wrung ftom agonizinff hosts — "Die ejpiring sigh of parted ghosts !'
' Nay, my sweet cousin ! this good sword, By thee so suddenly abhorred, Once thine own hand with gariands hung ; Do not my valiant heart such wrong. But backward thy deep cuises spell '
< Backward my true curses spell ! Wherefore? These curses are not mine, But Love's '
' O, joy ! they are not thine ! Then say not Love's, nor with such ire Let Furies thy pure heart mspue '
< Peace ! I will curse ! I curse not f Aee, But execrate the cruelty That dares fell slaughters to proclaim, And call the awful echo fame I*
' Fair mutability ! 't is plain I seek to move thee, but in vain. Thou bidd'st me hasten to thy side. Only with cruelty to chide ; To mock my ear with words that bless. Then blast with venomed bitterness! Once 'twas thy joy to hear me tell What now is spumed and cursed by thee. Enough ! 't b death to say farewell — Death doomed by Venus' cruelty. Farewell ! if that my deeds in arms Have lost for thee their wonted charms ; If Mars is hateftil to thy sight Fear not lest thy preferred delight
198 He wanted to Marry a Fortune, [March,
His thankleas presence should destroy.
A ^dess's jest ! a lady's toy !
I go ; but language ne*er can tell
What thoughts are hidden in that word farewell /*
Stay, stay, my hero I nor depart
So hastily, so angrily ; Thou art a warrior — can the smart
Of a few words compel to flee One whom a thousand fields of fight, . In heaven and earth, ne'er turned to flight ? Return, and if thy tongue can bear To speak of things I love to hear, Together through the sky we '11 rove, Aim not of battles talk, but love. Canst not for once thy helmet doff? Canst thou not lay thine armor off? And be as when in youthful cflee WiHtwiiili II il by the bright blue sea?
She said, and smiled with more than mortal grace ; I
Deep blushes mantled in her speaking face ; I
A tear of joy suffused her dark blue eye, I When Mars enraptured Jiastened through the sky.
A moment, and a veil of misty light j
Hid the^ celestial raptures from our sight J
HE WANTED TO MARRY A FORTUNE!
BT J. M. CBUaOB, S84'
' Vi T>iace molto PblladelpMa 7 AbbaatanzA bena ed allaT — Itaz.iaii, witboot a ICAsrsa.*
Reader, you love money, of course ; but did you ever try to marry a fortune 1 The hero of this sketch did ; and if you will be patient a few moments, I will tell you most succiuctly with what result.
It was the winter of 1836, and the people of our good cledn-&ced Philadelphia were in the full enjoyment of the avocations and pas- times peculiar to that season of muffs, tippets, oyster-suppers, balls, concerts, and cold noses. Mr. John Kent Blackstone lived at an excellent boarding-house in Arch-street, and occupied his time between reading law and human nature. That is, he devoted his waking hours to lounges among the habitues of Chestnut-street, and loUings in an arm-chair of 'Squire Coke in Walnut-street.
Now Mr. Blackstone was a * good-looking fellow.' Thb was the opinion of all who marked his well-known form and features in Chest- nut-street in 1836, and he now indicates strongly the fact to the small and select circle of friends who stop at his gate in one of the pret- tiest towns of adjacent New- Jersey. John knew that he was good-
1849.] He wanted to Marry a Fortune. 199
looking in 1836, too ; Jobn knows tbat he is good-looking now. His glass and admiring friends told him this in 1836 ; his glass, a charm- ing little home-bird of a wife, and the facsimile of his own face in that of an only child who sits at his family board, tell him so now. But I was to inform you how John tried to marry a fortune.
It was at the period when we introduced John Kent Blackstone to our readers, 1836, aforesaid, and during the winter aforesaid, that John Kent Blackstone as aforesaid, first saw the much- desired object of which he had been some weeks in search ; and he saw her only to resolve to carry her heart by storm. She was em bon point, hand- some in face and figure, and what was a chief recommendation, very rich / John met his Dulcinea of fat cheeks, hazel eyes, full-developed bust and shoulders, substantial figure, and large pecuniary expecta- tions, at a public ball in the Chiuese Museum. She was dancing with a grocer's clerk of Market-street ; and he was struck dumb by the beautiful graces which she displayed in her ' chassez-de-chassez,' her * balancez,' and her ' promenade ;' especially as an acquaintance had just intimated to him that she was a veritable heiress. Mr. Blackstone was caught. He at once sought an introduction to the lady, and he obtained it. He asked her to dance, and the grocer's clerk aban- doned the field at once. John's first step was to beg the honor of taking charge of Susannah's bouquet, for Susannah was her name ; he then launched into a dialogue, in the course of which, he had the pleasure of perceiving that he had made a most favorable impression. Susannah was most delicately complimented, and the shots fired by the skilful Blackstone went home to her heart. John had frequent evidences of this during the evening, and particularly at the close of the sweet interchange which happened at the door of Susannah's home, in Filbert-street, when, before saying * good night' the young creature looked him straight into his eyes, and fetched a sigh, which tested most fully the strength of her bodice-fastenings. It was a long sigh ; it was a deep sigh ; it was a sigh which declared emphati- cally, * My hand and my fortune are yours.'
I shall not pause to dwell upon the particulars of all the interviews which succeeded that of Blackstone's introduction to Susannah. They were frequent and uninterrupted, until the young lady's father began to observe the tendency of all these things. Then there was tiouble for Mr. John Kent Blackstone ! The old gentleman was a retired master-carpenter and builder. His only child was a precious object to him ; and he could not think of giving her away to a professional man ! He wanted something more practical ; something better cal- culated to make a good use of the money he intended to bestow with his Susannah's hand. Before this stunning fact was developed to Blackstone, he was in an elysium of happy realization and glorious expectation. He loved Susannah from the first ; but his love took higher and higher stilts as report fastened upon her expectations an increase of thousands ; and when it became a cool hundred thousand, he was in averyseaofCaliforniagold and Golconda diamonds. He then saw springing from his intended, not only beautiful companionship, social delights, and the sweet prattle of children, but the future was
200 He wanted to Marry a Fortune. [March,
spiced and seasoned by horses, carriages, liveried servanta, and trips to Europe. He even beean to devise an entirely new plan of a dwell* ing-bouse for the city and of a cottage am6e for the country. Indeed, it was quite a pleasant study for him to contrive some new shape for his carriage — some new color for his horses.
But ah ! cruel fate ! luckless John Kent Blackstone ! The obsta- cle which interposed cooled off these heated anticipations, even as doth a bucket ot Schuylkill a red hot poker. Susannah's father was inexorable. He believed in the virtue of the veto power, and he brought it down upon the comfortable little plans of Mr. John Kent Blackstone with sledge-hammer emphasis. He told John he had nothing against him personally, but that he had no knowledge of bii- siness. He liked his appearance well enough ; but he had no ' vimble means of support.' He was a very ' well-edicated' gentleman, no doubt ; but tnen he was n't good for anything, and he must n't think of marrying his daughter. He wanted a man for Susannah who had been brought up to habits of industry ; ' none of yer snipper-snap- pers ; none of yer do-nothings ; none of yer silly dandies i' Susannah's mother (who cottoned to John, hoping to crawl over his should en into fashionable life,) looked daggers at her husband, while he was •firing this grape-shot into her daughter's lover ; every now and then exclaiming, * Why, hussy, ain't you ashamed ;' while Susannah herself afler making three futile attempts, at last fainted, and Mr. John Kent Blackstone left the house ; curses struggling to find utterance from his compactly-closed lips.
On reaching his little room in the fifth story of the boarding-house in Arch-street, John fii*st thought he would run away with SusannaL This thought was overruled, however, by an intimation that if he did so her father might cut her off with a shilling ; and then in what respect would he be better off than hfe then was — fi:«e and unen- cumbered 1 Again he resolved to become a practical man ; learn, in other words, a trade, and walk in a green-baize jacket through streets which he had all alon^ trodden in elegant attire and paten^ leather boots. At last an entirely original idea struck him. It was to introduce a silly, coxcombical, but eminently fashionable acquain- tance, to Susannah, and induce him to show her great attention, when he should withdraw himself indignantly from the family, thus leading the flinty father to suppose he had been supplanted, and forcing him, from the ineffably disgusting vapidity of his rival, to seek him ou^ and bestow upon him at last the much-desired hand of Susannah, as a choice between two evils.
S. Rolando Timmings was the object selected by Blackstone to carry out his plan ; a perfect bouquet of sun-flowers and holyokes. Timmings was ridiculously exquisite in dress ; and the colors which he wore all at once combined the whole catalogue of a prism. His hair was long, coarse, and ever plentifully drenched with Maccassar; his eyes were large and filmy ; his mouth was spacious, and be never closed it, whether sleeping or waking. He had but few ideas, and those were all connected with the inflation of his own trumpet John did not think there was the slightest danger of Timmings steal-
1649.] He wanted to Marry a Fortune. 201
ing Susannali's heart away from him — a circumstance which, by the way, reqaired some hesitation, considering the intimate relations aboat to exist between the two. Oh, no ! he had too high an esti- mate of Susannah's good sense for that.
Susannah and her mother, when advised of the plan which Black- stone had laid for the accomplishment of his desires, applauded it, especially as Mr. Timmings was of most excellent family, and would not injure their hopes in ultimately attaining the top-most platform of fashionable consideration. Timmings, too, entered into the ar- rangement willingly, and expressed a determination to play his part as well as could be wished, not knowing, all the time, what Blackstone meant.
Susannah's last interview with the devoted and self-sacrificing Blackstone, before Timmings commenced his masquerading, was an impressive scene :
* Do you sense what you are doing. Jack V said she.
* Sense it, Susy V replied Blackstone ; ' I do, to the letter. It is the only thing I can do to carry my point with your d — I beg your pardon — odd-notioned masculine progenitor. Excuse me, madam, tor thinking any thing disrespectful or profane of your good man, but '
* Oh, I know how you feel, Jack^' interrupted the mother ; * you are in as desperate a state as is Claude Melnotte in the play, when Pauline finds out that he is nothing but a gardener's son. But how long is this thing to go on 1'
* Only a month,' replied Susannah ; ' as the poet says^ one little month ; 'O gallop in space, ye fiery-fettered steeds !' '
' ' Gallop apace, ye nery-footed steeds,' my dear,' said John, in the gentlest tone of voice.
' Well, gallop apace ye . But never mind the words of the
poetry, Jack, so that I have the soul of it here, in my beating heart. We are then to be parted one month ! I am not to see you for a whole month ! I hope your friend Timmings is tolerable. Does he sing 1 — does he waltz V
* He does,' said Blackstone, ' and nothing else.'
* Well, if he does, then I can endure him — perhaps like him — till we meet again,' replied Susannah.
* But I do not want you to like him.'
* Well, then, I won't, Jack.'
* Good-by, Susannah !'
* Good-by, Jack !'
And thus the two parted ; the one to cover up his sorrows by an unusual in-taking of law ; the other to be apostrophized by the ver- dant Timmings.
TwEBTTY-EioHT days had passed away, and Blackstone had not even seen Susannah. He heard of her, however, at home and abroad, in the parlor, at concerts, in the street, at theatres and operas. Tim- mings was ' ever by her side,' and both, from all accounts, were act- ing their parts to perfection. The father appeared to be quite docile
202 He wanted to Marry a Fortune. [March,
under the Timmings-infliction ; seeming to take the closes of devo- tion, which he incessantly poured out upon Susannah, with wonderful equanimity. Blackstone began to feel that his scheme was not work- ing well ; and on the twenty ninth day had fully made up his mind to adopt some new device. He formed this resolve while preparing to go to his law-books, afler breakfast, and had hardly seasoned it with a strong word or two, when the servant entered his apartment, and told him that an elderly gentleman had called, and wished to say a few words to him in the parlor.
John hurried down stairs, and there he confronted Susannah's father ; just the man he wanted to see ; for his appearance argued a ' consummation devoutly to be wished.'
' Good morning, Mr. Blackstone,' said the old gentleman.
' Good morning. Sir.*
' Mr. Blackstone, my daughter worries my life out of me. Instead of being a blessing to my old age, she is a very curse !'
* Sorry to hear it.'
* Sorry, are you 1 Well, Sir, who in the name of common sense is Mr. Timmings V
Blackstone was in ecstasies as he replied, for he seemed to see the breaking of what he so much wished, ' He is a gentleman, Sir, of good family.'
'Oh, burn the family!' shouted the father, his face reddening: * what does he do for a living 1 Has he any better means of obtain- ing a livelihood than yourself]'
* That I cannot say, Sir ; but for myself. Sir '
* Never mind yourself; what of Timmings, Sir?'
Blackstone was confused, as ho replied : ' Well, Sir — really, Sir, I do n't know.'
* But you should know !* said the father ; * you should not have introduced to my daughter any man whom you did not know ; a man who might win her affections. Indeed, Sir, I believe you are a man of sense.'
Blackstone bowed.
*I believe,' continued the. father, 'that you might have made a tolerably good husband for Susannah ; at any rate, a better one than this Timmings.'
* Thank you kindly,' replied Blackstone ; * I love your daughter ; I will gladly take her from Timmings.'
' That can't be !' said the old gentleman, witli a look of sorrow; ' read that letter. Sir.'
Blackstone took the note which was handed to him, and with very nauseous emotions read as follows :
• Hotel, Philadeipkia, January, 1837.
' Dkar Pa : Forgive mc for an act of Rcemini;: rashness. You opposed my marrying Mr. Blackstonic, and, obedient to your wishes, I at once sought to banish him from my heart The effort, you will rejoice to" know, was successful ; but the place he leflin my affections was soon filled by Mr. Timsxings, a dear, sweet gentleman; and as we were both determined to be married, Alderman Smith has this day joined us together in the holy bonds of wedlock. Rolando intended to write a letter announcing to you this fact ; but he couldn't tmd a pea fit to write with, and was afraid, if he took the one I use, you might find fault with his cbiros*
1849.] Elegiac Lines. 203
raphy. Ho Is a dear, sweet hoBband, and makes lore to me in the prettiest language yon ever heard. You know he writes the sweetest poetry. I am certain you will overlook my marry- ing him without your consent, especially when you reflect how fashionable it will make us all, and abore all. when you consider that your particular aversion. Mr. Blackstokk, will thus be prevented from becoming one of the family. 1 used to like Mr. B., but he is not half so pretty a behaved mon as Rolando. Vou should sec him as ho sits now by my side, curling his beauti* ful brown hair, and kissing my cheeks and lips every opportunity ho gets. Ma knew we were to be married, and was to see us this morning. She hopes you will forgive us. She says that RoLAKiK) will be useful to you to run of errands, shop for us, and copy your letters, and that he can carve for us when you are detained down town. Now do forgive us, and tell Ma to send round to the hotel my laced pocket-handkerchief and the black pomatum, beside two or three pairs of long stockings and my hair-bracelet. Do not call down to see us till noon, as Rolando wants me to go out with him to order a new suit of clothes, and I want to go end buy a new bonnet ; all of which will be charged to you. Please send ino up twenty or thirty dollars : R0X.AXD0 came off in such a hurry that he forgot bis purse, and I have n't had a dollar for a week. Alderman Smitii said he 'd look to you for the marriage-fee, and we told the hackman who took us off to call upon you to-day and get his pay. Now do forgive us, that's a dear Pa !
' Your affectionate,
' SrSANNAII TiMMINGS.'
The reader may judge of John Kent Blackstone's feelings when he perused this remarkable epistle. Reflection upon its contents, however, satisfied him that he had made a lucky escape ; and he has told me that he never envied TimmiDgs the woman he had stolen from him, notwithstanding her large expectations ; especially as since that time she has left him, and ran off with a moustached trombone player, of the Italian Opera orchestra ; fleeing with her musical ad- mirer to parts unknown. Whether Timmings evfir got more than a place to hang up his hat, ' this deponent saith not.'
Pkilad/lphia, Januarj, 1849.
ELEGIAC LINE.S.
ET R. n. BACOIJ.
Yes, thou art lying in thy grave I And now The rushing blast sweeps o'er thy resting place. And in the naked forest moans thy dirge. Yet soon the sumnier-timc, all beautiful. Will plant thy tomb with flowers, And the glad bird will sing above thee, Drinking the soft air that o'er the prairie Comes, l»ending with fairy tread the flowers And throbbing grass along its verdant way ; And the bright sun will smile upon thee, when He fixes in the western sky his crown, That to the zenith flings iis glowing points, The rosy evening's gorgeous diadem ! And here thy couch shall be, perhaps for ages. Until there come the day of promise. Farewell, my frioiul I Friend of ray bright and glowing youth, farewell I ('aim be thy rest, and peaceful be the dreams That play in thy mysterious slumber. h'ihmary, 1849.
204 Our WhUer Birdt. [March,
THE CROW.
* XtiofiT thlekans. And th« exow malMa wing to th« rookj wood. *
Thsir icy drams the polar spirits beat, And dark December, with a howl awakes.
Bat on I wander, while beneath my feet The brittle snow-crust breaks.
The fleecy flock to find one juicy blade
Scrape, with their lifted hoob, the snow away ;
Ended the long, loud bleat of joy that made So blithe the meads of May.
With wildly-mournful bellowings around Yon fence-fprt stack the hungry cattle crowd,
For the drear skies on their old pasture ground Have dropped a heavy shroud.
Housed in some hollow beech the squirrel lies Scared by the whistling winds that scourge the wold ;
The hardy fox is not afoot, too wise To bravo the bitter cold.
Far in the gloomy cedar-swarop to-day
The ruffed-grouse finds a Shelter from the storm,
And fearless grown, the quail-flock wing their way To barns for cover warm. *
One bird alone, the melancholy Crow,
Answers the challenge of the surly Nqrth ;
The forest-tops are swinging to and fro, But boldly goes he form.
His pinions flapping like a banner-sheet, While high he mounts above the forest tall,
Shake from their iron quills the pelting sleet With measured rise and fall.
Tlie sinning court of bards an evil name On the poor creature long ago conferred ;
It was a lying judgment, and I claun Reversal for the bird.
I know that with a hoarse, insulting croak. When planting time arrives and winds are warm,
On the dry antlers of some withered oak He perches safe from harm.
L849.] Our Country Birds. 205
I know that he disturbs the buried maize. And infant blades upspriu^ng on the hills ;
Tliat man a snare to catch the robber lays, While wrath his bosom fills :
Bat is he not of service to our race,
Performing his allotted labor well 7 Although a bounty on his head we place —
The rifle-crack his knell.
Warned is the reaper of foul weather nigh,
When the prophetic creature, in its flight, With a changed note in its discordant cry.
Moves like a gliding kite.
While loader grows that wild, presageful call. Sheaves are piled high upon the harvest wain.
And the stack neatly rounded ere the fall Of hail, and drivmg rain.
Be just, then, farmer, and the grudge forget, >iur8ed in thy bosom long against the bird ;
Tliy crop would have been ruined by the wet Had not that voice been heard.
Health-officer of Nature, he will speed
Croaking a signal to his sable bund. And dine on loathsome ofials, ere tbey breed
Contagion in the land.
When the round nest his dusk mate dcflly weaves.
He sits a warrior in his leafy tent ; And the fierce hawk prompt punishment receives
If near, on mischief bent :
Thus at the door-sill, guarding babes and wife, The dauntless settler met his painted foe ; ^ Love giving, in a dark unequal strife.
Destruction to his blow.
He is no summer coxcomb of the air,
Forsaking ancient friends in evil hour. To find a home where Heaven is ever fair.
And the glad earth in flower.
Though man and boy a warfare with him wage, He loves the forest where he first waved wing;
Awaiting in its depths, though Winter rage. The bright return of Spring.
That love is noblest that survives the bloom Of withered cheeks that once out-blushed tlie rose ;
True to its fading object in the gloom Of life's dull, wintry close :
And the poor Crow, of that pure love a type.
Quits not the wood in which ho bursts the shell Though fall the leaves, and foatlicred armies pipe To the chill North farewell ! w. ■. c. a.
TOL. xxxiir. 26
206 Leaves from an African Journal. [March,
LEAVES FROM AN AFRICAN JOURNAL.
BT ZOntt CARKOZ.Z. SAKVT.
POnTO PRATA— C ATEETNO.
Monday, December 20. — Ashore this morning, providing mess stores, having been recently elected, against my w3l and consent, to the post just vacated by the resignation of our esteemed and veteran ex-caterer, the Fleet Surgeon. There was a good deal of merriment among my mess-mates on the occasion, but it was all on one side, for it was but another repetition of the fable, where it was fun for the boys, but death to the frogs. From some observation, and the experience of other sufferers, * pro bono publico,* it may well be said, uneasy rests the head that wears a caterer's crown. So I made my debut ashore to-day, and have, with the rapidity of a midnight conversion, become veiy learned in culinary quadrupeds, bipeds, vegetables and fhiits. Thanks to the energy 'and resources of the lifted Tazzi, our expe- rienced steward, much trouble and delay had been spared me ; for he had collected, before I reached the market, a goodly group of pigs, turkeys, chickens, ducks, oranges, bananas, sweet potatoes, and that famous Yankee comestible, the squash. Then, surrounded by a still noisier group of dirty-looking men, women and their precious off- spring, confused by the hubbub of these chattering people, I settled nght speedily for the goods, well pleased to relieve myself from the portable sub-ti-easury I was forced to make my travelling companion for the nonce. And then again, while waiting at the custom-house on the beach, for the boat to take me aboard, we had a second edition, with amciidmeurs and addenda of the scene that had occurred during our bargain with Francisco up in town. For the cabin, ward-room and steerage stewards had concluded all their purchases, and the noisy live stock and luscious fruit lay piled up in glorious confusion, amid another collection of male and female natives, black, white and yellow, in full-dress, half-dress and not a few in no dress at all. The squeaking of obstinate grunters, the cacklino; and crowing of fowls, and all the noises and vile racket usual on such stirring occasions among these destined victims to our appetites, were more than equalled in melody and sound by the babel uproar of that motley crowd. Each intent on 'dumps/ and some not loath to steal, the gesticulating Diegos gathered anxiously around, in a perfect tempest of excitement and confusion. Leaving the watchful and scolding stewards to fight it out, and tired of this rumpus and bewilderment, I forthwith made my escape when the boat was ready, and retunied on board, well worn out and egregiously annoyed by my operations'of the morning. As some tidy and frugal housewife may perchance peruse these lines, in proof of my newly-acquired knowledge in these matters, and with a view to comparison with prices over the water, I may state
1849.] Leaves from an African Journal. - 207
that fowls bring three dollars the dozen, small sized turkeys, fifty cents, large, one dollar each. Porkers cost from fifty cents to three dollars ; bananas, one dollar for four bunches. I purchased six hundred and fifty fine oranges for one dollar and seventy-five cents, and foity dozen eggs for five dollars. So you may, as Jack Downing says, * figure it all up,' if you please, and let me know when we meet the result of the comparison.
It is quite amusrag to see how eager the people are here for money, and how little they are content with. A ' dump' seems to be the standard of value among them, and a few heavy coppers will get you a ride on a stout negro's back, purchase a basket of oranges or bananas, and make male and female, black and white, old and young, high or low, quite happy and for the moment all grateful, if offered as a present They must make the most they can from strangers, for among themselves, it is Greek meet Greek, diamond cut diamond. The copper harvest is brief and uncertain, so they make hay while the sun shines, and small favors are thankfully received and appro- priated.
Lieutenant D , one of our future mess-mates, joined us to-day.
He was weak and feverish when he came aboard, but has already felt the benefit of the change, and will I trust in due time be himself again. It is rather a singular fact that here we are, within a few hundred rods of shore, and yet during the nine days we have swung at anchor, in constant communication with the town, not one single case of Island fever, here very common and virulent, has developed itself among us. While on shore, cool and dry as it now is, a stranger dare not sleep in town, under penalty of running almost a certainty of catching the deadly, insidious disease. Such preserving and salu- tary qualities have the salt air aud water, and so much are we pro- tected from the fever exhalations of the marshes in the roar of Porto Praya. May such ffood fortune and proof of Divine protection ever attend us in our exile on this dull, trying station !
We have been now three months out from Norfolk, whence we sailed on the twenty-first September, and have only been at anchor twenty-three days during that lapse of time. So far, we may well congratulate ourselves on our comparative exemption from the ills attendant upon those who go out on the great deep in ships ; for not a man has ' shuffled off this mortal coil,' not a sail been rent, not a •par lost, and not one accident ended seriously of several that have occurred aboard. We have had nothing that can be strictly called a gale, but for the most part dry, pleasant weather, and passed through ariolent thunder gust without hurt or damage. So that every thing considered, I deem myself not boasting or presumptuous when I say that we have been highly favored, and should be truly grateful to the Giver of all good gifts for his mercy and protection.
PORTO PBAY A-0Hai8TMA8.
Saturday, December 25. — Christmas ! a blessed and cheering word ; but here away from home and home friends, with a wet day, I
208 Leaves from an African Journal. [March,
calculate but little on our chance of amusement. At home the warm fire, ' the feast, and flow of soul/ preside over these pleasant times, and my feelings ^nd thoughts are all centering and clustering there.
I was engaged writing in my room, about five o'clock, when a sound fell upon my ear which seemed to cause quite a sensation throughout the ship. To the uninitated the boatswain's hoarse call, ' All hands to splice the main brace !' would have carried other tones, and quite another meaning than to the jolly Jack tars. To the former it would have sounded like a summons to take a pull at a rope, but to ' all hands,' its echo was music, for it invited them in trumpet tones to take a pull at the grog-tub instead of a further acquaintance with hemp. In honor of the day an extra ' tot' is served out to the crew, and the officers, from cabin to berth-deck, have a right to a swig. Brief indeed the pleasure, but it is enough to distinguish the day from others on board a man-of-war, and to justify the exclamations which awoke me bright and early, of ' A merry Chiistmas to you here, and a cellar full of beer.' The word has a spell in it, and evokes the memory of former days, when Santaclaus was a presence we religiously believed in, and * Christmas Gift, Christmas Gift,' brought me something quite as wel- come as * Splice the main brace !' to the thirsty sailor.
An appropriate and national conclusion of the day's proceedings, was our * egg-nog' feast in the ward-room. Our worthy commodore and commanders of * The Flag' and Boxer gave us the encourage- ment of their countenances ; and cabin, ward-room and steerage, at mahogany convened, did ample justice to the rich mantling beverage which made so many trips to eager lips. We were sociable and gay, and the company adjourned at a fitting hour, well pleased that we had made, to the extent of our ability, ' a merry Christmas' of it, on the occasion.
PORT O PRAY A.
Sunday, January 2, 1848. — The fair budding of the New-Year is still sweeter and more agreeable than on its first day's existence. The wind h£^ gone down, and the sea with it, and the arrival of the Actaeon, a British Jackass frigate, from Sierra Leone, has added ano- ther item to the gay appearance of the Roads. Sunday flags are waving on shore and water, and this out-of-the-way place is really quite waked up and beautified by a gathering of masts which would do credit to many of our sea-ports.
After dinner accepted Captain Mercer's polite invitation to accom- pany him ashore. The Fleet Surgeon was of the party, and we
picked up Captain B , of the Boxer, on the way. The walk we
took to the American cemetery, a shoit distance out of town, was an exercise which we much needed, and was very agreeable and accep- table. The ground adjoining the town grave-yard was purchased by the officers and men of Commodore Perry's squadron, and contains four or five graves, one of them that of Dr. Lewis Wolfiey, of the Decatur, who died at this place on the twenty-first of July, 1844. The cemetery is full of weeds and looks bleak and neglected.' It
1849.] Leaves from an African Journal, 209
is well walled id, and might bo made a very respectable spot for one's last home, were some pains taken with it, and trees and walks intro- duced to improve and adorn it. Here in this solitary and remote spot sleeps poor Wolfley, whom I knew so well and esteemed so mghly, some few brief years past in Paris. Far fiom home, and among a strange and unsympathizing people, he took his leave of life, and in the spring of promise, just entering on the fruition of his talents and honorable profession, was he stricken down, and naught but a
flain marble tablet records his d^ath and guides us to his early grave, stood by his modest tomb with feelings of sincere soitow and regret. I thonght of him as I knew him in the gay metropolis of France, and how strange it was that circumstances should thus have brought me 60 far off to pay this passing tribute to a valued friend. But life is full of change, and reality is stranger than fiction.
As we returned from the cemetei*y, at the foot of the Custom House Hill we found a bevy of dark-skinned damsels washing at a stream which flows through the ravine. Some few rejoiced in good forms and faces, and though of ' loose habits,* and not over-loaded with costume, did not seem at all abashed, but showed their teeth, and chatted away just as coolly as in their own dirty hovels.
PORTO PRATA — AT 8EA FOB MONROVIA.
Sunday, January 9. — Weather still delightful. Both vessels gliding through the water at a comfortable and easy pace ; the * Boxer' looking really quite pretty and graceful under a crowd of eair, while we look bare and awkward under shortened canvass. We keep so near each other, and the sea is so tranquil, that, were it otherwise convenient, some of the ' Boxer'sV might have attended our service, or given us the light of their countenances at dinner.
Appropriate reflection is it for this holy day to reflect how much we have reason to be grateful to a kind Providence for our exemp- tion from the usual ills of sea-life. And truly do we of the • Flag Ship' have peculiar cause to congratulate ourselves, and return grate- ful thanks for God's great goodness ; for the surgeon, in conversa- tion this morning, informed me, that out of the flflecn patients in the Sick Bay, seven are casualties, contusions from falls, and the drift- ing articles from the ship's lurches. It would seem that some of the escapes were almost miraculous, and the results exceedingly unex- pected and surprising. One man was jammed against the bulwarks on the forecastle by a heavy blacksmith^s table getting adrift, and catching him by the thighs to leeward, and yet, though the injury was thought to be at the time a bad one, ho is expected to he about again in a day or two, ready for duty. One of the messenger boys tumbled yesterday down the main hatch, fell into the hold, having thus traversed some eighteen feet, and striking against ladders and other hard substances on the way ; and yet, strange to say, he was not even stunned, but only slightly pontuserl, and will be at his work again in a few days. Another instance of our good foitune, and I
210 Leaves from an African JornmoL [March,
shall have cited enough to prove what I have asserted. A marlin- spike, hung upon the main-top, having fallen yesterday from a height of some thirty feet, came down in the midst of a group of men clus- tered at the mast, and yet, luckily, hurt no one ; for had it struck a man, the result might have been very disastrous. Accidents and oc- cuiTonces like these are frequent on board men-of-war ; and whether we are more favored than others I cannot say; but matter it is enough to make us consider ourselves peculiarly fortunate and to afford us ample cause to make us thankful to God for the past, and hopoful of his care and kindness for the future.
To pass from ' grave to gay,' what a source of unflagging amuse- ment is * Fanny,' the master*s dancing monkey, to officers and men ! *Every Sunday morning when the ship's crew are called to muster, there sits the funny beast, in flannel uniform bedight, with sugar-loaf cap on head, and, tar like, chewing a sailor's quid, ready to receive the captain and first lieutenant, as they make their tour of inspection through the ship. Fanny's post is the larboard side of the forecastle, and she belongs to the spar-deck fourth division. Gravely and de- murely she awaits the usual visit ; and, as the captain halts to pay the morning salutations, afiectionately extends her arms, to offer a kind embrace, or, if not sufficiently encouraged, confines herself to a civil touch of the cap, or a passing shake of the hand. When rigged out in full dress, with cocked hat and toggery to match, and more leaiTied in the sailor's life and duties, taking her ration, and drawing her grog, she will be quite an acquisition to the ship, and an orna- ment to the service.
AT SEA FOR M O N RO V I A — T AE O E T . 8 H O O T INO.
Wednesday, January 12. — Scarce a breeze to ruffle the gently- palpitating ocean, and an African sun to bake us. Thermometer at eighty-three in the cabin, and fresh air a commodity very much in de- mand. Target-shooting to-day, and great preparations for consump* tion of ball and gunpowder. First of all the guns being reported ready for work, a barrel, with a flag on it, was cast overboard, bat, unluckily, when short of the proper distance, it was reported to have sprung a leak, and to be sctthng fast Before a fi;un could be made to bear, it went down without standing fire, with its starry-banting waving bravely at its mast-head, without a poet to chronicle its fate, or tell its whereabouts. But this untoward event was not to balk us of the sport. Again a box was made ready, with another piece of bunting fastened to it, and the gig manned to carry it to the proper distance. Left by the carpenter at its assigned position, the ' moral persuaders' were soon blazing away, and the shot dancing about right merrily over the deep. Larboard and starboard had each a chance, and some very close shots were made, and many * liners,' affording proof enough that, under ordinary circumstances, were a fight re- quired, the Jamestown boys might do some mischief. Long did my ears ring with the loud report of^ the perilous guns, and the sharp, hissing, whistling music of the skipping balls and shells ; while the
1849.] Liaveifrom an African Journal, 211
odor of yiUanous saltpetre, and the wreathing smoke, were any thing bat agreeable to nose and nerve. To add to the excitement and in- terest of the scene, the * brig,' drifting down toward us, and seeing what we wei-e about, followed suit, and was soon banging away at another target with her six ' persuaders,' some of her shots, like our own, having claims to accuracy and effect. This little affair over, which some stranger at a distance might have taken for an engage- ment with a slaver, we have subsided, officers and men rather fatieued by the exercise, to our old lounging habits. We are now sibout twenty-five miles from Cape St. Anne, and forty-five from Shebar River, with small prospect of getting much nearer for some time to . come, unless a breeze should spring up to aid us.
AT 8XA, VB.OIL PORTO PRATA TO ilO N R O V I A- L AN D.
Thursoat, January 13. — Land was made this morning in the vicinity of Shebai* River, at daylight, thanks to the squally, rainy weather which has haled us to the coast. We were boarded about two o'clock by a boat, which had first visited the Boxer, a shoit dis- tance from us. It turns out to be the ' Dingey' of H. B. M. brig, the ' Dart,' navigated by six men, five of them Kroomen. These latter had been sent about a week ago to Sierra Leone by the Dart's commander, for provisions, and were now in search of the cruiser. They took die Boxer to be their brig, and both of us British cruisers. They had been three days coming from Sierra Leone, distant about one hundred miles, and having been robbed of their own provisions on the way thither by the natives on the coast, and, as they stated, more than a day without food, you may well suppose they enjoyed that which was furnished them from the ship. But as there was fruit in their boat, beside turkeys, ducks and chickens, I do not at- tach much credence to their story. With them was a mulatto, named Thomas, who calls himself a trader at York Island, in Shebar River, also in quest of a British cruiser, to complain of his canoe, bringing articles of trade from Sierra Leone, having been taken by the natives of Plantain Island, and converted into a kind of privateer, after her crew were put in irons, and his property stolen. As he represented that he could not get in to-night, owing to the heavy aarf, the commodore instructed me commander of the Boxer to take charge of him and the boat, to land them in the morning, and join us at Monrovia. For one, I am glad that the commodore has taken tills course, for such acts of friendly aid toward the distressed sub- jects of a friendly nation, tend, in a material degree, to encourage and secure that cordial and courteous intercourse which so much be- comes Christian and civilized people.
We have been almost stationary for the greater portion of the day, the only thing that helps us being a one-mile current, which hap- pens to be in our favor. As for breeze, there is hardly enough to nil a pocket-handkerchief, and the sen, save the long heave of its huge bosom, is placid as a mirror. Here we are resting almost
212 Leaves from an AfHcan Journal, [Marcb,
without motion, in a close, clammy atmosphere, with a constant and unchanging routine of ship duty, the vast ocean-horizon on one side, and the low, uninteresting, monotonous stretch of coast on the other. But going farther, we may fare worse ; so it is wisest to take things as they are, and lay in as large a stock of philosophy and comfort as the case admits of; a theory intrinsically good, but hard to practise. But trying as detention in these dull latitudes must prove to every one concerned, how preferable our lot when compared with that of the oflBcers and crews of British and French cruisers ! For months, for years, the poor exiles have to cniise in a narrow theatre, off and on the insipid coast, to them made doubly insipid by familiarity, the victims of ennuis exposed to hurricanes and thunder-storms, to the hot glare of the summer sun, the drenchings of the furious rains and parching breath of the desert winds, liable to and suffering from the deadly fever, and all the diseases of tr:opical climates, their only re- lief the excitement of a chase, and the reward of prize-money, with the distant prospect of promotion and repose should they survive all these ordeals and reach their homes again. To console, however, those whom 'the States' send hither to suppress the 'slave trade' and protect our commerce, but with little prospect of efficiency, prize- money, honor, or promotion, (all palliatives to the Englishman's and Frenchman's otherwise unbearable service and exile from the world,) mainly in consequence, as I humbly venture to opine, of our govern- ment being so eager for the harvest and so chary of the means and workmen, the hope of visiting the classic Mediterranean, and the consoling anticipation of feast so.i'are, present themselves with plea- sing colors to the fancy, and cheer the spirit when sad and weary.
MONROVIA.
Saturday, January 15. — A breeze, light but favorable, which sprang up and gradually freshened until we got six knots at times out of it, cheered us with the prospect of coming to anchor at Mon- rovia before morning. Accordingly the anchor was let go at eleven, nearly in the same position we occupied at our last visit, and a couple of Kroo canoes were soon alongside, always the first as they are to welcome ships to the harbor and bargain for employment. We were disappointed in not finding the * Liberia Packet,* she having sailed a few days before for the States. A French man-of-war brig is near us, and the only other vessel is a trader, supposed to be a Dutchman ; so the roads look deserted enough, and our arrival will create somewhat of a sensation among the Monrovians.
Sunday, January 16. — Captain Pelletreau, of the French brig ' Comete,* came on board on an official visit to the commodore. He is a gentlemanly peraon, has been a couple of years on the station, and after cruising two or three months off the Gallinas, will turn his face toward * la belle France.' He spent some time in the ward- room, partaking of our homely hospitality. The French squadron, commanded by ViceAdmii*al De la Roque, is limited to twenty-six
1849.] Leaves from an African Jaumai. 213
yessels, but in point of fact seldom exceeds twenty ; the balance be- ing generally kept at home for repairs, etc. Captain M. and myself went on board the ' Comete' afler dinner, to return the visit of the * lieutenant commandant.' The brig, although small, about two hun- dred tons, mounting but four guns, and about eighty-six men, looked quite neat and comparatively comfortable. He proposes sailing in tiie morning for Cape Mount, etc.
The redoubtable Liberian scribe, Colonel Hicks, has begun his epistolary productions, and two or three rare specimens of his head and hand came off under charge of his dusky Mercury, Rroo-boy John, early this morning.
As there is a prospect of my being kept prisoner on board for several days by official business, I shall have but little leisure to visit shore, extend my inquiries about the people, and cultivate the ac- quaintance of the colonel, his tidy lady, and the numerous other dis- tmguished gentry of Monrovia.
The • Boxer' came in and to anchor about midnight
Thursday, January 20. — Our session was brief this morning, if not brilliant ; so the court took holiday, and your humble servant, anxious to tread dry land again, though hot the sun and close the day, accepted Captain M.'s polite invitation, and accompanied him, Captain B. and our first lieutenant, to the city of Monrovia. After baiting awhile at our friend Colonel Hicks's residence, to give notice that we should partake of his good dame*s culinary preparations, we spent the time that elapsed until the interesting ceremony of dinner in attending the sessions of the Liberia Senate and House of Repre- sentatives. The former sits in the upper room of the court-house, the latter in the Baptist church. The Senate is composed of two members from each county, Mesurado, Bassa and Sinoe. It was en- gaged in the discussion of the revenue bill ; but as it was a matter principally of amendments and dry business details, about which the members had no doubt made up their minds in advance, there was no display of oratory or argument. Thus were we denied the gra- tification of enjoying the eloquence and logic which beyond question are often and strikingly exhibited by the honorable senators of the new republic. The questions of the loan, the tariff and revenue, I am told, create quite an excitement, and naturally enough, too, amon? the people. Being rather low in funds just now, many of the lead- ing men look to England as their main reliance for 'raising the wind,' and to that effect propose to send an agent to that country, and also to the continent and America ; while others, though con- ceding the necessity of procuring the * needful,' are afraid that if the English loan is negotiated, their creditors, should the republic prove dilatory or unable to refund, will foreclose the mortgage, and her British Majesty come in, as have many of her predecessors, for the lion's share. Again, some are for a government monopoly on mo^t imported articles, ' d la Mehemet Ali,' and for a high restrictive tanff, while, on the other hand, many follow the example of our free- trade folks in the * States,' and are in favor of throwing open the doors and encouraging foreign trade and manufactures. So that it
214 Leaveifrom an African JoumaL [March,
is a time of trial for them ; and from what I heard and observed, though both in Senate and House the members behaved with great prcmriety, and evinced some acquaintance with parliamentary usage, ana quite a respectable share of business capacity, yet I fear much that ins infant democracy ivill find it a doubtful matter whether the ship of state shall l|e navigated safe and wisely through the stormy voyage it has just begun. But by their works must we judge them, and as a certain venerable Virginia editor so originally observes, * Nous verroTu;* we shall see what wo shall see. The President at- tended as one of the audience during the session of the Senate.
The House is composed of eight members; four from Mesurado County, three from Grand Bassa, and one from Sinoe. The subject before it was the same as that under debate in the upper chamber, and the proceedings quite as dry and unexciting. The President's father-in-law. Judge Brander, presided over the Senate, and Major Brown, of Virginia, over the House.
The dinner set before us by the woithy host at ' Hicks Hall' was decidedly a good one, much to the gratification of those who fiou- rished knife and fork on the occasion, and to the great credit of our Boniface's bettor half, whose taste invented means and skilful hands prepared the viands and comestibles to tickle our palates and satisfy pur whetted appetites. It is most devoutly to be hoped that the sturdy marshal will long continue to keep ' mine inn,' and that all our naval officers and friends who follow in our wake to this hot place of honorable exile, may find as good provender and comfort as did our peckish and wearied party at the ' Metropolitan Hotel.'
Going and returning, we looked in at several huts, principally oc- cupied at the time by women and children. From these, and some few other specimens of a similar character, in other parts of the town, I should conclude that there is not an inconsiderable amount of poverty ^nd suffering among the * under crust,' the * people,' whether proceeding from misfortune or idleness, I cannot say. There are some well-built stone, brick and frame edifices in the ' fashionable'
Sart of the town, which here appears to be the heart or centre, in- icating easy circumstances, and pretensions to taste and comfort ; but the majority of houses, fences and gardens, look decidedly seedy and neglected. The wet season, of which we had a small specimen while clambering up the steep, stony cow-path, which leads to the Light-House Hill, through the thick, luxuriant grove that hems it in, destroys frame-buildings so fast here, and so discolors them, that in about fourteen years they begin to get ricketty and rotten, and look dingy, dirty ana uncomfortable.
On the beach, upon arrival and departure, we found the ever- present Krooman. * Tony Veller,' a colored relative of ' Samivel,' no doubt, had taken charge of a basket of oranges, (which a very respectable and polite colonist, named James, who has a flourishing school of sixty boys and girls, had presented to me,) and made him- self very useful, in other respects, during the jaunt ; for he helped to free me from those stinging pests, the drivers, or black ants, which infested the stony cow-path down the hill, and, despite all our activity,
1M9.] The Spirifs ASmmi amd Remedy. 21
invaded our persons. It was a funny thing to see us getting dow the hilly dashing through the dense foliage, having no time to sele< a stepping place, and going it with a hop, skip and jump, through tb swarming myriads that beset our passage Sam, alias Tony Yeller, an another good-looking, sturdy, broad-shouldered Rrooman, who ha upon one of the ivory bracelets around his wrist ' Tom Freeman * good Nefooman, U. S. Ship Yorktown, savey all American ahipfl carried us in their arms through the surf, and bundled us safe an dry into our respective boats, which soon, with ' a long pull, a stron pull, and a pull all together,' rendered us aboard our vesaeb.
THB spirit's ailment AND EEMEDT.
ar THOMAS MAOKXI.ZJUI.
THB AILMENT.
For many days I walked beneath a cload Which no sun-ray found any passage through : The mid-noon, like the depth of midnight grew.
And my faint soul was in the darkness bowed.
Uncomforted, I wandered *mid the crowd, Where all were busy« eager, earnest, gay ;
Some idly chatting, others laughing loud. And friend saluting friend along his way.
Amid them all, I was alone — alone;
A yearning man, and with a human heart. From other men set seemingly apart ;
Mine ear receiving not a friendly tone,
Mine eye perceiving not an answering gleam ; And life was nigh l^ome a dim and dreary dream.
THE KEliVDY.
When overcome with darkness and dejection, And wintry clouds o*«rcast the mental sky,
'T is good to stir the ashes of affection, And gather up love's embers ere they die. And breathe upon the coals, and add new fuel — The fire of love needs frequently renewal ;
Supplies of tenderness and deeds of kindness. And tones of sympathy and gentle meaning — A brother's faults benevolently screening,
(For love is nurtured by a purposed blindness.)
Thrice blessed he who finds it in his heart
To follow Christ ! Then sadness spreads her wings. And pleasantly the soul within him sings ;
And of the good he does, he shares a douUe part Pkiladtlpkiat January, 1849.
216 Stanzoi : They Met. [March,
THEY MET.
'ly on* of their fraqnant ilcinnUhaB, Wxrz.xA.ic the Oonquoror, and his loa Rqbcht, alike In adTaa-> taroot eouxaK*. plunged into tha thickest of the flgbt, and unknowingly exxooontered each othar. RoBBBT, aaperior by fortune, or by the vigor of youth, wounded axui uxihoraad the old monarch, and was on the point of pursuing his unhappy adrBntage to a fatal oxtramlty, when the well-known voioa of his father at once struck his ear, and suspended his arm. Overwhelmed with tha united emotlona of grief, ahame, and returning pity, he fell on his knees, poured out a flood of tears, and. embracing his father, besought him for pardon. The tide of nature returning stzoxigly on both, the father in hia turn •mbrBoed his son, and bathed him with tears.' BaRxa*
They met, bat not in stately halls, Where circled round were sculptured walls ; Where banners o'er them wide were streaming, And gorgeous gems foreyer gleaming ; Where stately fanes, and tombs of old, Rose in majestic grandeur bold.
Nor yet amid the ruined walls. Where fading sunset lingering falls, Of many a palace old and gray. Passed with the lapse of time away ; Which echoed once the stately tread Of England's bravest, noblest dead.
Nor far beneath the green arcade Of clustering Banian s dark rich shade. Where mountain-forest, wild and bleak. Has niffhtly heard the tempest shriek, 'Mid Nature's scenes of grandeur wild. The father clasped not there his child !
Not where the golden sun-light falls
On stately dome and pillared walls ;
Where the loved spells of home entwine,
And throw their wealth on friendship's shrine.
Bidding its inmates never roam,
But quaff deep draughts of blisT at home.
Nor where the young and light have swept, 'Mid regal crowds with airy step, While burning gems illumed the hair. Which waved and left the forehead bare ; High foreheads, stately in the pride Of intellect's unbounded tide.
Nor where the full harmonious flow
Of music, ever murmuring low,
Arose at twilight's gifted hour.
Within high hall or trellised bower ;
And o'er glad scenes enchantment spread,
A joy from music only shed.
Not where the ruby wine was poured.
Where broad was spread the festive board,
And bridal scenes illumed the air,
And dance and song met gaily there ;
Or conqueror's paths with flowers were spread.
Or wreaths shone o'er the victor's head.
1849.] Stanzat: They Met. 217
Bat where the tnmipet loudly pealed, And banners waved o*er battle-field, And shield and spear were glancing high In war's wild, fearful revel^ ; Where men in steel-clad armor bright Were gleaming in resplendent light
And where aroand them thickly fell, like forest-leaves *neath tempest-spell. The brave of heart, the fierce of eye, Who raised their serried spears on high ! Where clashing steel in strife was riven, Beneath the high free arch of heaven.
There met they : arm to arm was raised, ^ And dimly-burned affection's rays. Till sank that monarch, in the hour Of fearful strife, by loftier power ; Till rose his voice, 'mid tumult high, And stirred deep fountB in memory.
And stayed the giitlering weapon, raised By recreant child, to dim its rays Within his blood, which freely then Coursed through his royal veins, as when That self-same child, in former years, Had heard his voice with joy, not tears.
Ay, stirred the fount, that voice came back,
Through buried years, on memory's track,
As he, the recreant, stood beside
His aged sire in humbled pride.
And visions bright and blessed of yore,
Came o'er his mental gaze once more.
He stood as erst a boy beside
His mother's knee, in youthful pride,
And felt the strong o'ermastering flow
A parent's love can only know ;
Then gaily through the ambient air
Sought the loved scenes of childhood there.
And in each fount and peariy stream He saw his brother's image gleam ; For they, carressing by his side, By mount and hill, or streamlet's tide, Where in their spirit's joyous flow Their brothers love to share and know.
Ay, swiftly o'er his spirit came,
As vivid lightning's lurid flame.
All memories of vanished years,
A father's love, a mother's tears ;
A home where lovs's rich boon was given,
Life's choicest gift beneath the heaven !
They all swept by ; but with them came Deep thoughts wherewith to link the chain ;
218 'The SpirU of the PdUm: [March.
Afiection's chain, which, leyered long By yean of strife and contest strong. Had swept the rainbow-hues away, Which garnished once life's brilliant day.
And then his lofty brow was seen Relax at once its haughty beam, As o*er him swept the burning thought Of sorrow which his hand had wrought ; And forth he cast his spear and dueld, As worthless on that battle-field.
But what was victory then to him ? No more affection's rays glowed dim. For former years came r^insr by. And tears bedimmed the Warner's eye. And strife and ire were freely given Unto the passing winds of heaven !
He knelt, and clapped in long embrace His father's form of manly grace ; Then traces blest, of feeling high, Again re-lit that monarch's eye, As with the ffush of feeling's tide
Forgiveness flowed on every side. j. w w
TowMdOf (Penn.)
'THE SPIRIT OF THE FALCON.'
TBAMSLATED FROM THE OBIGINAL PEBSIAN OF ALI UIBZA.
Abd el Malek relates the following sketch in the history of that celebrated huntsman Ali Mirza :
' I was one day sent for in haste, and commanded by the Kihleh Alem (Centre of the Universe) Abbas Shah, to proceed to the moun- tains of the Sultanick, and bring him one of the young wild goats of . which His Majesty was so fond. To hear was to obey ; and so press- ing my forehead upon the dust of His Majesty's footsteps, I mounted my fleetest steed, and was soon far away on the heights where the report of my rifle had so often resounded and brought down the swiftest of the wild game that rdam in their solitudes. The perpen- dicular rays of the sun reached even the bottom of the deep clens of the mountain, melting the snows accumulated among the crags, when I reached the spot where I desired to secrete myself and lie in wait for the passing game. I hobbled my tired steed and left him to graze upon the scanty verdure of a spot at some distance beneath that se- lected for my seat. Cpncealed behind a prmecting rock, with my loaded gun lying across my knees, I waited from noon until the hour of die third prayer, without however hearing or seeing any of the flocks of wild goats which usually abound on the ridges of die Sul-
1849.] 'The Spirit of the Falcon.' 219
tauick mountaiDS. Above me arose an elevated crag of dark rock, agaiDBt which the waning sun shed its beams with unmitigated fervor ; to its summit my eyes were often turned with the eager expectation of seeing it surmounted by the nimble-footed wild goat, or its kid, and by one successful shot, to be enabled to return to the presenoe of my benevolent patron and master, the Centre of the Universe.
' Tired with watching, and inconvenienced by the heat of the sun, I quite despaired of meeting with success, and was fearful lest my visit should result in failure. While in this state of mind, suddenly a &lcon,'of that large, strong and keen kind which only fireauents the wildest parts of the mountains, after making a turn rouna the spot on which I sat, descended and perched upon the extreme point of the crag, whence it looked down at me wiUi its bright piercing eyes, and seemed to reproach me for intruding on its hunting-grounds. It had apparently just dined on some object of prey, for after eyeing me for a moment, it leisurely cleansed its beak with its claws, a£ justed its plumage, and then turned its head to gaze, as it were, at the now fast declining luminary of the world.
' I had full lebure to examine its graceful form, its crooked bill, oven the keenness of its black and yellow eyes, its varied plumage, and the length of its strong claws. It seemed to look down upon me in perfect consciousness of security, with a proud look of defiance. But the bullet is a swift messenger of fate, and death comes with appalling doom upon the proud heart, upon the being which, forget- fill of its borrowed existence, believes itself everlasting. And I, dbregardful of that divine decree, which gives to all things an equal right to life, let fly the cruel emissary of destruction ; the proud, brave falcon fell before the arrow of destiny, and its bright eye soon closed forever upon the wild scenes where it had so often and so recently gazed with piercing keenness !
' At the sight of the deed of my commission, I felt a pang of re- morse. The brave bird that had within the same hour looked up even into the face of the sun ; which had soared heavenward througn the blue atmosphere of the skies, now lay at my feet in all the cold, motionless, silence of death. 1 could not divest myself of the con- viction that I had acted ruthlessly, and that the deed would not be disregarded by the Lord of all creatures.
* Pained by these reflections, and overcome by the heat, I fell asleep where I sat; and my mind wandered back to the Sultanick, to the palace of Abbas Shah. But in so short a time, what a change had come over the condition of my family ! Ayesha, the heart- binding, the world- seducing, the beloved and pure wife of my home, was no more the pure and virtuous woman 1 had always thought her to be ; and the child she had borne, the fair and guileless Lulu, whom I had ever cherished as my own daughter, was not my own ; but the fruit of the illicit intercourse of her mother with one whom I had hitherto honored as my friend. Then, with the rapidity of lightning in my mind, passed the sad scene of a divorcement, and the restoring to my wife of her marriage portion, and my bosom now burst vrim the worst feelings for her whom I had just loved even to madness ; and her
220 Stanza: Time, f^arcb,
recently-adored figure now only gave rise to sentiments of the deepest aversion, hatred and revenge. And my child, that angel child, which had been dearer to me than the pupil of my eye, my heart, my exist- ence itself, though no longer mine, still was my sours attraction, the Kibleh of all my longing hopes. I saw her leave me, borne away to her guilty mother ; her little arms outheld toward me, her blue eyes filled with tears, clearer than the dew-drops on the white roses of Kashan, and more precious than the fairest pearls of Bahrain. I be- held the hated figure of the man whom I had cherished as a friend, lead away my wife, and, acknowledging my child as his own, force her from the arms of her aged nurse.
* This was not all. My home, close by the palace of the Centre of the Universe, had been held in the name of my late wife ; and as if her own conduct had not brought sufficient misery upon her unerring though too confiding husband, she reduced him to abject misery, and drove him forever from the scene of past happy hours, by disposing of it to an unforgiving rival, who now succeeded me in the esteem of the Shah, and passed it over legally to his name. I was thus turned out into the public streets to seek another home and happiness wher- ever I could find it
• Bending my steps toward the eastern gate of the city, I was has- tening to beg a shelter in the cell of the solitary Dervish, who watches at the holy tomb of the martyr, the Said Abd el Ghezi, and spend the remainder of my wretched existence in constant prayer and devotion, when I heard a noise above my head, resembling the swift passage of those departed ones on their way to eternity ; and looking up, I distinctly beheld the Falcon I had murdered, and heard a voice sayings :
* As a mortal, thy cruelty caused me but the momentary pang of expir- ing nature, but thou |8 an immortal being hast just suffered that deeper agony of the mind which knows no dying. Awake from thy slumber, ruthless man ; thy wife is still pure and virtuous, and her child is thine own offspring. Return to thy home, and its inmates, for the spiritof the Falcon is revenged !'
Ali Mirza adds : ' All my suffering had indeed been only in a dream ; and thus was I taugh% that the evil deeds which are not punishable after death are nevertheless atoned for in that state of existence, half life, half death, which connects the two together by a mysterious and incomprehensible link.
TIME.
Unfathomable sea ! whose waves are yean,
Ocean of Time, whose waters of deep wo Are buckish with the salt of human tears !
Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow Claspest the limits of mortality ! And sick of prey, yet howling on for more, Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore ; Treacherous in calm and terrible in storm.
Who shall put forth on thee.
Unfathomable sea?
ia49.]
The Angd and tie Child.
221
THE ANOBL AND TH
CHILD.
BT OaXTTA.
Oh ! take these Tolomes from me, I 'm flick of this doll lore ;
Sweet Memory ! untomb me A simile tale of yore.
It ii the twilight hem, And fancy would be free ;
Then bring not, at sach moments, These heavy tomes to me.
Tasks of more worldly hoais
I would awhile forget ; The teeming s^a of letters,
Unknown, onfiEithomed yet
I would recall the visions Now playful, now sublime,
I saw before I labored In the deep rich mines of Time.
I would give up all my spirit To their influence again ;
I would feel that I know nothing, Think nothing, more than then.
I would have that faith in story With which my heart would glow,
When I was nearer heaven In the days of long ago.
I had an old friend then,
When friendly hearts were few ; For death had early taken
My loved ones, fond* and true.
And often in the evening To her side I *d softly press,
And bribe her for a story With a flower or a caress.
And close I *d nestle to her
While the wondrous tales she told, The beautiful sweet legends
Of the golden days of old.
I could tell them now, those stories Of giants, knights and kings.
Of fairies at their revels, And sweet and monmfiil thiDga.
TOL. zxzni.
27
But the one I loved the best,
Amid these legends wild, Was a little simple story
Of an Angel and a Child !
And oft in all its beauty
It draws upon me now, Till again I feel the sadness
That it left upon my brow.
It was a tale of pity,
Told in a plaintive tone, About a lovely orphan
Left in the worid alone.
And how, when hearts were cruel, And hands denied her bread,
She *d go beneath the starlight To me grave that held her dead.
And there would come an Angel
With wings of silver light. And it would sit beside her,
All through the lonely night
And it would sing so sweetly.
Though nobodv could hear But the little orphan lying
Upon the hillock near.
One cold bright night she asked it, < Oh ! tell me whence you come.
Who are you, lovely angel ? And where is your far home?*
And the angel answered softly,
* High heaven is my home. And I am sent to bring you:
My Ellen, will you come?'
And Ellen, looking nearly. Knew, through the veil of night.
The form of her dear mother Wearing the wings of light !
And she sprang and clasped her, saying,
* Oh mother, is it thou ? Then take me up to heaven,
Oh mother, take me now !'
222
A Young Bonaparte.
[March,
At mom the people sought her,
And lo ! the child was laid On the fresh grave of her mother,
Beneath .the cypress shade.
White frost was on her ringlets, And her eyes, so blue and bright,
Were covered by the fring^ lids So close and soft and white.
And her little hands were folded
Upon her gentle breast. And she looked as if she slumbered
In a deep and quiet rest.
And they gathered round and called her,
But not a word she said ; Baltimore, Fehnutry, 1849.
And when they stooped to raise her, They saw that she was dead !
Then would a sigh escape me,^ And soft a tear-drop glisten ;
And I would lean more closely. And breathlessly would listen.
For I too had a parent,
Who left me for the sky, And the story took me upward
Among the stars on high.
Thus in my lonely childhood, In the evening still and mild.
Would I thrill at the sad story Of the Angel and the Child !
A YOUNG BONAPARTE.
SINGULAR DEATH OF A TOUNa BONAPABTE IK OBZECS.
nr OA.PT. BCMBT J. BKA.S7Z>LV.
*Tho8X eyct which oft flashed a^ the hero's renown, Which were wont to rekindle at Liberty's breath, Are darkened forever ; their spirit hath flown, And the heart is all cold, and those eyes sunk in death.'
During a blockading cruise off Navarino and Pahas, we heard that a young foreigner of distinction, moved by an ardent enthusiasm in the cause of Greece, was about to volunteer under our banners. Of course we were all on the qui vive to discover who this chivalrous ^outh might be, what country claimed our hero as her son, and what fortune he possessed ; a matter of no small consideration to the Greeks, where money was what the fountain of the desert is to the parched-up, mummied Arab pilgrims of the desert. The morning of the nineteenth of August, however, removed all doubt upon the subject. About mid-day, when off the island of Cerigo, we were hailed by the captain of an Ionian merchantman, to whom we had given chase. On proceeding on board, a scene of the most admira- ble disorder presented itself. We found the Greeks perfectly a la Grecqye, arranged pell-mell around the capstan on the quarter-deck, agreeably discussing the merits of a collazione composed of the ordi- nary Turkish pilaw, hard biscuit and pickled mackarel. Amid this picturesque group sat our * illustrious unknown* adventurer, who, on Deing introduced to us, proved to be no less a personage than Paul, the son of Lucian Bonaparte. Of course wo made the necessary arrangements for exchanging his uncouth berth for the more agreea-
1849.] A Young Bonaparte. 223
ble quarters of the ' Unicorn,' a beautiful pleasure-yacht, purchased by the Greeks for the private use of Lord Cochrane. A gentleman of our party, well acquainted with the person of the emperor, im- mediately recognised a strong resemblance of features in this scion of the stock, especially about the head and neck, which approached the admired Roman model in Napoleon.
Two days were spent in mutual inquiiies ; ours as to the then ex- isting state of affairs in the world of European politics, while our young crusader's inquiries extended to the nature of our immedi- ate purmiits. Being ' eager for the field,' his first question was as to the whereabouts of Sir Richard Church, goneral in command of the Greek forces, and who at this period was encamped on the classic plains of Corinth. Having learnt at Zante that the general was about to march against the enemy, our young ftiend appeared most anxious to join him. Shortly afterward we fell in with Lord Cochrane, who, won by the chivalrous bearing and fascinating address of Paul, took him as a travelling companion toward the camp of the general.
On their arrival at Corinth the army was found to be in so disor- ganized and inefficient a state as to preclude the possibility of exe- cudng the contemplated hostile measures against the Turks in that quarter. This was a source of grievous disappointment to our young adventurer : resolved, however, that his energies should not lie dormant, he eagerly accepted Lord Cochrane's offer to join the fieet in a contemplated attack on a squadron of the Ottomans, then at anchor in the Bay of Navarin ; he consequently returned to the harbor of Spezzia, and removed with the admiral on board his fiag- ship, the * Hellas,' a beautiful sixty-four gun frigate, built in America. She was at this time lying at anchor off the islands, waiting her com* plement of Spezziote and Hydriote sailors. Here it was, while awaiting the ulterior aiTangements for the expedition, that he met vnth his untimely end. The catastrophe I shall now proceed to re- late :
On the morning of the sixth of September, feeling somewhat in- disposed, he remained in bed later than usual. By the side of the bed hung his pistols ; they were loaded, and had been thouglulessly suspended by the triggers. While in the act of rising, he heedlessly took one of them by the barrel, which was immediately discharged. The sudden report alarmed the officers in the gunroom, who, on proceeding to his chamber, found the unfortunate youth stretched upon the bed, mortally wounded ! Surgical skill proved of no avail, and he expired at about two o'clock on the following morning, after laboring under extreme suffering, which he endured with the most extraordinary fortitude to the last.
On examination, it appeared that the ball had entered the abdo- men, and after perforating the intestines in four plac9s, had lodged in the spine.
Thus perished the generous and unfortunate Paul Bonaparte, in the vigor of youth, and in the possession of an heroic devotion for a cause which, had he lived, would have been honored by his enter- prising valor, and perhaps more noble death. It would appear from
224 Ashtahda. [March,
what I was informed by a friend who accompanied him from the coast of Italy, that following the naturally romantic impulse inherent in him, he had determined on pursuing the chivalrous career of a soldier ; this resolution, however, was strongly opposed by his father, who it seemed had destined him for the less adventurous profession of the church ; which pursuit being so totally at variance with the disposition and inclinations of the son, was by him courteously de- clined. Hence arose a dissension between them ; and ecclesiastical arguments availing naughlf, he left his father's mansion, never to re- turn ! On his first quitting the paternal roo^ he for a time, and the better to conceal his intentions, sojourned with a celebrated moun- tain chief, leading with him a life of romance and adventure, well suited to' prepare him for a Grecian campaign.
On his ultimate departure for that classic land, trampled on by Turkish despotism, he sailed under an assumed name, and remained the 'mysterious stranger' until we were honored with his presence. He had won all hearts by his frank and amiable disposition. Had he lived, the world might have beheld him a hero crowned with laurels gained in the cause of Greece, and following a career less elevated, but equally honorable with that of the immortal Emperor.
ASHTABULA
MiNB own romantic stream ! liOn^ years have rolled a dimly-gathered mist
Between us, as far separate we pursue Our sev'ral ways. You (bright as when yon kissed
The mellow bank which, clothed in various hue. Had lured my careless footsteps to its side,)
To dance along, light-hearted, buoyant, free, Making such music in thy swelling tide
As wakes the feeling heart to minstrelsy : I, to recall each sunny-favored hour
I passed in roaming where thy waters flow. Each stately grove, each summer-haunted bower
Casting its shadow o'er thy wave below
To bid my soul renew its youthful glow. And let ihe light of other days above its darkness gleam.
Joys of long-vanished years ! Oh, how ye gather round me once again !
Yet hardly may ye gladden me, since now, Tossed on life's restless, ever -heaving main,
With anchor weighed and onward-pointed prow, I seek another haven, on a shore
My dreams had pictured gloomily and lone ; But Faith put forth her wand, and lo ! it wore
A hue as pure and bright as Eden's own. Mark him who watches for the morning hour,
The sun's warm beam, the glorious flush of day ; Fair Luna'A eye hath lost its witching power,
His heart moves not beneath her gentle ray ;
For hopes and thoughts are centred far away, And visions of the morrow's sky claim all his smiles and tears.
1849.] A Remonttranct to Byron. 225
REMONSTRANCE TOBY RON.
Thb following po«m was rnddreiied to Lord Btroit. by Mr«. Elliot, a Soottlsh lady, toon afc«r the ap- paaraoca of hit Eastom talea. They expraia a remonatranca against the Bard for hla desertion of the fair ones of hit own country. The effect waa notrary great upon the Poet ; for the mannaerlpt (which was retained by Lady DouoLAea, of Boee.Hall, Lanarkehlre, at whose sTanalon Bthow waa a frequent guest.} waa returned to the autboresa, 'with his complimanta. * Tha 'hand of write* Is f^r and good . the paper pollshad but yellow, and ragged with ' time and tear.* j,^^ KKJCKKanocxKR
Know*bt thou the land of the mountain and flood. Where the pines of the forest for ages have stood 7 Where the eagle comes forth on the wings of the storm. And her yomig ones are rocked on the high caim-gor'm ?
Know'st thou the land where the cold Celtic wave Encircles the hills which her blue waters lave ? Whore the virgins are pure as the gems of the sea, And their spirits are light, and their actions are free?
Know*8t thou the land where the sun's ling*ring ray Streaks with gold the horizon, till dawns the new day ? While the cold feeble beam, which he sheds on their sight. Scarce breaks through the gloom of the long sombre night?
'T is the land of thy sires — 't is the land of thy youth. Where first thy young heart glowed with honor and truth ; Where the wild-fire of Geuius first caught thy young soul. And thy feet and thy fancy roamed free from controL
Ah ! why does that fancy still dwell on those dimes, Where love leads to macbess, and madness to crimes ? Where courage itself is more savage than brave. Where man is a despot, and woman a slave ?
Though soft are the breezes, and rich the perfume. And * fair are the gardens of Gul in their bloom,* Can the roses they twine, or the vinos which they rear. Speak peace to the breast of suspicion or fear ?
Let Phoebus' bright ray gild the Mjietin wave, But say, can it brighten the lot of the slave ? Or all that is beauteous in Nature impart Cue virtue to soften the Moslem's proud heart ?
Ah, no ! — *t is the magic which glows in thy strain. Gives soul to the action, and life to the scene ; And the deeds which they do, and the tales which they telf, Enchant us alone by the power of thy spell.
And is there no spell in thy own native earth ? Does no talisman rest in the spot of thy birth ? Are the daughters of Britain less worthy thy care — Less soft than ZuLSiKAyless bright than Guuiare?
226 Lovt^s Triumph over Philosophy. [March;
Are her bods less honored, or her warriors less brave, Than the slaves of a prince, who himself is a slave ?
Then strike thy wild harp — let it swell with the strain ; Let the mighty in arms live and conquer again ; Their deeds and their glory thy lay shall prolong, And the fame of thy country shall lire in thy song.
Though the proud wreath of victory round heroes may twine» 'T is the poet that crowns them with honor divine ; And thy laurels, Pelioes, had sunk in thy tomb, Had the Bards not preserved them immortal in bloom.
LOVE'S TRIUMPH OVER PHILOSOPHY.
A OBKltAKIC ■XSVCK! BT HCIV&T J* BXXMT.
Amid a thousand joys lived Frederick Van Arteldi, son of a dis- tinguished German scholar. His days were spent in intellectual pursuits, his nights in far travelling beneath the mighty forest that spread itself near his paternal roof Beautiful in person, and en- dowed with the highest qualities of genius, Frederick lived the idol of his father and the admiration of his friends. His eyes were those eloquent eyes that might move an Athenian populace by a flash ; his forehead shone like marble, and his mouth was wreathed with capti- vating smiles. His voice was sweet and deep, and his figure was symmetry itself. Who could look upon and listen to the gifted youth, and withnold their friendship ] Interesting from his own character, he was almost hallowed by the fame of bis distinguished father. All Europe had heard his parent's name ; and the plaudits of distant countries sounded soAly and soothingly to his ears. Wherever Fi-e- derick moved, respect, mingled with love, made life a transport, ex- istence a bliss.
He studied deeply the lore of his mystic father-land, and he drank, with a vivid enthusiasm, of those daik fountains thai well up amid haunted castles and sombre woods ; and in the falling or the fixed stai's he fancied he could read prophecies of himself and others. Shut up in the old tower, in which was his father's library, he peo- pled the air with phantoms, and threw a hideous yet glorious halo around life, by evoking the mightiness of the tomb.
He i-ead from old tome^ that were gray with melancholy age, and his eyes pored over the cabalistic manuscript of pens that had long since withered, and whose ink was dim and shadowy, like the me- mory of good deeds.
Ere he came into the extraordinary tutelage of his father, of which we shall hereafter speak, the black forest was his home ; the rolling
1849.] Ijov^i Triumph over PkUasophif. 227
waters also, where the river in its majestic flow heaved and poured * along ; there he erected his shrine of adoration, and Nature the mys- terious was the enchantress of his Ideal.
Thus passed the uncollegiate days of Frederick, for his father, too deeply read in the lives of German students, kept his son at home, and taught Aim himself. He was a stem preceptor. To him the hey-day of youth had long since passed — those days crowned with roses ; and the poet and the man of many passions had sobered down into the curber of the temper, a wise and ascetic philosopher.
From him came the light and the darkness that filled the mind of his son with hopes as high as the mount^ns, and despondencies and doubts deep as the overshadowed and unfathomable abyss that lies between them. He saw the wild genius that dazzled amidst the ar- chitectural beauties of his son's mind ; and in the true spirit of Ger- man speculation, he determined to build up in his offspring a being wholly contemplative. Vain desire ! — horrible ambition I To give to a mortal the means of rushing forth with unbounded intellectual gifts to affright society and bewilder mankind with the unearthly spectacle of a man bom of woman, without a human wish / Such was the dream of the German enthusiast — the dream of that aged sage, who had himself spread gloiy over his country, and filled all hearts with wonder and admiration.
His son responded to the wishes of his father. He felt the tre- mendous emotions of the Pythoness, and he watched in the cave of his own mind for the stars and the other planets that were to give him light amid his gloom. Thus passed away the hours of his fresh youth; thus in dreamy mists, and almost sepulchral metaphysics^ arose his moon of manhood. How profound the thought in that old man's mind, to rear amid the whirlwind a lamp that should bum and brighten unfed by earthly fuel !
The seasons rose and fell like the waves of many seas ; and amid the flowers of passionate Geimany came inspiration to the heart and promptings to the mind. The winter had passed away ; that season which had inured, amid barbaric woods, the bold warriora that in other days mounted the high walls of Rome, and thence looking over the mother-city, doomed her to the sacrifice. Spring had come. The rivers had been loosened from their g^lid sleep, and leapt once more to the green banks, breaking their white waves into a thousand pearls, and scattering them amid the golden sands. Old Germany in the Spring ! The trees put out their buds and leaves ; the hedges donned their emeralds and pearls ; and fresh uprising to the mom, the birds of that intellectual land poured rapture on the clouds. In Germany, venerable for its ghastly and wild memories, for its ^inters of dark and melancholy bondage, for its aristocratic grandeur, and its popular degradation, Spring is a mighty season. Then comes forth the mind of her cabalistic children, girt with unutterable wis- dom, like Moses descending from the thunders of Sinai. An emo- tion, one and individual, i-ules the land ; the emotion of poetry. It is the god of the spring of the German year.
Sitting in his lonely tower one evening amid his books, Frederick,
228 hovels Triumph over Phtloiopky. [March,
with a pale face and flashiDg eye, looked forth upon the beautiful face of nature. He threw back the clustering ringlets from his brow and throwing down his book, he communed aJoud :
' Have you come l^ack again to our fields, to fill our quick hearts with passion, and throw into our veins the sap of animal nature % Have you burst, Venus-like, from the bosom of the deep wombs of the earth, to scatter the softened perfumes amid the flowers — those poisoners of thought 1 Would that nought but Winter was mistress of the German climate ; then the same cold that inured the conquerors of Rome might in these days of mental light bind up our natures in the iron armor of a proud and selfish inhumanity.'
He leaned his beautiful and sculptural head upon his hand, and gazed through the glass upon the bespangled skies. The air of night was unfelt by him, and ho was languid from the confinement he had undergone. He rose and opened the casement. Oh ! how his heart expanded as it felt the fragrant current of the outer life rushing to its recesses ! He threw his ringlets back again, he pressed his hands against his temples, and closing his eyes, drew his breath and inhaled the balmy breath of the glorious night. Was it his first draught of nature ] For a moment his stem course of study was forgotten ; the injunction of his father lost in the contemplation of the lands, the stars, and the beauty of the perfumed night ; and when the moon had flashed over the loftiest summit of the hills, while the waters beanied back her rays, Frederick stood at his window ; and the^ an- cient clock in the castle tolled one, ere he sought his rest
A new creation had dawned upon hb mind — rather upon his heart. With the enthusiasm of the German character, he had devoted him- self to the philosophy of his father with a self-devotion that bordered on the sublime. He gave np the glory of his youth and merged it in the profound misanthropy of the intellectual hermit He was the proud student, goaded by an unconquerable ambition to outstrip the myriads of others who, spread over that remarkable country, were dreaming of improvements in the human system. He was to bound forth Minerva-like, armed for the fearful combat. With lance and buckler cemented to his heart, he was to walk the world, the ghost of the sensations. In his twentieth year, on that night, a new mantle had fallen around his heart, and thus another woof of the human feel- ines was to be eradicated ere the moral ossification could take place. The breath of an hour had dispelled the marble battlements reared by his father ; a breath of a bud had charmed away the shadows of despair, and given in their stead the first emotions of a new inspira- tion. It had breathed poetry into a German soul.
Frederick still walked his usual rounds ; he looked over his accus- tomed books, and felt no abatement of the dark delight with which he had formerly perused them. But he looked more upon the earth ; he walked abroad, not to contemplate the cold stars, as a dreamer, but as a profound worshipper. He began gradually to disrobe himself of the shackles of a remorseless education, and he breathed freer, and holier — and was happier.
There lived in his neighborhood a solitary man with an only daugh-
1849.] Im^9 Triumph ov^r PhUoiophy. 229
ter. Fred^ck had heard that she was beautiful, but coupled with that intelligence, he heard that she was beloved. As the gentle bird that pauses in its ocean flight upon a rock, so came the news of beauty and of love to the heart of Frederick. He heard it, and the next moment he saw his father's figure approach. That lordly brow was dark with thought He was the embodiment of mortal grandeur, &r his firm limbs were elegant, and over his temples rolled his hair in curls dark as night He was a man famous amid his own and other tongues. Frederick was inspired. He saw the genius of his Hfe, and he bowed as the idol passed. He thought no more of woman*
We have said that he walked abroad into the forest ; and as be threaded the rich avenues of its woods, he felt the same sensations that had filled his heart, when he drank in the odour of the purple night As he crushed a flower, its rich perfume would sofUy spread itself upon the air, and he inhaled the ' poison of his thoughts* With his head erect, and his hands clasped behind him, he would viralk slowly along the vista, and while his eye kindled at the magnificence of Na- ' ture, his heart admitted her as the true divinity.
A beinff is in sight : he starts ! Is it one of the phantoms of the Rhine t Is it one of those olden spirits of beautv that walk the earth when in its spring, to cull the invisible moats ot gold that float the impalpable air t Is it some spectre of the tomb, some spirit of dust that has broken the barrier of its immortality, and risen from the sod % It approaches — it stands before him. Its hair is rich as the golden sunbeam ; its face, pale as the marble, is beautiful as an aneel's. Ita eyes are beaming like two stars, and its lips are opened like ue leaves of a parted rose. It speaks : Frederick catches the sound as it comes with a delicious melody to his ear ; his senses reel ; thepyramid of his education is uprooted by the delirious throb ; and to Woman, as to a spirit, he bows the inmost iron of his heart He could not speak ; he could scarce breathe ; and when she passed up the long avenue, re- ceding from him, he caught her smile as she turned to wave her hand, and he staggered and fell back against a tree.
Ah, ecstasy of bliss ! — the bonds are broken, the scales have faUen from his eyes. He studies no more the ancient tomes of his father's library ; he reads no longer from the soul-stealing volumes that had girt his nature with bonds of adamant He shuns his father ; he buries himself amid the embowered trees ; he watches the lake and the young streams that spring gladly toward its tranquil waters ; he feeds i^pon the sunny air of day and fiie dreamy zephyrs of the night ; he loves the phantoms of the woods, and Frederick is a changed man.
It was the Solitary's daughter who had wrought thb change. It was her of whom he had heard, but whom he knew not Could he meet her once more ! O could he but gaze upon that youn? and transcendent brow, and kiss the air that had encompassed her torm ; could he but see the pressure of her tiny foot upon the leaves ; could he but find it on the sands of the lake shores ! He visited the spot where he had first seen her ; he stood where he had stood when first she flashed upon his vision ; he heard, in fancy, the few words of salutation, the womanly remark upon the season ; and his memory,
230 Love^i Triumph over PhUagophy. [March,
true to tbe strong dictates of affection, drew her glowing fixtures upon die vacant air. But she came no more. That vision of unequal loveliness had passed away, far beyond the enchanted limits of the woods. It had fled the lake shore, and the student wandered and sought in vain for her who had thus invoked the nature of his life into activity.
His father missed him from bis bodks : his eyes darkened, and he felt that the plan of his philosophy was now at the crisis. The trial was at hand. Now he was to mould the temper of his son into the iron ; or the soul, acting according to the dictates of its instincts, was to shatter the prison-structure into atoms, and bear away the palm from the stem philosopher.
Frederick is once more reduced to the dungeon-library ; he pores with vacant eye upon the page ; he turns the leaves slowly ; his long black hair is unremoved from the printed pages ; he cares not whether it shadows truths that may lead him to Vie gates of paradise or the portals of hell. The tear wells slowly to his eye ; it trickles down his cheek : he clasps his hands like a dying man, and with a heaving sob he falls back into his chair. The lamp grows dim ; its flickering light throws shadows far and near upon the tapestry ; not a sound issues along that solemn house, when suddenly he hears his father's foot upon the steps. He rises again to hb book ; he turns his lamp, which now throws forth a gilding halo, and he stoops his beating tem- ples over the mystic page. His father enters. lie sits opposite to Lis son, a proud yet melancholy smile plays upon his face, and he takes a volume from the shelf. Late do they read, or only one, for that young heart is busy with other things. His eighteen-summer'd heart is with other spirits than of the past. His eyes are fixed on the confused book, but they see other objects than those which are written there. Love tiiumphant over ambition, and Despair, monarch of the moment, are busy at his bewildered speculations. The hours glide on apace ; his faUier throws down his book, and with a stately step, like a warrior, leaves the room. Frederick is free once more. He opens the window ; he scans tbe sleeping landscape ; tower and tree, woodland and lawn, are steeped in the beautiful but saddening shade. Echo floats along, catching the distant bay of the watch-dog, and multiplying those mysterious sounds that float upward from the dreamy ea^, like its silent prayer to God.
Weeks have flown by, and still the vision of that beautiful girl haunts the memory of the, student. His cheeks have grown paler, and his dress is neglected. He mutters in his waking moments, and in his sleep he speaks of the unknown in terms of passionate love.
In a high ancestral hall, sit two persons : the one is of great age, and dressed in black velvet ; a lamp is placed on an ebony table by his side, while a being of exquisite beauty reads aloud from a heavily bound book of poems to him. It is a volume of Frederick's father's poetry, and while she reads, the tears flow from her eyes. The pic* tare is beautiful : the old man sitting in that ancient hall, with armor hanging from the walls, the helmets and breast-plates, and swords and
1849.] Xrore'# TMumph over Philaophy. 231
spears, of his warrior race, and his daughter reading the verse-com- meiD oration of their glory.
A stranger enters : he is young, and of a pale complexion. In statue he is tall and elegantly proportioned ; his movements are grace- ful ; and as he enters, he pauses upon the threshold to examine the scene before him. His eyes are on the female : they melt with love and admiration. He moves slowly toward her ; he places his hand upon the book ; he kneels to her. She rises, her face flushed, and her whole action agitated and alarmed, but no sound escapes her lips, while her ancient father, unconscious of the stranger's presence, sits with his eyes fixed upon a plumed helmet, while his heart teems with the trophied recollections of other days. She looks wildly at the in- truder ; he speaks not, but gently drawing her hand in his, he points to the door. She gazes in his face, but hesitates not, for in that coun- tenance how much of honor, of love, of beauty, does she not see. They leave the venerable man, mingling the present with the paist, and as they depart they turn and see him kissing the helmet in wnich his father had breathed his last on the field of battle.
Beneath the moon and the silent stars the two communed. The hours of the night fled by, yet there they stood, gazing intently from each other's face to the skies. The youth spoke long and earnestly: he told the maiden of his history, while she listened with a face vivid with interest She had heard of him — had seen him ; she had thought often of him, and wondered who he was. He had excited in her a desire to know how one so young and fair had lived within that region without having becofne acquainted at her father's house. She spoke of her father, and he of his. Hers lived upon the unfaded memories of the departed, while his built the castles of his ambition upon the vast limits of the mind-peopled future. They spoke of themselves, and of their own feelings and sentiments. They walked amid the silent night as if they had sported in childhood amid these scenes ; such confidence does Innocence create ; and when he led her back to her father's house, they stood at the portal to take fare- well. His polished brow bore no marks of care ; his eye flamed with no harrowing doubts ; peace reigned within his nature, and glory and love painted the skies of deeper hue, that the earth might re- ceive their more resplendent shadows. She waved her hand in the shades of the portico, and disappeared. Gone 1 gone ! the enchant- ress— but not forever. That ancient father, when she entered, had not missed her ; and his white locks were mixed with the plumage of the helmet, which he had taken from the wall and placed upon the table, and near which he now rested his sleeping head.
Frederick once more was in the library. His temples throb, his pulses beat; and his heart is wild with the intoxicating sensations of his new and only passion. Pale as death, he sits in his accustomed chair, and awaits the approach of his father. It was not long before the German mystic appeared. His step was rapid, and his counte- nance flushed and excited.
* You study no more, Frederick,* he said, as he stood before the young man, and fixed his strong eyes upon his face. ' You are not
233 Low^i Triumph aver PhUoiophy. [March,
ill, and yet you look pale. Why throw down your books and your ambition, that would nave hewn down mountains, and made you the conqueror of your own heart 1 But you have time to wander away firom the shrine where you should worship ; you ponder upon some- thing that even now feeds upon your life. What ails you of late 1 speak !' The old man drew himself up to his full height, and his race assumed a cold and angry expression. Frederick arose from his chair, and stood with his head bowed upon his bosom ; those glo- rious ringlets waved like rich drapery over his delicately-chiselled head, while his father regarded him with a harsh and forbidding eye.
The youth raised his head and looked his &ther in the &ce ; the tears stood in his eyes, and his lips in vain essayed to utter his words. * Speak, fool !' cried his father, abruptly ; ' speak 1 what has befallen thee V Frederick gasped for breath ; old memories of his father's sternness passed rapidly over his mind ; and he trembled when he heard that harsh voice nnging in his ears. He placed one hand upon his father's breast, and with the other pointed out over the distant woods. The father's eye followed the gesture, and then turned to his son with surprise and anger.
No answering look came from the marble countenance of the youth. His eyes were closed, and he stood like a statue, cold and motionless. The old man was enraged ; he grasped his son by the throat ; he shook him fiercely ; the whirlwind of his long-smothered passion had broken out ; his eyes flashed, and his powerful arm smote nis son upon the forehead. A groan and a heavy fall, and Frede- rick's senses fled, and stupefaction 'followed. The old man rushed from the room, raving with passion. He had been trifled with by his child ; his wild and danng schemes of philosophy had been cir- cumvented ; and where he had expected to find the adamant he had discovered the burning lava. A servant entering afterward found his young master stretched upon the floor, and taking him in his arms, laid him on his bed.
Could that stem old mystic have seen the boy's young heart, and known the being that had elevated it from stupor into love ; could he have soared back on the wings of his own early feelings to the sym- pathies of earlier nature, and lefl the dark abodes of an educated contempt of the emotions, he would have bathed the sufferer's ach- ing head in tears, and moaned the misery he had inflicted. But it was not so. Haughty, fierce and unfeeling, the German author stood aloof; he visited his son's room no more ; he inquired no more after his health ; but devoting himself to his fearful studies, he tried to forget the bonds that nature had imposed upon him.
The curtains are drawn around his bed, and a dimmed lamp bums steadily on the hearth ; not a whisper breaks the solemh silence of the apartment, save the faint murmurs issuing from the bed. An old servant sits by the pillow and watches with a moistened eye the form that lies before him. It is Frederick. From the night of his fearful interview with his father he had not arisen : a sickness of the mind had fallen upon him, and day after day he grew worse and worse. No pain of body shook his frame ; no fever, no chill ; but
1849.] Lwe*$ Triumph over PMhacphy. 2S3
still he faded away, and in silence and in awe he seemed to be gliding ffently down to the melancholy grave. Tumultuous causes had re- duced him thus. His father's conduct, so strange, so sudden, had smitten him to the heart, while a deep and absorbing passion preyed upon his mind. He had seen that idol of his thoughts, and had parted without breathing in her ear the story of his love. Why had ne not seized the favorable opportunity, when, like a knight of old romance, he had entered her father's house, and borne her forth into the silent groves 1 But he had seen and looked into her eyes, and seen them play and beam ; he had basked in their radiance, and felt the enchantment of her celestial presence. As he contrasted the gentleness, the confidence, the beauty and feminineness of her cha- racter with the cold and ghastly lineaments of his father's nature, his senses became darkened, and in his delirium he called upon her name ; he spoke his lov^ — his endless, his consuming passion.
The faithful sentinel of his bed, the old servant, heard the ravings of his young master with astonishment ; he pondered what course to pursue ; to tell his master, would be rashness ; to call him in, would oe but to make him witness of a weakness he could not pardon ; and in the midst of his dilemma, he resolved to acquaint the recluse and his daughter with the whole matter. To determine was to perform. Calling up his wife to sit by the bed side of the young man, he wends his way to the dwelling of the Solitary. The daughter is the first to hear the story ; she acquaints her fadier with the history, and they take their steps accordingly.
That young girl had parted with Frederick with feelings new and interesting. Never had she seen a face so perfect, nor listened to music like his voice. She had seen many an other youth, but none had ever touched her heart, albeit many had loved her ; and until she saw Frederick, her mind was free as the zephyr, and undisturbed as its mysterious sigh. When she met him for the first time in the woods, she was struck with the sadness of his countenance, and that youthfbl but majestic face floated constantly before her. Which way soever she turned, she saw those eloquent eyes looking so tenderly and inquiringly into hers, that her heart fluttered, and then stood still like the young bird essaying its flight His glowing language, so full of poetry, and chivalry, and high-toned sentiment, as she listened to him on diat strange interview, struck her with no less force than his personal beauty. A sentiment of love and admiration took posses- sion of her heart ; but its temper was delicate and refined, and she saw him in her mind's eye but as some bright visitant from the realms of bliss. Sweet sympathy of the young ; redolent of afiection that should not fade, but that like the mute stars that see the seasons come and go in regular succession, should watch over the changing vicissi- tudes of life, yet see the heart still firm and faithful to its early vows.
In the eastern wing of the mystic castle strange visitors have ar- rived. They came in the early twilight, and are now in the room of the invalid. They are the recluse neighbor and his daughter. She is bending over the pillow of the young student, and she parts the hair from his lofty brow. She smooths the coverlid and araws the
234 Love^i Triumph over Philotophy. [Harcb,
curtains close around the sufferer's bed. Her gentle eyes meet his ; and years of devotion could not have wroueht such intensity of grati- tude as did that single look in the bosom of the youth. The room is just light enough for him to see her fairy form hovering beside him ; to catch the motion of her eyes ; and, languid as he was, he put for- ward his hand and pressed hers in thankml joy. His was a strange disease — the preying of a morbid sensitiveness upon a frame uninuted to the shocks of life. His feelings had been outraged by the conddct of a harsh father ; and superadded to which was the extraordinary revulsion of sensation incident to the novel bursts of the affections upon the cold region of his mystical studies. It was a glorious scene, that bed-room then. The old man sat apart, watching with venera* tion the form of his child, as it hovered over the couch of the guiltless victim of her charms.
The sun had set, and the air of the night waved upward from the forest, and filled the apartment with a bracing atmosphere. Around that gloomy house broke no sound. All was still as if the velvet trees were dead even to the or?an-like music of the winds.
How eloquent is silence to the heart ! Far along the impalpable air is seen by the dreaming mind the shades of other scenes. It is the only hour when the metaphysical organs can speak and find their element. The harsh accents of the mind are calmed in weariness, and up in the heavens, and down upon the earth, floats the drowsy spirit that charms the physical nature to repose ; while buoyantly the soul plumes its unmeasured aspirations, and floats to the regions where imagination, endowed with form, takes the semblance of reality. Silence is the inspiration, as it is the music, of the spirit.
Thus thought the languid student, as he lay with his head raised and his hand clasped by Gertrude, and his eye wandering upon the old scenes stretching over the distant hills and the extensive forests. Through the medium of his sufferings came the spirit of consolation. While he lay in this ecstatic state of mind, conscious of the happi- ness derived from her presence, and revelling upon the calm brought to his mind by the contemplation of the slumbering face of Nature, a distant and confused sound rings along the passages leading to his chamber. It approaches nearer. It is his father's voice in debate with the old nurse : ' I will enter; what ! keep me from the boy ? Is he not my child — the flower of my life 1 What care I who they may be that are with him ] back, serf — I toiU enter !'
The door was flung open, and pale and agitated, the scholar enters. At first he does not perceive that any one is in the room, but advances quickly toward his son's bed. It is Gertrude whom he meets there, but whom, in the gloom, he cannot distinguish ; and throwing him- self upon his knees, by the side of the bed, he seized his son's hand, and bathing it in tears, poured forth a strain of agony, seemingly doubly violent as coming from such a breast. Whatever of pride that had formerly made the scholar so austere, now disappeared. He no longer felt the force of prejudice and education ; but there, in that solemn hour, he yielded his whole soul to parental love, and begged forgiveness of his child.
1849.] An ^Independent' Epitaph. 235
Thorrecluse was the first to help him from bis kneeling posture. The scholar noticed him not, but continued to kiss his son's hand.
The lamp that had been dimmed and shaded behind a screen, is now brightened, and its light is diffused throughout the chamber.
The scholar and recluse stand confronting each other ; both of lofty statue, yet vastly different in appearance. The recluse appears to be much older than the scholar, but he is not. Disease haa done its work upon hin^ ; and his long white hair was more the result of bodily sunenng than the frost of age. The scholar's face was mould- ed as if in steel — beautiful and sublime ; and now, as he stood gazing at the venerable stranger, he seemed more like a warrior of former da^s, questioning some necromancer or saintly sage.
* Rodenck Van Arteldi !' exclaimed the recluse ; • Philip, Baron of Osburg !' cried the scholar; and they clasped each other in •their arms. In years long since departed they had been scholars together, and had parted on their different paths of life. The loss of a be- loved wife reduced the baron to the verge of phrenzy ; and with his only child, the image of that wife, he had buried himself in seclusion. The scholar had stemmed the tide of popular commotion ; had been banished in early life for having killed a nobleman in a duel ; had re- tamed at the expiration of his term of banishment to his native land, loaded with the wisdom of many climes, and had illumined the world from the hermit-like seclusion of his castle. They had not met before.
Gertrude was soon in the arms of Aiteldi, and long and affectionate- ly the parties communed that night ; and when the baron and his daughter were about to depart, the scholar insisted upon their re- maining; the next morning the young student left his room, and leaning upon his father's arm, he accompanied his friends to the villa of the baron.
Br the glare of torches, to the sound of delicious music, when the moon was dim, but yet beamed foith the stars, a large party had as- sembled beneath the grove in front of the baron's mansion. This was several months after the occurrences that took place in the sick cham- ber. Before an altar, raised on the soft turf, and entwined with flowers, stood two beings young and beautiful. Their hands are joined to- gether. Three other figures stand near the altar ; the one the priest, the others, the fathers of the twain.
A strain of melody breathes over the scene— soft, gentle, scarce whispei-ing to the air, yet sounding like a harp to the heart.
The priest raises his hands ; he blesses the bride and the bride- groom, and Frederick and Geitrude are united. Thus Love is triumphant over Philosophy ; and bliss derived from the affections is more natural than peace begotten by education.
AN 'IKDEPENDENT' EPITAPH.
Readsr, dms on I — do n't waste yonr time O'er bad oiography, and bitter rhyme ; For what I am, tnia cmmbling clay inavret, And what I woi if no affair of yoari.
236 The Death of NapoUtm. [March,
THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON.
'T WAB night : upon his cortamed bed
The conqueror of Europe lay ; Not tranquilly, as when his head
At close of some victorious day The battle-conch in slumber prest. With triumph flushed, and lulled to rest By the still sentry's measured tread: Far different now the hero's bed ! He struggles with a deadlier foe Than ever dealt the battle-blow ; Conflicting m a fiercer strife Than eter met his gaze through life ; And martial forms glide round his bed, •With voices hushed and noiseless tread, To mark, so wildly-pictured there, The fading triumph of despair ! Around his death-pale brow he clasps
The crown of nations, earthward hurled ; While with his fevered hand he grasps
The iron sceptre of the worid ! He sleeps ; a wild and restless sleep ;
The hero of Titanic strife ; And thoughts that bid him smile and weep
Brighten and dim his closing life. He smiles — his victor-eagle sits Upon his flag at Austerlitz,
That waves above the slain ; And echoing from shore to shore, The deep-mouthed cannon's staggering roar
Booms o'er its blood-red plain : He smiles arain — the exulting cry. The triumph-shout of victory. Echoed from lip to lip, swells high,
Marengo's field is won I On ! on ! — a conquered army's groan He hears o'er icy Russia moan ; Again, another lengthened wail. And Austria's battle-star is pale,
Quenched is her once bright sun ! And wildly -mingled, shout on shout, Burrts on his ear at Jena's rout.
And Lodi's crimson field: He sees his banner's wavy flow Above the Alps' eternal snow ; He sees it proudly float where stand Opposing ranks on Egypt's sand.
When earth with slaughter reeled. His brow is knit ; what &eB are those That flash like meteors on the snows ? Why, ere the battle, shout his foes 7
'T is Moscow's lurid Uaze I He pales : where now the dazzlmg crown ? Why wean his brow that dark'ning frown ^
What dims his eagle gaze 7 'T \b thy dread struggle strikes his view, Lost, camage-covem Waterloo !
1849.] Sketches from the East. 237
Thns swiftly o'er his closing eyes
Whole years of stormy conflict roll, While on his ear the mingled cries And groans of slaughtered millions rise
To knell his parting soul. The strife is o'er, and unconfined, *
Back to its viewless chaos hurled. The quick, illimitable mind,
Whose grasping power had awed the world : Quenched is that eye whose liyin? gaze
Was like the eagle's glance to heaven. That meets undimmed the sun's fierce rays ; And monarchs quailed before the blaze
Which to that eye was given ; And he (oh, human fate !) whose brow
The laurel bound but yesterday, Whose voice moved millions, lieth now
A nothing — pulseless, senseless clay ! The storm ra^ed wildly as before. Increasing still the waves' mad roar ;
The clouds that shut the sun Bore on their stormy pinions wild The death-groan of Ambition's child —
The last Napoleon! ^ «. c
SKETCHES FROM THE EAST.
BT oca ORIBNTAL OOBJUSrOHSBXT.
When a Turkish youth is sent to school for the first time, it is the first holiday of his life, and is looked forward to with much antici- pated pleasure. Early in the morning his mother decks him out in a new dress ; a new Fez, or red cloth cap, is put upon his head, around which a Cachmere shawl is bound, stuck full of his mother's jewels, or those of her neighbors, borrowed for the occasion ; ano- ther shawl is wrapped round his waist ; his little jacket and full pan- taloons are of some gay color, generally red ; yellow or red shoes are put upon his feet; and suspended over his right shoulder, in an embroidered velvet satchel, is his primer, full of great golden letters and roses. At an early hour a pony (perhaps a borrowed one,) or a tall, fat hoi*se, with a gay saddle-cloth and decorated bridle, is brought to the door, where already the Imaam of the adjoining mosque and the Khadjiah,.or teacher, to whose instruction he is to be confided, ac' companied by the children bf his school, have assembled.
As the new student, smiling with delight, appears at his door, at- tended by his father and perhaps his mother — the latter concealed beneath the folds of her cloak and veil — the future companions of his studies commence chanting verses, which they have learned from their teacher, or prayers appropriate to the occasion. Now he mounts
VOL. XXXIII. 28
238 Sketches from t1^ East. [March,
the pony, led by his father and the Imaam, and immediately followed by the teacher and his scholars, who, marching two by two, continue their chant. The cortege proceeds up one narrow street, descends by another, passes through the public square, where every one makes room for it, and all seem to take part in the happiness of the young tyro, who from his mounted seat smiles in youthful glee upon the passers-by. Thus he makes his first visit to school, and the event is lastingly impressed upon his mind.
After this introduction he continues to visit the teacher daily, either alone or with his brothers and sisters. It is a pleasant sight to see four or five boys and girls in the beautifully-picturesque costume of the children of the East, with their satchels suspended over their lit- tle shoulders, proceeding on their way to the public school of the quarter of the city in which they reside. No children in the world are prettier ; no where are childish play and frivolity more amusing, and no where do ^rents dote more fondly on their offspring, than in Constantinople. The traveller will often turn fi'om his research afler the remains of antiquity, or from gazing at the lofty buildings and ^othcr ' lions' of the capital, to admire the innocent prattle and spirit of young Alys, Mehmets, Ayeshas and Hadijahs, who shuffle past him in the streets, on their way to school. In the early spring almost every family in the city possesses a little Iamb, or a kid, whose fleece is spotted over with red henna, and which is led about by the chil- dren, tethered with a silken cord. It either attends them to school, where it awaits the termination of their lessons, or accompanies them to the many green spots of the city, there to frisk and frolic until the heat of the sun or evening shades drive them back to their homes.
It is with such associations as these that Turkish children com- mence their education. From their mothers they learn but little other than neatness, mildness and affectionate sensibility. Until the age of ten or twelve they are brought up in the harem, or female apartments of their home, attended by servants or slaves, who often set them bad examples, upon which to found their ideas of propriety, and humored by their mothers, who look upon them generally as the only tie which binds upon her her husband's affection. The father demands of the mother and son abjeet obedience to his will, and the latter is elevated with sentiments of the deepest respect for his parents. From the father the son learns something of religion and regard for the great, more by example than direct tuition, and even in his youngest age he is taught to look upon Christians and Jews as unclean objects, often possessors of talent, but to be made use of when needed, though never placed upon the same scale of humanity with himself
In the school the master is usually seated at the head of two low parallel benches, or cushions, facing the entrance. Each youth, male and female, has a primer before him or her, and in articulating the letters of the alphabet pronounces them in a loud tone of voice. As there are few or no vowels used in Turkish, the second lesson of the child is to spell the consonants, with their three accents, called ustun^ ussura and nttura; the first being a dash above the word, the
1849.] Sketches from the East. 239
second a dash under it, and the third a comma above the word ; thus B^d spells bad, Bv^d spells bed^ and B'd spells bud. The same are used in words of two syllahles, but seldom in greater. There 18 no writing them in sand, nor yet on paper ; at the close of the words of two syllables the scholar forthwith commences reading a prayer in the Arabic language, which is invariably affixed on the last pages of his primer, and whose words are accented. This prayer is also read out aloud, and the metred pronunciation of Arabic, and the musical Cone of the children's voices, lead strangers to suppose Chey hear poetry recited.
After the aliph-bay, or primer, the scholar next commences read- ing and copying the incha, or letter- book, containing forms of letters «uch as are addressed to persons of eveiy degree of life, complimen- tary, consolatory, or on business, the first rudiments of arithmetic, and promissory notes and receipts. The incha is also written in an elegant and approved style of penmanship, and the student copies it upon blue, rea or yellow paper, which can be washed and re- written upon. When writing he is seated on the floor, and holding the paper in his or her left hand, traces the letters from right to left with a reed held in the right.
Books for children in the East are composed almost wholly in rhyme, and though treating on science in a superficial manner, diey are intended to instruct them in that religion which is the basis of all knowledge to the Mussulman, and language, Arabic and Persian, so that he may the better comprehend the Koran and its numerous com- mentaries. Elegant literary composition is therefore much more studied than the sciences, and metaphysics than common morality ; but of this more will be spoken in its appropriate place. An incha now before me commences with a list of Arabic wotds explained in Turkish, which words the writer says are mostly made use of in epis- tolary composition. It then offers a few words of instruction, such as here follow ;
* It is not hidden nor concealed from those whose minds are en- lightened by knowledge, that the science of composition is one of much sweetness and beauty ; so much so, that the excellent Ali (one of the caliphs) said : ' Teach thy son the art of writing ; for it is the most useful and entertaining of all the arts.' Apply yourself atten- tively to it, for it is the most holy and elevated occupation. Firstly, it is requisite that the writer know the grade of the individual to whom he is to write, so as to address him with that respect and vene- ration which his grade calls for. Let your letters be close, and your lines distinctly traced ; the words of your letter such as are in com- mon use among men ; and remember that comprehensible eloquence is the first art to which the writer should direct h\a attention ; for simplicity and choice of phraseology are the summit of composition. Wnte the date of your letter at its close to the right of your seal, for it is the base and the column upon which its contents are founded ; also do not forget to trace the initial B above your letter ; it signifies the mystical word BDOUH, and the pious exclamation of Bismillah, (in the name of God.)'
240 Sketckei from the Etut. [March,
' Afterward follow several letters, such as are addressed to pachas, governors, judges, priests, and the hook closes with a few pages of arithmetic, all in manuscript.
The young Turk is next taught to read and commit to memory small works, which may he compared with our catechism, and hooks of prayers. They are mostly extracts from the Koran ; and like the students of Catholic countries, he does this without knowing the lan- guage in which they are written (the Arabic.) There are several small hooks, in the form of vocabularies, to which his attention is next directed. They are Turkish and Arabic, or Turkish and Persian, to which he is now set, as if these closed his literary career, which in- deed is really often the case. Beyond this, the children of indigent parents seldom advance ; and while they are committing these to memory, they also spend much of their time, reed in hand, learning to write a fair and legible calhgraphy. The vocabularies commence with a ihythmatic preface, generally giving some account of the author, or to invoke the Deity and Qie Prophet. Perhaps a conception of them vpll be more easily formed by the perusal ot a sketch or two from one called the Suhhay-Suhiany or Anglice, * The Children's Chaplet.' It commences by saying in rhyme :
* Let us commence by the mention of Goo's name ; by that name which is the first of all words ; one that rejoices the heart, and is the name of the Creator of all idioms and tongues. He gave speech to man, so that he might offer Him his thanks and prayers for the boun- ties which he bestows, as plenteously as there are objects on the earth's surface, or drops in the bed of the ocean.'
Passing over the invocation of the Deitv, and the prayefB and blessings offered upon the Prophet, who is the guide and the inter- cessor of all * True Believers,' we come to the commencement of the vocabulary. The first lesson is an invocation in favor of the book, which is characteristic :
* Oh ! thou who art full of mercy and benevolence, accept of, I beseech thee, this my prayer : May this book be a means of gifting with talent, and vouchsafe to me, the servant who composed it, thy forgiveness for his sins. May that person who offers up a * good prayer' for me, have a happy close of life ; I beg also of those who may look it over, to be so good as to correct any errors which they may see. Meptailen, meptaiUn.failen, is the book of rhythm into which the student will embark upon the sea of learning.'*
To give an idea of the plan of tl\e work, it would be necessary to imitate its style in versification, which I could only do in a very limited manner, using Latin in place of Arabic. In addition to language, the verses teach prosody, and what, in the minds of Orientals, is consid- ered religion, oi^ good morals.
Such vocabularies as these comprise all the learning which many an intelligent Turkish boy receives; and it is surprising with what a degree of accuracy the verses are retained in their memory through
* The mearare of the inrocAtion.— Ta.
1849.] Lines, 241
life, even until they reach great age. My roaster, a Mussulman of some fifty years, will, when he meets with an Arabic or Persian word, in our reading of which I do not know the meaning, at once repeat the line in the vocabulary where he committed it to memory in his earliest youth. This creating of an artificial memory might be adopted with regard to geography and arithmetic, with success and benefit, UDtil the mind of the child, by continued study and application, be- comes strengthened, and can retain names and figures without the aid of versification. The system is like that of mixing unpleasant medi- cines in sweetmeats, so as to deceive the palate of the invalid ; and children are indeed too often ' indisposed' to study.
Girls seldom go so far as these vocabularies in their studies : to read and sometimes to write, is the fullest extent of their acquirements. Few, in afterlife, cultivate the knowledge which they attain in school : they leave the latter at the age of seven, eight, or ten years ; and put- ting on the Yashmak, a veil for the face, are seldom afterward seen in 3ie streets with their faces exposed to the eyes of passers-by. Up to this time the children of both sexes mingle freely together ; they sit at the same low bench, on carpets or skins spread for them on the floor ; and each learns his lesson, or i*ecites it in a loud tone of voice. How often have I been airested in the streets of Constantinople by the ' hum of many voices' proceeding from a room adjoining the mosque of the city, or from a low stone edifice, close by some public fountain, the work of a departed benevolent Mussulman, and lingered as long as politeness would permit me, to enjoy the spectacle of some forty or fifty little Ayeshas, Fatimahs, Ahmeds, Mustaphas, Mo- hameds, cheerfully, even merrily, reciting their lessons to themselves, or repeating them before the venerable Khadjiah or Imaam, who rules 'Over the youthful flock without any of the implements of torture or terror which are so freely used in the schools of more civilized, chris- tian lands. Instead of the school being a place of reunion for evil spirits, the origin of strife and quarrels, it is one of youthful friend- ships, love, and tender regard. All the love-tales of Eastern lan- guage, (and they are quite as numerous as those of the Western) commence with the meeting of the parties in school; there their tender aflections began to form and flourish ; and though at the com- mencement of the age of puberty they were separated, the remem- brance of their childish intercourse laid the foundation of after scenes of happiness or sorrow, which Fate and Destiny may have allotted to them. J. p. B.
L Z N E 8
COriBD OK A BI.AMK-Z.BAV OV 'iCAN in A. nSFUBLIJ.
In bulk there are not more degrees From elephants to mites in cheese, Til an what a curious eye may trace In creatures of the rhyming race : From bad to worse and worse they fall, But who can beat the worst of all ?
242 The Stone House on the Susquehanna, [March,
SONNET.
Fak abcre th* habltatloos of man, no Uviag thixxg •ztsts. no tound is bMurd : the ▼ery echo of tk» trareUer'a footatepe at&rtlee him in the awful aolitode and allenoe that reign in these dwellings of ercrlastiag anow. Mrs. 8oicsiiTix.z.B'a Phtsxoaz. OxoavLAvar*.
Where first the beams of morning meet the embrace
Of earth's aspiring peaks, for ever crowned
With fleecy splendors, like a girdle bound, And shadows bom ere evening twilight trace Their lengthening circuit round the mountain's base.
There not a print of beast is ever found,
Nor scream of plumed marauder doth resound ; The foot-fall on the snow-orust's flinty face
Half awes the traveller in his skyward march. For SiLENCB there, in her sublime abode,
Dwells like a monitor anear heaven's arch, And seems to whisper of a lofty road,
Afar from sands the pilgrim's feet that parch. High o'er life's glaciers — leading on to God. j. cz^umnr.
Buffalo^ February f 1849.
THE STONE HOUSE ON THE SUSQUEHANNA.
eBArTJBH axvBxTXBSTn.
'I UAZB not ten yea all at cnee ; But aa I maie and can. I shall By order tellen yoa it all.'
We must now take a retrospective view of certain events which occurred some two months before the liberation of Herman, as re- lated in the preceding chapter. We do not intend to reverse the hour-glass of old Tempus, nor move heaven and earth to set the sun back from Taurus to Pisces, like the hand of an ower-fast horologe, nor take an imaginary flight sixty times around the globe toward the west, whereby a day would be lost for each circumterraneous revolu- tion ; nor communicate a counter-gyratory motion to the earth, so that the sun should rise in the west until we revolved back through that interval ; nor borrow the aid of those metallic Ben Franklins, the telegraphs, (do they not pei*petuate the elements of his life, elec- tricity and printing?) arch-annihilators of time and space ; nor intro- duce a * Year of Confusion' with intercalary days, like Julius Caesar ; nor do a great many other things only permitted to lovers, poets, and transcendental ists ; but shall be content to chronicle certain circum- stances, with the timely warning that they occurred some two months before the events just related.
1849.] The Stone House on the Susquehanna. 243
In one of those old mansions which formerly reposed in aristocratic grandeur in the lower part of Pearl-street, Mrs. Mortimer Squiddy was anxiously awaiting the arrival of her guests from Greysburgh. It was toward night fall, and slight flurries of snow swept through the rapidly-darkening streets, like * seeds of orient pearl/ adding to the cathedral-like gloom of the rooms, which even the cheery glow of the hickory fire upon the walls failed to relieve. The slumbrous crim- son Mrindow-curtaine, the grave high-backed chairs, the solemn side- board, the cumbrous harpsichord, suggestive of dismal tunes, and constitutionally averse to light and trifling music, the dull pictures upon the walls, that seemed to wink with weariness in their tarnished frames, the huge sofa, with carved legs — cruel-looking legs for chil- dren to bump their heads against — and the massive silver branches upon the mantel, gave a peculiar air of heaviness to the apartments, that subdued the feelings without the tincture of pleasant sadness which is sometimes sweeter than joy. Still the fire was grateful to behold, as it rioted in redness and warmth, sending up broad columns of smoke besprent with sparks into the ample chimney, glancing upon the polished brass andirons, and sometimes playfully darting little jets ot flame in the direction of Mrs. Squiddy's feet, which rested upon the burnished fender. There was enough light too, to show that Mrs. Mortimer was neither young, nor pretty, nor small, nor possessed of ' interestingness, the best test and characteristic of loveli- ness.' Nor did her face indicate either refinement or amiability ; it was passive, however ; one of those society-indurated faces, which the great wave of the world had swept over and worn as smooth as a pebble. Nor were her eyes shadowed and deep, or mild and radiant ; but rather, opaque, and of a light porcelainous blue, eyes that were neither poetic, sympathetic, nor devotional ; but there was a gi'eat deal of ' speculation' in them, as we shall see anon.
' It is a wonder they do not come,' she said to herself; ' there can be no doubt about the mortgajge. Ifthat should be discovered, there would be an end ; an end of house and name, and position in society ; which would be dreadful' — here she mused a long while, and then said very softly to herself — * damages ! they would be large, respec- table. Damages,' she repeated, half closing her porcelain eyes, ' from my position in society would be heavy : and as he and Mortie have al- ready signed the articles of paitnerahip,' continued Mra. Squiddy, clenching her hand, and biting the back of her forefinger, ' there would be something too in that quarter. Let the afiair turn as it will, I will be comfortable in my old age, and once more I can put Mortie on his legs.' Here a large stick of hickory broke in two, and turned up two red cones of fire on each side of the andirons. It put a stop to Mrs. Squiddy's meditations ; she rose and pulled the bell- cord. ' More wood. Spangles,' she said, as the door opened.
* More caloric ] yes 'm,' and Spangles vanished.
Job Spangles had followed the fortunes of the house of Squiddy from his boyhood. Who his parents were he never knew ; but he had grown up under the maternal care of Mrs. Mortimer (howbeit not noted for charities except in the published reports of societies) until he attained
244 Tke Sume House on the Susquehannd. [March,
his thirty-second year. Yet to look at him, one might suppose him to be fifty, as his spare, angular figure, solemnly habited in a loose black coat, shiny black breeches, black stockings, black waistcoat, and a whitish neckcloth, leaned over the fire ; nor did the serious expression of his face, nor yet the scanty thatch which covered his cranium, belie such an opinion. Although Job was but an humble servitor in the house of the Squiddies, yet his education had not been neglected. At an early age his mind had a peculiar bias toward the arts and sciences, and his tastes had been indulged to a certain extent by Mrs. Squiddy, which had given rise to many ^trange surmises and dim hints among her most intimate friends. Some had even questioned Job concerning his early life, in hopes of getting some clue to the mystery ; but in seeking for the origin of every thing else. Job had somehow overlooked his own ; and the obscurity of his birth, and the strange nature of his studies, led him to believe that it might be chaotic — referable to the period of the trilobites; and if any one had said ' Job, you are a fossil,' Job would have been puzzled to dis- prove it The studies with which Job had enlightened his ' pericra- mcks' embraced every thing celestial and terrestrial ; he even dabbled a little in astrology and alchemy ; had played upon the clarionet . until his nose was blown level with his cheeks, and then started his eyes from their sockets with practising upon the flute ; objects seen with his analytical optics resolved themselves into their elements at once ; a rose was not a rose to him, it was a thing of stamens, pistils, pericarp and petals, of the order polygynia ; instead of look- ing throueh a pane of glass, he looked through silex, alumine and po- tassa ; and he washed his face every morning in hydrogen and oxygen. His little room in the attic was a complete laboratory ; and there, until the late watches of the night, his lamp might be seen, as he was diligently solving some mighty, but useless problem in chemistry, or breathing his soul out through a giant bassoon, which he had lately added to his stock of musical instruments. Such was the character of the queer being who hovered over the fire like a huge vampire, while Mrs. Squiddy gazed upon him with a strange expression of complacency and pity. ' Spangles,' said she, sofUy, ' do you think that you will like your new master V
' Yes 'm, if he do n't interfere with my chemicals and testacea. I think I 'd give up minerals if it was an object, or even botany ; but I 'm great on shells now, and pyroligneous acid. Wait a few days, and 1 '11 give you a bottle of my own making.'
* What is it for, Spangles ]'
' What is it for 1 Well, I do n't know any use you can make of it It smells like pitch ; if you fancy that flavor, you can put it on your handkerchief
•Why, Spangles!'
* O, it wo n't bum it ; you need not be afraid. I 've been making experiments below this afbemoon among the bivalves.'
' What are they V
* Oystera. I was afler pearls ; I only opened the large ones. If I could find a pearl it would be valuable, because it would establish
1849.] Tke Stone House on the Susquehanna. 245
the fact ; but there is a small chance among the little puny ones that are left.*
' Job/ said Mrs. S., looking up with a firown, ' how could you do such a thing 1 We wanted those for our guests.'
' Bless me/ said Job, adjusting the last stick, and raising himself on one knee, ' I never thought of that Light up, m*en) V Mrs. Squiddy nodded, and Job proceeded to illuminate. 'Phlogiston/ muttered he, as he lighted the candles, ' being the principle of in- flammability, and perhaps vitality, for the lungs resemble a furnace, fed with the oxygen of the atmosphere, whence warmth is derived and life; for when a man ceases to breathe — when his fire (so to speak) is out, when he is cold, then he 's dead — that 's it ; warmth is life ! every thing that lives being warm down to the lowest — no, oysters are not warm, nor lobsters ; hang me, if there 's any phlogis* ton in a lobster. That *s the way with Uieories ; when you get 'em started, you find there 's a screw loose. If it had n't been for that, I would have been a great man. Close the shutters, m'em 1' Another nod. * O, m'em,' said Job, with his head out of the window, ' there 's a sleigh coming down this way ; I think it 's them.'
' Close the windows then. Spangles,' replied she, calmly. ' If it is, they can knock.'
Job obeyed, Mrs. Squiddy adjusted her cap, the chime of the sleigh-bells approached, then stopped, and there toas a knock at the door. ' It 's them,' said Job, joyfully darting out into the hall, while bis mistress drew herself up to receive her guests with becoming dig- nity. There were footsteps in the entry, and then the ever smiline Mr. Grey presented himself at the door, followed by Aunt Patty and Mr. Mortimer Squiddy, with the lovely Edla hanging upon his arm ; and the gallant Mr. Grey saluted the lady with the porcelain eyes upon the right cheek, and called her ' dear Fanny,' and Aunt Patty was duly presented, and Edla was kindly welcomed, and Mor- timer affectionately embraced. Meanwhile Job made himself won- derfully busy over a half-acre table in the back parlor, laying the ample cloth, and putting the silver branches in the centre thereof, ana there was the sound of preparation below, and savory smells wound their way up the staircase from the kitchen, and the party gathered around the fire, and furs were i*emoved, and cloaks laid aside, and it was very pleasant to behold.
' I 've been a-lookin* at that chair with the two pigeons on the back,' said Aunt Patty, during a lull in the conversation ; * it 's very — is it worked V
* The real Gobelin, my dear,' replied Mrs. Squiddy.
* Bless me/ said Aunt Patty ; * well, I never ! I Ve heard of ghosts and hobgoblins, but I never saw one of them chairs before. And who 's that over the mantel V
* A Madonna/ said Mrs. Mortimer, with a perceptible smile.
* McDonough ] — '• why, how young he looks.'
* A Madonna, auntie/ said Edla ; * the Virgin Mary.'
' Dear heart ! I thought it was too young for— is it considered a good likeness V
246 T%e Stone House on the Susquehanna. [March,
' I do not know,' replied Mortimer, with a sneer. 'It is by Domi- nichino.'
' That/ said Aunt Patty, ' is a Dominie I never heerd on.'
* Dinner 's ready, m'em,' said Job.
It was really delightfiil to see the sprightly manner in which Mr. Grey assisted the two elderly ladies to the table, and the elegance of his earring, and the assiduity with which he helped every one, and his pleasant bow at every remark, and his smiles, which were in full bloom. Job, too, was in all his glory. He astonished Aunt Patty with ' muriate of soda, capsicum, acetic aqid, and aqua pura,' inso- much that at last the old lady gave up eating in despair, sat upright in her chair, with a very prim countenance, and gave an indignant shake of the head whenever he asked to help her to anything. ' I don't like that Frenchman at all,' she said, in a low whisper to Edla ; * he puts me in such a fluster '
' Champaigne V said Job ; and then added, in a low voice, ' vinous fermentation going on ; beautiful evolution of carbonic acid gas '
' Keep away,' said Aunt Patty, losing all patience ; < I do n't want nothin'.'
• And don't know nothing,' muttered Job, as he replaced the wine in the cooler ; ' there are three things yet to be discovered, the quad- rature of the circle, the perpetual motion, and — a lady in love with philosophy !'
Here Job mused a long while, for dinner was nearly over and his services were not required. * But bless me,' said he, * if they do n't love philosophy, what else is there that they do not love 1 Flowers and music, fight, and sweet smiles, courage, wit, refinements, beyond our sex, (for man is grosser and more material,) children ! what can equal a mother's love 1 reverence, filial and devotional — home ! woman herself being the. ark of that sanctuary, charities, sympathies ; why bless me ! her af- fections cover the whole ground of our speculations ; it is the universal oxygen which pervades and vivifies the world !'
During the remainder of the evening nothing occurred to disturb Aunt Patty's serenity, and the party soon separated — Edla to dream of the absent, her aunt to compose herself m sleep, Mr. Squiddy to take a critical survey of himself in the glass before retiring, and his mamma and Mr. Grey to exchange those little promissory notes of endearment which after marriage are generally — protested !
Mrs. Squiddy and her son were alone in the parlor on the succeed- ing morning. The Greys had gone out to make some purchases for the approaching wedding.
' Mortie,' said his mother, ' I have been thinking about that mort- gage ; there can be no possibility '
Mr. Mortimer stood in front of one of the windows with a fore- finger in each pocket of his white vest.
' Not the slightest'
' For if that should be discovered, you know there would be an end to it all.'
' Of course,' replied the son with a smile, 'an end to all the love and romance.'
1849.] iidian Summer. 247
* It is not a proper subject for a jest,' said the mother, and then added in a whisper, * do you know that we are nearly reduced to beg- gary 1 that we are but one step removed from degradation and want i'
* I have reason to know it,' replied Mortie, unpocketing one finger and making a circle on the frosted pane, ' for if it had not been for Spangles, curse me, if I believe we could have entertained the Greys at all : by some mystery he managed to turn several chairs and an old bureau into cash ; whether he took them to his laboratory in the garret or to some gentleman with a tri-orbed symbol over the door, I know not, but he got the money and we may be thankfril.'
' Spangles is invaluable to us,' said Mrs. Squiddy. ' So he is ; is it not strange, ma', that there should be no clue to his parentage V
* Very strange indeed,' replied Mrs. Squiddy, looking at the fire.
INDIAN SUMMER.
Calm is the air and still : A sabbath quiet rests on hill and dale, UnintermptedfSave that now and then Rings the sharp echo of the woodman's axe, Or sportsman's gun, in yonder forest deep. The russet leaves lie motionless and dry, Where the last fitful gust, or partridge drum, Or swift flight of ttartled quail ha^ swept them. A genial light pervades the atmosphere, Clothing the landscape with its golden hues. In this old wood, where through the summer long A leafy roof had kept the sun at bay, He comes and goes as freely as the wind : And the bare woods and fields alike are bathed In his warm flood. Old sheriff Winter now flath loosed his frosty grip, with which of late He seized on Nature : and with seeming grace Grants her a respite brief from his cold reign.
With what a smile she thanks him for the boon. And decks herself anew for his embrace, Alas ! too soon to be renewed. Her thousand rills Run sparkling with delight ; the smoky air Affain is cleft with wing of bee and bird ; The buds again are swelling on the trees ; Flowers are peeping from their wintry beds, Waked from their slumber by the- warm wind's kiss ; And all around, the green and tender blades Pierce through the matUng of the withered grass. Rejoice ! while yet ye may, O trusting birds. And flowers bright, and tiny insect throng ! For, sitting on this mossy rock, I feel The frosty breath of him who soon again Will, in hb icy fetters, lock you all.
ycvuncn, November, 1848.
248 The 8t. Leger Papers. [March,
THE SAINT LEGER PAPERS.
■ BOOITD •mBZB».
The casement is open. The delicious perfume of Summer finds its way hither unbidden. The still, solemn pines tower up in the twilight. Across the Avon the * New Forest' stands lonely and sflent. The river runs between, dark and deep, always flowing, flowing. Season after season, year after year, age aft»r age, the river flows on ; a singular emblem of permanence and change.
I feel like labor. Go to 1 I will spoil this beautiful twilight. * Thomas, bring candles.' ....
Now comes the moth to seek destruction in the flame. Hark ! the cricket is chirping its unvaried note ; the nightingale whistles his sweet but melancholy strain. The owl and the bat, the fire-fly and will-o'-the-wisp, are busy enough too.
Where is the lively squirrel that has been springing all day from bough to bough 1 where the pigeon and the hawk 1 where the lark and the vulture, the linnet and the eagle, the coney and the fox 1
The snake no longer glides across the path, and the toad has found a resting-place. But the owl hoots from the tree, and the bat flits crazily through the gloaming ; the fire-fly and ^ill-o'-the-wisp — see ! there they sparkle and flicker and brighten again !
* Where is God my Maker, who giveth songs in the night V
Reader — whoever you are — who have borne me company thus far, if indeed you have entertained a sympathy in this narrative, then let you and I stop and rest a moment here.
Perhaps you are young, and if you are young, stsoid up! and bless God that now, just at this very instant, you are brought to a pause.
Bring out tour hopes and look at theh. Look at them, but not through a Claude-Lorraine-glass. Look at them, and tell me, do they belong to the petty future of earth, or to the Infinite of ano- ther life ] Can you not answer 1 Alas ! what an unhappy thought that you know not yourself; that you should be always journeying on, journeying on, with — a stranger; yourself a stranger to you, and you a stranger to yourself; an awful and a mysterious compa- nionship. Great God ! what if you should be destined to live thus forever !
Perhaps, reader, you are young no longer. Nevertheless, you have hopes — ay, hopes still !
Bring out your hopes and look at them. Look at tJum, but not through the dark vapor of disappointment or despair. Nay,
1849.] The St. Leger Papers. 249
shake not your bead so gloomily, but arouse ; and do you too tbank God that you are brought for a while to this stand-still, as the world rushes on and leaves you behind. Do not be impatient ; do not say to me : ' Hands off! I must overtake my comrades yonder ; see how they get the start of me/ Stay ! something better is in store for you than this unnatural race which you are runnmg ; and oh ! what balm is there in that word * beUer !* Let it continue always better, better, and how will you approximate by-and-by to the TO BEATISTON!
Come, then, youth and man and maiden ; come and sit ye down with me, just as the evening deepens into night There, I have put out the candles, and the moth is safe.
Let us hring out our hopes and look at them. Let us do it in a cheer- ful, hopeful, heartfelt way. Thank Goo we are here yet, safe upon the earth ; and the earth does seem safe to man ; the enduring earth* the kind mother, the patient nurse, which yields us sustenance and supports our life, while we talk of a Beyond, we would not forget Thee, Prolific Parent, with thy chansrine seasons ; glorifying and r^ newing thy days in the hoar-frosts of wmter, in the balmy breath of spring, in the triumphant maturity of summer, and in the fading glories of the fall. Earth, we bless Thee ! Surely we may bless thee, if the Creator pronounced thee ' good !' Shall we not forsive thee the bearing of a few ' thorns and thistles' for all the fruit which we have pressed from thy bosom, or shall we complain, that in the sweat of our face we have to till ike ground, since it yieldeth us her strength by tilling ?
But to our hopes. These hopes shall indicate our destiny. Arrest and cut off all that are anchored here ; strip the heart of the vain promptings which flutter around it ; silence the busy whisperings of passion and self-love; then tell me — youth, man, maiden — what have we remaining 1 Is there a void — an utter void — left in these hearts of ours 1 nothing had, nothing enjoyed, and no residuum but the bitter ashes ? Is it even with us ' as when an hungry man dream- eth, and behold he eateth ; but he awaketh, and his soul is empty ; or as when a thirsty man dreameth, and behold he drinketh ; but he awaketh, and behold he is faint, and his soul hath appetite V Then indeed have we made shipwreck before the voyage has scarce cooi- menced, and we have only to look to it that such shipwreck be not irreparable. To the work ! quick ! quick ! that the voyage may not be lost !
But arrest and cut off and silence these whisperings and prompt- ings and hopes, and do our hearts still beat with their usual time ? Do we behold a broad expanse beyond the extreme limits of the actual 1 Is our gaze into this expanse only rendered brighter and clearer by the cutting away of the superfluous foliage ? and can we with a lofty look and a courageous heart and a trustful spirit, lay our hands upon our breast and feel the Infinite stirring withm us 1 Oh ! youth, man, maiden, I give ye joy if this he so ; tor then indeed are we safe ! . Safe, though the possibilities which surround us are fear- ful to contemplate ; though we may not control the hour or the dr- cumstance ; though grief may be preparing for us a potion in the
250 The St. Leger Papers. [March,
same cup from which we have drank delights and joys ; though every thing ahout us seem dark and unpropitious ; though every thing he dark and unpropitious, yet are we safe — safe !
Farewell, youth, man, maiden ! Perhaps we shall meet in ano- ther world ; perhaps we may then call to mind how, for a few mo- ments, here upon the hanks of the Avon in gentle Warwickshire, we stopped and communed together.
What had hecome of Kauffmann ? I was to meet him on the se- cond day after our interview ; several weeks had elapsed and he had not made his appearance. At first I wondered at his prolonged ab- sence, but I soon became so interested in Wolfgang Hegewisch and by the society of Theresa Von Hofrath, to say nothing of studies which I pursued systematically under the learned Professor, that I had al- most forgotten Kauffmann, and his company of Free Speakers.
One morning after breakfast I was seated in my own room. Whether I was thinking of my last evening's conversation with Theresa, or of the latin thesis upon which I was engaged, would be di£Eicult to say, for the two were so blended in my mind that I had accomplished little or nothing, although I had been an hour at the task. My door was open, I held my pen in my hand, and a partly finished sentence, began half an hour before, had dried in upon my paper, together with sundry attempted continuations, which had been corrected, written over and dashed out. I heard a step upon the stairway, and then a step through the hall, then a step into my room, a bold, manly, hopeful, straight- forward step ; but I did not look up, I did not feel like looking up ; for just at that moment the strong elastic physique of the step was discordant to my feelings ; so I held my head over the paper, brought my pen to a line with the sheet, and was about changing a participle into a gerund by way of emendation, when I received a mendly blow upon the shoulder, at the same time a hand was held out for me to shake. Then I looked up — it was Frederick Kauffmann.
' I see I must announce myself — my name is Kauffmann, once a friend to you — '
* Now a friend of me !' interrupted I, laughing. « How could you expect to be recognised after running away, staying away, and break- ing an engagement to boot V
' Spem bonam certamqae reporto,'
exclaimed my friend in a cheerful tone.
• Se non d vcro d ben trorato/
returned I, looking him full in the face, and discovering that hope was indeed in the ascendant there.
'How are you metamorphozed, my friend; what has happened to you 1 Give me your hand again. You are happier than you were ; better than you were, your mind is in health ; it was not in health when we separated. Kauffmann, I rejoice with you, although I know not the cause of this change.'
Kauffmann's countenance assumed a serious expression. It was
1848.] The St. Leger Papers. 251
» evident that he had something to communicate. Shutting the door, he proceeded to seat himself close by me.
' St. Leger, I have settled in my own mind a matter that has always perplexed it'
'Well.'
^ It is the relation of the sexes to each other.'
•Ah!'
* So sure am I that I am right, that I do not fear to tell you all.'
* Pray go on.'
* I will. Do you remember our last discussion 1 Do you not re- collect— some wizard must have put it into your head — you told me that I had had in my time a love affair, and had quarrelled with my friend because she would not yield to me V
'Yes.'
* St. Leger, every word was true ; true verbatim et literatim. And had you struck me to the earth with a blow I should not have been more astounded.'
' Surely,' said I, ' something must be wrong in what I have done, if a mere acquaintance lights upon it in this way. So I went home and locked myself into my room, and I said after I had turned the key : ' Friederich Kauffmann, thou goest not out hence till thou hast sifted thyself as wheat. Self-confident though thou art, thou Mhult yield if thou ought to yield ; and I communed with my heart, and I tried to commune with Goo ; I brought to mind every thing that took place at that last interview — that unfortunate interview, between Margaret and myself. I weighed every thing truthfully. I had done the same before, but in different scales. Then I thought of creation and life, and happiness and unhappiness, and what should cause the one and the other ; and I asked myself; to fit us for a hereafter, must we of * necessity suffer — suffer, always suffer 1 Dare I blame my Maker be- fore I have searched in myself for cause for blame 1 And so I came — standing up alone before God — to believe and to feel and to know that much as I had loved Margaret, I had not loved her aright, or thought of her aright, or treated her aright ; and then a new light broke in upon me, and I unlocked the door and ran out, and eartli was bright. The next day I had seen Margaret and all was ex- plained.
* But * the relation of the sexes to each other,' ' said I.
' I intended that for another interview, when we both had more leisure. 1 come now pn a special mission.'
* Nay, but I am curious to have a synopsis at least of your theory.'
* Very briefly then, it is this : The most perfect spiritual happi- ness consists in the spiritual union of two of different sex, just as me most perfect domestic happiness consist in a well-adapted temporal union. How rarely are both kinds of happinesss blended ! How are we taught from youth up, that roan's province is command, and woman's submission ! Is it not absurd — absolutely absurd — to sup- pose that the Creator should make one sex to be under subjection to the other ? The Great and Good Goo, to ordain and perpetuate an eternal tyranny ! Beside, is it not folly to suppose that friend-
252 The Sl Leger Papers. [Miurch,
» —
ship can exist except between beings mutually free ! The spiritual union of man and woman makes the perfect life. And there cannot be spiritual union where one spirit is the master-spirit and the other the subservient spiiit. I spurn the idea, the cant idea of our times, that difference in sex is an organization of earth, with reference only to the continuance of the race. So sure as there is another life. So sure will male and female be male and female through all eternity ; they are destined to seek and find happiness in each other ; destined together to fill the object of creation, to wit : perfection in unity. But I can stay no longer at present ; I came to engage you for this eyening/
* But Margaret and yourself, and this perfect life, including the spiritual and the domestic, are tibey so happily blended that you have no fears of another '
< None, fellow student — none,' interrupted Kaufimann, rapidly. ' 3t Leger, had I not felt sure of your sympathy in this matter my lips had been closed,' continued he, suspiciously.
* You have it — believe me, you have it, my friend. And — and if your theory requires a little fuller development at your hands be- fore I embrace it, remember I am not a jot the less rejoiced at the renewal of your hopes.'
* I believe you, take my hand. And now say; will you be at my rooms at seven, precisely V
* For what ]'
' To accompany me to a meeting of the Free Speakers.'
' I fear I must decline : on the whole, I cannot join your company.'
* O, Father Jupiter !
*Prohnperi! quantym mortdUa pectora caea Noait kaJbent ."
Who aks thee to join us 1 What a cautious, calculating wretch you are. But you are an Englishman, and I will not condemn you for the vandalism that is part of your nature. Know then that I have ob- tained the consent of our society, that you, undeserving as you are, should be present on one of our mystical nights, when you will see no one but the scribe, and hear all that your ears shall catch. This is a distinction never before granted to living man. - By heaven, we refused Goethe himself, who wanted, as a matter of curiosity, to be present on one occasion.'
* Say no more ; I go, and thank you, upon my knees, for the privi- lege. Will that do V
* Yes. Live well.'
And so saying, Friederich Rauffmann left the apartment, with the same elastic, cheerful step, as he entered it. I rose, and looked out into the garden. I beheld Thei-esa in a small arbor, engaged in se- curing a vine which had broken loose from its fastening. Snatching up the thesis f I tore it into a hundred pieces, and the next minute I was assisting Theresa to train the vine !
• *.••.
So I concluded to go with Kauffmann to the * mystical meeting.' At the appointed hour I was at his rooms, and we set out together.
1849.]
The Si. Leger Papers.
253
* Have you no instnictioDS to give me/ said I, ' before we enter t How am I to act 1 — what shall I do V
* You are not to act, and you are to do nothing but listen with all your ears.'
* And what is the meaning of ' mystical night V '
* The niffht when We speak ' unsight, unseen,' and tieat generally of hidden things. We then venture often upon daring suggestions, DOtto say assertions, believing that some truth will be heaved up among the error.'
* But who is truth-sifter to the society V
* Hush ! we shall get into a discussion, and it will spoil my sybil- line tranquillity. Beside, here we are at the door. Go in at this en- trance ; you are expected. Yqu will find the scribe in his seat, and a vacant chair for you ; take it, and say nothing.'
« But you ]•
' I enter from another direction. You will not see me again to- night Farewell.'
So saying, Kauffmann turned and left me. I pushed through the door, and round myself in a dark, narrow passage. I had nothing to do but stumble along till I came to the end of it, which I did pre- sently, and discovering another door, I opened that, and found my- self m a moderate-sized room, tolerably well lighted, containing twelve little chapels, or recesses, across which curtains were sus- pended from the ceiling, so that the occupant could remain unseen.
In the centre of the room sat the scribe, with a large book upon a desk before him. Near the scribe was a vacant chair, the only one to be seen. I marched in boldly, and took my seat, with as much nonchalance of manner as I could assume. The scribe did not ap- pear to observe my entrance ; he did not look up, or alter a muscle of his countenance. Not supposing that I was literally limited to the use of my ears, I took the liberty of casting my eyes around this strange apartment. Directly over the door at which I entered Mras inscnbed, in large letters :
Wors$f]i ®oty.*
Upon the wall opposite the door was the following :
|
• ELEMENTS. |
NATURE. |
COMPLEXION. |
PLANETS. |
|
• Water. |
Cold and moiit. |
Phlegm. |
Venoa and Mart. |
|
•Firt. |
Hot and dry. |
Choler. |
Sol and Mart. |
|
•Earth. |
Cold and dry. |
Melancholy. |
Saturn and Mercury. |
|
•Air. |
Hot and moUt |
Sanguine. |
Jnpiter.' |
Over the scribe's table I read :
•Chaacedin. Asaphim. Chatumim. Mecaaphim. Gazarim.* * Qoi contemplatione creatorarum cognoTit crealorem.*
VOL. XXXIII. 29
I&54 Tie St Leger Papers, [March,
There was also an inscription at the top of the curtains, over each recess, such as :
' ' Renounce — Renounce.*
' Love, but decire not' ' E^Joy, but seek not to poeeeM.*
• * Be tranquil ~ be tranquil.*
* Grapple with and unmaak younelf.'
* Dare to be wiae.'
« Nothing without ita equivalent.* ' Erery action ahall hare ita recompenae.* ' Every procedure ahall hare ita Tindication.'
* Alwaya a reeult.'
* Are you contented with youraelf t* * It will be the eame atory to-morrow.*
Looking through the room, I could see nothing but the curtains before the recesses, the scribe, and the scribe's desk.
In a few minutes the mystical meeting commenced by the scribe's striking upon the desk with a small hammer. I was all attention, and prepared to take my friend's advice and use my ears. Presently a voice was heard from behind one of the curtains :
First Voice : ' No one can be better than the being he worships ; therefore worship the Perfect Being.'
Second Voice : ' He who fulfils what he designs not, is a machine ; he who fulfils not what he designs, is a driveller.'
Third Voice : ' Deity cannot sin, because Deitt cannot be tempted. For with what could Deity be tempted 1 What could Deity gain by sinning? Man, poor wretch ! is badly enough off; he carries both deity and devil in his bosom. He has every tempta- tion to sin, and every inducement to keep from sin. The temptation is pressing, close at hand ; the inducement is weak, afar off. There- fore a man who in the midst of besetting temptations still preserves his integrity, is the greatest possible object or moral contemplation.'
Fourth Voice : • True enough. For angels are but milk-sops, after all. An angel would be all the better for a good night's carouse in honest Moritz's wine-cellar ; even to the ruffling of some of his feathers. What a sorry appearance, though, would the dreadful next morning bring ! But your Man — quotha, he is the creature !'
Fifth Voice : • And your devil is more of a milk-and-water affair than your angel. One looks on, smiling and good-tempered; the other, gi'inning and grimacing and whimpering — an inverted dog-in- the-manger ; caught himself, he snarls because every thing created is not caught. Verily, the devil is a milk-sop !'
Sixth Voice : * No more, gentlemen, of what does not concern us. I would speak of man. God created man perfect. The
1849.] The Si. Leger Fapert. 256
Tempter gave bim a hint of the pleasure of sin ; man took the hint, yielded to the Tempter, and gulped up sin like a flood. A perfect being could not have yielded ; therefore God did not create man perfect, for he canied within him the elements of imperfection, viz., the power to sin.'
Setentu Voice : * That is masterly ! Now let us know for whose sake was man made : for the sake of God the Creatoi*, or for the sake of man the created 1 If the former, it seems to have been a bungling piece of business ; if the latter, why won^ the poor devil with your moral salves and cataplasms, your nostrums, salts and smelling-bottles ? Let him have his own way, if a free agent ; and beyond all, let him have his own way of having his own way, say 1/
Eighth Voice : * Gentlefolks, pray forbear ; we are certainly get- ting beyond our depth. We shall have to mount stilts at this rate. Therefore seek helps* Remember the proverb : • A dwarf on the shoulders of a giant can see farther than the giant himself '
Ninth Voice : ' Still, let me be the giant. I would find another giant, and mount him.'
Tenth Voice : * Verily, this is a strange assemblage ! Behold an illustration of the old saying : ' Children, fools and drunken men speak truth.' '
Eleventh Voice : * How of drunken men V
Tenth Voice : * 1» vino Veritas P
Twelfth Voice : ' / am truth, truth, truth ! I am pale and slen- der, but unchangeable; I am poor, needy, and a wanderer; ^I can promise nothing, for nothing comes of promises. Whoso gives me shelter gains nothing here ; nay, he loses much ; to wit, the excite- ment of false images, false shows, false honors, false symbols, false words, false deeds. The man who shelters me must lose all this !'
First Voice : * A word, neighbor, about this same truth. Why is this commodity subject to so much alloy, when of all commodities it is most injured by alloy 1 Why is it necessary to make truth palata- ble by a seasoning of make-believes 1 Why is it considered a mark of wisdom to conceal our thoughts, and a mark of folly to expose them ? Why is it, as our brother has said, that but three classes stand charged with telling truth : children, fools and drunken men V
Second Voice : * I will have none of you, Mistress Truth ! What could I do with you, naked as you come to me ? Clothe yourself with the befitting and graceful drapery of prevarication, and you may perhaps pass cuirent among us. But to take you as you are — I would as soon walk about naked myself!'
Third Voice : * Nay, but strip man of all his vanities, and what is he 1 Take from him what sin has entailed upon him, and what is he 1 Relieve him from the care of maintaining life ; the care of pro- viding clothes, food, and a place to sleep, to eat and to rest in ; the care of preserving life and of enjoying life ; from education, and the need of education ; and you arrest all the busy occupations of hu- manity, and make man *
FocKTH Voice, (interrupting :) Go on, go on, brother ; work away at man ; you iiave but just began. Strip him of all his vanities ;
256 An Epigram.
strip him of his follies ; strip him of his deceits, strip him of his pre- tences and his shows, strip him of his feelings, strip him of his thoughts, strip him of himself — then what is he? Pshaw ! man is as his Creator intended him to he ; a capital chap, after all, is man ! Gro on and prosper, mad fellow !'
Fifth Voice : * Not so fast, not so fast : cease this trifling, and he serious, for the feelings we are now cherishing are defining the spi- ritual world in which we shall live forever.'
Sixth Voice : * True, How many lives are going on at this mo- ment together J — how many hearts are now heating with a stirring selfishness !'
Seventh Voice ; * And the man who revolves ahout hinaself as a centre is a lost man !'
Eighth Voice i * Why are you not better V
Ninth Voice : * Why am I not worse 1 Answer me that /'
Tenth Voice : * After aU, is there not something unendurable in man's condition? — groaning under laws which he had no voice in enacting, and forced to live with instincts and passions and desires and impulses which he had no agency in creating 1 Surely man is not himself.'
Eleventh Voice : * Hearken to me. You do en* greatly. Man may or may not be himself, but man is only himself when necessity no longer binds him ; but necessity always binds the sensuous man. It is when his moral nature asserts its superiority that man fears no necessity ; for he rises superior to necessity.*
Twelfth Voice : * Well spoken !*
I have put down enough of what passed at the mystical meeting of the Free Speakers to convey some idea of their proceedings ; these went on without intennission for two hours, during which the wildest ideas were started, while often the best sentiments wei*e uttered. The medley was truly a complete one. At length the scribe struck with his hammer upon the desk. Silence succeeded. The scribe then rose, and turned to leave the room. As a matter of prudence, I thought it best to follow ; so I pushed on after him, but he disap- peared at a side-door. I marched straight into the street. And thus ended my first and last visit to the Mystical Society of the Free Speakers of Leipsic.
AN EPIORAM, vniTTma avtkb siiaxsro with a cateoz.io rnixKZ> cpov rxsH on a yA^i-SAT.
Who can believe, with common sense, A little meat gives God offence ; Or that a herring hath a charm Almighty vengeance to disarm 7 Wrapped up in majesty divine, Does Hb regard on what we dine 7
LITERARY NOTICES.
The UxfTomv or Emolakd, from the Aceesiion of Jamxs the Second. By Thokis Babiko* TON Hacaulat. Second roluzne. New- York : Habpsa and Baotuxu.
We gave in our last number a somewhat brief notice of the first volnme of thiB interesting and powerful work. Vivid and striking as were its historical delineationsy however, it falls short of the vigor and picturesqueness which characterize the volume now before us. It begins with the base, corrupt, tyrannical reign of James the Second, and the change it wrought in the temper and spirit of the English people. At the proper point comes in a grand and strongly-drawn portrait of William, and thence- forward he becomes the central figure of the great drama, and all the other charac- ters, though grand and striking in themselves, derive their chief importance from their relation to his advancement. We cordially endorse the appreciative oommen- dationa of the < Courier' daily journal, of this superb historical essay: *To our mind it seems, in its tone and temper, as well as in grouping and in general effect, the very perfection of history. Abounding in details, it is never dry. Often philosophical, it is never dull. Its pictures of men are as full of life and as true to nature as those of Kneller ; and its descriptions of events are as graphic and as stirring as the events theniselves. Its style is peculiar, and will be deemed faulty by those who judge it by the long, rich and magnificent sentences of Milton, Hooker and Burke ; bat it is stirring, strong and effective. Each sentence tells one thing ; strikes one blow, and no more. But the blow is truly aimed ; it hits with a quick, sharp, ringing stroke, and it never fails to tell. Many writers can strike as often, and some can strike more weighty blows ; but in none do they fall at once so rapid and so heavy as in Maoau- LAT : they ring and crack like a roll of musketry, but they crash and demolish like cannon-balls. Macaulat's history will have ten times as many readers as any other ever written of the same events. Its chief merit is that it is alive. His man and women live and love, move and hate, and fill those who read of them with all the passions which their actual vision might inspire. He has clothed the skeleton of hb- torical facts with flesh, breathed into it life and vigor, and given to it th6 ruddy glow of his own warm and brilliant imagination. Nobody who reads it will deem English history dull or uninteresting. No one of Scott's novels is more fascinating, and few of those novels will be more widely read.* We gave in our last number a specimen of Mr. Macaulay's style in the first volume. Let us now show, by a single passage from the second, that being, in sporting phrase, * well in harness,' he * goes' better and
258 ' Literary Notices. [March,
better. The following seta forth the result of the trial of the seven bishops for a * seditious libel :'
* It was dark before the jury retired to confider of their verdict The night waf a night of intente anxiety. Some letteri are extant which were despatched daring that period of suspense, end which have therefore an interest of a peculiar kind. * It is very late,' wrote the papal nun- cio, * and the decision is not yet known. The judges and the culprits have gone to their owu homes. The Jurr remain together. To-morrow we shall learn the event of this great struggle.'
* The solicitor tor the bishops sat up all night with a body of servants on the stairs leading t» the room where the jury was consulting. It was absolutely necessary to watch the oflScers who watched the doors, for those oflBcers were supposed to be in the interest of the crown, and might, if not carefully observed, have furnished a courtly juryman with food, which would have enabled him to starve out the other eleven. Strict guard was therefore kept Not even a candle to light a pipe was permitted to enter. Some basins of water for washing were suffered to pass at about four in the morning. The jurymen, raging with thirst soon lapped up the ■whole. Great numbers of people walked the neighboring streets till dawn. Every honr a messenger came from Whitehall to know what was passing. Voices, high in altercation, were repeatedly heard within the room, but nothing certain was known.
* At first nine were for acquitting and three for convicting. Two of the minority soon gave frsT ; but Arnold was obstinate. Thomas Austin, a country gentleman of great estate, who had paid close attention to the evidence and speeches, and had taken full notes, wished to argue tile question. Arnold declined. He was not used, he doggedly said, to reasoning and debatin|f. His conscience was not satisfied ; and he should not acquit the bishops. ' If you come to that.' said Austin, ' look at me. I am the largest and strongest of the twelve *, and before I find such a petition as this a libel, here will I stay till I am no bigger than a tobacco-pipe I' It was six in the morning before Arnold yielded. It was soon known that the jury were agreed, but what Ab verdict would be was still a secret
* At ten the court aeain met The crowd was greater than ever. The jury appeared in their bos, and there was a breathless stillness.
* Sir Samukl Astrt spoke : ' Do you find the defendants, or any of them, guilty of the mis- ^dsmeanor whereof they are impeached, or not guilty t* Sir Roger Lanolzt answered, ' Not
* As the words passed his lips, Halifax sprang up and waved his hat At that sisnal, i and galleries raised a shout. In a moment ten thousand persons, who crowded the
benches i
creat hall, replied with a still louder shout which made the old oaken roof crack ; and in ano' Aer moment the innumerable throng without set up a third huzza, which was heard at Temple Bar. The boats which covered the Thames gave an answering cheer. A peal of gunpowder was heard on the water, and another, and another ; and so, in a few moments, the glad tidings vent flying past the Savoy and the Friars to London Bridge, and to Che forest of masts below. As the news spread, streets and squares, market-places and coffee-houses, broke forth into ae- ekmations. Vet were the acclamations less strange than the weeping ; for the feelings of men lisd beea wound up to such a point that at lenzth the stern English nature, so littie used to oat- ward signs of emotion, ^ve way, and thousands sobbed aloud for very joy. Meanwhile, from tiieoatskirts of the multitude horsemen were spurring off to bear along all the great roads intel- ligence of the victory of our church and nation. Yet not even that astounding explosion eoold awe the bitter and intrepid spirit of the solicitor. Striving to make himself heard i^bove the din, he called on the judges to commit those who had violated by clamor the dignity of a court <if justice. One of the rejoicing populace was seized; bnt the tribunal felt that it would be absord to punish a single individual for an offence common to hundreds of thousands, and dis« jnissed him with a gentie reprimand.
* It was vain to think of passing at that moment to any other business. Indeed, the roar of the multitude was such that for half an hour scarcelv a word could be heard in court Wil- liams got to his coach amid a tempest of hisses ana curses. Cartwriobt, whose evrioaity was nngovemable, had been guilty of the folly and indecency of coming to Westminster in order to hear the decision. He was recognised by his sacerdotal garb and by his corpulent figure, and was hooted through the hall. 'Take care,' said one, ' of the wolf in sheep's cloth- lag 1' 'Make room,' cried another, ' for the man with the Pope in his belly I'
' The acquitted prelates took refixge from the crowd which implored their blessing in the nesrest chapel where divine service was performing. Many churenes were open on that morn- ing throughout the capital, and many pious persons repaired thither. The bells of all the parishes of the city and liberties were rin^ring. The jury, meanwhile, could scarcely make their way out of the hall. They were forced to shake hands with hundreds. ' God bless you !* cried the people ; ' Qod prosper your families I You have done like honest good-natured gen- tiemen. You have saved us all to-day.' As the noblemen who had appeared to support the good cause drove off, thev flung from their carriage-windows handfuls of money, and bade the erowd drink to the health of the bishops and the jury.'
Sach is the style of Macaulay*s history ; a style which is indebted for its attrac- tions to ithe author's knowledge of the * art which is not an art' of putting proper words in proper places. And the reader can easily see, even from the two brief ex- tracts which we have given, in the last and the present number, the admirable qaali- iies which we indicated as eminently characteristic of the woiIl, which, we may re- mark in closing, is made doubly delightful to read by the white paper, and large «Iear tj^es upon which it is impressed for present and future gseBerations.
1849.] Literary Nottces. 259
Fbahklxn : RX8 GcmiTt. Lm Aim Chaxactuu An Oredon delivered before the Vew-Yofk Typographical Society, January 17, 1S49. By John L. Jswxtt. pp. 37. New- York : Uam- nOL AMD BaoTRBas.
We had the pleasure, as we have already mentioned, to hear this excellent oratioa read at the recent celebration of the hirth-day of Frankun , known as the * Printeis' Festival ;' an occasion which will be remembered with pleasure by many a gaest present And we have, in the wide lines and large clear types of the Address before OS, a similitude, as it were, of the manner of delivery of the orator of the evening ; the clear, plump enunciation of the speaker bringing every word and sentence, and without undue emphasis, to the ears of his auditors, as the printed symbols of the pamphlet will to the eye of the reader. We cannot altogether agree as touching the * consequences* which are predicated of Fkanklin's familiar writings for the youth of America. While we admit, as all must admit, that many of * Poor Richard's pm- dential maxims are calculated to exert a beneficial effect upon all who read and prac- tise them, there are still otherB, which if followed out by every man, in his dealings with his felloi^, would make us a nation of mean hoarders and 'cute bargamera, with- out enterprise and without ambition, except to make a < penny saved' earn * two-pence more.' In the infancy of our republic, it was well, perhaps, to * do evil' by inoulea- tioB, that present < good might come ;* yet it was not the height of enlarged philoso- phy, notwithstanding. But these were merely * spots upon the sun.' We annex a passage from the oration, descriptive of the influence of Franklin's presence at the French court :
* TfB appearance of so eminent an advocate for America at the court of VerfaiUea, and the vroapect or an offentiTC and defenaive league between her colonies and her most ancient and iBTeterate foe, was the cause of no little uneaaineas to England, and excited against FaAHXLar the jealousy and hatred of her ministers. They accordingly set in motion all the well-known macninery of diplomacy to destroy his influence and induce him to abandon his mission. Flat- tery, promises and threau were again resorted to. Agents were specially deputed kindly to inform him that he was surrounded by French ministerial spies. When at lengUi it was hinted that even his life was in danger. Fsankx.!!* thanked his informant for his kind caution ; *bttt,' added he, 'baring nearly flnuhed a long life, I set but little value upon what remains of It. Like a draper, when one chaffers with him for a remnant, I am ready to say. ' As it Is only a lag-end, I will not differ with you about it ; take it for what you please.' Perhaps the beat use such an old fellow can be put to is to make a martyr of him.'
* FaAmaiN waa now in his eightieth year. A painful disease had fastened upon him ; and Us earnest desire to spend the remainder of his days in his native land induced nim to solicit his recall. The Congress granted his re<)uest. On the occasion of taking his leave of them, no mark of attention or respect was omitted on the part of his ardent and numerous friends in France. His departure was anticipated with regret by them all. His bodily inArmidea not permitting the motion of a carriage, he was conveyed to the sea-portof Havre de Grace in the Queen's litter, which had been kindly offered lUm for his Journey. His leisure during this his laat sea-voyage was occupied in writing valuable papers on scientific subJecU, which were after- ward read before the American Philosophical Society, and published in a volume of the So- ciety's Transactions.'
With the ensuing estimate of the characteristics evolved in the career of Franklin, we must take our leave of this interesting Address : * He united in himself the two great principles of wise conservatism and enlightened progress. He was free' alike from a blind worship of time-honored error, and a superficial contempt for those montt- ments of wisdom and experience that have survived the storm and wreck of centuries of desolation. While he maintained the position of a bold experimenter ; of a man who feared not to question, by a rigorous logic, even things that had been held almost too sacred for human scrutiny ; yet no one ever stood in less danger of being hurried away by the mere current of innovation. All other things might admit of change, modification, or re-construction ; but the groat principles of Truth, Justice and Integ-
260 Literary Notice*. - [Harcb,
rity could never yield in his mind to farther the succeas of any cause, however bene- ficial its apparent character. These, with him, admitted of neither change nor im- provement They were fixed, immutable, and eternal ; and though he witnessed with interest the first throes and upheavings of that great revolution, whose shocks have been felt since his day in nearly every country on the globe, he yet felt assured that the transient only and the perishable would yield to its convulsions. He had a deep and abiding faith and conviction in the legitimate supremacy of moral principle : a faith not merely of the head or the intellect ; not a bare formal assent to the conunon^ place axioms of philosophy or religion ; but a faith that descended to the heart and the affections, and became the rule and guide of all his conduct This H was that enabled him to view with complacency, and even with joy, the breaking up and pa»- ing away of hoary institutions, on which more timid minds were fain to believe that even the foundation of human society reposed.'
Ak Addrsss DKZ.IVKRSD BivoRX THc Nsw-Enolakd SOCIETY of the City of Brooklsm, (L. I.,) on the AnniTeraary of the Landing of the Pilgrimi at Plymouth. By Jamxs Humprekt. New- York: C. M. Saxton.
This address, we are given to understand, was composed only two days before the evening of its delivery, in the midst, moreover, of pressing professional engagements. The reader would scarcely have inferred this from the address itself, which is written throughout with simplicity and force, and rises at times to impassioned eloquence. It is a thorough resumd of the Puritan character and career ; and while it admits that what were virtues in the first-comers degenerated in their descendants into austerity and asceticism, it dwells with unction upon the stem and grand outlmes of the * real Simon Pures;' their * strength of intellect, force of will, fervid impulses, sunplicity, oonstancy, courage rising into the highest heroism, resolution deepened into a resistless purpose, and fortitude sublimed into the martyr's tranquil endurance.* Nothing is said, we are surprised to see, of the exhibition of the aforesaid < fervid impulses' in the per- secution of unoffending Quakers; nor is the effect traced of that * strength of intel- lect* which led to the'hanging of innocent women on strong suspicion of being witches. One thing, however, seems well-established by the Address before us ; namely, that the Pilgrims are entitled to the honor of having, for the first time in the worid*s his- tory, established a form of government springing out of the will of the whole people, raaUng upon the consent of a majority of the governed, and secured, guarded, and perpetuated by a written constitution. A single passage from the close of the address will justify the encomiums we have passed upon the fervid eloquence which charac- terizes portions of the performance :
*Thk Puritans had not the cunning band, to cauie the mimic scene to glow upon the canraas, but they could fill the eye of the world with a hundred pictures which wiTl never fade away. They had no skill to cause the inanimate marble, under their plastic touch, almost to breathe and fflow with life ; for they were engaged in the nobler work of presenrlng from degradation tiiatform which came living and breathing, from the hand of a mightier art&t.
* Our hearts to-night rush back to the shores of Plymouth. The scenes of that ever-remem- bered month come crowding upon our memories. As thej pass before us. let us read the snb- Ume lessons which they would teach us ; lessons of heroism, of self-sacrifice, of fortitude, of ftift. Wo see the weary company casting their anchor within the sheltering arm of the Cape. We follow them in their first searches for a place to build their houses ; we see them digging hito the frozen ground for food, finding some fair Indian com which they carefully preserv9 for seed, but for the most part finding only Indian graves. We see tiicm in their exhausting marches through the tangled forest while ' it blow^ and did snow day and night, and firoxe withal, and some of them took the originals of their deaths there.'
1849.] Literary Notices, 261
' At lut they land npon the bank at PlTmontb, and commence to boild their hmnble cottagea. and now death ia among them. Before the end of March, half their number are boried. Death deepena the aadneaa which always reata on the face of iarage nature ; adds painful intenaityto the umely ailencea around them :
• And br«ath«8 a brownar honor on th« woods. '
■ And the dead ' are buried on the bank at a little distance from the rock where they landed andleat the Indiana should take advantage of the weak and wretched state of the colony, the grarea are leTelled and sown, for the purpose of coucealment.' What an emblem is that firat aeed-fleld of a New World, thus planted m sorrow and in tears I — what a hanrest haa apmng np from that precious seed I How has it extended orer our wide land ; around our mediter- 1 lakes ; alone our globo'embracing rivers ; across prairies broader than kingly provlneea ;
orer states larger than roval realms ! How has it spread from the resounding sea to the vast cen- tral mountains I -> ay, and over and beyond them ; eren now, while I speak, encirclhig the allent ahorea of the great Tranquil Ocean !*
We have omitted to state that the Address is published at the request of the New- Eogland Society of Brooklyn, and that its execution reflects credit upon their care and liberality.
OuTLTiffxs or ENOLI8R LiTiRATVBK. By Thomjis B. Sbaw, B. a., Profeaaor of English Lite- rature in the Imperial College of Saint Peteraburgh. In one Tolume. pp. 435. Philad^ phia : Lxa and Blanchaju).
This is a valuable and very interesting volume, which for various merits, will gnidn- ally find its way to all libraries. It is all that it claims to be, a ' useful outline intro- duction to English literature, both to the English and the foreign student It is a nie- oesfnl attempt to describe the causes, instruments, and nature of those great revdn- tions in taste which form what are termed * Schools of Writing.' In order to do this, and to mark more especially those broad and salient features which ought to be oleaily fixed in the reader's mind before he can profitably enter upon the details of the suljoet, only the greater names, the greater types of each period, have been examined ; while the inferior, or merely imitative, writers have been unscrupulously neglected : in short, the author has marked only the chief luminaries in each intellectual constellation ; he has not attempted to give a complete catalogue of stars. This method unites the advantages of conciseness and completeness; for, should the reader push his studies no farther, he may at least form clear ideas of the main boundaries and divisions of English Uterature ; while the frequent change of topic will render these pages much less tiresome and monotonous than a regular systematic treatise. The anther has con- sidered the greater names in English literature under a double point of view : first, as glorified types and noble expressions of the religious, social, and intellectual fhynog- nomy of their times ; and secondly, in their own individuality. The sketches of the great Baconian revolution in philosophy, of the state of the Drama under Euzabkth and James the First, of the intellectual character of the Commonwealth and Resto- ration, of the romantic .school of fiction, of Byronibm, and of the present tendencies of poetry, will be found to possess great interest ; and it is the first attempt to treat, in a popular manner, questions hitherto neglected in elementary books, but which the ia- cieased intelligence of the present age renders it no longer expedient to pass over with- out remark. The present volume will be followed by a second, nearly similar in buUt, and divided into the same number of chapters, containing a selection of choice poi- sages from the writers treated of m these pages.' So well pleased have we been in the perusal of the present volume, that we shall look with interest for the other, here promised. The author has shown himself fully competent to the task which he has imposed upon himself.
EDIT OR'S TABLE.
* FooT.PuNTS OF IzAAK Walton.' — Many hearty thanks to * J. T. F.' for the sketch which ensues. * I will now lead you,* says the gentle and pious Izaak Walton, m his * Complete Angler,* to an honest ale-house, where we shall find a cleanly room, lavender in the windows, and twenty ballads stuck about the wall.* Let us, in a kin- dred spirit, follow our appreciative and nature-loving correspondent to one of the eeenes immortalized by Walton himself; where he and his piscatory confreres fbQ eften * wiled ftom the silver stream the tackled prey.' And, good Grothamite, as we 00 follow our friend, let us think of the chained streams, now * silent as the ground,' which the blander airs of March shall liberate to the sun ; which the soft riiowen of April shall * dissolve in music ;' and which May shall people with the beautiAU, the 'van-spotted trout !' Ah, it is a pleasure, on this water-cold, boisterous February day to (Atftib of these things, in connection with the New- York and Erie Rail-Road, and Ikt hundred trout-streams which will soon throw themselves into theDelaware. and the Susquehanna, and the Chenango, along the line of that great iron thoronghfiure ! We venture to predict, that within three months from this present writing there will have been a thousand persons ' gone a-fishing* in those streams and their tributaries.
.^ £d. KanoKBBBOoxjnu
' I AWOKE in London one fine sunny summer morning, possessed with that same longing for the river side which filled the breast of honest Viator when he heard the wind singing in his chamber window nearly two hundred years ago. I determined to ftustch my legs up Tottenham-Hill and follow on toward Ware and the riFor Lea, be- fore night-fall ; and though I could hardly hope to find an evening welcome at the 31iatched-House in Hoddesden, where the Master and Scholar turned in at the close of that still May-day and refreshed themselves with a cup of drink and a little rest, I ffwolved to reconnoitre the haunts of old Izaak, peradFenturing I might be so fortu- nate as tQ take a trout ftam one of those clear cold streams on whose flowery banks he had so often mused.
* It is delightful, says Geoffrey Crayon, to saunter along those limpid streams which wander like veins of silver through the bosom of this beautiful country ; leading one through a diversity of small home scenery ; sometimes winding through ornamented gronnds ; sometimes brimming along through rich pasturage, where the fresh grass is min- gled with sweet-smelling flowers ; sometimes venturing in sight of villages and hamlets, and then running capriciously away into shady retirements. The sweetness and se- renity of nature, and the quiet watchfulness of the spot gradually bring on pleasant fits of musing ; which are now and then agreeably interrupted by the song of a bird, the dutant whistle of the peasant, or perhaps the vagary of some fish, leaping out of
Ediiar^s Taik. 263
the still water, and skimming transiently about its glassy surface. * When I would beget content,' says Izaak Walton, * and increase confidence in the power and wisdom and providence of ALMiGH'hr God, I will walk the meadows of some gliding stream, and there contemplate the lilies that take no care, and thpse very many other living creatures that are not only created, but fed (man knows not why) by the goodness of the God of Nature ; and therefore trust in him.' i
* I had engaged a burly youth to call at my lodgings before sun-rise with his elomsy vehicle, intending to stop on my way through the country at one or two places on the road. One of these spots of interest, which lay directly in the route, is the Bell-Inn at Edroonston, immortalized by CowrER in John Gilpin's ride ; and the other the town of Enfield, formerly celebrated for its chase, and more latteriy the residence for a season of the author of Elia. My sleepy urchin outstaid his hour so abominably that I was obliged to push on with barely a glance at these places ; passing rapidly also by Waltham Cross and Cardinal Wolsey's manor-house.
' Seventeen miles and a half distant from London, standing at the farther end of Hoddesden in Hertfordshire, we came upon a low cottage, surrounded by a honey* saekle hedge, which promised a shady retreat from the heat of the day, and we ac- cordingly asked the privilege of a seat in the ample back-room, whose nicely-sanded floor, seen through the window, invited the passer-by to repose. As the little hotUm 'bustled about the apartment, switching here and there a dusty spot with her apron, (we had taken the good woman by surprise,) I delighted to imagine this the identical Thatehed-House to which the hunter acknowledged himself to have been ' angled on with so much pleasure.' I took out of my pocket a little copy of < The Complete An- gler,' and commenced reading as I sat lolling out of the low windows. The afternoon was eahn and delightful. The perfumed vines, during a gently fiilUng shower, filled every nook and comer of the cottage with their delicious fragrance. Verdant mea^ dows stretched away to the right as far as the eye could follow their ample bounds while above them, trilling a thousand cheerful melodies, rose high * the nimble musi- cians of the air.' No wonder the contemplative spirit of the devout old angler recog- nised so much hearty satisfaction in these rural scenes, and that he thought of them as Chaeles the Emperor did of the city of Floreuce, * that they were too pleasant to be looked on, but only on holidays.'
' * Look,' says Izaak ; * under that broad beech tree I sat down, when I was last this way a-fishing, and the birds in the adjoining grove seemed to have a friendly coi^- tention with an echo, whose dead voice seemed to live in a hollow tree near to the brow of that primrose hill ; there I sat viewing the silver streams glide silently toward their centre, the tempestuous sea. .... As I thus sat,' he continues, ' these and other sights had so fully possessed my soul with content, that I thought, as the poet has hap- pily expressed it :
* I was for that time lifted abore earth ; And poaseased Joys not promised in my birth.'
* With what an honest, earnest zeal, too, thtf good old man discourses of the inno-, cence of bis pastime, insisting all the while that there is no life so happy and pleasant withal as the life of a well-governed Angler ; winding up his strain of eulogy with a sweet little poem, prefaced with :
' Indeed, my good scholar, we may say of Angling as Dr. Botblee said of straw- berries : * Doubtless God could have made a better berry, but doubtless God never did ;* and so, if I might be judge, God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recrea- tion than angling.'
1^4 Editor's Tahle. [March,
* After refreshing ouTBelves with an ample portion of the frnit so highly extolled by the worthy Botiler, to which the good dame of the cottage added a bowl of her richest cream* we proceeded leisurely along the flower-enamelled road-side to Amwell Hill. It was here, down at the bottom of that hill, in that meadow chequered with water-lilies, the dogs * put down an otter,' to the great delight of Mr. Walton and his companion. Here too he wandered in his old age with Olfver Henley, < that noted Bsher,' who anomted his bait so secretly with the oil of ivy-berries, incorporating a kind of smell that was so irresistible to trout' Leaning over that little bridge, spanning so prettily the swift current below, we can imagine him busily occupied with his line, es- pecially in such days and times as he tells us he was wont to lay aside business and go a-fishing with honest Nat and R. Roe ; ' but they are gone, he adds pathetically, and with them most of my pleasant hours, even as a shadow, that passes away and returns not'
* About a mile from the village we fell in with a couple of lads returning home with a fine basket of trout, the largest I had ever seen. We joined this lucky party and went on toward Ware, conversmg with these small gentlemen on the fishing merits of the River Lea compared with other English streams. Of course thtir river was the only water worth mentioning ; and I was glad to find these young disciples of the rod knew how to appreciate fish whose abcestors had been tickled noariy two centu- ries ago by the great master of Angling. They had heard their fathers say there was a Walton once ^ho lived in Amwell, and knew his art
* Although the author of the < The Complete Angler* visited many of the noted fish- ing places all over England, and knew the Wye, the Trent, and the Dove by heart, no doubt, it is certain that he most frequented the River Lea, which has its source above Ware in Hertfordshire, and falls into the Thames a little below BlackwalL Before he removed from London his favorite recreation was angling, which he seems to have putsued with increasmg zest till within a short time of his death, which happened at the age of ninety, in Wmchester, in 1683, at the house of his friend Dr. William Haw- kins.
* In the old Norman south transept of one of the chapels belonging to the cathe- dral, lie entombed the bones of this good old man. As I read the poor inscription to his memory, chiselled on the large black marble stone at Winchester, I felt a momen- tary regret that a more fitting resting-place had not been allotted him. There is a quiet nook in Stafibrdshire, near by a spot whore he was accustomed to pass much of his time, where a smooth stream runs murmuring round a sloping bank. On this green declivity he has rested no doubt many happy hours during his earthly pilgrimage. It matters little perhaps where repose the mortal remains of a meek, cheerful, thank- fiil heart, but it seems to me there would be a peculiar fitness in appropriating to the memory of Izaak Walton a simple unostentatious monument by the side of one of his favorite rivers.
' We drove up to the * Saracen's Head' at Ware, just as the old village clock was tolling the hour of eight It was too late to rig our lines, but being in a mood for tast- ing trout, I negotiated with our yoang fishermen-friends for a mess of shiny fellows, and invited the lads to be my guests atithe Inn. After satisfying my hunger, and their eager curiosity about America, a country * they remembered,' by the way * to have seen marked down on their maps at school,' I retired to rest, dreaming all night of baiting hooks with artificial flies, and taking myriads of trout from the sunny River Lea.' J. ,. r.
1849.] EdUof'a Table. t65
Goisip wrrn Readers and Correbpondentb. — We acknowledge the courtesy and appreciate the kind spirit of * The Independenf weekly religions journal, in its com- ments upon our last number. While we are well pleased that the < choice articW from our * Original Papers' should have found favor in the editor's eyes, and not a little gratified that he should include the * polished and graceful pen' that records this un^ premeditated * Grossip* in a kindred category, we are yet grieved that he should have found matter for condemnation in ' the earnest and devout exhortations of a negro- preacher, at variance with the rules of grammar and rhetoric, and the imputed incon- sistencies of a nameless deacen.' The editor, let us hope, will do us the simple justice to believe that we should greatly reluct at doing violence to the * religious feelings' of a single reader of this Magazine. It is almost impossible to preserve the character' fSticM of persons concerning whom, on the authority of correspondents, anecdotes are related, without employing the rough-hewn terms which they themselves used. As to the ' consecrated cobblers,' the < sacred and silly gentlemen,' as the Rev. Sidney Smitu terms them, who bring contempt upon the religion they deem themselves espe- , dally anointed to proclaun, by ignorance and presumption such as were displayed by the * nameless deacon' aforesaid, we consider them fair subjects of exposure. We are glad to see that in the same columns of * The Independenf in which our humble labors are commended and our taste rebuked, there are two religious passages taken fipom the same pages in which these indicated qualities are said to be exempli- fied. . . . Tuet are beginning in England to disaffect the idea of the Queen's having a pensioned poet-laurate to sing her praises and extol her government. Hence it is that that cleverest of parodists, < Bon Gaultier,' imparts to Alfred Tennyson
this bit of verse :
"T 18 I would be the laureate bold I When the days arc hot and the sun is strong, I 'd lounge in the gateway all the day long, With her Majesty's footmen in crimson and gold. I 'd care not a pin for the waiting-lord, But I 'd lie on my back on the smooth, green sward, With a straw in my mouth, and an open Test, And the cool wind blowing upon my breast, And I 'd vacantly stare at the clear blue sky, And watch the clouds as listless as I, Lazily, lazily !
« Oh ! that would be the life for mo I With plenty to get, and nothing to do. But to deck a pet poodle with ribbons of blue, And whistle all day to the Queen's cockatoo,
Trance*Bomely, trance-somely. Then the chambermaids Uiat clean tiic rooms Would come to the windows and rest on their brooms, With their saucy caps and their crisp6d hair. And they 'd toss their heads in the fragrant air, And say to each other, ' Just look down there At the nice voung man, so tidy and small. Who is paid for writing on nothing at all,
Handsomely, handsomely t'
Tuat is a very curious and entertaming booklet, recently issued from the press of our old friend Redfield, Clinton-Hall ; the liberally-illustrated treatise, namely, en- titled * OutUnes of a new Syetem of Physiognomy,* by J. W. Redfield, M. D. The author's arguments are not founded, like Lavater's, upon merely general deli- neations of different features of the human face. He is particular and specific in the designation of all his physical and mental resemblances, and insists, always with a strong array of proofs, that his theory cannot be shaken. The closest study of th«
266
Ediiar^s Table.
[March,
human face for yean, the most complete examination into the miuutisB inToived in his system, has emboldened the author to annomice it as a science, standing upon an tirefragable basis. Our author is very strong in the * article* of noeee. He gives us drawings of the combative, the relative defensive, the large self-defensive, the aggros- iive, the imitative, the acquisitive, the reflective, the interrogative, the metaphorical, the secretive, and the suspicious proboscis, with a dozen other distinctively-charac- teristic noses, which we cannot conveniently < take hold of at this present writing. * We beg leave,' as newspaper advertisers say, ' to call the attention of our < customers' to the sign or symbol of * analogy,' as indisputably demonstrated in the ' fore-going' (who ever saw a < followmg?') nose :
* Thk ti^ i« seen to be large in this profile of LAVATxa. The defideney of tids fsciiltf and its sign is to be obserred in those who mcUne to think of the mind m if it were a deTelopment
from the body and external circumstances ; and who thus, in stadyinc the mind, proceed from ef- fects to causes, and fail to dtscover truth. One who has a large sign of this faculty regards the mind of chief importance, and as acting upon die body and manifesdng itself in and through material organs. It is Terj easy for such a person to see that every thing of the body is an index of something prior in the mind ; and although he may not discorer the exact science of Physiognomy, he will be a firm if not an enthusiastic belieTcr in the existence of such a science. The followers of the Baookian method in mental philosophy could never gain much know- ledge ; ana those who study the mind abstractly, and not in its relation to and action upon the body, have been as unsuccessful as the others. But Gall, Lavatxr, and many of the ancient philosopers, as ▲aiSTOTLK and Thxophxastus, pursued an oppo- site method in relation to the mind, and studied character in the features and expreaiions of the face, the form and size of the head, and other ex- ' temal developments. The sign of this faculty is
larger in the ancient philosophers, who excelled io moral and intellectual acience, and less in the modem philosophers, who excel in physical science.'
Now any body knows, who knows what every body knows who knows what ' a nose that is a nose' is, that if the fore-going nose expresses character, sagacity, and, ' in point of fact,' nearly all that a nose is capable of expressing, the ensuing nose is quite another affair. It is not of the longest, and is certainly rather * retroussd' than otherwise. But let us hear what our author says of this * high old nose :'
*Bt the side of a nose like this, a largely developed forehead shows to a very poor advantage in an intel- lectual point of view, and In respect also to that force and sagacity which should accompany intelligence, as we see by comparing this figure with the fore-going. There is hardly any person to be found so defictent m a talent for physiognomy, unless it be one with such a nose as this, (ah I the satirical knave t) as not to per- ceive that the grand fault of this face is the nose, and that the fault in the nose is a deficiency in most of Uiose ftculties the signs of which have been pointed out You will remember, however, that the signs of cha- racter in the face do not contradict the discoveries of Gall. They explain the exceptions ; and it is most true, that it a nne development of the intellectual lobe of the brain accompanies large signs of intellect in the nose, there is more intelligence indicated than if the case is otherwise. The face indicates the volun- Csry action of the mental faculties; the brain indicates thdbr endvrance^ without which they could not sustain long-continued exercise.'
. Never follow a man who follows such a nose as the ' subjoined ;' have nothing to do with such a proboscis as * the annexed.' Cur'ous, is n't it, that the habit hero tndi-
1849.]
Editor^s TaUt.
267
cated of tooching the end of the nose should be the very sign of saspicion conyeyed by what Dickkns tenns the 'yisionary coffee-mill;' the 'No-ye-don't* expression, which is italicized by joining the little finger of the other hand to the little finger of the hand represented m the cut, and then < gyrating,' with a * sinistere looke out fto* the eyn V Does n't this nose say, as plain as a nose can speak, (and many a keen
* Yankee,' as the English call us, speaks through this organ entirely,) 'Don't yon wish yon may get it 7*
* The faenltr of Stupidon ii indicated in the length of tae note from the root down- wird, at a right angle with the tign of In- qoititiTeneaa, as we aee in the accompany- ug ennraTing. When a jpexiion toochea the end of ua noae in thia manner, he points out the aign of auspicion, withont being aware that he ia a physiognomiat. Such a noae taidieatea a peraon of quick
rrehenaion, one too inclined to auapect motiTea and Intsntiona of othera, and too apprehenaive of dangera and difficult ties. It la eaaily aeen Uiat thia faculty enablea a peraon to Judge well of charac- ter, except when morbidly active. Even bk some of the low^ anlmala it givea a wonderful inai^ into character, aa in the erow, the lUTen, the fox, the dog, the ele- phant, and many othera, which ^ave the aign of auapicion or conaciouaneaa very Iwge.'
Step in, reader, at the publisher's, Clinton-Hall, and purchase a copy of these phy- Mogical * Outlines.' They will instruct, amuse, and perhaps * convict' you. . . . Punch has been trying his hand at English hezameten, after the manner of Longfkllow's
* Evangeline.' The imitation is entitled * Dollarinej a Tale of California* by Ph)fes- tor W. H. LoifosHORTTELLOw, of Cambridge, Connecticut.' It < opens rich :'
* Iir St Francisco located was Nathan Jkbicho Bown ;
Down bv the whaTf on the harbor he traded in Uquora and dry-gooda;
Darned nard knot at a deal, at Meetin' a powerful elder.
There at hia store, in the shade, tiiey met, embraced and enlightened
Tradera and trappera and capt'lna, and lawyers and editors abo.
FreelT they liquored and chewed, indulgin^ in expectoration,'
Rockfn* with heels over heada, and whitain*, laborious, the counter.
Like dough-nut at a frolic, or yellow pine stump in a clearin',
Sharp aa a backwoodsman's axe. and 'cute as a oachelor beaver.
Glimmered, through clouda of Virglnny, the cypherin' mug of Nathanikl.*
* Came firom the diffgin'a a strftanger, with two oarpet-baga full of goold-dust ; Nathan diskivered the fset, aa he traded a pinch for a nn-sling;
iknd aa that strftanger loafed, through the bar, from parlor to bed-room, Streama of the glorious sand oozed out through a hole in his trowsers. Gathered the rumor and grew, and aoon roae a sudden demand for Calabaah, can, keg and kettle ; and Nathan's prime lot of tin fixin'a, Crockenr alao, went off at figgera that beat to etamal Smash all prices he 'd thought, in dreama even, of e'er reallsin'.'
Good flowing hexameters these, and otherwise noteworthy. ... Do you re- member * Mocha Dick of the Pacific ? — the great whale, whose * memoixs' were published a long time ago in these pages 7 He cruised for years about the Pacific, and was not uufrequently mistaken for a small island. He had been made the * depository' of some two or three hundred harpoons ; and their broken lines, green with sea-moss, and knotted with barnacles, streamed like ' horrid hair* from his sides. The old fel- low has undoubtedly made his way through Bheking's Straits into the Arctic Ocean ; for the captain of the ' Superior,' arrived at Honolulu, reports having seen, while cruising there, a whale so large that they did not dare to attack him. Although he
268 EdUcr's TalU. [March,
would have yielded some three or four hundred barreki of oil, yet the * King of the Arc- tic Ocean' was permitted to go quietly on his way. Vive ' Mocha Dick !' . . . Thb Messrs. Harpers have published an illustrated ' Elementary Treatise on Meehanies, embracing the Theory of Statice and Dynamice, by Aug. W. Siiith> LLiD., of the Wesleyan University. As an authentic work on analytical mechanics, it is doubtlsM R very valuable and reliable treatise ; but it is to the unitiated that it will present the most lively attractions. We were much struck with the beauty and force of the en- suing passage. It cannot fail to carry conviction to every candid mmd:
'Lrr the centre offeree be at 8, the origin of coSrdinates, SP=:r the radius rector of the par- tiele at P, F'P==<b an element of its path, coinciding with the tangent PT, w=PST the anglemade by the radios rector with the axis of z, F'QP=sdw the angle described by the radios rector in the Indefinitely small time dt, and mP'dr the increment or decrement of Uie radius rector in the same time. Let the Pni be described with S as a centre, and radius sP, and the arc nn' with the radios 8*1=1.'
Certainly ; that *« the way to do it, where the < area of the sector* is left out ; which ought always to be done, if possible, where either the increment or decrement of the radius-vector equals the x-crement of a plane rectilinear-triangle at AB ! This case is well stated by a Welch writer in the following passage :
* Y MAE boddlonrwydd yn troi pobpeth fyddo yn agos ato i'r perffeithrwydd owchaf y mae yn ddichonadwy iddo gyrhaedd. Pelydra bob metel, a chyfoethoga y plwm A holl gynneddfau yr aor : gwnay mwg yn fflam ; y filam yn oleuni, a'r goleoni yn ogomant : on pelydr o bono a wasgara boen, gofal, a phruddglwr&i, oddiwrth y person y dysgyna amo. Yn lyr, y mae ei bresennoldeb yn ncwid yn naturiol bob He 1 fath o nefoedd.'
We hope ' here be truths,* and that all doubters will now < possess themselves in much contentment' But burlesque apart : as we stood the other day up to our knees in the snow which filled the deep valley crossed by the New-York and Ene RaU- Road, over which springs the largest single arch in the world, at a height of nearly two hundred feet above the spectator, we could not help wondering where the archi- tect first began to work, when as yet all was one vast rocky gorge. How many figures and diagrams, mysteries to the unitiated, were employed in getting ready even to begin to work ! • . . When we read, as we do on the arrival of every British steamer, of the hundreds of deaths by cold and starvation in Ireland ; of mothers re- joicing over the death of their youngest children, that the burial-fee awarded the parents may assist to save from the grave the elder ; when we hear of these things, we are reminded of Dean Swift's * Modest Appeal to the Public' in favor of the * home-consumption' by the landlords of the children of their poor tenants. Having been assured, on the best authority, that a young healthy child, at a year old, made ' a delicious, nourishing and wholesome dish, whether stewed, roasted, baked or boiled,' he proposed that they should be offered for sale to persons of quality, as articles of food : ' A child that is plump and fit for the table will make two dishes at an en- tertainment for friends, and when the family dines alone, the fore or hmd quarter will make a reasonable dish ; and seasoned with a little pepper and salt, will be very good boiled on the fourth day !' ' The mother, he ascertains by calculation, will ' make eight shillings, neat profit out of every ' two head' of children. The landlord need have no scruples to adopt this course ; since having already devoured most of the pa- rents, they seem to have the best title to the children.' * Let this system be but once thoroughly established,' he adds, as a clinching argument, and < we should soon see an honest emulation among the married women which of them could bring the fattest child to market !' ... 'I have just been reading,' writes a congenial friend and welcome correspondent, ' that queer mosaic of Southey's, < The Doctor,* (the un-
1840.)
BdU&r^s Table.
269
ditdoeed ftnthonihip of which I remember yoa to clearly ettabliihed ' by indnctioii' hi the KmcKimBoonn,) which was lent me by a lady, lovely and literary ; and it re- mindi me of aii old common-place book, wherein I had * some combinationa of dia- jointed thingi,' which may find a place in yoor admirable ' Gosrip.' Here ie a 1 Spanish lore-eong, eomewhat in the style of the madrigal m your last:
^ IH Serfllal In SeTflla I * Sommer breexei I rammer breeses I
Where the tUreft maidenii dwell. Of all who wear the dear mantilla None eaa Tie with dark-eyed Zilla ;
<0, 1 knew her lattice well t) Never ^d ao bright a maid Uat to moottUf ht aerenade.
' Bommer roaea I aommerroieal
Avaher far tium thine the bloom Her laughing lip and cheek diacloaea,* Than thoae eyea, where Ught repoaea,
'Neath the frincea' tender gloom ; Stealing upward like the gleam From a d« o'erahadowed atresm.
Sweet ye ^h at evening*! cloae ; But sweeter nr when ZnxA pleaaea, la her roice of aong, that aeiaes
On the ioul, and o'er it throwa Chains like thoae the syrena wore— Hagie bonds of bliaa and lore.
*Lorely Zizxa I dearest Zilla!
Often do I think of thee. And the bowers of sweet Berilla ; Now I*m far away, dear Zilla,
Now wilt ever think of me f Soon thou 'It cease each rain regret, Soon — alas, ikMo soon I — forget'
To my ear there is a sweet melody m these love-verses, like the chime of a gla«- hanmmic' . . . Wi have jnst risen ftom the perusal of a new edition of PUUo on the Immortality of the Soul,* from the press of Mr. William Gowans, of this city. It is Madame Dagier's tranBlation from the original Greek, with copious i|otes and emendations, a Life of Plato, by Fbnelon, together with the opiulops of ancient, in- termediate and modem philosophers and divines, on the immortality of the sool. It is impossible to read the work without the highest admiration of the author, thrown back as he is into ^hat we are too prone to call the 'dark ages.' Dark ages! — read the following :
'As for the sonl, which is an Inrlsible being, that goes to a place like itaelf, marrelloua, pore and invisible, in the eternal world ; and returns to a Qod nil of goodness and wisdom, which I hope will be the fate of my soul in a short time, if it pleaae God. Shall a soul of this nature, and created with all theae advantages, be dissipated and annihilated as soon as it parts from the body, as most men believe t No such thing, my dear Sixmias and Cxbks. I will tell you what will rather come to pass, and what we ought steadfastlv to believe. If the soul re- tains its purity, without any mixture of filtii from the body, aa havmg entertained no voluntary correspondence with it ; but, on the contrary, having always avoided it, and recollected itself within itself, in continual meditations ; that is, In studying the true philosophy and effectually learning to die ; for philosophy is a preparation for death ; I say, if ttie soul depart in this con- dition, it repairs to a oeing like itself; a being that is divine, immortal, and full of wisdom ; in which it eujoys an inexpressible felicity. In being freed from its errors, its ignorance, its fears, ita amours, that tyrannized over it, and idi the other evils pertaining to human nature.' . . . *But if the soul depart fhll of uncleanness and impurity, as having been all along mingled with the body, always employed in ita service, always possessed by the love of it, decoyed and charmed by its pleasures and lusts ; insomuch, that it l>elieved there waa nothing real or true beyond what is corporeal ; what may be seen, touched, drank, eaten, or what is the object of carnal pleasure ; that it hated, dreaded and avoided what the eyea of the body could not descry, and all that is intelligible, and can only be enjoved by philosophy. Do yon think, I say, that a soul in this condition can depart pure and simple from tJie body f No, SocnATXs, that is impossi- ble. On the contrary, it departs stained with corporeal pollution, which was rendered natural to it by its continual commerce and too intimate union with the body at a time when it was its constant companion, and waa still employed in serving and gratifying it'
< Do n*t disparage the heathen philosophem,' said an eminent divine of the Church of England more than a hundred yean ago, in a letter to one of his young fellow- laborers in the cause of Cheist, < without first mquiring what those phUosophers have to say for themselves. The system of morality to be gathered out of the writings or sayings of those ancient sages falls undoubtedly very far short of that delivered in the gospel, and wants beside the divine sanction which our Savioue gave to His ; yet a better comment could no where be collected upon the moral part of the gospel than fh>m the writings of those excellent men. Even that divine precept of loving our enemies is
VOL. ZZZIII.
* Pai8C.,etaL; 'ssoltetbat.
30
870 EdHmi'9 TiMe. [March,
at large inaiited on by Plato, who pata it into the aionth of SooRATia.' . . . Thk reader will be struck with the beaatiiul picture drawn by our Oriental correspondent of the pleasing * accompaniments' by which the I'urks surround their children, on their fhst going to school A friend of ours, to whom we read the opening of the article in manuscriptt vividly illustrated the difierent light in which first going to school is re- garded in this country. * I remismber,' he said, * that in my boyhood I had a great . deal of trouble, m a variety of ways. Every body was served at the table to the best parts of the turkey and chicken, while I was * fobbed off* with the gristles of the drum- stick. The most dreadful event of my childhood, however, was when I was mtroduced to the horrors of school. Repeated efforts had been made to induce me to leave the house, and proceed into the presence of * the dominie,' but I placed my heels against the door-sill, and Mo ! I did resist !' as Dominie Sampson, our school-master's prototype, observes. One morning, however, the coachinan appeared with a huge grain-sack ; I was thrust into it, amidst the merriment of the household, and was literally taken to school in a bag ! Did n't that school-room resound with laughter when I was shaken out of that canvass receptacle !' . . . HiaE we have the evidence of true appre- ciation, if BSt of fair emulation, of Olivkr Wendell Holmes ; one among the most terse, epigrammatic, and picturesque of our American poets. He has power, wit, lancy, and feeUng ; and all, it would sometimes seem, in a double measure :
O. W. HOLMES.
I WAS litCbig in my omt chair, a comfortable rocker, Feaattng from the ' Table' of November'a Knicxckbockse, Whan I saw a spicy poem there, that qolTered throng my bones. And pat a mental query, ' Who the deuce is Dr. Holmss t*
* Who is it has a fkney-tree so watered at the roots, Prolifically bearing such incomparable nuts f * And will he raise another crop, and round about us stack 'em. For all the hammer-headed ones to pick 'em out and crack 'em t*
I had lounged within a library, a place of holy dust,
Where they store the wheat of knowledge topreeenre it firom the rust ;
But I knew that in the catalogue, the ' P' or * H^ partition,
There was n't any entry of your primary edition.
And I had dipped in many books, and read some one or two. And often quoted poetry that appertained to you : Not knowing who the author was, or where I 'd seen or read it, I wanted much to know to whom to give the proper credit.
And baring brought the matter to a fixed determination, I re-pemsed the poem with an inward cachination; That pleasant sort of feeling that fills your heart about, And you sit and smUe in sil«ice— if you more you let it out
ThaX hazy sort of happiness, and gentle sort of calm.
That steals upon the teelings exorcised by Hood or Lamb :
And so I sougnt a stationer's, although the town was sloppy,
'If you have Holmss' poems ' 'No I' * Well, order me a copy.'
A week or two rolled round, and tiien the precious copy came, Rather weak about the vertebrsB, but TiCKNoa is to blame ; A quiet, baek'shelf sort of book, that I delight to see. And bound in paper colored like the strongest sort of tea.
The leaves unseparated, as if saying, ' We are stout, And if you get what 's good in us, you 've got to cut it oat :' A very modest title-page, that does n't raise vour qualms, With ■ fancy illustration of— of CurxD catching clams.
*'Mux PoatCGKWtisa.*
18i9.]
EdUm's TahU. 271
And then nid there I foond mnin thoee Jewels with whoee iheen My fuMj had been dazsled tinoe I entered my first ' 'teen ;' Those Jewels that the * DsHt^ sets in lead upon his * form,' When his patriotism 's oooling, and the deril 's getting warm.
Iliose * fleshless arms' for many years had beat abont my brain* And greafly had I longed to feel that fire<palse leap again : Yonr boat was lost ; no wreck of it about my memory stirred, 8aTe a word or two, (as see aboTe.) and all of stanza third.
And I had seen the ' Poet's Lot,' and read some one's reply.
But then ttie thought had less of grace, and more acerbity ;
For the pret^ Tillage maidens bad no * urns' to reSncore them.
But were told to sleep in church*yards, with 'maudlin cherubs' o'er them.
A scrap or two of lyric this, and line of poem that,
Had lain for yean within the place on which I wear a hat ;
And when they were non*apropo8, 1 'd ' bore' my friends, and quote 'em.
Yet never knew, (or cared, in truth,) who morod the pen that wrote 'em.
' As one may show a toy he has,' some Jewel or bljou, From -Guinea, or resuMng from the * Conquest of Peru ;' Or twist the wire that 's wrapped about a cork until it cracks, And never care who rintagea It, or who put on the wax.
But here I hare them all a«ain, ' a goodlie eompanie,' Truth and wit and humor Joined to graceful poetry : I knew in course of time they 'd have their paper resurrections, For such coi^tmctions never die, like common intofjectioais.
'T is odd what little taste there is in most of the * cuisine' Of mental dishes meant to keep our hearts from growing lean ; They 're always serving cheeses in a crusty sort of coat, On lirtoNic bonny •clabber, when we want a spicy float :
Or beef-steak sort of poetrv, where one must use a mallet, And pound away the toughiness before it suiti the palate. Unlike your Juicy 'delieates,' each one a dainty * bit* Of pathos mixed with sportiveness, and feeling Joined to wit.
80 many pen-like pencils have been nibbed upon the fields, The birds and woods and flowers, that outward nature yields, That pastoral and autumn leaves must both remain uncurled, Unless invention 's strong enough to make anottier world.
Modem didactitlans too may vainly try to cope,
Appropriate or modify from Vnon. or from Popk,
But I 'd rather read a page of vours, in calm and quiet pleasure,
Than drink whole draughts of Helicon from Milton's gallon-measure.
So I thank you for a thousand quiet nattv little lines, As full of gold as if they came from California's mines ; But when we seek your sold we do not dig your pagM through. And wash a cubic foot of words to get a grain or two.
When the colonists at Lexington had first got up their bile, They poured their shot upon the rank, and rather ' cut the file ; Like our very great forefathers I am moved in my 'internals,' And pray to meet more nuts like these, to pick out all their ' Kernels.* jrent«cAy, February 12, 1849. C- ^- P^ea.
JoBN Conrad Francis de Hatzpeld, who lived in the time of Sir Isaac Nbwton> must have been a stupendous philosopher. Wo have just been reading a volume of his, * imprinted for himself by Teo. Churchill, over against Exeter Exchange, in the Strand, liOndon,* more than an hundred and twenty yean ago. His work, which is called ^The Cote of the Learned Represented,* was written to put down Newtow, whose notions in relation to attraction and gravitation are pronounced as * erroneous as they are marvellous,' and calculated to overturn both natural and revealed religkm.
1372 Sakor's TahU. [March,
It did n't take him long to < do for* Newton, according to his own idea. * I have been very short in the matter,' he says in his preface, < because I don*t design to confound my readers by the ambiguity of a long diBcoaise, at most authors use to do ; and I shall always look upon an author who produces a long-winded discourse about whatever subject he writes upon, not to have known any thmg of what he was about, or else to have designed to impose upon the world.' He intimates that had the Almighty, previous to making the world, called Newton into his council, that gentleman might have given Him some hints which would have made his theory a little more reason- able ; but that as long as nature ' was as H was,' his philosophy was a ' prodigious ab- surdity.' His own principle may Jbe designated as the Fermentive System. The bowels of the earth, he tells us, are in constant fermentation, and so are the heavenly bodies. Let us have some talk with this learned Theban ; especially let him inform us < what is the cause of thunder ;' in which he < begs the question,' and a very foolish one, that he may the more easily demolish it :
* In respect to Thunder, we see oQtK>f-the-way Notions; for if the Noise which goes ttndcr that name did depend on the Clouds striking against one another, or on the escapinff of the Air they include, there would be more Thunder in Winter than in Summer Time ; for in the Win- ter, the Earth is not only surrounded by more Clouds than in the Summer, but we do likewise see them in a more violent Motion. Besides we netrer find spungy Bodies occasion any consid- erable Noise, ho werer riolent they are struck together ; neitner do we find by the Air-Oun, that the Air which esespes out of it occasions any considerable Noise, how then can it be supposed that such like Effects can occasion so terrible a Noise in the Clouds as that which is called Thunder. Whence I conclude that Effect to depend on the bursting of solid Bodies, which in Summer Time are most apt to be formed of the Ezhftlatiion of the Sun, and that of the Earth, which by their own Fermentation they are subject to take Fire and to dissolve, some with, and others without Noise ; the latter of which I am satisfied of by an Eye Witness, and the more ■neh like Bodies contain nitrous Humours, the more Noise they wUl produce in their Dissolu> tion, and thereby occasion what we call Tliunder. As to Lightning without Thunder, I look upon it to be nothing but a sudden Motion in the Air, occasioned by the Heat of the Sun.'
Mr. Hatzfbld did n't like Newton overmuch personally ; the ' moving wh]^ whereof is perhaps easily explained : ' I went and showed him a draught relating to the Perpetual Motion, for to know his opinion about it ; and I found him so far firom seeing any light in it,^that he pretended even the machines by which I proposed to move the wheel were uncapable to move themselves ! How is it possible for arts and sciences to obtain their point of perfection, as long as (hey have the misfortune of de- pending on the discretion of such like men ? And how is it possible the world shall be put into aoy thin(j^ of a true light as long as such short-sighted professors come to be the tutors of it?' He thus 'puts down' the theory of circular motion in nature: * When through a hole we let the, sun's light come into a darkened room, we see all the perceptible particles of matter continually move in a strait line, which is an evident demonstration that there is no such thing as a continual circular motion in nature. The principle of attraction and gravitation has no share in the motion of the planets.' This great philosopher, it would seem, annoyed Newton not a little ; for he speaks of his getting into a ' towering passion' at his house, while he was endeavoring to * set him right,' and ordering him to * go his ways ;' so that we may attribute to * the infamy of his notions and the usage the author received of him' this very * learned' trea- tise. ... Is there not something touching and beautiful in the fact recorded in ' The Orave of the Twins* which ensues 7 We have thought so in reading it :
* Onx winding sheet enveloped them,
One sunny grave was theirs ; One soft green plat of silken grass
Received their mother's tears ; And lightly did the night winds breathe
Their resting place i^ve. As if it feared to wake them from
Their deep repose of love.
' The rains came down, and forth there sprang
One briffht and early spring. Two rose buds on a slenaer stalk.
And closely did they cling ; Yet never did they blossom there,
But all untimely shed The young leaves on that holy grave,
Meet emblems of the dead.'
1849.] EdUoi^i TahU. 273
Faom a hasty note from a firiend and correspondent, from whom our readers hear only too seldom, (* froms* enough here 7) we segregate this passage : < Did you oyer see the house in Union-Square which has a gallery supported by ' Cantharidea ?* So I was asked by a young lady the other night On cross-questioning her, they turned out to be colossal women, with their toes pointed, and a jet of gas from each toe ;
Zt^A^footed females. Perhaps she meant Caryatides. ^What is the English song, or
glee, that begins * Down among the dead men?' Is it bacchanalian or political 7 A cayalier ditty, is n't 7 If you can't UXi me yourself, ask the correspondents in your notices.' We * couldn't say, indeed.' We have heard our old friend Brouoh sing a bacchanalian song thus entitled, m which the * dead men' were supposed to be repre- sented by bottles which had ' survived their oseMness in society.' More than this < caxmot we now rehearse.' . . . Ak old odd-looking person joined the passengers on the New- York and Erie Rail-Road the other day at a distant western station. When he entered the spacious car, he looked round in utter amazement at its extent, and the comfort and elegance of its accommodations. And now he began to talk to himselfy which he continued < by the way* until the cam arrived at Piermont * Wal,' he commenced, * this is what they call a ' car,' eh 7 Wal, it 's the biggest b'ndin' / ever see on wheels ! Thunder a-n-d Ught-mn* ! how we du skit away !' In this way he ran on, staring around, and talking at every body, but finding nobody to talk to. At length he saw his man. A solemu-visaged pereon, with a ' white choke' tied at that exact point where ' ornament is only not strangulation,' a strait coUar'd coat, and a flat, broad-brimmed hat, sitting on a distant seat, * caught the speaker's eye.' * Helk), Dominie ! be you there 7 Gom' down to 'York 7 How do they do down
to L 7 How 's Mr. Williams gittin' on now 7 Pooty 'fore-handed, aint he?
Where be you goin* 7 Goin' to preach in 'York 7 Aint goin' to Califomy, be yon? Did n't know but yon might be ; 'most every body seems to be goin' there now.' As Mon as there was a sufficient pause in this avalanche of unanswered queries, the grave passenger replied : * Yes, I am on my way to California.' * LoRD-^-massy, you aint though, be ye 7 You aint 'gin up preachin\ hev ye 7 'Pears to me I would n't I was to camp-meetin' when you tell'd your 'xperience and strugglin'. You had the dreadfullest hard time gittin' ligiont 'at ever / see, in my life ! Seems to me, a'ter so much trouble, I would n't give it up sa None o' my business, though, o' course. So, goin' to dig gold, eh 7' As soon as the roars of laughter, which now filled the car, had subsided, the grave gentleman explained, that deeming California a fruitful field for missionary labor he had determined to go forth as a pioneer in the good work, and he was therefore to sail from New-York in three days for San Francisca . . . Ths following capital Latin version of * Oh ! Susannah* was written a day or two after that of * DulcU Mae/ published in a late number, from the pen of another corres- pondent :
*HEU8 SnSANNAl
* Passibus baud pigria Alabame prata relinquo ;
In genubuf porto barbiton ipse meam : Ludoviciqoe peto gaudent que nomine terraa :
Delicias Tenio mrtua at aaplciam. Nocte plait tota, hoa fines quo tempore rentom eat,
At nebulaa prorsua pellit aprica diea ; Frigore me feriont baud lequi spicula Solif .
Ne lacrjmam ob casum, fundiB, Suianna, meami Casus, cara, meus ne sit tibi causa doloris :
Nam cithara hue domino venit amata aao. Conscendo fulmen ; rapier moz amne secondo ;
In nosmet leesi numinis ira cadit
274 Editor'* TaNe. [llsrcb.
loBQinerM iiibite rapoemnt ftilgara flaomiiB,
Et nigros hominet nigrior mors perimit; Hachina dimpta est, sonipet rolat inde caballiu,
Actanuqua antmam (erede) mihi videor. Qaam retinere Tolena mea demum lumina clamL
Ne lacrymam ob earam, funda, SusAiorA, meam I Sopitom naper dalcia me luiit imago ;
(Nee Toz per noctem, nee fonus ullus erat) ObTia prscipitl decmrau colle leeundo
Viaa eat ante ocoloa nosbv Susanna rehl. Outta vagabaadiB turbato ttabat oeello,
Pendebat labris egipyri popanam ; Eeee, aio, properamoa, et Anatri Unqnimu arra
Ne laciymam ob caaum, innde, Susanna, meom I Anrelios mox inde Notros Anstmmqua rerisam,
Undique delicias qu«rere nempe meas, Qoam A non posaim contingere lomine claro,
Hnieee nigro infansto nil nisi fiita manat ; Et qoando in placida constratns morte q^escam
Ne laeiymam ob caaom ftmde, Susanna, menm I Casua, cara, mens na ait tibi cansa doloris I
Hoc Teniens, mecum barbiton, eeoe ! fero/
Hi was a man of sense who wrote the followinif; and if we knew who it was we should n*t consider it ' confidential* exactly : * A man strikes me with a swoid and inflicts a woond. Suppose, instead of bindiag up the wound, I am showing it to every body ; and after it has been bound np, I am taking off the bandage continually, and examining the depth of the wound, and making it to fester till my limb becomes greatly inflamed, and my general system is materially affected ; is there a penon in the worid who would not call me a fool 7 Now such a fool is he, who, by dwelling upon little injuries or insults, or provocations, causes them to agitate or inflame the mind. How much better fvere it to put a bandage over the wound, and never look at it again.* . . . < I do not know a more universal, inexcusable, and unnecessary mistake among the younger practitioners in the clergy,' said, years ago, one of the most eminent of that profession, < than the use of what the women term hard words, and the better sort of vul^ ' fine language.' I know not how it comes to pass that professors in most arts and sciences are generally the worst qualified to explain their meanings to those who are not of their tribe. A common farmer shall make yon un- derstand in three words that his foot is out of joint, or his collar-bone broken ; whereas a surgeon, after a hundred terms of art, shall still leave you in the dark. It is the same case in law, and many of the meaner arts. A writer has nothing to say to the wisest of his readers that he might not express in a manner to be understood by the meanest of them. Nineteen in twenty of what are termed ' hard words' might be changed into easy ones, such as naturally first occur to ordinary men, and probably did so at first to the very writers who used them. Avoid also flat, unnecessary epithets, and old and thread-bare phrases. * Think your own thoughts, and speak your own words.' True style consists of the disposition of proper words in proper places. When a writer's thoughts are clear, the properest words will generally offer themselves first, and his own judgment will direct him in what order to place them, so as they may be best under- stood. Simplicity, without which no human performance can arrive to any great per- fection, is no where more eminently useful than in this.' Having said thus much, we wish to * call public attention to the fact, herewith set down, namely : that a man went into Maryland for a doctor for his father, but the river Potomac being frozen, he did n't arrive in time to bring the physician to his father until his father was dead. * The intense frigidity of the circumambient atmosphere had so congealed the pellucid aque- ous fluid of the enormous river Potomac, that with the most superiative reluctance
1849.] EdUor's TaUe. 275
I waa oonstraiiMd to proenstinate my premeditated egrenion into the palatinate pro- vince of Maryland, for the medical, chemical and Galenical coadjavency and codpera- tion of a dietingoiahed ■anitive Mm of EacDLAFiua, until the peccant deleterious matter of the Ethritee had pervaded the cranium, and ascended from the inferior pedestal major digit of my paternal relative, whereby his morbosity was so exorbitantly magni- fied as to exhibit absolute extinguishment of vivification !' Is n*t that clear 7 . . . Hers is a * very nice' antique :
*I KNOW the thing that's moit nncommon; (Einnr, be sUent and attend,) I ICBOW a reasonable womaD, Handaome and wittj, yet a friend.
* Not warped by paation, awed by minor,
Not grare tbrongh pride, or gay throngfa foUy, An eooal mixture of good humor, s Ana senaible loft melaneboly.
' Has ihe not faults then,' Emnr says, * Sir V
Yes, she has one, I must arer ; When all the world conspires to praise her, The woman's deaf^ ana does not hear.'
' Swurr says : < We^should manage our thoughts in composing any^ work, as shep- herds do their flowers in making a garland ; fint select the choicest and then dispose of them in the most proper places, where they give a lustre to each other.' Item, a rose for this anthology :
* Eabth has a Joy unknown in hearen. The new-bom peace of dn forgiven.'
' I never knew any man,' says an old author, < who could not bear another's mis- fortunes perfectly like a christian,' which reminds us of the old lady who thought < every calamity that happened to herself a trialt and every one that happened to her friends a judgement /' . . . Hdn BSFtrif criticism is sometimes grateful. Take the folkywing as an instance : * An old gentlemen was mvited by an artist to look at a large landscape. There was a statue of Aquarius introduced in the fore-ground, with his urn and trident Ailer looking at it for some time, the old man turned round to the artist with a very impressive countenance, and uttered these remarkable words: ' That is the most natural thing I ever saw.' ' I am glad you like it,' said the delighted painter. < I thought the scenery might recall some recollections of— ' ' Fkhaw !' broke m the old man ; < 't is n't the scenery that strikes me ; it's that fellow there with the pot and eel-spear ! That '« the most natural part of the pictur'.* Apropos of pictures ; did you ever exactly * realize' what a beautiful tableau that is in Shblley of an eagle and a serpent wreathed in fight :
'A SHAJT of light upon its wings descended,
And eyery golden feather gleamed therein; FeaUur and •caU inextrieabbf blended.
The serpent's moiled and numy-colored skin Shone through the plumes; its coils were twined within.
By manv a swollen and knotted fold, and high And far. tne neck receding lithe and thin.
Sustained a crested head, which warily Shifted and glanced before the eagle's steadfast eye.*
How marvellously the crinkling scales live and move in the word * inextricably /' By-the-by, * speaking of Suellet,' did you ever know a little fello^ by the name of Nathaniel Shelley? ^-one of the crustacea? He was complaining that some ono had insulted him by sending him a letter addressed * Nat. Shellxt.' < Why' said a
276 EdUm^t TbhU. [Mareb,
ftiettd, ' I do n't see any thin|r insnlting in that: ' Nat.' ii an abbreTiation of Na-
THANiKL.' ' I know it/ said the little man, < bat cone his impudence ! he speU it with
a 6, Gnat !' ' That was iMng liberties with a man's oognovit»' as Mis. Part-
INOTON would say. . . . Who is ' H. Mklvil,' the eloquent divine, who in preaching'
from this text on Heaven , * There ehall be no Night there,* has the liollowing admi-
lable sentences 7 We wooki foin know more of him :
* < Thxas shall be no night there :' children of afiBlctioB, hear ye tidi ; pain eaimot enter, erief cannot exist in the atmosphere of heaven ; no tears are shed there, no gnres opened, no friends remoTed ; and nerer, for a lonely moment, does eren a fllttinff clona shadow the deep riq;>ture of tranquillity. * There shall be no night there :' ehUdren of calamity, hear ye this : no ba£Bed plans there, no frustrated hopes, no sudden disappointments ; but one rich tide of happiness shall roll through eternity, and deepen as it rolls. * Tliere »hall be no night there :' je who are struggling with a corrupt nature, hear ye this : the night is the season of crime : tt throws its mantle orer a thooaana enormities wmch shun the face of day ; but there shall be no temptation tAere, no sinful desires to resist, no eril heart to battle with. Oh, this mortal must hare put on immortality, and this corruptible incormptlon, ere we can know all the meaning and richness of the aescription which makes hearea a place without night I I be- hold eren now man made equal wita the angels, no lonffer the dwarfish thing which at the best he is, while confined to this narrow stage, but grown into mighty stature, so that he mores amid the highest, with capacities as rut and energies as unabating. I behold the page of oni- Tertal truth spr^ before him, no obscurity on a sinfle line, and the brightness not dazxl|Dg tile rision. I behold the remoral of all mistake, of all misconception ; conjectures hare ffiren place to certainties, controTersies are ended, difficulties are soWed, prophecies are eompleled, parables are interpreted. I behold the hushing of erery grief, the wiping away of erery tear, tfie prerention of erery sorrow, the communication of erery Joy I'
The sustained eloqnence of this passage is seldom exceeded in modem polpit dis- ooones. Its characteristics are «ra]^city and perspicuity. . . . < C's * Pathetic TaW IS not genuine. We would wager, if we ever.laid or accepted wagen of any kind, that the story recorded by * C is the o6SBpring of a ' puroped-up' feeling. If penonally we knew him, perhaps we might say of him (hardly, though,) as a gentleman did of an aflbeted clergyman, of whom a lady asked, coming out of church, * Was not that a very moving cKscourseT' < Yes,' replied the other, <it woo; and I am extremely •wry for it, for the man wao my friend !' The fact is, that * C's * Pathetic Tale,* to the incidents of which he was ' an eye-witness,' was puhliehed in Blackwood's Magazine eighteen years ago ! This little cironmstance < makes it tNuF for the man who saw 80 long ago what * C witnessed ' some five or six years since m one of the most lovely villages on the Saint Lawrence !' ... A < down-bast' correspondent, tnm whom it will always be a pleasure to hear, tells a good story of a certain conn- srilor in his vicinage, who commenced practice in the Court of Common Fleas. The judge had a < rule' that no action should be continued on motion of defendant, unless his counsel would state u|ton his honor that he verily believed there was a defence, and he was usually called upon to state the nature of that defence. < Once upon a tfane' the counsellor wanted a continuance : the plaintiff's lawyer objecting, he was requested by the court to say whether there was a defence to the suit, and if so, to state what it was. < I have, may it please the court,' was ihe reply, < four defencee to this action : First, the note declared on is a forgery ; eeeondly, my client was un- der age when he signed it ; third, he has paid it ; fourth, it is outlawed !' You may enter a con-tin-u-ance, Mr. Clakk,' said the judge.' Thank your honor ; we have» The same legal wag was riding m the cars of a down-east rail-road the other day, when he fell into convenntion with a Boston 'jobber.' Coming to a crossing, he pomted out to his neighbor a road which had just been opened, with the remark : • That 's a very important road to this part of the country — wry important' • Ah,' said the other ; « there are a good many settlers in there, I suppose T « N-o ; there were, before the road was made, but now they 're all moving out ." ... ' Is it likely' — we sometimes ask ourselves, after walking away firom the umnense fh>nt-
1849.]
EdUor^s TMt.
277
wiadowB of BfeiRB. Willumi and SnvKm, in Broadway, neaily opporite the Cail- tan-HouM^ — ia it likely that theee gentlemen are aware how much pricele« and yel ooitiew pleasure they are every day confernng upon the Broadway ' predeetinariana,* ■a Mza. PASTDiQToif tenna them? Yet if atanding for ten or fifteen minntee, lean- ing comfortahiy iqMm the railing, beneVolently provided for the aiieated paeeer-hy, la frnitlbl of 10 much enjoyment, what ahall be laid of the pleaaore < realiaed' by thoaa who < freely enter in,' and survey at leiBore the treaaoree of art in the extended and well-lighted halla of the interior ; now panaing to otndy a rural picture by Moelano^ the * LANoaan of pigs,' who can evidently aay of an old or a juvenile porker, that he ia ' aoqnaint^ed with every lineament of his mtfut;' or lingering over < Love's i2a> trangement,' by Ci.^ton. (a charming picture, worthy itself of an elaborate oriti- eiam 0 or studying in dreamy mood Zarrrn's < Hungarian Fair ;' or gazing with inepmssible admiratinn upon Bonninoton's literal ixmacnfU from nature, in calm and storm ; or turning from these, rtcaUvng the awfrd sublimity of ' Niagara in Win* tar,' by the tmthfiil picture of Gigmoux, and fancying that yon recall a acene <in kind' by TuoKin's < Alpine Cataract' All theae, and ' nameleas numbers moa,' fioreign and native, and excellent in their degree, may be daily seen, and are daSy sold, in the great estaUishment in question ; an establishment, let us add, which haa anpplied a moat important desideratum in this metropolis. In the department of en- giEvings, the supply is early and complete. All of LANDsaan's noUe woiks, as soon as reprodnced in London on steel or stone, are at once found here ; indeed thara have been some half dozen of his very best recently received. ELbbbbet and Hnn* Bmo, so &st rising into favor, are also immediately represented here in all their most admired productions ; and so too are Aav Schbvfu, Eastlakb, and their cootempo- rariesandoompeen. One has no need to look at gorgeous and tastefiil mirxoia, or rich toOette or drawing-room furniture, by which he (or she) will be surrounded at MeasBk WiLLZAMB AND Stkvxns'b ; but they * cannot choose but look' at, nor can they he^ admiring, the splendid works of art with which the place is replete. . . . ' Onb of my neighboTi,' writes a correspondent, < has a vocabulary aomewhat of the richeat Hie following conversation took place between him and a neither a few weeks ago: 'What is your opinion of our Congress?* < I do n't think much of it,' was the re|4y. * Nor /, Sir; they're p'ison; p'isoner than the Bohan-Rufiis tree on the island of Java !' Meeting another, who was about starting for the gold region, he thus addressed hhn : < Well, I understand you are going to Callifomy ; which way do you go. Sir? round the Horn, or through the Straits of Marjrmagdellan 7' ... A Cauvobmiam (* alave of the dark and yellow mine,') has stopped his subscription to the Kmicbbb- BOCEBB in the following endorsement on the wrapper:
' Old Kxicx. and I at lut mtift part. Pate rendi na both ammder ;
Kj pocket '■ emp^, aad my heart Is sad therefor ~ by thvader I
* Those pleasaat hoars I've often past
In reading o'er thy pages. Are now all gone; I 't« spent the last Fire dollars of my wages 1*
Mbbsbs. Tivfant and Young have secured a very important addition to their !»• nowned estabUsbment in Monsieur M. Chbist and assistants, from Faria. Nothmg in choicest and most tastefhl designs of jewelry and bijouterie that can be prodncad in Europe but can now be originated here. M. Chbist*s designs, of which we have seen a great number, we have never known suipassed. With their vast assortmsnl of precious stones, and such an artist as M. Chbutt, Measia. Tutant and Touno may defy all competition . . A raiBND of oua, with the capacity to appreciate aad
d78
Ediia^s TaNe.
[March,
the ability to record a * good thing,' haa often told na that nothing a£fi>ida him more pleaanre than to look over the itartling daily intelligence from Philadelphia, that clean, eafan, large village, which metropolis m no lort is not, and never was. A man hurt m a fireman'a«iiot, a child injured hy an omnibna, or an old woman slipping down on the ice, and dislocating her arm, being the most important incident recorded in the course of a year. We have been reminded by these remariu of oar friend of similar mtelligence given a centnry or so ago in the < Newt from the Country Poot,' of which we preserve two ' items :* < It is very creditably reported that there is a treaty of marriage on foot between the old red Cock and the pyed Hen, they havmg of late i^ peiired very much together. He yesterday made her a present of three barley-corns, so that we lock on this afikir as oonclnded. This is the same cock that fongbt a dnel for her about a month ago.' ' It is reported that Dr. CHUftOH-or-ENOLAin> christened a male child last week, hat it wants ' confirmation! . . . Will, we are rather gfttified at the interest which is manifested abont ' Old Km ick-'s* < counterfeit present- ment' It is in the hands of one of the very first engravers in the Union, who will be engaged upon it for foor months. It will be iasned with the finA number of our thirty* iburth volume. Apropos of this : we may say to our Mobile friend, in the words of the colored divine, quoted in our last number : < Dere 't is, now — dere 't is ; you looka fer great t'ing, but I spect you disappint' . . . <A oebat fuss generally* is beingr made about the Harfbrs* mode of spelling in Macaulat'b * History of England.' We propose a compromise in favor of Dean Swirr's < Literalia* style of orthography, in his ' Address to a Lady :' ' Dear Lady, you are a beauty. I esteem yon a deity. Your empire endures ; O be your beauty endless ! By Jupma ! your beauty defies AnLLBs,'etc. This Swift qielb thus :< Dr Id ur a but I stm u a dit Ur mpr ndrns; O b ur but ndles. B guptr ! ur but dfis Apls,' etc . . . < W. S.* is adroit What is more, he is clever. His ' Serenade' shows him to be so. Exceedingly pretty are these stanzas :
' How shall I picture thee, ladye-ftir,
How thine eBchaatmenti tell t How shall I sing of thy raTen hair.
How of thj bosom's swell T Duskily drooping o'er summer seas
Lowers the moonless night ; Gently the wares with the morning's breese
Heare in the rosy light
• Soft is the sigh of the rsTished shell
That moana for its parted seas ; Bad is the clang of the passing bell.
As it dies on the erening breese ; Sweetly arisins from twiUght trees
The notes ofthe night-bird swell : But softer, and sweeter, and sadder than these
Are the murmurs of lore's farewelL
DuEiNo the exhibition of a menagerie in a country village in Maine, a real live Yankee was on the ground, with a terrible itching to < see the elephant,' but he had n't the desiderated < quarter.' Having made up his mind to go in ' any hedw,' he stationed himself near the entrance, and waited until the rush was over. Then, assuming a patient, almost exhausted tone, and with the fore-finger of his right hand placed on the ri|^t comer of his mouth, he exclaimed, * For God's sake. Mister, aint ye goin' to give me my change V ' Your change !' said the door-keeper. * Ya-ees ! my < change /' I gin ye a dollar as much as a half an hour ago, and haint got my change yet' The door-keeper handed over three quarteni in change, and in walked the Yankee, ' in ftmds.' Now this true anecdote is sent to us as a 'cute * Yankee-trick, and so it is ; but we should like to know wherein it differs from the meanest theft. Whip us such •eonndrelly wits ! . . . What a valuable endowment is worldly * discretion I' How it a«ists a mean and selfish man to < rise in the world ;' and how, while it does so, it mariu out his path through it, in which he walks with all the respect which he can 'command* — and no more. Understand us ; we do n't speak of proper caution and timely forecast We allude to that sort of discretion which Swirr terms * a species of
1849.] EJUar's TaNe. 279
lower tpradence, by the aaistaiice of which people of the meanest mteUectaals pa« thnnigfa the woridfamoosly. Persons endowed with this kind of discretioni be saysi ' shoold have that share which is proper to their talents in the conduct of affiiin ; but by no means to meddle in matteri which require genius, learning, strong comprehen* rion, quickness of conception, magnanimity, generosity, sagacity, or any other superior gift of human minds. Because this sort of discretion is usuafly attended with a strong desire of money, and few scruples about the way of obtaining it, with servile flattery and submission, ' havmg no measure for merit and virtue in othen but those very steps by which themselves sscended.' Is n*t this as < true as the gospel 7* . • . *The Sugm BuMk* has vividly recalled to memory the reddening maples, the melting snows, the pale- blue smoke curling up from the ' sap- works,' the bass-wood troughs or sweet-smelling cedar buckets^ and all the sights and sounds of sugar-making in the country, in the firing of the year. In this regard < The Sugar Buik* of < C. C is poetical, but iii execution is not exactly what we would have it The author, however, will pleaw accept our thanks for the reminiscential pleasure he has afibrded us. . . . ' G. H. C* sends us a ' Sonnet on Liberty,* containing upwards of forty linss ! It is the longest sonnet we ever read ; atfd we must say that we consider fourteen lines as good a length for a sonnet as any other number. The present lines are very good, how- ever. . . . Hkrk is an anecdote of old Michabl Faww, who is now with Micbasl Angblo, probably. He was one day showing a gentleman a picture which was ' aa undoubted original of the great architect of St Peters.' * How do you know it is by him Y said the gentleman. * Why,' replied Pavf, * dere is his signature on de picture.' < Where ? I see nothing of the kind.' * Oh,' answered the * dealer,' * you must look for it in de right place. You see de marble floor there 7 Well, you see de little slab» and den anoder not 'so big, and den one long one V * Yes.' ' Well, dere it is ; de leetle one is Michakl, de one not so big Angkijo, and de long one Buonarroti ! Well den, you see in de comer dere a basket ! Come tell me what you see in de basket' * Why they look to me like carrotB,' was the reply. * Well, so dey are ; and what is carrot 7 Is it not a root ? — a good root 7 * Well, good root in Italian is Bona-rottu* . Hamlxt would doubtlesB consider this very < choice Italian.' . . . Most welcome is the < Chapter on Women.' It shall have a * place of honor' in our next * The Dark Hour,' < The Actress,' ' Our Winter Birds,' and • The Firrt Kiss,' are filed lior insertion. . . . That cleverest of musicians, and * best of good fellows,' Guisim BuRKiNi, or * JoR BuRXE of Oum,' relates a characteristic anecdote of < Deaf Burzr/ the pugilist Our Jor, then < Master Burxr,' was crowding nightly the principal theatre of New-Orieans, and was at the zenith of his popularity. One morning * Deaf Burke,' who was giving leawns in the same city in < the noble science of self-defence^' called to see the young ' Master.' Before going away, he laid, in his thick way : * I say, Baster Burkr, therde 's three greadt Burkrs ; therde 's Edbu'd Burkr, a'd Def BuRKR, a'd Baster Burkr. Do you dow ady thi'g about the sct>(2ce, be boy 7* said he, squaring ofi^, and going through the pugilistic manual ; * cobe dowd a'd let be give you a lesBod or two ; I ll bake a regHar you'g Def-Ud of you !' The great prize- fighter himself was called < The Deaf 'Un,' it will be remembered. . . . NoTICRSOf the 'American Dramatic Aeeoeiation* (a noble institution, to whose ofajectB we hope hereafter to do justice,) Bourne's ' Catechism of the Steam- Engine,' Tacitus' His- tories, Judge Charlton's Lecture before the Young Men's Library Association of Augusta, Georgia, Professor Aoamiz's Lectures at Cambridge, ' How to be Happy,' Virtur's superbly-illustrated * Devotional Family Bible,' and two or three other pab« lications, received at a late hoor» shall have ''immediate deqiatch' at our hands^
ft80 EdUar^t Tahh. [March,
LxTSSAkT Rscou>.~ Ws hare had great pleaaore in examining the sbeeta of a splendid votome, now paaaing throngh the preaa of Pxttkak in Broadway, who is Cut becoming the MoBBAT of Amerioaa pnblithers, entitled 'Jiiiite on PuMte Arckiucittn; eeniahuii^, among oAw ^Btu^ratUnUt V%ao$ and Plant of tke SmUktonian InttinitioH.* The rolome ia prepared, on b^ialf of the boilding committee of the Smithaonian Inatitation. by Robxet Dalx Owxn, Chairman of tiie Committee, who hai performed his share of the work in the most firithful manner, as tfie Tolome, when it presently appears, win abundantly testify. It is illustrated by upward of •M AniMircd wood-cuts, by the best artists in the Union. We can testify in the strongest terms to their great delicacy and beauty. The form of the work is what is called * long quarto^' the types large, neatly cut, and double-leaded ; the paper of the rery best quality that could be procured. Mr. Putnam furnishes to the Smithsonian Institution a certain number of copies, fvtains the copy-right, and of course will haTe the book for sale. The object of the woric is eUefly to serve as a guide to building committees, restries, and other similar bodies, dharged with the erection of public buildings. The different styles of architecture, ancient and modem, «n compared with special reference to their adaptation to modem purposes. The cost, as eoopared with accommodation, of some of tiie principal public buildings in the United States is also giren ; and the general conditions which go to make a pure style are clearly set fortii. Some idea of the general plan and scope of the work may be derived from the following ex- tract from the antiior's preface :
* WBXX.K the conmiittee offer the result of these researches not so much to the profession as to the public, and to public bodies, as vestries, buHding-committees, and the like, charged with witles similar to their own, they indulse the hope that the architect may find occasional sub- ject for inquiry and material for thought. Much of what is here written must be famiUar to every well-read student ; there will occur to him the very sources whence it is derived : but ft portion of the pages are of a character less common-place. A strict reeurrence to first pria* ^les in art; a distinct recognition of the conditions, not transitory nor conventional, but changeless and inherent, that go to stamp upon architectural creations purity of manner and •leeuence of composition ; these are matters wholly omitted in many works on architectore, sad but sUghtiy clanced at in others. It may not be without its use to the profession, to with- dnw their thoughts, for a moment, firom the routine of architectural codes set up by various Sehools as law and doctrine, and bestow them on the deeper sources, whence these laws wero derived ; on the lwe$ l^vm^ to use Bacon's phrase ; for tnus thev will penetrato to caasea, not gather up a mere bundle of results. ' The mindless copyist stodles Kamaxlix^ not what Rata- WEXS Btadied.' Purity of style in architectore it a point of progress not to be suddenly reached. m a new country especially, in which the necessarv and the stnctiy useful property have preoe- dstace, refinement in art is commonly of tardy and gradual growth. There is ususUy a period of transition, during which the wish to excel precetfes, at some distance, the perception of the means of excellence. Money is expended, even lavisUy, to obtain the rich, the showy, the common-place. But this period of transition may be shortened. The progress in paintinig and ieulpture, which in other lands has been the slow nrowth of centuries, has been nastened ia our country, thanks to the genius of a few self-taught men, beyond all former precedent To stimulate genius in a kindred branch of art ; to supply suggestions which may call off from devious paths, and indicate to the stadent the true life of progress ; and thus to aid in abridgias ttat season of experiment and of faUure, in which the glittering is preferred to the chaste, and the gaudy is mistaken for the beautiful ; are objects of no light importance.'
In such considerations as these are found the motive and the purpose of tiiese ' Bints on Ar- chitectore.' The work will appear early in ICarch, when we shall take occasion again to Mfer to it . . . Wx have before us, in a large and handsome volume, fr^m the press lOf toe American Tract Society, a ' Ifmotr o/ tA« I^/e <^ JosMt If tiser, i?.27., Isis ii^^ Qwtgit Ckmxk, New-York i' by Rev. John Stonx, D.D., rector of Christ-Church, Brooklyn. It is an exceedingly interesting and histructive work, fortified and illustrated by liberal extracts from Dr. Milnob's own diaries, Journals and letters, which ' depict him faithfully, as it wem vader tiie autiientf c record of his own hand.' There are. In fact two memoirs in the work ; the one of the lamented subject as a man of the world, a lawyer, a politician, and a legislator, sad toe otoer as an active Christian man, and a beloved minister of the Gospel of Cbbist.* Those to whom the details of his early history will present strong attraction, will perhaps find one of the strongest to be the account of a duel which was at one time projected between him aad Hon. Hxnbt Clat. The lights of likeness and contrast in the character of tiits eminent prelate so combine, or stand out in such distinctness, as to afford a very vivid portraiture of toe irhole man. An excellent likeness of the subject of toe memoir, engraved on steel, gives an added value to toe work. . . . ' SsrtetVs XJnion Magaxine^ for Febmary, came to us nearly a monto in advance, well freighted with reading matter and illustrations. Among its articles is aa admirable critique on the ' Bmd of Christy* by Stxinbauskb, now exhibiting wito toe ' Hero
1849.]
Bdittn-'s Thhle. 981
mtd Ltamdn' of fhe same artist, in Philadelphia. The oritiqiie glrM luaay eurioai and Jntewnt Ing fteCa relating to fhe first representationa of onr Loed, team which we eztraet the following :
* Tb^ first representations of our Loed are to be found not in the origin of CrAstlan, bnt, ■• M. MjkXuwM correctly remarks, In the latest period of classic art For the relics of the fifth and sisth oentnries, at Naples and Rome« in the catacombs and cemeteries of 8t CALixrosaad Pkuoili^ though representing Christian subjects, are essentially heathen, as far as spirit and •xeentlon are concerned. . . . These early representations of our Loan are diitinguuhad bj a tofudling, ehOd-like simplicity, which has nothing in common with the subsequent melSB* •holT spMtnaHsm of Qothio art. We find Crbxst in them at times represented as a beautUU jcntb, with golden hair and a long, fioating tunic, treading under foot tne dragon ; occaslonallv under the form of a lamb, and still oftener aa a fish, this being, in fiict, the most umUiar of au «arly Christian svmbols. The initials of the Grecian words Jxsvs Caaxsr, the Son of QoiK ' fiMrmlDg the word IzeiT— ' a fish ;' which symbol was at a later period applied to tiie soul of any Christian whaterer, as illnstrated in the imposts of St Gkuiain dxs Pucs, in Paris. Bui tbe artists of this, and a later period, aTailed themselTes stin oftener of these symbols of heathea- iapga, in which they foimd an accidental or traditional identity with certain scriptural texts, or pivables. Such, s>r example, was the old Grecian myth ot MxacuBv, bearing a goat, wldeh presented to their minds a striking analogy with the parable of Chbxst, tiie good Shepherd, bearing home the lost sheep. Sncn was ttie myth of Oxphxus, charminff the brute creatioB with hli nrasie i an image forcibly recalling that of the charmer who could not attract the deaf adder, ' eharm he nerer so wisely ;' and sucE were the numerous parallels of identity disooTerad between Apoixo and Chxist ; just as the Scandinarians of a later day found our Savxoux under Another name in their God Balder; the incarnation of Lore, Gentleness and Beauty : and w« adoordingly find Chbist at tiiis early period represented under one or another mytholojrieal fimn. Bat a new form was destined to find its way into Christianity. From the Eastern Em- pire came the By aantine school of art, which was in reality but a new exponent of Oriental as- ceticism, quietism, and transcendental world-abhorrence. It came with those long-laced Orlen- Cal-ejed images of Chbist, so repugnant to aU ideas of personal attraction, and yet so deqdy inspired with s^tual, unearthly beauty. In these works the absolntiim of art was shown oy tibe ease with which the most incongruous elements may be united under one law of harmony. Bnt the stem spiritualism of this scnool had nothing in common with the material ease aad beauty of the heathen mythology ; and we accordinglr find that a council of quhii sextus, held it Cottsfesntinople, AJD. 602, forbade, in its eighty-second statute, aU artists to employ * any symbol wfaaterer in the representation of Christian subjects.' . . . The great similarity of featora which we find in all the portraits of our Satxoub, of this and a later period, is. howerer, too •triUng to be accounted for by referring them to the spirit of the age; and RuoLxa is «^ doabtedly right, in referring it to certain traditional accounts of Us personal appearance, whieh I candidly belieTe are not altogether unfounded. The first of these is the celebrated letter of LsirruLLVS to the Roman senste, giren in sereral authors of the elermith centuy, but undoiAl- adiy written about the end of the third. In this letter our Loan is described aa being * a i of commanding stature, agreeable to behold, with a noble countenance, capable of in^ ' both lore and tear. His htdjc is dark, curled and shining, and parted in the middle, acco..
to the manner of the Nazarenes, and flowing orer his shoulders. His forehead is oTen i
pleasant, the countenance witiiout wrinkles or spots, snd agreeable in being slightly raddy* His nose and mouth are faultless, the beard strong, and like tne hair, slightiy red, not long, and dirided. His eyes are changeable (oculis Tsriis) and shining.' This is simuar to the deaerln- tion giren by John of Damascus, about the middle of the eighth century, which he declares u aalaeted firom accounts giren by early Christian writers. * Jesus,' he asserts, * was of com- manding Mature ; his eye<brows grew together ; he had beautiful eyea, a large nose, and eari- Ing hair ; was in the flower of his age ; wore a black beard, and baa long fingers, and a yellow- idi complexion, similar to that of his Motiier,* ete. These descriptions correspond neariy
enough II tbdrinfl
. with the portraits of Crxist giren by the later Byzantine and Gothic artists, to indlcato tibeir influence. In the Chxzsts of Guino db Sixit a, of Cixabux, of GxMnuuxnA Fabbxano, of Giotto, Oscaona, the Van Eycks. HBMi.iNa, and the celebrated St Vxbonica, of the Boisaere collecdon in Muxdch, we invariably find a common resemblance.'
Our limits forbid further extracts ; but we have quoted enough, we think, to induce apenual of the critique in question. As to the attempt of Stxinhausxb to combine tiie hif^iest and most perfect spiritual expression with the formal beauty of Grecian art; we think that he has succeeded as far as success can be predicated of such an effort; an effort inconsistent wlA the aubjeet, and, in our Judgment, impossible. We would by no means underralue ' classie art;' but the stream cannot rise higher than the fountain ; and as there was notUng higher (we speak generally) in the character of Grecian cirilization than a refined and ennobled sensuality ; and since to the Greek, human nature was all-sufBcient, so in ' art* the Greek never attempted mora than a natural harmony and proportion between all the powers ; a unity of form and matter, in which, however, his success was absolutely perfect How then may tiiis earthly perfection, so to speak, be united with that mysterious something which struggles to express anotiier and a loftier ideal, illustrated in the character of One ' who spake as never man spake,' and who re- ferred every thing to the Intxhitk in opposition to the Eabtblt. Of the character of Cbbiit the G^eek had no conception ; and much as we admire this work of BnexMBAUisB, we do not recognise in it the ' Satxoub of Sinners.' Before we close this hasty and desultory notioa, wa wouhtsayawordofMr.CBABLBsG.LsLAiiD, the writer of the critique. TUs gentleman has just returned from a four year's sojourn at the German Unlrersltlas, whan be dcrotod himself
282 Ediiar's Table.
VBMmittlBgly, under the meet enltared profeMori, to the itody of * art.' We are pertneded, firom the tone of thii article, that Mr. Lmlamd haa atadled *'art' to some porpoae. HIa rlewa ire discriminating, and hia ideaa are adraneed withont any of that dogmatic apirit which de- gradea the writinga of aome of our beat critiea. He i« at preaent engaged in preparing A aeriea of articles vpon the works of American aa well aa foreign artiati, and we look forward with SnfeBrest to his Aitare productions. . . . *Tk»Q^ua^eriiflUvimoftkeMetJkodittEpi»eopalCkmrtk Smtkt' for January, ahows that well-eatabliahed work to be increaaingin interest and ralue with •vary iaaue. No better number than the preaent has been published for many montha. Three of its articles we have read attentirely : the * EUtorie Dowbu rOetht tolfapoleim Bon^aru f the paper on * PiUIosopMoaZ ^tiUiiai,* and the admirable and Catholic eiq>oaition of ' Tk% Sber(/b« of Ckrtat,* from our friend and correspondent, Rer. E. 8. Magoon, of CincinnatL * Tkt Wtnem qf Ike Spirit is another well-reasoned paper, to which we inrite the attention of our readers. The number is accompanied by an excellent engraved likeneaa of our friend the Rer. H. B. BAaooK, the accompliahed acholar and inimitable pulpit orator, who preaidea with anch marked ability orer its pages. WOl he permit us to say, that the stemneaa which the face exhibita re- nlBda ua of the anxiety which oceaaionally stole like a dark shadow orer his fisaturea one day > may years ago, when he was doing us the honor to take meat with the then entire ' Old Kit ice.' flonily — the day before the occurrence of the most interesting event ^ an erent too long de- Ugrod— ofhislifeT *Wae'sus! wae'susi'— 'howoIdTuKrvadoesfugitl' . . . Wshavere- eotred a neat compact volume, from the preaa of Meaara. Crapkan and Hall, London, con- teiBing ' OfM Bundrti Son^t of Pitm-Jean De Birmn^er, teitk Trandatione fty WWUm Towi^, Mtfuire ;* the latter gentleman being our esteemed contemporary, the editor of ' The AXhUn! weekly JoumaL We have read Uie entire ^ontenta of the volume witii aincere pleasure ; en- oouBtering, aa we advanced, many especial &vorltea, which it waa a delight again to meet. The original is fidthfuDy rendered into the English, without being so cEeedy literal as not to preserve the grace and ease essential to the five use of our good old vernacular. . . . Tkb kit number of the * aamOmn QjiurUrljf Seoiatf is a very good one, Judging from the articlea which we have found leisure to peruse ; chief among them, an intereating paper on C^auosb, imolher on ' l4gol BducattoHt* by an old friend and correapondent of the Kkigxcmiockki, and the detailed account of ' Tke Sitge of OuarUtton,* which is valuable from the &cts and incidents eoQated and brought together in a single paper. We trust our Southern ccmtemporary flouriahea ■a it deservea. . . . Wx were about to aay a word or two for * J%e Patroon^* a little volume fron the preaa of PuncAii, (from the pen, aa we shrewdly suspect, that recorded 'The First of Iho KirzcKBXBooKXBS,) when we found that our friend and contemporeaa, (why not, aa well aa 'anIhoressT') Mrs. Kixkland, had made a * curtailed abbreviation, compressing the particu lara :* * A aprightly, good-humored, and withal not a little humorous book, well fitted to in terast and amuse the preaent dweUera in Manahatta. The LiriitosTOifa, BcHxairuBHOMfa, Blsxckkxs, and VAkDxmspxxaxLs, figure here, and old Dutch customs and feellnga are well deaoribed.' . . . Miasms. C. 8. Fjunoxs and CoMPAifT have iaaued> neat and well-illustrated Toliime, entitled 'A TomrofDut^ in California,* by J. W. Rxvxmx, U. 8. N. ; edited by Mr, J.N. BALS8TISB. New-York. The work was written before the gold fever broke out, and left with tile editor for revision and publication, the time for which latter could not have been better dioaen. The author gives us a good account of the voyage around Cape Horn, and clear des- eiilptions of Lower California, the Gulf and Pacific Coasts, and of the principal events connect- ed with the conquest of the Califomias. He seems to have acquired a thorough knowledge of tibe people, the Indians, etc ; while his sketches of scenery, involving accounts of the climate and productiona, quicksilver and gold mlnea, etc., of which there are many, are fit>m the •atiior's own pencil, taken on the apot, and may be relied upon as authentic. We commend the volume to our readera aa one which, both aa regards entertainment and instruction, wHl wen repay perusaL . . . Mxasas. Bblknap amd Hammkjulxt, Hartford, (Conn.,) have pub- Ushed a corpulent volume by Prof. Fbost, of Philadelphia, entitled * ne Book of tke Armif: It if eompiled from authentic worka, and comprises a general military history of the United Slates, from the Revolution up to the last battie in Mexico. It haa a good many ' cuta,' and three or four to which we ahould advise the reader to give the ' dtmd cut' They 're ' pooty bed.' . . . Thi volume containing * Lettwree on tke Pilgrim* e Progreee,* by the eloquent Dr. Obobox B. Chxxvbb, published by Mr. John Wilxt, Broadway, has reached its eeoentk editSan. Emphatic praise, requiring no enhancement. The edition now publiahed omits the engravinga, and ia correapondingly cheaper. . . ; Haxbixt BlAiiTXifXAu's new work on * Houeekold Sdth mktC Is too variable a one to be lightty paaaed over. We ahaUaotiee it at length ia our next.
THE KNICKERBOCKER.
Vol. XXXIII. APRIL, 1849. No. 4.
CURIOSITIES OF ORIENTAL LITERAT'URE.
rnoM THs TUKXiaB or ■ohatz.kk: bt j. r. siiowh.
%
No works written on the people of the ' East' have so signally ex- plained their character and feelings, or described 4heir manners and customs with so much correctness, as that called in common parlance ' The Arabian Nights' Entertainments.' Without a knowledge of their language and literature, which few travellers ever attain, it is im- possible to hold intercourse with them on a footine of mental equality, and a book-maker is as little capable of giving the world any correct information about the Turks or Arabs, after spending a few months among them, and watching them perform their daily occupations, as he IB to describe their dwellings and domestic habits from the external appearance of their houses.
The writer, in his leisure moments, has made translations of some small works in Turkish, Arabic, and Persian ; mostly of a historical nature, tending to elucidate traits of oriental character and exemplify religious principles. Afler the Koran ^ on which all the antipathy <^ Mussulmans for unbelievers, or as they are pleased to call them, Oiaaur9, and which it is to be feared will never cease to exist so long as the cause is extant, their books of history, recording the noble, gracious, and generous characters of the Caliphs and oUier eminent mdividuals of their times, is the next greatest source from which they draw the pride and imaginary superiority, of which Christians yet complain, and always have complained.
It is easier to * amuse than to instruct ;' and if the writer succeeds, by means of the following translations, in amusing the reader, he will not only have benefitted himself, in a philological point of view, but also turned his humble labors to the advantage of others.
The work from which the following stories are taken, is entitled ' Historical and Literary Anecdotes from Eastern Works,' and speaks
VOL. XXXIII. 31
284 Curiosities of Oritntai Literature. [April,
mostly of the tunes of the Caliphs. The first two, however, appear to be antecedent to the Caliphats.
' In the books of commentators and historians it is a fact frequently mentioned, and true without doubt, that one day two men entered the presence of David the Prophet to make a complaint. They were enemies the one to the other, and one of them said : ' Thb man's sheep entered my garden by night, and destroyed all the twigs growing on my vines ; so that diey and the branches of the vines were all destroyed.' The Prophet judged the case, and sentenced the owner of the sheep to compensate the owner of the vines for the loss which he had sustained by giving him the sheep. The parties left hb presence, and when proceeding on their way, met Solomon the prophet's son, then only in his twelfth year. Solomon asked them from wnence they came ; and they forthwith told him what had oc- curred, and how his father David had adjudged the sheep to the owner of the vines.
* Solomon answered that there was a more just and proper sentence. * Come,' said he, * into my father's presence, and you will hear what he will order.' So they returned with him, and when they were be- fore his father, the/ repeated their complaint. The prophet then asked his son what more just and proper sentence could be pronounced on their case 1 Solomon answered : ' This man's sheep entered that man's g^den, and as far as they could reach them, cropped off the twigs and sprouts from his vines, but did not injure their roots. These latter beine still in the earth, they will again produce in a short time. itet there&re the milk of this man's sheep be given as a remunera- tion to the owner of the vines, until such time as the twigs and sprouts having grown, they can benefit the owner, after which restore the sheep to their present owner.'
* The prophet David saying, ' May God be satisfied with thee and thy &ther, and be bounteous to them both,' observed to his son : ' You have judged justly and uprightly, and so be it done.' The complain- ants were satisfied with the judgment ; and conformable to its in- junctions, when the vines had again sprouted, the original owner again received hb sheep. This circumstance God makes mention of in his book, the Koran, and says : ' When David and Solomon sat in judgement on the planets, they inquired in the subject of the sheep and the tribe. We were witnesses to their sentence, and made them to understand Solomon and be them. May Gt>D verify their deeds !'
' The disputants departed, praising the knowledge and wisdom of Solomon, and lauded the Divine greatness and goodness.
It is related in the books of historians, and well known to men of letters, that Nezar ben Maad ben Adnaan had four sons, to whom he gave the names of Ayaz, Misir, Aumar, and Rebich, all of whom
1849.] CktrioMei of Oriental LiUrahare. 285
became men of some celebrihr* When their mnch-Tespected father was aboat to depart this life he divided his wealth ana possessions among hb sons ; all adorned and red things he gave to Misir, the brown and bhek diings to Rebich, the women and maids to Ayaz, and the furniture and such like things to Aumar. In this manner he willed his proper^^ to be divided ; and if, added he, when I am gone any dif- ficulty or dispute arises between you, go to the celebrated judffe, Efii Jerheniee« make it known to him, and abide by his decision y for he will deal justly with you.
* Now some time after this, these four brothers disputed, and forth- with set out for the residence of the subtle judge, mentioned in their deceased fitther's will. On their way they passed through a meadow where a camel had been grazing, though then departed and out of sijriit. Mizir, at the sight of the marks, observed that they were those of a one-eyed camel ; Rebich, that it was crooked-breasted ; Ayaz, that it was short-tailed, and Aumar, that it was astray.
While the brothers were yet talking on the subject of the camel, they met the person to whom it belonged, who, when he asked if they had seen his stray camel, Mizir asked him if it was one-eyed f Yesy answered the camel-driver. Was it crooked-breasted 1 asked Rebich. Yes, said the same. Ay^z, asked if it was not shor^tailed % Yes, repeated the owner. Was it astray 1 demanded Aumar. Yes, said the driver. Mizir again demanded if it had not honey on one side, and oil on the other f Again the camel-driver responded in the affirmative. Rebich asked if it had not a sick woman on its backt Yes, said the owner. Ayaz asked him if that woman was not en- eiente f to which the driver answered yes, addine : * Pray, give me back my camel.' The brothers all now swore Uiat they had never seen the camel ; and on this they had a long altercation with the driver, ending it only by going with him to the judge. There the owner of the camel forthwith informed the judge that diese men knew of his camel, and could describe its qualities ; to which the brothers answered that they had never seen it.
' Now the judge spoke to the brothers and said : ' How do you know the description of a camel which you never saw 1 The bro- thers answered, that on their way they observed the ^rass on one side of the way was cropped, while on the other it remained untouched ; from which, * I,' said Mizir, * understood that the camel was blind of one eye.' Rebich said, that having observed the print of one of its feet was deep, while the other was scarcely perceptible he knew the animal was crooked-breasted. Ayaz said, that seeing the camel's ordure was not scattered, but lying in heaps, he knew it must be short-tailed. Aumar remarked, that perceiving how the camel had ffrazed only one side, he knew it had but one eye. When they had finished, the judge exclaimed : ' Blessed God ! what sagacity and ob* servation ! But from what did you know that the camel was loaded with honey and oil, and that the woman on its back was sick and en- eiente f Mizir answered : * I came to that conclusion from seeing the number of flies which seek after honey, and the quantity of ants on the way-side which search for oil.' Rebich said : * I remarked
286 OmrioiUiet of OrimOal Liieraimre. [April,
that the rider at tiroes made the camel kneel down for her to dis- mount, and from the smallness of the prints of her feet knew that they were those of a female.' Ayaz concluded hy saying, ' that be- side the marks of her feet when she sat down, she leaned her hands upon the ground, making impressions like those of roses ; and fhmi this he inferred her condition/
' The judge on hearing this praised their eloquence, and answered the camel-driver saying : ' These are not the men you thought them to he ; go, search and nnd out your camel elsewhere.' After this he complimented the four brothers, and invited them to dine with him, at the same time inquiring of them the cause of their visit They informed the judge of their late father's will, and how he had desired them, in case of any disagreement on the subject of their inheritance, to apply to him for its adjustment The learned judge answered them by saying that it was not proper for any one to interfere between such wise and ingenious persons as themselves. You are welcome ; I am most happy to see you ; what your late father meant by the adorned and red, is gold and camels, which belongs to Mizir; the brown and black things are the utensils and other instruments, the same to belong to Rebich ; the women and maids signify the sheep and other spotted animals, they belong to Ayaz ; and the furniture signifies the silver and other white things, which in right belong to Aumar.' In this way he explained the will of their deceased father.
' One day the judge sent them a sack of wine, a roasted lamb, and seven loaves of white bread. He then seated himself near them, so as to hear their remarks over their food. Soon afterward they com- menced feasting, and Mizir, as he tasted the wine, said : ' The vines which produced this wine certainly grew over a cemetery.' Rebich said : ' This lamb, assuredly was suckled by a dog.' Ayaz remarked, that the bread had been kneaded by a servant (female) who was ill ;' and Aumar remarked, that he who had given them the bread was of illegitimate birth, and the son of a cook.
The judge heard these words with astonishment, and perceived that the sum of their understanding bore collision with the touch-stono .of trial. Their words, thought he, are not without meaning, and ^so calling aloud to his gardener, he asked him if the vines from which the wine was made did not grow over his father's tomb 1 The gar- dener answered in the affirmative. When he interrogated his shep- herd, he learnt that the mother of the lamb having been killed by a wolf, a bitch suckled it ; and so in reality it had been raised on the milk of a dog, verifying their words. The judge now sought his mother, and asked her who was his father, to which she, of course, replied, ' Your own well-known and respected father.' But he was not satisfied with her answer, but said he was particularly desirous of knowino: from whom he had sprung, and must know the truth. So his mother answered him, ' Your father, though a man of power in other respects, yet was childless, and from this, and on account of his age, lest his office should fall into other hands, I permitted one of our attendants, « cook, to approach me, and you, my noble son, were the result'
1849.] Cwioniie* cf Oriental LUerature. 287
On bearing this, the judge's faith in the four brothers was greatly increased, and returning to them, took a lively interest in thoir con- versation. He asked them how they knew that the wine which he bad sent them had grown on a tomb, when Mizir answered, ' That the effect of the strength of wine was to disperse ennui and antipathy for conversation ; but when I drank this, sorrow and low-spiritedness overcame me, from which I knew that it was grown over the tomb of a deceased person.' Rebich next spoke, saymg, ' When I took this roasted meat in my mouth it was tasteless, and felt mucilaginous, and as all animal's fat is upon the meat, except dog's, which is under it, I knew that this one had at least been suckled by a dog.' Ayaz said, ' When I dipped the bread in the sop it did not swell, from which I knew that the kneador hackbeen ill.' Aumar added, ' As the judge provided us with viands and drink, but did not honor us with his company, and as our story-tellers relate, that when a host gives -a dinner he honors his guests with his company, be they great or small, I knew ours was of base extraction and illegitimate.'
The judge listened to these words with amazement ; he showed them every attention and honor, and finally dismissed them with many presents.
Some of the following stories will remind the reader strongly of those of the Arabian Nights; and there is scarcely a doubt that that interesting work was compiled from sources like the one in which these anecdotes are found.
III.
One of the caliphs of the Abassides, named Metasid Billah, was a sovereign of great good Judgment, and strictly just. One day, in com- pany with several attendants, he visited a palace situated on the banks of the Tigris. At the water's edge was a fisherman, whom the caliph ordered to throw his nets into the river, which he did, and caught only four or five small fish. The caliph ordered him to throw them once more, ' And let us see,' said he, ' what my luck will be.' The man did as he was commanded, and on hauling them to the shore felt something weighty in them. The caliph's attendants aided him in getting them on the bank, and when they were opened, behold ! they found in them a leather bag, tightly bound around its mouth. From this bag they first took out some broken tile, then some stones and rubbish, and finally a hand of a tender female, quite shrivelled. The caliph, on seeing the hand, exclaimed, ' Poor creature 1 How is this, that the servants of God (Mussulmans) should be cut to pieces and cast into the river without my knowledge ] We must find the . committer of this deed.' With the caliph was one of his cadies, or judges, who, addressing him, said, ' Oh I Commander of the Faithful ! give your precious self no trouble in this matter ; by your favor we will investigate it, and by circumspection and care bring it to light'
The caliph in that same hour called the governor of the city, and giving the sack into his hands, said, ' Go to the bazaar, show it to the sack-sewers, and inquire whose work it is, for they know each other's
288 CkriatiUes of Oriemtai LUetaiure. [Aprils
work. If you find the indiyidual that sewed it, bring him to me/ The caliph that day neither ate nor drank.
The governor had the sack shown to the sewers, and an old man, of a grave and venerable appearance, on seeing it exclaimed that it was his own work. ' Lately/ said he, ' I sold this sack and ten others to one Yahiya, of Damascus, and of the family of the Mehides.* The eovemor, on hearing this, said, ' Come with me to the caliph, and toar nothing, for he has only a few questions to ask you.' The old man then accompanied him into the presence of the caliph, who, on his arrival, asked him to whom he had sold the bae 1 The old man answered as before, adding, * Oh ! Prince of the Faithful ! he is a man of high grade, tyrannical and cruel, and continually offers injury and vexations to the true believers. Every one fears him, and therefi^re no one dares to complain against him to the caliph. A lady named Maguy had purchased a female slave for one thousand dinars. The slave was very elegant, and likewise a poetess. This man said, ' Cer- tainly her owner will dispose of her to me ;* but the lady answered that she had already given her her freedom. After this, he sent and told the lady that there was to be a wedding in his house, and re- quested that the female be lent him ; so she sent her as a loan for uuree days. Some four or five days afterward the lady sent to this man for her slave, and received for answer that she had already left his house two or three days ago ; and notwithstanding the lady's cries and complaints, she failed in obtaining her slave, who m the mean time had disappeared.
' The lady, from fear of this man's wickedness, held her peace, and departed, for it is said that he has already put many of his neighbors to death.'
When the old man had done speaking, the caliph seemed greatly rejoiced, and commanded that the man should forthwith be brought before him. The man came, and when he was shown the hand which had been found in the bag, his color changed, and he en- deavored to exculpate himself falsely. The lady was likewise brought, and so soon as she saw the hand she wept, and said, ' Yes, indeed, it is the hand of my poor murdered slave.' * Speak,' said the caliph to the Mehide ; ' speak, for by my head, I swear to learn the truth of this affair.'
The man finally acknowledged that he himself had killed the slave ; and the caliph said, as he was of the family of Hashem, he should pay the owner one thousand pieces of gold for her slave, and one hundred thousand dirhems for Uie law of talion ; after which he gave him three days to settle his affairs in, and then leave the city forever. When this sentence was known, the people loudly praised the caliph's judgment, and commended his justice and equity.
It is recorded in a celebrated Arabic work, entitled the ' Mirror of the Age/ that one of the Abasside caliphs, named Metasid Billah, was of a naturally observant disposition, and of close judgment and discernment. One day, as he inspected the erection of a palace on the banks of the river Tigris, as he was wont to do once a week, for
1849;] CurioiHiei of Oriemtal LUerature. 9^9
the purpose of encouraging the builders with presents, and other acts of favor, he perceived that each of the men employed carrying stones to the edifice carried but one a piece, and that with gravity and slowness. Among them, however, was a man of black hands and olive complexion, who, the caliph observed, lifted up two stones at once, put them on his back, ana with evident jov and expedition of manner, carried them from the wharf to the workmen. The caliph, on noticing this individual, inquired of Hussaio, one of his attendants, the cause of his apparent gayety. The attendant answered, that the caliph was more capable of forming a judgment of the cause than him ; on which the caliph added, that the man was probably pos- sessed of some larffe sum of money, and was rejoiced with his wealth ; or he was a thief, who had sought employment among the other workmen for sake of concealment
' I do not like his appearance,' continued the caliph ; ' have him brought into my presence.' When the man came, the caliph asked him what his occupation was, to which he answered, that it was of a common laborer. ' Have you any money laid by V asked the Com- mander of the Faithful ' None,' replied the man. The caliph now repeated the same question, adding, ' Tell the truth, or it will not be well with you.'
But as the man still continued his denial, the caliph ordered one of his people to strike him a few times with a whip, and the man im- mediately cried out for pity and pardon. ' Now speak the truth,' said an under officer, * or the caliph will continue to punish you as long as you live.'
So the man avowed that his trade was that of a tile-maker ; ' and one day,' said he, ' when I had prepared a kiln and the fire, I perceived a man approach me, mounted on an ass, who got off of it before my kiln. Soon afterward he let the ass go, and began undressing him- self. He took from around his waist a girdle, which he placed at his side, and began fleecing himself I, seeing that the man was alone, caught him, and throwing him into the furnace, closed its door. I then took his girdle, killed the ass, and threw it into the furnace likewise. And see, here is the girdle.' The caliph had the man brought near him, and on examining the girdle, behold it contained some thousands of gold pieces. It had, moreover, the name of its deceased owner written upon it
After this, the caliph caused criers to cry out in the city, and learn if any family had lost one of its members, or a friend, and if so, that it should come before him. Soon an aged woman approached and exclaimed :
' My son left me not long ago with some thousand pieces of gold, with which to purchase merchandise, and he is lost' They showed her the girdle, and immediately recognising it, she exclaimed that it was her son's, and had his name upon it
The caliph gave the old woman the girdle, and added, ' See before you the murderer of your son.' The woman then demanded taiion, and the caliph forthwith ordered the murderer to be hung upon the door of the murdered man, whidi was done.
290 Tk€ Dark Hmt. [April,
THE DAEK HOUR.
Thb soil has set ; now gather heavy ebadowB
In the soil atillneH of the duaky westt While in the hoah of anew upon the meadowa Silence and dimneai reat
The breeze haa died away with aaneet'a glory, The frozen dew upon the gnmnd been aheid. And from the mjety brow of mountains hoary The lingering light haa fled.
Now alomb'rons silence, like a spell entrancing, In pulaeless stillness steepe the earth and aky ; The very ahadowa seem no more advancing, Bat moveless where they lie.
Against its banks the brook haa ceased its beating,
Chilled into dambne« by the bitter frost ; The wearied echoea have forgot repeating. Muffled, and quickly loat*
The slightest sound the startled list'ner thrilleth.
Like fancied breathings finom the ahrouded dead ; The measured foot- fall of each moment filleth. Like words, the silence dread.
Earth is at rest ; but thou alone forever.
Oh, restless human heart ! dost vigils keep ; Amid file hush of worlds thou slumberest never, But wakeat still to weep.
Few have thy summon been, and few thy Borrows ;
Thou ne'er bast watched beside thy dead in wo, Dreading the desolation of the morrows, Tliat still will come and go^
Thy childhood waa one glad and golden viaion.
The echoes of its lays are with thee yet ; Thy memories of the past are things Elysian — How hath that glory set !
O ahadowa of the future, darkly falling !
Already do ye cloud this happy life. Still with resistless mandate sternly calling To sorrow and to strife.
O frail young heart, forever wildly beating ! Thou trembling gazest in that future vast; Thou moumest not that life should be so fleeting, But that it is not past.
Ah ! shrinking 'mid the shadows art thou quailing,
Upon the boundary of that unknown shoro? Thou wilt not cease — thy strength is yet unfailing ; Would that the strife wen o'er !
1849.] A Chapter an Women. 291
Still throbbing, throbbing, while the wail of ang
Goes up for happy ones who are at rest. Thy useleM life faile not, while rotind thee langniih Earth's holiest and best
Darker the night hath grown with moamfnl changes.
Darker the shadows on the spirit came ; ^
When suddenly the distant mountain ranges Lit up as with a flame :
For from the rifted clouds, in splendor breaking. The crescent moon burst forth upon the sight ; A thousand stais in radiant glory waking. To gladden earth wi£ light
Then darkness fled, and hoping for the morrow, A voice seemed borne upon the moon-lit air,
< Hi who hath guarded thy young heart from sorrow
Will give thee strength to bear.
< Trust thou in Him, and cease thy wild upbraiding.
Shadows forever will not veil the skies ; When light and glory from thy life are fading.
Then will the stars arise !' lilt oaacam.
Mhanv, Ftkman IS, 1849.
A CHAPTER ON WOMEN.
All women are by common consent divided into two great claMes, the married and single ; these again into wives and widows, young and old maids ; and in each of these capacities and relations possess and keep in exercise their own individual propoition of human na- ture. Few women are bom angels, and contact with this nauehty world often fails to increase natural virtues. We confess to a liking for varieties of character and manner, even if the degrees of com- parison must run good, better, best One would not live on the sweetest of butter and whitest of bread the year round, and to whose eyes does not an April shower make the sunshine the brighter 1
Old King Solomon was doubtless the wisest of men, but he began a foolish hunt after a perfect woman — advertised her in the moat glaring terms, proclaimed her worth to be ' beyond rubies' — (query: is this valuation the reason why so many have joined him X) — but ' he died, and gave no sign/ Others have continued the old monarch's search, until in one day some would-be-wiser-than-Solomons have hit upon the brave idea of converting the material on hand, poor as it is, into the perfect article. The plan has met with general approbation ; stripling youth and hoary head, learned divine and famous statesman, monarch and school-ma'am, have all enlisted in the enterprise ; and really they have raised such a hue and cry, and poured upon our de- voted heads such an overflowing abundance of ' Essays,' ' Sermons/ ' Helps,' < Addresses,' ' Guides,' < Aids' and ' Exhortations,' that it is gettmg quite unpleasant to be a woman. If we may believe what is
992 A Ckap$er (m Wamm. [April,
told U8y we have all power in our bands, and all responsibility rests upon our shoulders. Motives upon motives, hiffh as heaven and wide as the earth, are placed before us, and we m our relations of sister, mother, wife ana child are told that the destinies of nations are in our keeping. It is very charming to be thought of so much consequence. We have believed what was said to be true, and have worked accordingly ; but is any body better suited with us 1 Fault- finding is no novelty in this nineteenth century of the world, and it is an easy matter to give advice ; but suppose an intelligent, well- disposed woman is wUling to be found fault with, and takes advice graciously : she seeks to attain personal perfection of character and manner. She looks first for a standard upon which to model hei-self. There being but a degenerate sisterhood in actual existence, she turns to the ideal one of the nobler sex. Alas ! no two men have the same. She turns to the women, to find one called ' about right.' She finds that every woman is a * standing wonder* to every other woman of her acquaintance, and is quite in despair, for she can suit nobody unless she becomes a sort of universal-patent-medicine, good for all things.
Now what is the matter with our women 1 Are they so very faulty 1 Which variety could we afford to lose 1 — which dispense with?
Certainly not those who seem made to act as Human Clothes- frames, and whose powers of locomotion are used to transport dry- goods to any amount from house to house. Merchants, manufac- turers, milliners, dress-makers and jewellers would like to hear ^ery child cry, as one did, ' Ma, the trainers are coming home from meeting 1' for it tells of profits already made, in a brisk demand for their wares. Then, too, they make ' the wives who become dearer than the brides !'
Nor can we give up the class who may be called Human Spark- arresters. There is no denying the fact that matrimony is desirable fi^r the mass of women. We think it as desirable for men. To both it gives a home, a place, a standing in society. Probably no man ever married the woman he first fancied, or into whose ear he whis-
E»red the first faint accents of the honeyed words of love. Ungrate- 1 must he be who cannot appreciate an opportunity afforded him, perhaps a verdant youth, perhaps an unsophisticated juvenile, vrith- out doubt a man awkward at his business, to practise the art of mak- ing love with one who asks nothing more than the pleasure of reject- inghim.
Then there is the blessing of Human Confectionary, so sweet, so luscious, and sprinkled up and down this earth with no sparing hand.
Side by side with the Sugar- Woman stands the Salt-Madam ; not done up by exactly the same recipe as was poor Mrs. Lot, but one whose temper is acid ; whose heart is crisp as a good pickle ; whose tongue is sharp as proof vinegar, and whose words set your spirits on edee. But do not condiments give a relish to a feast 1
Did you never see a Walking Newspaper f Births, marriages
1849.] A ChapUr on W&mm. 298
and deaths, sbipwrecka and murden, elopements and fiimily jan, fights and fidgets — if not for the Goesipping Woman, how should we know ahout all these t You would not live in such benighted ignorance as not to know what your townswomen have for dinner, I lK>pe, nor how they cooked it It is important to be kept infi>rmed of the particulars of every poor fiimily, whose misfortunes prevent their resenting intrusion in the garb of benevolence ; and if we are kept unknowing of the way that Mrs. This makes soap, we are as unhappy as we should be if we did not know that Mrs% That could not eo but three generations back before she stumbled upon a horse- thief as one of her worthy ancestors. Blessings on the gossipping sister, say I ; for she keeps us all ' posted up/
The family of ' I-told-vou-so' is an interesting one. They are the accessories idfter a fact ; dealers in knowing smirks and smiles, ' ahs I' and ' indeeds !' If Victoria and her babies should come to spend the day with them to-morrow, they would have been expecting her; and a sleeping weasel or a blazing river would gain from these gen- try but a ' Did n't-you-know-^A<x^ V sort of look. Such women are not dependent upon others for approbation, so we let them go.
We have known women that were possessed with a spirit of neat- ness, or as Dean Swift hath it, ' a clean devil.' Their usefulness is well known, although they themselves are eroaning all their days, bowed down with a sense of the responsibilitv that a world made of dirt imposes upon them individually, and fired with the laudable am- bition to escape the digesting of their ' allotted peck.' Digging and delving, on they go, all their lives, as if creation itself were just on the verge of spoiling. To them washing-day is a delight, scrubbing is their amusement, and house-cleaning, that semi-annual agony, a semi-annual jubilee.
And we have seen economical women, who appeared to have had an inward ' call' to make up the poorest materials at the least possi- ble expense. The ' taste of the ark' is perceptible at their hospita- ble boards. Their conversation consists in interrogatories, as ' Will it wash V * Will it turn V * Will it dye V The price of eggs, and the blessings of soda, salseratus, etc., are matters of dailv remark. At the most joyous festival such a lady is not unmindful of her best silk dress, nor if her husband should die would her grief forbid her looking out some old linen in which to array him for the grave.
There is the G«t-along-easy Woman, whose aim, she says, is comfort. For this she waits and hopes, and in the meantime is at leisure; reads all the new novels, finds time for embroidery, dis- penses viBitine-cards, and is as hospitable as confectioners and pastry- cooks can desire. She likes the good old tipsy times, because it is so easy to turn a glass of wine. But she has her troubles, is rather apt to ' get into a heap,' and ' things come to a crisis' occasionally ; but what cares she 1 In the possession of the waiting-maid Faith she quietly reposes. Every body uses her, and every body abuses her. Is she of no account 1
There are the Human Rectifiers, who seem to consider their moral sense a species of filter, through which every body's words and ac*
294 A Chapter <m Wbmm. [April,
tioDB mast pass. Blessed with an opinion on all subjects, secular and sacred, of course what they know they know for certain.
There are your fine, Delicate Ladies, made up of exquisites ; ex- quisite tastes, exquisite nerves, exquisite sensibilities. Their keen sympathies unfit them for action, and the thought of sorrow crushes their sensitive souls. In aesthetic indolence they while away their days, and hourly they pay worship to the god of Self, whose devo- tees tbey are. Two children stood watching a poor little kitten tak- ing that peculiar exercise consisting of ' rotary motion and subse- nit death,' to which a nervous disorganization gives rise. ' Oh, !' said Lucy, ' what are sich kittens made for 1' * Why,' an- swered Tom, ' don't you know 1 — so we boys can laugh at them !'
. Some women are natural nurses. For every ailment they have a specific, dealing generally in simples. For every ache they prescribe a plaster. Benevolent creatures are they 1 They walk into your internal arrangements with their eyes open and their tongues wag- ging. Bless me ! how the doctors love them 1
Mrs. Hurry-'em can never do any thing without a noise and bustle. Her movements are successive rushes ; little stirs and commotions fi^llow her footsteps. She is the getter-up of great excitements on small capital, and will create a regular hey-day in any &mily on five minutes' warning. She hastens to see her sick neighbor with great impetuosity, asks after her health with intense interest, and then runs home in a terrible hurry, and forgets all about it as fast as possible. Yet she is a more popular woman than one who always preserves the same slow, solemn course ; who never departs from the practices c£ propriety. But they average each other, and thus is preserved the desired amount of enthusiasm and order in a community.
There is the Energetic Woman, who makes mole-hills of moun- tains, and is great at ' accomplishing ;' and there is the regularly Lazy and Feeble, who always need help. The former is indebted to the latter for her emfOoyment, her happiness, and what is usually as dear to her, her reputation. Where would have been Caroline Fry's high-minded Christian benevolence, if those poor prisoners to-day had not been darkened and made sad by their sinful yester- day 1 What becomes of pity without misery 1 What of sympathy without sorrow 1 Every good action is drawn out by a correspond- ing evil ; but whether the absence of the evil or the development of the good would be the greatest blessing, we leave for others to say.
There are those who are of no value in themselves considered, but are used as tools by others. There are the Impulsive, who do and say a thousand things without a shadow of a motive. There are Peppery Women, who spice life ; some who are always writing lit- tle billets ; some who have a mind of their own, and occasionally one who can tell what she knows ; some who overrate their literary abilities, and some who indulge patience until it becomes indolence.
But there are many, very many, walking with and around us who are the true-hearted and the good. Such an one may b&ve talent, or not I she has what is better — good sense. She lives to bless and be blessed. Her high destiny is not to achieve any great or wonderful
1849.] A Chapter on Women. 295
workf or to prove the perfection of her 8ex» but to do what she can; daUy falfilling daily duties, daily experiencing daily pleaaures ; her home her kingdom ; a few loving hearts the objects of her untiring care ; she moves on, and her influence will be felt Silently com* passionate toward human weakness, actively sympathizing with human suffering, the tribunal of neighborly criticism awes her not ; for she acknowledges a higher, and bears about within her the testimony of her own integrity of purpose. With her there are no jealousies, no heart-burnings. Hign-minded principle has no need of policy or manoeuvring, and a soul capable of relying upon itself has nothing to do with the affairs or opinions of others, but calmly, evenly pur- sues its course. Whether found in the bright circle of social enjoy- ment, or in the never-ending routine of domestic drudgery, there is that in woman's character which can dignify her position, which can lighten her monotonous labors, as with a willing mind, a loving heart, she exalts her vocation by fulfilling all its duties in a perfect way.
Endued with quick perceptions, and supplied with a good deal of nothing for capital, which is a favorite investment for feminine wits and feminine labors, what wonder is it that women are imperfect creatures 1 Their sphere is a small one ; the greiiter part of the time and thoughts of our American women is taken up with domes- tic duties ; in considering and making practical apphcation of the great questions, ' What ^all we eat ? What shall we drink V and ' Wherewithal shall we be clothed V Whatever the popular opinion may be as to the necessity of this state of things, one fact is certain, that no breakfast or dinner ever came by nature ; and we doubt not, that if the truth were told, the expression of thankfulness * for the food now set before us,' which we rejoice to say is heard in so many American houses, is often accompanied with the lurking feminine desire that He who sends food would also send cooks. This em- ployment, with a share of dusting and sweeping and taking care of children, is one of no extravagant realizations of enjoyment, varied as it may be with the restoring of buttons to the right places and the making of shirts to go with the buttons. The tendency of this life is naturally toward a state of * masterly inactivity* of the intellect. A bright sunshine wakens thoughts of good drying days; a grassy bank is but a good bleaching-place ; a waving field of grain, with its bowing bearded heads, wakens no thought but of bread-loaves, and a clear rippling stream suggests no idea save that of pan-fish. Be- fore the * kitten was spoiled into the cat,' there were more romantic thoughts ; but to pursue romance after womanly life has begun were as vain as for a specimen of the feline race to expect success in her circling whirls after her own terminating appendage.
To what end is all this 1 Simply and only to beg that we poor women may be left to pursue our course in peace. We have had a surfeit of advice ; we are gorged with excellent suggestions ; we cry ' hold ! hold ! it is enough.' %ut in vain is our cry ; our supplication is but further proof of our need. Then, good Sirs, wise gentlemen, hear a little theory of our own. Despite Mr. Caudle, the wise Mrs. Ellis, that traitor to her sex, the ' Looking-glass for Ladies,' etc., etc,
S96 Skmza: Woman. [April,
ad infinitum, wo beg leave to auffgest, that thoagb the hearing of the ear may be a good thing, the sight of the eyes is better, and that man can bring woman to his model of perfection fiur sooner by the force of example than by the force of words. A woman's heait and counte- nance are perfect mirrors. If she seos a cheerful smile, and hears a pleasant word, there comes to her lips the words of hopefulness, pleasure lights her own bright eye, and her trusting heart will rejoice m the present, caring neither for ihe past or future. If man would hare woman a reasonable being, let hmi treat her reasonably. If he would give her loftier ideas than household drudgery, or have a com- panion rather than a plaything, let him aim at companionship. If he would have her act ux>m high and holy principles, let her first see them actuating him, and unconsciously she would grow like both, from her own approval of such motives, and from contact with one who exemplifies them. There is an involuntary homage rendered to the strong by the weak, and no woman loves the man she does not respect. Would you have her cheerful and happy in your presence 1 As well might you expect to see brigh^eyed flowers spring from the white snow bank, and rejoice in the cold, cheerless light of a wind cloudy as to look for this with an averted eye and indifferent heart, be you husband, father, or brother. Oh ! the dreary winter man can (and does) make of woman's life, and that without one word of unkindness, one speech of bitterness !
We maintain that even the faults of women are not read aright. The seemingly incessant worry of a mother is but the misguided manifestation of deep, devoted love. The forever ' putting to rights,' which makes home a sort of stinging bee hive, is impelled by a de- sire to make that home more comfortable. In an unwillingness to assume untried responsibility, nothing may appear but the avowal of incapacity ; but that incapacity is caused by a deep sense of personal obligation, and an ardent longing for the perfect fulfilment of duty. The annoying fault-finder is endued with a fastidious refined taste, and one may read in the glistening tears of a woman's eye, at the re- cital of want and wo, sympathy and heartfelt pity more plainly told, than the avowal of credulity and undue sensibility.
Let but the experiment of a good example be made ; let the 'Aids/ * Guides,' * Letters' and ' Sermons,' die of their own heaviness. Try but for a six months what confidence, affection and intellectual com- panionship will do, and hopeless as your domestic matters may now seem, we will engage, that instead of a house you will have a home ; instead of being smiply a married man, you will have a taife ; if you have children you will find that they have a father, and you yourself will not again mistake resignation for contentment
WOMAN: PROM THE GERMAN.
Woman, contented in lilent repoee Eaioyf in its beautj life's flower u it blowi ; And waten and tends it with innoeent heart, Fir ridMT thai mn, with Ua trMiiirei of art
1849.]
Death's GdUknea. 297
DEATH'S GENTLENESS.
I MET her when in early ipring
They wreathed her as a bride, And trustingly she leaned upon
The loved one at her side ; Her bounding bosom could not half
The joy it held repress, And on her (Aeek had Health enshrined
Itself in loveliness.
I saw her in the summer months:
Upon her face she wore An angel's sadness, when it weeps
Earth's wild excesses o'er ; She sang a mournful song ; its tones
Were musically low, As when o'er the ^olian harp
The wmds their fingers throw.
The yellow harvest time came on :
Too brightly flashed her eye ; A spot was flickering on her cheek,
Of crimson's faintest dye ; More sylph-like grew her wasted form,
And slower was her tread. Her beauty all was there — alas !
Its freshness thence had fled.
But when the winter days were here,
Her gentle song was still ; The whiteness of her brow would mock
The snow upon the hill ; And through her delicate skin I saw
The pulses at their play, Aspatiently upon her couch
Of weariness she lay.
Anon the spring-time came again.
With glaidness in its houn, And through her lattice came the breath
Of April's fairest flowers ; The robin sang his mellowest notes,
And brightly beamed the day Upon her spirit, in its strife
To sever from its clay.
'T was early momipg : fresh and fair
Were earth and air and sky. And since the bridal mom a year
Had swept its seasons by ; Around her bed were aching hearts,
And voices whispering low ; The shades were fallmg on her face
So silently and slow.
298 T%e Suects of a Day. [April,
* Furewdll !' how nd it always falls
Upon the listening ear ; How many a choking sigh it brings.
How many a baming tear ! But saddest when the heart that speaks
Beats fitfully and quick. And the breath that bean it trembling forth
Comes gaspingly and thick.
Life stilled its current; o'er her eyes
The silken fring* met ; Upon her beauteous brow the seal
Of death we saw was set ; A single word in whupeis came,
The mournful word * Farewell !' And gentler than its echo died
The one we loved so well. l. z. cmmvitnii.
THE INSECTS OF A DAY.
rnou TOM yiuBvcn.
Aristotle telk us that on the banks of the river Hypanis there is a race of little animals whose term of life extends but to a single day. The one which dies at eight in the morning, dies in its youth ; the one which dies at five in the aflemoon, expires in extreme old age.
Let us suppose that one of the most robust of these Hypanians should live until he became, according to the views of these nations, as old as Time itself; he would have commenced his existence at day- break, and by the extraordinary vigor of his temperament, would have been enabled to sustain an active life during the innumerable seconds of ten or twelve hours. During this long period, by expe- rience, and by his reflections upon all that he had seen, he must have acquired a high degree of wisdom ; he regards his fellows who died about mid day as beings happily delivered from the great number of inconveniences to which ola age is subject. He can relate to his grandchildren wondrous accounts of events that happened long be- fore the memory of the present generation. The young swarm, composed of beines who have scarcely lived an hour, approach with respect the venerable pntriarch, and listen with admiration to his in- structive discourses. Every thing that he shall relate to them will appear a prodigy to this short-lived generation. The space of one day will seem to them the entire duration of time, and the dawn will be called in their chronology the great era of their creation.
Let us now suppose that this venerable insect, this Nestor of the Hypanis, a little before his death, and about ^e hour of sunset, should assemble all his descendants, his friends and acquaintances, to
1849.] The IksecU of a Day. 299
give them bis dying advice. They are collected from all quarters under the vast i-oof of an ancient mushroom ; and the dying sage, while they listen with the deepest interest to his last words, addresses diem in the following manner :
' Friends and companions, I feel that the longest life must have its end. The termination of mine has arrived ; and I do not regret my fate, since my great age has become a burthen, and there is now for me nothing new under the sun. The revolutions and calamities which have desolated my country, the great number of individual accidents to which we are all subject, the infirmities which afflict our race, and the misfortunes which have befallen my own family, all that I have seen during the course of a long life, have but too well taught me this great truth, that any happiness placed in things which do not depend upon ourselves, can be neither sure nor lasting. A whole generation has been destroyed by a keen frost ; multitudes of our inexperienced youth have been swept into the water by a sudden gust of wind. What terrible deluges have an unlooked-for shower produced ! Our strongest places of shelter have not withstood the shock of a hail storm. A dark cloud makes the boldest hearts trem- ble with fear.
' I have lived in the earlier ages, and have conversed with insects of a taller stature> a more vigorous t;onstitution, and I may say of greater wisdom, than those of the present generation. I beseech you credit these my last words, when I assure you that I have seen the sun, which now seems just above the horizon, and not far distant from the earth, in former. times have his position in the middle of the heavens, darting his beams directly down upon us. The world in the days of old was much more enlightened ; the air milder, and our an- cestors more temperate and virtuous.
* Although my senses are becoming more feeble, my memory is not impaired, and I assure you that yonder glorious orb has a movement in the heavens. I saw his rising over the summit of that distant mountain, and my life commenced with his vast career. For many ages he has advanced through the heavens with prodigious heat, and a brilliancy of which you have no idea, nor would you be able to endure ; but now, by his decline, and a sensible diminution of his vigor, 1 plainly see that the end of all things is rapidly approaching, and that the whole world in the course of a century of minutes will be enveloped in total darkness.
' Alas ! my friends, how oflen in by-eone times have I flattered myself with the pleasing hope of dwelling always upon thb earth ! what magnificent cells hav^ I myself built ! what confidence had I in the strength of my limbs, the pliancy of my sinews, and the vigor of my wings I'
' But I have lived long enough for nature and for fame, and none of those whom I leave behind me can hope to experience in this age of darkness and decay those delights which I enjoyed in its youthful prime.'
TOL. ZXXIII. 32
300 Our Winter Birds. [April,
enr Wfntft ISfrtrs.
riTUOXiun: onxxPBRt muthatoh: bpot7xi> woodpxgkxm.
' Ii:.K bapping bird. w«e. belpleai thing. Tbat in uie merry months o' spring Dollgbted me to hear thee aing
What cornea o' thee T Where wilt thou cow'r thy chlttering wing.
Art- close thy e'e T' — Buaxs.
When Ui6 last red leaves have disappeared, And icicles hang fit>m December's beard, Throngh the naked woods I love to stroll. While the leaden clouds above me roll.
Though the landscape wears a frosty dress I feel not a sense of loneliness. For chirping voices on the breeze, Come from the mossy bolls of trees.
The Titmouse, restless little bird ! Tapping the rooifldering bark is heard ; His nimble figure ill descried On the beechen trunk's opposing side :
And < Picus Minor* plies his trade,
Hunting for dens by insects made ; *
Knocking off flakes of dropping wood
To pound with his hammer their loathsome brood.
Snow on the blast is whirling by, But * chink ! chink !* is his cheerful cry ; What cares he for the blinding storm? Both have their mission to perform.
The fanner, lacking wisdom, hears Iliy shrilly note with idle fears; Growling, while sounds each measured rap, ' Death to the robber that bores for sap !*
Toward thee he should be kind of heart, For a guardian of his trees thou art ; Thou leavest not a grub alive, And after thy visits they better thrive.
The grey elm, shorn of his leafy cro?m, Fmds a loyal friend in the Creeper brown, Hunting for vermin in crevices dark, That health may return to the wounded bariE.
* Quank ! quank ." the Nuthatch sings As his homy bill on the white oak rings ; 111 will the bag and spider fare. For a spear-Uke tongue explores their lair.
1849.] The Mammoth Cave. 301
The rain that freezes aa it falls, Driyea not him from the forest halls ; Though stem and twig are with ice encased His note still rings through the wintry waste.
From the larger boughs I have seen him launch To the swaying tip of the lightest branch, Then round it track his spiial way. Probing the spots of old decay.
Blithe little birds of Winter wild ! I loved ye when a happy child ; Now manhood's beard is on my chin, But draughts of delight from ye I win.
Ye are links that bind me to the Past,
That realm enchanted, dim and vast,
And my paths, through the dreary, drifting snow.
Ye cheered in the winters of long ago.
May ill befall the man or boy,
Who one of your number would destroy !
Ye are never false to your native bowers -^
Ye are doers of good in this world of ours. ^. „ «,. „.
THE MAMMOTH CAVE.
In 18 (no matter when) Tom Wilson and I found ourselves
shut up in one of the roughest of Kentucky's uncomfortahle stages, travelhng over one of the worst of Kentucky's miserable roads. The ruts were deep, and the stones were large, while a young tree or two, blown down, and lying across the road, was considered no iropedi> ment by our invincible half-alligator driver. The rain was pouring down in torrents, and hid the little prospect there is ever to be seen in this state ; generally dense-tangled woods and tall, thick com ; while, as my companion and myself were alone in the stage-coach, having travelled some thousand miles together, we had exhausted most subjects of common interest, the conversation was mostly confined to vehement anathemas upon the road, the stage-coach, the horses, the driver and the weather. Vain were all our efforts to place ourselves in a comfortable posture. At one time we would stretch ourselves at full length upon the seats ; then would we sit on the front, then on the back, then on the middle seat ; it was all the same ; at every lurch we were bounced almost to the roof of the vehicle, and were caught again with a heavy blow on coming down. Imagine your- self, reader, inside a hollow wheel that is moving, and your jolts would be ' tarts and giogerbread' to ours. Oh that weary ride, through
302 The Mammoth Cave. [^^r\\,
that dreary day, over that miry road ! — the stoppages only agreea- hle, because they afforded an opportunity to inquire how much farther we had to go. The rain kept falling ; the coach kept bouncing ; the endless woods were as unvaried as ever, the miry road as filled with ruts, through many long hours ; but as there is an end to every thing, even a leaden book, the shower began to diminish ; ,the forest to be replaced by cultivated fields, and the road to become more even. Suddenly the horses, pricking up their ears, started ofi* on a brisk trot, and with quite a dash, like the candle's last flicker, carried us up to the hotel at the Mammoth Cave. The black porters sprang forward to open the coach-door, and the two dismal travellers alight- ed, with most hypocritical smiles upon their countenances. The ^building where they were to take up their quarters was two stories high, and laid out like the two sides of a square. Its appearance gave full assurance of comfort and pleaaure, in neither of which points was it deceptive.
The rest of the day now passed pleasantly. My friend and I were thorough barn-bumers, and specimens of this race being scarce in the heart of a slave-holding state, we were lionized, and compelled (a pleasing penance) to dance with all the prettiest girls in the house. The waltz was kept going until such an hour as made even Kentucky papas, not a very strict class, show sleepiness, if not anxiety. Dreams perhaps of black eyes and bewitching smiles haunted our sleep that night, for we woke betimes the next day, and were far under ground before most of our fair companions in the dance of the previous even- ing had raised their soft cheeks from their envied pillows. Stephen, the best guide to the cave, had been engaged to show us the wonders, and was heavily, although not unwillingly, burthened with comesti- bles and potables innumerable. Mr. McCarlin, an Irish gentleman, had requested to accompany us, making our party thus only three ; an extremely convenient number.
We paid our entrance-money, and were provided with lamps; unromantic affairs to persons educated with poetic ideas of explormg caves by the bnlUantly-reflected light of a naming torch ; poetry in this case having been sacrificed to ut^ity ; we then descended into a round hole, much like a large dry well. This was about forty feet deep, and into it fell, with a merry splash, a sparkling rivulet of water. Thence on a level road, that for regularity shamed many of those upon the surface of the eaith, we marched along under a high archway of stone, and passing the * vats,' where twenty years before saltpetre bad been manufactured, we stopped at the Houses of the Invalids, These houses, or more correctly shanties, had been built for the benefit of consumptives, who supposed that as the air preserved most wonderfully all other matters, it would also preserve human life. We paused to moralize and listen to the guide's account of the beauty of some of the poor sufferers, whose angelic kindness and unvaried good temper had fairly won his heart. The attempt to bury people m order to preserve them had been unsuccessful. The smoke firom their fires forcing them to leave the cave in March, the most variable,
1849.] The Mammoth Cave. 303
and hence the most dangeixtus month of the year for invalids, a ma* jority of them perished.
Tom was unfortunate enough to remark that the cave would have been such an elegant monastery ; and said that the lives of those who had buried themselves here were about as useful as the lives of the monks. McCarlin, being an Irishman and a Catholic, was in a state of internal combustion immediately; fire flashed from his eyes; and turning to my friend, he commenced a discourse upon theology, that, although smothered for the moment by a gracious reply, burst forth at times afterward throughout our whole journey.
We next beheld the GianVt Coffin, and admired the image upon the cefling of an Ant-eater, which was denominated bv courtesy a panther. Having made our way through the Valley of Humility, a low, narrow passage, that would scarcely admit one of our bloated Wall-street spiders, (it is the fashion to abuse the rich,) we sat down in an amphitheatre beyond, and refreshed ourselves from a little runnel that meandered over the solid stone floor.
It would be impossible to describe everything in this cabinet of the world's wonders; so I shall beg my readers to consider us as having passed the mouth of Purgatory, which gave rise to another fierce attack upon Protestantism, and as now fairly launched upon Echo River, The silence of eternal solitude reigned over all ; the deep waters flowed sluggishly beneath our batteau, and far into the air shot the bold precipitous cliffs of the shore. It reminded one of floating at midnight, through the midst of Indian enemies, down one of the wild rivers of the Far West, Above us hung the pall of dark- ness, unbroken by a star, made more visible by the faint glimmer of our lamps ; beneath lay the water, equally dark, unless when casually a ripple reflected a gleam of light. On each side stood a perpendicu- lar wall of stone, upon the high edge of which the eye readily im- agined the dim outlines of trees and grass and flowers. Black clouds seemed to have wrapped all in their embrace, and nature was hushed as when a storm is brewing. There was a feeling of undefined danger and oppression, and heavy melancholy ; until the mind readily converted the fantastic, scarce-seen outlines of jagged rocks into the forms of lurking enemies, or crouching savage animals. No one spoke, until the guide, apparently influenced by the same feelings,
Soured forth, in his deep nch voice, one of the wild songs of his In- ian fathers. The tones rang clear and strong, and were echoed and reechoed back, as if the shades of the mighty dead had taken up the chorus. High would the notes swell, and ring far off into the hid- den caverns, and then sink so low as to be scarce heard, while the rushing echo of the first would come rolling back — an answer from another and unseen world. The words spoke of the Indian when he had fallen and wasted before the white man, and stinick a melan- choly chord in the already excited heart.
The final verse was uttered with unusual power, and as the last tones died away, we heard groans and lamentations, as it were wail- ings from the Spirit Land ; sinking feebler and feebler, until the last fiednt sound had passed away. A pause ; and the midnight of
304 The Mammoth Cave. [April,
sQence had again settled down. The guide's paddle ceased; the boat rested motionless : quietly I drew a revolver from my pocket, and pointing it forward, pulled the trigger. Crash ! crash ! crash ! went barrel after barrel, thundering out, and waking a scream from every angle of those vast, awful vaults ; every cave sent back the re- port, scarcely diminished, and the water fairly trembled beneath the stunning sound. A park of artillery in the open air could not have produced half the effect. Forward and back it tore, rolling and thundering, and reverberating from every wall with a terrific crash ! It appeared as though myriads of wild beasts were furiously fighting and yelling, and thousands of savages howling their war-songs. The mad screams of the Roman Amphitheatre, when men and beasts fell slaughtering and slaughtered, were fairly equalled. We stood for a few moments awed, until the last rumble had been smothered in the heart of the earth. Then the guide struck up a familiar negro melody of the South, and broke the charm, at once converting our feelin6;8 into those of hysterical mirth. We knew the chorus, and rarely did those subterranean labyrinths ling to a merrier peel poured forth by more powerful voices. The song was just finished as the boat touched the sand of the farther shore, and we had crossed Echo River.
As we trudged along, the guide told us many very amusing stories. He was a slave, his mother having been of the African species, and his father an Indian, and was uncommonly smart, having leai-ned to read and write by seeing the gentlemen paint their names with the smoke of the torches on the walls, and then asking how they spelled tfaem. He was conversant with many of the scientific terms for the various formations, and made me rack my brains of their Greek knowledge to answer some of his questions. He asked how the Greek compounds were formed, and readily understood my explana- tion. He said there had been few accidents in the cave, although the rivers rise suddenly, and frequently shut in travellers, but there is another way of exit through a narrow muddy passage, where one has to crawl in the mire. This pass is properly named Purgatory, as a means of escape from a worse fate. One man had been attacked with fever-and-ague in the cave, but Stephen shouldered and carried him out, a distance of several miles.
Now, reader, we are among the beautiful formations of Cleave- land^s Cabinet, Above the rivers the rough stone is bare of orna- ment, and stands grim and stern, but now we begin to find those fanciful specimens of gypsum, that the fairies, appearing to take under their particular supervision, carve into the roost enchanting forms. Exquisitely perfect rosettes covered the walls, while fantastic formations were scattered wildly about, some still pendant, but many broken off and piled upon the ground. Our Irish friend went into ec- stasies, and long before we came to any of the more beautiful speci- mens, had collected huge masses of crystal gypsum, much to Ste- phen's amusement, who advised him to carry a piece of about two feet square, which, as it weighed neair forty pounds, the poor man could scarcely lifl.
' Now,' said Stephen, ' lay all your beautiful collections carefully
1849.] The Mammoth Cave. 305
away upon this stone, and when you come back you will not touch one of them.'
McCarlin, while doing so, said he did not believe he could find any thing prettier, in which opinion we half coincided. On our return, however, he could hardly he convinced they were really the speci- mens he had a few hours previous so extravagantly admired.
As we advanced, our delight and surprise increased. We were in a castle of the Fairies. Those delicate flowers, whiter than snow ; those harlequin shapes ; those miniature turrets and domes and trees and spires ; those virgin rings of purest alabaster ; all supported by a bacK-ground of huge grim rock. The ice palace of Russia was surpassed.
It was against the law to break ofl* any thing, though we might pick up as much as we liked. Tom and I selected several pretty rosettes, while McCarlin wandered round, admiring those on the ceiling, and begging Stephen to let him have ' only that rosette.' Till the guide, at last out of humor by his complaints, pointed to a beautiful one on the ceiling ten feet above our heads, and said he might take that. It was a beauty, so perfectly symmetrical and delicate with its lone petal projecting from the centre. The Irishman was half derang^ vrith delight.
* What shall I cut it off with V
* I do n't know ; with your knife, perhaps.'
* Yes, of course ; here is my knife. But how am I to reach it V
' That is your own affair. Had you not better roll that stone under it?' pointing to a rock that weighed about two tons. McCarlin had only to look toward the stone to see he had been most emphatically ' sold.' To restore him to good humor, the guide oflered to sell a spe- cimen, that he had long kept, waiting for some such liberal person. He drew a huge common-plUce piece of gypsum from under a rock, saying :
' There, that is a beauty. Is it not. Sir V appealing to Tom. Tom saw the way the current set, and remembering some hard words about Protestantism, eagerly rejoined.
* Perfect ; it is worth a fortune ; so pure, so transparent.' ' How much V demanded the Irishman of Stephen.
' Well, as my master told me to let you have some good specimens; you shall have it for ten dollars.'
' Ten dollars ! That is outrageous. I will not pay so much.'
* Much 1 — it 's dog cheap. But if you are not satisfied I will add another beauty that I have secreted over there.'
And diving round the rock, I heard him hunting among some old pieces of gypsum from whence he soon returned with one that I re- cognised at once as having been rejected scomfuUy by McCarlin some minutes before, when the guide had kindly picked it up and gratuitously offered it to him. Tom praised this one in still more extravagant terms, so that at length McCarlin submitting to imposi- tion the second, paid the ten dollars.
Words fail me to describe these gypsum formations. Go to your gar- den, cull the prettiest flowers, make them into a bouquet, and imagine
306 I%e Mamnuftk Cave. [Aptil,
them ten times handsomer and more delicate, then conceiye the whole transformed into the whitest marble, and you will have some idea of what lay around us. The merry figures that Jack Frost paints upon our windows in the cold December nights are here converted into tangible pei-manent reality ; while every beast, bird, bosh and production of nature here finds a miniature copy of itself. There are elephants, tigers and camels, doves and hawks, trees of all varie- ties, and bushes and plants, sprouting from the bare surface of the rock, and nourished by silence and darkness. It reminded one much of the foam of the sea petrified.
After leaving Cleaveland's Cabinet, the air became damper, and the walls were covered with moisture. We heard invisible streams of water tinkling along their hidden course. McCarlin walked up to his knees into a beautiful little pool of clear water, called Lake Parity. The water of all these ponds and rivulets is extremely trans- parent, and in the dim torch-light scarcely visible. I trode into one while admiring the scenery, and McCarlin measured the depth of balf-a-dozen. Stephen kindly requested him to step out of Lake Parity, as we were to eat our dinner on its shore, and slake our thirst from M^ crystal wave.
On seating ourselves for lunch we found our Irish acquaintance still harping on his mother church. With his mouth half-full of un- masticated edibles, and between veritably Galwegian drafls upon the bottle, he poured forth a rapturous eulogium upon the church of the relics and saints ; among other matters arousing Stephen's wonder and incredulity, by relating the history of a lady saint who burnt her face with vitriol, because its angelic beauty had proved deleterous to namerous young gentlemen of tender feelings.
' By thunder,' said Stephen, * I would not burn my face if all the girls in Kentucky were running after me.'
McCarlin went on to expound the doctrines of his church, and be- came momentarily more eloquent the more he ate and drank, as though he had not room for ideas and edibles both, and these last pushed the others out. He was only stopped when on Tom's crying, ' See those rats !' he beheld close beside him an enormous specimen of the rat genus. With one bound he leaped from his seat, suddenly breaking the thread of his argument and nearly doing the same by his scull, while Tom ' half sung, half said :
* What eyes f what teeth I what eart I what hair f Look at his whiaken — what a pair I And oh I my gentle hearers, what A long, thick swinging tail he 's got !'
At first Tom had thought the rat was doable, self and shadow, but,
food reader, the light was dim, and the fourth bottle of champagne ad been opened. Upon a stone's being sent at him, our visitor made an instantaneous exit. Though the occurrence had to us been totally unexpected, the guide said it was quite common to encounter the cheese-eaters. He told how a year or two before he had served as guide to a party, that, intending to pass the night and the ensuing day in the cave, had armed themselves with a corresponding supply
1849.] The Mammoth Cave. 907
of nature's DecessarieB. After eating their sapper, and carefully pack- ing away the surplus against the morrow, they lay down upon the dry sand and were soon emhalmed in sleep. Next morning on aweddng (how they told when it was morning did not appear,) they found them- selves not only minus all their provisions, but tne handsome smoking- cap of one of their number had also disappeared. The rats hSd. appropriated the whole, and no doubt had a grand feast. For what puipose they took the smoking- cap it is hard to discover, as rats are not given to wearing such vanities or indulging in the noxious weed. Perhaps their king's crown, like those of others just then, was wear* ing out, and he thought it a new one. These animals are immensely large and voracious, appai*ently living on the crickets and spiders that inhabit the cave. The crickets are also very corpulent, and of a light, almost white color. They do not usually jump like those of the upper world, but have very long leg^, and walk sedately about.
We gained this information by the time our dinner was finished. Sundry toasts were then drunk, several songs sung, and our lamps being re-filled with oil, for Stephen was no foolish virgin to be caught in the middle of that cave, without extra oil, we recommenced our journey. Although our path lay over rough rocks, the air at sixty degrees of Fahrenheit, the thermometer never varying in summer or winter more than one degree, was so bracing that we did not feel fatigue, and were in high spirits from the wondrous beauty of all arcrand us.
On ascending a crazy ladder through a narrow hole scarce large enough to admit one's body, the guide told us to look up. Above our heads hung great clusters of what appeared to be the most lus- cious grapes. Tbe giant vine, from far beyond where the eye could reach, hung down in its enchanting festoons. It clung gracefully to the side of the stem rock, and falling off, swept to our very feet. There lay the fruit, in form perfect, before our eyes, half modestly hidden between the leaves. 1 had fairly to feel them before I could assure myself that it was but the cold stone that had thus fancifully formed itself after the model of one of earth's sweetest productions. It was a painful deception ; at that moment there was scarcely a fruit which I more ardently desired, so strongly had the remembrance of its juicy delicacy been aroused. I feasted my eyes at least upon grapes, examining the bunches where they were scarcely visible far above, or where £hey were picturesquely grouped close beside me. It was a tempting sight ; in truth, asking for food and receiving a stone.
After dragging myself away from this semblance of a feast, I en- tered what is called the Snow-bcdl Cave. Stephen illumined it with a Bengal-light. The gypsum had formed over the ceiling in irregu- lar bunches that were a close imitation of old hoary Winter's handi- work. It was a winter scene by moonlight. There lay the hard frozen ground, stretched out uneven and rough, here and there spot- ted with snow that seemed too cold even to make the urchin's snow- ball, while the pale coloring from the Bengal light seemed as though shed by the round, full-orbed, silver moon. All looked like one of
308 The Mammoth Cave. [April,
the coldest nights in January, when the wind is even too tightly bound in the fetters of frost to more than now and then roll over a stray dry leaf. Every thing seemed still, but fairly colder from the stillness ; frozen into a motionless torpidity. There was needed but the white scraggy limbs of the naked oak, dried and sapless, perhaps thinly covered with snow, to make the representation perfect.
The recollections of merry youth were renewed by the sight ; and I dare say each of us compared the scene before him to some well- remembered spot, where his boyhood had laughed away the merry hours. My mind wandered back to the old farm-house and the g^eat denuded trees before the gate, the rough, almost bare ground, and the forest stripped of its gorgeous summer dress, and exposed un- covered to the wintry storm. I thought of a narrow foot-path and a full, round, stupid moon, and the tracks of dear, delicate little feet, and the glance of a pair of bright eyes that shone with warmth and ardor enough to be a good example for cold, prudish Diana. The Bengal-light slowly faded and faded, then went out, and with it our dreams — extinguished as lightly as many had been before. Silence was broken ; one song to old Winter rang out, and we left the Snow- ball Room, its freezing fancies and recollections of hopes long ago chilled and dead, for something more ardent.
Having courageously crossed the Rocky Mountains, without slip- ping from any of their precipices or falling into any of their caverns, we entered Serena's Arbor, This is the terminus of the cave, nine miles under ground. The Arbor, or ' Harbor,' as some Englishmen who painted and were exhibiting a map of the cave, called it, is a little circular room, of some twenty feet across, and thirty high. It is hung round with drapery of yellow stone, falling in graceful folds. It reminds one much of the descriptions of the mennaids' sub-marine palaces. Perhaps it was the council-chamberof the fays of those under- ground rivers ; for surely there must have been guardians to these streams, as well as to those of the mountains. A rivulet murmurs be- low, just heard, over its rocky bed ; in one corner there is a spring, dia- mond clear, and in all features is this apartment just fitted for the meet- ings of the little deities, convened to enjoy their sports, pass their rules, or inflict punishment for broken laws. How easy to imagine the watchman cricket ticking twelve, and the gaily-dressed, smiling fairies marching merrily in, only waiting for the prettiest of the baud, the queen of Beauty and Love, to take her seat in that niche on either side of which the stone curtain falls so elegantly and gracefully. Then to hear the tiny orators argue their causes and discuss the affairs of their tribe ; to listen to the mild, just decrees of the virgin queen ; and after business is performed, to look on the merry dance in the charmed ring, or be enchanted by fairy song or fairy min- strelsy ! When these little rulers of the world existed, they must Burely have met here, deep in the bosom of the earth, in the senate chamber of a world within a world.
We now turned back ; but branching off into another passage, visited a different portion of the cave. Afler we had walked for some time, the guide told us to go on alone, while he would wait
1S49.] The Mammoth Cave. 309
behind, and to blow out our lights, in order to see how intense the darkness was. We did as directed ; and having walked several hundred yards, seated ouraelves upon the rocks and extinguished our lamps. My dear reader, are you blind ? (an Irish expression, by the way ;) for if you are not, you cannot conceive of darkness. Enclose yourself in the darkest room, and you will still have a glimmer of light, an indefinite idea of distinction between the white wall and the dark furniture ; wander in the deepest forest at midnight, when clouds enshroud the sky and shut out the stars of heaven, where the leaves and boughs overhead are interwoven in their closest folds ; in spite of all, some few erratic beams, a sort of haziness of light, will remain ; some suspicion of neighboring objects will exist. Here were we, with our eyes open and nervously strained to their utmost, and yet naught was distinguishable ; no indication of the nearest object ; white and black were, as some philosophers prove, all the same. How little could I ever before conceive of blindness ! Oh ! the oppressive, stunning weight ! the feeling of unknown, unavoid-^ able, invisible danger! — utter inability to defend one's-self, entire subjection to those who possess this invaluable gifl !
All recollection of the course we had come was instantly lost ; no idea of any thing whatever around us could be retained. If left to find our way out alone, with a light, I should not, even in those end- less labyrinths, despair; but without it, in darkness that ccfuld be fairly felt, I would rather surrender hope and peaceably lie down than endure the horrors of the attempt at escape. Our feelings were getting somewhat unpleasantly excited, and our conversation^ for some time forced, had dwindled away to silence, ere Stephen appeared. The light displayed three pale countenances and three pairs of eyes that had rather more than a natural biilliancy ; and yet in daylight danger there could perhaps scarcely be found three more reckless fellows. Stephen laughed when he saw us stretched along the rocks, and withal so doleful, and walking to one side, covered his lamp in a measure with his cap, and told us to look above us. We did so, and what was our astonishment on seeing the stars shi- ning brightly in the dark heavens ! Each rubbed his eyes and looked again. There they were, winking and glimmering, now* seen, now gone, so merry and sparkling that they seemed fairly to laugh at us for our folly in not perceiving them before. Old Argus-eyed Night was looking down as calmly and sleepily upon us as ever. I imme- diately began searching for the North-star, to ascertain the points of the compass ; but by some strange accident it was not to be found : neither did I recognise any of the groups, and essayed in vain to de- fine any even of the figures with which I was best acquainted. * Very singular !' I muttered, rubbing my eyes again ; ' where can we be V I called upon Tom for an explanation, but he was equally perplexed. We were utterly at a loss till the guide's laugh told us there was something wrong.
* Shall I act the giant, and throw a^rock against the skies V he said, having caught the allusion from some traveller ; and forthwitlf picking up a stone, he threw it against the roof of the cave. We
310 Th€ Mammoth Cave. [April,
broke into a hearty laugh, but still were hardly convinced that those were imitation eyes and not the veritable ones of old mother Night. The deception was made more perfect by the formation of the sides al the cave. These shot up near seventy feet perpendicularly, and then stretched suddenly back horizontally, leaving a ledge between them and the roof. The walls were bright yellow, and on their edge seemed to hang the planets of the upper world, while the ceiling was dark, undefined blue; the exact color of the midnight sky. Those stars were the perfection of imitation, and even glimmered precisely like the originals. They were caused by a very simple arrangement : the light from the lamps was reflected from pieces of polished sub- stimces, mica generally, which were bedded m the stone of the ceil- ing. This phenomenon was to be seen in no apartment except the Star Chamber. I never again want to pass so dark a night, in reality or metaphor, followed by so deceptive a star-light. This Star Cham- ber was the king of wonders, whera the least were princes. I shall never forget that scene, and can even now hardly credit that those were not veritable auger-holes in the world's ceiling.
The last apartment of interest was Young's Dome ; called, I be- lieve, after the name of him who first owned the cave. We thrust our heads through a little hole in the side of the wall, and on the guide's lighting a Bengal-light, saw a huge dome that extended hun- dreds of feet above, as well as hundreds of feet below us. The window through which we looked was about halfway down the side. The walls, polished by water that was falling ceaselessly, as it no doubt had been for ages, reflected over and over the rays of light, till daylight seemed to have been reached again. Above, the dome dwindled to its apex, scarce visible at that height, while below it spread out a broad even floor. This apartment was more remark- able from its immense height, about three hundred feet, than for any other feature. It had no such startling peculiarities as much that we had seen.
We now wended homeward, discussing the origin of the cave ; McCarlin asserting that it must have been created by some great uprising of nature, while Stephen thought it had been caverned out by a stream that, wearing its way in time through the rock, had formed those surprising labyrinths.
We re^mbarked on Echo River, and made the caves again rever- berate to our voices, and even to my pistol. Its report was answered, much to our surprise, by a loud scream, that we recognised at once as coming from ladies. The next instant a boat shot round a comer some distance ahead. Rows of lamps were arranged on both its sides, and looked most fairy-like on thus suddenly emerging from those gloomy recesses. The light fell upon the shining dresses of the ladies, and was reflected from their bright eyes. Another boat filled with gentlemen followed, equally illuminated. We received them with a hurrah, and immediately struck up a negro song, the whole party joining us. Some twenty voices bore the notes far into the deepest of those vaults. All had been so dark and silent before, and now all was so g^y and brilliant. There were the long rows of
1849.] The Mammoth Cope. 311
lamps, doubled seemingly by reflection fVom the water, the gaudy dresses glancing in the light, the long, low, flat boat, the black oars- man, seated at the stem and dipping his paddle noiselessly into the wave, the brieht eyes glowing in the dim light, and the merry voicei routing old Silence, and pealing forth the carol to the stem bleak rocks; it was like a scene conjured by magic from those dismal vaults ; as though the fairies of the olden time were risen anew, and floating down their hidden sacred stream, were tiilling forth their jovial chorus. As our boats passed, we stopped the song to cheer and wave our handkerchiefs. In a moment more, and the lights, the dresses, the faces, the dingy oarsmen, all were gone ; the song faded away in the distance, and darkness and silence had again settled down upon us.
The Cave was discovered in 1'602, but was little explored till 1812, when it was resorted to for saltpeti'e. There is, however, no sulphur or volcanic specimen. For many years the traveller (being stopped by the Bottomless Pit !) could only advance three miles. Across this pit a ladder was finally thrown, and Stephen himself fearlessly ex* plored the remaining six miles. Speak of discovering new coun- tries, but to find them beneath the earth ! Lar^e bones of men and animals were dug out by the miners in looking for saltpetre. These gave the name to the Cave ; but having been all re-buried they cannot now be found. A dog can never be persuaded to enter the Cave any distance, but soon runs howling back. Stephen's two companions in many an expedition, a brace of noble pointers, will never follow him beneath the ground, no matter what persuasion or caresses he may use.
There are several rivers ; I recollect only the names of three : Styx, Lethe and Echo. The fish and crawfish in them are white and perfectly eyeless. The crickets in the Cave however have eyes, and appeared much pleased to see otir lights. The streams appear to be connected with (rreen River, for several eyeless fish have been caught in the latter, after a great rise of water in the Cave. Generally the rivers are perfectly placid and still, mostly about twenty feet deep, but when the water rises, as it does after a heavy rain, the guide says they run with terrible swiftness. The water is cold and has a greenish appearance. I was not quite sure, but thought it slightly impregnated with phosphorus. The average height of 9ie ceiling is thirty feet in the avenues, but some of the rooms are fifty, sixty and even seventy feet high, and still more broad. There is little or no feeling of dan- ger ; every thing is so roomy, and looks so strong, that one does not dream of fear. The walking is very rough for ladies, but the air is bracing, and the weaker sex have endured the dangers and fatigues as often and as bravely as the stronger. But i-emember, ladies, if you go in parties, that the Cave is so dark that one cannot see well what the others do, and the gentlemen necessarily show uncommon gallantry.
To the wealthy I say, visit the Mammoth Cave before you waste your strength in the follies of Europe, and perhaps its grandeur will excite in your mind a thirst for a greater existence than that of a petit- maitre at Paris. To the poor I say, go to sleep over this my narrative
.312 ^'TtooM never Do:* a Song. [April,
and dream yourselves fiir away, floating down Echo River, or poet- izing in the Star Chamber, and yoa will wake a refreshed if not a wiser man. There are but two freaks of nature in this our beloved America, that should be visited in the same year, or mentioned in the same breath : The Niagara Falb and the ' Mammoth Cave/
8 O N O .
Ah no ! H would never do, Nannik, Ev'n though the dream were true ;
'T were bliss for me — but then, for thee- Ah no ! H would never do !
TboQ art all bright and fair, Nannie,
And I am old, though gay ; December's blast will sweep o*er me,
Whiles thou art yet in May.
Ah no ! \ would never do, Nannik, etc.
The dews of opening dawn, Nannie,
The roseate blush of light, The mom's grey eye, all speak of thee —
Of me, some sunset bright
Ah no ! H would never do, Nannie, etc.
The Song, the Gem, the Bud, Nannie,
The deep perspective look. Belong of right to thee — to me,
Some page in Memory*s book.
Ah no ! 't would never do, Nannie, etc.
Were youth, or age, but less, Nannie,
Or could we meet mid-way. How joyously I 'd come to thee
And backward dance the day !
But ah ! t* would never do, Nannie, etc.
When Shades of Eve, like Mom, Nannie,
All westwardly are spread — I '11 think thy charms were bom for me, Come back, and woo, and wed. Till then, adieu, adieu, Nannie !
For though the dream were trae. Though bliss to me, yet ah, for thee — 'T would never, never do. * jobs watzm.
1849.] Stanzas: the GruUMiU. 313
THB GRIST-MILL.
■TODXIAIU).
Tni grriBt-mill stands beside the stream, With bendiiig roof and leaning wall ;
So old, that when the winds are wild, The miller trembles lest it fall ;
But moss and ivy, never sere,
Bedeck it o*er ftom year to year.
The dam is steep, and weeded green ;
The gates are raised, the waters pour, And tread the old wheel's slippery steps,
The lowest round forevermore ; Methinks they have a sound of ire. Because they cannot climb it higher.
From mom till night, in autumn time, When yellow harvests load the plains,
Up drive the farmers to the mill. And back anon, with loaded wains ;
They bring a wealth of golden gram.
And take it home in meal again.
The mill inside is dim and dark ;
But peeping in the open door. You see the miller flitting round.
And dusty bags along the floor ; And by the shsit, and down the spout. The yellow meal comes pouring out
And all day long the winnowed chaff Floats round it on the sultry breeze.
And shineth like a settling swarm Of golden- winged and belted bees ;
Or sparks around a blacksmith's door.
When bellows blow and forges roar.
I line our pleasant, quaint old mill !
It minds roe of my early prime ; 'T is changed since then, but not so much
As I am, by decay and time ; Its wrecks are mossed from year to year. But mine all dark and bare appear !
I stand beside the stream of life ;
The mighty current sweeps along : Lifting the flood-gates of my heart.
It turns the magic whoel of song. And grinds the ripened harvest brought From out the golden field of Thought
314 TravA in Tariary and Mongolia. [April,
TRAVELS IN TARTARY AND MONGOLIA*
IT 8. IC. FARTRXDOl
Sir, kkd most Honored Father : Without doubt you are aware that sometime since Mgr. Monly, oar Apostolic vicar, sent M. Gabet and myself to explore Tartary and Mongolia. We were also in- structed to study carefully the habits, character and tnanners of those wandering people, to whom our mission was directed. As we were desired to penetrate as far as practicable into those countries, it was necessary to procure a guide and make those preparations which are indispensable in travelling through a desert and unknown region.
On the third of August, 1844, we started from the Yalley of Black- waters, a Christian settlement, situated near a hundred leagues to the north of Pekin. Behold our little caravan on the order of march ! Samdadchiemba, our young pilot, mounted on a low mule, took the lead, training after him two camels, laden with our luggage ; these were followed by M. Gabet, hoisted on a large camel ; a white horse served for the support of your humble servant. The pilot was our sole companion. This young man was neither Chinese, Tartarian, nor Thibetian. Nevertheless, at the first glance it was plainly visi- ble that he did not belong to the Mongol race. His strongly- bronzed complexion and triangular figure had a strange appeai*ance ; while a large nose, insolently cocked, and full lips, straight as a line, gave to his physiognomy an aspect savage and disdainful. When his small bright black eyes, sparkled between their long lashes, un- gamished by eye-brows, and his forehead contracted into wrinkles, he inspired a mingled feeling of confidence and fear. There was no positive personality about the man ; neither the malice nor cunning of the Chinese, neither the frank good-nature of the Mongol, nor the courageous energy of the Thibetian ; but he had something of all these. He was a Dehiaour, of whose country I will say something hereafter.
At the early age of eleven our camel-driver, not relishing the strict discipline and severe correction of his master, had escaped from a Lama House, where he had been placed for his education, and com- menced life as an independent wanderer. He spent the greater part of his youth alternately vagabondizing through the Chinese cities and Tartarian deserts. It may naturally be supposed that a life of such unchecked freedom was not the kind to have smoothed the natural asperity of his disposition. His mind was entirely uncultivated, but his muscular strength was enormous, and he was not a little proud of
* Thkss are exceedingly intereatLng records of trsToI by two Lazarists in coontries so little known, even in Europe, that they are scarcely noticed on Haix's Atlas, one of the best and latest published in London. Our correspondent translates with great fidelity from a rare work, the 'Annals of the Propagatkm of the Faith.' ^^ k»io««».oomil
1849.] Travels in Tartary And Mongolia. 216
thiB quality, wbich he was used to parade on all occasions. He bad been baptized by M. Gabet,and wished, as he said, to attach himself to the service of the missionaries. The journey we were undertaking was also well suited to the taste of one who had led such an adventurous life. He had no better knowledge of the routes to Tartary than our- selves, so that we plunged into the deserts, having for our sole guides a compass and an excellent map of the Chinese Empire.
I shall not enter into the details of our wandering and adventurous life. My design is to sketch the most prominent features of our long journey, which took us two years to accomplish. I shall speak but in general terms of the many and varied countries and divers peo- ples through which and among whom we travelled. After eight days* travel we reached the fertile prairies that form the realm of Gehectan. The numerous Chinese and Mongol travellers whom we encountered were a certain indication that we were at no great dis- tance from the large city of Tolon Noor, and we soon perceived in the distance the sun glittering on the gilded roofs of two magnificent Lama-houses. Our road for a long distance lay through innumera- ble tom^s, which environed the city in all directions. This immense sepulchre formed around the town such a vast envelope of skeletons and grave-stones, that it appeared as if the dead had blockaded the living. In the midst of this large cemetery, which seemed to extin- guish the city, we here and there saw some gardens where they had with great pains and toil forced the ungracious soil to bear a few miserable legumes. With the exception of these patches, the land around Tolon Noor produces absolutely nothing. The country in its vicinity is arid and sandy ; water extremely scarce, and only to be met with in a few places, where it soon dries up in the hot season. Tolon Noor is not a walled city ; it is an agglomeration of ugly houses, unequally distributed. The streets are crooked and dirty. Nevertheless, in spite of all its disadvantages, in spite of its extreme cold in winter and stifling heats in summer, the population is im- mense, the commerce prodigious. In this great market-place, as a general rule, the Chinese always finish by making a fortune, and the Tartars are as invariably ruined. To the latter Tolon Noor is a mon- strous air-pump, that makes a marvellous void in the Mongol purses.
This large commercial city, called by the Tartai*s Tolon Noor, (which means in their language ' Seven Lakes,') goes by the name of Lamiao (Lama Temple) with the Chinese. On the map of Andre* veau Gangon it is denominated JOjonacmansoume : we could never comprehend why this name had been given to it, as it is equally un- known to either Tartars or Chinese. Tolon Noor belongs to the kingdom of Gehectan, a country fertile and picturesque ; but from year to year its Tartar inhabitants disappear. The Chinese, by a rare combination of cunning and audacity, will finally usurp the whole territory. The timid and simple Mongols are gradually yield- ing their country to their more rapacious and industiious neighbors ; and it will not be long before they must ask from the northern desert for a little grass to feed their flocks. Gehectan borders on Thakhar, named by the Chinese Pake, meaning Eight Banners. It was given
VOL. XXXIII. 33
316 Traveb in Tartary and Mongolia. [April,
to the Tartars who aided the present dynasty to achieve the conquest of China. The militia, who are under the Eight Banners, are all sol- diers of the emperor, and are said to be the most valiant in the em- ?ire. It is only at the last extremity that they are ordered on duty, ^hey were assembled to join in the last expedition against the Eng- lish ; but on advancing toward the South, these poor soldiers nearly all died from the heat, and the few remaining had to retrace their steps in the direction of home. The government at Pekin then came to the conclusion that it might perhaps be rather difficult to seize English battalions by Tartar cavalry.
Thakhar is a magnificent country ; the pasturages rich, the water excellent and inexhaustible. It is here that the emperor keeps his large flocks. The Country of the Eight Banners is die most beauti- ful that we have seen. In the midst of these steppes we see neithec cities, edifices, art, industry, nor culture ; but in all parts we meet with immense prairies, in some of which are large lakes, majestic streams, lofty and imposing mountains, that in many places roll out into vast and incommensurable plains. A person in these verdant solitudes, bounded in all directions by the horizon alone, might easily believe himself becalmed in the midst of the ocean. The white tents of the Mongols, surmounted by gay banners, look in the dis- tance, as they recline on the green turf, like small ships with sails of peacocks' feathers ; and when a thick black smoke curls up from the courtes, one might mistake them for steam-boats just hove in sight. Indeed the sailor and Mongol have striking analogies of character ; as the first may be considered part of his ship, so the latter identifies himself with his horse. The steed of the deseit is proud and mettle- some, and the Mongol cavalier is never more in his element than when, seated on the back of his noble courser, he lM>unds over the frightful precipices. The sailor and the Mongol, when walking on terra-firma, are both completely out of their sphere : their heavy, awkward gait, bowed legs, protruded chest, and unquiet, wandering eyes, all bespeak men who have passed the greater part of their lives either on horse-back or on ship-board. The boundless plains of Mongolia and the immensity of the ocean impress the same emotions on the human heart ; they excite neitlier joy nor sadness, but a mea- sure of both ; a feeling melancholy and religious, that elevates the soul to heaven, without entirely depriving the senses of their powers of enjoyment ; a feeling more of heaven than earth, and most con- genial to the nature of an intelligent and sentient being.
In a few days after entering Thakhar, we arrived at an old and desert- ed city. It was suiTounded by walls and battlements on which were built towers of observation : the four principal gates fronted toward the four cardinal points. All was in perfect preservation, but three-fourths buried from the accumulated earth, which was covered by green turf; in some parts the soil was almost even with the battlements. When we found ourselves at the south gate, we desired our guide to con- tinue his route during the time that we should visit the * Old City,' as it is called by the Tartars. We entered with an almost breathless curiosity ; but our astonishment increased, for we saw neither over-
1849.] TranelM in Tartary and MongoHa. 317
thrown columns, nor ruins, but a beautiflil and large city ; and as the wind swept the long grass closely around the deserted buildings, it seemed as if Nature had thrown a winding-sheet over Desolation ; the inequality of the earth seemed even visible in the streets. We saw, seated on a hillock, a young Mogul shepherd, who smoked on in silence, while his numerous flock browsed m the lonely streets and half-buried ramparts. We afterward oflen saw traces of cities in the Mongolian deserts : probably at some former period they had been built and occupied by the Chinese. Not far from the ' Old City' we struck on a road running from north to south ; it is this which is tra- velled by the Russian ambassadors in going to Pekin ; and also by those Chinese merchants who trade to Kiacti, a frontier city of Rus- sia. M. Timkouski, in his journey to Pekin, remarks that he never coald comprehend why his guides followed a different route from that which the ambassadors who preceded him had taken. Th^ Chinese and Tartars say that it is a politic precaution of the government that the Russians should travel by circuits and detours toward China, that they might not be able of themselves to find the road thereto. A ' politic precaution,' without doubt supremely ridiculous, and one that certainly would not keep back the Russian autocrat if he should some day take a fancy to present a challenge to the ' Son of Heaven:' At the end of a month we arrived at Kuo-kou-hote, ' Blue City,' called by the Chinese Kani-hoa-tcheu. There are two cities of the same name, the old and the new ; we took up our abode in the latter. The city proper is surrounded by walls, but the commerce has grown so great that a second enclosure became necessary ; and now the part situated between the two walls is of much greater importance than the interior. The new city has not been long built. It presents a beautiful appearance, and would be admired even in Europe. I speak solely of the .exterior: inside, the houses are low, and in the Chinese style, and ^ere is nothing to correspond with the lofty and wide ramparts that surround it. Kou-kou-hote is the principal place for commerce in this part of the country ; beautiful cities have been built, and the government has said, ' inhabit them/ but the people turned a deaf ear to the paternal advice. From Kou-kou-hote we went to Thurgan Keuren, or * White Walls,* a city built on the bor- ders of the Yellow River. Thurgan Keuren is only remarkable for the cleanliness of its streets, the good condition of the houses, and the quietness that reigns every where : its commerce is far from rival- ling that of Kou-kou-hote. AH the market towns that we have been in, outside of the Chinese frontier, are thronged by buyera, who fix)m thence disperse goods all over Mongolia. We were obliged to cross the Yellow River before we could enter the country of the Ortstns. It had been subject to a violent fireshet, and still overflowed its bor- ders : the inhabitants said that the volume of water was much larger than usual.
For us this was a sad conjuncture, and we deliberated whether we should re-tread our steps, or wait until the water should reenter into its natural channel. But either of these alternatives ill agreed with our impatience to proceed. We resolved at all risks to continue our
318 Travels in Tartar^ and MangoUa. [April,
joumey, and by so doing exposed ourselves to inexpressible suffering. For three entire days we were plunging about in unknown swamps ; and leaving our beasts to their instincts, abandoned ourselves entirely to the care of Providence. Almost by a miracle we at length reached the bed of the river, where we had the good fortune to meet a pas- sage-boat that carried our exhausted caravan across into the country of the Ortans. The Yellow River generally runs through fens and marshes; and at twilight commences a concert that swelb into a most tumultuous harmony, and lasts until midnight. This noisy music proceeds from thousands of aquatic birds, who dispute with each other for the tufts of bullrushes or large nenuphar leaves (a species of canunctdiis) upon which they wish to pass die night. Numberless flocks of passage-birds are forever flying over the deserts of Tartary ; these a(^rial troops foim themselves into battalions, and perform the most capricious and grotesque evolutions, seemingly regulated by design. And oh ! how well placed in the deserts of Tartary are these wandering birds ! Ortans is a most miserable and desolate country : it presents in all parts either moveable sands or sterile moun- tains. Every night, when we desired to pitch our tent, we were fi>rced to prolong our weary march in hopes of finding a less dreary encampment. Water is a continual object of solicitude ; and we never missed an opportunity of filling the two wooden buckets which we had bought at Kou-kou-hote, whenever we were so fortunate as to encounter a laeune or cistern. Notwithstanding this precaution, the brackish and fetid water of Ortans is so scarce diat we sometimes were obliged to pass whole days without being able to moisten our lips. The poor beasts were no better provided for than ourselves ; they met with scarcely any forage but briera surcharged with nitre, or a short bitter gi*ass almost reduced to powder. The cows and horses of the Oitans have a most miserable and famished appearance ; but the sheep, goats and camels prosper marvellously. This is ow- ing to the great fondness that the latter animals have for plants which possess a nitrous flavor, and to their drinking willingly of the brackish water.
Ten days after leaving the Yellow River we came to a well-beaten route, that appeared to be much travelled. A Mogul informed us that it was the road to the Tabos Noor, or Salt Lake ; and as it in- clined toward the east, we willingly followed it. The day before ar- riving at Tabos Noor the aspect and form of the country completely changed. The earth lost insensibly its yellow color, and became as white as if it had been watered by dissolved chalk. Every where the ground appeared to have been blown up into small hillocks, around which had grown a thick net- work of thorns. Tabos Noor is less a salt lake than a great reservoir of fossil salt, mixed with efflorescent nitre. The latter substance is white, lustreless, and extremely pliable : it is easily distinguished from the fossil salt, for that has rather a gray- ish tint, and when broken displays a shining crystallization. Here and there are seen some courtes, inhabited by the Mongols who come to explore this magnificent salt deposit. When the salt is properly purified, it is transported to the nearest Chinese market and exchanged
1849.] TVaveU in Tartary and McmgoUa. 319
for tea, tobacco and brandy. We travelled the length of the Tabos Noor from east to west, but were obliged to proceed very cautiously over its moist and in some places moving surface. The Mongols advised us to follow carefully the beaten path, and to avoid every place where water gushed up : they also declared that gulfs existed which they had several times sounded, but without ever being able to reach the bottom. It is not improbable that the lake or noor may be subterraneous, and that continual evaporation has formed a solid roof of salt and saltpetre, while water still remains underneath ; and that strange bodies, borne by the wind, may in the course of time have formed layers on this salt crust, until the whole has grown sufficiently strong to sustain the caravans that travel the Tabos-Noor.
Two days after leaving the Salt Lake, we came to a fertile valley, that appeared to us magnificent in comparison with the forlorn country we had just quitted. We resolved to encamp for some time, in order to refresh our animals, whose failing strength began to alarm ui. The Mongols, who had pitched their tents in this valley, received us with kindness and distinction. When they knew that we were Lamas, come from the West, they wished to bestow on us a little banquet. Although I said at the commencement that I would not mention trifling mcidents of travel, I cannot forego the pleasure of translating a national chant that I heard here. The patriarchal repast was soon finished, and our entertainers only waitea to heap up the white and well-polished mutton-bones that remained from the simple feast, when a child took down a violin of goats'- horn, on which three strings were suspended. He presented it to a venerable old man, who passed it to a^oung one. The young man modestly bowed his head ; but as his hand touched the Mongol instrument, his eyes sud- denly kindled with inborn fire. ' Lama of the Almighty Jehovah,' said the chief of the family, * I have invited a Tolholos, that he might embellish this evening by his recitals.' While the old man was speaking, the young musician ran his fingers over the chords, and began to sing in a strong and modulated voice ; at intervals he intermixed his song with animated and fiery declamation. The Tar- tars leaned toward the singer, and their changii:g physiognomies were more strongly expressive of sympathy than the most eloquent asseveration. We, who knew little of Tartar history, felt but slight interest in all the unknown personages that the Mongol rhapsodist called so suddenly into life. The singer paused, balanced his violin on his knees, and hastily moistened his throat, which had become com- pletely dried by the relation of so many miraculous marvels. While the tongue of the musician was yet wiping away the wet edge of the cup, ' Tolholos,' cried they, * the chant that thou hast sung is beauti- ful and admirable, but thou hast said nothing of the immortal Tamer- lane.' 'Yes, yes,* shouted several voices, 'sing to us the invocation to Timour.' This famed invocation is cherished by all the Mongols ; and they sank back into profound silence. The Tolholos for an in- stant seemed to gather up his memory, and then, in a vigorous and martial tone, commenced the following strophe :
* When the dirine Tixouk inhabited our tonta, the Mongol nation was warlike and nneon-
S20 TVavdIr m Tartary and Mongolia. [April,
qnenible. His moTement made the wirth tremble ; ten mlllionB of people, wliom the aun iirmrmed. at hia angry glance tamed cold witti affright
' Oh, dirine Timoub ! that thy great ■col might quickly be re-bom among us I Come, come f We wait for you, Oh, Tiscotrm 1
' We live in our raat prairies, tranquil and peaceful as lamba ; but our burning hearta are foil of fire. The glorious deeds of Timoub pursue us erery where. Oh, for the chief who would lead us to battle, that we might become world-conquerora I' ' Oh, divine Txkoub t etc.
' The muscular arm of the young Mogul tames the sarage stallion ; his keen eye discorera afar traces of the wandering camel. Alas ! his arm cannot bend the bow of his ancestors, nor his eye penetrate the stratagems of an enemy. • Oh, divine Tjmoub I etc.
* We havQ seen floating on the sacred hill the red girdle of the Lama. Say to us, Oh, Laxa r when inspiration is on thy lips, that Habmousta has revealed something of our future life.
' Oh, divine Timoub I etc.
* With foreheads bowed to the earth we hare burnt odoriferous woods at the feet of the god- like TiMoua ; we have offered green leaves of the yonng tea, and the first milk of our flocks. We are ready, we are impatient, Oh, Timoub I and do tnou, Oh, Lama f we beseech you, ask heaven to bless and make fortunate our arrows and our Umces.
' Oh, divine Timoub I that thy great soul might be re-bom among us t Come, come quickly t We wait for you, Oh, Timoub I*
When the singer bad finished he rose, bowed profoundly, and sus- pended his instrument against the side of the tent. These wandering Troubadours have existed in all ages, and are met with almost every where. They are the national poets ; and they go from hearth to hearth, where they sing the praises of their most celebrated compa- triots, and the glorious events that have happened to their country. We have met with th^m in the heart of China, but in no place have they seemed so popular as in Thibet.
Before quitting Ortans, we saw mountains that perhaps ought not entirely to be passed over in silence. In the gorges, and at the foot of the precipices of this imposing chain, we saw large heaps of schist and mica ground and reduced to powder. jThis debris of slate and lamellated rocks has no doubt been carried by water into these gulfs, as the mountains themselves are of a granite formation. As you ascend toward the summit, these mountains assume the strangest and most fantastical forms. Large rocks, heaped and piled on each other, are closely cemented together. These blocks are encrusted with shells ; but the most remarkable circumstance is, that they are cut, gnawed, and entirely worn out : in all parts they are perforated by thousands of labyrinths ; and we might with truth say, that here Nature has been completely woim-eaten. In some places there were strange and singular impressions deeply cut into the granite, as if it had served for a mould in which monsters had been cast It often seemed to us as if we were travelling over the bed of a dried ocean. There can be no doubt but that these mountains have been covered by a heavy sea. The phenomena here exhibited could not have been caused by rain, still less by the inundations of the Yellow River, which never could have reached such an elevated height. Those geologists who believe that the deluge was caused by a sinking of the earth, might here perhaps find proofs in favor of their system. When we airived at the top of the mountain, we saw at our feet the Yellow River, swelling majestically from south to north. This sight filled us with joy, for it brought the assurance that we should soon leave the arid and barren country of the Ortans.
1849.] Motmlight Monody at Sea. 331
Immediately on crossine this river we entered the Chinese Em- pire, and for some time bade farewell to the deserts of Tartarj and a wandering life. We proposed to rest ourselves for a few days in the little town Che-tsae-dye, built on the borders of the Yellow River, and then travel across Tartary toward the west. We intended to make for the kingdom ef Halechan. But the Tartars persuaded us from this route, and assured us that our exhausted animals could n^ver reach half way up the sandy steppes of Halechan. We be- lieved their advice to be good, and decided that for the present we would cut through the province of Kamson as far as Sining, and af- terward penetrate to Rou-hou-noor.
MOONLIGHT MONODY AT SKA.
'yzssBllludmare. . . . Lib«rtas llliclnimoaedat'— SaNXCA
How beaatifal is all around, How musical the dashing sound Of partiuff waves, as on we bound
O'er the sea : How trackless is our onward way ! How lovelier far than glare of day Ton crescent moon's reflected ray
0*er our lee !
What strange security we feel, What confidence in cunning keel, Or Heaven's attention to our weal.
Not to fear The tempest in its lightning wrath, The ice-berg m its arctic path. The sea-fish that in hunger hath
Followed near.
How cooUng to the o'erwrought bram Blows wind and spray from off the main — ' To softness wooing back again
Hearts of stone : How tranquil shines yon evening star ! It whispers peace ; it speaks afar Of happiness ; we turn and are
All alone.
I 've wandered far, I 've tarried long, I 've battled 'gainst an early wrong ; I 'm weak where once I felt so strong
In love's degree : Receive me, Ocean ! to thy breast ; Waves, lull me to an unknown rest ! Stars, welcome me among the blest :
I oome, O Sea !
322 Stflnzai: The Actress. [April,
THE ACTRESS.
' What now remaineth 7 Her day is done. Her fate and the broken lute's are oxie. 8he both moved to the echoing aoiind of £une ; Silently, silently died her name.'
Bkrathlrbb she stands, in flowers and jewels gleamingt Her bunt of song suspended for a while :
What means that vacant eye's mysterioos beaming? Why part those lips with strange unconscioos smile T
Bright flowers in countless wreaths are showered around her ;
Sie heeds them not ; her dream of fame b o*er : A spell of childhood's sunny years has bound her ;
The old home-voices thrill her heart once more !
Again she sees her father's humble dwelling,
The hunter's cot upon the green hill's brow ; She feels her heart beneath its bright robes swelling :
' Hence, hence ! fond thoughts ! ye must not haunt me now.'
' Encore ! encore !' With one united feeling, Burst forth the voices of the enraptured throng ;
She bows her head, and from her. pale lips pealing, Poun once again the glorious tide of song.
In ever wilder, sweeter numbers gushing ;
Sure strains so heavenly ne'er had mortal birth : But see ! alas ! the tide of life is rushing
Forth with the song : she faints and falls to earth.
'Home ! home !' she murmured, with an accent weary, As stranger-hands her dying temples fanned ;
Poor absent wanderer ! seas and mountains dreary Divide thee from thy childhood's sunny land.
It matters not ; that eye all dimly closes. Fair, friendless stranger ! doomed no more to roam ;
Perchance while here thy gentle dust reposes, Thine unbound spirit seeks its childhood's home.
1849.]
The BunkutnviUt Chranide.
323
Sl)e BmiknittDtlU' CljronUU.
'OOS OXVX TBBIC WltSOM THAT BATS
XT, AVS THOBX THAT AJUC rOOZ-B Z.BT TBIM USB THXIR TAZ,S3rTa.'
Twelfth Kioht : Act 1, Scxxa Vs
PROSPECTUS.
"Whbn in the course of human or inhuman events it becomes ne* cessaiy for any man or any boily of men to detach themselves from the quiet circle of private life ; to rend asunder the bonds vrhich have confined them within its narrow limits ; to raise the bushel from off their penny rush-light ; to change from a state of nonentity to that of distinct and palpable entity ; to burst from the gloom and obscu- rity ever resting around an un- printed name ; to sever the veil which has concealed them and their perfections from an admiring world ; to change from the poor, despised, unhonored worm to that of the admired butterfly author or editor ; to increase from the moral value of — 0 to that of Censor Morum + yy y y y (ad injin. ;} when, as we have before said, this momentous change takes place, it is highly important that the pub- lic-spirited individual or individu- als m question should publish to the world in general, and their readers in especial, a full and mi- nute detail of their professions, principles, and intended practice.
Eschewing now and forever all humbug, we have no hesitation in openly declaring that our paper will be devoted to the news of the
day, polite literature, the fine arts, etc., etc.
With regard to our politics, we are strongly in favor of Majorities, ;and have concluded not to ex- press any opinion upon the sub- ject until we shall have ascertained the minds of our readers.
Although slow in forming a de- cision, we shall be firm in main- taining it ; and when we have once declared oitrselves, no storms of adverse party can shake us. No !
• This rock shall fly From ita firm base as soon as 1 1'
that is, as long as it is to our in* terest to remain.
Concerning our principles, we are not aware of having any in particular, except a considerable taste for the * loaves and fishes.'
As is customary in the prospec- tus of every periodical, we hereby pledge ourselves firmly and truly to promise all, any thing and every thing that our patrons may re- quire, and to perform just what may suit our convenience.
In the prosecution of our great undertaking we solicit the aid of all the literary ladies and gentle- men of Bunkumville.
Long contributions thankfully received and gracefully acknow- ledged ; smaller ones in propor-
WOn. PXTBK PlWDAB. JB,
324 T%e BunkumviUe Chroniek. [April,
NOTICES OF TRAVEL.
Mr. Brown's Researches. — This distinguished individual has just returned from a highly interesting and adventurous tour in the Far West, undertaken for the purpose of obtaining correct information of the manners and customs of the people, the appearance, quality and products of the land, the style of the country, and last, not least, the beauty and affability of the fair sex in those distant and rarely- visited regions.
We have not room to publish all, or even a tithe, of the very valua- ble notes of Mr. B., but shall content ourselves with noting a few of the more prominent facts.
Although fully aware of the dangers of the undertaking, Mr. B. •had determined to see all, to know all, and to experience all the many an^ various dangers to which unfortunate travellers are exposed.
Mr. B.'s intentions were, should his life be spared, after having made the outward trip, to have returned by water ; to have ventured on the unknown dangers of that vast deep, the Erie Canal ; to have undergone that most horrid of diseases, the nausea attending such voyages ; to have braved storm, shipwreck and fire, running down at night by strange sails, and collisions by day with fiiendly ones ; mu- tiny, piracy, poisoning by the steward, and bursting of cook's boilers ; in fine, all the hazards attendant upon so momentous an undertaking.
But fate adverse had otherwise willed it. Mr. B. found the canal fix>zen, and in consequence, as he was informed, the boats had ceased running. Mr. B. considers this a very culpable negligence upon the part of the direc^rs of that great channel of interned communication, and suggests the propriety of tunneling the canal at regular intervals, and establishing a cordon of furnaces underneath it, so that the water may be kept sufficiently warm to prevent the recurrence of so unfor- tunate an event
Mr. B. thinks that the farmers, during the season of killing swine, would pay very liberally for the use of the hot water.
Mr. fe. represents the country as being very extensively laid out, and possessmg several specinoens of population to the square mile.
Its principle productions are buckwheat-cakes, pork and beans, fat children ana small potatoes. The religion is various, some believing in war and preventive circumstances, others a constitutional presi- dent and a leap in the dark, and a third party, free speech and free niggers. Mr. B. thinks that the free speech is much needed, as he discovered the enunciation of those deoating upon the subject to be rather thick ; as for the free niggers, one of them made free with his carpet bag, and Mr. B. feels reluctantly compelled to enter his dissent to Uiem.
As to ' manners,' Mr. B. remarks that the children do not make them, as they did when he went to school ; their customs are singular.
When two fiiends meet, instead of inquiring after each other's health ; the words * let's licker,' burst simultaneously from their re- spective lips ; the meaning of these terms, evidently cabalistic, Mr. B. did not discover.
1849.] The Bunkumtille Okrtmide. Z25
With regard to their G^ovemment, Mr. B. informs ub that the chil- dren have none at all ; the men are governed by their wives, and the latter by the fashions.
The principal imports are Yankee tin-ware, wooden clocks, low Dutchmen and English paupers, by the way of Canada. These last are bonded and entitled to debenture.
Mr. B. states that Lake Erie was full of water, and upon his ar- riving at Buffalo he found an extensive and melancholy assortment of canal-boats all in tiers.
Mr. B. did not visit the Falls of Niagara, as he was informed that the proprietors of that establishment had closed them for repairs, he however says, that the new suspension bridge must be ' capital' as it is a hanging matter.
While at Buffalo Mr. B. borrowed a musket and went out to shoot a few of those animals for which the town is so celebrated, and from which it derives its name, but he was disappointed ; in fact, seeing no game except a few boars. He had here the distinguished honor of meeting with John Smith, Esqr., so justly celebrated throughout the Union ; this Mr. B. considers a very fortunate circumstance, and one that he will remember with pleasure during his life.
Mr. B. repi-esents himself as being very badly used by the directors of the rail-road, the cars not having upset once according to custom, and only running off the track twice. The conductor apolo^zed, and said the three previous trains had indulged so extensively m this species of amusement, that the surgeons living near the road had sent in their protest against any farther indulgence in this line until their hands were cleared of patients. An express train which they met, laden with splints and adhesive plaster, confirmed the conduc- tor's statement.
Regretting that our limits prevent our noticing Mr. B.'s adventures any farther, we return him our sincere thanks for his very interesting communication.
FOREIGN CORRESPONDENCE.
' DxRZ Maoss : Eyr took the libblty to in choir or yoa for earn intimation about my Paalm. tidnkin' yon mite know snthin about Hymn, as it aeema how youy ben to them parts.
* I nose where be h«8 ben, fer ho acent yery moyin' letters till lately, and I did hope he was a comin' to sum good and goin' to git religion, for he writ as bow bed ben powerfully exerdsed ■n the way to Meeksiko, ondly the wust on it is that his spelUn* is so bad in conskento of his bein' left handed, that it tires me and Sally out tryin* to make cents of em, which is rery dolle* rous ; and we have to take spells, spellin' the letters.
' Sammy first wrote as how bed ben down to a Weary Cruise, and I should n't wonder, poor feUow, if it was, and then it seems they took Tom-peek-eye, and I want tu know if that aint the chap that used to keep a store in Broadway and left rite suddint.
* Ater that, he writ me bed been to Sarah Gordon's ; who she is I don't know, but thoT had a grate flte there, and he says he made a Bally on the enemy, though I should haye thought that with the Sally be had to hum ; and that plagy Sally Gordon, bed had Sallys enuff afore, and when our Sally red it, she was awfall decomposed.
* Well, bimeby the war stooped and hlsh time it did, for Mister Snooks says all tiie flnenanciei In the country were in a awful! fix. and shuddent wonder fer all our gals were runnla' mad ater them soger fellers ; and I thought my boy would come hum ; but he ups and rites me how he 's foin' to 8al-Tilyou's (he*sparttal to that name,; and our Sal is all in a flrit about it. Then he sed he was a goin' up the MUssissippy somewheres, where there 's a Saint Loose ; and then he is a goin' to Chew-a-way ; and it gin me quite a turn inwardly to think on it, fer I 'm feared this natfy war has made quite a hannibal of nim. and I am sure they eat up all them Roman Sainta what gits loose, fer when he was at Sarah Gordons, a yistin' her folks I suppose, he said they
326 The BunkumviUe Chronicle. [April,
fot Saint Anna's leg, and that it was a great feat, and I 'm sure they rob the chorcbes, fer he said me New* York boys gota Cbapel'to-pick some wares near lieksiko ; and what was worst than all he writ here nigh on to six monUis agone, that he was foin' oyer to Califomy, and meant to ralae ftlot of yellar dots and bring em home. When Sally neard that, oh massy how she cried I and •aid she wished tne gorgon not had never been tied atwizt 'em.
'Now, dear Mager , if you kin find out where he is, do try and persuade him to cum home to bis 'Infectionate Mother,
'Sallt Poplxn.'
KNOWLEDGE FOR THE PEOPLE.
airUMBSR ONS.
NAVIGATION.
The great secrets of navigation are contained in a small compass.
When navigators are desirous to know the depth of the water they generally drop a lino for information, and it has generally lead in the «nd to the obtaining the sought-fbr knowledge.
Ships that directly oppose the authority of the winds by endea- voring to fly in their teeth are put immediately in irons, and becoming naturally ill-humored under such circumstances have a very stem way about them.
V essels in a high wind are addicted to low gambling, and do noth- ing but turn up coppers and pitch and toss while the gale lasts.
Ships go to divers parts of the earth, especially when they visit the pearl regions.
Those who go down to sea in ships are not very apt to turn up again.
Sailors are very lawless persons, taking any thing they need ; in fact they sometimes take the sun and moon.
Ships are not usually provided with gardens although they have many small yards.
Merchantmen ai'e generally successful in making sail.
Steamers are likely to predominate over other descriptions of ves- sels, as they are much more prolific, and have a greater number of berths.
They seldom fall although they make a great many trips.
Clipper-built vessels are dissipated in their habits ; their masts being especially rakish.
The most unprofitable consignment that can be made is to ship a
Vessels baffled by head-winds become very much enraged and go to beating.
Ships have a great number of hands and knees ; the masts all have feet and steps ; the bows have figure and cat heads ; the ship itself has a fore-foot but no hind one, and dead eyes, so-called because the iee cannot come through them.
Sailors are liable to a peculiar rheumatic aflection, called the sea- attic, from their spending so much of their time at sea aloft.
One locomotive is sufficient loading for a vessel as it always makes a car-go.
1849.] The BunkumviUe Chronide. 3S7
Rettle-bottomed ships are most likely to go to pot
The most polite parts of the ship are the bows and the gallant yards.
Ships suffer but little from fair winds, but during head winds they wear very much.
Captains are Robinson Crusonic in their reckonings, keeping the accounts of the voyage recorded on logs. On the return tnp a back log is used.
Most vessels are sociable in their manners, and have a companion- way about them.
ON D I T s.
That * Punch' does not desei*ve one tithe of the credit he obtains, and that his witticisms are nearly all borrowed from his wife ; for they are certainly Judy-mots.
That the following concise sentence was recorded in the chroni- cles of Bavaria of the past year :
* Monte* parturient f n4i*citur ridicuhtt mu$,*
Which is thus freely translated :
' Montos occaaioned a nasty, ridiculoua moBs.*
That our fellow-citizen and M. C, the Hon. Mr. H. G., is de- scended from a very ancient family. A French gentleman who lis- tened to the book debate in Congress insists that his name should be Grille — that of a distinguished ramily, of which St. Lawrence was the founder. The coat-of-arms of said family is a gridiron * gules/ with a man upon it * rampant :' crest, (a little fallen,) a basting-spoon.
That Mr. i3., who lately made such an unexpected and extraordi- nary run for Congress, is about to follow the Hon. Mr. G.'s example with regard to his books. In such case, we shall have had a practi- cal illustration of melancholy Monsieur Jacques' celebrated lines. We have already heard * tongues in trees,' (t. e., Ellen Trees ;) we shall now have • books from running brooks.' Any one who wishes may, by visiting Brooklyn, hear ' Sermons from Stones ;' and the ' good in every thing' is doubtless coming — with the millennium.
That the practice of collecting small rents from state governments is one ' more honored in the breech than in the observance.'
miscellany.
A NEW READING OP VIROIL.
Professor : * Proceed, Sir, to render that passage.' Freshman : * Equm, a horse ; instar, went up ; mantet, a mountain.' Professor : * Ah, indeed ! And what did he do there V Freshman : * Edificat popidi — he edified the people.' Professor faints, and is carried home on a shutter.
328 The BunkumvUU ChrtmicU. [April,
A New Plant. — When Mr. M s was soliciting the ofEce of
posbnaster, his calls upon the President were so frequent and anti- angelic, that it is said Mrs. P (whose fondness for botany is well
known,) classified him as Morris-muUi-caulii.
Antique Loafers. — The Roman farmer is supposed to be the original of the genus Loafer, inasmuch as he is called by the best aumorities a Rusti-cus. —
Getting and Forgetting. — * John, have you got my book 1'
• No, I forgot it'
• You did 1 Well, I am for gettmg it.*
Rashness. — There can remain no manner of doubt in the mind of the student of English history but that Prince Rupert was a rash man ; however, in his own time a slice of bacon was considered a rasher. _
LEGS VS. ARMS.
Kings have long arms, the proyerb aayf ;
Perhaps 't waa once their meed ; But at this time I rather think Of long legt they haye need.
Beaux and Belles. — Young ladies are like arrows; they can't be got off without a beau. .
A dentist should be a good mathematician, as he is frequently called upon to extract roots. —
The only poetic rule in the arithmetic is the rule of three in-verse.
GuRiosrrr. — Rivers are the most curious things in the world ; for let whatever happen, they are sure to run to sea.
An Excellent Reason. — An extensive (both in person and busi- ness) grazier, having given his vote in favor of a change in the church ministry, was asked die reason for his objections to the then incum- bent. * Why,* replied our honest friend, * I hain't got nothin' ag'in our parson ; but I 've allers beam that changin' pastors makes fat calves.' _
A Grecian in to-to. — A learned D. D. once remarked to a theo- logical student, that * would he become a perfect Greek scholar, it was necessary to pay gi*eat attention to those words not in common use, technical terms, etc.'
' I believe that I have done so,' was the reply.
* Ah, indeed !' says D. D. ; * then you consider yourself perfect, I suppose 1 Pray, Sir, did you ever have a corn upon your toe V
* 1 am sorry to say that I have many, Sir : a perfect comu-copia.'
1849.] ZStf. Bunkumvitte Clnmide. 329
— »■
• Well, if a person should inquire of you what the Greek might be
for corns, what would you tell him V
' I presume, Sir, I should say it was the to nalog of which we have
read so much.'
ADVERTISEMENTS.
AIR 'aWSET VAZ3 Of A^OOA.'
Ob I there '■ not tn thU wide world a candy m iweet Am you '11 find in Broadway, comer of ^—^ ttreet ; The latt raiae of phlerm ud all wheexing depart, When JAW-Uf -sa Candy Ita eaae f hall impart.
The original of the following letter can be seen in Mrs. Jaw-us-es window :
*I>XAn Madam: Mt own fiseUnxa of gratitude, and the duty I owe my wheezing country, imperatiTely demand that I fhould immediately lay before you the following facts :
• A few weeks since I was given orer by my physicians, who, prononneing me in an incura- ble decline, declined any farmer prescriptions.
* Having fallen into a letharrio state, my friends immediately ordered a barber and coflln ; when, blessed chance I the barber employed as sharinff^paper a wrapper of your verr extra- ordinary cough candy ; the cure was mstantaneous, and the coffin was stopped immediately.
• Your grateful servant, To Mat. Jaw-its. — * Pbilo Humbuo.'
Skeleton Wanted. — The undersigned being deeply engaged in tracing out the cause and effect of that most afflicting disorder, the ' chicken-pock,' is in immediate want of the skeleton of a half grown fowl, to aid him in the prosecution of his arduous undertaking. For a perfect skeleton a high price will be paid by bon. Mot., m. d., ktc.
Wanted, a few patients, of sound constitution, for domestic prac- tice. An excellent arrangement can be made by such persons with the subscriber, who will attend them entirely free of charge, find the medicines, and throw the bottles in. Address, through the post- office, MxmcAL SnmENT.
REVIEW OF THE MARKET.
Ashes. — Pots and Pans in great request. Ashes in barrels are heavy, as the corporation demand has entirely ceased.
Corns. — Very dull; no operations in the article, although several holders, and all limping like lame ducks. They have made desperate efforts to exchange them for some other commodity, but have tried large boot in vain.
CoFFBE has been going down for some time. Boarding-house keepers offer freely, at reduced rates.
Horses. — This article, which has been used as a fancy stock during the late fine weather, and driven into all sorts of holes and comers, has, since the disagreeable change, assumed a more stable appearance.
Iron. — We are assured, upon the veracity of an exchange paper, that Missouri Pig is quiet, if this is true, it must be a very extra- ordinary variety, and should be extensively cultivated.
330 Tke Bu$dcumvme Chranide. [April,
Monet Market. — No change.
Tongues. — A light supply, and those going very fast
ANSWERS TO C O RBE SP O ND E N T6.
* V, O. p.' wishes to know if there was any danger of St. Peter's going off when he was wet in the Sea of Galilee. We do not feel able to answer the question, bat leave it to those philosophers who are trying to determine whether saltpetre will explode.
* L. S.' — There is no truth in the report that our Hon. Ex-Secre- tary of War is about to Join the anti-rent party.
* ScRUTATA.' — The Wiger is a river in Africa, in the source of which the Afiicans dip ibeir infants, who thence receive a lasting color, being dyed in the wool.
'Curiosity' wishes to know why Mr. Price's wife was cheap. We suppose it was because she was half-price.
* High Game.' — We believe Nebuchadnezzar invented the game of all-fours ; at least he is the first human being who is known to have practised it.
* A Lover op Dogs.' — We do not know of a better place to send the canine race, in case of any more summary proceeding on the part of our corporation, than Barca or the Bight of Benin.
poetry.
PABEWELL TO TOBACCO.
■ VPPOBSD TO BAVX BSVV WRITTXH BT OKS WAITlIt RALZIOH, WaO XITTXNTSD THZ WVIS.
Go, hie thee hence, foul fiend, for erermore I Long hast thou bound mo with a tight'ning chain ;
Focketa to let, and aoulleas muse deplore, And call me loud to liberty again.
And here 'a the pipe, the aceptre of thy power, With which thou 'at ruled me many a weary year ;
Faith I but I '11 break it, and in that bleaa'd hour With acorn at all thy boaated rule I '11 Jeer I
Seducer, hence I — and yet one moment stay : lliou 'at oft beguiled ihe in a weary hour ;
We ne'er had worda between ua, till to-day, And will not part with lengthened riaage aour.
No, we will not in bitter anger part, But with a softened sadness none may feel
Saye thoae that break the chain which with such art Thou hast cast o'er them, strong as triple ateel.
And now, farewell I a long and sad farewell, To cozy pipe, to rich, perfumed cigar,
Fine-cut, and Carendish, and Maacabau, and all Now and fbrerer from me keep afar i
49.]
The Hoitd. 331
THE HOSTEL.
LoNO ago in mony Eo^and, Sheltered from the dust and heat
By old elms, a quiet hoatel Near the roadside wooed retreat
At the door a sign was swinging, Blazoned with a quaint device,
Telling how good cheer and lodging Mig^t be had for little price.
'Neath its eaves the dripping water In a trough fell bright and chill.
There, the panting wearied hones Of the wagoner drank their fill.
There the host so red and buriy Drew for all a cheering draught.
There the tired and dusty traveller From the foamiug flagon quaffed.
Round the walls were hung the tankards, Filled so oft with mighty ale.
On whose burnished sides the fire-light Fitfully would flash and fail.
And from old and oaken rafters, Joints and flitchers thickly hung,
There the pilgrim faint and hungry Often longing glances flung.
Many a time to jovial carols Shook the windows, shook the floor ;
Many a time the host so burly Ne*er till morning closed the door.
fif Once a troop of weary travellers.
Faint and failing on the road, Saw how on the hostel windows Red the summer's sunset glowed.
At the old and much worn door-sill Stood the host, whose shining face,
Flushed and ruddy as the sunset. Had for them a wondrous grace.
Frank and hearty was his meeting. And they 'lighted from tncir steeds,
Entered in the ancient hostel. Pressed its floor bestrown with reeds. TOL. XXXIII. 34
382 The Hostel [April,
Then was broached the oldest hogshead,
Then was served the choicest fare ; Then arose the jest and laughter,
Then was stifled every care.
They were guests of diflferent stations,
Knight and yeoman, rich and poor. But the gradofi of rank and riches
Vanished at the hostel door.
There they sat, and still the shadows
Lengthened of the elm trees old, There they sat, until the mooniise
Made the tankards shine like gold.
Timidly the door was opened,
And a vagrant minstrel pressed With a faltering step the threshold,
Seeking shelter, seekmg rest.
Then a stalwart knight arising,
Said, ' Sir minstrel, never fear. Enter in and sit beside us.
Thou art gladly welcome here I'
He was young and slightly fashioned,
With a face as woman's fair. And adown his neck and shouldexB
Fell his long and golden hair.
Then they placed him at their table.
Gave to him the highest seat. Filled for him the foaming tankard.
Set before him wine and meat
There he sat amid the yeomen,
*Mid the knights so stout and tall. And his soft and wondrous beauty
Fell like sunsliiuc on them all.
liovingly the moonlight lingered
'Mid his long and waving hair, Stealing o*er his gentle features,
Maluig fairness still more fair.
But at length their meal was ended.
And they made him this request, ' Sing to us, oh, gentle minstrel.
Sing, before we go to rest !'
In his hand his harp is lying,
0*er its strings his fingen sweep, And the music that had slumbered
In its chords awakes from sleep.
1849.] Tht Hastd. 333
Then his voice with it ia blended,
Laden with a warlike strain, How the flower of England's warriors
Conqaered on the battle plam.
Close the listoners press around him,
For within each good knight*s breast Memories of old hud-fought battles
Waken from their wild unrest.
Now his strain is lower, sweeter,
Love is lingering on the strinj^ ; *T is a song of bumm;ir paasion
That the vagrant minstrel sings.
And from many a quivering eyelid,
And on many a manly cheek. Drops the tear that tells their secret,
Secret that they may not speak.
Slower, slower steals the measure.
And, amid the breathless calm, From his harp ascends to heaven
A devout and holy psahn. ' *
Then is traced upon each bosom.
Of the cross the sacred sign, Then awaken in each spirit
Yearnings sacred and divine.
And the moonlight fills the hostel
With a strange and solemn light ; With its rays the music mingles,
Making mystical the night
Ceased the minstrel : yet the echoes
Still were throbbing in the room. As when after flowers are withered,
Still there lingers their perfume.
Ere his listeners knew his absence,
From their midst the bard was gone ; Passed across the much worn door-sill.
Went out in the night alone.
O'er the guests of that old hostel.
Fell that night a sleep serene, And the memory of that minstrel,
In their hearts till death was green.
Thus along life's weary journey
Song, a gift from heaven, is thrown ; Strong to raise each generous passion.
Sweet in memory when H is flown. wj m : 4. :j c r, : a; ii r. MMUtKcU, (Maine,) March 7, 1849.
334 Leaves from an African Journal. [April,
LEAVES FROM AN AFRICAN JOURNAL.
BT JOHK CARXOrZ. BRXXT.
UNDER WAY: A TRIAL OP SPEED.
Monday, January 24, 1848. — This morning, at two bells, (five o'clock,) the usual bustle and orders attendant upon getting under way informed me that our southern cruise was commenced. We were getting through a placid, sparkling sea, with a fine land breeze giving us five or six knots, leading the Boxer, some distance astern, and the Ampbitinte ahead, she having got under way an hour or so before us, when I emerged upon the water-deluged deck, which with the gun-deck was suffering firom the infliction of buckets, brooms, fiwabs and squilgees. About nine o'clock, the Englishman being a little forward of our starboard beam, the experiment of trimming ship was reported to, and the men with the clothes-bags sent abaft the mizzen-mast. It did not appear, however, that the evolution produced much effect, for we gained but little or nothing upon the frigate. Still, it would seem we sail somewhat better than she does, and if we keep together we may enjoy quite a nice race, and have the honor of leaving our competitor astern. The company we have adds very much to the interest of the scene ; for it is a pleasing sight to see three gallant vessels, with snow-white sails expanded to the breeze, and gi'acefully bending on their sea-tossed path, a subject each of interest and comment to the other. As our commodore ex- pressed a wish to Captain Eden of having a trial of speed with the Amphitrite, which is considered a veiy good sailer, (far superior to the Kapid, which beat us in the chase off Cape Mount and the Gal- linas,) we experience some anxiety about the result. So far (one o'clock) we are decidedly the victors. She got a start of an hour and a half, and was some four miles ahead of us, when we got under way ; but we have nevertheless overtaken her, and she is now on our starboard quarter, trimming, and trying all she can to improve her sailing ; and yet she falls astern, and we gain upon her, even visibly to the eye. Both ships have all the canvass that can be use- ful in this light breeze, and I think with others, better judges than myself, that this will be a good test of our qualities, and that we must come out decidedly victorious. We have dropped the Boxer far aslem ; so that if we keep on at this rate, we must be in sight of her before night sets in.
At noon we were by obsei*vation five degrees fifty- two minutes thirty seconds North longitude, bearing ten degrees thirty-one minutes West, thirty-three miles from Monrovia, fifteen miles from nearest land, off Junk River, between that place and Picaninny, or Little Bassa, and somewhat more than one-seventh of the distance from Monrovia to Cape Palmas.
At half-past five p. m., when we took in royals and studding-sails
1849.] Leaves from an African Jowmal. 335
in order to let the Boxer make up her loss during the day, the Eng- lishman had fallen ahout three miles astern, and we were dropping him perceptibly with the freshening of the breeze as evening set in. Of course now under this reduced canvass we must expect to be overhauled ; but sufficient has been done to entitle us, I should think, to the honors of the race, and to redeem to some extent our injured reputation. The Amphitrite, however, was laden heavy with provi- aionSy and could not have been in her best sailing trim.
AT SEA: CRUISE TO LEEWARD.
Tuesday, January 25. — A fine, bright day, and a nice breeze. The result of our taking in sail last night, and backing mizzen-top- saD, was that the brig came up, and is now a few miles in shore, off on our larboard quarter ; while our fellow racer, the Amphitrite, is nearly hull-down, on our lee-bow. I cannot but feel vexed that t£e necessity of holding on for the Boxer should so far retard us in our cruise ; for it is rather provoking to be obliged to trifle with a favor- able breeze and auspicious circumstances in latitudes where little reliance can be placed in sea or weather, and calms, baflling winds and strong currents embarass the navigation. But I for one bow in all due submission to the judgment of those who are in authority, and who are charged with the management of the ship, and hope that we shall fully realize the consummation that ' all 's well that ends well.'
Among other annoyances met with on some parts of the coast, is the important matter of foraging ; for hard indeed the caterer's lot, and inventive must bo his genius to succeed, when, as at Monrovia, ' l€9 munitions de bouche* are to be picked up at random here and there, in small quantities, and where you can manage to stumble upon them. This our steward experienced when a day or two pre- vious to our sailing he went ashore on an expedition of the kind. He reported to me that he was obliged to run about incessantly after the few articles he managed to scrape together. Messing, therefore, is much more expensive here than at Porto Pray a, our daily expen- diture nearly doubling what we incurred at the former place. Yet, though small the fowls, gi*een the bananas, tough-skinned and light the oranges, and a dollar the hundred at that, insignificant the pine- apples and vegetables, save cassada, plantains, sweet potatoes, etc., still, it bein? the dry season at Monrovia, considerable allowance must be made for this drawback, and a caterer may find better and cheaper fare, and easier to be got at, during a more favorable season.
While on this subject, by referring to that very useful book, * The African Cruiser,' 1 iind that he has devoted a portion of his sixth chapter to an account of the cultivation of sugar, the coffee culture, and agriculture in Liberia. As to the firat, he thinks it cannot be carried to any extent unless some method be found out to apply na- tive labor to that purpose. He is of opinion that, although up ^o the period of writing the coffee plantations had not succeeded well, the
336 Leaves from an African Journal. [April,
efforts and enterprise of one or two of the principal settlers might change the complexion of affairs, and cause the result to be flatter- ing and satisfactory. As a proof of the then absence of success, we are informed that most of the coffee used and exported from the colony in 1843 was procured at the islands of St. Thomas and Princes, in the Bight of Benin. As Judee Benedict, one of those who pay most attention to the cultivation of the plant, and who is the most successful, has promised to furnish me with information in re- spect to this and other branches of agriculture in the republic, I shall be prepared to compare the * Cruiser's account with that of the for- mer, and see whether any alteration has taken place during the last four years, and if so, whether for the better or not. I drank some of the Monrovia coffee during both our visits, and found it, to my taste, of superior flavor and quality. I trust the experiment may fully realize the warmest expectations of those who are trying it
Rice is in universal cultivation throughout the African continent, and the ' Cruizet' tells us that for the upland crop, the rice lands are turned over and planted in March suid April; the grain reaped, beaten out and cleared for market or storing in September or October. The lowland crop is planted in September and October, in marshy lands, and harvested in March and April. Cassada, a kind of yam, with a tall stalk and light green leaves, looks like a rough barked piece of wood, is white and mealy inside, with little or no taste, but nourishing and much es- teemed as an article of food. I found our author's description as a^ove faithful and graphic. It is dug up in six months, may be kept fifteen or eighteen months in the ground, but is not eatable three or four days after being taken from the earth. Tapioca is made out of this root. Indian Com is planted in May, and the harvest takes place in September ; if planted m July, it ripens in November and Decem- ber. The most reliable and largest crop here is Stoeet Potatoes. They are raised from seeds, roots or vines, but most successfully from the latter ; planted in May and ripen four months latter. Plantains and Bananas, also very valuable, are propagated from suckers, and yield in about a year. Ground Nuts, known as Pea with us, used in Eng- land for making oil. The Cocoa, a bulbous root of the size of a tea- cup, and somewhat like the artichoke. Pine Apples, small but of good flavor and growing wild, conclude the list of artificial and natural productions described by the * Cruizer,' whose account I have thus borrowed, for the information of those who may not have seen his work.
In addition I would mention the Granidilla and Soursop, which I have tasted. They are both of a large size, of rough exterior and uninviting to the eye. But the former when opened, presents a soft, mucilaginous matter, enclosing a multitude of small seed, like those of the Pomegranate, and which when eaten, has a peculiarly sweet and pleasant taste and flavor. The other is internally white and rather firm in its substance, and as its name imports, is quite acid, yet i*efreshing, and is much admired and sought for by many people. But put all these tropical and strange fmits together, not one can ex- cell or even compare with, in my opinion, some of our fine northern
1849.] heaves from an African Journal. 337
apples, and the pears and peaches of the middle and other fruit-pro- ducing States. Familiarity breeds contempt, and the appetite is soon satiated with the redundancy of luscious sweetness, which, for the most part characterizes the productions of the sunny south.
To change however this subject, long enough dwelt on, I revert to our own movements and actual incidents, uninteresting though they may prove to many. We have just concluded wearing ship, and the Boxer, in consequence of our signal, is bearing toward us, and she will soon be under sail for Cape Palmas, in search of letters for the squadron and general information, to rejoin us at Accra, as soon as practicable. I cannot say that I am sorry she is going to leave us for awhile, as she is so much of a drag on our progress ; but I do regret that \ve shall not ourselves visit Palmas, as I should like to compare the condition and appearance of ' Maryland in Liberia,' with that of the * Liberian Republic,' with a view to some opinion as to the rela- tive effects of the colonial and independent systems on the respective communities. But we may probably look in there on our return, so what is postponed is not lost.
The master did not succeed in getting an observation to-day, but by dead reckoning, he puts us latitude four degrees thirty-nine minutes twenty seconds west; longitude by chronometer, nine degrees eighteen minutes fifteen seconds west ; about ninety-four miles from Cape Palmas, and thirty-three from the nearest land, nearly opposite Settra-Kroo, die head-quarters of the Kroomen,
AT SEA — OFF CAPE PALMAS.
Wednesday, January 26. — The steady warm temperature and hot sun give us unmistakeable evidence of our drawing near the equator. We are now alone upon the gently stirred ocean, the fri- gate and brig having stood in shore and being out of sight. The breeze though favorable, is light, giving us on an average about three or four knots the hour. This morning we had a specimen of firing vrith hollow shot and Paixhan shells, and the Commodore and Cap- tain were much pleased and gratified with the results. At noon to- day we were about seventy miles from Cape Palmas, entirely out of sight of land ; but as the courae has been somewhat altered, so as to bring us nearer in, we may yet get a glimpse of the Cape or of the neighboring coast to the southward. I should, to be candid, much prefer, though proximity to shore may affect somewhat our health, to be able to see a little of the coast as we sail along, so as to have some idea of its appearance and get acquainted with some of its features and settlements. For as yet, we have seen but little of Africa or its people, most of our time being passed under canvass, and unless for the liiture we scrape a nearer and longer acquaintance with the land, our cruise will have added little to our instruction, however much it may have contributed to our ease and comfort. For in these torrid lati- tudes, though • distance may not lend enchantment to the view,' it lends exemption from the fever scourge, the demon who reigns in power here.
338 Leaves from an AfHcan Journal. [April,
AT SEA — OPP RIO PBESCO AND GRAND BA88AM.
TeuRSDATy January 27. — At noon to-day we were opposite Rio Fresco, on the ivory coast about thirty-two miles from land, and two hundred and twenty from Cape Three Points, our latitude by observa- tion, four degrees thirty-one minutes twelve seconds north ; longitude, five degrees thirty-one minutes thirty seconds west. We are too far off to get a distinct view of land, but it has been seen, as it is said, by many all the morning. But as an order has just been given to stand in to enable our coast pilot, Cooper, to fix our whereabouts exactly by his knowledge of the land, I suppose we shall make a closer ac- quaintance with it before nightfall. Any thing indeed, in the way of terra-firma would be a relief to us in our present monotonous state of existence, and we may in addition stana a chance, should we eo in near enough, to be boarded by some of the natives, who are said to be a savage, primitive set of fellows, suid therefore die more origi- nal and interesting. It is more than probable that we shall make £e land somewhere near Kotrou or Rio Negro.
Friday, January 28. — This moiiiing found us about fifteen miles or so from land, supposed to be off Grand Balsam, So far, as to weather, we have been peculiarly fortunate, the breeze which wafred us gently out of Mesurado Roads, on Monday morning, having con- tinued with slight variations of direction and force, ever since. Having not gone in close to shore, and from other causes of which I am not navigator enough to judge or express an opinion, the ship has not been allowed at times to go ahead as fast as she might under the proper canvass. But this to me personally is no peculiar matter of annoyance or complaint With such pleasant seas and breezes as we have enjoyed since our departure from Monrovia, agreeable mess- mates, business and books enough to occupy and amuse me, good health, good appetite, and no lack of fresh provisions, I should con- sider myself very hard to please, were I to indulge too much in the luxury of grumbling. Some how or other material is manufactured between places of departure and destination, to give me sufficient occupation when at anchor, to keep me steadily on board, and nip any projected excursions ashore cruelly in the bud. So that, although the scanty attractions offered by this uninviting coast diminish the pain of what would otherwise be a sore disappointment, I still must tee\ the drag which keeps me out longer and oflener than is agreeable from those sources of relaxation and instruction, which, barren as this country is for the most part in incident and interest, unless paid too dear for, I had flattered myself under more promising circumstances, would be convenient if not pleasant of access. No fitter place, I ween, is found to try one's philosophy, strain patience and test one's temper, than life on board a man-of-war, in a dull and uninteresting station. Not only is the spiiit dulled, cramped and chafed by the monotony of the time, and the variety of annoying incidents which every hour may bring to his notice or come to him personally, and made dreary and desolate with the unpromising contemplation of the future, but if he be not a modified kind of Mark Tapley, that practi-
1849.] Leaves from an African Journal. 339
cal and cool philosopher ' under trying circumstances/ the physical Texations and accidents, peculiarly frequent in these hot climates, will add most materially to nis discomfort and distress. For the heat, steady if not intense, doth hatch into activity and power, those de- testable pests and pei-secutors, cockroaches, rats, moths, ants, spiders, •tc, to mock the application of cat suid trap ; for where one or more are sacrificed to our injured feelings and spirit of revenge, others more hateful and destructive come to their departed fellow's funeral, and make us feel, however loath, the fruitlessness of our efforts and pre- cautions. I shudder at the prospect of the future and our inevitable fate, subjected as we are and must be to the tender mercies of these our constant attendants and cruel persecutors. Vain our groans and stories of wrong communicated by the sufferers to each other for sympathy and relief, every day finds us still harping on the theme, and the evil waxes nearer and more imminent, heavier and more dis- tressing. Oh ! for a Saint Patrick to drive the foul vermin into the ravenous sea, and bless us with the prospect of unbroken sleep in our beds, and peace and comfort at our table !
The land is now, one o'clock, distinctly in sight It is low suid uni- form. As we are now standing, our course would carry us to the 'Bottomless Pit,* so named from there being no soundings within it. It has an ugly name at least, but as Shakspeare says, ' there is noth- ing in a name, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet' — (a sentiment which by the way I do not accept as conclusive,) and as it is not water but earth we dread the most, 1 hope and believe there is no harm in going there or danger to be incurred, although profane and angry people are wont to consign their, adversary to a similar place, with a shorter name. A letter dated from the * Bottomless tit,' would sound most strange in ears polite, and perchance evoke some rather unpleasant associations.
AT SEA — A VISIT FROM THE NATIVES.
About three p. m., we had neared to the land to the distance of seven or eight miles, when we were visited by a canoe containing four naked, thick>lipped, flat-nosed negroes. Having asked in broken English whether we were English, French or American, no expla- nation or persuasion could induce the shy fellows to come aboard. In vain was the head Krooman, Tom Johnson, deputed to hold a * palaver' with them, and the * stars and stripes' given to the breeze ; fearful of being made slaves of, as their spokesman said, they stuck to their long, narrow, sharp-bowed * due out,' and finally, after a fruit- less negotiation between the parties, dropped astern with their un- known cargo, if cargo they had, which they would have, I suppose, traded for fish-hooks, tobacco and empty bottles, and thus deprived us of seeing nearer and conversing further with them. Our coast pilot tells us that these visitors come from Picaninny Bassam, and that the reason why they are so shy of armed cruisers is the violent attempt made by the French some few years ago, to purchase or force
340 DedUnga wUk Time. [April,
from the natives a portioB of their territory. At five o'clpck we en- tered the ' Bottomless Pit,' which affords no soundings within fifty feet of the land, and is several miles in breadth, closing up like a bag as it winds into shore. So now is the chance to date a missive from a place different I trust from that described by the Latin Bard, ' facile descensus, sed revocare gradum, hie labor, hie opus est,' or as the witty Cowley has it :
* Thb way to enter** broad, but being in« No aot, no labor can an exit win.'
Our breeze still sticks to us, and we are in sight of Cape Apollo- nia, where the high ground, high comparatively, terminates and the low begins. We are not as close in shore as we might be, too far to distinguish objects, although the character of the land, uniform and well wooded, is distinctly made out It would seem that we are experiencing the premonitory symptoms of our approach to the Bight of Benin ; for to-day is the first damp and cloudy one we have encountered since we lefb Monrovia ; and although it is the dry sea- son, I apprehend that we shall come in for some share of tornadoes, thunder, lightning and rain, the prevailing rulers of these latitudes.
DBALINOB WITH TIME.
BT J. BONSrWELL
'Tib even bo: Experience proves the truth of the idea That Life is but a (rreat vendue, and Time an auctioneer ; Where Man is tempted by his hopes some rueful lots to buy, As you who Ve reached your spectacles can safely testify.
He *s fond, this ancient auctioneer, of mystifying folks.
And fobs them off with bitter fruits, wrapped up in funny jokes ;
For sometimes when you think you Ve bought a pleasure mighty cheap,
The very memory of the trade 's enough to make you weep.
I know a preBent case in point : my friend acroBS the way Bought, as he said, a ' splendid lot !' a bargain, t* other day ; Losing this prize, he would have held all earthly blessings lost ; But now he *d sell it ( 't is a wife,) for less than half the cost
I have been favored in my time, like many witlen wights, With glimpses at * the elephant,* and other wondrous sights ; But never dreamed the cost would be so fearful in amount, Until this meddling auctioneer brought in his long account.
For instance : for some youthful freaks I 'm charged a shining crown, (But not the golden kind that weighs the wigs of monarchs down,) A crow's-foot under either eye, and furrows on my brow. And corns upon my pedal farm that never need the plough.
1849.] Dealings unih Time. 341
And manhood made some purchases that did n*t torn out well — Their memory comes to pla^e me now with its lugubrious bell ; For human passions had their play, and poached in strange preserves, Which left me with a visual haze and vibratory nerves.
It 's always so : the goods are bought, no matter what the price. The buyer all the blessed while being sure they 're cheap and nice ; But when the bill is handed in — the * little bill* it *s called — The stoutest heart that ever beat might well shrink back appalled.
Yet still the ambidextrous rogue keeps hammering at his trade — He has so many customers he 's never long delayed ; He scores a great lumbago, now, against a pleasant sin, And leaves his victim with a smile that cuitilee to a grin.
A postliminiar draft he holds, this wheedling diplomat. Which must be met when it matures — there 's no evadmg that ; As well might you the ancient dame's aSrial project try, And sweep with a terrestrial broom the cobwebs from the sky.
Yon fool with such a sallow phiz secured a lot abroad — Went to enjoy it, and came back bejewelled like a lord ; But now, poor man, he 's looking round to find another lot ; A smallet one will serve his turn — ^ it 's easy to be got.
And he who has the shaky limbs, and totters in his gait. He says he isn't ready yet — the auctioneer must wait He thinks it very odd to be so badgered with a bill. And swears he does n't owe the scamp a solitary mill.
At all such warning finger-poets we look with heedless eyes. And sugared pleasures tempt us still, as sweets inveigle flies ; For Time 's a cunning auctioneer who knows his business well, And always has the thing we want, and always wants to sell.
And so for some poor foolish toy we barter all our powers, And for a minute's worth of fun spend many precious hours ; Yet if we bid the fearful price that gains us gold or fame, We only leave the bankrupt's pawn — a protest and a name.
A serial fraud is human life, from cradle to the shroud ;
Delusion enters with our pap, and has its claims allowed ;
It halo's Youth, encircles Man, is Age's gilded ark,
And soothes, the soul that steps at length aboard the Stygian barque.
O, could I in my bloomy youth have stolen a march on age, And read the record of my life from Fate's eventful page, I think I should have made a leap from yonder river's brink, And down among the suckers sought my everlasting drink.
And now, my precious fellow man, these pregnant facts consider. That Time at last without remorse knocks down the bravest bidder ; That Life itself, the final lot, is like a chattel sold. And he that was the ' mould of form' becomes a fonn of mould !
342 The 8t. Le^er Papers^ [April,
THE SAINT LEGER PAPERS.
BXaOKS BBRZZa.
Say what we may, assume what we please as to the relative posi- tion of man and woman, it is an important era in our lives (I speak for my kind,) when we first begin, not only to be susceptible to female influence, but to require it as a want of the soul. For it is then that the errors of the neart levy their first fearful contribution, to be continued through all time, and for aught I know, through all beyond. It is then that the passions are either brought into subjec- tion or become tyrants, and lead perhaps to interminable perdition. Certain it is, at all events, that there are wonderful changes in his spiritual relations, unseen it may be, but none the less real, which man owes to the influence of woman.
It is not easy to describe this influence, for we lack the psychologi- cal terms by which to describe it. It is not objective, positive, or opposing, but rather pervading ; entering upon the slightest occasion into the inner sanctuary of the soul, and purifying by its presence the whole inner life.
Take, for example, a happy surprise. You come unexpectedly upon the one you love — perhaps you have not acknowledged to yourself that you do love — and feel a delicious quickening of the heart thrill through you. To this succeeds tranquillity and a sub> dued happiness, while you feel that there is a mysterious something which surrounds your friend, as with a soft, delightful zephyr. It meets you, pervades you, and leads you captive. You linger, en- chained by a spell which you have no desire to break, and every thing is forgotten in the absorbing delight of that present moment. Now I care not how depraved the man shall be, I care not how sen- sual, how deeply steeped in sin, for the time being and while under such an influence, he is pure. It may not be lasting, but for the mo- ment it is potent and effectual.
Can we explain this psychological, or rather let me say, this mag- netic influence ? Neither can we explain, although we may under- stand, this same influence in its higher and more important relations.
Thus much I had written, almost unconsciously, after glancing over the account of my interview with Kauffmann. It fell from me like a soliloquy, yet I hesitate to erase it ; on the whole, I will let it remain.
As for myself, the influence of the sex upon me began early and has continued — always. Whether or not it was peculiar the reader may judge. I will to speak truth of myself God only knows (I say it with reverence,) how difficult is the task ; for it is not every one who is familiar with his own experience.
I find it difficult in this part of my naiTative to select from the
1849.] Tht 8l Leger Papers. 343
— ,
many interestiDg occurrences which transpired during my stay at Leipsic those which had a controlling influence over me. Unless, however^ I adhere to my resolution of detailing these alone, I shall swell my ms. to an unnecessary size.
Day afler day the glories of my new philosophy melted gradually away, while I no longer experienced the sustaining power of my former belie£ Still, I was not altogether beyond its reach. Uncon- sciously I found myself falling back upon the truths of revelation, while at times the remembrance of a mother's prayers and of a mo- ther's earnest exhortations came over me with such force that I was melted to tears. But these were momentary influences. My general state of mind was chaotic. To be sure, the instruction I gained from my several studies was not lost upon me ; but it did not reach my heart
I had confided in Theresa, and that saved me. How little I felt this at the time ! how little indeed do we ever feel the importance of events while they are taking place ! And, reader, do you account it puerile, this confiding that I speak of? Are you made of such stern stofl' that you cannot understand it 1 Look back a little ; turn your heart inside out, and see if you cannot find the remains — perhaps Bcorched to ashes, but still the remains — of some such feelings 1 Withered, blasted, suppressed, neglected, trampled on, they may be ; bat thet/ have been there. And did it ever occur to you that what seems now so ii^significant in your eyes will one day assume an air of imposing magnitude, and what seems now so vast and important will presently dwarf into mere littleness 1
From Theresa — the spiritual, heaven-minded Theresa— I learned, singular to say, the value of the practical. Without her appearing in die least aware of it, Theresa's soul had upon my soul a remarka- ble eflect. During my various occupations, amid the changes of the new life I was leading, in moments of weakness, in moments of temptation, in times of depression and of exaltation, in all these, dear Theresa, thou wert my safeguard and my life. Instead of her spirit reposing upon mine, my spirit found repose in hers. I began by deerees to think more of what Kauflmann had said. I felt that I had within me a strength of soul and purpose equal to cope with the mighty; yet I daily renewed my strength from the heart of that young girl 1
Yes, in my struggles after a healthful state of life, I say it with truth, Theresa Von Hofrath was my chief, perhaps my sole assistant ; and this, too, apparently without any design on her part. There was a charm in her very being which touched and swayed and subdued me.
But how shall I express my feelings for Theresa! May I not better say I had no feelings for her 1 She was not so much a par- ticnlar object of thought and attention ; she rather gave life and tone and character to all my thoughts. What Liberty is to a people, Theresa Von Hofrath was to me. As liberty is nothing positive, but only a favorable status^ so the influence of Theresa produced in me a moral status, of a nature best adapted to the circumstances by
344 The St. Leger Papers. [April,
which I was' surrounded. What was developed by all this we shall see by and by. ....
After a full deliberation; after patiently wearinc^ out a twelve- month in bewildering my brain with German metaphysics; after listening to lecture upon lecture, and system upon system ; I con- cluded deliberately and decidedly, and beyond all peradventure, that my sojourn in Leipsic had not brought about, ana would not bring about, the desired result.
1 had come to Grermany a demi-god. My watchwords were, ' no subservience to opinion,' ' no limits to huamn wisdom,' ' consult Na- ture in all her modes,' and so forth, and so forth. These, and such as these, filled my mouth with vain arguments. For vain I knew them to be ; that is, I felt a consciousness in that lower deep below the lowest deep ; that I was all — all wrong; that I was dreaming, and should one day awake to a sense of my real condition. Then when I came among the learned doctors, and lecturers, and school- men, (solemn mockera and grave triflers,) and found how they were all pulling and hauling and mystifying, with their := + and — , 1=1, and ' no man must must ;' when 1 found that my old question was not answei^ed, and no result came of all this foolery ; I felt as- sured that I had missed my mark. From this I sometimes found re- lief in taking up a volume of my Lord Bacon. Often could I clear my brain from the mbts that thickened around it by perusine the plain and intelligible lessons of wisdom which that mighty mind had left to the world. In the same way I could shut out strange visions of the frightful demons of the Hartz — those hideous and unnatural creations of the German poets — by readingrdie ' Midsununer Night's Dream,' or the 'Masque of Comus.' Iif Germany I learned to ap- preciate the philosophy and the poetry of my own land.
Still I kept on studying and worrying, and perplexing my brain. Besides the public lectures, I continued to enjoy the private instruc- tion of Herr Von Hofrath ; and his lessons were not of a nature to be forgotten. But lectures and lessons were not what I wanted — were not what I needed. As I have said, afl;er I had been in Leipsic a' twelvemonth, I still found that what troubled me in England troubled me in Germany : the actual^ the practical, the tohM and the why. The students made no advance, it seemed to me, in these. Each professor had a theory of his own, and most powerfully did he advocate it. At times I almost pined for my English home, and for English scenes. I recollected the matter-of-fact events of my life with the greatest pleasure, and called up to mind, with surprising minuteness, Uie early associations of my childhood. When I thought of my former feelings, suid contrasted them with my present bewildered state, which daily became more bewildered, I decided that I had nothing to do but to tumble my philosophy overboard, and take in for baUast what I best could.
Thus from a religiously educated youth I became a free thinker, and from a free thinker I got to be a kind of worldling. All 'this time, I believe that I earnestly desu'ed to think aright ; and so far as my actions were concerned, I had no special reason to reproach my-
1849.] The St. Leger Papers. 345
•e]£ After all, my spirit experienced §ome relief from being let down from the clouds, even at the risk of grovelling upon earth. So I determined to give up the chase after an unintelligible mysticism, although I should be accused of falling from my high estate, and of exhibitmg a low and unworthy degradation.
The professor, who had taJcen care not to dictate to me during what he was pleased to call my transition state, watched this change with interest He regarded me something as a skilful and ex- perienced physician regards a patient who, though apparently sick unto death, he feels confident will at length rally under judicious treatment. Herr Von Hofrath was too sagacious a minister to the ' mind diseased' to interfere with a rule equally applicable to soul and body — wArr on Nature. His mottto was, assist where you can, hut he sure you do not retard hy injudicious aid. When I was ready to condemn my whole routine of labors, he would say, complacently :
' Well, well ; it is something to have got so far as that ; but not too fiuBt ; take care lest while ye gather up the tares ye root up also. the wheat with them.'
' Especially,' I would add, ' if I cannot tell the tares ft*om the wheat.'
' By their nruit ye shall know them ; therefore wait,^
•How long r
' Till you have done asking questions. Now come with me ; I am leading Shakspeare's King «rohn. I want to use your edition. Come, you shall read to me.'
Such was the considerate manner of the professor during this mis- erable period of my life.
Theresa, always sweet and gentle, grew even more sweet and gentle when she perceived my restlessness and discontent. Every word she uttered came straight from her heart, and her heart always . beat true. She would aslure me with so much confidence that I should yet enjoy peace of mind, she would calm my impatience with 80 much tenderness that I almost believed her.
How shall I picture Theresa as I could wish 1 To do this I should detail exactly what passed between us. I acknowledge that I cannot perform the task. The scenes glide away from me and I cannot grasp them. And when I would grasp them, Proteus-like, they change and &de and vanish altogether.
Something out of ourselves engrossed us always and the hours passed imperceptibly. As the strong ask not themselves if they are m health or no, so it never occurred to us to ask if we were happy. What a character was hers! She had no bashful timidity, yet a rare appreciation of what belonged to her sex. She was so truth- fbl and so earnest that she stopped just this side of enthusiasm ; she was not an enthusiast either. She was too thoughtful, too gentle, too considerate to be an enthusiast.
Theresa and I were fiiends. If friends, what had we in common ] A desire for happiness. So we talked and walked and read and studied together. But we never spoke to each other of the feelings we entertained of each other. I doubt if we entertained feelings to speak of; had we done so, the universal soul-pervading influence
346 St. Leger Papers. [April,
of her spiritual, would have been narrowed down to the individual and the positive. Then we should have been in love ; in love, a spe- cious term, which, like the paradise of fools, has never been bounded nor defined. Not that I do not believe in the phrase, but wkat to believe in it I do not exactly know. That true love can exist without friendship is impossible, indeed I believe that it must rest upon friendship or it will die away. And friendship can be predi- cated only of hearts which are congenial, whose currents flow and harmonize together.
But to return. The idea of loving Theresa, (as the word is usually employed) of claiming her for mine and mine only, was what I never thought of, and if I had thought of it, the idea would have distressed me. No ; much as we were thrown together, and our communion was uninterrupted, I never entertained a wish that Theresa should ever be to me more than she then was. The thought of drawing her to my- self and calling her mine and mine only, seemed sacrilege. Was our companionship then so entirely spiritual ] It should seem so ; and when I thought of it I believed that I had divined what Kauff- man labored so hard upon : ' The true relation of the sexes to each other.' I began to think that the world had gone on hitherto all wrong ; that the social condition of man was founded upon error, and that a false idea of this ' relation' was at the bottom of the trouble. I said to myself if in the resurrection they neither marry nor are given in marriage, why may there not be examples of the same spi- ritual companionship here upon the earth ? and why should not such examples become universal f
In this way did my ideas rove around resting first upon one hypo- thesis, then upon another, while my opinions continued wandering and unsettled. .....
But, shall I confess it, there were times when in the society of Theresa, my heart craved something different from her; when I yearned for the mortal Psyche ; when the Venus Aphrodite, not the Venus Urania, seemed to inspire me. I pined for some exquisite ' crea- ture of earth's mould,' who should unite purity with her mortality, who should possess the embroidered girdle which fills the beholder with love and desire, who should excite feelings entirely different from those I entertained toward Theresa. Some being who should realize to me the happiness of an earthly passion, and afibrd me the enjoyment of an interested afiection.
At length I longed to love as the children of earth love.
And this longing, did it make any difference in my feelings for Theresa ] None whatever. She was still the same to me. In these new heart-developments her influence was as efiectual as it ever had been. It softened and purified and spiritualized these very earthly longings, it neither destroyed nor suppressed them.
As for Theresa herself, notwithstanding all our intercourse, I never could get quite to the bottom of her heart. I know not what I should have found there, but sometimes I thought the discovery would make me happy. .....
Returning one afternoon from the town, I found a note traced in a
1849." The St. Leger Papers. 347
female hand, requesting me to come to the lodgings of Wolfgang Hegewisch. Since the interview in which he had given me his his- tory I had heen frequently to see him. At time^I found him convales- cing and again worse ; he was however evidentlygrowing weaker, and I watched him with much solicitude. When he desired me to stay I re- mained, and when he was not in the mood for conversation I shortened my visits. By thus humoring his feelings, my society began, as I thought, to have a happy effect upon him. The last time I saw him, he seemed in better spirits than usual, and a natural cheerfulness of manner pre- vailed which completely metamorphozed the unfortunate misanthrope. I could not help remarking to Hegewisch the agreeable chsuige.
* Yes, my friend,' replied he, * I have changed ; thank God, my deliverance is near !'
* What do you mean V
Hegewisch put his hand upon his heart, shook his head and with a faint but not mournful smile replied :
* Something here tells me that a few days will release me from the world. Is not that a cause for cheerfulness 1 Of late my mind has been clearer. I owe you much for it I have looked over my life and feel that since that fearful event, a phrenzy has possessed me. What I have done, what I have said, what I have thought in that phrenzy I scarcely know, but I feel confident that my Maker will not ^nold me accountable for it. I have considered lately that, since I can look only upon the course of events as they happen upon the earth, and do not know what shall be the administration of things hereafter, I have not regarded the whole circumference of my being and that I have complained too soon. Do you wonder, after what I have expe- rienced, that now my brain is clear and my mind calm, death should be a great release to roe.'
•No.'
* You speak like a friend ; without affectation, but with kindness. Hear me. I shall never leave this room. But I would bid the world farewell with cheerfulness and with dignity; resignation I have not to practise. The days of my youth return to me, and I feel that inno- cent buoyancy of heart which I used to enjoy. Does this not be- token a happy future % Were not the words of my Meta prophetic ? A few days and 1 shall know. I have sent for my mother. She will bo here to-night My kind physician — my father's tried friend — is already here ; he insists upon remaining with me although he admits that there is no hope. I would bid you adieu ! You touched my heart when I believed it lifeless. You have befriended me much every way. Would that I could befriend you in return. Listen to me. Leave this place ; break off your present mode of life. You ikvkk too much, you do not perform, although performance is your province. You will become crazed here, you know enough of books, at least for the present ; strike out into the world ; interest yourself in its pursuits ; mingle in practical life even at the expense of min- gling m its follies. Return to free, happy England. You can serve jour fellow men in some way. It is time you made the attempt. Apply your energies in that direction. My friend, I speak with tne
TOL. ZZXIII. 35
•ti
348 TAe St. Leger Papers. "Apnl^
august prescience of a dying map, wben I say to you : Shake off this chronic dream-life and act ! Farewell !'
I was deeply affected.
' I cannot leave you so/ I said, after a silence of some minutes. ' I will not leave you until you have promised to send for me if you are worse. Do not refuse.'
' I will promise, hut do not come. Tou will almost make me feel a pang at parting.'
From what passed at this interview, I felt that it would he an in- trusion again to visit Hegewisch, unless I was summoned. I looked daily with a feverish anxiety for the promised message. It is not easy to describe with what trepidation I opened the note of which I have spoken at the commencement of this chapter. From its con- tents I could gather nothing. By the way, I have the note in this drawer ; here it is. A woman's hand certainly, though the charac- ters are traced hurriedly, and without much distinctness :
' Herr St Leger will so giit sein als zu kommen an No. — ,
Strasse.' (* Mr. St. Leger will please call at No. — , street.')
I left the house and hurried back to the town. I turned down this street and across that, threading my way into the remote section where Hegewisch had taken his lodgings, until, anxious and out of breath, I arrived at the door. I did not stop at the entrance, but passed directly up stairs, without meeting any one. Coming to Hegewisch's apartment, I knocked gently. There was no response* I knocked a gam : no answer. I opened the door and entered the room : it was vacant. I cast my eyes toward the apartment of which Hegewisch had said, with bitterness, ' there I sleep.' The door into it was open, and there indeed I discovered the object of my visit. Wolfgang Hegewisch lay partly raised upon the bed, which had been moved into the centre of the narrow chamber. On one side, and with her arm under the head of her dying son, sat the baroness ; upon the other, regarding the young man*s countenance with discriminatiug solicitude, stood his friend and physician.
As I approached nearer, Hegewisch turned his eyes toward me, and smiled a look of recognition. This caused the baroness to turn around. I heard my name pronounced feebly by my friend. The baroness rose hastily, came, toward me, took my hand, drew me to the other side of the room, and burst into tears. I could not remain unmoved ; the tears gushed from my eyes. I tried in vain to prevent it, but they would come. What was I to do ? what could I do to comfort the afflicted mother ? At this moment the physician entered the room. He addressed the baroness kindly, but with firmness :
* Madam, how can you give way to the force of your grief, when by so doing you cause your son such pain 1 As for myself, his calm and dignified, I may say his heavenly composure, fills my breast with a strange happiness, unusual, and not easily accounted for. I pray you be calm.'
By this time I had recovered sufficiently to join with the physician in endeavoring to assuage her grief. The baroness made a strong effort to become self-possessed.
1849.] The St. Leger Papers. 349
' It ifi not this single blow/ said she, ' that so unnerves me ; it is this in the succession of horrid events which over- tops all, crushing by its super-added weight the little strength that remained to me.'
I inquired how my friend was. The physician shook his head. ' Alas ! he may die at any moment. The renewel of the spasms must overpower him. He made me promise to send for you before it was too late. You may go in. He is so calm, that I have no fear of his being excited.'
I proceeded to the bed-side, followed by the physician and the baroness.
' Oh, Father of Mercies !' murmured I, < what have become of those days of happy wooing on the banks of the Rhine ? Is there anything tangible in the awful past ! Should life to man be made up of such contradictions !'
I took the band of my friend. He had scarce strength to return the slight pressure which I gave it. But that smile again illumined his countenance with an expression delightful to contemplate.
• You see I have kept my promise/ whispered he. * I feel a dread- ful weight removed from my heart. I am happy. I am calm too. Were it not for my mother, I should not have a shadow of unpleas- antness cross my spirit. I say again, remember not what I have ut- tered in my wild moments. My griefs have been greater than I could bear; but now — ah! now — Meta — at last my Meta beckons me hence.' ....
' Mother — mother !' ejaculated Hegewisch, suddenly dropping my band, and gasping for breath.
His mo^er flew to his side. The spasms had returned.
' Meta, dear Meta ! Gently, mother — gently. Lo ! I see — I see ! ' • •*...
He was dead ! ....
I could do nothing in that awful moment !
At a subsequent interview I narrated to the afflicted parent all that I had known of her son. I had to tell the story over and over again. In some way she discovered that I was the only one who had re- garded him with kindness, and her gratitude knew no bounds.
The remains of the young Baron of rest in the sombre tomb
of his fathers, at the old castle on the Rhine. The baroness still sur- vives. Solitary and desolate-hearted she waits with resignation the summons to follow her husband and her son.
And Caspar ? He too lives — lives in the Castle of Richstein, in possession of wealth and influence and power. Full of life, and in the midst of his days, he prosecutes his selfish plans — successfully prosecutes them. But he is G-on-forjsaken, and abhorred by man.
He also waits the summons.
Reader, have I digressed too much in narrating the story of Wolf- gang Hegewisch ? I trow not. It impressed me. It conveyed its mson, and therefore do I record it.
LITERARY NOTICES.
Pbovbem for the Pxopub ; or DIiutratioiM of Practical Goodness drawn from the Book of Wisdom. By E. L. Maooon, Author of * The Orators of the American Rerolotioii.' In one Tolune : pp. 273. Boston : Gouu>, Kmsdau. Ain> Lincoln.
A SUCCESSFUL attempt is made in this excellent volume to discuss the exalted prin- ciples of christian morality in a manner adapted to general comprehension. Each topic is con4>lete in itself, and bean directly upon the practical duties of life. In con- structing his chapters, Mr. Magoon, while he has wisely relied in the main on the teachings of the Bible, has not avoided other sources of valuable instruction. Ethical writers, ancient sages and modem poets, have recorded very striking thoughts upon the themes contained in the volume under notice, and their affirmations, we are glad to perceive, are regarded as none the less pertinent and valuable because their authors did not enslave themselves to a sect, nor serve limited circles as bigotted dog- matists. * The best impressions of the best minds,' observes our author, ' in every age and clime can be, and ought to be, rendered subordmate to the illustration and en- forcement of the great doctrines which relate to man*s temporal and eternal weliisre.' The reverend writer proceeds to illustrate seventeen of the proveibe of Soloiion, which he literally renders < Pmerba for the People,* by painting in truthful colon
* Captionsness, or the Censorious Man ;' * Kindness, or the Hero who best Conquen ;'
* Sobriety, or the Glory of Young Men ;* * Frugality, or the Beauty of Old Age ;' ' Temptation, or the Simpleton Snared ;' < Integrity, or the Tradesman Prospered ;*
* Extravagance, or the Spendthrift Disgraced ;* * Vanity, or the Decorated Fool ;* < Pride, or the Scomer Scorned ;' ' Idleness, or the Slothful Self-murdered ;* * Indus- try, or the Diligent made Rich ;* * Perseverance, or the Invincible Champion ;* ' Sin- cerity, or the Irresistible Persuader ;* * Falsehood, or the Dissembler Accursed ;' and
* Deceit, or the Knave Unmasked.' One can easily see what a field is here for va- riety and force of mculcation ; and we can assure the reader that it is weU occupied. The great object in each of Solomon's proverbs, to adopt the words of a modem stu- dent and translator of his works, * is to enforce a moral principle in words so few that they may be easily leamed, and so curiously selected and arranged that they may strike and fix the attention simultaneously ; while, to prevent the mind from becoming fatigued by a long series of detached sentences, they are perpetually diversified by the changes of style and figure. Sometimes the style is rendered striking by its peculiar simplicity, or the familiarity of its illustration ; sometimes by the grandeur or loftiness of the simile employed on the occasion ; sometimes by an enigmatical obscurity,
Literary Notices. 351
which 100868 the curio8ity ; very freqaently by a strong and catching antitheeie ; oc- casionally by a playful iteration of the same word ; and in numerous instances by the elegant pleonasms, or the expression of a single or common idea by a luxuriance of agreeable words.' Now in the enlargement of these proverbs, and in purraing in de- tail the thoughts which they suggest, and in enforcing the lessons which they briefly inculcate, we may well believe, judging from the result before us, that our author did not altogether lose sight of the character of the models above indicated. Our friend must allow us to suggest one thing to his better taste and revised judgment ; and that is, the commeneement of a quotation from an author, or a contemporary orator, with
* Says the eloquent Robkkt Hall,' etc., or < Said Bishop Burnet,' etc. This elipti- cal phraseology, sometimes adopted ' for short* by verbal anecdote-venders, is to our conception inelegant in exercitations which imply subsequent hand-writing and proof- readmg. If it m a < custom,' dear Sir, < pray you avoid it ;' for it is certainly one
* more honored in the breach than in the observance.'
Tbb Lifk and Thovobti of Jobn Fostzb. By W. W. Evebts. Author of ^Pastor*! Hand* Book,* etc. In one volume : pp. 314. New>York : Eovaeo H. Flstchbb.
RoBBKT Hall, certainly a judge of originality as of eloquence, remarked of Fostbe * that he was a man of the most extraordinary genius ; his writings are like a great lumber-wagon loaded with gold.' In the volume before us we have collected and classified for convenience of reference and use the most remarkable passages of Fos- tbk's writings, with headings indicating their scope and bearing, together with a com- pendious view of his life and a copious index. Fostbk's works are distinguished by a grand combination and supremacy of intellectual traits. < He thought with system as well as laboriously, and availed himself of passing occurrences and casual mental excitements for the illustration and elaboration of his views of some subject that had been long revolved in the ocean of his mind, like a pebble polished by the action of the sea.' Another distinguishing feature of his character and writings was a deep love of nature, and an exquisite appreciation of the beauties of natural scenery. He preserves a q>ecial truth and consistency in all language involving figure, and prunes away all thoBO superfluities of image which rather display the ingenuity and fertility of the author's mind than his subject We take from an essay upon Fostke's character and writings the subjoined passage, which involves an example of his style. His re- flections upon death and a future life are certainly very eloquent :
'Hii uudotu cariosity about the futare waa quickened by the approach of death and the de- eeaae of frienda. After the demiae of any acquaintance, he seemed impatient to be made ac- quainted with the lecreta of the inrisible worldl On one such occasion, rather more than one year before his own departure, he exclaimed. ' They do n't come back to tell us I'— then, after a abort alienee, emphatically striking his hand upon the table, he added, with a look of intense seriouaness. «but we shall know some time.' After the death of his son, he says : «1 hare tiiought of nim as now in another world, with the questions rising again, ' Where, oh I where f 1b what manner of existence f amid what scenes, and revelationa, and society f with what re- membrances of this world, and of us whom he has left behind in it f ~ questions so often breathed, but to which no Toice repUes. What a sense of wonder and mystery oTerpowera the mind, to tIdBk that he who was here— whose last look, and words, and breath, I witnessed — whose eyes I closed — whose remains are mouldering in the earth not far hence — should actually be now a eonaelous intelligence, in another economy of the uniTerse I' ' How full of mystery, and won- der, and solemnity, is the thought of where he may be now. and what his employments, and how divine the rapture of feeling with infinite certabity that he has begun anerer-ending life of progressiTe joy and riory I' Reflecting upOn the death of his wife, he inquires : • Oh I what Is the transition f ... It is to be past death — to hare accomplished that one amazing act which we hare yet undone before us, and are to do. It is to know what that awful and mysterious tiling is, and that its pains and terrors are gone peat forever. ' 1 have died,' our beloved friend
352 Literary Notices. [April,
Mji now, with •xultadon, ' and I lire to die no more 1 I have conquered tiiroagh the blood of the Lamb.' ' * What is it to hare passed throngh death, and to be now looking upon it as an erent hthind — an event from which ahe is every moment farther removing ; whoi ao latelv, wbea but a few days since, she was every moment, as all mortals are, approaching nearer ana nearer to it T What must be the thoughts, the emotions, oa closelr comparing these two states, under the amazing impression of actual experience f Bow many dark and most interesting and aolemn q[uution» (as they are to us, as they recently were to her) are now to her questions no longer I*
We commend these writiiigi of Footer to a wide diffbeioii^ albeit we remaiksome few things which we could wish had been omitted. His naiiow-minded views toach- ing certain amusements and accomplishments of children, for example, are onworthj a man of an enlarged and liberal spirit.
HousvHOLO Education. By HAamiXT Mabtimkau, Author of ' Eastern Life,' etc. Philadel- phia: LXA AND BlANCBABD.
Wk remember to have heard an American gentleman of distinction, once connected with the chief councils of the nation, remark, that while Miss Martineau was in this country she sought on several occasions to see him, but that he fortunately managed to escape an interview. < I did n't wish her to see me,' said be, ' and she did n*t. She 's making a book, I understand, on this country, and she 's collecting matter for it daily ; going round, with that lithe trumpet of hers, sticking it out and drawing m all sorts of things, like an elephant in a menagerie, who thrusts out and slaps around his trunk, imbibing here an apple, there a piece of cake, here a handful of nuts and there perhaps a chew of tobacca She is welcome to put into her trunk any thmg that she can get out of me !' Now it is this very propensity of Miss Martineau, this ubiquity of observation and assiduity of collection, which makes her, to our mind, so interesting a writer. It is this which has enabled her to tell us ' how to observe,' and how to appreciate those who (2o observe properiy. We have often wondered that an ' old maid' (pardon us, ladies !) like the author of * Deerbrook' should have written the very best description extant of the universality and potency of the passion of love ; and we are well nigh equally surprised that the same elderly girl, who never had chick nor child in her life, should put forth a work on * Household £2ducation,' which for many excellences might have been the production of the mother of the GracchiL In the volume under notice we have abundant evidence of a benevole/ht, kindly spirit, a warm love of children, an appreciation of their little wants, and a keen scent of the abuses to which, in their tender years, they are subject. Take up the volume we have been considering, American mothers, and see whether or no we have not < spoken sooth.' Sqo whether there are not strong common-sense views of matters which perhaps yon yourselves have but fainUy understood, and inculcations which, if intelligenUy noted and carefully heeded, may be productive of great benefit to yourselves in raising up and rightly managing your own households. You will find set forth in terse languago what is necessary to the care of the human frame, in its developments of the powers, of the progressive intellectual training, of the habits, personal, mental, family, etc., with other the like matters, which you will perhaps be taught by the pages under review to regard as more important than you have hitherto considered them. They are the result of what the author has observed and thought on the subject of *Life at Home* during upward of twenty yean' study of domestic life in great variety.
1849.] Literary Noticei. 353
Poxxs BT Javks T. Fields. In one Tolome. pp. 120. Boston : William D. Ticknok and Coup ANT.
Mr. F1KLD8 is a genial poet. He writes with simplicity and evident facility, and you can see his heart, and its real thoughts, in his verse. Beside being an excellent judge of human nature, the phases of human character, he is a keen observer and a faithful limner of the beauties of the outer world. The first poem in the very hand- some volume before us was pronounced before the Boston Mercantile library Asso- ciation on the fifteenth of last November. It is entitled * The Poet of Honor ;* and we shall justify our appreciation of its spirit by presenting the reader with a single passage from it If the following be not good, then are we no judge. A politician, seeking the post of honor, runs a sort of inquisitorial gauntlet before he even obtains a nomination. Par example :
* Go mark its influence o'er each scene of life ; Your neighbor feels it, and your neighbor's wife ; Ho o'er Columbia's District sees it snine, WhUe she, more modeat, thinks a coach dirine.
* Be rich, and ride I' the buxom lady cries :
* Be famous, John I' his answering heart replies ; The ffolden portals of the Chamber wait
To give thee entrance at the next debate ; Get Totes, get station, and the goal is won — Shine in the Senate, and eclipse the sun ; Quadrennial glory shall compensate toil, Tlie feast of oflke, and the flow of spoil.' Poor child of Fancy, party's candidate, Born of a caucus, what shall be thy fate f Nursed by a clique, perplexed I see thee stand. Holding a letter in thy doubtful hand ; It comes with questions that demand replies, Important, weighty, relerant and wise. ' Respected Sir/ the sheet of Queries runs, In solid phalanx, like election buns :
* Respected Sir, we humbly beg to know Your mind on matters that we name below ; Be Arm, consistent — that is, if you can ;
The country rocks, and we must know onr man ;
And first, what think you of the Northern Lights,
And is it fatal when a mad dog bites ?
Do you allow your com to mix with peas,
And can you doubt the moon is one with cheese T
If all your young potatoes should decease,
What neighbor's patch would you incline to fleece ?
When Lot's slow help-meet made that foolish halt,
Was she half rock, or only table-salt f «
And had the ark run thumping on the stumps,
Would you, if there, hare aided at the pumps T
Do you approre of men who stick to pills.
Or aqueous pilgrims to Vermont's broad hills t
Do you mark Friday darkest of the seren f
Do you beliere that white folks go to Hearen f
Do you imbibe brown sugar in your tea f
Do you spell Congress with a K or C T
Will you eat oysters in the month of June,
And soup and sherbet with a fork or spoon t
Toward what amusement does your fancy lean t /
Do you beliere in France or Lamaxtink f
Shall vou at church eisht times a month be found,
Or only absent when the box goes round T
Should Mr. Spkakbx ask you out to dine.
Will you accept, or how would you decline T
In case a comet should our earth impale.
Have you the proper tongs to seize his tail f
For early answers we would make request;
Weigh well the topics, calmly act your best ;
Show us your platform, how you mean to tread.
Plump on your feet, or flat upon your head ;
If your opinions coincide with ours.
We delegate to yon the proper powers.'
354
Literary Notieet.
This extract, wc must not omit to add, affords only an example of one of the diffe- rent and varied themes touched upon in * The Post of Honor/ but it is all for which wc can find present space. The following * Ballad of the Tempest' is simple yet pic- turesque :
' As thni we rat in darkness,
' Wz were crowded in the cabin.
Not a soul would dare to sleep ;
It was midnight on the waters.
And a storm was on the deep.
• *T is a fearful thing in winter
To bo shattered in the blast, And to hear the rattling trumpet Thunder ' Cut away the mast 1'
' So we shuddered there in silence, For the stoutest held his breath. While the hungry sea was roaring, And the breakers talked with Death.
Each one busy in his prayers. We are lost I' the captun shouted. As he staggered down the stairs.
• But his little daughter whispered.
As she shook his icy hand, * Is n't God upon the ocean. Just the same as on the land ?'
• Then we kissed the little maiden.
And we spoke in better cheer. And we anchored safe in harbor When the mom was shining clear.'
We ratlier suspect that some of our readers could trace the lineaments of the per- son who sat for the following portrait of * A Malignant Critic.* Certain we are that there is one, whose name has perhaps been mentioned on some two or three oc- casions in the Knickerbocker, in terms we hope of proper disrespect, whom the * coat' will fit exactly, whether made for himself or no :
* Raix. at him, brave spirit ! surrotmd him with foes !
The wolf's at his door, and there 's none to defend ; He 's as * poor as a crow ;' give him lustier blows, And do n't be alarmed, for he has n't a friend.
* Now twirl your red steel in the wound you have made —
Hii wife lies a-dying, his children are dead ; He '11 soon be alone, man, so do n't be afraid. But give him a thrust that will keep down his head.
' He has n't a sixpence to buy his wife's shroud. He * writes for a living' — so stab him again I Raise a laugh, as he timidly shrinks from the crowd. And hunt him like blood-hound, most valiant of men f
' Ha I finished at last — there he hangs ; cut him down;
A fine manly forehead t' I hear you exclaim ; Now choose your next victim, to tickle the town. And your heart-pointed pen shall reap plenty of fame V
Did you never, in society, reader, after the ice had been somewhat broken, and you had exhausted the nameless nothings that go to make up what is miscalled ' conversa- tion* with some three or four affected young ladies, presently find yourself by the side of a sensible, well-informed, simple-mannered girl, who was content to be and to act herself? If you have, you will appreciate the following :
' She came among the gathering crowd,
A maiden fair, without pretence. And when they asked her humble name She whispered mildly, ' Common Sense.'
' Her modest garb drew every eye,
Her ample cloak, her shoes of leather, And when they sneered, she simply said : ' I dress according to the weather.'
' They argued long, and reasoned loud.
In dubious Hindoo phrase mysterious. While she, poor child, could not divine Why girls so young should be so serious.
* They knew the lensth of Plato's beard. And how the scholars wrote in Saturn ; She studied authors not bo deep, And took the Bible for her pattern.'
Go to the nearest book-store, reader, and possess yourself of this beautiful volume, from which we can quote no more * at this present* It will be found replete with pleasant fancy and true feeling.
E D I T O R'S TABLE.
* Tbi Clbkot or America.' — We have jost risen firom the penual of a very entertainiDg book, of which we wish to afibrd oar readers a slight foretaste. It is a Tolwne of Anecdotes illiutrative of the Character of Ministers of Relig^ in the United Stmtes,* and is from the press of Messrs. J. B. LipruccoTT and Compant, Phila- delphia. There is a little cant now and then to he found in its pages, and some slig^it polemical illiberality occasionally to be met with, together with three or four instances of < obtaining a hope* that will strike the reader, we think, as very * remote causes of good ends ;* otherwise, the work is unexceptionable ; nor indeed do the blemishes we have indicated interfere with the * entertainment' which the book afibrds. Let us pass to a few extracts. We scarcely ever thought until now how appropriate a prayer fop manhood is the ensuing verse, which dies on our ear every night from the innocent lips of childhood :
* A TcitZKABLz clergyman, and doctor of dirlnitr, in New-Hampahire, at the age of seTenty years, lodged at the houie of a plooa friend, where he obaerred the mother teaching aome abort prayers and hymns to her chil^en. 'Madam,' said he, ' yonr instmctions may be of far more importance than you are aware : my mother taught me a little hymn when a child, and it is of use to me to this day. I nerer close my eyes to rest, without first saying :
'Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my •oul to keep : If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lono my soul to take.' '
Profession, as contradistinguished from* or unconnected with, the practice of good works, was properly, even though somewhat coarsely, rebuked, on the occasion men- tioned below :
* A DisTmouxsHXD Methodist preacher, who was well known in the West, was once preach* ing with great fervor on the freeness of the Gospel, and around him was an attentive congrega. tion, with eager eyes turned to Uie preacher, and drinkinff every word into their souls. Among the rest was an individual who had been more remarkable for opening his mouth to sav amen, than for opening his purse. Though he never gave money for the support of the gospel, yet he might be said to support the pulpit, for he always »tood »y it. He had, on this occasion, taken his usual place near the preacher's stand, and was making his responses with more than usual animation. After a burst of butning eloquence from the preacher, he clasped his hands, and cried out in a kind of ecstasy, • Yes, thank Goo I I have been a Methodist for twenty-five years, and it has n't cost me twenty-five cents I' ' Goo bless your stingy soul I' was the preacher's emphatic reply.'
The annexed passage firom the discourse of a clergyman in Indiana to a yonthftd
congregation possesses many of the elements of true eloquence. The similes, although
not perhaps new, are certainly very felicitously employed :
* I BKSBCOH you, my young friends, to live for eternity. Go to the worm that yon tread upon and learn a lesson of wisdom. The very caterpillar seeks the food diat fbsters it for another and similar state ; and, more wisely thsn man, builds its own sepulchre, from whence ip time, by a kind of resurrection, it comes forth a new creatare, in almost an angelic form. Aiul now, that which was hideous is beautiful ; and that which crawled, flies ; and that which fSsd on com-
35G Editor's Table. [April,
paratiTely gross food, tips the dew and revels in rich pastures ; an emblem of that paradise where flows the river and grows the tree of life. Could the caterpillar hare been diverted from its proper element ana mode of life, it had never attained the butterflv's splendid form and hue ; it nad perished a worthless worm. ' Consider her ways, and be wise.' Let it not be said that you are more negligent than worms, and that your reason is less available than their instinct. As often as the butterfly flits across your path, remember that it whispers in its flight, 'LiVB FOB THK FuTUBc' With thls the preacher closed his discourse ; but to deepen thelm-
Sression, a butterfly, directed by the Hand which guides alike the sun and an atom in its course, uttered through the church, as if commissioned by Heaven to repeat the exhortation. There was neither speech nor language, but Its voice was heard, saying to the gazing audience, * Lirm
FOB THE FUTUBX I' '
Every body in America (and not a few in England) has heard of ' old Father Taylor,' the pastor of the Boston Bethel chapel for seamen, and of his simple, natoral eloquence. The annexed will serve as an example of the familiar manner in which he is wont to make a practical application of an unportant troth. He has been speak- ing of the influence of the Bible :
' I SAT, shipmates, now look me full in the fece. What should we say of the man aboard ship who was always talking about his compass, and never using it t What should you think of the man who, when the storm is gathering, night at hand, moon and stars shut on a lee shore, breakers ahead, then first begins to remember his compass, and says, ' Oh, what a nice compaaa I have got on board t' if before that time he has never looked at it T Where is it tiiat you keep your compass f Do you stow it away in the hold f Do you clan it into the forepeak I' Br this time Jack's face, that unerring index of the soul, showed visibly that the reduetw ad «»• $urditm had begun to tell. Then came, by a natural logic, as correct as that of the schools, the iH^pn^ement : 'Now then, brethren, listen to me. Believe not what the scoffer and the infidel
fix your eye on it Study your bearing by it. Make yourself acquainted with all iu points. It will serve you in calm and in storm, in the brightness of noonday, and amid the blacknaaa of night ; it will carry you over every sea, in every clime, and navigate you at last into the harbor of eternal rest^
The lamented Dr. Stauouton, of Philadelphia (whose meltuig tones have more than once fallen upon our ears, while sitting at night with dear friends long smce in the eternal world, in the old * Academy' in Fourth-street,) once closed an appeal be- fore a charitable society with this admirable illustration : * Two boats, some time ago, were sent from Dover to relieve a vessel in distress! The fury of the tempest overset one of them, which contained three sailors, and a companion sunk. The two remain- ing sailors were floating on the deep ; to one of them a rope was thrown ; but he re- fused it, crying out, * Fling it to Tom ; he is just ready to go down ; I can last some time longer.' They did so ; Tom was drawn into the boat The rope was then flung to the generous tar, just in time to save him from drowning. Look on the boisterous ■ea of thb world. You have your conflicts, we acknowledge, but there are some that cannot hut like you. Throw out immediately to their assistance, or it may be too late.' The effect is very great upon an audience of such familiar illustrations. Here is another one, employed by Rev. Dr. Mkrcbe of South-Carolina, in enforcing the un- portance of aiming at high attainment, and ' going on to perfection : ' Some christians are afraid to aim high. Alas, they have not as much courage as a chicken. As I was Btting in my piazza ^ne pleasant evening last summer, my attention was drawn to the fowls as they were going to their rest One little chicken particularly attracted my notice. He fixed his eye upon a limb pretty high up a tree, and made an inefi*ectual aim to gain it. He then took another position, and repeated his effort to reach it, but was again unsuccessful. Still, in no wise discouraged, he kept his eye upon the limb first chosen, and tried, and tried, and tried again ; but to no purpose. Six times he tried and failed, but the seventh time he reached it My brethren, aim high ; press on to per- fection ; try to have as much courage and perseverance as that little chicken.' ' The subjoined capital anecdote is related of Rev. Mr. Moodt of Maine :
' CoLONXL Inobaham, s Wealthy parishioner, had retained his large stock of com in a time of great scarcity, in hopes of raising the price. Father Moodt heard of it^ and resolved upon
1849.] EdiUof^i Table. 357
ft public ftttftck upon the trantgretaor. So he trote in the pulpit one Sabbath, and named his text, from ProTerbs : ' He that withboldeth com, the people shall curse him ; but blessings •hall be upon the head of him that selleth it.' Colonel lnoaAiuji could not but know to whom the reference was made, but he held up his head, and faced his pastor with a look of stolid un- consciousness. Father Moodt went on with some rerj applicable remarks, but Colonel In- OBAHJOf still pretended not to understand the allusion. Father Moodt grew rerj warm, and became still more direct in his remarks upon matters and things ; but Colonel Ivowlauam still held up his head as high, perhaps a little higher, than erer, and would not put on the coat pre- pared for him. Father Moodt at Iragth lost all patience^ ' Colonel Inoeaham 1' said he, * joa Muow that I mean jfou ; why don't you hang down your head t' '
A homely illmtration by a colored preacher in Philadelphia, struck us aa beiDg^ both good and characteristic : * My bred*ren, de liberal man w'at gib away hia prop*aty amt gwine to hebben for dat, no more dan some of you wicked sinners. Charity aint no good widout righteousness. It is like beef-steak widout gravy ; dat is to say, no good, no how.' We were much impressed with the following appeal made by a reverend clergyman to the students of an eastern college, assembled in the chapel on the oc- casion of the sudden death of one of their number: * Young man, you are now strong and full of health ; but let me tell you the spade which shall dig your grave may bo already forged ; your winding-sheet may be lying in yonder store ; and that clock/ pointing to one on the front of the gallery, ' maybe counting out the moments of tho last Sabbath of your life !' * The tick of that clock,* says the narrator, * entered my very soul ; it seemed like the sound of the keys in the doors of the eternal world.* Tliere is mention made, in the volume we are considering, of a dull clergyman who cornered a farmer whom he seldom saw at his ministrations, by asking him directly, after a little reproof for his sin of omisBion, * Shall we see you at church next Sabbath ? < Y-e>e-s,* he replied, slowly, ' y-e-e-s, I *U go — or aend a hand !* It was the same interesting clergyman who, one hot drowsy summer-day, found on concluding a long discouise, that half his congregation were rubbing their eyes and waking up, being startled by the sudden silence ; whereupon he very quietly said : * My friends, this ser- mon cost me a good deal of labor, in fact rather more than usual ; you don't seem to have paid to it quite as much attention as it deserves. I think I will go over it again !' And go over it he did, from text to exhortation. He * had 'em there,* did n't he 7 There is a good lesson in the following : * A celebrated divine, who was remarkable in the first period of his ministry for a boisterous mode of preaching, suddenly changed his whole manner in the pulpit, and adopted a mild and dispassionate mode of delivery. One of his brethren observing it, inquired ;of him what had induced him to make tho change. He answered, * When I was young, I thought it was the thunder that killed the people ; but when I grew wiser, I discovered that it was the lightning; so I de- termined in future to thunder less and lighten more.' Some idea, but we presume a faint one, is given of Summerfikld's eloquence, in a passage from a charity sermon before the pupils of the asylum for the deaf and dumb in this city m 1822, who at a sig- nal had risen up before the audience :
• I TBAHsrxB these children now to you. Behold them I They stand before you as you most __3._-* — ^»-- A.:,^ _* ^ «%^ ^ .iL-__ children of affliction, and
Stand before Uie judgment-seat of Ciuist. Turn away from these
when the Lobd says * Inasmuch as ye did it not to the least of these, .
too may stand dumb —speechless m shame. Silence like theirs is eloquence. The hi
OoD has smitten them, but the stroke which blasted, consecrated them. Fatheb of Mercies I palsy not that hand, wiUier not that eye, which can gaze on these objects and not fisel compas- sion I On su be the wrong. I have failed to more tiiem — these cldldren hare failed. Tiiou canst move them I O descend, as with cloven tongues of fire, and find Thou an entrance into every heart !'
* None save those who heard these sentences in that great congjregation,* says the narrator,' can conceive the fervor with which they were uttered.' More than a thou- sand dollars were collected at the close of the discourse, indading o rich gold neckltoo
t
358 EdUar^i Table. [April,
tnd wveral diamond rings. Summikfield huaed to preach ; and we coold well belieye that it was himaelf and not Dr. Patbon who directed these words to be engrayed upon the plate on his coffin : * Remember the words which I spake onto yon while I was yet present with you ;* a voice of admonition and warning, even from the very grave. Here is a little description of a tract, by a colored man who had been converted through the influence of one : ' I never knew afore, maasa, w'y dey calPem tracks; but when I read dat little book, it track me dis way an' it track me dat way ; it track me all day an' it track me all night ; w'en I go out in de bam, it track me dar ; it track me ebery w'ere I go : den I know w'y dey call *em tracks.' This reminds us of a tract-diqwn- ■er who called at the house of an unbeliever in the country, to whom he said, < Will yon permit me. Sir, to leave a few tracts 7' * Yes,' was the abrupt reply, * leave yonr tracks as quick as you like, but let the heels be toward the door ! Good morning. Sir.' Hie perambulating colporteur retired to report the affiant to the auxiliary branch of the parent society. The young man who on one occasion * supplied the pulpit' of the late Dr. Emmons did n't elicit any very great compliment from the Doctor, although he baited the hook for him : ■ I hope, Sir, I did not weary your people by the length of my sermon to-day.' < No, Sir, not all, nor by the depth either,' replied the Doctor. We subjoin a single example of the pulpit eloquence of WnrrKriKLD :
'On one occasion Whitefizlo was preaching in Boston on the wonders of creation, prori- dence, and redemption, when aviolent tempest of thnnder and lightning came on. In the midst of the sermon it attained to so alarming a height that the congregation sat in almost breathleea awe. The preacher closed his note-boolc. and stepping into one of the wings of the desk* fell on his knees, and with much feeling and fine taste repeated :
Habx ! Tbs Etcbvai. rends the aky !
A mighty voice before him goes ; ▲ voice of music to his friends.
Bat threatening thunder to his foes : ' Come, children, to your Fatbxr's arms:
Hide in the chambers of my grace. Till the fierce storm be overblown.
And my revenging fury cease.'
*' Let ns derontly sing, to the praise and glory of Goo, this hymn : Old Himdred.' * The whole congreganon instantly rose, and ponred forth the sacred song, in which they were nobly accompuiied by the organ, in a style of pious grandeur and heart-felt derotion that was probably never surpassed. By the time the hymn was finished, the storm was hushed ; and the sun, bursting forth, showed through the windows, to the enraptured assembly, a magnificent and brilliant arch of peace. The preacher resumed the desk and his discourse, with this appo- site quotation :
** Look upon the rainbow ; praise Him that made it. Very beautiful it is in the brightness thereof t it compaaseth the heaTcn about with a glorious circle ; and the hands of the Most HioH hare bended it V *
Very rarely has Whitbfibld been excelled in the ability to seize and apply the lessons arising out of an incident or an occasion. * The young minister in the west' rather ' caught' the ' infidel judge near the Allegany mountains,' who was ridiculing to a circle of by-standers the Bible-account of the creation of man: ■ Perhaps,' said he,
* some of us existed a while in less perfect organizations, and at length, as nature is always tending toward perfection, we became men, and others sprang into life in other ways ; and if we could find a rich country now, which had not been injured by the hand of man, I have no doubt that we should see them produced from the trees.' To this the young minister, who had been sitting silent in a quiet comer, made answer :
* Sir, I have no doubt at all upon the subject, for I have travelled in the richest part of Texas, where I saw the forest m its native perfection, unsullied by the hand of man, and there I have seen large pigs growing upon the trees. The nose is the end of the stem, as you see by its form ; and when ripe, I have seen them fall, and proceed di- rectly to eating the acorns that grew upon the same tree !' ' No more at present' from
* The clergy of America.'
1S49.] Editor's TahU. 359
GoMir WITH Readers and CoiKESpoNDEfm. — * The gold fever/ writes a * down-
eaei' correspoDdeot, * is ragging herea^ut with great violence. S , one of my neigh-
bon, has contributed not a little to its fury. His office is a place where idlers most do congregate, and be interests them by reading letten which he has never received. Some five or six had assembled in his office a few days since, to talk over the gold news, when he suddenly remarked: * By the way, they do give most extrod'nary ac- counts of that country. I received a letter this morning from a friend out there, and (taking up a letter from his table,) I '11 read you a part of it :
' Wx srriTed at St. Franciflco three weeks ago yesterday, and after stopping there four days to recruit and make preparations, we set out for the gold country. The coontry on the banks of the Sacramento Is exceedingly fine, and the soil the most fertile in the world. We passed several wheat-fields which had Just been reaped, and would yield over two hundred bushels to the acre. There is, however, one draw-back ; this neighborhood is much infested with nozi> ous serpents ; and more than as likely as not, in picking up a bundle of wheat, you will take a huge rattlesnake in your arms I We passed along up the river without making much stop, and soon came to the gold region. We found Uie gold in small grains, or particles. My com* panions stopped to gather it, but I thought I would keep on and go to the head-quarters, if I oottld find them. I soon came to where I found the precious metal in lumps as large as a wal^ nut. Penetrating the country farther, I found it became more plenty ; and I frequently noticed pieces of pure gold the size of a common tea-kettle. In fact, the appearance of the country in many places reminded me of one of our New-England corn-fields after the com has been removed and before the pumpkins have been gathered I Still I did not stop there, but kept on toward the source of the river. Here the country was broken and mountainous, and large boulders of gold, of the size of a five-pail kettle, were quite common. I came at length to a mountain, in which, I suppose, the river takes its rise. On the side of my approach it was very abrupt and precipitous. At the base of a high cliff I looked up and saw, about one hun- dred and fifty feet above me, and almost over my head, a mass of solid, shining gold, as large as a bunch of screwed hay I It seemed to be suspended by a single root, or vine. I had no- thing with me but my gun : it was loaded with ball, and my first thought was to fire and cut off the cord by which the glittering mass was hung ; but as I was on the point of firing, it oc- curred to me that if I did the gold would infallibly fall on me and crush me to pieces ; so I '
' Here the reader was interrupted by an old vagabond, his eyes transfixed with wonder, and the tobacco-juice running down each comer of his mouth, who broke out with, < By thunder ! / 'd a-fired !' . . . Here is a * deferred article,' reader, but it is too good to be lost, we think : * Thus then < B.,' as touching Spring. Heaven fore- fend that he be not exulting before we are * out of the woods.' March has certainly plea- sant days, that sometimes surprise us with a touch of summer ; but he is generally a roy- stering, blustering fellow, for the most part, in this meridian : ' First month of the Spring ! Ever welcome commencement of the atmospheric E^en ! Winter has passed away ; legitimate, three-monthed, old-fashioned Winter, is no more. He is in his cave, wanning his fingera, and getting the * frost-bite' out of his toes. There let him stay, the old Turk ! and ponder over the past — his past How many poor devils has he fitnen to death during his < reign of terror* — how many starved ! The mother, with her babe clasped in her withered, bloodless arms, dead, dead on her bed of icy straw ! Can Winter weep ? Let him weep now at these his crimes. Still, there are redeem- ing qualities in the old bore, and there is pardon for himj as well as for other sinneri. Our sleigh-rides and our first-of-January calls; our Christmas glees and frolics; stockings of children, girls and boys, hung up by the fire-place or the bed-post ; oar friends lounging into the parlor and chatting with the wife and the wife's two sisten.
S60 Editor's TalU. [April;
or three or four, if there be so many, and our retreat into the back-room, where Bill the waiter has made a spread of creature-comforts, segara and punch, and a cold piece of ham from Maryland or Virginia, with oysters stewed, broiled and fried, and the wind outside coming up against the windows in pufi, and when it finds it can 't get in, whistling like a cow-boy, home returning from the fields at sun-down. Old war- rior, grizzly old ruffian, stand aside, and do n't disturb the window-curtains with your surly breath ! You have no business in bur back-parior, or in our front-parlor, or in the bed-rooms, where Virtue and Innocence and Love sleep under the canopy of Home. And now that Winter is away, and ' cut* by the other seasons, let us wel- come the Spring. Delicious 6oD*gift is Spring. It comes tripping over the fields like the * girl we love,' buds bursting into flower twined within her hair ; that hair which WiiiTBRt the frosty barber, had coiffed in ice and powdered with snow. Wel- come, then, bright < Heart's Delight !' Fill our souls with comfortable thoughts and dreamy happiness ; and when the Summer solstice comes to take your place, may you yield up your wand of beauty with no immodest look, to make the burning season warmer in his career !' . . . Shkridan once stole a crown-piece from Swirr when he was asleep, and left in its place these lines :
< DzAB Dban, since you in sleepy wise Have ope'd yonr mouth and closed your eyes. Like ghost I glide along your floor, And softly shut your parlor-door ; For should I break your sweet repose, Who knows what money you might lose t Since oftentimes it hath been found A dream has given ten thousand pound. Then sleep, my ftlend — dear Dban, sleep on. And all you get shall be your own, Prorlded you to this agree. That all you lose belongs to me I'
Wbin we hear a pompous, censorious person inveighing against his acquauitances, enlarging upon mere flaws in the characters of those who are infinitely his superiors in every virtue which reflects honor upon human nature, we can hardly resist the incli- nation to say to him in the words of an old author : ' Look into the dark and hidden ^cesses of your own heart, and consider what a number of impure thoughts brood and hover there, like a dark cloud upon the face of the soul ; take a prospect of the fancy, and see it acting over the several scenes of pride, of ambition, of envy, lost and revenge ; tell how often a vicious inclination has been restrained, for no other leason but just to save your credit or mterest jn the worid, and how many unbecoming ingredients have entered into the composition of your best actions. Would you be able. to bear so severe a test? Would you be willing to have every thought and in- ward motion of your heart laid open and exposed to view 7* Not a bit of it! . . . Wb asked m our last number ■ Who ia H, Melvill ?* The question has been answered to our great satisfiEiction. In the first place, our esteemed contemporary of * The Albion* weekly journal tells us : < He is a Doctor of Divinity, Chaplain of the Tower of London, and Principal of Haileybury College, an establishment belonging to the East- India Company, in which youths are educated for the civil department of their service. Dr. Melvill is beyond all doubt the most eloquent preacher in England.' In the second place, we have received from our friends the pubUshers, Messrs. Stak- FOftD AND Swords, Number 139 Broadway, two large volumes, containing all of Dr. Mklvill's published sermons ; and after a careful perusal of them, we can well be- lieve m the justice of the high praise awarded by the ■ Albion* to the eloquence of
1849.]
Editor's Table. 361
their author. Without farther preface, we propose to present the reader with the means of judging himself of the style and genius of our author ; his ' breathing words, his bold figures, his picturesque images, and rapid, yivid, fervid aspirations.' The ' qpring-time of the year* has come ; and in the warm bosom of the earth, and up through the veins of countless trees and plants, nature's resurrection is going on. It seems an appropriate period wherein to ask ourselves the momentous question, < With what body do we come,' when at the genera] resurrection we appear at the bar of judgment? Mr. Mklvill's argument, based upon the declaration of Him who said < / am the resurrection and the life,' is, that ' there hath not died the man who shaH not live again, and live again in that identical body which his spirit abandoned When summoned back to God.' Our eloquent author treats of thb great subject in two dis* courses, one entitled * The Doctrine of the Resurrection,* the other ' The General Resurrection and Judgment* From the first we segregate the ensuing passage :
* I CANNOT matter tho mysteries of the sepulchre. I may have sat down in one of the soIi< todea of nature ; and I may hare gazed on a flrmament and a landscape which seemed to bum with divinity ; and 1 may have heard the whisperings of a more than human voice, telling me that I am destined for companionship with the bright tenantry of a far lovelier scene ; and I may then have pondered on mvself ; there mav have throbbed vrithin me the pulses of eternity ; I may have felt the soarings of the immaterial, and I may have risen thrilling wiUi the thought that I should yet find myself the inmiortal. But if, when I went forth to mix again with my fellows, the splendid thought still crowding every chamber of the spirit, I met the spectacle of the dead borne along to their burial ; why, this demonstration of human mortality would be as a thunder-cloud passing over my brilliant contemplations. How can this buried man be judged f How can he be put upon trial f His soul may be judged, his soul may be put upon trial ; but his soul is not himself.'
In calling attention to the eloquent passages which ensue, we should not omit to premise, that many of the most eminent medical and surgical authorities of the world pronounce the resurrection of the natural body as physically impossible. How many have ' given their bodies to be bnmed ?' They were * conmmed, and vanished out of their place.' ' Nor,' reason many benevolent and christian impugners of the doctrine of a physical resurrection, * would it be desirable, were it possible. Are deformities, are all the ills, to which our framea are subject on earth, to be revived and perpetuated in heaven?' We confess that the deformed little girl, who was for the first time called by her brother, when in anger, a ' hunch-back,' asked, to our conception, a very natural question of her weeping mother, when the poor child lay dying : * Mother, I shall not be so there,* pointing upward, < shall I? I shall be straight, won't I, when I get to heaven ? Yet you will know me, dear mother, won't you ?' But to our extracts:
* This frame-work of flesh in which my soul is now enclosed will be reduced at death to the dust from which it was taken. I cannot tell where or what vrill be my sepulchre ; whether I shall sleep in one of the quiet church-yards of my own land, or be exposed on some foreign shore, or fall a prey to Uie beasts of the desert, or seek a tomb in the depths of the unfathom- able waters. But an irreversible sentence has gone forth : * Dust thou art, and to dust thon shalt return ;' and assuredly ere many years, and perhaps ere many days have elapsed, must my 'earthly house of this tabernacle be dissolved,' rafter from rafter, beam from beam, and the particles of which it has been curiously compounded be separated from each other, and perhaps scattered to the four winds of heaven. And who will pretend to trace the wanderings of these particle*, into what substances they may enter, of what other bodies they may form part, so as to appear and disappear many times in living shape before the dawn of the great day of the universe ? The elements of which my body is composed may have belonged to the bone and flesh of succetsive generations ; and when I shall have passed away and been forgot- ten, they will again be wrought into the structure of animated beings. And when you think that my body at the resurrection must have at least so much of its original matter as shall be necessary for the preservation of identity, for the making me know and feel myself the very same being who sinned and suffered and was disciplined on earth, you must admit that nothing short of infinite power could prevail to the watching and disentanslinc and keeping duly sepa- rate what is to be again builded into a habitation for my spirit, so thatlt may be brought toge- ther from the four ends of the earth, detached from other creations, or extracted from other substances. . • . This matter may have passed through innumerable changes. It may have elrcQlated through the living tribea of manygeaeratioDS ; or it may have been waving in the
362 Editof'M T<Me. [April,
trees of the forett ; or it maj have floated on the wide waters of the deep. But there has beeo an Eye upon all iu wpropriations and all iu transformations ; so that, just as thoagfa it had been indelibly stamped from the first witii the name of the human being to whom ft should finally belong, it has been unerrinffly reserred for the great day of the resurreetion. The
trump, to combine itself with a multitude of others, in a human body in which they once met perhaps a thousand years before.'
What a 8ceoe will be preeented, when < the cload and the mist shall hare been rolled away from the boandlen hereafter ;* when the whole globe, its moontains, its deserts, its cities, its oceans, shall seem resolved into the elements of human kind ; and' millions of eyes look up from a million chasms; and long-severed spirits rash down to the tenements which encased them in the days of probation ; standing in their resorrection-bodies on the earth, as it heaves with strange convulsions, and lookmg on a firmament lined with ten thousand times ten thousand angels, and beholding a throne of fire and cloud, such as was pever piled for mortal sovereignty ! * That hour,* adds our eloquent author, ' so full of mystery and might, has not yet arrived ; but it mnst come ; it may not perhaps be distant ; and there may be some of us, for aught we can tell, who shall be alive on the earth when the voice issues forth ; the voice which shall be echoed from the sea and the city, the mountain and the deserts, all creation heark- ening, and all that hath ever lived simultaneously responding. But whether we be of the quick or the dead, on the morning of the resurrection, we must hear the voice, and join ourselves to the swarming throng which presses forward to judgment.' In the sermon entitled ' Testimony confirmed by Experience* is the following glowing description of the fruition of christian hope :
* Ob, as the shininff company take the circuit of the celestial city ; as they * walk about Zion, and go round about her,* telling the towers thereof, markhig well her bulwarks and considering her palaces ; who can doubt that they say one to another, * As we have heard, so have we seen in the city of our God?' We heard Uiat here the * wicked cease from troubling,' and now we behold the intense deep calm. We heard that here we should be with the Loan, and now we flee him iace to face. We heard that here we should know, and now the ample page of uniTer- sal truth is open to our inspection. We heard that here, with the crown on the head and the hsrp in the luuid« we should execute the will and hymn the praises of our Goo, and now we wear the diadem and wake the melody.' ... * It is not the voice of a solitary and weak fellow-man which now tells you of heaven. God is summoning you. Angels are summoning you. We are surrounded by a * great cloud of witnesses.' The battlements of the sky seemed thronged with those who have fought the good fight of faith. They bend down from the eminence, and bid us ascend, through the one MiDiAToa, to the same lony dwelling. We know their voices as they sweep by us solemnly and sweetly. They shall not call in vain.'
In the discourse upon ' The Power of Religion,* Mr. Melvili. thus depicts a man whose attention has been engrossed by commerce, and whose thoughts have been given wholly to the schemings and workings of trade :
* Mat we not aSirm, that when the grace of God takes possession of this man's soul, there will occur an extraordinary mental revolution, and that too brought round by the magnificence of the subjects with which his spirit has newly grown conversant) In place of oceans which can be fathomed, and weighed and measured, there is an expanse before him without a shore. In place of csrrying on intercourse with none but the beings of his own race, separated from him by a few leagues of distance, he sends his vessels as it were to lands tenanted by the crea- tures of a more glorious intelligence, and thev return to him freighted with a produce costlier and brighter ihux evthly merchandise. In place of acquaintance with no ledger save the one in which he casts up the debtor and creditor of a few fellow -worms, there rises before him the vast volume of doomsday, and his gazings are often on the final balance-sheet of the human popult^on.'
We have extended our extracts almost beyond the limits of oar available space, but we * can't help it ;' nor are we yet quite done. The reader will require no apology on our part for giving the subjoined desultory sentences from a discourse on * The Advan' Utge9 of a State of Expectation :*
* What is hope, but the solaoe and stay of those whom U most chests and deludes ; whis-
1849.] Eiiiar'i TMe. 363
paring of health to the nek man, and of better days to the dejected ; the fairy name on which yoimg imaginations poor forth all the poetry of tlieir souls, and whose syllables float like atrial mntie into the ear of Arozen and paralyxed old age f In the lone catalogue of human griefs Ikere is scarce one of so crushing a pressure that hope loses its elasticity, becoming unable to ^ war, and bring down fresh and fair leaves from some ftr-off domain which itself creates. Hope jifOTes man deathless. It is the strugele of the soul, breaking loose from what is perishable, ■ad attesting her eternity, it is good tnat we hope ; it is good also that we quietlv wait. Strire ya therefore to *let patience have fier perfect work.* It is * yet a little while, and he that shall come will come.' Be ye not disheartened ; ' the night is far spent, the day is at hand.' As yet there has been no day to this creation ; but the day comes onward. There is that edge of gold on the snow -mountains of a long-darkened world, which marks the ascending of the sun in his atreagtb. * Watchman, what of the night f Watchman, what of the nicht f ' The watchman aaid, * The morning cometh, and also the night.' On theUf still on 1 lest the morning break ero hope and waiting hare wrought their intent.'
The chance quotation which we made in our last number, * There shall he no Night in Heaven,' w from a sermon upon that great theme, in the present reading of which we were forcibly inl^ressed with these brief sentences : * In heaven the mind will have the power of the eye, so that the undentanding shall gather in the magnifi- eence of truth with the same facility as the organ of sense the beauties of a landscape.* In the consideration of these sermons of Mklvill we have confined ourselves to the fint only of the two volumes before us. We may^find occasion hereafter to devote a kindred subsection of this department to a review of the second volume. ... * Next to the ' Prock* — that remarkable western animal, which has two short legs on one side and two long ones on the other, to enable him to * keep his perpendicular' while gra- smg or browsing on the sides of steep mountains, and which is only caught by being
< headed* and turned round, when, in * reversed position,* he ■ falls to rise no more* as a
< free and independent Frock' — next, we say, to this animal, must now be reckoned the * Ice^Brtaker of the Upper-Penobscot,* of which a correspondent sends us the foUowing full and satisfactory accoui)t : * It is sold that they den in an immense fis- •ore on the northerly side of Katahdin. They generally make their appearance on the lakes about the first of April. It is believed that there are not more than four or five extant, and some go so far as to say that there is but one, alleging that there is no sufficient evidence of more having been distinctly seen. From all accounts (I speak of the one concerning which their seems to be no doubt) he is about two^thirds as large as a middling-sized elephant. There is nothing very peculiar about his form, pro- portions, etc., except his tail. This is said to be seventeen or eighteen feet long, and at a distance of eight to ten inches from the extreme tip is a knot, or bunch, of the siie of a bushel-basket, and of great consistency. With this he strikes a tremendous blow, and will break the strongest ice, a foot thick, with perfect ease. The lumber- men on the West Branch have frequently heard the report of his blows on the Che- suncook ice, a distance of thirty miles. I have often wondered that our naturalists have made no attempts to obtain them.. I think with proper care they might succeed. Let a company well furnished and prepared be in the vicinity of the fissure, say about six weeks hence, and I make no doubt they would * take some ;* especially if they should have the Baskahegan Giant with them.* ... * When, in 1779,* writes * W. 8.,* a new correspondent, * that most lamentable comedy of a tragedy, * The Critic, or a Tragedy Rehearsed,* was first produced on the Drury Lane boards, Sheri- dan was censured of some, as having ridiculously overdrawn some of his satirical sketches. Probably the concluding scene in the first Act was of this ^number ; and verily, to that class of readers who see nothing in a newspaper but the news, and dis- miss the advertising columns to * the demnition bow-wows,* there may be things passing strange therein. We allude to the discourse on the sublime mystery of Puffings wherem the Magnus Apollo of that science divides the whole genus into sundry dis-
TOL. ZXXIII. 36
364 Editor's TaUe. f^pril,
tinct species ; the puff direct, the puff preliminary, the puff ooUnnve, the puff obUqne, and the puff collateral. In this age of progreanon, the apostle of this difficult profea- sion would be obliged to yield the palm to his pupils, in the practice of an art whidi, in his own language, < is of the highest dignity ; yielding a tablature of benevolenoe and public spirit ; befriending equally trade, gallantry, literature and politics: the ap- plause of genius, the register of charity, the triumph of heroism, the self-defence of con- tractors, the fame of orators, and the gazette of ministers.* Without farther desigaaiion of the genus, let us represent a species in the following example of the ' puff conata- ral,' taken from a London journal. The hand of a master is palpable in every part of the porcine praises of the piece. ' Hear, oh ! hear his piteous story .**
* Died the Jew t* The Hebrew died — .
On the peTement cold he lay ; Around him closed the llring tide.
The butcher'B cad aet down hia tray ; The potboy from the Dragon Green
No longer for his pewter calls ; The Nerdd ntshes in between.
Nor more her ' fine lire mackerel I' btwla.
* Died the Jew t' T%e Hebrew died.
They raised him gently from the atone, They flnng his coat and neckcloth wide,
But linen had Uiat Hebrew none. They raised the pile of hats that preased
His noble head, his locks of snow : Bnt ah ! that head, upon his bveast,
Sank down, with an expiring -^ CV ."
*Died the Jew V The Hebrew died,
Struck with orerwhelming quaims, From the flavor, spreading wide.
Of some fine Virginia hams. Would you know the fatal spot,
Fatal to that chUd of sin t
These fine-flaTored hams are bought At thirty, Bishopsgate Within I '^
We are right well pleased to hear of the success of the 'American Dramatic Fund Association.* The rules and regulations, which had been thoroughly matured, are excellent ; and we are glad to learn that the recent benefit, given by kind permisBion at the ^tor-Place Opera-House, netted sixteen hundred dollara to the treasury. AH our managers and actors cheerfully volunteered their services ; and even the hard- working secretary and treasurer, Messrs. Brougham and Povbt, to whom salaries were voted by the Managing Committee, promptly declined, but performed and are performing their onerous and responsible duties gratuitously. . . The measure of ' Ii.V lines is peculiar ; and so far as mere novelty is concerned they might prove at- tractive ; but they are far from being what the writer, we are quite sure, is capable of producing. They remind ua not a little of those odd stanxas addressed by Swift to hie physician, of which these lines are an example:
* When I left yon, I found myself of the grape's juice sick, And the patientest patient that over you knew sick ; I nitied my cat, whom I knew by her mew sick — She mended at first, but now she 's anew sick'
That *b a curious addition recently made to the Museum of National Curiosities at Washington : *A pair of boots made by a sherry-cobbler on the last of the Mohi- cans !' . . . We grrieve ourselves with the death of those we love, as we must one day grieve those who love us with the death of ourselves ; for life is a tragedy, where
1849.]
Editor's TMe. 365
we sit as spectators for a while, and then act our own part in it ... We had not the pleasure to hear the lectures of Rev. Hknrt Gilis upon Don Quizotte, before the Mercantile Library Association ; but judging from the synopsis given of the essay upon * Sancho, the Worldling/ we must infer them to have been eloquent and instruc- tive performances. After tracing the life of the worldling to its close, the reverend lecturer concludes as follows :
* Excinimrr twallows up our jontb, Cure WAStet our maturity, and peeTish complainlnn take dignity from our age. l can conceive of a Hfe rerv differently spent and renr differenUv closed. I can conceive of one who has had all the risht uses of the world, bidding it in his heart, if not in his words, a grateful and a kind farewell. ' O thou glorious 8un,' he might speak or tiihik, ' still pour down thy splendor to bless men's eyes and to gladden their hearts I Many years have I rejoiced in thy light ; with rapture have 1 watched it dawn upon the mountains; with rapture have I lingered on its parting magnificence on the evening cloud : still pour down thy beauty, and be the central lamp in t^e blue canopv of Heaven for endless generations i SUne on, ye Stars ; sweet and solemn as ye are. and, tnough awful, lovely I With wings of fimey, that no lower air could dampen, I have risen to your dread sublimity, and, lost in your measureless depths, I have felt a terrible and speechless Joy. Still show to the lonely watcher of the night your everlasting harmonv 1 still play on to mortals the music of your eternal spheres I Roll on, thou mighty Ocean t symbol, as thou art, of mystery and power ; unfathomable abyss f resistless strengUi I great binder of the nations I I have slept upon thy heaving breast ; 1 have sported with thy shore-kissing wavelets ; I have listened to thy low, sad s<mg m the calm, and to tiiy chorus of fierce songs m the tempest ; but the hour draws nigh when my eye shall no more see thee, and when my ear no more shall hear thee. And thou, gentle Earth — hospita* ble and comely home I beautiful thou art — beautiful exceedinffly ; and thouffh sorrow, and wrong, and guAt and death be on thee, thou remainest beautiful despite them all : soon I shall look my last upon your hills, your valleys and your fields ; but loVinglv, as my senses fiide, I shall tmnk on thee, first dwelling-place of the mfancy of my immortality I Human beings 1 leaving you, I bless your affections ; I bless your sympathies ; I am gratenal for every tie taat bound me to you, for every benefit you have done me : still let Childhood, bound in its in- nocence and youth, rejoice m its strength, and Man put forth his power, and Woman be lovely in her purity, and Age have the blessedness of peace ; I must quit this habitation, which must return to the dust out of which it was made, while my spirit goes to God who gave it : I am at the end of my pilgrimage, and 1 am satisfied : I am at the portal of the invisible and mys- terious Future : f behold the stirring of the veil which is soon to be taken away : I see the shadow of the solemn messenger that is to announce my removal : Let the veil be raised ; I am prepared to enter ; let the messenger approach ; I am prepared to follow.' '
* Mark the end of the perfect man, and behold the upright ; for the end of that man is peace.' . . . We have just been thinking, while pausing from these scrib- bliugs, and looking half- unconsciously at the volumes of a cabinet-library in the sanc- tum, what great injustice we have done them in not paying them more attention. There they stand, looking at us every day and night ; each one the representative of a live man ; each individual, and expressing its own character, and each ready to open and keep up a sustained conversation with us. Mea culpa ! mea culpa ! We have ' ta*en too little care of this.* . . . The accessory refinements of cleanliness, to which the Croton has given rise, are very remarkable. Step in at the Ikvino and Astoe HooMS, and remark the comfort, the luxury, the splendor of the bathing departments of Mr. Hsney Rabineau ; and forget not also to drop in under the Franklin- House, and admire the more than eastern gorgeousness of the new establishment of Mr. "Pbalok. . . . Look you, here ensues a passage from the as yet manuscript poem of < Philot an Evangeliadf by the author of < Margaret,' < which it is hoped may please:*
' The old world Goo did bury, to spring up.
Adorn, and bless, and satisfy the New.
He lets his earthquakes plough the continents,
Slides the sun up and down, both poles to quicken.
God loves tiie earth and its inhabitants ;
And there are eyes, bright eyes, that watch for it.
Behold it sweeping graceful Uirough the air,
And wave their white veils to it as it passes.
God feeds the earth with His essential life ~
All being, space and time Hb cherishes ;
His spirit, weaving spheres together, veils
Itself beneath its gorgeous handiwork.
The earth but plays its part in the great whole ;
366 EdUor^t Tahle. [April,
Matter tsdfU the 0Oq1 till it eao ffo Alone : on golden loops aiutainea, fly off Atom! and otIm — tmtfa, beantj, time and place, In God's safe eoncare whirling erermora. New worlds appear* as clouds in a clear sky ; Unerrinff l|ws, steel clasped, bind all in one. Sbonld ue earth topple on some fatal edge, A thousand stars would rush to rescue her.'
Wb are obliged for the kind words of our * Newburgh Friend,* and for this anec- dote of an odd character in that meridian : * Riding in a itage-coach a ahort tune since, we happened to have among others for a fellow-passenger an ardent teetotaller, who was descanting eloqnently upon the great value and many excellent qualities of water, and especially of its prime necessity as a beverage ; declaring that nothing could be substituted in its place, etc. ; when an old gentleman, who had been listening with evident impatience, remarked, with rather a contemptuous look : * I hain't no- thing to say a|^in water ; I think it *s very good in its place ; but for a ateady drimkt give me rum !* I should just like you to have seen TeetotaI*s face when he heard this reply. All the passengeis looked grave for a second or so, (for the assumption was altogether astounding,) and then burst into a roar that made the stage-coach ring again.* . . . The lines entitled ' The Marriage Vow,* copied in the * Christian Inquirer* Unitarian journal of February 17, and credited to the 'Church Tunes,* were written for and first {tublished in the Knickerbocker. No great matter thk; but it were as well perhape to correct the * credit-mark.' . . . Reader, do you de- sire to have your thoughts enlarged, your imagination extended and refined, your judgment directed, your admiration lessened, and your fortitude increased ? Read a portion of the Bible habitually every day of your life. Did you ever hear an appo- site quotation from the Sacred Scriptures that did not * clinch* as it were the theme in illustration of which it was applied ? We venture to say, never. The sublimity of the topics of which the Bible treats ; the dignified simplicity of its manner of hand- ling them ; the nobleness of the mysteries which it developes ; the illumination which it throws on points the most interesting to creatures conscious of immortality ; these characteristics have received the fervent admiration of the best intellects that ever emanated from the great Source of Mind. . . . We would say nothing unkind to ' JuvENis,' but really he has ' mistaken bis vocation.' We have tried bun in four
* styles of composition,* as he terms it, and the product is * nil.* It is all * soft' read- ing. As some one whom we forget has well said, bis only art is like that of the hat- ter ; he * bows' out his stuff, and when he mats it, cat, rat and otter all shine alike.
* The Dream of Youth* must close our examinations of our young correspondent*s
* various styles of composition.' . . . Something there is of the new phonographic style of spelling in the following * verbatim-et-literatum' copy of a circular recently distributed in the west of England :
* RooKK GiLKS, zurjon, grosir, parieh-clark and skulemaster, reforms ladies and gentlemens ; he draws teeth without waiting a moment, blisters on the lowest tarms, and fizilis for a penny a-peace. He zells godfather's Corjal, kuts koms. and undertakes to keep erery body's nayles by the yere and zo on. Young ladies and gentlemans lamed there grammars fangwage in the most purtiest manner ; also, ffurt care taken of there morals and spelling ; also, zarm-zinging, teechlng the base vial, and all other zorts of fancy-work. Perfumery and Jollop, znuff and ginger, and all other spices. And as the times be bad, he begs to tel, he is list begun to zell all sorts of stashunarr wares, blacking bals, hurd-herrings and coles, scrubbin'* brishes and pills, mice*znaps and trikcl, and other zorts of zweetmeets, inkludinff tatera, ingons, blak-Ied, brick> dist, sassages, and other garden-stuff; also phrute, haU, zones, hoyl, and other articles. Kom and bunian-zarve, and all hardwares. He also performs neabottmy on the shortest notice. And farthermore particular, he has laid in a large zortment of trype, dogs'-meet^ lolii>ops,and other pickels, zich as hoysters, Winzur-zoap, etc. Old raggs bort and zold here, and no place helse ; and new-laid eggs every day by me,
'Room Giles.
1849.]
EdUar^s Table.
367
* p. 8. — I teechefl Joggreiy, Rnmtticki, and all them oatlandlfh thingt, querdrilla, faihint- Irall pokar, and all other contray dancef tort at home and abrode to perfekihun. A bal on Wenadays, when otxr MiaiAa performa on the git-Tar.'
Anothbr aong, by our friend Signor De Bbgnii, destined to become exceedingly popular, entitled * Love U a Pretty Frenzy,* has just been issued by His publishers, Messrs. Firth, Pond and Compant, Franklin-Square. It was written for, and is dedicated to, a young and gifted pupil, Miss H. C. R. Tucker, of New- York. The same publishers have sent us two admirable productions of the great artist, Henri Hkrz, published from the original ms. of the author : * The Last Rose of Summer,* that undying melody, with an introduction and brilliant variations for the pfano-forte ; and the < Silver-Bell Polka/ also composed for the piano- forte, and already become widely populaif Hbrz is a metropolitan classic, aud his music is now entirely ' natu- ralized* among us. . . . The following lines on * Winter* were written for our last number ; and although ' the winter is over and gone, the flowers appear again upon the earth, and the time of the singing of the birds hath come,' yet they will even now vividly recall the rigors of the season from which we have but just emerged:
A soLxiof alienee reigns o'er alU A death-Iike atUlneas, cold and deep,
As underneath her anowy pall The old Earth lieaaaleep. ^
No birda are in the wailing treea,
Whoae limba, all shnmken now and bare, Swav wildly in the winter breeze.
Like withered arms in prayer.
Vafaily o'er all theae fields of white The aun looks down ; his golden beams
In apota of bright and dazzling light OUnt from the frozen streams.
The sudden gasts from olT the groond Whirl up light showers of blmding npvr,
That, meeting in their frolic round, Slide to the vale belo!^.
O, fettered streams I O, leafless trees t O. sleeping flowers I the warm South-weat
Will soon send forth his gentle breeze. And break your icy rest.
O, flowers of Joy I that once did make A summer in my breast, what art
Can bid ye bloom again, or break This winter of the heart Y
R, 8. Cnir-ioK
FAntary, 1849. —
The London ' Christian Remembrancer' Quarterly Review has a very discrimina- ting and highly laudatory notice of the * Poetical Works of the late Lucy Hooper,* not long since commended in these pages. * Her poems,' says the reviewer, * uni- formly bear the impress of an ardent fancy and a gentle, pure nature. Her heart responded to every genuine emotion ; was excited by every beautiful scene, or noble actk>n. One sees that she must express what she felt, and that she wrote because she could not help it There is a perfect freedom from pretension and display : we invariably like the writer, and recognise that simplicity and modesty which her bio- grapher so warmly dwells upon. There is a freshness of spirit throughout, a real sympathy with all that is worthy of sympathy.' This is high praise from a high source. . . . Our old and cordially-esteemed friend, the historian of Tinnecum and biographer of Peter Cram, singing-master, of that ilk, has been writing and de- livering before the ' Library Association' of Huntington, Long-Island, an admirable and characteristic address on * The Gold Mania* He goes back to the various emi- nent * bubbles' which have from time to time been inflated and burst, in Europe and America ; and considers the mania, or thirst for gold, under three phases, or forms ; namely, the sleepless * business-man' proper, the 'hold-fast' man, and the miser. Look at this lidming of the last*mentioncd biped, the soulless ' forked radish :'
* CoNSiDCB one of them I Take him altogether, body and soul, and what a spectacle does he preaent ( He seems to be shrircUed and saueesed into a compass no bigger than a nutshell which a aquirrel holds in his paws. His cheeks collapse, his stomach and spine approach each other for want of nutritlTe diet, and his attenuated legs hare taken refuge in what SHAKaPXAB* calls
' The lean and slippered pantaloon.'
368
EdUor'9 Table.
[April,
Hit heela are shod with iron to preToat the preciooa cow-tkin from wetfivg oat, and hia breeches are leathery, and his old hat bova wonld not kick in the atreeti. It ia ao greaay, ' shocking bad' and wo-begone, that it wonld bring a higher mice than the best beayer, eidMr
breeches are leathery, and his old hat bova wonld not kick in the streets. It is ao greaay, ' shocking bad' and wo-begone, that it wonld bring a higher mice than the best beayer, eidMr aa a curiosity to hang up in a musenm, or to put upon a hign pole to frighten hnngry crowa. His finsor-nails are like bird-claws, and his arm trembles aa with the act of grabbing, and hia whole expression is hungry and gluttonous, aa if ha were feeding upon a baain-fbll of fold eagles or dollars. His cat is a mere shadow, and pnts one paw before another, lo<Aing in the direction of her long, streaking tail, as if a small monae would frighten her away. His dof ia lean, anarlinff and ferocious from being ill-fed, and his cow appears to be iha Tletim of a per- petual horn-distemper, a hanger-on at the ha^scales, and with a thieving propensity for oOier men's clorer. Then his house, his fences, his walls, his garden, present a picturesque mlaery which cannot be adequately described. But to look upon cold, cheerless gloom, yon most eater in. Mo voice, no music, no laugh, no cheerful aspect of wife, children, or domestic. A few loan sticks, no thicker than cmtches, are upon his hearth, and two or three dull, lack-loalre coals to heat his meagre soup, causing to ascend above his chimney into the cold air a thin, blue, wiry, cork-screw curl ox smoke. Twenty times a day^ walking upon tip-toe and looking about, he draws forth his treaaure. This for him ia all that can make Ufa sweet or death bitter?
Our friend gives a vivid sketch of the rise and progresB of the great * Land Speca- lation/ when ao many 'cities' encroached upon the country on Long-Island, driving cattle from their pasturage, and causing them to ruh their sides against lamp-posts and crack their shins over curb-0tones, the outlines of streets without houses, whidi so continue even unto this day. . . . Well, we thought it ' would never do to give it up so,* when we were trying in vain to make our professional duties yield to the wish to be present at the Inauguration Ball at Washington, for ^diich tickets had been kindly sent us ; but it was * all for the best* that we could not conunand the leisure to be present ; for such an * awful jam' was never before seen. A fnend who was present gives us an amusing description of matters and things in Washington during i inauguration- week.' He says he slept in a bed two feet short (he stands some six feet in his stockings) which was called by courtesy a * straw-bed ;' but it was made of a currant-bush with a rag roimd it ; while the room in which it stood, in sixe some seven feet by twelve, had two doors with no handles to either, and was occupied be- side by two tall, flatulent dyspeptics from Virginia, who made the night hideous with their difficult eructations! . . . Most of our readers will remember the pretty Spanish song of * My Ear-rings, oh ! my Ear-rings !* so felicitously translated by a distinguished American poet Here is something after the same manner, but not of the same kind, exactly : ' My Breeches, oh ! my Breeches /' We think we shall not be far out of the way in attributing the lines to Chief-Justice Stowe, of Fond du Lac, Wisconsin. They depict the * total loss' of a pair of trowsers wrecked in the great * September gale.' We annex four characteristic stanzas :
* That night I saw them in my dreama ;
How changed since last I knew them ! *The dews had steeped their faded threads,
The winds had whistled through ^em. I saw the wide and ghastly rents,
Where demon clawa had torn them ; A hole was in their hinder parts, As if an imp had worn them.
' I have had many happy vears,
And tailors kind and clever. But those yonng pantaloons were gone.
For ever and for ever ! And not till fate shall cut the last
Of all my earthly stitches, This aching heart shall cease to mourn
My loved, my long*Iost breeches !'
* It chanced to be our washing-day.
And all otxr things were drying ; The storm came roaring through the lines,
And set them all a-flying. I saw the sheets and petticoats
Go riding off like witches ; I lost — oh I bitterly I wept —
I lost my Sunday breeches I
' I saw them straddling through the air,
Alas I too late to win them ; I saw them chase the clouds as if
The devil had been in them ; They were my darlings and my pride.
My boyhood's onlv riches ; • Farewell f farewell I* I faintly cried,
' My breeches, oh I my breeches I'
That was agreeable advice given by the Dean of St. Patrick's to a young clergy- man who had just taken orders : < I could heartily wish that you had continued some years longer at the university, at least till you had laid in a competent stock of human
1849.] Editor's ThUe. 369
laarniDg and aome knowledge in divinity, before yon attempted to appear in the world. I coold likewise have been glad if you had applied yourself a little more to the study of the English language than I fear you have done ; the neglect whereof is one of the most general defects among the scholars of this kingdom. I hope you will thmk it proper to pass your quarantme among some of the desolate churches in the neighbor- hoods around this tovm, where you may at least learn to read and speak before you venture to expose your parts in a city congregation.* Some other pleasant directions are also volunteered. He is adv»ed in preachmg not to hold his head, from the begin* ging to the end of his discourse, within an inch of the cushion, only popping up his spectacled face now and then like an idle school-boy. Some encouragement however is held out to the young clergyman. Swift promises his interest to secure for him a curacy of fifteen pounds a year, and a ride five miles every Sunday to preach to six beggars. He adds, however : * You must flatter the bishop monstrously upon his learn- ing and his writings ; and say that you have read his last pamphlet a hundred times, and his sermons (if he has printed any) have always been your models.' To our con- ception, this * desirable opening for a young divine' was only exceeded in pleasantness by the * opening* offered by the whale to Jonah, when he ' took him in* and * did' for him. . . . * W. B.' cannot have read our pages very attentively for the last six or seven years, not to have seen that we agree entirely with him as to the * literary' merits of the pseudo-author whom he satirizes. He was fore-ordained and predestinated to be an ass, and he has * made his calling and election sure.' ' Leastways,' that is our opinion ; hence our correspondent will perceive that we consider his ' game' as scarcely < worth the candle.' . . . The following lucid < colored epistle' was addressed, at the period of its date, to < The Officers on Boar of men of Wars,' and was received on board a United States' man-of-war then lying off Monrovia, Africa. It was written at Monrovia in February, a year ago :
« Thx SupxaioB Officbss : Dear Sirs : I am emisiderable well this evenhig, sad hope this may And yoa in the same dignity. I addrest to yon this erening for the purpose to beceach or to beg each of too to take me on your Boat-Veaael m aavant I diapoae you notUlcation that I am not any ot these Americans, though I can talk a English ; but I oblige to talk it, as I was taught by the Missionaries. I let you know, Sirs, that I am a stranger to this place, from down Lower ; and I wish very much to sail on the Ocean and go to America ; ana« Sir, I hope that you will accept of me. I spoke to one of you the day before yesterday, of which I thought he was gone to oispose you the notification of it. Dear Sirs, I hope that you will accept of me, to be your waiter or to be your savant, as I wish very much to be on your BoAt- Vessel. And, Hirs, ii you wish to see me, I am much willing to come on there. This is to conceal to your- ■®lf' My name is , i.w-. t»w«.
• Please, Sirs, let me be acceptable to you.» ^^^^* Jokks.
We must change our African missionaries if the accomplishments of this writer are to be taken as the result of their * teachings !' . . . A mktropoutan house-keeper advertised recently for a wet nurae. A young Irish girl offered herself * How old are yon, BaiDOBT 7* said Madame. * Sixteen, please Ma'am.' * Have you ever had a baby ?* * No, Ma'am, but I am very fond of them.' • Then I 'm afraid, Bridget, you will not do for me. It is a wet nurse I want' * Oh, please Ma'am, I know I '11 do : I 'm very 'asy to teach !' . . . Hkrk 's ^Down among the Dead Men^ concerning which inquiry was made by a metropolitan correspondent in our last number, and for which we are indebted to a friend, a new contributor. It is * bacchanalian' enough, cer- tainly. The German students, in their drinking bouts, have a room prepared, adjoin- ing the scene of their orgies, well carpeted with straw, which is called * The Dead Room,* and the * mourners' carried there are * dead men.' Hence the refrain ' Down among the dead men let him lie.' The piece here presented is an imitation of the
370
Editor's TMle.
[April,
Gennan, procured from a ballad-mongerii^r friend of oar corTeqMiiideiit*8, who ha * any quantity' of kindred effoMona, and some of thera yeiy qnaint and rare :
* HxAS '8 a health to the Quxkn, and peace, To faction an end, to wealth increase ; Come* let oa drink it while we have breath. For there 'a no drinldng after death. And he that will thia health deny, Down an^ong the dead men, Down among the dead men, Down, down, down, down, Down among the dead men let him lie.
« Let charming Beautj'fl health go roimd. In whom celestial Joys are found ; And may confusion still pursue The senseless woman-hating crew : And they that woman's liealth deny, Down among the dead men, Down among the dead men, Down, down, down, down, Down among the dead men let him lie.
* In making Baoohui Joy, I H roll. Deny no pleasure to my soul ; Let Bacchus* health round briskly mora, For Bacchus is a friend to Lots : And he that wiU this health deny, Down among the dead men, Down among the dead mem, Down, down, down, down, Down among the dead men let him lie.
*May Lore and Wine their rights maintaiii, And their united pleaaures reign. While Bacchus* treasure crown the board. We *11 sing the Joys that both afford : And they that won't with us comply, Down among the dead men, Down among the dead men, Down, down, down, down. Down among Uie dead men let them lie !'
Think of lome twenty or thirty roystering blades singing this song, intermpied oc- casionally perhaps by maudlin echoes from * the dead room,* coming faintly upon the ean of the besotted revellers ! . . . * You know, perhaps,' writes a Pennsylvania correspondent, ' that about a year or so ago the proceedings of the Washinoton Modq- ment Society at Washington received a sudden impetus. Among other measores adopted to procure sufficient funds for the completion of the edifice, was that of ap- pointing an agent in each congressional district throughout the United States, who was furnished with lithographs of the future monument, which were presented to such gentlemen as chose to subscribe. Our district is a German one, and the agent, when he called on me, told me many amusing anecdotes of the difficulties he had met with while endeavoriug to overcome the habitual parnmony of the people. Among others be mentioned the following, which I have retained. He called one day at the house of a very wealthy farmer in the upper end of Dauphin County. The whole family were soon assembled to look at the beautiful pictures. In the mean time the agent exerted all his eloquence to induce the steady old German to * plank his tin.* He portrayed the services of Washington to his country ; he dwelt in glowing terms upon the gratitude we should all feel for them. Suddenly the farmer broke silence :
* What is all dis for ?* The agent began again : * You know who Washington was?*
* Yes, he was the first President ; he licked the British, did u*t he 7' * Yes, that 's the man ; and this monument is to be erected as a fitting testimonial of the eternal grati- tude of his countrymen,' etc. The anticipated subscriber studied the plate attentive- y. * Well,* said ho, * I won't pay anything toward it; I don't see no use to build a house mit sich a d — d big chimney!' The agent immediately * dispersed.* The old Dutchman's criticism upon the shaft of the design is a very natural one. He cer- tainly evinced some knowledge of the * ironic style' of arohitecture.
• 1 'vz sailed uxK>n an iceberg till.it reached The tropics, when it melted. When will melt These frozen nations, whose collisions dire And booming imminence doth fright the eartti f*
A question which may be newly asked every time the steamers bring us late intel- ligence from the old nations of Europe. . . . Saint Paul says : ' He who does not provide for his own house is worse than an infidel.' 'And I think he who provides
1849.] Editor's TahU. 371
an/y for his own house is just equal with an infidel/ adds Dean Swift ; and we say» ' Ditto to Mr. Burke.' Yet we once heard a little man of property boasting that he had denied to a friend, who gave him much business every year, a small sum asked in charity for another, on the ground that hi$ charity was awarded to those who by ties of kindred were dependent upon him. And the well-to-do man-of-the-world said this with an air of groat complacency, as if it were • a deed that would secure him heaven.' . . . To < P. B. S.,' of Fali-River, who requested < an immediate answer* to his note, which we could not give, we answer emphatically * No.' We think his chance of success in a field already overstocked would be very doubtful indeed. And this, let us assure him, is the well-grounded opinion of a friend. ... On thanks- giving-day an Irish woman called at an apothecary's, and asked what was good for a man ? * Why, what 's the matter with your man V < Please, Sir, is it castor-ile or salts that 's good for him 7' < How can I tell unless you let me know what is the matter with him?' * Is it < matter with him 7' Bless God, there 's nothing the matter with him ; but he had a leisure day, and thought he would take something !' Was this Irishman any wiser than hundreds of others, who should know better, who do not hesitate to deluge their internals with medicine, when if tliey had n't too much ' leisure,' nothing wo\ild be * the matter* with them 7 . . . Wb commend these lines to our esteemed friend * S.,' whose most welcome letter, thrice-conned, lies open before us. Ht will feel them, as we have :
* And then, u onward fared the houra, and Night Her mantle drew more cloae upon the earth, There all alone, in our still chamber sitting, From all the words we ever spake together, From all the hopes we ever felt together, What time the meadow's beantr rarished us, ^
What time the Sabbath calm subdued us, From Tlslons that we cherish, and from fears That harrow us ; from all, as 'twere a breexe. Was wafted to my heart a wehrd emotion, Ajpishing ecstasy, a melody Of tenderness, that made me weep, oppressed By rery welling of the deepest joy.'
< A MAN would have but few spectators, if he offered to show for threepence how he could thrust a red-hot iron into a barrel of gun-powder, and it should not take fire.' Does our New-Orleans friend * take the idea !' . . . The influence of a tender mother over the heart of her child is forcibly illustrated in a little incident recorded by a modem author : * My mother came to the western door as I sat there at sun-setting on a summer-evening, stood by me, and tenderly talked to me of God and my duty to him ; and her tears dropped upon my head. Those tears, such as only a mother cook) shed, made me a christian.' How many mothers, long since gone upward to rest in the bosom of the Saviour whom they loved and served, have saved by their hallowed influence the children whom God had given them ! . . . We judge, fh>m several pieces which we have seen in the Joraey City * Daily Sentinel and Advertiser,* that the group of little poems, of which they are to form a part, entitled * Voices from the Nursery,* by Alexander Hood, will be a volume which will possess marked interett for both mothers and children. It requires a specific * gill' to vmte well and nnder- standingly for * little people.' . . . We cannot affirm that we very greatly afieet the intensely-fervent style of romantic love-letters, ancient or modem ; but we should like to know who could read the following passage from one of Eloise's last epistles to Abbilard, and not acknowledge some touch of sympathy and some feeling of ad-
372 Ediiar's TiMe. ' [April,
miration. The whole letttf preaents a vivid picture of the straggle between Nature's strongest passion and thb artificial power of religious superstition :
* Bblovcd Abbilabo ! render me the lagt of euthly duties : Smooth for me the pesrage to the remlm« of bliM ; gmze on my trembling lips ; close my moTeleae eyes, and rocelTO my Isit ■ig^ ai my parting spirit mounts to a brighter worlcL But no I rather let me behold tbee in thy holy rotes, with the taper in thy trembling hand. Display the cross to my heaTcn-directed eyes. Teach me and learn from me to die. Then gaze upon the Eloisi whom thou hast loved so well. It will Oien be no crime to behold her, to see the rose Siding from her cheek, the last spark of lijk going out in her failing eyes. Hold my hand ; press it to Uiy bosom, mitu ceasing to feel, I cease at the same moment to breathe and to love. How eloquent art thou, O BsATH I It belongs onlv to thee to teach how vain tiie passion whose object is hot a little dost. Hie time must come when those features which hare had so much power over me must de« eav. Then may a holy rapture suspend for thee the pangs of passing from life to death. May bright crowds of angels descend from hearen and watch around thee, and beams of glory burst upon thee from the partins hearens I May blessed saints, descending from on high, hasten to meet and embrace thee with a tenderness equal to my own I May ttie same tomb unite our names, and render our dear lores immortal 1 Then m ages which are to come, should two lovers erer chance to stray to the walls of tiiis sanctuarv, they shall lean their anxious brows over our tomb, and read the inscription which marks the resting-place of our mutual adiea, drhik in the tears which flow from each other's eyes, and touched with pity for our sad fate, exclaim, ' May our loves be leas hopeless than theirs I*
* At a bookseller^ shop some time ago/ writes Swift in his journal, * I saw a book with this title: 'Poetrn by the Author of *The Choice** Not enduring to read a dozen lines, I asked the company with me whether they had ever seen the book, or heard of the poem whence the author denominated himself. They were all as igno- rant as I. I find it common with these small dealers in small literature to give them- selves a title from their first adventure, as Don Quixottb usually did from his last This ariseth from that great importance which nearly every man supposeth himself to be of.* ' In connection with the foregoing facts,* as the newspapera say, * we beg to announce' that we have received ' Rupert^ a Tale,* by the author of * The Wild Man of the Winnipissiogee.' It lies at the publication-office, subject to the writer^s order. . . . The following * Rejoinder to an Epigram written after dining with m Catholic Friend upon Fish on a Faet'Day,* published in our last number, is a * palpable hit/ and we insert it with pleasure :
No Catholic of sense pretends Mere eating meat the Lord offends ; 'Tis not the 'herring* which you mention, That ' hath the charm,' but the intention ; The Church intends Fast as a trial— The merit is in self-denial. Full forty days Chbist's fasting lasted ; Why blush to fast f — the Savioux fasted.
TowN-reader, as on a pleasant Sunday you stroll perchance along the wharves, to look out upon the sunny waters of the river or bay, why do nH you step into the * Float- ing Chapel of our SAVioua,* and see the attentive seamen listening to the * preached word' or to the beautiful service of the Church ? Try it once, and let the * hushed calm' of the place subdue your wandering thoughts to meditation. ' When I plead the cause of sailors,* says the eloquent Melvill, < it seems to me as though the hur- ricane and the battle, the ocean with its crested billows, and war with its magnifi- cently stern retinue, met and mingled to give force to the appeal. It seems as though stranded navies, the thousands who have gone down with the waves for their winding- sheet, and who await in unfathomable caverns the shrill trumpet-peal of the archangel rose to admonish us of the duty we owe these brave men who are continually jeopard- ing their lives in our service. And then there comes also before me the image of a molhery who has parted, with many tears and many forebodings, from her sailor-boy ;
1849.] Editor'* Tahie. 373
whose thoughts have accompanied him, as none bat those of a mother can, in his long
wanderings orerthe deep.' And these thoughts will arise in yoitr mind, reader, while
listening to the Rev. Mr. Parker engaged in earnest and faithful labor for the spiritual
good of seamen. . . . Thb following * Sonnet written after reading Keate,* that
gifted child of song, whose life was * too short for firiendship, not for fame,' came too
late for insertion among the * Original Papers.' We therefore transfer it to this de*
partment:
Mr loal ia drank with beauty, yet I read,
Haring nor will nor power to refo/M
To drink these draagnU of Helicon, that breed
Such wondrous Joy within me. Glorious muse I
Inspire no other brain, but rather ch^se
To couch thyself beside his lowly grare,
Bidding the Night shed her selectest dews,
80 that the grass, forerer green, may wave
Over his sacred ashes : he loved thee
Better than all, save death ; for thQu didst pour
Upon his soul such thrilling melody,
Such bliss intense, ttiat his young heart ran o'er
And burst itself in song; therefore, forbeer,
Mor let another brow those well-earned laurels wear. b. • o.
* You are near the bottom of the hill, Madame,' said Swur's physician to < Stklla,'
' but we will endeavor to get you up again.' She answered : * Doctor, I fear I shaU be
out of breath before I get to the top.' . . . It is a curious thing, the Ubiquity of
a Bore. A friend of ours who is daily troubled with an enormous one, says that he is
gradually sinking under the annoyance. He encounters him every day ' at sundry
tunes and in diverse places ;' and no sooner is he rid of him, than he turns up again,
< like a Uack bean in a peck-measure of white ones.' And then he is so confoundly
alert:
< So wonderful his expedition, When you have not tbe least suspicion, lie 's with you like an apparition I*
* I told him to-day to go !' said our friend, the other day, in Broadway, his face glow- ing with pleasurable excitement, ' and by Jovk he went !' An hour after that, we saw * the Bore' walking across the Park, arm in arm with our friend, and gesticulating slowly, while the victim*s face was red as crimson. He had been caught and — for- given ! . . . Mr. Putnam, who in the elegance of his editions is emulating the honorable fame of Murray and of Cadell, continues the publication of Washington Irving's immortal works. * Tales of a Traveller,' * Bracebridge Hall,' and the second volume of ' The History of Columbus and his Companions,' have quickly succeeded each other, all admirably executed, as heretofore. The sale of these editions, in America and England, we are glad to hear is very large. The tenth thoueand has already been reached, and the demand seems not at all to have abated. Putnam has also issued the first of two superb volumes, of which we shall have more to say in our next : * Nineveh and ite Remaine,* by Layard, a work comprising the results of re- searches, the character of which was set forth at great length in this department of the Knickerbocker several months aga The work is pronounced by Dr. Robinson, the eminent oriental traveller, as * one of very high interest and importance, and des- tined to mark an epoch in the wonderful progress of knowledge at the present day.' . . . We have been not a little amused with the advertisement * for sale' by Mr. Adam J. Hoffman, of * a house with warm-bathing and an apothecary, at Pater- son, State of New- Jersey.' He * wants to sell on account of hb age, his property, with house, and if possible with furniture.' * The house,' he adds, * is beginning on
374 EdiUn'i TahU. . [April,
the north side of Congren-street, in the town of Pateraon, at a distance of one hun- dred and one feet half-inch west from the comer of Prospect-street, and running from thence easterly along the line of Congress-street twenty-six feet twenty-seven inches; thence northerly at right angles to Ck>ngress-street, one hundred and twelve feet mx. inches ; westerly parallel to Congress-street, twenty-six feet seven inches ; thence southerly one hundred and twelve feet six inches to the place of beginning.' If this is n*t an extensive way of describing a house, we are somewhat mistaken ; ' but,' as Mr. Toots would say, 'it's of no consequence.' The Paterson advertiser, however, is out-done by some of our own. One may read on a shop in Broome-street, not fax from Broadway, the following : * This stok has removed to Centre-street !' . . . Oum old friend Mr. Jambs J. Mapes, a well-instructed and now practical farmer, at his ex- tensive grounds near Newark, New-Jersey, finds leisure frpm his other labors to e<fit ' The Working Farmer ,* which is published once a week from the Clinton-Hall Buildings, in this city. How so valuable a publication, replete with information so va- rious and authentic, can be afforded aX fifty cenUa year, passes our poor comprehen- sion. We cannot doubt however that the publishers will * find their account' in an enormous subscriptiou4ist ... A friend at Washington sends us the following: 'in looking into the recesses of the Library of Congress, one of my favorite resorts, I accidentally took up a work entitled * Specimens of Arabian Poetry^ by J. D, Car' lyle, London, 1810,* from which I made the following extracts, if perhaps they migfat be deemed worthy of the pages of the Knickbrbocker. The subjomed was writtea by Abon Alt, who must have been the Tom Moore of his times. He was eminent as a mathematician, and flourished in Eg3rpt about the year 530, and was equally celebrated as a poet In these verses he seems to have united these two discordant
characters :
* I KEVBK knew a fpiighUy fair
That was not dear to me. And freely I my heart conld ihare With every one I tee.
* It is not thia or that alone
On whom my choice would fall ; I do not more incline to one Than I incline to all.
' The circle's bounding lino are they,
It's centre is mr heart ; My ready lore with equal ray That flows to every part.'
P B O M THE ARABIC.
BFIORAM nPOy ABOV ALOBAIR BMlAUit, ASf XOTPTtAH FBTSICtAV, Br OXOBOB, A PBTSXOtAV OV AKTI09K.
' Whobvks has recourse to thee Can hope for health no more ; lie '• launched into perdition's sea, A sea without a shore.
* Where'er admission thou canst gain.
Where'er thy phiz can pierce. At once the doctor they retain, The mourners and the hearse.'
TO A X.ADT UPOV BXB BIBTH-SAT.
' Whilb bom in tears we saw thee drowned, While then assembled fHends around,
With smiles their Joys confest ; Bo live, that at thy parting hour They may the flood of sorrow pour, And thou in smiles be droit.'
1849.]
EJIitor'i Table, SU
TO TSa XAX.TPn BABOOV ▲Z.&ASCKID, VFOIT BIB QMSVBTAXIMO ▲ TtlOnXUAOM TO MXOOA i MX ZBBABZK
BBMT ADBAM.
iBBABnc waa a hermit of Syria, aqaBlly celebrated for bla piety aad talanta. He waa tba aon of a ptlaca of Khoxraaan, and bom aboat the nmaty>eeveath year of the Hegira.
' Rbx.ioion'8 sum cmn ne'er adorn The flimay robe by pleaaure worn, Ita feeble texture aoon would tear, And give Uioae Jewels to the air.
•Thrice hax>py they who aeek th' abode Of peace and pleaanre in their Ood. Who apam the world, ita Joys deapiae, And graap at blisa beyond the akiea.'
Aif nirasaally larg^e number of communicatioiui, in prose and verse, received during the month, await insertion or examination. Our correspondents will accept our cor- dial thanks. ... As a general thing, our private correspondence yields to profes- sional' labors after the twelfth of every month, until the Magazine goes to press.
LrrxaAKT Rxcobd.— We have before ua the * Sixth AnmuU Report of the Monttgen of At 8uue LtmMie Amflum at Vtied,' made to the Legialatore in February last It ia full and complete in relation to every thing connected with the inatftution, and haa beaide many excellent diree* tions how to avoid prediapoaing cauaea to inaanity. We find the following amuaing account of the inhalation of the Vapor of ether by two of the inmatea of the asylum : *
* Whkn thia excitement abated, he seemed ecstatic with deliffht on account of the visions he had aeen and the revelationa that had been made to him. ' I floated away,' he exclaimed, ' in infinity of apace ; I have seen a future world ; what I have seen has proved the dogmaa of roll* fion. Unleaa a man comes up to an iota, it la over with him.' He said he Utlt * convinced of the truth of Newton's theory of the solar system, as he saw the planets revolving in the order and way pointed out' When fully recovered from the efl'ects of tl^e ether, he said he should not like to take it again, aasigning as a reaaon that his head felt strangely after using it ; he how- ever soon after recovered, and has now been well more than a year.
* Some were pleasantiy excited after odng it One danced. Anotiier, when aaked how he felt after awakma from a short sleep, replira, ' Exactly, exactly neat, by Jingo I I never felt better in my life than I do now. I thought I waa in Heaven, then in Hell, then at the Judgment, and then at school I must have slept two hours.' Another, when asked by a patient to tell him what his feelings were, said he ' felt like a kind of airy nothingness, as if be could fly.' '
Dr. AxAxiAB Bbiohaw, the Superintendent, has no superior in America in the treatment of the insane ; and we believe no similar institution in the Union can boast a greater number of annual cures. • • • Onk of the best works of many upon a kindred theme which haa appeared firom the American press, is one Just iaaned by the Habpexs, entitied 'Ortg^on and OUifomia m 1848.' The author, J. Quiifif TaoawTON, late Judge of the Supreme Court of Oregon, deacribea only what himaelf, in company with hla wife, aaw and experienced ; and he writes in such a way as to make his readers see what they themselves saw ; which is the best praise we could award to his style. The volumes are illustrated by numerous good engravings, and an ezcel« lent map of the region described; and containa also an appendix embodying recent and au« thentic information on the subject of the gold-mines of California, and other valuable matter, of interest to the emigrant The aame publishers have issued, in a handaome volume. Rev. BAn-iST WaiOTHKSLET Noel's * faaoy on the Union of Church and State,* the dissolution of which is forcibly and vehementiy urged, upon varioua grounda, elaborately fortified and argued at large. Yfe have alao to welcome firom the same press two more of those well-illustrated and well-written works, • Ahhotfe Historie*: The last two of the series contain the * History of Queen Elizabeth' and the * Hiatory of Hannibal.* The same eaae and simplicity of style, and the same faithfulness to authentic history, which we have recorded of their predeceaaors, mark the two works before us. The HAXPEaa have also iaaued Part Firat of * The CaxUnUf a Jlsmtly Picture,' by Sir E. LrrroN Bulweb, a capital work, of which, when completed, we shall have more to say. Mr. Bulwex furnishes the concluding part to the American publishers before it appears in England. • • • We have already spoken of and quoted fhmi Hon. Zadaeh Prau*$ Addrt— before the American Inetitute, as reported at the time for the * Tribumf daily Jour- nal. We have now before us the Address aa revised by the author, and publiahed by order of the Society, of which he is President ; and ,we musk again commend it to our readera aa an 'effective and well-written expose of the true dignity of labor. We doubt whether any one,
* 376 Editor's TahU.
after perasing it, would be likely to say of another fellow-citiien, « He i« onlf a meehamc' We make room for a single passage :
* I KEHKXBEK there was a certain man called Fslix in the Scriptorea. What his pedigree ^ was I do not know ; but his countrymen were a proud race, and hated the mechanics. But one of these despised mechanics, a tent-maker, made this same Fvlix tremble. ' Only a mechanic V Why, Noah was a ship-wrignt, and Solomon an architect. And who built the Pyramids ; who the ancient cities, whose ruins all the historianB, philosophers and learned men of modem times are unable to explain f The great temples of the noly city ; Tyre and Sidon, Balbee, Peraepolis, Babylon, Palmyra, Thebes, and ouier wondrous monuraenta of the East, whose magnificence no modem art can excel ; who built them f * Oh, it waa only a mechanic I*
' In another place, and on a dlflferent occasion, I alluded to the impulse nven to modem im- provement, and the change wrought upon the face of the whole world, by the invention of Faust, who gave light and knowledge to all mankind, by the diseoveriea of Coluiibus, the science of Fkanklin. the ingenuity of Abicwbiout, the genius of Fultou and of WHrrKKT, mechanics all — ' nothing but mechanics.' I need not attempt to say what we owe, what this nation owes, what the ciTilized world owes, to these great men.'
* You have a right to be proud, my friends, and I certainly feel proud, that FaAxxLiK and Fulton and Whitnct all were countrymen of yours and mine, though they were ' only me- chanics.' I feel as if I could hold up my head proudly, when I can say, tiiat young aa we are as a nation, such is the free scope and tendency of our institutions, and our glorious climate to foster the full energies of the mind, and to grow the vhoU dmh, that in all the useful mechanic arts we are outstripping the nations of the old world. In arts and in arms, and in every worldly pursuit of man, our advancement stands unequalled since the world began.'
' Tkt Ckri$tian Union and Rdi^ou* Memorial^* a monthly magazine, devoted to the common interests and the current history of the church, in all its branches throughout tiie world, and edited by the Bev. Dr. Baixd, D.D., assisted by members and friends of the * American Evan- gelical Alliance,' is acquiring the reputation and circulation to which its merits entitle It. It has contained many articles, both in prose and verse, which have won for it the high commen- dation of the clergy and religious persons generally. - .* • Wx cannot say that we especially admire the UtU of an excellent lecture delivered before the Young Men's Library Association at Augusta, Georgia, by Hon. Robxst M. Chaxlton, of Bavannah. * The Poetrf of Deaths* aa it strikes us, were better represented as a consequence, than assumed as a fact, per oe. But as touching the lecture itself^ we may say, that it is a well-reasoned and extremely well-written production, variously enforced and felicitously illustrated. It is such a performance, in short, as might be expected at the hands of its accomplished author. • « • ' 1%e TempUUionM of Gtf Life is the Utle of the third of the excellent • Tracts for Cities,' publishing by J. S. Rkbfxkld, Clinton-Hall. It commends itself especially to all young men who are seeking a home and fortune in large cities. • • • The Messrs. Applkton have issued a little volume by D. T. Ax- 8TRD, an English Mining Engineer, called ' Tkt QoU'Stdure ManuaV It will be found a prac- tical and instractive guide to all persons emigrating to the gold regions of California. . . . 'TV California and Oregon Trail, or Sketches of Prairie and Roek^ Mountain lAft^ is the title given to a very handsome illustrated volume, published in New-York and London by FuTNAir. The werk is made up entirely of the ' Oregon Trail,' by Fxancis Paekman, Je., recently completed in these pages. These sketches have already been widely read and admired, and may be said to have acquired an established popularity. The readers of the Knicxseebockbe, at least, do not require to be enlightened as to their character. • • • Ma. Hxnet Wtkoff has put forth, through the press of Putnah, Broadway, an instructive and interesting little volume, upon ' Nt^leon Louie Bonaparte, Firet President of France* embracing biographical and personal sketches, and including a visit to the PaiNCX at the castle of Hamm. A collateral, if not a princi- pal aim of the writer, in these and other promised sketches, is to show the ascendancy of the aristocratic mind of England over the democratic mind of America, which ' guides our judg- ment of things, determines our opinions of men, enters into our institutions, biases our laws, shapes our ideas, and too often directs our sentiments.' . * . « TA« Motkcr^ Journal and FamHf Vieitant* so long and so ably conducted by Mrs. E. C. Allen, (who is now reaping the reward of her works before the throne of Hibc who said on earth to children, ' Come to me,') is now edited by her excellent husband, Rev. Iea M. Allen, assisted by Mrs. Elizabeth Sxwall. It Is a periodical of great usefulness. Its contributors and editors seem to vie with each other which shall do most to add to the interest and value of the work. We commend it, as we have often done before, to the patronage of the mothers of America. • • • Putnam, publisher, Broadway, has issued, in a very handsomely -executed and illustrated volume, ' Pkamtagia, and ether Poems,' by Mrs. Jakes Hall. Our readers have been made familiar wltluher genius by several excellent poems. We commend with added pleasure therefore her beautiful volume to public acceptance.
THE KNICKERBOCKER.
Vol. XXXIII. MAY, 1849. No. 5.
REMINISCENCES OF THE WAR OF 181 t>
K r U B X R
The government had concentrated upon Plattsburgb, in the year 1814, a Targe military force, consisting of twelve or th^een thousand well-disciplined troops, under the command of the rough but brave old General Izzaid.
A sudden change in the plan of campaign rendered necessary a change of position ; and Izzard was directed, in the month of August, to make a forced march to Sackett's Harbor. This he did, leaving behind him, in garrison, only fifteen hundred men, including sick and convalescent ; a force just sufficient to stimulate the hostile enterprise of the British commander-in-chief in Canada, but too inconsiderable to afford adequate protection to the Northern Frontier. Of this smtdl body of men Macomb was lefl in command. The British were vigilant : they had seen, with no little anxiety, the concentration of our troops at Plattsburgh ; and apprehensive that a blow was meditated, in the direction of Montreal, the British commander had . drawn, from more distcuit places, the piovincial militia and Wellington's veterans, recently arrived from Europe, to strengthen his positions near the line.
Izzard's movement was immediately known to the dnemy ; and scarcely had the sounds of his retiring drums died upon the ear, when busy preparation was discovered in the hostile cainp. There was no mistaking its portent. Nodiing now remained to as but to await the Btorm.
Having concentrated his forces into one massive column, fourteen thousand strong, the best appointed army which America ever saw, Sir George Prevost commenced a slow and stately march in the direction of Plattsburgh. At Champlain, and again at Chazy, he paused awhile to wait the movem^tof his fleet. VOL. XZZI1I. 37
378 Remmisceneei of the. War of 1812. [May.
Sir George was proud of his troops, and well indeed he might be, for a large proportion of them had been trained under the eye of one of the ereatest captains of the age, and were fresh from the well- fought fields of Spain, of Portugal, and of France. Partly from os- tentation, and partly perhaps to overawe us by the magnitude and appointment of his force, he threw open his camp to the inspection of our citizens. Not a few availed themselves of the opportumty ; some to obtain information, some to satisfy a very natural curiosity. The spectacle of Sir George's camp was indeed one of uncommon interest and beauty.
While Sir George's formidable preparations were in proeress, ru- mors of impending invasion aeitated the frontier counties. Hitherto the war had been carried on m the enemy's territories, or at a dis- tance. It was now about to be brought to our doors. The question involved in it had hitherto been one of patriotism ; now it had be- come one of personal interest also. Beside country, the objects of protection now were wives, children and fire-sides. Few shrank from the danger ; and scarcely had a hostile foot been set on our territory, when the militia of Essex and Clinton were en route for what was to be the scene of action.
Among the militia who in this exigency flew to the defence of the Northern frontier was one Moreau. I never knew his christian name. He lived in Westpost, a pleasant little town, situated on the western bank of Lake Champlain, in the county of Essex. He was about twenty years of age, poor, uneducated and obscure, and had as little person^ interest in the event of the war as any man living. No in- dividual, however, who engaged in it, behaved with so much des- perate courage.
History is carrying down to posterity the name of Macomb ; Moore's was honored with a sword ; and Fame has associated other names with the defence of Plattsburgh. All this is right. But no pen has told the story of poor Moreau.
I, his fellow in the same tegimeut, late though it be, dedicate this paper to the memory of his bravery.
It may be remembered that the Essex, and a part of the Clinton militia, were stationed two or three days in Beekmantown, six or seven miles north of Plattsburgh, on one of the roads leading to Chazy. The enemy was advancing on this road in great force.
Early on the morning of the sixth of September, Major, now Gene- ral Wool, at the head of two hundred and fifty men, passed us in the direction of the British army.
I well rememher their fine martial appearance. They carried no knapsacks ; they made no halt ; but marched on with the air of men who feel conscious ihat they have serious work on hand. All main- tained a profound silence, except one, who appeared to be a subaltern, and who, nodding his head to us, said in an under tone :
* You will soon hear from us.'
It was not difficult to comprehend the meaning of this movement. Moreau was seen a short distance off, sitting upon a stone, his musket resting upon his knees, and busily engaged in fixing his flint.
1849.] RemittuceHees of the War of 1812. 379
-^ J
• So, Moreau, you are preparing for what may soon be your duty,' said bis lieutenant.
' I am,' said Moreau. * I see some sign that we shall soon have oc- casion to use our muskets, and I intend mine shall be in order. I suppose we shall have no children's play here ; and since we must have a brush, let it come — the sooner the better.'
*Br4vo! my good fellow,' exclaimed Colonel Wadhams, who chanced to hear him. ' You will not need to wait long.'
The drums beat to arms ; the men paraded ; every one was at his post.
' March 1' shouted General Wright, and led off after Wool's com* mand.
Wool's little band of two hundred and fifty men were now con* siderably in advance, descending Culver's Hill toward the wood, fiom whence the enemy had not yet emerged. Their neat caps, their snuff coats, their snow-white pantaloons, their compactness on the march, and their firm step, all conspired to render them the ob- ject of universal admiration.
'See those noble fellows!' exclaimed Moreau; 'I '11 be d — d if they wouldn't be a match for any four hundred in Provost's army.'
The militia marched with a quick step down the hill. There was no voc^eration ; no boisterous mirth ; no talking ; all were serious , and silent, as men always are who know that danger is impending. Every man was preparing his mind to meet, with as good a grace as he could, the trymg moment, which all knew to be near at hand.
' What 's the matter, Jim ]' cried Moreau, breaking silence, and ad- dressing himself to the man who was marching at his right hand. * You look as if you had buried all your friends.*
' I was thinking,' answered Jim, ' that in a few moments more some of us will probably be biting the dost'
'Tut, Jim; and have you been all this time in finding that out?' replied Moreau. ' Did you expect fighting to be done without some danger ? You had better bo thinking how you are to carry yourself in the battle. By the way, Jim, I have some whiskey in my canteen ; the d — d divils may let it all out with their bullets ; let us drink it while we can.'
Not quicker said than done : Jim and Moreau put the whiskey beyond the reach of accident.
A sharp roll of fire-arms now suddenly broke upon our ears, and looking iu the direction of this new and startling music, a hundred blue curling smokes were seen ascending from the edge of the wood. Wool had delivered his fire upon the enemy's advanced guard.
Jim turned pale ; the smile which bad been playing on Moreau's face passed instantly away, succeeded by grave features and firmly- compressed lips.
' Well begun, by heavens !' cried the latter ; *let us make haste ; they '11 need our help.'
Wool retired from the woods, after receiving in turn the British fire, and regulars and militia were soon on common ground. An ir- regular fusilade now took place on both sides, with now and th^ a
380 Reminiscences of the War of 1812. [May,
beautiful roll of musketry. Wool's command kept in compact order. The militia, for the most part, had betaken themselves to trees, to stump9« to fences. Moreau alone, of all the militia, at least of the privates, seemed iiidifferent to the danger. He sought no protection behind any thing. He loaded and fired with the same apparent eagerness that ho would have played a game of ball, and with even more steadiness.
At this stage of the conflict, while Moreau, in the act of loading his musket, was holding the ball part of a cartridge between his thumb and finger, and was about to bite off the other end of it, a ball struck it, and scattered the powder over his face.
* A d — d good shot !' cried Moreau ; * but I have saved my bullet, though they have spilt my powder, and I will send it to them on the top of another cartridge.' And so he did.
•Moreau, ray brave fellow!' exclaimed Colonel Wadhams, ' can't ypu pick off that fellow who stands yonder loading his musket, by the point of that rock ? He has just shot White.'
White, who belonged to the Ticonderoga battalion, had just fallen, shot through the head.
* I think I can, Colonel,' answered Moreau ; * I am not apt to miss so large a mark.'
Moreau dropped on his right knee, and resting his left elbow on the other, fired, and the fated soldier fell.
* Well done, Moreau !' said the colonel ; ' you shall have a Ser- geant's warrant for that.'
The British column, which occupied the road, began to move on with accelerated pace. Their wings were pressing forward con- siderably in advance, and threatening the fianks of our little force; and the whole, particularly the centre column, keeping up a fire, not very well directed, upon the militia and Wool s command.
A rapid retreat commenced : the regulars and a part of the militia retiring in tolerable order, and making, from time to time, a stand, wherever the nature of the ground, or the fences across the fields, afforded them a partial protection, and a favorable opportunity of re- newing the combat. The rest of the militia fled like frightened hares.
Moreau's reluctance to retreat had been noticed from the begin- ning. Exclamations of indignation, made in an under tone through his closed teeth, as if speaking to himself, frequently burst from him ; and once, turning to the commandant of his regiment, he said, * Colonel, it 's a d — d shame to be running at this rate, with our backs to the enemy. If you '11 only turn us about, we can drive the infernal ras- cals back into the woods.'
But when his eye caught some of the militia flying over the fields, and some few of them even throwing away their arms and accoutre- ments, that they might not be impeded in their flight, he burst out into a violent rage. He frothed at the comers of his mouth, and cursed equally the cowardly runaways and the British. His rage appeared at length to concentrate itself upon the latter, against whom he seemed to be actuated by an intense personal indignation.
At length, throwing out his right arm in the direction of the enemy,
1849.] ' Our Neighbor's Roaster. 381
he exclaimed, * There ! — do n't you see those two British officers ? They act as if they were laughing at our flight. Now retreat you who will ; but live or die, by the Eternal ! 77/ retreat no farther.*
He kept the oath : he stood firmly in his tracks, his person fully exposed to the fire of the heavy advancing column of the enemy ; loading and firing his musket with a deliberatencss of action in strange contrast with the terrible intensity of his feelings.
The officers called on him to retire ; at first soothingly, and then harshly and peremptorily ; but he neither turned his head nor deigned to answer.
All expected every moment to see him fall. Within the space of two minutes, hundreds of bullets must have been discharged at his person. When the enemy's column had approached within a few feet of him, a confusion in their ranks was discovered directly in front of him, at the moment after he had delivered hb last fire. He was then seen to club his musket, and knock down a soldier, and instant- ly a dozen men rushed upon him, and seized him as a prisoner.
The fate of Moreau remained a long time unknown. In the sum- mer, afler the close of the war, his friends were greatly surprised by his return.
They had heard nothing from him, and had given him up as lost. He had escaped the tremendous shower of bullets directed at him by a whole column of British troops, not merely with life, but unhurt. He had been taken to Montreal, when all the militia prisoners except himself were discharged ; thence to Quebec ; and thence again to Halifax, where he was confined during the war. In the spring, after the cessation of hostilities, he was conveyed to Boston in a cartel.
I wish I knew more of a spirit so unconquerable, and of a life so wonderfully preserved. But I do not. Within two or three months afler Moreau's return home, he migrated to the West, in quest of fortune or adventure, and was never heard of more. «,.
Trof, March, 1849.
OUR NEIGHBOR R ROOSTER.
A BIPED cock has fantaaies as odd As biped man, and leaves the path of straight Propriety, and walks with devious gait.
Like feet poetic in old Harvard shod Our neighbor has a rooster that awakes
At middle night, and lifts his crow as clear
As if the breaking of the mom were near. I cannot slumber while his trills and shakes
Vibrate upon the miduight*s dozy ear ; Though heavy be mine eye, and vertebra So worn and weak, I inly irk to stir ;
I fold mine arms in vain while chanticleerf High on his roost, tells all the world around, A wakeful cock is he among the sleepy found.
382 A Omversatitm mi the Fwrut. [May,
CONVERSATION IN THB FOREST.
One day last spring;, one sunny afternoon, Lapt in contented indolence I lay Within a pillared circle of old trees ; Deep sunken in the smooth luxuriant sward. That) fed by droppiuflr dew and faithful shade. Grew men and thick under the strong stout oaks. Around mo the broad trees kept watch and ward. Waving tlieir high tops slowly in the air ; Green ulets in an eddying overflow Of amber light Among the emerald leaves The broken waves from that enflooding sea Struggled to reach the young birds In their nests. As Truth strives earnestly to reach the heart, Often repulsed, yet stall endeavoring. One strip of light lay on the level grass, Like a thin drift of pearl -snow tinged with rose : There I had lain since mom, stretched out at ease, Reading by turns in old and favorite books, Fuller, Montaigne, and good Sir Thomas Browns, Hazlitt and Lamb: while, mingled with the light. The song of many a mad bird floated up. Dazzling my ears, to the high empyrean. Breaking upon the blue sky's western beach, Flung upward from the throbbing tea below, Their waves of light and doud foamed up in spray. Stained by the sun with all his rarest hues, Rose, crimson, purple. Floating forth, perfumes From rose and jasmine wandereid wide abroad. Into the meadow and along the creek, That dances joyfully adown its bed Of silver sand and pebbles, through the glade, And like a child, frightened at sudden dusk, Stops, still as death, under yon dark gray crag Of thunder-scarred and overhanging rook. Where in deep holes lurks the suspicious trout The locust-trees, with honey-dropping brooms. Tempted the bees that, darting to and fro. Grew rich apace with their alnindant spoil ; And the magnolia, with its rich perfume, Within large circle loaded all the air. My children played around me on the grass — Sad rogues, that interrupted much my thoughts. And did perplex my reading ; one in ohief, A little chattering giri, with hazel eyes. Scarce taught to speak distinctly, but my pet, As she well knew, and of it took advantage. While thus I lay, resting in idle mood, I heard a step along the shaded walk. Where the clematis and the climbing-rose, ' The honeysuckle and the jasmine, turned Their bright eyes to the son ; an emerald aroli»
1849.] A Cmversaium in tht FareH. 383
With garden-flowen embroidered. Lookinf ap,
I saw appnwcliinff with hit kindly anile
And oatatretehed hand, the dMoeet of my fnenda,
Who played with me in childhood on the aanda.
And on theaonnding locka that fringed the aea;
Grew op with me to manhood, with me left
Oar ancient home, and many a weary month
Fast by my aide still toiled and traTelied on,
Tlirough desert, forest, danger ; over mountains.
Amid wild storms, deep snow ; bore cold, fatigue,
Hanger and thint, bravely, and like a man.
After warm welcome kindly interchanged,
Idly we stretched oarsehres upon the sward.
And lightly talked of half a handred things,
Each with a little head upon his aim.
Whose bright eyes looked as gravely into can
As though they undentood our large dlscouvse :
Until at length it chanced that Luthee said.
Responding to some self-coogratulation
That bubfatod from the fountain of my heart
At thinking of my humble, happy life :
' We are all marineis on this sea of Ufe,
And they who dimb above us up the shrouds
Have only, in their overtopping place.
Gained a more dangerous station and foothold
Mora insecure. The wind that paaseth ovtat
And harmeth not the humble cvew bekiw.
Whistles amid the shrouds and shaketh down
These overweening dimbeis of tho ocean
Into the great gigantic vase of death.
The huinble traveller securely walks
Along green valleys walled with rocky eragi, «
Deep-buried vales in Alp or Appenine,
By Titans sentinelled, yet rieh with floweiu.
And gushing with cod springs ; a doudless sun
Lightmg his path-way ; while the venturous fod
Who climbed tbe neighboring mountain, sees aghast
The purple drifts of Uiunder-shaken cloud
Rdl foaming over the blue, icy crags,
On which his feet slip ; feels the heavy spray
Dash, roaring like a sea, against his side.
And bitteriy repents he climbed so high.
Sharp lightning fladies through the Ullowy dusk
Of the mad tempest: through the lonely pines.
Far down below him, howls the exulting wind ;
The thunder crashes round his diny head ;
And, smitten by the earthquake's mail^ hand,
The jut whereon he stands gives way, like Fowee,
And down a thousand fathom headlong falls
The ambitious climber, a bmiaed, bloody mass.
Before the peaceful traveller below.
Better a quiet life amid our books
Than, like mad swimmers on a stormy ocean.
To breast the roar and tumult of the worid.'
' I think so too ; and I am well content To lead a peaceful, quiot, humUe life Among my children and my patient books. Disgrace and Danger, like two hungry hounds. Run ever on the track of those who do Good servica to their ooontry, or acfaiev*
384 A ConveriotUm in the Farett. [Maj,
Distinction and a name above their fellows :
And Slander is an ever-current coin,
Easy of utterance as pure gold deep stamped
With the king*8 image in the mint of Troth.
What service to his country can one do
In the wild warfare of the present age ?
To gain success the masses must be swayed ;
To sway the masses one must be well skilled
And dextrous with the weapons of the trade.
Who fights the gladiator without skill
Fights without arms. Why, he must lie and cheat.
By false pretences, double and turn at will.
Profess whatever doctrine suits the time,
Juggle and trick with words ; in every thing
Be a base counterfeit, and fawn and crouch
Upon the level of the baser sort
I love the truth because it is the troth,
And care not whether it be profitable.
Or if the common palate relish it
Of all things most I hate the plauidble :
An open kuave 's an open enemy,
But sleek Pretence with the stiletto stabs,
At dusky comers, of a starless night
The True and Popular are deadly foes,
Ever at dagger's point, in endless feud.
If one could serve his country by success.
Or strengthen her defences, he might well ...findore abuse and bitter contumely, ^Stiuider and persecution ; but to mng ,. C$ufa*BeA{ down headlong from the vessel's prow ' I&ths angry chasms of the deep, ' r/. jMiMit a nope to stay the ship*s mad conm,
-'"SSM^Jttofonndest folly of the time.
TmBmi how nobly sets the imperial sun ! "''Yhe golden glories of his mellow rays
On the green meadow-level fall aslant ;
On either side tall crests of snowy cloud,
With crimson inter-penetrated, shrink,
And yield him room : no dosky bar obscures
The broad magnificence of his wide eye :
Though farther south, dark as a cataract
Of thundering waters, a great cloud lets down
Its curtain to the blue horizon's edge.
While here and there a wing of snowy foam
Upon its front glints like the shining sail
Of some atrial shallops fleeing fast
Along the sounding surface of the deep.
Will Troth at any time shine broadly forth.
Even as the sun shines, with no cloud of error
To intercept a single glorious ray?*
* Troth is omnipotent, and will prevail. And public justice certain.'
* Ay, my friend ! A great man said so. 'T is a noble thought, Nobly expressed ; itself a creed complete. But in what sense is Troth omnipotent, And at what time is public justice certain? Troth will avenge herself for every wrong. And for all treason to her majesty Upon the nation oir the individual
1849.]
A Gmvenatum in the Forut. 386
That doth the wroug, by thow grave coDfeqiienees
Which do from faliehood or in deed or word
By law inflexible result The canae
Why nation! do so often topple down
Like avalanches from their eminence^
And men do slink into disastrous graves,
In the stem sentence hath been well expressed :
< Ye would not know the truth or follow it !'
Truth has the power to vmdicate itself;
But to convince all men that 'tis the truth
Is far beyond its power. And public virtue
And public service eminent are paid
In life by obloquy and contumely*
And after death, by large obsequies
Aud monuments and mausoloa. Thus
Is pyblic justice certain. We regard
With slight observance and a careless glance
The sun which now has closed his radiant eye
Below the dim horizon's dusky verge,
So long as we behold him in the heaven
And know that God's omnipotence compels
His due return. We give no earnest thanks
Or heart- felt gratitude for this great gift
Of light, the largest blessing of them all.
Lo ! he has sunk beneath the grassy sea
Of the broad prairie, whose groat emerald lid
Shuts slowly over him. If never more
That glorious orb should rise to light the earth,
Men, staggering blindly through unnatural night,
Would understand the blessing they had lost.
And pablic justice would be done the sun.'
* After a long, dark night, a starless night.
In which the thin moon early struggled down
To where the sky and desert met together,
Plunging with hard endeavor through the surf,
And spray that gleamed along the tortured heaven.
After a long dark night of storm and sleet,
The day-light comes with slow and feeble steps.
How imperceptibly the dswn begins.
After the storm has sobbed itself to rest,
To shine upon the forehead of the East !
By slow degrees the distant snowy crests
Of the great mountains — where, for age on age,
Tempests have vainly thundered, are discerned,
Upheaving their dim heads among the clouds ;
The straining eye the outline traces next
Of the near forests, then a rosy mist
Spreads like a blush upon the purple clouds.
And by degrees becomes a crimson light :
Until, at last, after a weary watch
Kept by cold voyagers on disastrous seas.
Or storm-vexed travellers on wide desert plains.
The broad sun rushes through the eddying mist.
Flinging it off, as from a frigate's prow
Flash Iwck the sparkling waves. The wakened world.
Gladdened with light, rejoices in her strength.
And men adore the imperatorial sun :
So it shall be with Truth. Long ages are
The minutes of her twilight 'Die white sails
Of Morning's boat are cnmsoned by her light.
386 A Conversatum in the Forest. [May,
Where it lies lockingr near the eastern strand,
Waiting a pilot to assume the helm,
And steer it to the upper deeps of heaven ;
For Truth helow the horizon tarries yet
But after you and I are dead and cokl.
Our bones all mouldered to a little dust ;
Our monuments all crumbled into clay ;
She, like the sun, shall rise and light the world,
Never to set The humblest man has power
To accelerate her coming ; and the words
We speak or write in that effect shall live
Ldng after we are gathered to the dead.
Thought shakes the world, as the strong earthquake's tread
Shakes the old mountains and the impatient sea ;
Each written word teaching the humblest truth, '
No matter in what homely garb arrayed.
Is one of those uncounted myriad drG^
That make the stream of thought, which first sprung forth
A slender, feeble rill, when all the earth
Was dark as midnight, from the icy cares
And mirk recesses of the human mind,
Where it was bom. Think you one drop is lost
Of all by which that stream has grown so great ?
No longer trickling over the gray rocks.
Or foaming over precipice and crag.
It rolls along, a broad, deep, tranquil stream,
Resistless in calm energy and strength.
Through the great plains, and feels the giant-pobe
(So near it is to uuiverutl power)
Of ocean-tides throbbing within its heart
Let us work on ; for surely it is true.
That none work faithfully without result
What if we do not that result perceive,
So that we know our labor is not lost V
' Content you, friend ; I shall not cease to work ; I am a harnessed champion of Truth, Cuirassed and greaved — sworn to her glorious canse, With Beauty's favor glitteriug in my helm. But henceforth I shaU labor in the peace And quietness of my beloved home. No good is wrought by mingling in the fray Of party war. Under these kingly trees, Enoburaged by my children's loving eyes. Soothed to serene and self-possessed content. By all the sights and sounds that bless me here. Will I work ever in her glorious cause. The words of Truth should flow upon the ean Of the unwilling worid, until it heeds, Even as the crystal waters of yon spring, - That night and day, all seasons of the year. Seen and unseen, over its grassy brim. Starred with bright flowers, rains on the thankful sward. Where now the almond drops its rosy flowers. And the seringo trails its drooping twigs. Fringed thickly with its small and snowy brooms. Flow onward, seeking patiently the sea : Not older now than when for many an age, Primeval forests hid it fh>m all sight, Save the fond stars. No lip bent down to drink ;
1849.] A Conversation in the Forest. 887
And MDce the making of the worid, no eye -^ Of man had seen it 'T it a pregnant h
* I see its waters gleaminflr in the light
Of the yonnir moon, and hear the slender soand
Of the stirred pebbles in its narrow bed.
If men would do their daty like the springSy
Committing the result and their rewsird
To God, who loveth all, the golden agOt
That most delicious, fable of oTd rhyme,
Would come indeed.^
, * I, for my single self, Shall still live on in this, the peaceful calm And golden ease of my dear humble home. As in the sheltered harbor of some isle, Enclosed by southern seas, the storm-worn ship Escaped the waves, old Ocean's hungry hounds. That cry and chafe without, furls all her saiby And sleeps within the shadow of the trees, Rocked by the undulations caused by storm, That vexes all the ocean round the isle. Here will I make myself a golden age ; Here live content, and happier than a kmg. Nor bird that swings and sleeps in his smaU nest, Nor bee that revels in the jasmine brooms, Nor humming-bird that robs the honeysuckle. Nor cricket nested under the warm hearth. Shall sing or work more cheerfully than L'
With this the moon, opening one azure lid,
Had sometime poured her liffht upon the birds
Among the green leaves of Uie ancient oaks.
The drops rained fast upon the bright green grass.
From the spring's brim, like a swift silver haU ;
The meadow seemed a wide, clear, level lake
Of molten silver, by her alchemy ;
The shoulders of the northern mountains glittered
With a new glory ; and one splintered peak
Shot up in bold relief against the sky.
With one large star resting upon his crown,
A beacon light on a Titanic tower.
Around that peak, to north and east stretched out
The line of dusky forest, far away,
Bounding the prairie like a rampart there.
With curtain, bastion, scarp and counterscarp;
The thick stars smiled upon the laughing earth.
As bright and cheerful as a young child's eyes.
The thin leaves, shaken by the southern wind,
Murmured in Night's pleased ear. The ligfai dew fell
On bud and flower ; and wakened by the moon.
The locust and the katy-did sang loud
And shrill within the shadows of the trees.
While in the thorn-tree growing near the spring.
Hid in the drifted snow of its white brooms,
The merry mimic of our Southern woods
Poured out large waves of gushing melody.
That overflowed the meadow many a rood.
And undulated through the pillared trees.
Our little audience, fallen fast asleep.
Reminded us of home. So we arose.
And slowly walking to the booae, thm ««t,
388 Autobiography of a Hitman Soul, [May,
^ Near the large window, where the moon ahone in
Upon the carpets, and the spring's wami breath, Sweet as a girrs, came heavy with perfume ; And with a bottle of bright, sparkling wine, From sunny France, and fitful conversation, Sustained awhile, then dymg into silence, Prolonged our sitting far into the night
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A HUMAN SOUL.
PART 8XCOMD.
Forgetting my own incipient defection, and not considering that the same process which had been at work in me had likewise ope- rated on my lady-love, I was enraged beyond expression at her mar- riage. I thought I had been scandalously ill-used; and with an inconsistency which, I am sorry to say, is but too often found among my species, I indulged in a fierce tirade against the inconstancy of woman ; and in the first burst of hot and angry feeling, vowed to forswear the whole sex — (which a female acquamtance slily re- marked, was punishing myself for the fault of another.) I would never again, I was resolved, trust a woman. I would never — no, never ! — love again. I might indeed seek amusement in the society of women, but 1 would be iron, steel, adamant, to all their blandish- ments. I might flatter them, I might flirt with them ; but love them, or confide in tliem, never, never ! Like a giddy butterfly, I would flutter from flower to flower, but would take especial good care to settle on none.
I now entered with all my powers on a new sphere. I passed from the day-dreams of youth to the stem realities of manhood. I beheld life in its real, actual form, divested of all the attractions of romance. I found myself in the midst of a cold, hard, selfish world ; and in process of time became myself in some degree assimilated to it. That inherent desire to possess, which in common with all my fellows I share, had begun to exercise a powerful influence over me. The acquisition of wealth became now the engrossing object of my thoughts. I engaged with ardor in many schemes to promote this object, which sometimes failed and sometimes succeeded. If the former, I was depressed and chagrined ; if the latter, I was propor- tionately elated, and filled with ambitious dreams. I ultimately suc- ceeded in amassing a very considerable share of what are called the good things of this life, and felt not a little puffed-up with a sense of my own importance.
I cannot but feel that this ardent pursuit of wealth, this anxious, eager panting desire to obtain what could only be mine for one brief moment on the mighty horologe of eternity, was unworthy of the high and glorious destiny of a being formed, like myself, to live for-
1849.] Autobiography of a Human 8&d. 389
ever. Not one iota of this wealth could I take with me when death should separate between me and my birth-companion ; but such was the force of example, such the power and consequence attaching to wealth, and such the desire for preeminence which I found im- planted within me, that I naturally and without question followed the multitude.
Distinction, too, I sought ; for feeling within myself a certain in- tellectual superiority, (real or imaginary,) I was extremely anxious that that superiority should be seen and acknowledged by my fellows. To some extent I obtained my desire : like the Newcastle apothe- cary, I was known ' for full six miles around/ and perhaps a little farther ; but I am forced to confess that Fame is a cold, deceitful thing, entailing on its votaries a train of envies, cares and disappoint- ments. It is hard to win, and easy to lose. It may brighten life, but it gladdens it not ; it may adorn happiness, but it cannot confer it. I took a lively interest in the welfare of my country, and endeavored to promote it to the utmost of my power. In early youth I was an enthusiastic admirer of liberty — liberty in all its foims and phases. Every chord within me vibrated to the sound. Marcus Brutus, and William Tell, and Wallace, and Algernon Sydney, and Washington, and all who had toiled and struggled and fought and bled for Free^ dom, were the idols of my youthful imagination ; and with the most ardent enthusiasm I Echoed the sentiments of the fine old Scottish poet:»
* Ah I fredome is a nobill thincr ! Fredome makes man to haiff' liking ( Fredome all solaco to man giffls : Ho lerys at cse that frely Icvys I'
As I became older and more experienced, however, although I was ever a friend of liberal principles, I sometimes found that it was pos- sible for a people to have too much liberty ; for such is the proneness of the human heart to evil, that the best gifls are liable to be abused. Liberty engenders licentiousness, and the love of country is swal- lowed up in the love of power ; and too oflen the fond enthusiast sees his glorious hopes of liberty lost in anarchy on the one hand and despotism on the otlier.
I have not yet spoken of myself in a moral point of view, but this is a subject too important to be passed over in silence.
I cannot tell precisely at what period of my life I became aware that a great gulf existed between me and the almighty Source of Life. I believe I was first informed of it by an attribute of my own, called Conscience, which began at a veiy early age to show me the difference between good and evil, and gave me to understand that there was a something in my nature which warred against the princi- ple of good. I saw the wrath of an offended Deity in the pains and sufferings and diseases, the cares, the sorrows, the disappointments and the mortifications which I observed around me, and to which I was myself subject. I saw it too in the forked lightning that rent
" John Bamovb, A. D. 1357.
390 Autobiography of a ' Human SouL [Hay,
asunder the miebty oak of the forest, and the desolating hail-storm' which destroyed the hopes of man, and the overwhelming flood that swept away his dwelling, and the earthquake that tore the soil from under his feet ; but in all these things I learnt it only by inference, and I might have groped on unsatisfied in the dark and interminable passages of conjecture, but for a glorious revelation which the Most High has been pleased to make of the relations existing between Himself and man.
From this revelation, most justly styled the Bible, I learnt that God had created man pure and holy, but that by wilful disobedience he had fallen from his high estate ; that by this fall all had become liable to eternal punishment, but that God, by a plan of redemption which Divinity alone could have conceived^ had provided a way by which the sin-defiled soul could be restored to its original rights, and vet the justice of God be satisfied. ' God so loved the world, that he gave his only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Hiic should not perish, but have everlasting life.'
All this 1 was taught to believe in early childhood, and in all this I acquiesced with my understanding, and fondly called that acqui- escence faith. It was not until after years of pride and self-indul- gence that I learned that faith was a living principle, dwelling not in me understanding, but in the heart, and exerting a powerful influ- ence over the life and conduct. The period immediately preceding my just appreciation of this point was the most painful, as well as the most critical, of my whole existence. I had looked inward on myself; I had surveyed myself in the mirror of the Gospel, and found myself marked with innumerable stains, the greatest and most difitisive of which was a forgetfulness of God, to which indeed all the others might be said to owe their origin. I was oppressed with a sense of guilt ; I felt that I ought to do something, but what it was I knew not. I found no longer joy in living, yet the thought of death filled me with inexpressible horror.
Gradually, by means of diflerent portions of the Word of God, light broke in upon me ; I beheld Christ as the propitiation for sin, and casting my burden at his feet, obtained joy and peace in believ- ing. Again a new set, as I might call it, of Sensations awoke within me, but the predominant feeling was Love — universal, ardent. Chris- tian Love. I felt as if I could willingly pass through seas of blood and pyramids of fire to promote the cause of my Master, and had a most earnest, though not always discreet zeal to do good to all. Time and circumstance have greatly moditied these feelings, and some- times the predominance of evil has shorn them of their power ; but they have never been — I trust never will lie— wholly obliterated.
My inward life since that period has been a continual contest — a struggle between the principle of Life and the principle of Death. Being naturally of strong passions, I have been obliged to hold them with the curb and rein ot watchfulness and prayer ; and if at any time I relaxed my hold, they were sure to obtain the mastery over me, causing many a season of penitence and sorrow.
But while the passions thus required my continued care and dili-
1849.] Autobiography of a ffuman SouL 391
geDce, I could dwell forever on the delights afforded by the affi^c- Uotis. I could expatiate on the love I felt for the tenderest and beot of mothers, and the most affectionate of fathers ; I could paint in lively colors the affection which subsisted between me and the sister who was the play-mate of my childhood and the sweet companion of my youth ; I could tell of the love of country and of home, of the love of nature, of the love of books and music, of youthful sports and pleasures, of science and art, of flowers and animals. With regard to the last, I may say that I certainly have felt a warm affec- tion for a dog, and not only have preferred his society to that of some of my own species, but have sometimes found him by far the most rational of the two.
When I had been for some years engaged in the active duties of life, and had seen some of my most ambitious schemes crowned with success, I became acquainted with a being of the softer sex, who struck me as the most perfect sample of womankind I had ever met with. 1 was first attracted by the exquisite beauty of the out- ward frame in which the immortal jewel was set ; for though I knew perfectly well how transient, how perishable, and oftentimes how deceptive, was mere outward beauty, I never could behold it with- out emotions of admiration. I soon found, however, that her beauty was the least charm she possessed ; and.so delightfully did her tastes and sentiments harmonize with mine, so pure and active and ardent was her piety, so clear and highly-cultivated her understanding, and ao plentiful her good sense, (f am a great admirer of good sense,) that I began to feel that — that — pshaw ! why should I try to nrince the matter 1 I became, in short, enamoured of her.
I had a faint recollection of having, some ten or twelve years be- fore, in a fit of boyish anger, vowed never to love a gain ; but at every succeeding' interview with this fair being the remembrance grew fiiunter and fainter, till at last it faded away altogether, and I surren- dered myself once more to the influence of la grande passion.
This time, however, warned by my former experience, I resolved to love soberly, rationally, and to ascertain most carefully the charac- ter and disposition of the fair one before I surrendered to her power. That is to say, I did not, as in the former instfiuce, Jail into the fire ; I calmly, deliberately, and with open eyes walked into it I The very precautions I took served but to rivet my chains ; for as at every meeting I discovered some new charm, unobserved before, I felt myself, to vary the metaphor, sinking deeper and deeper in the wa- ters of love, until at last I was, to use a trite but expressive phrase, fidrly ' over head and ears/ Still I hesitated to declare my passion : lor though I thought I could perceive symptoms of its being returned, I wished to be sure before 1 committed myself, for time and expe- rience had taught me to bo cautious.
In the midst of my cogitations, my charmer left the place of her abode, on a long visit to a friend, at a distance. Remembering with a shudder the baneful effects produced by absence on a former occa- sion, I strove to obtain an interview before her departure, but did not succeed ; and I was left to ruminate on the doubtful chance of her
392 Autobiography of a Human Saul. [May,
proving constant to one who had not only never declared a pawion lor her, but had let slip many golden opportunities for dom^ so. < Blockhead that I am !' said I to myself; ' why did I defer it so long 1 Of course she will think I have merely been dallying with her. Of course she will try to forget me, and bestow her love on one more worthy. Fool, fool that I have been !' I was tormented by doubt and uncertainty ; and what added greatly to my distress was that I could not, on any pretence, lay the blame on any one bat myself.
She had not been long gone, when my worst fears were confirmed by the tidings that anomer, of &r higher pretensions than myself was seeking to gain her affections, and with every prospect of suc- cess. At this intelligence a fiend-likepassion awoke within me, and shed its terrible influence over me. This was Jealousy, the ' green- eyed monster, which doth make the meat it feeds on.' I had occa- sionally felt twinges of it before, when she I loved seemed to smile too sweetly or talk too pleasantly with others of my sex ; but now, like the vulture of Prometheus, it gnawed my vitals, and gave me no rest night or day. I was torn by conflicting emotions : deadly hate toward my rival, love and sorrow, and self-reproach and anger, alternately buffetted me and destroyed my peace. And this was my ^oher, rational lovo-scheme !
After a time Reason resumed her sway. Why should I despair 1 Had not I as good a chance as he ? Had she ever said she did not love me ? Had she not, on the contrary, repeatedlv given me rea- son to think that if I would ask her love she would bestow it ? I would go to her, I was determined ; I would throw myself at her feet ; I would woo her ; I would win her ; I would tear her from the very arms of my hated rival, etc., etc., etc.
Full of this idea, I became calm ; and was actually making pre- parations for seeking the loved one's presence, when an ofHcious friend informed me that ray rival had triumphed, and that she who made the sunlight of my existence was irrevocably united to another — was lost to mo forever !
Words are useless to express the unconti'ollable anguish with which these tidings filled me. A spasm of unutterable agony passed over me, and my biith-companion, sympathizing in my distress, quivered in every limb, and became so weak as to be scarcely able to stand. With all my hopes, all my energies, all my prospects of enjoyment crushed as with a mighty mill- stone, I fled to a secret place, and there gave vent to my grief Flinging my birth-companion prostrate <m the ground with the violence of my emotions, I groaned aloud, and uttered the most passionate ejaculations. That she was lost — lost — lost ! was the gloomy thought that spread itself like a thunder- cloud, over the sky of my life, and enveloped every thing in its black impenetrable folds. Life — what cared I for it now; and for one single moment, the thought of suicide presented itself to me ; but in the next, a better principle chased the giim shadow away, and in wild incoherent language, I prayed. Gradually, I became calmer; I re- cognised the Hand that was afflicting me ; I saw that I was passing
1849.] A P0a and hit Song. 393
through the furnace of affliction ; and again I prayed, earnestly and passionately, that I might cnme forth as gold tned in the fire.
I have often admired the faculty which the human soul possesses of concealing its thoughts from those around. What an *a wful calamity it would be, if every thought which rises within us were legibly im- pressed upon our outward frame ! True, when any violent emotion agitates the soul it can plainly be read upon the countenance; but when the agitation is past, and the features at rest, none can tell what is passing within ; and hence, when I again sought the society of my fellows, none knew the fearful conflict through which I had just passed ; none knew that the buoyant elasticity of hope had given place to the dark, cold, heavy certainty of despair.
But how shall I describe my sensations when at my first interview with the fair cause of my sorrow I learned from her own lips that I had been misled by a false report ! And how shall I paint my joy, when I gathered from the tell-tale blush, and the down-cast look, and the radiant smile, and the faltering tongue, and all the charming and unmistakable signs of Love's Telegraph, that 1 was as dear to her as she was to me ! I felt lifted up, as if from the depths of an unfathomable abyss, to the top of a lofty mountain, whence a wide and glorious prospect opened on my view. I threw myself before her, and in passionate terms unfolded to her the state of my feel- ings. From that moment there has been a bond of union between that sweet soul and me almost as close as that which binds us to our respective bodies. One have we been in our fortunes, one in our cares and our comforts, our hopes, our joys, our loves and our sorrows ; one in every thought that was nearest and dearest to us, both for this world and that which is to come.
Since that period, 1 have passed through many changes, and expe- rienced many new sensations, some of which I shall perhaps detail at some future time. Io^a.
Loeutt-Orove, Martk 14, 1849.
POST AND UIS 80 XQ.
nr rnoMAS ukcxwi-nn
He wai a man endowed like other men With strange varieties of thought and feeling :
His bread was earned by daily toil ; yet when A pleasing fancy o*er his mind came stealing.
He set a trap and snared it by his art.
And hid it in the bosom of his heart. He nurtured it and loved it as his own.
And it became obedient to his beck ;
He fixed his name on its submissive neck. And graced it with all graces to him known,
And then he bade it lift its wing and fly Over the earth, and sing in every ear Some soothing sound the sinful sob]1 to cheer.
Some lay of love, to lure it to the sky. VOL. XXXIII. S8
394 The Land rf GM. [May,
THE )«ANO OF GOLD: A LEGEND.
IT m. V. STODOA »9.
Thbt Mil before a Uazing fire, When winter niffhts were oold,
And talked about uie famooa realni» The preeious Land of Gold.
The young qien all were mad to go, And langhed with mickle glee ;
Bat thus oat epake a voyager, Had croMed the diatant sea.
The hoar was come, the townsmen met
Along the crowded pier ; Old neighboiB, jolly comrades.
And lovers near and dear !
My mother wrong her withered hands,
A piteous thing to see ; My wife, she kissed me on the dieek
And tean were in her e'e. Bat my little balnr crowed with joy,
And stretched his arms to me.
Away we sailed — we stood to sea ;«
We had a favoring wind : We left the light-house, and the town.
We left the land behind.
The sea was all about us,
A waste of waters gray ; A lauffhing axure sky above,
And the bright orb of day.
The day wore oat, the night came down. The winds were wild and loud ;
The moon was like a troubled ghost, A-walkmg in its shroad.
The firmament was full of doods.
As dark as dark could be ; And thunders burst, and lightnings rained
Into the lashing sea.
We strained our masts, we split our spars. And rent our sails with strife ;
The timbeiB creaked, we sprang a leak, And worked the pumps for life.
1849.] The Land of QM. 395
The draadfal tempeft nged all niglitt
The ihip flew o'er the nuun ; W e looged for day, hoi nerer thought
To aee the day again.
The prayed-for momfaig broke at laat :
It wai a lorely nght ! Above Hi imiled a olondleM akyy
Below the ocean bright : And the tun, like GmuflT tranafignred, bunt
From out the grave of Night.
At noon a bark came drifting by,
Unmanned, a total wreck ; The maats were gone, and billow* swept
Along the empty deck.
I read the name open the atom,
A bark from oar coontrie, I knew it — I had fhenda on board —
And they were lost at aea !
We paaed great ihipo, and hailed them
With tnmipets o*er the foam ; If homeward bound, we aeni oar kwes
To all dear oiiea at home.
An ioebers drifted fhmi the aonth,
A grand and lovely eight ; A pile of froited emmU,
A moontain ehryaolite ; It toppled over as we paoied.
And filled v with affiight
It grew a-eold, and hall came down.
And a iharp nambing breeze Blew fkom the deaert continents
Of ice in arctic i
We doubled the Cape and north'ard Bt(!ered«
Thorough the torrid aone ; The days were fine, and pleasant scents
From groves ashors were blown, And little land-birds, as we passed, Flew round and lighted on the mast
And day by day we sailed away,
With hope and courage bold ; And reached at last the welcome land,
The precious Land of Gold !
A thousand ships were in the port,
With pennants flying gaily, And hosts were sailing hone again.
And hosts airiving oaily.
396 The Land of QM. [May.
They came from east, tbey eaaie frmn weel.
The New World and the Old; * Theae banda of wild adrentareza,
To aft the nndaof gold.
We left the iliip and mauied the boat,
And sailed along the stream ; I nerer saw ao sweet a land —
I thoDght it was a dream.
We sailed away, and farther 19
We pitched our tents ashore, And, maddened like the rest, began
To sift the shining ore.
We sifted days, we sifted nights,
We sifted golden sand. Until we had enough at last
To boy the ptoadest land.
We sifted days, we sifted nights,
We sifted g^den sand; And greedy still, we wandered back
Into the golden knd.
The riverbeds were ftill of specks.
And drifted yeUow streaks. And foaming torrents washed it down
From heayen-hid mountain peaks.
The clefted rocks and crevices.
The caToms nnder-gronnd The very dnst beneath oar feet —
The (^ was all aroond.
We met the natives digving.
The Indians dosk of nue ; We cheated them, and stole their gold,
For they were weak and few ; And some we killed with liqnon strong.
And some we basely slew.
A letter came to me from home ;
My little boy was dead ; And my poor wife was dying
With grief, the bearer said.
Bat I worked away, I worked away.
My heart was hard and cold ; What bosinesB has afiection
With a madman digging gold?
The smnmer flies, the winter comes,
And we can toil no more ; The sky is dark and full of cIoq^,
The okMids their torrents poor ; Four long months, and ev^day
Their ohiQy torrents poor.
1849.] T%e Land of GM. 397
We had to linger in onr tents.
And wile the hoon away; Dark cards were dealt, and dice were thrown.
And ffaming mled the day ; And each man had his weapons near,
For fear of evil play.
I saw roy comrade stmck,
And dared not take his part ; I saw him lying by me
With a dagger in his heart
There was no law in all the land
To check the had and strong; Might was right, and Weakness fell
Beneath the feet of Wrong I
Theft went creepbs sly about,
And Robbery took a stand. And Murder stalked in open day
With Mood upon his hand.
Our stores gave out, then plenty ceased ;
And famiue reigned instead ; We had a precious freight of gold,
But ah ! #e had no bread ; We would have given a pound of gold
For an ounce of mouldy bread.
Bread ! from mom till night.
The only cry was bread ; They shrieked it, living and dying.
And looked it, stark and dead. God ! it is a feajful thing
To die for want of bread.
Ships came at last, and brought us stores.
And plenty filled the land ; And, maddened as before, we went
A-sifting golden sand.
We sifted days, we sifted nights.
We sifted golden sand ; There was not one cootentod man
In all that mighty land.
We were an hundred men at first.
Merry and brave, I trow ; But fiunine and fever wrought their wont, And swept us off like things accnnt:
We were but forty now.
We melted down our precious gold.
In heavy ingots fine ; And loath to leave, we sailed for home
Along the ocean brine ; We had a fair and pleasant time,
Until we crossed the lint.
398 Th£ Land of GM. [May,
Then wat a band of booanien,
A dark and aavaga erew» A-oraixing in the l^ianiah aeas.
The coaat of aweei Pern.
We met this band of bneanien
With ooarnge wild and bold, And fought like veriest devils
To save our freight of edd: A trembling cowud woiudhavefoa|^t
To save that load of gold.
We sank their ship, and sailed away
Aloiig the southern main ; We paMod the Cape and north'ard steered,
And neared our homes again.
The sailoiB song their blithest soofi.
And laughed at lightest things; Time like Heaven's angel flew
With glory on his wings.
A happy time, yet tedious time !
How slow the vessel sails ; The plummet sounds, the land is seen.
And now the pilot hails.
We reach the pier ; I clutch my goM,
And leap ashore with joy ; I laugh aloud along the streets,
And shout like any boy.
I am at home ! — but where *s my wife ?
She should be in the door, . And she should fall upon my neck.
And kiss me o*er and o*er.
My wife is dead ! — my boy is dead !
Their gentle souls are flown ; I am an old and friendless man —
I am on earth alone.
Alas ! the sordid love of gold,
It is a cursed thing; It man the music of the heart
And snaps its sweetest string ; It turns affection's stream awry.
And poisons all the q>ring.
What need of gold, when men can earn
Their bread from day to day 7 A competence at home is worth
A fortune far away.
How little worth a gilded hall,
A diadem or throne ; We make our happiness or wo —
It rests with us alone.
1849.] Leave* from an African J&umal.
A peaceful and contented mind — Oh ! treaaure in the breaet !
And with thia wanting, all the worI4 Can never make ua bleat
Honest hearta and willingr hands, And freemen trae and bold,
Are better iq a nation Than many mines of gold.
Home, with friends and kindred Aboat the blazing hearth,
'T is better than a world of wealth — It is a Heaven on earth.
He ceased: the yoang men looked apoo The pleasant circle round,
And felt as they were standing then On Uest and hallowed ground.
< Away !* said they, ' we will not go, In alien landa to roam ;
The El Dorado of the heart. The Land of Gold is Home !' January 3hlBi9,
LEAVES FROM AN AFRICAN JOURNAL.
ST JOHW CARROZ.I. BRKNT.
AT S£A; DISTANCE FROM MONROVIA TO PRINCE'S ISLAND : NEORO SLAVERY
Deeiiino it a matter of some interest to those who like ourselves, are obliged to navigate these seas, I made out this morning, without meaning to give more than an approximate estimate, the several dis- tances from Cape Mesurado to Lagos and from Lagos to Prince's Island, the proposed extent of our cruise to southward. The result is as follows :
Milef. I Mllet.
Cape Merarado to Cape Palmas. • • SSH ! Csm 8t Pani to Qnttta, ...»
Cape Palmaa to Cape Throe Pointi, - 335 Cape Three Poiota to Elmina, - 50
Elmlna to Cape Coast Cattle, 8
Cape Coast Cfaatle to Accra, • fl7
Accra to Cape 8t Paul, • • • 71
QmtU to Little Po-Po, ... 53
Little Po-Po to Grand Po-Po, • 9
Grand Po-Po to Wydah, • • • tS
Wydah to i^agoa, 96
Lagos to Prince's Island, • 339
Total, 1891
About eleven hundred miles direct navigation from Cape Mesurado to Prince's Island.
As we are now off that part of th6 coast whence as I suppose the first slaves were exported to the New World, it will be the proper time and place to mention that by a Royal Spanish Ordinance, dated «1510, negro slaves were permitted to be taxen to Hispaniola, pro- vided they had been bom among Christians; and in 1511, King Ferdband ordered that a great number should be procured from
400 Leaves from an African Journal* [May,
Guinea, and transported to Hispaniola. Irving, whom I have con- sulted on the subject, adds that Las Casas, v^hose memory has suf- fered in consequence of his conduct in the premises, did not give his sanction to the traffic until 1517, some years ailer its heing adopted and carried into effect. I need hardly say that our eifled countryman defends, and ably too, the motives and conduct of that great and phi- lanthropic clergyman. About a hundred years later, in 1619, a Dutch vessel introduced slaves into the colony of Virginia from this coast, and so laid the foundations of that institution v^hich has been, is, and will be the finitful source of evil and dissension in the republic, which has now grown to such a height of power and beauty from such hum- ble beginnings. And here are we, two hundred and twenty-eight ycai*s subsequent to this importation, sent by the vigorous youn? suc- cessor of a step-mother government, to repress and destroy as far as in us lies, or our limited instructions allow, that very traffic so long encouraged and carried on by kings, noblemen, clergymen and hon- ored merchants. Little did those who in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries fostered and shared in this infamous tiade in human flesh, care for, or dream of, the evil crop they were sowing, and the cruel harvest that was to be reaped. Little did those who ruled the desti- nies of nations in those aays, in their selfish thirst for power and riches, imagine that a time would come when their names would be in odium, and treaties made under which their successors, and the vic- tims of such mercenary legislation, should unite to put down by the strong arm and the expenditure of blood and treasure, a now repro- bated traffic, then deemed politic, profitable and honorable. ^Std tempora mutantur et nos mutamus in ulis* Christianity and humanity have re'ussumed their sway, and the interests of the rulers and ruled are flowing to another quarter. Whether the remedy now applied to the disease will restore the patient, is another question. Much may be said on both sides, and great difference of opinion exists.
Our latitude to-day at noon was four degrees fifty-two minutes five seconds north, and we are about twelve miles from Cape ApoUania^ which diffei-s from the neighboring land by presenting to the spectator in front three or four hills of no gi*eat elevation with slightly indented valleys between, and several clumps of conspicuous trees on their tops, the rest of the coast as far as the eye can reach being of an unbroken, level, uniform appearance.
The king of this portion of the country has the reputation of being powerful, rich and luxurious, having some claims to civilization and re* finement. It is stated to be a practice among the people to sacrifice human beings at the funerals of the rich and great, ana the bodies of the latter to be so powdered after death with gold dust as to look like golden statues. The English had a fort here, but it is now sibandoned and in ruins.
AT 6ZA: CAPE APOLLOSIA : THOUOnrS ON MODE OF SCITRESSING SLAVE TRADE.
Sunday, January 30. — We lost our breeze last night, and Sundajr finds us on a lake-like sea, with scarce a breath of wind to give us headway, or temper the dose hot atmosphere and bomiDg aon.
1849.] heav€9from oh African Jhttmal, 401
I remarked yesterday that we were now off that part of the coast whence slaves were first introduced into the western world, and on the twenty-eighth took notice of a visit we received from a party of natives fix>m ricaninny Bassam. Conversing further with our coast pilot on the subject, and reflecting more particularly on the facts and circum- stances growing out of the matter, I find that there is cause for serious consideration, and perchance salutary conclusiops. It seems that the coast we are now passing along, some thirty years ago was the theatre of the slave-trade, but that for some time back the traffic has ceased, and no factories or agencies are in existence. In consequence of this apparent extinction of the business, it is not the habit of armed cruiseiB to take their station here, or to pay any particular attention to the movements of natives and traders. But it such be the fact, as I am told it is, is it not proper to reflect that the watchfulness and activity of English, French and American cruisers on those portions of the coast where barracoons, slave-factories, and the traffic are suspected or known to exist, may render the operations of negro dealers so perilous and expensive as to drive them to spots which, having been nee from suspicion for a long period, may enable them to re^ a har- yest before a prevention can be interposed 1 If some three hundred years ago supplies of slaves could be obtained in such abundance as to keep up with the heavy demand caused by the cruel treatment of Europeans to the native Americans, and the consequent thinning off and destruction of the latter, what prevents daring and desperate ad- venturers from stepping in now, while suspicion is lulled to sleep, and the attention of African cruisers is fixed elsewhere, and running blacks enough, before discovered, to satisfy the market now open for such traffic, and more than reward them for their risk and enterprise ? If I understand the west coast at all, I should suppose that it would ' be no hard matter to procure any number of blacks from the interior through the natives living on the sea, particularly at places where European forts and settlements are rare, and watching a fair chance, hurry them on board and put leagues of water between the slave- ship and its pursuers before the alarm could be given and chase begun. Moreover, I understand that barracoons are being dispensed with, and that even in the vicinity of civilized and hostile settlements, the slavers are bold enough to venture in, and matters being previously concerted and arrangements made, the victims of their cupidity and cruelty are marched down to the beach and shipped in a very brief space of time, thus enabling the wretches to run, often successfully, the gauntlet of the cruisers stationed off the neighborhood. If then in the very teeth of armed cruisers, and from watched places, slave-dealers run their live-cargoes, how much more should it be apprehended that they might try their hands elsewhere where no preventive squadron has as yet regularly cruised, as for instance from this neighborhood, the original cradle of the trade, and no doubt, yet as available and ready as in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries ? Under these circum- stances there is some ground for the suspicion entertained by some on board this ship, on the occasion of the visit made us by the PieO' nmy Bassam People on the twenty-eighth, that their object in commg
402 Leaver Jrem m AJHam JaumaL [May,
out was to see whether we might not be a slaTe-trader, and if so, to make arrangements for carryinff on the business. Their shyness and unwillingness to yentnre aboard when they discorered our guns, and tkht we were Americans, and other circamstanoes connected with tha matter, giye some color to the suspicion I have alluded to. On the other hand, and I think it sufficient, the circumstance of die French having fired upon one of their villages and threatened them with ftirdier vio> lence, may somewhat account for their alarm and suspicious beha^ viour.
But be it as may, the moral to be deduced from all this is in my om- nion that the omission to keep an eye on this part of the coast, ana a reliance in the long interruption of the slave-trade here, may encooiw age its dealers to recommence their operations, and do the mischief before the preventive can be applied. It is a subject that should attract, if it has not already done so, the attention and action of all the parties interested in, and pledged to, the suppression of Xhis infamous traffic in human flesh ; and yet it may be that the respective govern- ments are so well informed and on thehr guard, that all these premises and conclusions may be idle and uncalled for. But if there be any thing in the reflections I have made, it is certainly worthy notice, and early attention to the matter may do much good.
AT SEA: OP P CAPB THREE POINTS.
At noon to-day we were ofi* the easternmost part of Cape Tim Points, with almost a dead calm, nearer shore than we have yet been since sailing from Monrovia, about three miles distant. This cape m rather elevated, and presents quite a pretty and rather picturesque aspect. It tends gradually to the eastward, and forms a kind of cove, or bay, near which is situated Aquidaht where once was a Dutch for- tress, now however in decay. Our course and the breeze did not admit of our getting a sight of Axim and its antique castle, erected by the Portuguese in 1600, nor our plans permit us ta verify with our our own eyes an interesting fact mentioned by the ' African Cruiser,* of the native belles using the ' Tarb Koshe,* or veritable 'bustle/ which was all the fiishion, as with us in Axim, when we visited it in 1844. But I trust we shall have better luck with Dixeove and £1 Mina, spots well worth a visit, if reports be true, and which, if we do not actually land at, we may expect soon to see with the fine cheer- ful sea breeze which has sprung up within an hour, and the course which carries us nearer in shore than has hitherto been the case. As we glide gently along, the country seems to become more undulating and varied, although no where rising to an elevation entitling it to the appellation of mountainous, or any thing like it. Dixcopt, conspicuous at the considerable distance we are this evening from it, by its white looking fort, which is perched some height up the hill which looms up above the ocean, lies at the bottom of a large bay or cove, and is a place of some trade and importance.
1649.] iMnetfrim an African Journal. 408
AT 8EA-EL MINA AND CAPE COAST CASTLE.
' Monday, January 31. — This morning brings ns off El Mina and Cape Coast Cattle. The breeze is light but cool and favorable, and Ae sun bright and cheerful. Under no better circumstances could we see these two interesting settlements or fortified trading establish- ments, over the first of which waves the Dutch, and over the other Ae British flags. We approached near enough to distinguish many, olgects on shore ; and the appearance of both places through the clear atmosphere, and under the Drightening rays of the unclouded sun, was decidedly imposing and picturesque. Of the two, Cape Coast Castle is the largest and most important At the distance we were^ Just far enough to soften objects and lend a species of enchantment to the view, the white, glistening forts and nouses, with ships and brigs lying off, contrasting strongly with Ae dark hue of the rather high coast, upon which lies spread out to the seaward spectator, pre- sented a refpBshhig and agreeable spectacle, tempting to a nearer and longer inspection, and filling me among others with regret tbat we should thus pass it unvisited. El Mina, about nine miles west of Cape Coast Castle, presents quite another aspect, containing but a few houses, and principally two large white-looking antique fom, which are visible to a great distance off the coast. The principal castle is represented to be stron? and well fortified with ninety cannon, and dates back a long time, having been constructed by the Portuguese in 1482. I trust fortune may favor us on our re- turn, and that we may find time and occasion to pay these interesting spots a visit. Some nine miles or so farther to the westward we passed another English settlement, called Anamaboe, which seems to oe quite a town, and like its two neighbors just mentioned, looks quite white and refreshing. But we know that it ' is not all gold that flitters,' and the title of a • white-washed sepulchre' may be well ap- plied to most if not all of the settlements which cupidity or ambition nas induced the white man to establish in a climate which is his worst and most constant enemy and victor. When in front of Anamaboe die uniform appearance of the coast is interrupted by several elevated and picturesque-looking hills, which, in comparison with the neigh- boring flat country and coast, might be dignified with the name of mountains.
AT SEA: CAPE COAST CASTLE: ANAMABOB AND THE AflHANTEES.
This portion of the coast we are now gliding along is well known in African annals. The two fortified settlements of dape Coast Casth and Anamaboe , for example, have linked the names of those who defended them against the powerful and fierce Ashaiitees, with scenes of blood and valor worthy of m.ost honorable mention and remem- brance. For by referring to ' A Narrative of Adventures in Africa,' I read that the King of Ashantee, in 1808, with an army of fifteen thou- sand waniors, invaded the Fantee territory, and after having laid waste vrith fire and sword die country of their enemies, who are
404' Leavci from om Jfrican JammdL [May,
represented to be a turbulent and restless tribe, but cowardly and undisciplined, they came to Anamaboe, and routed a body of Fantees, nine thousand in number. Considering the English, who then owned the fort, as friends of the latter, they attacked the station, and after repeated assaults and considerable loss, were repulsed by the brave little band who defended themselves so successfully behind their slender bulwarks. We are told that the Ashantees, proving them- selves generous as brave, struck with admiration of British valor, ' offered terms of negotiation, which soon ended in a treaty, violated by them in 1811 and 1816, and terminating finally in the acknowledg- ment of their supremacy and the payment of an annual tribute by the conquered Fantees. Farther on, the ' Narrative' relates a most melancholy and bloody affair connected with Cape Coast Castle and its occupants. It seems that the Fantees having attempted to shake off the Ashantee yoke, the King of the latter tnbe in January, 1824, entered Fantee with fifteen thousand men. The newly-appointed Governor, Sir Charles McCarthy, ill-informed of their strength, met them with only one thousand men, and a body of cowardly and undis- ciplined allies. The two armies came together near the boundary stream, the Bassompra, and the engagement, the English being soon deserted by their native auxiliaries, and having exhausted their ammu- nition, terminated after acts of determined heroism and courage on the part of the former, in the almost total extermination of the unfbrtu« nate Europeans. Three officers only, all wounded^ survived to carry the sad news to Cape Coast Castle which was soon besieged by the victorious barbarians. But after a two months' siege, being repeatedly checked, and suffering from sickness and want of provisions, the Ashantees retreated to their own country, and have been deterred by internal dissensions from marching down to the coast since that period ; they must therefore always be uncomfortable neighbors.
At the risk of spinning out my story too long, and therefore tiring the patience of the reader, have I ventured upon this extract from the • Narrative,' as furnishing a fair specimen of many of the tragical and melancholy events which have occurred in this dark and barba- rous region.
APPROACH TO ACCRA.
The nearer we approach Accra, the more bold and picturesque seems the coast to grow, so that I am really quite taken off my guard finding lofty cliffs, graceful lines, hills shooting up in places to moun- tains of six hundred feet or so, though by no means cloud-piercine or snow-topped, frequent and interesting European strong-holds and trading settlements, while between them nestling at the foot of the sea-lashed cliffs, peep forth, fresh-looking in the sunshine and distance, the numerous humble dwellings of the natives. Views they were which would have afforded fitting subject for the artist's brush, and if reality and farther acquaintance did not take the romance off, for the genius of the poet. No wonder then that I see and speak somewhat enthusiastically while dashing on in a noble ship, along a varied and
1849.] Leaves from an African Journal. 405
interesting coast, befora an eigbt-knotter, cool, bright and favorable, with just enough of the Real to give some employment to the Ideal. My attention was diverted for awhile this evening to notice quantities of that marine production known as the bone of the cuttlefish, used as an article of commerce in the manufacture of pumice, and of much demand and value. The substance that floated by us in large quantities, white and oval in its shape, detaches itself from the back of the fish after death, and with proper preparation is converted into an useful article of consumption. Its shape might also suggest a good model for a boat
February 1, 1848. — This rooming, brig:ht and early, the anchor was got up and we stood in, but not to remain. It has been decided to make the best of our way southward, so the ship stood off and on, while Lieutenant R. and myself paid a visit to the shore. Although I knew our trip would be hurriea and unsatisfactory, still I could not resist the temptation ; unwilling, if I could help it, to leave the coast without having it in my power to say that I had at least visited one of the many strong-holds which Europeans have established along Ibe Gulf of Guinea.
As it appeared to us, some few miles out ^t sea, Accra, English, Dutch and Danish, offered the same kind of bright, cheerful aspect as El Mina, Cape Coast Castle, Aquidah, etc. The white, massive looking, shining walls of the British Fort James, its near neighbor the Dutch Creveccsur, and the Danish settlement, Christianhorg, soma three miles to the eastward, stood out in bold relief on the sombre colored bluffs on which they are situated, and the sprinkling of large, neat-looking, fresh-stone edifices, among the more numerous and primitive native huts, flattered us with some hope of seeing some- thing to please and gratify. A short distance from the beach, a na- tive canoe, or dug-out, of singular construction, high in the bows and stem, with a couple of stools to sit on in one extremity, and manned by twelve wild-looking negrroes, took us on board, leaving our own boat at anchor. No man-of-war's boat built as ours, could live in the swell upon which in our strange conveyance, we tossed liffht and safb as a cork. Fast, roaring, white-crest^, came in the mi^ty rollers, dashed furiously by the broad Atlantic on this fever-stncken coast, and naught but the buoyancy of our canoe, its peculiar fitness for this dangerous service, and the skill of our oarsmen, preserved us with dry jackets ; and finally after hard tugging and great care, landed us safe and sound at the foot of the broi^ inclined plane which leads up to the English fort. Beside the singularity of this our novel convey- ance, the peculiar make of the oars, short-handed and trident-shaped at the blade end, and the quick, perpendicular, simultaneous, well- timed handling by the natives, who mark the measure by means of a cadenced, regulated sound emitted through the closed teeth, were matters which attracted my attention. As at Porto Praya and Mon- rovia, a crowd of the natives were awaiting our arrival, and monkey
406 LeaveMfrom on Africm Jammak [May,
duns, gold and sOver rin^, leopard or wild-cat skina, chattering, par* rotSy numberB of small birds with pink beaks and throats, li^e stodi, etc., were offered for purchase in broken Enp^lish, and in a language which sounded most strangely and gratingly m our ears.
Parting with Lieutenant R., he to pay the official visit he was sent upon to either of the governors most convenient to receive it, I strolled about to observe men and things, and bargain for rings, curiosities and mess stores ; and although somewhat unsuccessml in my hurried search, I saw quite enough to satisfy me to my heart's content, that save the dwellings of the Europeans and rich merchants, a dirtier, more squalid-looking, ruder set of habitations and inhabitants it has seldom or never been my lot to see and visit, except in the lowest hovels in the old world, or the negro huts at home, where hard mas- ters most ill-treat their slaves.
I had not the time to pay a visit to the nabob of the place, Mr. Bannerman, honorably mentioned by the author of 'Tnia African Cruiser/ for his hospitality, gentility and intelligence, but from the uze, style and genteel appearance of his residence, and those of Mr. Bruce, another rich merchant and the civil governor, Smith, should conclude that the upper classes here are not so remote from the civil- ized world, nor so infected by the primitive and savage habits of the people, as to shut them out from the necessaries and luxuries of European life. In one or two of the houses I entered, in the course of my brief visit, I found the reception room very decently fumished in the European stylo, and yet clearly indicating the fondness of the occupants for showy and gaudy colors, by the wall in one case being covered with Frendb colored engraving^, procured from some trader. The owner, a goldsmith, of lofty stature and striking appearance, vrith a flowing shawl, worn like a Roman toga, looked in aU his native sim- plicity like another Antinous or Apollo. But the man, though pro- nusinc; his looks and words, as he had no rings at hand that would suit, disappointed me by not producing others which I wanted, and so lefl me as a last resort to make the most of such as I could obtain among the crowd, as we were making our way baek to the boat.
The houses of the better class, native or negro, put me in mind of the descriptions given of oriental or Andalusian dwellings, save that their balconies and roofs are not decorated with such picturesque .costumes and fair occupants, or their appearance iand situation as ro- mantic and attractive.
Almost all the natives wear the cotton shawl or robe I have men* tioned, of various colors, and with this convenient costume gathered graceftilly about them, at a distance make quite an imposing appear- ance.
Having noticed the few things I have hastily and imperfectly de- scribed, we entered our rude dug-out, and riding on the crests of the foaming rollers, we were soon restored to our more comfortable boat, and wiSi all possible speed reached our ship again, surrounded and antioyed by a number of native canoes, their owners busy disposing of poultry, fruit, vegetables, birds, ornamental wood-work, monkey- skins, and all their variety of oddities and commodities peculiar to tUs
1849.] Liavei Jrom an J^fricoM Jowmd. 407
coast, with a shouting, screaming and confusion Babel-like and be- wildering. But soon the canvass was spread again, and deficient in the coveted supply of curiosities and supplies, behold us once more sailing before a lively breeze and through a comfortable sea.
' The African Cruiser/ who visited this place in 1844, speaks favor- ably of it, and as he had more time and opportunities to judge than myself I do not intend to doubt his conclusions. As I did not see Mr. Bannerman and his family, I was deprived of the pleasure of making the acquaintance of his charming lady, one of the three
Srincesses, daughters of the King of Ashantee, taken prisoners in le last battle between that potentate and the English, ana distributed among settlers here and at Cape Coast Castle. Our author cites in- stances of their gentility and personal merit, which I should have been pleased to witness. The contrast between them and the balance of their countrywomen whom I saw, may have made these exceptions appear more charming than they really are ; yet truly would it be a treat to meet a real African belle or princess, even though she sport the original ' bustle,' or prove a beauty simple and unadorned.
Accra is within the limits of ' The Gold Coast,' which begins at Apollonia and extends to the River Volta, which we may see this evening. This river forms the boundary between the 'Gold and Slave Coasts,' and the latter terminates at Lagos.
The governor informed Lieutenant R. that about two months pre- vious the Danish settlement at Quitta having been attacked or threat- ened by the natives, a French brig-of-war fired upon them, and then Handing off and on, misled by a light inland, ran in at night and got ftst ashore. The vessel becoming a wreck, ihe crew were seized by &e natives, and held prisoners after being pillaged, until rescued by the garrison. These people say that the sea belongs to the white man, but that when he touches their soil, and falls into their hands, he and his chattels become lawful booty to the strongest For ourselves we have so little to do with terrapfirma, that we may entertain but slight ftar of following suite to the ill-starred Frenchman.
Accra \b styled the ' land of plenty,' where fresh bee( mutton, vege- tables, fruit, eggs and poultiy are always to be obtained in abundance and at moderate prices. We however, did not, as I have said, profit by the ' flesh pots' of Africa, and have in a great degree to take tra- vellers' words for authority.
Doctor Bryson, speaking of this neighborhood in his ' Notes on African Diseases,' says, ' There are no extensive swampy deltas, or sluggish streams with stagnant, shallow creeks and mangrove covered shore, so peculiar to the upper part of the coast ; that the country is hilly, and except around the native villages, covered with iungle. Around Accra there is an extensive open prairie for many miles in- land, ending in a range of lofty hills parallel to the coast If what I have heard be true, this place is a sepulchre ; for during the last summer, it is stated, twelve out of every twenty-five persons sank beneath the deadly effects of the climate. A melancholy and dread- ful exile must it prove to the white men, whom the thirst of gold entices to their death, &r from their homes and home consolations.
408 Leaves fnnn a% Afrvxm JimmaL [May,
The fine favorable breeze baa brought as this eyemng, at eio^ht bells, nearly twelvo miles from the river Yolta, which rolls its turbid waters throngh a vast alluvial plain. To the eastwanl and west- ward of this river, important both for its size and its being the boon* dary between the G^old and Slave Coast, emptying into it near its mouth, stretches a vast sheet of salt water, some twenty miles long, west of the river, and east of it about a hundred and ninety miles or more, as is said, extending to Quitta, Wydah and Lagos, with an average breadth of ten miles. Slavers are said to embark their car- gpes at Wydah, etc., on this salt lagoon, and ship them for market at several stations on the shore and through the Volta, with which bodi sheets of water communicate, although there is a bar off its outlet which interferes with navigation. The shore that intervenes between this salt sea and the ocean is very narrow, a mere slip of land in many places. Little or nodiing is known of the Volta higher than fifty miles from its mouth.
We are now nearing that part of the coast behind which, far and wide in the interior, rules the despotic king of Dahomey ; a second edition, as reports go, of the king of Ashantee.
In former days, when the spirit of African adventure and disco- very was strong and active, travellers visited the capital of this powerful nation, and tell us most strange and startling stories of kine and people. It is represented as the quintessence of the purest kind of despotism, where the monarch is worshipped as a goa, and body and soul are offered up to his whims and passions. Creeping like reptiles in his awful presence, and kissing the rod that spares neither them nor theirs, though fearless and ferocious with every body else, to hear their king's wishes or commands is to obey, not only without a murmur, but cheerfully and with a smile. Men, women and chil- dren, houses, goods and lands, all, all are his, and his nod, like that of the cloud- compelling Jove, is the sign of fate. Most strange to say, these very men, who in the field are without a fear and merci- less to others who meet their king in arms, will at his beck and caU abandon all they hold most dear, and offer themselves and theirs as willing victims to his lusts and passions. At this barbaric court, where three thousand wives adorn the royal harem, this bevy of dusky dames are regularly enrolled as a guard, and musket, spear, buckler and sword are wielded by the Amazonian band. There, too, the weaker sex being the property of the Dahomey Blue-Beard, this uxorious African periodically distributes the dames among his cringing nobles and slaves, without consulting the tastes of either party, or allowing remonstrance or a choice. Boots it little to him, clothed with bis brief and terrible authority, whether old be yoked to young, erave to gay, ugly to handsome, rich to poor, sickly to healthy. He is the state, and his word is law, and no man dares dis- pute it. These travellers* stories, so Arabian-Night-like, do tempt one hugely to go and see ; but visiting a leopard in his lair, though sleek his skin and beautiful his shape and spots, is a sport I, for one, take no peculiar pleasure in ; so, even were I free, I think I would rather swallow tne stories, starring though they be, than test the conclosion that * seeing is believing.'
1849.] lAnea to a Lady. 409
Another amiable trait in the manners of these strange people is, that on the death of the lord and master, the royal widows, whose name is legion, carry on such a ferocious skirmish, and come so im- pressively to the scratch, that the fight goes on, and the fond victims are sacrificed at each other's hands to the memory of the dear de- parted, until ordered to desist by his deified successor. And yet another peculiarity in the fashions of these gentry is, that they have a particular fancy to constructing their walls and ceilings in part of human skulls and bones ; thus at the same time keeping up a due ferocity of temper and the proofs of ^eir warlike renown.
To return to Accra. I must not forget to state, as matter of statis- tical, financial and culinary interest, that fowls cost one dollar the dozen, turkeys fifly cents each, and bananas, yams, etc., are propor- tionallv moderate. A couple of fine young pan-ots were purchased for a dollar and a half, monkey-skins, large and glossy, fifty cents for several stitched together, and a Lilliputian house fiill of little pinked birds or sparrows, for a dollar and a half. The ship is now quite stocked with our purcliases ; and could we by art-magic send them home, a curiosity-shop might be soon opened, both attractive and profitable. '
TO HEB WHO CAN UWDERBTAND THElt.
BT n. s. cniLTOX.
Wz worship in our youth, In wild «od paaaionate m-eams, •ome Tagnc Ideal,
Till fancy yields to truth, And we tranafor oar worahip to the Real.
I cannot chooao but think That Ileaven matea hearts that death alone can eerer ;
Their meeting is the link In the firm chain that bindeth them forever.
Else, wherefore, when I gazed For the first lime at thee, why did it seem
As if the Tell were raised Thnt hid the idol of my life's bright dream f
I would that thou oouldst know How much I love thee ; but it nmy not be :
Worda my deep feelings show Only as shells recaU the murmuring sea.
But if in some bright sphere Cor parted spirits meet and rellnite,
The loTe 1 bear thee here, Relnmined there, will bum with qoenchlett light
VOL. xzxiii. 39
410 Trandaiion from Horace. [May,
TRANSLATION FROM HORACE.
CAAUXVniC. LIBSIl III.. OCX IZ. AS LTSIAIT.
BcmATins.
Oifcs WM I your only pleasnre, Then no youth grave tuch deligfatt While his circling arms did measure Bound your neck eo dainty white.
Then I flourished, Happier than the Persian king.
Once your heart — ah ! now 't is froien ! Burned not with another flame ; Chloe then was not your chosen, Ltdia was a sweeter name :
Then I flourished, Than Iua's mine a prouder fame.
noRATina.
Now Chloe rules my heart completely, Skilled in the mazy dance to fly ; Her fingers touch the harp so sweetly, For her I would not fear to die ;
The Fates permitting The maid to live surviving me.
With sweet desire my heart is burning For Calais, sprung from THcrati ; While he so fond my love returning, For him I twice would dare to die ;
The Fates permitting The youth should my survivor be.
BOBATITTa.
What if our former love, returning. Bind us a^ain with brazen chain ? What if, the faded Chloe spuming, My soul turns back to thee again ?
Will Ltdia, slighted. Fold me to her heart once more ?
Though fairer he than star of morning, More wavering thou than cork shouldst be, Though swell thy breast in pride and scorning Wilder than Hadrians foaming sea.
Still I would joyful Live with thee — glad with thee die ! hab»t vakx
Nm-York, March V^ 1849.
1849.] A Pasi at our LnprovemenU. 411
A PASS AT OUR IMPROVEMENTS.
BT XZT XBI.VIV.
A pi^OTERBy ancient as the days of Zeno, reads : ' We are consti- tuted with two ears and one mouth, that we may hear more and say less.' It itould be well were this oftener remembered ; and perad- venture, Dear Knick., you may, thinking me garrulous, rank me ag one who sees motes, yet recognises no beams ; but I alluded slishtly to a subject in my last paper which I wonder has not engaged the pen of some matter-of-fact writer, and of which I would nxa speak more at large.
By the way, in your last ' Table,' speaking of an article as beine ' too interminably long' for insertion, reminds me of a jeu d^upnt .which had existence some years ago. A widow, whose patience and christian spirit had been seveiely tested by the conduct of her several sons, had, afler much trouble and more anxiety, made arrange- ments for her youngest — a wild, rollicking, reckless sprig, in whom was combined the essence of all species of roguery — in a store at a * neighboring village. Hither, after many and repeated desires that he should strive to make glad the heart of his mother, the youth was sent, bearing a letter to the trader breathing sentiments which only a mother could express. He had been absent a fortnight, and the fond parent was anticipating the success of her boy, filling the future with gladdened projects, and creating him, by the diffei'ent stages of pro- motion, a rear-admiral of dry-goods, when the very object of her thoughts presented himself before her. His face was sorrowful, and his appearance like one greatly humbled and deeply troubled. The mother's heart beat quick, and with its pulsations went the visions of advancement and happiness for her son which she had been quietly enjoying a moment oefore. ' Alas, my son ! what new trouble has come upon you 1 Your presence troubles me !'
' Indeed, dear mother, I am sorry to say Mr. does not want
me any longer I* And beneath the grave exterior a lofking sniile played bo-peep with the appearance of sadness.
At this plain announcement the mother could no longer restrain either her tears or her despair. Bitterly she wept and deplored the supposed misconduct of her son, who cruelly permitted her to be- moan the misfortune until his wayward spirit was fully gratified, and then coolly informed his mother that he spoke of stature rather than time !
Now, with brevity ever in view, permit me to introduce you to a few suggestions upon Present Improvements ; the bearing they have upon the condition, as well as the influence which through them is exercised upon the country. These remarks are but the skeleton to the subject, which is susceptible of muide and Jhsh, had you th '
412 A Peus at our ImprovmnmU, [Hay,
time to digest or the space to print them ; but I neither have the vanity to suppose my sentiments ' California dust/ or boldness to ask of you many pages to display them.
As previously remarked, I advocate advancement and all wise schemes that claim alliance to progress, yet not so zealous in the ad- vocacy thereof as to hazard the domestic happiness of quiet firesides, the innocency of retirement, and that ' otium cum dignitate' with which man was originally endowed. Self-interest, the prospect of rapid accumulation, and fame, (which is but ephemeral,) seem in &ct the secret springs and pendulums to most of the present day benefits ; and as it regards real melioration, half and more result in temporary deceptions and actual humbugs. Hoodwinked by the cunning artifice of unscrupulous experimentizers, we are lost in the whirl and confusion of the chaos or mortification and personal dis- tress. There is no end to the dance of the wizard. Encircled at we are by the strange medleys of the nineteenth century, we are almost inclined to believe that the days of enchantment have exist- ence, and that the ' Knight of the Sorrowful Figure' is abroad, from whom emanates the infection of madness, and that all the world are fighting ' wind-mills' and breaking ' wine-skins' in their chivalric de- lirium. However cool and philosophic the contemplator, while he looks he is fascinated ; the whirlwind and the storm have embraced * him, and giddy and intoxicated, he reels into the very excesses upon which he smiled in calm indifference.
Mania is every where. You detect it in the restless eye, the pal- lid cheek, the nervous step. It is whispered to us in breeze and gale, wafted to us by every stream. Like an ungovernable harpy, wound- ing us with its filthy breath and snatching from before us the food that nourishes us.
Those of your readei*s who date their nativity in town cannot re- gard this unsatisfactory harmonizing — if I may be allowed this seem- ing contradictory phrase — of city and country by steam, as a matter of interest. They have seen the countryman unsophisticated as he IS, but they little dream of that quiet hearth-stone around which clus- ters innocence and virtue and the ' peace of the good man' which give him this simplicity, this confidence in his fellow. They may smile at his awkwardness and wonder at his apparent stupidity, yet the good and the finer feelings are there, which they neither know nor court. Is it not lunter that this sincerity, this plainness, this free- dom from artificiality, should continue established at the hearth-stone 1 Is it not better that this quiet, this virtue, should remain unmolested, uninterrupted ? Can it be, so long as Steam is the currency, the food, drink, the ' wherewithal to clothe us ]' Nor can these same denizens regard with much interest the existence of improvements, the parhelia of that sun that shall illumine both city and country alike. But that this is, we have evidences north, south, east, west, and all about. The road and marshy pass and lonesome wood have scarcely a pilgrim to awake sleeping echoes now. The iron race- horse has proved the valorous knight, and with its fearful impetus defies all competition.
1849.] A Poms at our ImprovemetUi. 413
That the rail- way is a great and unquestionable progress in the world of improvements no one disputes ; but that evils follow its benefits is conspicuous, and, but tends to prove that ' an inevitable dualbm bisects nature' (as Emerson says in his excellent paper on ' Compensation/) And that directly or indirectly, improvements are adverse to the con- tinuance of old customs as well as to the morals in the country. The former, like spent manhood, has become superannuated and toothless ; its voice is already feeble, and the watchers around its bed are care- fully preparing to close its eye. With its flickering breath go the many elements, which, united, have added that sterling worth and no- bility of character that have caused a throne to confess its vigorous and insuperable ability. Is there no voice sufficiently loud ; no arm sufficiently strong to hail and hold this wayward and insinuating spirit? Is there no antidote sufficiently powerful ; no prescriber sufficiently skilful to stay the course of this aisease which riots in the grand arte- ries ] Alas i primeval customs ; those old landmarks ! like the gods of Sepharvaim, where are they ? They savor of the Past too much ! Like an old, familiar air : at the same time it is admired for its rich melody, it is neglected merely becaose it is ancient. Its sofl cadence does not feed the soul ; for it is made common by the thousand and one voices that have so oflen echoed its sweetness. But the Past and its customs have history. ' As the mountains round about Gilboa' so will they yet be to the Present, when the latter shall have become fagged and jaded with forced and unmeaning novelties, and the ' cry- ing for wine in the streets' shall have ceased. The Present is but the child of the Past ; let, then, the parent be venerated ! And let our examples be wise as well as our actions good, for our works will fol- low us. The grave is the veil between our individual selves and the living ; but to this noisome place go not our handiworks. Let them prove a wreath that shall encircle our names with a blaze of glory.
The rapid transit from one part of the Union to another, attracts not alone the man of business and the gentleman of pleasure ; but the graceful deceiver — the polished destroyer — the ingrained villain. It is easy for one experienced in victimizing, to pursue his iniquities in a populous city ; but it is as easy among die unsuspecting, among the few, where the boldness of his operations serves as a sort of safe- P^uard. Statistics acquaint us of an impressive augmentation of crime m the country. Does its pure atmosphere prove the matrix of this evil fecundity? Does a geographical basis prove a conductor of vice ? Where shall we look for the source of this destroying torrent that rushes with appalling force, carrying in its headlong sweep poor victims that can but feebly resist its impetuosity ? Trace the polluted stream to the noisy city, where fester in corruption, Shame and her sister. Depravity. Pent up within circumscribed limits, this vast pool of iniquity Jias swollen to bursting, and poured its Lethean waters in desolating channels over the country, tincturing its green vales and sunny hills with the hue of death.
Hitherward, too, and from the same d6pdt, have emigrated the etiquette and fashion of the side-walk and drawing-room. A vain spirit has incited a general disbursement of frivolities and extrava-
414 The Germam Studeni. [Mareb,
gancies from the chaotic plunder of fashionable Nimrods which have been deposited in the central warehouse from time to time. Has the result beep beneficial? Does the ^atp'-ing of the gloved beau of Broadway set well upon the broad shoulders of the ploughman I The evil is entailed ; from whence came it ; what hastened iti
THE GERMAN STUDENT.
How full of niptare is the Stadent's life f How full of liberty and calm content :
How free fh)m cares of earth and worldly strife ! Oh ! it is sweet, and filled with high intent
The wants are few of.bim who pondereth o*er The migrhty works of ages long by -gone.
And writings breathing of great wisdom's Iore> His soqI enraptoied is as he doth con.
He reads of pious, mild and godly men, ' Who searched yile hearts, and caus^ sin to quake. And he doth ponder oft with fear, and then He from theif good deeds dolh example take.
His books to him are food — he wanteth naught ;
He casteth folly to the wayward wind : His mistress is I ween, exalting Thought —
She doth embrace most lovingly his mind.
And though his fkce be pale, and body weak, His mind doth grapple with a giant's might ;
And though his voice be low and humbly meek. Yet doUi he thunder when he doth indite.
Oh, Father of all men ! I do beseech One thing of Thee : I pray Thee to preserve^
And watch and guide, and with all kindness teach. Him who in study wasteth strength and nerve.
I pray Thee, when he falletb. lend Thy hand, And breathe Thy word into his troubled ear ;
For he doth bow hb head at Thy conmiand. And views Tubs with a Christian's hope and fear, fl^fi, 1849.
1849.] Stmnet : to a Bereaved Mother. 415
sonnet: to a bereaved mo-ther.
^ Lorn mother of a yonne Immortal, fled
So 800U from thy fond arms and charm^ eyes !
Who shall reprove thy ever-yeamingr sighs, Or bid the bitter tears remain unshed 7 He was thy first-born, and his beauty fed
Thy soul with manna fit>m love's sweetest dues ;
Nor couldst thou deem a cherub in disguise Lf^smiling on thee from his cradle bed.
Thou couldst not see, within the moulded clay» The spirit's wings their deathless splendors dart,
Nor hear the missioned angels fondly say To the pale shape so clasped to thy sad heart,
' A throne is waiting in the realms of day, King of a new-bom sphere, let us depart !'
iYw-For*, AprOy 1849.
TRAVELS IN TARTARY AND MONGOLIA.
PARTRIDOX.
R ANSON is bounded on the east by Ching-si, on the south by Satchuun, on the west by Kou-kou-noor and Sijan, and on the north by the mountains of Halechan and the Eleats. Ning-hi was the first large city that we encountered. Its beautiful ramparts are environed by marshes of reeds and bulrushes. The interior is poor and misera- ble ; the streets crooked, dirty and uneven ; the houses smoky and disorderly. It is easy to see that Ning-hi is a very old city, and al- though near the borders of Tartary, its commerce is but trifling. In the time of the United Kingdoms it was a royal city.
Soon after leaving, we arrived at Tsang-wei, built on the borders of the Yellow River. Its neatness, order and air of comfort, con- trasted singularly with the ugliness and misery of Ning-hi. Judg- ing from the number of shops, well filled with customer, and from the large population that quite encumbered the streets, Tsang-wei must be a place of great business. After passing the ^eat wall, we ascended the crest of Mount Haldchan. The Tartarian Lamas had often drawn frightful pictures of the Halechan, but the reality was &r worse than any description could convey. This long chain of mountains is entirely composed of moving sand, of such extreme fine- ness, that upon taking up a handful, you feel it flowing through the fingers like a liquid. It is useless to remark, that in the midst of such sands there cannot be the slightest trace of vegetation. Good heaven ! what pain and difficulty in traversing these mountains ! At each step our camels sank half buried ; and it was only by leaps that they could advance at all. The poor horse was in a worse predicament, his
416 Travdi in Tartary and Mongdka. [Maj,
hoof being less elastic than the soft foot of the cameL In this sad journey we were obliged to he ever on the watch, for fear that we might be precipitated from these hills into the Yellow River, that rolls at their feet. Happily the weather was calm and serene : if the wind had blown, we should certainly have been engulfed and buried alive under the avalanches of sand.
After crossing the Yellow River, we struck on the route to Hi, the Botany Bay of the Chinese Empire, a place of exile for their con- demned criminals. Before arriving at this distant country, the un- fortunate *exiles are obliged to cross the glacial mountains of Moos- sour, (icebergs.) These gigantic mountains are entirely formed by masses of ice pUed on each other. Steps should be cut to facilitate the ascent of the unfortunate creatures who have to climb them. Goud-ju, or Hi, is in the centre of Forgot, a country evidently Mon- gol— the rivers, lakes and mountains, are purely Mongol. Our in- timate acquaintance with the Lamas of Forgot enabled us to form correct ideas of their country. The Tartars of Forgot differ in no way from the other people of Mongolia ; their manners, language and costume, are exactly the same. When we asked the Laflias where they came from, they invariably answered, ' We are Mongols, of the kingdom of Forgot.' This is the place of banishment for £o8e Chinese Chmtians who refuse to apostatize, and certainly justice de- mands, if possible, that a mission should be founded here for their consolation. The route from Hi conducted to the great wall, which we once more crossed and again entered China.
I wish to say a few words here on this renowned monument. We well know that the erection of walls as a protection against invasion has not been confined to the Chinese alone; antiquity mentions several of these barriers ; for instance, those in Assyria, Egypt and Medea ; and in later times and nearer home, that in North Britain, built by the order of Septimus Severus ; but no nation has ever at- tempted a work of this kind that could compare with the one con- structed by Tsin-che-houng in the year two hundred and fourteen of our era. The great wall extends from the western point of Kansan to the oriental sea. Tsin-che-houng employed a prodigious number of workman, and this gigantic effort of numan industry was finished in ten years. Writers on China have widely differed in their estima- tion and description of this great work. Some have exalted it beyond measure, and others have represented it as ridiculous. I believe that this divergence of opinion has proceeded from each party having viewed it m (liff^rent places.
Mr. Barrow, who came to China with Lord Macartney, the English ambassador in 1793, made the following calculation. He supposes that in England and Scotland there miehtbe nineteen hundred thou- sand masons, and that if each of these should build two thousand fbet of masonry, that their united efforts would not equal the Great Wall of China ; according to him, there was sufficient material in it to build a wall twice round the globe. Mr. Barrow, without doubt, based his calculation on that part of the Great Wall which he viewed toward the north of Pekin. At this point the work is really beanti-
1849.] Travds in Tartary and Mongolia. 417
ful and imposing, but he was in error if he supposed all parts to be equally high, wide and solid. We had occasion to cross the Great Wall at more than fifteen different points, and several times travelled whole days without ever losing sight of it. Oftentimes we encoun- tered but simple masonry in place of the double walls that exist in the environs of Pekin, sometimes only an elevation of earth, and in some places but heaped flint-stones. In these parts there is not a vestige of those foundations composed of cut-stones cemented to- gether, of which Mr. Barrow speaks. It may readily be imagined that Tsin-che-houng would in a special manner fortify Uie environs of hb capita], as it was the most direct and alluring object for Tartar warfare to attack. Fortifications are unnecessary on the borders of Ortnis, and along the mountains of Halechan, for the Yellow River would be a safer.guardian in case of invasion than any wall that could be built. After crossing the Greet Wall, we found ourselves within the boundary of San-yen-tsin, notorious for its hatred to strangers. They raised many difficulties about our entering, but the disaeree- ment all arose from the soldiers of the custom-house. They wished for silver, and we had determined to give them nothing but wofds. However, they ended by letting us pass upon condition that we should never mention to the Tartars that we had entered gratis.
From San-yen-tsin we went to Tchouang-loung-in, vulgarly called Ping- fan. It seems to have a tolerable commerce, is neither beauti- ful nor ugly, and has a prosaic, ordinary appearance. To arrive at the large city of .Si-ming-fou, we had to follow a frightful road. In travelling over the high mountains of Ping-Keou we suffered dread- fully, and it was almost impossible for our camels to surmount the numerous difficulties. We were obliged to shout continually, for the' purpose of putting the muleteers who might be travelling this road on their guard, as it was necessary that they should take their mules on one side before we met, for our caravan so terrified their animals th^t they scarcely could be held from jumping over the pre- cipices. When we arrived at the foot of the mountain, our road for two days lay across rocks by the side of a deep and tumultuous tor- rent, the yawning abyss was ever at our side, and one false step would have plunged us into its angry waters. Sining-fou is an immense city, but thinly inhabited. Its commerce is interrupted by Tang-keou-cul, a small city situated on the borders of the river Keou-ho, which sepa- rates Kanson from Rou-kou-noor. This city is not marked on any map, for it has risen suddenly into importance from it& excellent commercial facilities. I will return to Tang-keou-cul after saying a few words on Kanson.
Kanson is a beautiful and apparently a very rich province. The excellence and variety of its products are owing to the fertility of the soil and the genial temperature of the climate ; but above all, to the untiring industiy and admirable system of agriculture here pursued. We could never weary of admiring the magnificent system of irriga- tion by means of surface canals. By the aid of small sluices, simply constructed, the water is distributed all over the country ; it ascends, descends and circulates in various windings, according to the taste of
418 Travels in TarUmj and MongaUa. [May,
eftoh cultivator. In Kanson the cheese is of the first quality, and very abundant ; the sheep and goats of the best kinds, and the inex- haustible mines of coal might supply the world with fuel. In short, it is a country where people may live very comfortable at a trifline expense. The people of Kanson differ greatly in language and habits from those in the other provinces of the empire ; but what chiefly distinguishes them is their religious character, so opposite to the ordinary indifference and scepticism of the Chinese. We saw in Kanson numerous and flourishing Lama-houses, belonging to the reformed Bhudhists. Every thing would favor the idea that this country was once occupied by the Sipans, or oriental ' Thibetians. The Dehiahours are perhaps the most remarkable race in the pro- vince of Kanson. They occupy that part of the country commonly known as Santchoun, the biith -place of Samdadchiemba. These Dehiahours are tricky and crafty, notwithstanding their polished manners and honest phrases. They are feared and detested by all their neighbors. When injured a poniard is their ordinary resource, and they who have committed the greater number of murders are accounted the most honorable. Their language is incomprehensible to any save themselves, being a confused mixture of Mongol, Chi- nese and oriental Thibetian. They believe they are of Tartar ori- gin. The Dehiahours have submitted to the Emperor of China, but are governed by a sort of sovereign whose right is hereditary ; he bears the title of Tousse. There exists several of these tribes on the borders of Sutchuen, who are governed according to xheir own special laws. They are all known by the name of Tousse, to which they often add the family name of their chief or sovereign. Yan- Tousse is the most renowned, and to this tribe belongs Samdadchi- emba.
But it is time that we should return to Tsing-keou-cul. This city is not large, though very populous, busy and commercial. It is a veritable Babel, where one hears on all sides a clamorous confusion of tongues : the long-haired or Eastern Thibetians of Hong-mus-cul, the Tartars of the Blue Sea, Chinese from every province in the empire, and the Hang-dze-tures, descendants of Uie ancient Indian migrations. Physical force reigns throughout Tsing-keou-cul, and gives a character of violence to the whole city. Each individual marches through. the streets armed with a long sabre, and afiects in his gait and demeanor a ferocious independence. It is impossible to walk abroad without witnessing quarrels that usually end in blood- shed.
We rested for a few days, and then started to visit the Lamasery of Koumboun, in the country of the Sipans, or oriental Thibetians. As we had resolved to learn the Thibetian language and make our- selves acquainted with the doctrines of Bhudhism, we remained moro than six months in this celebrated Lama-house. Koumboun is the birth-place of Tsonka-Remboutchi, the famous Bhudhist reformer. Tradition relates that Tsonka was miraculously bom, and that at the early age of seven years he shaved his hair and dedicated himself to a religious life, and after having been instructed in the prayers for a
1849.] Travels i» Tartary emd MtmgoUa. 419
long time by a Lama of* great talents who came from the West, he revealed his divine mission and set out for Thibet. When there he commenced by reforming the religious habits and liturgic formulas. This reformation has been adopted throughout Thibet and Tartary. • The Lamas belonging to each sect wear different colors, yellow and eray ; the Chinese bonzes adhere to the old faith. Koumboun is a Lamasery of renowned celebrity ; it contains more than three thou- sand Lamas. Its position is truly enchanting. Imagine to yourself a mountain divided by a deep ravine, ornamented by lai'ge trees, inhabited by numerous colonies of yellow-beaked crows and rooks^ The declivity of the ravine and the sides of the mountain curve into an amphitheatre covered by the white houses of the Lamas, each of a different size, but all surrounded by little gardens and crowned with turrets. Amid these modest habitations, whose beauty consists in their whiteness and perfect neatness, rise the gilded roofs of nu- merous Bhudhist temples, sparkling and bedecked with every bright color, and environed by elegant peristyles. But perhaps the most striking object is the number of Lamas who circulate through the various streets, clothed in red habits and large yellow caps m the form of mitres. Their usual appearance is gprave and subdued ; and to speak the truth, although we remained a long time at Koumboun, we had every reason to admire the perfect peace and concord that reigned among its numerous inhabitants. They treated us with re- spect and politeness, and fulfilled all the duties of hospitality with a cordial generosity. On our arrival at the Lamasery, a Lama offered us his house, and during our long stay performed every service for us that was possible.
A very severe discipline contributes to the preservation of peace and order, and they who trespass against the rules of the Lamasery, whether youne or old, are chastised with an iron whip by the Proc- tor, or chief of discipline, who is continually walking round, armed widi his official instrument of authority. They who steal the least thing belonging to another are expelled, after having been branded with an ignominious mark on the forehead with a red-hot iron. These penalties are not inflicted by the arbitrary will of the supe- rior. There are two tribunals, who in grave cases pass judgment on the accused according to the legal forms there established.
Education is here divided into four sections, or faculties. The first is the faculty of prayer; it is the most esteemed, and has the largest class ; the profession of medicine takes the second place, mysticism the third, and the fourth faculty embraces the liturgic for- mulas. Our whole attention and constant study, during the time we spent at Koumboun, was directed toward the following objects : the birth and life of Tsonka-Ramboutchi, the history of the Bhudhist reformation, its liturgies and belieft, and the rules and discipline of the Lamasery. I would explain to you all these numberless details, for they are replete with interest, if I were not constrained by want of time to make a short and rapid summary. We had dwelt more than three months within the limits of Koumboun, and during all that time had broken through one of their strictest rules. Strangers
480 Tiravds in Tartary and Mongolia. [May,
who visit for a short time are at liberty to dress as they please ; but they who intend to remain more than two months must adopt the habit of the Lamas. This is an inflexible rule, and we had more than once been admonished of its existence. At last the professors said, as the rules of our religion would not permit us to change our dress, and theirs would not allow a continuance of it, that they were under the necessity of inviting us to reside at the small Lamasery of . Tchorgortan, about twenty minutes' walk from Roumboun. They treated us in this exigency with the most refined delicacy. - Tchorgortan is a country house appropriated to the medical faculty. The professors and students go there toward the end of summer, and usually pass five months in roaming over the neighboring moun- tains and collecting medicinal plants. The houses are generally de- serted for the remainder of the year, and at that time the only per- sons visible are a few contemplative Lamas, who live in cells that they have excavated in the rocks and precipices of the mountain.
We stayed some months at Tchorgortan, studying Thibetian and taking care of our camels. Once in a while we took a walk to Roumboun, and almost every day some of the Lamas came to visit us, especially those who felt an interest in the truths of Christianity.
In the month of August, 1845, we departed from the valley of Black Waters. Our small caravan was increased by an additional camel, and a horse that belonged to a Lama of Mount Ratchico who offered his assistance as pro-camel-driver. We were once more wanderers, and pitched our tent on the borders of the Blue Sea. The Kou-kou-noor, or Blue Lake, is called by the Chinese Kin-hae, or Blue Sea ; and indeed this immense inland reservoir has more the character of a sea than a lake. It has its flux and reflux, the water is salt and bitter, and on approaching it one respires a strong marine atmosphere.
There is an island nearly in the middle of the Blue Sea, rather to- ward the west, on which a Lamasery is built inhabited by twenty con- templative Lamas. It was impossible to visit them, for on all the extent of the Blue Sea there is not a single vessel or boat, and the Mongols assured us that not one of them understood the navigating of any kind of craft. This Lamasery can only be visited during the extreme cold of winter ; when the sea is frozen, the Tartars form caravans, and make pilgrimages for the purpose of carrying offerings and pro- visions to the contemplative Lamas, from whom in exchange they receive benedictions and blessings on their flocks and pastures. Kou-kou-noor is a country of magnificent fertility, and although bare of forest-tiees, its aspect is sufiiciently agreeable ; the grass and her- baceous plants all of a prodigious height. The country is intersected by numerous rivulets that enrich and irrigate the soil, and quench the thirst of the large flocks that sport on their borders. There is nothing wanting to the happiness of the nomade Tartars of Rou-kou-noor, excepting peace and tranquillity. These poor Mongols suffer continu- ally from apprehension of attack from brigands. When they meet both parties fight unto death, for if the robbers are the strongest, they carry off all &e flocks, and set fire to the courtes. The vigorous
1849.] TiraveJs in Tartary and Mongolia. 421
herdsmen of the Blue Sea are conetantly on horseback, always keep- mg guard and watch over their flocks, lance ever in hand, a gun in their broad shoulder belts, and a large sabre hanging from the; girdle.
What contrast between these vigilant and warlike pastors with their long moustaches, and the delicate, fine shepherds of Virgpl, always occupied in playing on the clarionet, or decorating with ribbons and spring-flowers, their pretty Italian straw-huts 1 We stayed forty days on the borders of the Blue Sea, but were oflen forced to change our place of encampment, and move with the Tartar caravans ; owing to the report of robbers hovering in the vicinity they thought it prudent to remove, but never far from the rich pasturages in the neighborhood of the Noor. These brigands are of the Sipan tribe, or Thibetians of the black tents who inhabit the Baeanhara mountains, situated near the sources of the Yellow River. These wandering bands are very numerous, and known by the generic name of Kolo-kalmoucks. The country called Kalmouki by some geographers is purely imaginary. The Kalmoucks are but a tribe of Koli or Black-tented Thibe- tians.
All the maps of Kou-kou-noor are extremely faulty, they give too great an extent to the country. Though divided into twenty-nine banners it should terminate at the river Tsaidun. The popular tra- ditions of the country say that the> Blue Sea was not always confined to its present limits. An old Tartar declared to us that this sea once occupied the spot where Lassa now stands, but that in one day the waters abandoned their ancient reservoir, and found way through a subterranean channel to where they exbt at present This singular history with scarcely any variation, was also related to us at Lassa. I cannot here help regretting that details take up too much space in a letter.
Durine our stay in Kou-kou-noor we employed ourselveain making preparations for the long journey that we were about to under- take. We waited the return of the Thibetian ambassador who had been sent the preceeding year to Pekin* We designed to join his caravan for Lassa, and there study the Tartar &ith, at the source from whence it emanates. From all that we had seen and heard during our journey we hoped in that city to find a more precise and intelligible creed. In general, the faith of the Lamas is a vague float- ing, undecided pantheism, of which they can render no clear ideas ; if one should inquire of them what positive faith they profess, they are extremely embarrassed and each refers to the other ; the disci- ples say their masters know all; the masters appeal to the great Lamas ; and the great Lamas declare that they are ignorant in com- parison with the saints who inhabit such and such Lamaseries. The ffreat and small Lamas, disciples and masters, all unanimously agree m declaring that the true faith came from the west. The farther you advance toward the west, say they, the purer and clearer manifesta- tion you will find of our religious truths. When we explained to them the christian faith, they calmly replied, we have not read all the
422 What it Love f [May,
prayers, the Lamas at the west have read alU and will explain all, we nave faith in the traditions that have come from the west
These words but confirm a fact that we have observed throughout Tartary. There is not in the whole country a single Lama house of any importance that the superior has not come from ThibeL A Lama of any kind who has travelled there, is considered a holy man, one to whom has been unveiled the mysteries of the past and future in the bosom of the sanctuary of the Eternal, and land of departed spirits.*
Febnuarf, 1849.
WHAT IB love!
BT jznaii xtriOT.
' Love ! what is love, sweet Bister Mat —
What it love, dearest sister V lliese words onr little Grace did say,
To ' Coz.,' and langhing, kissed her. Dear cousin started, MghA and Unshed,
Then taking on her knee ,
The darling pet, in a voice still-hnshed,
Spoke to her tenderly.
< Do you remember, dear, the day,
We walked to Silver Hill, How dark and gloomy was the way,
Until we reached Globe Mill 7 How sudden then the sun did benm.
And we right glad to see ? Well, Gracie ! Love *s like this ; H will gleam
Some day, be sure, on thee ."
The child looked up ; a merry light
Her eye had quickly won ; Ont-epake the mischief-loving sprite:
* Is Charlbt Gret your sun?* Red came the blood full swift to dye
Our cousin's conscious face ; Out-right laughed we, at hit so sly
From darting little Grace.
• Lassa meftns in Thibetian, land of tpirits. The Ifongolt call that city Msach-edbit, th«t li, Eternal BsDctaazy.
1849.] Ingram: the Formdliit. 423
epigram: the formalist.
Oh, mediiBya] sexton ! thou
Who wouldst in decent greve-clothet dreaB The modern century, that now
Exults m savage nakedness : Which were to choose — perplexing case ! —
The sans cvlotte who shameless stands, Or mummy, with its yellow face,
Wrapt in an hundred swathing-bands. Thou fool ! who thinkest truth is cant.
And piety is gown and stole, What the irreverent times most want
Is not a surplice, but a soul !
THE STONE HOUSE ON THE SUSQUEHANNA.
cnAPTUB XIOHTBBKTH.
* A WKDDiNO or a festlTa], A moandng or a fooeral.'
Gauzes and roses, scraps of lace, white silks, white ribbons, white gloves — the fraeile indication of the approaching ceremony — lay- scattered around Edla's apartment. Aunt Patty sat with her lap full of white bows, and the dress-maker was just leaving the door with a large g^een paper-box, as Philip Grey entered the room.
' There is a letter for you below. Papa,' said Edla.
' From home, I suppose ; of little consequence. Letters from the city require more immediate attention. It may be from John or Phil., poor boys !' Mr. Grey seated himself heavily in a chair. * It must be a pleasant thing to reflect upon, Edla, that you have obliged me, at my time of life, to act the part of a boy ; that you have made me forget my years and sue and solicit and play the lover to this old lady» in order that my children may reap the benefit of the sacrifice,'
Aunt Patty looked around in amazement. The flowers fell fi'om Edla's trembling fingers, the color fled from her cheeks.
' I, with the solicitude of a father for his child, found a gentleman suited to you. His connections were respectable, his fortune ample. You accepted his attentions; I encouraged them. He asked my consent ; it was willingly given, and you disgraced me by rejecting him. And for whom V continued Grey ; * for a paltry vagabond, a poor, contemptible '
* Philip,' interrupted Aunt Patty, ' Harold is neither paltry nor — he is a fine young man, and as good a christian as ever breathed the breath of«-he saved your life and Edla's, and if you can't speak
48i The Stone House an the SuMquAasma. [May,
well of the absence, say nothin'. J can speak well of him ; he 's worth a dosyn such bobolinks as this — I think it 's a shame that yon should surrogate him behind his back !' And the old lady lifted up her voice and wept aloud.
' I will allow no interference, Martha !' said Grey, shaxply.
* Dear papa !' said Edla.
' My inference is for the absence/ sobbed Aunt Patty ; ' I will take the part of the absence 1'
' Perhaps it is to your counsel I am indebted fbr Edla's disobe- dience.'
* Dear papa !'
' She never was disobedience; a dutifuller child nevetdid — uh— uh — as for liking Harold, 'why every body — uh, uh — every one loves him — There ! I 've cried all over your white bows — '
' Dear aunt, dear papa, it is I alone who am to blame !' said Edla, falling upon her knees and taking her father's hand. ' If I have dis* obeyed you the faxht has been severely expiated in the anguish I have suffered since. Surely, dear papa, you would not have me solemnly promise to love and honor him whom my heart tells me it could neither love nor honor? Oh, papa! think of your Edla — your daughter — standing before the altar with words of affection upon her lips and aversion in her heart ! Think of her violating her con- science, mocking her heavenly FATHEiuwith impious fidsehoods, with promises broken in the utterance ! Think of the self- degradation, so complete that it has ceased to blush at its own shame ! Think of a life without hope, a joyless union, a cheerless home ; think that it is your Edla — your daughter — whom you would consign to this fate, and then say you wish me to marry him, and I will do it !'
The father gazed upon the trembling girl with a dark look in his eyes, and then with a mocking smile he said : ' Are you through T have you finished % Up from the floor, then, which is too low for such fine sentiments; up, I say! Impious mockeries!' continued he, striking his clenched hand suddenly upon the arm of his chair with a vehemence that made Aunt Patty sprint fcom her seat. * Do you mean to reflect upon me 1 Do you not know that to-morrow
' Dear, dear papa !' sobbed Edla, convulsively.
* That yesterday I received intelligence which will come nigh to make us what you appear to wish us to be, paupers 1 — that I, not governed by those nice distinctions which you appear to feel so keenly, must promise to love and cherish, and all that foolery, be- cause our salvation depends upon it V
* Phil./ said Aunt Fatty, putting her arm tenderly around his neck, * there 's no use a-makm' a mortar of yourself; what little I have you can — there 's no use of your throwing yourself — all I have you are welcome to. You can easily excuse yourself to Mrs. — break ofl* this match — do n't be so ambition, and all will yet be welL*
Grey's head sank upon his breast, while the weeping Edla hid her face in his lap. ' No,' said he, resolutely, * I would maiTy her if I stood upon the sods of my own grave !'
1849.] The Stone House on the Susquehanna. 425
* Oh, Phil. !' said Aunt Patty, wiping her eyes with her apron, * do n't be so — who knows what may happen 1 Perhaps Harold Herrman may come back with a fortin'.
' Curse him !' said Grey ; * it is his property that has ruined me ; he and this romantic girl — may the deep sea sink him ! Edla,' said he, i-ising and lifting his almost insensible daughter into the chair he bad just occupied, ' if I thought there was one lingering spark of affection in your breast for him, even so much as a wish for his re- turn, I would discard you forever !'
' What has he done, Philip 1* said Aunt Patty.
* * What has he done ]' Every thing ; he has taught my daughter disobedience ; he has destroyed my hopes of her advancement ; he has placed me in a position which shackles me for life. Oh, curse him ! — he has been a stumbling-block in my way for years !'
* Oh, Phil. ! you are too uncharity ; he may be dead !'
' I hope he is — I hope so ! Edla, do you still love this fellow 1 Answer me.'
* I will be answerable for her,' said Aunt Patty.
' Oh ! no, no,' sobbed Edla ; * I will strive not to ; I will try to forget all ! Dear papa, have I not given up every thing, will I not do any thing to please you V
* Promise me then that you will never marry this Herrman ; pro- mise that, and I will forget and forgive.'
* She shall promise no such thing, Phil. ; the dear lamb '
* Then may all the miseries of life confound them both ! May infamy hang upon their marriage and despair upon their lives ! Let me never see them or hear of them ; if starving, let them starve ; ' if houseless, let them wander '
* Dear, dear papa !'
' Call me not by that name, disobedient ! unless '
* Oh, yes, papa 1' said Edla, taking his hands, ' I will promise ! I am not disobedient. I will be your daughter — your faithful Edla ; and since you fear to lose me, (here a smile glistened among the tears,) I wUl never marry — never, dear papa 1 I will follow Aunt Patty's example ; I only hope that I may prove as good as she is.'
' You are an angel !' sobbed her aunt
' It is enough,' said Grey ; • let the past be forgotten.'
* And forgiven V
' And forgiven.' He looked at her for a moment, and tlien, pres- sing a kiss upon her forehead, left the room.
* A dreary morning. Sir !' said Job, as Grey entered the parlor. Grey was the soul of politeness ; ho smiled and bowed in acknow- ledgment.
•There is a letter for you. Sir, I believe. Paper,' continued Job, handing it to him, ' is quite an improvement upon the ancient papy- rus and wax tablets of the ancients, and pen and ink are better than the stylus. Ink, Sir, is a compound of sulphate of iron and infusion of the gall-nut ; and is n't it odd that two colorless fluids by union become black ; like a marriage that promises fair and proves dark and dismal V
VOL. XXX III. 40
426 !%€ SUme House on the Susquehanna, [May,
The smile passed from Grey's face.
* And silver, Sir/ said Job, heedlessly rambling on through his philosophical labyrinth, ' white silver is the basis of indelible ink. why, Sir, all the silver you are worth could be transmuted into ink and put in a bottle !'
' Silence, Sir !' said Grey^ in a tone that veas like an electric shock ; * you are impertinent ! Leave the room. Pertinent^ I should have said,' as the door closed after the abashed Job ; * too pertinent ! 1 11 discharge this philosophical friend of mine to-morrow! Let me see, now : a letter ; from John Stapleton, by the supeiBcription.' He broke the seal and read :
* arejfwburgk, Feb. 23» 1817. *Pbiup Gbxt, Eiq. :
* Dbab Sib : I have melancholy faitMsUigence to eommnnieate. Your two lona, PHii.ir and John, were oat ikating upon the Susquehaima thU forenoon, and it it mpgoaed tttat they are drowned, as both are miaaing, and a largo chaam la in the ice where they were laat seen. The rirer ii lined with people searching for them : ao far we have been onaneceaafnL Borne hare ffone to tiie Bend, as the current is strong and may carry the bodiea down there. Every o»e in the viUage is in tears. In haste,
* Your obedient servant,
*JosN Stiplxtor.'
' My boys ! my boys ! Merciful God, save me from this affliction and preserve them ! Visit not my sins upon these innocents ! My darlings ! Oh, this accursed journey ! Fortune and children gone, gone K>rever ! This is no place for me,' said Grey, rising wildly and clasping his hands in agony. ' My Phil. ! my darling, curly-headed boy ! gone, gone ! God help me !' He bowed his head in the hol- low of his hands and sobbed aloud. ' But this must not be known here, I must away from the house — out into the open air — any where to escape !'
He walked burriedly through the hall and into the street. It was now nearly noon ; hundreds of people were thronging the populous thoroughfares ; familiar recognitions gi-eeted him ; but he, the nappy bridegroom, the affluent, envied Philip Grrey, saw them not. On through the dreary streets, with contending passions struggling in his breast ; with wild, untangible schemes of wealth for the morrow, and death and despair paralyzing his footsteps of to-day. With visions of dark phantoms gathering at his wedding ; the bride in a shroud, gibbering and mocking him with words of hatred and defi- ance from her polluted lips ; with the hoarse surging of the icy river roaring in his eare ; with half-executed projects bewildering his brain and driving him to madness ; regardless of the blinding snow, re- gardless of the cold, he hurried on until he was far beyond the limits of the streets and out in the waste and open country beyond. For hours and hours he wandered on through the deep snow. It was not the loss of his children that wrought thus fearfully upon him ; (grief has a sweet and noble influence when not alloyed with baser passions ;) but it was that the terrible obstacle lay thus unexpectedly upon the very threshold of his marriage ; it was but one step from want to affluence, and that step was arrested ! Delaywas aanger- ous ; a day might divulge that he was a bankrupt ! He knew how much affection had to do with the espousals on either side. A bank- rupt!— that known? He clutched his hands until the blood fbl-
1840.] Tke Stone House on the SuMguehanna. 427
lowed his nails. ' No ! I will conceal this letter ; I will marry her. Fail me not, stout heart ! fail me not,' he repeated, striking his breast, as he retraced his weary steps, * until to-morrow — to-morrow !'
He reached the house at last, wet and weary. A short interval to change his dress, and then, with a smile upon his lip and the cor- roding secret in his bosom, he entered the supper-room.
There is not a more popular fallacy than uiat ' the countenance is the index of the mind.' Every-day experience contradicts it. Often beneath the well-affected face of passive indifference lurks intense desire ; the plausible smile elozes over the rents and chasms of hid- den jealousv and hatred, and the instructed features affect a specious adulation while the heart is shrinking with contempt and aversion. The countenance of Philip Grey no more evidenced the fearful sacri- fice he was offering to his ambition than a handless dial-plate indi- cates the hour of the day. The evening passed off pleasantly — nav, gaily ; even Job ceased to feel the mortification of the morning m Sie politeness with which Grey thanked him for every trifling ser- vice, and Edla forgot the weight of her own sorrows in reflecting that she had performed her duty to so good a father. ' Good night V said Grey, with his sweetest smile, as he kissed Mrs. Squiddy ; ' good nifl^t 1 To-morrow vdll soon be here !'
That good night brought no sleep to his eyes ; the tortures of an accusing conscience and the sense of his bereavement were like a searing fire in his vitals. Oh, wrestle not with giief, for it is an angel ! Rather let it subdue thee, that thou mayest be purified and forgiven ; let it conquer and bind thy angry passions, and set its hal- lowed seal upon them. Accept it meekly ; doth not the rain beat down the tender rose 1 but anon comes the morning, and lo ! the lowly flower is richer in fragi*ance and beauty, and heavenward the odorous incense arises from its broken ehalice.
In sleepless darkness, in agony so intense that even despair would seem like peace itself, Philip Grey passed the night preceding his wedding. When he arose in the morning his accustomed smile &iled to disguise the traces of that night's sufferings. With feverish baste he endeavored to dress himself for the ceremony. * A few hours, and then I may mourn at leisure. God help me ! My poor boysi'
The day was warm and spring-like ; the storm had passed away, and when the caniages arrived to take the happy party to 'old Trinity,' the gentle influence of the weather seemed to pervade every breast but his. *A few more minutes!' he muttered, as he stepped into the cairiage beside his betrothed. The steps were put up, and the coachman was Just closing the door, when a country sleigh, with a pair of jaded horses, swept around die comer of Gar- den-street.
' Oh, papa !' said Edla, looking out of the carriage- window, ' there 's Mr. Bates !'
' Shut the door, coachman,' said Grey, turning pale.
* Whereabeouts is Missus Squiddy's 1 ' ioquured the sergeant of the coachman.
428 The Blacksmith's Shop. [May,
* This is tbe house.*
' Is Mister Grey here, as you knows on V
* Yes, he 's in this carriage.'
' I want to speak tew him.' And the sergeant got out of the sleigh. The coachman opened the door of the carriage.
' Ah, Bates, how d' ye do 1 No time to tcuk now, though. Shut the door, coachman. When I return '
' Oh, Mr. Grey,' said the sergeant, ' they 'ye feound the hodies.'
* Am I to be stopped this way V said Grey, passionately ; ' shut the door !*
But the sergeant laid his hand upon the arm of the coachman : * Did n't you git the letter, then, from Squire Stapleton V
* No ; do n't interrupt me now. When we return, I say '
' What can he mean, papa V said Edla, who had listened with breathless attention to this strange dialogue.
'Then you don't know? Oh, Miss Grey! — bad news! bad news !' said the sergeant, wiping his eyes ; ' the sorrowfullest thing that's happened in the village since Alice Hemnan died! Your brothers '
* Stop !' said Grey, in a hoarse whisper. He endeavored to rise ; the houses danced before his eyes, then a mist obscured every thing, and he sank back senseless in his seat in the carriage.
THE blacksmith's SHOP.
■ KSTOH vnOlC Z.XTX.
Hard by the road, in Harley town.
It stands — the little blacksmith's shop ; It is a buildingr dark and low,
With chimneys peepine o'er the top ; Climbingr througrh the roof, a stack Of rod-flnpport^ chimneys black Throwing their smoky volumes high, And sparkles, up the sunny sky.
And melted coals and cinders lie
In scattered heaps along the ground. And heavy wains, with splintered shafts And broken wheels, are lying round ; And in the yard, beside the door, Rests the square old tiring-floor ; The graoB and weeds and waving sedge Are trampled round its blackened edge.
The boarded shutters, hinged at top, Are fastened up from mom till night ;
The door is wide, and all inside Is plainly seen — a pleasant sight :
1849.] The macksmith's Shop. 429
A pIoBsant sight enoagh for me, A poet of simplicity ; My Muse, content to clip her wingSt Delights in homely, nutU things.
The anvil has a tapering shaft,
And burnished surface bright and clear ;
The rusty pinchers lie tL-iop, The heavy sledge is standing near ;
Hammers and tongs and chisels cold,
And crooked nails and horse-shoes old,
And all the tools renewed of yore
In blacksmith ditties, strew the floor.
Beneath the shutters stand a row
Of dusty benches, rou^ and rude, And files and nxk^are lymg round,
And vices on the edge are screwed ; And the last -year's almanac, With songs and ballads, torn and black, And prints of fights on sea and land. Line the walls on every hand.
The forge within the comer stands,
Before the chimney slant and wide, And in a leather-apron clad,
The swart apprentice by its side ; Nodding his head and paper crown. Pressing its handle up and down. Beneath his arm, with motion slow. He makes the rattling bellows blow.
The sturdy blacksmith folds his arms, And shows his knotted sinews strong ;
He turns his iron in the fire,
And rakes the coals, Itnd hums a song ;
He plucks it out, a blaze of light.
And hurries to the anvil bright.
And sledra fall with deafening sound.
And spanu are flying thick around.
The village idlers lounge about.
And talk the country gossip o*er. And now and then the farmers' men
Drive up on horseback to the door ; And sun-tanned ploughmen ply the thoag. Goading their yok6d steers along, And play and wrestle on the sod, Waiting to have their cattle shod.
At moming*s break and evening's close.
In early spring and autumn-time. The dusky blaclumith plies his craft.
And makes his heavy auvil chime ; And oft he works at dead of night, Like a thinker stem and bright. Shaping, by laborious lore.
Iron thoughts for evermore. n „. §.
yete- York, Mordi 15, 1849.
430
The BunkumviUe Chronicle.
[May,
Si)e BunktimDUU Ct)ronuU.
'OOZi OIVS TnESf WI8U01C THAT HAVE IT. XKD TBOSS THAT ARZ VOOLS X.BT TBBIC USX TBVIB TALBXTI.'
TwBX.yra Nxanr: Aot 1. SobnbV.
OUR MONTHLY SUMMARY.
The captious reader will please remember that this our truthful analysis of news must necessarily retrograde a month.
We are under the disagreeable necessity of recording in our sum- mary a wintery and unpleasant month of March.
The situation of our streets dur- ing the time has been past descrip- tion, and accordingly we shall not attempt to describe it.
About the fifteenth, our last om- nibus was snagged, and sunk nearly opposite the City- Hotel, the body of the vehicle having come in con- tact with the pole of an old wreck, which was partly elevated above the level of the mud. No lives were lost ; the driver having suc- ceeded in landing his passengers in the second stories of the adjoin- ing houses. It is extremely grati- fying to state that not the least blame can possibly be attached to any of the parties concerned. The driver barely escaped with his life, a beneficent Providence having pre- served him doubtless as Charles Lamb would have said, 'to become in future an ornament to society.' We quote the following from the Extra Sun of the seventeenth of March :
' Wk haaten the press to announce the arri- val of our express^extraordinary from White- bttll-itreet. We are pained to report that the
levee lately constmcted to protect the iide- walks and lower storiea from inundation, it ia
I feared will soon give way.
! «A fHffhtfdl creyaaae has oceorred at the comer of Water-street, and the stand of an old
lipple-man, with its unfortunate owner, was hurried off by the devouring element. A sub- scription was immediatelv taken up for hit mourning wife and sorrowing childrra.
' A gang of Soutii-street darkies was already upon the spot when our reporter left, endeavor- ing to reptdr damages.
' Our express came through in the unpreee- dented time of four hours.'
Since the drying up of the afore- said corporation mua, we notice a very vigorous and well-sustained Free Soil movement in our streets. The neat proceeds of last winter's investment have been all upon the move, and made free to soil the dresses of all ladies who have dared Broadway.
Among the remarkable events of the month, we name with plea- sure the appearance of the narra- tive of our Dead-Sea, Expedition ; a work fully worthy of its subject, and if any thing rather more de- funct. How many engravings it is adorned with we know not, but it has certainly received a great many cuts. We fear that the mem- bers of the expedition did not bring home with tnem salt enough to preserve it Nothing less than a large Lot would have sufficed.
Among the most extraordinary performances of our travelling board of City Fathers, we note the novel idea of converting the docks into gas to illuminate the upper parts of our city. Concerning this
1849.] T%e BtmkumviOe ChnmicU. 431
we quote from that respectable old lady, the Journal of Commerce of the thirty-first of March :
'Rbsoltttioxs concubued in. — To grant C. Vandksbilt a leaM of the pieri and flip occu- pied by him, west of pier No. 1, East River ; alao, a ferry lease, with power to regulate the ferry from time to time, \>j the Common Council. And if the said Van db&bilt refiise or neglect to execute said leases for ten days from the passage of this resolution, measures shall be Uk en to resume possession of thelsaid premises, by the Common Council to light with gas, First ATenoe, from First to Fourteenth-street Adopted.'
We think that had the gas wasted at Albany been properly pre- served, it would have answered the purpose. We farther notice * a vote of thanks to * D. T. Valentine,' * clerk, for preparing a ' Corpo- ration Manual* And we also see that on the same evening ' the roll was called.'
What can be the meaning of this 1 Have the old ladies' gone into training in preparation of doing battle for their honor, and the city's privileges, with those obdurate Albanians ? or was the roll only called to supper 1 Had we our will they should be fed with bread and milk, which isf a natural supper, although it might appear supernatural to their Aldermanic corporations.
On the whole we think the entire roll had better in future be well beaten, instead of called, at least until they attend more to the streets, and less to the tea-room.
A resolution was passed by the Brooklyn board, requiring the street-committee to ' label' the streets. We know not how it is in Brooklyn, but such labor would be superfluous here, as half the houses in our streets from the Battery^to the Towns-end are labelled Sarsa- parilla,and the remainder, Pills, Boots and Cough Candy.
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
Edward the Confessor, inquires why the tenets of the Roman church are like the females of the canine race. Probably because they are dog-mas.
LoNG-Bow, — We do not know whether Baron Munchausen died in debt or not ; but presume that such must have been the case, as his li-abilities were so enormous.
Invalid wishes to know why Physicians are such queer fellows. Because they are cure-us chaps.
Yivi RoMJE asks what king of the Romans was like a stepmother. Nu-ma perhaps.
O. P. Q. would like to know why a foot is like a tradition. Because it is a leg-end.
Cacothes Scribendi inquires, (before embarking in the business) whether poets do not have more difficulty in settling their bills, than in writing verses. No doubt of it; their cant-os do not give them half the uneasiness that their cant-pays, do.
Horse Marine asks where the cemetery of Neptune's family is located. At Bhering Straits, to be sure.
A Constant Reader inquires why the Editor of tue * Spirit of the Times' is like an account which has been due for some time. We suppose it is a BUI of long standing.
432 The BunkumviUe Chr&mde. [May,
Query asks why the wharves of New-York are always ruined in building them. We imagine it is because they are spiled, and think he had better examine Watts' celebrated treatise upon Dox-olog^ for farther information.
Swallow. — Can't inform you how it is that the mouths of rivers are larger than their heads. You had better apply to the Messrs. FowTer upon the subject
Reubin S. Spriggins indites the following epistle :
* Debc Sue : I see in the .' Sporit of the Tlmei* tother day, that some one dreMed him at * Dear Col.' Now I want to no if bo ia one of them Col-portera or not Caase my wife is dean a^in any thin' of the sort ; fcr she ses that wheniver any of them Coal-porters comes in fer their pay er cold wittles, they always leave dirty tracks upon her nice floor. r. s. s.'
We do not think he is one of the fraternity, although he has been engaged for a number of years in disseminating useful knowledge.
KNOWLEDGE FOR THE PEOPLE.
XUXBXR TWO.
rniLoso PHT.
This term is supposed to be derived from qulo goqpMx, Gr., the precise meaning of which nas never been properly ascertained ; it is how* ever supposed that the individuals who composed the class of ancient philosophers, porcine in their habits, and Daniel Lambertish in their peraons, were usually large enough to fill-a*sofa, and hence the term.
Others however assert that unlike their fellow mortals, they mourned the loss of their spouses, and were called from this singularity, ' Feel- loss-of-hers.' The mourning of learned females for tibeir lords was denominated * Feel-loss-of he.'
Philosophy is divided into Phys — nics — isms — onomys — fries — tys — mys — ures — sliips — ations — urgys — epys — omis — axes and ologys ; there are strictly speaking no ing — although * prize-fighting' is considered by some to be a science.
Chro-nology is the knowledge of exulting over a fallen foe.
Bi-OGRAPHY. — The art of purchasing bargains.
HoPLis-Tics. — The art of making bad debts.
PHARMA-coLoorA. — The first principles of manual labor institu- tions.
AcR-o-PHYsics. — The art of cultivating one hundred and sixty rods of medicinal herbs.
Path-olggy. — The art of road-making.
Call-ography. — ^ The art of visiting.
Phys-onomy. — The science of war.
Phrb-nics. — The art of helping yourself.
Dox-oLOGv. — The art of wharf building.
Psych-ology. — The doctrine of diseases.
Cat-optics. — The art of seeing in the dark.
1849.] The BtrnkmrnuiBe Okfrnkit. 45S
Phil-olost. — Tbe scieQce of repktioii.
HiKM-oLocT. — The nt of engmging serrants^ N. B. Br ^engagmg flerraotB,' prettj soubrettes are noC memnt.
Stx-tax. — The science of imposing fines tor mniewaeMnon.
Hti^bicks. — The art of concealment.
PrntB-ifoLOGT. — The art of cheap education.
The Stoic. — The fbHowers of which are steTedom^ stonge-men* etc
Tiu Cts-ic. — Persons of immoral character.
The Socbatic — Those who are in the habit of drinking deeply upon czediL
MISCELLANT.
PnvNiKG, says Doctor Johnson is the lowest species of wit No doubt of it. Doctor, as it is the foundation of all other.
The Battle op Hastings was equally disastrous to Harold the Dauntless, and Edward the Bold. Rumor asserts that the first haxing escaped with his life, hid his head in the monkish cowl. Perhaps the latter had better amputate his whiskers, and try a petticoat, especially as a petticoat has tried him.
Can't, Sir t said the great Chatham, jumping up and stamping his gouty feet upon the floor. Can't, Sir t 1 don't know the word. What a pity it is that the Mawworms of the present day were not blessed with similar ignorance.
We notice the marriage of Frederick Dickens. Eyory one grants that his brother has done well ; but it seems that Master Freddy has DONE Weller.
Many persons suppose that * Mose in New- York,' ' Moso in Cali- fornia,' etc., are new and original. No such thing. ' Mos^-in-Kgitto' was the first of the class, and is as old as the hills.
The shores of the Hudson, it is said, have no equals. It may be so, but they certainly have a great manypiers, at least in our vicinity.
Calves' heads and Ox Tails arojib England considered as delica- cies ; and if our butchers would save them for sale, they would be certain never to lose money, as they would then make both ends meat.
Cats and Pigeons, although they may have nothing of the India* rubber kind in their formation, are notoriously gutter-perohors.
A Shoemaker may be considered as entirely done up who is com- pelled to pawn his boot-trees, for he has then evidently come to his Uut legs. *
The race op Casars is not yet extinct, for we with our own eyes beheld but a few days past, a full half-dozen of those myrmi- dons, the Star Police, rushing along Broadway at top speed, in hot pursuit of a flying culprit
Professor Morse seems to have got Riley about his telegraphic rights. We fear that Judge Cranch's late decision may prove a Bain to his hopes. Should he be ultimately successful the House will prove too hot to hold his opponents.
434 The BunkumvOle Ckramele. [May,
A suBicRiBER has written us a yery bitter epistle indeed about rail-roads. He says that a few days since the cow-catcher of a loco- motive snatched up one of his best cows, and tossed her head over heels down a precipice. When found, the poor animal was past pray- ing for, as the dogs were already preying on her. She had not a particle of hide about her except the thicket in which her body was concealed ; and as if to cap the climax, the rail-road company sent in a bill for jerking beef.
The soldier, who, during the search for the body of Charles I .
Surloined a bone from the Eighth Harry, gave as a reason for so oing, that he always had obeyed the old rule : ^Nil de mortuu nUi bonumJ
ON D 1T8.
That there is not the slightest shade of truth in the story of a duel which came off between those public spirited individuals, young Mr. S. P. Townsend and old Dr. Jacob Townsend. An explosion of a large number of bottles containing molasses and water occasioned the report.
That Mr. Bamum has become an active member of the body of Shakes, and that he has already made large conversions to that sect
That fnend Fry, who began his season vrith a broil, has wound up in Boston by getting into a stew for not sbellmg out. We don't believe a word of it ; however, this shows the danger of catering to the oyster-ocracy, as diat bray-zen wretch, the great and good departed John Donkey used to call them. Being opposed to short names we hope that Max will make a million out of Uie opera though.
GEOGRAPHIC AND HISTORIC.
TIRST CLAM IN PAWTBOLOOT.
Master : ' John S.5£tubbs, arise and loquate.*
John S. Stubbs (after preparing his proboscis more dutrictscho' lastico) : ' Texas is bounded on the North by the North Pole, Mason and Dixon's line, and the California gold-diggin's ; on the East by Sunrise ; on the South by Morse's Patent and Howland and Aspin- wall's Rail-Road, when it is completed ; and on the West by the Puttybottomy Injuns ; w'ich, as they won't keep quiet, makes a very uncertain and disputed boundary indeed.
' The principal towns is considerably disseminated, and more re- markable for number than size. They are generally built of mud, clam-shells and logs, and it takes jest a grocery to make one.
* The rivers is supposed to be overflowin' with whiskey and water, but some folks says it 's only milk and honey.
' It was discovered about the beginnin' of the present ery by Par- son Lester, author of a * Row at Genoa,' the late ' Kate Woodhull,' etc., etc., and described by him in a work whose wonderful beauty
1849.] The Btmkumville Chnmide. 485
of style can only be equalled by its truthfulness of narration. After the discoTery he immediately made a present* of it to Big Sam, a Cherokee chief, and it was subjugated by him after a desperate con- flict, in which the enemy ran away before they commenced fighting. In this affair Sam shot off the wooden leg of a flyin' saint, and for- warded it immediately to Mr. Bamum by Morse's telegraph.
' The principal perductions is sweet-pertaters, young niggers, tiger-cats, alligators, Comanche Injuns, horn-toads and feyer-'n'-ager.
' The sweet-pertatera is used to fatten the young niggers on, who attain to such a monstrous size upon this kind of feed, that they would outgrow their clothes immediately if tibey had any. The skua of the pertaters is used by the natiyes for clothin'. The alli- gator is a polyfibious quadruped, liyes in the mud, breathes in the water, and sleeps on the land ; their food is hogs, dogs and young niggers, and they eat the last without cookin'. The tiger-cats is a yery pugnashus animal of the feeling kind, and comes up to the scratch on all occasions. The Comanches is hunted like deer for their skins and saddles, and is sometimes used in the manefactur' of Injun bread. The feyer-'n'-ager is a great blessin', as it is the only exercise the people take ; and during the bearing season the fhiit- trees is innoKilated with it, by means of which their contents is dis- charged without farther notice.'
ADVERTISEMENTS.
To Literary Men. — The most liberal price will be paid for pur- loined letters, especially if they contain state secrets, or those of an extremely priyate nature, if they affect the welfare and happiness of well-known families and indiyiduals.
The preemption-right of scandalous stories taken on shares ; if settled upon African principles, one-half to go to the finder ; and if published, a yery handsome allowance made him.
Secret treaties purchased at an extra price ; and as we are op- posed to all monopoly, no preference will be shown to old operators, out new genu always engaged.
Any quantity of Mrs. Harrises wanted to get up tales of disease and death, box the compass upon all subjects, and furnish us with paper duels and fracases between important pei'sonages, (senators, etc.,) originating in discourses concerning tne matchless purity, honesty, truth and prophetic mind of the subscriber. As the princi- pal branch of the Harris family is probably now in California, a per- son is wanted immediately to take his place ; one of similar connu- bial experience will be preferred.
Suits entered immediately against any one who may dare to call in question the yirtue and honor of any of our employees. Also, a quantity of good wood-ashes will be purchased, as we require the strongest kind of lie to brighten our type and keep it in order. ^
N. B. — No information concerning O'ConneVs mode of receiying foreigners of distinction wanted at any price. saibt Gamp.
436 Tke BunkumvUle Chramde. [^&7>
Drt-nurse Wanted. — A daily and weakly newspaper, whose pa is soon expected^ to abandon it for Wasbin^n, will oe in great want of its usual pap and soft fixin's. Any person competent to ad- minister these necessaries will please express his opinions upon paper and direct, through the P. O., to soft coui.
STATE OF THE MARKET.
Bristles. — Decidedly rising, especially among some disappointed Whig politicians.
Hops. — Rather declining, the warm weather having produced an un&vorable effect ; and it is rumored that the bouse of Whale and Daughter are about retiring for the season.
Hams and Pork. — In a sad pickle: some sage operators deci- dedly stuck.
POETRY.
C0LEMANIC8: 21 U M B £ R ONE.
'Lex Talionis.'
' Wbat 's sauce for the goose is sance for the gander.' (A free traaslaticc )
'Vbrba llQtantk Historia xnaaet.' — Autbob's Motto.
Tbkbk lived a doctor once, not M. D., bat of Uwt, Who boasted of a dubious Uod qf fame.
Had fought and won in many a deip'rate caa«e. And blazed away at any Und of game,
For money or a name.
This doctor had a student, Tox ; a youth Whose brain in deriltry concocting, or to hatch
A piece of mischief, was in truth For his Satanic Majesty a match.
Would flax old Scratch.
The years rolled by, and Toac, a pert attorney, Has started off to try his maiden cause ;
And in his gig, companion of his joumej, Behold our quonaam friend. Doctor of Laws, Wagging his jaws.
' Tom,* quoth the doctor, ' you have learned from me All tiEat the courts require of legal lore To pass as an attorney ; but, d' ye see, I yet have kept for you one secret more, In store.
• When this important secret you have learned.
And I '11 impart for a consideration You will confess I have most fairly earned. You then are fitted for your situation,
In each relation. .
' Now, Tom, drive on your horse a little quicker,
And get to BonirACK's time to dine; He has the venr best of prog and liquor — You pay the bill for dinner and for wine.
The secret 's thine I'
1849.] Birth'Day Thoughts. 487
Tom ttnight contents and quick the fecret aaka,
Lett the inTalnable chance be missed. ' 'T is thia,' quoth Doc. ; * 't will not your mem'ry task :
All thinga deny, and i^on proof insist,'
Poor ToK looked triste I
The dinner oTer, both about half shot,
' You pay the bill/ says doctor to the youth. < I— pay —the —bill f that falls not to my lot ;
/ ooiy every iMng^ and inaitt on proof*. • Catch sw, forsooth I'
All of our sabscribers iu arrears will please come forward immediately, or else we shall punish them by printing a ' Chronicle' of twice the usual length, and sending them two copies, together with Foot's last great speech. p. pnn>Am, Ja.
^P* Our next will contain the commencement of a very extraor- dinary prize-tale, entitled * The Future Rip Van Winkle,' Pindar's letter to ' Punch,' and sundry other uoTelties, ' too tedious to mention.'
BIRTH-DAY THOUGHTS.
Another year ! the arrowy fliffht . Of BunMams from their golden home Ii not more grateful or more bright, Than those fflad honrs of joy and light That sparkle on life's spring-tide foam.
These pregnant hours, when Hope and Youth
A lore-gemmed wreath together twine To crown the soul, while sterner Truth, To guard the flowers from taint or ruth. Draws near tp bless their eariy shrine.
Our boyhood's time ! let cynics tell
Of wasted seasons, ill-spent yean ; Their horologe, the funeral knell, Makes discord with the merry bell
That lulls or scatters all our fears.
Peace to the Past ! though life may be
In future stormily o'emung. Leave no dark clouds upon thy lea To gloom the page of memory.
When Age shall press on heart and tongue :
But onward, upward bending sUIf,
Let Energy's faith-lighted flame Bum dauntless inyonr breast, and fill Your eye, while virtue's conscious thrill
Illumes your brow and gilds your name.
So shall the gathered mists that veil
Life's dim and strangely-chequered way Evanish like the mists that scale The ocean rock, 'neath midnights paloi
Before the baming eye of £iy. c. a. claus.*
438 Ouar Spring Birdi. [May^
#ur Aptlng 3B(ttis.
TEE BLinB-BIBD.
' Wnrif fint the lone butterfly flite on the wlxxg.
When red glow the maple^ eo fresh and eo pleaelng. O. then cornea the Blae-Biro. the herald of Spring,
And hails with hia warhlings the charma of the seaacxu'— TViie^x.
A BIRD, perched on my garden rally
While faUb the driizling rain. And nature hath a voice of wall,
Ontpoon a cheerful strain. Wherewith can I compare the hue
That decks its back and wings — Old Ocean's azure, or the Uue
0*er Heaven that June-time flings?
Oh, no ! the fresh deep tint they wear
That clothes the violet flower, When nodding in the vernal air
And laughing in the shower. From earth I feel my soul withdrawn,
I am a child again. While thus flows eloquently on
The burthen of its strain :
* Wipe, weeping April ! from thine eyee
Away the rainy tears, A voice that tells of cloudless skies
Is ringing in mine ears :. Fair flowers, thy daughters, mourned as dead,
Will start up from the mould, Aud, filled with dewy nectar, spread
Their leaflets as of old.
< The brotherhood of trees — the strong —
Green diadems will wear. And sylphs of summer all day long
Braid roses in their hair ; And, harbinger of weather mild.
The swallow will dart by. While brighter green adorns the wild,
And deeper blue the sky.
< Soon, April, will thy naked brows
With frap^rant wreaths be crowned. And low winds in the leafy boughs
Awake a slumberous sound. Charged by a Powsa who made my way
Through airy deserts plain, I come to breathe a truthful lay
And make thee smile again.'
1849.] The St. Leger Papers. 439
Plumed pilgrim from a loathem thore,
Thrice welcome to our land ! Telling the bard of good in storey
Of golden hours at hand. Throbs merrily thy little breast*
In reddish vestiire clad ; A scene of sorrow and unrest
Thou comesty bird, to glad !
So through thy hall, oh, human hearty
Its inner gloom to light. Says of celestial sheen that dart
Herald the death of night ; Telling full sweetly of a clime
Where Winter is unknown, Of fields beyond the shore of Time,
With flowers that die not strown.
THE SAINT LEGER PAPERS.
• xooND axaixa.
The months and the seasons glided on. I was not always to live in Leipsic ; not always to be a student, and I knew it Scenes of action which lay before me, though far in the distance, began to assume a real aspect Away from my country, I had the opportunity of view- ing it from a new point of observation. I began to reflect upon the constitution of my native land, its mannei-s, its laws, its customs. Oc- casionally my blood would quicken as ambitious desires and fancies floated tibrough my brain, while something whispered that I was dreaming away my life. 'Whispered' do I say* Heavens! At times the words of the dying student :
' Shake off this chronic dreain>life and act V
rang in my ears as if sounded by the trumpet of the archangel ; while the quiet earnest question of Theresa : ^It it not action that you most require V penetrated my heart, leaving a deep dull pang there.
I could endure it no longer, and iust as 1 had resolved to break away from Leipsic I receiv^ the following letter :
* Why do I write to you when it is too latet Why do I remind yoa of yoor promised aid when I am beyond the reach of aid ? It is because my heart is bursting and I mmmC have one •dlaoe ; that of telling yon all. Oh I my kinsman, pitr me. My father is dead. He died in that fearful island ; a place to me of abominations. He diea and left me — how can I blister the pan bT naming it — > the affianced of Count Vautakt f I know not how it was. I know not ho w it is. My mind is confused ; my heart is dead; I, myself am nothing — noUdng, Whom I wrote to you a long, long time since, I expected from sereral strange mnts whieh I had recelTed firom Covnt Vaotilkt, to hare been forced to put myself under the protection of my English friende. But the threatened catastrophe passed away. Years ran by, nappy years to me. ah ! never to return ; but I cannot allude to ham»ines8 now. A fisw mooths ago I was hastily summoned to
for me till the laat moment
440 The St. Leger Papers. [May,
'Oh I it wu erident that he miut die. My father— myfiather— diel Bat whom, think joa, I found as his attendant f — LAunENT db Vautaet t I did not understand iL I cannot now under- stand it ; but so it was. My father's manner to me was kind and tender. He would call me often to his bedside apparently with the intention of communicating sometiiing, and then as if tmable to speak, he would caress me tenderly and bid me sit by his side. He grew weaker and weaker. I longed to know what was in his heart. I dreadedf to know too, for something told me it had reference to Vautkxt and mTsell One erening he seemed weaker than usoaL He beckoned me to come to him ; I obeyed, but he did not speak. At last I addressed him :
* * Dear father, tell me what is on your mind ; ,it concerns me I know. Do not fear, I will re- ceire it as you wish.'
* My father started as if an adder had stung him. Then he tried to smile, then he looked sadly and shook his head.
' * Speak, I implore you,' I cried. * Name your wishes and you wUl find in me an obedient child.' ' ' My daughter I' was the response ; and my father's Toice grew husky as he spoke :
* * My daughter, you mtM n>ed Count Vautreif*
' I neither shrieked nor started; I did not change color or faint; I did not fall prostrate : I stood erect — 1 stood firm ; but — do not think I rave — could the entire misery of a lifo time the most miserable be concentrated upon one single instant, and the heart steeped in it> scarcely should it equal the wo which that brief sentence brought upon me t
* ' ItotiU* was my firm and almost sudden response.
« My faUier was startled but not deceived ; he knew the effort which those two brief words had cost me.
< * Do you nott* he demanded, ' seek to know '
' * Not one word. Oh I my father ; it is enough that I know it to be necessary, else you would not have commanded it.' * ' I would not. But let me tell you — '
* * Spare me — spare me, again interrupted I. Let mj time be devoted to making your suffer- ings lighter ; forget me, I shall do well enough, fry andhy. I muttered the last wordis to myself, but my father still surveyed me anxiously.' Presently he said :
• ' Shall I can LAuasNr here V
* • If you please.'
* Count Vautiubt was summoned.
' My father pronounced us affianced, and I hurried to my apartment Tke% — oh ! tJun^ I gave loose to my feelings, not bv tears and lamentations — these were denied to me ; but by — oh OoD I I dare not speak of tne horrors of that awful night. About midnight I was told tluit mv father was dying. I hurried to his bedside, but it was too late. He did not recognise me, ana after a few moments he ceased to breathe.
*I will not attempt to describe my situation or what I suffered.
' I left St. Kilda and came direotiv hither. I made it a stipuUted condition with Count VAmcr, that he should leave me to myself until the time fixed by my father for the nuptials — nupdala !
* I feap to tell you where I am going. I know tluit you are a St. Leffer, and that you would hasten to relieve me. But I will not be; reuieived. I too am a Sl Leger. I have promised that 1 wiD wed Count Vautxxt, and by heaven I will keep my vow.
< How fearlessly I write; but ah I mykinsman,thereare times when this iron resolution bends and quivers like the pliant reed, and la very woman, weep and weep until it should seem that I had wept my heart away. Oh God I what shall I do. I will keep my promise to my ftther. He had a fearful reason for exacting it.
' Something mysterious and dark and inexplicable is connected with all this. But come Hxe — come destiny, the sacrifice is ready. Farewell. lvila st. Lsasa.*
Again at a crisis in my existence did a letter from Leila bring me back to myself. Tbere was a certain something about that letter which con- veyed the idea to me more forcibly than the former one, that Leila re- garded me as a kinsman merely. Strange to say, at this time the discovery did not disappoint or grieve me. What had become of those enthusiastic feelings which I experienced at St Kilda 1 Where were the raptures, the ecstasies, the transports which I enjoyed when gazing at the spai'kling stars from the summit of Hirta, when I thought of Leila and Leila only ? Again I exclaimed : shall there ever be any thing tan- gible in the awful past 1 and some fiend whispered in my ear — never / and I shuddered and prayed : * Oh ! not so — not so.' But the letter, it served its office. It roused me. It disenchanted me. I read and re-read the epistle in hopes that something in it would throw light upon her residence. But I looked in vain. I carried it to Theresa and asked her advice. Women are so quick-witted in such matters,
Theresa read the letter carefully, then raised her eyes to mine and said : * The case is most pitiable ; how wrong the decision. Do you know if she loves somebody V
1849.] Tke St. Leger Pigpen. 441
' I do not'
' It seems to me that her heart is interested. So passionate ; so determined* Alas ! with such feelings, if she has lived in the world, and you say she has, she has been interested. Her heart is occupied. I think so.'
* Why do you think so, Theresa V
* How can it be otherwise ? Who can resist ordained necunty ? It rules every where. Hunger demands food at the point of the stiletto — necessity. Weariness woos the balmy breath of sleep on the dizzy height where the slightest misstep should be fatal ; agam — necessity. The body seeks and must have its accustomed exercise or it loses its accustomed strength — necessity yet. And the giant passions which inhabit around the soul, they must have scope ana ex- ercise and food, or they prowl within and ravage and devastate and lay waste there. Behold — necessity f*
* You give strange attributes to your sex.'
' Attributes !' exclaimed Theresa, with more warmth than I had ever seen her exhibit ; ' How dearly does woman pay for all her at- tributes. If her mind is strong, it frets and chafes because it is cramped down and confined to the narrow sphere which man has chosen to allot to it. If alas ! her soul is passionate, hovr surely will it be con- sumed within her, or become the subject of injury and abuse. If she is loving and trustful, how is she doomed to disappointment or disgust. If her heart yearns for the companionship of man, how chilled and crushed does that heart become when she finds that man treats her as a plaything instead of a companion. If she scorns the trammels with which her sex are confined, she encounters misapprehension and the severest censure. Rebellious, she is coerced ; submissive, she is by turns caressed and trampled upon. To wait and not murmur ; to expect and not complain ; to live and move and have her being, as if she lived not, moved not and had no being ; to be sacrificed, to suffer, to be silent —> is the destiny of woman !'
* Oh 1 Theresa. Where did you gather such fearful thoughts V
* Here /' said my companion, laying her hand upon her heart and looking at me in her earnest manner, yet just as tranquil, just as com- posed as ever. ' I do not say that I have experienced,' she continued, 'My spirit teaches me that I speak truth.'
' But how do you remain so calm always 1 Why are you never ex- cited 1 What power do you invoke to maintain such serenity of soul V
* The power of the soul is resident in itself, it does not need the help of human appliances. I seek the aid of the Most High to sus- tain it:
* Theresa, have you loved V • • ' •
There — I had asked a question which I had been waiting fi>r an opportunity to put ever since I first saw my friend. Twenty times at least I had had it on my lips and each time I lacked the courage to speak out Now I had spoken. * * * *
* Theresa, have you loved V What a bold home thrust ! What a direct downright not-to-be-escaped interrogatory to one who, when she spoke, always uttered truth. . . . • .
VOL. zxzni. 41
442 Tke St. Leger Papert. [May,
' Theresa, have you loved V The maiden cast her calm blue eye upon mine, and its gaze seemed to search my inmost being. In that eye I could read little, save perhaps a slight, almost imperceptible, look of scorn ; no not scorn, but rather an enduring self-relying look which at times resembles scorn ; her brow appeared broader, her coun- tenance nobler ; but she did not speak, and in this way we sat looking at each other. I had committed myself, and could not recede. I repeated the question.
* Have you loved V
The eye of the maiden changed again ; that strange calm impertur- bable eye ; and became almost mournful in its expression, as she ut« tered with quiet distinctness —
*No!'
I took a long, deep breath ; perhaps in the course of the conver- sation I had unconsciously held ray breath ; this would account satis- &ctorily for the relief I experienced, for I did feel relieved. I felt reproached too for my rudeness. I hastened to ask forgiveness.
' Pardon me, Theresa ; it was very uncivil. But I could not resist the impulse.'
' It was not right ; but you cannot tease me,' said Theresa* gently. ' Let us speak of your relative. You should do your utmost to save her from so dreadful a fate.'
' Do you really think I should interfere V (I proceeded in the con- versation with a light heart.)
' I think you should seek your cousin and endeavor to alter her decision. When the happiness of a young creature is staked upon such a certain issue it seems dreadful to allow it to come to pass. 13e- hold an opportunity for you to act; set aboudt. See what you can do:
Here our conference was interrupted. I retired to my room. In a short time I had finished three letters ; one to my father, one to my mother, and one to Hubert MoncriefT.
In the letter to my father, I asked permission to leave Leipsic and make a continental tour, this had been promised to me when I left England, and I ventured to suggest that the time had arrived when I could best profit by the permission.
To my mother I wi'ote a letter full of questions. I asked for an explanation of the singular life which my aunt Alice led ; it was always a forbidden thome at home. I begged for an account of her history. I asked about Wilfred St. Leger, and about Leila, and sd>out Laurent de Vautrey.
To Hubeit I wrote, as I suppose, young men usually write to each other. I challenged him to come over and accompany me in my travels. I gave a glowing description of what we should hear and see and do. I spoke of our friendship, our congeniality of feeling, etc., etc, and wound up with a reference to our exciting voyage to St Kilda. In a postscript, I inquired of Hubert, if he had heard any thing more of the WcBdallah or his daughter, and in a Nota Bene, I asked, ' What of Vautrey ; did you ever hear any thing farther from him ]'
1849.] The SL Leger Papen. 443
After I had despatched these letters, I felt much more at ease. I did not doubt that my father would consent to the proposed tour, as its advantage was advocated by the Professor, who certified in an
ale manner to the proficiency I had made as a student. Beside, I nearly attained my majority, in another month I should be one* and-twenty ! • •
I waited patiently for answers to the letters. Hubert's came first. Youth best sympathizes with youth. In his epistle, my postscript and Nota Beiu were first noticed. Hubert had a long story to relate of the ' death of the Woedallah, of the sudden appearance one night of the ' beautiful Leila' at Glencoe, attended onlv by her servants. Of a long conference with the Earl his father, of which he could discover , nothing ; of her leaving the next day ; of his endeavors to ascertain' fon my account as he assured me) her whereabouts. That he could and out nothing, discover nothing except that Margaret, who was ac- q^uainted with every thing, heaven only knew how, had inadvertently spoken of Leila as living at Dresden, that he had affected not to no* tice the remark, and had afterward tried to find out something more, but in vain. That he knew nothing of Vautrey at all ; but rumor had associated his name with that of the fair ' Leila.'
Hubert regretted that he could not join me in my proposed tour, but the thing was impossible ; the whole house was m uproar pre- paring for two bridals. His sister Margaret was about to wed a young £nglish nobleman, and his brother Francis was to be married on the same day to the Lady Annie, now sole heiress of Glenross.
' So you see,' continued the letter, ' the ftites keep me here, when I had a thousand times rather be away with you. We must bide our time ; but we will have a scamper together yet. By the way, old Christie often inquires for you. He says ye are a ' lad of mickle spirit, only a bit whittie-whattieing like ; mair the pity, puir fellow.' I will write you again after these confounded— * pshaw, I mean these happy — bridals are over. Good-bye.'
At the bottom of the sheet was traced a single line, in an exquisite- ly neat hand,
' Do not forget Ella.'
How much ^ood that letter did me ! How it opened the door to my pent-up spirit! How suddenly did it revive all the excitine scenes which I witnessed in the Highlands ! And how distinctly did it bring back the captivating face and form of Ella Moncrieff ! Be- sides, I learned where Leila was ; at least I was not inclined to doubt the correctness of the information.
' In a few days letters from home came to hand. I eagerly ran over the package. I opened my father's first, and looked far enough to see that my request was granted, and then, without stopping to read it, I opened the one from my mother. It was like all her let- tersi anxiously affectionate, showing the strong and ever watchful so- licitude of parental affection. In reply to my queries the answers were brief. She said that no one could account for the malady (so my mother termed it) that afilicted the Lady Alice ; that in her youth she enjoyed all that Atation, wealthy beauty and a remarkable intellect
444 The St Leger Papers. [May,
could bring ; that she was univenally sought after and coarted ; but she was m>m childhood possessed of strange eccentricities. Her head was filled with plots and adventures, and tales of chiralroua deeds. She was always playing some strange part in some strange
Serformance. She hated men as a race, or rather she deroised them. he believed them all to be, without exception, unreliable and cor- rupt, and when young took delight in humoling the haughtiest. By decrees she excluded herself from the world, until, by hptbitual in- dulgence in her strange mode of life, she became what she then was. There were singular scenes said to have transpired between Wilfred St. Leger and herself, and also between her and Wilfred the youneer. On one occasion, it is said that she plunged a dagger into the feuer, declaring that he should die rather than disgrace his name, which came near proving fktal ; and that on another occasion she threatened the son with alike vengance, unless he abandoned his irregular course of life. That Wilfied rtie younger was the fether of Leila St. Leger, about whom I had inquired, and of whom she could tell me nothing ; except that her father was dead, and Leila was living with a relative somewhere on the continent ; that she was to marry the Count de Vautrey, of whom she knew very little ; that when a small boy he had spent a few weeks at Bertold castle, in company with one of her kmsmen, a Moncrieff ; that the child at that early age inspired every one with aversion, not to say hatred towards him. She knew nothmg of his residence. •
My vaeue associations connected with thb man were not mere dreams after all, said I to myself, as I finished reading the letter. Strange that in my inftincy he should have been for a season under the same roof with me, and that we should have met as we did, and — and — conjecture with its shapeless, unformed images beean to fill my brain, and I was fast sinking into a mazy revery, when I remem- Imred that my fiftther's letter remained unread. I took it up, and as it is short, I will give it to the reader.
* Mt Dkar Son : I eonsent to your proposed tour, and am latitfled, firom what I leara from the good doctor, with your proficiency while at Lcipsic. Aa you are now a man, and are hence- forth to think and act for yourself^ I have no with to fetter or restrabi you. I hare no fear that yon will forget roar sense of accountability to Almighty God, or Uie claims of conacieaoe. For I hare confidence in your principles, and in your uprightness of character. Enclosed you
will find a bill of exchange upon for £ and a letter of credit upon the tame houe
oalimited. Your mother writes by this post I pray God's blessiug to rest upon you.
From your affectionate fitther,
Gut R 8. St. Lboxb.
P. 8.— Trust no Frenchman — beliere in no French woman. France has been a coree to our nation, and Frenchmen and French women a curse to our family.' G. H. S. St. L.
If ever captive felt lightness of heart when his chains were struck off* and he set at liberty, after breathing for a season the noisome at- mosphere of a dungeon ; if ever convalescent was cheered by the pleasant sunlight and the refreshing breeze, after the confinement of a long and dangerous sickness; if ever mariner, tempest-tossed for months, hailed with transport the sight of the green ecoth, then did I feel lightness of heart, then was I cheered, then transported, at the prospect of this change of life ! How the blood Went galloping through my veins f ' fwill pack up to-day : I wUl set off to-m<mx>w.
1849.] Tk4 St. Leger Papen. 445
Now for life ! Ha ! Pleasure, I will msp you yet 1 Change, no- velty, new scenes, new actions. Freedom, ay, freedom ! —freedom fi>r any thing. Away ! By Heaven, I will shut out every thing but UtoB present purpose ! I vnU live a while without the interference of that surly make-weight that hangs like lead about my heart Up and out into life ! Already is my appetite sharpened for adventure ; already do a thousand tumultuous thoughts crowd upon me.
' Italy ! Italy ! I shall see thy soft skies ; I shall revel in thy clas- sic groves, O, Tuscany ! I shall wander through thy imposing niinSy Eternal City 1
'Spain! Spain !-^how sweet the anticipation of thy beauties I Already do I see thv sunny plains and thy stately palm-groves, thy orange-walks and thy delicious gardens. Hark! I hear the soft music of the evening guitar. Hark again I — the tinkling of the muleteer's bell ereets my ear. 'T is evening ; the maidens of Anda- lusia are on the bal^nies, listening to the impassioned serenade. I come ! I come I Soon will I behold this birth-place of passion, this home of love I
' What if the heart grow cold 1 — what if the cheek wrinkle and the eye become dim t Youth, youth, let me but enjoy ye ! Give me but the experience of joy, passion, love, jealousy, hate ; let me see beauty and call it mine ; let me put foith my hand and clutch what looks so bright and glittering ; baubles they may be, but let me clutch them. Let me see and know and feel, instead of taking it upon trust, what doth and what doth not perish with the using ; then ap- proach, ye ministers of fate, and do your worst upon me !'
In the midst of a rhapsody which I attempt now to describe, the door opened gently and Theresa Von Hofrath entered the room. The fever-current of passion was calmed ; the exciting visions of pleasure dissolved apace ; only my heart continued to beat quickly as before, yet with a neavier pulsation. The letters lay before me ; I was standing gazing at them. Theresa came a few steps toward me and stopped. I advanced to meet her.
' I have got letters from home at last.'
' And can you eo V asked Theresa.
'Ye..' ' ^
' Oh, how happy am I to hear it ! Now all will be well. And' you can so V
'Yes.'
Theresa's countenance actually lighted up with happiness; her whole manner changed ; she was almost enthusiastic in her hopes for me. It seemed as if 1 had never half appreciated her. A strange feeling oppressed me ; I came near bursting into tears. By the way, I never could account satisfactorily for the peculiar moods that at times come over us. Thei-e is a subtle spirit within, which suddenly, unexpectedly acts upon the instant, baffling and contradicting and defying all form, all habit, all rule and all philosophy ; some remnant of some brighter period of the soul, vindicating by its potency the hypothesis of a time anterior, when form and habit and rule and phi- losophy were -^n^/ • . • . •
446
Tke 8t. Leger Paper*.
While I Btood oppressed by strange feelings, Theresa had left the room* .••••••
In two days I was ready to quit Leipsic. I was to eo in to town in the evening, to be ready for the Schnell-post, which started the next morning. The Professor insisted upon accompanying me to the hotel. ......
Yes, every thine was ready, and with my cloak across my arm, I tamed to meet Theresa, who was coming to the door. I took her hand ; a cheerful ' Grood-by 1' passed my lips ; it was re^hoed by her. The Professor had reached the carnage, and I hastened to join him. .......
I did not look back to see Theresa again !
LAMENT FOR AN EARLY FRIEND.^
BT QKOnoiAlTA U. STKCa.
O LoviKo friend of ranny honn.
Friend too of darker days, The grief that mourns for tbee is dumb,
Powerless to speak tby praise : It cannot be that sods are prest
Upon thy coffin-lid, And tby bright presence in the graro
Forever more lies hid I
Oh ! when before was thought of grief
With thought of thee allied f Or what the wo that could not find
Some solace at thy side ? O joyous, loring, hopeful, true !
The sun-shine thou hast gircn To mnny a lone and weary path
Now marks thy track to hesTon.
Ah I what a throng of memories
Start at a name so dear ! Too bright, too radiant a train
To circle round a bier I Our 0tar>lit hours beneath the elms
Of thine ancestral home, The murmurs of those waving boughs,
How like a wail they come I
Scenes of the past ! bloom -laden trees.
Glad birds on glanclne wing, And a young spirit revelling
In the briffht burst of vpring : And thy delight when woodland haunts
Glowed in autumnal prime ; Oh ! must thy life no Autumn know,
Smitten in Summer-time f Norwieh^ Conn.
B ut Autumn's work on thee wm done ;
Mellowed, and gently riven From earthly lifers too keenezoets,
And early ripe for Heaven, Few of earth's woes for thee rafflced :
Spirit in rare accord. With all earth's choicest harmoniae.
Thy home is with the Lomo 1
Yet, while the open portals wait.
And angel-vofees, not unknown. Give thee glad welcome, lingering yet.
Thine ear hears but our moan ; Lingering with words of loving clieer»
Unselfish to the end. Mindful, amid the dews of death,
Of message to thy friend :
Lingering, to leave in infant hearts
A lender, haunting tone. The sole memorial of a love
Henceforth for them unknown ; Lingering with filial heart, to clasp
The bowed forms of the old, And cast one ffleam of Paradise
Back on their landscape cold :
It were deep wrong to love like thine.
Wrong to thy latest prayer, To yield thy gentle mmistries
No hold on our despair : Guide us, ye angels ot her way,
Twin- spirits. Hops and Lotk, And thou, O Faith, in death her stay,
On to her home above 1
*MARr, wife of Williaic B. BaiaTox.. Es^, of Kow-Hsven. Cozia
LITERARY NOTICES.
Thx NoMTH-AmEMTCAN Rktikw for the April Quarter. Boston: C. C. LrnxK and Jahbs BftovN. New- York: C. S. F&ANCia and Company.
There are ten articles proper in the present nnmber of the < North American/ inchiding a cluster of five briefer * Critical notices.' They are upon the foUowinj^ subjects : < The Men . and Brutes of South Africa ;* Channino on Etherisation in Childbirth ; * The Empire of Brazil ;' ' Anthonys Ciceeo and Tacitus ;* Ellit*8 « Women of the Revolution ;' Morell's History of Philosophy :* * llie Female Poeii of America ;' ' Pronunciation of the Latin Language ;' * Ancient Monmnents in America ; and < Mrs. Sigournet's Pobms.* The two papers first named above are in matter and spirit varied and interesting, and but for a lack of the requisite space we should be glad to make good our opinion by liberal extracts, which we indicated in pencil as we read them. The article upon the two Latin works of Dr. Antbon is written with premeditated severity, and brings charges of plagiarism, assumption and error, against that eminent scholar, which we cannot doubt will elicit an early response at the bauds of the Professor. Mrs. Ellbt*s * Women of the Revolution,' heretofore cordially commended in these pages, receives tho warm eulogiums of the reviewer. We were struck with the force and felicity of these opening remarks: ' Considering how highly every ago has prized the history and biography of previous times, it is mat- ter of surprise that there are not always found those who systematically record pass- ing events and delmeate living characters. Fame is, indeed, in a good degree, an affair of distance. It is difficult for friends, associates, or contemporaries to be sure that actions or events, which arise from the present condition of things, will seem as im- portant to posterity as to those who have an immediate interest in the emergencies which gave them birth. But the desire to know what has been done and said by those who have gone before us — who helped to prepare the world for the coming of our day — is so universal, and we are so often vexed to think we know so little, that it seems wonderful that mere sympathy should not lead us to prepare pleasant things of this sort for the people whose pioneers we are. How delicious are the bits of private history now and then fished up from the vast sea of things forgotten ! How we pounco upon some quaint diary, some old hoard of seemingly insignificant letters, some enlight- ening passage in an old author, who little suspected his blunt quill of playing the part of an elucidator of history ! What could repay the world for the withdrawal from its knowledge of the straight-forward fibs of Sir John Mandeville, illustrative as they are of the state of general credulity in his day 7 Or of Peft's Diary, or Horace Waltole^s, or Madame de SEViaNE*s letters, or Boz2t's inestimable jottings?' In
448 Literary Noticei. [May,
the paper upon < The Female Poets of America* are ooD«dered gome of the principal writen mentioned in the volomes of Min Carolinb Mat, Rbao, and GnvwoLD. The review is written in a kindly spirit, and its praise, if somewhat murersal, is not given without general discrimination. Mr. E. G. Squixr's work on the ancient west- em monuments is highly commended and liberally qnoted from ; and Mrs. Siooubiibt receives at the hands of the < North American' a notice which does justice to her fine moral and religious poetry. Taken as a whole, the present number of our venerable American Quarterly well sustains a reputation which is the growth of half a century.
Book op nit Hudson. Colleeted from the Tarioaa Worki of DnnsicR KifiCKSBBocnES* Edited by OBomxT Cbaton. In one Tolurne. pp.S15. New- York: G.P. PuTKAai.
Mr. Ievino, in a brief introduction to the very handsome and portable little Tolume before us, tells us that owing, as he does, many of his pleasant Hudson river aasodap tions to information derived in his youth from the venerable Knicksi^ockkr, he has thought that it would be an acceptable homage to that venerable shade to collect in «ne book all that he has written concetning the river which he loved so well. * It oe- eurred to me, also,' adds Mr. Crayon, < that such a volume might form an agreeable and mstructive hand-book to all intelligent and inquiring travellen about to e^qilOTe the wondeis and beauties of the Hudson.' Surely our author is not mistaken in thb ; for a more delightful steam-boat or rail-road companion could not possbly be ibond, than this book will be to the voyager on, or traveller along the Hudson. Among other sketches, we find here the admirable story, written by Mr. Irving for these pages, of ' The Guests ftom Gibbet-Island,' and the inimitable narrative of ' Woltkrt Wkbbbb* or Golden Dreams,' fh>m the latter of which let ns take a single diaracteristio pasnge^ describing Wbbser's young daughter and her lover :
' His daughter wu gndnslly growing to mttarity ; and all the world knowi that whes dragh- ten begin to ripen no fmit nor flower reooireB ao much looking after. I have no talent at deacribing female charma, else fain would I depict the progress of this little Batch beaaty. How her blue eyes grew deeper and deeper, and her cherry lips redder and redder ; and how she ripened and ripened, and rounded and rounded in the opening breath of sixteen summers, nntfl, in her seventeenth spring, she seemed ready to burst out of her bodice, like a half-blown roee- b«d.
' Ah, well-a-dar I could I but show her as she was then, tricked out on a Sunday morning, in the hereditary finerv of the old Dutch clothes-press, of which her mother had confided to her the key. The wodding>dress of her grandmother, modernized for use, with sundry ornaments handed down as heirlooms in the family. Her pnl e brown hair smoothed with buttermilk in flat waring lines on each side of her fair forehead. The chain of yellow virgin gold, that encircled her neck ; the little cross, that Just rested at the entrance of a soft yallcy of happiness, as if it would sanctify the place. The —but pooh I —it is not for an old man like me to be proslBR about female beautv ; suffice it to say, Amt had attained her seventeenth year. Long since had her sampler exhibited hearts in couples desperately transfixed with arrows, and true lovers' knots worked in deep-blue silk ; and it was evident she began to languish for some more inte- resting occupation than rearing of sunflowers or pickling or cucumbers.
' At this critical period of female existence, whence, when the heart within a damsel's bosom, like its emblem, the miniature which hangs virithoat,is apt to be engrossed by a single image, a new visitor began to make his appearance under the roof of Wolpkxt WxiBxa. This was PtiK WALoaoN, the only son of a poor widow, but who could boast of more fathers than any lad in the province ; for his mother had had four husbands, and this only child, so that though bom in her last wedlock, he might fairly claim to be the tardy fruit of a long course of cultiva. tieiL This son of four fathers united the merits and the vigor of all his sires. If he had not a gresit family before him, ho seemed likely to have a great one after him ; for you had only to look at the fresh bucksome youth, to see that he was formed to be the founder of a mighty race.
* This youngster gradually became an intimate visitor of the family. He talked litUe, but he sat long. He filled the father's pipe when it was empty, gathered up the mother's knitting-nee> die or ball of worsted when it fell to the ground; stroked the sleek coat of the tortoise-shell «at, and replenished the tea-pot for the daughter from the bright copper kettle that sang before the fire. All these quiet little offices may seem of trifling import; but when true love u trans- lated into Low Dutch, it is in this way that it eloquently expresses itself They were not lost npon tho WxBBxa fianily. The winning youngster found marvellous favor in the eyca of the
1849.
Literary Natieet.
449
motber ; the tortoliewUieU est, albeit tiie moet ataid and demure of her kind, gaTe indubitable
I approach ; and if the sly gliinceB of the danffhter might be rightly readTaa she aat bridling and dimpling, and aewine by ner mother's aide, toe waa not a wmt behind Dame Wsbbxb, or
■igna of approbation of hia vidts ; the tea-kettle aeemed to sing out a cheering note of welcome
•tms approach; and if the sly * *
and dimpling, and aewing by n frimalUn, or the tea-kettle, in good will.'
Welly well — ' we say nothing ;' bnt if any of onr oldiih readen can penwe thb, and not think fsi being * carried back* to their younger days, why then * they are not the persona we took them for/ and we ' hold it meet that we shake hands and part' Good as ' Wolfert Webber* is, it is no better than the seven kindred sketches, some of them already ' married to aU coming generations,' which keep it company in this time- ly-issned volome.
FooT-PaxNTS. By R. H. Btodaabd. pp. 48. New-York: Spaldhto Hfn Sbzpabd.
Herb now is a yonng man, and a young writer, who will soon make himself fieiTora- Uy known to a wide circle of readers. In the first place, we cannot help thinking that he writes becaose he cannot help it His efFosions seem to ns to be the outpour- ing of natural thoughts in spontaneous verse. He observes well, moreover, and is veally a faithful limner of naturiB. Our readers will remember some graceful and pleasing lines upon ' Hariey River,' which were contributed by Mr. Stodda&d to the Knickerbookbr, and which we are glad to find included in the little pamphlet volume before us. They afford a fair example of the faithfulness with which he transfers natural pictures to the printed page. We would ask the reader's attention to the following lines, descriptive of several of the writer*s family pets :
' ' A LiTTLX child, a limber el^ Singing, dancing to herself;' Throuffh the lire-lona summer day, In nook»and places far away. Now in the forest, up the trees, Rocking, swinging In the breeze, Scattering dew from off the spray, On her face •— anon awaj, In a race with barking I^t ; Shaking her tresses to the wind.
Shouting, 8cami>ering o*er the plain ; llironffh uie wary meadow-grass,
Up the hill and down again. In the green-edged garden-walks.
With a wreath of roses crowned. Scaring fVom the flowers the bold Anny bees, with belU of gold ;
Chasing bntterflies aronnd : Tired of this, in the house she 'II hirk. And busy herself with knitting work ; And hide away in a aniet nook. And sit for hours witn a picture-book ; Nodding, falling aaleep at last,
If urmurinff in her sleep Of past delight, as a red-lipped shell,
On shore, of the sounding deep. *
* A pleaaant thing, a spirit bright, Full of gladneas and delight ; A little angol — strayed away From the walls of Heaven — at play ; Flying through its pearl6d gate Aner Morning's pomp and state ; Wandering to a world of care.
Sin, and sorrow, and despair ; Bfaking, with her angel-face, ' A sunshine in a shady place.'
•J o s.
* A LrrrLK youngster, fire years old, A roguish mad-cap, free and bold, Tricksy, firolicksome and gay, Plotting mischief all the day , Stealing Granny's spectaclea,
Loonmg as his een were dim. And the ivory-headed cane
And the wig of Uncle Tut ; Strutting with a manly etrlde,
Mockinff, httltating him; Romping in the shady nooks.
With our darling little Bus ; Peering over Wix.LT'a books.
Feigning deepest stndiouanesa ; Grave as a master in his school — Sitting on his little stool By our stately 'Bkx., be sure. Staid and sober and demure ; Makinff fkces unaware, Climbing Ruth's or Mother's chair. Tickling, letting down their hair ; Dropping with a merry shout, Laugning, chasing Kats about— Scamperina from room to room. Hiding in the curtained gloom — In the comers dim and cUrk
Huddlinff, crouching in the ahade. By his shuffling Ibet at laat
And hia amothered Ungh betrayed.'
Now take the foDowing, and observe, please, the little touches of natural pathos,
450
LUerary NoHeet.
[May.
not unlike those of Dickens, in his sketch of < Tint Tim,' which pervade the pieCim of the deformed little boy :
' Wiix ii an innoeent child.
With a full, great, earnest eye ; Where the tears do gush and start
Without a reason why : A fountain of pity his heart.
Whose waters are never dry j A thin and hectic cheek, A Toice gentle and meek,
Tremmous, soft and sbv, As he were afrsid to speak.
* WILX.T is lame, but he,
Dear heart I doth nerer complain ; He sits sometimM for hours.
With a look of sorrow and patn» Dreamy and sad and mute, Burreying his shrunken foot.
When Job and the neighbor lads,
A merry troop, are at play, He looks on, sad for a time,
With a sigh, and limps away •, Seeking some quiet nook.
Par from noise and folly, To read a religious book
Or weep in melancholy.
* Poor WxLLT 1 he seems to me
Out of his sphere, below ; Pining away ttke a bird of the South
In a region of ice and snow ;
A rare exotic, far
From its natire clime away. Transplanted in oold, ungenlal soil,
And withering day by day.'
We shall keep an eye npon Mr. Stoddabd ; for we are well assured thai he has that within him which will yet win for him an honorable repute in the world of poetry. We may be pardoned perhaps for advising him to avoid hasty pohlication* and to prune and revise carefully before giving his lucubrations to the public. This, with the study of good models, firom the golden age of English poetical literatare» can- not but prove beneficial. We commend his little venture to the hearts of our readen.
KspoBT OF THS DxmxcToss OF THX Nkw-Yokk AND Ebhe IUil-Road Coxfant to the Stoek- holders, in March, 1849. pp. 40. New-York : Snowdkn.
If all our readen could have been, as we have been, over the New-Yorik and Erie Rail-Road to its present temporary termination at Binghamton ; if they could see, ss we have seen, with admiration and a surprise that rose at times to a sense of sub- limity, the awful difiiculties of nature which have been boldly met and triumphantly conquered in the construction of this great work ; they would appreciate as we do, and acquire an interest in, the apparently dry details of a mere rail-road report like thb before us. The ' interest* of which we speak is not in our case at all a pecuniary one, since not a dollar of this rail-road stock ever found its way to our pocket ; it is the interest which is dlHved from seeing the results of a far-reaching forecast, qnoe unappreciated, if not ridiculed, made palpable to every observer ; from beholding the finition of well-directed enterprise, vigorously prosecuted, which has silenced doubt, and placed that which was deemed visionary beyond the reach of cavil or gainsaying. The present is the first full and detailed report which has been issued by the Company since five years ago ; although the stockholders and the public have from time to time been kept well advised, by requisite statements, of the general condition of the work. The increased expenditure, over too small estimates, we believe has occasionally cre- ated some dissatisfaction in the minds of stockholders ; but not so with those of them who have had opportunity attentively to examine the great natural barriers which have been met and overcome. Take for example the heavy rock and earth excava- tions, the deep ravines filled in with embankments and high massive walb, which were required to pass the Shawangunk mountain ; the large and expensive Imdges, the miles after miles out deep m the face of pxectpitoos rocky Uoffb on the Delaware,
1849.] LUerary Notices. 451
with high retaining walk and abutments in maaive maaoniy ; and above all, take that portion of the road which travenes the high lands between the Delaware and Susquehanna rivers, through deep cuts, over ravines, along expensive culverts and heavy embankments, until you reach the * Cascade Bridge,' constructed over a chasm one hundred and eighty feet in depth, with one span of two hundred and seventy-five feet in length ; and a little farther on, mark well the < Starucca viaduct,' which carries the road, at an elevation of a hundred feet, over eighteen massive' stone piers and arches, of the most imposing architecture, erected at a cost of three hundred and twenty thousand dollars. These are works of which the state, nay, the nation, may well be proud. The cost of the road, however, although large in the aggregate, is nevertheless proved in the report before us to be small, when its great length is taken into account, and its cost per mile is compared with other rail-roads. The earnings of the road are increasing every year ; in some instances by more than thirty per cent. * The road has now reached a point,' says the report, < where the bosinen to ' be derived from the country on either side of it for hundreds of miles is exposed te little or no competition. Every year will widen and expand the area of country that will bo dependent upon it for a communication with the city of New-York ; and the business of the wide extjint of country bordering on the Delaware and Susquehannm riven will tend to this road as certainly as the numerous tributary streams of that whole region flow to and unite with those rivers. By assuming the same ratio of in- crease that has resulted fh>m the small additions to this road in 1847 and 1848, the addition of a hundred and twenty-seven miles will produce more than one million of dollars as the gross earnings of the road to Binghamton.' The following paragraph we take from the close of the report. It is based upon irrefragable arguments, pre- viously adduced :
* This road, when completed, will be the longest line under one management in this or pro- bably any other conntrj, and will command the trade of a larger area or district, which by its natural position wiU be dependant unon it, than any other, and without any serious competi- tion. It runs along the southern border of this state and the northern border of PennsTlvania for a distance df nearly four hundred miles, commanding the trade, by its natural position, fbr a distance of thirty to fifty miles in width on each side. The numerous rail-roads, to say no- thing of the plank-roads and turnpikes now constructed or in process of construction, termi- nating on tbia road throughout its whole length, and extending far back into the taterior, wfll be so many valuable tributaries to the business of the main line ; and when constructed, will amount in the aggregate to more than the whole lensth of the road from Plermont to Lake £rie. When extended to Lake Erie, carried as it wiU be through a country the reaooroea of which arc but partially developed, it will draw to it by its position the trade and business of ■a area of country nearly as large as the whole of New-England. No one, upon a eareful ex- amination, can doubt that this road must upon its completion be as profitable, if not more pro- fitable, to its stockholders tiian any other rail-road in our countrv. And when we farther take into consideration the fact, that with one terminus of this road la this citv, or in otiMr worda, upon the Atlantic, and the other on the great lakes, the commerce and business of which •tfeady approximate in amount to that of all our foreign commerce, and are enlarging every year with the rapid increase of nopulation bordering on the ahores of thme vast inland seas, no doubt can be entertained of ue profitableness and value of this road to the atockholders and the public.'
We cannot take leave of this report without rendering a just tribute to the untiring energy and well-directed eflbrts of the chief officers of the Company. To personal bttsmess talents and unswerving devotion to the interests of the road, the President, BiNJAMiN LoDER, Esq., hss added the ability to perceive, in the selection of his asso- ciates in council and in action, kindred qualities with those which have made himself so acceptable to the stockholden, and so favorably known to all who have an interest and a pride in the construction of this magnificent work. We believe it will be con- ceded that no similar work m this country, in all its departments, is better ' officered* than the New- York and Erie RaiT-Road.
E D I T O R'S TABLE.
IifTBiufATioNAL Art-Union. — We like to see emnlation in all good and iaateiU matten ; and the fuccen of the ' American Art-Union/ now bo well patronized, would seem to have led to the e^ablbbment of a somewhat kindred insthatkm, the particnlan of which are s^t forth by a capable correspondent in the sabjoined^xnn- mnnication. • ed. evxcxxbxcckxb.
* Mt dkar Clakk : It is bo great a privilege to be permitted to hold interooone with the readen of the Knickbrbockbr, that I never presume to intrude unless I really have something to say. The last time we foregathered I had some musical opinions to propound, which were then speculations, but are now history ; and since in my metropolitan peregrinations the growth and develc^ment of the fine arts is the subject that most neariy interests my inner sense, I have now a few wofds to say about pictures. As to home-criticism, or remarks upon the paintings of our own artists, whom we shake hands with and touch our hats to every day, that is fkr too delicate a matter for me to meddle with. The * old masters,' too, are quite out of my parish. It is true that I have * travelled* a * few ;' but unfortunately it has been in the wrong direction for the cultivation of my critical taste in any thing but cat-firii, niggers and high-pressure steamboats. However, since my return to these ' diggings,' I have occasionally turned up an hour or so to devote to the study of arts ; and so far as enthusiasm in their cause, and an utter devotion to the beautiful in every form, from a belle in Broadway to the last spiral wreath of cloud that metts in the rosy alchemy of sunset, can qualify me for speaking, I claim a right to bo heard.
' Of course you know all about the * International Art-Union,' establiahed by the individual enterprise of those public-spirited Frenchmen, Goupul, Vueet and Com- pany, the great Parisian picture-dealers and print-publishers. The plan is the same as that of the German, English and American Art-Unions, which, by being permitted and patronized by magistrates, clergymen and legislators, is tacitly admitted not to violate any law of strict morality, notwithstanding that the prizes purchased for the subscribers out of the surplus funds accruing after the Annual Engraving has been paid for, are distributed by lot The reason of this is very evident ; because clergy- men, magistrates, legislators and editors — who are the oracles of law and public opinion — are all deeply sensible of the fact that every picture, every engraving, every statue, bust or statuette, in marble, alabaster, porcelain, bronze or plaster, that repre- sents in a permanent form ever so small a segment of the eternal outline of beauty which flows and undulates throughout all Gr0D*s uaiverso, is an apostle of God's love, and a monitor of purity, chastity, virtue and holiness to the heart of man. Indeed,
Bditar'i TaNe. 453
it is beginning to be more and more widely admitted by the wife and good, that if mankind in childhood and youth could be constantly surrounded by the beautiful forms and harmonious breathings of painting, stfulpture, architecture and music, and could at the same time receive a corresponding treatment of love, a£foction and sympathy from parents, friends, relatives and associates, the necessity for terror and punishment would totally disappear from among men. What a glorious thouj^t to the painter* the sculptor, the architect, the musician, the poet, that he is contributing, ever so little, to the hastening of that time when love and beauty shall be the guide of action and the rule of life ; when the world shall be converted, by the conjoined efforts of man with his brother, into a paradise, and society shall begin to realize the promised millennium on earth !
' But let us talk a little about the < International Art-Union' and the beautiful pic- tures which adorn the walls of its free gallery. They are from what is called * the modem French and German schools' of art, whose peculiar merits are very diflforent firom ouTB and from each other. In the French we find wonderful harmony and force of coloring, exquisite finish of costume and accesMnies, and a general tone of subdued and well-bred elegance, which can only result from a thorough study and analysis of the mechanism of art and the laws of physical beauty. The composition of the French pictures is generally exaggerated and dramatic, and its defect is a want of sincerity and spiritualness. The artists of modem France deserve the highest credit for the faithfulness with which they finish their work, and the integrity with which they fulfil the oonditions of its sentiment and situation. Nor are they destitute, per- haps, of ^trae spirituality ; but the conventional restraints which the fear of ridicule, the only fear to which a Frenchman is susceptible, has reduced the whole nation, too frequently prevent their artists from expresnng those wild and startling thouj^ts, those electric, cometary inspirations, which wander invisibly through space, anci only now and then flash into light as they come in contact with the soul of a daring genras.
'The German school is the antithesis of the French. Cold and monotonousa almost gray, in color, subdued and unconscious of effect in composition, and entirely destitute of those gorgeous attractions which arrest the eye and predispose the judg- ment to favor, the works of the great German masters seize instantaneously upon the soul with supernatural power. In the presence of such deep and fervent inspirm- tion, such terrible sincerity of conviction and purpose, as are concentrated upon their canvass, you feel that it would be sacrilege to stop to quarrel with details. You accept at once the iaunortal troths that inspired the painter's heart and toU, and re- main spell-bound before the manifestation of a sphere beaming high up between you and heaven.
* There is another class of pictures— small cabinet paintings and interiors, repre- senting every-day characters and scenes in common life — in which the Germam have always excelled dll other nations. The life-likeness, the distinctness of detail oombining to produce unity of effect, the individuality of expression and divenrity of feature in a small ^>ace, by which many of these German cabinet pictures are charao- teiized, is quite incredible to one who is only accustomed to the crude composition and feeble effects of our own and the English cabinet painters. One of the most exquisite specimens of the cabinet painting of modem Germany is the * Children leaving School,' by Waldmvllbr, now the property of the International Art-Union, and to be distributed to some fbartunate member of that institution at its firrt annual drawmg, in December next The exoeUenoes of this pioture are so remarkable, and
454 Edk(^9 TcMe. [May,
of 80 high a grade, that they are instantly and oniyeniaUy acknowledged, as well by the experienced connoissear and the accomplished artist as by the uneducated and in- different Children, and especially girls, Who are taken to the Gallery, nerer fiul to arrest their heedless romping through the rooms when they arriTe m front of this pic« tnre, nor to giye expression to their admiration in accents of passionate delight. The anxious, care-worn, yet noble and intellectual expression of the teacher, his fore-finger raised high in admonition to his riotous and tumultuous charge, who tumble head- over-heels down the dark stairway of the crumbling old school-house into the broad and glorious sununer sunshine, like a mountain stream leaping from a forest eavem into the rejoicing plain ; the venerable and benevolent grandfather whose eager and child-like love would not suffer him to wait at home the return of his dear little play- mates, but has driven him hobbling forth to meet them with outstretched arms at the first instant of their escape from prison ; the harum-scarum throng of little people, their life-like faces absolutely beaming with the joy of slaves set free, here and there broken by the frown of a sulky one, the contest of a couple of the pugnacious, or the touching sight of a sister imploring impunity from a big boy for her little brother ; these are all so many episodes in rural life, actually transpiring and living before us. This remarkable picture was purchased from the painter by the International Ait- Union for twelve hundred dollars.
< Of the modem French religious school of painting, the International Art-Unkm is in possession of one of the acknowledged chtfs d'tButre, in the ' Christ Dead' of Art SoHEFTKR. The ' Christus Consorator,' through the very perfect engraving of that great work by Dufont, and other reproductions in a similar style of many of his other ma8ter-pieces,,have made the name and fame of Amy Scheftbr as well known anaong the connoisseura of this coontry as that of Da Vwoi or Pkrugino. The * Chrwt Dead' is, however, the only original picture from his hand ever brought to the Uni- ted States ; and if the Institution of which I am writing had done nolhhig eke fcr the cause of art than the importation of this picture, it would deserve the warmest gratitude and most cordial encouragement of every enlightened 'American. This pic- ture strikingly exhibits the peculiar cold, grey coloring and sketchy execution which characterize some of the sublimest achievements of the religious pencil. Indeed, it has always seemed to me that there is something in the idea of elaborate finish, of hand- ling and well-studied contrasts of color so generally admired, that is absolutely imper- tinent and sacrilegious in a picture representing the sublimest passages in the life and death of the Saviour. It is a subject which the true artist must ever approach with a species of trembling awe ; and, conscious of the utter impotence of hte art, if he have enough. of earnestness and power of genius to impart to the canvass some faint reflex of the humble worship that pervades his soul, his reward and his triumph aro great indeed. This appears to have been fully felt by Soheffer ; and the sublime expression which he has known how to communicate to the serene and super-humanly lovely countenance of the Godhead in mortal death ; the convulsive, absorbing agony of the bereaved mother, tearing from the marble jaws of the sepulchre the corpse of her only son and pressing it to her bosom ; the holy sorrow and angelic sympathy ex- pressed in the bet^utiful faces of her companions ; are all the elements he has invoked in his appeal to the heart of the spectator. And they are enough! They thrill the fhmae with a fearful shudder ; they stop the blood in the heart ; they arrest for a mo- ment the tide of life, and suspend the soul of the beholder in the spiritaal atmosphere
1849.] EdUof'i TahU. 455
which they enclose. We feel that we are on sacred ground ; and an imago oC the dead yet everliving Redeemer becomes from that instant forever fixed in the heart.
' I have left myself no room to speak of the fifty or sixty lighter pictures in the gallery of this new institution, comprising originals of various degrees of merit by Paul Delaeocbb, Court, Landellb, GrSnland, Mullee, etc., nor of the exquisite and surpassing beauty of .the eight or ten ' pastels* by Brochart. These latter are ebnoxions to the accusation of insipidity of expression and exuberance of drawing ; the faces of young girls of fourteen being generally accompanied with developments of form which only exist in the fully-matured woman. But in point of brilliancy of color, gorgeous effects of costume and delicacy of the flesh tints, these pictures have never been i4>proached by any modem artist with whose works I am acquainted. Among the other pictures worthy of especial note are the ' Belle of the Belles/ and the * Seraglio Window,' by Court ; the * Joy' and * Sorrow,' (companion-pieces,) by Landelle ; the < Groddess of Liberty,' by Muller, and a head of our Saviour, by Paul Drlarocur. For a knowledge of these, and the other works in this choicely- selected and admirable Grallery, I must refer the reader to his own eyes and the catalogue. * Youis, very truly,
718 Broadmoff, JpHl, 1849. • o. o. Po»t»r/
Gossip with Readers and Correspondents. — Just been reading the first * Part' of Bulwer's new work of ' The Caxiona* There is a great deal of good descriptive writing in it, but the old gentleman, the father of the hero, is at times a sad bore ; with his lame duck, and learned twaddle upon themes which one can easily see are * dragged in by ear and horn' to illustrate the varied knowledge of the author. But on almost every page of the work there will be found little clusters of terse sentences, in which there is sometimes a world of meaning. Observe the following : ' What- ever in truth makes a man's heart warmer and his soul purer is a belief, not a know- ledge. Proof is a handcuff — belief is a wiug. A religious man doesn't want to reason about his religion ; religion is not mathematics. Religion is to be /e/^, not pnwed. There are a great many things in the religion of a good man which are not in the catechism.' Here is a bit of good advice to the morning sluggard : ' I was always an early riser : hayipy the man who is ! Every morning, day comes to him with n virgin's k>ve, full of bloom and purity and freshness. The youth of nature is contagions, like the gladness of a happy child. I doubt if any man can be called ' old' so long as he is an early riser, and on early walker. And oh, youth ! — take my word for it — youth in dressing-gown and slippers, dawdling over breakfast at noon, is a very decrepit, ghastly image of that youth which sees the sun blush over the mountains and the dews sparkle upon blossoming hedge-rows !' Remark this pic- ture of setting out m a fast family-coach called * The Sun,' which had lately been set up for the convenience of the neighborhood :
* This luminary, riling in a town about seTen milea distant from na, described at flrit a very erratic orbit amidst the contlguoua Tillagei before it finally atrack into the high-road of enlight- enment, and thence performed ita joonieT, in the toM ejo» of man, at the mijestic nace of aiz milea and a half an hour. My father, witn hie pockets full of books and a quarto or ' Gebeltn on the TrimitiTe World' for light reading under his arm ; my mother, with a little baaket con-
taining sandwiches and biscuits of her own baking ; Mrs. Pbivmiks, with a new umbrella, pur- chased for the occasion, and » bird-cage containing a canary, endeared to her not more by song than age, and a severe pip through wmeh she had successfully nursed it ; and I myself, waited
at the gates to welcome the celestial yisitor. The gardener, with a wheel-barrow full of boxes ' ' nanteaus, stood a little in the van ; and the footman, who was to follow when lodgings
had been found,. had gone to a rlfing emineaoe to watch the dawning of the expected planet, and apprise «• of ita approseh by the eooeerted signs] of a bsndksrebief fixed to a stick.*
456 Editor's TahU. [M&y,
On his way to London on foot, while engaged at a wayiide inn on a rasher of bacon and a tankard of what the landlord called ' No mistake,' his attention is arrested \tf two pedestrians at the other end of the table. One of these is thos felidtoosly limned:
«Ths elder of the two might hare attafaied the ase of thirtj, thoocfa eaadry deep 1faie«, and hues formerly florid and now ftded, tpeaUng of fiangue, care, or dlMopation, might naTe made him look somewhat older than he waa. There was nothing rery prepossessing in his appear- ance. He was dressed witii a pretension ill-snited to the costome apinvpriate to a f6ot>traTd> ler. His coat was pinched and padded ; two enormous pins, connected by a chain, decorated a rery stiiT stock or blue satin, dotted wi& yellow stars ; his hands were cased in Tery dingy glores which had once been straw-colored, and the said hands played with a whalebone eaaa^ surmonnted bT a formidable knob, which gave it the appearance of a • Ufe-preserrer.* Aa he took oir a white, napless hat, which he irQ>ed with great care and aflbetlon with the aleere of his right arm, a pronision of stiff curls instantly betrayed the art of man. Like my laodlotdfe ale, in that wig tnere was * no mistake :' it was brought — in the £Mhion of tiie wigs we see in the popular emgies of Gsoaoc the Fourth, in his youth^low orer his forehead and raiaed at tlie top. The "ma had been oiled, and the oil had Imbibed no small quantity of dust; oil and dust had alike left their impression on the forehead and cheeks of the wig's proprietor. For tiie rest the expression of his face was somewhat impudent and reckless, but not without a eertaia drollery in the comers of his eyes.'
Of < The Cartons* more anon, when the concluding portioa (diall have made its appearance. . . . Since the last number of this Magazine was pnbUshed, Whxiam WiLLSHiRB Chilton, who has pot anfrequently, to the gratification of oar readeis» contributed to its pages, in which he always felt an interest, has psssiid calmly from the present to another and a better state of existence. He has gone from us, in the expressive words of the Bible, with the < dew of his youth' yet fresh upon him. And looking back thoughtfully upon the past, and forward < in immortal hope* to the future* one can feel, in its full force, the illustration of a modem author: ' Why mourn for the young 7 Better that the light cloud should fade away in the morning's bnath than to travel through the weary day, to gather in darkness and end in stonn.' A < tear to the eariy dead* may mdeed fall ; and the thought will force itself upon the mind, < Why should the young and the gifted be taken away, and they who < cum- ber the ground,' who are a bane to themselves and a curse to the world, left behind f But anon interposes the reflection : < Surely, in the resistless dispensations of Plrovi- dence, as we are given to know in words of sacred mspiration, * surely it is weU.' How truly can v>e appreciate the feeling which dictated these touching lines of a sur- viving brother :
I KNXW that he was dying ; for his meek Beseeching eyes told the sad tale too well,
As trickling o'er his wan and wasted cheek. The glistening tear curved inward ere it fell :
I know that he was dying ; yet I strore
To check all signs of^grief; all shows of lore.
I knew that he was dying when he spoke Of early days, and friends, and things long past,
As if the tide of memory had broke The flood-gates of forgetfulness, and cast
Before his eyes, in all their early truth,
The bright, forgotten fragments of his youth.
I knew that he was dying when his eyes
Rested upon a simple bunch of flowers ; For I could see the thoughts within him rise
And wander back to past delicious hours, Until his face grew blank and full of wo, To think that he no more should see them grow.
I knew that ho was dying when his lace
Grew pale and leaden as a wintry cloud,' Robbed of all life, all fairness and all grace.
And seeming to reflect the scabt white shroud Within whose chilly folds he soon would rest, With his pale hands eroat-folded on his breast
1849.]
Editor'* Table. 4ft7
I knew that he wta dying when his breath Came thick and short, and o'er his features thin
Spread the contracting shadows of blank death, And my own heart-beat seemed a noisy din,
As his grew dull and muffled ; till at last
The cord was snapped in twain ~ life's portal passed. a. •. o
' Judge Stowb, of Fond-da-Lac, Wisconain,* appeared before the readem of our lait number with Ouvbk Wendki.l HoLMKa* * Breeches' on ! * What does he i* the North with *em» when they ahoold be aenring their owner i' the East V Is * Judge Stowb' a male 'Mn.HAMus?' We suspect so. And we say to the < Mrs. GAHr* who sent the < clothes-lines' to us, that we ' do n't helieve there ain't no sich a person' as Judge Stowb ; if there is, * he 's no judge' of meum and tuum. * In view of this snliject,' Dr. Holmbb may well exclaim, seeing his lines flying on the * sail-broad vans' of the press throughout the land, even as he exclaimed when he saw their subject < straddling through the air,' ' My Breeches ! oh, my Breeches !' . . . Sincb the «ulogy upon * Mr. HioGiifB and General Washington,' by an eloquent member of the Florida legislature, we are not aware of having encountered any thing superior to the following specimen of western eloquence, in which the < agony' of riietoric is piled up to the maximum point. It is an extract from a patriotic oration delivered at Lancaster, Wisconsin, a few months ago. Listen:
* AnaxcAivs I —Remember that your country was bom in blood, baptized in garet cradled ki the war«whoop, and bred to the rifle and bowie-knife. We hare it. tturough blood and eor- Bsge and thunder I They tore their blanket wide oping. Once-t or twioe-t it looked like a mifhty
aUm chance; but they cut, and sheared, a " ' " ' .^ r .
They gnopled John Bull like a pack c '
J HBU Dowie-Kuue. TT e luiTe a, uirvaga niooa ana cor-
iket wide oping. Once-t or twioe-t it looked like a mish^ I, and tore, andslauffhtered away like blazes. ( Cktertns.') of bull-tarriers. Tney took him by the haunches ; they
among its sheltering boughs. But a few years had rolled away down the rail-road track of ttme. when John Bull came again, bellowin' up the Massassippi, pawing up onto his back the rich and luxuriant sile of Louisiana, and hondng ttie bank of tayid rlrer, ana lasUng his tail like tuxj. But Jest before Orleans he found the great Jackson, and he couldn't shake him more than an oxen ; he couldn't, sihtrt/ (Gfreat JppUuut.) Jackson stood there like a touriedor^ and met John Bull as he advanced, erery time. At last he hit him a lick, right back in under between the horns, that knocked the breath out of him, and sent him off bla^^tHn^ and bellowing, Wu kt fOt diMrreeabU at tk»$tomack!
* SoUQers of Winnebago war. and invincibles of Sanx-furse I (Here tUrUem men ante.) He- roes of Bad Axe I Veterans ox Stiixman's fight ! Very nimble men I You hare come down to us from a reform generation. Hearen has bountifully prolonged out your lires, that you might see the fruits of your walor. You behold no longer the torch of the sarage, and the gleaming of the tomahawk and the scalpixig-knife. Those houses that you see around you are WB abode of oiTiHzed and refined white-fo&s. This spacious edifice that surrounds you is not a wigwam, but a temple of law and Justice^ How changed all tUngs ar* 1 Underthespur of the seboolmaster, the very tail of oiviUiation advanced beyend what the fh>nt cars then was. OIo- xloas freedom I Great and glorious country I Let me die in contemplation of thy sublime des- tfaiy, exc]aiming[ with my dying breath ; * Bear the stars and stripes aloft, and onward ! —on- ward I'* (T^cr^fic Cheering,)
These thrilling * observations,' says the editor of the ' little Pedlington Weekly O^ server* of Wisconsin, were received with ' almighty eflbct. There waa n't a dry eye m the whole crowd !' . . . Wb have been relieving the shivering * water-cold' of a winter evening in April, a cold that no fire seems to relieve, so confoundedly saftira- Hng is it, by reading with pleasure a very original and clever performance in verse by an old and esteemed friend and correspondent, which he designates by the title of * Crosnng the SeasJ It is full of vivid description, and is written (at sea all the while) in that easy, natural way, which makes us feel at once that we are looking apon a daguerreotype rather than a paintivf. At the risk of ofl^ding our friend, who has only sent us his * vsneUng-recoids for ptranl^' we shall venture to copy a pasnge
VOL. XMJUU. 42
468 Bdiior't ThUe. [May,
cf two, which we thumb-nailed ai we read ; ' commeimmf with the worde fiDllow
ing, vi». :'
' So the ahip pMted down the harbor.
And faito we outer bay ; Albeit the ctorm wm orerheed,
And the sky wu beavy and gray ; And hauled around to weat-nco^'West, The wind and the wmd end the blindUig rain
Athwart came down that way.
I writing a acrawl thereon. Left na alone with the atorm and Oe Bight, And thought of the br^'
Mor aky, nor moon, nor the white atar-Ught, Bat on^ the ghoat-like glimmer Irndfl^ '
From the daah of the breaking ^ea.
• «Xow head the ahIp for England r
The ei4>tain aaid to the mate. And the mate eried out to the helmaman.
And the helmaman, not belate. With hia top-aaila and top-gaUant aaila, and royala, made reply : *Ay, ay, 8irl np for Bngland I— up fiar Bngland, flirt ay, ayf
* Then quick, aa with eneircHng arma.
And mantle folded aromd, Bhatting oa up in Iti own deep gloom.
The grim, black night came (town. Oh. gloomy and aad. and dark the aky.
And heary and aad the look. Of tiioae who went with the ahip that nighty
Aa we rolled olT Sandy Hook : Aa we rolled out into the dim, dark night;
Away off Sandy Hook I
'And when the morning eame, and the Ugbt
Broke OTor the white-capped aea, Hie only land that waa left la aight Waa one pale atar, in the akirta of the nigfal;
And far in the hearena waa he. But alow and aloft waa only the blue, ' For England, ho I' which the ahq» daahed through.*
How forcibly thia hringB to mind oar old friend Capt Howi, of the * HuiMOii' steamer, (now of * The Amerioa,*) of the npper lakea, looking^ down ftom hia M|^e-eyrie into the pilot's room, one dark night in < Thunder-Bay,' on the gveatbtaw Hwm : « Pilot !' < Ay , ay. Sir.' < How does she head r < Noth-east by iio*th, half no'th.' <6ive her a p'int west' <Ay, ay. Sir.' < HandMmiely.' CKr !' And on we aorged, through the tumbling biHowa of that great * Northern c Ofaaenre the life and spirit of the following stanzas, toward the close of the poem :
* Tmra night and day, with head due eaat,
And day and night, wo aailed ; fiijcteen in aU, and but three uloae
That ercr the wind had failed ; When auddenly and beantifolly. Far atreaming orer the aea, A ti^ktjlatheim in Ewr&pt^
And beckoned ua that way. *T waa the edge of the night, aad Cape Clear light;
Tliat beckoned ua that way.
• And beautifully and royally.
For we had no thought of foar. The moonlight played in our top-aaila,
Aa we daahed around Cape Clear. Cloae hauled, double-reefed, with nearly a gala.
A glorioua aight waa the ahip that night, Aa we daahed annmd Cape Clear 1^
1849.]
BdHar^t ThNe.
459
Shall we not some time or other see a ligfat-honse light saddenly * flash up fn Europe 7* We hope so — and m the meanwhile ' hide oar time.* How admirable are the aolenm Icfleons of faith enforced by theee closing reflecUons» so natoral to every ▼oyager upon the ' great and wide aea:*
' Ov, wUte-wioged bird of the ocean,
Whoerer would Mdl with thee. Say thoa to them, and the mariners all,
That CRaiBT is on the sea. And, beantifiil bird, say on : ' Wait not,
Wait not till the night be dark and dim. And the breakers under the lee.
But make thou nom a friend of HiK, Hie Ooo of the land and soa V
And when thy life's brief race is run, And the nigi|t fidls dark and eold.
And thou must away on that lone see Whose shores hare ne'er been told :
Then up, fUnt heart t Oh, heart I be bold,
For He wiU be there — He wiU not fdl •« Ha will be there, and will go with thae Orer the lonely sea 1'
Some two monthi sinee we happened to be on board^ a stannch remci\, iiaTing * immediate despatch* for the Isthmus of Panama, with M and cherished friends as passengers. On the mizzen-mast we pencilled privately a prediction that they would
* Take with them gentle winds thdr sails to swell :'
-and in short, < have a good time* altogether. Now» having had good lock in oar fiio- phecy, we are willing to take * short risks' on any well-bailt vessel < np* for the Isth* mns, for < a con-sid-eration.* Observe the following passages tnm a letter dated ' Caribbean Sea, twenty-seventh of Febmary, 1849 :*
* My Dmam L : Rejoice in your 'prophetic soul,' for we Asm had * prosperous gales' erer
since Icaring New. York, and are now rapidly nearing our port of destination. I hare more than once noticed your 'pencUlings* on our state-room partition and on the missen-mast, and ftlt that they had exercised a magical influence upon our royage. It is now tweWe days sinee we left Now- York, and we have sailed orer two thousand four hundred miles ; a speed almost naparalleled on any part of the ocean, and especially on the route we hare taken. Yon will bear in mind that a saiUng-ressel cannot take the same coone as a steam-ship, owing to the prerailing winds and currents ; otherwise we should haTe arrired at Chagres three days sinee. ... On Sunday we passed between the islands of Hayti and Porto Rico, and entered fUs, the Caribbean Sea. We hare gentle and balmy braeses ; the water as smooth as you ever knew it upon Long-Island Sound ; a light, clear, perfectly transparent blue, so clear that yon may discern a shilling when sunk to a depth of twenty feet: this, with the thermometer ranging ftrom sixty to eIghty«flTe degrees, has made the poop'deck of our clean little ship aboot as hearenly a spot to lounge upon as heart could wish. We are all apparelled fisr the elimate. My dress consists of shirt, silk Tnrkish drawers, seeks and slippers ; and CTen with this tropical suit, out of the breexe I am uncomfortably warm. I rather imagine, while you are huddling around your well-filled grates, that a * swsp* wouldn't be distasteful. Ah, if one could always be insured such Sundof sailing as this, erery body would be a sailor ; bat we hare been remarkably ftrored, and I am afiraid to crow yet, lest a * change may come orer the sptrif of the deep. It is now near midnight; erery one has retired save myself; themoon has just sunk below the horizon ; and feeling wakeful, I haTe ' taken up my pen,' not with any expectation of amusing you, but as a sort of pastime for myself ; and I am Just SwxnxiCBoaoiAn enough to feel that while I am writing to you my spirit is with yon. . . . We are within a fbw ndles of Chagres, and on all sides we hear and see busy * note of preparation.' My duties are about to commence, and I must bring this seriblet to a close. I send my thoughts Just as I jotted them down. Readandbum. <'No, S-x-n-al'} We have been becalmed three or fonr days within sight of land, off 'Cartagena,' and I have for the first time had a sight of 'monntaias as is wtountaim$,* Just conoeiTe of a range of ' hillocks,' the least of which is a thonsand foot, sad the highest rtfrtsm thtmmnd foot high— towering &r abore the olonds I In the morning tiie rays of the rising sun are reflected by their saow-elnd peaks, and you feel— ah I I * 'gin efint;' I can't describe my sensations— a sort of * all-orerishnoss.' Good OonI L— , one Tiew would repay you for a month's suffering. Yes, I have 'seen tomttkia^,* at last. We were at least sixty miles distant^ and I assnre yon the highest peek reared ils craggy, snowy bead so Ugh in the heavens that time sad a stoodj gase aloM eoavineed me that I was nel lonMngetekwkls. lesnospfsytsyabirtaiaitidsasf the jWMidsnr of the sight. Thssm
460 Editof't Table. [Majp
at ten o'clock in midnxxnmer wovld not orenhadow it. SobliBie I . . . kaumg awr littte
family of ten we hare three 'tip-top' eompaaioiia from X— • H ; penona of rabataneev
pecnniarfly, phyiieally, mentally and aoe^tlly ; * and stranife to say/ they are all readera of tiM ' KmcK.' Your * GoMip* for yeara back tiiey are more fiuniliar with than I am; and many •■ old anecdote ia related, with doe credit to itiB tonrce, that we hare langhed oTer in yonr ane- tom before it oTcr saw the Ught Tbey are all ' trompa* in their way, with a keen reliih €or
a < good thing.' Then there ia Prix.. B , a New-Yorker, and an old friend, who ia eqnal
to any aix wag* whom yon could pick up in a day'a Jonmey. He haa trarelled all orer tiie world, and is conaequently entitled to aome conaideration on ■hip'board. He haa had more hafar-breadth 'acapea than * the next man,' and ia beyond all qaeation a reritable 'MimcBAuaBL' For example, be will commence hia atoriei by aaying : * When I waa with WxixororoH at Waterloo, he remarked to me,' and ao forth ; or, ' I nerer ooold forgire NsLaoir at TrafUgar for hit diaregard of my adTice,' etc And then hia intimacy with Mxttxbnicb, and Ida flirta- tion with the BoBOua ; not to apeak of Ua cnrioaa reaearchea, in company wHtb. the earUett aarigatora. He ia always miiiutely acenrata in datea. Erery incident, howerer trifling, haa a aingolar coincidence with aome erent tiiat occurred in '84, or ' forty-ttiree yeara ago laat ninrsday — jnat anch a day aa this.' And all theae reritable mattera he recoonti with a fluency, an eaae and a coolneaa that prorokea the most obatreperoua mirth. The paaaengera for a whOe really conceiTed tiiat he was deliyering * goapel tmth ;* and eren now, whenerer • Phzx..' com- meneea one of hia yama, they are ao inimitably giren that he commanda erery ear. In the middle of the night he wOl wake aome of na to raconnt a moM aingnlar drcnmttaace that hqipened to him once in the ' Ural Mouitalna I' Oar akippet we have ohriatened * Bmtnr,' from Ilia extraordinary resemblance to Johm Bmovqbau in that character ; and like all aaikn^ he lores to ' apin a yam' now and then ; but * Phil.' inrariably distances him by aome cnrtona Incident in hia lifo, nerer omitting the allghtest detaO or the moat inaignifieant drenmstnee that ia material to a true story. Why, limTom himself would waate away If he could be wift him forty-eight houra. He tells the paaaengera that he attended college with yo«, and haa qwnt at least three ereninga of erery week with you for the last fire yeara ; haa aaaiated you in your labors, and haa during that time written the moat of your ' Gossip I' He is a thoroagUy * good fellow ;' he ' sells' the second-cabin paaaengera regularly ; and they are impreaaed wUh an opinion that he either owna the ahip or the Isthmua. He Is, of course, a * Secret Agentf of the goreivment, and in hia capacity of Conaul-Oeneral for the whole of South America be giTaa paasports to the green ones and pilla to ttie dek ones; sends the steward on foola'-erraada; nerer laughs himself, and is surprised &at there is any thing to create mirth in any tiling ha either saya or doea. Oood-by : God bless you I j. b. o*
Wb * hope we do nH intrude* with the remark, that it is truly m great pie all who know Mr. Albxandrr H. Schultz, of this city, as we have known hhn, now some seventeen or eigrhteen yeara, to find his name among those of the aldermen elect of this great metropolis. To a warm, generous heart, replete, let vm add, with true poetical feeling, (as more than one tender eShsion of his pen might show,) Mr. ScHULTZ adds a thorough knowledge of business, great energy of character, and a courtesy of manner, which will add to the influence and contribute to the amenities of our metropolitan councils. Success to him ! ... An obliging conespoudeat ii Baltimore, while readmg in our last number the article in this department upon ' Hm clergy of America,' jotted down for us, among other acceptable and accepted anee* dotes of clergymen, the following:
* VasTaTxnr in the country parishes of Maryland are usually elected on aeeonnt of their reapectabllity and standing in the community, without much regard being had to their religloes character. One of these gentlemen, who was quite an important member of the Testry, beteg wealthy, dignified, and influential, made ft a rule to entertain all the clergy who rlalted hii neighborhood. On one occasion he waa escorting home a faithful preacher, who had oAm beard of him, and being aware of his hidifference to religion, waa determfaied to adse the fint opportunity that presented itself to give him a little admonition on thia aubje^ Aa they rods along, the Testryman pointed out a number of beautifol farms aloogtfae road, all of whleh were Ua own property. * All, yea I' said the elergynan, *they are noble estntaa ; bai, my dear Bk, did yoaneTereoBsldsr that yea mast die sad lesre then t* TherawasapansetaillMeoBm^
1849.] Bdkar'i TaUe. 461
Mtton, which wu finally broken by th« ▼Mtryman with tfae.'ejcelamatioa : * Tea, Sir ~ tkat*$ tk» imUofUl* The preacher 'gare him np.'
Vkrt ftriking and beautiful, to onr conception, are theee lines from a recent poem bj Jambs Russell Lowell, entitled 'The Parting of the Way$*
* Who hath not been a Poet t who hath not, With life's new qnirer full of wing6d yeart, Shot at a renture, and then, hastening on, Stood doubtful at the Parting of the Wayaf
'There once I stood in dream and as I paused, LooUng this way and that, came forth to me Tlie figure of a woman reiled, who said : 'My name is Dorr — turn and follow me.' Something there was that chilled me in her roioe ; I felt youth's hand grow slack and cold in mine As if to be withdrawn, and I replied : *0 leave the hot, wild heart within my breast ; Jhitj comes soon enough, too soon comes Death I'
' Then glowed to me a maiden from the left, With bosom half-disclosed, and naked arms, More white and nndulant than necks of swans. And all before her steps an infiuence ran. Warm as the whispermg South that opens buds. And swells the laggard sails of northern May.
' Suddenly shrank the hand, suddenly burst A cry that solit the torpor of my brain. And as the nrst sharp tnrust of lightening loosens From the heaped cloud its rain, loosenedmy sense :
* Sare me I' it thrOl'd, ' O hide me I — there is DkatR ! Drath I the dirider, the unmerciful.
That digs his pitfalls under lore and youth, And corers beauty up in the cold ground ; Horrible Death t btinger of endless dark ! Let me not see him I — hide me in thy breast V '
We have had the pleasure to attend, on two recent occasions, at the ' School of the Uechania^ AeeoeiattorC on Broadway and Crosby-street, to hear the examina- tions of the pupils, and to witness the presentation of premiums ; and we can truly aflirm, that for thoroughness of acquisition in all the departments of instruction ; for order, and for propriety of demeanor, we have never seen the Mechanics' School sur- ■ passed The Board of Trustees, from the PaE8ioE.vr and Mr. Izcoallb downward^ seem to regrard the institution with a penonal aflfection ; and in this they seem to be emulated by all concerned in the active supervision of the school. It was a pleasant sight to see the ingenuous boys, standing m line before their indefatigable instructor, Mr. McElligott, and receive their certificates of honorable renown ; and certainly, it was even a still more beautiful scene, to observe the classes in the female department, nnder the care of Miss Mary Y. Bean (who has no superior in her profession, and who is mdispensable to the institution with which she has been so long and so honor- ably connected) and her capable assistants, pass in review before their examiners, with a success so entire as to show that the system of education here pursued is well-based and thorough. ... A gentleman in great haste, entered one of the hotels down town the other day, and addressing the book-keeper, exclaimed : ' When do the rail cars start 7' < Which cars do you mean 7* < Oli !' it makes no difference ; I want to get out of town !' Think of the ennui that must have prompted this < state of feel- ing!' TAcre was what BraoN terms the 'fulness of satiety.* . . . We cannot con- fess to any very great confidence in * phonography* as a < science ;* but we ought certainly to be grateful to the friend who pencilled in ' phonetics^ the following admirable pMsage from a lecture by Dr. OLivift Wbndill Holmis. We doubt the propriety
462 JUUm'M TMe. [Ifay,
of < cribbing' a lecturer's thoughts in thie way ; bat we have got the eiirMsi^ e'yah ! e'yah ! — and the Doctor most < help himeelC Our correqwadent befievee it to be
* as nearly as posnUe in the very words of the lecturer :'
Open that Tolome of enehantount, the * AraUaa Wffhta,' to tiie story of Prinee Abxkd sad the fairy Fami Banou. The Sultan has promiied the deUeions PrinoeM NouBomriBAm— the
* Light of the Day*— in marriafe to the one among Ua three aona who ahonld bring him the moit extraordinary rarity. HovasAiir finds a piece of carpet upon which one ' may be traaa- ported in an instant wherever he deairea to be, withont being atopped by any obatade.'
* Ai.1 porehasea a tube, which renders risible tiie most distant objects or persoss, by looking in at one end of it Ahxcd obtains an artificial apple, which * cores all sick persons* after the easiest manner in the world, merely by the patientf s smelling to it.'
* They meet to compare their treasores. HoussAortakeaALi's tabs, desiring to see the lorely Princess. She appears, bnt surronnded by her weqrfng women, and almost reedy to breatfie her last. The three brothers get instantly upon Houssaim's earpet and are transported to her chamber. Prince AaxEDb says the atory, rose from the tapestry, went to the bedside and pot the apple beneath her nostrils. In a few moments tfie Princeas rose and asked to be dressed with the same freedom and reoolleetioa aa if she had awaked oat of a aoond aleep.*
* Tills is the dream of oriental fancy. Am joa are smiling over its childish extraTaganee, a messenger suddenly appears and puts a slip of paper in your hand. Alas 1 year own Mouaon-, ifZBAB— 'the Light of your Day ^faraway beyond the ftdr Hudson or tte broad 8nsqaehanna,is eren now in the extremity of suflTering and danger. A magic as wonderfnl as that of Ai.i's tnbe, brings her image before you, and breathes her sigh of snguish npon yoor ear almost as it issues from her pale and trembling lips. * Oh for the carpet of HoussAor I' It is before yon; a roof oTcr it, walls ronnd it, windows in them, throagh which yon-see the panorama-like land- toapeBBjouHj along; rocks and hills, fields and trees flowing in breed torrents on each side of you, as if the great ware which they say passed orer the continent^ were sweeping by yon with its whole freight of drift and boulders.
* Yon are there. O for the apple of Abwcd to sooth the pangs Oat are conTnlsing the deH> cate frame before you ! A little flask is placed in yonr hand ; from its month exhales a aweet odor, as if the richest fruits of the orchard bad yielded it all their perftmte. Go to her bedaide like Ahxxd, and let her inhale ito Tirtons for a few moments. The deep farrows of pain grow smooth upon her forehead. The Imotted linabs relax and fall pasdTe aa in slomber. Her lips are moring ; they seem to say .-
• What l» thl» dinsolve* ma quite, Bte»la my •ena««, abut* zny aisht; Drowa* my •pirll, draww my breath: Tell me my aoul. can this be Djutb 7'
* It may be that in this shadowy eclipse of thought and sensation the exhaasted lamp of aatore shall be replenished ; and that when the soul returns to the temple it seems to hare qaittad, it shall find all its chambers irradiated with the rekindled glow of life.
* How strange that ciTilixation should call out, as palpable realities of our own erery-^y ex- istence, the creations which were the idle dream of story-tellers on the banks of the Boq>horas and the Euphrates V
Need we ask you, reader, if this is not very beautifol 7 . . . < A man/ writes aa esteemed metropolitan correspondent, < who in the courae of time attained the high position of chancellor, and who was very strict in his temperance notions and his re- ligious obeervancos, was reputed early in life to have been pretty wild, and to have played ' brag* with some success, particulariy on the northern frontier during the war of 1812. After he became chancellor, as he was one day fitting in his chamben, a red-faced and rather rough -looking mgu entered, apparently a little * boozy.' * Welly Reus.,' says he, * how are you 7 Got up some in the world since we used to play cards together up there in the Chataguay woods ! Drink water yet, I 'q>ose, do n't you 7 That was the way you always beat us. But that's al^ right: if we were a-mind to drink rum while you drank water, why we 'd get beat, of course, you know. You remember how yon tucked it into me once T I mean when I gave yon the
1S49.]
BdUar'9 TMU.
463
' L O. U.' for two hundred doUan? Ton drank water and I drank nun then, ytm
know. But that's all right; I didnH eomplam; but, d n it! I didn't like
3^oor foing the note after yon j*ined the chnroh !* . . . Wk sat the other day, for one memorable hour, to hear a friend read an original poem whioh he is at times en- gaged m writing, whioh we venture at this eariy day to predict will make a sensation when it is published. We had just been reading Latakd's splendid work upon Nine- Teh, and were so struck with the following episodical passage from the poem in ques- tion, that we asked permission to copy it for the KNiCKSEBOOKtft :
• Oh I world, that like old NineTeh, Art slowly bnriod, day by day, White Mnds rolling, cnQrch'bella tolling, TeU at the same rare destiny ; Even while thy paUoe* walls are gay With paint, as for an holiday, Lowly art thon bari6d. And sittest meekly with the dead; And when the sands have drifted o'er ny painted chambers, as before, Other pale and ont>wom foces Come np seeking for the places Where they may rest and toil no more.
' So abore thy palaoes. Wherein now no maUee is, Or trouble more, bnt eyeUds eloeeW pressed. And folded hands, and slumber, sna calm rest ; So aboTe thy palaces, Where all pomp and glory is, (For there most be room
Always for the tomb,) Bail<ung deep and broad and strong, As for a race that will hold it long, Tlie ancient, palc-fkced, outcast race. They raise their last still dwelling-plsce.
' There in marble beds they sleep. While abore the heaTens are deep. And ah>und the white sands creeps And above the warm winds sweep,
And night dews weep. Oh I strong and mighty in that stOl place, Each with his cold and ashen fooe, Is that ancient outcast race I
' But thou Shalt arise, oh, world I one day, As by the breath of God I thenshalt Ooa i The paintings on tiiy palaees. All whose beauty ana slory is Only in darkness and decay, • Like mist-lines fiide away I '
* The American Dramatie Auoeiation^ held its firrt annual dinner at the Astor- House on the seventeenth of April. The chair was taken by David C. Coldbn , Esq., who presided with sigpal ability, and during the evening addressed the large and dis- tinguished company with his accustomed felicity. At the upper table we- remarked many of our oldest and most respectable citizens, including among those whom the oity had often delighted to honor, the venerable Philip Honi; we say * venerable,' but we do not mean aged, by the term ; unless an undimmed eye, an unabated nata* ral force, a dear and cheery voice, and a buoyant spirit, are significations of age. Tht meeting was variously addressed by the President, Mr. Honi, BIr. Thomas Hambloi, Jamss T. Beadt, Esq., Mr. John Van Buren, Mr. Baouo^AM and Mr. Blakc TIm music, instrumental and vocal, under the direction of Mr. Lodbe, was admirable m all respects. Many amateur songs were sung, with marked iq^auM. Mr. J. K. Hackbtt gave that exquisite air from < The Soomambula,' < As I view Now,' ete.. in a style that we have seldom if ever heard surpassed. The dinner will long be re* membered as a very pleasant oocaston by all who had the good fortune to be present The addition to the fund was very handsome. . . . Thbm is a saying eommso in Ireland, when one feels a sudden chill that acts upon the skin, I feel as if a gooM were walking over my grave.' < I wish / was that goose !' said a sighhig fool of a swain one night to a beautiful giri in Dublin, who had made the above remark ; aad * goose* he was, ' and na mistake,' who at the same moment establiihed his own ^emts and invoked his mistresses death. In the following passage from a modem love-letter to a young lady, which has been handed us by a friend, we reoognise a somewhat kindred delicacy of compliment: < How I wish, my dear Adbunk,' he writes, < my engagements would permit me to leave town and go to see you ! It would be Uks visiting some old rvt'n, hallowed by time, and fraught with a thousand pleasittg reool- . . ' iin Refill of R$al Li/s* deseiibes very boaotiftiUy, as we oonosive,
464
BdUai^9 TiMe.
[May,
a young English peannt-girl eoming to the Btndio of m lady portiait-painter, to em- ploy her, with the little money which ahe hae gained by her own tofl, to paint iv her a withered n»e, which she herwlf reeembles, having fallen into a decline. We Bilfajoin a few ttanxae :
'Tbkit her Tolce grew fUnt and laiBter,
Faint and fainter then it grew ; * Lady, yoa 're a portrait-painter,
And for tkai I come to yoa : YoQ can paint whate*er *a before yon,
Ton can paint wbate'er yoa see ; And, oh, lady 1 I implore you. Paint thia wxthjekcd aoai for me I
* * Not aa when 't irai blooming newly,
Freihly plucked the stem apart ; Paint it. lady, paint it tmly,
Tom and withered, like my heart T From her bosom then she drew it,
Saying, ' This, dear lady, this 1' • And she pressed her pale lips to it»
Hist grew paler with the kisa.
* * Many flowers were growins near as
When he wandered last with me, With the hearens alone to bear us,
And the stars alone to see : Even then mr tears were starting,
Though I thought I could discern That which soothed the grief of parting
With the sweet hope of return.
* 'And he said : ' I go. my dear one,
Ere we wed. once more to sea; Not a danger, could I fear one.
But I 'd bUthely risk for thee : Treasure this ' and lightly stooping;
Gathered gently as he might This p9or rose, now wan and drooping.
Then so beantifU and bright.
'* In my bosom while I laid it, ' When again I eome to thee, Show me that,* he said, 'though faded.
And I *11 know thou thought 'at of me. Cheer thee, cheer thee I though I 'm goinf
Far away, loTe, trust that when Summer roses next are blowing, I shall come to thee again V
* *He will come no more to me, lady I
He win come no more to me : In a far-off stormy sea, lady.
He is buried, far from me I Far from me Ukd life and lore,
Where the tempest struck the blow. When the stormy night-blast roared abore
Ai^ the billows raged below I
* ' Oh, the days so long and dreary.
Dragging hMiry orer me now ; Oh, the nights so long and weary,
Heapinff firq on my poor brow I What ia au I 're seen or see, lady f
All that is or yet must be f A will come no more to me, lady,
He will come no more to me I
* 'Now this rose is all I cherish.
An I lore in my despair. And before its last leares perish
I would hare it pictnrea fair ; Pictured fair, but pictured truly.
Withered thus, and bUghted sore. That some gentle eyes may duly
Weep when mine can weep no more !' '
Wb regret to hear of the recent death, at Yazoo City, of Milpord N. Paawrrr, Eiq., late editor of < The City Whig* of that place, ajid formerly editor of the * Natchex Courier.* We had the pleaenre, eome four or five years since, of making the acquaint- ance of Mr. Prbwbtt, while he was on a Tieit to thie city ; and his agreeable man- ners, intelligent conveisation, and genial enthusiasm, were ever afterward f^eehly remembered. Too assiduous devotion to business, added to a constitution not the strongest, brought on, some two years since, a paral3rBis, from which he never reco- vered. He is pronounced by his contemporaries to have been a well-educated, whole hearted man, correct in all the relations of life ; a good husband, a kind father, and a faithful friend. He leaves behind him a widow and three children, who have our warm sympathy in their greatest of earthly bereavements. . . . How simply and yet how effectively are expressed these thoughts of the late Judge Davii, of Mbsm- chusetts: < In the warm season of the year it is my delight to be in the country ; and •very pleasant evening, while I am there, I love to sit at the window and look npoii some beautiful trees which grow near my house. The murmuring of the wind through the branches, the gentle play of the leaves, and the flickering of light upon them, when the moon is up, fill me with an indescribable pleasure. As the autumn comes on I feel very sad to see those leaves falling, one by one ; but when they are all gone, I find that they were only a screen before my eyes ; for I experience a new and higher satisfaction as I gaze through the naked branches at the glorious stars be- yond.' Very fbrdUe is the lesson imparted in these few woids, ... An odd
1840.] BSUa^s TbNe. 465
dergyman, preadiiiiif before tome of the American army at Corpna-Chriati, made ■w of these remariu : * Ten thonaand ddUan is a snm large to mdst of as ; yet what would it profit 7 Yon cannot carry it oat of the world. Then what woald yoa do with it, or you, or you, or you ?* pointing with an oratorical flonrish at each repetltioB to diflbrent individaals before him. At length an old stager, well known to the
Corpns-Christi army, Jadge H ts, ooold contain himself no longer. When the
finger pointed at him, and in the momentary panse saeceeding the searching qnes- don, the Judge broke the solemn silence by answering, in a load, shrill tone, * Lay U 9ut in mules !* * Shall I attempt,' says the narrator, ' to portray the effect 7 Hie audience was convulsed. The holy man maintayied himself with becommg graTity and self-posseiBioo for a moment, and made a feeble attempt to proceed, bat soga gare up m despair.* . . . Thi subjoined stanxas, impregnate with deep feelmg and replete with the spirit of true affection, are fimn the pen of FknoniOK Wbst, Esq., one of the editofs of * The Sunday News.' They will commend themselYes to ererj sensitive heart :
THOU ART NOT WITH MX.
Thb ipring la eome. in firetbiieM and in bloom : I do not see iti brigntaeM ; all is gloom I Mj eyes are not on earth; they're in thy tomb: 71km art not with me I
Qnencbed it ambition's fire ; tfaa lost of money ; This globe to ma is no more bright and snnny ; What is the hive, bereft of its sweet honer t
Thou art not wuh me I
I knew not half thy Tirtnes tin too late, •
Or the despair I feel were not my fate : O, that I 'a been socA moment thy fond mate,
When thoa wert with me I
Too late I — thy angel form in rest is sleeping ; Thy gentle spirit is in Ood's own keeping, While I, on earth, in heart and sonl am weeping : Thou art not with me f
AoKNowLBDOB the receipt of ' P. P. P.V * Lines.' They did n*t show a spark of *fire' till they were put in th^ grate. Sorry to say so, but it is true, < and pity *i m 't is true.' . . . Thb old captain in * The Caztons* says pertinently enough : * Science is not a club, it is an ocean. It is open to the cock-boat as the fiigate. One man car- ries across it a fiwightage of ingots, another may fish there for herrings. Who can exhaust the sea 7 Who can say to intellect, the deeps of philosophy are predoou- pied ?' . . . HxRB is an advertisement which will apply to more than one < popular church' in this city: TT7 ANTED : Oifx HuiiittXD AMD SsTBimrjFivx Toxmo Mni, of an shapee and sises, finma
itbeve
gentlemanly and delicate remarks on their persons and dress. AU who wish to enlist in ttM aboTe corps, wiU appear at Qui rarioas church doors next Sabbath morning, where they wfll be
duly inspected, ana their names, personal appearance, etc., registered in a book kept for that ■pose, and published in the newspapers. To prerent a general msh,it win be ^ " t none wfll bo enlisted who possess more than ordinary intellectual eapeaitiea.'
Here is a good thought from the letter of a correspondent, m which he laments the neglect of early mental culture : < How can one reasonably eipeot a harvest of 'beautiful things,' as Wordsworth would say, without first sowing the seed 7 Or who would bo so unwise, not to say foolish, as to expect a plenteous crop, without first tiUing,at the proper season, the soU into iirhich the seed was cast 7 The winter is nol the time to sow. It is the time to n^oy the froit of post indiiitiy lad eidtart. Th«
466 SdUm*9 TaNe. [Iby,
j^lUBction of the wiw man m in point: ' In the mmwmg mtm thf m»d! How fan- pwive the Ungoa^ ! — how beaatifnl! Bat how can a man oow in the m&namg when the morning with him Bi peat 7 The eolation of thiaqneoUon is aadiffieoltaa tint pnpoanded by Nioodkicui : * How can a man be bom when he it old f' -• . . Bui«- WBR has well illastrated the ^Morality taught by tk€ Rich to the Pmr* in England : bat we believe it is not sajring to6 much to affinn, that on thU side of the water the ' lesMm' woold not be qaite so easy of acqaisition. It is another kind of Irnit that grows on the tree of liberty:
Am soon m tlie wohia panper can totter oat of do«rt, it is tncbt to pall off ita bat, and mH
hair to the qaality : * A good little boy/ says the 'Sqoire ; * ware 'a a ha'pemiy for you.* Tlw
good littie boy* glowi with jpriie. That ha'penny faiatUa deep the leaaon of hamifity. Mow
coea oar arehin to schooL T^en cornea of eoarae the catechiam ; that maaoal of morale rnoit M ttiambed into the heart : why f Becaoae. abore all other manoala, it inaiata on the rerereaee dae to the rich. Beoaaae it especially enjoina the poor to be lowly, and to honor every ma better off than themaelrea. Apoondof honor to tlie'Bqalreandanoancetothe Beadle. Umb the boy growB ap ; and the Lord of the Manor inatraeta him thaa : *Be a good boy, Tox, and 1 11 befriend yoa ; tread in the atepa of yoor father; he waa an excellent man. and a great loaa lo the pariah ; he waa a rery ciTil, hard-worUng, well-behaTed creatare ; knew hia atadon ; mind and do lihe himl * So perpetual hard labor, and plenty of crincing, make &e aaeeatral Tirtnei to be perpetoated to peaaanti till the day of Judgment Another insidioua diatUlation of mo- rality la conreyed, throagh a general pndae of the poor. Ton hear falae frienda of the people, who hare an idea of morals, half ehirahie. half paatoral, agree ia landing the anfortnnate crea* tores whom they keep at work for them. Bat mark the Tirtoea the poor are al way a to be praiaed for : Induatry, Honesty, and Content. The first rirtae is extolled to Ae skies, because Industry gives the rich erery thing they hare ; the aecond. because Honesty prevents an iota of the said erery thing being taken away again ; and the tiiird, beeauae Content is to hinder these poor doTils from ever objecting to a lot so comfortable to the persona who profit by It. lliis is the morality taaght by the Rich to the Poor.' _^
* The SouTs PoMnng* is the title of a teaching poem in a late * London Athencom.* A hosband is Jiooking apon the scarce cold form of his dead wife :
* Taxi her £sded hand in tfiine—
Hand that no more answereth kindly ; See the eyes wore wont to shine.
Uttering love, now itaring blindly; Tender-hearted, speech departed —
Speech that echoed ao diyinely.
* Runs no more the circling river.
Warming, brightening every part ; lliere it srambereth cold for erer —
No more merry \tep and start, No more fluahing cheeks to blushing—
In its silent home the heart 1
* Hope not anawer to your praying I
Cold, reponseless lies she there. Death, that erer will be slaving
Something gentle, something fair. Came with numbers soft as slumbers ^
She is with HxM otherwhere I'
THnc is a hint in the following passage from SoirraBT*s < Doctor* which we hops will not be altogether lost apon oar New-Haven censor : < * Levity,' says Mr. Da]ibt» 'is sometimes a refoge from the gloom of seiioosness. A man may whistle ' for want ef thooght,* or from having too much of it' ' Poor creatare !' says the Reverend Philogalvin FavBABB ; < poor creatare !' little does he think what an aoooont he mast one day render for every idle word !' And what account, odious man, if thou aft a hypocrite, and hardly less odious if thoa art sincere in thine abominable creed, what aeoonnt wilt thou render for thipe extempore prayers and thy set diseoones? My words, idle as thoa mayst deem them, will never stupify the senses nor harden the heart, nor besot the conscience like an opiate drug !' Rather severe, perhaps, bat 'prettytrae.' . . . < R.,' hoe made a mbtake sorely. We said in our 'private note,' that ' R.' had iwl ' pahUedi' hot that hk dKOtdi oflforsd ody ' mcwoftm^ for a diH^^
1849.] BiUar's TMe. 467
mrtisL* Hence our ' dedinatioii.' The diffemioe between our ooneepondent*s iketeli •ad the kindred < model' we ipoke of in our note to him, if thet between m eonfaeed eiowded compoMtion in art, in which nothing is diitinct, and a painting with only three or foar figoree, (like the ' Gil-Blaa* picture of EniioNna, eliewheie noticed,) the 9peei/ie expre9mmi of wl^ich ia every iking, and * telle the whole atory.* We cannot be miataken aa io the purport of what we wrote to * R.' At all eventa, our dediioQ ••
* final.* . . • The editor of the * BunktunmUe CkronieU, we perceiTe» haa per-
■litted two or three errors to eacape fai his journal, which we did not read until aooia
time after it waa printed. He should be more careful, or employ a better pioof-readar.
Neither of the errors which we note, however, is ao gross aa that made by a Freneh
dancing-maater among us, who recently inyiled the mother of one of his pupils to caB
at his rooms on a certain day, and < witneas her daughter's profligacy !' Guess ha
meant * proficiency.' ... In the neighborhood of one of the most frequented of tba
great thoroughfares that run along the western line of the metropolis, there is seeUf
orer a grass-plat and garden, a populous grave-yard ; a gloomy object m a gloomy
day, but very beautiful when the moon silvers the thickly-sprinkled white stones that
gleam in her pale light There, last autumn, we paused one day to see a child laid in
the grave with many tears, by an afflicted father, a Grerman ; and it seemed aa if the
consolations offered in his native tongue only added to bis distress. Yesterday, going
down town, we saw that father standing by the little hillock where be had < buried up
hiahope:'
'Tbb first bland rolee of Bptisf luid called him fortiL Receding snows revealed the fatal mound : Tbe fraaa rerires, but not to him reTire The yojB of perentafa : the roMas staff; That sweeter mosie, which a child's wnole life Warbles, he cannot hear.'
The mourning father seemed in his loneliness to say : < I shall go to him, but he will not come back to me !' . . .A THoaouonLT accomplished young lady, of emi- nent purity of character, who has officiated as Gfoeemese for (bur years in one of the best families of WaahingUm, is now in New- York, where she is detained by the illnesa of her mother ; and hhe is desirous of employing the leisure time which she can com- mand, in the duties of a permanent or day-governess in a city family, or one in the near vicinity of the metropolis. She has the very best of references ; and we hope every admirer of filial affisction and duty, who may be in need of her services, will address us in her behalf. . . . Two numbers of a large and well and variously filled Saturday journal, entitled ' The Examiner , have been laid before us. Tht editors and proprietors are Messrs. Ancuukaius and Soovuxk ; the first the late demo- cratic candidate for Register, and the second, late asMciate-editor of < The True Smm* daily journal. < The Examiner' already afibrds evidence of rare oorrespondenta and marked editoral ability. Among its contributors we remark the name of * HiifaT,*of whom we lately spoke in terms of deserved commendation. His valuable eervioea have been secured exclusively for * The Examiner.' This journal has our best wishea fur its success ; a succeai which we are confident it will deserve. . . . Wi rejoioa to be able to congratulate the citixena of Rhode-Island upon the honor they have ooo- ferred upon their state in the election to its chief magislracy of the editor of the
* Providence Daily Journal' Gov. AicTHoinr, we believe, is the youngest man upon whom such an honor has been conferred in this country ; but his commanding talents, hie strict integrity, his firmness of purpose, and his enlarged and liberal viewa of pub- lie polieyi render him ftiUy equal to the task which the people of hie native state hnva
468 EJKiof^s TUUe. [BTa^
laid upon hb shonlden. Ab on old friend, we ocmgratnlata Governor AmrHOHT npon the appreciative intelligence of hit conatitaents. . . . Without b«n|^ particolarif •» fait in muaieal matteri, we yet feel onnwlvea qnalified from * actnal know* ledge and obaervation' to aay, that the * Boudoir PieeoU Piano-Forte,* which haa aapeneded the < Grand-Piano* in Eorope, it a very aweet-toned, handKune, and ez- tiemely convenient and portable instmment Onr old friend Mr. BaoADiaa will con- vince any skeptic of the justice of our praioe who will call npon hun at Rmnr and Co«* PAMY^amnncHrtore, No. 397 Broadway. . . . Notices of the ' American Art-Umon' pictures, and of their annual engraving ; of the ' Duaseldorf Collection of Paintings f of * The Era,' * Sunday News' and < Iwael's Herald' weekly journals ; and of several aei^ books, periodicals, addresses, reports, music, etc, prepared for the present number, we have been compelled, from reasons which we trust will be i^iparent, to omit nntfl onr next
National Acadbm't of Design. — We have only found leisure to visit twice the Exhibition of Pictures at the National Academy of Deoign, and are therefore only too glad to avail ourselves of the suljoined notice of some of the more prominent paintings, by a capable correspondent, whose judgment may be aet down as honestly entertained, and delivered * without fear or favor :* es. khxokbbbooxu.
Ws hare now open to the public the twenty-foitrtli siunud exhibition of the National AcadeoBf of Detign. The number of pietnrei amoonti to about three hundred and fortj-cix, includTe of a few drawing!, etc. It is our purpose to discusa— impartially, we hope— the merilt of thoie paintings which hare struck us upon sereral visttB made to the exhibition since its oipeto- ing. We cannot p9>ceed to this dn^ without insisting upon tiie strong claim the Academy has apon the public. It is necessary that there should be a nucleus around which tlie arts and the artists may gather. There is no humbuggery about the National Academy of Design. Its goremors sre artists, as should erer be the case in institutions intended for the enconragement of art In all other associations intended to benefit a peculiar class of men, the preponderance is always giren in the representation to the class intended to be benefitted. There are distin- guished artists in the control of the Academy of Design, whose names shed a lustre upon Amerlcsn art, snd afford a securi^ that its interests are near and desr to their hearts. We can trust implicitly to this institution, as one free from all those low and huckstering characterise tics that unhappily blur the fair fame of some other artistical institutions, not many leagues from where we write. There are some trivial objections to &e convenience of location to be urged against the Academy. Its rooms are fatigufaigly high up, and our breath is almost ex- hausted ere the saloons are reached. Heayen help a fit amateur in June who rentnres the aaoent of those long«winding, never-ending stairs I It may be said that all this is to be expected in ' high art' We believe it is the intention of the council to change the locale ; so that here- after the exhibitions will occur on floors more convenient to the public.
The spareable space of * Maoa' for the present month will barely enable us to notice a iew of tile paintings, and we will take them up as they are numbered in the catalogue :
No. 1. Portrait of Si^ht Reverend John Beghu, A good portrait of the revteend genOemn's canonicals.
No. 6. Earlg BeeeUuiUnu : a Land$cape: lions. Ifr. Innxs is rapidly rising into excessive mannerism, and mannerism of the very wont kind. His fore-ground trees are the same color with bis middle-distance hills, and over the whole picture a sad and heavy tone pervadea, and wounds the eye. This young artist should study the colon of nature, and not so much the mere form. Color is fixed in nature ; form is arbitrary. If he will take our advice, he will pay more attention to the various lights and shades of his pictures.
No. 19. CkriMt reetorin^ the Daughter of Joints : H. E. Winnbe. Here is a picture replete with ambition ; would that we could say, replete with merit ; and yet it is not deficient in many of the qualities of a good picture. It reminds us, in the lavge form of the heads, and in some portions of the coloring of the drapery, of WasT. The sobject la one tiiat should have inspired a gmder result.
1849.] J&Itor't ThUe. 469
Ke. 39. Rural Old EngUmd : Wattc. Hera we have a tral j fine piotora, painted b j a ftmik ■Ml Tigorooa ttadent We might object to tiie monotonona graea obsenrable throughout the laadaci^ ; but the elimate of old England producea, by ite excoMiTO humidltj, thit rerj efbel of rerdurai lo ramarkably illustrated in the work before ua. The diaiant church peeriaf through the Tillage trees, and the pond in the foraground, with the horses and the wagon, aai Hbm old warfaig grore of trees breaking against the sky, with their leaf-coTered brtnohea, form ttte main elements of this truthftil transcript of nature.
Ha 49. Landaeapet Sunut: A. B. Dubanoi What a stride has the worthy President of tte Aeademy taken within a year I A year ago, and Um air and hia monntaina and aUea and earth wera all yellow : a yellow hue perraded erery thing, and the eye waa wearied with this one diatinctiTe charaeteristie of the artist But now how all is changed— and how changed for tlw better ! We greet Bfr. Dumand with pleasure, and congratulate him, and American art^ at th« alteration he haa made in hia style. Look at this glorious pictura befora ua ; gaze with hand* protected eye orer that range of dim and aun-powdered mountaina, until you catch, Just OTtr the laat range, the setting orb of day. The middl»distance lies in shadow, and the foro-grouad, made vp of rocks and waring pinea, gleama and glittera in the last rays of the sun. To add to the lonely desolation of the scene, a bear is introduced in the fbre-ground, sole occupant of the raat aoUtudea Aat lie beneath and aroimd him.
No. 08. * Tft« Himur*» Vktim, nM kit Prhe :' J. W. Ausubon. A most horrid pictura.
Ka 64. Senu from * Maamra/or Mtaam :* Jabmd B. Plaoo. Hera is a performance of ex- quisite feeling in color and general tone. The fice of Isabel is filled with poetry, and the story is told with an eloquent penciL Mr. Fxjum has an eye of great discrimination in the admyta- tlon of color, and with hia delicate handUng, and keen perception of historic truth, will speedOy assume his true position in the ranks of art, if he has not alroady obtained it
Mo. 08. Tk» AngaL appaaring to tk» Marft^ at tha aepmlckrt t/ the Lord: D. HuirmcoTOif, N. A. How dUBcult aoerer It has been found to express in language the appearance of criestial beinga, and gtre form to airy nothings, we still hare erer thought it much mora difficult for the painter to ezpreaa upon canTaas the dim and dlTine beauty that should qipertain to an angelic being. Color but occupiea the apaee of form, and preaents to ua either a handsome female or a good- looking youth with winga. The angela of Rubxhs were painted with a heary hand, and it la pussUng to imagine how the little bine piniona could aupport in mid-air the fat red bodiea of their angelic ownera. Bfr. HuMTiNOToif, howoTer difficult his task, has giren us the head of a aweet and holy risitant It is a head that expresses the most dispassionate character, and haa afforded the artist an opportunity of indulging in those pura tints for which he is so remarkable. Hie kneeling Mabt is good in color but bad in drawing. Altogether, thia pictura is worthy of Mr. HuirrxMOTOif's wlde*spread and w^-eamed reputation.
Pa»b exhibita two jdctnres this year. They ara both male heads, ranUriiably well-drawn aad modelled, and unquestionably close resemblances of their originals. The hands of Number 77 •ra beyond all praise. We cannot say Chat we altogether afiect Paob's praaent style of color. Our recollection of some of hia earlier pictorea indncea the belief that his close appUeatkm to tills particular branch of his art instead of bringing him nearer nature, has led him somewhat aatny. Truthful aa many of his tones are, the general effect of his pictures is aneh as to oraata a doubt whether the light of hearen shone uninterruptedly or through some colored madhna upon his sitters' faoea. Wliera,howeTer,theraia so much to claim admiration, it aeemaahnoft hypercritical to apeak at all dispraisingly. Paob is an acknowledged master in hia fMoftiesirMi, attd in many reapecta haa no auperior, eren if he haa aa equal.
No. 107. yUto in BarrowdmiU: J. B. Prrai. This is a beautiful effect of color, but we hmf oeen so many late plctaras by this eminent maater that we will not dwell upon this one of hia earlier works, it being uniaat to criticize that which is so unequal to the matured efforts of hia genius. We will only aisiplyramark, that a mistake has been made in the catalogue in loeaHag Bfr. Pnvs at Newark, New-Jersey. He is at thia present time in or near London, when he haa resided for many yeara. England is his birth-place, and his rank is Tory high in the EngUah aehools of art
Sock^SctuontheJantiata: JssoTalbot. Exceedingly sweet in tone, but deficient in detafi.
No. 196. Eaauraldat T. P. Rosansa. A head weU painted, but not the 'EflXUALDA' of VxoroB Huoo, by any meana.
No. 131. Wbtt Rxk, Nem-Banm : F. E. Cwumaa. Mr. CnuioB has given hera a ftlthiul, nataral pteture. While we adndra to exeeaa aone of the smaller woika of tida gentleman, we can- not aeknowMga oor adniratlan of Ua !»§» aflbrli. Bii' Storm in the Alpa^'firoai* Casus
470 BJHor's TUUe.
KABOLo/tobutarepetloBof lik'AbovetiwCIoada,'in fbe gdltrj of Ifae Ait-UnkM ; and in both tiie«« pietwref, tiioogb we hare wiqiriiteliaadHny In ■Dlhe detalU, tbmn to wanttaf that •oKd, tiiat feeling fisr tiie subliine, that sboiild ehanctsrise Oe aeaBaa attempted to be repre- iited. It ia not enoagh to paint bleated treee, and rolttnf ebnida, and a flaab of UgbtBing; to eraate bi the mind the idee of elemental horror and conftuloB : there mnat be eompoelttoa aad uiity in the work, and amaU ineldenta hj wbieb to oontraat the awftil war that to ragtag among the lightning-riren pealia of the moontaina.
116.145. ^ FMm: a Ds^a. What b«r« we here f How diaentangle the hmnan anfiBrKe from thoae winding aerpenta, and releeae them flrom tfaoee ftnga, aowUd, ao luHTfble, of ahape- leaa, mknown monaten t Until we do diaentangle, we ean make nothing of thtoeztraotdinafj eftit of paint Ton moat aeparate the beinga that atrnggle and die In the blue wavee of the myatio aee, and then when yon heTe done ao, yon win be aatottiahed at the beentj and deUeeej arihe handling, and the eorreetnem of the drawing. A*Tiaion,'toitf Tea, and a horrid one I Daapalr and Deeth are together, and Prensy glaree from tiie blood*ved aoeketi of Oe vletime, aad k&onting weird thonghta ariae, aa we refleetorer tfato aingelar ellbrt of talent
Portnit of tmJbtkit C. L. Bluott, N. A. Mr. Eixrorr baa eatabltohed bto Ihme epoa • baatoaoaolid, that attack cooM do him no iajary, and compliment acarcelyaffiBrd him plananre. CkmaeUraa of bto own powers, he poraaea bto peooUar method of eolor and drawing, both ae diatingiiiahed Ibr tiidr brnUancy and corractneaa. The head befbra na to eminendy painted ; bat aa we are to notioe another pietore by thto artiat, we will leeerie our remarka nntO we raaeb it in the catalogue.
FavWttir efc Xedy: C.C. IiroBAM,M. A. Mr. Imobam to eelebietod fiv bto female por1nlta» aad thto effort, after a lorely original, jnatiflea the poeition awarded to him on ell aldea. The ezquiaite fintob and beautUU eontonr of hto outline, the taate of poaltlon, the ejipremlon, and the perfect color, all bare eombined to produce a portrait, of wUeh the arttot the hnabaad, effun the original herself, might well be proud.
llo.iao.iWniiifa<ift4anMaf A.B.DuBAln^P.M. A. Turn we from the aweetfbee of woman to the limpid brook, the dim mountain, and the shade-ytoldingtreea. Heretoeeonqileteeelogneof paint Merer did DuEAifD produce a better picture-* one ao fall of tendeniem and tmttL See over the waring woodathe vapory eflbct of Ugbt ; cateh the aparUing brook, tmnbltag among reeka; bide your8elf;ieat you diatnrb that liateningatag; tread lightfyoTer the etonee, far fiaar that you may miBe the limpid aurface of the mountaln-atream ; lie proatrate ea one of thoae roeka, and guie through the interlacing brmchaa of thoae foreat^inga ; and, lulled by tiie rlp- pltng flow of water, aleep, and dream of a sylvan paradiae, for you are in one now.
Ko. 186. The Homat of John Knox, tkeR^f&mer: W. W. WoTBKaaFOoir, A. Weeanbeartaa- thaony to the truth bf thto picture, for we bare often stood under its old gable, end looked upoa the droU figure of tl^ reformer stuck in the wall. lUs picture to one of rahw, both from Iti Matftriffiil correctneaa and delicacy of color.
Ma 906. Portrait of a Lodg : C. L. Euton, N. A. Why to thtopieturefai ao bad a light f But after all, doea it make any great diflbreneef Portrait of a Lady; mystery of portraiture t Wheao bead to this, that Eluott has so giren life to on the dull field of cenramf Hereto art withoat eftirt; color without paint ; breath without Ufa, and gtondng eyes that apeak through thafar wtnklem lida. Hie dreamy effect giren to the eyea in thto portrait to magical. Tlie opening llpa,aibout to speak, are aonataral that you almost feel tawUned to listsn to the roleetfaat yo« ezpeettolaattethenoe. Ezxiott's power lies in ti»e simplicity with wUeh be prodneos hto v»> aalts ; and thoae results, in their effect upon the spectator who will examine Hbnu, are appa* ranHy the result of complicated labor. Buttttoaotaa He worka, like aO other men of emi- nent geolna, in the almpleat method; a method unattainable by ordinary minda. Hehaabreadlk with refinement and gentlenem with atrength.
U^fOl. FmmqfPitog^imwour color on l9ory:T.B.Owwtam». TUaesoeDent artiat baa only two pleturm hi the exhibition thto year. Bto ftncy-pleee to the head of a female, with eyea npUftedL Itara to a aweetneas and refinement in the coloring of Mr. Ovfickb, that will atwaya conmand admiration, and we are happy that bto position to so high among the mintoture-pafarteva of the eisuiliy.
We had marknd aereral other plotnree for notice, but are eompelled to panae. I^ere to BO more difficult task than that of artistical crltictom ; none more thmklem ; but m Oe Aeadamf appeeto by Ita uaefafanm and importance to Oe intellectual portion of the community, w« havo firitlttobeourdatytoapeakfreelyandcandldlyof theworkaof artuponltswaliaL Wohavw omitted many of exoeUanee, ta the hepc,thatwe maybeddoto^amitinfinr ptgaatDlhalr I the aaxt mmiber of the I
THE KNICKERBOCKER.
Vol. XXXIII. JUNE, 1849. No. 6.
THE SAINT LEGER PAPERS.
aaoosrs aaRixa.
Dat-break throuffhont Germany is the hour for breakfast
At day-break on the morning of the twelfth of May, 17 — , I was seated at the table of the ' Weiss-Sch wan' in Leipsic, in company with several persons who were on that morning to take the schnell-post for Dresden.
What sent me to Dresden 1
The hope of rescuing Leila St. Leger fi*om Laurent de Vautrey.
How was I to effect this even if I could find Leila, which was doubtful enough ?
I did not stop to answer the question. I determined to trust to the hour and to the circumstance. Full of new projects and plans with- out number, I made a hasty breakfast, and rising from the table, paced up and down the hall while waiting the arrival of the ponder- ous vehicle which was to transport us to the capital of Saxony.
Mine host, perceiving that I had done poor justice to the morning meal, insisted that I should strengthen myself with a glass of schnapps, which it would have been discourteous to refuse ; afker which, and purely as a matter of self-defence to prevent further interruption, I lighted my meerschaum and resumed my walk.
At length a noise resembling the sound of distant thunder was heard, and shortly after, drawn by some ten or twelve crazy horses, the schnell-post came rumbling down the street
By means of kicks and screams and the free use of the whip inter- spersed with sundry oaths made up of a pataii, which would have done credit to the dispersed builders of Babel, the bedlam-looking steeds were finally persuaded to stand still.
I bid my host farewell, and distributing a few groschens among the
VOL. XXXIII. 43
472 The St. Leger Papers. [June,
civil attendants, I mounted the ladder, meerschaum in hand, and after a short journey arrived safe — inside.
Another set-to then commenced. The kicks and sci*eams and whip and oaths, v^ere plied with an impartial distribution ; and presently at the rattling pace of four miles the hour we took leave of the 'book- sheir of Germany.
And who were ' we/ who with one accord had sought a common destination on that same morning ?
At first, owing to the dense vapor of tobacco smoke, I was adable to satisfy myself on that point, but as we left the town, the air had a freer course through the windows, and I found opportunity to inspect my fellow travellers.
There were five beside myself inside ; how many were in front and rear and upon the top I do not know ; but the inside contained just six including myself. There could be no mistake about it, for I counted my companions several times.
They were for the most part substantial looking Dutchmen, with staid appearance and civil demeanor. Your German is a humane and a polite man. He does not possess that busy politeness which under cover of a benevolent assiduity, scrutinizes your dress, even to the most minute portion thereof, which pries into the very recesses of your pocket, which values each article of your luggage, and puts a price even upon your own importance ; but on the contrary, his is that unostentatious, unobtrusive civility which permits every one to enjoy his own quiet after his own fashion, and busy himself with his own reflections without interruption, which answers a proper question with candor, without following up the advantage by seeking to gratify an idle curiosity.
One — two — three — four. I stuck at the fifth man each time. Not that I made any mistake in the count ; there were five beside myself; but this same ' fifth' pei-sonage baffled all my conjectures as to his nation, kindred, language or occupation. The four were Dutch, I was sure enough of that. Not that they were just alike, for one might have been a professor, another a dealer in laces, the third a manufacturer of porcelain, the fourth a stadtholder, but all Germans, not a doubt of it.
This fifth man, he was my m-d-rif, how could I help looking at him?
Presently he dropped asleep ; then I looked at him the more steadily. In the first place it was quite impossible for me to conjec- ture his age. One could make him appear almost any number of years old from twenty up to forty-five. The lines with which anxie- ties or disappointments or pressing cares encircle the face, the fore- head, the eyes, the mouth, could be distinctly traced on the counte- nance of the sleeper -— strange that such heait-ache characters should be in circles, instead of sharp angles and straight lines — but then the mouth even in slumber seemed to set these lines at defiance. It was an honest mouth from each corner round to the embouchure ; but for all that the lips were compressed ; whether in the self-relying honesty of a pure heart, or in stem resolution, or in bitter endurance
1849.] Th4i St. Leger Paper*. 473
I could not determine. The character of the face told forty-five ; a something distinct from that, partaking of innocence and simpli- city, said twenty. But little could be seen of the forehead, for an immense quantity of tangled light hair inclining to red, was shook over it in most uncouth disorder. The nose was large and ugly ; the face was well enough, if it had not been for the nose, but the mouth redeemed the whole. I had not as yet a chance at the eyes.
As to his dress, it was somewhere between a gentleman's, and a gen- tleman's valet. It was nearly threadbare, that belonged not to the gentleman : it was in slovenly order, that partook not of the valet. In cut and fashion it resembled the costume of no one country in par- ticular, but appeared to be a sort of medley, made up for the sake of a compromise, of the fashions of a dozen different countries.
Alter glancing over the dress I went back to the face again.
With what different feelings do we regard a person sleeping and the same person awake ! The defenceless character of the situation disarms us of that depreciating spirit with which we are apt to scru- tinize the unknown and the stranger.
As the schnell-post descended a steep hill a few miles out of Leipsic, it dashed across a small bridge with such a tremendous jolt that my neighbor opposite was staitlea from his slumber. He hastily replaced the cap upon his head, which had some time before fallen off, and as he did so, caught my eye ; I suppose there was something in it which provoked speech, for although not quite awake he muttered in a low voice :
' Ich bin uber dem grossen Lllrmen aufgewacht. Ich habe vergan- gene Nacht nicht gut geschlafen.'
And then as if suddenly attracted by the beauty of the morning, he thrust his head out of the window, took a glance up and down, snuffed in the fresh air, looked half angrily toward the smokers (I had laid aside the meerschaum) then out of the window again, then once more at me.
' I believe I am awake now,' he continued in German.
' It is a fine morning,' said I.
' Too fine to be shut up in this filthy place. At the bottom of the next hill let 's have a run ; what say you V
* With all my heart.'
And so on coming to a hill we got out and proceeded on foot in advance of our conveyance. We ran on for some time in silence until we had gained considerably upon the schnell-post, when we stopped on a small mound by the road-side to take breath. My companion turned and surveyed me with an amusing scrutiny. I say amusing, for shrewdness and simplicity were so mingled in the expression of his face that one knew not what to make of it. I now got sight of his eyes : they were of light-gray, not large, yet expressive of humor, pathos, deep feeling, and as I have said, shrewdness and simplicity. At length he commenced as follows :
* Ne venez vous pas de France V
* Je viens de Leipsic'
' Maifl oil aUez vous si vite V
474 The St. Leger Papers. [June,
' En Dresden, comme youb Toyez/
My companion looked around and gazed at the prospect ; taking off his cap, he ran his fingers through nis hair, shook his head, took two or three long breaths as if to drink in the air, and then ex- claimed :
' Cuan pui*o y saludable es el aire del campo !'
' En el campo,' continued I, ' es donde se disfruta la verdadera libertad ; yo me ahogo, encerrado en el iViterior del pueblo.'
My new acquaintance tuined again to survey the landscape, and his eye happening to fall upon a quaint looking old building not far from the road-side, he attacked me with the following :,
* Questa casa ^ fabbricata a modo di castello.'
To which I replied : ' Oltre modo. Di grazia non mi romper la testa.'
The other loooked full in my face and with an easy, pleasant smile, exclaimed in pure English :
* When did you leave home ]'
* Longer ago than I care to remember.' 'You are English!'
* And you are ' —
' A scape-grace whom any country would be ashamed to own,' in- terrupted the other, good humoredly.
* And what do you mean by a scape-grace V •Me!'
* That is talking in a circle.'
* No. You have only to get acquainted with me to know the mean- ing of both terms.'
' How do you make that appear V
* Wait till we are acquainted, fuid it will appear as plain as the hill of Howth.'
* I have caught you — Irish V
' And my name is Robert Macklome.'
' Mine is William Henry St. Leger.'
' William Henry St. Leger, let us abandon that cursed vehicle and go to Dresden on foot ; but stay, we shall know each other in a few hours; we come for the noon-meal (Mittag-Essen) to the toll-gate. The keeper hath a handsome rosy-cheeked daughter with flaxen hair and light blue eyes. I say it in all innocence ; we will make a halt at the toll-house ; your luggage shall go on to your hotel in Dresden ; for myself I am not encumbered with the article ; but see they are making signs to us.' (For while we wei*e talking, the schnell-post had gone quietly along and had now reached the top of the hilL) 'Let us run ;' and off we sprang for a race up the ascent ; we stopped a moment at a small hut on the summit and got a draught of sour wine, then we mounted to the inside and the schnell-post rolled on.
It was a grateful exercise, that of talking in my native tongue to one equally familiar with it. While at Leipsic I do not remember to have conversed in English with one of my countrymen. And what little of the language I did occasionally speak was entirely out of the conversational way.
1849.] The St. Leger Papers. 475
I was not long in forming an opinion of my Irish friend. Possess- ing by nature an extreme impatience of every thing like restraint, he indulged his love of license until it became a sort of vagabondism. His story was told in a few words. He was a younger son ; his family of limited means; considered a precocious youth, he was sent to Trinity college ; the discipline provmg irksome, he abandoned it in a couple of yeiirs and resolved to see the world afler the fashion of poor Goldsmith. Ha accordingly set out with ten pounds in his pocket, all he could induce his friends to trust him with ; this did not discourage our adventurer ; stimulated by an inordinate desire for novelty, and aided by a surprising facility in acquiring languages, he went ttom country to country, enjoying with a natural ingenuousness, not to say childishness of heait, every new scene, and entering into the spoils and pleasures with which the moment chanced to surround him. In this way he had repeatedly traversed every country in Eu- rope, selecting ordinarily the most unfrequented routes and visiting the most secluded and out of the way places.
Robert Macklome was a solitary being. He had both friends and relations, but he was nevertheless emphatically alone in the world. Did he nurse an affected wretchedness ; did he deplore the unlucky fate which had sent him forth with a keen relish for novelty and change; with an exquisite taste, a delicate ear, and a nice appreciation of the beautiful in nature and in art, and yet had withheld the means of en- joying these ? Not a jot ! He set his ' fate' at defiance ; not by ffloomily folding his' arras, contracting his brow and feeding upon dark fancies ; not by turning misanthrope and sneering at humanity ; but by a resolute, good-humored and persevering indifference to eveiy thing concerning himself, which after all is often the token of a supe* rior will. There was something in his singleness of heart that stood in the place of the shrewdest penetration ; one could not be a half hour in his company without lefeling it, and there was that about his society that made you think better of yourself and more kindly of all the world.
I gathered most of the foregoing circumstances respecting my new acquaintance, as wo sat conversing together during our morning's ride. The opinion I formed of him a subsequent intimacy confirmed, and I give to the reader the benefit of such confirmation in advance.
The * Halfway House' between Leipsic and Dresden is nearly thirty miles from either place, and just one half of the day was em- ployed in reaching it. Long before we came to it, however, I had determined to adopt the suggestion of Macklorne and turn pedestrian for the rest of the way. 1 was moved to this from several reasons. In the first place I was delighted with my companion. What a con- trast with the characters I had left behind me ! Again, I was charmed with the idea of taking to the road in the very extreme of liberty and license ; and, once more, I believed M acklome, who was familiar with Dresden, might aid me in the object of my journey thither.
A sudden turn in the road, just as the traveller begins to fear that he has been misinformed as to the proximity of the half-way house, discovers, close at hand, the house itself. At this point the postillion
476 The St. Leger Papers, [Jane,
invariably gets up another agitation among bis cattle, preparatory, and indeed essential to tbe excitement of bringing tbem to a halt. At five minutes before twelve we were safely deposited on the north side (if the toll-gate. In five minutes more we were summoned to dinner. My new friend was recognised by the host as an old ac- quaintance ; and the fiax en-haired, blue-eyed Margaret, readily pre- sented either cheek for his salutation. I was then brought forward, and should have been allowed a similar favor, so current was an in- troduction from Macklorne, had I cared to avail myself of it. I do not know how it is^ but a kiss -has always seemed to me a sacred seal of a sacred feeling, and I have looked upon the custom of extending it indiscriminately with disfavor, not to say repugnance. But Mar- garet had no time to listen to any such philosophical apology, for the guests were now nearly all seated, and she was the only attendant. 1 have ever since remembered that simple-hearted maid with a kindly feeling. She seemed to find her recompense in suiting all. With a pleased alacrity she anticipated every wish before it was expressed ; and the smile of satisfaction, when she had procured for you what- ever you desired to have, came from her very heart
The dinner was plain but neat. We were hungry, and the leber- wurst, the kartofiel-salat, and good home-brewed ale, served literally to gladden our spirits. Dinner over, the passengers lighted their pipes, the schuell-post rattled to the door, and with a sympathizing German gutteral, giving token of a general inward satis&ction, the whole party set off again.
As I stood with Macklorne watching the retiring vehicle, I felt for the first time in years an absolute and unbounded sense of freedom. Presently we strolled out to take a view of the scenery around. I was struck with its beauty. The turnpike wound through a delight- ful valley, and at this spot the ground upon our left rose gradually higher and higher, until it formed a hill of considerable elevation. The high land, even to the very summit, was cut into terraces, and laid out in luxuriant vineyards. To tlie right the country was undula- ting, and covered with immense gi-ain-fields. The whole had the ap- pearance of an extended garden. Indeed, it was a sight rarely to be met with, even in the most cultivated regions. Doubtless it bad re- quired years of toil, from the rising to the setting of the sun, to elabo- rate such an exquisite picture of human indasti-y.
We strolled through the vineyards up the ascent. From thence we could see several red-roofed cottages scattered around, and here and there we encountered a Saxon peasant at his labor. His coarse but well-mended garments spoke in praise of the * gute frau,* while his honest look, and his quiet eye, in which beamed not the restless light of education, exhibited an entire contentment with his lot of patient plodding.
At a distance, surrounded by a dense wood, I thought I could per- ceive the walls of a habitation. I pointed it out to Macklorne, and asked him what it was.
' That is the castle of the Graf He is the owner of the surround- ing domain, and to him each cottager must make his returns. So it
1849.] The St. Leger Papers. 477
is/ continued my friend cheerfully, * ' Unto every one that hath shall be given ;* but let me tell you, of all the souls that inhabit the Graf- schaft, he is the most unhappy. I know these poor peasants : there is scarcely a red-roofed cot within our view which has not, at one time or another, afforded me shelter; and I know the Graf too; I saved his life — at least he says so — when lingering under a malig- nant fever. The peasant is happy — * Unto every one that hath shall be given* — the Graf is miserable ; from him is * taken away even that which he hath.' Ah ! it is an excellent rule, it works both ways !'
My companion went off upon some other topic, but I was impressed with his idea, that even in this life the favors of Providence are dis-
Eensed with a more even hand than man is disposed to admit. I ad received a lesson from one who was drifting about, a lone and solitary waif upon the world How cheerful he was, how trustful, how ready to vindicate, how slow to complain — I began to love this Robert Macklome !
"We descended slowly toward the inn. Arriving there, we found a carriage before the door, with outriders and servants in livery in attendance. The new comers were two ladies. They had alighted, and, as Macklome ascertained, proceeded at once to a private apart- ment. Feeling no curiosity on the subject, I inquired of Margaret what room I was to have, thinking to rest awhile before starting upon a short excursion, which my companion had proposed.
* We have given to Madame and the Fraulein the room of Herr St. Leger,' said Margaret, modestly ; * it is but for an hour. It was our best chamber. Will the gentleman step into the next one for a little while r
I willingly assented, and passed up the staircase to the apartment pointed out by my pretty hostess. The room occupied by ' Madame and the Fraulein' was situated at the head of the wide staircase which I was to ascend. The door of the room was open ; I mechanically glanced into it while passing, and beheld, standing in an attitude of expectation — Leila St. Leger! Her face was turned toward the door, and she looked earnestly at me as I walked by, but gave not the slightest sign of recognition. Almost unconsciously I went di- rectly past, and entered my temporary quarters. Here was a new dilemma. The door of my chamber was partly open, and led into the one occupied by Leila. I did not know what to do. At first I wondered why Leila should slight me at such a time; when I hap- pened to reflect that five years had worked a great change upon my person. • My frame was developed, and I was larger and stouter every way. My hair, instead of being cut short, in the English style, was worn after the manner of a German student ; besides a respectable beard and mustaches covered the chin and lips, where nothing was perceptible on the boy of sixteen. [And William Henry St. Leger, do you recognise yourself] Where is the earnest-believing youth whi», child-like, prayed as his mother taught him, and who, though unhappy, and ill at ease, believed in Christ the Saviour 1
It was a momentary pang ; it passed suddenly away.]
478 The St. Leger Paper*. [June,
I ceased therefore to reproach my cousin for the imaginary wrong, and setting down at a little window which overlooked the road, I busied myself with watching all that was going on about the house. Leila paced up and down her chamber with an agitated step.
' Strange that he does not come/ said she to her companion^ whom I had not seen.
' My child/ said the other, in a calm voice, ' it is not yet time. You mistake the hour. Have patience.'
' Patience — patience. Have I not had patience 1 must I not have patience from this time henceforth ? Do not chide me, think of my &te. Think of this meetine, which I have nerved myself to bear, and oh ! — oh ! — oh ! — think of Henry ! PcUience V
At this moment the sound of horses hoofs struck my ear, and look- ing out, I beheld a horseman galloping \dolently down the road. He never slackened his speed till he came close up to the door of the inn, when he brought his horse to a stop so suddenly, that it threw the animal back upon his haunches. The rider flung himself off, and at a sign from one of the liveried servants, ran hastily up the stair- case. I had but a moment's sight of him. He was tall, well formed, with light hair, and an agreeable countenance. I had no time for a close scrutiny. The new comer dashed up the stairs, and into the chamber, and folded Leila in his arms. I could hear sobs and stifled groans, and then a kind voice in expostulation ; it was the voice of the stranger lady, but it availed not — at least she appeared to think 80 — for in a moment or two she got up, and went out of the room, and left the lovers together. I do not think a word was spoken for a quarter of an hour. The sighs and sobs continued the whole time, and I began to find my situation awkward enough. I could not shut the door, for it opened into the other room ; I would not go out, be- cause I wished to — stay in : so I kept my seat by the window.
* Oh, Leila !* — * Oh, Henry !' were the first words uttered.
' Great God ! am I in my senses 1 Leila ! Leila ! For Heaven's sake speak, and tell me that I am dreaming ! Is this the meeting at the trysting-place \ On such a day you would return ; on such a day we should meet here. Almighty God ! what has bereffc me ! The day has come ; this is the place, and here are we ; you and I, my love, are both here. Leila, Leila, am I not with you? — do I not clasp this hand as I was wont 1 — does not my deep heart beat as always for you ] And you, ray angel ! are you not here, and — — '
The young man spoke to dull ears. Leila St. Leger had swooned in his arms.
Quick as thought he sprang to the tablefor some water, and sprink- ling a quantity upon the face of his mistiness, she presently opened her eyes, and faintly exclaimed : * Henry, have you left me V
*I am here, dearest; I will never leave you — never, never — I swear that I never will !*
* It is too late ! I must keep my oath ! I promised to meet you here, and I have fulfilled my promise, although I sink under it. But I do not think of that ; I have confidence in my strength to suffer P
* Do you remember our last meeting, Leila V
1849.J The St. Leger Papers. 479
' Oh, Henry, do not, do not speak of what has been ! I cannot^ I cannot recall the past. It is only for tahat is to come that I have nerved myself.'
* And are you so resolved V
* Fixed and immoveable 1 Henry, we suffer together. I shall love you always, but we meet no more on this earth I If you always love me, then in the great eternity we shall be blest. I have vowed that I would wed the Count de Vautrey ; I promised nothing more. I shall never be his wffe.*
The conversation, which was continued for half an hour, I cannot trust myself to detail. It completely unmanned me. At length Leila's companion entered the room and announced that it was time to return to Dresden.
How my heart ached for them ! It seemed as if I might do some- thing. I stepped forward ; I entered the apartment. ' So, Leila St Leger, you do not notice your kinsman, who is travelling the world over after you !'
Leila turned upon me a look full of wonder and of terror. * It is my own cousin William !' she suddenly exclaimed, as she clasped her arms around me ; * alas ! here is another sorrow !'
I threw one arm around Leila ; the other I extended to her lover. He took my hand and pressed it in silence. The tears stood in his eyes ; mine were moist too. We understood each other.
' We must go, my child,' said the lady ; and Leila rose to leave the room. Tha young man approached her slowly, and bendine over, imprinted* one kiss upon her brow. He then turned ana walked in silence to the window. I saw that his eyes were stream- ing, but he did not speak. I assisted Leila to the carriage; her companion stepped in, and, accompanied by the servants and out- riders, it rolled away.
I returned to the chamber. Leila's friend stood where I had left him, gazing out with a vacant eye into the distance. I approached and laid my hand upon his shoulder. He started, looked at me wist- fully, shook his head, and turned to the window again.
' This will never do,' said I, in as cheerful a tone as I could com- mand. ' I want to Berve my cousin Leila. In serving her I find that I serve you.'
' I understand you/ said the other ; ' but she is unshaken in her resolution. No persuasion can influence her.'
A common interest makes a speedy fnendship. We sat down to- gether, and I learned the history of the love affair.
Heinrich Wallenroth was the son of one of the most distinguished nobles of Prussia, and resided at Berlin. Many years before he had met Leila St. Leger at the house of Madame de Marschelin, a noble lady of Dresden, related by marriage to the De Soisson family. Her husband had been long deceased, and Leila St. Leger had lived with her from childhood, except when her father required her presence at St. Kilda. The connection on both sides was unobjectionable, and Madame de Marschelin did not consider that she was exceeding her trust to favor it, especially as the young giil would require, in the
480 The Si. Leger Papers. [June,
event of her father's death, a more efficient protector. The lovers had plighted their troth, and the years ran happily away, when Leila was summoned to her father's dying bed. What followed I was already acquainted with, from her letter. She had but lately arrived in Dresden, and strange as it was, I was witness to the first interview between the two. I inquired when Leila was to wed the count.
* The day after the mon-ow/ said Heinrich, despairingly.
I was struck with horror. ' Something must be done/ I exclaimed, ' and what is done must be done with Vautrey.'
* Think you that has not occurred to me V said Heinrich ; * but he is not to be found. 1 have searched Dresden through and through for him. By the Power that rules above us, could I encounter him, (understand me, he should have an even field,) the question should be to the death !'
* You would probably bo the victim. It is the way of such things. The villain is usually successful. And then, what would become of Leila r
* What shall we do V exclaimed Heinrich, impatiently.
* Would not Vautrey waive his privilege, provided Leila would relinquish a portion of her large mheiitance to him — ay, or the whole, if a part should not satisfy him V
* I do not believe it Still, it is worthy the trial. But, even if he can be found, who will propose this?'
' I will, much as I dislike the office. You go to Dresden to-night ]' ' Yes ; without delay.'
* I shall stay here. I will be in town by ten o'clock to-morrow morning. Where shall I see you 1'
' I am at the Stadt-Priissien.'
* It is where I am to lodge myself. My luggage has already gone forward. In the mean time, find Vautrey, if possible.'
* Good ! I begin to have a little hope. Adieu !'
The next moment Heinrich Wallenroth was galloping madly toward Dresden.
I descended into the public room, and found Macklome just rising from a game of chess with the host. He had been so much occupied with the play that he had not noticed my long absence. On the con- trary, he apologized for letting the time run by until it was too late for our intended excursion, but proposed a short walk instead.
We sallied out together, and taking an opposite direction from our previous stroll, were soon in the midst of new beauties.
I felt mysteriously drawn toward my new acquaintance, and I re- solved, if it were possible, to retain him in my company. I there- fore narrated to him all that had passed at the inn ; giving at the same time enough of the history of^ Leila St. Leger to interest him in our plans.
* Now, my dear friend,' continued I, * for friend of mine I am de- termined you shall be, help us by your counsel. In the first place, I must be in Dresden by ten o'clock to-morrow. It is nearly thirty miles. In England it would be but a pleasant ride or drive before breakfast ; here in this deliberate land it is an affair of half a day.'
1849.] The St. Leger Paperg. 481
' Leave me to manage that/ cried Macklome, who entered into the enterprise with all the glee of a school-boy. * Leave me to manage tnat. The honest Herr has a very decent * fuhrwerk ;' and although his horae is an old quadruped of the last century, yet Mar- garet has a fine young * klepper,' which I know she will allow me to drive to Dresden ; at any rate, I will try for it ; and if the worst comes to worst, we will set out to-night and walk the distance in seven hours. There now ; I will stay by you, my true heart, till the close of the play, and as much longer as you choose.'
I took the hand which Macklorne in the warmth of the moment extended to me, and acknowledged my sense of his kindness by a cordial pressure. So strongly reinforced as I had been since the morning, I began to take courage.
It was near sunset, and we turned toward the inn. The declining glories of the day gave a softened aspect to the landscape, and lent a new charm to what seemed perfect before.
As we approached the house I turned to take another look at the prospect we had left: behind. I beheld two horsemen coming at a slow pace down the road. Presently they overtook and passed us. The foremost was — Laurent de Vautrey ; the other was the same sinister-looking wretch who was his attendant at Glencoe. Both master and man were soiled and travel-worn. The Count had not altered as much as one would suppose, considering the lapse of years. His hair, long and black, hung as it was wont, and his coun- tenance exhibited the same expression of secure indifference, coupled with that air of careless, quiet assurance, so generally acquired by men of the world of a certain stamp.
But without discussing his character farther, fiend, brute, devil or what not — there he was ! With the servant the world had evidently gone harder. His appearance though quite as sinister as ever, was considerably subdued, he was thinner and had a more hang-knave air. Perhaps he was in disgrace that morning and was trying to look contrite !
As the horsemen came up with us, Vautrey cast a searching glance not at me, but at Macklorne. The latter returned it with a look of defiance.
At the moment of passing, Vautrey muttered in a low tone, * Be- ware /*
* It is for you to beware. Sir Chevalier,' returaed Macklorne. * I am upon your track again.'
A grim look of hatred was the only return, and the horsemen passed on.
' Do you know that man.' said I.
* Yes, it is the Chevalier Montbelliard, the most abandoned, the most unprincipled, the most unscrupulous rou6 in all Europe. He hates me because I rescued a simple-hearted girl from his clutches before he had accomplished his hellish object : it is a long story, at another time your shall hear it.'
* Macklorne, that is Count Vautrey, the affianced of my cousin Leila St. Leger!'
482 The St. Leger Papen. [June,
' Now may the Grbat God forefend !' exclaimed my companion, wildly. ' Go \ cut him down ; kill, murder, assasainate, perish your- self, perish all of us, but urrest that awful doom for the innocent ! Not a moment should be lost ; away, let us '
Just then something pulled MackJome sharply by the sleeve. We both turned and I beheld an object the most hideous and repulsive I had ever set eyes upon. The creature — I can scarcely call it hu- man — was in the last stages of destitution. His body was covered with rags, his hair had apparently been unshorn for years, and hung in matted locks upon his shoulders, mingling with his long and grizly beai'd, his head rested upon his breast, his frame was absolutely bare of flesh, and the nails upon his fingers had grown to be like birds' claws. This was the creature that had stolen so noiselessly upon Macklome and plucked his sleeve.
* So, so, my poor fellow, we have met again !' said my friend to him, soothingly. * You look famished. Deutschland does^not agree with you. I wish I could spare you enough to make you comfortable ; here, it is the best I can do ;' and Robert Macklome drew out a few groschens from his pocket.
' Let me see if I cannot do something,* said I. At the sound of my voice the object raised its head ; it relieved me to find that he could raise it ; and peered at me with the smallest, the keenest, the most intensely infernal pair of fiery-black eyes that I ever encoun- tered. Alas ! that I should say so when doubtless all this was the effect of misery and want.
No sooner had the creature set those same eyes upon me, than he uttered a wild cry and extended his hand eagerly to receive the pro- mised alms. I drew out my purse and extracted some silver. The creature shook its head impatiently and pointed to the road as if in haste to get on. I gave my purse another turn and a guinea and two thaler pieces rolled out. The miserable wretch clutched them with an aii* of desperation and springing rapidly past me, made a wild gesture to Macklome, and setting into a sort of dog-trot, was soon out of sight.
* How our friends accumulate on our hands,' said Macklome. * Do n't look so surprised. In this section, transformed and deformed and devil-formed creatures are common enough. The devil-formed on horseback and the wretch on foot. I have a story to tell you about this too ; but not now. I must go and provide for our morning's conveyance ; wo must set off* by five o'clock.
There are certain periods when events seem to hasten to their con- summation. — I say seem to hasten, for though it is but short work to reap the field and get in the harvest, yet how slowly did the seed ger- minate, the leaves sprout, the blossoms put forth and the fruit mature. The consummation is sudden nevertheless. — And at such periods how rapidly the scenes change, how swiflly one after another do the actors glide across the stage ; how strangely circumstances tend to concentrate every thing upon some Qpe hazard ; and how irresistible is the force which concentrates !
1849.] Our Winter Birds. 483
The toll-gate that day had been the neutral ground. What a sin- gular grouping — had, the several characters chanced together ! But they were not thus to*chance. Another act of the drama remained. A last scene in which all these should meet : The kind hearted but complacent matron ; Leila and her lover ; Vautrey and the beggar : Macklome and I !
^ur 89(ntec 3S(rlis.
THE OWL.
— ' Hakx ' pencq ! It wan the owl that shri«k«d. the fatal bell-XQan. Which f^y«8 the stem'st good night.'
What bird, by the howl of the tempest unawed, In the gloom of a cold winter night is abroad 7 He quits his dim roost in some desolate deil, And skims like a ghost over meadow and fell.
To break his long fast the red fox is a-foot, But pauses to hear a wild ominous hoot, As, muffled in feathers, the hermit glides by, With a fiery gleam in his broad staring eye.
By hunger the robber is driven away From haunts where in summer he hunted his prey ; He banquets no more on the robin and wren. And the white-breasted donnouse is safe in his den.
Hushed now in the fann-house are voices of mirth, And pale ashes cover the brand on its hearth ; The windows are darkened ; no longer a-glow With lights that made ruddy the new-fallen mow.
The bam of the farmer, wind-shaken and old, Is a favorite haunt of the plunderer bold ; And thither, like phantom that flits in a dream. He hurries to perch on some dust-covered beam.
The gloom of the place his keen vision explores, Both granary, hay-loft and straw*littered floon. And merciless talons will capture and tear The poor little mice that abandon their lair.
484 Our Winter Birds. [June.
Sometimes on his perch, till the breakiug of day, The lonely marauder of night will delay ; And his globular orbs, that see well in the. dark, Sly foes on the walk are unable to mark.
They spare not — for plumage discovered at mom Nigh dove-cote and hen-house was bloody and torn ; And, victim of false accusation, is slain The mouser that preyed on the robbers of gram.
To kill I forbore, when a mischievous boy, Though lifted on high was my club to destroy ; So bravely the creature received my attack. Fiercely snapping his bill, and with talons drawn back.
Old talcs of romance on my memory crowd. When Eve is abroad with her mantle of cloud. And dolorous notes, in the wilderness heard. The waking announce of night*s favorite bird.
I think of old abbeys and mouldering towers,
And wrecks dimly seen through lorn moon -lighted bowers,
Where beasts of the desert resort for a lair.
And howlot and bittern for shelter repair.
The gray feathered hermit would frighten of old
Rude hinds overtaken by night in the wold,
By hoary tradition, irom infancy taught.
That his screech with a fearful foreboding was fraught.
His image flamed out on the terrible shield That Pallas up-bore when arrayed for the field; An emblem that Wisdom, when others are blind. Clear-sighted, a path through the darkness will find.
When proud Idumeawas cursed by her God, And brambles grew up where the mighty once trod ; Owls, flapping their pinions in palaces wide, Raised a desolate scream of farewell to her pride.
When shadows that slowly creep over the lea Call the feathered recluse from his hollow oak tree, That murder scene ofl to my sight is displayed By the wizzard of Avon so grandly portrayed.
1849.] Horace and Juvenal as SaHrisU. v 485
While drear shapes of horror are gibbering round Guilt whispers, appalled : 'Didst thou hear not a Bound ?* Then blood curdling tones pierce the gloom in reply : * / heard the Owl scream, and the hearth-cricket cry .'*
Oh, vex not the bird ! let him rule evermore,
In a shadowy realm with antiquity hoar :
Quaint rhyme he recalls that was sung by our nurse,
And the masters of song weave his name in their verse.
HORACE AND JUVENAL AS SATIRISTS.
nx ' rRAKCi*.'
The relative merits of Horace and Juvenal as satirists, have af- forded prolific themes for discussion to the scholars of every age. It is a question on vehich men will form different opinions according as their dispositions are suited to relish the playful raiUery of the one or the bitter invective of the other.
It is impossible to estimate fairly, the claims of these two great satirists to superiority by simply contrasting their beauties and their imperfections ; we must take into consideration the nature of the dif- ferent periods in which they wrote, observe the different influences to which they were subjected, and especially the corruption of the Roman morals and manners after the brilliant age of Augustus.
Before proceeding, therefore, to a particular examination of the re« spective characteristics of Horace and Juvenal, let us first direct our attention to the prosperity of this Roman empire during the reign of Augustus ; its degeneracy in the subsequent age of Domitian ; to the consequent difference in the range of subjects which were presented for satire ; and lastly, to the characteristics of the two poets as illus- trated in their satirical compositions.
The battle of Actium resulted in the defeat of Antony, and Augustus now remained the undisputed sovereign of the Roman world. The civil wars which had exhausted the strength of the republic ; the pro- scriptions which had marked the bloody progress ot the triumvirate had now ceased, and the Roman once more enjoyed the blessings of universal tranquillity. For seven successive centuries a series of brilliant triumphs had extended the Roman empire over the fairest portions of the eastern world. The cities that had once rivalled Rome in giandeur and in influence had gradually sunk into compara- tive insignificance, and even the Athenian republic had acknowledged the supremacy of the proud mistress of the world.
486 Horace and Juvenal as Satiruii. [June,
The politic Augustus now sought to console the Roman people for their loss of liberty by preserving the imaee of the free constitution ; by concealing his insatiable ambition unaer the subtle veil of his hypocrisy ; and especially by fostering that taste for luxury which had been acquired by intercourse with the effeminate nations of the East. The influence of Grecian philosophy and poetry had already given a new direction to the Roman mind, and we now behold with a mixture of surprise and admiration, the brilliant triumphs of arms succeeded by the imperishable conquests of the mind, and the stem nature of the Roman subdued and refined by the softening influences of lite- rary pursuits.
This change in the prospects of the Roman Empire was attended, like all other great revolutions, with its advantages and its evils. On the one hand, a new direction was given to the tastes of the Ro- man ; the researches of philosophy ; the ideal creations of poetry nourished his understanding and delighted his fancy ; while the ex- quisite models of Grecian Art, which had been transferred to Rome, inspired him with new and purer conceptions of the beautiful. Thus was literature encouraged, and the pursuits which add the charms of refinement to the blessings of civilization fostered and cultivated.
But on the other hand, with what unfortunate evils was this same prosperity attended ! An appetite for luxury and sensual indulgence insensibly grew up, and strengthened with this love for intellectual enjoyment, till it npened into a passion which was destined soon to predominate over every generous inclination, and eventually to re- sult in the prostitution of every physical energy. Elegant taste in letters was too ofl»n most unhappily combined with an inordinate love of splendid show. Men like the effeminate Maecenas, who en- joyed the patronage of the munificent Augustus, though the noblest patrons or learning were unfortunately at the same time the most professed devotees of pleasure. ' They,' says the historian of Roman literature, * were frequently imitated in their villas and entertainments by those who had no pretensions to emulate such superiors, or who vied with them ungracefully. The wealthy freedman and the pro- vincial magistrate rendered themselves ridiculous by this species of rivalry, and supplied endless topics for sportive satire ; for it would appear that Maecenas, and those within the pale of fashion, had not made that progress in true politeness which induces either to shun the society of such pretenders, or to endure it without contributing to their exposure. Hence the picture of the self-importance and ridiculous dress of Anfidius Luscus, and the entertainment of Nasi- dienas, to which Maecenas carried his buffoons along with him, to contribute to the sport which their host supplied.'
At this period there was also another class of society, which were so entirely destitute of those nobler and more manly feelings which were the peculiar characteristics of the early Romans, as to seek to gratify their avaricious appetites by paying the most assiduous homage to the more wealthy at Rome ; such persons presented fit subjects for the cutting ridicule of the satirist, who viewed with a generous indignation this utter prostitution of the Roman character.
1849.] £braee and Juvenal a$ SaUriiU. 487
The intimate connection which existed between Horace and Maecenas afforded every opportunity to the satirist of observing the different dispositions of mankind. The crowd of clients that thronged the airium of the elegant courtier ; the stem stoic, whose mflexible doctrines so little accorded with the voluptuous habits of the com- munity ; the inferior poets, who obsequiously courted the patronage of Augustus ; all presented to this keen observer of human nature ample field for the display of his satirical humor. It was, however, an age of folUes rather than of vicet. The enlivening draught of pleasure had rather exhilarated than intoxicated the Roman mind. The pleasures of the body were still in a considerable degree tem- perea by the refined enjoyments of the mind ; courtly flattery had not degenerated into that heartless intrigue, nor elegant luxury into that debasing sensuality, which characterized the profligate age of JuvenaL
Such was the social and the intellectual condition of Roman so- ciety in the polite age of Augustus, and these were the scenes which excited the delicate irony of Horace. Let us now briefly consider the previous state of satirical composition and the concomitant cir- cumstances which would naturally contribute toward rendering Ho- race the sportive philosopher rather than the bitter declaimer. His predecessor Lucilius lived at a period which, though corrupted by luxury, had not attained to the polished elegance of the Augustan age. He flourished in the days of the republic, when vice could be attacked with impunity, when society was divided into factions, and when the powerful patronage of Scipio and Lselius afforded sufii- cient protection against the wrath of the unprincipled and profligate Lupus. But Horace lived in a far different state of society. With the death of Cicero expired the last voice for freedom ; the powerful advocates of republican liberty had fallen beneath the proscriptions of the triumvirate, and Rome now bowed in servile submission before the most affable, but at the same time the most despotic of tyrants. The old freedom of speech was now interdicted by the enforcement of the laws of the twelve tables ; and the Roman satirist could well exclaim :
' Si mala condiderit in quern qnis cannina, jut est Judiciiimque.'
In addition to these legal restrictions, the natural disposition of Horace exerted a powerful influence on the character of his satires. High intellectual abilities are rarely combined with strong physical ener- gies. The graceful poet who can sing the praises of Bacchus or celebrate the joys of the convivial circle, is litUe fitted to assume the sombre garb of the inflexible moralist. The imaginative disposition of the one is incompatible with the stem nature of the other. Horace inclined more to the agreeable theory of the Epicureans than to the vigorous doctrines of the Stoics. Hb penetrating observation saw the follies of an effeminate age ; but his natural timidity attempted their correction by the winning influence of gentle dissuasion rather than by the doubdful effect of vehement censure. His abhorrence of VOL. XXXIII. 44
488 Horace and Juvenal as Satirists. [June,
vice was tempered by his thorough knowledge of human nature, while his own moderate addiction to convivial pleasures led him to regard more charitably the unrestrained excesses of others.
From the combined influences of these external circumstances and his own natural disposition, we might expect to find Horace the lively philosopher instead of the virulent censor. The keen shaft of cut- . ting ridicule was in fact the only weapon that he could successfully employ ; it was far better suited to the nature of his age than the ponderous blows of Lucilius or the resistless thrusts of Juvenal.
It is an universal principle of human nature that men can more easily be persuaded than forced into reformation ; and this is most especially true when their errors partake more of the nature of ex- travagant follies than of flagitious crimes. Roman comedy had Hot at this time any higher aim than the mere gratification of a vivacious populace. The plays of Terence illustratied Grecian rather than Roman failings; and even these, at the time of the accession of Augustus, had degenerated into empty pantomime. This did not escape the observation of the sagacious Horace ; he saw before him the most extensive field for the exercise of his brilliant genius ; he regarded with sorrow the increasing degeneracy of his time, and in devoting his whole energies to its reformation exhibited to the world one of the most pleasing examples of a mind which, though sub- jected to all the demoralizing influences of a voluptuous court, could yet inculcate the principles of exalted virtue and the precepts of true morality.
With this general outline of the circumstances in which he was placed, and the objects which he proposed to accomplish, let us pro- ceed to a more minute investigation of his peculiar characteristics as a satirical poet. This perhaps may be accomplished more suc- cessfully by critically examining the spirit of several of his more popular satires, than by presenting a mass of imperfect illustrations collected at large from the whole.
II. We begin with the second satire of the second book, in which Horace ridicules the extravagant luxury in which the wealthy cour- tiers indulged, by vividly contrasting the evils resulting from such effeminacy with the happiness attendant on a frugal life and moderate diet. These lessons of morality are represented as coming from the Sabine Ofellus, who, like Virgil, had been deprived of his lands to reward the valor of a veteran who had served at Philippi :
' Nee meat hlc sermo est,*
says the artful poet,
* ted quBB prflBceph Ofellua RufiticuB, abnormifl sapiens crassaque Minxkva.'
It has been well suggested that Horace has thus added more truth and liveliness to the picture • than if he had inculcated these moral precepts in his own person.' The frequency with which he attended the sumptuous feasts of Maecenas would have exposed him to the charge of inconsistency had he not thus skilfully disguised his own
1849.] Horace and Juvenal as Sdiirists, 489
keen reflections under the plain obeervations of the virtuous Ofellus.
It must here be observed, that the private habits of Horace ex- hibited little of the rigorous abstemiousness of Lucilius or the frugal' simplicity of Juvenal. His more vivacious temperament inclined him to greater indulgences; but the lessons of practical morality which he had received fi'om a father, who united the fondness of an affectionate parent with the severity of a moral adviser, prevented him from immoderate excesses ; and it is only when he is excited by the enthusiasm of the convivial circle that we observe in him a tern* porary suspension of their influence.
Horace next requests his friends, while ' away from sumptuous banquets/ to discuss calmly the pleasures of a contented and frugal life:
< Lkporem sectatut, e^uore
Lrmus ab indomito, rel, ai Romana fatigat Militia atauetam Greecari, aea plla velox, Molliter anstemm atndio fallente laborem. Sen te diacua agit ; p«te cedentem aSra dlaco ; Qtium labor eztuderit faatidia, aiccna, inania, 8pemo cibom vUem ; niai Hymettia mella Falemo tie biberia diluta.' *
How happily is the purpose of the poet here introduced I Without denouncmg his friends for their extravagant indulgence in those habits which impair the physical energies, he gaily requests them, in his own amiable way, to engage in those invigorating exercises which strengthen the body and refresh the mind. ' Let me see you,' he laughingly exclaims, ' despise coarse food or refuse to quaff the Falemian unless tempered with Hymettian honey, after you have exercised yourself in hunting, in throwing the bsdl, or in pitching the quoit For,' he adds,
* NoN in caro nidore Toluptaa
Summa, aed in to ipao eat't
He next proceeds to ridicule the epicure who preferred the inferior flavor of the gaudy peacock to the delicate meat of the unpretend- ing fowl, by archly inquiring :
' NuK Toacoria iata,
Quam landaa, ploma t*
The succeeding passage strikingly exhibits the effeminate charac- ter of the age, and presents an admirable illustration of the exquisite irony of the satirist :
< Undx datam aentia, Inpua hie TiberiniUf an alto Captaa hiet t ponteane inter Jactatoa, an amnla OatiaaubTaacit'
' How happens it,' says he, ' that you are favored with a percep-
* PopK haa prettily and concifely rendered thia paaaage in hia 'ImitatioBf of Hokacs :*
' ' Oo work. hunt. ezercii«.' ha that began, ' Then ecom a homely dinner If you can.' '
t ' Turn ptoMure ilea in fou, and not the meai'.pora.
490 Horace and Juvenal as Satiriiti. [June,
don 60 delicate, as to distinguish a different flavor in a fish caught between the Milvian and Sublician bridges from one taken at the mouth of the Tuscan river ?' We can conceive of no more delicate way in which he could have satirized these absurd fancies of the &«• tidious epicure. Keen reproof is so tempered by sound advice, and cutdng raillery is so agreeably softened by graceful pleasantry, that we can readily unite with Shaftesbury in calling him the most gen- tlemanlike of Roman poets.
When we consider the folly, the extravagance and the luxury which pervaded every class of Roman society, the debauchery and licentiousness which was daily exhibited at the banquets of the wealthy, and especially the rapid decline of that rigorous moralty and noble-minded virtue which characterized the early career of the Roman republic, we wonder at the gentle admonitions of the satirist. Men, like Horace, who amid the contamination of universal corrup- tion can still lead lives of comparative purity, are seldom apt to re- gard with any degree of clemency the existence, much less the con- tinual practice, of immorality. That Horace foresaw the future results of these pernicious practices is evident from hb eulogies on the early founders of Rome, from his allusions to the simplicity of an earlier age, and from his enthusiastic enumeration of the virtues of the *prisca gens mortalium,* But what reformation could a single man, who was dependent for his support upon the bounty of a pro- fessed sensualist, effect in a community whose loss of liberty was unhappily succeeded by the decline of every national virtue 1 All that he could do was to hold before them the mirror which should faithfully reflect the foibles and the extravagances of a thoughtless and impulsive populace.
Having thus vividly detailed the evils of immoderate indulgence, the poet next proceeds to illustrate the advantages of a moderate and simple diet :
* AcciPX ntinc, victoa tenuis que quantaqae ■ecnm Afferat ImprimU valeas bene : nam Tariaa res Ut noceant homini, credaa, memor illiua esce, QuflB simplex olim tibi sederit.**
' See you not,' he continues, ' how pale each guest arises from the profuse entertainment 1 — and beside, how the body, overloaded with yesterday's excesses, weighs down also the mind, and depresses to the earth this portion of the divine spirit V
' Trausius, indeed,' replies the epicure, ' can justly be censured with these words ; but I enjoy a largo income and possess an ample fortune for three kings.' •
* Why, then,' replies Horace, * do you not better dispose of your abundance 1 Why should any one be in want, while you are wealthy 1 Why do the venerable temples of the gods fall to ruin 1 And why
* < ' Now hear what blessings temperance can bring/ Thus said oi)r friend, and what he said I sing ; ' First, health ; the stomach Remembers oft the school-boy's simple fare, The temperate sleeps, and spirits light as air.*— Pon.
1849.] Horace and Juvenal ai Satiritts. 491
do you not, from so vast a treasury, bestow something upon your beloved country V
In this passage we perceive the first conceptions of that spirit of public charity which in the progress of civilization has been deve- loped into one of the greatest blessings of society. That pure, dis- interested philanthropy, that generous sympathy in the sunerings of others, that lends such a charm to the human character, is not to be found in a community where the poor are rather the slaves than the countrymen of the wealth v ; it is only the inestimable blessing of a truly enlightened and cultivated people.
* Templa ruunt antiqua Dedm,* says the satirist How pregnant with meaning is this single sentence ! When society is so far ad- vanced in the ephemeral pleasures of the body as to neglect the etei^^ nal interests of the soul, then may we predict its inevitable destiny. However absurd be the principles of the national faith, however dis- honored by its ministers or corrupted by its disciples, still in the ab- sence of any purer -it roust be cherished and honoiBd as the only institution by the preservation of which social happiness can be in- creased and national prosperity be secured.
' Cu», Improbe, car© "
Non aliqnid patrias tanto emetiria acenro t'
continues Horace. 'Patriotism' was a word whose meaning the Roman did not clearly understand, or whose importance he did not fully estimate. He was pioud of his noble lineage, proud of his country, and proud of her unrivalled grandeur ; but here the feeling ended. He had no conception of that genuine patriotism which ex- hibits itself in a harmonious union of the interests of the rulers and the ruled, in a sacred reverence for the national honor, and in a generous desire for the attainment of one sole object — the general happiness of society. The character of Horace, then, appeal's in a still more beautiful light when we reflect that these noble-minded sentiments were uttered with none of that intolerant asperity which is so oflen the characteristic of the enthusiastic reformer ; they were delivered with that earnestness of feeling and that gentleness of per- suasion which touches the heart and awakens the kmdred sympatnies of our nature.
The concluding lines of this satire indicate the unhappy condition of the times and the mutations which society had undergone. They partake, however, more of the character of philosophical reflections than of satirical reproach :
• ' Nunc ager Umbreni sub nomine, nnper Ofelll
Dictaa. erit nulli proprias. sed cedit in usnm Nunc mlbi, nunc alii. Quocirca Tirite fortes Fortlaque adYeralB opponlte pectora rebus.'
These passages will fairly exemplify the satirical powers of our author, when directed against the luxurious voluptuary. It remains now to consider, before we leave this division of our essay, the merited scorn which he bestows upon the obsequious and unprinci- pled parasite.
492 Horace and Juvenal as SatiriMit. [June,
The manner in which this is effected is somewhat remarkable. Homer, in the eleventh book of the Odyssey, represents Ulysses as descending into Hades to learn from the prophet Tiresias his future fortune. Ho'race continues the episode at the point where it was left by the Grecian poet, and through the answers of the soothsayer directs the keenest satire against those who were known by the sig- nificant appellation of Parasites.
The incongruity of ascribing to the Grecian soothsayer Tiresias, who lived in an ase of frugal simplicity, as describing those sordid habits which are mcident only to a corrupted state of society, and which did not exist at Rome till several centuries after the decline of the Grecian power, is forgotten when we observe how artfully the poet metamorphozes the heavenly prophet into the worldly satirist, and with what exquisite skill he ' accommodates Grecian characters to the circumstances of Roman life." Ulysses thus begins :
• Hoc qaoqae, Tibxsia, jpneter narrata, petenti Responde : quibui aniuMs reparare qveafa ret Artibaa atque modis. Quid ndea V
(Thia alao, O Tiaxsiab, now declare How I my ruined fortunea may repair.)
riRESIAS.
' lamne doloao Non tatfa eat Ithacam revehi, patrioaque penatee Adapicere t'
(What, not enough, O, artful man I for thee Thy household goda, thy Ithac\ again to aee f)
— ^ ' O nulli quidouam mentite, Tidea nt Nudus inopaque domum reaeam, te vate, neque {Die Aut apotheca procia intacu eat, aut pecua. AtquJ Et genua ct virtus, niai cum re, yilior alga eat.'
(O, thou, to no one false, you now behold Uow destitute I come, as you foretold : Suitors at home have taken what I did possess ; My birth, my virtue, arc nothing now but emptiness.)
Tiresias then informs him that he can very easily obtain the object of his desires by obsequiously courting the favor of the wealthy. This, however, does not seem to be in accordance with the disposi- tion of the haughty Ulysses, for he indignantly replies :
* Utnx tegam spurco Damjb latos t hand ita Trojss Me geasi.'
(What, thus on filthv Damas wait ? Not thus at Troy I bore myself.)
And again demands :
Divitiaa eerisque ruam, die augur, acervos.'
(Whence Riches, wealth, can I amaast O, sacred prophet, tell I)
The prophet gives an answer, the sense and spirit of which have thus been happily translated :
1849.] Horace and Juvenal at Satirists* ^ 493
* PoK wills of rich old dotnrdt lie in wait ; Though some, more subtle, nlbblbig shun the bait, Despair not, but still carry on your plan. And take in all the bubbles that you can. If with his betters a rich knave contend, Whate'or the cause, if childless stand his friend ; Reject the Juster side, the purer life. If there be children or a fruitful wife, QniNTus or Publivs call him ; names like these Vain, empty coxcombs wonderfully please.
See, a bystander Jogs him and commends Your zeal and patience to assist your friends. You by such wiles fresh dupes will daily get. And shoals of gudgeons soon will fill your net* *
The prophet proceeds to suggest as a second method of repairing his fortune, the not unusual expedient of supplanting the sickly heir of some wealthy dotai'd :
' This chance seldom fails :
If fate the boy to Oacus sends, His place you may supply.'
The most striking feature of this satire consists in the stronp^ anti- thesis which is continually presented hetween the advice of Tiresiaa and the replies of Ulysses. These two characters may he considered as representatives of the two grand eras in the social history of Rome ; the age of simplicity and virtue, and the age of avarice and corrup- tion. We hehold the stern fortitude, the unwavering integrity of the manly soldier most painfully contrasted with the effeminacy, the im- morality of the cringing courtier.
The humorous character of Horace is very admirably displayed in the ninth satire of the first book. It is replete with that elegant wit, that exquisite display of unlabored brilliancy, which so particularly distinguishes Horace from the other Roman satirists.
From these illustrations of the distinguishinc; features in the didac- tic compositions of Horace, we perceive that his merits as a satirist consist m his perfect knowledge of human nature, in his exquisite appreciation of the foibles of his age, and especially in the delicate way in which he expresses his abhorrence of vice by inculcating the principles of virtue and morality. His philosophy is the philosophy of an impulsive, an unreflecting people, now inclining to the abstruse theories of the Stoics, and now to the accommodatmg doctrines of the Epicureans ; distinguished by a decided predilection to no parti- cular creed, it yet embodied the general principles and the worthier features of them all. t
In his manner we see the simplicity of the virtuous Sabine peasant combined with the urbanity of the voluptuous Romftn courtier. He was suited exactly to the nature of his age, possessing as he did that most iucstimable of all faculties, the power of amending without first angering a friend. That bitterness of scorn, that vehemence of cen* sure, and we may add, that intolerance of spirit, which are almost the essential requisites of the moral reformer, were in him supplied by that liveliness of sarcasm, that gentleness of dissuasion, and that
*DUNO0IIBS.
494 . The Street Mutidan. [Jane,
openness of disposition, wbich operate so powerfully upon the nobler feelings of our nature. His successor Persius has thus graphically and truly described him :
* Omn Tafer Tlttimi ridentl Flaocus amleo Taagit, et admiatnJ cirenm precordia ludit Callldns exeurao popalum fuapendero dmo.' *
THE STREET MUSICIAN.
STODSAKB.
Hb played along the dusty street
The music of his native land ;
And boys with kites and hoops in hand Listened, and little lasses sweet. With hoods thrown baok, and pin-a-fores ;
And maidens, by the curtains screened.
Peeped out, and o'er the casement leaned. And mothers stood in open doon. And held their children, laughingr gay. To hear the street musician play.
He played amid the motley crowd
The music of his native land ;
'T was soft and low, 't was rude yet grand - It died away, and thundered loud ; At last he played the homesick strain,
A sweet old tune, devoid of art :
A thrill ran quivering through his heart ; A mist, a shadow filled his bram, And memory crossed the ocean's foam ; The street musician was at home !
'■ He stood beneath his native clime :
He saw the snowy Alps arise, * And cleave with icy peaks the skies —
Eternal, awftil and sublime !
He heard the foaming torrents dash.
< With greater art sly Ho back gained hli end. But •pared no failing of hie ■miling friend ; SporUTe and pleasant round the heart he played. And wrapped in jest the censure he conreyed : With luch address his willing rictims seized. That tickled fools were rallied and were pleased/
1849.]
The Street Musician. 495
From rock to rock, in channs deep, The glaciers slipping on the steep ; The toppling avalanche's crash, The noise of storms, the shock, the jar ; The thunder shouting from afar !
He chased the chamois on the hills,
Through trackless snows for ages white ; He drove his wild flocks, mom and night.
To sunny vales and limpid rills ;
He heard the tinkling of their bells ; He played his pastoral reed again, And listening shepherds caught the strain.
And answered from the neighboring dells ;
And Echo, with melodious oar.
Prolonged it in the caverns drear.
The bells were rung, and rebecks played ;
< And young, and old came forth to play.
On a sun-shine holiday,' In groups a-dancing in the shade ; The sun was bright, the sky was blue:
He took his true-love by the hand.
Tripped down and led the saraband ; And bows were bent, and arrows flew. And tales were told of what befeU The country in the days of Tkll.
He sat at home, a winter night ; The snow was falling on the moors : Without, the wild wmds shook the doon. But all within was glad and bright, And filled his heart, with pleasant cheer ; He sat before the blazing fire, Beside his white and reverent sire, His mother and his sbter dear ; They sang their pleasant country airs. And offered up their simple prayers.
Away the mocking vision flies ; 'T was but a coinage of his brain : A moment, and he woke again.
And tears were gushing in his eyes ;
He brushed them off, and played away. But lighter music, gayer reels, And children followed at his heels
To see his little marmot play.
But all unseen that merry band.
His heart was in his father-land.
496 Romance of the Tropict. [Jane,
THE ROMANCE OF THE TROPICS.
BT JOCM S8AX4B WAUKXK.
The world which we inhabit is but one of a countlesB host of islands which stud the illimitable ocean of infinity. From the moment when the voice of an omniscient God echoed throughout chaos, and called it into existence, it has been ceaselessly revolving from year to year around a grand centre, from which it deiives its light, its heat and its beauty. This is the sun of our system. The various relations which the earth bears to this magnificent luminary, and which occa- sion the peculiarities of atmospherical temperature, have given rise to the distinction of zones — the Fngid, the Temperate, and ihe Tor- rid— into which our globe has by geographer and astronomers been divided. The Temperate zone, in which fortune has cast our lot, is chai*acterized by the quarterly changes of the seasons ; the Frigid is governed by an etei*nal winter ; while the Torrid, which lies between the Tropic of Cancer on the north and the Tropic of Capricorn on the south, is the abiding-place of perpetual summer.
In the Frigid zone the spirit of desoladon, like a dark pall, seems to brood over the face of nature. Gigantic mountains of ice, motion- less and sublime, tower in silent majesty to the sky. By day they glitter with the prismatic hues of the mocking sunbeams, and stand like spectre-sentinels during the long night, bathed in the glow of an electrical twilight. Endless fields of unmelting snow, the accumu- lated hoard of ages, stretch out like seas of silver to the poles. Cold and piercing winds whistle and howl among the craggy icebergs, and freezing storms of sleet and hail sweep incessantly over the whitened plains. Here no pleasant spot of verdure greets the eye of the living, or blade of grass springs up over the graves of the dead. Warmth does not exist, save by the ruddy fires of the ham- lets, unless it may be the warmth of love and afiection, which bum here as elsewhere, in the still recesses of the human heart.
How striking is the contrast which the tropics present to the en- raptured vision of the beholder ! Extend your gaze over land and sea ; over broad waters mantled with sunshine, and vast forests gay with flowers and sparkling with dew-drops ; over grassy meadows, where droves of wild cattle graze in peaceful tranquillity, and gi-oves of waving palms, where birds of crimson and azure and golden plumes twitter and sing amid the feathery branches ; where gentle breezes fan the languid foliage, gathering sweet perfumes from the blossoming trees. Behold Siis charming picture ; and while your soul is drinking in its beauty, tell me if aught but virtue is required to convert this fair realm into one's ' beau ideal' of a terrestrial paradise ?
Never can I forget the exquisite feeling of delight which came
1849.] Romance of the Tropics. 497
suddenly upon me when for the first time I wandered in a tropical forest. It was mid-day, but the atmosphere of the woods was refresh- ingly cool, and odorous with the breath of flowers. A dense wilder- ness surrounded me. The trees were of immense proportions and of great height, while their colossal trunks seemed like huge columns supporting the leafy canopy which their thickly-matted branches formed overhead. The light of the sun was nearly excluded, and a solemn twilight prevailed. Flowers, of prodigious size and gro- tesque shapes, shone like stars amid the verdure ; plants of the deep- est green, with expansive leaves and enormous stems, clustered toge- ther in luxuriant groups ; creepine vines encircled many of the trees with their serpentine folds, and m some places were so effectually netted together, as to constitute an impassable barrier in the path of the traveller ; festoons of parasitic flowers drooped in floating masses from the loftiest boughs ; frolicksome monkeys gambolled and chat- tered among the tree-tops, while at intervals the bright plumage of some sylvan bird might be seen in bold contrast with the emerald tint of the foliage. The effect of such new and wondrous beauty upon the mind of the wanderer is beyond the power of language to describe. He almost fancies that he is in the midst of a delightful dream, from which he may at any moment be awakened, or that he has been translated by some magical influence to the far-famed gar- dens of the Hesperides.
But beautiful as the scenery of the tropics appears by day, it yet seems far more beautiful at night, when every leaf and tree and flower is bathing as it were in the liquid light of the moon. The wild landscape, which expands indefinitely around, is suffused with a mellow flush, as soft and sweet as the smile of innocence ; tall palms raise themselves above the mass of surrounding foliage, while their graceful branches, silvered by the moonlight, flutter gently in the midnight breeze ; the melodious song of a southern nightingale is perchance the only sound which steals upon his sense ; all save this strain of bewitching music is hushed in silence, sacred and pro- found. . While listening to this thrilling harmony, the contemplative mind grows sad, as thoughts too deep for utterance glide like shades from the spiri^land through the heated imagination of the spectator ; home, with all its kindling associations, rises up vividly before him : the happy home of his boyhood. ' A change comes over the spirit of his dream ;' he thinks of the eternal home to which the whole human race are hastening, ' with steps so noiseless, yet so sure,' and the wings of his soul expand, as if to transport him to that immortal country * from whose bourne no traveller returns.'
But the splendor and romance of the torrid zone is by no means confined to the land. The ever-glorious sea claims its due share of eulogy and honor. A broad expanse of quicksilver by day ; an ocean of liquid fire by night ! At times as quiet as the slumbering child, and again as boisterous as a frantic giant. Either in its repose or its anger, it is the grandest object in nature ; vast, unfathomable, and sublime, it is the symbol of Eternity.
498 Romance of ike Tropict. [June,
' Tim writes no wrinkle on ttiine aznre brow, Such u creatlon't dawn beheld, tiioa rollest now \*
Behold ! it is early morn, and the magnificent orb of day is joat rising from his oriental couch, and shedding his effulgent rays over die spreading waters. The stars fade away as if at the touch of an en- cnanter's wand. A delicious breeze springs up, gradually becoming fresher and stronger. The white sails of your proud vessel sweU out like the pinions of a joyous dove, and away she flies with redou- bling speed over the crested billows.
A glorious sense of freedom takes possession of your mind. Yoa are in the centre of a watery plain, circled by the horizon and arched by the firmament, with no one to dispute your sovereignty or poison your delight. Verily, there is suflicient on the sea to employ the noblest powers of the intellect, and the heart itself is not lonely while it hearkens to the voices of naiads and mermaids, in the soft murmur- ing of the waves. It is related of a celebrated Grerman writer, that while on hb death bed, the only regret that he expressed, was that he had never beheld the ocean ; and in a few moments after the regret had passed his lips, his soul drifted out upon that unknown sea which encompasses the material universe.
The waters of tropical seas are remarkably phosphorescent ; so much so, that on nights when the moon and slat's are partially obscured, the waves seem to be of molten gold, and the wake of the vessel prlitters like the luminous tail of a brilliant meteor. The climate too IS singularly bracbg, and by its exceeding blandness and purity ex- ercises a genial influence in restoring composure to the anxious mind and color to the pallid cheek. The principal drawback to the inex- perienced is the ship's rolling motion, whicn is apt to produce a most uncomfortable malady, that at once puts to flight whatever thoughts of grandeur and romance the magnificence of the ocean may have excited. But to the accustomed mariner, whose whole life has been spent amid the hardships of the sea, this rocking of the vessel is a source rather of comfort and pleasure. It tranquillizes the agitations of his mind, as the motion of a cradle composes and quiets Uie rest- less child. Terrible as is a storm, sailors are generally more appre- hensive of a calm ; and of all parts of the world, a calm in the tropics is particularly to be dreaded. The waters on every side are either smooth, like the surface of a stagnant lake, or agitated by slow, heavy and monotonous swells. The sails droop languidly and flap against the mast and spara with an almost sickening sound, while the sdll air becomes so heated by the unrestricted rays of the sun, that even breathin? is irksome and painful. The heart pants for action ; the mind sighs for change : a squall, a gale, a tempest ; any thing to de- stroy the overwhelming silence and lethargy which prevail. Often, indeed, is this deep repose of the elements but a premonitory symp- tom of an approaching hurricane.
The vrinds, like a crouching tiger, have only been collecting their energies for a more feai'ful spring. A lurid flame glows along the border of the horizon : if it is night, the stars twinkle dim and feebly, as if about to be extinguished, and the moon glimmers with a bloody
1849.] Romance of the Tropics. 499
redness upon the sea. The atmosphere becomes more and more suf- focating, and you feel as if you were standing in a vacuum. Some- thing, you know not exactly what, but of a most appalling character, you are certain is about to ensue.
Suddenly the imprisoned winds break from their dungeons with a portentous roaring, and come with all their concentrated fury upon you : a desperate calm gathers around your heart, for you feel that your last hour has come. The masts of your vessel are torn to splinters, and immense spars are carried away like feathers by the resistless power of the tempest Even chains of iron are sometimes drawn out to double their original length. The bellowing of the elements is so deafening, that all other sounds, even the cry of human anguish, are borne away unheard. The waves swell into enormous billows, which threaten each moment to overwhelm you. The wind rushes by at the rate of a hundred miles per hour. The air is very dense, and the blackness of night gathers over the sky, while at inter- vals the forked lightnings gleam for an instant with the supernatural glare of a torch hurled into the darkness of a subterranean cavern !
The pitiable wretch is agonized with the stem conflict of fear and despair. Thoughts, wild and tumultuous as the hurricane itself, chase eacn other with the speed of lightning, shrieking and echoing through the secret chambers of his soul. The panorama of his entire life presents itself with the distinctness of a picture before his mental vi- sion, and grim and leering death seems clothed with additional terrors. The value of life becomes intensified ; life, abstractly and without any qualifications — ay ! life upon a rocky isle, in a loathsome dungeon ; life — only life ; even if it is to be filled with misery and sorrow !
After a protracted voyage, the first glimpse of even the most barren land is a cheering spectacle, that at once raises the drooping spirits and imparts new tone and vigor to the mind. Judge then of the irresistible effect which the splendid luxuriance of the tropics must have upon one who, at the termination of a long and dreary voyage, gazes for the first time upon its enrapturing beauty! His vessel is perhaps snugly riding at anchor in the mouth of the mighty Amazon. The sun has just disappeared from view, and a mellow twilight, which will linger but for a few moments, now rests upon the wild and lonely landscape. The choristers of the wood are chanting their vespers to the evening stars, while monkeys innumerable are making the forest resound with their diabolical cries ; drowsy beetles fly with a whiz- zing sound near you, while myriads of luminous insects, hover about in the shade of the wilderness, and join their chirpine to the universal jubilee of animated nature. Finally, the spell of silence falls gently upon the tenants of the forest, and you hear only the hovering of bats through the dusky air, or the delicate music of merry guitars vibra- ting sweetly firom the hamlets along the shore. Anon too the sound of rippling laughter comes joyfully to your heart, like the fancied trill of an angel's lyre !
The first impression that is made upon the imaginative mind is often one of surprise, that regions so vast and beautiftil should exist and yet be so litUe known save by vague and uncertain rumors to die
500 Romance of the Tropica. [June,
mass of mankind . Even one's wildest dreams are more than realized. You long to plunge at once into the inviting shade of the forest, to saunter along crystal streams and Indian footpaths with your trusty ffun on your shoulder ; to revel in orange groves, and indulge in the tnousand delights and luxuries of the torrid zone. If you are a naturalist, your reveries will be of birds and plants and flowers, of strange animals and curious shells ; if a poet, your soul will expand with delight in contemplation of the beauties of nature around you, and a murmur of gratitude may perhaps escape your lips, to that kind Providence which has brought you safely to thb captivating country, where all is poetry, and beauty, and love :
* Wmu Nature wonhipt God In the wttdemeM alone.'
The traveller in the tropics cannot fail to be struck with the im- mensity of the rivers, and the grandeur and sublimity of the moun- tain scenery. Where can a more majestic wall be found than the towering range of the mighty Andes, lifting their snow-capped peaks far above the lower clouds, and extending nearly the whole length of the southern continent. Fancy yourself transported to one of their loftiest summits. Westward direct your gaze, and behold the bound- less Pacific rolling in tranquil splendor far down below. Look then to the East, and mark how difl&rent is the scene which meets your eye. A gorgeous landscape, covered by an unbroken forest, stretches away in every direction, mr beyond the limit of your expanded vision. A solemn silence reigns continually over this vast region, whose re- cesses have never yet been explored by man. Behold a glorious torrent, deep and wide, dashing onwara with a powerful current through the midst of this dai'k and emerald-tinted wilderness. It is the far-famed Amazon. For nearly four thousand miles this won- derful river continues its rapid and winding course to the Atlantic, into which it poura with such an irresistible impetus as to affect its waters for more than a hundred miles from shore. Were it not for the tide, assisted by a strong and steady wind from the east, it would be utterly impossible for any power but that of steam to cope success- fully with the formidable current. As .it is, the light and fantastic crafts of the BraziUan natives find but little difiiculty in navigating the river, although their progress is necessarily slow and tedious.
Beside the scenery and the productions, there is still another sub- ject well calculated to arrest the attention and excite the wonder of the solitary wanderer in the tropics : I refer to the ruins of ancient cities which have been found in various sections of South America, completely buried in the depths of the forest Antiquarians have in vain speculated in. regard to these extraordinary relics. No possible clue to their origin has yet been discovered ; they are mementoes and monuments of a race that has long since passed away, leaving behind them no other traces of their existence. Beyond fbis, all is meie conjecture. Of one fact, however, we may be certain : these shat- tered and crumbling cities must have been built by an enlightened nation ; a people that had attained to a high degree of advancement
1849.J Romance ^ the Tropici. 501
in the arts and sciences, and not by wandering tribes of barbarians and savages. Of this no better proof can be rationally demanded by the most sceptical, than the magnificent ruins themselves, which in their architecture display the most consummate skill, and in their ornaments and decorations the most delicate taste and invention.
Among the ruins of Copan, which were visited by Mr, Stephens, the well-known traveller, in the year 1839, the altars and monuments are numerous and manifest an extraordinary perfection of art in the workmanship. Some of the former are above twenty feet in height, and are composed of a sinele block of stone, sculptured and carved in a manner quite equal to the finest obelisks in Egypt. A sepulchral gloom hangs continually ever the majestic rums, and the tall monu- ments loom up like grave-stones in the solemn twilight, speaking to the imagination not only of years but of centuries which have emptied with the stream of time into the ocean of Eternity foraver ! Both the origin and the destruction of these cities are equally myste- rious. What has been the destiny and doom of their unknown in- habitants ? Were they carried away by a deadly pestilence, destroyed by famine, or swallowed up by an earthquake 1 Strange indeed that some few should not have escaped to tell the mournful tale ; that some legend of their history should not still exist, by which mankind could have some faint clue to the impenetrable gloom which conceals their fate so completely from human ken ! Who can contemplate these sacred ruins of once splendid cities, without realizing the insta- bility of all human possessions and the vanity of all earthly grandeur and magnificence 1 Long before Columbus dreamed, amid the luxu- riant valleys of Portugal, of the existence of a great western hemis- phere beyond the wide waste of untravelled waters, a nation more polished and refined perhaps than his own had grown up, matured and withered amid its grand old forests ; and who can deny that there may not have been among the numerous inhabitants, whose mould- ering works proclaim the superiority of their nature, some former Columbus, who had also speculated upon the probability of an Eastern world, and even suggested the importance and practicability of an exploring voyage !
Beauti^l as are the countries which bask in the sunlight of the torrid zone, yet every delight seems to be attended with a counter- acting circumstance. If bright birds sing and fly amid the foliage, venomous snakes, of numberless varietie8,|creep along the ground. If butterflies with painted wings flit in the air like animated jewels, noxious insects of a thousand kinds sting and torment the defenceless traveller. If glittering fish sparkle in the glassy streams, huge alli- gators lay in wait along their shores. Thus does it seem to be in hu- man life. How narrow is the avenue which lies between delight and ' sorrow ; between pleasure and pain I The brightest sunshine casts a gloomy shadow. The fairest rose has its secret thorn j and the sweetest smile is often but the precursor of a tear.
Thus, in the tropics, amid all that is lovely and beautiful to the eye, a deep groan sometimes rouses you from your dreams of happiness ;
502 Romance of tks Trapta. [June,
it comes from the agonized breast of nature ; it is the herald of the earthquake.
This appalling phenomenon occurs most frequently in the near vicinity of volcanoes, and is seldom experienced in countries where the surface of the land is low and level. On the western coast of South America earthquakes are very frequent, and in some sections the inhabitants are kept in a continual state of alarm. In order to resist the shocks, the dwellings are built of solid stone, with broad foundations, and walls of extraordinary strength. These edifices, however, are often demolished, and become the tombs of those whose wealth erected them.
The perfect serenity of the elements which precedes the earth- quake, as well OS the hurricane, is calculated to heighten if possible the terror which both inspire. The sun and sky are crimsoned, as if with rage ; the wild beasts of the forest are seized with the general panic, and rushing madly from their secret lairs, fill the woods with their frightful cries. A sound at length breaks upon your ears like the heavy rumbling of distant thunder ; the birds scream wildly, and the dogs howl fearfully in the streets of the cities. Shock follows shock, in rapid succession, and the subterranean sounds become louder and louder. Although no wind is perceptible, the ocean is violently agitated ; the waves concentrate themselves into tremen- dous billows, and appear to boil and foam like water in a heated caldron. A horrible death stares each one in the face ; the unut- terable doom of being swallowed up alive by the ravenous jaws of the hungry earth ! Mountains totter to their bases, and the rivers and streams become choked up by the immense quantity of falling rubbish. The ground opens in many places, and closes again over forests and cities, and crowds of human beings, no more to be s«en again forever !
Probably the most disastrous earthquake of modem times occurred in the year 1693, in the island of Sicily. So powerful were the shocks, that their force was felt from Naples on one side to Malta on the other. Fifty-four cities and towns, beside a large number of vil- lages, were totaUy destroyed. Among the former was the elegant citv of Catania, distinguished for the splendor of its monuments and edifices, as well as for the royalty and wealth of its inhabitants. This was completely shaken down, and more than eighteen thousand persons were sepulchred amid its ruins. During this sad catastrophe the gigantic volcano of ^tna stood like a gloomy demon frowning in sOent grandeur upon the scene, while a dark cloud hovered over the fatal spot, intercepting entirely the benignant rays of the sun. A terrible and stunning crash, as of the collision of worlds, an- nounced at last that the end of the struggle had arrived ; that the final knell of the doomed city was tolled I
Devastating as earthquakes always are in their apparent conse- quences, yet they are doubtless the result of fixed natural causes, which have been established by the Divinity for wise purposes be- yond the scrutiny of man. This is a truth, too, which we see mani- fested in the moral world. Napoleon deluged half of Europe with
1849.] Romance of the Tropics. 503
the blood of millions, yet thinking men can already perceive the bene- fits which owe their origin to this great political hurricane. Beautiful flowers grow upon poisonous plants ; good springs up spontaneously from the seeds of evil. Voltaire aimed a venomed ^rrow at the in- vincible armor of Religion ; harmlessly it glanced aside, and sank deep and sure into the unprotected breast of modem Superstition. Thus it is throughout nature : we find nothing to have been created in vain ; even that which we regard as evil is not so in reality, but only in appearance ; gaze at it boldly, and you may perhaps disco- ver an angel in disguise.
Of all tropical countries, Brazil may be deservedly ranked as the most magnincent. Its vast extent ; its wild and impenetrable forests ; its lofty mountains ; its charming groves of wavy palms ; its mam- moth river, lined by a flowery wilderness and dotted with luxuriant isles ; its mines rich in gold, and its streams laden with precious gems ; the beauty of its fruits, its flowers and its birds, all conspire to render it worthy of the title which enthusiastic naturalists have bestowed upon it : * The Paradise of the Indies.' It may truly be said that all nere, * save the spirit of man, is divine.'
Much reason has the writer to be thankful for the many joyous hours which a generous Providence afibrded him in this enchanting land. The remembrance of these has been a fountain of peculiar pleasure, and often in spirit have I bathed in the sweet waters of the past ; again have I sauntered along the arched pathways and levelled my gun at the gay-winged parrots, the roseate spoon-bills and the large-beaked toucans ; again have I paddled alone in my little canoe down the embowered streamlets, stopping here and there to visit a favorite hunter whose cottage was erected upon the bank ; again have I swung in my grass-woven hammock beneath the shelter of a leafy verandah, and listened to the mellow songs of the simple-hearted natives. For nine months Jenks and myself lived in a state of per- petual noveltv and delight. True, we were obliged to encounter hardships and submit to a variety of inconveniences which some might have deemed intolerable ; yet such was the fascination of the pursuit in which we were engaged, that to us they appeared like motes floating in a sunbeam. What though we were obliged to re- pose in mud-houses, thatched only with palmetto-leaves ? We had wandered all the day in the wild woods, and could have slept con- tentedly upon the hard earth itself. What though our food was of the most unsavory kind, and oftentimes prepared by no better cooks than ourselves ] Abundance of exercise and fresh air gave us appetites that would have relished either a lizard or an alligator. What though we were precluded from the joys of refined society t were we not in the constant companionship of nature, where every bird and insect and flower spoke to us unceasingly of the wonders and beauties of creation 1 What are books, but a printed collection of human thoughts 1 How much better is it to study the language of nature and read the thoughts of Goo from the volume of the universe I
VOL. xzxni. 45
504 Bamanee of the Tropia. [June,
The study of nature is a pursuit at once ennobling and humane. It elevates the mind and purifies the heart ; it excites an universal sympathy ; kindles a spirit of charity ; gives new interest to life, and leads the soul insensibly to the consideration of the great first cause by which all things were produced, and by which they are continued from season to season in such perfect harmony and order. Let the atheistical sceptic peruse the pages of nature, and his scepticism will vanish like darkness before the light of day. The minutest insect that ever fiew is a demonstrative proof of Divinity. The united power and genius of man is wholly insufficient to create even a common fly.
The nearer we approach the equator the more prolific do we find the mysterious essence of life. We see it floating in the air, glitter- ing in the rivers, and darting through the shrubbery ; we see it on every wave and flower and leaf, in every curious shape that an inex- haustible nature could devise. Life itself is the great secret of crea- tion ; a mystery at which the philosophic mind recoils with dread, as it meditates from whence it came ana whither it goes, but with which the ignorant laugh and play, like the inhabitants of a little island, who in the enjoyment of the present, heed not t}ie gloom and darkness of the ocean which surrounds them :
' Wk are such staff as dreams are made of, And oar little life is roanded with a sleep/
Oh, weak indeed must be that man who can in his heart deny the existence of a God ! Ay, weaker hx than if he denied the exist- ence of himself, an insignificant atom in the universe ; whereas Gtod is infinite, and ' from eternity to eternity.'
In concluding this rhapsodical and imperfect sketch, let us turn our eyes for a moment upon a land which, though without the torrid zone, has nevertheless an enduring interest for us all. It is a country of unlimited extent, rich in its resources, glorious in the past, pros- perous in the present, and unrivalled in its prospects for the future. Man here stands upright and free in all the original dignity of his nature. A parental government extends its guardian arms over him. Like the dew of heaven, its kindly influence falls alike upon the timid flower by the brook-side as well as upon the sturdy oax in the untrodden forest. Truth, goodness and virtue flourish in far greater beauty than the wild flowers of the tropics. The soul germinates, and fills the land with its loveliest fruit. Domestic joys, like fhe ten- drils of the South, entwine themselves closely around one spot more sacred and consecrated than the rest. Love and aflection are here the only sovereigns whose sway is acknowledged ; whose reign is without discord, and whose laws are those which the heart craves as absolutely essential to its own welfare and happiness : \
* WniEE shall that land, that spot of earth be foand t Art thou a man ? a patriot ? — look around : O, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footiteps roam. That land thy Coantry, and that spot thy Home I*
1849.] Hke RwoUUumi cf 'Fartj^Eigki. 605
THE REYOLUTIOlfS OF ' F O B T T • E I O H T .
Wuxv tbe ofBcon attached to the expedition under the command of Lieutenant Lrircn were encamped at ' Aiu-Jlddy/ on the thores of the Dead Sea. a meeten^er from Jerusalem brought tiding of the revolutionary state of Europe, and the sptrit cf republicanism animating all factions arrayed again&t the dominant authority. The following lines were suggested at the time and place abore mentioned, and were finally written In the present .foixa at Beirut.' Notb to tex Editor.
Tui gioom of tyranny is gone ! The nations cast in outer night, 'Mid groans and gnashinn, see the light
That gleams from Freedom°s coming dawn.
Great Freedom comes to judgment : kmgs And rulenr of wrong-governed earth, Nobles and princes, ye of titled birth,
Stem dukes, proud lords, cold-hearted things ;
Who ruled your states with iron rod. From cries of justice turned away, Wrung from the poor your means of sway,
fiLeard not their voice, the voice of God ;
Tlie day of your redemption *s gone ! Upon her holy judgment-seat. The lightnings gathered at her feet.
Her bold brow dark with righteous scorn.
Stem FasiDOM sits : her eyes divine Flash with a holy fire, to smite (^ression to the heart, and light
Tlie groping nations to her shrine.
She paces through the realms ; her tread Startles old anarehies, and light Bunts on the trampled people's night,
As flashes heaven upon the dead.
Great mother of the wronged and jnst.
To thy armed bosom fly for rest
The weary-laden and oppressed, When once thy spirit warms their dust.
There nurtured, when the * need' doth come They strike, and boldly ; hewing down Oppression, though it wear a crown.
To biig]e4)last and throbbing drum :
As when an earthquake shakes a reahn ;
And down through chasm, rifl and chink
The tof^pling cities reel and sink, Mountaini arise, and floocU o'erwhehn :
506 The RevchOiam of 'Farty-EigkL [June,
So to her voice, which shakes men's hearts, Yawn fearful gulfs Hwixt Right and Wrong, ■ Old lies* unhased, not orer strong.
Reel headlong down, * Free Thought' up-starta.
FYee thought and action ! free ideas ! Beneath whose firm dififasiTe strength Roll sceptres, thrones, and kings at length,
A mockery for the unhmi years.
It wakes a fever at the heart
To see these silken fools of chance,
These lords of cattle, glebe and manse, Put rule and righteous law ^lart
What Goo hunself hath joined, again
Are sundered by some frantic ftwl.
Whose Juggernaut of mad misrule Rolls, crushing out the hearts of men.
A dweller 'mid the pine and palm,
Shut out from graver tyrannies,
I hear a voice come down the breeie, A tumult rising through the calm :
A sound of banners borne in wan. Shrill trumpet-blasts, and thnnd'rous drums. The shock of squadrons, bursting bombs.
Loud battle-shouts and wild huxsas !
With a low under-tone of shrieks Of women in sacked cities, when — The streets all clogged with armM men.
But dead — each findeth what she seeks.
Now brazen bugles ring and blare.
Hark ! like a storm of naked steel
I hear the charging horsemen wheel. And burst upon the hollow square !
Now swells the h)ud triumphal hymn, 'Mid rending mines and crashing domes. The roar of flames in burning homes.
Then silence where the hearths are grim.
When banded factions fan the flame And ruffian Riot stalks abroad, Wears Phrygian cap and Spartan sword.
Great Frbboom's eyes are drooped in shame
To hear her holy name profaned,
To see men so degrade her trust.
Call her to aid wim lips of lust, With hearts so foul and hands so stained.
1849.] T%e Revolutums of 'Forty-BiglU. 507
IMrfii,/»^12.1848.
Upon the ark of her high < Lay not your unanointed hands, Lest ligrhtnmgs scathe your impions hands,
And o'er your Iraads her thunder roan.
If, Freedom ! in thy sacred name Grim Insurrection, gathering head. From reahn to realm difiusiTe spread
In hearts which lack thy holy flame.
Smite the blasphemers, and put down The right arm of Revolt ; oh, stay . The wrong, misguided people's way With the stem censure of thy frown.
If, sanctified by thy pure fires. They rise to have their wrongs redressed, Make firm each heart and bold each breast.
Make keen the blade for their desires:
Let holy madness fire their veins, Till through the world such valor runs That Spartan mothers arm their sons.
And slaves brain tyrants with their chains.
Till kingdoms no more curse the land, But in the north, south, east and west, A brotherhood of ireemen Uest,
A mighty federation, stand.
While feuds and unions threatening swarm Around the Old World's dynasties, How calmly sitteth, unlike these.
My own dear land, amid the storm !
Thou art not vexed like them with broil, All tyranny to thee 's unknown ; For freedom is the only throne
Can stand unshaken on thy soiL
Thy fame shaU traverse land and sea. And from the Arctic's death-white isles To where green summer ever smiles.
Some echo of thy name shall be.
Where'er shall float thy flag unfuried Its stars shall shine as one of old, To warn the shepherds of her fold
That Freedom 's bom into the world.
Teach thy great watch-words, and there must
Go forth 'mong nations, like a blast.
Resolves which make kmgs look aghast, When all their thrones are rolled in dust ! h. bidlow.
SOS Sbcavilay and the Puriiam. [June,
MACAULAY AND THE PURITANS.
BT O. V. VXBHXR.
The great work of Mr. Macaulay has recalled the attention of the public to historical themes. His masterly discussions have revived questions, of which some had been regarded as settled, and others had long been suffered to repose, untouched by the dust of debate. The popularity of the volumes, recently published, is a proof that the Present is not tired of the Past ; and, at the same time, is a strong testimonial to their fairness and merit Still, their reputation is not entirely unclouded ; for we find men, of various partisan attachments, complaining that the author has not ^lly entered into their views and aims. We see that the ultra Churchmen are denouncing the histo- rian for declining to canonize Cranmer; and the Presbyterians, through their able organ, the North British Review, are hinting that their martyrs have been too slightly honored, and their creed occa- sionally ' reviled.' It is enough to reply to such criticism, on the sup- position of its justice, that it is impossible for a finite mind to com- prehend all the principles and prejudices and feelings of the manifold parties that have struggled, during so many centuries, in Saxondom. The work will induce fresh research, and cause a reinvestigation of characters and events, upon which our fathers, and perhaps ourselves^ with good-natured complacency, have once passed judgment.
This is not strange. Progress is in accordance with law ; and the man who is so strenuous a conservative as to be blind to brighter light and deaf to clearer voices, may not be a positive fool ; but he is certainly disqualified from making any advance in knowledge. As the mature age of the individual modifies and moderates the judg- ment of youth, so History disdains not to become wiser with the lapae of years and centuries.
These obvious thoughts may serve to excuse novelty in the author, and may explain the fact, apparently so dark to many minds, that he may have tempered the warmth of early opinion, or abandoned views, when convinced of their falsity.
Puritanism has been regarded, now as a struggle for Power, now as a strife for Liberty, and now as a contest for Religion. It has presented various aspects with the different stand-points which au- thors have occupied. Men, who have no faith in religion, and who regard liberty as a chimera, have arrayed themselves under the banner of Hume, and have dismissed Puritanism with a CTaceful sneer, by branding it with the convenient stigma of fanaticism. Others, like Carlyle, charmed with its heroism, have entered into its spirit, and have exalted its very faults ; while not a few trading in wares stolen from Hudibras, have laughed merrily at its manners and its excesses. Some, unable to sympathize with the Puritan character, and unwill-
1849.] Macavlay and the PuriUms. 509
ing to be unfashionable, have sought to flatter it by a tribute of measured and courtly praise.
Mr. Macaulay brings to the discussion the fruits of diligent and fearless research, and a desire to do impartial justice. In 1825 he published in the Edinburgh Review his celebrated article on MiltOn ; an article whose critical opinions, he tells us, he has long ago aban- doned, and whose style he censures, as * overloaded vrith gaudy and ungiaceful ornament.'* But whatever faults may belong to it, no one will deny that it presents the character of Puritanism with great power and eloquence. In the elaborate pages of the historian we find no single view that can rival, in distinct and truthful energy, the early effort of the essayist.
In the preliminary chapter we have a succinct and graphic account of the rise of the Puritan party in England, and a splendid tribute to the free spirit of Zurich, Strasburg and Geneva, whose disciples in- dignantly refused to submit to the upstart authority of the new hier- archy .t We see the effect of persecution, in strengthening their opinions and deepening their convictions and rendering them firmly averse to any compromise or accommodation.' The persecution, which the Separatists had undergone had been severe enough to irri- tate, but not severe enough to destroy. They had not been tamed into submission, but baited into savageness and stubbomness.'t While they were a persecuted minority, the historian praises their virtues, the austere morality of their armies, and their unbending devotion to principle. But when they were triumphant, he censures their med- dling intolerance and their pinidish conscience, and devotes several pages to a vivid description of their uncouth and morose manners. He shows how a nasal twang and gloomy visage became the badges of religion, and thus how there were gradually mingled in the Puri- tan ranks the basest hypocrites, who stole a sanctimonious livery for the purpose of improving their desperate fortunes, and to enable them to serve the devil with greater personal comfort. He describes their de- pression on the event of the restoration, when coarse ribaldry and licen- tious sneers were heaped upon them ; when piety was made a synonym of cant ; when Baxter and Howe were thrown into jail for praying in a manner forbidden by law, and the author of the Pilgrim's Pro- gress pined in prison, for obeying his Master by preaching to the poor.
Of the characters of the Puritan leaders, Mr. Macaulay has given many forcible delineations. Those of Baxter, Bunyan and Kiflfin,^ may be selected as fine portraits of worthies embalmed in our memo- ries. For the writer of the best allegory in any language, the Pilgrim's Progress, the historian cherishes a profound and earnest admiration. On a previous occasion,!) he has done full justice to the remarkable r^enius of him whom he has justly associated with Milton as one of the great creative minds of the seventeenth century. It is a goodly
* See Preface to >LkCAULAT'8 MUcellanles : Eng.ed. f Vol.1: p. 55, Habpee's ed.
I Vol. 1 : p. 74. $ Vol. 1 : p. 210, et seq. || See Actlcle on Pilgrim's ProgreM :* Ed. Rot.
510 ISdcavlay and tike Puritans. [June,
flight to see the unlettered Tinker bravely take his place with the noblest and wisest teachers of the English race.
In speaking of the independent, the warrior, the statesman, Oliver Cromwell, we think that the eloquent author has not b^en equally successful. Indeed, Oliver presents an enigma to almost all who have endeavored to interpret him, and it requires a thorough Puritan to comprehend the Prince of Puritanism. The strange contradic- tions in his character ; dark anomalies in his career ; agonies of devo- tion and supplication ; broken utterances ; dauntless courage, border- ing on ferocity, are all inexplicable to most men. With many of the noble traits of the Puritan, with his fearless love of freedom and his hearty contempt for the pomp and circumstance of earthly power, the historian can freely sympathize. But his deep spiritual struggles, his fear of Gon, his constant fervor of devotion, those qualities Siat ex- plain many strange phenomena in his life, are not exhibited in vivid forms. No man can do faithfully by the Puritan without ever keep- ing before his eye the peculiar type of his spiritual life ; and if he ao this, the explanation of the frequent paradox becomes easy. The errors into which so acute an observer and thinker as Macaulay may fall, from failing, as we conceive, to regard the true source of a spiritual change in man, is seen in his article on John Hampden. After quoting from Clarendon an account of the extraordinary change that occurred in his habits and character at the age of twenty-five, he proceeds to ascribe it to his marriage and to his entrance into political life. Doubt- less Baxter thought otherwise, when he declared in the * Saint's Rest' that one of the enjoyments which he anticipated in heaven was the society of Hampden. The same cause that led the reviewer to overlook the religious change in the heart of Hampden, has prevented the historian, we fear, from fully knowing the heart of CromweU. The former is evidently Macaulay's favorite. Both were Puritans, both did not scruple to resist the king to the death ; but while Hampden possessed the refinement of the polished gentleman, Cromwell had the rough and ready mannero of a soldier. In real ability, in power over men, in services to the popular party, we believe that Cromwell was greatly superior to his noble rival ; and the fairer fame of Hamp- den is to be attributed to the advantage of superior culture, and the circumstance of an early and glorious martyrdom.
The posterity of the Puritans, however, thus far have occasion to find little fault with the work of Macaulay. To a mind stored with a various wealth of learning, and to a diligence that is not appalled by any toil that is requisite for the illustration of his subjects, he joins a noble love of liberty, rising above all allurements of power and rank. Neither the pageantry of Church or of State, neither the sceptre nor the mitre, can dim the clearness of his vision or awe into feeble- ness or silence the indignant voice of rebuke. His lenient judgment does not become effeminate. High birth and gentle blood are com- pelled to answer at a courteous but impartial tribunal. Even the graces of intellectual culture are not suffered to dazzle his eye or swerve his mental rectitude. Even the charm of a courageous death cannot hide the blackness of a vicious, or tyrannical life. This last
1849.] Macaulay and the PurUani, 511
Seiil, the temptation to judge a man's character by his manners in eath, has been the stambling-block of English historians. The scene at the execution of Charles I. has been a i&vorite theme of our writers ; and as they have portrayed the sad parting with the beloved son, the slow procession, the grim minister of vengeance, and the ' gray discrowned head' bleeding upon the block, how many readers have dropped a tear for fallen royalty, and forgotten its faults, in its sorrows. More than a century afterward, the monarch of France, when he was preparing to endure the same fate, drew consolation from the tale of the elegant Hume, and the last days of Louis XYI. were cheered by the recorded example of the irirst Charles. Not less true than beautiful are the lines of the poet :
' MoBB are men's ends marked than their lires before : The Betting snn and moaic in its close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past*
Of how many men whom the world and history have called great is nothine great narrated, save their final exit ; so that we may say of each, as Duncan said of Cawdor :
« Nothing in his life
Became him, like the learing it.*
Having spoken thus of the work of Macaulay, we may offer a few suggestions upon the importance of a thorough study of Puritan his- tory by our people, and may briefly allude to causes which hinder its successful prosecution. The Puritans are the ancestors of a laree part of our. countrymen. They were not men, who could die with- out leaving, in deeply-graven lines, the impress of their character. Accordingly, the form of our institutions, and much that is peculiar in our socisd and national character, are derived from them. If then we would know ourselves as a people, and comprehend the wonderful phenomena of our civil and moral life, we must carefully study our ancestors. It is no less true of a state than of an individual, that < the child is father of the man ;' so that the infancy of a common- wealth is ever prophetic of its character and destiny. If we may not, like the Romans, trace back the line of our progenitors to the gods, we may boast that they were less tainted by vice and infirmity than even the divine founders of ancient republics.
Puritanism, too, is heroic, and presents much that is adapted to awaken the nobler sentiments and inspire active virtues. Happy shall we be, if, while we perceive and shun its faults, we succeea in incorporating in our social character its traits of stem and strong ex- cellence ! Of them would we say, as Tacitus says of Agricola : ' Forma mentis aetema, quam tenere et exprimere non per alienam materiam et artem, sed tuis ipse moribus passis.'
Let the American study the history of Puritanism. Tracing it to its germ, in the Lutheran Reformation, he will watch its growu until in the time of Elizabeth it boldly rears its head in the parliament of the nation. In doing this, he should not blindly rely for his opinions upon English authorities. The warm loyalty of John Bull often leads
512 Maeaulay and the PunUmt. [June,
him to associate His national prosperity with the &me of the sove- reign who happens to sit upon the throne ; and we believe that he has exemplified the spuit, in his estimate of this proud princess. The glories of her reign, to be attributed in great measure to her accommodating policy and to the profound wisdom of her advisers, have served to throw a bright but deceitful light over her character. We believe that her boasted celibacy is her shame ; that she loved herself better than her friends or her fame ; in short, that she was a peevish, selfish, hard-hearted woman ; we would add, vicious, if the revealed facts of her private history would fully justify the reasonable suspicion. A dissenter herself, she persecuted dissenters with little mercy, and as far as her prudent self-love allowed ; and her conscience had about the same agency in chaining Puritans that it had in cutting off th6 heads of her pretended admirers. The student will mark the gradual growth of Puritanism through the reign of her feeble suc- cessor, wno alternately employed his pedantic pen and his servile ministers in ineffectual efforts to repress the stubborn heresy. He will observe the great contest of Privilege against Prerogative, whose beginning is dimly discerned in the earliest periods of English history, now approaching a bloody crisis ; and he will see the Puritan party forming itself in solid array and preparing for armed resistance. The civil war will next engage his attention and he will hail the birth- star of freedom appearing amid the darkness of that fierce struggle, destined to send forth its genial and radiant light to illumine every path- way of science and religion. He will observe the rise of the inde- pendent republican party, as distinct from Presbyterianism as Pres- byterianism was distinct from Episcopacy ; whose poets and states- men amused their imagination with visions of ideal republics, not more beautiful than unreal, and whose stem soldiers triumphed on every field of battle, and ended the war by bringing their king to the block. He will not fail to follow across the wintry ocean the sturdy Pilgrims who came to found a new republic beyond the Atlantic. He will watch them in that first winter, when women and children bravely endured the horrors of cold and famine, .and ' the record of misery was kept by the gi-aves of the governor and half the com- pany.' Here he will find a nobler picture of female character than can be found on the dreamy pages of poet or novelist ; and he will learn a practical refutation of^ the contemptuous sneers of cynics at the alleged inferiority of the gentler sex. He will behold this feeble colony growing stronger with years, and the wilderness under its diligent hands beginning to bud and blossom. He will observe ^e emigrants spreading themselves along the rivers of New-England, and by their piety and industry laying the foundations of powerful and enlightened commonwealths. He will see institutions of learning rising in the forest, and trace the progress of civilization, as it en- croached upon the dominion of barbarism, and forced its ancient lines to recede at the approach of superior culture and enterprise. Nor while he contemplates so proud a spectacle of courageous goodness, will he omit to notice those clouds that rest upon parts of our early annals, when the demons of persecution and superstition achieved a
1849.] Macaulay and the PurUans. 513
temporary victory over freedom and charity. If he be a true man, he will not seek to justify the murder of women and children on the charge of witchery, or the scourging of Quakers for errors of opinion. Especially will the candid student honor the rare nobility of those who like Roger Williams embraced the full idea of soul-liberty, and preferred exUe or death to conformity.
Among the many hindrances to a Just estimate of historical persons is a disposition to apply to people of a past age sentiments and modes of reasoning which had no place in their minds, but are in most cases the productions of a later time. It is justly complained of Hume that he puts into the mouths of men of a remote period the doctrines of his own enlightened political philosophy, and attributes to the rude fore&thers of our generation the knowledge and logic of the present day. This fault of course renders us utterly unable to judge men, and by hiding their motives from our eyes, causes our praise as well as our blame to be often misplaced. This proceeds sometimes from ignorance, but oftener from partisan zeal. We should not forget that when we misinterpret fticts we not only do violence to truth but also fail to gain those lessons which the past w^ designed to teach. His- tory, instead of inculcating philosophy by example, performs the menial office of ministering to passion. She loses die dignity of con- scious virtue, and becomes a courtezan, seeking the favor of men by flattering their vanity or gratifying their malice. Truth is often dis* termed in the mirror of faction, and being robbed of her pristine beauty, is made to reflect the ugly features of Falsehood. ' The Muse of History should ever be of saintly aspect and awful form ; the guar- dian of the virtues of .humanity.'
A prominent example of the fault which we have mentioned may be seen in the discussions upon the execution of King Charles I. Many have attempted to establish the iunocence of the Regicides by long dissertations upon the civil compact, and the theory of state necessity, and many others have sought to convict them of guilt, by arguments equally profound and inapplicable. Now history should inrorm us with respect to their motives and assigned reasons, and then only can we be capable of judging their character. What were these motives and reasons ? It was not until the beginning of the year 1647 that the principal ofiicers of the army resolved to bring the king to judgment In their petition to the House in November, 1648, their main argument was, tnat an accommodation with the king would be in itself unjust ; and the safety of the state was made a secondary consideration. A majority of the men who executed the king regarded themselves as the agents of God, chosen to render justice to a wicked tyrant. Their religious character had been formed by a too exclusive study of the Old Testament, and under their fanati- cal preachers the fire of their zeal knew no bounds. They were impressed with the conviction that Justice required the sacrifice, and were determined to obey her voice. We look in vain through the life of Crpmwell for' the evidence of a mature design to build up his own greatness by deceiving and cajoling his friends. ' Had any one,' he says, ' voluntarily proposed to bring the king to punishment, I
514 3taeaulay and the PnriUmt. [June,
should have regarded him as the greatest traitor; but since ProTi- dence and necessity have cast us upon it, I will pray to God for a blessing on your counsels/ Hume, in the estimate of his character/ at the close of the second chapter on the commonwealth, asserts that the ' murder of the king was to him covered under a miehty cloud of republican and i^natical illusions, and it is not impossible that he might believe it, as- many others did, the most meritorious action that he could perform. But whatever may be said of the sincerity of Cromwell, his language is a sufficient proof of the fanaticism of the men whom he was addressing, and shows us that they believed them- selves the instruments in the hand of God for executing vengeance.
The biography of Colonel Hutchinson, by his noble wife, throws much light upon the question. ' It was upon the consciences of many of them,' she observes, ' that if they did not execute justice upon him, God would require at their hands all the blood and desolation which should ensue, by their suffering him to escape.' Bowed down with the pressing responsibility, he sought reliet in prayer, and in conversation with ' conscientious, upright and unbiassea persons,' and f being confirmed in his opinion, he proceeded to sign the sentence against the kbg,' although he did not then believe but it might one day come to be disputed among men.
Ludlow believed that an accommodation with the king would be unjust and wicked in its nature.* In support of his opinion, he ad- duces a chapter of Numbers, in which he finds this passage : ' Blood defileth the land, and the land cannot be cleansed of the Inood that is shed therein, but by the blood of him that shed it' He could not consent to leave the guilt of so much blood upon the nation, and thereby to draw down the Just anger of God upon all. We might quote the same sentiments troxa the lips of Harrison, who at his trial in 1060 asserted that he had received divine assistance, while dis- charging his duties in the Court of High Commission for the trial of Charles ; from the lips of Carew, who submitted himself to the court, * saving to our Lord Jesus Christ his right to the government of these Kingdoms ;' and from the dying declaration of Scot : * I take God to witness, I have by prayers and tears often sought the Lord, that if there were iniquity m it, he would show it to me.'
In the trial of Charles, Sir John Cooke was the solicitor of the parliament, and prepared a long speech for the occasion, which is fortunately published in full in the fourth volume of the * Somen Tracts.' His argument rests upon the ground of retributive justice, and is supported by copious quotations from the Scriptures, the prin- cipal statute-book of the Puritan lawyers. The strong tone in which .he announced his propositions may be known from one of the first sentences of the exordium : ' Had the king ten thousand lives, they would not all satisfie for the numerous, horrid and barbarous murders of myriads and legions of innocent persons.' It is true that Ireton, called by good Burnett * the Cassius' of the Regicides, with his fol- lowers, was strong for civil freedom and a democratic government ;
• Ludlow 1 : 287.
1849.] Macavlay and the Puritans. 515
but the Republicans, who were indififerent to religion, were styled by Cromwell ' heathens/ and formed only a small section of the party. From these and other facts, it is evident that the executioners of Charles defended their conduct on the ground that they were com- missioned by Heaven to punish a great criminal, and Uiat to suffer him to escape would be to call down the vengeance of Goo upon the guilty nation. Now it is worthy of remark that the mo^m apologists for the execution of the king do not sustain their opinion bv any of these considerations, and the sturdy Puritans would have disowned the reasoninj? which is adduced at the present day to jus- tify their conduct. They condemned Charles, not on the feeble ffround of state necessity, but as a tyrant and murderer, who had been delivered into their hands by the just and omnipotent Gt>D. It was a fanaticism that infected many of the best men of the age, and found a home in the bosoms of those who were destined to work out most important and beneficial changes in various departments of so- cial action. The simple statements of the actors themselves furnish an exact key for the explanation of their conduct, and render many a profound but prolix discussion no longer pertinent.
Another illustration of the fault which we complain of may be seen in the comments of a certain school upon the early history of New-England. A certain class of people, quite as eminent for their obstinacy as for their scholarship, have strutted forth upon the arena of debate, claiming to be the peculiar representatives and champions of Puritanism. They belong not to the pure society of Robmson and Winthrop, but find their noblest ideal of the man and the Chris- tian in the person of Cotton Mather. Faithful to their unworthy vocation, they seek to defend the Puritans where their conduct can admit no fair defence ; thus injuring the cause which they are so forward to espouse. It is cunous to observe the reasons assigned in justification of the persecuting policy ; reasons which the perse- cutors themselves, in many instances, would have heartily despised. The early Statute of Massachusetts denounces punishment against Quakerism as a ' damnable heresy ;' these defenders sigh over it and declaim against it as a great violation of civil order. It would be ridiculous, if it were not too sad for laughter, to see men in this age writing in defence of laws that ordained the public whipping of women for the crime of publishing their religious sentiments, and enjoined magistrates to bore Quakers' tongues with a red-hot iron* To hold up the errors of Puritanism as virtues to be emulated in our lives, is wantonly to plant nettles over their hallowed dust. It savors of audacity to defend the bloody code of persecution by an appeal to our reverence for the dead. The Puritans, if they were now alive, would ask to be saved from many of these pert IMliputians, whose mental littleness seems the more diminutive when viewed near the Alpine elevation of the men upon whom they daringly perch.
We have written these pages with the hope of contributing a mite to the proper understanding and diligent perusal of our own history. Other nations have recorded their annals in national monuments of
516 Beltchazzar: a Poem, [June,
beauty and grandeur. The sky-cleaving pyramids and massive mau- soleums of Egypt perpetuated the glories of her buried dynasties ; the grave of patriarch and prophet, and the gorgeous temple of reli- gion, kept ahve in the heart ot the Hebrews the ancestral dignity of ueir nation, and inspired them with proud and gratefiil reooUectionB ; the Athenian and the Roman lived among mighty works of art, that carried their minds £ai backward in the pathway of time to the dim twilight of their national being ; the ruins that dot the banks of the fair nvers of Europe, the antique structures of our father-land, are all the tombs of past eras and me mournful memorials of busy gene- rations.
We have few visible monuments to remind us of other days, and to connect us constantly with the scenes and events of our early his- tory. No stately columns or ivied arches stand among us, the sur* vivors of a remote age, still echoing the faint voices of the past ; our short history is recorded on other monuments; in institutions of learning and religion, in free and strong governments, and in all the arts of comfort and elegance that minister to our social happiness. To study these monuments, to trace the growth of these institutions, will enable us to escape our perils, and render us hopefiil and earnest in the discharge of our duties.
BEL8CHAZZAR: A POEM.
BT VBXOXXZOX OBUVX OAMMMU.
GoD-defyiim: Kingr Belschazzak pampen at the festal boaid,
And around in nombeni gather damty wife and jealous lord ;
Still around in numbers gather priest and soldier, serf and seer,
Minions of the haughty monarch, multitudes from old Chaldea.
There beneath the pillared palace, there within the thousand halls.
Where the flooxs are carved mosaic and with trophies hang the wallsi
Heard is riot and blaspheming, blent with music's luscious strain.
While the stars illume the heavens and the night is on the wane.
Then Beltchazzar from the revel rising, loftily and proud,
Throws aside his 'broidered mantle, thus harangues the pausing crowd :
* Am I in my regal splendor, am I with that power divine.
Who declares his will superior — will that works no more than mine ?
What though envied among nations ; what though proudtet on the throiie ?
If there 's one above provokes me, I 'm but great on earth alone.
Babylon may boast her splendors ; I have made her presence so ;
Yet the curse of Cain descending. Death may prove a stubborn foe.
Did ttk brave Nebuchadnezzar idly from the temples tear —
From those temples at Jerusalem — the victor's righteous share 7
Did he sack the marble altars, and with goodly spoil return,
That as recompense to Heaven on those altars we should barn. ?
No ! —before me range the grold and silver vessels that he won.
And the grim metallic idols &at we worship with the sun ;
Let the song and dance grow wilder ; swell my praises to the sky ;
For I drink with all my household, and the Dsmr defy !'
1849.]
BeUchazzar : a Poem, * 517
Then a joyful acclamation rends the air and echoes long, And the dance is more volnptuoos, more lascivious the song, As they bring the costly treasures, as they quaff the ruddy wine, As they kneel before the altars and proclaim their kmg divine.
In that hour came forth fingers of a hand upon the wall. And it wrote above the cressets in bright symbols seen by all. Lo ! Belbchazzar shrinks with terror ; lo ! aghast he gazes up, And he points, he pomts confounded, and he drops his brimming cup ; While the crowd, dismayed and doubting, from their impious orgies And await the sudden problem — sword of war or sign of peace.
* Call the magi and astrologers who in my kingdom dwell ;
Of this riddle they must rid me, of its meaning they must tell.' But the wise men and soothsayers have no knowledge to relate What is written with the lightning, what is typical of fate. Trembling at the awful omen, glaring still with rooted eyes, In his agony the tyrant for the prophet Daniel cries. Then arose a form majestic, full of wisdom and of age, Offiipring from the land of Jewry, holy man, celestiid sage.
* Read to me that horrid writing, which alarms my very soul ! Read, interpret, oh, thou Daniel ! for my fear hath much control ! Has my glory all departed ? is my name an empty word 7
Is my sceptre to be wrested? are the mighty Modes preferred?' And with much inspired grandeur Daniel looks upon the wall, And he thus resolves the warning — warning blazoned there for all :
* Wicked son of noble sire ! thou hast deeply erred in pride, Seeking to be greater — reckless, thou thy Maksr hast denied : Setting up against His tablets shapes of iron, wood and stone. In the heinous sm exulting, vaunting of thyself alone : Drunken, thou hast pledged in vessels sacred at the holy shrine. Shown thyself ungrateful ever for the blessings which were thine ; Therefore hath the Lord uplifted from thy brow the royal crown, All thy heresy rebuking, all thy power tumbling down.
Thus a lesson shall be taught thee, an example set to all
Who, possessed of large dominion, deem it difficult to finll:
Thus His fame shall be unrivalled — God the Father and the Friend -
He whose Life bad no l^eginning, and whose Love can have no end.'
Then Belschazzar bows in wonder, and his people bend in fear ; Then from off the mural frescoes, lo ! the emblems disaf^ar. Meat and wine are now deserted — fhiit and flower have no charm ; For are seen the scales of Justice hanging from the Almifffaty Aim. Round about the neck of Daniel have they wound a cham of gokl, And his gracious form enveloped in a robe of scarlet fold : Then wiu homage and caresses they his presence overwhelm. And proclaim him for bis sapience lawful sovereign of the realm. Ere the morning burst asunder were the Modes upon the plain, King Belschazzar dragged from slumber by the foul usurper slain.
So upon the walls of Being, written long and speaking loud, Daily doth supernal language chide the unpious heart and proud : So the conscience, like a Daniel, rising up attests the foe. And our weak imperious nature cannot brook the overthrow. God of universal essence, give us grace that we may see, In this judgment of Bkuouazzak, what belongeth unto thee !
Nm-Tork, Jpril li,lB4»,
618 • The TrysHng Tree. [June,
THE TRYSTING TREE.
BT ▲ VBW OOMTKIBnTOR.
Evert village has its ' Lover's Grove/ its ' Capid's Rest,' or its ' Wooing Lane;' but few can boast so ancient a trysting tree as the
town of M ; neither can the 'Green Mountain State,' beautiful
as its localities are, show another fairer or better adapted to awaken and keep in exercise the great principle of laving, than this same quiet spot. The little river, noisy and impetuous elsewhere, here widens its blue waters, and, as if weary, lingers in its course; fit em- blem of love's resting-place in life's rapid stream. The smooth, grassy lawn, with its almost imperceptible slope; its dottings of graceful shrubs ; the majestic elms that dip their long waving branches m the clear waters ; the heavy woods that skirt the broad field ; and the dark mountain-tops, overlooking each other in the distance like sentinels placed to guard the haunts of Venus herself^ conspire to render it, in natural beauty, almost fairy land.
The ' Trysting Tree,' a maple of unususd size and perfect propor- tions, stands at some distance from the water's edee. For many years its isolated position, its beauty, and its fresh, vigoroiis foliage, have arrested the attention of every passing traveller ; and very many have paused to read the^ates and initials, and gaze upon the roughly- cut < hearts, darts and Cupids,' engraven on its trunk and lower branches. There they are still. Many, through the destroying lapse of years, are seams on the rough bark ; others have but a single letter left ; in some the moss is but beginning to gather ; and o£er8 still are as fresh as if cut but yesterday. Legend tells of an enamored youth and love-smitten damsel, who in days of yore fled from the parental home to escape the censuring eye of disapproving guardians, and wending their way into the then unexplored woods of Vermont, cleared this small fertile spot, reared the roughly-hewn log cabin, and transplanted the single maple to shade their door. Here, before their days of love and romance had been swallowed up in the cares and labors of this rough-and-tumble world, they carved their initials upon its trunk, and the dates of their births ana union ; making it a family-regbter, as well as a guardian shade. Children were bom to them, but one after another they died ; until in old age this hoary- headed couple might be seen sdone, as they had wandered here in youth, sitting beneath the spreading branches of the tree, thoughtful and quiet, yet blessed in each other's love. Neighbors had settled around them ; a village had sprung up within a mile ; frame-houses had taken the places of the Indian wigwam and log-hut ; the Indians themselves had disappeared before the encroaching tread of the white man ; but unmolestea in their humble dwelling, Uiey had learned to do without the world, and were peacefully biding their time of de-
1849.] The TrysHng Tree. 519
parture. Advanced far beyond the allotted three-score-and-ten years of life, they at last, almost together, passed from earth and from the enjoyment of earthly love to the full felicity of heaven.
No provision for the future ownership of the little estate had been made by the old man, so none came to claim it. The rude dwelling mouldered away ; the fences soon went to decay ; the little mounds of earth covering their mortal remains sank to the level of the sur- rounding land ; fresh green grass grew in the garden and foot-paths ; and the wandering cattle cropped the starting bushes while young and tender, and kept the herbage smooth as a royal lawn. But the maple, sole remnant of the place's former occupancy, flourished in its loneliness. Not in loneliness either, for it became a favorite resort of the youth in the neighboring settlement, and the tale of its origin, whispered at the fire-side, carried many there to gaze upon the fading initials carved by the hand now cold and motionless in the grave. For many years these were carefully renewed ; but as time passed away, most were satisfied to add their testimony to the power of Cupid by placing their own names and seal upon this his tree.
' The Trysting Tree sendeth greeting to its children and its chil- dren's children, and would fain gather them all beneath its branches once more, before itself passeth away,' was the tenor of the white- winged messengers that were circulating in M one summer-day
not long since ; and in token of its desire, lo ! a green, glossy maple leaf beneath the snowy folds. How it came about, no one ever said ; but on the day appointed, there had arisen as if by magic beneath the old tree a table, laid with its spotless cover, and seats, from mossy log to cushioned chair, were scattered about under the shadow of its branches. It was one of those faultless days in July, when heaven and earth seem to mingle ; the ' deeply-blue' firmament above blend- ing imperceptibly with the emerald green of the firmament below ; when the air, bland and genial with the breath of summer, kisses softly the cheek of beauty, and the gentlest of breezes fans the flow- ing ringlet, and calls forth the roseate hues of health. The sun had scarcely fallen below the meridian, before cheerful, happy n-oups were gathering in the appointed place, and the joyous sound ofmerry voices broke its stillness. It was a scene for a poet or painter, this meeting of young and old, the gray-headed and the child in arms. The boys and girls merrily playing on the soil turf; the aged care- fully seated, with their thoughtful countenances, as they pondered on life's changes, ever and anon lifting the wrinkled hand to brush away the heart-mist that arose in the eye ; middle-aged matrons bustling about, and lifting the white napkins from baskets borne to them by fair maiden hands, and arranging and re'diTanging their contents on the table. Beneath the skirting trees were the careful owners of the horses and wagons that had brought both maiden, matron and basket hither. One carefully loosening the tight harness ; another jauntily dressing the ears and sides of his beast with the long leaves of the fern or branches of birch, to ward off the offending flies ; and yet another laying down the ' lock of hay,' with which to beguile the time ;' all, in Scripture sense, * merciful men, meciful to their beasts.' The
VOL. xxxiu. 46
620 - The Tryiting Tree. [Jane.
Trysting Tree itself bore its honors meekly, twined about with wreaths of bright flowers, and crowned with festive offerings from the young and fair, and children peered up into its thick foliage, and 'thought they saw something up there/ then turned away half ashamed, half amused, when asked ' if they were looking for cupi« didos.'
And now the place swarmed with guests. The friendly greeting was exchanged ; the hand of neighborly love pressed ; the inquiry of interest answered; maidens had smoothed the folds in their gala dresses, and pressed the ruddy palm upon the shining hair, to make sure that that was right ; and many a young swain had good-naturedly submitted to fkntastic wreathing and garlanding of his person, and in return stuck the straight, prim branch of evergreen awkwardly in the braids of his ladye-love, serving thus to set off his own want of taste, and the beauty that could not be spoiled ; little reconnoitering parties had passed up and down the stream, and returned; cool water was brought from the spring ; and gathered about the table were the happy faces. The minister, ex-officio, taking the head, and the others grouping themselves as chance or choice dictated; the . genuine politeness of good feeling guiding the feast, and love to the old tree the crowning happiness of each brimming heart Oh ! say not that life is full of conventionalities ; society full of ceremonies ; hearts full of selfishness ; when thus can be gathered such a group, where the sun shines on such a company, where the blue heavens may look down upon such a scene ! Even the eager, insatiable ap- petite of growing youth was at last stayed ; and as one delicacy after another v^ished, more frequently resounded the ringing laugh, the merry jest, and the mirth-provoking reminiscence.
* Why should we not spread for each other's entertainment tiie feast of ouVe^pprience in life V asked the worthy doctor of the vil- lage. * Dating from that point when to us bachelor habits passed away, and we came under a new dispensation, we must each have fpund that in life with which to * point a moral or adorn a tale.' Why shrink we from the task, fair ladies, or gentlemen Sirs 1 Here, gathered beneath the shade of this our Alma-Arbor, let us whisper, as in the ear of a mother, the stoiy of our wedded life. For myself it is twenty-two years since I came hither with an empty purse, a ready tongue, a willing hand, and a sheep-skin diploma. Two years afler I had richer possessions in the heart and hand of this my worthy and beloved wife, and for her and myself I can truly say that * mercy and goodness have followed us all the days of our lives.' '
' Prosperous love like mine,' said old 'Squire Thomas, ' makes no entertaining story, though through it life is rendered pleasant and happy. I could scarcely believe that so many seasons have come and gone since I, a young and eager lover, stood here and pleaded my cause, had I not so many witnesses to time's flight in the infirmi- ties of age, the whitened locks and dim eyes, and more than all, in the knowledge that my children have stood in the same place and are here to-day to tell their story. My history would read like the old Scripture genealogies : ' And Seth lived and begat Enoa, and he
1849.] The Tryating Tree. 521
died ; and Enos lived and begat Canaan, and he died ;' but I can bear grateful testimony that no reasonable happiness that we looked for forty years since has been denied to us. Has it been thus with you, my friends V
* I have looked to-day,' said the hoary-headed Methodist class- leader, * for the memorial on yonder tree which my own hand placed there in the flush of youthful hopefulness, but it is gone ; and but a single letter is lefl of that carved ten years later in life, when a know- ledge of life's changes made the hand tremulous and an experience of G-oo's goodness made the heart stronger to hear those changes. But I come not here to-day to complain of the dealings of an over- ruling Providence, who in His unerring wisdom has twice written me desolate, and now childless. Like the Trysting-Tree, I have been young and vigorous ; like it, I am now old and passing away ; those dry branches and leafless twigs tell of energies gone and strength decayed ; so does this trembling frame, these tottering limba. Like it, I stand alone ; like it, I shall pass from the remembrance of man and be forgotten ; like it, another shall fill my place ; unlike it,' said the old man, with streaming eyes and uplifled hands, ' I shall live again, blessed be God ! live again, and that forever !* He sank back in his seat, while every heart and voice gavo testimony that like it his life had been full of love and refreshment to all who had come within the shadow of his influence.
' 'Squire Smith's experience* was called for; and from a group of the youngest and prettiest girls there appeared the portly figure and ruddy countenance of a well-kept, well-to-do man, somewhat ad- vanced in years.
* You may think it strange,' said he, ' that T, an old bachelor, have come hither to-day, and can hurrah for our Trysting-Tree with any of you ; but could my old heart be exhibited to you, you would see many a crack and many a patch which the wear and tear of living among so many pretty girls has made necessary. Laugh away,' continued he, turning to the children ; < it tf a queer sight to see old Solomon Smith under a lover's tree, and curious enough to hear him tell of vows plighted here. But so it was. He once stood here a youth of twenty years, and by his side a fair girl. Just such an afler- noon, thirty years since, was his love plighted to one who now sits among us, and with whispered words aid she confess that her heart was his. Why am I here now, do you ask, a lonely old man, with neither chick nor child to care for mo 1 1 shall not tell you without leave ; but if our blooming friend across the table. Mrs. Sally Cum- stocky is trilling to oblige us all, why she can tell the rest of the story.'
Mrs. Sally Cumstock had been taken quite unawares by this appeal, and her blooming cheeks glowed still brighter beneath her cap- border. She cast a reproving glance at her children, who were making merry with the thought of their mother's ever having been ' 'Squire Smith's sweetheart ;' she looked at her husband, who ex- claimed : ' Never mind me, wife ; I had no hand in that business.'
* You are quite too bad, 'Squire Smith/ said she, in a low voice.
522 The Tryating Tree. [June,
* to call me out in this way, and make it seem as if I were an old woman, with your 'Old Solomon Smiths' and your 'thirty years ago ;' but I will tell the reason why you would not marry me, in- deed I will. You must know, my good friends,' she continued, rais- ing her voice, * that 'Squire Smith here had in his youth some pecu- liarities — not that he has any now ; oh, no ! old bachelors always get over all these ! — but thirty years ago we were, as he says, plighted lovers, and upon this tree he carved with a big pen-knife the letters ' S. S.' and ' S. A. P.' Old Father Time— one of * old Solomon Smith's contemporaries,' she added, with a merry twinkle in her black eye — ' has been so obliging as to hide from all eyes this evidence of youthful folly ; indeed, he may possibly have had some help from his friend Smith. As I was saying, our friend here had some peculiarities ; one was, a tremendous sense of his own dignity ; he was not to be made fun of; another, a love of his own prejudices. Now I loved a bit of fun dearly, and wanted him to enjoy what pleased me. So to make a long story short, I heard that he said he 'hated warts on people's fingers, and wouldn't marry the prettiest girl in the country if she had one.' Thinks I, ' This is a good time to break in my young gentleman, and let him taste a practical joke.' We were going to smging-school that evening, and I took
considerable pains to select '
' Let me finish the story, Lady Cumstock,' interposed Mr. Smith ; for her face grew redder and redder as she proceeded ; ' I cannot bear to see you so embarrassed. Yes, my fnends, she took consi- derable pains to tease me. I called for her at the usual hour, and found her cloaked, hooded and muffled for the walk. As we were coming home she had one arm in mine, and there waB pointed toward me a very inviting opening in her muff, into which, without much ado, I thrust my ungloved hand. I started at first, for though I felt but one finger, it was cold ; so cold, that I, all anxiety for her comfort, asked if she were warm enough. She replied, ' Yes.' * Your hand is cold,' said I. * * Cold hand, wann heart,' ' she flip- pantly responded. But I was not satisfied. I grasped the litde member, and sought to warm it. What was my horror to find it covered with those little excrescences that from my youth I had hated ! * Sally/ said J, ' you are cold.' * No such thing,' she an- swered, and sang ' Sol, fa, la — fa, sol, la,' as if to reassure me. Again I sought her hand, while strange thoughts and wonderings took possession of my mind. I remembered that love was blind, but it was incomprehensible to me that it should have made me so. I again felt of it, to be sure that I was not now mistaken. Bah ! it was cold, damp and rough ! In the impulse of the moment I seized it, and found it yielded to my hand. My lovely Sally meanwhile seemed unconscious both of my movements and of my state of mind ; and after asking if I did not think Lizzy Potter a pretty girl, con- tinued her mocking music. One desperate pull, and I held up in the pale moonlight a beautifiil, green, taper pickle / Such a laugh as Sally Pitkin gave then ! To mo it sounded like the merriment of a demon, for my self-love was touched. ' Sally,' said I. ' Well,
1849.] The TrytHng Tree. 523
Solomon/ said she, and again that merry ringing laugh sounded in my ear. I turned from her in anger. That anger lasted two full years* despite her pleasant treatment of me when we met. It waB then dispelled, and with it vanished my blindness and deafness— for a man wounded in his dignity is both blind and deaf — by hearing one Sunday afternoon the banns of matrimony proclaimed between John Cumstock and Sally Ann Pitkin. Then was I in a pretty pickle ! Men laughed and jeered at me for ' getting the mitten/ and the women said that I was not to be trusted, and treated me with coolness instead of smiles. From that day to this no mortal has known from my lips that once there lay between me and matri« mony but a solitary green pickle !'
From the other end of the table was heard the manly tones of honest Archie McDoueal, a young Scotchman, who stood holding by the hand his fair sandy-haired sister, with her downcast eye and tender smile.
* Ye maun a' ken,' said he, • when my puir mither cam* hither, brine, ing Jessie and me wi' her ; and ye maun remember when she died, and left us t wa thegither amang ye. That was a lang wearisome day to us, puir bairns, with neither kit honor kin this side of the big water ; and bitter and sad were the salt tears that we shed, as we lay her hoary head down to sleep, far frae the heather fields of bonny Scot- land. Too desolate was our little cot that nicht, and Jessie and I wandered hither by the moonlight We had heard of the Try sting Tree, and we knew we were beneath its branches by the carved let- ters on its mossy trunk. We stood here thegither, and vowed help and love, never-dying love, to ane anither. By your good help,.nee- bors and friends, our little patrimony has put bread in our mouths, and water to our lips ; and your good will, and our vow well kept, has brought sunshine to our hearts. May Gk>D bless ye, ane and a' for your kindness to the dead and to us !'
' I know not,' said the gentle lady who sat near the minister, ' why I should shrink from speaking here to-day, where I too have been in happier hours, and with which is connected some of my most treasured remembrances, nor why I should be here with other than a happy face and a grateful heart. True that to me,
' With thadows from the put we fill
Tbeie happjr woodland thadet. And a mournful memory of the dead
It with Qs in these glades ; And our dream-like fancies, and the wind
On echo's plaintire tone, Tell of Toiecs and of melodies
And of silrerj langhter gone I'
But I am not here alone ; in yonder group are my children. I am blessed in these, and by my side sits my eldest son, bearing his father's name. May he inherit those virtues that made me so long a happy wife.'
She sat down, and a shade of pensiveness came across that ' mer- rie companie,' at the remembrance of one whom all had known and valued ; but the hour was not one in which to indulge in saddened
624 The Trystmg Tree. [June,
memories. Up rose the big, burly, shock-headed Tommy Alsop, bent on aggravating his own awkwardness. Throwing his features, good-natured as they were, into the most comical expression of rustic sentimentality, he began :
' I stand here, beloved men, women and children, jest to mention that I found making love one of them undergoments that are rale tryin' to nater. After a fellow has made up his conclusion in that 'ere tendency, he never can get over his twitteration feelin's till he 's all through with the circumlocutions and how-abouts. Catnip-tea aint no quieter nor hushaby to a thumping heart, that lies kittenng in a fel- low's throat, so that coiners hit comers. Bless your souls, young fellows, you have got a heap of tribulation before you in that 'ere line. When you find yourselves going all over pit^a-pat, pit-a-pat, and are in the dreadfullest hun*y forever more, running here and no- where, with nothing to say and doing nothing, then take my word for it, no creatur on airth can help you save the girl you 're dunking of aU the time. Take an old fellow's advice ; go straight up to her : if she says * Yes,' you '11 soon get quieted ; if she says, ' No,' give one big swallow ; love, anger, shame-facedness, all in a lump, swallow them all down together, vnsh her good morning, look up another that will have you, and if she is like my Susy, you '11 never be sorry.'
He turned to his wife, who sat by his side, and imprinted upon her cheek a sonorous kiss.
* She 's a good wife, God bless her !'
' A good husband makes a good wife, Tommy,' she answered, taking the conjugal salute, as a thing to which she was not unac- customed.
* But why is our friend the school-mistress here V asked one of the company.
* She comes to bring a little acid for your sweet,' gaily responded a plain woman of forty. ' I was afraid that in your matrimonial feli- citations you might forget that such a being could exist as a happy old maid. You have all told of the joys of wedded life ; but as lor the going to market and mill ; the washing days ; the heavy bread ; the empty soap-barrels to be filled ; the sick wives ; the touchy hus- bands ; the crying babies, and the no-helps, these are forgotten, not put down in the books. Do you think that there is no joy in freedom from these troubles 1 — no pleasure in independence 1 Must love, to be genuine and healthful, be put up in little parcels of the size of a man's or woman's heart, and scrimpingly dealt out one by one 1 I am here an advocate and example of single life, and can testify that there is happiness in loving every body. The truth is, my friends, that I have found out that romance and reality live at least a thousand miles apart, though fair maidens and youthful gallants would have them go roaming, hand-in-hand, through this work-a-day world, and I would that my young friends here (my children, I may almost call them, for I have taught them all their a b c's) should know that all happiness is not inseparable from matiimony.*
'Did you ever have an offer 1' saucily asked the free-and-easy Tommy Alsop.
1849.] The TVysting Trte. ^115
* No, never,' was her free reply.
' That shall be the case no longer/ loudly exclaimed Solomon Smith ; < for I take all here assembled to witness, that I make you the offer both of hand and heart !'
* Which I do most joyfully accept,* she laughingly replied, * and we '11 live on the best of pickles !'
• •••••
' If love here on earth, in a world checkered with disappointments and trials, be so full of joy to moitals, imperfect and frail, what shall that be which shall fill the heart when this mortal shall have • put on immortality and purified spirits shall exult in the exhaustless, un- bounded love of heaven 1 Let us give thanks,' said the worthy pastor, ' to Him who hath set us in families, Himself the source and fountain of all our delights all our love 1' and reverently rising from their seats, they listened to his voice, while with earnestness and sim- plicity he offered up their united thanksgivings and petitions that from past blessings they might find fresh arguments for love to God and devotion to His service.
They had hardly risen from the table, before there issued from the woods a party of young men with spades and hoes, bearing a young and thrifty tree.
* The Young Trysting Tree ! The Young Trysting Tree !' the chil- dren loudly cried ; and true enough, The Young Trysting Tree it was ! With all care and zeal did they join in transplanting and wateriog the sapling, no eye wandering from the work, or hand idle until it was accomplished. Then from the thickest of the branches of the old tree there came forth joyous strains of music ; such music as makes the heart of youth throb and sets the feet in motion ; and joining hands, they merrily and gracefully glided around it, fully believine with the inhabitants of sunny Italy that ' no transplanted tree wiU flourish until it is danced around !' But careful fathers, and anxious mothers were on the alert, and the rising moon must be used to light them on their homeward way. How the children, who were seized with a dancing frenzy and were active as young St Yituses, pleaded for a little delay ; how the matrons remonstrated and expostulated ; how the fanners said, * Whoa ! whoa !' to their impatient beasts ; how the young people would walk, and how it happened that they went mostly by two ana two, we leave unsaid. Shall we leave untold too, how a couple neither young nor fair, lingered long after the others ; how the lady said at first < Nonsense, nonsense !' and ' I '11 think about it,' afterward ; and finally, ' Well, as you will !' And how their names were the first on the young Trysting Tree, and were put on the old one beside, because, as she said, * they were old folks' — If we do, the reader will never know where the pastor's humble wife got the new silk-dress, in which she appeared at the wedding of Solomon Smith and the school-mistress 1 a n u
WOMAN'S BIGHTS.
Woif AN 1 thoa wooMat be man ; to art thon no mor« woman ; B« trao woman indeed ; ao art thou more than man.
526 Elegy in a New-England Church- Yard. [Jus^
ELBOY IN A NEW-ENGLAND CHURCH-YARD.
BT THOICAS W. PAItaOXS.
O TBov that in the beautifal repoie Of the deep waters, down below the Btorms,
Art calmly waiting where the cora] p^rows, With many wonderfol and lovely forms.
If thoa wert happy in the life above, Thon art thrice happier bleaching there belowy
Where no sad pilgrim, led by lingering love, Can vex thy ghost with his presomptnons wo.
Or if misfortmie dogged thee from the womb To the last nnction, thou art overpaid
By the majestic silence of thy tomb For all the pangs that life a penance made.
Such rest kings have not in the marble caves Before whose doors perpetual tapers bum ;
Nor saints that sleep in consecrated graves, Nor bards whose ashes grace the loftiest urn.
Nor ev'n those humbler tenants of a mound. Under some elm that thrives upon the dead.
In quiet comers of neglected ground, Scarce twice a year disturt^ by living tread.
For even there the impious throng may stream. Startling the silent people of the sod ;
Fierce wheels may dash, the fiery engine scream. And mortal clamors drown the voice of God.
Such fancies held me as I strayed at noon By the old church-yard, known to few but me.
Where oft my childhood by the wintry moon Saw the pale spectres glide, or feared to see^
Head-stone or mound had never marked the spot Within man's memory ; weeds had strewn it o'er;
Yet had no swain profaned it with hia cot. And the plough spared it for the name it bore.
Out on this busy age ! that noon-day walk Showed strange mutations to my drearoinK eye;
No phantom pamed me with sepulchral stalk. The rush and thunder of the world went by.
Men, breathing men, no spirits faint and wan, But proud and noisy children of To-day,
Flashed on my sight an instant and were gone^ Swift as the shades they seemed to scare away.
1819.] Envy cmd Scandal. 527
1 ■*
Curled o'er my head a momentary cloud From the light vapor that they left behmd ;
Then, fitting emblem of that flying crowd, It swayed and melted in the April wind.
O thou that alumberest underneath the sea, Down fathoms deep below all living things,
Who seeks for perfect rest roust follow thee,
And sleep till Gabaikl wake him with his wings.
ENVY AND SCANDAL.
It is customary for us to boast of our virtue as a nation. If there is one thing more than any other which an American believes, and has been taught to believe from his youth, and is ready to maintain on all occasions, it is that he belongs to a particularly virtuous and moral community. And the reports given of other countries by that rapidly-increasing class of our countrymen who travel abroad, tends very strongly to confirm this impression. Interrogate a travelled American on this point, and he will be likely to answer (supposing him to be a man of pretensions to character and morals) aner this guise : * Can there be a doubt of our superiority ] Compare our practices with those of Europeans. In Paris a young man speaks of his mistress as openly as he would of his horse ; he would laugh at the idea of its being necessary or desirable to disguise the connec- tion. In England parsons dnnk their bottle or bottles of wine after dinner, and poor men are starving by thousands, while lords ^MMfe.^ incomes larger than what we consider the principal of a large tti^^■^^^
tune. In Italy ' And so on; every country supplies him with
unfavorable points of contrast to our own.
Now it certainly is but just to admit, that after every qualification, and exception, and drawback, and caveat, which a candid and well* informed man would feel obliged to make, these pretensions are per- fectly correct, so far as they go. Our men are decidedly more chaste than the Europeans, and die general tone of our society is in thiB respect purer. And in temperance, to use the word in its popularly limited and technical sense — I was on the point of sayme in its slang sense — we stand far before several nations of the old world* Our superiority in both these respects may be correctly attributed to those Puritan sentiments, from the influence of which not even those of our states which were settled by the Cavaliers are * tftbgether exempt. And it is also certain that there is among us a more general sympathy between different classes of society, which prompts the undertaking and promotes the carrying out of schemes ot general be- nevolence to a greater extent than is customary elsewhere. And this merit is the airect result of what we conveniently sum up in the phrase, * our democratic institutions.'
But readily granting and gladly accepting all this, it remains to be
528 Envy and Scandal. [Jane,
considered bow far the influence commonly thence drawn ib sus- tainable. It remains ti) be inquired, if the whole moral law is in- cluded in abstinence from sensual sins and exemption from the pride and selfishness of class feeling. And though the pursuit of this in- quiry may subject us with the unthinking to the charge of unpatriotic feeling, it is in truth a most patriotic investigation, because it is one likely to be beneficial. The profit of haranguing people against a sin to which they are not given, is exceedingly problematical At best it is a mis-spending of time, since every audience has sins enough to which it is prone, and in the condemnation of which the preacher or moralist may find ample employment But, moreover, It is particularly apt to create self-righteousness, and lead people to
' Compound for tint thej are inclined to, By damning those they hare no mind to.'
To declaim, for instance, upon the errors of Popery before a congre- gation of rigid Presbyterians, or ' Evangelical' Episcopalians, amounts to just nothing ; there being no rational probability mat any of such an auditory will ever eo to Purgatory or pray to relics. The man who makes a profitable use of the theme is one who, like Whately, points out how these errors have their origin in human nature, and to what similar or corresponding errors Protestants are liable. And a ' tee-total' lecture to a meeting-house-full of New England women and boys, most of whom never see the outside' of a bottle of wine from one year's end to the other, is very much a work of superero- gation. And generally, people are more apt to be pleased than profited by homilies on the faults of their neighbors. Let us then not shrink from the examination through any such erroneous views of the requisitions of patriotism.
Our democratic polity, as we said, has introduced a very general spirit of sympathy between classes, and consequently of pecuniary benevolence, contrasting favorably with the exclusive constitution of many European societies. But as this peculiar good is the direct result of democracy, so does there also directly and peculiarly result from democracy a mighty evil — a prevailing sentiment of envy di- rected against individuals in any way distinguished. In the leading idea of democracy being that * all men are equal,' or as St. Tammany used to express the principle, < one man 's as good as another,' who- ever is better than others; whoever rises above the mass by his talents or wealth, or any other distinction ; above all, whoever is dis- tinguished from them by his principles and conduct, becomes popu- larly condemned of incivism, and is assailed by envious and malig- nant detraction and persecution. Hence is it tnat our greatest states- men of all parties are found occupying subordinate positions in the state, and repeatedly see inferior men put over their heads into the highest offices. Hence too, that wealthy and fashionable men are constantly slandered and vilified. Some of our most widely-circu- lated newspapers make it a great part of their business to represent the * Upper Ten' as one sink of profligacy and dishonesty. We are inclined sometimes to indignation, and sometimes to laughter, on ob-
1849.] Envy and Scandal 629
serviDg the dispenting of rank and wealth in England, vrhich fre- quently allows a respecta^de man — t. «., one of property or title — to do things which, if done by a poor individual, would meet with prompt punishment. But meanwhile we ought not to overlook that opposite extreme here which renders the possession of propeity, liberal edu- cation, and fashionable connections, a thing to reproach a roan witb> and a certain weapon against him, if he is brought before the public in any other than a purely literary light. And if our literary men pur sang escape comparatively unscathed, it must be attributed to a lucky accident. The want of something to admire (so common a want among a new people) having no rank, and comparatively little wealth to gratify itself upon, has fixed upon literary reputation or rather literary notoriety, and hence our national predilection to toady indiscriminately all literary lions, great or small, native or foreign.
So too the Puritan spirit, while it h&s induced a very meritorious state of society in some respects, has also given birth to a very great evil, if not peculiarly, at least to a peculiar degree its own. The Puritan spirit, rigidly proper itself, is exacting and censorious in its demands from others, parading a virtue strongly hostile to the future existence of cakes and ale. While abstaining, moreover, from many popular amusements and topics of conversation, it is also (would it be too much to say therefore 1) disposed to indemnify itself by a free discussion of character and conduct.
Now when to these influences is joined the national spirit of curi- osity, a spirit from which no one class among us can be said to be more free than another, the consequence is, a state of gossip unru vailed in any large community^ the peculiar feature of which is that the men are as great gossips here as the women are in the most gos- sippy of other countries. Those of us who have habitually lived in the atmosphere, though sometimes too immediately made aware of its pernicious effects, yet do not ordinarily, when not actually suffer- ing from it ourselves, estimate its full virulence. It is only those who have been some time absent from the country on whom at their return a full appreciation of this general meddlesomeness is forced. Let a young man be abroad for several years, corresponding rarely with home, and seldom, if ever, seeing the face of an American ; then let him return and ask afler his old acquaintances and school- mates. The budget of scandal he hears vrill fairly frighten him. If he be a stout politician and opposed to the party in power, this gene- ral deterioration of men is put down to the account of Mr. Polk or Mr. Tyler. But when he comes to ascertain for himself, in course of time, how little truth there is in all the sad stories he has heard, he will feel that a habit of detraction is one of our national sins, and will probably not be without some twinges of conscience for his own share in it at some period of his life.
Verily they manage these things better in Europe. In England gossip is the proverbial property of old maids. The first duty of an English gentleman is to mind his own business. This taciturnity of the Englishman is attributed, by people who cannot understand it, to selfisimess, or want of interest in others ; whereas it proceeds
5S0 Envy and Scandal. [Jane»
from an excellent motive — a desire to avoid intermeddling in. the affairs of others, or injuring them by rashly circulating false or mis- chievous reports. The French are not so discreet. A Gaul's vanity IB such that it often runs ahead of his honor, and he will talk scandal of a woman to give himself consequence in the eyes of those around. Yet even a Frenchman does not gossip scandal for the mere sake of gossipping, and the low standard of rarisian morality has at least diis one mitigation, that it renders fewer things scandalous and calum- niable. And what makes our system of gossip less excusable is, that it has not the temptation of professional idleness elsewhere existing. Our women, who have something to do in their households, manu* &cture more tittle-tattle than the Parisian fashionables, who give up their very children to the care of hirelings. There is more scandal talked in the three or four clubs of New-York than in all those of London put together, though the former are chiefly composed of business men (nominally, at least,) while men of independent fortune compose no small fraction of the latter. Nor are our other cities, from Savannah to Boston, a whit less faulty than New- York in this matter, but, if any thing, rather worse.
* How very stupid and prosy you are growing !* says a good- natured friend, who has license to look over my shoulder.
That reminds me of a remark I heard a wicked wit make the other day, * that good people were always stupid.' Pity 't is so, (I do n't mean that good people are, but that this essay is) for I never wanted more to write interestingly. Were I a parson I would preach a sermon on the ninth commandment that should stir up my hearers a a little, I promise you. As it is, I can but write thb — very stupid you call it — undeniably running somewhat off into general declama- tion, a thing very unprofitable. Let me therefore try to illustrate my meaning by some particular instances.
Let us begin with the most innocent, one which involves no posi- tive malice, and which many will be disposed to smile at the idea of mentioning as wrong. It is an ordinary occurrence for * the world ;' that convenient personage whom the Gauls call on and the Teutons man ; to announce that two young people are ' engaged,' the parties most nearly interested having no knowledge of the imputed relation between them. Hundreds of passably good folks have no hesitation of repeating such a report on the merest hearsay, or starting it on the vaguest evidence. Well, what harm does it do 3 Let us see. In course of time, before very long course of time, the young people hear of the happiness allotted to them by the benevolent public of their acquaintance. We will, in violation of the ordinary rules of gallantly, take the gentleman first. How is he affected 1 If a con- ceited young man, or disposed to be conceited, it puts him immediately on the very best terms with himself. Of course he sees through it all. The young lady would be glad enough to have him, no doubt. Most likely her friends have got up the report But he is n't going to * throw himself away without suflicient cause' in the flower of his days. Not he indeed. And so, though perhaps the damsel herself would n't take him at any price, he is fully confirmed in the delusion
1849.] Envy and Scandal. 531
of his own great value, and becomes fuller than ever of himself. Or suppose him to be a modest youth ; a rare animal, of which however some specimens remain to the present day. Then the intelligence comes upon him like a thunder-clap. He may be brave enough, and yet find himself not a little frightened. Henceforth he feels hope- lessly awkward when, thrown into his imputed betrothed 's society, and is compelled in very self-defence to avoid it; unless he is a very romantic and high-minded juvenile, and then he may say to himself,
' The world has put Miss 's name and mine together. I am bound
to propose to her ;' and propose he does, and perhaps he is accepted, and marries her, so to speak, without meaning to. Here then on the one hand you have a pleasant acquaintance, which might have ripened into a happy marriage, broken off; and on the other, a match brought about which can hardly fail to be an unhappy one, founded as it is neither in love nor reason, but in a mistaken sentiment of honor. While the eligible young men who think well of themselves are driven to ludicrous extremities to avoid the fair-ones whom they sup- pose to be lying in wait for them. I have known some absent them* selves from all parties and ladies' society for a whole season, and others put themselves under the protection of some most unfashiona- ble and anti-ladies' man ; a very male Duenna, as it were.
Of the lady's feelings little shall be said, for ladies' feelings are sacred subjects. Try to imagine them yourself, reader ; how awk- ward they must be if she does not care for the young man, how more than awkward if she does. But putting aside all such hypothetical sentimentalities as feelings, I have known serious practical inconve* niences result from such gossip. I once asked a clever Bostonian why she had given up her equestrian exercise, of which I knew her to be very fond.
* Because,' she replied, * if I was seen riding twice with the same gentleman, people would say I was engaged to him, and I am not belle enough to command a different cavalier every time I go out ; so I have stopped riding altogether.'
Here then is a matter of pure gossip, not involving malice or envy, and yet see how much annoyance, to use the mildest term, it may and does produce. Let us now go a step farther, and take an instance where malice generally does enter mto the original motive of the report ; the assertion or insinuation of a married woman's flirtation.
Flirtation is a pleasant eupheuism, and many persons use it very much at random without appearing to attach any serious meaning to it. But what doet it mean when applied to a married woman 1 Simply this that she is in danger of committing a heinous crime and is on the verge of ruin, and likely to ruin not only her own reputation but the peace of two families. Tluit *s ail. An accusation sufficiently serious, one would think, to demand unmistakable grounds before making it. But on what sort of grounds do we hear such a charge made every day 1 Why that Mr. Smith has been seen occasionally in Mrs. Brown's opera-box, or that living within ten doors of eacti other, thev have been once or twice observed walking together, by some self constituted street-inspector, or that Smith has been heard
5)2 Envy and SamdaL [June,
to praise Mrs. Brown for her beauty, or she him for his intelligence^ or that he is often at the Browns', Brown having been his fellow-col- leffian and travelling-companion for years. There are some propo* sitions which it does not require an astonishing amount of penetration or charity to admit, for instance that a real friend will naturally be more civil to his friend's wife than to Mrs. Anybody, and that a man may admire a woman's beauty or wit and be fond of her society without plotting against her husband's honor. But honest, straight- forward, natural conduct, is the last solution for his imagined myste- ries that ever occurs to your habitual gossip. It is so much more interesting to make a secret and an intiigue out of every thing and put a wrong construction on the most innocent actions.
It must be owned, however, that there are many well-meaning per- sons, quite free from malice, who honestly believe it an impropriety for a married woman to be seen in public with any one but a relative. This is the fault of an erroneous popular opinion respecting the posi- tion and duties of married women. When Willis said of a Bowery beauty, that ' after she is married, she is thought no more of than a pair of shoes afler they are sold,' he might have extended his re- mark considerably beyond the Bowery. This notion seems to be based on the conventional fiction (which was true in an earlier stage of American society, when every matron was her own * help,') that a married lady must have all her time occupied by household duties and the education of her children. This state of things we have, in a measure at least, outgrown, and beside it is not the lot of every woman to be blessed (1) with a large family. But owing to these deeply-rooted conventional ideas, most ladies on ceasing to be what is technically called ' youtig ladies,' desert their proper station in society, and are apt to be bored in consequence. They become dawdling and fussy under the supposition that they really are doing something in-doors ; or they read stupid novels or frequent equally stupid lectures ;• or they manufacture this infernal gossip that does so much mischief. There are clever women enough to break up the system. I sometimes wonder some of them do not in desperation throw themselves into the breach, and run quite wild for a time, smoke and drink grog like the Parisian lionneSf gallop out alone k la Fanny Kemble, and play the original Fourierite generally.
* I WISH aomebody able to do the topic jaatlee could be persuaded to enlighten the public on ihia lecturing system of ours, and show how absurd and hollow and ererj waj wasteful it is, and how instead of increasing knowledge and promoting intellectual discipline, it has a direct tendency to diminish the one and retard the other. The idea of any educated creature going to a lecture for amusement is amusing enough . Any lecture worth any thing as a lecture requires an exertion of the intellect to hear it profitably, as much exertion as to hear a sermon perhaps. But the female mind requires to be direrted with the sight of crowds, and therefore f(»> thoee who haye scruples of conscience against balls and operas, lectures on any thing form an agree- able alternation with Ethiopian Melodists and Lusus Naturaa. For my own part, I confeaa to a strong predilection for the opera on the mere score of morality ; there is infinitely leas hypoc- risy about it at any rate. A tolerably large number of those who go there go to enjoy the music, and do enjoy it, and carry away pleasing recollections of it, but did yon erer know man or woman who went to a popular lecture (save an occasional newspaper reporter) that conld tell yoa any thing about it afterward except iiAtf was tAcf» f
1849.] Envy and Scandal. 533
Making allowance for all this, much of the scandal I have mentioned is directly chargeable on the spirit of envy. For, as the working of this spirit, so fostered by the democratic principle, makes the com- munity at large hostile to the quasi-aristocracy, which is distinguish- ed for wealth and certain sorts of knowledge, so does it make the quasi- aristocracy hostile to those among themselves who are dis- tinguished for wit or other attractions. And married belles are more envied and hated and calumniated than single ones just in proportion as there are fewer of them.
Now comes a third kind of scandal, which I think more strikingly national than either of the preceding, the gossip of men, especidly young men, about one another. This is carried on to such an extent, that it may fairly be called one of our national vices. We are ready enough to laugh at the young Englishmen whom we sometimes see here, their awkward dress and more awkward manners, their pota- tory propensities, and rusticity in many things ; but there is one point in which it were well if we could or would imitate them : they have not a habit of talking iU of each other. It is positively frightful to hear how our young men will speak of their friends — yes, actually their friends — men toward whom they entertain none but good feelings; but the love of gossip is stronger than the considerations of friend- ship. On what grounds, for instance, or what tm? grounds, will a young man get the reputation of being dissipated. Jones sees Brown at the club some cold winter night with a glass of brandy and night be- fore him. Perhaps Brown may not be in the same position for the next year. Perhaps he had been walking two miles m the fi*ost, and had to walk two more. But he is not to have the benefit of any of the extenuating circumstances. Next day Jones tells Robinson that he sees Brown drinking o' nights at the club. Robinson tells Thomp- son that Brown is getting to be a hard fellow; and so the story gi'ows on its travels, till Brown's Presbyterian mother and sisters in the country hear that the unfortunate youth tipples in all the bar-rooms of the city, and is carried up to bed three nignts out of six. Or again, how easily and how falsely is the report started about any man that he is living beyond his means ! Here we see another eidiibition of the democratic spirit of envy, which delights in seeing a rich man ruined ; and if it cannot be thus gratified, takes some satisfaction in sayine that he is going to be ruined.
This is another case in which it is curious to mark the difference between our opinions and those of the English. In England, when a man lives well and spends money, he is usually supposed to have money ; whence it arises that an impostor with a little ready cash and a laree stock of assurance, often victimizes English tradesmen in a way that makes their gullibility almost incredible to us. Here, on the contrary, when a man lives freely, the genei*al inference is that he has not the means sufficient to support his style, and is going to ' blow up' before long. To be sure there is some foundation in actual occurrences for Qie different views entertained in the two countries. If our people are sharp in making money, the trans- At- lantic Anglo-Saxons are more pructent in keeping it. You do n't
534 Envy and Scandal. [June,
often hear of an English banking-house breaking from speculations in flour and cotton, and every thing but their regular business ; nor does an Englishman ever put half his fortune into his house, so as to find himself! at the end of four or five years, with a splendid man- sion and nothing to keep it up with. If some of our parvenus have thus erred, their errors have been bitterly visited on the whole class of people who inhabit fine houses. With a ludicrous inconsistency, also, the amount of private fortunes is absurdly magnified by popu- lar report, so that a man will be said at the same time to be worth three times as much as he really is, and to be on the high-road to ruin.
We can best estimate the power of gossip by observing the con- trivances resorted to to propitiate and avoid it. A young lawyer who has let his moustache grow on the continent, sacrifices this orna- mental appendage to his countenance immediately on his return, lest it should be taken for an indication of expensive and unbusiness-like habits. A gentleman who keeps horses will be careful not to boast of the number of his stud and the prices he has paid for them, as an Englishman would : he rather seeks to conceal both. I shall never forget the distress and confusion of a young merchant who lived in the upper part of our island, and occasionally sported a handsome gray tandem on the road. One day his Irish groom was ordered to wait for him about a mile out of town— say at Twenty-eighth-street, or thereabout ; but Pat, having his full share of that dunderheaded- ness from which the ' finest pisantry' are not quite exempt, tooled the equipage straight down to the store in Fine -street. Out came a crowd of the curious to criticize the unusual spectacle, and out came the unlucky owner, shaking in his boots, and dreadine he hardly knew what. Fortunately he retained presence of mind enough to give Pat an emphatic Slanging and order him to take off the leader and ride him home ; by which prompt measure my friend saved his credit and character. This happened several years ago, by the way. We Gothamites are getting a little wiser now, and I do not despair of seeing the time here when a man may spend his money as he pleases, provided he makes no criminal use of it, without incurring the suspicion of being xaxdvovg to) d'^fifp, or intending to break in a month. They are not so far advanced in Boston, judging at least from what their organ, the Modem Athenian Blunderbuss, says.
* Why who in New- York ever reads the Blunderbuss V My dear fellow, it is not right altogether to despise any thing, not even the ' Blunderbuss.' Afler I have finished all the other magazines I usu- allv take a dip into it, and occasionally pick up a piece of valuable intormation, such as the one I was going to call your attention to. You know how much money is given to literaiy and charitable insti- tutions by the good people of Massachusetts, which we hear of, not from themselves — oh dear no ! — but from the concurrent testimony of an admiring universe. Well, the ' Blunderbuss' has let the cat out of the bag. A late writer therein says that the public sentiment of Boston does n't allow a man to drive four-in-hand, or put his ser- vants into livery, (or build an elegant house, I suppose;) and so,
1849.] Envy and Scandal. 535
when a Bostonian has made a fortune, he absolutely does n't know how to spend the income of it, and the only way in which he can cut a dash with it is to give a handsome slice to a school or hospital, and so get his name into the papers. If one of us had said such a thing ! — said ? if you or I had only hinted the possibility of such a motive — what a tempest would have come down upon us ! How the Mrs. Harris of the ' Modem Athenian' would have emptied the tea- pot of her indignation upon our devoted heads ! But it is one of themselves that says it — or rather some of themselves, for the ' Blun- derbuss' must count for more than one — so let us only be thankful that we are for once, by their own confession, a little wiser than our Athenian neighbors, though we have still enough to learn.
But the * Blunderbuss* has led us into a little digression. To come back to our theme. Thus far I have been talking only of the circu- lation of things false ; false stories invented, or false inferences drawn from admitted facts. I am now going farther — to a length that will surprise some people. I say that a story may be perfectly true, to your certain knowledge, and yet you have no right to repeat it. It has been a great mark for ridicule, and a fine field for declamation, that old English law maxim, * The greater the truth, the greater the libel ;' but it is not so entirely absurd, after all, when you come to examine it in all its bearings ; and the unwritten rule of English society I would put down for one example in its broadest terms, thus:
You have no right to repeat any thing that comes to your know- ledge disadvantageous to a man's private character, unless you are compelled to do so in self-defence.
There is nothing here said of your duty as a Christian ; that may possibly require a little more ; but only of your duty as a gentleman and a member of society. Here it is that the Puritan spirit mani- fests itself mischievously. You have seen a man in questionable company, or heard him swear, or suspected him of being the worse for liquor, and you deem it your duty to publish the matter on the house-tops, by way of showing your abhorrence for such sins; whereas your responsibility is in truth limited by your own example and that of those over whom you have power and influence. If then you are sufficiently intimate with the party to speak yourself ^o him- self about it, do so ; but you are not likely to do good by speaking of it to any one else, and are very sure to do harm.
I have said my say pretty much, and now methinks I hear some grave person exclaiming with asperity, * And so, Sir, you consider
lissipation than you do ; but I think worse of scandal. I do not pal- liate the one : I condemn the other. It is not easy, or pleasant, or profitable, if it be possible, to weigh the comparative heinousness or venality of sins in themselves, but we can calculate the harm they do to others, and you can see as well as I, that while the evil pro- duced by an act of debauchery or extravagance is frequently, it not generally, temporary and limited in its effects, ten woras of scandal ▼OL. xzzni. 47
536 Crossing the Ferry.
may set half-a-dozen people by tbe ears together for life, and their children after them for three generations. You, Sir, have never had any wild oats to sow. Therefore you have CTeat cause to be thank- ful. But do n't suppose that your correct liie gives you a license to talk ill of others. That was just the mistake of the Pharisee of old. No one, not even the clergyman, or that mighty man of men, the daily editor, has a right to appoint himself cvstos morum; and if you make a practice of repeating unfavorable stories, true orfalsey your practice is a very ungentlemanly and unmanly one. You, Madame, ai-e an unimpeachable wife and a devoted mother ; regular at church, and charitable to the poor. For this you are worthy of much praise ; but if, with all this, you delight in pulling to pieces your neighbors' repu- tations, aod spreadmg scandalous repoits, you are a great sinner^ and your parson will tell you so if he does his duty. Apropos of parsons, I once heard a conversation between two, which will serve me for a fitting conclusion. A young clergyman, who found his position among his flock not very comfortable, had called on an old one for instruction and assistance. The senior did not send me away, either because I was too young to require this, or because he thought me old enough to share in the profit of his counsel.
* Put cotton in your ears, Brother K,' said he, ' so that you can*t hear any stories,' The junior bowed.
' Put cotton in your mouth, so that you can't tell any stories'
ikfoir 7, 1849. Gari. Bemok
CROSSING THE PER R^T.
THO0Z familiar with the Oennan of Uhi-aki), will remember the piece entitled 'Crossing the Perry ' A traveller is in a boat passing over a Btream, which he had crossed many years b«.for* in ccmpaay with two dear friends, since dead. It is believed, however, that they are still with him in upirit. aaJ he insists upon paying the boatman the fare for three. The following lines are supposed to cxpreta his thoughts on the occasion.
Long je»n ago I crossed this stream : Then fell, as now, the evening gleam On von proud castle, stem and high, And the blue waters mnrmoring by.
Two friends most dear those wand'rinn shared ; One thoughtful, reverend, silver-haired ; The other wiUi a footstep free. And youth's light heart of hope and glee.
The one with patient toil and slow Fulfilled his mission here below ; The other rushed before us all. In storm and battle strife to fall.
Yet as our souls were wont to meet In spiritual converse sweet, 8o, linked in sympathy profound. By the same ne we still are bound.
Then take, oh, boatman t take thy foe ;
Threefold to thee I gladly pay :
Two spirit forms, unseen by thee.
Ha ve crossed the stream with at to-day. Siaxx
LITERARY NOTICES.
Thk CwJLYott MisMLLANT c Ninth Volume of the New Rerlaed Edition of the Complete Works of Washinoton Ibvino. New- York : Putnam.
Wb have in this clear-typed and every way well-executed volume, the * Tour on the Prairies,' * Abbottsford,* and * Newstead Abbey.' It does not need that we should dwell at any length, or indeed remark at all, upon the characteristics of these three divisions of * The Crayon Miscellany,' so familiar are they to a great majority cf American readers. We cannot resist the inclination, however, to quote a single appetissant passage from the * Tour on the Prairies,' which we remember to have read, on the first appearance of the work, while at a pic-nic in the woods, with a relish greatly increased by the fact that we were at the time inexpressibly * sharp-set' It should be premised that Mr. Crayon's party have been long without food, although from every prairie-eminence some one of the men have been sent up a high tree, to • view the landscape o'er,* like a mariner from the mast-head at sea, to ascertain whe- ther there were any signs of provant in prospect. At length a frontier farm-house suddenly presents itself to view :
' It was a low tenement of logs, orershadowed by great forest-trees, but it seemed as if a very region of Cocatgne preTailed aronnd it. Here was a stable and barn, and granaries teem- ing with abundance, while legions of granting swine, gobbling turkeys, cackling hens and strutting roosters swarmed about the farm-yard. My poor jaded and half-faralshed horse raised his head and pricked up his ears at the well-known sights and sounds. He gave a chuck- ling inward sound, something like a dry laugh ; whisked his tail, and made great leeway toward a corn-crib, filled with golden ears of maize, and it was with some difficulty that I could control his course and steer him up to the door of the cabin. A single glance within was sufficient to raise every gastronomic facultv. There sat the captain of the rangers and his officers round a three-legged tabic, crowned by a broad and smoking dish of boiled beef and turnips. I sprang off my horse in an instant, cast him loose to make his way to the corn- crib, and entered this palace of plenty. A fat, good-humored negress received me at the door. She was the mistress of the house ; the spouse of the white man, who was absent I hailed her as some swart fairy of the wild, that bad suddenly conjured up a banquet in the desert ; and a banquet was it, in good sooth I In a twinkling she lugged from the Are a huge iron pot that might hare riTallcd one of the famous flesh-pots of Egypt, or the witches* caldron in ' Macbotu.* Placing a brown earthen dish on thft floor, she inclined the corpulent caldron on
one side, and out leaped sundry groat morsels of beef, with a regiment of turnips tumbling after them, and a rich cascade of broth overflowing the whole. Tnis she handed me with aa ivory smile that extended from car to ear ; apologiziug for our humble fare and the humble style in which it was served up. Humble faro I humble style 1 Boiled beef and turnips, and an earthnn dish to cat them from ! To think of apologizing for such a treat to a half-starved man from the prairies ; and then such magnificent slices of bread-and-butter I Head of Apicius, what a banquet 1
* * The rage of hunger' being appeased. I began to think of my horse. He. however, like an old campaigner, had taken good care of himself. I found him paying assiduous attention to the crib of Indian com. and dexterously drawing forth and munching the ears that protruded between the bars. It was with great regret that I Interrupted his repast, which he abandoned with a heavy sigh, or rather a rumbling groan.'
If this be not capital description ; if the scene itself, and the actors in it, and the ' actions of the actors' bo not painted to the eye, then we forfeit our judgment, and < throw ourselves upon the indulgence of the pablic'
#
538 Literary Notices. [June,
Katanaou, a Talk. By Hekbt Wad8Wo»th LoxaFKLi.ow. In one Tolome. pp. 1&8. Bo«- ton : TicKNOB, Rxkd and Fields.
It would prove a good literary • exercise' for those merely pen-and-ink writers who deal in words ; who are always on stilts, and can never write in a simple way upon a simple subject ; to take up the volume before us, and observe with what effect a deep interest may be excited, sustained, and carried forward by reg^ular convergence to the end, through means the most natural and unpretending. We fmished * Kavanagh' at a single sitting ; never rising from the chair until we had consumed its contents, * from title-page to colophon ;' a consummation in which we were not a little physically aided by clear types, lines pleasantly separated, and the whitest of paper. The work can hardly be said to have any * plot' proper ; its incidents being those of a narrative which reminds us continually of Oalt's < Annals of the Parish ;' insomuch that one can hardly resist the impression that the author chose that second < Vicar of Wakefield' for his model. On the second page of the work we recognise the elaboration of a pic- ture drawn by Mr. Lo.ngfellow in these pages, many years since, in his ' Blank- Book of a Country Schoolmaster ;' especially do we remember the loneliness of the old pedagogue on the hot Saturday afternoon in September, when his school was dis- missed for the week : * All the bright young faces were gone ; all the impatient little hearts were gone ; all the fresh voices, shrill, but musical with the melody of child- hood, were gone ; and the lately busy realm was given up to silence, and the dusty sunshine, and the old gray flies that buzzed and bumped their heads against the win- dow-panes.' A little farther on, as one of the observable features of the landscape which struck the schoolmaster on his way homeward, we read : < The evening came. The setting sun stretched his celestial rods of light across the level landscape, and like the Hebrew in Egypt, smote the rivers and the brooks and the ponds and they became as blood.' What a felicitous illustration of the tint which a red sunset imparts to nature ! Now one of your pseudo-novelists, * of great intellectual pow-er,' would doubtless scorn to have jotted down so simple a domestic picture as the following. The schoolmaster has reached his hearth, upon which a * wood-fire is singing like a graes- hopper in the heat and stillness of a summer noon :'
' No sooner had ho seated himself by the fireside than the door was swung wide open, and on the threshold stood, with his logs apart, like a miniature Colossus, a lovely, golden boy, about three years old, with long, light locks, and verv rod checks. After a moment's pause, he dashed forward into the room with a chout, and established himself in a large arm-chair, which be con- verted into a carrier's wagon, and over the back of which he urged forward his imaginarr horses. Ho was followed by Lucv, the maid of all work, bearing in her arms the baby, witt large, round eyes, and no hair. In his mouth he held an India rubber ring, and looked very much liko a street-door knocker. He came down to say good night, but after he got down, could not say it ; not being able to say any thing but a kind of explosive ' Papa I* He was then a good deal kissed and tormented in various ways, and finally sent ofifto bed blowing little bub- bles with bis mouth ; Luct blessing his little heart, and asseverating that nobody could feed him in the night without loving him ; and that if the flies bit him any more she would puU out every tooth In their heads I*
We were quite struck with an accidental coincidence of thought between the schoolmaster in his study and the Editor hereof in his sanctum, touching the books which looked at him from the walls : < He gazed with secret rapture at them, and thought how many bleeding hearts and aching heads had found consolation for them- selves and imparted it to others by writing those pages. The books seemed to him almost as living beings, so instinct were they with human thoughts and 83rinpathie8. It was as if the authors themselves were gazing at him from the walls,' etc. Whfle
1849.] Literary Notices. 539
doubtless the manuscript of this passage was yet in the author's hands, we recorded, in the April number of the Knickerdockbr, our impressions while gazing half-uncon* sciously, with pen resting for a moment from gossiping, upon the volumes of a cabinet- library in the sanctum : * There they stand, looking at us every day and night ; each one the representative of a live man ; each individual, and expressing its own charac- ter, and each ready to open and keep up a sustained conversation with us. Ah ! we have ' ta'en too little care of this !* * Curious, is nH it,' that the author of * Kavanagh' and < Old Knick/ should have been jotting down almost the same thought at neariy the same moment ? There is a very beautiful illustration in the following passage, which wo remember to have encountered before, but not nearly so well expressed. Mr. Pendexter, the village parson, is writing his farewell sermon to a congregation before whom ho has * gone in and out* for twenty-five years :
* Hu heart slowed and burned within him. Often his face flashed and bis eyra fiUed with tears, so tliat bo could not {;o on. Often he rose and paced tho chamber to and fro, and wiped awav the large drops that stood on his red and forerish forehead. At length tho sermon was finished. He rose and looked out of tho window. Slowly tho clock struck tweWe. He bad not heard it strike before, since six. The moon-light silvered the distant hills, and lay, white almost as snow, on the frosty roofs of the village. Not a light could be seen at any window. * Ungrateful people 1 Could you not watch with me one hourt* exclaimed he, in that excited and bitter moment; , as it he had thought that on that solemn night the whole parish would hare watched, while he ' was writing his farewell discourse, lie pressed his hot brow against the wiodow-pane to allay its foyer ; and across the tremulous wavelets of tho rivor the tranquil moon sent towards him a silvery shaft of light, like an angelic salutation. And the consoling thought came to him, that not only this river, but all rivers and lakes, and the groat sea itself, were flashing with this hea> yenly light, though ho beheld it as a sinc^Ie ray only ; and that what to him were ihe dark wavea were the dark providences of Goo, luminous to others, and even to himself should he change his position.*
The parson was rather a dullish speaker, given moreover to * long prayeis ;' and
one can quite easily see the weary restless children ' twisting and turning, standing
first on one foot and then on tho other, and hanging their heads over the backs of the
pews, like tired colts looking into neighboring pastures.' We acknowledge to great
sympathy for Sally Manchester. She was rather tartish, perhaps, and somewhat
ancient ; but she had ' seen the time when she was as good as ever she was ;' and
her pious suitor * had n't ought to' have jilted her as ho did, after
' Thb wedding-dny appointed was, The wedding-clothes provided.'
Here is his cruel letter, announcing a * change of heart :'
' It is with pleasure, >n88 Manchestkr, I sit down to write you a few lines. T esteem yon as * ' tut Providence has seemed to order and direct my thoughts and afiections to
I my own neighborhood. It was rather unexpected to me. Miss Manchkstsb, e well aware that we, as professed Christians, ought to be resigned to our lot ia ihis*worl(f. May God assist you, so that wo may bo prepared to join the great company In
• • It is with pleasure. Miss Manchestkr, I sit down to write you a few lines. I esteem you as highly as ever, but Providence has seemed to order and direct my thoughts and afiections to another — one in my own neighborhood. It was rather unexpected to me. Miss Manchkstsb, I suppose you are well aware that we, as professed Christians, ought to be resigned to our lot in this world. May God assist you, so that wo may bo prepared to join the great company In heaven. Yoor answer would be very desirable. I respect your virtue, and regard you as a friend. * Mahtzn CasiiRTriKz.s.
' ' P. S. The society Is generally pretty good here, but the state of religion is quite low.* *
No wonder that Miss Sallt, walking homo in haughty and offended pride after the receipt of this pious epistle, < curbed in like a stage-horse,' to use her own phrase. A capital * picture in little' is drawn of the departing pastor, driving down the village- street in his chaise known as * the ark :' ' The old white horse, that for so many years had stamped at funerals, and gnawed tho tops of so many posts, and imagined he killed so many flies because he wagged the stump of a tail, seemed to make common cause with his master, and stepped as if endeavoring to shake the dust from his feet as he passed out of the ungrateful village.' Tho next time the old pastor was seen was at a 'general training* making a long prayer on horseback with his eyes wide open ! Mr. Caurouill was led to know Mr. Bantam, the Boston profilitt. We
540 Literary Notices. [June,
wonder if he ever encountered the terse transcendental advertisement of that artist which we published many years since in these pages 7 It was, we remember, very ' rich.' We * smiled a smile' at the annexed passage from a school-girPs letter, giving some account of the events of the winter in the village : * Jane Beown has grown very pale. They say she is in a consumption ; but I think it is because she eats so many slate-pencils. One of her shoulders has grown a good deal higher than the other. BiLLT WiLMERDiNos has been turned out of school for playing truant He promised his mother, if she would not whip him, he would experience religion. I am sure I wish he would ; for then he would stop looking at me through the hole in the top of his desk.' We now close our notice ; proposing to stimulate, rather than to satisfy the curiosity of our readers, touching the beautiful love-story interwoven like a golden tissue in the volume before us. If they would make the acquaintance, therefore, of the handsome young clergyman, Arthur Kavanagu ; of the lovely Cecilia Vauohav, (so beset by youths * of elegant manners and varnished leather boots,') and her self- sacrificing companion, the gentle Auce Archer, a rose with a * worm ? the bud ;' if our readers would learn more of these, and of their intermingled fate, let them pro- cure the book which records their simple story, and be well repaid for their * time and trouble.'
Mt Unclx thb Curatx : a Novsl. Bt the Author of ' The Bachelor of the Albany/ etc. In one volume, pp. 159. New-York : Harpze akd Broxhsbs.
Our readers will remember the estimate which wo placed upon * The Bachelor of the Albany ;* our admiration especially of its terseness and clearness of style, its an- ther's vivid conception of humor and the burlesque, and his power of graphic portrai- ture, whether of a natural landscape or of human character. ' My Uncle the Curate' affords a wider range than * The Bachelor,' and is altogether a more elaborate produc- tion. There are individual characters in it which very much remind us of some of the recent creations of Thackeray. The Spensers, senior, father and step-mother, and the two daughters, are admirably drawn and most artistically discriminated or indi- vidualized. The love-scenes, often so sickening in a second-rate novel, have in the present a reality and a freshness tliat will make the old wish themselves young lovers once more, while to the young who may not yet have learned the • art of love,' it will supply an important desideratum, namely a model of * love-talk' as far as possiUe re- moved from the ' bald disjointed chat' which passes for the language of true passion in so many modem fictions. Hercules, the eccentric divine, Sydney Spenser, Markham, and the villain Dawson, not less than Vivyan, who * divides the honors' with his friend Markham, are full of life ; but we should be doing injustice to very important pereonages, if wo omitted to mention Miss M'Cracken, and her confrere Lucy, for they have a prominent position in the subordinate and codrdinate incidents of the novel. Perhaps, as a general thing, the scenic features of the landscape, and of the transitions of day and night, are a little over 'described ; but there are portions of the work which in graphic description will compare favorably with any modem pro- duction ; such for example, as the island scenery in * The Fic-nic' division, the subter- ranean marine cave, under the old castle, with the temporary picture and statue gal- lery, with the thieves sending down their plunder. We commend the volume to oar readers as one well calculated to afford tlicm entertainment of no mean order.
1849.] Literary Notices. 541
Tiis Gknfus of Italy : beings Sketches of Italian Life, Literature and Religion." Bf Rev. RoBKBT TuRNBULL, author of * The Genius of Scotland/ etc. New- York : Gkobox P. Putnam.
The anexpected length to which the * Original Papers* of the present number have extended, alone prevents as from presenting the many extracts which we marked for insertion as we perused this interesting volume. It is not, as the author justly claims in his preface, a hackneyed * Tour in Italy ;* he has not endeavored so much to give incidents of travel, descriptions of scenery, roads, public buildings, etc., with which most volumes on Italy are filled to repletion, as to furnish a clear idea of the real cha- racter and spirit of the Italian people ; to give brief and vivid glimpses of their life, literature and religion, as embodied in men and books, in history and usages. He does this with great- freshness and interest ; taking his readers along with him through the principal parts of the country, especially the larger and more uifluential cities ; ■idulging only in such occasional descriptions of scenery and localities as furnish a back-ground for his observations or a becoming frame-work for his portraits. * The genius of a country,* says Mr. Turnbull, in explanation of his plan, < is alwa]^ localized ; and it gives one a clearer and more impressive view of its religion, litera- ture and politics, to see them in loco, or to become acquainted with them in the very scenes with which they are associated.* The volume, which is written in an easy, natural, attractive style, furnishes, we cannot doubt, a just idea of the present state and future prospects of the Italian race ; and while the great events which are now occurring on the classic field of Italy are borne to us by every steamer which croMes the Atlantic, a work like the one under notice will be found to supply the growing de- mand for information concerning a people who are but too little understood on this aide the water.
The Eaxth and Man: Lectures on Comparatire Physical Geography, in its relation to the History of Mankind. By Arnold Guyot, Professor of Physical Geography and History at Neuchatel, Switzerland. Translated from the French by Professor C. C. Felton, of Har» vard Uniyersity. Boston : Gould, Kendall and Lincoln.
These lectures certainly compose a very interesting and instructive work. The physical characteristics of our globe, and their infioences upon human societies, are described in them with vivacity and elegance. The contrasts between the different portions of the earth, their reactions upon each other, their adaptation to the special part that each, in the order of Providence, has been called upon to perform in the drama of human history, are presented with a clearness of plan, a skill in exposition, a harmony of arrangement, that give a permanent value to these discourses. The author has applied his deductions to ' the great events of human history, presented in a rapid series of striking and finely-executed pictures, on which the great generaliza- tions he draws from the science of physical geography throw a surprising light He has clearly shown that the varied characteristics of our physical globe have a most intimate relation to the great march of hiatory, and that the study of the two ought to be combined for the proper understanding of cither. He has shown that every peculiar formation, whether of a continent, an ocean, a sea, a mountain, or a plain, is designed by the Creator for a special end, and is not a fortuitous assemblage of material atoms. Every where he traces the handiwork of an all-wise and benevo- lent BEiffo, carrying forward in the smallest, as well as the greatest combinations of physical agents, the plans of Goodness and Mercy.* The volume is illustrated by ftv -^eral excellent maps, the first one of which possesses unusual originality and value.
E D I T O R'S TABLE.
A GoasiPFiNG Epistlk from Lisbon .•Portcoal.— A friend, all officer on boaro the ' St. Lawrence,' an American vessel-of-war, sends us the following familiar gos- sipry * of and concerning* Lisbon, which we commend to the consideration of oar readers : * The only information I can pick up * 'bout decks' as to the history of this city, is that no one knows any tiling positiye of its origin. The * £ncyclop«]ia Americana' no doubt possesses some interesting matter toaching its birth,' parentage, etc. ; but as I cannot at this moment * flipper' the volume containing * L-i-s.,' I must trust to luck and my own jaundiced observation. The prevailing opinions as to its origin are numerous ; the one having the best * holding-ground' in my mind vupposes it to have been founded by Ulysses, shortly after the destruction of Troy. It has gone at diflbront times by different names : * Ulyssipe,' * Felicitas Julia,' (with a thousand others, * for what I know,') and Lisbon, its present appellation. It has been distinguished for lots of misfortunes and villanies ; principally, howerer, for a great fire, which burnt up, among many other things, a young married couple. The Mis. setting forth the deplorable fate of these two lovers has been but recently disco- vered among the rocks, hard by a quaint old cork-tree at Cintra. I shall translate it for you by-and-by, and serve it out as the government used to do butter and cheese to the men — once a week ; viz., on banyan-days. The sailing of Vasco da Gama occupies another important point at the mouth of the river, and so do the revolutions, rheumatisms and earthquakes ; but the modem rapidity and slyness with which clip- per brigs and small craft are fitted for the slave-trade is to me by far the most surpass- ing event. Lisbon is beyond doubt a city of some note, particularly in the manufac- ture of wines. I think Jim Bailev, in Philadelphia, has some good * Lisbon.' I bought some from him once, and a friend said it was good ; being but a poor judge myself, / then said it was good, too.
* The Theatre of San Carlos, or Italian Opera-bouse — the second place, I be- lieve, ever visited by sailors when they get adrift from the ship — is rather an imposing- looking edifice, two stories high, though by no means tastefully decorated in the inte- rior. It was constructed by some wealthy men in a few months, and thrown open to the public some time in 1793, in honor of the birth of Donna Maria Teresa, aunt of the present Queen, and wife of Don Carlos, oi Spain. It contains five tiers of boxes, each box being separated from the others by thin partitions of pine, papered or painted to suit the fancy of the proprietor. Directly in front of the stage the Queen has an immense 6arn, occupying in height the space of three tiers, and handsomely curtained with blue silk richly bordered with fringe of the same color, and sormoonted
Bditar't Table. 543
by the national coat-of-anns. She uses H only on state occasions, a smaller one to the left, in the second tier, being occupied by ' Her most Serene Highness* on other evenings. A large chandelier, full of glass icicles and * curlycues,' and lighted with olive oil, is suspended over the pit, and adds one of the finest Naples yellowto I ever saw to the complexions of the audience. The orchestra is good, and numbers per* haps fifty hale, hearty and fashionaUe-lookbg hombres. * Macbeth' was the opera» and as it was to be the first of Suakspsabb's plays I ever heard operatized, I was of course on the qui-vive. The music is charming, original and replete with melody. The scenery, machinery, etc., excelled any thing of the kind I had seen, either ixt the United States or Europe. I hardly think it worth while to say to you that I have been in London, Genoa and Naples. Some people are fond of talking of their travels. Mum ! The Prima-Donna, * Ladt Macbeth,' possessed a clear voice» dee* titute of richness of tone, and not altogether true ; some of her touches, howeveri were exceedingly fine, and strikingly like Madame Anna Bishop's ; but she lacked altogether the mellow warbling and fine acting of that lady. Suakspeabe says something about suspicion being but ' a coward's virtue.' I '11 admit it, in some cases ; but in the present I am sure I am borne out in suspecting the prima^donna's hands to have been stained with a kind of dark tint What the object was heaven only knows ; it may have been part of the play : I know that soap and water is sometimes used in such cases with great success. It would do your heart and soul good to inhale the stale smoke of tobacco in the lobbies, to say nothing of the pecu* liar and disgusting smells from the stage, and other * cubby-holes' about the building'. The opera is divided into four acts, somewhat long and tedious, with the usual quan« tity of thunder and lightning, and plenty of hot water in the coppers for the witches to boil down the bones.
' When I saw Macduff and his troops scrapmg their feet and scratching their noses with the leaves and trees of Bimam Wood, I < cut' for the < Braganza Hotel' close by ; the only decent establishment of the sort, by the way, in Lisbon. It is navigated by an Englishman named Dtson ; who, although not ' a fellow of infinite jest,' is a man who has dwelt twenty-one yeare in Portugal without having had his throat cut,* and whose billet-head speaks as plainly of extra rations as Captain ToBnr did to the secretary of war. Like myself and most others who are fond of ' goodies,' the rest of his person utterly denied the charge. ' Sundries' are high ; the rent is low ; fifteen hundred dollars covering all, and dropping into the pocket of the Empress of Brazil, to whom the property belongs. An old lady and son, of some notoriety in the fashionable world, were the only boarden of distinction at the time of my visit ) and the son, poor fellow ! was said to be galloping into eternity on the Quaker's mare — consumption. (I believe it 's reduced to a positive * short shoulder* that the Jersey Quakers eat more pickled sturgeon than any other class of people on the lace of the earth.)' . . . < It would be a source of extreme pleasure to me, my dear Clabk, if I could, with any regard for decency and truth, say even one word in ftetvor
* *Thx aMuilnations in the streets of Liibon,' Mys Btbon in 1829, ' are not confined by the Portuguese to their countrymen, but the English are daily butchered. I was once stopped on the way to the theatre, at eight o'clock in the evening, when the streets were not more empty than they generally are at that hour, opposite to an open shop, and in a carriage with a friend } and had wc not fortunately been armed wo should have ' adorned • tale' instead of telling ons. In Sicily and Malta also wo are knocked on the head at a handsome arerage nightly.'
So. ExioxxaBocsaB.
544 Editor^s Table. [June,
of the cleanliness of this < Felicitas Jalia/ as the Romans distinguished it I think it qaite becoming, if not dashing, to speak of the Romans here. You know they were a dirty set of fellows, chock-full of fleas and * piojos ;* (pronoance this latter word peeoches ; the Engiiah pronunciation is better than the Spanish ; ask any one who has ever seen a * Mahon soger.') But to the point of cleanliness. Bob'd-tailed cats, musical rats, cowardly dogs and blear-eyed beggars, are the * A. Number One' seavengera of Lisbon.* There is a unanimity of feeling among them, not to be found about the Irish and Dutch seavengera in New-York and Philadelphia ; and highly commendable it is, too ; for it shows how well filth and hungry things can be made to harmonize when there is no help for it I blush to say it, but after several days' diligent search in different quarten of the city, particularly in the * outsquirts,' where one is most likely to meet with misery and oddness, I positively aver that I did not see over half-a-dozen cats with whole ean and tails. So eager indeed was I to find one not shorn of its fair proportions, that I watched an overgrown, leopard-skinned ' Tommy,' with a string of bells about his neck, for quite an hour ; until he descended from the roof of a small shanty and entered the door of a second-hand fomiture store, when, coolly coiling himself down in a large punch-bowl, he commenced licking his paws. I was glad he went into that shop ; it reminded me of hunting up a thing or two, especially old paintings and queer candlesticks. Do n't you like a funny candle- stick 7' (Certainly : send us one.) * As usual with the same kind of common-sewera in our country, it was stocked with all sorts of trumpery ; the difference in quantity being in favor of the South-street establishments in Philadelphia. The predominant articles seemed to consist principally of the portraits of the ViaoiN Mary, Don John, (a dropsical-looking old man, with a double-chin and a star on his breast,) and the * hooked nose' of the Duke of Welungton, tied up in a red coat, with a very small shirt-collar. Poking about in the ' stow-holes,' I accidentally thrust my stick into the queue of General Washington ; quite a dever mezzotint, published in Boston many yean ago. I < priced it,' as the ladies say, but did not * buy,' in consequence of its being one crown higher than my pocket could afford. On coming out I was accosted by a poor devil, * all tattered and torn,' who in the most pitiful and suppli- cating tone of voice informed me that he had eaten nothing for four long days. I knew it was a lie, for he had teeth, and seemed to be much swollen about the abdo- men ; so I bowed as low as possible and passed on.
* The paupera are considered somewhat better off* here than in other Portuguese towns. They thrive on mere trifles, and make out, * by hook and by crook,' to save up something for a rainy day. The little children, I think, monopolize the best share of public patronage in this way, it being a profession to which they are trained from a very early age — as soon as they can waddle, in fact ; and it is a matter of aston- ishment to me with what good-will they pursue it One little soul peiseveringly fol- lowed me, with a doleful ditty, for nearly a mile : finally, to save a penny, (rather
* Lisbon would seem to have retained undiminished the savory character giyen of it by Childx Hasold :
— — • Wjioso pntereth '^thin thin town, « That, sliet-uin** far, c»leBtl&l Bcems to be, lUsccDKolatK will wauiler up an'l do'vrn, Mid many thln.?« -unsightly to ntraiiBQ o'o ; For h^xt and palace bLuw like CULily : The dingy denizens ar« rearod in dirt; N« tiers (in »«•.•■, of hif^h 'jT znoau df ^r-sn, IVjth caro for clt-auue%iii vi nurtout or *hirt. Though shent with Ecypt » plagues, unkempt, unwoahd — unhurt.'
1849.] EditarU Table. 545
mean and tricky on my part, I admit,) I * cut* into a by-streot, and thought I had fooled her. Alas ! that we cannot see into futurity and stone-walls ! The end of the street was blocked up, and I was * jammed !' I ' forked over ;' and it has since oc- curred to me that I ought to have taught that child the song of
* Thtt told me to shan him, Hii fortune! were broken,' etc.
* Middling maids' are as plenty as blackberries ; their color, however, is more akin to that of ' green gages* than blackberries. Allow me to blush again here, and pity my weakness. I do n*t know how it is, but from boyhood up I have never been able to call that venerable class of females who fluctuate between the ages of thirty-five and fifty * old maids.' It may possibly bo owing to the vivid remembrance I have of one very masculine person of this sort, with hair on her lip, having given me a trouncing for eating an apple-dumpling by mistake, or it may not Early impret* sioos are said to be lasting ; and I am of opinion that the fiery face of that apple* dumplmg-loving woman will never leave me. One thing I can state without bludi- ing ; and that is, that the bachelors — I mean villanons, sallow-faced old bachelors, full of wrinkles and as crabbed as the devil — are just the same here as elsowherey and quite as fond of cards, chess, scandal, rum and segars. The lower class of both sexes are decidedly the prettier looking, but are more pitted with the small-pox than the upper and middling ranks. As I take you to be a man who does not despise the good things of this life, I think you may naturally enough wonder what particular dainty is preeminently * gobbled up' in Lisbon ; and I very much fear my veracity will bo sorely tried by you when I state the fact that beant are mixed with bread, beans are mixed with cofiee, and beans are eaten in every form and shape, save in their raw state. The fish-market, however, is unmatched ; and that is an excellent thing for a Catholic country. The beef is abominable, and turke]^ and chickens tough and stringy. The meanest rat in our country would spurn the idea of being seen at all in the day-time where I have seen turkeys and chickens feeding. The most of the ' plenty-penitentiaries* and * big-bugs* generally, dwell on the top of n hill, about a mile from the centre of the city, and dine late. They * go it with a per« feet looseness* on port, and watch each other from their windows, as Major Bagbtock did Miss Tox. A couple of Yankees are here ; one extracting teeth, * heedless of weather, and without pain,' while the other amuses himself by drawing a ' bead' of Daguerreotype on the victim. What a horrid life it must be ; and how the victim must suffer !' ... < I spent ten minutes or so in the Academy of Fme ArtB, and was much gratified at the idea entertained by one of the old artists in painting Elijah's ravens with large modem-sized Lisbon loaves of bread in their mouths ! I do n't mean to be ungenerous ; but had you seen that picture, would you not have supposed the fellow was hungry, or tliat he had been brought up in a baker*s shop 7 < Sassengers' seem to be as great favorites here as in our own country ; they are, how« ever, much stouter, altogether better filled, and seasoned * up to the nines.' I am at a loss to conjecture of what they are composed ; because from personal observation I know that all and every portion of * piggy' is totally used up in other ways. o. a.
We are promised farther communications from our correspondent, who in his dis- tant cruisings can scarcely fail to see and hear many things which will prove of mto- rest to our readers. He will address us next from Seville or Cadiz.
546 Editor's Table. [June,
GoBBip WITH Readbrb AND CoRREBPONDENTB. — We havo pHvato lettere, under date of February twenty-second, from our esteemed friend and correspondent at Constantinople, (from whom we never hear without pleasure, which is almost always shared with our readers,) from which we venture to make one or two extracts. The following passages we may believe will interest many persons :
*Wx go on here with 'internal improirements* and utefnl and ornamental edificea. with inralieworthy determination to regenerate the * City of the Sultan,' as Miss PAmDoc will call Constantinople. I boliere I hare mentioned to you the university which is being erected near the Mosque of St. Sophia ; and these two will ere long bo the greatest works of the East. It is worthy of remark, that while the Mussulman-Turks deny Uie sanctity of Sophia, they con* tinue her name to the church, which was converted by the conqueror into a mosque. This may, however, be only from a sense of gallantry for the fair sex in general. An Italian artist of merit has the building in charge, (M. Fozzatti,) who, by the by, is a warm admirer of our free institutions. He is also repairing St. Sophia, and for several months past the interior of the mosque has been filled with scaffolding. All the interior of the vast dome has been freed from the numerous coatings of whitewash that covered it, and the peculiar gilded glass mosaic work is again exposed to * mortal gaze.' The four cherubims in the angles of the dome, with their six wings, seem once more to peer down from their lofty eminence upon the world below. The aisles too now present many saints, of the same elegant and rich mosaic. Recently M. Foz- zatti discovered the full figures of the Qrcek Emperors Constantinb and HxaiKLius, over one of the greater portals. The Sultan is expected soon to call and see them. I believe that the cherubims, being of a heavenly origin, will continue exposed ; but the sidnts and the em- perors, being supposed to come within the limits of that part of the commandment which for* bids to be made any * image of things in the earth,' they wUl be covered over with a framed writing of some part of ihe Koran. The exterior too has been greatly embellished, with true Italian elegance and good taste ; but what is most remarkable in the matter is, that an infidel, a ' Qkiaour,* has been employed to do the work ! Shade of the Islam prophet, who lived on dates and damels' milk, and never knew the luxury of a shirt, whose palace was a mod-hnt, ■nd v^ho performed his devotions in an humble chapel, little larger than a tent, how must you feel indignant at the desecration I and yet how prood of the noble structure which your fol* lowers have taken from the same Triune-Christians against whom your Unitarian creed was put forth in Arabia ! Another architect, from a less sunny clime than Italy, from the foggy precincts of London, is also employed by the Sultan in the erection of public buildings for him. This person, a Mr. SanrH, has also built a theatre, or more properly speakiug, an opera, for an Armenian proprietor. The Sultan aided it in several ways ; one by a gift of two thou- sand five huudred dollars, and another by a grant of land, which added to the fund of the builder. A good Italian company is now * in fuU play' on its boards, and the enterprise has this winter been very successful. There has been, however, the usual ' noise and row* of such places, and a rivalry between the • Prima Donnas.' The result has been shown by wreaths of flowers showered in abundance on the stage, varied by cadeaux of turnip-tops, cabbagc-leares and a live gobbler I This latter, you will say, I suppose, is but natural in Turkty ; and yet the unfavored Donna thought very differently. A duel ensued among the admirers, as bloodless as the cabbage itself, and now all goes on quietly again. We have had ' Macbeth,' * Ernaki,' * Linda di Chamouuix,' and ' II Barbicre di Siviglia,' and arc promised soon ' Lucrecia Boxoia.* The Sultan owns the centre box, (the theatre is in the shape of a horse-shoe.) and has been present once. Perhaps you will be surprised to learn that he did not visit it at night, and that an exhibition was got up for him, ' extra,' during the day-time. His highness could not go at night, and have the crowd of spectators seated together promiscuously in his presence, and perhaps even boisterously applaud the performance, without any reference to his wishes. Yet as be was very curious, no doubt, to see a regular theatrical performance, the matter was com- promised, and ' Linda di Chamouni, one of the sweetest of operas, by Donnizctti, (whose brother is the director of the Sultan's band,) was performed for his private entertainment at noon on Friday last ' On'Dif says that his highness was much pleased, and was so much struck with the r6U of the old marquis, whose libertine passion for poor Linda is in such
1849.] Editor*s Table. 547
•triking contrast with that of his nephew, that ho exclaimed to some of the eonrticrs present : • It is not surprising that such terrible rerolutions constantly occur in Europe while noblemen are suffSqgsd to act the dishonorable part shown by this one I' In the same discreet sentiment his highness made no especial eadcau to ' Linda,' (whoso beauty and grace certainly made a deep impression on his young heart,) but sent fifty thousand piastres as a donation to the whole Corps de Tkcatre. He also Icil tokens of his generosity in the shape of snuff-boxes in diamonds, for the architect, the directors and the proprietor of the theatre. The edifice is made to coo- tain about twelve hundred people ; the boxes are let for the season, and as I hear, alone p«y the expenses of the opera, Pera, like the fabled phcenix, is only now rising out of its ashes } and I believe that in a year or two more it will also have a Th6Atro A la Corp do BalleL Many of the officers of the Porte visit the opera at its usual night performances, and the young Turk- ish gentry, as well as the Armenians and Greeks, arq fend of music. M. Donnizettx, the leader of the Sultan's band, for some time past has been engaged in giving lessons on the piano to the Sultan, and it is said that he makes creditable progress. He is also learning French of one of his secretaries. Seldom docs an artist of celebilty visit Constantinople without receiv- • ing an invitation to perform before the Sultan, and is handsomely recompensed ; yet you must not believe the unnatural tales told of his * going into perfect ecstasies* and * embracing the artist,' etc., for the Sultan is as dignified as he is generous ; nor must you believe that his mo- ther ever drives into the theatre in her carriage drawn by buflfaloes, as I once read in one of our public papers. It is probable that she never will even see the inside of the theatre, and oer> tainly cannot drive into it It is said that the Sultan has ordered the whole corps to perform at his palace, where a theatre will be got up for it ; and this to gratify the ladies of his harem. Then fair ' Linda' will not go unrewarded, and she certainly will not leave the palace without at least one beaatiful Cashmere shawl to cover her shoulders.'
We deslro to cai] especial attention to tho excellent article from onr friend * Carl Benson,* in preceding pa^s, upon the prolific theme of *Envy and Scandal* We hope it will not be altogether lost upon that large class of philanthropists who are will- ing to dispose of such portions of their spare time as are not required in minding their own business, in looking after that of their neighbors. . . . < M.*s request reminds us of the cautious person who wished to purchase a load of hemlock wood, with the privilege of returning it if it * snapped' in burning. His * contingency* is equally out of the question. We do u*t often publish rejected articles. . . . < Amicus* does not close so well as we could wish ; but the annexed stanzas indicate feeling for nature, and an agreeable facility of vereification :
Oh in the * leafy month of June,'
When the forest trees aro green. And tho roses full of rich perfume
Bloom in the fields unseen ; When sijihlnff winds with fragrance filled
Come fioatlng o'er the fields, And tho murmur of the tinkling rill
Its sound so sweetly yields :
Oh ! in that month serene and bright.
When the glad skv laughs for Joy, When the meadow lark in its upward flight.
Seems like some glitterinff toy ; When the sun pours forth his golden rays
In the many -colored west, Oh I that in this loveliest month I may
Be laid in my tomb to rest !
Some clever writer in a London magazine has a very sensible article upon *Lite' rary AipiranU.^ Speaking of inexperienced amateur writers, he says:
* Ip we by chance encountered a man who all at once, not being hitherto accounted a me- chanic, fancied he could make a church clock, and proceeded gravely to file out pieces of brats and fix them in certain positions, with the notion that they would work, and imorm the town oi tho time of day, we should say he was remarkably foolish, to use no stronger terms. And
548 Editor's Table. [June,
yet eTerv known literarr man will tell you that erery week he has a norel lent him, in mann- ■eript, either by a friena or through his introduction, the first work of a person who, with scarcely a knowledge of putting down a phrase, or the simplest elements of the art of compo- sition, dashes at once at the conrentional three volumes, and, as is usual in such «ses, only building the characters from types Uiat struck his fancy in reading, and which he flionght he eould imitate, instead of originating, introduces us to all tnose old friends in slightly new dresses, cbu^cteristie of such productions/
In reference to * that indefatigable class, the aspirants to periodicals, and small poets,' the writer remarks that he was bored almost to extinction with their erode commani- tious :
* I READ a great many of them, but none were ever arailable. If the notion was original, the style was either immature or over-elaborated ; and if betraying some knowledge of construc> tion, the articles were noUiing more than clercr imitations of popular writers. The would-be aspirants to light literature were the most painful ; those who thought it comic to use such pltfases as • the Immense sum of eighteen-pence ;' or. * that specimen of sable humanity yclept a chimney-sweep ;' or believed that humor consisted Ln a simple change of synonymes, such as calling an old maid an * antiquated apinster;* or in that elaboration of meaning by which a dancinf -master was described as ' a professor of the saltatory art* (which, according to the pre- sent stvie, he is not ,*) and the simple word * married' could only be explained as * led to the hymenial altar.' In fact, the drollery chiefly aimed at was of the school in which police cases are written by facetious reporters.'
We mean something by quoting the above ; and there are two of oar late * coires- ponding*-readers who will understand what it is. . . . Here is a very simple yet forcible illustration of the truth of Byron's remark, that the heart < must leap kindly back to kindness ;' and we hope it may not be lost upon those parents who never spoil their children by sparing the rod, and with whom there is no other but the imperative mood : * A boy was once tempted by some of his acquaintances to pluck some ripe cherries from a tree which his father had forbidden him to touch. < You need not be aAraid,' said one of hb companions, * for if your father should find out that you had them he is so kind that he would not hurt you.' * That is the very reason,' replied the boy, * why I would not touch them.* An exposition of cause and effect, worthy of heedful consideration. . . . *The Independent* weekly religious journal, in a letter from the Pacific, gives one a favorable impression of the moral character of some of the pious padres of Panama ; of one especially, who, after morning service, lost twenty dollars in a cock-pit, betting on his own fowl. He made it up, however, after evening service, at the monte-table. He was quite successful. He won a hun- dred dollars. Such a * line of conduct* pursued by a clergyman on Sunday would be apt to 'excite remark* in some parts of Connecticut . . . Whoever has passed northward by the quaint old Dutch church, toward the entrance to Sleepy-Hollow, must have re- marked, beyond the little grave-yard where so many of the * forefathers of the hamlet sleep,' a succession of woody eminences and tranquil dells ; a charming spot, breathing the very spirit of seclusion and repose, and yet, * by glints,* looking out upon the haunts of men ; the distant village, the broad Hudson sprinkled with sails or streaked with white * wakes* of gliding steam-craft, and the blue hills that fold themselves together beyond. In this delightful umbrageous neighborhood there has recently been laid out • The Sleepy Hollow Cemetery,* a rural burying-place, which it seems to us could scarcely be excelled in point of position or association. The names of the several di- visions are appropriately and tastefully chosen ; such as * Woodland-Hill,' < Forest- Shade,** laviNo-Ridge,' * Shady-Dell,' * Mount Hope,' * Woodland- Avenue,' « Morn- ing-Side,' Hudson-Hill,* « Tarry-Grove,' « Battle-Hill,* * Vesper Dell,* etc Nothing could be more pleasingly various than the scenery, or the foliage of the trees and shrabbery, while the soli is such as commends itself especially to sepulchral purposes. The grounds have been laid out with taste ; a spacious receiving-tomb is prepared ; and burial-lots are open for examination and purchase. * After life*s fitful fever* how
1849.] Editor's TahU. 549
many hereafter will * sleep weir in the beautiful cemetery of < Sleepy Hollow !' Its immediate accesBibility to the metropolis by steam, and soon by rail -road, the classical region in which it is situated, and its great natural advantages, must combine to secure for it the preeminent favor of the public as a place of sepulture. ... A oorkss- roNOBNT in Georgia sends us the subjoined capital bit of free-and-easy Latinity, which was written some years ago, and which he * lighted upon' during a research in an ancient family trunk. It will carry some of our readers back to the days of * Viri RomsB :' The following is an extract from a book which has found its way to Washington, entitled
* Catalogue Senatus, Facultatis, et coram qui munera et officia gesserunt ; Quique ali«
cujus gradus laurea donati sunt, in Facultate Medicins in Universitate Harvardiana
Constituta Cantabrigiey in Republica Massachusettcnsi. CantabrigiiB : Sumtibus So-
cietatis.'
MDCCCXXXIIL
GRADU3 nONORABII.
Andrew Jackion, MiOor-Gencral in bello ultimo Americnno, et Not. Orleans Heroa fortlisi- mns ; ct ergo nnnc Presidia Rernmpub. Foed^muneris candidatua et ' Old Hickory,' M. D. ct M. U. D^ 1827. Med. Fac. honorarius et. 1829 Pnesea Rerumirab. Feed, et LL. D. 1833. Ob proclam. et Veto celeberrimna. Salr. Pop. Amer. a Mullif. horrib. Deniqoe propter Dep. Rom. multii condemnatua.
Anna Kotal, Armig. domina 'emonctn naris ;' auas nuper Reapnb.foed. Ln terrorem masi* mum Typoeraphomm perambulavit, auo libcllo aubacriptioncm * ti et armiiF ezigena, D. M. et poatquam M.D. 1825, et M. U.D., 1827, Med. Fac. Honorana.
IsAAcus Hill, Neo. Uant popnli ductor, auv factioni conatane. Qui epiatolaa fietaa Judicibos suis adduxit, 1830. Munchauaen Profeaaor Mendacitatia emeritus. Mod. Fac. Honorariue.
FsAMCEB Wrzort, prsBuom. ' Miaa,' aed rere neut ffen. prtelector perfrictat frontia, eastitate stigmoaa, quae primum cum Owkn patre, turn Owkn fiiio vixit Quea Uaytiam cum Nigria adiit et ex re nigra one hundred * dollara^ recepit, 1829. Med. Fac. Honoraria.
Mabtin van Bubbn, Armig, Ciritatia :5oriba Rcipub. Foed., apud Anl. Brit Leffat Extraord. flbi conatitutua. Rcip. Nor. Ebor Gub., • Don. Whiakerandoa ;' 'Little Dutchman;' atqoe 'Great Rejected,' Nunc (1832) Rerumpub. Foed. Viee^Praeaes et 'Kitchen Cabinet,' moderator, M.D. et Med. Fac. Honorarina.
Samuel Houston, Armig. Tenn., Gub. atque Indisus, qui, memb. Cong, caatigatoa Juaau Mr. Speaker Stkvknson, 'comndered himatlf reprimanded^' et igitnr, *fett cheap.' M. D. et Med. Fac.
JoHANNKS DowNiMO, proBnominatus * Mi^jor,' Gen. Jackson aodalia, litterla celeberrimua, BCD. et Med. Fac. Hon.
Captain Basil Hall, Tabttha TaoLLoPK, atqnc Isaacus Fiddlkk, Rererendua; aeml^pai centurio, famelica tranafuga, et aemicoctua grammaticaater. qui acriptitant aolum nt prandnre poaaint. lYea in uno Med. Munch. Prof. M. D., M. U. D. et Med. Fac. HonorariL
Ouliklmus Lloyd GAxaiaoN, Liberator; qui nuper apud Londinum (adjurante Dak. O'Connkll) Americanoa up Salt River rowavit * Rara Avia^ adhuc implumia aed nunc hono- rum omithol. (aub epecie * Tar et Feathere') oandidatna, igitur. Med. Fac. Hon. et M. U. D.
Miss Cra.xdall, prunominata 'Paudencb' 'htcue a lun lucendo.' Hcholas Nigras fundatriz, Africanoramquo propugnatrix. Martyra, M. D. et Med. Fac. Honoraria.
There is much of true eloquence in the subjoined passage from a late address at New-Haven by Rev. Dr. Wuite, President of Wabash college : * That voice is silent which once said, * Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every ereature,' but the sound has never ceased to reverberate and to echo. Every wail of sorrow is its echo ; every petition from isle or idolatrous continent Every revolutio4 invokes us ; every uprising of man, struggling for the liberty of manhood and the equality of civilization, is an invocation. But amid all these sounds there comes one louder, deeper and more earnest Is it the wind that comes to our ears sighing across the prairie 7 It is the voice of our kindred that dwell there. Is that the roar of the forest, or the breaking of the lakes upon the shore 7 It is the sound of the multitudes, loud as the
* voice of many waters' or as * mighty thunderings.* It rolls from the vast basin of the Mississippi, along the far-travelling MIssiftri, and fW>m the mountains whose snows it drinks, and over them from the shores of the Oregon. It is the Pacific calling to the Atlantic — * deep calling unto deep,* The multitudinous dwellers between these shores are our kindred ; we taught those lips to speak. For us they yearn at eventide
550 Editor's TahU. [June,
For us they sigh when fever-eeorched, and toniiDg to the EoBt, with devotion fonder than the Oriental, they call for father and mother ! — names in this land next in love and sanctity to the name of God.' . . . Herb is a capital epigram from the pen of a friend, on a woman with red hair who wrote poetry :
* Umfo&tdnatb woman I How sad la your lot! Your ringlets are red — yonr poems are not*
A coRRESFONDENT, whose little notelets we always like to encounter in our drawer at the publication-office, writes: *Did I ever tell yon this story? On the day of Adams* funeral, I went down to the Battery to witness the ceremonies. While stand- ing on the side-walk opposite the Bowling-Greon, I saw the military companies march- ing down in all their glory, with their music playing and banners flying. As they arrived near where I was standing, they generally halted and dismissed for a few mo- ments, waiting for the remains of the departed sage to arrive. Among other compa- nies was one that had a fine band, and I listened to the music until it stopped. As floon as it did, the band dispersed, and one of them, a fat, jolly-looking fellow, wearing a very red coat and almost as red in the face, came over toward me. He carried one of those immense brass instruments, on which these bands are accustomed to manufacture, as their base -parts, a pretty good imitation of walking thunder ; and as he passed me, puffing and blowmg with recent exertion, he looked so good-natured that I could not help saying to him, * It must require a strong constitution to carry so much brass abont you !' Whether the rogue knew me or not, I did not know. If he didi the joke was all the better, for be answered very promptly : ' Well, I do n't know. Do you find it so?' . . . You will find a pleasant picture in the opening of Ten- ntson'b * Prmccss,' of a baronet's park given up for a day to a mechanic's institute, who hold there a sort of scientific gala. Rapidly, and with touches of sprightly fancy f is the whole scene brought before us ; the holiday multitude, and the busy amateure of experimental philosophy :
* Somewhat lower down,
A man with knobs, and wires, and vials, fired
A cannon ; Echo answered in her sleep
From hollow fields ; and here were telescopes
For azure views : and there a group of cirls
In circle waited, whom the electric shock
Dislinked with shrieks and laughter ; round the lake
A little clock-work steamer paddling plied,
And shook the lilies : perched about the knolls,
A dozen angry models jetted steam ;
A petty railway ran ; a fire-balloon
Rose gcm-like up before the dusly groves,
And dropt a parachute and passed ;
And there, through twenty posts of telegraph,
They flashed a saucy message to and fro
Between the mimic stations ; so that sport
With science hand in hand went ; otherwhere
Pure sport ; a herd of boys with clamor bowled
And stumpod the wicket; babies rolled about
Like tumbled fruit in grass ; and men and maids
Arranged a country -dance, and flew through light
And shadow.'
There is a very touching and we have no doubt authentic story just now going the rounds of the religious and secular press, entitled « The Old Family Bible ;' to the effect, namely, that on the banks of lie Wabash, the efl^ects of a poor widow, who had been left comparatively destitute at the death of her husband, had been seized by the sheriff for debt, and were being sold at auction ; and among these effects an old
1849.] Editor's TahU. 551
family Bible was put up for sale. She begged the constable to spare this memento of her dear and honored parents, but he was inexorable. The Good Book was about gomg for a few shillings, when the widow suddenly snatched it, * and, declaring that she would have some relic of those she loved, cut the slender thread that held the brown linen cover, with the intention of retaining it. The cover fell into her hands, and with it two flat pieces of thin, dirty paper. Surprised at the circumstance, she examined them, and what was her joy and delight to find that they each called for five hundred pounds on the Bank of EInglaud ! On the back of one, in her mother's hand-writing, were the following words : * When sorrows overtake ye, seek your Bible.' And on the other, in her father's hand : ' Your Father*s ears are never deaf.* The sale was immediately stopped, and the Family Bible given to its faithful owner.' ■ Hence we view,' is the corollary derived from this incident, by several religious journals, ' the great good to be derived from examining the Bible.' The pecuniary turn given to this anecdote, reminds us very forcibly of a story which our departed friend, the la* mented Henry Inman, used to relate, with inimitable efiTcct, of an illiterate English Methodist minister at the west, who one night, at a class-meeting, related the follow- ing afifecting circumstance : ' It is but a little while-ah, since I was a-travellink along one of your great rivers-ah, surrounded by the deep forest ; I stopped at a rude shanty by the low river side^ah, and there I found a poor family in gre-a-a-t affllction-ah. They were all sick ; their children were shivering and starving ; their heads frowzy and dirty ; and I was informed by the mother that they had lost their fine-tooth comb»ah ! They was ignorant of the go-dspel, and did n't seem to care about it, 'ither ; for when I reasoned with 'em-ah,the woman was all the time lamenting the loss of her fine- toolh comb-ah ! < Have you the Bible in your cabin V said I to her, says I-ah ; says she, * Yes, theer it is, up theer on the catch -all-ah,' p'intiug to a narrow shelf over the smoky fire-place, * but we do n't often read into it-ah ; ha'n't read any on't but onee-t, when our little Bill died with the ager, for as much as tew months-ah !' I got onto a die-tub, my friends, that stood in the comer, and reached up and took down the blessed Book, all covered with dust-ah ; and what do you think it was that I opened to-ah? What do you think it toae that I found there-ah, to satisfy the longmgs of that poor woman-ah? It was the long* lost, the long- wan ted, fine-tooth comb-ah! Oh, my hcareni, a^a-a-rch the ekriptera-ah ! If she had only s'a&rched the skripters, how her mind would 'a been eased-ah !' It seems to us that the morale of searching the scriptures for money is not far removed in absurdity from the inculcation above re- corded. ... In reply to * H. L. R.,' we can only say, that our firm belief is that the lines he quotes as from * W. G. C* are his. We quite well remember his reading them to us ; but when they were printed we cannot say. . . . • Forbigners,' inci- dentally writes a metropolitan friend, whose * notelcts' it is always a pleasure to ready
* make queer mistakes sometimes in using our language. I recollect when I was at school, a Spanish boy from South America attended the same academy, and was learn- ing English. He got along famously. He frequently heard us use the expression
* poor as a church-mouse.' One day he conveyed the idea, by saying that he was as
* poor as a meeting-house rat !' I knew a Frenchman, too, who on one occasion feel- ing himself very much insulted, and being very angry, cried out in his wrath, ' I blow your nose, you d — n r-r-rascal!' . . . Our printers have made a clean sweep of the postponed matter on their * galleys,' so as not to include any deferred < gossiping' in the first number of our new volume, the Thirty-Fourth, which commences on the first day of July. The literary materiel already selected for that issue is of the character
TOL. zzzni. 48
552 Editor's Table. [June,
known in mercantile phrase aa < A. Number One* We can promise, for our new TOlame, ample stores, and no abatement of our own exertions. . . . We were for- cibly struck, lately, in readin^r Dumas* * Shores of the Rhine,' by this contrasted pic- ture of < Napoleon going to and Returning from Waterloo,* The two scenes are worthy the pencil of Dslarochb :
* Wb saw two carrla|;e8 approaching, galloping each with six horsea. They dia^peared for an tnftant in a valley, then roae again at a quarter of a league's distance from us. Then we set off running toward the town, crying ^VlS^npertur'. VEmptreur!' We arrived breathless, and only preceding the Emperor by some fire hundred paces. 1 thought he would not stop, what- ever might be the crowd awaiting him, and so made for the pos^house, when I sunk down half dead with the running ; but at any rate I was there. In a moment appeared, tumine the comer of a street, the foaming horses ; then the postilions all covered with ribbons ; then tte carriages themselves ; then the people following the carriages The carriages stopped at the post I saw Mapolbon I He was dressed in a green coat, with little epaulets, and wore the officer's croaa of the leffion of honor. 1 only saw his bust framed in the square of the carriage window. Bis head fell upon his chest — that famous medallic head of .the old Roman emperors. Bis fore* head fell forward ; his features, immoveable, were of the yellowish color of wax ; only his eyes appeared to be alive. Next him, on his left, was Prince Jkbome, a king without a kingdom, but a nithful brother. He was at that period a fine young man of six-and-twcnty or thirtr years of •ge, his features resular and well lormed, his beard black, his hairelegantly arranged. He sa- luted in place of his brother, whose vague glance seemed lost in the future — perhaps in the ]wat. Opposite the Emperor was Lbtobt. his aid-de camp and ardent soldier, who seemed already to snufT the air of battle ; he was smiling too, the poor fellow, as if he had long days to live i All this lasted for about a minute. Then the whip cracked, the horses neighed, and it all disappeared like a vision.
* Trbbe days afterward, toward evening, some people arrived from 8t. Quentin ; they said that ts they came away they bad heard cannon. The morning of the seventeeth a courier arrived. Who scattered all along the road the news of the victory. The eighteenth nothing. The nine- teenth nothing ; only varue rumors were abroad* coming no one knew whence. It was said that the Emperor was at Brussels. The twentieth, three men in rags, two wounded, and riding Jaded horses all covered with foam, entered the town, and were instantly surrounded by the whole population, and pushed into the court-yard of the town-house. These men hardly spoke French. They were, I believe, VVestphalians. belonging somehow to our army. To all our questions Uiey only shook their heads sadly, and ended by confessing that they had quitted the field of battle of Waterloo at eight o'clock, and that the battle was lost when they came away. Itwas the advanced guard of the fugitives. We would not believe them. We sadd these men were Pnusian spies. Napoleon could not be beaten I That fine army which we had seen pats could not be destroyed. We wanted to put the poor fellows into prison ; so quickly baa we forgotten '13 and *li, to remember the years which had gone before I My mother ran to the fort where she passed the whole day, knowing it was there the news must arrive, wbatevco' it were. During this time I looked out in the maps for Waterloo, the name of which even I could not find, and began to think the place was imaginary, as was the men's account of the battle. At four o'clock, more fugitives arrived, who confirmed the news of the first comers. Theae were French, and could give all the details which we asked for. They repeated what the others had ■aid, only adding that Napoleon and his brother were killed. 'This we would not believe : Na- poleon might not bo invincible — invulnerable he certainly was. Fresh news more terrible and disastrous continued to come in until ten o'clock at night
*At ten o'clock at night we heard the noise of a carriage It stopped, and the postmaster went out with a light We followed him, as he ran to the door to ask for news. Then he started a step back, and cried, ' It's the EaiPERoa !' I got on a stone bench, and looked orer my mo- ther's shoulder. It was indeed Napoleon ; seated in the same comer, in the same uniform, his head on his breast as before. Perhaps it was bent a little lower ; but there was not a line in his countenance, not an altered feature, to mark what wefe the feelings of the great gambler, who had Just staked and lost the world. JiERoaf e and Letoet were not with him to bow and smile in his place. Je&omr was gathering together ihe remnants of the army ,- Letort had been cut in two by a cannon ball. Napoleon lilted his head slowly, looked round as if rousing from a dream, and then, with his brief, strident voice, • What place is this V he said, • VUlers-Cotcret Sire.' ' How man^ lei^iues from Soissons ?' * Six, Sire.' ' From Paris f * Nineteen.' ' Tell the post-bovs to go quick,' and he once more flung himself back into the comer of bis carriage, his head fell on his chest The horses carried him away as if they had wings I'
The world knows what had taken place between these two apparitions of Napo- leon ! . . . WcLL do we remember the school-days* scene recalled by our country friend * G. A.* Be well assured of this, that
* The burning thoughts that then were told Run molten ttiU in Memory's mould ;
And will not cool, Until the heart itself be cold In Lethe's pool.'
We shall expect the promised account of * J. C.'s * post-academic history.' Into the pleasant vista of the past which he so feelingly describes we look with mingled
1849.] Editor's TabU. 553
emotions of chastened sorrow and remembered delight . . . Therk is nothing about which there are more unmeaning twaddle and pure cant than in the disser- tations of certahi of our small uneducated litterateun upon the necessity of a
* National Literature* A sectional novelist, let us suppose, who has survived a * short-lived reputation for cleverness at elaborating * things in books' clothing,' when informed by one of our first publishers, in declining his msb., that his works do n*t sell, whether published in New-York, Philadelphia, or Charleston, shall reply, with mortification * in 's aspect,' ' It is because we have no encouragement for a National Literature !' National fiddlestick ! Do Irving, Cooper, Prescott, Brtant, Hil- LECK, Longfellow, and kindred men of mark and genius, complain that there is no encouragement for their * national literature 7' No ; and for the best of good reasons ; their repeated editions find a ready market, instead of being tied up in sheets, and crowded upon the highest shelvetf of our popular book-stores, labelled with names which repeat to every visitor, ' No Sale /' We hold with Mr. Churchill, in * Kavanah :'
' A national literature is not the growth of a day. Centuries must contribute their dew and sunshine to it Our own is growing slowly but surely, striking its roots downward and its branches upward, as is natural ; and I do not wish, for the sake of what some people call ' originality,' to invert it, and try to make it grow with its roots in the air. All literature, as well as art, is the result of culture and intellectual re- finement.' ... * Poor Power !' whose bones lie whitening among the caverns of the deep ; the incomparable actor, the pleasant companion, the courteous gentleman ; who that ever saw him, or hears his name mentioned, does not involuntarily exclaim,
* Poor Power !' in warm commiseration of his untimely fate ? A correspondent, from whom we are well pleased to hear, sends us the subjoined : * One morning, near where some masons were at work, Power overheard the following colloquy between the master and one of his men, who had come rather late : * Faith, Pat, and this is the hour ye come to your work, is it 7 It 's aisy to see where ye was the night ; ye was down at Tim Doolan*s, and ye 're the worse for it this morning.' ' 'Dade, Bfr. O'Connor, a man might pass the night in your house and be niver the worse for it in the morning !' Once when Power was leaving the Tremont-House, after a pro- tracted stay, he called up the fire-maker, and gave him a gratuity. Pat looked at it, and with a cold * Thank you' was about pocketing the insult, when he perceived it was a gold-piece instead of * a quarter,' as he at first thought His manner in- stantly changed, and he wound up one of those superabundant overflows of Irish gratitude with : * And I hope, Miether Power, I shall have the pleasure of making the fires for you hereof ther /' * Could gratitude,' said Power, • go farther 7* I widi you would get some one, who had ever heard the story from Power, to write oat the one of the Irishman who acknowledged : * ludade, this is a great eounthry, Mr. Power. They 're at laste a hundred years ahead of us — in dhrinks. Sir ! Did ye ever taste a julap?' . . . We are conscious of doing a real service to all those who travel hereabout by land or water, < and citizens generally,' in mentioning the fact, that the ' St, Charles Restaurant,* on the corner of Leonard-street and Broad- way, is kept open from sun-rise in the morning, with a corresponding period beyond the usual time of closing at night ; thus supplying persons who are leavmg town by the earliest conveyances, or arriving late at night, either by * rail ' or steamer, with a desideratum heretofore greatly desired. Under the supervision of Mr. Charles B. Graves, its new proprietor, the * St. Charles* is without a superior among all the I «taarants of the city. Prompt attendance, unmatched catering, a cuisine no where
554 Ediior^s Table. [June,
excelled, and the perfection of neatness in all its departments, are the ' causes of this efieet' . . . Thb following < Sonnet on looking at a Portrait by Page* does no more than jostice to the merits of that distinguished artist, while it reflects honor * npoQ the heart and intellect of the writer :
* Tbou, >o far off of late, art near me now,
Diitinct and palpable, in living guiae ; I read thv thonghta beneath that even brow,
I see tny soof ouMooking from those ejet. And almost heaf the unlettered speech thlat lies
Pausing upon the threshold of thy lips. The thought bom at thy death itself now dies,
For death no longer holds thee in eclipse. Blessings forever rest upon his head
Whose genius, setting time and summ at naught,
Hath to grief-blinded eyes this imlge brought, Radiant with that immortal spark which fled
Ere yet the artist* s hand had wholly wrought This link between the living and the dead. s. ■. c.
An esteemed correspondent, in a letter from Syracuse, relates the following * too- good-'nn-to-be-Iost :' Mrs. Butler gave one of her readings last week at Canandaigna. She was advertised in the village newspapers to read * Much Ado about Nothing/ On the day of readmg, at the request of several citizens, by whom she had been in- vited there, she changed the play, and read ' Hamlet.' An honest shop-keeper heard the reading, and became quite enthusiastic in his admiration. The next morn- ing he happened to see the advertisement in the paper, and went to a gentleman with it, foaming and boiling over with rage : * See here,' said he, ' what these infamous scoundrels have been doing ! They have published Mre. Sutler's reading last night as * Much Ado about Nothing /' And not content with such an insult,' added he,
* they have put it in capital letters — « Much Ado about Nothing !' They ought to be horse-whipped !' And off he started, in a towering passion, to arouse public hidignation agamst the rascals who had committed the outrage. . . . Galt, in his
* Annals of the Parish,' has, with apparent unconsciousness, so entirely simple is the narration, drawn a most touching picture of blighted affection in the person of a poor half-demented girl, who had fallen in love with a young Englishman named Melcomb, who was on a visit to the parish, and who, to * humor her fancy,' had * allemanded her along the street on Sunday, going to the kirk in a manner that should not have been seen out of the King's court :'
* This sport did not last long. Mr. Mklcomb had come from England to be married to bis cousin, Miss Viboinia CAVKimB, and poor daft Mko ncTer heard of it till the banns for their purpose of marriage was read out by Mr. Lorimsb on the Sabbath after. The words were scarcely out of his mouth, when the simple and innocent natural gave a loud shriek, that ter- rified the whole congregation, and ran out of the kirk demented. There was no more finery for poor Mko ; but she went and sat opposite to the windows of Mr. Cayknnx's house, where fir. McLcoara was, with clasped hands and beseeching eyes, like a monumental statue in ala- baster, and no entreaty could drive her away. Mr. Melcomb sent her money, and the bride many a fine thing ; but Meo flung them from her, and clasped her hands again, and still sat. Mr. Cavennb would have let loose the house-dog on her, but was not permitted.
* In the evening it began to rain, and they thought that and the coming darkness would drive her away ; but when the servants looked out before barring the doors, there she was, in the same posture. I was to perform the marriage-ceremony at seven o'clock in the morning, for the young pair were to go that night to Edinburgh ; and when I went, there was Mko sitting looking at toe windows with her hands clasped. When she saw me she gave a shrill cry, and took me by the hand, and wished me to go back, crying out in a heart-breaking voice : ' O, Sir ! No yet I no yet 1 He'll maybe draw back, and think of afar truer bride I' I was wae for her, •ad very angry with the servants for laughing at the fond folly of the ill -less thing.
' When the marriage was over and the carriage at the door, the bridegroom handed in the bride. Poor Meg saw this, and jumping up from where she sat, was at his side like a spirit as he was stopping in, and taking him by the hand, she looked in his face so piteously, that eveiT heart was sorrowful, for she could say nothing. When he pulled away his hand, and the door was shut, she stood as if she had been charmed to the spot, and saw the chaise drive
1849.] Editor** Table. 555
away. All that were about the door then spoke to her, bat she heard as not. At last she gare a deep sigh, and the water coining into her eye, she said : ' The worm — the worm is my bonny bridegroom, and jENNY-with-thopmany-feet mv bridal maid t The mill-dam water 's the wine o' ti^e wedding, and the clay and the clod shall be my bedding ! A lang night is meet for a bridal, but none shall be lander than mine !' In saying which words she fled from among as, with heels like the wind. The senrants pursaed ; but long before they coald stop her she waa past redemption in the deepest plumb ot the cotton-mill dam.
' Few deaths had for many a aay happened in the parish to cause so much sorrow as that of this poor silly creature. She was a sort of household familiar among us, and there was much like the inner side of wisdom in the pattern of her sayings, many of which are still preserved as proverbs.* ^^
A LITTLE satire, we should say, in the reply of a roan recently reinraed from the Sandwich Islands, who, when asked whether the missionaries had been successful in civilizing the natives, replied : * So much so, that I know hundreds who think no more of lying or swearing than any European whatever !* . . . John Howard Payne, E^., is the author of the words of * Home, sweet Home.' We are surprised that ' J. M. J.' was not aware of the fact, from the circumstance that occurred in Georgia, when Mr. Payne was arrested and carried through the forest to a place of confinement, on mere suspicion of being improperly concerned in the Indian difficul- ties in that State. On his lonely night-journey, with the guard that had been placed over him, he heard one of them singing ' Home, sweet Home ;' and the announce- ment, incredulously received at first, that be was the author, had a favorable influence upon the subsequent treatment which he received. . . . There is not a great deal of flattery in this description of one of your dandy ' beaux :* * He is an abstraction substantialized only by the scissors ; a concentrated essence of frivolity, infinitely sen- sitive to his own indulgence, chill as the poles to the indulgence of all others ; prodi- gal to his own appetites, never suffering a shilling to escape for the behoof of others ; magnanimously mean, ridiculously wise, and contemptibly clever !' . . . A corres- pondent at Buffalo remarks as follows upon these lines in Lowell's * Fable for the
Critics :'
' One needs something tangible though to begin on, A loom as it were for the fancy to spin on.'
* The poet shows an accurate idea of housewifery in putting Miss Fancy to spinning on a loom ! It reminds me of the Widow Patterson, mistress of a log-cabin here- about, who called upon a carpenter with a request that he would * bring over hif augur and saw her front-door off,' which shut with difficulty from some up-rising of the sill beneath it' . . . This morning at half-past six o'clock ; a fine breeze blow- ing in the leafy trees without ; little Josephine coming in at the time, showering her silken ringlets over a fair white brow and a pair of the largest, brightest eyes that ever beamed with the soul-light of childhood ; coming in to say * Brek'sus is weady ;' whereby, imparting the morning kiss, we did remark, that we should presently be down ; this morning, we say, did we laugh * somedele ' at the following : * A clergy- man, being opposed to the use of the violin in the church service, was overruled by his congregation, who determined upon having one. On the following Sunday the parson commenced the service by exclaiming, in long-drawn accents: *You may Ji'd'-d-l-e and B'i'n-g the fortieth paalm !* . . . Son bthino there is, very quaint and curious, in the profusely figurative language of the old English writers. Nothing with them was too unimportant or too familiar for purposes of illustration. Observe the followmg, where the devil is supposed to have * got the whip-hand' of a fashion- able prodigal : * His vehicle is the poet-coach of ruin ; the horses that drew it are Vantty and Credit ; the footmen who ride behind it are Pride and OppREssioir ; the servants that wait at table are Folly and Extravaoanck, and Sicknsh and
556 Editor's Table. [Juoe,
Deatb take away.' Next to this, in its exact kind, commend us to oar firiend Samuel Lover's ' Road of Life ;' the echo of his parlor-voice in the singing of whidi, in the drawing-room below, seems hardly yet to have subsided from that * locality :*
* Ob I Toath« happy youth* what a bleaaing.
In thv freahneM of dawn and of dew, When Hope the young heart la careaain|f,
And our griofa are but light and but few ; But in life, aa it awifUy fliea o*er na.
Some muaing, for aadneaa, we find ; In youth we 've our troublea before ua.
In age we leave pleaaure behind.
* Ay, Tboublb 'a the poat-boy that drives ua,
Up hill till we get to the top, While Jot 'e an old aerrant behind ua,
We call on, forever, to stop. * O I put on the drag, Jot. my Jewel,
Aa long aa the aunaet atill glowa ; Before it ia dark 't would be cruel
To haate to the hill-foof a repoae.'
' But there atands an inn we muat stop at,
An extinguiaher swings for a sign ; That house is but cold and but narrow.
But the prospect beyond is dirine I And there, whence there 's never returning,
When we travel, aa travel we must. May the gates be all free for our Journey,
And Uie toara of our friends lay the duat I'
Albeit we are < chained to the oar,' for the most part, daring the ferron of the summer solstice, we have yet an unselfish pleasure in remindmg our more fartonate readers of the pleasures which to them are compassable. Par example : At Sera- toga, The United States, already large enough to contain the popalation of a small village, is to be amplified by the erection of a wing one hundred and forty-foor feet in length by forty in breadth, wliich is to contain a hall and concert-room over an hun- dred feet long. Who can doubt what this vast establishment will be, under the auspices of our friends the Marvins? Congrees-Hall, too, an old and well-deserved favorite, with its new and graceful front piazza, with windows opening upon them from the ceiling to the floor, its renovated and re-modelled upper apartments, its im- proved grounds, and (more important, and better still) its experienced, aasiduoos host. Brown, who < each particular of his duty knows,' whether appertaining to the larder, to the cuisine, or to the wine-cellar — Congress-Hall, we say, opens on the first *in- stimo,' to wit, namely, June 1, 1849. There is now a superb rail-road from Saratoga to Whitehall, so that visitors can now get to beautiful Lake George, (where Shkrull, that excellentest of hosts, stands ready to welcome them to his thoroughly well-kept house,) with comfort and facility. Nearer home, but with equal attractions, comforts and luxuries, and unsurpassed views, ocean and inland, the Hamilton House, onder the watchful care of its popular host, Clapp, opens on the same day. There will be great enjojrment at these several places of resort the ensuing summer. ... * Wi say ditto' to the following address of a contemporary * To Occasional Contributors :* * Our correspondents will confer a real favor by sending us fair copies, and not the original and sole ms. of their works. If an article is worth any thmg, it is worth the trouble of a fair copy. Not intending the least discourtesy to our occasional contribu- tors, we yet find it necessary to say, in general, that time is not so cheap a commodity that we can conscientiously employ it in doing up and directing rejected copies of venes and short essays, to save authors the trouble of making fair transcripts of their own works. We hope, therefore, that no offence will be taken, if in fatnie we fsSl
1849.] Editor's Table. 557
to comply with the usual injunction, ' to return the mb. if it be not used/ unless it is too long to have been copied without considerable labor. A fair copy is also a favor to the printer and proof-reader, for which they are always grateful.' . . . Hbre ensues a very interesting anecdote connected with the late Mexican war. We derive it from an officer who was in General Taylor's column :
' Vekt early in the morning of the twenty-third of February, and before the battle bad fairly commenced, a horaeman was obaerved moring rery leisnrely along the main road that loads throogh * Loa Angostoros* toward Saltlllo, and approaching the pof ition of the American forces. He was mounted on a rather small but active horse, very plainly caparisoned, and was himself completely covered, in the Mexican style, with a blanket, which hung on all sides so low as partially to envelop in its ample folds, a portion of his horse. He rode along as unconcernedly, though but a short distance from the troops drawn up in battle array, as if he had been passing through a smiling country in a state of most profound peace, and seemed no more disturbed, though he occasionally glanced to the right and left, with the scene before him, than if he had been gazing upon mere flocks of goats, feeding upon the neighboring hills. The road was com- pletely commanded by Captain (now Lieutenant-Colonel) WAsiiiNOTON'a battery, which was placed behind a parapet thrown across it at about its narrowest point The ground on Wash- ZNOTON'a right was Intersected in almost every direction by broad and deep ravines, with sides almost perfectly perpendicular ; and on his left, rose a hill, whose crest was occupied by the lamented Hasdin's regiment of Illinois volunteers. So close had the foot of this hill formerly been to the ravines, that to make room for the road it was necessary to blast off a part of its face, leaving bare the rock of which the hill was almost wholly composed.
* The self-complacency with which the traveller trotted along, threw all our men, who were watching him, entirely off their guard ; and so confident was Captain Wasiukoton that his ob- ject was wholly peaceable, that as he was drawing nigh, he directed one of his sergeants, to cross the parapet and ask him what he wanted. The order was immediately obeyed, and the sergeant walked up the road to meet him ; still ho continued to advance without sensibly alter- ing his pace ; and appeared not the least discomposed although within thirty yards of the bat- tery, and not more than fifty or sixty from a line of between four and five hundred infantry ; and it was not until the sergeant had nearly reached faim, that he began to hold up. In an instant after he halted, gave a few rapid but searching glances at our dispositions, for defence ; and as the sergeant stretched out his hand to seize the bridle, turned his horse with almost lightning rapidity, and fied at the very top of his speed. Uis true character was instantly known ; and Habdin's men opened upon him, with a full volley; but although a perfect shower of balls fol - lowed him, not one reached the mark. The balls struck the road on all sides of him, raising little clouds of dust, but ho and his horse rushed along, wholly unscathed. At this moment one of Washimgtom'8 lieutenants asked permission to discharge upon him one of the pieces loaded with grape and canister, but VVasuinoton, inspired with admiration at the daring conduct of his gallant adversary, and at the cool and admirable manner he had carried through his most brilliant reconnoisance, replied : * No, no : Noble fellow (' he has had his chance — let him go.'
'The horseman was a colonel of engineers, who unfortunately lost his life in a subsequent part of the battle ; but if all Mexican oflScers had been like him, Mexico would still possess many laurels to adorn her brow.* w. o. v.*
Very many of our citizens lose no small share of positive enjoyment through the impression that a Museum can afibrd little attraction to grown people. A greater mistake could scarcely be made. We drop in occasionally at Barnum's American Museum, and can truly affirm that we never do so without being greatly gratified. Aside from the specified daily and evening ' performances,' which are exceedingly various and entertaining, there are several works of art to examine, which are alone worth the price charged for admission. A large painting, representing the French revolution, at the moment Lamartinb was proclaiming the republic, is among the collection ; a superb picture, embracing portraits of all the principal actors in that grand drama, comprising altogether some four hundred figures. .. . No; we don't like * M. L.'s' < model.* He may be ' great' in his way, but his * way* is small. He
558 Editor's Table. [June,
is ' maximis in minimis ;* gre^X in small things. * M. L.V puns are not sach as we should care to print This play npon words, unless well done, is very poor em- ployment A pun is not worth a copper which shows the labor of producing it Of all indifferent exercitations, spare us from forced puns, written around and up to. These glass gems, m pinchbeck setting, have no charms for us, ' and that 's the truth.' . . . The eccentric * Dow, Jr.,' in allusion to the exclusion of many would- be church-goers from the sanctuary, by reason of the enormously high pew-rents in our ' fashionable churches,' characteristically remarks: * There is a high duty upon the fashionable waters of divine grace ; and you have to pay at least a penny a-piece for a nibble at the bread of life. To go to church in any kind of tolerable style costs a heap a-year ; and I know very well that the reason why a majority of you go to BsELZBBUB is, becauso you can't afford to go to heaven at the present exorbitant prices !' . . . The well-written < Scene from the Past* would be acceptable were it not too well known. We have seen, and not long since, but where we do n't now remember, a beautiful print which tells the whole story, with the title, < Mort de la Pucelle cT Orleans.* Her noble figure is clasping the image of the Virgin to her breast ; the fire is kindling at her feet ; her cruel judges are around her ; she has asked for a crucifix, which a soldier has made for her, a rough stick of wood, which she grasps with the fervor of true devotion ; the flames rise around her; the last word she utters is the name of Jskus, the Consoler of the Afflicted, and the last thing un- consumed is her heart. . . . We were struck, in reading the other day an article in an able religious journal, entitled ' How to make Secret Prayer Pleasant,* with the following passage : * Pray much to Christ, He can be touched with the feeling of our infirmities. He was tempted, tried, in all points as we are, and presents himself before us in a form to meet our sympathies, and invite our most confiding approaches. Why did Stephen, in the hour of his trial, pray, * Lord Jesus, receive my spirit ?* There is a volume of instruction in that prayer. It pomts us to One who, having trode the paths of temptation, suffering and death, bears toward us the heart of a brother, that can be touched — combined with omnipotence to save.' ... It was poor Tom Hood (may the turf lie lightly on his untimely grave !) who wrote these odd lemarks in an article upon autographs: 'With regard to my own particular prac- tice, I have often traced an autograph with my walking-stick on the sea-sand. I also seem to remember writing one with my fore-finger on a dusty table, and am pretty sure I could do it with the smoke of a candle on the ceiling. I have seen something like a very badly scribbled autograph made by children with a thread of treacle on a slice of suet-dumpling. Then it may bo done with vegetables. My little girl drew her autograph the other day in mustard and cress. Domestic servants, I have observed, are fond of scrawling autographs on a tea-board with the slopped milk. Also of scratching them on a soft deal-dresser, the lead of the sink, and, above all, the quicknlver side of a looking-glass — a surface, by the by, quite irresistible to any one who can write, and does not bite his nails. A friend of mine possesses an auto- graph—' Remember Jim Hoskins* — done with a red-hot poker on the back kitchen door. This, however, is awkward to bind up.' . . . Thanks, thanks ! friend * HJ So we think we may. Well do we know the pleasure we should derive from a trip to Ciucinnati, via blue green Erie, Sandusky, and ' the rail :' it is only the incessant supervision of * letters, words and sentences,' that has hitherto detained our steps from the * Queen City.' We have cherished friends in the capital of the * Buckeye