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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