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NEW-YORK 

MONTHLY  MAGAZINE. 


JANUARY,     1850. 

NEVV-YORK: 
PUBLISHED   BY   SAMUEL  HUESTON,   139  NASSAU-STREET. 

LONDON: 

PARTRIDGE  &  OAKET,   PATERNORTHRROW.   AND  70.   EDGE  WARE  ROAD. 
IKAN'BURY  AND  COLIPANY,   AGENtS.) 

boston: 

CROJ^-EY  ft  '!?TrnotS:  FETRIDGF.  &  CO  :  REDDING  &  CO. 

PHiLADrr.rrETA  .-  o.  b.  zieeztr  *  co. 


1850. 


WM.  OSOORN,  PRINTER, 


€]it  ISMnththt  3Kagajme, 


BDiraS  BT  LEWIS  OATLOBD  CLABE. 


This  it  pranoiiDced,  by  tbm  preM  of  America  and  EaglaDd,  *  tlie  belt  Magaxine  in  America.'  It 
has  BOW  eoinpleted  its  Mrtj^-fourth  vohmu,  and  In  its  list  of  t^vorci  o/a  hmdnd  c&ntributon,  are  fomid 
the  names  of  every  distinguished  writer,  male  and  female,  in  America,  with  seyeral  equally  promi* 
nent  of  Grea^  Britan,  Turkey,  Sweden,  etc.  A  new  Tolnme -will  commence  with  the  first  day 
of  January,  185a  The  following  notloes  of  the  KihgebcboOkkk  ara  ftom  the  American  and 
English  press,  to  ^lich  might  be  added  huadreds  df  otliftrs. 

*  TsB  last  KmauMBCCKXE  is  ezeeedlndy  good,  fiometif  the  4atlelefl  aire  worthy  of  Blactwood's 
paliniast  diurs.  The  EdiUr*9  TabU  is  in  Mr.  Cxjiaic's  happiest  vein ;  varied  and  racy  in  a  remarliable 
degree.'— ifsw- rsr&  OommereM  Ad9§ttU», 

*  Tbos  KmcxxBBOCKXB  saoms  to  Increase  in  attraction  ss  it  advances  in  age.  It  exhibits  a  monthly 
variety  of  contributions  unsurpaned  in  number  or  ability.'— iV«t<0iia<  TttUUfgencer. 

*  Thb  KzacKSBBOcnsB  is  one  of  the  most  valuable  Xagazines  of  the  day,  and  outstrips  all  competi- 
tion  in  the  higher  walks  of  literature.*  —  ^tftoiiy  Argwt. 

*TaB  KHicKKJtBocKsn  Haoazxms  is  now  beyond  a  fueMkm  tkn  magazine  of  the  country.  Whoever 
wishes  hi*  money's  worth,  and  wmethiDgover,  let  him  •ufaeeribe  now  to  'Old  Knxck,'  and  our  won!  for 
it,  the  Editor's  Table  aloue  will  amply  sstisfy  his  ezpecCMlons.  It  is  not  a  periodical  to  be  lightly 
glancod  over  and  thrown  by,  but  it  fomura  library  book  to  save  and  re-read.  A  set  of  the  KKioiOBa- 
BOGKXB,  bound  up  in  volumes,  on  the  shelves  of  one  of  oar  popular  libraries,  is  more  consulted  (so  the 
librarian  has  often  told  us)  than  aay  other  similar  work.' --llseton  Dotty  TVoascr^l. 


Thx  London  lSjLuaNXB.*-*This  very  clever  Hagasine  is  the  pleasantest  periodical  in  the  Chtited 
States.  lu  articles,  which  are  numoroos  and  short,  various  and  interjBsting,  are  well  worthy  of  hnlta- 
tioa  by  our  Magasiaes  jon  this  side  oTthe  Adantie.* 

LoiTDOK  '  MoBNiNO  Chbonxclk.^^*  Judging  from  the  numbers  before  us,  we  are  inclined  to  con- 
sider this  the  best  of  all  the  Ammtaan  literary  periodicals.  Its  contents  are  highly  interesting,  in- 
struellve  and  amusing.* 


BBOUOTIOMr  IN  PBIOB  TO  0LUB8. 

The  publisher  has  determined  to  do  every  thinr  in  his  power  to  bring  the  Knickerbocker  within 
the  means  of  all,  and  Invites  the  attention  of  those  who  feel  an  interest  in  circulating  the  ftesC 
Am&ricak  literaiitrei  to  the  following  terms  to  clubs,  viz  : 

For  five  copies  sent  to  one  address,  the  price  will  be    tSO  00 

«     ten     "  "  "  "35  00 

"  twenty "  "  "  "  60  00 

Post  Masters  throughout  the  United  States  are  invited  and  requested  to  act  as  agents.    To  all 

those  who  may  interest  themselves  in  getting  up  clubs,  we  will  send  a  copy/^'ee  so  long  as  they 

keep  up,  and  remit  regularly  the  yearly  payment. 

V*  the  8mbscrlbera  and  all  Intereafed  in  •nv  TFork. 

The  publisher  desires  to  avail  himself  of  this  opportunity  to  thank  those  who  have  manifested 
their  unabated  interest  in  the  Knickerbocker,  by  sendlnff  subscribers.  Quite  a  number  have  done 
so,  and  no  doubt  with  a  very  slight  effort  on  the  part  of  some  friendu,  our  list  might  be  doubled. 
As  a  further  inducement  for  this  effort  on  the  part  of  our  patrons,  we  wish  to  say,  that  no  pains  or 
expense  will  be  spared  to  enhance  the  value  of  the  work,  and  our  pages  will  prove  that  our  readers 
will  reeciTo  at  least  as  large  a  share  of  benefit  from  our  increased  meanb  as  we  could  expect  our- 
selves. 

AQENT3  WANTED  FOR  THE  KNICKERBOCKER  MAGAZINE. 


BicreaPBisiivo,  active  agents  are  wanted  in  every  town  and  city  in  the  United  States,  to  procu^ 
subscribers  for  the  Knickerbocker.  To  competent,  active  persons,  wit^  satisfsctory  references, 
the  most  liberal  terms  will  be  allowed.  Apply,  postpaid,  to  SASCUEL  HUESTON,  189  Nassau-street. 


«- 


QREAT  INDUCEMENT  TO  SUBSCRIBE  FOR  THE  KNICKERBOCKER. 

FOUR  VXAB8  FOB  TEN  D0LLAB8. 

Trs  imdprslgned  win  give  tho  Volumes  of  the  Knickerbocker  for  the  years  1847,  '48,  '49,  and 
'50,  to  all  persons  who  will  remit  to  him  ten  doUean,  in  funds  current  in  this  city,  post  paid. 

f2|^.3ACK  Volumes  or  Numbers  supplied,  and  a  complete  set  for  sale. 
Specimen  Numbers  sent  free  of  charge  on  application,  postpaid. 
Tbbxs— |5  per  annum  in  advance.    All  remittances  must  bo  made  to 

SAMUEL  HUESTON,  PublLsher, 

139  Nassau-st,reet,  New-Terk. 
Qj^  OxTa  EBOhaage  papen  frill  do  us  a  special  favor  by  copying  the  above. 


THE 


1^tcbat0j^je?, 


OE 


NEW-TORK  MONTHLY  MAGAZINE. 


VOLUME  XXXV. 


^   NEW. YORK: 
PUBLISHED  BY  SAMUEL  HUE8T0N, 


130    MASS  AU-STBEBT. 


18(^0. 


T^ST»\ 


yd-,-  "'.     (fr:-^^  i .   A5C 


TUBUMB  BOXIAXMOS. 


.^ 


riLLXAM      08B0RN,      PEINTEft,  \     ' 


INDEX. 


Paos. 
A. 
An  (eiitirB>PoeUad'oouiM  of  Sprouts.*   By 

J.HONKTWSLL, 48 

A  BdTelation.    ^  Jobk  Watsks, 4D 

AaExoelleiit  BalkKlartlie  Blan  wlio could 

not  inite  V«ne, 104 

Antl^ablwth:  PrQfeMlcmTeraasPractioe,....10e 

AlbwllioaghtsoiiCloudB, 185 

A  Very  Cunous  true  Stoiy.    By  Paul  Mak- 

TIJI1II4LB, 147 

AaE^iffrnnoaOBptaiiiAMTBOKT, S51 

ALoo^bgfcrSprifltt.  ByaN6wOoDtributor,SB3 
A  Bomaucs  of  Oie  Gtoiator.   ByBfn.H.EL 

Enearrr, 437 

An  QrigixnlFlnnlly  Picture,... 506 

A  LegttKl  ftom  tbe  BpuiBb, 5BS 


BnoM'a  FuewelL  By  W.  H.  a  HoaMss,  EeqJ 
"^^^  'Btator.  3ylln.T.i.CA&mBT,..9! 

I  Sketch  of  Edkomd  Ghaklks 


College  nrieudfl.   By  Wellum  B.  Olasxsk, 
Cknlflii^ '(& 'do  and  Ito  Aaiiodatlc^^      !  II  .333 
D. 

Bo  not  Strain  your  Punch.    By  Johh  Wa- 

KKS........  .............. S96 

I^ouiii  Nakil, 491 


Emtoh'sTablb, 00,165,985,350,453,540 

Bpignm:  Modem  Pbilaothropy 484 

P. 

I^BBilnfaie  FBrfbetioDB:  or  the  Unreasonable 

Bichelor, 15 

FUiiei  aul  fU>n]ftrtB.  By  F.  G.  WooDWonTB,4Sl 


Gomip  with  Beaden  and  CkNTeepondenli, 

78,l(n,90MiBr^546 
OleBBM  of  Beauty, 519 


Paos, 
H. 

HowtoProeperzor  tbePfetdMiitake.    By 

A.  B.  JOBMSON,  £041., OS 

HAaaucT:  A  CSonzonet    By  GaoaouiiA  M. 

Stkis, 150 

How  U>  be  Happy.    By  A.  B.  JoRRaoM«  Ebom  805 

Hidden  Life:  A  Scene  ftx>m  Nature, 300 

Hymna  to  the  Gone.     By  ALaanT  Pikb^ 

EBq., 390,443,490 

Bynm  for  Blay.    By  Park  BaiuAMXM,  Esq.,  .  .384 

'  I. 

IrehuMPii  Famine:  A  lament    By  Willxak 

P.  MULCBXKOOX,  Es«.j 140 

InTOcation  to  theBeantlf ul, 348 

J. 

iAKSTTB.    By  J.  BL  LaoARcEsQ., 945 

JoHK  in  Patmoe.    By  CaAaLaa  SrsAoua 
Smttb, 414 

L. 

Linea:  Evening.  By  Dr.  DicxaoNi 49B 

Lines:  to  Laion  Hurt, 493 

Lines:  Aniau, 480 

Lines:  NoTember.  ByHias  Abby  Ai.LRir;..10 
LrraRART  NoTXcas,...63,  f55, 854, SSSL  448, 533 
Leaves  from  sn  African  JounaL    By  John 

Carroll  Brrmt,  Ebq^ 105,377 

Unas  to  a  Lady  on  her  Maniage.    By  J.  R. 

THoitnoN.  Esq., ISO 

Lines  fhnn  the  Perrian  of  Hafu, 130 

Living  Pulpit  Orators:  Bev.  a  P.  McIl- 

vAXifa,D.  D., 148 

Lines  addressed  to  Kossdtb.     By  C.  E. 

HAMiLTOir, 903 

Lines  to  a  Picture.    By  Dr.  Dickson  of  Lon- 
don,  818 

Lines :  The  OsronssL    By  S.  A.  Blaxcharu,  820 

Uses  Written  by  MoonUgfat  at  Sea, 336 

LoveaChild:  From  the  German, 413 

Land-Breeaea.    By  Wiluam  B.  GLAaiaa, 
Esq., 480 


Lidex. 


M. 


Paox. 


MaT-Day  Bevels.   FrwnaBMhelort  Dtary,.150 


May-Day  Bevels. 


New-England:  herCJhara«tor  aiidPoBWon,..110 

Narrhalla.    By 'MairraaCiLRL,' 351 

Night  at  Sea.   By  Dr.  Dicmoh, o32 


Onr  Blids:  Ihe  Wood-Thrnsh.   By  W.  H.  a 

HosKiR*  Ebq>« ..■-•••••••••-•--••••-•**^*^^ 

OuJlawa:  the  Comet:  the  Temple  by  the  Nile,  984 
OnBeanta.    By  Johh  WATiaa,. . .  .358, 445, 485 

P. 

PhUlto  and  Flora.    By  Ca»l  Baiwo»<i 399 

R. 

Rambledom.    By  C.  D.  &ru aet,  Bm., 21 

Bendorlngs  into  oar  Vernacular:  the  Two 
Artists, 290,431 

S. 

Stanzas:  the  C5entory  Plant, W 

b:  toLucy^ 34 

By  an  Old  and  Wdioome  GontrlbntDf,  93 
:  Winter  Flowere.    By  Tho«.  Mao- 

KKLLAK, "••• *^ 

Stanzas:  Disonlon.    By  Albbrt  Pikb,  Esq.,  241 

Stanzas:  LUlithe.    By  One  Bereaved, 333 

Stanzas :  Death.    By  Wii.  W.  Morlakd,  . . .  .499 

Stanzas:  the  Unforgotten, 509 

Stanzas :  Hungary, 518 

Song :  the  Minute  Men.  By  the  Peasant  Bard,  154 
Sketches  of  the  East.    By  our  Oriental  Cot- 

respondent, 130 

Stratford  on  Avon.    From  the  Note-Book  of 

aTraveWer, Jg 

Stray  Leaves  fh>m  the  Oonntry, 328 

Spring-time  and  Song.    From  the  Greek  of 

Mbliaobr, 332 

Sonnet  on  the  Picture  of  a  Beautiful  Child, .  .337 

Saint  Leear  Papers, 337,416 

Song:  a  Sublime  Lesson, 385 

Soarinfls  of  a  Ground-Bird :  Man's  Divinity. 

By  Sfias  Carouri  Chrsrbro% 496 

Spdng^  First  Small  Fkiwera.  By  J.  H.  Bust,  435 


T. 

Pass* 

Tb^Thonsand  Uaada :  with  a  Glance  at  Some- 
thing Else, 1 

The  Spectre  Caravan.   From  the  German  An- 

The  Olf&ibie.' "  By  R.'hV8todi)ard, 81 

The  Three  Treasures.    By  Paul  Martihdai*,  SB 

The  November  Wind  at  Midnight, » 

The  Bunkumville  Chronicle, 30 

The  First  Snow-Flakes.  By  Chas.  R.  Clarm,.M 
The  Cremation-  By  Wm.  Bblchrr  Glambr,  46 
The  Bunkum  Flag-Staff  and  Independent 

Echo, 53,343,310 

The  Wood-Duck.  By  W.  H.  C.  Hobkrr,  Esq.,  109 
The  Mariner's  Requiem.     By  Miss  E.  H. 

BULLCJS, «» 

Die  Unfolding  Star.  By  a  A.  ALBXAifi»RR,.194 
TVue  Freedom :  a  Sonnet.  By  Rurrs  Hbrrt 

Bacon, }* 

The  German  Hartz.    By  Jas.  M.  HopnR, 189 

The  Heart  and  the  WorW.    By  Auousta 

Browrb U--S 

The  Hermit  of  Utlca.  By  A.  B.  Jobr son,  Esq^  908 
They  wUl  return  no  more.  By  J.  Clbmbmt,.  -go 
Two  Characters.  By  a  New  Contributor, ...  .231 
The  Winter  Dream.  By  Lillib  Graham,. .  .948 
The  Loss  of  the  Hornet :  a  Ballad  of  the  Sea,  301 
The  Mysterious  Pyramid.     By  Hbhrt  J. 

BRBNT,Era., »* 

The  Swan.    By  W.  H.  C.  Hosmrr,  Esq., 312 

The  Warder's  Tate.    By  Hrrry  Fbktoh, 3.14 

The  Fhiteaophical  Emperor.  ByA.B.JoBif^ 

SON,  Esq., 386,471 

The  Poet  BAm.    ByDr.  DicksoN) 398 

TrueConservatiBm:  a  Thought, 419 

The  Song  Sparrow.    By  W.  H.  C.  Hosmrr, 

Esq., 430 

The  Fireside, 436 

The  Sunken  City.    From  the  German, 44S 

The  Mantle  of  Buried  Years, 447 

The  Idesl.    From  the  German  of  ScmLLBR,.4» 

Hie  First  and  Last  Appeal, 487 

The  Birth  of  the  Poet, 404 

The  Writings  of  Charlea  Lamb, sm 

Tales  of  the  Back-Parlor, S24 

V. 

Voices  of  the  Waters:  a  Poetical  Addren. 

ByCHARLBSCNUTTBR, 213 

Visions.    By  *Grbtta,» 240 

W. 

Waldemar:  aTsle  of  the  Italian  Campaign 
of  1805, 30 


ORIGINAL      PAPERS. 


Aet.L    the  THOUSAKD  ISLANDS:  WITH  A  GLANCE  AT  SOMETHING  ELBE,    ...  1 

n.    STANZAS:    THE  CENTURY  PLANT, W 

HI.    THE  SPBCTRECARAVAN.    FROM  THE  <  GERMAN  ANTHOLOGY,' 13 

IV.    OUR  BIRDS:    THE  WOOD-THRUSH.    Bt  W.  H.  C.  Hosmke,  Esq., 14 

V.    FEMININE  PERFECTIONS,  OR  THE  UNREASONABLE  BACHELOR,    ....  15 

VL    LINES:  NOVEMBER.    Bt  Mma  Abbt  Alum, 19 

VIL    THE  OLD  BIBLE.    BtR.IL  SroDDAmo, 21 

Vm     RAMBLEDOM:  IN  FOUR  CHAPTERS.    Bt  C.  D.  Stuart,  Esq., SI 

DL    THE  THREE  TREASURES.    Bt  Paul  BIuitiiidalb,  .    • 9B 

X,    THE  NOVEMBER  WIND  AT  MIDNIGHT, SO 

XL    THE  BUNKUMVILLE  CHRONICLE:  Dkvotbd  to  thb  Peinciplbs  op  No.  One,  30 

Xn.    STANZAS:    TO  LUCY, 34 

Xm.    THE  FIRST  SNOW  FLAKES.    Bt  Chaelbb  R.  Claekb, 35 

XIV.    MEMORIES  OF  SUMMER.    Bt  a  Cocktetkah, 36 

XV.    WALDEMAR:  A  TALE  OF  THE  ITALIAN  CAMPAIGN  OF  1805, 39 

XVL    THE  CREMATION.    Bt  William  Bblcbbe  Glazier, 46 

XVn.    AN  *  ENTIRE'  POETICAL  *  COURSE  OP  SPROUTS.'    Bt  J.  HoEBTWBL^^.    .    .  48 

XVm.  A  REVELATION.    Bt  John  Watbrs, 49 

XTX.    OTANZAB  BY  AN  OLD  AND  WELCOME    OONTRIBUTOR, 5S 

XX.    THE  BUNKUM  FLAG-STAFF  AND  INDEPENDENT  ECHO, 53 

XXL    BYRON'S  FAREWELL.    Bt  W.  H.  C.  Hosmbr,  Esq., 62 

LiTERAiiT  Notices: 

1.  SCENES  IN  THE  OLD  WORLD:    SCENES  AND  CITIES  IN  FOREIGN  LANDS,  63 

2.  THE  POETICAL  WRITINGS  OF  FRANCIS  S.\RGENT  OSGOOD, 66 

3.  POEMS  AND  PROSE  WRITINGS  OF  RICHARD  HENRY  DANA, 67 

4.  lOONOGRAPHIC  ENCYCLOPiEDIA  OF  SCIENCE,  LITERATURF^  AND  ART,  .    67 

5w    SAINT  LEGER,  OR  THE  THREADS  OF  LIFE, 68 

6.    THE  WAR  WITH  MEXICO.    Bt  Brevet-Major  R.  S.  Riplbt, 68 

Editor's  Table: 

1.  ANNIVERSARY  FESTIVAL  OF  S.AINT  NICHOLAS, 69 

2.  THE  BLESSING  OP  LTITLE  CHILDREN, 75 

3L    EXPERIENCES  OF  A  WATER-CURE  PATIENT, 78 

4.  A  HYDROPATHIC  POET  AT  LARGE, 7? 

5.  GOSSIP  WITH  READERS  AND  CORRESPONDENTS TO 

1.  Meditations  on   Sacred  Ground  and  amidst  Sacred  Scenes:  Thoughts  on 

Christmas  Eve:  *Leaemino  to  Live:'  Example   op  our  Saviour:  Personal 

PRESBNCB   op  JbsUS.     2.  LoNOPKLLOW's  ^SEASIDE  AND  FIRESIDE  :'  ^ThE  BvILDINO 

OP  the  Ship:'  ^The  Lioui^Uousb.*  3.  Some  Replections  on  Phtbical  Tbain- 
iNo :  Oeioinal  Letters  prom  Charles  Lamb.  4.  Poems  bt  Robert  Browning, 
OP  England.  5.  Mr.  Bartlett's  Paper  on  the  late  Albbet  Gallatin,  bepore 
the  New- York  Historical  Sociktt.    0.  ^An  Historical  Discourse'  on  the 

*  MEETXNa-HousE' OP  OUR  Boyhood,  its  Pastors  and  its^Pbople:'  Death  op  a 
Cbeistun.  7.  Poems  bt  John  6.  Saxe:  ^The  Times.'  8.  Drawing  op  the  Inter- 
national Art-Union.  9.  Jomes's  ^Esbats  upon  Authors  and  Books.'  10.  Lipe 
in  San  Feahcisco,  bt  a  Retuenbd  Gold-Sebkbr;  *  Sporting-Houses  in  that  Me- 
ridian. 11.  *•  Home  Books'  ^rom  Mbsses.  Appleton  and  Compant.  12.  Death 
PROM*  Hunger  OP  THE  Soul:*  Stanzas  to*  Leila.'  13.  Aspirations  aptbr  the 
Scenes  of  oue  Youth  :  The  Parting  Hour.  14.  Dickens's  *  David  Coppbepield.' 
IS.  Game-Gipt  op  Geouse  *and  Things,'  prom  the  Great  Prairie.  16.  Gouraud's 

*  Universal  Phonetic  Alphabet.'  17.  A  *Sure  Thing' poe  aGouembt.  18.  A 
Reminiscence  op  Boyhood:  Execution  op  Culprit-Mice.  19.  Dunioan  and  Bro- 
tree's  New  Pubucationb.  20.  CoxprLsoRT  Love  poe  a  Child.  21.  Resistless 
Stmpatht  with  absent  Friends.  22.  Headlbt's  *Saced  Scenes  and  Charac- 
TEEs.'  23l*Cheist's  Sermon  ON  THE  Mount.'  24.  Poetical  and  Prose  Writings 
op  Charles  Spbagub.  25.  Lecturbr  Bucklet  on  *  Things  in  General.'  S6.  *  Mo- 
therless Mart.^  27.  Thoughts  on  the  Death  op  the  late  John  T.  Stagg. 
28.  Lipe  in  Nicaragua.  29.  The  IjIttle-Grbat  :  Lines  bt  the  late  Ebbnezer 
Elliot,  ^Corn-Law  Rhtmer.'  30.  A  clbeical  Anecdote:  Natueal  Animal  Ap- 
PEcnoN.  31.  A  Kentuckt  Anti-Catholic  Unbeliever  at  Panama.  3Sl  Hew- 
et's  Abbottspoed  Edition  op  the  Waverlet  Novels.  33.  Buer  and  Steven's 
New  Jewblrt  and  *  Precious  Stones'  Establishment.  34.  A  'Rebling' 
Epistle.  35u  A  Beautipul  Simile.  30.  Shakspeare's  Dramatic  Writings. 
37.  An  *  Unwilling  Witness.'  38.  William  P.  Mulcuinock,  the  Irish  Poet. 
39.  Landscj^Pb-Paintinos  bt  H.  J.  Brent,  Esq.  40.  Modern  Fashionable  Par- 
ties. 41.  Beautipul  Prater-Books,  etc.,  prom  Messrs.  Stanford  and  Swords. 
4lt  Abolition  OP  Santa-ClausI  43.  William  and  Stevens  *Home'  Aet>Union. 
41  Welcomo  to  John  Watsrb.  45.  Atoloot  to  Coetribctorb.    46,  Nbw-Yrar'b 

AiLOTATORT. 


Co  our  0ttb0crtber0. 


The  Publisher  of  the  Rniokerbocker  gladly  arails  himself  of  this 
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of  the  work,  for  the  generous  interest  many  of  them  have  taken  in  ex- 
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their  names.    We  trust  they  will  bear  it  in  mind. 

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sible. Though  we  cannot,  like  the  facetious  editor  of  the  Bunkum  Flag- 
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Please  address  S.  Hueston, 

139  Nassau-fit,  New-York. 


THE    KNICKERBOCKER. 


Vol.    XXXV.        JANUARY,    1850.  No.    1. 


THB     *THOUSANDISLANDS.' 


WITH  A  OrASCX  AT  SOlIBTBIliO  XL0B. 

In  these  unchiyalroiu,  matter-of-fact  days,  it  would  seem  to  border 
on  the  audacious  to  offer  any  remarks  suggestive  of  a  more  liberal  use 
of  life,  since  the  sj^irit  of  the  age  seems  unsatisfied  unless  one  toils', 
droops  and  dies,  with  harness  on  his  back. 

We  cannot  now  divine  what  may  come  from  the  nib  of  our  pen,  but 
as  we  do  not  belong  to  the  regular  army  of '  litterateurs,'  we  may  be  ex- 
cused if  we  should  load,  aim  and  fire  in  the  most  promiscuous  and  un- 
sportsmanlike manner,  taking  now  and  then  a  feather  from  the  game 
that  may  rise  on  our  path.  We  may,  however,  avow  thus  much :  we 
shall  not  avoid  applying  the  language  c^  censure  to  those  who  find  no 
exhilarating,  soul-improving  influence  in  the  ministrations  of  Nature,  or 
who  are  inclined  to  deride  or  cheapen  the  motives  of  those  who  advo- 
cate the  necessity  of  manly  exercise. 

When  we  revert  to  the  scenes  that  with  no  slight  rapidity  have  suc- 
ceeded each  other  during  the  season  that  is  now  closing,  we  feel  much 
like  the  boy  who,  on  his  first  visit  to  a  museum,  is  so  dazzled  by  the  va- 
riety and  extent  of  the  objects  he  encounters  that  he  can  calmly  con- 
template none.  He  may  possibly  retain  a  dreary  recollection  of  the 
hippopotamus,  the  big  turtle,  and  Tom  Thumb;  and  in  like  manner  we 
can  only  recall  such  things  as  are  chiefly  rememberable  fixim  their  size 
or  insignificance. 

As  a  substitute  for  the  forgotten,  we  may  indulge  in  some  general 
remarks,  saying  less  of  woman  than  man ;  and  with  the  aid  of  our  fly- 
rod,  bring  an  occasional  fish  into  the  upper  air  for  the  relief  of  the 
reader's  eye. 

He  who  should  take  a  view  of  the  actual  condition  of  his  fellow-man 
might  be  surprised  to  find  how  lar?e  a  portion  of  them  are  shut  out  or 
prevented  firom  participating  in  the  beauties  and  uses  of  the  outward 
world ;  the  positive  requirements  of  daily  life  demanding  the  fiilfilment 

VOL.  zxxv.  1 


IJ^ 


^c:y' 


;  ^/^JJ^^. 


NEW-YORK 

MONTHLY  MAGAZINE, 


JANUARY,     1850. 


NEVV-YORK: 
PUBLISHED   BY   SAMUEL  HUESTON,  139  NASSAU-STREET. 

LOND  on: 

PARTRIDGE  &  OAKEY.    PATERKofiTHRROW.    AXT3  70.  EDGEWARE  ROAD. 
<nA-iJBT7P.Y  AND  COilPANT.  AOE^-TS.) 

BO  8T0N: 

CROSBY  fc  NTCEOT.S  :  FETRTPGF  fc  CO  :  RBDDINO  &  CO, 
FHri,.\DETrrnTA  :   G    B    ZIEESR  *  CO. 


1850. 


WM.   OSDORK,  PBINTXR. 


4  The  *  Thousand  Idands,'  Etc.  [Januarj, 

diadem,  is  revealed  to  the  eye,  as  well  as  sundry  stone  barracks,  and  a 
*  first  rate  man  of  war,'  who  has  kept  his  hat  on  for  more  than  twenty 
years !  Striking  across  now  in  the  lake  and  now  among  islands,  the 
Martello  towers  of  Kbgston  en^ge  attention ;  and  now  the  city,  witli 
its  forsaken  government  palace,  its  churchnspires,  its  superb  stone  mar- 
ket house  and  adjacent  forts,  present  a  picture  of  no  inconsiderable 
beauty.  At  the  wnarf  we  remark  the  red  coat,  but  unaccompanied  with 
the  bristling  implements  of  defence ;  no  gilded  barges  or  bannered  ships. 
On  shore  no  martial  air  salutes  the  ear,  or  military  review  dazzles  die 
eye,  but  every  where  a  sad  serenity  prevailed,  significant  of  the  over^ 
shadowing  effect  of  an  unpopular  government  Subseauently  we  visit- 
ed it,  wearing  a  more  agreeable  aspect ;  emblems  of  the  thrice  re- 
nowned victories  of  peace  then  met  us  at  every  turn.  Within  a  ten-acre 
enclosure,  of  octagon  £>rm,  tastefully  embellished  with  balsams,  were 
collected  the  most  curious  machines,  agricultural  implements  of  all 
kinds,  and  flowers  of  all  hues ;  and  while  Her  Majesty's  band  was 
playing  some  appropriate  air,  we  made  our  exit,  not  forgetting  that  the 
'  annual  fair'  was  now '  a  matter  of  history'  to  us,  as  well  as  to  Uie  multi- 
tude who  were  hurrying  on  foot  and  in  vehicle  to  the  seven  steamboats, 
whose  bells  were  ringino;  the  final  home-march. 

We  are  again  on  board  the  Cataract,  heading  fi>r  '  French  Creek,*  our 
impatience  increasing  as  the  distance  diminishes.  Our  impatience  was 
soon  relieved,  when  turning  to  the  west,  we  saw  the  heralding  of  a  bril- 
liant sunset,  one  of  those  occasions '  when  nature  takes  a  coloring  fit  uid 
does  something  extraordinary ;  things  which  can  only  be  conceived, 
while  they  are  visible.'  We  watched  and  watched,  and  wondered  at  the 
intensity  and  variety  of  hues  presented  as  the  great  luminary  was  about 
to  sink,  and  were  never  more  fi>rcibly  impressed  with  thejact,  that  Na- 
ture can  master  Art,  and  hold  her  at  defiance  whenever  she  chooses ; 
whatever  the  North  American  Review  may  say  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing. 

OAr  sensations  of  promised  enjoyment  are  now  rapidly  multiplying, 
as  island  after  island  is  passed,  and  the  Mecca  of  our  hope  is  only  screened 
from  view  by  some  forest  sentinels  which  seem  to  bow  their  high  heads 
in  welcome,  as  we  move  on  to  our  inheritance.  ' 

We  are  there.  The  hanging  shore  proclaims  it ;  the  liberty-pole 
attests  it ;  and  if  required,  the  '  commodore'  and  the  '  'squire'  will  swear 
to  it 

The  Commodore  bears  himself  like  one  of  your  large  land  owners, 
with  water  privileges  to  match ;  his  deer  range  over  a  hundred  islands, 
and  his  vision,  when  put  to  it,  can  nearly  embrace  the  whole.  He  is 
greatly  annoyed  at  times  by  the  pilferings  of  the  wild  fowl  among  his 
'  wild  rice'  plantations,  and  he  has  frequently  been  known  to  make  his 
bed  in  their  immediate  vicinity,  (and  his  board  too,)  with  the  'Squire  as 
co-watcher,  determined  to  maintain  and  protect  his  rights,  even  at  the 
mouth  of  his  two-barrelled  gun. 

A  sort  of  gentle  disaereement  sometimes  occurs  between  these  deni- 
zens, touching  their  individual  experiences  and  prowess,  and  then  it  is 
that  the  argumentative  adroitness  of  the  'S<]|uire  is  seen  to  advantage. 
He  is  first  rate  authority  on  any  contested  pomt  connected  with  '  Goose 


1850.]  7%e  'TkauMnd  Hands!  Etc.  5 

Bay,' '  Eel  Bay/  or  that  once  bloody  stream  *  Crooked  Creek/  where 
the  Yankees  once  hemmed  in  an  enemy,  even  unto  death,  by  felling 
trees ;  he  is  poeidve  of  one  thing,  and  Mrill  affirm  it  to  his  last  day,  *  that 
Daniel  Lambert's  over-coat  was  never  large  enough  to  make  a  jacket  for 
the  Commodore.' 

Many  a  jest  encases  a  truth,  and  the  'Squire  is  known  to  be  as  just 
as  he  ingenious.  When  he  brings  aU  his  skill  and  perseverance  mto 
action  in  angling,  he  rather  excites  the  envy  of  his  generally  victorious 
associate,  for  then  his  supremacy  stands  confessed ;  for  instance,  one 
hundred  and  fifty-three  pounds  against  one  hundred  and  six  in  one  day's 
trailing !  Our  intimacy  with  these  brave-hearted  men  was  such  that  we 
did  not  permit  ourselves  to  travel  either  land  or  water  without  them ! 

lUjely  did  we  pass  an  island  without  having  our  memory  charged 
with  some  real  or  legendary  fact ;  some  sanguinary  panther  conflict, 
voluntarily  engaged  in  without  fire-arms,  by  a  person  who  now  bears  the 
scars  received  in  the  encounter,  and  tJiriUingly  relates  the  incidents  of 
his  victory ;  of  some  st^pmer  that  struck  upon  a  ledge  at  tea-time,  and 
overset  no  cups  or  saucers,  and  sundry  other  more  amusing  and  more 
impossible  things. 

Long  life  to  £(sse  keen-eyed,  broad-chested,  big-hearted  denizens,  and 
may  they  always  keep  their  boats  in  good  order,  and  provide  them  with 
better  seatSt  especially  fer  the  convenience  and  comfort  of  their  twelve 
day  visitors,  whose  one  thousand  three  hundred  and  forty-three  pounds 
of  fisb  so  favorably  affected  the  salt  market  at  the  Bay  1 

Now  we  are  among  a  rare  family  of  islands,  the  least  of  them  pos- 
sessing some  distinct  character  of  form  or  beauty,  and  some  few  capable 
of  supporting  some  forty  or  fifty  families.  We  have  frequently  visited 
a  dairy  there  which  turns  out  two  tons  of  good  cheeses  every  year.  The 
great  majority  of  them  are  neither  cultivated  nor  inhabited. 

Our  skifif  is  constantly  threading  its  way  among  these  land  aquatic^ 
a£S:irding  the  most  agreeable  employment  fer  the  hands,  engagement  for 
the  mind,  and  variety  for  the  eye.  Now  we  are  stemming  the  rapid 
current  of  some  narrow  '  gut'  with  a  black  bass  on  every  fly,  and  now 
quietly  gliding  back  into  a  deep  and  tranquil  basin  to  relieve  our  rod  of 
^e  life  diat  bends  it  almost  to  breaking ;  now  we  push  into  a  wider  ex- 
panse of  water,  where  the  tempting  <  shoals'  successively  appear  swarm- 
mg  with  myriads  of  the  finny  tribe,  and  inviting  employment  for  all  our 
^uipment  and  skill,  fortunate  if  both  fail  not  in  recijprocating  as  they 
ought  the  multiplying  and  affectionate  attentions  of  this  gamesome 
fish.  (This  is  more  especially  the  case  during  the  smnmer  months,  as 
the  bass  generally  quit  the  shoals  by  September  for  deeper  water  and 
other  feed.) 

Now  we  relinquish  for  a  time  this  sparkling,  exciting  sport,  and  seek 
the  bordetB  of  the  main  channel,  or  push  into  some  capacious  bay  where 
the  quick-eyed,  darting  pickerel  is  wooed  firom  his  grassy  bed,  by  our 
brilliant  spmning  bait,  and  where  the  bump  of  Hope  attains  its  maxi- 
mum in  calculating  the  chances  of  securing  a  '  Muscalonge.' 

Now  our  gallantry  is  most  agreeably  exercised  as  we  approach  the 
*  Three  Sisters,'  who  are  here  anchored  for  a  long  life,  and  each  pos- 
sessed of  a  disdnct  separate  estate ;  their  domiciles  are  models  admirably 


6  '    Tke  'Thousand  Idandi,*  Etc.  [January, 

adapted  to  withstand  the  fury  of  the  elements  and  requiring  no  repairs 
from  mortal  man;  fortunate,  as  Forsyth  might  have  6aid«  ^th  in  their 
society  and  solitude.  At  their  side,  ever  ready  '  to  avenge  a  look  that 
threatens  insult*  is  the  trusty  *  grenadier*  whose  majestic  and  imposmg 
aspect  is  only  equalled  by  lus  endurance  and  constancy. 

Many  are  the  salutations  they  receive  from  the  passmr  traveller,  and 
many  a  maiden  of  the  continent  has  probably  envied,  and  would  be  glad 
to  inherit  their  perennial  loveliness,  even  at  the  expense  of  smgle  bless- 
edness! 

That  most  agreeable  dilemma, 'Where  shall  we  dine  f  nowpressesus 
like  a  friend.  Whether,  where  Victoria  holds  rule ;  on  the  line,  where 
*  Bill  Johnson'  ceases  from  torment,  or  on  some  of  <  Uncle  Sam's'  isolated 
possessions.  Our  feelings  being  somewhat  royal,  incline  us  toward 
the  Queen.  We  soon  reach  the  main  shore,  and  under  some  thickly- 
leaved  oak  or  maple,  the  stone  table  is  spread,  and  near  by  the  flame 
ascends  with  a  tnuy  sacrificial  pomp ;  the  senses  are  summoned  to  their 
work,  and  their  ettgagedmesi  continues,  until  that  dietetic  monitor,  the 
palate,  announces  tibe  hunger-appeasing  jubilee  terminated. 

To  be  able  to  interpret  nature,  where  there  is  every  thing  to  elevate, 
and  '  none  to  molest  or  make  afraid,'  is  surely  an  enviable  privilege,  es- 
pecially when  we  can  successfully  practise  our  deceptions  on  the  finny 
tribe,  now  offering  an  artificial  bug,  now  a  gray  fly,  and  now  one  so  gay 
and  gaudy  that  we  almost  envy  the  victim  tiiat  takes  it  Now  that  the 
repast  is  over,  we  push  forth  again ;  and  as  we  turn  a  point,  the  pra^ 
tised  eye  of  the  oarsman  discovers,  noiselessly  engaged  in  plucking  its 
food,  that  provokingly  shy  bird,  the  <  black  duck,'  and  the  instant  whiz- 
zing that  salutes  the  ear  too  certainly  proclaims  his  escape ;  the  beauti- 
ful wood-duck  is  quite  at  home  here,  but  they  are  quite  apt  to  be  out,  to 
mere  callers !  Enough  of  both,  however,  may  be  securea  in  September 
to  satisfy  the  occasional  n>ortsman  or  the  pidate  of  the  epicure.  The 
gray  duck,  shell  drake  and  teal,  also  inhabit  these  waters,  and  are  obliged 
te  tolerate  in  their  society  that  almost  unconscious,  stupid,  tough,  shot- 
resisting  thing,  which  is  called  '  nigser  duck.' 

The  broad  winged  '  blue  heron'  is  an  unmistakeable  object,  whether 
standing  or  flying,  and  his  commanding  stature  and  solemn  bearing 
would  recommend  him  as  an  overseer  of  the  entire  feathered  family  of 
this  region. 

As  an  agreeable  contrast  to  this  commerce  with  the  birds,  the  field  of 
action  may  be  transferred  to  where  the  porcupine,  tiie  gray  and  black 
squirrel,  and  an  occasional  mink,  abound ;  not  to  mention  the  muskrat, 
whose  houses  loom  up  at  intervals  like  very  little  log-cabins !  We  will 
not  dwell  on  the  doe,  which  met  the  usual  fate  of  almost  all  deer  that 
take  to  the  water  when  pursued :  no  incident  is  so  instantly  inspiriting 
to  an  oarsman  as  a  discovery  of  this  nature ;  he  turns  his  boat  round 
with  an  inconceivable  quickness,  and  disregarding  rods,  lines  and  flies, 
makes  for  the  spot  in  hot  haste  and  engages  m  the  capture.  If  the  word 
enthusiasm  required  a  more  active  and  positive  definition,  the  lexicog- 
rapher might  find  one  connected  with  such  an  event. 

Having  threaded  our  way  among  this  marvellous  congregation  of 


1850.]  Tke  *T!kou9andldand8f' Etc.  7 

islands  ibr  a  day,  and  which  we  have  attempted  without  exaggeration  to 
describe,  diniOBes  the  angler  to  seek,  with  a  deep  consciousness  of  an 
oremilin^  Benignant  Power,  his  rural  retreat  &r  the  night ;  and  hav- 
ing exhibited  to  his  comrade  the  result  of  his  skill,  he  selects  a  few  of  the 
&test  bass  £>r  his  stomach's  sake.  Having  repaired  the  wants  of  the 
inner  man,  he  slumbers  on  a  bed  of  feathers  or  hemlock  leaves,  at  his 
discretion,  and  sleeps  a  lord,  until  the  morning  sun  summons  him  to 
another  day's  renewal  of  delight: 

<  I  AM  too  litOe  to  ootttalB  my  Jot 
It  flows  above  the  narrow  bank'  Osomoc  B. 
'WhatflhaUIaay?    Let  me  bathe  here  eternallj 
And  study  new  arithmetic  to  count 
Newr  ^  -• 


This  is  die  region  that  the  angler  of  the  present  day  contemplates 
with  unmixt  sadsraction ;  and  if  the  imaginative  principle  is  active  within 
him  he  may  dwell  even  with  rapture  on  the  perspective  which  the  future 
may  throw  around  it,  when  upon  several  oi  these  numberless  isles  will 
doubtless  arise  villas  of  simple  beauty  dedicated  to  a  pastime  wliich 
time  will  have  more  fully  developed  and  ennobled,  and  where  the  profes- 
sional man,  the  man  of  the  world,  the  poet,  the  philosopher  and  the 
statesman  may  find  not  only  a  charming  release  from  the  entanglements 
and  trammels  of  life,  but  a  deepening  mterest  in  the  tie  that  binds  them 
to  Nature,  ^nd  who  knows  but  at  this  congress  of  sages  and  wits,  plans 
may  be  devised,  principles  evolved,  and  action  resolved  upon,  that  may 
startle  the  (then)  entire  continent  ? 

The  angler  who  may  then  desire  to  dine  on  a  foreign  soil,  must  cross 
the  ocean  to  do  it  Victoria  will  then  be  in  her  grave,  and  perhaps  her 
country. 

How  spontaneous  is  our  liking  far  the  man  who  regularly  makes  8 
pilgrimage  to  these  pastoral  shnnes !  -  Should  the  cares  of  home  or 
business  press  heavily,  he  does  not,  fike  your  untraveUed,  unmountained 
worldling,  become  surly,  snubby  and  churlish,  for  he  has  been  accus- 
tomed to  forsake  his  bill-book  and  ledger  for  a  time,  and  say  to  his 
&mily :  '  Now  I  am  going  to  another  sphere,  where  I  may  see  moving 
objects  without  tongues,  and  eloauence  without  passion ;  I  go  to  interro- 
gate our  dear  mother  and  ally,  iHature/  His  pulse  soon  begins  to  beat 
quicker  and  stronger ;  his  cheek  assumes  a  more  ruddy  hue,  his  muscles 
expand,  and  his  vision  enlarges  to  the  full  orbit  of  humanity.  He 
reaches  an  elevation  where  nothing  speaks  to  him  of  animated  life,  ex- 
cept perchance  s<Hne  butterfly  borne  unduly  by  the  breeze  from  its 
parent  bed  of  flowers.  And  here  he  has  audience  with  himself;  and 
m  this  temple  where  the  tormenting  passions  are  dumb  he  marvels  and 
wonders  why  his  fellow  men  are  so  mdifferent  and  dead  to  Nature's 
appeals ;  why  it  is  that  communing  with  her  is  considered  no  boon ; 
why  that  her  rugged  riches  have  no  temptations,  her  sleeping  beauties 
no  suitors,  her  torrents  so  fow  delineators,  her  massive  everlasting  pyra- 
mids no  votaries,  and  no  sculptor  to  chisel  his  way  to  fome  among  her 
interminable  quarries  ? 

Such  questions,  however  pertinent,  as  they  enter  one  ear  of  the  world 
go  out  at  the  other,  and  no  response  goes  up  to  the  mountain  and  the 


8  The  'Thousand  Idandi!  Etc.  {January, 

lake  better  than  this :  '  No  time,  Sir,  for  such  things  ;  I  am  a  married 
man ;  have  duties  to  perfi>rm  thicker  than  blackberries  and  longer  than 
rope-walks ;  have  a  neighbor  who  is  a  little  better  off  than  I,  and  am 
sore  afraid  he  will  be  more  so  if  I  relax  my  efforts.' 

This  we  imagine,  though  put  in  homely  phrase,  embodies  the  truth, 
and  nothing  but  the  truth ;  and  so  long  as  this  continues  to  be  the  taught 
gospel  of  our  day,  so  long  will  it  be  necessary  to  preach  another. 
These  are  the  sentiments  diat  make  the  study  of  the  professional  man 
a  damp  rayless  cloister,  the  counting-room  a  ftshipnable  hospital,  and 
the  shop  an  embroidered  hearse  $  active  agents  all  in  repelhng  what- 
ever favors  a  manly  exercise. 

That  old,  very  respectable,  but  man-killing  maxim,  *  Time  is  money,' 
is  too  narrowly  mterpreted.  Time  is  every  thing  ;  employment,  sensa- 
tion, pastime,  prose,  poetry ;  and  he  best  redeems  it  who  crowds  most 
into  it 

The  pulpit  sends  forth  without  stint  its  denunciatory  voice  against 
undue  worldliness,  wealth,  extravagance  and  ambition,  but  the  number 
of  their  votaries  diminishes  not  ,It  seems  necessary  to  hold  up  to 
men's  minds,  apart  from  Holy  Writ,  something  that  may  outsparkle  the 
gilded  lucre  that  so  exclusively  controls  the  energies  of  our  times. 

When  the  Evil  One  wished  to  tempt  the  Saviour,  Be  led  him  up  into 
the  wilderness.  Cannot  the  preacher  dwell  with  effect  at  frequent  in- 
tervals on  the  refreshing,  exalting  influences  locked  up  in  nature's  love  % 
Can  he  not  gently  remove  the  bars  that  press  so  heavily  on  many  an  im- 
prisoned heart,  and  invite  it  out  to  exercise  in  the  propitious  redeeming 
sunlight  of  bountifril  nature  ?  Some  of  our  divines,  as  well  as  their 
hearers,  are  so  transcendental  that  they  would  take  us  clean  off  the 
earth ;  and  if  they  do  not  consign  us  to  a  vacuum,  they  keep  us  so  long 
uncomfortably  suspended,  that  our  sensations  bear  a  near  resemblance 
to  those  of  the  unsuspecting  boy  who  is  promised  a  sight  of  London  if 
he  will  consent  to  be  lifted  up  by  the  ears. 

There  is,  we  ima^e,  no  fear  of  making  the  world  too  spiritual ;  but 
those  who  are  so  singularly  fortunate  as  to  believe  that  they  have  re- 
ceived without  measure  of  this  heavenly  afflatus,  are  very  apt  to  use 
language  that  freezes  hope  and  darkens  knowledge ;  and  so  far  as  we 
have  observed,  they  neither  live  nor  tfct  better  than  other  folks.  We 
may  be  perhaps  too  fasti^ous  in  these  matters,  or  too  utilitarian ;  but 
we  are  inclined  to  think  that  we  ripen  as  fast  in  sunlight  as  in  moonlight 

The  material  part  of  our  nature  is  not  sufficiently  addressed;  it  is 
under-fed.  The  spiritual  is  over-fed.  Instead  of  fusing  the  material 
and  spiritual  together,  thereby  promoting  a  good  average  for  the  con- 
duct of  life,  the  clergy  for  the  most  part  seem'  mainly  anxious  to  draw 
o^  all  the  material  into  the  spiritual ;  an  attempt  quite  as  ^el^r  to  be 
successful  as  emptying  one  ocean  into  another.  Tne  antagonistic  atti- 
tudes thus  impelled  and  established  between  the  two  keeps  up  a  sort 
of  '  border  warfare,'  neither  allaying  asperities  nor  bettering  the  heart, 
and  in  which  both  soul  and  body  are  often  sacrificed.  Every  depart- 
ment of  nature  should  furnish  texts,  and  be  pioneers  or  messengers  of 
life-givinff  truth,  carrying  the  preacher's  doctrine  home  to  the  heart, 
and  tendmg  to  promote  as  far  as  possible  a  union  of  the  visible  and 


I860.]  The  'Thousand  Idands,'  Etc.  9 

invisible  in  indisBoluble  matrimony.  This  magnificent  dowry,  the  out* 
ward  world,  was  bestowed  for  all  time  and  afi  people,  and  it  becomes 
the  noble  heart,  the  gifted  pencil  and  the  eloquent  tongue  to  recom- 
mend and  illustrate  its  man]fi>ld  and  benignant  uses. 

We  are  aware  that  we  have  stepped  upon  ground  that  does  not 
legitimately  belong  to  us ;  but  anglers  are  accustomed  to  exercise  the 
kigest  liberty  and  to  throw  their  fly  with  peculiar  zest  into  waters  the 
most  unfrequented.  We  have  frequently  advocated  the  propriety  of 
appropriating  certain  portions  of  the  year  to  healthful  pastimes  and 
manly  sports,  deeming  their  indulgence  highly  conducive  to  our  tempo- 
ral well-being.  Neiuer  pennies  nor  dollars  may  be  saved  thereby,  but 
there  will  be  great  gain  realized  in  a.series  of  years,  visible  in  an  im- 
proved animal  frame,  a  mind  freer  and  more  fordh^e,  an  imagination 
readier  to  receive  and  transmit,  a  fancy  more  vivid  and  truthfiu,  and  a 
heart  enlarged  to  the  full  circle  of  human  cares  and  caresses. 

To  one  not  regardless  of  the  physical  aspect  of  the  rising  generation 
it  is  evident  that  there  is  much  defective  training,  or  a  culpable  omission 
of  any.  If  the  Human  were  as  well  nurtured  and  watched  as  the 
State  Constitution,  we  should  have  more  sound  minds  in  sound  bodies. 
There  are  few  more  sorry  sights,  and  they  occur  at  every  turn,  than 
the  attenuated  form  and  dropping-away  aspect  of  the  ambitious  scho- 
lar, who,  abjuring  all  manly  exercises,  hovers  like  a  miller  over  the 
midnight  lamp,  and,  like  that  insect,  heedlessly  and  prematurely  pe- 
rishes in  its  buize.  As  he  would  wear  no  armor,  Fate  was  sure  to  hit 
him. 

The  Olympic  games  were  instituted  to  help  both  soul  and  body ;  the 
American,  to  distract  the  one  and  weaken  the  other.  Those  who  can 
do  a  world  of  good,  thinking  and  vmting  on  a  small  physical  capital, 
are  few  and  far  between.  Children  of  our  day  are  either  pampered 
or  pinched ;  the  larger  part  we  believe  are  permitted  to  select  their 
own  schools  and  teachers,  and  inclined  to  frown  on  any  thing  that  looks 
like  subjection ;  the  idea  of  being  consigned  to  any  specific  system  of 
training,  either  physical  or  mental,  is  as  unwelcome  as  the  sting  of  a 
wasp.  The  gentler « sex,  especially  of  the  rich,  too  often  bear  about 
them  the  marks  of  premature  decay.  Survey  the  clustering  groups 
at  any  of  our  summer  resorts,  and  those  of  a  sound  body  and  healthnil 
air  peer  up  and  are  as  immistakeably  prominent  as  a  msh-descended 
Juno  would  be. 

This  disregard  to  physical  training  is  almost  exclusively  a  parental 
affiur.  The  delinquencies  of  parents  in  this  respect  stand  out  m  mon- 
strously bold  and  killing  relief;  daughters  especially  find  out  before 
long  that  their  constitutions  are  broken  and  their  life-inheritance  jeopaS-d- 
ized ;  and  most  of  them  inclined  to  do  little  else  than  consult  doctors, 
nourish  a  passion  for  fine  furniture,  rich  personal  adomings  and  eye- 
catching jewels,  repose  nowhere  to  their  mind  but  on  satin  embossed 
chairs,  or  sleep-inspiring  couches,  tolerate  no  books  less  exciting  than 
Frendi  novels,  and  even  find  fiiult  with  the  breath  of  heaven  if  it  is  not 
charged  with  cologne.  If  such  are  to  be  the  future  mothers  of  our 
race,  the  race  may  ere  long  call  in  vain  for  fathers. 

There  are  few  more  sublime  spectacles  on  this  earth  than  the  matron 


10  J%e  "I^Muand  Liland$,'  Etc.  [January, 

who,  amidst  the  dust  and  din,  the  asperities  and  impertinences,  the  cares 
and  caresses  that  more  or  less  centre  in  every  home,  exhibits  an  activity 
tieither  forced  nor  unnatural,  a  composure  neither  assumed  nor  insult- 
ing, and  a  dignity  so  easy  and  unconstrained  that  she  seems  like  a  liv- 
ing gospel  of  charity  and  peace ;  but  we  fear  that  the  customs  and 
habits  cf  our  times  are  peculiarly  unfriendly  to  their  increase. 

Society,  as  now  constructed,  with  its  captivatmg,  consuming  refine- 
ments, hardly  permits  a  young  lady  to  survive  the  period  of  blossoming : 

( A  vxoLBT  In  the  youth  of  piimy  nalare. 
Forward,  not  permanent ;  aweet,  not  lasting, 
The  perftame  andBappltaiioe  of  a  ndnnte.' 

If  the  probationary  period  allotted  to  man  is  three  score  years  and  ten, 
why  is  it  that  the  monuments  of  the  '  early  dead'  in  our  cemeteries  form 
so  large  a  majority  ?  This  fact  is  invested  with  a  double  significance 
by  commemorating  what  death  has  done,  and  what  parental  ignorance 
or  neglect  has  unconsciously  aided  in  doing.  The  times  require  a  great 
jihysical  reformer ;  one  combining  in  his  person  the  captivating  quali- 
ties of  an  Apollo,  and  in  his  heart  the  ardor  and  eloquence  of  a  Paul. 

Muscle  must  be  more  considered  and  developed  in  connexion  with 
mind,  else  the  latter,  which  is  a  sharp,  sensitive  blade,  may  eat  through 
its  scabbard,  and  be  turned  on  itself. 

Our  sensibilities  and  our  censures  are  sadly  taxed  in  daily  viewing  the 
conflicts  and  struggles  of  the  aspiring  mind  with  the  young  but  en- 
feebled body : 

<Cdt  la  the  branch  that  might  have  grovn  ftill  straight, 
And  bomed  la  A?oLLo*a  laorel  bough.* 

It  is  somewhat  surprismg  how  few  are  the  professional  gentlemen 
that  have  crossed  our  piscatorial  path.  Among  the  clergy  only  two 
stand  out  on  memory's  record  possessing  the  needful  courage  to  make 
the  wilderness  a  place  of  mirthful  joy,  and  at  the  same  time  exhibiting 
a  Peter-like  zeal  m  the  cause  of  conversion,  and  a  martyr's  devotion  to 
the  line  of  duty,  run  where  it  may.  We  have  occasiondly  met  lawyers 
who  had  temporarily  relinquished  the  brief  for  Walton's  breviary,  be- 
stowing gracefully  their  faironage  on  cold-water  sports ;  but  for  the 
most  part  they  instinctively  incline  to  intimacies  with  those  who  live 
near  and  «»  hot  water.  They  are  a  decidedly  domestic  biped,  and 
mainly  anxious  for  good  fees  and  fat  feed.  Among  the  doctors  we  can 
recall  but  two  who  appeared  '  to  have  taken  the  pledge,'  and  both  pos- 
sessing a  just  appreciation  of  the  claims  of  Nature  and  of  man.  it  is, 
after  all,  the  merchant  who  pulls  a  plum  out  of  every  thing,  and  re- 
d^ms  the  time,  being  literally  minister,  lawyer  and  doctor,  and  who 
do^  more  by  his  unpatronizing,  incidental  communings  with  the  hard- 
working, uncomplaining  or  complaining  inmates  of  the  log-house,  in 
communicating  intelligence  and  inculcating  contentment,  than  a  regi- 
ment of  missionaries,  specially  armed  and  equipped  to  teach  and 
reprove ! 

Statesmen  sometimes  bend  to  the  rod,  but  more  frequently  under  it 
We  apprehend  that  they  are  more  inclined  to  court  the  ocean  shore 
than  the  inland  lake ;  a  fitter  emblem  perhaps  of  the  surge-like  life  to 


18504  TAe  *J%auMnd  Manii,'  Etc.  11 

which  they  are  ordained.  We  confess  no  peculiar  partiality  for  salt- 
water sporlB,  for  our  suspicionB  never  slumber  or  cease  to  torment  with 
'  fear  Qt  coming  change ;'  but  he  who  is  fond  of  a  long  puD,  and  a  strong 
pu&,  and  unmindful  of  sldnless  fingers,  may  find  excitement  enough  and 
to  spare  in  taking  the  yanking,  hauHng,  jumping '  blue  fish.' 

Even  that  illustrious  man,  the  '  Ghreat  Expounder,'  marvelled  when 
he  saw  how  those  8ta  Satam  were  wooed  and  won  by  our  temptbg 
'  moon  victuals.' 

Fancy  fiir  a  moment  the  gladdening  effect  of  the  angler's  return  to 
his  home.  Joyful  notes  herald  his  approach,  and  ready  arms  cradle  and 
embrace  him  at  the  threshold ;  young  eves  look  up  to  him  as  a  nut  to 
be  cracked;  faces  radiant  as  the  sun  thicken  about  him,  wishing  that 
time  would  move  with  redoubled  speed  evening-ward,  when  the  gates 
of  his  memory  are  to  be  unlocked,  and  the  narrative  to  gush  forth,  fer- 
tilizing the  fancies  of  the  young  and  regaling  the  declining  senses  of 
die  old !  And  while  the  dear  delighted  ones  are  hanging  with  enrap- 
tured ear  on  what  comes  fresh  and  spontaneous  from  the  heart,  he  es- 
capes &r  a  while  from  the  otherwise  broad  but  now  too-confining  path 
of  prose,  and  with  a  sweet  compelling  eloquence  challenges  afiresh  meir 
admiration  by  rehearsing  from  some  favorite  poet '  thoughts  that  breathe 
and  words  that  bum :' 

<CALM-«ovin>  is  the  ftmn  oTilie  waleMrird  fhefo, 
And  the  ■pear  of  the  raah  ateiids  erect  in  the  lir. 
And  the  drngoihay  roems  In  the  Uly  hud  gay, 
Where  walk  the  hold  pike  in  the  aun^nitten  bay. 

*0  waken,  winds  I  waken  whererer  aatoeo, 
In  the  doad,  in  the  mountain,  or  down  in  the  deep ; 


For  (he  angler  is  watching  beside  the  green  sprtnss 
For  the  k>w  wdoome  sound  of  your  wsndering  wing^.' 

'Owsken,wfnds,waknI  the  waters  are  still, 
And  in  sUenoe  the  8un4iaht  rsGlines  on  the  hiU, 
While  the  si^^ler  is  watdnlng  beside  the  oreen  springs 
For  the  low  welcome  sound  of  your  wandering  win^^ 

'HIsfod  lies  beside  him,  his  tackle  unft«ed, 
And  his  wlthe-coTsred  pannier  is  flung  on  the  mead, 
As  he  looks  on  the  lake  through  the  ftne  of  green  trees, 
And  sifl^  for  the  curt  of  the  soft  southern  broeie.' 

Those  who  are  sick  of  doing,  acting,  or  even  hoping,  and  those  too 
of  bruised  hopes  and  stamed  lives,  may  discover,  if  they  choose,  that 
Nature  distils  the  most  precious  remedies ;  and  those  who  partake  most 
laively  of  them  will  be  soonest  cured  or  relieved. 

To  all  who  are  competing  for  the  world's  honors,  and  overlaid  with 
accomplishments,  and  conceits  to  match,  we  would  urge  them  to  climb 
the  everlasting  mountains  and  witness  the  dawn  of  a  single  day,  on 
which  so  many  eyes  will  open  and  close  for  the  first  and  last  tmie ;  reascend 
them  at  set  of  sun,  and  suppress,  if  ye  can,  the  mingled  emodons  which 
the  scene  inspires !  Here  you  seem  to  stand  above  and  beyond  the  life 
you  have  lived,  and  with  perceptions  clarified  and  enlarged,  the  map  of 
your  past  existence  becomes  vivid  and  luminous,  errors  stand  revealed 
m  forms  not  to  be  mistaken,  and  good  works  loom  up  as  light-houses 
against  the  sky. 

If  from  such  a  spot,  where  the  feeling  of  your  own  insignificance  im- 


12  The  Century  Plant.  [January, 

parts  power,  you  are  not  inclined  now  and  forever  to  repudiate  and 
abandon  whatever  is  unjust,  unkind,  morose  or  of  ill  report,  then  you 
have  sought  this  Fisgah  in  vain,  and  your  salvation  must  be  wrought 
out  where  your  thraldom  commenced. 

Land  of  the  mountain,  and  the  lake  that  only  mirrors  the  sun  in  his 
meridian  I  language  was  not  made  where  ye  dwell,  and  words  must 
give  place  to  teelmg ;  but  we  cannot  forbear  to  repeat  our  conviction 
Siat  both  our  moral  and  physical  natures  were  intended  to  be  quicken- 
ed, in^roved  and  embellif^ed  by  a  familiarity  with  thy  eloquent  and 
immutable  presence ! 

Our  remarks  have  reached  an  undue  length,  and,  as  we  premised  at 
starting,  are  equally  conspicuous  for  their  want  of  order,  arrangement 
and  grace.  But  if  they  should  assist  to  charm  any  of  that  innumerable 
company  of  over-workers  from  their  sphere  of  vpluntary  bondage,  and 
incline  diem  to  seek  our  land  of  promise,  where  the  bodily  and  spiritual 
functions  do  equally  glory  in  each  other,  then  we  may  not  have  written 
in  vain. 

Should  any  deem  our  logic  too  bold,  or  our  style  too  declamatory,  we 
can  only  recommend  to  such  a  freer  acquaintance  with  the  rod  and 
reel ;  and  should  the  advocates  of  unceasing  and  unremitting  toil,  or 
the  penny-splitting  denizen,  assail  us  or  our  motives,  we  shall  repair  to 
the  Walton  Oak,  whose  two  centuries  of  growth  now  describes  an  area 
equally  fitting  and  secure  to  shelter  his  sincere  disciples  as  that  over 
which  the  Angelo  dome  was  reared  for  the  convenience  of  her  Catholic 
votaries.  d.  b.  n. 

October,  1849. 


JfewkHryport,  Mast, 


THE     CBNTUBT    PLANT. 

Iv  the  midnight,  whan  each  sweet  bud  aealeth 
Its  Uds  In  deep,  and  folds  its  purple  wings 

Acroas  Its  breast,  upon  the  stlQ  air  stealeth 
The  mystic  plant,  and  Into  beauty  springs. 

Hirough  slow  ages  it  hath  lived,  undying 
Amid  the  swift  yearV  greenness  and  decay : 

Harvests  grew  and  fell,  with  footsteps  flying ; 
£*en  man,  wh«  saw  Its  youth,  hath  sped  away. 

HiroQgh  slow  ages,  hid  in  nature's  bosom. 

In  calm  silence  waited  it  the  hour: 
Now  revealed,  it  stands  In  glorious  blossom, 

Time's  ripe  oflDq)riing  and  consummate  flower. 

Tet  a  few  abort  days  alone  it  bloometh, 
Soon  again  Its  eye  shall  mildly  close; 

Boon  the  coming  Fate,  that  all  entombeth, 
Cer  Its  slumbering  soul  hia  mantle  throwi. 

In  the  midnight  deep  of  (hith  and  feeling^ 
When  the  song  is  dumb,  the  heart  Is  cold, 

Wakes  the  new-bom  mind ;  though  long  ooiioeaUng» 
Now  the  ripened  thought  it  must  unfold. 

Mid  a  wondering  world.  In  splendor  towering, 
Waves  it  o'er  the  rsce  of  barren  men: 

Sheds  its  perftaned  life,  then  passed  Its  flowhing, 
Sinks  in  deathless  reat,  to  rise  again. 


1850.]  The  Spectre-Caravan.  13 


THE      SPECTRE-CARATAN. 


T  WAB  at  nudnight,  in  the  Deiert,  where  we  retted  on  the  ground : 
There  my  Beddaweena  were  slewing,  and  their  ateeda  were  stretohedaroond ; 
In  the  &mea  lay  the  moonlight  on  the  Moontaina  of  the  Nile, 
And  the  oamel-honea  that  atrewed  the  aanda  for  many  an  arid  mile. 

With  my  aaddle  for  a  pillow  did  I  prop  my  weary  hetfd, 
And  my  kaftan-eloth  unfolded,  o'er  my  limba  waa  lightly  apread, 
While  heaide  me,  aa  the  Kapitaun  and  watchman  of  my  band, 
lay  my  Bazra  aword  and  piatola  twain  a-Bhimmering  on  the  sand. 

And  the  atillnen  waa  nnbroken,  aave  at  momenta  by  a  ory 
From  some  atray  belated  Toltore  nilmg  blackly  down  the  aky, 
Or  the  mortinga  of  a  sleeping  ateed  at  waters  &ncy-seen, 
Or  the  harried  warlike  mntteringa  of  aome  dreaming  Beddaween. 

When,  behold !  a  andden  aandqnake ;  and  atwecn  the  earth  and  moon 
Rose  a  mighty  Hoat  of  Shadows,  aa  firom  oat  some  dim  lagoon : 
Then  oar  cooraera  gasped  with  terror,  and  a  thrill  shook  every  man, 
And  the  cry  was,  ^^AUa  Akbar  !  't  ia  the  Spectre-Caravan  !> 

On  they  came,  their  hneleas  faoea  toward  Mecca  evermore ; 
On  they  came,  long  files  of  camela,  and  of  women  whom  they  bore, 
Guides  and  mercluinta,  youthful  maidens,  bearing  pitchers  in  their  hands, 
And  behind  them  troops  of  horsemen  fdlowing,  aumleas  aa  the  aands ! 

More  and  more !  the  phantom-pageant  overahadowed  all  the  plaina, 
Yea,  the  ghaatly  camel-bones  arose,  and  grew  to  camel-trains : 
And  the  whirling  oolnmn-clouda  of  sand  to  forms  in  dusky  garba. 
Here,  afoot  aa  Haajbe  pilgrima ;  th^re,  aa  wanriora  on  their  barlw  I 

Whence  we  knew  the  Night  waa  come  when  all  whom  Death  had  aonght  and  found 
Long  ago  amid  the  sanda  whereon  their  bonea  yet  bleach  around, 
Rise  by  legions  from  the  darkness  of  their  priaons  low  and  lone, 
And  in  dim  procession  march  to  kiss  the  Kaaba'b  Holy  Stone. 

And  yet  more  and  more  for  ever ! — still  they  swept  in  pomp  along, 
Tdl  I  aaked  me,  Can  the  Desert  hold  so  vast  a  muster-throng  ? 
Lo !  the  Dead  are  here  in  myriads ;  the  whole  worid  of  Hadea  waits, 
Aa  with  eager  wiah  to  press  beyona  the  Babelmandel  Straita ! 

Then  I  spake, '  Our  steeds  are  frantic :  To  your  saddles  every  one ! 
Never  quaQ  before  these  Shadows  I    Ton  are  children  of  the  Sun  I 
If  their  garmenta  ruatle  post  you,  if  their  g^ces  reach  you  here, 
Cry  BitnUUah  !  and  that  mighty  name  ahall  banish  every  fear. 

*■  Courage,  comradea !    Even  now  the  moon  ia  waning  far  a-weat, 
Soon  Sie  welcome  Dawn  will  mount  the  skies  m  gold  and  crimson  veat, 
And  in  thinnest  air  will  melt  away  thoee  phantom  ahapes  forforn, 
Wlien  again  upon  your  brows  yon  feel  the  odor- winds  of  Mom !' 


14  The  Wood'Thrwik.  [January, 


THE       WOOD-THRUSH. 


'  Ix  davk,  w«t  and  Bloomy  wamtlitr.  whan  ■earca  ii  aizksla  chirp  la  heard  from  any  other  bird,  the  clear 
notea  of  the  wood-throah thrill  throa^h  the  dripping  wooda  firom  morning  to  night;  and  it  may  be 
truly  aaid,  that  the  aadder  the  day  the  aweeter  ia  hia  aong.'— WtLaov. 


A  BIRD  with  spotted  throat  and  breast 

Is  singinff  on  the  tallest  tree, 
While  £y  is  fiiding  in  the  west, 

In  strains  that  with  the  time  agree : 
I  know  the  little  minstrel  well, 

His  finTorite  haunts  are  also  mine ; 
The  silence  of  the  lonely  dell 

O'er-browed  by  hills  of  murmnring  pine.  . 

Breathe  ont  thy  mellow  vesper  lay 

While  shadow  drapes  the  list^ung  skies ; 
Far  in  the  forest  depths  away 

How  plaintively  the  mnsie  dies ! 
With  sunset  to  their  nests  hove  flown 

Gay  birds  that  love  the  f^olden  light,   - 
And  left  thee  in  the  woods  alone 

To  welcome  melancholy  night. 

And  I  am  glad  no  warbler  near 

Responds  to  thy  transporting  strain, 
For  never  will  a  mortal  ear 

List  to  such  minstrelsy  again. 
Let  other  instruments  be  mute, 

And  Silence  lock  them  in  her  cave ; 
Even  the  warble  of  a  flute. 

Creeping  by  moonlight  o'er  the  wave. 

In  mnrky  weather,  when  the  sun 

Is  hidden  by  a  cloudy  veil, 
And  the  plumed  wanderers  one  by  one 

Have  hushed  their  pipes  m  wood  and  dale, 
Delighted,  I  have  often  heard 

Thy  symphonies  so  clear  and  loud. 
And  wondered  that  a  little  bird 

Was  with  a  voice  so  sweet  endowed. 


Where  alders  overhang  the  stream 

Thy  mate's  frail  nest  I  have  espied. 
Protected  from  the  noonday  beam 

With  its  four  gems  in  azure  dyed  : 
Fit  place  to  rear  a  singing  brood 

Was  the  y^M.  scene  that  lay  around. 
While  mocked  the  gray  majestic  wood 

Old  Bolenm  Ocean's  baas  profound. 


1850.]  Feminine  Perfectiens.  16 

Shy,  nnobtnuiTe  bird !  thou  art 

An  emblem  beantiliil  and  meet 
Of  the  poor  poet's  weary  heart, 

That  lovea  in  aolitode  to  beat  \ 
A  lofW  heart  that  finds  relief 

And  inspiration  deep  and  strong, 
When  closeted  with  gloom  and  grief, 

Its  chords  grow  tremolons  wim  song.       ^,  b.  c.  Bonus. 


FEMININE    PERFECTIONS, 
OR     THE     UNBEABONABLE     BACHELOR. 


BT    A.    B.   J  OB  X  BOX. 


As  the  study  of  geography  and  history  is  become  universal,  every 
body  doubtless  knows  all  tnat  bas  been  published  concerning  the  king- 

1  dom  of  Tuscora,  and  its  renowned  sovereign  Alphonso  the  beautiful. 

^  Still  a  little  private  record  exists  of  the  court,  that  has  not  yet  found  its 

proper  place  in  any  published  annals  of  that  far-celebrated  monarch. 
lie  was,  as  every  body  knows,  only  nineteen  years  old  when  he  was 
called  by  Providence  to  ascend  the  throne  of  his  illustrious  ancestors ; 
yet  he  possessed  a  very  manly  figure,  and  his  muscular  energy  was  so 

**  great,  that  he  could  bend  an  iron  crow-bar  by  the  mere  strength  of  his 

hands ;  while  his  inteUectual  powers  were  thought  to  excel  his  physical 

I  Alphonso,  though  he  was  so  exalted  in  station,  young  and  beautiful, 

shunned  all  the  amusements  with  which  his  courtiers  sought  to  gladden 
his  accession  to  power.  He  was  evidently  unhappy.  He  lost  his  ap- 
petite, and  sleep  forsook  his  pillow.  Alarm  for  his  health  soon  became 
general,  till  at  length,  so  imminent  seemed  the  peril,  that  his  oldest  and 
«  most  respected  minister  of  state,  tho  venerable  Pokefunatus,  disregard- 

ing the  severe  etiquette  of  the  court  of  Tuscora,  fell  on  his  knees  l^fore 
the  young  monarch,  and  implored  him  to  reveal  to  his  faithful  servant, 
the  grief  that  was  but  too  evidently  preying  on  tlie  royal  breast. 

Pokefunatus  knew  that  whoever  presumed  to  question  the  sovereign 
on  any  topic,  forfeited  his  life  unless  his  majesty  should  remit  the  pen- 
alty ;  but  the  loyal  pld  man  was  willing  to  hazard  his  life  and  to  lose  it, 
if  he  could  thereby  restore  the  King  to  health  and  happiness.  He  soon 
found  that  he  had  need  of  all  his  devotion,  as  Alphonso's  beautiful  &ce 
seemed  convulsed  with  surprise  and  sudden  rage,  at  what  he  charac- 
terized as  the  bold  imperdnonce  of  a  superserviceable  slave.  All  color 
fled  from  his  cheeks  and  Hps,  and  his  scimitar  seemed  to  leap  from  its 
scabbard,  and  gleam  aloft  by  its  own  impulse,  so  rapid  was  Uie  move- 
ment of  Alphonso  to  terminate  at  a  blow,  the  offence  and  the  offender, 

*  Acrnom  of  a  ^  ThntlM  on  Language,  or  iho  relation  which  words  bear  to  things  ;*  <  Religion  in 
its  relation  to  the  preeent  Life;'  «The  PhUoBophlctd  Emperor,  or  the  Frogren  of  a  FUse  PcMitioD, 


16  Feminine  Reflections.  [January, 

But  the  old  counsellor  was  so  greatly  beloved  for  the  mild  dignity  mth 
which  he  had  borne  his  high  honors,  and  for  the  many  important  ser- 
vices that  he  had  rendered  to  the  state  in  the  past  and  preceding  reigns, 
that  all  the  courtiers  who  filled  the  audience-chamber  manifested  invol- 
untarily, so  deep  a  consternation  as  to  cause  Alphonso  to  arrest  his  pur- 
pose, and  respite  the  offender  till  he  should  have  passed  some  reasonable 
time  in  preparation  for  death  and  in  bidding  a  final  adieu  to  his  &mily. 

Even  this  melioration  of  the  catastrophe  failed  to  restore  tranquillity 
to  the  alarmed  court  The  sudden  outbreak  of  so  fierce  a  wrath  seemed 
to  leave  no  man  secure  for  a  moment;  especially  as  princes  who  in- 
dulge themselves  in  acts  of  tyranny,  can  at  anytime  create  occasion  for 
tyrannous  conduct.  Alphonso  saw  in  the  constraint  of  his  attendants 
that  they  were  imeasy  j  hence  for  the  purpose  of  restoring  confidence, 
and  perhaps  from  a  revulsion  of  feeling  in  &vor  of  an  ancient  servant, 
he  convoked  all  his  principal  officers,  and  graciously  declared  that  while 
he  would  punish  every  coercive  interference  with  his  private  thoughts, 
he  was  vnlling  to  state  voluntarily  the  trouble  that  oppressed  him.  It 
proceeded  from^the  love  which  he  felt  toward  his  dear  subjects,  and  the 
consequent  duty  thereby  incumbent  on  him,  of  furnishing  them  with  a 
lineal  descendant  to  occupy  the  throne  at  his  decease ;  while  personally 
he  possessed  such  a  repugnance  to  the  whole  race  of  womai^ind,  that 
he  feared  the  aversion  was  unconquerable :  unless  indeed  one  could  be 
€)und  whose  voice  was  habituallyjower  than  that  of  any  female  he  yet 
had  heard ;  for  in  a  loud  voice  seemed  to  lie  his  great  antipathy.  If 
within  a  month  such  a  female  could  be  found,  he  would  marry  her,  and 
even  Pokefunatus  should  be  pardoned. 

His  majesty's  gracious  determination,  and  a  hope  that  the  prime  min- 
ister might  be  extricated  from  his  present  peril,  induced  a  search  to  be 
instituted  throughout  the  kingdom,  fi)r  a  young  lady  who  would  suit  the 
roval  requirement ;  but  though  all  the  ladies  of  Tuscora  lowered  their 
voices  for  the  occasion,  and  spoke  almost  in  a  whisper,  yet  when  sud- 
denly excited  by  either  grief  or  joy,  or  perchance  by  anger,  they  would 
speak  so  loud,  as  manifestly  to  be  disqualified  from  becoming  the  wife 
of  an  absolute  king  who  could  not  endure  loud  speaking. 

While  the  termination  of  the  month  was  rapidly  advancing,  the  mes- 
sengers returned  slowly  and  sorrowfully  to  report  the  failure  of  their 
mission.  Gloom  again  appeared  in  every  countenance,  and  the  life  of 
the  ill-fated  minister  seemed  hopeless;  when  suddenly  as  the  last 
minute  of  the  last  da^  of  the  fatal  month  was  transpiring,  an  unusual 
clamor  was  heard  outside  the  palace ;  and  presently  a  breatibless  messen- 
ger anounced  to  the  assembled  court  that  he  had  found  a  lady  with  a 
voice  so  low  and  harmonious  that  when  he  first  heard  it,  he  mistook  it 
for  the  soft  breathings  of  an  ^olian  harp. 

Every  person  was  delighted  except  the  King.  He  was  manifestly 
disappointed  and  displeased.  He  intimated  that  the  month  was  expired, 
and  that  the  messenger  was  too  late  to  gain  a  throne  for  the  lady,  or  to 
save  the  life  of  the  criminal.  Still,  lest  his  justice  should  be  questioned 
he  granted  Pokefunatus  a  respite  during  another  month ;  and  if  within 
that  period  a  female  could  be  found  who  was  amiable  while  disappointed 
and  contradicted,  he  would  marry  her  and  pardon  the  prisoner. 


1B50.]  Femmme  PerfeOums.  17 

The  mesaengers  bad  encountered  sufficient  difficulty  in  the  former 
search  to  ahnoat  despair  in  the  present,  which  seemed  to  require  a 
greater  deviation  from  the  ordinaiy  moral  organization  of  human  beings 
dian  the  other  had  from  the  physical  organization.  Yet  they  departed 
with  a  determination  to  fulfil  the  new  requirement  of  the  sovereign  if 
such  a  lady  as  was  designated  should  happen  to  exist  They  naturally 
visited  all  the  boarding-schools  of  the  metropolis,  as  more  likely  places 
than  any  odier,  fer  finding  the  ol^ect  of  their  search ;  not  omitting  the 
various  watering-places  where  more  mature  womanhood  disports  its 
loveliness  during  the  heats  of  smnmer ;  fi>r  that  happened  to  constitute 
the  period  of  the  year  when  the  search  was  in  progress.  As  rumor  ap* 
prised  the  female  world  of  the  object  of  the  messengers,  they  were 
greeted  every  where  with  an  amiability  that  no  imagination  could  ex- 
ceed by  delighted  and  hopeful  expectants ;  who,  however  maintained 
the  required  degree  of  amiability  only  while  they  were  hopeiul.  This 
was  just  what  the  messengers  had  feared,  and  they  all  returned  to  court, 
sad,  «low  and  successless,  as  the  month  verged  toward  its  close. 

The  last  day  arrived.  Brightly  shone  ferth  the  sun,  making  sadder 
by  contrast  the  appearance  of  the  returning  messen^rs.  The  King, 
surrounded  by  all  nis  great  officers,  was  seided  on  his  throne,  to  hear 
what  was  alr«idy  known  infermally,  the  fkilure  of  the  second  experi- 
ment. Despondency  was  visible  on  eveiy  fece,  despite  the  forced  efforts 
of  obsequious  loyalty  to  counterfeit  delight  The  life  of  the  unfortu- 
nate prune  minister  was  fast  tending  to  an  abrupt  termination,  when 
again  a  tardy  messenger  announced,  in  breathless  haste,  that  he  had  found 
a  lady  who  could  preserve  good  humor  and  kind  feelings  undei'  the 
severest  disappointments.  The  King  could  scarcely  restrain  his  indie- 
nation.  He  insisted  that  the  sentence  had  been  in  effect  pronounced, 
and  that  the  minister  should  no  longer  be  respited.  Still  a  moment's 
reflection  sufficed  to  assuage  his  rising  impatience.  Even  the  most  ab- 
solute princes  must  not  disregard  the  deeply-rooted  feelings  of  their 
subjects ;  and  he  saw,  in  the  general  dejection,  that  he  must  omit  no  form 
of  apparent  lenity  and  justice.  He  accordingly  granted  another  month's 
pos^nement,  ^th  the  promise  of  pardon  and  marriage,  as  heretofore, 
if  a  lady  could  be  found  who  never  cried. 

This  requirement  was  deemed  more  difficult  of  accomplishment  than 
either  of  the  others,  and  the  messengers  could  scarcely  be  induced  to 
attempt  the  search ;  but  so  great  was  the  sympathy  for  the  unfortunate 
dd  counsellor,  that  they  at  length  resolved  to  find  a  drv-eyed  lady,  if  one 
inhabited  the  kingdom.  Fame  soon  promulged  what  ue  King  was  seek- 
ing, and  not  a  tear  was  shed  in  Tuscora  hj  any  female,  young  or  old, 
dming  the  whole  month.  But  this  availed  not  They  all  had  been  ac- 
customed to  cry  when  they  were  vexed  or  perplexed ;  and  the  messen- 
gers returned  to  court  dispirited  and  sullen. 

The  King  received  them  in  all  the  pomp  of  royalty  as  usual.  He 
had  heard  die  failure  of  their  mission,  and  attended  now  only  to  give 
due  solemnity  to  to  the  sequel.  Ri^ht  pleased  was  the  royal  misogamist 
in  the  perverse  contemplation  of  hving  hereafter  in  undisturbed  celi- 
bacy, while  even  his  enemies — if  kings  have  enemies —  could  not  re- 
proach him  therewith,  after  the  great  effints  that  he  had  taken  to  procure 

VOL.  zzzv.  2 


18  F&MdHMie  Perfectiam  [January, 

a  consort.  But  iu  the  midst  of  these  secret  felicitations^  again  a  tardy 
messenger  rushed  into  the  presence  chamber,  and  prostrating  himseif 
before  Sie  throne,  announced  that  he  had  found  a  lady  who  never  cried. 
This  time,  however,  the  month  was  clearly  ended,  and  no  one  pre- 
sumed to  question  the  justice  of  Alphonso  when  he  declared  that  exe- 
cution could  no  longer  be  delayed  against  Pokefunatus,  nor  his  own 
royal  person  be  fai&er  disturbed  in  seeking  for  a  partner  to  share  hia 
throne.  The  un&rtunate  old  man,  who  had  been  brought  from  a  dis> 
tant  fortress,  and  who,  surrounded  by  the  king's  guards,  was  in  an  ante- 
room of  the  palace,  was  therefore  summoned  into  the  presence  that  he 
might  be  sentenced  personally  by  the  king ;  for  such  is  the  custom  of 
the  realm  when  a  great  officer  of  Tuscora  is  to  be  decapitated.  Not 
long  was  the  fatal  sununons  uttered  before  a  distant  door  was  thrown 
open,  and  through  it  was  seen  to  issue,  in  slow  and  measured  pace,  a 
gloomy  procession  of  armed  men,  with  the  prisoner  in  their  midisL 
Confinement  and  sorrow,  even  more  than  lengthened  years,  had  whi- 
tenedliis  head  and  emaciated  his  body.  Pale  and  notanifestly  foeble,  yet 
with  a  dignity  which  conscious  rectitude  can  under  such  circumstances 
alone  supply,  he  advanced  toward  his  offended  master,  leanii^  for  sup- 
port, and  evidently  with  no  stinted  pressure,  on  the  arm  of  his  youngest 
but  most  devoted  daughter,  the  lovely  Adeline.  Engrossed  whoUy  by 
the  sorrows  of  her  fouer,  ^e  knew  not  that  her  beauty  was  attracting 
th^  admiring  gaze  of  king  and  courtiers.  Still,  no  tear  dimmed  the  ra- 
diance of  her  eyes,  and  when  she  addressed  some  words  of  consolation 
to  her  venerable  parent  the  sounds  were  so  sofb  and  melodious  that  the 
kmg  felt  that  he  could  listen  to  them  for  ages  with  increasing  delight. 
Female  loveliness  had  never  before  touched  his  heart,  and  he  exclaimed, 
almost  involuntarily :  '  Who  is  this  heavenly  vision  V 

*  Sire,'  said  the  tardy  messenger, '  she  is  the  lady  who  never  cries ! 
I  found  her  with  her  fother  in  the  distant  fortress  of  Clontorf,  or  I  should 
have  been  able  to  return  in  time  to  save  her  father's  life.' 

*  Sire,'  said  the  other  tardy  messenger,  falling  on  bis  knees  suppliantly, 
'  she  is  the  young  lady  who  is  always  amiable !  The  distance  that  I  had 
to  travel  in  returning  from  the  prison,  which  she  inhabited  night  and 
day  with  her  father,  occasioned  my  unfortunate  tardiness.' 

<  Sire,'  said  the  remaining  tardy  messenger, '  she  is  the  lady  whose 
voice  is  always  low  I  I  had  heard  of  her  by  fome ;  but  resolving  to 
trust  no  evidence  but  my  own  senses,  in  a  matter  which  'concerned  your 
majesty,  I  went  in  person  to  Clontorf;  and  though  I  journeyed  with 
the  utmost  expedition,  I  unhappily  foiled  in  returning  sufficiently  early 
to  save  the  noble  prisoner  from  death.' 

'  And  who  shall  take  his  life  ?'  exclaimed  Alphonso;  'thefotherof  so 
much  sense  and  loveliness  must  not  be  lost  to  our  kingdom !' 

All  the  prejudices  of  the  king  against  marriage  were  dissipated,  for 
he  found  that  they  had  originated  in  erroneous  prepossessions.  Instead 
of  sentencing  his  ancient  coimsellor  he  forthwith  restored  him  to  fovor ; 
and  as  for  the  beautiful  Adeline,  she  soon  became  <^ueen  of  Tuscora. 
Alphonso  the  Beautiful  and  Adeline  the  Good  long  reigned  the  happiest 
monarchs  of  the  age  in  which  they  flourished,  and  &eir  descendants 
still  occupy  the  throne  of  the  same  ancient  kingdom.  Even  to  this  re- 
mote day  a  decree  exists,  which  was  promulged  by  Alphonso  on  the 


1850.]  Stanzas:  November.  19 

morning  of  his  marriage^  that  whenever  intellectual,  moral  and  corpo- 
real excellence  combine  in  the  same  woman,  no  man  shall  withstand  her 
influence,  under  the  penally,  on  disobedience  to  the  decree,  of  universal 
contempt. 


I 


N    O    T    E     M    B    E 


ar  ABBT  Axriav. 


Blbak  and  bare  and  blear  Noyember, 

Art  thou  here  t 
Saddeit  thou  of  all  the  twelve  months 

In  the  year : 

An  the  twelve  nMmths  m  the  year. 

Birda'-neBta  dot  the  naked  tree-tope, 

An  around, 
And  the  dry  leaves  mutter,  mutter, 

On  thegronnd: 

Mvtter,  mutter, '  Bmnmer  'a  gone  I' 

w  Kow  the  Storm-wind,  solemn  Storm-wind ! 

O'er  vs  breaks, 
And  the  forests  iUl  bdTore  him 
Ashe  wakee: 

FaU  before  him  as  he  wakes. 

•«  Ckrods  o'erdarken  afl  the  heavens, 

Brimmed  with  rain ; 
Hear  the  ronnd  drops  dramming,  dramming. 
On  the  pane : 

I  Drumming,  drumming,  <xi  the  pane  I 

By  the  door  the  wfflow  boweth, 

As  in  prayer. 
And  the  hemlooks  quake  and  quiver, 

^'  'tiingBBir: 

Quake  and  quiver,  sighing  sair. 

BrooloBjiheir  high  banks  overleaping, 

RuA  along, 
Washing  dead  flowers  down  their  margms. 

An  along : 

Down  their  margins,  aU  along. 

Earth  is  sick  with  weeping,  weeping. 

Drunk  with  rain  •, 
And  the  tatt  trees  moon  and  shudder 

As  in  pain: 

Moan  and  shudder,  as  in  pain. 

Bleak  and  bare  and  blear  Kovember, 

I  implore. 
Let  one  sunbeam,  like  a  rafaibow. 

Evermore,  • 

Arch  thy  shadows,  evermore ! 


20  The  Old  Bible.  [January, 


THB       OLD       BIBLB 


BY  n.  B.  f  T0»9Aa9. 


It  lies  upon  the  slpnd,  betide 

The  antique  book*aaee  tall  and  wide ; 

Maarive  indeed  it  la,  and  old. 

With  heavy  eoyera  atamped  widi  gcHA^ 

Gothic  oaaementa,  oriel  p«nea, 

And  olaaped  with  qnainteat  alver  chaina  \ 

It  ahowB  the  wear  and  tear  of  age ; 

Now  and  then  tou  miaa  a  page  ^ 

The  leaves  are  loose,  and  day  fay  day 

The  old  Uack-lettera  ftde  away ; 

And  holy  team,  by  monmem  shed, 

Blot  the  reeorda  of  th«  dead  1 

FatherS)  amid  their  hooaeholda  bright, 
Read  it  duly  mom  and  night ; 
SolCTon-vo&oed  before  the  prayers, 
FoTffetting  earth  and  all  its  cares ; 
And  hushed,  the  servants  gathered  round, 
Sat  listening,  in  awe  profoand  1 
Mothers  tesA  its  tales  divine, 
Commenting  on  them,  line  l^  line, 
To  rosy  chfldren  fond  and  sweet, 
Grouped  on  benches  at  their  feet ; 
And  they,  the  whiloj  with  earnest  eyes 
Qneationed  deep  in  amiple  wiae ! 

Happy  grandsir^  old  and  white, 
Speotaoled  and  near  of  nAi^ 
And  ancient  dames  in  rumea  caps 
Read  it  to  prattlers  on  their  laps ; 
And  the  little  folks  sedate. 
Peeped  o'er  the  page  to  see  the  plate ! 
The  village  priest,  in  surplice  white, 
TTnclaspcNi  it,  on  tne  bridal  night. 
And  read  the  marriage  service  there. 
And  wed  the  loving,  blushing  pair  I 
And  Sal^th  days,  the  lads,  perplext, 
Looked  over  it,  to  find  his  text  I 

Brothers  and  sisters,  fait  and  kind 
like  loving  tendrils,  intertwined. 
Sat  arm  in  arm,  ana  read  away. 
And  laid  the  volume  down  to  pray  I 
The  sick  man  propped  on  pillows  white. 
Pored  on  its  pages  with  delight. 
And  kissed  it  o'er  with  streaming  eyes 
And  dreamed  himself  to  Paradise ! 
And  when  he  died,  the  mourners  sought, 
In  hopeful  texts,  relief  from  thought : 
And  meek  and  patient,  kissed  the  rod, 
And  gave  th^  sainted-dead  to  Gron  I 


1850.]  Rambledom:  in  Four  Chapters.  .    21 

When  I  was  but  a  siinple  boy, 
And  lived  in  innooenoe  and  joy^ 
I  loved  this  good  old  Bible  wcdl. 
It  bound  me  wHh  aholy  speQ; 
But  now  alas  I  my  youth  is  fled, 
And  Hope  is  gone,  and  fiuth  is  dead  j 
I  hide  the  Holt  book  away, 
And  worship  idds  made  of  olay ; 
But  oft  in  my  unquiet  hours, 
"When  tbinking  of  my  wasted  powersi 
And  living  o'er  my  early  years,    • 
I  wet  it  with  repentant  tears ! 


Rambitbom:  m  Som  (KljOfittB. 


LIBZBAL     OlPrXR     70B    ▲     PO&TBAZT. 

We  must  not  judge  of  tbe  appreciation  in  which  the  Fine  Arts  are 
heldby  the  ignorant  estimate  of  the  backwoodsman,  nor  by  the  assumptions 
of'  ftshionables'  who>  fiir  fashion's  sake,  lounge  in  the  Ait  Union,  Interna* 
tional,  Dusseldorf  Grallery,  or  collection  of  the  *  Old  Masters'  in  die  city  of 
New*York.  There  is  much  ignorance,  more  contempt  and  prejudice! 
and  noSt  a  little  affectation  amone  the  '  intelligent'  republicans  of  the  Uni- 
ted States  on  the  subject  of  Fme  Arts,  and  especially  the  art  of  paint- 
ing. But  the  expansion  of  a  juster  general  taste  is  rapid,  and  if  it 
were  not,  there  are  plenty  among  us  who  can  rightly  value  and  enjoy  a 
Guide  Reni,  a  Carlo  Dolce,  a  Caracci,  or  a  Rembrandt,  as  well  as  the 
most  exquisite  European  connoisseur.  But  such  was  not  the  taste  of 
theperson  making  the  offer  at  the  head  of  this  chapter. 

Ten  years  ago  this  very  autumn,  I  started  from  Whitehall,  at  the 
head  waters  of  Lake  Champlain,  in  company  with  a  New-York  artist 
named  W  ■,  to  hunt,  fish,  and  sketch,  on  the  shores  of  HoricflB. 
Climbing  those  mountains  west  of  Whitehall,  we  descended  their  tor* 
tuous  slope-  to  '  South  Bay,'  across  which  we  were  canoed,  and  com- 
menced our  march  over  the  Dresden  Mountains,  from  Ae  barren 
scalps  of  which,  Horicon  lies  visible  to  the  naked  eye,  a  mirror  in  which 
the  heavens  glass  themselves  with  a  beauty,  a  glory  and  a  mystery. 
But  I  must  describe  this  Dresden  in  brief  It  is  a  mixture  of  various 
rocks,  huge  and  unshapely,  interspersed  with  the  pine,  the  spmee  and 
the  hemlock,  and  among  which  the  rushing  torrents,  esneEutlly  in  the 
snow-melting  season,  bellow  to  the  thimdermg  clouds,  it  is  a  vast  den 
of  rattle-snakes,  bears  and  mosquitoes ;  roadless,  except  as  one  greases 
his  pantaloons  and  slides  down  planes,  with  no  snubbing  posts  save  the  bot- 
tom of  a  hill,  and  no  guide  but  a  firm  trust  in  Providence.  It  is  a  towv 
of  lumbermen ;  rude,  frank,  but  altogether  pagan  in  their  consideration 


22  Ramhledom:  in  Fowr  Chapien.  [Januarj, 

of  the  refinements  of  life.  Tbey  bave  no  churches  nor  schools  there ; 
they  attempted  a  school,  but  the  women  would  permit  no  such  nonsense 
as  '  genders,'  which  they  called  ganders^  to  be  taught  to  their  children, 
and  so  the  young  ideas  of  Dresden  were  left  to  the  guidance  of  nature. 

They  attempted  a  conference-meeting  once,  but  Deacon ,  the  only 

person  present  who  had  a  distinct  recollection  of  a  Bible,  was  so  drunk 
that  he  could  not  articulate,  though  he  bravely  propped  one  of  the  pil-  ' 
lars  of  the  edifice  in  which  the  congregation  had  assembled.  The  o^ 
fidal  honors  of  the  town-executive  descended  upon  one  man ;  a  one- 
eyed,  weasel-looking  fellow,  who  was  justice  of  me  peace,  path-master, 
collector  and  town-clerk.  His  only  books  were  a  volume  of  ahnanacs, 
and  a  copy  of  road  acts.  Upon  diese,  he  swore  witnesses,  and  out  of 
them  drew  decisions  that  would  astonish  Blackstone.  I  had  the  misfor- 
tune to  live  in  this  town  four  years,  my  father  having  a  lumber-bush 
there,  and  when  I  emerged  from  thence  into  the  world,  I  was  minus  of 
toe-nails,  these  having  been  grubbed  off  among  the  rocks.  As  I  have 
said,  rattle-snakes  abound  in  Dresden,  but  the  general  impression  touch- 
ing these  serpents  is  a  false  one.  They  are  a  hand^me,  well-behaved 
race.  They  *  rattle'  you  a  warning  of  their  residence,  if  you  ^ve  them 
the  smallest  chance,  and  never  was  a  serpent  readier  to  '  cut  stick'  when 
it  is  possible.  Though  I  have  killed  hundreds  of  them  '  for  fim,'  and 
for  the  fine  penetrating  oil  they  yield,  they  never  molested  my  bare-feet, 
and  in  all  that  huge  den  of  a  town,  I  never  heard  that  man  or  beast  had 
been  bitten.  Some  of  the  out-and-out  Dresdeners  hang  them  as  pen- 
dants to  their  bed-posts,  having  first  extracted  their  teeSi,  while  others 
fasten  them  upon  their  children's  necks  in  winter,  as  pleasurable  boas. 
Others  dtill,  having  fidth  in  their  medicinal  excellence,  bite  through  the 
length  of  their  backs  to  cure  the  tooth-ache,  and  swallow  their  ^lUa  tx> 
stave-off  consumption.  The  rattle-snake  too  is  a  water-fowl.  I  have 
seen  them  thrid&ng  the  mid-waters  of  Horicon,  holding  their  heads 
*  high'  like  a  moose  swimming  Lake  Umbagog. 
But  the  bears  are  thick  as  the  snakes.  I  will  tell  yon  a  true  bear 
.  story.  My  Other's  mill  was  close  upon  a  '  gum-woods,'  and  one  Sun* 
day,  in  lieu  of  '  bee-hunting,'  I  went  with  a  lot  of  boys  '  gumming.'  It 
was  the  only  time  I  ever  went  into  Dresden  woods  without  a  g^n.  We 
were  not  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  mill  and  our  log-cabin, 
when,  with  a  terrible  oosh !  oosh !  very  like  a  swine,  there  rose  a  huge 
bear  from  a  bed  of  high  fern.  We  all  ran  save  one,  a  fellow  of  great 
spunk,  and  the  bear,  after  quizzing  a  little,  made  snuffingly  toward  him. 
We  looked  on  from  a  safe  distance  in  terror,  but  our  coxnrade  was  not 
inclined  to  be  eaten.  As  the  bear  neared  him  he  commenced  climbing 
a  spruce  tree,  but  on  getting  up  about  the  bear's  length,  his  pantaloons 
caught  upon  a  knot,  past  all  chance  of  '  letting  up.'  Bruin's  eves  twin- 
kled at  tne  predicament,  and  he  began  clawing  up  the  tree.  His  bait, 
however,  had  got  a  firm  hold  of  limbs  above  hmi,  and  his  legs  were 
well  drawn  up,  and  the  bear  clenching  »his  paws  upon  the  unfortunate 
knot,  tugged  undl  knot  and  breeches  both  gave  way,  and  down  went 
astonished  Bruin  on  his  backsides.  Improving  his  opportunity  of  free- 
dom from  the  knot,  our  friend  mounted  up  and  saw  himself  safe.  Upon 
this,  we  hurried  for  guns,  dogs,  and  me  <  old  folks,'  but  before  we 


1850.]  Ramidedom:  m  Four  ChapUrs.  23 

got  back,  &e  bear,  evidently  '  smelling  a  rat,'  had  trotted  off.  This 
was  a  narrow  escape,  but  not  so  narrow  as  one  I  can  describe. 

There  are  many  great  *  racers'  on  record,  but  none  to  beat  this.  On 
the  hi^  shore  rocks  of  South-Bay,  at  the  mouth  of  Pike-Brook,  stood  a 
flaw-mill.  It  was  water-fed  by  a  long  wooden  race-way,  connecting  the 
Tirer  with  its  floom.  This  race-way,  from  long  use,  had  become  slip- 
pery with  moss  and  slime  on  the  inside.  An  acquaintance  of  mine,  one 
day  slipped  into  the  race  while  raising  the  pond-gate,  and  the  swift 
water  carried  him  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  noom,  plunged  him  down 
into  one  of  the  huge  buckets  of  a  water-wheel,  in  swift  motion,  and  this 
in  its  tttm,  emptied  him  into  the  Bay.  He  got  out  with  little  difficulty 
mihurt  and  unterrified.  But  to  the  portrait ;  and  yet  I  must  say  a  word 
about  the  nearest  approach  to  a  Christian  burial  I  ever  witnessed  in 
Dresden.  Does  the  editor  of  the  Knickerbocker  regard  a  pig  ?  Does 
he  sympathize  with  Lamb  (not  mutton)  in  that  description,  wherein  Hoti, 
and  his  son  Bobo,  dis-ember  the  first  porker  ever  tested  as  to  succulency, 
by  the  palate  of  a  celestial  ?  Relishing  '  Bolognas,'  will  he  plead  that  a 
jelly-eyed  roaster  is  disgusting ;  that  a  spare-rib  fVom  a  mature  swine  is 
distiisteful  ?  No,  no !  Then  he  will  hear  and  appreciate  me  in  this  in- 
cident Beside  the  lumber-bush,  my  father  cultivated  a  little  farm,  and 
I  there  learned  to  scatter  oats  (not  wild),  peas,  beans  and  barley,  and 
to  raise  '  pigs  and  chickens.'  We  had  a  spotted  pig,  black  and  white, 
of  the  masculine  getter,  which  became  a  sort  of  *  cosset'  —  a  favorite. 
Of  course  he  was  affectionately  tended,  but  I  had  heard  that  a  long  tail 
was  detrimental  to  a  pig's  erowth,  and  that '  in  season'  pigs'  tails  should 
be  cut  off.  With  my  mother's  consent,  I  undertook  this  amputation, 
on  a  bitter  cold  day — not  the  right  weather — but  to  save  my  hand 
which  grasped  the  flexible  pig-pendant,  I  cut  so  close  that  there  was 
not  t^l  enough  left  to  fasten  a  string  to.  He  bled  to  death,  and  died 
without  a  grunt  I  remember  his  precise  look ;  as  he  paled  in  the  fhce 
Aat  had  so  often  nosed  the  bucket,  his  countenance  wore  a  smile  of  for- 
giveness and  resignation,  as  much  as  to  say  '  It  was  an  accident !'  Upon 
my  soul,  I  shed  tears,  for  in  such  a  paean  land  it  was  something  to  find 
refinement  of  feeling,  delicate  appreciations  of  intent,  even  in  a  cat,  a 
dog  or  a  pig.  '  But  you  shall  have  a  monument,'  said  I.  On  the  road- 
side, slopmg  down  a  hill,  we  had  a  patch  of  gravel  stones  where  beans 
would  grow,  but  nothing  else.  Yet  it  was  a  place  on  which  the  earliest 
and  the  latest  sun  shone.  It  looked  out  upon  a  river,  and  upon  migh^ 
mountains,  and  all  travellers  in  Dresden  beheld  it  At  the  top  of  this 
patch  I  scooped  a  deep  pit ;  consigned  my  pig,  done  up  in  straw,  to  its 
depths ;  placed  a  stout  memorial  at  his  head ;  covered  him  up  and  left 
him  to  the  *  winds  and  rains  of  heaven.'  Whether  his  life  or  memory 
were  most  savory,  I  know  not,  but  I  do  know  that  his  tomb-stone  i»  still 
standing ;  that  it  is  perhaps  the  most  respectable  grave  sign  in  all  Dres- 
den ;  and  I  know  that  raiJc  com  is  now  grown  on  the  bean-patch  below. 
A  pig's  memory  may  be  nothing,  but  Hoti  and  Elia  thought  not  so. 

but  to  the  portrait     W had  a  flask  of  brandy,  which  we  supped 

by  the  wayside,  somewhat  to  the  hindrance  of  our  journey.     And  here, 

let  me  say,  that  a  Whitehall  editor,  B ,  of  the  Chronicle,  was  our 

companion  to  the  focus  of  Dresden  Mountains,  where  a  political  con- 


24  RamUedom:  in  Four  Chapters.  [January, 

vention  waa  to  be  held,  and  he,  B ,  was  bound  to  exercise  an  out- 
side influence  in  this  convention.  We  were  ready  to  serve  him,  if  we 
could,  and  on  coming  to  the  '  meeting,'  by  dint  of  our  bottle  we  became 
vice-presidents  and  secretaries.  The  plot  was  to  send  a  whig  delegate 
to  the  county  convention  from  a  town  that  had  not  five  whig  voters  in 
it ;  a  town  where  the  inspectors  of  election  carry  boxes  and  keys,  and 
examine  and  correct  the  vote  to  suit  themselves.  By  '  botde-plying,* 
not  pipe-laying,  we  succeeded  in  sending  the  whig,  to  the  conmsion  of 

Greneral  B 1,  who  once  gave  to  the  New-York  democrats  the  finest 

•  hickory*  ever  ndsed  before  *  Old  Tammany.'    This  done,  we  bade  adieu 

to  £ ,  and  upon  two  'poked'  colts,  which  we  caught  and  bridled 

with  beech  withes,  descended  to  the  shore  of  the  l£>ricon.  It  was 
near  sunset.  Scarce  a  cloud  flecked  the  sky,  and  the  burning  eye  of 
day  wore  that  red  smile  which,  I  doubt  not,  tinctures  the  leaves  of 
autumn.  Lovingly  and  sadly  it  seemed :  it  looked  back  upon  its  eastern 
pathway,  but  the  mountains  rose  befi)re  it,  catching  its  latest  blushes, 
and  casting  them  on  the  calm  waters  beneath.  From  the  mountain 
side  we  ^azed  mutely  upon  the  glorious  scene.  Pen  nor  pencil  can 
describe  it.  It  was  a  conglomeration  of  Poussains,  Wouvermans,  Rem- 
brandts  and  Titians ;  a  pot  of  nature's  glory-colors  spilled  over  island 
and  lake,  mountain  and  field,  and  all  we  could  do  was  to  be  worship- 
ful to  the  Infinite  Spirit,  who  in  that  circle  of  seclusion  and  quiet  had 
dipped  Su  fire-plimied  pencil  in  the  sky,  and  flung  down  mingled  lights 
ana  shadows  to  mock  the  vanity  and  presumption  of  man ! 

But  we  are  near  the  portrait    A  little  past  sun-down  we  alighted  at 

the  hospitable  farm-house  of ,  unslung  our  traps,  and  prepared 

for  supper  and  a  night's  rest    I  had  been  at  the  house  before,  and  was 

known,  but  W ,  the  man  and  his  trade,  were  incog.    We  were 

scarcely  in  doors  before  we  saw  evidence  of  a  party  to  be  held  that 
evening,  a  *  paring-bee,'  and  W was  ready  for  fun.  Soon  after  sup- 
per the  boys  and  srirls  from  all  the  country  round  about  began  to  gather 
m.  The  editor  of  the  Knick.  knows  what  a  paring-bee  is,  but  some  of 
his  readers  may  not  It  is  a  gathering  of  jolly  boys  and  girls  at  a  farm- 
house to  pare,  quarter,  core  and  string  apples  for  <hying.  The  working 
time  is  until  nine  or  ten  o'clock,  then  comes  dancing,  plays,  kissing,  etc., 
the  whole  winding  up  with  a  supper.  The  girls,  you  may  be  sure,  had  on 
their  <  go-to-meetmg^  clothes,  (tney  came  out  with  hig  figures ;)  and  the 
boys,  throwing  ofl"  coats,  according  to  custom,  when  the  dance  com- 
menced, though  a  little  short  in  pantaloons,  and  flush  of  whip-strings  to 
tie  them  down,  displayed  their  *  bran  new  gallowses,'  alias  suspenders,  and 
their  new  silk  nose- wipers,  generally  red  or  yellow,  and  always  tucked 
in  the  breeches-pocket,  so  as  to '  hang  out'  large.  And  when  the  fiddle 
struck  up,  did  n't  they  seize  partners,  and  right  across,  and  wheel  and  reel» 
and  up  and  down  the  centre,  with  an  earnestness  that  would  surprise 
'  Seanng,'  and  an  honesty  of  purpose  which,  if  our  belles  would  follow 
the  example,  instead  of  *  lollmg'  through  quadrilles,  would  drive  the 
sallow  from  their  cheeks,  save  the  reputation  of  nature,  and  put  rouge 
at  a  discount !  Give  me  the  real  paring-bee  reels  and  jigs  before  all 
your  waltzes,  and  Spanish  dances,  and  bawdy  polkas !  I  speak  for 
myself  in  this  matter.  Not  inclining  to  dance,  and  always  hatmg  silly 
plays  and  kissings,  I  posted  to  bed  at  an  early  hour,  while  W ,  up 


!  1850.]  BamMeiom:  m  Four  Chasten.  25 

!  to  Ins  eaiB  in  the  clorer  of  norelty,  staid  the  party  out,  waited  on  die 

prettiest  Miss  home,  and  came  to  bmik  about  four  in  the  morning.  Yes, 
I  went  to  bed  early,  but  on  my  way  *  up-stafars'  I  had  a  strong  presenti- 
ment, from  a  peculiar  tingling  of  my  oltactories,  that  a  cupboard  of  pies 
and  other  goodies  was  somewhere.  I  very  soon  convinced  myself,  to 
die  mortification  of  two  pumpkin-pies  and  a  cup  of  jelly,  the  dishes  of 
which  I  tucked  under  my  bed.  The  next  morning  I  heard  the  theft 
laid  to  the  '  pesky'  ratB«  With  a  good  night's  rest,  I  rose  early,  long 
belbre  W  -^--^  was  awake.  In  the  mean  time,  the  old  lady  of  the  house, 
with  that  curiosity  natural  to  women,  and  which  filled  Blue-Beard's 
bouse  with  headless  wives,  had  inspected  W— '>— 's  traps,  and  was  ur- 

rto  know  from  me  his  occupation ;  indeed,  she  asked  me, '  What 
he  dew  fi>r  a  living  1'  ' O,  no  paints  pictures,'  said  I,  'and  some- 
times &ces.'  Now  W  ■  was  zealous  of  his  art,  and  with  a  lack  of 
philosophy  could  not  see  why  any  body  should  be  ignorant  of  its  beau- 
ties. He  was  soon  up,  and  we  took  breakfast  preparatory  to  crossing 
the  lake.  When  we  came  to  '  settle  up,'  I  saw  that  sometiiine  weighty 
was  on  the  old  lady's  mind.  The  charge  was  one  dollar  eadi,  (cheap 
enough,  considering  the  pies  and  jelly,)  which  we  'planked  down.'  She 
took  my  money,  but  lookmg  up  to  W— — ,  she  said,  ♦  I  won't  charge  you 
any  thing,  if  you  'U  only  wait  an  hour  or  two  and  paint  my  old  man  an 
the  dock'ghus  /'     I  saw  a  storm  of  wrath  at  such  a  measure  for  his 

noble  art  rising  on  W 's  face,  and  turning  him  aside,  told  the  old 

lady  to  take  the  money,  and  we  would  be  back  in  a  day  or  two  and  do 
her  job.    Our  boat  was  already  engaged,  and  on  reaching  it  I  found 

W swearinff  that  he  would  never  come  within  Team  of  such  a 

heathen  again.  I  have  not  seen  the  good  dame  since,  but  I  know  that 
she  could  fry  pork,  onions  and  apples '  first  rate,'  and,  I  doubt  not,  she 
thought  a  dollar  a  very  Uberal  oner  fi)r  her  old  man's  portrait  She 
did  not  dislike,  but  rather  liked  the  painter's  art;  her  only  &ult  was 
ignorance,  from  having  seen  no  Art-Unions,  Dusseldor&  nor  Louvres, 
but  only  some  pretty-faced  Washinotonb  and  Napoleons  on  clocks 
and  looking-glasses. 


oBAPtsm  wovmru. 
BOOKS     AND     LABOB. 


In  one's  travel  in  these  days  it  is  natural  that  one  should  read  books. 
During  my  short  ramble  I  read  my  share.  They  were  not  selected, 
neither  were  they  miscellaneous ;  they  had  come  to  hand  by  chance, 
and,  fi>r  a  wonder,  were  all  sensible.  First,  being  somewhat  of  an  in- 
valid, I  read  a  manual  on  health,  the  concoction  of  the  wise  heads  of 
the  Grafienberg  Company,  who,  at^imng  all  quacks  and  bleedings  and 
mercurializing,  with  a  gist  worthy  Ghrono-Thermal  and  its  apostles,  lay 
down  a  theory  of  their  own  ;  a  very  good  theory,  in  which  allopathy, 
without  lancet,  and  hydropathy  are  about  equally  blended.  In  our  day 
of  multitudinous  systems  for  the,  regeneration  of  the  flesh,  it  seems 
strange  that  men  drop  off;  that  people  die  at  all.  The  world  is  be- 
come a  panacea  shop,  with  its  pots  and  jars  and  bottles  all  labelled 
'perfect  cure.'    And  the  people  dose  and  drug  from  the  cradle  to  the 


26  RamtiUdmi:  in  Four  Chapters,  [January, 

grave.  There  is  no  intermiflsion  of  the  pill  or  the  phial  at  the  mouth. 
It  is  swallow  and  rub  on,  ad  infimtum^  ad  nauseumt  until  Death,  like  a 
eunuch,  puts  his  consoling  bow-string  to  the  weasand,  and  twangs  out 
the  breath  of  life.  I  re«^  also,  for  the  first  time,  the  works  of  Con- 
greve ;  he  who  wore  in  the  old  age,  and  bj  the  consent  of  that  great 
poet,  the  poetical  mantle  of  Dryden.  But  I  think  as  a  poet  Dryden 
over-fiattered  him.  Congreve  is  heavy,  and  too  often  twmbastic  in 
verse,  especially  lyrics  and  odes,  though  his  blank-verse  play  of  *  The 
Mourning  Bride'  is  grand  and  masterly.  It  is  a  tragedy,  for  it  ends 
.vrith  at  least  a  dozen  deaths ;  enough  to  convulse  even  the  boys  at  the 
*  Chatham'  with  horror.  But  Congreve's  prose  plays  are  unexcelled. 
They  are  all  comedies,  genteel  though  smutty,  as  was  every  thing  popu- 
lar on  the  stage  in  his  day.  His  'Bachelor*  and  'Double  Dealer' 
might  with  slight  expurgation  be  brought  out  successfully  on  the  Ame- 
rican stage.  Their  biting  satire  applies  to  the  rakes  and  rou6s  of  to- 
day as  well  as  they  did  to  the  fashionable  profligacies  of  the  last  cen- 
tury. It  is  a  matter  of  wonder  to  me  that  some  manager  does  not  tiy 
the  speculation.  '  The  Mourning  Bride'  I  have  called  a  grand  piece 
of  blank-verse,  and  so  it  is.  Dr.  Johnson  did  not  hesitate  to  applaud 
it  in  parts,  and  he  was  one  of  those  hedge-hog  critics  who  are  die  last 
to  confer  merit  on  authors.  In  '  The  Mourning  Bride'  are  many  of 
the  sayings  that  have  passed  into  common  quotation,  and  which  ninety- 
nine  in  the  hundred  who  hear  them  would  credit  to  any  one  but  the 
right  owner.    In  this  play  occurs  ^e 

*Mtulc  hath  channs  to  Bootbe,*  etc, 

and  the 

•HiAVBir  baa  no  rase  like  lorn  to  hatred  toned, 
Nor  hell  a  tarj  like  a  woman  acomed.* 

But  with  all  the  momentary  applause  that  followed  the  Ben  Jonsons, 
the  Marlowes,  the  Malones  and  the  Congreves,  their  fame  was  never 
world-wide,  nor  to  become  so.  They  dragged  down  their  glory  to  the 
tomb,  leaving  their  books  as  shelf-monuments,  to  be  read  in  the  stu- 
dent's closet,  but  little  to  be  known  to  the  masses.  Only  Shakspeare 
of  the  play-writers  in  our  language  wrote  for  the  common  heart,  the 
common  passions,  and  for  all  time.  Death  unveiled  instead  of  obscured 
him,  and  iiis  fame  expands  in  proportion  as  he  is  past  its  personal  ad- 
vocacy. Such  is  the  reward  of  thai  eenius  which  beholds  and  speaks 
great  truths  ;  which  forgets  itself  in  its  utterance,  and,  though  uncon- 
sciously, envelops  itself  in  a  pyramid  of  light  which  pierces  upward 
forever : 

MoaT  noMe  SBAKapaAaa  I  who  hast  aang  and  eaid 

Such  goodly  thinn  as  men  can  ne  V  forget ; 
Though  d«id  in  flesb,  thv  spirit  undecayed 

Dolh  walk  abroad,  and  lives  and  conquera  yet. 
Thou  greatest  bard  I  thou  bravest-thooipited  man 

Which  time  liath  given  to  teach  all  other  men, 
Thy  name  and  fame  already  have  outran 

Fame*8  flirthest  goal ;  and  yet,  to  those  who  ken, 


„      ,      lyet,t 

Thou  hast  but  started  on  the  Immortal  ooorae : 
p  I  onward  still,  with  swift  undying  force, 
'  ;  we  wistftil  watchers  gaze 

I  Joy  to  see  thee  mount  so  high, 

Waving  thy  pinions  in  Gon^s  boundless  dqf, 
Leaving  old  earth  in  aplendor  and  amaxe. 


Upl  onward  still, ^ 
Thyglory pants;  ^ 

With  awe  and  I 

Waving  thy  pin 
Leaving  old  earth 

'I  read  also  '  The  Nineteenth  Century'  American  quarterly,  devoted 


IS50.]  RamUedom:  in  Four  Chapten.  27 

to  prograsB  as  developed  m  the  radicaHsms  of  our  day.  The  number 
was  embelliBhed  with  a  portrait  of  the  American  De  S|ai6l  who  contri* 
butes  to  its  columns.    Have  you  ever  seen  '  Cora  Mcmt^gomery/  alias 

Ats-  S ,  alias  Madame  C 1  for  she  is  now  emerged  from 

widowhood,  and  married  to  General  C ,  whilom  high  in  Texan 

office.  You  ought  to  know  her,  if  you  do  not,  L.  G.  C,  as  the  most 
masculine-minded  woman  in  America;  a  perfect  political  Juno  in 
petticoats,  and  more  than  a  master  of  diplomacy  and  tricks  of  state, 
than  any  five  statesmen  living.  She  writes  clearly,  to  the  point,  and 
always  widi  vigor.  She  loves  to  fight  abolition  fimatics  and  aristocracy 
in  government  She  is  democratic  to  the  core,  and  all  over  a  South- 
erner in  feeling.  She  is  one  of  the  women  who  are  literary  without 
being  |)edantic.  She  never  bores  you  with  discourse  on  that  point ; 
yon  might  talk  with  her  as  a  stranger  for  half  a  day,  and  take  her  for 
a  most  conversationabje  nun.  I  like  such  women,  as  I  hate  the  eternal 
reciters  and  gabblers  about  '  what  they  have  written.'  Most  of  our 
literary  women  manage  to  unsex  themselves ;  they  do  n't  positively  put 
on  breeches,  but  they  lose  all  modesty,  and  foreet  duties  which  women 
should  most  remember.  Be  sure  that  the  children  of  '  blue  stocking' 
go  as  ragged  and  dirty  as  the  preacher's.  They  cannot  compose  stones 
and  see  3iat  the  pot  boils  and  the  babies  are  washed.  Madame  C — , 
(or  De  Stael,  for  that  name  jv^eU  belongs  to  her,  widiout  the  personal 
^  ugliness  and  scandalous  faux  pas  of  its  original  bearer,)  is  not  one  of 
'  these.  She  is  a  true,  modest  woman,  with  a  masculine-thoughted  mind ; 
and  her  thoughts  will  one  day  form  a  text-book  of  political  clevernesses, 
if  not  truths.  But  most  of  all,  and  with  gusto,  did  I  read  a  number  of 
'  Old  Knick.'  It  matters  not  what  number,  for  they  are  as  like  in 
marrow  and  &tness,  in  humor  and  wisdom,  as  a  circle  of  sausages  made 
in  the  same  stufier.  By  the  way,  *  L.  G.  C  loves  sausages ;  he  emulates 
therein  a  dignitary  of  the  capital ;  and  if  I  might  liken  a  good  intellec- 
tual thing  to  a  sausage,  I  should  call '  Old  Knick.'  a  tremendous  string 
of  sausages  !  Yes,  I  read '  Old  Knick.  ;'  always  racy,  and  sometimes, 
in  its  jokes — vide  *  Editor's  .Table' — like  '  J.  B.,'  *  devilish  fonny  and 
devilish  sly !'  "Why  does  n't  the  Editor  gather  up  from  that  *  Table'  of 
his  a  volume  of  pearls  and  gems,  and  cast  them  before  us  as  sausage- 
meat  1  Let  not  his  modesty  deter  him.  Is  he  not  past  his  minority, 
and  installed,  of  his  own  good  worth,  among  the  wortny,  to  stand  dean 
out  of  a  niche  somewhere,  at  least  in  the  Pantheon  of '  Gossip'-ers  ?  For 
one,  I  call  on  him  to  rake  over  the  coals,  (they  have  been  in  ashes  long 
enough  to  test  them,)  and  give  us  the  live  ones  in  a  string.  And  the 
reading  of  these  books  suggests  how  wonderful  is  the  revolution  cre- 
ated and  going  on  by  that  machinery  which  scatters  books  as  dust — the 
press.  The  press  is  the  Atlas,  the  Titan  of  our  age.  The  press  bears 
the  world  on  its  shoulders,  and  heaves  it  into  the  light.  It  creates 
niind ;  it  makes  opinion,  and  guides  it  It  is  a  heart  in  harness  of 
iron,  steam  and  lightning,  filled  with  free  and  fiery  thought,  and  it 
throbs  against  chains  and  dungeons  and  thrones,  making  the  earth  freer 
with  every  revolution  of  the  sun.  Warriors  and  statesmen  hear  it  and 
fear  it,  and  priests  and  hierarchs  tremble  at  its  pulsations.  Wherever 
it  exists,  the  seed  of  light  and  freedom  is  planted,  and  can  never  be 
rooted  up.    Tyrants  nor  crafb  can  stand  berore  the  press,  for  the  press 


28  The  Three  Treaswret.  [January, 

is  the  ferlom-hope  ci  the  people ;  their  aposde,  their  fortress,  their  in- 
vuhierable  rock ;  and  around  it  they  rally  in  the  strength  and  majesty 
of  millions  of  God^s  images.  Fifty  years  hence,  and  types  instead  of 
•soldiers  will  fight  the  battles  of  the  nations ;  types  will  supersede  bayo- 
nets and  cannon,  and  the  trade  of  the  man-butcher  will  be  a  hideous 
memory. 

But  during  all  this  time,  this  jaunting  through  four  chapters,  tiresome 
enough  to  me,  and  to  the  reader  too,  I  doubt  not,  I  have  forgotten  the 
word  I  would  say  for  labor.  Among  the  beautiAd  things  X  saw  on 
every  road-^de,  in  every  valley,  were  the  grain-fields,  which  I  call  the 
grand  sisnet  of  toil,  and  the  best  title  to  aristocracy  on  this  round  eaith. 
Indeed  I  care  not  in  what  honest  guise  labor  appears,  it  is  transcend- 
ently  beautiful ;  for  it  ^fils  one  of  the  great  laws  of  nature  and  provi- 
dence, and  answers  to  the  first  necessities  of  man.  The  ploughman  or 
the  goadierd  is  a  lord  in  his  own  right ;  a  lord  of  the  soil,  paramount 
to  edl  swindling  lords  of  parchment  and  all  robber  kings.  I  care  not 
who  disputes  his  tatle  or  beats  him  back  with  violence,  no  man  can  annul 
his  patent,  or  degrade  a  nobility  gotten  by  him  directly  from  GrOD ! 
However  estimated  in  courts  or  camps,  he  shall  be,  as  he  has  been,  the 
basis  of  states  and  societies,  and  his  monuments  shall  be  wherever  tem- 
ples and  palaces  and  pillars  rise ;  wherever  the  earth  yields  ores  and 
gniins ;  wherever  white  wings  cleave  l^e  seas ;  wherever  art  and 
science  rear  a  trophy,  and  wherever  humanity  is  exalted,  or  Christianity 
exemplified  in  the  practice  of  its  precepts. 


I'HB     THBES     TAEA8UBS84 

*TwAs  on  a  ttme,  and  InTemonUi  of  May, 
A  liUle  merrle,  Bpriiely  elfe  one  day 
Hopped  on  ye  pUlowe  where  Fkhklla  lay, 
Touched  her  softe  cheek,  and  ealde,  *I  praye 
Awake,  falremaide,  and  Uate  to  what  I  Mye ! 

•iDflhrined  within  my  caikethere  I  hdde 
l!bree  treaBuree  richer  than  all  earthUe  gold : 
A  BmnaiA  which  can  ne  he  hougfatennor  yetaolde, 
A  hlnahynge  Modettie  and  Oraet  ontolde, 
Which  once  a  goddeoB  did  belraye  of  olde. 

'These  will  I  gtve,  and  manie  more,'  quo'  he ; 
t  An'  if  thou  It  mounte  a  sunbeam  now  with  me* 
And  hie  away  to  wliere  ye  monnuringe  sea 
Layes  ye  greene  bohdert  of  onre  Isle,  and  be 
A  iatdect  to  my  g^adooa  Queen.* 

Ah.m«I 
Ye  maiden's  heart  did  throb  exoeedinglle  I 
Natheteas  she  preesed  ye  casket  to  her  hearte, 
As  if  fifom  home  it  almoet  tempted  her  to  parta« 

Juste  then  a  knlghtlie  bee,  in  azure  Teste, 
In  golden  anAoure,  and  iHth  lance  in  reete, 
Of  Bome  adventure  worth  his  Steele  In  queate) 
To  meete  ttds  enemie  himsdfe  addreet. 

Meanwhile  ye  elfls  who  hadden  little  leisore 

For  warlike  pastime,  had  It  been  a  pleasure, 

Ihwared  was  beyonde  all  courtlie  measure ; 

Y'vanlshed,  and  quite  foraot  his  treasure ! 

And  thus  it  haps  the  maiden  fUre  and  bright*, 

Retaining  still  these  Jewels  as  her  righte, 

b  goigeoualy  arrayM  in  them  UMilffito.  ^.  MAmnirBAi.a. 


1850.]  November  Wind  at  Midnight. 


THE      NOTEMBEB     WIND      AT      MIDNIGHT. 

The  ikY  is  loowlmg  on  the  earth 

With  wrathfiil  fiioe, 
Ajid  darkly-rolliiig  (dondB  tnnraltaoiu  nah 

Aoroas  the  heaveiiB 

Aslnaraoe;  ^ 
Eftoh  flondding  with  a  noiieleiB  step 
Ihroogh  empty  reahns  of  spaoe. 

Among  the  leaflets  trees  the  wind 

In  fnry  flies: 
Kow  roaring  like  me  distant  thunder-peal 

On  sultry  eve ; 

Anon  it  sighs, 
Sad  mem'riee  waking  in  the  soul, 
And  then  in  silence  diea. 

Again  it  moans  a  plaintiye  dirge 

For  fiided  flowers, 
That  bloomed  in  wild-wood  and  in  shady  deD, 

Or  sweeter  fiur,, 

In  fiury  bowers, 
Where  love  dt  breathed  its  holy  thou^ti 
Through  summer's  moonlight  hours. 

The  rattling  casement  sends  a  chill 

Through  every  vein, 
And  creaking  voioes  summon  from  their  rest 

In  m<mld'ring  vaults 

A  spectral  traixL 
Who,  flitting  through  dark  corridors, 
To  nothing  ^de  again  1 

Among  the  rusUing  leaves  it  sweep 

In  chnrdh-yard  lone, 
Where  weeping  mourner  often  drops  the  tear 

While  Ending  low 

O'er  sculptured  stone. 
And  Fancy  might  believe  she  heard 
From  out  the  grave  a  groan. 

Its  solemn  music  stirs  the  heart 

Where  aU  is  gloom, 
And  softly  whispers  of  the  loved  who  sleep 

On  dreamless  bed 

Within  the  tomb, 
Then  wafts  us  to  celestial  shores 
Where  they  immortal  bloom. 

With  sweetly  melancholy  notes 

That  soothe  my  soul. 
It  singeth  of  that  realm  of  purest  bliss 
Meads — 


Jlfto-Jbs«B,Akt.l9. 


To  which  death  1 
Life's  radiant  goal ; 
Where  angry  storms  shall  rise  no  more, 
While  enAess  cycles  roll 


30  The  BunkummOe  Chronicle.  [January, 

Si)e  BtmkmnvUlt  C|)ronuU: 

DEVOTED  TO  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  NO.  1,  AND  NOTHING  ELSE. 

*aoB  oiva  vane  wwaoic  vsav  satb  it.  a»d  tsmb  rHAV  abb  vooz.*  xxv  tbw  vas  «■■»  T4&ayT«. 

Vol.  II.  J  AN  U  ART,     1850.  No.  1. 

THB     OAHHIBB'8     DBBAK. 

Bxura  ▲»  APOLoor  vom  a«  ABBSJMa 

In  fhe  yast  cbarnel-bouse  of  Tucb  all  in  my  dreeins  stood  I ; 

The  gathered  dust  of  ages  post  I  see  around  me  lie — 

All  in  tiiidr  marble  oere-clothea  dad,  grim  Dkath's  oold  panoply ! 

Farther  than  mortal  eye  may  aoan,  down  the  aepnlchral  hall, 
Sleep  by-gone  years  in  Icmg  array,  and  o'er  them,  one  and  aJl, 
Begrimed  with  dust  and  stained  with  rust,  hang  trophies  of  their  age ; 
Old  pennons  torn,  old  spears  war-worn,  swords  dulled  with  bathes'  rage. 
There,  too,  unfbrled,  that  o'er  a  world  had  waved  in  victory. 
Many  a  hero's  banner  hung— fbll  low  the  owners  lie  1 

I  heard  a  toll  for  a  parting  soul,  a  wailing  shriek  swept  by : 
Old  Forty-Nine,  that  sough  was  thine  1  and  straight  a  feeble  ory ; 
An  in&nt's  wail  oomes  on  the  gale ;  for,  see  where  draweth  near, 
A  yonihftil  heir  to  clahn  the  throne  of  the  departed  year  I 

A  long  and  sad  prooesiion  moves  adown  the  dusky  aisle, 

The  parted  year  is  borne  alonf  to  his  funereal  pfle ; 

And  all  around,  before,  behind,  flit  figurea  of  the  past, 

Dim  shadowy  things  of  human  form — the  year  had  been  their  last ! 

Amid  the  hosts  of  pallid  ghosts,  by  phantoms  dure  led  on, 
CoNsuMrrioiv,  with  her  heotio  (uiedc,  marshals  a  goodly  throng ; 
An  AsEUKE  Fund,  all  hollow-eyed,  counts  millions  in  her  train, 
Gathered  from  city  and  from  field,  from  mountam,  hOl  and  plain : 
Pale  Famine,  with  her  shrunken  form,  her  sad,  lack-lustre  eye. 
Foul  DBorsT,  with  his  bloated  limbs,  neroe  Fbvkks  too,  pass  by. 

The  bloody  oar  of  ruthless  Wa&  leads  on  its  myriads  now : 
Oh !  had  ye  but  have  seen  the  sight,  your  cheeks  had  paled,  I  trow! 
The  wheels  whose  creak  'a  a  dying  shriek  roll  on  tiie  trembling  stones, 
The  ghastly  hubs  were  grinning  skulls,  the  spokes  were  dead  men's  bones. 

Here  come  the  patriots  of  Rome,  slain  by  ialse-hearted  Gaul ; 
Tlie  deepest,  darkest.  lUmniiig  blot  on  her  escntdieon  fall  I 
Freedom  for  her  7    I^o,  Gk>D  forbid  •,  for  her,  the  living  lie  ? 
Oh  lay  on  France  the  stripes  and  chains,  and  pass  ihe  Magyar  by ! 

But  see,  fh>m  once  proud  Hun^^ary  what  thousands  swell  the  tide ; 
Not  all  were  slain  on  battle-plam — these  on  their  hearth-stone  died, 
And  these  by  cord,  and  these  by  scourge,  doomed  by  base  Austrian  hnr. 
That  found  a  hangman  fit  in  thee,  Oh !  world-aoouzsed  Hatnau  I 


1850.] 


Tke  BunkumviUe  CAromkk. 


31 


Yd  Christian  men  and  Christian  realma,  that  stood  so  paasire  by, 
And  saw  the  horde  of  Northern  alaves  o'emin  doomed  Hnngary, 
Raise  now  the  yoioe,  raise  now  the  arm,  lest  sooh  &te  be  yoor  own, 
And  cheok  the  fontert  murderers  the  world  eie  this  has  known  1 


Cauoula,  thoa  heathen  brate  1  thy  name  ahaH  be  forgot ! 
Tliine  from  the  pa^  of  history  shall  Time,  Oh !  Nsko,  blot ! 
While  pen  may  wnte,  whUe  tongne  may  teD,  or  ear  drink  in  a  soond, 
Hatkad,  O  yCest  of  the  Tilel  w^  shall  be  thy  renown! 


.  And  with  thee  Iito  thy  master's  namea,  more  hated  yet  than  thine, 
Could  but  a  lower  depth  be  found  in  catalogue  of  crime ; 
Oh !  for  a  pen  of  living  fire,  deep  dipped  in  bitter  gall ! 
To  record  aU  the  curses  dire,  I  pray  upon  ye  fiiU  I 

The  world  methinks  is  growing  old ;  the  yellow  leaf  and  sere 
Is  fidling  to  the  wintry  blast — the  end  sure  draweth  near : 
How  long,  how  long  may  such  things  be,  until  a  wasting  flood 
Of  earth^evouring  flame  shall  cleanse  the  monster  stain  of  blood  f 

The  morning  sun  is  shining  now,  and  with  its  earliest  ray 
The  dire^il  phantoms  of  tl^  night  afirighted  fled  away : 
Oh !  may  this  young  time  so  dispel  thne  deeds  of  blood  and  fear, 
And  usher  to  a  sorrowing  world  a  peaceful,  Happy  Year ! 


OUS  OWN  COUISE  ANn  THAT  OF  OUK  An- 

TI1SA1.T. — Let  the  adventurous  eagle,  him 
of  the  piercing  eye  and  sturdy  wing,  pur- 
sue his  quarry  in  the  pure  expanse  of 
ether,  putting  a  final  clause  to  the  career 
of  many  a  brig^t-vnnged  and  glad-voiced 
wanderer  of  U|^>er  air,  wherewith,  to 
fin  the  wide-aaape  throats  of  the  easlets  of 
his  eyrie ;  let  &e  bold  fish-hawk  of  the  iron 
beak  and  relenUeas  purpose  dive  swift  as 
boH  of  Jovs.  deep,  deep  into  the  crystal 
bosom  of  the  lake,  bearing  away  in  triumph 
from  their  parent  waters  the  mottled  trout, 
the  bright-scaled  perch  or  silyery  pike  to 
appesse  her  clamorous  brood ;  let  the  king  of 
beasts  roam  dauntless  through  the  tangled 
maw  of  the  pathless  forest,  or  o'er  the 
sandy  sea  of  Afrio's  burning  plains,  and 
rudileeB  adze  the  quivering  prey  to  feed 
the  rsvening  cubs ;  still  wUl  the  rerarrec- 
tionist  jaokaU  prowl  midst  the  cadaverous 
remains  of  decayed  mortality ;  the  disgust- 
nig  bmard  flap  her  heavy  wing  o'er  filthy 
oarrion,  and  the  vile  tumble-bag  gloat  o'er 
her  aoomnuktion  of  ordure-ous  matter  1 

Onward  and  upward  is  our  course; 
now  flitting  with  lightsome  wing  through 
the  airy  regions  of  wit ;  now  sticking  with 
measured  pace  mid  the  sober  halls  S  phi- 
losophy ;  and  ever  choosinff  from  the  wisest 
and  Ihie  best  to  feed  the  uirsting  votaries 
who  look  to  the  ^Chroniclb'  for  their 
nund'sfbod.    GroveDing  in  the  dirt,  prowl- 


ing midst  the  rejected  dust  and  trash  of 
ages ;  disinterring  the  buried  remains  of 
pestiferous  jests ;  dabblmg  in  the  muddy 
waters  of  pseudo-philosophy ;  our  adversa- 
ry poisons  the  wretched  few  who  patronize 
him,  and  rankles  .an  ever-festenuff  sore 
upon  ibe  fiur  bosom  of  our  country's litera- 
tnre ;  a  disgrace  to  humanity,  to  himself, 
and  to  his  readers  1 

Yet  what  better  can  we  expect? — for 
is  it  not  written, '  Bx  nihiioj  nihil  fit  ? 
Which,  reader,  which  is  here  the  eagle 
and  which  the  bnazard  7  Dixi  .*  we  have 
said. 


XHOWLBDOB  FOB  THB  FSOPLB. 


wtrmaB  voom. 


GABTBOirGKT. 


Gastronoht,  properly  speaking,  is  the 
science  of  the  ti^le,  but  among  seamen  it 
is  known  as  panthdogy,  their  food  being 
always  served  up  in  pans. 

We  have  no  institution  in  which  this 
art  is  taught,  but  in  England  they  have  an 
Eaton  College. 

The  feeding  establishments  oonneoted 
with  our  literary  institutions  are  termed 
'  commons,'  in  consequence  of  the  inferior 
quality  of  food  served  up. 

Starvation  or  absenoe  firom  food  is  avery 


32 


T%e  BunkumviUe  Chronicle. 


[January, 


popular  mode  among  phyiiciawi  of  ridding 
themBelvea  of  troableaome  petien^. 

Grael  is  a  oonmion  expedient  in  such 
'  oases.  The  term  is  a  oorruption  of '  growl,' 
from  the  eflfeot  which  it  produces  upon 
both  tongue  and  stomach.  It  is  made  by 
diickening  a  tea-spoon  full  of  flour  or  meal 
with  a  gallon  of  water. 

A  few  years  since  the  physicians,  fear- 
ing that  the  demand  for  food  would  be 
greater  than  the  supply,  invented  a  new 
disease,  called  the  dyspepsia,  which  is  a 
patent  method  of  starving  men  to  death  by 
a  slow  but  sure  process.  The  dyspepsia 
is  first  cousin  to  the  *  hypo,'  and  connected 
to  the  *  hysterioks'  by  marriage. 

Women  were  probably  intended  to  do  all 
the  carving,  since  we  are  informed  that 
Eve  was  given  to  Adam  for  a  help-meat. 

With  regard  to  fhe  usances  of  the  table, 
we  would  remark,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
uninitiated,  that  it  is  considered  to  be  a 
breach  of  etiquette  to  use  the  napkin  (a 
table-cloth)  in  lieu  of  a  handkerchief,  es- 
pecially if  one  has  a  cold  in  the  head ;  that 
tooth-picks  should  not  be  applied  to  the 
ear  should  the  fingers  be  washed  in  the 
wine-glass ;  and  t£it  silver  forks  are  not 
inten&d  to  eat  soup  with. 

Gastronomy  and  astronomy  are  different, 
although  both  are  illustrated  by  a  series  of 
plates;  yet  persons  who  have  been  in- 
dulging in  the  pleasures  of  the  table  are 
very  apt  to  see  stars,  and  examine  intently 
revolutions  both  of  celestial  and  terrene 
bodies. 


MI80BLLAVT. 
ELKOANT     BXTEACTB. 

As  free  and  enlightened  citizens  of  the 
'  Great  model  Republic.'  we  have  a  thou- 
sand causes  for  selr-gratnlation ;  but 
among  the  manifold  blessings  showered 
upon  our  heads  by  a  beneficent  Provi- 
dence, we  know  of  none  for  which  we 
should  be  more  truly  thankful  than  the 
high  moral  tone,  irreproachable  bearinff, 
am.  brilliant  writings  which  distinguiui 
our  daily  press.  We  have  oflen  fondly 
imaginea  that  a  oolloction  of  those  gems, 
00  frequently  to  be  found  in  the  columns 
of  our  oi^  pi^>ers,  would  make  a  pleasing 
and  readable  tome.  In  illustration  of  this, 
we  present  our  readers  with  two  or  three 
scintillations : 

Since  the  celebrated  eulogy  upon  the 
Florida  legislator  *Mr.  Hioonvs,  who 
'  died  of  the  brown-creaters,'  was  an  in- 
goDiooB  person,  and  in  his  younger  days 


had  a  fiirther  and  mother,'  we  have  not 
met  with  any  thing  approaching  in  beauty 
the  following  paragraph,  extracted  fh>m 
an  'editorial'  in  the  ^Tnbune;'  the  sub- 
ject being  the  late  President's  career : 

<JjLMM  K.  li  the  oldMt  of  tea  chikLren;  so- 
quired  the  nidimenii  of  an  EngHab  and  daasical 
eduoatioD  near  his  home,  aad  after  jrean  of  auflbr* 
Ing  fhNn  a  very  palnftd  complaint,  was  relieved 
by  a  lorgical  operailoo.' 

We  learn  Ihnn  the  following,  that  al- 
though the  cutting  a  man's  head  off  with 
a  carving-knife  is  not  a  *  tragical  affiiir,'  it 
becomes  one  when  performed  by  a  ^  chop- 
per.'   We  quote  from  the  ^Herald  .*' 

<  Hi  eonftased  to  Oaptahi  Lbohaxd  that  he  had 
lotended  to  stab  them.  There  waa  another  sharper 
carving-knife  lying  beside  It  on  the  same  table, 
and  had  he  taken  that  he  would  have  cut  off  the 
bead  of  CuHiiiMaHAM,  or  had  he  taken  a  chopper 
that  waa  there,  the  coDBequenoes  would  have  beea 
UragicaL' 

The  tulip-mania  and  the  moms  multi- 
caulus  fever  are  the  only  vegetable  excite- 
ments ever  heard  of  by  us  until  the  follow- 
ing startling  announcement '  met  our  eye.' 
As  *"  YegetMe  excitements'  must  be  srow- 
inff  evik,  they  are  much  to  be  deplored. 
The  intelligence  comes  by  telegraph  ttom 
Syracuse: 

«Thkrb  la  a  great  vegetable  and  osMIe  exeUe- 
menthere.' 

Several  very  startling  discoveries  have 
been  lately  made.  Some  time  since  the 
^Journal of  Cammeree^  found  an  ^ephe- 
meral' artery  in  a  man's  leg;  which  is 
perhaps  the  first  instance  tluit  one  of  a 
transitory  and  evanescent  nature  has  been 
met  with. 

Here  is  another  modern  nuraole,  the 
dead  restored  to  life : 

*Tns  four  perMNis  attacked  (h€$ide$  tkott  u 
whom  it  proved  fatal)  are  recoYenng,  and  proper 
precaution  haa  been  taken  to  purify  the  place. 
There  have  been  do  caaea  rBsembUng  cholera  any 
where  else.' 


PBOVEBBIAL    PHIL080PHT. 

Man  rmorosES  and  God  disposes. — A 
maiden  lady  of  our  acquaintance  objects 
very  strenuously  to  the  first  part  of  this 
proverb;  for  she  says  the  men  do  n't  pro- 
pose at  all. 

Avoid  ix>w  Compant. — Good  advioe< 
Never  be  seen  in  company  with  a  man 
who  lives  in  a  cellar ;  neither  with  a  wdl- 
digger  or  a  grave-digger. 

Bacchus  has  drowned  more  than 
Nkptunk.  —  Do  nH  know  about  this.  His 


1850.1 


7%e  BunkmmviUe  Chromde. 


33 


mb-marme  HighneBi  luis  caaght  many  a 
ebap  *  half-seas  over.' 

Cua>rr  lovt  n  like  a  bsoksn  look- 
oNi-oLAM.  SacacUy.  Rather  hard  to 
shaTe  with  any  longer. 

Fatbxk  and  Sons.  —  TJnooinmaiily 
amart  fetilers  are  very  apt  to  have  nnoom- 
monly  stupid  sons.  And  we  fear  for  onr 
oflapring,  when  we  think  upon  Outer 
Cromwell  and  Master  Dick,  Daniel 
O'CoicxELL  and  his  boy  Johnnt.  Dick 
was  too  small  potatoes  to  be  made  a  Dick- 
TATER  of-,  and  his  fiiiher's  mantle  fits 
Mister  Jack,  as  a  purser's  shirt  does  a 
bean-pole.  The  great  Richari>  of  Eng- 
ittid,  (not  Dick  Cromwell)  was  known 
as  'CoBUR  li^  Lion.'  Master  John  will 
prt)bably  figure  as  <  TiU  de  VAne.*  The 
fi>rmer  raised  men  for  a  Sarao0[i  crusade, 
the  latter  demands  the  Repeal  orews-aid 
in  the  form  of  mopasses.  His  father  re- 
ceived more  purses  than  his  share,  but  we 
fear  the  son's  *  rent'  will,  like  that  of  a 
certain  Secretary  of  War,  be  in  arrears. 
John  is  eonndered  by  all  to  be  a  broth  of 
a  boy,  which  aoooonts  for  hia  being  so 
much  of  a  soup. 


ships  are  guilty  of;  for,  he  adds,  they  Ife 
to. 

We  extract  the  following  from  a  letter 
to  a  friend.  The  writer  is  evidently  down 
in  the  Musquito  country:  *  This  place  is 
sum,  BpeshiaUy  in  summer.  Tour  nose 
Ime  tached  to  the  shang  dafiiers  m  the  diff- 
gin  Une.  Oh  Bill!  ef  ye  could  ondly 
clap  ise  on  the  perduokahuns  of  this  ride, 
yude  be  silent  ennf  about  yure  &nn.  All 
the  trese  here  bares  poll-parots  and  numkeie 
and  coons  and  go-away-news  and  possuna 
and  kokemutSjiuid awl  on  'em  a hangm'  by 
thare  tales.  Them  kokernuts  is  full  ov 
milk,  and  the  peple  gits  awl  thare  butter 
and  chease  that  way.  When  thay  want  to 
lie  m  thare  winter  snply,  they  git  tugeder 
a  hull  paasd  on  'em,  and  makes  a  long  rope 
out  of  monkese  tales,  and  fastens  one  eend 
to  the  top  of  the  tree,  and  pulls  backward 
and  fbr'ard  till  the  milk  is  awl  churned. 

'  When  the  thunder  and  litenin'  begins, 
thare  awl  as  busy  as  beese.  The  thunder 
hurdles  the  milk,  and  they  do  nt  use  run- 
nit,  bat  jest  set  to  and  brake  up  the  nuts, 
and  put  the  contents  in  a  bag^  and  ride 
horseback  on  it  till  its  hard  eni^,  I  tell  ye.* 

Dear  Readers,  one  and  all,  a  Happy 
New- Year  1 


OOBHBSPOVDEVOB,  BTO. 

'  A  Friend'  sends  us  the  following  dis- 
^[oirition  upon  the  lines : 

*Ob,  life  is  a  riYsr.  and  man  li  a  boat, 
That  over  Ita  surftwe  la  deatined  to  float.* 

Moat  true,  oh !  king,  and  accounts  for 
many  things,  particukrly  and  especially 
the  propensity  some  men  have  for  getting 
*  half-seas  over.'  Some  are  very  fast; 
teal  clippers ;  whOe  others  are  decidedly 
dow-auling  craft.  Some  are  luggers  of 
wood  and  carriers  of  water,  while  others 
with  their  fimoiful  streamers  flying,  yacht 
H  up  and  down  the  world,  having  a  per- 
petual holiday,  lliere  be  cralU  of  plea- 
aure,  and  there  be  crafts  of  buaineas; 
there  be  crafts  that  cannot  move  a  peg, 
udess  wound  up  to  a  proper  pitch  witii 
steam,  and  a  noisy,  quarrelsome,  turbulent, 
troublesome  set  they  are ;  always  coming  in 
ooDiaion  with  something  or  somebody,  until 
a  oolk^wed  ffaie,  a  burnt-out  boiler,  a  stove- 
in  bow,  broken  paddles^  or  a  run  down  at 
night,  put  a  stop  to  their  career.  In  fine, 
dl  men  are  crafty. 

'  Salt  water'  says  we  are  not  right  in 
supposing  that  pitching  and  tosring  and 
tnming  up  coppers,  are  the  (Hily  vices  that 


AirSWBHS  TO  OORSSSFONDBHTt. 

*Aji  Anxious  Fathir'  wriUstluu:  *What  m 
Ited»  with  my  havj    He  if  one  ofAe  d— /»* 


»n«<«M.»«.^».     Stm^  Mm 

meata ;  worries  eote,  doge  OMd  rirle ;  fighU 
mU  the  ematt  hofe  ;  phfe  tmoMtfour  doffe  out 
of  five :  wtd  tkreatene  to  set  the  houee  on  fir e^  if 
I  do  not  auii  thraehing  him,*  Jlfy  very  door 
mul  afiUted  Sir,  the  onif  remedf  thot  we  ml 
of  J  in  ench  n  dietreeeing  eaeey  to  have  him  run 
over  bu  an  omnikue,  or  blown  up  with  gunpow- 
der. HewiUimmediaidt  become  nfine^inUUi- 
gent,  intereotingy  and  amiabU  bof ;  end  ehouU 
he  not  eurvive  the  oporatimk,  yra  wiU  have  the 
eatiefectiam  of  learning  from  aU  the  papen 
that  eondoU  with  fou,  that  hie  loee  was  deeply 
lamented  bu  a  large  eircU  of  loving  and  mournr 
ing  friends  and  aequointanee. 

(&rRKBT  iKBPacTOR'  tnquiroe  if  Canal-etreet  be 
not  one  ef  the  eoldeH  and  moot  dieagreeoMe 
etreeto  m  the  city^  during  winter,  We  think 
not :  there  «•  a  Bleeekor-etreet  juet  beyond 
Houeton, 

(ORDBRLY'Mft«  wJktf  perturbed  epirite  are  like 
raw  reeruite.  We  take  itto  bOy  beeauee  thoy 
require  exoreieing, 

*  ARTxauART'  wiehee  te  know  if  aay  aUoniaU 
epirit  watched  over  the ettfety  of  AVoA  andhia 
fiunUy  when  upon  the  vaet  $oed;  and  if  oo^ 
what  one,  CanH  answer  preeieely;  butifsu^ 
was  the  eaee^euppoee  it  must  have  been  am  areh^ 
angel, 
(Crastrbs'  desiree  to  know  what  tribe  of  Indians 
deservee  tebed—d.  Upon  the  beet  i^formar 
Hon  which  we  have  been  able  to  obtain^  we 
shouU  rather  think  it  must  be  the  Oreeke, 


TOL.  ZZZT. 


3 


34 


Stanzas:  To  Lucy. 


[January, 


*  Drt  Mkaavrk'  a$kt  why  eight  quarts  are  like  a 
good  appetite,    BecoMte  it  makes  one  peck. 

^Amn  Euza'  loishes  our  advice  about  going  to 
GUifomia,  Oo  hf  all  meoMS,  foung  udjf, 
Jtnaliurs  are  very  mueh  needed  there, 

•Extra  'Erald.'  —  We  eannot  teU  you,  «f  lady 
who  was  the  Jiret  news-bof,  Jt  is  not  yet  de- 
cided whether  the  honor  belongs  to  Cupid  or 
Hfmen,  We  incline  to  the  former^  who  cer- 
tasnly  brought  bows  into  play  amumg  the  fair 
sex, 

*GiM  Suxo*  asks  what  David  said  to  the  wan- 
^orious  boasts  of  his  gigantic  adversary? 
/M  positive :  CMiarj  perhaps, 

*PlL€iARLicK*  has  just  discovered  why  the  hoop- 
ing-cough is  so  nsMsdy  becanue  it  goes  rouhd 
the  family. 

^Vbrt  Suipiciovi.*  —  JoBN  Browh  amd  Bill 
Smith  went  to  Boston  the  other  night.  Bill 
suffered  dreadfuUy  from  sea  sickness^  and  be- 
sought JoBN«  who  was  standing  by  him,  to  seek 
out  the  steward  and  obtain  some  bramdy-omdr 
water.  John  however  refused  to  move  until 
HK  did,  for  fear  he  might  be  arrested  for  pass- 
ing a  spurious  BUI. 


ADVERTISEMENTS. 

BURN-EM*S    GREAT    AMERICAN  HUM- 
BUG.—Directrlle  opposite  tbe  Bunkomville 
Church. 

SUPERHUMAN  ATTRACTIONS. 

Juflt  received  a  Dkorkb  op  Lomoitudk  taken 
In  the  verv  act  of 

CROSSING  THE  LINE. 

And  purchased  at  an  eiuuinous  oxpeoae. 

Also,  the  identical  Boots  in  which Tarauin 
tookhis 

RAVISHING  STRIDES! 

A  branch  of  Birxaji  Wood,  cut  Just  before 
LEAVING   FOR  DUNSINANE! 

Two  WOOLT  HBMS  of  Sir  JoBN  Mauudbtillk^s 
breed. 

A  wax-flgure  of  a  Strbkt  Inspxctor.     (A 
purely  imaginative  work.) 

A  REAL  ALLIGATOR, 
that  in  endeavoring  to  swaUow  a  young  negro, 
was  partly  suffocated  by  the  heels  lodging,  (see 
painting)  and  in  this  condition  was  easily  cap- 
lured.  The  negro,  who  in  consequence  of  his 
fHght,  is  transtbnned  into  a  white  man,  is  ex- 
pected in  a  few  days.  Lest  a  too  incredulous 
public  should  doubt  this  simple  statement,  their 


attention  is  respectfully  solicited  to  the  foUowisg 
extract  firom  Punt: 

*'  Quando  CrocodUum  desiratum  est  eatehorey  et 
none  comatibus  est  in  swampo.JuvenUem  nigerum 
take  about  et  ^TincL  Opii,^  aui  *  .Sect  wwrphiiy'' out 
^longo  sermonii*  put  him  to  sleepum  heels  foremost. 
Inde  hofibus  modo  gruntatum  est,  Ruat  Crotf- 
dilusy  ntger  swaUow  at  usque  ad  midoleum  tt  in- 
stemter  sickus  bargami  Cugee  vult  ejectere,  Sed 
cannot  come  it  keels  fancibus  haesit  impossibilis 
est  squaUere,  et  frightem-to-deathibus  novo  fizo, 
eaptabitum,* 

The  proprietor  would  embrace  this  opportunity 
of  informing  tiie  public  that  the  lien  law  does  not 
apply  to  any  tet  children,  women,  or  Highland 
boys  raised  in  Brookl}ii,  in  his  poasession ;  and 
all  persons  building  suits  for  them  will  do  so  at 
tiieir  own  risk.  PETER  BURN-EM. 


FIVE  HUNDRED  DOLLARS  .REWARD 
will  be  paid  for  a  live  Street-Inspector,  and 
FIVE  HUNDRED  DOLLARS  additional  if  satis- 
factory evidence  is  produced  of  his  being  taken 
in  the  streets.    Apply  to 

BURN-EM. 


^;^0  THE  GREAT  UNHUMBUGGED  AMERI- 
1  CAN  PUBLIC— GOBBLE,  VIPER  At  CO., 
have  the  honor  to  announce,  that  they  now  oflter 
an  opportunity  to  Americans  to  patronize  the  di»- 
tinguished  artists  of  Europe. 

'ilie  advantages  of  the  plan  are  obvious  and 
manifest.  A  helping  hand  will  be  lent  to  the  de- 
caying genius  of  Europe.  A  round  sum  put  into 
the  pooiets  of  the  fubscribers,  and  native  hum- 
bug will  be  prevented  fix>m  foisting  their  trash 
upon  an  ignorant  community. 

N.  B.  Rich  and  rscy  IrVench  prints  and  pictures, 
which  the  ridiculous  and  meddlesome  laws  of 
this  country  prevent  us  from  exhibiting,  can  be 
obtained  bv  private  application.  All  communi- 
cations wiU  be  considered  as  strictiy  confidential. 


L 
IL 


m. 


rv. 


V. 
VL 
VIL 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 
CARRIER'S  ADDRESS. 
OUR  OWN  COURSE  AND  THAT  OP 

OUR  ADVERSARY:  Editoeial. 
KNOWLEDGE    FOR    THE    PEOPLE: 

NuxBXR  Four.    Gastronomt. 
MISCELLANY:    Elxqakt    Extracts; 

Provbrbul  Philosopbt  :  Fathbrs  akd 

Sons. 
CORRESPONDENTS,  Etc 
ANSWERS  TO  CORRESPONDENTS. 
ADVERTISEMENTS. 


STANNA3:    TO    LUCY. 


•  OutT  tbe  aotlosa  of  the  Jutt, 
timell  sweet  aad  bloesom  in  the  dost.'  —  Shiblkt. 


At  I  Beautv  ftdes;  but  Love  and  Truth 

Can  never  die.    Immortal  Youth 

CYowns  each  with  Life,  and  both  shall  glow 

In  the  bright  bliss  which  angels  know  I 

Luut  !  on  you  life's  earliest  spring 

Is  scattering  flowers  with  lavish  wing; 

My  prayer  is  that  to  you  be  given, 

The  Christian's  growth  to  God  and  Heaven. 


IS50.]  The  Fkit  Flakes.  35 


THE       FIRST       FLAKES. 


BT   OBASUiS    &.    O&ABkB. 


Yk  tarry  long,  pole  wizards !  but  at  last, 
In  the  still  hash  cf  efvening  thin  and  dreary, 
Mantling  onr  fields  and  forests,  autumn-weary, 

With  pallia  whiteness  have  ye  shivered  past 

And  BtQl  ye  flioker  through  the  biting  air : 
While  the  bright  moon,  in  mockery  of  your  sailmg, 
Sheddeth  her  ardent  beams,  but  unavailmg, 

Thickly  where  ding  your  hoar-frost  jewels  rare. 

Ye  are  right  welcome !  by  the  ancient  board. 
While  sparkles  comfort  from  the  generous  ember, 
Tis  joy  to  quaff  again,  with  old  Decbmber, 

The  full  hUarious  cup,  by  Memory  stored. 

T  is  joy  to  hear  {he  glad.  £Bmiliar  sound 
Of  merry  sleigh-bells,  m  their  busy  tinkling, 
And  o'er  the  carpet  of  your  grateful  sprinkling, 

See  the  gay  whirl  of  Pleasure's  morria-round. 

'T  is  joy  to  follow  o'er  the  slippery  waste, 
Anon,  the  skater  in  his  graceful  swinging ; 
Mark  the  bold  curre,  then  list  the  iron  rin^ng, 

And  feel  the  dying  hours  grow  feathery-faced. 

Ay.  these  are  joys :  but  mingling  in  their  chime. 
Are  strains  whose  echoes  tell  no  tale  of  pleasure ; 
That  creep  betimes  across  the  happy  measure, 
'  9  Like  the  lone  plainti  that  blend  the  wild-bird's  mime. 

They  whisper  that  the  fierce  north-coming  ihiU, 
Thai  only  wreathes  our  ruddy  fireside  brighter. 
That  only  bids  our  home-cheered  heart;  beat  lighter. 

Speeds  arrowed  Dbath  o'er  Want's  unguarded  sill :  * 

Bears  on  its  fi^nen  wings  a  weight  of  wo 
For  him,  the  toiler,  whom  Disbasb  nnnnerveth, 
For  her !  whom  Hope  a  bitter  morsel  serveth. 

For  them,  the  thousands  whom  we  cannot  know. 

Then  let  our  radiant  charity  be  flulig 

Out  on  the  air  thus  weighed  with  blue-lipped  sorrow, 
Till  the  fierce  dullness  of  the  hour  shall  borrow 
New  cheer  for  us,  and  joy  where  misery  sprung. 
JRstkeater^  (JV.  F.,)  JV^mrW,  1640. 


! 


Manaries  of  Summer,  [January, 


MEMORIES       OF       SUMMER. 


»x  ▲  ooovTmncAV. 


Thet  'ee  gone,  all  gone  1  those  joyooi  dayi, 
When  bahny  Summer  thed  her  rays 
From  ever  blue  and  laughing  skies, 
And  made  the  earth  a  paradise. 
In  green  and  gold  the  fields  were  dressed, 
The  foot  the  flowery  carpet  pressed, 
And  through  the  grass,  with  ardent  looks, 
The  noon-beams  chased  the  virgin  brooks ; 
Which  ever,  as  they  coyly  run. 
Throw  tinklmg  laughter  at  the  son ; 
While  fragrance  hung  upon  the  air, 
And  birds  careered  and  carolled  there. 
And  insects  swarmed  in  tireless  play, 
Dancing  their  giddy  life  away 
In  bacchanalian  merriment, 
As  fiercely  gay,  as  swifUy  spent 

They  're  gone,  all  gone !  the  gentle  flowers, 
Whose  life 's  the  poetry  of  ours  ; 
Speaking  beyond  the  power  of  art 
In  sQent'numbem  to  the  heart. 
And  waking  in  the  enraptured  breast 
Feelings  that  may  not  be  expressed. 
An,  all,  alas !  hare  passed  away. 
And  stole  its  lustre  from  the  day ; 
'nie  modest  beauties  and  the  proud. 
The  solitary  and  the  crowd  ; 
Bright-eyed  ones  laughing  o'er  the  meads, 
And  mourners  with  meir  drooping  heads  ^ 
And  worshippers  with  tearful  eye 
AU-meekly  lifted  to  the  sky ; 
The  violet  that  mused  alone, 
like  hermit,  'neath  a  mossy  stone : 
The  meek-eyed  daisy,  primrose  pale, 
The  queenly  lily  of  tiie  vale ; 
From  field  and  hill  they  &11  have  passed, 
And  left  this  dead  prosaic  waste. 

They  're  gone,  all  gone !  each  happy  bird, 
Whose  song  the  waking  morning  heard  : 
The  road-side  sparrow  chirps  no  more. 
Nor  swallow  skims  the  meadow  o'er ; 
Nor  from  the  river's  reedv  brink 
Carols  the  tuneful  bobolink : 
Nor  linnet,  hid  among  the  leaves. 
His  curious  note  unwearied  weaves. 
No  parent-robins  gather  food 
To  still  their  open-throated  brood ; 
There,  where  the  cunning  nest  was  seen 
Snug-built  behmd  the  foliage-screen 
Of  vmes,  that  o'er  4he  portal  crept, 


J 

i 


1850.]  Memories  of  Summer.  37 

And  where  unacared  the  hirdliiigpi  dept, 

Thongh  ondernesth  firienda  coiv  m% 

And  whiled  the  time  in  liyely  ohat, 

Or  *  sweetly  sympathetic'  wept, 

While  plaintive  mght-winds  round  them  crept. 

And  they  are  gone,  the  friends  so  loved. 
With  whom  we  sat,  with  whom  we  rovea ; 
Sometimes  dlsoonraed  in  serious  mood 
Siieh  wise  aa  sober  people  should : 
And  sometimes  (blush  we  to  oonfiBaa  f) 
Spent  time  in  wiser  idleness ; 
Set  the  unruly  member  free, 
And  bade  it  wag  in  lawless  glee. 
And  lungs  to  crow  like  chanticleer, 
Till  echo  answered  frr  and  near. 
We  kicked  the  fooiball-iest  about 
Till  we  had  iiurly  kksked  it  out ; 
Loud  laughinff  when  the  mark  we  hit. 
And  lon£r  men  we  missed  of  it 
Or  took  Dak  GdBTBK's  ^  Fauvtus'  down, 
WiA  erammar  eke  and  lexioon, 
To  find  the  meanins  of  our  lesson. 
And  where  we  could  not  find  one,  gueaa  one : 
Or,  foiled  at  last,  would  smile  to  see 
*       '  Der  Meiater^  solve  the  mystery. 
And  new  and  then  a  peep  we  took 
At  *  Dr.  Sam.'  in  Bozzv's  book ; 
Bnchanted  with  the  grand  old  eur, 
Sage,  critic,  lezicogri^ber. 
Poet  and  wit,  as  rolling  there, 
He  boHs  Sir  Joabua's  generous  fiire. 
And  beldiee  forth  such  sparkling  gcana 
Am  pale  the  sheen  of  diftdems ; 
And  an  the  goodly  group  the  whUe 
Their  thouffhtfhl  a£niration  smile.  * 

OiBBON,  and  ^  Lanksy,'  and  Bkauclbrk, 
Garrick,  and  '  Goldt,'  Thralb  and  Burkb, 
And  (inttar  omnium  !)  mighty  Boz, 
More  than  the  Great  Sublime  he  draws. 

Sometimea  we  tamed  our  Shakspkares  o'er, 

And  ranged  the  realms  of  fimcy-lore, 

In  wildering  moonlit  mazes  lost 

With  Hamlrt  and  his  fother's  ghost  j  f 

Or,  chuckling,  watched  the  garden  tnck 

On  Bratrics  and  Bkicbdick  ; 

Dropped  tears  o'er  Desdemona's  fiite, 

And  gave  Pbtruchio  joy  of  Kate  ; 

With  many  an  observation  sage 

Shed  light  upon  the  doubtful  page ; 

Untied  aU  knots,  and  brought  to  view 

More  beauties  than  the  author  knew. 

Or  throwing  bpoks  and  business  by, 

Forth  sbHim  to  the  open  sky. 

And  roamed,  a  roystering  company, 

Exultant,  noisy,  fiir  and  free ; 

Climbed  to  the  hill-top's  breathleas  height| 

Thenoe  turned  to  gaze  (O  goodly  sight  1) 


38  Memories  of  Summer.  [January, 

Where  green  Chenango's  glory  lay 
Beneath  the  enamour^  eye  of  day, 
At  softly  shimherons  ease  reclined, 
Her  green  robes  waving  in  the  wind, 
With  liqnid-silver  ribands*  wound, 
And  leafy  garlands  wreathed  around^ 
And  yon  Deff-gleaming  lakelet  set, 
like  jewel  in  her  c(MV>net. 
The  fiery-god  arrests  his  oar, 
And  bends  to  breathe  his  passion  there ; 
While  the  full  chorus  of  the  groves 
With  nuptial  songs  salute  their  loves, 
Sounds  of  the  distant  waterfidl 
Embassing  the  sweet  madrigal. 

Then  plunging  into  forest  shades, 
We  sought  the  oool  sequestered  glades. 
Where  holy  Nature  dwelt  alone. 
Prom  sight  and  sound  of  men  withdrawn. 
And,  myriad-voiced,  her  Maur  praised. 
In  temples  His  own  hand  hath  nused. 
But  all-nnworshipftil  were  we, 
Shouting  aloud  our  graceless  glee  ;- 
Laughing  in  consecrated  bowers, 
And  plucking  all  the  holy  flowers  *, 
Or  huddled  in  some  leafy  nook,  * 

Along  the  margin  of  the  brook, 
With  songs  and  cachinnations  there, 
Startled  to  life  the  sleepy  air : 
Then  spread  our  feasts  to  gods  unknown, 
And,  sated,  left  the  ground  bestrewn 
With  cake  profime  and  ohicken-bone. 

Ah !  happy  days  were  those,  I  ween ! 
Those  days  of  gladness  and  of  green. 
But  now,  alas !  in  vain  we  rove 
The  fiided  field,  the  &ding  grove, 
And  search  each  memory-baunted  spot 
For  those  we  love — we  find  them  not  I 
The  season  has  begun  in  town. 
And  every  Grothamite  is  flown : 
Where  late  we  saw  their  sonl-fuU  fiioes 
We  gaze  into  cold,  empty  places, 
And  freezing  silence  smites  the  ear, 
Bent  their  &niliar  tones  to  hear. 
They  ^re  gone,  all  gone  I  the  summer  hours, 
The  friends  we  love,  the  birds  and  flowers  *, 
And  these  entrancing  memories  seem 
The  fragments  of  some  finding  dream. 

But  while  we  mourn,  of  these  bereft, 
Thank  Heaven,  our  happy  home  is  left ! 
And  other  friends,  a  cherished  few, 
And  cheerful  work  enough  to  do. 

*  Oirs  of  the  prettlett  ftetures  of  oar  landtcspe  Is  ftaralshed  by  the  wiodlogB  through  it  of  the 
beautifiil  Gbensi^  and  the  canal.  The  virer,  here  Just  swelUiig  beyond  the  dimenaloiis  of  a  mUl- 
0tresm,wanilenaeroaBthe  plain  and  into  the  broad  mouth  of  the  valley,  *  at  its  own  sweet  wiB.'  And 
the  bold,  graoeftal  corvee  of  the  canal  dlde  into  the  lines  of  nature  with  an  ease  and  a  decision  which 
^peak  woU  (br  the  taste  of  the  engineer  (I  hadabnoet  eaidof  the  artiat)  who  traced  tbeoL 


1850.]  Waldemar.  39 

The  wood-pile  laaghs  beneath  the  ahed, 
The  Btove  aska  only  to  be  fed ; 
The  cellar  bulges  with  the  hoard 


Of  good  things  in  its  belly  stored : 
Our  books  stand  waiting  on  the  shelves, 


And,  bless  the  stars !  here  are  ourselves : 
With  aids  like  these  methiuks  we  '11  do  — 
At  least  we  '11  try  to  rough  it  through ; 
Rejoichig  aye  to  think  how  soon 
The  days  of  absence  will  be  done, 
Stern  Winter  and  his  icy  reign, 
And  all  we  love  come  back  again  1 
MUiseu  Umhcrsitfj  (A*.  F^)  Jfnember, 


WALDEMAR: 
A    TALE    OP    THE     ITALIAN    CAMPAIGN     OP     1805. 


7JIOK    TBB   aSXMAir.   BT    'SBLTA.' 


WALDBMAB     TO     HIS     P  B  I  E  N  D     OU8TAVU8. 

1^  Jlf...a,  Jii/y  no,  1805. 

Here  we  are  yet,  dear  Gustavus,  lying  quietly  in  front  of  the  enemy. 
I  do  not  understand  the  reason  of  this  eternal  delay ;  the  whole  army 
is  anxious  for  the  battle,  and  all,  with- me,  curse  this  tiresome  inactivity 
which  so  wears  out  our  spirits.  According  to  all  appearances,  we  shaU 
remain  here  for  some  time  yet,  and  our  hopes  of  an  engagement  with 
the  French  seem  likely  long  to  remain  unfulfilled.  To-morrow  I  am  to 
advance  with  my  guards  some  fifteen  miles  to  Villarosa.  My  comrades 
envy  me  even  this  change,  for  it  is  said  to  be  a  very  pleasant  spot.  It  be- 
longs to  Coimt  P ,  who  has  also  considerable  possessions  in  the 

Tyrol,  where  you  certainly  have  heard  of  him.  He  is  living  here  in 
the  bosom  of  his  family,  who,  as  well  as  himself  are  praised  by  every 
body,  enjoying  the  delightful  rural  scenery.  It  is  not  to  be  denied  that 
one  learns  here,  in  the  rough  companionsnip  of  war,  how  to  value  the 
privilege  of  living  in  the  society  of  refined  and  intelligent  persons.  But 
such  reflections  are  only  transient.  I  would  we  might  go  into  battle 
to-morrow,  rather  than  live  in  this  intolerable  idleness. 

That  I  should  thus  visit  this  land,  this  Italy,  the  subject  of  my  fondest 
dreams ;  that  I  with  rough  and  bloody  hand  should  help  to  drive  sweet 
Peace  from  its  hallowed  vales,  pains  me  deeply.  1  had  hoped  to  cross 
its  borders  under  other  circumstances.  I  am  a  soldier ;  a  soldier  from 
choice,  from  pure  love  and  thirst  of  battle ;  but  such  wild  passions  suit 
not  this  sky,  this  scenery,  where  every  thing,  in  spite  of  these  troub- 
lous times,  flourishes  in  such  luxuriance  and  beauty.  Oh,  you  should 
see,  my  dear  Welland,  its  richness,  its  splendor  and  bloom!  Who 
could  bear  to  enter  here  at  the  head  of  a  victorious  army  ? 


40  Waldemar.  [January, 

VillMMMM,  Jmlf  SL 

I  WRITE  to  you  from  VillaTosa,  this  Paradise  of  nature.  Friend, 
envy  me ;  envy  me  each  hour  I  am  permitted  to  live  here.  What  a 
circle  of  noble  persons  i  You  shoula  see  Magdalene  ;  her  taU,  noble 
figure,  her  fiill  dark  eye,  her  rich  flowing  tresses.  You  should  hear 
the  music  of  her  voice,  sweet  as  the  note  of  a  seraph,  and  you  would 
ibrget,  as  I  do,  war  and  its  tumults.  The  quiet  sadness — gentle  trace 
of  some  deep  sorrow — giving  a  sofbeninir  richness  to  her  exquisitely 
beautiful  features,  and  the  expression  of  fondest  love  that  beams  forth 
from  her  eyes,  make  her  appear  most  unspeakably  ravishing.  But  I 
cannot  describe  her  to  you ;  I  cannot  tell  you  all  the  wild  sensations 
that  with  sweet  intoxication  fill  my  soul  1 

But  I  just  perceive  that  I  have  written  nothing  as  I  should  have 

done.    Know  then  that  Magdalene  is  the  daughter  of  Count  P , 

to  whom  y illarosa  belongs.  An-  old  friend  could  not  have  hoped  to 
have  been  better  received  than  I  have  been ;  such  warm-hearted  kind- 
ness has  been  shown  me,  that  I  cannot  understand  my  own  good  for- 
tune. Brother,  now  I  live  under  the  same  roof  with  her ;  am  almost 
always  near  her.  I  accompany  her  on  the  guitar  when  she  sines  her 
native  airs ;  those  sweet  songs  of  love  and  sadness.  She  leads  me 
through  the  beautiful  grounds  of  the  villa,  and  enters  with  such  delight 
into  my  astonishment  at  this  Garden  of  Eden.  Ah  !  she  is  an  angel ; 
a  creature  of  perfect  sweetness  and  gej^ness  !  How  I  feel  all  the 
inclinations  of  my  spirit  changed  1  f  flR  that  I  am  become  better ; 
that  her  presence  elevates  me.  I  am  happy,  for  I  may  see  her.  In- 
deed, I  am  blessed !  

Thank  God,  as  yet  we  hear  nothing  of  any  change  in  our  quarters ! 
Probably  the  armies  will  remain  thus  opposite  each  other  for  some 
weeks  yet,  and  I  shall  not  be  compelled  to  leave  my  paradise.  I  never 
thouffht  that  love  could  so  have  dianged  me.  Formerly,  a  continual, 
bunung  uneasiness  drove  me  out  into  the  mists  of  the  distant ;  all  my 
wishes  lay  in  the  future,  and  life  with  mournful  tones  passed  ^apeless 
before  me.  But  now ! — all  my  longing  has  ceased,  and  in  her  hallowed 
presence  the  wild  storm  of  the  soul  is  hushed  in  sweetest  contentment. 
The  present  fills  me  with  inexpressible  bliss ;  and,  moved  by  the  breath 
of  love,  there  is  vibrating  deep  within  me  the  chords  of  a  higher  and 
holier  life. 

With  how  much  kindness  they  treat  me  !  They  do  not  let  me  feel 
for  an  instant  how  burdensome  I  necessarily  must  be  to  them.  What 
noble  persons  they  are !  The  father,  with  his  eye  fixed  so  calmly  on 
these  stormy  times,  his  tall,  manly,  respect-commanding  figure ;  and 
the  mother,  who  exists  only  in  the  circle  of  her  dear  ones,  embracing 
all  things  in  her  deep  and  holy  love;  and  Magdalene  —  Magdalene  ! 
He  has  never  known  what  is  noly  and  rapturous  in  life  who  has  not 
seen  in  her  angel-eye  the  dawn  of  a  higher  existence ;  who  has  not 
before  this  pure  shrine  bowed  his  knee  in  sincerest  devotion. 

She  has  a  brotlier  whom  she  most  fondly  loves.  He  has  been 
obliged  to  absent  himself  on  account  of  ff  duel,  and  they  hardly  know 


1850.]  Wnldemar.  41 

iwiiere  be  has  gone.    This  is  die  cause  of  her  sadness ;  for  she  clmgs 
to  diis  brother  with  a  love  and  tenderness  that  only  her  ovm  heart  can 
I  know.    How  she  told  me  it  all,  with  such  an  expression  of  anguish ! 

I  How  the  tears  filled  her  eyes  I     I  cannot  tell  you  how  deeply  her 

I  story  afiected  me.    There  are  no  circumstances  in  human  life  under 

which  the  tenderness  and  nobleness  of  the  soul  are  more  fully  displayed 
than  in  sorrow ;  and  it  is  not  possible  that  there  can  be  any  thing  more 
afifectingly  touchine  than  the  tear-drops  sparkling  in  the  lovely  eyes  of 
one  so  beautiful.  I  told  her  so,  and  she  felt  it  was  not  a  mere  compli- 
ment Gently  withdrawing  the  hand  I  had  seized  in  the  excitement  of 
the  moment,  she  rose  quickly,  and  whispered  as  she  left  me  :  '  I  be- 
lieve you  have  a  kind  heart,  Waldemar !'  Oh,  you  can  form  no  idea 
of  the  heavenly  sweetness  in  the  tone  of  those  few  words !  For  some 
time  I  stood  and  gazed  at  her  receding  form,  then  threw  myself  on 
the  ground  and  kissed  the  grass  she  hm  gently  swayed  as  she  passed. 

^Do  you  call  me  a  child,  Gustavus  %  Well,  yes,  I  am ;  but  1  am  a 
happy  one ! 

At  evening  I  stand  by  my  window  as  long  as  I  can  see  a  licfat  in  her 
loom ;  fer  as  hers  is  in  the  left  and  mine  in  the  right  wing  ot  the  villa, 
I  can  look  directly  upon  her  apartments.  Oflen  do  I  stand  thus  for 
hours  and  watch  the  flickering  of  her  light  until  it  expires,  then  seize 
my  guitar  and  pour  out  its  passionate  tones  on  the  clear  moonlight, 
which  here  under  the  Italian  sky  lies  like  the  spirit  of  the  Eternal 
Qnb  holy  and  quietly  upon  the  earth.  Can  you  form  an  idea  of  the 
bliss  that  then  surrounds  me  with  heavenly  harmony  1     Have  you  the 

V  least  conception  in  your  bosom  of  these  raptures  1  No,  Gustavus ;  we 
never  dreamed  of  such ! 

Oh,  that  I  could  throw  myself  into  your  arms,  that  on  your  brotherly 
heart  I  could  shed  tears  of  deep,  unfathomable  delight !  That  I  must 
endure  alone  this  overflowing  of  endless  joy !  My  poor  heart  cannot 
bear  the  throbbing  of  these  emotions ;  it  must  break ! 

V  Gustavus,  she  is  mine  !  From  her  quivering  lips  trembled  the  con- 
fesdon  of  her  love ;  she  lay  upon  my  breast,  and  i  dared  to  press  burn- 
ing, glowing  kisses  on  those  lips.  We  were  sitting  together  in  silence 
upon  the  balcony,  lost  in  sweet  dreams,  the  sun  just  setting  behind  the 
mountains,  when  a  squadron  of  our  troops  emerged  into  view,  the  arms 
of  the  riders  flashing  in  the  setting  sun  hght  At  that  instant  it  seemed 
as  though  the  voice  of  a  spirit  whispered  in  my  ears :  '  Thou  must  de- 
part!' Magdalene  perceived  my  emotion,  and  sympathizingly  asked 
me  the  cause.  I  told  her  my  fears,  and  added,  as  I  seized  her  hand : 
'  And  win  you  shed  a  tear  for  me  V  She  trembled  with  emotion,  and 
gazed  tenderly  into  my  &ce,  while  the  tears  gushed  into  her  eyes.  I 
could  restrain  myself  no  loneer,  but  throwing  myself  at  her  feet,  ex- 
claimed :  '  Magdalene,  I  will  not  disguise  it :  I  love  you  !'  She  sank, 
overcome  by  her  feelings,  into  my  arms,  and  our  lips  sealed  the  holy 
confession. 

When  at  length  I  roused  from  the  sweet  delirium,  what  think  you 
were  my  feelings  ?    The  evening  shadows  indeed  lay  upon  the  earth. 


42  Waldemar.  [January, 

cradling  the  world  to  a  gentle  slumber ;  but  there  shone  in  my  breast 
the  light  of  an  endless  day ;  the  morning  of  my  happiness  had  dawned. 
And  how  changed  was  my  Magdalene !  She  stood  as  it  were  trans- 
figured before  me ;  the  spirit  of  a  higher  existence  was  shed  around 
her,  and  the  expression  of  happy  love  shone  in  her  features  like  the 
bright  halo  whidi  encircles  the  unmortal  Before,  she  was  the  perfect 
woman  ;  now  she  stood  before  me  a  seraph  from  a  better  world. 

I  have  not  spoken  with  her  parents  yet,  but  I  hope  they  will  not 
blight  our  happiness.  They  love  Magdalene  with  such  tenderness, 
that  I  feel  sure  they  could  not  throw  a  cloud  over  her  sky.  Gustavus, 
if  you  have  never  yet  experienced  the  rapturous  moment  when  love 
wraps  two  hearts  in  sweet  conflision  and  fills  them  with  highest  earthly 
bliss,  if  you  have  never  heard  the  heavenly  words  '  I  love  mee !'  falling 
fi*om  lips  you  love,  then  you  can  form  no  idea  of  the  &thomles8  joy, 
the  soul-thrilling  joy,  of  requited  affection ! 

"""""^  ViUaroaoy  Auguat  1. 

Shabe  my  happiness,  dear  Gustavus ;  she  is  mine  !  —  mine  by  the 
choice  of  her  own  heart,  and  mine  by  the  consent  of  her  parents ! 
They  make  no  objection  to  me ;  they  receive  me,  strange  as  I  am, 
into  the  beautiful  circle  of  their  love.  Does  not  every  thing  conspire 
to  gratify  my  fondest  wishes,  sooner  than  even  I  had  dared  to  hope  ? 
Does  not  every  thinsr  lovingly  unite,  even  in  these  stormy  times,  to  es- 
tablish sweet  peace  K>rever  in  my  breast  ? 

I  have  told  them  all  my  plans ;  how  that  from  love  of  arms  I  had 
joined  this  campaign ;  how  I  intended,  when  it  was  over,  to  obtain  my 
discharge,  sell  my  property  in  Bohemia,  and  return  to  my  happy  Italy, 
there  to  live  for  Magdalene  and  the  pleasant  duties  of  our  youthful 
loves.  I  told  them  all,  and  believe  they  felt  that  at  least  I  would  not 
make  her  unhappy.  I  pressed  them  to  make  a  speedy  decision,  for  I 
expected  every  moment  orders  to  march ;  and  they  at  length  gave  us 
their  blessing.  Gustavus,  when  the  father  led  her  to  me  and  said : 
*  Take  her — she  is  the  joy  of  my  life — and  make  her  happy !'  when 
she  sank  into  my  arms  and  the  kiss  of  ratification  burnea  on  our  lips 
in  the  holy  presence  of  her  parents,  I  was  lost  in  bliss  ;  all  the  angels 
of  heaven  aescended  into  my  soul,  and  bore  down  to  me  a  most  be- 
witching Eden.  I  revelled  in  the  fulfilment  of  dreams  that  now,  in 
beautiful  reality,  were  blooming  on  the  path  of  my  life.  Surely,  Gus- 
tavus, such  happiness  was  never  intended  for  me ! 

nUaroaa, • 

Dear  Friend  :  What  days  of  Eden  I  am  now  enjoying  in  the  circle 
of  those  I  love.  The  father  and  mother  strive  in  every  manner  to  show 
their  regard  for  their  new  son,  and  Magdalene  lives  only  for  me.  We 
are  together  the  live-long  day,  and  she  seems  to  grow  more  noble,  more 
lovely,  more  holy  every  hour.  I  have  told  you  of  her  taste  for  music : 
she  is  anticipating  great  pleasure  when  Brother  Camillo  returns.  Ca- 
millo,  she  says,  sings  a  clear  and  beautiful  tenor,  and  then  we  shall  have 
many  a  pretty  trio  together.    I  am  quite  anxious  to  see  my  new  brother. 


1850.]  WiOimaT.  43 

They  cling  to  him  with  such  fondnesB  that  they  are  moved  ahnoet  to 
tears  whenever  they  are  reminded  of  his  absence,  and  that  is  hardly 
fiir  a  moment  to  be  avoided,  for  there  is  everywhere  some  memento  of 
him.  They  love  dearly  to  talk  of  Camilld.  He  must  be  a  noble  fel- 
low. I  think  of  him  always  as  a  tall  young  man,  full  of  spirit,  decision 
and  energy ;  strong  in  body  and  in  soul ;  a  youthiVil,  proud  athlete. 

Besides  her  singm^  and  playing,  she  sketches  also  beautifully.  She 
loves  most  to  draw  historic  scenes,  and  in  the  execution  has  attained 
an  astonishing  degree  of  perfection.  She  has  just  finished  one  repre- 
senting Horada  at  the  moment  when  she  discovers  in  her  brother  the 
conqueror  and  slayer  of  her  lover.  The  expression  of  the  maiden's 
fice,  in  which  one  can  read  the  strong  struggle  of  conflicting  emotions 
within,  is  most  happy.  To  me  the  drawing  was  touching.  The  sim- 
ple ferms  have  made  a  deep  impression  on  my  mind.  You  ou^ht  to 
near  her  talk  about  it,  to  see  how  feelingly  she  enters  into  the  painful- 
ness  of  Horatia's  position.  She  does  not  blame  the  slayer  of  the  lover, 
she  blames  the  iron  destiny ;  for  the  brother  as  Roman  must  conquer ; 
and  not  Horatius  but  Rome  thrust  the  sword  into  that  loved  bosom. 

Magdalene  is  now  drawing  from  memory  a  likeness  of  her  brother 
£nr  me.  Her  parents  say  it  is  excellent,  so  life-like  does  her  memory 
call  up  his  image ;  but  I  am  not  to  see  it  until  it  is  finished.  Gustavus, 
what  an  endless  chain  of  heaven-like  joys  and  feasts  of  love  shall  my 
future  be !  How  my  gentle  M.  will  adorn  our  beautiful  circle !  I 
shall  live  days  I  would  not  give  for  all  the  treasures  of  the  world. 
Those  are  indeed  happy  feelings  we  experience  when,  safe  from  the 
storms  of  the  sea,  our  ship  in  full  sail  enters  the  harbor ;  but  it  is  with 
anticipations  of  highest  earthly  delight  that  we  look  out  upon  the  rosy 
mommg  streaks  of  love.    Gustavus,  my  day  has  dawned. 

FiUttrota,  Aug,  40. 

What  I  have  long  feared  has  happened.  I  must  part  with  her ;  I 
must  leave  my  beautiftd  Magdalene.  This  morning  I  received  orders 
to  retire  fifteen  miles  fi*om  Villarosa  by  day-break  to-morrow.  The 
enemy  is  probably  advancing,  and  our  general  desires  to  receive  him 

on  the  advantageous  heights  of  C .    Alas !  war,  on  which  I  once 

dwelt  veith  such  enthusiasm,  has  become  wholly  insupportable.  The 
thought  that  I  might  lose  Magdalene  fairly  makes  my  soul  shudder,  and 
dark  ferebodings  haunt  my  m'eams.  If  it  were  only  to  advance ;  but 
to  retreat,  to  leave  Villarosa  and  all  that  is  dearest  on  earth  in  the 
power  of  the  enemy,  it  almost  makes  me  mad !  I  am  not  one  of  those 
iron  spirits  that  can  bear  everything ;  dare  everything  I  can  indeed ; 
but  to  attain  my  point  through  patient  endurance,  there  I  lack  the 
power.  How  hated  is  every  moment  in  which  I  cannot  see  Magdalene ; 
m  which  I  cannot  press  her  to  this  throbbing  heart!  Ah!  I  am 
Waldemarno  more!  I  cannot  summon  resolution  for  the  parting; 
the  proud  consciousness  of  manly  power  bows  before  this  agony  of 
feeling. 

,  Riectardmt^  Aug.  'iUu 

GusTATUB,  let  me  pass  in  silence  the  scene  of  our  parting,  Magda- 
lene's tears,  my  anguish  and  her  last  kisses.    I  obeyed  my  orders,  and 


44  Wal^emar.  [January, 

have  now  been  three  days  in  Riccardino.  It  is  a  great  comfort  to  me 
that  from  one  window  of  my  new  quarters  I  can  see  Villarosa,  where 
my  loved  ones  are.  I  am  continually  at  that  window  lookine  out  to- 
ward it,  and  the  intense  longing  of  my  spirit  seems  as  though  it  would 
burst  this  bosom!  Everydiing  around  me  is  so  tiresome  and  dull; 
even  the  tumults  of  war,  for  there  is  considerable  confusion  from  the 
niunber  of  regiments  stationed  here,  has  no  interest  fyr  me.  I  have 
now  but  one  feeling;  a  burning,  niaddening  longing,  which  almost 
rends  this  frail  body !  Magdalene !  Magdalene !  how  unchanging  is 
my  love !     I  cannot  live  thus  separate  from  thee ! 

GusTAVus,  I  am  in  a  phrenzy  of  excitement !  My  dark  forebodings 
are  approaching  their  fulfilment  The  general  has  ordered  us  out,  and 
beat  for  volunteers  to  storm  Villarosa.  The  enemy  have  taken  posses- 
sion of  it,  and  seem  determined  to  intrench  themselves  on  the  heights. 
That  I  should  be  the  first  to  volunteer  you  can  well  understand.  I  shall 
rescue  Magdalene  Scorn  the  enemy ;  what  a  heavenly  thought !  But 
that  I  shall  cause  death  within  those  peaceful  halls,  shall  help  to  disturb 
that  beautiful  home,  to  which  she  clings  with  such  inmost  love,  can  I  do 
that!  dare  I  do  it!  Oh!  conflict  of  duties!  But  I  must  take  the 
chances.  The  struggle  will  be  sharp.  The  enemy  cannot  be  exceed- 
ingly strong,  yet  my  band  is  small.  But  there  is  need  of  alertness  on 
every  hand,  for  the  enemy  expect  hourly  large  reinforcements.  Shield 
me,  God  !  Duty  and  love  call  me !  With  blood  must  I  achieve  my 
destiny  1 

Thus  far  run  Waldemar's  letters.  A  few  moments  after  he  ad- 
vanced with  his  brave  guards  on  Villarosa.  Already  they  neared  the 
outposts  of  the  enemy. 

Waldemar  had  hoped  to  approach  unnoticed  by  a  path  leading 
thi'ough  the  cypress-grove,  the  path  he  had  so  often  threaded  in  hap- 
pier hours,  under  the  very  walls  of  the  Castle,  but  the  enemy,  to  whom 
his  attack  had  probably  been  betrayed,  fell  unnexpectedly  upon  hinh 
The  conflict  was  fierce,  and  soon  they  were  engaged  hand  to  hand« 
Waldemar's  guards,  seeming  to  know  they  were  contending  for  their 
leader's  bride,  pressed  feariully  up  against  the  foe.  Maddest  of  all 
fought  the  French  officer,  a  young  man  of  noble  figure  and  dauntless 
bravery.  Waldemar  met  him  several  times  in  the  fight,  but  they  were 
as  often  separated  by  the  changing  tide  of  the  battle.  At  length  the 
French,  unable  to  bear  up  against  the  furious  charge  of  the  Guards, 
threw  themselves  into  the  Castle.  The  young  officer  defended  the 
entrance  with  the  energy  of  despair.  Waldemar  threw  himself  upon 
him  with  all  his  force.  He  yielded,  and  the  Guards  poured  after  their 
victorious  leader  into  the  Villa.  Waldemar  followed  his  obstinate  op- 
ponent from  room  to  room,  in  each  of  which  the  contest  was  renewed» 
calling  on  him  to  surrender,  but  in  vain ;  instead  of  answering,  he  only 
fought  the  madder.  Both  were  already  bleeding  from  many  wounds, 
when  suddenly  it  seemed  to  Waldemar  as  though  he  heard  the  sound 


1850.]  Waldmar.  45 


of  Magdalene's  Toice.  The  diouffbt  nerved  bim  with  new  energ 
and  he  summoned  all  his  remaimng  strength.  His  antaffonist  san 
pierced  through  the.  heart  At  this  moment  Magdalene  and  her  father 
Dorst  into  the  room.  '  Brother,  mihappy  brother !'  broke  from  her  lipj9, 
and  she  fell  lifeless  upon  his  body.  Despair  fell  upon  Waldemar.  He 
stood  thunder-struck,  overwhelmed  by  tne  thought  of  a  brother's  mur- 
der. At  leneth  Magdalene  revived.  Her  first  glance  fell  on  Walde- 
mar, then  on  his  blo<3y  sword.  She  swooned  again,  and  fell  back  upon 
the  bleeding  body  of  her  brother.  They  bore  her  away,  and  her  aged 
fiitfaer,  who  had  stood  with  his  eye  fixed  in  death-like  eaze  upon  his 
ftm,  fellowed  in  silence.  Waldemar  remamed  alone,  with  the  reflec- 
tion that  he  had  destroyed  the  happiness  of  those  he  held  most  dear. 
Soon  the  Count  returned.  He  had  recovered  his  self-possession,  and 
held  out  his  hand  to  the  murderer  of  his  son.  Waldemar  was  over- 
come ;  he  sank  at  his  feet,  and  moistened  his  hand  with  his  tears ;  but 
the  old  man  drew  him  to  his  heart,  and  both  wept  aloud  in  each  others 
embrace.  When  the  Count  had  sufficiently  recovered  himself  he  nar- 
rated to  Waldemar  how  his  son  Camillo,  after  he  had  been  obliged  to 
leave  on  account  of  the  duel,  had  taken  service  in  the  French  army, 
and  a  few  days  befi)re  had  ^eeably  surprised  them ;  how  Magdalene 
had  told  her  brother  of  her  Waldemar,  and  how  he  reioiced  in  the  hope 
of  knowing  and  lovinfir  the  friend  of  his  sister.  Waldemar's  firame 
shook  with  anguish  at  me  recital  He  raved  as  one  mad,  and  the  Count 
snatched  the  sword  out  of  his  hand  to  prevent  him  from  takmg  his  ovni 
life. 

But  now  the  anxiety  depicted  in  every  movement  arrests  their  atten- 
tion. Alas !  Magdalene,  whose  tender  frame  could  ill  endure  such  a 
shock,  was  dying  I 

Waldemar  became  frantic  vnth  despair ;  he  prayed  the  count  to  let 
him  see  Magdalene  once  more,  and  tmrew  himself  at  his  feet  Trem- 
bling with  emotion,  the  stricken  father  turned  away  that  he  might  not 
refbse  the  unfortunate  man  this  last  request  Magdalene,  whose  heart 
struggled  painfully  between  affection  and  horror,  could  hardly  be  per- 
suaded to  see  again  the  slayer  of  her  brother ;  but  her  lovely  spirit,  so 
near  its  departure,  overcame  the  reluctance,  and  undying  love  con- 
quered.   But  here  is  a  fragment  of  another  letter  from  Wal4emar : 

'  GuBTAVus,  I  am  ruined  !  I  have  murdered  the  peace  of  three 
angels !  The  stain  of  blood  is  on  me,  and  despair  throlM  in  my  veins ! 
Gruigtavus,  curse  me !  Fearfully  do  visions  of  the  past  haunt  me ; 
they  win  drive  me  mad.    I  am  crazy  now ! 

*  Once  more  have  I  seen  her  whose  heaven  of  joy  I  have  destroyed ; 
once  more  she  looked  on  me  with  all  the  tender  expression  of  fermer 
love,  and  faintly  whispered :  '  Waldemar,  I  fergive  you !'  These 
words  went  like  a  dagger  to  my  soul,  and  I  sank  down  at  her  feet 
With  her  last  efifort  she  tried  to  raise  me — to  draw  me  to  her  bosom ; 
but  her  strength  fidled,  and  she  sank  dead  into  my  arms  I 

'  Gustavus,  Gustavus,  despair  is  hurrying  me  to  her  again ;  yes,  I  am 
hastening  after  her.  She  has  forgiven  me,  the  lovely,  the  sainted  one, 
but  I — I  cannot  fergive  myself!  I  must  offer  up  myself;  only  by 
blood— by  my  blood — can  I  wash  the  stain  from  my  soul ! 


46  The  OrenuUian.  [January^ 

*  jp'arewell !  I  dare  not  contend  with  my  destiny.  I  have  murdered 
my  own  peace.  Farewell,  thou  true  brotherly  spirit !  —  Gron  in  mercy 
will  let  me  die !' 

His  last  wish  was  granted  him.  That  little  skirmish  was  the  pre- 
lude  to  a  decisive  battle,  and  the  £)llowing  day  saw  the  two  armies  jom 
in  fearful  conflict.  Waldemar  fought  with  desperation,  rushed  mto 
the  heart  of  the  hostile  army,  and  found  what  he  sought-— death ! 
Pierced  through  with  coimtless  bayonets,  he  sank  in  the  thickest  of 
the  fight,  and  the  last  word  that  breathed  forth  fix>m  his  dying  lips  was 
'  Magdalene !'  His  companions  in  arms,  who  loved  him  with  generous 
enthusiasm,  sought  him  out  after  the  battle,  and  with  tears  of  manly 
sorrow  laid  him  in  the  &mily  vault  at  Villarosa,  by  the  side  of  his 
much-loved  Magdalene. 


THE       CBEMATION. 


BT  WZI.Z.XAX  BBLOHKR  OZO^StBB. 


To-NiGRT  my  eyes,  tear-laden,  have  wandered  sadly  o'er 
The  lines  that  told  a  passion,  deeping  now  to  wake  no  more. 

From  each  mute  and  vdoeless  syllajale  are  dreary  memories  bom, 
That  with  fingers  dim  and  spectral  point  to  days  forever  gone. 

*  Forever,'  oh !  *  Forever !'  't  was  the  word  you  breathed  to  me 
When  your  girlish  fidth  you  plighted,  with  the  stars  alone  to  see. 

False  scroll  and  fiilser  passion  1  how  it  haunts  me  lying  there, 
Read  into  my  deepest  memory,  treasured  up  to  mook  despair. 

Tears  of  joy  have  Men  on  it,  and  again  and  yet  again 

Have  my  lips  sought  out  the  places  where  your  fingers  mi^^t  have  lain. 

Foolish  tears,  ye  were  but  squandered !  idle  was  the  dinging  kiss ! 
Of  the  love  that  hUoed  so  brightly  there  is  nothing  left  but  Siis. 

Ere  this  too  be  oold  in  ashes,  let  the  vmoes  of  the  past 

Speak  once  more  unto  tl^y  spirit,  speak  for  this  time  and  the  hist 

• 
We  were  young  in  life ;  no  shadows  fell  upon  our  lightsome  way ; 
There  was  then  no  night  of  sorrow  that  would  never  break  to  day : 

No  passion  heart  inwoven,  no  memory  so  deep 
That  the  wave  of  Lethe  only  could  lull  it  into  sleep. 

Then  I  lingered  in  the  snnli^t  of  ihy  deep  and  pleadmg  eyes, 
Then  I  felt  from  out  the  fountains  of  my  heart  a  love  arise. 


1850.]  The  OrematMm.  47 

Kot  unloTiiig  was  thy  aooent,  not  of  anger  was  ihy  blush, 

When  the  worda  *  I  love  you  I'  oame  to  hreflk  the  twilight's  holy  hush. 

Bnt  Ihe  lip  on  none  that  quivered,  and  the  crimson  on  thy  brow, 
Seemed  to  say  with  chiding  fondness :  ^  Canst  thou  doubt  I  love  thee  now  V 

Doubt  thee  I  — if  from  out  the  silence  of  the  sky  a  voice  had  rung. 
Saying  ^  Doubt  her  I'  all  the  closer  to  thy  heart  I  would  have  dung. 

Then  the  distant  gleaming  gl<»ry  of  the  stars  appeared  to  lie 
Reflected  in  the  lustre  of  thy  timid  upturned  eye. 

Then  I  seemed 'to  hear  life's  volume  closed  ^th  soft  and  muffled  sound, 
And  a  whiqper,  saying,  ^  Bead  no  more  \  thou  hast  the  secret  found !' 

But  to-night  the  stars  have  lighted  their  mournful  fires  again. 
And  to-night  my  heart  is  saying, '  Did  she  love  thee  even  then? 

'  Didst  thou  think,  in  that  sweet  moment  when  her  kisses  lightly  fell. 
That  to-night  the  only  accent  on  thy  lips  would  be  *  Farewell !' ' 

Yet  it  must  be ;  through  the  midnight  with  a  dreary,  hopeless  tone, 
The  wind  the  word  repeateth,  and  repeateth  that  alone. 

I  must  sift  thee  from  my  spirit ;  I  must  sever  thee  from  thought ; 
In  the  net  of  my  remembrance  must  thy  image  ne'er  be  caught. 

There  were  hopes  my  heart  had  guarded ;  let  them  perish  in  their  prime ; 
Let  no  answer  to  th^  longing  come  from  out  the  future  time. 

There  were  i^xrings  that  blessed  life's  journey ;  let  me  never  of  them  taste : 
There  were  green  spoti  where  we  rented ;  let  them  be  a  barren  waste. 

It  was  summer  when  I  met  thee,  and  with  hues  as  bright  and  gay 
As  the  summer's  wooing  blossoms,  dawned  love's  twlhght  into  day. 

It  was  autumn  when  we  parted,  when  the  flowers  no  more  were  fieur, 
When  the  maple  tossed  his  bloody  arms  upon  the  frosty  air. 

So  the  autumn  of  the  spirit  came  with  sudden  step  on  me, 

And,  with  hues  at  death  the  brightest,  feU  the  leaves  from  passion's  tree. 

Wherefore  do  I  speak  of  peasion  ?  here  are  words  that  seem  to  rise 
From  its  hotliest  blazing  altar,  from  its  purest  sacrifice. 

Did  they  sprinff  from  young  Affection  ?  did  they  Truth's  impression  wear? 
No !  the  Fals^ood  looked  from  out  them  with  a  leaden,  mocking  stare  I 

Brighter  Maze,  ye  flames  that  flicker,  fiercer  yet,  ye  embers,  g^ow, 
WMe  amid  your  red  embraces  this  uithless  scroll  I  throw  I 

AH  is  dark :  amid  the  forest  of  the  pines  with  sullen  roar 
The  midnight  wind  is  saying, '  No  more,  oh !  never  more  V 


48 


Stanzas:  Sprouts.  [January, 


SPROUTS. 

Who  G7et  heard  fhe  like  of  it? 

It  really  Ib  terrific! 
I  do  n't  believe  Time  ever  broaght 

A  season  so  prolifio : 
An  odd  myBterions  influence  seems 

Pervading  all  the  air, 
For  scarce  a  house  in  ail  the  town 

Bntlo!  a  baby  there. 

Our  pleasant  neighbor,  Mrs.  Bodge, 

Now  quite  a  fiEMled  matron. 
Presented,  only  yesterday. 

Her  husband  with  a  fat  one : 
Indeed,  the  doctor's  wife  herself 

Is  by  the  times  infected. 
And  hope's  fruition  swells  her  breast 

With  gladness  unexpected. 

Now  nurses  have  become  so  scarce 

That  £i^ers  go  distracted. 
While  robust  doctors  droop  oeneath 

The  labors  thus  exacted. 
The  caudle-cup  upon  the  hearth 

Becomes  a  sort  of  fixture. 
And  dmgmstB^  clerks  are  ovovhebned 

With  ^B  for  soda-mixtore. 

From  myriad  little  boys  and  nrls, 

On  hfe's  broad  prairie  landing, 
I  hear  one  universal  wail 

Their  little  lungs  expanding ; 
I  hear  admiring  maidens  cry, 

*  How  very  like  its  mother  1' 
Though  not  a  single  one  can  I 

Distinguish  firom  another. 

Te  printers,  set  your  types  at  work ; 

Here  is  a  premonition, 
That  fresh  recruits  for  <  Mother  Goosb' 

Demand  a  new  edition : 
And  thou,  O  miracle  of  mind ! 

Whom  parents  toast  in  bumpers, 
Creative  genius !  latest^  best. 

Bring  on  your  baby-jnmpers ! 

The  ftud  that '  native'  rule  win  last 

Is  now  developed  clearly ; 
So  turn  fresh  furrows  to  me  sun, 

And  fell  great  forests  yearly ; 
Let  fiffmera  still  expand  th^  fidds, 

And  ampler  calls  will  meet  'em ; 
Potatoes  always  pay  to  raise 

When  there  are  mouths  to  eat  'em. 


1850.]  A  Revelation.  49 

Then  dig  away,  ye  soiu  of  toil ! 

Root  oat  the  last  year's  stubble ; 
Plant,  sow  and  reap,  until  the  soil 

Its  greatest  yield  shall  double ; 
Here  is  a  hungry  army  come  | 

Tour  hoarded  heaps  to  find,  | 

And  it  win  sweep  them  all,  nor  leave 

A  gleaner's  share  behind.  t,  ■. 


A     RBVELATIOX. 
*  Halloo,  my  Fancie!  whither  would'fft  thou  fgaV 

It  was  my  fortune,  during  the  period  of  early  manhood,  to  become 
acquainted  with  a  lad^  of  delightful  conversational  power,  much  en- 
ergy and  vivacity  of  mmd,  and  great  goodness  of  disposition :  my  senior 
by  many  years ;  and  who,  with  the  tact  that  properly  belongs  to  her 
Inight  sex,  found  diversion,  and  perhaps  interest,  m  examining  the  im- 
pulses of  a  young  unpractised  existence  of  the  other  sex,  where  the" 
heart  still '  promised,  what  the  fancy  drew.' 

Perhaps  it  may  have  been  in  reward  of  the  docility  and  frankness 
with  which  I  submitted  to  the  analysis,  and  exposed  unreservedly  my 
hopes  and  foars  of  after-life  to  her  judgment ;  perhaps  it  may  have 
been  impulsively  and  without  premeditation,  that  she  raised  the  veil 
from  off  a  picture  of  domestic  life,  (of  which  we  had  been  conversing,) 
and  gave  me  a  lesson  that  I  have  never  since  forgot. 

Young,  ardent  min^s  of  either  sex  look  forward  in  this  country  to 
that '  state  of  untried  being,'  called  Marriage,  almost  with  the  dreamy 
imaginings  of  fear  and  hope  with  which  they  regard  an  interchange  of 
worlds.  '  Love,  says  Madame  de  Stael,  which  is  a  mere  episode  in  the 
life  of  man,  forms  die  life  of  woman.'  But  this  observation,  applicable 
and  just  to  our  sex  in  Europe,  is  far  less  exact  in  America,  where  those 
of  our  youth,  who  deserve  the  name  of  American  Youth,  labour  on 
from  day  to  day,  in  hope,  in  industry,  in  ceaseless  toil,  in  self-denial ; 
picturing  to  themselves,  as  the  precious  reward  of  a  long  course  of 
purity  and  exertion,  the  perspective  joy  of  sharing  the  fruits  of  this  life 
of  untiring  labour  with  the  one  Being  to  whom  they  can  ever  say, '  In- 
treat  me  not  to  leave  thee,  or  to  return  from  following  thee ;  for  whither 
thou  goest,  I  vrill  go ;  and  where  thon  lodgest,  I  will  lodge  ;  thy  people 
shall  be  my  people,  and  thy  God  my  God  :  where  thou  diest,  I  vrill  die, 
and  there  will  I  be  buried :  the  Lord  do  so  to  me,  and  more  also^  if 
au^t  but  Death  part  thee  and  me.' 

This  is  Love.  This  is  Marriage.  This  is  Love  and  Marriage  in 
America.  This  is  that  state  of  unity  of  which  the  Almighty  hath  said, 
'  And  they  twain  shall  be  one.'  That  spiritual  union,  of  which  the  com- 
munity is  perfect ;  in  which  thoughts  that  spring  up,  and  have  their 
root  in  the  one  soul,  grow,  and  bourgeon,  and  effloresce,  throughout  the 

VOL.  zzzv.  4 


50  A  Revelation,  [January, 

whole  being  of  the  other.  Flowers  of  the  one  mutual  existence ;  aspirar 
tions  of  the  one  perfect  heart.  Perfect,  because  of  it's  being  •  one 
made  of  twain.'  Like  the  binary  Stars  of  upper  Heaven.  Like  the 
indissoluble  union  of  Light  and  Heat.  Like  Truth  and  Love  direct 
from  the  bosom  of  God,  intermarried  with  each  other  in  the  beam  that 
gives  us  Life !  Quiet  thyself  now,  my  Fancie,  and  tell  us,  in  her  own 
words,  the  story  of  the  vivacious  lady. 

*  I  am  bom,  as  you  know,  of  one  of  the  old  Huguenot  families  of 
South  Carolina.  I  inherited  hardly  any  thing  that  could  be  called  for- 
tune, and  had  still  less  pretension  to  that  which  is  considered  beauty. 
But  my  education  had  not  been  neglected,  and  I  had  been  brought  up 
with  the  utmost  care  by  parents  with  whom  I  was  long  in  constant  in- 
tercourse, and  who  were  distinguished  by  that '  grace  beyond  the  reach 
of  art,'  that  refinement  of  thought  and  manner,  Siat  I  beHeve  come  into 
the  world  only  with  one  small  class  of  our  species. 

*  With  these  slight  advantages  it  was  v^th  great  pleasure,  not  unmin- 
gled  with  surprize,  that  I  feund  myself,  on  my  first  Visit  to  the  North, 
addressed  by  one  of  the  most  agreeable  young  men  that  I  had  ever 
chanced  to  meet  Like  myself,  he  was  of  good  family  and  small  for- 
tune. He  had  been  admitted  to  the  bar,  and  was  struggling  to  acquire 
that  professional  eminence  which  to  my  mind  has  ever  been  &r  above 
the  distinction  that  is  confeiTed  by  mere  wealth.  I  entered  into  all  his 
plans  with  a  deep,  full  heait.  I  longed  to  struggle  by  his  side  ;  to  ani- 
mate him  with  my  own  fervour ;  to  cheer  him  in  his  exertions ;  and,  in 
the  visions  of  the  day,  it  was  my  delight  to  share  in  advance  the  pro- 
mised fiime  of  his  future  eloquence  and  rank.  In  short,  I  loved  hun ; 
and  we  were  married. 

*  The  halcyon  days  of  our  early  union  passed  like  a  dream  of  joy — 
as  beautiful,  as  bright,  and,  I  have  sometimes  thought,  as  fleeting !  —  for 
the  transport  with  which  he  used  to  return  homeward  soon  passed  away. 
The  animation  with  which  he  used  to  depict  the  cases  srt  court  and  to  re- 
cite the  arguments  of  counsel  on  either  side  was  no  longer  to  be  seen, 
or  felt,  or  heard.  He  seemed  no  more  to  cherish  the  hope  of  success, 
but  entered  the  house,  careworn,  oppressed,  and  fatigued ;  and  I  had 
ceased  to  welcome  him  at  the  door. 

*  Frequently  I' jretired  to  my  chamber,  when  he  left:  me  for  the  oflice, 
questionmg  myself  to  know  by  what  fatal  change  I  could  have  forfeited 
his  love.  '  Good  God  !'  I  said, '  have  compassion  upon  me !  It  was  all 
that  I  had  of  value,  and  it  is  taken  firom  me !  I  gave  myself  utterly  to 
him !  I  staked  my  all  upon  the  hazard  of  this  die.  It  is  cast  I  have 
lost,  and  am  forever  ruined !  In  vdiat  have  I  changed  ?  He  did  not 
expect  fortune  with  me !  He  knew  that  I  had  no  beauty !  He  must 
have  seen  that  the  slight  attraction  I  possessed  was  drawn  &om  him,  as 
planets  borrow  from  their  Sun.  I  am  undone,  undone  forever !  My 
nusband !  my  husband's  love  is  lost,  lost  to  me !' 

*  The  habit  of  brooding  over  such  thoughts  as  these  had,  of  course, 
its  effect  upon  my  health  and  spirits.    I  lost  much  of  the  freshness  of 

rth,  and  all  its  buoyancy  of  manner.    When  my  husband  came  home, 
encountered  my  swoln  eyes,  and  trembling  lips,  and  misplaced 
colour,  and  without  a  word  of  explanation  between  us,  we  seemed  tacitly 


1850.]  A  RcveUUion.  51 

to  bare  arrived  at  the  fixed  condiision  that  we  bad  been  eacb  mistaken 
in  tbe  other,  and  were  altogether  unfit  fer  the  relation  in  which  we  stood. 
A  distance  that  seemed  every  day  extending  was  interposed  between 
ns.  We  both  suffered  deeply,  but  grew  too  proud  for  any  explanation 
or  advance : 

^^Hap  we  never  knvM  so  kindbr, 
1 M  bUndfy, 


lovVli 
Never  met,  or  neTer  parted, 
We  bad  iie*er  been  brotahbearted.' 

'  At  this  juncture  the  seasons  chan^,  and  brought  on  to  the  North 
the  usual  concourse  of  Southern  visitors.  Among  them  was  a  dear 
friend  of  my  lost  mother.  She  visited  me  repeatedly,  and  gazed  on  me 
with  her  dark  inquiring  eyes.  One  morning,  while  we  were  examining 
the  house  together  in  wmch  I  lived,  she  was  shewn  to  my  chamber. 
She  placed  one  chair  opposite  another,  and  desired  me  to  sit  down. 
She  took  both  my  hands  m  hers,  and  regarded  me  as  if  she  would  have 
exchanged  eyes.  The  door  was  closed*  and  we  sat  together  a  moment 
in  silence. 

' '  Do  you  know,  my  child,'  said  she,  in  her  calm  still  way,  *  that  I 
strongly  suspect  you  to  be  a  mere  simpleton  1  You  &ncy  that  you  have 
lost  your  husband's  love ;  confess  to  me,  is  it  not  so  V 

*  I  could  only  reply  with  my  tears,  which  I  felt  to  be  coursing  down 
my  cheeks. 

' '  I  thought  it  was  so.  I  knew  it  to  be  so.  Yes  I  it  is  the  period  for 
the  first  trial  of  married  life  where  marriage  is  destined  to  be  happiness. 
Look  at  these  hands — which  she  held  in  hers  —  these  beautiful  hands  f 

Mr.  Waters,  in  those  days  my  hands  were  considered  beautiful.' — 

'  Madam,'  I  replied, '  they  are  always  regarded  and  cited  as  models  fbr 

sculpture' '  these  hands,  which  are  precisely  those  of  your  mother,' 

she  went  on, '  these  hands  are  married  to  each  other ;  animated  by  one 
spirit,  bom  to  aid,  and  strengthen,  and  gratify  each  other ;  individual 
existences,  but  onl^  perfect  when  united :  what  could  thev  do  apart  f  — 
how  perfect  in  theu*  sympathy  for  each  other !  Think  of  all  the  offices 
that  they  perform  together!  Are  they  not  one  in  every  action  of  life!  Do 
any  words,  or  expressions  of  affection,  or  of  passionate  regard  pass  be- 
tween the  two  ?  and  yet  what  would  not  the  one  do  for  the  comfort  and 
happiness  of  the  other  1 

*  *  This  is  the  state  which  you  and  your  husband  have  attained.  De- 
ficit in  it  It  is  incomparably  superior  to  the  feverish  existence  by 
^^lich  it  was  preceded.  Have  this  figure  always  in  your  thoughts. 
Meet  him  to-day  when  he  returns  home  as  the  cheerful  tranquil  ever- 
ready  left-hand,  without  which  the  right  could  little  do,  but  which  is  fiu* 
inferior  to  the  right  in  strength  and  skill,  and  be  assured  that  all  his  past 
love  is  trifling  compared  to  the  sensation  which  you  now  awaken  in  his 
heart.' 

'  Upon  this  hint,  I  changed  my  course  towards  him.  I  have  ever 
done  so.  I  have  exacted  nothing,  and  have  regained  his  heart,  and  have 
been  truly  happy ;  and  the  day  is  never  to  be  fergotten  by  me  when  I 
saw  that  my  husband,  in  regarding  me,  gazed  on  me  with  a  look  of 
long-sustained  delight  as  the  mother  qfhii  boy* 

I  have  written  out  this  essay  with  interest,  for  I  know  that  it  will  be 


52  Stanzas.  [January, 

read  by  ber  wbo  is  the  Tision  of  my  beart ;  whose  happiness  is  more  than 
most  other  things  precious  to  me.  And  I  would  close  it  with  the  injunction 
and  the  words  of  the  Persian  poet,  and  say,  henceforth  '  Let  the  night- 
ingale of  Friendship  kiss  the  rose  of  Conciliation.'  joum  v^vams. 


STANZAS. 

'  BT  ▲»  OrS   AVS   ALWATB    WILOOm   OOVT»tBUtO& 


NovEMBEE  was  dying ;  I  went  to  ihc  wood, 
Bnt  found  no  blossom  to  deck  his  bier : 

So,  an  that  I  offered  him  ^  all  that  I  ooold, 
Was  a  laurel-wreath — and  a  tear. 


For  every  floweret  of  every  hue, 
hi  field  or  forest,  golden  or  red ; 

Star-like  aster,  and  gentian  blue, 
Like  the  season  iteelf,  was  dead  ! 


How  was  it,  my  lady  went  after  me, 

And  gathered  a  garland  so  fresh  and  fair  ? 

Why  had  I  eyes,  and  could  not  see  ? 
For  I  wandered  every  where. 


Oh !  't  is  no  wonder  —  her  foot  on  the  hill, 
The  touch  of  her  robe,  as  she  fluttered  by, 

Seemed  the  coming  of  Spring  to  shrub  and  nil. 
And  the  violet  opened  its  eye. 


Nor  is  it  strange  that  inanimate  things 
Should  believe  it  was  April  that  smiling  came. 

And  mistake  her  breath  for  the  new-bom  Springes, 
Since,  myself,  I  have  done  the  i 


For  oft  as  I  hear  her  step  in  the  hall, 
Or  her  merry  laugh  in  the  morning  air. 

Or  see  her  leap  over  the  mossy  wall, 
And  sweeten  the  wind  with  her  hair : 


Then,  spite  of  the  cold  north-wind  and  now, 
I  count  it  no  longer  a  winter's  day, 

Tliongh  the  &ithless  calendar  call  it  so, 
In  my  heart  I  am  sure  it  is  Mat. 


1850.]  Bunkum  Flag-Staff  and  Independent  Ecko. 


53 


Sl)e  Sunimm  Hog^^taff  anlr  Inlrtpenbtnt  (Sc\}0. 

9VwoTn>  TO  THs  TRniotPi.a«  or  "08:  txb  oovanTonoiv  ot  ths  itatb  ot  xbw'TOrk:  thb  voti»th 

or  JQZ.T  ;    2.IFX.  UBBATT,  X.XTXJUT17aa.  AAVKBTUXXXllTa.   AVO    A  BTAHSAJU)  COmKXJICT. 


JAMUABT     1,     1860. 


WA68TAFF,     Epitok. 


CIRKELATE! 


To  every  individooal  reader  of  the 
'  FLiAO-STirr'  we  wish  them  all  the  eom- 
plimcDts  of  the  season.  Eighteen-Fifty 
breaks  the  hack  of  another  centoory,  and 
while  we  have  hitherto  been  travelling  on 
rinng  ground,  recollect  that  we  are  now 
going  down  hill.  Lock  the  wheels ;  do  n't 
go  too  fiist  with  your  revolutions,  or  else 
yon  'D  run  off  the  bank.  Lewis  Flip 
stays  where  he  is,  but  the  Poop  of  Rome 
is  going  back  to  the  Vacuum  as  soon  as 
they  can  get  the  house  whitewashed.  He 
is  only  the  Ninth  Pious  Poop  they  have 
had  to  Rome :  appears  to  us  a  small  num- 
ber out  of  so  many.  We  wish  him  a 
merry  Christmas.  The  *  Flag-Staff' 
entertains  not  the  least  unfriendly  feeling 
to  Pious.  He  has  got  a  good  name,  and 
we  hope  a  good  natur\ 

Since  our  last  happy  new-year,  General 
Zacra&t  Tatlok  hsm  been  elected  Presi- 
dent of  the  Uniten'd  Stcts.  He  fought 
onr  battles,  and  we  put  him  in.  We  have 
one  fimH  to  find  wi^  him  and  his  cabbin- 
net — that  we  have  not  yet  received  that 
inspektreship  of  ashes.  It  appears  to  us 
that  it  was  a  very  small  modtdum  for 
what  we  done  for  him,  and  we  will  not 
say  that  we  will  uphold  the  leading  mea- 
sures of  his  administration  if  it  is  to  be 
withheld ;  we  could  not  in  justice  do  it. 
To  him  and  all  our  fellow  men  we  have 
the  best  feelinks.  Oh,  that  they  would 
tiiow  a  little  corresponding  feeling  for  us  ! 
neow,  whOe  it  is  to-day.  All  turkies, 
geas,  chickens,  sassages,  souse,  spare-ribs, 
chine,  hed-cheas,  and  other  things  of  that 
Datar,  will  reach  us  at  this  orifice. 


t^  ^  Do  your  best,  and  then  you  will 
be  prepared  for  the  worst,'  said  that  cor- 
roseatkm  of  genns,  Geokob  Washinoton 
SwTH.  What  truth  and  poetry  combined 
ii  oQQtained  in  that  aenteiiahiis  sentens ! 


The  *  Chronicle^  man  is  ashamed  of  his 
*No  Principal'  theory.     We  suspek  we 
have  galled  him  pretty  essentially  on  that 
p'int,  cansin'  him  to  twist  and  squirm  in 
a  sundry  variety  of  ways.    He  now  an- 
nounces that  he  will  go  for  *  the  prindpals 
of  Number  One,  and  nothink  else ;'  the 
most  bare&oed  oonfession  of  selfish  con- 
duck  we  pretty  near  ever  seen.    A  man 
who  goes  for  the  principals  of  Number 
One  and  nothink  c^  wfll  do  no  good  in 
this  world,  and  is  a  disgrace  to  the  press. 
He  wont  give  a  six-penoe  to  a  beggar ; 
he  won't  give  Mr.  Bilgrove  but  four  shil- 
lin's  for  killm'  his  hogs,  when  he  demands 
seventy-five  cents;   he  will  feed  himself 
up  with  ice-creams  and  every  think  nice, 
when  he  do  n't  care  three  shavings  for 
what  any  one  else  has.    In  short,  lie  is 
friendlier  to  hisself  than  to  any  of  his 
friends,  and  will  think  nothink  of  putting 
on  a  dean  shirt  on  his  own  back  on  a  holi- 
day, while  he  will  let  a  poor  man  wear 
s'iled  linen.    This  will  give  the  readers  of 
the  '  Flag-Staff'  a  little  idea  of  the  igno- 
minyus  conduck  of  going  for  the  principals 
of  Number  One  aad.  nothink  else.    Oh, 
fy!   fy!   brother  Chronide!      How  can 
yon  hang  out  your  sign  on  the  owoner  of 
the  street  and  act  so  ?    He  also  aocusea  us 
of  stealin' his  spellin' ;  the  most  ridiculous 
chSarge  which  was  ever  thrust  down  the 
throat  of  the  public  with  the  ram-rod  of 
folly.     How  could  we  steal  his  spellin'  7 
It  b  the  most  poverty-stricken  speUin'  we 
pretty  near  ever  seen.    We  can  prove  an 
aUyhi  on  that  murder.    We  are  sure  there 
is  n't  a  rag  to  pick  on  that  bush.    Oh,  no ; 
we  would  n't  steal  your  spellin'  any  more'n 
we  would  your  readin',  and  thftt  is  nH 
wery  extensive.    He  'U  be  accnsin'  us  of 
stealin'  his  hand-writin'  next,  we  should  n't 
wonder ;  but  he  need  n't  alarm  hisself  on 
that  score;  for  we've  bin  told  in  confi- 
dence by  one  of  his  oompoBitora  who  came 


54: 


Bunkum  Flag-Staff  and  Independent  Echo.      [January, 


here  to  try  and  get  a  sitooation  onto  the 
<  Flag-Staff/  that  his  writin'  was  so  bad 
that  ho  had  been  worn  down  to  nothink 
but  skin  and  bone,  and  his  head  turned 
prematoorly  gray,  a-tryin  to  decifer  it : 
which  we  knowed  to  be  quite  true ;  for 
we  seen  him  often  before  he  went  to  work 
on  the  *"  Chronicle,'  and  a  fiitter  man  was  nH 
to  be  found  in  all  the  town. 

Another  thing :  he  has  wrote  some  po- 
etry in  his  lasLwhich  he  calls  by  the  name 
of  '  Fytte.'  '  We  hope  he  won't  *  give  us 
'  Fyttes' '  afiin.  Judgin'  from  the  meter, 
we  should  think  it  was  oonwulsion-fito  in- 
stead of  a  fit  of  inspiration.  We  do  hope 
our  feller-citizens  will  not  let  this  man  do 
&e  ♦4JVTiig  for  Bunkum.  He  lun't  qua- 
lifiei  

It  aflRirds  us  the  most  un- 
feigned disappointment  and 
regret  to  inform  our  readers 
that  our  wife,  Mrs.  Wag- 
staff,  has  absconded.  We 
have  done  every  think  to 
Hhumor  this  woman  for  a 
great  many  years  or  more,  and  all  of  it  of 
no  use't.  On  Thursday  last  she  seized  her 
bonnet  and  new  shawl,  for  which  we  only 
recently  paid  ten  doUart,  and  said  she 
was  a-goin',  and  ran  out  frantik,  we  calling 
her  back.  Seeing  she  did  not  come,  we 
ran  after  her,  fint  down  Elm-street,  so 
into  Main,  then  she  steered  for  Terraxi- 
cum,  (by  which  time  a  crowd  got  collected, 
we  shouting  at  the  top  of  our  voice,)  so 
on  to  William's  and  Bunkum-Square. 
Our  warm  friend  Alderman  Binklbt 
here  assisted  us,  ,(she  being  a  cousin  of 
his,)  shouting  out  with  stentorian  lungs : 
*0,  Mrs.  Waobtaff!  Mrs.  WagbtaffI 
Mrs.  Waobtaff!'  till,  seeing  that  she 
turned  a  deaf  ear,  he  sot  down  on  the 
coal-box  on  the  stoop  of  Mr.  Smith's 
store,  and  wept  like  a  child.  Mr.  Bios- 
let  was  also  very  kind,  and  tried  to  head 
her  off  in  Terraxicum-street  The  last 
glimpse  which  we  got  of  our  wife's  calico 
was  a  hundred  yards  from  our  own  door. 
Let  her  abscond.  We  cannot  help  it. 
We  will  find  bread  for  our  twelve  children 
if  our  advertising-list  will  do  it.  The 
'  Flag-Staff'  will  be  contlnuons  as  usual. 
We  married  Mrs.  Wagstaff  on  a  rainy 
Friday  mornin'  in  18  hundred  and  18,  and 
was  soon  unhappy.  She  would  never  let 
us  be  a  night  out  of  the  house,  nor  let  us 
enjoy  the  company  of  a  friend.  If  we 
wanted  to  take  a  glass  of  wino  with  a 
friend,  she  sot  opposite  and  looked  daggers 
at  us,  so  as  our  friend  would  n't  come  ag'in. 


We  expostulated  with  her.  We  remon- 
strated. We  said:  'Don't  doit!'  We 
said :  '  Madam,  there  '•  money  for  your 
shawls.  Do  n't  be  always  a-makin'  us  go 
in  the  track ;  do  n't  always  be  a-usin'  the 
break  and  pnttin'  the  noiteh  on!'  A 
spdl  ago  we  even  took  her  to  the  ibauy^ 
ter.  We  done  every  think  for  her.  Now 
we  mean  to  get  a  divorce. 

N.  B. — Subscriptions  fot  the  'Flag- 
Staff'  received  at  this  orifice.  No  deto 
paid  of  her  contracting. 


t^  As  appropo  of  the  above,  we  as 
journalists  have  idso  to  record,  that  Mr. 
Jbeothnail  Podb  has  absconds ;  hut  not 
with  Hire.  Wagetqff !  A  year  ago  an 
unfortunate  speculation  in  shingles  brought 
him  to  the  verge  of  absquatuktion.  But 
there  am't  where  Jbeothnail  missed  it ; 
we  think  it  was  in  believing  what  Isaac 
Pond  told  him  a^ut  patent  suspenders. 
These  articles  altogether  fell  short  <^  what 
was  confidently  expected  of  them.  They 
did  not  hitch  so  high  as  to  realize  what 
was  presumed  they  would,  and  the  steel 

rng  took  up  so  much  ile  as  to  eat  up  all 
profits,  and  not  much  of  a  meid  at 
that.  There 's  where  the  great  error  in 
calkelation  lay ;  for  though  they  would 
hoist  a  man  <m  the  ground  like  hoss- 
power,  yet  when  you  came  to  put  in  the  ile 
the  account  would  n't  come  out  square. 
How  many  very  ingenus  creaturs  get  run 
aground  in  this  way !  They  can 't  seem 
to  look  up  the  street  and  round  the  comer 
at  the  same  time.  They  make  wheels  to 
go  by  wind  J  but  they  stand  stock  still  when 
you  come  to  put  them  in  water.  You 
nave  got  to  look  at  aU  parte  if  you  want 
to  maiko  any  executive  work  go  slick. 
Why  did  n't  Jerothnail  think  of  the  ile  ? 
We  have  always  sot  a  good  deal  of  store 
by  him,  both  as  a  store-keeper  and  a  man. 
Howsever,  perhaps  he  haa  n^t  absconded. 
He  may  have  gone  to  see  his  uncle  Zeeub- 
BABEL,  up  at  Jericho  South,  and  be  back  on 
Monday  morning.  We  await  the  issoo  in 
suspense.   It 's  a  strange  world  we  live  in ! 


C^  We  been  tarred  and  feathered  since 
our  last,  owing  to  some  altercation  with  an 
individooal,  (not  McGoobblbt.)  Altoge- 
ther it  was  an  outrageous  business,  and 
will  undergo  a  legal  investigation.  The 
feathers,  winch  are  of  a  good  quality,  and 
aperiently  fresh  picked  from  a  goos,  are 
for  sale  at  this  ofiis. 


1850.] 


Bunkum  Flag-Staff  and  UndependeKt  Echo. 


55 


We  faavo  had  a  most  extrornerv  ieason. 
Never  before  have  we  knowed  the  lips  of 
I>eo»i]ber  to  kiw  the  cheek  of  a  rose.  As 
we  nw  these  Boreas  blasters,  which  are 
nothfaik  more  than  a  Zephyr  grown  old, 
sftiackin'  away  at  the  red,  red,  fragrant, 
fii]l-bk>«m  cheeks  of  Miss  Damask,  we 
ioid  to  them, '  Kiss  and  take  your  leaves  ! 
We  win  record  it  in  '  FLAO-STAfF ;'  upon 
honor  we  will ! 

Wb  want  to  warn  our  friends  from  the 
ked'ntry  to  keep  their  eyes  wide  oping  and 
their  hands  in  tiieir  pockets  when  they  go 
to  'Tork.  It  is  one  of  the  wickedest  spots 
m  the  XJniten'd  Stets.  The  followen  suck- 
umstans  occurred:  A  friend  of  ours,  a 
constant  subscriber  of  the  *  Flag-Staff,' 
Mr.  Solomon  Bagslet,  of  Bunkum,  was 
in  the  Fulton  Market,  selling  cabbages  and 
buying  a  piece  of  com-becf.  A  quite  a 
wo-begone  individooal  comes  up  to  him, 
and  offers  to  sell  him  a  big  silver  watch. 
Twenty  dollars  he  asked,  and  he  would  by 
no  means  take  that,  but  he  was  wery  dis- 
trcst  for  pecunary  means.  *  Oh,  no,'  Mr. 
Bagslet  said ;  ^  he  could  not  give  it ;  he 
wanted  the  money,  and  he  did  n't  want 
the  watch.'  '  Would  he  then  come  into 
the  IbDowin'  arrangement :  to  let  him  have 
only  five  dollars,  and  take  the  watch  ?  It 
war  n't  perobable  ho  should  call  for  it ; 
ony  it  was  an  ole  &mmely  time-piece,  and 
to  let  him  redeem  it  (or  ten  dollars  at  some 
fiitur'  time  7'  *  Oh !  wal,  why,  yes !  Mr. 
Bagslet  did  n't  keer  if  ho  did  do  that.' 
'  Tou  11  find  there 's  no  mistake  about  its 
goin*  -"  says  the  watch-seller ;  *  I  '11  set  it 
a-goin'  for  you ;'  and  with  that  he  gi'n  it 
a  wrench  or  two,  and  commenced  a-'rap- 
pin'  it  aO  round  with  bits  o'  newspaper. 
Mr.  Bagslet  gi'n  him  the  mopey,  and  he 
left  the  field  of  action.  \  wunnerful 
chubby-cheek'd,  red-fiioo  sort 'of  a  young 
butcher  kept  lookin^  knowin'  and  grinnin', 
and  last  he  hollered  right  out.  Says  he  : 
*  Ixx^  a-here,  my  friend,'  says  he,  *•  look 
a-here :  what  11  you  bet  you  have  n't  got 
a  9tun  V  This  kind  of  nettled  Mr.  Bags- 
let,  who  takes  the  '  Flag-Staff'  punc- 
tual, and  he  swore  some,  (he  done  wrong 
to  swear,)  and  *  What  do  you  mean  V  says 
he.  *  Why,  you  've  a  stum  friend,  'rap- 
ped up  in  them  papers.'  '  'T  ain't  so,'  says 
Bagslet,  quite  sharp.  '  What  11  you  bet 
it  aint%  respected  aud  dear  Sir  ?'  *  I  '11 
bet  you  five  dollars !'  says  Bagslet,  his 
spunk  getting  on  top  of  lus  prudence,  and 
keepin'  it  down.  *  Done !'  said  the  young 
man  ;  *  plank  the  tin !'  Our  friend  done 
BO  •,  he  then  commenced  un'rappin'  it,  and 


took  off  the '  Courier  and  Enquirer'  news- 
paper, then  'The  Express,'  then  *The 
Herld,'  then  '  Momin'  Star,'  and  lo  and 
behold  nothink  but  a  small  round  cobble- 
stone !  We  suppose  there  was  a  haw-haw 
unequal'd  in  tiie  whole  history  of  haw- 
haws.  The  wery  dead  bulls'  eyes  seemed 
to  stare  right  out  of  their  sockets,  and  the 
cleavered  beef  to  gape  open  wider.  One 
ole  fish-woman  put  her  hands  right  onto 
her  waist,  sot  down  on  her  stool,  and  cried, 
she  did.  So  the  jolly  young  butcher  put 
his  five-dollar  bill  into  his  pocket,  and  Mr. 
Bagslet  threw  the  stun  away  and  walked 
off.  But  oh !  when  his  toi/le  found  it  out  I 
Oh!  oh!  

The  Session  of  Congress  has  com- 
mence, and  we  are  now  going  to  throw 
out  some  remarks  for  their  good.  We 
sec  they  can  't  get  no  Speaker  as  yet. 
Bime-by,  we  're  afeered,  there  will  be  too 
many  Speakers.  That  ain't  all :  they  HI 
apeak  too  much!  They  usually  spend 
the  fust  part  of  the  session  in  ballotting, 
and  the  middle  in  doing  nothing,  and  the 
latter  eend,  when  the  business  ought  to 
taper  off  gradual,  and  come  to  the  sharp 
p'int  of  an  accomplished  good,  which  will 
puncturate  into  all  time,  they  get  the  busi- 
ness all  huddled  up  like  a  drove  of  sheep 
in  a  comer,  and  nothing  to  do  but  to 
scratch  and  hurry  and  sweep  together  the 
bills  and  papers,  the  most  of  which  they 
chuck  under  tft  table.  While  the  mem- 
ber from  Bunkum  is  windicating  himself 
against  the  aspersions  of  the  member  from 
Tinnecum,  and  like  enough  go  right  up 
and  slap  him  in  the  fiice  betbre  the  hull 
house,  Uiere  our  uncle  John  R.  Bohe- 
MnsEs  claim  for  spoliations  on  his  land  and 
robbin'  his  cattel  in  the  last  war,  written 
out  in  a  clear  hand,  lies  onto  its  back  in  a 
more  eloquent  silence  than  all  their  spoilt- 
ings,  by  for.  I  have  told  my  uncle  JimN 
for  the  last  ten  years  that  he  'U  get  nothin' ; 
not  one  Sue  Markee.  Representatifs  of 
the  people,  slappin'  you  onto  the  back^  we 
say  to  you  firmly,  yet  with  apparent  kmd- 
nesB,  *  Alter  your  tictaos  in  this  matter. 
Tou  are  now  all  assembled.  Pick  out 
your  boardin'-housen,  unpack  your  trunks, 
hire  your  washerwoman,  get  your  desks 
arrange^  smooth  down  the  paper,  don't 
read  newspapers  or  write  letters,  but  mind 
your  business,  for  whfeh  you  get  eight 
dollars  by  the  diem ;  too  much  by  half  for 
any  think  you  do  and  for  the  way  you  do 
it.  '  We  do  n't  want  to  hiirry  you  too 
much.  Bury  your  colleagues  decently  ; 
they  ain't  any  of  'em  dead  yet,  but  they 


56 


Bunkum  Flag-Siaff'  and  Independent  Echo.     [January, 


always  do  die.  They  come  from  fever  dis- 
trilcB  half  sick  with  swamp  air  and  election 
excitements,  go  right  into  eating  custards 
and  ice-creams  they  never  been  used  to, 
and  by  the  time  Uicy  get  ready  a  long 
speech  and  ammunition  to  ram  down 
some  where  or  other  into  the  barrel  of 
the  time  of  the  house,  get  knocked  over 
with  the  bilious  dysentary,  take  sick  and 
died.  We  do  n*t  want  to  speak  lightly  of 
this  matter.  It  is  a  solemn  and  awfiif 
truth.  Be  respekful.  Wear  your  crape. 
Praise  them  up  in  a  tolerabul  size  speech 
if  they  deserve  it,  and  if  they  do  nH  it 
ain't  much  matter.  These  things  are  a 
mere  matter  of  course.  They  are  your 
feller  men,  and  as  they  cannot  any  more 
speak  a  good  word  for  themselves,  and 
nobody  to  think  of  'em  again  e?ccept  a 
widow  cryin'  her  eyes  out  thousands  of 
milds  off  in  Texas  or  California,  and  we 
dono  but  what  we  may  say,  putty  soon,  in 
Canady  or  Kooby ;  and  as  it  is  the  last 
time  that  many  of  them  will  bo  again 
thought  of  on  airth,  it  is  proper  and  chari- 
table, and  we  dono  but  what  it 's  right, 
to  pile  up  the  laudations  to  a  pretty  con- 
siderabul  pMnt  of  haighth.  Well,  after 
you  have  got  your  cheers  and  sot  down, 
the  fust  thing  is  the  PREsinENT's  Message. 
We  have  great  hopes  of  that  dockyment. 
For  onceH  in  the  history  of  the  ked'ntry 
we  want  that  it  should  be  short ;  and  if  it 
only  comes  any  thing  like  up  to  those 
Palo  Altjr  and  Resacc^i^de  Palmy  and 
Benny  Visty  despatches,  it  will  be  the  best 
and  at  the  same  time  the  greatest  paper 
that  was  ever  spread  before  the  session  of 
Congress.  The  Greneral  showed  his  good 
sense  in  war. 

If  he  only  called  for  a  little  more  grape 
on  the  white  boss,  ho  is  n't  agoin'  to  deal 
in  long  verhattim  reports  in  the  White 
House.  He  never  was  wordy,  but  he  done 
a  good  deal.  And  it  was  bccase  he  said 
so  litUe  and  done  so  much  that  the  sovring 
people  heisted  him  right  onto  their  backs, 
and  with  one  chearge  at  the  mouth  of  the 
bagnet  pitched  him  right  into  the  sitooa- 
tion  where  he  b  now.  If  he  had-a  only 
said  a  leetle  more,  you  would  n't-a  found 
the  General  where  he  is.  This  is  j  ist  what 
we're  comin'  to.  Follow  the  General. 
No  talkin'  in  the  ranks ;  wo  mean  to  say 
not  among  the  common  men.  When  the 
tame  comes,  as  General  Taylor's  men,  they 
may  put  in  their  wote,  and  it  will  tell  on 
the  good  of  the  ked'ntry.  No  difficul. 
The  powdec  and  shot,  and  wadding  and 
flash  of  miscellaneous  talk  won't  get  the 
ked'ntry  on  one  inch  in  advance  without 


the  bullets  of  common  sense.  For  Mke- 
cv's  sake!  do  n't  talk,  Members  of 
Congress ;  do  n't  talk  if  you  .have  n't  got 
anythink  to  say  I  And  then  do  n't  do  it 
if  you  do  n't  know  how  to  say  it.  Do  n't 
spread  a  pound  of  butter  over  an  inch  of 
bread,  and  very  likely  the  butter  not  good 
nother.  Come  to  the  p'int.  All  subjeks 
have  got  a  p'int,  which  is  the  littlest  thing 
on  airth,  except  the  soul  of  a  mean  man. 
That^s  a  cur'osity  that  Barnum  might 
make  his  fortin  out  of,  could  he  get  it  into 
his  museum.  He  's  done  it  already  out  of 
a  little  body  ;  but  could  he  only  get  a  leetel, 
Icetel  bit  of  a  soul,  and  put  it  into  a  bottle, 
he'd  make  more  out  of  it  tlian  twenty 
Swcedish  nightingales.  We'd  give  onk 
DOLLAR  plank  down  to  see  it  We  do  n't 
believe  you  could  see  it.  Ain't  it  queer  ? 
We  're  gittin'  off  the  p'int  ourselves.  To 
come  back :  Let  your  words  then  slide 
down  the  ncedle-lUce  shaft  to  the  p'int. 
Do  n't  make  a  pyramid  of  words  with  no 
p'int :  where  you  can  walk  on  the  top  of 
it,  and  nothing  in  it  but  gum  and  inoendary 
substances.  A  sensible  man  might  take 
any  of  your  long  speeches,  of  three  or  four 
columns,  and  the  ftist  thing  he  'd  do  would 
be  to  knock  the  preface  right  off.  Ton 
do  n't  want  no  preface.  The  nose  is  the 
preface  of  the  &ce.  See  how  short  it  is ! 
Ours  is  short  enough ;  and  the  longest  nose 
is  short,  compared  with  the  whole  body. 
Preface  in  books  is  exploded :  it  ought  to 
be  in  speeches.  The  next  thmg  would  be 
to  knock  off  that  part  where  you  go  to  ex- 
plain your  motives,  to  define  your  position. 
Your  motives  are  taken  for  granted  by  the 
ked'ntry  at  large,  and  your  position  won't 
be  any  better  by  defining  it.  We  '11  bet  a 
load  of  shingles  that,  by  ordinary  press- 
ing, twenty  of  your  long  sentences  conld 
be  got  into  one  short  one;  and  four 
columns,  by  judicious  whittlin',  bring  it 
down  to  one.  But  the  fact  is,  that  yoa 
want  to  send  home  to  your  constituents  a 
long  printed  speech,  while  the  members 
are  writm'  letters,  jist  as  if  the  valy  of 
your  speech  depended  on  the  length  of  it. 
The  member  f^om  Bunkum,  who  is  a  man 
of  more  than  ordinary  elegance  and  edica- 
tion,  was  fetched  up  to  say  things  in  a 
pithy  way,  will  bear  us  out  m  this  matter. 
He  knows  our  sentiments  very  well  on 
this  p'int.  We  are  willin'  to  bet  a  bunch 
of  shavins,  poor  as  we  are,  and  in  need  of 
kindlins,  that  what  he  does  say  will  be  to 
the  p'int,  and  so  come  home  to  the  hearts 
and  consciences  of  men,  that  they  may 
have  a  realixin'  sense  of  the  subjek  nuitter 
of  debate.    Oh !  that  our  feller  men  would 


1850.] 


BMnkum  Flag-8taffand  Independent  Echo. 


57 


take  this  matter  to  heart,  and  not  imagine 
that  the  floor  of  Congreas  is  a  stump,  with 
open  space  about  them,  where  they  may 
blow  away  like  five  hundred  bellowses 
without  fillin'  up  the  wackuunty  and  that 
the  time  of  the  House  is  eternity ,  and  big 
enough  tb  put  any  think  into  1 


NetD  SuilUatCotis, 


ISLB     or     WlOHT    QUAJLTSKLT.       BlIITH     AKD 

SmTHtox:  Bunkum.    BepubUeotion. 

Wb  are  afraid  that  some  of  the  quarter- 
lies are  getting  rather  seedy.  They  been 
conduct^  jiow  in  one  strain  for  a  good 
many  years.  It  'a  high  time  some  new 
featurs  was  grafted  into  ^em.  Society  and 
manners,  and  feelings  and  ways  of  doing 
things  are  shifting  the  whole  blessed  time, 
just  as  the  Sun  keeps  changing  his  posi- 
tion, making  the  lights  and  shades  dif- 
ferent all  the  time,  ^ow  the  tree  is  fore- 
shortened, like  a  boy  when  he 's  a  goin' 
to  leap,  and  then  again  it 's  plastered  way 
out  on  the  ground  a  half  a  mild.  One 
season  makes  apple-blossoms,  and  another 
as  good  Newtown  pippins  as  you  pretty 
near  efer  tasted.  Well,, when  it 's  sum- 
mer we  put  on  nankeen ;  in  winter  woolen. 
When  it 's  CIiarles  the  First's  reign  we 
wear  loose  waist-coats  and  ruffles,  and 
■mall  clothes  and  sword-canes,  and  dress 
like  gentlemen ;  but  when  it 's  Victoria's 
and  Greneral  Zackary  Taylor's  reign,  we 
haye  other  things  to  attend  to,  and  don't 
dress  like  gentlemen.  Hence  we  view 
that  newspapers  begin  with  a  prospectus ; 
and  when  they  follow  after  it  for  about  ten 
years,  fixed  and  stationary,  the  whole  sub- 
stratum of  approbation  draws  away  from 
them,  and  leaves  them  as  dead  as  herrings. 
Just  so  it  is  with  what  they  call  the  legiti- 
mate dramy.  They  will  write  their  inter- 
minable blank  verse,  to  make  the  carak- 
ters  talk  instead  of  act ;  to  make  the  plot 
a  wehide  for  the  talk^  instead  of  making 
the  talk  hurry  on  the  plot.  Hence  the 
spectators,  being  out  of  all  patience  because 
die  cakes  are  not  hurried  up,  go  and  pay 
half  a  dollar  for  a  bona-fidy  lectur,  when 
they  could  get  just  as  good  out  of  a  book 
for  nothing  any  day.  Subscribers  of  the 
Flag-Staff,  we  are  out  of  all  patience  ! 


^From  the  Plains.' — Jul  Van  Blar- 
cuM  has  just  come  in  from  Jamaica  Plains. 
Reports  ahoss  and  waggon  stuck  in  themnd. 


We  been  readm'  Mr.  Dickenses  *  Dom- 
BET,'  and  we  wish  he  could-a  seen  us  in  a 
little  obscure  corner  in  Ameriky,  &r  from 
cities,  way  back  in  the  ked'ntry,  at  two 
o'clock  at  night,  settin'  before  a  magnifi- 
cent hickory-fire,  by  turns  put  in  an  eyes- 
ter,  (a  superb  eyester ;  none  of  your  cop- 
perus  English  eyesters,)  puttin'  a  little  but- 
ter onto  it,  and  a  little  red  pepper,  and  eat 
it  up,  and  then  to  Dombet  ;'  read  a  page 
all  about  Susan  Nipper,  and  then  an  eyes- 
ter, and  so  on.  Most  novelists  take  a  few 
robbers,  a  few  gentlemen,  a  few  romantic 
geirls,  and  mix  'em  up ;  and  when  they 
write  another  novel  uiey  do  the  same. 
But  Dickens  has  dropped  a  line  into  the 
great  vortex  of  human  natur,  and  there 's 
no  end  of  the  fish  he  brings  up.  Slappin' 
him  onto  the  back,  we  say  to  him,  ^  You 
grow  better  instead  of  wus,  which  is  wiee 
werry  to  all  writers  of  the  day.'  There  is 
one  fignr  in  that  book  about  a  beautiful 
sceden,  two  affectionate  creaturs,  a  mother 
and  a  little  child,  clasp  in  the  embrace  of 
death,  and  the  cold-hearted  pa  lookin'  on ; 
and  the  memory  of  that  sceden  he  com- 
pares to  a  pictur  in  a  stream ;  there  were 
these  creaturs  so  lovingly  clasped,  while 
he,  the  cold-hearted,  stcmd  lookin'  on  from 
the  bank  above.  We  hain't  the  book  by 
us  at  this  moment,  and  are  afeered  we  do 
injustis ;  but  it  is  the  most  touching,  su- 
perb figur  that  has  ever  been  put  down 
into  a  book. 


First 

SSRISf, 


C     I.  Ought  it  to  be  done  ? 

<   n.  Ought  it  to  be  done  now? 

(  Hi.  Ought  I  be  the  one  to  do  it  ? 


C     I.  Ought  it  to  bo  said  7 
8«?M^  n.  Ought  it  to  be  said  now? 

'  (  in.  Ought  I  bo  the  one  to  say  it  ? 

Would  our  friends  put  these  few  things 
in  their  pipe  and  smoke  them  ? 
Very  respectfully, 

Ei>.  B.  7.  8.  AVS  I.  K 


19*  A  LUROE  sweet  Squash  have  been 
sent  to  us,  with  the  *  admiring  good-wishes 
of  a  fervent  friend ;'  and  though  we  want 
such  esculent  wegetables  for  the  use't  of 
our  family,  we  shall  forbear  to  cook  it, 
but  hang  it  up  into  our  orifice,  to  stlmi- 
latc  us  to  further  literary  efforts.  Thanks ! 
thanksl 


58 


Bunkum  FUtg-Staffand  Independent  Echo.        [January, 


LIVELY    LBTTEE 
FROM  MISS  MARY   ANN  DELIGHTFUL. 

It  gives  ub  extreme  pleasure  to  record 
in  the  columns  of  the  Flag-StafT  this  new 
proof  from  this  ingenious  and  gifted  young 
lady,  who  bids  fiur  to  take  her  highest  rank 
among  the  authoresses  of  our  land.  We 
say  to  her,  *  My  dear,  you  are  welcome  to 
our  columns.  We  will  teot  you  out.  Send 
us  all  your  day  dreams  and  embroidery.' 
We  can  assure  our  readers  of  a  rich  treat : 

Oh  I  Mt  Dear  Mr.  Editor  ! — We  have  been 
too  excited.  Our  acbool  has  been  thrown  into  a 
state  of  conAnlon,  which  can  be  better  imagined 
thandeecribed.  TliinkofaUtheinlc-etaiidsnpset, 
all  the  copy-books  torn  into  (hiffments,  all  the 
French  exerclaea  forgotten;  while  poor  Eliza 
Jarb  Bkv ax  has  actuallT  gone  into  hysterrick  fits. 
Hkkkbrt  Clay — yes,HBNNKRT  Clat,  the  dis- 
tingnisbed  atateemani  patriot  of  the  Senate,  riaited 
our  school  to-day.  Was  nH  it  t«o  much  for  us  poor 
excitable  creatoree !  We  had  expected  the  visit. 
BfisB  BiLLiNcoo  had  given  strict  orders  to  pat  the 
school  in  order.  The  north  room  was  fitted  op 
with -an  the  delicate  taste  which  you  must  give 
w  girls  credit  for.  Your  correspondent^  your 
fabmble  servant^  one  Miss  Mary  Ann  Delioht- 
rvL^s  needle-wort  consisting  of  a  pet  lamb  and 
ahepherd,  in  handsome  fhune,  graced  the  ftirther 
end.  Eliza  Jane  Bevax,  the  fainting  girl,  (poor 
fo<4i8h  thing,  to  fUnt  Just  at  that  moment,  which 
was  the  most  interesting  in  her  life;)  Jane  Be- 
VAXES  painting  of  ^  Robbing  a  Bird^s  Nest,*  in  gilt 
frame,  stood  next ;  then  a  variety  of  things,  or- 
rerys,  musical  instruments,  geranium  ana  rose- 
bushes ;  while  Just  over  the  door  of  entrance  was 
an  arch,  enterwlned  with  flowers,  written  oa  it,  in 
elegant  gilt  letters,  *  Welcome,  Hennery  Clay.* 
It  was  a  thrilling,  never-to-be-forgotten  moment : 
Oh !  it  was  indeed  too  much  for  nen-es  constituted 
like  mine,  when  the  great  man  entered,  and  look- 
ed smilinglv  around  on  us  girls !  He  then  com- 
plimented the  school-room,  in  tones  as  musical  as 
If  they  came  out  of  a  silver  trumpet;  but  when 
he  turned  round,  with  his  unwonted  felicity,  to 
our  dear  Miss  Bi^uncoo,  and  said,  *  Madam,  vour 
establishment  does  you  credit,'  we  burst  like  a 
flock  of  young  hunbs  right  over  our  rules  and 
regulations.  I  assure  you,  my  dear  Flag-Stafl;  we 
could  not  help  it.  The  strifb  was  vAo  should  get 
the  first  kisB,  Miss  Bneazy,  of  Bhaunectown,  has 
rather  the  longest  /fmfr«,  but  I  rather  think  one 
Mary  Ann  Deliobttul  outstripped  her  on  that 
occasion.  My  feellnfls  entirelv  overcame  me ;  I 
threw  my  arms  arouna  this  Fatner  of  his  Coimtiy  *s 
neck  and  kissed  his  lips ;  and  Oh !  nover-to-be-fbr- 
gotten  moment,  he  smacked  mine  again!— and 
again !  —  and  again  I  All  the  prettiest  girls  in  the 
room  went  up  and  hugged  him,  and  he  seemed  real- 
ly to  eqjoy  it  very  much,  as  what  man,  whose  heart 
was  not  made  of  the  nether  mile  stone  would  not  ? 
for  Oh  I  there  is  in  beauty  ft  thriU  which  the  lightr 
ning  cannot  equal  and  the  electric  fiuid  knows 
not  t  It  fires  the  soul  with  frenzy,  which  the  war- 
rior in  the  battle,  nerved  by  the  sounds  of  trumps 
and  martial  music,  and  the  dread  instruments  of 
war,  can  scared v  feel !  Dear  Miss  Billihcoo  has 
had  a  violent  sick  headache,  now  that  it  is  all 
over,  but  every  one  on  the  great  occasion  said  she 
acted  so  weU.  Only  one  untimely  occurrence  marred 
the  occasion :  Jane  Reynolds  was  up  in  her 
room  on  bread  and  water  for  drawing  the  Devil 
on  her  slate.  Reynolds  is  a  sad  girl.  8ho  has 
indeed  given  our  good  Miss  Billincoo  a  great ' 


deal  of  trouble,  she  is  such  a  witch.      

she  is  almost  too  much  for  her,  and  then  comes 
the  bread  and  water  system,  with  now  and  then  a 
straight  Jacket  and  boxed  ears,  as  Miss  Billincoo 
is  pretty  severe  when  she  *s  a  mind  to.  The  new 
dancing-master,  M.  Coulon,  is  a  frmny  little  man, 
and  sets  all  the  girls  a-lau^ng.  We  are  to  have 
an  assembly  next  week.  1  send  you  the  minutes 
of  our  *■  Associated  Rino  Dove  Society,'  with 
reference  to  the  reception  of  Hennery  Clay  : 

MINUTES. 

At  a  meeting  of  tiie  Associated  Ring  Doves, 
Miss  Mary  Ann  Deliobttvl  was  called  to  the 
CSiair,  and  Miss  Eliza  Jane  Bevax  appoinkKl 
Secretary.  The  Chairman  brieflv  stated  the  ab- 
ject of  the  meeting.    On  motion  it  was 

Reaelvedy  That  we  honor  the  great  Statesman 
as  well  for  his  devotion  to  the  country  as  the  sex ; 
We  mean  Hennery  Clay. 

Resolvedy  That  a  committee  of  tvdve  be  i^point- 
ed  on  kisses;  that  no  (me  sliall  hi!ig  him  annmd 
the  neck;  and  that  the  giHs  shall  go  up  for  the 
purpose  of  kissing  in  the  order  appointed  by  the 
Marshall,  the  same  as  when  General  Zagkary 
Taylor  visited  the  school. 

Resolved^  That  a  committee  be  appointed  to 
wait  on  Hennery  Clay,  to  request  him  to  kiss  the 
elder  Miss  Billincoo,  lest  she  should  feel  hurt 

The  meeting  a4)oumed. 

Eliza  Jane  Bbvax,  Seertiartf. 


On !  the  snfierin's  of  natur  —  of  suffer- 
in-  human  natur !  There  arc  aches  in  the 
stomao  and  pains  in  the  head;  gouts  in 
the  toe  and  the  growin'  in  of  the  nail ; 
tooth-ache  and  ear-ache ;  eruptions  on  the 
I  external  surface;  the  hair  falls  off;  the 
teeth  come  out ;  the  (ace  caves  in ;  in  fact, 
'  a  sea  of  troubles,  which  it  would  take  a 
ship  a  long  time  to  sail  through !  But  we 
have  much  to  be  thankful  for,  livin'  when 
we  do.  when  so  much  is  actooally  done  for 
I  the  relievement  of  the  specie.  We  have 
only  to  look  at  the  new  medicines  invented 
day  by  day  to  be  sure  on  that  p'int.  Wo 
particularly  call  the  attention  of  our  readers 
to  the  advertisement  of  ^  Coddle's  Medi- 
cated Apple-Saas,'  which  will  be  found 
in  another  column,  and  which  bids  £eur  to 
take  a  peculiarly  high  rank  among  medi- 
I  catcd  drugs.  It  is  not  costive,  being  only 
:  twenty-five  cenla  a  keg.  There  are  many 
I  description  of  pills  fitting  with  one  an- 
other for  the  mastery,  and  had  they  legs  to 
kick  with,  and  fingers  to  scrateh  with,  look 
out  for  blood  on  the  pavement.  But  they 
consist  of  nothin'  but  a  little  pot-belly 
without  a  neck,  head,  arms  or  legs.  To 
settle  these  great  disputations,  we  therefore 
propose  the  foUowin'  ingenus  method :  Take 
the  opposing  pill-boxes  to  the  summit  of  a 
tolerabul  size  hill,  gin  the  word,  start  even, 
unloose  'em,  set  the  little  fellers  agoin, 
and  whichever  works  fastest,  and  gets  to 
the  bottom  fust,  let  them  be  the  smartest 


1850.] 


Bmhim  Flag-Staff  and  Jndependemi  Echo. 


59 


pnifl !  WOl  cfta  friends  of  the  Graefen- 
berg  Company  agree  to  this  ?  But  what 
ahall  we  do  with  disputatioiu  powders  and 
mal  bEster-plastors  T    Wb  dono  ! 


OANOBBB   OF   A   FBIDAT    MOBNINO. 


Omb  Jabl  VouMOfSN  BARurr  Tomei, 
A  ■fmin  on  the  *  Isaak  Jorks,'    . 
Tb  BrameD  bound  with  paying-fltoDes, 
BaAiaedto  MU,aiid  gsTe  lerbsU* 
Upon  a  Friday  moniliig. 


VoM  BbucKt  the  mMler  of  the  bxlg, 
Bent  oat  to  take  hfan  In  ft  gig ; 
Bat  in  the  long-boftt,  with  the  pig, 
He  gptftway  that  tmt  dajr, 

Which  WBB  on  Friday  morning. 

VoH  ScmBAKsa,  Bakki  akd  CoicPAinr, 
Bceohnsd  the  trading  worid  should  see 
This  notion  was  a  wrong  idee, 
That  ships  should  wiu  with  all  their  fteigfat 
Upon  a  Friday  morning. 

TbOT  got  a  load  of  timber  cnt, 
And  on  the  wharf  they  had  it  put, 
Of  this  same  thing  to  midce  a  butt, 
That  witho^Ubil  a  ship  might  sail 
Upon  a  Friday  morning. 

The  keel  was  Urid,  the  mast  was  placed. 

The  brig  with  figure-head  was  graced. 

And  it  was  cut  and  carved  with  taste. 

And  all  was  ioiie,  even  as  ktS^vn, 

Upon  a  Friday  morning. 

At  last,  to  carry  out  the  game. 
When  she  was  christened  with  a  name, 
'Thb  FainAT,*  laughed  the  idea  to  shame, 
That  evn  luw  forever  stuck 
To  every  Friday  morning. 

Now  flrom  the  ways  all  painted  bright, 

While  crowds  admired  the  gallant  sight. 

And  dieers  expressed  their  loud  delight, 

With  all  her  crew  she  swiiUy  flew, 

Upon  a  Friday  morning. 

She  sailed  flrom  port  most  pleasantlv; 
The  owners  rubbed  their  hands  with  glee, 
And  prophesyed  that  she  would  be 
In  Liverpool,  to  shame  each  fool, 
Upon  a  FHday  morning. 

Alas!  she  ne'er  returned  againi 
Nor  tidings  came,  fbr  it  is  plain 
She  stmoK  a  rock  upon  the  main ; 
And  this  beflU,  the  seamen  tell. 
Upon  a  Friday  morning. 

Here  was  the  enror,  we  suspect. 
To  find  a  cause  for  each  effect, 
Or  else  the  alliance  to  reject : 

So  ships  go  down,  (but  why  they  dOr 

We  cant  interrogate  the  crew,) 
Upon  a  Friday  morning. 


fiUibettisements* 

RBOOBIMENDATIONS  OF  CAPTAIN  COD- 
DLE'S MEDICATED  APPLE«AAS!  SURE 
AND  SABTIN  REMEDY  FOR  THE  BUND 
PILES! 


PaOM  AK  OLn  LADT. 

<OiaY  to  thinkof  that  dear  oldcreatnrstandin* 
all  dav  on  the  sea-shore  without  no  hat,  at  his  time 
of  life,  thinking  what  he  could  do  for  the  good  of 
hisl^rmen!  May  a  kind  Pkovidbmck  (to  more 
nor  he  can  ask  or  think ;  cured  me  of  my  affco- 
tion:  before  that, couldent  goto  the  cellardoor, 
and  agood  appetite :  now  I  thankvou,  little  grand- 
child experience  also  much  beneitt ;  darter  H  allt 
Amn  say  she  has  not  been  so  well  in  a  twelf 
month.  Only  to  think  poor  old  crittur  wantin'  to 
do  somethin%  aiKi  nothin*  but  appds  to  work  onto : 
didanheoouki;  invented  his  Sals, and  dedicated 
it  to  the  Loan:  want  to  rob  him  of  his  property ; 
^uroos  drugs  aint  worth  a  pennywuth;  wain  and 
worse  than  in  wain ;  made  a  great  many  sick  near 
Geneva  college:  poor  okl  crittur  got  his  reward. 
Pleas  send  me  two  barls,  and  Mr.  WaATHKaar 

Ky  you:  Give  it  a  fair  trial;  tried  every  thing: 
nk's  Defanonicon,  HAavcY^s  Crokorinthikon, 
Applboatk*s  Bitters,  JoNasas  Terraxicum,  Pit- 
oaAVBs' PUula,  Lavender  Cumpotrnd,  Magnetic 
garters:  had  the  Turns  bad  as  ever;  did  nH  do 
no  good :  My  dear  friend,  the  Loan  reward  you 
and  make  your  Sate  abundantly  useftil  in  its  day 
and  generashun,  is  the  prayer  of  vours, 

«Faithftilly, 
'SARAH  BANKS.' 
*FoK  Captkn  GonDLX, 
« 0/  tJU  MedieaUd  JlppU-Sa&g.^ 


BAn  1  KNOWlf. 

*  My  DsAa  Sir  :  Had  I  known  of  your  remedy 
a  six  months  sooner  it  might  have  cured  up  a 
great  many  biles.  To  sit  down  was  impossible, 
and  to  come  upon  me  in  any  other  part,  would 
have  l>ome  it  like  a  Christian  and  a  man.  But 
Job  himself  lost  patience  when  they  attacked  him 
there.  I  done  all  I  could.  Your  Apple-Sate 
seemed  to  reach  down  to  the  root  of  the  aisiHtler, 
by  washing  out  the  blood  of  its  impurities,  (and 
so  to  speak)  soap^udding  it,  wringin*  it,  and  put- 


60 


Bunkum  Flag-Staff  and  Independent  Echo.       [January, 


ting  it  oat  to  dry,  onto  a  line.  After  eating  nearly 
a  Minrel  of  your  Baia,  t)ie  biles  began  to  mani- 
festly decline,  and  aeon  fheir  best  d^.  They  atr 
tended  each  others^  funerals  until  theywas  all  gone. 
After  which;  I  did  not  think  it  adwlBable  to  con- 
tinoe  the  SAtts,  but  should  undoabte<&y  in  case  of 
their  recurrence.  I  consider  your  discoreiy  to  be 
most  simple  and  useful  in  its  eflbcta  of  the  age, 
and  can  I  be  of  any  servioe  to  you,  vou  are  wel- 
come to  refer  to  my  case  Ibr  partiktors,  which 
graatode  woold  seem  to  indicate. 

« WASHINGTON  POTTS, 
*- corner  of  Elm-$Ut  Bwnkunu* 


OH  I  HOW  rATTBNINO! 

A  HioHLT  respectable  citizen  in  North  Bergen 
writes  us  in  the  words  following,  to  wit : 

'Oh I  how  flittening  your  8a«s  is!  It  riz  me 
completely  onto  my  legs  though  prostrated  by  a 
long  decline,  which  ray  ftionds  conHdently  pre- 
dicted would  be  the  last.  But  the  Lord  ordered 
it  otherwise,  when  by  the  merest  accident,  I  met 
with  your  advertisement  of  the  Sals.  After  three 
hogsheads  consumed,  it  began  to  work  benefici- 
oualy,  waktn'  up  the  liver  from  its  loi«  state  of 
torpor  in  which  it  had  been  dreaming,  and  not 
very  pleasant  dreams  either.  I  am  now  a  well 
man,  eat  my  salt  pork,  and  it  sets  well ;  drink  my 
brandy  and  the  stomak  takes  it  kind.  Shouki  I 
ever  be  Jeopardized  again,  rest  assured,  my  Dear 
Sir,  I  shall  never  flUl  to  apply  for  the  never  (kiling 
remedy,  for  your  Satts,  in  the  estimation  of  good 
J  udKea,'i8  beginning  to  take  its  stand  in  the  highest 
rank  of  medicated  drugs. 

JOHN  FORSINE. 


WHY  WD  TOU  HOT? 

*Wbt  did  you  not  inform  me  that  Captain 
CJODDLB  had  contrived  this  thing?  It  was  really 
cruel  of  you,  when  you  knew  I  have  been  a  suf- 
ferer, and  knew  that  the  remedy  touched  my  case. 
Had  yon  done  so,  instead  of  being  a  little  stimu- 
lated and  strengthened  around  the  girth.  I  might 
hare  been  walking  in  the  Northern  Libert!^ 
where  I  have  my  store.  Tell  the  Captain  he  has 
gone  and  done  a  thing  posterity  may  be  grateftil 
for,  and  wili  be  gratefhl  for,  if  posterity  shonU  be 
sick.  We  hope  they  wont  be  sick,  W  if  they 
«ikMcM  be  sick  let  them  apply  to  CoDDLB,  or  ahouM 
a  pott  mortem  be  heki  by  that  time,  to  Coddlb's 


YB8,  MT  DBARt 

A  LADT  has  received  the  enclosed  extract  of  a 
letter  (torn  her  husband :  *  Yes,  my  dear !  I  cant 
express  my  gratitude  when  I  tell  you  thoee  colic 
pains  are  all  gone,  obliterated,  swept  off  I  may 
say  with  a  broom.  I  no  longer  double  myself  up 
like  a  bow  knot,  or  like  a  flddler  keeping  time. 
My  love,  I  am  delighted.  TeU  the  Captain  in  aU 
his  voyaoes  he  never  steered  so  sma«  into  the 
haven  of  public  good.  Tell  him  to  imaffine  his 
hand  shoos.  I  k>ng  tosee  you ;  I  am  doin^  very 
well.  I  have  sold  fifty  crab-^ple  trees  in  this 
place,*  etc,  etc 

We  suppose  that  on  a  moderate  calculation 
fifty  reconmiends  like  the  above  might  be  easily 
ecmped  tooether.  Look  out  for  spurious  imita- 
tions. Ask  for  « Captain  Coddlk^s  Medicated 
Apple-Sals  with  his  picture  on  it,  a  sartih  rehb- 
DY  for  TBX  BUND  pifes,  and  piles  that  aint  blind. 
Curbs  costivbhbss,  good  for   thb   hbart- 

BDRN,  BBNBnciAL  IN  HTS,  BTRBMaTHBNS  ATPE- 
TITE,  PURiriBS  THB  BLOOD,  BETS  THB  LIVBR  AT 
WORK,    BRADICATBS     TATB-WORlfS,    SMOOTHES 


IMWN  PIMTLBS,  CURBS  BILBS,  DESTROYS  RIMO- 
WORKS  AND  ALL  OTHER  CREATURES,  NEVER  PRO- 
DUCES STRANGULATION,  ENRICHES  THB  MARROW, 
TESTIFIED  TO   BY    CLERGYMEN,   CHILDREN    CRY 

FOR  IT  I  oXyXy. 


COLORED  ADVERTISEMENT.— PROFES- 
SOR PLATO  CISCO,  a  colored  puwm  of 
respekability,  inspector  of  walls  and  white-waah- 
ing,  reepekably  infom^  de  public  his  white  feOaw 
citizens  and  abolisbnn  Slefy,  will  attend  to  orders 
in  line  of  his  profedmn  wid  careftilneas  and  de- 
spatch. Profesor  Cisco  being  weU  acquainted 
with  oarpet«hakii«  Uctacs,  soUdtsa  share  of  pat- 
ronage. His  son,  Jupiter  Ahmon,  will  open 
eysters  at  a  moment^s  warning,  attend  to  parttea, 
call  de  figures  and  play  de  vioUn. 

N.  B.  Jupiter  Ammon  blacks  as  good  a  boot 
as  any  colored  gem^man  in  Bunkum. 

FOR  SALE  at  this  Orifice  a  few  copies  in 
pamfalei  fomim,  of  Miss  Mary  Ann  Db- 
LioBTFUL*s  composition  on  Platonic  Love,  whidi 
obtained  the  prize  at  Miss  Billincoo's  Seminary 
for  Young  Ladies!  also,  in  the  same  forrum, 
Peck's  Great  Essay  on  Pribndship,  published  in 
Flagstaff    Orders  soUettedfttmi  the  trade. 


THE  subscriber  wishes  a  partner  to  go  with 
him  into  the  CEMETERY  BUSINESS.  This 
new  and  rising  trade  may  be  well  worth  the  atten- 
tion of  any  who  has  capital  to  in  west  The  popu- 
lation is  getting  so  great  that  it  becomes  a  matter 
of  Christian  duty  to  provide  (or  their  remidns,  lest 
they  become  a  nuisance.  The  object  of  the  sub- 
scriber is  to  lay  out  grounds,  plant  trees,  put  iq;> 
recelviiig^ombs,  and  to  do  evei7  thing  to  make 
death  as  desirable  as  possible,  (at  the  same  time 
to  do  a  living  trade)  and  to  provide  many  of  them 
when  dead  a  better  mausoleum  than  they  had  liv- 
ing. The  attention  of  Odd-Fellows,  Sons  of  Tem- 
perance, Daughters  of  Teinperance,  Independent 
Order  of  the  Rechabites,  FVee  Mason's  Lodges, 
and  society  in  general,  is  requested. 
wh.tnxt!  J.  SPATCH. 


SMITH   AND  SMTTHSON  wiU  publish  to- 
morrow, the  January  number  of  the  Ue  of 
Wight  Quarteriy  Review: 

CONTENTS.— NO.  CIIL 

Art.  L    THE  EVERLASTING  CORN-LAWS 
WITH  A  DISQUISITION  ON  THE 
APPUCABILITY  OF  SAW-DUST 
FOR  DOMESTIC  USES.    By  J.  W. 
Beanbrbd,F.  R.S. 
n.    THE  EVERLASTING  MALTHU8. 
lU.    1.  THE  SAJLT-LICK8  OF  KENTUC- 
KY, AND  STATISTICS  OF  SALT 
SPRINGS      IN    THE     UNITED 
STATES,  AND  AN   EXPLORA- 
TION  OP  THE   SOURCES   OP 
THE   SALT-RIVER,  WITH  AN 
ENQUIRY    INTO    ITS     FABU- 
LOUS OR  HEROIC  HISTORY. 

2,  THE  SALT-TRADE  ON  TURK'S 

ISLAND.    A  PAMPHLET.   Nas- 
sau, New-Providbncb. 

3.  ATTIC  SALT:  HOW  ESTIMATED 

BY  THE  ANaENTS :  An  Essay. 
IV.  MORAL  STRUCnjRES  IN  FRANCE, 
GREAT  BRITAIN  AND  THE  UNI- 
TED PROVINCES.  QUARTO  WITH 
PLATES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 
By  Charles  Frederick  St.Georgb 
Grigham,  a.  M.,  of  Brazen  Nosm 
Collbok,  Oxford. 


1850.] 


Bunkum  Flag-Staff  and  Independent  Echo. 


61 


VL 


vn. 


vra. 


2.  THE  RELATIVE  ENDURANCE  i 
OF  STONE-WALL  AND  CEDAR 
FENCE.  AN  ESSAY  DEIJVER- 
ED  BEFORE  THE  AGRlCtTL- 
TURAL  SOCIETY  OF  NORTH 
FORTBROOK.  Bt  Wm.  Cokksby. 

a.  DIE  8TONINCHE  FENCHER  UND 

BRIEKSCHER  WAUJSCHE  AUF 

DER     UNITEDEN    8TATE8EN, 

VON     DOBflNIE     8CHOONEN- 

MOEKER.  8to.  Wallbokt.  1847. 

4.  MORTAR:  AN  ESSAY  ON  THE 
BEST  KIND^WITH  THE  REPORT 
OF  THE  UNITED  MASONS  OF 
HANOVER. 

wooiaGRowino  and  wool- 
growers,  WITH  AN  ENQUI- 
RY INTO  THE  FAILURE  OF 
THE  SPECULATION  IN  MERI- 
NO SHEEP. 
MAKATAJMESHEKLiKIAK,  OR 
BLACK-HAWK,  AND  SCENES 
IN  THE  WEST.  A  NATIONAL 
POEMIN  SIX  CANTOS.  By  El- 
be kt  H.  Smith. 
L  SHIPPING  OTATISTICS  OP  BAN- 
GOR WITH  THE  PROGRESS  OF 
THE  TIMBER  TRADE  IN  THE 
STATE  OF  MAINE,  NORTH- 
AMERICA. 
2.  CHIPS  FROM  THE  WORK-SHOP. 

By  ▲  Hard  Workimo-Mak. 
LATIN  GRAMMARS  AND  EXER- 
CISES PUBLISHED  FOR  THE 
LAST  TEN  YEAR8.WITH  A  CAN- 
DID ENQUIRY  OF  THE  QUES- 
TION, WHETHER  ANY  ONE  OF 
THEM  IS  A  WHIT  BETTER  THAN 
ADAMS*  LATIN  GRAMMAR. 


IF  THE  PERSON  WHO  TOOK  MY  UMBE- 
RELL  al  MiK  Porbovby's  party,  he  having 
ftOed  to  take  my  poetic  hint,  does  not  rotum  it 
tannediately,  be  inll  be  exposed,  a»hei$  known. 
Bunkum,  WILLIAM  PILK. 


THE  TAKER  OF  MR.  PILK'S  '  UMBERELL* 
(DmhereUt  hal  ha!)  preeenta  his  eompll. 
menta  to  Mr.  Pilk,  and  is  not  afraid  of  being 
^esEpoaed  as  be  is  known.'  He  is  lurt  known.  It 
was  taken  in  a  crowd,  put  away  Immediately  aAer 
the  party,  and  has  not  been  used  since.  Mt.Pilk 
HMY  therefore  consider  his  asKrtion  *a  He  nailed 
to  ue  connto'.*  It  Is  a  pi^  that  a  man  who  can 
write  such  good  yerse  as  Mr.  Pilk  should  deal  in 
nntmlhs;  but  It  is  a  consolation  to  the  eentleman 
who  look  the  ^umberelT  Qial  haH  and  who  was 
Ycry  much  in  need  of  it,  (ha!  ha!)  that  there  are 
/Mr»  in  the  worid  as  weO  as  thievet  I     INCOG. 


rriHE  BUNKUM  FLAG-STAFF  is  pubUsfaed 
X  erery  now  and  then  at  Bonkum,  and  also  at 
the  oflloe  of  the  Kricxbrbockbr  in  New- York. 
R  will  take  a  firm  stand  on  the  side  of  rirtoe  and 
morality.  It  has  received  the  most  marked  enco- 
Hiionis  from  the  press  and  from  individooals.  Oar 
brother  has  also  written  to  us  in  most  flatterln* 
fenna  of  our  Journal.  We  shall  endeavor  to  merit 
these  marks  of  favor,  and  it  alfords  us  the  most 
adequate  satSsfbcUon  to  inform  our  readers  that 
Ifias  Mary  Amc  Dbliohtful,  the  pleasant  wri- 
ter, who  Is  an  smiles  and  dimples,  is  bnoaobd  — 
not  to  be  married,  reader,  though  that  is  an  event 
no  doubt  to  take  place  —  but  is  engaged  to  frumish 
a  aeries  of  articles  for  this  paper.  Other  talent 
win  be  8Da|^)ed  up  as  it  occurs.  All  kinds  of  Job- 
work  ezacoted  with  neatness  and  despatch.  The 
Fine  Arts  and  Lttenture  (tally  diacuased.   There 


will  be  a  series  of  discriminating  articles  on  mu- 
sic, to  which  we  call  the  attention  of  amatoors. 
pRiNciPLKs  or  *NiNBTT-EioHT,  and  all  the  great 
measures  of  the  day,  as  well  as  aD  other  princi- 
ples, friUy  sustained ;  vice  uprooted  by  the  heels, 
and  cast  him  like  a  noxious  weed  away.  For 
farther  particulars  see  large  head : 

Thb  Bunkum  FLAo-&rArr 
Is  KDmo  BY  Mr.  Waostaft. 

Hones  and  cabs  to  let  by  the  editor.  Oldnews- 
papenlbr  sale  at  this  offls.  Wanted,  ax  AppRKif- 
■ncB.  He  must  be  bound  for  eight  years,  fokiaiyl 
carry  pqiers,  ride  post  once-t  a-week  to  Babvlon, 
Pcquog,  Jericho,  Old  Man's,  Mount  MIserv,  Hun- 
gry Harber,  Hetchabonnuck,  Coram,  Miller's 
Place,  Skunk's  Manor,  Fire  Island,  Mosquito 
Cove  and  Montauk  Point,  on  our  old  white  mare, 
and  must  find  and  blow  his  own  bom.  Run 
Away,  an  Indkntkd  Apprbntick,  named  John 
Johns,  scar  on  his  head,  one  ear  gone,  and  no 
debts  poid  of  his  contracting.  CaTifomia  gold, 
banks  at  par,  pistareens,  flippenny  bits,  and  Uni- 
ied'n  Statee'n  currency  in  general,  received  in 
kubecription.  Also,  store  pav,  potatoes,  co^^  rye, 
oats,  em,  beans,  pork,  grits,  ha^,  old  rope,  lambs'- 
wool,  shovels,  honey,  shorts,  dried  cod,  catnip,  oil, 
but'nut  bark,  paints,  glass,  putty,  hemp,  snako- 
root,  cord-wooo,  live  geese  feathere,  aaxafiuc,  dried 
apples,  bops,  new  cider,  axe-handles,  mill-stones, 
hemlock  gum,  bacon  and  hams,  ginshaag.root, 
vinegar,  punkins,  ellacompaine,  harness,  bops, 
ashes,  sil^pery-ellum  bark,  dams,  nails,  varnish, 
sheet4rQn,  sapeago  cheese,  old  iunk,  whisk- 
brooms,  manure,  and  all  other  proauoe,  taken  in 
exchange. 

fi3^  Those  who  don't  want  the  last  number  of 
the  Flao-Stapt  please  return  it  to  this  offlis,  post 
paid,  as  the  demand  for  that  number  very  great. 
A  patent  chum  and  washing-machine,  to  go  by 
dog-power,  are  left  here  for  inspexion. 

InT*  ^<*^  Sale,  a  One  Year  Old  HEircR ; 
Pair  or  Youno  Bullocks  in  Harness. 

17*  Wanted  to  Hire,  a  New  Milch  Far- 
RER  Cow ;  ffive  eight  quarts  of  milk  night  and 
morning ;  atoo,  to  cnange  milks  with  some  neigh- 
bor with  a  cheese-press  for  a  skim-milk  cheese 
ODce-taweek. 


Contents  ot  tf^e  Scrsent  Numbtt* 


Aet.L 
IL 

HI. 

IV. 
V. 

VI. 

VIL 

vm. 


DL 


X. 

XL 


xn. 

XIIL 


XIV. 


XV. 
XVI. 

xvn. 

XVIIL 
XIX. 
XX. 


salutatory. 

solemn  truth. 

the  'chronicle*  man. 

abscondment  of  our  wife. 

jerothnail  pode,  dnto. 

editor  tar  an*  feathered. 

extrornery  season.         ^ 

imposition  on  soix)mon  bags- 
LEY,  ESQ.,  OF  BUNKUM,  IN  FUL- 
TON MARKET. 

ADVICE  TO  THE  NEW  CONGRESS: 
LONG  SPEECHES. 

ISLE  OF  WIGHT  QUARTERLY. 

MR.  DICKENS  ENDORSED  BY  THE 
FLAG-STAFF. 

MAXUMS:  EDITORIAL  PRESENT. 

LIVELY  LETTER  FROM  MISS 
MARY  ANN  DEUGHTFUL:  HEN- 
NERY CLAY. 

MINUTES  OF  THE  MEETING  OF 
SOCIETY  OF  ASSOCIATED  RING- 
DOVES. 

HORSE-RACE  BETWEEN  RIVAL 
PILLS. 

POTTERY:  FRIDAY  MORNING. 

THE  CONFIDENCE  MAN. 

ADVERTISEMENTS. 

PROSPECTUS. 

TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


62  Byrm'i  FareweU. 


MUmfy  D9C  8,  IMS. 


BTROH'8       PAHBWELL. 


»T   W.   S.   O.  HOSMXJk 


Swsrr  If  ART  1 1  have  looked  again 

Upon  thy  ^j^wi^ing  flwef 
Andonly  old  tbe  wreck  remain 

Of  former  bloom  and  grace ; 
A  fearAil  bligbt  wm  on  the  rose 

That  once  thy  beauty  wore ; 
Pole  token  that  within  had  froxo 

Joy*A  fbnnt,  to  flow  no  vaxxce, 

Tbe  babe  that  nestled  In  mine  arms  • 

And  sported  on  my  knee, 
Inherited  those  matcmesB  charms 

Onoe  prized  so  much  In  thee: 
And  boyhood,  with  tbe  sonny  ness, 

lliat  bounded  throogh  the  door, 
Woke  a  drear  sense  of  kmelinees, 

A  thought  that  all  was  o^er. 

Whyamlsad?   The  light  is  gone 

That  cheered  my  darkened  way ; 
The  star,  when  ni^t  wss  coming  oOf 

That  tamed  my  gloom  to  day: 
We  parted,  and  no  tear  was  shed, 

For  Lore's  wild  dream  wss  o'er ; 
I  think  of  thee  as  of  the  dead; 

Lost,  lost  for  eyer  morel 

My  Bool  retains  thine  image  yet, 

Though  bliss  is  in  the  grave; 
As  splendor  lUls,  when  the  sun  is  set, 

On  purpling  wood  and  ware ; 
For  perished  Joy  I  will  not  weep» 

AflbcUon  cmsned  deplore, 
Though  memory  in  mourning  deep 

ts  dad  for  evermore. 

Thine  was  a  witchery  of  mian 

Tliat  (bund  its  type  in  channs 
By  the  painter  drawn  of  Love's  own  queen 

Springing  from  Ocean's  Sims ; 
And  svren  music,  thai  ensnared 

Fyail  berks,  though  tax  from  shore, 
Wss  diteardy  to  the  voice  compared. 

Hut  I  must  bear  no  more. 


A  ikoe  of  pensive  sweetness  long 

Will  haunt  my  troubled  dreams. 
When  couched,  in  the  mystic  land  of  song, 

On  banks  of  golden  streams : 
I  gaied  on  thee  ss  Tasso  gated 

On  high-born  Lkoxoe, 
And  like  the  bard,  by  pnsion  crazed, 

Must  hope  for  peace  no  more. 

MysaU  is  flapping  in  the  bay, 

The  breakers  foam  and  roll. 
And  airy  voices  shout  *  Away  I 

Away  I  poor  troubled  soul! 
Hie  wine^up  cannot  waken  mirth. 

An  Eden  lost  depkm ; 
Away,  away  t  on  EngUsh  earth 

Thy  iiwt  must  tread  no  morel* 


LITERARY     NOTICES 


8cc«B«  n  T1R  Olv  Woeld  :  on  Scnrxs  and  Crncs  in  Forbtgii  LAin>i.    By  William  FuRNyis. 
Aeeompailed  wtth  a  Map  and  lUastrstions.    In  one  Tolumo.   pp.  290.    New-York :  D.  ArFLiToa 

Am  GOKPAHT. 

A  coEKB8FONi>E]fT,  himself  a  fellow^traTener  with  the  author  over  Bereral  of  the 
Goontries  detoribed  in  the  aboTe-entitled  volmne,  and  weQ  qualified  to  speak  of  the 
futfafnhieaB,  etc.,  of  its  descriptions,  sends  ns  the  foUowbg  running  commentary  upon 
the  work : 

*  Wb  fhaDk  our  fSBllow-towiismaa  for  ghring  ns  a  pleasant  and  roadable  book.  TVnIy,  if  any  one 
tfkoaU  wUh  to  eesay  the  climax  of  thedliDealtiesoraathor-fikill,letbini  now  undertake  to  please  tbe 
geneffal  reader  by  another*  Book  of  TraTels  in  Europe.*  Erery  man  travels  with  his  own  pack ;  that 
to  to  Bsy,  the  ehanse  of  dime  will  only  ftimiah  new  and  more  oxt^iBiTe  Adds  for  the  ezerdse  of  the 
educated  power  of  each  man'b  fiicnltieB.  Some  go  to  Europe  for  the  mere  object  q>parently  of  find- 
lag  fhoH,  and  seekiiig  occasions  for  iUrhamor  with  every  thing;  some  go  for  the  ateadfast  pursuit  of 
enttad  studies  in  those  spheres  to  which  the  test  of  the  world  has  no  equal;  flomo  for  mere  material . 
eqlOTmenft ;  and  some,  like  our  author,  with  head  and  heart  open  and  attentive  to  every  impresdoii 
of  the  good  and  the  beanliAil.  He  tolls  his  story  well;  and  the  personal  inddents  thrown  in  make 
his  lewler  to  boeome  unconsciously  a  fBDow-wanderer  at  his  side,  going  about  strange  countries, 
meetfag  with  odd,  outlandish  people  and  scenes,  laughing  at  their  follies  and  their  Jokes,  admiring 
every  thing  worthy,  never  ruffled,  but  keeping  the  even  tenor  of  bis  happy  entbnsissm  of  ei^oyment 
tfaroogh  an  nations  and  all  lands.  There  are  no  prosy  dea^ptions  of  the  old  lions,  no  dull  Joumal- 
tib^  details  of  particulars  not  worth  the  memory,  no  guUe-book  stuff  of  routes,  inns,  prices,  etc,  but 
combiDlng  the  pleasant  particulars  of  his  remembrance,  he  gives  us  a  life-like  picture  of  every  thing  on 
his  way.  After  a  pleassnt  sqioum  in  '•  Fadcrland,*  our  author  goes  over  the  Channel,  and  gives  us  a 
livety  and  truthAil  sketch  of  much  that  makoe  up  Parisian  happiness.  We  select  st  rondom  from 
the  book;  and  conscious  that  a  vast  proportion  of  the  comfort  of  existence  centres  in  a  good  dinnen 
let  us  flrsk  wsQc  with  the  author  to  Philippb's,  in  the  RucRiehdieu ;  Philippb,  the  Manarque  de  la 
Cuitku: 

**Fsw  who  are  given  to  sightrseeing  lUl  to  rest  the  day  with  a  dinner;  wfaidi  leads  one  to  speak 
of  the  restaonoits.  Epicures  grieve  for  those  days  when  princes  drove  to  the  *•  Roeker  de»  CamcaUaJ 
PnurpB,  in  our  experience,  has  supplied  its  tall,  and  equals  the  more  noted  and  dearer  of  the  Boule- 
vanlBjOC  the  Palais  BoysL  Beride,  one  does  not  wish  to  be  bored  by  EngUah,  but  seeks  the  resort  of 
quiet,  ftill-lbd  citizens,  who  have  made  the  reputation  of  this  voluptuous  resort  in  the  Rue  Mont- 
Marttv,  near  the  passage  Sattmon.    We  quote  only  the  rich  tastes  of  his  *  Sole  A  la  Noimsade' sad 


'  Sbupe  A  la  fflsque.'  No  restaurant  lifo  would  suit  that  man  whocounts  his  mouthAilsasheeaiS| 
andslglttas  if  each  foridtd  ripped  up  the  lining  of  his  pocket.  We  would  recommend  the  «Europe* 
lo  him,  where  he  can  get  d4^-steaks  and  horso^hops  for  twenty  sous.  A  glorious  sppellte  might 
ndn  such  a  youth,  and  make  bis  very  stomach  spendthrift.* 

^AainowletusstroUwithhimsfterdhmer:  •* 

*  *H«  is  cross  giafaed  by  insttoct  who  cannot  be  pleased  to  his  daily  walks  in  Paris.  Toursobriety 
must  be  checked  here,  rather  than  your  vices,  whero,  with  a  share  of  good-nature  and  humor  about 
jVB,  you  ftll  into  exceHsnt  keepta^  with  those  thouaand  poits  rinu  and  absurdities  which  honrty 
amoseyon.  Our  dail^hsblt  was  to  hire  a  chair  before  the  caft  of  the  TrolsFrdres,  where  we  picked 
up  many  little  fragmeots  of  Joy,  snd  used  to  tough  st  the  coquetry  of  the  garden  and  at  the  rosr  of 
oar  writ8r»wlKMe'*0ii'for  ooffee  made  the  reputation  of  that  little  glazed  shop  which  protrudes  Into 


64  Literary  Notices,  [January, 

the  court  before  the  foimtain.  The  correct  thing  is  to  take  your  clnr  at  another  cafi6,  or  aip  your 
mocha  on  the  *  Haliennes,'  while  some  one  of  your  acquaintantances  Ib  panlDg  along,  and  you  won- 
der *■  who  is  that  pretty  woman  on  his  arm  T  —  you  may  be  sure  she  is  only  his  cousin.  Or  for  norelty 
you  may  stroll  to  the  quarter  of  the  FAubourg  St.  Martin,  and  watch  the  ourriers  with  their  grisettea 
tripping  along  so  light,  with  their  frilled  caps  fluttering  in  the  wind.  There  are  no  grisettee  at  the 
court  end,  for  they  become  couTerted  into  lorettes  when  they  pass  the  chapel  where  they  worship.* 

<Our  author  goes  to  see  every  thing  else  there  is  in  the  stranger's  way,  and  tells  a  very  pleasant 
story  thereupon.  Our  limits  mustiM  economized  for  extracts  from  his  book  on  other  places.  8wit- 
zerhmd  is  thoroughly  ransacked  by  the  wanderer;  and  among  the  out'Oi^e-way  places  there  he 
climbs  up  from  Lucerne's  Lake  of  Beauty  to  that  strange  modem  infifttuation,  the  Roman  CathoUc^s 
Mecca,  Einsiedelu.  The  Rhine,  its  gkMies  past  and  present,  is  weU  realized  by  the  traveller;  and 
hasting  tlirough  Belgium,  touching  which  he  gives  us  some  pleasant  narratives,  and  immovably 
primitive  Holland,  whose  prim  anUqulties  of  men  and  things,  with  its  sober  thrift  and  cleanliness, 
are  certainly  not  all  unknown  or  unappreciated,  he  finds  himself,  by  a  shorfstep,  for  we  pass  quickly 
between  kingdoms  there,  in  the  dominions  of  the  ^buried  majesty  of  Denmark.*  We  quote  a  few 
paragraphs  of  his  visit  to  Copenhagen,  the  Capital  of  the  King  of  the  Northmen : 

<Thk  country  through  which  fiie  rail-road  passes  is  very  flat,  the  soil  sandy,  and  admits  of  but  lit- 
tle cultivation.  After  taking  our  berths  on  board  the  steamer  for  Copenhagen,  we  were  struck  with 
the  similarity  of  their  words  of  command  with  the  English ;  for  there  was  nothing  spoken  but  *■  baack 
her*  and  *  slap  her.*  We  had  a  fine  nm  that  night,  and  under  the  light  of  a  fuU  moon  soon  made  our 
way  through  the  Ost  Sea.  On  the  morrow  we  were  agreeably  surprised  at  meeting  Mr.  Flknnikkx, 
our  charge  at  this  court,  on  board :  so  that  our  entnmce  to  the  harbor  was  enlivened  by  a  pleasant 
chat  over  the  beauties  of  the  city,  which  lav  so  charmingly  in  prospect. 

*  Copenhagen  is  built  on  the  islands  of  aeeland  and  Amack,  which  are  united  by  two  fine  bridges. 
Besides  the  remarkably  strong  fortifications  which  defend  its  coast,  and  its  charming  and  picturesque 
location,  it  has  the  peculiarity  of  having  snflTered  more  from  war  and  confirmation  than  any  other  city 
in  Europe. 

*The  day  after  my  arrival  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  a  class-mate,  who  had  Just  come  fh>m  the 
North  Cape,  after  having  completed  a  tour  of  two  years  In  the  north  of  Asia  and  Europe.  One  feels 
a  sense  of  dimlnuti vcness  on  seeing  a  man  who  had  visited  Siberia,  and  lived  on  flsh-skln  and  whale 
oil  for  the  last  four  months;  for  I  must  confess  my  pretensions  to  travel  grew  less,  as  I  viewed  with  " 
awe  the  huge  beard  of  my  old  chum,  who  had  ridden  the  great  polar  bear,  and  cast  a  squint  over  the 
crater  of  the  Norwegian  Maelstrom.'  In  my  confusion  I  sought  relief  within  the  chaste  proportions 
of  the  ^New  Kirche,'  the  King's  Chapel ;  and  recovered  proper  balance  of  mind  in  the  calm  and 
quiet  contemplation  of  what  was  truly  great  and  beautifiil  in  art,  as  brought  out  and  created  perfect 
under  the  inspiration  of  Thorwaldsen^s  genius.  There  stand  his  Christ  and  the  twelve  Apostles, 
on  each  side  of  the  nave  and  behind  the  altar.  Before  it  is  that  beautUU  baptismal  font,  a  simple 
shell,  held  bv  a  kneeling  angel ;  and  over  the  portal  is  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  exquisitely  touch- 
ing, in  marble  bas-relieC  The  spirit  of  truth,  love  and  devotion,  breathes  in  those  mute  blocks ;  they 
anmiated  his  finer  clay,  who  inhaled  them  at  his  birth.* 

( Denmark  is  seldom  visited  by  Americans ;  and  hence  his  descriptions,  which  are  minute,  will  be 
fbund  interesting.  Going  thence  to  Berlin,  he  forgets  not  to  pay  his  respects  to  om:  hospitable  rep- 
resentatives at  that  court,  Mr.  Donaldson  and  Mr.  Fat,  whose  kind  reception  having  been  ei\|oyed  by 
the  writer  of  this  notice,  in  common  with  many  of  our  countrymen,  ho  can  f\illy  endorse  the  senti- 
ments of  the  author : 

*  That  same  evening  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  a  number  of  my  countrymen  at  the  Embusy, 
where  no  American  should  fail  to  go,  so  long  as  our  countrv  Is  so  ablv  represented  by  Donalusok 
and  Fat.  I  was  never  more  amused  than  with  our  minister's  desoiptions  of  German  character  and 
manners,  which  were  only  equidled  by  his  sovereign  contempt  for  their  language,  or  his  resolute  de- 
termination to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  Tallktramd,  and  never  to  commit  his  diplomacy  in  any 
other  tongue  than  the  vernacular. 

*  Mr.  Donaldson  has  succeeded  in  gaining  the  admiration  and  esteem  of  the  Court  and  of  his  fel- 
low diplomatists,  solely  ttom  the  ftict  of  his  originality  of  thought  and  expression,  and  that  wild  and 
generous  cordiality  wtuch  brooks  no  ceremony,  and  puts  all  etiquette  and  mysticism  at  defiance.  The 
great  minda  of  Berlin  admire  and  wonder  at  one  who  puzzles  them  by  a  system  of  metaphysics,  even 
too  abstruse  for  Kant.* 

<  Thence  to  Dresden  and  the  Barbel  and  Munich,  that  German  Athens,  Bavaria,  over  to  medicBral, 
orient-looking,  and  ofl-beleoguered  Prague,  and  then  a  glorious  ramble  about  lyrors  moxmtains  and 
vaUeys.  We  almost  envy  him  the  pleasure  of  visiting  such  a  city  there  as  Salzburgh,  of  which  we 
have  a  good  description : 

<  *In  a  charming  position  on  the  turbid  Salz,  which  divides  the  ciW  in  two,  and  surrounded  on 
three  sides  by  mountains,  lies  the  beautiful  capital  of  Salzburg.  The  city  proper  Is  snugly  lodged  in 
«  valley,  between  the  Monksberg  and  the  Capuchiner,  from  whose  tope  you  have  a  glorious  view 
of  its  surroiuiding  beauties.  That  stem  old  castle  in  the  upper  town,  perched  on  the  very  summit  of 
an  abmpt  mountain,  dominates  the  town  and  its  extensive  environs ;  and  the  views  you  have  from 
the  outer  galleries  of  this  Irregular  fortress  are  truly  wonderfU.  That  old  castle  In  the  middle  ages, 
was  the  seat  of  a  warrior  Archbishop,  who  belonged,  verily,  to  the  Church  militant,  and  kept  his 
bands  of  armed  retahienever  ready  to  wage  war  on  infldeb,  or  if  necessary,  to  bring  his  rebeUiooa 


> 


1850.]  Literary  Notke$.  65 


nviahlonen  to  terms.  TliatlhMicalliednlwiUiitofiuljigor  iiutfble,wMbamaAertbemodelorSt. 
raeiB :  and  in  the  aqoare  before  the  Oouri-Iloiieet  is  one  of  thoie  nure  oompoaltioiiB  in  the  ahape  of 
fonntauiB,  wbich  would  do  honor  to  the  beet  of  Italy,  so  exqaisite  is  its  dedgn.  Mox art  was  bora 
In  this  town, and  his  statue  stands  on  a  plaoe  called  especially  aOer  his  name;  while  not  (lar  oO;  in 
another  street,  ia  the  mansion  of  the  renowned  naturalist  Paracklsus. 

**Oneor  the  moat  agreeable  excursions  in  the  vicinity,  is  that  to  Berchteegarten.  Soon  after  leav- 
ing town,  your  road  pasees  under  the  brow  of  the  Unterburgs,  which  is  fluned  for  its  statuary  marble, 
and  cootiBnes  on  the  side  of  the  river  Aries  to  Berchtesgaiten,  the  summer  realdenoe  of  the  King  of 
Ba;Taria,  which  is  beautiftiUy  lodged  at  the  foot  of  the  soow-clad  Wattzmann. 

*  ^One  can  scarcely  imsgine  a  more  charming  succession  of  landscapes  than  those  thus  presented; 
Bo  Ain  of  pictorial  subjects,  such  outlines  of  noble  mountains,  so  powerftil  to  awake  the  most  fervent 
and  thrilling  sensations  of  lo?eliness  and  beauty,  and  so  happlhr  terminated  by  the  bold  shore  of  the 
*Koenig  Sea.*  the  moat  beautiful  point  In  all  this  rich  and  {powing  scenery.  Grand  are  its  effects,  as 
It  is  henuneo  In  by  high  towering  diflb,  which  brood  over  its  surface,  and  give  to  its  waves  a  tone  of 
pleasing  melancholy.  Its  waten  are  of  the  darkest  green,  and  where  the  overhanging  rocks  over- 
shadow ita  lake,  their  color  is  ahnost  black.  At  times,  the  hills  8k>pe  down  covered  with  foliage  of 
dark  pines  to  its  edge,  and  again  at  the  sudden  turns  of  the  lake,  bold  perpendicular  walls  rise  so  ab- 
ruptly from  its  lerel  as  to  leave  no  margin,  and  you  seem  as  if  shut  in  at  the  bottom  of  a  basaltic  well. 
Ilie  royal  hunting  lodge  lies  at  the  base  of  the  flrowning  Wattzmann,  and  is  resorted  to  for  the  chamois, 
and  for  itstrouL  Some  of  these  fishes  are  so  remarkable,  that  their  portraits  are  taken  and  hung  up 
In  fkamea  round  the  walls  of  this  palace. 

*«  Socfa  are  the  natural  beAutles  of  this  singular  sea,  and  with  such  rich  materials,  it  would  require 
BO  strain  of  Ikncy  to  transform  that  blue-eyed  girl  who  rows  you  over,  into  another  ^  Lady  of  the  Lake,' 
or  to  fknme  a  heroine  out  of  the  charming  Uttie  *  Kkllmkrin*  who  waits  on  you,  on  your  return  to  the 


*Tbkiick  by  various  stages  our  author  posted  to  Vienna,  where  the  writer  of  this  notice  had  the 
pleaanre  of  first  meeting  him ;  where,  in  that  spider-web  sort  of  a  city,  with  its  green  belt  of  glacis, 
and  palatial  suburbs,  modern  presumption  or  court  flatterers  profess  to  enshrine,  in  the  paltry  de- 
crq>itude  of  Austrian  monarchy,  a  successor  to  the  illimitable  genius  and  vast  power  of  the  medie- 
val lord  of  Europe,  Charlkmaoxb.  Could  he  now  arise  from  his  tomb  of  ages,  and  walk  the  earth 
like  Denmark's  royal  ghost,  he  would  laugh  to  scorn  the  paltry  patch-work  of  despotic  imbecility, 
which  under  high  sounding  titles  demands  the  al^ect  submission  of  the  best  and  freest  hearts  of  Eu- 
n^te.  However,  Vienna  is  a  gay  place ;  the  German's  Paradise ;  and  we  Fpent  weeks  together  there 
in  its  delightful  galleries,  libraries,  coUecttons,  and  palaces,  fluently  seeing  the  magnificent  pomp 
of  (hat  court,  and  mutually  struck  by  the  consummate  political  knavery  visible  even  in  the  counte- 
Binoe  of  MrrrcRNicH,  and  in  all  his  acts;  listened  so  often  to  Strauss,  and  watched  the  happy 
people  swinging  in  the  polka,  refolced  over  its  charming  cuisine,  and  went  away  together  ftt>m  the 
*  Gulden  Launee,'  sure  that  we  were  better  pleased  with  Vienna  than  with  any  other  city  of  middle 
Europe.  Our  friend  forgets  his  usual  courtesy  by  not  returning  the  real  kindness  that  we  received 
from  our  admirable  representative  there,  Mr.  Stilbs,  a  gentleman  who  deserves  and  has  won  golden 
optniona  firom  all  parties.  And  then  we  voyaged  on  the  Missiseslppi  of  Europe,  its  mighty  artery,  the 
majestic  Danube,  all  the  way  flxnn  Vienna,  till  by  one  of  its  twelve  huge  mouths  we  sailed  out  upon 
the  Black  Sea — thestormy  Euxine.  Here  was  an  odder  Jumble  than  wo  had  on  board  the  steamer; 
and  our  author  does  ftdl  Justice  to  the  amours  of  the  frolicsome  Princess  with  the  handsome  Count, 
the  Iba&inaking  griaette,  the  bridal  party,  and  every  thing  else  of  interest  on  board,  while  he  gives 
la  living  deacriptions  of  what  we  saw  and  eqjoyed  on  shore.  But  we  suflbred  some  perils  of  the  sea ; 
foraaBTROM  says: 

*  Thkrk  's  not  a  sea  the  traveller  e*er  pukes  in, 
Ihrows  up  such  ugly  billows  as  the  Euxine.' 

We  toased  a  day  or  two  upon  its  stormy  waves,  when  we  came  to  the  Simplegadea,  floating  in  the 
bine  waters  at  the  gate  of  that  pathway  of  enchantment,  the  Bosphorus.  The  most  exalted  deacrip- 
tiooa  can  never  enable  a  reader  folly  to  realize  such  beauty ;  but  our  author  gives  pertiaps  as  good  a 
deacription  of  the  scene  as  can  be  conveyed  by  an  unpractised  pen : 

««Thb  opening  scene  of  ttie  Bosphorus  is  grand.  Tou  enter  these  straUs  where  the  protruding 
riMMw  of  two  omwslte  continents  look  down  upon  the  dark  and  abrupt  mass  of  the  rocks  *  Simple- 
gadea,' which  lull  the  rough  and  stormy  waves  of  the  Euxine  into  cahn  repose.  That  bold  coast, 
bristling  with  Saracenic  towers  and  mounted  with  heavy  cannon,  is  soon  succeeded  by  the  over- 
hanging heights  of  Belgrade,  which  are  crowned  by  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  aqueduct,  and  followed 
\n  oentJer  undulating  hills,  which  enclose  the  dark  waters  of  that  channel  within  the  charming  bay 
or  Bnyukadere.  Your  sail  from  this  point,  and  even  for  twenty  miles,  embraces  a  succession  of 
charming  landscapes  and  views  of  unrivalled  beauty ;  ami  as  you  pass  through  the  narrowing  straits 
a4  the  outlet  of  the  bay,  you  glance  back  on  the  lofty  summits  of  the  Asiatic  shore,  aod  over  the  ter- 
laeed  afopea  of  those  banks,  glowing  in  all  the  richness  of  orieiital  foliage,  and  basking  In  all  the  fervor 
cT  bright  sunshine  and  reflected  sea. 

*■  *■  Wildly  runs  ita  current  within  the  now  approaching  headlands  of  two  opporite  oonttnents,  as  Its 
walan  dafe  the  base  of  the  caatle  of  Europe;  while  dark  cypresses  and  umbreUa  pines  mouniftilly 
look  down  over  the  ruins  of  this  dismantlea  fortress,  and  acruMi  the  stream  rise  the  bolder  outlines  of 
Aala'a  stronghold,  which  guards  the  soft  vales  of  the  valley  Goksd  and  those  beautiful  sweet  waters  of 

VOL.   ZZXY.  5 


66  Literary  Notices.  [January, 

the  sunny  Sooth.  Ton  do  not  fUl  to  observe  the  rich  Gontraat  of  these  woody  heUdits,  as  they  deck 
both  marKins  with  varied  be«aty.  On  one  side  thick  masses  of  northern  forest  duster  around  the 
villas  which  dot  the  hill-side,  and  hanging  gardens  (Ul  from  parapet  and  teirace,  clothing  these  de- 
clivities in  all  varieties  of  shade  and  verdure.  On  Uie  other  shore  the  softer  skies  <rf'  the  orient  re- 
lieve luxuriant  pastures  of  a  lovelier  green,  and  the  gay  foliage  of  tropical  fruit  and  flower;  wldle 
the  air  is  redolent  with  sweet  fragrance  of  Jessamino  and  orange,  wafted  by  Zephyr  through  groves  of 
rhododendrons  and  acadas. 

*  ^lliere  is  a  mstrical  eflbct  in  the  increasing  and  moving  loveliness  of  these  sceoee,  and  the  land- 
scape warms  with  interest  as  you  are  borne  onward  in  your  wproach  to  the  dty.  All  is  now  life  and 
animation.  Oalques  of  every  sixe,  holding  in  their  imxjws  bouquets  of  fresh  flowers,  propUiatory 
ofliBrings  to  the  waves,  and  brilliant  with  the  gaudy  colors  of  the  richly-costumed  passengers,  move 
upon  the  surihoe  of  those  waters ;  and  long  flocks  of  wild-fowl  hurry  by,  skimming  over  the  dancii^ 
billows,  in  perpetual  motion,  doomed,  in  the  legends  of  the  Turks,  *  to  hover,  like  evil  spirits,  vrithout 
rest  forever  V  The  shores  are  now  lined  with  the  dwellings  of  Armenian  uid  Turk,  Frank  and  Jew, 
each  distingnished  by  their  peculiar  colors  of  red,  yellow  and  white;  beyond  are  the  palaces  of  the 
resident  ministers  and  grandees :  all  following  to  nil  up  that  harmonious  wh<rie  which  enchants  the 
sight,  until  the  ALAPDiN-palace  of  the  Sultan  frtmts  upon  the  bay,  whcnooe  you  are  dlured  by  a  snooes- 
don  of  beautifril  views  to  the  very  entrance  of  the  Porte.  Truly,  there  is  no  sudi  apfHtiach  to  any 
other  d^  In  the  world :  such  a  mosdc  of  rich  palaces  and  lanoBcape,  charming  scenery  and  lovely 
skies  I  such  a  combination  of  efliects,  such  rich  conlrasts  and  variety  of  moving  pictures  I 

*  ^This  mingling  of  beauties,  this  extravagance  in  the  lavished  gifts  of  nature,  forms  but  a  part  of 
the  wonders  of  the  land,  and  unites  with  the  Bosphorus,  its  caftles  and  towers,  bays  and  inlets,  hills 
and  forests,  villas  and  villages,  sonny  proepectii  and  delightftil  vales,  mosques  aiul  minarets,  summer 
palaces  and  kiosks,  fountains  and  baths,  to  frame  in  unison  a  whole  which,  with  the  suburbs  and 
environs,  coast  scenery  and  scaa,  claims  for  Stomboul  prodminently  above  all  of  earth*B  dties,  its 
reputaticm  and  its  name  of  the  *  Sublime  Ptute.* ' 

*  Constantinople,  which  stands  as  it  were  a  great  forest  of  gardens,  palaces,  mosques,  towers  and 
minarets,  sprang  out  of  this  beautiftil  sea,  an  Aladdin  creation,  a  realized  enchantment,  girdled  on 
its  lofty  promontory  by  the  beautiful  crescent  of  the  Golden  Horn  on  the  (me  side,  the  smooth  Sea 
of  Marmora  on  the  other,  and  the  Bosphorus  in  frvnt,  over  whose  circle  of  waters  the  gilded  caiques 
shoot  innumerable,  like  fire-flies ;  that  vast  city,  where  dwell  over  a  million  of  souls  who  call  Mohak- 
MKD  the  prophet  of  God  ;  which  has  been  the  great  gathering^lace  for  all  the  nations  of  the  East 
from  the  days  of  Ck>MSTAXTiNE  to  its  present  monarch,  Abdul  Mkschid  ;  that  great  city,  ^  thou  that 
art  situate  at  the  entry  of  the  sea,  which  art  the  merchant  of  the  people  for  many  isles,*  who  can 
hope  fully  to  give  thy  picture  in  words,  or  reproduce  the  Impresdons  of  those  who  have  had  the 
happiness  of  visiting  thee  ?  We  spent  weeks  together  there,  endeavoring  to  obtain  a  frill  impresdon 
of  its  orientd  splendor ;  we  disregarded  all  the  annoyances  which  the  traveller  every  where  meets  with 
In  those  countries,  and  went  about  it  and  aroimd  it  in  all  directions,  and  the  eye  never  wearied  with  its 
transcendant  beauty,  and  the  mind  could  never  frilly  embody  and  bring  down  to  the  decaying  monu- 
ments around  us  that  glorious  panorama  of  historical  associations  whidi  cluster  there  fhun  the  days 
of  the  lavish  splendors  of  Cokstantine  and  the  Roman  Emperors  till  Uie  slumbers  of  their  Greek 
successors  were  roused  by  that  genera]  tocsin  of  Europe,  the  Crusades ;  and  then  its  terrific  deges  of 
ancient  and  mediaeval  time,  unto  the  hour  when  Othmak  spread  forth  tiie  blood-red  banner  oS  the 
Prophet  and  claimed  this  queen  of  cities  as  the  heritage  of  the  FdthfUl. 

*  Our  author  gives  us  an  interesting  description  of  Constantinople,  and  of  its  beauty,  as  we  beheld 
it,  in  perfectly  hdcyon  weather.  He  has  conveyed,  in  a  brief  compass,  an  admirable  outline  of  almost 
every  thing  there.  The  writer  left  him  at  that  city,  and  his  book  concludes  its  pleasant  story  by  land- 
ing him  in  Alexandria.* 


The  PomcAL  WarnNos  or  Frances  Sargent  Osgood.    In  one  volume,  illustrated.    A.  Hart, 
Late «  Caret  and  Hart,*  Philadelphia. 

Ir  this  superb  Tolome  were  leas  beautifril  than  it  is,  and  were  its  internal  attractions  leas  in  keeping 
with  its  external,  we  should  lament,  even  more  than  we  now  do,  that  it  did  not  reach  us  in  season  for 
a  mora  extended  notice.  But  the  book  is  iudf  its  own  praise,  and  does  not  need  our  poor  encomi- 
ums. Hie  numerous  engravings  on  steel  are  of  the  first  order,  and  the  same  may  bo  afllrmed  of  Uie 
papw,  printing  and  binding.  As  for  the  poems  themselves,  we  content  ourselves  with  adopting  the 
words  of  an  esteemad  cimtemporary :  *  MrSb  Oscood  is  the  mod  naturdly  and  uncoosdoudy  graceftil 
female  poet  this  country  has  produced.  She  is  the  most  fandAil  of  dl  our  female  poets,  and  her 
flmcy,  brilliant,  gay  and  sportive  as  it  is,  finds  its  only  homo  in  the  sweet  aflbctions  and  lovely  charities 
ofaheartfriUatonoeof  inoocenoeandtruth.  Her  poems  seem  the  mere  breathings,  the  succesdve 
peq>irations,  of  her  souL  No  (me  can  read  them  without  deep  and  nnmingled  pleasure.*  As  a  hoU 
day  gifl4)ook  the  volume  will  have  few  rivals  In  popular  flivor.* 


/ 


1850.]  LUerary  Notice:  67 


PocMB  AHs  PRosK-WxiTUfog.    Bt  RiCBAiD  HsiiXT  Daka.    Id  two  vohuiies.  pp.  8B3.    New^ 
Yak:  Baker  and  Scribnbk. 

Ths  American  public  wQl  heartily  thank  the  enterprising  publishers  of  these  at- 
tractive Tolnmes  for  putting  them  forth  at  this  time,  for  they  w6re  very  generally  de- 
manded. The  first  of  the  present  volumes  includes  all  that  was  m  the  formw  edition 
of  the  author's  poems  and  prose-writings,  with  the  addition  to  the  poems  of  a  few 
short  peoes,  and  thai  edition  contained  all  that  was  in  the  small  volume  of  poems 
pobliahed  several  years  before.  Both  editions  had  been  for  some  time  out  of  print. 
In  the  first  volume  before  us,  therefore,  we  have  that  well-known  wierd  poem,  '  The 
Buccaneers,'  of  which  Colkribob's  ^  Antient  Marinere'  might  have  formed  the  type ; 
a  singularly  wild,  simply-created,  yet  powerful  production  j  those  admirable  pi4>erB 
originally  puUished  under  the  tiUe  of  '  The  Idle  Man,'  containing  ^  Tom  Thoeihton,' 
*•  Edwara  and  BtLlrt,'  *  Paul  Felton,'  *  Domestic  Life,'  ^  Musings,'  etc.,  with  many 
odier  pieces,  which  have  become  fixed  &vorites  with  the  public.  Mr.  Dana's  prose 
is  the  flowing  of  a  pure,  natural  stream,  and  it  makes  green  the  meadows  of  the 
heart  through  which  it  winds  its  way.  Much  of  the  best  of  our  author's  writings  will 
be  foond  in  the  second  volume,  which  embraces  his  essays  upon  *  Old  Times,'  '  The 
Past  and  the  Present,'  *  Law  as  Suited  to'  Man,'  which  were  originally  published,  the 
first  in  the  *•  North- American  Review,'  the  second  in  the  *  American  Quarterly  Ob- 
server,' and  the  last  m  the  *  Biblical  Repository.'  The  remainder  of  the  volume  is 
devoted  to  the  following  reviews,  several  of  which  have  already  come  under  separate 
notice  in  these  pages :  Allston's  *  Sylph  of  the  Seasons ;'  Ebobworth's  ^  Readings 
on  Poetry ;'  Hazutt's  ^  Lectures  on  the  English  Poets ;'  '  The  Sketch-Book ;'  Eao- 
clotb's  ^  Gaston  de  Blondeville ;'  *  The  Novels  of  Charles  Brockden  Beown  ;' 
Pouuok's  *■  Course  of  Time ;'  '  Natural  History  of  Enthusiasm,'  and  '  Memour  of 
Henet  Marttn.'  Here  is  a  rich  field  of  criticism,  and  well  is  it  occupied.  The 
publishers  of  these  volumes  have  performed  their  part  to  great  acceptance,  having 
taken  care  that  good  books  should  appear  in  a  good  and  tasteful  garb. 


loosoasArmc  Eitctci^pjboia  or  Scibkck,  LrrssATURB,  axv  Art.    Sjstematlcslly  anranged 
bj  S.  Hrck.   New-York:  Ruimlph  Garrioub,  Afltor-Hoose,  Bardsy-atroet. 

This  invaluable  work,  when  completed  in  twenty-five  monthly  *  Parts,'  of  which 
the  third  is  now  before  us,  will  contain  JSm  hundred  9Uel  engravings,  by  the  moat 
distinguished  artists  of  Germany,  with  two  thousand  quarto  pages  of  text,  translated 
and  edited  by  Spexcer  F.  Baird,  A.  M.,  M.  D.,  Professor  of  Nataral  Sciences  m 
Dickinson  College,  Carlisle,  Pennsylvania.  We  are  in  no  degree  surprised  at  the 
popularity  which  this  great  series  is  acquiring.  As  we  have  before  remarked,  in 
noticing  the  work,  nothing  of  a  kindred  description  that  we  have  ever  seen  can  com- 
pare with  the  variety,  the  exquisite  beauty,  and  &ithfidness  of  the  engravings.  Ob- 
jeelB  of  ocean,  air,  and  earth ;  of  things  above  and  beneath ;  of  mountaina  that  rise 
mto  the  donds,  and  of  the  formations  at  their  deep  bases  below  the  tluck  rotundity  of 
the  sphere ;  of  all  animal  and  vegetable  existences ;  of  *  creeping  things  and  fowls  of 
the  air ;'  of  fiuniliar  and  unfiuniliar  machines  and  inventions,  there  are  aocounls  and 
iOnstrationB  in  this  most  comprehensive  and  mstructive  of  all  enoyckipedias.  Tlie 
monthly  parts  are  sent  in  port-folk)s,by  which  means  the  plates  and  text  are  oarefoDy 
preserved,  and  the  whole  kept  f^  from  soil  and  dust 


68  Literary  Notice$. 


Sautt  Lbobr,  or  tbb  TBRBAOt  or  Lirs.    In  one  Toinme.   pp.  384.    New-Yo(k:  G.  P.  Potvam. 

Thshe  18  no  attentiye  reader  of  this  Magazme  who  will  not  hear  with  pleasure  Ihe 
announcement  of  the  pnblication  of  the  aboye-named  volume.  Those  who  have  fol- 
lowed in  these  pages  the  fortunes  of  Saint  Leoee,  and  df  the  good  and  evil  spurits 
thrown  in  his  way,  and  who  exercised  so  marked,  and  in  certain  instances,  so  wonder- 
fiil  an  influence  oyer  his  destiny,  will  need  no  additional  incentive  to  secure  the  peru- 
sal of  the  work  before  us.  It  is  not  requisite,  nor  would  it  be  deemed  other  than  a 
wiMrk  of  supererogation  at 'our  hands,  to  review  in  detail  the  incidenti  of  the  stirring 
narrative  under  notice.  The  machinations  of  that  arch-fiend,  Vauteet  ;  the  myste- 
rious character  of  the  Woedaliah  of  romantic  Saint  Kilda,  and  the  grace  and  lovelineas 
of  his  daughter ;  the  almost  Mephistophelian  creation  of  Wolfgang  Hegewisch  ;  the 
sweet,  gentle,  shnple-hearted  Theresa  Yon  Hofrath  and  her  father ;  all  these,  with 
clear  remembrances  of  admirable  descriptions  of  scenery,  varying,  in  the  most  artist- 
like  manner  with  the  distinctive  features  of  tune,  country,  and  particular  region  of 
country  *,  these  will  be  so  vividly  present  to  the  reader  of  this  notice,  that  while  he 
win  himself  hail  the  intellectual  treat  before  him,  of  which  he  has  had  a  foretaste,  he 
will  not  be  alow  in  inducing  others  to  follow  his  example.  Saint  Leoer  himself  has 
given  a  very  striking,  nay,  a  very  touching  picture,  of  the  motives  which  animated 
him.    One  can  scarce  read  it  without  entering  into  the  very  spirit  of  the  author : 

<  At  the  ago  of  twenty-tiiree  yean  I  flnd  myself  upoo  the  threshold  of  two  worids.  The  Past  eook- 
mons  the  thoosaad  incidento  which  have  operated  to  determine  me  as  s  rei^KioBlble  belnff,  and  pre- 
sents them  befiire  me,  with  fearM  Tividness.  The  Prmknt  seems  like  nothiDg  beneaUi  my  feet. 
And  the  Fvtcrk,  no  longer  a  shadowy  dreamt  throws  open  Its  endless  vista,  and  whlqiers  that  i 
must  soon  enter  upon  all  fis  untried,  anknown  realities.  Here  I  am  permitted  (o  pause  a  moment, 
ere  I  oommenoe  upon  that  new  existence  which  ends  only  with  the  iMriKiTK. 

*■  I  hare  finished  my  life  upon  earth.  The  ties  which  connect  me  with  the  world  hare  parted.  I 
have  to  do  now  only  with  eternity.  Yet  somethlnKv  which  I  may  not  resist,  impels  me  to  retrospeo* 
tion.  I  look  back  over  my  short  pilgrimage,  and  feel  a  yeamins  which  I  cannot  restrain,  to  piit 
down  a  narratlTe  of  my  brief  existence,  and  to  marie  the  several  changes  which  hare  come  over  my 
spirit,  in  the  hope  that  the  young,  with  whom  I  chiefly  sympathise,  may  profit  by  the  recital.* 

There  is  a  moral,  a  moral  fruitful  of  wise  monitions,  in  a  life  full  of  events,  and  so 
s<^emnly  regarded.  To  the  records  of  that  life  we  oommend  our  readers ;  pausing 
in  conclusion  of  this  too  brief  notice  merely  to  express  our  admiration  of  the  neat  and 
tasteftd  style  in  which  the  publisher  has  placed  the  volume  before  the  pubho.  It  has 
already  passed  to  a  second  edition. 


Ths  War  wrm  Mexico.  Bt  R.  S.  Riplrt,  Brevei-BC^or  in  the  United  fltates*  Annv,  Tilmitenaiii 
of  the  Second  Begiment  of  Artillery,  etc  In  two  volnmes.  pp.  1174.  New-York :  Harfbr  akd 
Brotbbrb. 

The  present  work,  although  mainly  prepared  during  a  period  of  respite  from  ordi- 
nary professional  duties,  would  seem  amply  to  folfil  the  mtentions  of  its  gallant  author. 
It  gives  *  a  general  and  impartial  account  of  those  events  which  for  a  few  past  years 
have  been  of  such  absorbing  interest,  and  which  must  necessarily  be  looked  upon  in 
future  years  as  the  most  prominent  of  any  which  have  occurred  since  the  independenee 
of  the  country.'  The  author  daims,  and  we  have  no  doubt  with  justice,  to  be  impar- 
tial, and  to  present  the  different  occurrences  in  their  true  light,  stripped  of  the  show 
and  ornament  which  have  been  hung  npon  them  in  the  exultation  of  the  moment. 
The  author  had  many  advantages  in  the  collection  of  his  materiel ;  important  among 
which  may  be  mentioned  a  personal  observation  of  the  country  on  both  of  the  princi- 
|ia]  routes  of  operation,  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  many  American  officers,  and 
aome  intercourse  with  those  of  the  Mesican  army. 


EDITOR'S    TABLE. 


^mrnxBaxTSi  Jit^tbal  of  0amt  ^TuljolaB. 

As  the  official  rqwrter  of  tlie  Saint  Nicholas  So- 
ciETT,  we  have  tbe  pleasure  to  lay  before  our  readers 
an  aooount  of  the  Anniversary  Festival  of  onr  Patron 
Saint,  which  was  duly  celebrated  on  Thursday  the  sixth 
'  of  December,  1849.  The  Society  met  this  year  in  an 
I  unusual  locale.  The  venerable  *  City  Hotbi^,'  around 
;  which  had  hung  so  many  pleasant  reminiscences,  and 
where  Jennings  and  Willaed  had  so  long  and  so  lib- 
erally ministerod,  with  such  satisfaction,  had  yielded  to 
the  influence  of  the  times,  and  had  given  place  to  a 
row  of  tasteful  and  costly  ware-houses.  The  stewards,  driven  from  their  old  home, 
were  obliged  to  seek  quarters  for  the  Society  fiirther  '  up  Unon ;'  and  about  five 
o^doek  the  members  aooordingly  began  to  assemble  in  the  receiving-rooms  of  *  Thb 
AmucAN.'  The  Secretary  read  the  proceedings  of  the  special  meeting  of  the  So- 
ciety, held  on  the  twelfth  of  November,  by  which  it  appeared  that  the  following  gen- 
tlemen bad  been  elected  officers : 


JAMES    DE    FEYSTER    OGDEN,    Prssidsst. 


Haxiltoh  Fmb, 
OovBN  HorntAK, 
Jamk«  H.  Kir, 
Saxubl  6.  Ratmomd, 

WiLLUK  H.  JonifSON. 

Albzakobr  L  Cothbai., 

CUABLBS    R.  SWORM, 

MANA 

Saxubl  Joints, 
Jacob  Antbont, 
William  I.  Vax  Waobrbr, 
Abraham  Fardor^Jr. 
Jambs  R.  Maxlbt,  M.  D. 

PiBRRB  M.  IrVIMG, 

Rev.  Thomas  E.  VBRMiLTBf  D. 
Ear.  William  L.  Jooksor,  D. 
JOHR  W.  FrarCis,  M.  D., 
JOHR  C.  Cmbbsmab,  M.  D^ 
William  H.  Horart^IiLD^ 
JoHR  6.  Arams,  M.  D^ 


FlnfcVloe-Presldent 
Seeond  VIoe-PnaldeDt 
Third  Ylce-Presidfflii. 
Fourth  Vice-PreBldent. 


Seerelaiy. 
AsBistant  Seaetsfy. 

OEllS. 

Aaror  B.  Hats, 
Frbdbric  Db  Pbtstbr, 
John  J.  Cisco, 

JOHR  W.  LiVINOSTON, 

Jambs  L  Roosbvblt, 
Jambs  Brbath. 


Cmaplaiiis. 


|COR8in.TIRO  Phtsiciarb. 
I  Phtsiciarb. 


STBWABDS. 

Nicholas  Low,  John  Rombtn  Brodhkad, 

Richard  H.  Oodbh,  Jambs  Watson  Wbbb, 

Hbrky  a.  Hbisrr,  Jambs  Willux  Bbbxxar, 

EUAS  O.  Draxr. 


70  EdUor*s  Table.  [January, 

These  gentlemen  were  severally  called  forward,  and  duly  inatalled  in  ihdr  respec- 
tive offices,  by  President  Kino,  of  Columbia  college  ;  who  discharged  his  functions 
with  all  that  proverbial  grace  and  expression  for  which  he  is  so  dlBtingnished.  The 
members  of  the  Society,  accompanied  by  their  mvited  guests,  among  whom  were  the 
representatives  of  the  several  Societies  in  friendly  alliance  with  Saint  Nicholas,  and 
Lieutenant-Colonel  Ceaio  of  the  army,  then  repaired  to  the  dining-hall.  On  enter- 
ing,^I)oDwoETH's  band  struck  up  the  inspiriting  notes  of  *  Dbk  Vouuleid,'  ^The 
People^*  Lay,^  the  popular  song  of  Holland,  ^t  the  centre  of  the  ^dai9,^  or  elevated 
cross-table,  (behmd  which  were  arranged  the  serving  men  of  the  Society,  arrayed  in 
their  ancient  costumes,  tempore  Stuyvetant,)  the  President  of  the  Society,  Mr.  Db 
Petstkr  Ogdbn,  took  his  seat,  supported  oa  the  right  and  left  by  the  chief  officers  of 
the  various  sister  societies,  and  the  other  distinguished  guests ;  while  the  three  tables 
which  occupied  the  centre  of  the  hall  were  respectively  presided  over  by  Messrs.  Og- 
DEN  HoFFMAK,  Jahbs  H.  Kip,  and  Samuel  G.  Raymond,  Vioe-Preddents,  supported 
by  the  stewards.  Grace  was  pronounced  by  the  Reverend  Dr.  Johnson,  one  of  the 
chaplains  of  the  Society,  and  then  the  company  sat  down  to  the  discussion  of  an  am- 
ple store  of  '  good  things ;'  among  which,  the  choice  relishes  of  the  Fatherland,  in- 
oluding  *  rolletjes,'  *•  oley-koSks,'  *  krullers,'  and  the  never-forgotten  *  schnaps  and 
pipes,'  figured  conspicuously  on  the  liberal  bill  of  five. 

When  the  inner  man  had  been  sufficiently  refreshed,  ihe  doth  was  removed,  and 
the  ancient  Weathercock  of  Saint  Nicholas  having  been  duly  placed  before  him 
on  the  table,  the  President,  Mr.  De  Petstee  Ooden,  assumed  his  venerable  cocked 
hat,  and  after  an  acknowledgment  of  the  honor  conferred  upon  him,  by  the  Society, 
in  a  few  brief  words  of  introduction,  said : 

'Gbxtlkkbn  or  thk  Saint  Nicholai  Sociktt  :  While  yet  the  Puritan  PUgrimB,  who  aftenranl 
lauded  at  Plymouth  Rock,  were  wjoamliig  sinoiig  the  Dutch,  and  when  but  a  foeble  colony  on 
James  River  in  Virginia  was  all  the  occupation  that  England  could  boart  of  In  America,  our  Dutch 
aoceeton  eetahUahed  this  colony,  and  faUd  oat  the  site  for  New-Amaierdam ;  and  it  was  whan  raU- 
gioos  toleration,  civil  liberty,  an  enlightened  spirit  and  enlarged  views  of  oonunerclal  enterprise 
and  commercial  freedom  flourished  in  Holland,  that  the  great  republic  ~  great  alike  in  arts  and  arma, 
the  streams  of  whose  commerce  poured  In  lkt>m  every  quarter  of  the  globe —sent  out  the  pioneera, 
who,  nurtured  in  the  same  freedom  and  imbued  with  the  same  spirit,  laid  the  foundations  broad  and 
deep  of  this  our  goodly  city.  Our  ancestors  purchased  the  soil  they  occupied,  and  traded  on  friendly 
temia  with  the  natives,  and  laid  the  foundation  for  an  extensive  and  profitable  commerce  In  ton ;  and 
as  soon  as  the  English  colonista  were  fldrly  seated  at  Plymouth,  the  provincial  authoriUea  of  New- 
Amsterdam,  desirous  of  cultivating  frioidly  ndaUmis  and  commercial  correspondence,  sent  their 
seeielary  aa  the  bearer  of  a  congratulatoiy  and  courteous  communication. 

« For  a  long  period  our  ancestors  ei^oyed  peace  and  prosperity ;  but  afier  a  time  this  flourishing  and 
happy  condition,  the  friiit  of  their  own  exertions,  attracted  attention  ~  possibly  envy ;  at  least  it  was 
found  that  neighboring  encroachments  were  to  be  resisted  and  national  rights  defended ;  while,  as 
dviliaatton  advanced,  hostilities  with  Uie  Indians  were  found  to  be  unavoidable.  But  amid  all  their 
trials  the  Dutch  colonists  remained  flrm  in  the  maintenance  of  their  prindplea,  and  true  to  the  name 
and  flune  of  their  Belgic  sires ;  and  for  half  a  century  the  Dutch  founders  continued  to  enlarge  their 
possessions,  increase  their  number,  and  extend  their  commerce,  protected  by  the  laws,  flourishing 
under  the  guardianship,  profiting  by  the  example,  and  Inheriting  the  spirit  of  that  republican  Hoiland, 
who  became  in  her  day  and  generation  the  birth-place  of  civil  liberty,  the  abode  of  religlona  tolen- 
tion,  the  asylum  of  the  oppressed,  the  seat  of  the  arts,  the  mart  of  commerce,  and  the  mistroas  of  the 
aeas.  Sons  of  Saint  Nicholas  !  let  us  never  forget  that  it  was  from  such  a  republic  our  ancealon 
descended,  and  that  we  are  their  descendants !  From  our  progenitors  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  line  we 
have  taken  the  common  law  and  a  common  language— both  valuable  acquisitions ;  but  they  came 
like  the  acquirements  of  alter  life,  which  owe  their  chief  value  and  efficacy  to  the  impreaslons  and 
fMUngs  and  prindplea  that  are  infttaed  and  implanted  in  our  earlier  days;  whereas  our  Dntcb^ancea- 
tors,  under  the  teachings  and  example  of  a  great  republic,  had  established  their  principlea  long  be- 


1850.]  Ediiar's  Taik.  71 

fore,  to  serve  as  guides  not  only  for  them  and  m,  bat  for  all  time;  for  It  was  tbeire  to  sow  the  leeds 
whidi  past  ages  hare  nourished  and  matured,  and  of  which  foturo  generations  may  reap  the  blesdngs 
aadtbefrniL* 

la  anpport  of  these  daimB  brief  extracts  from  history  were  then  given,  in  relation 
to  the  conyention  held  in  New-Tork  in  1653,  the  oonstitntion  obtained  by  the  in- 
halntantB  in  1683,  and  the  execution  of  Jacob  Leiblke,  a  Dntchman,  in  1791,  who 
£^  a  martyr  to  the  cause  of  rational  liberty : 

'  At  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  oontory,  the  historian  says,  the  population  of  the  province  was  still 
ddefly  Dutch:  ^Thepoormanherefoundacoontry  where  industry  was  highly  valiud,  and  where  all 
fteemeB  eqloyed  equal  righlK.  The  inhabitants  are  bleaMd  in  their  country,  UasMd  in  the  fruit  of 
Itek  bodiea  and  in  the  fruit  of  their  giounds;  blessed  in  their  basket  sad  their  store;  and  although 
their  low^rooiBd  houses  would  seem  to  shut  the  doors  to  pride  and  luxury,  yet  were  they  ever  wide 
open  to  lei  charity  in  and  out,  either  to  assist  each  other  or  to  relieve  the  stnnger.*  It  is  true  that  the 
temples  where  our  anoeslofs  wonhlpped  exist  no  longer;  the  low-roofed  houses  where  they  ei^oyed 
domeatle  felicity,  and  dispensed  a  liberal  hospitality,  are  tottering  to  their  foO,  and  the  memorials  thai 
marked  the  spot  where  their  ashes  repose  are  crumbling  into  dust ;  and  we  pause  with  regret  as  the 
last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  are  seen  lingerii^ontheruinsof  the  past.  But  we  know  that  other  lem^ 
plea  of  wonhip  wUl  rise,  where  the  same  Are  will  bum  on  the  altars  and  the  same  pure  and  tolerant 
bith  animate  and  console  its  worshippers;  and  we  trust  that  a  spirit  will  arise  from  their  sshes  to 
animate  and  Inspire  their  descendants,  for  ages  to  come,  ss  they  think  on  the  rich  inheritanoe  they 
eaJpyP 

The  Phesidbnt  th^i  annonnoed  the  regular  toasts,  in  the  following  order : 

L  BAirr  Nicholas,  oua  PATaoN.    The  most  genial  Saint  in  the  csleodar.    His  stock  of  <good 
fldagi'  is  inexhaustible.    Music :  '/«4nif  Time  Ago»^ 
TL  The  PaasiDKirr  or  the  UiriTKn  Btatks.    Hrsic :  ^PrendgnCs  MtrehJ 
UL  Thb  Govbkkok  or  tbk  Statk  or  Xkw-Yorx.    Music:  ^Oovemor't  MareV 

IV.  Oca  ConrrRY :  One  and  indivisible.    Mcsic :  'Hail  Columbia,'  vilh '  Yankee  Doodle.^ 

V.  Thc  Aemt  and  Natt  :  Genoroos  rivals  in  daring  valor  and  patriotic  devotion.  Music :  ^The 
Strnt-SpmrngUd  Banner: 

VL  Tab  DuTcn  Fourdbbs  of  Nbw  Ambtbkdam  ;  who,  in  1(^  with  characteristic  probity,  hon- 
estly purchssed  our  blaad  from  the  aboriginal  Manhattans.  Music:  *The  WUhdmM,*  the  JVo- 
tmmmiairof  HeUmnd. 

VIL  Our  Citt  :  Puritans,  Huguenots,  Waldenses,  in  the  day  of  persecution  found  refuge  at  Am* 
sterdam :  the  dty  which  Amsterdam  merdumts  founded  will  always  emulate  their  hospitslity.  Mc^ 
SIC    ^Heme,  Sweet  Heme,' 

Vni.  Ova  SisTBR  SociETiBs :  The  Patron  Saint  of  Manhattan  welcomes  at  his  board  the  repnv 
aentatlves  of  those  who  have  made  his  own  city  their  home.    Music :  *  We  are  a  Band  of  BrotkereJ' 

UL  West  Poiirr.  Hie  deeds  of  its  sons  Justify  their  training.  Music:  ^The  Minetrel  Boy  ia 
the  War  kae  gone.* 

X.  Dutch  Scholars,  Dutch  Paxktbrs,  aico  Dutch  Sailors.    Music  :  ^Mjfnheer  Van  Dunk." 

XL  The  Dauohtbrs  or  Manhatta^n  :  *  Angels  ever  bright  and  fUr.*  Music :  *^Here  *«  «  kealtA 
to  aid  Good  Laeeee,' 

The  toast  '  The  Army  and  Navy*  was  briefly  acknowledged  by  lientenant- 
Coknel  Ceaio  of  the  army. 

*•  Our  Sisler  Soeietiea^  replied  to  Saint  NicHOiAtf^s  friendly  salutation,  through 
Da.  Beales,  of  the  Saint  Geoegc,  Mr.  Fessenden,  of  the  '  New-England,'  Mr. 
Golden  of  St  Datid's,  and  Ma.  Kunhardt  of  the  Grerman  Socie^.  These  official 
gentlemen  severally  gave  appropriate  toasts,  which  we  regret  not  to  have  been  able 
to  obtain.  Wc  remember,  however,  that  Mr.  Golden,  President  of  Saint  David's, 
aeeompanied  his  sentiment  with  a  beautiful  allumon  to  the  memory  of  two  distin- 
guished persons  who  had  died  during  the  course  of  the  past  year ;  one,  the  Hon. 
Harkanus  Bleeckbr,  of  Albany,  for  a  long  time  the  respected  President  of  the  St. 
Nicholas  Society  of  our  sister  city,  and  for  many  years  our  honored  Representative 
at  the  Hague :  *  There  was  a  gentleman  now  present,'  he  said,  '  (Mr.  Brodhead,) 
who  he  believed  had  been  with  his  kinsman^  Mr.  Blebcker,  at  the  Hague,  and  who 


72  Ediiar'9  Table.  [Janoary, 

could  bear  full  tettiiiiony  to  the  liigh  standing  that  gentleman  had  always  nudntatned 
in  the  Fatherland.  The  other  distinguished  person  to  whom  he  referred  had  often 
graced  with  his  presence  the  anniversaries  of  our  Society ;  but  the  seat  of  the  whole- 
Kouled  Jamks Retbuen, the  late  esteemed  President  of  Saint  Patrick's,  was  empty: 

*Thb  churcb-ynrd  showed  an  added  rtone. 
The  social  board  a  racaat  ebair.' 

*  West  Point^^  we  remarked,  was  responded  to  in  very  appropriate  and  elegant 
terms  by  the  gallant  Major  Phiut  Ksarnt,  who,  while  he  could  not  call  himself  aa 
Hive  of  the  institution,  bore  warm  testhnony  to  the  good  conduct  of  its  sods  in 
Mexico,  whose  deeds  had  weD  '  justified  their  training.' 

The  Peesidknt  here  read  several  letters  which  had  been  received  from  distin- 
guished invited  guests,  expressing  the  *  regrets'  of  the  writers  that  they  were  un- 
able to  be  present  to  do  honor  to  our  beloved  patron-saint ;  and  among  them  was  one 
from  our  esteemed  associate  and  Vicb-Prbbident,  Gov.  Hamilton  Fish,  pleading 

*  in  bar'  important  '  gubernatorial  duties,'  which  detained  him  at  the  capitol ;  and. 
another  from  Ex-President  Martin  Van  Buren,  assigning,  not  executive  yet  still 
unavoidable  demands  upon  his  Itisure,  which  deprived  him  of  the  pleasure  he  had 
anticipated  in  being  present  on  the  occasion. 

*  The  health  «/  our  Aewciate^  Hamilton  Fish,'  bemg  given,  it  was  drank  enthu- 
siastically, with  all  the  honors. 

President,  Charles  King,  of  Columbia  College,  being  toasted,  replied  in  a  very 
appropriate  speech,  (of  which  we  have  been  unable  to  obtsdn  a  proper  report),  con- 
cludmg  with  a  sentiment  to  the  memory  of  a  distinguished  son  of  New-York,  the 
late  Greneral  Stephen  W.  Kearkt,  of  the  United  States'  Army. 

Mr.  Oodbn  Hoffman,  being  loudly  called  upon,  now  rose,  and  addressed  the 
company  in  an  admirably  humorous  and  characteristic  speech,  distinguished  by  the 
well-known  graces  of  his  silvery  eloquence.  Ho  concluded  his  remarks,  which  were 
received  with  enthusiastic  applause,  by  proposing : 

Tub  Stewards  of  the  St.  Nicholas  Societt. 

This  toast  called  up  Mr.  James  W.  Bebkman,  on  behalf  of  his  fellow  Stewarda, 
who  briefly  acknowledged  the  compliment  which  had  been  paid  to  them. 

The  President  having  called  upon  the  senior  of  the  medical  council  finr  his  annual 
report,  Dr.  Francis  arose,  and  remarked  as  follows : 

*  Yawr  High  MgkUnft^  President  Oodkn  of  the  Saint  Xiekola$  Society  : 

*'  I  UHiTS,  in  common  with  the  members  at  large  of  our  Sodetyt  in  the  oongratidaUoni  wMdi  have 
been  oflbred  you  with  ao  mneh  ainoerlty  on  the  occaalon  of  your  election  as  our  Prbsidbiit.  There 
aeema  to  me  ajpeeuliar  proprietv  In  the  gratiflcotion  which  we  feel  in  the  choice  now  made  of  oar 
elllelal  he«l.  Tour  long  and  weil*known  acqaaintance  with  our  cosmopolitan  city ;  your  Krickkr- 
BocKKR  origin;  your  zeal  in  behalf  of  our  great  metropolis,  alreadv  manifested  by  the  acta  of  a  life 
not  of  short  duration ;  your  wide  relations  and  aoquaintanoo  with  ttie  interests  we  love  to  ehensh ; 
sU  these  circnmstanoes  point  you  out  as  a  most  suitable  individual  to  promote,  by  ofllclal  anthoiitv  i 
the  benevolent  and  patriotic  designs  of  the  Sons  of  Saint  Kicbolas.  For  myselA  Sir,  in  addition  to 
these  reasons,  I  have  others  which  cause  me  to  delight  in  your  promotion.  Tou,  Sir,  are  a  deeeendant 
of  a  medicsl  gentleman  whose  renown  is  the  common  property  of  the  medical  profession.  I  allude 
to  the  late  Dr.  OanaN,  who  some  sixty  years  ago  was  eminently  distinguished  as  an  enlightened  nra^ 
titioner  of  the  healing  art,  and  by  whose  bold  and  original  views  we  are  laigely  indebted  for  the  uitro- 
duction  of  the  mercurial  practice  in  the  treatment  of  the  febrile  diseases  of  the  United  States.  He 
might  slmost  be  pronounced  the  pAJiACBLstrs  of  our  country,  Judged  strictly  bv'the  eameslnfiss  and 
soooess  with  which  he  enlbroed  the  adoption  of  mercury  as  a  remedial  agent  or  saving  efflcacy ;  but 
here  I  believe  the  pamUel  would  cease.  That  he  is  held  in  grateftil  oonstderatlon  by  the  meditel 
feeultT  for  his  intrepidity, originality,  and  benevolence, Is  a  reoorded  truth;  and  some  few  of  our 
older  inhabitants,  lately  among  us,  have  testified  to  me  of  his  generous  qualities.  The  descendant  of 
sneh  a  progenitor  Is,  I  think,  aflt  rapresentaUve  of  a  benevotont  society,  (bunded  on  solaige  a  baria 
as  the  Knickkrbockbr  society  here  assembled  this  evening:  its  dealgnkits  entire  scope  of  utility, 
must  be  well  comprehended  1^  an  officer  of  such  lineage  and  such  tninli^  I  again  congratulate 
yon,  Sir,  and  the  Society,  on  your  eieetioo. 


1850.] 


Ediiar't  TahU.  IZ 


*lliitwlHKt,ar,amItooflNrtiittiewa7ora«uA'e«/raportfhifeTenii«T  DeUeaey  requires  thai  I 
ibonid  be  silent,  havUv  already  eoofWntraro«Md<m  the  tii^  indesd,  I  belieye 

St  afanost  every  anni venary  since  its  foundation.  Thrice  happy  am  I  to  declare,  tnat  oar  physical  as 
wen  SB  moral  condition  has  snflferod  no  deterioration ;  and  yon  know,  Sir,  hoW  intimately  the  moral 
qnaUyfle  of  associations,  as  well  ss  of  Individuate,  depend  upon  the  happy  codperatlon  of  a  sound 
mind  tai  a  sound  body.  The  dlrenUpestUenoe  which  prevailed  the  past  season  for  a  period  of  nearly 
four  months,  has  invaded  our  ranks  with  but  a  comparatively  slioht  loss ;  and  though  it  becomes  our 
painfhl  duty  to  record  the  calamity  in  our  book  of  minutes,  we  have  nevertheless  the  (hllest  reason 
toeongratolate  ourselves  that  we  have  been  so  leniently  dealt  with,  in  the  midst  of  so  dreadAil  a 
havoc,  by  the  all-wlae  and  benevolent  GivKR  of  every  good  gilt  We,  as  In  duty  bound,  shall  cherish 
the  memory  of  our  departed  associates,  and  with  grateral  accents  recognise  the  strength  snd  the  mar 
je^  of  that  PowKR  that  'doeth  aU  thii^  weU.' 

*  In  remarkhig  on  the  health  or  the  Society  for  the  past  year,  I  might  advert  to  the  maav  sooroea 
of  improvement  in  our  dty,  in  which  our  municipal  uthers  are  engaged,  the  better  to  render  New- 
York,  in  a  sanitary  point  of  view,  as  conspicuous  ss  she  has  long  been  for  her  mercantile  and  com- 
mercial character.  That  this  metropolis  Is  daily  advancing  in  all  the  measures  best  calcutated  to  im- 
prove hermorsl  and  physical  state,  to  obvious  to  sIL  The  vast  incresse  in  the  number  of  her  schools 
for  elementary  edncattoo,  and  the  higher  brancbea  of  knowledge,  demonstrates  the  irst  of  these  poai- 
tions ;  her  tcmogrsphicsl  modiflcatloos,  her  improvements  in  house-buiklings,  her  luster  appredatton 
of  pure  air.  In  the  widening  of  streets,  her  avenues  of  approach,  her  distribution  of  the  mighty  Croton 
wsier,all  show  thst  her  authorities  are  folly  alive  to  the  aids  which  arise  from  such  sources  to  the 
comfort  and  health  of  her  people.    And  had  any  doubts  existed  on  the  snk^ect,  the  experience  of  the 


past  summer  must  have  extinguished  every  vestige  of  them,  by  the  history  and  progress  of  the  Asiatic 
Cholera  as  It  prevailed  In  diflbrent  kicalitiee,  and  afflicted  with  its  extremest  violenoe  the  abject  and 
the  debased,  the  poor,  the  needy,  and  the  intemperate:  yet  though  its  sad  Issoss  were  most  witnesMd 
among  those  whose  condition  m  life  was  most  pitiabk),  from  bad  habits,  penury  and  peatilenUal  lo- 
cality, all  versed  In  the  history  of  diseases  know  ftiU  well  that  none  are  safe,  however  pure  In  person 
or  exalted  In  rank,  when  endemlal  become  epidemical  disorders.  The  experience  of  the  season  just 
passed  win  teach  our  aathoriUee  to  hasten  the  completion  of  their  sanitsry  designs  by  removing  as 
lar  as  practicable  the  causes  of  pesUlenoe,  wherever  found,  and  establishing  a  code  of  sanitary  regu- 
latiovM  worthy  of  the  metropolis,  and  conformatory  to  the  deductions  of  pliilosophiesl  knowledge  at 
the  present  day.  Bealde,  It  to  not  to  be  controverted  that  much  ofoursuflbring  has  srisen  from  sources 
purely  adventitloaB  and  foreign  to  the  natural  condition  of  Mir  jPMfife.  and  the  original  drcumstanoea 
which  marked  our  eariier  settlers.  Tbe  best  writer,  on  the  dimate  of  New- York,  as  weU  ss  the  ear- 
liest CSovenKM*,  Coldxk,  teUs  us  of  the  excellence  and  purity  of  our  situation:  we  And  in  our  noble 
Son  of  Saint  Nicholas,  Washinotoit  laviso,  nothing  in  sll  his  writings  that  shows  us  that  our  first 
inhabitants  Uved  in  the  totltude  of  pestilence ;  and  our  other  antiquarian  friend,  Mr.  Bkodhx ad,  also 
a  son  of  Saint  Nicholas,  finds,  I  beUeve,  nothing  among  aU  his  important  Dutch  records  touching 
Nleow-Netherland,  to  prove  that  we  are  doomed  to  epidemics  from  our  locality.  Thanks  to  the 
Innate  rigor  of  our  Dutch  constitution,  the  cholem  was  slight  in  ito  aetlon  upon  the  members  of 
the  brotherhood  of  Saint  Nicholas.  In  a  mortality  which  I  think  we  may  set  down  as  at  least  seven 
thousand  by  cholera  and  its  cognate  diseases,  no  eye-witness  to  the  spread  of  the  disorder,  and  the 
dass  of  individuals  who  most  suJfered  from  it,  need  be  told  that  it  received  new  powers  by  oon- 
oentivted  filth  and  privation  of  proper  aliment.  Hence  the  destitute  and  the  vitiafsd  aflbrded  its 
grunlest  pabulum ;  and  if  ito  origin  be  from  abroad,  as  many  wise  in  our  profession  affirm,  it  is  surely 
an  exoUc,  eminently  calculated  to  fiourish  amidst  a  poputotion  so  reckless  of  the  great  truths  of  Hy- 
fean  sdenoe,  as  large  numbers  of  the  inhabitante  of  this  city  have  proved  themselves  to  be.  Never, 
during  a  life  of  many  years  devoted  to  medical  practice  in  thto  my  native  dty,  have  I  bebekl  amidst 
aU  the  epidemics  which  I  have  encountered,  such  aflbcUng  scenes  of  sickness  and  death,  aggravated 
by  want  and  consequent  deprarity  of  habito  as  I  have  during  the  calamitous  cholera  —  now,  thank 
heaven !  happily  over.  Every  one  of  you  must  remember  the  memorable  dedaratlon  of  our  great 
New- York  divine^  the  tote  ekxiuont  and  impressive  Dr.  Jobm  M.  Mason  :« To  be  the  chiki  of  want, 
poor  in  this  world,  and  damned  in  the  next,  to  to  be  miserabto  Indeed.*  My  caUing  does  not  require 
of  me  any  expression  of  opinion  on  the  latter  part  of  this  declaration ;  but  of  the  first  part  of  it,  let 
Poverty  with  ito  associations,  antecedent  and  consequent,  grappto  with  a  lUthfol  attack  of  Asiatic 
cholera,  and  the  behoMer  needs  not  a  more  impressive  scene,  to  aflbct  hto  feelings  and  absorb  hto 
memorv.    HoLasiN  haa  nothing  like  unto  It 

*•  But  I  win  trespass  no  longer  upon  your  attention.  I  cannot  but  hope  that  my  able  colleagnes  in 
the  medical  department  of  this  Sode^,  wiU,  if  not  on  the  present  occaaion,  give  you  a  more  ample 
and  satlsfhctory  report  on  the  physical  condition  of  the  Saint  Nicholas  Sodety.  Bly  venerabto 
friend.  Dr.  Cbkbsman  win  cut  a  f^re  for  the  purpose  better  than  I  can ;  my  associates  Dr.  Hobakt 
snd  Dr.  Adaks  will  blend  in  happier  combination  their  remarks  on  the  improved  ethics  of  our  so- 
dal  compact,  and  the  enlarged  phltonthropy  of  the  descendanto  of  the  Knickbebockbks.* 

Mr.  Ogden  IIoffman  here  rose  again.  He  referred  to  the  preaence  of  a  gentle  - 
man  who  had  twioo  bef<ve,  in  the  ooune  of  the  eyening,  been  aUuded  to  \  onee,  aa 
haring  recently  returned  from  a  most  honorable  diplomatio  pott  abroad,  and  once 
again  aa  one  of  the  Stewards  of  this  Society.  But  as  that  gentleman  had  modestly 
remained  silent  thus  for,  he  mnst  now,  porsoant  to  parliamentary  usage,  call  upon 
him  by  name  ;  and  he  accordingly  proposed  : 

*  The  health  of  Jobh  Rombtn  Brodhbad  :' 

Mr.  B&ODHEAD,  in  acknowledging  the  compliment  which  his  friend,  Mr.  Hoffman, 
had  paid  him,  remarked : 

'Ha  had  felt,' he  said, « a  deUcaey  in  respoDding  to  the  toast  on  behalf  of  the  Stewards,  white  there 


74  Editar^B  Table.  [January, 

were  othen  of  UBOoIlfiflguee  orionger  experience  ttun  he  in  that  deportment  of  UieSodety^s  aerrice. 
Hts  IHend,  Senator  Bbckkah,  had  ataeady  very  properij  answered  for  his  ooUei«iieB ;  and  he  would 
enly  add,  that  though  the  march  of  modem  improvement,  or  modem  change,  had  driven  the  Society 
from  their  ancient  rendesvoua  in  the  *Citt  Hotcl,*  the  Stewards  had  endeavored  to  accommodate 
themselTea  as  well  as  they  oonld  to  their  altered  circumstances;  and  they  trusted  that  though  they 
had  been  obliged  to  find  quarters  for  the  Society  somewhat  ftuther « np  temC  than  the  City  Hotkl 
had  formerty  been  considered;  their  hyperborean  latitude  would  not  be  Judged  to  have  entirely  ttotea 
^  the  genial  current  of  their  souls.*  While  up,  ICr.  Brodhbad  would  take  the  opportunity  of  adding 
a  remark,  suggested  by  the  speech  of  their  guest,  the  respected  Vice-President  of  the  New-England 
Society,  Mr.  ^kssbhdbn.  That  gentleman  had  reftsrred,  in  the  remarks  introducing  his  sentiment, 
to  the  recent  large  inftision  of  Eastem  population  and  Eastem  sentiment  in  this  ancient  elty,a&dhad 
expressed  the  hope  that  the  sons  of  Manhnttsn  would  not  aOow  any  feelings  of « Jealousy*  to  creep  in, 
and  warp  good  folloindiip.  The  descendants  of  the  first  lords  of  this  soil,*  said  ICr.  Brodhbad;  *the 
descendants,'  in  the  language  of  one  of  the  regular  toasts  of  this  evening,  'of  the  Dutch  founders  of 
New  Amsterdam,  who  in  1698,  with  charactoristic  probity,  honestly  purchased  our  island  from  the 
aboriginal  Manhattans,*  would  always  imitate  the  hospitality  of  their  ancestors.  Ihoeo  ancoston  had 
eordially  welcomed  the  ancestors  of  his  Mend  of  the  New-England  Society  to  a  hospitable  home  in 
Holland,  long  before  *  Plymouth  Rock*  had  ever  been  heard  or  thought  of;  and  so  warmly  did  the 
*•  PUgrtms*  of  that  day  appreciate  the  'good  and  oourteous  entreaty*  they  had  received  in  our  Fathei^ 
land,  that  they  caused  application  to  be  made  to  the  government  of  Holland  for  permiadon  for  them 
to  eome  and  settle  on  the  Hudson  River,  under  the  protection  of  Iho  United  Provinces.  When  the 
Dutch  government,  for  reasons  of  public  policy,  were  obliged  to  decline  a  compliance  with  that  wsp- 
plicatfon,  the  Pilgrims  sought  and  found  a  new  home  aflur  within  Cape  God,  and  planted  on  the  bleak 
and  barren  ahores  of  New-England  the  insUlutiaaa  which  it  had  once  been  their  purpoee  to  cultivate, 
under  the  flag  of  our  Fatherland,  in  the  more  genial  regions  of  New-Netheriand.  But  it  was  from  no 
'Jealousy*  of  the  Puritans  that  our  ancestors  in  IfiBO  iblt  unwilling  to  comply  with  their  request.  It 
was  only  from  fear  of  becoming  embroiled  with  the  friendly  government  of  England,  to  which  the 
Puritan  Pilgrims  then  owed  allegiance.  And  at  this  late  day,  the  descendants  of  |he  men  who  had 
sheltered  those  Pilgrims  in  Holland  could  never  feel  'Jealousy*  of  their  sons.  We  repelled  and  re- 
pudiated the  thought.  MankttttMn  it  emtnentlf  a  eotnopoliUn.  town.  We  welcomed  alL,  ttom  the 
four  quarteiB  of  the  world ;  and  certainly  none  are  more  welcome  here  than  those  whom  the  example 
of  our  own  ancestors  has  always  taught  us  to  look  upon  with  especial  kindliness  and  good  will. 

'  Before  sitting  down,  Mr.  B&odhbad  begged  leave  to  say  a  word  more.  His  friend  Mr.  HorFXAH, 
In  the  kindest  manner,  had  referred  to  his  long  abeence  abroad,  and  his  recent  retum  ftixn  an  bononr 
ble  diplomatic  poet  under  the  general  government.  On  his  recall  from  that  post  last  summer  it  had 
been  his  lot  to  arrive  off  the  coast  of  Long  Island  on  a  ctoar  and  beautifol  morning.  Far  off  to  the 
south  there  loomed  up  a  small  cloud  on  the  edge  of  the  horizon,  which,  as  the  ship  approached,  by 
degrees  assumed  a  more  definite  form ;  and  finally  stood  out  in  bold  relief  against  the  deep  blue  sky  be- 
yond. It  was  the  Highlands  of  the  Nave8ink;the  very  land  which  Hudson  had  so  graphically  and  so  traly 
described  as '  a  very  good  land  to  fall  in  wt'Cik,  and  a  pleasant  land  to  see.*  And  as  the  vessel  sidled  <»iward, 
and  a  thotisand  masta  covered  the  waters,  and  spread  their  whitening  canvass  to  the  breeze,  be  thought 
of  the  earlier  days  of  that  commercial  metropolis  to  which  he  waa  now  returning  after  so  long  aa 
ahaeooe.  He  thought  of  the  early  foUowera  of  Hudson  ;  of  the  high-pooped  ships  of  Amsterdam, 
and  of  the  tri-color  of  the  United  Provinces  which  floated  at  their  mast-heads.  How  the  gaudy  cos' 
tumes  of  Europe  had  surprised  the  savages  of  the  Hudson,  dad  in  skins  of  wild  beasts,  and  decorated 
with  duqilets  of  feathers ;  how  the  first  cannon  boomed  over  the  waters  of  New-Nctherland,  and  the 
startled  birds  were  aroused  by  the  unusual  echoes  which  rolled  through  the  ancient  forests;  how  the 
first  Dutch  trumpetB  blew  the  Inspiring  notes  of  the  «  Wilhblkus,*  that  celebrated  national  air  which 
had  been,  in  turn,  a  hymn  of  gratitude,  a  song  of  patriotism,  and  a  slogan  of  party  spirit.  In  the  fei^ 
off  Fatherhmd.  He  recalled  to  mind  the  eariy  exploration  of  the  neighborhood  of  Manhattan ;  and 
how  Adribn  Block,  having  lost  his  ship,  'The  Tiger,*  by  an  accidental  fire  in  1614,  with  character- 
latic  Dutch  industry  set  to  work  at  once  and  built  a  small  vessel  of  sixteen  tons,  which  he  propheti- 
cally called  the  «Rbstlbss  ;*  as  If  in  imagination  he  already  saw  the  type  of  that  busy  population 
which  was  soon  to  cover  Manhattan.  In  this  vessel.  Block,  the  first  of  Europeans,  salted  through 
HelKvate,  and  coasting  along  the  shores  of  Connecticat,  exploring  that  river  above  Hartford,  and  de- 
termining the  insular  character  of  Long-Idand,  he  left  his  name  upon  one  of  the  Islands  beyond  Mon- 
tauk,  In  perpetual  remembrance  of  his  enterprise.  In  view  of  this  circumstance,  and  of  the  emi- 
nently commercial  character  of  our  city,  Mr.  Brodhbad  begged  leave,  in  conclusion,  to  oflbr  aa  a 
gwitimwit  t 


1850.]  EHUn't  TaiU.  75 

*Tks  Mbmoky  or  Adkxbn  Block,  thb  fikit  ■Hir>BinLOKK  or  NBW'NrniBKLAin) ;  ax» 
'Tta  Rbatmss,*  TBS  rutT  vbisbl  laumgbbd  bt  EuRorBAMs  AT  Mahhattaii.' 

Tlie  Reverend  Doctor  ScHodmiAKSE  being  next  oalled  up,  as  one  of  the  oliaplauis 
of  the  Society,  after  a  few  brief  bot  moat  felicitona  remarks,  gave  the  anbjoined  toaat, 
in  the  Bounding  remacular  of  the  Fatherland : 

^Db  Wblbbewabbdb  Hbbe,  db  Hbbe  JoHAMXBt  A.  KiBQ.  De  laelMhe  Pbbbidbiit  tu  deie 
Gwrtrtrhap.  Schoon  Hchamelyk  afiresfg ;  doch  tegenwoonllgh  in  gmnoet  en  goede  wenach.  On- 
der  bet  iuBtnictie  en  goede  Toorbeelt  tba  onee  hellige  Pitroon  m1  hy  weenllglyek  bevonleran  liet 
nnlen  Toonleel  der  gene  die  hem  geeonden  hebben  on  haer  terepraiienieeren  in  de  Vergadedeilnge 
der  Venenigde  CKateo.' 


Which  being  interpreted,  for  the  benefit  of  *  ontaide  barbarians,'  readeth  in  '  manner 
fidbwing,'  to  wit : 

*  Tom  Hob.  JoBH  A.  Kixe,  latb  Psssidbbt  or  thb  St.  Nicholas  Socibtt  :  Though  sbient  in  body 
jet  pieeeoi  in  mind  and  good  wiahet:  influenced  by  the  ImtmcUonB  and  correct  example  of  our 
— — 1  Saint,  he  win  voffttilly  represent  hiBooMatneoto  in  the  Ooi«raia  of  the  United  Btalea.* 


Mr.  James  H.  Kip,  the  Third  Vice  President  of  the  Society,  after  some  oompli- 
msntary  and  ^ipropriate  remarks,  then  gave  as  a  toast : 


*Tbb  flow.  JoHB  A.  Kufo:  A  genUenwn  whom,  whether  preaeot  or  abaent,  the  Bona  of  Saint 
NxcBOLAB  delight  to  honor.* 

Many  Tolonteer  toasts  were  given,  not  a  few  of  which  were  received  with  rapturoos 
applanse.    Among  them  were  the  fc^owing : 

*OuE  HBioBBoEiBo  CiTT  or  BROOKLYN :  Msj  the  waleri  of  Lon^Usnd  combine  their  ehotceet 
Coreea,  inrade  her  etreeta,  and  take  pennanent  poaaoaalon  of  her  every  home!* 

His  Excellency,  the  Ooveknor  of  Conbt-Islaicd,  gave  the  foDovring,  ^  to  be  drank 
standing:' 
*Tbb  Mbxost  or  RuLorrs  Vor  Btolocx:  the  Ibut  man  that  ever  made  Holland  glnr 

.  Soon  afterward  the  tables  began  to  show  signs  of  desertion ;  and  the  hasy  atmos- 
phere of  the  hall  betokened  that  the  Sons  of  Manhattan  had  done  ftill  justice  to  the 
long  Gouda  pipes,  which  form  a  part  (^the  indispensable  ceremonial  of  St.  Nicholas, 
<  which  comes  but  once  a  year.'  A  few  choice  spirits  prolonged  the  festivities  into  the 
'  small  hours ;'  and  as  we  came  away,  we  could  not  help  remarking  that  a  stronger 
sentiment  of  Manhattanitm  than  usual  had  seemed  to  animate  the  company.  The  in- 
troduction of  the  national  patriotic  airs  of  Holland  into  the  standing  music  of  the  even- 
ing was  a  decided  hit  of  the  Stewards,  whose  example  in  this  respect  we  trust  will  be 
rigidly  followed  by  their  successors. 


Tm  Blbming  of  LrrTLi  Childrsn. — Somebody,  and  we  wish  we  knew  ir Ao,  says 
very  beautifuUy :  '  As  the  small  planets  are  nearest  the  sun,  so  are  little  children  the 
nearest  to  God.'  How  universal  is  the  aspiration  of  those  who  are  passing  down  the 
steeper  declivity  of  life,  for  a  return  once  more  to  the  spring-time  of  their  existence, 
the  season  of  innocency  and  joy  I  If  they  have  wandered  from  the  strait  way,  they 
are  led  to  exclaim  with  the  poet : 

^RBaTOKB  my  yiMta  to mel  Oh  GonI  reatoro 
Hy  mom  of  life  t  Oh  Fatbbr  I  be  my  guide, 
And  let  me,  2e<  me  chooae  my  path  once  more  r 

Some  thoughts  arise  upon  this  theme  <  at  this  present,'  which  {Dto  volentef)  wo  will 
jot  down  fer  a  subsequent  number. 


76  Bditar^s  Table.    .  [January, 


KzPKEiKNCEs  OF  ▲  Watkk-Cu&b  Patiknt. — If  OUT  FeadeTB  do  not  laugh  with  us 
over  the  Bubjoined  extract  from  a  iSEuniliar  letter  of  a  water-cure  patient  to  a  friend  tn 
the  metropolis,  they  are  *  made  of  sterner  staff'  than  we  take  them  to  be.  Our  friend 
who  once  wrote  us  fttnn  Lebanon  on  the  same  theme,  said  that  when  he  came  down  into 
the  hall  in  the  morning  where  the  patients  were  promenading,  he  thought  he  was  in 
a  lunatic-asylum ;  but  when  he  saw  them  at  thar  ^  lenten  entertainment'  fai  the  long 
breakfasting-room,  he  could  have  sworn  he  was  in  the  penitentiary  1  But  to  our  pre- 
sent correspondent: 

«LA8TFriday  I  was  flrai  inducted  Into  the  wet  Bhee(,or  «PSc1e,*m  itls  tecbnlcaUy  termed,  snd  will 
giTe  you  an  Inkling  of  that  ek^  ^mmwrt  of  the  water-core.  Haring  flnt  pfOTtded  two  oomftwterBi 
two  Uankets  and  two  BiieelB,  one  ootion  and  one  Unen,  yon  await  the  arriTal  of  Prrmto'pack^you. 
Attaalf-paat  three  or  four  in  the  morning  be  entera  your  room,  lamp  In  hand,  with  a  hurled  atep,  and 
with  the  look  and  manner  of  a  flunlliar  of  the  Inquisition.  Hie  bed-dothee  being  removed  and  the 
plllowa  property  arranged,  a  eomforter  is  flnt  spread  ont  upon  the  mattreae,  then  the  two  blankets, 
then  the  cotton  sheet,  wnug  out  of  ooki  water.  Upi»thla  you  atretehyoonelf  out  on  your  back,  with 
your  arms  besldo  you  and  your  head  on  the  piUow.  Tbe  wet  slieet  is  flnt  wrapped  round  you,  then 
the  blankets  are  well  tacked  in  under  your  shoulders  and  all  the  way  to  your  ftset ;  the  oomfoiter  is. 
then  fixed  in  the  same  way ;  the  other  oomlbrter  is  then  doubled  and  put  over  you,  and  tucked  in  so  as 
to  pin  you  down  and  eflbctuaHy  exdude  the  air.  In  this  ooudltion  you  lie  from  half  an  hour  to  an 
hour  and  a  half,  as  may  be  neoossaiy,  until  you  get  perfectly  waim.  Your  sensatlotts  are  various,  but 
on  the  whole  not  unpleasant,  and  when  you  get  in  a  glow,  delightfiiL  You  generally  fkdl  into  a  doze, 
and  have  all  manner  of  visions.  But  I  win  beghi  at  the  beginning,  and  take  you  through  a  « pack* 
seriaiim ;  showing  yon  the  different  phases  through  which  1  passed  on  my  first  appearapce  as  a 
*  packed  patient*  hi  a  water«nre  establishment 

*■  My  first  vision  was  a  long  icido  in  one  of  the  caves  of  Nova  Zembla,  which  changed  into  a  snow 
man,  who  gradually  vanished,  repeating  as  he  melted : 

•  •  Cold  on  his  naidnight  watch  the  breezes  blow 
From  waetea  that  slumber  in  eternal  snow. 
And  waft  across  the  waves'  tumultaons  roar 
The  wolfs  long  howl  from  Onoloaka's  shore.' 

Having  got  somewhat  over  the  chill,  I  arrived  at  what  may  be  called  the  *  nervous  phase.*  *  Suppose,' 
thought  I,  *thai  a  fly  should  walk  over  my  fiu»,  or  explore  my  ear,  or  some  blood-4hir8ty  mosquito 
should  attack  me  in  this  helpless  state  t  or  worm  than  either,  if  the  house  should  take  fire,  and  I  all 
aknehi«m«ileriylnaetlvttyr*  To  this  Beason  replied :  Mtts8oearlyinthemoraing,thatnotafly 
isstlrring;  it  is  much  better  to  tot  a  uuwquito  take  his  fill  than  to  km  him  before  he  is  done;  and  if 
the  house  takes  fire,  there  is  water  enough,  in  all  conscience,  to  put  out  a  dozen  such  houses  as  thisT 
To  which  Philosophy  adds:  «« Do  n*t  be  flrightooed  before  you  are  hurt;*  If  the  fire  comes  it  win  bum 
the  fiy  and  the  mosquito  also,  whidi  is  some  oomfort*    0o  peases  that  phase. 

*I  now  begin  to  look  about  me  and  examine  my  state,  beginning  to  warm  a  little,  and  dlghtly  to 
dose;  but  such  asoocesslonof  vldons  andodd  fkmcies  and  beautiful  scenes, interq>erMd  with  songs, 
did  the  sight  of  myself  bring  upon  me,  that  I  hardly  know  where  to  begin.  First,  I  was  a  band  of 
*Pl1ffleBeef,No.  1,*  packed  for  the  English  market;  ^Mess  Pork*  was  out  of  the  question,  beta«  con- 
traband in  a  wateisnire  establishment.  Next  I  was  one  of  the  *  Forty  Thieves*  in  the  oiHar,  and  ex- 
pected every  moment  some  beantifyil  Morouxa  te  give  me  a  *  douche*  of  boiling  oil ;  this  vldon  was 
mingled  with  the  caravan's  march  and  *•  Moroura,  thou  art  my  dearest  V  Ihen  I  was  a  mummy,  and 
wandered  tu  away  among  the  catacombs  and  into  the  days  of  Ptolbict  PmLADKLrans,  Interspersed 
with  fine  eerapaflrom^llosBs  in  Egypt;*  then  an  Indian  papooae  bound  hi  baik,  and  I  roved  among 
theialBndsof  the  BouthPadfle^Tfpee  and  the  Bay  of  Islands;  FAT-AWATBai«tome,«CknnetothB 
sunset  Uee,*  and  a  tall  New-Zealander  threatened  to  devour  me;  but  I  knew  he  could  never  get  at  me 
through  the  blankets  and  comforters,  and  fi»lt  more  afrdd  of  a  mosquito  than  of  forty  New-Zealanders. 
Lastly,  I  was  the  Culprtt  Fdy,  endoeed  in  a  wahiutrdiell,  and  soared  high  over  Tsrrytown  to  Grow**- 
Neat  and  the  Beacon,  looked  down  iqxmWeat  Point,  and  warbkxl  sweetly  bito  J . . . .'  s  ear: 

' '  lit  heart's  in  the  Highlands, 
Oh.  gin  I  were  there  i' 

•So  ended  tAu  phase.  The  heat  was  now  taioeaslng,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  were  envek>ped  hi  a  warm 
hastyi»udUling,  or  rather  like  an  apple  taiside  of  a  dumpling,  with  this  diflbrence  between  myself  and 
his  mostgradousm^eety  Khig  Gsoaas  theThird,  thatl  knew  very  wdl  how  I  got  hi,  but  the  puzde 


1850.] 


Editor's  TaUe. 


77 


vatlftafvlBliooldgeloiot.  The  heat  sUU  incroaalng,  I  fhnded  myself  for  a  inoment  Puirr  Uie  Elder 
in  the  enter  of  VesarliiB;  but  Imagination,  taking  the  relna  in  ita  own  haa^ftirly  ran  rioL  Gire 
mea<iMek*fbrlnq>intkml  OplomtoalboltoU;  gliHmd'iralerian*tadnnmifltance;  anddalnroj- 
aioe  maj  hang  np  Ita  llddle.  I  vaa  now  right  nnder  the  line,  (in  this  Btate  you  neTer  get  north  of  the 
eqoatorO  amid  the  UKiat  luinulant  of  tropical  acenee ;  now  deaoendlng  the  Amazon  withGoasALo 
Pbauio,  and  anon  awwwuHng  the  Oranooo  with  HuMaoLirr ;  fhea  in  India,  entwined  hi  the  fiddaof 
alwft«oiiatiietor,  oranmlfortnnateBl4al^powerleaiintheembraoe8of  Britiahaflbetion.  Unallyl 
aKpanded  into  a  gaaeoip  state,  and  leering  my  wormy  coaling  in  the  ^pack,*  emerged  Uke  abutterfly 
ftom  its  chryaalia,  and  soared  on  winga  of  purple  and  gold  into  boundleaa  apaoe  I 

( Iheae  were  all  eftyrta  of  the  imagination.  Yoamu8tnoCthink,my  dear  J....,thatany  of  theaa 
Ihfai^  did  reaUy  take  place.  Oh,  no!  the  only  reaUty  waa  Pbtsb,  who  came  Ui,  and  like  twelTe 
o^docfcf  ledoead  CiMDamcLLA  to  blanketa  and  oomfortera  again.  Bemoving  the  outer  shell  of  com- 
talen,aiMlsettfa«myfeet  at  Uberty,  he  gallanted  me,  atiU  swathed  in  bhmketa,  to  the  bath,  which 
had  about  a  foot  of  water  in  it,  of  the  temperature  of  seventy  degrees.  Lying  down  for  a  moment  in 
Ihia,  you  then  alt  up  in  the  water,  and  rub  and  are  rubbed  briskly  with  the  water  for  about  two 
s;  the  water-pipe  la  then  let  k)ose  upon  you  and  dashed  two  or  three  times  over  yoarahouMen 
in^pmtinm^  Qot  yet  iUily  unhoKsed,  combining  with  the  actual  drcumatancea  of  the 
caae,  leada  you  to  imagine  yourself  passing  under  the  sheet  at  Niagara,  or  in  the  case  of  a  delinquent 
husband  put  under  the  hydrant  for  beating  his  wife.  The  last  idea,  however,  merely  flashed  throogh 
my  mind,  inaamuch  aa  I  had  no  wife  to  beat,  and  withal  felt  a  glow  of  satlsftction  oomo  over  me 
aoefa  aa  I  imagine  very  rarely  oomea  over  the  culprit  under  sentence  Ibr  sponse^agellation.  This 
proeeaaover,  I  atepped  out  of  the  bath,  and  waa  immediately  enveloped  fhmi  head  to  foot  in  the  dry 
Unanaheet;  a  perfect  fho^imile  of  a  Bedouin  Arab.  So  striking  was  the  reeemblanoe,  that  I  should 
have  serenaded  PsTsa  and  invited  him  to  « Fly  to  the  Desert*  with  me,  were  it  not  that  I  shoukl  aa 
aoon  tUnk  of  Joking  with  Danul  Wbbstbr,  or  the  great  Centre  of  Gravity  himseU;  as  with  the 
hath  ftmctlonary  of  Mount  Orange.  After  being  thorooghly  rubbed  dry  through  the  sheet  until  I 
Mtlikea  haoNleakamotherad  inonlona,  Istepped  out  of  it,  and  the  whole  iUoalon  vanished: 


'  'Tbs  eocks  hare  crowad.  and  the  tnju  ar«  go&a ;' 
Pbtsb  haa  vamosed,  and  '  Uio  pack'  ia  doae  1' 


Tbb  same  day  on  which  the  foregoing  was  handed  to  us  by  an  esteemed  friend,  the 
foDowing  Imes  reached  ub  from  another  capital  *  water-cure'  correspondent,  from 
wh(«n  H  is  always  a  pleasure  to  hear,  and  from  whom  onr  readers  have  heard,  'many 
a  time  and  oft,'  and  never  saye  *  to  edification :' 


Watbk  *s  a  good  thing— In  its  way ; 
CSood  in  ooeana,  rivers  and  brooks, 
Good  for  dust  on  a  windy  day, 
And  beantilVd  in  the  water4K>oks; 

But  to  waah  in  It, 

BphMhinit, 

Swaah  in  it, 

DMhlnit, 
I  humbly  oflbr  my  poor  excuse: 
I  never  waa  partial  to  the  blues  I 


And  to  drink  it  at  mondnff,  noon  and  night, 
Ab  some  Mka  do,  it  would  kill  me  quite: 

IiMverdrlnkitI 
Ooflbe  at  breaktet,  coflto  at  hmd^ 
OoObe  at  dhmer,  and  tea  at '  tea,* 
And  after,  Glenllvet  whiskey-i;>anch : 
TIaM  are  the  neetarouB  diMghts  for  me ! 

I  coee  had  a  friend,  at  least  in  name. 
Or  I  tkau£kt  hhn  such,  which  is  all  the  same; 
Ha  loet  hlB  health— a  kind  of  dizziness, 
Brought  on — but  that  ia  none  of  your  bustaMSB : 
Hia  mother  went  out,  (wouki  I  had  k»cked  her 

0afo  in  the  house,  and  lost  the  key!) 
And  brought  him  a  Hydropathic  doctor, 

A  Triton  grand 

That  wnddled  on  land 
When  he  shoukl  have  been  flrthoms  in  the  sea. 
Ha  ofdoned  a  tub  of  water  in, 

mo  n*t  bliMh  nor  shout; 

The  women  were  out,) 
And  stripped  him  naked,  bare  to  the  skin. 

And  gave  hhn  a*  sits* 


That  gave  him  fits, 
C  sua*  for  sltttng,  and '  bad'  for  bath : 
I  picked  this  up  flnom  a  German  lad. 
Who  toM  me,  huighing  in  merry  wrath, 
« Mynheer, '  siu  b«l*—  sits  deviBsh  bad  P) 
And  rolled  him  next  lh>m  the  head  to  feet, 
Think  of  it  once!  in  a  dripping  aheet; 
And  malgr6  my  oaths  and  threat  of  canes - 
oukllhadci 


1  caned  him !— wn^pt  him  roood, 


WouMI 
Bound  with  a  dozen  countenanes' 
siuul 


palna  enough?) 

ned,  fettered  and  bound, 


(What  Billys 
Hadn't  he  counter  palna 
And  left  him  pinioned,  f 
Like  the  corse  of  amummydrenchM  and  drownU 
And  there  he  lay  foe  an  hour  or  more, 
Trembling,  shivering,  shaking  sore, 

PaUldandchaa^ 

And  when  he  spoke 

He  uttered  a  joke 
As  good  as  the  punishing  punster's  last: 
*  Jacob,  I  always  ehattered  fhst, 
~  a  never  chattered  so  fost  before  P 


When  the  time  was  up  the  doctor  came, 
And  took  him  out,  like  a  frozen  flame ; 
(Tou  know  what  it  is,  if  marshes  plague  you, 
And  give  you  the  horrid  fover-awMgue  1) 
Broumit  him  water  and  made  him  suck  it. 

He  said  it  stung  him  like  driving  hail, 
And  wet  his  bead,  and  made  hhn  duck  it, 
And  flUed  a  paU  and  bucket,  alack ! 
Andpoured  the  water  adown  his  back, 

TUfhefto  come  to  the  end  of  the  tale, 
Tamed  pale,  poor  feUow  1  and  kicked  the  boefcflt. 


78  Editor's  TtMc  [January, 


Wbsr  fllokneiB  comes,  which  HeATCii  aTOil 
WhateTcr  magr  be  your  ^aU*  or  ^hiirt,* 

Get  well  as  &urt  as  voa  can; 
Botua  and  blister,  pill  and  bleed,  , 

Ph jalc,  if  yoa  *ra  a  *  phyalc*-«l  man, 

Or  *  trust  to  nature,*  If  cAox  *«  yoor  plan ; 

Any  thing  but  a  hydropath  I 
CTbat  Is  a  hydropath  indeed  I) 
Eren  go  with  the  *  deq>aate  caaea,' 
And  drink  the  water  at  wateringjilacea ; 

But  fly,  If  you  love  your  soul,  (rom  Baik ! 

Now  lest  it  should  be  inferred  that  the  foregoing  are  very  aerioiu  and  matter-of-ftot 
records,  implying  a  lack  of  confidence  in  old  Psjessnttz  his  remedy,  we '  beg  to  state,' 
for  the  encouragement  of  all  *  water-cnre*  seekers,  that  the  writers  of  both  the  prose 
and  the  verse  are  slowly  but  surely  recovering  from  theur  separate  maladies,  under  the 
*  benign  influence'  of  water ;  water,  ^  the  pure  element,  beloved  of  children,  and  of 
child-like,  holy  hermit' 


Gossir  WITH  RiADKEs  AND  Ck>aEBSPONDBNTs.  —  Wb  have  been  reading  to-night, 
in  the  columns  of  '  The  ChrUtian  Inquirer^  weekly  religious  journal  a  very  interesting 
letter  from  Palestine,  describing  a  walk  upon  the  Mount  of  Olives,  and  the  feelings 
excited  in  the  mind  of  the  writer  by  the  view  of  that  sacred  locality,  and  the  hallowed 
scenes  to  be  discerned  from  its  summit  Every  hill  and  valley  around  spoke  to  him  of 
Jbsus  ;  the  very  ground  he  trode  upon  had  been  pressed  by  the  meek  Rkdeemer'b 
feet  *,  around  him  spread  the  same  natural  scenery  from  which  Christ  drew  his  in- 
imitable similes  ^  ho  stood  in  the  Garden  of  Gethsemane,  where  the  '  Man  of  Sorrows,' 
in  *  agony  and  bloody  sweat,'  poured  forth  bitterest  tears ;  he  saw  ^  where  His  hands 
and  feet  were  pierced,  where  his  heart-vein  was  stricken,  and  his  side  gored  with  the 
spear ;'  he  sat  down  upon  the  roots  of  an  aged  olive-tree,  ^  over  against  the  temple,' 
and  read  the  account  of  His  agony,  and  prayer,  and  betrayal ;  of  IIis  lament  over 
Jerusalem,  of  his  *  precious  death  and  burial,'  and  his  *  glorious  resurrection  and  as- 
cension;' while  fitf  off  rose  Mount  ZTion  and  Mount  Moriah,  pointing  to  the  heaven 
which  received  Hiii.  This  nearness  of  association  with  the  scenes  of  the  Saviour's 
life  was  inexpressibly  touching ;  as  indeed  is  the  contemplation  of  that  life,  howsoever 
regafded,  in  the  records  which  have  come  down  to  us.  Reader,  Christmas  is  at  hand ; 
even  to-morrow  it  will  be  here :  you  wOl  not  think  it  amiss,  therefore,  if  we  read  to 
you  a  few  timely  sentences  from  a  litUe  book  which  we  sometimes  peruse  in  bed,  be- 
lore  going  to  rest  for  the  night ;  namely,  ^A  TVeatUe  of  Learning  to  Xtoe,'  by 
Christopher  Sutton.  It  shows  to  his  readers  wherein, '  in  this  present  evil  world,' 
they  should  imitate  their  great  Exemflar  ;  *•  the  most  absolute  pattern  for  imitation 
that  ever  walked  among  men :' 

«CoR8ii>BR  how  humbly  Ha  behaved  himself  In  the  world ;  how  flsUow-Uke  with  his  aposttes; 
how  merclftil  Ha  was  to  the  poor  and  distressed,  who  seemed  his  special  fiunily:  Ha  despised  none, 
althoagh  lepers;  Ha  flattered  none,  though  never  so  glorious;  Ha  was  free  from  the distraoting  cares 
of  the  worid,  whose  care  was  his  FATHBa*s  win  and  man's  good.  How  patient  Ha  was  In  bearing 
roproaehes,  how  gentle  in  his  answers;  wluU  pride  is  there  that  his  humility  doth  not  abase ;  what 
anger  that  his  gentleneaB  doth  not  lenify ;  what  ooTetousness  that  his  poverty  doth  not  balsam ;  what 
heart  is  there  so  benumbed  that  his  love  doth  not  inflameT  How  ready  Ha  is  to  embmoe  in  the  anns 
of  his  mercy,  and  cover  under  the  shadow  of  hia  wings,  all  that  cry  and  come  onto  him.  Ah,leper! 
had'stthou  come  near  any  of  the  Pharisees,  there  was  no  other  word  to  bo  looked  for,  but*  Awajl 
havens,  leper;  thoumaysst  not  approach  toward  the  oongregatton ;  I  wlU  la  no  case  touch  thee. 


1850.] 


Edam's  Table. 


79 


I^per,ttMMiariaiiclMar  What  doth  Ch&mt?  Hb  gently  Btretcheth  oat  Mb  hand,  which  was  llberaUtj 
againflt  the  oovetooa,  which  was  humility  against  the  proad,  wlilch  was  pity  against  the  envious,  and 
power  against  the  Incrednlous,  and  the  man  was  made  whole.  How  unlike  to  the  Bon  of  God,  are 
vomerelital  men  I  .  . .  Ha  isnota  troe  christian  who  bearethnot  some  resemblance  of  Cnaisr,  from 
whom  be  is  caDed  ^Christtan.*  When  hiboza  and  tronblea  come;  whenby  cataunlties  we  feel  that  we 
have  offiended ;  when  we  snlikr  hunger,  we  ought  to  think  of  Christ's  fasting ;  when  we  are  tempted^ 
we  oqght  to  think  of  his  leading  into  the  wiMoroeas  to  be  tempted ;  when  we  suffer  reproaches  we 
oagbtU>cantomindhiasnffBringreproa<dies,and  liftup  our  hearts  to  hearen,  and  our  souls  to  Hnr 
who  bare  our  inflrmiUes.  We  ought  to  think  of  innocency  suffering  for  sin,  humility  enduring  tor^ 
meat  kx  pride,  righteousness  for  unrighteouanesa.  .  .  .  Thb  skiUbl  pUot,  as  he  often  casla  his  eyes 
unto  the  stanand  planets  above,  so  is  his  hand  also  busy  at  the  hehn  beneath.  The  diristian,  between 
iUth  and  good  works,  doth  the  like ;  by  fUth  he  looks  up  to  Christ,  by  good  works  he  praetuetk  the 
viitnes  of  his  hxunanity.* 

We  know  not  whether  all  of  our  readers  have  seen  the  description,  said  to  have 
been  addressed  by  Lentullus  to  the  Senate  of  I^me,  of  the  person  of  our  Saviour  ; 
nor  have  we  any  proof  of  its  anthenticity ;  but  certain  it  is,  that  the  features  here  de- 
picted have  been  preserved  by  ail  artists,  ancient  and  modern,  in  their  representations 
of  Jesus  :  '  He  is  a  man  goodly  to  behold,  having  a  reverend  countenance,  his  stature 
somewhat  tall,  his  hair  after  the  color  of  the  ripe  hazel-nut,  from  his  ears  somewhat 
crisped,  parting  itself  in  the  midst  of  the  head ;  and  waving  witli  the  wind,  after  the 
manner  of  the  Nazarites ;  his  face  without  wrinkle,  mixed  with  moderate  red ;  his  beard 
somewhat  copious,  tender,  and  divided  at  the  chin ;  his  eyes  gray,  various,  and  clear ; 
he  is  in  rebuking  severe,  in  instructing  amiable,  and  merry  with  gravity.  He  sometimes 
weeps,  but  has  never  been  seen  to  laugh ;  in  talk  sober,  and  full  of  understanding.  He 
is  goodly  to  behold^  above  all  the  sons  of  men.*  ...  *  The  Seaside  and  Fireside^  is 
die  designation  of  a  ooUection  of  such  of  Professor  Longfellow's  later  poems  as  could 
appropriately  be  included  under  the  pretty  title  he  has  chosen.  Several  of  them  have 
appeared  in  the  magazines  and  journals  of  the  day,  but  two  or  three  of  them  we  have 
not  before  encountered.  They  are  all  marked  by  the  peculiar  characteristics  of  the 
author's  verse,  purity,  simplicity,  and  good  taste.  ^The  Building  of  the  Ship*  was 
probably  suggested  by  Schiller's  *  Founding  of  the  Bell,'  the  detail  in  each  being 
equally  minute.    We  subjoin  two  or  three  striking  passages : 


( CovBRuo  many  a  rood  of  ground, 
liay  the  timber  piled  around ; 
limber  of  chestnut,  and  elm,  and  oak, 
And  scattered  here  and  there,  with  these. 
The  knarred  and  crooked  cedar  knees; 
Broui^t  fincHn  regions  fiv  away, 
From  Pascagou]a*8  sunny  bay. 
And  the  banks  of  the  roaring  Boanoke! 

*  Dinr  by  day  the  vessel  grew, 
With  timbers  fkahioned  strong  and  true, 
Stemson  and  keelson  and  stemaon-knoe, 
nil  ttwcaeA.  with  perfect  symmetry, 
A  skeleUm  ship  rose  up  to  view ! 
And  arouiid  the  bows  and  along  the  side 
The  heavy  hammers  and  mallets  i^ed, 
TIU  after  many  a  week,  at  length, 
Wonderftil  for  fbrm  and  strength, 
Sublime  in  its  enormous  bulk. 
Loomed  aloft  the  shadowy  hulk! 
And  around  It  cohimns  of  Bmoke,upwreathing, 
Rose  from  the  boiling,  bubbling,  seething 
Oaklron,  that  showed, 
And  overflowed 

With  the  black  tar,  heated  for  the  sheathing. 
And  amid  the  clamors 
Of  clattering  hammers. 
He  who  listened  heard  now  and  then 
The  song  of  the  Master  and  his  men: 


* « BuiU  me  straight,  O  worthy  Master, 
Staunch  and  strong,  a  goodly  vessel. 

That  shall  laugh  at  all  disaster. 
And  with  wave  and  wliiriwmd  wrestler 


With  oaken  brace  and  copper  band, 

Lay  tiie  rudder  on  the  sand. 

That,  like  a  thought,  should  have  control 

Over  the  movement  of  the  whole ; 

And  near  it  the  anchor,  whose  giant  hand 

Would  reach  down  and  grapple  with  the  hmd, 

And  inunoveable  and  fiut 

Hold  the  groatship  against  the  bellowing  bbntl 

And  at  the  bows  an  image  stood, 

By  a  cunning  artist  carved  In  wood, 

With  robes  of  white,  that  flur  behind 

Seemed  to  be  fluttering  in  the  wind. 

It  was  not  shaped  in  a  doasic  mould, 

Not  like  a  nymph  or  goddess  of  old, 

Or  Naiad  rising  flpom  the  water, 

But  modeUed  from  the  Master's  daughter! 

On  many  a  dreary  and  misty  night. 

Twill  be  seen  by  the  lays  of  the  slknalUght, 

Speeding  along  through  the  rain  ana  the  dark, 

Like  a  ghost  in  its  snow-white  sark, 

The  pilot  of  some  phantom  baric, 

Guldbg  the  vessel,  in  its  flight, 


By  a  paih  none  other  knows  aright! 


80 


Editors  T\Me. 


[January, 


The  dght  of  the  xnaBte  takes  the  poet  back  to  the '  deer-haunted  forests  of  Maine,' 
where  through  the  snow  the  *  panting  steen'  drew  those  k>rdly  pines  to  the  sea-board ; 
then  we  have  the  Uonch,  the  marriage  at  the  same  time  of  the  master's  daughter,  and 
the  sailing  of  the  ftir  ship ;  all  Tery  admirably  described.  The  ship  was  called  ^Tke 
Uniony^  which  suggests  this  closing  apostrophe  to  our  beloved  country : 


<  Thou,  too,  tail  oo,  O  ship  of  state ! 
8aU  on,  O  Umoii,  atroog  and  great! 
Humanity  with  all  its  fean, 
With  alt  the  bopes  of  ftiture  years, 
Is  hanging  breathlees  on  thy  fUe! 
We  know  what  Jf  aster  hdd  thy  keel, 
What  workmen  wrought  thy  rllw  of  steel, 
Who  made  each  mast,  and  sail,  and  rope, 
What  anvils  rang,  what  hammere  beat. 
In  wtiat  a  forge  and  what  a  heat 
Were  shaped  the  anchors  of  thy  hope ! 


Fear  not  each  sodden  sound  and  shock, 
*Tls  of  the  ware  and  not  the  rock ; 
lis  but  the  flapping  of  the  sail, 
And  notarentmade  by  tiie  galel 
In  spite  of  rock  and  tempest  roar, 
In  spite  of  blae  lighto  on  the  shore, 
Bail  on,  nor  tear  to  breast  the  seal 
Our  hearta,  our  hopes,  aro  all  with  thee, 
Our  hearts, our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tMn* 
Our  fkith  triumphant  o^er  our  tears. 
Are  aU  with  thee — are  all  with  thee  r 


There  are  some  fine  descriptive  stanzas  in  the  Imes  entitled  *  The  Light-House  .*' 

— ^ '  a  dim  B<g«pUf.  sh^per 
Holding  its  lantern  o*er  the  restless  suige.' 

If  any  of  our  readers  would  feel  the  exact  force  and  truth  of  this  picture,  they  should 
go  forth  upon  the  sea  off  Sandy-Hook,  on  some  deep  dark  night,  toward  which  ever 
looks,  from  his  lofty  station  over  the  light-house,  that  weather-stained  Man  in  the 
Iron-Mask : 


*  And  the  great  ships  sail  outward  and  return. 

Bending  aud  bowing  6*w  the  billowy  sweUa, 
And  evOT  Joyfhl,  as  they  see  it  bum, 
They  wave  their  silent  welcomes  and  Ikrewells. 

*  Th^  come  forth  fh>m  the  darkness,  and  their  sails 

Gleam  for  a  moment  onlv  in  the  blaze. 
And  eager  flMea,  as  the  light  unveils, 
Gaie  at  the  tower,  and  vanish  while  they  gaze. 


'  The  mariner  remembers  when  a  child, 

On  his  first  voyage,  he  saw  it  fiide  and  sink ; 
And  when,  returning  fhmi  adventures  wild, 
He  saw  it  rise  again  o*er  ocean's  brink. 

'  Sieadfiut,  serene,  immovable,  the  some 

Year  af  er  year,  through  all  the  silent  night 
Bums  on  for  eyenaore  thai  quenchless  flame, 
Shines  on  thai  inextinguishable  light  P 


This  volume  of  Mr.  Longfkllow  is  from  the  enterprising  publishing-house  of 
Messrs.  Tickmor,  Reed  and  Fiklps,  Boston,  and  is  marked  by  the  uniform  neatness 
of  their  publications.  .  .  .  Wb  have  more  than  wonted  pleasure  in  calling  the 
especial  attention  of  our  physicaDy  '  complaining'  readers  to  the  mcidental  remarks  in 
relation  to  Physical  Training ^  which  are  contained  in  certain  of  the  closing  pages 
of  a  correspondent  who  has  the  deserved  honor  of  opening  the  year  1850  with  our 
readers.  Read  the  eighth  and  ninth  pages  of  the  leading  paper  in  the  present  num- 
ber, all  ye  nerveless  *  complainants,'  and  lay  to  heart  the  lessons  which  they  inculcate. 
Professor  Lambert,  in  his  late  excellent  work  on  *■  Anatomy  and  Physiology,'  has 
also  that  to  say  in  relation  to  the  same  subject,  the  importance  of  which,  to  unexer- 
daing  students,  can  hardly  be  over-estimated.  He  shows  clearly,  that  a  proper  cir- 
culation of  good  blood  through  the  brain  is  necessary  for  the  accomplishment  of  its 
duties  in  producing  muscular  action  :  *■  How  admirable,'  he  remarks,  ^  that  increased 
muscular  action  increases  the  rapidity  with  which  the  blood  flows  to  the  brain  at  tho 
very  time  required ;  showing  plainly  that  rubbing  the  body,  and  general  exercise  of 
the  system,  must  be  highly  favorable  to  the  brain.'  With  this  proper  cultivation  of 
the  body,  cultivation  of  the  mind  mcrcascs  the  circulation  of  blood  in  the  briun,  and 
of  course  its  efficacy  in  fulfilling  its  duties,  in  connection  with  intellectual  labor.  *  Nor 
less  important,'  adds  Professor  Lambert,  ^  will  be  a  cheerful  disposition,  for  a  merry 
heart  sends  the  blood  coursing  briskly  through  every  organ.'  '  Spoken  like  a  phi- 
losopher,' Profesaor !    Charles  Lamb,  in  one  of  his  playful  letters  to  his  friend,  the 


1850.]  Editor's   Table.  •  81 

late  Bssif  AKO  Bakton ,  recently  published  in  England,  gives  some  advice  which  will 
suit  the  physical  *  complainants'  of  this  meridian.  Among  other  amusing  and  yet 
most  valuahle  advice,  he  tells  the  ^  ailing'  Quaker  poet :  *  You  are  too  much  appre- 
hoiaive  about  your  oomplaint.  The  best  way  in  theso  oases  is  to  keep  yourself  as 
ignorant  as  yon  can — as  ignorant  as  the  world  was  before  Galen — of  the  entire 
inner  construotions  of  the  animal  man  ;  not  to  be  conscious  of  a  midriff;  to  hold 
kidneys  (save  of  sheep  and  swine)  to  be  an  agreeable  fiction ;  not  to  know  where- 
about the  gall  grows ;  to  account  the  circulation  of  the  blood  a  mere  idle  whim  of 
Hakvet's  ;  to  acknowledge  no  mechanism  not  visible.  For,  once  fix  the  seat  of 
your  ditordeTy  and  your  fancies  flux  into  it  like  so  many  bad  humors.  Those 
medical  gentry  choose  each  his  favorite  part,  one  takes  the  lungs,  another  the  Uver, 
and  refers  to  that  whatever  in  the  animal  economy  is  amiss.'  He  goes  on  to  counsel 
his  friend  *  above  all^  to  use  exercise  /'  keep  a  good  conscience  j  avoid  tamperingn 
with  hard  terms  of  art,  *  viscosity,'  *  scirrhoeity,'  and  those  bugbears  by  which  simple 
patients  are  scared  into  their  graves.  Believe  the  general  sense  of  the  mercantile 
world,  which  holds  that  desks  arc  not  deadly.  It  is  the  mindy  and  not  the  limbs^ 
that  taints  by  long  sitting.  Think  of  the  patience  of  tailors  ;  think  how  long  the 
Loan  Chancellor  sits ;  think  of  the  brooding  hen.'  We  can  bear  abundant  testi- 
mony to  the  value  of  exercise.  During  the  sixteen  years  of  our  editorship  hereof, 
we  have  seldom  walked,  *  i-ain  or  shine,'  less  than  six  miles  a  day,  and  more  frequently 
seven  ;  and  perhaps  our  readers  will  liave  seen  that  the  amount  of  mathHel,  such  as 
it  has  been,  which  we  have  furnished  to  these  pages,  must  have  kept  us  a  good  por- 
tbn  of  Ae  time  in  the  posture  of  '  the  brooding  hen.'  Yet  we  have  to  bless  Heaven 
for  the  '  strength  of  our  youth,  and  the  marrow  of  fatness  in  our  bones.'  Our  ad- 
vice, therefore,  to  all  un-exercising  persons  engaged  in  sedentary  pursuits,  may  be 
oompreascd  into  a  single  word,  which  we  borrow  from  our  contemporary,  the  editor 
of  the  '  B.  F.  S.  and  I.  E.' :  ^CirkeUite  /  cirkelate ."  We  preach  what  we  practise, 
and  to  some  efToct,  too ;  for  here  comes  bolting  into  the  sanctum  a  little  *  dark-eyed 
one,'  to  show  us  her  new  gymnasium-dress,  warm  and  free,  with  its  broad  belt  and 
Turkish  terminations.  *  Cirkelate!  cirkelate!'  .  .  .  From  Ticknor,  Reed  and 
Fields,  Boston,  we  have  two  handsomely-executed  volumes  of  ^  Poems  by  Robert 
Browning,^  many  of  which  had  been  out  of  print,  and  the  rest  withdrawn  from  cir- 
culation, when  the  present  edition  was  prepared  and  carefully  corrected  and  revised 
by  the  author.  Walter  Savage  Lanoor  fronts  the  title-page  with  a  complimentary 
scmnet,  in  which  ho  says : 

*•  BRownica !  since  Cbauckr  was  alive  and  halo, 
No  man  hath  walkt  along  onr  roads  with  step 
80  octiTe,  so  Inquiring  eye,  or  t<Higiio 
80  varied  in  discoivse.* 

This,  if  deserved,  is  high  praise ;  ^  and  what  avails  it,'  as  the  Arabs  have  it, '  if  a  man 
eommendeth  you  for  that  which  you  possess  not  ?'  .  .  .  Mr.  John  R.  Bartlett, 
an  accomplished  bibliopole,  scholar,  and  antiquarian,  read  recently  before  the  *  New- 
York  Historical  Society'  an  admirable  paper  upon  the  social  character  and  familiar 
gossip  of  the  late  lamented  Albert  Gallatin,  with  whom  ho  was  for  many  years 
upon  terma  of  an  enviable  familiar  intimacy.  It  was  replete  with  entertaining  narra- 
tive and  pleasant  anecdote.  One  of  these  latter  was  a  forcible  illustration  of  a  trait  in 
Goieral  W^ashinoton's  character,  namely,  that  *  he  was  slow  in  forming  his  opinion, 
and  never  decided  until  he  knew  he  was  right.'  In  the  instance  given,  however, 
Gallatin,  the  young  surveyor,  was  right  also^  and  sooner  right  than  the  General. 

VOL.   XXXT.  6 


82  Editor's   Table,  [Januaiy, 

WouTER  Van  Twiller  wtw  a  slow  thiiikcr ;  and  there  is  reason  to  fear  that,  with  so 
great  an  exemplar  of  deliberation  as  Washington,  many  Van  Twillerb  of  our  day, 
in  very  simple  matters,  may  hesitate  longer  in  coming  to  a  decision  than  maj'  be 
either  necessary  or  advisable.  .  .  .  Just  been  reading,  and  with  no  small  interest, 
*  An  Historical  Discourse^'*  by  Rev.  Addison  K.  Strong,  giving  the  history  of  the 
Congregational  Church  in  the  little  town  of  our  nativity',  the  place  where  'Aunt  Lucy's 
twms*  were  baptized.  The  names  and  liistories  of  all  the  pastors,  from  the  earliest 
settlement  of  the  place  to  tlie  present  period,  are  given ;  and  as  we  read  them,  how 
many  pictures  from  the  '  dark  backward  and  abyfim  of  time'  arose  to  view  I     Parson 

W ,  for  example,  how  well  we  remember  liim  !     *  A  man  severe  he  was,  and 

stem  to  view,'  but  a  good  man  at  heart,  no  doubt.  Wo  recollect  him  so  for  back  as 
the  time  when  our  childish  fancy  was,  that  when  he  got  up  to  speak,  he  *  took  his  text' 
out  of  a  small  box  under  the  pulpit-cushion  ;  wc  forget  now  what  we  then  tliought 
the  '  TexV  was ;  but  we  once  saw  something  like  what  we  remembered  for  a  dim 
moment  to  have  thought  it,  in  a  toy -store  on  Christmas-eve,  some  years  ago !     Wo 

were  always  afraid  of  Parson  W ,  *  we  boys ;'  and  many  and  many  a  time  have 

wo  gone  and  hid  when  he  approached  the  house.  Religion  was  a  '  dreadful  thing' 
in  those  days.  Cheerfulness  was  tabooed  ;  and  a  solemn  visage  and  a  cold  demeanor 
were  the  outward  and  visible  signs  of  having  *  obtained  a  Iiope.^  A  common  '  pro- 
fessor' was  not  to  be  encountered  without  emotion,  but '  the  minister,'  all  in  black,  was 
a  terrible  bug-bear !  We  used  to  regard  him,  as  '  an  officer  of  the  divine  law,'  in  much 
the  same  light  in  which  police-officers  are  viewed  by  the  suspicious  delinquent.     But 

Parson  W is  gone ;  and  we  cannot  but  felicitate  ourself,  for  one,  that  wo  '  did 

what  was  right'  in  our  attendance  upon  his  ministrations,  llow  many  hundreds  of 
times,  wrapped  up  in  sweet-scented  hay,  in  the  bottom  of  a  sleigh,  did  we  ride 
through  the  howling  winter  storm,  to  sit  in  that  old  church,  with  nothing  but  the 
maternal  foot-stove  and  the  prevalent  *  fire  of  devotion'  to  keep  us  from  perisliing ; 
yea,  even  to  the  division  '  sixtccnthly,'  and  the  '  improving'  '  Hence  we  learn,  in 
view  of  our  subject,  in  the  next  and  last  place,'  etc.  In  summer  there  was  a  pail  of 
water  with  a  tin-i^orringcr  by  the  door,  so  that  wo  could  quench  any  thirst  that 
might  arise  *  from  the  heat  of  the  weather  or  the  drought  of  the  discourse ;'  but 
winter-service,  and  rcheai'sale  in  that  comprehensive  body  of  divinity,  the  *  West- 
imnster  Shorter  Catechism,  ('  Shorter  catoehism,'  and  '  nothin'  shorter !')  these 
were  too  much  !  There  was  relief  only  in  eating  our  Sunday  *  turn-overs'  and  nut- 
cakes -and«<;hec6e  at  the  neighbors'  at  noon-times,  with  faces  glowing  before  the  high- 
piled  wood-jfires.  Also  it  was  extremely  pleasant  to  go  home  with  the  prettiest  girls 
from  the  evening  conference -meetings  held  at  the  school-house.  Ah,  well-a-day !  we 
see  in  the  notes  to  this  discourse  the  names  given,  and  the  triumphant  deaths  re> 
corded,  of  those  who  were  once  near  and  dear  to  us ;  and  chief  among  them,  that 
neor  relative,  whose  silver  hair  and  mild  benevolent  blue  eyes  are  before  us  as  of  yore. 
He  it  was  who  was  wont  to  go  around  his  pleasant  orcliards,  full  of  all  manner  of  fruits, 
and  select  the  choicest  varieties  for  the  little  boys,  never  so  happy  himself  as  when 
engaged  in  making  others  so.  His  last  end  was  peace.  A  little  while  before  his 
death,  he  called  his  son  to  his  bedside,  to  write  down  his  last  request.  '  Bring  your 
table  close  to  the  bed,'  said  he ;  *  I  want  to  see  you  write.'  This  was  done  :  '  Now 
lather,'  said  his  son,  *  what  shall  I  write  V  *  Write,'  said  he,  *  this  my  last  will  and 
testament :  I  will  myself  and  my  dear  children,  and  my  grandchildren  and  their 
posteri^,  to  God  the  Father,  Son  and  Holy  Spirit,  through  time,  praying  tliat  the 


1850.] 


Editor's  Table, 


63 


Ueaeing  of  God  may  rest  upon  them.  Now  lift  me  up,  and  let  me  sign  tlmt.'  He 
was  raised,  and  his  hand  trembling  with  age  was  guided  as  he  wrote  for  the  last  time 
his  own  name.  Jis  he  lay  down,  he  said,  '  Aly  work  is  now  done,  and  I  am  ready  to 
go  home.  My  way  is  clear.  I  know  where  I  am  going.^  A  little  while  after  this, 
as  the  sun  was  going  down,  at  his  request  he  was  raised  up  in  bed :  ^  ^Vll  seems  natural 
out  there,'  said  he,  looking  out  upon  his  beautiful  acres ;  ^  just  as  it  used  to  look.  It 
is  very  pleasant ;  but  I  care  nothmg  for  it  now ;  I  am  going,'  said  he,  pointing  to- 
ward heaven, '  I  am  going  up  there  —  I  am  going  home !'  And  a  little  while  after, 
the  good  man  fell  asleep  in  Jesus.  .  .  .  Purcuase  and  read  at  once,  if  you  have  not 
already  done  so,  the  beautiful  volume  of  '  PoetM  by  John  G.  Saxe,^  just  issued  from 
the  press  of  Messrs.  Ticknor,  Reed  asd  Fields,  Boston.  Beside  those  poems  which 
have  made  the  author  £[imous,  (many  of  which  have  been  transplanted  into  almost 
every  journal  on  this  continent,)  it  contains  a  now  poetical  Essay  on  ^  The  TimcB^^ 
delivered  recently  with  great  applause  before  the  Boston  *  Mercantile  Library  iVsao- 
ciation,'  which  is  itself  worth  the  sumll  price  demanded  for  the  volume  it  graces.  A 
single  extract  is  all  that  we  ai'o  enabled  to  present  ^  at  this  present,'  but  even  that  will 
whet  the  reader's  curiosity  to  obtain  the  entire  performance  : 


*What  hinders  then^when  every  youth  may 
As  Faocy  bids,  a  miuket  or  a  mufie,       [choose, 
And  throw  his  lead  among  his  fellow-men, 
FVom  the  daiii  mazzle  of  aguo  or  pen; 
When  blooming  school-girbs  who  absurdly  think 
Thai  nought  but  drapery  can  be  spoiled  with  ink, 
Ply  cvaaeleaA  quills  Itmt,  true  to  early  use, 
Keep  the  okl  habit  of  the  pristine  goose, 
VMtUe  each,  a  spedal  Happho  in  her  tecna, 
Shin^  forth  a  goddess  in  the  magazines; 
When  waning  spinsters,  happy  to  rehearse 
Their  maiden  griefs  in  doubly  grievous  verso, 
Write  doleful  ditties,  or  distre^ul  strains, 
To  wicked  rivals,  or  unfaiihf\il  swains, 
Or  serenade,  at  night's  bewitching  noon, 
The  mythic  man  whose  home  is  in  the  moon ; 


When  pattern  wives  no  thrifty  arts  possess, 
Bave  that  of  weaving  —  fustian  for  ihe  press ; 
Write  Lyrics,  heedless  of  their  scorching  buns. 
Dress  up  their  Sonnets,  but  neglect  their  sons, 
Make  dainty  dough-nuts  from  Parnassian  wheat, 
And  fancy-stockings  for  poetic  feet ; 
While  husbands,  those  who  love  thuir  coffee  hot, 
And  lili^e  no  *  Are'  that  does  nH  boil  the  pot. 
Wish  old  Apollo,  Just  to  plague  his  life, 
Had,  for  his  own,  a  literary  wife ! 
What  hinders  then  that  I,  a  sober  elf, 
W^ho,  like  the  others,  keep  a  Muse  myself. 
Should  venture  here,  as  kind  occa*«ion  lends 
A  fitting  time  to  pleiise  these  urgent  friends, 
To  waive  at  once  my  modest  Muse's  doubU 
And,  jockey-like,  to  trot  the  lady  out  If 


The  rage  for  picttu-es,  fostered  by  our  rival  art-unions,  and  the  increasing  number 
and  character  of  our  public  exhibitions,  *  goes  far  ahead  of  any  thing  before  witness- 
ed,' as  the  ooimtry  papers  say  of  every  ne^  thunder-storm  or  wonderful  potato.  The 
drawing  and  distribution  of  the  American  Art-Union  have  added  still  more  to  the 
excitement,  and  the  ^  International,'  whose  books  close  on  the  eighth  instant,  is  re- 
ceiving immense  accessions  to  its  lists.  Among  the  pictures  to  be  distributed  by  this 
institution  for  this  year  are  Aav  Schaffer's  *  Dead  Christ  ;*  Waldmuller's  *  Chil- 
dren Leaving  School  •,'  the  *  Belle  of  Newport,'  the  *  Belle  of  the  Belles,'  the  *  Se- 
raglio Window,'  by  Court  j  *  Joy'  and  *  Sorrow,'  by  Laudelle  ;  several  of  those 
exquisite  colored  crayons,  by  Brocuart  ;  the  three  large  pictures  from  the  Gallery  of 
the  Tnilleries,  presented  by  the  French  Government,  and  some  one  hundred  and 
seventy  works  of  lesser  value.  This  is  prett>'  well  for  the  first  year  of  a  new  insti- 
tution. .  .  .  Our  friends  Stanford  and  Swords  have  published,  in  a  handsome 
volume,  *  Estays  upon  Authors  and  Books^^  by  Mr.  W.  A.  Jones.  We  admit  the 
correctness  of  several  of  Mr.  Jones's  criticisms,  while  we  could  dispute,  ^  until  our 
eye-lids  could  no  longer  wag,'  upon  the  incorrectness,  to  use  the  mildest  term,  of 
others.  We  caimot  conscientiously  assign  to  Mr.  Jones  a  very  high  position  as  a 
critK ;  and  as  to  his  style,  it  seems  to  us  to  lack  both  condensation  and  force.  We 
*  may  be  mistaken,  but  that  is  our  opinion.'  We  confess,  however,  that  we  are  not 
{lartial  to  books  of  criticism  from  merely  ordinary  minds ;  and  could  well  find  it  is 


84  Editor's  Table,  [January, 

our  heart  to  ask,  with  the  editor  of  a  metropolitan  religious  journal :  *  Really,  what 
aro  wo  coming  to  ?  Is  all  writing  to  be  converted  into  one  wide,  weltering  sea  of 
criticism  ?  Are  wo  to  have  only  an  ounce  of  bread  to  a  barrel  of  sack  ?  Are  we  to 
eat,  drink  and  sleep  on  reviews,  and  reviews  of  reviews  ?  Shall  the  fable  of  the 
Kilkenny  cats  be  illustrated  in  our  literature ;  and  all  authors,  having  turned  critics, 
proceed  to  devour  each  other,  leaving  nothing  but  the  tales  ?  Cannot  we  have  some 
productive  and  creative  authors,  writers  who  will  go  out  as  the  bee  goes  to  gather 
honey  from  the  garden  of  nature,  and  not  sit  at  home  writing  books  about  books, 
essays  about  essayists,  thoughts  on  thinkers  7  It  is  reported  that  Fichtb  commenced 
one  of  liis  lectures  thus  :  *  Gentlemen,  think  the  wall.'  \\Tiereupon  all  the  scholars 
tried  hard  to  tliink  the  wall.  *  Now,  gentlemen,'  continued  he,  *  think  the  man 
who  thought  the  wall.'  We  arc  all  of  us  thinking  the  man  who  thought  the  wall ; 
except  a  few,  who  arc  thinking  the  man,  who  thought  the  man,  who  thought  the 
wall !'  .  .  .  As  we  don't  know  one  card  from  another,  and  never  indulged  in  a 
game  of  chance  of  any  sort  in  the  world,  save  the  *  bass-ball,'  *  one'  and  *  two-hole- 
cat,'  and  *  barn-ball'  of  our  boyhood,  matching  *  dominoes,'  and  for  needful  and  effec- 
tive exercise,  an  occasional  ^  taste'  of  bowling  at  ten-pins,  in  this  period  of  our  early 
manhood,  we  are  not  quite  certain  that  the  accompanying  extract  of  a  letter  from  a 
correspondent  recently  returned  to  '  the  States'  from  San  Francisco,  may  be  of  inte- 
rest ;  but  we  sliall  *  venture  it,'  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  are  *  not  so  green'  as  we 
arc,  who  are  better  *  men  of  the  world,'  and  who  know  fiar  better  *  whaVs  what^  as 
somewhat  generally  practised  in  theso  ^  Uniten'd  Stets  *,'  yea,  unto  the  uttermost 
bounds  thereof,  even  to  where  'deep  calleth  unto  deep' —  the  Pacific  to  the  Atlantic 
sea: 

^CoME,  take  my  arm  and  Ktroll  with  me  for  an  hour  or  two  over  the  town.  How  shall  I  manage? 
It  is  Just  eight  o^clock  in  the  evening,  and  the  fun  is  about  to  commence.  Do  you  hoar  those  stnUns  ? 
There's  music,  and  from  as  good  a  ban4  as  Dodwortu^s.  Let  us  go  nearer.  Although  1  do  not 
play  the  *  CaUph*  often,  I  will  for  *  this  lilght  only.'  Hero  we  are.  This  entire  building,  of  two  stories, 
as  you  observe,  and  as  large  as  the  dining-room  of  *  The  Astor,'  is  par  cxceUenee  the  ^  Crockfoeds'  of 
8an  Francisco.  Look  about  you.  On  this  floor  are  four  tables,  and  that  elegantly-fitted  bar  in  the 
centre,  garnished  and  set  forth  in  a  stylo  equal  to  the  most  showy  In  *•  the  States.'  There  is  the  *  Roa- 
lelle,'  the  ^  Monte,'  the  « Faro,'  aikl  here  tlio  *  Rouge  ct  Noir'  tabtes.'  Look  at  the  piles  of  doubloons, 
eagles,  etc  Do  n't  stop — indeed  you  canU,  without  getting  hemmed  in  by  the  crowd  that  surrounds 
each  table  —  but  obs^re  the  gupportcrs  of  these  establishments.    Do  you  recognise  no  fismiliar  flues  ? 

Yonder  is  a  friend  of 's;  a  man  at  whose  table  he  has  often  sat;  whose  nime  is  associated 

with but  no  matter ;  strange  things  happen  when  one  is  away  from  home.   Up^itairs  is  but  a  dupli- 

eate  of  this ;  and  although  the  band  that  brings  *  Sweet  Home'  to  your  heart  is  there,  we  can  hear  it  when 
we  are.  It  is  superbly  fitted  up,  is  it  not?  It  tmgrht  to  be:  the  rent  is  seventy-eight  thousand  dol- 
lars' per  annum  ^  in  advance  I'  This  establishment  is  called  ^ The  Exchange.'  Now  we  will  step  Into 
*The  Parkei^House,'  next  door.  We  huvc  n't  time  to  give  more  than  a  casual  glance  at  the  many 
apartments  appropriated  to  gaming  in  this  establishment.  The  first  room  on  your  right  as  you  enter 
rents  for  thirty  thoioond  dcdlars ;  the  one  just  behind  the  bar-room  for  about  twelve  thousand  dol- 
lars !  Now  follow  me  up-stairs.  Hero 's  something  that  will  remind  you  yet  more  strongly  of  home. 
Is  n't  this  a  billiard-room,  spacious  and  goiigeous  ?  Why,  it  far  surpasses  anything  at  home.  One  of 
the  tables  was  made  at  the  Sandwich  Islands,  and  a  gorgeous  piece  of  work  it  is.  Look  at  that  mar- 
ble top  on  the  bar-counter.  Where  in  New-York  can  you  find  such  an  array  of  richly-cut  glass?  Ob- 
serve that  magnificent  cloek ;  those  articles  of  Chinese  ^  vertu ;'  pass  through  this  door,  a  real  Turkey 
carpet  under  your  feet  This  is  a  quiet  but  gentlemanly  *•  hell'^  only  two  tables.  I  have  myself  seen 
twenty  thousand  dolhirs  lost  and  won  in  an  hour  on  that  *  Faro'  table.  But  come,  we  have  n't  seen  half 
yet.  Elbow  your  way  through  the  billiard-room,  and  do  n't  stop  to  speak  to  those  whom  you  know ; 
» their  name  is  legion.'  Here,  you  see,  are  two  more  yet  smaller  apartments;  and  beyond  those 
rooms— one  moment;  Just  look  at  that  rose-wood  furniture;  that  elegant  fUU-tength  glsss;  those 
coodies;  this  room  is  expressly  appropriated  to  ^conTeraazioiies.'  Here  you  may  play  a  game  of  chess, 


1850.] 


Editor's  Table.  85 


look  over  the  last  ^  TVibone'  or  *  Herald,*  or  listen  to  some  grand  real-efltnte  scheme ;  some  now  clt» 
perhaps,  to  be  baitt  up,  or  the  Uke.  Now  if  yon  have  lookod  your  All,  wo  will  pass  out  in  the  public 
square,  and 

*  But  hold  on  to  your  hat!  — it  blows  a  hurricane.  Stand  a  moment  where  wo  arc.  Yonder, 
where  you  see  that  *  flaring  lantern,*  a  la  Broadway  oyster-saloons,  is  '  The  St.  Charles:  Thero  are 
■ay  number  of  tables,  but  not  patronized,  as  I  have  been  Informed,  by  the  *hlgh  ton:  Next  it  is 
» Tk«  JfnDOrltan*  Luneh^  represented  as  being  of  about  the  same  stamp.  Walk  to  the  comer. 
Ah!  there  is  another,  next  *The  Exchange ;'  <-  The  Hole  in  the  WaU;*  this  opposite  us  is  <•  Th»  Fe- 
TOMdak-*  crowded,  you  see;  behind  you '  The  lH  Dorado;^  there  *  The  Sodedad;^  and  next  to  it 
*  The  jSgruUa,  de  Oro  ;*  which  being  freely  rendered,  means  *  Temple  of  Fortune;*  again,  on  the  other 
side,  is  '  Omr  House ;'  and  Just  around  the  comer,  in  the  heart  of  the  business  region,  the  Pearl-street 
of  San  Francisco,  is  ^  The  Star: 

*  But  we  mvai  ^  give  o*er.*  There  are  numy  more,  of  lesser  magnitude,  scattered  about  the  town. 
nxMe  that  we  have  seen  are  the  *big  flsh,'  however ;  and  as  you  perceive,  by  the  throngs  that  arc 
passing  in  and  out,  they  must  ^  drive  a  thriving  trade.*  AM  have  musi^  of  some  sort :  its  influence,  I  sup- 
pose, diverts  and  distracts.  It  Is  estimated  that  from  four  to  five  hundred  thousand  dollars,  at  the  very 
lowest,  is  paid  for  rent  by  these  gaming  ostabliabmentB.  Oallforaians  are  brought  up  with  a  pack  of 
cards,  as  children  of  ^the  States*  are  raised  with  *  lollipops.*  It  is  second-nature  with  them ;  and  I 
am  persuaded  that  they,  witli  the  vast  numbers  of  South-Americans,  contribute  more  to  the  support 
of  these  *  hells*  tlian  our  own  countrymen.  Yet  it  is  a  sad  reflectiou  that  the  evil  has  l>ecome  so 
deep-rooted  here,  that  there  is  little  likelihood  of  its  being  put  down.  I  should  not  omit  to  say,  in 
jQstioo  to  the  better  class  of  the  community  here,  that  a  man  who  frequents  these  places  is  ^  marked,* 
and  can  no  more  attain  a  position  in  the  mercantile  circles  here  than  he  could  at  home.  It  has  been 
aiguod  by  many  that  we  have  no  eoureos  of  amusement,  no  rational  recreation,  in  the  absence  —  I 
could  almost  say  cntircf  ab^noe  —of  female  society.  Men  therefore  resort  to  these  places  to  '  kill 
time.*  There  is  much  force  in  this ;  yot  I  attribute  this  general  spirit  of  seaming  to  the  natural  im- 
pulses that  seem  to  become  the  nature  of  almost  every  younf^  man  who  arrives  from  the  States. 
Wiihoat  control ;  under  no  restraint ;  with  a  certainty  before  him  that  when  his  *■  pile*  is  exhausted 
he  can  *  recuperate*  at  the  minc« ;  he  ruehes  into  'the  sport*  like  the  native  horses  of  the  countr}*, 
spuming  the  bridle  and  the  spur.  I  always  held  gambling  in  detestation,  and  my  repugnance  to  i; 
was  by  no  mcand  lessened  by  what  I  saw  in  California.* 

We  shall  be  well-pleased  to  hear  from  *  A  lpha'  again.  His  promised  brief '  Sketches 
of  California  Life,  or  Two  Months  in  San  Francisco,^  can  hardly  fail  to  prove  ac- 
ceptable to  our  readers.  He  wields  a  graphic  pen.  .  .  .  This  is  the  season  for 
keme-books,  and  certain  of  onr  publishers  are  liberally  aiding  to  supply  the  demand. 
Messrs.  Afpleton  and  Company  are  in  the  field  with  an  excellent  assortment,  some 
of  them  charmingly  illustrated.  ^  Fireside  Fairies,  or  Christmas  at  Aunt  Elsie's/  by 
our  old  and  esteemed  correspondent,  Susan  Pindar,  is  a  capital  Utile  book,  full  of 
variety,  spirit,  and  good  inculcations.  Of  the  ^  Fireside  Stories'  by  Mrs.  Ellis,  aa> 
thor  of  ^  The  Women  of  England,'  the  same  praise  is  prcdicable.  The  *  American 
Historical  Tales  for  'Touth'  is  a  volume  which  should,  and  we  doubt  not  will,  com- 
mand a  wide  sale.  We  have  in  this  first  of  the  scries  biographies  of  Hendrick  Hud- 
son, Daniel  Boone,  and  —  John  Smith  I  A  very  pretty  little  volume,  with  sixteen 
eclored  engravingB,  is  ^  The  Child's  Present,  a  new  Story-Book  to  please  the  Fancy 
md  uDprove  the  Hearts  of  Children  *,'  edited  by  Grandfather  Merryman.  It  is  a 
good  little  book.  .  .  .  ^  Paul  Martindalb,'  from  w^hom  our  readers  have  before 
heard,  and  from  whom  they  will  hear  again,  writes  us : 

« fr  is  proper  that  I  advise  you  here  that  our  poor  friend  Larra  is  dead;  dead  at  hist,  I  can  scarcely 
siy  of  a  broken4ieart,  for  men  die  not  thus ;  he  died  rather  of  a  hunger  of  the  soul.  Gon  called  him, 
skI  he  laid  down  the  tabeniacle  of  flesh  to  enter  His  service  as  impatiently  as  one  might  cast  off  a 
wok-day  suit  to  don  the  holiday  garments  of  a  prince ;  albeit  he  entered  his  hew  service  with  a  dif- 
ftranoe  from  ttaoae  who  serve  earth*8  lords.  ^  The  arches  of  the  gates  of  princes*  pahices,*  says  quaint 
oU  teas  Wbbstbr,  *  are  higher  than  those  of  heaven ;  for  while  one  may  go  into  those  proudly,  ho 
who  would  emter  these  must  needs  go  upon  his  knees.*  '•  I  have,*  writes  my  old  friend,  in  one  of  his 
litfESt  Ictten,  *  loved  once  I    Does  it  seem  strange  to  yoo,  confirmed  bachelor  that  you  arc  ?    I  tell  you 


8G  Editor's   Table.  [January, 

of  it  frankly,  becaaso  you  know  me  well,  and  you  know  that  with  nte  it  could  bo  no  fleeting  aflalr, 
begotten  of  the  day  and  to  be  forgotten  in  an  hour,  and  because  I  knew  you  would  Rympathiao  in  Its 
unfortunate  termination.  In  early  years,  while  my  mother,  now  in  heaven,  waa  yet  living,  I  waa 
taught  to  know  that  the  love  which  a  manly  heart  beare  to  woman  is  not  that  fleeting  passion  whicli, 
like  the  mountain  torrent,  rushes  wildly  and  impetuously  in  the  spring  season  of  its  course,  and  is 
parched  and  dried  up  by  the  heata  of  the  midsummer  of  life ;  but  a  pure,  holy  and  abiding  preseiuf<, 
which  win  not  away  nor  be  gut  rid  of,  and  which,  like  a  broad  and  deep  river  in  the  soul,  flows  on 
and  on,  calmly  and  silently,  but  with  a  mighty  current,  until  at  the  last  it  be  gathered  in  that  great 
ocean  of  Lovb  that  surrounds  the  throne  of  God.  But  she  is  gone !  Oh,  Dejltb  I  thy  sting  is  In- 
deed sharp  to  us  below !  —  Grave,  thy  victory  is  indeed  certain !'  There  are  those  who  can  regard 
with  indiflbrence  tlic  memory  of  hopes  thus  blasted.  The  remembrance  of  a  mother's  love  knocks 
but  fliintly  at  their  hearts ;  from  his  it  was  never  absent.  That  a  hearty  devotion  accompanied  hia 
subdued  passion,  the  following,  which  I  find  among  his  papers,  win  show : 

•TO     LEILA. 

*  When  in  the  shadowy  evening  hour, 

With  spirits  blest, 
Humbly  knocking  at  the  portal, 
Thou  Heekest  converse  with  the  Power 

Immortal, 
And  lowly  bonding  at  the  blessed  cross. 

Thou  prayest 
That,  freed  from  every  earthly  dross. 
From  vexM  passions  which  the  spirit  toss. 
From  Envy^s  poison,  and  from  Fncndship^s  loes, 

Thy  soul  may  rest. 
Wilt  thou  not  then  upon  thy  bended  knco 
Send  one  petition  up  to  Heaven  for  me  ? 

*•  When  upward  in  the  summer  mom 

Thy  glad  voice  ppringoth. 
Like  the  lark^s,  as  from  the  waving  com 

Her  tuneful  orison 
^^he  singeth, 
And  thy  ftill  heart  in  grateful  praise 

To  Him  is  given. 
For  fields,  for  flowers,  for  music's  lav.«. 
For  '  plenteous  mercies,'  and  *  His  glorious  ways,' 
That  friends  beloved  are  blessed  with  length  of  da.y9 

And  hope  for  Heaven, 
Oh,  make  thou  Uien  one  prayer  to  Hix  above. 
To  cast  o'er  me  the  sunshine  of  His  love !' 

Rare  littlo  '  plants^  for  the  immortal  gardens  and  groves  of  the  '  better  land'  are 
chfldren  !  How  continually  wo  *  oldsters'  go  back  to  our  earliest  4,ays !  Take  up, 
over  your  morning  meal,  a  daily  journal,  and  running  your  eye,  faint-readingly,  along 
what  may  interest  yon  pleasantly,  perhaps  exultantly,  you  casually  glance  (in  passing 
most  likely  to  some  other  department  of  the  paper  which  lias  also  an  especial  charm 
for  you)  at  the  deaths.  There  is  recorded  the  demise  of  a  metropolitan  merchant. 
You  knew  him,  when  a  boy,  in  the  country  •,  you  knew  liim  also,  when,  rising  by 
regular  steps,  from  a  toiling  clerk  to  an  eminent  master  of  scores  of  such  as  he  him- 
self had  been,  he  walked  a  monarch  in  the  mart  of  trade,  and  his  voice  was  potent 
among  *  nmltitudes  of  men  commercing.'  You  read,  that  on  such  a  day,  amidst  the 
crowded  thoroughfares  of  the  town  in  wliieh  he  had  lived  so  long,  he  died.  Perhaps 
you  had  not  even  missed  him  from  the  crowded  streets  ^  yet  he  died ;  and  you  re- 
mark, in  the  notice  of  his  funeral,  that  '  his  remains  are  to  be  taken,  by  the  evening 
boat,  or  cars,  to for  interment.*  Ah !  yes ; is  a  small  hamlet  •,  far  re- 
moved from  the  restless  din,  the  ceaseless  turmoil,  of  the  great  city,  where  your  friend's 
gainful  and  active  life  has  been  passed ;  but  there,  there  at  the  old  homestead,  lies  in 
*  cold  obstruction'  an  aged  and  honored  father ;  there  rests  tlio  *  mother  who  looked 


1850.]  Editor's  TaUe.  87 

on  his  chfldhood,  who  smoothed  liis  pillow,  and  admmistercd  to  his  helplessness  •/  ii 
sister,  tenderly  beloved,  sleeps  there ;  a  fiiir  flower,  nipped  too  early  by  the  untimely 
firosts  of  death ;  there  too  is  buried  a  brother,  whose  place  was  never,  never  supplied ; 
and  there  would  he  rest ;  there^  while  the  slow-counted  hours  of  illness  were  notch- 
ing the  progress  of  his  earthly  decline,  he  turned  ever  his  thoughts  of  final  repose. 
He  knew  he  was  soon  going  to  renew  the  cliildhood  of  his  soul  in  the  undisoovered 
conntiy ;  and  he  would  rise,  at  the  last  great  day,  to  the  consciousness  of  a  new  ex- 
istence, on  the  very  spot  where  God  first  *  breathed  into  his  earthly  body  the  breath 

of  life,  and  he  became  a  living  soul/ We  began  this,  to  introduce  an  amusing 

anecdote  of  a  child ;  but  we  could  n't  do  it.  It  Bhall  bo  done,  though,  some  time,  if 
life  and  health  are  spared.  .  .  .  Dickens^ a  ^ David  Copper jieW  increases  in  in- 
terest as  it  advances.  The  characters  are  admirably  depicted  and  most  artistically 
discriminated.  What  can  be  better,  for  example,  than  the  sad  picture  drawn  of  poor 
AoNBs^s  &ther  gradually  giving  way  to  the  demon  of  Inebriation  *,  or  the  sketch  of 

*  JVlrs.  Dartle,'  with  a  '  new  feature'  in  her  lace ;  a  scar  on  her  upper-lip,  the  shape 
of  which  it  has  altered,  and  in  which  the  emotion  of  foiled  curiosity  or  of  anger  comes 
and  goes,  in  a  sort  of  purple  light,  ^  like  a  mark  in  invisible  ink  brought  to  the  fire, 
or  the  old  writing  on  the  wall.*    Observe,  too,  the  faithful  touches  which  give  you 

*  all  the  mother'  in  *  Mrs.  Steerfortii's  thoughts  and  acts  regarding  her  son  —  of 
whom  *  more  hereafter,'  evidently :  *  She  seemed  to  bo  able  to  speak  or  think  about 
nothing  else.  She  showed  me  his  picture  as  an  infant,  in  a  locket,  with  some  of  his  baby ' 
hair  in  it ;  she  showed  mc  his  picture  as  he  had  been  when  I  first  knew  him ;  and  she 
wore  at  her  breast  his  picture  as  he  was  now.  All  the  letters  he  had  ever  written 
to  her,  she  kept  in  a  cabinet  near  her  own  chair  by  the  fire.'  .  .  .  From  the  groat 
prairie,  that,  ^  like  the  round  ocean  girdled  with  the  sky,'  spreads  in  one  direction  from 
the  goodly  and  flourishing  city  of  Chicago,  there  are  before  us  at  this  moment  a  gene- 
rous Christmas  supply  of  the  delicious  grouse  peculiar  to  that  region,  fresh  as  if  just 
laid  ^  prone  upon  the  pkun'  from  the  shot  of  the  sportsman ;  and  a  noUe  wild-goose, 
(six  feet  from  tip  to  tip  of  his  beautiful  pinions,)  from  the  same  *■  free  and  independent' 
locality.  To-night  the  *  little  people'  in  the  sanctum,  each  with  a  characteristic  ex- 
(ffession  of  individual  delight,  have  many  a  time  and  oft  buried  their  (aces  in  the  luxurious 
soft  plumage  which  has  so  often  flashed  in  the  sunshine  or  breasted  the  storm  on  that 
osshom  field,  boundless  and  beautiful,  *•  for  which,'  as  Bryant  says,  *  the  speech  of  Eng- 
land hath  no  name.'  Thanks  to  the  spirit  which  dictated,  and  the  remembrance  which 
insured,  the  forwarding  ofso  acceptable  and  timely  a  present!  ^  More  anon.'  .  .  .  Wr 
have  before  us,  from  the  press  of  Mr.  J.  S.  Redfield,  Clinton-Hall,  the  work  upon 
^Cosmonography^^  prepared  by  our  kunented friend,  the  late  Francis  Fauvbl  Gouraud, 
anthor  of  the  system  of '  Mnemotechny^^  or  Artificial  Memory.  It  would  require  much 
more  space  than  we  can  now  devote  to  the  volume  to  set  forth  at  large  its  peculiar  princi- 
ples and  dcYelopments.  Suffice  it  for  the  present  to  say,  that  it  contains  the  exposition  of 
a  system  of  writing  and  prmting  all  the  principal  languages,  with  their  exact  pronnn- 
dation,  by  means  of  an  original  Univertal  Phonetic  Alphabet,  based  upon  philologi- 
cal principles,  and  representing  analogically  all  the  component  elements  of  the  human 
Toioe,  as  they  occur  in  different  tongues  and  dialects,  and  applicable  to  daily  use  in  all 
the  branches  of  business  and  learning.  It  is  illustrated  by  numerous  plates,  expUina- 
tory  of  the  calligraphic,  steno-phonographic,  and  typo-phonographic  adaptations  of  the 
system ;  and  it  is  confidently  predicted  by  the  editor,  that  the  sequel  of  the  work  will 
demonstrate,  that  *  there  4s  no  human  tongue,  ancient  or  modern,  iliat  cannot  be  - 


88  Editor's  Table.  [January, 

written,  apon  the  plan  here  developed,  with  mathematioal  aocuracy  in  all  iti  peouliar 
Bounds  and  articulations.'  A  work  of  such  a  character  as  this  will  not  be  long  in  find- 
ing its  way  to  the  American  public.  .  .  .  There  was  a  good  deal  of  satire  in  a 
reply  we  lately  heard  given  to  a  question  asked  by  a  friend  sitting  at  the  dinner-table 
of  a  steam-boat,  of  the  second  class :  ^  What  have  you  told  the  waiter  to  bring  yon  7' 
*  I  told  him  to  bring  me  some  ^  hash'  and  afterward  some  *■  bread-pudding.'  I  always 
ask  for  hash  and  bread-pudding  on  board  a  boat  like  this,  because  then  I  know  exactly 
what  I getP  Not  unlike  the  retired  Londoh  dairyman,  who  remarked  confidentially 
to  a  friend  that  it  was  ^  not  chalk  that  they  put  in  the  milk.'  He  said  it  was  ^  some- 
thing else.'  .  .  .  ^Greenwood  Leaver''  is  the  pretty  title  of  a  collection  of  graceful  and 
gossipping  letters  and  sketches  famished  at  different  intervals  to  various  periodicals  by 
Miss  Sara  J.  Clarke,  under  the  pleasant  nom  de  plume  of  ^  Grace  Greenwood.' 
To  an  evident  heartfelt  love  of  nature  this  agreeable  writer  adds  a  keep  '  sense  of  the 
beautiful  in  the  soul  of  humanity','  and  a  pure  affection  for  the  domestic  virtues  evolved 
at  home.  Her  book,  to  adopt  a  slight  catachresis,  will  be  taken  cordially  by  the  hand, 
and  welcomed  at  once  into  the  snuggest  room  in  the  house,  without  taking  off  its 
gloves !  .  .  .  L 's  ^Remini9cence  of  Boyhood^  was  a  positive  treat.  Well  do  we  re- 
member the  ^Execution  of  the  Ground- Mice,'*  as  performed  by  *Olijipod'  and  the  writer 
hereof,  when  we  were  ^  wee  things.'  The  prisoners  were  caught  in  the  act  of  theft, 
under  a  ^  shock'  of  cut-corn,  after  an  ineffectual  attempt  at  escape,  and  were  confined 
in  a  square  stone  prison,  *•  digged  i'  the  earth'  of  the  meadow.  We  slept  but  little, 
the  first  night  of  their  confinement ;  we  thought  of  them  during  the  night-watches, 
and  talked  of  them,  as  Giant  Despair  talked  with  his  wife  of  CimisTiAM  and  Hope- 
ful, shut  up  in  Doubting-Castle.  In  the  morning  we  visited  the  prison  betimes,  and 
fed  the  ^  plaintiff'  and  '  exaniinationcd'  them  as  well  as  Doqberrt  himself  oould  do. 
We  continued  to  visit  them  for  several  days  afterward ;  and  their  bearing  evincing 
no  penitence,  they  were  condemned  to  be  hung,  and  a  day  was  appointed  for  their 
execution.  We  had  seen  a  model  of  a  gallows  on  the  cover  of  the  *  Story  op  Am- 
brose GwiNETT,'  and  *Ollapod'  constructed  a  very  secure  ^institution'  of  that 
kmd ;  and  when  the  fiital  morning  arrived,  with  all  due  privacy  the  culprits  were 
brought  forth,  the  thread  of  death  which  was  to  clip  the  thread  of  their  lives  being 
round  their  necks.  They  were  addressed  in  moving  terms  by  Ollapod,  and  assured 
that  all  hope  of  reprieve  was  ridiculous  ;  it  could  not  be  thought  of  by  ^  the  authori- 
ties' for  a  moment  '  They  must  prepare  to  mount  the  scaffold  I'  They  walked,  *■  sup- 
ported' partly  by  the  *  rope'  around  their  necks,  with  firm  hind-legs,  up  the  ladder, 
and  the  ^  fatal  cord' was  adjusted  to  the  ^  tranz-verzc' beam.  It  was  a  moment  to 
be  remembered.  At  a  signal  given  by  the  jotter-down  hereof,  the  trap-door  fell, 
and  they  wero  launched  into  —  hberty !  For  the  thread  broke,  and  the  ^wretched 
culprits'  were  soon  safe  in  the  long  grass  of  the  meadow.  It  was  a  narrow  escape 
for  'em  !  .  .  .  Messrs.  Edward  Dunigan  and  Brother,  an  unassuming  but  cor- 
rectly-judging and  enterprismg  publishing  house,  at  Number  151  Fulton-street,  have 
sent  us,  together  with  three  or  four  excellent  issues  of  their  *  Popular  Lihrary  of 
Instruction  and  Amusement,^  replete  with  admirable  moral  stories  for  children  and 
youth,  a  little  volume,  beautifully  illustrated  with  thirty-two  engravings  from  original 
designs  by  Chapman,  entitled  *■  The  Crocus,  a  Fresh  Flower  for  the  Holidays^'* 
edited  by  Sarah  Josbpha  Hale.  It  is  pronounced  by  our  little  people,  who  by  much 
handling  have  reduced  it  to  an  *  old  book'  already,  to  be  ^  one  of  the  most  charaung 
story-books  of  all  the  year.'   ...    *  I  have,'  writes  a  correspondent,  *  a  pretty,  bright 


1850.]  Editor'*  TahU. 


tittle  jaTenile  friend,  Bome  five  yeara  of  age,  named  RoeA.  Some  days  ago  she  was 
teazed  a  good  deal  by  a  gentleman  who  visits  the  family,  who  finally  woond  up  by 
saying :  *  Rosa,  I  donH  love  yon.'  *■  Ah,  bat  yon  Vo  got  to  love  me,'  said  the  child. 
*  Why  so  ?'  asked  her  tormentor.  *  Why,'  said  Rosa,  *  the  Bible  says  you  must  *  lovf 
them  that  kale  you,  and  I  am  sure  I  hate  you !'    Was  that  bad,  ^  for  a  child  7' 

*  Tbatikb  for  the  sympathies  that  70  have  iihowii! 
Thanks  for  each  kindly  word,  each  silent  token, 
That  teaches  ub,  when  seeming  most  akMoe, 
•  Friends  are  oroand  us,  though  no  word  be  spoken.* 

£tkrt  one,  sitting  silent  in  his  own,  a||8rtment,  and  looking  thoughtfully  into  his 
grate,  will  apply  these  lines  to  his  own  individual  case.  So  do  wc.  We  look  to  see 
what  ^s  o^clock.  Who  was  that  most  kind,  unknown  friend,  who  has  enabled  us,  for 
nearly  five  years,  to  consult  a  beautiful  golden  *  horologe'  for  that  purpose  ?  Does 
he  know  —  let  him  know  it  now  —  that  never  has  that  beautiful  present  been  con- 
sulted, without  a  mental  blessing  upon  the  noble  spirit  which  dictated  the  doing  of 
that  kindness  ^  by  stealth'  which,  performed  openly,  the  doer  would  ^  blush  to  find 

was  fame.'    B too,  and  D ,  and  E ,  and  P ,  and  R ,  and 

S ,  and  good  *  Bellacosca,'  whom  so  oft  we  remember,  (may  his  shadow  never 

be  less !)  and  Y ,  how  can  we  pause  for  a  moment,  and  look  around  us,  without 

being  filled  with  grateful  emotions  7  Fkiends  I  it  is  Christmas-eve ;  and  let  us  say 
to  you,  in  the  simple  but  fervent  words  that  from  a  little  crib  in  an  adjoining  apart- 
ment have  just  died  upon  as  sweet  and  innocent  lips  as  ever  gave  utterance  to 
human  aspiration,  ^  God  bless  you  I  —  God  bless  you !  Heasant  dreams !  —  pleasant 
dreams !'  ,  .  .  ^  Sacred  Scenes  and  Characters^  is  the  title  of  a  handsome  volume 
from  the  press  of  Messrs.  Baker  and  Scribnbr,  printed  in  the  best  manner,  upon 
large,  open  types,  and  written  by  J.  T.  Ueadley,  the  popular  author  of  ^  Sacred 
Mountains,'  a  somewhat  similar  volume  widely  circulated  last  year.  It  is  illustrated 
by  a  dozen  fine  engravings,  from  designs  by  Darley,  and  the  text  itself  is  composed 
of  a  series  of  wood-pictures,  in  painting  which  the  author  has  come  justly  to  be  re- 
garded as  preeminent  among  all  our  modem  native  writers.  .  .  .  ^  Have  you,' 
said  an  *  inquiring-mind'cd  and  slightly  worldly  gentleman  recently,  to  an  ^  evangeli- 
cal bookseller'  in  Broadway,  ^  have  you  *■  CkrisVs  Sermon  on  the  Mount  ?'  Christ's 
Sermon  on  the  Mount !'  exclaimed  the  bookseller,  with  not  a  little  surprise.  ^  Yes,' 
said  the  other ;  *•  it  was  mentioned  yesterday  in  a  very  charming  discourse  at  our 
church  as  an  admirable  thing ;  but  perhaps  it  is  n't  out  yet !'  The  anxious  inquirer 
was  not  corrected,  but  was  permitted  to  go  his  way  —  ^  for  he  had  great  posses- 
aioiis.'  .  .  .  Our  Mends  Messrs.  Ticknor,  Reed  and  Fields,  Boston,  have  issued 
a  veiy  handsome  new  and  revised  edition  of  ^  The  Poetical  and  Prose  Writings  of 
Charles  SfragueJ*  It  were  as  superfluous  to  praise  Bryant,  or  Hallbck,  as  to  eulo- 
gise Sprague.  He  is  one  among  the  most  natural,  truthful  and  fervent  of  our  Ame- 
rican poets.  His  writings  are  ^oocf,  they  <io  good/ and  that  continually.'  .  .  .  *Mr. 
J.  G.  Buckley,'  travelling  lecturer,  is  a  great  and  eke  a  modest  man.  He  pledges 
himself,  for  thirty  dollars,  to  prove,  among  other  things,  that  ^  spirit  is  material ;  that 
muid  is  a  substance  ;  that  God  didn't  and  couldn't  create  all  things  out  of  nothing ; 
that  dectricity  is  an  atmospheric  eiiiaiuitk>n  from  God,  and  the  substance  out  of  which 
He  made  all  things,  and  the  means  by  which  He  governs  the  universe  I'  Mr.  Buck- 
unr  also  lectures  upon  the  ^  cultivation  of  memory  and  matrimony,'  *  intemperance 
and  tight-bunng ;'  and  likewise  upon  tobacco,  tea,  cofifee,  meat,  spioes,  and  for  aught  we 


90 


Editor's   Table. 


[January, 


know  to  the  contrary,  putty  also.  He  is  <  an  immense  man,  Sir —  equal  to  MooiK*fl 
Melodies  I'  ...  *  MoiherleM  Mary,'  by  Mi«  Georoiana  M.  Stkeb,  will  reach 
every  mother's  heart.  It  refers  to  the  death  of  an  infant  daughter  of  William  B. 
Bristol,  Esq.,  of  New-Haven,  (CJonn.,)  that  survived  its  mother  but  a  few  months  : 


Shk  oonld  not  know  no  mother's  breast 
Might  pillow  her  rouns:  head. 

That  on  her  brow,  with  mingled  tears, 
Baptismal  dews  were  shed : 

And  yet  the  baby  seldom  smiled. 
Or  glowed  with  inflmt  glee. 

As  conscious  that  each  fond  coreas 
Was  given  moumfUIIy. 

But  when,  one  autumn  dav,  1  brought 
The  wild-flowers  I  bad  found. 

Aster  imd  golden-rod,  that  grew 
Beside  a  burial  mound: 


Bhe  could  not  know  from  whence  they  came, 

And  yet  a  spring  she  gave. 
To  grasp  withm  her  tiny  hand 

Tboee  flowerets  of  the  grave : 

And  gmiled,  as  if  she  there  had  won 

Her  rightfiU  Joy  at  last ;  * 
As  if  her  soul  from  shadows  dim 

To  sudden  sun-shine  passed. 

Scarce  wore  those  wlld-flowcrs  faded,  ore 

The  babe  had  won  ita  rest ; 
Beneath  that  numnrf,  ita  fair  young  head 

Had  found  it*  nufthers  breast. 


We  would  call  especial  attention  to  Bradt^s  ^Gallery  of  IlluHriout  Amerieantj^ 
advertised  on  the  third  page  of  the  cov<t  of  the  present  number.  It  will  prove  to  be  one 
of  the  most  superb  works  of  the  kind  over  issued  from  the  American  press.  The  adver- 
tisement renders  &rthcr  reference  to  the  proposed  enterprsie  unnecessary.  .  .  .  Wk 
have  but  just  returned  from  bearing  the  pall  of  an  early  and  esteemed  friend. 
The  coffin  was  borne  through  rain  and  sleet,  and  the  last  remains  of  the  loved  one 
were  laid  in  the  cold  ground  with  many  tears.  Ah,  departed  J.  T.  S. !  no  warmer 
or  more  generous  heart  now  beats  than  that  which  lies  so  calm  and  still  in  St. 
Thomases  church-yard  I  Rest  in  peace,  friend  of  our  youth,  as  of  our  earliest  man- 
hood !  —  and  may  He  who  *  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb'  comfort  and  pro- 
tect the  bereaved  mother  and  child  whom  he  has  left  behind,  inconsolably  to  mourn 
Iiis  irreparable  loss  !  The  night  is  dark  and  dreary ;  the  rain  patters  upon  the  win- 
dows ;  the  wind,  in  long-drawn  *  soughs,'  wails  without ;  and  Memory  is  busy  amid 
the  friends  and  scenes  of  the  past.  ^  We  are  all  bound  for  eternity,  and  we  sail  in 
this  mortal  life  with  contrary  winds ;  sometimes  there  is  a  tempest,  and  anon  eometh 
a  calm  ;  but  we  are  speeding  on  our  voyage  !'  It  is  good  sometimes  to  ^  think  on 
these  things.'  ...  A  raiBNn  and  correspondent,  from  whom  our  readers  may 
expect  to  hear  frequently,  and  always  *  to  edification,'  writes  us,  among  other  mat- 
ters, as  follows,  from  *  Leon  de  Nicaragua,'  under  date  of  the  twelfth  of  October 
*  last  past :'  This  is  really  a  most  magnificent  and  interesting  country ;  abounding  in 
all  the  beauties  of  the  tropics,  and  yet  so  moderated  in  climate  by  a  variety  of  causes 
as  to  be  really  delightful.  I  concur  fully  with  an  old  vagabond  priest  named  Gagb, 
who  wrote  about  it  a  couple  of  hundred  years  ago.  He  called  it  ^  Mahomet's  para- 
dise.' The  hourics,  however,  are  a  shade  or  two  too  dark  for  my  taste.  I  intend  to 
send  you  a  description  of  my  trip  up  the  San  Juan  and  through  Lake  Nicaragua ; 
we  were  eight  da>'s  at  it,  m  a  burgo,  with  twelve  stark-naked  oarsmen  I  I  understand 
now  fiiUy  what  is  meant  by  *■  God's  image  carved  in  ebony  !'  Then  the  quaint  old 
cities  of  Grenada  and  Leon,  where  the  reprobate  old  pirates  used  to  come  to  fill  up 
their  purses  *,  the  massive  castles  on  the  lake  and  river ;  verily  I  say  unto  you  there 
is  no  lack  of  material  to  write  about  Imagine  twelve  tall  volcanos  in  sight  at  <me 
time  I  Imagine  blue  lakes,  set  in  a  forest  that  looks  as  if  it  might  be  carved  in  eme- 
rald ;  imagine  all  that  is  grand  and  beautiful  in  nature,  and  you  have  a  picture  of 
Nicaragua.'  .  .  .  Reader,  when  yon  see,  while  writing,  as  wo  did  just  now,  a  little 
insect,  so  small  that  ^  naught  could  live  'twixt  that  and  nothing,''  ninnmg  across 
the  great  Zahara  desert  of  a  small  sheet  of  note-paper,  think  of  these  lines  by 


1850.] 


Editor's  TaMe. 


91 


Eluott,  not  the  great  American  portrait-painter,  but  his  namesake,  the  English 
*  Corn  Law  Rhymer :' 


*0  Gos  of  marvels!  who  can  tell 

What  myriad  living  things 
On  these  gray  stones  unseen  may  dwell  - 

What  nations,  with  their  kings? 
I  feel  no  shock,  I  hear  no  groan, 

While  (ate  perchance  o'erwhetans 
Empires  on  this  subverted  stone, 

A  hundred  ruined  realms! 


Lo !  in  that  dot,  some  mite,  like  me. 

Impelled  by  wo  or  whim, 
May  crawl  M)mc  atom-cliff  to  see, 

A  tiny  world  to  him. 
Lo !  while  ho  pauses  and  admires 

The  works  of  Nature*s  might. 
Spumed  by  my  foot,  his  world  expires. 

And  all  to  him  is  night!* 


Never  kill  a  harmltsa  insect ;  *•  give  him  a  chance ;'  but  don- 1  mind  being  *•  death  on 
'akeeters.'  .  .  .  Some  months  ago,  how  many  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  state,  two 
Presbyterian  doctors  of  divinity,  one  an  *•  Old  School'  man,  the  other  ^  New,'  were  seen 
tmdging  arm  in  arm  down  Broadway.  The  afternoon  being  a  very  rainy  one,  and 
the  gentlemen  having  but  one  umbrella,  this  '  goodly  fellowship'  was  one  of  moral  ne- 
cessity, if  not  of  theological  affinity.  The  pedestrian  divines  had  reached  Fourth- 
street,  when  Dr./) exclaimed,  with  that  enthusiastic  animation  for  which  he  is 

notorious :  *  Here  comes  Rev.  Mr.  H !    That 's  the  author  of  *  Napoleon  and  his 

MarshaUJ'    Do  you  know  him  V    *  I  never  saw  him  before,'  rejoined  the  *  Old-School' 

man.    An  introduction  ensued,  and  after  a  brief  colloquy  between  Dr.  C and 

the  distinguished  author,  the  worthy  pair  resumed  their  downward  course,  while 
Mr.  H proceeded  to  enter  the  region  of  the  *  silk-stocking  gentry.'  *  Well,'  in- 
quired the  Doctor  eagerly,  *  what  do  you  think  of  him  ?'  *  To  tell  the  truth,'  answered 
the  other,  *  I  did  not  think  much  about  him,  my  attention  having  been  engaged  by 
something  which  interested  me  &r  more  than  even  Napoleon  and  his  Marshals.' 
*  Indeed !  and  what  might  that  be  ?'    *  Do  you  see  that  venerable  mother  V  rejoined 

Dr.  B , pointing  to  an  animal  of  the  ^porcine  genus,'  who,  surrounded  by  her 

bristly  progeny,  was  reposing  on  the  shilling-side  of  the  great  thoroughfare.  *  While 
you  were  conversing  so  earnestly  with  Mr.  H  ■  ,  an  omnibus  ran  over  one  of  the 
poor  little  creatures,  and  injured  it  so  that  it  could  not  walk.  The  mother,  perceiving 
that  her  offspring  was  in  inuninent  danger  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  went  to  work 
and  rolled  it  with  her  snout  toward  the  sidc-jvalk.  But  she  had  not  made  much  pro- 
gress, when  a  young  baker  came  along,  and  seeing  what  had  happened,  sto|^>ed  his 
cart,  got  out,  took  up  the  pig,  and  carrying  it  to  the  curb-stone,  laid  it  down  very  care- 
fully, the  parent  meanwhile  following  with  the  rest  of  her  littk  folks,  and  testifying  her 
gratitude  by  an  abundance  of  gruntings,  of  a  peculiarly  tender  tone.'    *  Wonderful ! 

wonderful !'  exclaimed  Dr.  C ,  who  forthwith  commenced,  as  he  proceeded  down 

Broadway,  to  descant,  in  his  own  admirable  way,  on  the  aTopyn,  or  maternal  affection, 
as  evinced  in  the  case  before  him ;  while  the  Old-School  man  philosophized  no  less 
gravely  on  the  humanity  of  the  young  baker,  whom  he  would  fain  have  recommended 
as  a  worthy  candidate  for  the  ^  prix  montyon?  .  .  .  We  have  no  great  partiality 
for  books  on  medicine,  but  on  turning  over  the  pages  of  *  The  Graefenberg  Manual 
of  Health,*  we  were  struck  with  the  large  amount  of  sound  practical  information 
which  it  contains.  It  is  a  '  progressive'  production,  and  is  *•  down'  upon  the  abuse  of 
bmcet  and  leechea.  A  correspondent  alludes  to  the  work  on  the  twenty-fifth  page  of 
the  present  number.  .  .  .  The  singular  mistake  mentioned  in  our  last  as  having 
been  made  by  an  ignorant  minister,  touching  the  purpose  of  those  who  cast  their 
garments  and  branches  of  palm  in  the  way  of  our  Saviour,  when  he  rode  into  Jerusa- 
lem '  on  a  coh,  the  foal  of  an  ass,'  has  brought  to  mind  a  circumstance  which  occurred 
at  Panama  last  spring,  and  wluch  was  witnessed  by  a  firiend  who  was  there,  and  who 


1 


92  Editor's  Table.  [January, 


sent  OS  an  account  of  it  at  the  time.  On  a  certain  day,  at  a  chnrch  a  abort  distance 
outside  the  walls  of  the  city,  the  Catholics  placed  a  figure  of  our  Saviour,  richly  clad 
in  crimson  velvet  and  gold,  upon  an  ass,  elaborately  bedizened  with  ornaments  and 
trappings,  and  preceded  by  priests  and  children,  fantastically  costumed.  They  ad- 
vanced to  the  gates  of  the  city,  which  of  course,  to  preserve  the  *  keeping'  of  the 
scene,  were  closed.  After  a  short  parley,  and  certain  ceremonies,  the  portals  were 
thrown  open,  and  ^  Jesus  entered  Jerusalem,'  followed  by  an  immense  concourse. 
He  visited  the  various  churches,  collected  alms,  and  finally  departed.  The  ^  show' 
was  rather  tedious,  and  greatly  excited  the  contempt  and  ire  of  a  wild  Kcntuckian, 
who  gave  f)*ee  vent  to  his  *  sentiments'  on  the  occasion.  A  Catholic,  who  was  also 
watching  the  procession  and  the  ceremonies,  undertook  to  explain  what  it  was  of  which 
they  were  typical ;  that  it  was  to  represent  the  triumphal  entrance  of  Jbsus  into  Jeru- 
salem, etc.  *  Stranger,  you  can't  come  that  rig  onto  me  ;  you  can't  make  me  b'lievc 
that  our  Saviour  ever  rode  into  Jerusalem  on  sich  a  half-grown  jack-ass !'  An  appeal 
however  to  one  of  his  own  countrymen,  who  stood  by,  compelled  him,  though  re- 
luctantly, to  relinquish  that  ground ;  but  he  continued :  *  WeU,  he  mought  'a  done 
it ;  it 's  a  good  while  ago,  though,  and  a  great  ways  oflT;  but  I  'A  tell  you  what,  gtran- 
gcr,  you  can't  make  a  fi-ec  American  citizen  believe  that  he  ever  rode  into  Jerusalem 
on  a  jack-ass,  drettcd  up  as  Richard  the  Third,  any  howP  This  seemed  to  be  a 
poser,  and  the  ^argument' was  suspended.  .  .  .  Messrs.  Hewet,  Tillotson  and 
Company,  at  Number  59  Beekman-street,  are  publiRhing,  in  the  most  superb  manner, 
a  &c-simi1c  copy  of  the  Ahbottsford  Edition  of  the  Waverley  Novels,  All  the  origi- 
nal illustrations,  faithfully  copied,  are  given  entire,  and  on  tinted  back-grounds,  while 
the  paper  and  printing  are  of  the  very  best  description ;  and  yet  the  work  is  afforded 
at  a  dollar  a  volume !  Wo  predict  an  immense  sale  for  this  edition.  ...  Our  old 
fHend  Andrew  Stevens,  of  the  well-known  firm  of  Burr  and  Stevens,  looks  out, 
from  the  pleasant  windows  of  his  establishment,  on  the  south  side  of  the  New-York 
Hospital  park,  Broadway,  upon  the  first  green  of  spring  and  the  last  fiiding  green  of 
latest  autumn ;  a  beautiful  and  easily-accessible  locale  ;  and  if  any  c^  our  town  readers 
desire  to  purchase  rare  jewelry,  diamonds,  or  precious  stones,  or  to  have  these  set, 
or  re-set,  in  tasteful  and  fashionable  forms,  this  is  the  place  for  *  that  same'  We  *  speak 
the  things  which  wo  do  know.''  .  .  .  We  have  always  been  under  the  impression  that 
the  very  essence  of  inebriety  was  contained  in  these  lines  of  Burns  : 

*■  It  is  thn  mooiif  I  ken  her  horn, 
A-blinkin*  i*  the  lift  aae  hie; 
She  shitins  aae  bright  to  wile  us  home, 
But  by  my  soul,  sho  'U  wait  u  weo  \ 


« Who  Aral  BbaU  rise  to  gang  awa', 
A  ftiuso  and  coward  loon  is  he, 
Who  flrat  beside  hlB  chair  shaU  (k% 
He  shall  be  king  amang  us  thrce,^  etc. 

But  a  friend  has  sent  us  a  letter  which  he  received  recently  from  a  roystering  Made 
then  *'  in  town,'  dated  ''One  o'clock  by  the  stars ^^  which  out-BuRNs  Burks  ;  it  abao- 
hitely  reels  and  staggers.  Here  is  a  single  passage :  ^  To-night,  as  usual  when  I  'm 
■eventy-five  oeats  in  the  dollar  gone,  the  moon  and  stars  are  ^  bound  to  shine,'  and  to 
have  me  gaaing  at  'em  for  a  time  and  a  half  a  time.  I  seem  then  always  to  recognise 
that  *  oldest  inhabitant'  up  there.  When  my  stock  of  sobriety  is  not  quite  so  low  in 
the  qootatioos,  and  dassea  at  about  half  a  gooencM,  the  study,  phis-ically,  of  the  fea^ 
tores  in  the  moon  IB  certain  to  arrest  my  homeward  steps.    I 'm  aware  of  the  immense 


1850.]  Editor's  Tahle.  93 

penpective,  bnt  yet  how  distinctiTQ  that  forehead,  those  brows,  that  noae,  and  partick- 

partick'Iarly,  that  great  month !     Dian  forbid  his  opening  it !    'T  would  take  a  half  a 

minion  of  such  fellows  as  Qcjintiub  Curtius,  who  holed  himself  in  Rome  one  day,  to 

stop  it.  As  for  the  stars,  I  tried  to  count'em,  bnt  one  of  us  would  n't  stand  still,  and  they 

were  too  iar  off  for  me  to  recognise  their  features ;  but  after  steady  gazing,  lamp-post 

in  hand,  I  could  see  the  difference  in  their  expressions.    There  were  lots  of  merry 

ones,  with  a  jovial  twinkling  look,  as  if  they  were  ready  for  a  frolic,  or  a  wink  at 

Venus,  when  she  'd  come  round.    Then  there  was  a  camp-meeting  of  sober,  quiet,  re- 

proving-eyed  fellows ;  but  that  dog-star  !  what  a  con-con-founded  siriut  look  he  has !' 

Slightly  maudlin,  it  strikes  us,  and  yet  not  without  a  certain  degree  of  humor,  which 

it  is  difficult  to  avoid  smiling  at.  .  .  .  Thb  following  passage  f^ora  Bulwer  embodies, 

to  our  conception,  a  very  striking  and  admirable  simile :  *  As  the  moon  plays  upon  the 

waves,  and  seems  to  our  eyes  to  lavor  with  a  peculiar  beam  one  long  track  amidst  the 

waters,  leaving  the  rest  in  comparative  obscurity,  yet  all  the  while  she  is  no  niggard  in 

her  lustre ;  for  although  the  rays  that  meet  not  our  eyes  seem  to  us  as  though  they 

were  not,  yet  she,  with  an  uniavoring  loveliness,  nurrors  lierself  on  every  wave ;  even 

80,  perhaps,  happiness  falls  with  the  same  power  and  brightens  over  the  whole  expanse 

of  being,  although  to  our  limited  perceptions  it  seems  only  to  rest  on  those  billows  from 

which  the  rays  are  reflected  back  upon  our  sight.-  ...  IMessrs.  Pmixips,  Sampson 

AND  CoMPANT,  Bostou,  arc  publishing  in  numbers,  play  by  play,  a  superb  edition  of 

Shaksfeare-s  dramatic  writings.    The  types  are  large  and  clear,  the  paper  cxoeUent, 

and  the  illustrations  superb.    It  will  be  the  cheapest  and  best  edition  of  Shakspeaes 

ever  issued  in  America.  .  .  .  ^Not  a  word  about  these  fishy''  said  a  friend  of  ours,  in 

the  tronting  season,  to  a  companion  who  had  been  as  luckless  as  himself  in  a  day -s  sport 

of  *  that  kind.'    You  see,  he  had  bought  the  string  from  a  lad  who  knew  how  to  *  wile 

the  silver  prey'  and  therefore  had  had  what  is  called  ^  good  luck.'     ^  Did  you  catch  all 

these  7'  asked  the  landlord,  on  the  return  of  the  anglers  at  night-fall,  examining  the 

string.     *  Of  course  I  did,'  replied  our  friend  ;  *  how  else  should  I  have  tliem  V    *  Oh, 

ay,' said  the  landlord ;  but  addressing  our  ^  friend's  friend,'  he  added  :  ^Did  he  catch 

'em,  though  ?'    ^  All  that  /  know  about  it  is,'  replied  the  other,  with  great  solemnity, 

*'  that  when  he  got  'em  he  told  mc,^  If  you  hear  any  questions  asked,  not  a  word  about 

these  fish  /'    That 's  all  /  know  about  it !'    A  doubt  was  at  once  raised,  which  it  was 

quite  impossible  subsequently  to  remove.  .  .  .  We  are  glad  to  hear  that  Mr.  Wii.- 

UAM  P.  MuLCHiNocK,  of  whosc  rare  poetical  gifra  we  have  already  made  mention,  and 

exhibited  examples,  in  these  pages,  contemplates  the  speedy  publication  of  a  volume 

oi  poems.     We  bespeak  for  the  book,  in  advance,  the  liberal  lavor  of  the  public.    Mr. 

MuLCHiNocK  is  a  poet  of  true  feeling  and  of  fine  imagination ;  he  is  young,  with  a 

wife  and  children  dependent  upon  his  exertions  for  support ;  and  he  is,  moreover,  an 

exile  to  this  land  of  the  free  from  his  own  unhappy  Erin.    Tet  he  bides  his  time,  and 

is  *  hopeful  amidst  his  sadness.'    *■  Though  the  world,'  he  says  in  one  of  his  recent 

poems: 

*  Tboc«h  the  world  hss  might  to  sever  God  himaelf  console  the  grieving, 

Blany  a  closely-woven  tlo,  And  raise  up  .he  lovi>  >  high : 
That  some  hearts  lore  ftmdly  ever, 

A  tieliever,  f .  Of  this  faith,  00  grand  and  hdy, 

Let  the  atheist  doubt  and  lie, 

« Dreamily  atill,  and  still  believfaig  In  a  spirit  meek  and  lowly, 

That  maukind  will  yet  des»cry,  ,               A  believer,  I.' 

We  shall  present,  in  our  next  number,  an  original  and  striking  poem  from  the  pen  of 
Mr.  MvLCHiNOOK,  wluoh  reached  us  at  too  late  an  hoar  to  be  availed  of  for  the  pre- 


94  Editor's  Table. 


sent  issue.  .  .  .  Among  the  pictures  drawn  at  the  late  Art-Union  distribution  were 
four  small  but  very  bcauliful  landscapes  by  Mr.  II.  J.  Brent,  the  distinguished  land- 
scape-painter. There  may  now  be  seen  at  his  rooms,  Number  79,  White-street,  near 
Broadway,  two  of  the  most  charming  pictures  we  have  ever  seen  from  his  pencil ; 
views  of  Seaton-Castle  and  of  Seaton-Chapel,  both  situated  amidst  the  finest  scenery 
in  Scotland.  The  tone  and  handling  of  these  pictures  is  truly  masterly.  Our  re- 
spected contemporary  of  the  *■  National  Intelligencer^  may  congratulate  himself  upon 
the  possession  of  a  &ithful  and  very  beautiiul  picture  of  the  *  halls  of  his  fathers.'  We 
regard  Mr.  Brent  as  among  the  very  first  of  our  artists  in  landscape.  .  .  .  Ws 
think  there  is  *  mischief  *  in  the  *  Sketch  of  a  Modem  Fashionable  Party. ^  Wo 
agree  with  the  writer  however  in  many  of  his  positions.  The  *  meanness  of  mere 
display'  is  well  hit  off.  ^  Bad  wine  out  of  golden  goblets'  is  not  an  uncommon  occur- 
rence with  these  people.     ^M.  P.'  should  sit  down,  some  pleasant  day,  with  the 

^  Laird  o'  Wallabout  •,'  sensible,  witty,  but  slightly  satirical  AV n  ;  acute,  quick - 

reasoning,  and  appreciative  B s ;  humane,  dignified,  and  dose-judging  T e  ; 

jovial  and  inimitable  B u,  and  cool,  yet  warm-hearted  and  genial  II r; 

'  M.  P.'  should  '  sit  at  meat'  with  tJiese^  to  appreciate  a  most  vivid  contrast  with  his 
sketch.  .  .  .  We  have  seen  nothing  to  equal  in  beauty  or  convenience  tlie  smaller 
prayer-books  issued  by  Alessrs.  Stanford  and  Swords.  They  open,  and  remain 
open,  so  easily,  are  distinguished  by  such  exceltbnt  printing  and  paper,  and  are  bound 
in  such  tasteful  style,  that  they  may  almost  be  regarded  as  a  luxury.  The  same  pub- 
lishers have  issued,  in  *  gay  attire,'  a  very  large  assortment  of  attractive  and  good 
works  for  children  and  youth.  .  .  .  There  is  a  puritanical  device  on  foot  to  abolish 
Sania-Claus  /  ^  Abolish  Santa-Cijius  !'  This  single  exclamation,  from  the  groat 
luouth  of  the  juvenile  Public,  will  put  an  end  to  that  plot.  ^  Abolish  Santa-Claus  ! ! ' 
Pass  tlie  slogan !  .  .  .  One  of  the  most  attractive  ^  lounges'  for  an  hour,  in  New- 
York,  is  the  magnificent  establishment  of  Williams  and  Stevens,  near  Leonard- 
street,  in  Broadway.  It  is  literally  crowded  witli  rare  varieties  of  paintings,  prints, 
and  other  works  of  ai't.  .  .  .  The  very  day  ou  which  we  received  '  W.'s  fervent  in- 
quiry for,  and  warm  eulogium  upon,  *  John  Waters,'  came,  in  his  matchless  chirogra- 
phy,  the  admirable  paperfrom  his  facile  pen  to  be  found  in  preceding  pages.  .  .  .  Nu- 
merous articles  from  welcome  new  and  favorite  old  contributors  will  be  more  parti- 
cularly referred  to  in  our  next.  .  .  .  Well,  how  do  you  like  us  in  our  new  dress  7 
We  make  no  promises  for  the  future,  for  you  have  known  tlie  Editor  hereof  during 
nearly  sixteen  yeai-s'  constant  acquaintance,  and  will  require  none  at  his  hands.  That 
he  will  do  his  best^  with  tlie  abundant  matdricl  which  he  has  in  store,  will  be  taken  for 
granted ;  and  so,  long-time  readers,  without  ferther  remark,  *  A  Happy  New  Year^  to 
you  all!  .  .  .  Brinq^ng  out  a  late  and  early  number  in  almost  immediate  juxtaposition, 
we  have  found  ourselves  unable  to  notice  adequately,  or  even  at  all,  several  new  vo- 
lumes, *  booklets,'  addresses,  periodicals,  etc.,  which  had  been  sent  us  for  review. 
Among  these  are  the  following,  concerning  which,  *  more  anon ;'  *  Lambert's  Popu- 
lar Anatomy  and  Physiology,'  profusely  illustrated ;  *  Poems  of  Alice  and  Phosbb 
Carey  j'  Mrs.  Willard  on  the  Circulation  of  the  Blood  ;  *  The  Little  Savage,'  by 
Captam  Marrvat  ;  *  Flemish  Tales,'  by  Miss  Lynch  ;  *  The  King  of  tlio  Ilurons,' 
by  the  author  of  the  *  Tlie  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers  ;'  W^ood's  Sketches  of  South 
America,  Polynesia,  etc. ;  *  IIeadley's  Miscellanies  5'  ^  Tlie  Parterre,'  a  pretty  volume 
of  verse  by  a  modest  young  writer,  Mr.  D.  W.  Beliblb,  from  whom  our  readers  have 
sometimes  heard ;  volume  first  of  Goldsmith's  Miscellaneous  Works,  Cleveland's 
*  Greenwood  Directory,'  etc.,  etc.   ...  *  Enough  said.' 


MAGAZINE  FOR  THE  MILLION!!! 


Thb  £NibMtlb«r  will  commeBce,  ecrlj  in  February,  the  pnVHeation  of  ^e 

FAMZKT   F&XSWD: 

A  aeml-montlily  periodical,  oxuiTalled  In  cheapness,  interest,  and  asefolnesa,  containing 
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This  magazine  was  commenced  on  the  first  of  January,  1849,  in  London,  and  hss  attained  a 
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Every  number  contains  a  Tale,  an  article  i)pon  Practical  Science,  an  Historical  or  Scientific 
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Tlie  following  are  part  of  the  contents  of  the  Number  for  January,  1850 : 

ILLUSTRATED  TITLE  TO  VOL.  U. 

FIRST  CHAPTER  OF  THE  ALCHEMIST,  x  capital  Talk. 

LECTURE  TO  LITTLE  POLK.  Br  GRANDFATHER  WHITEHEAD,  with  THasB  bn- 
GJLayxMoa. 

FIRST-PAPER  UPON  THE  ETIUUETTE  OF  POLITE  SOCIETY. 

SONG,  (wrrB  Music.)  THE  GLORIOUS  TRUTH.  COMPOSED  BY  ALEXANDER  LEE. 

FIRST  PAPER  UPON  INSECTS,  wrra  BNoaAViNO. 

ELEMENTARY  PAPER  UPON  GARDENING. 

THE  HOUSEWIFE'S  FRIEND.  Fivs  ENoaAvinos  of  animals  and  joints,  with  Reckipts 
Fon  VAEious  DisKKs,  Pastbt,  Fish,  Poultkt,  Gaus,  Joints,  Saucbs,  DcssaaTS,  d^c. 

A  CURIOUS  CHINESE  PUZZLE,  wrm  a  laeoc  BnaeAViNo. 

CHESS  PROBLEM.  Bt  thx  cslbbaatso  HERIl  HARWITZ,  THE  BLINDFOLD  CHESS 
PLAYER. 

Together  with  a  variety  of  useful  and  interesting  matter.  ' 

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Tms  ia  pronoanood,  by  Ui«  preM  of  America  and  EngUoi^  '  the  beat  Magazine  in  America.'  It 
baa  now  completed  ita  tkhtif-fowtk  vohmu,  and  in  iti  liat  of  mptoard  of  a  hundred  eontribnunrM,  are  found 
the  namea  of  every  diatlngoiahed  writer,  male  and  female,  in  America,  with  aereral  equally  promt' 
nent  of  Great  Britan,  Turkey,  Sweden,  etc.  A  new  volume  will  commence  with  the  firat  day 
of  January,  1890.  The  following  noticea  of  the  KmcneBBOCKBE  are  from  the  American  and 
Engliah  preaa,  to  which  might  be  added  hundredi  of  othera. 


*Ttut  laat  Knickkrbocksk  fi  azceedingly  good.    Some  of  the  articlea  are  worthy  of  Blackwood's 
palmiealdaya.    Tht Edit9r*s TmbU \b in  Mr. C 
degree.'— ^Ma-^ori(  OommtreUl  Ad»9rti»tr. 


lieal  daya.    The  EdiUr't  TMS  la  in  Mr.  Cumm^b  hiqppieet  vein ;  varied  and  racy  in  a  remarkable 


*  Thi  KmCKsmBocaxm  aeema  to  Incraaae  ia  attraction  aa  it  advaneaa  la  age..  It  eihibJta  a  monthly 
variety  of  contributioni  unaarpaaaed  in  number  or  aliility.'— /RatimuS  AleUvaaf^. 

*  Ths  KmcxxnnocKxa  is  one  of  the  moat  valuable  Magairinea  of  the  day,  and  outatripa  aD  competi- 
tion ia  the  higher  walks  of  literature.' — AlUmif  Argus. 

'Tm  KNicxuBOCKsa  Maoaumb  is  now  beyond  a  quaation  tJU  magazine  of  the  country.  Whoever 
wishes  his  money's  worth,  and  something  over,  let  him  kubseribe  now  to  '  Old  KmcK,'  and  our  word  for 
it,  the  Editor's  Table  alooe  will  amply  aatisfy  his  expectations.  It  Is  not  a  periodical  to  be  lightly 
glanced  over  and  thrown  by,  but  it  forms  a  library  book  to  save  and  re-read.  A  act  of  the  KmcKBa- 
BOOKca,  bound  up  in  volumes,  on  the  shelves  of  one  of  our  popular  libraries,  is  more  consulted  (so  the 
librarian  has  often  told  us)  than  any  other  similar  work.'— .BMtea  Dotiy  TrmtueripL 

Tbs  London  EXAMXNXB.—*Thia  very  clever  Magasfaie  is  the  pleasantest  periodical  in  the  United 
States.  lu  articlea,  which  are  numerous  and  short,  various  and  interesting,  are  well  worthy  of  imit^ 
tioB  by  oar  Magaainea  on  this  aide  of  the  Atlantic' 

London  *MoaNiKe  Chbonicli.—*  Judging  from  the  numbera  belbre  na*  we  are  inclined  to  eon- 
aider  thia  the  best  of  %11  the  American  literary  periodicala.  Ita  eententa  are  highly  hiteraathig,  la- 
atruccive  and  amusing.' 


BBOUOTION  »  PHIOB  TO  OLUBS. 

The  pttbliaher  haa  determined  to  do  every  thine  In  hia  power  to  bring  the  Knlckerboeker  within 
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hT' 


[ 


ORIGINAL      PAPERS. 


Art.  I.    HOW  TO  PROSPER:  OR  THE  FATAL  MISTAKE.    Bt  A.  B.  Johrbon,  EiQ^   .    05 

IL    AN  EXCELLENT  BALLAD  OF  THE  MAN  WHO  GOULD  mrWRTTE  VERSE,    104 

HL    LEAVES  FROtt  AN  AFRICAN  JOURNAL.    Bt  Jobh  Carr6ll  Brknt,  Esq.,     .    .  105 

rV.    ANn-SABBATH:  PROFESSION  vcRfira  PRACTICE, 108 

Y.    THE  WOOD-DUCK.    By  W.  H.  C.  Hosmcr,  Esq., 100 

VL    NEW-ENGLAND:  HER  CHARACTER  AND  POSITION, 110 

VIL    THE  MARINER'S  REQUIEM.    Bt  Miss  E.  H.  Bullus,      123 

Vm     THE  UNFOLDING  STAR.    Bt  C.  A  Albxandkb,  Esq., 134 

UL    A  FEW  THOUGHTS  ON  CLOUDS, 135 

JL   TRUE  FREEDOM:  A  SONNET.    Br  Rurvs  Hbrrt  Bacon, 138 

XL    LINES  TO  A  LADT  ON  HER  MARRIAGE.    Bt  J.  R.  TaoicrsoN,  Esq.,    ....  190 

Xn.    LINES  FROM  THE  PERSIAN  OF  HAFIZ, 130 

XnL    SKETCHES  OF  THE  EAST.    Bt  ouk  Oriental  CoRRcsroNVRMT, 130 

XIY.    IRELAND^  FAMINE:  A  LAMENT.    Bt  Wiluax  P.  Mulchinocs,  Esq.,    ...    140 

XV.    LIVING  PULPTT  ORATORS:  REV.  a  P.  McILVAINE,D.D., 142 

XVL    A  VERY  CURIOUS  TRUE  STORY.    Bt  Paul  Martinsalb, 147 

XVn.    HARRIET:  A  CANZONET.    Bt  Gkoroiama  M.  Stub, 150 

XVm.  MAY-DAY  REVELS:  FROM  A  BACHELOR'S  DIARY, 150 

XIX.    STANZAS :  WINTER  FLOWERS.    Bt  Thomas  Mackrllar, 153 

XX.    BONG:  THE  BflNUT&MAN.    Bt 'Tbs  Psasamt Bard,' 154 

Literary  Notices  : 

L  ANNE  BOLEYN:  A  TRAGEDY.    Bt  Gkorgb  H.  Bohr,  Esq^ 155 

SL  THE  OTHER  SIDE:  OR  MEXICAN  NOTES  OF  THE  WAR  IN  MEXICO,     .    .    158 

3.  FELTON'S  ^BIRDS'  OF  ARIOTOPHANE8,  WITH  NOTES,  Etc., 150 

4.  TICKNOR'S  HISTORY  OF  SPANISH  LITERATURE, 100 

5w  ELIOT'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  LIBERTY  OF  ROME, 161 

«.  THE  WORKS  OF  THE  LATE  EDGAR  ALLAN  POE, 103 

7.  SAINT  LBGER,  OR  THE  THREADS  OF  LIFE.    Sbcond  Noticr, 164 

Editor's  Table: 

L    COLLECTING  CONTRIBUTIONS  IN  CHURCHES:  MR.  DAPPER'S  LETTER,  .    .  165 

3.    ARTISnCAL  WORD-PAINTING:   THE  FIRST  DISSIPATION, 107 

3.    GOSSIP  WITH  READERS  A^D  CORRESPONDENTS, 160 

1.  EXILBD  HUNOARIANS  IN  CONSTANTINOPLB  :  LETTER  FROM  OUR  ORIENTAL  CORRES- 
PONDENT. 3.  «  Model'  Pleadinos  under  tub  New  Code  :  Examples  under  the 
Old  Ststem.    3w  Our  Garnered  Treasures.    4.  A  Business  Note  Latinised, 

after  the  HORATLIN  MODBL.     5.  ThE  '•  SOUTOERN  LlTERART  MeSSKNOER'  MoNTII- 

LT  Maoazue.  6.  More  Spbcimbns  of  Ionorancb  in  the  Pulpit.  7.  *  Indifferent* 
Vbrsiclbs.  8.  *The  Canada  Punch,'  with  Excerpts.  0.  River-Floods  in  Aus- 
TRAL1A.  la  A  Novel  Match  between  a  Man  and  a  Cat.  11.  *Thb  First  Snow- 
storm.' 13.  ^Chanoino  tbb  Vknue,'  Leqallt  and  Medically.  13.  Magnificent 
*  Ode  to  the  Province  of  Upper  Canada,'  dt  Smtth,  land-aobnt.  14.  A  Mercan- 
tile* Grace,'  BT  AN  Amateur  *  Professor.'  15.  Brown's  Oriental  Sketches. 
16.  Conjugal  Affection:  a  Fatal  Portrait.  17.  Ubiquitous  Love.  18.  Quali- 
fications OF  A  Good  Novelist.  19.  The  ^Greenwood  Directory.'  80.  Poetical 
Address  to  thb  Musquito-Kino.  31.  The  Episcopal  Church  in  California. 
23.  Amusing  Anecdote  of  Himself,  bt  the  Right  Rev.  Bishop  Doane,  of  New- 
Jersbt.  S3.  Wonders  of  the  Atmosphere.  34.  *The  College  Maul:'  Lines  to 
A  PoLuwoG.  35.  Grateful  *  Receivers.'  26.  *Thb  Two  Loves,  or  Eros  and 
Anteros.'  27.  ^The  Covenant  and  Ladies'  Maoaxine.'  38.  *Thb  Gin-Fiend,'  bt 
Charles  Mackay.  3B.  An  Inebriate  *  Sick  of  his  Bargain.'  30.  A  Word  to  a 
Broomb-Countt  Friend.  31.  A  *  Snob'  Opera-Goer  :  *  Jeambs  db  la  Pluche,  Ex- 
quire.'  33.  Beautiful  Illustration  of  a  Christian's  Faith.  33.  Anecdote  of 
Elibba  Williams,  the  distinguished  Advocate.  34.  'The  Wheel  of  Life.' 
35.  Choicb  Specimen  of  Caninb  Latinitt.  36.  *Thb  Biter  Bitten:'  a  *  License 
Quebtion.'  37.  Lines  on  *  Girlhood,'  by  John  G.  Saxe,  Esq.  38w  *  A  Placb  in  tht 
Mbmort,'  Rbader.  30l  The  Great  Metropolis  at  Night.  401  Memort  :  an  Ad- 
mirable Simile.  41.  'Crossing  thb  Kaatskills  in  Winter.'  4^  *The  Living 
Age.'  43.  'Sweepings  from  the  Stcdt  of  a  Septuaobnart.'  44.  Laughing  'on 
thb  Square.'  45.  Thb  Original  of  '  Mart's  Dream.'  46. Irvino's 'Mahomet and 
his  Successors.'  47.  The  '  Spirit^World.'  48.  Sketch  of  a  Fashionable  Musical 
Partt.  49.  'The  Parterre,'  a  Collection  of  Verse,  by  Mr.  D.  W.  Bblisle. 
50.  Mat  be  and  Has  Bbbn.  51.  The  Lord's  Praybr:  An  Aspiration.  53.  'Thb 
Atlantic*  Stbamer  :  Mr.  George  Platt,  the  eminent  Interior-Decorator  and 
Architbct.  53b  The  Buffalo  'Dailt  Courier.'  54.  New  Accessions  to  thc 
Knickerbocker :  a  Word  of  Thanks.  55.  The  '  Albion*  Weeklt  Journal :  ' Dig- 
nity AND  Impudbncb.*  56.  The  True  Wat  to  'takbthb  World.'  57.  'Curious 
Fubrituhb,'  btc,  at  Marlet's  in  Ani^Strbbt.  58.  'The  Bunkum  Flao-Stafp.' 
50.  SvocBss  OF  thb  Nbw-York  Weeklt  Mxrror.  60. '  Old  Time'  anq  bis  Garber. 
4U.  Foms's  *  Nbw^Yokx  st  Qab-Li«bt,'  OSl  A  Word  to  Publubies,  btc,  btc 


€o  onr  0ttb0(riber0. 


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139  Nassau-st,  New-YorL 


THE    KNICKERBOCKER. 


Vol.    XXXV.         FEBRUARY,    1850.  No.    2. 


HOW  TO  PROSPER:  OR  THE  FATAL  MISTAKE. 


■  .    J  ox  V  aox.    s  ■  Q. 


Op  the  few  overgrown  fortunes  that  have  been  made  in  our  country, 
the  greater  number  seem  to  have  fallen  into  the  possession  of  natural- 
ized citizens  rather  than  natives,  notwithstanding  the  superior  shrewd- 
ness with  which  our  self-complacency  is  prone  to  endue  Yankee  intel- 
lect Of  our  natiuralized  citizens,  the  French,  with  Girard  as  the 
exemplar,  seem  to  have  accumulated  the  largest  fortunes ;  and  the  Ger- 
mans, with  AsTOR^in  the  ^reground,  seem  to  stand  next  in  the  grade 
of  wealth-accumulators,  although  possibly  they  may  contend  for  prece- 
dence over  the  former  class ;  while  the  Scotch,  with  Robert  Lenox  at 
their  head,  or  Duncan  of  Providence,  or  Greio  of  Canandaigua,  may 
be  unwilling  to  concede  a  preeminence  to  either  of  the  others. 

Amone  the  successful  Germans,  in  a  moderate  way,  one  some  years 
ago  resided  in  Baltimore,  who,  from  the  humble  employment  of  a 
blacksmidi,  had  arrived  at  the  possession  of  a  pretty  large  estate.  How 
his  name  was  pronounced  and  spelled  in  German  is  uncertain ;  but  it 
had  become  Anglicised  into  the  word  '  Heapupit'  He  was  an  old 
man  at  the  period  of  our  last  war  with  Great  Britain,  but  still  oc<;iipied 
in  commerce,  which  occasioned  frequent  visits  by  him  to  New- York, 
where  his  present  historian  became  accidentally  acquainted  with  him, 
at  a  private  boarding-house.  Aa  his  humble  origin  was  known  to  the 
boarders,  they  took  an  interest  in  the  conversation  of  the  old  man, 
although  his  language  and  manners  retained  many  traces  of  his  early 
roQgh  employments,  but  modified  by  a  quickness  of  perception  and 
shrewdness  of  remark,  which  are  apt  to  appear  in  self^made  men.  He 
perceived  that  his  conversation  was  listened  to  attentively,  and  he 
seemed  gratified  with  the  homage  thus  given  spontaneously  to  his  saga- 
city ;  and  he  often  remarked  to  young  men,  uiat  the  great  point  fer  a 
man  to  discover  was  what  he  is  fit  for;  when  this  is  learned,  the  pro- 

VOL.  zxzv.  7 


96  Haw  to  Prosper.  [Febniarj, 

groBs  of  a  man  toward  wealth  becomes  sure,  although  it  may  be  slow. 
He  was  fond  of  adding,  in  illustration,  that  he  had  lost  much  time  fruit- 
lessly as  a  blacksmith,  before  he  discovered  that  he  was  not  fit  for  that 
business,  but  teas  hr  mercantile  pursuits. 

He  began  merchandising  and  matrimony  together,  and  to  economise 
time  and  money  turned  a  necessary  preliminary  journey  to  Philadel- 
phia into  a  wedding  tour.  The  facilities  for  travel  were  not  good  in 
those  days,  and  as  he  wished  to  6njoy  the  journey  with  his  bride,  he 
hired  a  one-horse  chaise,  in  which  he  and  his  wife  lefl:  Baltimore  on 
the  morning  of  the  wedding.  The  day  was  as  bright  as  the  occasion, 
and  the  bride  had  tasked  all  her  pecuniary  resources  not  to  discredit 
by  her  dress  the  elevated  position  of  a  merchant's  lady,  into  which  she 
was  emerging  from  a  condition  as  humble  as  her  husband's.  She  glo- 
ried in  the  possession  of  a  pea-green  silk  pelisse,  with  a  silk  hat  to 
match ;  and  her  appearance,  when  thus  arrayed,  and  sitting  in  the 
chaise,  fiilly  justified  her  judgment  in  their  procurement 

The  happy  husband  was  perhaps  as  proud  as  his  wife,  but  his  pride 
rejected  externals  and  rejoiced  in  a  purse  which,  though  not  very  large, 
yet  contained  what  with  prudence  would  supply  the  expenses  of  the 
journey  and  obtain  the  few  special  articles  of^  merchandise  whose  pro- 
curement constituted  the  great  object  of  the  expedition.  But  every 
thing  in  nature  seems  to  conspire  against  pride.  They  had  not  travel- 
led many  hours  in  their  open  vehicle  over  an  intensely  dust^  road,  be- 
fore the  husband  saw  with  alarm  that  the  dust  was  making  fearful 
havoc  with  the  fine  habiliments  of  his  bride,  and  especially  with  her 
hat.  She  had,  unconscious  of  the  mischief,  applied  repeatedly  her 
moist  hands  (the  temperature  was  July)  to  adjust  the  hat,  as  the  cur- 
rent of  air  or  jolting  of  the  chaise  disturbed  its  proper  position,  and 
every  touch  had  combined  with  the  dust  in  leaving  the  marks  of  her 
pretty  fingers  distinctly  and  indelibly  imprinted  on  the  silk.  Nor  was 
that  the  whole  mischief:  the  dust  had  insinuated  itself  into  all  the 
seams  and  crevices  of  the  hat  and  ribbons,  and  aided  by  a  sof^  moisture 
exuded  from  parts  beneath,  the  whole  superstructure  was  so  pitilessly 
ruined,  that  when  they  arrived  at  Havre-de-Grace,  where  me  night 
was  to  be  passed,  and  where  some  cousins  of  the  bride  resided,  a  new 
hat  became  indispensable.  The  fortune  of  the  wife  had  been  expended 
on  the  bridal-dress,  so  the  new  hat  had  to  be  procured  vnth  the  money 
of  the  husband,  causing  an  inroad  that  he  haa  not  anticipated ;  but  his 
gallantry  conquered  his  avarice,  and  he  determined  that  the  joys  of  the 
honeymoon  should  not  be  frustrated  by  tiie  accident  His  resolution 
was  happily  seconded  by  finding  at  the  only  milliner's  shop  in  the  little 
village  a  beautiful  white  hat,  just  suited  for  a  bride,  and  which  indeed 
had  been  made  for  one ;  but  the  accommodating  milliner  could  make 
another  in  sufficient  season,  and  would  even  allow  a  trifle  for  the 
spoiled  green ;  hence,  by  the  expenditure  of  some  nine  dollars  the 
breach  of  costume  was  repaired,  and  the  bridal  twain  were  again 
happy,  and  departed  hopefully  in  the  morning  with  an  immunity  against 
dust,  for  its  wings  had  been  dampened  during  the  night,  and  its  flying 
effectually  prevented,  by  a  copious  rain. 

Bright  again  was  the  sun  and  gay  the  leave-taking  at  Havre-de-Grace; 


1850.]  Haw  to  Prosper.  97 

bat  the  party  had  no  sooner  proceeded  onward  sufficiently  far  to  be 
beyond  the  reach  of  shelter,  when  the  treacherous  clouds  began  to 
rally  their  scattered  fragments  and  to  open  their  renewed  batteries  on 
the  wayfarers  beneath ;  and  in  spite  of  a  leather  top  to  the  chaise  and 
a  leather  apron,  the  rain,  confederating  with  a  breeze  that  seemed  to 
arise  for  the  occasion,  drenched  both  bride  and  bridegroom.  In  vain 
were  handkerchief  spread  to  shield  the  new  hat;  diey  only  broke 
down  its  artificial  flowers,  which,  like  dying  dolphins,  emitted  various 
hues,  till  the  original  whiteness  of  the  hat  was  almost  undiscoverable, 
and  its  paper  crown  and  sides  slouched  over  the  wearer's  hekd  and 
fbce  in  shapeless  ruin.  The  result  was  too  distressing  for  the  fortitude 
of  the  bride,  and  yielding  to  the  last  resort  of  female  sufil^ance,  she 
wept  profusely  and  bitterly. 

The  poor  groom  loved  his  money,  and  had  none  to  lose,  nor  had  he 
been  before  aware  of  the  expense  and  mischances  of  matrimony ;  but 
his  wife  must  have  a  hat,  and  he  accordingly  satisfied  his  chagrin  by  a 
heavy  malediction  against  hats  that  were  fit  fer  neither  rain  nor  sun- 
shine, and  by  vowing  that  he  would  himself  select  the  next  hat  at  the 
first  proper  opportunity.  This  was  not  long  in  occurring.  They 
reached  Philadelphia  in  the  evening,  without  farther  misadventure, 
and  as  they  passed  a  milliner's  shop,  on  the  way  to  their  intended  tavern, 
where  they  desired  to  make  a  fair  appearance,  they  stopped,  and  he 
selected  a  Leghorn  which  gave  sufficient  indications  of  durability,  with- 
out being  devoid  of  taste  or  fashion.  The  superiority  of  his  jud^ent 
in  this  selection,  over  the  frail  purchases  of  his  wife,  was  so  gratifying 
to  his  vanity,  that  vrith  a  very  mitigated  reluctance  he  handed  to  the 
seller  a  twenty-dollar  bank-biU,  receiving  in  return  the  new  hat  and  a 
ten-dollar  note. 

Thus  re-fiirbished,  and  with  a  rather  craving  appetite,  they  arrived 
at  their  destined  hotel,  where,  afier  a  warm  and  bountiful  meal,  they 
concluded  to  stroll  through  some  of  the  neighboring  streets  during  the 
unoccupied  time  that  remained  of  the  evening.  They  passed  several 
shops  which  both  Heapupit  and  his  wife  looked  at  with  particular  inte- 
rest ;  he  with  a  reference  to  the  shop  which  he  was  to  open  at  Balti- 
more, she  with  an  eye  to  the  many  pretty  things  that  were  displayed  at 
the  windows.  She  at  length  saw  some  gloves,  and  remembered  that 
hers  were  utterly  ruined ;  she  had  also  money  enough  remaining  of 
her  own  to  purchase  a  pair,  but  she  had  led  it  at  the  tavern.  With 
this  intimation  he  offered  to  be  her  banker  till  their  return  to  the  inn, 
and  they  entered  the  shop  and  bought  the  gloves,  paying  therefor  out 
of  the  ten-dollar  bill  which  had  been  received  at  the  purchase  of  the 
bonnet  The  shopman  looked  at  the  bill,  and  then  at  the  queer  cus- 
tomers, and  called  another  young  man,  who  also  looked.  After  the 
two  had  consulted  together  a  moment,  one  of  them  put  on  his  hat  and 
walked  out  of  the  shop,  while  the  other  came  back  and  said  he  had 
sent  out  to  get  change.  The  messenger  soon  returned,  but  brought 
another  person  with  him,  who  proved  to  be  a  police-officer ;  and  then 
Heapupit  was  informed  that  the  bill  was  a  counterfeit,  and  that  he  must 
be  taken  to  the  mayor's  office  to  account  for  the  manner  in  which  he 


98  How  to  Prosper.  [February, 

came  by  the  bill,  and  to  ascertain  if  he  had  more  of  them  in  his  pos- 
session. 

This  sad  climax  to  the  adventure  of  the  bonnets  was  a  good  joke  to 
Heapupit  in  all  after  times,  when  in  the  known  possession  of  wealth, 
and  die  self-complacency  of  vanquished  early  difficulties,  he  could  repeat 
it  after  dinner ;  ds  was  usually  his  wont,  whenever  a  good  occasion  oc- 
curred, and  he  wanted  to  amuse  his  guests  or  friends ;  but  it  was  a  sad 
difficulty  at  the  time,  and  from  which  he  extricated  himself  only  by  going 
with  his  accusers  to  the  milliner's,  and  fortunately  obtaining  her  admis- 
sion that  the  note  was  an  old  counterfeit  which  she  had  inadvertently, 
in  the  twilight,  paissed  to  /he  gentleman. 

After  the  war  nothing  farther  was  heard  of  Heapupit  at  the  old  board- 
ing-house, and  his  shrewdness  and  his  story  were  almost  forgotten  by 
all  who  had  been  its  inmates,  and  the  survivors  of  whom  had  themselves 
become  old  ;  when  accidentally  one  of  them,  in  passing  lately  a  few 
days  at  Baltimore,  ascertained  diat  he  had  been  a  long  time  dead,  and 
that  he  had  lefl  his  property  to  a  large  family  of  children,  of  whom  two 
only  were  sons.  When  he  found  that  his  end  was  approaching,  he  sent 
for  these  sons,  and  as  a  last  act  of  paternal  solicitude,  told  them  that  his 
estate  was  to  be  divided  equally  among  his  children  and  grand-children,  « 

according  to  the  provisions  of  a  will  that  would  be  found  among  his  ' 

papers ;  and  although,  ovnng  to  the  great  number  of  his  descendants,  the 
share  of  each  would  amount  to  only  a  sufficiency  for  an  eligible  com- 
mencement of  business,  yet  they  severally  could  not  fail  from  erecting 
thereon  a  large  fortune,  if  they  would  carefully  conduct  their  business 
on  the  principle  of  a  precept  which  he  duly,  for  their  edification,  re- 
peated, with  all  the  cunning  emphasis  that  his  waning  strength  would 
permit.  The  precept  thus  solemnly  heralded  at  the  hour  of  death  was 
sufficiently  chai'actcristic  of  the  old  man's  early  associations  and  con- 
tinued illiteracy.     It  was  nothing  but  the  homely,  vulgar  distich  : 

^Tu-KLB  mo  Billy,  drv,  do,  do ; 
Voa  tickle  mc,  and  I  *U  ticklo  you.'  I 

He  declared  that  its  operation  was  founded  in  human  nature,  and 
therefore  infalUble,  when  the  precept  was  prudently  obeyed.  He  cau- 
tioned his  sons  against  the  vulgar  error  of  striving  to  prosper  by  prac- 
tices that  are  inconsistent  with  the  prosperity  of  the  persons  with  whom 
we  deaL  The  true  golden  rule  is,  *  You  tickle  me,  and  I  '11  tickle  you.' 
The  man  who  acted  thus  would  obtain  wealth  if  he  perseveringly  di- 
rected his  efforts  to  that  object ;  or  public  honors,  if  he  directed  his 
efforts  to  that  object.  The  maxim  was  the  key  by  which  could  be  un- 
locked all  the  avenues  to  prosperity. 

The  old  man  spoke  to  his  sons  in  Geiman,  for  that  was  the  language 
in  which  his  thoughts  continued  to  flow  more  fluently  than  in  English. 
The  young  men  had  heard  the  lesson  very  many  times  before,  but  as  this 
was  to  be  the  last  infliction,  they  listened  to  it  as  though  they  heard  it 
for  the  first  time,  and  were  astonished  ^vith  its  sagacity  and  freshness. 
Thus  comforted  in  his  tenderest  vanity,  the  old  gentleman  lay  a  short 
time  silent  and  was  dead. 

The  literary  education  of  the  sons  had  been  sadly  neglected,  not  ff  om 


i 


1850.]  Saw  to  Prosper.  99 

any  censurable  indifference  to  the  subject  in  the  father,  but  from  his 
want  of  knowledge.  They  had  been  taught  to  read  a  little,  which  ac- 
complishments, with  some  skill  in  the  elementary  rules  of  arithmetic, 
he  deemed,  by  a  contrast  with  his  own  deficiencies,*  great  attainments. 
The  sons  were  consequently  not  qualified  for  any  higher  employments 
than  the  mercantile  traffic  which  had  been  followed  by  the  lather,  and 
into  which  they  had  become  partially  initiated.  They  possessed  how- 
ever dissimilar  intentions,  for  while  Frederick,  the  elder,  determined 
to  continae  the  old  commercial  business  of  his  &ther,  and  in  the  old 
shop,  the  other,  Peter,  intended  to  see  something  of  the  world  before 
he  established  himself  finally  in  any  place  and  in  any  given  occupation. 
He  felt  also  a  strong  desire  to  see  Germany,  the  native  country  of  his 
forefathers,  where  many  of  his  paternal  relations  were  still  supposed  to 
exist ;  and  as  they  were  known  to  be  poor,  Peter's  vanity  may  possibly 
have  desired  to  glorify  itself  a  little  by  astonishing  them  with  the  splen- 
dor of  the  American  branch.  His  share  of  the  paternal  spoils  was  a 
tenth  of  the  whole,  and  when  reduced  into  money,  amounted  to  twenty 
thousand  dollars,  which,  after  a  decent  period  of  mourning,  and  with  a 
view  of  killing  two  birds  with  one  stone,  he  converted  into  cotton  for 
the  French  market,  and  took  passage  with  it  in  a  ship  for  Havre ;  sor- 
rowfully remarking  to  some  of  the  cautious  old  friends  of  his  father, 
who  disliked  these  evidences  of  a  roaming  disposition,  that  grief  was 
impairing  his  health,  and  that  a  change  of  scenery  was  absolutely  neces- 
sary for  his  spirits.  To  remain  in  the  old  shop  he  knew  would  kill  him, 
and  he  wondered  how  his  brother  could  endure  it ;  though  Fred,  al- 
ways possessed  strongnerves,  and  could  bear  any  thing. 

The  ship  in  which  Peter  embarked  experienced  a  succession  of  the 
most  favorable  winds,  but  was  unfortunately  stranded  on  a  fotal  sand- 
bar, almoet  in  sight  of  its  destined  port,  and  after  all  thoughts  of  danger 
had  been  dismissed  from  the  minds  of  the  passengers.  They  were  all 
saved  except  two  who  were  washed  overboard  and  drowned;  and 
most  of  tiie  cargo  was  eventually  saved  and  taken  on  shore  by  lightere^ 
but  it  was  badly  damaged  by  the  salt  water.  This  was  a  contingency 
against  which  Peter  had  not  guarded  by  any  insurance,  for  where  he 
ventured  his  lifo  he  thought  he  might  venture  his  property.  His  loss 
was  large,  and  he  felt  it  severely ;  but  at  the  commencement  of  life 
pecuniary  losses  are  much  mitigated  by  an  exuberance  of  undefined 
nopes.  He  could  not,  however,  help  occasionally  reflecting,  that  as  yet 
the  maxim  of  his  father  had  been  impracticable.  Nobody  had  tickled 
him,  though  he  felt  keenly  disposed  to  tickle  in  return,  according  to  the 
injunction  of  the  adage ;  that  is,  no  person  had  conferred  on  him  any  bene- 
fit, which  was  the  tickling  that  the  adage  meant,  as  he  supposed,  when 
interpreted  literally.  On  the  contrary,  when  the  ship  stranded,  instead 
of  bemg  tickled,  every  man  on  board  regarded  himself  alone,  or  seemed 
to  vie  with  each  other  in  throwing  into  the  sea  Peter's  cotton,  that  the 
ship  might  be  floated ;  and  when  his  damaged  cotton  was  in  a  position 
to  be  sold,  every  purchaser  exaggerated  its  defocts,  and  sought  to  ob- 
tain it  ruinously  low.  His  experience  thus  far  was  therefore  any  thing 
but  propitious  to  his  hopes ;  while  the  steadily  occurring  diminution  of 
his  patrimony  irritated  all  the  latent  avarice  which  his  father's  precepts 


100  How  to  Proiper,  •  [February, 

bad  coBstantly  fostered  in  bun,  and  made  bim  specially  anxious  that 
tbe  tickling  process  sbould  be  commenced  speedily. 

As  soon  as  be  realized  from  tbe  wreck  oi  bis  venture  all  that  could 
be  obtained,  be  hastened  to  Paris,  in  tbe  expectation  tbat  a  change  of 
scene  would  produce  a  favorable  change  in  tbe  operation  of  bis  maxim  ; 
but  at  Paris  bis  funds  diminished  even  &ster  than  at  Havre,  for  be 
could  not  resist  paiticipating  expensively  in  tbe  various  novelties  of 
tbat  city  of  curiosities,  in  occasionally  uniting  in  its  more  personal  dis- 
sipations, and  in  becoming  a  victim  to  tbe  swarms  of  sharpers,  >£>reign 
and  native,  tbat  make  Paris  their  bead-quarters,  and  every  stranger  their 
special  object  of  attack.  Still  be  could  have  borne  equably  these  mani- 
fold depredations  on  his  fortune,  if  be  could  have  seen  amid  them  a 
commencement  of  the  process  V)f  becoming  rich  by  a  reciprocation  of 
benefits ;  and  for  such  a  commencement  bis  urgency  increased  in  a 
direct  pi*oportion  to  the  decrease  of  bis  resources.  Like  tbe  ancient 
spinster  immortalized  by  Russel,  and  tbe  burden  of  whose  inquiries 
was,  *  Why  do  not  the  men  propose,  mamma  V  so  be  could  have  sung 
as  feelingly,  *  Why  do  not  the  men  tickle,  papa  V  His  soul  and  all  tbat 
was  within  him,  yearned  to  exchange  his  silver  franc  pieces  for  golden 
Napoleons,  but  nobody  would  commence  tbe  traffic ;  and  instead  hereof 
every  body  tbat  be  gamed  with  seemed  intent  on  fleecing  bim ;  shop- 
keepers, sei-vants  and  restaurateurs  imposed  on  bim  to  die  extent  of 
their  several  opportunities ;  while  tbe  mass  of  tbe  population,  who  could 
in  no  way  use  him  to  their  advantage,  spattered  bim  with  their  equipages, 
or  passed  bim  with  disregard.  Once  indeed  be  began  to  believe  tbat 
tbe  tickling  process  was  about  to  be  commenced  in  the  person  of  a 
very  agreeable  young  man,  whom  he  met  at  a  table  d'hote ;  and  who, 
seeing  tbat  Peter  was  a  stranger,  courted  bis  society  assiduously.  Peter 
was  determined  tbat  be  would  interpose  no  obstacle  to  this  auspicious 
indication,  and  he  repaid  the  young  man's  politeness  by  copious  draughts 
of  wine.  Tbe  two  became  shortly  inseparable  compamons,  but  as  the 
new  friend  introduced  bim  to  pretty  expensive  practices,  tbe  tickling 
with  which  Peter  requited  bis  friend  cost  much  more  than  the  friend's 
original  tickle  deserved ;  and  Peter's  remaining  funds  were  soon  so 
far  exhausted,  tbat  unless  be  proceeded  fertbwidi  toward  Grermany  bis 
chance  of  ever  reaching  it  would  be  frustrated.  He  accordingly  lost 
no  further  time,  and  as  be  bad  no  ceremonious  congees  to  make,  he  paid 
his  bills,  and  stepping  into  a  diligence,  was  soon  on  bis  route  toward 
Vienna,  the  residence  of  bis  kinsmen. 

Tbe  journey  was  long,  and  cost  bim  much  more  than  be  bad  antici- 
pated, and  before  be  arrived  at  its  teimination  be  would  gladly  have 
retraced  bis  steps  homeward,  but  be  feared  bis  remaining  money  would 
not  supply  the  means ;  and  when  be  finally  reached  Vienna,  be  was 
almost  penniless.  He  lamented  tbat  be  bad  ever  left  Baltimore,  or 
tbat  be  bad  not  returned  thither  before  all  bis  property  bad  become 
dissipated ;  although  be  felt  at  bis  misadventures  a  degree  of  shame  tbat 
might  have  restrained  bim  from  returning  in  bis  present  condition  bad 
tbe  ability  been  presented  to  bim.  He  was  fortunate  in  discovering 
his  relations  more  readily  than  be  could  well  have  expected,  but  they 
were  all  situated  in  the  lowest  walks  of  life ;  and  although  be  was  bim- 


1850.]  JBbw  to  Prosper.  101 

self  reduced  to  an  equality  with  tfaem  in  poverty,  he  almost  repented, 
when  too  late,  that  he  had  acknowledged  nis  consanguinity  to  so  dis- 
creditable a  kindred.  From  his  external  appearance,  which  greatly 
orerrated  his  true  condition,  and  from  rumors  that  had  reached  them 
of  the  affluence  of  his  fitther,  they  received  him  with  diffidence  and 
awe,  and  with  every  demonstration  of  grovelling  affection ;  hut  when, 
from  indications  that  could  not  be  long  mistaken,  they  eventually  found 
that  he  had  as  little  to  bestow  on  them  as  they  had  to  bestow  on  him, 
they  remitted  their  respect,  while  they  increased  in  good-will  and  cor- 
diality. Feeling  no  longer  any  reason  to  believe  that  their  poor  pro- 
visions would  be  despised,  they  shared  freely  what  tbey  had  with  the 
necessitous  wanderer,  and  made  him  as  comfortable  as  their  poverty 
would  permit 

While  Peter  was  thus  in  the  home  of  his  ancestors,  realizing  the 
early  condition  of  his  progenitors,  his  brother  Frederick  in  Baltimore 
was  endeavoring  to  establish  himself  graduaUy  and  slowly  in  the  mer- 
cantile business,  to  which  he  had  been  trained  from  early  life.  He,  like 
his  brother,  was  looking  hopefully  to  the  precept  which  had  been  en- 
joined on  them  by  their  father,  and  he  commenced  the  practice  of  it  by 
failing  a  good  pew  in  the  German  Lutheran  Church,  and  in  sending  to 
die  minister  a  large  ham  and  turkey  as  a  Christmas  present  When 
the  good  dominie  was  thus  tickled,  he  thought  Frederick  a  very  amia- 
ble young  man,  who  merited  the  goo^offices  of  all  right-minded  people, 
and  he  failed  not  to  speak  thus  of  him  to  members  of  the  churcn,  who 
in  turn  applauded  him  to  others,  and  his  shop  soon  became  the  mart 
for  the  whole  congregation,  from  aj)rinciple  of  esprit  du  corps,  that 
often  actuates  small  communities.  Frederick  lost  no  time  also  m  iden- 
tifying himself  with  the  German  Benevolent  Society,  and  at  their  annual 
festivals  talking  feelingly  and  copiously  of  the  Fader-Land,  not  forget- 
ting the  more  substantial  requirement  of  a  liberal  annual  contribution 
to  Sie  society's  funds.  The  members  and  officers  of  the  society  being 
thus  tickled  in  a  spot  that  is  apt  to  be  sensitive,  failed  not  to  tickle  back 
again  through  the  medium  of  his  merchandise  and  credit  But  he  un- 
expectedly received  another  benefit  The  president  of  the  society,  an 
honest  German,  of  considerable  wealth,  which  he  had  acquired  by  pa- 
tient industry,  and  in  despite  of  the  want  of  all  literature,  was  so  pleased 
with  the  patriotism  of  Frederick,  that  he  courted  his  acquaintance,  and 
Frederick  ultimately  became  his  son-in-law  by  a  marriage  with  the  old 
gentleman's  eldest  daughter,  to  the  no  small  increase  of  the  young  man's 
consideration  in  Baltimore  and  prospective  wealth.  Nor  did  Frederick 
fell  to  patronize  all  the  city  newspapers,  by  liberally  advertising  in  their 
columns ;  and  as  no  class  of  men  understand  better  the  process  of '  you 
tickle  me,  and  I  '11  tickle  you,'  than  newspaper  editors,  Uiey  took  every 
opportunity  to  allude  to  him  in  their  respective  papers  as  their  public- 
spirited  townsman,  Frederick  Heapupit,  Esq.,  whose  mercantile  enter- 
prise and  integrity  were  an  honor  to  the  city. 

In  due  progression  he  emerged  from  the  chrysalis  condition  of  a  re- 
tailer to  &e  splendors  of  a  full-blown  jobber,  and  no  man  was  ever 
more  friendly  than  he  to  the  country  dealers  who  resorted  to  Baltimore 
for  their  supplied  of  merchandise.    If  the  dealers  were  young  and  gay 


102  How  to  Proiper.  [Febmaryt 

■ 

he  attended  them  to  the  theatre ;  and  if  they  were  old,  he  invited  them 
to  a  Beat  in  his  pew.  He  seemed  to  feel  toward  all  his  country  dealers 
the  intuitive  love  which  a  cat  feels  toward  catmint,  and  they  could  do 
no  less  in  return  for  so  much  kindness  than  to  give  him  their  custom, 
and  recommend  him  to  their  neighbors. 

As  he  continued  to  be  economical  in  his  expenses  and  prudent  in  his 
credits,  and  omitted  no  opportunity  of  tickling  persons  who  could  tickle 
back  again  advantageously,  he  gradually  but  steadily  increased  in  pro- 
perty. His  family  ^rew  also  vnth  his  o^er  possessions,  and  he  came 
to  be  surrounded  with  numerous  children,  while  he,  in  the  perpetual 
engrossment  of  business,  lost  all  record  of  the  flight  of  time,  and  seemed 
unconscious  that  he  was  no  longer  so  young  as  formerly.  But  although 
he  could  thus  lose  sight  of  Time,  Time  took  care  not  to  lose  sight  of 
him,  but  stealthily  kept  tally  of  the  fleeting  years  by  whitening  his  hair, 
imprinting  wrinkles  at  the  outer  comers  of  his  eyes,  and  increasing  his 
rotundity,  until  he  was  to  every  eye  but  his  own  a  portly  old  gentleman. 
His  father-in-law  had  been  dead  some  years,  and  he  was  one  of  the  ex- 
ecutors of  the  deceased's  will,  and  a  legatee  of  no  inconsiderable  por- 
tion of  the  estate. 

In  this  halcyon  period  of  his  existence,  when  he  was  well  satisfied 
with  himself,  and  by  consequence  well  satisfied  with  the  world,  and  all 
that  therein  is,  he  began  to  think  of  his  brother,  of  whom  he  had  not 
heard  since  they  separated.  He^ew  that  the  ship  had  been  stranded 
in  which  Peter  sailed,  and  that  some  of  the  passengers  were  drowned, 
and  he  always  supposed  his  brother  was  one  of  the  lost  By  a  coinci- 
dence which  is  far  &om  uncommon,  while  he  was  thus  musing  on  his 
brother,  a  letter  from  him  was  brought. to  the  store,  announcing  that  he 
had  been  long  at  Vienna,  in  the  most  deplorable  destitution,  and  craving 
assistance  to  enable  him  to  return  to  Baltimore.  This  was  a  case  in 
which  if  Frederick  tickled  ever  so  much  he  could  expect  no  lucrative 
return ;  still  avarice  had  not  rendered  him  wholly  callous  to  the  ties  of 
consanguinity,  and  he  forthwith  answered  the  appeal  of  his  brother  by 
sending  him  a  bill  of  exchange,  with  the  proceeds  of  which,  if  managed 
prudently,  he  could  come  home. 

The  meeting  of  the  brothers,  which  in  due  time  occurred,  afforded  a  ' 
surprise  to  both,  so  far  as  their  personal  appearance  was  concerned. 
They  had  separated  as  young  men,  and  they  met  as  old  men.  Still 
they  soon  recognised  eadi  other's  early  lineaments,  and  amused  them- 
selves with  the  rehearsal  of  early  incidents.  But  what  most  astonished 
Peter  was  the  wealth  of  Frederick  ;  and  what  most  astonished  Frede- 
rick was  the  poverty  of  Peter,  especially  as  both  professed  to  have  been 
governed  in  dieir  conduct  by  the  great  maxim  of  their  &ther.  On  an 
explanation,  however,  the  mystery  became  solved.  Poor  Peter  had 
committed  a  fatal  mistake.  He  had  never  tickled  any  persons,  but  had 
waited  to  have  them  tickle  first ;  while  Frederick  had  practised  on  the 
plan  of  tickling  in  advance,  and  especially  those  who  could  tickle  back 
again  with  many  per. cent,  of  advantage.  The  opposite  results  of  the 
two  modes  were  well  exemplified  in  the  different  destiny  of  the  brothers ; 
and  in  view  of  this  difference,  which  communicated  an  entirely  new 


104 


An  ExcMente  BaJade. 

i 


[February, 


complacency,  he  was  told  that.it  was  as  old  as  the  Bible,  being  plainly 
included  in  the  promise,  that '  he  that  watereth  shall  be  watered,'  and 
'  the  liberal  soul  shall  be  made  &t.' 


An    Spcelltntf    3l«l«)if 


yb   makme   who  could  not  write   versse. 


BT     WIZ.Z.IAX     F.      lCTJZ.OHZa  OCX. 


YaBvdeuUtthfor 
patter  and  hU  tujr 
chak,  aod  aakaUi  a 


FTTTB    THE    FIRST. 

Ho !  tiger !  a  pair  of  carpet  shoes, 

With  a  quart  of  brown  stout  porter ; 
I  wish  to  see  if  the  ooy,  ooy  muse 

Be  wiUing  that  I  should  oourt  her : 
I  want  to  know,  to  its  flood-tide  mark 

If  my  young  blood  still  is  flowing, 
I  want  to  see  that  the  hope 's  not  Suk 

That  erst  set  my  heart  a-glowing. 

Then  wheel  to  its  berth  my  easy-ohair, 

That  my  limbs  may  rest  supinely, 
Where  the  breath  of  the  free  and  vernal  air 

May  pass  o^er  my  cheeks  divinely. 
Tis  well ;  and  if  that  my  verse  should  prove 

That  Fanct  disdains  to  know  me, 
When  the  critics  cannot  admire  or  love, 

*  I  '11  be  a  dem'd  body,*  blow  me  1 
When  the  critics  cannot  admire  or  love, 
*  I  'II  be  a  moist  body,'  blow  me ! 


Tt  Barde  kokcih 

fcrtiMNiBC,UMlllK|. 

tib  poncrooCMUty. 


7TTTZ     TEE     SECOND. 

Well,  now  that  I  am  in  my  chair  of  ease, 

I  feel  but  an  absence  mental. 
And  wound  my  pen  with  many  a  squeeie 

Of  my  incisors  dental : 
Although  '  my  eye  in  a  frenzy  fine 

From  earth  to  heaven  is  rolling,' 
I  cannot  indite  a  single  line 

That  a  hawker  would  think  of  troUmg. 

My  cheek  is  red  with  the  blush  of  shame. 

And  my  mind 's  confused — damnation ! 
I  cannot  *•  give  one  nothing  a  name,' 

Or  a  ^  local  habitation :' 
Ideas  strange  through  my  brain,  too,  rove 

And  in  perspective  show  mo 
The  critic's  lash,  not  the  critic's  love ; 

So  I  '11  be  a  body,  blow  me ! 
Show  the  critic's  lash,  not  the  critic's  love  •,  * 
So  I'U  be  a  body,  blow  me! 


106  Leaves  from  an  African  Journal,  [Februaiy, 

falling  off  in  trade  may  be  accounted  for  in  some  degree  by  the  jea- 
lousy and  ill-will  of  the  Bushmen  and  people  of  the  interior,  who, 
knowing  that  the  colored  race  from  the  New  World  have  declared  it 
one  among  their  chief  objects  of  settlement  to  contribute  toward  the 
suppression  of  the  slave  traffic,  so  lucrative  tp  the  natives,  and  to  make 
for  themselves  a  permanent  residence  in  their  new  homes,  from  time 
to  time  have  met  tne  new-comers  unavailingly  in  battle,  and  even  now 
are  shy  and  suspicious,  for  the  most  part,  in  their  intercourse  with  them. 
As  to  the  agricultural  interests,  if  I  might  judge  from  information 
which  I  have  reason  to  receive  as  correct,  it  would  seem  that  the  pro- 
duce of  the  farms  is  not  sufficient  to  supply  the  wants  of  the  commu- 
mty.  Rice,  the  chief  article  of  domestic  growth,  is  not  produced  in 
quantity  enough  to  supply  the  current  demand ;  the  coffee,  not  over 
five  or  six  hundred  pounds  per  annum,  is  used  almost  exclusively  for 
exportation,  and  is  held  at  such  a  price,  in  addition  to  its  scarcity,  that 
it  IS  decidedly  cheaper  to  import  the  article;  and  of  Indian  com, 
sweet  potatoes,  cassada,  etc.,  enough  may  be  raised  fbr  domestic  con- 
sumption, but  even  of  these  the  emigrant  cannot  boast,  I  believe,  an 
abundance  or  superfluity.  It  is  true  that  the  colonization  societies  and 
the  authorities  in  Liberia  encourage  the  newly-arrived  settlers  to  choose 
their  locations  in  the  interior,  and  to  turn  their  means  and  labor  to  the 
cultivation  of  the  soil ;  but  of  these  emigrants  those  who  have  money 
and  intelligence,  seeing  that  the  most  thriving  of  the  old  residents  are 
those  who  are  engaged  in  trade  or  mechanicsd  employments,  often  pre- 
fer to  remain  in  town,  to  take  a  lot  in  exchange  for  a  piece  of  land  in 
the  country,  and  turn  their  capital  and  attention  toward  a  kind  of  busi- 
ness which  offers  greater  inducements  in  a  pecuniary  point  of  view, 
and  moreover  exempts  them  from  physical  toil  and  exposiire  to  the 
elements.  Again,  it  being  a  leading  trait  in  the  negro  character  to  be 
gregarious,  and,  therefore,  unwilling  as  they  are  to  live  isolated  and  in 
remote  and  scattered  settlements,  nothing  but  a  compulsory  process, 
such  as  I  am  told  exists  at  Cape  P almas,  will  direct  the  current  of 
emigration  into  the  interior  and  to  the  agricultural  districts.  We  know 
that  the  firee  people  of  color  in  the  United  States  almost  universally 
collect  in  towns  and  cities,  and  that  on  our  Southern  plantations  the 
slaves  live  in  small  but  compact  communities,  and  work  in  company ; 
so  that  when  the  emigrants  arrive  to  settle  in  their  new  homes,  accus- 
tomed as  they  have  been  to  these  gregarious  habits,  it  is  not  at  all  sur- 
prising if  they  are  loth  to  pass  by  a  place  where  they  can  enjoy  society 
and  the  conveniences  of  a  civilized  settlement,  and  devote  themselves 
to  toil  and  labor  in  a  thinly-peopled  country,  where  their  previous 
tastes,  habits  and  inclinations  cannot  be  gratified.  To  obviate  there- 
fore this  inconvenience,  and  to  distribute  the  population  in  due  propor- 
tions over  the  territory  intended  for  cultivation  and  settlement,  the 
government  should  insist  that  the  new-comers  shall  take  and  cultivate 
Qie  tracts  assigrned  them ;  for  if  the  right  of  selection  and  choice  be 
indiscriminately  allowed  them,  the  large  majority  will  be  unwilling  to 
do  such  violence  to  their  natures,  and  the  community  will  be  overrun 
with  merchants,  doctors,  parsons,  lawyers,  etc. ;  occupations  that  re- 
quire less  bodily  exertion  and  fatigue,  and  which  may  seem  to  aspirants 


hope  for  the  best,  while  preparing  our  minds  for  a  more  Histant  and 
less  flattering  result  than  enthusiastic  friends  may  anticipate  and  desire. 
To  aflbrd  well-founded  promises  and  hopes  of  future  progress  and 
usefuhiess,  the  rulers  of  the  new  republic  should,  in  my  opinion,  so 
shape  their-  measures  and  apply  their  means  and  resources  as  to  elicit 
from  the  cultivation  of  the  soil  sufficient,  at  least,  to  nourish  and  sup- 
port the  people,  without  depending,  as  is  now  the  case,  for  flour,  coffee, 
bacon,  etc.,  upon  foreign  countries.     The  soil,  climate,  cheanness  of 
labor,  and.  number  of  agriculturists,  warrant  the    belief  that  this  ind^ 
pendence  of  foreign  supplies  can  be  effected  in  a  reasonable  time,  and 
by  reasonable  exertion.     And  in  thus  fostering  tlie    fanning  interests, 
and  encouraging  and  providing  for  domestic  manufactures,  as  far  as 
circumstances  vrill  permit,  the  commercial  and  trading  branches  need 
not  be  neglected  or  overlooked.     Of  course  mucH  of  "le  public  favor 
and  attention  is  and  will  be  given  to  these  important  branches  of  na- 
tional wealth  and  power;  but  in  doing  this,  care  must  be  taken  so  to 
balance  the  exports  and  imports  as  not  to  allow  foreign  traders  to  dram 
the  community  of  money,  and  to  keep  them  dependent  upon  their  sup- 
plies for  support.     By  consuming  less  of  the  luxuries  of  other  countries, 
and  depending  more  upon  rice,  corn-meal,  cassada,  s^«veet  potatoes,  and 
the  other  numerous  artificial  and  natural  productions  of  the  soil,  which 
are  generaUy  delightful  and  healthy  food  •  by  introancing  horses  and 
mules  for  agricultural  and  other  purposes,'  which  by  proper  food  and 
care  might  be  kept  alive  and  thnvimr .  by  turning    "leu-  senous  and 
persevering  attention  to  the  raising  and  improvement  ^^  ^^®®P'  ®^?®' 
cattle,  and  other  Uve  stock;  and  still  farther  by  adopting  and  carrymg 
into  execution  some  efficient  plan  for  establishing  an<l  improving  their 
internal  communications  and  means  of  transportation  by  land  and  water, 
these  people  may  ultimately  succeed  in  securing   for  themselves  and 
their  children  that  blessing  of  real  indenendence  wbi^h,  so  long  as  ^ey 
do  not  produce  sufficient  for  their  own  consumption,  »nd  must  therefore 
rely  upon  others  to  fiimish  to  them,   thev  can  neither  anticipate  nor 
deserve.  *  ^ 

The  political  existence  which  they  have  iiujt  \>egttn,  and  the  new 
daties,  wants,  responsibiUties  and  intereata  whicli  raoBt  grow  out  oC 
so  .inter«ting  a  movement,  wiU  require  Xhratteotion,  "^  ""?  ^*^**- 
tion  of  those  m  whom  the  RepubUc  of  T  m,    •    ^tifides  for  weal  or  wt>. 
For  one,  I  trust  they  will  not  be  fo,^.i  ^T^  '^^d  that  the  highea^ 
wishes  and  hopes  o/their  best  f^i^^^^^^^  r.«i&zei. 


*  »  •«■  T  a  - 

SnBwv  nna,  in  ,_,_    „ 


1850.] 


The  Waod^Duck.  109 


THE       WOOD-DUCK. 


'  Now  ataall&A  tbrooffh  its  thlokate  deep. 

In  which  tne  wood -duck  hides. 
Now  picturing  in  itt  buin  alaep. 

Iti  greon  pool -hollowed  eides.* 


Faa  from  Ooeon,  ever  flecking 
HiB  broad  shelly  beach  with  foam, 

Near  imtroabled  inland  waters 
Finds  the  shy  wood-duck  a  home. 

Oyer  seas  with  gull  and  petrel 
Should  he  strive  the  storm  to  dare, 

Roarinff  surf  and  biyrsting  billow 

Landward  would  the  wanderer  scare. 

Where  the  forest  veils  in  shadow 
Marshy  beds  of  creeping  streams, 

Or  on  lilied  pools  the  sunlight 
FiBillB  with  interrupted  b^uns : 

Through  tall  flag,  and  reeds  that  tremble 
In  his  wake,  the  creature  swims, 

Or  above  the  sluggish  current 
Sits  on  overhanging  limbs.         ' 

StroUmg  by  the  grassy  margin, 
Oft  luive  I  the  wood-duck  seen, 

Colors  playing  on  its  plumage 
Of  the  richest  gold  and  green : 

And  my  gun  into  the  hollow 
Of  my  arm  have  thrown,  and  stood 

Ckoing  on  the  lovely  vision 
Under  cover  of  the  wood. 

Bronze  and  violet  reflections 
Flashed  above  its  tameless  eye. 

And  the  crown  it  wore  was  royal, 
Of  the  deepest  Tyrian  dye. 

When  the  timid  bird  espying. 
With  her  nimble  brood,  I  think 

Of  old  tribes  that  sought  yon  river, 
Fhmi  its  sparkling  wave  to  drii». 

Voices  of  the  past  are  wakiog 

Echoes  in  the  scdenm  grove, 
And  acain  their  cabins  duster 

On  me  banks  of  pond  and  cove : 

For  the  wood-duck  ftirdshed  featfaen 
When  a  forest  king  was  crowned, 

And  another  race  were  rulers 
Of  the  pleasant  scene  aroond. 


110  Jkw  England.  [February, 

From  hifl  creirt  and  glittering  pinions, 

For  the  maid  of  dove-like  gianoe, 
Fomiahfid  plumes  tliat,  mid  Irar  treaaea, 

Fluttered  in  the  featal  dance : 

And  a  gorgeoua  akin,  Tvith  cunning 
From  the  head  and  neck  was  pe^ed, 

That  adorned  the  pipe  of  oouncU, 
And  iiB  cany  stem  concealed. 

In  the  hollow  trunks  of  ruin 

Builds  the  summer  duck  a  neat, 
Though  a  iavorite  of  Nature, 

In  her  brightest  colors  dressed  : 

And  not  strange  to  me  it  seemeth 

That  a  bird  so  richly  clad, 
Should  deligfitin  breeiding^plaoes 

That  awi&e  reflection  nd : 

For  a  lasting  law  the  sunahme 

Unto  darkness  hath  allied, 
And  Decay  is  ever  claiming 

Beauty  as  his  chosen  bride.  w.  n.  c.  HoauBR. 


NEW     ENGLAND.* 

The  remarks  we  propose  to  offer  in  this  paper  will  have  reference 
chiefly  to  the  characteristics  of  the  descendants  of  the  Pilgrims,  and 
their  action  on  social  life. 

That  unconquerahle  zeal  and  enthusiasm  which  entered  so  largely 
into  the  character  of  the  first  settlers,  and  which  animated  their  Ion 
ings  for  civil  and  religious  freedom,  prepared  the  foundation  on  whic 
has  arisen  that  marvellous  creation,  we  New  England  of  to-day. 

Although  begun  in  weakness,  it  was  raised  in  power,  and  its  super- 
structure, which  Time  is  continually  enlarging  ana  perfecting,  has  now 
attained  to  the  simplicity  of  strengdi ;  and  so  long  as  its  great  central 
column  of  Truth  and  Justice  shall  remain  erect,  no  human  power  is 
likely  to  undermine  or  overthrow  it. 

The  historic  annals  of  the  christian  world  may  be  sought  in  vain  for 
a  richer  chapter  of  events,  for  a  series  of  higher  or  more  devoted  daring, 
for  results  more  ennobling,  or  of  means  more  wisely  exerted,  for  a 
high  and  noble  purpose.  Encompassed  with  difficulties  as  imminent  as 
crusader  ever  met,  the  first  settlers  were  compelled  to  think.  To  live 
and  not  die,  was  a  great  motive.  Thought  and  action  were  thus  early 
married,  and  the  union  has  become  closer  by  age.  Continuous  labor 
did  effect  for  the  physical,  what  an  unfaltering  trust  in  a  good  Proti- 

'A  HiiTosT  or  THB  Town  or  Duzsckt,  (Mass.,)  with  Genealogical  Begislera.    By  Jcbtik 
WiRBOR.    Boston:  Ceosbt  A,in»  Mioholi. 


112  Nsw  England.  [February, 

happy  results  widiout  doubt ;  but  go  where  you  may,  mingle  with  one 
rehgious  sect  or  all,  interrogate  the  professional  man,  conmilt  the  mer- 
chant, question  the  artisan,  and  you  cannot  &il  to  remark  veins  of  thought, 
modes  of  expression,  personal  traits,  rigidity  of  feature,  evidences  strong 
as  Holy  Wnt  that  the  ancestors  of  this  people  were  rocked  in  the '  May- 
Flower.' 

Enter  their  domiciles,  and  we  shall  ^nd  them  nurseries,  not  ocity  of 
children  but  of  men  and  women,  where  the  work  of  life  is  unceasingly 
prosecuted  without  distinction  of  age,  and  each  inmate  endeavoring  to 
be  faithful  to  a  motto,  which  seems  to  be  inscribed  on  every  rafter  of 
the  dwelling :  '  Candidates  for  improvement.' 

They  have  little  regard  for  mere  form,  nor  much  fi>r  outward  seem- 
ing, but  a  strong  invincible  faith  in  the  necessity  of  complying  with  re- 
quisitions that  promise  for  the  future  an  accession  of  condbrt  and  well . 
being  over  the  past. 

Resemblances  in  modes  of  living  are  discernible  among  the  opulent 
every  where,  but  the  good  sense  that  recoils  firom  an  ostentadous  cusplay 
of  wealth  is  quite  apparent  here  ;  they  have  a  care  for  minute  arrange- 
ments and  comforts,  out  little  for  mere  ornament ;  if  a  taste  for  deco- 
ration is  indulged,  it  usually  residts  in  appropriating  something  from 
the  studios  of  Jrower,Greenough  or  Crawrord,  thereby  ingeniously  ex- 
pressing the  twin  motive-power  of  mind  and  means. 

The  paternal  character  is  here  peculiarly  marked.  Children  do  not 
seem  to  be  reared  for  the  mere  embellishment  of  home ;  to  be  the  re- 
cipients of  parental  flattery  and  indulgence ;  to  loll  upon  sofas  and  otto- 
mans, with  the  last  novel  in  their  hands,  and  imbibing  their  seductive 
philosophy.  No ;  they  are  trained  to  severer  occupations ;  the  great 
truth  that  they  are  to  take  care  of  themselves  distils  upon  them  from 
the  roof-tree  as  regularly  and  silently  as  the  dew  upon  the  grass,  and 
there  is  no  escaping  its  ii^uence.  It  nerves  the  arm  and  prepares  the 
heart  for  battling  successfully  with  the  conflicting  elements  of  lifo ;  and 
when  Old  Age  places  his  leaden  hand  upon  them,  they  can  point  to,  and 
talk  of,  the  ships  they  have  built,  the  voyages  they  have  prosecuted,  the 
acres  they  have  reclaimed  and  enriched,  and  the  manly  inheritors  that 
will  soon  succeed  to  names  untainted  and  possessions  unembarrassed. 

The  influence  of  woman  is  here  marked  with  the  distinctness  of  a 
sun-beam.  Almost  every  house  contains  that  most  respectable  charac- 
ter and  overseer,  the  maiden  lady,  and  old  maid  —  sometimes  two  or 
three.  More  faultless,  exacting  specimens  of  humanity  the  world  does 
not  furnish.  They  are  emphatically  the  '  cordon  sanitaire'  of  every 
town  and  village ;  the  supervisory  care  and  attention  exercised  by  them, 
can  only  be  measured  by  the  length  of  the  day,  month  and  year ;  and 
if  by  any  chance  they  should  suddenly  disappear,  anarchy  and  confu- 
sion might  descend  on  the  homestead  die  next  day.  Their  oneness  of 
life  mi^es  them  less  indul^nt  to  the  failings  of  others,  and  nurses  a 
boldness  of  thought  and  action  somewhat  allied  to  dictatorship. 

No  house  will  capitulate  where  one  of  these  astute  personages  keeps 
sentry,  neither  wiU  they  be  much  frequented  by  fashionable  bores, 
who  drop  in,  in  some  places,  about  dinner-time.  They  are  the  veritable 
inteipreters  of  the  ola  motto,  *cui  hcfno^  and  will  defend  it  to  the  very 


114  New  England.  [February, 

prebend  tbat  if  an  inventory  of  her  deeds,  reyoludonary,  forensic,  lite- 
rary, commercial  and  manufacturing,  could  be  presented  to  those  wbo 
like  ber  least,  it  would  not  lessen  £eir  admiration  of  the  energy  and 
forecast  which  has  developed  her  resources,  and  the  robust  virtue  that 
has  watched  over  and  perpetuated  them ;  nor  can  it  be  denied  that  in 
almost  every  element  entering  into  the  formation  of  our  laws  or  na- 
tional character,  her  aiding  and  formmg  hand  has  been  signally  conspi- 
cuous. 

Look  at  the  massive  structures  of  granite  that  impart  to  ber  capital 
such  an  air  of  soUdity ;  her  lines  of  rail-road  pointing  in  every  direction 
over  marsh,  meadow,  dell  and  mountain ;  survey  herwharves,  ware- 
houses and  ships ;  inspect  her  churches  and  charitable  institutions ;  visit 
her  public  schools,  quench  vour  diirst  at  the  Cochituate  fountain,  and 
then  pronounce  on  her  head  and  heart 

If  a  long  voyage  is  to  be  prosecuted  from  a  neighboring  city,  her 
merchants  are  very  likely  to  be  consulted  as  oracles  for  a  plan  or  proba- 
ble result ;  if  the  statistics  of  any  industrial  or  liberal  pursuit  are  wanted, 
she  is  sure  to  be  interrogated,  and  not  in  vain ;  if  the  constitution  is  at- 
tacked, she  furnishes  the  ablest  defender ;  if  a  scientific  institution  is  to 
be  dedicated  a  thousand  miles  off,  some  one  of  her  accomplished  sons 
is  most  likely  invited  to  give  emphasis  to  the  occasion ;  if  legal  doubts 
arise,  requirmg  solution,  sfae  points  to  a  pile  of  judicial  text-books,  the 
product  of  her  own  talent  or  industry ;  if  an  orator  is  required  at  a 
day's  notice,  hundreds  can  appear,  uke  so  many  minute  men,  fully 
equipped,  and  disgracing  neither  themselves  nor  the  occasion ;  as  if  an- 
ticle  IS  wanted,  illustrative  of  any  contested  point  in  history  or  litera- 
ture or  an  essay  to  embellish  the  pages  of  a  review,  pens  fly  to  paper 
with  the  fleetness  of  arrows,  piercing  the  subject  through  and  through, 
making  luminous  what  was  dark  and  demonstrating  what  was  obscure : 
if  a  new  comet  is  to  be  discovered,  ber  island  neighbors  are  invited  to 
the  track,  and  are  sure  to  get  hold  of  the  tail  first ;  and  perhaps  it  is 
not  too  much  to  assert  that  almost  all  great  enterpiises,  ondnate  where 
they  may,  drag  slowly  along  unless  New  England  puts  her  big  shoulder 
to  die  wheel  There  are  but  few  instances  in  this  community  where 
wealth  has  mastered  its  possessors :  it  is  generally  made  subservient  to 
the  expansion  of  high  and  useful  principles,  essentially  contributing  to 
that  aspect  which  she  now  presents  of  a  positive  commanding  power. 

The  crowning  cause  of  all  this  is  the  intimate  connexion  that  exists 
between  intelligence  and  labor;  and  no  one  who  has  passed  much  time 
among  them,  or  who  is  acquainted  vrith  their  history,  can  fail  to  recog- 
nise l£is  alliance,  more  potent  by  far  than  any  which  kings,  backed  by 
a  Mettemich  or  Nesselrode,  ever  projected. 

It  is  a  very  easy  thing  to  censure  and  find  fault,  and  we  can  imagine 
that  casual  observers,  as  well  as  the  polished  and  charitable  investigator, 
may,  witb  just  severity,  remark  on  certain  manners,  customs,  etc.,  that 
cxmSxcX,  with  standards  elsewhere  existing,  but  it  only  proves  that  the 
New  Englanders  are  swayed  by  an  inhentance  unlike  any  other  that 
modem  tones  has  transmitted,  and  fix)m  which  they  can  only  be  alienar 
ted  by  the  changes  of  time. 

A  visitor,  especially  from  the  Southern  States,  would  remark  that 


116  New  England.  [February, 

of  the  mistresses  to  be  in  reality  at  the  AeoJ  ofaffairiy  the  prime  movens 
and  prominent  actors.  To  avoid  personal  supervision  over  the  minor 
concerns  of  the  domicile  would  be  deemed  by  them  a  weakening  of 
their  power,  sanctioning  a  pernicious  example,  and  conducing  to  the 
establishment  of  unthrifty  principles. 

We  can  recall  to  our  mind  scores  of  matrons  whose  ambition  and 
ileetness  remind  us  of  nothing  less  exciting  than  a  race-course ;  but 
with  this  great  distinction,  that  while  the  coursers  dre  and  withdraw, 
they  do  not 

They  would  outrun  *  Time  in  the  primer*  if  diey  could  bjr  any  chance 

§et  the  start !  If  there  is  not  remarked  in  every  house  a  utde  more  to 
o  than  can  conveniently  be  done,  it  may  be  taken  for  granted  that 
New  England  people  do  not  live  there ;  and  altliough  the  '  intelligence 
offices*  swarm  with  *  help,'  it  will  generally  be  found  that  there  is  one 
too  few  in  every  family.  This  is  a  characteristic  resulting  from  the  af- 
finity which  has  so  long  been  established  between  industry  and  morality, 
the  length  of  the  purse  having  very  little  to  do  with  it 

No  wonder  that  the  stranger  sees  here  such  an  afHuent  display  of 
and  desire  for  labor ;  he  may  remark  it  under  circumstances  where  the 
tiller  of  the  soil  lives  and  dies  on  a  spot  the  most  unfriendly  to  real  thrift, 
because  it  is  New-England ;  and  from  a  similar  motive  hundreds  of 
families,  possessing  incomes  that  would  insure  almost  a  sumptuous  mode 
of  living  elsewhere,  prefer  to  spend  their  lives  here,  though  they  are 
subjected  to  no  little  wear  and  tear  of  nund  and  body  in  making  the 
two  ends  meet,  and  keeping  the  old  fire  of  association  bright  and  going. 
Social  intimacies  among  blood-relations  beyond  '  first-cousinship*  are 
almost  exclusively  governed  by  outward  condition ;  the  wealthy  here, 
Bs  elsewhere  under  similar  circumstances,  extending  no  cordial  hand 
to  such  of  their  blood  as  do  not  or  cannot  make  it  mount  To  deter- 
mine how  far  it  is  safe  to  acknowledge  and  countenance  cousinship  and 
keep  it  within  conservative  limits  is  an  employment  much  more  com- 
mon than  agreeable. 

We  have  heard  it  intimated  by  those  who  ought  to  know,  that  the 
poet*s  remark, '  Greetings  where  no  kindness  is'  finds  a  wider  applica- 
tion in  New  England  than  out  of  it  It  is  quite  true  that  they  are  guiltless 
of  hasty  friendships ;  neither  does  their  confidence  in  persons  or  things 
change  with  the  wind :  where  the  hand  is  extended  and  opened  at  the 
bidding  of  the  "keadi  a  large  amount  of  caution  is  necessarily  developed 
and  exercised. 

That  unslumbering  suspicion,  which  attached  of  necessity  to  the  con- 
dition of  the  early  settlers  is  seemingly  yet  alive,  but  exhibiting  dinoin- 
ished  strength  and  weazing  a  softer  form. 

The  jpriSe  of  sail  exists  no  where  in  greater  potency  and  strength, 
and  it  can  no  more  be  separated  from  their  daily  contemplation  t£an 
man  and  wife.  Although  they  regard  tbe  SabbaSi  as  a  day  of  rest  and 
reflection,  it  may  almost  be  doubted  if  it  ever  brings  an  entire  compo- 
sure of  both  body  and  mind ;  the  idea  of  occupation  so  environs  them, 
like  an  atmosphere,  that  they  rarely  look  with  longing  eyes  to  any  con- 
dition offering  repose ;  they  ctpnot  gracefully  submit  to  see  the  stream 
of  active  employment  dammed,  and  no  wheels  turning. 


1 

118  New  England.  [Febrtaiy,  ^  I 

not  discover  in  the  compound  a  large  streak  of  toadyiano.     I*  is  how-  j>.   , 

ever  much  more  commendable  to  toady  i2<n0»  than  up!    ^  -^  ^^ 

Public  opinion  seems  to  have  received  no  peculiar  bias  here  trom  ^  ^ 

any  of  the  differing  religious  creeds,  for  no  sect  appeare  to  ^^^'^^  ^    ; 

controlling  influence  in  secular  affairs.     To  live  in  prugiosf* '*^™"*^  ^^  , 

how,  is  their  aim  and  then:  joy ;  and  he  who  may  mmgle  with  them  lor  ^^ 

a  twelvemonth,  With  ordmary  powers  of  observation,  "wffl  <y^  *"®  V^'  ^^^ 

traordinary  fact    There  are  places  out  of  New  England  where  ^  |    ^ 

characteristic  m^  be  remarked,  but  only  here  doee  it  eway  an  entire  ^ 

community  of  two  millions  of  people.  ^  «A  to  ' 

In  dmee  past  we  have  known  of  a  congress  of  nations  ^^®^^  ' 

deliberate    on  the  general  weal  of  Europe,  and  to  devise  ^^?*"~^  i 

the  quickening  of  her  mdustrial  energies.  If  any  ccwaventionisn^^ 
here,  it  would  be  to  relax  the  ardor  of  mdustzy,  not  ^^**^^^^S 
the  race  is  interrogating  something  more  august  than  a  body  <»  ^ 
sovereigns  I     The  voluntary  movement  of  human  fc>rc«»  ^  'wl^^ised  ' 

match  for  any  and  all  the  imperial  patronage  that  oan  now  be  aevisea 
or  exerted.  .  , 

Suppose  an  individual  should  have  fidlen  asleep  trweenty  5^5^^^  -      i 

Sprin^eld,  and  is  awakened  at  this  point  of  time  ;    1»«  ^alks  tortn  an  ^ 

sees  the  earth  strapped  down  with  iron  bands.     The  entire  P'^^?r?  . 

a  village  conveyed  en  masse  to  the  commerdal  capital  ixi  *?P?^^  J^  \    ' 

hours;   his  neighbors mterrogatmg  their  Mends  ill  NeW-YoAUke^^  \    , 

canary  birds  m  a  cage ;  bargains  struck  five  hundred  miles  oo,  lor  ™ 
sands,  without  the  direct  agency  of  the  post-office  ox"  **"™°/^^at 
the  space  of  five  or  ten  minutes ;  and  sundry  other    operattons  ui 
seem  to  him  quite  as  miraculous.  £.  • 

Wliat  suddenly  restored  vision  or  consciousness   coold  survive  m 
array  of  wonders]     The  mortal  life  of  such  an  adventin:wwo^JM^ 
doubtedly  be  endangered ;  he  might  possiblY  appreciate  ana  wi 
such  a  heaven  of  enchantment,  and  he  might  be  struck:  dumb  wim  as 
tonishment  and  die.  ,      ,       « 

Who  can  measure  the  joint  operation  of  the  rail-roa4l  and  the  eiecmc 
telegraph  over  our  future  1  irftKl« 

We  have  read  sundry  books  of  history;  accounts  of  tnost  rem^K^ 
voyages  to  most  remarkable  portions  of  ou^  elobe ;  a  gi^®*  ™?^^«i\^ 
and  astounding  fiicts  have  come  to  our  ey^ W  eaiB T 1^^"^^^,  j!!Ld 
been  sufficiently  bold  or  successfiil  as  to^i^v^t  a  fiedoti  that  co^^^ 
for  a  moment  beside  this  NewEnghmd  V3y  Ve  ^H^^ 
an  eye  to  the  bettering  of  his  own  conditi™^bv  labor,  or  ^at  of  the  ^u^ 
occupies  a  most  uncoUrtable  position  he^-J^^  ^^  ^'^^l? 

the  limits,  some  busier  bee  is  buzzinfraKo,^L-«i£x^«***^8^^- 

This  fighting  with  the  soil  and  thf  hSShSiSeiA^^?^  ^T^ll 
respectable  appearance  and  a  name  in  th^^^*^^  ^  discinW  this 
people  that  theVare  eminently  entitlS  ^^.^'"''^^  ^^J^^Mrred;  anA. 
Sthough  there  may  be  some  who  l^^J^^  ^"^  %^avA  exnel  eveKry 
vestige  of  Puritanism  from  die  bodv  r^L  ^  ^i    -r-  o^  smgle  self  vjir^ 
venerate  too  highly  its  conservative  nA^l"^'  ^^^  ^"^Z^  ^inrooved  the  te^ 
parture  of  a  tithe  of  die  precious  leaven        ^  ^t^^^^  <s^l  «wi\«ai^^ 


120  New  England.  [Fetaniary, 

plough,  the  spindle  and  the  sail  are  seen  speeding  their  way,  resultiye 
and  promotive  of  an  enterprise  which  the  keen  eye  of  profit  at  length 
regards  with  more  hope  than  fear. 

New  England  has  not,  like  some  communities,  adopted  men  of  ge- 
nius, but  given  birth  to  them :  by  her  own  unaided  force  and  energy 
she^is  what  she  is.  Those  who  in  their  ignorance  or  wilfulness  choose 
to  regard  her  as  a  mere  association  of  economists  and  frugalists  may 
consult  with  advantage  both  the  historic  and  the  living  page,  and  find 
names  that  in  every  department  of  action  reflect  honor  on  the  race ; 
their  varied  genius  embraces  such  as  Franklin,  Adams,  Otis,  Wolcott, 
Ames,  Ellsworth,  Sherman,  Dexter,  Cabot,  Boylston,  Whitney,  Whit- 
temore,  Jacob  Perkins,  Morse,  Dane,  Parsons,  Story,  Davis,  Cass, 
Sedgwick,  Jackson,  Silas  Wright,  Bowditch,  Dwight,  Stewart,  Chan- 
ning,  Prescott,  Bancroft,  Sparks,  Dana,  Perdval,  Bryant,  Allston,  and 
that  intellectual  giant,  Webster. 

We  have  not  the  presumption  to  suppose  that  we  could,  on  such  a 
theme,  observe  entire  impartiality ;  but  we  apprehend  that  few  could 
rise  from  the  contemplation  of  the  topic  which  we  have  on  the  present 
occasion  rather  distur  oed  than  illustrated,  without  imbibing  an  increased 
freshness  of  life  and  purpose. 

For  ourself  we  feel  as  much  enamored  of  the  scenes  and  perspec- 
tive it  unfolds,  as  the  wanderer  on  the  banks  of  a  noble  river,  when  he 
is  first  told  that  its  waters  in  their  entire  passage  frx)m  a  remote  source 
convey  naught  but  benefits  to  its  bordermg  neiehbors  and  contribute 
a  daily  surplus  to  the  great  ocean  for  the  comfortmg  of  the  nadons. 

To  such  as  can  relish  a  ti^bit  snatched  from  the  historic  larder  of 
the  Pilgrim  fathers,  we  would  recommend  the  Book  that  has  recently 
issued  from  the  press,  entitled  *  A  History  of  Duxbury,  by  Justin 

WiNSOR.' 

Thanks  are  due  to  the  author  for  so  kindly  disturbing  the  bones  of 
some  of  our  ancestors,  and  bringing  them  up  from  the  silence  where 
they  had  been  so  long  inumed,  and  investing  them  v^th  a  new  and  un- 
expected interest.  To  the  riiinute  and  patient  labor  which  he  brousht 
to  the  prosecution  of  this  work,  not  a  %w  are  likely  to  acknowledge 
their  indebtedness,  in  forms  not  now  conceivable,  and  for  ends  accom- 
plished not  now  even  anticipated.  Such  works,  however  dry  and  un- 
attractive to  the  general  reader,  are  likely  to  possess  exceeding  value 
in  the  eye  of  posterity  by  the  agency  they  must  exert  in  removing  or 
confirming  doub^  connected  with  genealogical  descent,  and  throwing 
the  needed  light  on  what  was  previously  traditionary  darkness.  Anti- 
quarians will  regard  it  with  favor,  and  many  a  dainty  morsel  will  they 
find  worthy  of  being  chewed  and  swallowed.  The  incidents  and 
anecdotes  recorded  in  the  historical  and  ecclesiastical  portions  of  the 
volume  are  exceedingly  racy,  and  will  surprise  as  much  as  amuse.  If 
our  limits  permitted  we  should  be  glad  to  quote  largely  from  them. 
There  is  a  class  of  mind,  however,  but  happily  very  limited,  who  if  they 
open  the  work  at  all  will  run  over  it  with  only  oneeye  open.  They  are 
those  who  choose  to  live  neither  in  the  past  nor  the  present ;  the  would- 
be  '  patrons'  and  heralds  of  a  future ;  and  unfortunately  in  their  ranks 
may  be  found  some  of  the  gentler  sexi  whom  a  tormenting  leisure  has 


1850.J  New  England.  121 

esBentially  aided  to  convert,  and  to  whom  the  personal  pronoun  I,  which 
by  grammatical  usage  always  agrees  with  samethingf  is  made  to  disa- 
gree with  every  thing  but  itself! 

In  this  category  may  be  recognised  many  who,  having  been  decently 
educated,  and  possessmg  fair  intellectual  endowments,  but  unacquainted 
with  the  world  except  mrough  books  and  through  the  windows  of  their 
domiciles,  exhibit  a  remarkable  interest  in  what  they  term  '  progress  / 
indulging  in  severe  commentaries  on  what  the  majority  of  society  re- 
gard as  wise  and  useful  doctrines  and  manifesting  a  desire  to  sweep 
away  much  of  what  their  predecessors  held  in  veneration.  So  closely 
do  they  hug  their  &vorite  notions,  that  they  become  exceedingly  restive, 
even  when  listening  to  words  of  wisdom  from  the  lips  of  those  capable 
of  teaching,  but  who  do  not  teach  exactly  in  their  way. 

If  the  speaker  or  preacher  does  not  jump  over  and  above  all  the 
princ^les  mat  bear  on  daily  practical  life,  he  does  not  jump  high  enough 
tor  them,  and  is  deemed  a  lame,  unprofitable  servant 

The  experience  of  a  past  age  they  unwillingly  recognise  and  are 
averse  to  weaving  it  into  the  &bric  of  that  in  which  they  live ;  and  it 
may  almost  be  doubted  whether  their  aspiring  minds  ever  voluntarily 
draw  from  the  pure  fountain  of  Holy  Writ  any  fitting  inspiration. 

*  You  may  pull  out  the  '  march-of-mind'  peg,  or  the  progress-peg,  or 
the  '  old-abuses'  peg,  and  as  long  as  you  choose  to  turn  the  crank,  you 
may  have  an  unmiling  continuity  of  lucubration,  with  a  very  respectable 
average  of  meaning,  and  a  good  deal  of  briskness.  In  about  half  an 
hour  you  begin  to  reflect  that  you  have  gained  nothing  tangible  except 
an  aching  arm  and  a  little  gidmness  in  the  head. 

*  Though  it  is  all  about  man  man  is  not  in  it.' 

The  state  of  mind  to  which  we  have  alluded  may  oflen  result  firom 
extreme  culture;  but  its  tendency,  in  seducing  the  less  clever  and  un- 
informed inquirers  into  a  path  which  they  are  much  quicker  to  adopt 
than  comprehend,  and  which  consigns  many  of  them  to  the  hopeless 
mazes  of  a  labyrinth,  is  what  we  chiefly  regret;  and  if  they  ever 
emerge,  they  are  very  apt  to  enter  the  fi)ld  of  the  Romish  church, 
where  they  may  be  relieved  from  thinking  during  the  rest  of  their 
lives.  The  cardinal  error  of  these  transcendental  leaders  is  '  to  take 
the  unit  for  the  mass,  the  individual  for  the  universal,  the  ego  for 

DSTTY.' 

It  requires  no  small  degree  of  presumption  in  any  mind  to  infer 
that  it  is  itself  in  perfect  harmony  with  all  outward  and  inward  exist- 
ences. The  attainment  of  so  high  and  palmy  a  state  the  general  mind 
is  as  yet  unwilling  to  accord  to  3ie  best  of  mortals ;  and  until  they  can 
prove  their  position  they  will  be  regarded  as  fidse  lights  rather  than 
the  infiJlible  guides  of  humanity.  We  are  aware  that  views  the  most 
dissimilar  are  now  entertained  and  urged  in  regard  to  the  popular 
question, '  Which  is  the  best  path  for  human  progress  to  take  V  Strong 
and  ardent  minds  are  constantly  engaged  in  illustrating  systems  which 
their  own  reason  has  either  invented  or  adopted,  while  others,  of  equal 
forecast  and  logical  acumen,  are  content  to  leave  the  great  problem 
unresolved,  but  at  the  same  time  manifesting  and  advocatmjg^  a  steady 
fiiith  in  the  sufficiency  of  those  means  which  a  wise  Providence  has 


122  New  England.  [February, 

conferred  on  our  race  for  its  advancement,  and  which  they  are  taught 
to  believe  are  immutable.  We  can,  if  we  choose,  distrust  the  bemgn 
agency  of  some  or  all  of  God's  laws ;  and  among  the  seemingly 
incredulous  of  this  class  may  be  found  some  who  are  overlaid  with 
scientific  truth,  embellished  with  literary  graces  and  their  brows  mois- 
tened with  the  precious  dew  of  Minerva.  It  is  generally  deemed  an 
evidence  of  good  sense  to  choose  a  straight  path  if  for  nothing  else 
hut  its  straightness. 

We  confess  we  have  no  desure  to  run  down  or  cut  away  from  the 
age  in  which  our  lot  is  cast ;  to  be  decently  eqmpped  to  meet  its  re- 
quirements supposes  a  knowledge  so  various,  passions  so  controlled, 
industry  so  unslumbering,  that  we  are  satisfied  if  we  do  what  lies 
clearly  at  hand,  and  do  not  see  what  lies  dimly  at  a  distance. 

We  are  not  yet  sufficiently  '  ripe'  to  advocate  the  Millerite  doctrine, 
which  would  urge  us  to  '  hasten  the  union  of  the  imaginative  and  ac- 
tual.' These  transcendental  prodigals  may,  however,  be  seen  occa- 
sionally returning  with  a  limping  gait  to  the  embraces  of  their  once 
forsaken  friends.  Nobody  wul  deny  that  it  is  a  noble  spectacle  to  wit- 
ness an  ardent  mind  pursuing  what  it  may  deem  trutn,  and  kindlmg 
into  quickened  action  as  it  advances  and  appropriates ;  but  the  contri- 
bution it  may  offer  to  the  great  store-house  of  useful  knowledge  would 
surely  be  rejected  if  it  tended  to  throw  no  additional  light  on  the  olden 
track  of  time  or  on  that  which  is  crowded  by  the  generations  of  to- 
dav. 

The  topic  which  has  engaged  our  thoughts  thus  far  is  capable  of  in- 
definite enlargement,  and  we  feel  a  reluctance  to  separate  from  one  so 
rich  and  varied  in  its  suggestive  character.  New  England  is  a  great 
Hudy,  Are  there  not  among  her  sons  some  who  might  delineate  her 
entire  features  and  bearing  with  the  skill  and  fidelity  of  a  Fhydias  % 
We  think  it  virill  be  admitted  that  the  undeviating  steadiness  with  which 
New  England  has  pursued  her  course,  guided  by  lofty  principles,  has 
eminently  conduced  to  that  prevalence,  of  well-bemg  wnich  is  so  per- 
ceptible at  the  present  time.  '  Decision,  which  is  the  best  earthly  ally 
of  wisdom  and  virtue,'  has  there  found  a  fitting  embodiment  and  a 
sturdy  illustrator.  d.  b,  u. 

P.  S. — It  is  not  too  much  to  say,  that  so  fer  as  systems  have  been 
devised  to  fiirther  the  cause  of  sound  education,  New  England  is  enti- 
tled to  the  first  rank.  It  is  too  large  a  subject  to  be  pressed  into  the 
narrow  range  of  remark  which  we  have  prescribed  in  the  present 
paper.  To  such  as  may  desire  an  acquaintance  with  or  seek  informa- 
tion on  this  head,  we  would  reier  them  to  the  annual  reports  of  the 
various  school  committees,  which  seem  to  drop  with  increased  ripeness 
from  the  tree  of  knowledge  every  successive  year.  The  amount  of 
intellectual  labor  and  supervision  which  their  system  involves  and  re- 
ceives can  hardly  be  imagined.  The  stream  of  instruction  is  made  to 
run  every  where,  but  especially  where  the  most  formidable  obstruc- 
tions exist,  and  its  fertDizmg  influences  are,  without  intending  violence 
to  the  term,  gigantic. 


1850,]  The  'Mariner's  Requiem:  123 


THE      'mariner's      REQUIEM. 

Light  on  the  wsten  gleamixigy 

Light  from  the  starry  skiesT 
In  ffrace  and  beaaty  beammg, 

The  Water-Spirlti  rise  : 
They  aoflly  glide  o'er  the  ^ttering  waves, 

And  they  ohant  a  moomfiil  hymn ; 
T  is  the  dirge  of  one  who  sleeps  below — 

T  is  the  *  Mariner's  Beqniom.' 

A  maiden  fiiir  is  keeping 

Wato&  in  her  lonely  bower, 
Fw  him  who  now  is  deeping 

In  that  cold  moon-light  hour 
Far  down  in  the  deep  oold  crystal  waves, 

Afiir  from  those  soft  blue  eyes. 
Whoso  light  is  brilliant,  and  gentler  fiur 

Than  the  stars  in  the  calm  bright  skies. 

He  lies  on  his  bed  of  amber, 

WbOe  sea-flowers  o'er  hnn  wave. 
And  spar  and  shining  coral 

Adorn  his  lonely  grave : 
The  beauteous  ooean-spiritB  come. 

And  tear-drops  shed  ibr  hhn. 
While  thy  chant  in  voices  low  and  sweet 

The  *  Mariner's  Requiem  :' 

'  Soft  be  thy  watery  pillow, 

And  gentle  be  thy  rest 
Beneath  the  foaming  billow. 

Upon  the  ocean's  breast : 
Though  far  away  from  all  thou  lovlii 

Beneath  the  spreading  deep, 
Tet  pure  and  peaceful  be  the  rest 

Of  thy  calm  and  dreamless  sleep ! 

*  Branches  of  brighter  coral 

To  deck  thy  couch  we  11  bring ; 
The  lily  and  sea-laurel 

Around  thy  head  shall  spring ; 
And  tiie  sea-weed  that  floats  on  the  fleecy  foam 

And  the  shells  &r  down  in  the  wave. 
And  pure  and  snowy  pearls,  we  11  bring 

To  deck  the  mariner's  grave.' 

light  on  the  waters  gleaming, 

Ugfat  from  the  starry  skies  I 
In  grace  and  beauty  beaming 

'Die  Water-Spirits  rise : 
They  softly  glide  o'er  the  silver  waves, 

Ajid  they  ohant  a  moumiiil  hymn : 
rr  is  the  dirge  of  one  who  lies  beneath, 

'T 18  the  *  Marmer's  Requiem.' 


124  The  XJnfolding  Star.  [February, 


THE       UNFOLDING       STAB. 


■T    O.   A.    AXJaCAWOXB. 


Watcbman  I  ihroagli  the  weoiy  stages 

Of  Time's  long  unresting  nignt 
Thou  hast  told  the  ceaseless  ages 

To  a  world  that  yearns  for  light : 
Long  the  night  has  been  and  dreary 

To  the  sleepless  sons  of  time ; 
Tell  if  now  no  glimpse  of  dawning 

From  the  abyss  begin  to  climb. 


'  Clonds  and  darkness  yet  inyesting 

Hoyer  o'er  the  horizon's  rim ; 
Stars  of  portent,  stars  unholy, 

Gleam  uncertain,  oold  and  dim : 
liO !  where  Satukn  urges  upward, 

Sad  his  aspect,  sad  and  wan, 
Darker  tracla  of  night  f<Hreboding, 

Wearier  ages  ushering  on^' 


Watchman !  yet  thy  glance  upraising, 

Say  what  happier  orbs  ascend ; 
Sorely  now  the  dawn  is  gleaming, 

And  the  hotmi  of  darlmess  end. 
'  Child  of  time,  inured  to  sorrow, 

Rest,  misfortone's  orphaned  heir, 
Yet  there  gleams  no  glimpse  of  morrow, 

Other  orbs  unblest  appear. 


<  Jove,  the  star  of  might  unhallowed, 

Rises  oahn,  but  cold  and  stem. 
And  the  hated  orb  of  battle, 

Mars,  nprushes  in  his  turn ; 
Lcmg  must  earth,  the  influence  awning, 

Abject  lie,  oppressed  and  worn. 
Till  some  happier  star,  atoning. 

Hang  upon  the  brow  of  mom.' 


Watchman,  we  haye  waited  eyer. 

Wept  the  long  dark  hours  away ; 
Tell  if  yet— ah  1  tell  if  neyer 

Comes  the  harbinger  c^  day? 
'  Yes,  poor  child  of  evth  1  reyiying, 

lift  thy  joyfiil  glance  on  high ; 
liO  1  the  Star  of  Loye  eternal 

Bursts  triumphant  on  the  ricy  I 


1850.]  A  Few  Thoughts  on  Clouds.  125 


*  Tribes  of  earth  that  pined  and  waited, 

Gn^fiing  in  Time's  straitened  fold, 
Crushed,  benighted,  sad,  abated, 

Shan  ibe  glorious  day  behold ; 
And  the  Shkfhbrd  forth  shall  lead  them 

(Ha  hath  watched  them,  though  unseen,) 
Forth  to  springs  of  liying  waters, 

Forth  to  tracts  of  endless  green. 


'  Meteor  shapes — the  shapes  of  error. 

Glimmering  through  mght's  hideous  waste - 
Rumor,  scattermg  words  S(  terror, 

*  Fly ! 'their  hated  reign  is  past!' 
WhQe  the  stars  which  at  creation's 

Dawn  dissolved  in  tears  of  ruth, . 
Hail  anew  the  ransomed  nations, 

Ransomed  by  their  shepherd.  Truth.' 


A     FEW     THOUGHTS     ON     CLOUDS. 

The  beauty  of  the  cloud  has  sometimes  attracted  die  poet's  eye,  but 
in  general  he  has  banished  it  from  his  pictures  of  Paradise,  as  if  it  was 
an  earthly  imperfection.  That  blissftil  region  is  said  to '  know  no  cloud.' 
The  realms  o£  the  spirit-world  are  '  ever  bright  and  fair,'  and  repose . 
in  eternal  serenity  and  peace.  Yet  in  fact  the  cloud  has  exhibited 
scenes  of  as  fearful  majesty  and  of  as  gorgeous  and  exquisite  beauty 
as  earth  has  ever  witnessed.  The  mass  of  unthinking  mortals,  dwell- 
ers in  tabernacles  of  burnt  clay,  would  fein,  even  in  this  lower  world, 
realize  the  dream  of  the  poet,  and  sweep  away  the  clouds  as  impedi- 
ments of  their  rightfel  sunsWie.  Were  their  wishes  ta-be  gratified, 
Uiey  would  be  the  first  to  weary  of  such  an  unvarying  sameness ;  were 
tiie  sun  ever  to  rise  and  set  in  the  same  cloudless  splendor,  the  stars 
ever  twinkle  in  die  same  diamond  brilliancy ;  were  the  moon  ever  to 
beam  in  the  cloudless  majesty  of  the  full,  neither  wax  nor  wane,  nei- 
ther show  its  slight  silvery  crescent  in  the  west,  and  '  fill  its  horn'  and 
then  &de  away,  till  nights  of  clouds  and  darkness  make  us  watch  and 
wait  fer  its  reappearance ;  should  we  gain  in  happiness  and  beauty  by 
the  change  ?     1  trow  not 

It  is  not  proposed  to  speak  of  the  important  part  perfermed  by  the 
ck>ud  in  the  economy  of  nature ;  how  by  a  eSknt  and  unseen  process 
fixvm  brook,  river,  lake  and  ocean,  its  material  is  rising  ceaselessly  into 
the  atmosphere,  by  a  division  so  minute  as  to  conquer  the  all-pervading 
ferce  of  gravitation,  to  descend  in  the  blessed  rain-drops  on  the  parched 
and  withering  earth,  refreshing  alike  the  crowded  city  and  the  trackless 
desert,  the  ctdtivated  valley  and  the  rocky  mountain-top,  and  imparting 
even  there  a  brighter  green  and  lovelier  hue  to  the  humble  shrub  and 
unseen  flower,  at  least  by  mortal  eye,  that  grow  and  bloom  in  quiet 


126  A  Few  Thoughts  on  Clouds.  [Febniaiy, 

beauty  among  the  storm  and  tempests  of  its  rugged  home ;  nor  to  fol- 
low these  drops  as  '  they  go  down  by  the  valleys,'  and  brooks  and  rivu- 
lets and  streams,  and,  united  in  one  majestic  flood,  roll  back  to  the  ocean, 
transporting  thither  the  proudest  monuments  of  human  skill,  the  con- 
querors of  hoary  old  Ocean ;  not  sweeping  over  it  *  in  vain,'  but  uni- 
ting nation  to  nation  and  man  to  man,  however  remote,  in  the  bonds  of 
brotherhood  and  civilization ! 

It  is  not  proposed  to  speak  of  these  things ;  we  only  regard  the  cloud 
as  part  of  that  profusion  of  beauty ;  a  profusion  without  which  all  prac- 
tical benefits  might  have  been  ftdly  realized,  with  which  infinite  good- 
ness has  adorned  its  works.  Let  us  observe  a  few  of  their  endless 
combinations.  It  is  just  daybreak.  The  stars  are  glowing  in  cloudless 
beauty,  save  where afamt  gleam  of  lightistingmgthe  east  "[Hie 'northern  V 
bear,'  at  its  highest  elevation,  is  proudly  surveying  from  the  meridian 
the  phantom  train  silently  sweepmg  along  the  zo^ac,  and  marking  the 
.  wandering  lights  that  are  there  pursuing  their  eccentric  courses.  The 
waning  moon,  dwindled  to  a  thin  crescent,  is  just  rising  from  the  ocean, 
throwing  a  long  stream  of  light  on  its  unruffled  sur&ce,  shovnng  in  deli- 
cate outline  the  tapering  spars  of  a  distant  vessel,  and  shedding  a  pale 
and  melancholy  radiance  on  the  rocky  summit  and  scattered  foliage  of 
the  neighboring  mountains  and  the  quiet  dwellings  and  deserted  streets 
of  the  village  below.  Fleecy  masses,  at  first  dark  and  colorless,  have 
gradually  gathered  around  the  east,  displaying  the  rude  outlines  of 
every  tower  and  battlement;  but  as  the  daylight  increases,  growing 
thinner  and  brighter,  and  assuming  the  most  gorgeous  and  bzilHant  > 

tints,  until,  as  the  sun  reaches  the  horizon,  they  might  seem  to  mortal  i 

eye  the  spirit-drapery  enfolding  the  pavilion  of  the  Eternal  I  I 

Again,  of  a  bnght  summer  afternoon,  when  nature  is  drooping  be-  ' '    | 

neath  a  sultry  and  parching  sun,  see  them  ofi*  in  the  west  rising  in  dark  * 

castellated  shapes,  piling  above  each  other,  showing  to  earth's  gazere     ' 
the  palaces  and  fortresses  of  the  powers  of  the  air,  with  their  beetions, 
embrasures,  turrets  and  domes. 

Ever  and  ftion  from  one  of  these  forms,  more  dark  and  threatening  4 

than  the  rest,  is  seen  a  lurid  flash,  like  the  glance  of  some  fearfully  ^ 

briffht  and  angry  eye.  And  then  the  thickening  masses  rise  darker 
ana  heavier,  and  shut  out  the  sunlight,  and  amid  the  incessant  flash  of 
the  lightning  and  roll  of  the  thunder,  pour  their  welcome  treasures 
upon  herbage  and  flower,  bowing  in  humble,  tearfiil  gratitude !  Soon 
the  sun  breaks  forth,  throvnng  its  setting  beams  on  the  same  castellated 
masses,  retreating  far  off  to  the  east ;  and  now  and  then  a  vivid  flash  is 
seen  tipping  their  rough  and  craggy  edges  with  a  golden  lustre.  The 
rain  is  &lling  gently  through  the  fragrant  air,  childhood  gladly  roort-  ^ 

ing  in  its  pearly  drops,  and  even  in&ncy  uttering  a  crow  of  dcmght  as  ^  ' 

they  fall  upon  its  uncovered  &ce.  And  then  majestically  spanning  the 
heavens,  on  the  still  dark  and  heavy  clouds  in  the  east  appears  the  bow 
of  promise,  the  seal  of  God's  everlasting  covenant !  And  as  they  roll 
fiotner  away  toward  the  orient,  the  full  moon  bursts  forth,  shedding  a 
softened  brilliancy  over  the  whole,  as  twilight  slowly  and  gradually 
fades  away  into  moonlight. 
Mark  too  the  commencement  of  one  of  our  wild  autumnal  stonns. 


1850.]  A  Few  ThmghU  am  Clouds.  1S7 

Stand  on  the  shore  of  old  Ocean,  and  aee  the  clouda  growing  more 
dazk,  heavy  and  tbreataning,  surging  and  rolling  in  majestic  volumes ; 
the  sea-birds  making  for  the  shove  and  seeking  a  shelter*  as  the  winds 
and  the  waves  lift  their  voices  on  high ;  the  surf  heavily  roUing  on  the 
worn  rocks,  and  nisbing  round  and  among  them,  as  if  sedung  a  passjaee 
bejond  the '  stem  and  rock-bonnd  coast;'  and  the  inefeasing  galeshridt- 
ing  a  melancholy  cadence  through  the  stripped  branches  of  a  few  leaf- 
less and  lonely  trees ! 

See,  again,  the  varie^,  glory  and  beauty  of  sunseC-cloods.  As  the 
sun  sinks  below  the  horizon,  a  marked  period  of  human  life  has  passed 
away.  How  many  changes  has  taken  place  since  we  hailed  his  rising 
beams !  To  how  many  has  it  been  the  last  dav  of  earth !  How  many 
^scenes  of  jo/  and  sorrow  has  he  witnessed  in  his  course  I  How  happy 
are  they  whose  parting  hour  throws,  like  his>  such  a  flood  of  glory  over 
the  mists  and  eimdowa  that  have  darkened  their  path  1  But  the  sunset 
sky  has  been  too  often  described  to  make  description  interesting. 

But  the  varied  movements  of  the  clouds  are  not  without  a  touch  even 
of  the  ludicrous.    Witness  the  progress  of  a  '  squall.*    Dark  clouds 
begin  rapidly  to  accumulate  in  the  north  or  the  east    Tliere  is  evi- 
denfly  an  excitement  and  commotion  in  the  upper  regions ;  something 
unusual  has  taken  place,  and  ^  the  hue-and-cry'  is  raised.    Crowds  are 
leaving  their  ever^-day  business,  and  rushing  in  promiscuous  coipfusion 
to  see  what  is  going  on.    A  few  ragged,  straggling  streaks  of  vapor 
are  drivii^  on  rariously,  leading  the  van,  the  fuBt  to  see  and  give  the 
alarm.     'Hien  follow  some  very  respectable  leaders,  but  evidently  in 
great  agitation  and  excitement     Then  comes  the  whole  '  rabble  route,* 
eagerly  and  confusedly  hurrying  forward,  attended  by  a  ftirious  wind, 
t      ihHip^S  ™^>  peradventure  hail-stones,  clouds  of  dust  and  dried  leaves, 
Ik,   4K 'smw  and  shavings !     Then  come  die  slamnoing  of  blinds,  shujtters, 
||  Amgm  and  windows,  and  the  rattling  and  tearing  of  every  thin^  light 

and  loose.     The  '  week's  washing*  on  yonder  clothes'- line,  standmg  up . 
k  straight  in  the  air,  whipping  uid  snapping,  is  strivinj^s  eagerly  to 

|r  escape  and  join  the  '  meie6'  as  children  to  rush  out  of  ^^«  and  foUow 

the  '  trun-bends.'  Wo  to  the  unfortunate  pedestrian  whom  it  en- 
counters :  while  he  protects  his  eyes,  his  hat  is  off  to  swell  the  motley 
crowd !  Wo  to  the  quiet,  unsuspecting  student,  who  has  unwittingly 
left  open  the  window  of  his  sanctum ;  letters,  papers,  manuscripts,  are 
4  whirled  hither  and  thither,  in  hopeless  confusion  I 

I  Bat  the  '  hurry-skunr'  passes  by ;  a  few  sober,  quiet,  aristocratic* 

looking  clouds,  in  a  dignified  manner,  follow  slowly  after,  bringing  up 
the  rear ;  the  sun  shines  out  clear  and  bright  as  before,  and  mortals- pro- 
^  ceed  to  the  work  of  *  putting  things  to  rights.' 

But  there  are  the  most  grand  and  touching  associations  connected 
with  the  doud,  wholly  independent  of  its  glorious  beauty  abd  endless 
I  variety./  It  was  for  centuries  the  sensible  symbol  of  the  presence  of 

[  the  Etebnal.    When  the  vengeance  of  the  Almiohtt  haa  taken  man 

away  from  the  face  of  the  earUi ;  when  the  deluge  had  subsided,  and 
the  first  smile  of  Bun-liffht  beamed  upon  a  purified  and  renovated  world, 
•  Hb  8^  his  bow  upon  Uie  cloud,  the  seal  of  the  promise  that  seed-time 
and  harvest  shomd  ever  after  supply  the  wants  of  the  munbedess  de- 
void, xzxv.  9 


THUS    PREBDOIC:    ▲TBOKKET. 


Ob  I  What  to  Freedom  T    Bsj.Hfhaimuifree 
—  Ifrune, 


Who  weofB  no  shackles  on  bis  ontirvtl  i 


JUekMUfi  (/^'  T.) 


And  knows  no  lord  his  weary  toil  to  daim, 
Or  ftiKe  obeiaanoe  on  the  bended  knee ; 
Who  vet  la  bound  with  boom  dayerr, 

Anddareanotinthe  fboeor  mentoaMie 

HIsthoQghta  and  feeUmn  leat  they  lHrii«  Urn  diaae  7 
cut  him  not /rM/  *t  to  hoOow  mockery  I 

Lei  him  the  name  of  *  freeman' only  wear 
Who  heralds  forth  the  troth  with  corblem  toi^Toe : 
Who  standa  ereet  hia  IbUow  men  amoBS» 

And  soonns  the  cowaid's  aMect  name  to  bear! 
His  name  with  thatoT  heroes^ball  be  emig, 

Aiidhe,fhelre4iml,irffltheirgta7d»>l  Btrrtra  Hihbt  Bacw. 


1 


128  Tyu6  Freedom :  a  Sonnet.  [Pehruary, 

I  I         ^^^^1  I  ■■  llllll..!!.  .  Jill  ■■.  f 

pendants  on  Hn  bounty  and  goodness,  and  that  the  changing  seasons 
should  recur  with  unerring  regularity,  until  the  dungs  which  are  seen  and 
temporal  shall  be  lost  in  Uie&ngs  which  are  unseen  and  etemaL  And 
so  when  it  was  designed  to  afford  to  the  '  father  of  the  faithful'  a  vision 
of  the  mysteries  of  &e  spiritual  world,  and  to  withdraw  forabrief  space 
the  veil  which  conceak  the  events  of  coming  years,  the  cloud  iiniich 
rested  on  the  distant  summit  of  Moriah  guided  him  in  his  heart-trying 
journey  through  the  wilderness,  to  the  spot  where,  centuries  after,  the 
great  atoning  sacrifice,  the  crownine  work  of  man's  redemption,  and 
of  which  the  commanded  sacrifice  of  the  child  of  his  old  age  was  but  a 
shadow  and  a  type,  was  finally  to  be  effected.  And  in  the  triumphant 
exodus  of  his  chosen  people  from  the  land  g£  bondage,  the  divine  pre- 
sence beamed  bright  and  glorious  from  the  cloud  on  the  camp  of^the 
Israelites,  but  poured  dark  and  gloomy  up(m  the  troubled  nosts  of 
Egypt    And  in  ail  their  subsequent  devious  wanderings, 

«Bt  day  along  the  aatoniahed  land 
The  doQdy^nar  glided  slow,* 

maridng  the  way  prescribed  by  their  divine  guide.    And  after  their 
settlement  in  the  promised  land,  when  Israel's  monarch  had  convicted 
his  magnificent  temple  for  the  worship  of  Jehovah,  amid  the  solemn 
and  imposing  ceremonies  o£  its  dedication,  the  mysterious  cloud  marks 
the  diYUie*  acceptance  of  the  ofiering.    So  too,  the  awe-struck  multi* 
tude  from  the  foot  of  Sinai  beheld  the  dark  cloud  envelop  its  summit, 
apd  the  prophet  and  law-giver  with  reverential  fear  ascend  the  moun- 
tain and  disappear  in  the  thick  darkness  where  Gron  was !    And  cen- 
turies afterward,  when  the  blessed  Redeemer,  leaving  the  cares  and 
sufferings  of  his  earthly  humiliation,  ascends  to  the  summit  of  Tabor, 
to  commune  fiir  a  while  with  the  spirits  of  the  iust  made  perfect,  the         ^ 
bright  cloud  again  announces  the  presence  of  divinity.    And  again,         ■ 
when  he  had  conquered  death  and  hdl,  and  burst  the  prison  of  the  grave,         ^ 
and  brought  life  and  immortality  to  man,  and  was  ascending  in  triumph 
to  the  hea^Ki  he  had  left,  a  cloud  deceived  him  from  the  gaze  of  his  i 

wondering  disciples.  And  when  time  shall  be  no  longer,  and  the  last 
scene  of  probation  shall  be  unrolled,  the  Jn]>GE  of  quick  and  dead,  be- 
fore whose  face  the  earth  and  heavens  shall  flee  away,  shall  appear  in 
the  clouds  of  heaven  with  power  and  great  glory  ! 


1850.]  Th  Mrs.  L.  G.  R ,  on  her  Marriage.  129 


TO     MRS.    L.     O.     R..,.,   OH     HER     MARRIAGE. 

Dkar  lady !  pardon  me  the  crime 
If  haply  my  too  careless  rhyme 
Disturb,  at  this  anspickras  time, 

A  mother's  soft  oaressings ; 
While  yet  thine  eyes  are  moist  and  dim 
With  recent  tears,  and  round  the  rim 
Of  Jot's  bra^ht  cap,  now  filled  to  Atm, 

There  £moe  a  thonsand  blessings. 

I  hare  not  known  thee  well,  nor  long ; 
Onr  meeting  was  amid  the  throng ; 
llie  cadence  of  the  passing  song 

Was  scarce  more  qnickly  aided : 
Bat  with  thine  nnobtmsiye  grace, 
The  fond  remembrance  of  thy  fttoe, 
Which  time  nor  change  may  e'er  erase, 

What  kindly  thooghts  are  blended ! 

thy  € 

A  habitation  shut  to  thee, 
And  lost  for  aye  the  golden  key 

To  all  its  wayward  fancies : 
And  girldhood's  pddy  time  shall  seem 
The  sweet  illusion  of  a  dream, 
Or  as  some  half-forgotten  theme 

From  out  the  old  romances. 

But  grieye  not,  hdy  I  on  the  past, 
T  was  all  too  beautifiil  to  last ; 
Thy  future's  lines  may  yet  be  cast 

In  *■  places'  quite  as  *  pleasant :' 
And  others  seek,  with  friendship's  wile, 
Thy  gentle  sorrows  to  begnUe, 
As  tenderly  as  they  whoK  smile 

Makes  (^  the  fleeting  present. 

T  is  sad  to  leave  the  hannted  glade, 
The  homestead  where  thy  presence  made 
A  mellow  sunshine  in  the  shade, 

Like  WoEDswomTH's  highland  beanly : 
Bvt  he  whose  ann  thy  fiootsteps  stays 
Shan  lead  thee  throng  the  coming  days 
Along  the  green  and  quiet  ways 

Of  holy  fiiith  and  duty. 

And  thua  with  all  that  love  endears. 
With  him  to  share  thy  hopes  and  fears, 
May'st  thou  live  on,  till  added  years 

Of  age  give  timely  warning : 
Then  be  it  thine  on  joys  to  muse 
That  stOl  around  thy  path  difiiise 
A  radiance  softer  than  the  hues 

Of  life's  vadoaded  morning.  j.  r.  Taoiirtoii. 


130  Sketches  of  the  East.  [February. 

LINES. 

TBAN8LATED    FBOIC    THE    PEBBXAH    OF    HAFIZ. 

ar  »B.  BzcKSAX,  of  z.ov]>oy. 

To  me  —  to  me,  in  Beauty's  amile  who  live, 
What  boot  the  thoiuand  blciaingi  life  can  give, 
If  every  hour  the  dock's  complaining  ttme 
Ten's  me  to  put  my  camel's  saddle  on  ? 
How  can  the  careless  wanderer  by  the  shore, 
Where  no  winds  ruffle  and  no  waters  roar, 
Know  the  condition  uf  the  tempest-tossed 
When  hope,  and  health,  and  aU  save  life  is  lost ; 
Or  thou,  all  cold  and  loveless  as  thou  art, 
Guess  at  the  wretchedness  of  Hafiz'  heart, 
When  to  his  bosom  Love  and  Zephyr  bear 
The  mnaky  odors  of  his  Beauty's  hair ! 


SKETCHES     OF     THE     EAST. 


VaOlf    ODB    OBiBMTAZ.    COftB«arOVZ>XVT. 

Amono  the  twelve  lunar  months  of  the  people  of  the  East,  thetre  is 
one  which  is  considered  by  MuBsuhnans  as  being  holier  than  any  other. 
This  is  the  moon  or  month  of  Ramazan,  and  it  is  never  written  with- 
out the  title  of  the  '  Blessed'  being  attached  to  it.  Their  prophet,  (a 
wonderful  man  he  was,)  commanded  all  his  faithful  followers  to  observe 
it  as  a  fast ;  and  from  the  eaiiiest  dawn,  to  the  setting  of  the  sun,  no 
*  Mohammedan,'  who  has  any  respect  for  his  religion,  will  disobey  this 
command.  Those  only  are  excepted  who  are  ill,  or  on  a  long  journey 
which  renders'  its  observance  a  matter  of  impracticability,  in  which  case 
however  they  must  make  amends  for  the  indulgence  by  festing  for 
the  same  length  of  time  during  one  of  the  other  months.  When, 
by  the  changes  of  the  lunar  months,  the  fast  occurs  in  the  heats  of 
simimer,  it  rails  heavily  upon  the  laborer,  who  can  neither  smoke, 
eat  nor  drink  during  the  whole  length  of  a  warm  day.  The  first 
privation  seems  to  be  regarded  as  the  greatest ;  far  no  fond  lover  ever 
looks  oftener  and  more  tenderly  upon  3ie  face  of  his  &ir  mistress  than 
does  the  fasting  Mussulman  upon  the  silent  and  insensible  charms 
presented  to  his  eye  by  his  forbidden  Tc?iibook  and  tobacco-bag ;  and 
did  there  exist  but  a  spark  of  that  burning  spirit  of  poetry  in  the  breast  of 
the  Islamites  which  names  up  so  brightly  m  the  bosoms  of  the  people 
of  the  West,  on  less  inspiring  occasions,  many  an  ode  wotild  certainly 
be  entitled,  *  T^e  Mussulman  in  Ramazan  to  his  Prophet-forbidden 

The  Sultan  anxiously  tries  to  wile  away  the  live-long  day  by  incog- 


1850.]  SkeUke*  of  the  East.  131 

nito  excursions  to  his  various  establishments,  or  to  the  many  attractive 
parts  of  his  immense  capital,  or  its  suburbs  on  the  Bo^horus.  The 
Pacha  rises  near  noon,  and  after  performing  the  Namaz,  or  prayer  of 
that  part  of  the  day,  unwillingly  stepis  into  his  spacious  barge,  and  is 
conducted  to  his  bureau  at  the  Sublime  Porte.  What  business  he  per- 
forms is  but  half  done  :  when  pressed  to  have  the  most  trifling  service 
rendered,  he  is  prone  to  reply  that  '  it  is  Ramazan,'  and  it  must  lie 
over  untQ  its  close.  The  subordinate,  the  clerk,  even  the  attendant 
about  the  great  man,  does  not  hesitate  to  dismiss  the  applicant  on  the 
some  excuse.  A  couple  of  hours  at  the  office,  then  back  again  to  the 
cool  and  comfortable  repose  of  the  sununer-house  or  t/alee,  on  the 
Bosphorus,  where,  freed  from  irksome  applications,  every  moment  is 
counted,  until  the  booming  of  the  cannon  of  the  neighboring  fortress 
aonoances  that  the  great  enemy  of  his  tastes  and  pleasures,  the  sun^ 
has  disappeared  in  the  western  horizon.  By  this  time  his  invited  guests 
hafe  arrived,  and  the  uncalled  and  unbidden  to  the  feast  (for  Ramazan 
18  the  soul  of  Mussulman  hospitality)  have  collected  near  the  bountifVil 
host ;  the  .^r  or  break-fast,  is  partaken  of;  the  sun-set  Namaz  is  per- 
fiirmed ;  the  evening  feast  is  enjoyed ;  and,  amid  clouds  of  fragrant 
smoke,  peace-offerings  to  aveneed  heaven,  the  light  conversation,  the 
tale,  the  anecdote,  and  the  laugnter  of  mirth,  and  forgotten  discontent, 
replace  the  miseries  of  the  past. 

The  same  may  be  said,  in  a  modified  sense,  of  all  the  officers  of  the 
government,  the  wealthier  merchants,  and  even  of  the  shop-keepers  of 
Sie  capital.  They  all  follow  the  pastimes  of  doing  nothing;  the  '6f- 
niente  without  the  <  dolce',  and  the  month  is  a  holiday  to  the  man  as 
wen  as  to  the  youth.  Daily  laborers,  the  mechanic,  the  porter,  and  the 
boatman  on  the  Bosphorus,  are  those  who  suffer  most,  both  from  the 
loss  of  water  as  well  as  of  the  pipe.  Deep-seated  respect  for  their  re- 
ligion sustains  them,  conscientiously,  through  the  temptations  which 
beset  them  at  every  fountain  or  in  every  coffee-shop ;  and  no  one  can 
see  the  hal^expiring  caikji  toil  at  his  heavy  oar  under  a  burning  sun, 
with  streams  ot  perspiration  flowing  down  his  scorching  features,  with- 
out feelings  of  pity  mingled  with  a£niration. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  month,  Turkish  ladies,  flock  to  the  bazaars 
to  purchase  new  dresses  for  themselves,  their  husbands,  and  their  chil- 
dren and  slaves  for  the  coming  Festival  of  Bairam,  which  lasts  during 
three  merry  days  in  the  following  month  of  Sh&v&l.  Carriages,  horses 
and  caiques  are  now  in  uncommon  repute ;  and  if  the  poor  laborer 
has  suffered  during  the  fost,  he  now  finds  an  abimdant  harvest  in  the 
sacceeding  feast. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  Fast  of  Ramazan  a  friend  and  myself 
went  to  dine  with  one  of  the  Pachas  of  the  highest  rank  in  Constanti- 
nople. We  were  among  the  unbidden,  but  not  for  that  the  less  wel- 
come, of  his  guests.  Leaving  the  quiet  nook  in  the  Bosphorus  where 
I  reside,  Bebek,  we  stepped  into  a  caique  with  two  pairs  of  oars,  and  a 
•  short  time  before  sun-set  were  speeding  our  way  up  the  stream  toward 
the  residence  of  the  Pacha,  the  heights  of  Candillee,  whence  a  view 
of  almost  the  entire  length  and  breadth  of  the  noble  stream  on  which 
we  floated  is  seen  to  better  advantage  than  from  any  other  spot;  the 


132  Sketches  of  the  East.  [February, 

'  Heavenly  Waters'  offering  indeed  a  heavenly  scene  of  sun-set  at  the 
evening  hour ;  the  castles  of  Europe  and  of  Asia  on  either  hand ;  the 
swift  current  near  the  former,  and  the  gentle  widening  of  this  narrowest 
part  of  the  straits  which  separate  these  two  of  the  greater  continents 
of  the  jvorld,  here  once  connected  together  by  Xerxes'  bridge ;  tJie 
gentle  banks  of  either  shore,  indescribably  beautiAil  at  this  hour ;  and 
the  varied  edifices  extending  both  on  the  right  and  on  the  left,  as  &r  as 
the  eye  could  reach,  all  united  to  form  the  delights  of  our  evening's  ex- 
cursion. And  beside  these,  there  was  a  silent  charm  in  the  sensations 
which  arose  from  the  gentle  motion  of  the  irail  caique  which  sped  us  on 
our  way,  almost  indescribably  pleasant  Admirably  formed  for  stemming 
tiie  swift  current  of  the  Bosphorus,  as  well  as  for  speed,  the  caique  in  the 
hands  of  a  Greek  or  Mussulman  boatman  is  propelled  with  a  velocity 
almost  incredible.  They  glide  by  each  other  wim  fearful  rapidity,  and 
when  their  inmate  seos  nothing  but  certain  destruction  from  the  colli- 
sion which  threatens  to  burst  asunder  the  thin  and  weak  gunwales,  a 
crentle  turn  of  the  oar,  quite  imperceptible,  turns  the  sharp  bows  from 
Its  course,  and  then  it  hastens  onward  to  more  and  still  greater  appa- 
rent perils. 

Dozens  of  caiques,  propelled  by  from  one  man  to  six,  some  slowly  wind- 
ing along  the  shore,  others  more  boldly  breasting  die  strong  current, 
were  speedily  passed  or  they  swiftly  swept  by  us.  The  air  was  cool 
and  reireshing ;  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  still  clung  to  the  summits 
of  the  Asiatic  heights,  and  the  whole  scene  was  one  which  is  beheld  no 
where  save  in  the  East.  At  the  point  on  which  stands  the  '  Roomalee 
HiBsar,'  or  European  Castle,  are  always  found  a  number  of  men  with 
cords  ready  rolled  up,  and  prepared  for  towing  caiques  through  die 
swift  current,  which  renders  the  passage  at  some  seasons,  when  strong 
northerly  winds  prevail,  almost  impracticable.  With  the  aid  of  a  cou- 
ple of  these  *  helps'  our  little  caique  was  dragged  through  the  water  in  a 
manner  quite  ruthless,  giving  our  boatmen  however  a  moment  of  lei- 
sure to  shake  up  their  sheep-skin  seats,  grease  their  rolling-pins,  and 
dry  the  handles  of  their  apparently  clumsy  oars.  Then,  alter  casting 
ashore  to  said  assistants  one  piastre,  about  fbur  cents,  they  resumed 
their  oars  with  refreshed  vigor. 

A  short  row  brought  us  to  the  Pacha's  dwelling,  or  as  it  is  called 
here,  his  YaUee^  viz., '  Summer-House  on  the  water's  edge.'  A  few  of 
his  people  still  lingered  about  the  entrance,  impatient  to  see  the  smoke 
rise  over  the  cannon  of  the  castle  :  at  the  head  of  the  lofty  stair-case 
a  group  of  persons  were  collected  together,  who  had  just  performed 
their  evening's  ablutions,  preparatory  to  breaking  their  evening  &st ; 
and  among  these  stood  our  host,  his  sleeves  rolled  up,  and  his  &ce  and 
hands  and  bare  arms  reeking  with  the  purifying  fluid  which  befits  a 
Mussulman  for  partaking  of  his  Creator's  bounties,  as  well  as  for 
adoring  Him.  Bidding  us  welcome,  we  followed  him  into  his  apart- 
ments of  general  reception  :  there  he  seated  himself  opposite  the  en- 
trance, on  the  great  rich  velvet  sofa  which  extended  along  the  windows, 
commanding  a  view  of  the  Bosphorus,  In  reepect  ft>r  the  rank  of  our 
host,  all  his  arrives  sat  down  on  the  settees  and  chairs  of  red  morocco, 
of  English  manufacture,  which  extended  on  the  parallel  sides  of  the 


1850.]  Sketches  of  the  Eae^  133 

apaitnientB.  Beeide  his  welcome,  and  the  usaal  inquiries  after  our  re- 
specdye  heahfas,  but  little  conyerBation  ensued.  He  held  a  costly 
chronomoter  in  his  hand,  and  his  anxious  eyes  wandered  oftener  to  it 
than  toward  us ;  now  he  uttered  a  few  words  of  a  prayer  appropriate 
to  the  holy  month  of  Ramazan  or  repeated  a  disconnected  line  m  Arabic 
from  the  Kor&n,  and  now  ejaculated  an  Amin  to  that  of  one  of  the 
company.  Presently  his  servants  brought  before  each  of  us  a  small 
round  stand>  on  which  lay  a  tray  containing  a  dish  of  thick  soup,  a  few 
bits  of  roll  and  bread,  and  some  small  vessels  holding  relishes,  such  as 
fish-roe,  caviar,  oHves,  and  sardales.  Again  an  anxious  look  at  the  time- 
piece, and  at  a  clock  standing  in  an  alcove  in  the  room,  which  ticked 
and  indicated  passing  minutes  with  the  most  pertinacious  regularity. 
I  really  thought  I  could  see  dissatisfaction  with  the  cruel  Prophet  de- 
picted in  the  dull  eyes,  the  rueful  face,  and  the  unquiet  persons  of  all 
the  Mussulmans  present.  In  place  of  exclaiming  with  the  dying  man^ 
*  Oh  I  fi>r  one  more  hour,  or  one  more  minute  of  time !'  they  aJl  seemed 
to  be  ready  to  burst  out  in  one  suppressed  exclamatico),  *  Will  this  long 
hour,  this  last  minute,  never  end  V 

But  let  me  tell  you  the  guests  of  the  Pacha,  into  whose  conipany 
and  society  we  had  thus  suddenly,  as  it  w^e,  thrust  ourselves.  First, 
was  an  elderly  Turkish  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  in  dress  and  de- 
meanor ;  an  J^Aam,  or  priest,  from  the  great  mosque  of  St.  Sophia ;  an 
ex-Governor  of  Cesariah  in  Asia  Minor ;  an  officer  of  the  army  in 
command  of  the  corps  de  garde  near  the  old  Castle  of  Europe ;  a 
chief  clerk  of  the  admirality ;  the  private  secretary  of  the  Pacha ;  and 
our  two  siplves.  The  '  Old  Gentleman'  had  the  seat  of  honor,  that  is 
to  say,  he  M  on  a  settee  nearest  to  the  Pacha,  and  his  lan^age  and  de- 
portment soon  attracted  my  attention  to  him,  showing  hnn  to  be  deci- 
dedly the  most  oriental  man  in  the  room.  He  was  dressed  much  in  the 
costume  of  the  Turks  of  Constantinople,  previous  to  the  reign  of  the 
late  Sultan.  He  wore  the  &11  pantaloons  and  loose  slippers,  the  rich 
shawl  and  capacious  jacket,  and  the  dignified  v^hite  turban,  which  alas ! 
has  now  quite  disappeared  before  the  devastations  caused  by  the  west- 
em  '  civilization'  which  has  invaded  the  East.  His  &ce  was  so  ruddy 
and  his  bill-hooked  nose  so  redolent  of  good  cheer,  that  they  would  have 
done  credit  to  an  alderman ;  yet  his  sharp  hazel-eye,  and  the  quiet  in- 
telligence of  his  countenance,  told  volumes  for  his  sobriety  and  virtue. 
I  imagined  him  to  be  a  wealthy  merchant  from  the  interior  of  Asia 
Minor,  or  a  Pacha  of  olden  times  now  residing  at  the  capital  in  digni- 
fied retirement ;  and  was  not  a  little  surprised  when  I  learned,  from  a 
remark  of  the  Pacha,  that  he  was  the  *Skeik*  or  elder,  of  the  convent 
on  a  neighboring  hill,  called  that  of  the  'Shahidler^  or  the  Martyrs. 
While  the  moments  hung  so  dully  on  our  hands,  and  the  Pacha's  coun- 
tenance evinced  more  and  more  impatience,  the  Sheik  was  the  only 
one  present  who  could  venture  to  break  silence,  which  he  did  by  the 
recital  of  a  verse  from  the  Ror^n,  or  a  traditional  saying  of  the  Pro- 
phet, or  veith  a  gentle  smile  responding  to  the  casual  remark  of  our 
nost 

At  length  the  heavy  but  sharp  report  of  a  distant  cannon  fired  from 
the  strong  castles  from  the  Black  Sea  conveyed  the  glad  tidings  of  the 


134  Sketches  of  Oke  East  [February, 

eettiiig  of  the  suxl  Scarce  had  the  sound  died  away,  than  it  was  fi>l- 
lowed  by  another,  less  distant,  then  another  and  another,  quite  a  good 
minute  before  the  gun  of  the  castle  near  us,  of  *  RoonuHe  Hissar,' 
gave  permission  to  the  'faithful'  to  break  theu-  fast  Candles  were 
now  hurriedly  brought  into  the  room  and  put  down  on  a  table,  and  the 
Pasha,  suddenly  laymg  down  his  watch,  dipped  his  spoon  into  the  now 
almost  cold  soup  before  him,  and  thus  made  his  '  Inar,'  or  breakfast. 
The  Sheik  was  next  in  succession ;  and,  as  Stephens  humorously  says 
on  an  occasion  which  called  forth  all  his  courage,  *  the  precise  length  of 
time  which  it  took  us  to  follow  suit  is  not  worm  the  mention.' 

A  mouthful  of  soup,  a  morsel  of  roll,  an  olive  or  two,  with  a  sup  in 
the  little  dish  of  exquisite  citron  preserves,  were  succeeded  by  pipes 
and  coffee  all  round.  I  need  not  say  that  this  was  the  work  almost  of 
a  minute;  that  it  was  executed  in  breathless  silence,  and  was  followed 
by  a  respiration  of  relieved  nature.  When  the  Pasha  had  handed  his 
cup  to  the  servant  nearest  him,  we  all  did  the  same ;  to  have  preceded 
him  would  have  been  impolite ;  then  in  sOence  die  pipes  of  all  the 
Mussulmans  of  the  party  were  removed,  and  wat^  was  poured  on  our 
hands  and  dried  with  a  separate  towel  held  up  to  each  one.  The 
thick  curtain  which,  as  in  all  eastern  houses,  hung  without  the  door  of 
the  apartment,  was  rolled  up,  and  at  the  same  moment  the  sof^  and  har- 
monious voice  of  a  '  Mollah,'  or  priest,  in  the  hall,  commenced  crying 
out  the  invitation  to  prayer  of  the  Mohammedan  formula,  commencing 
with  'AUahnekber  /  AUahnekberP  or  'God  is  great!  God  is  great!'* 
hurried  all  our  companions  to  the  evening  '  Namaz'  of  Ramazan. 

No  one  can  witness  the  spectacle  of  a  body  of  Mussulmans  at  their 
devotions  without  feeling  respect  and  admiration  for  their  simple  piety. 
On  the  floor  of  the  Pasha's  hall  were  spread  several  rich  Persian  carpet 
rugs,  free  from  any  impurity,  called  here  'Sedj&day,'  or  worshipping  car- 
pets. On  the  e^ge  of  these,  facing  the  '  Kibleh,'  or  point  or  the  com- 
pass where  Mecca  is  supposed  to  be,  stood  an  '  Imaam'  with  upraised 
arms,  his  thumbs  behind  nis  ears,  his  fingers  shading  his  chedcs  and 
eyes,  leading  the  prayer.  His  words  were  sometimes  from  the  Koran ; 
at  odiers  he  used  the  particular  prayer  ordered  by  the  Prophet  himself 
for  the  solemn  occasion,  more  chanted  than  spoken;  and  the  musical 
intonations  natural  to  the  Arabic  tongue  sounded  very  pleasantly  upon 
the  ear,  and  gave  rise  to  feelings  of  awe  and  devotion  which  the  loud- 
est peals  of  an  organ  or  the  shrill  tolling  of  bells  fail  to  inspire.  Of  all 
the  artificial  means  used  to  draw  man's  thoughts  and  reflections  from 
the  thin^  of  this  world  and  to  turn  them  heavenward,  nothing  affects 
him  so  impressively  as  the  natural  harmony  and  music  of  the  human 
voice.  He  who  hears  the  '  Muezzin'  calling  the  '  foithfiil'  to  their  de- 
votions from  the  lofly  minaret,  at  the  still  hour  of  night,  will  readily 
admit  the  truthfulness  of  this  remark.  In  dignity  the  human  voice  is 
superior  to  the  jingling  of  a  bell,  and  consequently  makes  a  more  last- 
ing and  profound  impression  upon  the  mind.    It  well  suits  the  humble 

*  '•Mlaku  dfcftor'  grammattodlysigniflM  that  <  Allah  ia  the  greatoitof  gods;*  thit  is  to  My,  greater 
Uum  tlie  Trinitarian  gods  of  the  GreelB  and  the  OstboUcs. 


1850.]  Sketches  of  the  East.  135 

Arab  or  the  proud  Turkt  and  was  one  of  the  many  wise  regulations  of 
Mahomet. 

Grreat  and  wonderful  prophet  I  false  thou  art  indeed  deemed ;  yet 
thy  life*  thy  death,  the  story  of  thy  conduct,  and  the  fidelity  shown  by 
thee  to  thy  doctrines,  show  that  diou  wert  not  an  impostor,  and  that 
thou  yerily  didst  believe  in  thine  own  inspiration.  Thou  didst  raise 
the  idolizing  Arab  to  the  worship  of  a  '  one  true  GrOD,  who  is  eternal, 
who  neither  begets  nor  was  begotten,  tior  who  has  any  equal  to  Him- 
self/ Thou  £dst  teach  a  pure  and  natural  reh^on ;  uiat  of  man's 
entire  resignation  to  the  providences  of  the  all-powerful,  the  all-wise, 
and  the  all-just  Allah.  And  can  it  be  that  thine  own  perfect  resigna- 
tion to  His  will  may  not  have  merited  a  share  in  the  clemency  and 
compassion  for  the  sinful  which  diou  ever  didst  advance  as  His  chief 
characteristic  ?  Had  thy  life  heea  spared  a  few  years  longer,  those 
Christians  of  the  East  best  acquainted  with  the  history  of  thy  'life  and 
times'  believe  thou  wouldst  have  finally  led  the  Arab  from  his  wretched 
idolatry,  through  the  external  forms  and  sensuality  of  Islamism,  to  that 
pur^r  fiiith  which  has  made  the  Christian  superior  to  the  Mussulman, 
and  &US  have  completed  thy  mission.  Thy  religious  ordinances  were 
suitable  to  the  then  condition  of  the  Arabs,  as  those  of  Moses  were  to 
the  people  of  Israel,  and  are  not  more  curious  in  their  nature. 

The  evening  namaz  lasted  quite  half  an  hour,  but  was  far  from  be- 
ing wearisome  to  me.  Indeed  it  seemed  one  of  the  most  eastern  parts 
of  the  scene  which  I  now  hiunbly  endeavor  to  describe.  The  sound 
of  the  prayers,  some  forty  or  fifty  in  number,  including  all  of  the 
Pasha's  attendants ;  their  rising  to  then:  feet  or  felling  on  their  knees, 
or  pressing  their  finreheads  in  humble  adoration  upon  the  carpet,  toge- 
ther with  the  musical  chant  of  the  Imaam,  excited  in  me  omer  emo- 
tions than  those  of  weariness ;  and  the  many  *  Allahn  ekbers'  of  the 
Mussulmans  were  strongly  associated  in  my  mind  with  the  '  Jekbirs' 
of  the  Arab  troops  of  the  great  and  wise  Caliph  Omar,  when  they  at- 
tacked the  Sassanide  fire-worshippers  of  Persia,  or  of  the  Saracen,  or 
the  Moor,  as  he  hurriedly  rushcMl  onward  to  death  and  to  martyrdom 
in  the  battle-fields  of  Syria  or  of  Granada. 

When  his  devotions  were  ended,  the  curtain  of  the  apartment  in 
which  we  sat  was  again  pulled  aside,  and  the  Pasha,  followed  by  his 
company,  reentered  the  apartment  in  which  we  sat.  Each  individual 
resumed  his  seat  and  reposed  a  moment  from  the  exercise  of  the  namaz. 
Scarcely  was  conversation  resumed,  when  the  curtain  was  once  more 
upraised,  and  the  Pasha's  chief  servant  announced  that  dinner  was 
served. 

Now,  following  our  host,  we  passed  through  the  hall,  where  the  car- 
pet still  lay  spre^  upon  the  floor,  and  tummg  to  the  right,  entered  a 
suite  of  apartments  belongW  to  the  dining-room.  Here  we  found  the 
attendants  waiting,  each  with  a  towel,  upon  which  we  wiped  ourselves 
after  undergoing  another  ablution.  Then  passing  into  a  room,  in  the 
centre  of  which  stood  an  ordinary  oval  table,  of  the  usual  height,  we 
all  seated  ourselves  around  it  On  the  walls  of  the  room  were  htmg 
lithographic  portraits  of  some  of  the  higher  officers  of  the  Sultan,  who, 
during  meir  missions  to  London,  had  their  likenesses  taken  for  distri- 


136  Sketehei  of  the  Etui.  [Febmaryt 

bution  amone  their  fiiends ;  and  the  only  furniture  it  contained,  beside 
the  table  and  its  chairs,  was  a  low  broad  bo&  under  the  windows  look- 
ing out  upon  the  Bosphorus.  This  room,  as  well  as  the  others,  had  its 
windows  shielded  from  without  with  lattices,  like  those  of  the  harem, 
which,  when  the  sashes  were  open,  admitted  yet  broke  the  strength  of 
the  cool  evening  breeze. 

The  Sheik  sat  on  the  Pasha's  right  hand,  and  I  on  his  lef^ ;  a  servant 
hung  a  napkin  over  each  of  our  necks,  and  placed  another,  neatly 
folded,  and  of  a  finer  texture,  beside  each  of  our  plates,  on  which  to 
wipe  our  fingers.  Every  plate  had  by  it  a  couple  of  spoons  of  bone, 
but  no  knives  nor  finrks ;  and  a  mug  of  sherbet,  with  its  cover  on,  stood 
by  ever^  person's  plate.  A  circle  of  small  dbhes  ran  round  the  table, 
contaimng  each  a  htde  quantity  of  fish-roe,  caviar,  sardales  and  olives, 
and  beyond  these  another  row,  with  firuits,  melons,  preserves,  etc.  In 
the  centre  of  the  table  was  a  thick  mat,  or  rather  cushion,  of  embroi- 
dered morocco  leather,  on  which  each  dish  in  succession  was  laid ; 
and,  commencing  with  a  thick  and  rather  acrid  soup,  we  all,  fi>llowing 
the  Pasha,  who  set  the  example,  dipped  our  spoons  into  it  and  con- 
veyed it  to  our  mouths.  This  may  seem  difficult,  but  is  not  so  in  re- 
ality ;  I  took  care  not  to  over-fill  my  spoon,  to  scrape  it  on  the  edge  of 
the  vessel,  and  then,  with  my  eyes  attentive  to  its  proper  poise,  carried 
it  in  a  direct  line  to  my  mouth.  My  chin  being  held  munediately  over 
the  plate  set  before  me,  any  part  which  might  escape  or  slip  between 
the  spoon  and  my  mouth  (&d  not  fall  on  the  cloth.  While  we  partook" 
of  one  dish,  a  servant  stood  by  with  another ;  and  in  this  way  some 
twenty  kinds  of  food  were  hastily  tasted  and  carried  away  in  succes- 
sion. The  spoons  were  used  for  but  a  few  of  the  dishes,  and  for  the 
greater  number  the  fingers  were  brought  into  requisition.  They  suc- 
ceeded each  other  somewhat  in  the  followmg  manner :  soup,  vegetable 
stew,  fVied  fish, '  kibobs,'  (bits  of  meat  roasted  on  a  skewer,)  stewed 
prunes,  broiled  chickens,  milk  and  rice,  stewed  okra,  meat-balls,  stewed 
quinces,  fried  egg-plant,  pasty  balls,  a  delicious  dish  of  thin  pastry, 
somewhat  resemblmg  a  custard,  and  which,  as  my  friend  remarked, 
was  as '  slippery  as  uncertain  friends,'  that  defied  my  fingers  and  spoon, 
and  much  to  my  regret,  was  given  up  in  despair,  honey-cakes,  pasties, 
b31  h  la  Turque^  and  finally,  the  ever-closmg  national  eastern  dish  of 
excellent  pilau. 

I  am  sure  that  I  have  not  remembered  more  than  one-half  of  the 
dishes.  All  were  really  excellent ;  the  meats  neither  half  raw,  as  re- 
quired by  civilized  cannibals,  nor  yet  stewed  to  fragments ;  served  up 
in  an  order  which  would  be  considered  by  some  rather  in  no  order  at 
all,  and  by  others, '  out  of  order.'  The  rule  evidently  was  to  combine 
the  utile  with  the  doice.  We  ate  of  the  ragouts,  or  partook  of  the 
fruits  and  melons,  or  preserves,  just  when  we  pleased ;  for  they  were 
intended  rather  as  incentives  to  appetite  than,  as  with  us,  as  extra  bal- 
last when  the  good  ship  can  properly  contain  nothing  more.  No  one 
touched  the  sherbet  until  at  an  established  period  of  the  repast,  when 
the  Pasha,  removing  the  cover  of  his  mug,  bade  us  all  do  the  same. 
It  was  tasteful,  and  iced,  with  a  flavor  of  the  sweet  pomegranate,  and 
gave  new  vigor  for  what  ensued.    On  setting  down  our  mugs,  we  all 


1850.]  Sketches  of  the  East.  137 

expressed  our  good  wishes  to  the  Pasha  and  to  each  other.  I  need 
scarcely  add  that  no  wine  or  spirits  were  used  at  the  dinner. 

On  tasting  the  delicious  dish  before  mentioned,  one  of  the  company 
exclaimed  mat  it  reminded  him  of  an  anecdote  of  the  celebrated  east- 
em  despot  named  Hedjadje,  in  Arabia,  who  once  entertauied  a  poor 
Arab  at  his  luxurious  table.  When  a  certain  dish,  much  relished  by 
Arabs,  was  laid  before  him,  this  one  could  not  restrain  his  impatience 
until  the  host  should  first  put  his  hand  into  it ;  but  hastily  takmg  up  a 
handful  of  it,  carried  it  at  once  to  his  mouth,  to  the  great  displeasure 
of  Hedjadje,  who  in  a  tone  of  fierceness  swore  that  he  would  order 
the  head  to  be  struck  off  of  the  first  person  who  should  again  touch 
the  dish  without  his  permission.  This  severity  daunted  every  one  pre- 
sent, even  the  poor  Arab,  who  perhaps  had  never  before  enjoyed  such 
a  luxury,  except  in  imagination.  A  dead  silence  immediately  ensued, 
which  was  first  broken  by  the  humble  object  of  Hedjadje's  anger. 
Unable  to  resist,  he  turned  to  his  wife  and  children,  who  stood  respect- 
fiilly  in  a  comer  of  the  room,  and  bade  them  all  fareweQ,  and  to  be 
faithful  subjects  of  his  host ;  and  then,  once  more  plungine  his  fingers 
deep  into  the  delectable  food,  resigned  himself  to  his  certam  fate.  No 
better  compliment  could  be  paid  to  the  viand  of  the  despot,  and  good 
nature  luckily  overcame  for  once  his  cruel  severity. 

At  the  close  of  the  repast,  which  was  a  short  but  lively  one,  (people 
of  the  East  waste  no  time  over  their  meals,)  the  Pasha  rose  from  nis 
seat,  and,  followed  by  his  guests,  proceeded  to  the  adjoining  apartment^ 
where  we  all  washed  our  hands  and  mouths.  Then  returmng  to  his 
saloon,  we  there  resumed  our  seats  and  conversation.  Pipes  and  coffee 
for  each  were  next  offered  by  the  Pacha's  well-trained  and  attentive  at* 
tendants ;  the  same  in  number  as  when  he  was  Grand  Vizier ;  and  was 
soon  afterward  followed  by  a  bountiiiil  cup  of  ice-cream.  At  no  time 
during  our  visit  was  any  reference  whatever  made  to  the  political  news 
of  the  day :  anecdotes  and  stories,  sometimes  appropriate  to  the  occa- 
sion, were  the  only  subjects  of  conversation.  Among  these  I  may  men- 
lion  the  following,  by  the  Mutasalim,  or  (ex^  Sub-Govemor  of  Cesariah, 
who,  in  speaking  of  that  ancient  city  and  its  famed  mountain,  said : 
'  Once  a  Frank,  just  like  our  friend  opposite  me,  (in  my  absence  he 
would  probably  have  said  the  Ghtaaur,  infidel,)  visited  Cesariah,  ac- 
companied by  only  one  servant,  who  spoke  our  language,  and  asked 
leave  of  my  deputy  to  ascend  the  mountain.  Now  as  no  man  had  ever 
been  known  to  return  alive  who  had  made  this  fearful  attempt,  my 
deputy,  a  prudent  and  humane  person,  declined  giving  the  Frank  his 
permission ;  but  on  the  matter  being  referred  to  me,  I  at  once  said : 
*  Let  him  go ;  his  head  rests  upon  his  own  head,  and  we  always  (look- 
ing at  me  in  rather  an  uncertain  manner)  have  plenty  of  such  good 
friends  left.'  So  putting  on  a  pair  of  leather  inexpressibles,  a  leather 
jacket,  and  a  thing  (lookine  at  my  beaver)  also  of  leather,  (something 
like  that  one,)  he,  accompanied  by  one  of  the  people  of  the  town,  a  mad- 
cap like  himself,  set  out  one  morning  on  his  travels.  All  I  ever  heard 
of^him  after  this,  was,  that  after  ascending  to  a  considerable  elevation 
his  guide  refused  to  go  any  farther ;  and  the  Frank,  having  persisted 
in  his  foolish  enterprise,  foil  from  one  of  the  steep  acclivities  and  was 


138  Sketches  of  the  East.  [February, 

fouDd  by  the  guide  cjuite  dead.  The  matter  haying  again  been  referred 
to  me,  I  ordered  his  immediate  interment  Neither  the  Grreek,  nor 
the  Armenian,  nor  the  Catholic  community  of  the  place,  would  allow 
his  remains  to  be  buried  in  the  cemetery,  from  which  circumstance  I 
learned  that  the  deceased  had  belonged  to  a  sect  in  Frankistan  called 
*  Fir  Masson,  or  Purtistan,*  ^Free  Masons,  or  Protestants ;)  and  you 
know  that  they  could  not  possibly  be  admitted  to  rest  among  the  *  Faith- 
ful/ The  Mollah  of  the  town,  a  very  pious  and  equitable  person,  made 
a  list  of  all  the  deceased  man's  effects,  ready  to  deliver  them  over  to 
any  ettchi  (ambassador)  or  consul  who  might  happen  to  claim  thejn ; 
and  I  suppose  he  holds  them  yet  carefully.  I  only  happen  to  rememb^ 
the  incident  from  the  circumstance  of  an  excellent  spy-glass  having 
been  by  mere  accident  left  out  of  the  list,  and  being  rererred  to  me  for 
safe  keeping  I  have  it  stiU.' 

After  this  there  were  some  desultory  remarks  about  poetry,  litera- 
ture in  general,  and  books,  when  the  friend  with  whom  1  had  come  to 
the  dinner,  speaking  through  a  perfect  deluge  of  smoke  which  he  had 
puffed  around  his  head,  observed  to  me  that  the  best  Turkish  book  he 
knew  of  was  the  tchibooh,^ 

The  conversation  happening  to  turn  upon  acts  of  benevolence,  (amone 
which  I  believe  the  ex-governor  includfed  the  matter  of  the  spy-glass,) 
the  sheik  before  mentioned  related  an  anecdote,  which,  like  most  good 
things  of  the  kind,  *  Si  non  6  vero,  6  ben  trovato.' 

'  Once,'  said  he,  <  a  rich  man,  while  seated  at  dinner  with  his  wife, 
during  the  blessed  month  of  Ramazan,  heard  a  beggar  knock  at  his 
door  and  ask  for  bread.  Arising  in  anger,  he  with  terms  of  harshness 
and  severity  drove  the  poor  man  away.  Not  long  after  this,  the  rich 
man  became  ^eatly  reduced  in  circumstances,  and  being  unable  to 
support  his  vnfo,  divorced  her,  and  in  extreme  poverty  begged  his 
bread  from  door  to  door.  The  innocent  wife  married  again ;  and  it  so 
happened,  that  once,  when  seated  at  the  evening  meal,  or  ^2^,  with 
her  second  husband,  a  beggar  knocked  at  the  door  and  asked  for  food. 
Her  husband,  handing  her  some  bread  and  meat,  bade  her  carry  it  to 
the  poor  man,  which  she  hastened  to  do. 

'  Now  what  was  the  surprise  of  the  woman,  on  opening  the  door,  to 
perceive,  under  the  tattered  habiliments  of  the  beggar,  her  first  hus- 
band !  Overcome  with  emotion,  she,  without  making  herself  known 
to  him,  handed  him  the  food,  and  then  closing  the  door  and  returning  to 
her  husband,  burst  into  tears.  Greatly  surprised  at  the  sudden  change 
in  her  appearance,  her  husband  urged  her  to  tell  him  the  cause  of  her 
grief,  which  she  d^d,  greatly  to  his  surprise.  But  jud^e  of  her  own 
astonishment,  when  her  husband  told  her  that  he  himseff  had  been  the 
^j?g&^  to  whom  her  first  husband  had  so  rudely  and  so  irreligiously 
refused  his  charity !' 

Every  one  present  could  not  but  see  the  appropriateness  of  the 
Sheik's  story,  and  the  aptness  of  its  moral.  It  eave  quite  a  serious 
turn  to  the  meditations  of  the  party,  shown  by  fresh  clouds  of  thick 
smoke  from  the  tchiboohs,  which  extended  from  the  floor  of  the  apart- 

•  Tbb  loD«  Turkiab  pipe  Is  caUed  7Uk»4Mft. 


1850.]  Sketehei  of  the  East.  139 

ment  to  the  months  of  each  one  present  Indeed,  I  felt  that  some  one 
might  deem  it  j>roper  to  rise  and  raise  a  collection  ibr  the  henefit  of  the 
poor ;  but  this  is  not  customanr  among  the  '  people  of  the  East,'  where 
each  person  bestows  directly  his  own  charity  or  alms  upon  the  poor, 
without  its  passing  throueh  the  apathetic  hand  of  a  third  party. 

Before  the  evening  had  closed,  the  converaation  had  turned  upon  the 
'  wonders  of  creation,'  a  subject  much  in  YOffue  in  the  East,  and  I  yen- 
tared  on  a  &w  sketches  of  our  Indians,  ( Tf^  Moi  the  Turli^  call  them,) 
among  which  I  related  the  account  given  by  them  of  the  orim  of  gr^, 
beans,  tobacco,  etc.,  viz :  by  the  visit  of  an  angel,  who  8^r  seating 
herself  (I  was  not  quite  sure  of  the  sex)  upon  the  ground,  in  the  midst 
of  one  of  their  tribes,  these  different  blessings  sprang  up  spontaneously 
from  the  spots  toud^ed  by  her  body.  When  I  added  that  they  attn- 
bute  the  odor  of  tobacco  to  the  circumstance  of  this  herb  having  grown 
from  the  seat  of  the  angel,  the  Pasha  kindly  honored  me  with  a  smile ; 
but  the  old  Sheik,  who  was  just  then  half  concealed  in  a  cloud  of  the 
odiferous  smoke  from  his  tchibook^  stopped  smoking  for  a  moment, 
stroked  his  venerable  beard,  and  lookea  rather  grave. 

I  added  an  abridged  account  of  the  Mammoth  Cave  of  Kentucky, 
and  have  reason  to  fear  that,  notwithstanding  I  had  shown  the  most 
profound  interest  and  faith  in  two  or  three  very  wonderful  stories  about 
mermaids  and  a  ship-wreck  or  two  on  islands  m  the  ocean  yet  unknown 
to  our  very  best  sauors,  and  subsequent  adventures  of  one  or  more  of 
the  passengers,  which  make  those  of  Robinson  Crusoe  immensely 
tame,  told  by  one  or  two  persons  present,  mine  were  put  down  as  per- 
£9ct  fiibles. 

About  midnight  die  company  dispersed.  Each  one  in  turn  begged 
the  Pasha's  permission  to  retire,  ana  this  being  accorded,  they  would 
hurry  out  ox  the  room  almost  before  he  and  the  remainder  could  rise. 
To  have  done  otherwise  would  have  been  ill-bred  and  quite  disrespect- 
fiiL.  When  the  party  was  reduced  to  the  Pasha  and  ourselves,  he  in- 
formed us  that  our  beds  were  prepared  for  us ;  and  supposmg  that 
we  would  depart  before  his  hour  for  rising  in  Ramazan,  he  took  leave 
of  us  and  retired  into  his  harem,  or  the  apartments  of  his  wife,  her 
mother,  and  their  female  slaves. 

Like  all  eastern  beds,  we  found  ours  on  the  floor  of  the  apartment 
in  which  we  were  to  spend  the  iremainder  of  the  night.  Each  bed 
was  composed  of  two  soft  mattresses,  a  pile  each  of  thin  cotton  pil- 
lows, one  sheet  on  the  upper  mattress,  and  the  other,  of  silk  and  cot- 
ton, sewed  on  to  the  inner  side  of  the  cotton  coverlet,  and  a  lone 
night-gown,  or  sash,  and  a  night-cap.  As  we  were  getting  into  bed, 
one  of  the  Pasha's  servants  brought  into  the  room  a  capacious  tray, 
covered  with  bread,  rolls,  preserves,  and  a  mug  apiece  of  sherbet,  on 
which  to  break  our  fast  in  the  morning  when  we  awoke. 

When  our  slumbers  were  ended,  the  sun  had  already  climbed  over 
the  heights  of  the  opposite  shox*es  of  Asia,  and  was  peeping  in  upon 
us  through  the  fine  lattice-work  of  the  windows.  A  mormng-breeze 
was  blowing  down  the  Bosphorus,  fbll  of  freshness  and  new  life,  and 
*he  mimic  billows  of  that  beautiful  stream  were  beatmg  upon  the  foot- 

th  in  front  of  the  Pasha's  summer  dweUlng,  making  a  sound  of  the 


140  IreUmd^t  Famine:  a  LamaU.  [February, 

moet  pleasant  nature.  We  partook  of  the  collation,  performed  our 
ablutions^  and  then  quietly  leaving  the  house,  so  as  not  to  disturb  the 
slumbers  of  its  Mussulman  inmates,  w^e  soon  on  our  way  down  the 
Bosphorus  to  our  own  homes.  j.  p.  b. 

QnutaiUiBopUiJhigiutjlBiB, 


IRELAND'S   famine:   A   LAMENT. 


9t      WXX.Z.XAIC      T.     lCOX.OBIJiOOX. 


With  waOing  and  weeping 
Our  yigils  we  're  keeping : 

Botii  daily  and  nigntiy, 
Death-flarlanda  we  're  twining ; 

The  nopea  that  shone  brightest 
Are  darkly  declining; 
The  hearts  that  beat  li^tesl 
No  longer  beat  ligntly. 


Than  worker  or  toiler, 
The  hand  of  the  spoiler, 

Dread  famine  la  atronger ; 
In  lowland  and  highland 

The  green  stalks  are  &ded ; 
In  ftr-umd  and  nigh-land 
The  toilers  unaided 

Can  stmggle  no  longer  I 


No  hope  for  the  weepor, 
Bat  darker  and  deeper 

And  deadlier  sorrow ; 
To  US  haa  hi^h  Heayen 

Sent  ills  without  number ; 

Onr  hearts,  crushed  and  riyen, 

Can  rest  not  nor  slumber, 

With  dread  of  the  morrow. 


And  oometh,  remember, 
The  bitter  December ; 

On  wings  it  &peed»  hither. 
To  find  hearts  wrung  sorest 

Without  a  roof's  cover ; 
like  leaves  of  the  forest 
When  summer  is  over, 

Foredoomed  but  to  wither. 


1850.]  lrdamX$  Fixmmt:  a  LamaU.  141 


Tliat  ahorp  vinter  weather 
Will  pierce  ns  together ; 

Lake  acpens  we  '11  shiver ; 
Our  dark  fate  pnrsniiiff , 

With  lightamg-qiudL  motion 
We  glide  on  to  ruin, 
Aa  nuhes  to  ooean 

A  rain-BwoQen  rxyer ! 


A  glad  honr  we  know  not; 
The  ftitare  oan  show  not 

Onr  rent  harqnea  a  haven ; 
Onr  iron-sonled  nuister 

Deaf,  deaf  to  our  'plaining, 
But  plies  the  soonrge  finter, 
Onr  limbs  again  chaining, 
Meet  food  for  the  raven. 


Like  onto  GoBMrrah 
Or  Sodom*  of  sorrow, 

Our  land  shall  a  waste  lie ; 
While  Famine  and  Fever, 
Those  toflers  unresting. 
By  day  or  night  ever 
Hia  food  go  out  qnesting 

For  Dkatb  pale  and  ghaatly ! 


Oar  dead  firom  their  prison 
Of  cold  day  arisen, 

In  spectral  bands  gather ; 
Onr  hearts  hear  their  moving 

Low  calls  in  the  even ; 
In  tones  soft  and  lovmg 
They  whisper  of  Heaven, 

And  God  the  Aix-Fatbbk. 


Haste,  haste  then,  ye  grieving, 
Your  white  shroods  be  weaving. 

Though  little  yon  need  'em ; 
Kind  Dkatb,  whom  in  madness 

We  call '  Deaolator '  * 

Win  place  yon  in  g^aaness 
Beside  yoor  CmKAToa, 

Wnere  only  is  freedom.  . 

*»Nsmaa  ploogbed  nor  sown;  a  diy  desert,  Inhsbltad  bjoi^sndwildbeisti;  ssadiyplaee 
tbrtesedisc  of  DsttleB,  snd  ss  keqis  of  Mlt* — Bulb. 


lAvmg  PvIpU   Ora,tora. 


-=^^i.>2: 


toUifl    IPiilptt    ai>rator0. 


V.    o.    p. 


McILVAIlCB* 


I>  . 


OLSMICAZ.     s  saB  "w  r>isrB|so. 


eding    articles   wo    liavo    presentedeic^ 
fessional  induBtry,  and  gorgecHis  iUustrat^^-' 
sketcb,  Biahop  of  the  Protestant  Episcoi^"* 
lio,  by  natural   endo-^wxnent   and    ciiltiy 
.large  share  oF these  traits,  but  is  ]^artio 
1  quality,  vidth  Mrhicli,  in  onr  portraxture^ 
as  at  the  outset  define  the  terms  Tv-e   ap^=^^ 

McXlvaine  as  a  polemic,  "we  l^es-  to  1>e  , 
an  amiable  sense  only.      It  Mrould  l>e  ^re.-^ — 
n  gentlemen  shonld  we  intimate    in    tlKf? 
Lye  temperament  or  reli^ous  delig^ht  he  |^ 
jour  and  captious  raee  of  saints  whose  l^J^ 
le  pulpit  *  a  sta^e  to  feed   contention  in  ^  ^ 
sure  and  habitual  pursidt  lies  in  teachinf> 
les ;  and  whenever  he  enters  the  arena  oj 
ifl  not  so  much   from   choice   as    necessiv 
test  polish  and  force,  but  always  in  the  xa^ 
is  not  his  ambition  to  follow  the  advice     "^ 

"■^^•^Li^®^^^  y^^  ^^  ^  head,  hit  itl- 
Dr.  Mcllyame  is  a  shrewd  polemic,  we  v- 
low  cunning   or   ignolde    dealing  with  bi. 
eaaonably  mferred  from  His  wriiTngs  tW 
1«^   1^1"^  t"^^  ^""^^  ^  wanderW 

X>  be  divi/ely-ap^Si^?^^'  -J^   -J-t 
o  said:  •  To  us  notliiii<r  c^^  ^«JS1  T?^  ' 
.bat  the   Scripture  tefJ£S  ;^^2^^< 

y   BE  UNIVERSAL   W   THE  mrV*-!!^  ^^^ 

^tiai  he   employTsS^   2?^  Bishop  has  o 
timate,bnt  n^^S  ^Xv«~'  ^^  *^   ^ 
amptible  from   its  ^^^  "^^  account 
layB,  has  given^s  T^^^"^^.  quibbKc-u 
o         *  ^8  a  good  specunen  of     ^ 


to   thi« 


^^heep 

^^  d  mag- 

o   con- 

^^jpect  he 

univer- 


-e  taken 


1850.]  Lii>mg  Pulpit  Oraiars.  143 

Sir  Thomas  Brown  observes :  '  All  things  began  in  order,  so  shall 
they  endy  and  so  shall  they  begin  again,  according  to  the  Ordainer  of 
order  and  mystical  mathematics  of  £e  City  of  Heaven.'  This  awful 
sentence,  spoken  by  the  Philosopher  of  Norwich,  expresses  the  spirit 
which  actuates  the  lofty  masters  of  the  art  babladve.  Burke  has  de- 
clared that  nothjng  is  more  obdurate  than  the  heart  of  a  thorough-paced 
metaphysician.  It  is  certain  that  this  class  of  persons  are  usually  the 
most  tiresome,  since  as  many  octavo  volumes  as  compose  Malthus' 
Essay  on  Population  they  v^ould  emplo^r  to  prove  that  no  exisdng  cir- 
cumstance could  at  this  tune  be  what  it  is,  unless  all  preceding  circum- 
stances had  from  the  beginning  of  time  been  precisely  what  they  were. 
Their  display  €xf  erudition  is  fearful,  while  their  exceedingly  practical 
and  profitable  deductions  are  but  vapid  truisms  blown  into  illustrious 
bubbles.  Thev  are  full  of  polemical  censoriousness  and  metaphysical 
profimdity,  saymg  with  Arbuthnot :  *  I  have  arguments  good  store,  and 
can  easily  coimite,  either  logically,  theologically,  or  metaphysically,  all 
those  who  oppose  me.'  They  dwell  upon  their  astute  doraias  until 
they  become  a  mere  precision  m  roeech ;  think  exclusively  of  their  own 
bigoted  meaning,  until  thev  lose  sight  of  all  meaning;  and  appear  both 
to  themselves  and  others  dark  and  mysterious  as  chaos  and  outer  nighu 
In  view  of  broad  orthodoxy  and  a  manly  demeanor,  they  might  ex- 
claim with  Goethe's  suicide  vnth  respect  to  those  other  obscurities : 
'Death!  grave!  I  understand  not  the  words!'  A  really  substantial 
fiiith,  embodied  in  a  beneficent  life,  they  care  little  about,  but  are  ex- 
cessively prolific  in  arid  and  thorny  disquisitions  and  argumentations  on 

^PmoTDBiiac,  (breknofwledge,  win  aail  ftto, 
Fixed  ftito,  (Voe  will,  foreknowledge  abeolute, 
And  find  no  end,  In  wondering  mazes  loeU* 

When  Elizabeth  was  told  that  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  was  an  inch 
taller  than  herself,  she  passionately  replied :  '  Then  she  is  an  inch  too  tall.' 
The  same  spirit  impels  those  imperious  divines  who  lay  their  Procrustes' 
bed  in  the  presence  of  Gron's  altars,  and  cut  down  all  comers  to  the 
contracted  proportions  of  their  ovm  contemptible  notions.  But,  as  we 
have  before  said.  Dr.  McBvaine  is  not  of  this  stamp.  Among  other  proofe 
of  the  fact,  see  in  particular  the  sermon  on  '  The  Church  of  Christ,' 
which  he  delivered  befere  the  Directors  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal 
Society  fer  the  Promotion  of  Evangelical  Knowledge,  in  Philadelphia, 
October  25th,  1848.  In  this,  as  in  numerous  other  publications,  the 
distin^fuished  individual  in  question  shows  himself  to  be  a  zealous  Epis- 
copalian, but  one,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  eminently  Catholic  in 
his  views.  He  is  regarded,  we  believe,  as  a  low  Churchman,  but  this 
is  by  no  means  the  less  favorable  to  his  being  a  high  Christian,  most 
effective  in  preaching  and  usefiil  with  his  pen. 

In  Dr.  Stone's  admirable  Memoir  of  Dr.  Milnor,  there  is  an  allusion 
to  the  subject  of  our  sketch  when  he  was  chaplain  of  the  Military 
Academy  at  West  Point,  in  1826.  His  labors  m  that  capacity  were 
greatly  blessed ;  and  during  the  summer  of  that  year,  says  the  biogra- 
pher, '  the  academy  was  agitated  with  the  movements  of  that  great 
awakening,  from  the  fruits  of  which  our  church  has  selected  several 

VOL.  XXXT.  10 


144  Livmg  Pulpit  Orators.  [February, 

of  her  bishops  and  other  cler^.'  About  the  first  of  June,  Dr.  Mihior 
was  induced  to  visit  West  Point,  for  the  purpose  of  spending  a  Sundaj 
with  his  friend,  and  assisting  him  in  the  arduous  labors  to  which  he 
was  then  specially  called.  It  was  about  the  same  time  that  the  corres- 
pondence, of  which  a  portion  has  been  preserved,  was  opened.  The 
first  of  the  series  firom  Dr.  Milnor  is  wanting.     The  second  is  dated : 

<  AVv  Tvrlh  JwM  8,  IBK. 
*•  Mt  Diae  Brother  :  My  mind  dwells  with  inerpreBsible  delight  on  the  transactions  of  the  last 
Sabbath.  Especially  when  I  reflect  on  our  eToning  interriew  with  thoee  dear  yonth  w1k>  had  given 
themselvea  to  the  Lord,  and  with  their  anxiona  companions,  I  cannot  be  anmdeDtly  thankM  that 
in  the  kind  providence  of  God  I  was  permitted  to  witness  such  a  scene.  The  Lord  God  Almiohtt 
be  with  you,  direct  von  to  the  beet  means  of  prosecuting  a  woric  so  manifestlv  the  product  of  His 
Spirit,  aiiid  be  your  *reftige  and  strengtb,  a  very  present  help  in  trouble,'  should  penecution  assaii 
you  on  aocoimt  of  the  unexpected  reward  bestowed  on  your  labors  in  his  service,*  etc^  etc 

The  writer  goes  on  to  speak  of  the  depreciating  remarks  made  by 
ungodly  men  respecting  this  revival,  which  most  clearly  prove  that  the 
work  itself  was  thorough  and  of  the  greatest  value.  But  there  are 
many  other  proo&.  For  several  years  we  were  acquainted  with  an 
excellent  rector  in  Richmond,  Va.,  where  he  yet  remains,  who  was 
one  of  the  trophies  won  in  that  glorious  spiritual  warfistre. 

In  1832,  while  rector  of  St.  .^m's  Church,  Brooklyn,  and  Professor 
of  the  Evidences  of  Revealed  Religion  and  of  Sacred  Antiquities  in 
the  University  of  the  City  of  New-York,  Dr.  Mcllvaine  published  his 
work  on  the  Evidences  of  Christianity.  Therein  is  a  great  deal  of 
what  we  mean  by  the  polemical  shrewdness  of  its  author.  It  consists 
in  taking  the  rich  old  bullion  laid  away  in  obsolete  forms,  and  bringing 
it  before  the  most  endangered  and  yet  most  useful  classes  of  men  m  a 
shape  and  style  calculated  to  arrest  their  attention  and  renovate  their 
minds.     The  remarks  of  a  North  American  Reviewer  are  in  point : 

*Thkrk  are  several  works  of  great  excellence  on  the  evidences  of  Oiristianity,  which  were  writ- 
ten some  seventy-five  years  ago,  and  some  at  a  still  earlier  period,  whicb  are  read  and  highly  esteemed 
at  this  day  by  a  few  who  care  more  for  the  spirit  than  the  letter,  more  for  the  thought  than  the  style ; 
but  with  the  great  mass  of  readers,  the  fact  of  their  having  come  down  to  us  in  the  appropriate  dress 
ct  the  age  in  which  they  were  produced  makes  them  pass  for  little  or  nothing.  Dr.  McIlvaikk^s 
book  is  written  in  an  unusiudly  attractive  and  popular  style,  and  will  be  rood  by  many  with  whom 
naked  fhct  and  argument,  apart  from  all  literarv  attroctioms  would  scarcely  arrest,  much  less  enchain, 
the  attention.  But  tbrae  is  yet  another  ground  on  which  this  publication  Is  to  be  regarded  as  sea- 
sonable  and  important.  We  refer  to  the  fhct  thai  it  consists  of  a  course  of  lectures  designed  pailicu- 
larly  (br  young  men.  Tlie  rising  generation  are  emphaticallv  the  hope  of  the  world ;  for  only  a  few 
yevB  will  have  passed  away  liefore  the  whole  moral  machinery  of  the  age  will  be  in  their  hands. 
The  present  work  is  adapted  with  uncommon  felicity  to  their  taste  and  habits  and  circumstances. 
It  will  also  be  found  that  the  fisct  of  the  author^  having  written  with  this  daas  of  hearers  and  of 
reoders  in  his  eye,  in  connexion  with  the  uncommon  perspicuity  and  felicitous  arrangement  ani 
general  excellence  of  the  work,  wiQ  secure  to  it  an  introduction  as  a  text-book  into  some  of  our  lite- 
raiy  institaUons.* 

The  work  which  the  reviewer  thus  commended  was  adopted  as  a 
text-book  in  several  colleges,  has  passed  through  many  editions,  and 
been  the  instrument  of  a  vast  amount  of  good.  Its  intrinsic  worth  and 
extended  influence  are  indicated  by  the  following  extract  of  a  published 
letter  by  Dr.  Milnor,  written  April  21,  1834 : 

'  A  piw  days  since  I  received  a  very  kind  letter  fh>m  Dr.  Grioort,  who  speaks  of  you  in  the  most 
alfectlonate  terms,  and  of  the  gratiflcation  which  it  afforded  him  to  have  been  instrumental  in  the 
publication  of  an  English  edinon  of  your  Lectures  on  the  Evidences ;  a  work  which,  he  says,  *•  is 
nighly  esteemed  by  Lord  Bkxlkt,  the  Bishop  of  Winchester,  Dr.  Dkaltrt,  and  other  competent 
Judges,  and  is  getting  into  very  good  circulation  in  England.'  He  speaks  also  in  terms  of  eulogy  of 
your  *  (Uthftilly  simple,  and  touching  ferewell  sermon,^  which  he  wonki  have  printed  for  private  cir* 
culation,  had  he  not  lost  the  copy  which  you  sent  him.' 

But  the  greatest  monument  of  Dr.  Mcllvaine's  orthodox  piety  and 


1850.]  Living  Pulpie  Orators.  145 

polemical  ahrewdneBs  is  his  work  on  <  Oxford  Divinily/  with  a  special 
view  to  the  '  illustration  of  the  doctrine  of  Jusdiication  by  Faith.'  The 
influence  of  this  work  has  spread  all  over  Christendom,  and  has  been 
highly  appreciated  even  in  India.  The  only  testimony  to  its  worth  we 
need  quote  is  that  of  Daniel  Wilson,  the  excellent  Bishop  of  Calcutta, 
who  says,  in  a  letter  written  on  the  sixteenth  of  September,  1841,  to  a 
leading  divine  in  this  country,  recently  deceased:  'Your  Episcopal 
church  has  produced  one  of  the  most  splendid  and  valuable  works  in 
divinity  that  I  have  ever  read.  Nothing  since  your  Jonathan  Edwards 
on  'Justification*  and  Dean  Milner's  '  History  of  Luther'  has  at  all 
come  near  Bishop  McBvaine.  I  have  read  his  masterly  treatise  with 
unmixed  admiration,  and  shall  write  to  him,  I  hope,  by  this  very  mail, 
to  thank  him  most  cordially.  A  twilight  sermon  of  m^  own  happened 
to  come  out  just  before  the  bishop's  book,  but  was  lost  m  his  brilliancy.' 
Again,  March  the  nineteenth,  1844,  Bishop  Wilson  vnrote :  '  I  rejoice  to 
hear  that  so  many  of  your  bishops  and  clergy  are  alive  and  sound  in 
the  &ith.  I  bless  God  especially  for  the  talent  and  rare  faithfulness  of 
Bishop  McBvaine.  His  protest  is  admirable,  and  his  late  charge  the 
very  best  thing  that  has  appeared  in  so  small  a  compass.' 

The  'charge'  referred  to  was  delivered  before  the  clergy  of  the 
Diocese  of  Ohio ;  and,  like  many  other  small  works  before,  us,  cannot 
in  this  brief  sketch  be  noticed  in  detail,  but  are  all  worthy  of  particu- 
lar study.  Leaving  his  many  useful  books  to  the  reader's  more  deli- 
berate perusal,  let  us  glance  a  moment  at  the  author's  mind. 

We  nave  already  stated  that  Dr.  McBvaine  is  not  one  of  those 
astute  and  self-wiQed  adversaries  who  labor  most  assiduously,  with  Be- 
lial in  Milton,  to  '  make  the  worse  appear  the  better  cause.'  He  is  a 
shrewd  debater,  when  summoned  by  the  law  of  necessity  into  the  field 
of  polemical  strife ;  but  it  is  for  usefulness  and  not  display  that  he  puts 
die  harness  on.  The  unknown  and  unknowable  regions  of  metaphy- 
sics are  fiur  fi-om  being  the  domains  he  is  most  accustomed  to  explore, 
or  the  sources  of  his  principal  strength.  He  draws  the  outlines  of  an 
argument  vrith  a  bold  and  free  hand,  and  can  invest  the  same  with 
ideas  as  recondite  as  the  acutest  abstractionist  may  demand ;  but  a  spi- 
rit hallows  his  speculations  of  a  loftier  origin  than  earth  affords,  and  a 
nobler  end  is  in  view  than  mere  selfishness  is  wont  to  suggest.  Ad- 
dressing himself  devoutly  to  the  defence  of  doctrines  which  most 
vitally  relate  to  man's  temporal  and  eternal  welfare,  he  rises  above  the 
£»hions  of  the  age  and  the  low  ambitions  which  too  commonly  rule 
religrious  leaders,  remembering  that,  even  among  men  divinely  inspired, 
he  who  was  at  once  the  greatest  and  most  deeply  learned,  preferred  to 
speak  five  words  to  edification  rather  than  to  speak  ten  thousand  in  an 
imknown  tongue.  *  To  grapple  with  principles  of  the  widest  span, 
without  requiring  so  much  as  a  momentary  repose  in  the  lap  of  mys- 
ticism, is  an  admirable  power ;'  and  this,  we  think,  is  an  attribute  by 
which  the  theological  writings  of  Dr.  Mcllvaine  are  preeminently  cha- 
racterized.    It  is  this  trait  that  ever  tends  to 

*  AoAiH  OflthbUsh  Reason^B  lefcal  reiga, 
G«niafl  again  correct  with  Bcience  tpage, 
And  curb  luxuriant  Fancj^  iMwdlong  rage.' 

A  fine  piece  of  writing,  as  well  as  a  striking  exposition  of  what  this 


146  Living  Puljnt  Orators.  [February, 

Bishc^  desires  to  promote  in  the  ministry,  an  excellence  which  him- 
self exemplifies,  is  the  preface  he  gave  to  the  world  in  a  volume  of  ' 
Melville's  sermons.  The  whole  of  it  is  valuable,  but  we  regret  that  we 
have  no  room  fcr  even  a  portion  of  it.  Those  who  have  known  him 
best  and  longest  believe  uiat  Bishop  Mcllvaine  has  voluntarily  aban-^ 
doned  the  chief  resource  of  his  popular  strength.  He  has  come  to  be 
4  severe  dialectician  and  firm  defender  of  the  creed  he  has  profisssed. 
But  it  was  not  as  a  logician  that  he  won  his  first  fiime.  Always  con- 
sistent as  a  Christian  and  discreet  as  a  preacher,  still  in  his  earlier  da^ 
there  was  a  glow  of  emotion  and  splendor  of  ideal  beau^  in  his  dis- 
courses which  exceedingly  captivated  the  popular  heart.  Perhaps  he 
saw  that  this  was  bearing  him  too  far  into  the  tempestuous  regions  of 
fanciful  declamation,  and  he  foreclosed  the  threatenea  danger  by  clipping 
dose  his  wings  and  throwing  away  fine  feathers  enough  to  make  the  for- 
tune of  many  feebler  men.    Origmally ,  no  one  more  man  he  saw  and  felt 

^  Tbi  powor,  the  besaty  and  the  m^jeflty 
That  nad  their  humts  in  dell  or  piney  nonntaln, 
Or  foreat,  or  slow  stream,  or  pebbly  apilng, 
Or  chasma  and  watery  depths.* 

He  can  still  recall,  in  separate  forms  of  fancy,  these  more  &scinating 
.sources  of  inspiration ;  but,  in  the  maturity  of  more  substantial  powers, 
he  has  ^wn  quite  chary  of  dieir  use. 

Is  this  altogether  right  ?  Is  it  not  desirable  ever  to  possess  that  ve- 
hemence of  feeling  and  that  vivacity  of  imagination  which  will  prompt 
and  enable  one  not  merely  to  treat  a  popular  subject,  but  to  treat  an 
abstruse  subject,  popularly  ?  The  pre-requisites  to  tbds  capacity  are  a 
fertile  fitncy  and  a  rich  memory,  as  well  as  that  ix^enious  subtlety,  that 
profuse  and  prodigal  suggesdveness,  which  disdnguiBhed  the  old  Eng- 
lish divines.  Hooker,  Taylor,  Barrow,  South,  and  others,  and  which 
enabled  them  to  make  all  subjects  not  only  popular  but  irresistibly  in- 
teresting. It  is  desirable,  when  possible,  that  the  poet's  imagination, 
the  logician's  art,  and  the  deep  reflection  of  the  philosopher,  should 
coalesce  in  every  minister  o£  Christ.  The  best  order  of  intellect, 
armed  with  this  multi&rious  acquisition,  works  all  the  better. 

Horace  Walpole  said  that  *  Butler  was  wafted  to  the  see  of  Durham 
on  a  cloud  of  metaphysics.'  This  may  be  a  successful  mode  of  pro- 
curing official  promotion,  but  it  certainly  does  not  constitute  the  best 
religious  food  for  the  common  people.  While  it  is  true,  however,  that 
miscellaneous  multitudes  should  not  have  *  strong  meat'  dealt  out  to 
them  perpetually,  it  is  equally  certain  that  they  cannot  long  subsist  on 
the  unsubstantial  prettinesses  and  enervating  odors  of  flowers.  Jeremy 
Taylor  has  been  called  the  *.3hakspeare  of  Divinity ;'  a  parallel  that 
requires  much  limitation.  He  had  great  merits,  undoubtedly ;  but  a 
critic  very  jusdy  observes,  that  *  his  illustrations  are  almost  always  for 
ornament.  He  does  not  employ  a  simile  to  clench  his  argument ;  he 
does  not  make  even  his  fancy  logical ;  but  describes  and  paints  for  the 
pleasure  of  the  picture.  His  similes,  so  delightful  in  die  reading,  must 
have  been  intolerably  long  for  delivery.  Public  speaking  requires 
greater  compactness  of  mind  than  Taylor  possessed,  and  vet  we  hear 
of  his  wonderfiil  success,  which  was  not  slightly  heightened  by  a  beau- 


1850.] 


A  Veary  Curious  Thee  Story  . 


147 


tiful  person,  a  &ce  '  like  an  angel/  and  an  elocution  that  ravished  all 
hearers  with  its  swelling  cadences  and  sweet  intonations/ 

Bishop  Mcllvaine  combines  in  himself  many  of  the  good  qualities  of 
his  great  predecessors,  and  avoids  many  of  dieir  faults.  So  true  is  it 
that  he  '  Imows  all  qualities  with  a  learned  spirit,'  the  remark  once 
made  on  Daniel  Webster  may  with  justice  be  applied  to  him,  that  *  he 
has  but  to  state  a  point  to  argue  it.'  He  is  evangelical  in  doctrine  and 
earnest  in  his  appeals  to  the  conscience  and  reason  of  mankind.  He 
believes  that '  Noming,  not  even  the  eloquence  of  creative  imagination, 
has  a  greater  hold  over  the  mind  of  men  than  the  exhibition  of  the 
erand  realities  of  revealed  truth  in  their  naked  elements,  as  they  came 
from  the  mind  of  God  ;  and  when  this  is  done  with  clear  sight,  strong 
realization,  and  impassioned  conviction,  the  effect  cannot  but  be  power- 
fliL'  Habitually  does  he  practise  according  to  this  rule,  because  he 
farther  believes  that,  if  true  to  the  Gospel  and  the  nature  of  man,  he 
will  thrill  all  mankind  in  every  country  and  every  age.  He  makes  pos- 
terity his  auditors,  and  says,  with  Zeuxis,  *  Li  cetemitatem  pingo* 


VERT   CURIOUS   TRUE   8T0RT. 


BT    PAUr    lCA»TXJi9AI  a. 


ThMt  THB  riKlT. 
A  VAaoBTT  maldan  s«nt 


T 18  now  lome  aixteen  yean  agone, 

That  on  a  balmy  night  in  Jane 

A  flommer  breeze,  with  odon  laden, 

Bore  away  a  spirit  maiden 

To  that  inhospitable  shore, 

Where  with  restless  wild  commotion 

Erermore 
The  frozen  ocean 
Htirleth  back  with  angry  roar 
Defiance  to  the  larid  ^ow 
That  resteth  upon  Hbcla'b  brow  : 
Thither  was  she,  in  ponishment, 
A  messenger  from  Flora,  sent. 
Thither  she  in  sorrow  went 
To  plnck,  if  she  might  find  it  there, 
One  boauteons  flower, 
Which  wizard  power  and  wizard  care 
Had  nonrished  in  that  wintry  air 

For  many  a  year. 


FAmT  THK  ISCOITD. 


FnrsBTS  wbat  aba  went 
for. 


TJndbrnkath  a  shelving  rock, 
Sheltered  from  the  storm^s  attack, 
Struggling  up  through  moss  and  snow  ; 
There  condemned  for  aye  to  grow 
Unless  some  frlendl]^  maiden  nand, 
Seekmg  that  wild  wintry  land, 
Should  evade  the  wizard's  power, 


148 


A  Very  Curious  Trtte  Story. 


[February, 


Pluck  it  in  its  modest  bloom, 
And  restore  it  to  its  home  ; 
Without  or  sun,  or  rain,  or  dew, 
In  lonely  solitude  it  grew ; 
Openmg  its  white  petals  ftir 
To  the  damp  and  chilly  air. 
Which  ne'er  before 
Had  wooed  so  beauteous  a  flower. 
While  its  brilliant  ruby  heart 
Sparkled  in  the  diamond  light 
G^  thousand  crystals  snowy  white. 
Earnest  seeking,  there  she  found  it, 
Trembling  to  tne  breeze  that  bore  her, 
As  if  its  &!1  heart  must  adore  her ; 
Cautious  plucked  it,  lest  a  stain 
On  its  bright  veoture  should  remain ; 
In  her  golden  tresses  wound  it^ 
On  her  swellmg  bosom  bound  it ; 
Then  with  joyous  shout  away. 
Retraced  her  course  ere  break  of  day  \ 


PAIT  TBB  TBIID. 

A  cocvTHT  roBidenoe, 
and  the  peopla  ivho  in* 
habit  there. 


Fae,  for  away  in  the  snnnv  south, 
Where  skies  are  bright  as  uie  blush  of  youth, 
Where  broad  savanmihs  gently  waving 

Lend  their  flowers 
To  perfume  gales  from  other  shores, 
There,  by  the  border  of  the  sea, 

Where  constantly 
Bright  waves  laving  the  pebbly  beach 

Break  in  soft  minstrelsy ; 
In  a  wild,  shady  nook, 
Near  where  a  running-brook 

Murmureth  ever : 
Where  no  intruding  sound  is  heard 

Save  sonc  of  bird. 
Or  leaf  that  by  me  wind  is  stirred, 
Where  foot  of  man  trod  never ; 
There  on  a  green  enamelled  throne 
With  Nature's  fiEurest  jewels  thrown, 
Clothed  in  garments  rich  and  bright, 
Woven  from  the  rainbow's  light. 
Reclined  the  glorious  Queen ! 
While  around,  her  hundred  maids, 
Sported  in  the  everglades ; 
Eiaoh  with  each  in  l^uty  vicing ; 
Each  some  flower  personifying, 
Which,  for  talisman,  with  care 
She  ever  wreathM  m  her  hair ! 
Surely  no  fairer  scene 
Since  the  wide  world  began, 

Ever  hath  been. 


FAET  TBS  rOUlTB. 


Tbb   madden   returns, 
and  her  reception. 


In  radiant  beauty  from  afiff , 
Like  a  shooting  silver-star. 
Soon  the  erring  maiden  came. 
Laden  with  her  precious  gem ; 
With  one  wHd,  rmging,  joyous  shout. 
She  held  the  priodess  treasure  out : 


1850.] 


A  Very  Curious  True  Story, 


149 


Then  at  Flora's  feet  she  kneeled. 
Who  on  her  lips  forgivenesB  sealed. 


7AKT  TBB  nrm. 


A  metaznorpbose  wbl^b 
teats  Otis. 


For  many  and  many  a  weary  year 

Had  that  bright  flower,  now  held  so  dear, 

Been  lost  to  that  fair  band ; 

And  as  now  with  trembling  hand 

To  her  throbbing  heart  she  pressed  it, 

Or  with  ardent  lips  caressed  it, 

She  washed  away  with  joyous  tears 

!Each  sad  remembrance  of  those  years, 

And  then,  lest  wizard  power  or  witches'  charm 

Again  should  bring  the  treasure  harm. 

She  gave  her  high  command,  and  lo  \ 

Instant  transformed  hs  beauties  grow, 

And  straight  within  her  arms  instead 

She  pressed  a  beauteous  little  maid  1 


PART  TBB  SIXTH. 

Speech  of  an  illustrious 
p«nonage  to  a  select  au- 
dieiace. 


'T  WERE  a  lengthy  tale,  I  trow,  to  tell 
The  whole  that  on  that  night  befel ; 
But  this  be  sure  there  did  betide. 
And  many  curious  things  beside. 
That  Flora,  bending  o'er  her  low, 
Pressed  a  lily  on  her  brow. 
Saying, '  Such  shall  ever  be 
Thy  unsullied  purity !' 
Then  took  a  moss-rose  from  her  zone, 
Which  with  glittering  dew-drops  shone  j 
*  Perhaps  some  honest  tongue,'  said  she, 
^  May  speak  too  loud  its  praise  of  thee ; 
Then  these  mantling  blushes  quick 
Shall  tmge  the  velvet  of  thy  cJieek ; 
And  thou  for  sign  perpetually 
Shalt  carry  in  thy  beaming  eye 
The  violet's  bloom,  for  modesty !' 


TAAV  TBB  BBTBirra. 

AnnoonesB  an  important 
fact,  and  concludes  with  » 
question  which  apunctili- 
cu«  person  miffht  consider 
personal. 


Old  Time  has  sped  some  way,  I  ween, 

Since  these  curious  things  were  seen ; 

And  still,  with  wit  and  joy  and  mirth. 

Hither  and  thither  on  the  earth 

That  little  maiden  tarries, 

Still  those  talismans  of  youth. 

Fair  Modesty  and  earnest  Truth, 

She  with  her  carries ! 

Graceful  as  the  Naiad  Queen, 

Or  Ae  Evening  Zephyr,  when 

Of  summer  leaves  her  harp-strings  making, 

Her  balmy  breath  their  strains  awaking, 

She  o'er  the  lake  at  easiest  leisure, 

Tripping  slow  to  softest  measure, 

Joins  the  lingering  moonbeams^  glancing 

O'er  the  polished  surface,  dancmg 

With  water-nymphs  in  airy  ring, 

To  her  own  sweet  music's  murmuring ! 

Can'st  thou  tell  me  certainly 

Who  this  little  maid  may  be, 

Oh!  MIss'NellaC ? 


150 


Harriet:  a    CkmzaneL 


[Pebniaiy. 


HARRIET 


CA.NZONET. 


BT     aBOROlAlTA     U.     9TK.KB. 


What  was  that  Dan  Cupid  aaicl, 
(Teasing  foe  of  aoda  and  men !) 

When  he  furnished  forth  a  maid  ? 
Bent  on  mischief  was  he  then — 

Haeeiet!  Haeeiet! 

GaOy  glanced  her  laughing  eye, 
Danced  her  footsteps  light  and  free, 

Eyes  as  blue  as  summer  dues, 
Heart  than  step  more  full  of  glee : 

Furnished  thus  with  weapons  fit, 
What  of  heart  of  man  said  he  7 

'HAEETitl   HAEETit!' 


What  was  that  Dan  Cufid  said, 
(Teasing  foe  of  gods  and  men !) 

Bying  arch  the  hiughii^g  maid  ? 
Poising  arrow  even  men, 

Haeeiet!  Haeeiet! 

'  Merry  maiden,  langh  to^y. 

Wreathe  thy  rosy  Ups  with  smiles ; 

Dimpled  cheek  nor  bosom  gay 
Shall  defend  thee  fh>m  my  wiles.' 

Then  he  breathed  a  whispeied  threat : 
What  did  then  Dan  Cupid  say  f 

'HAEETyet!  HAEETyetl' 


MA  Y-D  AY     REVELS. 


A    flTEAT    LBAr    rROM    THB    HAVVSCEIPT   VIAKT    OT    AN    OLD    BACHELOK. 


BT    ▲   ITBW  OOVTBIBVTOK. 


Do  n't  your  thoughts  in  mid-winter,  Mr.  Knickerbocker,  by  the 
simple  force  of  contrast,  sometimes  go  back  to  spring  and  summer,  and 
bring  up  before  your  mind's  eye  scenes  as  ditterent  as  possible  from 
those  at  the  time  around  you  ?  Mine  do,  I  confess ;  and  although  the 
snow  is  now  on  the  ground,  and  I  have  had  to-day  my  first  taste  of  sleigh- 
ing, all  alone,  yet  my  mind  has  this  evening  *  gone  a-Maying ;'  and  here 
is  the  result.    *  Presto  1'  —  and  it  is  May ! 

May,  at  last ;  long  looked  for  by  sanguine  young  hearts,  and  partly 
dreaded,  partly  welcome  to  us  older  £)lk.  Every  one  knows  that  quiet 
is  to  an  old  bachelor  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  life ;  but  I  have  only  enjoyed 
it  by  snatches,  owing  to  a  bevy  of  young  relatives,  and  a  troop  of  old 
friends,  who  are  constantly  invading  my  privacy,  and  advising  me  to 
marry.  Having  a  good  income,  I  retired  from  business  at  thirty,  and 
applied  myself  to  agriculture  and  study.  I  erected  a  snug  cottage  of 
the  '  Elizabethan  style'  as  it  is  termed,  in  the  very  wilderness ;  that  is, 
forty  miles  from  any  town,  on  a  small  branch  of  one  of  our.  noblest 
streams,  with  no  neighbor  within  ten  miles,  save  an  industrious  squatter. 
To  this  place  I  removed  my  books,  my  simplest  furniture,  and  my  rare 
shrubs,  plants  and  annual  flowers.  A  lawn  sloped  from  the  porch  to 
the  river,  a  river  that  had  never  been  desecrated  by  aught  save  the  In- 
dian's canoe,  until  I  launched  my  light  shallop  upon  it. 


1850.]  May-Day  Revds,  151 

Here  for  a  few  months  I  indulged  my  taste  for  soliloquy  and  quiet ; 
but  one  sunny  day  in  autumn,  my  harum-scarum  nephew,  Tom  Rattle- 
fast,  alighted,  gun  in  hand  on  the  porch ;  and  as  he  entered  tlie  door, 
Quiet  slipped  out  on  a  two  months'  furlough ;  at  the  expiration  of 
which  time  my  nephew  also  departed,  to  the  great  joy  not  only  of  his 
uncle,  but  of  aJl  the  quails,  partridges,  and  deer  on  tbe  demesne.  The 
fihort-flighted  bore,  not  content  with  this,  gave  such  a  flourishing  account 
of  af&irs  at '  The  Lodge,'  as  he  styled  my  place,  that  a  certam  misan- 
tiax>pic  bachelor,  with  a  plethoric  purse,  was  induced  to  reconnoitre  our 
surroundings,  and  plant  a  rival  lodge  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  me ! 
For  a  lone  time  I  was  sorely  afflicted  with  *  the  blues ;'  for  I  could  not  go 
to  the  wiiMoow  without  seeing  the  smoke  of  my  neighbor's  chimney  rising 
up  in  fantastic  gyrations  from  amidst  the  tall  trees  under  whose  branches 
I  nad  had  some  of  my  most  delightful  soliloquies.  I  had  mentally  vowed 
to  check  every  approach  on  his  part  to  an  acquaintance ;  but  my  fears 
were  needless.  He  was  as  shy  as  myself,  and  we  had  been  neighbors 
upward  of  a  year  before  accident  revealed  to  me  that  his  sister  kept 
house  for  him. 

The  third  summer  of  my  residence  here,  a  new  neighbor,  witb  a  house 
fun  of  young  people,  planted  himself  on  my  left ;  and  the  arrival  of  a 
bevy  of  cousins,  nieces,  and  nephews,  full  of  curiosity  to  see  <  Uncle's 
Lodge,'  made  me  acquainted  with  my  new  neighbors,  and  banished  for- 
ever the  quiet  I  had  so  longed  for.  At  the  period  therefore  to  which  I 
allude,  at  the  commencement  of  this  page  of  my  diary,  I  had  settled 
down  into  a  eood-natured  uncle,  who  allowed  himself  to  be  teased,  coaxed 
and  worried  for  six  months  in  the  year,  with  a  hope  of  peace  for  the 
next  six. 

Among  other  fantastic  notions,  my  nephew  Tom  had  a  passion  for 
reviving  old  customs,  and  this  year  he  had  induced  me  to  consent  to 
keeping  the  first  of  May  after  the  good  old  fashion.  The  squatter's 
children  were  now  grown ;  and  these  youngsters,  with  my  left-hand 
neighbor's,  and  rattle-pates  from  New- York,  formed  qidte  a  party,  all 
agog  veith  the  idea  of  '  keeping  Ma}r.'  Some  old  folks  found  meir  way 
to  the  lodge  as  spectators  and  guardians ;  so  that,  as  you  may  conceive, 
I  bad  a  rare  time  of  it  I  was  hunted.  Sir,  like  a  badger,  from  every 
hiding-place ! 

Such  a  littering  of  divers-colored  bits  of  muslin  and  tissue-paper  was 
never  seen  in  these  parts  before  !  A  tall  sapling,  with  a  crown  oi  leaves, 
was  planted  in  a  meadow  hard  by,  and  a  tent  pitched  for  the  old  folks 
to  gaze  from  under ;  and  a  long  table  of  pine  boards  was  placed  at  a 
convenient  distance,  with  a  raised  seat  for  the  Queen.  I  went  out  the 
last  day  of  April  to  survey  the  preparations,  and  returned  with  my  wide 
shoes  tall  of  insects ;  for  this  was  an  unusually  forward  season. 

Most  of  my  guests  passed  a  sleepless  night,  and  came  down  late  in 
full  dress,  wiliiout  any  appetite  for  breakfast  The  two  Lawlers  soon 
arrived.  Araminta  had  passed  the  Rubicon,  yet  called  herself  a  '  child 
of  Nature.'  I  do  n't  like  these  children  of  Nature !  They  are  the  most 
unnatural  ofl&pring  a  parent  was  ever  cursed  with.  That 's  my  opinion, 
at  least ;  yes,  and  my  experience,  too !  Araminta  wore  her  yellownair  in 
dishevelled  masses,  thinking  it  a  sin  to  confine  it  with  comb  and  braid. 


May-Day  Rev^Zs. 

ny  little  airs  and  graces,  and  looked  up 
It  to  be  ardess,  -wrliich    fell  short   of  Uie 
I-    Pig-eyes  and  yello-w   locks   don't    ac 
lir !     She  hinted  a  riglit  to  the   queensfax.' 
•with  a  polite  bow,  that   she  had  a  claizn.  ^ 
ae  was  Uie  oldest  inhahitant ;    but  the  vot^» 
odhe  dared  not  interfere  -witb  the  right  *=« 
id  daughter  of  the  squatter,  -wras  a  hoydecK  > 
braas  rings,  and  mammoth  figures  in  her- 
neighbor's  eldest   daughter,  was    a   a 
her  queenly  robes,  and  was  tastefully  ^^ 
^^SJ^^-      '^^  ""^^  people  were  pac^ 
?«n^  ^"7^  y*>^ff   until   diey  die  of      - 

l«*™g  hands  with  Miss  LaviniW,  canere<^ 
L  whde ;  but  that  dull  bumpkin,^t5^£^^ 
^  ^  my  worst  toe,  an^Tsen;  me  ^^S^ 

a  group  of  sympathizing  laces.       IVfa-^L 

nd  ^e  Queen'uioy'Sirs^e^^'^'""^^^^ 

.en  heavy^S£   tt^^^^^   ^  *  hubbub  J^ 
leaped  Z^'^Z]^  *''^'*«^  ^   'he  Q^ 
trois  righT^d   loft*"?^  upon  whieh  the  ^f" 
.reatene^  to  follow  t^^V*"^*"^  **««P' 
'snaked- out  theS'^J^''«™J«-      ^itfi^ 

pecially  anxious   to    ™        "yunes    recei,^ 
e  told  his  wife"  tW  4^^  If  ^   Mr-  W 
?  m  her  stockincr        t  f     ***  ^'^^'^  suflfert-s 
^«ay-pole,      The  ^«if««^;ted  these  1^ 

1  B  mishap   had    disco;,^*'  ^%  coUation  w^ 
rosettes  ^'  '«5^.4  «^ch  a  ,,^1^^^ 


braaxy' 


-^od  fiJl«n 

^-suffrage- 

^^.-veore 


•beaotj- 

-id  in  the 

►^d  age»,*^ 

nimbly 

•,set  his 
^ff  to  the 
^ler  was 
.^arred  that 
ied  to  sit 
^o<ki© 


the  tent, 
en's  aid. 
^jt  stood, 
■bUe  the 
diflS- 
.^xn  Rat- 


mce,  eachfor  hi      »»»  ««arfe  wex^T^ ''«^ 


*°»oi»g  them. 


1850.]  Stanzas:  Winter  Fhwers.  153 

Onward  came  the  bull,  stopping  but  a  moment  to  wreak  his  vengeance 
upon  the  May-pole»  which  he  levelled  with  the  ground.  The  party  had 
just  placed  the  fence  between  them  and  his  rage,  when  a  fiirious  crash 
proclaimed  the  fate  of  the  collation ;  yet  no  one  dared  look  behind  him 
lest  he  should  see  the  monster  leaping  over  a  fence  aft^:  him !  At  last 
we  reached  a  bam,  and  '  pitched  mto  it'  with  pell-mell  rapidity.'  The 
door  was  pulled  to,  and  we  peeped  at  the  animal  through  the  crevices. 
We  were  scarcely  within  this  niendly  shelter,  when  the  enemy  came 
up,  lashinp;  his  sides  furiously  with  his  tail.  The  dogs  had  hidted  at 
the  collation ;  so  the  bull,  findmg  himself  '  let  up'  a  little,  gradually 
cooled ;  and  after  two  anxious  hours  we  saw  him  so  lowinff  plaintively 
down  the  meadow.  Then  we  '  left*  for  home ;  and  thus  ended  our  May 
revels. 

Not  a  whole  dish  was  found  on  the  field.  The  ices  had  melted,  and 
the  dogs  had  devoured  everything  else.  As  for  Tom,  he  kept  up  his 
spirits  to  the  last ;  but  he  does  not  hesitate  to  declare  that  *  such  revels 
are  only  fit  for  John  Bull  !'  Bkavguec 


WINTER       FLOWEBS. 

I  Ve  Bot  the  heart  to  out  them  down ! 

These  dry  and  dnsty  flowen. 
That  flpring  and  sununer  smiled  upon, 

And  fed  with  dews  and  showers : 
I  know  they  're  dead :  their  leaves  have  flown, 

Their  stalks  are  cnsp  and  brown ; 
Tet  they  may  stand  till  winter  'a  gone — 

I  cannot  cat  them  down ! 

I  've  not  the  heart  to  cut  them  down  I 

For  daring  summer's  heat, 
While  pent  within  the  sultry  town, 

They  sprang  up  round  my  feet : 
They  looked  up  in  my  £aoe  and  smiled, 

And  oomforted  my  soul, 
•So  that  I,  like  a  chastened  child, 

Endured  my  daily  dole. 

I  Ve  not  the  heart  to  cut  them  down ! 

They  were  my  warden's  pride. 
And  when  the  buds  were  fally  blown 

Their  fragrance  wandered  wide. 
And  freely  entered  at  my  door 

Below,  around,  above, 
Till  from  the  ceiling  to  the  floor 

The  house  was  sweet  with  love  1 

I  've  not  the  heart  to  cut  them  down ! 

It  may  be  they  will  fall 
When  Winter  caste  his  heavy  crown 

Of  snow  upon  them  all : 
Yet  let  them  stand  till  Spring  shall  lay 

Her  blessmg  on  the  est\h, 
Then  ^ntly  l^  the  dead  away. 

While  kindred  flowers  have  birth ! 


154  Song :  the  MmuU-Man. 


8   O   N  6:      T   HE      M   I  N  U  T   £-M   A.   N. 


ST  TBI   'PBAVAMT    BABA.' 


It  waa  on  the  banlu  of  Hoosio,  a  quiet  Indian  stream, 
Where  it  wraps  a  lonely  valley  with  romance  like  a  dream ; 
It  was  in  the  vale  of  Hoosio,  afather  and  his  son 
Were  dwelling  on  the  day  before  the  day  at  Benmi^ton. 


Along  the  river  stretching  was  spread  a  fertile  plain ; 
There  son  and  sire  were  thrusting  in  the  hook  amidst  the  grain ; 
While  near  at  hand  thdr  oottage  stood  half  hidden  from  the  nght 
By  trees  that  wooed  the  birds  by  day,  and  sheltored  them  by  night. 


The  good  wife  plied  her  needle  within  the  cottage  door  ; 
Her  babe  the  oat  was  watching,  catching  flies  upon  the  door ; 
It  was  a  sweet  domestic  scene,  sweet  hmh  to  rire  and  son, 
That  blessed  them  on  the  day  before  the  day  at  Bennington. 


When  suddenly,  and  vimon-like,  before  them  there  appeared 
A  form  of  solmer-bearmg,  full  of  martial  presence  reured ; 
He  was  clad  in  resimentiSB,  a  sword  was  at  his  side, 
The  father  heard  his  errand,  and  he  laid  his  hook  aside. 


Then  toward  the  cottage  went  the  sire,  with  calm  determined  air, 
And  took  from  o'er  the  mantle-tree  his  gun  that  rested  there ; 
'  Farewell !  farewell,  dear  wife  1'  said  he,  ^  fieffewell,  my  children  dear ! 
My  country  calls  aloud  for  me — I  may  not  linger  here ! 


'  Weep  not  for  me,  to  break  mine  heart ;'  he  spoke  like  sainted  Paul  ; 
*  Behold  I  leave  you,  knowing  not  what  thing  shall  me  befall  *,' 
My  life  is  staked  for  Libertt  ;  in  after  years,  my  son. 
Remember  this,  the  day  beforp  the  day  at  Bennington !' 


That  son  is  now  an  aged  man ;  his  head  is  silvered  o'er ; 
He  tills  the  same  plantaUon  that  his  father  tilled  before : 
And  lessons  many  has  he  read  in  life's  historic  page ; 
His  words  are  of  sound  import  —  his  wisdom  that  of  age. 


He 's  a  lover  too  of  Libertv,  and  to  his  children  tells 
This  reason  why  that  love  so  strong  within  his  bosom  dwells : 
'  Last  time  I  saw  mv  sire  alive  was  when  he  took  his  gun. 
And  left  us  on  the  day  before  the  day  at  Bennington !' 
Ota,  {Matt,) 


LITERARY     NOTICES, 


Amn  BoLSTx:  ▲  Tbaokst.    By  6boe«b  H.  Bokcr,  Author  of  'CElaynoe,'  eie.   Philadelphia: 
A.  Bast. 


Tn  writer  of  a  tragedy  aflnimet  a  periknis  cffioe.  The  pnblio  are  ready  to  charge 
him  with  imdae  *  avnmption,' '  temerity,'  or  other  the  like  inyidious  distinctlona.  The 
author  oomee  before  us  in  the  most  delicate  of  all  poaitbiiB ;  that  of  aelf-establiahed 
monitor  and  moral  agitator.  Thecanse  of  this  is  fonnd  in  the  subject  itMlf.  Tragedy 
has  to  do  with  the  higher  elements  of  onr  being,  and  the  writer  of  it  stands  ex  cffi^io 
in  a  snperior  relation.  We  owe  to  his  calling  the  reverence  due  to  the  bench,  to  the 
ptnlpit,  to  government ;  and  while  we  are  firee  to  criticise  the  individual  m  the  dis- 
charge of  these  important  offices,  we  never  lose  respect  for  the  office  itself.  But  the 
jodge,  the  priest  and  the  ruler  are  not  self-constitnted ;  the  tragic  writer  is.  Tt  is 
this  which  makes  his  position,  as  we  have  said,  a  delicate  one  ^  gaining  for  him  in- 
deed a  signal  triumph  if  successful,  but  too  often  procuring  undeserved  sneers  for  his 
ftnure,  and  unsparing  ridicule  for  what  is  termed  his  *■  egregious  arrogance.' 

Mr.  BoKER  has  written  two  tragedies.  Of  his  ^CoLaynot'  we  have  already  spoken. 
Its  adaptation  to  the  stage  has  been  practically  tested  in  En^^d,  and  the  experiment 
proved  all  that  its  friends  claimed  for  it.  In  ''Anne  BoUyn'  he  had  a  more  difficult 
task  to  perform.  We  confess  we  to(^  up  the  volume  not  without  misgivings.  The 
snbject  was  loftier  in  its  tone^  and  to  cope  with  it,  his  Muse  must  essay  a  bolder  flight. 
Beside,  the  author  had  mainly  to  depend  upon  the  single  tragic  idea  contained  in  the 
developement  of  the  historical  event ;  whUe,  aside  from  this,  there  was  in  the  times, 
when  compared  with  previous  reigns,  a  tameness  not  at  all  calculated  to  support  the 
main  incident.  There  was  room  then  for  a  result  which  should  reach  tar  beyond  or- 
dinary snooess,  and  for  a  fiiilnre  which  should  at  least  be  held  an  excusable  one.  Mr. 
BouR,  in  our  judgment,  has  compassed  the  former. 

The  oonohuion  of  Shajupbari's  ^ Henry  the  Eighth?  leaves  the  King  enamoured 
with  his  new  Qdben,  and  the  curtain  fidls  upon  the  happy  birth  of  Elizabeth.  Here 
Mr.  BoKBR  takes  up  the  history ;  the  tragedy  of  Anne  Bolbtn  commencing  where 
that  of  HxNRT  concludes.  The  character  of  the  Queen  is  sustained  with  great  ex- 
odleooe  and  power.  The  difficulty  of  portraying  the  triumph  of  an  infomous  prince 
and  his  paramour  over  injured  but  unresisting  innocence,  and  at  the  same  time  pre- 
serving in  the  mind  of  the  reader  a  consoiottsnesB  of  ultimate  justice,  must  occur  even 
to  the  casual  critic.  The  noblest  element  of  tragedy  is  developed  by  the  exhibition  of 
a  lofty  endurance — sustained  by  fiiith,  not  stoicism — under  oppresrion,  suffering, 
calamity,  death.    Judging  the  author  of  *  Amhb  Bolsyn'  by  this  rule,  we  say  that  he 


156  Literary  Notices.  [February, 

has  prodnoed  a  play  of  the  highest  tragio  power.  We  are  first  moved  by  the  fearfbl 
suspicions  of  the  Quben,  and  her  fhuUess  resolution  not  to  yield  to  ihem ;  then  we 
are  subdued  by  the  touching  pathos  of  the  scene  when,  iot  the  time  being,  she  wins 
again  the  King  to  her.  In  short,  we  are  carried  on,  as  the  play  advances,  until  we 
ourselves  are  .moulded  to  the  feelings  which  she  exhibits.  Now  manifesting  a  just 
pride,  then  relapsing  into  tenderness,  tortured  by  conflicting  emotiooa,  she  at  last 
comes  forth,  as  if  purified  by  fire,  suffering  but  patient,  wronged  but  Ibrgiving,  un- 
righteously condemned  to  death,  yet  exhibiting  a  meek  fidth  and  a  christian  charity- 
It  is  here  that  Mr.  Boker  has  attained  the  highest  scope  of  tragedy ;  which  is,  to  vin- 
.  dicate  the  divine  origm  of  the  soul,  and  to  show  that  all  the  misfortunes  of  humanity 
are  to  be  endured  in  prospect  of  a  brighter  future. 

The  several  dramatU  perwruB  in  '  Anne  Bolbtn'  sustain  themselves  with  credit. 
The  character  of  the  Kino  is  depicted  throughout  with  great  discriminatioa.  That  of 
Jane  Seymour,  though  not  mimstering  so  much  to  the  dramatic  effect  of  the  piece, 
is  drawn  naturally  and  with  skill.  Thomas  Wtatt  is  a  poet  and  a  gentleman  after 
our  own  heart :  he  is  admirably  painted.  We  can  ahnost  forgive  a  multitude  of  sins 
in  hluff  Kino  Harrt,  when  we  hear  him  exclaim : 

*  Wtatt  shall  not  die ! 
In  mv  wkterealni  are  herds  of  courtlen, 
Knights  and  vitcoiints  and  sallant  gentlemen : 
There 's  hut  one  Wtatt  I    Wtatt  shall  not  die  T 

We  proceed  to  fortify  the  opmloiis  we  have  expressed,  by  some  extracts  firom  the 
work.  The  first  is  a  part  of  the  Queen's  soliloquy  when  aroused  to  a  sense  of  pos- 
sible danger : 

qUHN  AKKI. 

*  What  means  tUs  heavy  feeling  at  my  heart  ? 
What  means  the  Kiko  by  this  unwonted  ooMneas  ? 
What  means  my  nncle  bT  his  insolence  T 
Whr  stood  the  Kins  with  an  approving  smile, 
And  heard  my  most  unnatural  enemy 
Ofl^r  reproof  In  semblance  of  advice  T 
I  have  seen  the  time— ay.  not  a  month  ago— 
When,  in  the  tarj  of  his  lion  mood, 
He 'd  brained  the  aboffer  with  his  royal  handl 
But  times  have  changed— ah  I  have  they  changed  indeed? 
Has  my  life  passed  the  zenith  of  its  gloiy  ? 
Must  I  make  ready  for  the  gathering  doods 
That  dog  the  pathway  of  a  setting  sun? 
Well,  let  (hem  cornel— the  blase  of  my  decline 
Shall  torn  to  gold  the  doll  en^rouding  mists, 


And  riiow  the  world  a  spectacle  more  grand 
Than  the  young  splendor  in  which  ibat  I  rose.' 


The  next  extract  is  from  the  scene  in  which  ^e  King,  after  vindicating  Jane  Set- 
Moua,  leads  her  off,  leaving  the  Queen  alone : 

anSKM  AJINB. 

'  Ob,  Gon  1  oh,  God  I    The  Kino  —  Nay,  ILaii  v,  Harit, 
Come  back;  I  will— oh,  killing  agony! 
Is  there  no  pity  in  the  heart  of  mani 
Plead  for  me,  girl— he  loves  you— plead  for  me  I 
I  am  his  wifij,  your  Qriiiv,  your  loving  mlatreas : 
I  will  forgive  vou ;  I  will  cherish  you ; 


I'll  love  you  dearer  than  my  dearest  friend. 
Gone,  gone  forever  1  Said  lie  not  (brever  Y 
Kind  Heaven,  have  mercy  on  my  feebteaieBS  I 


If  this  is  trial  of  my  stienKth,  I  yiekl; 

I  do  confess  my  utter  helplessness ; 

I  bow  me  prostrate,  a  poor  nervelesB  woman — 

A  queen  no  more  r 

Suddenly  bat  nalbrally  changing  her  tone,  she  imprecates  vengeanoe  on  Jane  Scr- 


y 


Literary   lHaicet. 


~~^^^    jsArtx    ^'^^^  cannot  invoke  A  eurBe  upon  b 
r!lri^     "^^  ^«^ehingly  exMbite  the  despair  of  a 


^|B«iiv  iB  no  time  to  one  without  a  hop 

Hopes  are  the  fingers  on  life'b  changing 

^^at  lint  betny  to  ub  the  passing  houra 

^re  the  great  bell  may  sommon  us  awa; 

An  blank  and  meaningleeB  is  life  to  me ; 

I  have  no  future ;  one  eternal  present, 

BayloBB  as  Lapland  winter,  wraps  my  sc 

One  ceaseless  wrong,  aftmUng  but  one  i 


Of  cruellest  agony,  makes  up  my  life. 
Stretching  fh)m  day  to  day  its  sole  eren 
What  tfOie  sun  arise?  what  if  the  lark 


Put  on  the  glory  of  his  morning  song? 
What  if  the  flowers  perk  up  their  loade 
And  swing  their  Incense  down  the  thlnit; 
What  if  the  frame  of  this  whole  univen 
Warm  in  the  glow  and  Join  the  matin  fa 
There  is  no  mom  to  me  I* 

We  cloee  with  a  portion  of  the  scene  where  the  Quk 

in  winning  back  the  Knro  by  recalling  the  happy  days  ^ 

We  belieye  it  to  be  unsnrpaosed  by  any  modem  write] 

Annk,  behind :' 

QUKBM  iLMHI.  ' 
nvo  BKKRY. 

«Wa8  that  a  spirit? 


QUIKN  ANNI. 
KINO  HKHRT. 


«HU&I 


*  How  came  you  here?    I  had  left  strict  • 
That  no  one  should  disturb  my  privacy. 

.  HaTo  you  again  been  tampering  with  a 

QUItR  ARMR. 

*  I  came  by  a  small  passage,  if  forgot 
By  you,  my  liege,  still  to  my  memory  d 
Misde  by  yourself;  in  that  once  h^py  tl 
When,  unobserved,  you  came  to  woo  * 
Is  there  no  secret  pMsage  — you  can  tej 
Through  which  so  poor  a  one  as  I  may 
Back  to  your  heart,  and  see  again  the  d 
or  hidden  love?  O,  Sir!  it  must  hero 
And  small,  and  tHghtftd  to  a  valiant  ga 
ButlwiUtomptitI 

XIRO  HRRRT* 

*  There  is  none  f< 
Your  pride  and  hanghtiness  and  stubb* 
Are  afi  too  Ug  for  love's  sUffht  psaasge 
Now,  bymyniith!  I  am  indeed  amaze 
To  hear  you  pleading  in  this  gentle  ion 
Have  you  foi^  your  character  7 

We  are  oampeUed  to  omit  a  part  of  the  scene;  we  q 
however,  leaving  oat  Rome  two  or  three  pages  of  the  di 

QVRRR  ARRR. 

*0,HrrrvI  yoahsvei 
From  that  true  Hrkrt  who.  In  by-gon 
Rode  with  the  hurry  of  a  northem  gal< 
Townrd  Hever^s  heights,  and  ere  the  p 
Made  the  glad  air  a  meaKnoer  of  tove, 
By  many  a  blast  upon  your  huntln^o 
Have  you  Ibigotten  that  oki  oaken  rooi 
Feaiftil  with  ptHtrsits  of  my  buried  rai 
Where  I  received  you,  panting  ftom  y 
Ai  breathless,  fkrom  my  dumb  excess  c 
As  you  with  hasty  travel?  Doyouthi 
Of  our  sweet  meetings  'neath  the  gtooi 


^v'^^ 


^>> 


j^Uerary  Noticea. 


ftoial 


»  you 


Have  yon 
At  your  q 
Wlioae  every 


rnnrotten  my  OBJr-«toaMaiiig  lawglC^^ 
'"^^^^Sare  of  TlMtt»»*  >*m,«>«v  c 


^  5Sri;»e!ito  my  cKVVtt^o«l. 

That  Willi  «W*  F^Tft  TeaocUoQA  OCmplee  TDfil 

«►  'PcMur  imA  t  love  to  v»c 
•niai  aeate  not  compiacAs  ^^rVOi  the  ctamp  ot  faith. 

*Myrt»ytetws»p«aa.     ^VV«  ^wUi  xneel  vnon.^ 
iK>Te  needs  no  Go;«uia«\  %n  \&l&  Uttle  realm..*    <C:m^ace«  Um, 

.  V    brief  notice  shall  have  tlie  csfifeot  to  call  the  attention  of  tbe  rt, 
^««u  to  'Ann*  Bolejfw,^  ^wro  cAmU  "be  found  to  have  performed 

eptable  service. 


»  ^■•irSw:  written  in  MexiooTrai^SSSS  frjm  Uie  Suanlah,  and  edlteC^ 

1,  our  readers  bave  not  &\reaay    «  shipped  full  of  horrors'  bom  the^ 
^bichbave  appeared,  descriptive  of  tK^  late  war  with  Mexico,  we  oor:^.,^ 
^  penwal  of  tlie  volume  nndeT   ^ao^lce.      It  is  the  Mexican  side  of  tr 
3^toinly  set  fort^  ^^^  ^^^  ^  w\aj[xeo».     The  editor  claims,  and  w< 
with  iiurtice,  to  bave  feithfully  tiaix»la.tea  the  story  of  the  Mexican  ge: 


r;^00  ATO  TM 


roizff  works 
*^T,  and  ia 


l\ay< 


^,     ^^  lio  doubt 

work,  preciaeVyaatiiey  have  told  it.     We  rise  froc*.-^^    jj^         ^^^  »« 
'^  tlt«  \.«.^^^,  -.-.  ^  .        .         .  -     Mexican  characsX/e-^^  ^i  '^^'''^  ^ith 

^^^•^ —  -r  than  ur    t. 
heart-rending  -«j^:2^  «     /^      ®  ^*ve 


the  authors  of  the  v^o^k,  preciaeVy  aa  tiiey  have  told  it.     We  rise  ^ 
a  higber  respect  for  ihe  bravery  and  bearing  of  the  Mexican  chai 
hitherto  been  aocustomed  to  entertain.      It  is  almost  heart-rendii 
accounts  of  the  effect  produoed,  in  the  di£Eerent  engagements,  by- 
the  American  ^'^^^l     '  "^^^  'horrors  and  ravages  of  wap,»  the 
gerves/are  portrayed  m  tl^s  with  a  vividness  which  onr  style  <rf  c 
allows.    The  peculiar  delicacy  of  feeling,  and  the  refined  senability 
nine  in  the  Mexican  eharaot«r,  have  given  them  a  preSminenoe      - 
gpecies  of  ^e^^^^^!^     v^^  X'emember  readhig  at  the  tame  of  tfcfcji 
terey  by  Amfudi^i  ^^t^^for©  aigningthe  artidea  of  eapitnladon 
hour,  bolding  the  pen  ftfW^^^j^^^^^^j^^^^  ^^^^  ^ 

depicted  in  lus  oottntenaji<.o,  and  the  perspiration  rolling  \n  hi 


-h,.^j:^"^^te 


1850.}  LUerary  Notieei.  159 


Thk  Bud*  or  Abistophajibb  :  wxtb  Notbs  anb  a  Hbtbxcal  Tablc.   Bt  C  C.  Fbltoiv,  Eliot 
Pnfenor  of  Greek  Llteralare  1b  Harvard  OoUeffa.   Ib  one  volume,   pp.  fSA.  GBmbridge:  Johk 

BABTI.BTT. 

Wb  are  glad  to  welcome  a  ToluiDe  which  uidb  to  throw  light  upon  the  productions 
of  filawinol  antiquity.  Whatever  may  he  aud  of  the  oomparatiTe  advantages  of  a  lib- 
tnL  education  over  one  more  purely  practical,  it  is  undeniable  that  in  certain  depart- 
ments the  ancie&ts  are  vnapproaohable  by  the  modems.  Is  it  not,  at  any  rate, 
desnable  to  form  an  intimato  aoquaintanoe  with  that  wherein  our  inferiority  is  ad- 
mitted by  a  kind  of  universal  consent  7  Under  this  head  may  be  ranked  the  '  Tragedy' 
and  '  Old  CVmiedy'  of  the  Greeks.  Of  the  latter,  the  works  of  but  one  writer  have 
been  preserved;  and  it  is  the  one  whose  name  is  placed  at  the  head  of  this  notice. 
Ajubtopbanks  is  supposed  to  have  written  more  than  sixt^  comedies.  Of  these,  but 
eleven  are  extant ;  and  from  the  elsven,  Profesaor  Felton  has  selected  that  of  the 
*  Birds'  as  the  subgeot  for  oritical  annotation.  A&isrorHAHEs  was  certainly  one  of  the 
^  beat  abased'  poets  of  his  age.  He  was  content,  for  the  sake  of  a  controlling  popu- 
larity with  his  countrymen,  to  be  caQed  *  The  Buffoon,' '  The  Jester,'  '  a  low  sensua- 
list,'and  the  like;  and  we  are  not  disposed  to  deny,  in  s(»ne  respects,  his  claim  to  these 
ttties.  But,  for  all  this,  we^d  Pulto  paying  the  highest  compliment  to  his  mnse^ 
and  it  is  admitted  on  aD  sides  that  he  was  a  true  patriot,  and  used  his  influence  for  the 
best  interests  of  Greece.  As  a  writer,  his  style  is  fimltlesB*,  hislanguage  is  polished  to 
the  last  degree ;  and  the  entire  disposition  of  his  pieces  is  conformable  to  the  highest 
artistical  effect.  Professor  Fklton  truly  remarks,  that  ^  The  Birds  of  AaisToraAMEs' 
has  always  been  regarded  as  one  of  his  most  delightfiil  pieces.'  Although  there  is  noth- 
ing in  common  between  it  and  the  Midsummer's  Night  Dream,  yet  in  both,  the  reader 
is  conveyed  avniy  from  earth  as  it  is,  into  some  other  world,  and  into  some  other  life. 
Here  consists  the  great  beauty  of  this  play.  If  Hooaetb  thought  it  best  to  teach  the 
natpre  of  perspective  by  showing  what  it  is  not,  Ajustophaiies  has  taught  us  to  ap- 
pf^date  many  of  the  ridiculous  absurdities  of  life  by  placing  them  before  us  from 
another  point  of  observation.  To  attempt  a  prose  abstract  of  the  piece  would  be 
as  absurd  as  to  carry  about  a  single  brick  to  give  an  idea  of  the  beauty  and  structure  of 
a  picturesque  edifice.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  two  Athenians,  weary  of  the  world,  and 
hearing  of  the  tame  of  Epops,  king  of  the  birds^  undertake  a  journey  to  his  court, 
with  a  jay  and  a  raven  for  pilots.  They  arrive  at  their  place  of  destination,  but  are 
at  first  in  great  danger  of  being  torn  in  pieces  by  the  iHrds,  who  believe  them  to  be 
enemies.  Our  travellers  escape  the  doom  by  eloquentiy  descanting  upon  the  prefimi- 
nence  of  the  feathered  tribe  over  all  other  creatures,  and  advise  the  birda  to  bnild  a 
city  and  assert  their  rights.  Cloudcook^otown  is  thus  erected,  and  even  the  old  gods 
of  Olympus  are  walled  out  of  it.  Then  follows  most  ludicrous  accounts  of  the 
affikirs  of  the  government,  theb  reception  of  strangers,  and  so  forth.  We  cannot  agree 
with  many  critics  that  the  poet  had  any  special  drift  in  the  phm  of  this  pieoe.  It 
seems  to  be  rather  the  free  flowing  of  aflmcy  let  loose  to  play  ita  pranks,  and  hitting  to 
&e  right  and  left,  vrithont  aun  or  object.  This  hi  no  way  detractsfrom  the  merit  of 
the  work,  in  the  light  we  have  surveyed  it.  And  sfaice  it  is,  aa  Professor  Fbltok 
justly  remarks, '  comparatively  free  frx>m  the  objectionable  license  which  deform  his 
other  plays,'  the  seleetian  of  it  for  the  purpose  of  critical  annotation  will  be  univer- 
sally approved. 

We  are  satisfied  with  the  editor's  part  of  the  performanoe,  aa  evidenced  by  the  vo- 

TOL.   ZZZT.  10 


160  lAUrary  NoHces.  [February, 

Inme  before  job.  He  haa  exhibited  a  great  deal  of  reaeardi,  to  ahow  l2iat  the  poet's 
peculiar  aeleetioii  of  birda  waa  not  made  at  random,  but  had  reference  to  a  partioolar 
pnrpoae  hi  art  This  aeema  to  be  a  new  taak,  and  it  haa  been  performed  with  aaaidmty. 
Indeed  the  notes,  which  occupy  more  than  one  half  of  the  volume,  cannot  M  to  ren- 
der the  piece  attractiye  to  the  student  and  to  &e  claasical  scholar.  In  two  or  three  in- 
stancee  we  are  disposed  to  difier  with  the  learned  Professor  m  the  constming  of  a 
word,  or  the  peculiar  rendermg  of  some  part  of  a  sentence;  but  it  seems  to  us  that  this 
would  be  entirely  out  of  place  here.  For  we  find  that  he  haa  entered  heart  and  sod 
upon  his  labor,  and  haa  imbibed  the  true  spirit  of  the  Comedy ;  a  crowning  and  signal, 
if  not  the  only,  object  of  an  annotator ;  and  we  lesre  it  to  those  hyper-critics  who  are 
always  mousing  after  yerbal  inacourades,  and  dragging  forward,  with  an  air  of  ill-oon- 
oealed  triumph,  a  ««,  ^p,  or  ^,  that  haa  been  improperiy  construed,  or  aHxigeliier 
overlooked,  to  pick  out  the  few  trifling  errors  which  obtun  in  Professor  Fxlton's 
notes ;  for  without  a  few  sheaves  left  to  these  bustUng  gleaners, '  Otbbllo*s  oocnpatkni' 
would  be  emphaticaUy '  gone'  to  them.  We  ahould  not  forget  to  add,  that  a  table  of 
rhythms  and  metres  are  attached  to  the  notes,  which  the  student  win  espedaUy  vatae ; 
and  we  beg  to  express  our  individual  thanks  to  Phifessor  Fblton,  for  reviving  in  our 
own  mind  the  lingering  love  of  the  classics,  by  presenting,  in  so  attractive  a  shape,  a 
production  which  remains  to  this  day  without  a  rival. 


HirroEY  or  Bpakisr  Litseaturi.   By  Gkoesb  Ticnrot.   In  three  volumes.   Kev-Toik:  Hae- 
na  AiTD  Beotbbes. 

Tress  three  large  and  superbly-printed  vdumes  are  a  monument  of  honor  to  their 
author.  It  is  not  unknown  to  many  of  our  readers  that  this  accomplished  schohir, 
while  yet  a  young  man,  passed  many  years  in  Burope,  in  the  study  of  the  languages 
and  literatures  of  the  difierent  countries,  on  their  own  soil.  He  prosecuted  his  re- 
searches in  the  German  at  6/ittingen,  and  in  Paris  explored,  under  able  teachers,  the 
^Ufferent  romance  dialects,  the  medium  of  the  beautiful  Provencal.  '  During  his  re- 
sidence in  Spain,'  says  the  North  American  Review,  *  he  perfiected  himself  in  the  CSaa- 
tilian,  and  established  an  intimacy  with  her  most  eminent  scholars,  who  aided  him  in 
the  collection  of  rare  books  and  manuscripts,  to  which  he  assidnously  devoted  himsdf. 
It  is  a  proof  of  the  literary  consideration  which,  even  at  that  early  age,  he  had  ob- 
tained in  the  society  of  Madrid,  that  he  was  elected  a  corresponding  member  of  the 
Jloyal  Academy  of  History.  His  acqnisitiona  in  the  early  literature  of  modem  En- 
rope  attracted  the  notice  of  Sir  Waltse  Scott,  who,  in  a  letter  to  Southsv,  printed 
n  Locxbaet's  life,  q>eaka  of  his  young  guest  (Mr.  Ticknoe  was  then  at  Abbots- 
<brd)  as '  a  wonderftil  fellow  for  romantic  lore.'  The  work  before  us  is  divided  into 
three  great  periods,  having  reference  to  time  rather  than  to  any  philosophicsl  ar- 
rangement The  first  great  division  eoibraces  the  whole  time  ttcm  the  earliest  vp- 
vtearance  of  a  written  document  m  the  Castilian  to  the  commencement  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  a  period  of  nearly  four  hundred  years.  Under  this  division  is  included  the 
poem  of  the  Qd,  with  a  review  of  several  other  poems,  of  the  thirteenth  and  some  of 
ihe  fourteenth  centuries.  Mr.  Ticknoe  distributes  the  productions  which  occupy  the 
greater  part  of  the  remainder  of  his  first  period  into  four  great  classes :  ballada, 
sihronicles,  romances  of  chivalry,  and  the  drama.  The  chronicles  furnish  a  fruitful 
«ind  mainly  an  unexplored  store  of  mat6riel,  dbtunaUe  only  from  the  rarest  sooroes. 


1850.]  Literary  Notices.  161 

Tbe  second  great  divanon  ooven  the  golden  age,  at  h  is  generaUy  oonsidered,  of 
GastOian  litentare ;  that  in  which  it  submitted  in  some  degree  to  the  influences  of  the 
adrandng  European  oiviliation,  and  which  witnessed  those  great  prodnctionB  of  ge- 
nius that  have  had  the  widert  reputation  wHh  foreigners ;  the  age  of  CBETANTts,  of 
Laps  ]>b  Vioa,  and  of  Cauiseon,  all  of  whom  are  elaborately  considered  and  illus- 
trated.  The  last  of  the  three  great  divisions  into  which  Mr.  Ticxnor  has  distributed 
his  work,  extends  from  the  accession  of  the  Bourbon  dynasty,  in  1700,  to  some  way 
into  the  present  century.  Our  space  does  not  permit  us  to  quote,  as  we  could  wish  to 
do,  from  the  pages  before  us ;  nor  does  this  notice,  com|nled  rather  than  written,  af- 
ford o<her  than  an  iDustration  of  the  wide  field  occupied  by  our  author.  How  that 
fidd  is  occupied,  however,  is  well  set  forth  in  an  admirable  article  in  the  last  ^  North 
American  Review  ;'  to  which  standard  critical  authority,  and  more  especially  to  the 
volumes  themselves,  we  take  pleasure  in  calling  the  attention  of  all  who  honor  those 
who  are  conferring  honor  upon  American  literature. 


Tn  Ldsutt  or  Rons :  a  Hmtokt:  with  in  mwtorical  Aoeooat  of  the  Libertj  of  Andeni  N*- 
HoM.   Bj  Samusl  EuoT.   Naw-Yofffc:  6.  P.PcTHAM. 

Wb  presome  that  most  readers  of  history  have  felt  the  want  of  a  lucid,  graphic 
and  connected  history  of  the  progress  of  liberty  among  mankind,  from  the  earliest 
ages  to  the  present  tune.  Connected  as  it  is  with  the  general  history  of  nations,  its 
prominent  ftcts  and  leadmg  features  are  fimiiliar  to  all  enlightened  scholars ;  but  a 
brilliant  narrative  of  those  Jbcti,  and  an  intelligent  contrast  of  those  features,  are 
much  needed,  both  for  the  popular  and  the  philosophic  mind.  Ordinary  history  gives 
us  the  striking  events  that  have  occurred  in  the  rise,  progress,  and  downM  of  nations, 
often  with  considerable  minuteness  of  detail,  and  paints  with  sufficient  accuracy  the 
characters  of  the  principal  actors ;  but  it  is  generally  very  meagre  in  its  description  of 
the  social  condition  of  the  race  at  different  periods  of  time,  and  seldom  if  ever  con- 
trasts that  of  one  period  with  another,  so  as  to  mark  the  deterioration  or  the  improve- 
ment, or  gire  any  dear  comparison  of  its  various  relations  in  ancient  and  modem 
times.  Most  especially  is  this  true  in  regard  to  dvil  liberty,  the  leading  element  in 
the  social  condition  of  our  race ;  and  we  venture  to  assert,  that  very  few,  if  any,  of 
those  most  thoroughly  versed  in  history,  possess  an  accurate  conception  of  the  actual 
oondition  of  dvil  fiberty  among  the  principal  nations  of  antiquity,  or  could  point  out 
the  progress,  if  any,  that  has  been  made  therein  m  modem  times.  Yet  meagre  as  are 
the  materials  for  forming  such  a  history ;  remiss  as  historians  have  been  in  describ- 
mg  the  social  condition  of  the  ages  about  which  they  write ;  prolix  as  they  are  in  de- 
tailing events,  and  brief,  and  often  silent,  as  they  are  in  regard  to  consequences ;  in 
diort,  UtUe  as  is  the  philosophic  spirit  they  manifest,  still  enoogh  may  be  gleaned  by  a 
oareAil  observer  and  diligent  scholar,  to  fin  the  void  to  which  we  have  alluded,  and 
ftmish  a  tolerably  dear  view  of  the  progress  which  mankind  have  made  in  civil  liberty. 
The  writer  who  would  undertake  to  compose  such  a  history,  should  come  up  to  the 
work  deeply  imbued  with  a  philosophical  spbit,  thoroughly  penetrated  with  an  enthu- 
siastic k)ve  of  our  race,  and  an  abiding  confidence  in  man,"  profoundly  acquainted  with 
the  civQ  institutions  of  ancient  and  modem  times,  and  happily  combining  a  briffiant 
unagination  with  profound  reflection,  and  much  theoretical  study  with  great  practical 
•bservatioD. 


162  Literary  Notices,  [February, 

That  the  writer  of  the  work  mentioned  at  the  head  of  this  notioe  ia  deficient  in  many 
of  these  eminent  and  essential  qualities,  must  be  admitted ;  although  it  cannot  be  de- 
nied that  he  evinces  great  learning,  inde&tigable  industry,  and  a  commendable  tone  of 
moral  and  religious  sentiment.    His  enthusiasm  is  absorbed  in  the  researches  and 
studies  of  the  closet,  whose  hot-house  air  has  nearly  dried  up  all  his  human  sympa- 
thies.   His  thoughts  are  crude,  immature,  often  feeble,  and  generally  vague  when  his 
own,  and  when  borrowed  from  others,  are  thrown  together  without  system  or  con- 
nection, and  consequently  convey  no  definite  impressions,  and  give  no  satisfiictory  in- 
formation.   His  style  is  still  more  objectionable,  not  even  conveying  his  thoughts, 
such  as  they  are,  clearly  or  in  an  agreeable  manner.    Aiming  to  be  allusive,  sugges- 
tive and  condensed,  it  is  only  obscure  ^  it  apes  the  antitheses  of  Macaulkt,  without  hia 
brilUancy  and  lucidity ;  he  imitates  the  majesty  of  Gibbon,  but  attains  only  hia  tor- 
gidity ;  and  it  attempts  the  condensation  of  Tacitus,  without  reaching  his  vigor  and 
clearness.    The  fact  is,  he  is  not  an  original,  clear-headed  thinker,  and  such  an  one 
never  can  express  himself  plainly  and  vigorously.    He  deals  chiefly  with  the  thoughts 
of  others,  and  unfortunately  handles  them  in  a  bungling  manner,  without  method  and 
without  consistency,  and  often  spoils  in  his  pages  what  waa  beautiful  m  the  original  text. 
His  obscurity,  however,  amounting  at  times  to  utter  unintelligibility,  is  his  great  fiiult, 
and  will  render  the  really  valuable  mass  of  &cts  which  he  has  collected  entirely  uae- 
less,  because  nobody  will  feci  inclined  to  grope  after  them  in  the  darkneas  with  whksh 
they  are  surrounded.    Possibly  this  condemnation  may  be  thought  somewhat  aevere, 
but  we  are  sure  it  will  be  considered  as  sustained,  by  any  one  who  will  fix  his  atlention 
upon  almost  any  page  of  the  book,  taken  at  random.    Sufficient  quotations  have  been 
made  by  other  journals  to  put  this  fad  beyond  a  doubt,  and  to  justify  all  we  have  said. 
There  is  another  great  defect  in  the  work,  which  almost  wholly  defeats  its  object  as 
a  history  of  liberty.    Passing  over  the  chapters  on  the  liberty  of  nations  more  ancient 
than  Rome,  upon  which  perhaps  it  would  hardly  be  fair  to  comment,  since  the  author 
says  they  are  only  introductory  to  a  more  thorough  iiew  of  the  subject,  we  will  take 
up  the  history  of  the  liberty  of  Rome,  which  he  professes  to  have  elaborated  to  comple- 
tion.   So  ijsir  from  giving  the  reader  any  dear  ideas  of  the  actual  condition  of  civil 
liberty  in  Rome,  at  the  different  periods  of  her  history,  or  any  conception  of  the  pro- 
gress it  made,  or  the  decline  it  experienced,  within  those  periods,  or  any  view  of  the 
civil  institutions  of  the  government,  or  any  contrast  of  those  institutions,  in  their 
bearing  on  civil  liberty,  with  those  of  modem  times,  it  is  merely  an  obscure  nar- 
rative, well  sustained  by  learned  references,  of  the  political  anil  military  events 
of  the  republic  and  empire  •,  mentioning,  to  be  sure,  their  effect  on  liberty  in  gene- 
ral terms,  rejoicing  in  such  aa  tended  to  promote  it,  and  lamenting  such  as  impaired 
and  finally  extinguished  it.    He  details  the  struggles  between  the  patricians  and 
plebeians,  but  he  gives  us  no  fbll  and  well-digested  information  aa  to  their  relative 
rights  and  privileges ;  he  narrates  the  events  that  led  to  the  downfall  of  liberty,  and 
mourns  over  it  with  a  proper  spirit  *,  but  he  leaves  you  with  no  definite  ideas  of  what 
was  lost  thereby ;  so  that  at  the  end  of  his  book  you  rise  from  its  peruaid  without  hav- 
ing formed  imy  notion  as  to  what  rights  a  Roman  citizen  possessed  when  liberty  was  at 
its  height,  or  what  he  was  deprived  of  at  its  downfall.    In  short,  you  gain  but  littie  if  any 
more  information  in  regard  to  civil  liberty  in  Rome  from  Mr.  Eliot's  work  than  is  ob* 
tainable  from  the  ordinary  histories  of  that  people.    What  the  world  wants  on  this  sub- 
ject is  a  graphic  narrative,  in  a  clear  and  brilliant  style,  of  the  historical  events  having 
a  bearing  on  civil  liberty  ;  a  view  of  the  rights  of  the  citizen  and  his  social  condition, 
at  different  periods  *,  a  contrast  of  those  rights  and  that  condition  within  those  periods 


r 


1850.]  LUerary  NoUees.  163 

ahonring  the  progren  or  dediiie  of  liberty ;  and  a  oompannm  of  thoae  rigbts  and  that 
eondition  with  the  nme  enjoyed  by  the  meet  firee  and  enlightened  of  modem  nations. 
Here  ia  a  field  for  a  tmly  phQoaophio  historian  and  philuithropitt ;  bat  it  requires  a 
dear  hsadanda  warm  heart, as  well  as  vastleaming  and Inde&tigable  researoh.  Mr. 
Euot'b  work  falls  Tery  fiff  short  of  oconpying  this  grand  field ;  and  what  is  more, 
what  he  has  done  proves  that  he  has  not  the  capacity  to  occupy  it.  AH  the  qoalifica- 
tions  he  can  bring  to  the  task  are  learning  and  industry ;  he  lacks  the  clear  head,  the 
enthosiastio  soul,  the  philosophic  spirit,  the  vigorous  imagination,  and  the  practical 
knowledge  of  mankind.  Compare  his  work  with  Gunor's  *  History  of  Civilization,' 
a  kindred  subject,  and  observe  how  differently  they  are  treated  by  the  two  authors. 
The  one  is  a  vivid  picture,  in  clear  and  beautiftd  colors,  making  a  lastfaig  impression ; 
the  other  is  for  the  most  part,  an  obscure  and  doady  outline,  possessing  no  distinct  fea- 
tares,  and  making  no  imprenion  but  that  of  '  darkness  visible.' 


T^B  Womu  or  EooAa  Allaw  Fob:  with  Nodoes  of  his  Life  aadGeniiu.  By  N.  P.Wilui, 
JAHBt  RuuBLi,  LowBLL,  Bwl  Rvrvf  W.  Geiiwold.  Io  two  vdmnoB.  pp.  978.  New-York  : 
J.  8.  Rbdpibld)  Ointon  HalL 

Tarn  inteOectnal  character  of  the  late  Mr.  Poi  may  now  be  examined,  and  its 
qnafitaea  decided  upon,  without  any  of  those  disadvantages  whibh  his  personal  conduct 
eonsCantly  presented  as  barriers  to  the  fiiur  appreciation  of  his  genius.  In  his  habits 
he  was  very  much  like  Richard  Savaob,  as  that  author  is  presented  to  us  in  the 
pages  of  Johnson,  but  he  had  few  of  the  apologies  which  could  be  urged  by  the 
Aig^h  vagabond.  He  was,  we  have  been  led  to  believe,  notwithstanding  Mr. 
Wiu.i8*s  elaborate  vindication  of  hfan,  mainly  destitute  of  moral  or  reUgious  prin- 
dpie :  certain  it  is,  that  the  most  careful  student  of  his  works  will  search  in  them 
vainly  for  elevated  and  generous  sentiment  But  very  few  of  our  American  authors 
have  poasessed  more  of  the  creative  energy  or  of  the  oonstmctive  Acuity ;  and  the 
remarkable  ingenuity,  compactness  and  rimplicity  with  which  he  wrought  out  the 
gloomy  forms  of  his  ima^ation ;  the  distinctness,  completeness  and  force  of  his 
metaphysical  analyses  and  illustrations  ^  and  the  general  careful  and  artist-like  finish 
of  his  productions,  may  secure  for  them  an  enduring  and  not  unenviable  fiune. 

Although  he  poaMSsed  a  vivid  imagination,  and  was  in  many  instances  a  creator 
in  literature,  he  was  quite  as  firequently  a  plagiarist  of  both  thoughti  and  forms. 
The  story  of  *  The  Pit  and  the  Pendulum,'  in  the  first  of  the  volumes  before  us,  for 
instanoe,  is  a  daring  theft  and  combination  of  two  tales ;  one  in  Blackwood,  under 
the  titie  of  '  Yivenado,  or  Italian  Vengeanoe,'  and  the  ether,  a  tragic  scene  by  the 
German,  Hoffmann.  Yrom  the  Blackwood  writer  Mr,  Pes  took  the  gradually  de- 
creasing dungeon,  and  firom  Hoffman,  the  Pendulum,  pointed  with  an  instrument  of 
tortnre.  This  machinery  constitutes  his  whole  nouvelette.  His  charge  of  plagiarism 
against  PhifSBSBor  Longfsllow,  we  happen  to  know,  was  so  fidse  that  the  plagiarism 
was  on  the  other  side.  Of  his  '  Marginalia'  many  of  the  best  paragraphs  were  bor- 
rowed, with  scarcely  the  change  of  a  syllable.  Mr.  Pos^s  best  works  are  those  tales, 
ao  minute  in  detail,  and  vraisemblant  in  action,  as  to  have  been  often  supposed  to  be 
narratives  of  real  experience.  Of  these  *  The  Mystery  of  Mart  Roobt,'  *  Mr. 
Valdemar's  Case,'  <  Descent  into  the  Mafilstrom,'  and  <  The  Purloined  Letter,'  are 
examples.    His  poems  are  commonly  highly  imaginative,  and  illustrative  of  a  pro- 


164  Literary  NoHees, 


found  and  mteUectaal  melancholy.  Hia  orHiounia  are  acate  and  ingenioiu,  in  aome 
respects ;  bnt  for  the  most  part  are  carping,  and  entirely  wortUess,  for  any  judg- 
ments they  embrace  of  books  or  authors  $  he  was  so  much  the  creatore  of  kindly  or 
malicious  prejudice,  or  so  incapable  of  gohig  beyond  the  range  of  the  grammarian. 
The  volumes  are  handsomely  printed,  and  embellished  widi  an  excellent  portrait  of 
the  author. 


Saimt  Lb«bb,  oa  ras  TsaKADt  or  Ltwt,   In  one  rotunie.   New^Yofk :  Gboksk  P.  PvnUK. 
SeooulNoaoe. 

A  sKcon D  edition  of  the  admirable  metaphysioal  romance  of  *  8t,  Leger^^  which 
the  accomplished  author  did  us  the  honor  to  present  originally  to  the  public  through 
the  pages  of  the  KNicKBasocsaa,  has  been  issued  separately  m  London,  by  Ricbaia 
Bbntlbt,  *  Publisher  in  Ordmary  to  Her  Majbvtt,'  and  in  New-York,  by  PimfiJf, 
whose  elegant  editions  are  creating  for  him  a  reputation  that  promises  to  gire  him 
rank  with  Aldus.  We  are  in  the  habit,  as  our  readers  will  bear  us  witness,  of  pre- 
senting them  our  own  opinions  upon  books  and  authors ;  but  in  the  present  instanoe, 
lest  we  should  have  been  suspected  of  an  undue  partiality  lor  a  work  which  has 
been  for  some  years  a  portion  of  our  own  existence  and  reputation,  we  prefiar  to  quote 
the  observations  upon  '  The  St  Leger  Papers*  by  the  very  able  critical  editor  of  the 
'  TVtittne' daily  journal,  who  in  taste,  phflosofJiioal  culture,  and  general  ability,  is  ad- 
mitted on  all  hands  to  be  of  the  first  order  of  men  in  our  times : 

'  Jin»aiKo  thU  unique  oompositloD  by  the  ordinaxy  inlet  of  novel'writiiigt  most  rasden  would 
proDOtmoe  It  barren  of  incident,  and  wltboat  a  raffldenOy  deretoped  ptot  to  glre  it  the  excltcmeiit 
demanded  In  a  voik  of  the  imagination.  The  eame  thing  may  be  aald  of  Wilbblm  Mbistbe  and 
of  many  of  the  moat  admlmble  prodnottons  of  Bicbtbb.  In  troth,  Br.  Lbgbe  is  ahnoet  without  a 
prototype  In  Engllah  Uteratnro,  and  beara  the  moat  decided  Impraaeion  of  the  Gennan  cottivaUon  in 
which  it  hMiita  origin.  It  la  not  to  be  read  for  the  Iniereat  of  the  alory,  but  aa  an  aeote  and  anhtle 
delineation  of  the  woridnga  of  a  deep  inner  experience,  and  the  rich  bloaaoming  out  of  dmiaeler 
omid  the  agitattona  of  a  akepttcal  and  Ihnnenting  age.  In  thia  point  of  view  it  la  a  woik  of  origi- 
nality and  undeniable  power.  The  pervading  tone  la  too  aombre  for  the  popular  taate ;  the  move- 
ment la  of  too  qolet  and  subdued  a  character;  the  ontlinea  are  not  Bhaded  off  with  aaffldentpreclalont 
but  run  together  In  a  certain  dim,confoaed  myatidam;  and  theaeqnelleavea  oa  In  the  eame  dreamy 
uncertainty  which  maria  the  evolution  of  the  plot  On  thia  account  we  do  not  predict  that  St.  LBasa 
win  become  a  fovorite  with  the  general  maaa  of  readera.  Bnt  it  hM  fkr  too  much  vigor  of  tfaoughty 
artlatio  and  delicate  analyaia  of  charuler,  and  freah  and  bold  pahiting  of  the  aol)||eetlve  actloii  of  the 
atronger  paaalona,  not  to  compensate  for  the  want  of  aenauous  ontwardneaa  of  deecriptlon  and  thfr 
abaenoe  of  dramatic  oontraats  and  aurpriaea.  The  style  la  exquisltaly  adapted  to  the  subject  There 
are  paasagea  of  rhythmical,  melodious  sweetiiieea,  which  belong  to  the  best  days  of  Engllah  prooe,  and 
reveal  both  the  ear  and  the  hand  of  a  true  artlat  in  this  style  of  composition.  Many  portloaa  are 
Itaiishedwith  the  delicate  nicety  of  a  miniatureiMlntlng,  and  would  be  aelectedby  the  reader  of 
taate  for  the  chann  of  their  expreaaloo,  without  reference  to  the  profound  thought  which  theyalmoat 
Invariably  embody.  Some  of  the  episodes  are  in  the  hij^ieat  style  of  tragic  power,  and  show  that 
the  preTBiling  quiet  course  of  the  narrative  la  not  to  be  aacribed  to  any  tameneaa  or  poverty  of  in- 
vention In  the  author.  We  acknowledge  a  peculiar  satisfootion  in  notidng  a  wotfc  of  this  dianclar 
from  the  American  preas,  in  the  Ihahlooable  rage  Ibr  flashy  and  ex^jgerated  fletitioua  literature.  We 
reaped  the  courage  and  Independence  of  the  author,  who,  realatii^  all  the  aeduotiona  of  a  aolay, 
ephemeral  reputation,  reliea  Ibr  aneoeea  on  the  depth  and  truthfolness  of  his  pictures  of  the  hmnan 
heart,  and  his  wdrd  power  In  untwisting  the  tangled  thread  of  human  deatlny.  Theee  threada  of 
life,  it  is  true,  be  has  not  woven  Into  a  n^  of  state,  a  wedding  gaiment,  or  even  a  workman^  frock. 
He  haa  foniished  no  additiooa  to  the  purple  raiment  in  which  Hukahitt  will  amy  heraelf  on  the 
day  of  her  inauguration.  But  we  are  thankftal  to  the  ailk^orm  which  oonveiis  the  leavea  of  the 
mulberry  into  shining  fllamenta,  and  do  not  complain  that  it  leaves  an  unflnlahed  task  for  the  spindle 
and  the  loom.' 


EDITOR'S    TABLE. 


CoLLBCTiNG  CoNTUBUTiONB  IN  Ceurohxb.  —  We  heBTtOy  sympathiie  with  oar 
new  oorrespondeni,  Mr.  Octayiub  DAm»,  in  the  mortifying  dilemniBs  in  whioh  he 
WBB  placed  by  a  ooBtom  ^  better  honored  in  the  breach  than  in  the  obeerranoe.'  He 
derelopa,  in  ^  The  Trial§  of  a  Timid  OmtUmany^  an  annqyanoe  which  ia  bnt  too 
oommon,  and  the  good  reanlting  from  the  aole  advantage  of  which  might  be  com- 
pBBBed  in  a  manner  ftr  Icbb  exceptionable.  There  are  chnrohea  in  thb  town  where 
coUeotionB  are  taken  np  bat  once  a  year ;  and  we  Tenture^to  say,  that  while  theae 
BocietieB  are  far  from  being  the  richeat,  their  contribationa  are  aa  large  aa  thoae  of  any 
kindred  ohnrcheB  in  the  metropolis.  Bnt  hear  Mr.  DArraa :  '  I  know  not  what  on- 
fortunate  Bofferer  first  Bought  relief  from  hia  grievances  by  nnfolding  them  to  the 
condoctor  of  a  literazy  publication.  Certam  it  is,  however,  that  the  ouakom  has  the 
sanction  of  high  anth<Mrity  and  long-established  uaage ;  and  I  desire  to  lift  up  my 
voice  against  the  present  mode  of  collecting  contributions  in  churches,  and  to  set 
forth  my  humble  experience  in  the  matter. 

^  I  am  a  young  man  from  the  country,  whose  exceedingly  moderate  income  impe- 
ratively demandk  the  strictest  economy,  but  whose  mortal  fear  of  even  the  suspidon 
of  meanness  often  leads  to  a  bounteonsneas  of  charity  which  is  rapidly  hurrying  me 
into  a  Btate  of  hopeless  insolvency.  It  is  my  nusfortune  to  be  of  an  extremely  timid 
and  aenaitivc  disporition,  which  prevents  me  fi^m  exercising  even  a  moderate  d^^ree 
of  independent  action,  and  leaves  me  entirely  at  the  mercy  of  what  may  hi^>pen  to 
be  the  prevalent  opinion.  When  I  tell  you  that  I  escort  my  Umdlady's  pretty  black- 
eyed  daughter  to  church  every  Sunday ;  that  the  old  lady  is,  I  verily  believe,  par- 
tally  insane  on  the  subject  of  distant  miasionB ;  and  that  our  church  is  fiivored  with 
the  elocutionary  exertions  of  all  the  manifold  itinerant  aupplicators  in  their  behalf; 
you  will  readily  conceive  my  position  to  be  a  trying  one.  Imagine  me,  after  the  gen- 
tieman  in  the  pulpit  has  occupied  his  tedious  hour  in  alternately  coaxing  and  fright- 
ening his  hearers  into  a  donatorial  frame  of  mind,  unhi^pily  seated  in  the  midst  of  a 
score  of  reBtlees  maiden  ladies,  who  with  eager  eyes  note  and  comment  upon  each 
gentleman's  gift.  The  music  plays  a  softiy-perBuaaive  lur,  the  deacons  flourish  the 
fatal  contribution-boxes,  that  have  so  deplorably  reduced  my  finances ;  and  I  sit  in 
a  frightful  Btate  of  nervous  exdtement.  Soon  one  of  the  collectors  reaches  our  pew, 
and  then  comes  the  awful  moment !  My  landlady  and  Black-Eyes  look  as  if  they 
expected  me  to  take  out  a  handful  of  gold  eagles ;  the  old  ladies  wriggle  and  t^^t 
themaelveB  into  a  position  to  estimate  my  generosity ;  I  feel  that  the  m}Tiads  of  eyes 


166  Edkof's  Table.  [February, 

which  myariably  follow  the  progrew  of  a  oonlribntion-boK  are  fixed  upon  me ;  and 
though  pecaniary  rain  stares  me  ftill  in  the  &oe,  I  cannot  help  giving  freely.  I  have 
praotaaed  various  iogenioiu  expedients  to  avoid  this  infliction,  hnt  all  have  been  nn- 
suocessfiil.  Once  I  tried  to  dodge  the  oontrihutaon-Sabbaths  by  fdgning  mckness ; 
bnt  my  iHness  was  too  glaringly  periodical  to  escape  snapioion,  and  I  had  to  give  it 
np.  Then  I  tried  the  principle  of  the  widow's-mite,  and  alily  slipped  a  smooth  ten- 
cent  piece  into  the  box ;  bnt  while  we  were  crowding  out  through  the  aisle,  I  over- 
heard a  little  hawk-eyed  old  lady  say  to  Black-Eyes,  *■  What  a  stingy  creature  that 
awkward  young  man  who  sits  in  your  pew  is!  He  only  gave  Mr.  PEErrniAir  a 
shilling  V  I  thought  I  should  have  sunk  through  the  floor,  and  have  never  dared  to 
economise  in  that  way  since. 

*  Upon  my  word,  Sir,  Icannot  tell  where  all  this  win  end.  It  is  impossible  for  me 
to  survive  much  longer  in  this  pecuniary  plight,  for  I  have  actually  been  obliged  to 
exchange  several  necessary  articles  of  value  to  obtain  funds  for  these  exigendes,  and 
often  at  an  unpleasant  discount  from  their  real  worth.  A  &vorite  flute  was  sacrificed 
for  the  especial  benefit  of  the  Asiatic  misoon ;  a  handsome  new  over-ooet  was  dis- 
posed of  to  an  old-clothes'  man  to  aid  in  purchasing  supplies  for  the  station  in  the 
South  Sea  Islands ;  and  I  humbly  trust  that  the  infimt  Kickapoos,  whose  education  is 
to  be  advanced  by  the  pawning  of  my  ruby  shirt-pin,  wOI  one  day  appreciate  the  try- 
ing sacrifice  I  have  made  on  their  account  I  have,  sorely  against  my  inclination,  and 
with  the  fear  of  my  unpaid  tulor's  biSs  before  my  eyes,  liberally  contributed  toward 
the  moral  improvement  of  the  natives  of  every  ima^able  part  of  the  known  globe. 
I  have  been  in  turn  victimized  by  the  Chinamen,  the  Sandwich-Uanders,  the  Aff- 
ghanistans,  the  Kamskstichkans,  the  benighted  remdenti  of  Timbnctoo,  and  other  in- 
habitants of  various  imdvilized  countries.  Only  last  Sabbath  I  responded  so  freely 
to  a  call  in  behalf  of  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  Fejee  Islands,  that  I  was 
obliged  to  obtain  a  loan  from  my  uncle  the  next  day  upon  some  valuable  personal 
•eourities,  at  a  rate  of  interest  that  would  make  usury-haters  stare.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  divers  unfortunate  persons  often  find  themselves  in  a  similar  predicament ; 
and  I  think  it  high  time  that  the  disagreeable  practice  of  thrusting  a  contribution-box 
under  one's  nose,  like  a  highwayman's  pistol,  should  be  abolished,  and  some  method 
of  collection  adopted  which  would  not  harrow  up  the  feelings  of  persons  whose  purses 
do  not  possess  the  delightful  peculiarity  which  distinguished  the  widow's  cruise. 

^  It  is  very  easy  to  talk  about  the  exercise  of  ^  moral  courage'  upon  such  occasions ; 
but  the  conflict  in  a  nervous  gentleman's  bosom  between  his  duty  to  his  creditors 
and  the  dread  of  being  pronoimced  '  mean,'  is  not  &vorable  to  an  extremely  devo- 
tional frame  of  mind.  I  trust  that,  among  the  reformers  of  the  age,  some  friend  of 
humanity  will  be  found  who  can  devise  a  way  of  giving  alms  more  in  unison  with 
that  unobtrusive  charity  which  would  not  that  the  right  hand  should  know  what  tito 
left  hand  doeth,  and  which  would  remove  the  perplexities  that  now  beleaguer  • 

^  Tour  afflicted  Friend, 

*OCTAV1U8  DaPPCE.' 

Did  our  correspondent  Mr.  Dapper  ever  remark,  that  the  gentiemen  who  'carry 
round  the  plate,'  and  who  are  always  on  a  cold  scent  after  a  penny,  are  not  them- 
9€he9  very  liberal  in  their  contributions  T  '  Why  don't  you  put  in  something  ?'  asked 
a  contributor,  of  one  of  these  Sunday  sub-treaauren, on  one  occasion.  'That's  my 
business,'  was  the  reply :  '  what  /give  is  nothing  to  nobody  /' 


1850.]  Ediior's  TMe.  167 


WoKD-pAiiCTiNO  :  The  First  Dissipation.  —  Many  of  our  readers,  we  may  sup- 
pose, have  not  as  yet  bad  an  opportunity  of  perusing  the  last  two  numbers  of  *  David 
Copperfield^^  issued  with  illustrations  from  the  metropolitan  press  of  Mr.  John 
WiLKT ;  and  it  is  for  tbeir  especial  entertainment  tbat  we  desire  to  call  tbebr  attention 
to  two  or  tbree  remarkable  examples  of  word-painting  which  they  contain.  "We 
commence  with  this  linming  of  a  senrant,'  a  '  most  respectable  man,'  and  as  much  of 
a  character,  in  his  way,  as  Sam.  Wkllek  himself : 

*  I  BBUKTS  there  nerer  existed  In  his  ataUon  a  nu)re  reepectable-lookiiig  man.  He  was  tadtom, 
sollrlbotediTery  qoiei  in  his  manner,  deferential,  observant,  ahraya  at  hand  wlien  wanted,  and  never 
near  wlien  not  wanted ;  but  his  great  daim  to  oonaideration  was  hli  reepectaiyiUty.  He  had  not  a 
pliant  fkoe,  he  had  rather  a  stiff  neck,  rather  a  tight  smooth  head  with  sliort  hair  ciinging  to  it  at  the 
aldee,  a  lofl  way  of  speaking,  with  a  peculiar  habit  of  whispering  the  letter  i,  ao  distinctly,  that  he 
Itooaeitc^  *    '  ^ •* 


aeemed  to  use  it  oltener  ttian  any  other  man;  but  every  pectiliari^  that  ho  had  he  made  respectable. 
If  hia  nose  had  been  npeide^iown,  he  would  have  nuKie  that  reapeolable.  He  surroondea  himself 
with  an  almoaphfsre  of  respectability,  and  walked  secure  in  it.  It  would  have  been  next  to  impos- 
sible to  suspect  him  of  any  thing  wrong,  he  was  so  thoroughly  respectable.  Nobody  oould  have 
thooght  of  potting  him  in  a  livery,  he  was  ao  highly  respectable.  To  have  tanpoeed  any  derogatory 
work  upon  him,  would  have  been  to  Inflict  a  wanton  insult  on  the  feellDgs  or  a  most  respectable 
msn.  And  of  this,  I  noticed  the  women-servants  in  the  household  were  so  intuitively  conscious, 
that  they  always  did  such  work  themselves,  snd  generally  while  he  read  the  paper  by  the  pantry  fire. 
Bath  a  self«ontained  man  I  never  aaw.  But  m  that  quality,  as  In  every  other  he  possessed,  he 
only  seemed  to  be  the  more  respectable. . . .  He  was  In  my  room  In  the  morning  before  1  was  up,  to 
brinff  me  shaving^water,  and  to  put  out  my  clothes.  When  I  undrew  the  curtains  and  looked  out  of 
bed,  I  aaw  him,  hi  an  equable  temperature  of  respectability,  unaffected  by  the  east  wind  of  January. 
and  not  even  breathing  fttwtUy,  standing  my  boota  right  and  left  in  the  flrst  dancing  position,  and 
blowing  qpeckaof  dust  off  my  coat  as  ho  laid  it  down  lUce  a  baby. 

( I  gave  him  good  morning,  and  asked  him  what  o*clock  it  was.  He  took  out  of  his  pocket  the  most 
respectable  hnntingwatch  I  ever  aaw,  and  preventing  the  spring  with  his  thumb  from  opening  flv , 
Mked  ni  at  the  face,  as  ifkeio<rteo»nUtingamoraevIarefgUr,  shut  it  up  sgaiu,  and  said,  *  if  I  pleised, 
it  was  balPpsst  eight.' 

This  '  most  respectable  man'-  servant  of  Stsskvokth  is  destined  to  act  an  important 
although  subordinate  part  in  the  story,  ^  as  we  do  guess.'  A  most  original  creation, 
totally  unheralded,  is  introduced  in  the  last  nimiber ;  a  dwarf-chiropodist,  or  *  com' 
and  nail-cutter,  hair-dyer,  etc.,  named  Miss  Mowchek  ;  who  goes  about  with  scraps 
of  nana  that  she  has  cut  from  the  fingers  and  toes  of  a  Russian  prince,  and  which  do 
more  for  her,  in  private  fiuniliefl  of  the  genteel  sort,  than  all  her  talents  put  together. 
She  seDs  rouge,  too,  to  the  &ded  beauties  of  the  realm,  but  very  slOy :  '  One  old 
Dowager,  9he  calls  it  lip-salve.  Another,  eke  calls  it  gloves.  Another,  9he  calls  it 
taoker-ed^ng.  Another,  the  calls  it  a  fiui.  /  call  it  whatever  ikey  call  it  I  supply 
it  ftnr  'em,  but  we  keep  up  the  trick  so,  to  one  another,  and  make  believe  with  such  a, 
&oe,  that  they'd  aa  soon  think  of  laying  it  on  before  a  whole  drawing-room  aa  before 
me.  And  when  I  wait  upon  'em,  they  '11  say  to  me  aometimes — with  it  an  —  thick, 
andnomistake — *  How  am  I  looking,  Mowohbk  7  AmIpaleT'  Hal  ha!  ha!  hal 
Is  nt  that  refreshing,  my  young  friend  V  But  the  gem  of  the  number,  and  one  of 
the  most  perfect  word-pictures  we  ever  saw,  is  Coffbrfuld's  deeoription  of  hia 
'  First  Distipatum,^  He  is  at  his  new  lodgings  with  '  Mrs.  Ckupp,'  and  proposes,  aa 
a  sort  of  '  house-warming,'  to  give  a  dinner  to  a  few  friends.  His  landlady,  a  oha- 
Taeteristic  specimen  of  a  keen  boarding-houae  keeper,  has  the  addreM  to  make  her 
lodger  order  every  thing  he  wants  from  the  pastry-cook's,  leaving  her  to  '  concentrate 
her  mind  on  the  mashed  potatoes,  and  to  serve  up  the  cheese  and  celery  as  she  could 
wish  to  see  it  done.'  She  recommends  to  him  a  *  handy  young  man'  to  assist  at 
table,  and  a  yoimg  girl  is  procured,  to  be  stationed  in  the  pantry,  '  there  never  to 
desist  from  washing  plates.'  EBs'  attention  is  distracted,  however,  during  dinner,  by 
observing  that  the  'handy  young  man'  goes  out  of  the  room  very  often,  and  that  his 
shadow  always  presents  itself,  immediately  afterward,  on  the  wall  of  the  entry,  with  a 


168  Editar^s  Table.  [January, 

bottle  at  hk  month!  The  < young  girP  UkewiBe  ocoadooB  him  soma  uiearineM  ; 
not  ao  much  by  negleoting  to  wash  the  plates,  as  by  breaking  ihem.  For  being  of  an 
inqaimtiye  cU^KMition,  and  unaUe  to  confine  herself,  as  her  positiTe  instmotions  were, 
to  the  pantry,  she  is  constantly  peering  in  at  the  gaests,  and  constantly  iinagining 
herself  detected ;  in  which  belief  she  several  times  retires  upon  the  plates,  with 
which  she  has  carefnlly  paved  the  floor,  and  does  a  great  deal  of  destruction.  The 
dinner  goes  on  however,  accompanied  by  the  successive  stages  of  inebriation : 


<I  wsirr  oii,bv  psaring  UmwIm  &stor  and  IMer  ye^  and  oontiniiallystaxtiiiff 
to  open  more  w1ne,loiig  before  uiy  was  needed,  ipropoeed  SrBBRroRTB^a  health.  I  said  he 
my  deareat  Mend,  the  protector  of  my  boyhood,  and  the  oompanioii  of  my  prime.  I  aaid  I  was  det 
United  to  propoaehla  health.  I  said  I  owed  htan  more  obligation  than  I  oould  ever  repay,  and  held 
him  in  a  hl^iier  admiration  than  I  coidd  ever  expreaa.  I  flniahed  by  aaylng,  *■  I  'II  give  vou  Sriaa- 
.  -,  ...._  ..  .  «  .-  ve  him  three  tJmea  three,  and  another,  and  a  good  one 
with  him,  and  I  aaid  (In  two 


'Somebody  was  smoking.  We  were  all  smoking.  I  wa8tmokli«,andtiylngtoaiippraaaarialng 
endencyto  ehndder.  Stbbrpobth  had  made  a  speech  aboatme,  in  tbeooarBeof  whldi  Ihadbeea 
afltocted  almoBt  to  tearL    I  returned  thanka,  and  hoped  the  present  company  w 


morrow,and  the  day  after  ^  each  dav  at  five  o'docE,  that  we  might  ei^oy  the  pleaeima  of  ooovena- 
tlon  and  society  thronsh  a  long  evening.  I  felt  called  xspoti  to  propoae  an  individnaL  I  would  give 
them  my  annt    Bfias  Bbtsby  Tbotwood,  the  beat  of  her  aez  I 

^  Somebody  was  leaning  out  of  my  bed-room  window,  reftwhing  hie  forahead  against  the  cool  atone 
of  the  parapet,  and  feelingthe  air  upon  his  flice.  It  was  niyaell  I  wae  addressing  myself  as «  Cop- 
pbbpibld,*  and  saying,  *  why  did  you  try  to  amoko  T  You  might  have  known  yon  could nt  do  It* 
Now,  somebody  was  unsteadily  contemputing  his  features  in  the  looking|dasa.  That  was  I  too.  I 
was  vervpaieinthelooklnfl'guas;  my  eyes  had  a  vacant  appearance ;  and  my  hair-- only  my  hair, 
pot^^pg  else — located  drunk. 

'Somebody  said  to  me,  *  Let  us  go  to  the  theatre,  CorpBRnsLD  !*  There  was  no  bed-room  before 
me,  but  again  the  Jingling  table  covered  with  gtasses ;  the  lamp ;  Grairobr  on  my  right  hand,  Mark- 
bam  on  my  left,  and  BrBBRroBTH  oppoalto — all  sitting  in  a  miat,  and  a  long  way  oOL  The  theatre  t 
Tobeaure.  TheverythingI  OomealongI  But  they  must  excuse  me  If  I  saw  every  body  out  flialy 
and  turned  the  lamp  off— in  case  of  flre. 


'Owing  to  some  conftiaion  In  the  dark,  the  door  was  gone.    I  was  feelingforit  in  the  wtndow-cur- 

ina,  when  Btbbrportb,  laughing,  took  me  br  the  arm  and  led  me  out    we  went  down  stairs,  one 

behind  another.    Near  the  bottom,  somebody  fell,  and  rolled  down.    Somebodyelflesaid  ltwaBCk>p- 


rBR^tLD.    I  waaanny  at  that  felse  report,  until  finding  mjMdf  on  my  back  in  the  paaMge,  I  began 
to  think  there  might  be  some  foundation  for  iL 

*  A  very  foggy  n 

of  ita  bebg  wet 

hat  into  ah^w,  wl ,  ^ 

hadnH  had  it  on  before.    Sivbrporth  then  said, '  You  are  aU  right,  GoppBRnaLn,  are  you  not  V  and 
I  told  him,  'Neverbener.' 

t  A  man.  Bitting  in  a  pigeon-holeiplaoe,  looked  out  of  the  fog,  and  took  money  iVom  somebody,  In- 

E'  Ing  if  I  waa  oneof  the  mntlemen  paid  for,  and  appearing  rather  doubtful  (aa  I  remember  in  ttie 
pae  I  had  of  him)  whether  to  take  the  money  from  me  or  not  Shortly  afterward,  we  were  very 
up  in  a  very  hot  theatre,  looking  down  into  a  very  large  pit,  that  seemed  to  me  to  smoke ;  the 
people  with  whom  it  waa  crammed  were  so  Indistinct  There  wsa  a  great  stage,  too,  looking  very 
dean  and  smooth  after  the  streets;  and  there  were  people  upon  it,  talkbig  about  something  or  olher^ 
but  not  at  all  intelligibly.  There  waa  an  abundance  or  bright  llfl^ts,  and  there  waa  muato.  and  there 
were  ladies  down  In  the  boxes,  and  I  do  nH  know  what  more.  The  whole  building  looked  to  me,  aa 
if  It  were  learning  to  awim:  it  conducted  Itself  in  auch  an  unaccountable  manner,  wheal  tried  to 
steadylt 
'  On  aomebody'a  motion,  we  reaolved  to  go  down-slalrs  to  the  dreea-boxee,  where  the  ladles  were. 
asofc,w'  ' ^ •- 


A  ffenllemank>unging,  ftilklressed,on  asofefWith  anoperarglasain  his  hand,  passed  before  my  view^ 
andalsomyownflgureatMl  length  in  aglasa.  Ilien  I  was  being  ushered  into  one  of  these  boxes, 
and  found  myself  saying  somethinig  aa  I  aat  down,  and  people  about  me  crying  *  Bilenoe!*  to  some* 
body,  and  ladlea  caatbglndlgnant  glancea  atme,and--whatl  yea  I  —  Aorbs,  sitting  on  the  seat  be- 
fore me,  in  the  same  box,  with  a  lady  and  gentleman  beelde  her.  whom  I  did  nH  know.  Iseeherfeoe 
now,  better  than  I  did  then  I  dare  say,  with  Its  indeUble  look  of  regret  and  wonder  turned  upon  me. 

« <  AoM Bs  r  I  said  thickly, '  Lort>leaBmer  I    Aombs  r 

«*  Hush !  pny:' she  answered,  I  could  not  conceive  why.  « Yon  di8tori»  the  oompany.  Lookat 
the  stager 

'  I  tried,  on  her  li^unction,  to  llz  It,  and  to  hear  aomething  of  what  waa  going  on  there,  but  qnodte  In 
vain.  Hooked  at  her  again  by-and-by,  and  saw  her  ahrink  into  her  comer,  and  put  her  gloved  hand 
to  her  forehead. 

<*AeRB8p  I  said.   'Fmafratdyoa*ienorweL' 

*(  Yea,  yea.    Do  not  mind  me,  Taorwoon,' she  returned.    'LiatanI    Are  you  going  sway  soon?' 

^I  had  a  stupid  intention  of  replying  that  I  was  going  to  wait,  to  hand  her  down  staira.  I  suppose 
I  expreased  it, somehow;  for, after  abe  had  looked  at  me  attentively  for  a  little  while,  she  appeared 
to  understand,  and  replied  In  alow  tone : 


1850.]  Editat's  TahU.  169 

^'IkaowToawindoatlaflkTOiifif  ItenyoalamTvyeiniMtliiU.  GoMrii7nov,TBoTwoo]>, 
for  my  mIcB)  and  aok  your  ftionds  to  tako  Toa  homo.' 

«aiie  had  »o  tkr  improTed  me,  for  the  t!mB,lhiit  though  I  wm  lagry  with  bar, I  Mt  aahamed,  and 
wttha  ahoit^Ooorir  (which  I  intended  fbr*  Good  night  I)'  gotap  and  wentaway.   They  followed 


and  I  alepped  at  once  ontof  thebaz-dDor  Into  my  heiMoom,  when  only  ehvamFonni  waa  with  me, 
helping  me  to  midi«aa,and  where  I  waa  by  tmna  teUlng  him  that  Aorbb  waa  my  ilater,  and  aiUnr* 
log  him  to  bring  the  oorfcaeraw,  that  I  might  open  another  bottle  of  wine. 

^How  aomebody,  lying  in  my  bed,  hiy  aaying  and  doing  all  fhla  over  again,  at  eroea  pmpoaaa,  In  a 
ftreridi  dream  an  night— the  bed  a  racking  wa  that  waa  never  atUL  How,  aa  that  aomebodyalowhr 
Battled  down  Info  myaeli;  did  I  begin  to  pardk,  and  fbelaalf  myoaterooyerlngof  aklnwerea  hard 
board ;  my  tongue  the  bottom  of  an  empty  kettle,  fbnred  with  loi^  aervloe,  and  bnmlngup  orer  a 
alow  Are ;  the  pafanaof  my  handa,hot  phtee  of  metal, which  no  ice  oonid  eool! 

'Bnttheagonyof  mind,  the  remorse,  and  ahoM  I  felt,  when  I  became  oonadooa  next  day  1  My 
hoiTor  of  haTlng  oommltted  a  Ibooaand  offonoea  I  had  forgotten,  and  whkh  nothing  could  eyer  ex- 
piate ;  my  recollection  of  that  Indelible  look  which  Aohbi  had  giyen  me;  the  torturing  impood- 
Dility  of  commmilcatlng  with  her,not  knowing,  beaat  that  I  waB,how  ahe  came  to  be  in  London,  or 
whote  ahe  atayed;  my  dteiut  of  the  tevy  afgnt  of  the  room  where  the  roTel  had  been  held;  mr 
racking  head,  the  amefl  ofamoke,  the  al^  of  gtaaaea,  the  Impoadblllty  of  going  oai^  or  even  get- 
thigupl   Oh,  what  a  day  it  waa  r 

It  »  oar  belief  idaaX  HbSm  vivid  lecture  of  fhe  folly  and  shame  of  dmnkennen  wiU 
bave  a  more  potent  eflfeot  upon  our  young  men  than  half  the  temperance  addresMs 
from  the  *  reformed  drunharda'  who  are  ^  itinerating  the  Statea,'  from  Maine  to  Loul- 
aiana.    A  single  memory  of  orgiea  like  this  will*  bite  into  the  soul' of  a  aenaltiYe  man. 


Goflsir  wrrH  RsADna  and  CoaaBsroirDKirra. — Since  the  iasse  of  our  last  num- 
ber, the  arrival  of  the  brave  Hungarians,  whose  names  have  been  in  the  mouths  of 
aD  oar  dtixens,  has  been  the 'puUio  thing,' the  chief  to|H0  of  the  day.  And  we  re- 
joice that  they  have  been  enabled  to  feel  the  true  sympathy  which  a  country  stmg- 
C^ing  for  freedom  wiU  always  command  in  this  connlry.  We  may  mention  here, 
that  we  have  to-day  received  from  our  excellent  and  attentive  correspondent  at  Gon- 
stantinoide  the  following  '  AppeaV  in  behalf  of  the  political  reftagees  who  have  been 
compelled  to  rendezvous  m  the  TnriKuh  capital  after  having  been  expelled  from  al- 
most every  other  part  of  Europe.  *•  As  the  Hungarians,'  writea  our  correspondent, 
« had,  and  still  have,  many  sympathizers  in  the  United  States,  I  thought  it  might  be 
agreeable  to  learn  how  they  could  asnst  them.  You  have  no  idea  of  the  distress 
which  political  troubles  have  thought  upon  these  poor  people.  Many  of  those  here 
are  men  of  fomily  and  fortune  in  ihdr  own  (7)  land ;  and  although  Mnssnlman 
charily  and  benevolence  puts  Christendom  to  the  blush,  Turkey  offers  but  few  re- 
sources by  which  they  can  jMrocure  a  subaistMice.  The  officer  uid  the  soldier  have 
found  home  and  service  in  Turkish  booses,  but  many  are  still  housdess.  I  presume 
many  Hungarians  will  reach  the  United  States,  for  which  they  have  a  strong  predi- 
lection. The  '  Appeal'  ia  to  the  philanthropic  in  &vor  of  the  political  refugee^  at 
Constantinople  by  a  oommittee  of  die  most  respectable  merchants  rendent  there.  It 
is  translated  fit>m  the  'Journal  de  Constantinople'  of  the  twenty-ninth  of  No- 
vember: 

^Ir  midertbe  eziirtlng  dicomatanoea  of  the  present  day  dlatreaa  and  wao£ are  greatly  felt  by  the 
polttical  leA^eea  inthlacity,  still  greater  are  the  heaiia  of  thoae  who  are  alive  to  the  sweet  emo- 
tiooa  of  beoeT<denoe.  In  the  preaenee  of  the  total  deprivation  which  the  rigora  of  the  aeaaon  are 
aboiittofncrBMe,whowi]lbeiofleMlbletotheaiillMngioftbeheIpleaB?  What  hand  can  remain 
doaediBBiiirt  tbembyaeUlahnfleB?  Motnally  bound  together  by  a  coounon  feeling  of  ooumlaenr 
tkm  toward  thoae  milbrtanala  men,  we  come  forward  also  to  propoae  a  mesne  of  rendering  that  aeo- 
tlment  active  and  efflcacloii8,by  openlnga  aobacriptloaln  fevor  of  aU  thoee  peraona  who  have  feond 
a  refoge  on  the  hoapitable  aoll  of  Tuikey. 

^Ihelrwanls  baffle  and  sinpaaB  the  leaooreea  of  private  charity;  and  it  ia  only  a  eoOective  be- 
aerolaaee  which  ean  meet  and  raUefa  them.  Ihe  little  ofllBring  of  each  one  is  like  those  drops  of 


170  StUt(^s  ToMe.  [Februaiy, 

flnfi  niB  which,  i]ifliiUe|yii»iitipUed,iUlwith  gemrous  inflaeiioe  iq^on  the  paiched  and  uld  luxftoe 
of  the  earth. 

*  Here  political  opinions  hare  no  part.  We  disdain  so  li^iiiloiis  a  sospidoo,  and  r^ect  it  upon 
whoever  duOl  Tentnre  to  conceive  or  to  ezprees  it  Has  not  Humanity  a  paramount  du^  with  man 
In  the  misfortmies  of  his  fellow  creatoieT  And  before  giving  the  morsel  of  bread  to  the  fiomishedt 
or  bestowing  the  garment  upon  the  shivering,  most  he  seek  first  to  learn  hj  what  blow  the  solferer 
haa  been  disabled,  or  by  what  weapon  the  wound  has  been  hiid  bare?  Humanityl  that  virtue 
which  is  oflbred  to  eadi  son  of  our  eomnion  parent,  6on,  and  of  that  common  country,  the  earth ;  Ihou 
alone  suiBceat  us  in  our  love  for  our  ftilow  mortal,  and  pressest  us  forwaid  to  his  rescue  when  in 
distress! 

'This  noble  and  true  sentiment  win  be  that  of  an  those  who  ei^ay  the  tranqaintty  and  good  order 
which  characterise  the  govemmenl  of  His  Mq|esty,  Sultsn  ABD-UL-Hsjin. 

<]>UilBrance  of  rsce,  of  color,  or  of  fldth,  wffl  make  none  in  the  hearts  of  aU  those  who  ere  crested 
of  one  type,  end  sra  carried  fbrward  toward  the  commission  of  the  same  act  of  benevolenoe. 

*  In  closing  the  present  appeal  to  the  generous  and  the  benevolent,  the  undenlgned  announce  that 
thsy  have  fonned  themselves  into  a  oommittee,  for  the  purpose  of  coOecthig  oflteings  in  bdialf  of 
those  poUtleal  lefhgeea  now  suflMng  Ihnn  want  in  Constantinople. 

<  They  can  upon  an  those  whoae  hearta  are  open  to  the  commission  of  good  deeds,  for  whatever 
they  may  be  pleased  to  give;  and  in  this  they  believe  may  be  indnded  aU  the  hihabitanta  of  this 
empire,  without  distinction  of  iUth  or  nationanty. 

*•  Signed  by  J.  H.  Black,  Treasurer,  David  OijiVAinr,  Gb.  Hamsor,  P.  DuRin,  Ca.  Edi,  Euo.  Bou.' 

The  Committee  on  '  Practice  and  PUadingM'*  have  recently  made  thdr  last  re- 
port to  the  Legpsilatare,  by  which  sereral  additional  and  very  important  changes  are 
proposed  in  the  present- practice.  The  code  thus  fiir  seems  to  meet  wilh  general 
commendation,  both  in  this  and  oliher  states.  One  of  the  most  marked  changes  con- 
sists in  the  abbreviation  of  the  pleadings.  The  following  copy  of  the  entire  pleadings 
(eiroept  the  scunmons  and  names  of  parties)  of  a  cause  recently  on  the  calendar  of 
one  (tf  onr  courts,  may  serve  as  a  specimen  of  the  brief  manner  in  which  an  '  issue' 
may  be  formed  under  the  new  code.  It  seems  to  be  in  the  spirit  of  that  proTiAon 
requiring  the  &otB  to  be  so  stated  that  '  a  person  of  common  understanding  may 
know  wh^t  is  intended :' 


Jaoksom 
Btylbs.  I 


8UPBEME     COURT. 


Tbb  oomplaiut  of  the  plalntlir  shows  to  this  court,  that  on  the  eighteenth  daypf  July,  1819,  the 
defendant  did,  in  the  citv  of  Albany,  caU  the  plaintiff  a  d— d  thief,  to  plalntlirto  damage  of  one 
thousand  doUan ;  for  which  sum  he  demands  Judgment  against  the  defendant. 


JacxsomI 

Againgt     >An$wer, 
Bttlbs.  I 


SUPREME     COURT. 


John  Jomes, 

FlaintiffU  AUomtg. 


Tbe  answer  of  the  defendant  herein  admits  that  he  did  caU  the  plaintiff  a  d — d  thief;  as  albreaald, 
and  that  he  is  at  aU  times  ready  to  aver  and  prove  the  same  to  be  true,  as  this  court  shaU  direct 

J.  Smith, 

DrfendanCs  JlUonuf. 

An  amusing  specimen  of  pleading  under  the  old  system  may  be  found  in  Gilbekt 
M.  The  PiorLK,  I.  of  Dknio's  ReporUj  psge  41,  et  tq.  The  plaintiff  declared  in 
trespass,  for  breaking  his  close  and  injuring  his  sheep.  Two  counts  were  as  ibDows : 
'  Plaintiff  farther  declares  agamst  the  defendant  for  this,  to  wit :  that  the  said  plain- 
tiff had  a  number  of  sheep  in  the  county  of  Columbia,  and  that  said  defendant  did, 
in  the  year  1843,  if  ever,  bite  and  worry  fifty  of  plaintiff's  sheep,  aftor  the  said  de- 


1850.]  EiUm'8  TcMe.  171 

fendant  had  notioe  that  Ae,  the  taid  defendant^  wm  subject  and  acautomtd  to  kiting 
and  worrying  sheep  J  if  aueh  notice  he  had;  and  the  aaid  plaintifft  aty,  that  if  the  de- 
fendant k  guilty  of  any  charge  laid  in  plaintiff's  declaration,  the  oaid  defendant  ought 
to  he  puniihed  according  to  the  eu&tom  and  manner  of  puniehing  oheep-biting  dogo, 
as  the  plamtiffii  hare  snstained  great  damage  hy  the  conduct  of  the  defendant  Plain- 
tiff fitrther  dedares  against  the  defendant  for  this,  to  wit :  that  said  defendant  i$  re- 
ported to  he  fond  of  eheep,  hucko  and  eweOj  and  qf  wool^  mutton  and  lambo;  and 
that  the  defendant  did  vndertake  to  chase,  worry  and  bite  pl^tiff 's  sheep,  and  with 
his  snout,  teeth  and  jaws,  did  bite  and  injure  phuntiff 's  sheep,  aa  the  oaid  defendant 
io  in  the  habit  of  biting  oheep  hy  report^  to  plaintiff's  damage  in  all  fifty  dollars ;  and 
if  defendant  io  guilty^  he  ehotUd  and  ought  to  be  hanged  or  ehot ."  This  curious 
spectmen  of  '  spedal  pleading'  cost  the  attorney  an  indictment  for  libeL  —7-  Iir 
PiTBCLow  V9.  Bailt,  Lord  IUtxond's  RepoTfy '  the  defendant  pleAded  to  an  action 
of  trespass,  a  parol  submission  to  an  award,  and  that  the  arbitrators  awarded  that 
the  defendant  should  provide  a  couple  of  pullets  to  be  eaten  at  his  house  in  satis&o- 
tion  of  the  trespass,  and  ayers  that  he  did  provide  a  couple  of  pullets  to  be  eaten  at 
his  house,  and  the  plaintiff  did  not  come.'  Upon  objection  being  made  to  this  plea, 
on  the  ground  of  non-performance  of  the  award,  Holt,  Chief  Justice,  was  of  opinion 
that  the  plea  was  good  without  performance :  *  But  the  court  would  not  give  judg- 
ment, but  exhorted  the  parties  to  eat  the  pullets  together ;  which  they  would  have 
done  at  first  if  they  had  had  any  brains !'  Commend  us  to  this  manner  of  settling 
an  '  ksue'  of  law !  Next  to  some  of  the  sage  decimons  of  the  old  Dutch  bur* 
gomasters,  recorded  by  the  veracious  Knickb&bogkxr,  we  have  encountered  no- 
thing better.  .  .  .  There  is  not  a  sentence  in  the  litde  esiay  on  *  Our  Loot  One* 
which  does  not  bear  the  stamp  of  a  mother's  heart  It  is  firom  no  lack  of  sympathy, 
therefore,  that  we  have  not  published  it,  but  for  one  or  two  verbal  imperfections, 
which  we  could  not  take  the  liberty  to  supply.  The  sixth  and  ninth  stanzas,  espe- 
cially struck  us  as  defective  in  melody  and  rhythm.  Let  our  bereaved  correspondent 
remember  these  lines  ci  an  esteemed  contributor : 

(  Tbovoh  much  it  aeeniB  a  wonder  and  a  wo 
That  one  so  loved  eboold  be  bo  early  lost, 
And  hallowed  lean  may  imforbldden  flow 

To  moam  the  bloaaom  that  we  cberlahed  iii08t» 
Yet  all  is  well ;  God^s  good  design  I  see, 
That  where  our  treasure  la,  oar  hearts  may  beP 

It  is  our  belief  that  the  Mowing  translation  of  an  every-day  business  note  into 
Latin  verse,  of  the  Horatun  model,  will  entertain  our  learned  readers,  and  Inte- 
rest those  who  have  attempted  rimilar  performances  on  account  of  the  obvious  diffi« 
cnlties.  lliey  furnish  also  a  good  example  of  the  existing  accuracy  and  elegance  of 
Bnglish  Bcholarahip.  Our  new  correspondent  '  Delta'  is  an  English  clergyman,  one 
of  whose  sermons  was  recentiy  published  (with  a  pre&ce  by  the  Rev.  J.  C.  Richmond,) 
by  the  Mewrs.  Aftlbtons  and  Wilet.  This  English  version  vrill  amuse  our  unJat- 
inized  readers : 

OBIOXKAL  MOTB. 

Sul:  ToQ  are  refpiested  to  attend  a  meetii^  of  the  Bridge  OommlaaioosrB,  at  their  oflce  siJ(|aoeiit 
to  the  choich,  at  twelve  o'dock  on  Saturday,  November  tenth,  to  reoeive  Mr.  Dotlb's  report  as  to 
flw  praprie^  of  laying  down  gas^pes  over  the  Bridge, 

We  remain,  Reverend  Sir, 

Your  most  humMe  servants, 

Smrb  AxnflSEtGIHk. 


172  Editor's  Table.  [February, 


TBA1T8LATI0K    INTO   EBZAMXTBB8   Ain>   PENTAICSTESS. 

CuK  neiii,  qofboB  Mk  PontiieoininteapoifliCat, 

flataml  ad  medium  jiiMiis  adeae  diem, 
In  Pontls  eondAte,  ncri  prope  limtna  TempU, 

Ad  qqarlM  Idas  menee  NoTembris  Mil, 
Dt  diMM  raeponm  refert  qam  DirrvLcs,  MinB 

Fune  Bit  ignifbrae  dnoen  ponte  toboe. 
Bt  tlU  nofl  humilee  eervi,  ReTerandei  manemoi, 

BcrllM,  Ftber  m^or,  Abrladeeqiie  minor. 

AVQTHBR. 

Cm  labor  Fbntls  Teterii  tiMftiU 

*  lyidltiir  ooetua  rogat  oft  Tocatue 

Chiria  iatera^  Domiiil  ▼erenda 

Bandpiociil  Aede, 
Qnarta  quaado  Una  lediit  NoTemtari*. 
Sacra  Batumo,  medioque  fervent 
Azeaolaraa radii;  ilatataeat 

Hora  dleBqne. 
DiFtiTU  dlaoee  monitom,  tnboran 
IWae  ait  Pbntem  panebare  tmetn, 
Permeet  per  qoem  itwimiata  earbo- 

Interlm  aerroa  bnmileB,  Tereode, 

Pro  toa  Inslgni  bonitate  oredaa 

Noa  tibl, — loribam :  Faber  et  Tocaator 

Fabriadeaqne.  Dscta. 

In  ghnng  ihQ  BngliahTene,  we  oaimot  renst  die  temptalioii  of  oaDing  attentioii  to 
the  ' dual  nnit'  wbioh  derignates  Smith  amd  Son  asa  derk : 

<Tbb  Bridge  Oommimion  aommon  thee  to  Join 
Itieir  eolemn  oondayet  near  the  chnroh^  apire, 
When  Satordaj  meridian  aon  ihall  ahlne. 
And  thj  tenth  day,  NoTember,  half  expire. 
BippLB  wUl  then  report  upon  tiie  line 
Of  pipea,  to  ll^t  the  Bridge  with  gaeeoos  Ane, 
We  raat  thine  numble  aanranli,  Bererand  one, 
Their  derk  *a  dual  unit,*  Smite  jam  Son.* 

Wi  bare  for  aome  time  intended,  on  reoeiving  each  anooeBsive  isne  of  the 
'  Southern  Literary  Meeeenger*  montlily  magaxlne,  to  ezpreaa  our  gratifioation  that 
a  purely  literary  periodical,  of  its  high  character,  ahonld  be  so  well  anatained  in  the 
aonthem  aection  of  onr  gloriona  republic.  We  find  inTariably  in  ita  well-fiDed  pagea 
both  inatmotion  and  entertainment  Its  contributora  are  many  of  them  in  the  firont 
rank  of  our  intelleotnal  men  and  women,  and  it  ia  edited  by  the  proprietor,  John 
ItTBOMraoN,  Bw}.,  with  equal  talent  and  good  taate.  A  contempt  for  literary  Aum- 
bugeoumuUj  a  diacriminating  critical  judgment,  and  a  pnre  and  flowing  atyle,  are 
^»parent  in  the  editorial  department,  which  ia  evidently  ao  wdl  anatained  only  by  un- 
wearied induatry.  We  have  aincere  pleaaore  in  commending  the  *  Meaaenger'  to 
that  pnblio  ikvor  which  it  haa  well  deaenred,  and  which  we  are  confident  it  will  con- 
tinne  to  command.  It  ia  well  printed,  upon  firm  white  piqter :  in  '  that  first  appeal 
which  ia  to  the  eye'  it  leavea  nothing  to  be  deaired.  .  .  .  ^Orange*  writea  too 
mvch  in  what  Hood  calla '  the  jugular  vein ;'  the  blood-and-murder  atyle  cf  HiJtni- 
aoN  AiRBwoaTH.  We  'like  not  tkat;^  for  the  reat,  there  ia  much  that  ia  praiae- 
wortfay.  We  ahould  like  to  hear  again  from  the  writer  on  aome  other  eubject  more 
coDgenial  to  our  readera,  and  in  a  different '  Tein.'  .  .  .  Ws  hare  had  dted,  in 
eonnencii  with  the  aubjeot  animadyerted  upon  by  the  two  weatem  religioua  joumala 
quoted  in  a  late  number  of  the  Knicxbabogkbe,  the  following  inatanoea  of  '  411^ 
rmtein  tkePulfU:^  'On  oneoooanon  a  ' oircuxt-preaoher'  m  Alabama  took  hia 


1850.]  Ediior's  TaMe.  173 

text  from  the  Episde  to  the  Hebrews,  and  remarked  that  *  Brother  Paul  wrote  that 
Tery  aUe  and  eloquent  letter  to  the  oity  of  Hebrews !'  Another  mmieter  in  one  of 
his  flights,  for  which  he  was  quite  distinguished,  said :  *  Brethren,  what  would  you 
think  were  yon  to  see  a  strong  angel  take  hold  of  the  Rooky  Mountains  by  the  brow, 
and  pun  ihem  up  by  the  roots  and  throw  them  into  a  nUU-pand  ?'  On  another  oc- 
euBxm^  dflfining  human  depravity,  he  said,  ^  It  is  a  paradox  in  the  stamina  of  our 
natnr'  I'  At  another  time  he  remarked :  '  cessionary  and  Bible  Societies  are  im- 
mortal levers  for  spreading  the  lamp  of  salvation  over  the  world.'  Another,  at  the 
oondnsicn  of  a  fearfully  dull  and  dry  disoourse,  observed :  '  Now,  my  friends,  I  am 
going  to  be  in  earnest :  I  am  going  to  press  this  subject  lu»ne.  And  sinners,  I  tell 
yon,  yon  resemble  a  blind  man,  Mind-folded,  standing  onto  the  very  edge  of  a  very 

precnpitate  plaee  V '  Not  a  hundred  miles  from  Gotham,'  writes  a  new  contributor, 

'  I  heard  a  pious  dass-leader,  of  more  seal  than  knowledge,  open  a  prayer  meetftig 
thus :  'My  Ivethren,  we  will  read  for  our  amuument  the  flrst  chapter  of  the  Apocry- 
pha of  St  John  ;'  and  soon  after,  *  Let  us  sing  the  long-metre  song  under  the  fifty- 
seventh  page.'  He  lately  took  for  the  subject  of  his  djsqusltion  the  '  thorn  in  the 
JUtV  spoken  of  by  Saint  Paul.  TTiis,  he  attempted  to  show,  consisted  in  the  apos- 
tle's bdng  near-sighted,  and  wearing  glasses ;  quoting,  in  support  of  this  shrewd 
hypothesis,  these  passages,  '  For  now  we  see  through  a  glaeo  darkly ^^  and  '  Ye  see 
how  large  a  letter  I  have  written  to  you  with  mine  own  hands ;'  meaning  thereby, 
that  the  q>osl]e  was  obliged  to  make  big  letters !'  Such  ridiculous  exhibitions  of 
ignonmoe  reflect  so  little  credit  upon  sacred  ministrations,  that  we  are  glad  to  find 
rdigions  journals  of  influence  at  last  awakened  to  an  evil  heretofore  only  too  preva- 
lent .  .  .  Tflxan  is  a  good  deal  of  verse  published  now-a-days  which  is  very  for 
ttom  being  poetry.  We  sent  a  couple  of  small  volumes  of  this  kind  recently  to  a 
friend  in  whose  literary  judgments  we  might  well  confide,  and  he  returned  them 
with  a  note,  in  which  he  said :  '  I  dipped  in  the  books  and  skimmed  over  the  pages : 
there  was  not  a  smgte  point  to  hang  a  criticism  upon ;  they  were  not  even  bad.  Bad 
books  are  sometimes  '  nuts'  for  the  reviewer,  as  you  have  often  demonstrated :  one 
can  nuke  as  muoih  out  of  them  as  out  of  good  ones :  sometimes  they  illostrate  cha- 
racter. A  very  bad  book  is  very  often  not  a  bad  thing  to  read.  But  theae  things 
eaUed  books,  which  are  but  an  undulating  collocation  of  smooth  words,  imdiversified 
by  a  vraveor  a  ripple,  heaven  save  me  from !'  'Amen  to  that,  Ooz.'  ...  A  vbkt 
dever  thing  was  '  The  Canada  Puneh,^axi/i  we  are  really  very  sorry  to  learn  that  it 
Ima  been  discontinued.  The  Montreal  wits  employed  many  of  its  columns  in  satirical 
hits,  in  prose  aitd  verse,  at  the  troublous  political  movements  of  the  province ;  and 
not  a  few  alluaions  w^e  made  to  Tankee-land  and  annexation : 

<  Alsbast  do  the  «fllan  and  atrlpea  emit  tbeir  orient  blase, 
The  cheerily  beacon  of  reUef,  it  glimmen  through  the  haie ; 
It  telto  of  better  d^fB  to  eome,  of  daring  apirita  high,  _^, 

Who  *piit  their  tmat  In  Providbiicb,  and  keep  (heir  powder  dry.' 

Punch  had  a  <  A  Hreott' of  annexatbn,  in  which  he  traversed  the  Miansippi  for 
a  good  pl%oe  to  *  squat :' 

«Abowii  its  current  pwldlcd  he,  paat  tieea 

And  rocks  abutting, 
And  once  he  heard  an  aUlsatar  aneese, 

nnt  tluii  wm  nntliliiff.' 


Did  nt  he  think,  with  the  down-east  yankee,  who  on  se^g  an  aSigator  for  the  first 
time,  exdaimed :  '  Wal,  he  aint  what  yon  may  call  a  hanoum  critter,  but  there 'sa 


174  Editof^s  Table.  [Februaiy, 

great  deal  of  openneu  when  he  amfleB  I'  Think  of  the  ^  ■mfle'  of  an  a]iigat<M* !  One  j^ 
of  the  best  series  of  papers  in  the  ^  Canada  Pnnoh'  was  entitled '  Mrt.  ChapoM^M 
Letters  to  her  Daughter  J  They  were  from  the  bon  stylus  of  Bin.  Jvdt,  the  amiable 
consort  of  Mr.  Punch.  A  single  bit  of  adTioe  tonohing^  female  deportment  at  evening 
parties  will  affinrd  an  inklmg  of  ita  keen  satire:  '  Make  yoorself  agreeable  only  to  those 
worth  yonr  while  to  conciliate.  Snub  all  unproper  pretenders  to  yonr  aoquan&taneey 
not  omitting  the  mistress  of  the  house,  if  neoessary.  Have  a  sliding-aoale  for  yonr 
friendships,  but  none  for  yonr  rinoerity,  whkh  ought  to  be  the  same  for  erery  body. 
Be  ready  to  fbtter  people  who  can  serre  you,  and  cut  those  who  cannot'  .  .•  .  In  a 
paper  entitled  '  A  Olimpse  0/  Australiay^  hi  &e  last  number  of  the '  North- Ameriom 
Review,'  there  is  an  exceedingly  graphic  description  of  the  suddenness  with  wluch  the 
rivers  in  that  region  rise  in  a  moment  as  it  were,  inundating  every  thing,  laying  vast 
tracts  under  water,  then  passing  away  and  giving  place  to  sand,  dust  and  desolatioti. 
'  Our  western  rivers,'  says  the  reviewer,  '  are  changeable  enough ;  the  Ohio  rises  in 
its  flood  from  rizty-five  to  seventy  feet ;  at  one  season,  it  is  a  torrent  often  a  mile  In 
width,  and  fit  to  bear  navies  ;•  at  another,  it  creeps  along,  a  little  *  creek'  that  a  man 
may  ford  on  horseback,  and  travellers  upon  the  bank,  (we  speak  literal  truth,)  are  an- 
noyed and  blinded  by  the  sharp  dust  whicL  drives  firom  the  bed  of  the  river.  But  the 
Ohio  is  unchangeable  compared  with  the  streams  of  Australia.  TheHawkesworth, 
back  of  Sydney,  rises  ninety  feet  above  low  water.  The  Maoquaire  is  altematdy 
deep  enough  to  bear  a  Ime-of-battle  ship  upon  iti  bosom,  and  so  shallow  that  the  fishes 
and  frogs  cannot  live  in  it.  One  month,  it  is  the  Hudson  in  its  strength  and  volume, 
and  the  next,  a '  dry-run.'  To-day,  you  may  fiunt  upon  its  banks  from  thirst,  beoaaaa 
between  them  all  is  waterless,  and  to-night,  be  wakened  by  a  distant  roar  of  crashing 
logs  and  breaking  tree-tops,  and  hurrying  out  may  find  a  moving  cataract  tosBong  the 
spoil  of  the  forest  before  it,  and  filling  the  bed  of  the  river  in  a  moment  with  a  torrent 
that  you  cannot  pass.'  ...  A  novel  match  took  place  recently  in  England,  in 
which  a  young  gentleman  undertook  for  a  wager  to  lap  up  a  saucer  fhll  of  mOk  hi 
less  time  than  a  cat !  They  both  commenced  at  the  same  time,  but  on  aooonnt  of  the 
gentleman  being  seized  with  a  violent  fit  of  laughter,  which  greatly  impeded  his  pro- 
gress, the  cat  was  enabled  to  gain  a  great  lead :  however  the  g^tleman  soon  came 
up  with  her,  and  won  by  two  table  spoonsfol  1'  Ko  wonder  ^  the  gentleman'  laughed : 
we  should  have  thought  the  exercise  of  any  spectator's  risibles  to  be  wholly  unavoid- 
able. .  .  .  '  The  Firet  Snow  Storm,^  writes  very  prettily  a  young  conespondent, '  is 
shedding  its  scattered  flakes  around,  making  it  seem  as  though  Whiter  sought  to  deck 
the  yet  green  earth  vrith  a  bridal  veil  for  his  coming  espousal.  Upon  the  damp  untidy 
pathway,  upon  the  brown  leaves  flymg  on  the  blast,  upon  the  bare  branches  of  the 
aighing  trees,  and  upon  the  yet  verdant  mesdows,  frUs  without  echo  the  feathery  snow ; 
and  upon  the  fiiir  bosom  of  the  last  &ding  *  artemesias'  slowly  descend  the  snow-flakes, 
so  light,  and  yet  so  cold,  that  the  sensitive  heart  shrinks  chilled  vrith  sorrow,  that  thdr 
beauty  may  no  longer  delight  us.  Yet  while  we  gaxe,  again  and  again  b  the  frosty 
burthen  warmed  into  dew-drops  of  refreshing  fragrance,  proving  still,  as  ever,  that 
the  miarion  of  the  flower  is  the  ministry  of  Love  ;  to  teach  us  how  the  trials  of  life 
may,  by  its  sunple  alchemy,  be  changed  into  blessings  to  strengthen  and  ennoble  na ; 
and  that  although  chilled  into  seeming  death,  a  prophecy  of  spring-time  lingers  at  its 
root,  and  a  promise  oi  the  resurreotion-monung  is  enfolded  in  each  sleeping  bud, 
whiehclingi  to  life  and  waits  the  genial  season.'  .  .  .  Mr.  0.  and  Mr.  P.,  writes  '  J. 
H.,'  owned  loti  adjoining.    Exactly  on  the  dividing  line  in  front  stood  a  fine  tree.    Mr. 


18dO.J  BdiUn^t  Table.  175 

P.  wished  to  oat  it  down,  ae  being  in  his  way.  Mr.  C.  remonstrsted,  it  being  a  fine 
shade  fox  his  house.  ADgry  words  ensued,  but  Mr.  P.  eventually  felled  the  tree. 
Mr.  C,  somewhat  ezoited,  applied  to  lawyer  B.,  an  incorrigible  wag,  for  advioe.  B., 
after  heedfiilly  listening  to  C.'s  story,  adYise4  him  as  follows, '  t'witnamely :'  '  This  is 
one  of  those  nice  and  delicate  qnestions,  wherein  it  is  impossible  to  guess  how  a  jury 
would  dedde.  My  opinion  as  to  its  result  might  lead  yon  into  a  frnitleas  law-suit. 
My  adyice  to  you,  therefore,  is  to  go  and  pull  P.'t  note  I  That  would  be  a  tangible 
case  of  assault  and  battery,  about  which  there  could  be  no  dispnte — and  my  fee  is 
fire  doikrs !'  Not  unlike  the  quack-doctor,  who  said  to  his  patient, '  I  donH  say  that 
this  nasty  stuff  that  I  'm  givin'  on  ye  now  will  cure  yon,  but  it  will  throw  you  into 
JUSftnd  I  kin  cure  fya — I  'm  death  on  'em !'  .  .  .  Wk  hare  been  &Tored  with  a 
magnificent  '  Ode  to  the  Province  of  Upper  Canada^^  written,  as  the  author  huQself 
declares,  'by  a  son  of  a  loyalist  who  was  bom  and  brought  up  in  the  said  province, 
and  who,  until  six  weeks  since,  never  attempted  to  write  one  verse !'  Think  of  this 
Act,  reader,  while  yon  peruse  a  few  of  his  patriotic  stanzas : 

*How  beantlM  and  duurming  is  the  land 

Of  our  proTlnce  of  Upper  Oanadii ! 
Both  magnlfloent  and  tnmscendent  grand, 

She  ia  the  Qneen  of  North  America. 

*  Onr  sweet  land  la  the  gem  and  bright  flower, 

That  whidi  adoms  the  Morthem  Hemisphae : 
She  will  riae  In  flune,  eminence  and  power, 
And  other  lands  will  her  constantly  fear. 

*  A  comitiy  of  freedom  that 'a  enjoyed 

Without  dread  or  fear  of  moleetation, 
Of  the  aaaasain  to  be  annoyed 
By  the  fear  eX  death  and  innorationl 

( Look  at  the  prond  and  pretended  fWiedom 

Of  the  United  Statee,  in  which  they  glory; 
Of  their  llber^  and  boasted  wiadom, 
As  though  they  were  all  plenty,  peace  and  joy  t 

« A  land  of  tyranny  and  of  mlaery ; 
How  lamentabfe  it  is  for  to  say 
There  is  a  nation  that 'S  without  merey 
The  sufferings  of  the  poor  to  aUsy  1 

*  What  heart  would  not  bleed  to  hear  of  poor  man 

SufBaring  death  without  a  fliir  trial 
Qy  a  Judge  and  jury ;  what  a  foul  plan  I 
And  from  them  they  would  take  no  deniaL 

*TBn  men  at  Vicksburgh.  In  Vliginia.  (!) 

Without  a  trial  were  hung  like  a  dog ; 
Bach  deeds  are  only  done  In  America, 

And  those  tyranla  their  cause  will  pettifog  r 

Now  Mr. '  JoHK  Smtth,  Land- Agent,'  if  this  is  your  opinion  of  '  nnhi^py  Ame- 
rica,' why  does  Canada  want  to  be  married  to  such  a  wretched  country  ?  But  *■  it 's 
no  use  knocking  at  the  door.'  Ton  are  not  a '  wen-behaved'  people,  and  *  yon  can't 
come  in!'  .  .  .  Qum  surprised  as  well  as  amused  this  erening  at  the  iZ^nouemenf 
of  an  anecdote  which  we  heard  related  of  a  xeaknis  devotee,  a  new  convert  at  a  re- 
cent protracted  revival-meeting,  and  a  partner  of  one  of  the  most  busy,  driving,  and 
thrifty  mercantfle  firms  in  the  town  where  the '  subject'  resided.  After  '  confession 
and  admission,'  he  took  npon  hhQself  at  once  the  novel  observances  which  appertained 

TOL.  ZXZT.  12 


176  Editor's  Table.  [February, 

to  his  duties  as  a  <  professor ;'  snch  as  grace  before  meals,  fiunily  prayers  at  morning 
and  eyening,  etc  His  first  *■  grace/  whicli  was  heard  by  our  informant,  was  pecu- 
liar :  *■  Be  pleased  to  bless  this  portion  of  food  now  in  readiness  for  us ;  give  it  to  us 

in  love ;  may  we  eat  and  drink  with  grateful  hearts :  Yours  Truly *    He  was 

entering  upon  the  name  of  his  firm,  when  he  discovered  his  blunder  in  time  to  stop 
that  consunmiation !  Au  resity  it  was  'past  praying  for/  .  .  .  Our  excellent 
oriental  correspondent,  John  P,  Brown,  Esq.,  gives  in  preceding  pages  one  of  his 
most  interesting  ^Sketches  of  the  East?  It  is  as  fresh  and  vivid  in  its  descriptions 
to  the  eye  as  a  painting  of  the  scenes  depicted  would  be  upon  canvass.  We  have 
other  papers  of  kindred  excellence  from  the  writer's  pen  which  await  present  inser- 
tion. ...  A  SINGULAR  fact  is  recorded  in  a  late  Glasgow  (Scotland)  newspiqier : 
'  An  old  man  residing  in  the  neighborhood  of  that  city  found  a  miniature  of  his 
wife,  taken  in  her  youth.  She  had  been  dead  many  years,  and  he  was  a  person  of 
strictly  sedate  and  religious  habits ;  but  the  sight  of  this  picture  overcame  him.  From 
the  time  of  its  discovery  till  his  death,  which  took  place  some  months  afterward,  he 
neglected  all  his  ordinary  duties  and  employments,  and  became  in  a  manner  imbecile, 
spending  whole  days  without  uttering  a  word,  or  manifesting  the  slightest  interest  in 
passing  occurrences.  The  only  one  with  whom  he  would  hold  any  communication 
was  a  littie  grand-child,  who  strikingly  resembled  the  portrait ;  to  her  he  was  perfectiy 
docile ;  and  a  day  or  two  before  his  death  he  gave  her  his  purse,  and  strictiy  enjoined 
her  to  lay  the  picture  beside  him  in  his  cofiin ;  a  request  which  was  accordingly  ful- 
filled.' .  .  .  We  should  like  respectfully  to  inquire  whether  the  following  lines  do 
not  express  what  is '  pretty  much  so  7'   In  responding,  none  but  true  lovers  need  apply : 

<  LovB  U  like  the  wind ; 

Yon  feel  it  while  it  blows; 

But  whence  it  comes  you  cannot  find, 
Nor  follow  where  It  goes.' 

There  is  much  force  in  the  following  passage,  which  we  find  in  our  note-book, 
without  any  reference  to  its  source :  ^  To  mature  a  novel  which  shall  command  the 
respect  of  really  intelligent  persons,  which  shall  impress  more  on  the  second  reading 
than  the  first,  and  which  powerful  minds  can  resort  to  for  impulse  and  invigoration, 
requires  a  richness  of  attainment,  a  cheerful  and  sympathizing  spirit,  a  wide-reachmg 
mastery  of  style,  together  with  a  clear  and  strong  good  sense.  One  may  apply  to 
this  latter  quality  what  William  Pbnn  said  to  the  Recorder  of  London  when  that 
potentate  told  him,  after  repeated  demands,  that  he  was  guilty  by  the  common  law  : 
*•  Friend,  if  that  law  of  which  thou  speakest  be  common,  it  should  not  be  so  hard  to 
produce.'  Hard  to  produce  examples  of  tlus  common  sense  in  modem  novels  it  cer- 
tainly is ;  and  this  is  one  great  reason  why  Scott  and  Miss  Kdgeworth  still  keep 
their  high  stations,  defying  all  efibrts  to  displace  them.'  ...  A  vert  useful  and 
admirable  ^Directory  for  Visitors  to  Greenwood^^  compiled  by  Mr.  N.  Cleveland, 
has  just  been  published.  It  contains  a  full  description  of  every  part  of  these  beautiful 
grounds,  as  well  as  of  the  most  noteworthy  monuments,  tombs,  etc.,  that  have  been 
built.  It  has  a  great  number  of  pictorial  illustrations,  and  is  printed  in  very  elegant 
style.  It  cannot  fail  to  be  of  essential  service  to  the  public.  .  .  .  Mayhap  our 
readers  will  remember  the  description  given  in  our  last  number,  by  a  Nicaragua  cor- 
respondent, of  the  style  of  no-dress  common  among  the  people  of  Mosquito-land. 
An  obiigmg  correspondent,  from  whom  we  hope  often  t6  hear,  has  sent  us  the  follow- 


bnkets  to  thy  wivas— to  thee  brlngB  nun ; 
of  meiis  and  chicken*,  hog  and  hominjr, 
id  the  comforts  of  thy  foreet  home. 


1850.]  Eiiiar's  Talk.  177 

ing  apostrophe  to  the  Kino  of  that  '  ked'ntry,'  a  live  '  nigger,'  who  was  caught  one 
day, '  in  purit  naturalilma^^  and  made  a  monarch  of: 

Kive  of  the  Bnechlent—meleiicboly  ilar  1 

Thou  art  Indeed,  indud  <  thvaelT  aloneP 
We  yiew,  and  wmA  to  view  tb^  ftt>m  alhr, 

The  danest  meteor  that  ever  shone  I 
Black  eomat  I — strange  and  moat  peeoUar  Jtetnie. 
That  doBka—tUl  now  unseen-- the  sky  of  nature  I 

Thou  fresh-breeched  monarch,  who  hast  doffed  thv  fealhers, 
Whose  new-made  white-wash  pales  that  dusky  brow  f 

What  taUor  buUt  the  nnmentlonable  leathers 
In  which  thy  rcryal  Umbs  do  stnddle  now  T 

Dost  count,  *midst  cares  of  state,  the  thousand  stUohes 

That  bind  the  seams  of  thy  new  kingly  breecheaT 

Dost  bother  thy  wise  pate  to  wonder  wlnt 

Clhou  new-made  potentate  of  almost  no-land  0 
Are  the  opinions  of  the  Autocrat 

In  refersnoe  to  the  present  state  of  Poland? 
If  so.  a  word.  Prince  HAiiao— prythee  hark  I 
As  thou  srt  dark  already,  still  *  A«7  dark  r 

Look  to  thy  treasury  I  >- a  wise  economy 

Brings  bisnkets  to  th 
And  ik)ts' of  greens  an 

Shall  glad  the  comforts  of  thy 
Thy  dear  Mosquito  subjects,  do  they  bite, 
like  oora,  and  hum  their  drowqr  songs  all  night? 

New  alW  of  the  Mand^ueenl— thy  ftme, 

To  th'  astonished  world  now  flrst  awake, 
A  twelvemonth's  lmm<MrtaIlty  shaU  claim, 

And  from  that  sum  ten  months  the  world  may  take: 
May  In  that  time  new  powers  new  breeches  senid, 
And  keep  thee  mindful  of  thy  latter  end  I 

Wb  commend  ^Reverend  R,  Tounu&nd  HuddarVt  Appeal  far  the  Church  in 
CdUforma?  to  the  hearts  of  onr  readera.  It  is  a  brief  but  forcible  and  well-reasoned 
pamphlet,  and  may  be  obtained  gratis  at  No.  6,  Gorflandt-street.  Donations,  of  all 
apintypriate  kinds,  win  be  reoeived  by  all  the  Episcopal  dergy  of  the  city.  The  object 
ii  a  noUe  one :  '  There  stood  a  man  of  Macedonia,  and  prayed  him,  saying, '  Gome 
orer  into  Bftaoedonia  and  help  ns.' '  .  .  .  Thk  Right  Reverend  Bishop  Doane,  of 
New-Jersey,  we  are  informed,  mentions  a  laughable  anecdote  of  hunself,  which  is 
•omewliat  to  the  following  purport.  He  was  travelling  in  the  cars  between  New- 
Tork  and  Bordentown,  and  having  occasion  to  leave  his  seat  for  a  moment,  found  on 
his  return  that  it  was  occupied  by  another  person,  who  pertinaciously  reftised  to  sur- 
render H :  ^  No,  Sir  !  — he  had  paid  for  a  seat,  and  he  shonld  sit  where  he  liked.' 
After  a  little  fitfther  remonstrance,  the  Bishop  observed:  ^  Do  yon  know  who  I  am. 
Sir?  I  am  Bishop  Doans,  of  New-Jersey.'  *  Ynu  aret'  ezdaimed  the  obstinate 
passenger ;  'are  yo«  that  J-—* J  Puaeyite ?  Ton  canH  have  thia  seat,  Bishop 
DoANB !'...'  As  COMMON  SB  the  air  we  breathe'  is  a  fiimiliar  expression.  Won- 
der if  it  is  equally  common  to  think  of  its  character ;  to  reflect  npon  the  nature  of 

*Trb  blue  vault  and  sapphire  wall, 
That  overhangs  and  dfcieBalL' 

To  llie  many  who  have  not  thought  upon  this  theme,  we  commend  the  following 
beantiftil  passage  from  the  last  number  of  the  London  '  Quarterly  Review :' 


Tmb  atmnsphere  rlaea  above  na  with  Us  cathedral  dome  arching  towaitl  theheavan  of  which  it  is 
the  moat  flaniUarsynonyme  and  symboL  It  floats  around  ua  like  that  grand  ol^fectwhieh  the  apoatle 
JoHsaawiahlavUlcn:  ^aseaof  glass  like  unto  crystal'   Bo  massive  Is  It  that  when  It  begins  to  rtlr 


178 


Editor^  i  TahU. 


[February, 


UtoMee  about  great  ahipe  like  playtbingB,  and  sweepe  oltiea  and  foreila  like  aoow^lakea  to  deatroo- 
tion  before  it.  And  yet  it  is  ao  mobile  that  we  have  lived  yean  in  it  belbro  we  can  be  penoadedfhai 
it  exiatB  at  all,  and  that  the  great  bulk  of  mankind  never  realise  the  truth  that  they  are  bathed  in  an 
ocean  of  air.  Its  weight  is  ao  enormous  that  iron  shivers  beibre  it  like  glaas,  yet  a  soap-bubble  sails 
through  it  with  impunity,  and  the  tiniest  insect  waves  it  with  its  wings.  It  ministers  lavishly  to  all 
the  senses.  We  touch  it  not, but  it  touches  us:  its  warm  south  wind  brings  back  color  to  the  pale 
ftioe  of  the  invalid :  its  cool  west  winds  reiVesh  the  fevered  brow  end  make  the  blood  mantle  in  our 
cheekB:  even  its  north  blasts  brace  into  new  vigor  the  hardeiied  children  of  our  ragged  clime.  Ibe 
eye  is  indebted  to  it  forallthe  magniHoenoeof  sunrise,  the  ftiU  brightness  of  mid-day,  the  chasleoed 
radiance  of  gloaming,  and  the  clouds  that  cradle  near  the  settingsun.  But  for  it  the  rainbow  would 
want  its  triumphal  arch,  and  the  winds  wonki  not  send  their  fleecy  messengers  OP  errands  around  the 
heavens.  The  cold  ether  would  not  shed  its  snow-feathers  on  the  earth,  nor  wouki  dropa  of  dew 
gather  on  the  flowers.  The  kindly  rain  would  never  fell,  hail,  storm  nor  Ibg  diversify  the  face  of  the 
sky.  Our  naked  globe  would  turn  its  tanned  unshadowed  forehead  to  the  sun,  and  one  dreary  mo- 
notonous blaie  of  light  and  heat  dazzle  and  bum  up  all  things.  Were  there  "no  atmosphere,  the  even- 
ingsun  would  in  amoment  set,  and  without  warning  plunge  the  earth  in  darkness.  But  theair  keepa 
in  her  hand  a  sheaf  of  his  rays,  snd  lets  them  slip  but  stowly  through  her  fingers;  so  that  the  shadows 
of  evening  gather  by  degrees,  and  the  flowers  have  time  to  bow  their  heads,  and  each  creature  of  space 
to  find  a  place  of  rest  and  nestle  to  repose.  In  the  morning  the  garish  sun  wouki  at  one  bound  burst 
flfom  the  bosom  of  night  and  blaze  above  the  horizon;  but  the  air  watches  for  his  coming,  and  sends 
at  first  one  little  ray  to  announce  his  approach,  and  then  anoCher,and  by  and  by  a  handAil  —  and  so 
gently  draws  aside  the  curtain  of  night,  and  skiwlylets  the  Ught  fell  on  fhefeoeof  the  deeping  earth, 
till  her  eye-lids  open,  and  like  the  man,  she  ^goeth  forth  sgain  to  her  labor  until  the  evening.* 


There  'b  '  somedele'  wit  and  sparkle  in  a  little  sheet  published  semi-occasionally  by 
the  students  of  the  Uniyersity  of  Vermont,  called  *  The  College  Maul,^  Poetical  sen- 
timent, also,  is  to  be  met  with  in  its  columns ;  a  striking  example  of  which  may  be  found 
in  the  ^Linee  to  a  Polliioog.^    We  segregate  '  specimens'  of  the  stanzas : 


^DwKLLKE  in  the  watery  bog  I 
Embryo  ~  ]Mt>totypic  fh)gf 
WisffUng  wsggHng  PoUiwog, 
wiggle  waggle  I  waggle  wiggle ! 

^  Like  a  cow  when  flies  are  eating 
Her,  or  females*  fens  at  meetings 
Ceaseless,  ceaseless,  is  the  beaUng : 
Wiggle  waggle !  waggle  wiggle ! 

*  *  Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us,* 
That  *s  the  way  to  leave  behind  as 
Wakes  by  which  the  world  will  find  us, 
Wiggle  waggle!  waggle  wiggle! 


^I  have  seen  the  worid, and  round  it 
Journeyed  much,  and  sUU  have  found  it 
All  the  same  where  e'er  I  sound  it : 
Wiggle  waggle !  waggle  wiggle  I 

.*He  who  wagglea  most,  will  surely 
Scull  his  boat  the  most  securely 
To  the  port,  and  all  by  purely 
Wiggle  wsggle !  wagg^  wiggle ! 

*  Once  thou  wast  a  spawning  en* 
Waggling  brought  thee  tail  and  head, 
Wafting  soon  will  start  a  leg : 
Wiggle  waggle !  waggle  wiggleP 


^A  VERT  plain  matter-of-fiict  fiumer  in  our  vicinity,' writes  a  country  correspondent, 
*  a  few  yean  smoe  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  his  born,  with  its  contents,  by  fire. 
Happening  a  few  days  after  to  be  in  the  office  of  a  gentleman  noted  for  his  charity 
md  generosity,  and  who,  by-the-by,  had  formerly  sold  to  the  yeoman  his  fiirm,  the 
object  of  his  loss  was  mentioned.  With  characteristic  liberality,  he  counted  and 
lianded  to  the  man  a  package  of  money,  saying,  ^  I  am  very  sorry  for  your  loss ;  let 
me  make  you  a  present  of  fifty  dollars.'  The  farmer  received  it  nlently,  counted  it 
-".arefully  twice,  then  looking  at  the  donor,  in  a  very  business-like  way,  sunply  re- 
.)lied :  */  believe  it  is  right ,  Doctor  P  Rather  frosty  gratitude  this,  but  not  quite  so 
cy  as  was  that  of  a  man  who  elbowed  his  way  through  a  crowd  on  the  Fourth  of 
July  at  Buffido,  some  years  ago,  and  said  to  one  of  our  merchants,  then  on  a  visit  to 

lis  native  place,  *  Can't  you  give  a  poor  fellow  something,  Mr.  B ?    I've  got  to 

be  a  poor  cripple  since  you  used  to  live  here,  and  I  can't  work.    Come,  give  us  a 


I860.]  •  Editar'i  ToMe.  .     179 

little  snthin',  canH  ye  ?'    Mr.  B pnt  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  handed  the 

nan  a  half-dollar  piece,  which  he  pocketed,  without  uttering  a  word  of  thanks.  In 
about  an  hour  he  came  up  to  Mr.  B  -^—^ ,  who  was  taking  a  glass  of  wine  with  a 
friend  at  an  inn,  and  said,  '  Look  o*  here,  your  brother  down  to  Black  Rock,  he  'gin 
me  a  doUar  I  Can't  you,  a  New-Tork  marohant,  'ford  to  give  as  much  as  he  ?  / 
should  say  you  could,  etuy  /'  Not  liking  the  idea  himself  of  being  outdone  in  gene- 
ronty  by  his  rerident  brother,  he  handed  the  importanate  fellow  two  quarter-dollar 
IMeces,  when  he  went  oS^  precisely  as  before,  without  so  much  as  '  Thankee.'    In  the 

evening  Mr.  B was  surprised  by  a  call  at  the  door  of  his  room,  after  he  had 

retired  for  the  night.  ^  Look  o'  here,'  ezdaimed  a  now  fiunDJar  vdce  from  with- 
out, *'  look  o'  here,  'Square,  one  o'  them  quarters  you  'gin  me  last  was  a  pista- 
reea  !'...*  The  Two  Loves,  or  Eroe  and  Anteroe,^  is  the  title  of  a  new  work 
from  the  press  of  Meanrs.  Strinoke  and  Townbeno.  We  have  not  read  the  book, 
but  a  clever  correspondent  who  has,  remarks  of  it :  'I  should  like  to  write,  and 
would,  if  I  could  steal  time,  a  paper  on  novels  and  novel-reading.  I  used  to  pore  over 
the  *  Mysteries  of  Udolpho,'  and  the  *  Three  Spaniards,'  at  school,  until  *  each  par- 
ticular hair  stood  up  on  eSnd.'  Then  came  the  Waverley  Novels,  those  gorgeous 
pageants  of  the  age  of  chivalry,  those  enchanted  stories  of  the  golden  past :  Bulwer 
SQcoeeded,  ivith  his  misanthropy  and  metaphysics,  and  Jambs  followed,  witl^  his 
never-to-be  *  last' !  But  of  late  I  have  repented  the  sins  of  my  youth :  once  in  a 
while  however  I  *  backslide,'  and  *  treat  resolution ;'  and  *  The  Ttoo  Loves^  is  the 
last  feast  I  have  had.  I  say  '  feast,'  because  it  is  so  different  from  the  general  run 
of  novels,  so  boldly,  simply,  and  well  written.  The  author  has  evidently  no  fear  of 
censure  from  the  prim  and  would-be-thought  immaculate  canters  of  the  day.  Vice 
is  portrayed  as  it  does  and  always  will  exist,  a  beautiful  deformity,  a  hell  which  the 
fiir-off  stars  of  heaven  sometimes  shine  down  into.  We  see  from  the  beginning  what 
will  be  the  end  oi  one  of  the  heroines :  the  dark  thread  that  is  to  be  inwoven  in  the 
web  of  her  existence  is  there  taken  up.  Pride  is  the  downfall  of  Mrs.  Stevens. 
G^>tain  Wilkes  and  Jack  Jones,  the  captiun  and  mate  of  the  pirate  bark,  are  finely 
drawn ;  Mrs.  Foley  is  one  of  the  most  consummate  hypocrites  on  record ;  a  plotting, 
scheming,  talented,  bad  woman.  Old  Boedonni,  and  the  episodes  of  Italian  life,  are 
fresh  and  natural.  The  story  never  for  a  moment  flags  in  its  interest,  but  keeps  ex- 
pectation on  the  tiptoe ;  at  the  same  time  (and  it  is  a  rare  quality  in  this  age  of  ex- 
aggerati<»i,)  nothing  is  overdone.  There  is  no  '  bellowing'  and  '  strutting.'  The 
author  b  not  one  of  Nature's  journeymen  who  make  the  men  that  *  imitate  humanity 
so  abominably.'  Whether  it  was  wise  to  draw  so  many  bad  characters  is  another 
thing :  that  I  leave  to  more  profound  critics  than  myself.  '  Jane  Eyee'  and  '  Wild- 
M  Hall'  pleased  me  and  others,  in  spite  of  the  cant  of  a  portion  of  the  press :  '  The 
Two  Loves'  pleases  me,  and  will  please,  I  think,  the  readers  of  the  Knickee- 
BOCKBR.'  .  .  .  ^  The  Covenant  and  Ladiee^  Magazine^  is  the  title  of  a  new  and 
very  handsomely-executed  monthly,  edited  by  Mrs.  £.  M.  Seymour  and  Paschal 
Donaldson,  Esq.  It  is  designed  especially  for  the  *  better  half  of  creation,'  and  we 
have  reason  to  believe  that  no  stone  will  be  left  unturned  to  make  it  every  way  worthy 
of  their  encouragement  and  support  ^  We  desire,'  say  the  Editors,  ^  that  our  Order 
should  stand  high  in  the  good  opinion  of  our  fiiir  countrywomen,  and  their  bright 
•miles  beaming  upon  our  pathway  shall  light  and  cheer  us  on  in  the  discharge  of  our 
duty  and  the  Mdment  of  our  resolves.'    Each  number  of  the  work  is  to  be  elabo- 


180  BdUor'M  Table.  '    [February, 

rately  embeOiBhed.  We  have  known  Mr.  Donalmon  aa  an  editor  in  another  pnbli- 
oation,  and  can  pronoonoe  aathenticaUy  upon  his  talents  and  his  industry.  Suooqm 
attend  him !  .  .  .  Thkkb  is  something  very  wierd  and  Germanic  in  the  lines  enti- 
tled <  The  Oin-Fiend,'*  by  CiuaLKs  Mackat.  They^were  suggested  by  a  scene  in 
'  The  DruniartPg  Children,^  an  admirable  piotnre-story  by  C^crmHAVK : 

«  Trb  Oiw-Fibkd  cast  his  eye»  abroad,  and  iookod  o'«r  all  the  land, 
And  numbered  his  mvriad  worshippers  with  his  bird-like,  long  right  hand : 
He  took  his  place  In  the  teeming  streets,  and  watched  the  people  go 
Aroond  and  aboat,  with  a  buzz  and  a  shout,  forever  to  ana  fro : 
« And  It  *8  hip  r  said  the  Gxif-FiKivD, « hip !  hurrah  t  for  the  mottltnde  I  see, 
Who  offer  themaelTea «  sacrillce,  and  die  Ibr  the  lOTe  ofmeP 

« There  Blood  a  woman  on  a  bridge;  she  was  old,  but  not  with  yean; 
Old  with  exoeas  and  passion  and  pain,  and  she  wept  remoneleas  tears; 
And  she  gave  to  her  babe  her  milklesB  breast,  then  goaded  by  its  crv. 
Made  a  desperate  leap  in  the  river  deep,  tn  the  sight  of  the  passers-by : 
'  And  It's  Up  r  said  &e  GufFiixn,  'hlpl  hvrrsh !  she  sinlo,  but  lether  bet 
In  life  or  death,  whaterer  ahe  did,  was  all  for  the  lore  of  meP 

«There  watched  another  by  the  hearth,  wlOi  sallen  Ihoe  and  thin: 
She  uttered  words  of  soora  and  hate  to  one  that  staggered  in ; 
Long  bad  sbe  watched ;  and  when  he  came,  his  thongfati  were  bent  on  blood ; 
He  oould  not  brqpk  her  taunting  look,  and  he  slew  her  where  sbe  stood: 
« And  it 's  hip  r  said  the  Gin-Fibkd,  '  hip !  hurrah  1  my  right  good  iHend  is  he ! 
f        •       He  hath  slain  his  wife,  he  hath  given  his  Ufe,  and  aU  for  the  lore  of  nu»r 

« And  everv  day  in  the  crowded  way  he  takes  his  fearflil  stand, 
And  numbers  his  myriad  worshippers  with  his  bird-like,  long  right  hand ; 
And  every  dav  the  weak  and  strong,  widows  and  maids  and  wives, 
Blood-warm,  blood-cold,  young  men  and  old,  offer  the  fiend  their  Uvea: 
^Andit'shipPhesaySf^hipIhipIhunrahl  for  the  moUltadB  I  see, 
Tbat  seU  their  aoala  for  the  burning  drink,  and  die  for  the  love  of  meP  * 

^  Tub  subject  of  the  following  anecdote,'  writes  a  firiend,  *  is  an  old  and  respectable 
physician,  who  is  now  a  very  strenuous  temperance  man,  although  in  Ms  young  daya 
he  sometimes  '  patronised  the  groceries'  over  much.  On  one  occssion,  having  in- 
dulged very  freely  In  a  rariety  of  spiritoua  decoctions  with  some  boon-companions,  he 
mounted  his  mare  and  started  for  home.  He  had  not  gone  for  before  the  inconsider- 
ate ^  commingling  of  spirits'  in  his  stomach  gave  rise  to  such  a  furious  rebellion  that 
he  was  fain  to  dismount  and  come  to  an  anchor  against  a  large  log  by  the  roadside, 
where  he  commenced  a  process  of  upheaval  that  was  truly  alarming.  While  engaged 
in  these  spasmodic  efforts  at  relief  he  was  accosted  by  a  traveller  who,  with  true  yankee 
s(4icitude,  enquired  what  was  the  matter.'  The  inebriate,  in  an  interval  of  the  paroxysm, 
gruffly  replied,  that  he  *  had  traded  horses,  and  was  very  sick  of  his  bargain  /'  .  .  .  Thb 
noble  deer,  for  which  we  were  indebted  to  the  kindness  of  a  Broome-county  friend,  has 
served  a  double  purpose  of  good.  Its  delidoos  *  sadles'  and  steaks  of  veniscm  were 
relished  by  many  persons  *  of  the  right  sort ;'  and  its  soft  skin,  neatly  dressed,  forms 

an  ample  and  beautiful  mat  in  the  sanctum.    R should  see  the  little  white  feet 

buried  at  evening  in  the  soft  ftir,  and  hear  the  ^  crowing'  which  its  luxurious  '  feel' 
awakens.  It  is  somewhat  difficult  to  make  the  little  people  ^  ruminate  bedward'  while 
standing  upon  it.  .  .  .  We  were  reminded  of  *  Jiamis  de  la  Pluche,  Exquire,' 
at  the  Opera  the  other  night  '  Do  you  see  that  young  man  over  there,  sucking  the 
end  of  lus  rattan  V  asked  a  friend  at  our  elbow.  *  Yes ;  what  of  him  7'  '  See  how 
he  is  dying  away  with  the  music,  and  how  his  empty  head  sways  to  and  fro  in  af&oted 
ecstasy.  That  young  man  is  an  ignorant  ^  snob ;'  upon  my  honor,  he  cannot  write  a 
cUer  of  twenty  lines  without  misspelling  the  commonest  words.'    We  oonmiend  him, 


1850.] 


Editor's  Table.  181 


if  he  rends  the  Knickerbocker,  to  the  stadious  example  of  his  great  prototype, 
'  Cbarubs  dk  la  Pluchb,  Exquire,'  while  secoring  a  '  fiBudmabble  hedgication :' 

*  Imprtmub.  I  Ve  been  obleged  to  get  up  oil  the  ecomplishments  at  double  quick,  &  to  u>ply 
myself  with  tremotfaous  energy. 

*■  First :  in  border  to  give  myself  a  hldeer  of  what  a  geoUemao  reely  is,  I*Te  read  the  novrto  of 
Pklham  six  timeSf  and  am  to  go  through  it  4  times  mor. 

*•  I  pracSiB  ridin  uA  the  acquirement  of  *  a  steady  k,  a  sure  seat  acros  the  County'  aasUuously  4 
times  a  week,  at  the  Hippydnun  RIdin  Grounds.  Many 's  tlie  tumbil  I  've  ad,  and  the  anng  boans 
I  Ve  suffered  flrom,  thonsh  I  was  grinnin  in  the  Park  or  laffin  at  the  Opra. 

*•  Every  morning  from  o  till  d,  tlie  inhabitanoe  of  the  Halbany  msy  hare  been  soiprtsed  to  hear  the 
sounds  of  mudo  ishiiM  ftom  tlie  ^partmince  of  Jkajiks  db  la.  Pluchk,  Esquire,  Letter  Hex.  It's 
my  dandnflp-master.  From  six  to  nine  we  have  walces  and  polkies;  at  nine  ^mangtiang  k  depot- 
ment,'  as  he  caDs  it;  &  the  manner  of  hentering  a  room,  complimenting  the  ost  fc  oflto8S,lk  compot- 
ting  yourself  at  table.  At  nhie  I  benter  firom  mv  dressing-room,  (lias  to  a  party,)  I  make  my  bow  ; 
my  master  (he  *a  a  Marquis  in  France,  and  ad  misfortins,  being  connected  with  young  Lc  wt  Nbpo- 
lbitmO  reacates  me ;  I  nadwance ;  speak  abowt  the  weather  At  the  toppix  of  the  day  in  an  elegant 
&  cuasory  manner.  BrekAt  is  enounced  by  Fitzwaerbn,  my  mann :  we  precede  to  the  fe&ve 
bord ;  compUmence  Is  igschanged,  with  the  manner  of  drinking  wind,  aodreestng  your  neighbor,  em- 
pk»ying  your  napking  k  flnger^glaa.  Ice.  And  then  we  fkll  to  brekftt,  when  I  promin  you  the  Mai^ 
quis  donH  eat  like  a  commoner.  He  says  I  *m  gotten  on  very  well ;  soon  I  shall  be  able  to  inwite 
people  to  breklist,  like  Mr.  Mills,  my  rivle  in  the  Halbany;  Mr.  Macault,  (who  wrote  that  sweet 
book  of  ballets, « The  Lays  of  Handent  Rum ;)  &  the  great  Bfr.  RonoKRs  himself. 

*Tbe  above  was  wrote  some  weeks  back.  I  have  given  brekfMa  sins  then,  re^lar  Deshunft.  I 
bare  ad  Earls  and  Yconnta— Bamiti  aa  many  as  I  choee ;  and  the  pick  of  the  Railway  world,  o, 
which  I  Ibrm  a  member.'  ^ 

This  is  the  bright  side  of  the  picture ;  but  after  all, '  Jeaheb  de  la  Pluche,  Exquire' 

was  not  quite  'appy.    'Ear  'bn :  ^ 

'  Pkoplb  phansy  its  ball  niety  and  pleasure  the  lilb  of  ua  ftshnabble  gents  about  townd — but  I 
can  Veil  'em  ita  not  hall  goola  that  gutters.  They  do  nH  know  our  momints  of  hagony,  hour  ours  of 
Btuddv  and  refleoshun.  They  little  think  when  they  see  Jkjlmks  dk  la  Pluchk,  Squire,  wurling 
round  in  walce  at  Halmax  with  Ladt  Hann,  or  lazaly  steppink  a  kidrill  with  Last  Jaxk,  pouring 
bdegant  nothlnx  into  the  ConirrEss's  hear  at  dinner,  or  gallopin  his  boss  Desperation  hover  the  ex- 
orcfaun-ground  in  the  Park— they  little  think  that  leader  of  the  tong,  seaminkly  so  reckUss,  Is  a  caro- 
wom  mann!  — and  yet  so  it  is.' 

Let  our  would-be  dandies  take  good  heed  of  this  ingenuous  oonfession.  .  .  .  There 
ensues  a  beautiful  illustration  of  '  an  active  and  living  christian  fiuth :' 

'A  nifo  and  tendeMieaited  dersynMn^a  *good  shepherd'  of  his  flock,  was  one  ^y  speakinff  of 
that  active,  living  foith,  which  should  at  all  times  cheer  the  sincere  follower  of  Jxsos,  loia  related  to 
me  an  iDostration  that  had  Just  occurred  In  his  family. 

*He  had  gone  into  a  cellar  which  in  winter  was  quite  dark,  and  entered  by  a  trap-door.  A  little 
daughter  only  four  years  old  was  trying  to  find  him,  and  came  to  the  trapnloor,  but  on  looking  down 
all  waa  dark,  and  ahe  called ; 

*'  *■  Are  you  down  cellar,  father  f 

<  *  Yea;  would  you  like  to  come,  MARvf 

i  ( It  Is  dark;  I  cant  come  down,  fhther.' 

^  «WeIL  my  daughter,  I  am  right  betow  you,  and  I  can  see  yon,  though  you  cannot  see  me,  and  if 
yon  will  drop  youraelf,  I  will  catch  you.' 

«^  0,1  shall  (all;  I  cant  see  you,  papa.' 

*•  *I  know  it,' he  answered,  *bnt  I  am  really  here,  and  you  shall  not  fell  and  hurt  yourself.  'If  you 
win  Jump,  I  will  catch  vou  safely.* 

*  Little  BIaev  strained  her  eye  to  the  utmost ;  but  could  catch  no  glimpse  of  her  father.  She  hesi- 
tated, then  advanced  a  little  (krther,  then  summoning  all  her  resolution,  she  threw  herself  forward 
and  was  received  safely  in  her  Dither's  arms.  A  few  days  after  she  discovered  the  ceUar-door  open, 
and  supposing  her  father  to  be  there,  she  called : 

*  *  Shall  I  come  again,  papaf 

*  *  Yes,  my  dear,  in  a  minute,'  he  replied,  and  had  Just  time  to  reach  his  arms  toward  her,  when  in 
her  cbildiah  g^ee,  ahe  fell  shouting  into  his  arms,  and  clasping  his  neck,  aaid : 

'  a  knew,  dear  &ther,  I  shouki  not  falL' 

Thbee  are  very  few  persons  in  the  Empire  State  who  have  not  heard  of  Elisha 
Williams,  the  eminent  advocate,  of  Ck)1umbia  county.  A  friend  has  just  mentioned 
to  us  an  anecdote  of  him  which  is  well  worth  recording.  lie  had  been  listening  to  an 
antagonist  who  was  rather  a  dull  speaker,  and  who  had  infused  into  his  summing  up  a 
vast  deal  of  fustian.  Mr.  Williams  rose  when  he  had  finished,  and  said  :  ^  Gentlemen 
of  the  jury,  if  I  did  not  feel  strong  in  the  justice  of  my  cause,  I  should  fear  the  effect 
upon  yon  of  the  eloquent  haran|^e  to  which  you  have  just  listened.  That,  gentle- 
men, was  a  splendid,  a  magnificent  performance.    I  admire  that  speech,  gentlemen 


1S2  Editor^$  TahU.  [February, 

of  the  jury— Ia/ipay#aaniir©dit  I  admired  that  epeecli  when  I  was  a  boy !»  Itis 
needless  perhaps  to  add,  that  this  compliment  was  not  lost  upon  the  jury.  .  .  .  '  The 
Wheel  of  Life^  is  the  title  of  a  littie  poem,  a  few  stanzas  of  which  we  havecopied 
into  our  common-place  book.    They  strike  us  as  original  and  impressive : 


^I  8AT  bedde a  oottaae  hMith, 
A  wheel  was  ufawwffng  near ; 
A  UtUe  infimt  whirled  ft  round, 
Then  atarted  back  in  fear. 

^Methought  the  mysttc  Wheel  of  Ufe 

Was  whirled  by  that  ftdr  child, 
And  Out  the  eTeHengtheninff  ooM 
Was  on  the  spindle  pUed. 

« Time,  Btandlng  near  with  dlcUng  reel, 

Was  counting  off  the  chain ; 
And  every  month  he  tied  a  knot. 
And  every  year  a  skein. 


'At  lint  the  thread  was  mooth  and  white, 

No  spot  or  wrinkle  tbere ; 
For  Innocence  the  wheel  did  turn, 
For  Ukt^  immonal  heir. 

<  Soon  ooarier  grew  the  (omng  thready 

Uneven  grew  the  akein ; 
And  PasBlon,  with  its  crlmton  dye^ 
Began  to  leave  Its  Main. 

« And  louder  yet  the  spindle  whirred, 
And  quidc  the  whed  flew  round ; 
And  foat  upon  the  spool  of  Life 
Her  threftd  the  spmner  wound.' 


A  CHOICE  specimen  of '  Canine  Latimty^  is  the  constitution  of  a  society  established  a 
few  months  since  in  the  University  of  Vermont    We  subjoin  a  brief  specunen : 

'Quun  in  the  ooune  of  human  eventa  necease  eat  uno  set  of  anthraropopagoram  connectionem 
diflsolverd  cum  another  usual  eat  and  ezpectari  quod  in  verbis  of  that  numquam  to  besatiBadminal 
Puds  Gborob  Washxmotox  qui  ftilt  Ist  in  bello,  Ist  in  pace,  et  1st  in  the  cordibus  of  hia  countiy- 
men,  qui  ftut  universany  obeervitaa  dum  vixit  et  died  lamented  by  onmlbus  qui  knew  him,  Mt 
Mount  Vernon  a  locum  in  Virginia,  que  ooloniam  constitutus  erat  per  John  BicrrH  ante  the  glorions 
landing  of  our  Pilgrim  Patrum  qui  nigere  ab  tyranny  et  oppression  to  instituere  Ubertatum  of  coo- 
science  in  the  silvls  Americanis  ab  whom  delivatus  erat  tne  spirit  of  septuageslma  sex,  in  the  tem- 
pores  that  tried  men*8  anlmaa.  tn  the  revoluUonai/  bellum,  quum  the  aquila  Americana  demoUabed 
the  British  leonem  et  gigunt  tne  principles  of  the  unmortalis  JamasoH,  principles  qui  oppositt  sunt 
to  hos  of  the  insignia  Albxandkr  Uamiltoh  of  infelix  memory  qui  shot  erat  in  dueUo  cum  influnis 
Aaeoh  Bvas,  qui  died  a  deserved  mortem  per  want  of  breath  et  cuius  memoires  sunt  acripti  per 
Matthew  L.  Davis,  commonly  nominatns  the  Antlquus  Puer  in  Specs ;  an  amicus  of  the  illua- 
trissimus  Andrkw  Jackson  Teneseensls,  qui  pugnavit  and  vincit  the  nrittanoa  ad  Novum  Orleana 
in  KDcccxjv.  et  meruit  supremos  honores  ab  countrymen  ejus  per  expugnabllem  fDimositalem  snam 
to  et  Soman  fortitudinem  against  the  monstrum  Bank  the  focum  Arislocratis,  et  lever  tyramda,  as 
was  bene  dixit  pet  John  MAnxsoN,  Esq.,  a  Juria  oonsultua  boni  standing  et  cqjus  character  arst  like 
CjcsAa*8  wife,  qu»  est  dixit  to  have  been  the  danghter  of  one  horum  Bomanoram  qui  trampled  the 
kings  of  the  earth  et  oatenbpnt  obstupefecto  mundo  that  glorions  Democracy  quod  used  up  British 
tyranny  et  oppreasion  et  continuavit  mterrita  through  a  longum  et  unbroken  sneeosaJo  of  boni  eltl- 
xens  donee  it  centered  erat  in  Jakbs  K.  Polk  popufi  choice,  qui  donavit  a  paas  to  Santa  Ahna  et 
captured  id  gentleman^s  wooden  leg  et  scalded  eum  cum  *■  a  nasty  plate  of  soup*  in  maaibus  of  Boor- 
Txo  Ghippewanus  at  Oerro-Oordo,  subsequent  to  demolishing  his  coppisa  at  Palo  Alto,  Besaca  de  la 
Palma,  Monterey  and  Buena  Vista,  Zachabv  Taylor  Ddce,  the  greatest  dux  of  the  ag«s  <he  Dukb 
or  Wbluhston  not  exoeptns,  illustris  aa  Ule  is  fer  the  sumuffstioni  ImperatorisNAroLBOM,'  etc. 


Thxri  is  a  sheriff  in  Illinois  who  was  rather '  taken  in'  in  that  region  on  one  oooa- 
uon,  and  '  done  for.'  He  made  it  a  prominent  part  of  his  business  to  ferret  oat  and 
punish  pedlars  for  travelling  through  the  state  without  a  license ;  but  one  morning  he 
'  met  his  match ;'  a  '  g^ooine'  yankee  pedlar.  '  What  have  you  got  to  sell  T — any 
thmgr  asked  the  sheriff.  *  Ta6s,  sartain ;  what 'd  ye  like  to  hev  t  Got  razors,  fiut- 
rate  \  that 's  an  article,  'Square,  that  you  ioan<,  tew,  I  should  say,  by  the  looks  o' 
your  haird.  Got  good  blackin' ;  't  '11  make  them  old  cowhide  boots  o'  your'n  shine  so 
't  you  can  shave  into  'em :  Balm  o'  Klumby,  tew ;  only  a  dollar  a  bottle ;  good  for 
the  ha'r,  and  *  assistin'  poor  human  natur,'  as  the  poet  says.'  The  sheriff  bought  a 
bottle  of  the  Balm  of  Columbia,  and  in  reply  to  the  question  whether  he  wanted  '  any 
thing  else,'  that  functionary  said  he  did ;  he  wanted  to  see  the  yankee's  license  for 
pedling  in  Illinois,  that  being  his  duty,  as  the  high  sheriff  of  the  state !  The  pedlar 
showed  him  a  document  *  fixed  up  good,  in  black  and  white,'  which  the  officer  pro- 
nounced '  all  correct ;'  and  handing  it  back  to  the  pedlar,  he  added, '  I  don't  know, 
now  that  I  've  hougj^t  this  stuff,  that  I  care  any  thing  about  it.    I  reckon  I  may  as 


1850.] 


BdiUn'i  Tdbh. 


183 


wdl  Ben  it  to  yon  ag'in.  What  'II  you  giro  fiir  it  ?'  ■  <  Oh^  I  don't  know  as  the  darn'd 
atoff  '■  any  nae  to  me,  hot  seein'  it  'a  yedti,  aheriff,  1 11  give  yeOu  aboat  thirtynM^en 
and  8  half  oenti  for  it,'  qniedy  rapomded  the  trader.  The  aheriff  handed  over  the 
bottle  and  redredthe  diange,  when  the  pedlar  aaid:  '  I  lay  yeAu,  gneas  /'m  aquea- 
tioQ  to  aak  yon  now.  Hev  yedu  got  a  pedlar's  Iioense  aboot  your  trowse's  V  '  No ; 
I  haven t  any  nae  for  Ihe  article,  myaeJ/,'  said  the  aheriffi  <  Hain't,  eh  7  Well,  I  gnew 
we  'D  «ee  about  that  pooty  dam'd  soon.  £f  I  nndentand  the  law,  neGw,  it 'a  a  dear 
OMe  that  yoen  've  been  tradin'  with  me — hawkm'  and  peddlin'  Balm  o'  Klnmby  on 
the  highway  ~and  I  shall  inform  on  yefiu ;  1 11  be  dam'd  ef  I  don't  I'  Reaching  the 
town,  the  yankee  waa  as  good  as  his  word,  and  the  high  sheriff  waa  fined  for  pedlmg 
without  a  lieenae.  He  waa  heard  afterward  to  say,  *  Ton  might  as  well  hold  a  greased 
eel  as  a  live  Yankee  r  .  .  .  Viav  pretty  and  gracefol  are  these  lines  on  <  CTtr/AmNi,' 
jast  received  from  onr  friend  and  correspondent,  John  G.  Sau,  Ssq. : 


With  raqr  cheeks  and  menr-daaetiig  coiIb, 

And  eyw  of  tender  Ught, 
O  vny  beratlAil  are  little  girls, 

And  goodly  to  the  sight! 

Hare  eonMa  agioap  to  aeek  my  lonely  bowar, 

Ere  waninff  Aatonm  diea ; 
How  like  the  dew-dropa  on  a  drooping  flower 


Are  amilea  (h»n  gentle  eyea! 


What! 


I  beaming  gladneaa  Ughta  e«di  ftdiy  liue 
The  while  the  elvea  adTaace, 
Now  apeadlng  awlftly  in  a  gleeaome  race, 
Now  whirling  in  a  danoe  I 


What  heavenly  pleaaure  o'er  tfae'aptrU  lOna, 

Khen,  an  the  air  along* 
FkMrta  the  sweet  muaic  of  untainted  aonla, 

In  bright,  miaolUed  aongt 

Theaaerednymphafhatgnardthlaiftvangroaod 
Hay  sport  onaeen  with  theae. 

And  Joy  to  hear  their  ringing  laugh  reaoond 
Among  the  daatoring  treea. 


With  roar  cheeka  and  merry-dandng  curia, 
And  eyea  of  tender  light, 

UttlegirlB, 
And  goodly  to  the  Bight! 


Oyerybeautij 


<  A  Place  in  thy  Memory*  is  the  designation  given  to  a  small  duodecimo  volume 
by  MiB.  H.  Da  Kaotft.  It  is  published  by  subscription,  for  the  benefit  of  the  author, 
who  has  suddenly  been  stricken  stone-blind,  while  just  on  the  verge  of  womanhood. 

To  her,  henceforth, 

*  No  son,  no  moon,  no  atara— oiZ  rfori  r 

Reader,  eubecribe  for  her  book,  if  she  calls  upon  you  *,  it  is  a  good.^ohmie,  and  a 
pleaeant;  but '  it  is  the  cauae,  tiU  cotiM ."  Sorrow  for  the  poor  lady  *  cast  into  outer 
darimesa'  by  that  inacrutable  Pkovxdinoi  which  might  have  deprived  you  in  like 
manner  of  sight !  .  .  .  Looking  down  from  the  roof  of  a  high  dwelling  at  night 
upon  a  great  city,  partly  revealed  by  a  conflagration,  is  to  us  a  sublime  spectacle.  In 
the  aemi-g^oom,  upriae  the  towers,  steeples,  domes  and  cupolas  into  the  heavena,  now 
brightening  now  fiiding  in  the  rising  and  sinking  flame.  The  fiir-off  clanking  of  the 
engines ;  the  subdued  roar  of  human  voices*,  the  foint  crackling  of  the  flames,  and 
that  monotone  of  raging  fire  which  rises  solemnly  into  the  empyrean,  and  the  rest- 
less pattor  of  a  thousand  feet ;  all  these  possess,  to  our  conception,  the  element  of 
snblinuty.  Ixx^dng  up  to  tho  dark  blue  star-begemmed  dome  above,  one  cannot  help 
aaymg  with  BavAirr : 


«TkY  spirit  ia  around. 
Quickening  the  recUeaa  maas  that  sweepa  along ; 

And  this  eternal  found, 
Vdoea  and  Ibotfldla  of  the  mmombered  throng, 

Like  the  reaounding  sea, 
Or  Dke  the  rainy  tempeat,  speaks  of  Tus! 


<  And  whan  the  hoora  of  reel 
Come  like  a  calm  upon  the  mid  aea  brine, 

Hi»hii«  ita  billowy  breast, 
The  quiet  of  the  moment  too  is  Think  ; 

It  breathes  of  Him  who  keeps 
The  vaat  and  helpleaa  dty  while  It  sleeps.* 


'  You  must  have  a  retentive  memory,'  writes  a  Bangor  friend.    Well,  we  have,  we 


184 


Editor's  Table. 


[February, 


are  glad  to  say,  and  it  is  one  of  the  pleasantest  endowments  which  has  been  vouch- 
safed na.  *  Memory,'  says  Judge  RiUBniiTON,  very  beautifully,  '  acts  on  thought 
like  sudden  heat  on  a  dormant  fly :  it  wakes  it  from  the  dead,  puts  new  life  into  it, 
and  it  stretches  out  its  wings  and  buzzes  round  as  if  it  had  never  slept'  .  .  .  Wb 
little  thought,  while  quoting  from  Elliott,  the  English  *  corn-law  rhymer,'  in  our 
last  number,  so  soon  to  be  called  upon  to  record  his  death.  But  he  was  in  the  spirit- 
land  while  we  were  callmg  upon  our  readers  to  admire  his  genius.  He  was  to  the 
artuans  of  England  what  Burns  was  to  the  peasantry  of  Scotland.  It  was  to  his 
rhymes,  more  than  to  any  oth»  collateral  cause,  that  we  may  attribute  the  repeal  of 
the  tax  on  bread, '  the  staff  of  life,'  in  Great  Britain.  The  stalwart-minded  Writ- 
TIER  has  some  recent  sturing  lines  upon  the  burial  of  this  noble  poet  of  the  i 


<  Hjlnob  oflE;  thou  tythe^  plonderer  I  play 

No  trick  of  priestcraft  here : 
Back,  puny  loixlUng !  dar'si  thou  lay 

A  haod  on  Elliott^s  bier  ? 
Alive,  yoor  rank  and  pomp  as  dust 

Beneath hia  feet  he  trod; 
He  knew  the  locust  swarm  that  curaed 

Tlie  hanrestpflelda  of  God  I 

*  On  these  pale  lips,  the  smothered  thought 

Which  En2land*8  milliona  feel, 
A  fierce  and  fearfbl  mlendor  canght, 

Aa  from  his  foive,the  steel ; 
Strong-armed  as  Thor  !  a  shower  of  fire 

His  smitten  anvil  flung : 
God's  cune,  Earth's  wrong,  dumb  Hunger'a  ire, 

Hb  gave  them  all  a  tongue  I 


*-  Then  let  the  poor  man's  horny  hands 

Bear  up  the  mighty  dead, 
And  Labor's  swart  and  stalwart  bands 

Behind  as  mourners  tread. 
Leave  cant  and  craft  their  baptized  bonnda, 

Leave  rank  its  mtnsterjloor ; 
Give  England's  green  and  daiaied  grounds 

The  Poet  of  her  Poor! 

*Lay  down  upon  hia  Shoafa  green  verge 

That  brave  old  heart  of  oak, 
With  fitting  dirge  from  sounding  forge, 

And  pall  of  furnace-smoke! 
Where  whirls  the  stone  its  dizzy  rounds. 

And  axe  and  sledge  are  swung, 
And,  timing  to  their  stormy  sounds, 

His  stormy  lays  are  sung!' 


Good  taste  in  literary  composition,  or  good  judgment  of  it,  let  us  inform  *  M.,'  donH 
come  alone  of  reading  standard  *•  works  on  taste.'  There  are  readers  who  have  never 
read  an  essay  on  taste  *,  and  if  they  take  our  advice,  they  never  will  |  for  they  can  no 
more  improve  their  taste  by  so  domg,  than  they  could  improve  their  appetite  by 
studying  a  cookery-book.'  .  .  .  We  are  '  proud  and  hi4>py'  to  be  enabled  to  state 
to  the  citizens  of  the  North- American  republic  that  M.  Sotbr,  French  artist  de 
cuisine  to  the  *  Reform  Qub,  *  Len-den,'  has  '  fieibricated  an  entirely  new  sauce  for  the 
public  at  large  of  Great-Britain  1'  We  have  tried  it,  and  *  knocking  head,'  as  the  Chinese 
have  it,  ^  we  beg  leave  to  renew  to  M.  Sotbr  the  assurances  of  our  distinguished  con- 
^deration.'  What '«  it  made  ofy  Mr.  Soyer,  Mf  it  's  a  £air  question  T'  Could  n't 
you  oblige  us  with  what  a  friend  of  ours  calls  a  ^  re-gype'  of  it  7  '  Only  ask  for  in- 
formation'— how  to  ^  fabricate'  it.  Next  to  the  *  medicated  apple-sa&s'  of  Captain 
C0DDI.E,  of  Bunkum,  it  is  the  best  thing  of  its  kind  *  going.'  .  .  .  ^Crossing  the 
KaatskiUs  in  Winter^  is  a  theme  for  a  poet,  but  the  scene  should  be  beheld  by  Hal- 
LBOK  or  Bryant.  *  B.  V.'  enjoyed  it,  we  have  no  doubt,  but  he  does  not  commuwi- 
eate  his  enjoyment.  Now  we  are  no  poet,  *  and  always  was ;'  but  it  really  '  doth 
appeareih  unto  us'  that  something  nearly  akin  to  poetry  would  have  found  its  way 
even  to  our  bosom,  while  standing,'as  our  correspondent  did,  in  a  pause  of  his  night- 
ride  across  tlie  mountains,  and  looking  over  that  vast  expanse,  (Nature  dead  and  in 
her  shroud)  saw 

*Thb  moon  throw  oflT  her  robe  of  douds, 
And  glimmer  on  the  cold  white  anew.' 

We  feel  the  scene,  in  the  sanctum  to-night ;  we  positively  do.  .  ,  .  We  receive, 
through  Messrs.  Dewitt  and  Davenport,  Tribune  Buildings,  the  successive  issues  of 
'7Ae  Living  Age,'*  published  by  Messrs.  £.  Littell  and  Comfant,  Boston  ;  a  work 


1850.]  Editor's   Table.  185 

wluch  we  always  peruse  with  pleaaupe,  not  leaa  firom  the  character  than  the  variety  of 
its  contents.  At  the  establishment  of  *  the  two  D.'s'  may  be  found  all  the  current 
works  of  the  day.  .  .  .  There  are  not  a  few  entertaining  matters  in  the  *  Sweep- 
ings from  the  Study  of  a  SeptuagenaryJ*    We  annex  a  specimen  or  two : 

'  FicnoM  in  all  langu^gos  has  been  the  creation  of  fancy.  In  poetry,  it  has  its  fkbled  Deities ;  in 
la;w,  it  has  its  (John  Dob  and  Richa.ed  Rok;*  in  the  diplomatic  departments  of  goTemment,  it 
flourishes  in  the « Balance  of  Power,'  National  Independence,  Public  Rights,  Royal  Mandates,  etc. 
In  Theology,  from  the  earlieet  ages  of  history,  it  has  held  unlimited  sway  oyer  the  powers  of  the 
human  mind,  which  has  been  transmitted  to  succeeding  generations  by  written  records  or  oral  tradi- 
tioD^.  The  greatest  range  of  Action  throughout  Christendom  has  probably  been  displayed  on  objects  of 
Athulous  worship,  first  propogated  by  pagan  priests  in  Egypt,  which  became  the  land  of  graven  im- 
ages :  sOegory  and  mythology  were  the  Tell  that  concealed  their  religious  devotions  fWnn  the  eyes  of 
the  vulgar,  snd  flible  was  the  impenetrable  disguise.  Thus  the  worship  of  objects  snimate  and  in- 
animate were  consecrated  as  visible  and  invisible  symbols  of  Deities.  Hence  Jupitbe  Am moh  was 
represented  ss  a  ram.  Apis,  the  son  of  Jupiter  and  Niobb,  imder  that  of  a  cow ;  Osieis,  of  a  bull ; 
PiLM,  of  a  goat  From  such  a  eouroe  the  dehided  people  derived  their  fiibulons  transformaUons  of 
their  gods,  so  generslly  celebrated  in  Egyptian  mythology* 

*  The  following  brief  delineation  of  the  blissful  regions  of  Psradise  may  serve  to  show  how  the 
illusive  visions  of  fiincy  become  neutralized  in  the  natural  progress  of  civilized  lifs.  We  are  told 
that  the  Eternal  Bswo  presided  at  thebirth  of  the  human  race,  and  that  his  voice  was  heard,  not  in 
the  inarticnlate  music  of  the  wind,  but  in  distinct  and  intelligible  language,  among  the  trees  of  the 
Infimt  world.  Thus  mankind  learned  the  secret  of  their  mysterious  existence,  and  a  simple  and  sub- 
lime religion,  from  the  original  source  of  intelligence,  when  the  frail  bark  of  humanity  was  launched 
on  the  ocean  of  time,  amid  the  hymning  of  angels  and  the  welcoming  of  the  very  elements  of  nsr 
tore!  They  fen  frtMn  this  state  of  innocence  and  bliss,  when  misery  and  death  became  their  portion. 
Their  eyes  were  darkened  to  the  heavenly  light  which  had  streamed  upon  them  in  Eden ;  their  ears 
became  incapable  of  bearing,  and  their  souls  of  onderstsndhig  the  voice  of  OoD,  and  their  only  guide 
was  the  Ught  of  nature :  they  forgot  the  solemn  secret  of  their  destiny,  snd  their  moral  capabilities 
were  mora  or  less  modified  by  the  clroumstances  of  their  physical  situation ;  since  which  the  histocy 
of  man  exhibits  an  sdvance  fh>m  barbarism  to  refinement ;  his  faculties  improve,  his  mind  is  en' 
Isiged,  and  his  soul  becomes  enlightened  with  the  arts  snd  sciences  of  civilized  life.* 

A  TOUNGSTER,  scarcely  of  age,  and  worth  sixteen  thousand  dollars  a  year,  was  re- 
cently overheard,  in  a  foshionable  and  exclusive  *  hell,^  repeating  to  a  small  circle  of 
friends  a  prodigiously  funny  joke  which  he  had  heard  somewhere.  Of  course  every 
body  laughed  at  the  story  of  a  young  man  with  sixteen  thousand  dollars  a  year,  and 
none  more  boisterously  than  the  ^  premier'  of  the  gay  saloon.  One  of  the  brace  of 
*  ducks'  in  an  adjoining  room,  who  overheard  the  story,  offered  five  to  one  that  the 
langh  of  the  premier  was  n't  ^  on  the  square !'  *  Flash'  sentences  these,  but  easily 
understood  by  the  *  knowing  ones.'  A  laugh  *  on  the  square !'  .  .  .  It  seems 
that '  Mary^s  DreamC  is  not,  as  we  had  always  supposed,  ^  English  song.  It  is  of 
Scottish  origin,  and  here  is  one  of  the  striking  stanzas  of  the  original : 

*  Take  off  thae  bride-Sheets  frae  thy  bed. 

Which  Uiou  hast  fsukied  down  toime;  ^ 

Unrobe  thee  of  thy  earthly  stole :  -     * 

I ni  meet  fa'  soon  in  heaven  wi'  theeT 
Three  times  the  gray  cock  clapped  his  wings. 

To  mak'  the  moroii^p  lift  her  e*e, 
And  thrice  the  psaeing  spirit  said : 

*  Sweet  Maey  I  weep  nae  mair  tw  meT 

Op  ^Mahomet  and  his  SuccessorSy^  by  Washington  Irving,  recently  issued  from 
the  press  of  Putnam,  we  shall  have  occasion  to  speak  hereafter.  We  may  for  the 
present  merely  remark  that  the  work  involves  a  great  deal  of  romantic  interest,  and 
eontains  many  oriental  legends  of  a  very  peculiar  character.    The  story,  in  short,  of 


186  EdUmr*9  Table.  [February, 

the  founder  of  Islamkm  u  an  enterUuning  and  mstructiYe  one.  Obserre,  in  preoe- 
dlng  pages,  the  tribute  paid  to  Mahombt  by  our  well-informed  and  aceorapliahed 
oriental  correspondent.  ...  To  the  descriptiYe  writer  of  *  The  Spirit-WorW  we 
have  only  to  say, '  All  that  we  know  ia,  nothing  can  be  known'  externally,  toaohing 
the  theme  of  his  essay.  How  inconceivably  eccentric  and  illimitable  may  be  the 
mind's  flight,  when  it  is  released  from  its  earthly  tenement,  and  revels  in  the  bound- 
leas  wilds  of  imagination,  as  a  liberated  balloon  soars  into  the  blue  empyrean — of  tkU 
sorely  all  that  we  know  is '  less  than  nothing,  and  vanity !'  .  .  .  We  enjoyed  a 
'  aOent  laugh'  over  the  broad-ish  '  Sketch  of  a  Fashionable  Muneal  Party .^  The 
'  accessories'  are  surely  overdone.  Does  *  P.'  remember  the  anecdote  of  Lord 
No&TH,  (wasn't  it?)  who  had  no  great  love  of  music,  and  who,  on  being  asked  why 
be  did  not  subscribe  to  certain  fashionable  concerts,  it  being  urged,  as  a  reason  why 
he  should  do  so,  that  his  brother  the  Bishop  of  Winchester  was  a  *  patron'  of  them, 
replied :  *  Oh,  ay  I  no  doubt  -,  and  if  I  was  as  deaf  as  my  brother,  /  would  subscribe 
too !'  .  .  .  The  *  ThoughU  by  a  Returned  Oold-Seeker*  have  abundant  feeling, 
but  they  greatly  lack  execution.  The  writer's  emotions  on  arriving  ofF  the  coast  on 
a  bright  Sunday  morning  reminded  us  of  a  stanza  in  '  The  Antient  Marinere'  of 

Coleridge  : 

«  Oh  I  dream  of  Joy  I  Is  this  indeed 

The  Ught^iouse  top  I  see  ? 

Is  this  the  hlU?  is  this  the  kirk? 

b  this  mine  own  countreer 

*  The  Parterre^  a  Collection  of  Flowers  culled  by  the  Wayside,''  is  the  modest 
and  pretty  title  given  to  a  handsomely-executed  little  volume  of  verse  by  D.  W.  Bbl- 
XBLB,  of  Philadelphia,  who  has  sometimes  contributed  to  these  pages.  Mr.  Belislb 
has  tenderness,  simplicity,  and  a  fair  facility  of  versification,  to  commend  him  to  his 
reader.  He  is  an  evident  lover  of  nature,  also,  and  describes  natural  scenes  in  gene- 
ral with  no  little  feithfulness.  His  imagination  is  not  of  the  highest  order,  but  noth- 
ing could  be  purer  than  the  inculcations  of  his  verse.  .  .  .  Pshaw!  it  can  be  done, 
firiend  ^  Veto.'  It  can  and  it  must ;  and  what  is  more,  you  are  the  very  man  to  do  it. 
*  What  has  been,'  remember,  '  may  be  again ;  for  may  be  and  has  been  are  only  tenses 
of  the  same  verb,  and  that  verb  is  eternally  being  declined.'  To  't  man,  to  't !  The 
edict  is  promulged.  Delay  not.  A  vermillion  decree.  Respect  this !  .  .  .  Our 
own  little  people,  in  repeating  the  Lord's  Prayer,  are  dhreoted  to  say,  ^Abandon  us 
not  to  temptation ;'  and,  if  we  are  rightly  informed,  this  is  the  language  of  the  originaL 
Surely  our  heavenly  Father  would  not '  lead  us  into  temptation.'  We  have  just 
breathed  an  aspiration  after  a  little  girl  who  has  been  repeating  ibis  comprehensive  peti- 
tion, and  in  three  minutes  afterward  was  in  the  dream-land  of  guileless  childhood : 

*■  Ob  may  the  Fountain  of  ait  Trath 
Each  peif9Ct  gift  impart, 


With  innocence  protect  thj  youth, 
With  hope  sapport  thy  heart  V 


If  our  metropolitan  readers,  who  may  have  the  opportunity,  should  desire  to  see  an 
exemplification  of  the  beautiful  in  interior  decoration,  where  shape  and  form  may  be 
said  to  be  against  a  tasteful  display  of  art,  we  commend  them  to  an  examination  of  ihe 
cabins  of  that  magnificent  new  steamer,  belonging  to  Mr.  Collins'  line, '  The  AtUtn- 
iic.^  It  needs  but  a  glance  at  the  superb  decorations,  to  one  acquainted  with  the 
skill  and  fine  taste  of  the  accomplished  artist  who  designed  them,  to  recognise  in 
them  the  directing  hand  of  Mr.  George  Platt,  than  whom  there  is  not  a  more  gifted 


1850.]  Editor's  Table.  187 

deoonrtor  on  this  tide  the  Atiantio.  Mr.  Plait's  Benrioei  are  dow  so  frequently  in 
reqviation,  in  the  ereotion  or  completion  of  noble  edifioes  in  town  and  ooontry,  and 
in  arranging  the  interiors  of  oar  noblest  steamers,  that  be  may  be  said  to  embody  and 
represent  the  highest  taste  of  theooontry,  in  his  especial  branchesof  art  .  .  .  Thk 
^Bi^alo  Daily  Courier,^  a  well-filled  sheet,  edited  by  Mr.  Wxllum  A.  BsATBa,  its 
proprietor,  baa  arisen  like  a '  spynx'  from  the  ashes  of  its  recent  conflagration,  and  in 
its  new  and  handsome  dress  presents  a  very  attractive  appearance.  We  observe  in  its 
colmnns  the  hand  of  Mr.  Gboroi  Haskins,  now  and  then ;  a  young  gentleman  who 
knowB  how  to  wield  a  pleasant  qoiU,  and  does  h.  ...  It  would  have  been  an  illua- 
tmtion  of  the  '  luxury  of  domggood'  if  our  friend  M— of  P  —  could  have  seen 
the  reception,  by  the  publisher  hereof,  of  the  twenty  new  names  which  he  forwarded 
in  one  day  for  our  subscription-list    He  seemed, 

*intheftilneMarjoyaiidliopcs 

To  be  wubing  his  bindB  in  invlnbietomH 
In  ImpcvoepClble  water.' 

To  R of  B ,  L of  A ,  (S.C.,)  and  all  who  have  interested 

themselves  in  extending  our  circulation,  *  we  cordially  unite'  in  tendering  our  hearty 
thanks  .  .  .  '  The  Albion^  weekly  literary  and  political  journal  appears  in  a  new 
and  very  handsome  addreas,  and  a  late  issue  is  accompanied  by  a  large  and  exceed- 
ingly spirited  engraving  from  Landsbbr's  celebrated  picture  of  '  Dignity  and  Itn- 
fudencty^ '  twa  dogs'  who  will  become  as  fiunous  to  the  eye,  as  Buens's  poezft  to  the 
mind,  of  the  world.  Mr.  Landsbbr  may  congratulate  himself  upon  having  so  good 
an  interpreter  of  his  picture  upon  stone  as  our  engraver,  Mr.  Sadd.  *  The  Albion' 
is  condncted  with  marked  dignity,  spirit  and  industry  by  Mr.  Young,  its  present 
editor  and  proprietor,  and  has,  as  it  has  always  had,  our  cordial  good  wishes  for  its 
prosperity.  .  .  .  'D.'isacynic.  Don't  think  so  ill  of  the  world.  It's  a  very  pleasant 
worid,  if  you  know  how  to  treat  and  to  enjoy  it  It  contains  many  very  warm-heart- 
ed, simple-hearted,  right-hearted  men  and  women.  'After  all,'  says  one  who  had 
known  and  tested  mankind, '  after  all,  the  common  varieties  of  human  character  will 
be  found  distributed  in  much  the  same  proportion  everywhere,  and  in  most  places 
there  will  be  a  sprinkling  of  the  uncommon  ones.  Everywhere  you  may  find  the 
selfish  and  the  sensual,  the  carkmg  and  the  careful,  the  cunning  and  the  credulous, 
the  worldling  and  the  reckless.  But  kind  hearts  are  also  every  where  to  be  found ; 
right  intentions,  g;enial  minds,  and  private  virtues.'  .  .  .  We  were  about  to  say  a 
few  words  touching  the  deeideratum  supplied  by  the  establishment  mentioned  below, 
but  '  The  Home  Journal?  has  anticipated  us,  in  this  brief  paragraph  *  of  and  con- 
cerning' ^Curions  Furniture  at  Marley^a  in  Ann-street,  below  Nassau :  *  One  of  the 
greatest  treats  we  have  lately  had,  (in  the  way  of  idling  the  pinch  of  the  quill  out  of 
our  fingers,)  has  been  the  inspection  of  some  most  sumptuous  spedmens  of  Chinese 
fnmitnre,  for  sale  at  Marlbt's  in  Ann-street  It  was  brought  to  this  country  by  a 
wealthy  oriental  merchant,  and  is  the  first  we  have  ever  seen  of  the  maesive  articles 
of  that  country's  luxuries.  Those  who  have  acquired,  in  Europe,  a  distaste  for  the 
glaring  look  of  newness,  like  furniture  on  show  in  the  cabinet-maker's  ware-room, 
wluch  our  New- York  houses  wear,  will  do  well  to  step  m  and  see  something  which 
looks  as  if  the  proprietor  was  well  o^  before  yesterday.  Marlbt's  rooms  are  a  mu- 
seum for  such  things,  but  what  we  speak  of,  forms  just  now  the  most  attractive  no- 
velty.' Rare  and  elegant  furniture,  of  all  descriptions,  with  articles  of  vertu  for  parlors 
and  dressing-roomB,  may  always  be  found  at  this  popular  depository.  .  .  .  Wm  speak 


188 


Edatar'i  Table. 


bythecard.'  .  .  .  The  last '  iasoo' of  the 'l^uitJbnfi  Fia^-S'<a#' has  not  reached 
our  office.  We  fear  that  the  harraaemg '  life  of  mind'  which  the  editor  has  lately  been 
leading  has  given  him  a  brain-ferer.  Bnt,  as  the  late  William  Cobbbtt  aaya,  in  his 
poem  of  ^  Laliah-Bookh,'  we  '  hope  for  the  best.'  .  .  .  We  are  well  pleased  to 
hear  of  the  saooeas  of  the  *  New-York  Weekly  MirrwrJ'  Onr  friend  Mr.  Fdllss. 
finds  leisore  not  only  to  attend  to  the  duties  of  the  honorable  and  InoratiTe  station 
,  which  he  holds  under  '  Unolb  Sam  del,'  and  to  edit  his  sprightly  and  most  readable 
daily  journal,  bnt  also^  with  the  aid  of  capable  assistants,  to  make  a  most  various  and 
excellent  weekly.  .  .  .  The  following  lines  have  been  handed  us  by  a  Scottish  gen- 
tleman for  many  years  connected  with  the  public  press  at  Aberdeen  and  an  adjacent 
town  of  Scotland.  They  will  derive  an  added  interest  at  a  period  so  near  the  starting^ 
point  of  Time  in  his  annual  career : 


Old  Tim b  boI  on  a  rain  vast, 

And  he  tenglied  right  merrille ; 
He  laughed  at  the  preeent,  he  laughed  at  the  past, 
And  he  laughed  at  the  piles  that  were  to  last 

Till  Tdkb  alMnild  oeaae  to  be. 

« Ha!  har  cried  he,  'they  call  me  old, 
And  they  paint  me  lank  and  gray; 
But  let  them  be  told  my  scythe  I  hold 
With  aa  Arm  a  hand  and  a  heart  aa  bold 
As  I  did  in  my  early  day. 

«Tho«e  ancient  folks,  with  thedr  stone  and  day^ 

Built  well,  as  these  walls  can  show ; 
They  've  kept  me  at  bay  this  many  a  day. 
But  TiMK,  like  tide,  con  no  man  stay  — 
On,  onward  I  must  gol 

( As  the  ndns  I  crumble  now,  shall  all 

Yon  splendid  mansions  be ; 
For  each  buttnas  and  aich  and  massy  wall, 
And  pillar  and  dome  and  spire  shall  fUl, 

\vlien  touched  at  tongtn  by  me. 

*  Thev  boast  of  pyramids  and  towera, 

And  they  think  my  power  to  check ; 
But  pyramids,  ftagile  aa  ladled  bowers, 
To  earth  shall  be  hnried  by  my  dread  powers, 
To  mix  la  the  general  wreck. 

« A  sad  tasknis  to  crush  to  dust 

Full  many  a  stately  dome, 
Bnt  feller  and  deadlier  work  I  must 
Perform,  with  a  power  and  a  deodly  lust. 

On  all  that  on  earth  do  roam. 


'  For  ooontless  thousands  yet  unborn 

Are  doomed  to  be  my  prey; 
The  bands  of  affection  and  lore  must  be  torn. 
And  the  gay  and  the  young  and  the  weary  worn 

I  must  sweep  in  their  torn  away! 

t  Tet  gentler,  kindlier  tasks  are  mine,' 

As  many  a  heart  can  toll ; 
E'en  now  there  are  bosoms  that  sorrowing  pfne^ 
On  whose  starless  night  joy  yet  will  shine> 

Through  Tub's  all-potent  apelL 

*Ohl  sad  is  the  sorrow  I  cannot  heaL 

Though  there  are  such  sorrows,  I  ween ; 
Hearts  loving  and  leal  can  now  never  feel 
Hie  Joy  that  their  smiles  were  wont  to  reveal, 
EPer  the  dark  storm  of  grief  they  had 


'IlKeIr  houn,  like  those  the  dial  shows 

As  the  sun  on  ita  gnomon  feDs, 
Are  marked  by  a  shadow  that  ever  throws 
A  *  bliffht  alike  o*er  their  Joys  and  woea.' 

TiU  Dbath'b  dread  summons  calls  P 

Bnt  the  Final  Viotoet  Is  not  here ; 

Tim  B  may  conquer  all  below. 
But  in  a  brighter  spbere  shall  man  appear. 
When  nor  hour  nor  day  nor  month  nor  year 

Shall  marie  the  eternal  flow. 

Of  Jovs  the  blessed  in  heaven  shall  know 

Where  sorrow  and  grief  they  11  never  see* 
When  the  ills  they  suffered,  the  anguish  and  wo^ 
Shall  cease;  for  Joy  on  Joy  shall  flow. 

And  Tim B  shall  cbasb  to  bb  1  b. 


*  How  do  you  like  the  New-LightB  7'  was  wont  to  aak  Mr.  Potet,  as '  Dr.  O^Flaii.,' 
of  'poor  Power,'  aa  *  Dr.  O^Toole.'  '  Oh !'  ezdaima  the  latter, '  what,  yon  mane 
the  Gaah-Lights  I  Be  me  sowl,  they  *re  gay  and  sparkling,  now  and  ag'm !'  And 
the  same  may  be  said  of  Mr.  G.  G.  Foster's  '  Qaa-lAght^^  by  which,  in  a  reoent 
volume  of  graphic  sketches,  published  by  Messrs.  Dewitt  and  Davenport,  he  sur- 
veys New- York  with  the  eye  and  pen  of  an  artist  .  .  .  The  present  number  of 
the  Knickerbocker  was  ready  for  the  binder  on  the  twentieth  of  January.  Hereafter 
the  work  will  appear  with  unfailing  punctuality  on  the  first  of  each  month  in  the  At- 
lantic  cities,  and  near  that  period  in  most  of  the  cities  of  the  Union.  Gorreapond- 
ents,  publishers,  etc.,  will  please  to  take  note  of  this,  and  '  act  accordingly.*  Our 
circulation  in  England,  increased  by  the  activity  of  our  new  agents  in  London,  requires 
us  to  go  to  press  at  an  early  day,  that  the  work  may  be  in  London  as  nearly  as  posable 
by  the  first  of  each  month.   .  .   .   Corrs8Fondkntb  must '  bear  with  us  yet  a  little.' 


MAeAZINE^  FOR  THE  MILLION!!! 


The  Snbteriber  wfll  commence,  early  in  Febmarj,  the  poblioation  of  the 

FAKIKY  FRIBflTD: 

A  wmi'montfaly  periodical,  mirlTalled  in  cheapneaa,  intereit,  and  naefnlncM,  containing 
thizt7*two  pagei  amall  octayo,  beaatifall j  Hlxutrated  and  printed :  atitched  in  a  neat  coyer.  In 
magazine  form.    Price  6^  cknts  pen  nxtmbu. 

Thismagaxine  waa  commenced  on  the  flrat  of  January,  1849,  in  London,  and  haa  attained  a 
drenktion  nnparalleUed  in  the  annala  of  periodical  literatore.  On  the  15th  of  December  laat, 
the  sale  in  nnmben  and  in  rolomea  amounted  to  SIXTY-FIVE  THOUSAND. 

Every  number  containa  a  Tale,  an  article  upon  Practical  Science,  an  Historical  or  Scientific 
paper,  addreaaed  to  young  people,  by  "  Aunt  Mary,"  or  by  "  Grandfather  Whitehead  ;'*  a  maaa 
of  Qaefal  Heceipta  and  Preacriptiona  (tiiia  Department  being  edited  by  a  Member  of  the 
Medical  Profeaaion),  Original  llluatrated  Deaigna  in  Fancy  Keedlework,  by  the  celebrated  Mn. 
Wanren ;  Inatruction  and  Advice  for  the  Gardener,  Housewife,  Naturaliat,  &o.,  Ac.  Variona 
humorous  mattera,  such  aa  Anagrama,  Arithmetical  and  otherProblema,  Enigmas,  Conundruma, 
Bebuaea,  Practical  Puzzlea,  Cheaa  Problema,  &c.,  &c.,  for  Family  Pastime. 

More  than  one  hundred  newspapers  in  ^  ngland  hare  reviewed  this  work  in  the  moat  fayor> 
able  terma — all  concurring  in  the  opinion  that  It  ia  a  publication  which  should  find  ita  way  into 
every  family. 

The  following  are  part  of  the  contents  of  the  Number  for  JaAary,  1850 : 

ILLUSTRATED  TITLE  TO  VOL.  U. 

FIRST  CHAPTER  OF  THE  ALCHEMIST,  a  caph-al  Talk. 

LECTURE  TO  LITTLB  FOLK.    By  GRANDFATHER  WHITEHEAD,  with  tbeu  kw- 


FIRST  PAPER  UPON  THE  ETIQlfETTE  OF  POLITE  SOCIETY. 

SONO,  (WITH  Muaxc.)  THE  GLORIOUS  TRUTH,  COMPOSED  BY  ALEXANDER  LEE. 

FIRST  PAPER  UPON  INSECTS,  with  XNoaAViNG. 

ELEMENTARY  PAPER  UPON  GARDENING. 

THE  HOUSEWIFE'S  FRIEND.  Firx  ENonATiMoa  of  ANiXALa  and  joihts,  wrr  RBCdPTt 
von  YAaious  nxsHxa,  Pabtbt,  Fish,  Povltbt,  Gahx,  Jonrra,  Saucss,  DBaaanTS,  Ac 

A  CURIOUS  CHINESE  PUZZLE,  wrni  a  larox  KNoaAYiifo.       •  , 

CHESS  PROBLEM.  Bt  tss  CBLZBaATBD  HERR  HARWITZ,  THE  BLINDFOLD  CHESS 
PLAYER. 

Together  with  a  variety  of  uaeful  and  intereating  matter. 

So  great  haa  been  tiie  demand  for  tfaia  work  in  England  that  it  has  been  changed  from  a 
monthly  to  a  aemi-monthly,  at  the  requeat  of  the  subscribers.  Ita  great  cheapneaa.  will  place 
it  in  the  reach  of  every  iamily. 

TERMS.— The  price  will  bs  6|:  cssts  per  number,  or  $1  60  per 
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It  wilz.  bb  bold  fob  cash  oia.r,  and  subscrlfitions  must  be  invabiablt  in  adtancb.  Per- 
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trhea  the  work  will  be  diacontinued  unleaa  more  money  ia  sent.  Subscribers  need  not  fear 
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FostmaattriorenqutiUdtoaaaiageitU.    A  tpeemen  ntmbe^wiUbe  tenl  to  thMewkottudforU 


J^tnU»antedi»€0erfck9MdtownhitheUtUiedSUu$to^et9uh9eriben 

Pleaae  apply  (atating  refereneea,  and  Pon-PAin)  to 

SAMUEL  HEUSTON. 

139  Nasaan-Btreat,  New-Yoik. 


NOW    HKAllTy 

SAINT  LEGER; 

OR, 

THB    TBRBADS    OF    LZFB. 

GEORGE  P.  PUTNAM,  165  Broadway. 

(17  Snbicriben  to  the  Knickkrbooker  ean  be  supplied  with  cqHee  by  allying 
to  Saxuil  Hubbton,  139  Nunau-Btreet 

"IPHIE  IfiAHWAIL  (Q)]F  HIE  AIL1FIBI, 

PUBLISHED  BT  THE  GBiEFENBEBO  CO.,  NEW-TOU. 
7  Parts,  300  Pages,  13mo« 

Thii  M  |he  most  useftil  tod  comprehenNTe,  ae  well  as  the  cheapeet  medical  wo^l 
ezta!nt,  and  should  be  in  the  hands  of  erery  family. 

Part  L  presents  an  account  of  the  different  medical  theories  of  the  present  day, 
both  good  and  bad,  and  their  relation  to  the  health  of  the  community. 

Part  II.  presents  a  new  doctrine,  the  American-OraefeiAerg  System,  which  need 
but  be  understood  to  command  the  confidence  of  the  whole  community. 

Part  III.  describes  the  causes,  symptoms  and  treatment  of  aJmost  every  form  of 
disease,  including  those  diseases  peculiar  to  Mothers  and  Children ;  useful  to  all  classes, 
even  to  physicians,  as  a  hand^Kwk. 

Part  IV.  contains  important  directions  for  preserring  health,  &jc. 

Part  V.  Hints  for  Nurses,  treatment  of  persons  recovering  from  sickness,  cookery 
for  the  nek,  &c. 

Part  YI.  Domestic  remedies  described,  including  mode  of  raising  and  preserving 
medicinal  rootB,  &c.,  making  lotions,  poultices,  colognes,  cosmetics,  &c 

Part  VII.  contains  a  collection  of  useful  tables,  recipes,  Sec 

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KAETULNB. 

Wm.  Taylor, Bslttmore. 

CISTBXOT  OV  COLUMBIA. 

Frank  Taylor, •• Wasblngtoa. 


ILBoallemeti Mdblla. 

J.  C.  Morgan, — Kew-Oriesas. 

OHIO. 

Post  ft  Co., CtedanslL 

M. R. Dsudib.*.. ..•.•.^•... Newark.   „    ,,     ,  „    ^    wdiaka. 

Perkini  ft  Buddngham, Terre  Hante. 

wnmnrhWAMiA,                                                musoum. 
O.B.ZleberftCo., - Pblladelplila.   E.  K.  Woodward, BtLoela. 

Mr.  IiRASi.  E.  Jamxs,  for  the  Soathem  and  South-western  Statee,  aadsted  by  Jambs  K.  Whip- 
FL«,  Wk.  H.  Weld,  O.  H.  P.  Stsm,  Jors  B.  Wkld,  T.  8.  Watumam,  John  CoLLOfSt  Jaibbs 
Dbbbinq,  Isaac  T.  Gittbr,  and  R.  8.  Jamm. 

Mr.  C.  W.  Jamu  for  the  Weatexn  State*,  Iowa  and  WiMonstn,  aari^ted  by  Jamb«  R.  Smni, 
J.  T.  Bbmt,  T.  Gardinbb  Bkith  and  F.  J.  Hawks,  John  W.  AminTBONo,  Jamsm  Tatx.xb, 
£.  M.  SnVHifsoK,  and  W.  Ramsbt. 


zZjiJi^^^h^ 


NEW-YORK 

MONTHLY  MAGAZINE. 


MARCH,     185  0. 


HEW-YOBK: 
PUBLISHED   BY   SAMUEL  HUESTOKi   139  NASSAU-STREET. 

LONDON; 

PABTBIEOE  *  04KET,   PATERVOSTHa-ROW,  AND  70,   EDQEW  ARE-flOAD, 
(HANBUHT  AKt)  COMPACT.  ACCENTS.) 

BOSTON; 

OBOBBT  h.  NICHOLS  ;  TDTRTDOB  U  <^0.  x  BED  DIN  O  t  CO. 

FEtLADZLPPBlA  :   a  B-  7TEBER  le  CO. 


1850. 


WK.   ONBomiti  FRIHTAK. 


i 


€^t  fimththtbt  Mtiffipt 

EDITED  BY  LEWIS  OATLORD  CLARK. 


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190  The  German  JSdrtz.  [March, 

successful  champions.  The  cathedral  of  Magdeburg  is  a  majestic  pile, 
but  rather  bare  and  plain,  when  compared  with  the  prodigious  luxuri- 
ance of  ornamental  stone-carving,  usual  to  Gothic  structures  of  the 
twelfih  and  thirteenth  centuries.  It  contains  some  remarkable  monu- 
ments, and  among  them  the  sepulchre  of  a  noble  Frau,  who,  after  she 
had  been  buried  some  days,  reyived,  came  out  of  her  tomb,  returned 
to  her  husband  -and  tived  with  him  loTingly  nine  years  longer.  Those 
of  my  readers  who  desire  to  know  more  of  this  singular  history,  of  the 
circumstances  of  this  extraordinary  reyivificadon,  and  of  the  surprise, 
delight,  or  consternation  of  the  husband,  must  of  course  go  themselves 
to  Magdeburg,  and  inquire  of  the  pleasant  old  lady  who  told  it  to  me. 
She  will  I  doubt  not,  give  them  full  and  minute  infcMrmation,  for  she  had 
a  tongue  in  her  head,  and  she  loved  to  hear  it  wag. 

I  chatted  with  her  full  half  an  hour,  standing  in  the  cool  shadow  of 
the  cathedral  spire,  while  she  gestured  energetically  vnth  a  bunch  of 
keys  nearly  as  large  as  her  turban.  She  entered  into  all  her  family  his- 
tory. One  of  her  boys  had  imbibed  the  religious  gloom  of  the  old 
church  in  his  spirit,  and  he  was  going  to  be  a  preacher ;  another  had 
studied  its  stones  and  its  piUars,  and  followed  with  his  childish  eye  its 
grandly  springing  arches,  until  they  met  and  crossed  in  the  high  airy 
vault,  and  he  was  going  to  be  a  master  mason.  I  left  my  old  lady  of 
the  keys  and  took  the  '  post-wa^en'  to  Halberstadt.  Tins  is  a  small 
city,  still  upon  the  plain,  but  .within  full  sight  of  the  *  green  palaces'  of 
the  Hartz  mountains.  Having  no  companion  with  whom  to  make  a 
pedestrian  excursion,  and  there  being  no  public  conveyance  to  many 
of  the  interesting  localities  of  the  region,  I  found  it  necessary  at  Hal- 
berstadt to  hire  a  small  mountain  curricle. 

My  coachman  was  a  decayed  postillion,  who  still  wore  jack-boots  and 
the  post-horn  button,  and  had  not  forgotten  the  ancient  knack  of  making 
his  whip  sound  like  the  report  of  a  horse-pistol.  We  commenced  our 
jcTumey  in  a  severe  rain  storm,  and  for  the  first  few  miles  encountered 
no  animated  existence,  excepting  occasional  flocks  of  geese,  each  tended 
by  its  little  griselda,  who  sat  patiently  knitting  on  a  rock  hard  by,  dad 
in  red-petticoat  and  wooden  shoes.  But  soon  the  clouds  rolled  away, 
and  beneath  the  dewy  ghstening  beams  of  the  sun,  a  large  company  of 
Prussian  lancers  practising  their  morning  exercises  in  a  vride  meadow 
at  our  side,  formed  a  most  lively  picture.  Some  of  them  were  pic- . 
ketted  at  great  distance,  others  had  alighted,  and  were  standing  in 
negligent  attitudes  by  the  sides  of  their  horses,,  and  others  still  were  in 
fiill  action,  spurring  their  steeds  and  swinging  their  lances,  while  the 
officers  at  regular  and  central  positions,  sat  upon  their  chargers  immov- 
able as  statues.  Before  reaching  the  mountains,  we  passed  throujgh 
the  quaint  old  town  of  Qnedlinburg,  the  birth-place  of  that  great  genius 
Klopstock,  that  ushering  star  of  Grerman  literature.  The  streets  of  this 
town  were  so  narrow,  that  it  seemed  as  if  one,  standing  in  the  centre 
with  his  arms  extended,  might  have  grasped  the  noses  of  the  red-faced 
burghers  who  puffed  away  in  solemn  rivalry  at  their  miniature  windows 
on  either  side.  Soon,  however,  the  steep  frequent  hills,  the  darkly- 
wooded  valleys,  the  roaring  shingly  streams,  and  the  bare  granite  rocks, 
informed  us  we  had  arrirea  at  the  Hartz  highlands ;  and  fudl  noon  found 


192  The  German  Hariz.  [Maicb, 

it  from  its  GroChic  slumber,  nor  isdr  a  dust  upon  its  escatcheon-tomb. 
We  would  not  have  back  the  dark  and  suspicious  times,  when  men's 
imagination  grew  morbid  within  their  guarded  dwellings  and  their 
naturas  petrified  between  stony  walk.  We  would  &in  hope  that,  even 
in  our  unpoetic  age,  all  that  was  ereat  and  good  of  chivalrous  days  re- 
mains ;  that  nature  still  gives  birUi  to  knightly  souls ;  that  the  beautifid 
in  nature  and  art  is  more  truly  felt ;  that  woman  occupies  a  juster  and 
a  nobler  position ;  that  if  we  are  not  so  impetuously  earnest,  we  are 
not  BO  monstrously  paradoxical,  and  do  not  so  ignorantly  con£)und  the 
clear  principles  of  right  and  wiong ;  that  if  the  exercise  of  rude  power 
is  less  uncurbed,  we  have  more  real  freedom  of  mind  and  body ;  that 
science  has  now  realized  more  wonderful  things  than  the  fiercest 
imagination  then  conceived;  that  if  we  do  not  now  ride  forth  on  cru- 
sades against  Saladin  and  Solyman,  we  are  waging  a  more  glorious 
fighf  against  spiritual  error,  against  the  hosts  of  the  '  Prince  of  the 
Powers  of  the  Air ;'  that  if  we  do  not  now  rear  Titanic  temples  of  de- 
votion, to  challenge  the  notice  of  heaven,  we  do  not  perhaps  so  utterly 
neglect  that  more  beautiful  temple  of  God  in  the  soul,  whose  arches 
rest  firmer  and  spring  more  majestical.  But  I  have  wandered  from  my 
theme.  I  was  to  have  discoursed  upon  the  Hartz  mountains,  and  lo! 
I  have  written  an  essay  on  chivalry. 

When  I  had  descended  from  the  mountain  of  Falkenstein,  I  sat 
down  for  a  moment  in  the  yard  of  the  mill  where  I  had  left  the  car- 
riage, and  all  the  household,  firom  grandsire  down  to  the  little  tottling 
wooden-shoed  child,  gathered  about  me,  ofiering  every  politeness  which 
they  could  devise,  evmcing  the  greatest  kindness  toward  myself  as  a 
straneer,  and  the  utmost  curiosity  in  regard  to  America.  I  have  always 
found,  in  travelling  in  Grermany,  especially  in  the  more  primitive  and 
unfirequented  parts,  that  however  rude  their  knowledge  may  be  of  his 
countrv,  the  name  of  an  American  is  a  magical  opener  of  the  hearts  of 
these  simple  and  honest  people^  atid  a  sufficient  passport  to  their  hos- 
pitality. Even  the  faint  ana  distant  rumor  that  ours  is  a  land  which 
promises  a  Home  to  the  wretched,  invests  it,  and  all  that  pertains  to  it, 
with  a  sweet  and  strange  charm.  May  the  charm  not  be  dispelled,  and 
the  eyes  of  the  needy,  the  weary,  the  oppressed,  so  long  as  such  there 
be,  brighten  and  glisten  as  they  turn  to  America !  For  the  arms  of  our 
country,  for  ages  to  come,  can  still  go  around  and  gather  in,  and  warm 
against  its  miehty  heart,  the  world  of  wo  and  sufiering. 

The  ride,  nom  Falkenstein  to  Magdesprung,  through  the  narrow 
valley  of  the  Selke,  is  most  charming.  Tne  mountains  on  either  side 
are  not  extraordinarily  high,  but  thev  are  gracefully  rounded,  and  draped 
with  the  richest  fbliaj|[e.  Among  the  trees  I  recognised  in  fiourishmg 
perfection  the  oak,  (it  may  be  remembered  that  me  poetical  name  of 
Germany  is  '  Eichenland')  the  beech,  the  chesnut,  the  larch,  the  poplar, 
the  alder,  the  birch,  and  also  a  species  of  fir  called  the  '  tanner,'  which 
I  have  never  seen  in  Amepca.  It  is  a  tree  of  most  striking  and  pic- 
turesque appearance.  The  stem  is  straight  and  tall,  and  9ie  li^bs, 
branching  out  regularly  in  down-bending  graceful  curves,  and  fijrming 
together  a  conicu  shape,  are  clothed  wi3i  lonff,  dark  and  heavy  fringes 
of  foliage.    The  green  of  this  tree  is  so  deathfy  sombre,  its  lines  so  bar- 


194  The  German  Hartz.  [March, 

neighboring  hills,  I  went  forth  to  take  a  Btroll,  jnst  as  the  yellow  of 
the  evening  sunset  was  tinging  the  tops  of  the  surrounding  mountains. 
I  walked  tor  some  distance  behind  three  young  ladies,  whose  slow, 
melancholy  step  and  downcast  heads  convinced  me  that  their  sensitive 
and  delicate  natures  were  utterly  subdued  and  absorbed  by  the  tranquil 
loveliness  of  the  scene  and  the  balmy  pureness  of  the  atmosphere ; 
when  alas !  the  word  '  Rindfieisch,'  uttered  by  one  of  them,  destroyed 
my  romantic  conception. 

The  next  mominff  found  us  early  upon  the  road  to  Victorhiihe ;  but 
when  we  had  arrived  at  that  commandmg  teninence,  the  mistiness  of  the 
morning  rendered  the  otherwise  magnScent  prospect  limited  and  dis- 
appointmg.  We  therefore  resolved  to  push  on  immediately  to  the  Ross- 
trappe.  in  order  to  reach  this,  next  to  the  Brocken,  the  most  interest- 
ing locality  of  the  Hartz,  it  was  necessary  to  come  out  from  among  the 
mountains,  and  descend  into  the  plain  which  skirted  their  base.  In 
accomplishing  this  descent,  we  passed  through  the  little  village  of  Gem* 
rode,  stuck  on  so  steep  a  slope  of  the  mountain  side  that  surely  none 
but  a  man  who  had  one  leg  longer  than  the  other  could  have  lived  there 
with  comfort.  In  driving  through  the  plam,  sometimes  in  the  very 
black  shadow  of  the  hiUs  which  rose  perpendicularly  out  of  it  like  a 
creen  wall,  the  onl^  living  objects  we  encountered  were  shepherds  and 
Uieir  flocks.  Itbemg  the  middle  of  the  day,  the  sun  hot  and  high,  and 
sheep  and  master  having  eaten  their  fill,  the  former  were  sleeping 
huddled  together  in  a  lum^,  widi  the  keen-eyed  dog  upon  one  side,  and 
Corydon  stretched  upon  his  back,  his  crook  by  his  side,  and  his  broad 
hat  over  his  &ce,  upon  the  other.  We  saw  upon  our  right  the  singular 
rocks,  called  the  '  Teufelsmauer,'  devil's  wall,  which  strikingly  resemble 
huge,  broken,  and  unfinished  masses  of  mason-work,  and  which  occur 
at  regular  intervals,  in  an  air-line  upon  the  flat  plain,  as  far  as  the  eye 
can  reach.  My  coachman  told  me  the  belief  was,  that  the  devil  once, 
long  ago,  on  finding  men  to  be  getting  rebellious,  had  built  this  wall 
around  the  globe,  commencing  at  the  village  of  Blankenburg.  It  was 
a  bad  sign,  the  postillion  farther  observed,  giving  his  whip  a  tremendous 
crack,  that  now-a-days  it  was  not  thought  by  ms  majesty  at  all  neces- 
sary to  keep  the  wall  in  repair. 

We  at  last  arrived  at  the  inn  of  the  Blechtitte,  not  far  from  the  base 
of  the  Rosstrappe  rock.  The  river  Bode,  an  insignificant  stream  in  the 
summer  time,  wmds  its  circuitous  way  from  the  Brocken,  which  lies  far 
back  among  the  highlands  to  the  level  plain  out  of  which  the  Hartz 
mountains,  so  waU-lUce,  rise.  At  this  spot  it  makes  it  appearance,  where 
a  narrow  and  sudden  gorge  is  cloven  m  the  perpendicular  frt>nt  of  the 
mountains,  to  give  it  egress.  I  procured  a  guide  at  the  viUage,  and 
commenced  the  ascent  of  the  Rosstrappe  rock.  After  quarter  of  an 
hour's  climbmg,  we  came  to  a  small  pavilion,  where  a  bare-footed  '  mftd- 
chen'  served  out  *  berken-wasser,'  birch-water,  and  where  a  bare-headed 
harper  tinkled  on  a  most  feebly  tindnnabulatinff  harp.  A  strikingly  hand- 
some, blue-eyed  young  '  firaulein,'  surrounded  by  her  smaller  brothers 
and  sisterS),  sat  near  by,  under  a  spreading  oak,  like  Melpomene,  weav- 
ing chaplets  of  oak  leaves ;  her  heart  doubtless  full  of  a  Grerman  girrs 
romance,  a  high  and  yet  somewhat  melancholy  passion  for  nature,  and 


196  The  German  HaHz.  [March, 

reposeful,  and  unlike  Schiller,  that  speech  he  putB  into  the  mouth  of  the 
wise  and  lovely  Leonora  d'Este,  in  Torquato  Tasso  : 

^Mt  Mend,  the  GoldeD  Afe  it  loi«  gone  by ; 
Tbe  Good  alone  can  ever  bring  it  back ; 
And  sbaU  I  tnUj  teU  yon  what  I  think? 
The  GoMen  Age,  with  which  the  poet  lores 
To  Hatter  na,  the  perfect  age,  it  wae. 
So  it  appears  to  me,  as  little  as  it  is; 
And  were  it  reatty*  tt  were  only  m 
As  we  can  always  iiaTe  it  now  again.* 

From  Rosstrappe  Rock  to  the  Grolden  Age :  really  a  mightier  leap 
than  the  Princess  Bremhelda's !  But  the  rock  itself  should  not  thus 
leap  away  from  our  notice,  being,  even  if  it  were  unleeended,  ex- 
tremely imposing.  The  Rosstrappe  precipice  rises  ei^ht  hundred 
feet  sheer  from  the  waters  of  the  Bode,  which  brawl  i^th  a  feeble 
voice  at  its  base.  It  forms  almost  an  isolated  out-jutting  point,  and  is 
approached  by  a  narrow  peninsula  of  rocks,  which  for  greater  security 
has  been  guarded  by  a  bcmnister  of  ropes.  Upon  the  opposite  side  of 
the  abyss  tower  defyingly  stem,  naked,  neeale-pointed  crags,  while 
between  lies  the  deep  and  darkly-wooded  gorge  of  the  river,  whose 
shadowy  and  winding  line  may  be  traced  by  the  eye  &r  back  into  the 
troubled  ocean  of  mountains,  even  to  the  dim  Brocken,  which  hides  its 
blue  etherealized  head  in  the  clouds. 

While  sitting  enjoying  the  wild  mafl;nificence  of  the  prospect,  as  if 
the  Prospero  of  the  spot  had  commanded  his  spirits  to  shifl  the  scene 
and  reveal  for  a  moment  its  more  hidden  and  awful  beauties,  a  heavy 
cloud,  the  gigantic  of&pring  of  the  mists  of  the  hills,  passed  between 
us  and  the  sun,  and  as  it  moved  slowly  over  our  heads,  its  scowl  visibly 
darkening  upon  rock  and  mountain,  and  a  low  growl  of  thunder  rolled 
broken  through  the  zigzag  pass,  litde  was  wanting  to  complete  a  sub- 
lime picture.  But  the  cloud  soon  vanished,  and  as  the  sun  burst  forth 
more  dazzline  than  before,  some  young  Germans  who  had  joined  me 
commenced  smging  in  manly  voices  a  hymn  of  the  '  Lyre  and  Sword' 
poet  to  the  praise  of  Fatherland.  And  well  might  they  do  so.  €rer- 
many  is  assuredly  a  land  to  be  proud  of,  strewed  as  it  is  with  the  worn 
monuments  of  a  venerable  age,  opulent  in  the  deathless  recollections 
of  the  past,  almost  unparalleled  in  the  triumphs  of  its  heart  and  its  in- 
tellect, and  almost  unequalled  in  the  noble  and  varied  features  of  its 
natural  landscape,  from  the  Hartz  to  the  Alps,  from  the  Rhine  to  the 
Danube.  The  young  men  next  sang  one  or  two  German  love-songs ; 
songs  which  are  equaled  in  no  language  for  tenderness,  simplicity  and 
exquisite  melody.  A  German  love-song  does  not  seem  to.  nave  been 
art^illy  composed  and  set  to  music,  but-  to  have  been  bom  of  a  pas- 
sionate sigh  from  the  heart,  and  to  have  gone  out  on  the  air  and  been 
fashioned  by  wind  and  leaves  and  rain  and  waves  into  a  melody  of  na- 
ture which  the  heart  at  once  reclaims  as  her  own. 

Before  we  lef^  the  summit  of  the  mountain  the  guide  caUed  our  at- 
tention to  a  small  cross  engraved  upon  the  edge  of  me  precipice,  where 
a  poor  maiden,  crossed  in  love,  Sappho-like,  sprang  upon  a  more  ter- 
rific fete.  When  we  had  descended  into  the  ravine  the  scenery  grew 
still  wilder  and  bolder.     To  look  up  from  the  base  of  a  precipice  causes 


198  The  German  Hartz.  [March, 

tioQ*  The  stalactites  were  of  a  smooth,  glossy,  dull  sur&ce,  cold  as 
icicles,  and  continually  dropping  stony  tears.  Sometimes  they  resem- 
bled huge,  leathery,  elephant  ears,  but  more  generally  were  long,  round, 
cxroled  and  tapering,  like  the  &bled  horn  of  the  umcom. 

In  the  celebrated  *  Sophien-hohle'  which  I  afterward  visited  in  the 
Franconian  Switzerland,  diere  was  a  stalactite  which,  without  the  ex- 
ercise of  fancy,  wonderfully  resembled  the  figure  of  Ns^oleon  Bona- 
parte standing  in  the  classical  attitude  vdth  folded  arms.  When  struck 
these  petrified  w^Jter-^rops  returned  a  harmonious  sound.  The  effect 
of  lights  wandering  around  at  different  heights  and  depths  in  the  opaque 
^loom  of  the  cavern  was  singularly  picturesque ;  and  as  we  approached 
Its  mouth,  the  light  of  dtfj^,  shining  m,  assumed  a  soflened  and  silvery 
tint,  and  each  person  as  he  passed  out  appeared  for  a  moment  to  be 
surrounded  and  ethereahzed  in  a  mantle  of  white  glory. 

A>few  hours'  ride  from  Rtibeland,  through  the  barren  re^on  of 
Elend,  (Misery,)  where  Ae  opening  scene  of  the  Mavday-mght  of 
Faust  is  laid,  brought  us  to  the  pleasant  village  of  Ilsenburg,  situated 
Ujpon  the  plain,  and  having  the  Brocken  in  full  view.  Here  I  dis- 
charged my  coachman  with  a  '  Trinkgeld.'  Toward  evening  I  hired 
a  gmde,  and  we  started  afoot  for  the  mountain.  We  had  several  miles 
of  plain  to  traverse  before  we  reached  its  base,  and  we  overtook  many 
peasants  with  baskets  upon  their  backs,  who,  my  companion  informed 
me,  were  carrying  provisions  and  other  articles  to  the  Brocken-House. 
*  Yes,'  said  he, '  the  old  Brocken  feeds  many  mouths  V  I  could  not 
not  help  noticing  in  this  one  of  those  indirect  benefits  conferred  by  the 
poet  on  his  fellow  mortals.  Had  Goethe  never  written  *  Faust,*  the 
Brocken  would  probably  have  slumbered  amid  its  woods  as  wild  and 
as  sohtary  as  when  the  Doctor  and  the  fiend  climbed  its  sides.  Now 
the  poem  makes  the  mountain  renowned ;  its  renown  brin^  strangers 
from  all  lands  to  visit  it ;  the  wants  accompanying  their  visit  furnish  an 
opportunity  for  many  poor  people  to  have  employment  Yet  how  Mtr 
tie  did  the  rough  guiae  think,  when  he  said  '  The  old  Brocken  feeds 
many  mouths,'  that  it  was  a  'tongue  long  since  silenced  which  uttered 
the  wondi'ous  charm  that  makes  Brocken  a  Mecca  among  mountains. 

The  ascent  of  the  mountain  itself  though  not  along  an  extremely 
difficult  or  savage  path,  yet  had  enough  ot  wild  picturesqueness  about 
it  to  allow  one  to  leel  no  disappointment.  Every  rock  was  covered 
with  thick  green  moss,  the  trees  were  large  and  shadowy,  and  at  times 
the  traversing  of  a  mountain  ravine,  overhung  with  curtains  of  thick 
birch-trees  and  toppling  rocks,  was  through  a  highly  poetical  gloom. 
We  saw  and  heard,  however,  nothing  of  the  supernatural  on  our  way. 
We  were  not  guided,  like  Faust  and  Mephistophiles,  by  a  brisk  and 
talkative  jack-o'-lantern ;  we  did  not  hurry  so  &st  that  the  trees  waved 
and  the  rocks  bowed  their  heads  and  blew  noisily  from  their  '  crag- 
snouts'  to  greet  us ;  we  met  no  salamanders  with  bloated  paunches  and 
long  legs ;  we  did  not  see  '  Mammon  glow  within  the  mountain,'  nor 
his  palace  bravely  shining  for  spirit-guests;  we  were  not  forced  to 
cling  fast  to  '  the  old  ribs  of  the  rock'  when  the  witch-tempest  rushed 
and  crashed  and  roared  through  the  '  green  palaces'  of  Hartz,  laying 
the  kings  of  the  forest  low,  nor  did  we  hear  me  howling  witch-chorus 


200  The  German  Hartz.  [March, 

the  top  of  their  lungs.  The  singmg,  which  arose  by  fits  and  starts, 
Hke  the  storm  without,  was  led  by  an  immense  and  enthusiastic  youth, 
a  Grotdngen  '  Bursch,'  in  white  Hnen  coat  and  owl-eyed  spectacles ;  and 
I  must  bear  witness  that  the  usual  high  tone  of  German  music  did  not 
prevail  upon  this  occasion,  excepting  perhaps  in  its  most  literal  sense. 

After  the  table  was  cleared  (and  this  was  thoroughly  and  handsomely 
done)  the  landlord,  a  hale  little  man  of  fifty,  with  cheeks  like  the  sum- 
mer side  of  a  russet  apple,  reeal^  the  company  with  witch-stories 
and  legends  of  the  mountain.  He  told  us  how  on  *  Walpurgis-night' 
from  £e  region  of  the  Tantzplatz  unusual  noises  were  heard  in  the 
air,  as  of  wings,  of  strange  instruments,  of  wild  laughter,  of  shrieks 
and  of  hissing  fire-bolts.  All  good  people  who  valued  their  lives, 
property  and  souls,  had  better  at  this  time  be  off  the  mountain  and 
snugly  housed ;  and  perhaps  it  would  be  well,  till  the  May-day  dawned, 
to  hang  a  Bible  over  the  key-hole  and  nail  a  horse-shoe  on  the  lintel. 
He  also  told  us  of  the  trouble  and  agitation  experienced  by  a  former 
landlord  of  the  Brocken-Housa  at  having  discovered  the  intention  of 
two  skeptical  students  to  roll  *  The  Witches'  Hand-Basin'  down-  the 
mountain ;  how  he  ran  to  Count  Stolberg,  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes 
complained  that  these  wicked  young  men  were  about  to  destroy  a  won- 
derfiil  natural  phenomenon,  a  century-honored  monument,  a  magnifi- 
cent relic  of  ancient  heathendom,  a — something  whose  loss  might 
lessen  the  popularity  of  the  Brocken-House.  *  Mine  host'  also  related, 
with  much  pathos,  the  story  of  two  lovers,  who,  not  man^  years  since, 
came  as  guests  to  the  Brocken-House,  stole  out  at  midmght  to  a  soli- 
tary part  of  the  mountain,  and  shot  each  other  through  Sie  head.  It 
was  afterward  discovered  that  they  were  young  people  from  Ham- 
burgh ;  that  they  belonged  to  Montague  and  Captflet  &mi]ies  of  that 
city,  and  that  their  *  course  of  true  love,'  from  its  feverish  spring  to  its 
wild  leap  into  darkness  and  oblivion, '  never  did  run  smooth.' 

After  the  ladies  had  retired  the  conversation  became  more  general 
and  still  more  noisy,  and  a  song,  every  now  and  then  roar^  out  like 
moimtain  thunder,  added  yet  more  to  its  turbulent  hilarity.  As  it 
crept  toward  the  '  small  hours,'  and  the  company  about  the  stove  had 
begun  to  grow  thin  and  drowsy,  some  one  proposed  to  me  to  sleep  in 
the  lone  hall,  upon  a  mattress  laid  on  the  floor ;  but  the  Silenus-spec- 
tacle  of  those  who  had  already  addressed  (not  undressed)  themselves 
to  repose  was  somewhat  too  much,  even  for  my  Germanized  sensibili- 
ties. I  at  last  succeeded  in  procuring  a  room  with  a  heavy-faced 
youne  man,  who,  though  excessively  poetical  when  awake,  I  soon 
found,  when  asleep,  snored  very  unpoetically.  This  fact,  in  connec- 
tion with  other  smaller  imaginary  facts,  kept  me  most  of  the  time 
staringly  awake,  and  I .  listened  to  the  irregular  noises  of  the  tempest, 
thinking  that  in  such  a  night  as  this 

*  Black  spirits  sod  whltO) 
,  Bed  spirits  snd  gray,* 

caterwauling  witches,  homed  monsters  and  sheeted  ghosts,  might  de- 
lightedly hold  their  unanointed  revels,  and  waltz  to  the  whirl  of  tlie 
storm,  and  mingle  their  laughter  with  the  sepulchral  tongues  of  the 
mountain. 


202  The  Heart  and  the  World.  [Marcht 

low  acorna,  and  form  uDterr^ed  their  tiny  rings  upon  the  grasa.  The 
terrors  of  '  Old  Brocken'  had  fled ;  the  scowl  had  passed  from  his  fere- 
head,  and  all  unholy  things  had  vanished  with  the  storm  and  the  ckmds 
and  the  darkness.  We  passed  over  the  mountain  of  Ilsenstein  (the 
way  of  the  witches  on  Walpurgis-ere,)  where  an  iron  cross  had  hnaen 
erected  to  the  men  who  fell  for  Fatherland  in  the  War  of  the  Libera- 
tion, and  we  reached  the  good  inn  of  the  *  Rothe  Florelle'  (Red  Trout) 
at  Ilsenberg  just  as  the  shrill  bugle  of  the  postillion  announced  the 
arrival  of  the  diligence  which  was  to  convey  me  to  Hartzburg  and  out 
of  the  Hartz. 


THE  HEART  AND  THE  WORLD. 


»T    A.V9VnA    SBOWm 


Hbakt,  with  thy  pukes  lightly  beating, 
World,  with  thy  pageante  fiilae  am  fleeting, 

What  ooncord  can  ye  haye  1 
Hushed  shall  thy  pulse  be,  Heart !  forever ; 
Soon  shall  thy  reign,  proud  World  I  be  over ; 

Thine  an  oblivious  grave. 

Heart,  canst  thou  grasp  thy  hope's  fruition  ? 
World,  dost  thou  yield  the  heart's  petition,  * 

Gushing  in  musio's  tone  ? 
JSTone  e'er  enjoyed  his  soul's  best  dreaming ; 
Still  to  the  prayer  most  earnest  seeming 

Thou  answerest  back  a  moan. 

Heart,  hast  thou  found  thy  ioys  all  spariding? 
Worla,  then  withhold  thy  shadows  AttrkYmg  ^ 

Spare  the  untainted  breast ! 
Trump-like  I  hear,  'midst  scenes  of  pleasure, 
A  voice  proclaim,  in  solemn  measure, 

Lo !  here  is  not  thy  rest  !U 

Heart,  seek  on  high  thy  sphere  of  action ; 
World,  I  contemn  thy  vain  attnction, 

All  baseless  as  the  wind ; 
Let  me  80  use  my  brief  probation 
As  to  secure  in  Heaven's  duration 
#  The  pinions  of  the  mind. 

Heart,  with  affections  rich  and  trusting, 
Worla,  crowned  with  gauds  bemoulded,  mating, 

Hence  with  thy  specious  rays  I 
Soul,  up  and  strain  thy  best  endeavor, 
Relax  tn'  momentous  combat  never, 
Till  mortal  strength  decays ! 
Jfrn-Terk,  Otiekms  1MB. 


1850.]  The  Hermit  of  UHca,  203 


lines:       to       KOSSUTH. 

Thou  exile  on  a  foreign  itrand, 
Thou  gallant  heart  in  bondage  Ueedmg ! 
Thou  last  hope  of  a  iisdlen  land, 
What  eye  can  view  thy  wrongs  unheeding  ? 
Kossuth  I  oppression's  arm  of  might 
Hath  laid  in  dust  thy  coontrr^s  ri^t, 
And  crushed  the  new-bom  dope  that  bloomed 
A  nation's  hope  and  strong  desire ; 
But  Freedom  is  not  thus  entombed  ! 
Like  Phoknix  rising  from  the  fire 
She  springs,  undaunted  by  the  strife, 
Exulting  in  reviTing  life ! 
And  we  upon  this  western  shore, 
.    Who  mourned  a  nation's  glory  o'er, 
Shall  yet  behold  her  rising  high, 
And  hear  the  lopd  yictorious  cry 
Pealed  forth  by  millions  o'er  the  sea, 
'  Freedom  to  Hungary  and  thee !'  c.  e.  Bawltov 


WkskmgUmf  Dm^  18M. 


THE     HERMIT     OF     UTICA. 


»T  A.    a.    JPSXSOX. 


In  our  country  iew  cities  have  been  the  slow  growth  of  aiicces- 
aiye  generations  of  men.  The  new  settlement  of  a  man's  infancy  be- 
comes the  village  of  his  boyhood,  and  the  city  of  his  later  life.  It  even 
becomes  old  b^bre  he  is  fuUy  aware  of  his  own  senility,  and  he  is  some- 
times startled  at  hearing  it  designated  in  fondness  by  the  young  as  our 
good  old  city,  when  the  whole  period  of  its  existence  flits  before  him 
like  a  vision  of  yesterday.  Utica  is  a  city  of  this  description,  and  seve- 
ral persons  reside  in  it,  and  are  in  the  vigor  of  life,  who  retain  a  vivid 
recollection  of  having  often  seen  walking  in  the  streets  of  Udca  while 
yet  a  small  village,  a  short,  slender  man,  leaning  on  a  stout  rough  cane 
or  stick,  himself  aJmost  bent  double  with  age  and  rheumatism.  His 
name  was  Pardee,  but  his  christian  name  no  one  knew ;  and  his  surname 
was  rarely  applied  to  him,  for  he  was  usually  spoken  of  as  the  old  her- 
mit. He  seemed  wholly  abstracted  from  all  surrounding  objects,  and 
his  indistinct  articulation,  when  he  was  occasionally  compelled  to  speak, 
evinced  aa  imbecili^  of  intellect  or  a  mind  in  rdins.  A  tradition  ex- 
isted that  he  came  m>m  Philadelphia,  and  was  once  in  easy  circum- 
stancesy  though  j^haps  never  very  affluent ;  and  a  practised  eye  might 
easily  detect,  anud  the  tatters  in  which  he  was  clad,  that  he  had  been  a 
gentleman  accustomed  to  the  amenities  of  social  refinement  His 
pecuniaiT  fortune  had  been  ruined  by  the  bad  conduct  of  a  son,  whose 
extraordinary  adventures  and  mysterious  death  we  are  now  to  narrate 


204  T%e  Hermit  of  Utica.  [Marcb, 

as  they  were  currently  spoken  of  in  Philadelphia  at  the  time  of  their 
occurrence ;  and  a  recollection  of  them  still  lingers  in  the  memory 
of  some  of  the  old  Philadelphians,  especially  amon?  those  of  the 
Quaker  denomination,  which  once  numbered  his  momer  among  its 
members. 

Young  Pardee  being  an  only  child,  was  uniformly  treated  with  great 
tenderness  by  his  &ther,  who  was  a  widower,  and  perhaps  always  fond 
of  seclusion,  and  thus  peculiarly  disposed  to  concentrate  his  affections 
and  hopes  on  his  motherless  son.  The  father  never  refused  any  request 
for  money  that  the  son  chose  to  make,  and  that  the  requests  might  not 
be  unreasonable,  the  father  frankly  informed  the  son  of  the  extent  of 
his  fortune,  that  the  son  should  graduate  his  exactions  by  his  own  pru- 
dence rather  than  by  the  father's  coercion.  The  young  man,  unsub- 
dued by  this  kindness,  was  prodigal  in  his  expenses  from  a  very  early 
period,  and  in  the  aggravated  form  of  expendmg  on  credit ;  till  the 
old  man,  becoming  aware  of  these  defects  in  his  son,  ^[rew  increasingly 
anxious  that  he  should  acquire  a  literary  education,  that  he  might  possess 
something  which  could  not  be  squandered. 

The  young  man  had  obtained  the  ordinary  rudiments  of  instruction, 
and  having  oflen  heard  that  colleee  was  a  clever  place  for  enjoyment 
and  frolic,  he  readily  acceded  to  his  father's  wishes  to  become  a  student 
of  Yale  College  at  New-Haven,  where  he.  was  speedily  entered  as  a 
freshman.  He  commenced  his  collegiate  course  with  some  vague 
notions  of  acquiring  college  honors,  not  however,  by  hard  study  but  by 
the  force  of  native  genius,  which  he  knew  he  possessed  abundantly,  be- 
cause he  feft  it ;  and  that  his  genius  might  have  fidr  play,  he  resolved 
on  indulging  only  moderately  m  his  former  dissipations.  But  unfortu- 
nately his  love  of  self-indulgence  was  too  powerful  for  his  intellectual 
restraints,  and  he  soon  gave  full  rein  to  his  old  habits  of  expenditure, 
augmented  by  the  enlarged  sphere  in  which  he  deemed  himselSf  situated. 

He  had  been  out  late  one  night  at  an  oyster  supper  with  a  party  of 
/bis  college  companions,  and  he  returned  to  his  own  room  no  little  ex- 
cited by  the  hilarity  of  the  carousal,  and  the  medley  of  things  he  had 
eaten  and  drunk.  He  undressed  in  a  hurry  and  was  speedily  in  bed ; 
for  he  was  desirous  of  losing  as  little  as  possible  of  the  short  period 
which  yet  remained  for  sleep.  But  sleep  he  could  not  He  thought 
involuntarily  of  the  expenses  to  which  he  was  subjecting  the  care-worn 
old  man  at  Philadelphia,  and  of  the  grief  with  which  he  was  afflicting 
him  by  dissipation.  He  tried  to  banish  such  reflections^  and  to  sub- 
stitute therefor  a  recollection  of  the  pleasures  in  which  he  had  just 
participated,  and  an  anticipation  of  the  enjoyments  of  a  like  supper  that 
bad  been  planned  for  the  following  night.  But  sleep  would  not  oe  thus 
evoked,  and  he  was  more  wakeful  than  ever.  At  leagth  he  became  ex- 
ceedingly irritated  and  kept  feverishly  turning  his  body  from  side  to  side, 
vainlymistakinghismental  uneasiness &r  an  imeasinessof  his  bed ;  while 
every  moment  that  he  lay  awake  abridged  the  short  period  that  re- 
mained for  repose,  and  rendered  it  still  more  necessary  that  he  should 
speedily  sleep.  In  the  midst  of  this  conflict  of  opposite  feelings,  he 
suddenly  experienced  a  sensation  as  if  some  person  was  rocking  his 
bedstead  in  the  manner  of  a  cradle.     He  tned  to  jump  out,  but  on 


r 


1850.]  The  HermU  of  Utka.  205 

which  ever  fdde  he  attempted  to  reach  the  floor,  the  bedstead  became 
elevated,  and  he  waa  rollea  back  again  into  the  centre  of  the  bed.  He 
became  horribly  alarmed,  and  would  have  screamed  for  assistance,  but 
before  he  could  utter  a  syllable,  something  heavy  and  exceedingly  hot 
sprane  upon  his  breast ;  and  while^it  effectually  prevented  tis  utterance 
it  held  lum  motionless  and  prostrate.  He  lay  uius  for  some  moments 
m  a  sort  of  speechless  agony,  vehen  the  body  that  veas  crushing  him 
down  extended  itself  slowly  to  his  ear,  and  whispered  therein,  but  with 
a  voice  so  husky,  and  in  accents  so  fierce  and  incoherent,  that  he  could 
recognise  no  meaning  to  its  communication ;  but  after  listening  vnth 
aU  the  self-possession  he  could  command,  ke  thought  it  told  him  that  if 
he  would  resort  to  the  elm*tree  that  stood  opposite  to  his  window  in  the 
public  square,  he  would  find  a  charmed  purse,  which  would  supply  all 
his  fbtore  pecuniary  wants,  how  large  soever  tbey  mi^ht  happen  to  be ; 
and  that  he  should  never  be  molested  for  the  use  he  might  make  of  the 
mcHiey  unleas  he  should  contract  therewith  the  three  cardinal  vices, 
when  die  owner  of  the  purse  would  reclaim  the  gift,  and  as  a  penalty 
for  its  abuse,  seize  his  body. 

After  this  communication  all  became  again  silent.  The  body  that 
was  pressing  on  his  breast  shrank  gradually  from  his  ear,  and  gradually 
liftea  itself  from  his  chest  The  burning  sensation  subsided  slowly, 
the  bed  ceased  from  rocking,  and  the  sufferer,  relieved  thus  from  con- 
straint, bounded  ft-om^the  bed  and  stared  wildly  around  the  room.  All 
things  therein  looked  precisely  as  he  had  placed  them,  and  the  morning 
sun  was  pouring  its  cheerful  beams  in  at  his  window.  He  began  to 
suspect  that  what  he  had  heard  and  felt  was  a  dream ;  and  on  a  little 
reflection  he  became  sure  it  was  nothing  more.  Thus  consoled,  he  wet 
his  parched  lips  and  tongue  with  a  draught  of  cold  water,  and  dressed 
hhmeAf  in  haste,  but  being  too  late  for  morning  prayers  in  the  chapel, 
he  hurried  to  recitation,  though  vnth  an  achine  head  and  an  ominous 
consciousness  that  he  should  receive  many  bad  marks  for  his  literary 
deficiences. 

In  returning  from  recitation,  where  he  had  not  failed  from  obtaining 
the  deficient  marks  he  had  anticipated,  his  way  led  him  past  the  elm- 
tree  that  he  had  been  told  of  in  his  dream,  if  dream  it  v^as,  and  he  could 
not  forbear  from  looking  down  at  the  indicated  spot ;  but  his  surprise 
was  excessive  when  he  saw  among  the  grass,  close  to  the  trunk  of  the 
stately  old  tree,  a  curiously-wrought  asbestos  purse,  which  he  almost 
invc^untarily  picked  up,  and  found  it  heavy  with  gold  that  glittered 
tfa2x>ugh  ilB  intenmces. 

The  purse  was  ornamented  on  its  surface  with  varAis  characters 
thaT  reeembled  Hebrew,  although  differing  in  some  particulars ;  but 
prominent  amid  the  ornaments  was  the  device  of  a  skuH  surrounded 
with  flames,  while  a  headless  Agnus  Dei,  with  its  cross  broken,  seemed 
to  ehusp  the  mouth  of  the  purse.  He  felt  a  nervous  irresolution  as  to 
whether  he  should  cast  down  the  ominous  purse  to  the  place  from 
whence  he  had  taken  it,  or  make  himself  master  of  the  exhaustless 
treaaiire  which  its  possession  portended ;  for  as  so  much  of  the  night's 
ynmask  had  proved  to  be  a  reality,  why  might  not  the  remainder  be  a 
reality,  and  he,  by  acceptmg  a  diabolical  present,  subject  himself  to  be 
VOL.  zzxv.  14 


206  The  Hermit  of  Utica.  [March, 

seized  by  the  terrific  owner  and  carried  he  durst  not  name  -wither.  But 
this  contingency  was  to  happen  only  on  his  contracting  the  three  cardi- 
nal vices,  and  although  he  knew  not  distinctly  what  the  sevices  might  be, 
yet  as  he  was  firmly  resolved  to  contract  no  vices  permanently,  he  cer- 
tainly could  incur  no  danger  by  availing  himself  of  the  means  of  en* 
joyment  thus  providentially  cast  in  his  path ;  especially  as  he  should 
thereby  relieve  his  father  from  the  burden  of  his  futura  expenses.  This 
consideration  he  thought  meritorious,  and  therefore,  with  the  self-com- 
placency of  a  man  who  feels  he  is  acting  from  a  worthy  motive,  he 
placed  the  purse  in  his  pocket  and  walked  home  to  breakftist,  less  to 
gratify  any  appetite  that  he  possessed  than  to  relieve,  by  a  cup  of  strong 
cofiee,  the  dull  pain  that  oppressed  his  forehead. 

He  dozed  at  dififerent  intervals  through  the  day  in  listless  prostration 
of  body  and  mind,  but  at  the  approach  of  night,  his  headache  subsided,* 
and  his  vivacity  revived,  until  at  the  hour  appointed  for  his  evening  ren- 
devous  he  became  as  brOliant  and  well  as  ever.  He  was  even  gayer 
than  usual,  for  possessing  the  means  of  unstinted  gratification,  he  was 
liberal  in  calling  for  wine  at  the  tavern  where  the  meeting  was  held,  and 
in  regaling  his  companions  as  well  as  himself  Cards  were  also  re- 
sorted to,  by  way  of  varying  the  amusement,  and  as  all  the  players  were 
excited  by  deep  drinking,  bets  and  stakes  soon  became  hi^h,  and  the 
virtue  of  the  purse  was  frequently  tested  by  copious  abstractions  there- 
fit>m ;  but  it  suffered  no  diminution  in  bulk  or  weight,  remaining  con- 
tinually full,  with  the  gold  gleaming  through  its  interstices  as  bn^tly 
as  ever.  Assured  thus  of  the  efficacy  of  his  purse,  the  owner  dismissed 
all  doubts  of  its  inexhaustibility,  and  played  recklessly  and  high,  though 
losses  seemed  to  fill  him  with  rancor  and  stimulate  *him  to  revenge  as 
much  as  though  he  owned  no  purqe  to  supply  his  deficiencies.  From 
the  card-table  the  iovial  companions  concluded,  by  an  easy  transition, 
to  pass  the  remainder  of  the  night  in  such  haunts  as  the  excitement  of 
wine  and  cards  rendered  congenial.  They  accordingly  broke  up  in  a 
tumult,  upset  upon  the  floor  the  tables  with  cdl  their  burden  of  decanters, 
tumblers  and  candles,  and  sallied  forth  to  conclude  in  darkness  an  ill- 
spent  evening  with,  if  possible,  a  worse-spent  night. 

Thus  passed  the  days  and  nights  of  young  Pardee,  but  not  without 
an  episode  in  the  form  of  a  gentle  acquaintance  vnth  a  voung  lady  of 
Baltimore,  die  only  child  of  an  old  millionaire  of  that  city.  She  was 
residing  at  a  boarding-school  in  New-Haven,  and  was  just  at  the  dan- 
eerous  period  of  womanhood  when  conduct  is  controlled  by  the  feel* 
mgs  rather  than  by  the  intellect,  and  when  the  world  with  its  dim  future 
is  viewed  through  the  medium  of  our  hopes  rather  than  through  the 
light  of  experience  and  observation.  The  parties  had  seen  each  other 
in  the  streets  and  lauehed  as  they  met  in  pure  exuberance  of  youthful 
animation.  They  had  met  in  various  rambles  about  the  suburbs  of  the 
city,  and  as  the  rules  of  her  school  forbade  any  authorized  interviews 
with  young  men,  unauthorized  ones  became  in  a  manner  sanctioned  by- 
necessity  ;  and  she  eventuallv  acquired  an  intimacy  with  Pardee,  a  pre-^ 
possession  in  his  favor  and  a  fondness  for  his  conversation  and  attentions. 
The  physical  excesses  in  which  he  indulged,  and  which  blunted  his  sen- 
sibilities and  rendered  him  as  unsusceptible  to  her  partiality  as  unworthy 


r 


1850.]  The  Hermit  of  TMca,  207 

of  it,  heightened  his  viyacity  while  in  her  company,  and  promoted  his 
power  over  her.  But  he  knew  her  pecmiiary  value;  and  often  contem- 
plated  fhe  possession  of  it  by  a  clandestine  marriage,  when  an  incident 
interposed  which  ill-nature  may  attribute  to  the  redclessness  of  his  cha- 
racter, or  charity  may  assign  to  a  latent  magnanimity  and  generosity 
that  properly  belong  to  youth,  even  when  depraved.  Among  his  class- 
mates and  friends  was  a  poor  young  Englishman  who  was  also  acquainted . 
with  the  heiress,  and  felt  toward  her  an  attachment  as  ardent  as  Pardee's 
was  frigid.  The  Englishman  was  evidently  not  the  favored  admirer 
of  the  young  Baltimorean,  but  the  two  young  men  knew  each  other's 
temperament ;  and  Pardee  one  evening,  in  an  outburst  of  conviviality, 
volontarily  vowed  to  relinquish  to  his  friend  the  pursuit  of  the  lady. 
He  also  kept  his  vow,  and  gradually  abandoned  her  acquaintance,  leav- 
ing the  field  open  and  undisturbed  to  his  friend,  who  so  well  used  the 
opportunity  that  before  the  young  lady's  term  of  scholarship  expired 
she  became  his  wife ;  and  he  after  some  involuntary  repugnance  on  the 
part  of  her  father,  was  received  as  a  son,  and  lived  subsequently  at 
Baltimore  in  eplendid  leisure.  He  eventually  became,  by  successive 
deaths  in  his  wire's  family,  the  possessor  of  several  millions  of  property, 
which  he,  unexpectedly  to  the  lady's  friends  and  with  no  thanks  to  h^r 
prudence,  long  enjoyed  and  worthily  graced. 

Pardee  havme  dius  '  like  the  base  jfndian,  cast  away  a  pearl  worth 
more  than  all  his  tribe,'  continued  in  his  downward  course,  though  ad- 
monished by  the  tutors  of  his  college,  and  threatened  by  the  professors, 
tin  the  cup  of  forbearance  overflowed,  and  a  letter  from  the  president 
in&rmed  the  father  that  his  son  must  be  removed,  or  he  would  be  ex- 
pelled. The  old  m'an  received  the  commimication  with  the  regret  and 
disappointment  that  are  natural  to  a  parent  under  such  circumstances, 
and  he  forthwith  recalled  the  wayward  youth  from  New-Haven  to  his 
paternal  home,  where  his  moral  habits  might  be  corrected,  though  his 
literary  prospects  would  be  frustrated. 

The  young  man  was  not  wholly  insensible  to  the  degradation  which 
he  had  soifored,  and  assured  his  father  that  he  would  in  future  conduct 
himself  with  greater  circumspection ;  and  that  he  was  entirely  willing 
to  be  regulated  by  his  father's  wishes,  except  in  one  particular,  which 
happened  to  be  the  only  one  his  father  had  much  at  heart,  namely,  his 
removal  to  another  college.  To  that  he  folt  an  unconquerable  aversion, 
and  his  fhther  forbore  from  pressing  it,  and  contented  himself  mth  ac- 
cepting 88  a  substitute,  that  ue  son  ^oul^  enter  the  law-offlce  of  Bragg 
and  Twist  in  Chesnut-street,  eminent  counsellors  at  that  period ;  where, 
afker  a  clerkship  of  three  years,  he  could  be  admitted  to  the  Pennsyl- 
vania bar  as  an  attorney. 

During  a  few  weeks  after  the  consummation  of  this  arrangement, 
yonng  Pardee's  attendance  at  the  law-office  was  exemplary ;  but  he 
gradually  became  weary  of  the  dull  routine  of  reading  what  he  did 
not  understand,  and  disgusted  with  copying  papers  about  matters  in 
which  be  felt  no^  interest.  The  recollection  of  his  inexhaustible  purse 
revived  in  him  as  his  relish  for  legal  pursuits  decayed ;  and  he  began 
anin  to  hire  horses  and  carriages  for  amusement  b^  day,  and  to  attend 
ImBard  and  card-tables  to  pass  agreeably  his  evenmgs.    Nor  was  he 


208  The  Hermit  of  IMca.  [March, 

long  without  making  acquaintances,  who,  like  himself  were  fond  of 
reeling  themselves  at  taverns,  eating  late  and  ei^pensive  supf^ers^ 
dnnking  all  manner  of  stimulating  beverages,  and  ending  the  night 
with  still  more  ruinous  licentiousness. 

From  remaining  out  late,  he  gradually  declined  into  the  practice  of 
staying  out  all  night,  and  appearing  at  home  at  dinner  only,  or  occa- 
sionally at  tea.  To  Uie  anxious  inquiries  of  his-fath^  as  to  die  manner 
in  which  he  passed  his  time,  he  always  named  some  reputable  acquain* 
tance  with  ^om  he  pretended  to  have  lodged  the  past  night ;  and 
though  his  increasing  irritability  of  temper,  involuntary  nervous  shud- 
ders and  glassy  eyes  eave  unerring  indications  to  most  observers  that 
his  habits  were  beconung  ruinous,  yet  his  father,  knowing  of  no  means 
to  prevent  what  he  feared,  endeavored  to  be  ignorant  of  what  he  could 
not  prevent,  and  to  cherish  the  forlorn  hope  tbat  persevering  kindness 
and  more  mature  reflections  would  eventually  produce  a  favorable 
change  in  the  young  man's  conduct. 

The  youn^  man  himself  fully  participated  in  the  same  hopes.  He 
knew  that  his  conduct  was  destructive,  and  he  intended  to  reform  it ; 
but  so  long  as  he  re&ained  from  contracting  the  three  cardinal  vices, 
(and  he  was  firmly  resolved  that  he  would  not  contract  them,  nor  in- 
deed any  other  permanently,)  he  might  as  well  enjoy  in  his  youth  the 
pleasures  of  life,  and  use  his  purse  freely.  Distant  visions  of  sober 
habits,  marriage  and  domestic  comforts,  vtrith  respectability  of  charac- 
ter and  public  usefulness,  were  not  absent  from  nis  sober  contempla- 
tions ;  and  the  only  question  which  seemed  unsettled  between  him  and 
his  father  was  as  to  ue  time  when  the  reformation  was  to  commence. 

Thus  passed  months,  and  even  some  years ;  but  no  change  of  con- 
duct for  the  better  seemed  nearer,  or  so  near,  as  at  the  beginning  of 
the  law-student's  clerkship,  except  occasionally  for  increasingly  brief 
periods.  The  pecuniary  resources  of  the  father  began  also  to  &il ;  he 
was  continually  paying  bills  for  every  conceivable  extravagance  of  his 
son,  until  at  length  he  deemed  that  a  time  was  come  when,  if  ever,  he 
ought  to  have  a  solemn  explanation  with  the  young  man,  and  inferm 
him  kindly  but  firmly  that  his  extravagances  must  be  abated,  or  diey 
would  abate  themselves  by  the  total  extinction  of  the  father's  remain- 
ing Httle  property.  The  son  listened  to  the  eclairdssement  with 
amazement.  He  had  never  contracted  any  debts ;  he  had  always  dis- 
bursed from  his  own  purse  all  his  expenses.  The  old  man  only  shook 
his  head  mournfully,  not  doubting  but  the  young  prodigal  had  become 
distracted  by  dissipation,  or  so  demoralized  by  vile  associations  as  to 
persist  in  the  avowal  of  a  felsehood.  That  notbine,  however,  might  be 
lefi:  undone  to  restore  the  culprit  to  reason,  the  fkmer  exhibited  files  of 
bills  from  tradesmen,  tailors,  livery-stables,  tavern-keepers,  and  others, 
for  money  loaned,  goods  delivered,  and  expenses  incurred  by  the  son, 
and  which  the  father  had  paid  rather  than  destroy  the  son's  remaining 
sel^respect  by  a  repudiation  of  his  engagements. 

The  young  man  looked  at  the  bills  with  as  much  amazement  as  the 
father  looked  at  him.  He  acknowledged  that  the  bills  were  correct, 
but  he  had  paid  them  himself  out  of  his  own  inexhaustible  resources ; 
and  to  still  further  convince  the  incredulous  old  man,  he  put  his  hand 


r 


ia50.]  The  limrdt  of  VHea.  209 

in  bis  pocket  to  pull  out  bis  purse.  But  the  purse  was  gone.  He 
aearcbed  bis  pockets,  and  re-searcbed,  and  searched  again ;  but  the 
purse  was  not  found.  He  ran  into  bis  bed-chamber,  thinking  it  might 
have  fallen  on  the  floor  or  been  mislaid  among  his  clothes ;  but  all  his 
efforts  were  fruitless ;  the  purse  had  vanished.  As  a  last  resort,  he 
hastened  to  the  tradesmen,  and  asked  them  how  they  dared  prescmie 
to  send  their  bills  to  his  &ther  for  parent,  when  he  had  already  paid 
the  bills  himselE  They  all  treated  him  at  first  as  though  they  thought 
he  was  bantering  them  in  jest ;  and  some  deemed  the  joke  excellent, 
and  laughed  at  it  heartily ;  but  finding  he  grew  angry,  a  few  of  them 
became  angry  in  return,  and  told  him  he  had  paid  noticing  at  any  time, 
though  be  had  frequently  pretended  to  pull  out  a  purse  which  he  had 
asserted  was  full  of  gold,  and  with  which  assertion  they  supposed  he 
was  amusmg  himself,  as  young  gentlemen  are  occasionally  wont  to  do 
in  like  circumstances. 

The  united  testimony  to  the  same  effect  of  all  fhe  creditors  to  whom 
he  applied  staggered  the  young  man's  confidence,  and  he  beffan  to 
think,  with  Macbedi,  that  he  had  been  paltered  with  in  some  double 
sense.  Still,  if  he  had  been  deceived  m  relation  to  the  reality  of  a 
purse,  he  was  doubtless  equally  deceived  in  relation  to  the  penalty 
which  was  to  be  incurred  on  his  cotttractin?  the  three  cardinal  vices ; 
but  this  was  no  eqmvalent  for  the  loss  of  me  reality  of  the  purse,  fi>r 
he  felt  in  no  danger  of  contracting  such  vices,  whatever  they  might  be. 
To  solace  himself,  therefore,  for  the  mortifications  of  the  day,  he  re- 
solved to  enjoy  a  countervailing  frolic  on  the  coming  night.  He  ac- 
cordingly went  early  to  some  of  his  usual  haunts,  and  played  inces- 
santly until  past  midnight,  drinking  all  the  time  to  supply  the  necessary 
excitement  for  the  due  suppression  of  troublesome  reflections.  From 
the  card*table  he  went  to  a  tavern,  where  he  met  some  old  companions, 
and  drank  still  more,  that  he  might  display  his  independence  of  public 
qpinion,  which  he  knew  was  now  openly  and  loudly  against  him.  From 
the  tavern  the  party  intended  to  adjourn  to  a  haunt  of  still  greater 
licentiousness ;  out  Pardee  had  drank  too  much,  and  could  not  accom- 
pany tbem ;  and  in  a  condition  of  entire  prostration  he  was  carried  up 
stairs  and  placed  in  bed  fi>r  the  restoring  influence  of  sleep  and  quiet. 
He  lay  thus  quite  insensible  until  nearfy  daylight,  when  his  outcries 
alarmed  some  of  the  lodgers  who  were  near  him,  and  they  rushed  into 
his  room.  They  found  him  sitting  up  in  bed,  and  distorted  with  the 
most  intense  terror.  He  affirmed  tiiat  be  had  seen  Satan,  who  insisted 
that  he  had  become  a  drunkard,  a  gambler  and  a  libertine,  and  that 
these  were  the  three  cardinal  vices ;  which  being  contracted,  he  must 
now  surrender  his  bodv,  according  to  agreement 

The  lodgers  listened,  some  with  horror  and  some  with  ridicule,  to 
this  recital ;  and  as  tiiey  deemed  it  the  efiect  of  delirium  tremens,  pro- 
duced by  excessive  dissipation,  they  endeavored  to  sootiie  his  terrors 
by  assuring  him  that  nothing  would  harm  him,  and  that  he  had  better 
endeavor  to  compose  himself  until  morning,  when  he  would  doubtless 
feel  b^stter.  He  seemed  somewhat  tranquiDized  by  these  assurances, 
though  he  earnestly  prayed  not  to  be  agean  lefl;  alone.  No  one  of 
them,  however,  liked  to  lose  his  rest  fer  a  stranger,  whom  they  sup* 


210  The  HermU  of  Utica.  [Mareii, 

posed  to  be  yet  intoxicated,  and  all  finally  withdrew  to  iheir  respective 
rooms,  leaving  on  bis  table  a  lighted  lamp,  with  which  he  was  fun  to  be 
satisfied  when  he  found  they  would  do  no  more  for  him ;  bat  scarcely 
had  they  returned  to  their  chambers,  when  shrieks  louder  than  the 
former,  and  more  prolonged,  recalled  them  to  his  bed-side ;  but  he  was 
not  there,  nor  could  he  be  found  any  where.  One  of  the  windows  of 
die  room  was  open,  but  he  had  evidently  nqt  escaped  thence,  for  they 
looked  out  and  nothing  of  him  could  be  seen,  although  day-light  had 
begun  to  dawn.  The  lamp  which  had  been  lefl  in  the  ixx)m  was  ex- 
tinguished, but  not  from  lack  of  oil,  for  it  was  almost  full,  and  a  strong 
odor  of  brimstone  was  very  perceptible  to  many  of  the  congregated 
persons.  These  circumstances  were  not  much  regarded  at  die  time, 
but  they  were  afterward,  and  with  fearful  interest,  when  all  inquiriea 
and  researches  failed  to  yield  any  clue  to  his  disappearance.  Some 
persons  supposed  he  had  Jumped  from  the  window  and  thrown  him- 
self into  the  Delaware,  and  that  his  exhaustless  purse  was  nothing  but 
a  delusion  of  monomania,  produced  by  too  intently  indulgmg  his  ima- 
ginadon  in  the  amusive  contemplation  of  such  a  purse ;  and  of  this 
way  of  thinking  was  the  celebrated  Dr.  Rush  (see  his  '  Treatise  on 
Madness,'  where  the  incident  is  alluded  to  and  explained  philosophi- 
cally) ;  but  as  the  young  man's  body  was  never  found,  diougn  the  nver 
was  dragged  virith  great  care,  and  cannon  were  fired  over  die  deep  parts 
which  t^e  dra^  could  not  fathom,  public  opinion  ^aduaUy  suosided 
into  a  full  convicdon,  derived  from  an  attentive  consideradon  of  all  die 
circumstances,  that  he  had  literally  and  in  solemn  truth  been  flown 
away  with  by  Satan. 

Not  thus,  however,  thought  one  warm  heart,  encased  though  it  was 
in  a  very  fragile  female  bosom,  rendered  sdll  more  fragile  by  the  mys- 
terious disappearance  of  the  oiject  toward  which  it  yearned,  despite 
the  injuries  he  had  inflicted  on  it  in  fame,  family  and  health.  Thoufl^ 
a  woman  in  ruins,  yet  with  characteristic  womai^y  faith,  Hke  the  chanty 
of  Holy  Writ  (of  which  woman's  faidi  must  have  been  the  apostle's 
archet^e),  she  persisted  in  <  hoping  all  things,'  as  she  had  long  per- 
sisted m '  enduring  all  diings.'  Denied  by  the  stem  and  politic  customs 
of  society  any  sympadiy  in  the  sorrow  that  was  hurrying  her  to  an  un- 
timely grave,  she  was  the  more  bowed  in  secret  by  its  solitary  potency, 
and  clung  the  more  pertinaciously  to  the  desperate  expectation  ths^ 
sinner  as  she  was,  peijured  as  he  was,  and  obnoxious  as  both  were  to  the 
wrath  of  man,  yet  God  is  mercifol,  and  might  vouchsafe  to  her  (who 
shall  dare  to  say  He  will  not  ?)  a  future  union  with  the  lost  youdi,  in 
whom  she  alone  saw  any  good  intentions ;  a  union  in  a  world  where 
sin  and  sorrow  are  to  be  excluded,  and  not  in  the  present  world,  which, 
fool  and  ingrate  that  he  was,  he  had  rashly,  like  a  firoward  infant  with 
a  precious  gem,  for  some  worthless  gratifications,  thrown  away ;  and  aD 
its  domestic  joys,  health,  purity,  usemlness  and  love,  that  she  could  have 
enduringly  given  him,  had  he  not  poisoned  their  fountain  at  its  source  t  . 

Even  the  poor  old  father  is  supposed  to  have  vielded  to  the  general 
conviction  in  relation  to  his  son's  diabolical  exit,  for  he  never  ceased  to 
mourn ;  which  could  not  reasonably  have  been  his  conduct  had  his  son 
died  a  natural  death,  the  common  lot  of  all.    He  long,  however,  resisted 


r 


1850.]  The  Btrmii  of  JMca,  211 

tbe  belief  that  the  young  man  was  dead,  and  would  persist  in  leaving 
a  Ughted  lamp  in  the  hall  at  ni^ht,  that  the  son  might  on  his  return 
home  not  be  incommoded  in  retiring  to  his  room.     But  when  the  sad 
realily  was  eventually  forced  upon  his  belief  by  lapse  of  time,  he  so- 
lemnly, one  night,  after  sitting  up  late — as  uf  struggling  mortally 
against  the  conviction  of  his  intellect  until  he  could  struggle  no  lon- 
ger— extinguished  the  Ught,  and  with  it  all  the  hopes  that  bound  him 
to  life.     The  next  day  he  clothed  himself  in  moummg,  which  he  never 
relinquished,  and  perhaps  never  replenished ;  for  he  persisted  in  dis- 
charging all  thepecuniary  liabilities  that  the  son  had  contracted,  and 
they  proved  sumciently  numerous  to  take  from  the  poor  old  man  all 
his  remaining  property.    For  some  reasons  that  have  never  been  as- 
certained, he  ultimately  wandered  to  Utica,  where  he  resided  for  many 
jears,  knowing  no  person,  and  permitting  no  person  to  know  him  for 
any  purposes  of  social  intercourse ;  though  the  kind  people  of  that 
|)lea8ant  place  would  gladly  have  administered  to  his  wants.     He  con- 
tmually  moved  his  lips,  as  if  in  conversation  with  some  one,  and  a  popu- 
lar behef  existed  that  he  was  expostulating  with  his  son  for  his  unworthy 
conduct;  and  that  the  son,  unseen « by  any  eye  but  the  father's,  was 
condemned  to  expiate  his  unfilial  conduct  by  thus  wandering  on  earth 
to  see  and  hear  the  paternal  desolation  he  had  created.     The  more  dis- 
creet portion  of  the  citizens  of  TTtica  were  of  course  incredulous  on 
this  point ;  and  the  worthy  clergyman  of  the  village  deemed  the  sup- 
positioQ  so  heretical,  or  contrary  to  the  intelligence  of  the  age,  that  he 
preached  a  sermon  to  disprove  it ;  but  the  old  man  continued  to  move 
nis  lips  as  usual,  either  unconscious  or  regardless  of  the  speculations 
which  be  was  occasioning.     He  was  entirely  inoffensive  in  his  conduct, 
troubling  no  one,  and  rarely  troubled  in  return ;  walking  quietly  back 
and  fordi  from  his  little  hovel,  which  was  situated  somewhere  near 
idiere  Hopper-street  now  intersects  Genesee,  and  which  he  had  con- 
structed himself  with  a  few  rough  boards,  and  whith  was  permitted, 
through  sufferance  of  the  land-owner,  to  retain  its  location.    He  gra- 
dually became  increasingly  infirm,  undl,  one  winter,  after  a  heavy  fall 
of  snow,  the  neighbors  became  alarmed  by  not  discovering  at  his  door 
the  usufli  marks  of  egress.     They  eventually  knocked,  and  hearing  no 
response,  they  forced  open  the  board  which  constituted  the  door,  when 
he  was  seen  sitting  on  his  broken  and  only  chaii*,  before  an  emberless 
fire-place,  entirely  dead,  and  frozen  to  the  consistence  of  a  statue.    As 
an  Imew  that  he  left  no  heir,  the  little  room  in  which  he  had  lived  was 
searched  to  ascertain  if  any  thing  valuable  could  be  found.     Nothing 
was  discovered  except  a  large  gold  watch  and  chain,  the  relics  of  bet- 
ter days,  and  they  were  impressed  with  the  initials  of  his  son,  whose 
property  they  once  had  been,  and  to  that  circumstance  owed  probably 
their  preservation ;  for  they  contrasted  strangely  with  the  straw  and 
tatters  with  which  they  were  surrounded.     The  watch  had  fallen  on 
the  floor,  as  if  it  had  shpped  from  the  old  man's  grasp  where  he  was 
found  sitting,  and  its  hands,  which  were  stomed  by  tlie  fall,  indicated 
that  the  acodent  had  occurred  exactly  at  midnight ;  just  at  the  hour 
he  had  some  years  before  extinguished  the  light  on  the  sad  night  when 
he  became  convmced  of  the  actual  death  of  his  sou.     Conjecture 


212  Limes:  a  Piehire.  [Maidi, 

affirmed  that  the  watch  had  fallen  from  his  hand  at  the  moment  of  his 
death,  and  that  his  death  at  that  particular  hour  was  caused  by  a  poig' 
nant  recollection  which  he  always  indulged  on  eveiT  recurrence  of 
midnight.  The  watch  and  chain  supplied  the  means  of  a  decent  burial 
to  the  poor  old  hermit,  and  to  erect  over  his  grave  a  simple  monument, 
which  IS  still  capable  of  being  seen  by  the  curious,  and  on  which  (tak- 
ing the  hint  from  a  sentence  oialked  up  in  several  places  on  the  inside 
of  his  cabin)  was  inscribed :  '  Here  lies  a  brc^en-hearted  Father.' 
To  which,  however,  some  unknown  ascetic  philosopher,  about  nine 
years  ago,  unfeelingly  and  stealthily  added  : 

^TBt  fool  who  nniraed  all  praBent  eood 
Because  he  hu  not  what  lie  would: 
Be  wiaer  thou,  and  come  what  may, 
CU>D*a  win  be  done  in  oondnet  aay.' 

We  are  aware  of  the  proverb  which  commands  us  to  say  nothing  of 
the  dead  but  what  is  good,  and  we  are  consequently  reluctant  to  save 
from  oblivion  and  transmit  to  posterity  the  above  censorious  doggrel  in 
connection  with  the  poor  hermit's  memory,  and  in  a  matter  so  unpor- 
tant  as  the  moral  complexion  of  his  whole  system  of  conduct ;  but  after 
ereat  deliberation,  and  the  advice  of  judicious  literary  and  clerical 
iriends,  we  have  concluded  to  insert  the  lines,  that  our  memorial  may 
comprise  all  that  is  known  of  his  life  and  death,  and  also  place  in  cu- 
rious contrast  the  opposite  estimates  which  different  intellects  may  hon- 
estly form  of  the  same  character.  May  his  remains  hereafter  rest  in 
peace ! 


lines:     a     picture. 


Br  Da.  sxcxsov,   or   x.ohsoii. 

Yes  !  H  was  the  Picture  of  a  MAvrER-HAif d. 

And  each  beholder  some  new  beauty  scannea : 

The  morning  light,  Toluptuous  yet  Bublime, 

Streamed  through  a  window  of  the  Gothic  time, 

And  showed,  with  all  a  Titian's  truth  and  feeling, 

A  young  Religeuse  at  an  altar  kneeling ; 

Her  ho^  flung  back,  her  parted  hair  escaped 

Over  a  brow  most  exquisitely  shaped, 

Whereon  the  beam  in  mellow  softness  fell, 

And  shed  a  glory  which  boeame  her  well. 

Her  hands  were  raised  to  Heaven ;  her  mild  blue  eye 

Looked  to  a  crucifix  that  stood  on  nigh, 

And  lighted  up  a  countenance  that  stole 

Upon  you  as  a  something  of  the  soul. 

Nor  eyeless  skuQ,  nor  glass  <yf  time  was  there, 

To  break  the  beauty  of  a  thing  so  &ir ; 

But  all  that  you  could  see,  or  seek  around, 

Was  such  as  in  a  palace  might  be  found  ; 

And  from  a  censer  of  unsullied  gold 

The  smoke  of  mcense  in  blue  oiroles  rolled, 

Soft  as  the  sky  of  Italy,  and  blended 

W^ith  the  rich  light  that  on  the  floor  descended. 


1850.]  CoUegiaU  Poetical  Aidresi.  213 


A      COLLBOIATE      POETICAL      A  J>  D  R  E  S  S  . 


BftiNGiHG  to-day  no  gsrland  twined  with  flowen, 

Faint  with  the  fragrance  of  Arcadian  bowera, 

With  wing  nnmoiatened  by  Castalian  dews, 

Half  hold,  half  thnid,  cornea  the  bidden  Muae: 

Bold  in  the  cheering  amilea  her  atepa  that  greet, 

Timid  to  lay  her  o6»ringa  at  your  feet 

She  bears  no  relics  dra^^  from  daisic  shores, 

Hie  annnal  outrage  of  scholastio  bores, 

Whose  trite  laudations  of  the  outworn  Greek 

Show  fools  pedantic  and  confound  the  weak ; 

No  memories,  prompted  by  the  spot  or  hoar, 

Of  days  when  fled  the  perfume  from  youth's  flower ; 

No  raptures  kindled  at  the  nght  of  plaoes 

Where  pendent  boards  frowned  down  on  frowning  ftces, 

Where  Sophomoric  wits  on  *  sets'  grew  sharp, 

Or  sorrowing  seniors  heard  of  '  PoLTCAar ;' 

Nor  of  some  sad,  though  now  illumined  walls, 

This  dreary  |^ain  to  memory  recalls, 

Where  many  a  soul,  soliciting  life's  staff^ 

Was  proflbre4  stones  and  entertained  with  chaff; 

Where  some,  witii  frosty  heart  and  flinty  free, 

Had  for  youtn's  mirth  no  mercy  and  no  grace ; 

Who  studied  how  to  give  th'  o'erhanging  air 

A  gloomier  frown  thim  Arctic  tempests  wear ; 

Whom  DulnesB,  linked  with  Bigotry's  foul  lies, 

Had  doubly  steeled  to  life's  amenities : 

She  brings  no  satire-pregnant  themes  like  these, 

The  HsmAcutus  of  this  age  to  please : 

But  hers  the  hour  didaotio,  to  renearse 

Prosaic  precepts  labored  into  yerse, 

What  things  the  floods  and  streams  have  taught  at  times ; 

The  song  is  of  the  waters ;  and  the  rhymes 

Are  cast  upon  the  waters,  though  the  bays 

Are  neither  sought  nor  round  in  many  days. 

The  anodynes  for  weariness  and  care 

That  friendly  streams  to  fiuntinff  s^ts  bear ) 

The  haDowing  fiune  of  deeds  of  glory  donei 

Or  the  great  majesty  of  ages  gone ; 

The  rose>hued  air  of  old  romances  past. 

Or  living  beauty,  brightest  at  the  last, 

Wherewith  a  many-storied  strand  and  river 

Abide  in  glory's  golden  light  forever : 

Such  were  the  promised  uemes  and  teeming  strain 

The  summer  davs  sought  leisure  to  address ; 
Alas !  the  weary  im  came  back  again 

With  the  old  burden  of  their  listlesBness ; 
The  same  sad  chimes  on  each  tired  midnight  Jbll, 

The  same  dull  task  the  waking  mom  renews ; 
Familiar  foes  still  to  the  struggle  call. 


214  CoOegiaU  PoeHcal  Addrea.  [March, 

The  exacting  and  the  treacheroiu  time  Bnbdaes 
The  kmdling  impulse  and  the  songfid  dream, 
Derides  the  attempt  and  clouds  the  passing  gleam, 
Till  the  hope  &des  and  looked-for  triumplu  &Q, 
And  the  untuneful  chords  diedainful  ears  assaO. 

Mid-summer — and  her  fierce  solstitial  heats 
Unqnenched  by  night,  oppress  the  city's  streets, 
And  through  her  palaced  avenues  of  pride 
With  languid  current  flows  her  lessened  tide : 
The  queen  of  our  half  globe,  a  world  compressed. 
Spreading  all  opulence  to  her  wondering  guest ; 
To  every  people,  and  each  various  taste. 
Proffering  abundance :  with  all  richness  graced, 
Arrayed  in  beauty  ana  adorned  with  art, 
Pleasure's  profusion,  Traffic's  throbbing  heart ; 
Why  should  the  charm  forsake  her  endless  store. 
Where  Luxury  lives  and  looks  in  vain  for  more  ? 
And  why  should  he,  whose  each  fiEutidious  sense 
Feeds  its  fiill  will  in  her  munificence. 
And  finds  all  treasures  in  that  lavish  land 
Flung  at  his  feet,  like  sea-shells  on  the  strand. 
Why  with  a  listless  footstep  should  he  roam, 
Hoc^esB  what  spot  he  finds,  so  that  it  be  not  home  ? 

Are  there  not  times  when  all  the  spells  of  art 

Cling  with  a  feeUe  grasp  around  the  heart, 

And  the  tired  spirit,  vexed  with  passion's  wars. 

Goes  out  amid  Uie  calm  of  night  and  stars 

And  se^ks  the  scenes  which  Nature's  glories  crown, 

Far  from  the  glare,  the  tinsel  of  the  town  ? 

From  iar-off  mountain  springs. 

And  infant  rivulets,  whose  murmurings 

Blend  with  the  soft  and  soothmg  symphonies 

Born  of  the  forest  and  the  evening  breeae. 

Through  the  unvisited  dell  and  dimnal  wood 

And  wildness  of  nndimbed  acclivities. 

The  dark,  untravelled  solitude, 

Along  by  parks  where  art  an  Eden  makes, 

Now  with  expanding  bosom  broadening  into  lakes 

Where  islets  flushed  with  beauty  brightiy  lie, 

like  stars  sown  thickly  in  a  summer's  sky ; 

Now,  white  with  foam  flakes,  hurrying  by  the  slopes 

Of  sward  and  upland  and  fiiwn-feedinff  glades. 
Now  bathed  in  j^olden  light  radiant  as  Hope's, 

Flowinff  'neaSi  Nature's  mighty  Palisades 
And  cloud-crowned  Catskill,  whose  enshadowed  height 
Grows  dim  in  heaven  to  the  boatman's  sight ; 
Coiling  around  awe-fronted  promontories. 
Through  fields  that  live  in  sonff  with  deauiless  glories. 
By  h^[htB  immortal  made  in  fireside-listened  stories. 
In  bounty  and  in  beauty  bearing  down 
Her  tribute-blessing  to  her  island-town, 
Flows  the  rejoicing  Hudson  to  the  sea ; 
Of  myriad  streams  that  seaward  run 
Beneath  the  all-visitinff  sun. 
The  loveliest,  she. 

And  through  the  summer  radiance  that  sleeps 
In  choDgelefls  sunshine  o'er  the  fields  and  steeps, 


1850.]  CoOegiaU  PceUeal  Addnu.  215 

The  rippling  shaDows  and  the  noiaeleM  deeps, 
Throagh  present  bliaeiiil  calm  the  fimoy  wings 
Her  mght  to  other  founts  and  stream-nde  wanderings. 

Who  hath  not  felt,  when  hlipplest  skies  at  home 
Suffice  him  not,  and  the  sea's  seething  foam 

Leaps  to  the  gleeful  gale, 
And  prows  point  outward  'neath  the  straining  saO, 
How  it  were  sweet  to  urge  the  guiding  oar 
By  many  a  strand  of  old  finniliar  fiime 

And  story-haunted  stream. 
Bound  up  with  childhood's  unforgotten  lore, 
With  dim  traditions  and  old  ftbles  fed. 

By  our  antiquity  inherited  7 

So  hath  he  heard  from  stem  Abydos'  height 

The  Sestian  seas  in  sullen  surges  sweep, 
Where  the  lone  beacon  of  Love's  vestal  light 

A  star  from  heayen's  dark  chambers  rayed  the  deep, 
Seen  the  scourged  waves  dimb  to  her  leaning  form, 
Whose  nightrdyed  tresses  streamed  upon  the  storm ; 
For  she  fi^m  throbbing  visions  of  delight 
That  brought  through  nriny  toQs  th'  expected  night 
Of  bridal  raptures,  painted  passion-bright. 
Through  blinding  torrents  fhxn  the  wrathful  skies 
And  the  hoarse  Sunders  of  the  angered  wave. 
Almost  outwatches  hope :  and  her  mocked  eyes 
His  gleaming  form  from  swallowing  surges  save 
But  to  be  mocked  anew ;  while  he  with  viun 
And  desperate  hope  contending  with  the  mam, 
Through  boiling  chasms  of  the  black  abyss 
Strugglin|r  with  feebler  arm,  hears  tiie  death-hiss 
Of  the  triumphant  wave,  and  feds  its  ^  icy  kiss.' 

On  to  the  East  the  beckoning  fimoy  leads. 
Still  toward  the  dawn  the  eager  traveller  speeds, 
And  seeking  the  fiir-lbuntains  of  the  Nile, 
Old  memories  flowed  upon  his  heart  the  while. 

Where  the  dread  shadow  of  undated  things 
Falls  from  the  cenotaphs  of  Coptic  kings, 
O'er  Thebes  and  Memphis,  and  around  them  rise 
The  solemn  airs  of  ancient  mysteries. 
As  if  the  lips  of  Msmnon,  voiceful  stall, 
Murmured  in  music  at  the  morning's  thrill. 

They  piled  their  granite  tombs  till  the  earth  groaned, 
As  toward  the  stars  the  towering  mountains  coned, 
liftmg  their  peaks,  like  Pelion's,  tempest-zoned, 

Up  to  the  home  of  the  Olympian  thunder  ; 
And  our  keen-sighted  and  most  boastful  time. 
Pregnant  with  nurades  in  her  teeming  prime, 

Stands  blinded  at  the  sight,  and  dumb  with  wonder. 

And  they  have  seen  the  countless  ages  wane, 
And  kingdoms  perish  and  be  bom  again ; 
Hie  deam  of  dynasties,  the  eclipse  of  stars, 


216  CoOegiate  PoHical  Addreu.  [Marcb, 

Unchranicled  ens  of  forgotten  wan, 
The  periods  of  en  mremembered  world, 
And  histories  into  dense  oblirion  hurled. 

Bnt  more  than  all,  most  awful  and  most  gnmd, 
With  frightfnl  mien  emerging  from  the  luid, 
And  brows  that  time  and  heaven  themselTes  defy, 
O'er  the  lone  wastes  where  bnried  empires  lie, 
Watches  the  Sphynz  with  moddng  mystery. 

Yet  not  for  that  this  stream  of  hoary  Eld 
Hie  gathered  nations  toiling  here  beheld, 
Not  that  the  wisdom  of  her  empire  gave 
The  past  more  f^clty  than  last  ages  have, 
Nor  that  her  kmdly  waters  guarded  well 
The  cradled  guide  of  captive  Israel, 
Is  she  most  dear :  these  are  the  waves  that  bore 
Her  barge  who  conquered  the  earth's  conqueror  1 

Go  and  admire  what  war-fcmed  fields  ye  wOL 
Beauty's  bright  trophies  beam  above  them  stfll ; 
And  here  the  light  of  learning,  arts  and  arlns 
Pales  in  the  bla^  of  CLBorA*raA's  charms. 

Honor  and  song  and  glory  then,  forever. 
And  a  deep  h^th  to  Egypt's  ancient  river ; 
For  she  is  fresh  with  the  bright  fame  of  her 
Who  saw  a  subject  world  her  worshipper. 
The  light  that  shone  from  her  imperial  brow 
FlushMl  the  broad  ages,  and  is  radiant  now ; 
As  if  on  Egypt's  daughter  prodigal  Jove 
Had  showereoi  the  graces  of  the  Queen  of  Love, 
And  gifts  transoen£int,  such  as  never  shone 
Before  on  mortals,  gave  to  her  alone. 
And  captive  kings  and  Cmmawh  knelt  to  make 
Her  lips  their  worship,  and  for  her  smiles'  sake 
Held  empire  poor  and  victory  nothing  worth : 
So  wooing  Fortune  flung  the  glittering  earth 
Within  the  Roman's  grasp,  who  madly  hurled 
Even  from  his  palm  this  bauble  of  a  world. 
And  saw  his  golden  kingdoms  and  great  throne 
Forfeit  and  lost,  and  mourned  her  loss  alone ! 

But  first  among  the  fountains  d  old  tame. 
The  illustrious  river  of  Eternal  name. 
Since  first  she  bore  Mien  Dium's  household  gods. 
Hath  flowed  by  Glory's  unobsonred  abodes ; 
And  evtf  bum  in  her  immortal  skies, 
The  golden  fires  of  oonntlesB  galaxies. 
Yet  none  of  all  that  lustrous  starred  array, 
O'ershine  her  crowning  honors  of  to-day. 
Her  royal  city  spurns  a  rule  outworn. 
And  breaks  millenial  bondage  it  had  borne. 
Worthy  the  deeds  of  her  ancestral  pride. 
The  hmd  where  Brutus  lived  and  Cato  died. 

Behold  here  exiled  from  the  Latian  Gates 
The  crownless  heir  of  migfatieBt  potentates ; 


r 


1850.]  CcOegiaU  Poetical  Addreu.  217 

fVom  hu  eazHi-ihadowiiig  throne  nmnitred  driTen, 
Who  claimed  the  delegated  power  of  heaven, 
Whose  Joye-like  arm  00  long  Ha  thondera  hnrled 
O'er  cringing  empires  and  a  cowering  world  1 
Then  Fr^om's  pokea  thrilled  with  glad  sorpriae, 
And  the  world's  ptean  shook  the  echoing  sldea, 
As  a  new  morning  broke  on  oentnried  niffht, 
And  they  whp  sat  in  darkness  saw  the  li^t ! 
What  though  besotted  France,  in  maniac  mood, 
The  Bacchanal  of  nations,  dmnk  wxUi  blood. 
With  war's  don  doads  pat  out  the  rising  ray, 
T  is  but  the  tempest  struggling  with  the  day. 
Oh  1  when  from  holy  Tiber  and  old  Rome, 
The  wails  of  Freedom's  baffled  conflict  come, 
T  were  treason  to  our  altars  to  be  dumb  \ 
Nor  join  earth's  cry  and  curse  denouncing  wo 
Upon  the  land  that  struck  the  dastard  blow ! 

A  land  whose  scenes  in  wild  succession  pass 
F^om  bloodiest  tragedy  to  basest  &roe, 
With  crime  enamored,  emulous  of  shame, 
Stained  with  this  last,  worst  blot  upon  her  &me, 
Shan  try  a  thousand  drunken  freaks  at  home, 
Nor  reach  the  infamy  she  reaped  at  Rome ; 
The  world's  abhorrence,  and  the  nation's  hJss, 
Time's  curse  and  oath  shall  be  her  doom  for  this ! 
But  since  the  fratricidal  deed  is  done, 
And  there  no  more  damnation  may  be  won, 
Now  let  her  join,  fit  ally  of  the  Czar, 
Fraternal  Vandals  in  the  Austrian  war ! 

But  they  who  raiher  covet  shame  than  wo, 
Nor  have  forgot  the  deeds  at  Waterloo, 
Might  well  forbear  to  league  in  blood  with  those. 
Who  in  the  death-strife  with  the  IVIagyars  dose, 
Their  barricades  are  mountains,  and  their  wars 
More  than  a  three  days'  frenzy :  and  the  cause, 
Wherein  they  bleed^  sacred  as  theirs  who  won 
At  Salamia  and  glonous  Marathon. 

Ay,  the  brave  Mag3rarB,  battling  for  the  right, 

W  ith  whom  all  \ijau\B  and  prayers  of  patriots  flght, 

Though  reeking  carnage  their  fair  vaUeys  fills, 

And  Sie  war's  echoing  thunders  shake  the  hills 

Carpathian ;  and  Danube's  currents  glide 

By  desolated  shores  with  crimson  tide, 

Shall  rout  the  mvading  despot's  banded  slaves. 

And  welcome  host  on  host  to  ample  graves, 

And  tread  through  fields  of  fire  m  triumph  on, 

Till  IVranny's  last  citadel  is  won. 

And  uie  star-blazoned  banners  of  the  Free 

Float  o'er  the  rescued  hills  of  Hungary ! 

And  ^  in  God's  good  time  shall  triumph  all 
Who  war  for  Right  and  Freedom;  not  alone. 
The  slave-built  splendors  of  the  despot's  throne, 
But  Error's  prinoinalities  shall  fidl ; 
And  they  wbo  lora  it  with  nijuat  dominion 


218  CkiUegiaU  Poetical  Address.  [March, 

O'er  oonscienoe,  80<nal  habitB  and  opinion, 
The  oUgarcbs  m  morab,  theie  flball  fiul : 
For  Reason,  armed  and  panoplied  in  mafl, 
With  the  ewift  fiiUings  of  its  ponderous  stroke, 
Breaks  Priestcraft's  sceptre  and  Oppression's  yoke, 
Assuls  each  moral  tyrant's  grim  abode, 
•An  altars  bnilded  to  the  *  Unknown  God,' 
And  Superstition's  temples,  stone  by  stone. 
To  the  cowled  Priest^s  aiamay  shall  topple  down : 
Fanes  reverenced  with  hereditary  fear, 
Reel,  rent  from  dome  to  base,  and  disappear  •, 
So  comes  the  welcome  time  when  soul's  are  freed 
From  spiritual  thrall  of  church  and  creed, 
Kindletik  the  glowing  dawn,  ^e  perfect  day 
God  speed ! 

Again  across  the  waters  to  a  shore 

Beyond  the  circling  seas,  whose  ceaseless  roar 

From  cavemous  clif&  and  shadowy  beaches  drear. 

In  midnight's  hush,  the  midland  mountains  hear. 

Green  Bngland's  midland  hills ;  our  feet  delay 

Awhile  in  homeward  wanderings  to  stray 

By  waters  hallowed  by  a  nearer  tie, 

Than  lures  to  alien  shores  and  dun  antiquity. 

Her  streams  have  native  sounds  and  household  names ; 

The  great  renown  and  loveliness  of  Thames, 

Rural  and  urban ;  Avon's  winding  shore, 

Where  the  awed  soul  loves  mutely  to  adore 

The  heaven-throned  monarch  of  Thought's  wide  domain, 

Who  holds  o'er  realms  immortal  endless  reign. 

Mid  laurelled  crowds  yet  *  bears  the  palm  alone,' 

No  brother  and  no  second  near  his  throne. 

Here  Cam  and  Isis  mantle  in  the  glow 
Of  sunset  memories  of  long  ago^ 
And  here  the  shores  of  Rydal's  placid  lake 
Shall  still  with  Wordsworth's  living  lyre  awake. 
But  most  some  humbler  streams  for  his  sweet  sake, 
Who  once  was  Angler  there,  I  would  recall, 
For  his  mild  memory  clothes  and  shallows  all ; 
And  something  of  hjs  epitaph  of  praise, 
Waft  on  all  qmet  hearts,  my  song  essays 
To  make  articulate :  though  with  Walton's  name, 
Have  holiest  harps  lieen  vocal,  and  his  fiime 
Seems  in  the  wandering  winds  and  streams  to  stir, 
And  make  all  happy  shores  his  sepulchre  : 
How  many  a  spired  dome  and  finishc^d  ftne 
Shan  wiut  for  healing  words  like  his  in  vain  I 
How  many  reverend  lips  "ttom  year  to  year. 

To  hungered  hearts  dispense  their  weekly  dole, 
(Who  throng  ta  listen  with  assiduous  ear,) 

Whose  viqwry  sermons  M  to  feed  the  soul 
With  one  sweet  tithe  of  spiritual  good. 
The  gentle  Angler  gave  us  in  Uie  wood, 
What  time  with  rod  and  cheerful  heart  he  bent 
His  morning  footsteps  to  the  banks  oi  Trent, 
And  cured  the  worldly  heart  of  discontent, 
Of  thanklessnesB,  and  the  remorseless  vice, 
That  most  makes  earth  a  hell,  heart-eating  avarice ! 


r 


IS50.]  CaOegiate  Poetical  Addrus.  219 

At  twiliglit  time  retonied  from  honest  toils, 

With  braces  laden  of  his  watery  spoils, 

He  trolled  with  friends  the  evening  roundeJav, 

And  crowned  with  barley  cnps  the  sportful  day ; 

With  temperate  draughts :  for  this  his  earnest  speech, 

And  this  his  brooks  and  nvers  kindly  teach. 

llie  warning  waters,  like  his  word  and  deed. 

Bid  them  who  toy  with  loxnry  take  heed, 

And  w«rds  of  kind  admonishment  address 

To  snob  as  monm  the  havoc  of  excess, 

And  sloth-bom  ills,  or  who,  the  Senses'  slaves, 

Stagger  throngh  snrfeitB  to  untimely  graves ; 

Avoid  the  banquet,  and  abhor  the  wine, 

Thouffh  crushed  from  clusters  of  the  purplest  vine. 

By  fiiir  Falkkn lA  fed  or  sunniest  Rhine ; 

Abjure  the  revel  and  its  cup  refuse. 

Though  the  fiiir  fingers  of  the  Classic  Muse 

Have  graven  it  with  Bacchus  pledged  by  Jove, 

And  glowinff  pictures  from  the  Paphian  grove. 

And  garlanded  its  purple  lip  with  flowers  ^ 

Drenched  with  the  dews  of  Hybla's  thymiest  bowers ! 

Nor  needs  there  pilgrimage  to  the  holy  wave. 
Where  Israel's  prophet  bade  the  Syrian  lave, 
Jordan  shaQ  cleanse  the  leprous  yet,  and  still 
The  rivers  of  Damascus  heal  as  weU, 
The  sacred  pool  its  primal  virtue  keeps. 
Though  angePs  stir  no  more  Bctheada's  deeps. 

Such  are  the  humble  streams  our  memories  love, 
The  shadowed  banks  of  Avon,  Trent  and  Dove ; 
From  sultry  noons  and  stifling  crowds  and  streets, 
The  toil-tired  spirit  seeks  their  creen  retreats. 
Wliy  should  we  ever  strive  wil£  ceaselesi  cares, 
And  darken  life's  brief  pages  with  despairs  ^ 
Perplex  our  souls  with  baffling  mysteries, 
Whose  issue  in  Btemal  Wisdom  lies : 
Or  vex  our  hearts  that  Death,  with  blind  caprice. 
Makes  aU  oonfusooa  where  we  looked  for  peace ; 
That  the  rare  blooms  of  beauty's  lustrous  ray 
Wm,  but  to  mock  us  with  their  swift  decay ; 
Or  ever  murmur  at  these  half-delights, 
And  hints  of  joy,  and  evanescent  sights 
Of  the  forbidden  fields  of  that  lost  land, 
The  sleepless  angel  guards  with  flaming  brand ; 
Though  fed  with  tainted  {Measures  whidi  at  best 
But  taunt  us  with  the  beauty  they  suggest  •, 
To  see  to  some  transhinar  sphere  removed 
The  phantoms  by  our  earliest  instincts  loved. 
When  homes  like  these  of  never-fiuling  gladness, 
Breathe  airs  of  balm  and  haUow  every  sadness  ? 

So,  peace  and  wisdom  to  the  streams  resort. 
By  them  the  wisest  teach,  by  them  are  taught  *, 
By  them  Htgeia  builds  her  chosen  seats. 
Whom  cities  win  not,  nor  care-trodden  streets ; 
Still  by  the  waves  the&bfed  Naiads  roam. 
And  ArHmonrrE  rises  from  the  foam. 
So  shall  these  ways  to  brighter  visions  lead. 
And  o'er  a  life  to  come  then:  hdy  radiance  shed. 


220  The  Two  AriisU  [March, 

So  have  cl«fti]fled  iptriti  freer  heights  aooended, 
Their  moimtuii-lbotake|»  in  the  mominiB:  wended 
To  summitB  noh  with  ranriae  and  the  glow 
Auroral,  seen  not  hy  the  world  below, 
Mantled  with  shadows,  while  the  morning  star 
Looked  down  the  vales  through  li^t  crepuscular. 

So  hath  Faith,  wdooming  these  he^ts  snUkne, 
These  sun-touched  hjlls  of  Time, 
Caught  the  remembered  tones  of  the  departed. 
The  living  love  of  those  who  died  tme-heartedf 
And  heard  the  flow  of  purer  streams  than  ours, 
That  feed  fiur  pastures  and  perennial  flowers ; 
Rivers  of  joy,  that  o'er  the  Stygian  strand, 
Make  green  ihe  hiU-sides  of  a  griefless  land. 


RENDERINGS     INTO     OUR     VERNACULAR. 


FROIC    TBB    8PAVI8H     07    SXSUUBSS    SB    O  A.  t  T  X  O  . 


THB     TWO      A.BTI8T8. 

.In  a  dirty  and  obscure  alley  of  Seville  was  situated  a  house,  the  front 
and  arrangement  whereof  from  foundation  to  roof,  had  been  altered  by 
additions,  demolitions  and  repairs,  so  that  the  poor  mason,  who,  with  the 
pride  of  an  architect,  planned  the  original  structure,  and  laid  the  first 
stone  many  years  previous  to  the  year  of  Grace,  1616,  when  we  thus 
introduce  it  to  our  readers,  would  not  have  recognised  his  old  creation. 

The  house  was  composed  of  two  stories,  if  a  species  of  ffarret  with 
an  earthen  floor  and  low  roof,  which  covered  two-thirds  of  the  room, 
and  to  which  you  ascended  by  a  step-ladder,  may  be  called  one.  It  is 
with  this  garret  that  we  are  to  be  made  acquainted ;  but  to  gratify  the 
curiosity  of  some  reader  who  may  be  seduced  from  the  track  of  our 
story  by  a  wish  to  know  something  of  the  other  parts  of  the  house,  we 
say  that  it  was  made  up  of  a  room,  a  large  square  court-yard,  a  small 
kitchen  on  one  side,  and  a  confined  stable  on  the  other.  The  stable  was 
for  the  time  vacant,  and  to  this  we  allude  so  as  not  to  be  obliged  to  pay 
it  another  visit 

There  were  two  windows  to  the  garret,  one  looking  out  upon  the 
alley,  and  the  other  on  the  court^yard  we  have  mentioned :  when  you 
raised  vour  head,  on  mounting  the  last  step  of  the  ladder,  and  looked 
through  a  kind  of  trap-door  which  gave  you  entrance,  you  might  ob- 
serve several  frames  and  pieces  of  canvass  ready  for  the  brush,  sus- 
pended on  the  waUs,  and  at  me  same  time  discover  that  no  idea  of  order 
had  entered  the  brain  of  the  owner ;  some  suspended  one  way  and  some 
another,  all  carelessly  and  without  symmetry,  inclining  at  random  firom 
the  perpendicular,  according  as  the  nail  upon  which  they  were  balanced 
was  more  or  less  removed  Irom  the  centre  of  the  firame. 


1850.J  The  Tufo  Artists.  221 

Several  unfinished  paintings,  several  sketches  sparkling  with  imagi- 
nation and  life,  ornamented  &e  large  portion  of  tne  chamber,  chiming 
well  with  those  that  were  completed  in  beauty  and  symmetry. 

Two  or  three  shelves  suspended  by  cords,  and  resting  against  one 
side  of  the  wall,  supported  and  bent  under  the  weight  of  fifteen  or 
twenty  volumes  of  poetry  and  scholastic  philosophy ;  among  them  the 
*  Symmetry  of  the  Human  Frame,*  by  Albert  Durer, '  The  Anatomy 
of  Bexalio,' '  Perspective,'  by  Daniel  Barbaro,  *  Euclid's  Geometry,' 
and  various  other  works  on  mathematics  and  painting. 

A  pile  of  drawings,  human  studies,  a  painter's  oddities,  landscapes 
carelessly  sketched  and  yet  unfinished,  were  scattered  about  near  at 
hand,  in  promiscuous  confusion  on  the  floor.  Upon  an  oaken  arm-chair 
and  two  benches  were  thrown  other  papers,  mixed  with  a  cap,  torn 
drawers,  a  tolerably  clean  collar,  and  a  silk  doublet,  which  hung  from 
the  seat,  one  sleeve  draggled  in  a  large  basin,  filled  with  dirty  and  oily 
water  to  keep  moist  and  protect  against  the  action  of  the  air  four  or 
five  brushes. 

A  stone,  its  muHer  yet  moist  with  white  lead,  was  placed  on  a  walnut 
table ;  a  large  easel  and  canvass  stretched  upon  it  occupied  the  centre 
of  the  room  near  a  window,  and  a  fine  north  light  penetrated  on  the 
left.  The  window  skilfiilly  covered  with  canvass  and  blackened  paper 
gave  but  small  ingress  to  the  light  which  came  in  with  a  bright  ray, 
falling  upon  the  fiice  of  a  ruddy  and  stalwart  peasant,  who  in  a  grotesque 
attitude,  exhibited  two  ranges  of  teeth,  broad,  white  and  sharpened 
beyond  doubt  by  the  bread  of  *  Telera,'  feigning  a  most  extravagant 
and  violent  fit  of  laughter  that  would  have  mfected  the  most  melan- 
choly spectator.  But  the  only  other  person  in  the  room  shared  not  in 
it.  A  youth,  apparently  about  eighteen  or  twenty  years  of  age,  of  a 
grave  and  silent  demeanor,  of  a  dark  complexion,  with  bright  eyes  and 
steady  glance,  stood  before  the  easel,  a  palette  in  one  hand  and  a  brush 
in  the  other,  embodying  as  it  were  that  extravagant  and  feigned  laugh- 
ter of  the  peasant  And  he  could  not  be  aught  else  than  ill-satisfied 
with  his  work ;  for  his  contracted  brow,  compressed  lip  and  sudden, 
quick  motions,  convulsive  with  dissatisfaction,  left  not  a  doubt  but  that 
he  was  worried  and  disappointed. 

Twice  or  thrice  he  stood  back  to  survey  his  work ;  his  eye  travelled 
rapidly  from  the  original  to  the  copy ;  then  gave  a  touch,  effaced  it, 
touched  again,  stepped  back,  compared  again ;  the  result  of  all  this 
was, '  VotX)  a ;'  ana  here  be  stopped  like  a  good  christian,  searching  by 
whom  he  should  swear ;  at  length  better  thoughts  came  over  him ;  God 
heh>  me !  who  can  imitate  such  tints  1  And  much  as  he  strived  afier 
8el&control,  after  a  moment's  struggle,  an  attempt  to  restram  his  anger, 
he  raised  his  hand,  drew  the  brush  over  the  canvass,  mixing  the  colors 
with  the  noodon  and  tracing  a  curve,  varied  with  all  the  tints  of  a  rain- 
bow ;  and  not  even  yet  content,  he  threw  aside  colors,  pelet  and  brushes, 
struck  the  canvass  with  his  clenched  fist,  and  exclaimed  violently  and 
in  a  rage, '  I  swear  to  God  !  these  are  tints  which  no  man  may  hope  to 
copy!'  And  he  cast  himself  desperately  into  the  arm-chair,  upon 
-  papers  and  doublet,  and  with  his  fi>rehead  resting  on  his  hand  lapsed 
into  a  prostration  as  if  a  fainting  fit  had  seized. him;  the  prostratioa, 

TOL,  ZZXT.  15 


222  The  Two  Artists.  [March, 

the  despair  of  geniuB  vvhich  looks  in  on  Heaven  and  yet  cannot  attain 
it. 

The  peasant  who  served  as  model,  without  a  single  word,  without 
seeming  to  be  at  all  surprised  at  this  outbreak,  and  seeing  his  master 
thus  immoveable,  shut  his  mouth,  seated  himself  on  the  floor,  and  took 
from  the  comer  of  his  bosom,  from  beneath  a  ragged  and  dirty  shirt,  a 
piece  of  brown  bread,  and  began  to  gnaw  it  with  such  an  appetite  that 
It  might  be  reasonably  inferred  he  would  have  been  pleased  to  get  to 
work  long  before  he  did. 

He  finished  his  breakfast  or  repast,  tasting  deliberately  and  with 
prolonged  enjoyments,  every  one  of  die  concluding  morsels ;  then 
risked  a  timid  glance  at  his  master,  still  immovable,  still  fixed  in  the  same 
attitude.  He  waited,  and  waiting,  the  time  passed  by,  until  seeing  it 
was  night&ll,  he  glided  from  the  room  without  the  least  movement  on 
thepart  of  the  painter. 

Tnus  he  remained  depressed  and  pensive,  giving  signs  of  being  sdll 
awake  by  some  convulsive  motion ;  once  he  raised  his  head,  looked 
around,  covered  his  eyes,  doubling  his  fist,  and  striking  bis  forehead 
fiercely. 

Thus  sped  on  the  hours,  and  he  tasted  not  of  food ;  thus  night  found 
him  and  he  slept  not ;  and  the  next  morning  at  day-break  he  sallied 
forth,  exceedingly  exhausted  and  overcome ;  but  rather  with  an  ex- 
pression of  sadness  than  of  his  first  fit  of  despair.  He  donned  the  cap 
with  the  broken  feather,  and  enveloped  himself  in  a  long  cloak.  By 
a  natural  and  involuntary  motion  he  twisted  and  caressed  his  budding 
mustachios ;  and  bearing  with  him  proofs  of  his  recent  excitement  in 
his  hollow  eye  and  pallid  complexion,  he  descended  the  steps,  and 
having  crossed  himself  devoutly,  emerged  into  the  street. 


He  was  a  good  christian  and  a  christian  of  the  sixteenth  century; 
the  seventeenSi  had  just  commenced ;  so  his  first  act  was  to  go  to  dbe 
nearest  church ;  he  there  heard  mass,  waited  awhile,  and  grown  more 
composed  was  about  leaving,  when  a  hand  touched  him  lightly  on  the 
shoulder,  and  a  familiar  voice  exclaimed :  '  GrOD  be  with  you.  Signer 
Don  Diego  !* 

He  who  thus  spoke  was  a  man  of  somewhat  over  sixty  years  of  a^e, 
well  made  and  or  a  pleasant  countenance,  and  olive  complexion,  with 
proofe  of  having  been  good-lookin? ,  quick  and  black  eyes,  eyes  of  ge- 
nius which  told  of  wars  and  arts  with  all  the  ardor  of  a  soldier  and  en- 
thusiasm of  an  artist  His  mouth  was  small  and  furnished  with  only 
two  or  three  straggling  teeth  ;  but  in  person  he  was  active,  in  appear- 
ance cheerful  and  genteel.  He  wore  a  black  camblet-cloak,  old  and 
thread-bare,  doublet  the  same,  with  handsome  flowers  and  slashed,  but 
in  no  better  plight  than  its  companion ;  he  wore  knightly  hose,  or 
'pedoweras'  as  £ey  were  then  called,  with  colored  lacing,  a  long  and 
snining  sword,  a  cap  set  on  one  side  in  a  martial  and  soldier-like  s^le, 
much  worn  and  tmread-bare,  evidencing  poverty  from  afar,  but  clean 
and  brushed  most  carefully. 


1850.]  Tke  Two  ArtiHt. 


Oh !  it  was  a  Bcene  worth  obeervmg,  the  meeting  of  those  two  men, 
one  entering  upon  life  the  other  leaving  it ;  one  all  hope,  the  other 
memory,  and  hoth  battling  it  with  Destiny,  both  looking  at  each  other 
with  eyes  that  betrayed  a  fiery  bouI,  a  genius  of  flame,  a  volcanic  ima- 
gination, a  life  which  enthusiasm  wasted  as  with  a  file ;  and  this  athwart 
Sie  prism  of  the  fiiture  of  youth  and  the  veil  of  the  past,  of  old  age. 
Ah !  whoever  had  seen  them  thus  would  not  have  confounded  them 
with  common  souls,  but  would  have  exclaimed,  much  is  there  of  good 
and  evil  within  those  fleshy  prisons ;  a  heaven  or  a  hell !  glory  or  sui- 
dde  awaited  the  one ;  the  otner  ■  The*other  had  braved  and  over- 

c(HBe  a  hundred  combats  throughout  life  against  a  hard  and  unmanage- 
able fhte. 

And  so  it  was ;  the  old  man  was  a  great  poet ;  but  unknown,  ob- 
scure, known  and  respected  only  by  some  artists  of  fine  enthusiastic 
genius,  who  in  that  age  could  alone  appreciate  the  florid  and  ardent 
genius  of  that  affed  man. 

Our  young  pamter  knew,  loved  and  revered  him  as  a  profound  phi- 
losopher, philanthropist  and  brave  soldier ;  he  knew  his  verses  by  heart ; 
and  the  learned  youth  of  Seville  repeated  enthusiastically  every  sonnet 
which  revealed  mm  as  its  author. 

He  exclaimed '  But  this  paleness !  those  red  and  wearied  and 

hollow  eyes  1  Do  not  waste  a  liie  which  may  be  so  glorious !  waste 
not  thy  heart,  boy  !  this  — ' 

*  It  means,'  said  the  painter,  interrupting  him  even  rudely, '  a  night 
of  watchfulness,  sorrow  and  torment,  of  rage  and  despair !'  And  he 
grasped  his  companion's  arm  roughly  and  checked  a  convulsive  sigh. 

'  What  %  a  youthflil  love  V  exclaimed  the  old  man  with  interest  '  But 
no !  I  see  another  fire  than  that  of  love  shining  in  those  eyes.  No,  it 
cannot  be !     Young  man,  tell  me  what  has  happened  V 

*  What  has  happened  ?  To  lose  my  hopes  of  glory,  to  scorch  my 
wings!     To^falir 

'  Thou  hast  undertaken  more  than  thou  shouldst.  Thou  hast  not 
chosen  the  moment  of  inspiration !' 

'  I  could  not  advance  one  line,  one  inch  ;  and  there  must  I  remain, 
there  be  confounded  with  the  crowd !' 

'  No,  youne  man ;  thou  hast  not  been  bom  for  such  a  fate.  No  ; 
raise  thy  head ;  elevate  it,  thinking  upon  glory !' 

*  Glory  t  Yes !  I  dreamed  of  glory,  and  to  you  ow^  I  those  dreams 
which  are  my  despair !  I  wished  to  live  admired  or  to  die ;  not  a  com- 
mon existence,  one  of  those  which  cower  in  the  mud ;  and  now  how 
may  I  soar  aloft  1' 

*  Had  I  thy  touch,  brush  and  imagination !'  exclaimed  the  other  with 
a  \oc^  of  enthusiasm,  and  placing  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  animated 
with  genius  and  poetiT.  '  xhou  knowest  not  the  treasury  that  is  thine ; 
work  and  I  promise  tbee  fiime.' 

'  It  is  all  in  vain.  Already  does  it  lose  its  charm  for  me.  I  will  ex- 
haust myself  before  emerging  from  the  cloud,'  answered  the  youth,  with 
apparent  apathy.  Then  came  a  moment  of  silence  ;  and  he  continued : 
'  You  too  luive  dreamed  of  glory ;  you  too  have  composed  verses, 
comedioB,  and  what,  what  has  been  the  result  ?  Your  glory  is  in  this 
doak,  in  this  doublet' 


224  OuOam.  [March, 

'  True,'  said  the  old  man  Boirowfully :  '  True ;  I  am  poor,  IbrffotteD, 
infirm,  persecuted ;  behold  my  glory !  The  unmtefiil  goddess  1  have 
worshipped,  caressed  and  so  much  admired !  What  a  return,  oh  God  !' 
and  he  bowed  his  head,  but  only  for  a  moment  '  I  am  poor  it  is  true,' 
he  resumed,  with  the  bold  and  martial  air  of  a  poet  and  soldier;  *  I  am 
poor,  but  honored ;  and  those  dreams  of  love  and  happiness,  and  those 
characters  I  have  created  as  if  a  God  with  their  virtues,  qualities  and 
passions,  good  or  bad,  at  will ;  those  characters  I  love  as  m^r  creatures ; 
those  wo^  which  are  my  children ;  those  moments  of  illusion  and  de- 
lirium ;  those  celestial  delights ;  that  delicious  volition,  vague,  free  as 
the  air ;  those  worlds  I  lived  in :  tell  me,  do  not  they  compensate  for  all 
those  troubles,  all  the  misfortunes  of  my  life  ]  Tell  me  who  shall  take 
them  from  me  1  What  avails  the  glory  of  man  in  comparison  with  the 
creations,  the  pleasures  of  a  God  V 

The  deep  furrows  in  his  brow  had  disappeared,  his  eyes  shone  widi 
the  double  light  of  youth  and  enthusiam ;  his  head  noble  and  erect ; 
his  disdainfU  glance,  seeming  to  measure  the  earth  with  the  sceptre  of 
heaven ;  it  was  not  a  man  —  no  !  it  was  a  Genius — a  Gtod  !  more  than 
this  he  was  the  poet,  the  true,  inspired  Poet ! 

The  young  painter  felt  controlled  by  the  eagle  eye  and  fiiscinating 
glance  of  the  old  man.  He  drooped  his  eyes,  ashamed  of  his  weak- 
ness, and  when  the  other  exclaimed :  *  Let  us  go  to  your  room — come !' 
he  allowed  himself  to  be  led  as  if  he  were  a  lamb. 


^utlatDs. 


NUMBER    ONE:    TEE    COMET. 


Hkayilt  drove  the  planets  down  the  canacwayB  of  the  deep, 
Up  from  humming  cavernB  rose  the  oavalcade  of  sleep  \ 
Angels  on  the  world's  vast  walls  stood  to  their  nighdy  stations, 
All  bright  with  armor,  as  they  watched  the  sleeping  oonstellations. 


A  prowlmg  oomet  steamed  along  the  outer  seas  of  Night, 

An  ancient  pilot  grasped  the  wheel,  and  guided  its  lErantio  flight : 

A  grim,  gigantic  engineer  stood  by  the  furnace  door, 

And  red  fire  shone  through  many  grates,  those  vast  black  empires  o'er. 


The  universe  lay  glimmering,  far  on  the  silent  lee, 

Like  a  great  lamp>lit  city  beyond  a  midnight  sea ; 

The  pilot,  said  '  Our  mighty  king  shall^ian  his  flaming  fleets, 

And  sailing  across  the  Gulf  shall  sack  those  planetary  streets. 


Comets  he  hath,  with  engines  made  in  the  iron>shops  of  hell, 
Admirals  and  dusky  hosts,  cannon  and  shot  and  shell ; 
O !  't  will  be  sweet  to  batter  those  walls  which  angds  now8regiiaidi0g, 
And  sweet  to  shatter  those  golden  globes  with  shoMorins  andhainhftriiBf> 


1850.]  OuOam.  225 


O I  sweet  for  Night's  black  pirates,  ye  dingy  doad-girt  peers, 
To  betbe  in  that  crystal  ocean,  where  swim  the  hollow  spheres ; 
O I  't  win  be  rare  to  freiffht  onr  fleetB  with  planetary  plunder 
And  fri^ten  the  tall  archangels  with  bolts  of  Stygian  thunder  I 


The  engines  jarred,  the  ftinnel  roared,  shone  the  red  fiirnaoe  flames, 

The  beams  of  iron  trampled,  grated  the  rods  and  chains ; 

Those  pirates  all  applauded ;  the  pilot  ported  the  helm : 

The  comet  curved  toward  the  dui^y  cU6b  of  that  fiir  distant  realm, 

VHiere  thunders  rumble  through  the  iron  towers  of  Demigorgon, 

Uke  the  roll  of  a  heavy  and  jarring  bass  thro'  the  pipes  of  a  growling  organ ! 


KUMBBB    TWO:    THE    TEMPLE    BY    THE    NILE. 

It  was  midnight ;  dimmer  and  dimmer 
Shone  the  distant  tont-fire's  glimmer ; 
Mournfully  murmured  ancient  Nilus 
Along  the  piers  of  Hecatompyloe. 
While  the  still  and  sacred  starlight 
Mingling  with  the  full  moon's  fir  light, 
Rested  on  many  strange  inscriptions 
Chiselled  by  the  dead  Egyptians. 

Then  arose  a  muffled  Magus 
From  a  granito  sarcophagus, 
Down  in  a  burial  crypt  abysmal, 
Unrummaged  by  the  sons  of  Ishmasi.. 
With  a  solemn  tread,  as  whilom 
Thrice  he  paced  the  long  propylon. 
Muttering  syllables  deep  and  mystic, 
Hexameters  harsh  and  eabslistic. 
Now  cane  forth  a  file  of  wizards, 
Who  kept  of  old  the  saered  lixarda ; 
Scaly  crocodiles  that  nibbled 
Lotus,  while  the  Hierarchs  scribbled 
Those  strong  staves  and  incantations 
That  vexed  Sie  peacefiil  constellations. 
Them,  fr dm  tombs  by  Hebrews  hollowed. 
Buried  kings  an  hundred  followed ; 
FrowningpHAROAH,  Ambnophis, 
Shishak,  girt  with  Syrian  trophies. 

But  now  the  stars  of  morning  fiided. 
Daybreak's  merry  dsmons  braided 
The  net  of  a  frntaslao  tent 
Far  in  the  glimmering  Orient. 
A  slow,  long  line  of  dromedaries 
Toiled  across  the  sandy  prairies : 
From  the  river's  rushy  marges 


Moved  a  fleet  of  splashing  barges, 

While,  with  his  waving  plume  of  horse-hair, 

Galloped  away  the  desert  Corsair ; 

Away  on  his  barb  than  the  west  wind  fleeter, 

Sinmng  some  wild  Arabian  metre  ; 

And  seven  Franks  rode  by  to  scramble 

Up  the  cliffii  of  Abousamboul. 


Do  not  Strain  your  Punch,  [March, 


DO    NOT    STRAIN    YOUR    PUNCH. 

One  of  my  friends,  whom  I  am  proud  to  consider  such ;  a  Gentle- 
man, blest  with  all  the  appliances  or  Fortune,  and  the  heart  to  dispense 
and  to  enjoy  them ;  of  sound  discretion  covipled  with  an  enlightened 
generosity ;  of  decided  taste  and  nice  discernment  in  all  other  respects 
than  the  one  to  which  I  shall  presently  advert ;  successful  beyond  hope 
in  his  cellar;  almost  beyond  example  rich  in  his  wine  chamber;  and 
last,  not  least,  felicitous  to  say  no  more  in  his  closet  of  Rums  —  this 
Gentleman,  thus  endowed,  thus  favoured,  thus  distinguished,  has  fallen, 
can  I  write  it  ?  into  the  habit  of—-  strainin?  his  Punch  ! 

When  I  speak  of  Rvhs  my  masters,  I  desire  it  to  be  distinctly  un- 
derstood that  I  make  not  the  remotest  allusion  to  that  unhappy  distilla- 
tion from  molasses  which  alone  is  manu&ctured  at  the  present  day 
throughout  the  West  Indies  since  the  emancipation  of  the  Blacks ;  who 
desire  nothing  but  to  drink,  tis  they  brutally  express  it, '  to  make  drunk 

come' but  to  that  etherial  extract  of  the  sugar-cane,  that  Ariel  of 

liquors,  that  astral  spirit  of  the  nerves,  which,  in  the  days  when  planters 
were  bom  Gentlemen,  received  every  year  some  share  of  then:  atten- 
tion, every  year  some  precious  accession,  and  formed  by  degrees  those 
stocks  of  Rum,  the  last  reliques  of  which  are  now  fast  disappearing 
from  the  face  of  Earth. 

And  when  I  discourse  on  Punch,  I  would  fein  do  so  with  becoming 
veneration  both  for  the  concoction  itself,  and,  more  eOT)eciall^,  for  the 
memory  of  the  profound  and  original,  but  alas !  unknoum  inventive 
Genius  by  whom  this  sublime  compound  was  first  imagined,  and 

brewed by  whose  Promethean  talent  and  touch  and  Shakn>erian 

inspiration,  the  discordant  elements  of  Water,  Fire,  Acidity,  and  Sweet- 
ness, were  first  combined  and  harmonized  into  a  beverage  of  satisfying 
blessedness,  or  of  overwhelming  Joy ! 

My  friend  then  —  to  revert  to  him  —  after  having  brewed  his  Punch 
according  to  the  most  approved  method,  passes  the  fragrant  compound 
through  a  linen-cambrick  sieve,  and  it  appears  upon  his  hospitable  board 
in  a  refined  and  clarified  state,  beautiful  to  the  eye  perhaps,  out  deprived 
and  dispossessed  by  this  process  of  those  few  lobes  and  cellular  integu- 
ments, those  little  gashes  of  unexpected  piquancy,  furnished  by  the 
bosom  of  the  lemon ;  and  that,  when  pressed  upon  the  palate  and  im- 
mediately dulcified  by  the  other  ingredients,  so  wondenully  heighten 
the  zest,  and  go  so  far  to  give  the  nameless  entertainment  and  exhilara- 
tion, the  unimaginable  pleasure,  that  belong  to  Punch  ! 

Punch  !  —  I  cannot  articulate  the  emphatick  word  without  remark- 
ing, that  it  is  a  licjuor  that  a  man  might '  moralize  into  a  thousand  simi- 
lies !'  It  is  an  epitome  of  human  life !  Water  representing  the  physi- 
cal existence  and  basis  of  the  mixture :  Sugar  its  sweetness :  Acidity 
its  animating  trials  :  and  Rum,  the  aspiring  hope,  the  vaulting  ambition, 
the  gay  and  the  beautiful  of  Spiritual  Force  f 

Examine  these  ingredients   separately.    What  is  Water  by  itself 


1850.]  Do  not  Strain  your  Punch.  227 

in  the  way  of  Joy,  except  for  bathing  purposes  ?  or  Sugar,  what  is  it, 
but  to  infants,  when  alone  ?  or  Lemon-juice,  that,  unless  diluted,  makes 
the  very  nerves  revolt  and  shrink  into  themselves  ?  or  Rum,  that  in  its 
abstract  and  pn^er  state  can  hardly  be  received  and  entertained  upon 
the  palate  of  a  G-entleman  ?  and  yet  combine  them  all,  and  you  have 
the  lull  harmony,  the  heroism  of  existence,  the  diapason  of  human  life ! 

Let  us  not  then  abridge  our  Water  lest  we  diminish  our  animal  being. 
Nor  change  the  quantum  ^of  our  Rum,  lest  wit  and  animation  cease 
from  among  us.  Nor  our'  Sugar,  lest  we  find  by  sad  experience  that 
'  it  is  not  good  for  man  to  live  done.'  And,  when  they  occur,  let  us 
take  those  minor  acids  in  the  natural  cells  in  which  the  Lemon  nourished 
diem  for  our  use,  and  as  they  may  have  chanced  to  fall  into  the  pitcher 
of  our  destiny.  In  short  let  us  not  refine  too  much.  My  dear  Sirs, 
let  us  not  strain  our  Punch  ! 

When  I  look  around  me  on  the  fashionable  world,  in  which  I  occa- 
sionally ming^,  with  the  experience  and  observation  of  an  old  man,  it 
strikes  me  to  oe  the  prevailing  characteristick  of  the  age  that  people 
have  departed  firom  the  simpler  and  I  think  the  healthier  pleasures  of 
their  Fathers.  Parties,  bails,  soirees,  dinners,  morning  calls,  and  re- 
creations of  all  sorts  are,  by  a  forced  and  unnatural  attempt  at  over- 
refinement,  deprived  of  much  of  their  enjoyment  Young  men  and 
maidens,  old  men  and  Widows,  either  give  up  their  Pitchers  in  despair, 
or,  venturing  upon  the  compotmd strain  their  Punch. 

Suppose  yourself  for  the  moment  transported  into  a  Ball-room  in  a 
blaze  of  light,  enlivened  by  the  most  animating  musick^  and  with  not 
one  square  foot  of  space  that  is  not  occupied  by  the  beauty  and  foshion 
of  the  day.  The  only  individuals  that  have  the  power,  except  by  the 
slowest  imaginable  sidelong  movement,  of  penetrating  this  tide  of  en- 
chantment, are  the  Redowa-Waltzers ;  before  whom  every  person  re- 
cedes for  a  few  inches  at  each  moment,  then  to  resume  his  stand  as 
wave  after  wave  goes  by. 

You  can  catch  only  the  half-length  portraits  of  the  dancers ;  but 
these  are  quite  near  enough  to  enable  you  to  gain  by  glimpses  dieir 
full  characteristick  developements  of  countenance.  Read  them ;  for 
every  conventional  arrangement  of  the  features  has  been  jostled  out 
of  place  by  the  inspiriting  bob-a-bob  movement  of  the  dance. 

Look  before  you  —  a  woman's  hand,  exquisitely  formed,  exquisitely 
gloved  in  white  and  braceletted,  with  a  wrist  *  round  as  the  circle  of 
Giotto,'  rests  upon  the  black-cloth  dress  of  her  partner's  shoulder ;  as 
light,  as  airy,  and  as  pure,  as  a  waif  of  driven  snow  upon  a  clefl  of 
mountain  rock,  borne  thither  in  some  relenting  lull  or  wandering  of 
the  tempest;  and  beautifiil !  too  beautifol  it  seems  for  any  lower  re- 
gion of  the  Earth. 

She  turns  toward  you  in  the  revolving  movement,  and  you  behold  a 
face  that  a  celestial  inhabitant  of  some  superior  star  might  descend  to 
us  to  love  and  hope  to  be  forgiven !  Now  listen,  for  this  is  the  ex- 
pression of  that  foce : 

*  Upon  my  word  this  partrifer  of  mine  is  really  a  nice  person !  how 
charmingly  exact  his  time  is !  what  a  sustaining  arm  he  has,  and  how 
admirably,  by  his  good  management,  he  has  protected  my  beautiful 


226 


J%e$ffmtt  Return  no  More. 


[March^ 


little  feet  against  all  the  maladroit  waltzers  of  the  set !  I  have  not  had 
a  single  bruise  notwithstanding  the  dense  crowd ;  and  my  feet  will  slide 
out  of  bed  to-morrow  morning  as  white  and  spotless  as  the  bleadied 
and  balmy  linen  between  whidi  I  shall  repose.  Ah !  if  he  could  only 
steer  us  both  through  life  as  safely  and  as  well !  but  poor  fellow  !  it 
would  never  do.  They  say  he  has  no  fortune,  and  for  my  part  all  that 
I  could  possibly  expect  m>m  papa  would  be  to  fumi^  the  house. 
How  then  should  we  be  ever  able  to— strain  our  Punch  1' 

And  he — the  partner  in  this  Waltz — instead  of  ^wing  buoyant 
and  elasdck,  at  the  thoughts  that  belong  to  his  condition  of  youth  and 
glowing  health ;  — at  the  recollection  of  the  ground  over  which  he 
moves; — of  the  Grovemment  of  his  own  choice,  the  noblest  because 
the  freest  in  the  world,  that  rules  it ; — of  the  feuiteen  hundred  mil- 
lions of  unoccupied  acres  of  fertile  soil,  wooing  him  to  make  his  choice 
of  climate,  that  belong  to  it ; — of  the  deep  blue  sky  of  Joy  and  health 
that  hangs  above  it ;  — of  the  Gon  that  watches  over  uid  |>rotec!ts  us 
all; — and,  lastly,  of  this  precious  being  as  the  Wife  that  mi^ht  make 

any  destiny  one  of  happiness  by  sharing  it what  are  the  ideas  that 

occupy  his  soul  ? 

He  muses  over  the  approaching  hour  of  supper,  speculates  upon  his 
probable  share  of  Steinoerger  Cabinet  Wein,  and  doubts  whether  the 
Restaurateur  who  provides  may  or  may  not  have  had  consideration 
enough  to stram  the  Punch. 

Bear  with  me  once  more,  gentle  Reader,  while  I  recite  the  title  of 
this  Essay :  '  Do  not  strain  your  Punch.'  johx  Watbrb. 


THBY       WILL       EETURN       NO       MOEV. 


By   J.    oz.BMBxrr. 


I  TOIL  where,  able4>odied, 

Toiled  men  of  other  yean, 
Whoie  gnvea  are  old  and  aodded, 

Made  loDff  ago  in  tears ; 
And  every  nower  decaying 

In  fields  my  feet  explore, 
In  dyin^  tones  seem  saying : 

'  lliey  wOl  retam  no  more !' 

In  fimoy  'neath  the  billows 

I  gaxe,  at  times,  opprossod, 
Counting  on  sea-weea  pOlows 

The  millions  there  at  rest ; 
And  soft  as  spent  waves  dying 

Along  the  sandy  shore, 
I  hear  a  low  voioe  sighing  r 

*  They  win  return  no  more  V 


My  footsteps  often  wander 

Where  oherished  fHends  are  laid. 
And  while  I  silent  ponder 

On  hopes  and  joys  decayed, 
Hnmbled  and  heavy-hearted, 

I  leam  the  grave's  sad  lore : 
'  Look  not  for  the  departed : 

Tbey  will  return  no  more !' 

The  fiiding  years  betoken 

Our  UjSb  win  soon  be  o'er, 
'  The  golden  bowl  be  broken,' 

And  we  return  no  more : 
Then  be  the  fiuth  we  cherish 

Like  thebs,  the  gone-before. 
And  grief  and  fear  win  perish 

Where  they  return  no  more. 


r 


1849.]  Lmes:  the  Cartmsal. 


lines:     the     carousal, 


ST     ■.     A.     BZ^XI0HA.1L9> 


Night  had  set  her  glocnny  watches, 

Dark  and  foarftd, 

Wet  and  tearfol, 
Bound  a  monntam  forest  cave^ 
When  a  hollow  moamng  mnao, 

As  the  speaking 

Or  the  shriekii^; 
O'er  an  echo-answering  grave, 
Rose  vihrating  and  dilating, 
Like  the  panung  funeral  chanting 
Through  an  old  cathedral  nave. 


Suddenly  a  blne-li^t  bnming 

Was  disclosing 

An  imposing, 
Yet  a  hideous  8pe<^a]  throng ; 
For  there  stood  the  King  of  xM, 

And  the  scowling, 

Mattering,  howl&g 
Subjects  that  to  him  belong : 
Such  a  trooping,  horrid  grouping, 
Never  muttered,  never  uttered 
Such  a  chorus  or  a  song. 


Round  their  King  the  fumes  were  rising, 

Round  fhem  higher 

Sulphurous  iire 
Leaping,  licked  away  the  shade ; 
Hags  and  witches  without  number 

There  were  thrumming, 

Dkath  too  drumming 
On  a  coffin  with  his  spade ; 
And  this  swelling,  gloomy  knelling, 
Song  was  pealing  and  was  stealing 
Back  each  sound  Uie  echoes  made. 


Devil.  Now  be  merry,  and  do  quickly ; 

For  no  mortal 

Dares  my  portal 
While  we  dance  tais  roundelay : 
Short  respite,  the^  do  not  know  it, 

While  with  greeting 

We  are  meeting. 


^30  Lines:  the  Canmsal.  [March, 

Boasting  what  we  do  with  day : 
Men  are  sinning,  we  are  winning. 
And  renewing  wicked  doing 
In  the  darkness  or  the  day. 


DiSBABK.  How  ihev  dread  my  silent  foot-steps, 

Undermining, 

As  with  pining 
Soon  they  sink  away  and  die ! 
How  I  feed  npon  their  vitals. 

Ever  gnawing, 

Ever  mawing. 
When  they  little  think  me  nigh : 
Ever  rapping,  we  are  sapping, 
Ever  dooming  all  the  blooming ; 
Oh,  they  little  think  us  by! 


Death.  And  I  laugh  until  my  shaking 

Bones  do  ratue, 

At  my  batde 
With  the  children  of  the  eaHh ; 
And  the  proud,  the  rich,  the  humble,  ■ 

All  defying, 

Still  are  dying, 
Whether  men  of  wo  or  worth : 
And  we  greet  them  as  we  meet  them 
At  the  passes  with  our  glasses, 
Wishing  Ihcm  a  merry  birth. 


Decat.  Ha !  ha !  ha  I  I  'm  tired  of  eating, 

And  of  feedmg 

On  the  breeding 
Work-upbuilding  things  that  rust : 
Noble  structures,  man  and  woman. 

Ever  toiling, 

I  am  spoiling, 
With  a  never-ending  lust : 
On  his  cofiin  Death  is  laughing 
At  the  paUing  ever  falling : 
Ha  I  ha  I  ha !  they  soon  are  dust ! 


All.  What  a  ^lic  with  earth's  children, 

Gnome  deforming. 

Devil  storming. 
From  so  many  we  may  cull ; 
What  a  feasting  on  the  pco{Me, 

All  belying 

They  are  dying. 
Though  Decay  is  nearly  full : 
Death  is  biering,  witches  searing. 
Spectres  warring.  Time  is  sparring. 
Dancing,  bowling  with  a  skull. 


I860.]  Two  Characters.  331 


Now  they  okpped  their  bony  fingers, 

As  with  yelline 

They  were  spcdting 
This  nnetrtiily  fiendish  tone ; 
Oh,  sMh  pdOid,  hueless  frees 

As  the  flflinihig 

Fhre,  anblaminjr, 
Gloatinfl  on  each  yisage  shone : 
Swiftly  botmdmff  to  the  soondhmr^ 
In  the  shsding  uey  were  fiiding 
To  a  flash,  and  th^  ware  gone. 


TWO     CHARACTERS. 

•  Will  you  lend  me  your  light,  Kate,  for  a  moment  V  said  a  young 
man  whom  we  shall  call  Harry  Eaton,  groping  in  the  dusk  around  a 
door,  from  which  there  streamed  through  the  key-hole  a  faint  tantali- 
zing heanL 

The  wind  was  sweeping  with  a  hollow  dreary  sound  through  the 
corridors  of  the  vast  deserted  building,  rattling  every  window-pane 
and  moaning  through  every  chink. 

'  I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you,'  continued  the  youne  man  timidly. 

Ab  he  spoke  the  door  was  thrown  wide  opGn>  and  Kate  stepped  forth 
into  the  passage-wa^,  shading  her  eyes  with  one  hand,  and  holding  her 
light  aloft. 

'  I  thought  you  would  be  charitable,*  he  said,  confronting  her  with  a 
look  of  invohintaiy  admiration  '  Do  you  know  that  you  should  stand 
for  a  picture  in  precisely  the  attitude  which  you  have  taken.  The 
tight  irom  that  candle  sparkles  on  your  forehead  like  the  glory  round 
the  head  of  a  Madonna,  and  your  eyes  shine  like  coals  of  fire  in  the 
shadow  of  your  hand.  You  seem  just  now  to  be  something  between 
a  lady-saint  and  Lucifer.' 

Indeed,  the  girl's  beauty  was  so  fresh  and  brilliant  that  it  startled 
one,  as  it  burst  suddenly  upon  the  darkness,  and  filled  the  empty  space 
with  a  glorious  presence  ot  youth  and  vigor  and  maidenhood. 

'  The  fresh  an:  out  of  doors,'  she  answered  coldly,  *  has  pven  you 
high  spirits,  and  made  you  impertinent  Here  is  the  light.  Sir ;  I  will 
leave  it  on  the  chair  fer  you.'  She  turned  contemptuously  away,  with- 
out, however,  closing  the  door. 

The  young  man  keenly  watched  her  elastic  tread  and  the  flexible 
sway  in  her  slight  form,  as  she  moved  toward  the  little  table  in  the 
room  to  resume  her  work. 

He  leaned  feebly  against  tlie  door-post,  and  seemed  to  be  struggling 
for  energy  to  tear  himself  from  the  spot,  and  break  the  toils  of  a  deadly 
fascination,  which  was  winding  itself,  thread  by  thread,  about  him.  The 
girl,  who  had  seated  liersel^  remained  for  a  few  moments  idle,  her  bare 
arms  stretched  gracefully  upon  the  shining  oaken  board,  her  head 


232  Tufo  Charaeiers.  [March, 

thrown  scomfiilly  back,  and  a  vacant  look  in  her  large  black  eyes,  as 
though  utterly  unconscious  of  the  intense  gaze  which  the  young  man 
fixed  upon  her.  There  was  a  strange  contrast  between  the  two.  He 
was  pale  and  listless,  and  stood  humbly  at  the  door ;  all  his  energies  of 
soul  and  body  seemed  absorbed  to  feed  that  burning  look.  She  was  in 
the  very  flush  and  freshness  of  maidenhood,  and  reposed  before  him 
like  one  basking  luxuriously  in  her  warm,  glad  existence.  Every  pulse 
thrilled  with  vigcM: ;  her  whole  ibrm  was  glowing  with  strength  and 
buoyant  life.  Her  arms  were  bathed  in  the  ruddy  firelight,  which  half 
revealed  their  exquisite  swell,  and  maiked  wkh  faint  shadows  the  sinews 
knitting  strongly  at  the  wrist.  Her  black  hair  glanced  with  a  purple 
sheen  to  the  nickering  blaze,  and  the  color  in  her  cheek  shone  vividly, 
or  turned  to  a  dusky  glow,  at  every  change  of  the  uncertain  flame. 

*  Come  in,  Harry,  and  shut  the  door,'  she  said,  abruptly  rousing  her- 
self. '  You  can  fill  that  great  German  pipe  of  yours  over  my  hearth ; 
I  am  very  lonely  to-night,  and  want  something  to  make  sport  of.' 

Harry  crept  into  the  room  with  a  noiseless  step,  and  drawing  a  chair 
toward  the  wood  fire,  now  crumbling  fast  away  to  a  bed  of  glowing 
embers,  began  slowly  to  replenish  tJ^e  bowl  of  a  huge  meerschaum* 
grotesquely  carved,  which  he  supported  between  his  knees.  The  ex- 
hilaration produced  by  the  firosty  air  had  passed  away,  and  left  him  care- 
worn and  almost  dejected. 

'  Are  you  angry  with  me,  Kate  V  he  asked  at  length  in  a  low  voice. 

'  Yes,  I  am,'  retorted  the  girl, '  I  cannot  bear  to  be  flattered ;  and 
you  talk  to  me  sometimes  of  my  own  fiice  and  figure  as  if  I  had  no 
more  feeling  or  sense  than  the  little  images  in  your  painting  room.  I 
was  not  made  to  be  a  plaything  for  gendemen.' 

'  I  do  not  pretend  to  be  a  gentleman — in  your  sense  of  the  word,' 
said  Harry.  *  I  work  day  and  night  wearily  enough  to  earn  a  living. 
I  say  day  and  night ;  for  when  I  have  been  engraving  or  designing  cdl 
day  I  lie  awake  half  the  night,  imagining  some  new  combination,  and 
building  castles  in  the  air,  which  must  be  substantial  enough  to  be 
turned  to  account  It  is  a  business  which  vntJiers  away  body  and  soul. 
Even  my  imagination  begins  to  have  a  sickly  hue ;  but  there  is  a  battle 
before  me,  in  which  I  must  win  or  die.  The  world  gives  no  quarter 
to  a  man  once  down,  who  is  fighting  with  it  for  life.' 

'  Still  you  are  a  gentleman,'  persisted  the  girl,  rising  and  advancing 
toward  the  fire.  'Your  hand  is  softer  than  my  own.  It  is  only  fit  to 
carry  a  pencil  or  a  brusL  I  am  a  girl ;  yet  there  is  more  strength  in 
my  arm  than  yours.' 

She  took  ms  hand  as  she  spoke  and  placed  it  where  he  might  feel 
that  her  slender  arm  would  scarcely  dimple  to  the  touch,  but  seemed, 
in  its  marble  fimmess,  like  the  flesh  of  the  statue  in  the  old  story,  when 
it  was  just  softening  into  life  at  the  sculptor's  prayer.  There  was  a 
contemptuous  familiarity  about  this  action ;  she  did  not  seem  to  look 
upon  him  as  a  man. 

<  You  are  so  quiet,'  she  continued  impatiently,  tossing  his  hand  aside ; 
'  you  walk  about  as  if  you  were  afraid  of  crushing  a  flower  at  every 
step.    You  never  speak  above  your  breath.    You  seem  always  to  have 


1850.]  Jkoa  Characters. 


something  which  you  keep  to  yourself.  There  is  no  life  about  you. 
I  do  not  understand  it,  and  it  provokes  me.' 

Harry  made  no  answer,  iK>r  he  had  long  despaired  of  being  compre- 
hended. The  twilight  deepened  in  the  room,  and  shadowy  phantoms, 
exulting  over  the  dying  fire,  stole  up  the  waU  and  darted  in  stealthy 
frolic  across  the  ceiling.  The  clock  ticked  loudly  from  its  comer,  as 
though  it  parted  reluctantly  with  the  midnight  moments,  and  meant  to 
lay  an  emphasis  on  every  one. 

'  Do  you  ever  dream  m  the  daytime,  Kate  V  said  Harry ;  '  I  mean 
when  you  are  wide  awake  V 

*  Not  often ;  I  am  too  busy  living.  Sometimes,  on  a  long  summer 
day,  when  the  air  comes  through  tibe  window  on  my  cheek,  I  sit  and 
fiirget  my  sewing  for  a  long  while,  thinking  of  nothing,  but  just  feeling 
happy.  All  manner  of  pleasant  images  pass  through  my  mmd  then, 
like  die  sparkling  things  in  the  sunbeam.' 

*  But  you  are  forc^  to  gain  a  subsistence,  and  toil  for  it,  like  my- 
self,' said  Harry.  *  Now  have  you  never  made  a  picture  of  yourself  m 
some  different  situation ;  as  a  Isidy,  for  instance,  wno  was  rich  and  had 
servants  to  wait  upon  her,  lived  in  a  fine  house,  and  so  on  V 

•'  Never !'  she  answered  emphatically;  *  I  would  not  be  a  lady  if  I 
had  the  choice.  They  are  poor  weak,  sickly  things.  A  draught  of 
cold  air  kills  them,  like  a  geranium.  They  are  helpless  creatures,  and 
must  have  some  one  to  lean  upon  always ;  some  one  to  look  after  their 
health  and  take  care  of  their  characters.  Now  I  have  neither  father 
nor  mother,  nor  friends  in  the  world ;  yet  I  would  not  quit  this  little 
room,  and  give  up  the  feeling  that  I  need  thank  no  one  for  help  or  pro- 
tection—  no,  not  for  a  fortune !' 

^  am  an  orphan  and  friendless,  like  you,  Rate,'  said  the  young  man, 
speaking  more  to  himself  than  to  her, '  and  I  am  glad  of  it.  There  is 
a  grim  pleasure  in  plodding  on  doggedly,  with  starvation  at  your  back 
and  &ine  a  great  way  before  you  in  the  distance^  I  am  getting  a  name, 
you  must  know,  as  an  artist.  They  come  to  me  now  to  design  the  il- 
lustrations for  the  novels  of  the  day.  It  is  absolute  drudgery,  however, 
to  extract  the  characters  from  some  of  these  books,  and  harder  still  to 
fit  a  face  and  body  to  them.' 

He  sighed,  but  there  was  an  intense  gleam  of  pride  deep  in  his  eye. 

*  Could  I  help  you  in  any  way  V  said  the  girl,  earnestly  and  kindly. 

*  The  best  help  you  could  give,'  he  replied,  startled  by  her  change 
of  manner, '  would  be  merely  to  sit  still  now  and  then,  and  let  me  draw 
from  your  face  and  copy  your  figure.  You  are  the  most  perfect  model 
of  g^lhood  that  could  be  found,  and  your  complexion  is  the  clear  bru- 
nette, with  whidi  a  painter  seldom  meets.' 

Kate's  eye  flashed,  and  she  seemed  disposed  to  quarrel  again  with 
his  language. 

'  I  should  paint  you  as  Esmeralda,  the  dancing  girl,  in  Victor  Hugo's 
novel,'  continued  he,  musing  aloud, '  and  I  should  be  the  student,  who 
loved  so  madly.' 

'You  mean  in  'Our  Lady  of  Paris,"  answered  Kate,  quickly;  'I 
have  read  that  book.  It  kept  me  up  all  night,  and  came  to  a  miserable 
end  at  last    But  I  am  not  like  iKsmeralda.    She  was  only  a  pretty 


234  Tuw  Characters.  [March, 

fool,  and  the  student  was  almost  an  idiot.  He  should  have  joined  the 
army  and  jput  on  uniibrm,  to  take  her  fancy,  instead  of  talkmg  Greek 
to  her,  and  making  love  with  a  dictionary.  I  hc^  that  I  am  not  like 
Esmeralda.' 

Harry  was  astonished ;  for  he  had  no  idea  that  she  ever  read  any 
thing ;  and  he  was  always  under  the  impression  that  even  his  ordinary 
language  was  often  unintelligible  to  her.  Her  engrossing  beauty,  her 
animal  vigor,  had  been  to  him  all  the  doul  in  her  ferm ;  he  did  not  care 
to  look  for  a  deeper  intelligence.  It  was  her  phycdcal  excellence  which 
domineered  over  his  feebW  nature  vrith  a  wild  fascination. 

'  You  are  the  student  in  the  novel,'  said  Kate,dioughtfully. 

'  But  not  exactly,  for  you  move  around  quietly  and  mope  in  comers, 
looking  miserable,  like  the  cat  there ;  but  all  the  while  you  have  set 
your  mind  upon  something,  just  as  she  has,  and  will  pass  through  fire 
for  it  when  you  think  it  tune  to  make  the  spring.  I  see  into  you  a 
little  way.  But  that  student  had  nothing  in  him.  Love  made  him 
crazy,  to  be  sure,  but  he  was  always  weaker  than  a  child.  He  seems 
to  me  like  a  man  delirious  with  fever,  i^ho  needs  to  be  held  down  in 
his  bed  but  could  not  walk  one  step  alone.' 

'  I  win  sit  to  you,  Harry,  if  it  will  be  any  assistance.  You  must  not 
of  course  make  a  portrait.' 

*  I  will  try  to  avoid  it,'  said  the  bewildered  young  man.  *  It  will  be 
difficult,  since  even  now  in  your  absence,  all  my  designs  of  the  female 
face  turn  to  your  likeness.' 

'  Nonsense,  Harry !'  exclaimed  Kate,  haughtily ;  instantly  resuming 
her  ineffable  air  of  disgust  and  indifference.  Then  she  began  to  tor- 
ment him  with  a  girlish  wantonness  of  cruelty  which  is  the  very  in- 
stinct of  the  sex.  She  revelled  before  him  in  her  beautiful  being,  with 
a  mocking,  luxurious  triumph  which  maddened  him.' 

'  This  would  make  a  picture,  Harry,'  she  said,  loosing  the  fastening 
of  her  hair  which  poured  down  at  once  in  black  shining  waves  over 
her  neck  and  shoulders  even  to  her  feet  Then  assuming  in  an  instant 
the  frank,  half  sisterly  manner  which  was  hardest  of  all  to  bear,  she 
compelled  the  miserable  slave  with  throbbing  pulse,  to  assist  her  in 
rJBstoring  the  thick  tresses  to  their  place.  Agam  she  was  all  sympathy; 
and  thus  she  racked  his  soul,  binding  it  down  to  the  torture  by  her  won- 
derful beauty,  while  every  word  and  gesture  made  more  bitter  the 
despair  already  cankering  in  his  heart.  He  could  bear  it  no  longer. 
He  rose  from  the  chair  like  one  uplifting  a  great  weight,  and  strode 
hastily  toward  the  door.  He  was  arrested  by  the  girl's  hand  laid  gently 
on  his  shoulder. 

'  Will  you  not  bid  me  good  night,  Harry,  and  confess  that  I  am  not 
like  Esmeralda  V 

He  bowed  in  silence,  and  shuddering  under  her  touch,  passed  out 


CHAPTXX     •SCOHB. 


In  the  solitude  of  his  own  room,  Harry  threw  himself  upon  the  bed, 
with  a  delicious  feeling  of  coming  rest  He  had  now  about  him  a  world 


1S50.J  Two  CharacUri.  235 

of  his  own,  whoee  scenery  and  inhabitants  were  all  at  his  command. 
The  feverish  misery,  the  continual  humiliation  of  his  strange  passion 
faded  fix)m  his  remembrance  as,  disposing  the  coverings  aromid  him  so 
as  to  defy  the  frosty  night,  he  sat  still  dressed,  half  upright  on  his  couch, 
gazing  at  the  little  pool  of  moonlight  on  the  floor. 

Careering  about  the  huge  buil£ng,  the  fitful  autumn  wind  roared 
like  a  distant  lion  in  a  desert,  or  trailed  with  a  ghostly,  rushing  sound, 
along  the  passage-ways,  and  went  forth  moaning  and  wandering  far 
away  into  the  empty  night.  Still,  as  Harry  sat  listening  and  dreaming, 
one  form  would  return  agrain  and  again,  wavering  dimly  in  the  smoke  of 
the  meerschaum.  It  would  be  dispersed  for  a  little  whUe  by  the  force  of 
Iiis  strong  wiD,  and  break  away  into  the  features  of  ideal  women,  only 
to  come  on  him  unawares,  with  a  reproachful  look,  and  a  presence  more 
exacting  than  before. 

*  She  is  a  glomus  specimen  of  physical  beauty,  an  embodiment  of 
the  sex  in  all  its  attributes ;'  he  thought  to  himself,  regarding  Kate,  in 
his  reverie,  with  conmarative  coolness.  '  She  is  a  finer  animal  than  a 
deer  or  a  leopard.  Would  that  I  might  for  an  instant  feel  the  blood 
bound  through  my  veins  as  it  must  boimd  through  hers ;  that  I  might 
know  the  ecstasy  of  mere  existence,  in  which  she  soems  so  to  delight ; 
that  I  might  look  through  her  eyes  at  the  sky  and  earth ;  and  that  my 
soul  might  live  and  sleep  and  dream,  wrapped  up  in  so  beautiful  a  body.' 

He  pondered  long  upon  this  odd  conceit. 

'  I  suppose,'  he  thought  on  more  dreamily,'  *•  that  this  is  the  lesson 
taught  by  the  old  allegory  of  Cupid  and  Psyche,  where  the  winged 
soul  is  imploring  an  embrace  from  the  laughing  boy,  who  is  a  veritable 
child  of  earth.  I  have  learned  to-night  that  Kate  has  unusual  intelli- 
gence ;  but  the  discovery  gives  me  no  pleasure.  It  seems  to  mar  the 
idea  of  her  upon  which  I  dwell  most  fondly.  My  soul  seems  yearning, 
like  Psyche,  not  ior  communion  with  another  soul,  ethereal  as  itself^  but 
for  intimacy  with  a  material  thing,  in  whose  fresh  and  heathful  atmos- 
phere it  may  revive  and  rest     That  is  the  metaphysics  of  this  affiur.' 

And  now,  despite  of  his  philosophy,  feeling  an  approaching  $t  of 
wretchedness,  and  exerting  his  peculiar  dogged  strength  of  will,  for  his 
timidity  was  only  physical,  he  drove  away  the  subject  and  turned  to  his 
art. 

But  undefined,  dilating  images  began  to  fill  the  moonlit  chamber ; 
the  wind  whispered  mysteriously  and  ceased  altogether ;  he  lapsed  into 
adrd^un;  roused  up  and  sank  again ;  then  determined  to  remain  awake, 
and  in  the  peaceful  consciousness  of  a  good  resolution,  fell  fast  asleep. 

It  was  the  sudden,  deep  oblivion  which  comes  upon  youth  when 
melancholy  and  overtasked.  A  wreath  of  smoke  was  curHug  upward 
from  the  great  meerschaum  at  the  moment  As  the  stem  drapped 
from  his  parting  lips,  and  the  grasp  of  his  hand  relaxed,  the  capacious 
bowl  turned  over  m  the  bed  and  the  silver-lid  flew  open,  sliding  over 
its  heated  brim  came  a  shower  of  grey  ashes,  followed  by  a  sodden, 
glowing  coal  which  beean  to  sink  mto  the  sleeper's  couch,  gnawing 
through  one  covering  after  another,  and  sending  up  a  thin  vapor  as  it 
burned  its  way. 

Harry  stin-ed  uneasily  from  time  to  time,  and  the  coverings,  which 


236  Two  Characters.  [March, 

had  been  wrapped  around  him,  slipped  by  degrees  away,  and  lay  pre- 
sently, a  smomaering  heap  upon  uie  floor.  There  was  no  outlet  for 
the  increasing  smoke,  and  the  air  soon  began  to  grow  thick  and  stifling, 
until  the  moonbeams  streamed  through  a  ghastly  haze,  which  became 
each  moment  more  palpable.  Still  he  slept  on ;  but  his  sleep  was  like 
that  of  a  man  strugglmg  with  some  hideous  night-mare.  As  time  passed, 
his  breathing  began  to  labor  painfully,  and  his  features  were  sharpened 
with  a  look  of  helplessness  and  great  misery.  It  was  curious  to  watch 
the  slow  progress  of  the  fire,  which,  without  breaking  into  flame,  was 
beeinning  to  extend  its  glimmering  rings,  as  if  it  were  searching  for  a 
wider  foothold.  The  deadly  vapor  rising  from  it,  gently  approached 
the  sleeper,  hovering  over  him  with  stupifying  wings  like  a  vampyre, 
and  draining  imperceptibly  the  energies  of  life,  so  that  at  last  in  his 
weakness  and  the  confusion  of  awaking,  one  suffocating  pang  might 
perhaps  disable  him  altogether.  It  is  strange  that  a  man  should  per- 
mit himself  to  be  strangled  by  inches  in  his  sleep ;  but  it  is  certain  that 
men  sometimes  do  permit  it. 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  silent  house,  and  a  hurrying  fbotftdl.  In  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  the  door  of  the  room  was  dashed  open  from  vrith- 
out,  the  night  wind  rushed  in,  eddying  amid  the  gloom,  and  Rate  stood 
at  the  threshold,  with  dishevelled  hair  and  a  look  of  unspeakable  hor- 
ror in  her  face.  It  was  but  an  instant  ere  she  sprang  fearlessly  into 
the  dusky  chamber,  calling  Harry  by  name  in  a  tone  so  clear  and 
piercing,  that  the  whole  building  rang  and  reechoed.  He  murmured 
something  inarticulately,  but  the  sound  served  to  guide  her  in  the  haze, 
and  she  was  by  his  side  at  a  single  bound.  He  was  lying  completely 
dressed,  as  he  had  fallen  asleep.  She  first  touched  his  hand ;  it  was 
cold  and  clammy.  She  drew  back  shuddering,  then  calling  to  her  help 
the  great  vigor  concealed  in  her  slight  form  and  rounded  limbs,  she 
threw  her  arms  about  him  and  dragged  him  at  one  effort  unceremo- 
niously from  the  bed.  He  had  the  ill  grace  to  groan,  as  if  uneasy  at 
the  fall,  but  the  resolute  girl  gave  him  no  time  to  remonstrate.  Ex- 
ertmg  all  her  strength,  she  drew  him,  now  feebly  struggling,  forth  into 
the  passage-way,  and  without  pausing  in  her  activity,  direw  open  the 
window,  and  dashed  water  in  his  face,  which  was  distorted  by  that 
poisonous  sleep.  With  pain  and  bewilderment  his  senses  gradually 
collected,  but  his  throat  was  parched  by  an  intolerable  thirst,  and  he 
was  benumbed  and  giddy.  Kate  strained  him  to  her  bosom  in  one  im- 
petuous embrace,  and  hurried  to  extinguish  the  fire.  She  returned, 
flushed  and  anxious.  She  crouched  down  beside  Harry,  who  had 
'  gained  a  sitting  posture,  but  was  still  very  weak,  and  drew  his  head 
upon  her  shoulder,  vnth  her  warm  young  arms  around  his  neck. 

'  What  has  happened,  Kate  V  he  whispered  huskily ;  '  I  feel  as  if  I 
had  passed  through  a  long  illness.' 

*  Do  not  speak  to  me,  Harry,  just  yet  !* 

He  fblt  her  bosom  heave  with  a  passionate  sob,  and  a  tear-drop  fell 
upon  his  forehead.     The  blood  shot  tingling  through  his  frame. 

<  Oh,  Harrv !'  she  answered,  ^  in  a  litde  while  you  would  have  been 
strauD^led  in  me  smoke.  If  I  had  not  been  awake,  the  room  itself  would 
soon  have  taken  fire,  and,  by  that  time  you  would  have  lost  all  strength 


1850.]  Tfco  Characters.  237 

to  help  jounelf  It  is  all  the  fault  of  that  wretched  German  pipe  of 
youro.  What  a  pain  in  the  heart  you  have  caused  me ;'  and  she  sobbed 
like  a  child. 

At  these  weeds  a  wild  panorama  swept  before  Harry's  mind. 

'  Was  I  in  actual  danger  of  death  1'  he  asked,  with  a  strange  tone 
and  manner. 

'  I  think  that  you  must  soon  have  perished  in  that  smoke ;  the  room 
is  reeking  yet  with  it,'  she  answered,  drawing  him  more  closely  to  her. 
An  the  bright  color  had  left  her  cheek ;  she  was  pale  and  haggard  now. 

*  Then  why  did  you  wake  me  V  said  the  young  man,  bitterly.  It 
would  have  been  such  an  easy  way  out  of  a  miserable  world.' 

*  Do  you  mean  that  you  really  wish  to  die !'  she  replied,  in  a  low,  hor- 
ror-stricken voice ;  *  to  leave  the  fresh  air,  the  blue  sky,  the  sunshine ; 
to  be  stretched  out  stiff  and  cold;  to  be  closed  up  in  the  earth,  and 
moulder  ^way  amon^  die  darkness  forever  ?  What  a  horrible  thought ! 
Is  there  nothing  which  you  care  for  in  the  world  V 

'  Nothing,'  said  the  young  man,  gently  loosing  himself  from  her  em- 
brace. 

'  Not  even  for  me  V 

*  For  you — you  P  he  exclaimed.  •  It  is  to  escape  from  you  and  be 
at  rest  anywhere ;  it  is  to  rid  myself  of  your  presence,  and  blot  out 
your  very  recollection,  that  I  would  go  even  into  the  grave,  though  a 
feverish  dream  of  you  would,  I  believe,  haunt  me  there,  and  strdw  that 
narrow  bed  itself  with  ashes !' 

The  girl  bowed  her  head  upon  her  hands,  but  seemed  not  to  listen 
to  this  muik  outburst  of  romance  and  bitterness. 

*  You  have  caused  me  such  a  pain  at  the  heart,'  she  repeated  ;  *  it 
has  not  passed  av^ay  since  it  fell  upon  me,  like  ice,  when  I  looked  into 
that  room,  and  thought  that  you  might  be  suffocating  there.  Even  now 
I  am  ftint  vrith  it.  If  any  ill  had  befallen  you,  what  would  have  be- 
come of  me  t* 

She  fell  into  deep  thought;  he  wondered  silently.  The  increasing 
oppression  of  the  stillness,  falling  more  swiftly  than  snow  flakes,  weighed 
heavily  upon  them  both,  shutting  out  the  world,  and  closing  them  in 
alone  with  each  other.  The  moon  was  shining  placidly  on  their  mo- 
tionless forms,  pouring  a  silver  flood  over  the  girl's  long  hair,  and  giving 
an  unearthly  look  of  apathy  to  Harry's  pale,  stem  face. 

*  Do  not  heed  the  reckless  words  of  a  desperate  man,'  he  whispered, 
feeling  his  senses  slowly  reviving  to  the  charm  of  Kate's  near  neigh- 
borhood. *  That  speech  of  mine  was  silly  enough  in  itself,  and  was  ill- 
timed  when  you  had  just  been  doing  me  so  great  a  service.  But  you 
have  hunted  me  foirly  down.  You  brought  me  for  an  instant  to  bay, 
like  a  stag ;  yet  I  feel  myself  the  same  coward  at  heart  as  ever.' 

Kate's  cheek  began  to  flush,  until  the  crimson  glow  dyed  the  full 
throat,  and  fointly  tinged  her  bosom. 

'  Do  not  draw  away  from  me,  Harry,'  she  answered  sofMy,  burying 
her  &ce  more  deeply  in  her  hands ;  '  come  closer  to  my  side ;  closer 
dian  before.  I  believe  that  you  love  me  better  than  life  ;  but  not  better 
than  I  love  you.'  The  words  were  distinct ;  the  breath  which  uttered 
them  was  warm  upon  his  cheek.    '  But  for  to-night  I  should  never  have 

VOL.  zzxv.  16 


238  Two  Characters,  [March, 

known  this/  she  went  on,  in  broken  sentences,  gasping  for  breath. 
How  shamefuUy  I  have  treated  you.  It  is  right  that  i  should  humble 
myself  to  tell  you  this.  You  may  cast  me  off  in  scorn  now,  but  not  in 
anger.  How  could  I  know  that,  when  the  thpught  of  you  would  come 
into  my  mind  all  day,  tormenting  and  vexing  me  from  morning  until 
night ;  and  when  I  was  always  trying  to  understand  your  quiet  ways, 
and  always  angry  because  I  could  not  do  so ;  when  all  this  was  going 
on,  how  could  I  know  that  it  was  love  V 

Her  cheeks  burned,  and  her  eyes  swam  in  a  liquid  light,  as  she  looked 
up  into  his  face  imploringly,  half  offering  her  lips,  as  if  to  buy  with  them 
a  pardon. 

OKAPTBX     TSXRS. 

Harry's  life  seemed  in  that  hour  to  begin  afresh.  The  pale  moon 
which  waned  from  the  sky  during  their  vigil,  before  the  golden  dawn 
of  Indian  summet,  was  a  type  of  the  sickly  light  that  was  at  the  same 
time  leaving  the  artist's  soul  forever.  The  influence  of  Kate,  with  her 
buoyant  spirits  and  practical  energies,  came  over  his  jaded  mind  as 
vigorous  and  healthful  as  the  breath  of  morning  afler  a  feverish  dream. 
His  genius  began  to  tread  greener  paths  in  search  of  the  ideal,  hand 
in  hand  with  a  creature  so  thoroughly  beautiful  and  thoroughly  real. 
He  faced  the  world  now  doggedly  as  ever,  but  with  a  happier  auda- 
city, while  Kate  grew  gentler  and  more  shrinking  every  day,  and 
seemed  to  have  changed  characters  with  him ;  putting  on  m  some  re- 
spects his  former  self  The  impetuous  maiden  was  true  to  her  sex, 
and  only  avowed  her  passionate  attachment  by  laboring,  frankly  enough, 
but  after  a  womanly  fashion,  for  his  good. 

One  day  they  were  together  in  the  painting-room ;  Kate  was  lean- 
ing on  Harry's  shoulder,  her  bright,  clear  eyes  fixed  earnestly  upon  a 
picture  at  which  he  had  been  a  long  while  occupied.  It  represented  a 
nun-like  figure,  whose  folded  hands  and  upwai^  look  seemed  to  indi- 
cate that  she  was  engaged  in  religious  contemplation,  or  in  some  act  of 
penitence  or  prayer.  Kate  turned  her  e^es  away,  and  began  to  play 
with  Harry's  hair ;  sending  thrill  after  thrill  along  his  nerves  at  every 
touch  of  her  light  hand,  in  its  unusual  familiarity.  At  last  she  said, 
hesitating,  and  glancing  at  the  picture, '  Why  have  you  made  her  so 
pale,  Harry  V 

*  Because,'  he  answered,  *  I  do  not  mean  to  represent  her,  exactly, 
as  belonging  to- the  earth.  She  is  a  kind  of  allegory  of  the  Spirit  of 
Devotion.' 

'  But,'  said  Kate,  smiling, '  she  seems  to  be  in  a  decline.  There  is 
no  merit  in  piety  when  earthly  things  are  about  to  be  taken  by  force 
away  from  us.  Her  cheeks  do  not  look  warm  and  full,  like  real  flesh 
and  blood.' 

*  Why,  you  must  know,*  replied  Harry,  •  I  did  not  intend  to  clothe 
her.  or  rather  to  clothe  the  idea,  in  real  flesh  and  blood ;  that  would 
make  the  subject  too  material.  I  wished  to  etherealize  her  foce  and 
form,  and  to  approach,  as  &r  as  possible,  toward  what  we  call  the  ideal.' 

'  Well,  but,  after  all,  call  it  what  you  like,  it  is  a  woman ;  and  quite 
a  pretty  woman,  too.' 


1850.]  Jkao  Character.  239 

'  She  18  not  altogether  a  woman,  Kate/  returned  the  ardat,  much 
perplexed ;  *  I  tell  you  she  is  an  embodiment  of  the  Spirit  of  Piety/ 

'Yet,  if  you  are  going  to  embody  the  Spirit  of  Piety/  she  persisted, 
*  must  you  not  put  it  in  a  real  body  1  The  picture,  dearest,  seems  to 
me  like  yourselt;  almost  too  dreamy,  too  unearthly.'  She  placed  her 
arm  about  his  neck,  as  if  to  soothe  hmi  and  confine  his  attention.  '  For 
my  part,'  she  continued, '  I  would  rather  look  upon  a  mere,  downright 
woman,  honestly  praying  with  all  her  heart,  than  puzzle  myself  oyer 
any  Allegory  of  Devotion  that  can  be  contriyed.  I  think  that  these 
allegories  are  only  painted  riddles.  When  you  have  put  the  clasped 
hands,  the  eyes  turned  upward,  the  nun's  dress,  and  all,  together  in 
jTOur  mind,  you  guess  that  it  means  Devotion,  and  once  guessed,  there 
18  an  end  of  the  picture  ;  for  it  is  not  a  woman,  and  it  certainly  is  not 
a  spirit.  You  ought  to  paint  more  that  you  see,  dear  Harry,  and  less 
that  you  think.     Is  this  very  foolish  talk  of  mine  V 

Kate's  position  would  of  itself  have  quelled  Har^ry's  {>ride  of  art ; 
but  he  had  studied  moreover  in  a  rough  school,  and  his  artistic  feelings 
were  not  easily  hurt.  He  had  good  sense,  too,  and  was  assured  that, 
right  or  wrong,  she  was  absolutely  in  his  interest.  So  he  pondered 
calmly  on  her  words. 

*  You  see,  Harry,'  she  resumed,  timidly,  '  people  do  not  care  to  look 
at  ideal  women^  as  you  call  them,  who  are  only  half  flesh  and  blood, 
and  the  rest  spirit  I  know  that  such  pictures  do  not  generally  please, 
because  they  do  not  give  me  pleasure,  and  I  am  one  of  the  people.  I 
believe  that  we  all  prefer  to  meet,  in  such  a  painting,  with  the  face  of 
a  real  woman,  and  to  be  sure  from  her  expression  that  she  is  very  inno- 
cent and  very  much  in  earnest  in  her  prayer.  '  We  can  enter  into  the 
picture  and  feel  solemn  before  it,  because  she  belongs  to  the  same  ■ 
world,  and  has  the  same  wants  and  troubles  as  ourselves.' 

'  You  mean,  I  suppose,  that  the  art  of  painting  cannot  reach,  or  has 
nothin?  to  do  with,  a  general  abstract  idea/  said  Harry,  thoughtfully. 

'  I  do  not  quite  understand  those  words,'  she  answered, '  but  I  will 
show  you  what  I  mean.  I  am  going  to  represent  the  Spirit  of  Love  ; 
9nd  you  are  not  worth  loving  if  you  do  not  think  me  prettier  than  an 
allegory.' 

Laughing  merrily  at  the  thought,  she  proceeded  to  place  a  cushion 
near  the  centre  of  the  room ;  then,  turning  toward  him,  she  knelt  down, 
and  letting  her  hands  fall  into  her  lap,  gazed  up  steadfastly  into  his  &ce. 
The  noonday  sun  poured  through  tne  window  over  head  in  a  shower 
of  golden  motes  around  her.  It  gleamed  warmly  down  her  shoulders 
and  flashed  from  her  blaqk  hair  like  a  diamond  crown.  Her  form  was 
indistinct  amid  the  shining  haze.  I  ccuinot  describe  her  look,  half 
mirthful  and  half  earnest ;  for  the  refining  influence  of  love  had  given 
her  features  an  expression  of  nobility,  and  had  wonderfully  softened 
her  dazzling  beauty.  As  she  sat,  blushing  in  her  conscious  loveliness, 
Harry  lean^  toward  her,  as  if  drawn  by  an  irresistible  influence ;  she 
waved  him  back  with  something  of  her  old  imperious  manner  : 

*  Gro  on  with  your  painting,'  she  said.  '  You  cannot  afford  to  be  idle. 
Put  my  face  instead  of  the  nun's. 

Harry  began  to  make  a  sketch  of  her.     There  were  many  interrup- 


240 


Visions:  hy  GreUa. 


[Marcht 


tions,  and  tihe  subject  was  in  intervals  of  leisure  often  resumed,  until  at 
last  die  form  came  out  visibly  on  canvass.  It  was  a  very  human  face ; 
for  he  could  not  fail  to  catch  some  traits  of  the  bold  and  vivid  beauty 
before  his  eyes ;  and  the  second  nun  stood  forth,  glowing  in  aU  the 
strange  &scination  which  haunts  the  old  pictures  of  £e  Magdalen.  It 
was  a  creature  so  fiery  in  spirit  and  oveinowing  ¥rith  maidenhood,  yet 
so  saintly.  But  when*  at  Kate's  suggestion,  he  finally  removed  the  un* 
natural  trappings  of  the  convent  and  lefi;  her,  merely  a  young  girl, 
thoughtful  and  loving,  looking  up  toward  the  sky,  that  ambiguous 
charm  of  the  Magdalen  disappeared.  Then  it  was  an  absolute  woman, 
the  holy  presence  of  whose  purity  made  the  beholder,  by  sympathy, 
more  pure. 

I  suspect  that  Kate  was  partly  right  in  her  contempt  for  the  allego- 
rical ;  but  at  all  events,  day  after  day  she  strove  to  make  her  lover  more 
fit  to  live  on  the  earth  as  it  is,  and  less  apt  to  wander  into  dream-land ; 
herself  meanwhile,  like  a  true  woman,  reflecting  his  refinement  Thus 
she  came  to  his  help,  a  glorious  ally  in  the  battle  of  life ;  always  a  wo- 
man to  his  sorrows  and  a  friend  in  his  triumphs.  And  when  in  after 
days  he  gained  the  vantage-ground  of  the  world,  and  she  became  his 
wife,  I  can  imagine  that  her  companionship  might  illuminate  even  the 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  matrimony,  at  whose  portals  the  novelist  pauses 
and  turns  away  with  a  sigh.  x.  w. 


V   I   S   I   Q    N   8. 


%r    ORBTTA. 


V18IONB,  vifiions  of  tiic  uight, 

Wherefore  are  ye  given  ? 
Lovely  is  your  fleeting  light 

As  A  glimpse  of  heaven  : 
I»vely,  but  too  brief  your  smile, 

Angels  of  my  vision, 
T Jnger,  linger  then  awhile, 

Make  my  heart  Elysium. 

Spirits  in  your  silent  flight. 

Ten  what  are  ye  teaching  ? 
Priesthood  of  the  starry  night, 

Say  what  are  ye  preaching  7 
What  this  music  ?  who  are  these 

Looming  now  before  me, 
Borne  upon  the  wandering  breexe, 

Whispering  sofUy  o'er  me. 

Know  ye  darling  Madbline, 
Peerless  queen  of  daughters  T 

Sings  she  now  the  songs  divine 
O'er  the  living  waters  ? 
J?aftMi«re,1850. 


Where  the  bright  ones  stoop  to  lave 

In  the  crystal  river. 
In  the  iris-crested  wave, 

Flowing  on  and  ever  ! 

T  was  when  spring  had  anatched  the 

From  the  winter  hoary,       [crown 
(Star-eyed  twilight  lookmg  down 

On  her  budding  glory,) 
Vocal  then  the  bfdmy  air, 

And  this  bud  of  ours, 
Little  snow-drop,  fresh  and  (air, 

Bloomed  in  heavenly  bowers. 

Visions,  vunons  of  the  night, 

We  would  hear  her  story  ; 
Bring  her  in  your  sflent  flight, 

Waft  her  baek  in  glory. 
Bring  her  with  her  songs  divine 

From  the  living  waters, 
Little  laughing  A&delinb 

Sweetest,  b«st  of  daughters. 


ISdO.J  SiaMza$:  Ditum^.  241 


DISUNION. 

At,  shout !  H  is  the  day  of  your  pride, 

Ye  despots  and  lords  of  the  earth  I 
Teach  your  s^is  the  American  name  to  deride, 

And  to  rattle  their  fetters  in  mirth. 
Ay,  shoat  I  ibr  the  Leagne  of  the  Free 

Is  about  to  be  shiverra  to  dost. 
And  the  torn  branehee  fidl  firom  the  Tifloroiis  tree, 

Wherein  liberty  placed  her  last  tnin. 
Shoat,  shout !  for  more  firmly  established  will  be 
Your  thrones  and  dominions  beyond  the  blue  sea. 

Laugh  on !  for  such  foUy  supreme 

The  world  has  yet  nerer  beheld ; 
And  ages  to  come  will  the  wild  story  seem 

A  tue  by  antiquity  swelled. 
For  nothing  that  Time  has  up>built, 

And  set  in  the  annals  of  crime, 
So  stupid  in  folly,  so  wretched  in  guilt, 

Darkens  sober  tradition  or  rhyme. 
It  will  be  like  the  fiible  of  Eius'  &11, 
A  by-word  of  mocking  and  horror  to  all. 

Te  mad !  who  would  'rase  out  your  name 

From  the  league  of  the  proud  and  the  free, 
And  a  separate,  ideal  sovereignty  claim, 

Like  a  lone  ware  flung  off  from  the  sea ; 
Oh,  pause !  ere  yon  plunge  in  the  chasm 

That  yawns  in  your  dangerous  way  | 
Ere  Freedom,  convulsed  with  one  temble  qraam, 

Desert  you  forever  and  ave  ! 
Pause !  think !  ere  the  eartnquake  astonish  your  souls, 
And  the  thunder  of  war  through  your  green  valleys  rolls ! 

Good  QoD !  what  a  title,  what  name 

Will  history  give  to  your  crime ! 
In  the  deepest  ^yss  of  dishonor  and  shame 

Ye  wHl  writhe  till  the  last  hour  of  Time. 
As  braggarts  who  forged  their  own  chains. 

Pulled  down  what  £cir  fore&thers  built. 
And  tamted  the  blood  in  their  children's  young  veins 

With  the  poison  of  slavery  and  guilt: 
And  Freedom's  bright  heart  be  hereafter  ten-fold, 
For  your  folly  and  M,  more  discouraged  and  cold. 

What  flag  shall  float  over  the  fires. 

And  the  smoke  of  your  patricide  war. 
Instead  of  the  stars  and  broad  i^pes  of  yoor  sires  t 

A  lone,  pale,  dun,  mist-covered  star, 
With  the  treason-cloud  hiding  its  glow, 

And  its  waning  crest  dose  to  the  sea  : 
Will  the  Eagle's  wiag  shelter  and  shield  you  ?  ah,  no ! 

That  wing  shelters  only  the  Free. 
Miscall  it,  disguise  it,  boast,  brag  os  ye  will, 
Ye  are  traitors,  misled  by  your  mad  leaden  stilL 


242  Siraffcrd-m-Awm.  [Man^ 

Tarn,  turn  men  !    Cast  down  in  your  might 

The  Anarcha  that  ait  at  the  hebn  1 
Steer,  tteer  your  proud  ship  from  the  gulf  which  th^  night 

Of  treason  and  terror  o'erwhekns. 
Tom  back  !    From  your  mountains  and  glens, 

From  your  lakes,  fhnn  (he  rivers  and  sea. 
From  forest  and  preoipioo,  cavern  and  den, 

Where  your  forefiithem  bled  to  be  free, 
From  the  graves  where  those  glorious  forefathers  lie, 
T^e  warning  reechoes  :  *•  Tom  back,  ere  ye  die !' 

JJtttt  Rack,  (ArkOMsat.)  *  albsbt  Pi&a. 


STRATFOR  DO  N-A   VON. 


VftOM    turn  WOTB-BOOX    OV  A    TKATSt.I.VB. 


It  was  a  pleasant  afternoon  in  the  summer  of  1849,  that  in  oompanj 
with  two  other  Americans  I  left  Warwick  on  a  visit  to  Stratfora-on- 
Avon,  distant  about  nine  or  ten  miles.  Midviray  the  road  passes  along 
on  ground  slightly  descending  to  the  river  Avon ;  and  here  we  were 
fortunate  in  seeing  one  of  those  beautiful  sunsets  which  artists  have 
seized  upon  and  sketched  with  such  surpassing  effect  in  the  landscape 
painting  of  Engknd.  On  the  right  the  land  gradually  ascended,  and 
the  fields,  extending  for  a  considerable  distance  in  that  direction,  were 
loaded  with  ripened  grain,  waving  gently  in  the  evening  breeze,  and 
ever  and  anon  the  voices  of  the  reapers  were  bcMiie  to  our  ears.  On 
the  left  there  was  a  gradual  descent  for  a  little  distance,  and  then  ex- 
tensive level  meadows,  green  and  fresh,  and  where  the  new  grass  had 
sprung  up  and  was  still  glistening  with  the  drops  of  rain  of  a  recent 
shower.  Some  half  mile  from  the  road  the  Avon  vras  seen  vnndine 
its  way  through  this  rich  meadow^  having  its  banks  lined  and  marked 
with  rows  of  the  willow. 

Within  this  apparent  enclosure  and  over  the  whole  expanse,  large 
herds  of  cattle  and  flocks  of  sheep  were  quietly  feeding.  The  rays  of 
the  setting  sun,  which  was  just  smking  behind  the  higher  land  on  the 
right,  fell  in  gorgeous  colors  on  the  landscape  below,  covering  flocks 
and  herds  as  with  a  mantle  of  gold,  and  presenting  a  strong  contrast 
to  the  dark  green  of  the  surroimding  meadow.  We  stopped  and  gazed 
in  silent  admiration,  watching  the  changing  light  and  shade  until  the  last 
ray  glanced  from  the  topmost  bow  of  the  wiUow,  and  then,  with  feel- 
ing of  intense  pleasure,  rejoicing  that  we  had  been  permitted  to  see 
this  crowning  beauty  of  an  EngMi  landscape,  we  gave  the  word.  On- 
ward, and  soon  were  wheeled  into  the  old  town  of  Stratford,  *  the  birth 
and  burial-place  of  him  whose  name  can  never  die.' 

It  was  still  twilight  when  we  reached  the  hotel,  and  we  determined 
on  an  immediate  visit  to  the  birth-place  of  Shakspeare.  We  easily 
found  the  low  and  simple  dwelling,  bearing  as  it  does  the  distinguishing 
marks  of  the  residences  of  persons  in  middle  life  in  England  three 


1850.]  ^ratforir^n-Awm.  243 

centuries  ago.  Scarcely  had  we  entered,  when  there  came  over  me  a 
Btranffe  revnlsion  of  feeting.  When  previously  in  England,  I  was  in- 
duced to  visit  one  of  the  minor  theatres  of  London  to  see  a  distinguished 
comedian  in  a  piece  called, '  Tkis  Ho&se  For  Sah,^  It  was  at  a  time  when 
it  was  currendy  reported  there  that  a  shrewd  money-making  Yankee 
was  about  to 'purchase  the  early  home  of  the  Bard  of  Avon  for  the 
purpose  of  transporting  it  to  America,  and  there  setting  it  up  as  an 
object  of  curiosity  to  be  shown  to  all  who  wished  to  see  it  at  twenty- 
five  cents  a  head.  The  play  opens  with  a  scene  in  StratiR)rd  in  front 
of  the  house  which  had  been  sold  at  auction  in  the  capital,  and  had 
been  purchased  by  a  London  cockney.  He  had  gone  down  to  look  at 
and  take  possession  of  his  newly -acquired  landed  property.  He  pre- 
sents himself  at  the  door  and  summons  the  occupant,  who,  supposing 
him  to  be  an  ordinary  visitor,  innnediately  commences  showing  hiln 
through  the  different  rooms,  commenting  and  explaining  as  she  pro- 
ceeds. No  time  is  givep  to  the  cockney  for  statmg  his  ownership  of 
the  premises,  but  leading  him  round,  she  enters  the  room  where  the 
great  poet  first  saw  the  hght,  and. with  a  sweep  of  her  arm,  says  with 
great  emphasis, '  This  is  the  room  in  which  the  immortal  Shakspeare 
was  bom.'  The  cockney  can  remain  silent  no  longer,  but  closing  one 
eye  and  putting  his  glass  to  the  other,  bending  over  and  peering  round 
into  every  comer,  he  says,  soUo  vocCt  'Now  you  do  fCt  say  Shakspeare 
was  bom  here,  do  you  ?* 

And  now  I  was  to  see  how  true  to  the  life  was  this  representation, 
for  the  old  woman,  who  probably  had  never  heard  how  she  had  been 
shown-up  on  the  boards  of  a  London  theatre,^  commenced  in  almost  the 
same  words,  that  the  room  which  we  entered  was  the  one  in  which 
Shakroeare  was  bom.  Recollections  of  that  London  cockney  came 
crowding  thick  upon  my  memory,  and  I  could  hardly  resist  his  excla- 
mation ;  and  indeed,  if  I  had  been  the  owner  of  a  glass,  I  do  not  know 
but  I  should  have  put  it  to  my  eye  and  addressed  to  the  old  cicerone 
the  same  interrogatory.  At  all  events  the  illusions  were  gone ;  the  pre- 
sent living,  breathing,  laughing  world  was  around  me ;  the  dust  of 
centuries  was  swept  away  with  a  breath;  the  darkening  shades  of 
night,  as  they  gathered  round,  instead  of  aiding  the  imagination  in  con- 
juring up  images  and  scenes  of  times  long  gone  by,  only  served  to  call 
attention  to  the  fact  that  the  lamps  were  being  lit  in  the  streets,  and  that 
supper  was  waiting  for  us  at  the  hotel. 

The  next  day,  however,  I  rose  early,  and  alone,  passed  out  of  the 
town,  and  wandered  for  a  long  distance  through  the  meadows  and  by 
the  margin  of  the  reedy  Avon.  The  quietness  of  a  Sabbath  morning 
rested  upon  the  scene.  Everything  was  in  repose,  and  everything 
above,  below,  around,  was  beautifiiL  Crossing  the  river  on  a  foot- 
bridge, I  came  up  along  a  winding  path  to  the  old  parish  church,  just 
outside  the  town,  and  which  contains  the  ashes  of  Shakspeare.  It 
was  not  yet  opened,  and  I  entered  the  grounds,  passing  through  the 
church-yard,  reading  ancient  inscriptions,  and  musing  over  the  spots 

'•  WasRS  heayes  (be  earth  In  maay  a  mouldering  heap : 
Each  in  his  narrow  ooU  Torerer  laid, 
The  rode  forefisthcrs  of  the  hamlet  sleep.' 


:^44  Stratford-^m-Avim.  [Mareh, 

As  soon  as  the  church  was  opened,  I  entered,  and  was  fertunate  in  find- 
ing, in  the  person  of  the  clerk,  an  intelligent  and  gentlemanly  young 
man,  who  was  kind  enough  to  show  me  the  objects  of  interest.  The 
congregation  had  not  assembled.  I  was  loolung  at  the  moment  to 
Shs^peare,  which  is  fixed  in  the  side  wall  on  the  right  of  the  church, 
and  observing  to  the  clerk  that  there  was  not  inscribed  upon  it  the  cele- 
brated lines  said  to  have  been  written  by  the  poet  himself  He  quietly 
rolled  up  a  piece  of  matting,  and  exhibited  the  slab  which  covers  the 
ashes,  and  upon  which  is  carved  the  epitaph  in  question.  I  had  scarcely 
read  it,  when  the  Vicar  made  his  appearance  in  the  church.  The  rude 
covering  rolled  back  to  its  place,  and  a  plain  country  couple  approach- 
ing, kneeled  down  upon  the  very  spot,  and  over  the  ashes  of  the  im- 
mortal bard  pledffed  their  faith  to  live  together  as  husband  and  wife 
until  death  should  separate  them.  The  mellow  light  stole  sofUy  in 
through  the  stained  wmdows.  The  solemn  voice  of  the  Vicar,  and  the 
low  responses  of  the  groom  and  bride,  alone  disturbed  the  sdllness 
which  reigned  through  '  the  long-drawn  aisles.'  During  that  brief  half 
hour  Imagination  was  busy  at  her  worlu  Images  of  the  past  grouped 
in  with  the  persons  who  were  present;  the  spirits  of  the  aead  hovered 
roimd,  or  stood  silent  spectators  of  the  living. 

The  old  church  bell  announced  the  approach  of  the  hour  of  service, 
and  soon  the  noise  of  advancing  footsteps  was  heard,  and  a  large  devout 
and  worshipping  multitude  was  gathered  in.  Sitting  immediately  under 
the  pulpit,  I  listened  with  respectful  attention,  and,  I  trust,  not  without 
proht,  to  an  instructive  and  able  sermon  from  a  neighboring  curate, 
whose  solemn  tones  and  snowy  hair  told  that  for  half  a  century  he  had 
been  a  watchman  on  the  walls  of  Zion. 

Afi:er  morning  service  we  drove  back  to  Warwick,  passing  by  Char- 
lecote,  the  residence  of  the  &mily  of  Lucy,  and  rendered  infamous  by 
the  youthful  errors  of  Shakspeare.  Large  herds  of  deer  were  feed- 
ing quietly  in  the  extensive  park,  or  lying  in  the  shade  of  the  majestic 
and  venerable  oaks.  The  changes  are  said  not  to  be  great  since  t&e 
days  of  the  b^d. 

In  the  afternoon  we  attended  divine  service  in  the  church  of  St 
Mary,  in  the  old  city  of  Warwick.  It  is  a  noble  edifice,  and  attached 
to  it  is  the  celebrated  Beauchamp  Chapel,  celebrated  fer  its  architectu- 
ral beauty  and  for  its  monuments  to  the  ^imilies  of  the  Dudleys,  Earls 
of  Leicester,  and  the  Beauchamps,  Earls  of  Warwick.  The  congre- 
gation was  small,  for  the  rain  fell  in  torrents.  The  heavy  peels  of  the 
organ,  as  they  rose  and  fell,  were  sometimes  almost  drowned  by  the 
roar  of  the  elements  without.  When  service  was  over,  I  lingered  after 
the  congregation  had  retired,  for  I  was  anxious  at  such  a  time,  when 
all  was  gloom  without,  to  wander  round  amid  the  monuments  of  the 
mighty  dead.  I  was  standing  in  front  of  the  church,  looking  at  a  noble 
monument  to  Thomas  Beauchamp,  the  great  Earl  of  Warwick,  and  his 
countess,  when  I  observed  the  clerk  call  back  the  officiating  clergyman, 
and  heard  him  remark  that  an  infant  was  to  be  baptized.  The  parties 
gathered  just  round  this  monument.  The  fuU-lensth  marble  effigies 
represent  the  mailed  warrior  clad  in  the  armor  of  his  time,  and  holding 
the  hand  of  his  countess,  clad  in  the  costume  of  her  day.    Here  around 


1850.J 


Stanzas:  JameUe, 


245 


this  monumentp  and  kneeling  even  against  it,  I  united  with  the  others 
in  die  service,  and  listened  to  the  tows  of  the  parents  to  tram  up  that 
child  in  the  knowledge  of  the  christian's  faith  and  duties.  The  past  and 
the  present,  the  dead  and  the  Hying,  were  aeain  hrought  together  in 
strong  contrast  and  in  vivid  outlines.  If  I  left  ue  hirth-place  ot  Shaks- 
peare  on  the  night  before  with  dioughts  of  the  London  cockney  banish- 
mg  subjects  of  interest,  I  now  left  the  old  Church  of  St.  Mary  in  a  sober 
and  contemplative  mood.  Serious  subjects  had  driven  avray  vain  im- 
aginings, and  my  last  Sabbadi  in  Warwickshire  left  me,  I  would  &inly 
hope,  a  wiser  and  a  better  man.  c. 


J    A    N    e    T    T    E  . 


MT  S.  V.  LBOAflS. 


I  WAS  the  lart  of  all  my  kin. 

My  food  was  acant,  my  cown  was  thin. 

I  would  Iiave 'sooner  £ed  than  sin. 

With  canning  words  he  sought  mc  out. 
*  My  fiithcr  served  him — not  withont 
Return.^    I  was  too  young  to  doubt. 

He  took  mc  to  his  home  by  stealth : 
His  wife  was  there  in  feeble  health ; 
His  wife,  who  booght  him  with  her  wealth. 

1  knew  how  mneh  he  did  despise 
Her  meaner  gifts,  his  loving  lies ; 
I  saw  H  in  his  scornful  eyes. 

Her  nature,  sullen  by  reproof, 
Held  him  in  better  moodi  aloof. 
But  I  was  grateful  for  their  roof: 

And  sought  by  gentleness  to  teach 

The  dutf  each  did  owo  to  each ; 

Her  patience,  him  more  kindly  speech. 

I  thawed  her  heart,  I  changed  her  face, 
His  words  partook  of  better  grace ; 
There  was  more  sunlight  in  ue  place. 

He  sat  whole  hours  at  her  knee. 
I  was  too  glad  in  heart  to  see 
How  much  it  was  for  love  of  mc. 

He  spread  his  cunning  wiles  so  true, 
I  was  ensnared  before  I  knew 
I  loved  wiUi  every  breath  I  drew. 


He  read  the  riddle  soon  as  I. 

He  stayed  me  when  I  thought  to  fly. 

I  wept ;  Oh,  was  no  Goo  on  high ! 

I  would  have  sooner  died  than  sin : 
I  fell  and  lived.    AU  tears  within 
My  scorching  eyes  were  dried  therein. 

And  on  my  forehead  burned  a  name 
That  crazed  me.    Then  with  cheek  aflame 
I  fled  into  the  night  for  shame. 

I  hid  myself  within  a  wood. 

I  had  laid  by  my  womanhood, 

And  shared  their  rustic  toil  and  food. 

I  hated  all  things  good  and  pure 
That  mocked  me.    But  I  hated  more 
The  heart  that  loved  him  at  its  core. 

I  trod  upon  my  heart  and  fiite. 
Because  my  love  had  been  so  great, 
I  hated  him  with  cruel  hate. 

I  gathered  patience  in  my  strife. 
I  waited.    Time  removed  his  wife  ; 
She  stood  between  me  and  his  life. 

I  waited  till  his  home  should  be 
Stripped  of  its  mourning  garb,  and  he 
Crossed  by  no  thought  of  pain  or  me. 

He  slew  my  happiness  by  craft. 

He  should  be  smiling  when  he  qq^fRnl 

My  hate.    I  hid  myself  and  laughed. 


246 


Stanztu:  Janette. 


[March, 


I  took  A  dagger  sharp  and  bright, 
I  held  ite  flashing  from  the  light, 
And  that  I  shaded  from  his  sight. 

I  turned  the  lamp  upon  his  cheek ; 

I  saw  him  lying  pale  and  weak, 

As  one  that  from  Death's  hold  did  break. 

His  fevered  lips,  as  in  unrest, 

Moved  to  my  name.    What  thirsty  guest 

Ildd  I  in  hand  to  probe  his  breast ! 

If  he  had  slept  in  conscious  pride 
Of  strength ;  if  by  one  smile  defied 
My  misery,  he  then  had  died. 

I  thought  to  find  him  brave  and  gay. 
I  could  not  strike  him  as  he  lay ; 
I  pitied  where  I  thought  to  slay. 

I  thrust  the  weakness  from  my  brain, 
I  trampled  on  my  heart  in  vain. 
A  viewless  hand  on  mine  was  lain. 

Look  back,  a  spirit  in  me  said. 
My  sense  of  vinon  turned  its  head, 
And  rested  on  a  anowy  bed ; 

Wherein  a  sleepmg  infimt  lay. 
I  knew  it  was  tne  pleasant  May, 
Such  heavy  bloom  was  on  the  spray. 

I  saw  the  infant  grown  a  maid. 
Before  a  glass  her  tresses  braid, 
And  smiled  upon  the  image  made. 

And  later,  kneeling  down  lo  smooth 

The  dying  bed  of  one  in  sooth. 

Who  uttered  words  of  grace  and  trutli. 

'  This  life  is  buta  little  space. 

Live  purely^  love,  that  by  God's  grace 

We  may  rejoin  in  better  place.' 

And  have  I  lived  so !  —  God  on  high. 
My  spirit  hastened  to  reply, 
Knew  that  thy  life  had  been  no  lie 

To  him,  nor  to  thy  sex  untrue, 

Until  this  wronger  did  undo 

Thy  weaker  nature.    Strike  him  through : 


And  in  his  life  wash  out  thy  shame. 
Aiktn^  Jamuayj  1850. 


I  Men  will  accord  thee  fiiirer  name 
Than  now.    God  judges  not  the 


More  noble  this.  He  did  thee  harm ; 
Forgave.  Forgiveness  self's  a  charm, 
WlwBh  may  avert  God's  vengeful  arm. 

He  wronged  thee  not  beyond  thy  prime. 
Alas  t  wi&  what  abhorrent  crime, 
Thou  comest  here  to  sear  all  time. 

In  one  short  moment  all  these  things 
My  spirit  showed.    The  fevered  springs 
Of  life  seemed  fimned  by  angel  wings. 

My  cool,  cool  tears  were  foiling  fiut. 
Unconscious  what  I  did,  I  cast 
My  dagger  down :  he  woke  aghast 

My  pallid  face,  the  open  door, 

The  naked  weapon  on  the  floor, 

He  saw.    ^  Janittk  !' —  ho  said  no  more. 


I  knew  in  that  one  startled  look 
His  very  soul  my  crime  in-took. 
As  written  in  an  open  book. 

Then  on  a  sudden  bared  his  breast. 
Come  strike,  he  said,  so  it  is  best 
Thy  bitter  wrong  should  be  redressed. 

Too  late  I  tried  to  overtake 

My  sin.    My  heart  did  only  break 

On  disappointment  for  thy  sake. 

I  cannot  love  thee  less.  Oh  sweet ! 

I  will  not'  struggle.    At  his  feet 

I  bowed  down :  how  my  heart  did  beat  I 

He  called  me  quick ;  I  raised  my  head, 
He  was  as  pale  as  one  that 's  deaa. 
^  /  love  you  $tiU ."  was  all  he  said. 

He  drew  me  up,  he  kissed  my  iace, 
My  nerveless  hands,  that  in  that  place 
Had  slain  him  but  for  better  grace. 

I  knew  while  on  his  breast  I  lay, 
Although  no  word  his  mouth  did  say. 
That  CiiaisT  his  an  had  done  away : 

And  changed  to  peace  of  heart  my  wo, 
Despite  my  penitence  was  slow. 
God  grant  us  all  our  sins  to  know. 


I860.]  T%e  Winter  Drtam.  247 


THE        WINTER        DREAM. 

A  DREAM  of  beauty ;  ci  tho  Uingh  of  wayes 

And  the  bright  mahing  of  a  swollen  brook ; 
Its  bimtinff  into  light  from  snnlon  caves 

Under  ue  network  of  a  woven  nook, 
Wluoh  moss-grown  roots,  entwined  and  roofed  with  greeo, 
Spangled  with  shining  stones  and  starry  sheen : 

Silent  and  dark  within  its  shadowy  rest 
The  water  lay,  scarce  heaving  underneath 
The  droojmig  brake-jeaves  or  the  trailing  wreath 

Of  lady-fern,  and  moss  upon  its  breast : 
Yet  with  a  murmur  rather  felt  than  heard, 
Tbat  told  the  lamt  heart  of  the  fountain  stirred. 

A  dream  of  spring-thne :  of  the  sunny  light 

And  the  swift  melting  of  the  mountain  snows ; 
Of  Earth's  awakening  from  the  winter's  night, 

When  hearts  grow  calm,  and  half  forget  their  woes : 
A  dream  of  beauty ;  of  the  arching  trees 
Heavy  with  bloMoms,  and  the  oool  fresh  breexe 

Curling  the  foam-wreaths  in  the  brook's  bright  spring. 
Silent  no  longer ;  with  the  pleaaant  guah 
Of  gurgling  waters,  and  the  frequent  rush 

Clearing  the  air  of  many  a  golden  wing, 
And  tho  low  rustling  in  the  leaves  o'erhead, 
And  the  soft  sunlight  through  the  branches  shed. 

A  spot  of  solitude ;  yet  legends  tell 

Of  years  long  past,  when  many  a  joyous  throng 
Came  to  the  silenoe  of  that  brook-cleft  dell. 

And  woke  its  echoes  with  light  laugh  and  song : 
Now  oervingB  rude  on  every  ancient  trunk, 
Time  worn,  and  in  the  swelling  bark  half  sunk, 

Bear  record  still  of  each  forgotten  name, 
That  once  was  music  to  some  kindred  heart, 
Guarded  and  cherished  as  a  thing  apart : 

But  now,  alas  \  for  constancy  and  fame ! 
Vainly  these  fiiithful  oaks  their  memory  save. 
Whom  human  love  hath  yielded  to  the  grave. 

Yet  the  bricht  waters  spake  not  of  decay, 

Nor  eartnly  shadow,  nor  the  blight  of  grief; 
There  was  no  sorrow  in  the  graceful  sway 

Of  the  iair  drooping  willow's  silver  leaf, 
Nor  in  the  fragile  blossom  lightly  flung 
From  the  tall  May-tree  that  the  fount  o'erhung, 

On  the  swift  stream,  and  floating  silently 
Mid  the  long  grass  and  munic  islets  there, 
Freufhted  wi£  dew-dropa  and  with  perftmies  rare : 

What  king  could  boast  a  richer  aigosie  ? 
Yet  was  it  fleeting  as  that  idle  dream 
Of  the  cool  fountain  and  its  sparkling  stream. 

The  vision  fled,  with  sunmery  sight  and  sound. 
And  the  stent  Real  ruled  the  heart  at  will: 

The  calm  dead  grandeur  of  the  mountains  round ; 
The  kingly  river  in  his  fetters  still : 


248  Remmiicences  of  CoOege  Life.  [Maich, 

Winter  and  stonn ;  the  city's  mighty  mart ; 
The  oeaseleaB  beatings  of  its  guilty  heart : 

These  were  instead,  and  darker,  gloomier  yet, 
Towered  the  sky,  nnlit  by  moon  or  star : 
What  roused  the  vision  of  that  stream  i^ ; 

That  dream  of  light,  with  aU  its  viun  regret? 
A  pale  and  &ded  leaf  of  feathery  fern, 
That  erst  had  drooped  above  that  fountain's  urn. 

.9^«y,  Jtmuary  14<A,  1850.  Lttt  Or&s&il 


REMINISCENCES     OF     COLLEGE     LIFE. 


OHAPTSJi  VIKST. 


ENTERX270     COLLEGE. 


Our  general  title  will  thiill  many  heaitB  and  moisten  many  eyes. 
Potent  as  the  magician's  wand,  it  wQl  transport  the  man  of  business, 
the  man  of  leism'e  and  the  man  of  books  back  to  the  days  of  '  auld 
lang  syne.'  It  will  awaken  feelings  which  ^r  years  have  slept  beneath 
the  cares  and  anxieties  incident  to  active  life.  Memory  will  start  in 
her  secret  recess,  and  hasten  to  ponder  over  the  hours  by-gone,  while 
joy,  which  may  have  long  been  dormant,  will  arise  and  clap  its  hands 
in  ecstasy.  Associations  whose  name  is  legion  wiU  rush  from  theii'  cell 
of  long  imprisonment  and  throng  every  chamber  and  avenue  of  the 
mind.  Thought,  abandoning  for  a  while  the  tangible  and  matter-of-fact 
entities  of  the  present,  will  wing  its  way  into  the  dim  domains  of  the 
past,  and  dwell  with  a  pleasing  sadness  on  its  never-to-be-forgotten 
scenes.  The  enchantress  Fancy,  escaping  for  a  brief  period  the  thral- 
dom of  reality,  will  wave  her  sceptre  and  charm  us  back  to  youth, 
when  we  listened  to  the  syren  song  of  hope,  and  exulted  in  the  bright 
prospect  of  the  future.  In  short,  diese  words,  more  powerful  than  the 
'  Open,  Sesame'  of  the  Arabian  tales,  will  unclose  every  portal  in  the 
town  of  Mansoul,  and  strong  emotions  will  enter  in  tumultuous  tides, 
and  for  a  time  at  least  bear  sway.  Those  were  the  days  when  Hfo 
seemed  to  stretch  before  us  like  a  boundless  £den,  full  of  fruits  and 
flowers,  where  we  might  wander  at  pleasure,  culling  the  sweets  that 
surrounded  us  at  every  step  of  our  progress ;  where  no  cloud  ever  ob- 
scured the  bright  sky,  and  no  storm  ever  overtook  the  loitering  travel- 
ler ;  where  the  past  was  linked  with  no  regrets,  the  present  with  no 
sorrows,  and  the  foture  with  no  fears. 

We  remember  how  college  appeared  to  us  in  the  distance,  when 
we  were  as  yet  in  a  course  of  preparation ;  perchance  under  the  care 
of  some  pedant,  who  was  the  pedagogue  of  another  Sleepv  Hollow, 
as  far  removed  from  the  whirl  of  the  world's  activities  as  Uiat  where 
Ichabod  raced  with  the  Headless  Horseman.  In  our  crude  concep- 
tions, it  was  the  hot-house  where  genius  sprang  spontaneously  into 
being,  and  grew  rapidly,  and  almost  without  culture,  to  luxuriant  matu- 


1650.]  BemisUseenees  of  CMege  L^e.  249 

ritj.  The  very  atmosphere  was  impregnated  with  the  essence  of  wis- 
dom, which  flowed  into  the  mind  as  readily  as  the  electric  fluid  passes 
from  the  positiye  to  the  negative  pole  of  a  battery.  The  walls  were 
eloquent  m  their  eloomy  silence,  and  the  very  shades,  so  deep  and 
venerable,  breathed  inspiration  into  the  soul,  Once  rodent  there,  we 
flattered  ourselves  that  dulness  and  sloth  and  ignorance  would  give 
place  to  quickness  of  apprehension,  energy  and  erudition,  as  easily  as 
darkness  yields  to  light.  Alas  !  how  was  this  pleasing  illusion  dispelled 
by  one  flash  from  the  searching  torch  of  experience !  Genius  was 
still  found  to  be  the  inheritance  of  the  few,  wisdom  still  eluded  the 
grasp  of  all  who  did  not  seek  her  with  unwearied  application,  and  in- 
spiration was  evolved  only  amid  the  mighty  throes  of  inteUectual  gym- 
nasticismu  As  yet,  however,  these  were  secrets,  to  be  learned  only 
afier  initiation,  and  we  therefore  admired  and  enjoyed  the  picture 
which  our  own  lively  fancy  had  painted,  not  caring  to  inquire  as  to  its 
correctness  or  its  confonmty  with  &ct8. 

At  length  the  long  dreaded,  yet  impatiently  expected  day  arrived 
which  was  to  transfer  us  from  the  kindly  influences  of  home,  where  we 
had  been  nurtured  with  all  tenderness,  to  the  halls  of  learning ;  when 
the  helm,  which  had  so  long  been  in  the  hand  of  others,  was  to  be 
taken  by  ourselves ;  when  me  parental  nest  must  be  abandoned,  and 
we  compelled  in  some  sense  to  pick  up  our  own  crumbs ;  the  day  on 
which  tde  boy  was  to  expand  into  the  man.  The  trunk  was  packed 
vnth  maternal  curcumspection,  the  diread,  needles,  yam  and  ctOce  not 
beine  crowded  out  by  things  more  substantial ;  *he  indispensable  testi- 
monial to  scholarship  and  moral  character  was  stowed  away  in  the 
safest  comer  of  the  pocket-book ;  the  good-by  was  said — or  rather,  in 
some  cases,  looked  — the  parting  hand  pressed,  and  soon  the  blue  hills 
which  girded  the  village  of  our  boyhood  faded  in  the  distance. 

Now  fbV  the  first  time  responsibility  pressed  heavily  upon  our  spirits. 
Hitherto  every  thing,  even  to  our  thinking,  had  been  done  for  us,  and 
we  had  litersJly  fulfilled  the  Scripture  by  taking  no  thought  for  the 
morrow.  Now  every  thing  depended  on  our  own  eflbrts.  It  was  as 
diough  the  universe  had  in  one  instant  been  pitched  on  our  shoulders ; 
and,  Adas-like,  we  nerved  ourselves  to  the  task  of  upholding  it  We 
were  at  once  transformed  from  mere  human  machines  into  self-active 
natures,  and  while  w/Bighed  down  with  a  load  of  care  we  exulted  in 
the  exercise  of  our  new  freedom. 

Here  we  are,  on  college  ground ;  the  goal  of  years,  and  the  centre 
of  a  thousand  hopes !  There  rise  the  gray  o]d  buDdlngs,  vrith  their 
spires  and  towers,  which  stood  out  so  conspicuously  in  our  day-dreams ! 
There  wave  the  classic  groves,  beneath  whose  shade  we  have  reclined 
so  often  in  imagination !  There  glide  by  us  the  veterans  in  science, 
vebose  reverend  forms  have  long  been  ramiliar  objects  to  the  mental 
eye  !  But  the  duties  inunediately  pressing  summon  us  from  the  depths 
of  reverie,  and  w^  hasten  to  present  ourselves  for  admission.  This  is 
the  dreaded  ordeal ;  this  the  fiery  trial  whose  terrors  have  haunted  us 
fcfr  months  previous !  The  candidate  for  the  Eleusinian  mysteries  did 
not  approach  the  temple  where  the  initiatory  rites  were  perfi>mied 
with  more  reverence  tnan  that  which  filled  our  breasts  as  we  marched 


250  Reminiscences  of  (kUege  Life.  [March, 

to  the  place  of  examination.  The  victims  of  the  Inquisition  alone  can 
appreciate  our  feelings  as  we  were  ushered  into  the  hall  of  intellectual 
torture,  where  the  thumb-screw  must  be  applied  to  memory,  the  brain 
racked,  and  in  some  cases  perchance  the  conscience  seared  as  with  a 
hot  iron.  The  patrons  of  Charon  do  not  tremble  with  so  much  anxiety 
before  the  infernal  trio  who  preside  at  the  tribunal  in  Tartarus  as  made 
our  knees  to  quake  in  the  presence  of  the  Rhadamanthus,  Minos  and 
MdJCMs  with  whom  rested  the  decision  of  our  fate.  But  the  trial  went 
on,  each  individual  being  the  only  witness  in  his  own  case.  Some  at- 
tempts were  made  at  brow-beating,  and  the  cross-examination  often  put 
the  witness  to  his  wit's  end  for  an  answer.  The  jury  consulted  toge- 
ther for  a  few  moments  without  retiring ;  the  sentence  was  pronounced 
by  the  presiding  officer,  and  we  were  condemned  to  four  years  of  con* 
finement  and  hard  labor. 

The  examinations  for  admission  present  scenes  of  very  opposite 
character.  Numerous  are  the  strange  interrogatories,  and  more  nume- 
rous the  sti'ange  replies.  Some  who,  in  technical  language,  have  been 
*  crammed*  for  the  occasion,  have  manifestly  been  sorfely  troubled  with 
mental  dyspepsia,  since  their  intellectual  pabulum  seems  neither  to 
have  been  digested  nor  assimilated.  Some  who  have  explored  the 
depths  of  ancient  philosophy  and  think  themselves  familiar  with  the 
lore  of  antiquity,  cannot  name  the  capital  of  a  neighboiin^  state,  and 
have  not  kept  up  with  the  march  of  conquest  and  annexation  so  as  to 
be  able  to  tell  the  number  of  sovereignties  in  this  confederation. 

Alas  for  the  luckless  wight  who,  weighed  in  the  balance  and  found 
wanting,  is  compelled  to  turn  his  face  homeward  and  meet  the  inquiries 
of  friends,  and  perchance  encounter  the  secret  contempt  of  enemies ! 
He  in  his  soul  curses  colleges  and  all  connected  with  them ;  a  philoso- 
phic imitator  of  the  fox  in  the  fable.  The  stereotyped  exc^e  under 
these  circumstances  is,  that  he  was  not  questioned  on  the  things  he 
knew ;  which  indeed  cannot  be  denied ;  reminding  one  of  the  story  of 
the  under-graduate  at  Cambridge,  who,  being  examined  for  his  degree 
and  failing  in  every  subject  upon  which  he  was  tried,  complained  that 
he  had*  not  been  questioned  upon  the  things  which  he  knew.  Upon 
which  the  examining  master,  moved  less  to  compassion  by  the  impene- 
trable dulness  of  the  man  than  to  anger  by  his  unreasonable  complaint, 
tore  off  about  an  inch  of  paper,  and  pushing  it  toward  him,  desired  him 
to  write  upon  that  all  he  knew. 

The  wags  of  a  university  have  not  permitted  such  a  favorable  oppor- 
tunity for  indulging  their  humorous  propensities  as  an  examination  pre- 
sents to  pass  unimproved.  Among  the  green  and  unsuspecting  appli- 
cants for  admission  they  sometimes  reap  a  harvest  of  fun,  which  is 
stored  away  to  serve  as  the  food  of  pleasant  recollection  in  after  years. 
The  following  used  to  be  one  of  <the  tricks  in  the  programme  of  per- 
formances on  such  occasions.  A  few  of  the  knowing  ones,  whose  head:) 
are  more  full  of  roguery  than  their  hearts  of  feeling,  having  selected  a 
suitable  room,  disguise  themselves  in  wigs  and  spectacles  and  other 
paraphernalia  adapted  to  their  respective  parts  in  tne  play  to  be  acted. 
Musty  tomes  in  black  letter  and  barbarous  dialect  are  piled  on  the 
tables  before  them.    A  master  of  ceremonies  having  been  chosen,  a 


1850.]  Rtminucences  of  CdOege  Life,  251 

student  in  his  usual  dress  is  sent  forth  to  perambulate  the  college 
grounds.  In  a  twinkling  the  spider  falls  in  with  a  fly,  who  inquires  the 
way  to  the  place  of  examination.     The  spider  either  very  politely  offers 

to  conduct  the  fly,  or  more  usually  proceeds  to  direct  him  to  No. , 

where  his  companions  are  seated  in  solemn  conclave.  He  is  received 
widi  becoming  gravity,  and  plied  with  questions  of  the  most  ridiculous 
nature,  all  which  he  answers  with  the  humility  and  promptness  proper 
in  such  august  presence.  The  most  private  afiairs  of  himself  and 
family  are  brougnt  on  the  docket.  At  last  a  half-suppressed  titter,  a 
simultaneous  roar  of  merriment,  the  good  sense  of  the  dupe  himself, 
or  the  entrance  of  a  bon&-fide  dignitary,  ends  the  laughable  farce. 

The  rocks  and  shoals  and  quicksands  of  examination  being  safely 
navigated,  the  senior  tutor,  a  consequential  functionary,  piloted  us  to 
our  Biture  domicile.  I  have  a  distinct  recollection  of  my  own  feelings 
at  that  interesting  hour,  and  therefore  beg  leave  to  abandon  the  plural 
form  while  I  attempt  to  draw  my  own  portrait,  well  assured  that  the 
picture  wiD  find  its  original  in  the  person  of  many  a  one  who  has  had 
the  same  unenviable  experience.  The  door  of  the  back  middle  room 
on  the  ground  floor,  or  more  correctly  the  floor  under  the  ground, 
opened  to  receive  me,  and  I  sunk  down  upon  my  trunk,  which  was  the 
only  article  of  furniture  that  served  to  dispel  the  cheerlessness  of  the 
apartment  Surely,  thought  I,  a  ray  of  the  blessed  sun  never  straggled 
in  here,  for  chill-loneliness  can  be  felt  in  the  very  air.  The  cracks  be- 
tween the  planks  of  the  floor  eaped  a  full  inch  apart  in  some  places  ; 
the  windows  creaked  mournfully  wth  every  blast ;  the  dingy  walls 
smelt  mouldy,  and  the  aperture  in  the  wall  for  the  stove-pipe  was  the 
only  thing  that  suggested  the  idea  of  comfort,  a  negative  idea  indeed ! 
There  I  sat,  how  long  I  know  not ;  there  I  meditated,  on  what  I  know 
not  distinctly !  As  the  shadows  of  evening  began  to  to  deepen  around, 
I  started  to  the  consciousness  that  preparations  must  be  made  for  pass- 
ing the  night,  and  for  rendering  the  appearance  of  things  less  gloomy 
and  repulsive. 

The  hour  for  retiring  came  and  we  slept,  and  few  of  us  slept  with- 
out dreaming.  Having  heard  of  ventilation,  pumping  and  smoking, 
we  imagined  ourselves  the  centres  toward  which  the  four  winds  gravi- 
tated with  tremendous  power,  or  that  we  were  practising  hydropathy 
under  the  felling  thunders  of  Niagara ;  or  that  we  had  been  metamor- 
phoeed  into  hams,  and  were  suspended  by  the  heels  in  a  huge  smoke- 
house. And  if  either  then  or  on  succeeding  nights,  we  had  a  dream 
of  this  kind, '  which  was  not  all  a  dream,'  we  consoled  ourselves  with 
the  sentiment  of  the  pious  JEneas, '  Forsan  et  hsec  olim  meminisse  ju- 
rabit' 

In  our  next  chapter  we  shall  introduce  the  reader  into  that  miniature 
world,  called  a  college,  giving  hinr  a  notion  of  its  manners,  customs  and 
laws ;  the  character  and  occupations  of  its  inhabitants,  and  other  mat- 
ters of  general  interest.  ^  a 

JTewUmoh  1850.  

EPIOP.AM    ON    CAPTAIN    ANTHONY. 

Hbsb  the  ■Bhes  lie 

or  Blnftil —not  Saint  —  ARTHOinr ! 


252  Brother  and  Sitter.  [March, 


BROTHER       AND       SISTER. 


8T    MRS     T.    J.    OABVKT. 


There  are  some  words  which  only  should  be  spoken 
When  from  the  soul  each  earth-bound  chain  b  broken ; 
With  the  low  cadence  of  an  earnest  prayer ; 
Mid  the  hushed  depths  of  passionate  despair ; 
In  the  calm  sabbath  of  the  loving  heart, 
Or  the  lone  twilight,  when  with  day  depart 
The  day's  tumultuous  cares,  its  anxious  strife, 
And  leaye  us  to  a  purer,  calmer  life. 

Never  amid  the  sounds  of  worldly  care 
By  oold  or  careless  utterance  may  we  dare 
Profane  those  holy  heart-words ;  they  were  given 
To  teach  us  here  the  alphabet  of  Heaven ! 
HoHE,  Parent,  Sister,  Brother  ! — is  there  one 
Whoso  heart  awakes  not  to  an  echoing  tone 
When  these  are  spoken,  as  they  should  ever  be. 
With  love's  own  accent,  low  and  thriUingly  ? 

^  Brother !  my  only  brother  !'  breathed  a  child 
In  the  lone  forest,  by  the  brookside  wild, 
As  hand  in  hand,  heart  clasped  to  heart,  they  strove 
To  speak  that  bitterest  word  to  those  who  love, 
Farewell !    '  My  brother,  we  may  meet  no  more ! 
God  bless  thee !    Love  me  still !'    The  strife  was  o*er ; 
Few  words  their  grief  allowed ;  brief  time  had  they. 
For  their  stern  guardian  might  not  brook  delay. 

They  entered  life  together ;  they  had  shared 

Together  in  its  joys ;  together  dared 

To  meet  its  fiercest  ills ;  but  this  sad  doom 

To  part,  had  changed  earth  to  a  living  tomb ! 

Oh !  ye  to  whom  the  orphan's  iate  is  given, 

Think  of  the  holy  ties  a&eady  riven ; 

Nor  dare  to  brpak,  with  ruthless  hand,  the  last 

That  round  the  crushed  and  bl^Dcding  heart  is  cast ! 

'T  was  their  first  parting ;  sorrow's  poisoned  sword 
Had  not  grown  blunt  wita  using ;  the  sad  word 
*  Farewell !'  had  not  to  them  fimiiliar  grown. 
And  lost  thereby  its  bitterness  of  tone. 
No  marvel,  then,  that  hour,  to  them  so  brief, 
Almost  their  first  of  agonisdng  grief. 
The  work  of  age  should  do,  and  bid  them  part 
Children  in  years,  but  adults  of  the  heart 

'  We  should  count  time  by  heart-throbs !' — who  can  tell 
What  years,  what  aees  in  wme  moments  dwell ! 
Wondering  we  speak  of  youthful  heads  turned  white 
Within  the  limit  of  a  single  night ; 
How  many  a  heart,  by  some  stroi^;  feeling's  power, 


1850.]  Brother  and  Sister.  253 

Hath  paaBed  from  yonth  to  age  in  one  abort  hour ! 
OhildJiih  old  age  aoon  seeks  its  mother's  breast, 
But  aged  yonUi  bath  no  saoh  kindly  rest 

They  parted  thus :  she  to  the  prairied  West 
Passed,  as  the  yotmg  dore  from  its  sheltering  nest ; 
He  'mid  New-Bngl^d's  hills  and  forests  grew 
In  maxily  beauty,  fearless,  free  and  true ; 
Wisdom,  which  the  free  mind  doth  ever  crave, 
Kew-England's  schools  with  liberal  bounty  gave ; 
And  soon  his  soul  a  loftier  pathway  trod ; 
New-En^nd's  churches  led  his  heart  to  God. 

He  passed  'mid  youth's  temptations ;  but  a  power 
Of  nrm  resistance  was  his  spirit's  dower : 
Hie  hand  within  a  sister's  clasped  so  long 
Might  ne'er  be  lifted  to  a  deed  of  wrong ; 
The  lip  a  sister's  love  had  sealed  and  blessed 
Might  ne'er  to  those  less  pure  and  true  be  pressed : 
Her  holy  memory  still  was  in  his  heart. 
And  no  ignoble  thought  could  there  have  part 

iVjid  thus  he  grew  to  manhood.    He  hath  gained 
A  name  none  blush  to  hear :  no  heart  is  pained 
When  he  is  praised ;  no  widow's  tear  e'er  fell 
Upon  the  laurel  which  he  weareth  well : 
And  he  hath  won  a  fair  and  gentle  bride, 
Who  in  life's  yaried  pathway,  hv  his  side, 
Through  good  or  ill,  with  dauntless  step  will  go, 
To  shi^e  his  happiness  ot  bear  his  wo. 

Is  9he  forgotten  7    6o,  skeptic,  ask  him  now ! 

The  crown  of  life  sits  lightly  on  his  brow, 

Tet  there  are  lines  whidi  tell  that  much  of  care. 

Of  ton  and  suffering,  have  their  records  there. 

List  the  reply :  *  My  sister's  love  hath  given 

Joy  to  my  pathway  ]  as  a  voice  from  aeaven 

Ever  unto  my  soul,  through  good  or  ill, 

Cometh  the  sound :  '  Groo  bless  thee !  love  me  still !' ' 

She,  'mid  the  prairies  of  the  storied  West, 
Hath  found  a  nome,  with  pure  i^ection  blest : 
Another  garden  claims  that  wOd-flower  bright ; 
On  her  heart's  altar  bums  another  light         * 
Her  home,  her  husband,  yea,  her  children,  claim 
Large  measure  of  her  love :  the  holy  name 
Of  mother  in  her  love-filled  heart  we  trace : 
Hath  its  first  reoord,  hrothery  still  a  place  ? 

Ask  the  sweet  prattler  on  her  mother's  knee 
What  name  is  breathed  so  oft,  so  lovingly ! 
Ask  the  bright  boy  who  standeth  by  her  side 
Whence  was  the  name  he  claims  with  manly  pride ! 
By  their  home-altar  at  the  hour  of  prayer 
Bow  do¥m,  and  list  the  heart-words  spoken  there : 
*  Bless  Thou  our  absent  brother  1'  then  depart, 
And  dare  no  more  to  doubt  a  nster*B  heart ! 
ir«fiM  VUlagt,  Maine. 

▼OL.   XZXY.  17 


/ 


LITERARY     NOTICES. 


I.  EflSATs  BT  R.  W.  ExsRf  OH.    Pint  Series.   Jambs  Mcmrob  and  Ooxpaht. 
II.  Essays  bt  R.  W.  Shbrson.    Second  Series.    Boston:  Mumbok  anv  Compart. 
UL  Naturb  :  Aoorbssbs  and  Lbcturbs  bt  B.  W.  Embrsoh.    Boston:  IMO. 

A  Yankee  Mystic !  a  Flatonio  philosopher  from  the  region  of  ^  Boston  notions !' 
Ihe  words  sound  incongruous  :  yet  such  is  the  iaot.  Yes ;  right  there,  in  the  heart 
of  practical  Yankee-land,  in  tho  shrewdest,  keenest,  most  money-loving  population, 
sits  a  circle  as  *  idealistic,'  as  spiritual,  ay,  as  noble  in  thought,  as  any  ever  gathered 
around  Plato  or  Alexandrian  Philo.  A  school  of  mystic  Brahmins,  suddenly  dis- 
covered in  Liverpool,  would  hardly  be  more  strange.  And  what  a  change  from  those 
simple,  devout  men,  who,  two  centuries  ago,  reared  their  churches  and  governments 
there  I — men  whose  whole  life  was  ^  practical,'  who  abhorred  all  *  self-exaltation,'  and 
who  would  almost  crush  the  Individual  man  in  bowing  prostrate  before  God.  Only 
imagme  the  horror  of  honest  John  Harvard,  for  mstanoe,  if  UAd  that  in  a  few  gene- 
rations one  of  the  Puritan  descendants  were  to  utter  such  sentiments  as  these,  and 
find  approval  for  them  too : 

<  I  AM  part  or  particle  of  God.  I  am  God.  It  Is  the  soul  that  degrades  the  past,  turns  all  riches 
to  poverty,  oonfbuiids  the  saint  with  the  rogue,  shoves  Jbsub  and  Judas  equally  aside.' 

And  what  is  stranger  still,  these  Yankee  philosophers  differ  from  any  in  history ; 
their  system  is  a  copy  from  no  other  ;  no  sect  or  school  is  like  them.  Hiey  are  called 
^TransoendentalistB','  but  it  w91  be  found,  when  compared  with  the  German  Tran- 
scendentalists,  that  they  differ  exceedingly.  Far  less  vague  and  mystic  in  thought, 
and  more  fitted  to  relush  the  common  mind,  they  are  immeasurably  above  them,  as  it 
seems  to  us,  in  sincere  devotion  to  truth  and  in  the  love  of  beauty.  Their  ideas  are 
generally  less  healthy,  less  solemn,  than  those  of  the  Carltlb  school  in  England, 
while  in  a  simple  poetry,  and  in  hopefulness  for  mankind,  they  are  superior.  The  same 
difference  will  be  found  with  the  ancient  philosophers.  They  have  neither  the  allegori- 
sing spirit  of  Pbilo,  nor  the  hopelessness  of  the  Stoics,  nor  the  religious  tendencies  of 
Plato  *,  nor  are  they  imbued  with  the  setf-submisrive  love  of  the  later  Christian 
mystics.  They  form  a  school  by  themselves ;  their  system,  though  resembling  in 
many  points  those  of  other  ages,  is  original.  It  is  the  result  of  singular  circumstances ; 
{he  product  of  states  of  thought  which  couMl  have  arisen  in  no  other  age  or  nation. 
Our  country,  with  all  her  inventions,  has  nothing  more  truly  ^  American'  than  this 
philosophy.  And  let  no  one  suppose  that  these  thinkers  are  a  set  of  ^harmless 
dreamers.'    Their  influence,  whatever  may  be  thou^t  9f  it,  is  certainly  not  negative. 


Literary,  Notice$.  265 


The  teacher  and  leader  of  the  flohool  is  Mr.  Smcbson  ;  and  we  claim  for  him,  and 
shall  attempt  to  prove,  something  higher  than  the  oharaoter  of  a  mere  dreaming 
mystic.  We  are  aware  that}  with  American  thinkers,  we  are  attempting  a  somewhat 
thankless  task  in  defending  Emsuon  ;  the  laogh  and  the  sneer  and  the  parody  have 
sounded  too  long  against  him  to  give  mnoh  hope  of  a  calm  bearing.  But  reviewera 
and  scholars  should  remember  that  this  process  has  already  been  tried  on  a  certain 
*•  Transcendentalist'  of  England ;  that  for  years  no  man  was  so  mimicked  and  laughed 
at  and  slaahed  by  reviews ;  and  yet  it  is  beginning  to  be  felt  now  that  no  thinker 
these  Isst  ten  years  has  moulded  earnest  minds  as  Thomas  CAaLTUs.  It  may  be  so 
with  Emsrson.  Our  critics  too  must  bear  in  mind,  that  beyond  all  other  peoples  of 
the  world  this  of  the  United  States  is  a&cted,  even  in  every  day  life,  by  abstract 
principles;  and  before  they  are  aware  of  it,  these  ^  dreams'  of  Emesson  may  be  be- 
coming realities  through  the  mind  of  the  nation.  Systems  have  been  uprooted  and 
principles  planted,  before  this,  by  weaker  philosophies  than  Emerson's.  We  would 
not  im{^  by  this  that  all  who  condemn  this  philosophy  do  it  through  ignorance  or 
prejudice.  We  know  that  there  is  much  of  it  which  might  easily  be  misunderstood ; 
much  which,  without  its  connection,  is  absurdity  \  and  we  grant  with  regret  that  there 
is  much  which  most  of  us  must  sincerely  condemn.  But  let  us  no  longer  laugh  it 
down ;  let  fiair  and  just  criticism  be  given  it ;  and  if  there  be  evil,  let  it  be  met  and 
reasoned  away,  and  where  there  is  good  let  it  not  be  rejected  because  dressed  in  un- 
usual language,  or  coming  from  a  suspicious  source. 

The  motto  of  the  whole  Embrsonian  system  is  the  words  '  I  am.'  The  grandeur, 
the  awfulness  of  the  soul  ;•  the  exaltation  of  self.  This  stands  out  on  every  page. 
The  greatness,  the  independence  of  the  human  will,  is  the  idea  which  meets  us  every 
where ;  it  is  self  which  paints  the  varied  beauty  around  us ;  self  which  curses  or 
blesses  us,  here  or  hereafter ;  self  which  creates  circumstances  and  fortune.  Yes ; 
God  himself  sometimes  seems  only  the  ideal  reflection  of  this  existence,  the  Mind. 
'  We  believe  in  ourselves,'  he  says,  *  as  we  do  not  believe  in  others.  It  is  an  instance 
of  our  faith  in  ourselves  that  men  never  speak  of  crime  as  lightly  as  they  think ;  or 
every  man  thinks  a  latitude  safe  for  himself  which  is  nowise  to  be  indulged  to  another.' 
Again :  '  All  pqvate  sympathy  is  partial.  .  .  .  Marriage  (in  what  is  called  the 
q>iritual  world)  is  impossible,  because  of  the  inequality  betwecA  every  subject  and 
every  object.  .  .  .  There  will  be  the  same  gulf  between  every  me  and  thee  as  be- 
tween the  original  and  the  picture.  The  universe  is  the  bride  of  the  soul.  ...  As 
I  am,  so  I  see.  .  .  .  Instead  of  feeling  a  poverty  when  we  encounter  a  great  man 
let  us  treat  the  new-comer  like  a  travelling  geologist  who  passes  through  our  estate 
and  shows  us  good  slate  or  anthracite  or  lime-stone  in  our  brush  pasture.  .  .  .  They 
think  society  wiser  than  their  soul,  and  know  not  that  one  sonl  and  their  soul  is 
wiser  than  the  whole  world.  See  how  nations  and  races  illt  by  on  the  sea  of  time, 
and  leave  no  ripple  to  tell  where  they  floated  or  sank ;  and  one  good  soul  shall  make 
the  name  of  Moses  or  of  Zbno  or  of  Zoroaster  reverend  forever.'  Then  again,  we 
have  the  old  Stoio  over  again  in  his  contempt  for  outward  evil,  his  elevation  above 
annoyance  or  sorrow.  No  suffermg  in  this  Ufe,  no  future  of  pain,  need  bend  this 
proud  wiU. 

While  we  recognise  in  much  of  this  the  language  only  of  the  philosophy  which 
would  reduce  all  outward  appearances  to  the  mind's  mode  of  conceiving  them ;  while 
we  honor  his  attempt  to  convince  men  of  their  native  nobleness,  we  do  dissent  from 
very  much  of  it.    It  seems  to  us  a  cold  and  nnsympathizing  phikisophy  ;  it  is  veiy 


256  Literary  Notices.  [March, 

grand,  bat  it  is  also  very  repukive.  lie  would  make  each  human  being  an  isolated, 
independent  demi-god,  instead  of  a  weeping,  laughing  man,  with  a  heart  clinging  in 
countless  sjrmpathies  to  every  heart  around  him.  Man  was  not  made  for  independ-. 
enoe  ;  for  this  solitary  self-worship.  Ho  was  made  to  trust,  to  love,  to  depend ;  and 
we  do  believe  that  his  highest  nobleness,  his  greatest  freedom,  is  found  in  subjection ; 
subjection  to  what  is  right  and  true ;  hn  truest  independence  is  in  perfect  dependence 
on  Him,  the  only  self-supported.  And  for  ourselves,  we  do  doubt  this  much-vaunted 
strength  of  the  human  will.  A  head-ache  will  break  it;  sorrow  or  poverty  may 
crush  it ;  it  needs  but  a  slight  change  in  the  bodily  organs  to  loosen  utterly  its  grasp 
over  the  mind.  It  is  true,  the  soul  can  inflict  a  terrible  punishment  on  itself,  even 
here,  and  sometimes  the  strong  will  can  set  itself  firmly  ^against  a  sea  of  troubles ;' 
but  who  will  say  it  shall  be  so  beyond  ? — who  will  dare  say,  when  the  mind  whirls 
out  into  that  dun  void,  a  feather  in  the  ceaseless  tempest,  that  it  can  in  any  way  direct 
itself?  It  is  there,  a  feeble  existence  in  the  hands  of  Infinite  Power ;  the  knowledge 
which  contrived  its  beautiful  harmonics  can  as  easily  jar  them  to  discords.  Wlio  can 
.say  what  it  shall  brave  then  ?  Who,  in  such  an  untried  life,  will  boast  of  that  wavering, 
yielding  will  ?    Is  not  our  truest  course,  after  all,  humility  of  self? 

However  eold  this  view  of  man's  nature  may  seem,  it  is  almost  lost  sight  of  in  a 
certain  magnanimity  of  sentiment,  which  to  us  throws  an  indescribable  charm  about 
all  Emerson's  writings.  In  this  ho  is  most  original ;  there  is  no  iporalizer  Uke  him. 
One  cannot  avoid  the  conviction  that  a  sincere,  noble  man  is  speaking  out  plainly  his 
thoughts ;  thoughts  which  do  not  sound  over-strained,  as  if  too  perfect  for  any  human 
being  to  realize,  nor  *■  sentimental,'  as  though  the  author  were  too  amiable  to  be  manly ; 
nor  do  they  smack  of  the  essayist  or  philosopher ;  but  they  are  manly,  whole-souled 
sentiments,  such  as  common  men  have  to  one  another,  but  such  somehow  as  books 
liave  quite  faOed  to  notice.  It  is  like  the  dignity  and  simplicity  of  an  Indian  chief, 
speaking  out  in  the  tongue  of  civilized  life.  We  see  the  soul  of  a  true  man  opened 
to  us,  vigorous,  stern,  yet  swelling  with  generous  impulse  and  gentle  affection ;  a  man 
true  in  himself,  and  who  demands  plain  truth  from  others  •,  one  who  can  clasp  a  friend 
to  himself  with  all  the  deep  love  of  a  man's  heart,  but  who  wtaata  no  sentimental  talk 
or  girlish  dependence.  JIc  speaks  of  friendship,  and  you  see  it  is  no  boy's  romance 
or  pretty  subject  for  an  essay,  with  him.  He  has  felt  it ;  he  has  known  the  almost 
solemn  delight  when,  after  years  of  trial,  tlio  thought  has  settled  on  the  mind  that  we 
have  Si  friend;  a  man  who  without  affectation  loves  us,  who  will  deal  plainly  with  us 
as  with  himself,  who  will  stand  by  us  through  our  follies  and  our  sorrows ;  not  de- 
pendent, but  linked  with  us  in  the  highest  of  all  unions,  a  struggle  for  the  same  noble 
and  grand  ends.  Friendship  witli  him  is  no  light  thing ;  it  is  stern ;  it  is  religious : 
'  Not  made  of  wine  and  dreams,  but  of  the  tough  fibre  of  the  human  heart?  And 
we  believe  that  in  tliese  essays  he  strikes  at  one  great  fault  of  American  society — a 
fault  often  noticed  by  foreigners :  the  want  of  friendships  between  men  and  men.  In 
Burope  men  of  maturity  and  deed  can  unite  in  generous  friendship  for  a  life-time ; 
the  separation  of  a  Fox  and  Burke  could  draw  tears  from  an  assembly  of  legiriators ; 
but  what  union  often  exists  here  between  men  of  years  except  a  dinner-union  or 
business-partnership  ?  Shall  it  be  always  so  ?  But  to  return  to  our  author.  Tho 
same  greatness,  manliness  of  sentiment,  we  find  expressed  in  all  his  analyses  of  the 
tusages  of  sooiety.    Hear  him  on  so  oommon  a  subject  as  *  Gifts :' 

*  Tbk  rule  for  a  gift  is  that  we  convey  to  some  person  that  which  properly  beloncs  to  his  character 
•ad  is  easily  assodaied  with  him  in  thongfat  Bui  our  tokens  of  oomplimenl  and  loye  are  for  the 
most  part  baibarous.    Rings  and  other  Jewels  are  not  gifts,  but  apologies  for  gifts :  the  only  gift  is  a 


1850.]  Literary  Notices.  257 

portion  of  thyself;  thou  mwt  bleed  for  me.  Therefore  the  poet  brings  his  ixwm,  the  shepherd  his 
lamb,  ...  the  psjnter  his  picture,  the  girl  a  handkerchief  of  her  own  sewing.  .  .  .  But  it  Is  s 
cold,  UfelesB  business,  when  yon  so  to  the  shops  to  hoy  me  something  which  does  not  represent 
yourUfeandtalenlSfbatagokUmlth's.  .  .  .  He  is  a  good  man  who  can  reoeire  a  gift  weu.  Wb 
are  either  glad  or  sorry  at  a  gift,  and  both  emotions  are  unbecoming.  ...  I  am  sony  when  my 
independence  is  inrsded,  or  when  a  gift  comes  from  such  as  do  not  know  my  spirit,  and  so  the  act 
is  not  supported ;  and  if  the  gift  please  mo  overmuch,  then  I  should  be  aahamed  that  the  donor 
should  read  my  heart  and  see  that  I  fove  his  commodity  and  not  him.  .  .  .  The  expectation  of 
gratitude'  (we  commend  this  to  that  much-Injured  class  of  housekeepers  who  are  so  troubled  by  un- 
psteftil  serrants),  «the  expectation  of  gratitude  is  mean,  and  Is  continually  ponlabed  by  the  total 
insensibility  of  the  obliged  person.  It  is  a  great  happiness  to  get  off  without  injury  and  heart-burn- 
ing from  one  who  has  had  the  lH-lnck  to  be  served  by  you.  The  reason  of  these  discords  I  conceive 
to  be  that  there  is  no  oommensarsMlity  between  a  man  and  his  gift.  .  .  .  The  service  a  man  ren- 
ders hifl  friend  is  trivial  and  selilsh  compared  with  the  service  he  knows  hia  friend  stood  in  readiness 
to  yieU  him,  alike  before  he  had  begun  to  serve  hia  friend  and  now  also.* 

The  Essay  on  '  Maimers'  gives  us  a  similar  train  of  thoughts  as  he  analyzes  in  a 
quite  ingenioits  mode  the  opinions  prevalent  in  polite  society.  Hear  his  definition  of 
a '  Gentleman :' 

*  Ths  gentieoian  is  a  man  of  truth]  lord  of  his  own  actions,  and  expressing  that  lordship  in  his 
behaviour,  not  in  any  manner  dependent  and  servile,  either  on  persons  or  opinions  or  poasessions. 
Beyond  this  tatL  of  truth  and  real  force,  the  word  denotes  good-nature  or  benevolence;  manhood 
first  and  then  gentleness.* ...  *  My  gentleman  gives  the  law  where  he  Lb  :  he  will  outrpray  saints  in 
chapd;  ouiiseneral  veterans  In  the  field,  aDd  outshine  an  courtesy  in  the  hall.  He  is  good  oompaoy 
for  pirates,  and  good  for  academicians.' 

Mf  the  aristoerst  Is  only  valid  in  ftohlonable  circles  and  not  with  truckmen,  he  win  never  be  a 
leader  in  fhabiou.'  . .  .  «lf  the  fSuhionlst  have  not  this  quality  (self-reliance,)  he  is  nothing.  We  are 
suehlovonof  self-reliance,  that  we  excuse  in  a  man  many  sins  if  he  wiU  show  us  a  complete  satis- 
faetion  In  his  position,  which  asks  no  leave  to  be  of  mine,  or  any  man's  good  opinion.  But  any  defb- 
renee  to  some  eminent  man  or  woman  of  the  world,  forfolta  all  privilege  of  nobllUy.  He  Lb  an  un- 
derting:  I  have  nothing  fodo  with  him ;  I  wiU  speak  with  his  master.' 

The  conclusion  of  it  aU  thus  is,  that  ^  Every  thing  called  fitshlon  and  courtesy  hum- 
bles itself  before  the  cause  and  fountain  of  honor,  creator  of  titles  and  dignities,  namely, 
the  heart  of  love  .*' 

*  What  Is  rich  ?  Are  you  rich  enough  to  help  any  body  f  to  succor  the  unfashionable  and  the  ec- 
centrief  rich  enough  to  make  the  Gansdian  in  his  wagon,  the  itinerant  with  his  consuFs  paper  which 
comraendB  him  *to  the  charitable,'  the  swarthy  Italian  with  his  few  broken  words  of  Ei^Ush,  feel 
the  noble  exception  of  your  presence,  and  your  house  flfom  the  general  bleakness  and  stoninessf 
What  la  vulgar,  but  to  refVise  the  claim  on  acute  and  conclusive  rsasonsT  What  Is  gentle  but  to 
allow  it,  and  give  their  heart  and  yours  one  hoUday  flrom  the  national  caution  f 

It  is  high  praise  of  any  author,  almost  the  highest,  to  say  that  he  is  an  honest  searcher 
for  truth.  Men  who  are  odd  for  the  sake  of  being  odd,  or  independent  for  the  fimie 
of  originality,  are  not  so  uncommon.  But  the  simple,  sincere  lover  of  truth  for  truth-s 
sake,  IB  rare.  When  he  does  appear,  mankind  should  meet  liim  with  their  heartiest 
welcome.  For  after  all  our  easy  moralizing,  what  more  difficult  thing  is  there  for  a 
man  than  to  be  true  ?  To  break  over  the  assooiationa,  endeared  to  him  by  long  and 
pleasant  mem<Mries,  to  find  kxMening  from  his  heart,  the  sympathies  and  esteem  of 
those  he  has  been  taught  firom  childhood  to  respect ;  to  expose  himself  to  the  quiet 
sneer  or  the  settled  dislike  of  men  around  him  at  his  oddity ;  and  worse  than  all,  to 
have  the  awfiil  fear  gathering  darkly  over  his  soul  that  he  may  be  losing  the  love  of 
his  God  ;  all  this  perhaps  must  a  man  meet  for  truth.  He  who  has  done  this,  is  no 
weak  man.  He  deserves  our  honor.  Tot  it  is  very  easy  to  forget  this ;  it  is  ver>- 
easy  to  forget,  as  a  man  stands  op  in  simple  humble  spirit  for  his  particular  truth, 
what  a  weary  course  of  darknesis  and  struggling  it  may  liave  cost  him  to  win  it.  Wc 
believe  Mr.  Emkrson  has  thus  sought  for  truth.  And  more  than  this,  we  believe  him 
striving,  with  all  his  varied  powers,  to  raise  his  fellow  men  to  this  higher  life  of  truth 
«nd  q>irituality.  We  know  wo  are  treading  here  near  topics  from  which  custom  and 
cant  have  worn  all  their  freshness.  But  we  do  believe  every  man,  if  asked  plainly,  with 
no  whine  of  religious  phrase,  would  acknowledge  there  was  an  infinitely  higher  life 
possible  for  him  j  would  confess  the  meanness  of  the  life  he  lives,  compared  to  what 


258  Literary  Notices,  [March, 

he  might  live.  Every  one  of  ua  have  had  our  moments  of  reflection,  when  the  gran- 
deur and  beauty  of  a  higher  life  floated  before  us.  We  have  had  some  faint  concep- 
tion what  it  would  be  to  live  for  noble  and  generous  ends ;  to  be  free  from  this  meanneas 
and  selfishness,  which  so  chain  mankind ;  to  have  a  mind  at  length  above  these  ever- 
clamoring  appetites  and  passions.  At  such  time,  we  saw  the  beauty  and  divine  tobt 
jesty  of  truth.  We  felt  what  the  exalted  consciousness  would  be,  that  within  ns  not 
the  slightest  fiilseness  harbored.  We  asked  not  for  future  happmess ;  but  simply  and 
with  a  trust  in  a  higher,  we  gave  up  ourselves  to  live  for  human  freedom  and  human 
happiness.  All  men  have  some  such  thoughts,  whether  these  words  express  them  or 
not  There  are  better  moments  in  every  man^s  life,  nobler  impulses  than  his  common. 
And  It  is  to  these,  in  these  volumes,  Emerson  so  often  speaks.  He  would  show  us 
how  every-day  life  may  at  length  be,  what  we  have  so  often  dreamed  it.  That  it  can 
be  true,  earnest,  generous,  though  spent  in  the  din  of  the  market  or  quiet  of  the  col- 
lege. He  tells  us  of  a  noble,  spiritual  life,  which  but  few,  with  whatever  professions, 
have  ever  realized.  These  sentiments  of  his  are  not  Utopian  *,  they  are  not  impraotkaJ ; 
unless  Christianity  is  Utopian,  and  to  forget  an  endless  life,  is  to  be  practical.  They 
express  what  we  all  acknowledge  as  truth,  but  which  we  all  hesitate  to  act  upon  ;  and 
must  this  always  be  so  7  Shall  not  the  day  come  when  men  can  realize  all  that  Emcr- 
BON,  and  all  that  a  higher  than  Emerson,  has  pictured  7  Can  we  not,  even  in  this  day, 
resolve  with  him,  that  for  our  part  we  will  make  society  a  true  and  earnest  thing,  and 
no  more  an  exchange  of  hypocrisies  *,  that  we  will  do  away  with  every  vestige  of  false- 
ness in  life  or  dealings ;  that  for  us,  our  days  shall  no  more  be  given  to  appetite  and 
selfishness,  but  to  a  life  of  love,  to  unchecked,  fearless  service  of  truth.  To  the  scholar, 
he  says : 

Ut  becomes  him  to  feel  all  eonfldenoe  in  himseU;  and  to  defer  never  to  the  popular  err.  Leibim 
not  quiet  his  belief  ttiat  a  pop  gun  is  a  pop  guD,thoagh  the  andeot  and  honorable  ofthe  eartn  aflrm  It  to 
be  the  crack  of  doom.  In  aifence,  in  ateadinaaa,  in  severe  abatraction,  let  him  hold  by  himaeif ;  add  ob- 
aervation  to  obsenratioB,  patient  ot  neglect,  patieot  ot  reproach ;  and  bide  hie  own  time.*  ...  *  Free 
•hould  the  echohur  be,  free  and  brave.*  ...  *  It  ia  a  shame  to  him,  if  hia  tranquillity  amid  dangeroM 
times  arise  from  the  premiroption  that  like  chiklren  and  women,  his  ia  aprotecled  daae :  or  if  he  ledE 
a  temporary  peace  by  the  diversion  of  his  thoughts  from  politics  or  vexed  qnestions,  hiding  hia  head 
like  an  ostrich  in  the  flowering  bushes,  peeping  into  microecopes  and  turning  rhymes,  as  a  boy  whia* 
ties  to  keep  hia  courage  up.* 

We  commend  his  views  of  the  pilgrims  to  some  even  of  the  more  orthodox  of  their 

descendants  at  the  present  day : 

<  What  a  debt  is  oara  to  that  old  religion,  which.  In  the  childhood  of  most  of  ns,  still  dwelt  like  a 
Sabbath  morning  in  the  country  of  New-Bngland,  teaching  privation,  self-denial  and  aorrowl  A 
man  was  bom  not  for  proeperity,  but  to  soflbr  for  the  l>eneflt  of  others  like  the  noble  rock-maple, 
which  all  aroond  our  villages  bleeds  for  the  service  of  man.  Not  praise,  not  men's  aoceptanoe  of  onr 
doing,  but  the  spi  rit*B  holy  errand  throogh  ua,  absorbed  the  thoagfat  How  dignified  waa  this !  How 
all  that  is  callea  talents  and  success  in  our  noisy  capitals,  becomes  buzz  and  din  before  this  man- 
worthinenr  .  .  .  ^  And  what  is  to  replace  for  ua  the  piety  of  that  race?  We  cannot  have  ttaeira :  tt 
glides  away  from  ua  day  by  day,  but  wo  also  can  bask  in  the  great  morning  which  risea  forever  out  of 
the  eastern  sea,  and  be  ouraelvee  the  children  of  the  light.* 

Wo  have  said  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  seek  for  truth  as  freely  as  Emerson  has  done. 
But  in  scarcely  any  country  is  it  more  diflBcult  than  in  this.  Our  very  equality  of 
rights  gives  tremendous  force  to  public  opinion,  and  but  few  dare  rise  against  it.  The 
hootings  of  the  mob  are  always  more  fearful  than  chains  and  prisons.  A  man  may 
brace  himself  against  mere  persecution  of  power ;  but  when  the  man  by  his  aide,  his 
brother  and  mess-mate  and  friend,  turn  against  him,  who  can  faniQ  it  7  As  a  conse- 
quence, how  few  in  this  country  think  independently  of  all  party  organizations !  How 
bound  up  are  we  within  our  sects  and  our  schools  and  our  parties !  Emerson  must 
have  seen  this  great  iaolt  of  our  people ;  and  in  this  volume  he  has  struck  at  it  boldly 


1850.]  LiUrcry  Noticti.  25d 

and  maiifiilly ;  we  doabi  not  Us  sucoeM.  Our  people  do  at  leoflt,  after  a  comae  of 
years,  acknowledge  tniih ;  and  the  bold,  independent  thinker,  though  his  name  be 
blackened  now,  shall  not  even  here  miss  his  reward.  Wb  think  too  we  notice  a  change 
in  this  matter ;  the  old  boundary  marks  of  creeds  are  being  swept  off ;  thought  is  freer. 
Even  the  popular  taste  in  literature  seeks  the  more  earnest  authors.  Men  are  grow- 
ing earnest,  and  they  want  true,  hearty  thinkers,  no  matter  how  many  conventionalisms 
and  elegancies  they  Tkilate.  Carltlk  has  a  hundred  times  the  mfluence  of  Macaulat  ; 
and  Miss  BasiiKn,  RuuEm ,  and  ^  Jane  Eteb'  are  read,  where  Jambs  and  Bulwer  are 
scarcely  heard  ct  In  newspapers,  it  is  your  odd,  honest,  independent  Geeblet  that 
thrills  the  futhest  comer  of  the  land  with  his  thoughts,  while  ^  leading  journals,'  with 
Itately  editorials,  are  doied  over  most  quietly.  That  Mr.  Embeson's  writings  are 
«rowded  with  fruits,  no  fair  reader  can  be  dispoaed  to  deny ;  and  yet  we  are  inclined 
to  think  these  have  been  much  exaggerated ;  especially,  let  any  one  compare  the  earlier 
Essays  with  this  Tohmie  of  Addresses,  and  he  will  be  surprised  at  the  change  for  the 
better  in  these  later  writings.    That  which  would  most  repel  an  earnest  mind  in  the 

*  Essays,'  is  a  certain  unhealthiness  of  sentunent,  an  epicurean,  skeptic-like  view  of 
life.  We  find  him  regarding  all  actions,  whether  noble  or  selfish,  as  equally  indifferent ; 
reGgkm  and  happiness  aa  results  of  a  good  state  cf  UTcr ;  life  itself  is  superficial  and 
siekenlng ;  temperament  governs  every  thing ;  and  man  is  only  a  machine.  But  as 
we  go  on  in  his  writings,  a  deeper  and  more  earnest  tone  sounds  through  them.  The 
skeptic  is  gone ;  and  we  see  a  man,  solemn  as  under  the  shadow  of  eternity,  with  every 
power  intensely  strained  to  show  to  others  the  truth  which  so  ennobles  him.    These 

*  Addresses'  are  strong,  practical,  earnest  speeches ;  such  as  can  reach  the  common 
nund  of  oar  American  people.  They  treat  of  every- day  matters ;  common  political 
and  moral  questions.  They  are  sermons  on  Economy,  on  Manliness,  on  Honesty,  on 
Religious  living ;  and  they  strike  to  the  heart  of  these  things,  as  few  sermons  we  have 
seen.    We  give  as  an  instance  his  views  of  Economy : 

'  la  our  hoQse-keepliig  sacred  and  hoaorable  ?  Does  it  raise  and  inspire  ns,  or  does  it  cripple  us 
inslSMiT 

*  Our  expense  is  almost  all  fpr  conformity.  It  is  for  cake  we  run  in  debt ;  H  Is  not  the  intellect,  not 
tke  heart,  not  tieaitty,  not  worship,  that  costs  so  much.  .  .  .  We  are  first  sensual,  and  then  must 
be  rich.  We  dare  not  trust  our  wit  for  making  our  house  pleasant  to  our  flriend,  and  so  we  buy  ice- 
creams. .  .  .  As  soon  as  there  is  fUth,  as  soon  as  there  is  society,  comfits  and  cushions  will  be  left 
for  slaves.  Expense  will  be  inventive  and  heroic  ...  Lei  ua  learn  the  meaning  of  economy. 
SooDomy  Ls  a  hifffa,  humane  oflloe,  or  sacrament,  when  its  aim  is  grand :  when  it  is  the  prudence  of 
limple  tastes ;  when  it  is  practised  for  fireedom,  or  love,  or  devotion.  Much  of  the  economy  we  see 
In  houses  is  of  a  base  origin,  sod  is  best  kept  out  of  sight.  Parched  com  eaten  tcHlay,  that  I  may 
have  roast  fowl  for  my  dinner  on  Sundav,  is  a  bsseness ;  but  parched  corn  and  a  house  with  one 
apartment,  thai  I  may  be  free  of  all  perturbations;  that  I  may  be  serene  and  docile  to  what  the  mind 
sDan  speak,  and  girt  and  road-ready  for  the  lowest  mission  of  knowledge  or  good-will,  is  frugality 
ibr  goda  and  heroes.' 

It  may  not  be  out  of  place  here,  also,  to  transcribe  a  little  picture  he  draw*  of  public 

wonhip: 

*I  OMCK  heard  a  preaeher  who  sorely  tempted  me  to  say  I  wookl  go  to  choreh  no  more.  Men  go, 
Ihooght  I,  where  they  are  wont  to  go,  else  had  no  soul  entered  the  temple  in  the  afternoon.  A  snow- 
slonn  was  flslBng  around  US.  Hie  snow-storm  was  real :  the  preacher  merely  spectral ;  and  the  eve 
Celt  the  sad  contrast  in  k)oking  at  him  and  then  out  of  the  window  behind  him,  into  the  beantiftil 
Bseteorofthesnow.  He  had  lived  in  vain.  He  had  no  one  word  intimating  that  he  had  laughed  or 
wept;  was  married  or  in  love :  had  been  commended,  or  cheated,  or  chagrined.  U  he  had  ever 
lived  and  acted,  we  were  none  the  wiser  for  it  The  c«>ital  secret  of  his  profession,  nsmelv,  to  con- 
vsft  life  Into  truth,  be  had  not  learned.  ...  It  seemed  strange  that  the  people  should  come  to 
church.  It  seemed  as  if  their  houses  were  very  unentertaining,  that  they  should  prefer  this  thougihtiesa 
damor.  It  shows  that  there  is  a  commanding  attraction  in  the  moral  sentiment  that  can  lend  a  fkint 
tint  of  Ught  to  dullness  and  ignorance  coming  in  its  name  and  place.* 

He  deplores  the  ^  decaying  of  the  church,'  as  he  calls  it,  and  concludes :  ^  What 
greater  calamity  can  fiUl  upon  a  naUon  than  the  loss  of  worship  ?  Then  all  thmgs  go 
to  decay.    Genius  leaves  the  temple  to  haunt  the  senate  or  the  market ;  Literature 


260  LUerary  Nbiices.  [March, 

beoomes  friyolouB ;  Soienoe  ki  oold.  The  eye  of  yoolh  is  not  li^^ted  by  the  hope  of 
other  worlds,  and  age  is  without  honor.' 

Mr.  Embeson  it  frequently  charged  with  inoonusteney,  and  we  certainly  ahall  not 
attempt  to  deny  it.  We  believe  it  the  same  inoonaiatenoy  a  man  shows  in  an  exdted 
oonversation.  He  takes  one  yiew  of  a  sabjeet ;  he  is  deeply  moved  by  it ;  his  words 
come  forth  strong  and  glowing ;  and  yet  an  hour  after  we  may  find  him  arguing  on  a 
different  side,  and  with  honesty  too.  It  is  the  inoonsistenoy  of  ezoitement ;  the  one- 
sided  view  of  truth.  We  excuse  it  in  a  talker,  but  require  something  more  complete 
in  a  writer.  Still  we  are  disposed  to  think,  if  authors  were  more  honest,  there  would 
be  fiir  more  inconnstency.  Every  man  who  thinJu  must  be  oonsdous  of  exceedingly 
difierent  states  of  mind  in  regard  to  the  same  subjects.  There  are  times  when  his 
metaphysical  systems  will  melt  away  before  his  affections  and  hopes.  Iliere  are  others 
when  Logic  fixes  the  cold  limits,  and  he  cannot  pass  beyond  them.  At  (me  time  his 
deity  seems  hardly  anything  but  lofty  and  eternal  principles ;  at  another,  he  feels  his 
heart  dose  to  a  heart  like  his  own,  only  infinite  in  its  love  and  pity.  Perhaps  this  is 
Embkson's  self-contradiction. 

No  man  should  ever  undertake  to  defend  isolated  expressions  of  EmRson's.  A 
skilful  cuUer  from  his  writings  could  convict  him  of  bl»q>hemy  and  nonsense  and  ob- 
scurity, without  the  smallest  difficulty.  They  must  be  taken  in  thdr  connexion  to  up- 
preciato  their  meaning.  And  when  thus  taken  we  venture  to  say  that,  with  but  few 
exceptions,  they  will  convey  a  deep  and  true  idea.  His  obscurity  is  singular.  It  is 
not  in  the  use  of  strange  or  now  conjoined  words,  like  much  of  Carlylk*s.  His 
words  are  plain,  strong,  living  Saxon.  It  is  not,  as  we  think,  generally  in  vague  thought, 
like  much  in  the  mystic  writers.  It  seems  rather  to  consist  in  abrupt,  apparently 
isolated  sentences,  when  in  fact  there  is  a  true  connexion  *,  in  figures,  where  the  analogy 
is  not  at  once  clear,  except  to  those  accustomed  to  his  style ;  in  common  words,  which 
with  him  are  signs  of  many  qualities  conjoined,  or  are  particular  words  expresring 
general  principles.  Such  an  obscurity  may  be  an  objection,  but  it  certainly  is  not 
without  example  in  our  best  writers.  An  obscurity,  too,  which,  unlike  that  in  some 
of  our  ^  best  writers,'  rewards  investigation.  * 

We  do  not  deny,  however,  that  there  is  in  his  writings  an  obscurity  sometimes  deeper 
than  this.  The  analogies  so  favorite  with  him  between  matter  and  spbrit  seem  not 
seldom  to  lead  him  into  misty  paths.  A  neat  antithens,  too,  occasionally  throws  a 
veil  over  the  thought.  And  there  are  passages,  beautiful  in  appearance,  which  no 
cluiritable  construction  or  close  study  can  in  any  way  exphun.  We  must  conclude 
they  are  those  vague  sentiments,  with  misty  outlines  of  beauty,  which  float  through 
almost  every  mind.  Mr.  Emkrson  has  had  the  fhinkness  or  the  folly  to  express  &em. 
But  however  incomprehensible  he  is  at  times,  all  must  allow  the  frequency  in  his 
works  of  those  condensed  expressions  which  contain  such  a  world  of  truth.  Vivid 
statements  of  wide-reaching  principles,  such  as  startle  us  so  often  in  Shakspbaub,  or 
GoETHB,  or  RicHTER.  It  is  these  compact  forms  of  truth  which  last  the  longest  in  a 
language.  Genius  alone  can  frame  them.  Emerson  has  enriched  our  language  with 
many.  This  wo  have  said  of  his  prose.  Of  his  poetry  we  do  not  profess  to  judge. 
What  little  we  have  seen,  we  should  not  for  a  moment  suspect  to  be  from  Embeson. 
We  would  speak  difRdently ;  but  if  nonsense  and  utter  opaquene99  show  a  want  of 
poetic  talent,  his  poems  can  claim  little.  And  yet  there  is  hardly  a  page  of  his  prose 
but  shows  the  true  poet  His  love  of  beauty,  his  pure  appreciation  of  nature,  are 
wonderful.    Kot  the  thread-bare,  worn-out  descriptions  of  Nature ;  of  flowing  meads 


1850.]  Literary  JNatices.  361 

and  purling  streams,  and  son-sets,  and  what  not,  which  fill  most  writers,  even  poets ; 
bnt  a  close,  pore,  loving  observation  of  the  thousand  beauties  around  him.    Hear 
htm  on  this : 
<6o  Into  the  forest,  you  shall  find  all  new  and  nndeeuaibed.   Thescrasmingor  the  wUdrgeese  flying 


br  nlglift;  the  thin  note  of  the  oompanloaable  titmouse,  in  the  winter  day;  the  fUl  of  swanna  of 
flies  in  autumn  IhtmoomiMOa  high  in  the  air,  pattering  dovn  on  the  toavea  like  rain;  the  angry  hiaa 
of  the  wood-birds;  the  pine  throwing  oat  Ita  pollen  for  the  next  oentnnr:  the  turpentine  exuding 
Ihni  the  tive;  and,  indeed,  any  regetatlon,  any  animation,  any  and  all  aroaiilEennattempted.*  ...  Or 
again:  *11io  noonday  darknesB  or  the  American  forests,  the  deep,  echoing,  aboriginal  woods,  wliore 


Ihni  the  tive;  and,  indeed,  any  regetaion,  any  animation,  any  and  all  ai««iu»nnattemp^  ...  Or 
again:  *11io  noonday  darkness  or  the  American  forests,  the  deep,  echoing,  aboriginal  woods,  wliore 
the  lirlng  columns  of  the  oak  and  flr  tower  up  from  tne  ruins  of  the  trees  of  the  last  millennium ; 
where  from  year  to  year  the  easie  and  crow  see  no  intruder;  the  pines,  bearded  with  ssTage  mosr 
yet  touched  with  grace  by  the  violets  at  their  feet ;  the  broad,  cold  lowland,  which  forms  its  coat  c 


vapor  with  the  stiuness  of  subtsmnesn  crystslliaition;  snd  where  the  travsUer,  smid  the  rspnlalTe 
plsnts  that  are  nalive  in  the  vwampe, thinks  with  pleasing  terror  of  the  distent  town;  this  besm^, 
haggard  snd  desert  beauty,  which  the  sun  snd  the  moon,  the  snow  snd  the  rala,  repaint  and  vary, 
baa  never  been  reoorded  by  art.* 

The  religioua  world  generally,  we  suppose,  look  with  suspicion  even  011  EMiBsoif^s 
moral  essays.  And  yet  it  will  be  found  his  momlisEing  rests  to  a  certain  extent  on  the 
truly  christian  basis.  It  is  no  outward,  merely  vaoin^  self-culture ;  no  mere  correct- 
ing of  habits.  The  Heart  of  Love  is  his  great  theme.  The  purifying,  the  great 
[Nrindple  of  a  man's  life,  is  what  he  is  ever  urging.  His  political  philosophy,  too,  is 
such  as  agrees  remarkably  with  the  (so-called)  rdigious  philosophy  of  the  ooimtry. 
He  would  re-make  society  by  infusing  the  higher  principles:  'These  beneficiaries 
(the  reformers,')  he  says, '  hope  to  raise  man  by  improving  his  circumstances ;  by 
combination  of  that  which  is  dead  they  hope  to  make  something  alive.  In  vain ;'  and 
then  he  quotes  the  expression  of  the '  sad  Pbvtalozzi  :'  '  The  amelioration  of  outward 
circumstances  will  be  the  eflcct,  but  can  never  be  the  means  of  mental  and  moral  im- 
provement.' Then  in  another  place,  in  regard  to  every  experiment  filing  that  has 
not  the  *■  moral  principle'  within  it,  he  concludes :  '  The  pacific  Fourier  will  be  as  in- 
efficient as  the  pernicious  XAroLXON.' 

As  we  consider  the  whole  style  and  philosophy  of  these  writings,  we  are  more  and 
more  struck  with  their  peculiar  originality.  We  doubt  whether  our  literature  has 
produced  anything  more  truly  native  to  it.  Hitherto  our  anthers  have,  fat  the  most 
part,  held  before  them  some  foreign  model.  Their  expression  and  mode  of  thought 
have  not  been  the  natural  fruit  of  this  new  soil.  It  is  not  so  with  Emerson.  That 
rugged,  energetic  style  of  his,  softened  occasionally  by  gleams  of  wonderftd  beauty, 
could  have  had  no  model.  It  seems  almost  the  reflection  of  the  scenery  in  which  he 
has  lived ;  those  gray  granite  hills,  as  they  are  gilded  by  autumn  light  or  chequered 
by  summer  shadows.  We  have  sometimes  wondered  whether  much  of  this  philoso- 
phy might  not  be  a  type  of  the  future  development  of  the  national  mind.  There  is 
just  now  peeping  up  through  the  American  people  a '  transcendentalism'  Bot  unlike 
that  seen  in  these  writings.  A  tendency  to  carry  abstract  ideas  out  into  practical 
effi>rts ;  a  worship  of  principles,  of  theories,  no  matter  how  impracticable  at  present 
they  may  seem.  The  ceaseless  speculation,  the  fearless  research  of  that  philosophy, 
the  exalting  of  the  individual  mind,  yes,  even  the  heartiness  and  bluntness  it  would 
infuse  into  society,  we  believe  will  all  be  traits  of  our  national  character,  when  it  has 
at  length  had  ftill  play. 

Thus  &r  certainly  our  people  have  shown  little  of  the  love  of  beauty,  or  ;the  devo- 
tion to  truth  which  appear  on  almost  ever^  page  of  the  Emersonian  philosophy.  The 
last  is  a  worship  which  but  few  in  any  age  can  have  courage  to  offer.  Perhaps  it  shall 
be  so  with  us.  But  in  regard  to  the  love  of  the  beautiful,  we  do  expect  wonderful 
reeuhi  in  the  future.  No  climate  or  country  can  show  such  varied  and  changing 
beauty  m  ours.     No  nation  has  yet  appeared  with  such  intense  activity  of  mind. 


Literary  Notices,  [March, 


And  when  at  lengtih  a  more  complete  cnltiyation  reaches  every  claas ;  when  the  close 
observing  power  of  our  people,  with  its  remarkable  inventive  fiiculty,  are  turned  to 
objects  of  beauty,  what  should  hinder  the  highest  results?  For  our  part,  we  expect 
throughout  our  people  then  a  love  of  nature,  a  taste  for  art,  higher  even  than  any 
Emrrson  has  yet  shown ;  inasmuch  as  it  shall  be  more  genial  and  more  purified  by 
love  of  Him,  of  whom  beauty  is  only  the  reflection. 

Of  Mr.  Emsrson's  religious  character  we  own  we  feel  reluctant  to  speak.  Not 
that  it  is  out  of  place ;  for  it  can  never  be  out  of  place  in  a  frank  and  friendly  manner 
to  speak  of  an  author's  religious  views ;  but  because  in  an  author  of  his  peculiar  modes 
of  expression  it  is  very  difficult  to  determine  his  meaning  on  such  subjeots.  The  lan- 
guage of  any  original  mind  in  regard  to  Deitt  and  its  religious  hopes  must  be  strange. 
EiinBON's  words  may  express  so  much  more  to  himself  than  to  us  ;  possibly,  too,  his 
own  thoughts  may  be  no  clearer  than  the  terma  which  convey  them.  StiQ  with  all 
this,  and  with  no  wish  to  sound  a  religious  alarm  against  him,  or  cram  our  theokigy 
upon  him,  we  must  say  and  say,  it  sadly,  that  the  highest  principles  of  religion  he  seems 
utterly  without.  A  God,  living  and  personal,  he  does  not  recognize  and  does  not  love. 
We  own  it  possible  for  a  heart-felt  devotion  like  his,  to  the  principles  of  Truth  and 
Justice  and  Love,  to  be  as  real  worship  of  the  unseen  Onb,  as  the  vague  aflfection 
which  most  of  us  suppose  to  fill  our  minds.  Possibly  Hs  may  aooept  it  as  such.  Yet 
the  highest  life  of  the  soul,  the  love-confiding,  overflowing  to  a  Beino,  one  who  com- 
bines all  these  'principles,'  and  who  with  boundless  afFection, iov««  tM,  is  not  there. 
With  Emerson,  God  is. the  beauty  which  looks  down  to  him  from  the  solemn  sunset, 
or  the  law  which  whirls  the  planets,  or  the  thought  which  exalts  and  inspirits  him. 
At  times  Hs  seems  some  strange  essence  filling  material  nature.  Hien,  Hb  is  the  soul, 
or  the  soul  is  but  emanation  from  IIim,  the  universal  principle  of  life.  We  may  judge 
harshly ;  and  there  are  expressions  in  which  Embrson  seems  bowing  his  very  soul 
with  unspeakable  awe  before  a  mysterious  Creator.  *  Of  that  ineflSible  Essence,'  he 
says, '  He  that  thuiks  most,  will  say  least.'  StiD  that  want  of  geniality  and  hearty  love 
through  all  his  writings ;  the  little  solemnity  which,  if  we  consider  his  works  through- 
out, lifo  seems  to  him  to  have  its  relation  to  an  unbounded  future ;  the  few  alluttons 
to  the  infinite  hopes  for  each  individual  man  \  the  sad,  unhealthy  views  expressed  in  a 
part  of  his  writings,  all  seem  to  declare  a  mmd  not  bound  in  affection  to  an  invisible 
Father,  or  living  for  an  awful  existence  beyond.  How  sadly  in  this  he  contnuts  even 
with  Carltle  !  Bred  under  the  shadows  of  a  creed,  which  almost  absorbed  the  in- 
dividual in  the  Infinite  One,  he  has  deified  the  soul.  It  is  infinite,  and  '  God  is  but  a 
projection  of  it.'  Living  with  men  who  would  force  upon  all  their  own  narrow  de- 
finings  of  the  mysterious  One,  he  has  rejected  ail  conception  of  Him,  and  has  made 
Him  a  vague  and  changing  imagining. 

There  is  a  belief ;  no,  not  a  belief,  a  truth^  the  most  supporting,  the  most  heart-sat- 
isfying, man  has  ever  grasped.  We  almost  hesitate  to  profiane  it  with  our  deacription. 
Its  divine  import  men  have  too  nearly  lost  sight  of  in  the  incessant  wranglings  over 
it.  Tet  there  have  been  many  in  every  age  and  under  various  creeds,  to  feel  it  as  the 
life  of  their  life.  -It  has  been  to  them  a  sweet  comfort,  as  ihey  shrunk  back  af^iafied 
from  the  aspect  of  ofiended  DEmr.  Without  it,  they  could  bow  in  fear  and  awe  be- 
fore the  dread  Omnii^>tbnt,  but  they  oould  not  love.  We  mean  thetmtfa,  that  through 
a  human  life  of  suflering  and  shame  ^  unexplainable  Beino  has  revealed  Himself, 
revealed  His  love.  His  pity.  His  more  than  human  sympathies. 

Of  this.tmth,  Emerson  knows  not    Christ  to  him  is  only  the  reformer ;  slnoere, 


1850.J  Literary  Notices.  263 

lorely,  bat  with  the  defects  and  limhationB  of  weak  bmnan  nature.  Hiose  deep  teach- 
ings, which  it  seems  to  us  humanity  has  but  feebly  penetrated  ;  those  lofty  Ideals  to- 
ward which  the  ages  have  been  fruitlessly  struggfing,  he  considers  *  imperfect  attempts,' 
steps  only  in  that  boundless  progress  before  thehuman  race. 

We  have  spoken  thus  freely  of  Mr.  Emerson^s  religions  character.  Possibly  we 
may  be  wrong.  Perhaps  we  should  take  as  the  best  expression  of  his  religious  belief 
the  noble  sentiments  strown  sojthickly  through  his  writings.  Yet  we  cannot  avoid  our 
conviction ;  we  only  hope  the  good  may  overbalance  the  evil.  For  ourselves  we  have 
never  met  Mr.  Emerson.  We  live  in  another  section  of  the  country ;  we  profess  a 
different  creed  ;  yet,  if  this  notice  should  ever  meet  his  eye,  we  do  offer  the  sincere 
^nvtitode  of  many  whom  he  has  never  known,  for  the  aid  he  has  given  ihem.  His  vivid, 
earnest  thoughts  have  kept  before  them  a  higher  and  truer  life,  which  they  might  reach. 
He  has  shown  them  one  man  who  could  think  freely,  though  all  men  looked  coldly 
upon  him ;  one  whq  appreciated  a  nobler  and  more  generous  code  than  the  rules  of 
polished  life ;  one  wha,  in  all  his  words,  and  as  we  hear  in  his  intercourse,  is  laboring 
to  make  society  real  and  life  true  ;  something  worthy  of  an  earnest,  true-minded 
man.    For  this  they  do  heartily  thank  him. 

As  we  thus  set  forth  our  view  of  Em erson^s  writings,  we  cannot  better,  in  condn- 
dmg,  commend  them  to  the  American  people  than  in  his  own  words :  ^  Amid  the 
downward  tendency  and  proneness  of  thmgs,  when  every  voice  is  raised  for  a  new 
road  or  another  statute,  or  a  subscription  of  stock,  for  an  improvement  in  dress  or  in 
dentistry,  for  a  new  house  or  a  larger  business,  for  a  political  party  or  the  division  of 
an  estate,  will  you  not  hear  one  or  two  solitary  voices  in  the  land,  speaking  for  thoughts 
and  principles,  not  marketable  or  perishable  V 


Waraga,  or  thb  Charms  of  the  Nile.     By  WilCIam  Furniss.     New-York:  Barer  axd 
ScRiBircR,  36  Park-Bow. 

*  Ln  the  perusal  of  this  work,*  writes  a  travelled  correspondent,  *  we  are  at  once 
transported  beneath  the  shadows  of  the  Pyramids ;  the  imagination  feels  again  the 
awful  presence  of  that  mighty  line  of  Pharaohs,  whose  beginning  stretches  backward 
as'fiir  as  the  deluge,  and  whose  dynasty,  although  interrupted  by  the  majestic  energies 
of  that  modem  Pharaoh,  Mehkmit  Ali,  has  been  in  fact  restored  and  continued ; 
whose  deeds  the  stylus  of  history  has  already  engraved,  and  is  now  only  pausing  to 
record  the  completion  of  his  plans  by  his  suecessors.  Egypt,  great  mother  of  science 
and  of  art !  what  thinking  mind  has  not  dreamed  about  thee !  From  true-hearted 
children  on  their  mother's  knee,  listening  with  awe  to  the  sacred  story  of  the  down- 
trodden thousands  of  Israel,  they  who  were  in  this,  their  Umd  of  bondage,  *  hewers 
of  wood  and  drawers  of  water ; '  of  Moses,  their  mighty  prophet,  priest  and  law-giver ; 
of  his  entreating  Pharaoh  to  let  his  nation,  'the  people  of  God,'  go  free;  of  that 
catalogue  of  wondrous  nurades  the  world  had  no  parallel,  until  the  Sacred  Advent, 
wrought  by  Uie  hand  of  Moses  before  the  court  and  over  the  broad  hmd  of  Egypt  *, 
and  of  the  Egyptian  Magii,  by  their  surpassing  arts  working  similar  mirades ;  of  the 
hard-hearted  Pharaoh  defying  the  visible  power  of  God,  and  choked  with  avarice, 
refusing  to  let '  His  people'  go ;  and  how  the  thousands  of  Israel  fled  forth  in  the 
night,  led  by  that  mighty  pillar  of  fire ;  and  how  the  great  king,  with  his  hosts  of 
chariots  and  men  of  war,  pursued  after  them,  and  sunk  in  the  midst  of  the  sea ! 


264  Literary  Notices. 


*  And  the  never- wearying  etory  of  Jobbph  ;  his  story  could  have  been  told  by  none 
other  than  by  Him  who  made  and  know  all  the  fountains  of  human  feeling ;  and  the 
undying  memory  delights  to  recall  our  young  imagination's  pictures  of  the  glory  and 
splendor  of  the  palaces,  the  pomp  of  .war,  and  the  majestic  monuments  of  Egypt's 
mighty  kings.  The  hosts  of  Iskakl  had  fled  away  mto  the  wilderness ;  their  country 
of  Gk)6hen,  though  a  pleasant  land,  was  deserted ;  yet  the  glory  of  Egypt  and  its 
Pharaohs  had  not  departed,  but  continued  to  shine  until  the  general  gloom  of  the 
medisBval  darkness  finally  overshadowed  the  land  and  extinguished  its  splendors,  and 
the  empire  of  £g>'pt,  whose  foundations  were  laid  in  the  beginning  of  time,  and  which 
had  for  vast  successions  of  ages  concentrated  and  spread  forth  all  learning  to  all  lands 
and  all  times,  like  a  general  mother  of  them  all,  was  subjugated  into  a  dependant 
province  of  mere  warlike  conquerors,  degraded  to  a  mere  proconsulate,  forgotten  by 
the  aspiring  Gaul,  for  whom 

« ^  Westward  tbe  star  of  empire  took  Its  wsy,^ 

until  the  Qthman  herds  of  Asia  spread  over  its  beautiful  land  and  river,  and  ascended 
the  vacant  throne  of  the  Ptolemies. 

*  Where  in  the  wide  world  can  iiuthor  or  traveller  find  a  country  more  mteresting 
to  visit  or  study  7  Has  it  been  exhausted  ?  Bring  together  the  vast  library  of  volumes 
of  learned  disquisitions  on  this  land,  past  and  present,  the  great  museum  of  collections, 
and  you  wQl  find  that  *  the  half  has  not  been  told  you ;'  that  the  keen  and  persevering 
quest  of  Belzoni,  Champollion,  and  theb  successors,  have  not  yet  deciphered  the 
one-half  of  its  engraved  story,  and  that  the  great  purpose  of  its  mighty  monuments, 
like  the  vast  ruins  of  its  deserted  cities,  are  still  an  unfathomed  mystery.  Their  lan- 
guage has  at  last  spoken  again  to  living  men,  breaking  the  silent  waste  of  ages ;  but 
we  are  yet  in  the  vestibule,  and  have  not  yet  heard  the  inmost  breathings  of  this 
mighty  oracle  and  monitor  of  all  time. 

*  The  volume  whose  title  heads  this  article  has  no  pretensions  to  reveal  the  mysteries 
of  this  adytum  of  learning.  It  is  simply  the  composite  of  the  daily  records  of  an  in- 
telligent and  tasteful  mind  wandering  upon  the  Nile^and  with  the  lights  of  good  reed- 
ing and  quick  and  steady  observation ;  recording  the  impressions  of  each  one  of 
Egypt's  mighty  monuments ;  while  a  delightful  vein  of  personal  incident  and  adven- 
ture flows  through  aU  its  descriptions.  The  best  proof  of  our  judgment  will  be  fou^d 
in  a  discrimmatmg  perusal  of  the  volume  itself.  It  is  the  record  of  a  voyage  up  the 
Nile  5  to  which  we  may  apply  a  passage  of  *  Childe  Harold :' 

*  *  And  thou,  exulting  and  abonndlng  river. 
Making  thy  waves  a  blessing  as  they  flow, 
Through  banks  whose  beauty  wlU  endure  forever, 
Could  man  but  leave  thy  bright  creation  so, 
Nor  its  Aiir  promise  flnom  the  sorflice  mow 
With  the  sharp  scythe  of  Conflict ;  then  to  see 
Thy  vaUcy  of  sweet  waters,  were  to  know 
Earth  paved  like  heaven ;  and  to  seem  such  to  me 
Even  now,  what  lacks  thy  stream  that  it  sboukl  Lethe  be  V 

*  The  purpose  of  this  notice  will  be  well  fulfilled  if  it  should  induce  the  reader  to 
take  up  this  book  as  an  agreeable  and  instructive  guide  and  companion  through  that 
land  of  wiiard  wonders,  and  along  that  river  which  has  marked  the  course  of  em- 
pires. R  D/ 


266  Editor's   Table.  [March, 

has  moulded  the  South,  as  New-England  has  moulded  the  North  and  the  West ;  while  the  mins^ing 
of  the  descendants  or  the  Cavaliers  and  the  Pilgrims  has  shaped  the  character  of  the  men  who  are 
now  laying  the  foundations  of  ffreat  empires  on  the  Pacific. 

*•  The  youth  of  a  nation  i  s  it^  heroic  age.  With  us  that  period  has  not  yet  passed.  The  state  which 
had  produced  Patrick  Hbnky,  JcrFCRsoN,  MarbbalLi  Lbs,  Madison,  Monroe,  and  above  all, 
the  greatest  and*  the  best  of  men,  whose  name  embodies  so  much  of  the  glory  of  the  nation  and  the 
hope  of  mankind,  was  a  fit  place  to  give  existence  and  inspiration  to  one  who  was  to  wear  the  mantle  of 
Washington. 

*•  His  ancestors  left  England  two  centuries  ago  and  settled  in  Virginia.    Rxchard  Taylor,  his 
£&ther,  was  a  Colonel  in  the  Continental  Army,  and  fought  by  the  side  of  Washington  in  the  battle 
of  Trenton.    Danikl  Boon,  the  Romulus  of  the  West,  had  explored  the  wilds  of  Kentucky,  and 
Colonel  Tat  LOR  soon  after  traversed  Hhe  Dark  and  Bloody  Ground,*  in  search  of  a  new  home.    He 
penetrated  on  foot  and  without  a  companion  as  fiu*  as  New-Orleans,  and  retted  to  Virginia  by  sea. 
In  1790  he  emigrated  with  his  family  to  Kentucky,  taking  with  him  a  boy  of  six  years,  who  was  to 
be  one  of  the  chief  standard  bearers,  and  a  President  of  the  Republic.    The  fkmily  homo  was  in  the 
midst  of  hostile  tribes,  where  men  never  slept  without  first  looking  at  the  priming  of  their  rifles. 
He  was  familiar  from  his  infancy  with  the  gleam  of  the  tomahawk  and  the  yell  of  the  savage.    An 
earnest  military  passion  lurking  in  bis  character  was  nurtured  bv  the  romance  of  fh>ntier  life,  and 
inflamed  by  household  leffends  of  the  Revolution.    His  education  was  plain  and  substantiaL    It 
fitted  him  for  the  great  business  of  life.    Thousrhtl^iiness.  Judgment,  shrewdness  and  stability,  with  a 
magnanimous  heart,  made  up  his  character.    The  flring.of  a  single  shot  fh>m  the  Leopard  into  the 
frigate  Chesapeake,  stirred  the  heart  of  the  American  People,  and  made  a  second  war  with  the  parent 
country  inevitable.    Young  Tatlor  heard  it,  and  he  applied  to  Jefferson  for  a  commission,  and 
entered  the  army  in  1807,  as  first  lieutenant  in  the  7th  regiment  of  infantry.    The  young  republic  was 
unprepared  for  war.    Along  an  unprotected  fh)ntier,  which  stretched  from  the  forests  of  Maine  up 
the  Great  Lakes,  and  down  the  Mississippi,  a  cloud  of  ten  thousand  confederated  savages,  anned 
with  British  rifles,  had  gathered  under  their  groat  Chief  Tecum skh,  to  bum  our  dwellings  and 
slaughter  our  people.    The  first  brilliant  scene  In  the  military  life  of  Taylor  opened  at  Fort  Harrison, 
a  small  and  weak  stoccade  on  the  Wabash,  in  the  heart  of  the  Indian  country.    With  flftv  soldiers 
Lieuteiumt  Taylor  was  commissioned  to  defend  the  place.    Repulsed  in  every  attack,  and  foiled  in 
every  stratagem,  the  savages  fired  the  fort  at  midnight    The  screams  of  women  and  children,  the 
blood-curdling  howl  of  three  himdred  red  men,  and  the  desolating  fh-e  flashing  against  a  thick  forest 
and  black  sky,  developed  the  cool  intrepidity  of  his  character.    He  extinguished  the  flames,  and  hckl 
the  fort  till  the  shout  of  Colonel  RussellV mounted  rangers  was  heard  coming  through  the  f<»%s(s, 
to  his  relief.'  ...... 

,  <  Hitherto  hU  movements  had  influenced  the  fate  of  districts ;  now  they  began  to  afllsct  the  fortunes 
of  empires.  tYom  the  time  he  was  despatched  to  the  south  western  firontier,  in  command  of  the 
Army  of  Observation,  his  conduct  attracted  the  attention  of  mankind,  andhisachlevemeats  became 
a  portion  of  history.    In  this  monumental  gallery  wo  have  only  to  inscribe 

*HIS      VICTORIES: 

•PALO  ALTO.  MAY  8.    1?4P. 
•RE8ACA  DE  LA  PALMA.  MAY  9.  1546. 

•MONIFREY.  8FPTEMBER22.  1846. 
•BDEiJA  VISTA,   FEBRUARY  23.  1&47. 

*  If  SO  manv  and  such  brilliant  victories  had  been  achieved  by  a  Greek  general,  he  would  hare 
been  crovmed  with  laurel,  and  national  games  instituted  in  his  honor.  If  he  had  botne  the  ea^^  of 
the  Roman  legions  so  gallantly  and  so  far,  the  Senate  would  have  decreed  him  a  triumph.  But  the 
Olympiads  are  Ibrgotten,  and  Rome  has  no  more  victories  to  celebrate.  Gratitude,  however,  is  still 
a  national  sentiment,  and  the  lionors  of  our  Olympiad  are  greater  than  those  of  Greece.  There  was 
but  one  way  in  which  the  nation  could  show  its  gratitude  for  the  services  of  its  patriot  soldier.  In 
the  next  national  election  the  people  of  the  United  States  conferred  upon  the  General  the  supreme 
honors  of  the  Republic,  and  by  acclamation  he  was  raised  to  ^  the  Presidency.^  * 

The  seoond  ntimber  is  dedicated  to  Joun  Caldwell  Calhoun,  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  men  that  have  existed  under  our  republic.  The  daguerreotype  from  which 
this  engraving  is  made  has  been  one  of  the  chief  attractions  of  Mr.  Brady's  Gallery 
for  several  months.  It  has  attracted  the  attention  of  all  persons  of  taste,  and  we  be- 
lieve he  hbnself  regards  it  as  the  best  picture  he  ever  made.  There  had  been  a  con- 
fflderable  number  of  tolerable  pictures  of  General  Tayloe,  beside  a  much  larger 
number  of  caricatures ;  but  hitherto  no  likeness  of  IVir.  Calhoun  has  appeared  which 
has  given  the  slightest  idea  of  the  man.  This  one  is  perfect,  and  none  of  the  power 
or  beauty  of  Mr.  Brady's  picture  has  been  lost  in  passing  through  the  hands  of 
D' Avignon.  As  a  likeness  and  a  picture  it  surpasses  cver^-thing  that  has  ever  been 
produced  in  the  United  States.  The  editor  had  not  a  very  easy  task  before  him  m 
compressing  into  two  pages  the  biography  of  this  illustrious  mam.  There  is  probaUy 
no  other  American  statesman  of  eminence  who  has  been  more  misrepresented  or  mis- 
understood than  Mr.  Calhoun.  Gifted,  as  was  acknowledged  on  all  sides,  with  the 
most  transcendant  ability,  chivalric  and  generous  as  it  was  generally  agreed,  and  honest 


268  EdUar's  TaUe.  [March, 

The  ftppearanoe  of  this  work  constitutee  one  of  the  most  interesthig  evente  in  the 
history  of  American  literature  and  American  art.  We  confesB  that  when  we  first 
heard  of  its  announcement  we  had  no  very  sangume  belief  that  it  would  meet  with  the 
success  which  would  warrant  its  completion  ;  and  it  is  with  a  great  deal  of  satisfiic- 
tion  we  have  smce  learned  that  it  has  been  so  warmly  received  by  the  public  that  it 
will  probably  be  an  exceedmgly  profitable  enterprise  to  the  publishers.  This  fact 
speaks  well  for  the  progress  of  taste  and  a  large  national  spurit  throughout  the  nation. 
In  Europe  such  works  are  generally  pulb^hed  at  an  enormous  price,  because  the  class 
among  whom  they  curculate  must  of  necessity  be  very  limited.  The  experiment  has 
been  tried,  in  this  case,  of  putting  the  work  so  low  that  it  might  be  brought  within 
the  reach  of  ahnost  every  person.  Wo  doubt  not  this  was  good  policy,  for  it  is  better 
to  sell  ten  thousand  copies  of  a  work  at  twenty  dollars,  than  five  hundred  at  a  price 
five  times  as  great.  Nothing  is  likely  to  contribute  more  to  the  development  of  refined 
taste  and  a  national  spirit,  than  the  publication  of  such  works.  They  enter  of  neces- 
sity, into  the  archives  of  the  nation's  history.  They  are  so  valuable  that  they  are 
seldom  destroyed,  and  they  remain  as  monuments  to  future  ages  of  the  period  when 
they  appeared.  There  is  beside  on  auspiciousness  in  the  time,  for  the  portraits  of  a 
considerable  number  of  great  men,  who  have  flourished  during  the  first  half  century, 
cannot  now  be  obtained  in  perfection.  In  running  over  the  list  of  those  who  we  pre- 
sume will  bo  embraced  in'ffi^<6a]lery,  there  is  enough  to  thrill  the  heart  and  stir  the 
pride  of  any  American.  It  is  not  the  intention  of  the  projectors  of  the  Gallery  to  go 
back  to  the  men  of  the  Revolution,  and  therefore,  Washington  and  his  great  con- 
temporaries will  not  be  embraced  in  it ;  but  Clay,  Scott,  Webster,  Benton,  Wood- 
bury, and  other  ditftinguished  senators  will  most  likely  appear  there.  Bishop  Wurrs, 
the  &ther  of  the  Episcopal  Church  in  this  country ;  Dr.  John  Mason,  who  was  proba- 
bly the  most  eloquent  preacher  we  have  ever  had  ;  and  Dr.  Channino,  one  of  the 
finest  and  most  exalted  intellects  of  the  world,  would  not  be  ungratefully  received  by 
the  public.  In  letters,  we  presume  that  our  great  writers  will  have  their  place ;  and 
wc  hope  that  the  greatest  men  New- York  has  ever  produced,  De  Witt  Clinton,  and 
Chancellor  Kent,  one  of  the  greatest  of  jurists,  will  not  be  forgotten.  Audubon  is 
one  of  those  great  but  unobtrusive  names  which  is  sure  to  be  remembered  by  pos- 
terity *,  and  certainly  few  Americans  have  reflected  greater  honors  upon  the  arts  or 
sciences  of  the  times.  But  these  are  speculations  of  our  own  \  and  we  doubt  not  that 
the  claims  of  all  the  great  men  of  the  nation  will  be  fairly  and  impartially  canvassed, 
so  that  when  the  Gallery  is  complete  there  will  be  no  cause  for  complaint  tonching*the 
course  of  the  editor. 

It  b  a  noble  design  to  group  together  twenty-four  of  the  greatest  men  that  have 
lived  during  the  first  half  of  the  present  century,  in  a  republic  like  this.  To  gaze 
upon  their  portraits,  in  such  a  Grallery,  must  stir  the  pride  of  their  countrymen  ;  and 
what  nobler  offering  could  be  sent  by  this  country  to  the  nations  of  Europe  than  the 
portraits  and  biographies  of  so  many  of  our  great  citizens?  No  portion  of  this  work 
has  been  neglected ;  nor  is  there  any  thing  in  it  which  is  left  to  desire,  except  that  it 
may  go  into  the  possession  of  every  public  library  and  institution  of  learning,  and  into 
the  hands  of  every  statesman  and  public  man ;  that  i^  all  quarters  its  silent  and  im- 
pressive eloquence  may  plead  in  behalf  of  the  glorious  republic  which  has  been  the 
mother  of  so  many  noble  men ;  and  that  it  may  be  an  offering  which  will  descend  to 
future  ages,  as  a  worthy  memorial,  erected  in  the  middle  of  the  century,  to  be  looked 
on  by  coming  ages  as  a  fiiir  memorial  to  genius,  truth  and  patriotism. 


270  '  Editor's  Tabic.  [March, 

ftom  his  debtors  than  the  amount  specified  in  the  bond.  I  cannot  hut  feel  that  the  Editor  with 
whom  I  have  feasted,  of  whose  bounties  T  have  partaken,  and  in  whose  company  I  have  spent  so 
many  happy  hours,  la  deserving  of  more  than  the  mere  modicUm  of  pay  necessary  to  iniore  a  con* 
tinnance  of  your  valuable  Journal.  I  do  not  think  I  am  singular  in  this  opinion ;  for  who  does  not 
feel  deeply  indebted  (even  alter  the  pecuniary  obligations  are  settled)  to  the  one  with  whom  for  so 
many  years  he  has  canvassed  the  worlds  of  Uterature  and  art;  to  the  Editor  who  has  so  long  toiled 
^on  in  a  profession  of  scarcely-requited  services;  to  the  one  who  in  the  dreary  winter  nii^t,  when 
the  wind  was  howling  without  and  the  fire  blazing  within,  has  (yimished  him  with  so  many  of  ttaa 
substantials  and  delicacies  of  the  intellect ;  to  the  t)ne  who,  in  the  lengthened  hours  of  sickness, 
when  the  heart  was  fUnt,  and  the  soul  shrouded  in  sadness,  cheered  away  for  a  time  the  weary 
thoughts,  and  placed  the  poor  invalid  onco  more  by  the  bubbling  riU-sido,  or  introduced  to  him  at  his 
bed-side  the  master«pirii8  of  the  land ;  led  him  into  the  realms  of  mirth  and  wit,  or  entranced  him  ■ 
with  songs  firom  feiry-tand  ?  Who  could  refuse  to  call  him  a  fHend  ?  Buch  a  one  hast  thou  been  to 
me,  friend  Kkicr.  ;  my  wanderings  have  been  many  and  lonely,  but  wherever  they  have  led  me  I  have 
had  renewed  occasion  to  thank  you.  On  the  plains  of  Missouri,  the  prairies  of  IIUdoIb,  on  the  giant 
Mississippi  and  the  beautiftil  Ohio,  on  the  sandy  Missouri,  with  its  snags,  sand-bars,  cotton-wood 
forests  and  rattlesnake  inhabitants,  and  on  the  Illinois  river,  made  oiassic  by  Mrs.  Farnbam^s  de- 
Mcription,  your  Magazine  has  cheered  me  when  lonely  and  chccrlesis,  or  heightened  the  Joys  of  some 
happy  hour. 

*■  Do  not  imagine  that  I  am  endeavoring  to  flatter.  I  can  have  no  incentive  to  do  so.  You  are 
personally  unknown  to  me,  although  I  have  Joyod  in  your  Joys,  sorroni^ed  in  your  sorrows,  and  wan- 
dered with  you  in  your  wanderings.  I  have  never  even  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you.  I  can 
never  expect  the  happiness  of  shaking  your  digits ;  for  though  I  am  not  a  *  lone  one,'  yet  I  am  one  of 
the  many,  distinguished  for  no  brilliancy  of  intellect,  nor  notable  for  a  long  line  of  ancestry ;  and 
more  than  all,  I  an)  on  the  eve  of  departure  for  *•  sun-down.*  I  do  iMt  flatter ;  I  only  oflisr  my  hum- 
ble tribute  to  a  reputation  and  feme  felrly  won  and  modestly  worn.  You  will  believe  me  the  more 
readily  when  I  tell  you  that  I  hav^  no  random  sketches  for  your  aeceptance,  never  gave  myself  up 
to  poetizing,  and  have  never  victimized  a  friend  with  a  long  prosy  treatise  on  something  of  Whidi  I 
knew  but  little  and  for  which  he  cared  less. 

*  At  the  present  writing  I  am  in  a  room  whose  windows  fl-ont  on  old  Lake  Erie.  A  gale  is  lashing 
its  waten  into  madness  on  the  rocks  which  lie  ahnost  at  my  feet.  I  can  hear  nothing  save  the  heavy 
roar  of  the  breakers,  and  the  moumftil  sough  of  the  wind  as  it  rushes  past.  A  black,  ug^y  night  is 
this!  Nothing  can  be  seen,  save  occasionally  the  glimmering  of  a  light,  *fer,  far  at  sea,*  as  some 
distant  steamer  rises  on  the  heavy  waves.  A  bright  spot  of  sky  Is  once  in  a  while  to  be  seen,  and 
perlM^M  then  a  star  or  two  will  ppep  down  through  Uie  broken  clouds.  It  certainly  must  bo  cheer- 
i  ng  to  those  benighted  mariners  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  star  whose  golden  beams  seem  to  speak  words 
of  comfort  to  them ;  they  teach  us  to  look  aloft  in  the  storm ;  in  calms,  in  danger  and  in  sorroWf 
to  trust  the  light  fhmi  above. 

*  God  bless  the  poor  sailor  on  that  Inland  sea  this  night !  Ere  morning  breaks  there  will  be  many 
Maddened  hearts,  and  eyes  weary  with  watching ;  some  will  be  dosed  in  sleep,  and  some  In  death ! 
It  is  a  wild  night,  this,  on  Lake  Erie !  Ilow  the  sashes  rattle  in  their  casements!  —  what  a  heavy 
thundering  surf  is  breaking  on  the  shore !— how  dismally  howli  the  wind  through  the  shattared  old 
trees  on  the  cUffl  There  I  how  madly  that  gust  went  by !  God  bo  with  the  mariner  n<]%  I  There 
are  even  now  in  that  distant  steamer  many  a  despairing  soul,  longing  for  a  more  tranquil  home  and 
a  safer  pillow  than  the  wUdly-foamlng  waves. 

*  Dreary  is  the  appearance  of  things  outside.  That  moaning  sigh  of  the  last  bbist  has  made  me 
low-spirited.  I  stoke  up  the  Are,  so  that  with  the  cheerfld  blaze  there  may  come  happy  thoughts: 
but  it  will  not  do ;  for  I  am  a  stranger,  and  my  hearth  is  a  stranger^s  Aresido : 

'  I  "M  very  sad  to-nigbt,  friend  Zmiok., 

A  gloom  1b  on  my  brow ; 
And  dark  tba  shadows  on  my  soul 

Are  gathering  round  me  now. 
The  ▼olces  that  In  sorrow.  Kkick., 

Once  shared,  or  .iolned  In  glea. 
Are  hushed  :  thnir  music's  still,  friend  Xiricx.. 

Or  swells  no  more  for  me ! 

'There  is  one  trait  in  your  editorial  character  which  I  shall  take  the  liberty  of  applauding.  I 
refer  particularly  to  the  invariably  kind  and  delicate  manner  in  which  yon  rqfeet  those  oommnnlo*- 
tlons  which  may  be  unsulted  to,  or  unworthy  of,  your  pages.  I  can  appreciate  this  the  more,  that  I 
have,  In  one  or  two  ungvonled  moments,  attempted  a  flight  wtthbi  the  bounds  of  poetry ;  my  bant- 
Uaga,  however,  were  not  rcjeeted,  from  the  feet  that  I  was  not  sanguine  enough  to  preeent  them  for 


272  Editor's   TahU.  [March, 

orders  of  nobility  with  which  nature  has  honored  him  for  bia  fidelity  to  her  laws.  His  fUr  com- 
plexion shows  that  bis  blood  has  never  been  cormpted ;  his  pure  breath,  that  he  has  nerer  yielded 
his  digestive  apparatus  for  a  yintneriB  eesa-pocd ;  his  exact  language  and  keen  q>prehension,  that  his 
brain  has  never  been  drugged  or  stupefied  by  the  poisons  of  distiller  or  tobacconist.  Eqjoying  hii 
appetites  to  the  highest,  he  has  preserved  the  power  of  enjoying  them.  Despite  the  moral  of  tiit 
sohool-boy^  story,  he  |uis  eaten  his  cake  and  still  kept  It  As  he  drains  the  cup  of  llfe»  there  are  no 
lees  at  the  bottom.  His  organs  will  reach  the  goal  of  existence  together.  Painlessly  as  a  candle 
bums  down  in  its  socket,  so  will  he  expire ;  and  a  little  imagination  would  convert  him  into  another 
Enoch,  translated  from  earth  to  a  better  world  without  the  sting  of  death. 

'  But  look  at  an  opposite  extreme,  where  an  opposite  history  is  recorded.  What  wreck  so  shock- 
ing to  behold  as  the  wreck  of  a  dissolute  man ;  the  vigor  of  life  exhausted,  and  yet  the  first  stepe  in 
an  honorable  career  not  taken ;  in  himself  a  lazar-house  of  disease ;  dead,  but  by  a  heathenish  cn»- 
tom  of  society  not  buried !  Rogues  have  had  the  initial  letter  of  their  title  burnt  into  the  palms  of 
their  hands;  even  for  murder,  Cain  was  only  branded  on  the  forehead;  but  over  the  whole  person 
of  the  debauchee  or  the  Inebriate  the  signatures  of  infamy  are  written.  How  nature  brands  him 
with  stigma  and  opprobrium  I  How  she  hangs  labels  all  over  him,  to  testily  her  disgust  at  his  exia> 
tence,  and  to  sdmoniBh  others  to  beware  of  his  example  I  How  she  loosens  all  his  Joints,  sends  tre- 
mors along  his  muscles,  and  bends  forward  his  fhame,  as  if  to  bring  mm  upon  all-fours  with  kindred 
brutes,  or  to  degrade  him  to  the  reptile's  crawling  I  How  she  disfigures  his  countenance,  as  if  intent 
upon  obliterating  all  traces  of  her  own  Image,  so  that  she  may  swear  she  never  made  Mm !  How 
she  pours  rheum  over  his  eyes,  sends  foul  spirits  to  inhabit  his  breath,  and  shrieks,  as  with  a  trum- 
pet, from  every  pore  of  his  body,  *  Bkhold  a  Bkast.**  Such  a  man  may  be  seen  in  the  streets  of 
our  cities  every  day ;  if  rich  enough,  he  may  bo  found  in  the  saloons  and  at  the  tables  of  the  *  supreme 
ton  ;^  but  siu^Iy,  to  every  man  of  purity  and  honor ;  to  every  man  whose  wisdom  as  well  as  whose 
heart  is  unblemisbcd,  the  wretch  who  comes  cropped  and  bleeding  from  the  piDory,  and  redolent 
with  Its  appropriate  perfumes,  would  be  a  guest  or  a  companion  fiir  less  oflbnsive  and  disgusting. 

*  Now  let  the  young  man  rejoicing  in  his  manly  proportions  and  in  his  comeliness,  look  on  tMi* 
picture  and  on  tki»,  and  then  say  after  the  likeness  of  which  model  he  intends  his  own  erect  stature 
and  sublime  countenance  shall  be  configured. 

'Society  is  infinitely  too  tolerant  of  the  roui;  the  wretch  whose  lifo-long  pleasure  it  has  been  to 
debase  himself  and  to  debauch  others ;  whose  heart  has  been  spotted  with  inAuny  so  much  that  it 
is  no  longer  spotted,  but  hell-black  all  over;  and  who,  at  least,  deserves  to  be  treated  as  traveUen 
say  the  wild  horses  of  the  prairies  treat  a  vicious  fellow ;  the  noblest  of  the  herd  forming  a  compact 
circle  around  him,  heads  outward,  and  kicking  him  to  death.' 

If  this  18  not  spirited  compositioD,  we  are  somewhat  mistaken.  .  .  .  Wb  derive 
the  following  aDecdotcs  from  a  judicial  friend,  who  could  fill  our  pages  with  as  much 
credit  to  himself  and  acceptance  to  the  public  as  he  does  the  high  seat  which  he  occu- 
pies before  the  public :  *•  Baron  was  appointed  by  Napoleon,  when  £lmperor, 

to  the  office  of  presiding  judge  of  the  highest  court  in  France.  When  the  vacancy 
occurred,  three  names  were  laid  before  him,  by  the  other  judges,  for  him  to  choose 
from.  Being  anxious  to  surround  his  government  with  as  much  of  the  old  &mOy 
standing  as  possible,  he  chose  the  Baron,  because  he  was  of  a  family  which  for  three 
hundred  years  had  been  devoted  to  the  administration  of  justice.  To  carry  out  the 
style  of  the  matter,  he  ordered  a  formal  inauguration  of  the  presiding  judge  at  the 
Tuilleries.  At  the  appointed  time,  seated  on  his  throne,  and  surrounded-  by  his  court 
and  his  marshals,  the  judges  entered  his  presence,  clothed  in  their  scarlet  robes,  led 
by  the  new  president  of  the  court ;  and  then,  for  the  first  moment,  the  Emperor 
learned  that  his  appointee  was  a  very  small  man,  and  very  young.  He  showed  his 
chagrin  by  a  very  cool  reception.  The  presiding  judge  took  no  notice  until  after  he 
had  been  sworn  in,  and  then  he  begged  to  know  how  he  had  incurred  the  Empcror^s 
di^leasnre.  The  Emperor  answered :  '  To  tell  the  truth,  I  did  not  know  yon  were 
■p  young.'  *■  True,  Sire,'  was  the  reply ;  *  I  am  no  older  than  was  your  majesty  at 
the  Battle  of  Marengo !'  The  same  judge,  during  the  reign  of  Charles,  and  shortly 
before  the  Revolution  of  July,  whOe  some  of  the  prosecutions  of  Polionac's  admin- 


274  EdUar^s  TabU.  [March, 

the  sciences  at  the  same  uniyersity.  The  time  funaUy  allotted  for  the  stndy  of  geology 
was,  as  he  thought,  more  profitably  employed  in  himting'-ezpeditioiis  to  Bast-Oeek, 
and  when  examinati<m-day  came  round,  on  this  subject  he  was  not  particiilarly  learned. 

Profeasor  A looked  upon  geology  with  perfect  adoration,  and  howerer  wide  of 

the  mark  a  student's  answer  might  be,  his  grave  and  solenm  oovmtenanoe  gave  no 
ngn  to  the  hapless  examiner  of  the  incorrectness  of  his  response.  *  Toung  gentle- 
man,' said  the  Professor  to  P— ,  *Tou — will — describe — borne — blende,'  a 
task  as  difficult  for  him  as  to  describe  the  King  of  the  Mosquitcs.  He  tried  it,  how- 
ever :  *  Homeblende  is  a  mineral,  generally  supposed  to  be  a  stone.'  Here  he  hesita- 
ted, to  give  the  Professor  time  to  correct  him  if  he  was  wrong.  Judging  from  his 
unmoved  features  that  he  had  struck  the  right  vein,  he  dashed  on :  '  Of  an  animal- 
cular  consistency  and  infusorial  form;  unctuous  to  ihe  touch;  tertiary  formatkm; 
slightly  femiginons ;  of  a  spotted  color ;  belongmg  to  the  triaasic  system  of  oomponnd 
drift ;  and  is  usually  found  just  below  the  crust  of  the  palaoosoic  rooks  on  Snake 
Mountain !'  ^  Anything  more  ?'  meekly  inquired  the  Professor.  No,  that  was  all 
he  recollected.  <  WeD,  young  man,'  said  he,  gravely, '  if  you  ahould  ever  discover 
any  article  of  the  kind  you  have  been  describing,  you  stand  a  chance  of  becoming 
very  oelebmted,  if  you  will  only  make  it  known.  It  was  never  hitherto  supposed  to 
exist,  by  the  scientific  world.'  He  was  not  marked  higher  than  seventeen  for  this 
proficiency.— ^-Sfeuuko  of  East-Creek,  perhaps  yon  are  one  of  those  Moody-mind- 
ed men  who  sometimes  shoot  black  ducks.  If  yon  are,  leave  '  old  Long-Iriand's  sea- 
girt shore'  and  your  friend  Hbrbert'b  fancy  guns,  and  number-six  shot  behind  yon, 
and  go  with  me  next  August  to  East-Creek.  You  shall  see  the  ^  birds'  by  hundreds, 
tame  as  a  politician  after  he  has  lost  an  election.  Hikam  Bramblk,  the  lord  of  the 
parts  adjacent,  shall  be  our  oarsman.  IIxram  has  shot  ducks  and  fijhed  for  pouts  here, 
off  and  on,  for  the  last  fifty  years,  and  a  curiosity  he  is ;  wise  in  all  things  but  books ; 
*  on  them  he  gives  in.'  I  was  treating  Hiram  to  a  steak-supper  after  a  hard  day's  hunt- 
ing and  harder  luck  last  autunm,  at  which  I  noticed  he  did  sorry  justice  to  the  smo- 
king viands.  *  What,  Hiram,'  said  I,  *  through  so  soon  ?  Ton  have  not  eaten  enough, 
have  you  ?'  *  Wal,'  he  replied,  *  you  have  bin  to  college  and  ort  to  know  all  about 
such  things,  and  I  'm  an  ignorant  man,  and  do  n't  know  but  leetle.  Ef  you  think  I 
haint  eat  enough,  I  '11  begin  agin.'  Deferential  this,  but  a  mournful  example  of  the 
ignorance  of  the  lower  classes,  even  in  this  &vored  *  ked'ntry.'  But  in  all  seriousness, 
leave  that  bee^hivo  in  which  you  are  toiling,  with  its  smoke-dried  inmates,  for  a  month 
next  summer.  Come  up  and  spend  it  in  *■  God's  first  temples'  with  some  fiiends  of 
yours,  who  are  none  the  less  warm  because  they  have  never  seen  you,  and  their  ac- 
quaintance has  b^en  only  through  ^  ^ick.'  It  will  add  a  year  to  your  life.'  .  .  .  '  Hu 
Dignity  of  Non-ComplainV  is  the  title  of  a  passage  which  wc  find  copied  into  our 
note-book,  some  four  or  five  yean  ago.  It  is  assigned  to  no  author,  nor'  can  we  re- 
collect at  this  moment  whence  we  obtained  it.  But  whoever  may  have  written  it,  it 
is  replete  with  true  philosophy,  and  is  expressed  with  equal  case  and  energy : 

*Okb  cannot  help  admiring  the  spirit  of  the  man  who,  on  being  asked  if  he  had  not  been  eom. 
pUUnlng  lately,  answered :  'I  have  been  ill,  bat  T  never  complain.'  It  were  of  oouree  loo  aloical  to 
be  amiable,  if  one  were  to  determine  never  to  complain.  Oar  aodal  feelingB  go  against  so  eitreme 
a  reeolutlon,  and  announce  that,  as  It  It  right  to  give  sympathy,  so  it  cannot  be  wrong,  under  proper 
circumstances,  to  ask  it.  Bat  certainly  it  is  only  in  special  cireamstaoees  and  ralallons  thai  com- 
plaint is  allowable  or  politic  The  aliowableneas  of  complaint  Is  determined  by  dtcomstaneea  and 
relations.  We  may  complain  In  the  preeence  of  those  whom  we  know  take  an  interest  in  oa  with  leas 
risk  than  we  can  in  other  company.    We  may  more  aUowably  complain  of  a  oommoii  wo  of  hn- 


276  Editor's  Table.  [March, 

trial  before  the  Supreme  CJourt  of  Maine,  in  one  of  the  eastern  coiintiefi,  in  which  the 
plaintiff  sought  to  recover  compensation  for  an  alleged  injury  to  his  fishing-privilege, 
occasioned  by  the  erection  of  a  mill-dam  by  the  defendants.  The  testimony  on  the 
part  of  the  plaintiff  was  clear  and  conclusive,  and  it  was  supposed  the  case  would  be 
submitted  to  the  jury  without  the  production  of  any  witnesses  by  defendants ;  but 
after  some  consultation  their  counsel  finally  called  an  old  rough  weather-beaten  fisher- 
man, who  was  interrogated  as  to  the  habits  of  the  salmon,  and  the  effect  of  the  dam. 
He  stated  among  other  things,  that  he  had  known  salmon  to  ^  go  up  right  over  a  dam 
fifteen  feet  perpendicular !'  *  What  is  that,  Mr.  "Witness  ?'  said  the  judge  5  *  do  I  un- 
derstand you  to  say  that  salmon  will  go  over  a  dam  fifteen  feet  perpendicular  V  *  Why, 
tar  tin  !  Your  honor  do  n*t'  know  no  more  about  them  are  fish  than  a  child.  WTiy 
look  here,  your  honor,  I  live  on  a  p^int  of  land  *at  makes  edut  into  the  river  so,  (draw- 
ing a  map  on  the  witnesses^-box)  and,  ye  see,  the  salmon  going  up  have  to  go  clear 
round  this  here  p'int.  Wal,  your  honor,  the  fish  coming  up  the  river,  spiteful-like, 
when  they  get  off  ag'in  my  house,  leap  clear  across,  right  over  my  house  and  bam,  a 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  at  least)  your  honor.  I  've  picked  up  &t  ones,  your  honor,  too 
heavy  to  fetch  across,'many  a  time.'  The  court  had  listened  in  mute  astonishment, 
but  the  next  moment  the  peremptory  order :  *  Mr.  Sheriff,  put  that  man  out  of  the 

house !'  was  heard  above  an  irrepressible  burst  of  laughter.' ^  A  somewhat  dis- 

Imguished  advocate,  in  the  county  of  P ,  while  earnestly  presenting  his  case  to 

the  jury,  paid  the  following  eloquent  tribute  to  the  memory  of  Shakspbare  :  '  (Gen- 
tlemen of  tlie  jury,  some  two  or  three  hundred  years  ago  there  lived  a  man  whose 
name  was  Shakspeare.  You  've  all  perhaps  heard  of  him.  He  was  a  self-made 
man,  gentlemen,  fmd  ho  possessed  a  deep  knowledge  of  human  nature.  His  sayings 
and  opinions  have  passed  into  proverbs,  and  are  in  the  mouths  of  all  the  people,  and 
are  therefore  entitled  to  great  weight  with  you.    Now  Shakspeare  says : 

*-  Taeb  my  life — my  allt  but  keep  your  hands  out  of  my  breeches  podcet  T 

Will  some  one  find  the  passage  ?' Some  witnesses  come  into  court  with  the 

belief  that  they  are  only  bound  to  testify  to  such  facts  as  favor  the  party  by  whom  they 

.  are  caUed.    A  curious  illustration  of  this  occurred  at  a  trial  in  the  county  of  G . 

A  witness,  strongly  impressed  with  this  opinion,  was  under  examination.  The  court 
for  some  time  had  been  trying  to  follow  him  in  his  windings  and  doublings  as  to  some 
material  point,  and  at  last  somewhat  impatiently  demanded  an  explanation.  '  Judge,' 
says  the  witness,  in  an  under  tone,  with  a  knowing  look,  and  a  gesture  of  caution, 
'  Between  you  and  me,  the  less  wo  say  about  thai  the  better !' '  A  learned  coun- 
sellor, who  occasionally  tried  the  patience  of  the  court  by  being  somewhat  diffuse,  in 

opening  an  argument  before  the  late  learned  Chief  Justice  W ,  had  addressed  the 

spectators  in  a  rather  longer  and  more  powerful  strain  than  usual,  and  concluded  by 
saying :  *  And  now,  may  it  please  your  honor,  I  will  proceed  to  the  merits  of  the  case.' 

*  I  should  have  been  pleased,'  said  the  Chief  Justice,  with  a  frown  as  dark  as  midnight, 

*  if  you  had  done  it  half  an  hour  ago.'  .  .  .  The  following  conception  of  ^Adam  and 
Eve^B  First  Morning  Song^  has  been  translated  for  us  by  S.  C.  Maonubson  fhmi  the 
Swedish  of  Mrs.  Sengren.  Miss  Bremer  speaks  of  the  writer  in  terms  of  cordial 
praise: 

*  LovKLT  in  Its  new-bom  beauty  vos  Nature.  The  third  day's  sun  rose  up  In  heaven,  the  clear 
■pring  sparkled  and  danced  in  gladnesi,  and  the  newly-citated  animals  gazed  upon  each  other  in 
mute  wooddr.  Peace  was  yet  unbroken.  Even  the  smallest  worm  diared  in  the  general  happiness. 
Bleat  harmony  reigned  over  all,  and  its  breath  gushed  forth  in  every  breeze.    The  hind  confidingly 


278  Editor's  Table.  [March, 

We  have  received  a  work  entitled  *  Coruumption,  iU  Prevention  and  Cure  hy 
the  Water-T^emtment,*  by  Jobl  Shew.  We  are  no  partiaanfl  of  the  wster-core, 
preferring  when  the  time  comes  to  be  sent  out  of  tho  world  in  the  canonical  way,  at 
the  hands  of  a  regular  physician.  A  coroner's  jury  might  not  pronounce  it  a  natural 
death,  unless  it  had  been  preceded  by  a  course  of  medicine.  There  is  something, 
however,  pleasing  to  the  imagination  in  the  idea  of  washing  away  the  causes  of  disease, 
in  the  pure  element  which  was  the  only  beverage  of  Adam  before  the  fiill,  and  which 
in  all  ages  has  been  to  so  great  an  extent  both  the  theme  and  the  source  of  poetic  in- 
spuration.  It  would  be  a  beautiful  illustration  of  the  Divink  benignity  if  it  should 
prove  that  the  diseases  of  the  human  frame  can  find  their  most  potent  remedy  in  the 
water  which  gushes  from  a  thousand  springs  at  our  feet,  or  '  Meth  in  the  gentle  rain 
from  heaven,'  with  an  efficacious  vurtue  no  less  admirable  for  restoration  than  for  re- 
freshment. At  all  events,  we  can  recommend  a  large  portion  of  the  water-cure  lite- 
rature with  a  perfectly  clear  conscience.  We  have  a  good  deal  of  faith  in  its  power 
as  a  preventive  of  disease,  whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  system  as  a  remedy.  It 
has  enlisted  the  service  of  some  of  the  finest  minds  and  the  most  agreeable  writers  of 
the  age.  The  present  worlc  on  Consumption  cannot  be  read  without  dedded  advan- 
tage by  those  who  have  reason  to  dread  the  fell  destroyer,  of  which  so  many  of  tho 
loveliest  and  the  most  distinguished  are  the  victims  annually  in  this  country.  It  is 
written  in  an  easy,  direct,  flowing  style,  and  without  making  any  ambitious  pretensions 
to  scientific  acuteness,  (pretensions  by  the  by  which  it  is  fiir  easier  to  make  than  to 
fulfil)  it  treats  the  subject  in  a  plain,  common  sense  manner,  which  cannot  fiul  to  givo 
valuable  hints,  at  least,  to  all  whose  ^  eyes  are  in  their  head,'  where  wo  are  told  the 
wise  man's  should  be.  The  upshot  of  the  whole  book  is  *  wash  and  be  clean,'  and  do 
not  think  to  drive  away  consumption  by  making  a  medicine-chest  of  your  stomach. 
The  work  is  published  4>y  Messrs.  Fowlbks  and  Wells,  Number  131  Nassau-street, 
New-Tork.  .  .  .  Ws  thank  Mrs.  Caroline  H.  Cbandlbk  for  the  touching  Imes, 
^A  Mother^e  Thought,^  Let  us  hope  that  in  Uer  bereavement  she  may,  as  time  roOs 
on,  come  to  feel  with  Schiller,  that  ^  The  cut-off  buds  of  earth  will  find  some  fttera 
upon  which  they  wDl  be  engrafted,  these  flowers  which  fold  themselves  to  sleep  in  the 
morning  hour,  will  find  a  jnoming  sun  to  awaken  them.'    It  is  '  well  with  the  child :' 

'  Wbsn  thou,  doar  child,  wrapt  In  uneonwsiouB  deep 

Withtn  my  drclliis  imu  thy  form  dld^st  lay, 
Front  tronbled  rest,  loA  woald Btart and  weep. 

And  dreom  tome  power  had  borne  thee  flsr  away. 
Pale  with  allHght,  and  trembling  with  my  fears, 

I  woke,  to  find  the  aliunbering  on  mv  heart, 
And,  with  aguah  of  warm  and  grateral  teara, 

I  bade  the  visionary  dread  depart. 

'  Bttt  now,  when  ainklng  to  my  lonely  rest, 

Brooding  o*er  memories  of  thine  Infhnt  charmfl» 
In  my  ftlse  drearoa  I  lull  thee  on  my  breaat, 

And  Ibid  thee,  soft  and  warm,  within  mine  arms. 
Who  then  shall  tell  the  anguish  of  my  soal,4 
—      %btoak      ■• 


When  the  chill  morning  ciMneCh,  I 

/hen  the  sweet  spell  which  o'er  my  senses  sioie. 

Hath  vanished,  and  I  wake — to  mdlhee  gone ! ' 


*  Wb  have  a  good  story  in  this  neighborhood,'  writes  a  western  friend,  ^  in  regard 
to  the  approaching  season  of  Lent.  Perhaps  you  may  think  it  good  enough  to  em- 
bahn  in  your  Bditor's  Table.  A  devout  but  rather  simple  Episcopalian  noticed  during 
the  season  of  Lent  that  the  church-bell  was  rung  every  day,  and  not  understanding  it, 
he  turned  one  day  to  a  brother  in  the  church,  and  asked  him  what  their  bell  was  rung 


Editor^s  Tahle.  [March, 


Doctor  said  to  the  sexton :  '  Grave-digger,  show  me  the  tomb  of  John  Buntan  1' 
The  grave-digger  led  the  way,  and  was  followed  by  Maoinn,  who  seemed  deeply 
thoughtful.  As  they  approached  the  place  the  Doctor  stopped,  and  touching  him  on 
the  shoulder,  said  :  *  Tread  lightly.'  Maginn  b^t  over  the  grave  for  some  time  in 
melancholy  mood,  deeply  affected,  and  at  length  exclaimed,  in  solemn  tones,  as  he 
turned  away :  *  Sleep  on !  thou  prince  of  dreamers !'  The  *  dreamer'  had  lain  there 
one  hundred  and  fifty  years,  but  no  lapse  of  time  has  destroyed  the  spell  which  he 
still  holds  over  the  strongest  minds.'  .  .  .  This  is  something  in  the  style  of  pho- 
nogrophical  reporting :  *  Fi  nu  whr  t  fad  th  gntlmn  t  whm  th  nclzd  nt  s  drsd,  i'd  ml 
t  firthwth,  z  t  ma  b'v  vtl  mprtns.  Fu  pblsh  ths  kmnkshn,  pis  dnt  uz  mi  nm.'  In 
other  words :  *  If  I  knew  where  to  find  the  gentleman  to  whom  the  enclosed  note  is  ad- 
dressed, I  would  mail  it  forthwith,  as  it  may  be  of  vital  importance.  If  you  publish 
this  commnnioation,  please  do  n't  use  my  name.'  Our  esteemed  friend  and  corres- 
pondent. Dr.  Bethune,  relates  an  amusing  instance  of  a  phonographic  blunder.  Read- 
ing one  morning  a  report  of  one  of  his  discourses  of  the  day  before,  he  foimd  the  re- 
mark, *  And  the  Adversary  oame  among  them  and  sowed  tares,'  printed  as  follows: 
^  And  the  Adversary  came  among  them  and  aawed  treetP  The  mistake  arose  in 
transcribing  from  the  clipped  words  *  ad  irs.^  .  . '  .  It  is  related  of  a  member  of  the 
Methodist  Episcopal  Church  ^  away  down  east,'  that  being  on  a  visit  to  a  neighboring 
town,  one  of  the,  brethren  asked  him  how  the  society  to  which  he  was  attached  was 
getting  on.  *  O  pretty  well,'  said  he ;  ^but  j  ust  at  present  our  precise  elder  and  circus- 
preacher  are  both  absent,  and  we  have  to  get  along  with  our  locus-preacher  and  ex- 
hausters !'  .  .  .  ^Mr,  Gibson  and  his  Bride  at  Niagara^  made  us  laugh  ^  somedele.' 
*  Mr.  Gibson,'  says  our  northern  correspondent,  *  is  a  Scotchman,  with  hair  so  flaming 
rsd,  and  a  complexion  so  bright  and  ruddy,  that  he  is  always  called  Rufus  Gibbon. 
He  was  married  three  years  ago  last  November  to  a  delicate-complexioned  Pennsyl- 
vanian  ;  and  they  are  now  a  very  happy  couple,  notwithstanding  their  married  life 
began  under  a  cloud ;  nay,  under  a  very  water-spout  With  better  taste  than  is  gene- 
rally manifested  on  such  occasions,  they  resolved  to  retire  from  the  public  gaze  during 
the  honey-moon ;  and  in  a  conveyance,  hired  for  the  purpose,  they  determined  to  make 
a  fortnight's  tour,  beginning  with  a  visit  to  the  Falls  of  Niagara.  They  were  married 
early  in  the  morning,  sent  their  carriage  on  board  an  Albany  boat,  and  arrived  in  that 
city  about  five  in  the  afternoon.  Like  all  judicious  tourists,  Rufus  had  laid  down  a 
well-digested  plan  of  the  length  of  his  daily  drives,  and  the  places  of  his  nightly  so- 
journ.   His  first  afternoon's  drive  was  to  bring  them  about  twenty-six  miles,  firom 

Albany  to  the  village  of  C ,  at  which  place  he  knew  they  could  obtain  exoeUent 

accommodations.  But  Mr.  Gibson  was  not  able  to  achieve  that  distance  the  same 
day ;  for  before  they  had  gone  ten  miles  the  evening  began  to  close  in ;  and  many 
patches  of  dark  gray  clouds,  which  all  the  afternoon  had  blotched  the  sky,  acted  as  if 
they  had  appointed  the  intended  resting-place  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gibson  for  their  place 
of  rendezvous  also.  The  first  privy  counsel  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gibson  held  was  called 
on  the  existing  state  of  things  j  and  the  unanimity  with  which  they  decided  augured  well 
for  domestic  harmony  thereafter.  It  was  carried  netn.  con.  that  their  intention  of  pro- 
ceeding that  evening  to  C would,  if  persevered  in,  procure  them  a  thorough 

drenching,  and  must  therefore  be  abandoned ;  and  that  the  first  available  caravansera 
they  oould  attain  to  should  be  their  stopping-place  for  the  night.  Their  horse  also  was 
decidedly  of  the  same  opinion,  and  Mr.  Gibson's  arm  was  already  tired  with  whippmg 
him,  for  we  have  already  said  he  was  a  hired  one,  and  showed  his  bones  rather  than  his 


2S2  Editor's  Table. 


raitaUe,  with  a  long  noee.  His  breathing  is  bold  and  free,  and  his  brain,  ar  well  as 
his  lungs  and  heart,  cool  and  clear.  In  my  observation  of  men  I  have  almost  inva- 
riably foond  a  long  nose  and  a  long  head  go  together.'  H^re  are  some  amnsing  ex- 
amples of  ^  Neglecting  the  Antecedent  .*' 

^  Soke  y&c^  whimsical  instancm  of  this  occur  continually,  especially  in  the  aoswen  of  witnesses 
when  given  literaUT  as  they  speak.  In  a  bite  aasauit  ease  the  prosecutor  swore  that  ^  the  prisoner 
fitniclc  him  with  a  broom  on  his  head  till  he  broke  the  top  of  it  I'  In  narrating  an  incident  some 
time  since,  it  was  stated  that  a  poor  old  woman  wm  run  over  by  a  cart  aged  tizty.  So  in  a  case  of 
supposed  poisoning :  *  He  had  something  in  a  blue  paper  in  his  band,  and  I  saw  him  put  his  head  , 
over  the  iK>t  and  puiit  in  P  Another,  swallowing  a  base  coin:  ^He  snatched  the  half-crown  from 
the  boy  which  he  swallowed  ;*  which  seems  to  mean  the  boy,  not  the  money ;  but  still  the  sentence 
is  correct.  An  old  fellow  who  for  many  years  sold  combustible  matches  in  London,  bad  the  fol- 
lowing cry :  ^  Buy  a  pennyworth  of  matches  of  a  poor  old  man  made  of  foreign  wood  ? 

The  ^  Bell'  went  in  for  *  Fashionable  Intelligence^  also ;  as  its  opera-reports  suffi- 
ciently evince.     Voila  : 

'  Our  reporter  having  been  despatched  yeatorday  to  distribute  the  paper  among  the  up-town  sub- 
scribers, in  the  absence  of  the  boy,  had  the  impodence  not  only  to  go  to  the  opera  without  leave, 
but  to  ftunish  the  following  account  of  what  ho  neard  and  sawA  N.  B^  We  dismissed  him  from  the 
ofice  ipeo  fiicto : 

*  The  opera  was  brilliantly  attended  last  evenhig  to  bear  Bkrtooca  in  the  rde  of  <  Lucia.*  We 
have  but  one  fliult  to  ibid  with  this  inimitable  artist :  a  want  of  ereaeendo  in  the  staccato  movements, 
by  which  she  ftdls  two  baia  short  of  ber  cantabile  in  the  Pittkato  notes  running  from  H.  to  L.,  thereby 
leaving  the  aUegrelto  bare  and  unsupported  by  her  appog/fia.  Fonn  and  Bknkvbjitamo,  ever  great 
in  their  respective  rd/M,  were  only  surpassed  by  the  prompter.  We  never  heard  this  glorious  artist 
to  more  advantage ;  his  rough,  stentorian  notes  soaring  above  all  others,  kept  up  the  pleasing  d^n- 
nion  of  a  drunken  man  in  the  pit,  and  frequently  suggested  to  you  the  inhospitable  exclamation  of 
^  Turn  him  out  P  .  .  .  SrAONOLBTn,  the  other  day,  in  speaking  of  his  first  viola  player,  dedared 
that,  both  as  a  man  and  musician,  ho  was  most  praiseworlby  ;  as  a  roan,  for  the  tenor  of  hlA  conduct, 
as  a  musician,  for  the  conduct  of  his  tenor.' 

Among  the  smaller  excerpts  wo  Icam  ^How  to  kick  a  Man  toith  Impunity ;'  *  Two 

gentlemen  were  walking  together  in  Paris.    *■  I  will  engage,'  said  one  to  the  other, 

'  to  give  the  man  before  us  a  good  kicking,  and  yet  ho  shall  not  be  angry.'    He  did 

as  he  had  undertaken  to  do :  the  man  turned  round  and  looked  astonished.    M  beg 

your  pardon,'  said  the  kicker ;  ^  I  took  you  to  be  the  Duke  db  la  Tremouille  !' 

The  duke  was  very  liandsomc,  the  kicked  man  very  plain  ^  he  was  gratafied  by  the 

mistake  under  which  he  believed  he  had  sofTcred,  shook  himself,  smiled,  bowed,  and 

went  on  his  way.'    The  following  is  very  curious :  ^  There  was  a  man  once  imprisoned 

in  a  very  high  tower,  and  how  do  you  suppose  he  got  down  7    By  his  hair  I    It  had 

grown  long  during  the  period  of  his  captivity ;  ho  cut  it  off,  and  uniting  one  hair  with 

another  by  a  little  knot,  ho  let  down  the  gossamer  Ime  into  the  ditch  of  the  tower, 

where  a  friend  of  his  tied  a  fine  silken  end  to  it.    He  drew  it  up,  and  to  the  end  of 

the  silk  was  tied  a  thread,  to  the  thread  a  piece  of  twine,  and  flnaUy  a  good  strong 

rope,  by  means  of  which  he  reached  the  ground.'    .    .    .    Xo,  friend  *  S ,'  it  is 

not  so.    Let  the  Law  lay  its  hard  cold  hand  upon  a  man  *,  let  him  go  to  prison ;  let 

his  bearing  be  downcast,  his  appearance  hirsute,  his  garments  awry,  and  smelling  of 

his  cell,  and  even  his  friends  distrusting  and  estranged ;  and  do  3'oii  think  ^  the  mass' 

then  will  pity  him  ?    Not  a  bit  of  it !  —  iVb,  Sir  : 

,  *  RiiTHKR  believe  the  sea 

Weeps  for  the  ruined  merchant  when  he  roars ; 
Rather,  the  wind  courts  but  the  pregnant  sails 
When  the  strong  cordage  cracks  P 

All  this  may  be  wisely  ordained  as  one  of  the  added  penalties  of  crime ;  but  the  fad 
is  ss  .*  and  yet  it  is  o/Z  wrong  —  weono  !  ...  In  order  to  send  the  present  num- 
ber to  our  English  agents  by  ^  The  Europa,'  which  sailpd  on  the  twentieth  of  Febru- 
ary, we  were  compelled  to  go  to  press  by  the  sixteenth ;  omitting,  in  the  consequent 
hurry,  notices  of  many  new  Works,  Huntington's  admirable  collection  of  paintings 
(which  the  town  reader  must  not  fail  to  visit),  together  with  other  artistical  and  lite- 
rary matters,  wluch  shall  receive  due  attention  in  our  next. 


LITTELL'8    LIVING    AGE. 

RECOMMENDATIOKS  FROM 
JUDOB  STOBT-CBANCBLLOB  KBlfT-PBBSDBXfT  ADAMS. 


Cakbrtdob.  April  24,  18i4. 
DxMM  Sib,  —  I  have  read  the  proapectas  of  jotir  proposed  periodical,  "  The  Lirihg  Age,"  with  great 
pleaanre  ;  and  entirelv  approve  the  j^Ian.  If  it  can  only  obtain  the  public  patronage  long  enoagh, 
and  Urge  edoagh,  and  securely  enough  to  attain  ita  true  end9,  it  will  contribute  in  an  eminent 
degree  to  gire  a  healthy  tone,  not  only  to  our  literature,  but  to  public  opinion.  Jt  will  enable  na 
to  possess,  in  a  moderate  compass,  a  select  library  of  the  best  productions  of  the  age.  It  will  do 
more ;  it  will  redeem  our  periodical  literature  from  the  reproach  of  being  devoted  to  light  and 
anperficial  reading,  to  transitory  speculations,  to  sickly  and  ephemeral  sentimentalities,  and  false 
and  extravagant  sketches  of  life  and  character. 

I  wish  it  every  succes« :  and  my  only  fear  is  that  it  may  not  meet  with  as  full  suceesa  with  the 
poblic  as  it  deserves.    I  shall  be  glad  to  be  a  suscriber.  ^ 

I  am,  very  truly  and  respectfully,  yours, 

JOSEPH  STORY. 

New-Yobk,  7ih  May,  1844. 
Dbab  Sib,— I  approve  very  much  of  the  plan  of  your  work,  to  be  published  weekly,  under  the 
title  of  the  *'  Living  Age ;"  and  if  it  be  conducted  with  the  intelligence,  spirit  and  taste  that  the 
prospectus  indicates,  (of  which  I  have  no  reason  to  doubt,)  it  will  be  one  of  the  most  instructive 
■ad  popular  periodicals  of  the  day. 
I  wiui  it  ahundant  suecess,  and  that  my  name  he  added  to  the  list  of  subscribers. 

Yours,  very  respectfully, 

JABfES  KEHT. 

Washinotoic,  27th  Dec.,  1845. 
Of  all  the  Periodical  Journals  devoted  to  literature  and  science  which  abound  in  Europe  and 
in  this  country,  this  has  appeared  to  me  to  be  the  most  useful.    It  contains  indeed  the  exposition 
ofnly  of  the  current  literature  of  the  English  language,  but  this,  by  its  immense  extent  and  com> 
prehension,  includes  a  portraiture  of  the  human  mind  in  the  utmost  expansion  of  the  present  ace. 

J.  Q.  ADAMS. 

OPINI^ONS    OF  'THE    PRESS. 

Nxw-YoBX  Evbntko  Post.— >Littell's  Living  Age  ke^ps  up  its  character.  The  back  numben  eon- 
tain  a  prodigious  amount  and  variety  of  the  oest  periodicsJ  literature  of  England. 

Nbw-Yobk  Expbbss.— a  new  WQeklv  magazine,  established  at  Boston,  by  Mr.  E.  Littell,  whose 
taste  sod  talents  are  too  well  known  throughout  the  country  to  require  particular  notice.  It  if 
elegantly  executed  as  it  regards  both  type  and  paper.  Its  contents  are  selected  from  the  most  dis- 
tingulshed  periodicals  of  Europe. 

L017I8VILLK  JoxTBNAL. — A  hsudsome  weekly  magazine.  The  articles  are  the  choice  ones  that 
appear  in  the  best  periodicals  of  Great  Britain.    Mr.  L.  's  qualifications  are  universally  known. 

Cifrctmf  ATI  Dailt  Tins.— The  selections  are  of  a  high  order  of  merit,  and  afford  an  agreeable 
variety,  being  confined  to  no  particular  department  of  literature.  There  is  the  grave  and  the  gay, 
both  of  prose  and  poetry,  all  in  the  most  beautiful  and  finished  style.  Every  general  reader  should 
take  the  Living  Age,  if  he  wishes  to  become  acquainted  with  the  world  around  him,  and  progress 
with  it 

CixcnvNATi  Gazkttk. — What  the  Museum  was  for  a  long  series  of  years  under  Mr.  LittelPs  man- 
agement.  we  doubt  not  the  Age  will  be  for  many  years  to  come — the  largest,  best  and  most  punctual 
republication  of  the  cream  and  spirit  of  the  foreign  reviews,  magazines,  and  literary  Journals. 
Part  L  is,a  mammoth,  containing  no  less  than  two  hundred  and  fifty-six  of  the  largest  kize  maga- 
sine  pages,  equal  to  about  seven  hundred  and  sixty-ei^t  ordinary  duodecimo  pages,  and  is  sold  at 
the  extremely  low  price  of  fifty  cents  I  It  comprises  the  first,  second,  third  and  fourtii  weekly 
numbers  of  the  "  Living  Age,"  and  contains  no  less  than  fifty-nine  articles,  interspersed  with  a 
iudicious  selection  of  poetry,  and  dtversfiied  by  an  almost  infinite  variety  of  pithy  scraps.  A  simi- 
lar iasne  will  be  sent  forth  the  last  day  of  every  month. 

Yankbb  Bladb.  Boston.— This  excellent  work  continues  to  pursue  the  *'noiceless  tenor  of 
its  way.*'  steadUy  increasing  in  attractiveness  and  value.    No  other  periodical  from  the  American. 

?>ress  has  ever  received  so  many  or  ^o  sincere  encomiums  from  all  quarters,  as  this  capital  reprint 
t  aims  at  nothing  original,  indeed— professing  only,  as  a  general  thing,  to  cull  ue  choicest 
flowers  la  the  field  of  English  and  Ameflcan  literature — yet  so  admirably  is  this  done,  that  all  who 
wish  to  know  anything  of  the  various  phases  of  human  thought  in  this  age  of  progress,  take  care 
to  posseas  themseves  of  this  daguerreotype,  as  regularly  as  it  appears.  The  success  of  the  work 
angurs  an  improved  taste  in  the  communi^,  and  we  hope  it  may  be  the  means  of  killing  off  some 
half-dozen  or  the  "  milliner  magazines"  of'^the  day,  which  have  nothing  to  recommend  them  but 
«' pretty  pictures"  and  lackadaisical  love-tales. 

PiCATUNB.— One  of  the  best  things  of  the  kind  wliich  has  yet  appeared  in  this  country.  It  con- 
tains the  rerj  cream  of  the  foreign  quarterlies  and  magazmes,  printed  in  remarkably  seat  and 
readable  style. 

SouTHBBic  Chubchxan,  Alkxandbia,  Va.— For  variety  and  excellence  of  contents,  it  has,  we 
think,  no  rival  in  the  country.    The  frequency  of  publication  enables  iu  editor  to  present  a  contl- 
J   Buous  chain  of  the  best  reading  contained  in  the  foreign  quarterlies,  magazines  and  Journals. 

t0 ■■ ^ : -i 


LITTELL'8    LIVING    AGE 


PROSPBCTUS- 

This  work  is  conducted  in  the  spirit  of  Littell's  Museum  of  F'oreign  Literature,  (which  ^•*J5j^®' 
rably  received  by  the  public  for  twenty  year*,)  but  as  it  is  twice  as  large,  od  appears  »oj"*J°* 
we  not  only  give  spirit  and  freshness  to  it  by  many  things  which  were  exclud*  *  by  a  month  s  ae- 
lay,  but  while  thus  extending  our  scope  and  gathering  a  greater  and  more  attraf^ive  ^■''If^'Jlf 
able  so  to  increase  the  solid  and  substantial  part  of  our  literary,  historical,  and  political  bar▼es^ 
as  fully  to  satisfy  the  wants  of  the  American  reader.  oim-Jc' 

The  elaborate  and  stately.  Kssays  of  the  Edinburgh,  Qttarterly,  and  other  Reviews  ;  and  ^*"*^j 
woocPa  noble  criticisms  on  Poetry,  his  keen  political  Commentaries,  hishlv  wrought  '''*Jjf'  *^ 
rivid  descriptions  of  rural  and  mountain  J^cenery;  and  the  contributiops  to  Literature,  °*"7?L' 
and  Comnton  Life,  by  the  sagacious  Spectator,  the  sparkling  Examiner,  the  judicious  Athen<BUfH,ioo 


busy  and  industrious  Literary  Gazette,  the  sensible  and  comprehensive  Britannia,  the  sober  "*J  Aj^ 
spectoble  Chrittian  Observer ;  these  are  intermixed  with  the  Military  and  Naval  reminisccne*  o^f^ 
United  Service,  and  with  the  beat  articles  of  the  PuhHn  University.  Nev>  Monthly,  Franert.  Tait  *'.;J*  j' 
worth's.  Hood's  and  Sporting  Magazines,  and  of  Chambers'  admirable  Journal.     We  do  not  consider  i* 


wvfw»>,  lawvu  "  auu  lyjyviiiaff  inin^iiiiLc-s,  miu  ui  y^nuTnuPTs  aamirBDie  journ/u.     we  u"  u^k  *"" w 

beneath  our  dignity  to  borrow  wit  and  wisdom  from  Punch ;  and,  when  we  think  it  ^^°^/^^^f^l 
make  use  of  the  thunder  of  The  Times.  We  shall  increase  our  variety  bv^portations  from  tno 
continent  of  Eurone,  and  from  the  new  growth  of  the  British  colonies.      '  ^, 

The  steamship  has  brought  Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa,  into  our  neighborhood ;  and  "^^^^f  Z. 
multiply  our  connections,  as  Merchants,  Travellers,  and  Politicians,  with  all  parts  of  the  world  ;  •o 
that  much  more  than  ever  it  now  becomes  every  intelligent  Amdrican  to  be  informed  of  the  confli- 
tion  and  changes  of  foreign  countries.  And  this  not  only  because  of  their  nearer  connection  witQ 
ourselves,  but  because  the  nations  seem  to  be  hastening,  through  a  rapid  process  of  change,  to 
tome  new  state  of  things,  which  the  merely  political  prophet  cannot  compute  or  foresee.  .    . 

Geographical  Discoveries,  the  progress  of  Colonization,  (which  is  extending  over  the  wnoio 
world  )  and  Voyages  and  Travels,  will  be  favorite  matter  for  our  selections :  and,  in  generW,  ^^ 
shall  systematically  and  very  fully  acquaint  our  readers  with  the  great  department  of  Fore  ign  **" 
fairs,  without  entirely  neglecting  our  own.  , 

While  we  aspire  to  make  the  Living  Age  desirable  to  all  who  wish  to  keep  themselves  informed 
of  the  rapid  progress  oi  the  movetnent— to  Statesmen.  Divines.  Lawyers,  and  J^hyticians— to  nnen  or 
business  and  men  of  leisure — it  is  still  a  etronijer  object  to  make  it  attractive  and  usclul  to  *^**"J 
Wives  and  Children.  We  believe  that  we  cap  thus  do  some  good  in  our  day  and  generation  ;  ana 
hope  to  make  the  work  indispensuble  in  every  well-informed  laraily.  We  say  indinperuaoU^  oe- 
'  cause  in  this  day  of  cheap  literature  it  is  not  possible  to  guard  against  the  influx  of  what  ^.  "•Jr.  "^ 
taste  and  vicious  in  morals,  in  any  other  way  than  by  furnishing  a  sufficient  supply  of  •  be«"^y 
character.    The  mental  and  moral  appetite  muKt  be  gratified. 

We  hope  that,  by  ••  winmnoing  the  wheat  from  the  chaff,"  by  providing  abundantly  for  the  inaagina- 
tlon.  and  by  a  large  collection  of  Bio^rraphy,  Voyages  and  Travels.  History,  and  more  solid  '^™'"' 
vfe  may  proJuce  a  work  which  shall  bo  popular,  while  at  the  same-  time  it  wiU  aspire  to  raxae  ua 
•Undard  of  public  taste.  rr       »  •.  wiu  ..j/ 

,T«BM8.--The  Living  Aor  is  published  every  Saturday  ;  Price  12*  cents  a  number  or  ^^f*?!!??? 
r*'V^1;r*°*'«-     Remittances  for  any  period  will  be  thankfully  reccivod  ^d  m-otf^C^^'lf^?*''^ 
Sin.  ^blm  *'''*'  '"«^*"'y  ^°  mailing^the  work,  orders  should  beaUl^^t^Zof*^  ^"^^ 
aubty  paying  a  year  in  advance,  will  be  auppUed  as  follows  :— 

Four  copies  for  ...  .  m^^  ^ 

Nine       '•        ♦•  .  •  •  fWOO 

•     Twelve  "        "  .  '.  \  \  '  •l^  00 

Compute  $et»  in  twenty  three  volumes,  to  the  end  of  1849  hand«ft"*«         %^  00 

boxes.  anddeUveredinallthe  principal  cities,  free  of  expeMC  of^^l«L^^^^^^  P«^fe(f  W  DWt 


dollars. 
Any  volntne  ranj 
Any  number 

complete  any 


•'^^Htforty-iU 


.    ,^    ,  ^   *^  ^^  *or  Bale  »»•  * 

may  be  had  seperately  at  two  dollars,  bound  or  a  doll  «*       .  ^^ 

may  be  had  for  12ir  cents ;  and  it  may  be  worih  while  fol  ^^  *  ^«^f  ^  numv. 
broken  volumes  they  may  have,  and'^thus  greaiTy  enh^  «^^^^  or  p^J;?^' 

Ve  bind  the  work  in  a  uniform,  strong,  and  ^ri.  ^""^^^^  their  value  ^  '^^'^ 


jcra  or  nti^^u 
value.  ^^'^^^^"^ 


thSt'^'^V^f  ^^"^  the  workin a  uniform,  strong,  and  loV''^^^^  their  va?ue' ^^^*^ 
their  numbers  in  pood  order,  c^  generally  give  them  h^^^^^  ?^y^«  1  and  wber*.  o 
i??{  h  ^^ 5!m^  r  ^^^  ^^°**^°&  ^«  S'^  '^'i"  a  volume.    As  U, J"^  vol^mea  in  ex^^t?  ^^^ftoxn, 
^ill  be  no  difficulty  in  matching  the  future  volumes.        ""^^  ^e  always  bou^^  ?,?! J^^^hov 

Agencies.— We  are  deairous  of  makinlr  arrancrementa  ir»     „ 

who^'JIfn  *l''^^°  °t'^''  ^"rk-and  for  doing  this  a  hberal  ""^^  P 

I?r  B^ll't^'*''??*"*®^^*^*  *"  ^^^  businesf.    And  w^^n  ^«»^ 

^P«!f^      ^'^^  "^""^ .""  unboubted  references.  "^^^i  gl 

i'osJ^B.— When  sent  with  the  cover  on.  the  Livinir  a 

ll^^^^'en^nKl'T     ^' "^*'"  -en  t  without  Ih'fov^^  ^'^ti 

«I?:i°fi'S?til7al?ul^^^^^^^ 

BheJ^ZSi^SX^\\ "f^^  PP''^*'^  pablication.  issued  i^  ** 

o?r»n'.r.?^r-  -  --  -- — ».  --^-^^^^v^.,,,  „„„^„„^  „^  ^^^  --.  u, «,, 

"-^^Hn  one  month,  conve>it,8i-,*'»»h 


Agenda.— We  are  deairous  of  makinlr  arrancrementa  ir»     „ 
who  will  mtere.t  thennelrc.  in  the  bu.inoM.    >lnd  »-  -'-♦^Otnmiurion  wHl  k      *'" 

KUdl,  corre.po;S"o^ 

'nsieU  of  three  sheet 


me  circulalation  of  this  work-and  for  doinglhis  a  1  be^^ ,  ""^^  Parts  of  Hnr^x.  .  ^  ^""^^ 

who  will  interest  themselves  in  the  bIsS.    And  wr^^V^^mi^s^on  wnM'^*^        for  in 
any  agent  who  will  send  ns  unboubted  references  ^^^*  KlSw^^  ^^^  **«  «^^owed  tA  "^^''«a«ififf 

pamnSfrTt'J?^  T'  Z''""  ^^"  ^over  on.'thTLiv'ng  a^«  ^  <^'>"e«pond  on  titta'^^l^.^^tleZ 

pampiuet.  at  4^  cents.     But  when  sent  withnnf  fh« »       ^^  Cr**.   •  ,  «u 

F5P«'-^5fven  in  the  Jaw.  and  caSnot  legalTy  brcharffed'^^''-  i^o^'"^  °^  *^^««  »l»eeta  and  « 
We  add  the  definition  alluded  to  :_    *     ^       ciiarged  ^j^j^t  comes  within  the  defi^H   *" 
A  newspaper  is  "any  printed  nnhl,VaH««  ,-a-,..^  .  *»»Ore  than  nei>r*««».r"^\^' 


of  passing  events, 


With 


conve.in,..-5h^^. 


--"•—"*  ^«««.._r  or  sucn  as  prefer  it  in  that  fnrm  •.>  ^**  *J"e 

taining  four  or  five  weekly  nurnber8jnthi-««&  T  ? 

The  volumes  are  nubli«hti^?„wL".^  ^^l^V"  °^  ^'^«-     i*o^J  «^t»  v  ^^.K'eat  advantage  in  compj^^. 

I  ouftrtj*r\iPa.  But  We  reo     ** 

»aho^°l?"   ^. 


Tkev;^r;^7rTp:;;ilV^^^^^^  ^""er  of  life.  '  p^  o f  ^- •  to    ?- -^;^k^- -r^"^-y Pa^^ 

giTe.  In  eighteen  monthi  ^""^'^^>''  «*«^  ^^^^^^  co^^*^?^^^  '^^^  f  the  quarterlies.  But  we^,^^»°f  y^S^ 

^^i^f^^  l^e  monthly  pans  is  about  i?*^et»(l 
PUBLISHED  BY  E.  LITt^is.^  ^*  »^^ch  matter  as  a  quarterly  ^«>t«. 


PUBLISHED  BY  E.  LITT€:> 


b 


?i 


i§nkfeat0cbje? 


NEW-YORK 

MONTHLY  MAGAZINE. 


APRIL,    I860, 


n  WEW-YORKi  - 

PCSLIflHED  it  flAMUEL  HC^STOBTf  I3ti  If  AfiiA0-9TREfiT. 

BoaTORr 

CB08BT  Jli  KTCHOl* :  TSTKUXlB  *  Ca  i  SKJUmft  ft  CO. 
fHrLAUELPFHTJi. :   O.  B.  SmSBtl  ft  CO. 


1850, 


•m-A.  WIOBJ<T  rillTTUU 


XDITED    BT    LEWIS    OATLOSD    CLASK. 


This  ii  pronouncfid,  by  the  presa  of  Americft  and  England,  *  the  beat  Magasine  in  America.*  It 
haa  now  completed  ita  ikirtjf'fourtk  tio2iMi«,  and  In  ita  liat  ot  upward  of  a  ktuidnd  eontrihuton,  are  fovnd 
the  namea  of  oTery  distingoiahed  writer,  male  and  female,  in  America,  with  aereral  eqnallj  promi- 
nent of  Great  Britan,  Tarke;^,  Sweden,  etc.  A  neir  Tolnme  will  commence  with  the  Ant  day 
of  January,  1850.  The  following  noticea  of  the  Knxcxsebockm  are  from  1^  American  and 
English  preaa,  to  which  might  be  added  hnndreda  of  othera. 

*  Tbx  laat  KmcKSKBOcxn  \§  exceedingly  good.  Some  of  the  artioles  are  worthy  of  Blackwoob*! 
palmieatdaya.  The Ediiar'g  TahU  is  In  Mr.  Ci,amk*b  happieat  vein;  varied  and  racy  in  a  reniarkablt 
def  fee.'— /fe»-rerik  Caaiiarcioi  Adon-Httr, 

*Thb  KKiOKXUOCKxn  seema  to  inereaae  in  attraction  aa  it  advances  in  age.  It'ezhibiU  a  BMnlUy 
viriety  of  eontributiona  unsurpaMed  in  number  or  ability.'  •—  JfaHomal  IiiUUigmcer, 

*  Thb  Knxckskbockxb  is  one  of  the  moat  valuable  Magasinea  of  the  day,  and  outatripa  all  eeapatl> 
tion  in  the  higher  walks  of  literature.'  —  AJhamif  Argnt. 

*Thx  KNicKBBBooxn  Maoazimb  is  now  beyood  a  question  Him  magazine  of  the  ooantry.  Whoavar 
wbhes  his  monev'a  worth,  and  something  over,  let  him  fcubseribe  now  to  *  Old  Knick,'  and  our  word  far 
it,Jlhe  Editor'a  Table  alone  will  unply  satisfy  his  expectations.  It  is  not  a  periodical  to  be  lifhily 
glanced  over  and  thrown  by,  but  it  forms  a  library  book  to  save  and  re-raad.  A  set  of  the  ^icna- 
■ocxnn,  bound  up  in  volumes,  on  theshelvas  of  one  of  our  popular  libraries,  is  more  eonBalted(io  the 
librarian  has  often  told  us)  than  any  other  similar  work.'— Itostea  I>atiy  TVaaacr^l. 

Trs  London  EzAxnfU.—*ThiB very  elever  Magasine  is  the  pleaaanteat  periodicel  in  tlteJ^Med 
Statea.  lu  artielea,  which  are  numeroua  and  abort,  varioua  and  interesting,  are  weU  worthy  oi  tmila- 
tioB  by  our  Magasinea  on  thia  aide  of  the  Atlantic' 

LomMN  *MoBNiKO  Chbohtcls.—*  Judging  from  the  numbers  belbra  as,  we  are  inclined  to  eon- 
aider  this  the  best  of  all  the  American  literary  periodicals.  lu  conienu  are  higUy  intereatlttg^  !■• 
atmctlTe  and  amusing.' 


BBDUCnOW  IN  P810B  TO  CLUBS. 

The  pnbliaher  haa  determined  to  do  every  thW  in  hia  power  to  bring  the  Knickerbocker  wilUn 
the  meana  of  all,  and  invitee  the  attention  of  tnoae  who  leel  an  intereat  in  drculaiting  the  Uti 
American  UttraOut,  to  the  following  term*  to  clnba,  vis  : 

For  five  copiea  aeat  to  one  addreaa,  the  price  will  bo    #90  00 
«•     ten      "  "  "  "  35  00 

«  twenty "  *«  «  "  60  00  ^ 

Post  Haatera  thronghout  the  Uidted  Statea  are  Invited  and  requeated  to  actaa  ngents.  To  all 
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-« 


ORIGINAL      PAPERS. 


Act.  L    biographical  SKETCH  OF  EDMOND  CHARLES  GENET, »3 

JL    A  LONGING  FOR  SPRING.    By  a  New  CoimnuTOB, S83 

m.  >  COLLEGE  FRIENDS.    By  William  B.  GLAXisSf  Ek.« 9H 

IV.    HOW  TO  BE  HAPPY.    By  A.  B.  JoRRtoii,  £•«.,  or  Utica, 905 

T.    HIDDEN  LIFE  :   A  SCENE  FROM  NATURE, #   ....    300 

VL    THE  LOSS  OF  THE  HORNET:  A  BALLAD  OF  THE  SEA, 301 

VIL    THE  MYSTERIOUS  PYRAMID.    Br  HsicmY  J.  Brivt,  Eiq., 304 

Vm    THE  SWAN.    By  W.  H.  C.  Hoimsb,  Esq., 31S 

EC.    THE  WARDER'S  TALE.    By  Hbkry  Fbhtoh, 314  • 

1.    HYMNS  TO  THE  GODS.    By  Albset  Piks,  Eaq^ 386 

XL    STRAY  LEAVES  FROM  THE  COUNTRY,       398 

XIL    SPRING-TIME  AND  SONG.    Feox  txb  Gebbx  or  MBLBAeBB, 33S 

Xm.    STANZAS:    ULLITRE.    By  Ohb  Bbrkavbd, 333  . 

XIV.    CAMDEN  (8.  C,)  AND  ITB  ASSOCIATIONS,      333  f 

XV.    LINES  WKHTEN  BY  MOONLIGHT  AT  SEA, 336  * 

XVL    SONNET  ON  THE  PICTURE  OF  A  BEAUTIFUL  CHILD, 337 

XVn.    THE  SAINT  LEGER  PAPERS.    Oohtibubis 337 

XVm.    INVOCATION  TO  THE  BEAUTIFUL, 36 

XDL   THE  BUNKUM  FLAG-STAFF  AND  INDEPENDENT  ECHO, 343 

XX.    NARSHALLA.    By  'Mbistbr  Carl,' 351 

XXL    ON  BEARDS:    NUMBER  ONE.    By  John  Watbes, 3Se 

Literary  Notices  : 

1.    SKETCHES  OF  TRAVEL  IN  THE  EAST  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND, 3S5 

S.    VBOVrWB  TURKISH  EVENING  ENTERTAINMENTB 306 

3L    VON  HUMBOUyrS  'COSMOS,' 357 

-    i.  soyer*s  menagere,  or  modern  housewife, 357 

5.  minnesota,  the  new-england  of  the  west, s5b 

0.  cuba  and  the  cubans:  social,  political,  and  domestic,    ...  358 

Editor's  Table: 

1.  life  and  correspondence  of  robert  southey, 350 

%  gossip  wtth  readers  and  correspondents, 30s 

1.  CeUBADB  ASAIBBT  THB  SUHDAY  JoVENALB  :  ThB  PoOE  Mah'b  9#.  TIB  RlC*  Mab'b 

^Dbbbceation  or  tbb  Sabbath.'    1  *  An  Ofbm  Qobptior,'  apdbbbsbo  to  *  Meb. 

GEVirDYj'  BY  THE  LATE  TbOHAB  HoOD.     3.  TbB  PeCUUAS  MELAHCHOLY  OP  THE 

Eaely  Rbtiyal  or  Natueb.  4.  A  bpecimbm  op  ^High  old  Art'  at  the  Na- 
tiohal  Capitou  S.  a  'Foeboomb  Cobcldsioh.'  6.  Bono  op  *St.  Patrick  war 
A  Gbxtlbhan  :'  Mr.  Joirph  Bcrrb,  the  ]>i8tiboviibed  Musical  Aetut.  7.  Peo- 
huloert  Bamk-Swallowb*  Holeb  on  the  Shoers  op  Lake  Omtaeio.  8.  Ah- 
bcdote  op  the  Mam  wrrn  a  Bi«  Foot:  ah  Eztenbiyb  Boot^akbe'b  Shop. 
9.  CooLBY  AN»  Keebe's  Geeat  Te*»b-Salb  op  BooKi,  Etc    19.  Sob«  :  *  By  the 

DbBP  NiRE  :'  BY  THE  tPBABART  BaBD.*  11.  TBB  FaE  WbBT  AND  ITB  WONDBRB  : 
BRCORDB  op  a  MvHCBAUBRR  '  MOURTABI  Man  ^  EzTENCITE  PETUPAOnORB  IN  A 

Fae-Webtben  Foebbt.  IS.  Hoax  op  an  Enolibh  Cockney  Toueibt:  Me.  John 
BoBB  Diz,  *  other'  BCr.  John  Dix  Roib.  13.  Enoaormrnt  by  Me.  Barruh  op 
Jenny  Locd.     14.  'An  Illcsteatioh :>  by  William  Jonbb,  Eb^.    IS.  Advar- 

TAOBl  OP  THE  ArONYMOITS  IN  LiTRRATVRR.  1&  THR  'NrW-YoRK  OrOAR,  A  FAMI- 
LY Companion.'    17.  A  Word  to  *  K.  A.'  op  St.  L .    18.  Lroal  Anrcdotrb  : 

A  *  Stripprd*  WiTNRsf :  Lawyrr'i  Drlay.    10.  S^BRCRR,  Rrrdrll  and  Dixor'b 

EXCRLBIOR  €k>LD  PRN.     90.  ^QuRRRITIRB'  IR  THR  *  STRAY  IaaYRb'  OP  *  AbRTON  :' 

Anbcdotrb  op  Wbbtben  Miribteeb:  Women,  oe  *  Fallen  Arorlb:'  a  Plp- 
rauty  op  Witrb.  91.  Eccbntbicitibs  op  Childrrr.  99.  Sodthry-ara.  93.  Dratm 
OP  Mr.  T.  pRNVLRTOR  Coou :  LxNRs  TO  his  Davohtrr  Lily.    94.  Rrmiribcrrcr 

op  THR  LATR  COLORRL  BLOHOM,  OP  THR  CaHARDAIOVA  HoTRL  :  THR  MaH  WITH  1^8 

FiRBT  Lobitbe:  SpiTTiNe  'theouoh'  a  Teavbllbe.  95.  *Thb  Livino  a  a' 
Weekly  MAOAStRS.  96.  Fancy  Kitbb,  with  a  pew  Woedb  *  tbeeeanen*.' 
97.  Waemtm  op  Reuoioub  Dibpctationb,  with  a  *  Specimen.'  98.  Sinovlar 
Dibappbaeancb  op  a  *  Favoeitb'  on  the  pACinc :  with  bheewd  Subpiciorb  ir 

EELATION  thereto.     90L     (  OlLAPOD'  Je.   and  *  YoVNO  KniCK*   at  the   CtEClTB  ; 

Reminibcbncbs  op  *DaY8  tbatWbeb.'  30.  The  ^Myitbeioub  Pyeamid:*  an 
Orirrtal,  Artiqvariar,  and  Yarxrr  Mrlaror.  31.  Thr  AbtoR'Placr  Thra< 
trR:  Mr.  Charlrb  Babb.  39.  Varity  op  an  Afthor:  a  Flattrriro  Propo- 
smoR.  98.  *  Charlrb  Dickrnb  in  Hi«h  Lipr:'  Tributr  to  Grnivb.  31  New- 
York  Spirit  op  thr  TImrb'  Wrrkly  Journal.  35.  Puncb'b  *Nbw  Frrrcr 
VocARVLARY  :^  *  Frrnch  Maor  Eaby' IN  onr'b  Inn.  36.  A  latr  Trip  to  Pbila- 
drlphia:  Apprarancr  op  thr  City  :  Fairmoont:  Girard  Collror.  97.  Limrb 
RY  LoRDROROo.  3BL  A  WoRD  TO  *Fathrr  Aaror.'   38.  «Tr  Brriovi  Family.' 

40l  ArOLORRTIC:  to  PVRLISMRSB  AXR  OoRRRSrORDSRIC 


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139  Nassau-flt,  New- York. 


THE    KNICKERBOCKER. 


Vol.    XXXV.  APRIL,    1850.  No.    4. 


EDMOND  CHARLES  GENET. 

The  reeent  difficultiefl  between  the  present  administration  and  Mr. 
Pouflsin  has  called  forth  many  editorials  in  this  country  and  Eyrope,  re- 
flecting upon  the  character  of  one  long  since  called  to  his  final  resting- 
place.  Ilis  dust  commingles  with^at  of  his  adopted  country.  The 
nand  which  once  wielded  an  eloquent  pen  is  powerless ;  the  heart  which 
sympathized  with  the  oppz^ssed,  palpitates  no  more.  He  who  once 
pleaded  die  cause  and  derended  the  rights  of  France,  slumbers  under  a 
monumental  stone,  which  tells  the  passer-by  that  Genet  is  no  longer  able 
to  repel  the  attacks  of  calumny  which  have  been  crowded  upon  his 
character.  He  has  departed  from  that  world  in  which  he  met  with  so 
many  and  grievous  misfortunes ;  he  is  no  longer  a  member  of  that 
community,  the  members  of  which,  for  so  many  years,  seem  to  have 
united  for  the  purpose  of  loading  his  name  with  dusgrace^,  of  denying 
him  even  the  privilege  of  selPju^ification,  and  of  rendering  his  name 
hateful  to  succeeding  generations.  He  has  been  accused,  and,  unheard, 
has  been  deemed  guilty  of  the  blackest  crimes,  of  the  most  inconsiderate 
temerity,  of  the  most  shameless  ingratitude ;  and  the  whole  communi^ 
seem  to  have  acquiesced  in  the  righteousness  of  the  decision.  As  is 
often  the  case,  after  the  suffering  object  of  all  these  calumnies  is  at 
length  secure  from  farther  trials ;  afiter  Death,  kinder  than  his  perse- 
cutors, has  at  last  permitted  him  to  exchange  his  residence  in  that  ^orld 
from  ^e  enjoyment  of  which  its  inhabitants  seemed  eager  to  exclude 
him,  finr  a  state  of  existence  where  sorrow  shall  be  no  longer,  and  where 
every  man's  true  motives  are  understood  and  allowed,  some  inquiry 
seems  to  be  manifested  whether  in  all  cases  justice  had  been  done  him ; 
whether  the  violence  of  party  spirit  has  not  cast  upon  him  imputationa 
which  he  did  not  deserve.  In  preparing  the  following  sketcn  of  thia 
eminent  man*  dates  and  &ct8  of  ms  early  life,  before  his  history  became 
interwoven  with  that  of  our  own  countrv,  with  much  information  aa 
relation  to  his  pursuits  since  he  retired  from  public  life,  will  be  accu- 
rately related. 

There  are  perhaps  few  individuals  in  the  United  States  who  are 

VOL.  zzxv.  19 


284  Edmond  Cliarles  GeHet.  [April, 

fully  aware  of  the  high  estimation  in  which  Mr.  Genet  was  deservedly 
held  in  his  own  country,  and  of  the  numerous  and  responsible  offices 
which  he  there  filled.  Fewer  still  aref  acquainted  with  nis  high  stand- 
ing among  the  distinguished  literati  of  his  land,  of  the  extent  of  his 
acquirements  in  the  arts  and  sciences,  and  of  the  early  age  at  which 
his  brilliant  and  precocious  genius  was  developed.  It  was  truly  said 
of  him,  by  one  well  acquainted  with  his  life  and  character : 

*FoK  ai  Oiy  birth  did  brighUeyed  GeniuBoome, 

Her  wmth  of  glory  round  thy  brow  to  twine. 
And  from  thet  hour,  tiU  Bummoned  to  the  tomb, 

Thou  wert  her  chosen  one.  and  she  waa  thine : } 
Fhiloflophy  I  that  aoaHet  amid  the  skies, 

Or  earth's  profoondeat,  darkest  depths  ezplorea ; 
That  o'er  eadi  mute  or  living  reoion  flies, 

And  flings  her  glanoe  to  earth's  remotest  sborea. 
She,  too,  beheld  thy  blooming  youth  with  Joy, 

In  thee  her  child  of  promise  did  die  hall ; 
Nor  did  the  rising  glories  ot  her  boy 

Id  manhood's  ripened  odor  tbde  or  fi&iL' 

Mr.  Genet  was  a  member  of  one  of  the  first  families  in  France. 
His  father,  Edmond  Jacques  Genet,  was  a  native  of  that  coimtry,  but  re- 
ceived part  of  his  education  in  England,  whither  he  went  as  secretary 
of  legation  in  1763.  He  was  at  the  head  of  the  Department  of  For* 
eign  Affairs  for  forty-five  years,  was  a  man  of  very  distinguished  talents 
and  learning,  a  member  of  the  AcSdemy  of  Sciences,  was  the  warmest 
friend  America  had  in  France,  and  probably  did  more  for  the  cause  of 
this  country  than  any  other  person  there.*  He  married  a  lady  of  the 
femily  of  De  Quay,  of  Holland.  Their  eldest  daughter  was  Madame 
Campan,  the  devoted  fnend  and  first  femme-de-chambre  of  the  unfor- 
tunate Marie  Antoinette,  and  so  accomplished,  that  at  the  age  of  four- 
teen, speaking  and  understanding  several  languages  perfectly,  she  was 
'  f  appointed  reader  to  the  daughters  of  Louis  the  Fifteendi.  Their 
f  second  daughter  was  Madame  Anguie,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  wo- 

l  men  of  the  court  of  France,  and  mother  of  the  wife  of  Marshal  Ney, 

and  of  the  unfertunate  Madame  la  Marchallede  Broc,  who  met  with  so 
untimely  a  death,  accompanying  the  Queen  Hortense  across  a  bridge  in 
Holland.  Madame  Rousseau  and  Madame  Pannelier,  two  other  daugh- 
ters, (sisters)  occupied  honorable  stations  at  court.  The  latter,  the  last 
of  the  family  in  France,  has  deceased. 

Edmond  Charles  Genet,  the  principal  subject  of  this  article,  was 
the  youngest  child  of  his  parents,  and  was  bom  January  eighth,  1763. 
'  He  received  his  education  from  approved  instructors  in  his  father^s  house, 
and  was  remarkable  for  the  early  and  precocious  development  of  intel- 
lectual powers.  At  twelve  years  of  age,  he  received  a  beautiful  gold 
medal,  accompanied  by  a  very  flattering  letter  from  Gustavus  the  Third, 
for  a  translation  of  the  history  of  Eric  the  Fourteenth  into  the  Swedish 
language,  with  historical  remarks  by  himself.  This  translation,  and  a 
treatise  on  the  affinities  of  the  Greek  and  Finlandish  languages,  pro- 
cured his  admission  as  a  member  of  the  societies  of  Upsal  and  Stock- 
holm. Both  his  &ther  and  himself  were  members  also  of  the  French 
Academy  of  Sciences.  His  own  extraordinary  wosth  and  talents,  and 
the  high  favor  which  his  family  enjoyed  at  the  court  of  Louis  the  Six- 
teenth, procured  for  him  at  an  early  age,  hitherto  unprecedented,  many 


1850.J  Ednumd  Charles  Genet.  285 

offices  of  honor  and  trust.  At  the  age  of  feurteen  he  wbs  admitted  as 
one  of  the  secretaries  in  his  father's  office  in  the  Department  of  Foreign 
Afiairs,  and  soon  after  was  appointed  interpreting  secretary  to  Mon- 
sieur, eldest  brother  of  Louis  the  Sixteenth,  and  since,  Louis  the 
Eighteenth.  At  the  age  of  fifteen,  the  king  gave  him  a  commission  in 
the  corps  of  dragoons.  He  was  afterward  attached  to  the  first,  and 
then  to  the  second  regiment  as  captain,  under  the  command  of  the 
Duke  de  Luynes.  At  the  age  of  sixteen,  he  was  sent  to  Brest  to  share 
in  an  expedition  which  was  preparing  for  the  '  United  States,'  but 
which  did  not  take  place. 

By  the  request  of  the  Count  de  Vergemus,  minister  of  foreign  b£- 
&izB,  he  was  sent  to  the  University  of  Geissen,  to  acquire  a  perfect 
knowledge  of  the  German  language,  and  became  a  member  after  one 
year's  residence.  In  1780  he  was  sent  to  Berlin,  attached  to  the  em- 
bassy of  the  Count  de  Pons.  He  then  accompanied  the  Baron  de 
Beteuil  to  Vienna,  as  Secretary  of  Legation,  from  whence  he  returned 
in  1788,  to  stand  by  the  death-bed  of  his  revered  and  justly  beloved 
father.  He  had  previously  visited  England  on  the  occasion  of  the 
peace  of  1783,  as  actmg  Secretary  of  Legation  to  the  Count  de  Mous- 
quier.  On  the  decease  of  his  father,  the  king  was  induced  by  the  repu- 
tation and  acquirements  of  young  Genet,  to  preserve  for  him,  at  the  age 
of  eighteen,  the  important  posts  which  the  father  had  occupied  in  the 
Departments  of  Foreign  Affairs,  of  the  Navy  and  of  War.  But  on 
the  approach  of  revolutionanr  troubles,  his  office  was  suppressed,  and 
he  was  aUowed  a  pension.  He  then  accompanied  the  Count  de  Legen 
.  to  the  Court  of  St.  Petersburgh«  as  first  secretrry  of  that  embassy. 
He  soon  became  Charge  d' Affaires,  and  remained  in  Russia  in  that  capa- 
city for  the  term  of  five  years,  on  the  expulsion  of  Louis  the  Sixteenth 
frmn  the  throne  of  France  in  1793.  Mr.  Genet  was  notified  by  the 
Empress  of  Russia  to  leave  her  dominions,  against  which  he  made  an 
eloquent  protest,  which  was  the  cause  of  his  being  received  at  Paris  by 
the  council  of  government  in  the  most  flattering  manner.  He  was  im- 
mediately appomted  Minister  Plenipotentiary  to  Holland,  and  Adjutant- 
General  of  the  Annies  of  the  Republic,  and  was  sent  to  the  Army  of 
Montesquieu,  charged  with  a  mission  firom  the  government.  On  the 
supposition  that  Mr.  G^net  would  be  more  useful  in  America  than  in 
Houand,  he  was  sent  to  this  country  as  Minister  Plenipotentiary  and 
Consul-  General.  Madame  Roland,  in  her  appe^  to  posterity,  speaks  in 
the  following  manner : 

'  The  choice  of  an  envoy  to  the  United  States  was  conducted  with 
wisdom.  Biissdt  was  actuated  by  no  personal  interest ;  he  was  the  last 
man  in  the  world  to  be  so  influenced ;  he  mentioned  Genet,  who  was 
just  returned  from  Russia,  and  who,  beside  being  conversant  with  diplo- 
matic afl&irs,  possessed  aU  the  moral  virtues  and  all  the  information  that 
could  render  him  agreeable  to  a  serious  people.  That  proposal  was 
wise ;  it  was  supported  by  every  possible  consideration.  I  saw  Genet ; 
I  desired  to  see  him  again,  and  should  always  be  delighted  with  his 
company.  His  judgment  is  solid  and  his  mind  enlightened ;  he  has 
as  much  amenity  as  decency  of*  manners ;  his  conversation  is  instruc- 
tive and  agreeable,  and  equtdly  free  from  pedantry  and  from  affectation ; 


286  Edmand  Charles  QtneL  [April* 

gentleness,  propriety,  grace  and  reason,  are  bis  characteristics ;  and 
mtfa  all  this  merit  be  unites  the  advantage  of  speaking  English  with 
fluency.  Let  the  ignorant  Robespierre  and  the  extravarait  Cbabot 
declaim  against  such  a  man,  by  calling  him  the  fiiend  of  Brissdt;  let 
tbem  procure,  by  their  clamors,  the  recall  of  the  one  and  the  trial  of 
the  other ;  they  will  only  add  to  the  proofi  of  their  own  villany  and 
stapidit:^,  without  hurting  the  fame  of  those  whom  they  may  find  means 
to  deprive  of  existence.' 

We  have  now  arrived  at  a  most  important  period,  not  only  in  the  life 
of  Citizen  Genet  but  in  the  history  of  the  Umted  States.  It  is  not  our 
intention  to  recount  minutely  the  events  of  this  interestb^  period ; 
neither  time  nor  space  will  allow  of  such  a  course.  Every  one  who 
reads  this  sketch  is  doubtless  acquainted  with  the  relations  of  our  his- 
torians ;  said  it  would  be  useless,  even  if  it  were  convenient,  to  recapitu- 
late at  length  the  events  which  occurred  while  Mr.  Genet  was  minister 
from  Prance.  Our  only  object  will  be  to  consider  and  refute  the  most 
flagrant  charges  which  have  been  laid  to  his  account.  Mr.  Genet  was 
wittiout  doubt  by  nature  endowed  with  an  ardent  temperament.  Urged 
on,  as  he  was,  both  by  his  natural  disposition  and  by  the  support  of  a 
large  and  respectable  party,  and  encouraged  by  many  of  me  promi- 
nent men  who  contributed  to  the  acquirement  of  the  American  Inde- 
pendence, combined  with  the  positive  instructions  of  his  government, 
he  may  have  been  imprudent ;  he  may  have  used  language,  the  ten- 
dency of  which  was  rather  to  widen  the  breach  thin  to  affect  a  union 
between  the  two  countries ;  but  that  be  ever  intentionally  went  oontraiy 
to  the  authorities  of  our  country,  we  do  not  believe.  He  might  have . 
erred ;  he  could  not  have  been  criminal,  for  that  is  the  part  of  villains, 
and  a  more  generous,  a  more  philanthropic  man  than  Citizen  Genet 
perhaps  never  existed. 

Mr.  G^net  was  a  stranger :  he  had  been  accustomed  to  look  to  our 
country  as  the  great  fountain  head  of  Hberty^from  which  streams 
might  and  ought  naturally  to  flow  to  refresh  and  gladden  the  hearts  of 
the  benighted  of  other  nations,  who  were  gropmg  afler  the  way  to 
political  ralvation.  Naturally  enthusiastic,  he  was  disposed  to  consider 
the  loud  manifestations  of  joy  at  his  arrival,  the  feasts,  the  illuminations 
which  followed  that  event,  as  expressing  the  feelings  of  the  whole  com- 
munity. Every  where  as  he  passed,  he  was  surrounded  by  crowds  and 
greeted  with  acclamations,  and  iniorant  of  the  state  of  parties,  imo- 
rant  of  the  different  states  of  feelmg  which  existed  in  different  sections 
of  our  vast  country,  he  was  inclined  to  attribute  the  same  opinions  to 
the  whole  body  of  the  people. 

When,  then,  he  found  our  government  so  formal,  after  expecting  to 
find  it  sharing  in  the  same  enthusiasm  with  its  citizens ;  so  reluctant 
after  expecting  to  find  it  eager  to  assist  her  old  benefoctor  in  the  strag- 
gle for  freedom ;  no  wonder  he  was  deeply  chagrined ;  no  wonder 
that  his  disappointment  found  a  vent  in  expressions  only  to  be  equalled 
by  the  disappointment  he  experienced.  We  believe  that  we  have 
stated  the  case  with  a  strict  regard  to  truth.  We  believe  that  no  con- 
sideration could  have  induced  him  to  violate  the  laws  of  truth  and  jus- 
tice. 


1850.]  Bdmcnd  CAaries  6mH.  287 

As  to  the  intemperate  laagaage  wiiich  he  made  use  of  in  his  diplo- 
matic communicati0Da»  it  toxlj  be  urged  with  great  reason  that  such 
language  was  only  a  part  of  the  temperature  of  the  times,  and  the 
result  of  his  own  enthusiastic  notions  of  liberty,  and  his  disappointment 
at  not  finding  them  participated  in  by  the  then  authorities  of  tne  country. 
But  the  tone  of  his  communications  was  not,  could  not  have  been  the 
only  cause  of  his  embroilment  with  the  government,  for  every  reader 
of  history  knows  that  M.  Adet,  subsequently  Minister  from  France, 
was  equaily  ardent  in  his  views,  and  in  his  communications,  used  ex- 
pressions far  more  exceptionable  than  any  that  can  be  found  in  the  let- 
ters of  G^enet  Yet  this  did  not  give  rise  to  any  request  for  the.recaU 
of  that  minister.  Far  from  it;  it  was  then  the  policy  of  our  TOvem- 
ment,  on  perceiving  that  the  rising  republic  was  likely  to  subdue  her 
enemies,  and  unaided,  throw  off  the  Bourbon  yoke,  to  receive  with 
more  condescension  the  advances  of  France^  and  she  was  accordingly 
inclined  to  put  the  most  fiivorable  construction  upon  his  motives. 

But  it  has  been  said,  and  repeatedly  said,  and  the  assertion  has  been 
adopted  by  all  our  historians  as  an  undeniaUe  &ct,  that  Mr.  G^enet  made 
a  threat,  and  announced  his  intention  since  our  government  would  not 
come  to  his  terms,  to  appeal  from  the  President  to  the  people ;  to  reject 
the  decision  of  the  constituted  authorities,  and  submit  the  merits  of'^his 
case  to  the  citizens  at  large.  Now,  Mr.  Genet  was  well  aware  that  the 
only  agent  with  whom  he  could  legally  treat  in  relation  to  the  subjects 
cf  his  missiop,  was  the  Executive  audiority,  to  whom  the  people  had 
confided  this  important  trust  To  appeal,  or  attempt,  or  threaten  to 
appeal,  therefi)re,  from  the  decisions  of  that  authority  to  any  other  tri- 
mmal,  would  have  been  not  merely  improper  but  criminal ;  a  violation 
of  a  fundamental  principle  of  the  law  of  nations.  It  is  a  serious  alle- 
gation, and  if  estaDlished,  must  materially  affect  the  character  of  Mr. 
Oenet  in  the  minds  of  all.  It  becomes  us,  therefore,  with  a  corre- 
sponding spirit  of  candor,  to  examine  the  foundation  of  so  serious  a 
charge,  and  discover  whether  there  exists  sufficient  evidence  to  war- 
rant an  unfavorable  verdict.  It  is  an  important  principle  in  law  to 
consider  every  man  innocent  till  the  contrary  is  proved;  but  in  Mr. 
Crenet's  case,  the  community  has  reversed  this  pnnciple,  and  has  su^ 
fered  an  un&vorable  imputation  to  rest  upon  him  because  he  has  not 
taken  it  upon  himself  to  prove  its  injustice. 

The  ongin  of  the  report  was  first  fixed  upon  Mr.  Jeflferson,  who 
denied  it  in  an  official  memorandum.  It  was  then  attributed  to  Mr.  A. 
J.  Dallas,  the  secretary  of  Grovemor  MiiBin,  who  was  understood  by 
certain  persons  to  assert  that  Mr.  Genet,  in  a  private  conversation  wim 
him,  had  made  the  threat  so  c^ten  alluded  to ;  but  upon  Mr.  Dallas  being 
questioned,  he  would  not  state  that  Mr.  Genet  had  made  the  threat  im- 
puted. 

Now  we  appeal  to  any  intelligent  man  to  say  how  much  he  would 
suffer  such  testimony  as  this  to  weigh  on  his  mind  were  he  a  juror,  or 
to  any  judge,  to  tell  us.  what  sort  of  a  charge  he  would  deliver  on  the 
effect  of  such  evidence.  It  may  be  asked  if  the  evidence  of  the  fact 
was  so  slight  as  is  here  represented,  how  came  it  to  be  so  generally  be- 
lieved ;  how  did  it  happen  that  we  have  it  recorded  in  all  our  histories 


288  Edmond  Charles  Genet.  [April 

as  an  undoubted  fact.  Two  causes  may  be  ascribed  |br  the  general 
adoption  of  this  opinion.  The  first  is,  the  care  which  was  taken  by  the 
members  of  that  party  whose  interest  it  was  to  destroy  the  good  opinion 
which  the  people  had  formed  of  Mr.  GreneC,  and  to  render  him  gene- 
rally obnoxious,  to  spread  abroad,  as  indisputable,  the  truth,  not  of  what 
Mr.  Dallas  actually  did  say,  but  of  what  these  gentlemen  toished  him 
to  say,  and  to  keep  in  the  back-groimd  the  slender  grounds  which  they 
had  for  the  circulation  of  the  report  Messrs.  John  Jay  and  Rufus 
King,  arriving  in  the  city  of  New- York  from  the  seat  of  government, 
not  content  with  strengdiening  the  rumor  which  had  preceded  them, 
and  which  there  as  elsewhere  produced  the  grea^t  excitement,  in 
private  conversation,  appeared  in  the  morning  papers  as  the  ftuthon  of 
the  following  certificate : 

*Meb8Ri.  Peimtbrb  :  Oortain  late  pubUcaUons  render  it  proper  for  us  to  Hothorlze  you  to  tnform 
the  public  that  a  report  haTtng  reached  thia  dty  tnm  Philadelphta,  that  Bfr.  Gen  bt,  the  Rench  Mln- 
litar,  bad  said  he  would  appeal  lo  the  people,  ftom  certain  (tocialaoa  of  the  Prealdeot,  so  we  wore 
aaked  on  our  return  ftaan  that  nlaoe,  whether  he  >mk1  made  such  a  declaration  T  We  answered  thai 
he  had;  and  we  also  menUonea  ittoothflra,anthorizingthein  tony  that  we  bad  Infbnned  them. 

(Signed,)  JoRN  Jat, 

HvrUB  Kura. 

The  disingenuousness,  to  use  the  softest  term  of  this  advertisement, 
must,  I  think,  appear  evident  to  every  candid  mind.  To  what  do  these 
gentlemen  certOT  ?  not  that  Mr.  Grenet  did  threaten  to  appeal  to  the 

a  lie,  for  they  did  not  hear  him;  not  that  any  person  tola  them  that 
eard  Mr.  Genet  make  this  remark,  for  such  was  not  the  fact :  they 
only  say  that  they  have  said  that  Mr.  Genet  made  this  threat,  without 
referring  to  the  evidence  on  which  they  relied  to  establish  the  truth  of 
their  report,  and  without  saying  that  any  evidence  did  exist 

By  coming  before  the  public  m  this  manner,  they  produced  generally 
upon  the  minds  of  the  great  mass  of  the  people  the  same  unfavorable 
opinions  toward  Mr.  Genet  as  they  would  had  they  certified  that  they 
actually  heard  that  minister  make  the  offensive  remark ;  while,  it  will 
be  seen,  they  were  themselves  careful  to  avoid  the  responsibOity  of 
making  such  an  assertion.  Mr.  Genet  had  a  right  to  complain  of  the 
manner  in  which  he  had  been  treated.  And  he  did  complain ;  he  ap- 
pealed, not  to  the  people,  but  to  the  proper  authority :  the  law  of  the 
land.  He  instituted  an  action  of  libel  against  Messrs.  Jay  and  King ; 
and  here  we  come  to  the  second  cause  of  the  general  belief  in  the  truth 
of  the  allegation. 

Befi>re  the  trial  came  on,  and  soon  after  the  arrival  of  his  successor, 
M.  Fauchet,  in  this  country,  Genet  withdrew  his  complaint,  without  as- 
signing any  reasons.  Because  no  reasons  were  given,  it  was  presumed 
that  none  existed ;  and  the  fact  of  this  withdrawal  was  at  once  declared 
to  be  pnma-facie  evidence,  nay,  a  voluntary  con&esion  of  guilt ;  for, 
were  he  conscious  of  the  justice  of  his  cause,  would  he  be  unwilling 
to  have  it  investigated.  But  we  consider  this  an  unfair  conclusion. 
He  might  have  b^  reasons  for  what  he  did,  which  it  would  have  been 
highly  miprcoer  to  disclose ;  and  if  a  sense  of  justice  would  not  have 
taught  us  to  have  withheld  our  decision  while  there  was  a  probability, 
or  even  possibOity,  of  innocence,  that  charity  which  we  are  commanded 
to  extend  to  all  our  fellow-beings  most  certainly  should.    But  fortunately 


r 


1850.]  Edmond  Charles  Genet.  289 

Ifr.  G^et  has  not  left  bis  reputation  dependent  upon  the  chanty  of 
mankind,  for  that  were  indeed  a  slender  foundation.  Before  his  death 
he  detailed  at  large  to  a  number  of  his  family  the  circumstances  of  an 
interyiew  which  took  place  between  himself  and  his  successor,  and 
which  resulted  in  the  withdrawal  of  the  prosecution.  This  conversa- 
tion was  immediately  committed  to  writing,  and  corrected  by  himself 
It  is  well  known  that  France  WBa  desirous  to  effect  an  accommodation 
with  the  United  States  at  any  rate.  She  had  been  led  to  believe  that 
her  interests  had  been  injured  by  Mr.  Genet,  and  on  recalling  him  she 
sent  M.  Fauchet  to  this  country  to  endeavor  to  persuade  our  govern- 
ment to  recognise  the  principles  which  Mr.  Genet  had  supported.  It 
was  doubtless  a  part  ot  his  mstructions  to  inquire  mto  the  conduct  of 
lir.  Genet,  which  had  been  unfavorably  represented  at  home.  He  did 
so,  and  the  result  was  honorable  to  both  parties.  He  was  persuaded 
of  the  innocence  of  his  predecessor ;  immediately  obtained  an  inter- 
view with  that  gentleman ;  stated  the  result  of  his  inquiries,  and  his  de- 
termination to  represent  to  his  government  the  good  conduct  of  Mr. 
Grenet  in  such  a  manner  as  should  secure  him  a  &vorable  reception  on 
his  return.  But  he  continued :  '  My  country  has  one  cause  to  be  dis- 
pleased with  your  conduct  You  must  remove  that  cause,  and  thereby 
show  yourself  a  true  friend  of  France.  You  must  withdraw  your  smt 
against  Messrs.  Jay  and  Ring ;  the  former  is  chief  justice  of  the  United 
States,  the  latter  one  of  her  senators  in  Congress,  and  they  are  two 
prominent  supporters  of  the  present  administration.  Your  perseve- 
rance in  this  suit  will  have  a  tendency  to  irritate  the  President  and  his 
cabinet,  and  to  frustrate  the  hopes  I  now  entertain  of  effecting  the  ob- 
jects of  my  mission.'  Mr.  Genet  indignantly  refused  to  leave  his  cha- 
racter undefended  in  the  hands  of  his  enemies ;  never  would  he  con- 
sent to  such  a  step.  But  a  &rther  trial  awaited  him :  Fauchet  knew 
his  man ;  he  was  evidently  well  acquainted  with  human  nature.  He 
produced  four  letters  to  Mr.  Genet ;  one  from  each  of  his  three  sisters 
and  one  from  his  aged  mother.  He  represented^to  Genet  that  these 
individuals,  so  dear  to  him,  and  who  had  hitherto  escaped  unscathed 
amid  the  horrors  of  that  bloody  period,  were  by  a  law  of  revolutionary 
France  held  responsible  for  his  good  conduct ;  that  should  he  comply 
with  the  requisitions  of  government,  they  would  remain  untouched ; 
but  should  he  continue  obstinate,  it  was  not  to  be  presumed  that  they 
would  escape  from  the  operation  of  the  general  law.  This  was  too 
much  for  the  firmness  of  Genet ;  his  own  life  he  would  willingly  have 
adventured  for  the  preservation  of  his  character ;  but  that  of  his  mother, 
his  sisters,  he  had  no  right,  no  wish  to  do.  He  withdrew  his  suit,  as 
would  any  man  of  common  feeling,  if  placed  under  similar  circum- 
stances. 

Mr.  Dallas,  on  the  seventh  of  December,  1793,  nearly  four  months 
subsequent  to  the  advertisement  of  Messrs.  Jay  and  Kine,  says  in  a 
letter :  <  I  am  apprised  that  soon  after  the  transaction  of  the  report 
that  Mr.  Ge^et  had  used  the  expression  in  question,  when  it  was  re- 
ported to  have  been  used  by  him  in  his  conversation  with  Mr.  Jeffer- 
son, and  Mr.  Jefferson  thought  proper  to  remove  impressions  made  by 
that  circumstance  in  the  report,  he  stated  in  an  official  memorandum 


290  Bdmond  Ckarhs  Gmet  [Aptil, 

C 7--^ ; 

£hat  Mr.  Genet's  declaration  to  appeal  from  the  President  to  the  people 
was  not  expressed  to  him,  but  to  me.  Whether  Mr.  Jefferson  em- 
ployed the  language  of  his  own  inference  from  hay  recital  on  the  oc- 
casion, or  ado{^ted  the  language  of  the  current  rumor,  I  will  not  attempt 
to  say.  I  now  most  solemnly  say,  that  Mr.  Crenet  never  did,  in  his  con- 
versation with  me,  declare  that  he  would  appeal  from  the  President  to 
the  people,  or  that  he  would  make  any  other  appeal  which  conveyed 
to  my  mind  the  idea  of  exciting  insurrection  or  tumult' 

We  think  enough  has  been  said  to  show  the  utter  want  of  evidence 
on  which  to  rest  the  charge  against  Mr.  Genet  of  threatening  to  appeal 
from  the  decisions  of  the  executive  to  the  people ;  and  by  3ie  prmci- 
pies  of  common  justice,  this  is  sufficient  to  prove  him  innocent  Bot 
we  have  the  direct  assertion  of  Genet  himseli)  and  that  too  at  a  period 
of  life  when  age  must  have  softened  feelings  of  indication,  and  when 
calm  reflection  must  have  usurped  the  place  of  political  zeaL  A  few 
weeks  before  his  death  he  wrote  a  letter  expressly  for  the  purpose  of 
contradicting  die  errors  in  relation  to  himself  whidi  had  fovokd  place  in 
the  histories  of  the  day.  In  it  he  sap  expressly :  '  Mr.  Genet  denies 
having  threatened  to  make  an  appeal  to  the  people  against  the  system 
of  neutrality  adopted,  and  at  last  abandoned,  by  the  federal  govern- 
ment' We  leave  it  to  a  just  public  to  say  whether  his  assertion  shall 
not  be  believed  when  put  in  competition  with  a  second-hand  report, 
founded  on  doubtful  testimony.  But  it  is  said  that  Mr.  Genet  was  not 
faithful  to  his  own  country,  and  by  misrepresenting  her  interests  ex- 
dted  the  indignation  of  his  government  to  so  great  a  degree  that  he 
dared  not  return  home.  Now  if  his  honest  zeal  £>r  his  country's  cause 
had  induced  him  to  threaten  an  appeal  to  the  people  in  her  b«Mf»  he 
would  have  been  much  more  excusable  than  ii  he  had  turned  traitor  to 
bis  government,  and  injured,  instead  of  defending,  her  interests.  Mu- 
r^resentaHon  did  render  his  government  for  a  time  displeased  with  his 
conduct,  but  the  inquiries  of  his  successor  resulted  so  lar  to  his  holder 
as  entirely  to  reverse  this  opinion,  and  change  displeasure  into  warm 
commendation.  As  a  sufficient  refutation  of  this  groundless  charge, 
take  the  following  letter  of  Talleyrand's  to  Mr,  G«net  : 

*Pmri»^  S$9eKth  JiVmttiMs  «««■  anmdk  of  tke  Re^Mie,  mu  amd  inditinbUt  Ukertf^  Sqtulkih  A«- 
to-»»ty.    Tkt  Minifter  of  Fbreign  Jigoiro  to  CMxen  Oenet  : 

*•  I  HATS  muoh  pleasure,  dtlxen,  to  inform  you,  that  the  ExecatlTe  Directory  has  made  a  decree,  the 
•erenth  of  this  month,  by  which,  after  having  erRsed  doflnltiTely  your  name  from  the  Uet  of  em- 
granta,  It  preaBea  you  to  reenter  the  tenltory  of  the  RepubUc.  I  oongratulale  myself  with  h>^ 
contributed,  as  much  as  depended  on  me,  to  a  determination  that  all  the  true  (Vieods  of  liberty,  winCh 
yon  have  served  wl.th  so  much  seal,  desire  to  see  taken.  You  will  see  in  the  decree,  that  the  Dl- 
rectoiy  imposes  on  you  the  obligation  of  returning  within  the  three  months  which  shall  foDow  the 
notiflcatlon  of  this  decree.  To  Ailfll  in  this  respect  the  intentions  of  the  government,  I  charge  Geoaeu 
RosiBR,  Consul  at  New-Yoili,  to  transmit  to  you  an  express  of  the  decree,  and  to  inftjrm  me  of  the 
day  when  it  shaU  have  reached  you,  that  I  may  inform  the  Minister  of  Police  of  it. 

« Health  and  brotherhood :  Tallrxaxb.* 

It  will  be  seen  by  this  letter  that  those  charitable  individuals  were 
very  much  in  error,  who,  because  Genet  did  not  return  to  Prance, 
presumed,  as  a  natural  inference,  that  he  did  not  dare  to.  For  our 
own  part,  we  should  have  been  vnlling,  without  this  document,  to  have 
received  as  sufficient  proof  Mr.  Genet's  own  account  of  his  motives  ftr 
r^naining  in  this  country,  which  he  gives  in  the  letter  heretofore  quoted. 


1850.]  Bdmond  Chaaies  GeneL  291 

'  *  - 

in  the  following  words :  'And  he  demes  also  having  been  afraid  after 
the  termination  of  his  mission  to  return  to  France,  from  whose  variotis 
governments,  since  the  fall  of  the  bloody  Robespierre,  who  mnted  his 
recall,  Mr.  Genet  has  received  the  most  flattenng  marks  of  approbir 
tion  and  esteem,  as  proved  by  the  official  documents  in  his  hands.  Mr* 
Genet  has  remained  in  America  because,  hemg  a  nncere  repubUcan^,  he 
pr^ared  it  to  Emvpe  /* 

We  have  also  the  views  of  Messrs.  Monroe  and  Thiers  in  relation, 
to  the  acts  of  the  French  nmusters  and  the  American  government 
during  the  French  Revolution.  In  Theirs'  history  we  find  the  follow- 
ing,  vol  4th,  page  103 : 

<Ci,ovDg  had  orlBen  between  France  and  America.  Tlie  tTnlted  Statea  behaTed  toiraid  na  wtlh 
equal  I]\}iiBttee  and  Ingratitude.  Old  WAaBiiiOToivliadralkredhlnieelfto  be  drawn  Into  the  parly 
or  JoHM  Adam*  and  tbe  EDgUah,  which  waa  deaiffoaa  of  bringing  America  beck  to  the  ariatocntle 
and  monarehlcal  itate.  The  Iqfiiriea  aailnvd  ftom  certain  prtTateera,  and  the  oondnct  of  the  agenia 
of  the  committee  ofpnbUo  welAre,  aenred  them  Ibr  a  prefcezt;  a  pretext  rery  UMtaonded,  fbr  the 
wranga  done  hj  the  Engjiah  to  the  American  Navy  were  of  a  fiv  more  eerioiia  natora;  and  the  con* 
dnetorc>DragientBwaacenauradatthetl]iie,andoaghttobeeKca8ed.  Theae  IkToreia  of  tbe  Sn^ioi 
party  alleged  that  France  meant  to  obtain  from  ^idn  the  ceasian  of  the  Floridaa  and  of  Louisiana; 
that  by  means  of  thoae  prorinces  and  of  Canada  die  would  enoompaas  the  United  States,  sow  demo- 
credc  prtndplea  in  them,  sooceaalTely  detach  aU  the  States  from  the  Union,  thua  diaMfre  the  Amert^ 
can  Federation,  and  form  a  vast  democracy  between  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  and  the  lakes^  There  waa 
not  the  dlghteat  fonndatloo  for  the  rumor,  but  theae  flutaehoods  serred  to  beet  mtndi  and  to  mak« 
enemies  to  France.  A  treaty  of  commerce  had  Just  been  cooduded  with  Bngland;  it  contained 
atipulaUons  which  traasfeired  to  that  power  adrantages  formerly  reserved  for  nance  alone,  sod  due 
to  the  services  which  she  had  rendered  to  the  American  »aae.    In  the  French  ffovemment  there 

mbessadorioF 


were  penons  in  Ihvor  of  a  rapture  with  the  United  States.  Mombos,  who  waa  AnUMSsador  to  Hria. 
cave  the  Directory  the  most  prudent  adrice  on  this  occasion.  ^War  with  France,'  said  be,  «wll 
foree  the  American  goverament  to  throw  itrelf  into  the  arms  of  ^island,  to  submit  to  her  InfluenoK 
acistocracy  will  gain  supreme  control  in  tbe  United  States,  and  liberty  will  be  compromised.  By 
patiently  enduring,  on  the  oontnry,  the  wrongs  of  the  present  President,  you  will  leave  him  without 
excuse;  you  Will  «mHfftit<m  the  Americana,  and  decide  a  contnry  choice  at  the  next  election.  AH 
the  wroi^  of  which  FMnoemayhaye  to  complain  will  then  be  repaired.*  This  wise  and  proridaat 
advice  had  ita  eflbct  upon  the  Duectoiy.  Bcwasii,  Bakeas,  LAxavaiLUkaa,  had  aoeuaed  it  to  be 
adopted  in  opposition  to  the  opinion  of  the  systematic  Caenot,  who,  in  general  dispoeed  to  pesce. 


Inaiated  on  the  cession  of  Louisiana, 


of  the  systematic  Caenot,  who,  in  general  dispoeed  to  peace, 
with  a  view  to  attempt  the  eeiabyshment  of  a  republic  there.* 

We  have  now  arrived  at  the  close  of  Mr.  Grenet's  political  life,  and 

in  reviewing  its  varied  scenes  we  have  endeavored  to  adhere  strictly 

no  the  facts  as  respects  all  parties :  our  aim  has  been  answered  if  we 

have  succeeded  in  satisfactorily  vindicating 'his  memory  firom  unjust 

imputations. 

in  1794,  Mr.  Genet  was  married  to  Cornelia  Tappan^  daughter  of 
the  patriotic  George  Clinton,  dien  Governor  of  New- York,  and  after- 
ward Vice-President  of  the  United  States.  They  settled  on  a  &rm  at 
Jamaica,  L.  I.  In  March,  1810,  his  wife  died,  at  the  age  of  thirty-five, 
afier  wldch  event  he  resided  principally  at  Ghreenbush,  engaged  in  de- 
vising various  schemes  for  public  improvement. 

In  1814  he  was  married  to  his  second  wife,  Martha  Brandon  Osgood, 
daughter  of  the  late  Samuel  Osgood,  formerly  one  of  the  Commissioners 
of  tne  Treasury,  and  the  first  Pos^Master  General  under  the  constitu- 
tion. This  lady  still  survives.  In  1816  he  removed  to  New-York, 
but  returned  to  his  farm  in  Greenbush  in  1818,  and  resided  there  until 
his  death.  Mr.  Genet  was  taken  unwell  on  the  third  of  July,  1834,  in 
consequence  of  exposure,  by  riding  twelve  miles  to  attend  a  meeting 
of  an  agricultural  society,  of  which  he  was  president,  and  before  which 
he  was  appointed  to  deliver  an  address,  and  returning  the  same  even- 
ing.   His  illness  increased  until  the  fourteenth  of  me  same  month» 


292  Edmond  Charles  GtneL  [Apiil, 

when,  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  eyening,  having  taken  leave  of  his  distreased 
family,  he  died. 

The  private  character  of  Edmond  C.  Genet  cannot  be  too  much 
praised.  His  disposition  was  very  lively,  and  with  true  philosophy  he 
endured  all  the  ills  of  life,  of  wbach  he  received  a  large  share,  vnth 
the  most  perfect  and  unaffected  fi>rtitude  and  resignation.  His  con- 
versation was  full  of  instruction,  as  well  as  entertaining,  not  only  fer 
his  children,  but  for  all  who  listened ;  and  he  was  in  the  habit,  at  his 
family  meals,  and  on  other  occasions,  of  drawing  largely  from  the  fund 
of  knowledge  and  amusement  which  the  experience  of  his  varied  life 
had  enabled  him  to  accumulate.  He  has  never  solicited  or  held  any 
office  of  (political  honor  or  trust  in  this  country,  although  the  strong  in- 
terests which  he  took  in  matters  relating  to  agriculture  and  the  arts  and 
sciences  was  the  cause  of  his  frequently  accepting  offices  in  societies 
formed  to  promote  these  objects. 

Althou^n  not  employed  in  any  public  situation,  Mr.  Genet  has  fre- 
quently wielded  his  able  pen  in  the  cause  of  philanthropy  and  liberty, 
and  in  the  support  of  such  men  and  measures  as  he  considered  would 
be  best  calculated  to  promote  the  true  interests  of  his  adopted  country. 
He  was  the  author  of  the  law  for  the  abolishment  of  imprisonment  for 
debt  in  New- York,  and  the  law  for  the  equity  of  redemption.  By  his 
untiring  perseverance;  and  without  assistance,  against  violent  opposi- 
tion for  several  years,  he  at  length  procured  the  passao^e  of  the  law  of 
equal  taxation,  which,  beside  its  own  intrinsic  merits,  is  worthy  of  es- 
pecial remark  as  being  the  means  of  adding  a  vast  sum  of  money  to 
the  annual  revenue  of  the  state.  He  was  the  founder  of  the  school  of 
Mines,  and  of  other  works  of  public  utility  in  France.  He  has  endured 
much  ridicule  for  so  zealously  endeavoring  to  procure  a  ship-canal  to 
be  constructed  around  the  obstructions  in  the  Hudson  at  Albany ;  a 
measure  the  necessity  of  which  every  year  demonstrates,  and  which 
must  finally  be  carried  into  effect,  as  he  said,  *  when  I  shall  be  forgotten 
as  the  author  of  it.' 

In  1825  he  published  a  work  entitled  '  A  Memorial  on  the  Upward 
Forces  of  Fluids,  and  their  applicability  to  several  Arts  and  Sciences 
and  Useful  Improvements.'  For  the  discoveries  contained  in  this  work 
he  obtained  a  patent.  In  1814  he  discovered  a  method  and  made  very 
successful  experiments  in  the  rectification  of  musty  flower ;  severd 
years  afterward  Sir  Humphrey  Davy  made  the  same  discovery,  and 
published  an  account  of  it  m  England.  Genet  made  a  very  successful 
experiment  in  New- York  in  1825,  in  presence  of  the  wardens  of  the 
port  and  others,  to  prevent  a  boat  from  sinking,  by  means  of  tubes 
filled  with  air,  on  the  plan  of  his  patent  A  square  hole  veas  cut  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat,  which  was  very  small ;  it  was  then  fi^ed  with  stones 
and  three  men  stood  upon  it,  yet  it  floated  with  ease  and  bouyancy. 
The  same  principle  can  be  applied,  vnth  little  expense,  to  the  largest 


Another  plan  which  occupied  his  attention  very  much  v^as  that  of 
steering  bdloons ;  the  practicability  of  which  has  been  admitted  by 
Mr.  Bolton,  with  whom  Mr.  Genet  formed  an  intimate  acquaintance 
during  ds  residence  in  London.     But  to  enumerate  all  his  projects  of 


IMJO.] 


public  utility  would  B^^^ 
written,  we  trust,  not  O^h 
to  the  political  life  of  tb^a 
in  relation  to  his  private  v 


L   O  N    O 


Set; 
AxLd  I 

Oil 


To  8l 


Oi-  li< 


i^^ 


Til 

Til 

X  li^ec 
Ana. 


S94  College  FrieiUU.  [April, 


COLLBGB       FRIENDS. 


BT   WX.   B.   OX^BZXB. 


Whin  Day's  last  gianoes  feebly  M  aslant  ma, 

When  gathereth  the  twilight's  tender  gloom, 
Dear  old  companions  I  then  yonr  faces  haont  me, 

Then  do  yonr  memories  pervade  the  room ; 
I  seem  borne  back  on  swift  and  shadowy  pinions 

Into  the  region  of  the  golden  Past; 
I  feel  once  more  the  rapturous  dominion 

Of  Yonth  and  Paasion  o'er  my  spirit  OMt 


We  were  a  band  as  joyons  and  tme-hearted 

As  ever  sailed  upon  life's  sunmier  sea ; 
We  knew  no  griefr  for  gorgeous  hopes  departed, 

We  shed  no  tears  o'er  some  sad  memory ; 
The  world,  a  fairy  land,  was  all  before  us, 

Arrayed  in  hues  like  those  of  sunset  skies ; 
The  nnquenched  stars  of  Passion  trembled  o'er  na, 

Loring  and  lovely  to  our  tearless  eyes. 


Hien  were  our  resUess  hearts  forever  yearning 

To  pierce  the  veil  thai  o'er  the  future  hung. 
Then  wrought  in  words  most  passionate  and  burning 

Our  glowing  day-dreams  trembled  on  each  tongue 
Of  Fame,  whose  topmost  heights  should  be  ascended, 

Of  lavish  wealth,  of  power  and  place  of  wide ; 
And  with  these  visions  there  was  ever  blenaed 

The  Angel  of  Existence  by  our  side. 


Oh.  sunny  dreams !  how  have  your  glories  ftded ! 

Oh,  youthful  hearts !  fhlse  prophets  that  ye  were  I 
To  some,  the  future  still  with  clouds  is  shaded. 

To  some,  the  past  is  but  Hope's  sepulchre ; 
And  like  the  banners,  purple  decked  and  trailing, 

Which  Sunset  flaunts  before  Day's  closing  eye. 
We  sadly  saw  Love,  Wealth,  Ambition,  paling, 

As  S<nTow's  nSght  crept  darkly  down  Life's  sky. 


Ib  there  no  rest  for  hearts  worn  out  and  broken  f 

No  subtle  anodyne  to  soothe  their  pain  t 
Those  gentle  accents  by  the  Saviour  spoken. 

'  My  peace  I  give  you,'  were  they  breathed  in  vain  ? 
Ko:  not  in  vain !  —  the  sighs  wrung  out  by  Sorrow 

Are  calmed  by  thoughts  of  childhood's  sinless  years ; 
From  that  sweet  source  the  saddest  heart  can  boirow 

Relief  from  anguish,  and  a  balm  for  tears. 
flUfMNB,  (jywM.) 


296  Mow  to  be  Happy.  [April, 

m 

origin,  though  an  observer  who  knew  the  stock  fix>m  which  they  sprang^ 
could  easily  have  discovered  that  diey  were  not  common  horses ;  but 
evidently  communed  together  in  language  int|lligible  to  themselves. 

The  colts  were  unbroken  and  lived  m  a  fhie  fresh  clover  pasture 
which  yielded  them  an  abimdance  of  juicy  food;  though  they  kept 
cropping  it  night  and  day  as  if  they  were  trying  for  a  wager  whether 
they  could  not  eat  faster  than  nature  could  replenish.  One  calm  sum- 
mer morning,  the  sun  was  just  peering  above  the  horizon,  the  birds  of 
the  neighborhood  were  just  commencing  the  labor  of  hunting  fi>r 
breakfast,  and  the  spiders  on  the  fences  and  grass  were  repairing  their 
webs,  which  had  been  injured  by  the  dews  of  the  past  mght;  and  all 
were  working  with  the  activity  that  results  from  pleasant  anticipations 
that  the  dawning  dajr  was  to  be  prodigal  of  vivacity  and  sport  The 
colts  also,  had  just  arisen  from  their  grassy  beds,  and  were  shakmg  the 
dust  from  their  smooth  sides  preparatory  to  the  commencement  of  any 
frolic  that  should  occur,  when  suddenly  a  small  dog  bounded  over  the 
fence  into  the  pasture,  and  ran  furiously  toward  die  colts  with  open 
mouth  and  shrill  bark,  as  though  he  intended  nothing  less  than  to  eat 
them  both  up  when  he  should  arrive  near  enough,  or  at  least  inflict  on 
them  some  grievous  bodily  injury.  The  colts,  in  ell  the  hilarity  of  un- 
tamed youth  and  high  spirits,  pointed  at  him  their  long  flexible  ears,  as 
though  they  were  much  alarmed,  and  wanted  to  be  fully  acquainted 
with  the  whole  extent  of  their  danger.  They  permitted  him  to  approach 
sufficiently  near  to  make  him  yelp  fearfully  in  repentance  of  bis  temerity, 
when  they  snorted  loud,  turned  short  about,  threw  dieir  heels  at  him 
high  into  the  air ;  and  then  relieved  the  little  braggart's  fears  by  bound* 
ing  ferward  across  the  field  like  a  shadow. 

But  the  dog  portended  something  more  than  the  colts  imagined. 
He  was  but  the  precursor  of  his'  and  their  master,  who  soon  appeared 
in  person,  and  authoritatively  calling  back  the  dog,  chid  him  for  his 
currish  interference  with  what  he  was  not  bidden  to  intermeddle  v^ith. 
The  colts  stood  still  to  admire  this  new  incident,  and  to  enjoy  the  fun 
of  seeing  their  petty  assailant  sneak  slowly  toward  his  master,  vnthhalf 
bended  knees  and  imploring  eyes  as  though  some  invisible  spell  which 
he  could  not  resist,  was  draggmg  him  reluctantly  forward  to  expected 
punishment  The  moment  of  triumph  is  oflen  the  moment  of  danger ; 
and  the  colts,  who  now  felt  that  they  had  been  abundantly  revenged, 
and  might  seek  some  new  spoit,  soon  found  that  the  man  had  alw>  a 
mission  fer  them,  and  that  he  was  not  to  be  baffled  as  the  dog  had  been. 
They  had  hidierto  known  men  only  as  admirers,  and  who  in  that 
character  tolerate  all  manner  of  antic  tricks ;  but  now  they  were  re- 
quired to  know  man  as  a  master ;  a  change  which  alters  his  conduct 
considerably,  as  yoimg  ladies  ofben  discover  as  well  as  colts.  In  vain 
they  dodged  in  every  direction  as  the  owner  approached ;  they  were 
eventually  driven  into  a  short  comer,  where  escape  became  impractica- 
ble, and  both  were  finally  bitted  and  bridled. 

When  the  colts  looked  at  each  other,  and  saw  the  curious  head-dress 
vrith  which  they  were  ornamented,  each  neighed  with  mirth  at  the  gro- 
tesque appearance  of  the  other ;  but  when  the  owner  intimated,  by 
gently  pullbg  at  the  bridles,  that  he  wished  the  colts  to  fellow  him,  they 


298  How  to  he  Happy,  [April, 

*'''  ■     ■         I      i.      Mil  ^  .11      ....■        I I  I  ■!    I.I.I  ■  II        ■■  11  ,1  w, 

ground  over  which  he  was  walking  seemed  sc^  and  cool^be  thought 
he  must  be  rambling  over  some  fields  as  beautiful  probably  as  his  own 
pasture.  He  heard  curious  noises  around  him,  but  as  they  proved  to 
be  harmless,  he  began  to  find  them  amusing,  and  to  imagine  that  they 
must  be  the  music  of  birds  -of  a  larger  species  than  those  of  his  own 
clover  fields ;  and  possibly  of  a  more  beautiful  plumage,  since  they 
were  of  lare^er  dimensions.  The  smell  of  the  tan  bark  was  at  first  of^ 
fensive  to  him,  but  the  good  humor  into  which  he  had  reasoned  himself, 
like  the  effect  of  religious  faith  which  makes  man  see  future  good  in 
present  evil,  induced  him  to  convert  the  smell  into  a  savory  odor ;  and 
as  he  was  by  this  dme  ravenously  hungry,  he  thought  the  odor  must 
proceed  from  some  new  species  of  clover  as  ^gantic  probably  as  the 
oirds ;  and  much  he  should  have  liked  to  be  cropping  it  Amid  these 
a|^eeable  reflections  he  was  stopped,  and  a  pail  of  water  was  lifted  to 
his  mouth.  He  was  never  before  so  thirsty,  and  this  gave  to  the  water 
a  relish  which  made  it  surpass  in  flavor  all  die  water  he  had  ever  tasted ; 
and  fbll^  confirmed  him  in  the  conclusion,  that  his  new  residence  was  a 
terrestrial  equine  paradise,  where  every  thing  was  as  much  increased 
in  zest,  as  enlarged  in  dimensions. 

After  driving  around  some  time  longer,  the  colts  were  stopped  fiir 
the  day.  The  blinders  were  Removed  &om  their  eyes,  and  they  were 
delighted  to  find  themselves  in  each  other's  company  \  for  they  knew 
they  had  started  in  opposite  directions,  and  the  expectation  of  never 
meeting  together  again,  had  harrowed  the  feelings  of  Black,  and  greatly 
exasperated  his  ideal  sufferings.  The  colts  were  also  surprised  at  find- 
ing memselves  in  the  same  spot  from  which  they  had  commenced  their 
journey ;  but  being  too  much  rejoiced  that  the  adventure  was  thus  ter- 
minated, to  care  much  by  what  means  the  results  had  been  produced, 
they  quietly  permitted  themselves  to  be  unharnessed  and  turned  loose 
.  once  more  into  clover. 

Being  left  alone  and  at  liberty,  their  first  care  was  to  satisfy  the  crav- 
ings of  hunger  by  a  copious  repast  and  then  lying  down  near  each  other, 
they  were  in  a  favorable  condition  of  mind  and  body  to  narrate  to  each 
other  their  several  adventures.  Black  was  all  sorrow  and  complaints ; 
he  spoke  moumflLlly  of  the  stripes  which  he  had  received,  ana  fi>r  no 
fault  of  his ;  but  to  gratify  the  malignant  try anny  of  that '  Jack  in  office,' 
Ned.  He  remembered  having  heard  other  colts  remark,  that  Ned  was 
a  bad  iellow ;  and  he  found  that  the  half  had  not  been  told  which  ought 
to  be  known  on  the  subject  He  affirmed  that  after  they  had  paited 
company  in  the  morning,  he  was  driven  all  day  amid  the  most  immi- 
nent perils  from  trees,  which  were  continually  felling  and  crashing  around 
him ;  and  firom  which  his  escape  with  whole  bones  was  almost  a  mira- 
cle. The  road  too,  must  have  been  an  arid  sand,  for  the  dust  suffocated 
him ;  and  possessed  beside  an  intolerable  and  pestilential  odor.  But 
more  cruel  than  all,  was  the  stagnant,  fetid  water  that  had  been  accu- 
mulated in  some  hollow  log,  and  that  he  was  compelled  to  drink  or  die 
of  thirst 

At  these  misadventures  of  poor  Black,  Grey  felt  almost  sorry  enough 
to  cry,  ioT  he  was  a  compassionate  little  horse ;  and  much  he  hoped  that 
if  they  should  ever  chance  to  be  again  the  victims  of  Ned's  esqperi- 


300 


Hidden  Life. 


[April, 


stead  of  trayellmg  over  different  roads  and  through  different  scenes, 
the^  had  always  travelled  the  same  circuit,  and  encountered  the  same 
incidents.  Black  pried  all  that  day  and  the  succeeding  night,  fin:  here- 
tofore he  had  possessed  the  hope  that  fortune  would  at  last  be  tired  of 
persecuting  lum,  and  that  he  should  at  least  occasionally  be  driven  over 
the  pleasant  route  that  .Grey  was  accustomed  to  travel  Grey,  on  the 
contrary,  only  laughed  at  the  discovery,  for  said  he,  *  dear  Black,  you  find 
now,  from  my  experience,  that  happiness  depends  not  on  the  road  we 
travel,  nor  on  the  incidents  we  encounter,  but  on  our  own  reflections 
thereon.  Rebel  not,  therefi>re,  at  your  labors  and  trials,  which  are  be- 
yond your  control ;  but  improve  your  reflections,  which  are  within  your 
control.' 

We  are  not  infi>rmed  of  the  effect  which  this  advice  had  on  Black, 
nor  is  the  information  of  much  consequence.  No  medicine  can  possess 
any  efficacy  except  to  those  who  wiH  take  it ;  and  Black  may  have  been 
WK)n^-headed  enough  not  to  take  the  moral  dose  prescribed  by  Gh^y, 
who,  however,  took  it  himself,  and  prospered  on  it,  becoming  tberel^ 
contented  and  happy  ;  and  when  he  died,  which  happened  m  a  good 
old  age,  instead  of  being  unmoumed,  as  he  would  havQ  been  had  he 
made  himself  querulous  and  miserable,  Hke  some  men  and  women  who 
cause  all  connected  with  tl^em  to  be  continually  uncomfortable,  he  was 
buried  and  mourned  mu^  like  a  christian ;  and  this  memorial  has  been 
penned  to  transmit  with  honor  his  example  to  all  succeeding  times. 


HIDDEN       LIFE. 


TBk  air  is  warm  as  Snmmer's  air, 

The  sky  hath  a  mellow  bine, 
A  fllmnberoas  breeze  floats  eveiy  where, 

And  the  clouds  are  soil  and  few ; 
But  the  trees  are  bare  as  Winter-trees, 

They  cast  a  skeleton  shade ; 
We  wonder  that  it  does  not  fireeie 

With  doubt  each  budding  blade. 
Yet  sea-like  murmurs,  deep  and  low, 

From  the  bare  woods  rise  and  iall; 
Ton  seem  to  feel  the  ebb  and  flow 

Of  the  sdemn  heart  of  all. 
The  home-like,  joyous  burds  are  here, 

Mid-June  hath  none  so  sweet ; 
Blithe  prophets  of  the  dawning  year, 

Toung  Hope*8  apostles  meet. 
How  can  ye  smg  your  summer  lays 

In  boughs  80  brown  and  dry  7 
*  Come  from  tiie  heart  the  hymns  we 

They  seem  to  make  reply.       [raise,' 
Beyond  the  empire  of  the  plough, 

Close  to  the  leaning  wall, 
White  bkmming  stars  are  rising  now, 

At  Sprimr's  creatire  oall. 
Ay,  many  flowerets  oome  to  ahame 

The  naked  forest  limbs, 


Whose  dun  life  seems  to  lag  the  same, 

At  Beauty's  hues  and  hymns. 
O  trees  \  ye  cannot  long  renst 

The  warm  embrace  of  spring. 
Not  long  by  breeze  and  sunshine  kissed 

To  death  and  bareness  cling. 
If  stangless  winds  and  pleasant  rain, 

And  the  darling  little  flowers, 
Bring  not  persuasion  in  ih&x  train, 

Te  are  no  kin  of  ours. 
Beneath  your  rngced  rest,  I  ween, 

The  new  life-stir  is  felt, 
Where  mUd  as  violets,  but  unseeo, 

Tour  hearts  of  rigor  melt. 
Then  let  no  softer  dUld  of  May, 

In  briefer  beauty  dressed. 
Murmur  against  your  long  delay ; 

Te'U  flourish  with  the  best 
The  birds  shall  sing  the  early  diige 

Of  bloOTos  that  modk  yon  now, 
Bathed  in  the  green  unbreaking  8iiig« 

Of  many  tf  Ikftye-Iike  bough ; 
And  earth  shall  feel  a  fresher  breath 

From  woody  vale  and  hill,      [death, 
Where,  long-time  lapped  in  aweelost 

The  Spring's  first-born  are  atilL 


1850.]  The  Lo9$  tf  ike  Hornet.  301 

TBB       L088       OP       THE       HOBNET. 

▲     BALLAD     OF     THE     8XA. 

BT  BSlfSr  A.  OX.ABXS. 


It  was  a  wild  tempertnoiu  night : 

The  stormy  oknidB  were  gaSering  fiiat) 
And  in  their  dark  and  marahalTed  might. 

Swept  on  before  the  angry  blaat. 
The  wind  with  sad  and  solemn  moan, 

In  midnight  black  arose  and  fell, 
And  ocean's  depths,  in  dismal  tone, 

Rolled  up  a  wild  funereal  kndl. 


The  fioarftil  night-storm  had  set  m  : 

The  dark  sea  trembled,  as  on  high 
The  whirlwinds  shrieking,  and  the  din 

Of  tempests  meeting  in  the  sky. 
like  shoutinff  armies  in  fierce  war. 

With  sounds  of  wo  and  sad  distress, 
O'er  ocean's  caTems  moaning  iar, 

Bhotik  an  his  watery  wild^neas. 


Through  the  wHd  tnmnlt  of  theni^t 

A  proud  ship  swept  along  the  sea ; 
Daring  the  ocean  in  his  might. 

It  scorned  the  whirlwind's  mastexy. 
Through  battle  and  through  storm,  her  tan 

In  every  clime,  on  every  wave. 
Had  borne  aloft  the  stripes  and  stars, 

That  banner  of  the  free  and  brave. 


Around  her  deck  her  gallant  crew 

Feared  not  the  sounds  of  wild  alarm, 
And  laughed  to  see  the  white  sea-mew 

Lead  on  the  legions  of  the  storm. 
They  watched  his  glanciiu^  wings  before, 

In  nights  as  gloomy  and  as  dark. 
And  heard  as  fearfitl  tempests  roar : 

But  weU  they  knew  their  gallant  imA. 


And  so,  while  ocean  raged  around, 
And  while  the  stars  went  out  above, 

Their  voices  rose  with  cheerfhl  sound, 
Or  trolled  some  merry  song  of  love : 


302  The  Loss  of  the  Hmui.  [April, 

Or  whispered  some  old  ooean  tale. 

Of  daring  capture,  leader  brave, 
Or  weary  chase  of  aome  atrange  sail, 

A  pirate  on  the  Indian  wave. 


And  the  laboring  seamen  at  the  wheel, 

Who  fdt  the  billow's  fieroest  force. 
Smiled  at  the  song,  and  seemed  to  feel 

A  joy  in  their  careering  course. 
They  met  the  wave  with  careless  jest. 

And  laughing  hauled  the  tiller  back : 
All  throuffh  the  ship,  no  sailor's  breast 

Heayea  sadder  that  the  night  was  black. 


And  what  if  tiiey  had  known  Ihat  death. 
Was  rattlinff  in  the  thunder's  crash ! 

Or  coming  in  Uie  tempest's  breath. 
Or  speeding  on  the  lightning's  flash ! 

Whatif  they  heard,  from  ocean's  oaves,  , 
A  summons  from  their  unknown  deeps, 

Where  the  long  coral  wiDow  waves, 
^     Above  the  sailor  while  he  sleeps. 


No  voice  perchance  had  trolled  a  song, 

The  head  and  heart  in  prayer  would  bow ; 
But  Death  had  been  their  mate  too  long. 

To  scare  them  with  his  gloomy  brow : 
And  bravely  would  they  meet  the  foe. 

Hie  only  one  at  whose  command 
They  strike  their  country's  banner  low, 

Ajid  yield  to  his  unconqnered  hand. 


Tet  stin  unharmed  swept  on  the  ship, 

like  monarch  of  the  surnng  sea. 
And  still  broke  forth  from  loyous  lip 

The  merry  jest  of  fhoughtleaB  glee. 
And  proudly  would  their  noble  bwk 

Its  gallant  crew  triumphant  borne. 
And  trough  that  niffht  so  wild  and  dark 

Rode  safely  to  the  breaking  mom : 


But  from  a  gathered  cloud  o'erhead, 

Which  long  had  muttered  sounds  of  wrath, 
Its  scapelesB  fi>lt,  the  lightning  sped, 

Remorseless  in  its  fiery  pam  : 
It  struck  the  ship  and  tore  its  strength 

Like  frailest  workmanship  away. 
And  strewed  at  wide  and  scattered  length 

Its  timberi  on  the  angry  spray. 


1850.]  T%e  Lass  of  the  Hornet.  303 


A  moment  ere  the  thnnder's  roar 

Had  died  away  in  ooean'a  moan, 
The  mountain  billows  gathered  o'er 

The  crew,  and  claimed  them  for  their  own ! 
The  waves  seemed  stmffgling  for  their  prey, 

And  fought  in  their  £read  rivalry ; 
Frond  in  their  azms  to  bear  away 

The  lightning's  offering  to  the  sea. 


No  more  across  the  wave-wreathed  main 

The  Hornet's  fflanoing  keel  shall  glide ; 
The  lightninff  and  the  hurricane 

Have  won  her  swiftness  and  her  pride. 
In  ocean's  caverns,  deep  and  dim, 

Her  gallant  sailors  lifeless  deep. 
While  ue  low  winds  with  constant  hymn 

A  vigil  o'er  their  slumbers  keep. 


The  rippling  keel  and  sailor's  aong 

Their  requiem  and  their  dirge  must  be ; 
Their  funeral  torches,  heaven's  bright  throng 

Of  stars,  foi  glancing  to  the  sea. 
Proud  sepulchre  from  whence  to  rise. 

When  the  archangel's  trumpet  dread, 
Resounding  through  the  trembling  skies, 

Calls  upon  Ocean  for  her  dead.    * 


O !  many  a  maiden's  eye  grew  dim, 

Watching  the  wide  sea  for  the  lost. 
And  many  a  mother  looked  for  him, 

Whose  form  the  careless  bOlows  tossed. 
In  many  a  winter  evening  lone. 

When  the  fierce  wind  was  shrieking  wild, 
Warm  prayers  went  ud  to  (tod's  high  throne, 

That  he  would  guara  the  ocean  c£ld. 


And  yet  the  years  passed  on ;  the  maid 

Grew  old  in  sorrow,  or  forgot. 
The  mother  in  the  tomb  was  laid, 

But  still  the  lost,  long-lost  came  not ; 
But  with  the  beautiful  and  brave, 

Of  many  an  age  forever  o'er, 
Their  home  is  now  beneath  the  wave, 

TQl  earth  and  sea  shall  be  no  more. 
CkiccgPj  lUinmt,  Fa^  18S0. 


304  The  Mysterious  Pyramid.  [April, 


THE     MYSTERIOUS     PYRAMID. 


BT    B»lltT    3.    BBSVT. 

*  Truth  is  Btranger  than  fiction/  for  who  could  have  invented  the 
Arabian  Nights'  Tales,  those  veritable  narratives  of  conjugal  confidence 
and  credulity  ?  Who  a^ain,  may  I  ask,  would  ever  have  dreamed  of 
'  Robinson  Crusoe,'  that  island-story  of  die  far-off  Pacific  Seas,  unless 
there  had  been  truth  at  the  bottom  ?  Aladdin's  lantern  was  a  true 
stoiy,  as  every  body  who  has  travelled  in  Eastern  lands  can  testify ; 
and  '  Poor  Robinson  Crusoe'  was  no  iable,  for  he  did  live  and  did  have 
a  home  on  his  rocky  island,  and  his  tomb-stone  is  now  to  be  seen  in  the 
eastern  section  of  Scotland ;  a  time-stained  and  moss-covered  monu- 
ment of  a  man  who,  when  living,  was  not  more  alive  than  he  is  now, 
that  his  bones  are  by  themselves  solitarily  crumbling  in  their  tomb. 

Did  not  Numa,  the  moon-lover  and  the  nymph-beUever,  go  into  his 
caVem  and  hold  converse  with  Egeria,  the  Roman  statesman-maid  % 
And  did  not  the  sybil-books  inculcate  £rom  knowledge  gained  in  the 
spirit-land  wisdom,  and  breathe  prophecy  to  the  hardened  city-building- 
wolf-bred  Romans  1  Out  upon  incredulity;  for  where  is  the  historian 
who  has  not  made  manifest  the  fact,  that  the  great  steeple-chaser, 
Quintus  Cortius,  leaped  alive  into  the  yawning  pit  of  the  seven-hilled 
city,  that  craved  and  hungered  for  an  honest  man  ]  Out  then,  I  say, 
upon  incredulity,  and  let  us  stick  to  our  belief  in  things  that  are  founded 
upon  facts. 

History  is  made  up  of  events  that  tell  of  other  matters  than  that 
Xerx^,  the  great  mihtia-general  of  Persia,  invaded  Greece,  and  met 
the  Leonidas  of  Patriotism  at  the  pass  of  Thermopylae.  History  is  rife 
with  the  undercurrent  of  events  that  concern  more  the  imagination 
than  the  legal  and  moral  impressions  of  our  nature ;  and  while  I  lend 
a  willing  ear  to  the  stories  of  Philip  and  Alexander,  his  conquering 
heir,  I  turn  no  deaf  or.  unbelieving  organ  to  the  wondrous  story  of  the 
Pythoness,  and  believe,  ay,  religiously  believe,  that  Jupiter  was  a  god, 
and  high  Olympus  was  his  throne. 

Therefore,  without  multitudinous  words  and  endless  preparation, 
let  me  proceed  to  my  story.  There  reigned  in  the  d^  season  of 
Egypt's  existence  a  kmg,  who  is  described  as  being  a  miser.  The 
history  relates  of  him  that  his  portrait  was  engraved  upon  the  Obelisk 
of  Luxor,  that  now  stands,  and  which  I  have  often  seen  standing,  upon 
the  Place  de  la  Concorde  at  Paris,  a  city  still  in  a  flourishing  condition  in 
France.  You  will  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have  ofben  gazed 
upon  the  venerable  but  rather  Shylockish  countenance  of  this  worthy 
monarch,  as  sauntering  down  the  Champs  Elys^e,  I  have  stopped  at  ' 
the  base  of  the  column  of  granite,  that  inimortal,  almost  eternal  monu- 
ment of  the  arts  and  literature  of  the  land  of 'the  Nile. 

The  King  it  seems  wore  a  crown,  one  composed  apparently  of  an 


306  The  JMjyaterums  P^amid.  [Apnl, 

treasury,  had  nothing  to  leave  to  his  children  save  a  secret  and  a  bless- 
ing. What  he  had  put  up  he  could  pull  down;  and  as  his  bill  for 
work  at  two  dollars  and  fifty  cents  a  day  had  not  been  paid  by  his  sove- 
reign, he  had  no  compunctions  of  conscience.  He  beckoned  to  Baba- 
Bebi,  his  eldest  and  laziest  son,  to  draw  near.     The  youth  obeyed. 

'  I  have  a  secret,'  said  the  father,  *  and  before  I  die  I  will  tell  it  to 
you.'  It  was  a  fortunate  thing  he  thought  of  telling  it  before  he  died, 
because  afterward  it  was  very  probable  he  would  not  be  able  to  do  so. 
This  reflection  is  made  not  by  me,  but  by  historians.  *  I  built,  you 
.  know,  the  p^pramid  for  that  old  curmudgeon,  King  Thapa-Thepis.  He 
has  got  all  his  treasure  in  it,  and  he  goes  tliere  nightly  to  see  it  When 
he  leaves  he  locks  the  door  and  puts  his  seal  upon  it,  so  that  if  any  one 
gets  in  they  have  to  break  the  wax,  and  the  King  will  find  him  out. 

'  There  are  no  windows  to  the  pyramid,'  continued  that  most  excel- 
lent of  parents,  •  and  therefore  there  is  but  one  way  of  getting  in,  and 
that  is  throuffh  the  door.'  Here  old  Tekel-Bebi  gave  a  knowing  look 
at  his  son,  \^o  winked  away  a  tear  and  then  was  all  attention.  *  Per- 
Jiapa  there  is  another  way  of  getting  into  that  strong  box,  ond  perhaps 
there  is  a  stone-mason  who  knows  it.  By  the  tail  of  the  holy  crocodile 
there  is !  Four  blocks  up  on  the  side  firondng  the  east  there  is  a  stone 
that  turns  upon  a  pivot.  The  eye  of  a  holy  Ibis  might  search  in  v^n 
to  find  it,  but  it  is  there.  It  is  fi^ur  stones  up  from  the  right  comer 
looking  to  the  east.  Touch  it  where  you  see  a  rude  and  very  small 
mark,  as  if  made  by  the  slip  of  the  chisel,  and  lo  I  you  can  get  in.  There 
is  a  corresponding  mark  on  the  inside,  so  that  by  pressing  it  you  can 
get  out.'  And  thus  finishing  the  thread  of  his  discourse,  he  recom- 
mended his  bronze-colored  soul  to  the  protection  of  the  holy  crocodile 
and  Ibis,  and  took  his  departure  for  the  catacombs  of  Egypt 

If  the  worthy  Tekel-Bene  was  not  embalmed  in  the  memory  of  his 
surviving  widow  and  children,  he  was  certainly  embalmed  in  the  swad- 
ling  clothes  o£  the  tomb,  as  any  unbelieving  skeptic  can  prove,  by  step- 
ping down  to  Barnum's  Museum,  who  has  his  remains  preserved. 
They  can  be  seen  at  any  time  of  the  day  or  night,  Englisn  giant  in- 
cluded, for  two  shillings,  children  half  price. 

Well,  old  Tekel-Bebi  being  dead,  his  heirs  looked  around  them  and 
bethought  of  the  pyramid.  The  widow,  too  proud  to  take  in  washing, 
and  too  old  to  think  of  marriage,  entered  her  right  of  dower  to  the 
secret,  and  edged  on  her  hopeful  o£&pring  to  the  venture  of  a  midnight 
visit  to  the  treasury  department.  During  the  day  it  was  but  natural 
that  the  sons  of  the  lamented  Tekel-Bebi  should  walk  around  the 
pyramid.  It  was  their  father's  work,  and  they  felt  a  natural  pride  in 
this  monument  of  his  skill  and  genius.  They  said  and  thought  less  of 
his  roguery. .  They  easily  discovered  the  accident  that  had  happened 
to  the  chisel,  and  they  took  a  note  of  it  What  worthy  sons  to  linger 
thus  near  the  slightest  trace  of  their  father's  labors ! 

That  night  the  toilette-table  of  Mrs.  Tekel-Bebi  sparkled  with  a  few 
rare  stones  of  some  namele^as  value,  but  to  be  had  at  half  price,  and 
the  dining  hall  displayed  a  sumptuous  supper.  Money  is  a  great  pro- 
curer of  good  things,  and  the  widow  and  her  sons  were  happy  then, 
for  they  had  their  fill  of  meats  and  drinks. 


308  The  Mysterious  Pyramid.  [Ap^» 

tbeir  Egyptian  California.  The  stone  turns  on  its  pirot  and  they  enter ; 
a  luciier  match  sets  fire  to  a  slow-burning  torch ;  the  torch  is  struck 
into  the  ground,  and  Baba-Bebi  and  his  brother  pick  their  way  in  quest 
of  the  choicest  stores.  Baba-Bebi  has  lifted  trom  an  opened  box  a 
bracelet  that  was  worth  a  battle  between  nations.  His  brother  stares 
on  the  sparkling  eyes  of  an  ivory  god. 

*  Hist  1  what  noise  at  the  door  ?  The  wax  is  bebg  broken !  Quick ! 
fly  1'     It  is  the  younger  who  speaks. 

A  gleam  of  a  sword  and  the  deed  is  done.  Baba-Bebi  has  severed 
his  younger  brother's  head  from  his  body.  He  seizes  ike  gory  head; 
he  flies.  The  quick  revolving  stone  allows  him  to  escape.  He  is  free ; 
he  is  outside  of  his  brother's  tomb,  with  his  brother's  head  in  his  hand. 
The  king  is  inside,  with  his  brother's  lifeless  trunk  before  his  eyes. 
Baba-Bebi  flies.  Thapa-Thepis  cannot  move.  A  burning  torch  be- 
fore him;  a  fresh-bleedmg  carcass  on  the  floor;  a  trunk  without  a  head; 
the  seal  of  the  door  unbroken  before  he  broke  it;  what  mystery! 
Where,  oh !  where  the  police  ? 

Is  ThaparThepis  in  a  dream  ?  Have  the  gods  given  him  over  to  die 
hands  of  conjurers  ]  Thapa-Thepis  does  not  know,  and  if  he  stays  all 
night  long  in  that  vast  room,  with  that  queer  trunk,  he  never  can  find 
out.  He  drags  the  body  to  the  door ;  he  drags  it  over  the  threshold ; 
he  leaves  it  for  a  moment  on  the  sands.  He  reenters ;  he  extinguishes 
the  blazing  torch,  and  flies  to  his  palace.  The  guards  are  commanded 
to  fetch  the  dead  man's  headless  body  from  the  pyramid ;  and  then  the 
king,  astounded,  puzzled,  worried,  fretted,  and  friefatened,  begins  to 
form  his  plans  for  the  morrow.  Wrapt  in  his  £:essing-gown  and 
thoughts,  let  us  leave  the  royal  presence,  and  for  a  moment  breathe. 

Why  did  Baba-Bebi  kill  his  brother  by  cutting  off*  his  head  ?  Sim- 
ply, to  save  his  own.  Any  reader  of  sense  will  perceive  the  force  of 
the  argumei^,  and  will  acquit  Baba  of  premeditated  murder.  Had 
they  both  been  detected,  bom  would  have  been  destroyed ;  and  to  pre- 
vent the  secret  being  discovered,  Baba  removed  the  only  evidence  that 
coidd  speak  against  him ;  his  brother's  speechless  head. 

The  king  was  in  no  humor  to  be  humbugged ;  that  is  the  last  thing 
that  kings  and  governors  and  mayors  and  ma^trates,  and  other  police- 
officers,  allow ;  so  he  was  busy  that  morning  m  issuing  an  edict  That 
edict  commanded  that  every  inhabitant,  from  the  oldest  down  to  the 
youngest,  of  his  city  and  the  neighborhood,  should  pass  before  a  gibbet 
on  which  was  to  be  exposed  the  body  of  the  unfortunate  thief 

There  was  wit  in  the  policy  of  Thapa-Thepis,  King  of  Egypt 

Soldiers  were  placed  near  the  gibbet,  whose  dufy  it  was  to  scrutinize 
the  face  of  every  person  who  passed  ^by,  to  see  if  they  could  trace  any 
expression  of  recognition.  It  was  the  only  course  tor  be  adopted  in 
the  absence  of  Fouche  and  Hays.  By  ten  o'clock  the  public  square 
was  crowded  with  the  dusky  people.  They  passed  on  wonderine,  but 
not  recogniziiiR.  None  knew  die  mason's  son.  If  any  one  doubts 
diis  fiict,  let  hmi  cut  off*  a  neighbor's  head,  and  dien  see  if  any  one 
will  be  able  to  identify  the  individual.-  Samson,  we  are  told,  slew  a 
host  widi  die  jaw-bone  of  an  ass.  The  ass  was  verified  by  the  jaw- 
bone ;  a  good  precedent  of  anatomical  precision,  which  seems  to  nave 


310  The  Mysterious  Pyramid.  [April, 

chifibnnier-noBe  bo  blue,  and  his  steps  so  tottering  ?  Hapless  Ring  of 
Egypt !  His  treasury  invadedi  his  guards  murdered,  the  body  rescued, 
the  culprit  fled,  and  worse  than  all  of  these,  the  secret  of  die  myste- 
rious entrance  into  his  pyramid  unravelled.  Up  to  this  moment  he  had 
acted  like  a  king ;  he  had  acted  aboveboard ;  tnere  was  no  guile  in  all 
or  any  of  his  acts  ;  but  still  my  old  friend  was  a  diplomatist ;  in  facl^ 
he  was  tricky.  He  feigned  wonder,  admiration,  at  the  cleyemess  of 
the  mysteries,  and  forthwith  he  published  the  following  brief  exposi- 
tion of  his  royal  views  and  intentions : 

*  To  ouK  BBLOTBD  Slavks  :  THAPA-TBKns,  Grkbtuio  : 

*'  Slaitm  of  CBKors  I  be  U  known  that  L  T.  T.,  the  King,  under  the  bteaslog  of  the  Boll  and  tiiA 
Apifl  and  the  WateMSod  of  the  Nile,  am  willing  to  pardon  the  wonderftd  man  who  has  robbed  my 
ooiDbrs,  who  has  killed  a  part  of  my  bold  and  yiotorious  arm  v,  wbo  has  roblied  the  gallows  of  ita 
ripened  froit ;  and  I  not  odIy  pardon,  bat  inyite  him  to  oome  forward  on  the  fourth  day  of  the  nexi 
moon  and  stand  before  my  daughter,  the  Princess  EprBRNiztiu,  who  will  be  found,  on  the  day  afore* 
said,  seated  in  the  great  Hall  of  Whispers,  in  my  palace  of  Golden  Grapes,  In  this  my  city  of  Crbom 
my  ancestor;  and  if  he  will  then  recount  to  her  and  proTC  that  he  is  the  person  who  has  performed 
the  late  wonderB,and  show  how  he  did  them,  he  shall  have  the  hand  of  my  beloved  daughter  tat 
marriase,  as  a  reward  of  his  illustrious  and  astounding  acts. 
4In  the  name  of  the  Crocodile.  Signed, 

^Spbuuum  Pnocox,  PnHU  MimitUr. 

» Ity  oommand  of  His  H^leafy, 

«  Thapa-Tbbpxs,'  eta,  et&     ■ 

This  proclamation  had  a  wonderful  effect.  The  Princess  Effemizida 
was  lovely  among  women ;  lovelier  but  not  whiter  than  the  lotos  of  the 
Nile,  and  heiress  to  the  large  estates  of  the  monarch.  It  would  fill  a 
library  were  I  to  undertake  the  recital  of  all  the  wild  stories  that  were 
told  to  the  princess,  as  she  sat  in  the  Hall  of  Whispers,  by  the  gallants 
of  the  city  of  Cheops.  Hope  inspired  them  with  wit,  and  their  tongues 
were  eloquent,  but  none  could  account  for  the  mystery  of  the  p3rramid. 

The  princess^  was  patient.  Tree-like  flowers  exhaled  their  loaded 
sweets  upon  the  air  of  the  capacious  hall ;  wondrous  birds  fluttered 
from  branch  to  branch  of  this  wilderness  of  shrubbery ;  and,  chained 
by  a  golden  link,  a  huge  crocodile  spread  his  flabby  feet  in  a  bath  of 
marble  inlaid  widi  gold  and  precious  stones,  and  siffhed  occasioiially 
for  a  freer  bath  in  his  beloved  and  native  river.  The  God  of  Egypt 
was  a  prisoner  in  the  bower  of  the  Queen  of  Beauty.  Music  ever 
and  anon  floated  on  the  scented -air  from  unseen  instruments,  and  filled 
the  space  with  melody,  and  breathed  voluptuous  languor  through  the 
room. 

Effemizida  listened  to  the  recital  of  the  gallants  of  her  father's 
court  amid  this  scene  of  inspiration,  but  none  could  win  a  smile  of 
credulity  from  her  roseate  hps.  Like  the  image  of  Silence  and  of 
Thought,  the  Sphynx  of  the  Sand,  she  heard,  but  she  answered  not. 

Thapa-Thepis  was  all  on  fire.  He  wandered  about  his  palace,  an^ 
he  visited  his  pyramid ;  but  only  broke  its  sacred  seal  to  find  some  other 
treasure  gone,  more  money  lost  Holy  snakes  and  vermin !  what  was 
to  be  done  {  Wait  a  while.  King  of  yeUow  Egypt ;  wait  a  while,  and 
be  cool! 

A  figure  wrapped  in  a  flowing  robe  stood  before  the  princess ;  two 
dark  and  darins  eyes  gazed  upon  her  beauty;  two  e^es  that  seemed 
endowed  with  the  expression  of  inextinguishable  suspicion  flashed  into 
her  very  soul.  Those  eyes  read  her  heart,  read  her  brain,  read  her 
dipl<nnacy.    For  one  instant  they  wandered  toward  the  tree-like  shrub- 


313  Stanzas:  the  Swan.  [April, 

will  find,  my  dear  reader,  by  conflultbg  '  Jolm  Smith's  HiBtory  of 
Egypt,'  diat  the  Bebi  family  afterward  reigned  in  that  country  until 
the  elevation  of  old  Mehemit  Ali  to  the  throne. 

I  hope  you  will  believe  my  story,  for  I  have  had  great  trouble  in 
making  it  out  from  the  hieroglyphics  of  the  Obelisk  of  Luxor  in  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde  at  Paris. 


THE  SWAN 


'  I>vxoxA  d«toeto  modttlafear  oaarmlaa  Uacoa 

.  Caatator  Cygaoa  fanerla  Ipse  urxL'  Otu>. 


Statslt  bird  I  from  lake  and  bay 
Fled  a  grace  and  oharm  away  . 
When  LnprovemenVs  thrilling  oaQ 
Fieroed  the  forest's  leafy  hall, 
]^m  bine  waters  onoe  thine  own, 
Soaring  thee  to  hannta  more  lone. 


Reeds  and  mahee  fringe  the  shore, 
Bat  they  hide  thy  nest  no  more ; 
Water  lilies  without  stain 
Deoorate  thine  old  domain ; 
But  thy  soft  and  ronnded  breast 
In  a  pnrer  white  waa  droit 


Driven  forth  by  winter  cold 
iVom  the  polar  wastes  of  old. 
Mnsio  from  the  sky  would  &n 
Loader  than  a  battle-oall, 
As  thy  pinion,  peerless  swan ! 
Bore  thee  in  thy  beanty  on. 


Never  listened  mortal  ear 
To  a  Toioe  more  Ml  and  dear ; 
Not  nnlike  in  depth  of  tone 
Note  of  oonch-shell  loudly  blown, 
Or  a  fiur-off  trumpet  wul 
Adulated  by  the  gale. 


Tlie  wild  red-man  with  delist 
Heprd  that  ohallenge  shrill  at  night, 
As  revealed  by  moonlight  ftir, 
Sped  thy  form  through  fields  of  air ; 
Vans  of  saver,  broad  and  strong, 
Southward  wafting  thee  along. 


1850.]    •  aiamza$:  the  Swan.  313 


Prized  by  chief  and  forest-king 
Was  the  plumage  of  thy  wing : 
On  the  head  of  Indian  maid 
Low  winds  with  thy  feathers  played ; 
And  thy  down,  so  rich  and  wami) 
Edged  the  robe  that  wnqpped  her  hem. 


Afle,  that  cripples  mortal  power, 
Vftuiing  pile  and  orambling  tower, 
Sullies  not  thy  Yeebaie  white. 
Bringing  darkness  to  the  sight, 
Though  a  oentnxy  may  haye  fled 
Since  thy  first  wing-quiU  was  shed. 


Pnrer  type  the  fiibling  mind 
Grace  to  picture  cannot  find: 
And  where  Art  on  canvass  drew 
Venus,  bom  of  ooean  blue, 
Yoked  to  chariot  of  the  queen. 
Swans  with  arching  neck  were  seen. 


Onn.  in  his  sweetest  Tena^ 
Loved  thy  praises  to  rehearae ; 
Flaccus,  in  his  p<dished  Usyy 
Tribute  unto  thee  did  pay ; 
And  in  Plato's*  mighty  tome 
Ever  thou  wih  find  ft] 


Still  would  I  believer  be 
In  the  tale  ihev  tell  of  thee, 
Breathing  in  the  hour  of  death 
Music  with  thy  latest  breath ; 
Tuning  with  a  fitiling  tongue 
Strains  the  sweetest  ever  sung. 


Blest  may  merry  Bng^d  be, 
For  her  statutes  guarded  thee : 
Those  who  soiled  thy  plume  with  gore 
Branded  mark  of  felon  bore ; 
And  admiring  lords  and  dames 
Viewed  thee  sailing  on  the  Thames. 


Bare  old  Bin.  could  find  no  i 
Worthy  of  a  Shaxsfiau's  fimie 
But  thme  own,  majestio  bird  I 
^ow  a  conseoralea  wora, 
With  unmatched  poetic  tore 
Intertwined  fbrevermore. 


TliTn  ts  n—lgiw  Isitihir  rjmni  miwllii  tunirtTm  fin  msrlTrt  imrrmt    Nols  to  BoaACSy 


1.1V.,  ode  Hi. 


314  Tfie  Warder'i  Tble.  April, 


THE     WARDER'S     TALE. 


BT  SBvsr  ravTOM. 


It  is  said  that  the  wandering  Arab,  after  emerging  from  the  burning 
sands  and  heated  air  of  the  desert,  into  the  sheltering  groves  of  some 
friendly  oilsis,  will  recline  for  hours  beneath  their  inviting  shades,  lis- 
tening to  the  long-spun  stories  of  one  of  their  companions ;  and  I  con- 
fess £at  I  have  seldom  contemplated  this  feature  in  their  vagabond 
kind  of  life  without  a  feeling  akin  to  envy.  Repose  is  of  itself  a  luxury 
when  preceded  by  its  necessary  antithesis ;  but  with  such  an  accompani- 
ment It  possesses  a  double  charm.  Stories,  in  one  shape  and  another, 
form  the  great  staple  of  amusement  for  the  human  family.  Children, 
the  world  over,  exhibit  a  remarkable  ibndness  for  them,  and  men  in  this 
as  in  other  things,  are  but  *  children  of  a  larger  growth.'  Why  it  is  so, 
it  is  needless  to  inquire.  A  modem  philosopher  would  doubtless  dis- 
pose of  the  question  by  pointing  to  the  organ  of  marvellousness,  and 
saying  that  the  whole  subject  lay  '  in  a  nut-shell ;'  meaning,  perhaps, 
the  shell  of  a  cocoaruut,  as  the  human  cranium  is  sometimes  disrespect- 
fully termed.  And  this,  perhaps,  would  be  a  sufficient  solution  of  the 
mystery. 

Doubtless  some  of  our  distinguished  fioveUetisU  might  dislike  to  be 
told  that  there  is  no  vast  difference  between  their  vocation  and  that  of 
those  Oriental  woQder-mongers  to  whom  allusion  has  been  made.  Yet 
their  calling  is  in  some  respects  the  same.  Not  that  I  would  detract  fixim 
the  dignity  of  the  craft.  A  path  of  literature  which  has  been  ennobled 
by  the  pens  of  Irving  and  Dickens,  may  not  be  lightly  spoken  of.  For 
myself  I  confess  to  a  ereat  fondness  for  stories,  providea  they  possess  a 
reasonable  deeree  of  mterest,  and  are  related  with  a  reasonable  degree 
of  skill.  In  me  generic  name  of  '  story,'  however,  I  do  not  mean  to 
include  the  higher  branches  of  fiction.  Novels,  long  involved  and 
complicate,  are  well  enough  in  their  line,  when  the  requisite  degree  of 
genius  is  brought  to  bear  upon  their  construction.  But  I  speak  now  of 
the  brief  and  well-conceived  tale,  which  stares  at  you  from  the  freshly- 
printed  periodical,  promising  a  half  hour's  relaxation  and  amusement, 
when  the  mind  has  long  been  burthened  with  weightier  thouQ;ht ;  one 
that  the  eye  may  roam  lazily  over,  when,  amid  zephyrs  and  shades, 
you  seek  refuse  from  the  sultry  sun  of  June,  or  when  partitioned  off 
from  the  howling  storms  of  November,  you  repose  indolently,  beside 
the  glowing  grate. 

But  I  must  not  forget  what  has  probably  been  anticipated,  that  I  have 
myself  a  story  to  relate,  and  unless  I  hasten  to  its  commencement,  I 
may  find  myself  in  the  unenviable  plight  of  a  certain  verbose  author, 
who  wrote  so  long  a  preface  to  his  book  that  he  was  obliged  to  publish 
it  in  a  separate  volume. 

Let  me  therefore  introduce  to  the  reader  a  worthy  and  ancient  gon*  - 


1850.]  The  Warder's  Tale.  315 

iSeman,  wbo  formerly  occupied  a  station  which  afibrded  him  opportuni- 
ties of  becoming  acquainted  with  many  strange  and  secret  pages  of 
human  life.  Man^  years  ago,  Colonel  Rushton  was  the  principal  keeper 
of  a  State  Penitentiary.  He  was  moreoTer,  what  the  incumbent  of  such 
a  post  ought  always  to  be,  a  man  of  great  probity  and  humanity.  The 
ibTlowin^  tale  of  events  connected  with  his  former  occupation,  is  one  of 
many  with  which  his  memory  is  stored,  and  which,  thanks  to  the  gar- 
ruli^  of  age,  he  now  takes  pleasure  in  relating.  If  it  should  be  thought 
to  possess  a  romantic  character,  but  little  in  keepmg  with  the  spirit  of 
this  *  working-day  world,*  or  approaching  too  near  the  marvellous  for 
easy  credence,  let  it  be  remembered  that  the  incidents  which  it  records, 
occurred  in  those  times 

' when  worth  was  crowned,  sod  Ihifh  was  kept, 

Ero  friendship  grew  ft  enare,  or  lore  waxed  cold 
Those  pore  and  happy  times ;  the  golden  daya  of  old.' 

Lest,  however,  my  informant  may  be  considered  to  have  violated  any 
confidence  rejposed  in  him ;  by  divulgbg  certain  portions  of  the  fol- 
lowing narrative,  it  is  proper  to  state  that  Time  has  wrought  his  usual 
changes  with  the  principal  actors  in  the  scenes  about  to  be  described, 
and  whatever  reason  for  secrecy  there  may  once  have  been,  has  lane 
since  ceased  to  exist.  With  this  brief  explanation,  my  venerable  fiiend 
shall  be  allowed  to  speak  for  himself. 


THE    AWARDER' 8     TALE. 
I 

It  was  drawing-room  night,  to  borrow  a  trans-Atlantic  phrase,  at  the 
Qtyvemor's  house  in  the  city  of ,  and  a  crowd  of  gay  and  fash- 
ionable people,  interspersed  with  many  grave,  and  a  few  seedy-looking 
politicians,  thronged  the  spacious  halls  and  corridors  of  die  executive 
mansion.  To  die  eye  of  an  attentive  observer  an  amusing  contrast  was 
afibrded  by  the  aspect  of  the  different  coteries  thus  brought  into  juxta- 
position. Here,  a  &ir  daughter  of  Eve,  with  possibly  a  spice  of  Eve's 
old  antagonist  in  her  composition,  but  radiant  with  the  Bght  of  a  thou- 
sand charms,  reigned  supreme  over  a  little  group  of  spell-bound  ad- 
mirers, while,  removed  but  a  few  feet  from  the  magic  circle,  a  knot  o£ 
intriguing  politicians,  heedless  of  the  dangerous  vicinity,  were  eagerly 
discussing  the  approaching  campaign.  Others,  equally  forgetful  m  the 
festive  occasion  which  had  drawn  them  together,  were  openly  censur- 
ing, with  true  republicau  jfreedom,  some  recent  public  act  of  the  chief 
magistrate,  and  stigmatizing  as  a  demagogue  the  man  whom  but  a  fow 
moments  before  they  had  cordially  te^en  by  the  hand.  Ignorant  or 
heedless  of  these  things,  which  he  well  knew  how  to  appreciate,  the 
distinguished  functuary  alluded  to,  occupied  a  prominent  part  of  the 
piincroal  saloon ;  the  centre  of  a  continually  shiftmg  group,  who,  havhiff 

gud  their  &Kt  salutations  there,  retired  and  mingl^  widi  the  crowd, 
aving  myself  performed  this  duty,  and  being  nearly  a  stranger  to  the 
buzzing  throne  around  me,  I  had  stationed  myself  in  a  fovorable  posi- 
tion for  beholmng  the  actors  in  this  Utde  drama. 

▼OL.  XXXT.  21 


316  The  Warder'i  7\de,  [ApriL 

There  have  been  many  individuals  since  the  days  of  Shak^are  to 
whom  have  been  applied  the  Hamletonian  epithet, '  the  observed  of  all 
^observers.'  There  was  certainly  one  at  the  Governor's  leve^.  Of  unu- 
sual elegance  of  figure,  face,  and  apparel,  of  gracefiil  and  prepossess- 
ing manners,  this  cynosure  of  a  bunored  eyes  was  a  stranger,  of  whom 
nothing  seemed  to  be  known  by  the  crowd  with  which  he  was  mingling. 
In  vain  were  the  questions  of  the  curious  set  on  foot  Mammas  manag^ 
and  daughters  c^led,  all  in  vain«  He  sought  no  introduction  to  the 
ladies,  but  remaining  near  the  Governor  for  a  much  longer  time  than 
etiquette  would  warrant,  availed  himself  of  every  opportunity  to  renew 
what  seemed  an  almost  importunate  conversation  with  that  gentleman. 
Whatever  the  subject  matter  of  this  colloquy  may  have  been,  it  was 
evidently  urged  in  that  respectful  and  gentlemanly  manner,  which  for- 
bade the  idea  of  reproof  When  finally  forced,  by  the  press  of  other 
claimants  to  relinquish  his  post,  it  was  only  to  seek  the  most  influential 
of  the  state  officers,  with  tne  same  winnmg  manners  and  earnest  air. 
His  remarks  to  all  of  these  individuals  were  made  in  a  semi-confiden- 
tial tone,  and  seemed  to  be  respectfully  received.  These  circumstances 
of  course,  tended  to  heighten  curiosity,  and  having  partaken  somewhat 
largely  of  that  infectious  feeling,  I  soon  found  myself,  imconsciously, 
drawing  nearer  to  the  object  of  it.  When  I  had  approached  within  a 
few  feet  of  this  notable  personage,  our  eyes  inadvertently  met  What 
was  my  surprise  when  I  saw  a  sudden  color  sufiuse  his  face,  succeeded 
by  as  sudden  and  remarkable  a  pallor.  He  Altered  in  conversatioD, 
and  despite  his  former  sel^possession,  remained  silent  for  several  se- 
conds, staring  fixedly  at  me.  For  one  instant  I  was  astonished  —  ap- 
palled. The  next,  a  U^ht  flashed  upon  my  mind.  Memory  held  up 
her  mirror,  and  within  it,  faint,  vague,  indistinct  was  the  countenance 
of  the  stranger.  Gradually  tlie  clouds  passed  away,  the  picture  grew 
more  vivid  and  the  truth  became  apparent.  He  had  been  a  convict  and 
an  inmate  of  the  prison  under  my  charge.  The  recognition,  which 
was  mutual  and  complete,  had  occupied  but  a  few  seconds  ancLas  we 
were  still  gazing  at  each  other,  he  gave  me  a  deprecating  look,  and 
withdrawing  his  eyes,  continued  a  conversation  with  one  of  the  secreta- 
ries with  tolei*able  composure.  Five  minutes  afterward  he  drew  me 
aside,  and  with  his  former  equanimity  fully  restored,  remarked : 

'  I  believe  firom  your  countenance  that  my  secret  is  safe  for  the  pre- 
sent. If  on  the  morrow,  I  cannot  give  you  sufficient  reason  for  con- 
tinuing to  keep  it  so,  you  shall  have  full  liberty  to  divulge  it  In  the 
mean  time  accept  this  pledge,  that  to-morrow  I  will  see  you  again.' 

So  saying,  he  placed  m  my  hands  a  small  parcel,  and  disappeared  before 
I  could  reply.  His  sudden  exit  was  the  cause  of  no  httlo  sensation, 
and  finding  myself  likely  to  become  a  lion  in  his  stead,!  soon  followed 
his  example.  During  my  homewaid  walk,  my  mind  was  fully  occupied 
with  reflections  upon  this  extraordinary  occurrence.  My  first  impulse 
bad  been  to  publicly  expose  so  insolent  a  trespasser  upon  society.  Bui 
while  I  hesitated,  his  words  and  still  more  his  manner  decided  me  to 
forbear.  Although  a  smile  of  seeming  composure  had  accompanied 
his  remarks,  I  fancied  I  could  perceive  that  forced  resignation  of  ex- 
pression, which  marks  the  countenance  of  one  inured  to  suflbring  and 


1850.]  7%e  Warder^t  Tale,  317 

prepared  for  the  worst  The  mystery  of  the  affidr  was  in  no  degree 
ipBsened  upon  my  arrival  at  my  room  by  an  examination  of  the  parcel 
which  he  had  given  me.  It  proved  to  be  a  miniatore  pamtmg  of  a 
female  &ce,  young  and  of  exceeding  beauty.  It  was  ricmy  set,  and  in 
everv  way  a  choice  work  of  art  l&tisfiied  that  my  inanimate  hostage 
oonld  not  fail  to  be  redee^ied,  I  deposited  it  in  a  place  of  safe-keeping* 
and  awaited  the  result 

The  appobtment  was  fidthfully  kept  On  the  ensuing  morning,  the 
stranger  was  shown  to  mv  room  at  the  — —  hotel,  and  I  was  not  a  Htde 
amused  to  perceive  that  his  distinguished  appearance  visibly  increased 
the  respect  shown  to  myself  by  the  domestic  who  ushered  him  in. 
When  we  were  at  length  entirely  alone,  his  deportment  changed,  and 
he  addressed  me  as  foBows : 

'  You  think  me  an  impostor,  and  are  perhaps  prepared  to  denounce 
me  to  the  world  as  a  convicted  felon^  If  this  will  be  a  pleasure  to  you* 
it  is  one  from  which  I  have  no  disnosition  to  debar  vou,  excepting  for 
a  limited  time  and  for  a  specific  o^ect  The  world  and  its  opinions  I 
hold  in  disregard.  Deceived  by  oi^iament,  jud^g  from  &ke  premises 
or  falsely  from  correct  ones,  condemning  the  mnocent  and  upholding 
the  corrupt,  its  censures  and  its  adulations  are  aUke  unworthy  of  notice. 
It  myself,  degraded  by  its  judgment,  you  will  say,  do  not  occupy  a  suf* 
ficient  elevation  from  which  to  exercise  tliis  assumed  contempt.  If 
disgrace  consists  in  punishment,  instead  of  crime,  I  do  not;  if  inno- 
cence is  the  same  in  the  sanctuary  and  the  cell,  I  do.  You  smile,  and 
I  probabljr  understand  your  meaning.  One  who  has  lone  occupied 
your  situation,  becomes  accustomed  to  tiiese  protestations  of  innocence 
and  learns  to  hold  them  cheap.  The  graduate  of  a  prison  can  hardly 
hope  to  retain  a  reputation  for  veracity.  It  matters  not  I  have  it  in 
my  power  to  compel  belief  to  a  portion  of  what  I  am  about  to  tell  you, 
if  you  win  listen,  and  as  to  the  rest,  you  yourself  (excuse  me,)  are  only 
an  nnit  of  that  great  world,  whose  opinion  in  the  mass,  I  have  already 
dared  to  despise.' 

So  saying,  and  assuming  an  air  of  gajrety  that  left  me  a  while  in  doubt 
whether  to  nnpute  it  to  a  consummate  skill  m  acting,orto  a  natural  buoy- 
ancy of  spirits,  he  continued,  or  rather  commenced  his  narrative  as  fol- 
lows: • 

*  I  have  been  a  prisoner.  Let  me  begin  there.  It  is  the  proper 
oenlre  of  my  story.  Your  true  romancer  stations  himself  spider-luce^ 
in  the  midst  of  his  plot,  whence  he  can  spin  his  thread  in  every  direc- 
tion. Why  may  not  the  historian  do  the  same  1  But  my  simile  is  un- 
happy. I  am  rather  the  unsuspecting  fly,  cauffht  in  Bach  flimsy  toils. 
The  spider  is  yet  to  be  introduced*  I  repeat  £en,  I  have  been  a  state 
prisoner.  Let  me  reverse  the  words,  and  say  a  prisoner  of  state.  It 
sounds  better.  Ree ulus  and  Bonaparte  were  the  same.  Nor  is  there 
any  diing  venr  dreadful  in  the  doom.  Apart  from  the  consciousness  of 
gimt,  which  I  had  not,  and  the  dusfprace  ifHiich  I  folt  not,  there  is  really 
out  fittle  to  be  endured.  Who  is  not  a  prisoner?  Mv  limits  were 
narrower  than  yours.  But  what  were  yoursl  A  speck  amidst  im- 
mensity. A  little  ball  of  earth,  to  which  by  viewless  chains,  we  are  all 
boonddown.    The  relative  size  of  our  prison-houses  is  nearly  the  same 


318  The  Warder's  Tale.  [April. 

compared  with  that  larger  liberty  to  which  we  all  aspire.  Yoa»  who 
have  often  seen  me  in  the  situation  to  which  I  allude,  will  think,  per- 
haps, that  mj  deportment  there  did  not  always  give  evidence  of  such 
an  immunity  from  grief  Alas  1  I  had  other  cause  for  sorrow,  of  which 
you  shall  hear.  Four  years  ago,  at  the  early  age  of  twent)r-two,  I  held 
a  responsible  post  in  a  krffe  banking  establishment  in  the  city  of 
It  is  unnecessary  to  say  mat  I  possessed  the  enthre  confidence  of  my 
en^loyers,  both  in  re^d  to  capacitv  and  integrity.  To  one,  the  prin- 
cipal officer  and  capitalist  of  the  mstitution,  I  wbb  under  the  most 
weighty  obligations.  It  would  be  tedious  to  you,  t^ere  I  to  relate  the 
particulars  of  my  position  and  affiurs.  Let  it  suffice  that  I  was  perenl>> 
less  and  poor.  But  I  had  been  taught  that  talents,  integrity,  and  ad- 
dress were  in  themselves  a  valuable  capital.  How  valuable  thev  proved 
to  me  in  combattmg  the  first  ill-winds  of  fortune,  you  shall  jud^ 

^  Although  my  occupation  was  one  that  allowed  me  much  leisure,  I 
had  but  few  companions.  One  of  these,  whose  portrait  adorns  this  bit 
of  ivory,'  he  continued,  opening  the  miniature-case,  and  gazing  with 
evident  emotion  at  the  picture  within,  <  too  fully  engrossed  my  thoughtB 
to  leave  me  much  interest  in  general  society,  or  m  associates  of  my 
oyrn  sex.  Of  her  my  accoimt  must  be  brief,  for  lan^a^  is  inadequate 
to  depict  her  worth.  Of  her  exceeding  beauty  this  httle  sketch  will 
indeed  afford  some  slight  idea.  But  beauty  was  the  least  of  her  charms. 
She  was  an  orphan-niece  of  Mr.  Elton,  the  fiiend  to  whom  I  have  al- 
luded, and  a  member  of  his  family.  She  was,  however,  vrithput  ex- 
pectations from  her  uncle,  whose  family  was  already  large  when  this 
precious  charge  was  devolved  upon  his  care  by  the  sudden  decease  of 
her  parents.  There  were,  therefore,  no  motives  of  delicacy  to  restrain 
my  addresses.  Her  situation  in  life  was  singularly  similar  to  my  own. 
Our  acquaintance  soon  ripened  into  affection,  and,  as  she  subsequently 
gave  convincing  proof,  her  attachment  to  me  suspaased  even  the  pro- 
verbial love  of  woman.  It  was  single,  sincere  and  devoted.  I  am 
convinced  that  no  earthly  object  which  could  have  come  in  conflict  with 
it  would  have  possessed  the  slightest  relative  value  in  her  estimation. 
That  love  was  as  fiillv  reciprocated  as  my  less  noble  nature  would  ad« 
mit.  Such  was  Louisa  w  entworth,  and  such  the  nature  of  the  ties 
which  united  us.  J7o  cloud  rested  upon  our  happiness ;  the  present 
was  ffilded  by  afiectLon,  the  future  was  illumined  by  hope. 

'  I  nave  sketched  the  picture  of  an  angel ;  let  me  draw  by  its  side 
the  demon  whose  dark  shadow  fell  so  soon  across  our  Paradise.  The 
world  contains  many  varieties  of  villains,  but  there  are  none  at  once  so 
despicable  and  so  dangerous  as  those  who  hide  hatred  under  a  mask  of 
fiiendship,  and  plot  their  neighbor's  ruin  with  a  smiling  face.  Of  this 
class  was  Henry  Ledbrd.  And  when  it  is  remembereid  how  difficult 
it  is  to  detect  the  lineaments  of  a  depraved  and  fiendish  heart  under  a 
pleasing  exterior  and  graceful  address,  it  will  be  no  matter  of  surprise 
that  for  a  while  We  were  on  intimate  and  friendly  terms.  A  confiden- 
tial clerk  in  the  same  institution  with  which  I  was  connected,  young, 
well  educated,  and  of  resectable  family,  there  seemed  no  reasouaUe 
barrier  to  our  intimacy*  I  little  dreamed  that  even  then  a  long  couise 
of  secret  dissipatbn  had  wasted  his  patrimony,  and  left  him  a  prey  to 


1S60.]  I%e  Wwia't  TSU.  319 

temptatioiM  which  he  had  no  vbtae  to  resist  The  repttkiye  features 
in  his  character  were  not  suddenly  de^wloped  One  by  one  they  be- 
came visible,  like  stains  in  silk  of  richest  nbric,  the  more  foul  by  con- 
trast with  his  seeming  excellence.  Peihaps  it  might  have  been  my 
loty  seduced  by  such  a  tempter,  to  break  through  the  barriers  erected 
b^  early  education  and  descend  with  him  along  the  flowery  paths  of 
▼ice.  But  this  one  pure  image,  enshrined  upon  the  innermost  altar  of 
my  heart,  proved  a  protecting  talisman  against  all  the  blandishments  of 
pleasure.  Alas !  that  the  same  cause  which  restrained  me  from  the 
commission  of  guilt  should  devolve  upon  me  its  severest  punishment ! 

'  Leefiird  coiud  not  tolerate  a  superior.  In  his  view,  to  be  surpassed 
was  to  be  degraded.  When  I  say,  therefore,  that  he  had  been  a  re- 
jected suitor  for  the  hand  of  Miss  Wentworth,  you  wiU  understand  in 
some  degree  the  character  of  his  real  feelings  toward  myself  Charity 
may  suggest  a  doubt  whether  for  this  cause  alone  he  would  have  sought 
lOT  utter  ruin ;  but  when  it  became  necessary  to  find  a  victim  for  guilt 
which  could  no  longer  be  concealed,  he  effected  a  double  object  \a 
selecting  me,  and  effected  it  the  more  easily  because  of  our  seeming 
friendship.  Prominent  among  the  vices  to  which  he  was  addicted  was 
that  of  ^[ambling.  This  from  a  pastime  had  grown  to  an  unconquera- 
ble habit,  and  was  at  length  resorted  to  solely  as  a  source  or  gain. 
Driven  to  desperation  by  large  and  repeated  losses,  and  sanguine  with 
the  hope  of  retrieving  his  fortune,  he  abstracted  a  large  sum  frxim  his 
employer's  funds.  Nearly  all  of  this,  as  I  have  recently  learned,  was 
in  one  night,  and  at  one  sitting,  transferred  to  other  hands.  On  the 
ensEuing  morning,  although  he  well  knew  that  on  that  day  the  embez- 
zlement must  be  discovered,  he  appeared  with  smiling  and  undisturbed 
countenance  at  his  accustomed  post,  and  went  composedly  through  his 
ordinary  duties.  When  the  astounding  disclosure  was  at  length  made, 
Leeford  was  the  man  who  first  turned  the  current  of  suspicion  upon  me. 
Himself  and  a  principal  officer  of  the  institution  called  upon  me  to- 
gether, and  with  significant  looks  suddenly  communicated  the  intelli- 
gence. I  folt  that  1  was  suspected.  Indignation  and  shame  drove  the 
quick  blood  to  my  cheeks,  and  a  revulsion  of  feeling  as  naturally  lefb 
me  with  a  corresponding  pallor.  Shame  on  the  idiots  who  could  con- 
strue such  an  effect  into  the  evidence  of  guilt !  Tet  it  was  considered 
sufficient  for  my  arrest,  and  proof  was  not  wanting  to  complete  my 
ruin.  The  particulars  it  is  unnecessary  to  relate.  The  web  was 
artfully  woven,  and  the  victim  was  snared.  It  was  not  without  the 
utmost  reluctance,  nor  until  proofs  seemingly  the  most  convincingwere 
produced  against  me,  that  my  former  friend  and  patron,  Mr.  ^Slton, 
yielded  credence  to  the  charge.  Prominent  among  the  proofs  alluded 
to,  and  one  that  weighed  heavily  against  me,  was  the  circumstance  that 
several  hundreds  of  the  stolen  mnds  were  found  concealed  in  my  room, 
%  &ct  which  ought  rather  to  have  aroused  suspicions  of  a  very  different 
natutfre.  To  have  perpetrated  such  a  crime,  and  lefi  such  palpable  traces 
of  my  guilt,  I  must  have  passed  at  once  fh>m  at  least  an  ordinary  de- 
gree of  intelligence  and  integrity  to  the  very  depths  both  of  stupidity 
and  crime. 

'  Although  ftom  the  first  I  had  suspected  Leeford's  guilt,  I  did  not 


320  TU  Warder'M  Tale.'  [April, 

know  it.  I  could  obtain  no  tangible  evidence  against  him,  nor  conMI 
fuUy  believe  in  such  total  depravity.  It  would  have  been  worse  than 
UBeless  to  suggest  suspicions  so  feebly  entertained,  and  which  admitted 
of  no  confirmation.  But  amid  all  this  persecution  there  was  one  un- 
&iling  soiurce  of  consolation.  Louisa  Wentworth  placed  the  most  im- 
plicit faith  in  m^  integrity.  Never  for  one  moment  did  she  swerve 
from  a  fuU  conviction  of  my  innocence.  Her  distress  was  at  first  of 
the  most  intense  and  harrowing  kind.  But  during  the  few  weeks  which 
elapsed  befere  m^  trial,  her  appearance  underwent  a  remarkable  change. 
Tears  and  anguish  gave  way  to  smiles  and  cheerful  words.  She  cud 
not  indeed  predict  my  acquittal ;  of  that  there  seemed  no  reasonable 
prospect  !But  she  spoke  of  brighter  days  in  reserve.  She  taught  me 
to  despise  a  world  so  easily  mided,  and  pointed  forward  to  the  time 
when,  with  herself  fi>nd  and  faithfhl  at  my  side,  with  a  consciousness 
of  integrity,  and  probabW  a  retrieved  reputation,  I  should  smile  at  the 
memonr  of  present  gries.  The  picture  brightened  beneath  her  touch* 
atid  I  relt  at  that  moment  what  I  have  never  since  ceased  to  feel,  that 
the  possession  of  such  a  heart  was  of  infinitely  more  value  than  all  the 
world  beside. 

*  My  trial  resulted  as  was  fi^reseen.  Let  me  not  dwell  on  the  painful 
particulars.  Ever^  exertion  was  used  in  vain  by  the  friends  of  Louisa 
to  detach  her  affections  from  an  object  deemed  so  unworthy.  But  to  the 
'  last  she  contmued  firm  and  faithful,  and  replied  only  with  the  most  in- 
dignant reproaches  against  those  who  had  so  readily  deserted  me. 
*  Tell  me  not,'  she  said,  when  conducted  from  the  court-room,  where 
she  had  persisted  in  being  present  at  the  trial  ,*  '  tell  me  not  that  he 
has  been  convicted  by  an  impartial  jury  and  an  upright  judge.  To  the 
^reat  Judge  of  Judges  I  appeal*  the  foundations  or  whose  throne  are 
justice  and  equity.' 

'  At  our  final  separation  each,  with  forced  composure,  strove  to  ani- 
mate the  other.  For  myself,  although  in  public  I  had  been  able  to 
mani&st  all  the  equanimity  which  innocence  properly  in^ires,  I  found 
it  a  task  more  difficult  to  restrain  the  convulsive  throes  oi  grief  at  this 
last  sad  interview. 

'  It  would  be  ecjually  useless  to  harrow  your  feelings  by  a  recital  of 
my  sufferings  during  the  first  few  weeks  of  my  conmiement  It  was 
less,  however,  the  gkx>m  of  the  cell,  or  the  degradation  of  the  work- 
shop, which  I  mourned,  than  the  prospect  of  so  prolonged  a  separa- 
tion from  her  who  now  constitutea  the  light  and  joy  of  my  Ufe.  But 
my  grief  was  not  destined  to  be  without  alleviation.  A  letter,  myste- 
riously introduced  into  my  cell  by  night,  greeted  my  eyes  one  morning 
on  rising  from  my  couch.  A  blissful  presentiment  filled  my  mind.  My 
whole  irame  shook  with  the  violent  pulsations  of  my  heart  Trem- 
blingly I  seized  the  treasure ;  but  it  was  not  until  several  seconds  had 
elapsed  that  my  fast-flowing  tears  would  allow  me  to  distinguish,  in 
the  address,  the  well-known  hand  of  Louisa.  It  was  filled  with  the 
same  fervor  of  affection,  and  assurances  of  the  same  unfaltering  faith 
in  my  innocence,  of  which  she  had  already  given  such  convincing  proof 
She  also  earnestly  enjoined  upon  me  to  forbear  any  attempt  to  ascer- 
tain the  agency  by  which  the  letter  was  received;  and  as  a  compliance 


1850.]  The  Warier'M  Tale.  321 

widi  this  reqaest  was  made  the  condition  on  which  depended  a  repeti- 
tion of  the  tavor,  you  need  not  doubt  my  obedience.  It  was  easy  to 
conjectore  that  some  subordinate  officer  of  the  prison  had  been  found 
who  was  not  too  rigid  a  disciplinarian  to  perform  so  humane  and  harm- 
less an  act  But  in  what  manner  Louisa  could  hare  secured  his  ser- 
vices was  more  difficult  to  determine.  After  a  few  weeks  another  letter 
was  received,  with  an  assurance  of  their  probable  continuance.  In  this 
Louisa  informed  me  not  only  of  her  own  healdi,  but  that  she  had  means 
of  keeping  advised  of  mine.  Thenceforth  these  mute  messengers 
were  the  solace  of  my  life.  To  think  of  Aem  by  day,  to  dream  of 
'  diem  by  night,  to  watoh  for  them  at  dawn,  became  an  occupation  and 
amusement  How  indeHbly  was  every  sentence  imprinted  on  my  heart ! 
How  were  every  margin  and  comer  searched  for  some  isolated  word 
that  mi^ht  have  escaped  my  first  eager  perusal !  They  continued  to 
be  receiyed  at  irregular  intervals,  but  no  clue  viras  affi>rded  to  the  in- 
visible post  by  which  they  arrived. 

^  Time  roDed  on.  I  became  in  some  degree  reconciled  to  my  lot. 
The  rocky  waBs  and  grated  windows  of  my  cell  began  to  look  less 
harsh  and  forbidding.  Nor  was  the  workshop  without  its  amusement. 
The  state  had  kindly  undertaken  to  educate  me  to  the  honorable  handi- 
craft of  a  weaver ;  and  although'  my  fingers  were,  doubtless,  better 
fitted  for  the  pen  than  the  shuttle,  I  did  not  dislike  my  new  occupation. 
It  proved  an  agreeable  pastime.  I  even  began  to  take  some  interest 
in  my  follow-prisonets,  and  to  wonder  whether  there  were  not  others 
among  them  as  guiltless  as  myself  There  was  one  employed  In  the 
same  department  who  had  particularly  attracted  my  attention.  He 
was  young  and  pale,  and,  despite  the  felon's  garb,  had  an  amiable  an4 
innocent  look.  His  loom  stood  at  some  distance  frojn  mme,  but  its 
position  was  such  that,  when  at  work,  we  sat  nearly  facing  each  other. 
He  had  evidently  discovered  that  I  took  an  interest  in  fis  fate,  for  I 
often  encountered  his  large  dark  eyes  gazing  earnestly  at  me.  There 
Was  a  varying  expression  of  resignation,  sadness  and  hope,  in  his 
countenance,  and,  although  we  never  interchanged  anvord,  I  cannot 
doubt  that  there  was  a  warm  and  mutual  ^emdship  sprung  up  between 
us.  The  human  heart,  like  the  gentle  vine,  is  ever  putting  forth  its 
tendrils,  and,  thank  Heaven !  there  is  no  place  ^  desolate  but  that 
some  object  will  be  found  around  which  they  may  cling. 

*  But  X  shall  cease  to  interest  you  with  these  minute  details  of  a  life 
necessarily  monotonous.  Two  years  and  a  half  rolled  wearily  away. 
They  were  not,  indeed,  unimproved,  although  but  little  opportunity  for 
mental  culture  was  afibrded.  But  Affliction  is  a  valuable  teacher,  and 
one  whose  lessons  are  seldom  eradicated  from  the  mind.  I  had  reason 
to  hope  that  during  that  period  I  had  acquired  the  elements  of  that 
high  and  holy  philosophy  before  which  the  light  of  human  learning 
*  pales  its  ineffectual  ray.'  The  term  of  imprisonment  for  which  I  had 
been  sentenced  was  three  years.  But  six  months  of  this  period  now 
remained  unexpired.  The  thought  of  again  meetbg  Louisa  produced 
a  pleasure  almost  insupportable,  while  the  few  intervening  months  ap- 

S)ared  longer  in  prospect  than  the  years  which  had  elapsed.    Judge 
en  of  my  delight  wlien  I  received  the  imexpected  intelligence  of  my 


322  The  Warder't  Tale.  [April, 

— — ' *\ 

pardon*  Thrilled  with  irrepressible  ecstasy,  yet  bewildered  widi 
doubt  and  wonder,  I  hastened,  after  changing  my  apparel,  to  seek  from 
the  principal  keeper^  solution  of  the  mystery.  You  were  then  absent, 
and  your  place,  as  you  are  aware,  was  temporarily  supplied  by  another. 
In  his  apartment,  anxiously  awaiting  my  arrival,  I  foun^  Mr.  Elton. 
With  unheeded  tears  coursing  down  his  cheeks,  he  grasped  my  hand* 
and  as  rapidly  as  his  choked  utterance  would  permit,  informed  me  that 
circumstances  had  recently  come  to  light  fully  establishing  my  inno- 
cence ;  that  Leeford,  exposed,  had  fl^  the  country ;  and  that  the 
directors  of  the  company  were  desirous  to  give  the  strongest  evidence 
to  the  world  of  their  restored  confidence  by  installing  me  at  onc^in  his 
vacant  post  As  soon  as  I  could  possibly  interrupt  the  torrent  of  his 
words,  It  was  to  inquire  after  Louisa.  A  sudden  cloud  overspread  hia 
countenance,  as  he  proceeded  to  inform  me  what  little  he  knew  of  her 
fete. 

'  For  a  few  weeks  after  my  removal  she  had  remained  gloomy  and 
despondent.  Then  she  had  suddenly  disappeared,  leaving  a  brief  let- 
ter of  explanation,  and  intimating  that  search  for  her  would  be  useless. 
She  had  m  view,  she  said,  a  safe  retreat  from  the  contumely  and  pity 
of  the  world.  *  God  grant  that  it  may  have  proved  so !'  exclaimed 
the  old  man, '  but  we  have  sore  misgivings.  Notwithstanding  our  moat 
earnest  search,  no  word  or  token  or  rumor  of  the  unhappy  girl  baa 
since  reached  us.  Could  we  but  find  her  now,  my  dear  boy,'  he  con- 
tinued, '  in  safety  and  health,  this  sad  afiair  would  yet  have  a  most 
happy  terminatiun.' 

'  In  reply,  I  hastened  to  inform  him  of  the  mysterious  letters,  and  of 
my  full  belief  that  Louisa  was  residing  somewhere  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  the  prison.  So  elated  was  I  with  hope,  that  I^  did  not  su^ 
fer  a  doubt  to  dwell  on  my  mind  of  immediate  success  in  discovering 
her  retreat  But,  alas !  after  three  weeks  of  diligent  and  fiitile  search, 
I  beean  to  entertain  the  most  serious  alarm.  I  reflected  that  since  the 
receipt  of  her  last  letter  nearly  three  months  had  now  elapsed ;  a  pe* 
riod  sufficient  in  this  world  of  change  to  contain  almost  the  whole  cata- 
logue of  human  calamities.  That  she  who  had  kept  so  vigilant  a  watch 
over  me  while  in  confinement,  whose  spirit  had  seemed  to  be  in  some 
mysterious  manner  ever  near  me,  could,  if  stiD  in  lifo  and  health,  be 
ignorant  of  my  release,  began  to  appear  the  height  of  improbability. 
That  she  could  intentionaBy  remam  concealed,  knowing  me  to  be  at 
liberty,  was  still  ttiore  difficult  of  belief.  The  officers  of  the  institution 
severally  disclaimed  any  agency  in  the  transmission  of  the  letters,  and 
oojQcurred  in  the  conclusion  that  the  delinquent  was  one  who  had  been 
recently  superseded  for  some  other  infraction  of  the  rules.  For  this 
individual  search  was  also  made  in  vain.  Some  fiitality  has  seemed 
thus  for  to  attend  all  our  investigations.  I  came  to  this  city  lured  by 
the  very  shadow  of  a  hope.  It  had  been  rumored  that  Louisa  had  at 
one  time  made  personal  application  to  the  Governor  in  my  behalf.  If 
so,  there  was  a  possibility  that  that  officer  might  possess  some  informa- 
tion in  regard  to  her.  I  arrived  late  yesterday  anemoon.  My  anxiety 
would  not  admit  of  delay,  and  learning  that  a  levee  was  to  be  held  y)n 
the  same  evening,  I  resolved  to  mingle  with  the  crowd,  and  obtain*  at 


I860.]  The  Warier's  TaU.  823 

an  hazordsy  an  immediate  interview  with  the  chief  maeistrate.  I  need 
not  say  that  my  inquiries  were  fruitless.  Petitions  of  this  kind  were 
too  numerous  to  admit  of  his  retaining  any  distinct  recoDection  in  re- 
gard to  them.  It  was  douhtless  to  get  rid  of  my  importunity  that  he 
referred  me  to  other  officers,  who  sometimes  shared  with  him  the  bur- 
then of  examining  into  the  merits  of  such  niplieations.  But  all  was 
in  vain.  It  was  while  conversing  with  one  of  these  gentlemen  that  our 
meeting  and  recognition  took  place.  You  were  a  witness  of  the  agita- 
tion which  it  naturally  produced  in  me.  I  had  disclosed  my  name  to 
the  governor  only ;  no  one  else  knew  aught  of  my  history.  Had  you 
proved  indiscreet  I  should  have  been  placed  in  a  most  painful  dilemma, 
perhaps  rendering  ilecessary  a  public  and  humiliating  explanation.' 

I  had  listened  with  eagerness  to  this  extraordinary  tale»  but  it  was 
with  an  eagerness  produced  not  alone  by  its  intrinsic  interest;  fixf 
although  the  narrative  had  closed  in  uncertainty  and  doubt,  a  light  of 
startling  intensity  had  flashed  upon  my  own  mind.  Fearfult  however^ 
of  exciting  hopes  which  might  not  be  realized,  I  finbore  any  allusion 
to  my  suspicions,  but  assured  Mr.  Lincoln  (such  was  his  name)  of  m^ 
sincere  sympathy,  and  promised  to  cooperate  with  him  as  &r  as  possi- 
ble in  seekmg  to  elucidate  the  mystery.  We  then  parted,  and  on  the 
next  day,  my  business  in  the  city  being  completed,  I  set  out  £)r  home. 

While  we  are  performing  this  journey  let  me  explain  to  you  the 
circumstances  on  which  were  based  my  expectations  of  bringmg  this 
strange  affair  to  light.  About  two  years  and  a  half  prior  to  the  time 
of  which  I  have  been  speaking,  I  was  called  upon  by  a  young  man  of 
pleasant  and  modest  deportment,  who  desired  me  to  &vor  him  with  a 
private  interview.  He  was  slight  in  frame  and  well  apparelled,  and 
had  in  every  respect  the  appearance  of  a  gentleman.  It  was  not  until 
he  had  received  from  me  an  assurance  that  his  communication  should 
be  regarded  as  strictly  confidential  that  he  proceeded  to  unfold  the  na- 
ture of  his  busmess.  Judge  of  my  astonishment  when  he  requested 
to  be  admitted  into  the  penitentiary  as  a  convict !  He  was  vrilling  to 
conform  in  ever^  respect  to  the  prison  discipline,  desiring  only  the  pri« 
Tilege  of  selectmg  his  occupation  and  his  celL  His  labor,  he  said, 
should  be  faithfully  performed,  and  would  remunerate  the  state  for  his 
support.  If  at  any  time  he  fidled  in  &is  respect,  he  would  consent  to 
be  expelled  without  complaint 

It  was  with  difficulty  tnat  I  could  believe  the  evidence  of  my  senses 
while  listening  to  his  request,  and  to  the  earnest  and  humble  voice  in 
which  it  was  preferred.  Not  that  the  application  was  entbrely  without 
precedent ;  distress  and  poverty  had  sometimes  driven  their  victims  to 
seek  BO  miserable  a  boon ;  but  the  individual  before  me  was  of  a  di^ 
ferent  class.  So  far  firom  exhibiting  any  evidoice  of  destitution,  he 
even  proposed  to  place  security  in  my  hands  for  the  &ithfiil  perform* 
ance  of  his  duty,  f^ot  wishing  to  directly  deny  a  petition  so  earnestly 
urged,  I  proceeded  to  expostulate  with  him  on  his  absurdity.  It  was 
all  in  vain.  He  insisted  that  there  was  sufficient,  though  secret,  cause 
for  his  conduct,  which  he  knew  must  seem  remarkable. 

You  win  be  surprised  when  I  tell  you  that,  after  a  little  refiectum,  I 
decided  to  make  the  experiment  of  admitting  him.    I  had  taken  mudb 


324  The  WarSier's  TU$.  [Ap(% 

Dains  to  avail  myself  of  the  singalar  advantages  which  my  posxdon  ai^ 
lorded  in  making  observations  upon  human  nature,  and  I  thought  this 
an  opportunity  not  to  be  lost  It  is  true  I  might  render  myself  liable 
to  censure  for  transcending  my  official  powers ;  but  while  no  actual 
harm  could  ensue  I  had  little  fear  of  the  result. 

I  informed  him  of  my  decision.  I  told  him  that  he  might  choose  his 
employment  and  his  cell,  but  in  every  other  particular  he  would  be 
required  rigidly  to  adhere  to  the  rules.  The  felon's  garb,  the  felon's 
diet  and  lal^r,  and,  if  refractory,  the  folon's  punishment,  diould  be  his. 
No  individual  excepting  myself  and  the  clerk  of  the  institution,  who 
must  necessarily  be  admitted  to  the  secret,  should  know  or  have  my 
reason  to  suppose  that  he  was  not  a  convict ;  but  the  term  cf  his  im- 
prisonment was  to  depend  entirely  upon  his  own  wiU.  If  at  any  time 
he  desired  to  be  released,  he  was  only  to  signify  his  wishes  to  me,  and 
he  should  be  set  at  Uberty.  This  event,  I  predicted,  would  speedily 
take  place,  but  he  as  resolutely  asserted  the  contrary.  An  exanuna- 
tion  of  the  prison,  which  I  allowed  him  to  make  in  company  with  an 
under-keeper,  resulted  in  the  selection  of  the  weaving  business  for  his 
employment ;  he  also  designated  the  number  of  his  cell.  I  ought  not 
to  omit  to  state  that  he  had  also  stipulated  for  the  use  of  writing  mate- 
rials ;  which  being  a  favor  then  not  un&equently.  accorded  to  die  bet- 
ter behaved  convicts,  I  did  not  hesitate  to  allow.  He  gave  his  name, 
which  he  acknowledged  to  be  an  assumed  one,  as  Edward  Green.  On 
the  next  day  he  made  his  appearance  at  an  appointed  hour,  and  after 
going  through  the  usual  initiatory  proceedings,  was  conducted  to  the 
weavers'-shop  and  duly  installed  at  a  vacant  loom.  He  made  rapid 
proficiency  in  his  trade,  at  which  he  soon  became  so  exceedingly  apt 
and  ingenious,  as  to  become  a  great  favorite  with  the  contractor  in  that 
department.  He  was  in  other  respects  equally  exemplary.  For  many 
months  I  closely  watched  his  conduct,  but  at  length  insensibly  acquired 
the  habit  of  regarding  him  as  a  convict,  and  seldom  thought  of  the  cir- 
cumstances attending  his  incarceration.  It  will  not  be  a  matter  of  sur- 
prise if  I  say  that  I  thought  of  them  now,  and  sougiit  carefuUy  to  recall 
every  trifling  particular  of  his  appearance  and  deportment  Every 
thing  seemed  to  confirm  my  suspicions,  and  my  first  official  act,  on  ai^ 
riving  at  home,  was  to  summon  nim  before  me.  In  a  fow  moments  he 
entered  the  room,  pale,  languid  and  trembling. 

'  I  have  sent  for  you,  Mr.  Green,'  I  said, '  to  offer  you  your  liberty. 
In  so  doing,  doubtless,  I  anticipate  your  wishes.' 

*  I  know  not  by  what  naeans  you  have  discovered  my  thoughts,'  was 
the  quick  reply,  *  but  such  is  certainly  my  desire.  For  several  weeks 
I  have  been  anxiously  awaiting  your  return,  for  this  purpose.' 

'  You  must  not  be  alarmed,'  I  rejoined,  *  if  you  find  me  in  posses- 
sion of  secrets  in  relation  to  yourself  of  mudi  greater  moment  than  this.' 
A  quick  suspicious  look  was  the  only  reply  to  this  remark. 

*  Do  not  beheve  me  capable,'  I  continued,  <  of  feigning  a  knowledge 
that  I  do  not  possess,  for  the  purpose  of  entrapping  you  into  disclosures 
prejudicial  to  your  interests.  A  desire  for  your  welfore,  and  that  of 
him  for  whom  you  have  suffered  so  much,  alone  induces  me  to  give  so 
much  pain  to  Miss  Louisa  Wmtuwnih  P 


1850.J  Tie  Warae^M  Tah.  3t5 

I  was  talking  to  marble  I  Breathless*  pale,  and  statoe-like,  she  stood 
&r  a  moment  before  me,  and  then  fell  ftindng  into  my  ands.  She  soon 
awoke  to  consdousnees,  and  attempted  hesitatingly  and  with  much  em- 
barrassment to  apeak.    I  interrupted  her  as  follows : 

'  Do  not  speak  now.  Be  not  distressed.  Yonr  secret  is  safe,  even 
from  Mr.  Lincohi,  if  you  desire  it  For  that  gentleman  I  will  despatch 
an  immediate  messenger.  In  the  mean  time»  abide  in  m^  family.  In 
the  adjoining  room  you  will  find  the  trunk  which  you  left  m  m^  diarge, 
and  wbidi  will  doubtless  funiish  you  with  the  means  of  making  your 
toilet.  When  this  is  done  I  will  conduct  you  to  Mrs.  Kushton,  who  is 
fortunately  so  good  a  wife  as  to  have  no  curiosity  at  my  bidding.' 

Looking  the  thanks  which  she  could  not  utter»  Miss  Wentwortfa 
withdrew  mto  the  apartment  designated,  and  in  a  short  time  reappeared, 
neatly  and  tastefully  arrayed,  and  looking,  I  think,  as  truly  beautiful  as 
any  being  I  had  ever  beheld.  Yet  there  was  a  decided  shade  of  care 
upon  ber  countenance.  We  were  about  leaving  the  room,  when  she 
detained  me,  and  speaking  for  the  first  time  in  her  true  character, 
though  evidently  not  without  great  effort,  she  said : 

'  X  ou  have  spoken  of  Mr.  Lincoln  in  terms  of  respect.  Tell  me  if 
you  too  believe  him  innocent  V 

*  Hb  innocence,'  I  replied,  *  is  fully  established.* 

A  gleam  of  rapturous  delight  iUiunined  her  beautiful  features  for  a 
moment,  and  was  as  rapidly  succeeded  by  a  ffush  of  tears.  '  Thank 
God  !  it  is  enough !'  she  exclaimed ;  and  sinking  upon  the  sofii^  for 
manv  minutes  her  sobs,  and  .the  convulsive  heavines  of  her  breast,  tes- 
tified her  irrepressible  emotion.  She  had  before  heard  of  his  pardon, 
but  knew  nothing  of  its  cause. 

When  she  had  become  sufficiently  composed  I  introduced  her  to  my 
family,  in  the  best  manner  I  could  vnthout  infringing  upon  her  secret, 
and  by  the  stage-coach  of  the  same  evenin^sent  an  express  messenger 
for  Mr.  Lincoln.  In  the  mean  time  Miss  Wentworth  manifested  the 
greatest  solicitude  lest  her  adventure  should  be  discovered.  Althou^jfa 
she  seemed  to  repose  great  confidence  in  me,  and  talked  fireely  with 
me  on  the  subject,  it  was  never  without  the  most  urofuse  blushes.  She 
even  designed  to  conceal  it  from  her  lover ;  ana  it  was  not  without 
many  arguments  that  I  persuaded  her  to  the  contrary.  I  believe  it  vras 
only  the  idea  that  it  would  be  positive  injustice  to  withhold  from  him 
the  most  important  secret  of  her  life  which  finally  induced  her  to 
change  her  mind. 

The  mystery  of  the  letters  was  easily  and  satis&ctorily  explained, 
without  reference  to  the  agency  of  a  third  party.  The  particulars  it 
would  now  ber  tedious  to  relate.  The  two  cells  were  m  inmiediate 
proximity,  and  only  a  moderate  degree  of  ingenuity  was  requisite  to 
effect  such  an  object 

Within  a  few  days  Mr.  Lincohi  arrived.  I  shaU  not  be  guilty  of  the 
folly  €f£  attempting  to  describe  the  meeting  between  him  and  Miss 
Wentworth,  of  which  I  was  unavoidably  a  witness.  Imagination,  vnth 
her  Daguerrean  powers,  will  readily  draw  a  picture  here  which  would 
defy  the  portraiture  of  words. 

The  world  does  not  often  atone  for  its  wrongs.    When  it  does,  its 


3S6  JSTymiM  to  the  Oodi.  [Apifl* 

reparation  is  ample.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lincoln  took  at  once  the  higheBt 
stand  in  the  respect  and  afibctions  of  society ;  and  their  continued  de* 
votion  to  each  either  was  a  rare  and  heautifbl  specimen  of  that  love 
which  constitutes  the  few  points  of  contiguity  between  earth  and 
heaven. 


HTMNS       TO       THB       GODS. 


TO    JUNO. 

MoTHEK  of  gods !  devoutly  we  incline 

Our  willing  kneee  before  thy  holy  shrine, 

Where  Imbrasiu  rons  seaward  strong  and  swift, 

Tliroagfa  tihe  green  plains  of  Samoa.    Lo!  we  lift 

Gladly  to  thee  our  many-voioM  strain. 

Sung  never  to  thy  majesty  in  vain. 

The  dav  wears  on ;  the  expanding  sun  sinks  low, 

While  m  the  East  thy  messenger's  bright  bow 

Gladdens  the  vision  of  thy  worshippers : 

Among  thy  garlands  a  sweet  soft  wind  stirs, 

Where  thy  loved  flowers,  oh !  Queen  of  Heaven,  divine, 

White  lilies  with  the  dittany  entwine. 

And  the  gay  poppy.    Wilt  thou  deign  to  hear 

Our  solemn  chant,  loud,  earnest,  and  sincere, 

And  grant  our  prayer  ?    Come  from  Olympus  down, 

In  re^  giory,  with  thy  starry  crown, 

Thy  sceptre  flashing  with  great  gems,  wherein 

Thy  cuckoo  broods ;  let  not  the  lingering  sun 

Set  in  the  sea  before  our  glad  eyes  greet 

Aikr  the  glitter  of  thy  snowy  feet, 

Sandalled  with  ivory. 
That  shame  the  fiurest  of  our  green  isle's  danghtersi 

And  flash  upon  the  imdulating  sea 
Idke  st&r-light  on  a  blue  lake's  sleeping  waters. 

Power,  Empire,  Virtue,  all  are  in  thy  gt!i : 

Inspired  by  thee,  low  men  their  eyes  uplift. 

As  hawks  to  the  sun,  and  aim  at  high  estate, 

And  reach  it,  while  the  mighty  and  the  great, 

Tdt>pling  like  towers,  fiill  headlong.    By  thee  urged, 

Man,  in  the  sloughs  of  wretchedness  immerged, 

Arms  him  anew  with  courage  resolute. 

Bears  pain  and  evil  with  endurance  mute. 

And  grows  divine  in  virtuous  fortitude : 

Woman,  by  thee  with  constancy  endued. 

In  in  report  and  evil  fortune  clinfls 

More  closely  to  her  husband's  side,  and  brings 

Her  lovely  patience  ever  to  his  aid 

In  the  world's  trials.    Power  and  Empire  fieide, 

And  are  dissolved  like  a  thin  summer  cloud. 

But  Virtue  is  immortal.    Men  hve  bowed 


1860.1 


0ynm»  to  the  q,^^^ 

— - — ""^  yean  before  thy  in^r~~'^^~..>.^ 
A  Uw»?*^  fcft  power  J  but  na^y  «|^/^ 
OgBUfttag^yif  virtue,  troth  and  or.J?">«>S^*«. 
^V*^%^^  «Jt««aieob«eq,,io^«*ti^»*»«Ui^ 
Before  ^^  prortrate  at  to  feet      ^^^i^  ^»    , 
,         A*  **'y  *ro«  an*  PHoLl-._ 

Dob^^  bpnign  to  grant  ir?*»"««t'*«»»o, 

»o«^  below  our  lor^  Or J^*  «Und, 
sSXetbeir  t«^'i««d«>,  and  many  ^  ^S^fc» 

Thy  3y  .^""^  ">««J«  with  ontw>r^"??> 
lUilSlby  the  mountain  breeMe,^^*^?;^*^ 

Or,  in  Boxae  ahady  and  secluded  noot  ^^  •" 

On  the  green  margent  of  a  leafy  brool 

Lnfled  by  >t»  munnnrin*  into  tinquil  Jiee,, 

WhUe  thy  young  nympS,  demurefv  rLn^h^  .. 

Of  rarert  b«a^— cave,  UwnTdeU  or  ««i. 

Hearken,  O,  lovely  <S^T 
To  the  load  echo  of  o«up  ptaOntive  vcneea ! 

Approach  ua  whie  the  laufthin  J^^  s«  ate*xa,  .  ^^^^ 

And^L  young  Spring  withf SKiJI^e?  fl«^*»  '"^'^ 


-JJoWT^I 


Oh  I  Queen  of  Heaven  iov©d  of  the  1»««1»^  ^! 

Before  the  advent  of  the  eyex^^^ 

Hamefls  thy  peacocks  to  thy  iewellSl  oar  •       . ^^ 

Leave  for  a  .pace  the  migh^^^^^^'-  »^^^ 

And  thy  a^ft  birda  let  sweTt  yoSri^nJ^S^ 

To  GUP  fiuriale-,  stay  not  thy  flashSiir  ^^^^^Im. 

On  the  dark  Bnxine,  ploughidw^A  Sumy  ^tT^' 

Op  where  the  vexed  PropSntis  Wae^^^       ' 

In  Cob  or  NaxoB,  or  the  Arcadian  dellB-         ^    ^tst, 

Cooie^  thou  heaven'a  wonder  I  to  our  isla**^  -auSe*  t 

Where  Aou  wast  horn,  and  V^  the  See^^**^  ^xtfiiiA 

By  those  sweet  hours  when  all  thy  glorio^*^     ^ 

Wore  first  encircled  hy  Jovb'b  mighty  fltn*"^  * 

When  thy  laroe  eyea,  magnificently  brig^**^. 

Looked  into  h»  with  mild  and  aoftened  ^^**^oe. 

And  on  his  breast  thou  hid'st  thy  bTiish«*»fi?  m**-^ 

I^ively  in  virgin  innocence  and  grace  ;  -r^^arV  artSBL  «i»^^ 

]^  those  svlreet  hours,  come!— whUe.iH^  Z^l>r%Ao^ 

The  cximeon  dond-surge— to  these  innooo» 


328  Stray  Leave*  frcm  Oe  CamUry,  [April, 


STRAY  LEAVBS  PROM  THE  COUNTRY. 


«OH!wliatftdMdowo^fto1iMrtitfi«off,  . 

When  peitotbeiwioiem  of  the  loved  aadyoonffP  < 

Yftta»iM  Oatx^obb  Cz.Amx.  ' 

Dear  F  — » :  There  are  seaeons  in  the  Uyes  of  all,  milenstones,  as 
it  were,  in  the  journey  of  life,  when  the  soul  seems  to  pause  and  look 
back  upon  the  road  already  traversed:  memory  retraces  the  past,  and 
full  oft  she  but  lifts  '  the  coffin-lid  of  love  and  hope  and  joy.'    She  ' 

brings  before  us  so  much  to  regret,  of  broken  vows,  of  misspent  time 
and  talents,  of  hasty  words  and  acts,  and  so  much  to  mourn  in  thojonce 
warm  hearts  fbreyer  silenced  in  the  night  of  the  grave,  that  even  the 
most  light-hearted  and  thoughtless  have  their  senous  hours  and  dieir 
silent  communings  with  theu:  better  nature.  Such  seasons  are  the 
commencement  of  the  New  Tear,  our  birth-days,  the  anniversaries  of 
the  death  of  beloved  friends,  and  the  like.  Such  a  season  is  the  present 
to  me ;  and,  amid  the  thoughts  that  always  accompany  the  advent  of 
another  year,  is  now  indissolubly  connected  a  recora  of  sorrow. 

New  Year's  week  a  twelvemonth  since  clothed  our  little  household 
with  gloom.  The  returning  anniversary  and  the  late  terrible  explo- 
sion of  the  Steamboat  Louisiana  have  brought  it  vividly  be&re  me.  I 
have  lived  it  all  over  again ; '  the  beloved  and  true-hearted  has  been  with 
me  once  more ;  the  bleeding  wounds  have  bled  afresh,  and  grief  un- 
availing has  worn  still  deeper  traces  among  the  heart's  memories^  I 
have  taken  my  journal  and  re-read  these  sad  passages  in  our  family 
history.  I  give  it  to  you,  dear  F  ■■,  just  as  it  stands  there ;  not  mr 
anythmg  extraordinary  in  its  incident  or  its  details,  but  as  one  individual 
record  of  suffering  among  the  multitudes  who  have  been  hastily  sum- 
moned from  this  world  in  the  same  manner.  Oh !  what  an  expressive 
prayer  to  me  is  that  in  the  Litany  which  says :  <  From  sudden  deaths 
good  Lord,  deliver  me !' 

'  How  strange  and  mysterious  is  the  power  which  presentiments  will 
at  times  exert  over  the  mind !  There  is  a  latent  tinge  of  superstition 
in  every  heart,  and  strange  tears  will  at  times  fill  the  soul  wim  dread ; 
grim  {>hantoms,  waving  us  back  from  threatened  danger.  Can  it  be 
diat  spirits  from  the  shadowy  world  are  privileged  to  warn  us  of  evil ! 
Vain  are  their  prophetic  forebodings !  The  ill  is  undefined,  and  we 
know  not  which  way  to  turn  to  escape.  Even  now  these  sentiments 
are  called  fi>rth  by  my  present  feelings.  A  cloud  is  upon  my  spirit; 
a  fearful  dread  oppresses  me ;  and  as  I  write,  a  cold  hand  arrests  mine, 
chills  my  blood,  and  palsies  my  fingers.  What  threatens  }  Let  me  see 
clearer,  or  warn  me  not  at  all.' 

Thus  far  had  I  written  at  a  late  hour  of  the  night.  All  had  retired; 
but  overpowered  by  gloomy  thoughts,  1  had  been  striving  to  wile  them  { 

away  with  my  pen,  when  a  quick  loud  rap  at  the  door,  not  &r  from 


1850.]  Straff  Leaioufrmn  Ae  Qmntry.  329 

which  I  was  cdttmgy  under  the  presence  of  my  excited  feelings,  made 
me  ahnoflt  fiJl  fomi  my  chair.  <  The  Messenger  of  Evil !'  involuntarily 
ImxBt  firom  iot  lips ;  but  as  the  nm  was  repeated,  I  hastily  opened  the 

door,  when  Uie  mmiliar  form  of  d met  my  eye.    '  Why,'  said  I, 

smiling,  fer  I  was  conQ>lecely  rettssured,  'you  nearly  frightened— -.* 

A  ghmce  at  his  pale  face  as  the  rays  of  the  lantern  wmch  he  carried 
feu  upon  it,  made  me  nause  suddenly. 

'  Where  is  H—-— ?*  said  he,  without  a  reply. 

I  pointed  to  his  bed-room  door.  With  hasty  strides  he  was  by  the 
bedside.    Without  a  moment's  pause  he  abruptly  eKclaimed : 

<  H 9 1  am  fearful  there  is  one  of  our  number  less.' 

His  manner  and  looks  alarmed  H  ■■,  who  started  up:  *  What, 
what  have  you  heard  %*    With  unnatural  calmness  he  answered : 

'The  captain  of  the  Maria,  that  is  now  at  the  landing,  says  the 

steamer  has  been  blown  all  to  pieces,  and  every  soul  on  board 

IdDed!' 

A  dearly-beloved  brother  had  left  us  but  a  few  days  previous,  on  the 
boat  which  had  met  vrith  this  awful  disaster !  The  particulars,  as  far 
as  they  could  be  gathered  respecting  the  ill-fiited  boat,  were,  that  while 
roundmg  to  at  some  small  landing  to  take  on  a  {passenger,  she  had 
blown  up,  with  a  most  terrific  explosion,  resultbg  in  the  loss,  as  the 
report  first  reached  us,  of  all  on  board.  Allowance  of  course  was 
made  for  exaraeration ;  but  firom  the  peculiar  construction  of  the  boat 
we  could  hara^  hope  diat  any  of  the  passengers  had  escaped. 

Lonff,  long  were  the  hours  of  that  terrible  night  Sleep  visited  no 
couch,  but  vain  tossmgs  to  and  fix>.  Controlling  my  own  feeUngs,  I 
urffed  upon  H  to  try  to  sleep,  if  he  would  husband  his  little  re- 
maming  strength,  for  he  had  been  scarcely  able  to  sit  up  ^r  weeks ; 
bat  now,  in  the  strength  of  his  excited  feehngs,  he  had  resolved  with 
L  ■  to  set  out  by  lapd,  at  the  earliest  dawn,  in  search  of  certab  in- 
formation, as  well  as  to  soothe  and  succor ,  if  alive  and  sufiering ; 

or,  fearful  thought  to  dwell  upon !  to  bring  home  his  remains,  if  worse 
had  befallen  him. 

Before  light  next  morning  oar  melancholy  family  were  gathered 
roond  a  sad  breakfast-table.  Before  we  met  next  at  the  social  board, 
how  much  of  the  agony  of  hearts  made  desolate  might  we  not  know ! 
How  fearful  were  our  forebodings  as  we  recalled  his  unaccountable 
reluctance  to  depart ;  yet  each  one  strove  to  re&ssure  the  other  by  the 
assumption  of  chaerfiiJness ;  but  as  the  parting  came,  and  the  two  who 
were  to  journey  as  speedily  as  possible  to  learn  how  great  a  wo  was 
ours,  clasped  our  hanos,  we  could  not  restrain  ourselves :  the  smothered 
sobs  betrayed  our  inward  conviction  that  diere  was  little  hope. 

They  kot  us :  I  need  not  trace  the  heavy  hours  as  they  dragged 
along,  with  all  the  agony  of  suspense.  At  such  times  the  heart  finds 
some  relief  in  action ;  the  consciousness  that  they  are  doing  something ; 
blit  we  ooqld  only  remain  passive  and  toaU.  We  were  tortured  by 
the  oonflictme  rumors  whicn  each  boat  that  came,  and  had  passed  the 
wreck,  brouffht  with  them ;  but  hope  sprang  up  in  our  wiBary  hearts, 
as  we  heard  fi^im  a  sympathismg,  noble-hearted  friend,  who  sought 
every  boat  to  bring  us  consolation,  that  Captain  B— -»,  of  the  --— , 


330  Stray  Leaves  from  the  Onmtry.  [April, 

whom  we  knew  well,  said  that  he  saw  all  of  those  who  were  killed  as 
he  passed,  and  was  sure  that  •*— -  was  not  of  the  number,  or  he  should 
have  recognized  him;  neither  did  he  hear  his  name  as  among  the 
wounded  who  had  been  carried  back  into  the  country  to  different  houses 
in  the  sparselynsettled  'Bottom.'  And  how  that  hope  vanished  as 
another  boat  brought  a  paper  which  professed  to  give  authentic  infor- 
mation of  the  disaster,  and^r^^  upon  the  list  of  killed  and  wounded, 
as  we  read  through  blinding  tears,  stood  the  name  of  our  beloved  one ! 
Ah !  what  a  day  was  that !  It  was  hoping  against  hope  to  believe  him 
living.  A  violent  storm  raged  without,  and  cdl  nature  seemed  to  share 
our  Bprief.  How  that  day  passed  I  know  not  Too  deep  in  my  heart 
for  tune  ever  to  obliterate  is  engraven  its  mournful  remembrance. 

The  succeeding  day  brought  a  messenger,  who  said  he  came  from 

■■ ;  that  he  sent  him,  fearing  that  we  might  hear  various  rumors 

and  suffer  on  his  account.    We  knew  his  kind  heart,  ever  thoughtful 

of  others,  and  the  more  readily  credited  the  story.     He  said  » 

would  have  written,  but  that  both  his  hands  were  slightly  burned ;  that 
he  had  been  blown  into  the  water,  but  not  seriously  injured,  and  would 
be  at  home  in  a  few  days.  For  a  messenger  with  such  tidings,  too 
much  could  not  be  done.  Joyfully  was  he  rewarded  for  his  tedious 
journey,  and  many  were  the  blessings  showered  upon  him  as  he  re- 
traced his  steps.  Singing  and  cheerful  voices  reSchoed  through  the 
dwelling,  and  we  felt  now  much  dearer  he  was  to  us  all  for  the  dan^ 
through  which  he  had  passed.  As  time  passed  on,  many  a  longmg 
gaze  was  cast  down  the  street  At  every  carriage  and  unusual  sound 
our  hearts  beat  with  joy  and  expectation. 

At  length,  when  we  began  to  feel  some  mis^vings  at  our  ready  oon* 
fidence  in  the  strange  messenger,  for  that  which  the  heart  hopes  it  will 
readUy  believe,  we  received  a  letter  from  H : 

^Log-CdUu,  two  mile9  fnm  tlu  Wrmk, 
c  ■     ■      is  Urlng,  but  oh,  my  God  I  in  what  a  state  I    Bruiaed.  maimed,  and  burned  In  all  parts  of 
Ma  body  I    I  cannot  lM>pet)iat  his  Ufo  will  be  spared,  although  tnephyaidana  think  be  aMyra^^ 
An  internal  isAvrj  seems  the  moat  serions  one.    He  breathes  with  great  dilBcolty.    I  look  at  him* 
and  money-making  liee  in  the  dnst.    Were  the  wealth  of  the  Indies  to  flow  into  our  ooflhra,  Itooold 
not  compensate  Ibr  the  agony  he  is  now  enduring.    You  know  hia  uncomplaining  dIspoeltloB  and 

nererceaslng  anxiety  to  nide  all  tUa  euftorings  flrom  others,  and  yet  he  groans  continually.    L 

has  been  forced  to  leare  the  room  several  times,  to  ooneeal  hia  emotions.  Oh,  Gonl  what  wo«ld  I 
not  giTO  to  j^aoe  our  beloTOd  brother  where  he  was  but  one  week  sinee  1   In  addition  to  hia  avflbr- 


_,„ I,  and  tney  are  ,  ^  ,  v        - 

could  get  no  information  of  him,  but  went  to  eyery  cabin  we  could  hear  of.  He  had  Iain  three  days 
without  a  change  of  dolhea,  or  hia  fhoe  being  washed,  but  had  recovered  hia  sensee,  and  called  ana 
by  name  when  I  opened  the  door  of  the  room  where  he  was  lying.  I  ahould  never  have  known 
him.  His  Ihoe  ?raa  as  black  aa  a  negroes,  being  covered  with  mud,  and  the  cement,  et&vflrom  the 
boilers.  My  heart's  blood  aeemed  to  stand  atlU  when  I  saw  that  U  waa  indeed  himaelf.  lbemia»> 
Ilea  of  a  llllHime  went  over  me  in  one  short  moment ! 

'Qolet  your  nrinds  aa  well  as  you  can.  AO  that  money  and  love  can  do  for  him  dull  be  done. 
II  to  aixteen  milea  to  the  nearest  town,  but  tomonow  we  shall  endeavor  to  move  him  there.  We 
atanoet  fear  the  result,  but  he  will  surely  die  In  this  nUaerable  plaoe.* 

Two  days  after  the  receipt  of  this  letter  a  messenger  came  to  ua 

from  Qt 1  with  a  comfortable  carriaffe,  and  a  letter,  saying  diat         ■ 

had  borne  his  removal  pretty  well,  ana  seemed  a  little  bettor,  and  de- 
sired to  haveC  —  with  him,  as  he  would  not  be  able  to  be  brought 
heme  fiir  fire  or  six  wedks.    C left  in  half  an  hour  and  traveUad 


lS56.y  Stray  Leaves  jfrom  the  Country.  331 

rapidly.  Five  miles  from  6 ,  she  met  H and  L  —  bring- 
ing home  the  remains  of  our  beloved  brother ! 

He  was  gone !  —  gone  in  his  youth,  while  his  heart  beat  high  with 
joyous  anticipations  of  the  future ;  a  heart  which  was  the  abode  of 
truth  and  love  to  all  his  kind ;  a  heart  in  which  dwelt  all  chat  was  *  pure, 
lovely,  and  of  good  report ;'  a  heart  that  always  responded  to  the  notes 
of  distress,  that  felt  for  the  poor,  the  fatherless,  and  the  afilicted ;  whose 
hand  grew  not  weary  in  well-doing,  whose  foot  was  ever  welcome  in 
the  sick  chamber,  and  whose  smile  was  inefiy>ly  dear  to  all  who  knew 
him.  , 

'  None  knew  him  but  to  love  him,  none  named  him  but  to  praise/ 
Poor  human  nature  never  took  a  lovelier  form  than  that  of  our  dear 
fiiend.  He  is  gone  !  —  the  victim,  not  of  the  withering  hand  of  disease, 
nor  of  the  righteous  judgments  of  Providence,  but  of  the  carelessness 
of  a  fellow  man  * 

Oh  !  ye  in  whose  hands  &r  the  time  being  are  entrusted  so  many 
Hves  upon  our  public  conveyances,  would  that  you  could  have  gone 
with  me  in  that  moum&l  procession  to  the  silent  gravci : 

'To  pcy  the  last  sad  doliaas  and  to  hear 
Upon  the  ailent  dweUing's  nanom  lid 
TbB  flnt  earth  thrown ;  eoond  deadliest  to  the  soul! 
For,  strange  delusion !  then  and  then  atoi^ 
Hope  seems  forever  fled,  and  the  dread  pang 
or  mal  separation  to  begin  I' 

Could  you  have  read  the  heart-felt  grief  that  rested  upon  the  coun- 
t^iances  of  those  who  but  a  few  days  before  numbered  the  departed 
as  one  among  them ;  could  you  have  returned  with  me  to  the  home 
and  hearts  made  desolate  by  that  awiiil  blow ;  have  marked  the  wretch- 
edness of  those  to  whom  he  was  so  dear ;  have  seen  the  strong  man's 
tears ;  been  with  the  aged  sire,  when  with  trembling  hand  he  opened 
the  letter  that  told  him  another  child  had  gone  before  h^n  into  eternity, 
imprinting  still  another  line  of  suffering  upon  his  cheek,  and  hastening 
has  filtering  steps  to  that  house  prepared  for  all  living ;  could  you  have 
Been  those  brothers  and  sisters  that  gloomy  day  tSer  the  funeral,  as 
they  looked  upon  one  another  and  the  conviction  came  home  to  them 
that  another  link  was  indeed  broken,  another  tie  sundercul  in  that  circle ; 
could  you  have  marked  the  vain  endeavor  to  converse,  as  they  gathered 
round  the  te»-table,  and  heard  the  rising  sigh  as  they  remembered  what^ 
had  collected  them  all  at  the  same  time  at  one  table ;  the  tears  which 
would  force  their  way,  as  they  glanced  at  the  vacant  place,  and  thought 
of  him  upon  whom  &e  sod  was  resting,  whose  voice  was  hushed,  no 
more  to  mingle  with  theirs ;  and  still  more,  could  you  have  known,  as 
the  daily  routine  of  life  resumed  its  way,  how  the  heart  was  made  to 
feel  its  desolation ;  the  thousand  familiar  things  with  which  his  memory 
was  connected ;  could  yon  have  known  how  the  ear  unconsciously  lis- 
tened for  thei  familiar  footstep,  and  how  suddenly  memory,  like  a  dead 

*  At  the  time  of  the  explosion  there  was  reiylittte  water  in  the  boileis  of  the  steamer.  Iliepas- 
seDgen  were  burnt  wtth  the  oonfinl,etc.,  hot  not  scalded.  Ihe  captain  had  evaded  the  law  reapectr 
iag  the  number  and  qnaliflcatlons  of  the  engioeera,  and  had  but  one  engineer  and  a  boy  I  The  boy 
bad  charge  when  the  accident  took  ptace. 

VOL.  zzxv.  22 


332  Spring' Time  and  Song.  [Aprils 

weight,  fell  apon  the  heart  and  whispered, '  He  comes  no  more !'  could 
you  have  seen  and  known  all  this,  even  you,  reckless  men !  must  have 
wept! 

Oh  !  for  what  wo  and  utter  wretchedness  have  you  to  answer?  Pal- 
liate the  matter  as  you  will  to  your  own  consciences,  what  compepsar 
tion  for  suffering  like  this  can  you  make  1  —  and  in  the  world  to  com^ 
what  can  you  offer  ?  " 

Yet  He  would  have  said :  '  Father,  forgive  them  I' 


S     P    R    I    N     6-T    IME        AND        BONO. 

V  B,  O  U     THE     a  B  B.E  K     OF     M.SLEAaEB. 

»T  TBB  Bar.  JAVBI    anBOBWB   XTOVS.   x.x»  ». 


££b£baobr.  the  fint  compiler  of  a  Oreek  ABthoIofy.  U  aald  to  have  been  bom  at  Oadaraln  Palestine, 
aboat  the  first  ceatury  before  Cbbist.  ITnUk*  masy  of  those  who  make  selectione  from  the  wrltizies 
of  others,  he  was  himself  an  author  of  no  little  ability.  Sir  Wzxlxam  Jovbs  sagrs,  that  his  idyl  on 
Sprics  contains  all  possible  graces  of  description,  and  that  a  more  beaatifal  poem  can  hardly  be  fbnnd. 

The  rains  and  stonns  of  Winter  all  are  past, 

And  purple  Spring  is  oome  with  smiles  and  flowers  : 

The  dork  Earth  now  pats  on  its  pore  green  orown. 

Of  early  grass ;  the  tender  plants  arise, 

Gay  with  young  leaves  :  the  radiant  meadows  laugh, 

And  "blithely  drink  the  bright  fresh  dews  of  mom  j 

Sweet  mom  that  fills  the  springing  herbs  with  life. 

The  soft  wind  bears  rich  spoils  from  new>bom  roses. 

The  shepherd  on  the  mountain  side  is  glad, 

Waking  his  reeds ;  the  goatherd  sees  with  joy 

His  fair  white  kidlings  frisking  in  the  vale. 

The  mariner,  fiir  out  on  the  wide  sea, 

Swells  his  broad  canvass  with  light  western  breezes. 

The  rustic  youth,  in  honor  of  tluit  God 

Who  loads  with  clustering  grapes  the  fruitful  vine, 

Now  bind  their  heads  with  flowering  ivy  wreaths. 

Their  own  rare  works  supply  the  cheerful  bees 

With  welcome  toil.    Lo,  gaUiered  on  the  hive 

In  bfisy  troops,  the  murmuring  architects 

Build  up  of  sweet  clear  wax  their  fragrant  eUs. 

The  tuneful  birds  make  music  all  about : 

The  halcyons  by  the  wave,  the  quick  loud  sw/illows 

Round  the  deep  eaves,  the  swan  beside  the  river, 

The  nightin«de  unseen  in  copse  or  grove. 

And  now,  i^en  plants  unfold  ^eir  tender  leaves, 

When  flowers  are  aU  in  bloom,  when  shepherds  jnpe, 

And  happy  flocks  are  out  on  every  field, 

When  sulors  plough  the  deep,  when  Bacchus  dances, 

When  birds  pour  melody  from  brake  and  stream. 

And  bees  are  humming  at  their  pleasant  labon^ 

Must  not  the  poet  too  rejoice  amd  sing  7 


Wi 


1S60.]  Stanzas:  LUlithe.  333 


LILLITHft. 

&nm  Bleepe  a  dreamleM  sleep,  my  strioken  flower : 
Her  life  went  out  like  the  soft  breath  of  rose 
Or  lily  in  its  gentle  evening  dose : 
She  ied  as  violets  die — my  fra^e  flower. 

The  tender  mow-drop  neetlee  on  her  tomb, 
And  tearful  evening-buds  infold,  in  closing, 
The  latest  straggliiu;  ny  that  gOds  the  gloom, 
To  warm  the  sod  where  my  love  lies  reponng. 

And  watchful  spirits  through  the  summer  air, 
In  bird-like  forms  and  hues  of  fflorious  dye. 
Wing  to  their  tuneful  requiem  for  the  fieur 
And  kindred  Jot  that 's  perished  from  the  eye. 


CAMDEN     AND     ITS     ASSOCIATIONS. 


BT     4    XSW    OOXVKZIIUTOII. 


Tjoebe  are  many  places  in  this  country  which  are  interesting  to  visit, 
firom  their  associations  with  the  past,  from  their  intimate  connection 
with  erents  which  form  prominent  portions  of  our  early  history  as  an 
independent  nation.  Such  a  one  is  Camden,  in  South  Carolina ;  which 
place,  aside  from  its  general  beauty,  its  eligible  and  pleasing  location 
on  the  banks  of  the  '  Wateree,'  its  genial  temperature  of  climate,  and 
its  rich  and  productive  territory,  is  a  spot  so  hallowed  by  its  having 
been  the  seat  of  important  scenes  in  our  <  War  of  Independence,'  and 
so  conspicuous  in  the  annals  of  the  United  States,  that  a  visit  to  it 
cannot  be  wholly  devoid  of  interest  to  any  one.  To  me  there  is  an 
unflipeakable  solemnity  hanging  over  these  old  'battle-grounds  of  free- 
dom,' and  I  love  to  wander  over  them  and  recall  the  scenes  once  enacted 
there. 

At  the  close  of  a  sultry  day  in  the  last  of  August,  I  strolled  out  from 
the  village  of  Camden,  and  after  passing  the  cemetery,  which  lies  on 
the  very  southern  extremity  of  the  town,  beheld  stretched  out  on  my 
left,  the  broad  plain  on  which  was  fought  th^  battle  of  Camden;  thither 
I  wended  my  way,  and  hitching  my  horse  to  an  old  cannon  which  still 
stands  like  a  sentinel  to  guard  the  field,  I  entered  the  building  which 
-wsB  the  head-quarters  of  ComwaUis  during  his  winter's  sojourn  in 
Camden ;  an  antique,  gloomy-looking  edifice,  now  tenantless,  and  fast 
falling  to  decay.  This  old  mansion  is  situated  on  the  south-eastern 
extremity  of  the  battle-ground,  in  a  position  so  elevated  as  to  command 
an  extensive  view  of  the  surrounding  country.  The  landscape  pre- 
sented to.  me  from  the  piazza  of -this  house  was  rich  and  pleasing,  par- 


334  Camden  and  its  A$8ociatumt»  [April, 

ticularly  so  at  such  an  hour,  for  it  was  the  close  of  day,  and  that  day 
was  the  anniversary  of  the  battle. 

The  lingering  beams  of  the  declining  sun  played  upon  the  ^ded 
spires  of  the  distant  ylllage ;  a  gentle,  balmy,  and  refreshing  breeze 
stirred  into  music  the  fohage-laden  branches  of  the  trees ;  me  '  Wa- 
teree,'  like  a  silver  band,  stretched  far  across  the  country,  while  yet 
beyond  were  extensive  cotton-fields,  skirted  by  the  deep  green  of  the 
Carolina  pine.  No  sound  of  martial  music  nor  clash  of  arms,  as  in 
days  gone  by,  disturbed  the  silence  of  the  scene,  but  all  around  was 
peace  and  quietude. 

Sixty-nine  years  ago,  and  how  different  was  the  scene,  yet  how  alike 
the  days!  for  then,  as  now,  it  was  bright  and  beautiftiL  The  night 
before  the  battle  was  sultry  and  hot ;  the  stars  shone  dimly  through  die 
hazy  atmosphere,  and  the  crescent  moon  was  scarcely  visible.  As  the 
sun  went  down  that  night  a  dense  vapor  arose  from  the  river,  which, 
ere  midnight,  had  enshrouded  every  thing.  The  British  and  American 
armies  had  been  encamped  for  a  week  at  no  great  distance  from  each 
other,  both  prepared  for  ah  engagement,  yet  each  unwilling  to  hazard 
an  attack.  Despatches  having  been  sent  to  Lord  Comwalhs,  who  was 
at  that  time  absent  from  Camden,  acquainting  him  vrith  the  position  of 
affairs,  he  immediately,  on  their  receipt,  hastened  on  to  Camden  to  take 
command  of  the  British  force.  His  presence  increased  the  courage  of 
the  soldiers,  and  he  instantly  resolved  upon  an  attack.  Orders  were 
accordingly  given  to  that  effect,  and  about  midnight  his  army  com- 
menced marching. 

Generied  Gates,  who  was  at  that  time  in  command  of  the  American 
army  in  the  South,  having  concluded,  without  knowing  of  Comwallis's 
movement,  that  to  longer  defer  an  attack  would  give  his  enemies  an 
opportunity  to  augment  their  force,  had  likewise  resolved  to  hazard  an 
immediate  engagement,  and  the  same  night,  and  about  the  same  hour, 
the  American  army,  with  noiseless  steps,  moved  on  toward  the  British 
camp.  Thus  both  armies  were  marchmg  through  the  gloom  and  dark- 
ness of  night  on  the  same  road,  in  oppoj3ite  dhrections,  each  unaware  of 
the  other's  movement. 

The  night  wore  on,  and  two  hours  had  thus  passed  away,  when  tbe 
advanced  euards  of  both  armies  fell  upon  each  other.  Surprised  and 
confounded  at  this  unexpected  meeting,  for  a  moment  bom  recoiled, 
but  instantly  recovering,  opened  a  sharp  volley  of  musketry.  The 
silence,  which  had  hitherto  been  profound,  was  succeeded  by  the  up- 
roar of  battle,  and  the  darkness  was  dispelled  by  the  discharges  of  fire- 
arms, the  unsteady  light  of  which  revealed  both  armies  to  each  other. 
A  brisk  scattering  fire  was  kept  up  on  both  sides  for  a  few  moments, 
but  soon  ceased,  sa  though  by  mutual  consent,  and  darkness  and  silence 
profound  as  before  followed.  A  few  prisoners  were  captured  on  bodi 
sides,  from  whom  the  commanders  learned  each  other's  intentions. 

it  was  yet  two  hours  before  morning,  and  during  the  remainder  of 
the  night  both  armies  retained  their  respective  positions.  Day  dawned 
at  last,  and  with  its  first  breaking  both  armies  were  in  readiness  for  the 
conflict  The  position  of  Gates  was  unfavorable,  although  he  had  the 
advantage  in  point  of  numbers ;  but  forming  his  army  mto  three  co- 


1850.]  *Catnden  and  its  Associations.  335 

huniis,  with  the  regalar  troops  of  Delaware  and  Maryland  under  com- 
mand of  Major-G^eral  De  jK.alb  for  a  reserve,  he  awaited  the  advance 
of  the  enemy. 

Comwallis  having  formed  two  grand  divisions  of  his  army,  with 
each  wing  resting  on  a  sviramp,  and  narrowing  in  front,  ordered  his 
columns  to  advance.  On  they  came,  with  banners  waving'  and  steel 
flashing  in  the  bright  sunshine  of  early  day,  and  marching  directly  on 
the  American  centre-column,  charged  with  impetuous  fury  on  the 
Virginia  and  North  Carolina  regiments,  pouring  into  their  ranks  a 
deadly  fire.  Unused  to  war,  and  disordered  by  the  first  volley  of  the 
enemy,  which  had  thinned  their  numbers,  and  seeing  their  dead  and 
dying  companions  lying  in  heaps  around  them,  the  terrified  Virginians 
broke  and  fled ;  and,  afier  a  feeble  resistance,  a  part  of  the  North 
Carolina  regiment  followed  their  cov^ardly  example.  The  British,  en- 
couraged by  this  unexpected  success,  followed  them  as  a  shadow,  and 
were  with  loud  shouts  of  exultation  crowding  them  down,  and  scatter- 
ing death  broadcast  among  them,  while  Grates  and  Caswell  were  striving 
to  rally  their  frightened  soldiers  with  words  of  cheer,  and  examples 
of  noble  courage,  but  with  little  success.  The  British  were  flattering 
themselves  that  tlie  victory  was  well-nigh  won,  when  General  De  Kalb, 
at  the  head  of  his  veteran  troops,  ruelhed  with  fearful  fury  upon  the 
main  column  of  the  British,  and,  vrith  undaunted  firont,  pierced  their 
very  centre,  and  rolled  the  column  back  upon  itself  Still  pressing  on, 
this  noble  band  dealt  death  and  dismay  to  all  before  them,  and  the 
enemy's  ranks  were  fast  melting  away.  Once  and  again  had  they 
charged  at  the  bayonet's  point,  and  volley  after  volley  had  been  made 
and  returned,  with  direful  effect;  when  Comwallis,  seeing  that  this 
column  alone  could  not  lone  withstand  the  impetuous  force  of  De  Kalb 
and  his  braves,  ordered  his  whole  force  to  bear  dowir  at  once  upon 
them.  De  Kalb  seeing  the  vast  numbers  of  the  British  turning  toward 
bis  little  band,  knew  too  well,  alas !  that  all  hope  of  success  was  vain, 
for  his  soldiers,  having  borne  tbe  whole  brunt  of  the  battle,  were  fa- 
tigued, and  their  numbers  reduced ;  but  maddened  by  the  conduct  of 
Gates  in  refusing  his  advice  before  the  battle,  and  incensed  at  the  con- 
duct of  the  Virginia  and  North  Cai'olina  troops,  he  resolved  to  stand 
bis  ground,  and  firmly  determined  to  do  or  die.  His  soldiers,  although 
aware  of  die  hopelessness  of  their  position,  were  ever  ready  to  follow 
their  noble-hearted  leader,  and  this  time  roused  all  their  energies  for 
the  final  conflict 

The  charge  was  deadly  and  terrific :  long  and  well  did  each  sustain 
the  close  and  bloody  contest ;  thrice  did  the  British  charge  in  full  force 
at  the  bayonet's  point  upon  this  resolute  host,  and  thrice  were  beaten 
back  with  mortifying,  loss ;  but  now  again  they  charge  with  over- 
whelming fury  upon  a  leaderless  column :  De  Kalb  had  fallen,  pierced 
to  the  lungs  by  a  musket-ball,  and  bleeding  profusely  from  eleven 
wounds.  A  few  of  his  soldiers  gathered  about  him  as  he  foil,  and 
shielded  him  from  the  fury  of  his  enemies ;  but  the  main  body  of  his 
troops,  disheartened  and  leaderless,  fled  the  field,  and  lefl  the  British 
victors,  both  armies  having  sufiered  greatly. 

De  Kalb  was  taken  prisoner,  but  soon  died,  blessing  the  cause  of 


336  Lines  wriUm  hy  Mootdight  at  Sea.  [April, 

freedom  and  the  country  of  his  adoption.  A  marble  monument  of  re- 
spectable size  marks  the  spot  wh^e  De  Kalb  fell,  a  feeble  testimcmal 
of  oxLT  respect  and  obligations  to  the  brave  German  who,  from  no  mo- 
tive save  disinterested  patriotism,  and  sympatiiy  in'  the  cause  of  the  op- 
pressed, offered  his  life  a  sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  freedom.  On  one 
side  of  this  monument  are  inscribed  the  following  words : 

•TO    DB    XALB,  , 

*A      OBRXAH      BY      BIETH, 
'B0T     Z«     rBIXOZVI.B 

»A     CITIZEN     OP     THE     WORLD.' 

On  the  opposite  side  is  inscribed  a  bri^  record  of  his  many  virtues 
as  a  citizen,  and  his  high  qualities  as  a  soldier. 

It  is  said  that  De  Ralb  had  a  presentiment  that  he  should  be  killed  in 
this  battle,  and  remarked  to  a  brother  officer  the  night  previous  to  the 
engagement,  in  a  melancholy  manner :  *  To-morrow  will  be  my  last.' 

It  was  night  ere  I  left  the  battle-field ;  the  sculptured  monuments  of 
the  grave-yard  near  by,  and  the  lofty  steeples  of  the  village'  churches, 
loomed  in  the  dim  distance.  In  returning  to  the  town  I  passed  many 
little  mounds,  scattered  here  and  there  over  the  plain,  that  told  too 
plainly,  ala^!  of  bones  crumbling  beneath,  which,  once  animated  with 
life,  fought  valiantly  for  freedom. 


LINES     WRITTEN     BT     MOONLIGHT    AT     SEA. 

*  How  sweet 't  is  at  midiiight  to  lie 

At  length  by  the  side  of  the  deck, 
And  gaze  on  we  bright  moon  on  high, 
That  threatens  no  tempest  nor  wreck ! 

See  the  cloud  that  now  passes  beneath 

The  round  of  her  beautiful  crest ; 
'T  is  a  feir  olond.  resembling  the  wreath 

Of  snow  on  a  kill  of  the  West! 

And  the  ocean  is  oalm  as  a  lake, 
Where  the  winds  have  been  Isud  long  ago } 

Not  a  wave  is  seen  rising  to  break 
The  silence  that  reigns  with  its  flow. 

But  the  dolphin  is  sporting  to-night, 

And  the  Nautilus  stretdbes  his  sail, 
Of  crimson  and  pink/ :witlk  delight, 

In  the  bahn  of  the  oKmnligfat  pale. 

Tet  riowly  he  drifts  by  the  ship  ; 

For  the  breath  of  the  maiden  yon  woo 
Falls  scarcely  more  light  on  your  lip 

Than  the  air  on  his  silken  canoe  I  j^  Dtcsto*. 


18^*]  A  Smmet.  337      ^ 


fl  o  N  N  E  r 

■V«»B8TSD     BT     «m     XX7»>Z.XXa     PATlTTntfO    'oT    A    BSATTrXVOZ.    CSXSto.    VASS     nfVBBA9aX.T    AVTSB 

9BATB,   BT  ICUAJm. 

Trtvmphant  GeniuB,  o'er  thfi  ooooh  of  death, 
Gazes  upon  the  pale  and  lifeleas  day 
To  catch  life's  latest  ebb,  the  eye's  last  ray. 

And  the  fiiint  tremor  of  the  parting  breath, 

Ere  they  have  fled  :  to  immortality 
Then  striTea  with  magic  pencil  to  restore 
Each  lovely  look  and  lineament  it  wore ; 

The  rosy  cheek,  the  bright  and  sparkling  eye. 

The  softened  tints,  through  which  the  power  of  thought, 
With  life,  and  health,  and  the  blood  coursing  warm, 
Seem  beaming  forth  from  that  loved,  lifeless  form ; 
<     Till  the  fond  mother,  by  the  likeness  caught. 

Believes  her  darling  boy  is  yet  possessed. 

And  ope's  her  arms  to  clasp  him  to  her  breast !       • 

Jambs  Wnrnc.  If.  D. 

THE  SAINT  LEGER  PAPERS. 

'  AxL  ready  for  a  start,'  was  the  summonsi  twice  repeated,  in  the 
dear  cheerful  voice  of  Macklome,  wiiich  awakened  me  from  a  refresh- 
ing sleepy  but  a  few  minutes,  apparently,  after  I  had  fallen  into  it.  I 
spranff  up,  and  for  a  moment  was  lost  in  that  bewildering  unconscious- 
nees  c^  time,  and  circumstance,  which  often  attends  the  slumberer  when 
suddenly  roused  in  a  strange  place.  I  looked  around  the  room ;  the 
curtains  were  drawn  across  the  windows,' so  that  it  was  quite  dark ;  I 
put  forth  my  hand  to  grasp  the  nearest  object ;  I  strained  my  eyes  to 
discern  a  &miliar  one^  , '  Sleeper  — « sleeper  —  almost  five  o'clock  -^  a 
hot  cup  of  cofiee  ready,  and  no  time  to  be  lost  —  come,  come !'  brought 
me  to  my  senses  and  out  of  the  bed  at  the  same  instant. 

*  I  will  be  with  you  in  five  minutes,'  cried  I. 

'  You  shall  have  ten,'  replied  Macklome,  good-humoredly,  as  he 
made  his  way  down  the  stairs.  I  stepped  to  the  window,  and  drawing 
aside  the  curtains,  threw  it  open  and  looked  out.  The  air  was  cool  and 
fragrant;  the  dawn  was  perceptible  by  a  few  faint  lines  which  streaked 
over  the  east ;  every  thing  was  still,  except  that  there  were  occasional 
signs  of  returning  udmation  among  the  inhabitants  of  the  poultry-yard, 
while  the  bark  of  a  dog,  from  a  distant  cottage,  was  answered  at  inter- 
vals by  the  mastiff  of  mine  host 

At  me  door  of  the  inn  stood  the  *  fohrwerk,'  before  which  was  har- 
nessed the  smart '  keppeV  of  the  kind-hearted  Catharine. 

I  dressed  myself  quickly,  and  hastened  down  to  the  public  room, 
where  the  table  was  already  laid  for  us,  with  boiled  eggs,  roUs,  and 


338  The  Same  Leger  Pa^per^.  [April, 

iresh  butter.  I  found  my  coznpanion  in  as  cheerful  a  hu^ior  as  ever, 
enjoying  with  great  zest,  the  idea  of  our  morning's  expedition.  In 
two  or  three  minutes  Catharine  herself  entered  with  the  coffee,  her 
natural  German  quietness  entirely  forsaking  her,  under  the  excitement 
of  this  novel  enterprise.  We  soon  despatched  the  morning  meal ;  and, 
after  parting  salutations  with  the  young  hostess,  we  drove  ofE 

I  found  that  Macklome  had  perfected  all  his  arrangement^,  for  in  the 
bottom  of  the  wagon  nestled  an  urchin,  who  was  to  take  the  convey* 
ance  back  from  Dresden. 

We  went  on  for  a  little  while  without  a  word  being  spoken*  At 
length  Macklome  broke  the  silence :  '  What  is  your  plan  V 

*  I  have  matured  none,'  said  I.  <  I  am  to  meet  Heinrich  WaUenroth 
at  the  Stadt-PrUssien  as  soon  as  we  get  to  town ;  in  the  mean  time,  I 
would  advise  with  you,* 

*  WeD,  then,'  he  said,  in  a  half  playfU»-  half  serious  tone,  *  let  us  re- 
solve, in  the  fiiBt  place,  that  Montbeliard,  or  Vautrey,  as  you  name  him, 
shall  not  marry  your  cousin ;  and,  secondly,  let  us  discuss  the  various 
means  to  be  adoj^ted  to  carry  out  the  resolution.'  Suddenly  changing 
his  tone,  he  continued :  '  I  know  this  Vautrey ;  he  is  the  only  human 
being  toward  whom  I  have  a  settled  and  unalterable  feeling  of  abhor- 
rence. It  would  be  a  charity  to  plunge  a  dagger  into  your  cousin's 
heart,  rather  than  give  her  up  to  hun.' 

*  But  if  Leila  is  determined,  in  consequence  of ' 

'  I  care  not  for  that,'  interrupted  Macklome.  '  She  must  be  forcibly 
prevented ;  then  she  can  not  reproach  herself' 

*  How  shall  we  find  Vautrey  V 

*  I  will  find  him  in  two  hours  after  we  get  Xo  Dresden,'  returned  my 
friend. 

'  And  what  after  he  is  found  V 

*  I  should  be  tempted  to  destroy  him,'  said  Macklome, '  but  that  must 
not  be.  Let  us  see  what  you  can  effect  with  your  cousin ;  after  that 
we  will  turn  to  the  count.  And  remember,  I  hold  myself  bound  to  you, 
as  knight  or  squire,  as  principal  or  second,  against  one  or  againA  a 
thousand,  in  single  fight  or  in  the  mel^e,  rescue  or  no  rescue,  unto  the 
death.' 

The  conversation  was  carried  on  with  animation,  and  with  that  pecu- 
liar confidence  produced  by  congenial  feelings,  and  a  unity  of  purpose. 

In  this  way  we  drove  along ;  the  road  was  fkmiliar  to  my  companion, 
who.  oflen  turned  aside  into  pleasant  lanes  and  by*paths,  in  order  to 
shorten  the  distance.  At  first,  the  inhabitants  of  the  cottages  were 
just  rising  as  we  passed ;  after  a  while,  we  witnessed,  through  the  win- 
dows, active  preparations  for  break&st ;  farther  on,  they  were  partaking 
of  the  meal,  and  soon  were  seen  commencing  upon  the  labors  of  the 
day. 

A  few  minutes  before  ten  we  reached  Dresden*  We  stopped  at  a 
small  inn  before  we  came  to  the  better  part  of  the  town.  Leaving  the 
lad  to  procure  refreshment  for  himself  and  horse,  and  return  to  the 
halfway  house,  we  walked  on  together  a  short  distance,  when  Mack- 
lome, after  giving  me  general  directions  by  which  I  could  find  the 


1850.]  The  Saint  Leger  Papers.  339 

Stadt-PrUssien,  and,  promising  to  be  with  me  in  two  hotus,  crossed 
over,  turned  down  a  narrow  street  and  disappeared. 

I  proceeded  to  make  my  way  to  the  hotel,  which  I  reached  after  a 
walk  of  half  a  mile,  having  once  or  twice  missed  the  direct  course. 
Wollenroth  was  standing  on  the  steps,  anxiously  gazing  at  each  person 
who  passed.  He  greeted  me  as  if  we  had  been  friends  from  childhood ; 
but  dejection  and  despair  were  in  his  look. 

*  She  will  not  see  me,*  he  said  j  *  My  friend,  what  can  be  done  ]  From 
this  day,  life  has  no  charm  —  death  no  terror.  Do  not  desert  me  5  I 
put  myself  in  your  hands ;  only  act  —  act,  for  Heaven's  sake.' 

We  went  into  a  private  room,  and  sat  down  together ;  he  became 
more  composed,  and  informed  me  that  LeDa  feared  another  meeting 
would  be  more  than  she  could  bear,  that  he  had  taken  neither  food  nor 
rest  since  he  lefl  me,  but  had  walked  up  and  down  the  streets  the  whole 
nidht,  and  only  came  to  the  hotel  to  meet  his  appointment. 

For  a  few  moments  I  felt  altoeether  at  a  loss.  Heinrich  seemed  to 
depend  entirely  upon  me,  and  I  found  myself^  as  it  were  unconsciously 
falling  back  upon  Macklome.  I  began  to  think  over  the  whole  afiair 
with  seriousness.  I  tried  to  survey  it  in  a  practical,  matter-o^fact  way. 
How  should  I  act  ?  What  could  I  do  1  How  far  ought  I  to  interfere  ? 
Leila  was  the  betrothed  of  Vautrey  by  the  solemn  appointment  of  a 
dying  father,  and  who  could  tell  what  might  depend  upon  the  fulfilment 
of  the  troth  ?  On  the  other  side,  the  conviction  that  it  was  obtained  by 
fraud ;  the  absolute  abhorrence  of  Leila  to  the  count,  and  her  repug- 
nance to  the  union ;  the  complete  sacrifice,  it  would  efiect  of  two  young 
spirits,  made  me  coni^dkr  almost  any  course  justifiable  to  relieve 
them« 

I  thought  of  the  interview  I  had  witnessed  between  Leila  and  Vautrey 
in  St.  Kilda ;  of  the  scorn  with  which  she  then  dismissed  him  from  her 
presence ;  of  his  threat,  and  of  her  proud  defiance.  A  chill  ran  through 
me  as  I  contemplated  the  end.  My  visit  to  St.  Kilda,  my  interviews 
with  Leila,  our  relationship,  her  apparent  fate,  crowded  tumultuously 
upon  me.  Must  one  so  young,  so  fair,  so  noble,  be  destroyed  without 
an  e£R)rt  in  her  behalf  1  What  if  she  conscientiously  insists  on  keeping 
the  promise  to  her  father ;  shall  those  not  bound  tamely  witness  the 
sacrifice  ?  I  was  roused  also  to  attempt  something,  by  the  resolute  tone 
of  Macklome.  The  careless,  cheerAd,  but  honest  and  clear-sighted 
wanderer,  on  this  occasion  threw  ^aside  his  humor,  gayety,  and  indifi^ 
rence,  fi>r  an  unconquerable  resolve.  But  I  was  a  stranger  in  Dresden ; 
I  knew  no  one  in  the  town  save  Wallenroth,  who  did  not  hiinself  re- 
side there ;  and  so  had  to  ask  again  :  *  What  can  we  do  f 

Wallenroth  was  really  incapable  of  advising.  The  blow  had  fallen 
so  suddenly  that  he  was  stunned.  I  repeated  some  words  of  comfort, 
but  they  seemed  tame  and  common-place.  I  assured  him  I  would  de- 
vote myself  to  the  cause  of  Leila,  but  felt  that  my  efforts  werp  insigni- 
ficant I  tried  to  cheer  him,  but  only  became  myself  the  more  dejected. 
At  length  I  entreated  him  to  deek  repose.  This  he  refused,  until  I 
suggested  that  he  would  need  all  his  strength  to  carry  out  the  plan  we 
were  to  consummate,  when  he  took  some  refreshment  and  attempted 
to  sleep. 


840  The  Saint  Leger  Papert.  '  [April, 

.    I  had  some  time  to  wait  before  I  should  meet  Macklome,  but  I  could 
not  occupy  it 

I  had  anticipated  pleasure  on  enteritig  the  brilliant  capital  of  Saxony. 
Here  was  a  cneck  to  every  feeling  like  enjoyment  How  different  my 
thoughts  from  those  I  indulged  in  but  the  day  previous,  when,  enchanted 
with  the  idea  of  throwing  myself  upon  the  world,  I  set  out  from  Leip- 
sic,  and  climbed  with  Macklome  the  vine-clad  hills  with  an  unbounded 
sense  of  freedom  in  the  prospect    My  life-motto  came  to  my  mind : 

Sed  midi  re$y  lun  me,  rtbuMy  mbmittero  epnar* 

*  I  vnll  not  yield  to  the  circumstance/  I  exclaimed,  aloud ;  '  it  may 
effect  my  course  of  action,  but  myself —  never.  Courage !  our  cause 
is  a  good  one/  Before  the  time  expired  for  Macklome's  appearance  I 
had  regained  my  equanimity,  and  was  ready  to  act  with  resolution. 

My  friend  had  been  as  good  as  his  word.  He  had  discovered  where 
Vautrey  lodged,  but  evaded  my  inquiry  When  I  asked  how  he  had  done 
so.  I  told  him  briefly  what  had  passed  between  Wbllenroth  and  my- 
self and  we  concluded,  as  the  only  alternative,  that  I  should  visit  the 
count,  without  delay,  for  we  could  decide  on  nothing  until  we  knew  the 
position  he  would  assume. 

I  directed  my  steps  to  No.  —  in  the  KOnig  Strasse.  My  last  inter^ 
view  vnth  Vautrey  had  been  when  interested  for  the  safety  of  Glen- 
finglas,  I  went  to  request  him  to  abstain  from  an  affiray.  The  last  time 
I  had  seen  hitn,  except  on  the  previous  day,  was  when,  after  being 
hurled  from  the  cli£B9  by  Donacha  Maclan,  he  was  drawn  up,  bleeding 
and  insensible.  *  * 

I  could  not  decide  in  what  way  to  approach  him.  I  thought  it  best 
to  leave  that  until  I  should  learn  the  nature  of  my  reception.  Arrived 
at  his  lodgings,  which  were  in  the  finest  part  of  the  town,  I  sent  my 
name  to  the  count,  and  was  presently  waited  upon  by  his  old  valet  and 
requested  to  step  into  his  private  room.  '  I  found  him  in  a  rich  dressing 
gown,  in  an  easy  chair ;  me  room  in  disorder :  having  the  appearance 
of  preparation  for  a  journey  or  removal.  Articles  of  fancy,  destined 
apparently  for  a  lady,  were  scattered  around,  and  every  thing  exhibited 
an  unsettled  state  of  things. 

As  I  entered,.  Vautrey  rose  and  came  toward  me.  Holding  out  his 
hand,  he  said, '  This  is  I  presume  the  Mr.  Saint  Leger  I  met  in  Scot- 
land, although  I  should  not  now  recognise  you.  We  are  older  —  both 
of  us  —  than  we  were  five  years  ago.  I  remember  there  were  words 
between  us.  I  will  say,  let  them  be  forgotten.  I  suppose  you  come  to 
be  present  at  the  bridal.  You  have  lived  some  time  in  Leipsic,  I  be- 
lieve.' 

This  was  spoken  naturally  and  without  effort,  while  be  retained  my 
hand  which  it  was  impossible  for  me  not  to  have  extended  to  meet  hik 
own.  '  But  sit  down,'  he  continued, '  Miguel,  some  wine.  When  have 
you '  heard  from  our  Scottish  friends ;  do  you  fancy  that  bewitching 
Ella  as  much  as  ever,  or  have  you  lost  your  heart  here,  where  maidens 
are  more  amiable,  if  not  more  captivating  ?  Seriously,  how  are  your 
friends  at  home,  and  how  are  you  V 

I  vrna  mastered  at  the  outset  by  the  careless  freedom,  ease,  ready 


1850.J  The  SaitU  Leger  Papers.  341 

5 ' , 

appreciation  and  cleveniesB  of  this  prafund  dissimulator.  Hia  practi- 
cal world-knowledge  seemed  an  over-match  for  the  book-wisdom  of 
the  student  I  felt  that  there  was  a  force  brought  into  the  field,  againat 
which  I  had  none  similai*  to  oppose ;  and  that  I  was  in  danger  of  losing 
the  day,  not  from  want  of  strength  to  conduct  the  contest,  but  from  loss 
of  the  vantage  ground.  A  straightforward  course  was  the  only  one 
for  me  to  pursue.  As.  soon  therefore  as  Vautrey  paused  in  his  inqui- 
ries, I  replied,  quietly,  that  my  friends  at  home  were  well,  that  I  had 
not  come  to  Dresden  to  attend  the  bridal,  but  to  see  what  I  could  do  to 
prevent  it,  and  to  that  end  had  m  the  first  instance  called  upon  him.  I 
went  on  to  say,  Vautrey  showing  no  signs  of  in^tienq^,  that  I  be- 
lieved the  proposed  union  would  make  Leil^t  miserable,  and  that  I 
trusted,  unpleasant  as  the  truth  might  be,  he  was  incapable  of  destroy- 
ing the  happiness  of  so  lovely  a  creature  by  insisting  on  the  frilfilment 
of  a  promise  made  to  soothe  the  last  moments  of  a  dying  father. 

He  listened  with  composure,  until  I  finished.  I  had  expected  to  be 
interrupted  but  he  had  learned  the  lesson  of  absolute  control. 

'  Saint  Leger,'  he  now  said, '  you  expect  to  see  me  angry  —  most 
men  would  be  so  —  at  this  unwarrantable  interference  between  Leila 
and  myself;  for  I  cannot  presume  that  you  have  her  sanction  in  calling 
upon  me ;'  I'  shook  my  head ;  *  but,'  he  proceeded, '  I  am  not  angr^  ,* 
I  nave  lived  too  lone  to  be  angry ;  beside  I  take  what  you  have  stud 
in  good  part,  believmg  that  you  are  honest.  I  will  be  equally  frank 
widi  you.  I  have  liveid  in  the  world  and  have  had  my  pleasure  in  it ; 
I  have  gratified  my  senses,  I  have  pleased  my  tastes ;  what  wealth  could 
purchase  or  health  could  enioy  I  have  possessed ;  I  have  never  missed 
m^  aim,  nor  been  cheated  of  desired  revenge ;  I  have  been  successful 
with  women  and  have  defied  men ;  the  world  has  been  my  minister 
and  it  has  served  me  faithfiiUy ;  for  all  that,  at  six-and-twenty  I  am  sated ; 
these  things  no  longer  attract  or  pleasure  me.  I  i^eek  some  new  life,  I 
search  for  a  new  enjoyment,  and  I  would  find  it  with  Leila  Saint  Leger. 
She  is  mine,'  and  his  eyes  glistened  with  triumph,  in  spite  of  hia  cool 
manner ;  '  mine,  by  every  thing  that  can  make  oaths  binding.  Throtigh 
life  I  have  pursued  her,  and  now  she  shall  not  escape  me.  Do  not 
think,  however,  that  I  would  sacrifice  her.  I  know  the  sex.  She  will 
at  first  resist  my  approaches,  she  will  be  unhappy,  she  will  not  love  me ; 
but  time  will  cure  all  this.  You  do  not  taste  your  wine ;  come,  drink 
to  my  happy  union  with  your  cousin.' 

'  Excuse  me,  count,  but  as  I  have  broached  a  disagreeable  subject, 
let  me  finish  it.  What  you  say  does  not  alter  my  opinion,  that  Leola's 
happiness  is  now  irrevocably  at  stake,  and  that,  as  a  man  of  honor,  you 
should  release  her  from  the  promise  that  binds  her.  I  perceive  you 
will  not  yield.  Are  there  no  considerations  which  I  could  urge  to 
change  your  decision  V 

<  What  mean  you  {'  he  asked,  quickly,  while  a  slight  red  spot  glowed 
on  either  cheek. 

'  Your  fortune  is  ample,  count,  as  you  have  said ;  but  it  might  be 
doubled.' 

'  By  Heaven,  you  shall  pay  for  this  V-  he  exclaimed,  starting  to  his 
feet :  *  but  no,  there  shall  Ibe  no  more  violence,'  he  said,  in  a  lower  tone. 


342  L^vocatiofi  to  the  SeauHful.  [April, 

as  he  resumed  his  seat  '  I  understand  you,  Saint  Leger,  but  you  do 
not  understand  me  j  you  have  had  little  opportunity  to  know  me,  and  I 
acquit  you  of  intentional  insult.  Others  may  call  me  what  they  will ; 
unscrupulous,  abandoned,  a  debauchee,  a  yillain ;  but  in  this  business 
I  have;  as  I  said  to  you,  a  new  purpose,  a  new  hope.  I  tell  you,  I  have 
set  my  life  upon  this  venture,  and  with  my  life  only  will  I  abandon  it. 
Say  no  more  to  me.  Leila,  I  know,  does  not  authorize  this  application ; 
^ou  can  not  get  her  consent  to  your  interference ;  but  I  give  you  credit 
or  good  purposes,  else  I  had  not  listened  a  moment  As  it  is,  you  must 
be  satisfied.  I  offer  you  my  hand  again ;  I  do  not  ask  you  to  pledge 
me  in  the  glass ;  let  the  wine  remain  untasted,  if  you  will  have  it  so, 
but  — you  are  the  nearest  relative  Leila  has  upon  the  continent  —  wiU 
you  not  be  present  at  ihe  ceremony  ?  It  will  take  place  to-morrow 
evening  at  seven,  precisely  in  the  cathedral/ 
*  I  will  be  there,  Goimt  Good  mommg.*    I  turned  and  left  the  room. 


fc 


INVOCATION      TO      THE      BEAUTIFUL. 


Comb  to  me  when  Aueora  opes  her  eyes, 
Beneath  a  heaven  of  blue  and  doudleas  skies ; 
Come  when  bright  day  wanes  wearied  to  repose, 
And  one  by  one  Night's  watohfnl  eyes  unolose. 


Tell  me,  in  tones  of  murio  from  thy  sonl, 

All  the  wild  thoughts  beyond  the  will's  control : 

Whisper  of  loveliness  and  all  things  dear, 

That  charm  and  soothe  in  life's  terrestrial  sphere. 


Catch  from  the  sunbeam  a  translucent  veO, 
Sip  from  the  dew-drop  trembling  in  the  gale, 
Add  to  the  lustre  of  thy  beaming  eyes 
A  ray  from  those  that  sparkle  in  the  skies. 


Deck  thy  white  robes  with  mosses  from  the  dell. 
Bind  up  thy  hair  with  wreaths  of  pearly  shell. 
Sandal  thy  feet  with  tender  fragrant  leaves. 
Bear  in  thy  hand  the  wand  Titania  weaves. 


Steal  from  pale  Memory  all  her  subtle  power, 
Be  but  for  me  in  this  delicious  hour : 
Come  in  the  morning  or  in  evening  gloom ; 
Come  by  the  light  of  stars  or  silver  moon. 


Oh  1  oome,  with  nature  and  with  freshness  sweet ; 
Come,  and  let  music  echo  from  thy  feet : 
So  shalt  thou  type  and  herald  preoions  be 
Of  every  beauty,  and  all  joy  to  me. 


1850.J 


Bunkum  Flag-SU^  and  BtdependeiU  Echo. 


343 


SXTOTSS  TO  Tax  rRtVOZ7I.BS  OV  "OS :  THX    COSSTrrOTIOK   OV  TBS    STATX  or  HXW-TOaX  ;    THB  voT7ata 

OT  jax.T :  z<iFS.  z.xoaaTr,  ititMMMXwm,  ASTXBTzsaiffajrTS.  axd  ▲  axAifSAjU)  oomuivot. 


APAII.     1,     1800. 


WAG8TAFF,     Editob. 


C.I  R  K  e  L  AT  E  ! 


Our  readers  and  patroons  and 
advertising  list  are  kindly  requested 
to  bear  with  the  delay  of  our  issoo, 
which  has  now  been  intercected  for 
some  two  months'  by  sickness  and 
other  causes,  and  our  travel  into  Ar- 
kansaSis  territory.  From  the  many 
inquiries  which  have  been  made  for 
us,  we  believe  that  the  Flag-Staff 
is  firmly  planted  on  the  top  wave 
of  an  advancing  public  opinion, 
and  gifted  with  eagel  wings,  and  a 
heart  of  oak,  incited  by  moral  pur- 
poses, devoted  to  advertisements 
and  all  causes  of  refi>rm,  (we  are 
happy  to  inform  our  readers  that 
our  sick  brother  is  better)  knows 
no  retiring  ebb,  but  keeps  right  on. 
May  the  tide  continue  to  flow ! 
Com,  hay, oats,  grits  as  usual  taken 
in  exchange. 

Reader,  we  are  now  sitooated  in 
our  offis,  and  returned  to  an  exci- 
ting life  of  mind  for  your  good. 
We  shall  institute  the  Flag-Staff  on 
still  better  fundamentals.  We  are 
afraid  that  we  carried  it  in  some 
things  too  extravagantly  fur.  Too 
much  of  one  thing  is  good  for  no- 
thing. We  mean  to  eo  hully  for 
the  practical,  for  in  this  ked'ntry 
whatever  is  n't  practical  is  an  im- 
practability,  as  our  old  aunt  Sharlot 
used  to  say.  That  was  1  reason 
and  a  good  reason  too,  why  we 
temporary  stopt  the  Flag-Sta£  It 
was  to  git  breath,  hitch  up,  go  to 


Arkansafts,  (where  we  see  Albert 
Pike)  and  then  begin  anew,  fresh 
as  a  bridegroom  with  his  hair  new 
reaped,  shone  like  a  stubble-field 
at  harvest  home.  In  the  West  we 
see  a  good  many  newspapers,  but 
as  we  said  before,  they  can't  write. 
There 's  no  moral  design  into  'em. 
They  never  been  bred  up  to  the 
pen,  which  if  they  do  not,  it  is  le- 
gitimately impossible  that  any  thing 
excelsior  in  the  way  of  literature 
should  be  attained,  and  so  we  told 
Albert  Pike. 

But  they  can  do  a  great  many 
other  things  and  do  do  diem,  which 
would  astonish  an  Atlantic  mind  in 
those  interior  States.  They. will 
take  a  slip  of  land  runnin'  out  in 
the  Misippi  river,  and  in  two  or 
three  days  build  up  a  considerabul 
town  where  there  was  nothing  but 
mud  and  a  hull  army  of  ke-blunk 
bull-frogs.  In  a  short  time  more 
that  town  will  have  a  board  of  Al- 
dermen, who  save  money  enough 
out  of  public  taxes  to  meet  together 
in  sotial  turkle-soup  dinners  and  on 
keg  oysters  brought  from  the  East. 
Bime  by  you  see  Astor-Houses  and 
long  lines  of  shops  with  calico  hung 
out,  and  mercantile  agencies  from 
New-York  with  big  rmgs  on  their 
fingers,  cut  a  swell  at  the  hotels  and 
drink  champagne.  Bime  by  that 
town  win  have  what  is  called  '  tJie 
tang,*  a  sort  of  equality,  who  live  in 


344 


Bunkum  'Flag-Staff  and  Bhdependewt  JBcho. 


[April, 


three-story  kousen,  a  good  way»  off 
from  the  calico  flags,  and  the  ladies 
wipe  their  sweet  preUy  mouths  with 
fine  cambric  witn  a  hem-stitch  or 
lace  border  all  round  it  two  or  three 
inches  deep,  covered  with  musk, 
and  twelve  o'clock  get  into  a  nice 
carriage  at  the  door,  with  a  stag's 
head  onto  the  pannel,  or  an  ea^el 
with  his  wings  spread  out,  or  a  hon 
standin'  on  his  hind  legs,  coupant 
and  roarin'  as  if  he  had  just  come 
out  of  the  woods.  And  if  you  go 
into  rooms  at  nights,  you  will  listen 
to  sweet  sounds  of  peanas,  and  see 
Polkas  danced,  and  a  great  many 
brave  be^nixs  who  would  n't  be  out 
of  place  even  in  Bunkum  or  Broad- 
way. 3ime  by  as  civilization  ad- 
vances, there  will  be  great  com- 
mercial &ilures  called  smashes,  and 
the  pier-glasses  and  window-curt- 
ings  under  the  hammer,  and  then 
up  on  their  lees  again  as  if  nothink 
had  happened,  and  begin  the  world 
anew.  Never  despair  is  the  motto 
in  this  part  of  the  wurruld.  But 
we  wisht  you  could  see  their  steam- 
boats and  sail  into  'em  like  we  done. 
Great  mammoth,  anaconda  like 
structures,  as  long  as  a  degree  of 
latitude  in  jography ;  fine  cabins 
almost  too  good  to  spit  on ;  state- 
rooms a  good  sight  better  dian  we 
can  afford  to  live  in  to  home ;  meals 
containing  the  ht  of  the  land,  and 
they  run  in  a  hull  forest  of  pine- 
wood,  pitch  and  tar  in  the  bilers, 
and  run  races,  which,  when  they  do 
bust,  they  rain  down,  a  whole  shower 
of  arms,  legs  and  bodies  from  those 
not  so  fortunate  to  escape  onto  the 
adjacent  ked'ntry.  An  accident  of 
this  kind  occurred  one  day  in  ad- 
vance of  our  travel,  and  three  per- 
sons who  had  agreed  to  subscribe 
the  Flag-Staff  blown  up ;  a  dead 
loss*  to  us.  We  mean  to  send  the 
sheet  entirely  gratis  to  the  widows. 
Gro  thou  and  do  likewise.    In  poli- 


tics, they  are  extremely  savage  and 
go  for  the  Union  to  a  man.  Not 
one  of  them  will  hearken  to  any 
such  thing  as  dissolve  the  common- 
wealth, but  leave  it  just  where 
Washington  left  it;  and  palsied 
be  the  arm  that  would  scratch  out 
one  star  from  her  escapement ! 

Schools  and  eddication  is  flour- 
ishing. ForeddicationisthecreOwn* 
in*  glory  of  the  Uniten'd  Stets. 

Albert  Pike  lives  at  Little  Rock, 
and  wrote  'Hymns  to  the  Grods,' 
and  we  dined  with  him,  when  he 
praised  our  Flag-Staff,  and  said  it 
was  written  in  a  good  English  style, 
in  answer  to  which,  we  replied  to 
him,  that  that  was  all  we  amded  at 
to  make  ourselves  understood ;  that 
writing  was  our  Fort,  from  which 
nothing  but  a  troop  of  Ingens  could 
drive  us  out  *  Says  he,'  pouring 
out  another  glass  of  apple-jack, 
(and  we  donethe  same,)  '  do  you 
remain  entranced  just  where  you 
are.  Daniel  Webster  in  the  Senate, 
and  Noah  Webster  in  the  spelling- 
book,  could  not  do  more  for  the 
ked'ntry  than  you  are  doing  in  that 
sheet.  Put  me  down  for  a  subscri- 
ber. Send  it  to  Little  Rock  in  a 
strong  wrapper.'  For  which  we 
thanked  him,  told  him  our  pay  was 
in  adwance,  and  asked  him.  to  write 
'  Hymna  to  the  Gods,'  which  he 
sot  right  down  and  done,  but  we 
lost  it  on  the  Missouri  river,  where 
our  hat  blew  off  to  the  valy  of  three 
dollars,  for  which  we  patronized 
the  Arkansa&s  hatters  and  bought 
a  flir  cup.  He  is  an  excellent  man, 
and  fought  in  the  Mexican  war. 
Bears  is  plenty  and  buffidos  further 
West     But  more  anon.  Sir. 


A  CLOSB,  miserly  man  who  lives 
in  his  own  house,  is  like  an  oyster 
confined  to  his  shell  by  a  hard 
heart. 


1850.] 


Bunkmm  Flag-SiaffaHd  Bukpendent  Echo. 


345 


A  coRBBSPomoBNT  wants  to  know 
the  difference  between  *  Humbug' 
and  *  Bugbear.'  We  are  surprised 
at  the  question.  Humbug  is  not 
Bugbear;  and  wicy-wercy,  any 
more  'n  Bugbear  is  Humbug  and 
wicy-wercy.  They  go  on  their  own 
hook,  and  hooking  is  too  good  for 
either  of  them.  Let 's  go  into  the 
question  a  little.  You  see  they  're 
both  hues,  only  one  has  hum  before 
it,  and  me  other  bear  after  it  So 
then  the  distinxion  lies  not  between 
hug  and  hug,  but  between  hum  and 
hear.  Now  we're  comin'  to  the 
very  marrow  of  the  subjek,  which 
we  mean  to  skoop  out  of  the  bone 
with  tho  handle  of  the  table-spoon 
of  common  sense,  and  lay  it  on  the 
toast  of  intelligence,  and  sprinkle 
it  with  the  red-pepper  of  numor. 
Well  a  humbug  is  m  its  natur  small, 
buzzing,  and  contemptible  like  a  fly 
or  a  musketer,  and  though  there 
may  be  a  great  humbug,  it  is  only 
the  hum  mat  is  great,  but  the  bug 
is  really  little.  Bime  by  it  flies  in 
the  lamp  of  exposure  and  then  you 
see  it  amt  much.  A  bugbear  is  a 
great  big  thing,  as  bi^  as  a  moun- 
tain that  has  got  no  existence  at  a!!l, 
but  it  is  in  the  imaginations  of  men, 
and  that 's  the  same  thing  as  if  it 
was  alive  and  kickin'  like  a  polar 
bear.  That 's  our  definition,  but 
we  have  n't  looked  at  Noah  Web- 
ster. 


To  an  'Old  Friend'  who  sends 
us  a  plate  of  shin  of  beef  soup,  we 
thank  him  most  cordially,  ana  may 
ten  per  cent,  of  it  be  returned  into 
his  own  buzzum. 


Some  men  the  more  you  know 
of  them  you  like  them  less.  Other 
men,  the  less  you  know  of  them, 
you  like  them  more.  We  are  sorry 
diat  it  is  BO,  but  so  it  is. 


At  a  large  and  fully  attended 
meeting  of  die  people  of  Bunkum 
on  Tu^day  night,  it  was  voted  that 
the  thanks  of  the  community  and  a 
small  silver-cup  be  presented  to 
Mr.  J.  W.  Todlemus,  'for  straight- 
forward conduck  as  a  fellow  citi- 
zen and  a  man.'  Mr.  Todlemus 
returned  thanks  in  a  set  speech,  in 
which  he  said  that  his  desire  always 
should  be  both  in  the  transactions  of 
his  Soap-Factory,  and  in  his  politi- 
cal, morali  social,  family,  and  other 
relations,  to  toe  the  straight  chalk- 
line  of  duty.  — (Cheerg.) 

At  the  same  time  and  place,  a 
handsome  medal  was  presented  in 
the  name  of  several  gentlemen  pas- 
sengers on  the  '  Streak  of  Lights 
ning'  Ferry-Boat,  to  Captain  Mix, 
for  having  steered  clear  of  a  large 
cake  of  ice  day  before  yesterday. 
Captain  Mix  returned  thanks. — 

) 


Californy. —  The  wonderful 
doin's  in  these  diggin's  stiU  con- 
tinoo,  and  its  more  like  Jack  and 
the  Bean-Pole  than  any  think  we 
pretty  near  ever  knew.  The  fol- 
lowing remarkable  suckumstanse 
occurred ;  and  when  we  say  that 
we  had  it  from  the  identical  indi- 
vidooal,  our  word  will  not  be  dis- 
believed. A  young  man  named 
Silvester  Snaps,  of  an  enterprisin' 
turn,  went  out  with  three  or  four 
hundred  dollars,  and  at  Panama 
was  robbed,  and  devil  as  many 
pennies  had  he  to  save  his  life. 
The  robbers  cut  out  the  whole 
pocket  of  his  coat,  where  he  had 
his  pocket-book,  with  a  pedn-knife 
or  snarp  razor ;  and  when  he  put 
his  hand  in  for  to  get  it,  lowen  and 
behold  it  was  gone !  What  does 
he  do  }  Shed  tears  ?  Friends  and 
fellow  countrymen,  no  /  .  He  lands 
at  St.  Francisco  without  a  cent; 


346 


Bunkum  Flag-Staff  and  Ind^^endewt  Echo.  [April, 


and,  shaviu'  himself  with  his  own 
razor  and  washin'  himself  with  his 
own  soap,  walks  through  the  streets, 
fresh  as  a  bridegroom.  Presently 
he  sees  two  men  at  a  stand-still, 
talking.  Goin'  promptly  up  and 
listening  to  their  conversation,  he 
Hears  one  of  them  say,  *  I  'd  like 
to  do  the  job  for  you,  but  I  can't 
do  it;  my  hands  is  full/  With 
that  he  turns  off.  Our  young  man 
says;  '  What  is  it  you  want  done  V 
Says  the  other, '  It  is  to  hang  some 
walls  with  cotton  cloth,  as  we  can't 
get  no  other  material/  '  Oh,'  says 
the  stranger,  '  I  can  do  that  as  well 
as  any  body.  Only  give  me  a  few 
tacks.'  So  he  does  it,  and  gets 
two  hundred  dollars.  After  that, 
walkin'  about  the  town,  he  sees  a 
great  many  bottles  thrown  out,  as 
if  good  for  nothing ;  and  while  re- 
wolving  this  fack  in  his  mind,  he 
hears  a  store-keeper  say  to  a  ship- 
captain,  *  We  can't  store  them  'ere 
brandy-hogsheads  any  more.  We 
are  sorry  for  it,  but  we  want  the 
room.'  *0h,'  says  our  native  of 
Poughkeepsie,  New- York,  comin' 
up,  *  How  much  brandy  have  you 
got  V  says  he.  *  Two  hundired 
dollars'  worth,'  said  the  other.  *  I  '11 
buy  it  of  you,'  said  he.  With  that 
he  planks  down  the  cash,  and  goes 
and  gathers  up  the  bottles.  That 
bottled  brandy  ne  sold  for  one  thou- 
sand dollars.  With  that  he  pushes 
off  for  the  mines,  with  a  wanety  of 
articles,  which  }ie  sold  for  ten  times 
the  valy.  Bime  by  he  finds  a  stream 
which  he  reckons  can  be  turned 
from  the  bed.  He  hires  some  men 
at  twenty-five  dollars  a-piece  a  day 
to  work  onto  it,  makes  the  stream 
squirt  off  its  waters  in  another  way, 
and  there  he  digs  out  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars  right  off,  with  which 
he  came  home,  and  is  now  living 
at  the  Astor-House,  drinking  his 
champagne  wine,  and  will  proba- 


bly marry  a  wife  before  another 
year  is  out,  and  live  as  handsome 
as  any  man  need  to  live. 


Iloetts. 


THE      CONFIDENCE      M  A.  N  . 


Thikc  was  a  man  named  Dicke&t  Dock, 

Wbo  in  the  opera  took  delight : 
He  wore  a  very  foultten  stocky 

And  gloTGS  moflt  innocently  white : 
Hia  birth-place  never  has  been  known, 

Nor  where  liis  htfltorv  beeant 
Bat  he  Hi  become,  aa  a]|  wiU  own, 

A  very  celebrated  man. 
Now  this  same  man,  named  Dickkxt  Dock, 

Whose  character  was  but  a  wreck, 
It  must  be  said,  had  UtOe  stock, 

Except  the  stock  aboat  his  neck. 
He  put  hia  black  moustache  in  pawn 

Whenever  ho  went  to  any  place ; 
And  save  the  coat  which  he  had  on, 

Which  fitted  with  exceeding  grace. 
And  save  the  figure  which  he  cut, 

Few  lisla  of  firures  did  be  nm ; 
For  though  he  always  put  down  0, 

He  was  not  known  to  carry  1. 
He  boarded  at  the  Vast  Hotel, 

And  drank  his  bottle  of  wine  a-day. 
Until  one  mom  the  master  said : 

*  Dear  Sir,  there  *b  twenty  botaea  dead : 

Our  rule  is  in  ad\'ance  to  pay.* 
Straight  he  unfurled  a  roll  of  bills, 

And  said  with  wounded  dignity, 
Turning  as  red  as  turkey-gills: 

*•  Most  certainly — most  certainly, 
I  *11  pay  the  score  and  get  me  hence. 
Where  I  'U  not  meet  the  like  offence ; 
For  it  is  very  plain  to  see 
Yon  have  not  any  conjidence^ 

<Oh!  no,'  the  other  quick  replied, 
Beelug  the  cash  he  could  provide : 

*  Dear  air,  we  have,  believe  it  true, 
The  utmost  confidence  in  you. 

Take  back  the  flmds,  pay  when  yon  will, 
And  eat  and  drink  and  sleep  your  flIL' 
*Not  so,*  the  guest  replied ;  '•fwimaj 
Receive  the  cash :  I  *d  rather  pi^*.* 
Bo  taking  up  the  host's  receipt, 
He  walked  for  pleaaure  in  the  street: 
Six  months  or  more  the  time  passed  well 
In  boarding  at  the  Vaat  Hotel, 
Till  one  day  he,  quite  ullaied, 
With  all  hia  trunb  absquatulated. 


On  who  had  loaned  fthe  story  goes) 
Ovr  friend  a  hundred  dollar  bllL 
(He  did  it  sore  against  hto  will,) 
Behekl  his  pteasant  fkioe  no  morei, 

Tin  one  oay  at  Dilxokioo'b 
He  saw  him  enter  at  the  door. 
The  adept,  who  had  been  to  school, 
Beeolved  to  play  the  part  of  «Gool,^ 

Nor  ever  watted  for  a  dun; 


1850.] 


Bunkum  Fiag-SUiff  <md  hdependent  Btko. 


347 


But  sqaliiliiig  through  hl8  ghn,  ntd  be: 
'Sioneiiie;  but,  ire  yon  the  odb 

or  whom  I  bonvwedonee  a  Vf 
Nij,  do  not  seem  to  take  oflbnoe; 

im  DAT  it  baek  imdoubtodly: 

For  tt  u  very  plain  to  eee 
Ytm  have  not  omr  em^fidtmce 

The  other,  thrown  from  off  his 
RepUed:  « I  wish  not  to  be  hen 
I  wsnt  the  monev,  tt  is  true, 
Bnt  I  bBTO  oonfldence  in  you.* 
'Gome  then  and  take  a  walk,' said  he, 
'To  my  own  house  in  Aremie  D.; 
Advanee  astep  or  two  beAm, 
My  wife  win  see  yon  at  the  door, 

And  lecture  me  to-night: 
1 11  go  and  get  my  other  ooat, 
Where  I  '▼e  a  hrnkdred  dollar  note, 

And  set  the  mattsr  right' 
Then  his  friend's  arm  h^did  raleaso, 
And  straight  aooosts  the  starpottoe. 
« Pray  take  thai  YiUain  to  the  Tombs: 
He  stole  a  greafr«oat  from  my  roonuk^ 


With  that,  in  ndte  of  kicks  and  bk>WB» 
ftenheaaan'" 


A  broken  heatfand  bk)ody 
Qy  force,  to  cat  the  matter  short, 
Thev  bore  the  snflbrar  to  the  cowt: 
The  aocoser  was  upon  the  ground, 
The  innocenf  lobber  to  oonlbond. 
aaidhe:  <  I  now  will  haeten  henoe, 
lb  get  the  needftil  evidence.' 
Bat  ere  he  went,  with  aoeenta  bland, 
|grtiinding  h^i  fifnistflr  hand. 
He  said,  and  smiled  quite  plessBntly : 
'  It  grtovea  me  very  much  to  see 
Yen  kne  not  anti  coidLdenee 
HmeJ 


Praps  the  Holy  Scriptors  were 
never  so  much  read  as  now-a-days ; 
and  good  need  of  it,  fi>r  never  was 
the  world  wickeder.  Among  other 
improvements,  we  observe  a  great 
Btore  of  books  upon  Bible  charac- 
ters ;  a  kind  of  filling  up  of  scrip- 
ter  narrative.  We  thmk  we  see  a 
human  hand  filling  up  the  story  of 
Ruth.  We  have  had  from  two  or 
three  difibrent  quarters  the  *  Wo- 
men of  the  Bible.'  There  is  lately 
advertised  'The  Young  Men  of 
the  Bible.'  Who  will  edit  a  new 
work  to  be  entitled '  The  Babies 
of  the  Bible  V  Friends  and  fellow- 
citizens,  do  n't  make  the  good  book 
a  plea  fer  mere  book-making.  If 
you  are  doing  it  for  the  good  of 
your  feller  men,  not  a  word  to  say ; 
out  if  you  are  doing  it  because  it 
is  lucrative,  persuading  youself  that 
die  motive  is  different,  then  we  say 

VOL.  zzzv.  23 


look  oat  what  you  da  It  is  the 
'  Book  of  Books.'  It  shines  by  its 
own  light,  and  do  n't  borrow  its  ex- 
cellence firom  pure  white  paper 
and  picters.  Its  great  outlines  will 
impress  the  mind  better  in  their 
naxedness  than  by  any  touches 
which  your  pencil  can  put  in.  Make 
books  on  something  else. 

Wb  would  like  to  ask  our  co- 
trumpery  Journalists  what  is  a  pet^ 
shoTig  ?  We  hear  that  word  venf 
often  in  conversation.  That  it  is 
not  in  Walker's  or  Webster's  we 
know ;  that  it  is  incorrect,  we  are 
inclined  to  think.  We  heerd  a  fe- 
rocious-looking young  man  cross 
over  the  Brooklyn  Ferry-Boat, 
where  they  have  improved  the  cab- 
ings  wery  much,  and  like  a  draw- 
ing-room, say  that  he  had  a  pen- 
shong  fer  music  and  opera.  We 
judged  from  the  context  of  his  con- 
versation, which  did  qot  contain  a 
thimble-full  of  brains,  that  his  pa- 
rents allowed  him  ^pension  Sot  to 
indulge  his  taste  in  these  things, 
and  to  bu^  Macassar  oil  to  fiirbish 
up  his  whiskers  and  keep  his  mus- 
tashes  in  twist,  and  buy  new  heads 
to  his  cane  after  he  had  sucked  the 
old  ones  off.  Who  will  inform  us 
what  is  a  penshong  ? 

Will  '  Row-de-dow'  call  at  our 
office,  and  we  wiU  then  explain  to 
him  why  we  could  not  insert  his 
composition  on '  Neutral  Relations' 
in  the  Bunkum  Flag-Staff?  First 
of  all,  it  is  full  of  little  i's  as  a  but- 
terfly's head ;  and  would  n't  mind 
this,  were  it  equal  to  a  butterfly  in 
other  respects,  which  it  is  not,  can- 
didly so  to  speak.  Its  ideas  are 
somethink  like  a  butterfly,  sure 
enough,  because  when  you  ^o  finr  to 
catch  them,  you  can't  do  it.  Be- 
sides that,  die  style  is  as  much  in- 


348 


Btmkum  Flag-Staff  and  Ltdq^endrnt  Eeko.  [April, 


wolved  as  a  man  that  can't  pay  bis 
dets.  There  aint  no  weight  or  heft 
in  the  sentimens :  they  're  as  light 
as  day.    He  can't  write. 

Mb.  Coddle. — We  met  our  old 
friend,  Captain  Coddle,  of  the 
'  Medicated  Apple-Sa&s/  in  the 
street  to-day,  with  a  big  watch- 
chain  and  seal  hangin'  down  in  front 
of  his  little  rotund  belly,  and  his 
cheeks  shining  like  a  horse  Just 
curried  off.  The  *  Saas'  is  rapidly 
filling  his  pocket  with  rocks,  be- 
sides doing  good  to  his  feller  men, 
especially  those  with  febrile  affec- 
tions. He  spoke  with  much  feel- 
ink  of  those  who  travestied  his  de- 
partment of  medicine,  palming  upon 
a  gulled  and  taken-in  community  a 
fictititious  article.  These  will  be 
prosecuted  to  the  utmost  limits  and 
jumping-off  place  of  the  law,  and 
three  such  cases  are  now  in  chan- 
cery. We  notice  that  the  imitators 
ai'e  in  the  market  in  full  Mast  The 
other  day  we  read  of  •. Compound 
Medicated  Squash-Jam.'  (xentle- 
men,  don't  carry  the  medicated 
business  too  far.  One  such  valable 
remedy  as  the  Saas  may  do  well 
enough,  but  too  much  druggin'  is 
injurus  to  the  coats  of  the  stomach. 
We  are  requested  to  call  attention 
to  an  advertisement  of  '  Cod-Liver 
Oil,'  which  will  be  ibund  in  another 
colume.  

Talkino  votL  Bunkum. — This 
has  got  to  be  a  veiy  common  thing 
since  we  set  up  the  Flag-Staff.  Be- 
fore that,  nobody  had  a  eood  word 
to  say  ibr  the  place,  and  now  the 
Members  of  Congress,  since  the 
beginning  of  the  session,  have  been 
domg  nothing  else  but  talking  for 
Bunkum.  Tne  worst  of  it  is,  that 
while  they  receive  their  eight  dol- 
lars a-day,  they  are  doinff  nothing 
for  die  ked'ntiy;  and,  instead  <n 


clamping  the  glorious  Union,  and 
making  it  strong,  we  are  peskily 
ofeered  that  before  they  get  done 
sitting  (and  when  they  do  begin  to 
sit  they  always  sit  as  long  as  a  tailor 
making  a  pair  of  breeches)  they 
win  rend  this  glorious  Union  into 
fragments,  which,  if  they  do,  we 
hope  that  the  President  of  the 
United'en  Stets  will  leave  the  White 
House  hr  the  white  horse,  and 
command  in  person  a  ship  of  war 
agcunst  John  Calhoun.  Calhoun 
is  well  enough  in  his  place,  (al- 
though he  has  been  sick,)  and  though 
we  wish  him  well,  &r.  rather  had 
we  that  he  would  stay  sick,  and 
even  dead,  and  have  the  ked'ntry 
in  convalescence.  The  congres- 
sional wBtch-makers  are  only  fit  to 
take  the  watch  of  the  Constitution, 
with  all  its  works,  and  smash  it 
light  onto  the  greound ;  if  they  ask 
bread,  giving  him  a  stun. 


Jenny  Linn. -^  This  great  can- 
tatreechy  has  been  hired  ibr  the 
American  Museum,  a  very  worthy 
place  of  entertainment  We  stept 
m  there  the  other  day  and  see  the 
negroes  of  the  Amistad  in  black 
wacks;  also  G-eneral  Jackson,  Pol- 
ly Bodine,  and  the  Duke  of  Wei- 
Imffton  and  fancy-glass  blowing, 
and  got  weighed,  (a  hunderd  and 
thirty-one  pound:  we  never  shall 
be  a  Jerusha ;)  afterwards  veent  up- 
stairs and  see  a  pantomine  and  A^. 
Rice  and  sundries.  At  nigbt,  on 
the  top  of  it  they  have  a  big  light, 
which  sweeps  die  whole  heaven 
like  a  broom,  as  if  it  would  rub 
out  all  the  pavement  of  stars,  and 
take  the  moon  by  surprise.  But 
if  she  do  come,  we  hope  they  won't 
charge  over  half  a  dollar,  otherwise 
we  won't  go  and  see  her.  We  've 
been  enough  taken  in  by  forinners 
already. 


1850.] 


BuMkum  Flag'SUiff  and  Independent  Echo. 


349 


0ttbfrt!tnKftit0* 

pOD-UVER  OIL  I  A  CEBTAIN  REMEDY 
\y  FOR  OONSUBfPnON  AND  ALL  INCI- 
DENT DISEASES ;  HEALS  UP  THE  LUNGS, 
RESnORES  THE  LOBES,  CURES  BROWN- 
CREATURS,  DESTROYS  COLDS,  ASTHMYS, 
mOCUPS,  NIQHT-SWEATS,  COUGHS,  EX- 
PECTORATIONS, COLD  FEET,  SENSE  OF 
GONENESS  AT  THE  PIT  OF  THE  STOMACH, 
PAINS  IN  THE  SIDE,  TURNS,  SPELLS,  AT- 
TACre,  AND  FATTENS  UP  THE  WHOLE 
BODY,  MAKES  THE^SKIN  SMOOTH  AND 
BUCK,  AND  RESTORES  THE  FUNCTIONS 
OF  vrTALTTY,  and  Is  never  kooim  to  fail  in  aU 
(MeB  where  it  has  yet  been  tried.  Tlie  subscriber 
has  reoeiTed  flflT  barrels  of  this  soothing  remedy 
from  his  old-esteblished  fishery  at  Passamoqaoddy 
Bay,  and  is  prepared  to  sapply  the  oil  to  coo- 
Buiiiers  withoat  delay.  Consumptives  are  re- 
q)eGlltilly  invited  to  walk  in  and  look  at  his  as- 
BortmenL  Those  wlio  are  far  gone  are  most 
earnestly  requested  to  call  before  thoy  take  to 
their  beds  and  it  is  everlastingly  too  late.  The 
cwlaTeroas  cheeks  of  half  those  whom  ve  meet 
In  the  streets  might  be  rectified  by  atlmely  appU- 
catioD  to  this  mlshty  Healer,  which  is  taking 
tlw  place  of  NapUUH  Blowing  Tubes,  Sjrrup  of 
Liverwort,  WUdkaierrv  Bark,  and  Mrs.  Aavis's 
Cold  Gsndy.  Ftf  be  it  flrom  us  to  intimate  a 
word  aoainst  Mrs.  Jakvis*s  CoU  Csndy :  it  done 
General  Jacxsom  much  good,  as  see  his  hand  and 
■eal  in  her  window,  and  Hkn-nkst  Clat's  throat 
Is  beoeOtted  very  much ;  bnt  that  excellent  wo- 
man would  not,  we  presume,  were  the  truth  can- 
didly known,  pretend  to  say  that  It  could  pluck 
up  oonsumotlon  by  the  roots,  although  the  con- 
aompCioa  of  the  candy  is  very  great.  This  the 
Cod-Liver  will ;  and  not  only  so,  but  prevent  a 
retom.  Oat  of  an  exceedingly  nomeroos  array 
of  testimonials  it  aflbrda  us'mnch  pleasure  to  si- 
flx the  following:         , 

«^Mtoa,  March  1, 1850. 
*Dba.r  Bin:  I  was  apparently  fiu>  gone  with 
hMllc  clkeeks  and  cough  to  match,  when  the 
Cod-Liver  Oil  was  recommended  to  me  as  a 
fbrlom^iope.  I  made  my  will,  had  night-sweats, 
•ettled  up  my  buaineas,  and  was  troubled  with  a 
dry  hacking  cougli.  My  bad  debts  I  forgave,  and 
IDT  expectorations  were  very  distressing.  Those 
who  came  to  see  me  had  the  impoUteness  to  say, 
'He  ^  a  dead  man  I'  in  their  very  eyes,  and  aU 
my  symptoms  were  bad.  Dr.  Bolus  said  there 
was  no  nope  of  me,  and  my  wllb,  who  was  very 
unwell,  took  an  affectionate  leave  of  me  by  her 
rery  k)oks,  when  thd  Cod-Liver  Oil  arrested  mv 
attention  as  I  was  reading  a  newspaper.  Oodflan 
'   ~i  I  never  liked,  but  Cod-Liver  Oil  I  resolved  to 


aa  a  remedy;  and  when  I  say  it  worked 
the  hatfi " " 


'  nor  the  quarter  has  not  been 
I  had  tried  young  Dr.  Hdiuuo's  Syrup  of 
K,  and  old  Dr.  Uumbuo's  (the  original  in- 
Tentor)  Compound  Concentrated  Syrup  of  Saxa- 
flix,  and  no  use.  One  gallon  of  this  placed  me 
where  I  am  now,  on  my  two  legs,  and  ready  to 
run  for  a  wager.  Please  place  my  testimonial  on 
reootd,  out  of  thanks,  out  of  gratitude  for  this 
great  discovery.  J* 


TVKBY'S  PATENT  AIR-TIGHT  STOVE.— 
IJ  Nobodv  never  seen  a  more  complete  inven- 
tion than  tUs.  All  you  got  to  do  is  to  put  in  the 
lilekory  wood,  set  fire  to  it  with  a  Uttie  khidUn*, 
diet  the  door  dnst,  and  there  you  have  your  fire, 
aU  winlar.  It  is  airtight,  oonseqaenUy  the  heat 
dont  escape  no  wheres;  and  the  fire  never  goes 
oat,  cause  It  can  *t  j^'t  out  Invented  by  Mr. 
Uriah  DixBTf  to  Bvnkiim,  Maiihttreet,  56. 


P)R  SALE  by  the  suhacriber,  a  choice  Invoice 
of  POP-GUNS,  JuBt  imported  in  brig '  Schlo- 
wig,'  fh>m  Bremen.        Willluk  Jambs, 

MaiiMtreet,  Bunkum. 

IVE  DOLLARS  REWARD.  — The  subsorik 
her  offers  the  above  reward  to  any  one  who 
tee  my  dog  Poirro  kill  a  sheep,  as  the  subscriber 
dont  beltove  he  did  do  tt. 

Bbowm,  or  Shoato. 


W^ 


ANTED,  in  a  genleel  flunily,  a  highly  re- 
spectable young  lady,  who  must  be  a  mem- 
ber of  a  church,  to  teach  six  lovely  children  Ita- 
lian, French,  music,  and  all  the  English  branches 
of  education.  The  flunily  being  small,  she  will 
also  be  expected  to  do  the  chamberwork  and 
vrsshing.  No  salary  will  be  given,  Jhe  advan- 
tage  of  having  a  good  home  betni 
pensation.    Address  Box  No.  1,  i 


q^HE  BUNKUM  FLAG-STAFF  is  published 
X  every  now  and  then  at  Bunkum,  aiid  also  at 
the  oflSce  of  the  Khickkrsockbr  in  New-York. 
It  will  take  a  firm  stand  on  the  side  of  virtue  and 
moralitv.  It  has  received  the  most  marked  enco- 
miums from  tlte  press  and  fh>mindividooals.  Our 
brother  has  also  written  to  us  in  most  flatterin* 
terms  of  our  JoumaL  -We  shall  endeavor  to  merit 
these  marks  of  fkvnr,  and  it  aflbrds  us  the  most 
adequate  satiafSMtion  to  inform  our  readen  that 
MIbs  Makt  Ann  Dkliohtpul,  the  pleasant  wri- 
ter, who  is  aQ  smiles  and  dimples,  is  kroaobo  — 
not  to  be  married,  reader,  though  that  ts  an  event 
nodoubt  to  t&e  place- out  is  engaged  tofkimish 
a  series  of  articles  for  this  paper.  Other  taieot 
will  be  snapped  up  aa  it  occutb.  AU  kinds  of  iob- 
work  executed  with  neatness  and  deqntch.  Thb 
Fine  Aru  and  Literature  f^y  discussed.  There 
win  be  a  series  of  disoiminanng  articles  on  mu- 
sic, to  which  we  call  the  attention  of  amatoors. 
PaiNCiPLBs  OP  ViiiBTV-EisHT,  Bud  bU  the  great 
measures  of  the  day,  aa  well  as  all  other  prind- 
ples,  ftilly  sustained ;  vioe  uprooted  by  the  heels, 
and  cast  him  like  a  noxious  weed  away.  For 
(hrther  particulars  see  large  head : 

Tbk  Buhkvm  Flao-Stapp 
Is  boitbd  bt  Mb.  Waostatp. 

It  gives  us  pleasure  to  state  that  the  <  Flag-Stafr* 
mtets  with  the  warm  approbation  of  our  brother, 
from  whom  the  foUowliig  is  an  extrict: 

«  Dbab  Brother  :  I  like  your  *  FI-'g-StafT'  very 
much  for  the  independen*  course  it  puisues ;  and 
people  in  this  part  of  the  kod^trv  approve  it  very 
nighly.  Uncle  John  is  sick  with  the  rheumatiz, 
but  now  better.  Please  set  me  down  Ibr  one  sub- 
scriber. Your  affectionate  brother, 

*PrrEB  Waostafp.' 

Uorscj  and  ca)>s  to  lot  by  the  editor.  Oldnews- 
papenifbr  sale  at  this  oflls.  Waivtbd,  Ait  Atprbh- 
Ti  CB.  He  must  be  bound  for  eight  years^ld  and 
carry  papers,  ride  post  ono&4  arweek  to  Babvlon, 
Pequog,  Jericho,  Old  Man%  Mount  Miserv,  Hun- 
gry Harbsr,  Hetchabonnuck,  Ccnram,  Miller's 
Place,  Skunk's  Manor,  Fire  Island,  Mosquito 
Cove  and  Montauk  Point,  on  our  old  white  mare, 
and  must  find  and  blow  his  own  horn.  Run 
AwAT,  AM  iRORirrBD  ApPBBMTicB,  named  Johm 
JoHifs,  scar  on  his  head,  one  ear  oone,  and  no 
debts  paid  of  his  contracting.  Osllfomia  goUU 
banks  at  par,  pistareens,  flppenny  bits,  and  iJni- 
tend  Stetr  currency  in  general,  received  in  sub- 
scription. Also,  store-pay,  potatoes,  com,  rye, 
oats,  eggs,  beans,  pork,  grits,  hay,  oki  rope,  lambs'- 
wool,  flEovels,  hooey,  shorts,  dried  cod,  catnip,  oil, 
botfbut  bark)  paints,  glam,  potty,  hemp,  snake- 


1 


350 


Stanzas:   NarrhaUa. 


[April, 


rook  oonl-wood,  Uto  geete  featlun,  nxalhx,  dried 
apples,  hope,  now  eifoer,  azHiBodlee,  mUH-eianieB, 
bemlock  gum,  bacon  and  hama,  ginehang-roc*, 
vinegar.  panUiie,  eUacompaine,  haneaB,  hops, 
aahee,  eUpperT^um  bark,  dams,  nails,  vaniiab, 
eheeUfon,  aapaego  oheese,  old  junk,  wblsk- 
brooms,  manure,  and  all  other  prooooei '  ' 


t^T  Those  who  do  n*t  want  the  last  nmnber  of 
theFLAO-dr^rr  please retom It  to  this oflls,  post 
paid,  as  the  demand  for  that  nomber  Is  verj  great; 
A  patent  chum  and  washing-machine,  to  go  by 
dofrpower,  are  left  here  tor  inspeadon. 

^^  Fob  Sals,  a  Omb  Ybab  Old  HnrBB ; 
pAiBor  ToUBO  Bullocks  ib  Habbbbs. 

87*  Wabtbd  to  Hxkb,  a  Nbw  Milcb  Fab- 
BBB  Cow  ;  glye  Md  quarta  of  milk  night  and 
morning;  also,  to  oiangemUka  with  some  neigh- 
bor with  a  dieesfrfMesB  Ibr  a  skinhmilk  cheeae 
onoe-taweek. 


Contfiits  of  tie  prtt ent  urtinAec. 
abt.i.  EDrroBiAL  leader. 

U.    OLDFRIBKD. 
in.    HUMBUG  AND  BUOBEAB. 
IV.    AMAXUH. 
V.    ANOTHEB  HAXUM. 
VI.    HONOR  TO  WHOM  HONOR  18  DUK. 
Vn.    WHAT  IB  A  PENSHpNG?    ^ 
Vm.    ANSWER  TO  ROW-DE-DOWt 
IX    SUCCESS  OF  CAPTAIN  OODDLE. 
X.    TALKING  FOR  BUNKUM. 
XI.    JENNY  LINN. 
XII.    CALIFOBNY. 
XUL    THE  CCH^FIOENCE  MAN. 
XIV.    BOOK-MAKING,      i 
XV.    ADVEBTI8EMENT8L 
XVI.    PROSPEOrUS. 
XVIl.    TABLE  OF  CONTENia 


NAREHALLA. 


O'Kii  an  old  rained  gateway 

Puiv>BOPHUB  hung, 
And  wildly  his  ratUe 

And  bell-oap  he  swnng ; 
And  wildly  he  shouted 

HiB  wanton  halloo 
To  the  maaqners  who  etreamed 

O'er  the  payemtot  below  : 
*  To  moonafame  and  torohea 

Bright  eyea  add  your  light ; 
Roah,  rnah  to  the  revel ! 

Be  gloriona  to-night ! 
Come  dance  to  the  organ ; 

Be  glad,  one  and  all ; 
Te  m^piined  monkeya, 

Come  haate  to  my  ball !' 

Aa  hia  maak  bore  a  genial, 

An  exqniaite  grin, 
Through  the  vine-oovered  portal 

Come  gueata  aweepinff  in ; 
Through  toroh-light  ana  shadow, 

O'er  terrace  and  atair, 
The  halt  and  the  healthy, 

The  brown  and  the  fiur : 
'  To-niffht  hide  your  reoaon 

And  aenae  in  your  pocket, 
And  when  we  find  leianre. 

At  leiaure  we  'U  mock  it ; 
Let  each  aenaible  apeaker 

Be  jammed  to  the  waU, 
Or  kidded  out  of  doora, 

Bre  we  open  our  ball ! 

*•  For  the  fool  la  a  wiae  man, 

The  wiae  man  a  fool. 
And  the  beat  of  all  lorda 

la  a  lord  of  mia-rule  I'  i 

Thua  acreamed  the  maaked  jeater      j 

Aloud  'tween  hia  teeth,  ' 


But  fiercely  a  proud  lip 

Waa  curling  beneath. 
And  fiercely  he  muttered 

In  different  style, 
While  madly^hia  bell-cap 

He  jingled  the  while : 
*  I  waa  cu&d  when  a  aage, 

Now  I  'm  praised  aa  bnflEbcm^ 
And  aince  I  do  pipe. 

They  ahall  dance  to  my  tone ! 
Tea,  dance  to  the  devil, 

Great,  middling  and  amall ; 
Much  good  may  it  do  them 

Who  haate  to  my  ball ! 

^  There  are  aome  who  find  folly 

A  wearisome  taak ; 
Beware  leat  you  ahow  it ! 

Oh,  loose  not  your  maak  i 
If  foola,  let  them  alumber. 

Or  change  with  the  crowd  ; 
If  wiae,  let  them  whiaper, 

But  never  aloud. 
I  know  you,  I  know  you ! 

Peace,  patience  awhile ! 
Be  foola,  but  be  maalera 

Among  the  canaille ; 
Think,  tiSnk  what  you  will. 

But  like  lunatica  aqtiall ; 
And  then  you  11  be  leadera 

To-night  in  the  ball ! 

*■  Come,  liaten,  good  people ! 

Hip!  ho  there!  halloo! 
I  'n  toll  you  a  atory 

Both  merry  and  true : 
I  once  lived  in  a  city, 

An  age  ere  the  flood. 
Where  aU  men  were  prudent, 

Wiae,  learned  and  good : 


352  On  Beards.  '    [April, 


ON      BEARDS. 


XTJMBBft    OVB. 


*-  Lord  wonhlpp'd  might  He  be  I  whii  s  beard  ttioa  hast  gotP 
<— Hia  beard  grew  (bin  axid  hungeiiy,  and  aeem'd  to  ask  him  aope  as  he  was  drlnUng!' 
«^  Wht  ahoidd  •  man  whoae  blood  la  warm  within  ait  like  his  gnndairD  cut  taLBUraaterf 
* — With  beard  of  formal  cat'  ssAxsvaas. 

I  RBMEHBER  that  Stuart  the  artist — of  course  I  mean  Gilbert 
Stuart,  to  whose  facile  pencil  so  many  of  us  are  indebted  for  the 
living  portraits  of  our  dead  fathers ;  and  some  of  my  readers  (those 
happy  post-nati !)  for  the  portraits  of  their  grandfathers — well,  Stuart, 
having  been  commissioned  to  perpetuate  the  effigy  of  an  honoured  and 
distinguished  merchant  of  New- York,  chose  to  represent  him  in  a  con- 
templative mood,  dwelling  in  his  interiour  mind,  and  grasping  uncon- 
sciously, with  his  right  hand,  the  righ^hand-lap611e  of  his  coat 

The  friends  of  the  Gentleman  called  on  me  artist  to  remonstrate 
against  die  untoward  posture  he  had  thus  assumed.  Stuart  would 
hardly  listen  to  them,  and  gave  free  vent,  as  was  his  wont,  to  his  im- 
petuous humour  :  '  Does  not  the  man  stand  so,  half  the  time,'  said  he» 
'  when  he  is  thinking  of  his  ships  and  cargoes  and  planning  his  future 
voyages  and  combinations?  I  will  not  alter  a  touch  of  the  brush  1 
.  Every  one  has  his  own  proper  attitude,  his  own  proper  physical  deve- 
lopementof  mind,  and  when  I  have  caught  it,  I  make  use  of  it  as  an 
additional  feature  to  the  face !  But,  Gentlemen,  do  not  take  the  pic- 
ture !     No  man  loves  and  honours  William  Constable  better  toan 

myself!     I  will  hang  the  portrait  in  my  chamber,  and  so  help  me 

as  I  alter  one  touch  of  the  brush !  -  Not  one  touch !  no !  never !  no !  no ! 
It  is  the  man  himself;  and,  what  is  more,  there  is  Stuart  in  every  line 
and  shade  of  it  1' 

Mr.  Listen,  the  British  minister,  afterwards  Sir  Robert  Liston;  the 
scholar,  the  christian,  and  (which  embraces  both)  the  Gentleman  — 
beino;  one  of  the  party,  advanced,  and  in  his  courtly  and  I  will  say  his 
precious  manner  observed,  '  Mr.  Stuart,  you  have  convinced  me  that 
you  are  entirely  in  the  right ;  and  that  I,  at  least,  have  been  entirely 
m  the  wrong ;  but  do  you  know  that  you  have  struck  me  very  forcibly 
by  the  remark,  that  every  man  has  some  one  posture  or  attitude  pecu- 
liar to  himself — the  idea  is  quite  new  to  me ;  is  that  really  your  fixed 
opinion  V 

Stuart,  quieted  by  this  assuasive  gentleness  from  such  a  person,  an- 
swered, *  So  far  as  my  observation  has  extended,  may  it  please  your 
Excellency,  I  shaH  certainly  answer  in  the  affirmative.' 

*  You  and  I  are  old  friends,  you  know,'  said  the  minister, '  and  in  the 
presence  of  such  an  observer  as  yourself  I  suppose  nothing  could  have 


1850.J  On  Beards.  353 

escaped— may  I  ask  if  you  liave  ever  noticed  any  sach^mannerism  or 
peculiarity  of  attitude  in  — -  myself,  for  example  V 

<  Surely/  said  Stuart ;  ■*  and  if  I  were  to  paint  your  Excellency  to- 
morrow—and I  could  not  luxuriate  in  a  subject  more  to  my  fancy,  and 
to  my  heart — I  should  certainly  sketch  you  with  the  fore-finger  of  your  ^ 
right  hand  resting  upon  the  litde-finger  of  the  l^* 

Mr.  Liston  looked  down  upon  his  hands  at  the  moment,  and  found 
them  to  his  surprise  in  the  position  that  Stuart  had  indicated.  '  Bless 
me !'  said  he,  'now  far  it  was  from  my  thoughts  that  I  could  ev^  have 
been  supposed  guilty  of  such  an  inexcusable  gaueherie  /' 

*  It  IB  not  such,  permit  me  to  say  it,'  replied  the  great  painter;  *  it  is 
the  spirit  speaking  in  dumb  shew  /  and  it  is  the  province  of  the  true 
artist  to  watch,  to  study,  and  to  record  these  its  manifestations !' 

Now  then  for  Beards  ! — Beards  are  these  additional  features 

of  the  foce,  these  manifestations  of  character,  each  chosen  by  the  indi- 
vidual himself  that  the  bearded  part  of  the  community  of  mis  metro- 
politan City  of  New-York  have  selected  for  the  amusement  of  its 
unpretending  citizens.  Chosen  at  this  moment,  my  masters,  when 
ware  and  tumults  of  war  have  subsided  before  the  Smile  of  the  God 
of  peace,  and  the  round  Globe  itself  is  performing  its  graceful  orbit  in 
a  hymn  of  Joy  I 

Now,  when  our  noble-hearted  and  conquering  soldiers  and  naval 
officers  have  returned  to  the  garb  and  aspect  of  the  civilian  and  the 
private  Gentleman,  charming  us  with  their  unaffected,  gentle,  unas- 
suming maunere  and  appearance,  God  bless  them! — an  entirely  dif* 
ferent  class  of  penons  are  parading  up  and  down  Broadway  with  im- 
minent dangrer  to  the  domesdck  hopes  of  the  quiet  fothera  or  would-be- 
fethers  of  the  city  \  greasy  Citizens,  bearded  like  pards,  or  rather  like 
brushes ;  or  sitting  down  perchance  to  their  boarding-house  dinner-tables, 
and  staring  upon  a  loin  of  veal,  or  a  mutton-cudet,  with  a  singular  and 
most-uncalled-for  ferocity  of  countenance  toward  these  reliques  of  their 
late  relations :  imitating,  quite  unnecessarily  as  I  cannot  but  think,  the 
appearance  of  the  dying  Cataline  in  the  spirited  description  of  the 
historian*  where  he  says  *  ferociamque  animi,  quam  habuerit  vivus,  in 
vultu  retmens.' 

I  would  not  object — I  could  not  have  the  heart  to  object— -to  the 
soft  silky  well  trained  moustache  of  one  of  our  leisurely  lads  who  has 
nothing  else  in  the  world  to  do  but  attend  to  his  toilette,  and  spend 
gracefully  the  money  that  his  fether  acquired,  and  perhaps  went  to  the 
devil  for.  These  are  not  the  creatures  of  whom  feeatnce  in  the  play 
says,  *  Lord !  I  could  not  endure  a  husband  with  a  beard  Upon  his 
face  !' — and  I  might  well  admire  a  pair  of  moustaches  like  uiose  of 
the  late  renowned  Mehmet  Ali  Pasha  of  Egypt,  that  were  taught  to 
grow  upward,  diminishing  in  volume,  until  the  nne  master-haurs  of  the 
ends  mingled  with  the  long  lashes  of  his  brilliant  eyes ;  and  that  when 
he  was  transported  with  rage  or  engaged  in  batde  coiled  themselves 
up  around  his  mouth  like  snakes,  all  animate  with  individual  life,  to 
relax  and  then  to  dart  backward  to  their  former  position  as  soon  as  he 
had  pronounced  a  sentence  of  death,  or  had  inflicted  with  his  own 
resistless  scimitar  the  coup  de  grace  upon  some  deadly  foe. 


354  On  Beards. 

There  is  a  propriety,  a  certain  keeping  in  all  this,  that  the  beholder 
would  not  otherwise  than  enjoy— but  to  see  our  yard-wide  men,,  who 
in  their  youth  have  neyer  imaffmed  g  beard  at  full  lenedi  except  upon 
a  maniac  or  a  religious  enthusiast,  or  Abraham  in  the  Primer  dismiss* 
ing  Hagar,  coming  forth,  in  this  community  of  sober  merchants,  with 
their  strait,  stiff)  red,  or  pepper-and-salt  bristles,  occupying  the  thoughts 
of  peaceful  men  and  disgusting  ad  nauseam  those  of  a  more  refined 
class,  is  an  enormity  no  longer  to  be  endured  in  silence. 

There  is  a  fellow  that  it  is  my  mischance  to  be  acmiainted  with,  with 
a  form  of  body  carved  out  of  a  cheeseparing  after  dinner,  who  wears 
a  red  stiff  brush  at  the  extremity  of  his  chin,  of  the  very  hue  and  wirey 
consistency  of  the  beard  of  Judas  Iscariot,  as  he  is  represented  to  the  lire 
by  the  old  masters  of  Ital^  \  It  is  impossible  to  look  at  him,  and  at  his 
eyes  which  are  also  red,  without  thinking  at  once  of'  treasons,  stratagems, 
and  spoils  1'  Do  you  know  that  this  animal,  who  ought  never,  under  any 
circumstances,  to  have  lived  elsewhere  for  a  moment  than  in  the  soh- 
tude  of  a  crowd ;  where  he  might  hope  by  the  uniformity  of  his  equip- 
ment to  escape  observation ;  or  else  in  some  darker  place  of  conceal- 
ment —  could  you  believe  that  he  wears  it,  f  this  badge  !)  because  vnth- 
out  it  he  is  *  hardly  satisfied,'  he  says,  with  ue  profile  of  his  chin  ? 

A  tall  pepper-and-salt  bearded  man,  thin  as  a  lath,  (for  nature  in 
gratifying  him  with  a  redundant  commodity  of  hair  had  done  all  that 
she  intended  to  do  for  him,)  ran  awkwardly  the  other  day  against  the 
stove-pipe  of  a  sprightly  servant  boy,  who,  setting  the  M.  P.'s*  at  defi- 
ance, was  cleaning  the  pipe  upon  the  side->walk.  '  Halloo !  mind  what 
you  are  about  1'  exclaimed  the  lad.  Then  lookbg  up  at  the  aggressor, 
and  examining  him  vrith  an  arch  and  kindlmg  eye,  added,  'Do  that 
again,  if  you  dare !  If  you  do,  I  '11  use  you  to  clean  out  my  stove- 
pipe—  you  are  just  the  instrument  I  was  looking  fi^r !' 

1  must  close  my  Essay ;  for  I  find  myself  subsidine  into  too  cheerily 
a  strain  of  mind  for  the  effectual  discussion  of  so  serious  a  grievance ; 
a  nuisance  Mr.  EnrroR,  a  crying  nuisance,  firom  which  our  very  pulpits 
are  not  wholly  exempt !  I  forbear  at  this  time  to  say  more.  I  had  in- 
tended a^  might  be  inferred  from  my  motto  to  have  written  of  the  thin 
and  hungerlv  beards ;  and  the  stray  hairs,  that  like  only  children  excite 
the  unlimited  affection  of  their  possessors.  But  I  refrain,  my  dear  Sir, 
I  refrain  until  some  less  good-humor^  moment. 

Let  the  Ladies,  the  fountains  of  joy,  the  stars  of  civilization,  let  the 
LAnnes  take  the  matter  up.  I  will  not  ask  them  to  'set  their /aces 
against  it,*  as  that  would  be  the  surest  way  of  eternal  perpetuation. 
But  I  would  conjure  them  to  decree,  that  no  man  in  these  pipinrtimes 
of  peace  shall  be  admitted  to  their  bright  society,  from  this  day  hence- 
forui,  who  shall  hereafter  wear  any  thing  beyond  a  well-trimmed  whis- 
ker ;  or  the  dark,  the  soil,  the  silky  moustache  of  seventeen  to  tw^ity- 
four ;  or  the  animated  and  self-existent  ornament  and  illustration  ofihe 
visage  of  the  renowned  Pacha  of  Egypt.  johh  watbks. 

*  Thsbb  Lotten,  (of  tar  higher  signUlcancx  and  hnportanoe  In  Great  Britain,)  in  New-Toik  iro 
enploy«d  » the  diatinetlTe  Indication  of  the  Municipal  FoUce. 


LITERARY     NOTICES 


Tu  EAfr:  Sketehes  of  TniTel  in  Egrpt  and  the  Holy  Land.  By  the  Hbt.  J.  A.  Spkncki,  H.  A. 
ElegaiiUy  OlOflCraSed  fkom  Original  Dnmingt*  In  one  ToliiiDe.  New-York :  Osobos  P.  Putham. 
L(»don:  Jonii  Muerat. 

Hbse  18  a  flennUe  and  entertujung  traveUer,  wlio  luw  wMy  giTen  the '  go-by'  to 
djtquintioiHi  on  antiqiuty,  liislory,  obrotudogy,  and  oritioal  dinertations  cxn  soieiioe  m 
iti  yarioufl  relationa  to  Egyptian  or  Hebnustio  lore.  The  letters  in  the  yolmne  be* 
fore  aa  were  written  aa  they  profeei  to  be,  and  at  the  time  when  they  are  dated,  while 
yet  the  iaipreariona  which  they  deecribe  were  freah  in  the  mind  of  the  writer ;  and 
they  were  addreaeed,  in  aU  the  fiimiliarity  of  priTate  oarreapondence, '  to  one  at  homa 
daflorer  to  hhn  than  aU  elae  in  the  wide  world,  and  had  moat  of  aU  in  view  her  Inte- 
rest and  pleasure.'  Mr.  Sraaosa  did  not  miajudge  in  believing  that  many  a  reader 
would  love  to  hear  of  thoae  aaored  regions  where  onr  Loan  walked  in  the  days  of 
His  fieah,  and  to  learn  how  fall  of  SoHptiire  is  the  Holy  Xand  at  the  present  day. 
On  this  point  we  cannot  iarbear  quoting,  in  this  oonnectian,  an  eloquent  paaMge  from 
a  review  of  Wixjebs'  <  Narrative  of  the  Deed  Sea  ExJ^edition'  in  Ihelast  issue  of  our 
friend  Rev.  H.  B.  Bascom's  '  Quarterly  Eeview  of  the  Methodist  Episoopol  Church, 
South:' 

<  Wbat  though  the  aaoAent  odtwaid  ahov  and  gnndear  of  Faleatine  have  defMiledf  What 
fhoagh  the  ehoeen  trihes,  ^eeted  from  their  homes,  wander,  a  ^  hining  and  a  br-word,'  among  the 
nattona  of  the  earth  f    What  ftaoogh  Jeroaalein,  that  name  so  ItaH  ofh»p|ration,  is  inhabited  and 


fimatlc  Moolem  porea  orer  the  pages  of  his  Koran,  chants  his  prayers,  or  meditatee  upon  the  Para- 
diae  of  his  prophet  f  What  thongh,  amid  the  samnmdtaig  desolation  and  wretchedness,  the  travel- 
ler looks  in  vain  for  a  slnglo  otiject  which  can  remind  him  of  the  splendor  and  mMpoiflcence  of  the 
Hebrew  kings  f  What  though  the  flrown  of  Jbuovus  seems  to  spread  a  pall  of  gloom  over  aU  its 
hilla  and  vaUejsf  Yet  is  there  not  a  halo  of  glory  endrding  eyery  moimi,  and  sacred  memoriea 
hovering  over  every  valley  and  plain :  a  spirit  that  moves  amid  the  storms  of  the  mountain  and  the 
miata  or  river  and  sea;  a  voiee  flrom  Ita  groves  and  Ita  grottoea,  Which  teila,  now  in  ezaltlng«  now 
in  sad  and  moumftil  tones,  of  the  q>lendor  and  the  beauty  of  other  yearS)  when  aU  this  laud  was 
<evea  aa  the  garden  of  the  Loan.'  Thongh  the  temples  and  pahioes  and  walls  and  monumenta  of 
tmiMr  years  have  vanished,  like  the  mists  of  moning,  yet  hve  to  apiead  forth  the  same  plain  whieli. 
glowed  in  the  light  of  the  advent ;  here  are  found  the  localities  that  witnessed  the  coming,  the  won- 
den,  the  Uftk  the  death  of  the  woHd's  RanKSMaa;  here  are  the  smnmits  where  he  tanght,  where 
he  died,  and  flrom  whence  he  ascended:  here  roils  the  same  aea  whose  billows  crouched  in  meek 
sidymission  at  his  feet,  and  hi  its  depths  are  reflected  the  same  stars  which  then,  as  now,  looked  Ihmi 
their  quiet  throuea  upon  the  departtng  storm.  Here  Jordan  glides,  with  Ms  limpid  waters  and  beaun 
tiftd  cascades,  the  same  as  when  he  wss  baptized  1^  the  prophet  and  acknowledged  by  the  Bpiarr. 
Bere  to  the  moont  where  Mosas  and  Elias  appeared  With  him,  and  the  Divlnl^  wUhin  shone  ao 
mpiendently  through  the  thin  reil  of  humanityl  lliere  to  an  indescrtbable  fbeling  of  awe  and 
wonder  In  the  oooslotontton  of  these  aoenes,  steaonff  over  flie  heart,  like  a  breeie  over  a  wind-harp, 
1  and  moumfhL   Ihe  gtonr  with  which  the  ait  of  man  onee  invested  thte  land 


haa  met  the  fate  which  ite  origin  rendered  probable,  perhaps  necessitated;  but  the  swrc/ glory  with 
which  tba  hand  of  /bhovab  has  invested  it  shaUttsjerwhila  Ms  waCenroU  or  ita  mouatabiatowtf.' 


356  Literary  Notices.  [April, 

Of  iheee  and  kindred  Boenes  oar  aaihor  luw  given  very  dear  and  striking  deeorip- 
tions ;  wliich,  taken  in  connection  with  the  nmnerous  iDnstraticHiB,  from  the  pencil  of 
an  aocompliflhod  artist^  cannot  fail  to  afford  to  every  reader  a  vivid  picture  of  the 
Holy  Land.  The  work  is  dedicated,  in  a  neat  and  appropriate  tribute,  to  Hon.  Zasook 
Pratt,  President  of  the  Mechanics'  Institute,  New- York,  *•  as  a  alight  testimonial  of 
grateful  recollections  of  more  than  a  year  spent  in  travel  with  his  son,'  Mr.  Gkorob 
W.  Pratt,  a  young  gentleman  of  fine  gifts  and  acquirements,  among  which  an  apt- 
ness and  capacity  for  oriental  studies  are  deemed  by  the  author  peculiarly  prominent 
The  volume  which  we  have  thus  too  hastily  noticed  cannot  well  0iil  to  find  wide  and 
marked  fiivor  with  the  public 


Turkish  Evkkino  Entsrtaxxxii«t8  :  The  Wondflra  of  BemorlcBble  IneideDti  and  Ibe  RaritleB  of 
Aneodotes.  By  Abmlcd  Ibm  Hkmdkk  thk  Kktkhoda,  called  *■  Sohaiuek.'  Tranalated  ttom.  the 
Turktgh  by  John  P.  Brown,  Esq.,  Dragoman  of  the  United  States*  Legation  at  Constantinople. 
In  one  vfliame.  New-York:  Gaones  P.  Putnam.  London:  *  American  Agency,' Bow-Lnie, 
Gheapaide. 

It  would  be  a  work  of  supererogation  to  commend  the  execution  of  the  translation 
of  this  various  and  entertaining  volume  to  the  readers  of  the  KNicsxRBOCfKKR.  The 
gentleman  to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  the  work  has  been  for  many  years  the 
'  Oriental  Correspondent'  of  this  Magaasine ;  and  both  in  his  original  sketches  of  life 
and  scenery  in  the  East,  and  in  various  translations  from  the  literatures  of  the  Orient, 
he  has  proved  himself  one  of  the  most  popular  and  most  widely-read  amolig  all  oar 
foreign  contributors.  The  present  work,  so  pleasantly  rendered  by  our  correspond- 
ent, the  celebrated  orientidi8t,Earon  Von  Hammer,  pronounces  to  be  by  ftr  the  most 
interesting  book  that  has  been  published  at  Constantinople.  It  cannot  fiiil  to  amuse 
the  general  reader  by  its  agreeable  and  entertaining  representation  of  oriental  society, 
sentoents  and  manners.  The  translator  does  not  challenge  the  criti<»sm  of  the  ori- 
entalist by  a  scrupulous  technical  accuracy  of  rendering,  although  he  has  ^  aimed  ever 
to  preserve  it  as  much  like  the  original  as  possible.'  If  indeed  it  be  *  only  a  promise 
of  better  things  in  future,'  it  will,  while  securing  for  itself  popularity,  pave  the  way 
for  a  ready  reception  of  its  successors.  '  I  have  here  collected,'  says  the  Turkish 
editor,  in  characteristically  *■  effulgent'  phrase,  ^  these  pearls  from  the  seas  of  authen- 
tic works,  and  these  sparkling  jewels  from  the  mines  of  celebrated  authors,  in  which 
are  folded  and  contained  the  histories  of  the  ancients,  with  the  accounts  of  the  best 
of  the  learned  and  the  philosophers.  I  have  selected  its  contents  from  the  most  re- 
markable events  and  the  strangest  occurrences,  and  have  spent  the  capital  of  my  }j£o 
in  acquiring  the  valuaUe  and  choice  extracts  found  in  it.  I  translated  them  from  the 
Arabic  and  Persian  tongues,  wrought  them  into  a  new  form,  and  gave  them  new 
light  and  expresrion  in  the  Turkish  idiom  ;  giving  to  my  book  the  title  of  '  Remark- 
able Eivents  and  Strange  Occurrences.'  In  this  woriL  I  have  particularly  attached 
myself  to  collectmg  such  tales  and  narratives  as  are  authentic  and  instructive,  and  at 
the  same  time,  more  or  less  curious ;  so  that  their  moral  application  wOl  be  seen  by 
every  one.'  Professor  Salissokt,  of  Tale  Collage,  the  American  editor,  pays  a  just 
tribute  of  praise  to  the  American  publisher  for  issuing  at  his  own  expense  the  first 
work  ever  introduced  to  readers  in  the  United  States  directiy  from  the  East  The 
-volume  is  charaoterixed  by  the  uniform  typograplucal  neatness  of  the  works  from  the 
press  of  our  *  American  Murray.' 


1850.]  Literary  Notkei.  367 


TteK  OosMot:  ▲  Skbtcb  op  a  Pbtskul  Discmimov  or  trb  Umivkub.  By  Alszamiisb  Vom 
Humboldt.  T^aoalBted  from  the  Gefman.  By  B.  C  Om.  In  two  Toraiiiies.  New-Totk: 
Hakpbb  Aim  Brothbbb. 

In  the  eveniBg  of  life,  when  rich  in  the  aoonmiilation  of  thought,  travel,  readiiig, 
find  experimental  research,  Baron  Von  Humboldt  prodnoed  the  work,  two  out  of 
three  volnmes  of  whieh  are  before  ns.  The  first  Tolnme  comprises  a  sketch  of  aU 
that  is  at  present  known  of  the  physical  condition  of  the  nniverse ;  the  second  com- 
prehends two  distinct  parts,  the  first  of  which  ti^ats  of  the  incitements  to  the  study 
of  nature  afforded  in  descriptive  poetry,  landscape  painting,  and  the  cultivation  of 
exotic  plants ;  while  the  second  and  larger  part  enters  into  the  consideration  of  the 
different  epochs  in  the  progress  of  discovery  and  of  the  corresponding  stages  of  ad- 
vance in  human  civiUzation.  The  third  volume,  the  publication  of  which  him  been 
somewhat  delayed,  will  comprise  the  special  and  scientific  development  of  the  great 
*  Picture  of  Kature.'  In  the  present  volumes,  all  the  foreign  measures  are  converted 
into  corresponding  English  terms,  and  are  trandatod  from  the  original  in  €xtetuo^ 
the  translator  not  conceivmg  himself  justified  in  omitting  passages  simply  because 
they  might  be  deemed. slightly  obnoxious  to  English  prejudices.  A  fine  portrait  of 
Von  Humboldt  faces  the  title-page. 


Tbb  MoDBKit  HousBwirs,  OR  Mbhaobrb.  By  Albxahdbb  Bovbs,  Author  of  ^Tb»  Goatronomic 
Regenerator.'  Edited  by  an  Ahbeicab  BouaBXBBpKR.  In  one  volume.  New-Tork:  D.  Ar- 
PLBTON  Awn  CoMPAmr. 

Thkri  are  comprised  in  this  volume  nearly  one  thousand  receipts,  for  the  eoono- 
mioa]  and  judicious  preparatbn  of  every  mefl  of  the  day,  with  those  of  the  nursery 
and  sick  room,  with  minute  directions  for  ^unOy  management  in  all  its  branches. 
Surely  such  a  book  will  supply  a  very  important  desideratum.  The  American  editor 
has  presented  the  work  as  its  author  wrote  it,  with  the  slight  exception  of  a  few  verbal 
corrections  here  and  there,  necessary  to  render  the  meaning  of  the  author  more  plain, 
erasing  certain  directions  for  cooking  different  kinds  of  game  and  fish  unknown  in  the 
new  world,  and  omitting  the  purely  local  information  and  scraps  of  history,  which 
would  only  have  increased  the  cost  and  bulk  of  the  book  without  Adding  in  any  w^ 
to  its  value.  It  is  a  common  error  to  suppose  that  French  cookery  is  more  costly  and 
highly-flavored  than  the  English ;  an  examination  of  the  work  before  us  proves  that 
the  reverse  is  the  fact,  and  that  M.  Sovbr's  system,  which  has  rendered  him  fSEunons 
in  Europe  is  not  only  simple  and  economical,  but  the  best  adapted  to  insure  the  en- 
joyment of  health,  the  elevation  of  the  mental  fiusulties,  and  converting  the  daily  ne- 
cessity of  eating  into  a  source  of  daily  enjoyment.  The  work  under  notice  is  adapted 
to  the  wants  and  habits  of  the  middle-classes,  and  calculated  for  the  use  of  the  great 
bulk  of  American  &mi]ies.  '  M.  Sotxb,'  says  the  editor,  *  is  the  good  genius  of  the 
kitchen  j  although  he  is  the  renowned  chef  of  one  of  the  most  sumptuous  of  the 
London  Quh-Houses,  and  the  pet  of  aristocratic  feeders,  he  has  labored  continually  to 
elevate  the  mind,  and  better  the  condition  of  the  poor  by  instructing  them  in  the  art  of  ob* 
taining  the  greatest  amount  of  nourishment  and  enjoyment  from  their  food.  The  dletetio 
maxims  and  culinary  receipts  of  M.  Sotie  ate  not  less  needed  in  the  United  States  than 
in  England  ;  but  for  different  reasons.  Happily,  our  countrymen  do  not  sufferibr  lack 
of  raw  materials,  so  much  as  for  lack  of  cooks ;  and,  in  the  ^  Modem  Housewife'  of 
M,  SoTSB  onr  housekeepers  wiD  find  a  reliable  guide  and  an  invaluable  friend.' 


358  Literary  Notices. 


0XBTCBU  or  MimnsoTA,  thb  Ncw-eNOLAXD  or  !«■  WcfT.  with  fiaddenli  of  IVkTei  In  tfatt 
Terrltoiy  during  the  Summer  of  1840^  In  two  Parts.  By  £.  8.  Bitkous.  In  one  rolimie,  irith 
•  Map.    New-Tork:  Haepkr  joq)  Bkotbcrs. 

This  volttme  affisrds  useful  and  reliable  infbmiation  on  the  histofy,  topography, 
dfanate,  and  the  agricultural  and  commeroiid  resottroes  of  a  territory  which,  in  the 
view  of  the  author,  is  destined  soon  t<)  become  one  of  the  most  flourishing  states  in  the 
Union.  '  The  plain  relation  of  important  fiiots,'  says  the  author,  in  a  brief  and  com- 
prehensive pre&oe,  *  and  the  oompoation  of  a  work  of  a  practical  character  have  been 
flie  object  sought.'  We  can  bear  witness,  from  an  examination  of  his  pages,  that  in 
this  regard  that  object  has  been  aooomplidieji.  A  considerable  portion  of  the  work, 
we  are  informed,  was  written  at  the  West  during  the  prevalence  of  cholera,  when 
Pkath  was  making  sad  inroads  in  the  social  circle ;  when  general  debility,  a  lack  of 
mental  and  physical  energy,  was  prevalent  throughout  the  community,  and  but  few 
were  qualified  for  physical  and  less  for  literary  employments.  On  this  ground  it  is, 
that  Mr.  Sbtmour  asks  indulgence  for  a  neglect  of  '  elegance  of  diction'  and  *  play  of 
the  imagination  common  to  such  works,  many  of  which  are  calculated  rather  to  amuse 
than  to  instruct.'  There  is  a  slight  touch  of  wholesome  satire  in  this.  A  ^  play  of 
imagination'  such  as  that  exhibited  for  example  by  Munohaubkn  Lanman,  would  hardly 
hive  bocn  a  desirable  substitute  for  the  interesting  Ibcts  and  authentic  statements  clearly 
and  attractively  set  forth  in  the  well-printed  pages  before  us. 


Cuba,  AMD  Tm  CrsAMa:  comprialng a  History  of  the  Ulmd of  Oiibs»  Us  pisieot  Bodal,  Follticak 
and  DomesUe  Condition :  also  Its  Relations  to  England  and  Che  United  States.  By  the  Author  of 
^liStten  fhim  Onba.'   Ihonevofamiew   NewTork:  Samvsl  Hobstoa,  130Nai 


8evbral  of  the  opening  Letters  in  this  interesting  volume  appeared  originally  in 
the  Kmickbrhockbe,  and  exdted  much  attention :  the  later  portions  of  the  work  are 
fiilly  equal,  in  extent  and  exactness  of  important  mformation,  to  the  preceding  sketches. 
The  ftttentimi  both  of  England  and  the  United  States  is  now  directed  with  eager  in- 
terest toward  Cuba.  The  rapid  occurrence  of  political  events,  as  is  well  remarked  by 
the  editor  in  a  brief  prefiioe,  seem  to  involve  a  convergent  force  that  is  hastening  some 
great  consummation :  *  If  all  do  not  agree  as  to  the  result  which  these  changes  are  to 
brixig,  no  one  can  phut  his  eyes  to  the  changes  themselves.  They  have  multiplied 
within  the  year  5  they  are  multiplying ;  they  will  continue  to  multiply.  The  conser- 
vative and  the  radical,  the  ultra  whig  and  the  ultra  democrat,  are  all  overwhelmed  by 
the  resistiess  course  of  things,  if  they  stop  even  but  a  moment  to  contemplate  it  What 
is  to  be  done  f  Shall  we  attempt  to  stay  this  irresistible  progress,  and  be  swept  away 
by  it  I  or  shall  we  rather  do  what  we  may  to  control  and  direct  it?  As  to  Cuba,  a 
word  only  need  be  said.  With  or  without  the  United  States,  she  will  soon  be  free 
from  Spanish  dominion ;  and  —  which  m  of  greater  consequence  to  this  country — if 
ttw  irithout  our  aid  or  influence,  she  &Ds  to  Bngland.  How  will  the  United  States 
relish  the  poBsession  by  that  nation  of  a  point  which  commands  the  Gulf  of  Mexico 
and  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi  7'  The  anidyns  of  Cuban  taxes  in  the  present  vo- 
lume ii  we  beUeve  the  first  of  the  kind  ever  attempted ;  and  the  chapters  on  the  soda! 
and  domestic  manners  of  the  Cubans,  on  religion  and  eduoation,  cannot  fiul  to  interest 
the  reader. 


EDITOR'S    TABLE. 


Lme  AND  CotXEmoHDWHCK  OF  RoBKAT  SouTHiT.  —  Of  thb  work,  now  pubfiah- 
log  in  MX  *  FiBrtB'  by  the  Bkothem  HAmm,  we  have  read  the  first  two  nnmben. 
lliey  ponev  so  much  interest,  that  we  shall  proceed  to  present  several  passages  which 
foreibly  impressed  ns  in  a  desnltory  pemsal ;  pencQ  in  hand  the  whUe,  ^  for  the  benefit  of 
our  sabscription-list,'  as  onr  friend  and  oonten^xirary  of*  The  Bonkum  Flag-Staff*  woold 
doobtless  phrase  it.  Nothing  can  be  more  natural  and  evidently  thoroughly  tmthfn) 
than  the  opening  chapters  of  the  work,  which  consist  of,  and  are  entitled, '  ReeolUe- 
timu  of  the  Early  Life  of  Robert  Southey^vtritten  by  Himeelf,  in  a  Series  of  Let,- 
Uro  to  a  Friend.*  These  recollections  commence  with  the  writer's  earliest  memory, 
and  are  brooj^t  down  to  the  period  of  his  life  whan  he  began  to  make  a  sensation  in 
the  world  of  literature.  We  shall  proceed  at  once  to  our  extracts  from  this  entertain- 
ing and  instructive  melange.  We  are  surprised  to  find  that  one  who  has  so  well  de- 
scribed the '  net  purport  and  upshot  of  war'  as  has  SoOTHfeT  in  his '  Battle  of  Blen- 
beim,'  should  himself  have  had  such  warlike  propensities  when  he  was  yet  but  a  mere 
chOd: 

*I  HAD  agieat  desire  to  be  a  soldier:  OokMielJoHNsoN  once  gave  me  his  twcnd;  I  took  It  to  bed, 
sad  went  to  iJeep  in  »  state  of  most  oomplete  hspplnnss :  in  tbe  moralng  it  was  gone.  Ones  I  set 
npoD  the  grass  in  wbat  we  call  a  brown  study;  at  last,  out  it  came,  with  the  utmost  oamestness,  to 
rayannt  Mabt:  *  Auntee  Pt»LLT,  I  should  Uke  to  hsTo  all  the  weapons  of  war,  the  gun,  and  thesword 
and  the  haibert,  and  the  pistoL  all  the  weapoasof  war.'  Onoe  I  got  whipped  for  taking  a  walk  with 
a  Journeyman  barber  whohred  opposite,  and  promtoed  to  give  me  a  sworoL  This  took  a  strange  turn 
when  I  was  about  nine  yeaisoUL  I  had  been  reading  the  histotteal  plays  of  SHAursARK,  and  cofr> 
duded  there  must  be  civil  ware  in  my  own  time,  and  resolved  to  be  a  very  great  man,  lilco  the  Earl 
__«, ^ — . ^^ . omakep^* " ' ^     .--. 


or  Warwick.  Now  It  would  be  prudent  to  mH»  partisans;  soltoldmyoompanlonsatschoolthat 
my  mother  was  a  veiT  good  woman,  and  had  taught  me  to  interpret  dreams.  lliegrusedtooomeaiMl 
repeat  tlwir  dreams  to  me,  and  I  was  artlhl  enough  to  rafer  them  aH  to  great  cItu  wars,  and  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  very  great  man  who  was  to  appear— meaning  myseld  IhadresolTedthatToMahoiwl 
bea  great  man  too,  and  actually  dreamed  once  of  going  into  hu  tent  to  wake  him  the  morning  befora 
a  battle,  so  fhll  was  I  or  tfaeaa  Ubm.' 

SouTBBT  speaks  most  alfoctionately  of  a  lovely  young  sister  who  died  in  his  early 
boyhood :  ^  She  was  a  beantifbl  creature,  the  admiratk>n  of  all  who  beheld  her.  My 
aunt  Makt  waa  one  day  walking  with  her  down  Union-street,  when  Wkslit  hap- 
pened to  be  coming  up,  and  the  old  man  was  so  struck  with  the  little  girl's  beauty  that 
he  stopped  and  exclaimed,  ^  Oh !  sweet  creature !'  took  her  by  the  band,  and  gave  her 
a  blessing.  That  which  in  affliction  we  are  prone  to  think  a  blessing,  and  which,  per- 
hKpo^  in  sober  reflectkm,  may  be  justly  thought  so,  befell  her  son  afterward  —  an  early 
removal  to  a  better  woiid.  She  died  of  hydrocephalus,  a  disease  to  which  the  most 
promisbig  children  are  the  most  liable.  HapfSly  neither  her  parents  nor  her  grand- 
mother ever  snspeoted,  what  is  exceeding  probable,  that  in  her  case  the  diaeaae  may 
have  been  indnoed  Yff  their  dipping  her  every  morning  in  a  tnb  of  the  cddeat  well 


360  Editor^s   Table.  [April, 

water.  This  was  done  from  an  old  notion  of  atrengthenin^  her  :  the  ahock  was  dread- 
fii] ;  the  poor  chUd's  horror  of  it,  every  morning,  when  taken  out  of  bed,  atill  more  ao. 
I  cannot  remember  having  seen  it.withoat  horror ;  nor  do  I  betieve  that  among  all 
the  preposterous  practices  which  faHao  theories  have  pi*odiiced,  there  was  ever  a  more 
cruel  and  perilous  one  than  this.'  Are  there  not  many  of  our  readers  who  can  bear 
testimony  to  the  justice  of  these  stricturea  upon  a  practiee  at  once  absurd  and  oruel? 
We  w^re  not  a  little  amused  at  this  *  passage'  in  the  life  of  old  gouty  Lord  Batkman  : 
'  An  odd  accident  happened  to  him  during  one  of  his  severe  fits,  at  a  time  when  no 
persuasions  could  have  induced  him  to  put  his  feet  to  the  ground,  or  to  believe  it  pos- 
sible that  he  could  walk.  He  was  sitting  with  his  legs  up,  in  the  full  costume  of  that 
respectable  and  orthodox  disease,  when  the  ceiling,  being  somewhat  old,  part  of  it  gave 
way,  and  down .  came  a  fine  nest  of  rats,  old  and  young  together,  plump  upon  him. 
He  had  what  is  called  an  antipathy  to  these  creatures,  and,  forgetting  the  gout  in  the 
horror  which  itieir  visitation  excited,  sprung  from  his  eilsy  chair,  and  fairly  ran  down 
stairs.'  There  is  a  forcible  lesson,  well  worthy  ^  the  attention  of  parents  and  guar- 
dians,' in  the  following  record  of  the  manner  in  which  a  porti<Mi  of  his  time  was  passed 
from  the  age  of  two  years  to  six,  while  residing  at  Bath  with  a  maiden-aunt : 

^I  HAD  many  indulgences,  but  more  privations,  and  those  of  an  li^urioiv  kind;  want  of  play- 
mates, want  of  exercise,  never  being  allowed  to  do  anything  in  which  by  possibility  I  might  dirt 
myself;  late  hours  in  comnany,  that  Is  to  say,  late  hours  for  a  child,  which  I  reckon  among  the  urtr 
vAtions  (having  always  had  the  healthiest  propensity  for  going  to  bed  betimea ;)  late  hours  of  rising, 
which  were  less  painAi],  perhaps,  but  in  other  respects  worse.  My  aunt  chose  that  I  should  sleep 
with  her,  and  thlfl  subjected  me  to  a  double  evil.  She  uaed  to  have  her  bed  warmed,  and  dnrii^ 
the  months  wliile  this  practioe  was  in  season,  I  was  always  put  Into  Mollt^s  bed  flnit,  Ibr  fear  of  an 
accident  tmm  the  warming-pan,  and  removed  when  my  aunt  went  to  bed,  so  that  I  was  reffnlarly 
wakened  out  of  a  souhd  sleep.  This,  however,  was  not  half  so  bad  as  being  obliged  to  lie  unul  nine, 
and  not  unfVeqnently  until  ten  in  the  morning,  and  not  daring  to  make  the  uightest  movement  which 
•  could  disturb  ner  during  the  hours  that  I  lay  awake,  and  longhig  to  be  set  flree.  These  were,  indeed, 
early  and  severe  lessons  of  patience.  My  poor  little  wits  were  upon  the  alert  at  those  tedious  boon 
of  oompulsorv  idleness,  fancying  figures  and  combinations  of  form  in  the  curtains,  wonderii^  at  the 
motes  in  the  slant  sun-beam^  and  watching  the  light  from  the  crevices  of  the  window-shuttera,  until 
it  served  me,  at  last,  by  its  progresidvo  motion,  to  measure  the  lapse  of  time.  Thoroughly  iq|udi- 
dous  as  my  education  under  Miss  TvLKR^was,  no  part  of  it  was  bo  irkaome  as  this.* 

His  aunt,  we  are  informed,  aftiong  othep  indulgences,  took  him  oocauonaOy  to  the 
theatre :  ^  When  I  was  taken  there  ibr  the  first  time,  I  can  perfectly  well  remember 
my  surprise  at  not  finding  the  pit  literally  a  deep  hole,  into  which  I  had  often  puizled 
myself,  to  think  how  or  why  any  persons  could  possibly  go.'  Those  who  have  at- 
tended a  ^  spelling-bee' — and  what  reader  who  ever  went  to  a  district-school  in  tire 
country  but  has  attended  them? — will  call  to  mind  a  fomiliar  and  pleasant  scene 
while  perusing  the  atmexed  extract.  The  child,  it  ahould  be  premised,  has  grown  up 
to  be  a  school-boy : 

*  Twice  during  the  twelve  montiis  of  my  stay  great  interest  was  excited  throughout  the  cooimon- 
wealth  by  a  grand  spelling-matcb,  for  which  poor  Flower  deserves  some  credit,  if  it  was  a  devtee 
of  his  own  to  save  himself  trouble  and  amuse  the  bovs.  Two  of  the  biggest  boys  chose  their  paity^ 
boy  by  boy  alternately,  until  the  whole  school  was  divided  between  them.  They  then  hunted  the  , 
dictionary  for  words  unusual  enough  in  their  orthography  to  puzzle  ilHaugbt  lads ;  and  having  com- 
pared liste,  that  the  same  word  might  not  be  chosen  by  both,  two  words  were  delivered  to  every  boy, 
and  kept  by  him  profoundly  socrot  from  all  on  the  other  side  until  the  time  of  trial.  On  a  day  iq>- 
pointed  we  were  drawn  up  in  botUe  array,  quite  as  anxious  on  the  occasion  as  the  members  of  a 
cricket  dub  for  the  result  of  a  grand  match  against  all  England.  Ambition,  that  ^last  infirmity  of 
noble  minds,*  had  its  fkill  share  in  produdng  this  anxiety ;  and, to  increase  the  excitement,  each  per- 
son had  wagered  a  halfpenny  upon  the  event.  The  words  were  given  out  in  due  suooession  on  each 
aide,  from  the  biggest  to  the  least ;  and  for  every  one  which  was  spelled  rightly  in  its  progress  down 
the  enemy's  ranks,  the  enemy  scored  one;  or  one  was  scored  on  the  other  side  if  the  word  ran  the 
gauntlet  safely,  llie  party  in  which  I  was  engaged  lost  one  of  these  matches  and  won  the  other.  I 
remember  that  my  words  ftn:  one  of  them  were  *  Crystallization'  and  ^Coterie,'  and  that  I  was  one  oT 
the  most  eflbctive  persons  in  the  contest,  which  might  easily  be.' 

Hear  the  'testimony'  borne  by  an  ingenuous  boy  to  a  practice  in  some  fiunSliea 
maoh  better  honored  in  the  breach  than  in  the  observanoe :  'I  dreaded  nothing  §6 


1850.]  Editar'i  TaUe.  361 

much  as  SnncUiy  evening  in  winter :  we  were  then  aasexnbled  in  the  hall  to  hear  the 
mwter  read  a  sermon,  or  a  portion  of  Sta>ckhoubb*s  History  of  the  Bible.  Here  I 
sat  at  the  tod  of  a  long  form,  in  sight,  bnt  not  within  feeling  of  the  fire,  my  feet  cold, 
my  eyelids  heavy  as  lead,  and  yet  not  daring  to  close  them,  kept  awake  by  fear  alone, 
in  total  inaction,  and  ander  the  operation  of  a  lecture  more  soporific  than  the  strongest 
sleeping  doee.  Heaven  help  the  wits  of  those  good  people  who  think  that  children 
are  to  be  edified  by  having  sermons  read  to  them !'  There  is  something  not  a  little 
laughable  in  Southbt's  first  dream :  ^  The  earliest  dream  which  I  can  remember  re- 
lated to  my  aunt :  it  was  singular  enough  to  impress  itself  indelibly  upoil  my  memory. 
I  thought  I  was  sitting  with  her  in  her  drawing  room,  (chairs,  carpet,  and  every  thing 
are  now  visibly  present  to  my  mind's  eye,)  when  the  devil  was  introduced  as  a  morn- 
ing visitor.  Such  an  appearance,  ibr  he  was  in  his  full  costume  of  horns,  black  bat- 
wings,  tan,  and  cloven  feet,  put  me  in  ghostly  and  bodily  fear ;  but  she  received  hhn 
with  perfect  politeness,  called  him  dear  Mr.  Devil,  desired  the  servant  to  set  him  a 
chair,  and  expressed  her  delight  at  being  favored  with  a  call !'  We  were  struck  with 
this  instance  of  a  fair  Uossom  failing  of  ultimate  fruit,  a  boy  whose  appearance,  we 
are  told,  prepossessed  all  who  saw  him :  *•  My  mother  was  so  taken  with  the  gentleness 
of  his  manners,  and  the  regularity  and  mildness  of  his  features,  that  she  was  very  de- 
sirous I  should  become  intimate  with  him.  He  grew  up  to  be  a  puppy,  sported  a 
swallow-tail  when  he  was  fifteen,  and  at  five-and-twenty  was  an  insignificant  withered 
ibmuncttitM,  with  a  white  face  shrivelled  into  an  expression  of  effeminate  peevishness. 
I  have  seen  many  instances  wherein  the  promise  of  the  boy  has  not  been  fulfilled  by 
the  man,  but  never  so  striking  a  case  of  blight  as  this.'  The  reader  will  admire  with 
us  the  subjomed  affectionate  tribute  to  the  writer's  pother : 

*I  PC  not  believe  thai  any  humtn  being  ever  broagbt  into  the  world,  and  carried  thronafa  It.  a 
larger  portion  of  original  goodnen  than  my  dear  mother.  Every  one  who  knew  her  loved  her,  for 
■be  leaned  made  to  be  happy  heraelf,  and  to  make  every  one  happy  within  her  little  sphere.  Her 
imderatandinff  was  as  good  as  her  heart :  it  ia  from  her  1  hAve  i  nheri ted  that  alertness  of  mind  and  quick- 
neaa  of  apprdiension,  without  which  it  wouM  have  been  impossible  for  me  to  have  undertaken  half 

of  what!  "        *     "  '    *  '  •      

amoresi 

■lood  what  death  waa,  and  began  to  tUnk  of  it  the  most  figailtal  thought  it  induced  was  that  of  losing 

my  mother;  r  "  *      " 


or  wpienension,  wiiaom  wmcn  ii  wouia  nare  oeen  imposRoie  ror  me  vo  naye  unaenacen  nair 
hat  I  nave  performed.  Goo  never  btoased  a  human  creature  with  a  more  cbeerfUl  dispoaitioo, 
ire  generous  spirit,  a  sweeter  temper.*  or  a  tenderer  heart  I  remember  that  when  flnc  I  under- 
1  what  death  waa,  and  began  to  tUnk  of  it  the  most  f&uM  thought  it  induced  was  that  of  losing 
nother ;  it  seemed  to  me  more  than  I  could  bear,  and  I  used  to  hope  that  I  might  die  before  her. 
Nature  is  mercUhl  to  ua.  Weleamsraduallythatwearetodie;  a  knowledge  which,  if  it  came  md- 
denly  upon  us  in  riper  age,  would  be  more  than  the  mind  could  endure.  We  are  gradually  pre- 
pared Ibr  our  departure  by  seeing  the  ol^eota  of  our  eerlieet  and  deepest  altecttone  go  before  us:  and 
even  if  no  keener  afflictions  are  dispensed  to  wean  us  from  this  world,  and  remove  our  tenderoal 
thooghls  and  dearest  hopes  to  another,  mere  age  brings  with  it  a  weariness  of  life,  and  death  be* 
oomei  to  the  old  as  natural  and  deairable  as  sleep  to  a  tired  c 


One  is  continually  struck,  in  reading  Soutbxt's  letters,  with  the  terseness,  the  ex- 
treme simplicity  and  sententeousness  of  his  style.  Observe  the  following  segregated 
examples :  *  As  no  madman  ever  pretended  to  a  religk>ns  call  without  findhig  s6m6 
open-eared  listeners  ready  to  believe  in  him  and  become  his  disciples ;  so,  perhaps,  no 
one  ever  composed  verses  with  iiu)ility  who  had  not  some  to  admire  and  applaud  him 
in  his  own  little  circle.'  *  It  sorprises  me  to  perceive  how  many  things  oome  to 
mind  which  had  been  for  years  and  years  forgotten !  It  is  said  that  when  earth  is  flung 
to  the  surface  in  digging  a  well,  plants  will  spring  up  which  are  not  found  in  the  sur- 
rounding country,  seeds  having  quickened  in  light  and  air  which  had  lain  buried  during 
unknown  ages— no  unapt  illustration  for  the  way  in  which  forgotten  things  are  thus 
brought  up  fhm  the  bottom  of  erne's  memory.'  Bnt  we  must  pause ;  satisfied  that 
the  reader,  after  peruking  the  foregoing  passages,  will  require  no  recommendation 
of  o«rs  to  procure  the  numbers  whence  they  are  taken,  as  well  as  those  which  are  to 


362     <  JBddiar'i  Table.  [ApiQ, 


G088IP  WITH  Rbadkis  and  Co&B.EflPoiiDKNTB. — ToSKE  hoB  boeo  B  MtAo  ennade 
started  recently  against  Sunday  journals,  the  labor  upon  which,  unlike  that  required  for 
the  papers  of  the  succeeding  day,  is  performed  in  advance  of  ^  holy  time.'  Now  we  would 
do  nothing  to  sanction  the  desecration  of  the  Sabbaih ;  on  the  contrary,  hotii  by  precept 
and  example,  we  hope  always  to  be  found  on  the  side  of  morality  in  this  regard.  But 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  mismterpretmg  what  the>  breaking  of  the  Sabbath'  really  is. 
The  man  who,  in  all  the  pride  of  wealth,  goes  in  his  sumptuous  carriage  to  the  portab  of 
the  house  of  (tod,  and  there  leaves  his  coachman  (with  no  soul  of  his  own  to  save, 
of  course,  any  more  than  the  horses  he  drives)  to  sit  on  his  box  while  his  master  and 
family  recline  upon  daxaaA  cushions,  and  make  their  reeponaes  from  prayer-books 
of  velvet  and  gold,  such  a  man  has  no  idea  that  he  is  accessory  to  breaking  the  Sab- 
bath ;  but  is  his  coachman,  idly  cracking  his  whip  while  his  master  is  '  at  worship,' 
any  better  engaged  than  the  little  boy  who  is  supporting  a  widowed  mother  or  a  des- 
titute brother  or  sister  by  selling  to  the  poor  man,  who  may  desire  it,  a  well-conducted 
Sunday  newspaper ;  a  newspaper  containing  information  which,  perhaps,  kicessast 
labor  during  the  week  only  renders  oeeeBsible  to  him  on  that  day  f  With  deference 
to  less  rigorous  judgments,  we  think  not;  nor  do  we  deem  the  reading  of  such  a 
journal,  during  a  leisure  hour  on  the  Sabbath,  at  all  calculated  to  disqualify  the  mind 
of  any  thinking  man  for  the  subsequent  reception  <>f  religious  truths,  through  the 
i^ipointed  modes  and  channels  i^ropriate  to  the  day.  We  ^ke,  in  a  recent  sub- 
section in  this  deparbnent,  of  the  effect  which  a  too  i^ingent  application  of  moral  and 
religious  requirements  sometimes  have  upon  children ;  and  we  have  seen  those  re- 
marks quoted  and  &vorably  conftoented  upon  by  secular  and  religious  journals  in  dif- 
ferent quarters  of  the  Union.  *  Thra^  are,'  says  the  humane  and  practically  religkms 
author  of  *  The  Simg  of  the  Shirt .-' 

^TRsai  are  Mimie  moody  penons,  not  a  few. 
Who,  tconed  bv  natore  with  a  gkxmiT  bias, 
Eenotmce  Mack  devila  to  adopt  the  -btos, 
And  think  vhen  they  are  dlamal  they  are  pious  ;* 

men  who,  in  endeavoring  to  force  others  to  *  follow  in  their  footsteps'  and  SmHate  their 
example,  exercise  any  thing  but  a  salutary  influence  upon  society.  There  is  such  a 
thing  as  'putting  too  much  Sabbath  into  Sunday,'  especially  for  the  young;  making 
it  a  day  to  be  dreaded  rather  than  a  season  to  be  cherished.  We  are  reminded,  in 
this  connection,  of  the  Scotch  profeBso^,  who  during  a  Sunday  walk  happened  to  be 
hammering  at  a  geologtcal  speoimen  wnioh  he  had  accidentally  picked  up,  when  a 
sanotimooions  person  gravely  aoooated  him,  and  aaid  with  great  seriousness, '  Ah! 
Sir,  you  think  you  are  only  breaking  a  stone,  but  you  are  breaking  the  Sajtbath!* 
A  walk  in  the  country  o&  Sunday,  and  a  survey  of  the  works  of  an  all-bountiinl 
Cebator,  at  a  time  when  leisure  gives  force  and  stability  to  good  impreosions,  we  have 
heard  denounced  as  sinfoL  Denunciations  of  acts  so  innocent  and  simple  as  this  have 
the  effect  to  create  a  re&ction  in  the  minds  they  are  intended  to  direct.  Hooi>,  in  his 
satire  called  ^An  Open  Queetion^ — as  touching  the  propriety  of  '  the  authoritieB'  not 
permitting  persons  walking  through  one  of  the  London  parks  on  Sunday  aftemoen 
to  pass  through  that  portion  of  it  which  was  devoted  to  the  purposes  of  a  zoOlogioal 
ooUection-— has  a  few  stanns  which  wHl  by  some  readers  perhaps  be  regarded  as  in 
point  And  we  would  &rther  ask  the  reader,  who  may  chance  to  have  the  London 
edition  of  Hood's  poems  in  his  library,  to  torn  over  the  leaves  of  the  fimt  volome 


1850.] 


EdUai^s  Table. 


363 


unta  he  oomes  to  the  ^Ode  to  Eae  WjUmr.'  He  will  find  in  that  adminUe  and  most 
traioluatt  satire  aome  of  the  atrongeat  argunenta,  in  favor  of  the  poaition  which 
we  haTe  aaramed,  that  we  at  leaat  have  ever  enooimtered.  Bat  to  the  present  ex- 
traet: 


'Id  me  its 


BOMtintbeoddeit^ 


<WhBra(m  la  dotal 


tmkm 
wiDgea 


towoik? 


[havMi 
or  maa^ 


Tlie  dove,  ihe  winged  CoLumirB 
The  tender  kii?e4>iid— or  tbe  flUal  itoik? 

The  ponctnal  cme — Uie  iNPoyldenUal  raYBD  T 
The  peUeen  whoee  boMNn  flMds  rhe  Tonngt 

Nnr*  moat  we  cat  flrom  aatonbqr  till  M ODdflgr 
The  natbeied  marvel  with  a  hunan  tongue, 

Becanae  ihe  doei  not  preach  npon  a  8imdaj~ 

But  what  Is  your  opinion,  Mrs.  Gruitot  ? 


Thatd 


The  ban  bearer — that  aagadooa  beastl 
The  Bbeep  that  owned  an  Oriental  ahepherd ; 
hat  deaertrahip,  the  camel  of  the  Ikrt, 
The  homed  rUnooeroe— the  qwtted  leopard ; 

Hie  creatorea  of  the  great  CasAToi'a  haiia 
Axe  BQielj  alghta  for  better  daya  than  Mondaj  f 

The  elephant,  althoosh  he  wean  no  band, 
Haa  he  no  aermon  ta&  hia  tnink  fbr  Qvaotj-' 
Bat  what  la  your  opinion.  Bin.  Grurpt  f 

« What  harm  if  men  who  bum  the 
Weary  of  frame,  and  worn  and  wan  In 

Seek  once  »-week  their  apiriti  to  aasolL     • 
And  natch  a  glimpae  of  « Animated  Nature  T* 

Better  it  were  if;  hi  his  beat  of  auita, 
Tlie  artisan,  who  goea  to  work  on  Monday, 

Bhooklapend  a  lelaure  hoar  amoitt  the  brntes, 
nian  make  abeaat  of  hia  own  aelroD  Bmiday — 
But  what  la  your  opinion,  Mrs.  QauMmrr 


tway 

.    ^   J  *he  pardon  of  each  riald  Bodns) 
Oar  wooidHx)  keepers  of  the  SabbathHUy 

Axe  hke  the  keqpeis  of  the  brutea  ferodoaa: 
Aa  aoon  tbe  tiger  might  expect  to  atalk 

About  the  groonda  ftom  Batarday  tin  Ifondagf, 
Aa  any  hanniesB  man  to  take  a  walk, 

If  aaintaaboald  clap  himlnacage  onSanday-^ 

Bat  what  la  yoor  opinion,  Mrs.  Grukdt  f 

<  la  apile  of  an  hypocrisy  can  apln, 

As  sorely  aa  I  am  a  chriatian  scion, 
I  cannot  think  it  is  a  mortal  Bin, 

(Unless he ^ looae)  to  kwk apon alien. 
I  really  think  that  one  may  go,  perchance. 

To  aee  a  bear,  aa  goUtless  aa  on  Monday; 
(Ihat  la,  prorlded  that  he  did  not  dance,) 

Brafai*a  no  worse  than  bakln'  on  a  Sanday — 

Bat  what  ia  yoor  ophilon,  Mrs.  Orumst  ? 

•In  qiite  of  aU  the  flnatie  oompllee, 

I  cannot  think  the  day  abit  diviner 
Beoanae  no  children,  with  foreatalling  smiles, 

Throng;  happy,  to  the  gatea  of  Eden  Minor; 
It  la  not  plain,  to  my  poor  Ihith  at  least, 

That  what  we  <dirlsten  *uataral*  on  Monday, 
The  wondrooa  history  of  bird  and  beast, 

can  he  unnataral  beeaaae  it^s  Bonday— 

Bat  what  la  your  opinion,  Mrs.  Givndt  f 

There  ia  aomethmg  worthy  of  heed  m  ihe  doeing  argument  of  these  oharaoteristic 
lines.  Something  we  think  should  be  oonoeded  to  the  eanservative  influence  of  in- 
teresting and  inatruotive  Sunday  joumalB  upon  a  class  of  readers,  who  but  for  them 
might,  and  doubtless  would,  be  i^  less  innocently  employed  than  in  their  quiet  pern- 
aal  by  thdr  own  hearths.  '  Finally,  and  in  oonduaion,'  we  marvel  much  that  well- 
meaning  and  pious  persons  in  our  day  cannot  revolve  in  the  great  wheel  of  reform 
without  rushing  at  once  to  the  periphery.  .  .  .  Have  you  never  felt,  reader,  just 
at  this  season  of  mid-March,  the  force  and  truth  of  the  enaning  obaervationa  ?  Our 
only  wonder  ia,  that  another  should  have  expreased  so  perfectly  our  own  thoughts  and 
emotions,  a  hundred  times  awakened  and  experienced,  in  the  early  ^  spring-time  of  the 
year :'  '  There  ia  a  certun  melandioly  in  the  evenings  of  early  spring,  which  is  among 
those  influenoea  of  nature  the  most  universally  reoogniaed,  the  moat  diflSouh  to  ex- 
]dahi.  The'  silent  stir  of  reviving  life,  which  does  not  yet  betray  aigns  in  the  bud  and 
blossom ;  only  in  a  softer  dearness  in  the  air,  a  more  lingering  pause  in  the  doidy 
l^»figtK«F»"»g  day ;  a  more  delicate  freshness  and  balm  in  the  twilight  atmosphere ;  a 
more  lovdy  yet  atiU  unquiet  note  from  the  birds,  settling  down  into  their  coverti ;  the 
YBgue  aenae  under  all  that  huah,  which  still  outwardly  wears  the  Ueak  aterility  of 
winter  -^  of  the  busy  change  hourly,  momently  at  work — renewing  the  youth  of  the 
world,  re-dothmg  with  vigorous  bloom  the  i^detons  of  things ;  all  these  meesagoa 
from  the  heart  of  Nature  to  the  heart  of  Man  may  well  affiwt  and  move  na.  But 
urity  with  melanoholy?  No  thought  on  our  part  connects  and  conatmea  the  low, 
gentle  voioea.  It  la-not  Thought  that  repliea  and  reasons :  it  is  Feeling  that  hears  and 
dreuw.  Eomine  not,  O  diOd  of  man  I — examine  not  that  mysterioua  melanoholy 
with  the  hard  eyeaof  thy  reason;  thou  <»n8t  not  unpale  it  on  theapikeaof  thy  thflfny 
lo^^fBordeaoribeitieBdiantedeirQlebyproblemsconiiedfhmithysohools.  Borderer 
TOL.  XZXT.  24 


364 


Editor't   Table. 


[April, 


thyself  of  two  worlds — the  Dead  and  the  livmg — g^ve  thme  ear  to  the  tones,  bow 
^  soul  to  the  flhadows,  that  steal,  in  the  season  of  change,  firom  the  dim  Border 
Land.'  .  .  .  Thky  have  a  choioe  specimen  of  *  high  old  art'  at  Wariiington,  if  we 
may  judge  from  the  '  prepared  report'  of  a  correspondent  at  the  national  cfl|>itol : 
'  By  the  way,  talking  about  *  picters ;'  they  have  a  new  one  in  the  Botuida,  which 
the  *  Bunkom  Flag-Staff '  ought  to  notic&  General  Washington,  of  course,  oooa- 
pies  the  middle,  fie  is  wrapt  in  a  white  sheet,  and  looks  very  like  an  old  woman  of 
the  '  middle  ages'  doing  penance  before  a  church  door.  Three  or  four  fellows  in  the 
fore-ground,  whose  laces  must  have  been  drawn  with  a  blister-plaster,  are  each  of 
them  making  violent  efforts  to  stick  a  carrot  into  his  eye.  Three '  Model  Artistes,' 
without  a  rag  on,  are  jumping  over  his  head ;  and  one  of  them,  just  visible  bdund 
an  eDormovm  breast-work,  is  going  to  drop  a  weU-scoured  beetle-ring  on  his  naked 
skull.  All  around  and  behind  are  the  portraitB  of  Guy  Fawkes,  fiooKEV  Walbxe, 
Mr.  Geben,  John  Smpth,  Billt  Patebson,  Sni  Jomv  Maundeville,  Captani  Jambs 
BiLET,  Feeoinand  Mendez  Pinto,  Wouter  Van  Twillee,  and  Judas  Iscaeiot, 
making  horrible  contortions.  In  short,  it  is  a  very  striking  historical '  pioter.'  The 
artist  is  some  relation  of  the  young  genius  who  was  taken  iy  his  &ther  to  Powbes, 
that  he  might  learn  to  '  sculp !  *  .  .  .  Que  Burlington  correspondent's  story  of  ^  The 
Profane  Man  who  eotdd  n't  do  Justice  to  hie  SuljecV  was  written  for  and  published 
in  the  ^  Grossip'  of  the  Knicxeebooxer  years  ago.  .  .  .  We  wish  that  every  cme 
of  our  readers  could  hear  that  accomplished  musical  artist  and  natural  gentleman,  our 
friend  Mr.  Joseph  Bueeb,  sing  the  following,  in  his  rich,  mek>dious,  roUkdung  man- 
ner. It  is  better  than  a  concert,  especially  with  our  old  friend  ^  Beough'  to  *  come  in' 
in  the  chorus : 


And  the  duiakes  oommltted  8faaiclde» 
To  save  themaolTeB  flxnn  shlaiighter  I 

Good  Indc  attend  Saint  Satrick'i  flsU 
For  he  was  the  asinfc  00  devor ; 

He  gave  the  ebnakes  and  toada  a  twist* 
And  he  hotherod  them  for  ever! 

No  wonder  that  we  Irish  boya 

Are  80  tne  and  friaky, 
For  BOTB  Saint  Pat,  he  taught  as  that. 

As  well  aft  drinking  whlakey ; 
No  wonder  that  theSdnt  hbnaeif 

To  drink  it  ahoaki  be  willing. 
For  hia  mother  kept  a  ahebeen-ahop 

In  the  town  of  laniakiUfiD. 

^        Good  lock  attend  Saint  Patrick^s  ttal. 
For  he  waa  the  aoint  ao  elever ; 
He  gave  the  ahnakea  and  toMdaa  twist. 
And  he  bothered  them  for  ever! 

Oh  I  was  I  botao  Jbrtonate 

Aa  to  be  back  in  MuiMter, 
T  la  I'd  be  bomid  that  ffom  that  grouid 

I  never  more  woidd  once  attr ; 
^  waa  there  Saint  Patrick  planted  tnL 

With  plenty  of  the  pratka, 
With  piga  galore,  magramaston, 

And  cahbagea  andhdies! 

Good  luck  attend  Satait  pATatCK'a  Mf 
For  he  waa  the  aaint  ao  deTcr ; 

He  gave  the  shnakea  and  lOMla  a  twist. 
And  he  bothend  them  to  ew! 

On  the  sborea  of  1^6  Ontario,  ncttr  the  TiDage  of  Oswego,  or  < 'Swago' as  they  ined 
to  can  it  in  the  <  kdd'ntry,' there  are  himdreda  of  those  pecoliar  hoiea  or  oelb  m 


Saut  Patrick  was  a  gentleman, 

And  he  came  of  decent  people, 
He  built  a  church  in  Dublin  town, 

And  on  it  put  a  steeple; 
His  mother  waa  a  Gallaohkr, 

His  fhther  waa  a  BRAnv, 
lUs  aunt  was  an  O^Shauohbssy, 

First  ooitein  to  O'GRAnr : 

Good  hick  attend  Saint  Patiick's  flat. 
For  he  was  the  saint  ao  clever, 

He  gave  the  shnakea  and  toads  a  twist, 
And  he  bothered  them  for  ever! 

the  Wlckknr  hills  are  very  high, 
And  80*8  the  hill  of  Howth,  Sir : 

But  there 's  a  hiU  much  higher  rtill, 
Much  higher  nor  them  both,  Sfa^ 

T  waa  on  tito  top  of  tbat  high  hlU 
Saint  Patrick  preached  hia  sannint ; 

He  drove  the  fh>gB  into  the  boga, 

,  And  he  bothered  all  the  varmint: 

Good  luck  attend  Saint  Patrick's  flat, 
Fbr  be  waa  the  saint  so  clever: 

He  gave  the  Bhnakea  and  toada  a  twist, 
And  he  bothered  them  forever! 

niere  ^  not  a  mile  la  Iraland'a  Ide 
Where  the  dlrtv  varminia  muaten, 

But  there  he  put  his  own  fore^^t, 
And  murthered  them  in  ciuaten: 

Hw  toada  went  pop,  the  tngn  went  ptop, 


1850,}  EdUar^s  TahU.  365 

bank-swallows.    On  one  oooadon  there  waa  a  tremen^ona  gale  en  the  lake,  the  eflM 
of  which  was  thus  described  by  an  eye-wjtneas  to  the  ^  ear-witness-  who  gives  the  re- 
cordtona:  ^Ineyeraeesuchagaleinmylife — neyer!    It  blew  so  hard  that  it  blew 
an  the  sand  off  the  bank,  and  left  the  ewaUow-hoUe  sticking  out  a  foot  and  a  half  V 
Kot  nnlike  the  Iriahman's  explanation  of  how  eannon  were  east:  *  Ton  take  a  round 
hde,  and  run  iron  or  brass  around  it !'  .  .  .  Wi  heard  to-day  a  langhablo^ilfiecilote 
of  a  Man  toith  a  hig  FootJ    He  was  a  Boffidonian,  who  must  be  liinng  now,  for  a 
man  with  so  good  a  hold  upon  the  ground  is  not  likely  to  ^  drop  off'  in  a  hurry.    He 
stqyped  one  day  into  the  small  shop  of  a  boot-maker's  in  the  flourishing  capital  of  old 
Erie,^and  asked  CaisnN  if  he  could  make  him  a  pair  of  boots.    Looking  at  his  long 
splay  pedal  extremities,  and  then  glancing  at  a  huge  uncut  cow-hide  that  hang  upon 
the  wall,  he  said,  *  Well,  yes,  I  guess  so.'    *  What  time  will  you  have  them  done  7 
To-day  is  Monday.'    *  Well,  it  '11  depend  on  oironmstances ;  I  guess  I  can  have  'em 
done  for  yon  by  Saturday.'    On  Saturday,  therefore,  the  man  called  for  his  boots : 
*  Have  you  got  'em  done  V  said  he,  as  he  entered  the  little  shop.    '  No,  I  have  n't  —  I 
could  n't ;  it  has  rained  every  day  since  I  took  your  measure.'    '  Rained  V  exclaimed 
the  aatoniahed  patron;  <  well,  what  of  that  7    What  had  lAat  to  do  with  it  ?'    'What 
had  THAT  to  do  with  it  7'  echoed  Guspin  ;  *  it  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  it.    When 
I  make  your  boots  /  '«e  got  to  do  it  out  doore^  for  I  have  n't  room  in  my  shop,  and  I 
can't  work  out  doors  in  rainy  weather  7'  It  waa  the  same  man  of  *  large  understanding' 
whom  the  porters  used  to  bother  so,  when  he  landed  from  a  steamer.    They  would 
rush  up  to  him,  seize  hold  of  Mb  feet,  aaying,  *  Where  ahall  I  take  your  baggage  j  Sir  7 
Where  'a  this  trunk  to  go,  Sir  7'  .  .  .  Wa  had  '  taken  our  pen  in  hand'  to  express 
our  surprise  at  the  magnitude  of  the  neatly-executed  and  exceedingly  corpulent  cata- 
logue of  Messrs.  Cooky  and  Keeee^e  great  Trade^Sale  of  Booke^  etc.,  and  to  desig- 
nate some  of  the  *  good  bargains'  which  it  offers  to  the  book-loving  public,  when  wo 
eneoontered,  in  the  columns  of  a  daily  contemporary,  the  paragraph  which  u>e  should 
have  written,  though,  as  Richard  the  Third  has  it,  'not  so  well,  perhaps.'    Wc  can 
at  least  say  '  ditto  to  Mr.  Burke,'  and  accordingly  <2o  do  so :  '  The  sale  will  commence 
at  their  rooms  on  Thursday,  the  twenty-first  instant.  It  is,  we  believe,  the  largest  cata- 
logue ever  issued  in  this  country,  and  may  well  be,  as  it  fills  a  large  octavo  of  three 
hundred  and  twenty-eight  pages.    The  sale  comprises  invoices  from  more  than  one 
hundred  and  fifty  of  the  most  prominent  houses  in  the  country,  and  includes,  beside, 
hooka,  paper,  paper-hangings,  stationery,  stereotype-plates,  and  binder's  leather.    It 
will  doubtless  be  a  grand  refinion  of  members  of  the  trade  from  all  parts  of  the  coun- 
try.   This  is  to  be  the  last  sale  by  Messrs.  Coolet  and  Keese  before  they  remove  to 
their  spacious  and  elegant  rooms  in  the  fine  stone  building  on  the  comer  of  White- 
street  and  Broadway,  a  location  admirably  suited  to  the  wants  of  a  firm  dealing  so 
largely  in  objects  of  literature  and  the  fine  arts.    Wo  observe  that  they  announce 
oomhig  sales  of  three  great  and  well-known  collections  of  books  ;  the  library  of  Mr. 
James  Campbell,  the  stock  and  library  of  the  late  William  Colman,  and  a  library  of 
ten  thousand  volumes  collected  in  Europe. .  .  .  Our  country  friend,  the '  Peasant  Bard,' 
who  wrote  several  years  since  for  these  pages  the  beautiful  ^Lament  of  the  Cherokee,^ 
and  in  a  kite  number,  *  The  Mtnute-Men^''  sends  us  the  following  stanzas.   In  his  note  to 
the  Editor,  the  writer  observes :  *  I  have  had  no  great  nautical  experience,  but  waa 
onoe  witness  to  the  heaving  of  the  lead  in  a  storm.  We  were  passing  over  shoal  water ; 
and  aeveral  timea,  aa  the  vessel  plunged  down  into  the  trough  of  the  sea,  we  felt  her 
ked  grind  upon  the  bottom.    The  mate,  who  was  laahed  in  the  chains,  heaved  the 


366  Editor's  )[bUe.  [Aprilt 

lead,  and*  called  off'  in  true  aaflor  stylo,  and  ehaerily ;  but  atillhii&oe  wore  the  ez- 
preesion  of  a  ahmer  on  the  <  annona  seat'  The  danger  paaaed,  the  ahoal  deepened^ 
and  he  aangont,  ^By  the  deep  nine  V  with  a  will.  It  was  a  norel  and  stirring  aoene 
to  me,  a  boy,  and  made  an  abiding  inq^ression  on  my  memory ;  the  result  of  whieh 
is  the  production  of  the  aooompanying  aong,  oompoaed  thia  day,  alter  the  lapse  of 
many  years :' 

«  Whin  wesrlng  off  the  shoro,  with  the  bnelnn  on  the  toe, 
-^ ..^ ..^        .  _     flood  end  diearUy, 

ithenilor^ftMn, 
•nil    * 


Hie  wind  through  the  oordsfe  piping  loud  and  drearily, 
Ab  the  Bhoel  de^>er  grows,  It  beoahns  the  aailor^  tbtn, 
Aa  trembUngly  he  llatena,  and  the  aaTing  call  he  hoars: 
•Bythedeepninel  brthedeapi'     " 


*  Wheo  murky  is  the  night,  and  the  misty  wind  is  free, 
When  black  is  the  slEy  aboTO,  and  blacker  sttU  the  sea, 
When  nnoertain  the  landfldl  that  dimly  looms  ahead, 

Then  yeni  heave-to,  my  hearties!  bear  a  hand  with  the  lead: 

*  By  the  deep  Bine  1  by  the  deep  nine  T 

*  Laalhed  o'er  the  drenching  waveS)  the  hardy  aaUor  stands, 
His  eye  is  quick  and  oertwn,  and  ready  are  his  hands ; 
Right  cheerily  overhead,  then,  the  plunging  lead  he  swings, 
Down,  Ihrther  down,  it  goes,  and  he  musically  sings : 

*  By  the  deep  nine!  by  the  deep  nine  P 

*  And  ye  who  are  Toyaging  o'er  IWs  tompcaiuous  sea, 

Let  Judgment  be  your  compass— your  lead  tot  prudence  be ; 
Should  Passion's  current  tske  you  lowsrd  a  wrecking  reef, 
Be  wise  to  put  about  aa  soon  as  Pradenoe  sounds  relief: 
*By  ttie  deep  nine!  by  the  deep  nine!' 

<  the  gallant  Ship,  the  Unioh,  our  brave  oU  fiOhen  built ! 
Her  keel  wss  laid  in  hearts'-blood  of  willing  martyrs  spilt : 
Then  beware,  ve  who  sail  her  akmg  the  flood  of  ume  i 
Keep  her  beanngs,  keep  her  soumungs— she  11  float  to  the  chime: 

*  By  the  deep  nine  1  by  the  deep  nine  P '       ' 

*  While  trarelling  up  the  BiCauarippi  river  a  short  time  since,'  writes  a  Massadm- 
setts  correspondent,  *  I  fell  in  with  a  man  who  had  made  several  excursions  beyond 
the  Rocky  Momitains.  He  abounded  in  jokes  and  anecdotes  of  the '  ftr  West,'  and* 
among  other  amusing  incidents  he  related,  was  the  foUowmg :  *  About  three  years 
ago,  a  lady  in  Connecticut,  believing  that  the  Loan  had  called  her  to  go  to  the '  Ihr 
West'  and  christianize  and  civilize  the  Indians,  left  her  home,  where  her  channs  had 
never  been  appreciated,  to  fulfil  her  '  mission )'  and  alter  a  tedious  journey  of  two 
months,  she  arrived  at  the  place  which  was  to  be  the  seat  of  her  missionaiy  labors. 
Here  she  remamed  nearly  a  year ;  when,  finding  her  progress  slow,  and  her  effixrto 
in  the  work  she  had  imdertaken  of  litde  avail,  she  returned  to  Independence,  BUs- 
sonri,  intendmg  to  tarry  there  awhile,  and  prepare  notes  and  collect  matoriab  lor  a 
work  on  <  The  Far  West  and  its  Wonders.'  The  landlord  of  the  hotel  where  she 
was  boarding  asked  her  one  day  if  she  would  not  like  im  interview  with  a  fiunoos 
*  moimtain-man,'  who  had  just  returned  from  a  long  trip  to  the  mountains,  int^M- 
tmg  that  he  could  furnish  her  with  interesting  ftcts.  '  Oh,  yes  I'  said  she,  in  true 
Connecticut  style, '  of  all  things  in  this  world  I  thould  !  Do  pray  ask  hhn  in  !*  Now 
Harris  was  indeed  a  fiunous  '  mountain-man ;'  fimious  as  the  best  guide,  the  ^craok 
shot,'  the  greatest  wag,  and  most  consummate  liar,  of  all  the  host  of  untamed  spirits 
that  roam  among  the  mountains.  Acceding  to  the  lady's  wish,  the  landlwd  brought 
Haaeib  up  and  introduced  him.  He  was  bidden  to  take  a  seat ;  whereupon  the  lady 
commenced  questioning  him  concerning  his  adventures  in  the  mountains.  She  was 
seated  near  a  table,  on  which  lay  her  note-book  *,  and  aa  Hairis  reoonnted  his  porti- 
ons adventures  and  hair-breadth  esoapea,  she  noted  them  down  word  for  word.    As 


368 


Editor's  Table. 


[April, 


ing  admisBion  to  MHle  Lind'b  performances  in  this  country  at  the  lowest  remunera- 
tive rates : 

'In  London  the  price  of  tickets  ranged  fVom  Ave  to  fifty  doOan ;  in  the  provinoes  of  England, 
teom  three  to  fifteen ;  on  the  continent,  the  same;  but  have  very  often  been  sold  at  aactton  for 
enormous  suinB :  and  we  have  now  before  us  an  account  of  two  concerts  given  by  h^  in  the  town 
of  Norwich,  in  England —a  place  of  abont  eleven  thooaand  inhabitants—  where  four  thousand  one 
hundred  and  fortv-ihree  tickets  were  sold,  which  realized  about  nine  thousand  three  hundred  dol- 
lars, in  a  mere  village ;  which  concerts  were  to  enable  her  to  establish  a  f^d  for  the  purchase  of 
f^el  for  the  poor  of  (hat  place  in  winter.  MHle  Jknut  Lind's  whole  career,  fh>m  her  dtilnU  to  her 
retiring  last  year,  has  been  one  continued  series  of  unapproached  enthusiasm  and  triumph.  Through 
town  and  country,  at  home  and  abroad,  amid  the  gaveties  and  splendor  of  the  palace,  and  the  low- 
liness of  the  cottage,  all  have  but  one  feeling  toward  her— an  admirsUon  which  amounts  almost  to 
adoration.  Her  voice  seems  to  be  a  speW  which  totally  entrances  her  hearers.  We  were,  a  few 
davs  ago,  conversing  with  some  gentlemen  who  had,  in  England,  on  two  occasions,  paid  twenty 
dollars  to  hear  her,  and  only  once  succeeded  in  getting  a  place,  all  of  whom  declared  their  iaabUi^ 
to  describe  the  wonderfU  and  enchanting  powers  of  the  sweet  sonostress,  and  who  said  that  they 
were  for  a  time  literally  unconscious  of  every  thing  around  them :  that  they  were  rivetted  with  de- 
light, and  seemed  to  be  listening  rather  to  the  music  of  celestial  beings  than  to  a  creature  of  earth. 
There  is  one  great  and  indisputable  fhct,  which,  when  considered  for  a  moment,  puis  aside  all  oues- 
Uons  Concerning  her  superiority ;  which  is,  that  throughout  all  Europe,  and  by  all  classes,  she  ii 
believed  to  be  the  greatest  and  most  wonderftil  vocalist  that  ever  lived.  We  shall,  ere  she  anlvea, 
ke  enabled  to  give  our  readers  a  series  of  statistical  focta  connected  with  the  career  of  this  illustri- 
ous cantatriee,  for  whidi  we  have  already  written  to  some  ft-iends  in  Europe,  and  on  whose  autho- 
rity we  can  rely.  Mr.  Barhum  is  entitled  to  great  credit  for  the  coursge  he  has  evinced  in  even 
attempting  (setting  aside  his  success  in  arranging)  this  great  undertaking;  and  the  American  people 
Ailly  appreciate  his  noble  and  great  anxiety  to  ^vo  them  an  opportunity  of  hearing  this  greatest  of 
all  artists.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  he  will  carefully  adopt  some  plan  whereby  as  many  as  possible 
may  be  able,  with  perfect  comfort  to  themselves,  to  see  and  hear  the  « Nightingale  of  Sweden.* 


Thkre  b  a  good  deal  of  valuable  instruction,  especially  for  the  young  and  impetn- 
ons,  conveyed  in  the  lines  entitled  *  An  lUuMtration.'*  We  hope  the  lesson  which 
they  convey  will  not  be  altogether  lost  upon  one  little  girl  whom  we  wot  of — the 
treasury  of  many  fond  hopes  and  anxious  expectations : 


WsRB  Ella  C a  watch,  the  spring 

Would  move  with  such  a  power, 

A  common  'scapement  would  not  bring 
Its  index  to  the  hour. 

Or  if  an  hour-glass,  she  *d  not  wait 

For  single  sands  to  pass, 
But  choke  at  once  its  narrow  strait 

By  crowding  down  the  t 


An  arrow  sped  with  Ella*i  forci) 
Would  gyrate  in  its  flight. 

And  take  a  wild  erratic  course 
If  flDathered  not  aright. 


A  ship  that  carried  such  a  sailf 
With  all  her  canvass  spread 

Would  surely  founder  in  the  gale, 
If  not  weU  ballasted. 

A  Hare  and  Tortoise  ran  a  race. 
Hie  Hare  went  very  fleet; 

Hie  Tortoise  took  a  plodding  pace, 
He  plodded  on — and  beat. 

Of  motive  power  a  two-fold  share 
This  fhvored  child  has  brought ; 

Two-fold  should  be  the  pilot^s  care 
To  guide  it  as  he  ought 


Much  amused  to-day  by  this  passage  in  a  letter  of  a  correspondent  firom  whom 
our  readers  hear  frequently^  and  from  whom,  as  we  have  good  reason  to  know,  they 
are  always  well  pleased  to  hear.  He  has  been  preparing  a  new  work  for  the  preM, 
touching  which,  and  en  pastant,  he  observes :  '  I  would  fam  hope  that  it  may  find  more 
readers  than  its  predecessor,  which  was  published  by  the  Harpers,  and  made  some- 
thing of  a  little  book,  and  of  which  I  may  say,  if  it  had  a  reader,  I  never  heard  of 
him.  Such  casualities,  like  most  others  in  life,  are  nothing  when  a  man  is  used  to 
them,  and  I  claim  to  be  in  that  position.  In  refelrence  to  this  position,  the  Harpers 
once  said,  that  the  reason  why  I  had  not  readers  like  other  authors,  was  that  others 
wrote  to  suit  the  public,  and  I  wrote  to  suit  myself.  Again,  they  claimed  that  the 
way  to  obtain  readers  is  to  write  anonymously ;  and  as  a  clue  to  the  influence  of 
anonymous  authorship,  one  of  the  brothers  told  me  the  foUowing  anecdote :  Hiey 

pid)lished  an  imaginative  work  anonymously,  written  by  Mr.  A .    They  were 

immediately  asked  the  name  of  the  author,  but  they  protested  that  they  were  not  at 
Iberty  to  tell,  *  although  they  would  say  confidentially  that  they  would  not  §a,j  it  was. 


370  BiUdf'8  TcMe.  [April, 

upoit  the  Iniie  qnke  pleasantl^r)  driskiiig  the  Oolo&el'f  flip,  and  eotbg  )ub  kdy^s  hot 
oekea,  until  the  time  appointed.  He  then  ealled,  and  found  bvi  littl^e  jnrogreaB  had 
been  made  in  his  bnunesa.  The  lawyer  was  very  buay,  bat  something  of  a  bunker, 
(quite  unlike  any  of  the  profesmon  now-a-days,)  and  he  went  away  again,  and  took 
another  mug  of  flip.  Sa  he  kept  oalling,  and  being  put  off,  until  near  nig^t,  when 
he  grew  impatient,  and  said  to  the  boy :  '  Come,  Hobacb,  we  nuiy  as  well  start  for 
home, /or  your  time  will  be  out  before  he  gete  the  indenturee  drawn  /'  .  .  .  Wb 
wrile  this  subjection  of  *■  Gossipry'  with  one  of  SFSNCsa,  Rbndsll  aud  Dixon's  gold 
peas,  the  best,  the  most  perfeody  quill-like  instrument,  we  ever  ^  took  in  hand.'  It  is 
a  positive  luxury  to  use  it ;  and  we  know  of  nothing  to  add  to  that  luxury,  except  the 
ability  to  use  it  as  Mr.  Dixon  himself  does ;  the  most  elegant  penman  and  £mcy  ohi- 
rographer  we  ever  saw  put  pen  to  paper.  The  appointments  of  the  pen  are  oompletfr 
Its  parts,  indnding  a  pencil  and  ease  for  leads,  slide  into  each  other  in  the  most  oodh 
paot  form,  and  the  whole  is  exquiately  neat  and  finished.  The  depository  of  these 
pens  is  in  Broadway,  nearly  opposite  the  Franklin  House.  .  .  .  Tbskb  are  several 
dever  ^  Queerities'  in  the  ^  Stray  Leavee*  of  ^  Ashton.'  We  annex  a  few  '  samples :' 
^Looking  over  for  the  twentieth  time  the  nerer-tireaome '  Gossip'  of  our  bound 
Knickbbbockbrs,  (^  thank  you !')  several  anecdotes  of  our  preaching  farelhem  brought 
to  my  mind  various  queerities  that  had  fiadlen  upon  my  own  ear  firom  the  sacred  ded[, 
which  I  am  tempted  to  relate ;  and  although  I  hold 

(T^T  dmrch-lodden  are  dwayB  mafonted  beat 
By  learned  olerks  and  Latinlato  profeaaed,' 

yet  to  many  of  our  itinerant  clergy  more  education  would  be  of  great  benefit ;  and  I 
hope  the  day  is  not  far  distant  when  the  powers  that  be  will  ^  lay^hands  suddenly  upon 
no  man,'  or  at  least  ghre  him  no  authority  to  teach  others,  until  he  has  been  tan^ 
himself,  and  has  a  good  common  education,  if  nothing  more.  To  hear  the  most  holy 
of  an  subjects  touched  upon  as  it  is  sometimes  done  by  those  who  have  evidently  mis- 
t^en  their  vocation,  is  shocking  to  one  endowed  with  a  fm  share  of  veneration ;  and 
if  at  the  same  time  hb  ppssesses  a  keen  sense  of  the  ludicrous,  he  can  scarce  restrain  a 
smile  at  that  which  pains  him.    But  to  the  '  pi'nt,'  as  a  worthy  IHend  of  mine  always 

says.    Lsst  season,  on  a  beautiful  Sabbath  morning,  I  rode  out  with  a  friend  to 

chapel,  where  a  quarterly-meeting  was  being  held,  and  numerously  attended.  The 
sermon  must  have  been  half  through  when  we  took  our  seats  in  the  crowded  aide. 
I  attempted  m  vain  to  catch  the  thread  of  the  discourse.  Fhially,  the  preacher  paused  a 
moment,  and  said :  *  Respecting  the  young  man  whose  fbneral  (i.  e.  fimeral  sermon) 
I  am  preaching,  as  SnAKSFSAaE  says,  ^  Murder  wOl  out,  and  nobody  knew  any  good 
of  him  /'  He  gambled,  run  horses,  and  bet  onto  'em ;  used  profime  language,  broke 
]ihe  Sabbath,  and  my  dear  hearers  and  mourning  fiiends,  we  all  know  where  tiie  BiUe 
says  such  folks  will  go ! '  Imagine  the  feelmgs  of  the  monmers ;  yet  an  only  sister  was 
among  them  at  the  time.  At  another  time,  an  odd  specimen  of  humanity  was  ooen- 
pying  the  pulpit,  and  attempted  to  wind  up  a  loud  and  not  uninteresting  sermon  with 
a  description  of  Heaven,  its  joys,  ambrosial  fruits,  gulden  streets,  and  crystsl  streams ; 
its  freedom  Ihmi  man's  constant  earthly  attendants,  pun,  sorrow,  and  care ;«  and  when 
he  seemed  to}  have  exhausted  his  imagination  and  his  vocabulary,  he  added,  as  thoogh 
a  fiir  more  perfect  idea  might  have  been  comprised  in  few  words,  *In  ikorty  wty  dear 
brethren,  Heaven  is  a  real  Kentuek  sort  of  a  place  /'  I  need  not  add,  that  the  speaker 
was  a  Kentuckian.  The  same  preacher  taking  for  the  theme  of  his  sermon  *  Woman,^ 
thus  equivocally  oompUmented  the  sex :  'I  should  nt  think  it  jist  right,  or  aooordia' 


372 


Editor^  Tahle. 


[April 


Cooks,  of  Virginis.  He  was  an  early  contributor  to  the  Knicxsrbocssr,  and  was  a 
poet  oC  deservedly  good  repute.  He  leaves  behind  him  a  large  oirole  of  fnends, 
who  deeply  lament  his  untimely  departure  from  among  them.  A  few  months  before 
his  decease,  he  oommunicated  the  following  beautiful  '•Lines  to  my  Daughter  Lihf^  to 
the  pages  of  the  ^  Southern  Literary  Meeeenger^  Magazine : 


« Bix  chaogeftil  yean  are  gone,  Lilt, 

Sbioe  you  were  bom  to  be 
A  darling  to  your  mother  good, 

A  happiness  to  me : 
A  little  BUverlng,  fteble  thing, 

You  were  to  touch  and  view, 
But  we  could  Bee  a  promise  in 

Your  baby  eyes  of  blue. 

<  You  flutened  on  our  hearts,  Ult, 

As  day  by  day  wore  by, 
And  beauty  grew  upon  your  cheeks, 

And  deepened  in  your  eye ; 
A  year  made  dimples  in  your  hands, 

And  plumped  your  little  feet ; 
Andyou  had  learned  some  meny  ways. 

Which  we  thought  very  sweet. 

*  And  when  the  first  sweet  word,  Lilt, 

Your  wee  mouth  learned  to  asy) 
Your  mother  kissed  it  fifty  times. 

And  marked  the  fiunous  day : 
I  know  not  even  now,  my  dear, 

If  it  was  quite  a  word, 
But  your  proud  mother  surely  knew, 

For  she  the  sound  had  heard. 

'  When  you  were  Ibur  years  old,  Lilt, 

You  were  my  Uttle  Mend, 
And  we  had  walks  and  nightly  plays. 

And  talks  without  an  end : 
Yon  little  ones  are  sometimes  wise, 

For  you  are  undeflled ; 
A  grave  grown  man  will  start  to  bear 

The  strange  words  of  a  child. 


*  When  care  preeaed  on  our  house,  Lilt« 

Pressed  with  an  iron  hand, 
I  hated  mankind  for  the  wrong 

Which  festered  in  the  land: 
But  when  I  read  your  young  finsnk  feoa, 

Its  meanings,  sweet  and  good, . 
My  charities  grew  clear  again ; 

I  felt  my  broUieriiood. 

( And  sometimes  it  would  be,  Lilt, 

My  faith  in  God  grew  coUl, 
For  I  saw  virtue  go  in  rags. 

And  vice  in  cloth  of  gwl; 
But  in  your  innocence,  my  diild, 

And  in  your  mother^B  love, 
I  learned  those  lessons  of  the  heart 

Which  fasten  it  above. 

<  At  last  our  cafes  are  gooe*  Lilt, 

And  peace  is  back  again, 
As  you  have  seen  the  sun  shine  out 

After  the  eloomy  rain: 
In  the  good  land  where  we  were  bom 

We  may  be  happy  still ; 
A  life  of  love  win  Dleas  our  home— 

The  house  upon  the  hilL 

*•  Thanks  to  your  gentle  (hoe.  Lilt, 

Its  Innooenoe  wss  strong 
To  keep  me  constant  to  the  right, 

When  tempted  by  the  wrong: 
The  little  ones  were  dear  to  Hue 

Who  died  upon  the  Wood— 
1  ask  His  gentle  care  for  you, 

And  for  your  mother^s  good.* 


These  lines  are  very  touching :  and  the  reader  will  lament,  in  oonunon  ^nth  the 
writer's  bereaved  friends,  that  a  heart  so  warm  should  now  be  odd  and  silent  in  the 
grave.  ...  A  kksn  appreciator  of  the  humoroiu  and  the^burlesqne,  who  vnites 
a  story  dhnoet  as  well  as  he  narrates  one,  sends  us  the  foUowing.  It  would  try  the 
sides  of  a  dyspeptic  Quaker  on  *  First-Day :'  ^  'And  the  wilderness  shaD  Bloaaom  as 
the  rose.'  We  were  always  '  forcibly  reminded,'  as  our  friend  Dr.  Van  Vklzor  osed 
to  say,  of  this  passage  whenever  we  met  ihe  good-natured,  rosy  £Aoe  of  BxjobsoiI— 
Colonel  Blossom,  of  the  Canandaigua  Hotel,  in  days  of  yore,  when  coaohing  was  all 
the  go,  and  the  fiistest  kind  of  going  was  by  the  ^  Telegraph' — not  over  the  wires,  two 
hundred  thousand  miles  a  minute,  but  by  the  good  old-fashioned  fiist-ooaoh  *  Tele- 
graph,' six  miles  an  hour,  and  no  tnietake;  through  to  Bnffiilo  in  sixty  hours,  with 
good  luok,  and  did  n't  get  ^stuok'  in  the  neighborhood  of  Oneida  Creek.  But  we 
made  it  a  p^int  to  stop  with  Blossom  one  night,  any  how.  Blossom  1  ohiefest  of 
Bonifaces!  thy  fooe  radiant  with  good  humor  and  comfortable  dinners;  thy  eye 
sparkling  with  wit  and  mirth ;  and  thy  whole  outward  man  suggestive  at  onoe  of  good 
things  past,  present  and  to  oome!  Ahis!  where  be  thy  jests  and  dmners  now! 
Blossom  is  not !  We  have  stood  witlun  the  haUs  made  pleasant  by  thy  anpermtend- 
ing  presence,  before  the  horrid  shriek  of  the  steam-whistle  profimed  the  solitude  of 
the  forests,  and  as  the  refluent  wave  of  time  rolled  back  upon  us  the  reodleotion  of 
former  years  ^  how  when  at  night  we  gathered  around  the  social  fire-i^aoe,  and  Us- 


1850.]  Editm'i  Table.  373 

tened  to  the  wonderful  adventures  of  the  traveOen  who  had  been  all  the  way  to 
Niagara  and  Genenee  FilUs ;  Blomom  was  there,  ready  for  his  quiet  joke ;  and  he 
was  the  meekest  of  men  when  seekmg  for  it,  and  offended  nobody.  I  used  to  think 
he  went  into  the  baggage-room  to  lan^  alone,  so  unoffending  was  he.  But  we  are 
getting  off  the  track.  How  he  loved  a  joke  for  the  joke's  sake !  We  must  mention 
one.  Lobsters  were  formerly  quite  scarce  at  Canandaigua,  on  account  of  their  not 
being  found  in  the  waters  of  Caoandaigua  Lake,  nor  in  the  streams  oiroumjaoent !  Blos- 
som had  been  to  the  city,  procured  a  fine  one,  packed  it  carefiiUy ,  and  took  it  home  with 
him.  The  &ct  was  duly  proclaimed;  the  lobster  boiled,  his  friends  invited — and  the  sup- 
per came  off.  There  was  a  quaint,  dogmatical  old  fellow,  a  shoe-maker  named  Johnson, 
an  authority  in  the  village,  who  had  lost  all  his  teeth  but  two,  and  those  were  in  opposite 
sections  of  his  mouth.  He  had  never  seen  a  lobster,  nor  had  the  slightest  idea  of  what 
kind  of  an  animal  it  was.  Blossom,  tipping  the  wink  to  his  confreres,  helped  him  to  one 
of  the  claws,  as  large  as  a  stone,  and  about  as  hard.  *  How  do  you  eat  the  'tamal  thing, 
any  how  7'  said  Johnson.  <  O  go  right  ahead  with  it,'  replied  Blossom,  '  just  as  it  is ; 
need  nH  be  afraid  of  it  *,  do  n't  want  any  seasoning.'  After  diligent  but  somewhat 
protracted  efforts,  the  old  man  succeeded  in  drilling  a  hole,  and  establishing  a  suck, 
got  a  taste  of  the  interior.  Seeing  this  position  of  affiurs.  Blossom,  with  the 
most  imperturbable  gravity,  inquired  :  ^  Well,  how  do  you  get  along  ?  —  how  do  you 
like  it  7'  <  Wa&l,'  said  the  old  man,  *  I  kind  o'  like  the  peth  on  't !'  The  company 
only  muled ;  they  did  n't  laugh^  until  the  old  gentleman  left  •,  and  he  do  n't  know  any 
thing  about  it  to  this  day — they  were  so  polite  and  well  bred !  Blossom's  spirit  must 
linger  about  there  yet  A  friend  of  tmn^topped  at  the  hotel  a  short  time  since,  and 
took  his  seat  near  the  blazing  fire,  and  formed  one  of  quite  a  large  circle  of  smokers. 
Presently  a  fancifully-dressed  young  gentlemen  entered,  and  stepping  within  the  circle, 
planted  himself  directly  in  front  of  one  of  the  gentlemen  enjoying  his  Havana,  who 
was  expectorating  in  sundry  directions,  between  his  legs,  on  either  side,  hi  curves, 
and,  as  it  were,  in  a  fit  of  desperation,  after  accumulatmg  a  full  supply,  in  a  direct 
straight  line.  The  young  dandy,  apprehending  the  discharge,  moved  one  side. 
*  Do  n't  stir,  Sir ;  do  n't  disturb  yourself,'  said  the  smoker ;  '  I  think  I  can  spit  through 
you !''...  There  are  few  of  our  readers  who  do  not  well  remember  the  ^Phila- 
delphia Museumj''  puUished  by  E.  Lfttell,  Esq.,  wiih  a  single  exception,  the  best 
publication  of  its  kind  ever  issued  in  this  country.  That  exception  is  *  The  Lhring 
Age  J  a  weekly  publication,  in  the  book  form,  now  issued  in  Boston,  under  the  super- 
vision of  the  same  competent  editor.  We  -content  ourselves,  on  this  occasion,  by 
calling  especial  attention  to  the  Adverti9ement  of  *  The  Living  Age^  on  the  third  and 
fourth  pages  of  the  cover  of  the  present  number  of  the  Knickirbockbr  ;  simply 
adding,  that  we  fully  indorse  the  encomiums  which  are  there  passed  upon  the  work 
by  some  of  the  first  minds  in  the  country,  and  that  we  shall  take  frequent  occasion 
hereafter  to  show  *  the  reason  of  the  faith  that  is  in  us.'  ...  A  missionaet  in 
China  writes  :  *  The  sky  is  m  a  universal  flutter  of  kites.  I  counted  this  afternoon, 
from  my  window,  ninety-three,  which  were  flown  at  various  heights  with  great  skill. 
Some  represented  hawks,  and  admirably  imitated  their  man<BUvres  in  the  air,  poising 
themselves,  and  sailing  and  darting ;  gaudy  butterflies  floated  around,  and  dragons, 
formed  of  a  long  succession  of  circular  kites,  vrith  a  fierce  head,  flew  about  the  sky. 
The  majority  were  of  merely  fanciful  shape.  Loud  noises,  like  a  wind  instrument, 
oonld  be  heard  from  them.  The  most  amusing  form  was  that  of  a  huge  fish,  as  it 
swam  throng  the  blue  above,  moving  its  tail  and  fins  with  a  ludicrously  natural  effect. 
Those  like  animals  are  also  flown  in  pairs,  and  made  to  fight.'    We  sent  up  a  Chinese 


374  Editor's  Table.  [April, 

kite  for  '  Young  Knick.'  once)  a  pre^nt  from  a  friend.  It  ww  made  of  the  Boftert 
duneae  paper,  gorgeously  painted  with  the  ohoioert  colora  of  the '  celestial  flowery 
land.'  It  was  in  the  shape  of  a  fiery  dragon,  and  when  it  glared  down  upon  us  with 
its  great  eyes  from  the  sky,  it  looked  like  Apollyon  in  our  first  copy  of '  The  Pilgrim's 
Progress,'  when  he  *  straddled  quite  over  the  whole  breadth  of  ihe  king's  highway,' 
squared  off,  and  told  Christian  to  '  come  on,'  for  he  was  ready  for  him !  The  ap- 
pearance of  that  awfol  dragon  in  the  air,  which  was  full  of  American  kites,  not  only 
made  a  terrible  fluttering  among  the  latter,  but  brought  a  streei-fiill  of  boys  to  look 
at '  Old  Kmcx.'  on  the  top  of  the  house,  who  was  *  at  the  wheel,'  as  it  were,  of  the 
odd  craft,  and  navigating  it  to  the  best  of  his  ability.  But  more  about  kites  anon. 
We  want  to  tell  our  metropolitan  boys  how  to  make  and  sail  'em.  There  'a  a  great 
deal  of  ignorance  afloat  '  in  community'  on  this  subject — a  great  deal.  .  .  .  Mb. 
WiBSTEK,  in  his  recent  speech,  speaking  of  political  becoming  sectional -^reSigiona' 
disputes,  observed  that  <  it  was  in  the  nature  of  man,  that  religious  disputes  are  ^it 
to  become  toorm.'  We  thought  of  this  while  reading  the  annexed  passage  in  the  last 
*  Methodist  Quarterly  Review,'  South : 

<Da.  DizoN  aiMi  I>r.  Lib  are  both  wrong,  If  fliev Intend  to  say  Dr. Pscs  has  bsen  engaged  inaqy 
cMitrvMTfy,  strictly  and  properly  speaking.  It  Is  bat  Just  to  hbn  to  add,  tbat  with  a  sUJl  in  prteai- 
craft,  and  without  a  talent  for  oontroversr,  he  descends  to  a  point  infinitdjf  lower,  Wltneai  hu  sidll 
iB  the  art  of  d^omatian  aa  exhibited  in  his  crltiqae  of  the  l8ih  October,  1848,  upon  the '  Appeal'  of 
the  Southern  Cknimissioners;  and  in  his  editorial  of  September  6lh,  1849;  prodQcttons  which,  in 
point  of  taste  and  temper,  wnUd  do  kmur  to  my  kmekstar  m  ths  lovoot  markett  of  I^ando/mj  or  awfJiM^ 
flMSMn  that  cam  be  found  ekeH  of  the  Five  Potmto,  tm  an^part  of  the  Gtty  «/  AVv-  York,* 

It  Strikes  ns,  on  a  hasty  perusal,  that  this  language  would  be  considered  rather 
'  strong,'  even  in  a  *  secular'  journal   .   .    .   Lauohbd  to-night  at  a  Panama  joke  a 

good  deal.    Ton  see,  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  F left  San  Francisco,  among  other 

peti,  they  had  a  handsome  little  native-bom  spaniel,  not  a '  woolly'  spaniel  *  exactly,' 
but  like  unto  it,  which  was  a  great  &vorite.  Its  personal  habits,  however,  were  not 
of  the  cleanliest,  and  the  sailors,  who  had  the  ^  corrective'  of  them  on  deck,  did  not 
greatly  affect  that  duty  *,  and  so  it  chanced  that  one  dark  night  that  four-legged  pet 

disappeared.    Great  was  the  lamentation  of  Mrs.  F-^ thereat    *■  Hope  darkened 

into  doubt,  doubt  into  fear,  fear  into  despair.'  '  Where  can  the  poor  little  fellow  be  V 
said  she,  for  the  twentieth  time,  to  the  captain,  at  breek&st,  on  the  morning  of  the 
third  day  after  the  loss  of  her  fovorite.  '  I '  ve  sat  up,'  said  the  captam,  mnang, '  some- 
times till  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  to  see  if  I  could  catch  'em  at  it.  I  never  ooold 
do  it  I  I  do  n't  know  how  it  is,'  he  added,  consolingly,  after  a  long  pause,  <  but  we  '«e 
lo9t  fewer  doge  oterboard  thie  trip  than  on  any  previoue  paeeage  /'  The  passengers 
who  heard  '  what  the  cap'n  said,'  inferred  that  all  forther  inquiry  for  the  misong 
spaniel  would  prove '  adscititbus  and  supererogatory.'  ...  It  was  a  '  pleasant 
sight  to  see' '  Young  Ollapod'  and  '  Toung  Kmick.'  the  other  evening,  at  a  circus  in 
•the  '  City  of  Brotherly  Love,'  their  hands  over  each  other's  shoulders,  enjoying  the 
wonderful  ^  sports  of  the  ring'  and  the  ancient  jokes  and  tricks  of  the  down.  Thought 
was  busy,  as  we  regarded  these  young  spirits ;  '  and  therewithal  the  water  stood  in 
oar  eyes,'  while  their's  were  swimming  in  laughter.  But  it  was  only  an  q>iiame  of 
lifo,  in  its  best  estate — smiles  and  tears.  .  .  .  Ws  commend  attention  to  *  The 
Myeterume  Pyramid*  in  preceding  pages.  The  style  is  a  mingling  of  Ghampoixiom 
and  Saji.  Suck,  Latajld  and  Jack  DowNma ;  while  the  dramatic  portion  is  a  croas 
between  Vicroa  Hugo  and  Mrs.  Raocuffi.  .  .  .  Mr.  Bass,  a  worthy  man  and  an 
excellent  actor,  has  taken  the  Aetor-Place  Theatre  for  the  spring  and  sunmier  season, 
with  a  veryjtalented  company.  We  shall  advert  more  at  large  to  his  armngementa  in  - 
our  next  number.  •  .   .   ^Tbskb  is  much  knowle^  of  human  niitiffe,aa  well  aa  keen 


1850.J  EiUor's  Table.  375 

ntire,  in  the  tale  whioh  Adohon  telk  of  the  afhewt,  wbo,  bewafling  on  hia  death-bed  tihe 
haim  hia  worka  would  do  after  he  waa  gone,  qniokly  repented  of  hia  repentanoe  when  hia 
aptritoal  adriaer  nnhappfly  aonght  to  aOemte  hia  grief  by  aamiring  him  that  hia  argu- 
ments were  ao  weak,  and  hia  writinga  ao  little  known,  that  he  need  not  be  under  any 
apprehensiona.  The  dying  man  had  atiH  ao  nmoh  of  the  findtty  of  an  author  in  him 
aa  to  be  out  to  the  heart  with  theae  eonaolatioina ;  and,  without  answering  the  good 
man,  asked  hia  frienda  where  they  had  pieked  up  anch  a  blockhead,  and  whether 
they  thought  him  a  proper  person  to  attend  one  in  hia  condition.'  Thia  reminda  ua 
of  a  certain  puUiaher  of  a  Maga&ne,  who  dipped  off  the  end  of  an  article  by  the  late 
SAMUsii  L.  Kjiapp,  because  it  was  taking  up  too  much  room ;  and  who,  when  remon- 
Btrated  wiih  for  putting  a  ^  ftiU  stop'  to  his  piece,  where  there  should  only  have  been 
a  comma,  after  seyeral  abortiTe  attempts  at  pacifioation,*eaid,  <  Oh,  let  it  go  in,  Knatf, 
let  it  go  in !  It  'a  weQ  enough  aa  it  ia ;  juat  kwk  at  it ;  aee,  now ;  beside,  you  know, 
fiBbedymreadU!  So  what 'a  the  odds T— what's  the  oiii2«,  KiiArrl'  Thie  paper 
waa  withdrawn.  .  .  .  *Chaujb8  Dickens,  according  to  an  Eng^piqper,  is  reoeiTed 
in  the  best  En^Bah  sodety.  He  lately  dined  with  Loan  John  Russbll  and  a  party 
of  the  higheat  rank.'  So  aqra  a  metropolitan  daily  journal.  '  Well,  what  of  it  T' 
Bistinctbn  in  Uteratnre  is  a  better  title  than  inherited  dulneas,  and^quite  as  honorable 
as  mere  political  distinction.  But  Mr.  Dickkrs  is  not  now  for  the  first  time  hdding 
a  prominent  place  in  the  higheat  intellectual  and  noUe  cirdes  of  the  metropolis.  He 
hie  heretofore  frequently  entertained,  and  been  entertained  by,  the  nobility  of  Eng- 
land. .  .  .  The  twentieth  Yolume  of  our  old  and  esteemed  contemporary,  the 
^New-York  Spirit  of  the  7VfiM«,'  makes  its  appearance  in  a  new  and  tasteful  typo- 
graphical garb,  and  now  presents  an  added  attraction  to  its  thousands  of  readers.  In 
the  character  and  variety  of  the  earUentt  of  ^Tke  Spiritj^  as  with  appropriate  s^- 
tentiousneBS  it  is  iqptly  termed, '  for  short,'  no  change  was  needed,  or  desbrable.  Under 
the  able  editorial  management  of  W114JAM  T.  Poatba,  Esq.,  who  has  stood  at  the 
helm  of  the  popular  craft  from  iti  commencement,  it  has  obtained  a  cdebrity  which 
flew  similar  journals  enjoy,  and  which  it  has  fairly  and  honestly  earned.  Of  all  our 
sports  of  'forest,  fidd  and  brook,'  it  has  been  the  steady  supporter  and  conservator, 
imd  it  has  embodied  hi  its  oapadoos  columns  varioua  avtides,  in  prose  and  verse,  of 
rare  merit  It  has,  as  it  always  hM  had,  our  best  wishes  for  iti  triumphant  snc- 
oeflB.  .  .  .  '  Punch'  has  established  a  ^New  French  Foeuftulary,'  after  the  popular 
method  of  ^fVencAnuufefasy.'    Hia  first  leason  is  limited  to  the 'calls' commcm  at 

a  London  inn : 

Ik  a  Tavsrii.  Daih  uk  Cabaebt. 

drMitar,  OcifM. 

What  bare  TOO  got  to  peck?  QoolsveiTOiisgagDfidebeoqiieterT     riUtos. 

Brtaur  me  two  matfton  aioM — mder  doBB.  Apportez  moi  denz  mootoDS  tranches— aa—ewM 

Where  "ii  the  estoupr  Od  est  le  chat  loiipert 

Another  breed.  Vn  aotra  pain. 

A  nip  of  mild  beer.  Un  ptnofte  de  bi*e  anisble. 

A  Weleh  rabbit  Un  hpto  dee  Oaliee. 

A  pot  of  itoiit.  Ua  pM  de  robuete. 

A  Sot  of  halfewMialt  Une  litre  de  demie  et  demle. 

A  go  of  brandy-ponch.  Un  alter  de  o-i^v  pooche. 

A  aerew  of  tobeooo.  Um  via  de  tahse. 

Blnl1iefeaikdratiinia,lf  joupleaae.  Oiaeaa  obU  et  rttours,  a'tt  voos  platt 

BrtQg  the  MIL  Apportes  le  bee 

Howmnehhaveltolbfkoat?  >   ODmbleiiaijedetowdiettedehoiiT 

AUrigfatl   There'etheUn.  Tootdroltl    Ld est I'Maln. 

HattTme  my  fom^eiMlhiine.  MeneK  par  Is  main  mon  qnstre  st  nenf. 

Ttaat'athetioketl  OaUeettebUleil 

Good  bye,  oUeodcI  Adieu!  mon  vleiixeoq. 

U  a  recent  trip  to  FUhdelpUit— wyeh^  dace  the  daadi  of  one  uiio  made  it  a 


376  :EdiUn'8  TaUe. 


pleasure  always  to  Tisit  it,  we  had  not  seen — we  were  struck  with  nlany  changes,  that 
have  greatly  improved  and  beautified  the  village — for  Philadelphia,  tboogh  an  im- 
mense place,  is  still  only  a  very  large  village.  The  absence  of  shipping  is  the  first 
thing  which  will  strike  a  New-Yorker,  and  the  next,  the  narrowness  of  the  streets, 
in  comparison  with  the  principal  streets  and  avennes  of  the  '  Commerdal  Emporinm.' 
The  small  number  of  steeples,  also,  is  anotihfr  defect  in  the  appearance  of  Philadel- 
phia, although  we  remarked  several  new  and  tasteftil  ones,  which  have  done  much,  to 
improve  the  general  aspect  of  the  place.  We  were  taken  by  a  congenial  and  obliging 
friend  to  see  many  of  the  prominent  objects  of  attraction,  some  of  which  we  had 
hoped  to  be  able  to  advert  to.  We  must  say  that  Fairmount  retains  all  its  original 
and  even  much  added  loveliness.  It  is  indeed  a  most  charming  spot ;  marked  every 
where  by  the  exercise  of  good  taste  in  its  embellishments,  and  a  beauty  of  position 
which  nothing  could  enhance.  Oirard  College,  looming  in  the  distance  above  Uie 
city,  like  the  Parthenon  at  Athens,  as  you  approach  or  depart  from  town,  is  a  mag- 
nificent structure,  replete  with  beauty,  sublime  in  its  vastness,  and  only  little  in  the 
little  use  to  which  it  is  now  applied ;  the  only  purpose  to  which  any  of  its  halls  and 
apartments  are  now  devoted  being  to  ^  startle  the  marble  echoes,'  and  afford  a  store- 
room for  the  miserable  household  furniture  of  the  *  old  miser,  who  gave  the  money 
to  build  the  edifice,  when  he  could  keep  it  no  longer,  and  miut  give  it  to  somebody.* 
This,  reader,  is  Philadelphia  criticism,  not  ours ;  for  verily,  it  was  a  pleasant  thing  to 
look  down  firom  the  marble  roof — a  matchless  prospect  does  that  roof  affiird  1 — upon 
the  blue  uniformed  orphans  disportang  in  the  spacious  grounds, '  turning  to  mirth  all 
things  of  earth,'  and  secure  against  want  and  aO  vicious  influences.  .  .  .  The  fol- 
lowing lines  were  penned  by  Lord  Nozoo,  in  1 67-.  They  first  appeared  in  the , 

about  the  time  of  the  reign  of  the  first ,  in  England : 

^Foayearsjupoas  mountain's  brow,  *  No  care  nor  trouble  voxed  his  lot ; 

A  hermit  lived— the  Loan  knows  how.  He  had  a  wish— the  Loan  knows  what. 

^  Plain  was  his  dressi  and  ooarae  his  fare;  '  At  length  this  holy  man  did  die ; 

He  got  Ills  food — the  iKian  knows  where.  He  left  the  world — the  Loan  knows  why. 

<  His  prayers  were  sdort,  his  wants  were  few ;    '      ^He'Sbariedinagkxmiyden, 
He  had  a  Mend— the  Loan  knows  who.  And  he  shall  rise— the  Loan  knows  wfaenf 

We  beg  to  say  to  *  Father  Aaron'  that  we  consider  '  Slavery  in  the  District  of 
Columbia'  a  theme  better  be^tting  partisan  or  sectional  journals  than  the  pages  of 
a  literary  Magazine  like  the  Knickerbocker.  At  all  events,  the  paper  is  not  to  our 
taste :  it  therefore  awaits  the  order  of  the  writer  at  the  publication-office.  .  .  .  We 
suppose  every  body  has  long  before  this  seen  Burton  in  '  The  Seriotu  Family.^  His 
imiiersonation  of  the  '  big-gun'  of  moral  reform,  Axinidab  Sleek,  is  one  of  his  hap- 
piest efibrts.  It  is  oily  and  unctuous,  side-splitting,  a  great  promoter  of  jollity,  and 
a  smoother-down  of  incipient  wrinkles  and  the  ugly  crow's-feet  of  care.  The  cha- 
racteir  is  by  no  means  original,  however ;  it  is  a  decoction  of  '  Mawworm '  and '  Cant- 
well,'  with  a  due  infusion  of  the  old  stock  hypocrite,  the  middle-aged,  white-cravatted, 
Methodistical  sneak  of  the  stage.  The  moral  of  the  play  is  also  old.  Many  of  the 
sentiments,  and  the  wholesome  truth  that  Captain  Maouire  teaches  Mrs.  Charles 
ToRRENs,  namely,  that  men  will  seek  abroad  for  the  pleasures  which  are  denied  them 
at  home,  are  to  be  found  in  the  old  comedy  of 'The  Way  to  Keep  Him.'  .  .  .  NoncEs 
of  Goupil  AND  ViBERT^s  Bugravings,  '  Pendennis,'  Philips  and  Samson's  <  Shak- 
speare,'  <  King  of  the  Hurons,' '  The  Two  Worlds,' '  Aoassb's  <  Lake  Superior,'  etc., 
are  not  orerkKiked,  but  only  of  neoeanty  delayed.    *  The  same'  of  oontribntMn. 


J 


^- 


LITTELL'S    LIVING    AGE. 


*  RSC0MMXNDATI0N8  FROM 

raDOB  STOBT-OBASfOBLLOR  I 


CAHBsriKii.  April  94,  1844. 
Dkab  Sib,  —  I  haye  read  the  proapectnf  of  jonr  propoMd  peiiodieal,  "  The  L1t]ii(  Age,"  wMi  gTveft 
pleMure ;  tad  entirelT  approve  the  plan.  If  it  can  only  obtain  the  public  ]wtronage  long  enough, 
and  l.«rge  enough,  ana  tecnrely  enongh  to  attain  ita  true  enda,  It  will  contribnte  in  an  eminent 
degree  to  giro  a  healthy  tone,  not  only  to  onr  literature,  but  to  public  opinion.  It  wUl  enable  ua 
to  posaesa,  in  a  moderate  eompaas,  a  aeloet  library  of  the  beat  prodnctiona  of  the  age.  It  will  do 
more;  it  will  redeem  our  periodical  literature  from  the  reproach  of  being  devotra  to  iighx  and 
anperfieial  reading,  to  tranaitorY  apecnlatfons,  to  sickly  and  ephameral  aentlmentalitiea,  and  falsa 
and  eztraragant  sketches  of  Hfe  and  charaeter. 

I  wiah  it  every  auecesa :  and  my  only  fear  is  that  it  may  not  meet  with  as  full  sueeesi  with  the 
public  aa  it  deserrea.    I  shall  be  glad  to  be  a  suacriber. 

I  am,  Tory  truly  and  respectfully,  Toun, 

JOSEPH  STORY. 

Niw-YOEK,  7th  May,  1844. 
Dbab  Sib,— I  approTe  Tery  much  of  the  plan  of  your  work,  to  be  published  weekly,  under  the 
title  of  the  "  Living  Ago ;"  and  if  it  be  conducted  with  the  intelliaence.  spirit  and  taate  that  the 
proapectus  indlcatea,/of  which  I  have  no  reason  to  douSI,)  it  will  be  one  of  the  moat  inatmotlTe 
and  popular  periodicals  of  the  day. 
I  wisa  it  abundant  auocesa,  and  that  my  name  be  added  to  the  list  of  subscribers. 

Yours,  very  reapectfUly, 

JAMES  KEirr. 

WiamNOTOTT,  97th  Dec.,  1843, 
Of  an  the  Periodical  Journals  deroted  to  literature  and  actenee  which  abound  in  Europe  and 
in  this  country,  this  has  appeared  to  me  to  be  the  most  usefuL    It  contains  ind«ed  the  exposition 
onlT  of  the  current  literature  of  tiie  English  language,  but  this,  by  ita  immense  extent  and  com- 
ehension,  includes  a  portraiture  of  the  human  mind  in  the  utmost  expaasion  of  the  present 

'       J.  a  ADAl 


pre! 


.ADAMS. 


OPINIONS    OF    THE    PRESS. 


Ifrw-YoBK  ETcnmo  Post.— Littell's  Living  Age  keeps  up  Its  charaeter.  llie  hack  numbers  con- 
tain a  prodigious  amount  and  variety  of  the  oest  perlodloal  literature  of  England. 

Nxw-YoBX  Exruas.— A  new  weeklv  magasine,  established  at  Boston,  by  Mr.  E.  Littell,  whose 
taate  and  talenta  are  too  well  known  throughout  the  country  to  require  particular  notice.  It  ia 
elegantly  executed  aa  it  rMfards  both  type  and  paper.  Ito  contents  are  selected  from  the  mof t  dis- 
tinguished periodicals  of  Europe. , 

LOT7I8VXZ.X.K  JavMMAL. — ^A  haodsome  weekly  magasine.  The  articles  are^the  choice  ones  that 
appear  in  the  best  periodicals  of  Great  Britain.    BIr.  L.  's  qualifications  are  universally  known. 

CwcnniAn  Daily  Tins. — The  selections  are  of  a  high  order  of  merit,  and  afford  an  agreeable 
variety,  being  confined  to  no  particular  department  of  literature.  There  is  the  grave  and  the  gay, 
both  of  prose  and  poetrv,  all  in  the  most  beautiful  and  finished  style-  Every  general  reader  should 
take  the Xiving  Age,  if  he  wishes  to  become  acquainted  with  the  world  around  him,  Kid  progress 
with  it 

CnfcnmATi  Oasxttb.— What  the  Muaeum  was  for  a  long  series  of  years  under  Mr.  LittelP^  man- 
agement, we  doubt  not  the  Age  will  be  for  many  years  to  eoma-~the  largest,  best  and  most  ptfeictual 
repablivation  of  the  eream  and  spirit  of  the  foreign  reviews,  magaxinea,  and  literary  joumala. 
Part  L  is  a  mammoth,  containing  no  less  thsn  two  hundred  and  fifty-six  of  the  largest  »ize  maga- 
xine  pages,  equal  to  about  seven  hundred  and  slxty^eight  ordinary  duodecimo  pages,  and  la  sold  at 
the  extremelv  low  price  of  fifty  cents  I  It  comprises  the  first,  second,  third  and  fourth  weekly 
numbers  of  the  "  Living  Age,"  and  contains  no  less  than  fifty-nine  articles,  interspersed  with  a 
judicious  selection  of  poetrv,  and  diversfiied  by  an  almost  infinite  variety  of  pithy  scraps.  A  siml- 
l«r  issue  will  be  sent  forth  the  last  day  of  every  month. 

Yakxkx  Bladx.  BosTON.^This  excellent  work  continues  to  pursue  the  "nolceless  tenor  of 
Its  way,'*  steadily  increasing  In  attractiveness  and  value.    No  other  periodical  firom  the  American. 

1»ress  has  ever  received  so  many  or  so  sincere  encomiums  from  all  quarters,  as  this  capital  reprint 
t  aims  at  nothing  original,  indeed— professing  only,  as  a  general  thing,  to  cull  the  choicest 
flowers  in  the  field  of  English  and  American  literature— yet  so  admirably  is  this  done,  that  all  who 
wish  to  know  anything  of  the  various  phaaes  of  human  thought  In  this  age  of  progress,  take  care 
to  possess  themseves  of  this  daguerreotype,  as  regularly  as  it  appears.  The  success  of  the  work 
auffurs  an  improved  taste  in  the  communltv,  and  we  hope  it  may  oe  the  means  of  killinx  off  some 
half-dozen  of  the  "milliner  magazines"  of  the  day,  which  have  nothing  to  recommena  them  hut 
''pretty  pictures"  and  lackadaisical  love-talea. 

P19ATUNK.— One  of  the  best  things  of  the  kind  which  has  vet  appeared  in  this  country.  It  eon- 
tains  the  verr  cream  of  the  foreign  quarterliea  and  ntagasinea,  printed  in  remarkably  neat  and 
readable  style. 

SoirraxBif  Chubchxan,  Alxzandbu,  Va.— For  variety  and  excellence  of  contents, 
think,  no  rival  in  the  country.    The  frequency  of  publication  enables  its  editor  to  preeent  a  c 
nnous  chain  of  the  best  reading  contained  in  the  foreign  quarterliea,  magazines  ana  jounala. 


'ithaa.we 
mt  a  eonti- 

mala.  I 

Of 


LITTELL^S    1IFIN6    AGE 


«. 


pRospficm. 

This  work  is  conducted  In  the  spirit  of  LitteU's  Mnsenm  of  Foreign  Litsmtare.  (which  wm  Ikro- 
^mhlj  receiTed  by  the  public  for  twenty  yearr,)  bnt  ■•  it  is  twice  as  Urge,  and  appears  so  often, 
we  not  only  giro  spirit  and  freshness  to  it  by  many  things  which  were  ezcladed  by  a  month's  &m- 
lay,  but  while  thus  extending  oar  scope  and  gathering  a  greater  and  more  attracttTe  rariety,  ere 
able  so  to  increase  the  solid  and  sabstantisi  part  of  our  literary,  historical,  and  political  harreet, 
as  fully  to  satisfy  the  wants  of  the  American  reeder. 

The  elaborate  and  stately  Essays  of  the  Edinburgh,  Qverccnly.  and  other  Sariews  ;  and  Kmdk- 
woofi  noble  criticisms  on  Poetry,  his  keen  political  Commentaries,  highly  wrought  Tales,  and 
Tirid  descriptions  of  rural  and  mountain  Scenery ;  and  the  eontrlbutions  to  Literature.  History, 
and  Common  Life,  by  the  saf  acious  Spaetaior,  the  sparkling  Ermmimtr^  the  Judicious  Athtmammk,  the 
buiy  and  industrious  Literary  QmHU,  the  sensible  and  oompreheasiTe  RrilaMMia,  the  sober  and  rs- 
spectable  Ckrutimn  Ob$erver ;  these  are  intermixed  with  the  Military  and  Naval  reminiscenes  ofthm 
United  Service,  and  with  the  best  articles  of  the  Dubtin  Uninerwitjfi  New  MontUy,  Frwm*9,  Taite,  Aim*- 
wortk'e,  Heod'e  and  Sporting  Masatinee,  and  of  Ofcawiurf*  admirable  JcmmmL  We  do  not  consider  it 
beneath  our  diffulty  to  borrow  wit  and  wisdom  from  Pwuk ;  and,  when  we  think  it  good  enow^ 
make  use  of  the  thunder  of  The  TVmss.  We  Shall  increase  our  rariety  by  importations  firom  me 
continmit  of  Europe,  and  from  the  new  growth  of  the  British  colonies. 

The  steamship  has  brought  Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa,  into  our  nei^borhood ;  and  wi  n  greatfy 
nraltiply  our  connections,  as  Merchants,  TraveHers,  and  Politicians,  with  all  parts  of  the  world ;  eo 
that  much  more  than  erer  it  now  becomes  erory  intelUcent  American  to  be  informed  of  the  condi- 
tion' and  changes  of  foreign  countries.  And  this  not  only  because  of  their  nearer  connection  with 
ourielres,  but  because  the  nations  seem  to  be  hastening,  through  a  rapid  process  of  change,  to 
aome  new  state  of  things,  which  the  merely  politieal  prophet  cannot  oomptnte  or  foresee. 

Geographical  Discoreries.  the  progress  of  Colonisatwn,  (which  is  extending  over  the  wbo1« 
world.)  and  Voyages  and  Trarels,  will  be  favorite  matter  for  our  selections ;  ard,  in  general,  wa 
shall  systematically  and  very  fully  acquaint  our  readers  with  the  great  department  of  Fore  iga  af- 
fairs,  without  entirely  neglecting  our  own. 

While  we  aspire  to  make  the  Lirnm^  Age  desirable  to  all  who  wish  to  keep  themselves  informed 
of  the  rapid  progres*  of  ike  mowamenXr—Ui  Statesmen.  Divines,  Lawyers,  and  Phy»iciaas— to  men  of 
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Wives  and  Children.  We  believe  that  we  can  thus  do  some  good  in  our  day  and  gereration  ;  and 
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We  hope  that,  by  '^•mnnmoing  the  wheat  from  the  c£|f,"  br  providing  abundantly  for  the  imaginn- 
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we  may  produce  a  work  which  ^sll  be  popular,  whUe  at  the  same  time  it  will  aspire  to  raise  tbm  ^ 
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PUBLISHED  BY  E.  LirUBLL  &  CO..  BOSTON. 


'  AsjiirsSdqf  Cbssr. 


c^ 


n. 


N!EW-YORK 


MONTHLY  MAGAZINE, 


MAY,    1850. 


WEW-YORKi 
FUBLII!FIEI>   BY   SASfUEL  HlTESTOIf,  139  It ABl AU^STREET. 


LONB  OK: 

(aANBUBT  AKD  COMTAHT,  AOaSITS,) 

BOSTON ; 

CROBBT  a  WTCEOT.B  i  yETRIDOE  Ji  CO.  s  KBDPHTO  1  00. 


e~ ® 


EDITED    BY    I.EWI8    OAYLOBD    OLASE. 


Tmis  is  proDonncedf  hj  the  presf  of  Americm  and  England,  *  the  beat  Mafaxlne  In  America.*  It 
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the  names  of  every  distinguished  writer,  male  and  female,  in  America,  with  several  equally  promt* 
nent  of  Great  Britan,  Turkey,  Sweden,  etc.  A  new  rolume  wiU  commence  with  the  first  day 
of  January,  1850.  The  following  notices  of  the  Kmickxmiocxik  are  from  the  American  and 
English  press,  to  which  might  be  added  hundreds  of  others. 

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palmiest  days.  The  Editor^i  TubU  is  in  Mr.  Clauc*8  happiest  rein ;  varied  and  racy  in  a  remarkable 
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-m 


ORIGINAL     PAPER 


Akt.  L    leaves  FSOM  an  AFKIGAN  journal.  Bt  Jomi  C^eboll  Bmsirr,     .    .   .  SH 

IL    HTMNTOBMAT.    Bt  Paex  BHJ▲]^1^  Esq^ 364 

m.    SOlfO:  A  SUBLDIB  LESSON, 385 

ir.   THE  PHILOSOPHICAL  EBIPEBOB.    Bt  A.  B.  JoHXtoii,  Esq., 3B6 

V.   THE  POET  SADL    Bt  Db.  Dicuos, 3B6 

VL    PHILLIS  AND  FLORA.    Bt  Caxl  Btiifoii, aW 

VIL    SPARINGS  OP  A  GROUND-BIRD:  MAN^  DIVINnT, 406 

Vm.    LOVE  A  CHILD:  FROM  THE  GERMAN, 413 

IX   JOHN  IN  PATMOB.    Bt  Ckaklbs  SpRAauc  Smitii, 414 

X.    THE  SAINT  LE6ER  PAPERa    Comcldbis, 41S 

XL    TRUE  CONSERVATISM:  A  THOUGHT, 419 

Xn.   LAND-BREEZES.    Bt  Willuk  B.  Glaxibb,  Ebq^ 490 

XHL    FABLES  AND  FABUUSTB.    Bt  F.  W.  Woodwobtb, 4S1 

XIV.    THE  SONG-SPARROW.    Bt  W.  R  G.  Hobkbb,  Esq^ 430 

XV.    RENDERINGS  INTO  OUR  VERNACULAR:  THE  TWO  ARnSTS, 431 

XVI.    SPRINGES  FIRST  SMALL  FLOWERa    Bt  J.  H.  Bixbt, 489 

XVIL    THE  FIRESIDE, 436 

XVIIL    A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  CLOISTER.    Bt  Mbs.  H.  E.  Evbbbtt, 437 

XIX.    THE  SUNKEN  CITY:  FROM  THE  GERMAN, 443 

XX.    HYMNS  TO  THE  GODS.   Nukbbb  Txr.    Bt  Albbbt  Pibb,  Esq., 443 

XXL   ON  BEARDS:   NumBbb  Two.    Bt  John  Watbbi, 445 

xxil  the  mantle  of  buried  years, 447 

Literary  Notices: 

i.  white4acket:  or  the  world  in  a  masof-war, 448 

s.  poems  by  h.  w.  parker, 4«» 

3.  woman  in  america:  her  works  and  her  reward, 450 

4.  agasbiz's  excursion  around  lake  superior, 450 

5.  THE  SCARLET-LETTER.    Bt  Nathaxibi.  Hawthobnb, 451 

6w  household  words:  dickens'  weekly  journal,  . 453 

Editor's  Table: 

l  mademoiselle  jenny  lind, 453 

%  st.  nicholas:  the  pa  as  feotival, 454 

3.    GOSSIP  WrrH  readers  and  correspondents, 455 

1.  GostiF  ABoirr  Childbbn,  im  ▲  Familiak  Ehstlb  to  tbb  Editob  or  thb  *  Last's 
Boob,'  Pbiladblphia:  Botiih  Rbmikiscbncks  or  Kztb-Flyino,  with  a  Dissbb- 

TATIOM  VTOn  TBB  UtBf   ABD  AbVIBS  OF  THAT  AbBIAL  MaCHIMB.     iL  GlLI»IH«  Rb- 

nxBD  Gold  :  Pabaphbabb  of  thb  Sbbvicb  or  tbb  Cbubch  or  Ekolabd.  3.  Hobm 

or  A  MlUTABT  XhlrBMMA.  4.  NbW  WoBK  BT  THB  AUTHOB  OF  PUFFBB  HOPBIBI : 
AjIDMOH  OB  KiNDBBD  *  HUXOBMTS.'      5.  A  WORV  TO   ^CORflBBTATOB.'      6.  ^TbB 

Old  Whttb  MbbtirckHoitsb  RBTisiTBDf'  RBiuiaiicBHCBa  or  Botbood.  7.  A 
*DAOaHTBB*B  Voicb:*  Thb  Laud  o'CdcHPBN.*  8.  *Boob  or  Bibdi:'  Tbb  Soho- 
Sfabbow.  0.  Tbb  Ambbxcab  Abt*Ukion  Bullbthi:  Pbobpbcts  or  thb  Umior. 
10.  Caupobria  Gold-Hurtbbb.  IL  *  Thb  Goasirt  or  Rivbbtowr.'  ISl  iRrARcr : 
AR  Ircidbrt  or  thb  Sarctvm.  13.  Lbttbb  raoM  tub  cilbbbatbd  Pbtbb  Cbam, 
or  Tirrbcum  :  DisoBACBruL  Pbocbbdiros  at  Hbtchaborrtcb.  14.  *  Thb  Tbip- 
piROf  or  Ton  Pbppbb.'  15^  Thb  Pbircbtor  Maoaxirb  :  thb  ^Rbcorbtbdctxor  or 
Socibtt.'  16.  ^Lbssors  tbom  Rbcbrt  Occubbbrcbs.'  17.  A  cool  Lbttbb  rBox 
A  COOL  Dbbtob.  18.  Arothbb  Arbcdotb  or  A  Bio  Foot.  10.  *  Yovro  Krick.'  ir 
Tbobblb:  Thb  SurrBUROR  or  Childhood.  90.  *  Thb  Old  Mill.'  21.  Accidbrt 
TO  *Cabl  Bbrsor:'  ar  *  III  Wird' blowiro  Sombbodt  *Good.'  SSl  Somb  Rb> 
rLBcmoBt  vpoR  THB  Wbathbb.    33.  M.  Vattkmabb  AT  THB  Bab  or  thb  Pbbrs. 

91  LiRBS  OR  TBB  PBBRBRT  ARD   FotTUBB   LirB,  BT  *NbLL.'     25.  SlTTIRO    roB   A 

Daoubbbbottpb  :  a  Rbbpbctpul  Dbcuratior.  96.  A  *  Tbbrchart  Thbvst'  rBOK 
*Thb  Hoxb  Jodbhau'  97.  A  Child'i  Irqbruousrbm.  28.  A  Cbubl  Sbxtor. 
90.  A  Word  with  *Thb  Pbbsbttbbiar'  bbuoious  joubral  :  Svrdat  Nbwrpapbbb. 
30.  A  ^Lapsus  Pbrr«.'    31.  Thb 'Tbiburb' dailt  joubral:  Lirbr  to  Hobacb 

GBBBLBT.     SB.  ^MoURTJOT,  OB  I  'VB  BBBR  TbIRKIRO.'     33.  DlCBBR*  OR  THB  MbLO- 

Dbamatic  Dbam a  :  *  Miohabl  thb  Mbrdicart.'  34.  Ezhibitior  or  thb  Natioral 
AcADBMT  OP  Dbsior.  35.  A  Dtihq  Cobmtian  to  hm  Wirs.  36.  A  Sirodlab  Epi- 
taph. 37.  *  OuB  Latbit  Bobh  :'  Irp arct.  38.  Dbdicatiro  a  *  Dowr-East'  Chubch. 
38l  Thoxab  Cabltlb,  ir  thbib  *Lattbb  Dats.'  40l  Gounu  Vibbbt  ard  Cox- 
part's  Nbw  Ertbbpbmb.  41.  A  Mbbtiko-Uousb  ir  two  Towrs.  42.  Sbctabiab 
Urcbabitablbrbss  :  a  Scbrb  ir  thb  Mortbbal  Cathouc  Cathbdbal.  43.  Dbath 
op  Datid  C  Coldbr,  EtQ,  44.  A  Wobd  to  Publmbbbi  ard  Cortbibutobb. 
45w  NoTBiRO  Elsb. 


^0  our  0ub0criber0. 


The  Publisher  of  the  EInickerbocker  j^ladly  avails  himself  of  this 
opportunity  to  return  his  thanks  to  the  numerous  patrons  and  fiiends 
of  the  work,  for  the  generous  interest  many  of  them  have  taken  in  ex- 
tending the  circulation  during  the  past  year.  By  their  efforts  in  saying 
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we  would  respectfully  suggest  that  many  others,  who  have  often  taken 
occasion  to  express,  with  much  cordiality  and  warmth,  their  satisfaction 
with  our  Magazine,  could  easily  induce  some  of  their  friends  to  send  us 
their  names.    We  trust  they  will  bear  it  in  mind. 

We  would  beg  leave  again  to  say  to  those  in  arrears,  that  it  is  of  the 
utmost  importance  to  have  our  outstanding  claims  settled  as  early  as  pos- 
sible. Though  we  cannot,  like  the  facetious  editor  of  the  Bunkum  Flag- 
Staff,  take  hay,  oats,  or  grits,  in  exchange,  yet  we  shall  moat  gladly 
receive  the  notes  of  all  specie-paying  banks  in  the  United  States  at  par. 
Our  distant  subscribers  therefore  need  not  wait  to  be  called  on,  but  just 
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Please  address  S.  Hueston, 

139  Nassau-st,  New-York. 


THE    KNICKERB.OCKER. 


Vol.    XXXV.  MAY,    1850.  No.    5. 


LEAVES     FROM     AN     AFRICAN     JOURNAL. 


Friday,  Fxbbuart  11. — We  Have  been  so  fortunate  as  to  hit  the 
good  season  in  these  latitudes.  With  a  &Torable  breeze,  a  dear,  bright 
akj,  and  pleasant  temperature,  we  speed  along  to  our  destination,  and 
were  at  noon  to-day  about  two  hundred  and  ten  miles  distant  from 
Princes'  Island,  and  off  the  mouth  of  the  Quorra. 

Among  other  results  of  our  visit  to  Wydah,  not  the  least  agreeable 
is  the  abundance  of  fresh  fruit  and  provisions,  thanks  to  the  '  dashes'  of 
Senor  de  Lonza,  his  son  Antonio,  and  the  native  governor.  Our  table 
would  do  credit  even  to  one  of  our  best  city  hotels ;  and  so  ^  as  the 
mere  animal  comforts  are  concerned,  we  have  every  reason  to  be  thank- 
ful and  contented. 

To  give  some  idea  of  the  nature  and  value  of  our  '  dash,'  I  may  be 
allowed  to  state,  that  the  amount,  as  calculated,  aboard,  is  made  to  be 
about  two  hundred  and  sevenly-iive  dollars ;  a  very  pretty  and  accept- 
able compliment,  as  all  will  acknowledge.  Beside  bullocks,  cows  and 
ffoats,  a  couple  of  monkeys  were  added  to  our  collection  of  beasts  and 
birds,  and  variety  and  amusement  are  afforded  by  the  unusual  sounds 
which  pervade  the  ship,  and  vex  the  dull  ear  of  night,  and  dash  with 
sleep.  But  fortunately  for  peace  and  comfort,  every  day  diminishes  the 
evil,  and  we  shall  soon  be  reduced  to  the  antics  of  the  three  monkey 
who  begin  to  get  accustomed  to  their  new  quarters,  and  furnish  us  with 
quite  a  supply  of  interest  and  amusement 

I  omitted  to  state,  in  my  description  of  our  Wydah  visit,  that  among 
other  strange  things  told  of  our  old  host  De  Lonza,  it  is  said  that  he  has 
procured  and  keeps  for  family  use  three  silver  coffins,  one  valued  at 
two  thousand  dollars,  and  the  others  at  eighteen  hundred.  They  are 
reserved,  we  are  told,  for  himself,  his  favorite  wife,^  and  eldest  son. 
This  may  give  some  idea  of  the  luxurious  habits  and  singular  character 

TOL.  XXXV.  25 


378  Leaves  from  an  African  Journal.  [May, 

of  our  worthy  entertainei:.  But  it  is  quite  enough  to  sit  down  at  bis 
well-loaded  table,  to  see  the  abundance  of  precious  metals  in  bis  pos- 
session, and  to  experience  the  effect  of  his  liberality,  to  be  conyinced  of 
the  power,  wealth  and  influence  he  enjoys  among  the  people.  His 
bouse  is  quite  a  spacious  and  conspicuous  mansion,  constructed  like 
many  others  of  the  better  class  of  foreign  residents,  of  stone,  and  stuc- 
coed, with  very  thick  walls  and  lofty  ceilings.  Its  only  drawback  is  a 
straw-roo^  which,  while  it  adds  to  its  singularity,  detracts  very  much 
from  its  beauty  and  appearance.  His  son  Antomo  has  built  himself  a 
more  modem  and  comfortable  dwelline,  where  solidity  and  taste  baye 
been  somewhat  consulted.  It  is  near  his  fathers,  and  has  the  advantage 
of  being  well  tiled,  and  is  consequently  better  protected  against  fire, 
and  makes  a  better  external  appearance.  One  of  the  rooms  has  a  kind 
of  mosaic  floor  of  hard  cement  and  pieces  of  cQCoa-wood  interspersed. 
'  Satuboay,  February  12.  —  This  morning  we  had  one  of  those  sud- 
den but  brief  rain-squalls,  so  common  as  you  approach  the  line ;  but  it 
was  followed  by  a  bright  and  breezy  day,  and  we  are  enjoying  a  nayi- 
gadon  hard  to  be  excelled  &r  comfort  and  progress.  At  noon  we  were 
about  ninety  miles  from  Princes'  Island,  wnich  is  in  latitude  one  degree 
thirty-three  minutes  north,  and  longitude  seven  degrees  twenty-seven 
minutes  east ;  so  that  we  may  expect  to  make  it  to-night,  and  enjoy  a 
little  rest  and  refreshment  West  Bay,  whither  we  are  bound,  is  repre- 
sented to  be  very  quiet,  and  the  surrounding  scenery  of  the  most  de- 
lightfU  character.  Truly  will  it  be  dehghtfm  to  recreate  the  eye  wiA 
the  sight  of  fresh  verdure,  deliciously  cool  looking  streams  and  pictu- 
resque mountains  and  valleys,  after  so  long  a  banishment  from  the  as- 
pect of  Mother  Earth. 

Sunday,  February  13. — Behold  us  at  West  Bay.  We  came  to 
anchor  about  noon,  and  found  '  The  Boxer'  awaiting  us,  having  arrived 
on  the  ninth.  A  British  man-of-war  brig,  *  The  Dolphin,'  Hon.  Lieu«> 
tenant-coihmanding  Boyle,  was  also  anchored  in  the  harbor.  We  were 
fortunate  in  making  the  island  in  such  good  weather,  having  enjoyed  a 
fine  view,  even  far  out  at  sea,  although  the  peaks  and  flanks  of  the 
mountains  were  oflen  shrouded  in  vapor.  The  appearance  of  this  part 
of  the  island  is  picturesque  and  singular.^  The  land  rises  in  large  and 
fantastic  shapes,  the  hills  clothed  to  the  very  top  with  the  'dense  green- 
ery of  nature,  and  dipping  gracefully  and  verdant  into  the  sleepine 
ocean.  The  contrast  between  this  litde  ocean  gem  and  the  late  flat  and 
monotonous  land  we  have  been  coasting  adds  materially  to  the  pleasure 
of  tfae  view,  and  makes  this  beautiful  spot  even  more  beautiful  and 
charming  than  it  is  in  point  of  fact  The  ship  is  now  more  comfortable 
and  easy  than  we  have  experienced  for  a  long  time  past,  the  bay  being 
well  protected  and  sheltered,  I  believe,  from  swells  and  winds,  particu- 
larly at  this  season  of  the  year.  '  The  Needle,'  a  mountain  which 
shoots  up,  in  a  long  and  slender  shaft  of  a  conical  shape,  to  a  height,  I 
should  suppose,  of  about  four  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea, 
some  three  or  four  miles  inward,  and  visible,  I  am  told,  from  every  part 
of  the  island,  presents  a  most  extraordinary  spectacle.  It  is  nearly  in 
the  centre  of  the  semi-circle  which  embraces  the  harbor,  and  looks 
down  ivpon  liie  surrounding  lofty  hills,  with  its  heads  and  sides  every 


1850.]  Leaves  frem  on  African  JowmoX.  379 

DOW  and  then  clothed  in  the  cloudB  which  are  floating  aboat  in  every 
direction,  and  seem  to  take  pecnliar  pleasure  in  creeping  along  its  pre- 
cipitooB  flanks  and  reposing  on  its  spear-lihe  peak.  A  short  distance 
from  it,  and  nearer  the  water,  is  a  kind  of  huge  amphitheatre,  flanked 
with  two  large  suear-loa^looking  hills,  which  serve  as  a  vast  gateway  to 
ibe  predncts,  and  fit  theatre  for  the  combat  of  some  giant  gladiators 
and  the  conflict  of  some  mighty  beasts.  Around  in  every  direction, 
wherever  the  eye  alights,  fantastic  and  towering  peaks  and  cliffs  are 
multiplied  and  piled  together  in  glorious  variety  and  confusion.  Nature 
seems  to  have  been  truly  prodi^  to  this  sea-girt  isle,  and  in  mountain 
and  valley,  sky  and  water,  has  enriched  it  wiSi  gifts  that  must  stir  the 
dullest  spirit  and  attract  the  heaviest  fancy.  Magnificent  scenery,  luxu- 
riant forests,  pure  water,  varied  skies,  may  be  visited  and  enjoyed ;  and 
yet  though  the  face  of  Nature  be  so  exquisitely  beautiful,  here  we  are 
told  lurk  the  latent  principles  of  the  fever,  and  give  it  the  character  of 
being  sickly  in  the  extreme ;  so  deceptive  is  outward  show,  so  lurks  the 
aerpent  in  the  grass. 

The  island  is  thinly  inhabited,  and  belongs  to  the  Portuguese.  There 
16  another  harbor  on  the  north-east,  called  St.  Antonio,  but  it  is  repre- 
sented to  be  inforior  to  this  bay  in  anchorage  and  health.  In  face  tS 
OS,  as  we  swing,  is  a  small,  insignificant-looking  fort,  with  the  flag  of 
Portugal  above  it ;  and  a  sergeant  brought  a  paper  aboard  to-day  for 
the^  insertion  of  our  name,  nation,  voyc^e,  etc.  A  native  village  of 
slaves  is  situated  in  this  vicinity,  and  their  mistress,  a  lady  named  Madame 
Fareira,  has  property  here,  and  accommodation  at  her  house  for  offi- 
cers visiting  tne  shore.  Her  slaves  bring  off  vegetables,  fruit,  etc.,  and 
I  trust  we  may  find  somethinc^  acceptable  in  that  line.  I  intend  to  take 
an  early  opportunity  of  visiting  terra  firma,  and  hope  to  gratify  eye 
and  fancy  with  the  beauties  of  this  imposing  scenery. 

After  a  late  dinner  in  the  cabin,  I  joined  our  '  First,'  who  was  going 
ashore  to  see  about  watering  the  snip.  We  landed  just  abreast  the 
ship,  in  comparatively  quiet  wat^r,  and  found  some  of  Madame's  blacks 
knmging  about  the  pretty,  pure,  crystal-like  stream,  which  finds  its 
purling  way  to  the  ocean.  Passing  over  this  refreshing-looking  brook- 
let, which,  hot,  bath-forbidden  as  we  have  been  for  so  long  a  period, 
presented  almost  an  irresistible  invitation  to  us  to  plunge  gayly  in,  we 
climbed  up  the  steep  path  that  leads  through  flourishme  groves  and 
trees,  with  tropical  names  and  produce,  to  the  residence  of  the '  Grande 
Dame'  of  the  neighborhood.  Our  Rroomen,  who  rowed  us  to  the  beach, 
decked  off  in  their  Sunday  muster,  white,  clean-looking  rig,  with  their 
honest  fiices  and  manly  figures,  contrasted  finely  with  the  ragged,  half- 
dad,  ill-conditioned  island-escort  that  did  us  the  honor  to  receive  us 
upon  landing,  and  follow  us  up  the  mountain-path.  After  a  little  climb- 
ing and  scrambling  up  the  precipitous  and  shppery  path,  we  arrived  at 
a  collection  of  negro  nuts,  constructed  of  wood  and  thatched,  boastine 
of  but  one  small  door  or  opening  to  let  light  and  air  in,  and  dirty  and 
dark-looking  to  us,  but  palaces  no  doubt  to  people  whose  climate  frees 
them  firom  the  trouble  of  donning  much  clothing,  or  caring  for  houses 
when  diey  live  mostly  out  of  doors.  A  few  more  scramblings  up  the 
bin-aide  and  the  stone  stqps,  rudely  inserted  for  the  accommcraation  of 


380  Leaveifrcm  am  African  J<mmaL  [May, 

pedestriaiu,  brought  us  to  the  mansion  of  the  <  Madame/  to  which  we 
were  introduced  by  Lieut  D.  and  the  master  who  had  preceded  us, 
and  made  themselves  acquainted  with  the  inmates.  We  were  intro- 
duced to  the  '  Lady  of  the  Manor/  a  stout,  buxom,  and  rather  good- 
looldnff  woman,  a  mulattress  as  to  complexion,  and  to  her  small  hus- 
band, decidedly  her  lesser  half,  to  a  Portuguese  surgeon  and  lieutenant 
of  artillery,  just  recovering  from  the  fever.  The  latter  speaks  Englidi 
very  well,  having  been  educated  at  the  English  colleee  in  Lisbon,  and 
appears  to  be  a  modest,  intelligent  young  man.  Madame  Fareira 
is  surrounded  by  quite  a  colony  of  slaves,  owns  property  elsewhere  in 
the  island,  and  occupies  a  long  low  stone  building,  with  a  large  portico 
in  front,  and  nestling  in  the  close  embraces  of  the  impending  mountain, 
having  a  retired,  picturesque  appearance,  and  commanding  a  fine  view 
of  the  bay  and  ocean.  She  must  be  quite  a  rich  proprietor,  £>r  it  is 
told  of  her  that  she,  some  time  ago,  made  a  trip  to  Europe,  where  in 
six  months  she  spent  four  hundred  thousand  dollars,  besides  losiiig 
sixty  thousand  through  the  negligence  of  her  agents  and  the  effects  of 
her  absence.  We  were  politely  received  by  our  hostess  and  her  friends, 
and  were  obliged,  owing  to  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  to  decline  a  cup 
of  coffee,  and  make  our  way  back  to  the  ship  again. 

Monday,  February  14. — This  morning  the  British  cruisexs,  the 
Brigs  Bittern,  commanded  by  Captain  Hope,  and  Kingfisher,  Com- 
mander Horton,  came  in  from  Lagos.  The  arrival  of  these  vessels, 
and  the  presence  of  the  Boxer  and  ourselves,  have  communicated  quite 
a  lively  appearance  to  this  otherwise  quiet  and  lonely  harbor ;  and  all 
the  sights  and  sounds  usual  when  men  of  war  come  together  prevail 
at  present. 

The  clouds  that  are  almost  constantly  drifting  about,  along  and  above 
the  peaks  of  the  hills,  gave  us  a  specimen  of  tropical  weather  this 
morning.  The  rain  came  down  in  torrents,  but,  luckily,  was  brief  as 
it  was  violent  And  yet  out  of  evil  cometh  good,  for  the  atmosphere 
is  decidedly  cooler,  and  we  truly  enjoy  the  improvement 

I  am  never  tired  of  gazing  on  the  singularity  and  beauty  of  the  scenery. 
The  fancy  is  continually  tracing  some  resemblance  to  natural  and  arti- 
ficial olnects,  and  wondering  how  Nature  can  be  so  eccentric  and  multi- 
form. Now  it  is  a  bold  head-land,  which  projects  into  the  ocean,  imd 
looks  like  an  immense  shoe,  fit  for  the  pedestal  of  a  Titan ;  asrain  a 
peak  starts  up,  like  a  huge  ostrich  eg^,  and  opposite  is  a  mass  of  torest- 
dothed  granite,  which  may  be  imagmed  to  resemble  the  hump  of  a 
buffalo  or  camel ;  anon  another  assumes  the  outline  of  a  battlemented- 
rampart,  and  firowns  down  in  massive  strength  upon  the  deep  ravines 
that  open  at  the  base.  And  then  whenever  the  floating  drifts  of  clouds 
will  idOford  a  glimpse  behind  the  curtain,  a  sky-piercing  cone  shoots 
aloft,  seeming  to  stand  isolated  and  aspiring  among  its  less  ambitious 
neighbors.  The  Commodore,  the  Fleet-Surgeon  and  myself  made  a 
hasty  survey  of  the  bay  this  evening,  and  with  glimpses  of  mountain 
and  valley,  and  the  treat  of  multitudinous  notes  mm  the  feathery  in- 
habitants of  the  luxuriant  groves,  enjoyed  the  refreshing  aspect  of  land 
and  water,  and  the  sweet  sounds  of  Nature  in  all  her  simplicity  and 
vrildnesB.    A  little  incidetit  ocoiurred  during  our  cruise,  which  migiil 


1850;]  htavufnm  on  J^iam  Jammal.  381 

bare  termbated  in  an  ugly  maimer,  and  sent  as  to  that  voyage  whence 
no  trayeller  retorns ;  for  while  coastinff  the  lovely  and  vocal  groves  and 
beach,  all  of  a  sodden,  when  nearly  abreast  the  Portuguese  ibrt,  and 
several  yards  from  dry  land,  the  barge  struck  upon  a  coral  reef,  which 
runs  some  distance  out  into  the  bagri  and  after  thumping  several  times, 
keeling  over  twice  or  thrice,  nearly  granwale  under  at  tones,  by  dint  of 
oar  and  proper  management,  we  soon  got  off,  and  thanked  our  stars  that 
we  had  so  easily  escaped  from  rather  an  awkward  situation,  with  dry 
clothes,  and  without  swallowing  too  large  a  dose  of  the  briny  element 
Had  we  thumped  a  few  times  more,  a  hole  might  have  been  drilled  in 
die  bottom,  which  would  have  made  it  a  questionable  matter  whether  we 
eould  have  got  safe  and  sound  out  of  our  quandary. 

Wednesday,  Fbbruaby  16. — I  have  been  kept  aboard,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  a  visit  to  my  friends  of  the  '  Boxer,'  for  the  last  two  days, 
a  good  deal  annoyed  for  the  want  of  exercise,  and  not  a  little  slaving 
wnh  pen  and  ink.  But  fortunately  the  shore  has  no  great  charms  to 
make  the  confinement  a  very  great  privation.  There  being  but  one 
white  family  in  this  neighborhcKid,  and  the  slaves  disagreeable  and  un- 
prepossessing, the  stranger,  after  he  has  refreshed  himself  in  the  cool 
waters  of  the  mountain  brook,  which  escapes  gently  to  the  ocean  at 
diis  dry  season,  and  scraped  a  passing  acquaintance  with  the  people 
who  dream  away  life  in  their  enervating  chmate,  feels  no  great  desure 
to  pay  shore  visits  often,  or  linger  long  in  such  dull  company.  Better 
far,  when  once  a  close  acquaintance  has  been  made  with  shore  and 
people,  either  to  enjoy  the  grand  panorama  of  this  lovely  bay  from  ship- 
Doard,  or  pulling,  as  we  did  on  Monday,  glide  along  the  verdure-load- 
ed beach,  over  coral  reefi  and  transparent  water,  gaze  upward  on  the 
towering  clifl&,  and  into  the  close-locked  groves,  whence  gush  the  hum 
of  busy  msects  and  the  music  of  a  thousand  birds.  The  harbor  makes  a 
graceful  sweep  inward,  and  set  in  the  glorious  frame-work  of  these 
grotesque-looking  hills,  presents  to  the  stranger  approaching  from  sea- 
ward a  perfect  and  beautiful  semicircle.  Three-masters  can  ride  a 
miarter  of  a  mile  from  shore ;  and  the  water,  close  in  at  most  places,  is 
deep  and  well  protected  from  wind  and  swell,  so  that  you  can  luid 
without  scrambnng  on  a  native's  back,  or  wetting  foot  or  jacket  We 
are,  however,  enjoying  something  besides  scenery  and  sentiment.  We 
drink  pure  sweet  water  from  the  mountain  brook;  alligator  tears, 
granadillas,  guavas,  and  other  tropical  fruits,  refresh  us  at  our  well-pro- 
vided table ;  and  I  have  tasted  coflfee,  which  grows  wild  upon  this 
island,  of  the  richest  flavor.  Cocoa-nut  trees,  pawpawas,  oranges,  ba- 
nanas, etc.,  may  be  added  to  the  list ;  so  that  die  reader  may  well  grow 
envious  at  the  mere  enumeration  of  these  tempting  things,  known  to  us 
by  reputation,  and  placed  upon  our  tables,  but  robbed  of  all  their  fresh- 
ness, or  forced  into  a  sickly  existence  by  artificial  means.  Trul^  is  this 
a  spot  of  most  wonderful  fertility ;  and  were  it  protected  against  the 
scourfi^e  which  with  hot  and  fatal  breath  spreads  infection  over  earth 
and  air,  and  in  the  hands  of  some  energetic  people,  Art  might  be  so 
employed.  Industry  so  called  upon  to  aid,  as  to  convert  its  lonely  and 
untill^  valleys  into  gardens,  and  people  its  thinly-settled  territory  with 
the  hum  of  life,  and  bless  it  with  the  presence  of  Labor  and  Commerce. 


382  Leaveifwm  an  Afrioan  JommaL  [Hay, 

But  here,  as  elsewhere  I  haye  seen  and  noticed.  Nature  does  all,  and 
man  almost  nothing.  She  ^tos  him  ready  shelter  against  sun,  wind 
and  rain,  and  from  her  teemmg  bosom  fills  him  to  satiety  with  lier  rich 
abundance,  while  he,  content  to  profit  by  such  liberality,  and  careless 
of  the  morrow,  dreams  existence  lazily  away,  averse  to  toil,  and  the 
sworn  foe  of  business  and  exertion.  And  eren  it  may  be  questioned 
whether  a  hardier  and  more  energetic  race,  emijn:atinff  to  these  relax- 
ing climates,  would  not  in  a  yery  brief  period  ot  time  unitate  their  in- 
dolent predecessors,  and  lose  in  this  '  Armida's  Garden'  the  memory 
of  their  former  virtues,  and  their  hope  of  honor,  profit  and  renown. 

The  Commodore  and  Captain  were  waited  upon  this  momine  by 
the  Commander  of  the  Portuguese  Fort  He  is  very  black,  and  he 
and  his  man  must  have  quiet  and  repose  to  their  heart's  content  at  their 
little  station.  It  mounts,  I  believe,  some  six  guns,  and  has  a  black  gar- 
rison of  about  twenty-five  men.  But  few  of  *  War's  alarms,'  or  calls 
'  unto  the  tented  field,'  disturb,  I  ween,  the  '  dolce  far  niente'  of  these 
island-soldiers ;  and  as  habit  becomes  a  second  nature,  and  they  should 
be,  from  birth,  color^  and  practice,  proof  against  the  fever,  I  suppose 
these  unambitious  men  have  grown  pretty  well  accustomed  to  their  cage, 
and  care  little  or  nothing  fer  the  '  Big  World,'  whence  cannon-fi^gfated 
cruisers,  ever  and  anon,  bring  them  tidings. 

Tbubsday,  February  17. — A  clear,  warm  and  sunny  day.  Plenty 
to  attend  to  in  the  lino  of  ofiicial  matters ;  so  that  I  find  httle  or  no 
time  to  think  about  the  atmosphere,  which,  when  you  do  not  actually 
get  within  the  influence  of  a  curalt,  almost  as  gratefbl  as  one  on  Barings 
and  Brothers,  puts  you  into  a  profuse  perspiration,  plentiful  as  a  well- 
fed  rivulet,  and  enervating  as  too  large  an  allowance  of  a  vapor  bath. 
Writing,  exercise,  almost  thinking  becomes  a  task,  and  a  do-nothing- 
kind  of  epidemic  seizes  upon  us  aJl.  No  chance  yet  for  a  holiday  or  a 
firolic.  Still  admiring  the  beautiful  scenery  which  surrounds  us,  and 
sighing  for  some  other  excitement  tiian  that  we  meet  with  in  our  little 
floating  world.  The  young  artillery  officer,  Sefior  Brunachy,  whom 
we  met  at  Madame  Fareira's,  paid  us  a  visit,  and  spends  tiie  day  on 
board.  He  is  a  very  modest  and  interesting  person,  and  it  pains  us 
much  to  see  him  thus  sacrificed  to  the  sad  fate  which  stares  him  in  the 
face.  He  is  now,  after  apparently  enjoying  his  visit,  prostrate  on  tiie 
sofa  in  the  wardroom,  suffering  under  the  effects  of  fever,  and  we  have 
determined  to  keep  him  with  ns,  if  we  can,  for  the  night,  and  con- 
tribute, as  far  as  in  us  lies,  to  the  poor  fellow's  comfort  and  alleviation. 
With  appearance  and  manners  adapted  for  a  better  sphere,  behold  him 
dying  by  inches,  far  from  his  loved  family  and  friends,  and  wan,  pallid 
and  drooping,  awakening  the  sympathies  of  strangers  who  have  casually 
met  him,  and  who  may  never  see  him  more.  I  trust,  however,  he  wiH 
not  fare  as  badly  as  the  late  Governor,  a  Portuguese  officer,  who  as- 
sumed his  post  and  retained  it  but  two  brief  months,  a  victim  to  the 
fever  during  the  month  of  November  last. 

There  are  not  over  four  or  five  Portuguese  women  on  the  island. 
From  what  I  have  heard,  the  climate  is  very  fatal  to  strangers  at  cer- 
tain seasons  of  the  year.  The  government  keep  up  a  force  of  about 
forty  regular  soldiers,  and  local  militia  of  four  hundred  men,  but  it  is 


1850.]  htavufrfum  am  Afiicam  Jamnal.  968. 

an  ezpenaiye  duty  upon  tbeni«  the  island  yielding  but  little  return  since 
the  slaTe  trade  has  been  abolished.  Formerh^  quite  an  active  bosincpi 
yna  carried  oo,  and  you  yet  see  the  remains  of  baracoons  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  anchorage.  But  now,  debarred  from  this  profitable  traffic,  and 
averse  to  physical  and  moral  exertion,  this  rich  and  luxuriant  isle  has 
lost  most  of  its  value  and  importance. 

Saturday,  February  19. — The  bay  has  been  graduaDy  stripped  of 
the  life  and  stir  which  has  broken  m  upon  the  usual  wildness  and  soli- 
tary character  of  the  spot  The  Bittern  started  on  a  cruise  yesterday, 
having  been  preceded  a  few  days  by  the  Dolphin  and  Kingfisher ;  and 
80  the  '  Star-spangled  Banner*  waves  alone  over  these  quiet  waters. 

Sunday,  February  20. — This  morning  Lieutenants  G-.,  W.,  and  my- 
self went  ashore  for  a  bath.  We  selected  the  coolest  part  of  the  day, 
befi>re  breakfast,  and  luxuriated  in  the  refreshing  mountain  stream, 
to  our  great  delight  and  comfort  Under  the  shade  of  branchine  trees, 
within  the  music  and  rush  of  litde  cascades  dashing  sparklingly  over 
opposing  rocks,  and  the  water  cool  and  limpid  to  touch  and  si^ht,  did  we 
lave  our  heated  limbs,  and  experience  the  grateful  sensation  ot  the 
sweet  immersion.  But  far  from  tempting  is  the  rough  and  rocky  neish- 
borhood,  which  the  heat-oppressed  pedestrian  has  Uttle  energy  or  ous- 
position  to  overcome.  And  though  beyond  all  question  there  be  wild 
and  romantic  and  lovely  spots  in  this  picturesque  island,  well  worthy 
the  visits  of  the  fiibled  Gnome  and  nature-loving  Fairy,  yet  so  enerva- 
ting the  climate,  so  great  the  risk  from  exposure,  that  few  of  those  who 
come  to  this  lone  spot  will  venture  to  explore  these  hidden  beauties, 
and  enjoy  the  sweet  fruits  of  the  discovery.  Again  ashore  after  dinner. 
Several  of  our  own  and  the  brig's  officers  met  at  the  Madame's.  I 
strolled  off  with  one  or  two  fiiends  to  the  mountain  stream,  and  leaving 
them  at  one  of  the  bathing  holes,  undertook  to  explore  it  for  some  dis- 
tance up  its  rocky  patL  A  rough  and  laborious  excursion  was  it,  and 
after  stumbling  and  climbing  over  the  huge  rocks,  which  have  been 
brought  down  from  the  mountains  by  the  heavy  freshets,  and  soaked 
my  feet  in  the  rapid  water,  in  consequence  of  the  slippery  nature  of 
my  road,  beside  scraping  my  shins  aeainst  the  sharp  stones,  to  an  ex- 
tent not  at  al)  pleasant  to  sight  and  feeling,  I  was  wdl  content  to  re- 
trace my  steps,  and  back  out  of  the  scrape  I  had  got  into.  But  ad- 
venturers must  pay  for  their  temerity,  and  my  search  ailer  the  unknown 
and  the  picturesque  was  soon  damped  and  thwarted  by  the  untoward 
incidents  alluded  to.  A  wOd  and  brawling  stream  is  this,  here  rushing 
noisily  over  disrupted  fragments  of  the  overhanging  hills,  and  anon 
collecting  in  some  deep  hole,  fit  place  for  the  bather's  recreation,  and 
perhap9  the  home  of  many  a  mountain  fish,  and  shut  in  by  the  ^een 
curtain  of  thick  trees  and  rank  vegetation.  Groups  of  dark-skmned 
damsels,  servants  of  the  Madame,  gather  around  the  stream  to  perform 
the  washerwoman's  duty,  and  their  presence,  chattering  and  occupa- 
tion, add  materially  to  the  life  and  interest  of  the  scene.  Busv  have 
they  been  with  seamen's  clothes  for  the  last  seven  days;  and  tor  bad 
washing,  confusing  articles,  and  other  sins  of  commission  and  omission, 
the  traveller  will  find  few  folks  to  exceed  the  natives  of  this  portion  of 
the  island. 


_^                                a€mma;€$s.-  Bymmfar  May.                        [May, 
384 ^ . 

— ^^-me  Fareira  owki«  about  four  hundred  slavee,  as  I  am  informed, 

ji    HViAuA  she  is  not  allowed  to  send  them  out  of  the  idand,  she  not 

1  ^^i^  enougb  from  their  sales  of  coffee,  fruits,  yegetables,  fowls, 

^  '^Ae  ships  that  ren^earvous  here,  but  must  realize  something  hand- 

t^^from  hS  monopc^ly  of  supplies,  and  leaying  her  people  to  sup- 

^^^themseWoB  on  the  j^roducts  which  Nature  so  lavishly  spreads  out 

g;f0iixid  them. 


r    O   R        If  A  T< 


BY    VABK     BUJAVnr. 


It  is  the  ipriiig)  the  soft,  ddieioiis  flfffing, 
Wreathmg  a  garland  of  juslrbaddiiiff  flowen, 

Stirring  the  yonng  leftTOi  with  her  tender  wing, 
And  making  green  li&e  paths  to  foreat-bowera ; 

Whoae  amilea,  I  aee,  aniA  perfect  beanty  fling 
Along  the  track  of  Life's  awift-gliding  hoora  \ 

Her  breath  USSb  freahlv  on  the  gratefol  earth, 

And  lo !  what  joy  and  lovelineas  have  birth ! 


The  fields  put  on  their  verdnre ;  the  small  rills 

Danoe  merrily  along  with  shont  and  g^ee ; 
The  skiping  woodlands,  the  nprisi^g  hflb. 

Blue  vale,  gray  rock,  brown  budi  and  emerald  tree, 
>XMe  the  sweet  influence  which  the  air  inatils : 

'While  snow-white  blonds  in  Heaven's  unmmed  sea| 
On  their  blight  voyage  from  far  shore  to  shore, 
Uke  angel  dbips  nujeBtio  sail  and  aoar. 


The  icy  gales  of  winter,  that  long  sealed 
The  muih  of  foantains  and  the  play  of  streams, 

Are  lulled  at  last,  and  now  to  light  revealed, 
Like  brilliant  insects  flash  thor  jewd  gleams  *, 

Ihe  frozen,  wounded  land,  is  gently  peeled 

By  Mom's  and  Bve's  alternate  showers  and  beams, 

And  waves,  unbroken  into  spray  and  foam, 

BoH,  meh  or  aloniber  in  their  ooeaa-lumie. 


Wek»ome!  thrioe  weleomel  ftvorite  of  the  year; 

'  EOiereal  mildness,'  hsil !  though  loftier  lyi«s 
Mav  wake  their  muno,  and  in  tonea  more  dear 

And  sweet  than  those  my  humble  Muse  faispirei 
Hymn  thy  perfection,  thou  wilt  deign  to  hear 

llie  thrilling  mtitade  my  heart  desirea 
To  pour  to  thM  in  this  unheeded  lay 
For  aU  thy  gifts,  thou  soft,  delioioaa  May ! 


ISSO.]  .  A  Lumm  m  Bid/  BMime.  SM 


S     O     Iff     o 


XB880S     ix     s«8ax.jr     •nsx.iM*. 


A  LBMOM  in  itielf  mblime, 

A  lemon  worth  enshiiniiig, 
Ii  this :  *  I  take  no  note  of  time 

Bvfe  when  the  eon  is  shining.' 
These  motto-words  a  dial  bore, 
And  wisdom  never  preaches 
To  homsa  hearts  a  better  lore 
Than  this  short  sentence  teaches : 
As  life  is  sometimes  bright  and  ftir, 
And  sometimes  dark  and  londy, 
Let  ns  forget  its  pain  and  care, 
And  note  ita  bright  honm  osDly. 

There  is  no  grove  on  Earth's  broad  chart 

But  has  some  bird  to  cheer  it ; 
So  Hope  sings  on  in  every  heart, 
Although  we  may  not  hear  it : 
And  if  tonday  the  heavy  wing 

Of  Sorrow  is  oppressing, 
Perobance  to-morrow's  sun  win  faring 
The  weary  heart  a  Ueasing : 

For  life  is  sometimes  bright  and  fiur, 

And  sometimes  dark  and  lonely, 

Then  let 's  forget  its  tc»il  and  care, 

And  note  its  bright  hoars  only. 

We  bid  the  joyons  momenti  haste, 

And  then  forget  their  glitter ; 
We  take  the  onp  of  life  and  taste 

No  portion  but  the  bitter : 
Bat  we  should  teach  oar  hearts  to  deem 

Ita  sweetest  drops  the  strongest; 
And  pleasant  hours  should  ever  seem    , 
To  linger  round  us  longest : 

As  Hfe  is  sometimes  bright  and  fiur, 
'  And  sometimes  dark  and  lonely, 

Let  us  forget  ita  toil  and  care. 
And  note  ita  bright  hours  only. 

The  darkest  shadows  of  the  night 

Are  just  before  the  morning. 
Then  let  us  wait  the  coming  lignt, 
AB  boding  phantoms  scorning: 
And  while  we  're  passing  on  the  tide 

Of  Time's  fi»t^ebbing  river, 
Let 's  pluck  the  blossoms  by  ita  ride 
And  Mess  the  gracious  Gnraa : 
As  life  is  sometimes  bright  and  iSur, 
And  sometimes  dark  and  lonely. 
We  should  forget  ita  pain  and  care, 
And  note  ita  bright  hours  only. 

Mas.  Bamam  T.  Boxjtov. 


3%<  PkOoiophuxd  Emperor.  [Maj, 

THE     PHILOSOPHICAL     EMPEROR: 

OB    AN     BXFEBIMENT     IN     M  O  B  A  L  8  . 
« 

BT    A.     B.     JOHMSOK. 


THX      SZPBBIKBNT. 


To  a  man  who  desires  to  be  as  unhappy  as  he  can  possibly  make 
himself,  no  theme  is  better  adapted  to  nourish  his  &Tonte  propensi^ 
than  a  contemplation  of  the  unsubstantiality  of  all  human  efforts,  as  is 
evinced  by  the  subversion  of  empires  and  the  oblivion  which  slowly  but 
sui^ly  creeps  onward,  and  eventually  absorbs  the  most  renowned  re- 
putations and  the  most  brilliant  exploits.  Look,  for  instance,  at  the 
ancient  and  mighty  empire  of  Boresko,  with  its  highways  of  polished 
brass,  and  its  palaces  of  gold  and  ivory.  Alas !  alas !  where  art  thou 
now,  and  where  is  that  great  ruler  of  thy  destinies,  who  was  designated 
by  his  contemporaries  and  long  known  to  posterity  by  the  cognomen 
of  '  The  Philosophical  Emperor  V  Of  all  his  mighty  services  for  the 
good  of  mankind,  scarqely  a  vestige  remains  that  is  intelligible  ;  and 
we  are  indebted  to  the  humblest  accident  for  the  preservation  of  the 
following  brief  narrative. 

The  prince,  before  his  elevation  to  the  throne  of  his  ancestors,  but 
while  heir-apparent,  condescendingly  wrote  and  published  a  book  to 
justify  the  ways  of  God  to  man,  by  settling  forever  a  question  which 
had  long  agitated  the  wise  men  of  his  country,  and  which  is  sometimes 
revived  in  modem  times.  The  question  relates  to  the  justice  of  Pro- 
vidence in  the  moral  government  of  the  universe.  The  book  attempted 
to  prove  that  the  providential  division  of  society  into  classes  of  high, 
low, 'rich,  poor,  wise,  simple,  strong,  feeble,  etc.,  manifosts  no  partiality 
of  Providence  toward  any  class ;  for  no  class  foels  either  happy  or  un- 
happy by  reason  of  its  j^osition,  but  only  by  reason  of  falling  l>elow  ite 
accustomed  position  or  rising  above  it  These  fluctuations  were  casual- 
ties affecting  alike  all  classes  of  society,  and  hence  evincing  no  partiality 
on  the  part  of  Providence  for  one  class  over  another. 

No  sooner  were  the  publishing-houses  of  Boresko  informed  that 
the  heir-apparent  had  written  a  book,  than  they  contended  fiercely  with 
each  other  for  the  pleasure  of  patronizing  the  first  dawnings  of  impe- 
rial ffenius,  and  well  was  the  patriotic  victor  rewarded  by  the  result 
The  book  not  only  sold  readily,  but  it  was  so  highly  esteemed  by  a  judi- 
cious public  that  no  persons  could  approach  the  prince  with  any  peti- 
tion without  yielding  to  an  impulse  of  gratitude  and  avowing  some 
great  moral  benefit  which  they  had  experienced  from  the  precepts  of 
the  book ;  and  as  no  person  could  know  its  merits  better  than  the  au- 
thor, these  testimpnies  in  its  fiivor  served  to  evince  a  correct  judgment 


1850.]  Tke  PkOoiephieta  SmpefW,  387 

in  the  criticsf  and  to  pro^e  that  they  were  well  qualified  intellectiiaDy 
fixr  the  political  stations  they  solicit^. 

But  me  prince  was  too  good  a  philosopher  to  yield  an  implicit  belief 
to  even  his  own  speculations ;  dierefine,  on  his  accession  to  the  imperial 
dignity,  which  occurred  within  two  years  fi'om  the  publication  of  the 
book,  he  resolved  to  test  his  theory  by  decisive  experiments,  such  as 
his  absolute  power  placed  readily  at  his  control.  He  accordingly  left 
his  palace  in  disguise,  one  delightful  summer  evenmg,  and  proceeded  8 
little  way  beyond  the  suburbs  of  Kroywen,  the  city  which  was  honored 
by  beine  the  imperial  residence.  The  last  straggling  houses  at  the  out- 
skirts of  the  city  had  scarcely  been  passed,  before  some  coarse  music, 
issuing  from  a  field,  excited  Uie  emperor's  attention ;  and  on  approach- 
ing ita  he  discoyered  a  group  of  siaves,  composed  of  both  sexes,  who 
were  indenmifying  themselves  for  the  toils  and  restraints  of  the  sultry 
day  by  an  evening  of  obstreperous  merfiment  They  were  singing, 
dancing,  wrestling  and  caressme,  as  the  several  humors  of  the  actoTB 
happened  to  dictate,  and  evincmg  otherwise  a  total  abandonment  of 
their  minds  and  bodies  to  the  most  piquant  animal  enjoymentsl 

'  Behold !'  said  the  emperor  to  a  bvorite  courtier  who  attended  him ; 
'these  are  the  beings  whom  we  usually  select  as  the  exemplification  of 
extreme  wretchedness.  Their  enjoyments  are  indeed  not  intellectual, 
nor  are  their  troubles  ;  and  while  they  are  thus  exempt  from  the  most 
numerous,  obtrusive,  and  immedicable  of  human  miseries,  they  are  par- 
ticipants with  us  (and  perhaps  to  a  higher  degree  than  we)  of  all  phy- 
sical pleasures.  Let  us  now  examine  if  Providence  has  been  more 
partial  to  their  master.* 

The  travellers  proceeded  accordingly  to  the  mansion  of  the  proprie- 
tor, whom  they  judged  to  be  an  ordinary  planter  of  substantial  means. 
This  guess  was  reahzed  on  entering  the  house,  where  every  thing  de- 
noted abimdance  without  superfluity,  and  convenience  without  ostenta- 
tion. The  family  were  evidently-  enjoying  the  calm  of  competency, 
and  an  exemption  from  the  canker  of  rivalry,  and  the  cares  of  ambi- 
tious display.  The  master  exhibited  the  robust  health  of  exercise  and 
content,  while  the  mistress  was  a  personification  of  neatness,  with  the 
least  possible  a^}4ition  of  attempted  finery,  and  which  consisted  in  only 
a  bow  of  plain  blue  ribbon  that  ornamented  the  snowy  white  kerchief 
which  covered  her  bosom. 

The  emperor  and  his  companion  were  deemed  artisans,  or  petty 
tradesmen,  who  had  sauntered  from  the  city  for  the  benefit  of  reiaxsr 
tion  ;  but,  according  to  the  hospitality  which  always  existed  in  Boresko, 
they  were  received  courteously,  and  presented  liberally  with  refresh- 
ments. The  family  were,  however,  rather  peculiarly  situated  at  the 
moment,  and  a  little  disturbing  influence  was  operating  on  them  in  the 
shape  of  a  visit  which  they  were  enjoying  of  a  rich  kinsman  and  hk 
lady,  who  resided  in  the  aristocratic  part  of  the  city,  and  condescended 
to  glorify  their  humble  cousins  with  an  annual  recognition,  in  the  form 
of  a  few  hours'  sojourn.  The  planter  and  his  wife  were  almost  wholly 
engrossed  by  their  fashionable  relations,  who  showed  very  significantly 
that  nothingr  of  which  they  partook  was  compai-able  to  what  they  were 
accustomed  to  enjoy;  while  an  illnrappressed  impatience  to  depart,  od 


388  J%e  PhUawphieal  Emperor.  [May, 

the  side  of  the  lady  visitor,  proclaimed  umnistakeably  that  she  deemed 
the  officious  civilities  she  was  receiving  too  dearly  purchased,  aud  that 
her  husband's  vulgar  connections  were  an  almost  intolerable  calamity. 

As  soon  as  decency  would  permit,  and  a  little  sooner,  the  fashionable 
citizen  and  his  lady  sent  for  their  carriage ;  and  the  pro^)ect  of  so 
speedy  a  release  from  their  present  discomfort  gave  a  vivacity  to  their 
conduct  and  discourse  that  delighted  the  country  cousins.  The  prepa- 
ration £oT  departure  soon  ensued,  and  amid  the  confusion  of  leave- 
taking  the  city  nabobs  *  remembered  to  forgef  to  invite  the  humble 
couple  to  their  luxurious  home.  The  arrival  of  the  carriage  at  the 
door  was  the  signal  for  inunediate  departure ;  but  while  they  were 
hastily  entering,  they  saw  in  the  road,  at  a  short  distance,  the  splendid 
equipage  of  a  nadar ;  a  digpiitary  of  the  empire  equal  in  rank  perhaps 
to  an  earl  in  England.  Some  inconvenience  had  befallen  the  great  man 
who  owned  the  equipage,  for  he  bad  alighted  from  the  conquam  (a  ve- 
hicle peculiar  to  Boresko),  and  was  looking  at  its  wheels.  A  slave,  who 
was  despatched  by  the  planter  to  respectfiilly  ascertain  the  difficulty, 
soon  returned,  and  stated  that  one  of  the  wheels  was  broken,  but  hap- 
pily no  personal  injury  had  been  sustained. 

Instead  of  proceedmg  to  town,  as  the  citizen  had  intended,  he  sent 
back  the  slave  with  a  request  that  his  carriage  might  be  honored  by  the 
nadar,  if  no  other  vehicle  was  procurable  more  suited  to  his  dignity. 
The  nadar  condescendingly  accepted  the  proposition,  but  only  on  the 
condition  that  the  owners  of  the  carriage  should  retain  seats  therein. 
Their  modesty  could  hardly  bear  the  benevolence  of  the  amiable  noble- 
man, but  as  his  convenience  could  be  in  no  other  way  subserved,  they 
permitted  themselves  to  be  exalted,  and  eventually  all  were  thus  sa&ly 
carried  to  their  respective  abodes. 

'  Said  I  not  the  truth  in  my  tsook  V  whispered  complacently  the  em- 
peror to  his  companion,  as  they  departed  also.  '  The  nch  citizen  suffers 
no  unhappiness  from  not  being  a  nadar,  nor  the  planter  from  not  being 
a  rich  citizen,  nor  the  slaves  from  not  being  planters.  Even  blindness 
brings  with  it  no  unhappiness  to  those  who  have  never  possessed  sight, 
nor  deafness  to  those  who  have  never  possessed  hearing.  A  man  esti- 
mates his  happiness  as  he  estimates  the  size  of  his  waistcoat  A  man 
whose  body  has  always  been  smaU  will  wear  a  small  waistcoat,  but  the 
waistcoat  will  not  be  deemed  small  by  him  ;  and  the  man  whose  body 
has  always  been  large  will  wear  a  large  waistcoat,  still  the  waistcoat 
will  not  be  deemed  large  by  the  wearer.  But,'  continued  the  emperor, 
f  we  will  now  see  how  men  feel  under  a  declension  from  their  accus- 
tomed condition.  We  shall  find  that  a  man  who  loses  any  of  his  accus- 
tomed enjoyments  will  be  like  a  man  who  has  lost  corpulency ;  he  will 
shake  his  waistcoat,  and  with  a  piteous  look  show  you  how  he  is  dimin- 
ished.' 

.  The  emperor  accordingly  early  the  next  morning  issued  an  edict,  by 
which  the  nadar  wiu  degraded  from  his  title,  and  deprived  of  a  large 
portion  of  his  property,  leaving  him  a  sum  equal  only  to  the  fortune  of 
Uie  rich  citizen ;  at  the  same  time,  the  rich  citizen's  house  was  suddenly 
invested  by  a  file  of  soldiers,  who  took  possession  thereof  in  the  name 
of  the  emperor^  and  expelled  the  occupant,  all  of  whose  effects  were 


1850.]  T%e  PhilMophieal  Emperor,  389 

confiscatecl,  except  just  enough  to  enable  him  to  become  an  humble 
planter,  like  hia  relative.  Nor  was  the  planter  excepted  from  the  gene- 
ral overthrow ;  he  and  his  neat  wife  were  transported  to  a  distant  pro- 
vince, where  they  were  to  be  employed  as  agncultural  slaves ;  while 
their  own  merry  slaves  were  seized,  and  sent  to  the  imperial  mines  to 
dig  copper.  < 


THE    SXPEBIMXITT    Cn)IEZl>EOT£DLT    INTERRUPTED. 

Ths  emperor  was  neither  cruel  nor  fond  of  injustice;  on  the  con- 
trary, he  would  have  been  willing  at  any  time  to  benefit  any  body  and 
every  body,  if  he  could  have  effected  it  without  trouble  or  inconveni- 
ence to  himself  He  thought,  in  the  present  instance,  that  a  few  weeks 
of  privation,  for  the  sake  of  a  great  moral  experiment,  might  easily  be 
borne  by  the  parties  afflicted,  and  might  easily  be  recompensed  subse- 
quently by  augmented  privileges  and  possessions.  With  these  excel- 
lent intentions  he  resolved  to  supervise  in  person  the  process  of  the 
experiment,  so  as  to  prevent  its  prolongation  unnecessarily,  and  all 
needless  hardships ;  but,  unfortunately,  he  had  but  just  consummated 
the  ruin  of  the  parties  in  the  way  we  have  stated,  when  he  heard  that 
his  dominions  were  invaded  by  a  neighboring  sovereign,  the  King  of 
Tuscora;  who,  holding  in  contempt  all  philosophers,  and  deeming  the 
commencement  of  a  reien  &vorable,  sought  to  re-take  some  provinces 
which  had  been  wrested  from  him  during  the  life  of  the  precedmg 
emperor. 

In  the  hurry  of  preparation  for  the  defence  of  his  frontiers,  the  em- 
peror disregarded  the  moral  experiment  which  he  had  instituted,  and 
soon  forgot  all  its  victims.  At  the  head  of  a  large  army,  collected  sud- 
denly from  all  the  unassailed  parts  of  his  empire,  he  marched  proudly 
and  mdignantly  to  repel  the  unprovoked  incursion  and  chastise  the  in- 
truder. He,  however,  was  not  thus  summarily  to  be  disposed  of,  for  he 
had  surprised  several  strong  fortresses,  which  he  had  garrisoned  effec- 
tively, and  their  re-conquest  was  indispensable  before  the  imperial  army 
could  advance  securely.  The  emperor  was  brave ;  and  as  the  present 
invasion  seemed  to  imply  a  contempt  for  hisprowess,  his  conduct  as- 
sumed the  character  of  offended  dignity.  Tne  feelings  of  the  sove- 
reign soon  became  diffused  through  the  army,  and  were  participated 
in  by  the  mean^t  of  its  members  as  fully  as  by  the  highest  The  cap- 
tured fortresses  were  accordingly  approached  with  Uie  utmost  intre- 
pidity, and  those  which  would  not  capitulate  at  the  first  summons  were 
immediately  assaulted  and  carried  by  storm.  The  main-body  of  the 
enemy  had  retreated,  but  were  at  length  overtaken.  They  were  found 
to  be  strongly  posted  on  the  range  of  high  mountains  that  divide  the  - 
empire  of  Boresko  from  the  kingdom  of  Tuscora.  The  emperor, 
whose  success  thus  far  but  augmented  his  impatience,  determined  to 
attack  the  enemy  at  even  this  disadvantage ;  and  after  a  short  delay,  to 
allow  his  troops  to  recover  from  the  fatigue  of  their  forced  marches,  he 
headed  in  person  a  fruious  assault  upon  the  invaders.  They,  unable  to 
resist  his  impetuosity,  or  possibly  m>m  design,  retreated  predpitetoly 


390  l%e  PM4}9CpJk»eai  Emperor.  [Hay, 

up  the  sides  of  the  mountain ;  while  he,  pressing  forward  too  eagerly, 
or  too  incautiously,  was  unfortunately,  by  means  of  an  ambush,  cut  off 
from  the  main-body  of  his  forces,  and  taken  prisoner.  The  disaster 
was  concealed  for  a  time  from  the  emperor's  troops,  but  the  intelligence 
eventually  spread  through  the  army,  which  immediately  became  dis- 
pirited. The  invaders,  on  the  contrary,  deriving  enthusiasm  itom  the 
capture  of  the  emperor,  rallied  to  the  combat,  and  rushing  devotedly 
down  the  steep  declivities,  precipitated  themselves  upon  the  heretofore 
assailants,  who  now,  falling  into  disorder,  were  routed  with  terrible 
slaughter.  Oh,  war !  war !  little  know  civilians  the  horrors  of  such  a 
combat !  The  revoltbg  details,  which  in  the  aggregate  compose  the 
miscalled  splendors  of  military  glory,  can  be  read  by  the  delicate  and 
merciful  only  when  veiled,  like  the  above,  in  general  descriptions.  The 
veil  we  will  not  rend,  though,  for  the  benefit  of  our  beloved  country, 
we  have  sent  to  the  military  academy  at  West  Point  the  manuscript 
which  contains  a  full  description  of  this  memorable  battle. 

The  emperor  possessed  now  a  fine  opportunity  of  ascertaining  by 
his  own  experience  the  efifect  on  human  happiness  of  the  descent  from 
a  high  position  to  a  lower ;  but  his  feelings  soon  verified  the  proverb, 
that  physicians  are  not  fond  of  swallowing  their  own  prescriptionB. 
But  he  retained  no  power  of  avoiding  the  dose,  and  was  compelled  to 
take  it  in  its  bittepest  form ;  for  instead  of  being  carried  to  the  capital 
of  Tuscora,  and  entertained  with  the  delicacy  and  respect  which  were 
due  to  his  rank  and  misfortunes,  he  was,  to  die  everlasting  disgrace  of 
the  victor,  transported  into  the  interior,  immured  within  a  gloomy  cas- 
tle, and  denied  all  communication  except  with  the  commandant,  who 
was  stern  in  countenance  and  uncourteous  in  manners ;  a  misanthrope, 
to  whom  solitude  was  a  gratification,  and  by  whom  mirth  was  deemed 
a  madness. 


THE     OAPTIVITT. 


Thb  imperial  captive  was  distressed  beyond  description.  He  suf- 
fered from  seli^reproach  at  the  want  of  prudence  that  caused  him  to  be 
hurried  into  an  ambush,  and  from  wounded  pride  at  defoat  from  im 
enemy  whom  he  had  taught  his  followers  to  despise.  Uncertainty  also 
as  to  the  effect  on  his  empire  of  the  captivity  of  its  sovereign  agitated 
his  fears,  while  the  supposed  exultation  of  his  contemned  enemy  exas- 
perated his  desire  for  revenge.  But  wonderfully  accommodating  is  the 
organization  of  man  to  the  vicissitudes  of  Hfo ;  and  though  we  may  be 
skeptical  as  to  the  '  wind's  being  attempered  to  the  shorn  lamb,'  we  can 
be  certain,  from  daily  observation,  that  the  shorn  lamb  soon  becomes 
attempered  to  the  winds,  blow  they  ever  so  roughly.  Grief,  therefore, 
did  not  long  absorb  the  captive  monarch.  He  grcMiually  yielded  some 
attention  to  the  objects  around* him,  and  the  attention  soon  created  an 
interest  in  them ;  till  he,  the  hereditary  sovereign  of  a  mighty  empire, 
and  whose  contemplations  and  desires  were  wont  to  grasp  at  least  pro- 
vinces, came  to  observe  with  some  interest  the  k>ob  ot  a  petty  com- 


1850.]  IVke  PAUoupUeal  Bn^pmnr.  991 

waiidiiiit  of  a  &rtre88»  and  to  be  annoyed  or  soothed  as  tbe  petty  com- 
mandant  chose  to  be  civil  or  undviL 

.  But  whatever  violates  kindness  and  humanity  will  eventually  be  found 
impolitic  So>  however,  thought  not  the  victorious  King  of  Tuscora* 
who  designed  to  coerce,  by  severe  treatment,  the  captive  emperor  into 
a  treaty  whose  concessions  and  guarantees  ^ould  oe  dictated  by  the 
desire  of  a  release  from  persoiULl  suffering,  rather  than  by  considera- 
tions of*  patriotism  or  justice ;  but  an  impediment  to  this  unworthy 
policy  arose  in  a  quarter  from  which  no  such  result  could  have  been 
anticipated.  The  commandant,  who  had  lon^  been  a  widower,  pos* 
sesseif  an  only  child,  a  daughter,  who  resided  m  the  fortress  with  mm, 
but  who  partook  as  little  of  his  misanthropy  as  of  his  repulsive  appear- 
ance. Bred  in  seclusion,  solitude,  which  had  nourished  her  father's 
moroseness,  had  cherished  and  sublimated  her  sensibilities  to  a  degree 
that  is  never  acquired  by  persons  who  mingle  in  society  and  become 
accustomed  to  its  rude  abrasions.  tTnconsciously  to  the  commandant, 
she  had  glided  into  womanhood ;  while  he,  a  recluse  from  choice,  and 
deeming  her  still  a  child,  saw  not  that  he  vras  subjectmg  her  to  a  cruel 
seclusion  from  all  companions  of  her  own  sex,  and  from  all  intercourse 
with  her  equals  in  his. 

Nature  will  not  be  thwarted  by  the  artificial  distinctions  of  conven- 
tional society.  The  vine  to  which  you  will  not  furnish  a  suitable  trellis 
uMl  vnnd  its  d^cate  tendrils  around  any  thingr,  how  incongruous  soever, 
tliat  may  happen  to  be  the  only  object  witQn  its  reach.  So  the  foir 
and  naturally  aristocratic  Theadora  could  not  view  without  complacency 
the  manly  graces  of  the  plebeian  soldiery,  to  whom  ^one  her  inter- 
course was  restricted ;  and  especially  one,  a  youth  but  little  older  than 
herself,  and  almost  as  sensitive  and  eccentric,  who  was  a  comet  in  the 
regiment  that  garrisoned  the  castle.  They  saw  each  other  daily,  and 
often  for  continuous  hours,  when  duty  as  an  officer  of  the  guaitl  sta- 
tioned him  on  a  terrace  which  was  overlooked  by  the  window  of  the 
maiden's  chamber.  But  they  had  never  spoken.  A  consciousness  of 
the  inferiority  of  his  station  wopld  have  kept  him  silent  even  if  he  had 
not  folt  an  idolatrous  respect  that  absorbed  nim,  and  which  would  have 
made  him  foel  personally  inferior  had  he  been  master  of  the  world. 
Nor  would  he  have  permitted  his  eyes  to  wander  toward  a  being  whom 
he  deemed  too  pure  for  the  gaze  of  man,  had  not  eyes  and  thoughts 
too  been  wisely  made  independent  of  such  considerations.  His  eyes 
would  wander  toward  her,  as  would  hers  toward  him ;  till  both  Thea- 
dora and  Leontine,  by  a  species  of  animal  magnetism  perhaps,  and  yet 
wit^  a  total  unsuspicion  of  each  ollier's  feelings,  lived  but  n>r  the  mo* 
ments  when  they  could  thus  enjoy  each  other's  presence. 

Love,  pure,  ardent  and  youthful,  is  a  glorious  combination,  especially 
in  women,  vrith  whom  it  exists  as  exempt  from  selfishness  as  sunbeams 
are  exempt  from  dross.  Its  tendency  in  both  man  and  woman  is  to  ex- 
alt and  sublimate  the  person  whom  it  influences,  by  reason  probably  of 
an  effi>rt  of  the  person  to  make  himself  worthy  of  the  being  whom  he 
loves,  and  whom  his  imagination  deems  perfection.  Theadora  folt  the 
full  influence  of  the  benign  power  that  possessed  her,  and  liius  feeling, 
she  could  not  remain  an  unconcerned  witness  of  the  sufferings  of  toe 


392  The  PAUoiophieal  Emperor.  [May, 

capdye  emperofr,  and  of  the  imagined  suflferingB  of  the  fiir-off  empreflB, 
his  impend  consort.  The  policy  to  which  he  was  avowedly  the  vic- 
tim seemed  to  her  so  detestable,  that  by  lon^  meditation  on  it  her  ini^ 
acquired  the  unwholesome  bias  which  seeks  its  gratification  at  all  faax- 
ards  and  at  all  sacrifices. 

She  could  conceive  no  means  by  which  to  counteract  his  enemies, 
except  by  enabling  him  to  escape ;  but  the  known  difficulties  thereto 
were  great,  and  the  unknown  seemed  greater.  She  could,  however, 
acquaint  him  that  he  possessed  one  firiend  in  the  midst  of  his  enemies, 
and  possibly  his  knowledge  might  suggest  advantages  therefrom  whidi 
hers  could  not.  To  accompliaii  even  such  a  communication  was  not 
eas^.  His  chamber  communicated  with  hers  by  an  open  balcony,  in 
which  she  was  permitted  to  walk,  though  he  was  excluded.  In  such 
walks  her  fiirtive  glances  often  saw  him,  as  he  restlessly  paced  the 
room,  which  he  was  not  permitted  to  leave,  unless  accompanied  by  an 
officer  of  the  garrison,  and  which  boon,  thus  encumbered,  he  rarely 
deigned  to  accept.  Her  walks  latterly  became  more  frequent  than 
heretofore,  and  her  eyes  became  more  jreely  directed  to  his  person,  in 
the  hope  of  thus  silently  and  inferentially  communicating  to  him  some 
intimation  of  her  friendly  purpose.  Nor  was  she  wholly  unsuccessful 
in  her  attempts  to  attract  his  attention.  But  man,  selfish  in  all  his  pro- 
jects, perversely  prejudiced  also  in  his  estimate  of  female  intellect  and 
designs,  could  never  suspect  that  the  slight  form  which  was  timidly 
flitting  before  him  was  animated  vnth  high  and  romantic  designs.  A 
monarch,  too,  accustomed  to  subserviency  and  abasement  in  all  who 
approached  him,  could  conceive  in  the  attempt  to  attract  his  notice  no 
motive  but  what  was  utterly  at  variance  with  the  chivalrous  but  mis- 
taken sentiments  of  the  enthusiastic  maiden. 

Curiosity,  or  possibly  some  less  worthy  impulse,  conquered  at  length 
the  prisoner's  apathy ;  and  when  Theadora  next  approached  his  case- 
ment she  founa  it  open,  and  he  was  so  stationed  vnthin  that  she  oonU 
whisper  as  she  passed :  '  To-night,  at  twelve  o'clock,  be  there.'  No 
sooner  had  she  thus  accomplisheKl  what^he  had  so  long  sought  to  eflfect, 
than  she  would  have  given  the  worldTto  have  been  able  to  recall  the 
announcement,  so  utterly  was  she  overpowered  by  the  magnitude  of 
her  undertaking  and  a  latent  suspicion  of  its  impropriety.  She  hurried 
back  to  her  chamber,  not  discovering  that  the  emperor  anxiously  de- 
sired to  communicate  to  her  some  reply.  She  sank  into  a  chair,  and 
die  intensity  of  her  perturbadon  was  relieved  by  a  copious  flow  of 
tears.  No  one  had  seen  her ;  why  should  she  regret  what  she  had 
so  long  contemplated  with  an  approving  conscience,  and  sought  widi 
anxious  difigence. 

Thus  reasoned  Theadora ;  but  she  was  mistaken  in  supposing  that 
no  eye  had  seen  her.  Seen  she  had  been,  for  what  can  escape  the  eyes 
of  a  love  like  that  of  Leontine's.  He  had  long  noted  her  unusual  waUcs, 
and  suspected  not  dieir  object,  but  radier  diat  Heaven  itself  might  be 
penrioas  to  the  fascinadons  of  royalty,  since  Theadora  seemed  a  victim 
i»  their  attracdons.  In  vain  he  struggled  i^;ainst  the  apparent  evidence 
of  his  senses.  The  most  fatal  conclusion  was  irresisdble;  and  though 
he  had  heretoibre  felt  a  sympathy  fiir  die  imprisoned  monarch,  death 


IS5Q.]  Tie  PkOom^pkical  Smpew.  S93 

ttM  now  deemed  too  ligbt  a  penalty  fcr  the  knre  which  apparendj  he 
hM  excited  in  Theadora. 

\pight  ¥rill  approach,  regsrdleas  alike  of  human  hopes,  fears,  or 
Wi^ea.  The  clock  on  the  tower  of  the  dme-worn  fortress  struck 
twelve,  whfle  Theadora  wa^et  affitated  by  her  morning  adventure, 
and  undecided  whether  she  should  abandon  or  pursue  it  The  first 
step  had,  however,  been  taken,  and  according  to  the  proverb,  it  drew 
after  it  irresistibly  all  of  which  it  was  naturally  the  precursor.  How 
could  she,  injustice  to  her  character,  falsify  Ler  own  apgoiutmeiit,  and 
mock  the  surorings  of  an  unfortunate  capdve  1  The  night,  also,  was 
as  ft;vorable  as  she  could  desire,  ibr  it  was  dark  and  stormy.  The  ex- 
alted station  of  the  party  whom  she  was  to  meet  prevented  in  her  un- 
contaminated  mind 'a  thought  of  personal  impropriety,  even  leaving  out 
of  consideration  the  benevolence  which  hallowed  the  undertaking. 
Forth  glided,  therefore,  along  the  balcony  the  palpitating  maid,  to  con- 
summate an  arrangement  which,  stripped  of  its  romantic  illusions,  wiui 
nothing  less  than  treason  against  her  rather,  her  country  and  her  king. 
The  room  of  the  emperor  was  not  lighted,  the  casement  was  shut,  and 
all  within  was  silent.  The  absence  of  li^ht  was  tmusual,  but  it  appeared 
to  her  as  a  favorable  precaution  on  his  pazt.  But  the  casement  was 
closed,  and  that  seemed  suspicious,  and  daunted  her  resolution.  Pos- 
sibly these  unusual  circumstances  were  designed  to  warn  her  from  her 
purpose.  She  hesitated,  and  finally  ran  back  to  her  chamber.  No 
sooner  had  she  regained  this  place  of  safety  than  she  became  ashamed 
of  her  puaillanimityv  A^n  she  glided  along  the  balcony,  and  again 
the  same  appearances  disconcerted  her.  But  she  was  not  now  to  be 
driven  firom  her  purpose.  Perhaps  he  had  not  heard  distinctly  the 
hour,  OF  perhaps  he  disregarded  the  announcement  of  a  girl  as  of  some- 
thing too  trivial  for  his  attention.  She  approached  the  window,  and 
knodced  tremulously.  Again  she  would  have  fled  from  returning 
timidity,  as  the  noise  of  her  hand  broke  upon  the  silence  with  an  un- 
expected distinctness ;  but  the  window  suadenly  opened,  and  her  re- 
turn unnoticed  became  impracticable. 

Oh  Nature !  what  a  cunning  artist  art  thou !  The  peculiarity  of  her 
position  excited  in  her  forth  wiUi  the  resolution  which  the  crisis  required, 
and  she  boldly,  but  in  a  suppressed  voice,  said :  '  Sire,  if  you  know  any 
means  of  escape,  one  heart  in  this  fortress  is  not  callous  to  humanity : 
I  vnll  assist  you.'  Scarcely  had  she  uttered  the  sentence  when  a  voice 
from  a  remote  part  of  the  chamber  exclaimed  aloud :  '  Hush !  ill-ad- 
vised woman,  you  speak  not  to  the  emperor  V  She  staggered  with  af- 
fright, and  foil  senseless  heavily  on  the  floor.  On  regaining  her  con« 
sciousness  she  was  in  her  own  appartment,  and  bending  over  her,  in 
asudttOUB  efforts  for  her  recovery,  and  with  indescribable  solicitude  and 
tenderness,  stood  the  young  Comet  Leontine,  who  happened  that  night 
to  be  the  sentinel  staUoned  in  the  chamber  of  the  nrisoner,  and  whom, 
in  her  communication  at  the  window,  she  had  mistaken  for  the  emperor. 
.  Whedier  the  frustration  and  exposure  a£  her  design  were  as  poign- 
afit  a  mortification  to  her  as  the  suspicion  tliat  she  appeared  criminal  in 
die  eyes  of  the  young  man,  is  perhaps  doubtful ;  but  she  resumed  as 
much  sel^possession  and  dignity  as  her  agitation  woidd  permit,  and 

VOL.  XXXV.  26 


394  I%e  PkilatopMcta  Emperor.  [May, 

haugfatily  told  bim  to  depart,  and  inform  hiB  commander  wbat  lie  bad 
seen  and  heard ;  witb  this  addition,  that  she  felt  no  regret  except  for 
the  fiulure  of  her  eflbrts  to  iEissist  unmerited  miafbrtanes. 

Slowly  he  retired,  but  replied  noL  One  look  he  cast  behind  and 
atopped,  as  doubting  whether  he  ought  tAmly  or  not ;  but  she  turned 
away  repulsiyely,  and  he  passed  on.  No  alarm  had  been  communi- 
cated to  the  guards.  The  castie-dock  struck  one,  and  the  sound  re- 
verberated long  and  tremulously.  The  sentinels  on  the  distant  para- 
pets and  walls  were  heard  at  interrab,  as  heavily  they  paced  their  adi- 
S  rounds,  whil^  all  beside  vras  quiet  in  the  casde,  as  though  treason 
not  staJked  abroad,  or  was  too  feeble  to  be  regarded  in  the  ftrm 
of  a  yondiful  maiden. 

CHAVTBK  VOUftTS. 

TEE      C  O  M  B  B  Q  U  E  N  C  E  8. 

Thbauora,  with  a  returning  consciousness  of  her  actual  position,  ex- 
claimed: 'How  shall  I  encounter  my  incensed  father!  Alas!  my 
fittber !  cruel  not  to  me,  though  harsh  to  others.  Would  that  you  had 
been  cruel  to  me  also,  that  I  might  have  some  apology  fin-  the  auguiah 
I  shall  cause  you !'  She  sank  upon  her  bed ;  not  to  sleep,  but  to  moan, 
to  reflect,  to  agonize.  Eventually  over-wrought  Nature  would  have 
repose,  and  she  slept.  Ere  she  awoke  the  sun  had  risen,  and  waa 
shining  gaily  in  at  her  window,  as  if  to  mock  at  human  cares,  or  possi- 
bly to  shame  men  for  making  themselves  miserable  about  the  vicissi- 
tudes of  so  brief  a  period  as  man's  allotted  life.  Nor  would  she  have 
awaked  then  but  tor  a  commotion  which  seemed  to  agitate  the  garri- 
son, usually  so  orderly  and  quiet.  The  tramp  of  horses  was  heard  in 
the  court  below ;  drums  were  beating  to  arms ;  men  were  hurriedly 
traversing  the  balcony,  and  all  seemed  bustle  and  preparation  for  some 
uncommon  event  She  doubted  not  that  her  ofllence  occasioned  the 
unwonted  i^tadon,  and  expected  momentarily  a  command  to  appear 
and  confront  her  accuser. 

Hour  after  hour  elapsed,  and  she  was  still  unmolested,  and  ap- 
parently unthought  of.  She  took  courage  bv  the  delay,  and  ventured 
to  approach  her  window.  Horsemen  at  brief  intervals  were  paannc 
and  returning  through  the  casde-gate,  which  was  widely  extended 
thou^fh  heretofore  so  seldom  and  cautiously  opened.  She  was  still  un- 
convmced  that  she  was  not  the  object  of  die  commotion,  when  gradu- 
ally she  recognised  the  word  '  escape,'  while  all  eyes  seemed  constandy 
to  wander  toward  the  chamber  of  the  emperor.  He  had  escaped,  she 
now  surmised,  but  how,  or  when,  was  still  a  mystery.  No  one  waa 
missing  from  the  garrison  but  Leontine.  He  had  been  sought  every 
where,  and  his  absence  implicated  him  in  the  flight  of  the  prisoner. 
But  the  fugitives  could  not  oe  far,  nor  could  they  elude  the  numeroua 
parties  that  had  started  in  pursuit  '  Prevent  it,  just  Heaven !'  ex* 
daimed  mentally  die  reassured  maiden, '  nor  make  me  the  miserable 
cause  of  destruction  to  diat  devoted  youdi,  whose  intentions  I  cruelly 
mi8contrued,and  who,  to  perfect  my  wishes,  has  broken  dirougfa  habits 
of  military  aubovdinatiop,  jeopwded  his  life,  and  sacrificed  his  honor. 


1860.J  Tie  PkOoiopUeid  Bmpetwr.  d»6 

Women  are  bad  logicians,  and  dieeo  were  iUogicdl  ooncluBionB ;  but 
die  Bftgacitj  of  woman  ia  more  than  a  counterpoise  for  her  deficient 
ratiocination,  and  Theadora  guessed  aright  the  events  that  had  occurred. 
The  mysterioos  cause  of  her  frequent  walks  on  the  balcony  were  ex- 
plained to  Xeondne  by  the  eyents  of  the  night,  and  so  explained  as  to 
dissipate  his  jealousy.  In  his  gratification  at  this  discovery,  he  felt  no 
inclination  to  criticize  the  correctness  of  any  other  motive ;  and  he  no 
sooner  left  her  presence  than  he  resolved  to  give  her  a  paemorable 
proof  of  the  unlmiited  dominion  which  she  possessed  over  him,  by  ac- 
complishing what  she  had  commenced,  or  mng  in  the  attempt.  Her 
agitation,  and  the  unexplained  intention  with  which  he  had  left  her, 
might  induce  her  to  make  disclosures  in  the  morning  that  would  render 
his  own  silence  as  hazardous  as  the  most  desperate  undertaking.  No 
time,  therefore,  existed  for  delay. 

Fortunately  Leontine,  as  cantain  of  the  guard  for  the  night,  pos- 
sessed more  readily  than  usual  the  means  of  liberating  the  emperor. 
The  arrangements  for  their  flight  were  soon  conceited,  and  ere  the 
great  clock  struck  two,  the  emperor,  clad  like  a  servant  of  the  Comet, 
left  his  apartment,  bearing  by  the  side  of  Leontine  a  lantern,  as  if  to 
light  him  m  his  patrol  around  the  posts  of  the  fortification.  Each  sen^ 
tinel  hailed  them  as  they  approached,  and  receiving  from  the  Comet 
the  regular  countersign,  permitted  them  to  pass.  Samly  they  advanced 
thus  to  a  small  postem,  which  constitutea  a  panel  of  the  main  ex- 
ternal gate,  and  through  which  postern  they  designed  to  escape ;  but 
h^«  an  unexpected  obstacle  presented  itself.  The  commandaEuit  was 
there  in  person,  conferring  with  the  sentinel  Egress  was,  therefore, 
impracticable,  as  nothbg  outside  of  the  fortress  constituted  any  part  of 
the  nightly  duties  of  Leontine.  He  accordingly  merely  saluted  the 
commandant  and  passed  on,  as  if  to  complete  the  circuit  of  the  watch, 
though  '  conscience,  which  makes  cowards  of  us  ail,'  induced  him  to 
suspect  that  his  treason  caused  the  early  movements  of  the  command- 
ant, and  that  his  arrest  was  the  object  of  the  conference. 

No  sooner  had  he  passed  an  angle  of  the  fi>rtification  that  obscured 
his  liffht,  than  he  extmguished  it,  with  a  determination  to  remain  con- 
cealed until  he  could  ascertain  whether  his  undertaking  was  discovered. 
Distance  prevented  him  from  recognising  the  words  of  the  command- 
ant, though  his  voice  could  be  heard ;  soon,  however,  all  was  silent,  ex- 
cept the  sound  of  approaching  steps,  that  grew  increasingly  distinct, 
until  suddenly  the  sound  again  diminished,  as  the  commandant  turned 
down  an  avenue  which  led  directly  to  his  quarters.  Now  was  the 
moment,  if  ever,  for  accomplishing  die  desperate  enterprise.  The  fii- 
gitives  retraced  their  way  to  the  gate,  and  answering  tne  sentinel  with 
the  proper  countersign,  (which,  by  a  strange  coincidence,  happened  to 
be  tne  word  Emperor,)  Leontine,  without  the  slightest  apparent  hesi- 
tation, and  as  though  he  was  in  the  re^lar  dirohar^  or  orders,  ap- 
plied to  the  smaD  nostem  the  key,  which  was  in  his  possession  as 
cuitain  of  the  guard,  and  passed  out  with  his  companion,  locking  the 
wicket  again  on  the  outer  side. 

The  thoughts  of  the  sentinel  cannot  easily  be  conjectured ;  but  proba- 
bly he  had  not  time  to  reflect  on  what  he  saw  untd  after  its  coosumma- 


396  7%e  PkUasopkical  Bmperwr.  [Bfaj* 

tion.  Habituated  'to  respeist  and  confide  in  his  supeiioira,  vid  no  pod- 
tive  injunctions  being  in  force  againat  wbat  had  transpired  in  hispreaenoe, 
he  may  have  been  rather  surprised  afits  occurrence  than  suspicious  of 
its  motire.  He  momentarily  expected  to  see  the  postern  reOpen,  and 
the  parties  return ;  but  as  time  ran  on,  the  continued  absence  lost  its 
novelty,  and  he  paced  and  repaced  his  post  mechanically  as  usual 


THE       FLIOHT. 

Eably  m  the  morning  the  sentinel  communicated  to  the  relief-guard, 
but  still  unsuspiciously,  that  Comet  Leontine  was  on  the  outside  of  the 
postern.  The  sergeant  who  commanded  the  relief  had  been  looking 
lor  the  comet,  as  he  had  &iled  to  report  to  the  commandant,  as  was 
his  duty,  the  events  of  the  night  The  exit  of  the  comet  was  thereibre 
communicated  to  the  commandant,  whose  habitual  suspicion  was  at  once 
alarmed  at  the  singularity  of  the  occurrence.  The  chamber  of  the 
eniperor  was  immediately  examined,  and  the  escape  became  manifest. 

The  agony  of  the  commandant  viras  extreme.  To  his  sagacity,  on 
which  he  greatly  prided  himself,  had  been  reposed^by  his  sovereign  a 
trust  which  events  showed  he  was  incompetent  to  dischargre.  Long 
seclusion  had  caused  his  self-love  to  invest  him,  in  his  own  imagination, 
with  a  &ncied  reputation,  which  was  the  idol  of  his  gloomy  reveries^ 
but  which  he  now  deemed  lost  forever.  Had  an  earthquake  eneulfed 
the  fortress  and  all  within  it  —  nay,  the  whole  kingdom — the  disaster 
would  have  been  slight  to  him  compared  with  the  present  misfortune. 
The  personal  penalties  to  which  he  was  exposed  constituted  no  part  of 
his  affliction ;  he  courted  punishment  rather  than  feared  it,  and  proba* 
bly  exceeded  even  his  sovereign  in  criminating  his  own  negligence ; 
though  even  now  he  could  not  designate  wherein  he  had  been  negli- 
gent But  he  knew  that  the  world  estimated  conduct  by  resuks,  and 
he  had  always  desired  to  have  his  conduct  thus  estimated,  and  waa  too 
proud  to  ask  now  a  different  test 

Forth  from  the  fortress  issued  pursuers,  who  took  different  routes, 
and  the  capture  of  the  fugitives  seemed  inevitable  to  all  but  the  com- 
mandant Accustomed  to  estimate  every  thing  as  lost  that  was  in  dan- 
ger, he  gave  himself  up  to  despair,  though  he  still  executed  with  visor 
uie  duties  demanded  by  the  emergency.  In  this  deplorable  conditioii 
he  was  pacing  his  chamber  when  first  seen  by  Theadora,  whose  pro. 
sence  seemed  alone  competent  to  mitieate  his  wo ;  while  she,  the  con- 
scious cause  of  all  his  sunerings,  experienced  an  agony  of  self-reproachv 
and  her  conduct,  though  unknown  to  others,  assumed  in  her  appr^en* 
sion  its  true  character  of  parricide  and  treason. 

The  emperor  and  Leontine  had  supplied  themselves  with  horsea 
from  some  that  were  grazing  around  tne  fortress,  and  directed  their 
ffight  to  the  nearest  confines  of  Boresko.  Caution  induced  them  to 
shun  the  direct  roads  as  soon  as  day  began  to  dawn ;  and  after  travel- 
ling in  a  fi)re8t  ibr  several  hours,  the  emperor's  hprse,  wearied  with  the 
exertions  of  its  restleas  rider,  stumbled,  and  so  spraiaed  its  shoulder  as 


398     .  The  Poet  Sadi,  an  beholding  Caehmere.  [May, 

Relieved  by  the  aasurance  of  his  guide  from  the  apprehensioo  of 
present  capture,  and  relying  for  any  new  emergency  on  the  sagacity 
and  fidelity  the  guide  hfid  evinced,  the  emperor  l^gan  to  examine  more 
minutely  the  persons  and  things  around  nim ;  for  in  these  regions  of 
perjietual  nigH  ^  portion  of  me  inhabitants  are  always  at  work.  He 
found  that  even  here,  where  privations  seem  extended  to  the  verge  of 
human  sufferance,  men  laugh,  sing,  dance,  gambol,  and  exhibit  aU 
other  demonstrations  of  contentment  and  happiness  that  are  fixind  in 
more  propitious  situations.  They  possess  privileges  thai  they  prixe^ 
and  restraints  which  they  resist^  Every  man  among  them  chmshes 
some  ambition  and  encounters  some  rivalry.  Here  were  reputations 
to  be  gained  and  characters  to  be  lost  Like  a  circle,  which,  how 
small  soever,  includes  all  the  curves  and  proportions  of  the  largest 
spheres,  so  this  miniature  society  appeared  to  possess  in  kind  all  the 
moUves,  passions,  enjoyments  and  sorrows  that  pertain  to  the  lazvest 
communities.  It  possessed  even  its  unfortunates.  They  consisted  of 
a  gloomy  and  discontented  group,  whom  a  superintendant  was  endear 
voring  to  lash  into  good  humor.  They  constituted,  he  said,  a  gang  of 
agricultural  slaves,  who,  for  some  reasons  unknown,  were  a  few  monthp 
since  taken  from  a  plantation,  and  condemned  to  the  imperial  mifies  cf 
Boresko,  from  whicn  they  had  recently  been  cn)tiired  and  transported 
to  their  present  position.  The  emperor  heard  the  explanation  with 
self-reproach  ;  for  in  the  poor  quivenng  wretches  before  him  he  recog- 
nized the  merry  slaves  whom,  for  the  sake  of  his  experiment,  he  had 
forced  from  the  plantation  where  they  had  been  reared,  and  sent  to  the 
mines.  His  regret  was  somewhat  mitigated  by  the  reflection  that  their 
misery  demonstrated  the  truth  of  his  theory ;  for  their  unhappiness 
was  not  shared  by  the  slaves  who  had  always  been  miners.  An  artifi- 
cial want  was  the  cause  of  their  misery,  not  any  original  dispensatioB 
of  Providence.  Indeed,  his  majesty  could  not  forbear  explaining  pri- 
vately to  Leontine  the  whole  transaction,  and  mingling  evidences  of 
self-complacency  as  a  philosopher  with  his  regrets  as  a  prince  at  the 
misfortune  of  these  his  subjects,  and  as  a  man  at  the  unmerited  suflbr- 
ings  of  his  victims. 


THE     POST     8ADI,     ON     BEHOLDING     CA8H1ISRE. 


Bt    SB.     BIOXBOX.     OP     rOWSOV. 


Ob,  the  beautifbl,  beautiful  Vde  of  Cashmere, 

Where  the  rotes  of  snmmer  Uoom  bright  all  the  year ; 

Where  the  tulip  and  cactus  have  many-hned  flowers. 

And  the  snow-drop  and  lily  are  sweeter  than  ours ; 

Where  the  green  of  the  leaf  and  the  gush  of  the  stream 

Give  softness  to  sunlight  and  temper  its  beam ! 

To  what  out  of  Eden  can  Sadi  compare 

Those  exquisite  scenes  that  enrapture  lum  there  T 

That  diamond,  that  emerald,  that  opal,  that  meet 

In  a  triple  tiara  outstretched  at  his  feet  7 

Oh,  to  nothinff  of  earth  could  he  make  thee  appear, 

Thou  atar  of  ttie  morning,  Chon  lovely  Caahmere  I 


4(K)  Pkilhs  md  Flora.  {May, 

Love  18  larking  in  their  breaBti,  Where  hiii  hiding-plaoe  is ; 
Siehfl  he  brkkgs  from  out  these  heartft,  Slsfas,  his  certain  traoea  \ 
Pue  and  paler  grow  their  oheefca,  Altered  are  their  fSaoea. 
T  is  a  flame  dinemUed  well  By  their  shsme-fiMed  graoes. 

Pbilub  in  a  secret  si^h  Floba  deftly  catches, 
Flora  one  detects  in  her  Which  the  first  sigh  matches.  ' 
Thns  is  shown  their  sympathy,  Each  the  other  watches, 
TiH  the  hidden  miadhief  bursts  Bars  and  bdts  and  latohea. 

Very  yanoos  was  their  speech,  Very  6r  extending, 
Tet  in  love  and  only  love  Somehow  always  ending, 
In  their  hearts  and  &oe8  too  All  things  else  transModing ; 
Till  at  length,  a  pleasant  glance  Off  at  Fi^oea  aending, 

^  Noble  soldier !'  Philub  saith,  <  Paris,  my  heart's  treasure  I 
Where  art  thou  now  combattmg?  Or  art  now  at  lemre  t 
O.  the  glorioos  warrior-life !  Glorious  beyond  measare  I 
1;  is  the  only  life  deserves  Vmus'  choioest  jdeasore  I' 

While  she  thns  her  soldier-friend  Brings  to  reooQeotion, 
Flora  casts  a  sidelong  glance  Up  from  ner  dejection, 
And  exdaimeth  bitteriy, '  What  a  predQeotioa ! 
Ton  on  a  moe  vagaboi^  Set  your  ibnd  aflfeotion  I 

*  But  my  Aristotle  dear !  What  is  he  devising? 
Noblest  of  created  things  Sol  beholds  hi  rising ! 
Nature  hath  endowed  him  with  Bvery  gift  surprisinff : 
Happy  is  the  scholar's  life !  T  is  the  sok  worth  prizmg  V 

PmLUS  for  her  harsh  attack  Promptly  doth  reprove  her, 
And  returns  it  with  a  speech  Very  sure  to  move  her : 
'  Here 's  a  maid  whose  breast.'  she  says,  ^  Must  a  pure  heart  ooveTy 
Who  a  hoy  man  like  tet  Chooses  for  a  lover ! 

*  Rouse  yon,  wretched  giri !  from  this  Sad  infirtaalion  I 
He  is  Emourus'  sdf,  m  my  estimation  : 

Grace  and  style  no  sdiolar  hath  Dwelling  in  the  nation ; 
Hia  are  aloth  and  corpulence,  Foul  abomination  1 

*  Fff  from  him  to  seek  at  aO  Valor's  repntatbn  | 
Sleep  and  food  are  his  deaire,  And  a  free  potation. 
Noble  lover  I  while  the  truth  Needs  no  oonfirmatMn, 

That  the  sddier's  life  throagfaout  Doth  that  vulgar  way  ahvn. 

'  Happy  in  his  frugal  fere,  Still  with  love  o'erteeming, 
Not  mtent  on  meat  and  drink,  Or  on  slumber  seeming. 
Love  preventi  his  slumbering.  Or  inspires  his  dreaming ; 
Love,  the  soldier's  meat  and  drink,  E^d  of  all  his  schcnung. 

^  Tliose  whom  nature  Ibnned  alike,  Birds  of  the  same  feather^ 
Shoald  they  not  be  properly  Joined  in  the  same  tether  f 
Tour  man  feasts  the  whole  day  long.  Mine  wiD  sport  all  weather ; 
Mine  loves  gtvtng-,  toib'n^  youn ;  WeU  we  go  together  1' 


But  yon  haw  not  hit  *^^^       *^^»  ^ 


White  with  W»ek>  y«* 


'<»e». 


Food  Md  drink -ad  •*f^*^:5^    S^V»^  **  l^'"^   t 


:^»i-i 


r^^>//-*. 


Need  not  envy  ofl,*  ««»«*»'  ^%/>^5«»?>-^, 

*  Cherished  by  tliyi  tKO^^r'to  ti^J^  i^ 
Joy  which  mortal  tooifj^f^  ^in^  ^^^ 
love  as  't  were  on  '  "  '^ 


'^^     '^^  no  denymg  i 


«3arfi  for  ; 
p»repAre  for  : 


M^*^*. 

^ 


•S2S5!S^5-tl> 


Love  that  ^^rows  etfit***"^    '  "^^^^iT^^tJ?^  .''^i^ajij— ^ 


-«««. 


Lean  the  SoHolar  iSoketb  not  1^^  >  ^ 

Pain  of  joy  be  makfit^  ^^\  V^  \^^*  *»»a  r.     -ff. 

Fop  he  kniweth  hi*  <^»  "^,  i:^^H|S^  ^^^ 

*  He  you  love  is  pale  tf»^  ^f^^  I^Oqw  r>Be^^<^ 

Scarce  a  cloak  to  cover  hinj,  Sdn^jf  ^t^,^  ^^ 

Feeble  limbs  and  narrow  chj^  jj.^  ^  ^J^),  ^^-m^^ 

now  abonia  it  be  otherwise  ?  W^^«t  ^J  WioiT  ^l^-'^'^} 

*  Poverty  In  one  yon  lore  Most  an*^,^  ^^ert^r^ 

What,  pray,  eon  yonr  soldier  rT^^^ELVcw* 

But  tbe  aobolar  sives  yon  mnai .  '-3^o^^?«^ly  1     _*»  ^% 
Havins  •<>  louob  revenue,  He  ni^^  ^^•,  i^     ^  '^^  ^^^  ^^ 

PHirxjB  amawers  FuonA  thns :  « -V"  ^  "^ 

All  tbo  lifo  and  love  of  each,  Aj^^  ^*^  *m^^ 

Fair  and  speeiooa  words,  but  feU-,    ^^W  ^^^"^t  at  *^^ 
Bat  yo-  riuOl  not  thn.  get  off.  -^^^J^^^^^^^^'^f^ 

<  On  tbe  mom  of  bc^day,  In  the  K,«^  ^  ^f«^* 

Then  tbfi  aobolar'e  whole  tum-Hn:^^  ^^Itov,*^  ^      ^^ 

Sable  dreaa  and  abaveh  face  And  V^^W^w^'       ^t*^**  ^ 
A.  if  nKmrnins  purposely,  And  ^  ^^**Lt^r^^^ -^  ^<*^ 

*  Ifone  are  ao  by  fioUy  swayed,  Noik^  ^^  ^ 
Sut  the  aoldieir'a  aplendor  then  Xo  ^?  **V   itai^^.  ^ 

Your  man,  like  acme  animal,  AU  wiS?^^  ^^^\^^    - 
3fine  ia  an  bi-  gallant  steed, 'A^^?^i^l^^^^^^^>, 


Jl** 


^#*^ 


^*;^ 


.^-^ 


402  PhaUi  dmd  Flora.  \Mmj, 

'  AH  hUi  foes  he  ovorcones,  AH  reiistaiioe  ■iighthig  • 
And  if  e'er  be  fiffhts  on  foot,  Frcmi  hie  steed  afi^ting, 
Love  supplies  a  £>able  strength,  Him  to  iame  inrlting ; 
Me  he  often  thinks  upon,  Bven  while  he 's  fitting. 

*  Crushed  the  foe  and  won  the  fight,  Back  in  state  he  praaees, 
Throwing  k>ose  his  battered  he£i,  Oft  at  me  he  guanoes : 
Therefore  when  a  lover  young  Makes  to  me  advanoes, 

I  prefer  the  soldier's  life,  And  will  take  its  chaaees.' 

Floea  marks  her  rismg  ire,  And  her  bosom  sweHing ; 
Thus  she  answers  baok  to  her,  All  her  taunts  repeHing : 

<  Honey  yon  for  gall  desert,  Truth  to  He  oomp< "' 
Sinoe  yon  deem  the  soldier's  life  Other  lives  < 

*  Prefty  Phiujs,  would  you  loved  Somewhat  more  discreetly, 
Nor  condemned  my  sentimentB,  But  received  them  meetly  1 
Is  it,  think  you,  love  that  makes  Tour  man  act  so  featly  T 
No,  but  want  and  poverty,  Madd'nmg  him  opmpletdy. 

<  Very  hard  the  soldier's  lot,  And  in  strait  poritkm ; 
FearfuUy  oalamitoas  Deem  I  his  condition : 
He  can  never  count  upon.  With  the  least  precision, 
Any  thing  that  is  for  life  Most  in  requisition. 

'  Lasy  is  the  scholar's  life ;  This  yon  say,  and  press  it ; 
Servile  work  he  always  spurns :  Freely  I  oonfess  it 
Higher  cares  his  mind  absorb,  Sinoe  he  doth  address  it 
Tp  discover  principles ;  And  the  world  may  Uesi  it. 

'  Bfine  is  in  a  ooetiy  dress,  Tours  in  shabbY  armor ; 
Tours  is  on  a  bloody  field,  Mine  on  couch  lies  calmer, 
Where  he  reads  of  nllant  deeds  TiU  his  blood  ffrows  warmer, 
Where  he  thinks  and  talks  and  writes  Only  of  his  oharmer. 

'  Oupin's  and  DiaMa's  worth,  How  much  he 's  above  her, 
nr  TTas  the  scholar  and  none  else  Who  did  fint  discover ; 
Through  his  help  the  soldier  first  Came  to  be  a  lover : 
Therefore  does  your  argument  Turn  out  wrong  alLover.' 

Floka  bdng  out  of  breath.  Stopped,  and  but  requested 
That  the  merits  of  her  cane  Might  at  Court  be  tested ; 
Phillis  soon  agreed  thereto,  Though  die  fint  protested. 
O'er  ihe  meadow  they  return  Whcure  they  wlul<Hn  rested. 

Which  one's  lover  loveth  most  Is  the  point  disputed. 
So  they  choose  a  clever  judge.  And  for  truth  reputed. 
Knowing  weH  the  Uvea  of  ewh,  And  the  issue  mooted ; 
Him  to  seek  they  now  prepare,  With  aU  splendor  suited. 

Bqual  in  their  beanty  they  And  their  modest  bearing, 
For  the  self-same  cause  to  fiadit  BquaUy  preparing ; 
Phiujs  aU  in  purest  white,  Floea  colon  wearing : 
One  wiU  mount  a  steady  mule,  One  aoouraer  dating. 


404  PkOHs  tmd  Flora,  [May, 

Many  deeds  of  by-gone  dsyi,  Wonders  witliont  ending, 
Daintily  were  wronglit  thereon,  Human  art  transcending ; 
Mbrcu&t  was  marr^  there  *  With  the  gods  attending ; 
All  the  8ponsal>rites  were  shown,  AH  the  wealth  depending. 

Not  a  spot  was  smooth  or  plain  Any  where  about  it 
Very  few  the  sobjects  knew  Carred  within,  without  it. 
Vnlcan  wrought  it  all  alone.    Sueh  the  work  throughout  it, 
Though  his  hands  bad  ftamed  the  whole  He  adafanost  doubt  it 

For  indeed  Aohillis'  shield  MuLcnia.  neglecting 

Wi'oughk  the  trappings,  carefully  Every  part  inspeoting, 

Wroui^t  the  onrb-chain,  wrought  the  shoes  Those  god  feet  proteeting, 

And  from  hair  of  his  own  wife  Twined  1^  reins  oomtecting. 

Vxar^  stitobed  with  finest  thread  Was  the  saddle  cover,  . 
Which  Minerva,  letting  all  Other  work  lie  over, 
'Broidered  with  narcissus-flowers  (Skilful  did  they  prove  her) 
*  Round  the  edge  a  pretty  fringe  Graced  the  pretty  mover. 

So  the  little  kidies  rode  Side  by  side  that  mominsr, 
Modest  laces,  blooming  cheeks,  Each  of  Uiem  a£iming ; 
They  like  lilies  twain  (^pear,  Roses  with  no  ^om  in. 
Or  two  stars  that  down  from  heaven  Fall  without  a  warning. 

Love's  resplendent  Paradise  Is  their  destinatkm. 
Both  their  eager  fiioes  show  Pleasant  indignation  : 
Each  the  other's  mirth  jwoVokes  With  sweet  emwalion. 
One  a  ftloon,  one  a  hawk,  Bears  for  the  occasion. 

So  they  ride  and  find  the  grove  Ere  they  9ire  long  goin^. 
Near  the  entrance  murmurs  rise  From  a  streamlet  flowing. 
Redolent  of  myrrh  and  balm  Came  a  wind  fresh  blowing; 
Harps  and  timbrels  numerous  Wake  a  measure  glowing. 

Organ,  psalter,  cymbal,  lyre,  Join  their  gratul&tion ; 
Mtfvelloudy  pipes  the  flute,  Swift  in  mcMulation. 
Every  sound  that  can  possess  Man's  imagination, 
Striking  on  the  muden's  ears,  Wins  their  admiration. 

Every  tongue  of  singing  bird  Swells  its  note  sonorous ; 
Here  die  blaokbffd's  voice  is  heard,  Sweetest  in  the  oboms ; 
Lively  larkf  and  cooing  doves,  Philomel  decorous, 
Who  to  phy  her  old  griefe,  Ever  doth  hnplore  us. 

By  the  sounding  jnstruments,  by  the  tuneful  voices, 
By  the  odors  flowing  forth  Farther  than  the  noises. 

?y  the  show  of  flow'rots  ftdr  Which  the  heart  rejoices, 
ou  may  know  the  court  of  Love :  Here  to  dwell  his  choice  is.    ^ 

Maidenly  they  enter  in.  Hesitating,  fearing, 
Tet  becoming  more  m  love  While  the  spot  they  're  nearing, 
Close  and  closer  now  to  them  they  the  birds  are  hearing, 
Who  in  noises  manifold  Join,  their  head  uprearing. 

•'MsaoraT*iw6ddliigwsBSfkToritealifleartoslsal^fectth  HltMde 

was  BOm  PmLOLoer. 


1B60.]  PUSii  and  Flmi.  40$ 

One  migbt  ihare  forever  Ihre,  Alway  death  repeOing. 
Everv  ^ee  bean  fruit  eiieti^  Mortal  frniti  exeeOiiig. 
An  the  paths  of  cinnaoKm  And  of  nard  are  ameUiiig. 
Yon  may  gnem  the  Maater-God  fVom  hn  wondrona  dweflmg. 

Banda  of  yoatha  and  lovely  giria  They  behold  advandng, 

Svery  one  of  ftireat  ibrm,  cSnatellatioDa  glancing. 

nil  ao  many  prodigiea  Rcmnd  about  them  dancing, 

Strike  the  mndena  with  surprise  Both  thd^  hearts  entranong. 

So  they  stop,  and  both  alight,  Vevy  nigh  forgetting, 
A»  that  goodly  hand  came  on,  All  their  fight  and  petting. 
Suddenly  they  hear  again  Philombl^b  sweet  fretting. 
In  their  maiden  vdna  again  Is  the  full  tide  setting. 

Bfid  the  very  deepest  grove  Is  an  axhoe  o'er  him, 
Where  the  god  is  wont  to  be.  Where  they  most  adore  him. 
Fauns  and  Nymphs  and  Sat^  there  Wi&i  a  jdly  quorum 
Sing  to  sonn^&ng  tamborines.  Merrily  before  mm. 

Wreaths  of  flowers  in  hand  they  bear,  Fragrant  herbs  they  're  heaping. 
Baoohus  sets  the  Nymphs  to  dance  While  the  Fauns  are  peeping ; 
Both  their  feet  and  instruments  Equal  measure  keeping, 
Save  SiLENUs,  who  breaks  in  Staggering  and  leaping. 

Nodding  on  his  long-eared  beast  Like  a  pack  of  lumber, 
Cupid's  mirth  he  greatly  moves.  Overcome  with  slumber. 
He  in  broken  strains  attempts  Ditties  without  number. 
Age  and  wine  oppress  his  tongue  And  his  voice  encumber. ' 

Cytbekka's  son  at  last  Shows  him  to  his  minions 
Hard  as  steiel  his  handsome  fiaoe,  On  his  head  are  pinions. 
Then  his  arrows  and  his  bow  Strengthen  their  opinions, 
Well  they  know  the  mighty  Lord  Of  those  fur  dominiops. 

On  a  sceptre  leans  the  boy  Twined  with  many  a  fiowier, 
From  his  weU-arrang^  looks  Dews  of  nectar  shower ; 
Graces  three  on  bended  knee  Own  their  master's  power, 
And  present  a  brimming  cup,  Standing  near  his  bower. 

Nigher  now  the  virgins  draw  Safe  in  adoration, 
Of  the  god's  immortal  youth  Wrapt  in  contemplation. 
Muoh  rejoicing  at  his  power  They  approach  his  station. 
Them  tile  god  beholding  come,  Meets,  with  gratulation. 

Why  they  euoe  he  aaks  of  them :  Quickly  told  the  case  is. 
For  their  deed  of  enterprise  Both  of  them  he  praises. 
Till  the  suit  to  judgment  goes  He  their  spirits  raises 
With  kind  words  lutemattfly,  For  he  ne'er  betrays  his. 

Well  they  know  the  God  of  Love  Wiu  a  god,  which  knowing 
An  details  there  was  no  need  They  should  wait  for  showing. 
So  they  sit  and  rest  themselves  And  their  horses  blowing, 
While  he  bids  his  jiidlgea  tey  What  ia  meet  and  owing. 


406  Soarmgt  of  a  Oromi-Bitd.  [May, 

Lore  liat  oonrU  and  indgea  twatn :  He  is  their  apf^rover, 
Use  and  Nature  are  Ihe  two,  Wiae  the  whole  w<M4a  over. 
They,  from  fiKst  and  theory.  State  what  they  disoorer, 
Hut  the  aohdar  mhffu  The  moat  ardent  lover. 

Stnaght  ai^roved  their  jodg^ent  waa  By  the  oonrt  Elyrian, 

Whidi  presenred  to  future  timea  That  eorreot  d^otaion. 

Therefore  for  their  mtereata  Thev  Ve.  a  narrow  viaion 

Who  prefer  a  at^dier-loTe,  And  aeaerve  dcriaion.  cahx.  bbvs«v. 


80ARING8    OF    A     GROUND-BIBD. 


ST    OAKOX.XVB    OBaOSSBO*. 


•THE    DIVINITT    IN    MAN.' 


Thsrb  is  a  word  whose  utterance  makes  the  pinians  of  my  spirit 
flutter.  From  the  '  depths  of  the  divine'  it  wings  its  way,  a  '  vocal 
pathos'  echoing  through  the  vastitude  of  that  space  which  lies  between 
my  soul  and  Heaven.  And  as  a  snow-white  dove  it  comes,  laying  be- 
fore me,  as  well  as  all  around  whom  roar  and  battle  '  the  clutching 
waves  of  sin/  the  olive  leaf,  the  token  of  a  regenerate  world,  an  as- 
surance and  a  hope ! 

Had  I  the  wings  of  the  brave  eagle,  fixing  my  eyes  stead&sdy  upon 
the  centre  and  the  soul  of  life  and  joy,  I  would  soar  into  the  far  depths 
with  a  song  which  the  world  should  hush  itself  to  hear,  telling  of  the 
divinity  in  man,  of  which,  alas  I  I  know  not,  if  I  may  even  tpeakj 
worthily. 

Love !  what  a  holy,  what  a  heavenly  word  is  this!  Clothed  upon, 
with  the  glory  of  the  Ibtvisible,  how  majestically  tender  doth  its  spuit 
caze  upon  us  faint  and  weary  mortals !  How  gently  on  the  lip  resteth 
die  sweet  sound  of  its  uttered  name !  How  softly  its  golden  sandalled 
feet  tread  through  the  chambers  of  the  miqd !  How  easily  this  mes- 
senger of  God,  moving  through  the  wilderness  of  time,  wins  its  silent 
way  to  and  through  the  gniarded  portals  of  the  heart ! 

No '  cimningly  devised  fable'  came  ever  to  the  ear  of  wondering 
mortal,  breathing  forth  such  '  mysterious  revelations,'  as  this  little  wora 
makes  known.  No  fairy  gifl  opened  ever  the  fanc^  of  dreamer  to  so 
beautiful  and  grand  a  world  as  this  key  of  heayenhest  knowledge  has 
in  its  power  to  unfold.  In  its  grasp  lies  all  the  world  of  truth  and  jus- 
tice ;  all  the  world  of  poetry  and  imagination ;  all  the  world  of  Gtod. 
The  gems  of  earth  and  sea  flash  and  shine  mere  wortblessness,  when 
compared  with  this  efiulgence  of  the  Divine,  revealed  in  the  souls  of 
mortal  men.  It  is  the  rainbow  of  promise  which  forbids  the  death  of 
Hope ;  the  tree  of  knowledge,  whose  fruit  whosoever  will  may  gather 
freely;  the  everlasting  covenant  that  binds  man  to  his  Makbr,  in  a 
blessed  union.    Profaned,  debased,  pipstituted  by  application,  the  holi- 


1800.]  8iktritig9  of  a  Grom^Biri.  Wl 

moBB  of  Love's  name  has  been ;  bat  pure  as  the  arcliaogelsy  of  which 
indeed  it  is  the  diief  and  lord,  stands  Love  the  subduer,  the  blesser, 
the  refiner,  the  cbastener ! 

From  the  stiUness  of  the  Fast  comes  an  echoing  of  a  truth,  whidi 
in  the  midst  of  all  executiolis  of  a  righteous  wrath,  and  the  work  of  a 
just  judgment,  still  wings  its  way  round  the  world,  penetrating  ev«rj 
soul  at  whose  door  its  '  mysterious  knocking'  is  h^Eurd,  <  God  is  love/ 
CHi,  would  that  these  souls  might  stand  forth  unabashed  in  the  purity  of 
the  light  cast  from  the  throne,  and  send  up  an  answering  cry,  signifi- 
cant of  the  accomplishment  of  redemption's  work :  man  is  lave  /  And 
what  if  love  ?  With  a  dear  friend  I  might  reply :  '  Nothing  beyond  a 
dictionary  has  ever  pretended  to  answer,'  sads&ctorily.  And  can  a 
dictionary  tell  to  the  panting,  thirsting  soul,  u>hat  is  love  1  No !  Pro* 
perly,  there  can  be  to  every  man  but  one  answer  to  tfab  interrogation : 
the  voice  in  &e  heart  Over  its  troubled  chaos  God  breathes,  and  the 
roice  is  bom ;  then  arises  in  the  inner  man  a  consciousness  that  needech 
no  interpreter,  and  we  stand  up  enlightened  glorioudy ;  and  looking 
no  longer  vnth  blinded  eyes  on  one  anodier,  we  know  as  we  have  never 
known  before.  *  Heart  answers  to  heart ;'  and  surely,  if  ever  a  glad 
song  is  hymned  among  the  aneels,  it  is  in  such  hours  of  soul  recogni- 
tion and  union  among  those  who  erst  labored  under,  and  bore  wearily 
the  curse  of  sin  estrangement 

I  would  not  call  love  that  ephemeral  thing  which  a  word  or  a  glance 
can  brei^tbe  into  existence ;  there  exists  not  among  human  beings  any 
such  creative  power,  which  a  word  or  a  look  can  wound  mortallv  and 
destroy  utterly.  Human  beings  are  not  empowered  to  thus  annihilate 
spiritual  agencies.  Neither  can  love  be  mat  passion  which  exalts  a 
mortal  to  £e  high  throne  in  the  affections,  which  is  consecrate  firom  the 
beginning  by  a  divine  law  to  Deity  alone ;  which  nothing  but  Deity 
can  inhabit  save  by  usurpation.  Least  of  all  can  be  caUed  love  that 
sensual  desure  whose  gratification  implies  wretched  degradation  of  soul, 
abandonment  of  moivl  principle,  transgression  and  abasement  of  the 
immutable  laws  of  virtue  and  rectitude. 

It  is  certainly  inconceivable  that  the  idea  of  this  divinity  in  man,  con- 
veyed in  the  scriptural  declaration, '  God  is  love,'  wiU  admit  of  any 
such  definitions.  Neither  is  it  to  be  believed  that  the  Apostle's  en- 
treaty, *  let  us  love  one  another,'  was  an  idle,  a  meaningless  entreaty. 
The  missionaries  of  Jesus  were  not  wont  to  utter  vain  precepts.  There 
was  a  solenm  significance  in  all  the  lessons  of  duty  to  which  then*  lips 
gave  utterance.  If,  therefore,  God  is  love,  and  love  is  solemnly  com- 
mended to  us,  must  it  not  of  necessity  be  a  pure,  a  holy  sentunent ; 
one  that  will  always  exalt  and  ennoble,  and  never  debase  ?  Must  it  not 
be  the  spirit  which  makes  a  heaven  of  the  soul  that  receives  itt  Must 
not  this  capacity  to  love  be  the  crowning  happiness ;  the  crowning  dis- 
tinction and  honor  of  humanity  1  And  may  not  that  mortal  who  does 
verily  and  indeed  love,  be  said  to  '  entertain  an  angel,'  though,  Oh 
blessed  thought !  not  * unawaresT 

Numberless  have  been  the  advocates  of  love  since  its  first  sublime 
mani&station  in  the  work  of  creation.  God,  the  pATHsa,  the  life  <tf 
knre,  has  given  into  the  hands  of  «^  his  Apostles  credentials,  by  which 


406  SoarmgM  of  a  OrwmirBML  \tixf, 

the  whole  world  may  know  that  thej  are  commigsioned.  Our  Savioiik 
bore  upon  himself  the  croes  of  love.  Its  thorny  crown  wa»  laid  apoB 
hiB  brow,  by  a  people  who  mocked  at  the  name.  In  all  the  relations  of 
life  which  he  sustamed,  as  a  child,  a  son,  a  friend,  a  teacher,  a  redeemer, 
how  eminently  did  this  soul  of  his  being,  this  divinity  within  him,  ahine 
forth !  * 

The  sacred  missionaries  who  waited  on  his  path,  who  learned  of  Urn 
what  a  high,  what  a  glorious  work  was  theirs,  to  make  known  to  all 
men  the  lore  of  Gtoji  to  man !  Their  virtues  did  Qot  die  awa^  vntfa 
theifi ;  their  work  was  not  ended  when  the  Evangelist  was  laid  m  die 
grave.  When  their  hands  fell  fix>m  the  plough,  diere  were  others  to 
advance,  glad  to  bear  the  cross,  dispising  the  shame,  so  they  might  only 
make  known  more  universally  that  greater  than  riches,  than  power, 
than  glory,  was  the  love  with  which  Christ  loved  us  1 

Oh  men !  Oh  women !  to  whom  these  tidings  of  great  joy  have  come, 
to  vou,  even  as  unto  those  chosen  fishermen  of  Galilee,  is  the  word, 
which  surely  needs  no  interpretation  given :  'Go  and  tell  of  love !' 

But  preach  it  not  with  words,  not  with  words  only,  or  principally. 
One  deed  of  self-forgetfulness,  one  act  of  charity,  one  smile  of  encou- 
ragement, one  effort  to  uplift  the  morally  degraded,  one  whisper  in  the 
ear  of  the  lonely,  fiirsaken  penitent,  oh,  in  Sie  hearts  of  men  and  in 
the  eye  of  Heaven  such  outgoings  of  th v  love  wiXi  be  more  acceptable 
than  a  thousand  sounding  wordis.  Chiefly  by  deeds,  among  us  who 
live  so  much  by  sight,  will  the  Holy  Presence  be  recognised.  ^ 

So  often  profaned  has  been  this  everlasting '  Goo-word'  by  associa- 
tion of  deed  and  thought,  so  often  debased  by  connection  widi  unwor- 
thy acts  has  been  this  eflulgence  of  Almightiness,  that  to  many  minds  it 
has  k)st  its  elevated,  true  meaning.  So  outraged  by  application  has  the 
very  name  been,  that  multitudes,  heart-sick  with  the  alluring,  deceiving 
mirage  of  the  desert,  have  sent  up  a  scoff  and  a  mocking  laugh  when 
they  have  heard  the  word  'love'  taken  reverentially  upon  the  lip! 
GrOD  knows,  in  the  connections  and  dependencies  of  life  we  have  need 
to  believe  with  a  never-questioning  fiitfa  in  the  reality  of  this !  If  love 
be  not  our  Bethlehem-star  to  guide,  we  are  indeed  miserable ;  we 
shall  be  lost  in  the  darkness ! 

There  is  something  beautiful  and  inexpressibly  touching  in  the  a£bc- 
tions  manilested,  not  so  much  uttered,  perhaps,  as  looked  and  acted,  in 
the  devotion  of  the  very  young  to  those  on  whose  care  they  depend ; 
in  whom  they  see  no  fault,  in  whom,  to  their  understandinff,  is  embo- 
died the  glorious  idea  of  perfectness.  But  no  less  beautiml,  and  ficr 
more  touching,  is  the  love  which  binds  together  elder  beings ;  those  in 
the  noon-day  of  life,  who,  having  survived,  struggled  with  and  con- 
quered the  sickening  sense  of  disappointment  which  every  mortal  feels 
on  first  awaking  to  the  conviction  that  their  idols  are  of  clay,  retuni 
again  with  attachment  which  is  strengthened  by  the  trial  of  enligfaten- 
ment ;  return  to  love,  despite  all  follies,  fiiults  and  sins ;  return  to  love, 
with  a  hopeftil  and  forbearing  tenderness,  conscious  of  similar  foifiea, 
fimhs  and  sins,  strong  to  bear  with,  mighty  to  love  I  Such  beings  hav- 
ing so  awakened,  having  so  returned  to  me  wiser,  more  sentient  aAc* 


18M«]  Saarimg9  of  a  Chnmnd-Bird.  4(^ 

doDy  are  prepared  for  self-eacr^ce,  for  self^iminolation,  for  a  lofty  and 
fiiD  development  of  the  Divinity  within  ! 

I  but  echo  the  words  of  another  in  saying :  *  It  seems  as  though  the 
trueH  love  could  never  be  satisfied  with  any  thing  less  than  G^d  !'  He 
who  has  known  the  deep,  abiding,  ^fiiU  satisfaction  which  fills  the  soul 
that  has  struggled  for  Gron's  blessing  with  agony  and  with  tears,  and 
which  has  at  last  obtained  that  Uessmg,  is  prepared,  and  no  other  pre- 
paration is  needed,  to  arise  and  go  forth  and  bless  in  turn,  in  whatever 
way  it  is  possible  for  him  to  bless.  Not  within  the  circle  of  his  own 
dear  household  will  the  affections  of  such  a  one  centre ;  not  at  the  altar 
of  his  own  particular  church  will  his  great  offering  be  laid ;  not  within 
tiie  borders  of  the  country  of  his  birUi  will  his  aflfections  be  limited ; 
not  alone  around  diose  of  his  own  hue  will  the  arms  of  his  divinity  be 
laid ;  oh,  no !  firom  his  warm  heart  prayers  will  ascend  for  aU  the 
dwellers  upon  earth ;  at  the  door  of  a  common  humanity  his  love  vrill 
knock  for  entrance ;  he  will  know  no  distinctions  of  rank  or  station ; 
he  will  acknowledge  no  degradation  but  that  of  vice ;  will  see  no  glory 
but  that  of  moral,  spiritual  excellence.  Such  a  man,  with  sympathies 
which  know  no  limitation,  will  be  conscious  of  a  love  that  is  worthy  its 
heavenly  origin ;  such  a  being  will  live  a  truly  glorious  lifo  ;  such  a  one 
can  alone  be  said  to  truly  live. 

The  affection  which  binds  together  man  and  woman  as  husband  and 
wife  is,  when  found  in  healthfiil  existence,  a  sacred  affection.  Such  an 
allianee  between  souls  bound  toward  eternity  is  holy :  the  pearl  which 
gems  the  brow  of  those  so  united  is  of  exceeding  great  price. 

The  mass  of  earth's  inhabitants  is  preeminently  fitted  tor  sustaining 
such  relations.  The  marriage-covenant  was  instituted  by  the  Almighty. 
When  we  behold  such  countless  shipwrecks  of  their  jpeace  who  thus 
bind  themselves  together,  the  question  vrill  arise  :  <  Is  this  sacrament  of 
marriage  rightly  understood  t  Is  it  wisely  partaken  by  those  who  thus 
set  the  seal  to  their  earthly  unhaminess  V  The  heart  grows  faint  with 
the  thought  of  the  profanation  offered  unto  Love  by  the  too  common 
manner  oi  fiilfilling  the  marriage  vows.  The  continual  jarring  dis- 
cord, the  passion,  the  disappomtment,  the  coldness  and  estrangement, 
among  those  on  whom  Qtov>^%  blessing  is  sought  when  they  are  ioined 
together ;  the  frequent  divorces,  desertions,  and  worse  desecrations  of 
the  laws  of  virtue,  as  existing  now  so  palpably  among  many  of  the 
wedded,  is  cause  enough  for  our  pausing  to  contemplate  this  phase  of 
hov^s  development ;  cause  enough  for  lorcin?  every  man  and  woman 
to  bethink  what  are  the  motives  which  should,  and  the  motives  which 
do,  unite  diem. 

With  those  marriages  whose  propriety  is  suggested  by  the  whispers 
of  8elf>interest,  we  have  nothing  to  do.  They  who  dare  vow  to  '  love, 
honor  and  obey,'  to  •  cherish,  comfort  and  support,'  know  of  course, 
when  they  make  these  vows,  that  they  speak  lalsely ;  that  they  never 
wiB  fulfil  more  than  the  letter  of  the  law,  mayhap  not  even  that  Such 
may  look  for  happiness  in  their  union,  aild  it  is  not  astonishing  if  they 
find  such  as  th^  se^.  In  advancing  their  fortunes,  in  securing  a  bet« 
ter  position  in  the  world,  in  having  a  husband,  in  *  sportmg  a  wife,'  in 

VOL.  zzzv.  27 


410  Soarings  of  a  Graumd-Biri.  [May, 

makbg  a  *  capital  match/  they  find  their  cause  and  source  of  joy.  Of 
these  we  have  naught  to  say  :  they  themselves  would  probably  never 
think  of  asserting  that  love  was  the  foundation  of  union.  Love  being 
to  their  apprehension  such  a  mere  dead-letter,  they  would  seek  for  more 
expressive  language  wherewith  to  make  known  the  reasonable  causes 
for  union  among  mortals. 

Question  the  girl  not  yet  quite  released  from  school  duties,  whose 
eyes  are  fixed  with  longing  on  the  future,  to  whom  the  real  things  of 
life  are  all  rose-hued  and  purple ;  ask  her,  *  What  is  love  V  —  and  uiere 
will  be  a  flushing  of  her  young  face,  and  a  warmer  rush  to  her  heart, 
and  a  tumultuous  beatinfi^  there,  which  tell  that  she  has  had  sweet 
dreams  of  the  existence,  if  she  does  not  really  know,  of  the  divinity 
within  her.  Self-sacrifice,  self-forgetfulness,  enters  largely  into  her 
ideas  of  this  love.  What  would  she  not  do,  what  wQuld  she  not  dare 
and  bear,  for  the  Ideal ;  for  him  whom,  of  all  the  hosts  Imagination 
draws  around  her,  she  loves  only,  wholly,  truly  ?  When  she  goes  into 
the  world  —  the  world,  to  her  vision,  so  overflowing  with  light  and  love 
and  beauty  —  what  meets  her,  who  treads  on  air,  the  sunlight  of  hea- 
ven's smile  making  bright  her  way.  the  soft  melody  of  angel-songs 
breathing  through  her  soul  %  Perhaps  the  dream  of  her  girlhood 
transforms  itself  into  a  living,  glorious  reality.  One  may  meet  her 
there  to  take  her  by  the  hand  and  lead  her  through  the  paths  of  life. 
He  b  the  very  personation  of  her  ideal ;  she  bows  to  him,  yields  to  him, 
ffives  him  her  heart,  with  its '  wealth  of  tenderness,'  sees  through  a  glass 
darkly  all  his  imperfections,  moral,  natural,  and  mental.  There  is  no 
room  then  in  her  mind  for  any  thought  but  of  him.  Her  prayen  are 
fraught  with  but  one  name ;  she  lives  but  in  his  life.  Oh,  happiest  of 
dreamers  !  most  miserable  of  awakoners  ! 

Wlien  the  passion  which  mortal  strength  cannot  long  endure  passes. 
It  may  not  be  in  years,  it  may  be  early,  yet  too  late,  there  is  left  a  void* 
a  gloom,  a  chaos  in  her  heart,  which  tells  how  terribly  is  visited  on  the 
Human  the  sin  of  robing  wholly  with  earthly  garments  the  Divine  ! 

Who  will  doubt,  that  knows  of  human  life  as  it  is,  that  a  strong,  deep, 
human  love  is  needed  to  bear  the  spirit  up  in  trial,  suflering  and  loss : 
but  it  is  not  this  absorbing  passion  that  will  answer ;  too  essentially 
human  is  it,  to  endure. 

I  have  in  my  mind's  eye  two  beings,  of  whose  divorces  the  world 
will  never  hear ;  of  whose  domestic  wretchedness,  of  whose  heait- 
disappointment,  no  ear  wUl  ever  be  pained  with  the  hearing.  Beauti- 
tiful,  though  very  different,  illustrauons  do  they  afibrd  of  the  divinity 
which  is  revealed  in  every  true  development  of  the  love  which  moi;- 
tab  bear  toward  one  another.  The  one,  in  the  perfect  loveliness  of 
her  womanhood,  bowed  her  heart  to  another  heart  as  lofty  and  as  noUe 
as  her  own,  and  there  was  the  strength  and  duration  of  eternity  in  the 
tie  which  bound  them  together.  Natural  beauty  was  not  the  attractive 
power ;  more  exalted  position  in  society  was  not  what  either  sought ; 
mcrease  of  fortune,  ot  worldly  wealth,  was  not  the  cementing  power 
which  erected  them,  a  wall  of  strength,  against  which  the  world  musi 
battle  vainly  ever.  The  virtue,  the  religion  in  the  heart  of  each ;  die 
calm  trust  in  the  mercy  of  God  ;  aspirations  after  perfection ;  sorrow 


28dO.]    .  Soarmgs  of  a  GrmmdrBurd.  411 

ibr  the  am  and  comiption  which  reign  among  men  ;  deep  and  abiding 
hope  and  ftith  m  the  mercy  with  which  Hbatbn  regards  His  children 
of  die  earthy  were  the  habits  of  ndnd,  mutually  perceived,  whioh  drew 
them  together.  Faith  in  the  great  capacities  of  moral  and  mental  de- 
velopment in  morals,  a  deep  and  cordial  respect  for  each  other's  cha- 
racter, which  finally  merged  into  a  pure  and  steadfast  lore ;  these  were 
the  causes  of  their  union.  The  way  of  these  twain  is  in  the  world, 
among  the  worldly ;  but  gladness  and  sunshine  is  in  the  woman's  heart, 
and  she  will  never  bow  to  the  false  gods  of  earth ;  and  this  man,  un- 
comipted,  undefiled  by  the  temptations  which  assail,  will,  by  the  help 
of  the  God  through  whom  he  lives  and  moves,  remain  through  life 
'  unspotted  fixmi  the  world/     God's  blessing  rest  forever  upon  them  ! 

There  is  another,  around  whose  early  life  was  thrown  httle  of  ro-  ^ 
raance,  or  the  visible  forms  of  beauty.  From  childhood  her  soul  was 
athfrst ;  but  though  it  was  her  lot  to  dwell  in  an  isolated  land  '  where 
no  water  is,'  the  kindly  dews  of  heaven  fell  upon  and  strengthened  her. 
Looking  with  weary  eyes  around  her,  even  in  early  life  she  saw  nothing 
that  eoidd  satisfy  the  cravings  of  her  spirit ;  and  from  the  unsatisfying 
things  that  were  seen,  to  the  eternal  beauty  of  the  unseen,  yet  not 
i^tmly-guessed-of  beyond,  she  turned. 

God,  the  strength  of  love,  heard  her  patient  supplications,  her  cry 
of  ftith,  and  Hb  was  very  gracious  unto  her.  Then  did  she  forget  the 
loneliness,  the  gloom,  the  want  of  sympathy  ;  there  sprang  up  a  foun- 
tain that  proved  unfailing  in  the  desert ;  a  beautiful  oasis  was  disco- 
vered even  there,  and  in  the  pleasant  shade  of  palm-trees  sat  she  down 
to  rest. 

In  after  years  a  broader  meaning  of  the  '  GoD-word*  burst  upon  her 
happy  heart ;  a  new  light  flooded  all  former  conceptions  of  the  true 
Lm  of  life.  She  married ;  and  there  was  a  truth,  a  reflex  of  the  vn- 
moital  virtue  which  is  destined  to  outlive  this  mortal  life,  in  her  assent- 
mg  word.  There  was  a  promise  of  firm  affection,  of  pure  devotion, 
bMUtiful  as  that  manifest  in  the  choice  of  Ruth ;  in  her,  when  she  said 
to  her  beloved,  <  Where  tliou  eoest  I  will  go ;  thy  people  shall  be  my 
people,  and  thy  God  my  God/  And  she  went  forth  with  him  in  the 
p«ths  of  a  new  life,  knowmg  that  she  must  bear  and  endure,  that  she 
must  meet  the  storm  as  well  as  the  sunshine,  and  that  weeds  and  tares 
would  grow  and  blossom  among  the  flowers  which  would  bloom  for 
her.     The  duty  devolving  upon  woman  will  she  ever  nobly  fulfil,  her 

r*  it  acknowledging,  while  it  clings  to  the  earthly,  that  in  God  alone 
loftiest  love  finds  its  full  satisfaction  ;  that  in  heaven  only  the  heart 
can  truly  know  of  that  crowning  blessedness,  that  fulness  of  joy,  that 
glorious  love,  of  which  now  we  at  best  conceive  so  faintly,  and  so  often 
profenely. 

Ah,  would  that  nil  who  are  given  in  marriage  would  recognise  the 
truth  as  she  has  recognised  it !  Then  should  we  see  none  of  that  wild 
castle-building  whose  felling  ruins  crush  so  miserably  the  fancy  and  the 
vain  hope  that  reared  them.  Then  should  we  cease  searching  for  what 
has  no  real  existelice.  Then  should  we  learn,  that  in  loving  as  the 
angels  apprehend,  we  should  be  strengthened  to  do  all  things  well  1 


412  SoanngM  vf  a  Gnmrnd-Bird.  [Mpiy, 

Exah  the  standard  of  love :  let  it  not  be  confoiuided  with  an  era- 
Descent  &ncy,  a  deceiving  passion,  a  wicked  desire,  and  the  miseriea 
attendant  on  diis  diyinitj  wouM  no  longer  remain  such  popular  pro- 
verbs. Pnrify  the  spirit  of  love,  strengthen  it,  rouse  it  efl»otuaIly  from 
a  diseased  existence;  what  would  follow?  purely  the  great  hesot  of 
humanity  would  not  become  chilled,  cold,  insensible,  dead ! 

If  we  come  to  see  each  other  in  the  true  manliness  and  womanhneas 
of  our  human  nature ;  if  we  dispense  entirely  forever  with  the  mists  of 
frenzied  imagination,  shall  we  lose  ground  i  Shall  we  be  degraded 
mutually  by  mis  truthful  contemplation  ?    Believe  it  not ! 

How  much  of  wonderful  and  beautiful  significance  is  there  in  this 
name,  Lovb  !  How  much  of  attractive,  independent  power  there  is  in 
this  spuit.  Love  !  Oh,  it  is  no  will-o'-the-wisp,  but  an  angel,  that  leads 
us,  not  certainly  oftenest  over  beds  of  moss,  through  gardens  of  thorn- 
less  roses !  The  blood  of  martyrs  who  for  love's  s^ke  bent  meekly 
under  the  axe  of  the  executioner ;  the  cross  of  our  Master,  the  incar- 
nate Jesus  ;  are  not  these  a  witness  and  a  proof!  if  we  need  look 
abroad  fbr  such,  that  ease,  luxury  and  selfish  enjoyment  are  not  the 
ends  foe  which  we  were  created ;  are  not  the  issue,  are  not  the  leah^ 
of  love.  Through  the  instrumentality  of  this  divinity  in  man  do  we 
receive  assurance  of  eaxlh's  final  release  from  bondage  to  sin.  Not  in 
these  bloody  wars,  which  kindle  the  evil  spirits  of  the  nationa ;  not  in 
these  strifes  for  precedence,  not  in  these  effartB  for  increase  of  domi- 
nion, does  the  hope  of  our  final  and  complete  redemption  from  the 
thraldom  of  sin  lie. 

When  the  sound  of  battling  armies  shall  be  hushed  forever ;  when 
the  greedy  thirst  for  gain  finds  lodgment  no  longer  in  the  souk  of  men ; 
when  the  bondmen  of  Satan  rise,  and  quaff  no  more  the  poisoned 
waters  of  moral  leprosy  and  death ;  when  the  Angel  of  the  Lord 
comes  forth  in  the  heavens  to  proclaim  the  beginning  of  the  Prince  of 
Peace's  reign,  then  shall  we  know  that  a  power  mightier  than  all  the 
armies  of  earth  has  been  acting  on  the  heart's  corruption  with  all  the 
purifying  influences  of  fire ;  then  shall  vre  know  that  love  has  been 
understood ;  that  it  has  arisen  and  put  on  its  mighty  power ;  that  it  has 
flung  away  the  disguises  mortals  would  put  upon  it,  assumed  its  own 
'  beautiful  garments,'  and  finally  appeared  the  agent  of  the  Almmbbty'; 
the  purification  and  the  exaltation  of  humanity.  Recognised  then,  a 
perpetually  reproducing  power,  love  will  bring  forth  its  natural,  its 
heavenly  fruits,  of  justice,  of  truth,  of  forbearance,  endurance,  foi^ 
giveness,  charity,  faith,  hope ;  in  short,  of  perfect  reli^on. 

Oh,  let  us  learn  of  it  now  !  Inasmuch  as  this  lifo  is  but  the  dim-lit 
corridor  leading  into  the  dominicws  of  our  Father's  glory,  the  Land 
of  Love,  let  us  purify  our  hearts,  let  us  recognise  and  act  upon  the  pre- 
sumption of  the  immutable  necessity  of  gocDiness  of  living ;  instead  of 
charming  the  heart  and  its  affections  in  a  bondage  to  eardi,  against 
which  Reason  widi  her  loud  voice  cries,  let  us  raise  our  hopes  and  as- 
pirations ;  let  us  exalt  our  loves,  and  never  of  these  toys  of  earth  i 
'  Herewith  I  am  content' 
The  God  of  Love  be  with  you  f 


18M.J  Lne,  a  CkOi.  ,  4» 

LOTS,       A       CHILD. 
T&AW8LATBD      F  B  O  IC     TBS     O  S  &  M  A  H 

BT  Xm  A.  ■OBBincix.x.sa,    U.    D.         ' 


Wilt  fUeld  the  butterfly  from  hsmi, 
WonMst  thou  the  God  of  Love  reform, 

Hi*  time  by  change  begoQed  f 
Or  ring  ye  with  mperior  fire, 
With  wisdom's  lore  upon  the  lyre  ? 

The  winds  that  hear  are  wild! 
He  'n  leare  you  as  he  would  a  toy  v 
Why  heed  ye  then  the  thougfatlesB  boy  T 
He'sbutpiohild! 


Has  wealth  detained  the  giddy  god? 
Beware !  he  '11  break  the  gaded  rod, 

With  golden  burthen  piled ! 
Unsteady  as  the  billowy  sea. 
A  bell's  sweet  tone  attracts  him ;  see 

How  ttam  thee  he  is  wiled  1 
Away  the  golden  toys  he  threw ; 
What  ean  you  with  the  rMoal  doT 
He'sbntachfldl 


Art  an^  ?— it  exoitea  no  fears ; 
Tott  chide,  and  he  but  stops  his  ears ; 

Ton  frown,  but  he  is  blind ; 
Ton  deem  your  threats  may  stay  his  wlka ; 
The  rascal  m  the  corner  anmlea, 

New  artifice  compiled. 
The  lion  mooka,  with  dragons  pli^ ; 
Ye  cannot  core  his  headstrong  ways : 
He 'shut  a  child! 


Ton  erasp  at  length  toward  hUi  rod ; 
Soon  humbly  bows  the  haughty  god, 

By  breath  of  spring  bc«;uiled : 
He  flings  his  arms  around  your  neck, 
The  false  tears  flowing  o'er  his  chedc 

In  traces  warm  and  mild ; 
From  tearfnl  eyes  the  smQes  peep  through : 
What  oanye  with  the  flatterer  do? 
He'sbutachDd! 


414  J6k»  in  Paimos.  .  [Maj, 


JOHN       IN       PATMOS. 


ST  osAmxjia  a.  ntzm. 


Gbiitlb  and  miukxd  the  waves  were  leaping 

Up  the  sharp  rooks  that  girdled  Ptttmos'  Mie, 
And  the  dond-buOders,  sprites  of  air,  were  li<»f>ping 

Their  snowy  architecture,  pile  on  pile, 
When  on  a  monntain  whose  tall  eone  was  sleeping 

In  the  soft  dream  of  Uue  that  round  it  spread, 
A  prop^t  of  the  Son  or  Goo  was  keeping 

Kemembranoe  of  the  day  he  left  the  deiid. 


John  was  in  exile,  yet  no  rulgar  notion 

Of  the  fpreat  worth  of  freedom  bade  him  pine ; 
But  with  ^  fulness  of  a  saint's  devotion 

He  saw  in  all  a  Providence  benign. 
Before  him  stretched  the.  circling  realm  of  ooeany 

And  the  near  hill-tops  that  in  sun-light  lay ;' 
But  he,  abstracted  from  earth's  life  and  motion, 

Was  in  the  spirit  on  the  Sabbath-day. 


And  on  his  stirred  and  raptured  soul  was  weighing 

A  sense  of  glory ;  of  a  Presence  near, 
Who  heard  the  gushing  of  his  heart  when  praying, 

And  hearing,  answered  ;  but  with  sudden  fear 
Ho  felt  the  mountain  underneath  him  swaying, 

He  saw  the  landscape  darkening  from  sigh^ 
And  in  his  ear  there  was  a  summons,  saying, 

'  Come  up  and  see,  and  what  thou  seest  write !' 


See  the  first  heaven  with  dizzy  change  surrender 

Its  realm  of  floating  cloud  and  summer  blue } 
The  second  heaven  of  planet-crowded  splendor 

Fades  from  the  sight  as  opens  into  view 
An  earth  more  fair  and  green,  a  sky  more  tender, 

Than  that  which  greets  our  sense-illumined  si^t, 
Where  neither  frost  nor  sunbeam's  heat  engender 

Earth's  desert  scenes  of  parched  and  frigid  blight. 


A  sense  of  mnnc  o'er  his  heart  was  flowing, 

Thoagh  from  the  earth  rolled  up  no  anthem-peal ; 
A  sense  of  brightness  on  his  eye  was  glowing. 

Though  trance  had  set  upon  its  lid  a  seal ; 
A  sense  of  soft  and  balmy  breeaes  blowing 

From  the  gmn  borders  of  the  Stream  of  Life; 
A  sense  oc  <£erMhed  hope  to  knowledge  growing  ; 

A  seaae  of  respite  from  earth's  care  and  strife. 


1850.]  Jokm  in  Patmot.  415 


Hiat  music  was  of  ranBomed  spirits  singing, 

Freed  from  the  weakness  that  tliey  wore  in  time  ; 
That  brightness  was  the  crystal  city  springing 

From  the  fresh  hill-sides  of  that  happier  clime ; 
And  in  those  blandly-tempered  airs  was  clinging 

The  scent  of  flowers  removed  from  mortal  reach, 
While  throngh  the  chambers  of  his  sonl  were  ringing 

Meanings  that  spnmed  the  fettering  of  speech. 


Then  stood  before  him  in  that  revelation 

The  kingljer  presence  of  that  PaiNca  who  came 
And  trod  &e  rugged  pathway  of  probation, 

And  lived  in  lowliness,  and  died  in  shame, 
That  sinful  man  might  know  of  free  salvation, 

And,  passed  from  earthly  to  eternal  things. 
Might  view  his  risen  Saviour's  lofty  station. 

Throned  as  the  ^  Lord  of  Lords  and  King  of  Kings.* 


Then  eame,  in  shapes  gigantic  and  appalling, 

The  prophet-types  of  wonders  yet  to  be, 
And  mighty  voices  through  the  deeps  were  calling, 

Wluoh  spoke  of  kingdoms  and  their  destiny : 
Of  Zion  throuirh  the  futnre  ages  walling, 

Earth  with  Truth's  sure  defcnoes,  high  and  strong, 
Of  gospel  grace  the  nations  disenthralling, 

<K  discords  calmed  to  earth's  millennia  <>^^> 


The  mystic  meaning  of  these  types  divining. 

He  saw  that  Christ  would  set  the  nations  free ; 
That  the  strong  *•  vine,'  round  trunk  and  branches  twining, 

Would  climb  and  crush  sin's  shading  upas-tree ; 
And  from  his  heart  there  came  no  vain  repining. 

As  passed  from  sight  the  city  and  the  throne ; 
In  the  still  sky  the  midnight  stars  were  shining. 

And  John  was  on  the  mountain-top  alone. 


There  is  a  Patmos  in  the  soul's  seclusion, 

When  from  the  tumult  of  earth's  cares  we  flee ; 

When  round  the  rock-bound  will  the  world's  intrusion 
Rolls  up  the  billows  of  its  restless  sea : 

When  inland  fiir,  remote  from  iti  confusion. 
The  climbing  spirit  treads  the  peaks  of  thought, 

Where,  throu^  the  flying  clouds  of  life's  delusion, 
'  Home  to  the  soul  eternal  scenes  are  brought 


Oh,  that  these  deathless  powers,  which  long  have  herded 

With  the  low,  sensuous  tenants  of  the  v&, 
Sandalled  for  treading  steeps,  for  stru^ling  girded. 

The  holier  heights  of  thought  would  dare  to  scale ; 
Then  would  their  puny  strength  be  grown  and  sturdied 

In  calmer  solitudes  and  purer  air, 
And  fiuth's  deep  mysteries,  unvoiced,  unwovded, 

Would  come  in  visions  on  the  mount  of  prayer. 
AM(MhJir«rdk,18S0, 


416  7%«  SaitU  Leger  Tmpers.  [May, 


THE  SAINT  LEGER  PAPERS. 


kPTB»     TKS     X.i 


On  the  way  to  my  hotel  I  revolved  this  interview,  to  discover  a  clue 
to  the  unexpected  conduct  of  Vautrey.  I  came  to  the  conviction  that 
he  had,  in  a  manner,  spoken  truth  with  regard  to  himselE  He  had  run 
so  completely  the  round  of  pleasures,  that  they  sickened  rather  than 
^pi^tifiea :  his  life  had  been  so  continually  spent  in  making  enemies  and 
m  opposing  them,  that  he  was  tired  of  strife,  and  longed  to  be  at  peace. 
It  was  especially  undesirable  to  provoke  a  quarrel  at  the  present  time, 
when  his  plans  were  about  to  be  realized,  and  particulany  dangerous 
to  excite  me  to  further  opposition.  Such  being  his  feelings  and  posi- 
tion, his  conduct  —  taking  into  view  his  adroitness  to  adapt  himself  U> 
occasions,  without  scruple  —  was  easily  explained. 

Although  foiled  in  my  object,  I  was  not  deceived.  But  without  some 
assent  to  our  action  from  Leila,  what,  afler  all,  could  be  done  t  As  it 
%vas,  she  was  resolutely  determined  to  prevent  any  interference  in  her 
behalf.  And  so,  thought  I,  Laurent  de  Vautrey  triumphs  at  last !  this 
is  the  reward  of  a  life  of  wickedness !  after  he  is  satisfied  with  every 
thing  the  senses  can  enjoy ;  after  years  of  debauchery  and  violence,  he 
is  to  lay  hold  on  the  only  happiness  that  remains,  and  to  possess  die 
only  object  he  desires.  A  thoughtless  reproach  of  Providence  was 
about  to  escape  my  lips,  but  I  restrained  it. 

Leila,  then,  was  to  be  sacrificed*  How  little  really  did  Vautrey  know 
of  woman's  nature ;  how  mistaken  was  he  in  supposing  his  had  been 
the  school  in  which  to  learn  it.  Before  reaching  the  Stadt-Pruasien,  I 
had  formed  a  new  design ;  I  would  make  an  effort  to  see  my  cousin, 
and  try  what  persuasion  would  do.  Taking  a  carriage,  I  drove  to  the 
house  of  Madame  de  Marschelin.  She  was  at  home,  and  I  thought  it 
best  to  obtain  what  information  I  could  from  her.  This  lady  was  one 
of  those  fortunate  persons  with  whom  the  world  always  goes  smoothly ; 
though  kind-hearted  and  amiable,  she  had  not  soul  enough  to  su£fer 
from  any  occurrence  that  was  likely  to  happen.  She  could  not  under- 
stand the  calamity  which  had  now  fallen  upon  the  lovers,  or  the  agony 
it  brought  with  it.  I  found  little  satisfaction  in  my  conversation  with 
hOT.  She  was  distressed  that  Leila  was  so  unhappy.  She  wondered 
hpw  her  father  could  have  been  so  cruel ;  but  fathers  were  cruel  some- 
times ;  at  least  young  girls  were  apt  to  think  so ;  not  that  Leila  thought 
so ;  she  was  a  sweet  creature,  a  pattern  of  obedience ;  she  loved  her 
as  if  she  were  her  own  child  —  she  was  sure  she  did.  Who  could  tell 
but  it  was  best  so  ?  Count  Vautrey  was  of  a  noble  family ;  he  was 
said  to  be  too  gay ;  but,  doubtless,  he  would  reform.  I  grew  faint 
under  this  good-natured  exhibition  of  heartlessness,  and  without  at- 
tempting to  prolong  the  interview,  asked  if  I  could  see  my  cousin. 
Maaame  de  Marschelin  regretted  that  it  was  impossible,  <  Leila,  poor 


418  Tke  SaiiU  Leger  Papers.  [May, 

that  at  the  last  moment  even  we  should  be  ready  to  rescue  her.  I  my- 
flelf  knew  too  well  her  resolute  spirit  to  believe  anything  could  alter 
her  determination* 

The  time  passed  gloomily.  We  did  not  separate,  but  continued  to 
discuss  one  project  after  another,  with  feverish  excitement  We  walked 
about  the- town,  we  visited  the  cathedral,  we  went  up  to  the  altar,  and 
Hood  where  Vautrey  and  Leila  were  to  stand.  We  even  selected  the 
place  whence  we  should  ourselves  observe  the  ceremonial ;  Heinrich 
acquiescing,  as  one  to  whom  every  thing  bad  become  indifferent  After- 
ward, restless  and  impatient,  we  paced  up  and  down  the  street. 

The  day  was  spent  The  hour  arrived  v^rhich  should  ^ve  Leila  Saint 
Leger  to  Laurent  de  Vautrey.  A  few  minutes  before  this,  Wallen- 
roth,  Macklome,  and  myself,  had  taken  our  places  by  a  small  chapel  on 
the  left  of  the  altar.  The  immense  wax  candles  around  it  were  burn- 
ing ;  they  emitted  no  cheerful  light,  but  added  to  the  gloom  which  per« 
vaded  the  cathedral.    After  a  few  minutes  two  carriages  drove  up,  and 

Sresently  Leila  entered,  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  Madame  de  Marsche- 
n,  followed  closed  by  Vautrey.     Several  attendants  on  either  side 
waited  at  the  door  within  the  church. 

As  Leila  advanced,  my  eyes  were  fastened  upon  her.  I  endeavored 
to  mark  some  sig^  of  wavering  purpose,  but  could  not ;  her  face  was 
very  pale,  but  her  step  was  iirm,  her  form  erect,  her  air  composed  and 
di^ified-^she  would  do  nothing  even  in  appearance  to  violate  the 
spirit  of  her  promise.  Vautrey,  too,  bore  him^lf  with  an  easy  ele- 
gance, which  under  other  circumstances  would  have  challenged  my  ad- 
miration. An  anxious  furtive  glance  thrown  around  the  gloomy  chapels 
and  recesses  of  the  cathedral,  however,  gave  evidence  of  some  pertur- 
bation of  spirit  They  approached  the  altar  together.  For  an  instant 
1  turned  to  look  at  my  companions.  Wallenroth  seemed  stupified,  and 
was  gazing  vacantly  on  the  scene ;  Macklorne,  on  the  contrary,  was 
excited  to  an  almost  incredible  degree ;  a  frown  was  upon  his  brow ; 
his  eyes  shone  with  fierceness ;  his  form  was  dilated ;  his  breathing 
distinctly  audible.  The  sound  of  the  priest's  voice  brought  my  atten- 
tion back  to  the  parties ;  up  to  this  moment  I  was  calm ;  now  a  tremor 
ceized  me,  a  giddy  sensation  oppressed  me,  and  I  leaned  against  one 
of  the  columns  for  support 

The  ceremony  went  on— -the  moments  to  me  seemed  ages;  the 
responses  had  been  "demanded  and  were  made  by  Leila,  in  a  firm  un- 
wavering voice ;  luid  the  priest  had  taken  the  nng  in  order  to  com- 
plete the  rite.  At  this  moment  a  moan  at  my  side  caused  me  to  turn ; 
Wallenroth  had  sunk  down  insensible.  The  priest  paused,  startled  by 
the  interruption ;  a  gesture  from  Vautrey  recalled  him  to  his  duty ; 
bat  now  a  slight  disturbance  was  heard,  proceeding  from  the  entrance ; 
the  noise  increased — the  priest  paused  again  —  when  a  hideous  crea- 
ture, vrith  the  aspect  of  a  fiend,  darted  swifi:ly  forward,  and  befi>re  one 
could  say  what  it  was,  lighted  vrith  a  single  bound  upon  the  shoulders 
of  tlie  count  I  saw  the  glitter  of  steel  alof^,  and  flashing  suddenly 
downward ;  I  saw  Vautrey  fall  heavily  upon  the  mosaic — dead.  His 
executioner  crouched  a  moment  over  him  with  a  brute  fierceness,  then 
drew  the  dirk  from  the  wound ;  and  as  drops  of  blood  fell  from  its 


489  SUmzas:  Lamd  Brmza. 


LAND        BEKBKB8 


BT  WM.  m.  oXiAnsa. 


Down  0ome  bright  river  haiA  thou  BOTeir  dnftod, 

And  marked  on  either  nde 
Green  iieldi  and  dopes,  wHh  oedar  Yafleytt  TifteA, 

That  met  the  wooing  tidet 

Fair  groTea  all  panoplied  with  BnmnMir's  Hrmor, 

KnoUa  where  the  wild  bee  Toanu, 
And  o^er  the  whole  a  deeper  light  and  'wanner  - 

The  light  of  happy  homes.  ^ 

And  aa  thy  bark  wai  downward  drop^nsr  lAowVr 
By  ipots  and  aoeDea  like  thaa^^  «»wiy 

Upon  thy  brow,  with  kiaaeaoalm  aaa^v^o* 
lingered  the  warm  l«nd-\w^^^]^^^' 

The  rirer  widened,  and  its  aanA-*, 

CJrept  from  thee  eitW  Wi^3^*^5«* 
And  on  thine  ear  were  borne  tK        * 

Upon  thy  lip  its  wpray .     ^  ^H^ean'a  anr^oa. 

In  ita  tamnltooaa  strife  aiftd.  rw^m 

Iti  agony  and  stonb  ^^•■^^■a  \omaski9 
From  shores  that  thou  lim^l*  ,  """^i 

Unnoticed  then  were  "bai*^ 

Unmarked  the  i^?^*  ^^Ke  wl^a  ^     , 
Thou  only  heardst  tbe  X^i^^*^'^  i^ij^^  ^*^^^M*g, 

Upon  the  river  >«  ^fe^^^ly  Uoiing 
Down  s(Mne  bright  "tr^^,^ 

And  seen,  oftolT^J^  ^^  «r»«^  ^^ 
Far  stretching  plain«  iL**^«  UiL^u^i^y  ^»«»t  h-.  a 

F«ir  groTM  where  e»-~» 

OariatM  at  £»?**«.  lfco»»«_ 

_      Drifted  aiy'i,^;olc^ 
mtlieperpetiMl,,-^^  •«»»«.        ^*«' 


482  Fabie*  and  FaiuUiU.  .  [May. 

eyinced  a  great  predilection  for  that  species  of  literary  compositioD 
ordinarily  called  apologt^,  who  possessed  in  his  library  almost  all  the 
fabulists,  au3  who  read  La  Fontaine  day  and  night  I  gladly  accepted 
the  offer  of  my  friend.     We  visited  his  uncle  together^ 

I  ibund  him  a  little,  old  man,  of  some  fourscore  years,  but  with  hia 
mental  faculties  as  fresh  and  active  as  ever.  His  countenance  was 
sweet  and  mirthful ;  his  eyes  lively  and  spiritual ;  his  face,  his  smile^  his 
manner,  .all  indicated  an  enviable  peace  of  mind,  and  that  habit  of  find- 
ing happiness  in  one's  selC  which,  by  contact,  is  so  readily  communica- 
ted to  others.  One  felt  sure,  at  the  outset,  that  he  saw  in  the  octoge- 
narian an  excellent  man.  He  received  me  with  a  frank  and  polite  air, 
made  me  sit  near  him,  begged  me  to  raise  my  voice  a  trifle — only  a 
trifle,  because,  as  he  phrased  it,  he  had  the  happiness  of  being  but 
slightly  deaf;  and,  having  been  already  advertised  by  his  nephew  that 
I  made  some  pretensions  of  being  a  rabulist,  he  asked  me  if  I  would 
do  him  the  honor  to  read  some  of  my  fables. 

He  did  not  need  to  press  the  request.  I  promptly  chose  those  of 
my  fables  which  I  regarded  as  the  best.  I  recited  them  in  my  best 
style,  setting  them  off;  as  I  supposed,  with  all  the  magical  power  of  a 
good  utterance ;  I  even  graced  them  with  some  of  the  airs  of  the 
stage-player ;  seeking,  as  I  proceeded,  to  divine  from  the  eyes  of  my 
judge,  whether  he  was  satisfied. 

He  listened  to  me  with  benevolence ;  laughed  from  time  to  time,  at 
certain  passages,  and  drew  down  his  eyebrows  at  some  others,  which 
I  noted,  for  the  purpose  of  correcting  them.  After  having  listened  to 
some  dozen  of  my  apologues,  he  gave  me  the  tribute  of  eulogy  which 
authors  always  regard  as  the  price  of  their  labor,  and  which  is  fre- 
quently, perhaps  too  frequently,  all  the  reward  they  receive  for  their 
pains.  1  thanked  him,  as  he  praised  me,  after  which  we  commenced 
an  earnest  and  cordial  conversation. 

'  I  recognise  in  your  fables,'  said  the  old  gentleman, '  several  sub- 
jects treat^  of  in  ancient  or  foreign  efforts  of  the  kind.' 

*  Yes,'  I  replied,  *  all  are  not  of  my  invention.  I  have  read  a  ereat 
many  fabulists ;  and  whenever  I  have  found  subjects  which  pleased  me, 
ai^d  which  had  not  been  treated  by  La  Fontaine,  I  have  appropriated 
them,  without  hesitation.  I  have  borrowed  from  ^sop,  from  Bidpai, 
from  Gay,  from  the  German  fabulists,  and,  more  frequently  than  from 
all  the  rest,  from  a  Spaniard,  named  Yriarte,  a  poet  whom  I  greatly 
esteem,  and  who  has  furnished  me  with  die  ideas  embraced  in  the 
happiest  of  my  apologues.  I  intend  to  anticipate  the  public  in  the 
prelkce  to  my  fables,  so  that  they  cannot  reproach.' 

'  Oh !  that  will  make  it  all  very  smooth  to  the  public/  interrupted  he, 
laughing.  '  Of  what  consequence  is  it  to  your  readers,  that  the  sulnect 
of  one  of  your  fables  has  been  first  elicited  by  a  Greek,  a  Spaniard,  or 
yourself!  The  main  thing,  of  course,  is  that  your  fable  is  well  made.' 
La  Bruyere  says,  '  The  selection  of  thoughts  is  invention.'  Beside, 
▼ou  have  La  Fontaine  for  your  example.  There  are  scarcely  any  of 
his  apologues  that  I  have  not  found  m  authors  more  ancient  than  he. 
But  if  anything  could  add  to  his  glor^,  it  would  be  this  comparison. 
Qvfe  yourself  no  uneasiness  on  this  pomt    In  poetry,  as  in  war,  that 


484  Fahki  amd  FaMUU.  [May, 

heart  the  admirable  fiibld  of  the  'Two  Pigeons;*  the  world  repeats 
not  leas  frequently  these  lines  of  the  '  Amorous  Lion :'    ^    - 


'  .Ainuwrf  auKJWTi  ifvooil  tU  M>ud  wcup| 

On  peat  bleu  dire,  adieu,  Prudeiioe.' 

^OhloYet  oil  love,  wtaitlMNL  ddiiwtttre  tliyipellr 
One  may  at  once  to  Pradenoe  bid  (hreweU.* 

and  nobody  would  care  to  be  informed  that  these  two  iables  could  very 
easily  be  demonstrated  to  be  formed  contrary  to  the  rules. 

'  Perhaps  you  will  require  of  me,  seeing  I  criticize  so  severely  the 
definitions  and  precepts  laid  down  respectmg  the  &ble,  that  I  should 
point  out  sometning  better ;  but  I  shall  excuse  myself  from  undeitak- 
mg  any  such  task,  for  I  am  convinced  that  this  species  of  composition 
cannot  be  defined,  and  cannot  be  governed  imperiously  by  precept 
Boilean  has  said  nothing  of  it  in  his  Art  Poetiquey  and  I  incline  to  think 
that  his  silence  results  m>m  his  having  felt  that  he  could  not  reduce  it 
to  his  laws.     This  Boileau,  who  was  unquestionably  a  poet,  wrote  the 
fitble  of  '  Death  and  the  Unfortunate/  in  competition  with  La  Fontaine. 
J.  B.  Rousseau,  who  was  also  a  poet,  treated  the  same  subject.     Read 
in  d'Alembert  these  two  apologues,  compared  with  that  of  La  Fon- 
taine.   You  will  find  the  same  moral,  the  same  image,  the  same  order, 
almost  the  same  expressions ;  yet  the  two  fables  of  Boileau  and  Roua- 
seau  are  very  indifferent,  whOe  that  of  La  Fontaine  is  a  master-piece. 
The  reason  of  this  difference  is  very  clearly  developed  in  an  excellent 
morceau  or  fitble  by  Marmontel.    He  does  not  give  the  means  bv  which 
a  good  &ble  may  be  written,  for  those  cannot  be  given ;  he  does  not 
lay  down  principles,  rules  by  which  the  metre  must  be  governed,  for — 
I  repeat  it — in  this  department  of  the  fine  arts  there  are  no  rules;  but 
he  is  the  first,  it  seems  to  me,  who  has  explained  to  us  why  it  is  that  we 
find  so  great  a  charm  in  reading  La  Fontaine  —  whence  comes  the 
iHusion  which  this  inimitable  writer  creates.     '  La  Fontaine;'  I  quote 
f^m  Marmontel,  *  has  not  simply  heard  what  he  relates ;  he  has  seea 
it ;  he  expects  to  see  it  again.     He  is  not  a  poet  who  imagines  ;  he  is 
not  a  story-teller,  who  deals  in  pleasantry.    lie  is  a  witness,  present  at 
the  act,  and  who  can  render  you  present  there  yourself.    His  eradition* 
his  eloquence,  his  philosophy,  his  politics,  all  he  possesses  of  imagina- 
tion, of  memory,  of  sentiment  —  he  sets  them  all  at  work,  with  the  best 
faith  in  the  world,  to  persuade  you ;  and  it  is  this  air  of  good  faith  —  it 
is  the  seriousness  with  which  he  mingles  the  greatest  things  with  the 
smallest  things — it  is  the  importance  which  he  attaches  to  the  efibits 
of  children  —  it  is  the  interest  which  he  takes  in  a  rabbit  and  a  wea- 
sel, which  so  tempts  one  to  exclaim,  every  instant,  *0h,  the  good  man!' ' 
'  Marmontel  is  right.    When  that  word  is  said,  one  is  ready  to  par- 
don every  thing  in  an  author ;  he  is  no  more  offended  with  the  lesaona 
which  he  gives  us,  the  truths  which  he  teaches  us ;  he  permits  him  to 
pretend  to  teach  us  wisdom,  a  pretension  which  one  excuses  with  so  iH 
a  grace  in  an  equal.    But  a  good  man  is  not  our  equal.    His  credidoua 
simplici^,  which  amuses  us,  which  makes  us  laugh,  invests  him  with 
superiority  in  our  eyes ;  so  that  we  can  feel  the  more  strongly  the 


486  FtMet  and  FabtdiHt.  [May, 

^  U»e  Mupla  oomMie  A  oeat  MlMdiTieni 
£t  doDt  la  8c4ne  est  1' univen.' 

*  A  comedy  whera  hundred  aefai  OHiTelMi 
In  which  the  uniTerae  BuppUes  the  eoene.* 

In  effeoty  an  apologue  is  a  kind  of  little  drama.  It  has  ilBproposltioo, 
its  plot»  its  dinouemetU.  Let  the  actors  be  animals,  gods,  trees,  men,  it 
is  necessary  that  they  commence  by  telling  me  what  is  to  be  done,  that 
they  interest  me  by  a  circumstance,  an  event  of  some  kind,  and  that 
they  finish  by  leaving  me  satisfied,  whether  it  be  with  that  event,  or,  as 
the  case  may  be,  with  a  simple  word,  which  is  the  moral  result  of  what 
has  been  said  or  done.  It  would  be  easy  for  me,  were  I  not  afi-aid  of 
being  too  tedious,  to  take,  at  a  venture.  ^  fable  of  La  Fontaine,  and 
to  show  you  the  grouping  of  the  dramatis  persona^  the  propositkm, 
often  in  the  form  of  a  soliloquy,  as  in  the  &ble  of  the  '  Shephera  and  his 
Flock;'  the  interest  excited  at  the  outset,  as  in  the  'Dove  and  the 
Ant;'  the  danger  increasing  from  act  to  act«---£br  there  are  several 
acts  —  as  in  the  &ble  of  the  '  Lark  and  her  Young ;'  and  the  denoue- 
ment, in  fine,  sometimes  placed  en  ipectacle,  as  in  the  ^  Wolf  become 
Shepherd,'  but  more  commonly  effected  by  simple  narration. 

*  This  premised,  as  the  ihbulist  cannot  bring  to  his  aid  veritable  acUna, 
or  the  prestige  of  the  theatre,  and  as,  nevertheless,  he  must  give  me  a 
comedy,  it  follows,  that  his  first  great  desideratum,  the  talent  which  is 
one  of  the  most  necessary  of  all  others,  is  that  of  painting ;  fi>r  he 
must  exhibit  the  spectacle  before  the  eyes ;  he  must  supply  the  actors 
which  are  denied  him ;  he  must  make  his  own  decorations  and  cos- 
tumes ;  he  must  not  only  write  his  rdles,  but  he  must  play  them,  while 
he  writes  them,  and  he  must  give,  at  the  same  time,  the  gestures,  the 
attitudes,  the  expressions  of  countenance,  which  add  so  much  to  the 
effect  of  the  scenes. 

*  But  this  talent  of  painting  does  not  suffice  fi>r  the  writer  of  fiihle. 
He  must  imite  with  it  that  of  telling  a  story  good-humoredly,  (^ote- 
mentf)  an  art  very  difficult  and  extremely  rare — for  the  good  humor 
Igaiete)  I  mean  to  indicate  is  at  once  that  of  the  intellect  and  of  the 
disposition.  It  is  this  gift  (the  most  desirable,  unquestionably,  since  it 
always  spring  from  innocence)  which  makes  us  love  others,  because 
we  are  able,  in  loving  them,  to  love  ourselves ;  changes  at  pleasure  all 
our  actions,  and  often  all  our  motives ;  whidi,  without  giving  us  the 
trouble  of  intense^  and  wearisome  application,  relieves  us  of  9  multi- 
tude of  faults,  to  adorn  us  with  a  thousand  virtues  that  cost  us  nothing. 
In  a  word,  this  fttcnlty,  or  trait  of  character,  in  my  estimation,  is  the 
true  philosophy,  which  is  contented  vnth  little,  without  reflecting  that 
it  is  a  merit  to  be  thus  coiilented ;  which  supports  with  resignation  the 
inevitable  ills  of  life,  without  being  reminded  that  impatience  is  incap»- 
ble  of  changing  anything ;  and  is  able,  moreover,  while  adding  to  the 
happiness  of  those  who  are  around  us,  to  contribute  an  equal  amount  to 
the  happiness  of  oneself.  That  is  the  element  which  I  plead  fi>r,  in  the 
author  who  deals  in  story-telling ;  it  brings  with  it  naturalness,  graoQ, 
raciness.  I  maintain,  therefore,  that  every  fiibulist  who  unites  diese 
two  qualities,  may  flatter  himself,  not  that  he  is  an  equal  of  La  Fonr 
taine,  but  that  he  can  be  tolerated  after  him.' 


428  FaUei  and  Fahuli$U.  [May, 

comparison  between  iBsop  and  Joseph,  both  being  reduced  to  a  state 
of  slavery,  and  adding,  in  a  remarkable  manner,  to  the  prosperity  of 
the  family  of  their  masters  respectively ;  both  envied,  persecuted  and 
forgivmg,  toward  their  enmnies ;  bothbefaol^g  their  mtui^  grandeur 
in  a  dream,  and  both  escaping  from  slavery  on  account  of  a  dream ; 
both  excelling  in  the  art  of  mterpreting  mysteries ;  in  fine,  both  fik 
vorites  and  ministers ;  the  one  of  the  King  of  Egypt*  the  other  of 
the  King  of  Babylon. 

*  But  without  adopting  fdl  the  opinions  of  M.  Boulanger,  I  confess 
that,  with  him,  I  regard  it  as  almost  certain  that  this  ^9op  is  only  a 
generic  anonymous  title,  by  which  the  Greeks  de»gnated  aU  the  apo- 
logues which  were  dien  and  had  for  a  long  time  been  current  in  the 
East  Every  thing  comes  to  us  from  the  East ;  and  it  is  fable,  un- 
doubtedly, which  has  had  the  strongest  conservative  influence  on  the 
character  and  peculiar  cast  of  the  Asiatic  mind.  This  taste  for  para* 
bles  and  enigmas ;  this  habit  of  always  employing  imagery  in  then-  in- 
tercommunication ;  of  enveloping  precepts  under  a  veil  to  preserve 
them;  is  still  universal  in  Asia.  Their  poets,  their  philosophers,  have 
never  written  otherwise.' 

'  Yes,*  I  said, '  I  am  of  your  mind  on  this  point ;  but  what  country 
in  Asia  do  you  look  upon  as  the  cradle  of  fable  V 

To  this  question  he  replied :  '  In  no  part  of  the  world  have  people 
been  known  to  take  so  deep  an  interest  in  the  lower  animals  as  in  those 
countries  where  metemptychom  has  been  a  received  dogma.  Let  a 
man  adopt  the  belief  that  our  soul  passes  after  death  into  the  body  of 
some  other  animal,  and  nothing  is  more  rational,  nothing  more  probable* 
than  that  he  will  study  carefully  the  manners  of  these  animals,  their 
habits  and  modes  of  life,  so  curious  and  interesting,  since  they  are  to 
man  the  future  and  the  past ;  and  since  he  sees  in  them  his  fathers,  his 
children,  himself.  From  the  study  of  these  animals,  resulting  from  the 
certainty  that  they  have  a  soul  once  possessed  by  man,  one  easily  enough 
slides  to  the  belief  that  they  have  a  language.  Certain  species  of 
birds,  indeed,  afibrd  conclusive  evidence  of  this  belief^  aside  trom  any 
other  consideration.  The  starlings,  the  quails,  the  swallows,  the  crows, 
the  cranes,  and  a  multitude  of  others,  live  only  in  large  flocks.  Whence 
comes-  this  desire  for  society  if  they  are  not  endowed  with  conversa- 
tional powers  1  The  answer  suggested  by  this  simple  question  renders 
unnecessary  any  other  reasons  wmch  we  might  allege.  It  is  this  dogma 
of  metempsyekms  then  which,  conducing  as  it  naturally  does  to  enlist 
the  attention  of  men  in  the  habits  of  the  lower  animals,  has  led  them 
directly  to  the  belief  that  they  have  a  language.  From  this  beKeC  I 
see  but  a  step  to  the  origin  of  fable ;  that  is,  to  the  idea  of  making 
these  animab  speak  for  the  purpose  of  rendering  them  the  preceptors 
of  the  human  species. 

'  Montaigne  has  said  that '  Our  wisdom  learns  from  beasts  some  of 
the.  most  useful  lessons  which  are  applied  in  the  greatest  concerns  of 
life ;'  and  indeed,  without  speaking  of  dogs,  of  horses,  of  several  other 
animals,  whose  attachment,  benevolence,  devotion,  ought  ever  to  pot 
men  to  the  blush,  take  for  example  the  habits  of  the  roe,  that  beantifiil 
little  animal,  rrbo  is  seen  only  m  connectioD  with  a  fionily,  who  weds 


430  Stanzas:  Semg-Sparraw.  [May» 


SONG-SPARRD 


'AaAiw.  VBBln.  that  not«  pvolooc ! 

One*  mora  upon  th«  d»rk  blue  aky 
Poor  out  tb»t  wondroo*  aoul  of  aonv. 

A&d  flood  Ha  deptba  with  malody.' 


Lrar !  that  mBtnunent  of  flonnd 

Li  not  work  of  num'i  devioe, 
Making  musio  while  the  ground 

Glistens  in  a  coat  of  ioe : 
Btrains  are  gnahing  ftill  and  fuX 
In  wild  pauses  of  the  blast, 
Dl-oonsorting  with  a  scene 
UnrelieTed  D}r  pleasant  green. 

Is  not  Aribl  afloat 

On  the  bleak  and  fireedng  gale, 
Charming  with  seduotiye  note 

WiNTBa  m  his  frosty  mallT 
Or  is  Pan  a  wuderer  kme, 
With  his  pipes  of  magic  tone, 
From  Arcadian  bowers  to  cheer 
Hearts  that  ache  with  sorrow  here  ? 

Can  the  rooks  that  lie  aronnd, 

White  with  snow,  have  Tooal  grown, 
Giving  ont  mdodioos  sooad 
Like  that  old  poedo  stone 
On  which  erst  Apolu>  laid 
His  charmed  lute,  divinely  made  ? 
Or  can  gr^  and  wind-bowed  treea 
Breathe  ^lian  notes  like  these? 

Hark  !  the  flutter  of  a  wing 

In  the  pine-tree  near  my  door ! 
Can  that  little  feathered  thing 

Such  rare  minstrelsy  on^or  T 
WeU  I  know  the  songster  now 
Tilting  on  a  leafless  bough, 
liSst  to  leave  when  Autumn  wanes. 
First  to  cheer  when  March  oomplahi» 

Sre  the  bine-bird  comes  to  chant 

In  our  ears  a  lively  air. 
Visiting  each  olden  haunt, 

Though  the  fields  are  brown  and  bare ; 
Or  the  pheby  hither  flies, 
Harbinger  of  cloudless  skies  *, 
Is  the  blithe  song-sparrow  beard, 
Innocent  rejoicing  bird  I 


4aS  Tke  Tm  JriiHt.  [ftby. 

HeC aod  his  Viboins  !     And  my  iznagixiBdon,  wfaidi  jom 

dwell  upon,  what  avails  it  ?  Comes  also  Raphael,  Ins  expression,  grace, 
and  prolific  imagination!  Why  was  I  born  so  laCe  1  What  can  I  now 
effect?' 

*  Imitate  nature  I  Eveiy  one  has  altered  it,  some  to  embellish,  others 
to  degrade  it  Paint  her  as  she  is,  with  her  divine  beauty,  her  impo- 
sing majesty,  which  she  received  from  the  Most  High  ;  with  her  ca^nri- 
cious  defects,  her  strong  and  decided  tints;  as  she  is,  without  straymg 
from  her,  without  addition ;  and  thy  imagination,  thy  brush,  will  do  the 
rest  And  then,  then  hope  for  glory !  But  deceive  not  thyself;  not 
for  happiness !  No ;  if  thou  pausest,  if  thou  fearest  envy  and  perse- 
cution, if  thou  hesitatest  to  change  happiness  for  glory,  thou  wert  not 
bom  to  be  an  artist !     Break  thy  pencil !' 

*  No !'  cried  the  youth  with  enthusiasm,  agitated  as  with  a  whidwind 
by  the  old  man's  words ;  <  no !  I  do  not  hesitate.  Let  but  fame  be 
mine ;  let  me  but  achieve  immortality,  and  I  fear  not  trouble  nor  sof- 
ferine.  Let  them  come;  I  defy  them!'  And  he  reared  his  head 
proudly,  and  seemed  to  anticipate  success,  as  if  his  voice  possessed  a 
talismanic  power ;  as  if  his  words  were  spells  which  had  evoked  Uiose 
stirring  hopes. 

'  Thus  X  love  to  see  thee,  my  son !'  the  old  man  said ;  *  thou  art 
worthy  the  gift  which  Heaven  has  bestowed  upon  thee.  Ah !  had  I 
but  thy  wonderful  brush,  thy  enchantmg  art,  the  world  would  speak  of 
me,  :  .  .  and  I  should  have  been  less  unfortunate !  Look  upon  my 
face:  are  there  not  a  thousand  sorrows  written  on  it  1  I  live  in  a  world 
which  cannot  comprehend  me.  I  was  unhappy ;  I  had  naught  but  to 
consume  my  own  soul,  my  genius,  because  I  could  not  transliUe  it  upon 
canvass,  nor  carve  it  into  marble.  I  had  to  live  and  eat,  but  my  nery 
soul  needed  space  to  breathe  or  be  consumed.  Military  glory  is  attrac- 
tive to  youth ;  so  it  promiseth  itself  honors  and  f^pie  without  end,'  he 
continued,  with  a  proud  and  martial  smile.  I  was  a  soldier,  and  I 
vowed  to  Goo  that  I  would  do  nothing  of  which  I  might  afterward  be 
ashamed ;  but  He  willed  that  the  road  should  be  closed  to  me ;  that 
life  which  moderated  and  expanded  the  fire  of  my  soul.  See !'  and  he 
showed  the  young  painter  a  larg^e  wound  and  a  mutilated  limb :  '  Thoo 
seest  I  was  ferced  to  resign  me  sword.  But  I  could  write ;  my  pen 
was  my  pencil,  and  I  painted  pictures  with  a  coloring  as  strong,  and 
an  expression  as  correct,  as  thine!' 

'  And  what  glorious  pictures,  too !'  the  youth  admiringly  exclaimed. 

<  Thou  hast  not  seen  my  master-piece,'  continued  the  olu  man : 
<  Look !  here  it  is,  <m  my  heart !  It  shall  be  buried  widi  me !  It  vras 
considered  libellous ;  they  persecuted  me.  Hence  the  source  of  afl 
my  sorrows.  But  I  love  it  the  more  for  the  pain  and  the  labor  it  has 
cost  me!' 

He  brought  ferth  carefully  a  roll  of  uncorrected,  blotted  manuacripC, 
and  began  to  unfold  before  the  painter  that  huge  mass  of  paper.  A 
kind  of  cloth,  enamelled  as  a  carpet  with  a  border  of  fresh  historieB, 
adrial  and  fragrant  as  the  dowers  in  a  garden ;  a  thousand  extrava- 
gances, a  thousand  follies,  vrith  all  their  attributes  of  grace  and  jokes 
commii^led;  a  medley  of  a  thousand  fantastic  arabesques,  with  aenti- 


434  The  Ika0  Anut$,  [Mty, 

in  the  d^th  of  his  thoughts,  thanked  not  his  aged  friend,  save  with  a 
smile.    But  what  need  of  more  1    He  had  understood  him. 

Both  were  silent :  not  a  word  on  either  side.  Ah,  how  the  brush 
flew  over  the  canvass !  how  the  most  capricious  tints  were  rapidly  min- 
gled on  the  jpalette,  were  united  on  the  canvass,  and  expressed  all  the 
variations  or  the  light  Thus,  without  a  raising  of  the  head,  passed 
hour  after  hour,  until  six  had  been  consumed.  The  nearer  the  com- 
pletion of  the  picture,  the  more  was  the  old  man  interested,  and  the 
more  agitated  as  his  attention  became  more  concentrated.  Ah,  how 
they  are  reproduced !  with  what  truth  1  the  angular  shapes,  the  green 
tints,  the  aboupt  shadows  of  that  strongly-marked  countenance !  How 
start  out  upon  the  canvass  the  bony  hands,  the  sun-burnt  ddn  of  the 
peasant! 

^  Andrew  even  shared  in  the  admiration  and  enthusiam  which  the 
divine  work  inspired.  He  abruptly  placed  himself  before  the  man,  in 
the  act  of  lifting  the  backet,  and  bis  master,  without  a  word,  committed 
to  canvass  the  boy's  idea,  who  with  his  astute  countenance  aped  inno- 
cence in  vain. 

The  hours  flew  by ;  the  work  went  on.  Sometimes  the  enthusiastic 
old  man  involuntarily  exclaimed :  '  Well  done !  There  is  nothing  to 
be  desired !' 

The  piece  was  on  the  point  of  being  finished.    Now  the  young  artist 

smiled,  but  in  an  instant  his  countenance  grew  dark :  <  I  swear  to ! 

Cursed  demi-tint !  it  always  mars  ?    He  seized  the  brush!    He  vtss  in 
the  act  of  touching  it  again,  when  the  old  man  ctfst  himself  upon  him. 

'  Voto  h  brioi  /'  he  exclaimed ;  '  I  will  not  allow  it  while  I  am  aHve ! 
Look !  thou  hast  already  got  it  1' 

But  the  young  painter  struggled  with  him :  *  Let  me  go !  Unhand 
me,  for  God's  sake !  Do  not  balk  me.  Sir !  Let  me  do  it  while  my 
&ncy  is  warm  with  the  subject !' 

'  Remember  the  oath !' 

'  What  oath  care  I  to  remember,  when  my  immortal  existence  is  at 
stake  ?     Let  me  go !'  he  cried,  exasperated  to  fury. 

*  Sooner  shalt  thou  kill  me,  old  as  I  am !'  And,  infirm  and  shattered 
as  he  was,  yet  with  a  strength  which  belied  his  years,  he  prevented  the 
painter  from  getting  to  the  picture. 

*  Se5or!  Seiior !'  said  the  youth,  gnashing  his  teeth,  'let  me,  I  tell 
you,  finish  it  the  best  way  I  can !' 

*  Dost  thou  not  see  that  thou  wilt  ruin  it,  insensate  ?  Give  rest  unto 
thy  sight !' 

But  the  youth  heard  him  not,  and  still  struggled  to  be  free ;  and  as 
some  time  was  thus  consumed,  when  he  had  succeeded  in  getetxng  loose 
and  approached  the  easel,  he  paused  as  if  petrified  before  the  canvass. 
The  demi-tint,  so  difficult — that  rock  to  his  eflRnts-^had  disappeared ! 
The  work  was  done.    It  v^as  a  master-piece.     The  old  man  smiled. 

'  See,'  he  said,  *  t£  I  was  right  1  Art  thou  satisfied  that  this  mist,  the 
liffht  shadow  thou  sawest,  was  only  a  cloud  before  thy  vision,  wearied 
vnth  looking  at  the  model  t  Was  I  not  right  in  insistinff  upon  thy  turn- 
ing away  thy  eyes  ?  Tell  roe  what  lacks  the  picture  1  Touch  it  no 
more !     What  thou  mayest  gain  in  softness  thou  wilt  lose  in  genius  and 


496  Tie  FkuUk.  [Uxf. 


THE       FIltSSID 


Tis  I  there  k  one  aboTe  a&  otiieni 

Fondfy  still  who  clingp  to  mBy 
With  love  more  strong  than  e'en  a  mother's ; 

Devest  Wifb!  't is  thee,  >t is  thee ! 


Thee  have  I  found,  each  waking  momw, 
In  my  heart  a  reigning  queen, 

Partaker  of  my  joy  and  sorrow, 
indalir' 


All  I  've  felt,  and  an  I  We  been. 


Ah  1  eoold  sooh  k>Te  be  ever  riven  T 
Cotdd  sooh  love  be  felt  again  T         ^ 

Sealed  by  the  holy  stamp  of  heaven, 
Could  onr  hearts  be  torn  in  twain  f 


No!  time  love's  fetters  only  strengthen, 
Draws  them  dose  and  closer  stul,      • 

And  as  they  tighten,  pure  joys  lengthen, 
Slaves  obedient  to  tiie  will. 


Sweet  Peaee  and  Love  tdpk  in  my  dwelling, 
Constant  inmates,  soormng  show ; 

Blest  wedded  pair !  forever  smiling. 
Hand  in  hand,  through  life  they  go. 


Fools  may  seek  t«nted  springs  of  pleasure, 
Wealth  its  transient  joys  may  find. 

But  heaven  grant  me  the  lasting  treasure 
Of  a  oalm,  contented  mind. 


The  way  to  blisB,  I  see  it  clearly ; 

Would  mankind  could  also  see  1 
The  little  n>here  I  love  so  dearly 

b  a  world  of  bliss  to  me. 


My  chOdren,  rose-buds  young  and  tender. 
Snow-flakes,  yet  without  a  stain. 

With  rapture,  all  they  have  to  render, 
KiflB  mo  o'er  and  o'er  again. 


Then  why  kneel  at  the  shrine  of  Folly  7 
Why  desert  the  social  hearth  7 

Domestic  life  so  pure  and  holy 
Is  but  heaven  brought  down  to  earth. 


438  A  Romance  of  tibe    GlmMter.  ^^^ 

: T'Tr-c?^^' 

inmate  of  tbe  convent;  and  although   a.  Catholic  ftom  her  oj^^^v     — 

had  never  seen  any  greater  display  than  "was  exhibited  at  th^        »  «be 

church.    Judffe  then  of  her  emotioix  when  she  entered  the  f^J^^S^'^ 

tablishment  where  dwelt  Itts  dutnes   S,%l  S€Mcr6  Casur  de  Je^^t^^      t^ 

convent,  formerly  a  palace  of  the  axicient  Tfegime,  was  in  the  fb^w  ^*® 

hollow  square,  die  building  exter^ding   round  tteee  sides  of  ^  o^^^* 

paved  with  tesselated  green  and  i?vlnitje  -marble,  in  the  centre  of  ^J?^ 

a  sparkling  fountain  scattered  it»  ^w^atters  from  the  graceful  belh  oP^ 

branch  of  the  Egyptian  Lotus,  held  \>y  a  sea-nymph.    The  portei^  * 

the  gate  received  the  young  giri,  ^Tid  lod  her  through  an  arcted  cloist^ 

to  a  suite  of  six  rooms,  each  lai^^er-    than  the  other.     The  walls  ^^ 

formerly  been  decorated  with  sixperV^  Tnirrors,  and  finished  landscape 

filled  up  the  intermediate  panels  ;    l>vit  tbe  piety  of  the  nuns,  and  tb,. 

strict  laws  of  the  convent,  whicli  foirfeids  a  ffl^ss  of  any  kind  through, 

out  the  establishment,  had  removed    the  mirrors,  a^^  caused  the  e^. 

auisite  paintings  to  be  covered  -witH  cl  nreDaration  Bitnilar  to^e  rest  ^^ 

the  walls.     But  the  while  and  s^ia^a^ouis  Quator^f  mouldings  «6Jl 

left  enough  of  beauty  to  daaasle  civ^^^  »1^  «««hiflticatcd  eye ;  and  as  ^ 

gaze  of  Sose  de  Biragues  ^^hjc^^^I  ^^^Zfi  '^^  '^  '"'^^^^ 

and  stiU  further,  until  thronarlT^^^^  ^""^  "f  ®    !^dow  alie  ^^xV^ 

highly  cultivated  grounds  of  tlieT^  ^namense  DO^^-y^r  off  m  it\ie  ^ 

tance,  she  said  to  herself:   •  Ho J^'^^TS^^  stretchmg^^^  1  anticipated ! 

Here  there  is  nothing  gloomy  •     XT,^  ??®^®^^  *^^™      10t>^  ^  ™»^  *^ 

certamW  be  hanpy.;     As  she  t:H^l.«  JS^  '''''^  ^froice  fell  Um  i^ 

ear,  and  asoft  'Welcome,  mv  aaTTT  ?^^^««d,  a  gentle/^^     .      ,(        j^ 

Rose  m  a  moment  to  tbe  feet  ^S^g^^'-'  to  this  abode  <[V^m  hft^ 

mother!*  which  burst  frota   K^x-  S'lperiot;  and mft *  BfelK BJg^   ^ 

After  an  earnest  benediction  t:l»-.  ^^®^-<^arged  heart  fcY.^\        \    jJ 

mg  her  by  her  side,  spoke    to^^®  ^P^™r  gentlv  w    *^^^^  "^"^^^ 

tended  taking  upon  hewlf ;    oF  «?  "^   ^^  ^^®  *»gh  J^^ 

and  as  Rose  became  subdu©^  «tti^^  peace  that  tl^    Vw     •-*>-<  v  ^'  '  *«- 

blessed  thmg  that  the  treatnaont:  ^2  ^^^q^iMized,  ak^MA  "^^^^^^n^  is^Jl,    a  l^'re  • 

holyand  peaceful  asylum.      J^^  -^  W  relatives  h^i^/^t  S>^ ^^  ^' 

While  still  engaged  m  tVii-»  ^tiv.   ^at  ;*^  ^^^^^      i 

Angela;  and  biding  Roe^    ^^^5>«iver8adon  th«  v  "^Wt.^-- 

through  a  lofty  ban.  whoae        *^5oMr  her,   the   o^n,^       ^^^      ,     , 
coloMBl  pillars  of  pale  greets  ^^^^  ceilW  ^,^^P^*0^de^fc-     >  *»« 
to  a  cloBtered  corridor,  wl»i«.ir^*?«»fonnmt,  „       *»*I>iw*  V^         "«he  mj 
reached  the  chapel,  which  v^^-  „  **>ey  entered  ^**ibS^te*.      ^^^J  twelve 
of  Ctaiataias  Eve.    The  c^^ J^*-«^y  deco5t!5^  V!'*^^^i^beatttT. 

of  atamed  glass  directly  abo^^^V*^  of  ^5^^«bfV  ^^ moocri^ 

caught  the  last  rays  of  the     „      **»«    altar  wS^*'  ^^^^^^'^thV^I^  -T^ 
colo«  upon  the  gulden  Cto^'*^«  s^* '^^^«^hU®»W^r:^u™^j"'"' 
one  gKtt^^  be^rested^^«««i^^*a'^,**fell  l^^^^^,^^ 
Astensoir,  which  was  that  nj^  *l»o  aSi^^  ^^   clUBt^  ^^^t^^^^"  *"'** 
fcrmed  into  a  real  Satiopr.    ^'^^  t^  r^*"**^  ^^e^SJ^'^Q^^*^  ^""^ 

Whfle  the  nuns  repeated  rK  '^^^^e'Ve  ^W 1^*^  tL!*^   ^""T^'  '^ 

fhrin  frem  looking  about  ho»r**  *=*»atow.  ^^, ,  ^  *^  «^tokM  ^ 

and  aD  the  paraphernalia  oT  tJ,       ^llj«^^**>-  t>w.  ^1|(— ^psnw^i»?Sat  \nsa« 

being  presents  from  priaceB«Z^  ^ta*.  ^^'^'^e^t  ''^*^   >. 


1850.]  A  Bamante  qf  the  Cltmtir.  439 

^ «_ . , J - 

the  akar  was  a  magnificent  picture,  representbg  our  Satiour  holding 
hiB  sacred  bleeding  heart  in  hand,  and  noats  of  saints  and  angels  kneel- 
ing in  adoration  at  the  precious  sight  The  eyer-buming  alabaster 
lamp,  filled  wi&  perfumed  oil,  shed  a  dim  light  upon  the  kneeling 
figures  of  the  nans,  and  the  peaceful  happy  expression  of  their  iaces 
fiSed  the  soul  €i  Rose  with  indescribably  blissfiil  emotions. 

Week  passed  after  week,  each  one  finding  Rose  happier  than  the 
last     The  tranquil,  soothing  atmosphere  of  all  around,  and  the  numer-  , 
ous  reliffious  duties  that  occupied  ner  time,  left  not  a  moment  for  re* 
gret,  and  she  prepared  with  alacriljy  for  her  profession  as  novice. 

Shortly  after  she  had  taken  the  veil,  it  was  thought  expedient  by  the 
Mhre  Gmeraie  to  make  a  transfer  of  nuns  from  the  convent  at  Caen  to 
the  one  of  the  same  order  at  Rome,  and  the  Sceur  Marie  Rose  was 
among  the  number.    Although  the  nuns  kept  much  to  themselves 
during  their  journey,  still  it  was  impossible  to  avoid  occasional  contact 
with  tibeir  fellow  travellers ;  and  during  their  passage  in  the  vessel  from 
Marseilles  to  Leghorn,  the  exquisite  embroidery,  which  was  the  daily 
employment  of  £e  nuns,  attracted  the  passengers  to  theii*  frames,  and 
the  elder  ladies  entered  freely  into  conversation  with  both  gentlemen 
and  ladies.     But  among  them  was  one  who  found  that  the  sweet  face 
of  the  youuff  novice  was  far  more  attractive  than  the  glittering  em- 
broidery which  grew  beneath  her  fail*  fingers,  and  each  day  found  Al- 
fred de  Beaujeu  forming  one  of  the  coterie  that  assembled  round,  the 
nuns.     Tall  and  eminenUy  handsome,  his  dark  eyes  beaming  with  in- 
telligence and  sensibility,  ids  manner  deferential  in  the  highest  degree, 
his  whole  bearing  was  so  prepossessing,  that  from  captain  to  saOor,  firom 
old  to  young,  he  was  a  universal  favorite.    Soeia*  Therese,  who  was 
nearly  seventy,  and  had  never  been  accused  of  beauty,  openly  praised 
him,  without  any  fear  of  her  encomiums  causing  ill-natured  remarks, 
and  regretted  that  such  a  fine  young  man  had  not  the  vocation  for  a 
priest    And  Rose,  what  did  she  think  1     Though  her  lips  were  silent, 
her  eyes  were  eloquent,  and  the  young  man  interpreted  their  language 
as  he  hoped.    Not  a  word  had  they  ever  exchanged ;  never  had  they 
been  fi>r  a  moment  alone ;  still  they  both  felt  and  knew  that  they  loved, 
and  with  both  the  realization  of  the  fact  afforded  unutterable  joy.     To 
Rose  the  sensation  was  so  perfectly  novel,  that  she  did  not  even  feel 
that  she  was  doing  wrong ;  she  was  content  to  live  upon  the  bliss  of  the 
present,  and  not  think  of  the  future.    Indeed,  a  thought  beyond  the 
perfect  Elysium  of  her  present  state  never  crossed  her  mind ;  the  very 
*  ract  of  her  not  expressing  it,  deepened  its  intensity ;  but  with  De 
Beaujeu  the  joy  of  bein^  beloved  was  chastened  by  doubt  and  sadness. 
Unlike  Rose,  he  looked  into  the  future ;  he  longed  to  call  her  his  own, 
his  wife.    But  what !  dhe  was  already  the  bride  of  the  church,  and  a 
church  jealous  of  its  votaries.     The  voice  of  scandal  would  be  raised, 
and  in  no  Catholic  country  could  they  be  even  secure.    Still  he  re- 
flected as  little  as  possible  upon  the  dark  side  of  the  picture,  trusting 
that  something  mi^ht  occur  which  would  point  out  some  means  of  ac- 
complishing his  wishes.    How  devoutly  he  longed  for  a  shipwreck  i 
but  wind  and  tide  proved  favorable,  and  they  soon  dropped  anchor  in 
ijse  busy  port  of  Leghorn.    The  nuns  were  here  to  take  aprivatecon- 


440  A  Ramanee  of  the  CUder.  [May. 

veyanoe  to  Rome,  and  they  were  about  to  parti  Could  he  let  her  go 
without  a  single  word  of  farewell  ?  No !  he  muat  expresa  his  feel- 
ings, and  then  mature  his  plans  for  gaining  her  for  his  infe. 

As  the  four  nuns  stepped  into  the  carriage  that  was  to  convoy  them 
on  their  journey,  Alfred  de  Beaujeu  approached  with  four  superb 
bouquets,  which  be  presented  to  the  ladies  as  he  made  his  adieux ;  and 
the  three  were  so  much  occupied  in  admiring  their  own,  and  expatia- 
ting upon  his  politeness,  (for  nuns  are  but  women,)  that  they  fiuled  to 
obeerve  that  the  one  held  by  the  young  novice  was  far  more  recherche 
and  beautiful  than  their  own ;  and  Rose  saw  with  a  blushing  cheek 
and  fluttering  heart  the  white  comer  of  a  note  peeping  from  among 
the  clustering  leaves.  The  bouquets  were  still  oaorous,  though  some- 
what faded,  when  they  reached  the  Eternal  City,  and  the  moment  she 
reached  her  cell,  with  failing  fingers  she  unwound  the  blue  ribbon,  and 
read  with  tearful  eyes  and  throbbing  heait  the  first  words  of  love. 
What  bliss  upon  earth  is  comparable  to  this  ?  The  nqptiire  of  avowal 
is  unutterable ;  but  when  we  behold  in  tangible  evidence  the  bliasfrd 
fhct,  when  we  read  and  re-read  the  burning  words,  they  seem  graven 
upon  our  heait  of  hearts,  and  we  feel  that  even  the  rose-leaf  would 
o  erflow  the  cup  of  happiness. 


'  Have  you  heard  the  news,  Gaston  V  said  a  young  exquisite  to  his 
friend,  as  they  sipped  an  iced  sherbet  at  Tortoni's, '  the  lioimes  and  the 
paniherU  are  tempted  to  march  on  an  embassy  to  the  Holy  Father,  to 
petition  him  to  forbid  such  perversion  of  talents.  Grood  heavens !  Al- 
fred de  Beaujeu  a  cowled  priest !' 

'  What !'  exclaimed  Gaston  de  Montaign,  starting  to  his  feet, '  Alfred 
de  Beaujeu  a  priest !  the  richest,  most  distingu6  man  in  Paris ;  from 
the  Faubourg  St  Germain  to  the  Chause6  d'Antin,  the  man  of  aQ  oth- 
ers the  most  admired !     You  surely  are  joking.' 

'  Ma  foi,  no !  I  wish  it  were  a  joke ;  for,  somehow,  one  was  never 
jealous  of  de  Beaujeu.' 

'  But  what  is,  what  has  been  the  cause  t  Has  he  lost  his  fortune?  has 
Blanche  de  Courcy  refused  him }' 

'  No,  his  fortune  is  as  large  as  ever,  and  Blanche  de  Courcy  would 
willingly  be  Blanche  de  &aujeu !  But  he  has  written  to  Blanche, 
stating  Uiat  he  trusts  she  will  not  think  it  capricious  or  unkind  in  him 
refusing  to  fulfil  the  contract  entered  into  by  their  parents,  saying  that 
as  they  have  met  but  twice,  he  cannot  flattei:  himself  that  she  wul  fed 
any  personal  disappointment  at  his  resolution  to  enter  upon  a  priestly 
life,  and  settles  upon  her  half  his  fortune ;  the  rest  is  given  to  the  Society 
of  Jesus.' 

<  But  still  there  must  be  a  cause.  A  man  with  all  the  personal  and 
numerous  other  advantages  of  Alfred  de  Beaujeu,  scarcely  twenty-five 
years  of  age,  would  not  be  fool  enough  to  resign  them  all  to  become  a 
priest ;  and  he  was  never  a  dev6t !' 

<  EoouUz^  Gaston,  and  I  will  tell  vou  a  private  bit  of  scandal  told  me 
in  confidence  by  de  Br6z6,  who  made  a  voyage  fixmi  Maneillea  to  Leg- 


1850.]  A  Bomama  qf  Oe  Ctaitter.  441 

horo»  last  year,  with  de  Beaujeu.  There  was  a  -ooity  of  nuns  of  the 
Sacr6  Coeur  on  board,  and  one  of  them  de  Br6z6  aescribes  as  the  most 
beautiful  creature  he  ever  beheld :  a  complexion  like  the  inner  petals 
of  the  blush  rose,  eyes  o{  heaven's  own  blue,  and  I  know  not  what 
other  extravagant  suniles  he  used;  but,  enfinf  she  was  perfect;  of  a 
style  totally  d^erent  from  AUred ;  and,  moreover,  she  had  that  purity 
'Bnd  JteucAeuTt  so  captivating  to  a  man  so  much  in  the  world  as  de 
Beaujeu.  De  Br^ze^  declares  the  nun  was  as  much  bewitched  as  poor 
Alfred ;  and  my  private  inference  is,  that  de  Beauieu,  finding  it  impos- 
sible to  obtain  a  dispensation,  or  to  induce  the  lady  to  breakner  vows, 
has  determined  to  turn  priest  himself  You  know  whatever  he  under- 
took he  pursued  with  his  whole  soul,  and  he  has  probably  fiJlen  in  love 
with  the  same  ardor/ 

'  WeD,  poor  Alfred  I  these  women  do  play  the  deuce  with  us.  Adieu ! 
I  'm  off  to  Fanny's.  I  suppose  she  will  send  me  to  the  Morgue  or  la 
Trajppe  one  of  these  days  !^ 

Tne  gay  speculation  of  the  young  exquisite  was  correct  When 
'Roee  hi3  somewhat  recovered  from  the  fascinating  influence  of  de 
Beauieu's  letter,  the  words,  '  Dearest  Rose,  I  long  to  call  you  wife  !* 
struck  her  in  all  their  force.  She,  the  bride  of  Christ,  who  had  vowed 
to  receive  none  but  him  for  her  bridegroom !  She  thought  of  the 
anathemas  the  Bishop  had  uttered  against  those  who  dishonored  both 
the  Church  and  themselves  by  receding  from  the  paths  of  righteous- 
ness; of  the  aversion  the  nuns  would  feel  toward  her,  did  meY  but 
know  of  the  letter  she  had  received.  The  conflict  was  tremendous ; 
and  throwing  herself  before  the  statue  of  the  Viboin  that  occupied 
a  niche  of  her  cell,  she  burst  into  a  long  and  passionate  flood  of  tears. 
Before  she  arose,  her  resolution  was  taken.  She  would  banish  him 
from  her  heart ;  he  should  be  to  her  as  though  he  had  never  existe^. 
Could  a  love  that  caused  her  such  unhappiness  be  equal  to  the  reli- 
j^on  that,  before  her  fatal  journey,  had  flUed  her  with  such  joy  and 
peace  ?  Oh,  no !  She  dedicated  herself  again  to  the  Blessed  Mother, 
and  rose  a  suffering  woman,  with  a  crushed  and  broken  heart.  Months 
passed  on,  and  more  than  once  had  Alfred  contrived  means  to  forward 
letters  to  her  without  the  knowledge  of  the  nuns,  but  with  the  resolu* 
tion  of  a  martyr  she  destroyed  them  without  breaking  the  seal,  and 
after  each,  apphed  herself  more  and  more  strenuously  to  her  devotions. 
But  the  affections  are  the  great  support  of  life,  and  outraged  Love  will 
triumph  even  in  the  death  of  its  victim !  Constant  austerities  and 
continual  suppression  of  every  thought  of  Alfred  wore  upon  the  deli- 
cate frame  of  the  loiirely  nun,  and  Consumption  claimed  her  as  his  prey. 
Never,  as  yet,  had  Rose  summoned  sufficient  resolution  to  narrate  to 
her  confessor  the  occurrences  of  her  eventfol  journey ;  but  now  she 
fblt  that  she  was  dying,  that  ere  many  weeks  her  name  would  be  but 
a  memory,  and  she  felt  she  could  die  more  calmly  shotild  she  unburden 
her  whole  heart  to  her  spiritual  &ther.  The  gray  pall  of  evening  was 
setting  over  the  horizon,  when  Rose,  pale  and  emaciated,  but  still  beau- 
tiful, entered  the  confessional.  With  choking  voice  she  finished  the 
*  mid  euIpay'BXkd  proceeded  to  narrate  the  whole  course  of  her  feelings, 
from  the  time  of  her  first  meeting  de  Beaujeu ;  and  so  absorbed  was 

VOL.  xxzi.  29 


442 


The  Simken  CUf. 


[May. 


ahe  with  her  own  tfaouglits,  that  she  did  not  notice  the  conyulnye  aoba 
that  shook  the  confessiona],  as  she  described  in  eloquent  words  the  in- 
tensity of  her  love  for  Alfi-ed.  She  depicted  her  anguish  at  their  sepa- 
ration, the  struggle  between  desire  and  duty  when  she  received  the 
letters,  and  finished  by  praying  that  it  might  not  impede  her  entrance  into 
the  heavenly  world,  that  purified  and  holy  it  was  still  enshrined  in  her 
heart  of  hearts.  As  she  paused  for  the  benediction,  overcome  with  the 
exertion,  the  door  of  the  confessional  suddenly  opened,  and  raising  her 
eyes,  Rose  uttered  a  shriek  of  surprise,  and  sank  fainting  in  the  arms 
of  Alfred  de  Beaujeu !  Forgettin?  all  else  but  that  he  held  his  beloved 
at  last  within  his  grasp,  he  lavished  the  caresses  of  affection  upon  her 
senseless  form,  begging  that  she  would  grant  him  but  one  look  in  the 
name  of  their  long  cherished  love.  His  voice  recalled  the  spirit  from  the 
verge  of  the  unknown  world.  Opening  her  eyes,  she  fixed  upon  him 
a  look  of  unutterable  affection,  murmured  his  name,  and  fell  back 
heavily  upon  his  arm  —  he  gazed  upon  the  dead !  Once  more  he  saw 
her,  dressed  in  bridal  robes,  the  orange  wreath  fastening  the  veil  that 
concealed  her  golden  hair,  the  wedding  ring  upon  her  finger  —  all 
even  as  he  had  pictiu*ed  in  his  airy  visions,  there  she  lay  —  £he  bride 
of  Death ! 

The  confessor  of  the  convent  (who  had  been  unexpectedly  called 
away,  and  requested  the  Superior  of  the  Jesuits  to  send  another  brother 
in  his  place  to  the  Sacr6  Coeur,  which  explained  the  opportune  appear- 
ance of  Alfred,)  returned  in  time  to  perform  the  funeral  service  fiir 
the  deceased  nun,  and  none  dreamed  of  the  mighty  agitation  that 
.swelled  to  bursting  the  heart  of  the  priest  who  assisted  him  at  the 
fnoumful  ceremony,  and  no  eye  saw  the  look  of  intense  love  that» 
lingering,  took  its  last  fond  farewell  of  the  dead  novice.  The  next 
day  father  Alfi-ed  petitioned  for  a  transfer  to  the  order  of  La  Tra^pe, 
and  not  a  monk  of  that  most  severe  of  severe  communities  practises 
more  unceasing  austerities  than  Alfred  de  Beaujeu. 

Trust  me,  gentle  reader,  many  a  romance  lies  hidden  beneadi  the 
priestly  cowl,  and  the  smouldering  embers  of  disappointed  afiecckm 
would  ofttimes  be  found,  were  the  heart  of  the  cloistered  mm  laid  bare 
to  view. 


THE      saKXBN     CITT. 


\ 


HabkI  the  ftttnt  XmOm  ci  the  Pvnkeii  City 
Fsel  onee  more  tbelr  wonted  evening  chime; 

Tiom  the  Deep's  abyMee  floats  a  dlttvi 
Wild  and  wonditms,  of  the  ohtan  time. 


Temples,  towers,  and  domes  of  many  stories 
There  He  buried  In  an  oceoarfsnris 

Undftwried,  save  when  their  golden  glories 
Qleam  at  sunset  through  the  lighted  wave. 

And  the  mariner  who  hath  seen  them  glisten, 
In  whose  ears  those  magic  bells  do  sound, 

Night  by  night  hide  there  to  watch  and  listen, 
Though  Death  larks  behind  each  dark  rocl 

[ronnc 


So  the  bells  of  Uenory^ 

Feai  forme  their  pld  mekMttous  chl 
So  ni\  heart  pours  forth  a  changeful  ditty, 

Sad  and  pleasant,  (hmi  the  hy-gone  On 


Domes,  and  towers,  and  castles,  lancy-bnUdedt 
There  lie  lost  to  Daylight^  garish ' 

There  lie  hklden,  tUl  unveiled  and  l 
Glory-gilded,  by  my  nlghUy  dreams  1 


And  then  hear  1 1 

From  many  a  well-known  | 
And  through  tears  can  see  my  natnral  dii 

Far  off  in  the  dpliit'a  hunhmua  Lmdl 


1W0.J  Srnmi  t^  the  Godt.  443 


HTMN8       TO       TBB       OOD8. 


TO       MINBRVA. 

HiAK,  blae-eyed  Pallas  !    Eagerly  we  eftD, 

EntreAting  thee  to  our  glad  festiyal, 

Held  in  the  sonny  morning  of  the  year, 

In  this,  oar  rosy  isle,  to  tbee  most  dear. 

Thine  altar,  bailded  by  yoang  maiden  hands, 

Near  the  Carpathian's  sparkling  water  stands, 

Upon  the  slant  and  snnny  Rhodian  shore, 

Graeing  the  green  lawn's  undulating  floor ; 

Walled  in  with  trees,  which,  sweeping  wide  aroandi 

Rampart  the  preeinots  of  the  holy  groond. 

Myriads  of  roses  flushing  full  in  bloOm, 

.Send  to  &r  Garia  surge  of  rich  perfume. 

Like  the  glad  meense  of  our  prayer,  which  floats 

Up  to  the  trembling  stars.    The  ringing  notes 

Of  silver  flutes  roll  through  the  echoing  woods, 

Startling  the  Fauns  in  their  shy  solitudes, 

A  hundred  boys,  each  fiiirer  than  a  girl, 

Over  the  green  sward,  chid  in  armor,  whirl 

In  thy  wild  mystto  dance.    A  hundred  maida, 

In  white  and  gold,  come  firom  the  dusky  ^adea-— 

The  k>velie8t  of  our  beauty-bleasM  isle  — 

Their  small  white  feet  glitlering  like  stars  that  uaalfi 

In  the  dark  azure  of  a  moonless  night : 

They  bear  thy  robe  of  pure  and  stainless  white, 

Sleeveless,  embroided  richly  with  fine  gold, 

Where'er  thy  deeds  are  told ; 

Those,  chiefly,  done  of  old, 
When,  bearing  in  the  van,  thou  didst  the  Giants  fi^t 

Brain-born  of  Zaus,  thou  who  dost  teach  to  men 

Knowledge  and  wisdom,  and  hast  brought  agaui 

Science  and  Art  in  renovated  youth, 

And  taught  (air  Greece  to  love  and  seek  the  tmdi) 

Thou  to  whom  artist  and  artificer. 

Fearing  thy  potent  anger  to  incur, 

Bend  £>wn  beseechlDgly  and  pray  for  aid, 

In  all  the  cunning  mysteries  of  their  trade ; 

Inspired  by  thee,  young  men,  immured  in  cells. 

Drink  deep  of  learning  at  Time's  ancient  weDs, 

Forget  that  Beauty's  starry  ^es  still  shine. 

And  love  ATaaii a  only,  the  Divme : 

Old  giay-haired  sages  pore  on  antique  scrolla, 

And  feed  with  wisdom's  oil  their  burning  aoids : 

Inspired  by  thee,  the  prophet  sees  afiff 

The  signs  of  peace,  the  portents  of  grim  war, 

Foretells  the  strange  and  wayward  deatiniea 

Of  nattooa  and  of  men,  and  when  the  akies 

With  genial  rams  will  Mesa  the  husbandman. 

Or  T«K  the  earth  wUhfaaS:    Iky  fiivw  can 


444  Hymm  to  the  Ocdt.  [May. 

>    ,      *  .■■■■■■  I 

Hie  life  of  thoee  then  loveit  weQ  prolong, 
And  make  hoar  Eld  yonthlnl  again  and  strong. 
Oh,  oome  to  na.  while  glitterinff  with  dew 
Tovng  Day  awl  orimaona  the  horizon  blue] 

Gome,  pAftTBKNoa,  to  thy  beloved  home, 

Though  then  a&r  doat  roam, 

Where  hungry  oceans  foam. 
And  there  dispensest  light  barbaric  nationa  throu(|^ 

Oh,  oome  not  to  ua  dad  in  armor  bright, 
Intolerable  unto  mortal  sight ; 
With  flashing  spear  and  hehn  of  blasng  gold. 
Crested  with  oriffin-guarded  sphynz ;  nor  hold 
Tliine  egis,  bunng  with  Mboosa's  eyes. 
Wreath^  with  live  serpents !    Not  in  warlike  guise, 
As  when  against  the  §panta  thou  did'st  march, 
With  thy  strong  tread  shaking  the  sky's  great  arch, 
Terrifio  m  thy  panoply  of  war. 
The  lightning  in  thy  right-hand  flashing  &r, 
Tin,  struck  with  fear  and  overpowering  dread. 
Heaven's  baffled  adversariea  howling  fled. 
Onne  in  thy  garb  of  peaoe.  with  kindly  amOe 
Breathing  new  beauty  on  tny  flowery  isle ; 
With  mystic  veil  over  thy  daiyJiiig  brow, 
And  soft  feet,  whiter  than  the  mountain  anew ! 
Come  to  us  over  the  exulting  sea, 
fVom  thy  Tegaean  ahrine  in  Arondy, 
Thy  sacied  dragon  gliding  e'er  the  waves, 
While  nymphs,  emerging  from  deep  ooean  cavea, 
Float  like  dear  stars  upon  the  misty  spray. 
And  card  round  thee  many  a  pleasant  lay. 
And  Nbptunb,  smiling  grimly  at  the  strain. 
Gives  the  elad  wdcome  to  his  vast  domain. 

And  Mouan  bears  incense  from  the  sfaoree 

Where  the  mad  Ganges  roars 

And  his  wild  torrent  pours 
I'  the  Indian  sea,  and  all  the  trees  rich  odors  rain. 

Thou  who  the  daring  Argonauts  did'st  guide 
Over  the  stormy  sea's  rebellious  tide. 
By  Lemnoe  and  by  sunny  Samothrace  — 
Fair  ides  that  dt  the  waves  widi  atstdy  grace — 
By  Troas  and  the  dark  Sympleoades, 
Ajid  aentest  them,  with  &vorabTe  breeae, 
Through  the  wide  Euxine  unto  Cdchis — hear. 
Oh  virgin  goddess  I  and  come  smiling  near, 
WhOe  we  do  wdt  upon  the  silver  sands, 
And  stretch  imploringly  our  suppliant  hands  I 
Then  shall  our  maidens,  of  Ions  summer  evea, 
Bmbowered  amonff  theovershi3ing  leaves, 
(While  taught  of  tiiee,  thdr  sweet  task  they  ftilfil, 
Plymg  the  distaff  with  a  onriona  skill,) 
Tdl  S  the  time  when,  brighter  than  a  star, 
Approadung  on  the  azure  aea  afiur, 
Thou  did'st  our  humble  ceremonies  bless. 
And  smile  uoon  their  budding  lovdineas : 
When  new  flowers  sprang  in  every  sunny  vale, 
New  odors  breathed  in  every  pleasant  gaie. 
And  whiter  com,  and  richer  wine  and  oil 
Thenceforward  pud  the  husbandman's  glad  toil, 


IS60.]  Om  Beardt.  445 

And  Uander  breeoei  and  wrener  dues 
Thenoelorward  ble«ed  the  ide.    Oh,  good,  and  win ! 

Oh,  radiant  goddm !  ahall  tSa  nored  day 

Paw  moarnfiUy  away, 

And  fiide  to  evening  gny. 
And  thoa  not  deign  to  glad  our  anuoga,  longing  eyea? 

Az.»aaT  Ptxi. 


OK     BEARDS 


*  LoEB,  wonhippM  might  Be  be !  what  a  betfd  thou  baat  got  P 
• — Hxi  beard  grew  thin  and  hongeriy,  and  seemVl  to  ask  bim  aopt  as  be  was  drinking  r 
*— Wht  Bboidd  a  manwboie  blood  is  wum  within,  alt  like  his  gnndflife  eat  in  aUbaBter  f 
* — Wrra  beard  of  fbnnal  cot.'  esAxsvaai. 

Toward  tbe  terminatioQ  of  my  Essay  of  ^e  last  month  on  this  grave 
and  momentous  topick,  O  thou  bright  and  courteous  Editor  of  the 
rising  and  extendbg  ELnickerbocubr  !  I  had  perceived  myself  to  be 
suddenly  falling  into  the  gay  and  discursive  humour  that  dodi  alas  !  so 
easily  beset  me ;  and  that  is  so  adverse  to,  and  subversive  of  a  nice  and 
logical  consideration  of  the  grave  social  enormity  to  which  the  popula- 
tion of  this  metropolis  is  becoming  prone :  —  I  can  only  mean  the 
enormity  of  Beards. 

I  thereibre  closed,  after  the  expression  of  a  few  hasty  thoughts ;  in- 
tending to  resume  the  subject  when  I  should  bring  myself  to  a  more 
quiet  and  philosophick  tone  and  frame  of  mind.  I  thought  also  of  the 
femiliar  Latin  proverb,  which  is  not  however  (as  I  am  classically  in- 
formed) the  proverb  of  an  ancient  date,  but  which  nevertheless,  whe- 
ther ancient  or  modem,  carries  the  judicious  purport  on  its  front,  that 
it  does  not  become  us  to  dispute  on  matters  of  Taste ;  and  I  desired 
thereupon  to  examine  the  other  side  of  the  proposition,  and  to  know 
whetiber  countervailing  thoughts  might  not  arise  m  my  breast  in  favour 
of  this  imitation  as  a  matter  of  taste  by  civilized  man,  of  the  proper 
appendage  of  the  goat.  - 

Alas,  diat  I  should  say  so !  like  so  many  wiser  and  better  men,  the 
longer  the  time  may  be  ^at  I  spend  in  reflection,  the  more  fixed  and 
perfect  is  the  conviction  that  1, 1  only  if  it  must  be  so,  I  only  am  alto- 
gether in  the  right. 

Taste !  say  1,  Taste  !  —  Suppose  a  wretch  should  decide  upon  go- 
ing home  and  shooting  his  father  and  mother  —  shall  it  be  considered 
a  matter  of  Taste  whether  of  the  two  he  shall  first  plump  over  1 

Suppose  a  man  founld  ^ilty  of  having  eaten  a  potato  with  a  wood- 
cock ;  or  of  having  dismissed  his  plate  during  the  autumnal  months 
with  the  head  of  that  delicious  bird  untouched  upon  it  —  is  he  ever 
thereafter  to  be  permitted  to  make  use  of  the  word  Taste  ? 

Suppose  a  Gentleman  upon  a  Summer  day  to  receive  from  the  gar- 


iiG  (M  Beards. 

den  of  a  kind  friend  at  Hell-G^atv,  ^pardon  the  word,  I  I'^lS^w 
be  legitimate,)  a  delicious  head  of  Lettuce  in  the  cool  of  ™^^^t^j^  ^  to 
his  saJlad  of  the  day.  He  has  placed,  it  m  «l  dish  apart  from  tlj^j^S  ^ 
one  of  the  stone  shelves  of  his  upri^Yit  "Refrigerator.  He  tdce^  iTt*  **» 
at  the  right  moment  to  be  dressed  l>y  "bia  own  liands  for  the  ^t^n^^  *Orth 
first  divests  it  of  the  outer  leaves.  "He  arrives  at  the  cool,  ^hii^'  ^« 
tick,  crisp  inner-coatings,  edged    >?vitli    the'  most  delicate  hu©  of  ^^^** 

£-een — he  cracks  them  off  the  ce^it^al  stalk,  close  to  the  stalk  tfc^  i^^* 
em,  and  this  discloses  an  inner  l«tyeT  of  leaves  yet  more  delicate^**^ 
pure,  with  a  dreamy  imagination,  Q.t  tHe  topmost  border,  of  what  n^^ 
m  time  have  mingled  into  groen.        He  cracks  these  also  off;  an^j 


hold !  the  budding  leaves  that  ^we^e  never  intended  to  be  touchy  ^ 
colour !  These  also,  these  infc^nt:  foliadone  of  this  delicioua  oflfenng^ 
nature  for  the  recreation  of  man,  tK^Be  too  are  yet  more  carefully  tak^ 
from  the  parent  st^k  to  delist:  ^x^a  crov^  the  bowl. 

Now  slowly,  leaf  after  leaf,   oil  oool     11  sootleflB,  ^^  deviry,  all  luoj- 
an  invigorated,  all  crisp,  leaf  aft^^  1^«p  via  Wn  irently  folded,  teixderW 
sheltered,  in  a  pure  wliite  dat^^Iv         '  ^     /n  rill  it  dried,  abBorU 
not  v^d  !)  and  quietly,  deft W  ^^  ^^«'"' >  •  ^w  pAa«^  ^^^  ^^^ 
glass  bowl ;  the  hollow  of  ©aoi^^T^^™^??'  ^^'^'^^^i  to  receive  W^ 
box-wood  or  Swiss-poplar  sno^^\    ^  ^^^"8  ^P^.^  of  ^^  dreBsmg  \a^ 
mortalized  by  the  pen  of  iH^  1»^*  ^  ®™^  q^an^J^l^ojiginahad  Sydneji^ 
Smith  in  the  following  lines  •  *eeverend  and  <**^ 


But  deem  it  ^j^T^i^^^i^t  Uii  KiST.  P**^™* 

Four  tfme«  uS?^J35*«»itHV  of  St*  *^**^ 
And  twice  Wl?L*»*<^<>*fc  witw«iV  , 

The  poaiSI2rf^^*«*^«  ICV^S'^**''*'^  ^^SS^K 


^B'houldjnroceeito 

bis  steel  kniAJe- 

^^recf  pliant  4it  II 


1850.J 


Tke   -<"' 


■^'N:*^^ 


•^^1^ 
* '^t* 


length  expires  in  agony  b^* 

its  sacred  ichor,  discoloureo  -■««« 

he  consumes  LETTtrcE  in  eoca  a  way  ^^  -^1  ^^ 

ftn  apparition  of  Taste  ?  .  **i^ 

Then  neither  are  these  brushes  of  -^ 
Bor  these  Judas-Iscariot-red  bnstJeB,  in  ^Jt-^j 
pretext  of  the  Tatte  of  the  owners  of  j-j^^  , 
i^hatevei'  to  exhibit  to  the  community  oii*^*3 
Dbjectof  this  sort.    Upon  every  priocijj|      ^ 

tey  ought  to  be  abolished,  and  this  b^^  ^jg  «^»^ ''••^■,^*^»  ^l"^  */'^'.«'  . 
the  Sun,'  or  the  Dog-Star  shall  make  us  1 '^^^^ \-»'^<k^'*H     '^     **^»W0   V' ^  ^ 

I  regret — dear  Publick  I  apologize  t-,^  **fe-  -c^**^  ^^i»^l*"l«:^^>at8  '^^^^^\d 
Oemonof  Parenthesis  in  the  shape  of  a  IjT  *li^^^  »^^«>i^  ^?,  *  ^^^/^ 
Lettuce,  I  have  wandered  oflF  from  the  ^^^^^  '  -C!^*=*l^***^  *^'^Y^  ^y 
he  su^ect  on  which  I  intended  to  have  ^**^i,^^*l  jT"  *ia^^^s,^**ll  '  V^  '^^ 
«rhen  I  sat  down  to  have  dwelt  upon  tu^l:*^^^^,'^^^'^  ^,^<lf^  ^  1> 
.eards  But  the  boundary  of  my  space  iCf  ^^*^*W.2r*S  "^«'^'*«o4^^ 
Bah^y<r«M;A«i«;Hm,ifnotoveipa88^    ^l^^'^^^'  ^^^^^K.^^  y-. 

lona.  Wait  for  my  thoughts.  T^^^  ^?  ^^  ^^^^^  ^^^  ^^^ 
foustaches.  Banish  your^Be;,^"Aj^^,*-  ^l!^^^^^  ^^^^^ 
Micera  that  you  cherish  under^^  ch^  '^-^^^^5"^^^.^  £^^^ 


Tbub  are  gem.  «w  .  '^    ■ 

There  Mwa.^^ ^* 


''^'^■^  one  «ittu« -c!!^  ^™  'WoTtrt  w-^ 

,, M-.  r,  M-^  a,  1850.  "^ «»»« ''»»^^~SS.';i?2j», , 


LITERARY     NOTICES. 


Whitc-Jackit  ;  oa  mm  Wokls  m  a  Ma^ot-Wam,  "Bj  Hbkhaii  MiiiTiLLBf  Avttior  of  'l^rfMk' 
» Omooi'  *  Uuulj^  and  *  Bedborn.*    New^York :  Hampbe  ajtd  Beotbbes. 

Well,  we  an  glad  to  find  the  author  of  '  l^peef  on  the  right  gnmnd  at  last 
When  we  read  hia  *  Mardi,'  or  rather  tried  to  read  it,  for  we  never  ooidd  get  ^te 
through  it,  we  feared  that  the  author  had  miatidcen  hia  bent,  like  a  oomio  aotor  with  a 
'  penahong'  for  tragedy,  and  that  we  were  thenoeforth  to  hear  flrom  him  in  a  paendo- 
philoaophieal  rifaceiamento  of  Cakltlb  and  BMaaaoir.  ^Redhnm'  relaanred  va; 
and  now  comes  *■  White-Jacket,'  to  relnatate  the  anther  in  the  beat  good-graoea  of 
the  reading  public.  Kot  a  page  of  this  last  work  has  escaped  ns ;  and  ao  atrong  waa 
the  continuouB  intereat  which  it  excited,  a  quality  not  always  enoountered  even  in  the 
moat  popular  worka  of  onr  time,  that  we  acoompUahed  ita  peruaal  in  two  ^  aittiBga,' 
unaYoidably  protracted,  we  may  remark,  for  we  could  not  leare  the  work,  while  there 
was  yet  a  page  unread.  Without  the  aid  of  much  imaginatk>n,  but  with  a  daguer- 
reotype-like naturalness  of  description,  of  all  which  the  writer  saw  and  f^t  himself, 
and  all  which  he  saw  others  feel,  Mr.  Melvillb  haa  given  ua  a  Yolume  which,  in  its 
evident  truthfulneas  and  accuracy  of  personal  and  individual  delineation,  reminda  us 
oontinnally  of  that  admirable  and  justly^  popular  work,  the  ^  Two  Yeart  Befm-e  tkt 
ManV  of  the  younger  Daha.  A  vein  of  sly  humor  percolates  through  the  book ; 
and  a  sort  of  unctuous  toymg  with  verbal  double-meanings,  is  once  in  a  while  to  be 
met  with,  which  go  far  to  indicate,  that  if  the  author  had  lived  in  the  '  City  of 
Brotherly  Love^*  (church-burners,  firemen-fighters,  assassins,  and  rowdiea,  excnae 
the  implied  exceptions !)  he  might,  with  a  little  proper  instruction,  have  become  aa  cele- 
brated as  '  a  Philadelphia  lawyer,'  that  preOminent  model  of  a  pun-hunter.  We  had 
intended  to  present  several  extracts  from  '  White-Jacket,'  which  we  had  penoilled  for 
that  purpose  in  the  perusal;  but  the  universal  prevalence  of  the  book  itself,  at  this  late 
period,  would  doubtless  make  them  '  t^ce-told  tales'  to  the  great  majority  of  oar 
readers.  We  would  call  especial  attention,  as  a  matter  of  preaent  public  iniocat,  to 
the  chapters  descriptive  of  an  instance  of  almost  indiscriminate  flogging  on  hoard  a 
man-of-war,  and  the  consequences  of  such  inconsistent  punishment,  in  the  case  of  each 
offender.  The  force  of  public  opmion,  and  the  example  of  certain  humane  oflSoers 
in  the  highest  rank  of  the  American  navy,  would  seem  to  indicate  that  the  time  is  not 
distant  when  corporeal  punishment,  if  not  mainly  abolished,  wOl  at  least  be  hereafter 
less  frequently  resorted  to  than  formerly,  and  greatly  lessened  in  its  severity.  The 
signs  of  the  times'  would  seem  to  point  unerringly  to  this  result. 


Literary  NoHeet. 


449 


P^Biii  BT  H.  W.  Pajuesi.   In  000  Tohmie.   Itaio.  pp.  S96L    Anbuni,  New-Toik:  Jakbi  H. 
Au>Bii,  Number  67  Gcmoieo  ilrBot. 

Ths  prearare  of  new  pnblioationa  upon  m,  to  ieverai  of  which  we  are  ohBged  to 
refer  briefiy  in  another  department  of  the  Knic^s&bockbb,  prerenti  anch  a  notaoe  of 
the  preaent  Yolnme  aa  we  ahoold  be  well  pleaaed  to  award  it ;  ibr  we  enoonnter  in  iti 
pagea  many  gema  of  thon^t  and  felicitiea  of  expreaaion  whidh  prove  the  writer  to 
poaaeaa  a  poetical  capacity  of  no  ordinary  character.  We  coald  inatanoe^had  we  the 
reqniaite  apace,  many  fiiTorable  apecimena  of  the  wnter'a  powera,  hnt  are  compelled  to 
content  onradves  with  the  Mowing,  which  fiOa  hnt  four  oat  of  the  two  hundred  and 
thirty-aght  pagea  contahied  in  the  volime  which  it  gracea.  It  ia  entitted '  The  Loom 
oflAfe:' 


*I  flToov  withiii  a  ipacioaB  nxMn 

Wbera  many  buy  wearen  were, 
And  eaeh  one  played  a  lofty  kXMD, 

With  ceeaelees and  with  noier  etir; 
Waq»  and  roller,  epoole  and  nm— 

It  waa  a  maiy  soene  to  view, 
While  alow  rerolTed  the  greening  wbeela, 

And  IM  tbe  otadiii«  ahnttlea  flew. 

<  Unnumbered  ttireada  of  brilliant  dTea, 

Ftom  beam  to  beam  an  doaely  dimwa, 
Seemed  dipped  In  boea  of  aonaetaklea, 

Or  ateeped  in  tinta  of  roar  dawn ; 
Or  aa  a  thooaand  ralnbowa  bright 

Had  been  nnrayelled,  ray  by  ray, 
And  each  priamaftie  beam  of  Ughl 

Inwoven  with  the  (hbric  lay. 

<  QnlcL  Gidclc  the  dlcklng  dmttlea  flew. 

And  ilowlT  ap  the  weo  waa  rolled,        <- 
Sprinkled  with  porple,  red  and  bine, 

And  atrewed  with  Stan  of  yellow  gold ; 
Tbeqoalnt  deyicecame  ftwth  ao  true, 

It  aeemed  a  work  of  magic  power, 
Aa  if  by  fbroe  of  Nature  orew 

Each  imaged  leaf  and  igand  tUmvr. 


round, 


•I  aat  within  a  ailent  room, 

While  evenlDg  ahadowa 
And  thought  thai  lilb  ia  Uke  a 

With  many^cokired  tiflaoea  wound ; 
Our  aoula  the  waip,  and  thought  a  thread 

That,  since  our  being  first  began. 
Backward  and  forth  has  ever  sped, 

Shot  by  the  busy  wearer  —  man ! 

*  And  all  erenta  of  changiiig  years 

That  lend  their  ccrfors  to  our  Ulb, 
Though  oA  their  memory  dieappeaia 
Amid  onrpleaaurea  and  our  strife, 
Are  added  flbrea  to  the  warp, 

And  here  and  there  they  will  be  aeen. 
Dyed  deep  in  toy  or  eorrows  sharp — 
r  «•  are  all  that  we  A«0<  *«M. 


^or« 


lorea  and  hopea  of  yoQthlVd  hours, 
wufth  buried  In  obllTlon  deep, 
I  hMden  threads  in  woven  flowers 


•The  lores  and! 

Ihouj 
Ukel 

Upon  the  web  will  atart  from  sleep. 
Ana  one  loved  face  we  sometimes  nd 

pictured  there,  with  memoriea  rift; 


A  part  of  that  myaterloua  1 
Whtefa  ftmnithe  endlem  waip  of  Ufb* 


<Stai  hour  by  hour  the  tJasoe  grows, 
(Memory  ia  ita  weO  known  name,) 
lined  bright  % 


„  i  with  |oya  or  dark  with  woea. 
The  pattern  never  twice  the  same! 

For  its  conftised  and  mingled  gleams 
Dfaplay  so  little  care  or  plan, 

In  heedlam  sport  the  Bhiitfle  seema 
Thrown  by  the  maddened  weaver — man  I 

<  And  if  our  conadons  waking  thought 

Weaves  out  ao  few  and  worthlem  enda, 
Much  more  a  tangled  woof  ia  wrouj^t 

When  drsam  with  dream  commingllag 
The  toilsome  scenes  of  weary  days;    [blenda; 

Bv  night  lived  oV,  at  mon  we  aea 
Made  monatroua  in  a  thousand  wqra, 

Like  fhbled  shMMS ^ 


« And  aa  the  weaves^  varied  bndd, 

When  turned,  a  double  wonder  ahowa  ~ 
The  lighta  all  changed  to  aombre  ahade, 

While  all  the  dim  then  warmlv  ^ows; 
80,  many  soenes  we  think  moet  Dnsht, 

And  many  deemed  moet  dark  ana  cold, 
Will  seem  inverted  to  our  sight, 

When  we  our  Aiture  Hfe  behold! 


*  For  thought  ends  not ;  it  reaches  on 
Through  every  change  of  worid  or  cUnie, 

While  of  iteelf  wUlever  run 

■    The  refetlessflving  shuttle  — time! 

And  when  the  deep4mprinted  soul 
ShaU  burst  the  c^amtors  of  the  tomb. 

Eternity  will  forth  unroll 
The  woric  of  thia  our  wondrona  kxim  1* 


We  ahall  watch  Mr.  pARSBa'a  literary  career  with  intereat.  We  think  we  diacem 
In  him  the  evidence  of  true  geniua ;  and  if  hia  riper  yeara  fulfil  the  promiae  of  hia 
apring,  we  ahaQ  lo<^  to  '  hear  from  him'  hereafter.  In  the  mean  time  we  commend 
hia  firat  yolnme  to  the  encouraging  approbation  of  hia  readera  and  of  oura ;  and  to 
himaelf  a  careftd  atady  of  the  old  ^  maatera  of  aong,'  to  the  end  that,  withont  imita- 
tion, he  may  avwl  himaelf  of  the  beet  modda  of  style. 


1 


450  LUarary  Noticea.  [May, 


WoMAK  III  Avkkica:  hkk  Wokk  ard  hcr  Bbwaad.     By  Makia  J.  MdirroPH,  Anllior  of 
*  Charms  and  Ckittntei^liamia,*  «To  Seem  and  to  Be,*  etc    New-York :  D.  ArrLCToa  ajkd  Oom- 

PAKT. 

We  never  take  up  a  new  work  by  the  author  of '  To  Seem  and  to  Be,'  without  being 
certain  to  find  developed  three  important  requisites :  namely^  purity  and  simplicity  of 
style,  the  earnestness  of  thorough  oonviction,  and  the  inculcation  of  lessons  the  most 
valuable  to  her  readers.  All  these  are  preeminent  characteristics  of  ^  Woman  is 
America ;'  and  we  wish  it  were  in  our  power  to  secure  a  place  for  the  work  in  the 
librsry  of  every  true  woman  in  our  highly-favored  land.  '  He  who  undertakes,'  says 
our  author,  in  a  brief  and  well-written  introduction, '  to  mark  the  movements  of 
a  multitude,  who  would  decide  whither  their  stops  tend,  and  judge  their  deviatioiit 
from  the  right  path,  must  stand  above  them,  that  he  may  overlook  their  course ;  and 
some  such  elevation  may  seem  to  be  claimed  by  her  who  seeks  to  awaken  the  attenlioii 
of  her  countrywomen  to  the  mistakes  by  which,  as  she  believes,  their  social  progress 
is  impeded,  or  misdirected.  The  only  advantage  over  those  whom  she  addreases, 
daimod  by  the  author,  is  opportunity  for  more  extended  observation  of  the  varied  forms 
of  social  life  in  her  own  land  than  has  been  enjoyed  by  many  of  her  sex.  Bound  to 
the  South,  the  land  of  her  birth,  and  tlie  home  of  her  childhood  and  youth,  by  ties 
which  no  time  can  sever,  ties  knit  when  feeling  was  strongest  and  association  motft 
vivid,  her  matnrer  and  more  reflective  yean  have  been  passed  in  the  Northern  States ; 
and  here  kind  hearts  have  been  opened  to  her,  and  friendly  hands  have  been  eztendied 
to  draw  her  into  the  sanctuary  of  their  homes,  and  permit  her  to  become  a  pleased 
witness  of  the  ^  holy  revealings'  proceeding  from  those  innermost  shrines  of  life.  Nor 
has  her  observation  been  confined  to  one  class,  in  these  her  .different  abodes.  She  has 
been  permitted  to  take  her  views  of  life,  now  from  the  position  occupied  by  those  who 
daim  the  ^  privilege^  of  idleness,  and  now  from  that  of  those  whom  a  friendly  neee»- 
■ity  has  constrained  to  yield  obedience  to  the  benign  law  of  labor.'  Thus,  her  sym- 
pathies with  all  have  been  cultivated ;  and  she  speaks  only  *  that  which  she  knowa, 
and  testifies  that  she  has  seen.'  Again  do  we  commend  her  volume  to  a  wide  and 
oordlal  aooeptance. 


Lakb  Sursaioa:  in  Prybical  Chaeactbb,  Vkobtation,  ato  Amtm  a  is,  compared  with  those 
of  Other  and  Similar  Rei^oDS.  By  Louii  AoAsais.  With  a  Narrative  of  the  Toor,  by  J.  Eluot 
Cabot;  sod  Oontrtbatloofl  by  other  Scientillc  Gentlemen.    Boston:  Gould,  Kbnsall  abb 

LlJfOOLH. 

Tbb  main  object  of  the  excnnion,  the  results  of  which  are  given  in  the  pages  of 
this  large,  well-execnted,  and  finely-illustrated  volume,  was  a  purely  scientifio  one ; 
namely,  the  study  of  the  natural  history  of  the  northern  akore  of  Lake  Superior. 
Tike  party  was  composed  of  the  eminent  naturalist,  Agassiz,  and  fifteen  other  genfle- 
men,  mainly  '  seniors'  from  the  higher  '  schools'  of  Harvard  Univerrity.  Another 
end  proposed  by  Professor  Aoassix  was  to  aflbrd  to  those  of  the  party  who  were  aa- 
aooustomed  to  the  practical  investigation  of  natural  phenomena  an  opportunity  of  ex- 
ercising themselves  under  his  direction.  Interspersed  throughout  the  narrative  are 
literal  and  fresh  reports,  carefully  made  at  the  time,  of  the  learned  Professor's  remarks 
on  various  points  of  Natural  History,  that  seemed  to  him  likely  to  interest  a  wider 
ovde  than  those  more  particularly  addressed  in  the  second  part  of  the  book,  which 
eoDsists  of  papers  on  various  pointa  connected  with  the  Natural  History  of  the  region, 
written,  where  not  otherwise  specified,  by  Profe«or  AoASin  himself.    This  portxHi 


452  Literary  Notices.  [Blay, 

man  of  a  oold  inteUectaal  temperament,  and  derotea  hk  life  thereafter  to  aearch  for 
hia  wife'a  guilty  partner  and  a  fiendiah  revenge.  The  yoang  dergyman  of  the  town, 
a  man  of  a  deTout  aenaibUity  and  warmth  of  heart,  ia  ihe  yiotim,  m  thia  Mephiatophi- 
lean  old  phyaioian  fixea  himaelf  by  hia  aide  to  watbh  oyer  him  and  protect  hia  heahh, 
an  object  of  great  aolioitade  to  hia  pariahionera,  and,  m  reality,  to  detect  hia  anapeeted 
aeoret  and  g^oat  over  hia  tortorea.  Thia  Aaw,  oool,  deriliah  pnrpoae,  ia  perfected 
gradnally  and  inevitably.  The  wayward,  elfiah  ehild,  a  oonoenlration  of  goilt  and 
paanon,  binda  tihe  intereati  of  the  partiea  together,  bat  tfarowa  little  aundune  over  the 
aoene.  Theae  are  all  the  oharaotera,  with  aome  caaoal  introdnctiaDa  of  the  grim  per- 
flonagea  and  manners  of  the  period,  nnle«  we  add  the  aoarlet  letter,  whibh,  in  Haw- 
THoana'a  handa,  ikilled  to  theae  allegorical,  typical  aemblancea,  beoomea  vitiliaed  aa 
the  reat.  It  ia  the  hero  of  the  rolome.  The  ddnoaement  ia  the  death  of  the  clergy- 
man on  a  day  of  public  feativity,  after  a  pnblic  confeaaion  in  the  arma  of  the  piOoried, 
branded  woman.'  We  have  to  add  to  thia  ayllabna  the  remark,  that '  The  Scarlet 
Letter'  ia  written  with  a  anatained  power  to  the  cloae ;  that  it  ia  replete  with  deep 
thought  and  aearohing  analyna  of  the  human  heart ;  foil  of  graphic  picturea  of  cha- 
racter and  of  the  mannera  of  the  time ;  that  it  ia  a  work,  in  short,  which  reflecta  high 
honor  upon  ita  author,  and  which  will  take  a  liigh  rank  among  modem  American 
worka  of  fiction. 


HovsaaoLD  Woeim:   a  Weekly  JooinaL    By  Cbaelbs  DicKain.   Londoa  and  New-Toik: 
OaoEOB  P.  Fmnfijf. 

Wi  are  glad  to  find  an  enterprising  Amefiean  publiaher  eatabliahing  at  once  a 
reprint  of  this  journal,  which,  judging  from  the  merits  of  the  two  numbera  before  ua, 
win  attain  to  great  popularity.  From  a  paaaage  in  the  editor's  'PreZtmmory  Word^j^ 
in  the  first  number,  our  readcra  will  derive  a  dear  impression  of  the  object  and  intent 
of  the  work :  '  No  mere  utilitarian  apirit,  no  iron  binding  of  the  mind  to  grim  realitiea, 
win  give  a  harsh  tone  to  ouf  Houadiold  Worda.  In  the  boaoma  of  the  young  and  M, 
of  the  wdl-to-do  and  of  the  poor,  we  would  tenderly  cherish  that  light  of  Fancy  whidi 
in  inherent  in  the  human  breaat ;  which,  according  to  its  nurture,  bnma  with  an  in- 
apiring  flame,  or  sinka  into  a  suUen  glare,  but  which  (or  wo  betide  that  day !)  can  never 
be  eztingnshed.  To  show  to  all,  that  in  aU  Duniliar  things,  even  in  thooe  whk&  are 
repeUant  on  the  sur&ce,  there  ia  Romance  enough,  if  we  wiU  find  it  out ;  to  teach  the 
hardeat  workera  at  thia  whirling  whed  of  toil,  that  their  lot  ia  not  necesaarily  a  moody, 
brutal  fiict,  exduded  from  the  aympathies  and  graces  of  imagination ;  to  bring  the 
greater  and  the  lesaer  in  degree,  together,  upon  that  wide  fiel^,  and  mutnaUy  diapoae 
them  to  a  better  acquaintance  and  a  kinder  underatandmg ;  ia  one  main  object  of  our 
Honaehold  Worda,  They  wiU  not  be  eohoea  of  the  preaent  time  alone,  but  of  the 
paat  too.  Neither  wiU  they  treat  of  the  hopea,  the  enterpriaea,  triumpha,  joya,  and 
aorrowB,  of  thia  country  only,  but,  in  some  degree,  of  those  of  every  nation  upon  earth. 
For  nothing  can  be  a  aonrce  of  real  intweat  in  one  of  them,  without  concerning  aU 
the  reat'  We  have  aUuded  daewhere  to  other  papera  in  the  two  issuea  before  na. 
The  journal  ia  wdl  printed  upon  atrong  fine  linen  paper ;  and  ia  in  audi  a  oonvenioit 
book-lbrm  that  it  may  be  preaerved  and  bound  in  vdumes,  and  thua^oim  a  vdnaUe 
aaid  interesting  addition  to  one's  private  Ubrary. 


454  Record  of  New  PMicatiaiu.  [May, 

time  in  wbic^i  she  was  under  his  tuition.  It  is  however  in  her  own  sweet  and  plain- 
tire  Swedish  ballads  that  we  have  felt  most  powerfully  the  charma  of  thia  musical 
enehintress ;  as  indeed  have  all  who  have  had  the  opportunity  of  hearing  them.  One 
fret  which  we  have  heard  respecting  the  ^Echo  Song^  may  prove  a  good  sample  of 
the  wild  and  wonderful  dreams  which  have  been  produced  by  her  talent  A  ftmovs 
professor  of  ventriloquism  in  England,  whose  name  we  will  not  mention,  had  the 
opportunity  of  hearing  her  at  Birmingham.  He  was  fond  of  music,  and  enjoyed  the 
occasion  as  much  as  it  was  possible  to  do,  until  she  sang  this  melody.  No  sooner  bad 
he  heard  the  repetition  of  the  words  given,  than  he  smiled  to  himself  with  the  ap- 
proving air  of  a  man  who  perfectiy  appreciated  the  manner  in  which  it  was  done. 
At  the  conclusion  of  the  air,  the  frictad  who  had  accompanied  him  to  the  4ioooat, 
turned  to  him:  <Is  it  not  beautiful?'  he  asked.  'Charming!'  was  (he  answtf. 
*  What  an  admirable  ventriloquist  she  would  make !'  Ills  friend  doubted  whether  it 
was  possible  that  ho  heard  him  correctiy,  and  asked  him  what  he  meant :  ^  Simply,' 
replied  the  professor, '  that.the  echo  she  produces  in  that  song  is  the  result  of  ventrikn 
qnism!'  Nor  was  he  to  be  persuaded  that  thk  was  not  the  case.  Probably  he  retains 
tile  conviction  to  this  day,  tiiat  Jennt  Lind  is  a  ventriloquist  t  Such  is  one  instance 
alone,  taken  from  the  scores  with  which  we  are  acquainted,  of  the  eitracvdinary 
powers  of  this  lady ;  but  we  might  multiply  anecdote  up<Mi  anecdote,  if  we  had  the 
inclmation  to  collect  but  one  tithe  part  of  those  which  are  floating  about  in  every  part 
of  the  continent  of  Europe.  Such  however  is  not  our  wish.  We  took  up  our  pen 
with  the  intention  alone  of  giving  some  idea  of  her  powers  as  a  vocalist,  and  fimnd 
ourselves  betrayed  into  the  anecdote  before  we  were  well  aware  of  it.  Let  us  con- 
tent ourselves  with  the  anticipation  that  she  wiU  ere  long  be  among  us ;  that  we  shall 
once  more  have  the  opportunity  of  hearing  her  exquisite  voice  thrilling  through  the 
^Deh  Vionij*  or  some  other  of  those  songs  with  which  she  has  so  often  beibre  ddig^itad 
na ;  that  we  shall  once  more  have  the  opportanity  of  seeing  one  of  the  moat  diarni* 
ing  and  unassuming  of  those  creatures  to  whom  Hbavbn  has  given  the  genioa  to  de- 
light and  astonish  those  to  whom  it  has  been  less  bonntiftd  in  the  distribution  of  its 
ehoieer  and  more  enthralling  gifts.' 


Thk  Paas  Fkstival,  celdmted  the  other  evening  at  Niblo's  new  saloon  by  ibe 
8amt  NiehoUu  SoeUty,  and  its  invited  guests,  was  one  of  the  most  delightfol  oooa- 
akms  of  the  sort  which  it  has  ever  been  our  good  fiirtune  to  attend.  We  should  like 
to  have  had  a  delegation  of  sour,  puritanical,  diaocmtented  people,  of  what  nation  or 
tongue  soever,  drop  in  at  that  assemUy  about  the  middle  of  the  evening.  There  was 
not  a  £M3e  that  was  not  *  wreathed  in  amiles.'  The  highest  dignitaries  were  eneking 
paia-€gg8,  and  bearing  away  their  ^conquerors;'  all  ^fitir,'  too,  nois  marUe  c^  in 
the  entire  ooUection.  The  capable  stewards  had  taken  care  to  have  every  good  thi^ 
in  the  way  of  potables  and  ediblea,  and  well  did  Nulo,  that  prince  of  oateren,  aeooad 
their  exertions.  There  were  no  toasts  and  no'q>eeohes'  proper — nor  improper. 
The  President  of  the  St.  Nicholas  Society,  J.  Dm  PnTsrsa  Oodbh,  Esq.,  nade  n 
few  felicitous  remarks,  touching  *  tibe  day  we  eelehrated ;'  and  President  Kmo,  of  Oo- 
Uunbia  College,  and  Dr.  Wainwaight,  also  spoke  with  the  temeness  and  eloqnenoe 
oharacieriatio  of  each.  Several  excellent  songs  and  stories  diversified  the  enjoyment 
of  the  evening ;  and  amidst  a  cloud  of  odorous  amoke,  the  happy  company  fuuOf 
U  was  a  season  to  be  romemberad. 


1 


4^6  Editor's  Table.  [May, 

jnyeniles  do  n't  know  how  to  oonBtraot  'em.  Thin,  tiBBne-pAper  thugs,  with  no  ifaBpe 
to  them  beyond  that  of  a  oonfbsed  aexagon,  no  place  for  a  head,  and  lees  for  a  tail, 
theae  are  the  machines  you  see  flattering  and  bobbing,  ducking  and  sidling,  in  the 
sky  of  Gotham.  How  unlike  the  walnut-bow  and  cedar-shaft  kite  of  the  ked'ntry ; 
with  its  red-worsted  wings  '  a-flappink  in  the  hair,'  as  Yellowtlobb  says,  Hs  firma- 
ment of  bright  p(q)er-st8rs  gleaming  in  the  sun ;  iti  long  flaunting  tail,  moving  graoeftdly  < 
with  the  mass  abore  it,  its  tasselled  end  waving  like  the  taO-fin  of  a  fish,  that  gracefullest 
of  moving  things.  Ah !  thote  were  the  kites ;  and  it  was'from  such  specimens  of '  high 
art'  that  we  derived  our  love  of  them,  which  to  this  day  has  never  left  us ;  as  mai^ 
a  lad  can  testify,  who  has  been  flying  kites  in  our '  beat,'  aa  we  daily  wend  to  and  firom 
the  sanctum.  We  confidently  ask  our  juvenile  friends,  did  we  ever  see  a  kite,  how- 
soever small  or  ignoble,  lodged  in  a  tree,  or  on  a  telegraph  wire,  or  twisted  round  a 
telegraph-pole,  or  a  chimn^,  without  rendering  immediate  and '  valuable  aflsistaneer 
Never  t  —  and  if  the  dyspeptic  Wall-street  broker,  who  caUed  the  attention  of  hk 
sneering  chum  the  other  morning  to  *  Old  Knick.'  descending  a  tree,  a  disabled  kite 
in  his  hand,  and  a  ^  solution  of  continuity'  in  his  trowserloons,  will  call  up  in  our  street, 
we  will  give  hfan  a  litUe  illustration  of  the '  luxury  of  doing  good .'  Tlie  bright,  goldeii- 
haired  boy  who  owned  that  kite,  Mr.  Broker,  knows  how  to  be  grateful ;  and  if  we 
should  hereafter  ever  flourish  in  Wall-street,  in  your  Une,  he  would  send  us  the  best 
of  shaving  -  ^  pi^>er'  to  be  had  in '  the  street  •,'  and  we  can  tell  you  too,  BAr.  PoLrriciAH , 
that  if,  in  the  progress  of  eventB,  we  should  chance  to  be '  up'  for  some  office  in  the 
k  gift  of  this  our  good  old  Knioksrbockbr  city,  that  lad  would  be  '  good  for'  fiflj  votes. 
We  can  only  say,  that  once  tn  a  municipal  office,  of  the  proper  description,  our  best 
exertious  shall  not  be  wanting  to  *  put  down'  the  telegraph-poles  and  wires.  Eleotri- 
eity  is  a '  good  institution,'  no  doubt,  and  enables  us  to  '  enjoy  our  mUrden'  in  the 
morning  papers  to  a  greater  extent  than  formerly ;  but  telegraphs  were-  never  intended 
to  interfere  with  the  '  vested  rights'  of  boys  engaged  in  kite-flying  —  never !  The  de- 
struction in  this  branch  of  business  is  greaUy  increasing.  Ixx>k  at  the  ragged  skeletooa, 
the  almost  fossil  remains,  that  flap  and  wri^e  upon  the  wires  and  posts,  where  they  have 
been  gibbetted  —  *  lean,  rent  and  beggared  by  the  strumpet  wind.'  What  *  under- 
lies' all  this  evil  7  The  telegraph  system.  Boys, '  To  the  poles !  down  with  the  poles !' 
should  be  the  rallying  cry.  They  are  aristocratic ;  they  are  unconstitutional ;  they 
are  worse  than  the '  Wilmot  proviso !'  Such  and  so  many  have  been  the  wrecks  of 
kites,  *  sailing  on  the  high  seas  of  air,'  that  juvenile  enterprise  has  been  diverted  to 
other  channels  *,  and  a  virulent  eruption  of  whip-tope, '  groaning  under  the  lash,'  has 
broken  out,  and  is  spreading  all  over  the  metropolis ;  drivmg  the  aged  from  the  waOoi, 
invading  the  delicate  feet  and  ankles  of  our  lovely  female  pedestrians,  and  playing 
the  very-  deuce  with  the  interior  of  their  beautiful  white  under-dresses.  Let  the 
nuisance  be  abated.  A  vermilion  edict !  .  .  .  Who  can  *  gild  refined  gold  ?'  Tt^e 
up  your  ^Book  of  Common  Prayer^''  reader — we  hope  it  is  *  not  far  from  each  <»e 
of  you '— and  turn  to  this  passage  in  the  Litany : 


*  By  the  mystery  of  thy  holy  Incarnation ;  by  thy  holy  nativity  and  circomeiaian ;  by  thy  t_^ , 

flMting  and  temptation ;  by  thine  agony  and  Uoody  sweat;  bythycranandpaaaton:  bythypredoas 
death  and  bnrial ;  by  thy  glotiona  rarorrectlon  and  aaoeoBidn ;  and  by  the  oomiog  of  the  Holt 
Ghoit  ;  good  Lord,  dettver  vsl  In  all  time  of  our  tribulation ;  in  all  time  of  onr  prosperity;  fa 
the  hour  of  death,  and  in  the  day  of  Judgment,  good  Lord  deliver  us  I* 

We  never  hear  this  portion  of  the  litany,  howsoever  indifierentiy  repeated,  in  the 
service  of  die  sanctuary,  without  a  profound  feeling  of  reverence,  and  almost  of  awe. 
It  has  seemed  to  us  that  the  collocation  of  the  words  could  not  be  equalled ;  that  tbe 


458  Editor's  Table.  {May, 

abiurd,  inaoDmbeai  ideas,  they  aM  not  aUe  to  read  it  over  to  HMmaehaa  widiovt 
laughing.  These  poor  gentlemen  endeaTor  to  gain  thamaelvea  the  repntaAkn  of  vita 
and  honMwiati  by  aneh  monatrons  oonoeiti  ai  almoet  qualify  ihem  for  Bedlam^  not 
conaidering  that  humor  ahoold  always  lie  under  the  cheok  of  reason,  and  tiiat  it  requires 
the  direction  of  the  nicest  judgment,  by  so  muoh  the  more  as  it  indulges  itsdf  in  tlie 
most  bouhdless  freedoms.  For  my  part,  when  I  read  the  delirioua  mirth  of  an  un- 
tkilM  anthor  in  this  kind,  I  oannot  be  so  barbarous  as  to  divert  myself  with  it,bnl  am 
rather  apt  to  pity  the  man,  than  to  laugh  at  any  thing  he  writes.' .  .  .  Wnmusfbegto 
decline'  hsTing  any  thing  to  say  or  do  in  the  matter  suggested  by '  ConnniTATon.'  And 
if  he  will  permit  us  to  give  him  a  litde  advice,  we  shall  ask  to  convey  it  in  these  lines : 

*■  Ir  wisdom's  ways  joa  wisely  seek, 

Five  things  obserre  with  care ; 
0/  whom  yoa  speak,  to  whom  you  speak, 
And  Atfio — sod  «*«ii  —  and  «0A<re/ 

Thx  sketch  entitled  ^The  Old  WhUe  Meettng-Hatue  RemtiUd'  we  had  read,  and 
with  pleasure,  before  the  receipt  of  our  correspondent's  note.  Ilie  first  interview  of 
the  writer  with  the  sexton,  a  wrinkled,  crooked,  feeble  old  man,  who  had  so  long  and 
so  often  been  in  the  grave  that  he  wondered  he  should  then  be  out  of  it ;  the  remi- 
niscences connected  with  the  tenants  of  the  little  church-yard,  (reminding  ua  rery 
forcibly  of  *Our  Burial-Plaeey^  written  by  Miss  Sbdowick  for  these  pages,)  and  es- 
pecially thb  visit  paid  by  the  writer,  after  a  long  absence,  to  the  viDage  parsonage, 
once  the  homestead  of  his  parents,  the  abiding-place  of  his  brothers  and  sisters ; 
these  struck  us  as  vividly  and  graphically  limned.  After  retiring  to  rest  in  *  The 
Parsonage,'  in  the  nunc  room  where  he  slept  when  a  child,  with  the  associations  of 
Ihe  past  thidc-dustering  about  him,  he  passes  (so  busy  is  Memory)  a  sleepless  night 
But  the  morning  at  length  comes,  when,  he  tells  us ; 

« I  WATOsasn  out  among  the  trae%  and  flelds,  and  streams,  that  were  onoe  my  most  famlHar  haoBtL 

Tike  ahBd»4rBeaaromid  the  jMisonage  I  had  helped  to  plant.   They  were  bow  wide  spresdlng:  their 

hnnches  meeting  over  head,  although  we  had  set  their  trunks  wide  asonder.    Hero  were  fbor  maples 

in  a  row ;  they  were  planted  for  and  by  Ibur  brothers  of  us,  and  each  in  the  order  of  his  age  had  a 

tree  of  his  own,  which  he  watered  and  watched  with  firateraaleara.   Hie  teeea  an  all  iiTlng:  of  Ike 

brotheiB,  one  has  been  transplanted  to  a  better  floil  and  a  fairer  clime.    He  waa  a  Ihie  boy.    Wettdo 

I  remember  how  he,  the  yomigeat  of  the  four,  waa  pleased  to  have  s  tree  of  his  own;  how  pnmd  lo 

fm  the  trencsh  around  it  with  water,  and  to  see  that  Aw  tree  Cthay  were  aU  sat  out  in  flin  leaf )  dkl  not 
^..     «..  _.,^ -__.-_.  ^...^,._ .    .        .  ^^^^  .     .     ^ 


proud  I 
)dklni] 
wilt  But  Ac  withered  and  died  before  his  sun  had  reachedlta  noon.  Poor  boyl— no,  rather  let  me 
say,  btosaed  was  he  that  his  FATsan  look  him  ao  eariy  to  his  bosom,  and  apared  hSm  the  Mala  and 
struggles  the  rest  of  us  have  had  to  meet  and  to  bear.  How  strange  the  mutationa  and  fwwnmlng- 
lings  of  this  world  I  .  .  .  But  theee  fields  have  not  changed.  These  hills  are  the  same— the  ^evw- 
lasung  hlUs;*  the  forests  crown  them  yet,  and  these  streams  at  their  base  flow  on  aa  they  did  fbkti 
yean  imo,  when  I  walked  in  them,  or  sat  on  their  banks  and  angled  Ibr  trout  in  the  summer  son.  u 
is  good  to  kwk  Nature  la  the  face  again,  and  to  see  some  soenea  that  have  not  changed  with  the 
changea  of  an  ever«hanging  world.* 

Would  yon  know,  reader,  what  constitutes  the  true  beauty  of  the  foregoing  eztraoif 
We  can  inform  yon :  truth,  feeling,  simpticity ;  and  without  these  qualitiei  oU  writiBg 
in  this  kmd  is  nought.  .  .  .  Our  old  firiend  and  correspondent,  the  poet  Lono- 
Fsxxow,  in  ^  Tke  ViUagt  BlaeksmM^^  painted  firom  nature  for  these  pages,  haa  tlua 
reminiscence  of  his  ntter : 


*  Ha  goes  on  Sunday  to  the  church, 
'    I  ailB  among  Ms  t 

^Mirson  prav  ai 
Jffe  kiars  Am  iaugktert  voice 
Simfpmf  f»  tJu  miiUge  tMry 


And  aits  among  his  boys; 
He  hears  the  parson  prav  and  preach, 


And  %t  maluM  kis  heart  rejoice,' 

We  always  thought,  and  now  know,  that  this  is  a  true  picture.    While  a  aoft, 
feathery,  eoholesa  and  almoat  worm  April  snow  is  coning  down  wilibont,  and  the 


460  Editor's  Table.  [May, 

Do  not  alwndon  the  idea  of  the  Book  of  Birds.  It  is  a  oonception  worthy  of  a  tme 
poet.'  A  bird  aomewhat  like  this  made  melodioua  the  sighing  pines  and  cedars  near 
a  friend's  residence  on  Staten-Ldand,  where  we  had  the  happiness  to  paas  a  recent 
bright  cold  day  of  mid-March.  Its  little  chirping  note  was  inexpreesiUy  sweet ;  and 
nothing  could  exceed  the  '  scenic  accompaniments.'  Flanked  'by  a  fine  of  deep  blue 
hills,  fiir  off  gleamed  in  the  son-light  the  cities  of  Newark  and  EtiiabethtownY  with 
glancing  waters  between ;  Jersey  City  and  New-York^  with  the  adjacent  Weehawken 
Heights,  and  the  Palisades,  slept  silently  npon  the  broad  bosom  of  the  bay  and  the 
banks  of  the  noblest  river  in  the  world ;  steepled  Brooklyn  crowned  the  eastern 
heights ;  while  on  the  south,  through  the  Narrows,  spread  the  illimitable  sea,  dotted 
with  ships,  with  here  and  there  an  ocean-steamer  coming  into  port,  or  departing  for 
foreign  climes.  It  was  ^  a  sight  to  see,'  and  one,  moreover,  which  may  be  seen,  en 
any  plenwnt  day,  for  a* 'York  shilling.'  .  .  .  ^TheAmerieanArt'UnwttBuUetinj^ 
nndor  the  superrision  of  Mik  W.  J.  Hoppin,  an  accomplished  art-critic  and  an  able 
writer,  as  our  readers  hare  had  opportunities  of  testifying,  announces  the  attractions 
of  the  institution  for  the  coming  year.  It  has  already  on  its  walls  upward  of  an 
hundred  pictures  ^  and  among  them  Lkutze's  fine  painting,  *  Knight  of  Sayn  and 
the  Gnomes,'  Cole's  ^  Dream  of  Arcadia,'  together  with  many  other  '  gems  of  the 
first  water'  from  artists  of  eminence  or  great  promise.  The  subjects  for  five  large 
prints,  in  line  engraving,  on  steel,  have  been  selected.  They  will  consist  of  Colb's 
picture  above-mentioned,  Edmonds'  *  New  Scholar,'  a  very  capital  thing,  Lkutzc's 
'  Image  Breaker  j'  Dokano's  glcarious  picture  of  ^  Dover  Plains,'  and  Woodviu.k*s 
'  Card-PIayers.'  The  prints  will  correspond  in  siie  with,  and  be  bound  hi  the  same 
form,  as  Darlby's  superb  outlines  of  *  Rip  Van  Wuiklb'  and  the  '  Legend  oi  Sleepy 
HoUow,'  of  which  we  have  before  spoken,  and  which  are  now  attracting  deserved 
commendation  in  the  Bnglish  journals.  *  The  Bulletin,'  which  is  much  enlarged, 
and  otherwise  improved,  gives  us  etchings  of  two  pictures  by  our  friend  Mr.  Glass, 
now  in  England.  We  cannot  but  think  that  the  engraver  has  exaggerated  the  ani- 
mals. Surely  they  are  too  immense.  The  American  Art-Union  bids  foir  to  have 
more  and  better  pictures  than  on  any  previous  year,  and  it  is  cdrtainly  preparing  to 
give  every  subscriber  the  foil  value  of  his  subscription  in  fine  engravings  from  worka 
of  high  art.  .  .  .  'The  eiy  is  still  they'  go — the  crowded  ships  for  California! 
Every  steamer  that  arrives,  bringing  the  *  precious  metal,'  returns  with  hundreds 
npon  hundreds  of  eager  adventurers  after  the' '  dust,'  beside  inciting  all  sorts  of  water- 
craft  and  all  sorts  of  people  to  follow  in  theur  wake ;  while  innumerable  land-com- 
panies and  caravans  are  moving  onward  to  the  same  land  of  promise.  Ah !  how  few 
of  these  gold-seekers  think  of  the  disocNnfortB,  the  privations,  the  perils  they  may 
have  to  encounter !  —  or  how  many  who  have  gone,  with  light  and  eager  hearts,  befora 
them,  worn  down  by  diaeaae  and  suffering,  have  '  hud  them  down  in  their  last  deep !' 
And  there,  by  the  bleak  sierra's  side,  or  the  rushing  river's  bank,  they  rest  in  their 
distant  graves : 


«NOH 

Telb  where  their  mouldering  ashes  lie, 
Who  tonght  for  gold  and  found  it  dron.* 

Wb  have  before  ua'Plvt  One'of  '7Ae  Oooiipo  of  Rtmrtawn^  by  Mn.  Joaini 
C.  Neal,  of  Philadelphia.  We  can  cordially  commend  them  to  our  readers.  Tht 
papers  which  give  the  title  to  the  present  number  inculcate,  by  striking  and  interest- 
ing inddenta,  Iohods  of  oharity  and  goodness.    The  style  is  lively,  descriptive,  coOo- 


462  Editof't  Table.  [May, 

ag'in  oonildenbiil  qidek.  We  then  moved  (o  aaottier  eead of  the  room;  the  dam  flbimed,  waA 
tboQgh  there  wtt  someeoi]gbin'aiib«t,IgDi*emaini«Hlgood,eiMlhwl  Jeitmid*Si0iHii/'  ig^ 
when  right  voder  my  feet,  etaDdiii*  up  at  the  head  of  my  ezlent  olaaa,  there  eome  up  ag*l]i  thatdreai- 
/U^meUin*  smell !  It  was  the  moat  ex-aerewahiatltt'  fliror  thai  erer  my  noae  went  into;  and  thia 
time  the  peopila  oookl  ii*t  ataad  iL 

(Nowlwaamadi   IwaBdelennlned,lf  IdaokedindolA'aTlttloflndoiitwliatttwaa.   Ipeeked 
down  throogh  a  leetle  crack  in  the  floor,  and  there  I  aee  A  Mto  Btandin*  on  two  chain,  laaefifak* 
tobu'flt,  with  a  great  big  ox-bbdder,  and  pipe  atodt  into  it,»eqneezin*onitto8etberUkeabellcnrBai, 
and  the  eend  of  the  pipenm  throoc^a  leetle  hole  Jnat  where  I  'd  been  atandln*. 

*It  was  the  meaoeat,  naatleat  w«y  of  breaking  up  a  alngln'^chool  thai  I  ever  aee,  and  I  *▼«  had 
some  experience  in  such  thinga,  when  I  waa  a  younger  man,  and  could  aland  It  better.  Be  \1  been 
and  gone  and  got  two  bladders  and  flOed  *em  rannin*  oyer  with  9ftifrcUd  Bidtrgm  OmA,  and  he 
waan^queezlnMtnptaktomyadMiol-rooml  None  o^  them  penplla%  been  to  my  aehoolrinee  — not 
one  on  *em ;  and  I  *ye  goi  to  pay  my  board  for  two  weeks  longer  hen,  any  how,  *canae  I  agreed  lo, 
inwritin*;  and  erery  time  I  go  cot  doors  laeesomeo'mypenpOsfrlaaghln'andpatlln'lhelrhanda 
to  their  noees  in  the  most  provokin*  kind  o*  way;  and  I  've  got  to  stay  here  two  weeks  and  bear  it. 
Did  you  ever  hearof  any  tUng  BO  mean  hi  your  bom  daysT  I  hope  you  will  print  thia,  for  (be  sake  of 
Jnatioe,and  the  csnaeof  l|DOiaolty,and  alao  the  art  of  muala   Tour  obedient  aemait, 

*Pms  CnAK. 

tp.  B.  I've  Just  been  toidthatitlsnsonofohiMr.  Wbturbt,  tollnnacanftlml  keeps  tbs 
*potheea^y4hop.   That  lata  the  thhig  out  6>  the  bag  Unmoe^.  r.  c* 

Wb  haye  given  all  the  material  parts  of  Mr.  Cram's  letter ;  and  wovid  now  advise 
him  to  leave  the  inhospitable  place  where  he  is  sojoiinung,  so  soon  as  his  board  is  up, 
and  repair  to  Bonkom,  which  is  within  twenty  miles  of  Hetohabonnndc.  We  ask  oar 
friend  and  oontemporary,  the  Editor  of  the  ^  Bunkum  Flag-Staff/  to  bestow  snob  al'- 
tention  upon  Mr.  Ckam  as  may  be  in  his  power.  That  gentleman  has  grown  gray 
in  the  seryiee  of  his  ked'ntry's  psalmody,  and  deseryes  the  good  wishes  and  {wtron- 
age '  of  community.'  ...  At  the  principal  book-stores  in  New- York  may  now  be 
found,  in  two  neat  yolnmes, '  TKt  Tripping9  of  Tom  Pepper ,  or  the  Remits  of  Ro- 
mancing.'* Harry  Franco,  whose  own  memoirs  proved  so  acceptable  to  the  public, 
is  the  author.    While  the  work  was  in  process  of  puUication  in  the  columns  of  the 

*  New-York  Weekly  Mirror ^^  we*  quoted,  at  different  times,  seyeral  entertaining  pas- 
sages from  its  chapters ;  and  the  promise  which  they  held  out  we  find  sustained  by 
the  work  in  its  completed  form.  Buy  and  read  these  '  Trippmgs,'  reader,  for  well 
will  they  repay  perusal.  They  embody  stirring  incident,  trenchant  satire,  broad  fun, 
and  genial  humor ;  nor  are  touches  of  the  truest  pathos  wanting,  to  diyersiiy  the  in- 
terest awakened  by  the  work.   .  .   .  Wi  have  not  seen  the  new  literary  yentore, 

*  The  Princeton  Magazine,''  but  flrom  one  or  two  selections  from  its  pages,  which  we 
have  seen  in  the  daily  journals,  we  infer  it  to  possess  some  cleverness.  '  The  Re- 
construction of  Society,'  after  Canning's  manner  in  ^  The  Univenity  of  QAttingen,' 
has  some  caustic  stanzas,  of  which  we  subjoin  a  brief  specimen : 


(  Wbkk  others,  once  as  poor  as  I, 
Are  ffrowing  rich  because  they  try. 
While  my  capacity  and  will 
Give  me  a  taste  for  sitttng  sUU, 
When  all  around  me  are  at  woriE, 
White  I  pra&r  to  act  the  Turk, 
Or  Bpenaltr  drinking  or  al  play 
The  greater  part  of  eveiy  day ; 
And,  08  the  updiot  of  it,  feel 
ThAt  I  must  either  starve  or  steal : 
The  only  remedy  1  see 
For  Buch  abuses,  is  the  re- 
consfaruction  of  society, 
OoDStructloD  of  society. 


When  others  know  what  I  know  doI, 
Or  bear  in  mind  what  I  forgot 

An  age  ago,  and  dare  to  apeak  ' 

In  praise  of  L4Uln  and  of  Greek, 
As  If  a  tongue  unknown  U>  me 
Of  any  earthly  use  could  be ; 
When  bookworms  are  allowed  to  nde 
In  University  and  School, 
While  I,  because  I  am  a  fool. 
Am  set  aside,  or  thrust  away. 

Or  not  allowed  to  have  my  aay:  I 

The  onlv  remedy  I  see  j 

For  such  abuses,  is  the  re- 
construction of  society.* 


An  intended  hit,  this,  at  those  drones  in  the  social  hive  who  would  lerd  down  ioalead 


464  EddUfr's  Tahk,  [May, 

nfttQre'  in  the  lines  entitled  *  The  Old  JfiU/  from  a  new  eontrilniter.    We  have 
pleamre  in  welcoming  the  writer  to  our  paifes : 

Do  N*T  you  ramember,  Ijlt  dear. 

TlM  mill  by  the  old  hilMde, 
Wtatore  we  used  to  go  In  tbe  sammer  tfme 

And  watch  the  foamy  tide ; 
And  tow  the  leavea  or  the  framnt  beech 

On  its  breast  so  smooth  and  bright, 
Where  they  floated  away  like  emenlda, 

In  A  flood  of  golden  U^t? 

Lilt,  dear  1 

And  the  miller,  love,  with  hte  akracfay  ens 

And  eyea  of  mlldeet  gray, 
Plodding  aboot  hla  d«Hiy  work, 

EHnsing  the  llTe4ong  day  T 
And  the  coat  that  hmig  on  the  maty  nail, 

With  many  a  moOey  patd^ 
And  the  rude  old  door,  with  Ua  broken  alH, 

And  the  Btrli«,  and  the  wooden  latch? 
Lilt,  dear! 

And  Um  water-wbeel,  with  ita  giant  arms, 

Daahing  the  beaded  spray. 
And  the  weeds  it  pulled  ih>m  the  sand  bekyw. 

And  tossed  in  soom  away ; 
And  the  aleepers,  Lilt,  with  moaa  o^eigrewn. 
Like  aenUnds  atood  in  pride, 
«  Breasting  the  wares,  where  the  chinks  of  time 

Were  made  in  the  oM  mill^  side. 

Lilt,  dearl 

Lilt,  the  miU  is  torn  away. 

And  a  Ihetory,  dark  ana  high, 
Looms  like  a  tower,  and  puflk  its  smoke 

Over  the  dear  blue  skr ; 
And  the  stream  is  tomea  away  abore* 

And  the  bed  of  the  river  bare, 
And  the  beech  is  withered,  bough  and  tnink, 

And  stands  like  a  spectre  there— 

Lilt,  dearl 

And  the  miller,  Lilt,  is  dead  and  gone  1 

He  sleeps  in  the  vale  below : 
I  saw  his  stone  in  the  wintertime 

Under  a  drift  of  anow; 
Bat  now  the  willow  is  green  again, 

And  the  wind  is  soft  and  stlD : 
I  send  yoa  a  sprig  to  remind  yoo,  love^ 

Of  him  and  the  dear  old  mill, 

^__  Lilt,  dearl  v.  a.  w. 

*  Why  wae  'nt  yon  in  your  place  to  vote  thia  morning  7'  aaked  one  member  of  the 
Legidatnre  of  Pennsylvania  of  a  brother  member  who  had  been  aheent.  <  I  oonld  n't 
oome,'  wae  the  reply  $  *  I  got  horted ;  I  was  threw  from  a  horae-t.'  We  flionght  of 
this  Solon's  case,  when  we  fouid  oar  friend  and  oorrespondent,  Cakl  Bknson ,  the 
oilier  evenmg,  with  his  right  foot  wrapped  in  swaddling  clothes  and  laid  on  a  ohaur  in 
his  sanotam,  in  as  dainty  and  respectable  a  manner  as  if  it  were  a  goaty  limb.  Now 
how  woold  one  of  our  fiishionable  dandies,  who  carry  their  brains  in  their  pooketa, 
have  dispelled  the  eimai  that  would  have  been  consequent  upon  such  an  aoddent? 
As  Macrbadt  would  say,  ^They  could  ah — not  ah — do  —  it!'  But  what  doth 
'  Carl  7'  Sits  him  down  in  his  nice  library,  and  from  a  full  mind  enlivens  the  dnl- 
ness  of  re-hashed  English  reviews  in  one  journal,  by  lively  essays  on  society,  and  the 
pages  of  *  Old  Kkigk.'  with  a  scholarly  rendering  of  a  quaint  old  poem ;  insomuch, 
that  being  ourselves  fiivored,  and  our  readers  also,  we  look  upon  the  &ct  that  his  pet 
saddle-horse  grew  devotional,  kneeled  down,  and  tipped  him  bver  his  head,  as  a '  ape- 


466  Bator's  Tabk.  [May, 

whh  the  harndeM  langhteir  and  the  gen^  team  of  many  heardia.'  When  in  thia 
▼oottdon  we  beoome  more  ^  eminent,'  we  mean  to  sit  for  our  daguerreotype.  Meantime, 
we  rely  for  anffioient  ahow-oaae  publieity  upon  the  awfol  carioafeare  - '  bnrat'  of  '  Old 
Kniok.'  whioh  about  onoe  a  year  the  phrenologiat  Fowuim  plaoea  in  hia  window  by 
the  aide  of  Pbtbe  Robinson,  the  murderer,  Pope  Pius  Nintb,  Mvnbob  EnvABsa, 
Senator  Sbward,  Giaaa,  the  pirate,  and  our  ffiend  Ckilonel  Webb.  .  .  .  Wiuoa, 
in  the  '  Home  Journal  ^^  in  one  of  those  trenehant  sentenoes  which  *  iHte  like  a  ser- 
pent and  sting  like  an  adder,'  says  that  '  The  Literary  WwrW  weekly  review  is  a 
'  journal  conducted  by  sour,  disappointed,  nnsuooeasbl  authors,  turned  booksellers' 
hacks.'  These  <  be  cruel  words  I'  .  .  .  <  Childbbn  and  fools,' says  the  old  adage^ 
'  always  teH  the  truth.'  <  Mother  sent  me,'  said  a  little  girl  to  a  naghbor,  *  to  ask  you 
to  come  and  take  tea  with  her  this  evening.'  *■  Did  she  say  at  what  time,  my  dear  V 
^  No,  Ma'am ;  she  only  stud  she  would  aak  yon,  and  flien  tiie  thing  would  be  off  her 
mind ;  thai  was  all  she  said !'  .  .  .  An  Albany  sexton,  some  twdvie  months  ago, 
seized  a  lad  of  seven  years  of  age,  who  hi^ppened  to  be  *  whiiq[»ering  in  meeting,'  raised 
him  np,  and  '  chucked  him  down'  with  such  foroe,  that  a  spinal  complaint  ensued, 
from  which  the  poor  boy  recently  died.  May  the  Dbvil  take  that  sexton  hereafter 
and  beat  him  to  death  with  the  tassel  of  hia  tail!  .  .  .  We  regret  to  be  obliged  to 
differ  in  qpimon  with  '  The  Preebyterian*  religious  journal,  touching  the  reading  of 
well-conducted  Sunday  papers ;  but  we  quite  agree  with  our  respected  contemporary 
that  the  crying  of  them  before  the  churches,  during  divine  service,  ie  an  '  invasion  of 
private  right,'  a  ^  crying  evil,'  one  by  no  means  necessary,  and  which  ought  to  be 
abated.  We  remember  well,  as  a  boy,  however,  to  revert  to  the  main  subject,  that 
in  '  our  fomily'  the  *  Secular  Intelligence'  departments  of  such  religious  journals  aa 
the  *  New-York  Observer'  and  the  old  New-Haven  *  Religious  InteDigenoer'  were  by 
no  means  the  last  portions  of  those  papers  which  were  perused  on  the  Sabbath ;  and 
we  thought  of  this  fact  yesterday  (Sunday)  morning,  when  we  saw  that  those  who 
seldom  read  Sunday  papers  exhausted  the  entire  stock  of  the  quiet  lad  who  perme- 
ates our  neighborhood,  that  they  might  learn  the  fate  of  Dr.  Webster,  which  was  to 
have  been  decided  on  Saturday  evening.  There  is  certainly  a  great  difference  in  Sun- 
day papers ;  but  we  spoke  of  a '  well-conduoted  Sunday  jonmaL'  ...  *  Chaeias 
is  quite  nek  on  the  Isthmus,'  writes  a  Califomian  correspondent, '  and  the  Chagres 
river  is  quite  low,  too.'  Curious  concatenation !  .  .  .  *  The  Tribune^  daily  jour- 
nal appears  this  morning,  and  will  appear  daily  hereafter,  on  a  double-aheet,  of  twice 
its  usual  nze,  and  with  new  and  enlarged  types  in  iti  editorial  departments.  We 
never  think  of  our  old  friend  Hoeace  Geeelbt,  or  read  his  journal,  which  we  do  every 
day,  ^  Sundays  excepted,'  without  wishing  that  those  distant  editors  who  take  the 
*  one'  of  their  impressions  ttojn  partizan  or  rival  journals,  could  really  see  and  know 
the  man  a§  he  iei  a  man  careless,  it  may  be,  of  the  styZe  of  his  dress,  preferring 
comfort  to  fiuhion,  but  yet  of  scrupulous  deanlmess  in  person  and  habihmentB  always ; 
possessing  a  benevolent  heart,  and  '  clothed  with  charity  as  a  garment;'  bestowing 
with  a  free  hand  to  the  truly  needy  and  deserving,  whether  political  friend  or  foe ; 
frank  and  fearless  in  the  expression  of  his  opinions,  whether  such  opinions  are  to  be 
praised  or  execrated;  of  inde&tigable  industry,  and  unpretending,  kindly  man- 
ners— this  is  Hoeace  Geeilet.  '  We  speak  the  things  which  we  do  know;'  for 
we  have  been  acquainted  some  nxteen  years ;  our  printing-offices  oonnect,  and  we 
meet  almost  every  day.  We  were  before  Mr.  Geeelet  in  the  literary  field  here- 
about ;  remembering  well  the  initial  number  of  the '  New-Yorker ^^  his  first  venture ; 


1850.]  Ediiar't  Ta£U.  467 

oooarionaUy,  aim,  if  we  reooUeot  rightly,  giying  H  a  pangnph,  and  littiiig  as  ohair- 
man  of  the  oommittee  to  decide  upon  H^  priie-taleB  pnbliahed  in  tfie  early  nmnbera 
of  that  exoeUent  weekiy.  '  T&e  Tribune j^  throogh  the  aid  of  the  great  bonneaa 
taot  and  talent  of  our  friend  MIIlbatm,  and  the  extenaiye  and  able  editorial  aaaiat- 
ance  aecnred  by  liberal  enterpriae  and  directed  by  mperior  aldll,  baa  now  become 
one  of  the  most  influential  and  widely-oboulated  of  all  our  puUio  journals.  AKhoug h 
we  are  fiir  from  agredng  as  tonchmg  the  extent  to  which  certain  of  its  views  are  car- 
ried, all  must  concede  the  evident  sincerity  and  great  ability  with  which  the  principles 
and  aims  of  *  The  Trihune^  are  advocated.  And  now,  asking  attention  to  the  fine 
fines  which  ensue,  we  dose  by  wishing  our  old  contemporary '  Success  and  long  life  I' 

TO     BOBACB     anXXLBT. 


I  snow  of  BO  c 

Nor  palmer,  nor  t 
Hoirever  stqot  his  t 

Or  loud  hlfl  battle-hymii ; 
NaT,  though  tbej  vom  fheir  chlfslry 


rith  KicHAKD  nther*d  in, 
And  add  one  worthy  of  their  flme, 

The  brave  old  Salatck  ; 
I  know  not  one  or  ell  their  host, 

Fhnn  rearmoet  to  the  vent 
Whom  I  can  hold  by  right  and  troth 

80  brave  and  true  a  man 
Aa  he,  who  of  hlaownVeec^ve, 

By  oonedenoe  pricked  and  etirred, 
Bares  brand  a  wrong  belbre  the  world, 

By  deed,  or  thought,  or  wofdl 


He  la  my  hen,  link  of  til, 

Thou^  spear  nor  swoid  he  wieki. 
Who  hokte  the  Wrong  his  only  foe, 

The  Right  hia  onlydiield ; 
Who  dares  to  battle  for  the  Ituth, 


Though  Error  on  her  side 
Has  gathered  hoets,  and  shakes  in  wnth 

Her  pennons  fiur  and  wide : 
'The  more  the  meirlerP  ishlsciy, 

This  hero,  braver  br 
Tlian  ever  he,  'gafnst  Saracen 

Who  waged  the  bloodleet  war ; 
For  though  he  win  for  but  one  truth 

When  martyrdom  Is  paasedi 
Hto  victory  is  for  his  race, 

Aa  kmg  aa  time  BhaU  laet ! 

C.  D.  Stqabt. 

Trb  Messrs.  Aftletov  and  Gompaiit  have  recently  issued  an  unpretending  but 
very  clever  book,  under  the  title  of  ^  James  Mauntfoyj  or  J  ^ve  been  Thinking.^  With 
a  few  fiudts  in  its  plan,  among  which  is  a  lack  of  unity,  it  has  nevertheless  so  much  of 
nature,  of  attractive  incident,  of  jovial  humor,  and  of  true  pathos,  that  we  hesitate  not 
to  commend  it  to  a  wide  perusal.  .  .  .  Vsav '  Boz'-iah  indeed  is  an  artide  in  Dicxbns' 
'  Household  Words,'  upon  the  *Amueement9  of  the  People,^  The  picture  drawn 
of  one  of  the  lower  order  of  melo-dramatic  theatres  is  extremely  graphic.  Here  is  a 
true  sketch  of  the  dramatic  '  operatives'  at  such  places :  ^  If  an  actor's  nature,  like 
the  dyer's  hand,  becomes  subdued  to  what  he  works  in,  the  actor  can  hardly  be  Uamed 
for  it.  He  grinds  hard  at  his  vocation,  is  often  steeped  in  direfti]  poverty,  and  lives 
at  the  best'  in  a  little  world  of  mockeries.  It  is  bad  enough  to  give  away  a  great  es- 
tate six  nights  a-week,  and  want  a  shilling ;  to  preside  at  imaginary  banquets,  hungry 
for  a  mutton  chop  •,  to  smack  the  lips  over  a  tankard  of  toast  and  water,  and  declaim 
about  the  mellow  produce  of  the  simny  vineyards  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhine ;  to  be  a 
rattling  young  lover,  with  the  measles  at  home ;  and  to  paint  sorrow  over  with  burnt 
oork  and  rouge ;  without  being  called  upon  to  despise  his  vocation.  If  he  can  utter 
the  trash  to  which  he  is  condemned,  with  any  reliah,  so  much  the  better  for  him. 
Heaven  knows;  and  peace  be  with  him  I'  The  foflowing  is  exceedingly  characteristic. 
A  dark-visaged  woman  has  just  disappeared  from  the  stage,  having  uttered  some 
suggestive  words  about '  the  Che-Ode  of  Mystery  and  the  Man  of  Ker-rime,'  to  a  low 
trembling  of  fiddles,  when  enters  the  hero  of  the  play,  ^Michael  the  Mendieanty^  who 
is  received  with  a  tornado  of  applause : 

<  At  first  we  reforred  something  of  the  cordiality  with  which  he  was  neeted,  to  the  flict  of  hia 
being  *  made  up*  with  an  exoeeslTely  dirty  face,  which  might  create  a  bond  of  union  between  him- 
self and  a  large  nu\}ority  of  the  audience.  But  It  soon  came  out  that  he  had  been  hired  In  old  time 
by  Sir  OaoaoK  ELKoaa,  to  murder  Sir  Gaoaoa's  elder  brother,  which  be  had  done ;  notwithstand- 
ing which  little  aihir  of  honor,  BibcHAiL  was  in  reality  a  very  good  fellow ;  quite  a  tender-hearted 
man;  who,  on  hearing  of  the  C^itain'b  determlBatioii  to  settle  Will  STAmtoas,  cried  out) « Whatl 


45g  Editor't  Talie.    ^______ r_ 

be^ood  r  ind  fen  flat — ovarpowered  by  Wb  "*<*  "JJIfiti  lAtnaetf  toJ«  ^Ser  be  r« 

withhoneBt  pride,  *  I  hare  Uved«r  aa  a  beggar  -  »  "*SfS^Y  «»»»  ^^^.J^fcS^^ 
7iSS3lWband.P    AUttieaeiSa^tootbfi  worthy^ 


taaaatalnediheaebandaP  AU  toeae  acouiMm-^ -~^— '^5,ib^^ 
applaiiae ;  and  wben.  In  Uie  «c»teinent  of  hto  fe^Jg"  <^^  ««£!Li 
^  on  hi  back,  kicking  and  »»»"rH*i2?S!  JCSSr1rS^>*^* 
wliool^K»cttobetakimtotheataltonioi«e,ttia<*eertiigwa^  ^beeiita»ixieau> 

The  keen  satire  of  aU  tliifl  is  apparent.    Many  a  Jack  ^f ^^^^€^3)0^]:  '  '  V^* 
*ker.rime'byiiistrochm<nilcatioBBWthoaeof  ^MicB^*^^^^       ^^iM^^S  tJu^ 
go  to  press  on  the  very  morning  that  the  rwentjr-Fiftft^^^  ^^  «»^"^^v_^^^"^ 
i^aiionoZ  Academy  of  DttigniB  opened  to  th©  pubUc  **    eineixt,^  •^  ^ 
Number  633  Broadway.    Being  unable,  froni  a  preStigftg^^^^^^^j^^^eft      ^^^ 
tion  to  attend  the  opening  festival,  or  the  private  view  <^«^®^    ff"*^^^  ^^'^l^^d^ 
any  eUborate  notice  of  the  oxliibition  unta  our  nextn«»    ^tjful,  ^^^^^^^^^^ 
this  time,  that  the  rooms  are  moat  easy  of  aoooaa,  "P^^^^'^^ting*  ^. 


iuxvita- 


lighted  m  every  part ;  that  the  walls  present  a  coflectiou  oi  ^^^  P^^^rrr 
been  excelled  in  the  Academy ;  embracing  the  beat  effort      ^  C^^^*^'       artkte 


one  small  picture,  a  scene  by  candle-light,  that  is  a  perfect  ^T^tf  ?^<*^  ^  ^^'^^^^"^ 
tively  seen  by  the  light  of  Its  own  painted  candle  I     A  vic^     vVnsoa  CoUege,  »«^^*^^ 
season-ticket.    .   .   .    The  late  Profesaor  C4.,.i>^»i.^<<^^e^oWiiU?^^tV\ 
timebrforehi.d.eath,»aidtohuiwife:  '  You  ^^  ^ot  laJ^*^  ^beTiGoD\««^^ 
bed  and  weep,  when  I  am  gone.      ^^u  wm  not  mourn  iot  ^''  otcboo«.  ^"^  ^^ 
so  good  to  me.    And  when  yon  viait  t"h^  -      -.  »va  dO^°    .  ,,    truMB^v  ^ 

notlme«toTi»itthegr»veof  on©  ,^o?  ®"'**^e»<«^r    J\BfftBW«***i  \« 

come  in  thfimwniiig,  in  the  bright  ■unrtiin"*'^  *****'^*^"''  '     ' 


mate :  -uere  Uea  ttie  body  of  JoH^mi,  ^'™**»«  »»  Oie  ooxavtj  (Jt  GnOIB,*^  ^ 
iiKmflis.  'OkXiimanrfAKtewi,^  „  ,  *^  Smith,  aged  «tt^.(ow  7«a«  ^axA- 
Bom,' from  •  friend,  i.  unequal.       ln.^_    ^^'"^P'^elienwve.ihaU  «fW 'Cj  , 


the  atanxM  whSoli  we  are  we  iho  -v^^*        **®  ^^««  and  oomVmwl »"  \  •    -^^        j 
d«p«ched  hi.  poem  in  harte.     TT.^**'  ^o«ld  have  r^^^r^,","**'"'  A^*^ 


A..„Tb*.  .^  ,^  ««^oonBeoulivo  ve««^        /^' 

Not  flinw  tt  tS^2*5s»,  2SS^  «»o«-  yet  r^      .^ 

8he«,t«» on  tb«  ^  '*^««»  »»»^  iSSu  *SL,V  '"^ 

Anloaaiatu^li^ee  or  ».^  ™^»«»«w>lto  ^Sl 

Thus  Infimey  baa  ^  *>«»  »-w_**«  'Wtit.  . 

■*>«*»- fine  ii^^^^^^,«^ 


1850.]  Ediiar'i  TahU.  469 

from  the  Frenoh  by  William  Dpwe,  for  the  '  Dublin  UniTeraity  MAgaas^Eie,'  of  whioh 

we  annex  •  speoimen : 

*■  Whbn  beby  comes,  the  ftunlly  circle  criei 
With  ffreat  applaiMe :  lt«  little  sparkling  eyes 

Brigfaten  oU  bosoms  In  that  hiippT  plMoe; 
And  Bsddest  brows,  and  guUUesI,  it  may  be, 
Unwrlnkle  on  a  sadden  but  to  see 
That  innocent  glad  Awe. 

*■  Yes,  whether  Jane  has  greened  the  swaid,  or  whether 

Norember  draws  our  tonching  chain  together 

Round  a  great  househoki-flre  In  quiet  talk,  * 

When  the  child  comes  we  feel  a  g«$neral  cheer; 

With  calte  and  laughter,  and  the  mother's  (bar, 

Seeing  him  try  to  walk  I 

*  It  looks  so  tUr,  the  intent  with  its  smOe, 
Its  soil  sweet  trust,  its  voice  that  knows  no  guile, 
And  would  say  all  the  grief  it  soon  dismisses ; 
Lotting  its  pleased  and  wondering  glances  roll  — 
Oflbring  to  life,  on  all  sides,  its  joung  soul, 
And  its  young  mouth  to  UsBes.' 

Hue  18  a  good  things  quoted  by  a  friend  in  connection  with  a  aomewhat  Idndred 
anecdote  which  has  appeared  in  the  Knickerbocker  :  *  The  members  of  a  society  in 
Maine,  by  dint  of  long  exertion,  had  erected  a  small  church.  One  of  the  number  wiis 
despatched  to  a  large  town  to  request  a  noted  divine  to  take  part  in  its  dedication. 
Not  getting  his  errand  exactly,  he  simply  applied  to  the  minister  to  come  and  '  dedicate 
our  new  church.'  *  What  part  do  you  wish  me  to  take  ?'  said  the  clergyman.  *  Why, 
we  wunt  you  to  dedicate  the  churchy''  was  the  reply.  ^  But  do  you  wish  me  to  deliver 
&e  sermon,  or  to  make  the  opening  prayer,  or  only  to  make  some  remarks  V  '  Why,* 
ezdaimed  the  brother,  piqued  at  the  obtuseness  of  the  parson,  *  we  sunply  want  you 
to  dedicate  the  church,  the  whole  onH ;  it 's  only  seventy-five  feet  by  fifty ;  want  you 
to  dedicate  it !'  .  .  .  How  fresh,  how  redolent  of  the  dense  pine  woods  of  winter,  is 
the  following  pttsage  from  a  pleasant  epistle  just  received  fr^m  an  esteemed  friend  in 
ftr-east  Maine :  '  A  friend  of  mine  brought  down  from  the  icy  lakes,  a  week  ago,  a  pet 
which  ^Toung  Knick.'  might  hesitate  at  disporting  himself  with  *,  a  yearling  moose, 
with  an  eye  like  a  bucket  of  blackness,  and  a  *  reach'  to  his  fore-paw  that  would  eclipse 
Hter  or  SvLLiVAif .  They  laaso'd  the  creature,  and  thenceforth  did  he  devote  himself 
to  exhibitions  of  intense  malice  and  thoughtful  viciousness.  He  would,  and  still  does, 
attract  visitors  to  a  nigh  approach,  by  his  seeming  reveries  and  dreams  of  pine-foresta, 
and  suddenly  '  double  up  his  hufib  and  give  'em  a  lick,'  as  a  suffering  victim  of  his  un- 
merdAil '  right-and-lefts'  ejaculated.  But  he  pines  in  the  stable,  and  I  am  afraid  will 
die  for  lack  of  the  thick-set  forest  and  the  untrodden  snow  of  our  mountain  £ut- 
neases.'  .  .  .  Thomas  Carltle  is  *  making  an  ass  of  himself.'  His  ^Latter-Da^ 
PamphUW*  are '  killing  him  by  inches.'  He  turns  God  and  Christianity  out  of  doors, 
and  sets  up  house-keeping  on  his  own  hook,  as  if  he  were  a  better  cook  for  society 
than  sJl  the  wise  and  good  men  of  our  own  and  other  times,  and  the  best  universe- 
maker  extant  He  is  a  Grermanico-Sootch  mystic,  *  in  these  latter  days,'  and  not  far 
Aort  of  being  a  crazy  man.  '  Verily,'  as  Dominie  SAJtrsoN  hath  it, '  he  speaketh  in 
an  unknown  tongue !'  .  .  .  Messrs.  GounL,  Vibbrt  and  Compant,  late  of  the '  In- 
ternational Art-Union,'  are  devoting  their  energies  to  the  early  importation  of  the 
best  pictures  and  rare  prints,  from  the  most  eminent  sources  in  Paris.  Of  several  of 
these  we  shall  speak  in  a  future  number ;  and  in  the  mean  time  oommend  their  rare 
collection  to  the  attention  and  favor  of  the  public.  .  .  .  There  is  a  meetuig-house 
in  a  small  town  in  Ma«Bchnsetts  where  the  minister  stands  in  one  town  while  his 


.\ 


470  '    BdUor's  TaUe. 

church,  in  fr«^«f«^<^P«lP^*-     ^^^^^^''^^'"'''^^^'^^  »^t 

weAoiildh«vefflLediiwhanarraiigemenSh<nmaary-toe<ff«^  ,^j^^ 

nomatterhowfiwoff  onemaywirfiadiinmfaiiBterjOoeintfi  F7  to*fr«*  "**    ««ir^ 

pulpit  10  ihe  only  plaoe  whence  a  man  oan  he  *  hored'  P«'*^'JLuily-preaeirt«a  aif. 

lightened  ked'ntry.'    .  .   .    'The  Pre^l^erian,' ^ovrY^ct^c^^^^ 

ferenoe  of  opinion  In  the  matter  of  ^Sunday  JwrmM  we  n*'      , 

has  this  paragraph:  ^itfveiB*i^«»i«'«>u«in^ 

*IK  the-  days  <i,^f^J!S^SS2J^^'^  '»*»**^  ■»*  <*«^  "^^YJlSS  «^*^J  2  wA*-  ltSS& 
tbal  oomei  evoa  within  right  of  the  fofiowliiff,  which  we  eirtrta  Jpto*S»»^  ••  w»  ■»  --««ataA 
where  it  appeen  as  pivt  of  a  Umg  arttde,  caJUng  the  lUmttoa  «  JTt 
CuhoUcB,  to  the  ckAimB  of  a  Ladiei^  Pair  in  behalf  of  IndlgeBt  tentfl**'      ^^^  to  th«  exerci..  ^t 

•  C*THoi.xo  reader  I  b»ve  you  thoxxgbt.  oftentii&es.  oi  the  great  T«'*»*?i©oA**^th.oueJ*  fwm*»'k»*a>B  a. 
charity  —  charity  that  oo  vereth  a  mulUtode  of  aina  f    Oo  to  Uie  Fair,  •^^^jx,  •^•'* 
may  aeem  trifling  to  you,  tout  wbiob  may  obtain  for  you  m  crowB  in  i***  m 

■ingle  copper  to  your  needy  fellow  t>«lng.'  ^wnflrt'»«*  thBBP**  ^ 

*OnlythiiAL  »AcrownlnH«aven»lbrn€«il!  Owil4tiiyt6liig*»«*'^    woTk<*  benovcK 


We  should  be  Borry  to  have  written  this.  Weabonldha^®  .^vt^asatleartaacred 
lenoe,  let  what  reh^^iui  denonunation  aoever  niight  be  engag^  ^  fptn^  ^^  fiwiher 
against  ridicule.  Such,  however,  is  the  apirit  of  aectariani****  Li*'"*  ieTniona  to  be 
evinced,  aa  it  strikea  us,  when  the  same  journal  objeota  to  P^*^  to  *«  P*^^  ^• 
reported,  because  *  all  sorts'  of  denominationa  may  thua  g»ti  ^^^^^^  ..^  ^^^^^  ^^^ 
Now  we  seldom  go  into  a  CathoHc  church  5  but  we  never  di^  ^^  t^o^re  ^owhii.^ 
ing  that  even  if  it  were  true,  a.  some  uncharitably  8lleire,that  ^^^^^enwe  wtf^ 

when  we  saw  all  this,  and  reaected  tho*  v 

tion,  we  remember  thinking,  almorti       *^  ^*^  ■wrow,  affection,  wnoeritf -»^^ 
creeds,  when  the  heart,  the  heart  ui  *J^^' '  '^''^^  ^'^  mere  differenoes  of  i^r^^^^ 
space,  hi  onr  besetting  tendency  to  re!^.''.***^^'     ^'^^  ^«  *^  foi^^^  0\tt      ^  ** 


of  DAy»C.Cou,M:B^~;;'~'«f»ini*>enoe.  .  .  .  ^xtJjrirj^^ 
nmny  a  pnblie  and  private  circlertT  f^  '  *  gentleman  whoae  »«.m        .^^^^"* 

left,  void  to  the  ««iet^^^^P^l»edm«u.e«,«»dvariT^*-    ««"<    H.i- 
with -.  who  toew  hi^;J'^«^o^edtln.t  will  nV:^riJ:««^t^ 

and  our  literary  o<»rre».wv!ra        ™*««nth  of  Aui-n  ,       **'^  ■ymprth-^    ik.;u, 

EngUmd  goe.  fa  tt,^  *^  •*««»»edg^T«.    ^  *  *"  ***  w«b    ^«**»* 
have  been  mw^        ^«~«»«  of  the  twentie*^  ^I^f*"  »'»»«>W.      i*)w  <**«*•, 


LITTELL'8   LIVING   AGE. 

BZCOMMENDATIONa  FROM 

JUDOa  STOBT-CBAXfCBLIiOB  XBIfT— PBBSDaiiT  APAMIi. 


i' 


CAjnniDos,  April  34,  1844. 
DsAB  8u,  —  I  bare  read  the  protpectoa  of  yovr  propoted  pariodieal,  •*  The  LiTiag  Age,"  with  great 
pleasure ;  and  entirelT  approTe  the  plan,  if  it  can  only  obtain  the  public  patronage  long  enoagh, 
and  l.irge  enongh.  and  securely  enough  to  attain  its  true  ends,  it  wUl  contribute  in  an  eminent 
degree  to  giro  a  healthy  tone,  not  only  to  our  literature,  but  to  public  opinion.  Jt  will  enable  ui 
to  possess,  in  a  moderate  compass,  a  select  library  of  the  best  productions  of  the  sge.  It  will  do 
more ;  it  will  redeem  our  periodical  literature  from  the  reproach  of  being  devoted  to  light  and 
superficial  reading,  to  transitory  speculations,  to  sickly  and  ephameral  sentimentsllties,  nnd  fiUso 
and  eztraragant  slcetches  of  life  aad  character. 

I  wish  it  every  success :  snd  my  only  fear  Is  that  it  may  not  meet  with  at  full  success  with  the 
public  as  it  deserres.    I  shall  be  glad  to  be  a  suscrtber. 

I  am,  Tory  truly  and  respectfully,  yours, 

JOSEPH  STORT. 

Nxw-TOKK,  7th  ICay,  1B44. 
DiAu  Sim,— I  approve  very  much  of  the  plan  of  your  work,  to  be  published  weekly,  under  the 
title  of  the  "Living  Age;"  snd  if  it  be  conducted  with  the  intelllffence,  spirit  and  taste  that  the 
prospectus  indicates,  Tof  which  I  have  no  reason  to  doubt,)  it  will  be  one  of  the  most  instructive 
and  popular  periodicals  of  the  day. 
I  wisn  it  abundant  suecess,  and  that  my  name  be  added  to  the  list  of  subscribers. 

Yours,  very  respectfully, 

JAICES  KENT. 

WAsnrNOTdir,  97th  Dec,  1845. 
Of  an  the  Periodical  Journals  devoted  to  literature  and  science  which  abound  in  Europe  and 
in  this  country,  this  has  appeared  to  me  to  be  the  most  useftiL    It  contains  indeed  Uie  exposition 
onlv  of  the  current  literature  of  the  English  language,  but  this,  by  its  immense  extent  and  com- 
prehension,  includes  a  portraiture  of  the  human  mind  in  the  utmost  expansion  of  the  nresent  ace. 
^  J.  i  ADAMS. 

OPINIONS    OF    THE    PRESS. 

Nkw-Yoek  EvimHO  Poit.— Littell's  Livins  Age  keeps  up  lis  character.  'Hie  back nomben  eon- 
tain  a  prodigious  amount  and  variety  of  thebest  periodicai  literature  of  England. 

Nkw-Touk  Expacss.^A  new  weeklv  magazine,  established  at  Boston,  by  Mr.  E.  Littell,  whose 
taste  and  talents  are  too  well  known  throughout  the  country  to  require  particular  notice.  It  is 
elegantly  executed  as  it  regards  both  type  and  paper.  lu  contents  are  selected  from  the  moit  dia- 
tinguUhed  periodicals  of  Europe. 

LovisviLLS  JouBNAL. — A  hsudsome  weekly  magazine.  The  articles  are  the  choice  ones  that 
appear  in  the  best  periodicals  of  Great  Britain.    Mr.  L.  's  qualifications  are  universally  known. 

CiNOfinrATi  Daily  Tixxs.^The  selections  are  of  a  high  order  of  merit,  and  aiTord  an  agreeable 
variety,  being  confined  to  no  particular  department  of  literature.  There  is  the  grave  and  the  gav, 
both  of  prose  and  poetry,  all  in  the  most  beautiful  and  finished  style.  Every  general  reader  should 
take  the  Living  Age,  if  he  widies  to  become  acquainted  with  the  world  around  him,  and  progress 
with  It 

Cmciifif  ATI  6AZXTTS.>-What  the  Museum  was  for  a  long  series  of  years  under  Mr.  Littell's  man- 
agement, we  doubt  not  the  Age  will  be  for  many  years  to  come— the  largest,  best  and  most  punctual 
republication  of  the  cream  and  spirit  of  the  foreign  reviews,  magazines,  and  literary  Journals. 
Part  L  Is  a  mammoth,  containing  no  less  than  two  hundred  and  fifty-six  of  the  Isrgest  »lse  maga- 
zine pages,  equal  to  about  seven  hundred  and  siztv-eight  ordinary  auodeclmo  pagea,  and  is  sold  at 
the  extremelv  low  price  of  fifty  cents  I  It  comprises  the  first,  second,  third  and  fourth  weekly 
numbers  of  the  "  Living  Age,"  and  contains  no  less  thsn  fifty-nine  srticles.  Interspersed  with  a 
Judicious  selection  of  poetry,  and  diversfiied  by  an  almost  infinite  variety  of  pithy  scraps.  A  simi- 
lar issue  will  be  sent  forth  the  last  day  of  every  montlL 

Yankvs  Blads.  BosToir.— This  ezcellent  work  continues  to  pursue  the  "nolcelees  tenor  of 
its  way,'*  steadily  Increasing  In  attractiveness  and  value.  No  other  periodical  from  the  American, 
tress  has  ever  received  so  many  or  so  sincere  encomiums  from  all  quarters,  as  this  capital  reprint 
It  aims  at  nothing  original,  indeed— professing  only,  as  a  general  thing,  to  cull  the  choicest 
flowers  ill  the  field  of  English  and  American  literature— vet  so  admirably  Is  this  done,  that  all  who 
wish  to  know  anything  of  the  various  phases  of  human  thought  In  this  age  of  progress,  take  car« 
to  possess  themseves  of  this  daguerreotype,  as  regularly  as  it  sppears.  The  success  of  the  work 
augurs  sn  improved  taste  In  the  communi^,  and  we  hope  It  may  be  the  means  of  killing  olf  some 
half-dozen  nt  the  •*  milliner  magazines"  or  the  day,  which  have  nothing  to  recommend  them  but 
•'pretty  pictuiea"  and  lackadaisical  love-tales. 

Picatdkk.— One  of  the  best  things  of  the  kind  which  has  vet  appeared  in  this  ecmntry.  It  con- 
tains the  verv  cream  of  the  foreign  quarterlies  and  magazues,  printed  in  remarkably  neat  and 
readable  style. 

SoTTTHBaN  CHuacHMAif,  Alucansbia,  Va.— Fot  Variety  and  ezeellenee  of  contents,  it  has,  we 
think,  no  rival  in  the  country.  The  frequency  of  publication  enables  its  editor  to  present  a  oonti- 
nnous  chain  of  the  best  reading  eontained  in  the  lorelgn  quarterlies,  magazines  and  JoumalSL 


ff 


-m 


LITTELL^S    LIVING    AGE 


PBOSPBOTUS. 


Tmf  work  is  eondneted  In  tte  spirit  of  LittetVa  Mnienm  of  Foreign  Llteratare.  (wUeh  waft  Ikfo- 
I* ably  received  by  tbe  pablic  for  tjrenty  yean,}  but  as  it  ia  twice  aa  large,  and  appeara  ao  often, 
we  not  only  give  spirit  and  freshness  to  it  by  many  things  which  Were  excluded  by  a  month's  de- 
lay, bat  while  thus  extending  our  scope  and  gathering  a  greater  and  more  attractive  variety,  are 
able  so  to  increaae  the  aolid  and  aubstantlal  part  of  our  literary,  historical,  and  political  harvetf, 
aa  fully  to  satisfy  the  wants  of  the  American  reader. 

The  elaborate  and  stately  Essays  of  the  Ediniurg'ky  Quarterly,  and  other  Reviews ;  and  Jfad- 
wootfs  noble  criticisms  on  Poetry,  his  keen  political  Commentaries,  highly  wrought  Talea,  aad 
vivid  descriptions  of  rural  and  mountain  Scenery ;  and  the  contributions  to  Literature,  History, 
and  Common  Life,  by  the  sa^cious  SpectaUfr,  the  sparklmg  Examiner,  the  judicious  Atkememm,  tks 
busy  and  induatrioua  Littrary  OaxeUa,  the  sensible  and  comprehensive  Britannia,  the  sober  and  rs- 
specljable  Christian  Ohaeroer ;  these  are  intermixed  with  the  Military  and  Naval  reminiscenea  of  the 
UniM  Service,  and  with  the  best  articles  of  the  Dublin  Unioerwity,  iftw  Montkty.  Fraaa>9,  Tait*,  Aim- 
tporlA's,  floofT^and  Sportimg  Magazines,  and  of  Ckamhert*  Bdmirable  Journal.  We  do  not  consider  H 
beneath  our  dignity  to  borrow  wit  and  wisdom  from  Punch ;  and,  when  we  think  it  good  enougli, 
make  uae  of  the  thunder  of  The  Timea.  '  We  ahall  increase  our  variety  by  importations  from  the 
continent  of  Europe,  and  from  the  new  growth  of  the  British  coloniea. 

The  ateamship  has  brought  Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa,  into  bur  neighborhood ;  and  wi  n  greatiy 
multiply  our  connections,  as  Merchants,  Travellers,  and  Politicians,  with  all  parts  of  the  world ;  so 
that  much  more  than  ever  it  now  becomea  every  intelligent  American  to  be  informed  of  the  condi- 
tion and  changes  of  foreign  countries.  And  this  not  only  because  of  their  nearer  connection  with 
ourselves,  but  because  the  ns^ons  seem  to  be  hastening,  through  a  rapid  process  of  change,  to 
some  new  state  of  things,  which  the  merely  political  prophet  cannot  compute  or  foresee. 

Geographical  Discoveries,  the  progress  of  Colonization,  (which  is  extending  over  the  whols 
world.)  and  Voyages  and  Travels,  will  be  favorite  matter  for  our  selections ;  and,  in  general,  we 
•hall  systematically  and  very  fully  acquaint  our  readers  with  the  great  de|>artment  of  Fore  ign  aP 
fairs,  without  entirely  neglecting  our  own. 

While  we  aspire  to  make  the  Living  Agt  desirable  to  all  who  wish  to  keep  themselves  iBfomied 
of  the  rapid  progress  of  tAc  laoiMmmt— to  Statesmen.  Divines.  Lawyers,  and  Physicians— to  men  of 
busloess  and  men  of  leisure — ^it  is  still  a  stronger  object  to  make  it  attractive  and  useful  to  their 
Wives  and  Children.  We  believe  that  we  can  thus  do  some  good  in  our  day  and  generation  ;  snd 
hope  to  make  the  work  indispensable  in  every  well-informed  fjamily.  We  say  indirmemmhle,  be- 
cause in  this  day  of  cheap  literature  it  is  not  possible  to  guard  agalust  tbe  influx  of  what  la  bad  ia 
taste  and  vicious  in  morals.  In  anv  other  way  than  by  furnishing  a  sufBcient  supply  of  a  healthy 
character.    The  mental  and  moral  appetite  miMt  be  gratified. 


We  hope  that,  by  "wmaow^  tht  iMuot  from  the  diqf,"  bv  providing  abundantly  for  tlie  imagfnsr 
non,  and  by  a  large  collection  ot  Bloi(raphy,  Voyages  and  Travels,  History,  and  more  solid  metier, 
we  may  prorluce  a  work  which  ahall  be  popular,  while  at  the  same  time  it  will  aspire  to  nisc  tin 


TKain.~Tbift  LrvtNO  Aok  is  published  every  Setwdatf  ;  Frio«ltt  cents  a  number,  or  six  dcdtana 
year,  in  advance.    Remittances  for  any  period  will  be  thankfully  received  and  promptly  air 
to.    Q^  To  insure  regularity  in  mailing  the  work,  orders  should  \m  addrmaedto  the  ^/ieeef  | 
turn,  as  above. 

duftf ,  paying  a  year  in  advance,  will  be  supplied  as  follows  :— 

Four  copies  for  .....  |80  60 

Nine       •*       <• #«)  00 

Twelve  "       ••  150  00 

Complete  eete,  in  twenty  three  volnmee,  to  the  end  of  1849,  handsomelr  bound,  peeked  In  neat 
boxes,  and  delivered  in  all  the  principal  cities,  free  of  expense  of  freight,  are  for  sale  at  forty-six 
dollars. 

Any  volnme  may  be  had  seperately  at  two  dollara,  bound,  or  a  dollar  and  a  half  in  numbers. 

Any  number  may  be  had  for  V!^  cents ;  and  it  mav  be  worth  while  for  subscribers  or  purchasers  to 
complete  any  broken  volumes  they  may  have,  and  thus  greatly  enhance  their  value. 

Bindin^.-^We  bind  the  work  in  a  uniform,  strong,  and  good  style ;  and  where  customers  bring 
their  numbers  in  good  order,  can  generally  give  them  bound  volumea  in  exchange  without  any  de* 
lav.  The  price  ofthe  binding  is  50  centt  a  volume.  As  they  are  always  bound  to  one  pattern,  then 
wUl  be  no  difficulty  in  matchmg  the  future  volumes. 

Agencies.  —We  are  deairoua  of  making  arrangements  in  all  parte  of  North  Araeriea,  for  iucreasiwg 
the  clrculalation  of  this  work— and  for  doing  this  a  liberal  commission  vrill  be  allowed  to  gentlamea 
who  will  hitereat  themselves  in  the  business.  And  we  will  gladly  correspond  on  this  subject  with 
any  agent  who  will  send  us  unboubted  references. 

postage, — When  sent  with  the  cover  on,  the  Living  Age  consists  of  three  sheets,  and  is  rated  as  a 
pamphlet,  at  4}  cents.  But  when  sent  without  the  cover,  it  comes  within  the  definition  of  a  newt* 
paper  given  In  the  law,  and  cannot  legally  be  charged  with  more  than  newspaper  postage,  (U  eta.) 
We  add  the  definition  alluded  to  :— 

A  newspaper  is  "  any  printed  publication,  issued  In  numbers,  consisting  of  not  more  than  two 
sheets,  and  published  at  short,  stated  intervals  of  not  more  than  one  month,  convey  ingintelligUBce 
of  passing  events." 

Monthly  part$.^FoT  such  as  prefer  it  in  that  form,  the  Living  Age  is  put  up  in  monthly  parts,  con- 
taining four  or  five  weekly  numbers.  In  this  shape  it  shows  to  great  sd vantage  in  comparifon  with 
oth#r  works,  containing  in  each  part  double  tbe  matter  of  any  ofthe  ({uarterlifw.  But  we  reconunend 
the  weekly  numbers,  as  fVesher  and  fuller  of  life.  Postage  on  the  monthly  pans  is  about  14  cenia. 
The  volvmee  a  A  published  quarteriy,  each  volume  containing  aa  much  matter  aa  a  quarterlj  raview 
givae  in  eighteen  months. 

PUBLISHER  BY  E.  LITTfiLL  &  C0.«  BOSTON. 

'  isr  am ptyreU mooter. 


'^itkbat^ck?. 


ijBLft 


;new-york 

MONTHLT  MAGAZINE. 


JUKE.     185  0. 


WEW-YOEK! 
F0BLIBHED   BY  flAM0SL  BtTESTOH,  139  KABSAU-STREET. 

LONDON: 

(SAHaTJRT  AND   COMFA^rr,  AOBNTfl.J 


BOSTON: 

CROSBY  IE  NICHOLS  i  fETRrtJaE  k  CO  -  HBUDl^G  *  00. 
^TLADELFPmA  :  O,  B    ZmSEB  k  OO. 


1850. 


WH.  oiBomiti  rtmTSK. 


EDITED    BT    LEWIS    OATLOBD    CLiiJtX. 


TiiiB  to  pranonnced,  by  the  preM  of  America  and  England,  *  the  beat  Magazine  fat  Amerlea.*.  It 
hat  BOW  completed  ita  thiriff'Jiftk  volume,  and  in  ita  liat  of  vpward  of  a  hundred  contrihaon,  are  found 
tiie  namei  of  every  diatingaiabed  writer,  male  and  female,  in  America,  with  aereral  equally  promir 
nent  of  Great  BrlUn,  Turkey,  Sweden,  etc.  A  new  Tolume  will  commence  w|0iti»  firatdiy 
of  July,  1$50.  The  following  noticea  of  the  KnxcKSBBQCXBa  are  from  the-.  A«i«rieaB  ,a^ 
Engliah  preM,  to  which  might  be  added  hondreda  ot  others. 

*Ths  laat  KmcuittaocKXB  it  exceedingly  good.  Some  of  the  articles  are  woftby  of  Buacxwoos'a 
palmieMdayi.  The  Editor*§  TohU  ia  in  JKIr.  Clakk's  happieat  vein ;  varied  and  racy  in  a  remarkebia 
degree.'~/r«io-reri  OowmoreiMl  Admertiotr. 

*  Tbs  KmcKBaBOCua  seenu  to  increaM  in  attraction  aa  it  advancea  in  age.  It  ezhibils  a  aoQlUy- 
variety  of  oontributiona  unaurpaMed  in  nttmber  or  ability.'— >if«tMa4rf  ImteUigemcor, 

*  The  KmcxEmBOCKBE  ia  one  of  the  moat  valnable  Magaainea  of  the  day,  and  oatatripa  aD  cooqiell- 
tiMi  in  the  higher  walha  of  literature.'— ^I^oiiir  Argut. 

*Thc  KmciueaBooKBB  Maoabinb  ia  now  beyond  a  queatton  tke  magazine  of  the  conntry.  Whoever 
wiahea  hiaqioney'a  worth,  and  aomathiogover,  let  him  bubacnbe  now  to  *Old  Kmcx,'  and  our  wor^for 
it,  the  Editer'a  Table  alone  will  aospiy  aatiaiy  hia  ezpectatlona.  It  ia  not  a  periodical  to  be  llfbtly 
glaaced  over  end  thrown  by,  but  it  forma  a  library  book  to  aave  and  re-read.  A  aet  of  the  RnrdBB- 
BOGKBB,  bound  up  in  volumea,on  theahelvea  of  one  of  our  popular  Kbrariea,  ia  mora  coBaulted(aeiihe 
librarian  haa  often  told  ua)  than  any  other  aimilar  work.'— Boat&H  Doilf  Trameeript. 

Tbb  Lomdok  KTAinwEB.— *Thia  very  clever  Hagasine  ia  the  pleaaanteat  periodical  in  the  Iflited 
Statea.  Itaartidea,  which  are  aumeroua  and  short,  varioua  and  intereating,  are  well  worthy  id  iHIti^ 
tioD  by  our  Magaxinea  on  thia  aide  of  the  Atlantic' 

LoKSoic  'MoBHiNO  CHBomcLS.—' Judging  from  the  nnmbera  befbre  na,  we  are  inclined  to  leon- 
aider  thia  the  beat  of  all  the  American  literary  periodicala;  Its  oontenta  are  highly  interaating^i  lB*t 
emotive  and  amuaing.' 


BEDUCTION  IN  PBICB  TO  CLUBS. 

Tho  publiaher  haa  determined  to  do  every  thfaig  in  hto  power  to  bring  the  Knickerbocker  vrlUds^ 
Ibe  -meana  of  all,  and  invitee  tho  attention  of  Aote  who  feel  an  interest  in  cirenlatiBg  thm  Amtf^ 
" — ^--lUteratiere,  ^- ^^    '" — '--^ '-*- '- 


.,  to  the  following  terms  to  clubs,  viz  : 
For  five  copies  sent  to  one  address,  the  price  will  be    $80  00 
«     ten     "  "  "  "  35  00 

"  twenty "  "  «  "  00  00 

Fom>  Masters  throughout  the  United  SUtea  are  Invited  and  requested  to  act  as  agents.  T«r  all 
thMe  who  may  interest  themselves  in  getting  up  clubs,  we  wUl  send  a  copy /ras  so  long  aa  tliex 
k«q^  up,  end  remit  regularly  the  yearly  payment 

T«  th«  Siibacrlkevn  wtmdL  All  lMtereat«d  In  ^mr  "Wcrk. 

The  pubaisher  desires  to  avail  hiniself  of  this  opportunity  to  thank  those  who  have  maniliMled 
their  unabated  intereat  in  the  Knickerbocker,  by  sendina;  subscribers.  Quite  a  num'ner  have  done 
so,  and  no  doubt  with  a  very  slight  effort  on  the  part  of  some  friends,  our  list  might  be  doubled. 
As  fi  Airther  inducement  for  thia  effort  on  the  part  of  our  patrona,  we  wiah  to  say,  tiiatno  pailm  or 
exnense  will  be  spared  to  enhance  the  value  of  the  work,  and  our  pages  will  prove  tiiat  our  readers 
will  receive  at  least  as  large  a  share  of  benefit  from  our  increased  meana  as  we  could  expeet  our- 
selves. 

AaENT8  WANTED  FOR  THE  KNICKERBOCKER  MAGAZINE. 

BirmnVBisiNo,  active  agenta  are  wanted  in  every  town  and  city  in  the  United  Statea,  to  proonre. 
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the  npat  liberal  terma  will  be  allowed.  Apply,  poet  paid,  to  SAMUEL  HUESTON,  ISO  Nf  '      ' 


OREAT  INDUCEMENT  TO  SUBSCRIBE  FOR  THE  KNICKERBOCKER. 

Fova  TXABS  roe  txn  dollabs. 

Tk»  undersigned  vriU  aive  the  Volumes  of  the  Knickerbocker  for  the  yeara  1S47,  *48,  '49,  i 
'IHV  to  all  persons  who  will  remit  te  him  ten  dollare,  in  funds  current  bn  this  city,  poet  j»aU. 

I3P*  BiiGX  Volumes  or  Numbers  supplied,  and  a  complete  set  for  sale. 
Speeimen  Numbers  sent  free  of  charge  on  application,  poet  paid. 
Tbbxs— #5  per  annum  in  advance.    All  remittances  must  be  made  te 

SAMUEL  HUESTON,  Publiaher, 

139  Nassau-st,reet,  New-Terk. 
dP*  Otin  EBehsnge  p^ers  will  de  ua  a  special  favor  by  copying  the  above. 


ORIGHNAL     PAPERS. 


Akv. L    the  PHILOBOPHICAL  EMPEROR:  IN  TWO  PARTS:  PART  BBOOND,    ...  471 

IL    MODERN  PHILANTHROPY:  AN  EPIGRAM, ^W 

HL    THE  IDEAL.    PROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  SCHILLER, ** 

IV.    THE  FIRST  AND  LAST  APPEAL.    Bt  a  LmSART  NoviCB, «7 

V.    STANZAS:  ADIEU.    Bt  a  Youiia  CJoeempoitobiit, ^^ 

VL    HYMNS  TO  THE  GODS :  TO  FLORA.    By  Albket  Pim,  Ebq., <W 

VIL    DJOU  UL  NAKIB:  A  LAY  OF  ANCIENT  TURKEY,     .    .   ^ ^^ 

Vm.    LINES  TO  LEIGH  HUNT.    Bt  a  D.  Stvaet, ^^ 

DL    THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  POET.    Bt  Mei.  J.  Webb, ^®* 

X.    ON  BEARDS:   Nvmbbe  T&ebb.    Bt  Jon  Watbeb, ^^ 

XL    LINES:  EVENING.    Bt  De.  Dickion,  or  Lohsoh, ^* 

Xn.   THOUGHTS  OP  DEATH.    Bt  W.  W.  Moelakd, *• 

XIIL    THE  WRITINGS  OF  CHARLES  LAMB.    Bt  F.  W.  Sheltok, 5W 

XIV.    AN  ORIGINAL  FAMILY  PICTURE, 508 

XV.    STANZAS:  THE  UNFORGOTTEN, .* «» 

XVI.    THE  BUNKUM  FLAG-STAFF  FOR  JUNE, 510 

XVn.    THE  FATE  OF  HUNGARY  AND  HER  OPPRESSORS, 318 

XVm.    GLEAMS  OF  BEAUTY.    Bt  ▲  New  Comteibutoe, 519 

XIX.    A  LEGEND  FROM  THE  SPANISH.    Bt  Mei.  Maet  E.  HEWirr, S« 

XX.    ANACREONTIC  STANZAS  TO  A  LADY, W 

XXL    TALES  OF  THE  BACK-PARLOR, »♦ 

XXIL    A  HINT:  *JU»rE  MILIEU,' 531 

XXnL    NIGHT  AT  SEA.    Bt  De.  DicKiON, 5» 

Literary  Notices: 

L    ELDORADO,  OR  ADVENTURES  IN  THE  PATH  OP  EMPIRE, 533 

8.  HINTS  TOWARD  REFORBIS.    Bt  Hoeacb  Oebbubt, 534 

3.  WASHINGTON  ALLSTON'S  OUTUNES,  SKETCHES,  LECTURES,  Etc.,    .    .    537 

4.  LECTURES  BEFORE  THE  HUNTINGTON  LIBRARY  ASSOCIATION,  ....  938 

9.  DECK  AND  PORT.    Bt  Ret.  Waltbb  Coltox, 539 

Editor's  Table: 

L    'THE  MORNING  WATCH,'  A  NARRATIVE, t    .    540 

a.    GOSSIP  WITH  READERS  AND  CORRESPONDENTS, ^ 

L  New  Woek  bt  the  late  Stdnbt  Smith  :  Elembntaet  Skbtches  or  Moeal 
Fhilobopbt:  Pohb  :  Bulm  arb  Chaeades  :  Wrr  ahb  *  PEorEMBD»  Wits.    «.  Ah- 

ECDOTB  BT  A  SoVTH-WbITBEH  CoEEBIPOMOEllT.      3.  *  StANDUH,  THE  PUEITAM: 

BT  Elbeeb  Oeatboh.  4.  *TiiB  Khicebebockee  amp  *thb  South:''  AfBW 
woEBi  roE  tbb  *Chaei.X8T0M  Litxeaet  Gazbttk.'  5.  Dbath  or  Me*.  Feaecxb 
Saeobiit  Oioood:  hbe  Dtimo  Sobo.  fl.  Lbttxe  rEOM  a  *DowieR»BT»  Ooeeb- 
•pohbxmt:  thb  Knicebebockbe's  Rbbukb  or  Sxctaeiak  Biootet:  Cheistian  4^ 
Chaeitt  ams  Kxxdbbss:  Ambcdotb  or  a  Clbeotmam:  Imcibeiit  at  a  Rbtivaj. 
Mbxtino:  Iovoeaht  Mimistxes:  Lboal  Ahecdotb:  ■  Dbm ueemo'  to  tbb 
^Gbmbeal  Iisue.'  7.  The  ^  Noeth-Am xeicab  Rbvxbw'  roE  the  Apeil  QuAETmE. 
8l  BBAUTirui.  Limbs  bt  Mes.  Jambs  Russxll  Lowbll.  9.  ^Talbot  amd  Vbemoh,  a 
Nor  EL.'    10.  Ambcsotb  or  a  Yamkxb  and  Powbes'  ^Gebek  Blavb.'    11.  GoenL 

AMD  ViBXET's  *•  AhXEICAM  PoBTEAIT  GaLLBEY.'     is.  DBrXEEXD  LlTEEAET  ReCOED 

or  New  Pubucatioms.  13.  «  Pbfpxe-Saasb'  im  a  Baebbe's  Snor.  14.  Dbath  or 
the  latb  Johh  C.  Calhoun:  a  Soknbt  to  bib  Mxmoet:  his  Funxeal.  15.  Gitt 
AND  Countet  Eaelt  EDUCATION:  *Thk  Loesnxttb.'  16.  *Tbb  Van  Coetlambt 
Institute.'  17.  A  ^Rbtisxd'  Bible.  18.  A  Sboei^iobtxd  Baeoaim.  19.  Bet- 
ant's  *  Notes  and  Lxttees  or  a  Teavbllee.'  90.  Cblxstxal  and  Tbeeebteial 
Sobneet.  21.  Tbb  'Atlantic'  and  *PACiric'  Ocean  Stkamxes.  22.  *  Timing' 
A  PxDBBTELAN.  S3.  De.  Rabinbau's  Salt-Watbe  Floatino-Batb.  SI  A  Hand- 
some PoETEAiT,  Etc.  S5.  Monument  to  tbb  late  Jobn  Wilson,  tbb  Ekinbnt 
ScoTTisB  VocAUST.  26.  Tbb  Last  Peatbe  or  Maet  Queen  or  Scots.  S7.  The 
Aheeican  Hotel,  Renovated  and  Impeovbd.  S8.  Notice  or  tbb  Exhibition 
or  TBB  National  Acadkmt  or  Desion.  29.  'Sbaep  Peacticx:'  Anecdote  or 
tbb  Old  Teot  House.    30.   'Remdxe  unto  Cjesae  the  Thinos  wbicb   bb 

CaSAE's.      31.    RaMBLINO    EHBTLB    rEOM    a    CoEEBSPONDXNT's    COEEBSrONDENT. 

SB.  OuE  SuMMEE  Wateeino-Placks.  33.  A  Beautiful  Simile.  34.  A  Singulae 
'Bull.'  35.  Pieeson's  Double  Geand-Plino.  36.  Appointment  op  Me.  Baet- 
LETT.  37.  New-Yoee  Atbebjcum.  38.  Me.  A.  Hunt's  New  Publications. 
30.  DsrEEEED  Notices.  s 


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1 


THE    KNICKERBOCKER. 


Vol.    XXXV.  JUNE,    1850.  No.    6. 

THE     PHILOSOPHICAL      EMPEROR: 

OB     AN     EZPERIUEKT     IN     IC  O  B  ▲  L  8  . 

■T  A.  B.  joBiraev. 

THE      PURBITIT. 

Two  days  had  been  passed  by  the  emperor  and  his  companion  in 
the  gloomy  abode  of  the  miners,  when,  at  evening,  as  they  were  pre- 
paring to  endure  the  miseries  of  another  night's  lodging  in  the  same 
quarters,  their  humble  protector,  the  quondam  corporal,  hurriedly  an- 
nounced the  approach  of  a  party  of  cavalry  who  designed  to  search 
the  mines.  No  delay  was  practicable,  and  by  his  guidance  the  fiigi- 
tiyes  groped  through  various  passages  that  permitted  no  erect  position 
by  the  passengers,  but  led  from  the  mine  through  a  long-disused  air- 
shaft.  They  emerged  into  the  open  ground,  about  five  hundred  yards 
from  the  accustomed  place  of  egress,  and  which  they  saw  in  the  dis- 
tance surrounded  by  armed  men,  some  on  horse-back  and  some  dis- 
mounted«  The  emperor  expected  that  the  corporal  would  now  leave 
them,  with  such  directions  as  he  could  hastily  communicate ;  but  such 
was  not  the  intention  of  this  humble  adherent,  who,  knowing  well  the 
adjacent  country,  insisted  on  guiding  them  to  some  place  of  greater 
security,  and  had  provided  for  the  occasion  horses,  which  the  three 
instantly  mounted. 

They  rode  at  first  stealthily,  then  rapidly  and  without  intermission, 
until  the  day  began  to  dawn,  when  they  had  arrived  on  the  borders  of 
one  of  the  many  lovely  plantations  with  which  the  picturesque  king- 
dom of  TuBcora  is  known  to  abound,  and  from  whose  exuberant  fer- 
tility, equability  of  temperature  and  perpetual  verdure,  the  opinion 
probably  originated  that  Tuscora  constituted  the  type  of  Elysium,  as 
described  by  the  ancients.    Every  where  the  eye  is  met  by  all  the 

VOL.  zzxv.  31 


[J 

472  The  PhUataphkal  Emff^^ 


^e-clad  Wife*  Btxeams 

choicest  Clements  of  poetry;  fmitfiil  'f^^J^^tm^rm'I^K  cM*- 
and  streandets,  rivers  and  "T^^^' ^^^S  wc^  ^  mow-cl^ 
racts;  nor  arc  wanting  in  tbe  ^^T*. *S^ ttged«>t m «expl^_ 
sunniits.  and  in  some  places  t%^^°^^^J^^biu^y«>»J*3aP^;«^  - 
ble  union,  as  they  are  constantly  ^^cnbed  ^V^fy^e,  ^  ^^^^7^ 
if  poets  be  ever  other  than  youthftd.    Urged  by  J^^  ^^1^1^^!^ 
a  SSne  for  concealment,  thl  traveller*  t~^  *S^\>efo»«^  >^ 
position,  and  thereby  discovered  that  «^e  jj»»°  ^J1^\J^^^^ 
Un  recently  ravag4    The  bruldinge  ^4^lv^^.tZf^?~ 
and  were  vVorenfly  untenanted.    This  circuws^      tftf>«»  ™'»'*  «» 
rable,  and  they  moved  forward  to  reconnoitre  teaienoe 

They  entered  the  mansion  which  V»ad  pw^  '^te  ^«»  liAl^^ 
of  the  planter,  although  it  was  now  but  Wtie    ^grigtance^         ^_ 
ruins;  when  they  heard  voices  supplicating  i^"^,  ^^gjed  * 
treaty  that  sufiering  can  dictate,  ^ 


epithet  of  entreaty  that  suffering  can  dictate, »»  .^^^^^  ^ 

ral  voice  that  denotes  extreme  debility.  .    «  cottf*"^  ifieteiB» 

Curiosity,  or  perhaps  humanity,  vanq\iiBbed  „ev»i^^®j    (^loa.^. 
personal  hazards  that  might  attend  an  intetCet«*  ^^^  &  d«»g^   ^[^ 
over  whom  possibly  some  enemies  might  sOft  ®*   .  \)Mt^°°  ^^A   -^ 
supervimon.    The  voices  proceeded  from  the  c^'JlLJo  ^"^  *^'^f(^'^^ 
access  thereto,  amid  the  fallen  timbera  «nd  pT^^'^n  ot  ^«  ^"^T^^^^^^ 
work  of  much  labor.     Leontine,  at  the  augg<*^*fcott\AheTcader^^^ 
mquired  of  the  unfortunate  nersons  >»««  „.J.tii»C?   -AAi«T»  hai  P>,t  >^ 


aquired 

They  replied  that  two 
dered  the  plantation  and 


owner,  who  was  a  foreigner,  maintained  tre 

vnth  Boresko,  his  nabve  conntrv       TV 

captivity  vrith  all  his  slaves,  e>£cent   Sf  ^^'^^^  v"""*  T*  WoVei ' 

an^.     They  had  originally  be^*i*^«   ^^o^^^^^"^      aL  ^/^/ 

having  from  some  unknowii  c^f^  P^a^atera  thenueVvea,  aM  «f  S^^ 

sold  into  slavery,  they  had    ao  ^r.   a  ^  deprived  oi  thevrfteedO*^ 

labor;  while  their  master,  j>rovoka     ^^*  grief  astoloemca^''^       ,^ 

them  chained  in  the  cellar.        Xlae-^l   ^  *li«ir  appaieta«mtnmacivf;,/2^ 

invaders,  but  only  to  have    perislLa  ?     ^^"^  escaped  deteCdott "^tte 

fhreiSr^"'^'"''"^"  ^  ^-«-^S:sfi£^^^>^" 

The  emperor,  in  more  p^^^  ^fotettpene.*^ 

little  heeded  the  miseries  of  a**f  **^   moxnents  of  W  \\t      -J!^     1 
aUy  labored  with  his  tw6  con^L    ^^'^P^®  of  slav^-  W^*'™*^    ^SJ^*^ 
the  removal  of  some  half-co^J*««ion8  Ui  exW«U     V'''*'  ^'^  ^  ^. 
the  ceDar,  the  party  wer©  anf  ^*»ed  bea^  o.^?*^  **  iRjfffr^^  doot  d 
anticipated;  when  they  fbt^iU^  '^o  aesc^  IT       '*ya<a««^  theyl«^ 
bar  t£at  extended  acroes   tK^   ^    *«»an   «3  ™°"  ««iay  th,»^  tti  iro* 
The  corporal  being  a  good  ^    ^*^r,  and      '^°°*»n  chained         the  Wta- 
of  metals,  worked  with  vi^oZT^^lianie    JTji^**  masoned  int^^tandBng 
who,  when  brought  into  th^  ^***a    su*^^**^^™^  to  tl^-<d«  slw*'. 
efforts  which  they  had  mad»  r**^Ja  air  *^'^««ied  m  relearinir    ^/.»W* 


474  I%e  Phihaaphicai  Emperor.  [June, 


ORAPTIR   SaVBVTK. 

THE         CA8TL 


*  What  is  one  man's  meat  is  another  man's  poison/  says  the  proverb, 
and  *  What  is  one  man's  joy  is  another  man's  sorrow,'  say  we.  Such 
at  least  were  the  present  shelter  imd  preceding  escape  of  the  emperor, 
which,  while  they  filled  him  with  hope,  overwhelmed  the  old  command- 
ant with  despair.  He  had  early  forwarded  a  faithful  narrative  of  the 
whole  disaster  to  his  sovereign  the  king  of  Tuscora,  who,  furious  with 
disappointed  ambition,  denounced  the  unfortunate  commandant  &r 
either  criminal  negligence  or  more  criminal  connivance.  Suspecting 
that  treachery  might  have  infected  the  whole  garrison,  he  hastily  de- 
spatched a  force  to  insure  the  safety  of  the  fortress,  and  to  send  the 
disgraced  commandant  in  chains  to  the  capitoL  Vain,  however,  were 
such  precautions.  The  poor  commandant,  more  condemned'  by  him- 
self than  he  could  be  by  his  sovereign,  contemplated  no  escape,  no  ex- 
culpation, no  resistance.  He  admitted,  much  beyond  the  truth,  that 
he  had  been  negligent,  and  that'his  life  should  be  forfeited  as  a  posses- 
sion no  longer  desirable  to  him  or  useful  to  others.  And  when  ne  sur- 
rendered himself  a  prisoner  to  the  officer  who  had  been  sent  to  arrest 
him,  the  act  seemed  to  yield  him  a  consolation  which  nothing  else  had 
yielded  since  the  fatal  morning  that  disclosed  his  misfortune. 

Nor  were  the  feelings  of  Theadora  much  more  composed  than  tliose 
of  her  unhappy  parent,  whom  she  had,  as  she  now  saw,  guiltily  de- 
stroyed. She  swooned  repeatedly  during  the  day  that  her  father  was 
arrested,  and  at  intervals  raved  frantically,  as  was  thought,  by  accusing 
herself  aloud  as  the  cause  of  all  his  misery.  She  insisted  on  being  car- 
ried into  the  guarded  room  where  he  was  confined,  and  at  the  sight  of 
him  manacled  and  fettered  her  agony  was  terrible.  The  intensity  of 
her  grief  served  rather  lo  withdraw  the  stem  old  man  firom  the  con- 
templation of  his  own  situation  to  that  of  the  only  being  who,  for  many 
years,  had  been  the  object  of  any  tender  emotion  in  him ;  but  when  he 
distinctly  learnt  from  her  the  agency  which  she  had  exerted  in  the  es- 
cape of  his  prisoner  (and  which  she  narrated  fully,  as  far  as  she  knew 
the  particulars),  the  soul  of  the  father  seemed  to  struggle  between  rage 
and  tenderness,  and  he  answered  not  but  with  groans  that  denoted  a 
wo  too  powerful  and  strange  for  words  to  express. 

Early  the  next  morning  was  designated  for  the  departure  of  the 
prisoner ;  and  as  his  unfortunate  daughter  entreated  to  accompany  him, 
and  being,  as  she  insisted,  the  only  criminal  of  the  two,  a  carriage  was 
vouchsafed  for  the  new  circumstance,  that  they  might  be  transported 
together,  although  the  orders  of  the  sovereign  had  contemplatiBd  no 
such  contingency.  And  while  the  sad  cavalcade  of  coach  and  accom- 
panying guards,  in  long  procession  and  double  file  on  either  side,  were 
issuing  wrough  the  heavy  postern  of  the  fortress,  thrown  open  wide 
for  the  occasion,  the  hardy  veterans  who  constituted  the  painful  escort, 
and  those  who  remained  to  gairison  the  castle,  exhibited,  even  to  tears 
(the  strong  man's  opprobrium),  that  amid  all  the  obduracy  of  war,  all 
the  artificial  training  of  military  discipline,  all  the  pride  of  vaunted 
stoicism,  human  nature  will  retain  the  effeminacy  of  compassion. 


1850.J  The  JPhOowphical  Emperor.  475 


OBAPTBR    BIOaTS. 

THK        PliANTATION. 


While  these,  sorrowful  and  slow,  are  wending  their  steps  toward 
the  capita)  of  Tuscora,  the  cause  of  all  their  misfortunes,  the  emperor 
of  Boresko,  with  his  companions,  is  resting  in  the  mansion  of  the  dis- 
consolate planter.  The  wanderers  intend  to  resume  their  journey  un- 
der cover  of  the  approaching  night ;  but  the  horses  are  too  exhausted 
to  proceed,  and  the  emperor,  reluctantly  yielding  to  necessity,  concludes 
to  retain  the  present  shelter  for  another  day,  and  retires  early  to  an 
humble,  but  more  comfortable  bed  than  he  has  enjoyed  for  many  a 
dreary  night  Weariness  is  the  best  of  anodynes,  and  as  he  had  since 
early  iu^the  momine  labored  assiduously,  he  soon  slept  soundly,  despite 
the  loss  of  rank  and  empire.  The  two  slaves  also  forgot  their  mental 
me&  amid  the  urgency  of  their  physical  wants,  and  slept  gently; 
dreaming  perchance  of  happiness  long  lost,  and  now  dreamily  restored ; 
for  dreams  are  often  thus  kind  to  the  bereaved.  All  slept  except  the 
planter.  His  corporal  organs  had  not  been  overtaxed,  and  his  thoughts 
wandered  as  usual  to  the  city,  houses,  friends  and  honors,  from  which 
he  had  mysteriously  been  driven.  He  recaUed  in  self-torment  the  day 
Km  which  he  had  last  enjoyed  his  prosperity ;  the  day  on  which  his  car- 
riage had  been  honored  by  the  company  of  a  nadir  of  the  empire.  '  The 
day  too  short,  the  night  alas !  too  long,  on  which  he  had  been  awaked  from 
his  sleep,  and  suddenly  deprived  of  all  his  property  but  the  pittance  on 
which,  as  a  vulgar  planter,  he  protracted  a  miserable  existence.  The  day ! 
the  day !  the  mght !  the  night !'  Thus  he  raved,  and  in  the  excitement  of 
his  fancy  he  vividly  recalled  the  detested  drum  whose  boding  sound  had 
marshalled  to  his  stately  mansion  the  armed  myrmidons  who  executed 
the  commands  of  the  emperor,  and  for  no  offence  that  he  had  ever  heard. 
'  Oh,  day  too  happy  to  continue  !  Oh,  night  too  direful  to  be  forgotten ! 
Oh,  drum  too  portentous  to  cease  from  sounding  in  my  ears  !' 

While  he  writhed  his  body  in  an  agony  of  recollection,  the  sound  of 
drums,  of  which  he  had  been  raving,  seemed-  more  than  an  illusion  of 
his  imagination.  The  sound  floated  in  the  distance,  and  became  pro- 
gressively distinct,  until  the  portentous  notes  broke  loud  upon  the  sur- 
rounding stillness,  and  he  could  no  longer  doubt  their  reality.  Sud- 
denly, however,  the  clamor  ceased,  and  he  again  began  to  suspect  that 
he  had  been  deceived  by  his  imagination.  He  had  experienced  simi- 
lar delusions  before,  though  not  quite  in  the  same  degree.  He  lis- 
tened again.  The  effort  tranquillized  his  feelings ;  and  his  thoughts 
being  thus  diverted  from  his  sorrows,  the  poor  wretch  sank  into  a  fever- 
ish doze.       .  ^ 

Little  was  the  relief  procured  from  his  slumber,  for  it  was  busy  with 
more  than  the  horrors  of  his  wakeful  thoughts.  Again  the  drum 
seemed  to  marshal  the  spoilers  to  his  happy  home,  and  he  awoke  in 
terror.  He  had  slept  longer  than  he  supposed.  The  day  had  dawned, 
but  drums  were  actually  sounding ;  and  as  he  sprang  from  his  bed  and 
ran  hastily  to  his  window,  in  fear  more  than  from  curiosity,  he  saw  the 
plain  around  his  house  covered  with  soldiery,  while  martial  music 


476  The  Philosophical  Emperor.  [June, 

Btreamed  from  a  numerous  band.  The  standard  of  his  native  country, 
still  dear  to  him,  though  a  ruined  man,  gleamed  through  the  morning 
haze  as  it  floated  and  quivered  in  the  breeze.  '  Great  GroD !  forgive  a 
wretch,  nor  drive  me  wholly  mad !'  exclaimed  mentally  the  tortured 
man,  as  yet  unassured  of  the  reality  of  what  he  saw.  *  What  new  mis- 
chief is  impending  now  1  Is  the  humble  lot  to  which  I  am  fallen  to  be 
sunk  still  lower  V 

But  suspense  was  not  long  to  torture  him.  The  cry  of  '  Long  live 
the  emperor  1  long  live  the  emperor !'  burst  from  several  thousand 
swelling  breasts  as  the  emperor  himself,  escorted  from  the  shelter  of 
the  planter's  humble  cottage,  advanced  loftily,  again  every  inch  a  mo- 
narch, toward  his  exulting  troops,  to  receive  the  enthusiastic  greeting 
of  brave  men  for  a  long-exiled  and  still  cherished  sovereign. 

The  faithful  corporal  who  accompanied  the  imperial  wanderer  to  his 
present  shelter  had,  instead  of  retiring  to  rest  with  the  other  inmates 
of  the  cottage,  sallied  forth,  soldier-like,  to  satisfy  himself  of  the  safety 
of  their  quarters.  He  fortunately  strayed  within  view  of  the  fires  of 
a  camp,  which  he  approached  stealthily,  until  he  found  that  the  soldiers 
were  nis  countrymen.  Delivering  himself  then  to  the  first  sentinel 
whom  he  met,  he  demanded  to  be  led  forthwith  to  the  ofiicer  in  com- 
mand, who  with  tears  of  loyalty  and  joy  heard  of  the  proximity  of  his 
imperial  master,  to  whom  he  was  still  iaithfiil,  as  was  the  whole  empire. 
Since  the  captivity  of  the  sovereign  the  government  had  been  vigor- 
ously administered  by  a  reo^ency  composed  of  the  Empress  consort  and 
the  great  traveller  and  critic,  Doesamuse,  Arch-Chancellor  of  the  Em- 
pire, whose  numerous  literary  labors  may  be  found  in  every  language, 
and  seem  more  than  any  other  human  productions  destined  to  live  every 
where  and  forever.  The  efforts  of  the  regency  had  been  unremitting 
to  obtain  by  negotiation  the  liberation  of  the  sovereign ;  but  the  tyrmit 
in  whose  power  chance  rather  than  skill  had  thrown  the  Emperor,  re- 
solved, with  the  consciousness  of  inferiority,  to  derive  the  utmost  possi- 
ble advantage  from  the  Emperor's  captivity,  and  would  accept  no  pro- 
posals for  his  release,  in  the  belief  that  better  terms  might  be  extorted. 
Injustice  and  avarice  thus,  as  usual,  defeated  their  own  end,  for  the 
escape  of  the  captive  removed  all  inducement  for  concessions,  and  im- 
planted in  their  stead  purposes  of  vengeance ;  hence  no  sooner  had  a 
rumor  of  the  Emperor's  escape  reached  the  government  of  Boresko, 
than  a  large  army  was  despatched  toward  the  capitol  of  Tuscora,  and 
the  present  detachment  had  been  sent  to  scour  the  enemy's  frontiers 
and  secure  the  emperor's  personal  safety. 

At  the  earliest  dawn  fortli  from  the  bivouac  of  the  night  marched 
the  imperial  troops  toward  the  humble  lodgings  of  the  emperor,  though 
they  had  been  preceded  by  a  guard,  which,  %n  the  first  knowledge  of 
his  proximity,  had  l>een  despatched  to  keep  watch  over  the  imperial 
quarters.  The  approach  of  this  guard  caused  the  sounds  that  had  been 
heard  during  the  night  by  the  restless  planter ;  while  the  approach  of 
the  main  body  was  what  aroused  him  in  the  morning. 

The  transition  experienced  by  the  Emperor  was  one  of  those  wonder- 
fiil  vicissitudes  that  belong  more  frequently  to  the  narrations  of  fiction 
than  to  the  realities  of  life ;  but  his  deprivation  of  authority  had  not 


1850.]  The  Phtlotaphicdl  Emperor.  477 

been  long  enough  to  debase  his  sentiments,  and  he  as  suddenly  resumed 
the  lofty  condescension  and  august  deportment  of  a  sovereign  as  though 
they  had  been  interrupted  by  only  an  unquiet  dream.  Loud  roared 
the  artillery  an  imperial  salute  in  honor  of  his  presence.  Low  bowed 
gorgeous  standards  and  glittering  swords»  as  cheered  by  exulting  music 
he  passed  before  his  rejoicing  troops,  to  thank  them  for  their  loyalty. 

in  the  general  enthusiasm  all  seemed  happy  but  die  poor  planter. 
Unconsciously  he  had  entertained  the  author  of  all  his  misery.  But 
misfortune,  though  it  had  well  nigh  broken  his  heart,  had  not  wholly 
eradicated  his  accustomed  loyalty ;  so  far,  therefore,  as  a  broken  spirit 
can  fbrcret  its  sorrow,  he  rejoiced  at  the  opportunity  which  chance  had 
given  hun  to  be  serviceable  to  his  lawful  sovereign.  He  had  not  pre- 
sumed to  hope  that  the  occasion  could  in  any  way  result  beneficially  to 
himself,  but  the  Emperor  had  not  in  his  restoration  to  power  forgotten 
his  philosophy.  The  period  long  hoped  for  was  arrived,  in  which  he 
could  test  his  power  to  increase  human  happiness,  as  well  as  diminish 
it  He  summoned  the  planter  to  appear  before  him,  and  while  sur- 
rounded by  a  galaxy  of  noble  officers,  he  publicly  thanked  the  abashed 
§oor  man  for  his  hospitality,  and  conferred  on  him  at  the  instant  the 
ignity  of  nadir  of  the  Empire,  with  a  restoration  of  his  confiscated 
estates,  and  the  grant  of  a  large  annuity  besides.  Nor  were  forgotten 
the  two  more  humble  individuals  who  had  been  reduced  from  compe- 
tency and  freedom  to  poverty  and  slavery.  They  were  restored  to 
freedom  and  their  plantation,  with  the  grant  of  a  large  addition  thereto 
from  the  national  domains. 

The  joy  which  was  evinced  by  the  poor  couple,  as  well  as  by  the 
newly-created  nadir,  fully  realized  the  best  expectations  of  the  im- 
perial philosopher,  and  completed  all  that  had  remained  uuproved  of 
his  great  experiment  Historians  seem  to  be  much  divided  whether 
the  Emperor  derived  more  satisfaction  that  morning  from  his  restora- 
tion to  power  or  from  the  fulfilment  of  his  predictions  as  an  author ; 
and  one  cannot  help  seeing  that  tiie  fact  elicited  by  the  experiment  is 
of  great  importance  to  rulers,  for  we  may  well  hope,  and  well  expect, 
that  die  power  thus  proved  to  be  m  their  possession  will  induce  them 
to  increase  human  happiness  as  often  as  practicable,  and  to  diminish  it 
only  when  the  diminution  is  indispensable. 


CHAPTBB    XIKTB. 

THE     BE8TORATXOM. 

The  subsequent  progress  of  the  Emperor  was  a  continued  triumphal 
procession.  ,  The  intelligence  of  his  approach  preceded  him  with  tiie 
swiftness  of  the  vnnds ;  and  as  soon  as  he  arrived  within  his  dominions, 
he  was  met  at  short  intervals  by  delegations  from  all  classes  of  his  sub- 
jects, who  vied  with  each  other  in  demonstrations  of  loyalty  to  his 
throne  and  devotion  to  his  person.  Public  thanksgivings  were  cele- 
brated in  every  temple ;  brilliantly  illuminated  were  all  edifices  in  the 
cities,  towns  and  villages,  through  which  he  passed ;  a  joyful  peal  was 
sent  forth  by  every  bell,  while  every  cannon  roared  a  loud  amen. 


1 


478  The  PkUasophical  Bh/tperor.  [June, 

The  Emperor  was  yet  ten  days'  journey  from  his  capitol,  when  he 
was  met  by  the  Empress.  Unexpectedly  to  the  two  august  personages 
the  processions,  by  some  misconception  in  the  arrangements,  encoun- 
tered each  other  unawares.  The  meeting  was  tender  in  the  extreme, 
ior  this  was  an  occasion  in  which  Nature  refuses  to  be  regulated  by 
Etiquette.  The  Empress  had  endeavored  to  discipline  herself  for  the 
meeting,  but  her  emotions  were  too  powerful  for  her  fortitude,  en- 
feebled as  her  health  had  become  by  the  painful  scenes  through  which 
she  had  passed.  She  swooned,  and  was  with  much  difficulty  resusci- 
tated ;  while  the  Emperor,  in  his  solicitude  as  a  husband,  forgot  that  he 
was  the  observed  of  all  observers,  and  felt  and  acted  only  like  a  man. 

To  the  capitol  the  cortege  eventually  arrived  by  rather  dow  advances, 
and,  as  had  been  previously  arranged,  the  Emperor  caused  himself  to 
be  immediately  crowned  anew,  as  deeming  himself  unqualified  for  die 
discharge  of  his  high  duties  until  he  had  been  again  consecrated  by  all 
the  solemnities  of  religion.  The  ceremony  was  conducted  with  the 
utmost  magnificence ;  and  that  no  human  being  might  have  just  cause 
of  regret,  Sie  Emperor  took  that  occasion  to  make  restitution  to  the  re- 
maining sufierers  by  the  great  moral  experiment,  which  sought  to  prove 
(and  had  proved  to  his  entire  satisfaction)  that  Providence  is  not  ob- 
noxious to  the  imputation  of  making  some  classes  of  society  happier 
than  others.  He  accordingly  sent  for  the  nobleman  whom  he  had  de- 
posed, and  not  merely  reinstated  him  in  his  titles,  but  promoted  him  to 
the  higher  dignity  of  chamberlain,  to  the  inexpressible  gratification  of 
the  new  dignitary.  The  slaves,  also,  that  had  been  sent  to  the  copper 
mines,  and  whom  the  Emperor  had  accidently  encountered  in  his  a^ 
fiiction,  were  redeemed  by  purchase,  and  all  (excej^t  five  who  had  died 
from  grief  and  ill-treatment)  were  brought  back  to  Boresko,  enfran- 
chised and  invested  severally  with  small  plantations,  which  raised  them 
from  the  lowest  degradation  to  a  state  oi  happiness  that  seemed  more 
pungent  and  blissful  than  was  experienced  by  any  other  of  the  parties 
to  the  experiment 

But  the  Emperor,  in  the  exuberance  of  his  bounty,  thought  of  the 
persons  also  who  had  aided  in  his  escape.  The  corporal  who  had 
evinced  so  much  sagacity  and  fidelity  received  the  command  of  a  regi- 
ment, with  the  gracious  assurance  from  the  Empress  (who  condescended 
to  permit  him  to  kiss  her  hand  on  the  occasion)  that  she  was  sure  he 
might  deem  the  present  promotion  as  only  an  earnest  of  tlie  regard  of 
his  sovereign.  The  present  exaltation  proved,  however,  too  much  for 
the  poor  fellow's  equanimity.  .  He  haa  performed  nothing  for  which 
he  expected  more  than  a  restoration  to  his  office  of  corporBJ,  or  possi- 
bly promotion  to  a  sergeantship,  though  he  would  have  performed  the 
whqle  with  equal  zeal  had  he  known  that  no  reward  would  have  en- 
sued. He  ought,  from  the  Emperor's  theory,  to  have  been  greatly  ad- 
vanced in  happiness  by  his  increase  of  station ;  and  perhaps  he  was  fi)r 
a  short  period,  but  his  new  honors  brought  vtrith  them  new  and  unex- 
pected troubles,  just  as  a  newly-introduced  exotic  plant  will  bring  with 
It,  or  Boon  originate,  some  insect,  big  or  little,  that  wOl  prey  upon  it. 
The  corporal  found  that  he  possessed  no  pedigree,  being  iniorant  of 
the  xOxaQ  of  even  his  grandfather,  while  all  lus  new  associates  were 


1850.]  The  Phihiopkical  Emperor.  479 

contmuaDy  boasting  of  their  ancestors.  The  defect  depressed  his 
spirits  by  destroying  his  self-complacency,  until  eventually,  by  long 
contemplation  of  his  deficiency,  he  became  thereon  monomaniac. 
Every  thing  that  was  said  in  his  presence  seemed  to  allude  to  his  pris- 
tine ignobility,  and  every  allusion  to  his  services  was  deemed  a  sarcasm 
on  his  sudden  elevation.  He  accordingly  became  morose  and  melan- 
choly, and  was  found  one  morning  suspended  by  his  gaiters  from  the 
cornice  of  his  bedstead  quite  dead,  by  the  agency  of  his  own  hands. 
The .  reason  of  his  death  was  carefblly  conc^ed,  because  to  the  un- 
philosophical,  who  are  always  captious,  it  might  have  seemed  to  militate 
against  the  Emperor's  theory. 

OKAPTXK  TMmm. 
TEE      BETB08FECT. 

All  had  been  rewarded  except  Leontine,  whom  the  Emperor,  amid 
the  rapid  occurrences  of  the  last  few  days,  had  not  missed,  but  who 
now  could  no  where  be  found,  though  he  was  sought  diligently.  He 
wacf  on  horseback  when  last  seen,  and  by  great  efiR)rt  was  traced  to  the 
firontier  of  Tuscora.  What  this  meant  no  person  could  conjecture, 
though  all  now  recollected  that  his  conduct  had  lately  been  smgular, 
and  that  he  seemed  abstracted  and  gloomy. 

To  the  frontier  he  had  indeed  departed,  for  he  had  by  some  means 
acquired  information  of  the  painful  catastrophy  which  the  escape  had 
occasioned  to  his  beloved  Theadora  and  her  &ther,  the  commandant 
Desperate  as  the  attempt  was,  he  resolved  to  surrender  bimself  to  the 
vengeance  of  his  betrayed  sovereign,  in  the  hope  that  as  he  alone  was 
guilty,  his  confession  and  surrender  would  establish  their  innocence  and 
msure  their  safety.  Their  fate,  however,  had  become  materially  changed 
since  they  were  last  heard  from  by  Leontine ;  for  while  they  were 
travelling  toward  the  capitol,  at  the  slow  pace  we  have  already  de- 
scribed, an  officer  from  the  rear  galloped  furiously  past  their  carriage, 
as  if  charged  with  important  intelligence  to  the  commander  in  front. 
Suddenly  Sie  van  of  the  detachment  accelerated  its  speed,  and  the  car- 
riage also  was  urged  forward  to  its  utmost  capacity.  The  cause  of  the 
change  of  speed  was  not  long  a  mystery,  for  a  discharge  of  musketry, 
that  soon  became  incessant,  denoted  that  the  rear  of  the  escort  was  at- 
tacked by  an  enemy,  and  that  the  van  was  fleeing  to  prevent  a  rescue 
of  the  captives. 

Furious  and  fearful  was  the  speed  with  which,  over  uneven  roads, 
the  vehicle  was  driven,  that  contained  the  unfortunate  commandant  and 
his  repentant  daughter.  But  little  heeded  he  external  inconveniences ; 
nor  did  a  thought  occur  to  him  that  he  might  be  benefited  by  the  strug- 
gle that  was  raging  in  the  rear.  More  than  once  he  started  instinctive- 
ly, as  if  to  mingle  m  the  contest  and  aid  his  attacked  countrymen ;  and 
when  the  resistance  of  his  chains  revived  a  consciousness  of  his  dis- 
grace, he  groaned  in  agony  as  he  recoiled  into  his  listless  seat. 

But  Providence  had  destined  that  the  van  guard  should  not  escape. 
The  rear  guard  had  been  overtaken  by  the  Boreskoen  forces,  which 
had  been  detached  for  the  purpose  of  making  a  diversion  into  Tuscora. 


480  The  PhUatophicdl  Emperor.  [June, 

The  resistance  of  the  rear  was  known  to  be  hopeless,  except  to  fiiTor 
the  escape  of  the  van ;  but  the  Boreskoens  saw  the  gruarded  carriage, 
and  suspecting  from  the  solicitude  evinced  for  its  escape  that  it  con- 
tained their  enemy,  the  King  of  Tuscora,  they  pursued  it  with  an  ardor 
which  was  boundless.  The  balls  in  fearful  number  began  to  whistle 
around  the  carriage,  as  it  was  approached  by  the  pursuing  cavalry. 
One  pistol  bullet  passed  through  the  carriage,  shattering  the  glass  in 
front  and  wounding  the  postillion  in  his  back,  who  gasped  and  fell  firom 
his  seat,  leaving  the  amighted  horses  to  the  guidance  of  their  fears. 
His  body  struck  the  horses  as  he  fell,  and  they  dashed  forward  with 
augmented  recklessness  toward  a  steep  declivity,  which  threatened  in- 
evitable destruction  to  the  caiiiage  and  its  inmates ;  when  suddenly, 
and  from  no  obvious  cause,  they  deserted  the  main  road,  and,  turning 
thort,  brought  their  heads  in  contact  with  a  wall,  which  arrested  their 
further  progress,  without  damage  to  themselves,  the  vehicle  or  its  in- 
mates. 

The  skirmish  was  soon  ended  by  a  surrender  of  nearly  the  whole  of 
the  escort,  when  the  carriage  was  aga^  put  in  motion,  conducted  by  a 
new  postillion,  and  turned  toward  the  capitol  of  Boresko,  under  the 
guard  of  a  strong  detachment  from  the  ranks  of  the  victors,  and  ac- 
companied by  the  captured  Tuscoreans.  Theadora,  though  greatly 
agritated  by  conflicting  emotions,  felt  an  intuitive  consciousness  of  benefit 
from  the  change  in  their  destination ;  but  far  diflerent  was  the  effect 
on  the  commandant.  He  was  anxious  to  be  delivered  up  to  the  indig- 
nation oi  his  sovereign,  and  he  esteemed  all  delays,  especially  such  as 
were  caused  by  the  triumphs  of  his  country's  enemies,  a^  but  an  aggra- 
vation of  the  evil  to  which  he  had  been  a  party.  Not  a  word,  how- 
ever, was  exchanged  between  the  occupants  of  the  carriage,  for  each 
was  engrossed  by  the  particular  reflections  which  the  sudden  reversal 
of  their  destination  copiously  supplied. 


OIKAPTBSt    XLITSKTB. 

TnS    PBI80NEB8    OF    WAB. 

Nothing  occurred  to  retard  the  onward  progress  of  the  captives, 
and  proceeding  with  steady  military  pace  they  duly  arrived  at  Kroy- 
wen,  the  capitol  of  Boresko,  where  a  large  building,  situated  in  the 
suburbs,  ana  appropriated  as  a  place  of  confinement  for  prisoners  of 
war,  received  them  as  its  inmates.  An  open  area  of  about  fi>ur  acres 
of  ground,  enclosed  by  a  high  stone  wall,  surmounted  with  iron  chevaux 
de  irise  and  broken  glass,  aflbrded  the  means  of  exercise  and  recrea- 
tion during  the  day  to  all  the  prisoners  who  chose  to  frequent  i% ;  wlnle 
at  night  all  were  carefully  locked  by  within  the  building,  that  had  at 
one  time  been  used  as  a  barracks  for  the  troops  stationed  in  the  city. 

But  little  heeded  the  afflicted  old  commandant  the  means  thus  af- 
forded for  recreation;  and  Theadora,  fully  convinced  of  her  guilt, 
vainly  endeavored  to  soothe  in  him  the  misery  which  she  had  occa- 
sioned. He  no  longer  repulsed  her  efforts,  and,  probably  from  a  con- 
viction of  her  repentance,  no  longer  addressed  her  with  asperity ;  but 


482  The  Phil4)Mpkical  Emperor.  [Jme, 

officer,  and  in  stature  as  towering,  erect  and  noble,  as  the  noblest,  the 
cadet  Leontine.  In  his  journey  toward  Tuscora,  to  surrender  himself 
into  the  power  of  his  sovereign,  he  had  heard  of  the  fortunate  capture 
of  the  commandant,  and  immediately  retraced  his  steps  to  the  unpe- 
rial  court,  where  he  was  again  graciously  received  by  the  grateful 
Emperor,  who  bestowed  on  him  the  rank  of  Major>General. 


eBAPTBIl  TWSX.r>B. 

THE      iNTBBVIBW. 


The  Emperor  was  not  so  old  as  to  have  forgotten  the  romance  of 
vouthiiil  affection.  The  obligations  which  he  had  felt  toward  Leontine 
had  originally  been  mingled  with  impressions  that  his  motives  were 
mercenary,  and  he  had  esteemed  him  as  a  useful  traitor  rather  than  as 
a  youthful  enthusiast     But  after  Leontine  had  explained,  with  sim- 

Elicity  and  modesty,  the  motives  which  alone  had  caused  him  to  hazard 
is  life  and  sacrifice  his  allegiance,  the  Emperor  was  induced  to  criti- 
cize leniently  faults  by  which  he  had  been  so  greatly  benefitted,  and  to 
requite  them  in  a  way  congenial  to  the  temperament  of  the  actor.  To 
that  end  the  present  interview  had  been  ordered ;  and  though  Leon- 
tine had  consented  to  act  in  it,  and  appear  under  his  high  military  com- 
mission from  the  Emperor,  the  acceptance  was  subject  to  the  condition, 
insisted  on  by  Leontine,  that  he  should  at  all  times  be  at  liberty  to  sur- 
render himself  to  the  King,  his  former  master,  if  he  should  deem  such 
a  surrender  essential  to  the  safety  of  the  conunandant  or  the  happiness 
of  Theadora. 

The  dejected  but  still  proud  commandant  encountered  the  presence 
of  the  emperor  without  servility  or  fear ;  nor  would  he  deien  so  much 
as  a  passing  look  at  Leontine,  whom  he  contemplated  with  horror,  and 
to  whom  this  silent  rebuke  was  manifestly  distressing.  The  youth, 
beauty,  and  highly  imaginative  organization  of  Theadora  sustained 
with  less  apathy  the  august  presence  of  the  emperor ;  she  impulsively 
sank  upon  her  knees  as  the  monarch  graciously  advanced  toward  her. 
He  was  affected  with  her  appearance,  and  raising  her  tenderly  from  her 
suppliant  position,  saluted  kindly  her  cheek,  calling  her  his  protecting 
genius,  his  sympathizing  deliverer,  for  whose  sake  he  deemed  ner  father 
not  an  enemy,  not  a  prisoner,  but  a  friend  whom  he  was  desirous  to 
ennoble  and  make  happy. 

'  Sire,'  exclaimed  lonily  the  aroused  commandant,  *  I  am  not  ignorant 
of  the  great  guilt  of  this  unfortunate  young  woman ;  but  although  I 
have  been  unwilling  to  requite  it  vnth  my  own  hands  in  vengeance  <m 
her  head,  far  rather  would  I  perform  that  office  than  see  her  derive  the 
slightest  beiiefit  from  her  treason.  If  indeed  your  majesty  shall  desire 
to  compensate  me  for  her  crime,  which  has  been  useful  to  your  mi^esty, 
send  us  back  to  our  injured  sovereign,  that  we  may  expiate  our  ounces 
as  his  justice  shall  prescribe.' 

'  Not  so,  mighty  prince !'  exclaimed  Leontine ;  *  I  alone  have  been 
the  offender,  and  on  me  alone  should  fall  the  punishment     The  noble 


,1 


484  An  Epigram.  [Jime, 

efibrts  to  terminate  his  captivity.  The  funeral  was  conducted  with 
great  military  pomp,  and  the  imperial  family  condescended  to  partici- 
pate in  the  pageant.  To  soothe  the  feelings  of  Theadora,  a  conmiuni- 
cation  was  obtained  for  her  from  the  now  almost  tributary  king  of 
Tuscora,  condoling  with  her  for  the  loss  of  her  father,  whose  fidelity 
the  king  was  pleased  to  say  he  had  long  been  convinced  of;  and  not 
only  pardoning,  but  applauding  her  fi>r  the  sympathy  she  had  maniieflted 
toward  his  illustrious  orother  and  good  ally  the  emperor  of  Boresko, 
when  casually  a  resident  of  the  castle. 

Human ,  nature  is  as  manifestly  formed  to  endure  the  calamities  of 
life  as  oaks  are  to  endure  the  tempests  of  winter.  In  due  time,  there* 
fore,  Theadora  became  tranquil  under  the  loss  of  her  father,  and  in  a 
little  further  time,  cheerful.  Yielding  to  the  solicitation  of  friends,  she 
gradually  re-minglod  with  society,  and  eventually  shone  in  court,  where 
die  emperor,  intent  on  his  moral  theory,  and  desirous  that  her  history 
should  not  result  contradictorily  to  .his  system,  never  failed  to  distin- 
guish her  with  his  attentions.  In  gratitude  for  his  condescension,  she 
eventually  complied  with  his  known  wishes  by  yielding  to  the  well- 
proved  affection  of  Leontine ;  and  they  were  publicly  married,  the 
emperor  himself  giving  her  away  at  the  altar.  They  became  the  most 
conspicuous  ornaments  of  the  brilliant  court  of  Boresko ;  but  attentive 
observers  could  discover  in  Theadora  moments  of  abstraction,  and  oc- 
casionally a  hurried  manner,  denoting  a  mind  oppressed  with  painful 
recollections. 

Even  Leontine,  although  blessed  as  he  was  with  the  consumma- 
tion of  his  most  romantic  aspirations  and  the  gratification  of  his  most 
ardent  desires,  felt  evidently  more  embarrassed  than  exalted  when  the 
adventures  were  referred  to  that  had  gained  him  his  elevation.  He 
evinced  a  painful  sensitiveness  whenever  he  was  spoken  of  as  a  native 
of  Tuscora ;  and  his  enemies  (what  court  favorite  is  without  them  ? ) 
soon  noticed  his  growing  sensitiveness,  and  failed  not  to  play  on  it,  to 
his  increasing  misery.  In  short,  could  the  hearts  of  Leontine  and 
Theadora  have  been  inspected,  they  would  have  been  found  to  contain 
much  regret,  much  seu-reproach,  much  consciousness  of  iU-desert. 
In  consideration  of  these  results,  which  the  emperor  discovered  as  well 
as  his  courtiers,  he  inserted  in  the  next  edition  of  his  moral  philosophy 
a  new  chapter,  in  which  he  maintained  that  as  a  man  deviates  &om 
virtue  and  duty,  he  removes  himself  out  of  the  principle  that  makes 
increased  honors  and  riches  an  increase  of  happiness. 


•      E  P  I  O  R  A  M. 

MoDBKN  philanthropy,  I  often  hear, 

li  wide,  difiiiaive  as  the  atmoephere : 

I  grant  it  lUl,  and  more  by  parity 

Of  reason  has  this  airy  charity ; 

GoloriesB,  scentless,  tasteless,  of  light  woght, 

And  always  keeping  in  the  gaseons  state. 


I860.] 


J%e  Ideal.  485 


THE       IDEAL. 


^  X  n  u  X  m     oy     •ossz.xax. 


With  all  ihy  visions  fondly  oberished, 

Wilt  thou  then  faithless  from  me  part  ? 
Thy  joyS)  thy  griefs,  have  they  too  perished  T 

Cui  nought  recall  them  to  the  heart  ? 
Oh.  golden  time  of  life !  can  never 

Be  stayed  thy  unrelenting  tide  ? 
In  vain  the  wish !  thy  waves  forever 

To  the  eternal  ocean  glide. 


The  cloudless  suns  have  lost  that  gleaming 

That  once  they  o^er  my  pathway  threw  ; 
Those  visions  fled ;  that  pleasant  dreaming 

That  to  the  soul  has.  seemed  so  true : 
Gone,  eoae  is  now  the  fond  believing 

In  alT  the  soul's  sweet  unagery ; 
Prey  to  the  Real's  harshness  leaving 

What  onoe  was  Beauty's  self  to  me. 


Even  as  of  old  Pygmalion,  longing, 

Gazed  on  the  marble's  changeleas  face, 
Till  in  the  stony  cheek  came  thronging 

All  that  makes  living  loveliness : 
Thus,  earnestly  with  nature  dealing, 

De^  meaning  in  that  look  1  sought, 
Till  the  created  seemed  revealing 

New  beauty  to  the  poet's  tliought : 


And,  in  all  cherished  dreams  partaking, 

The  silent  one  a  language  caught, 
Love  answering  to  my  love  awalung, 

She  underst^  my  earnest  thought ; 
Then  lived  to  me  the  tree,  the  flower. 

Then  sang  the  rippling  of  the  brook ; 
Yea,  even  the  soulless  felt  the  power 

The  echo  of  my  life  partook. 


A  circling  all  my  breast  indwelling 

With  yearning  boundkMas  urged  me  oi;, 
To  enter  on  life's  way  impelling 

In  deed  and  word,  in  seem  and  tone. 
How  glorious  was  this  world's  concealing, 

Before  the  buds  to  blossoms  grew ! 
How  smaU,  alas !  was  its  revealing  I 

Ita  jHTonused  fhuts  how  poor,  how  few ! 


486  The  Ideal.  [June, 


ITx^ed  onward  by  a  win  undaunted, 

Unchecked  by  boitow'b  chill  detoy, 
With  happy  viBions  ever  haunted, 

How  stepped  the  youth  upon  hia  way ! 
Even  to  the  dimmest  stars  of  heaven 

The  flight  of  his  intentions  flew ; 
No  bound  was  to  their  soaring  given, 

No  distanoe  and  no  height  they  knew. 


How  lightly  then  their  wings  upbore  him ! 

What  to  the  happy  youth  was  hard  f 
How  danced  the  joyoufe  ones  belbre  him, 

The  guardians  of  the  untaught  bard ! 
Love,  with  the  sweet  reward  it  giveth. 

Fortune,  with  golden  coronet ; 
Fame,  with  the  starry  wreath  she  weaveth, 

Truth,  in  her  sunlight  glory  set 


Already,  on  the  way  half  ended. 

Vanished  the  guides  he  made  hif  stay ; 
Faithless  ftom  him  their  footsteps  wended, 

One  after  one  they  dropped  away : 
First  Fortune  lighfly  from  him  vatushed ; 
.    Unquenched  remained  the  thirst  of  mind ; 
Doubt's  tempest-clouds  unpitying  banished 

The  sunlight  that  Truth  left  behind. 


Wreaths  I  beheld  from  Glory's  bowers 

Unhallowed  by  the  ignoble  brow ; 
Too  soon,  alas !  the  dear  spring  hours 

Of  Love  have  found  their  winter  now ! 
Stiller  and  ever  stiller  growing, 

The  lonely  path  before  me  ky ; 
Searoe  Hope  herself  before  me  throwing 

Her  fiuntest  light  upon  the  way. 


Of  all  this  flattermg  attending. 

Who  from  my  siae  would  never  roam  7 
Who  stand  with  comfort  o'er  me  bending  ? 

Who  follows  to  Death's  gloomy  home  T 
Thou  who  the  wounds  of  sorrow  healest, 
'   The  tender,  gentle  hand  of  friend, 
That,  in  life's  toiling,  comfort  dealest^ 

Thou  whom  I  early  sought  and  gained. 


And,  willinghr  with  it  uniting, 
.  Soothing  like  it  the  mental  storm, 
Action,  in  action's  self  delighting. 

That  ne'er  destroys,  though  slow  it  form ; 
That,  to  the  work  of  endless  lasting, 

But  grain  by  grain  the  sand  can  lay, 
Tet  from  the  debt  that  Tmie  is  casting 
Strikes  minutes,  days,  months,  years  away ! 
4fnl%VBB0. 


488  The  First  and  Last  Appeal,  [June, 

to  Maggie  a  request,  that  she  would  meet  him  at  a  certain  hour  on  the 
followmg  evening  at  a  well  known  spot,  called  the  Lover's  Well,  an 
unfathomed  spring  in  the  neighborhood,  round  which  there  lurked 
many  a  legend  of  days  gone  by,  of  disappotnted  and  unretumed  love. 

To  this  request  Maggie  willingly  assented,  although  at  first  with  some 
feeling  of  disquietude,  as  previous  to  this  occasion  the  intervention  of 
a  third  person  was  considered  imnecessary,  so  mutual  had  been  the 
feelings  of  each  to  the  other,  from  childhood  until  the  time  of  their  pre- 
vious interview,  when  he  had  ventured  to  breathe  to  her  his  '  First 
Appeal  op  Love. 

'  Let  Andre  know  that  I  will  see  him  at  Sabbath  eve,  and  tell  him  I 
dinna  ken,  why  he  waud  nae  hae  come  wi  the  message  himsel',  but  then 
he 's  ower  strange  a  times,  and  perhaps,  puir  lad,  he  canna  come ;  and 
whether  or  no,  I  'U  forgive  and  forget/ 


THS     LAST     APPEAL. 

'  Maggie  my  ain  that  was,  I  know  richt  well  ye  hae  nae  love  for  me 
ony  more ;  there  was  a  time  when  ye  smiled  as  I  approached  ye,  and 
youre  tiny  foot  went  e'n  ftister  on  the  brake,  as  ye  epun  by  your'e  door, 
and  ye  singing  sae  prettily  a'  the  while ;  but  your  ee  changed  Maggie, 
and  my  puir  heart  dies  when  I  see  how  cold  ye  are,  and  to  see  ye  sae 
pleased  at  the  young  laird  when  he  comes  to  bid  ye  good  morning,  and 
the  blessing  of  heaven,  when  all  the  while  he  waud  harm  ye,  Maggie, 
with  his  heart  as  black  as  the  mare  that  Tam  O'Shanter  crosses  wi'  o'er 
the  waste  ;  making  sadness  and  misery  when  ye  hear  the  noise  of  iti 
brawny  hoofe ;  but,  Maggie,  by  this  hand  of  your're  ain,  that  I  now 
hold,  ye  shall  nae  ga'  from  me,  till  ye  say  that  ye  will  reject  him,  and 
turn  away  when  he  comes  to  ye.  My  ain  Maggie,  smile  on  me,  my  ain 
loved  one. 

*  Andre  ye  waud  nae  gie  me  detention  in  this  spot  contraire  to  my 
wishes ;  and  Andre  ye  look  sae  pale,  and  your'e  hands  seem  sae  cold 
that  ye  frichten  me,  and  I  would  go ;  and  ye  know  it  is  not  many,  Andre, 
to  keep  me  against  my  wishes  when  I  would  go.' 

'  Nay,  Maggie,  ye  hae  heaped  up  my  misfortunes,  and  my  heart  waud 
break.  I  canna  survive  the  big  blow  ye  hae  given  me,  I  waud  hae 
died  to  serve  ye,  and  ye  hae  turned  cold  up  me.' 

'  Andre,  in  the  name  of  heaven  let  me  go.  I  hear  the  bairk  of  ihe 
laird's  dogs,  and  what  if  he  saw  my  hand  in  yours,  Andre,  and  yoursel' 
agitated  V 

'  May  the  curse  of  the  unhappy  light  upon  him  and  his  house !  May 
ruin  and  desolation ' 

*  Andre,  Andre,  do  nae  curse  !  kem  haim  wi'  me,  and  I  will  love ; 
heavens,  Andre,  what  waud  ye;  help,  oh!  ftdther,  bairns!  gudc 
Andre ;'  a  shriek,  confined  and  stifling,  and  all  was  still. 

The  tale  was  soon  told  to  the  young  laird,  who  was  hurried  to  the 
spot  by  the  screams  of  Maggie.  He  knew  from  the  bubbles  and  agi- 
tation of  the  deep  well  that  she  had  indeed  perished  !  The  truth  glanc^ 
upon  him  in  an  instant,  that  Andre  had  leaped  with  her  into  the  un- 
fathomed depths  of  the  Lover's  Well  into  which  he  looked ! 


1850.]  Lines:   Adieu.  489 

It  is  unnecessary  to  add  whether  the  curse  was  fulfilled,  which 
legend  says  commenced  with  the  dawn  of  the  day  next  succeeding  the 
death  of  Andre  and  Maggie. 

From  the  nature  of  the  spring,  no  attempt  was  ever  made  to  recover 
the  bodies  of  the  unfortunate  pair ;  but  they  were  mourned  for  by 
many  of  their  generation,  and  even  to  the  present  day  it  fi)rms  one  of 
the  interesting  legends  with  which  the  traveller  in  the  Highlands  is 
delighted ;  and  they  even  say  that  the  pair  may  be  seen  hovering  over 
the  well  previous  to  the  decease  of  any  of  the  once  powerful,  but  now 
ruined  house  of  Glencaim. 

PkUaiarhia^  Jfyril,  1850. 


lines:     adieu. 

Thk  boors  near  thee  are  paasinff  iair^ 
But  Health  tuma  pale  at  my  delay, 

And  sigha  for  more  oon^nial  air 
Upon  a  long  and  lonely  way. 

I  fiun  would  leave  some  token  light 
Of  hopes  that  through  my  feelings  rise, 

Dke  stars  upon  the  brow  of  Night 

When  Day  goes  down  the  evening  skies. 

I  dreamed  of  gems  entwined  with  gold, 

Bright  gems,  to  vie  with  parting  tears  j 
■  But  they  with  all  their  beams  were  opld, 
Or  flamed  with  fire  that  ofttime  sears. 

I  leaned  oW  flowers  by  culture  reared, 
Where  they  in  rich  profusion  grew  j 

But  none  among  them  all  appeared 
An  emblem  meet,  dear  friend  I  for  you. 

I  sought  in  silence  for  the  wild, 
Far  straying  by  a  woodland  stream ; 

Like  infimti'  eyes  they  sweetly  smOed, 
Yet  oould  not  breathe  love's  bliasfol  dream. 

I  mused  beneath  the  forest  bower : 

What  fiurer  thmg  the  bright  earth  bore  ? 

When  in  my  heart  appeared  a  flower 
That  there  would  lie  concealed  no  more. 

I  may  not  now  reveal  its  bloom, 

Tet  through  my  yearning  soul  it  sends 

A  blood-like  pulse,  a  rich  perfume, 
That  with  my  inmost  being  blends. 

I  wear  it  like  a  knightly  charm 
O'er  the  wild  sea  and  wilder  strand. 

To  star  my  path,  and  nerve  my  arm, 
And  guide  me  to  my  native  land. 


490  Hymns  to  the  Gods.  [June, 


HYMNS       TO       THE       GODS. 


fliAft,  lovely  Chlo&u  !  while  we  ting  to  thee : 

Thou  resteet  now  beneath  lome  shady  tree, 

Near  a  swift  brook,  upon  a  mossy  root ; 

All  other  winds  with  deep  deliffht  are  mute, 

While  EuKUB  frolics  with  thy  flowing  hair  : 

A  thousand  odors  &int  upon  the  air, 

And  ripple  softly  through  the  dewy  green 

Of  the  ibkk  leaves  that  murmuringly  screen 

Thy  snowy  forehead.    Struggling  through  their  i 

The  quivering  sunlight  rains  upon  the  grass 

In  golden  flakes  :  round  thee  a  thousand  flowers. 

Still  glittering  with  the  tears  of  spring's  light  showers, 

Offer  the  incense  of  their  glad  perfume 

To  thee,  who  makest  them  to  bud  and  bloom 

By  thy  kind  smile  and  influence  divine. 

Thine  arms  around  young  Ziphtrus  entwine, 

And  his  round  thee ;  wiui  roses  garlanded. 

On  his  white  shoulder  rests  thv  snowy  head, 

Thy  deep  eyes  gaze  in  his, 
Radiant  with  mute,  unutterable  bliss, 

And  happy  there. 

Oh,  lovely,  young,  enamored  pair ! 
Tour  rosy  lips  oft  meet  in  many  a  long  warm  kiss. 


Now  the  young  Spring  rejoices  and  is  glad, 

In  her  new  robes  of  leaves  and  blossoms  clad  ; 

The  happy  earth  smiles  like  an  innocent  bride 

That  sitteth  blushing  by  her  husband's  side ; 

The  bird  her  nest  with  earnest  patience  weaves, 

And  sings  delighted,  hidden  in  the  leaves  ; 

Ytam  their  hi^  homes  in  old  and  cavemed  trees 

The  busy  legions  of  industrious  bees 

Drink  nectar  at  each  flower's  enamelled  brim, 

Breathing  in  murmured  music  their  glad  hymn ; 

The  Nerdds  come  from  their  deep  ocean-caves. 

Deserting  for  a  space  the  saddened  waves ; 

The  Dryads,  from  the-  dusky  solitudes 

Of  venerable  and  majestic  woods ; 

The  Naiads,  from  the  beech-embowered  lakes, 

The  Oreads,  from  where  hoarse  thunder  shakes 

The  iron  mountains ;  wandering  through  cool  ghides, 

And  blushing  lawns,  when  first  the  darkness  &des 

Before  the  coming  dawn. 
And  ere  the  young  day's  crimson  tints  are  gone, 

In  glad  haste  all. 

Their  lovers  to  enwreathe  withal, 
Gather  the  fresh-blown  flowers,  cool  with  the  breath  of  dawn. 


1850.]  Dfou  ui  Nakih.'  491 


Oh.  gentle  Qneen !  we  spill  to  thee  no  blood ; 

^  Thine  altar  ttands  where  the  gray  ancient  wood, 
Now  green  with  leaves  and  fresh  with  Apr3  rains, 
In  stately  oirde  sweeping  round  contains, 
Embowered  like  a  hill-enTironed  dell, 
A  quiet  lawn,  whose  undulations  swell 
Green  as  the  sea-waves.    Near  a  bubbling  sprmg, 
Whose  waters,  sparkling  downward,  lighUy  ring 
On  the  small  pebbles — round  whose  grassy  lip 
The  birds  and  bees  its  crystal  waters  sip — 
Thine  altar  stands,  of  shrubs  and  flowering  vines, 
Where  rose  with  lily  and  carnation  twines. 
We  bum  to  thee  no  incense ;  these  fresh  blooms 
Breathe  on  the  air  more  exquisite  perfumes 
Than  all  that  press  the  over-laden  wind 
Which  seaward  floats  from  Araby  or  Ind : 
No  priests  are  here,  prepared  for  sacrifice^ 
But  fiuryouDg  girls,  with  mischievous  bright  eyes. 

With  white  flowers  garlanded, 
And  by  their  young  delighted  lovers  led, 
With  frequent  kisses 
And  warm  and  innocent  caresBes, 

To  h<»ior  thee,  the  victim  and  the  priest  instead. 


DJOU      UL      NAKIB 


A  Xikx  07  AyoxsnT  TDRzar. 


It  is  a  trite  remark,  that  if  we  would  learn  the  early  history  of  a 
country,  we  must  first  study  its  ballads.  Minstrels  are  the  servants  of 
tradition,  and  it  is  to  their  songs  that  a  chivalric  but  not  highly  instructed 
race  entrusts  the  task  of  perpetuating  its  early  triumphs  and  glories. 
With  the  view  of  illustratrng  the  earlier  traditions  of  the  Turks  we 
have  undertaken  the  translation  of  the  following  ballad,  which  still  re- 
tains a  considerable  popularity  in  the  streets  of  Stamboul  and  through- 
out the  Sultan's  dommions.  Often  of  an  evening  we  have  stopped,  or 
passed  through  the  bazaars  and  besestans  of  the  capital,  to  bear  it  from 
the  mouth  of  a  Koumbaradji,  or  professional  story-teller,  who  may 
generally  be  observed  perched  upon  a  low  kab-kab,  drawling  out  this 
ballad  in  a  monotonous  but  not  unpleasing  tone ;  and  seldom  does  the 
audience  fail  to  reward  the  bard  by  a  low-muttered  and  approving  bish- 
millah,  accompanied  with  a  bakshish  of  a  few  scudi.  It  is  reported  that 
such  was  its  popularity  with  the  late  Sultan  Abdoul  Medjid,  whose 
passion  for  poetry  and  sherbet  perhaps  hastened  his  early  death,  that 
kislar  Aga,  the  chief  of  the  black  Eunuchs,  was  frequently  commis- 
sioned to  seek  the  most  popular  Bostandjis  of  the  city  to  divert  him  and 
his  beloved  Chasseki,  (the  favorite  of  his^harem,)  by  singing  to  them^ 
•The  Swine-Eater,'  and  other  ballads.  'Djou  ul  Nakib,'  or  *The  i 
Swine-Eater,'  is  current  under  different  versions  throughout  all  Turkey, 


492 


JOjou  ul  Nakib. 


[June, 


and  is  even  sung  in  the  Tripolitan  dominions ;  but  we  have  selected 
this  version  as  the  best  known,  as  well  as  the  most  agreeable.  Its 
authorship  is  a  matter  of  some  uncertainty,  though  it  is  generally  at- 
tributed to  Hoshab-Hadjee  Becktash,  sumamed  Zulutflu,  or  the  Me- 
lodious, the  renowned  poet  of  the  age  of  Amuret  the  First  In  our 
opinion,  however,  it  is  the  production  of  an  earlier  period,  for  reasons 
which  it  is  not  necessary  to  give  in  the  present  article.  The  story  is 
founded  on  a  superstition  once  common  with  the  vulgar,  that  the  horse 
of  the  Pasha  Mustapha  Al  Faquir  had  miraculous  powers  of  divina- 
tion, which  are  set  forth  in  the  course  of  the  poem.  In  our  endeavors 
to  give  as  nearly  as  possible  a  literal  translation,  we  have,  of  course, 
sometimes  been  obliged  to  sacrifice  some  of  the  exquisite  beauties  of 
the  original,  and  at  other  times  to  retain  expressions  for  which  we  could 
not  find  equivalents  in  the  English  language.  Through  the  kindness, 
however,  of  an  esteemed  friend  and  ripe  oriental  scholar,  who  will  not, 
however,  permit  us  publicly  to  return  him  thanks  by  inserting  his 
name,  we  nave  been  &vored  with  the  notes  which  illustrate  the  text, 
and  render  the  phrases  retained  firom  the  original  intelligible  to  the 
English  reader. 


Thb  golzul  pipee  Its  sweetest  lay, 

Her  eYening  hymn  to  parting  day, 

And  o'er  Kafuui  and  Minaret 

A  ra/  of  sunshine  lingers  yet, 

As  if  of  night  H  would  seek  reprieve    ^ 

To  greet  the  rising  star  of  ere. 

The  breeze  comes  stealing  o*er  the  cheek, 
And  lightly  skims  the  gay  cacique, 
With  muftis  laden  (h>m  the  groves 
Where  bulbuls  mourn  their  summer  loves, 
And  Pishnar's  turrets  faintly  glow, 
Reflected  by  the  waves  below. 

Hark  to  the  cry  from  the  minaret  high. 
The  voice  or  Pasbalik  invites  to  the  prayer : 

Ceased  is  the  sigh,  and  dried  is  the  eye, 
Of  the  fUthftil  tourlouk  who  guardeth  there : 

The  muezsdn  hath  changed  his  voning  hue, 

As  he  lists  to  the  sound  of  that  cry  ^Allah  hu  P 

Allah  11  Allah— 6qd  is  great ; 

Great  is  the  power  of  Maiiomkt-s  word ! 
Oolah  Kaissan— thy  wttl  is  (kte! 

Sharp  Lb  the  edae  of  the  faithM's  sword ! 
Paynim  and  Frank  are  dust  in  thy  sight, 
Guard  the  believer's  sleep  this  night. 

Guard  o'er  the  foithitd  Mty's  sleep, 
Toward  Mecca  bent  thy  servants  pray ; 

Blay  the  Othman  all  his  vintage  reap : 
Grant  us  the  strength  thy  fue  to  auiy ; 

Guard  us  when  hours  of  night  wax  late  — 

Allah  11  Allah — Gon  is  great! 

Thine  is  the  power,  thine  the  sword ; 
Thine  is  the  all-consuming  word ; 
Thine  is  the  power  to  give  and  take; 
Thine  is  the  power  the  strong  to  brcikk : 
Guard  us  from  AlHte,  ghoul  or  sprite ; 
Watch  o'er  thy  city,  Lord,  this  nighL 

At  early  dawn  we  kneel  and  pray,  • 
Turbaned  head  is  bowed  in  dust ; 

The  seme  at  eve  as  at  break  of  day. 
Thy  fliithful  follower  ever  must : 

Allah,  the  hours  of  night  wax  late, 

Allah  U  Allah— Gon  Is  great! 


Why  comes  he  not  amid  the  crowd 
Who  greet  the  Prophet's  shrine  that  ere, 

With  turtMmed  head  and  gesture  proud : 
That  ftUth  in  which  he  did  believe 

Hath  lost  no  charm  for  him,  I  ween, 

Who  weareth  still  the  Prophet's  green  I 

Allah  Pasha  goes  forth  in  state, 
He  sits  toKlay  at  the  judgment  g«te ; 
There  let  the  Turcoman  bend  the  head. 
The  Franguestan  there  must  sue  for  bread; 
Yet  none  shall  want  and  none  shall  need 
Who  touch  the  tail  of  the  Pasha's  steed. 

That  steed  impatient  paws  the  ground, 
WbUe  tUthfru  Yashmaks  watch  aronnd 
To  catch  a  whisk  from  that  tail,  whoee  tooii^ 
They  siUd,  would  cure  ,the  ills  of  such 
Whose  pallid  cheek  and  drooping  ^e 
Proclaimed  their  early  fUe  to  die. 

And  piled  on  high  at  the  Pasha's  feet  . 
Were  gifts  the  fhithfnl  deemed  most  meet, 
To  the  Pasha's  taste ;  cloths  whose  dye 
With  femous  Gu.if  schik's  woofs  might  vie ; 
Rahatee-lokoom,  and  let  black  pearls, 
And  yatghans  woven  by  the  Anuee  giriB^ 

Quoth  ScHiKKHALKKr:  <  Who  eateth  the  flesh 
Of  the  unclean  swine  who  roam  at  will 

O'er  the  grassy  summit  of  Attar  Feah, 
Whom  Koran's  page  forbids  to  kill. 

That  man,'  salth  Albbf,  *l  bid  him  take  head 

That  he  touch  not  the  tail  of  the  Pasba*^  steed/ 

The  tinkling  sound  of  the  naiguillfth. 

Responsive  to  the  lood  chibouk, 
Commingled  with  the  maftUoont  bray. 

Swept  o'er  the  valley  of  Koulbouk: 
Yon  rider's  cheek  hath  a  pallid  hue ; 
Hark  to  the  cry,  Allah  hu!  Allah  hul 

He  comes,  he  comes,  I  know  him  well ; 

FuU  well  I  know  that  lurid  brow; 
Mo  darker  glooms  in  hermit's  cell, 

Nor  penance  makes  by  pilgrim's  vow : 
For  him,  I  ween,  at  EdenV  gate 
No  houris  seven  impatient  wait 


1850.] 


7b  Leigh  Hunt. 


493 


Hassan  hath  oome  fhnn  the  wild  foray ; 
The  Tartar  chleft  long  mourn  the  day 
When  first  he  mounted  hia  wild  Kiebobf 
And  oV  the  plains  of  Bairam  rode : 
The  Pllaafs  fly  in  wild  alarm 
From  the  dcindar  borne  in  Hassah's  arm. 

*  Hast  come  6*eT  the  plains  of  Attar  Fesh  ? 
Hast  eaten  of  swine^s  forbidden  flesh  ? 
or  swine  alone  by  Franks  adored, 
Bt  Moelem^s  sacred  (kith  abhorred? 
HassaV  cried  Alkkf,  '  I  bid  6k«e  take  heed ; 
Touch  not  the  tail  of  the  Pasha's  steed.* 
• 

Sadly  fUl  on  the  chieftain's  ears 

The  words  of  Stamboul's  sainted  schiekh ; 
The  eye  of  Hassan  now  wilder  glares, 

And  paler  still  is  the  hue  of  his  cheek : 
The  Pasha^s  steed  doth  rear  and  bound ; 
A  C9r9e  lies  bleeding  on  the  ground  ! 


By  Pishnax's  fount  there  is  a  grassy  mound,  [say 
And  there  I  're  heard  the  watchful  shepherd 


A  dark-eyed  Bashkir  risiteth  the  ground, 
Hor  nightly  vigils  there  to  keep  and  pray. 

*r  was  Zblica,  the  light  of  Hassan's  home, 

The  low-voiced  playmate  of  his  happier  hours 
With  her  in  youth  he  had  been  wont  to  roam, 
To  chase  the  khamyds  and  to  pluck  the  flowers. 

There  Hassan,  (hted  chief,  who  sinning  died. 
Sleeps  his  last  sleep,  imhallowed  and  alone ; 

Unmoumed  by  all  save  her,  his  harem's  pride. 
No  turban  carved  upon  the  moss-grown  stone. 

One  mom  they  came,  and  there  they  found  her 
not: 
But  lo !  before  the  shepherd's  wondering  eyes 
A  beauteotfe  flower  had  grown,  whose  hignesi 
top 
Was  lost  amid  the  dark  blue  of  the  skies ! 

And  so  T  *ve  heard  a  pious  banshee  say. 
That  by  that  flower,  whose  foUage  never  dies, 

The  soul  of  Hassan  crept  fh>m  earth  away. 
And  rests  with  Zblica  in  Paradise. 


TO       LEIGH       HUNT. 


'A  7Ami>-2.XKB  splritw  beautiful  and  ■wifL'—Saai.LST's  Aoovaw. 


A  NOBLE  tniih  thou  speak'st  of  One*,  a  star 
Flown  up  to  heaven  :  he  was  our  brave  Jaffar, 
And  spite  those  caliphs  Fashion,  Follt,  Pride, 
Gave  to  us  poor  Am  gospel  ere  he  died. 
How  many  souls,  unbonded  of  their  fears 
By  him,  bewail  him  with  their  sighs  and  tears 
Who  taught  them  courage  for  their  deep  despair. 
Gave  them  his  hand  (a  brother's  heart  was  there). 
Made  them  cast  off  their  shame  of  low  degree. 
Teaching  them  manhood's  true  nobOity, 
That  the  proud  tyrant,  the  proud  priest  and  peer, 
Are  the  world's  mean,  her  robbers.    O,  that  here 
Shelley  might  come — stricken  f^om  heaven  his  star  — 
To  be  on  earth,  once  more,  our  brave  Jaffar  ! 


And  he  ia  here  !    Shines  not  from  heaven  the  star  7 

Lives  he  not  strong  in  thoughts,  our  brave  Jaffar  ? 

In  thoughts  which  lift  us  up,  and  make  us  strong 

In  his  glad  music  of  immortal  song? 

The  caliphs  have  not  killed  him,  for  he  lives 

In  truth  of  his  own  utterance,  that  gives 

Hope  to  our  hearts  and  nerve  unto  our  arms ; 

Nor  any  more  can  caliphs  with  alarms 

At  their  fierce  threatenings  fill  us ;  though  they  swear 

Of  him  whoever  to  speak  well  shall  dare. 

To  crush.    Thoy  hunted  him  to  heaven  ;  thus  far. 

No  farther  could  they  go  !  and  there  our  star 

Defies  them  ;  so  do  we  for  him,  our  brave  Jaffar  ! 


C.  D.  SraAaT. 


*  Alluduco  to  Lbiob  Hunt's  late  poem  addressed  to  the  memory  of  Shbllby. 


494  The  Birth  of  the  Poet.  [June, 


THE       BIRTH       OF       THE       POST. 


BT     IC  a*.     J.     W  SBB. 


AroLLo  one  xnorti,  with  a  roving  design, 
Sweet  Helicon  left,  and  took  leave  of  the  Nine : 
*  I  will  see/  said  the  god,  *  if  on  earth  can  be  shown 
Hill,  mountain  or  valley,  as  £Eur  as  our  own. 


Come,  Mbrcurt,  hie  thee !  thou  know'st  the  world  well ; 
Thou  hast  traversed  it  often.    Oh !  say,  canst  thou  tell 
Of  one  green  sunny  spot  in  its  beauty  so  rare 
As  the  vales  we  are  leaving,  our  Helioon  fair  ?' 


The  messenger-god,  with  a  smile,  made  reply : 
^  I  have  marked  such  a  spot  as  I  journeyed  oft  by : 
Auld  Scotia  't  is  called  \  and,  some  say,  bleak  and  bare ; 
But  the  heart-flowers  of  feeling  and  firicndship  bloom  there.'. 


^  Hie  we  hence,'  siud  AroLu> :  *  I  swear  by  our  sire, 
The  picture  thou  point'st  doth  my  wonder  inspire: 
To  witness  pure  friendship  for  pure  friendship's  sake 
Were  a  journey  great  Jove  might  be  willing  to  take.' 


They  sped  to  Auld  Scotia,  the  home  of  the  brave, 
That  ne'er  yet  gave  birth  to  a  Coward  or  slave : 
O'er  moorland,  o'er  mountain  and  valley  they  flew. 
Nor  paused  till  the  sweet  winding  Ayr  met  their  view. 


Delighted  the  god  saw  the  heather  and  broom, 
As  far  o'er  the  moorland  they  shed  their  perfume. 
And  the  meek  mountain-daisy,  in  beauty  and  pride, 
Grow  humbly,  the  feather-fringed  bracken  beside. 


*•  I  knew  not,'  the  god  sud,  almost  with  a  tear, 
That  Nature's  rich  bounties  neglected  bloomed  here : 
Hie  hence  to  the  god-head,  and  bear  him  my  prayer 
That  he  grant  us  a  poet  to  sing  of  sweet  Ayr.' 


Quick  Mkrcurt  speeds  with  the  prayer  to  great  Jovj^ 
For  a  bard  who  would  sing  of  pure  nature  and  love : 
The  god  in  loud  thunder  the  answer  returns ; 
The  prayer  is  granted'^  the  poet  U  Burns  ! 


496  On  Beards.  [June, 

sober  realities  of  Truth :  and  which  is  probably  cause  of  the  prefe- 
rence given,  by  most  persons  ignorantly,  to  repose  at  that  especial  pe- 
riod of  the  blessed  day. 

My  friend  was  a  philosopher,  and  he  now  stoutly  resolved  to  profit 
by  his  experience,  and  never  thenceforward  to  take  an  airing  upon 
four  sentient  legs,  while  four,  or  even  if  you  please  ttoo,  quiet  and  in- 
offensive wheels  could  be  set  forward  in  the  same  unity  of  propulsion. 

He  also  remembered  to  have  read  —  as  I  suppose  —  the  following 
passage  from  Montaigne : 

<  Darius,  in  order  that  he  mirht  not  forget  the  ofltoce  be  bad  received  fh>in  thoee  of  Athena, 
ordered  one  of  bia  pages  to  wnoop  three  times  inbiaearsooftaaheeat  down  to  dinner,  *Slr, 
remember  the  Athenians !" 

And,  acting  upon  this  example,  my  friend  desired  Juba  his  old  black 
Servant,  if  he  should  find  his  master  asleep  and  difficult  to  awake  at 
any  time  for  the  shaving  water,  when  he  came  into  the  chamber  in  the 
morning,  to  say  something  to  the  sleeper  about  his  late  horse ;  as  that 
would  effectually  arouse  his  attention  and  yield  him  at  the  same  time 
the  satisfaction  of  recalling  a  grievance  that  had  now  happily  passed 
away.  The  joy  that  attended  this  his  now  horseless  state  lasted  for  some 
days,  during  which  Juba  had  had  no  opportunity  for  acting  upon  the 
admonition,  and  his  master  had  probably  forgotten  having  given  iL 
He  was  awake  with  pleasure. 

Time  blunts  however,  and  vulgarizes  our  perceptions  in  this  state 
sublunary  existence,  toward  the  happiness  we  enjoy,  as  well  as  toward 
our  sorrow  and  care ;  and  at  lengm  we  becdme  coarsely  indifferent 
even  to  emancipation  from  positive  distress.  And  thus  our  liberated 
horse-owner  gr^w  used  as  matter  of  course  to  the  deep  enjoyment  of 
his  morning  rest ;  as  if  no  damask  roseleaf  on  his  couch  of  fragrance 
had  ever  during  life  been  doubled,  or  in  any  manner  laid  awry. 

This  was  the  state  of  things,  this  was  the  repose  of  his  soul,  when 
on  one  bright  and  early  morning  he  was  staitled  from  his  dream  of 
bliss  by  the  sound  of  Juba's  expostulatory  intonations :  '  Massa !  Massa 
Ysaak !  horse,  Sair !  him  waitm'  Sair !  him  saddled  Sair !  him  bydled 
Sair !  him  kickin' !  stable  man  no  hold  him  Sair !  him  hard  mouse ! 
him  dibble  heself  Sair !  him  waitin'  Sair !  an  igor,  he  no  wait  mosh 
long !' 

'  Heavens !'  exclaimed  the  discomfited  gentleman  all  startled  frcHn 
his  sleep,  *  is  it  really  so  1  can  it  have  been  only  a  Vision  of  relief  that 
I  have  been  indulging  all  this  time  ?     I  could  have  sworn  now  that  I 

had  sold  that  d d  relentless  hard-mouthed  devil  of  a  horse  fear 

days  ago ;  if  it  may  be  called  selling  a  horse  to  take  fifly  for  feur  hun- 
dred !  I  certainly  did !  I  sold  him  to  Suydam !  I  can't  be  mistaken 
in  the  fact,  for  I  remember  being  delighted  that  he  should  come  to  be 
owned  by  a  man  lyith  a  suitable  termination  to  his  name  for  the  master 
of  such  a  beast !  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  1  What  are  you 
grinning  abou^  with  all  your  white  teeth  you  old  black  rascal  1  Is  the 
horse  really  come  back  V 

*  Massa  Ysaack  tellee  Juba  him  no  wake  for  sh4bin',  den  him  wake 
for  horse.' 

*  O  I  remember  I  I  remember !     Thank  God  !     There  's  no  harm. 


498 


Lines:  EvekUng, 


[June^ 


from  excessive  and  wholly  misplaced  gesticulation  and  oratorical  attempt 
Bre  made  to  ooze  out  of  the  corners  of  the  subject's  mouth. 

This  is  a  trencher,  or  a  saucer  beard !  It  is  that  of  a  publick 
speaker ;  whose  appearance  beyond  that  of  other  men  ou^ht  to  be 
marked  in  every  respect  by  the  nicest  possible  rules  of  propriety,  neat- 
ness, decorum,  elegance,  and  grace.  —  To  your  Tents,  O  Israel  ! 

It  is  while  closing  this  number  of  {be  Essay  that  we  have  had  the 
satis&ction  to  learn  through  the  interesting  colunms  of  The  Tribune, 
for  which  the  Proclamation  has  been  translated,  that  His  Majesty  the 
Emperour  of  all  the  Russias  has  turned  His  gracious  attention  to  this 
growing  Enormity  of  Beards ;  which  will  in  future  throughout  His  vast 
dominions  and  in  Poland  be  confined  in  its  *  detestable  usage'  to  the 
serfs  and  mancipia  and  gross  wretches  of  the  lowest  class,  to  whom  and 
to  whose  Fathers  the  luxury  of  lather  has  ever  been  unknown  and  un- 
imaginable from  the  days  of  Noah  ;  and  we  intreat  that  a  copy  of  the 
Proclamation  may  be  forthwith  appended  hereto.  May  the  gracious 
shadow  of  His  Imperial  Majesty  never  be  less ! 


John  Watbri. 


•THE      SMPBBOUfi.     ▲GAINST      BEARDS. 

'  Wb  find  in  'lA  Voix  du  People'  a  copy  of  a  Proclamation  from  tbe  Ciril  OoTemor  of  'Wartav. 
which  we  tranelate  for  '  The  Tribune'  as  a  literary  curloaity  :  * 

•  ♦  To  THB  Military  Prbpbct  or : 

*  *  His  HAJBeTT  tbe  Emperour  of  all  the  Russiajs  haying  gracioudy  turned  hJa  attentioo  to  an  un- 
fortunate habit  which  has  oegun  to  preyoil  amons  the  nobilitv  of  bis  empire,  namely,  the  habit  of 
allowing  the  beard  to  grow,  has  deigned  to  order  all  his  noble  subjects  to  abstain  from  that  imprapritt§. 

**The  Council  of  Administralion  of  the  Kingdom  of  Poland,  His  Highness  the  Pripco  Licutenanl 
praslding,  after  having  maturely  deliberated  on  this  aflhir,  have  declared  that  the  same  dispoaitkn 
ought  to  be  applied  to  the  nobility  of  the  Kingdom  of  Poland. 

*  *  His  Majesty  having  permitted  the  Rueeian  nobility  to  wear  uniform,  a  privilege  which  he  has 
gradouslv  extended  to  the  Polish' nobility,  it  is  evident  that  th^  beard,  being  incompatible  with  tbe 
uniform  in  Russia,  cannot  bo  tolerated  in  Poland. 

*  ^  In  consequence  of  this  decision,  which  has  been  communicated  to  me  by  His.ExceUeiicy  tbe 
Minister  of  Home  Aflbirs,  I  call  upon  the  Military  Prefects  to  take  prompt  and  efficacious  measures 
to  the  end  that  the  detestable  usage  of  wearing  beards  may  be  repressed,  and  Uiat  the  inhabitants 
abandon  this  indecent  and  subversive  innovation. 

^  *  If,  contrary  to  every  expectation,  any  persons  should  dare  to  not  conform  with  this  law,  I  call 
upon  the  Military  Prefect  to  inform  them  of  the  unhappy  consequences  which  will  not  foil  to  over* 
take  them,  and  I  formally  order  him  to  send  me  immediately  a  list  of  the  disobedient,  to  be  sub- 
mitted to  His  Highness  the  Prince  Lieutenant,  who  will  decide  upon  their  fbte. 

**The  Military  Prefect  wiU  address  to  me  his  report  on  this  subject  within  eight  days  at  tbe 

*  *  Larzczynski, 

*  '•OmnteUor  of  StaU^  Civit  Chvtnur  •f  ITarwie." 


EVENING. 


Br  z>K.  DtCKeoir.  of  z.ohdov. 


GoDi,  what  a  glorious  eve ! — earth,  sea 
And  sky  ne^er  seemed  so  fair  to  me : 
The  moon  is  up  — the  round  ftill  moon  — 
And  Hbspbrus  will  Join  her  soon; 
Already  round  her  stars  have  met 
By  thousands,  and  are  meeting  yet ; 
But  with,  a  dim,  uncertain  light. 
They  seem  diminished  in  her  sight. 
Wears  all  around,  beneath,  above, 
A  look  of  loveliness  and  love. 
And  things  most  nigged  and  most  rude 
Are  Boftraed,  sweetened  and  subdued 


By  mellow  moonlight  into  abapea 
The  pencirs  magic  vainly  apea. 
How  well  the  deep  ffivee  back  again 
The  night-sky  from  her  azure  pbdn ! 
For  there  is  not  a  breath  in  motion 
To  break  the  slumber  of  the  ocean ; 
Or  if  it  move  the  balmy  air. 
Wafts  only  odorous  incense  there. 
Whose  are  the  woes  so  great  thai  her 
Gazing  upon  that  quiet  sea, 
This  nether  earth  and  yonder  sky. 
Would  not  fonget  hla  wish  to  die? 


1 


1850.]  Stanzas:  Death.  499 


stanzas:     beath. 

'  Oai  tamaj  fonereal  monnmenti  of  the  aaeionta  Daatli  Is  rapresentad  m  a  ba&atifol  yoath,,  l««aiB« 
upon  ma  iiiT«rted  toroh,  in  an  attlfeoda  of  repoia.  hiM  wings  folded  and  bis  fset  erossed.' 

'  How  beaatiful  is  DeaUi  —  Death  and  bia  brother.  Sleep  V  —SuMLZur. 


Dkath  !  with  thy  folded  wings  and  slamb'rous  eye, 

O,  seraph  calm  and  pale ! 
ThoQ  leanest  on  lafe's  nnflaming  torch,  yet  why 

Before  thee  should  we  quaQ  7 
Sleep's  sadder  brother  —  thus  how  trtdy  called  — 

Kind  healer  of  our  care, 
Who  at  thy  noiseless  step  should  be  appalled  ? 

I  find  no  terror  there  1 


I  would  not  CO  with  ihee  unto  the  grave. 

Not  mere !  not  there  ! 
Thou  bear*st  the  spirit  hands  immortal  gave 

Unto  a  home  more  fair  : 
Angel  of  mercy,  sent  us  from  the  skies 

To  free  the  suffering  clay, 
On  the  hushed  face  thy  hallow^  impress  lies*— 

Pain's  shadow  melts  away  I 

Let  weary  Nature  soothe  herself  with  tears ; 

Grief  sobs  itself  to  rest ; 
Each  broken  tie,  lost  bliss  of  many  years, 

The  mourner  knoweth  best ; 
And  while  so  beautiful  the  sleep  of  death, 

The  fond,  fond  heart 
Clings  to  the  form  so  void  of  quickening  breath, 

Unwilling  thence  to  part. 

It  if  a  sorrow,  when  the  cherished  go 

Forth  from  our  stricken  breast ; 
What  though  they  'scape  the  weight  of  earthly  wo  ? 

Each  was  our  heart's  own  guest  I 
That  heart 'will  droop,  the  wlitching  eye  grow  dim, 

The  lip  forget  its  smile. 
Though  Memory  chant,  with  softened  tone,  her  hymn, 

And  Grief's  excess  beguile ! 

To  me  be  ever  thus  a  seraph  seen, 

O,  Death !  with  slumb'rous  eye ! 
Near  my  last  couch  upon'  Life's  spent  torch  lean. 

And  'neath  thy  wings  I  'U  lie ! 
Thy  beauteous  wings,  to  shield  me  as  I  steep, 

Thy  calm,  p^le  &oe 
To  look  in  kindness  upon  those  who  weep 

Around  my  resting-place !  wk.  w.  mori.amd. 


Sm<m,  Martha  1650. 


500  The  WrittMgs  of  Charley  Lamh.  [June, 


THE     WRITINGS     OF     CHARLES     LAMB,* 


Antagonism  is  the  strange  charm  which  endears  Lamb's  writings. 
Not  that  he  carried  this  to  perverseness  or  violence,  nor  yet  beyond  tbe 
bounds  of  mere  originality.  He  was  unlike ;  but  more  than  this  he 
repelled.  Hence  he  is  a  contradiction,  for  his  humanity  is  a  proverb. 
The  tenderness  of  a  boy's  heart  went  with  him  to  the  tomb.  In  his 
opposition  he  never  wrote  a  line  which  merited  a  malignant  return. 
He  was  an  enemy  to  be  loved ;  a  fault-finder  whose  poutings  were 
agreeable ;  in  short,  an  enigma  which  needs  to  be  unravelled.  It  is 
hard  to  analyze.  We  know  if  we  are  charmed ;  if  the  landscape 
pleases  us ;  if  the  picture  has  prevailed  with  our  untutored  fancy ;  if 
the  beauty  we  gaze  on  has  inspired  us  with  her  love ;  but  it  is  altoge- 
ther by  a  something,  we  know  not  what  Blessed  be  our  kindly  na- 
tures !  we  are  pleased  first,  and  inquire  the  reasons  afterward.  Let 
us  see  if  we  can  reconcile  Lamb  widi  himself;  if  we  can  interpret  the 
religion  of  his  nature  by  those  writings  wherein  his  heart  is  embalmed. 
The  circle  of  his  admirers  has  ever  been  rather  choice  than  large.  It 
is  certain  that  he  selected  few  friends,  chosen  for  individuality,  strong 
antagonizers.  Such  as  they  were,  they  were  not  easily  found,  or  80<m 
parted  with.  Death  alone  broke  up  flie  little  company.  He  set  out 
with  Coleridge.  Tom  away,  in  course  of  time,  from  this  good  man, 
he  lost  the  half  of  his  soul.  He  had  disabilities  without  and  within 
which  £)rbade  to  throw  himself  into  the  bold,  arduous  struggle  of  life. 
The  very  intercourse  of  men  would  have  been  the  rude,  sweeping  de- ' 
molilion  of  much  that  was  fine  in  his  character.  He  was  not  in  contact 
with  the  general  world ;  was  opposed  to  their  systems ;  courted  not  the 
favor  pf  their  *  good  people.'  They  made  no  concessions  to  him ;  why 
should  he  to  them  ?  He  passed  with  one  faction  for  a  free-thinker, 
with  another  for  a  bi^ot ;  but  most  did  not  understand  him. 

It  was  the  same  with  his  friends  the  books.  Few  and  rare  were  his 
'  midnight  darlings,'  his  folios.  Milton  or  Shakspeare  he  loved ;  they 
had  grand  names ;  but  those  which  sounded  sweetest  to  him,  and  car- 
ried a  perfume  in  the  mention,  were  *  Kit  Marlowe,  Drayton,  Drum- 
mond  of  Hawthomden,  and  Cowley.'  The  art  of  reviewing,  so  ver- 
bose and  so  nugatory,  had  as  little  to  do  in  governing  his  preconceived 
affection  as  with  the  final  destiny  of  the  books.  It  mattered  not  from 
what  royal  presses  they  came,  cum  privilegio.  They  had  their  own 
Imprimatur  (those  which  charmed  him  most),  a  something  unseen  or 
disregarded  by  the  common  eye.    What  he  says  on  book-borrowers 

*  Tmi  eway  was  ptibUahed  some  yean  ago,  but  with  so  manv  errora  of  printing  as  matoriaUy  to 
mar,  and  in  some  cases  to  defltrojr  the  Bonae.  If  you  win  republish  it  as  now  oorroctedfjoa  will  do  an 
act  of  Juatloe  to  the  affection  which  is  borne  by  the  writer  and  othera  to  the  memory  of  one  wtaoae 
praises  cannot  be  too  often  repeated — the  amiablo  man,  the  exqaiaite  easayiat,  Chaubs  Laxb. 

Mora  TO  rtn  Spitos. 


n 


1850.]  T%e  WrUiiigs  of  Charles  Lamb.  501 

discloses  his  taste :  '  That  slieht  yacuum  in  the  left-hand  case,  scarcely 
distinguishable  but  by  the  quick  eye  of  a  loser,  was  whilom  the  com- 
modious resting-place  of  JBrown  on  'Urn  Burial;'  here  stood  the 

•  Anatomy  of  Melancholy/  in  sober  state ;  there  loitered  the  '  Com- 
plete Angler/  quiet  as  life,  by  some  stream-side ;  in  yonder  nook  '  John 
Buncle>'  a  widower  volume,  with  '  eyes  dosed,'  mourns  his  ravished 
mate.'  The  current  literature,  which  pleased  the  million  quite  well, 
passed  him  by  almost  unheeded.  The  volumes  of  the  greatest  novelist 
of  the  age  were  to  him  wearisome  in  the  extreme.  Let  them  sway 
others  with  a  dictator's  mastery ;  he  was  not  so  constituted.  He  would 
rather  have  been  found  vnth  that  party  of  simple  folks  who  are  said  to 
have  read  Sir  Charles  Grandison  by  slow  stages,  with  a  '  realizing 
sense'  (as  a  boy-Crusoe),  following  him  through  with  overwrought 
anxiety,  and  at  uie  conclusion  of  the  history  had  the  village-bells  rung 
for  joy.  The  delicacies  which  he  affected  would  be  quite  impercepti- 
ble to  a  rough  palate.  They  were  called  from  some  ultimate  realm, 
where  they  grew  up  from  among  the  dust  of  forgetfulness,  and  afler 
he  had  served  them  up  in  a  style  incomparably  gracious,  they  were  to 
the  liking  only  of  the  most  judicious  epicure.    He  was,  moreover,  re- 

gugnant  to  the  spirit  of  the  present  age.  It  was  bitter  cold  and  stony- 
euted ;  rushed  on  in  the  breathless  race,  and  cast  back  no  parting 
looks.  To  him  the  whole  past  was  as  a  well-stored  church-yard,  where 
be  rambled  reverentially  with  the  dead,  and  'deprecated  violence  with 
the  pathetic  words  of  Shakspeare  over  his  sepulchre.  The  past  indeed 
was  a  part  of  his  present,  brought  near  to  him  by  many  chords,  and 
laid  hold  of  by  his  fine  sympathy.  While  others  would  bury  that  which 
bad  been,  without  any  tearfulness,  he  could  not  see  the  time-honored 
relic  pass  away,  and  be  consoled  with  any  hope  of  better ;  he  drew 
near  to  the  grave  of  departed  custom  and  wept — qwkm  famUiariter  ! 
In  his  conversation  he  opposed  even  his  beloved  friends,  so  curiously 
that  it  might  seem  merriment  It  was  in  accord  with  his  character. 
Those  who  were  allied  to  him  could  penetrate  his  meaning ;  why  he 
should  rejoin  to  the  obvious,  why  parry  that  which  resembled  a  truism, 
why  set  up  a  beaudful  true  standard  to  cast  it  down  by  a  single  breath 
of  sarcasm.  As  to  the  opinions  of  most  men,  the  mere  actors  on  the 
theatre  of  common  life,  he  did  not  agree  with  thenL  He  closed  his 
ears  with  the  desperation  of  the  <  enraged  musician.'  He  did  not  mo- 
dulate his  temper  to  any  of  their  '  soft  recorders ;'  their  best  agree- 
ments sounded  harsh  and  wrangling ;  chorus,  strophe  and  antistrophe 
were  alike  displeasing;  and  the  ftill,  consentient  voices  of  men,  on 
many  subjects,  struck  his  peculiar  nerves  like  the  first  preparement  of 
an  orchestra.  He  understood  them  no  better  than  he  did  the  music  of 
the  day,  the  operatic  fiourishes,  the  long  prolusions  of  our  best  masters, 
.  to  which  rebellion  amounted  to  rank  treason ;  his  guilt  was  equal  to 

*  stratagems  and  spoils.'  Yes,  he  was  positively  averse  to  professed 
music ;  and  this  antipathy  was  remarkable  kr  one  whose  tastes  were 
so  delicate ;  who  so  loved  to  '  gild  refined  gold,  to  paint  the  lily,  to 
adorn  the  rose.'    He  made  '  melodt  in  his  heart' 

As  to  his  writings,  which  are  a  true  transcript  of  his  nature,  they 
contiflt  almost  entirely  of  a  parcel  of  ingenious  paradoxes,  the  idea  of 


502  The  Writings  of  Charies  Lamb.  [Janet 

which  might  provoke  a  smile  with  some,  meet  with  the  contempt  of 
others,  if  not  with  the  stuhbom,  sturdy  rejection  of  most  Some  con- 
sider him  as  thrusting  merely  in  a  graceful  sword  exercise  with  shadows 
of  his  own  conjuring,  with  &ncies  which  have  no  substance,  and  in 
which  himself  reposes  no  implicit  fkith.  His  assertions  or  negatives 
persuade  those  who  think  they  understand  him,  that  he  is  not  in  earnest, 
that  after  all  he  feels  like  other  men,  and  has  a  mere  tact  at  writing. 
His  essays  might  bear  them  out  in  such  a  supposition.  What  do  we 
find  there  but  queer  assimilations,  balanced  with  the  strongest  antipa- 
thies. His  idiosyncracy  meets  you  at  every  step.  It  is  not  enough  ibr 
him  to  fly  df  widi  a  swift  attraction  to  the  weakest  side  of  weak  argu- 
ment ;  he  puts  his  negative  against'  the  whole  world  by  jocularly  up- 
setting maxims  which  claim  a  prescriptive  right  to  be  held  true,  in 
one  whole  essay  he  is  found  combatting  what  he  calls  '  popular  &]la- 
cies.'  These  are  truths  which,  no  doubt,  have  been  sometimes  thrust 
forward  with  unbecoming  positiveness.  They  are,  for  the  most  part, 
argumenta  ad  homines,  to  shut  the  mouths  of  people  suddenly ;  and 
he  turns  round  with  gentle  fierceness  on  the  <  pains-taking  preadiers.' 
He  denies  that  *  a  bully  is  always  a  coward.'  Some  people's  share  of 
spirits  is  low  and  defective.  These  love  to  be  told  that  nuffing  is  no 
part  of  valor.  But  confront  one  of  these  silent  heroes  with  the  swag- 
gerer of  real  life,  and  his  confidence  in  the  theory  quickly  vanishes. 
*  A  man  must  not  laugh  at  his  own  jest.'  What !  expect  a  gentleman 
to  give  a  treat  without  partaking  of  it !  To  sit  esurient  at  his  own 
table,  and  his  company  so  weak  as  to  be  stirred  by  an  image  or  fancy 
that  shall  stir  him  not  at  all !  '  Enough  is  as  good  as  a  feast.'  Who 
believes  it  ?  It  is  a  vile,  cold-scrag- o^mutton  sophism ;  a  lie  palmed 
on  the  palate  which  knows  better  thmgs.  If  nothing  else  could  oe  said 
for  a  feast,  this  is  sufficient,  that  from  the  superflux  there  is  something 
lefl  £oT  the  next  day.  '  We  should  rise  with  the  lark.'  It  is  not  well 
to  be  ambitious  of  being  the  sun's  courtiers,  to  attend  at  his  morning 
levees.  The  good  hours  of  the  dawn  are  too  sacred  to  waste  them 
upon  such  observances,  which  have  in  them  something  pagan  and 
Persic.  It  is  the  very  time  to  linger  abed  and  digest  our  dreams ;  to 
re-combine  the  wandering  images  which  night  in  a  confused  mass  pre- 
sented ;  to  snatch  them  from  forgetfulness ;  to  shape  and  mould  them. 
Some  people  have  no  good  of  their  dreams.  Like  fast-feeders,  ^ey 
gulp  them  too  grossly  to  taste  them  curiously.  We  live  to  chew  the 
cud  of  a  '  far-gone  vision.' ' 

Such  is  the  humorous  example  of  the  real  contradiction  of  his  tastes. 
So  were  his  true  feelings  opposed  to  the  vulgar.  So  would  he  run 
counter  to  self-complacent  philosophers,  who  felt  impregnable  in  the 
safety  of  their  strongholds.  There  is,  indeed,  an  unusing  element  of 
selfishness  in  the  application  of  west  of  their  wise  saws;  a  want  of. 
natural  love  beneath  a  face  of  supernatural  wisdom.  Let  us  go  on 
with  this  antagonism ;  follow  it  through  all  the  titles  of  Elia's  essays, 
which  do  not  prevail  with  matter-of-mct  men ;  which  rather  repulse 
them  on  the  thrashold,  and  do  not  afterward  court  their  esteeOL  The 
praise  of  chimney-sweepers !  a  complaint  of  the  decay  of  beffgars  in 
the  metropolis!     What  inverted  ideas!     Arguments  turned  upside 


1850.]  T&e  Writings  of  Charlet  Lafnh.  503 

down !  Contrary  conclasionB  enough  to  make  a  cold  man  shut  iip  the 
reckerche  ^eesay-hke  Greek.  *  What,'  says  he,  *  on  AU-Foors-Day  V 
*  I  love  a  Jhol  /  —  as  naturally  as  if  I  were  of  kith  and  kin  to  him.  I 
venerate  an  honest  obliquity  of  understanding.  The  more  laughable 
blunders  a  man  shall  commit  in  your  company,  the  more  tests  h^  giveth 
yon  that  he  will  not  betray  or  overreach  you.  He  who  hath  not  a'  drachm 
of  folly  in  his  mixture,  hath  pounds  of  much  worse  matter  in  his  com- 
fKWtion.  Reader,  if  you  wrest  my  words  beyond  their  fair  construc- 
tion, it  is  you,  and  not  I,  that  are  the  April  fooV 

What  says  he  on  whist,  agreeing  precisely  with  the. opinions  of  Mrs. 
Battle  :  '  Cards  were  cards  !  She  would  not  have  her  noble  occupar 
tion,  to  which  she  wound  up  her  faculties,  considered  in  that  light  It 
was  her  business ;  she  unbent  her  mind  afterward  aver  a  hook*  He  de- 
precates '  grace  befove  meat'  in  a  manner  which  might  be 'considered 
'jpositively  shocking.'  On  this  point  we  must  say,  that  a  proper  scru- 
tmy  of  his  words  would  not  place  the  writer  of  this  at  swords'  points 
widi  him.  It  is  the  want  of  grace  which  he  is  aiming  at ;  it  is  the 
absence  of  thankfulness.  It  is  the  inappropriateness  which  halts  on  the 
very  verge  of  a  ragpne  appetite,  and  abolishes  a  religious  look  to  plunge 
profanely  into  the  midst  of  dishes.  He  would  have  the  general  inter- 
fusion of  a  religious  gratitude  not  so  distinctly  marked  by  the  professed 
occasion;  He  would  have  a  thank-offering  for  books,  for  friends,  for 
music,  for  delight  experienced  through  art.  These  nourish  the  more 
imperious  necessities  of  the  soul,  and  enliven  in  a  better  way.  And 
we  must  say,  though  we  adhere/  religiously  to  '  grace  before  meat,'  and 
would  return  a  glad  thanksgiving  for  thait  too,  that  the  inconsistency 
lies  with  most  m  the  company  who  sit  down  to  the  table,  not  wid^ 
Charles  Lamb ;  for  religion  should  be  like  the  general  light  of  heaven, 
which  is  not  so  much  known  by  its  proper  name  or  quality.  Varie- 
gated scenery,  green  trees  and  erasses,  show  it  forth  rather  in  its  effects. 
The  rose  makes  no  allusion  to  it,  yet  we  know  what  imparted  to  it  the 
ineffable  lustre  of  its  cheek ;  and  the  most  gorgeous  ^lant  on  the  globe 
cannot  proclaim  it,  for  the  same  principle  has  distinguished  the  simplest 
flower  of  the  vale. 

With  respect  to  the  manner,  as  well  as  matter  of  Elia's  essays,  we 
must  also  view  it  in  the  light  of  opposition.  His  biographer  has  said, 
that  never  were  works  written  in  a  higher  defiance  to  the  conventional 
pomp  of  style.  They  are,  indeed,  symbols  of  the  contrariety  of  the 
man.  The  one  who  approached  nearest  to  him,  with  whom  he  always 
lived  on  terms  of  affection,  he  has  made  mention  of  under  the  name  of 
Bridget  And  this  person  never  doubted  him  except  on  one  occasion, 
when  he  spoke  in  a  kinder  tone  than  usual.  Regarding  his  character 
throughout,  we  are  prepared  to  assert  that  there  is  a  vein  of  affection 
running  through  him,  tne  dearest,  the  tenderest  which  ever  coursed, 
like  pure  gold,  beneath  the  surface  of  humanity ;  in  the  light  of  which 
his  inconsistencies  appear  constant,  his  difference  is  agreement,  his  re- 
pugnance the  largest  sympathy  which  the  human  heart  is  capable  of, 
nia  non-accordance  is  love : 

'Oh,  be  was  good,  If  e'er  a  good  man  lired  V 

VOL.  zzxv.  83 


504  The  Writings  of  Charlei  Lamb.  [June, 

The  truth  is,  he  wanted  sympathy  for  others,  only  as  they  were  des- 
titute of  the  kindly  feelings  which  actuated  his  own  heart.    He  required 
not  only  that  they  should  be  men,  but  human;  and  to  the  largest  qua- 
lity he  clung  most    What  wonder  that'  he  excluded  the  mass  from  his 
peculiar  interviews !  — for  how  many  breathe,  at  best,  but  a  vegetable 
life,  and  how 'many  regard  the  mere  aninml  vnth  its  lusts,  and  of  the 
rest  how  few  rise  above  a  species  of  indifierentiBm.    He  followed  a 
representative  system.    If  he  elected  few,  they  represented  M ;  for 
they  possessed  the  most  of  humane  quality,  v  He  then  discarded  what 
was  adventitious,  and  loved  them  not  in  spite  of  &ults,  but  (pardonable 
fi-ailty  I)  the  very  feults  themselves.    Upon  this  broad  principle  he  in- 
cludes every  species  of  skeptic  and  philosopher.    He  has  a  deal  of 
that  angel's  charity  which  flew  to  heaven's  chancery  with  an  oath.    A 
lover,  like  himself,  is  a  contradiction.    He  is  exclusive,  even  to  a  sos- 
picion  of  contempt  for  all  mankind.    But  does  he  hate  any  tMng  for 
the  time  being  which  is  good  ?    He  must  love  human  perfection,  for 
he  thinks  that  he  sees  in  one  the  embodiment  of  all  its  cnarms,  and  he 
looks  at  all  things  in  a  shining  light.    His  dislike  is  a  mere  negative; 
bis  repugnance  is  only  for  the  bad.     This  apparent  narrowness  made 
the  very  religion  of  Lamb  appear  to  others  like  the  want  of  it,  and  the 
finite  seemed  to  be  regarded  above  the  infinite.    But  if  he  clung  where 
his  affections  first  took  root,  with  a  parasitic  fondness ;  if,  by  a  pecu- 
liarity of  his  nature,  he  shrunk  from  the  idea  of  the  infinite,  as  one 
prefers  his  own  snug  chamber  to  the  outside  wintry  moor,  it  may  be 
referred  to  the  principle  already  stated.    It  was  the  fault  of  his  fond- 
ness, not  his  fondness  for  a  fault    Was  it  the  want  of  a  living  faith 
which  caused  him  to  look  as  he  did  upon  death  ]    He  did  not  &ar 
death  :  he  loved  his  friends.    But  admit  that  he  did.     The  best  may 
entertain  such  dread,  albeit  they  would  express  it  otherwise.     The 
great  and  good  Johnson  would  not  have  the  theme  named.    We  know 
3iat  his  capacious  mind,  in  regard  to  external  habits,  was  restricted  to 
a  narrow  compass.    He  loved  the  streets  of  the  city  better  than  the 
high  hills.    We  know  with  what  avirfiilness  he  aw^ted  his  latter  end ; 
how  he  kept  shrinkinff  back,  as  if  he  held  the  samphire-gatherer's 
place  on  the  cliff.     Thinking  instantly  to  be  gone,  he  would  say  with 
wondrous  expectancy  that  he  was  here  stilL    At  last  he  exclaimed,  in 
the  pomp  of  Latin,  *  Jam  moriturus  sum,*    It  was  with  a  like  feeling 
that  the  dying  Hoffinan  spoke  of  '  this  sweet  habitude  of  being.'    Well 
has  the  poet  Virgil  called  it,  in  the  iEneid,  <  Dtdcis  Vita*    Pc^etically 
has  Horace  alluded  to  it  in  his  '  Ode  to  Postumus.'    <  Pleasing,  anxious 
bebg  !*  as  Gray  calls  it    Oh  !  die  cup  of  life,  with  all  its  bitter,  bittea: 
ingredients,  to  him  who  has  looked  on  a  few  revolutions  of  the  glori- 
ous sun,  is  beyond  all  price ;  and  though  it  be  stirred  up  sometime 
from  its  deepest  dregs,  when  we  come  to  part  with  it  it  has  a  flashing 
surface  and  is  crowned  with  flowers  at  the  orim.    For  this  the  starve- 
ling, the  poor  coward,  who  has  responded  never  to  one  joyful  throb 
(like  him  who  fell  a  victim  to  Rob  Roy  McGregor's  wife),  implores, 
though  it  must  be  passed  in  the  lowest  dungeons  of  the  hills,     ^ut  for 
the  gentle,  the  intellectual,  the  heart  of  hearts,  mortal  life  subserves 
already  for  a  sweet  communion  of  souls !    There  is,  indeed,  a  worldli- 


tS50.]  The  Writings  of  Charles  Lamh.  605 

ness  which  is  the  death  of  the  souL  It  turns  away  itg  face  from  heaven. 
Rooted  in  the  earth,  it  strikes  in  again  with  its  returning  branches. 

Elia  loved  the  world,  but  not  with  a  worldly  love.  If  he  seemed  to 
make  the  less  triumph,  it  was  not  in  &ct  to  substitute  the  carnal  for  the 
spiritual,  it  was  the  spiritualization  of  the  carnal.  We  must  love  these 
clay  temples.  Like  the  ivy,  we  rise  above  them  by  clinging  to  them. 
The  objects  of  a  just  afiection,  though  they  abide  on  esuth,  are  high 
and  towering ;  they  are  not  collateral,  or  in  a  wrong  direction,  but 
rather  in  the  path-way  to  heaven.  There  are  always  tendrils  above 
the  other  verdure,  without  a  hold  on  earth,  which  cannot  choose  but 
clasp  higher.  Elia's  affection  for  the  old  is  resolved  into  the  one  pecu- 
lianty  of  his  nature,  which  made  the  past  near  and  dear  to  him.  He 
could  say  with  Horace, '  Non  sum  ex  its  qui  miror  antiquos;*  that  is,  in 
any  vain  sense,  merely  because  they  were  ancient,  tot  some  charm 
which  he  understood  not  (as  many  a  wise-faced  virtuoso  will  cram  his 
house  with  his  grandmother's  arm-chairs,  though  they  had  Ion?  been 
with  his  grandmother's  picture,  in  the  lumber  of  the  garret),  but  he 
admired  them  for  humanity's  sake,  with  a  distinct  love.  He  could  not 
bear  that  any  thing  which  had  beetit  of  a  good  heart,  should  be  forgot- 
ten, or  coldly  remembered,  or  put  aside,  for  other.  Who  shared  with 
him  in  these  times  of  renovation,  when  the  old  serpent  of  sin  is  perpe- 
tually coming  out  with  a  sleek  skin,  but  with  his  old  nature  ?  Who  of 
this  generation  possessed  a  tithe  of  his  true  veneration  ?  '  He  passed 
by  the  walk  of  Balclutha,  and  they  were  desolate.'  If  any  one,  in 
this  day  of  abstinence  and  negative  works,  has  never  yet  perused  his 
'Old  Benchers  of  the  Inner  Temple,'  there  is  g^tification  m  store  for  . 
him,  allowing  him  to  possess  the  right  spirit.  Having  first  quoted 
Spenser,  where  he  speaks  of  the  spot  in  which  the  Templar  Knights 
were  wont  to  tarry, 

^1111  ttiey  decayed  Oiroogh  pride  ;^ 

he  reviews  the  present  aspect  of  the  place  —  not  without  tears,  with  a 
flwifb  glance  at  the  changmg  metropolis.  '  Where  is  the  simple  altar- 
like structure  and  silent  heart-language  of  the  old  dial !  It  stood  as 
the  garden-god  of  Christian  gardens.  If  its  business  be  superseded 
by  more  elaborate  inventions,  its  moral  uses,  its  beauty,  might  have 
pleaded  for  its  continuance.  It  spoke  of  moderate  labors,  of  pleasures 
not  protracted  after  sun-set,  of  temperance  and  good  hours.  It  was 
die  primitive  clock,  the  horologe  of  the  first  world.  It  was  the  measure 
appropriate  for  sweet  plants  and  flowers  to  spring  by,  for  birds  to  ap- 

g)rtion  their  silver  warblings  by,  fi)r  flocks  to  pasture,  and  be  led  to 
Id  by.  The  shepherd  '  carved  it  out  quaintly  m  the  sun,'  and  turning 
philosopher  by  the  very  occupation,  provided  it  with  mottoes  more 
touching  than  tomb-stones.  Tne  artificial  fountains  of  the  metropolis 
^are  in  like  manner  fast  vanishing.  Most  of  them  are  dried  up  or 
bricked  over.  The  fashion,  they  tell  me,  is  gone  by,  and  these  tmngs 
are  esteemed  childish.  Why  not  then  grat^y  children  by  letting  than 
stand  ?  Lawyers,  I  suppose,  were  children  once.  They  are  awaken* 
ing  images  to  them,  at  least.  Why  must  everythine  smack  of  man  and 
mannish?     Is  the  world  all  grown  up?    Is  childhood  dead?    Or  ia 


506  The  Writings  of  Charles  Lami.  [June^ 

there  oot  in  the  bosom  of  the  wisest  and  best  some  of  the  child's  heart 
left,  to  respond  to  its  earliest  enchantments  V  We  cannot  quote  these 
humane  sentiments  and  not  pause  to  admire  tliem.  We  envy  not  the 
man's  heart  who  can  resist  such  unpretending  eloquence.  Indeed, 
what  boots  the  philosopher's  great  stores',  if  he  nas  unlearned  the  sim- 
plicity  which  he  had  when  a  child  ?  His  progress  is  inverse ;  his  leam- 
mg  can  but  end  in  ignorance.  If  it  is  to  demean  or  narrow  one's  self 
to  come  down  to  things  childish,  then  the  course  and  spirit  of  true  learn- 
ing is  arrested,  which  is  to  grow  young  by  growing  old.  The  old  £ng- 
lidb  writers  whom  Elia  affected,  whether  in  prose  or  poem,  had  this 
undisguised  simplicity  and  freshness,  and  this  formed  the  reason  of  his 
attachment,  which  was"  rather  just  iban  fanciiiil.  Centuries  resemble 
individuals  in  their  progressive  character.  There  is  an  age  of  child- 
hood when  language  is  heartfelt,  and  a  later  period,  of  armilness  and 
deceit ;  and  a  case  may  exist  where  one  must  go  back  for  sympathy 
beyond  the  age  in  which  he  lives.  Charles  Lamb's  feelings  are,  more- 
over, throughout  with  that  party  which  needs  succor,  and  which  is  most 
liable  to  be  forgotten.  As  he  was  interested  with  the  poor  child  look- 
ing wistfully,  its  cheek  pressed  against  the  cold  pane,  into  the  pastry- 
shop,  rather  than  vnth  the  sumptuously-fed,  and  the  scholar  who  longed 
for  the  rare  volumes  in  the  book-stall,  which  he  was  unable  to  procure, 
rather  than  with  the  great  literary  Hon ;  so  he  turned  ftx)m  the  present 
age,  which  was  valiant  to  trumpet  its  own  praise,  to  the  merit  of  old 
days  which  was  in  dangetr  of  perishing ;  and  even  there  his  associa- 
tions were  not  always  with  the  greatest,  but  with  the  tenderest ;  not 
with  the  bold  excellence  which  was  most  discernible,  but  with  the  elu- 
sive beauty  which  is  almost  doomed  to  die  unseen.  From  the  grand, 
bold  chant  of  Milton,  he  would  descend  to  pick  out  some  quaint  charm 
in  Cowley;  and, from  the  ample  enclosures  of  Shakspeare,  hasten  to 
the  unknown  garden  of  the  modest  The  viri  fortes  ante  Agamemnona 
pleased  him,  as  already  hinted  at,  because  he  was  obliged  to  draw  no 
distinction  between  the  writer  and  the  man.  Though  he  admired  the 
beautiful,  it  was  the  poet  that  he  knew  rather  than  the  poem^  Spenser 
rather  than  the  Faery  Queen.  The  symbols  might  be  exquisite  in 
themselves,  but  they  were  only  the  tokens  of  a  genuine,  sincere  beait; 
There  is  a  difference  in  this  day,  when  writing  has  become  a  venal  art; 
when  the  artificial  is  made  to  bear  so  exact  resemblance  to  the  real. 
Books  are  as  great  hypocrites  as  men.  The  architect  of  periods  learns 
to  adapt  his  pieces  nicely ;  but  it  is  by  no  means  certain  that  the  author 
of  the  polished  sentence  feels  rightly.  Nay,  his  artificial  adjustment  ia 
a  very  part  of  villany,  opposed  to  the  rough  magnanimity  of  the  elder 
schooL  It  aims  to  make  him  either  worse  or  better  than  he  is ;  to  make 
his  shame  a  glory,  or  his  glory  a  shame ;  and  if  of  these  twin  ambi- 
tions, which  inherits  the  palm  ?  Books  now-a-days  do  not  make  jnm 
acquainted  with  the  '  things  of  a  man,'  any  more  than  Johnsgn's  IDio-  ^ 
tionary  lets  you  into  his  real  benevolence  of  heart.  Lamb  reckoned 
btblia-orbiblia :  such  as  court  calendars,  directories,  pocket-book^ 
draught-boards,  bound  and  lettered  on  the  back,  scientific  treatises,  al- 
manacs, statutes  at  large :  he  might  have  made  the  list  longer.  Great 
as  Scott  was,  a  just  tUnker,  and  with  a  general  tendency  to  good,  his 


1850.]  The  Writings  of  Charles  Lamb.  507 

books  were  not  books  to  him,  because  they  must  have  lacked,  in  some 
measure,  this  perfect 'harmony.  He  wrote  the  history  of  Jeannie 
Deans,  and  it  moved  all  hearts  to  tears ;  yet  lifted  as  he  was  above  the 
allurements  of  flattery,  if  he  had  a  &ult  it  was  said  to  be  an  attach- 
ment to  the  circumstance  of  rank.  So  the  works  of  Byron  did  not 
affect  Lamb.  Between  him  and  them  there  was  a  wide  gulf  fixed. 
This  may  appear  strange,  for  the  poef  s  melancholy  characters  have 
been  considered  identical  with  himself.  This  invested  all  which  he 
wrote  with  a  marvellous  interest.  It  would  have  linked  him  with  Elia» 
if  the  pictures  presented  had  been  pleasant  as  well  as  true ;  if  they 
had  portrayed  him  somewhat  less  than  human,  instead  of  exaggerating 
his  mhumanity,  as  pitying  instead  of  striving  to  be  pitied.  As  it  was, 
these  over-true  revealments  produced  a  lack  of  sympathy.  But  how 
does  our  author  forget  himself  in  his  enthusiasm !  how  does  his  cheek 
glow  like  a  coal,  and  his  eye  kindle,  when  he  accosts  both  the  poet  and 
the  man  !  *  Come  back  into  memory,  like  as  thou  wert  in  'the  day- 
spring  of  thy  fancies,  with  hope,  like  a  fiery  column,  before  thee  —  the 
dark  pillar  not  yet  turned  —  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge!  Logician, 
Metaphysician,  Bard  !* 

We  believe  that  we  have  now  spoken  truly  of  Lamb,  not  desiring 
to  represent  him  without  faults,  for  then  he  would  not  have  been  human. 
His  affinities  were  for  a  genial  goodness ;  and  if  he  erred,  it  was  on 
the  side  of  forgiveness,  where  mortal  errors  appear  with  a  better  ^ace. 
Between  himself  and  his  writings,  if  there  be  an  antagonistic  attitude, 
there  is  the  most  perfect  reconciliation.  He  has  exposed  his  heart  and 
miveiled  his  motives,  and  pictured  in  all  its  various  phases  the  life  of 
his  affections,  wherein  consisted  his  little  world ;  and  that  with  such  a 
curious  minuteness,  that  we  are  almost  better  acquainted  with  him  than 
if  we  had  sat  at  his  table,  and  partaken  of  his  daily  bread.  His  essays 
are  his  autobiography ;  his  thoughts  are  his  history.  And  as  actions 
are  but  the  external  accomplishment  of  what  has  already  been  per- 
formed within,  it  is  questionable  whether  any  feehng  could  be  detected 
which  would  have  led  to  a  selfish  course,  or  whether  any  antipathy  has 
been  shadowed  forth,  which  was  not  almost  implied  in  the  title  of  a 
truly  benevolent  man.  Few  men  have  ever  brought  themselves  to  so 
honest  a  confessional.  With  those  who  shine  distinguished  on  the  roll 
of  British  essayists  he  has  little  or  nothing  in  common.  He  is  without 
the  great  pomp  of  the  Johnsonian  period.  He  is  not  didactic,  serious, 
laboring  to  impress  the  mind  \  he  plays  round  the  heart  and  indulges 
genius.  Sometimes  he  discharges  the  arrows  of  a  polished  wit,  at 
others  rises  to  an  eloquence  not  so  stately  as  that  which  thoughts  of 
lona  and  Marathon  inspired,  but  kindled  by  associations  of  a  dearer 
]pnd.  Addison  retains  his  place  as  a  model,  but  he  is  coldly  elegant, 
as  if  he  thought,  in  every  period,  of  being  the  founder  of  style ;  and 
as  if  he  wrote  merely  to  Dlustrate  the  graces  of  composition.  The  eye 
wanders  over  his  sentences,  and  sees  the  balance  admirable ;  the  ear 
listens,  and  finds  the  melody  perfect.  He  is  the  store-house  of  the 
rules  of  rhetoric  which  Elia  breaks,  yet  so  as  to  have  more  grace  in 
the  breach  than  in  the  observance.  As  we  pass  through  the  essay  of 
Addison,  we  are  reminded  by  its  nicety  of  the  drawing-room  of  the 


1 


508  An  Original  Family  Picture,  [June, 

old  school.  In  fact,  Addison  wrote  for  the  polite  courtier ;  but  the  only 
courtier  that  Charles  Lamb  ever  dedicated  a  thought  to  was  the  gentle, 
loyal  heart  of  a  man.  Here  he  stands  apart  in  a  deserved  triumph. 
Of  all  the  essa^rists,  it  may  be  said  of  him  that  he  was  entirely  origi- 
nal, and  origmauty  is  Genius. 

jr^,184S. 


AN       ORIGINAL       FAMILY       PICTURE. 

Mbdt  Herr  Pahtrk,  will  yon  now, 

Win  yon  neint  ub  right,  Sir  ? 
Me^e  gooonum,  and  my  frow, 

WlLHELMIlKA  SCHWBITZER. 

And  onr  eons,  Adolph  and  Joi, 
:  And  our  danghten,  whom  you  know, 

Peogt^  Lizzy,  Kn-nr, 
Bounomg  girls  and  pretty. 

Paint  the  church  exactly  in 

Middle  of  onr  village ; 
Paint  the  lasBes  as  they  spin, 

And  the  lads  at  till^^ ', 
Paint  this  house  of  onrs,  and  do  n't 
Fail  to  paint  upon  the  front : 
'  Reerected  newly 
1800,  July.' 

Sunday  inside  church  for  me. 

At  communion-table ; 
Workday  outside ;  Joi  shall  be 

Helping  in  the  stable : 
Paint  our  garden,  trees,  and  wall. 
And  our  £iughters,  paint  them  all, 
Kftty,  Peooy,  Lizzy, 
With  their  fingers  busy. 

As  I  loTe  gay  colors,  poo, 

like  a  decent  fellow 
Paint  my  face  a  yivid  blue, 
And  my  wife's  a  yellow ; 
Paint  our  daughters  red  and  ffray. 
And  for  both  our  boys,  that  wey 
Keed  n't  look  like  bumpkins, 
Paint  them  green  as  pumpkins. 

Make  the  sketch  look  neat  and  nice ; 

Spare  no  pams  or  colors ; 
SoHWErriER  won't  begrudge  your  price, 

Though  it  be  two  dollars : 
Mind  and  let  the  frame  be  strong. 
Six  feet  broad  and  ten  feet  long, 
Under  piece  and  upper : 
Now  come  in  to  snpper.  j.  ci^nanoB  iCAvaAv. 


1850.]  Stanzas:  The  Vkforgotten.  509 


THE       UNFORGOTTSN 


Oh  !  if  some  rilent  ftreum  might  flow, 

Whose  mystic  flood,  like  that  of  old, 
Miffht  bear  away  eaoh  pang  of  wo 

Unto  oblivion,  dark  and^d, 
Its  rolling  tide  with  ooontlen  tears 

fVom  burning  eyes  should  swoUen  be^ 
And  sins  of  long-revolving  years 

Should  stain  its  current  to  the  sea : 
Then  might  the  spirit  plume  its  wing 

Unfettered  by  eaoh  vain  regret, 
Nor  keen  remorse  should  plant  its  sting*; 

Twere  blessed  to  forget. 

T^  not  alone  do  grief  and  care 

Enwrap  us  in  their  gloomy  shroud ; 
The  heart  has  cherished  joys,  and  there 

Are  sunbeams  shining  tlu|>ugh  the  okmd : 
Oh,  who  would  oast  the  gem  away, 

because  perchance  its  native  dust 
Had  dimmed  awhile  the  sparkling  ray 

Earth  held  withm  her  trust! 
So  memories  sweet  upon  the  soul 

Linger  where  em  and  pain  are  met ; 
O'er  tkese  may  dark  oblivion  roll. 

Thou  would  we  not  forget 

Ah !  no.  we  would  not  crush  the  power 

Tliat  novers  fondly  o'er  the  past ; 
That  crowds  each  swiftly  passing  hour 

With  visions  all  too  &ir  to  last : 
We  breathe  again  our  native  air. 

We  tread  the  paths  in  childhood  trod, 
And  with  hushed  reverence  linger  where 

We  earliest  learned  to  worship  Gon : 
We  see,  oh,  dearest  sight  of  all  1 

The  pleasant  homestead  standing  yet, 
Nor  lone  is  each  deserted  hall ; 

And  shall  we  these  forget  T 


The  heart  were  but  a  dreary  waste, 

Where  nothing  lovely  might  abide, 
If  the  fiur  shapes  by  memory  traced 

No  more  in  airy  forms  should  glide : 
If  a  soft  echo,  low  and  sweet. 

Could  bring  no  more  the  parted  strain, 
Nor  the  light  tread  of  vanished  feet, 

Nor  music  to  hushed  lips  again ; 
Sweet  voices  from  the  reafans  of  peace. 

Kind  eyes  no  more  with  tear-drops  wet, 
Oladden  our  hearts ;  we  cannot  these, 

The  holy  dead  forget. 


510 


The  Bmkum  Flag'Siqf. 


[June, 


A  FAMILT  NEWSPAPER,  DESIGNED  FOB  GENERAL  CIBKELATION,  AND  SUITABLE 

TO  ALL  TASTES. 

9BTOTB9  TO  TK«  P»tVOxri.XS  OF  108:   Tn«    OOHBTXTX7TZOW   0»  TH«    ITATB  OF  irSW-TOKK:    TRB  VOOXTK 

or  JoiT ;  LiFa.  i.ib»rit,  i.itwu.txjr»,  ai>t»»tibki«iit«.  *.>»»  a  •takbajis  ooBSBaiox. 


JUNE    1,     IS60. 


WAGSTAFF,    Editor. 


CIRKELATE! 


13^  OuB  sick  brother  is  better. 
Relieved  of  the  brown  creaturs. 
Last  night  he  slept  good. 

A-BOBRowiNK  Money. —  There 's 
no  harm  into  it ;  none  at  all.  Other- 
wise those  who  are  so  favored  as 
to  have  estates,  fortunes,  indepen- 
dencies, to  be  'left  comfortaole,' 
and  such  things,  of  which  we  have 
a  profund  ignorance,  could  n't  have 
incomes ;  lor  incomes  are  pretty 
much  derived  from  lending.  There 
is  no  harm  in  borrowink.  We 
sometimes  do  it  ourselves.  We 
go  to  a  friend,  and  we  take  good 
care  never  to  go  to  any  one  who 
has  n't  ffot  a  nick-name ;  for  nick- 
names kind  of  inwolve  the  preex- 
istence  of  the  noilk  of  human  kind- 
ness in  the  bosom,  and  if  you  see 
a  man  named  William  who  has  got 
money  grown  up  to  man's  estate 
and  all  his  acquaintance  call  him 
Bill,  and  you  see  another  man  na- 
med Andrew  who  is  a  kind-hearted 
soul  and  they  cam't  find  any  ab- 
breviation or  nick-name  for  that 
except  you  name  him  And,  which 
is  no  nick-name  at  all  but  only  a 
conjunction,  and  so  in  p'int-blank 
despair  they  get  entirely  off  the 
track  and  call  nim  Dick,  then  you 


may  be  apperiently  certing  that 
these  men  may  be  approached. 
You  can  get  clear  to  em.  You 
can  look  into  their  eyes ;  you  can 
gwasp  their  hands;  and  you  can 
say  tcT  'em,  slapping  them  onto  the 
back  familiarly,  With  a  tolerable 
degree  of  certingty  of  success  in 
the  applecation,  'Bill  or  Dick,  I 
want  you  for  to  lend  me  five  dol- 
lars ;  I  '11  pay  it  back  to-morrow, 
upon  my* soul  I  will!'  And  he 
does  it,  and  he  never  sees  it  more. 
He  bids  farewell  to  that  five  dollars 
just  so  sure  as  a  finend  stands  onto 
the  wharf  when  a  ship  is  sailing 
with  a  consumptive  patient  for  Leg- 
horn, and  he  hugs  hun  and  he  says, 
*  My  dear  fellow,  GrOD  bless  you ! 
Write  me  soon.  The  climate  will 
heal  you.  Adieu!  adieu!'  And 
as  the  sails  are  spread  he  still  stands 
wavin'  a  white  handkercher,  laugh- 
ing and  showing  his  white  teeth, 
but  sayine  to  the  man  who  stands 
next  to  him,  'Poor  feUow!  he'll 
never  come  back !  They  11  have 
to  read  the  burial  service  at  sea ! 
They  've  got  the  lead-coffin  a-board 
to  fetch  him  back  into.  The  lot  is 
bought  in  Greenwood ;  the  stone- 
cutter 's  spoken  to ;  the  cenotaph 
is  written !'  Just  so  it  is  with 
THAT  FivE-DoLLAB  BiLL.    Gt)ne, 


1850.] 


3%6  Bunkum  Flag-i 


511 


gone,  gone, '  to  that  Bom  no  tra- 
veller returns !' 

We  say  we  borrow  money  some- 
times :  at  one  time  fifty  cents,  on  a 
pressen  emergency  five  dollars; 
then  again  a  few  cents,  just  to  make 
change ;  but  and  if  we  <^  borrow 
it,  we  chissel  it  into  our  souls  just 
as  a  stone-cutter  chisels  a  name  mto 
a  toom-stone ;  we  never  forget  it, 
if  we  have  to  remember  it  eighteen 
months.  We  'grapple  it  to  our 
soul,'  as  Shakspeare  says,  'with 
hoocks  of  brass;'  and  in  due  time, 
coming  up  to  our  friend  with  the 
smile  of  honesty  and  satisfaction 
on  our  countenance,  we  say  to  him, 
'Here  is  the  five  dollars  I  bor- 
rowed of  you.'  Our  friend,  taken 
by  surprise,  and  in  all  perrobabili^ 
not  perhaps  expecting  to.  get  it 
again,  sa3rs  with  an  air  of  forgetful- 
ness,  *Wh(U  five  dollars?  You 
don't  owe  7ne  any  five  dollars.' 
*  Oh,  yes,'  says  we,  *  we  do.  Do  n't 
you  recollect  we  borrowed  five 
dollars  of  you  as  we  were  going 
to  Mr.  Windust's  to  dine  with  a 
ferrend  whom  we  had  invited  to 
dine  with  us,  and  to  save  our  lives 
we  had  not  a  penny  to  buy  a  stake 
withal,  and  a  bottle  of  wine,  and 
we  said  Ho  you,  *  Lend  us  five  dol- 
lars, will  yer?'  And  you  said, 
« Certingly !  Will  that  do  1  won't 
you  have  more?'  And  we  said, 
'  No,  that  is  sufficient  ?' '  So,  after 
a  great  deal  of  jogging  and  rubbbg 
and  friction  of  the  palsied  recol- 
lection of  our  friend,  he  manages 
to  bring  back  to  his  mind  the  &ded 
image  of  that  departed  five  dol- 
lars, of  which  he  had  said  peroba- 
bly  not  ten  minutes  before^ '  I  lent 
him  five  doUars  a  year  ago.  I 
shall  never  see  it  again ;  of  course 
not.    I  give  that  up  for  lost' 

Thus  we  see,  when  human  na- 
tur'  comes  to  be  studied  out,  each 
man  do  take  an  account  of  what 


he  lend,  or  what  he  give ;  and  you 
ma}r  rest  assured  his  forgetting  it  is 
a  kind  of  subterfiige.  He  put  on 
a  pair  of  spurs  so  soon  as  he  lent 
it,  and  he  has  been  pricking  die 
sides  of  his  recollexion  from  that 
day  to  this;  and  if  you  don't  be 
honest  (as  you  ought  to  be)  and 
pay  him  back  (as  you  0  to  do),  he 
will  think  the  wus  of  you  for  it. 
But  he  ought  not  to  pretend  that 
he  is  indi&rent  about  the  money, 
taking  credit  for  such  nobility  of 
character,  when  he  is  either  so  poor 
or  so  mean  that  he  keeps  thinjung 
of  it  all  the  time.  Oh,  the  deep 
springs  of  human  natur'  and  of 
human  action ;  when  you  come  to 
fish  into  'em,  how  rare  you  get  a 
bite  of  any  considerabul  size ! 

But  as  we  said  of  borrowink 
money,  there  is  no  harm  into  it,  if 
you  mean  to  pay  it  back,  and  if  you 
see  the  ability  before  you  by  which 
you  can  pay  it  back  undoubtedly. 
But  if  the  future  is  all  fog  without 
star  or  compass,  and  you  merely 
borrow  with  no  fixed  determina- 
tion of  cheadn',  but  if  you  dono 
as  to  how  you  are  goen'  to  pay  it 
back ;  this  is  entirely  wrong,  and 
unprinciple.  We  are  perpetually 
receiving  notes  like  the  following : 

<  Mt  Dbar  Was  btavf  :  Lend  ida  five  sbilUngB. 
I  want  to  be  flbampooed  and  get  my  hair  curled- 
and  to  aave  my  life  have  not  got  the  Btalu  gno.  I 
am  Borry  to  perplex  you  about  pecunlaiy  matten, 
extremely  much  bo  ;  but  when  my  acooonta  are 
made  up,  I  will  make  it  all  right.    Youn, 

This  individooal,  we  loaned  him 
the  five  shiUins,  and  a  year  elapsed 
tin  one  day  wanting  the  money  we 
sent  round  for  it  He  said  he  would 
call  and  pay  it  He  did  call,  and 
caught  us  just  as  we  were  going  to 
take  our  dmner  at  an  eating-house, 
and  so  we  asked  him  to  go  with  us. 
The  dinner  cost  us  five  shillings, 
after  which  he  borrowed  of  us  one 
dollar  in  total  forgetfiilness  of  the 


512 


The  Bunkum  Flag-Staff. 


[June, 


debt  which  we  pulled  out  and  gave 
him.  We  would  not  have  done 
so,  but  we  were  so  thunderstruck 
with  amazement  at  his  audacity 
that  we  did  so  before  we  had  time 
to  think  what  we  done.  Thus  by 
the  mere  axing,  we  were  eighteen 
shillins  out  of  pocket;  an  entire, 
personal  sum-total  loss,  and  that 's 
the  last  time  we  will  ever  ask  our 
dues,  siDce  it  is  a  losing  concern, 
but  in  our  business  arrangements, 
we  will  make  allowance  hx  so 
much  (say  one  hundred  a-year  for 
bad  dets,)  and  we  will  buy  one 
hundred  dollars  less  of  tea,  coffee, 
lights,  fuel,  (we  don't  drink  any 
Hcker,)  than  we  otherwise  would-a- 
done,  so  that  we  may  be  honest 
with  our  creditors;  but  toe  the 
mark  we  will,  and  its  worth  toing. 


A-BORRowiNK  Books. — This  we 
may  say  is  younger  brother  to  bor- 
rowink  the  wherewithal.  To  be^ 
candid  when  v)e  borrow  books,  we 
never  return  them,  which  has  led 
us  to  an  invincible  resolution  to 
borrow  them  no  more.  The  fact 
is  this.  We  see  on  our  friend's  ta- 
ble a  very  handsome,  hot-pressed 
work  with  picturs  to  match,  (either 
Melville's  fixings  or  Carlyle's  last 
track,)  so  taking  that  they  almost 
seem  to  say :  <  Do  read  us.  You 
will  be  very  much  entertained ;  in- 
deed, you  will.'  So  before  we 
know  it,  we  say :  *  I  wish  you 
would  lend  me  this;  I'd  like  to 
read  it'  To  which  he :  *  Certain- 
ly; it's  very  good  indeed.'  We 
take  it,  (as  it  is  so  taking,)  but  not 
finding  time,  for  time  is  scarce,  to 
inwestigate  it  right  away,  lay  it 
down,  when  somebody  comes  in 
without  leave  or  license  and  takes 
it  up.  He  reads  a  page,  and  then 
unconsciously  |)uts  it  under  his 
arm  and  carries  it  off;  when,  in  less 


than  one  month,  the  book  being  re- 
moved from  our  sight,  we  forget 
that  we  ever  had  or  ever  borrowed 
it.  At  other  times,  when  our  cham- 
ber is  cleared  up,  the  stray  vol- 
lums  are  tucked  away  in  closets  (ht 
in  trunks;  and  the  affiurs  of  the 
world  are  so  extremely  various, 
and  more  important  matters  eo 
pressing,  that  ten  to  one  that  we 
ever  think  of  those  borrowed  books 
again.  In  the  meantime  our  friend 
says :  '  Who  did  I  lend  my  Sartor 
Resartus  to  ?  For  the  life  of  me 
Icam'tthink;  but  gone  it  is.'  His 
wife  returns  answer,  looking  up : 
*•  My  dear,  you  ought  not  to  lend 
your  books.' 

A-BORROwiNK  CLOAKS,  hats,  and 
umberellas  is  second  cousin  to  the 
above.  Never  do  we  remember 
that  our  hat,  when  shocking  bad, 
was  exchanged  for  a  bran-new 
Beebe,  or  Moleskin.  Contrariwise, 
accident  has  often  crowned  us  widi 
an  old  bunged-up  a&ir,  when  by 
the  expenditure  of  five  dollars  we 
thought  we  had  secured  a  glossy 
and  handsome  covering  for  the  next 
six  months.  Our  experience  in 
this  way  has  been  not  only  great 
but  distressing.  Let  us  learn  wis- 
dom by  experiens.  Rap  your  hat, 
cloak,  umbrella,  and  Ingen  rub- 
bers, in  one  large  bundle,  and  give 
a  man  a  dollar  to  stand  over  uem 
vrith  a  fixed  bagnet 


Remarkable  Suckumstans.— 
The  following  occurred  very  late- 
ly on  the  Hemptstead  plains.  A 
party,  C9nsisting  of  I,  and  Martin 
Van  Buren,  Ex-President,  and 
John  and  some  others,  were  travel- 
ling on  a  very  foggy  night.  We 
suppose  you  could  not  see  your 
identical  nose  on  your  &ce.  We 
presently  got  off  the  road  onto  a 


1850.] 


The  Bunkum  Plag-Staff. 


513 


race-course,  by  the  Jubge's  Stand. 
Here  we  aak^  a  man,  and  he  said : 
'  Keep  your  eyes  on  yender  light, 
and  you  wiU  come  ought  straight' 
We  followed  the  light  and  went 
straight  on  feUowin'  the  road, 
until,  in  due  course  of  time,  we 
ccmie  out  by  what  appeared  to  be 
the  Judge's  Stand;  but  this  time 
we  take  no  notice  of  it,  only  kept 
on  feUowin'  the  road.  The  course 
being  round,  and  yet  the  road  ap^ 
pearin'  pretty  near  straight,  we 
kept  on,  until  the  second  time, 
coming  round  to  the  Judge's  Stand, 
one  of  the  party  says :  <  Appears 
to  me,  we  have  seen  that  objelc  be- 
fore.' I  said:  '  No,  I  guess  you're 
mistaken :'  so  we  kept  straight  on 
again,  for  the  Hght  ap{5eared  as  far 
off  as  ever.  A  third  time,  in  the 
space  of  say  pretty  near  half  an 
hour,  we  come  round  to  that  stand 
agjdn,  and  then  we  *  all  exclaim, 
sotto,  and  also  viva  vochey :  *  We 

ABE  ONTO  A  RACE-CoumE !' 


LnriNo  WTTH  a  Margin. — Mar- 
gins are  very  beautiful  when  they 
serve  to  set  off  that  which  is  fair. 
What  can  look  better  than  a  wide 
margin  on  a  book,  or  a  marge  of 
pebbles  by  a  brook,  or  of  sand  on 
the  sea-shore,  or  of  meadow  by  a 
dey  runnin'  stream!  Now  we 
will  tell  you  what  we  mean  by  living 
with  a  margin.  Some  people,  by 
being  supremely  selfish,  use  up  on 
themselves  all  they  have  got  to 
spend,  and  more  too.  They  go  to 
the  outward  edge  of  the  paper  with 
their  own  wants,  necessities  and 
extravagancies,  leaving  no  room  to 
make  a  single  note  of  what  may  be 
wanted  by  others.  Consequently, 
when  you  call  on  them  for  charity, 
they  turn  a  cold  shoulder,  (cold  as 
a  dead  mutton's,)  and  tell  you  they 


have  had  five  hundred  such  peti- 
tions, and  there  is  no  remedy  but 
to  reject  them  all.  They  cam't 
satisfy  all,  and  therefore  ihey  won't 
look  at  any ;  just  as  an  ass  refuses 
to  bear  a  sticx  of  timber,  because 
he  may  be  called  on  to  carry  the 
whole  wood.  But  we  teU  you,  if 
he  was  our  ass,  and  would  n't  budge 
on  an  argument  like  this,  we  would 
thrash  him  until  his  tail  wagged  at 
the  rate  of  fifiy  knots  an  hour. 
Here's  where  they  miss  it.  If 
they  allow  themselves  five  hundred 
things  which  they  do  not  really 
want,  then  to  make  the  balance 
even  they  ought  to  allow  a  margin 
for  five  hundred  petitionB  from 
their  fellow  men.  We  hate  to  see 
a  man  who  looks  at  a  beggar  and 
examines  the  tissue  of  every  indi- 
vidual rag  he  has  on,  before  ever 
he  11  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  to 
shell  out  a  single  cent.  Those  who 
speculate  so  long  on  what  and  to 
whom  it  is  proper  to  give,  never 
give  any  thing  worth  having,  and 
never  establi^  the  hahit  of  dbarity 
in  their  own  souls.  Th^  hahit  if 
charity  once  firmly,  established  in 
any  am  individooal  soul,  does  more 
good  than  fifty  alms  spent  on  the 
unworthy  does  harm.  Don't  be 
so  feered  of  propagating  beggars. 
It's  a  subterfuge.  Do  you  en- 
deavor to  do  good.  Knock  off 
your  coaches  and  your  carriages, 
one  or  two  courses  from  your  meals, 
and  perhaps  your  desert,  in  order 
to  give  something  to  the  poor,  and 
do  n't  be  as  cold  and  impassible  as 
a  mill-stone.  If  he  comes  to  your 
house  give  him  a  glass  of  your  best 
wine,  and  on  parting,  say  Goo  be 
WTTH  YOU.  That 's  the  way  to  do 
things  right ;  and  when  you  go  to 
bed  a'ter  doin'  of  it,  you  '11  feel 
good,  and  you'll  sleep  sweet  as 
honey,  and  your  heart  will  be  as 
light  as  the  moon. 


514 


The  Bunium  Flag-Staff. 


[June, 


A  FEW  MORE  ABOUT  MaBGINS. 

Allow  yourself  a  little  time  as  well 
as  meaiu  ibr  other  folk's  benefit 
Do  n't  work  all  day  in  your  own 
office,  to  make  money  for  your  own 
purse,  and  then  take  your  own  six- 
pence and  get  into  your  own  om- 
nibus, and  wash  your  hands  with 
your  own  soap,  and  eat  your  own 
dinner,  and  go  to  sleep  in  your  own 
bed  merely,  and  do  the  same  every 
day.  Take  care  of  your  own  fami- 
ly, and  reserve  a  margin  of  time  to 
Bee  the  rest  of  your  feller  men. 
Cirkelate!  cirkelatel  like  the  Fla^- 
Staff.  It  will  do  you  good.  It  will 
do  others  ffood.«  Sociability  is  a 
charm.  We  know  virtuous  fami- 
lies where  thev  sit  in  the  evening, 
the  father  and  mother  and  rest  of 
the  children,  until  bed  time,  (and 
never  a  word  spoken,)  as  dead  as 
a  door  nail.  The  reason  is  they 
want  wariety ;  something  to  exila- 
rate  the  mind.  You  put  a  horse  on 
one  routine,  we  will  say  a  canal 
track,  where  he  strains  the  same 
set  of  muscles  all  the  time,  and  the 
consequence  is,  those  same  muscles 
can't  stand  it..  Just  so  it  is  with 
men.  Do  n't  draw  a  circle  round 
you,  and  that  a  very  narrow  one, 
but  do  try  and  go  abroad,  and  take 
your  &milies  with  you.  Make 
them  travel  up  hill  to  look  off  onto 
the  surrounding  country,  and  do  nt 
keep  them  all  the  time  on  a  dead 
level.  Bime-by  there 's  no  wivacity 
or  animation  into  'em.  We  never 
see  any  thing  so  stale  and  flat  as 
most  of  our  country  villages,  owing 
to  wrong  modes  of  thinking ; 
whereas,  if  they  would  take  the 
margin  of  time  which  belongs  to 
them,  (for  the  hardest  working 
honest  man  has  got  a  margin  of 
time,)  and  circelate,  and  associate, 
and  lauffh  and  talk,  and  hear  lec- 
tur's  and  good  music,  and  pay  for 
it  not  grudgingly,  and  dance  and 


sing  like  so  many  grasshoppers  sip- 
ping the  dew  on  a  June  morning, 
they  would  waken  up  their  sleepy 
and  neglected  brains  to  a  soci^ 
sympathy  and  delight  of  which  they 
are  at  present  incapable.  A  stag- 
nant pool  lets  the  sticks  and  green- 
ness and  filth  accumulate  and  smell 
bad ;  but  a  running  stream,  though 
it  may  bear  them  on  its  surface, 
carries  them  off,  and  becomes  again 
pure,  reflecting  every  flower  which 
grows  on  the  brink,  and  every  hue 
of  brightness  in  the  heavens ! 


A  Protest. — We  are  going  to 
make  a  protesL  In  this  ked'ntry 
attention  to  the  gentler  sex  amounts 
to  a  perfect  shivalry.  But  we  must 
say  they  take  advantage  of  it,  and 
don't  show  the  same  delicacy  as 
the  men  in  innumerable  instances. 
You  go  to  church  a  half  an  hour 
before  time,  and  swallow  your  cup 
of  tea  with  all  your  might  and 
main,  to  hear  Dr.  Hawks,  although 
you  ought  to  go  to  pray !  Well, 
you  are  established  firm  at  the 
head  of  your  own  pew,  and  begin 
to  turn  over^he  prayer-books,  and 
to  read  the  led-pencil  conversation 
which  have  been  carried  on  at  sun- 
dry times  oo  the  blank  leaves, 
poor  passay  le  Umg,  as  the  French 
say.  Bime-by  the  church  fills  up 
and  is  very  crowded.  But  ju^t  at 
this  time  the  Misses  Badgerly  are 
leisurely  putting  on  their  shawls  at 
their  own  house,  and  mean  to  pick 
the  pocket  of  your  ear  of  that  ser- 
mon. They  arrive  at  the  door,  but 
there  is  a  great  crowd,  and  the 
whole  body  of  the  church  presents 
one  mass  of  heads.  They  look  at 
each  other  in  despair,  when  Miss 
Amarintha  says  :  '  Follow  me.' 
With  that  they  throw  up  their  heads 
to  the  chandelier  an^  walk  boldly 
through  the  middle  aisle  to  the 


of  the 


i^^ 

.ev 


coo^ 


^^^ 


*»4. 


'?^^fi». 


^ 


«'^..^% 


r^^"^' 


^•»»j 


516 


The  Bmkum  Flag-Staff. 


[June, 


To  TBI  Emtoe  or  the  Bvimni  FLAO-SrArr : 

Dear  Sir  :  We  have  long  hailed 
your  valuable  paper  with  delight ; 
It  supplies  a  desideratd  which  has 
long  been  needed  in  the  newspaper 
issoo  of  our  age  and  country.  It 
is  a  vehicle  on  which  are  exhibited 
the  sister  arts  of  poetry  and  adver- 
tising, also  morals.  My  dear  Sir, 
we  reverence  and  love  you!  (We 
are  glcid  to  hear  him  say  that.) 

With  the  following  poem, 

Warmly  yours, 

JfiptacK  Zaoock  Eu»8. 

C  BE  AT  ZO  V. 

BsHOLD  \eanCt  r$ad  his  wnttV.] 

Tlie  Bun  is  sitting  la  the  west, 

(A  most  sublime  aspect  to  conoeive !) 

Tbe  moon  arisiiig  in  the  east, 

WhUe  yonder  oomes  &  shining  star, 

Sweetly  bursthig  ftom  afar. 

Oh,  bow  tebmbiuus  is  tbe  UmivkkskI 

On  which  we  lire,  and  which  we  breathe: 

The  heighth,  the  breadth,  the  length,  the  depth, 

What  mind  of  oum  can  conceive! 

First  in  order  next  to  the  son 

Rapid  Mbrcukt  tils  course  doth  run; 

Then  Vknus  right  onward  her  bark  doth  steer, 

And  afar  the  Earth  has  passed  along; 

Behind  is  JurrrcR,  wliose  light  is  very  strong. 

But  we  must  not  feel  proud  on  account  of  these, 

Unless  we  wish  our  Uakkr  to  displease ; 

For  if  all  the  planets  which  are  noed, 

That  roam  between  Nxptunb  and  the  sun, 

At  once  extinguished  and  annihilated. 

It  would  not  leave  a  blank  In  creation ; 

For  if  the  mind  should  go  tiU  it  was  Jaded 

In  any  direction  into  the  sky, 

T  would  find  that  suns  and  stars  was  not  fluled, 

But  still  shining  before  his  eye. 

Sublime !  sublime !  But  we  find 
fault  with  the  above  poem.  The 
sentimens  is  good,  but  the  meter  is 
not  accurate,  according  to  our  idees 
of  the  poetaster.  Here  is  some- 
thing which  beats  '  Creation :' 

THB     VEILED     BEAC7TT. 

Wbt  spread  the  envious  ganxe  before 

The  loveliness  our  hearts  adore  ? 

Yet  such  the  course  of  Nature  too ; 

She  veils  the  BeautiAil  and  True : 

These  are  too  holv  to  be  seen 

Bv  mortal  souls  through  mortal  een. 

The  mountain's  top  is  crowned  with  hate, 

Tbe  sun  is  darkened  as  we  gaze : 

The  streams  flow  on,  concealed  in  mist, 

Music  is  broken  while  we  list : 

But  be  the  medium  dense  or  rare. 

We  know  that  Beauty  still  is  there; 

It  bursts  the  veU,  it  shines  through  all, 

Nor  can  be  covered  with  a  palL 


The  gtorloiB  WomaB  walks  alhr. 

And  distance  hides  h^  like  a  star ; 

But  stars  wiU  twinkle  in  the  night, 

And  beautv  through  tbe  veil  looka  bilgkt; 

For  if  the  fines  we  cannot  trace 

Upon  that  most  angelic  fhoe. 

Nor  see  her  liquid  eye,  and  those 

White  lilies  bfended  with  the  roee, 

Her  figure  prints  Uie  general  air, 

And  every  heart  responds  ^  How  Air  T 

But,  BfARiAKiiA!  when  the  veil 

Is  cast  aside,  aU  hail  I  all  hail  I 

Flor  lo!  a  virgin  mre  and  good, 

Just  bursting  into  womanhood  I 


We  have  received  a  great  many 
poems  and  versetets,  but  they  are 
too  flat  and  insipid  fbr  the  Bunkum 
Flag-Staff,  and  most  of  them 
have  taken. ibr  their  modeb  Poppy 
Young's  *  Ode  to  Napoleon,'  Pop 
Emmons' '  Fredoniad,'  or  wus  dian 
all,  Elbert  H.  Smith's  Indian  poem 
of  '  Makataimeshekiakiak,'  a  most 
dreadful  afiair.  We  won't  have 
'em,  and  we  won't  send  *em  back 
either.  We  mean  to  bum 'em,  and 
burning  is  too  good  fbr  'em. 


9t099ectus. 

The  Bunkum  Flao-Staff  is 
published  every  now  and  then  at 
jBunkum,  and  also  at  the  office  of 
the  Knickerbocker  in  New- York. 
It  win  take  a  firm  stand  on  the  side 
of  virtue  and  morality.  It  has  re- 
ceived the  most  marked  enco- 
miums from  the  press  and  from  in- 
dividooals.  Our  brother  has  also 
written  to  us  in  most  flatterin'  terms 
of  piir  journal.  We  shall  endeavor 
to  merit  these  marks  of  favor,  and 
it  affords  us  the  most  adequate  sat- 
isfaction to  inform  our  readers  that 
Miss  Mary  Ann  Delightful,  the 
pleasant  writer,  who  is  all  smiles 
and  dimples,  is  engaged  —  not  to 
be  mamed,  reader,  though  that  is 
an  event  no  doubt  to  take  place  — 
but  is  engaged  to  furnish  a  series 
of  articles  fi>r  this  paper.  Other 
talent  will  be  snapped  up  as  it  oc- 


• 


1850.] 


The  Bmkkum  Flag- 


517 


curs.  All  kinds  of  job-work  exe- 
cated  with  neatness  and  despatbh. 
The  Fine  Arts  and  Literature  fully 
discussed.  There  will  be  a  series 
of  discriminating  articles  on  music, 
to  which  we  call  the  attention  of 
amatoors.  Principles  op 'Ninety- 
Eight,  and  all  the  great  measures 
of  the  day,  as  well  as  all  other  prin- 
ciples, fully  sustained;  vice  up- 
rooted by  die  heels,  and  cast  him 
like  a  noxious  weed  away.  For 
fiother  particulars  see  large  head : 

Twi  BintKUM  FLAO-8TArr 

It  KDITBD  BT  Mr.  WASflTAFT. 

It  gives  us  pleasure  to  state  that 
the  'Flag-Stafi'  meets  with  the 
warm  approbation  of  our  brother, 
from  whom  the  following  is  ap  ex- 
tract: 

*■  Dbar  Broth  kr  :  I  like  your  *  Fl9g-Staff '  Terjr 
mach  for  the  independent  oonne  it  puranee ;  and 
people  in  ttds  part  of  the  ked'ntnr  approre  it  rnry 
highly.  Uncle  Johm  1r  sick  with  the  rhemnatiz, 
trat  now  better.  Pleaae  set  me  down  ft>r  one  sob- 
tcriber.  Your  ailbctionate  brother, 

*PmR  WAoaXAFr.' 

Mr.  WboUey  apjproves  it : 

<  Ht  drar  FRiBxn :  I  like  your  paper  very  much. 

*JonN  WOOLSBY.* 

RECOlfMENDATIONS. 

*  It  is  a  good  paper.' 

Bunkum  Flag-Staff, 

<  It  beats  our  own  paper  all  hol- 
low ;  there  is  more  humor  into  it* 
Trumpet-Blast  of  Freedom. 

Horses  and  cabs  to  let  by  the 
editor.  Old  newspapers  for  sale  at 
this  offis.  Wanted,  an  Appren- 
tice. He  must  be  bound  far  ei^ht 
years,  fold  and  carry  papers,  nde 
post  once't  a-week  to  Babylon,  Pe- 
quog,  Jericho,  Old  Man's,  Mount 
Misery,  Hungry  Harbor,  Hetcha- 
bonnuck.  Coram,  Miller's  Place, 
Skunk's  Manor,  Fire  Island,  Mos- 
quito Cove  and  Montauk  Point,  on 
our  old  white  mare,  and  must  find 
and  blow  his  own  horn.  Run 
Away,  an  Indented  Apprentice, 
named  John  Johns,  scar  on  his 


head,  one  ear  gone,  and  no  debts 
paid  of  his  contracting.  California 
gold,  banks  at  par,  pistai'eens,  fip- 
penny  bits  and  Uniten'd  Stets'  cur- 
rency in  general,  received  in  sub- 
scription. Also,  store-pay,  com, 
pot^oes,  rye,  oats,  eggs,  beans, 
pork,  grits,  hav,  old  rope,  lambs'- 
wool,  shovels,  honey,  shorts,  dried 
cod,  catnip,  oil,  but'nut  bark,  paints, 
glass,  putty,  snake-root,  cord-wood, 
hemp,  live  geese  feathers,  saxa&x, 
dried  apples,  hops,  new  cider,  axe- 
handles,  mill-stones,  hemlock-gum, 
bacon  and  hams,  gingshang-root, 
vinegar,  punkins,  harness,  ellacom- 
paine,  hops,  ashes,  slippery-ellum 
bark,  clams,  nails,  varnish,  sheet- 
iron,  hogshecid  shooks,  old  junk, 
sapsago  dieese,  whisk-brooms,  ma- 
nure, and  all  other  produce,  taken 
in  exchange. 

1^*  Those  who  do  n't  want  the 
last  number  of  the  Flag-Staff. 
please  return  it  to  this  offis,  post- 
paid, as  the  demand  for  that  num- 
ber is  very  great.  A  patent  chum 
and  washing-machine,  to  ^o  by 
dog-power,  are  left  here  ror  in- 
spexion. 

J^  Wanted  to  Hire,  a  New 
Milch  Farrer  Cow;  give  eight 
quarts  of  milk  night  and  morning ; 
slIso,  to  change  milks  virith  some 
neighbor  with  a  cheese-press  for  a 
skim-milk  cheese  once't  a  week. 


^tontents  of  t]ie  present  Xambet. 

Art.  L  our  SICK  BROTHER. 

II.  A-BORROWINK  MONEY. 

II  r.  a-borrowink  books. 

IV.  A-BORROWlNK  CLOAKS,  ETC. 

v.  REMARKABLE  BUCRUHSTANS. 

VI.  LIVING  WITH  A  MARGIN. 

VI!.  A  FEW  MORE  ABOUT  MARGINS. 

VUI.  A  PROTEST. 

IX.  A  MAXUM. 

X.  A  MAXUM. 

XI.  A  MAXUM. 

XII.  A  MAXUM. 

XIII.  A  RIDICULU8  THING. 

XIV.  CREATION:  A  POEM. 

XV.  CREATION  BEATEN  ALL  HOLLER. 

XVL  NOTICE  TO  CX>RRESPOND£|nS. 

XVIL  PROSPECTUS. 

XVIIL  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


518  Stanzas  f   IStngary.  [Junet 


B  U  NO  A  RT. 


y»OX     7KB     yoBT-VOZ.XO     09     A»    O  X.  S     OOVTBIBTITOB. 


AwAKK,  M\  heart  of  an  mdignant  earth ! 
Is  thy  sword  sheathed,  thy  voioe  of  thimden  iniitef 
A  nation  strangled  in  the  gnap  of  brute, 
Unratying  Power,  even  in  iti  hour  of  birth  I 
And  Europe  with  oold  eyes  at  distance  stands, 
'With  folded  arms,  while  in  their  sad  despair. 
From  the  last  field  of  blood-stained  battle,  where 
Pale  Hungary  gasping  lies,  in  stranger  lands, 
Far  from  their  happy  skies,  their  native  air. 
Far  from  th^  lone,  forsaken  homes,  the  prey 
Of  savage  vengeance,  now  the  exiles  stray, 
Lifting  to  Moslam  hearts  a  doifctfol  prayer 
For  the  poor  boon  by  Christian  men  denied. 
One  shrine  their  oaie-bowed  heads  in  peaoe  to  hide. 


Thou  art  not  fiallen,  O  land  1  though  truth  and  right 
Lie  prostrate  now  beneath  a  conquering  horde, 
Thine  is  a  holier  strife  than  of  the  swora ; 
For  thee  the  stars  in  their  high  courses  fight. 
The  wind,  the  stream,  whose  scornful  fury  ^ums 
Man^s  puny  chains ;  the  mountains  that  are  graves 
Of  freemen  rather  than  the  home  of  slaves ; 
Thine  the  unconquerable  heart  that  bums 
With  hate  of  wrong ;  thine  the  unstaying  march 
Of  human  hopes,  whose  ever-swelling  host 
Pours  with  its  billowy  tread  along  the  coast 
Of  waiting  ages,  the  triumphal  arch 
Hailing  a&r,  majestic  through  the  ffkxmi, 
Rising  above  Oppressian's  trampled  tomb. 


Vainly,  ye  erown^  traitors  I  would  ye  stay 
The  voice  of  liberty :  one  feeble  sound 
Breathed  on  the  livmg  air  that  circles  round 

The  souls  of  men,  shall  never  pass  away ; 

Whispered  from  some  weak  lip,  a  season  dumb, 
It  gathers  moving  might ;  its  note  awakes 
The  loud,  stem  echoes,  till  at  last  it  breaks 

In  bellowing  thunders ;  centuries  to  come 

Beceive  it  as  it  sweeps  upon  their  ears. 
The  death-wail  of  the  tyrant,  rolling  deep 
'Mid  frowning  diflb  of  thraldom,  from  their  deep 

Romring  the  world ;  a  startled  people  hears 

The  wild  prophetio  tone,  the  tmmpet-peal, 

Lifts  the  glad  head  and  shakes  th'  avenging  steel. 


1850.]  Gleams  of  Beauty.  519 


Bear,  then,  your  fortunes,  patriot  chiefii !    We  shed 
No  tear  of  idle  pity  for  the  great, 
Who  are  not  broken  toys  of  changing  Fate, 
Bnt  in  loss  victors.    Freedom  is  not  daid ; 
Her  life  eternal  is ;  and  thongh  ye  die. 
Like  all  Gon^s  seed,  in  your  deo^  is  won 
A  better  quickening,  in  each  martyred  son 
Writes  its  first  line  a  people's  history ; 
Athwart  the  clond  let  your  keen,  seeing  eyes 
Pierce  to  the  ftitnre,  in  your  wanderinm, 
Journeys  your  country  with  you,  and  she  sings 
Th^  lofty  chant  of  her  sure  destinies  ; 
A  nation  yet  to  be,  thongh  banished  now. 
Wearing  her  crown  upon  her  queenly  brow. 
Jfewimrfpoft,  (JWut.) 


ftLEAMS     OF     BEAUTY. 


BT     A    WW    OOVTRIBUTOR. 

When  the  palace  of  nature  sprang  firom  chaos  and  light  pierced  the 
rayless  matter,  then  first  appeared  that  beauty  which  so  much  delights 
us  throughout  the  works  of'^  creation ;  and  it  will  continue  to  reveal  its 
splendors  until  the  Earth  and  the  Heavens  be  rolled  away,  then  shall 
these  forms  of  grandeur  return  to  the  bosom  of  the  Creator.  There 
is  the  origin  of  Beauty  and  its  perpetual  home.  It  has  flowed  from  exr 
baustless  urns  since  the  creation,  and  robed  each  thing  that  is  fair  with 
Its  grace.  It  flowed  over  the  clouds,  the  waters  and  the  plumage  of 
birds ;  it  poured  its  grace  over  the  neck  of  the  swan,  and  lefi:  its  light 
on  the  face  of  man.  It  nestled  in  the  beU  of  the  flower,  in  the  sinuosi- 
ties of  the  shells  of  ocean,  and  rested  on  the  wings  of  the  insects.  It 
waves  from  the  tops  of  the  forests,  moves  amidst  theplumes  of  battle, 
gathers  its  grace  m  a  smile,  or  lightens  from  the  ifast,  robed  in  the 
jewels  of  the  sim,  and  '  filled  with  the  face  of  Heaven.' 

How  or  whence  came  this  Beauty  to  dwell  in  flowery  and  cloud  vest- 
ments %  Where  dwells  the  power  that  could  fashion  ^ese ;  the  even- 
ing and  the  morning,  the  mountains  and  the  night,  the  groves  and  the 
lawns,  the  skies  and  the  flowers.  Morning  precedes  the  noon  and  sun- 
set gives  place  to  the  night  The  verdure  and  flowers  of  spring  suc- 
ceed the  wrecks  of  winter,  each  possessed  of  their  appropriate  delights. 
The  storm  and  the  night  their  grandeur ;  the  clouds  their  manifold  forms 
and  &ntastic  tracery ;  winter  its  crystal  palaces,  and  spring  the  variety 
of  its  verdure  and  its  wilderness  of  sweets.  It  is  |)resent  in  every 
olime,  in  the  golden  haze  of  Italy  and  the  rosy  flood  of  its  sky ;  it  shines 
amidst  the  mists  of  Yeleii  and  Niagara,  and  darts  from  the  cones  of  the 
Aurora  Borealis.  And  while  it  is  spread  out  in  every  clime  and  before 
every  eye,  it  has  afforded  delight  from  creation,  till  down  through  the 
lapse  of  time  we  behold  its  gleams  to-day.     The  soul  steeped  in  luxury 

VOL.  zzxi.  34 


^20  Gleams  of  Beauty.  [June, 

may  not  respond  to  its  delights ;  the  crushed  by  oppression  may  not 
hail  with  so  vigorous  a  hdpe  its  presence ;  the  poor  may  find  little  lei- 
sure for  its  enjoyments,  yet  for  all  these  it  has  a  rorm  though  it  be  name- 
less, and  though  they  be  -unconscious  of  its  nearness  while  it  *  sits  smiling 
at  the  heart.'  The  heart  has  no  formulas  that  guide  its  emotions^  its  im- 
pulses are  quickened  by  a  congenial  object.  The  laws  of  our  being 
are  fulfilled  though  we  be  but  automatons  in  the  drama  of  life.  The 
soul  is  like  a  harp  with  capabilities  for  plaintive,  joyous  or  solemn  music 
and  when  Beauty  with  its  train  sweeps  over  it,  it  murmurs  a  response, 
chauting,  like  the  choristers  of  old,  praises  to  Him  who  fashioned  the 
Heavens  with  their  glory  and  the  Earth  with  its  beauty. 

And  man  in  all  tunes  has  not  only  felt  its  influences,  but  has  every 
where  left  behind  him  the  memorials  of  his  admiration,  as  witnessed  in 
sculpture,  architecture,  painting  and  poetry ;  the  castles  of  the  Planta- 
genets,  the  mansions  of  &e  Stuarts  and  Tudors,  the  palaces  and  gardens 
of  Semiramis  and  Alcinous,  the  magnificence  of  the  temple  of  Solomon 
that  dazzled  the  Queen  of  the  South,  and  the  sumptuousnesa  of  the 
Alhambra,  likened  to  a  silver  vase  '  filled  with  myrtles  and  jacintfasb* 
And  not  only  is  tlie  past  rich  in  these  storied  relics,  but  the  present 
every  where  teems  with  its  oflerings.  Each  art  vies  vrith  the  other  in 
a  gifi  that  is  meet.  The  canvass  glows  in  every  shade  of  coloring,  and 
copies  every  form  of  grace ;  language  swells  in  the  cadences  of  music 
and  sends  forth  in  its  flow  accents  of  pity  and  tones  of  mirdi.  The 
marble  leaves  its  bed  in  the  quarry  and  comes  forth  crowned  with 
grace.  Cassandra  raises  her  eyes  glowing  to  Heaven ;  her  eyes,  fiir 
chains  bind  her  tender  hands ;  and  Venus,  shining  from  her  rosy  neck, 
reveals  the  goddess  in  her  unequalled  mien.  Though  the  glory  has 
passed  away  from  the  mount,  it  still  illumines  the  prophecies  and  shines 
in  His  words,  who  spake  as  never  man  spake.  In  the  Bible,  the  true  600 
is  revealed  as  he  would  be  worshipped  and  obeyed.  The  sweets  of  Crea- 
tion are  treasured  there  amidst  precepts  £ot  the  young  and  delights  for 
the  aged ;  amidst  glimmerings  of  happiness  and  life  immortal ;  amidst 
polished  temples  and  flowery  wreaths,  and  palaces  and  queen's  dau^ 
ters  in  clothing  of  gold,  and  language,  plaintive,  vrild  or  sweet  as  strains 
iEdlian. 

Nor  is  Beauty  only  of  outward  forms,  but  it  inhabits  the  soul  of  things, 
and  its  votaries  must  seek  her  vdthin  and  beyond,  and  cease  not  as  sup- 
pliants until  its  revealings  are  present  to  their  vision ;  until  it  glows 
before  them  in  so  varied  forms  as  if  Castalia  reflected  fh)m  its  waves 
gems  of  every  hue,  till  they  shone  like  the  rainbow  or  the  west  What- 
ever there  is  of  loveliness  on  earth  or  in  air,  is  typical  of  its  form.  The 
perfiime  that  the  lily  tolls  on  the  air,  the  warblmg  of  music  through 
the  vales,  the  music  of  bells,  the  voice  of  love ;  the  voice  of  the  past 
amidst  cherished  scenes ;  the  memory  of  the  loved  or  cherished  buds 
of  hope ;  the  aloe's  blossom,  the  sandal  tree's  fragrance,  the  rose's 
blush,  the  violet's  perfume ;  the  forms  (Mangels,  the  splendors  of  seraphs. 
Here  it  is  skirted  vrith  downy  gold  and  colors  dipped  in  Heaven;  and 
there  the  intolerable  blaze  of  its  sapphire  gleams  is  reflected  finom  ifs 
throne.  Remove  it  from  the  earth  and  you  leave  a  cheerless  waste. 
With  what  will  you  robe  the  forests  and  the  lawns ;  with  what  supply 


1850.]  GUams  of  BeaiUy.  521 

the  gracefuL  stems  and  branches  of  the  one,  or  the  wavhig  outline  of 
the  other ;  tor  streams  winding  through  meadows  of  flowers ;  for  the 
tassels  and  silver  of  the  birch ;  for  all  the  richness  of  coloring  and  V9r 
riety  of  fi>rm»  what  will  you  exchange  ?  If  you  tire  with  the  round  of 
sameness,  the  expansiyeness  that  has  been  given  to  your  heart  will  in 
like  manner  be  given  to  those  that  come  after  you.  And  when  you 
have  torn  its  mande  from  the  earth,  remove  the  blue  that  sparkles  above, 
you  remove  the  cunninfl^  workmanship  from  the  Heavens ;  nor  let  Iris 
ever  more  appear  vnth  her  diverse-colored  bow ;  nor  leave  even  Luna 
to  wander  amidst  the  desolation ;  no  lone  pine  to  sigh  back  the  requiem ; 
nor  lone  star  to  irradiate  the  gloom,  as  if  the  gloomy  Dis  tore  Proser- 
pine anew  from  her  loved  parent's  arms,  or  Eurydice  vamshed  again 
firom  Orpheus'  gaze. 

And  uiis  Beauty  is  no  idle  ornament :  diverse  are  its  uses,  and  its  in- 
fluences are  never  lost  No  influence  is  lost.  If  it  be  evil,  it  leaves ' 
its  stain,  if  it  be  good  it  still  smoulders  there,  and  is  liable  at  each  in- 
stant to  burst  into  a  flame.  Each  day  some  beautiful  creation  should 
be  impressed  upon  the  mind ;  each  day  the  examples  of  heroism  should 
receive  their  moments  of  meditation.  Youth  should  be  continually  sur- 
rounded with  ennobling  influences  :  so  God  works,  so  man  does  not 
work :  a  love  of  truth  should  be  early  awakened  in  diem.  To  correct 
the  heart,  all  humiliating  influences  must  be  removed,  and  convene  be 
held  with  die  ennobling  forms  of  art  In  die  language  of  Groethe,  we 
have  an  imagination  before  which,  inasmuch  as  it  should  not  seize  upon 
the  first  concepdons  that  present  themselves,  we  must  place  the  fittest 
and  most  beautiful  images,  and  thereby  accustom  the  mmd  to  recognise 
the  beautiful  every  where,  and  in  nature  itself  under  its  fixed  and  true 
as  also  in  its  finer  features.  Our  feelings,  aflecdons  and  passions  should 
all  be  advantageously  developed  and  purified. 

That  man  is  little  to  be  envied  whose  patriotism  would  not  be  en- 
kindled on  the  plains  of  Marathon,  or  wnose  piety  would  not  grow 
warmer  among  die  ruins  of  lona;  who  sees  aught  unholy  amidst 
the  lofty  concepdons  of  RafTaelle,  or  feels  his'  heart  not  dilated  amidst 
the  aisles  of  Westminster ;  who  could  cherish  in  memory  the  heroism 
of  the  revoludon  and  experience  no  emodons  for  his  country,  or  be 
constant  in  die  presence  of  die  Ecce  Homo  and  not  be  moved  by  the 
inspiradon  of  its  divineness  and  majesty. 

Art  is  a  store-house  within  which  are  accumulated  the  beaudes  of  the 
past  Each  jem  and  jewel  is  locked  within  its  recess.  Widiin  its  aisles 
and  along  its  corridors,  the  canvass  is  ripe  with  the  matchless  beaudes, 
the  intense  dioueh  noble  expression,  the  variety  and  loftiness  of  the  in- 
vendon  of  Raflaelle ;  the  brilliancy  of  the  coloring  of  Tidan ;  die 
sweetness  of  Guide ;  the  splendor,  die  opulency  of  Rubens ;  die  rich- 
ness, the  tnidifiilness,  the  magic  of  Rembrandt's  gloom.  And  here  too 
architecture  presents  before  us  die  splendors  of  Versailles  or  Blenheim, 
the  lengdiened  aisles  and  fretted  vaults,  the  towering  domes  and 
sumptuous  decorations  of  ecclesiasdcal  pomp.  And  sculpture  vrithin 
displays  its  creadon  glowing  in  die  celesdal  loveliness  of  die  Venus 
Anadyomene,  or  crovmed  with  die  eSu^ence  that  radiated  from  die 
temples  of  Apollo. 


A  Legend:  jfram  the  Spanuh,  [June, 

Nature,  too,  in  all  its  forms  has  a  language  for  man ;  voices  of  grief 
in  the  winds,  joy  in  its  songs  of  spring,  terror  in  the  storm,  and  it  whis- 
pers of  calmness  along  the  moonlight  glades,  and  strength  and  quiet  in 
the  midnight  heavens  repose.  It  is  the  monopolist  of  grace ;  art  can 
only  imitate  it ;  yet  we  reverence  it,  for  it  hrings  heauty  from  the  skies 
and  enthrones  it  on  our  hearth-stones. '  The  one  hath  strewn  her  jew- 
elry along  the  pathway  of  life,  the  other  ever  weareth  hers,  her  proper 
adornments ;  her  heauties  are  enhanced  hy  the  manifold  drapery  mat 
envelopes  her,  wherehy  she  displays  such  grace  that  the  eye  is  never 
satiated  with  gazing  at  her,  nor  the  heart  ever  pained  by  communing 
with  her.  Or  if  we  tire  of  the  present,  the  visible  and  outward,  be- 
yond are  the  invisible  and  the  unknown  realms  of  imagination  and 
prophetic  vision.  The  present,  even  with  all  its  splendor,  sinks  into  in- 
significance when  compared  with  the  vastness  of  the  whole ;  and  how 
iiSnite  soever  it  be  within  its  bosom,  the  ant  has  its  home  secure  as  the 
most  splendid  star.  The  same  power  that  suspended  the  nebulae  in  die 
immensity  of  space,  robed  the  lilies ;  the  same  Being  that  caused  die 
eardi  to  teem  with  blossom  and  fruit  for  man,  attends  to  the  cry  of  the 
raven.  And  all  his  works  are  enveloped  with  and  pervaded  by  Beauty, 
as  the  rays  of  the  prism  are  one  in  the  sun ;  and  in  the  midst  of  all.  He 
sits  enthroned  who  created  all  things  and  gave  to  his  works  such  magni- 
ficence and  splendor.  From  his  Heaven  he  rules  by  established  laws ; 
Him  angels  and  seraphs  worship ;  to  Him  the  eardi  and  the  stars  do 
reverence ;  the  deeps  respond  to  his  call,  and  infinities  of  distances  hear 
him  and  obey.  Magnificent  are  thy  works,  worthy  the  majesty  of  God, 
yet  shadows  are  they  all,  compared  to  Thee  ! 


A,    LBOEND:     PEOM     THE     SPANISH. 


'  Sin  TOB.  7  iln  Dips  y  ml.' 


Tbs  motto  that  with  tremblliiK  hand  I  write, 
And  deeply  greyen  on  this  heart  of  mine; 

In  olden  time  alojal  christian knlgtal 
Bore  graven  on  nla  shield  to  Palestine. 

« Sin  ««fl,*  It  aalth,  if  I  am  without  thee 

BeloTBd  1  whose  thought  sorronnds  me  every  where ; 
*  Sim  Dio9j^  I  am  wUhont  Oon,  <  y  aii,* 

And  In  myself  I  have  no  longer  share. 

FUie  proved  the  lady,  and  thenoefbrth  the  knic^ht, 
OBstbg  aaldTthe  bockler  and  the  brand, 

Lived  an  austere  and  lonely  anchorite, 
In  adrear  moonlaln  cave  In  Holy  Land. 

There,  bowed  before  the  Virgin's  shrine  Iq  prayer, 

He  would  dash  madly  down  his  rosary ; 
And  cry  *belovedP  in  tones  of  wild  despair, 

( I  have  lost  God  and  self  In  losing  thee  P 

And  I,  if  thus  my  ttlb^  sweet  hope  were  o'er, 
An  echo  of  the  knight's  despair  must  be ; 

Tbm  I  were  lost  If  loved  by  thee  no  more, 
For,  aht  myaelf  and  ^ven  are  metged  in  fhee. 


1850.] 


JnacrectUic  Stanzas  to .  523 


ANACREONTIC      STANZAS      TO      

Foe  yon,  as  tweet  a  fiiirv  Tidon 
As  ever  blessed  this  earta's  elysian, 
1 11  tempt  the  mount  where  Hlppocrene 
«     Spreads  its  thoughts-burdened  water's  sheen, 
And  drinking  deep  its  wBve  the  while 
Bask  in  yonr  more  inspiring  smild. 

I  'ye  song  to  others'  beauties  rare, 
Their  heaven-bom  eyes  and  golden-hair, 
Their  mtching  forms  and  trancing  arts 
Their  native  gifts  and  studied  parts ; 
And  littl'e  deemed,  as  thus  I  sung. 
With  earnest  voice  and  lyre  high-strung, 
Wiih  pulse  of  fire  that 's  throU>ing  yet. 
Such  beings  e'er  could  bring  regret. 

Tes,  one — oh  God  !  a  face  and  eyes 

Whoss  impress  sprung  but  from  the  skies, 

Whose  look  and  smile,  and  angel-tone, 

Were  caught  from  beings  round  heaven's  throne, 

This  &oe  and  form  I  could  have  sworn 

The  loveliest  e'er  did  earth  adorn ; 

Despite  my  tears  and  prayers  to  be 

The  angel  that  she  seemed  to  me ; 

Too  kind  to  wound  a  present  heart, 

Tet  thoughtless  used  it  when  apart, 

We  parted  in  our  mutual  tears, 

And  broke  our  hopes  of  future  years. 

But  oh !  the  mild  and  dieering  ray 
That  broke  o'er  my  cloud-darkened  way 
When  first  my  gladdened  eyes  beheld 
In  thee  a  vision  unexcelled ; 
Earth's  brilliants  all  in  vain  may  shine, 
They  cannot  match  those  eyes  of  thine ; 
The  fires  of  heaven  less  briUiant  glow. 
While  thy  lair  orbs  light  all  below ; 
Thy  fiice !  thy  face !  — the  face  of  day. 
When  blushing  with  the  orient  ray, 
With  Phosbus'  tinge  of  golden  light 
That  scares  the  dnS  and  black-browed  night ; 
The  fiice  of  Evb  with  star-eyes  set, 
Mid  clouds  of  hair  of  curling  jet, 
Cannot  such  sweet  and  blessing  hues 
Upon  the  sentient  soul  difiuse. 

Each  fiice  beside  thine  own  that 's  bright 

But  mocks  thy  sun  —  a  lunar  light ; 

And  I,  an  humble  Gheber,  kneel 

To  worship  light  whose  warmth  I  feel. 

GALTPso-like  m  silence  set. 

Tour  charms  flash  out  like  burnished  wit. 

Or  SAPPHO-like,.mth  burning  words 

Yon  sweep  the  mind's  and  heart's  deep  chords ; 


024  Taleg  of  the  Back  Parlor.  [June, 

If  GntoB-like  yoa  weave  a  speU 

So  pure  youn,  here  seems  doubly  fell ; 

Reason  and  fancy,  s^pse  oombine, 

To  make  that  witching  form  of  thine : 

The  past  is  all  a  wortUess  dream, 

With  yoa  my  present,  ftiture  theme. 

Eternal  friendship  I  would  swear 

Did  not  Lovi's  tempting  form  appear 

To  bid  me  lay  before  your  shrine, 

Perchance  to  doom  this  heart  of  mine. 

But  better  thus,  so  sweetly  dain, 

Than  struggle  on  in  after  pain ; 

If  left  for  aye  your  glorious  bloom. 

Crushed  widi  irrevoc^le  doom, 

The  heavy  scar  within  my  heart 

Would  cling  until  its  pulse  depart  j.  ■.  i.. 

Ifm-Twrk,  18».  r  r- 


TALES  OF  THE  BACK  PARLOR. 


"Til  a  history 

Handed  fh>m  ages  down ;  a  none's  tale, 

Which  children,  open-eyed  and  moaihed,  devour; 

And  Uraa,  aa  ganuMos  umorBDce  rehttea, 

We  learn  It  and  beUevB/  SoaTHBrs 'Tsax^aba.* 

The  summer  of  1849  was  unusually  warm  and  sultry.  The  wealthy 
and  the  fashionable  left  their  mansions  in  the  crowded  city  to  avoid  the 
terrible  pestilence  that  was  approaching.  Business  itself  seemed  to 
sigh  for  an  hour  of  leisure,  and  consequently  was  complained  of  as 
intolerably  dull.  As  for  myself,  I  have  no  rancy  for  those  crowded 
watering  places,  where  the  comforts  of  home  are  sacrificed  for  the 
miseries  of  an  attic,  lest  your  tattling  and  inquisitive  neighbors  should 
pronounce  you  un^hionable  and  vulgar.  They  are  exceUent  places 
for  exquisite  beauty  to  whisper  soft  things  to  tender  languishing  belles ; 
for  manoeuvring  matrons  to  entrap  butterflies  for  their  •  portionless 
daughters ;  or  tor  ladies  of  indubitable  maturity  to  figure  once  more 
in  the  careless  gayeties  of  sixteen ;  but  as  homes  for  old  unpretending 
bachelors  they  are  anything  but  comfortable. 

There  are,  however,  some  public  resorts  which  are  in  reality  all  that 
the  lover  of  comfort  and  convenience  can  desire.  Fresh  breezes  and 
cool  sea-bathing,  a  room  within  sight  of  the  earth,  plenty  of  quiet  con- 
genial companions,  and  no  hops  or  fancy  balls ;  at  such  a  place  I  found  ' 
myself  dunnf  the  oppressive  month  of  August,  and  enjoyed  the  rare 
satisfaction  of  undisturbed  idleness.  Among  the  many  Kindred  spirits 
that  entertained  the  same  views  on  such  subjects  as  myself  I  found  an 
old  acquaintance,  whose  humors  and  eccentricities  had  oflen  amused 
me,  and  whose  fund  of  stories  and  legends  had  served  to  shorten  many 


1850.]  Tale$  of  the  Back  Parlor.  525 

a  wintry  evening  in  my  study  at  home.  He  had  seen  much  of  the 
world,  and  had  thus  added  to  his  stock  of  literary  information  an  ex- 
tensive knowledge  of  men  and  manners,  derived  from  a  keen  observa- 
tion of  the  various  scenes  which  he  had  witnessed,  and  of  the  different 
characters  among  whom  he  had  been  thrown.  His  physiognomy  was 
marked  and  ^culiar.  A  pair  of  gray  eyes  shone  from  under  a  pro- 
jecting ridge  of  sandy  hair ;  his  high  forehead  was  invariably  carelessly 
shaded  with  thick  and  straggling  locks ;  a  nose  of  that  good-natured 
kind  which  we  sometimes  see  on  the  faces  of  old  Dutch  landlords ; 
while  his  complexion,  though  somewhat  florid,  might  have  been  attribu- 
ted either  to  the  effect  of  his  travels  or  to  the  gentle  influence  of  that 
far-famed  Burgundy  wine,  whose  merits  he  sometimes  rather  loudly 
extolled.  Be  Uiat  however  as  it  may,  he  was  of  that  race  of  men  who 
know  that  living  happily  is  synonymous  with  living  singly,  and  that  the 
pleasures  of  lire  would  be  neither  enhanced  by  the  chorus  of  babies, 
nor  by  the  expostulations  of  an  untameable  shrew.  In  addition  to  all 
these  excellences,  he  possessed  a  great  taste  for  literature,  which  had 
been  judiciously  cultivated  in  his  younger  days  by  an  erudite  parson  of 
the  old  school,  whose  historical  knowledge  was  not  confined  to  the 
books  of  Moses,  and  whose  poetical  studies  had  not  concluded  with  the 
pealms. 

The  dress  of  my  fiiend  was  as  singular  as  his  countenance.  He 
wore  a  coat  which  seemed  to  be  related  both  to  the  large  family  of 
sacks  and  to  the  breed  of  English  riding  coats.  A  rcpv  of  large  horn- 
buttons  extended  up  and  down  the  front,  but  whether  they  were  for 
use  or  for  ornament  I  never  could  determine.  Capacious  pockets 
gaped  on  either  side,  filled  with  fishing  lines,  boxes  of  patent  hooks, 
and  all  the  other  troublesome  '  conveniences'  of  an  experienced  angler. 
His  long-waisted  Quakerish  vest  was  also  made  with  an  eye  to  service ; 
for  from  one  pocket  protruded  the  end  of  a  cigar-case,  from  another  a 
large  head  of  cavendish,  and  a  third  seemed  pregnant  with  a  suffi- 
ciency for  a  fourth.  A  pair  of  buff  pants,  relics  apparently  of  other 
days,  proudly  withdrew  from  an  ample  pau*  of  double  soles ;  while  a 
cap,  which  would  have  won  the  palm  at  a  jockey  club,  completed  his 
outer  man.  I  have  been  thus  particular  in  describing  my  companion 
for  no  other  purpose  than  to  give  some  idea  to  my  readers  of  the  cha- 
racters with  whom  I  associate. 

We  had  been  fishing  one  pleasant  day,  atld  had  experienced  unusual 
good  fortune.  Our  worthy  host,  skilled  in  the  ways  of  gratifying  the 
peculiar  whims  of  his  guests,  had  broiled  a  couple  of  the  largest  blue 
fish  which  we  had  caught,  and  while  we  were  taking  our  late  supper, 
and  praising  his  cookery,  he  regaled  our  imaginations  with  marvellous 
accounts  of  the  '  schools  which  would  run'  as  the  season  became  a  little 
later  advanced.  In  a  mood  for  promising  any  thing,  we  intimated  our 
determination  to  remain  until  that  time,  and  our  host,  assuming  the  air 
of  a  man  who  has  hooked  a  plump  trout  with  a  painted  fly,  waddled 
pompously  away.  We  had  nnished  our  supper,  rendered  doubly  de- 
licious by  the  consciousness  that  we  had  contributed  to  its  excellence, 
and  with  hearts  at  peace  with  all  mankind,  we  leaned  back,  as  all  bache- 
lors do,  in  two  affectionate  rocking  chairs,  placed  in  the  piazza,  which 


538 


Literary  Notices. 


[JuxEe^ 


,^„a«icbolar»,, 


When  theae  lecturea  shall  have  had  time  to  appead  among  artists  ^^^  respecting 
receive  the  study,  without  which  it  is  impossible  to  have  an  honest  ^P  ^  ^  new  I*lii- 
them,  there  can  be  no  doubt  but  they  will  be  regarded  as  the  fo^^**^"^^  what  tl»e 
loBophy  of  Art ;  they  will  be  to  Paintmg,  and  indeed  to  all  the  ^'^^  to  Po^ta^-. 
critique  of  Allston's  friend  Coleeidge  upon  Woedswoeth  has  appare^tiy 

And  the  reader  who  will  not  be  deterred  from  the  study  of  them  by  »     gpecimetis  cwf 
metaphysical  subtlety  of  argument,  will  find  them  no  lessbeauwoi  ^^  is  m^sti^ 
elegant  literature  than  as  works  of  laborious  thinking.    Their  vali® 
mable. 


Lkcturbs  bbporb  thb  HcNTiiroTON  Library  Absociatiok.    By  B«v, 
of  St.  JoBM^a  Church,  Huntington,  Long-Maiul. 


,f.^-^^ 


,.to»^^fi»*aUsr 


^^o«ie«  t^o 


ini^,i 


Whatever  appears  from  the  pen  of  Mr.  Shklton  w\\\  be        ^^^^, 
marked  characteristics — directness  and  cVeaTnesB.    He  doesBO^  ^..-rs^^*^  ^  ** 
with  words,  until  what  he  means  to  say  is  smothered,  but  \ie  co^^^^vo^     ,  ^J*"^ 
once  to  his  reader's  mind,  in  language  singularly  forcible  »A  ^^^^fi»^''  "^ 

already  alluded  to  the  first  of  the  lectures  before  ub  '  The  Gold  ^      o\ 
an  admirable  and  characteristic  passage  from  ito  We«,  <^^^^^!!  ^d 

»I«  religion  Reason  goes  beyond  her  i>rrk^.  .     i  .v: ».a.iim 

and  subdivide  too  narrowly,  wkI  to  inS?^3**^«=^  In  a  dteooriUon  U>  •nal>»  *«ap^.;^y*T 
natural  things  we  may  carry'this  far ;  but%^  «^^WH  K^teropttng  to  «p\ahi  \\ve  iwalwd.  b 
Men  are  apt  to  spUt  up  elements  into  iSii^*l>irUn^liS^eSS^  aw  too  deep  fom 

until  the  grand  whole  Is  entirely  dissiSSS^  ^^«^^^^r  into  c^oua  ^sq^^^«™jr!lS:^ 
topieces  they  are  unable  to  put  it  togoftS^f^  «^«S^  ^L  ^^o^  After  tbey  have  puM  \he  tni^— 
thS  simple  /alth  as  it  is  MtlmatSy^^Vj^^'^t  L^wSJ^lC  totl^^^^^  IwftesdofVAii^ 

nant  with  the  nature  of  mS,  some  on^  w  J^^*^-.  ^a^J^l?^^^^^me^  and  Ihoie  entireW  cow-^^ 

intellect  deduces  it,  to  riiow  the  right  ii^i^V  *^*i  ^^i^}''l^yJ^^V^^^^^^^'^''^^'r: 
Were  we  not  treading  on  forblddSn  K«?SR55-^^oS^'^,Y\J^^JtitSi?^i)Mt8lntovWd^ 
mean  by  this  haiMplltting.  It  is  enS?^^  x»^S^  "^^^"^P  uStvSJJeroitthimu«r«e^t^ 
It  has  given  rise  to  Sdium,  rancor  aSS^^,^  i^^^  ^^^^'^J^S!^  t^t^S 
mote  the  peaceftil  religion  of  CHairr?  ^H^^olSSr  ^  ^^^  "1  'V^iSenTttd  faggot  to  ^^ 
maUcs  Uiith  is  dear  and  cryslaL  Yoij  i_.*»  Tti^Cpe  in  all  ages.  »S5^K«rn\d  mrSi(iDareie^ 
heavens  as  to  dispute  its  steps  or  to^^^riii^^  for  this  reason.  ^^^^i^Z^S^^ 
to  them  when  It  pSurs  down  £llteiS^^^yll5vi^  wett  attempt  to  ^e^y^Si^ZiS^ 
in  gloom  to  confl^  them.  Here  thelXiJt?  c^iSfS2?«l««lons-»  ^  ^^*  IV^iS  S^i^m ZnuS 
in  metaphysics  the  case  is  different  T^Sl^^l  SSS^^^m ;  i*  *>««". '*^^'!.T.l?aSarJjS««^^ 
snbUe  and  Wl  to  be  limited  br  deflaiS^^  ^U^^pooda  accurately  with  Uie  tW^g  repjMWite^ 
the  same  letters,  seenfrom  different  fS^aci,  tSi  *^*W«e  may  be  defined,  but  «na^^  W«.' 
■o  the  idea  is  taken  by  each  from  the  ^?^^**oS?  *^  thousand  men  see  U  with  a  thoawnd ey«, 
same  substance,  but  they  are  not  iatel  i /!i***  ww*  ^*^  often  Ingeniously  made  to  ppell  <*  *«ff;^^ 
everlasting.  It  tehanitJ^takehold  or  ^»>l^^^«^  bS^ewSlU  The  eyes  of  both  Mrtiwlri^e^ 
adopts  this  hint  in  the  philosophy  of  VJ^^<-  wfe  ^^^h  ^lir,  and  hence  a  baiUe  of  'ords  wta^  u 
from  tangible  objects.  It  is  found  in  ^^^^W^Sm"^  *^  no  outward  sign  «' '«P«»f5»*^^!.«*-i^JS. 
The  common  idfom  is  simple,  and  c^^^^jr  SS^*^^  Every  language  is  filled  with  raetaijho^Jiwj 
But  among  metaphvsicians,  in  spiteirJr  '**^«^m!?^  >«rord,  nuiking  speech  picturesque  and  m^JS^fc. 
science,  they  are  at  locgerheads  upon  L  ^«^c-i!?P^»«hu  ire  almost  painted,  it  is  so  char  anc*  endeat 
other,  yet  it  is  probable  that  they  lhliS'^^«-^^^*^*ted  terms  and  definitions  and  the  nomeiwAtfureaf 
sion  may  be  harmless,  nay  useful  aa  a.^5K.  •"**«»  ^iil5**^ioti,  and  not  one  of  them  exacUy  andersteads  (be 
It  comes  to  the  alHmportant  Bubjoct^^i?**l>«^»^?®-  Upon  Indifferent  questions  of  monte  \he  dbem- 
stronger  of  relations  arc  knit  togetK**^**  ^^^y^^i^^*"  lni«Ueclaiidfor  the  aitrltion  of  minds*,  \wx^\n 


Sins,  and  the  Intellect  musrabldTpISS!;^o^?*^H   1.^'^^^^^^, 

;The  melancholy  lesson  to  be  <le?it^^*4«^«*<ler©d,  u  iH  m 

distinguishes  man  fh)m  the  beast*  >vKf^«>oS^h.  >  "  «  a  m 


which  iP^rau^^ 


2i^JffJi*l!;?*i™t1f'^**'^.?®?*"'*  ^'*^*e^*iJ^fi^?  »ublect  is,  that  the  Rea«0D,theiK)Werac8ftyirWcfc 


!^V^<^ 


^xxci 


it  mav  not,  except  in  subijectton  to  Fa ? H  ^^iriMi;V.?*^r  Ko 
lerva&Te  of  his  tiatiire ;  for  ia  the  aJit*^^  ^  «*«t^K^  ^l£^ 


ch  elevates  him  toward  God;  which  is  aptbk 
^  I>artaker  of  such  pure  enjoyneoto;  wiuehk 


^Uioc 


on  to  grapple  with  mure  andmat^durinsan 
_^  his  whole  nature.    Being  throned \ft\\«i^ 

•UsSS?*  of  glory  over  the  heart.   It  U  n«Ql  ^  \\mI£  qia- 
***«  aa  It  U,  it  never  couJd  have  orwiJuatoi  w  «» 


^iiRUi 


528  Talet  of  the  Back  Parlor.  [June, 

magnificent  ruins,  around  whom  poetic  legends  have  thrown  a  myste- 
rious charm,  and  from  whose  history  so  much  pleasure  and  instruction 
is  to  be  derived.  At  the  social  meeting  of  the  Burschenskqftm,  or  club 
of  students  to  which  I  belonged,  I  h^  often  heard  strange  tales  con- 
cerning those  venerable  structures,  but  which  I  had  always  charged  to 
the  account  of  the  goodly  flagons  of  German  beer,  or  to  the  flaming 
bowls  of  crambambuli.  There  was  one,  for  instance,  which  I  doubt  not 
you  have  often  heard  repeated,  about  an  avaricious  bishop  who  pur- 
chased all  the  com  in  the  district,  and  in  a  time  of  famine  extorted  ex- 
orbitant prices  from  the  starvinc;  and  impoverished  peasantry.  In  pun- 
ishment tor  his  sins  a  swarm  of  rats  attacked  his  granaries  and  threat- 
ened destruction  to  his  castle.  In  despair  he  intrenched  himself  in  a 
tower  which  he  built  in  the  middle  of  the  Rhine.  His  enemies  how- 
ever still  pursued  him,  and  devoured  him  on  a  luckless  day  as  he  was 
entreating  heaven  for  a  cessation  of  his  evils.  I  have  since  seen  the 
lonely  tower  in  the  bosom  ^of  the  sparklmg  waters  of  the  Rhine,  but  as 
to  the  truth  /of  the  legend,  I  cannot  vouch,  though  I  do  not  feel  author- 
ized to  dis|^ute  it  Desirous,  however,  of  gratifying  my  curiosity  as 
well  as  for  the  purpose  of  having  some  strange  wonders  to  relate  to 
domestic  but  curious  bodies  like  yourself,  I  bade  farewell  to  the  halls  of 
the  University,  and  on  the  morning  after  a  grand  supper  party  of  my 
club,  started  on  my  journey. 

I  will  not  tire  you  vnth  a  prolix  description  of  all  the  matters  of  in- 
terest which  I  saw,  or  of  all  the  old  castles  which  I  visited ;  sufficient  be 
it  to  say,  that  I  suddenly  acquired  a  strange  affection  for  antiquities,  and 
spent  half  of  my  time  in  rummac^ing  among  old  vaults,  and  m  attempt- 
ing to  decipher  illegible  inscriptions.  I  had  thus  spent  several  weeks 
in  antiquarian  solitude  and  soliloquy,  when  at  the  entreaties  of  my  friends 
who  were  native  Germans,  and  whose  proverbial  patience  was  well 
nigh  exhausted,  I  lefl  with  reluctance  the  dried-up  moat  in  which  I 
had  been  searching  for  the  fragment  of  a  cuirass,  and  proceeded  toward 
the  city  of  Heidelberg.  The  traveller  in  passing  through  the  duchy  of 
Baden  finds  himself  unconsciously  beguiled  for  weeks  among  the  in- 
teresting localities  which  have  rendered  this  romantic  city  so  attractive 
to  the  student  of  antiquities.  It  is  equally  difficult  for  myself  to  relate 
an  incident  which  occurred  not  far  from  its  boundaries,  without  baiting 
for  a  few  moments  in  ray  progress,  to  indulge  in  some  recollections 
which  the  mention  of  Heidelberg  awakens. 

You  are  aware  that  the  different  circumstances,  the  peculiazities  of 
the  weather  or  the  various  shifting  accidents  under  which  you  visit  a 
locality  with  which  vou  are  hitherto  unacquainted,  determine  essentially 
the  impression  which  you  carry  away,  and  the  opinion  which  is  thus 
suddenly  formed  is  the  one  which  invariably  i^resents  itself  to  the  mind 
when  it  recurs  to  the  scene  afterward.  The  memory  behind  the  focus 
of  the  eye,  like  the  polished  plate  behind  the  lens  of  the  camera,  re- 
ceives the  outlines  of  the  object  upon  its  sensitive  surface.  Association 
places  here  and  there  the  varied  tints  and  colorings,  and  the  whole 
picture  is  ineffaceable. 

It  was  near  sunset  as  our  party  leisurely  entered  the  winding  and 
fertile  valley,  in  whose  fragrant  bosom  reposes  the  aged  city  of  Hei- 


1850.]  TtiUs  of  the  Back  Parlcr.  529 

delberg.  The  BummitR  of  the  hUls  above  us,  were  crowned  with  gar- 
dens and  yineyardu,  from  whose  treasures,  rosy-cheeked  girls  were 
bearing  baskets  of  fruits  and  flowers  on  their  shoulders,  while  they 
blithely  carolled  the  favorite  lays  of  their  loyers.  Peasants  were  pack- 
ing their  loads  for  the  morning's  market  on  the  patient  bfy^ks  of  their 
dozing  beasts,  chubby  little  boys  were  rolling  and  frolicking  %dth  the 
sportive  house-dog  and  here  and  there  amone  the  hearv  trees  which 
overhimg  the  valley,  might  be  seen  the  varied  badges  of  the  different 
clubs  of  students  who  had  flocked  to  this  old  seat  of  classical  learning. 
The  city  itself  is  situated  at  the  foot  of  the  Raiserstuhl,  but  is  not  re- 
markably imposing.  The  streets  follow  the  analogy  of  most  Grerman 
thoroughfares,  and  are  narrow  and  gloomy,  but  the  church  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  with  its  lof)y  steeple,  and  the  reverend  structure  of  St  Peters, 
to  whose  doors  Jerome  of  Prague  nailed,  three  centuries  ago,  his  fa- 
mous exposition  of  the  doctrine  of  the  reformers,  are  objects  of  inte- 
test,  which  amply  repay  the  trouble  and  toil  of  the  inquisitive. 

We  remained  here  a  fow  days,  inspecting  the  far-famed  ruins  of  the 
Schloss,  which  overlooks  the  waters  of  the  Neckar,  and  the  antique 
houses  along  its  banks.  You  have  never  seen  it,  and  you  can  form  no 
conception  of  the  mingled  sensations  of  reverence,  of  sublimity  and  of 
awe,  which  crowd  upon  the  mind  of  the  traveller  when  he  first  contem- 

C»  the  glorious  spectacle.  As  you  view  the  towering  ruin  from  the 
of  the  eminence  upon  which  it  stands,  it  seems  like  a  vast  pile  of 
frowning  and  forbidding  crags  piled  iipon  each  other  by  superhuman 
hands.  Lonely  and  majestically  it  stands  m  lofby  and  solitary  grandeur ; 
a  link  between  the  present  and  the  ])ast,  but  a  part  of  which  men  know 
little.  You  ascend  the  toilsome  eminence  and  enter  within  its  portals. 
The  drciing  troops  of  swallows  perch  upon  its  moss-covered  battle- 
ments, and  look  timidly  down  upon  the  dizzy  chasm  below.  No  sen- 
tinel treads  upon  its  deserted  and  lifeless  wdL  The  shout  of  feasting 
and  of  revelry  no  longer  echoes  within  its  damp  and  gloomy  halls. 
An  oppressive  silence  reigns  throughout  the  narrow  and  winding  cor- 
ridors, and  the  strange  figures  sculptured  in  the  wall  seem  to  turn 
firom  die  bewildered  intruders,  as  firom  a  veneration  of  which  they  dis- 
dained to  be  the  images.  The  scene  which  appears  before  the  beholder 
as  he  stands  upon  the  summit  of  one  of  the  lofty  turrets  which  encircle 
the  main  tower  of  the  castle  like  an  army  of  watchful  sentinels,  is  truly 
magnificent  and  imposing.  Far  below  at  a  distance,  which  the  eje 
fears  to  measure,  is  die  moat,  once  broad  and  deep,  but  now  filled  with 
the  accumulated  rubbish  of  ages.  From  this  height,  a  besieged  garri- 
son of  women  in  the  feudal  days,  could  have  safely  beheld  the  approach 
of  enemies,  and  with  terrible  effect  rolled  down  stones  upon  the  heads 
of  their  assailants.  On  one  side  rise  the  dusky  summits  of  the  Vosges 
in  grand  and  imposing  succession,  on  the  other  is  seen  the  Rhine, 
winding  quietly  along  its  romantic  banks,  while  for  miles  in  the  distance 
appear  the  small  villages,  the  broad  and  waving  fields,  and  the  castles 
of  olden  time. 

I  have  visited  all  the  localities  of  which  our  own  country  is  so  justly 

froud.    I  have  stood  by  Niagara  and  listened  to  its  perpetual  thunder ; 
have  visited  the  Notch  in  the  White  Hills,  and  climbed  to  their  snow- 


530  Tales  of  the  Back  Parlor.  [June, 

wreadied  summitB ;  and  I  have  lingered  for  weeks  among  the  gorgeoiiB 
scenes  of  the  Nordiem  lakes ;  but  never  have  I  witnessed  a  parallel 
in  awful  sublimity  and  grandeur,  to  the  melancholy  isolation  of  H^- 
delberg. 

I  was  enthusiastically  expressing  my  admiration  of  the  ruins  one 
evening  tb  one  of  my  comrades,  as  we  were  walkins;  slowly  along  the 
banks  of  the  river,  and  was  regretting  that  I  could  form  no  more  cer- 
tain idea  of  the  domestic  life  of  the  rude  warriors  who  once  inhabited 
those  fortified  towers  than  that  which  the  imagination  suggested,  after 
surveying  the  impregnable  bulwarks  with  which  they  surrounded  them- 
selves. 

*  Your  curiosity  can  be  easily  gratified,'  he  replied,  as  he  carelessly 
skipped  a  stone  mto  the  water.  '  I  have  a  relative  who  resides  in  as 
wild  and  as  romantic  a  spot  as  Heidelberg,  and  who  still  scrupulously 
observes  all  the  customs  which  belong  to  a  baronial  household.  She 
is  a  sister  of  the  Baron  Von  Ivenskof^  whose  ancestors  can  be  traced 
back  for  countless  ages,  and  whose  loyalty  and  valor  have  only  been 
equalled  by  their  love  for  the  sacred  customs  of  their  Athens.  Since 
the  death  of  her  brother,  the  baroA,  she  has  secluded  herself  within 
the  walls  of  the  castle,  and  in  solitary  independence  maintains  all  the 
state  of  her  ancestors.  I  have  been  intending  to  visit  her,  and  as  I 
know  it  will  afford  you  pleasure,  I  shall  insist  on  your  company.  You 
can  then  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  for  yourself  the  omervance  of 
customs  which  have  oeen  handed  down  from  time  immemorial,  as  well 
as  of  testing  the  accuracy  and  fidelity  of  your  imagination.  You  may 
be  disappomted  in  the  domestic  system,  but  you  ynll  be  amply  repaid 
for  your  trouble  by  inspecting  the  curiosities  of  the  building  itself; 
while  £6t  my  part,  I  shall  be  contented  with  the  fruits  of  the  larder  and 
cellar,  for  we  nave  not  fared  any  thing  like  what  I  caU  sumptuously  since 
we  lefb  Berlm,  and  profuse  hospitality  is  one  of  the  virtues  of  the  whole 
race  of  Ivenskoff.' 

I  eagerly  embraced  the  offer,  and  on  the  following  morning  we  pre- 
pared to  depart.  Our  route  lay  toward  the  interior  and  was  agreea- 
bly diversified  with  a  picturesque  union  of  novelty  and  antiquity.  We 
passed  successively  the  remains  of  a  venerable  monastery,  half  hidden 
among  the  trees  which  surrounded  it  and  the  running  vine  which  clune 
to  its  falling  walls,  a  lonely  cross  erected  by  the  wayside,  surmounted 
b^r  a  ^prim  head-piece,  with  eyes  rolling  upward,  as  if  in  hopeless  sup- 
plication, and  a  solitary  tower,  without  battlements,  moat  or  drawbridge. 
Concerning  each  of  these  my  companion  had  some  strange  and  m-* 
teresting  legend,  which  served  to  heighten  my  interest  in  the  objects, 
and  to  make  me  forgetful  of  the  dulness  of  our  equipage. 

•Early  on  the  third  morning  after  our  departure  from  Heidelberg  we 
came  in  sight  of  the  residence  of  the  Countess  Von  Ivenskoff.  It  was 
situated  on  a  rising  eminence,  and  commanded  as  fine  a  range  of  pros- 
pect as  can  be  found  in  Germany.  A  view  of  the  exterior  merely  of 
the  castle  itself  was  well  worth  the  journey  I  had  taken.  It  had  an  air 
of  great  antiquity,  but  bore  the  marks,  however,  of  attention  and  re- 
pair. The  portions  of  the  outer  tgwers  which  had  felt  most  severely 
the  influence  of  the  weather  had  been  carefully  supplied.    A  weather- 


1850.]  JuiU  MUieu.  531 

cock  still  turned  on  the  summit  of  the  wing  toward  the  north,  and  the 
quaint  armorial  devices  in  the  keystones  of  the  arched  windoi/^  still 
protruded  in  bold  relief  from  the  wall.  The  morning  had  been  rather 
warm  and  hazy,  but  now  the  sun  bad  begun  to  dispel  the  mist,  casting 
upon  the  peeked  summits  of  the  hoary  turrets,  ^ich  rose  fax  above 
the  heavy  ramparts,  a  pleasant  and  changing  hue.  As  we  approached 
the  wide  entrance  into  the  court-vard,  now  closed  by  a  ponderous  port- 
cullis, I  thought  that  my  eye  had  never  rested  upon  a  spectacle  more 
pleasbg  before.  I  imagined  myself  an  adventurous  knight  in  the  days 
of  chivalry  and  romance  hastening  to  join  the  standard  of  the  baron 
£>r  a  crusade  to  Palestine.  Again  all  the  stories  of  Quixotical  gallan- 
try rose  before  me,  and  I  fancied  that  some  gentle  lady,  with  silken 
tresses  and  lovine  eyes,  was  languishing  in  one  of.  the  d!ark  chambers 
of  the  'castle,  and  was  anxiously  waiting  for  her  deliverance.  Nay, 
I  even  expected  to  behold  a  handkerchief  fluttering  from  the  gloomy 
window  which  faced  me,  and  see  a  tiny  hand  encourage  me  to  her 
rescue. 

We  had  now  gained  the  outer  edge  of  the  moat,  but  no  one  ap- 
proached to  lower  the  drawbridge.  A  sentinel  was  slowly  pacing  the 
wall,  with  his  weapon  brightly  gleaming  on  his  shoulder,  but  he  seemed 
to  regard  us  with  total  indi£ference.  iVe  called  to  him,  but  received 
no  answer.  He  turned  at  the  end  of  his  round,  methodically  walked 
toward  us,  and  then  turned  and  retraced  his  steps. 

'  I  forgot,'  remarked  my  companion  laughingly,  as  he  witnessed  my 
amazement ;  '  we  are  not  now  making  a  social  call  on  Frau  Frederika 
at  Berlin,  but  we  are  in  the  fourteenth  century,  and  are  demanding  ad- 
mittance to  the  stronghold  of  Inslep  Von  Ivenskoff ' 

He  turned  toward  a  post  which  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  moat,  to 
which  was  attached  by  a  brazen  chain  a  horn  of  curious  and  antique 
workmanship,  on  which  was  carved,  in  the  letters  of  three  Afferent 
tongues,  *  Blow  the  Horn.'  He  raised  it  to  his  lips  and  bl§kj  a  clear 
and  shrill  blast  Hardly  had  the  echo  died  away  from  the  long  range 
of  hills  which  stretched  toward  the  northward,  when  a  warder  appeared 
above  the  gateway  and  demanded  our  business  and  our  names.  The 
answer  was  given,  and  in  a  moment  the  puUeys  of  the  bridge  creaked  as 
the  rope  ran  through  them,  and  we  stepped  upon  the  passway.  A 
moment's  delay  occurred,  and  the  heavy  portcullis  slowly  rose.  We 
entered  within  the  walls,  and  beheld  a  row  of  servants  and  men  at 
arms,  headed  by  the  major-domo,  ready  to  receive  us.  •  The  old  man 
in  particular  paid  to  my  companion  all  the  reverence  which  he  con- 
ceived was  due  to  a  relative  ot  the  illustrious  &mily  which  he  served. 
The  line  of  servants  divided  as  we  passed  between  them,  and  obse- 
quiously welcomed  us  to  the  castle,    ^ut  more  anon. 


JUSTE       ICZLIBU. 

Trvtb '■  in  all  creeds,  oar  imoolh  eeleettM  cry : 
NaT,  truth  is  one.  not  many,  our  reply: 
Grind  yon  all  paints,  you  bave  a  dirty  white ; 
UnmiJBd,  the  sioi  sends  liKth  the  pure  while  lighft. 


532  Stanzoi:  JNtght  at  Sea. 


NIGHT        AT        BKA. 


BT  S».  StOMOV.   ev  X.OBISOV. 


Oh  !  Bsy  not  that  Night  wean  the  gloomiest  hue, 

But  gaze  on  that  fur  aky  and  ocean, 
And  teU  me  if  e'er  was  more  beantifol  bine, 
More  exquisite  tints  to  awaken  in  you 

The  feelings  of  love  and  devotion, 
Which  young  and  ecstatic  beholders  confess 
When  Nature  appears  in  her  tenderest  dress. 


The  moon  on  the  water  volnptaously  fkHs ; 

The  foam  round  ihe  tail  vessel  breaking, 
At  intervals  shoots  forth  its  stars,  and  recalla 
The  sparkle  of  lamps  in  imperial  halls  - 

At  a  feast  or  festival  malung ; 
Or  the  bright  comiseations  the  fire-fly  flings 
hi  splendor  and  Ug^t  from  har  radiant  win^s. 


And,  oh,  how  the  glorious  moon  brightens  the  spray 

As  the  breeze  freshens  up  on  the  water ! 
There  is  not  a  bosom  to-morrow  will  say. 
When  the  Day-Star  appears  in  his  flaunting  array, 
That  his  beams  are  more  fiur  than  the  diraghter 
Of  Night  now  showers  o'er  the  trq>ical  wave, 
And  the  ides  and  the  islets  their  light  surges  lave. 


Even  the  gossamer  douds  in  that  fiiirest  of  skies 

Lend  a  something  of  beauty  to  soften 
And  sweeten  the  scene ;  for  they  seem  to  the  eyes, 
As  in  flitting  and  beautiftd  motion  they  rise, 

Like  the  chariots  yon  read  of  so  often 
In  Arabic  story  as  wafting  to  Heaven 
The  spirits  of  mortals  w£we  sins  are  forgiven. 


And  the  air  all  around  is  scented  and  sweet 
With  the  sandal  and  cinnamon  blossom : 
And  the  amra  and  almond,  with  odors  replete, 
Give  balm  to  the  breeies  they  joyously  meet, 

And  send  it  o'er  Ocean's  bosom : 
And  oh,  how  delicious  these  breeies  are  now 
To  the  feverish  lip  and  the  burning  brow ! 


1860.1 


journeytae  *o  ti^^,^^  *^«  prooe«rioi»   « 


to  oome  :' 


^d SSie  go^£r«  »»o  tf«e  life  here  ; 
Somearegoneinad,anduplhrouito^^S«on  1 


Albeit  this  artiole  has  already-  reaoliecl  ci 
oUnation  to  ppeeent  two  more  extraot».  J  i 
roIliDg  in  q^aoe,  and  in  its  reply  theretOy  w  i 

roblimity : 

Ahd  thou,  oh  £artb1  ftom  whose  fiOr  t>osoxxi 

.    curls 

The  white  mlat,  cUmbin^  to  a  purer  «fr. 
And  in  vhoflo  lowest  depttia  bcverB   anc 
the  breath 
Of  pestij^nce  and  death, 
O,  art  th^ peopling-  those  vnde-stfnd^rmd  v>^>ri4i^7 

The  one  with  glory ^  and  the  aite  Ae*padT'  ! 
Thoa  round  Earth — speak  to  us  X 
We  listen  for  thy  words. 

*Then  instantly  a  round  rich  voioe,  aiul  dear 

And  sonorous  ss  a  clarion, 
fianff  in  the  ftrosted  atmospherey 
Like  thousands  all  in  one : 

<  <Oh,  dreamer,  look  to  the  light  I 
Doubt  not  it  will  come,  aa  cometli  tl&e  son. 
Brighter  and  purer  and  more  serene 
For  the  few  dark  hours  that  pass  l>et'ween. 


<  Dreamer,  look  to  the  light  I 
They  say  I  am  old,  that  my  veins  are  cold. 
That  my  yean  are  only  in  thonsaxKis  told  ; 
And  wise  men,  pondering  marlLB  or  a^E^ 
Foretell  the  close  of  my  pilKrimase  ; 
But  they  gs  down  to  their  sTlent  liome. 
And  I  wheel  onl-^.oh,  I  malLe  no  stay 

*  But  hsten,'  saitli  the  traireller,  in  a  U 
warnings  of  the  Sacred  Book. 

(  !>.,_   «t-^.         .     .  ...    AX.MA    ■>>kMll     1-kA 


Bnr  llBlenl  tor  the  titue  shsai  l>e 

When  down  the  srche«  of  Eltornity 

Men  shall  remember  them  or  %l&ee,  \ 

Dimly,  and  (to  away,  rpmeinl>er  tljo©,  «-  --~«^ 

Where  wheeUna  lightly  «>«a<i  a.  ce<nt3 


\  one 


Who  hadsk  a  UtUe  rt>UUiK  sronn<&  m  epaAse,  \    ' 

Where  wheeling  lightly  «>«ad  a.  ce-ntaraX  axin,       \ 
A  few  swintho««mds  ttioii  ha^ist.  rrn^  ^ 

^         In  that  wild  ra^LTi  . 

Then  auddenlyhad  c®?^?? i,  «*«.»,♦_ 

For  UlB^tSSL'^e^*-"  «»»«  -■  d-y 
And  U>vKri^>»A  il^  Howvem  ne^eraiore 
BbaiX  monil^ooine  V>  **'®^  «^  «»oo«». 
As  with  the  «tr»>»^  **^  •olexnn  oal^ea 

"Upper  teases  Ae***^**  pl«oe,  so  do  ^ 

Morning  -Waicsh.' 


534  Literary  Notices.  [June« 

Mr.  Taylor  left  his  desk  in  the  Tribune  office  on  i^  20i1l  of  June,  1849,  for 
Cfaagres ;  crossed  the  Isthnras  to  Panama,  arrived  at  San  Franciaoo,  insited  the  gold 
rivers  and  mines,  was  present  at  the  convention  which  formed  the  California  consti- 
tution,  explored  the  forests  and  moantsuns  of  the  interior,  went  to  Mazatlan,  travelled 
by  land  to  Mexico,  and  returned  to  New- York  by  way  of  Vera  Crux  and  Mobile, 
having  been  absent  between  eight  and  nine  months  ;  in  which  time  the  extraordinarj 
variety  of  his  adventures,  the  freshne^  and  diversity  of  the  scenes  and  characters 
brought  before  him,  his  keen  insight,  quick  observation,  genial  humor,  and  unfailing 
truth,  enabled  him  to  make  a  book  which  will  become  a  dasaic  in  the  libraries  of  tra- 
vel, and  which  will  for  centuries  continue  to  be  one  of  the  most  frequently  consnlted 
authorities  upon  the  early  history  of  the  Pacific  empire. 

We  can  enter  upon  no  particular  criticism ;  th^  brief  *  argument'  of  the  book  which 
we  have  given  will  be  quite  sufficient  to  those  who  know  the  directness,  degance  and 
naturalness  of  the  author's  manner.;  and  we  add  therefore  but  the  ftct  that  the  two 
volumes  are  in  Mr.  Putnam's  best  typography,  and  are  not  a  little  enhanced  in  beanty 
by  Mr.  Taylor's  graphic  illustrations  with  the  pencil. 


HiRTfl  TOWARD  Rbf<Am8  :  in  Lectures,  AddrasM,  snd  oUier  Writtogs.    By  HoRJbcs  Grbblst. 
New-Tork:  Harpbr  and  Brotbsrs. 

This  handsome,  well-printed  volume  consists  mainly  of  lectures  before  popular 
lyceums  and  young  men's  associations,  generally  those  of  the  humbler  class,  existing 
in  country  villages  and  rural  townships.  They  were  prepared  amidst  the  exacting 
calls  of  a  laborious  profession,  industriously  followed ;  yet  notwithstanding  the  una- 
voidable rapidity  of  their  composition,  these  lectures  and  addresses  exhibit  no  markt 
of  haste.  What  Horace  Grrelsy  states  to  his  readers  he  states  clearly,  in  good  old 
Saxon  English,  which  can  neither  be  misunderstood  nor  evaded.  It  is  the  object  of 
the  work  before  us,  m  the  words  of  its  author,  to  set  forth  the  great  truths, '  that  every 
human  being  is  morally  bound,  by  a  law  of  our  social  condition,  to  leave  the  world 
somewhat  better  for  his  having  lived  in  it ;  that  no  one  able  to  earn  bread  has  any 
moral  right  to  eat  toitkoul  earning  it ;  that  the  obligation  to  be  industrioua  and  useful 
is  not  invalidated  by  the  possession  of  wealth  nor  by  the  generosity  of  wealthy  rela- 
tlves ;  that  useful  doing  in  any  capacity  or  vocation  is  honorable  and  noble,  while  idle- 
ness and  prodigality  in  whatever  station  of  life  are  base  and  contemptible ;  that  every 
one  willing  to  work  has  a  clear  social  and  moral  right  to  opportunity  to  labor  and  to 
secure  the  fur  recompense  of  such  labor,  which  society  cannot  deny  him  without 
injustice ;  and  that  these  truths  denuind  and  predict  a  comprehenmve  social  reform 
based  upon  and  moulded  by  their  dictates.'  Beedde  some  twenty  brief  reform  essays, 
involving  a  great  variety  of  popular  subjects,  ^ere  are  eleven  elaborate  productions, 
under  the  foUowmg  heads : '  The  Emancipation  of  Labor  j' '  life,  the  Ideal  and  the  Ac- 
tual *,'  *  The  Formation  of  Character ;' '  The  Relatbns  of  Leammg  to  Labor ;' '  Human 
life ;'  <The  Organization  of  Labor ;'  ^  Teachers  and  Teaching  *,'  'Labor's  Political  Eoono- 
my  -,'  '  Alcoholic  liquors,  their  Nature  and  Effects ;'  and  '  The  Social  Architects  — ^ 
FoaaiSR.'  As  an  example  of  the  terseness  and  sententiousness  of  Mr.  Grbslsy's 
style,  take  the  subjoined  passage  from  the  lecture  on  the  ^  Emancipation  of  Labor :' 

^Unqubitionablt  the  EmanclpBtion  of  Labor  is  to  be  eflbcted  through  or  in  an^unetioa  with 
the  mental  aod  moral  Improremeai  of  the  Laboring  Claas.  Bo  ter,  aU  aro  of  one  mind.  But  who- 
ever aiiguea  thenoe  that  nothing  is  to  be  done,  nor  even  attempted,  in  the  way  of  phTsioalor  drcum- 


1850.]  Literary  Notices.  635 

ttaatial  melioniiion,  until  the  Laborioff  Glaas  diall  have  wrought  out  Ite  own  thorough  fplritml 
dev^pment  and  moral  renovatiOD,  mlgfat  as  well  declare  himself  a  champion  of  the  alaye-brade  at 
<Mioe.  The  internal  and  external  renovation  are  each  necessary  to  the  completeness  of  Uio  other. 
Merely  Ughteolng  his  tasks  and  enlarging  his  comforts  will  not  raise  a  grovelling,  sensual,  ignorant 
.  boor  to  (he  dignity  of  true  manhood ;  but  no  more  can  Just  and  luminous  ideas  of  his  own  nature* 
relatione,  duties,  and  destiny,  be  expected  often  to  irradiate  the  mind  of  one  doomed  to  a  life  of  ab- 
ject drudgery,  penury,  and  privation.  ^  Tom,*  said  a  Colonel  on  the  Rio  Grande  to  one  of  his  com- 
mand, *  how  can  so  bravo  and  good  a  soldier  as  you  are  so  demean  himself  as  to  get  drunk  at  every 
Opportunity?*  ^  Colonel  T  replied  the  private,  *how  can  you  expect  all  the  virtnea  thai  adorn  tho 
human,character  for  seven  dollars  a  month  V  The  answer,  however  faulty  in  morals,  involves  a  grave 
truth.  'Self-respect  is  the  shield  of  Virtue ;  Comfort  and  Hope  are  the  hostages  we  proffer  the  world 
for  our  good  behavior  in  it ;  take  these  away,  and  Temptation  is  left  without  counteracting  force  or 
influence.  *  Without  kopt  and  without  God  in  the  world,*  says  an  inspired  apostle ;  *■  let  not  the 
sequence  or  its  signiflcance  be  forgotten.  Show  me  a  community,  a  class,  a  calling,  wherein  poverty, 
discomfort,  and  excessive,  unrewarded  toil  have  come  to  be  regarded  as  an  inexorable  destiny,  and 
I  will  tell  you  that  there  the  laws  of  Gon  and  man  are  sullenly  defied  or  stupidly  disregarded.^ 

'  Here  is  a  pregnant  suggestion  :  *•  The  appearance  of  one  of  our  manuiaoturing  vil- 
lages, standing  like  some  magical  exhalation  on  a  plat  of  ground  perhaps  familiar  to 
my  boyhood  as  a  waste  of  rock  or  sand,  is  to  me  a  cheering  spectacle,  not  so  much  for  ' 
what  it  actually  is,  as  for  what  it  suggests  and  foreshadows.  I  reflect  by  whose  labor 
and  toil  all  this  aggregation  of  wealth,  this  inmiense  capacity  of  producing  more  wealth 
have  been  called  into  existence ;  and  I  say,  ^  If  these  rugged  toilers  are  able  to  accom- 
plish so  much  for  othert,  why  may  they  not  ultimately  do  even  more  for  thetMelvei  ? 
Why  may  not  they  who  cut  the  timber,  and  burn  the  brick,  and  mix  the  mortar,  and 
shape  the  ponderous  machinery,  ultimately  build  something  like  this  of  their  own?' 
Mr.  Greklet  proceeds  to  sketch  such  a  village  as  he  would  have  it;  and  certainly 
its  advantages  are  abundantly  apparent,  saving  and  excepting  the  '  edifice  intended 
for  the  permanent  home  of  all  its  inhabitants.'  This  we  believe  to  be  an  illusion ;  and 
although  no  wiser  in  our  day  and  generation  than  our  contemporaries,  we  cannot  but 
prophesy,  that  no  attempt  at  such  social  conglomeration  of  all  tast^,  all  tempers,  all 
impulses,  and  all  tendencies,  under  one  roof,  will  ever  be  found  to  succeed.  The  trials 
to  that  end,  hitherto  made  in  this  country,  and  that  on  a  small  scale,  must  surely  be 
admitted  to  have  been  signal  fiulures.  Even  our  excellent  friends,  the  Shakers,  with 
an  their  self-denying  habits,  divide  into  ^  families,'  instead  of  all  living  under  one  roof. 
In  an  that  Mr.  Greeley  says  of  associated  ^ort  for  the  good  of  a  common  community 
we  fuUy  concur ;  but  we  would  leave  the  advantages  thus  derived  to  be  enjoyed  in  sepa- 
rate homes.  God  designed  homes  to  be  many  and  not  one  only.  Even  in  heaven,  where 
there  is  no  variety  of  human  passion  and  infirmity,  there  are  ^  many  mansions'  for  ^  the 
just  made  perfect.'  The  essay  on  *■  Ideal  and  Actual  Life'  is  forcibly  and  felicitously 
written.  We  were  much  impressed  with  this  admirable  passage,  Ulustrating  the  com- 
mon discontent  with  the  Actual : 

*Tbk  swart  laborer  dlacems  the  conditions  of  happiness  only  in  the  luxuries  and  dainties  of  the 
man  of  millions ;  whUe  CncBans,  though  he  hugs  his  posseesions,  finds  them  a  heavy  and  thorny 
burden.  Ease,  the  grand  desideratum,  visits  neither  the  rude  pallet  on  which  the  one  rests  his  toil- 
worn,  aching  limbs,  nor  the  downy  couch  whereon  the  other  nightly  struggles  with  the  twin  demons 
Dyspepsia  imd  Hypochondria,  to  whom  his  sumptuous  fare  and  exemption  (h>m  phvslcal  labor  have 
renoered  him  a  helpless  prey.  *■  O  that  I  were  a  man !'  cries  the  impatient  child.  *  then  |  should  no 
more  be  tyrannized  over,  and  treated  as  a  helpless  idiot  I  Childhood  is  allowed  no  scope  —  no  re- 
spect; its  Joys  are  few  and  trifling:  ha8te,hastet  hour  of  my  emancipation  P  <  O  that  I  were  a  child 
again  V  responds  the  man ;  *that  this  load  of  consuming  cares  and  duties  were  lifted  ttom  my  burn- 
ing, boiling,  half-distracted  brain !  Childhood !  glad  season  of  innocence  and  bliss!  when  simple 
life  was  pleasureuand  any  casual  grief  was  quickly  chased  from  the  mind*8  dial  by  whole  troops  of 
dancmg  Joys  !*  The  king  often  looks  on  the  beggar  with  something  akin  to  envy  —  he  would  not 
exchange  conditions,  as  a  whole ;  but  he  would  give  much,  verv  much,  to  be  rid,  for  a  few  days,  of 
his  tiresome,  never-ending  round  of  dull  formalities,  and  absurd,  exacting  ceremonies,  and  unloved 
but  inevitable  associates,  and  harassing  councils,  and  state  dinners  to  be  eaten  with  a  headache  in- 
siaad  of  an  appetite,  and  turbulent  provinces,  and  unreasonable  yet  tenacious  suitors,  and  murmur- 
ing ministers  or  allies,  with  death-warrants,  demagogues,  and  a  thousand  shifting  causes  of  life-long 
disquiet  He  would  not  be  a  beggar  —  pride  and  fear  forbid  —  the  besgar  might  do  very  well  as  a 
kinff,  while  the  king  would  starve  as  a  beggar  —  but,  oh,  what  wouki  he  not  give  for  a  week*s  free 
roving  through  forest  and  heather,  plucking  the  fruits  fresh  and  Juicy  from  the  branches,  instead  of 
VOL.   XXXT.  35 


\ 


536  Literary  Notices,  [Jane, 

tBTlQg  them  handed  him,  dead  aod  tasteleiiB,  in  golden  Teaeels  borne  by  inpple  alayea.  Food  thej 
may  ttiU  be,  but  that  the  palled  appetite  rejects ;  fruits  they  ceased  to  be  when  God*8  sky  no  knger 
bent  unobetructedly  above  them,  and  the  ripple  of  the  brook  and  sishinff  of  the  winds  tbroiigh  the 
branches  blent  no  longer  with  the  blithe  carol  of  the  birds  all  around.  Not  even  for  a  king  will  na- 
ture be  defrauded ;  and  the  truant  boy,  who,  by  long  watching,  has  found  the  goldfinch^  nest,  shall 
▼ainly  consent  to  sell  his  priie  to  another.  The  nest  and  its  twittering  texumts  may  be  carried  to  my 
lady*B  window  and  made  £ut  there,  but  that  which  made  their  charm  remains  with  the  wood  and  ita 
urchin  ranger.* 

In  the  opening  of  the  lecture  on  *  Human  life'  there  is  a  bird's-eye  view  of  rach 

scope  and  breadth,  that  we  cannot  resist  the  inclination  to  quote  it : 

^To  the  piercing  gaze  of  an  unfettered  spirit,  unmlndfril  of  space,  whidi  should  scan  it  IWim  (he 
central  orb  of  our  system,  this  fUr  globe  must  afford  a  spectacle  of  strange  magnificence  and  beanty. 


Rolling  on,  ever  on,  in  her  appointed  round,  the  earth  must  present  new  scenes  of  interest  and  gran- 
denr  with  every  hour  of  her  revolving  prooees :  now  the  swarming  vales  of  China  and  Japan,  thte 
sultry  plains  of  India,  with  its  tiger^baunted  Jungles,  relieved  by  the  gaunt,  bleak  piles  of  the  ffim- 
roalehs,  piercing  the  very  skies  with  their  pinnacles  of  eternal  rock  and  ice :  then  appear  the  mow 


sultry  plains  of  India,  with  its  tiger^baunted  Jungles,  relieved  by  the  gaunt,  bleak  piles  of  the  ffim- 
roalehs,  piercing  the  very  skies  with  their  pinnacles  of  eternal  rock  and  ice :  then  appear  the  mow 
aUuring  and  variegated  glades  of  Southern  and  Middle  Europe,  and  with  them  the  scorched  and 
glowing  deserts  of  Africa,  shining  In  silvery  worthlessness  and  arid  desolation.  The  broad  green 
Belt  of  the  billowy  Atlantic  now  unfolds  itself,  and  then  appears  the  deraer  green  of  this  immeaae, 
luxuriant  forest,  America,  with  the  achievements  of  three  centuries  of  advancing,  struKgling  dviU- 
aaUon,  barely  suffldng  to  dot  Irregulariy  its  eastern  border,  and  hardly  equalling  in  extent  thoee  prairte 
openings  in  its  cMitre  which  Nature,  or  rather  the  Red  Man*s  annual  conflaffration,  has  suflload 
throufi^  many  age#to  hollow  out  by  imperceptible  gradations.  From  amid  the  aJl-erobraciag  foUage 
shine  forth  with  steady  radiance,  with  deep  serenity,  the  miiror-like  surftoes  of  the  Great  Lakea: 
the  last  surpassing  in  size,  profrindity,  and  beauty ;  the  slender  threads  of  the  Father  of  Waters  and 
his  far-stretching  tributaries  are  seen  disparting  vales  whose  exuberant  fertility  has  known  no  pa- 
rallel since  Eden ;  while  farther  on,  the  tremendous  chains  of  the  Andes,  the  Rocky  Mountains,  heave 
up  their  scathed  and  rugged  sides  through  the  surrounding  seas  of  verdure,  as  if  In  grim  and  ham^ity 
deflanoe  to  ttie  utmost  fury  of  the  lightning  and  the  hurricane,  or  in  soomfVil  exultation  over  the 
crouchlnff  worid  at  their  feet  Soon  the  broad,  placid  surface  of  the  vast,  unvexed  Padflc  praaeots 
Itself,  sprinkled  with  isles  of  deepest  emerald  where  flowers  perennial  bloom.  And  still  the  earth 
rolls  on,  and  every  hour  shall  bruw  to  view  firesh  marvels  to  awaken  the  soul  to  a  oonsciousDess  of 
the  Infinite,  to  deepen  the  fervor  of  piety,  and  exalt  the  glory  of  the  Gbxat  Sdpbsmb. 

*■  Yet,  beyond  doubt,  the  central  figure  of  this  vast  wonder-work  of  creation,  srcMind  which  all  other 
cntiiies  and  seemings  cluster  and  revolve,  is  Man.  He  is  the  presidinff  genius :  the  lord  of  the  heri- 
taffp.  It  is  his  presence  which  gives  significance  and  interest  to  the  landscape,  which  elevates  1^ 
tility  and  beauty  above  barrenness  and  decay.  Not  in  laughing  meads  nor  npplinff  streamlets,  not 
in  broad  blue  lakes  nor  foaming  cataracts ;  not  even  in  these  vi»t,  et^nal  fbresta,  with  their  csvera- 
ous  depths,  their  waving,  swelling  expanse  of  surfiu^e,  their  chaiwing  garniture,  so  green,  and  now 
so  golden ;  not  in  these,  in  any  or  all  of  them,  does  the  soul  of  Nature  find  utterance.  On  no  wild 
mountain-crag  or  lone  savannui  would  the  spirit-gaze  dwell  with  clinging  earnestness.  But  on  Ibe 
scenes  of  Man^s  earilest,  sternest,  most  momentous  conflicts  with  nature,  with  destiny,  or  with  hia 
own  blinding,  blasting  evil  passions ;  on  the  narrow  defile  where  the  Spartan  handf^  wittasttood  the 
gathered  might  of  a  continent ;  the  battle-field  where  a  world  was  lost  and  won ;  on  the  widowed 
tfolitude  wherein  Rome  broods  disconsolate  over  the  fhding  wreck  of  her  grandeur  and  her  power, 
or  tbe  wintry  desolation  wherein  gray-haired  Jerusalem  crouches  amid  the  ruins  of  her  once  ins- 
pregnable  towers  and  peerless  temples ;  the  ashes  of  her  self-abasement  trampled  into  her  f\uTowed 
brow  by  the  iron  heel  of  sixty  generations  of  tyrants.  Through  all  drouznstanees,  all  events,  this 
truth  presents  itself^  that  Man^  being  is  the  essenUal  fhct,  his  spirit  the  imparted  vitaUty  of  the 
worW.^ 

We  can  this  very  spirited  English,  and  so  we  think  will  our  readers.  The  lecturer 
goes  on  to  depict  the  mastery  of  roan  over  nature,  to  consider  him  as  an  *•  Internal 
'  Man  ;*  the  clouds  and  shadows  which  envelope  him,  the  sins  which  '  most  easOy  beset 
him,*  and  the  spiritual  life  by  which  he  vindicates  his  Gon-dcscended  soul ;  dosing 
with  these  noble  sentences :  '  Happy  beyond  the  power  of  evil  destiny  shall  he  be  whose 
whole  life  flows  on  in  one  calm,  full  current  of  active  goodness  •,  of  imceaaing  benevo- 
lence to  Man,  of  unbounded  reliance  on  God.  Looking  back  in  the  evening  of  his 
days  through- the  dissolving  mists  of  the  past,  he  shall  discern  in  every  trial,  Disci- 
pline ;  in  every  sorrow,  the  salutary  chastenmg  of  a  Divine  beneficence.  And  whea 
the  bowed  frame  and  feeble  limbs  shall  admonish  him  of  filing  power  to  execute  the 
dictates  of  a  still  loving  heart,  he  shall  need  no  farther  witness  of  the  benignity  of  that 
dispensation  which  Sin  recoils  from  as  Death,  but,  pillowed  on  that  blessed  Book, 
whose  promises  have  lighted  the  dim  pathway  to  millions,  shall  sleep  to  be  awakened 
in  Heaven.'  And  with  this  must  we  close  our  imperfect  review,  leaving  unnoticed 
many  of  the  noteworthy  themes  treated  of  in  the  book,  but  commending  them,  and 
the  volume  which  contains  them,  to  the  deliberate  attention  of  our  readers. 


1850.]  Literary  Notices.  63T 


OirrLiifu  Axv  Skxtcbss,  bt  Waihirotom  Allbtom.   Boflton:  Stsfbkm  H.  Pxuniw. 

Alutom^  Lkctvrks  ox  Akt  AMD  F0KM8.    Edited  by  Riciued  H.  Daha,  Je.   Ndw-York: 
Bakke  axv  Sgeibmke. 

Thsbb  recent  pablioations  will  do  more  to  poptdarixe  the  &me  of  Allbton  than 
all  his  pictnreB,  many  of  the  best  of  which  are  in  England,  and  there  being  of  those 
in  this  country  but  one  or  two  acccBBiblo  in  public  gaUeries.  They  will  alao  lend  an 
impnlfle  to  our  American  art,  and  it  ia  not  too  much  to  Bay,  to  Art  every  where,  even 
on  iti  native  Italian  bcmI. 

The  outlines  and  BketchcB  are  some  of  thoae  found  in  the  artist's  studio  after  his 
death.  They  were  not  intended  to  be  published,  but  were  designs  which  he  had  aban- 
doned or  contemplated  finishing  and  was  prevented  by  declining  health  and  his  long 
labor  on  his  *  Belshazzar.'  Some  are  from  sketches  in  umber  *,  others  are  from  has- 
tily-drawn outlines  in  chalk  never  carried  farther.  They  am  published  engraved  on 
twenty  plates,  mostly  large  folio.  When  it  was  found  necessary  to  reduce  them,  the 
Daguerreotype  was  employed,  wluch  is,  we  believe,  the  Qrst  application  of  that  much- 
abused  instrument  for  such  a  purpose,  and  of  course  renders  them  very  accurate ;  the 
engraving  being  made  directly  upon  the  plate,  covered  with  the  silver  which  retained 
the  image. 

Most  of  them  are  figures  of  angels  from  *  Gabrikl  setting  the  Watch,'  an  unfinished 
work,  *  Jacob's  Dream,'  and  ^  Ueiel  in  the  Sun  *,'  paintings  purchased  abroad.  These 
exhibit  a  wonderful  mastery  of  form,  both  in  the  use  of  it  to  express  correct  drawing, 
elegance  and  grace,  and  also  the  loftiest  sentiment  Allston's  angels  are  certainly 
the  most  angelic  that  ever  the  mind's  eye  beheld ;  the  only  ones  that  fully  embody 
the  MiLTONic  idea.  Beside  these,  are  some  exquisitely  graceful  fairy  scenes,  of  which 
^  Titanu  and  her  Court'  is  a  perfect  study  of  lines  of  beauty;  ^  Dioo  and  Anna, 
a  beautiful  sketch ;  ^  Hkliodorub,'  '  Girl  in  male  Attire,'  *  Ship  in  a  Squall,'  (a  sketch 
in  white  chalk  on  dark  canvass,) '  Prodigal  Son,'  and  last,  but  not  least,  *  Peombthkus,' 
a  drawing  which  shows  its  author  no  less  true  in  his  conceptions  of  gloom  and  despair 
than  in  his  visions  of  beauty  and  sublimity. 

The  originals  from  which  these  engravings  have  been  made  are  deposited  in  the 
Boston  Athenaeum,  upon  an  agreement  with  that  institution  that  they  shall  always  b« 
open  for  the  use  of  artists  under  suitable  regulations.  They  form  a  splendid  legacy 
to  Art  from  one  of  her  most  devoted  and  most  favored  worshippers. 

But  their  value  is  not  to  be  ranked  with  that  of  the  Lectures.  These  are  four  in 
number,  pr(^ound  and  elaborate  essays,  written  in  the  closest  and  most  careful  manner, 
and  dedgned  to  lead  to  a  new  philosophy  of  Art.  They  begin  with  a  preliminary 
note,  upon  the  definiti<Mi8  in  which  the  system  they  develope  chiefly  hinges,  and  which 
forms  a  sort  of  key  to  the  whole.  But  this  key  unfortunately,  in  our  days  of  super- 
ficial thinking,  is  about  as  easy  to  handle  as  it  wonldl^e  to  wear  the  helmet  m  the  Cas- 
tle of  Otranto.  We  shall  not  attempt  in  a  brief  notice  to  explain  the  mystery  of  its 
management.  But  we  may  say,  that  from  an  observed  experience,  we  can  encourage 
those  who  will  persevere,  with  the  hope  that  the  task  is  not  utterly  impracticable 
And  to  those  who  will  follow  the  author  through  the  Lectures,  we  can  assuredly  pro- 
mise as  rich  an  intellectual  repast  as  any  to  which  they  ever  sat  down,  independent  of 
the  acquirement  of  a  theory  of  Art  which  is  the  clearest,  most  comprehensive  and 
comes  to  the  mind  with  the  most  irresistible  force  of  truth,  of  any  that  we  ever  read. 


638  Literary  Notices.  [June, 

When  these  lectures  shall  have  had  time  to  spread  among  artists  and  scholars,  and 
receive  the  stady,  without  which  it  is  impossible  to  have  an  honest  opinion  respecting 
them,  there  can  be  no  doubt  but  they  will  be  regarded  as  the  foundation  of  a  new  Phi- 
losophy of  Art ;  they  will  be  to  Paintmg,  and  indeed  to  all  the  Fine  Arts,  what  the 
critique  of  Allston's  friend  Coleridge  upon  Wordsworth  has  been  to  Poetry. 
And  the  reader  who  will  not  be  deterred  from  the  study  of  them  by  a  little  apparently 
metaphysical  subtlety  of  argument,  will  find  them  no  less  beautiful  as  speeimehs  of 
elegant  literature  than  as  works  of  laborious  thinking.  Their  value  to  art  is  inesti- 
mable. 


Lectures  before  the  Huntinoton  Library  A8sociA.Tioif.    By  Rev.  F.  W.  Shbltov,  Minteter 

of  St.  John^«  Church,  Huntington^  Lon^-Island. 

Whatever  appears  from  the  pen  of  Mr.  Shelton  will  be  found  to  poBseas  two 
marked  characterislacs — directness  and  clearness.  He  does  not  overlay  his  subject 
with  words,  until  what  he  means  to  say  is  smothered,  but  he  conveys  his  thoughts  at 
once  to  his  reader^s  mind,  in  language  singularly  forcible  and  felicitous.  We  have 
ahready  alluded  to  the  first  of  the  lectures  before  us,  *•  The  Chid  Maniay'  and  quoted 
an  admirable  and  characteristic  passage  from  its  pages,  descriptive  of  a  miser,  his 
habitation,  and  its  surroundings.  It  is  a  very  able  lecture,  and  will  well  repay  peru- 
sal. Tlie  second,  on  ^  The  Use  and  Abuse  of  Reason^''  is  of  a  higher  logical  order, 
and  the  subject  is  treated  with  marked  power.  We  give  the  concluding  paragraphs 
of  this  eloquent  lecture  *. 


*■  In  religion  Reason  goes  beyond  her  province,  in  a  disposition  to  analyze  simple  things,  to  c 
and  subdivide  too  narrowly,  and  to  mar  a  grand  truth  Dy  attempting  to  explun  tlie  method.  In 
natural  things  we  may  carry  this  far ;  but  in  spiritual  things  the  thoughts  of  God  are  too  deep  for  us. 
Men  are  apt  to  split  up  elements  into  many  parts,  and  enter  into  curious  disquisitions  upon  «ch. 
until  the  grand  whole  is  entirely  disi^ipated  luid  is  seen  no  more.  After  they  have  pulled  the  truth 
topieces  th^  are  unable  to  put  it  together,  and  it  is  forever  lost  to  their  own  souls.  Infltead  of  taking 
the  simple  Faith  as  it  is  legitimately  received,  consisting  of  few  elements,  and  those  entirclv  conso- 
nant with  the  nature  of  man,  some  on^  wiU  sit  down  to  embodv  the  whole  system  of  God,  ashis  own 
intellect  deduces  it,  to  show  the  right  adaptation  of  all  that  multitude  of  parts  Into  which  be  K>lit«  11 
Were  we  not  treading  on  forbidden  ground  upon  an  occasion  like  this,  we  might  Illustrate  what  we 
mean  by  this  hairsplitting.  It  is  enough  to  asseK  the  fblly  of  it,  and  that  no  good  can  come,  of  it. 
It  has  given  rise  to  odium,  rancor  and  malevolence  in  all  ages.  It  has  taken  fire  and  faggot  to  pro- 
mote the  peaceful  religion  of  Christ.  It  is  futile  for  this  reason.  In  the  cold  n^on  of  pure  matbe> 
matics  truth  is  dear  and  crystal  You  might  as  well  attempt  to  deny  that  the  sun  shines  In  the 
heavens  as  to  dispute  its  steps  or  to  deny  its  conclusions;  fbr  the  sun  In  the  heavens  bears  witocss 
to  them  when  it  pours  down  all  its  light  (o  confirm  tliem ;  it  bean  witness  to  them  when  it  is  eclipMxf 
in  gloom  to  confirm  them.  Here  the  symbol  corresponds  accurately  with  the  thins  represented.  But 
in  metaphysics  the  case  is  difliBrent ;  for  a  straight  line  may  be  d«Qned,  but  an  abstract  idea  Is  very 
subtle  and  hard  to  be  limited  by  deflniUoh,  and  a  thousand  men  see  it  with  a  thousand  eyes ;  and  as 
the  same  letters,  seen  flrom  different  positions,  are  often  ingeniously  made  to  spell  diflbrent  words, 
so  the  idea  is  taken  by  each  flrom  the  point  where  he  >new8  it.  The  eyes  of  both  parties  take  in  the 
same  substance,  but  they  are  not  intelligible  to  each  other,  and  hence  a  battle  of  words  which  is 
everlasting.  It  is  hard  to  take  hold  of  that  which  has  no  outward  sign  or  representative.  LaiKuage 
adopts  this  hint  in  the  philosophy  of  construction.  Every  language  is  filled  with  metaphor  drawn 
fVom  tangible  objects.  It  is  found  in  nearly  every  word,  making  speech  picturesque  and  intelligible. 
The  common  idiom  is  simple,  and  common  thoughts  are  almost  painted.  It  is  so  clear  and  evident 
But  among  metaphysicians,  in  spite  of  preconcerted  terms  and  definition:!  and  the  nomauHatnre  of 
science,  they  are  at  loggerheads  upon  every  question,  and  not  one  of  them  exactly  understands  the 
other,  yet  it  is  probable  that  they  think  the  same.  Upon  indifferent  questions  of  morals  the  discus- 
sion may  be  harmless,  nay  useful  as  a  sharpener  of  intellect  and  for  the  attrition  of  minds;  but  when 
it  comes  to  the  all-important  subjects  on  which  hiunan  destiny  depends,  upon  which  grounds  the 
strongest  of  relations  are  knit  together  or  sundered,  it  is  a  misfortune  and  a  curse.  The  intellect 
sins,  and  the  intellect  must  abide  punishment. 

i  The  melancholy  lesson  to  be  derived  fh>m  the  subieet  is,  that  the  Reason,  the  noble  faculty  which 
distinguishes  man  (Vx>m  the  beasts  which  perish :  which  elevates  him  toward  God  ;  which  is  capable 
of  such  sublime  achievements ;  which  makes  him  a  partaker  of  such  pure  enjoyments ;  which  Is 
adapted  for  such  indefinite  improvement  and  may  go  on  to  grapple  with  more  and  more  during  an 
immortal  existence,  Is  itself  fallen  and  corrupt  with  his  whole  nature.  Being  throned  In  the  mind, 
it  may  not,  except  in  subjection  to  Faith,  cast  its  light  of  glory  over  the  heart.  It  la  not  of  Itself  con- 
tive  of  bis  nature;  for  in  the  first  place  acute  as  it  is,  it  never  couU  have  originated  or  coo- 


it  may  n 

■ervatiT 


1850.]  Literary  Notices.  539 

ceived  the  simplest  truths  which  were  revealed  for  oar  guidance  from  the  divine  mind.  Though  it 
mav  travel  to  the  stars  and  measure  accurately  the  orbits  of  the  planets,  it  never  would  have  pro- 
mulgated tills  saying:  « Love  your  enemies,  do  good  to  them  that  hate  you,  and  pray  for  them  that 
desplterully  use  vou.* 

*"  In  the  next  piaoe  it  never  would  have  enabled  man  to  carry  out  such  a  precept,  for  as  we  have 
seen,  by  reason  of  his  fallen  nature,  he  refuses  ro  applv  It  to  such  topics.  He  soars  with  it  to  the  visi- 
ble firmament,  but  it  docs  not  conduct  him  to  the  higher  heavens,  where  all  parity  dwells.  This  is 
proved  by  the  history  of  the  most  refined  nations.  Look  at  them  in  the  transcendent  glory  to  which 
they  have  been  carried  by  arts  and  arms ;  when  the  poets  had  wrought  out  the  most  sublime  crea- 
tions, models  of  purity  and  elegance  for  all  time ;  when  the  palntei'  and  the  sctdptor  have  executed 
the  master-pieces  of  art ;  when  architecture  has  builded  up  her  monuments  or  beauty  which  still 
U  ve  enshrined  in  the  balmy  air  of  Italy  or  Greece.  But  vice  flourished  at  the  same  time  in  the  most 
ingenious  forms  and  lowest  degradation ;  and  at  last  under  its  balefUl  influence,  national  glory  be- 
came a  wreck  and  all  but  their  memory  has  passed  away.  Look  at  Individuals.  In  the  midst  of 
their  bright  achievements  and  endowments,  they  have  fallen  like  stars  from  heaven,  leaving  only  a 
bright  light  in  their  train,  which  was  soon  quenched  in  darkness.' 

A  few  copies  of  the  pamphlet  containmg  the  two  lectures,  to  which  we  have  scarcely 
awarded  that  meed  of  praise  which  they  deserve,  may  be  foimd  at  the  publication  of- 
fice of  the  Kmickerbockbr. 


DccK  AND  Port:  or  Incidents  of  a  Oulse  hi  the  United  States*  Frigate  ^Conaress*  to  Galifomia. 
By  Rev.  Walt t a  Coltok,  U.  8.  N.  1  voL  12mo.  pp.  40eL  New- York :  A-  8.  Barnks  and 
CoMrANT,  51  John-street. 

Thk  Rev.  Walter  Colton,  the  recent  Alcalde  of  Monterey,  through  whose  let- 
ters from  the  Pacific  coast,  published  in  our  leading  journals,  we  had  the  first  distinct 
glimpses  of  the  marvellous  riches  of  (he  new  Ophir,  was  long  ago  known  to  our 
readers  as  one  of  the  pleasantest  and  liveliest  contributors  to  the  Knickerbocker,  and 
as  one  of  the  most  delightful  of  our  American  authors,  in  a  certain  vein  of  ethnolo- 
gical and  scenic  observation,  for  which  twenty  years,  more  or  less,  of  continued  ser- 
vice in  the  navy,  in  the  seas  of  various  countries,  had  given  him  ample  opportunities. 
His  previous  works,  *  Ship  and  Shore,' '  Constantinople  and  Athens,*  etc.,  were  no- 
ticed with  just  encomiums  in  these  pages  upon  their  appearance ;  and  we  see  in  the 
present  performance  the  same  fine  qualities  for  which  they  were  distinguished,  with 
some  additional  attractions,  from  the  fresher  interest  of  the  scenes  visited,  which  in- 
clude Rio  Janeiro,  Valparaiso,  Lima,  Honolulu  and  San  Francisco.  The  work  is  in 
the  form  of  a  diary,  and  it  abounds  with  Uvply  description,  refined  sentiment,  and 
just  discrimination.  We  have  little  room  for  extracts,  but  cannot  resist  the  temptation 
to  ofier  our  readers  a  single  specimen  of  Mr.  Colton's  quality,  from  the  journal  at 

868: 

» A  LOMO  line  was  floated  astern  this  morning,  with  hool^  and  bait,  for  an  albatross.  Several  of 
these  noble  birds  were  sailing  in  our  wake.  One  of  them  took  the  hook;  and  as  he  was  drawn 
slowly  toward  the  ship,  his  female  companion  followed  close  at  his  side.  When  Ufled  in,  she  looked 
up  with  an  expression  of  anxiety  and  bereavement  that  would  not  dishonor  the  wife  of  his  captor 
in  a  reverse  of  circumstances.  We  found  in  his  shape  some  resemblance  to  the  wild  goose,  but 
much  hirger  in  head  and  body,  and  with  a  longer  wing.  The  hook  had  not  injured  him ;  and  though 
his  wings  (which  measured  twelve  feet  between  their  tips)  were  pinioned,  he  walked  the  deck  with 
a  proud,  defiant  air ;  his  large  eye  flashed  with  indignation  and  menace.  His  beak  was  armed  with 
a  stfong  hook,  like  that  of  the  falcon ;  his  plumage  was  white  as  the  driven  snow,  and  the  down  on 
his  neck  soft  as  moonlight  melting  over  the  verge  of  an  evening  doud.  He  was  captured  by  one  of 
our  passengers,  who  now  proposed  to  kill  him  for  the  soke  of  his  wings.  But  the  suilors,  who 
always  associate  something  sacred  with  this  bird,  interfered ;  thev  predicted  nothing  but  head-wlnds, 
storms  and  misfortunes,  if  he  should  be  killed ;  and  unlocking  his  wings,  gave  him  a  toss  over  the 
ship's  side  int<J  his  own  wild  element.  His  consort,  who  had  followed  the  ship  closely  during  his 
captivity,  received  him  with  outstretched  wings ;  she  sailed  around  him  as  he  lighted,  and  in  her 
caressing  joy  threw  her  soft  neck  over  this  wing  and  now  over  that.  In  a  few  momnnts  they  were 
cradled  side  by  side,  and  he  was  telling  her,  I  doubt  not,  of  the  savage  beings  he  had  been  among, 
and  of  his  narrow  escape.' 

This  volume  is  to  be  followed  immediately  by  *  Three  Years  in  California,'  which 
will  be  apxiously  awaited  by  Mr.  Colton's  many  friends  and  admirers. 


EDITOR'S    TABLE, 


'  Thb  MoRimra  Watch,  a  Narratite,'  is  the  title  of  a  higUy  spirited  and  imagi- 
natire  poem,  just  issued,  in  beautiful  style,  from  the  press  of  Puthah,  Number 
one  hundred  and  seventy-five  Broadway.  It  is  dedicated '  To  tke  Memory  of  One  wha 
liveth  the  Life  Immortal  in  that  Beai$tifitl  Country  where  to  no  Night  on  Land 
or  SeaJ*  It  is  replete  with  beauties,  as  we  shall  take  ooeasion  to  demonstrate  in  the 
course  of  this  article ;  and  although  there  are  a  few  passages  which  may  at  first  seem 
somewhat  obscure  to  the  merely  casual  reader,  yet  a  second  perusal,  with  the  anther's 
purpose  and  aim  in  view,  will  make  all  dear.  We  cannot  better  indicate  the  charac- 
ter and  scope  of  the  poem  than  by  presenting  the  author's  '  Outline  of  the  Narrative,' 
which  was  originaDy  intended  to  have  been  embraced  in  side-notes/ like  those  wUdi 
illustrate  CoLKaiDoa's '  Antient  Mariner :' 

'PABT    THB    PZBST. 

X. 

*Thb  scene  is  in  a  tropic  land,  upon  a  bigli  bloff  overlooking  the  aea. 
^Tbe  coming  of  Nigfat  is  annoonoed. 

'  And  a  traveUer  from  a  distant  country  asks  if  (he  night  t>e  very  fidr. 

'  The  voice  replies  that  the  night  comes  silently,  and  that  a  smau  white  cloud  ia  seen  in  the  oAng, 
with  which  the  li(ditning  is  at  piaj, 
'  Also  that  the  night  doth  foreshadow  to  the  guilty  a  long  nigfat  of  terror  and  dismay. 

*  But  to  some  it  promiseth  a  beautiful  morning,  in  a  Isnd  where  is  no  care  or  weartnen,  or  aqy 
sorrow ;  for  it  is  the  Infinite  God  who  ruleth  both  day  and  night. 

^Then  tae  TraveUer  replies  that  this  is  doubtless  that  country  to  which  he  is  Jpuraeying. 

t  But  moved  thereto  by  a  sudden  and  mysterious  impulse,  he  calls  upon  God  Io  stay  the  tAgUL 

^  But  the  night  travels  on. 

'  Then  the  traveUer  oomforteih  himself  that  the  stars — and  the  gentle  wind,  which  now,  after  the 
first  diiU  of  the  evading,  is  warm  and  pleasant  agabi— will  go  with  him  <Mi  his  long  journey. 

(But  suddenly  his  Umbs  (Ui  him,  and  he,  perforce,  must  tairy  there  for  the  nl^t.  And  as  the 
spirit  of  prophecy  doth  sometimes  come  to  thoae  who  are  about  io  depart  hence,  so  now  U  seenielh 
to  him  hu  hour  is  approaching. 

( Pointing  to  the  stars,  he  showeth  the  stranger  how  securely  we  sail  among  them,  for  God  keepelh 
them,  each  in  his  allotted  place,  so  that  no  harm  cometh  to  any. 

*  But,  nevertheless,  there  is  pain,  and  weariness,  and  Infinite  distress  under  these  beautifhl  aUea, 
aa  do  know  even  the  brute  things  of  the  earth. 

^Then  the  traveUer  proposeth  to  the  stranger  that  he  wSU  recount  to  him  the  histoiy  of  his  lilh. 

IX. 

*  He  begins  with  a  description  of  his  native  country  and  his  early  home— a  pleasant  land. 

*  And  the  dweUers  therein  Uved  happUy,  wondering  much  and  cheerfiiUy  bow  all  things  woe  so 
fUr  and  good. 

<  Then  came  a  messenger  to  them,  saying  that  aU  this  visible  world  is  not  eternal,  but  was  created 
in  old  time  by  One  who  still  careth  for  it,  and  giveth  it  constantly  life  and  motion. 

'Then  behold  appeared  upon  all  things  a  beauty  and  glory  greater  than  all  other  before,  and  they 
became  a  language  which  told  them  constantly  of  that  Great  Being.  So  that  in  aU  time  they 
seemed  to  l>e  walking  in  His  irrw«iic«— the  presence  of  the  Most  Hiea  —  tAe  WoiisBKruL~cA« 
Almiobtt  —  the  An ciBifT  or  Days. 

(And  the  morning  and  the  evening  seemed  like  the  going  and  coming  of  His  angels. 

'  A  mother  prayeth  for  her  chikL 

*  And  often  at  even-tide  she  singn  a  song  of  a  beautifUl  country,  for  away,  where  ia  no  night. 

'  But  as  the  knowledge  of  evil  tempts  one  to  know  and  be  flunillar  with  it,  so  now,  other  agenciosv 
evU  agencies — were  about  him,  for  whcnn  that  daily  prayer  was  ofliBred,  meeting  him  in  all  tfalnga 
and  in  all  places. 

*•  Veiling  their  own  wretchedness  and  wo,  they  put  on  the  guise  of  sadness  and  a  tooahing  melaft> 
choly,  alternating  with  an  unnataral  life  and  vivacity ;  and  at  last  they  lead  htm  away. 


»  But  botore  bo  \Q«r9^Q^  ^^^  boanda 
looking  Uke^aneeilim  %cLVftjeelioffontli 
up  Into  the  bww  nowv^^^^       buu  as  oi 

idght  receive  bMn  to  t;ftK^»S^,        ** 


serve,  are  of  no  acoo^ja* 
H^^r^  ike  e.11.  of  tba 

TAnd  above  thla^SSf  "J^  "»«<*»»^- 
and  toy  them  dowi^  t^  ^l^.'  ^"^  ""***'' 
Seaven  archee  abSi.lP.i*>eif  iwt  sleep :  ai 
4  But  tbe  time  iahl?,  **>omj  they  all  dam 
of  tbe  Most  HIa^^*  come  when  this  m 
the  Usht  and  the  ^^  *nd  us  the  beautlAi 
Sore.  '^•^•■oatlhebrealhofi 

*The  traveller  m«,, 

therefore,  not  in  TrJ?/^''  *o  the  account  o 

and  became,  aa  ii  ^™*®  «ad  harmony  w 

^^w,  dark  and  throatel 

'Oh  a  bright  mo,-^i«   , 

and  there  appear  t^?^  ^  *®  autmnn-ti 

*  Old  flBces  com©  JSr*  T*8Jons  of  his  be 
oooBcioualy,  unm  ^JtST*"***  ^*»«t  him, 

'  And  walking  dotST"  ?<*»»«  <>»«  »/ ' 
lie  enters  an  iSii^!^^  ^^^  ▼^th  the 
strife  and  contest  of  MTi*** »  """d  nowhere 
Joy.  ^^'^^^  great  world,  but  a 

*He  considereth  th»  v^ 
Gon,  eilenUy  exoSi£?|J^'i^  of  the  tree 
pleasant  air,  U  rntir^  V.  *  ^^^  for  the  be 
&e  thank^vli^.'^^  *"  ^*»lch  U  hSh, « 

P««^m''^J^^*o  the  traveUerothei 
<x>lor  made  pemian«?t  f®*«?»  that  these  ] 

mony  of  the'SSSri'oS**  ^  <»*«»^«" 

*  And  he  rotom-TTi!??''*^ 


'  A«  a  year  before  to  hS'^  L"**  "»o«>« 
appeared  to  h\m^^^^  looked  down  u] 
the  up-nUsed  eyVSSkln^J^f  *»*  ^"^  ^"^^y' 

•..1ft "®"»  by  thesSS/*"*  HPoo  ^Im. 
:  tt>ftVweveiyS&«S?S2»*?**Jtt  sleep  see 
' He  looks  upon  t£i J^?'*^' ^«« »»»«; 
i«n  the  inhabitants  of  that  w. 

*Th«  traveller  walTA*  « 

and  action.         **^®*  ^om  sleep  on  the  a) 

*Biit  now  it  !■  t«^  ^ 
the  land.         "  ^  "^"^  a  world  of  Joy  am 

•S^jJitXteTS?^"  «««oiiaclousl V how  s 
theaea.  """^^ '*mw»  man,  am<  with  a 

*  With  the  snfH»     *. 

'Suddeniy  he  lmiSi^^*®*^*5®  of  prayer. 
*«*^^  P«««e  wl?h^?Sl^*  "^*^"*^  ^ 

In  Imag^mUjon  tg^^!^  *?  memo^to  th 
,  'With  a  mingled  vl?ri^®  *°*>8  ^^^K^^  of  ^ 
fllffht-watehas,  h^b^^'"^  *Sl  hSrror  for 
But  in  the  i^minS^JSiSt  ?^t  ^he  stars,  for 
Pwted.  Ihe  tra^ri^^  ^t^eae  spirits  depi 
I  wiii  dream  of  the  S^p^'^^^th  t&en  that  lu 


•PAR' 


*Tira  traveller  i 


*Tm  traveller  retnx-M* 
♦ITsiangof  an  oldVSl  *^f*^«*  *o  «»« l^*^ 
ftwaway  In  (be  west.  "****  who  lived  in  tl 
^There  is  no  nfflrht.  «««^ 

'AndheaittetH  «u  SS^l^i^yP^J^JJl^j; 


542  Editor's  TaMe.  [June, 

*■  And  DOW  he  revemben  the  soogt  Bang  so  often  in  the  oldeo  time  by  Ovs  now  deputedt  whkh 
toki  of  this  Bame  country,  the  flu*  away  country ,  the  beauliAil  country  over  the  tea. 

^  The  traveller  resolves  that  he  will  set  forth  in  search  of  it. 

^Tha  morning  comes. 

*■  And  a  little  cloud  sails  out  upon  the  sky,  and  goes  on  slowly  toward  the  west. 

<  The  traveller  leaves  his  home,  and  where  the  litUe  cloud  stood  poised  over  an  upland  nngB)  be 
says  to  that  land  his  last  good-by. 

It. 

*■  He  now  enters  the  wilderness. 

^  And  nt  mid-day  reaches  a  high  mountain  pass. 

<•  And  looking  down  on  the  country  which  he  had  left,  behold  the  little  cloud  was  not  there,  bat 
was  poised  as  before  overhead. 

*•  It  was  wonderful ;  for  there  was  no  breath  of  air  in  the  sky,  and  no  other  doud. 

*The  traveller  doubts  whether  it  be  a  cloud  or  a  vision  only. 

*  And  with  a  prophesy  which  proves  true,  he  gueeseth  that  the  cloud  may  be  going  with  him  on 
bis  Journey. 

*  And  it  was  even  so. 

^Then  the  traveller  buildeth  an  altar  between  the  mountains,  and  rests  for  the  day. 

^But  at  nightfall  he  continues  his  Journey,  when,  behold  a  bright  path  opens  before  him,  where 
are  the  prints  of  innumerable  feet— the  feet,  as  he  imagines,  of  those  who  have  gone  before,  no 
doubt,  in  search  of  the  same  country. 

^The  traveller  discourseth  upon  the  way  which  is  given  to  all,  the  path  in  which  we  most  walk, 
and  that  life  and  death  are  matters  of  choice  to  all  beings,  death  oonnsting  chiefly  in  being  left  to 
one*B  sell;  abandoned  of  God,  in  whom  all  things  that  live  have  life. 

ixr% 

*  In  the  course  of  hf  s  long  Journey,  the  traveller  pauses  one  morning  before  day-break,  and  looks 
abroad  upon  a  wide  range  of  sea  and  land. 

*■  And  he  discourseth  with  the  earth. 

*The  earth  replies,  but  vaguely. 

^  Then  looking  forward  to  the  time  when  the  earth  most  pass  away,  the  traveller  dedarea  that  God 
will  build  another  home  for  him,  where  will  begin  the  life  immortal. 

^Then  comes  the  morning,  and  praying  that  he  may  be  made  pure,  like  the  light,  the  travdler  and 
the  bright  morning  travel  on  together. 

XV. 

(  And  now  many  years  have  gone  since  that  bright  morning,  but  still  he  traveto  on,  not  doubting 
of  the  country  to  Which  he  Journeys. 

*  For  the  little  cloud  is  with  him  always. 

*  And  often  ho  has  visions  of  that  bind  which  the  old  man  told  to  him— the  ^tu  away  country, 
the  beautiAil  country^  whero  is  no  night  on  land  or  sea.' 

*  Some  say  that  he  is  mad ;  some  say  that  he  is  a  dreamer;  but  whom  some  angel  guards  ftvm  aQ 
harm. 

*  But  he  travels  on ;  saying  to  all,  that  we  shall  meet  again,  and  then  wlU  appear  who  are  the  mad 
men  and  who  the  dreamers. 

T. 

*  It  is  now  the  morning  watch,  and  the  traveller  having  concluded  the  story  of  his  life  and  journey 
asks  the  stranger  to  look  forth  afldn,  and  see  if  there  be  any  sign  of  morning,  for  a  sudden  diarfcnesi 
sufhmnds  b^nii  au<1  he  snrmiseth  that  his  hour  of  departure  is  at  hand. 

^Ttie  stranger  replies  that  the  night  is  still  moving  on  grandly  as  ever,  and  nowhere  is  any  gtoam 
of  monUng. 

*  The  traveller  cheereth  and  comforteth  the  stranger,  that  the  morning,  the  beantiftil  morning,  win 
surely  come :  it  will  not  (Ul. 

*  But  whether,  as  by  the  coming  of  death,  or  by  the  solemn  sUllness  of  the  night,  and  the  straage 
history  of  this  stransre  mnn,  tlie  stranger  is  appalled  and  overpowered  with  the  awfhlness  of  the  scene. 

^  But  now  an  angel  taketh  the  traveller  away  to  his  early  home,  and  there,  in  vision,  be  aeelh 
again  the  moimtalns  and  the  sea,  and  the  beautifVil  home  unoemeath  the  hills. 

*  And  he  heareth  voices  which  call  to  him,  and  which  say, '  The  night  is  past,  cometh  the  dqy'  —  ftr 
away,  far  away,  they  call  to  him,  ^The  night  is  past,  cometh  the  day.* 

*llie  day !  the  day  !*  Ah,  without  doubt,  the  long,  long  Journey  is  now  nearly  over:  one  step 
more,  and  now  the  traveller  Is  entering  this  wonderful  country,  the  beautifol  country,  the  for  away 
countrv,  *■  where  is  no  night  on  land  or  aeal' 

^  Wiu  the  traveller  return  ?  shall  we  see  him  again  ? 

*  At  some  distant  day  he  may  return,  but  now  we  need  not  stay— it  is  irrevocable:  he  Is  gone. 
But  in  that  country  where  he  now  dwells  we  may  see  the  traveller  again.  Ok,  be  strong,  be  etremf  : 
fear  not.* 

Haying  thus  given  the  '  Outline'  of  the  author,  we  proceed  to  present  a  few  ex- 
tracts, which  sufficiently  vindicate  his  claims  to  a  distinguished  position  among  Ameri- 
can poets.  His  poem  is  informed  with  a  deep  spirit  of  devotion,  and  in  some  of  its 
features  is  not  unlike  the  ^  Pilgrim's  Progress'  of  Buntan.  We  alluded  some  months 
ago,  in  another  department  of  this  Magazine,  to  parts  of  the  poem  which  we  had 
been  permitted  to  peruse  in  the  manuscript ;  and  we  quoted  on  that  oooasion  the  fine 
opening  of  the  first  *  Part,'  commencing 

*  In  silence  and  sadness  oometh  the  night  ;* 
together  with  the  noble  passage  concerning  Nineveh,  and  the  lesson  taught  by  her 


1850J 


Editar^i  TtMe. 


543 


glory  and  her  deitniotion.  These  extractB  will  be  well  remembered  by  our  readers, 
for  they  were  very  striking  and  beantifnl,  and  one  of  them  in  particular  was  copied 
widely  at  the  time  in  contemporary  publications.  We  commence  our  present  extracts 
with  a  passage  descriptiye  of  a  mother  praying  for  her  child : 


'  For  her  child,  pnyed  she, 

That  God  would  care  tor  him  aiway, 

And  lead  him  in  His  perfect  way: 

And  whatsoever  of  alloy 

Were  mingled  in  her  song  of  praise, 

Or  pain,  and  solfering,  and  disease, 

And  waking  nights,  and  weary  days ; 

Still  would  it  be  a  song  of  joy. 

If  a  kind  Fatbkr  would  protect  her  boy : 

But  thou  art  merciful,  stie  said,  and  wise, 

Oh,  goide  thon  all  his  destinies! 

Not  this  world's  fkme  I  ask  for  him. 

Or  power,  or  place,  or  length  of  days ; 

But  give  him  strength,  pure  thoughts  and  praise, 

And  make  hia  great  heart  in  all  things 

Constant  in  giring  — as  a  fountain  flTngs 

Sweet  waters  momently: 

But  if  the  time  shall  be 

When  he  no  more  will  hearken  unto  Thbk  ; 

Follow  no  more  thy  counsels ;  and  astray. 


His  feet  go  down  that  way, 

Which  leadeth  unto  darkness  and  the  grare; 

And  there  be  none  to  save ; 

And  then,  amid  the  shoutings  and  the  ftrilb 

And  rushing  of  the  wheels  of  life, 

Shadows,  terrible  and  dim. 

Fold  round  him,  till  he  see  no  more 

The  beacon  on  the  far-off  shore, 

Fokl  round  him.  and  no  angel  stay 

His  quick  step  down  that  starless  way: 

Oh,  Father  I  let  me  die  for  him  I 

Let  him  not  die !  —  but  in  that  day 

Oh,  let  me  die  for  him! 


Thus  daily  on  the  marbled  beach, 
The  morning  and  the  evening  each, 


Were  hallow6d ;  and  everr  day 

The  two  fair  ongels  seemed  to  sqr,    fpan  a 

That  strength  was  in  that  prayer,  which  woukl  not 


Baway.' 


That  mother  often  sings  to  her  boy  a  legend,  handed  on  from  a  distant  generation, 
of  a  bright,  a  &r-away  coimtry,  over  the  seas  and  mountains,  where  it  is  always  day : 


'  Never  the  night  shuts  in  that  country. 

Or  Cometh  the  foaming  gray ; 
But  the  day  shines  on  forever 
In  that  country  Ikr  away. 

*■  All  the  golden  hours  of  morning, 

Chiming  ever  the  same  sweet  lay, 
Singing  or  morning,  morning  only. 
In  that  country  thr  away. 

«0h,  my  Ufe  is  fVill  of  Joy, 

As  my  heart  is  tall  alway ; 
But  often  stiU  I  'm  thhiking 
Of  tliat  country  fkr  away. 


*The  night  is  very  beautiful. 

But  more  beautiful  the  day ; 
Oh,  I  think  thai  God  must  live  there, 
In  that  country  flur  away ! 

*  Is  there  sorrow  in  that  land? 

Are  there  weary  hearts,  I  pray? 
Do  they  seek  for  death,  I  ask  you. 
In  that  country  far  away? 

*  There  is  no  sorrow  in  that  land. 

And  all  weary  hearts,  they  say, 
Shall  And  rest  and  Joy  and  neace 
In  that  country  fiu-  away.^ 


In  the  following  weird  and  original  passage,  the  traveller,  in  a  vision  by  the  sea-  ■ 
side, '  seeth  a  strange  world,  which,  although  it  sailed  among  others  that  were  very 
fair  and  beautiful,  was  itself,  and  of  its  own  choice,  as  it  were,  an  outcast  among 
them.'    It  was  *  a  world  lying  in  wickedness :' 


>  Its  light,  if  such  it  was,  was  as  the  Ught 
Of  breaking  waters  on  a  midnight  sea; 
Where  ever  storm  and  darkness  and  aSHght 
Mingle  perpetually. 

*lts  sky,  low-hung  and  starless,  such  as  night 
And  coming  tempest  flash  upon  the  sight ; 
A  darkness  beaded,  as  the  sea  with  foam, 
Where  slept  the  lightnings  of  the  wnOh  to  come. 

*  Upon  this  silent  world  there  silent  stood 
A  vast  and  countless  multitude ; 
With  downward  eyes,  and  Upa  of  bloodless 

white. 
And  speechless  all ;  no  woM  of  hate  or  love. 
Or  fear  or  agony,  no  sigh  or  moan : 
But  as  from  some  ponderous  bell,  dcy-hung, 
Unseen  within  the  vault  above. 
In  pauses  flnom  its  iron  tongue. 
Feu  through  the  gloom  ^as  H  were  a  groan 
From  all  that  host)  one  deep,  sad  tone, 
A  single  toll ;  at  which  all  eyes  wei%  raised, 
And  lips  apart,  each  looked  a  kind  of  Joy, 


Something  like  madness ;  but  soon  again, 
As  a  quidc  lightning  to  the  brain. 
Upon  their  downward  flices,  fell 
The  look  of  wo  unutterable  t 

( A  mother  and  her  child  met  there ; 
Both  were  so  beautiftil  and  Ihir, 
That,  so  it  seemed,  a  milder  mood 
Pervaded  that  vast  multitude ; 
But  the  mother  gazed  at  her  speechless  child. 
And  the  child  looked  up  at  her  silent  mother, 
One  with  a  look  so  wan  and  wiki. 
And  with  so  blank  despair,  the  other: 
And  prayed  (Oh,  Gon,  forgive  their  sml) 
That  Jesus  Christ  might  die  again. 
Or  some  quick  nuidnees  set  them  free 
From  sucn  unnatural  misery  I 
But  still  they  gazed,  the  child  and  mother, 
And  still  with  look  more  terrible ; 
TUl,  suddenly,  each  spumed  the  other. 
And  then  forever  on  them  fell 
(Oh,  type  and  countersign  of  belli) 
That  look  of  wo  unutterable  P 


6U 


Editor' g  Table. 


[Jun^ 


H^  is  an  aapintion  worthy  of  a  ohristiaii  and  a  patriot;  and  it  is  e»prewd  with 
nnmiBtakeable  feeling : 


*  O,  Christ,  who  bearetli  prayer, 

When  BhaU  thein  be  the  ylctoiy, 
The  muiy,  and  down-trodden ;  they 

Who  bear  the  buden  of  the  dav  ? 
Oh !  cheer  and  Btrenathen  them  afway, 

And  let  them  not  despair; 
Band  them,  the  minione,  all  as  one 

In  the  great  might  of  uiison ; 
And  with  them,  let  Tht  right  arm  fight 

The  Battle  of  the  Right  I 


*  O,  Chkibt,  who  heareth  prayer, 
Tbou  knowost  how  the  whole  earth  traTaOelb 
And  reeleth  with  the  shock 
or  war  and  pestilence  and  death ! 
E.ven  the  heavens  seem  to  mock 
At  OS,  as  brayers  were  wasted  broalh: 
Thou  seev  the  dawning  on  the  hill ; 
When  shall  be  done  Tht  win. 
Oh !  when  shall  morning  come  T* 


Bdemn  and  awe-foU  are  these  refleotions  upon  life,  death,  and  a  jadgment  to 
oome: 


<  Aan  while  the  round  worid,  cool  within  the 

night, 
And  murmuring  eter  as  of  pleasant  dreams, 
Went  down  to  meet  the  morning,  I  to  my  cot- 
tage home 
Went  slowly  down  the  dewy  mountainniide, 
And  said  unto  my  bouI,  « Oh,  wo  betide 
The  ill  that  henceforth  may  o'ershadow  thee. 
Thou  soul  immortal !    A  few  days  yet  we  roam, 
And  ever  travelling  in  the  self-same  round, 
And  ever  seeking  what  shall  not  be  found, 
And  e^er  hasting  with  the  forthest  star, 
Silently.  swiiUy,  to  the  Judgmentrbar  I 
Oh,  soul  Immortal,  let  us  sin  no  morol 
Oh,  soul  immortal,  let  us  no  more  Amt  ! 


But  listening  to  the  surges  on  the  shore. 

Attune  us  to  the  music  that  is  here, 

Even  the  echo  of  tho  life  to  cornel 

And  so,  when  called  of  Goo, 

We  Step  without  these  walls  of  flesh  and  Uood, 

It  will  be  going  to  our  natural  home ; 

Not  loet,  benighted,  in  a  land  of  storms. 

Begirt  and  heralded  with  phantom  forms, 

But  light-surrounded,  hail  with  songs  of  prsise 

The  sunny  climate  of  our  early  days, 

And  And  again,  more  beautiOu  and  (Ur, 

The  hopes  and  visions  that  have  lingered  there. 

Oh,  hopes  gone  up  i  oh,  memories  laid  away ! 

Unto  that  dav 
Keep  bright  your  robes  or  immortality  ? 


The  ^  dead  years,  rolling  backward,'  leare  the  traveller,  in  his  Tision,  with  his  mo- 
ther, at  the  threshold  of  his  early  home,  from  whioh  she  departs  and  returns  not 
agam: 


<  Not  asain,  though  soon  the  coming 

Of  tne  spring  bade  all  r^oloe ; 
Not  again,  thouah  all  the  summer 
Came  the  biros  that  loved  her  voice. 

*  Oh,  the  many  preyen  in  secret. 

Earnest,  low-voiced,  sobbing  prayer, 
When  she  knew  not  that  I  listened, 
As  an  angel  held  me  there  I 

<  Listened,  but  with  rebel  spirit, 

And  a  heart  unyielding,  strove, 
As  a  demon  with  an  angel. 
With  those  words  of  peace  and  love. 

*  Oh,  my  mother!  oh,  my  childhood ! 

Oh^  the  days  that  are  no  more  I 

And  the  years  they  bear  me  onward 

Farther,  flirther  ftom  that  shore ! 

« And  still  Ihrther  from  that  other. 
In  the  land  where  I  would  be ; 
Far  beyond  the  purple  mountains. 
And  beyond  the  gleaming  sea : 

<  Where  nisfat  comes  no  more  for  ever, 

And  a  ^ory  is  on  high. 
Not  of  the  moon,  nor  of  the  stars, 
Nor  the  sunUght  in  the  slcy. 

^  Oh,  thou  Chkibt  I  who  art  that  gloiy. 
Check  the  rolling  wheels,  that  I 

May  hear  once  more  of  pardon 
And  of  peaoe  before  idle. 


*  Hush  1 1  hear  a  music  coming. 
As  of  voices  in  the  air; 

Ah!  the  flashing, snow-white 
And  the  floating,  raven  hairl 


*  Lo !  the  spirlHratchere  leave  me, 
And  a  ne^ence,  pure  and  (hir, 
With  a  motion  calm,  m^|estie 
ISA  an  angel^B,  enters  there : 

'  With  the  same  calm  flue  and  lovely 
That  t)ont  o^er  me  when  a  child ; 
Oh,  the  look  she  casts  upon  me! 
So  terrible!  so  mild! 

*•  Oh,  my  mother  I  oh,  my  childhood ! 

Oh,  the  days  that  are  no  more! 

Oh  for  wings  to  bear  me  with  thee, 

Onward  to  that  happy  shore ! 

<  With  a  flnger  pohiting  upward, 

And  a  sweet  Bad  smile  upon 
Her  angel  fkce,  that  whiq;>era  peace, 


The  bright  vision 


on! 


*  But  I  know  that  angels  guard  me ; 

As  a  child  I  sink  to  rest: 
I  will  dream  of  the  stiU  waters, 
And  a  home  among  the  bleat: 

*  A  bright  home,  apart  fVom  othen. 

Whore,  with  those  1  love  and  those 
Who  have  Journeyed  on  before  me, 
I  may  worship  md  repoee  V 


Do  not  these  lines  strike  you,  reminiacential  reader,  as  extremely  touchmg  ? 


1850.] 


Editor's  TaUe. 


645 


Here  is  a  glanoe  at  the  prooesnoh  ever  moving  on  fo  the  '  pale  reahns  of  ihade/ 
journeying  to  the  ^  life  to  oome :' 


*  SoKB  so  all  nnwUlingly, 

As  to  a  Bacrilloe,  and  some,  with  fear 

And  trambling,  have  no  true  life  here ; 

And  Bome  go  smilingt  as  in  plenant  dreams, 

Which  yet  are  not  dreams  afi,  but  clothed  upon 

With  tralh^s  moel  radiant  beams : 

These  look  up  Joyfhlly  from  the  deeert-strand. 

Having  a  Friknd,  they  say,  who  hath  passed  on, 

And  waiteth  for  them  in  a  distant  land. 

Some  are  gone  mad,  and  up  through  dungeon  bara 


Are  winking  and  gibbering  at  the  winUng  Stan ; 
Some  are  aU  wild  with  Joy  (which  also  is 
A  kind  of  madness,  in  a  world  like  this), 
Jind  9omty  with  broken  hearUy  make  no  eeeag 
To  etav  tkeir  quick  figkt  down  the  skad»»f  wajf 
But  lifting  wuted  hande^  ask  kuttogo,' 
That  peradoenture^  t«  tome  other  e/tiiM, 
These  lips  grown  pale,  amd  cheeks  all  blanched 

mthwo, 
Mof  smile  again  as  in  the  olden  time  P 


Albeit  this  article  has  already  reached  an  nnoaoal  length,  we  cannot  renst  the  in- 
clination to  present  two  more  extracts.  In  the  following  apostrophe  to  the  Earth 
rolling  in  space,  and  in  its  reply  thereto,  we  thinlL  will  be  found  the  elements  of  true 
sublimity : 

With  the  shadows  of  things  that  have  passed 

And  I  tun  no  thought  of  the  time  to  come, 

But  ever  and  aye,  with  new  delight, 

I  roll  in  the  flash  of  the  stainless  Ugfat, 

While  before  ai^  behind  the  solemn  old  Night, 

Retreating  and  chasing,  is  ever  in  sight. 

Drooping  the  stars,  an  cold  with  dew. 

As  tne  manna  was  drt)pped  of  old  to  the  Jew, 

Wherever  a  bird,  in  love  with  the  sky, 

Is  looking  aloft  as  the  day  goes  by, 


AvD  thou,  oh  Earth!  flrom  whose  fldr  bosom 
.    curls 

The  white  mist,  climbing  to  a  purer  air. 
And  in  whose  k>west  depths  hovers  and  sinks 

the  breath 
Of  pe8tll^nce  and  death, 
O,  art  thmi  peopling  those  widt-euTulered  ieorlds7 

The  one  vith  glory,  and  the  one  despair  ! 
Thou  round  Earth— speak  to  us! 
We  listen  for  thy  words. 

<Then  Instantly  a  round  rich  voice,  and  dear 

And  sonorous  as  a  clarion, 
ftang  in  the  frosted  atmosphere. 

Like  thousands  all  in  one : 


•  <0h,  dreamer,  look  to  the  light  I 
Doubt  not  it  will  come,  as  cometh  the  sun. 
Brighter  and  purer  and  more  serene 
For  the  fSsw  dark  hours  that  pass  between. 

( Dreamer,  look  to  the  light! 
They  say  I  am  old,  that  my  veins  are  cold. 
That  mv  years  are  only  in  thousands  told ; 
And  wiise  men,  pondenng  marks  of  qoe, 
ForeteD  the  close  of  my  pilgrimage ; 
But  they  g»  down  to  their  silent  home, 
And  I  whe^  on !  —.oh,  I  make  no  stay 

'But  listen,'  saith  the  traveller,  in  a  tone  replete  with  the  spirit  of  the  solemn 

warnings  of  the  Sacred  Book : 

Or  the  sweet  visltlngs  of  night ; 
Thesnowsof  winter,  the  warm  touch  of  June, 
Or  last,  the  goMen  light 
Of  autumn,  robing  for  the  lowly  grave ; 
These  all,  with  thy  dominion,  as  a  power 
And  separate  glory,  which  Hs  gave 
Who  made  thee  at  creation's  hour, 
Shall  in  a  moment  of  thy  rounding  flash 
Cesae— and  thou  no  morel 
And  I  shall  witness  it— oh.  Earth  most  ftir, 
Most  beautiful— oh.  Earth  most  rare! 
And  God  shall  make  for  me  another  home, 

Where,  in  the  calm  of  Its  eternity, 
I  shall  anew  begin  the  life  to  come! 
I  shall  anew  begin  the  life  that  evermore  shall  be, 
For  1  am  of  the  breath  of  God,  oh  Earth, 
And  live  forever  r 

As  with  the  strsuns  of  solemn  cathedral  muac  yet  swelling  on  the  ear,  the  wor- 
shipper leaves  the  sacred  place,  so  do  we  leave  with  otq;  readers  the  lessons  of  <  The 
Morning  Watch.' 


Or  flower  asleep,  in  Us  shut  perfUme, 
Is  waiting  the  gloom  of  the  night  to  bloom; 
Wherever,  instead,  were  cruel  unkindneai. 
Famine  and  pestilence,  madneas  and  blindness ; 
Wherever  is  waiting  a  hope  unblest. 
Wherever  the  dying  are  nghing  for  rest ; 

Thus  lingering  never, 

But  ever  in  motion, 

And  onward,  forever. 

With  earth  and  ocean. 
With  forests  and  mountains  and  rocks  asunder, 
With  clouds  and  tempest,  with  ligfataing  and 

thunder, 
With  old  broken  columns  and  ruins  laid  lowt 
Temples  and  pyramids  built  long  ago, 
With  the  numberless  dead  that  are  lying  below, 
^  And  the  ttvlng  who  shortl  v  shall  be  so,' 
I  spring  ferever  with  new  delight 
Out  of  the  darkness  into  the  l^htr ' 


*  BcT  listen!  for  the  time  shall  be 
When  down  the  arches  of  Eternity 
Men  shall  remember  them  of  thee. 
Dimly,  and  fex  away,  remember  thee,  as  one 
Who  hadst  a  Uttle  rolling  ground  in  space. 
Where  wheeling  lightly  round  a  central  son, 
A  few  swift  thousands  thou  hadst  run. 

In  that  wUd  race  — 
Then  suddenly  had  ceased ! 

Bo  like  a  pageant  of  a  night, 
A  darkness,  and  a  borrowed  light, 
Shall  thy  life  be  I 
For  It  is  written,  there  shall  come  a  day 
When  thou  as  p«rchment  shalt  be  rolled  awiqr ; 
And  thy  bright  path  in  Heaven  nevermore 
Bv  man  or  angel  seen ;  and  nevermore 
Shall  morning  come  to  thee,  or  noon, 


$46  Editor's  TahU.  ,  [June, 


Gossip  with  Readers  and  Correspondents.  —  A  new  work  by  the  late  Stdnkt 
Smith  has  recently  appeared  in  England,  entitled  *  Elementary  Sketches  of  Moral 
Philosophy.^  It  oonsistB  of  a  series  of  lectures,  more  or  less  complete,  delivered  at 
the  Royal  Institution,  in  the  years  1804  -  5  -  6.  The  volume  has  elicited  the  highest 
praise  from  the  best  critical  journals  in  England.  We  subjoin  a  few  extracts,  com- 
mencing, with  the  following  upon  *  Puns .-' 

*  I  HAVE  mentioned  pons.  They  are,  1  believe,  what  I  have  denominated  them — the  wit  of  words. 
They  are  exactly  the  same  to  words  that  wit  is  to  ideas,  and  consist  in  the  sudden  disoovenr  of  rela- 
tions in  language.  A  pun,  to  be  perfection  in  its  kind,  should  contain  two  distinct  meaninga;  the 
one  common  and  obvious ;  the  other,  more  remote ;  and  in  the  notice  which  the  mind  takes  of  th« 
relation  between  these  two  sets  of  words,  and  in  the  surprise  which  that  relation  excites,  the  pleaaore 
of  a  pun  consists.  Miss  Hamilton,  in  her  book  on  Exlucation,  mentions  the  instance  of  a  boy  so 
verv  neglectftd,  that  he  could  never  be  brought  to  read  the  word  patriareht;  but  whenever  he  met 
with  it  he  pronounced  it  partridges.  A  flriend  of  the  writer  observed  to  her,  that  it  could  hardly  be 
considered  a  mere  piece  of  negligence,  for  it  appeared  to  him  that  the  boy,  in  calling  them  partridges* 
was  tnaking  gavu  of  the  patriarchs.  Now  here  are  two  distinct  meanings  contained  in  the  same 
phrase:  for  to  make  gnme  of  the  patriarchs  Is  to  laugh  at  them ;  or  to  make  game  of  them  Is,  by  a 
veiv  extravogant  and  laughable  sort  of  ignorance  of  words,  to  rank  them  amoiw  pheasants,  par- 
tridges, and  other  such  delicacies,  which  the  law  takes  under  its  protection  and  calls  rams ;  and  the 
whde  pleasure  derived  from  this  pun  consists  in  the  sudden  discovery  that  two  such  different  mean* 
ings  are  referrable  to  one  form  of  expression.  I  have  very  little  to  say  about  puns ;  they  are  in  very 
bad  repute,  and  so  they  ouffht  tcfbe.  The  wit  of  language  is  so  miserably  inferior  to  the  wit  of  ideas, 
that  it  is  very  deservedly  driven  out  of  good  company.  Sometimes,  indeed,  a  pun  makes  its  a|>- 
pearance  which  seems  for  a  moment  to  redeem  its  species ;  but  we  must  not  be  aeceived  by  them'; 
It  is  a  radically  bad  race  of  wit  By  unremitting  persecution  it  has  been  at  last  got  under,  and  driven 
into  cloisters— from  whence  it  must  never  again  be  suffered  to  emerge  into  the  light  of  the  workL 

The  following  upon  ^BuUs  and  Charades^'*  especially  the  close,  is  very  felicitous,  or 
SMiTH-like,  which  is  quite  the  same  thing : 

*■  A  BULL —which  must  by  no  means  be  passed  over  In  this  recapitulation  of  the  flunily  of  wit  and 
humor — a  bull  is  exactlv  the  counterput  of  a  witticism ;  for  as  wit  discovers  real  relations  that  are 
not  apparent,  bulls  admit  apparent  relations  that  are  not  real.  The  pleasure  arising  from  bulls  pro- 
ceeds from  our  surprise  at  suddenly  discovering  two  things  to  be  dissimilar  in  which  a  resemblance 
might  have  been  suspected.  The  same  doctrine  will  applv  to  wit  and  bulls  in  action.  Practical  wit 
discovers  connection  or  relation  between  actions,  in  wnich  duller  understandings  discover  none ; 
and  practical  bulls  originate  from  an  apparent  relation  between  two  actions  which  more  correct  ui>- 
derstandings  immediately  perceive  to  nave  none  at  all.  Ih  the  late  rebellion  in  Ireland,  the  rebels, 
who  had  conceived  a  high  degree  of  indignation  against  some  great  banker,  passed  a  resolution  that 
they  woukl  bum  his  notes ;  which  they  accordingly  did,  with  groat  assiduity,  forgetting  that  in  burn- 
ing his  notes  they  were  destroying  his  debts,  and  that  for  every  note  which  went  into  the  flames  a 
correspondent  value  went  into  the  banker's  pocket.  A  gcAitleman,  in  speaking  of  a  nobleman^ 
wife,  of  great  rank  and  fortune,  lamented  very  much  that  she  had  no  children.  A  medical  gentle- 
man who  was  present  observed,  that  to  have  no  children  was  a  great  misfortune,  but  he  thought  he 
had  remarked  it  was  hereditary  in  some  families.  Take  any  instance  of  this  branch  of  the  ridlcu- 
leus,  and  you  will  always  And  an  apparent  relation  of  ideas  leading  to  a  complete  inconsistency. 

*  I  shall  Bay  nothing  pf  charades,  and  such  sort  of  unpardonable  trumperv.  If  charadefl^are  made 
at  all,  they  should  be  made  without  benefit  of  clergy ;  tne  offender  should  Instantly  be  hurried  off  to 
execution,  and  be  cut  off  in  the  middle  of  his  dulness,  without  being  allowed  to  explain  to  the 
executioner  why  his  first  is  like  Ms  second,  or  what  is  the  resemblance  between  his  fourth  and  his 
ninth.' 

In  some  remarks  upon  *  Wit  and  Professed  Wits,''  Mr.  Smith  takes  the  same  ground 
and  uses  the  same  arguments  touching  this  theme,  which  we  have  frequently  taken 
and  urged  in  this  Magaiine.  There  is  no  greater  bore  '  in  the  infinite  region  of  bore- 
dom' than  a  *  professed,'  or  as  Sydney  Smith  terms  it,  *  a  mere  wit,'  a  *  dramatic  per- 
former,' whose  intellectual  ^  bent'  is  all  one  way,  and  who  throwsi  nto  the  back-ground 
those  serioiu  qualities  which  should  intermingle  with  every  wellrbalanced  mind.  The 
best  wits  or  humorists  whom  we  knqw,  as  we  have  before  urged  ih.  these  pages,  (there 
is  a  great  difference,  by-the-by,  between  a  wit  and  a  humorist,)  are  busmess  or  profes- 
sional men,  of  sound  common  sense,  and  great  acumen ;  and  Smith  himself,  and 
Dickens,  are  illustrations  that  the  highest  order  of  humor  is  not  incompatible  with  a 
higher  order  of  intellectual  qualities.    Mr.  Smith  observes : 

^  doubt  If  they  are  sufficiently  indulgent  to  this  ftKuUy  where  it  exists  in  a  teswr  degree,  and  as 


1850.] 


Editor's  Table.  547 


one  ont  of  many  other  ingredients  of  the  ondorstuiding.  There  is  an  association  in  men^s  minds  be- 
tween dulness  and  wisdom,  amusement  and  folly,  which  hss  a  very  powerful  influence  in  declai(m 
upon  character,  and  is  not  overcome  without  considerable  difBculty .  The  reason  is,  that  the  outward 
sign  of  a  dull  man  and  a  wise  man  are  the  same,  and  so  are  the  outward  signs  of  a  fHvolous  man 
and  a  wiUy  man ;  and  we  are  not  to  expect  that  the  majority  will  be  disposed  to  look  to  much  more 
than  the  outward  sign.  I  beUeve  the  ftust  to  be,  thai  wit  is  very  seldom  the  only  eminent  quality  which 
rerides  in  the  mind  of  any  man :  it  is  commonly  accompanied  with  many  other  talents  of  every  de 
scription,  and  ought  to  be  considered  as  a  strong;  evidence  of  a  fertile  and  si^>erior  understsjodlng. 
Almost  all  the  great  poets,  orators,  and  statesmen  of  all  times,  have  been  witty.  CiisAR,  Albx  andbr, 
AaiSTOTLK,  Dbscartbs,  and  Lord  BAC0N,were  witty  men;  so  were  Cicbro,  Shakspbarb,  Dbmos- 

THBNBS,  BOILBAV,  POPB,   DRTDBN,   FomTBNBLLE,  JoitSON,  VVaLLRR,  CoWLBY,  SoLON,  SoCRATBS, 

-Doctor  JoBKsoM,  and  almost  every  man  who  has  made  a  distinguished  figure  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. I  have  talked  of  the  danger  of  wit:  I  do  not  mean  by  that  to  enter  into  common-place  decla- 
matioa  against  faculties  because  they  are  dangerous ;  wit  is  dangerous,  eloquence  is  dangerous,  a 
talent  for  observation  is  dangerous,  «very  thing  is  dangerous  that  Ims  efficacy  and  vigor  for  its  charac- 
teristics :  nothing  is  safe  but  mediocrity.  The  business  is,  in  conducting  Uie  understanding  well,  to 
risk  something ;  to  aim  at  uniting  things  that  are  commonly  incompatible.  The  meaning  of  an  ex- 
traordinary man  is,  that  he  is  eight  men,  not  one  man ;  that  he  has  as  much  wit  aa  if  he  had  no  sense, 
and  as  much  senee  as  If  he  tuufno  wit :  that  his  oouduct  is  as  Judicious  as  if  he  were  the  dullest  of 
human  beings,  and  his  imagination  as  brilliant  as  if  he  were  irretrievably  ruined.  But  when  wit  Is 
combined  with  sense  and  information;  when  it  is  softened  by  benevolence,  and  restrained  by  stroi^ 
principle ;  when  it  is  in  the  hands  of  a  man  who  can  use  it  and  despise  it,  wtio  can  be  witty  and  some- 
thing much  better  than  witty,  who  loves  honor.  Justice,  decency,  good-nature,  morality,  and  religion, 
ten  thousand  times  better  than  wit ;  wit  is  then  a  beautiful  and  delightful  part  of  our  nature,  'niere 
is  no  more  interesting  spectacle  than  to  see  the  eflfocts  of  wit  upon  the  different  ctuiracters  of  men ; 
than  to  observe  It  expanding  caution,  relaxing  dignity,  unfireezmg  coldness,  teaching  age,  and  care, 
and  pain,  to  smile ;  extorting  reluctant  gleams  of  pleasure  from  melancholy,  and  charming  even  the 
pangs  of  gried  It  is  pleasant  to  observe  bow  it  penetrates  through  the  coldness  and  awkwardness  of 
society,  gradually  bringing  men  nearer  together^  and,  like  the  combined  force  of  wine  and  oil,  giving 
every  man  a  glad  heaix  and  a  shining  countenance.  Genuine  and  innocent  wit  like  this,  is  surely  the 
Jiovor  of  the  mind !  Man  could  direct  his  ways  by  plain  reason,  and  support  his  life  by  tasteless  food ; 
but  God  has  given  us  wit,  and  flavor,  and  bnghtncss,  and  laughter,  and  perfumes,  to  enliven  the  days 
of  man*s  pilgrimage,  and  to  *■  charm  his  pained  steps  over  the  burning  mart.* 

We  hope  to  see  the  volome  firom  which  these  extracts  are  taken  soon  republished 
on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic.  It  could  not  &il  of  a  wide  circtilation  among*  the  writer's 
numerous  American  admirers.  ...  A  south-western  correspondent  sends  us  the 

following  anecdote  of  ^  Harry  H ,'  a  prominent  citizen,  a  member  of  a  leading 

commission>house  in  his  native  town,  a  zealous  Methodist  ihere^  not  ^  quite  so  much 
so'  in  New-Orleans,  but  ^  shrewd  enough  in  trade  any  where  :'  *  Some  years  ago  the 
Methodists  were  holding  a  camp-meeting  in  the  country  a  few  miles  from  this  place, 
and  Harrt  was  present.  On  Sunday  evening  a  sermon  had  been  preached,  and  an 
effort  made  to  get  up  an  excitement,  but  in  vain.  The  congregation  were  extremely 
dull  and  indifferent  By-and-by  Harrt  arose  and  commenced  singing,  walking  about 
the  altar,  up  and  down  the  usles,  shaking  hands  with  the  brethren,  etc.  At  the  end 
of  each  verse  was  a  &miliar  chorus,  something  like  this : 

*•  Shall  I  ever  get  to  heaven,  hallelujah,  hallelujah, 
Shall  I  ever  get  to  heaven,  halleli^ah,  haUeluJah, 
Shall  I  ever  get  to  heaven,  halleligah,  hallehijah,'  etc 

He  had  got  through  one  verse,  and  this  chorus,  which  he  sang  with  pectdiar  spirit 
and  emphasis,  and  just  as  he  had  finished  the  last  word,  a  student,  seated  in  the  back 
part  of  the  meeting,  and  overlooking  the  whole  scene,  cried  out,  ^No-Sir-ree  !  you 
never  toill  /'  The  preachers  could  not  help  smiling  any  more  than  the  rest  of  the 
people  could  refrain  fr^m  laughing  outright.'  .  .  .  We  copy  from  *  The  TVibune^ 
daily  journal,  the  following  notice  of  an  entertaining  work,  recently  published  by  the 
Brothers  Qarper  ;  regretting  that  our  own  copy  came  at  too  late  a  period  of  the 
month  to  be  adequately  reviewed  in  the  present  number.  The  author  is  a  gentleman 
of  decided  talent,  whose  pen  has  heretofore  been  welcomed  cordially  to  these  pages  : 
^Standish  the  Puritan*  is  a  tale  of  the  American  revolution,  issued  under  the  nam 
de  plumey  we  suppose,  of  Eldred  Gratbon,  Esq.,  and  dedicated  to  po  less  a  flesh 
and  blood  reality  than  our  friend  of  the  Knickerbocker,  Lewis  Gayloro  Clark. 


548  EeUtar^s   Table.  [Jane, 

The  scene  of  the  story  is  laid  in  New- York  and  its  vioinity,  at  ihe  breaking  ont  of 
the  revolutionary  war,  and  the  nnmerous  reminiscences  and  traditions  of  that  period 
are  made  use  of,  for  the  oonstruction  of  the  narrative,  with  very  considerable  success. 
The  author  evidentiy  possesses  the  power  of  quick  and  accurate  observation ;  he  un- 
derstands the  grouping  of  characters,  so  as  to  command  the  interest  of  the  reader ; 
and  with  a  keen  perception  of  the  ridiculous,  and  a  lively  satirical  vein,  he  has  pro- 
duced a  work,  which  in  spite  of  faults  of  arrangement  and  style,  is  creditable  to  his 
talents  for  fictitiotte  composition.  His  book  will  find  many  readers,  and  will  well  re-' 
ward  their  attention.'  .  .  .  Under  the  head  of  ^The  Knickerbocker  and  the  South* 
the  Charleston  ^Literary  Oaxette^  favors  it  readers  with  some  forcible-feeble  remarks 
against  this  Magazine,  for  having  admitted  a  poem  b^  Albkrt  Pike,  Esq.,  of  Ar- 
kansas, entitie  ^Dimmofi,'  wherein  he  denounced  in  strong  terms  the  project  of  dis- 
solving the  bonds  which  bind  our  glorious  States  together.  This,  it  seems,  is  the  head 
and  front  of  our  own  and  our  correspondent's  offending ;  and  in  this,  it  would  appear, 
we  have  permitted  ^  the  South'  to  be  ill-treated.  On  the  one-hand,  we  are  abused 
by  the  abolition  papers  for  '  making  fun  of  our  black  brethren,'  turning  them  into 
ridicule,  by  publishing  the  *  colored  effusions'  of  such  poets  as  Pamcko,  Gactl,  and  the 
Hartford  *  Plato-ess  ;'  and  on  the  other  we  are  denounced  for  permitting  '  the  South' 
to  be  ^  evil  spoken  of.'  Well,  well ;  we  shall  go  on  as  heretofore ;  interfering  at  no 
time  with  vexed  questions,  religious  or  sectional ;  but  striving  to  make  a  readable 
Magazine,  which  shall  please  many  and  offend  none,  save  quacks  and  pretenders,  lite- 
rary and  other.  Meanwhile,  if  we  have  any  *  patrons'  at  ^  the  South'  or  elsewhere 
who  fancy  that  the  Ej«ickerbocker  is  not  worth  their  money,  or  undeserving  of  their 
favor,  we  shall  of  course  be  always  ready  to  remove  their  names  fh>m  our  subscription- 
list.  We  desire  no  unwillmg  *  patrons,'  nor  have  we  any  such ;  and  we  suspect  it  will 
require  something  more  than  a  suggestion  of  '  discontinuance'  by  the  '  Gazette,'  and 
something  more  heinous  on  our  part  than  the  publication  of  a  piece  of  patriotic  po- 
etry, by  a  Southern  fellow-citizen,  who  commanded  our  brave  Southern  volunteers  in 
Mexico — we  think,  we  say,  that  it  will  require  something  more  than  this  to  bring 
about  the  consummation  so  much  desiderated  by  the  *  Gazette.'  However,  to  make 
use  of  an  expression  which  has  been  once  before  employed  in  print, '  Nou9  verronSj 
Messieurs.'  .  .  .  Since  the  last  number  of  the  Knickeebockbe  greeted  our 
friends,  one  of  the  bright  stars  in  the  firmament  of  our  literary  world  has  been  vnth- 
drawn,  to  shine  fcvever  in  calmer  and  brighter  spheres.  Frances  Saeoent  Osoooo, 
of  whose  admirable  characteristics  as  a  poet  we  need  say  nothing  here,  died  ai  the 
residence  of  her  husband,  near  our  own,  in  Twenty-Second-street,  on  Sunday  after- 
noon, the  twelfth  of  May,  aged  twenty-seven  years,  six  months  and  five  days.  The 
Bev.  Dr.  Ruras  W.  Geiswold,  for  many  years  one  of  her  most  intimate  frienda,  has 
published  in  the  '  Evening  Mirror^  an  extended  notice  of  her  life  and  genius,  from 
which  we  extract  the  followhig  paragraphs  descriptive  of  the  clonng  scenes: 

'Mrs.  OaoooD^s  health  was  variable  daring  the  summer,  which  she  paaaed  chiefly  at  flaratogs 
Bpringa,  in  the  company  of  a  bmlly  of  intimate  Mends ;  and  as  the  colder  months  came  on,  her 
strength  decayed,  so  that  before  the  doee  of  November  she  was  confined  to  her  apartmenta.  She 
bore  her  saflteings  with  reelgnatton,  and  her  natural  hopeMneas  cheered  her  all  the  while  with  re- 
membranoee  that  ahe  had  before  come  out  with  the  flowers  and  the  embracing  airs,  and  dreams  that 
she  would  again  be  in  the  world  with  nature.  Two  or  three  weeks  ago  her  hosband  carried  her  tn 
his  arms,  like  a  child,  to  a  new  home,  and  she  was  happier  than  she  had  been  for  monlha,  in  the  ex- 
citement of  aeleetlng  ita  fUmitore,  brought  in  spedmena  or  in  pattema  to  her  bedddo.  « We  ataail 
be  80  happyP  was  her  salutation  to  the fow  Mends  who  were  admitted  tosee  her;  but  they  asw. 


•fe. 


550  Editor's  TMe.  *  [June, 

it  expedient  to  plant  unthrifty  thorns  over  bitter  wdh  of  blood  in  the  wildemeBs  we 

leave  behind  us  V The  following  anecdote,  whose  worst  faolt  is  its  truth,  exhibits 

a  spirit  more  easily  defended  by  precedent  than  by  Christian  principle.  A  clergynuin 
of  one  of  the  ^  liberal'  denominations,  who  formerly  resided  ^  on  this  river,'  was  called 
a  few  years  ago  to  a  neighboring  town  to  officiate  at  a  wedding.  During  his  absence 
there  was  in  some  way  connected  with  the  wedding  a  party,  at  which  ih&re  were 

*  plays  and  forfeits'  and  dancing.  Immediately  on  his  return  a  report  was  started  and 
industriously  circulated  by  a  clergyman  of  a  different  pursuasion  that  the  former  had, 
while  absent,  attended  a  party,  and  danced  !  It  was  not  long  before  they  met,  and 
the  former  informed  the  latter  that  he  had  heard  of  the  report  in  circulation,  and  that 
it  was  entirely  false.  ^  Did  you  think  it  right,'  he  inquired, '  to  make  up  and  put  in 
circulation  a  story  of  this  kind,  because  you  thought  it  would  injure  me  V  *■  Sir,' 
said  the  respondent,  *•  I  donH  consider  you  evangelical  /'  and  he  turned  and  went 

his  way.    How  long  will  it  take  a  spirit  like  this  to  evangelize  the  world  ? Reu- 

oioN  has  received  no  benefit  from  the  practice  by  nuiny  sects  of  permitting  ooarse  and 
ignorant  men  to  become  ministers.  At  a  revival-meeting,  not  long  ago,  in  a  town 
'  down  east,'  one  of  the  clergymen  present  read  a  passage  f^om  the  Bible,  and  com- 
menced his  remarksi  thereon  as  follows :  '  Now,  my  friends,  you  see  this  text  pui9  in 
for  Christ ."  'What  can  any  serious  mind  think  of  the  effect  of  such  language  upon 
a  revival  congregation  7     Apropos  of  ignorant  ministers :  I  knew  a  minister  in  the 

*  hill  country,'  who,  in  preaching  from  the  text  *  The  time  of  the  singing  of  birds  is 
come,'  etc.,  broke  out  after  this  fashion :  *  And  how  delightsome  it  is,  my  friends,  to 
go  forth  in  the  spring  and  behold  the  turkle  as  he  climbs  upon  some  neighboring  log, 
stretches  out  his  majestic  head,  and  lifts  up  his  melodious  voice !'  At  another  time  I 
heard  him  say  that  the  ^  religious  life  was  like  unto  a  fine-spun  thread  spun  out  by  a 

spuneter ." P.  S. :  I  see  that  you  have  heard  of  a  lawyer  away  *  down  east'  here 

by  the  name  of  S .    Several  years  ago,  during  the  time  of  the  late  Judge  P  — — , 

our  lawyer  had  brought  a  sham  replevin  suit  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  and  keej^ng 
for  a  time  certain  *■  goods  and  chattels.'  When  the  action  was  reached  and  was  in 
order  for  trial,  the  defendant,  as  by  our  statute  he  might,  pleaded  the  '  general  issue.' 

*  What  are  the  pleadings  V  inquired  the  judge.  *  The  general  issue.'  '  Have  yon 
j'ined  issue,  Mr.  S ?'  *  No,  I  've  demurred,  your  honor,'  was  the  reply.  *  De- 
murred to  the  general  issue,  Mr.  S 7  *  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing !    For 

what  cause  have  you  demurred  7'    *  For  duplicity y  your  honor.'    *  Wha-wha-what  do 

you  mean,  Mr.  S 7'    *  Why,  may  it  please  the  court,  I  assure  you  I  am  perfecfly 

serious.'    '  R-r-r — that  will  never  answer  in  this  court,  Mr.  S !' '    .    .   .   *  The 

North-American  Review  y"^  for  the  April  quarter,  is  a  varied  and  interesting  number. 
The  article  upon  Irving's  Life  of  Goldsmith  is  discriminating,  and  written  with  great 
good  taste.  We  select  a  single  passage,  marked  as  we  read,  which  we  commend  for  its 
truth  and  beauty :  ^  We  love  best  those  who  seem  most  nearly  acquainted  with  oar 
oommon  daily  life,  and  most  warmly  concerned  in  it ;  those  who  express  this  sympa- 
thy and  concern  with  the  least  reserve,  and  who  count  most  securely  on  the  univer- 
sality of  human  hopes  and  wishes,  passions  and  accidents.  There  is  a  secret  solicitude 
in  every  breast  on  this  subject  of  life ;  it  is  of  the  intensest  importance  to  us ;  an 
overshadowing  thought,  indeed,  which  insensibly  colors  all  our  other  thoughts,  while 
we  are  fancying  ourselves  very  philoM^hical  about  the  world  and  its  aCEairs.  It  is  in 
vain  that  we  seek  to  reduce  the  importance  of  this  life,  or  to  moderate  our  concern  m 
it,  by  considerations  oonnected  with  anolAer.    Those  very  ocmsidentions  do  but  add 


1850.] 


Ediior^s  TahU. 


551 


dignity  to  a  period  which  !■  bo  intimately  oonneoted  with  an  nnimaginable  eternity. 
The  greater  our  anxiety,  or  the  stronger  onr  hope  in  the  fatnre,  the  more  intense  is, 
and  onght  to  be,  the  interest  of  a  healthM  mind  in  the  present,  and  wliatever  tends  f 
to  unfold,  disentangle,  or  illuminste,  that  most  pvxding  bnt  most  precious  present.^ 
Of  that  most  oontemptible  of  all  contemptible  things,  a  Scotch  Toady^  the  revicn^fl 
remarks :  <  Boswcll'b  mental  uniyerse  admitted  but  one  sun,  and  the  grand  bo^lblsA 
of  his  life  was,  the  exclusion  of  what  might  intervene  between  himself  and  tXe  rays 
which  glorified  his  insignificance.'  The  following  remarks,  in  a  review  of  a-work  on 
*  The  Siege  of  Boston,'*  seems  to  confirm  the  argrument  of  our  oorrespondent  who 
placed  '  Old  Put.  at  the  Bar*  in  these  pages  several  years  ago :  ^  It  now  appears  very 
aatia&otorily  thalT  Putnam  never  interfered  with  the  direction  of  ihe  troops  in  the 
redoubt  at  Bunker-Hill,  who  bore  the  brunt  of  the  contest :  he  left  that  entirely  to 
Colonel  Peesoott.  What  orders  he  gave  were  at  the  slighter  defences.'  .  .  .  The 
ensnmg  graceful  and  feeling  lines  were  sent  by  Mrs.  Jakes  Rdssbll  Lowell  in  a 
letter  to  a  bereaved  fWend,  whence  they  escaped  into  print  We  commend  them  to 
the  heart  of  every  bereaved  parent : 


*  Whkk  on  my  ear  your  loos  wm  knelled, 

And  lender  sympatiiy  npbanL 
A  litUc  riU  from  memorr  swelled, 
Whieb  once  had  Boothed  my  bitter  thirst : 

*  And  I  was  foln  to  bear  to  yoa 

Some  portion  of  its  mild  relief^ 
That  it  might  bo  as  healing  dew 
TO  steal  some  fever  fkom  your  grteC 

'  After  our  ehild^s  antroubled  breath 
Up  to  the  Fathkr  took  its  way. 
And  on  our  home  the  shade  of  diBath 
Like  a  long  twilight  luumtlng  lay : 

*  And  friends  came  roond  with  ua  to  weep 

Her  little  spirit's  swift  remove, 
This  story  of  the  Alpine  sheep 
Waa  told  to  oa  by  one  we  love: 

**They,  in  the  valley's  sheltering  care. 
Soon  crop  the  meadow's  tender  prime, 
And  when  the  sod  grows  brown  and  bare 
The  shepherd  strives  to  make  them  climb 

* '  To  airy  shelves  of  pasture  greeit 

Tliat  hang  along  the  mountain's  side, 
Where  grass  and  flowers  together  lean. 
And  down  through  miat  thq  banbeoms  slide. 


<  *  Bnt  nooght  can  tempt  the  timid  things 

That  steep  and  rugged  path  to  try. 
Though  sweet  the  shepherd  calls  and  sings. 
And  seared  below  the  paatures  lie : 

<  ^TiD  in  his  arms  their  lamba  he  takes. 

Along  the  dizzy  verge  to  go. 
Then,  heedless  of  the  rifta  and  breaks, 
Tliey  follow  on  o'er  rock  and  snow. 

'  *  And  in  those  pastures  lifted  fair. 
More  dewy  soft  than  lowland  mead, 
The  shepherd  drops  his  tender  care. 
And  sheep  and  lambs  together  feed.* 

«This  parable,  by  nature  breathed, 

Blew  on  me  as  the  soutii  wind  free, 
O'er  frozen  brooks  that  float  unsheathed 
From  icy  thraldom  to  the  sea.    ' 

» A  bliaaftd  vision,  through  the  night. 
Would  all  my  him)py  senses  swav 
Of  the  good  shepheru  on  the  height. 
Or  climbing  up  the  stony  way : 

'  Holding  our  little  hunb  asleep ; 

And,  like  the  burthen  of  the  sea, 
Sounded  that  voice  along  the  deep, 
Saying,  *'Ariae  and  foUow  me ." 


'  I  WANT  to  get  some  ^um,'  said  a  friend  of  ours  to  a  Bowery  druggist  the  other 
day,  ^  to  aUay  a  canker  In  my  mouth.  Please  to  dissolve  it  in  water.'  The  man 
mixed  somethmg  in  a  tumbler,  that  looked  more  like  fine  wool  than  alum-water.  '  Is 
this  alum  V  asked  our  friend.  '  Alum  ?  —  no ;  I  thought  yon  asked  for  ellum  ;  that 's 
slippery-ellum !'  A  bright  druggist  that !  .  .  .  ^  Talbot  and  Vernon^  is  the  title  of 
a  new  novel  just  published  by  Messrs.  Baeee  and  Scribneb.  A  friend,  an  authentic 
literary  judge,  who  had  been  permitted  to  read  the  work  in  manuscript,  pronounced 
a  high  eulogium  upon  it  in  the  sanctum  some  weeks  since.  Finding  it  inconvenient 
to  afford  the  requisite  space  for  an  adequate  review  of  the  work  in  the  present  num- 
ber,  we  adopt  the  following  notice  by  one  of  the  best  literary  critics  of  the  metropolis : 
'  It  is  written  with  the  ostensible  purpose  of  illustrating  the  strength  of  circumstantial 
evidenee,  though  it  is  free  from  the  dry  and  didactic  tone  which  usually  ruins  the  at- 

▼OL.   XZZY.  36 


552  Editor's  Taile.  [JunOr 

tempt  to  inculcate  a  specific  moral  in  a  work  of  fiction.    The  narrative  abounds  widi 
stirring  incidents,  which  keep  alive  the  curiosity  of  the  reader ;  and  the  approach  to 
the  denouement  by  means  of  a  law-suit  is  managed  with  great  acuteneas  and  ae- 
quaintanoe  with  professional  subtleties.    The  scene  opens  in  one  of  the  Western  citiea, 
and  is  afterward  transferred  to  the  camp  of  Greneral  TayloRi  in  Mexico.    With  a 
quick  eye  for  the  beauties  of  nature^  the  author  introduces  many  agreeable  descrip- 
tions of  the  Mexican  landscape,  following  the  course  of  the  Mexican  troops  to  the  de- 
cisive batUe  of  Buena  Vista.    We  have  little  doubt,  fr<Hn  the  excellent  promise  of  this 
production,  that  we  shall  hear  of  the  unknown  author  in  still  more  successful  contri- 
butions to  the  literature  of  his  country.'    ...    ^  It  chanced  some  time  since,'  writes 
a  friend, '  during  an  exhibition  of  Powbrs'  *■  Greek  Slave,'  that  a  particularly  ungainly 
and  verdant  specimen  of  a  Yankee,  who  longed  to  have  some  definite  basis  whereon 
to  build  his  ideas  of  sculpture,  reluctantiy  paid  his  '  quarter,'  and  guiltily  debouched 
into  the  sanctuary  of  high  art.    At  the  outset  the  mysterious  twilight  and  huahed 
voices  of  the  figures  moving  about  the  room,  in  strong  contrast  to  the  roar  and  bustle  of 
Broadway,  from  which  he  had  just  emerged,  half  bewildered,  completed  his  confo- 
sion ;  and  after  nervously  crushing  his  wool  hat  into  the  compass  of  an  egg,  and 
vainly  endeavoring  to  thrust  both  his  huge  hands  simultaneously  into  the  same  pocket, 
the  brilliant  ^  Slave,'  in  all  her  virgin  purity  and  wondrous  beauty,  burst  upon  bis 
horror-stricken  gaze.    His  first  impulse  seemed  to  be  to  fairly  ^  turn  tail'  and  run; 
but  his  ^  quarter'  was  gone,  and  his  native  '  prudence'  getting  the  betta  of  his  im- 
pulse, he  evidently  determined  to  have  his  *•  money's  worth :'  so  after  gadng  with 
outBtre^hed  neck  and  onion-eyed,  open-mouthed  wonder,  at  the  slowly  revolving 
statute  for  some  time,  he  cautiously  approached,  until  he  stood  among  the  circle  of 
visitors ;  here  he  came  to  a  stand,  and  after  ^  drinldng  in'  the  figure  from  head  to 
foot,  his  eye  rested  upon  the  inscription  on  the  pedestal, '  Powers  sculpeit,'  and  he 
broke  out  into  soliloquy,  as  follows:  'PE-dWERS  eeulps  it  I  does  he?    WaSl,  I 
should  ra&ther  'spect  he  did  !  he 's  Bculp^d  that  critter  strong  enough,  anyhow,  'pears 
to  me ;  he 's  gone  and  sculp'd  every  darned  thing  off  from  her !    I  had  a  kind  o'  an 
idee  o'  gittin'  sculp'd  myself,  but  I  'm  afraid  I  should  be  done  up*  ra&ther  brown  vrith 
aich  a  powerful  sculp  as  that  'ere  I    'Pon  the  hull,  guess  I  wunt  P    And  he  left 
*  the  presence,'  greatly  dubitatbig.    ...    *  The  American  Portrait  ChUery,^  by 
Goupii.,  ViBERT  AND  CoMPANY,  Is  truIy  R  supcrb  work,  exceeding  any  thing  of  the 
kind  yet  attempted  in  this  country.    The  publishers,  in  their  prospectus,  remark : 
^  The  Gallery  which  we  propose  to  publish  is  a  work  whose  utility  must  be  manifest 
to  every  one.    Although  contemphited  for  a  long  while,  yet  the  want  of  historical  ma- 
terial has  forced  us  to  wait^e  time  when  we  could  lay  before  the  American  public  a 
work  worthy  of  its  past  and  its  future.    It  is  enough  to  say  that  the  past  and  the 
present  will  be  treated  with  a  legitimate  equality.    We  wish  to  give  our  work  the 
seal  of  historical  truth  that  the  future  shall  not  gainsay.    The  portraits  which  enrich 
our  Gallery  will  be  drawn  from  the  most  authentic  sources.    Preeminent  talent,  of 
whatever  kind,  will  find  a  place  in  the  American  Portrait  Gallery.    It  will  be  con- 
fined to  no  party  nw  sect.    It  is  intended  for  the  people.    Doubtfbl  talent,  or  uncer- 
tain merit,  will  not  cross  the  threshhold  of  this  oanctum.    We  wish  that  every  Ameri- 
can, as  he  regards  each  portrait  with  patriotic  pride,  may  say :  ^  Behold  what  our 
ancestors  have  done ;  behold  what  we  are  I' — that  every  fiither  may  point  to  them  is 
examples  worthy  of  the  imitation  of  his  sous.'    Three  superb  portraits,  all  exoeHeni 
likenesses,  have  already  appeared :  namely,  Daniel  Wemttee,  William  O.  BavAirT, 


554  Editor's  TdMe.  [Ju 


ftiMi  oommuDlty.    Buta  cultivated  and  refined  moral  aeose  —  thebMlfl  of  all  that  is  grand  and  be 
UAil  In  human  character,  and  which  I  trust,  aboTe  all  things  else,  you  will  seek  to  incorporate  into 
your  own  —  will  generallv  be  a  safe  end  accurate  gaide» 

*  But  I  must  dose.  This  may  be  the  last  of  my  communlcatlooB  to  yon.  I  ML  myadf  sinking 
under  the  wasting  power  of  disease.  My  end  is  probably  near — perhaps  very  near.  Bekire  1  reach 
it,  1  hare  but  one  serious  wish  to  mtity ;  it  is  to  see  my  countnr  quieted  under  some  arraagemeai— 
alas!  I  know  not  whai— that  wUl  be  aatisfhctory  to  all, and  safe  to  the  South.' 

An  old  friend  and  frequent  oorrespondent  of  this  Magazine  publisbea  the  following 
^Sonnet  on  the  death  of  John  C.  Calhouh*  in  the  Washington  ^Umon^  daily  journal: 

Thv  great  go  from  us,  but  they  leaTO  behind 
The  memory  of  deeds  that  cannot  die, 


In  which  they  live  forever :  grief  may  blind 
With  its  regretftil  teara  the  watcheHs 


_  9  wat(AeHs  eye, 

Who,  through  the  gloom  shrouding  the  bed  of  death, 

Sees  the  loved  light  of  home  grow  dim  and  dark ; 
But  greatneas  dwells  not  in  the  fleeting  breath — 

Its  star  survives  life's  evaneeoent  spuk. 
Honor  and  praise  be  his,  who  stood  so  long, 

Firm  on  tuevamparts  of  his  country's  ri^ts. 
Watching,  with  Jealous  gaze,  the  shade  of  wrong ; 

Whoee  words  still  live  and  glow,  like  beacon-fights* 
Though  the  stern  sentry  sleeps  in  quiet  now, 

FVom  the  set  Ibotreole  to  the  swervelesB  brow.  b.  8.  Caxz.Tow. 

JVatkingUm^  ^friL,  1850. 

An  esteemed  friend,  writing  to  na  from  the  national  ca|f!ital  soon  aft^  die  deaih  of 
this  eminent  stAteaman,  gave  ua  the  following  brief  yet  graphic  piotore  of  his  funeral : 

*  At  one  o'clock,  the  serviceB  in  the  Senate  chamber  bping  concluded,  the  body,  en- 
cased in  a  metallic  coffin,  (an  admirable  substitute,  it  seems  to  me,  for  those  hideous 
mahogany  affiiirs,)  was  borne  amid  a  dense  crowd  of  spectators  through  th«  rotunda 
to  the  eastern  portico  of  the  capital,  preceded  by  the  pall-bearers  and  followed  by  die 
members  of  the  Senate  and  House  of  Representatives,  Judges  of  the  Supreme  Court, 
members  of  the  Cabinet,  and  other  distinguished  persons.  The  procession  then 
moved  slowly  toward  the  Congresi^onal  Burying-Ground,  some  two  milee  distant. 
Here  the  ordinary  funeral  service  of  the  Episcopal  church  was  efifectively  read  by  Mr. 
Butler,  Chaplain  of  the  Senate,  and  the  body  temporarily  deposited  in  the  oongn»- 
sional  vault.  Among  the  pall-bearers,  who  were  all  old  and  distinguished  members 
of  the  Senate,  Webster  particularly  arrested  my  attention.  His  appearance  was 
funereal  in  the  extreme.  He  is  the  most  magnifioent  mourner  I  ever  saw.  His  very 
soul  seemed  shrouded  in  mourning.  The  scene  was  rendered  quite  piotureeque  by 
the  appearance,  among  the  crowd  of  '  sad-garbed  whites,'  of  a  Cherokee  Indian ;  a 
tall,  lithe,  fine-looking  fellow,  dressed  in  the  full  costume  of  his  tribe.  I  learned  af- 
terward that  he  had  known  the  illustrious  Carolinian,  for  whom  he  entertained  great 
admiration  and  regard.'  ...  Is  n't  there  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  the  foUowing  from 

*  The  Lorgnette,^  a  journal  elsewhere  noticed  in  this  department :  '  'Dress,  equipages, 
perfumer}',  and  the  opera,  will  always  have  native  city  teachers ;  but  the  Pulpit,  the 
Exchange,  Journalism,  and  the  Bar,  are  drawing  in  recruits  from  the  rough  sons  of 
hard  country  study,  and  of  old-fashioned,  rigid,  academical  education,  whose  energy, 
spirit,  and  influence,  will  one  day  make  the  hot^house  progeny  of  the  town  quiver  in 
their  shoes.  Show  me  an  influential  journalist,  a  rising  man  at  our  bar,  a  preacher  at 
once  profound  and  practical,  a  physician  eminent  in  his  profession,  a  merchant  who 
is  fertile  in  enterprise,  and  successful  by  honest  industry,  and  I  will  show  one  who 
knew  little  or  nothing  of  the  fiishionable  life  of  the  town,  until  his  mental  and  moral 
character  was  already  formed.  On  the  other  hand,  show  me  a  lawyer  rich  in  political 
intrigue,  a  doctor  distinguished  by  nostrums,  a  conversationalist  fertile  in  equivoques, 
a  poetaster,  &tiguing  the  kinguage  with  his  poverty,  a  merchant  who  is  rich  by  sue- 


566  EJSu^s  Table.  [Ji 

■tyle,  ^  Lettert  of  a  Traveller,  or  Notes  of  Thingo  oeen  in  Europe  and  America,''  by 
WiujAM  CuLLiic  Bryant.  The  work  is  a  ooUeoticm  of  letters,  the  greater  part  of 
which  have  abeady  appeared  m  the  *  Evening  Poet,*  written  at  Tarions  times^  during 
the  last  sixteen  years,  and  during  joomeys  made  in  England,  France,  Italy,  tha 
Netherlands,  Cuba,  and  thd  United  States.  '  They  oontain  many  lively  sketches  of 
natural  aoenery,  descriptions  of  celebrated  localities,  pkstures  of  domeslio  sode^,  and 
critMisms  on  important  works  of  art  A  great  mass  of  interesting  information  ia 
here  embodied,  composing  a  work  of  permanent  and  more  than  ordinary  value.  Tha 
style  is  remarkable  for  its  oliasteneBs,]Mreoision,  and  condensed  energy.'  •  .  4  SrsAX- 
ING  of  the  difference  between  the  present  world  and  the  world  to  oome,  some  modem 
poet  observes : 

That  clime  is  not  like  this  doll  dime  of  oun, 

AU,  bU  U  brigtatneM  there ; 
A  sweeter  influence  breathes  aromid  its  flowers, 

And  a  flu- milder  air: 
No  calm  below  is  like  that  calm  abore; 
No  reeion  here  is  like  that  realm  of  love ; 
Earth's  softest  spring  ne'er  shed  so  soft  a  lisht ; 
Earth's  brightest  summer  never  shone  so  hngkU 


^That  sky  is  not  like  this  sad  sky  of  oars, 

Tinged  with  earth's  change  and  care; 
No  shadow  dims  it,  and  no  raln-doud  loweis ; 

No  broken  smishine  there  I 
One  eTerlastinff  stretch  of  azure  poors 
Its  stainless  splendor  o'er  those  sinkss  s 


Fur  there  Jkhotah  shines  with  heavenly  nr, 
There  Jksus  reigns,  diqtensing  eodlesa  day.' 


We  remember  crossing  to  Hoboken  one  mellow  antnmn  evening  with  an  esteemed 

friend,  one  among  the  most  vigorous  and  popular  of  our  American  poets.    There 

was  such  a  pomp  of  golden  and  many-colored  clouds  in  the  track  of  the  setting  mm 

as  we  had  never  seen  before.    *  Oh !'  exclaimed  our  companion,  ^  what  a  beantifhl 

world  this  is  I    They  tell  us  of  the  balmy  airs  and  the  ^  dondless  skies'  of  Paradise ; 

then,'  he  added,  pointing  to  the  infinitely  beautiful  and  glowing  west, '  then  they  have 

not  that  there  \  and  what  can  a  scene  be  worth  that  has  not  donds?    How  can  we 

truly  appreciate  the  light  of  the  blessed  sun  without  them  7    And  how  gloriously 

they  illttstrate  the  brightness  of  his  beams !'    It  has  always  seemed  to  us  that  Heaven 

should  seldom  be  compared,  in  its  *  physical  features,'  if  we  may  so  speak,  with  the 

earth ;  but  rather  depicted  as  a  place  where  the  redeemed  soul,  in  a  new  sphere  of 

righteousness  and  love,  shall '  look  for  the  restoration  of  the  old  ruined  earth  and 

heaven,  from  which  beauty  and  life  shall  have  departed,  and  from  which  planets  and 

stars  have  vanished  away.'    And  this,  when  the  fires  of  the  resurrection  morning 

shall  redden  the  last  day,  this  shall  be  witnessed.    *  These  eyes,'  says  a  rapt  maater 

of  sacred  song : 

*  Tbbsb  eyes  shall  see  them  (Ul, 

Mountains  and  stan  snd  skies ; 
niese  eyes  shall  see  them  sU 

Out  or  their  ashes  rise : 
These  lips  shall  then  His  praise  reheane 
Whose  nod  restores  the  nniverser 

Wb  must  not  forget  to  say  a  word  concerning  that  superb  steamer,  of  Goujns's 
Liverpool  line,  *  The  Atlantic  ;'  of  its  immense  capacity,  its  beautiftd  model,  its  vast 
machinery,  and  over  and  above  all,  the  most  tasteful,  admirable,  gorgeous  deoorationa 
and  upholstery  of  its  matchleas  cabins  and  saloons,  under  the  direction  of  our  old 
friend,  Mr.  Gbobob  Platt.  Nothing  at  all  comparable  with  these,  for  richness  and 
ezquinte  taste,  has  ever  been  seen  in  any  steamer  that  ever  left  this  port,  nor,  we 
venture  to  say,  any  other  in  the  world.  Mr.  Platt  has  vindicated  his  daim  to  be 
justly  considered  an  artist  of  the  highest  order  of  genius  in  his  beautiful  and  chaata 
profesnon.  — ^  SmcB  the  above  was  penned,  *■  The  Pacific,'^  the  second  of  the  four 
which  are  to  constitute  the '  Coluiis  Ime,'  has  reached  her  station  at  the  fbot  of  Canal* 
street    The  praise  awarded  to  the '  Athmtio,'  in  all  respects,  may  be  awarded  to  her. 


558  EdOor's  Table.  [June, 

are  also  annexed ;  suites  of  parlors  and  sleeping  l^»artment8,  likewise  enhance  tlie 
new  attraofeions ;  whioh,  with  an  nnezoelled  cuinne,  leave  little  to  be  desired.  With 
such  hotels  as  the  Abtok,  the  '  New-York,'  the  *  American,'  and  the  Irving,  travel- 
lers will  have  little  cause  to  ooniplain.  .  .  .  Wb  have  written  out  a  few  thoughts 
touching  the  National  Academy  Pictures,  but  we  must  mainly  have  our  *  say'  next 
month.  We  give  in  this  number  every  line  for  which  we  have  space :  Number  29 : 
Full-length  Portrait  of  Pope  Pius  Ninth,  by  J.  Ames  :  The  head  is  admiraUy 
painted,  and  is  an  undoubted  likeness.  There  is  however,  it  strikes  us,  a  great  pov- 
erty of  accessaries,  and  the  whole  seems  blankish  in  the  general  effect  The  Qmrinal 
Palace,  if  this  be  an  actual  view  of  it,  must  be  a  very  uncomfortable  place,  and  we 
don't  wonder  at  the  Pope's  leaving  it.  Number  30 :  ^The  Pic-iVu?,'  by  Jeeojic 
Thompson,  is  an  unexpected  picture  from  a  fiunihar  hand,  evincing  a  decided  improve- 
ment, and  Gonsiderable  talent  for  compoation.  It  is  cold  in  color  and  harsh  in  lines, 
but  promises  well  for  something  very  good  hereafter.  Number  20,  by  J.  H.  Caf- 
FBETT,is  an  exoeedingiy  well-painted  head ;  one  of  the  best  effi>rts  of  this  rapidly-im- 
proving artist.  Number  24,  by  J.  Boyle.  In  this  head  we  recognize  a  decided  im- 
provement, both  in  color,  and  general  treatment  Number  27,  by  GaopsEV,  is  the 
product  of  European  study.  It  struck  us  as  very  vigorous  in  the '  handting,'  but  too 
sketchy  and  wanting  in  mteresting  mat^iel  to  carry  the  eye  into  the  picture.  Num- 
ber 44,  by  P.  P.  DuGOAN,  is  an  admirable  likeness  of  the  talented  original,  but  seemed 
to  us  to  be  htmg  too  high  to  be  fully  appreciated.  Number  47,  by  H.  P.  Geat,  is  a 
well-managed,  sunple,  unaffected  picture,  and  well  worthy  its  future  distinction. 
Number  52,  by  Huntington,  is  one  of  the  best  if  not  the  very  best,  picture  of  its 
kind  ever  painted  in  this  country.  The  motion  of  the  broken  water  is  truly  rendered, 
and  the  effect  the  artist  intended  is  felt  by  the  beholder.  There  is  however  an  on- 
natural  effect  of  light  on  the  rock  receiving  the  spray  of  the  angry  waters,  makiiig 
the  foam  of  less  importance  than  would  be  seen  in  a  similar  scene  in  nature,  where 
the  rocks  always  assume  a  darker  and  more  sombre  appearance.  The  picture  will 
sustain  the  high  position  which  this  artist  now  deservedly  enjoys.  Numl^er  57,  by 
Thomas  Hicks,  is  a  vigorous,  well-managed  portrait,  the  result  of  a  osrefol  study  of 
the  works  of  Rbmbrant,  which  it  resembles,  slightly  too  much.  Mr.  Hicks  has  ano- 
ther head.  Number  368,  which  is  much  its  superior,  both  in  odor  and  sentiment, 
although  rather  *■  smudgy'  or  dirty  about  the  mouth.  A  more  strict  dependence  upon 
himself  hereafter  will  place  Mr.  Hioks  in  the  front  rank  of  art  Number  138,  ^Scene 
from  Thanatopne^  by  Durand,  the  very  first  of  our  landscape-painters,  is  a  noble 
composition,  admirably  colored,  and  r^lete  with  true  feeling  for  nature.  It  is  itself 
worth  the  price  of  a  visit  to  the  Academy.  But  here  we  must  pause ;  leaving  some 
of  the  very  best  portraits  in  the  Academy,  the  superb  heads  of  Eluott,  Page,  and 
others,  and  many  superior  landscapes,  for  consideration  in  our  next  .  .  .  Thet  tell  a 
good  story  of  the  ex-proprietor  of  the  ^  Troy  Houee,^  now  so  popular  under  the  charge 
of  the  Messrs.  Coleman,  which  we  think  is  worth  recording.  After  a  heavy  fidl  of 
snow  which  filled  his  quadrangular  court-yard,  he  hired  some  Irishmen,  at  a  stated 
price,  to  be  paid  only  when  the  work  was  done,  to  cart  it  off  to  the  river.  The  job 
proved  a  heavy  one,  and  the  men  often  came  to  hhn  to  get  a  part  of  the  pay  at  least 
before  the  work  was  completed.  But  it  was  all  of  no  use ;  the  old  landlord  was  inex- 
orable. At  last,  after  much  additional  labor,  the  task  still  unfinished,  one  of  the  work- 
men,^with  a  lugubrious  &ce,  went  to  the  landlord  *,  *  Sir,'  said  he,  *  me  child  is  dead 
two  days,  and  I  want  the  money  to  bury  him.  Sure,  he  won't  keep,  Sir.'  ^  Oh,  yea 
he  will !'  answered  the  landlord,  who  saw  through  the  ruse :  *■  stick  the  coffin  in  the 


1850.]  Editor's  Ihhle.  669 

mow;  he 'd  keep  throogli  twenty  fliioh  jobs  88  yon  are  doing!'  That  W88  the  last  at- 
tempt at  antidpatiiig  payment,  and  the  work  was  soon  completed.  ...  A  TsaT  kmg 
time  ago,  as  long  ago  as  1812,  the  then  editor  of  the  ^New-York  Evening  PobV  com- 
plained of  the  Philadelphia  daily  jonmals,  that  they  copied  his  artides  withoot  credit, 
concealing  their  sooroe  altogether,  and  when  preased  to  act  finrly,  saving  their  con- 
sdences  by  still  pnUishing  the  Post's  artides  as  origfaia],  only  '  sticking  into  one  cor- 
ner, in  fine  type,  at  the  bottom,  the  mag^c  letters,  ^Nyep,*  which  being  interpreted  by 
those  who  understood  it,  meant  the  'Kew-Tork  Eyening  Post ;'  like  the  wag,  adds 
the  editor,  who  stole  away  firom  the  company  he  was  in,  leaving  a  paper  marked 
*Z>to,'  or  in  other  w<»rds,  ^  D  —  n  me,  I  'm  off!'  Now  we  could  wish  that  the  pre- 
sent editors  of  the  '  Post'  would  a£Sx  to  whatsoever  they  may  find  worthy  of  copying 
from  this  Magazine,  the  magic  word  *iVyibn,'  or  something  of  the  sort,  to  indicate  thdr 
hnmble  paternity.  The  lines  ^  To  My  Boy,'  which  the  editors  copied,  with  deserved 
commendation,  as  from  the  ^LouinUle  Examiner,''  was  written,  (as  we  took  occasion 
to  inform  the '  Post'  in  a  private  note,)  for  the  Knickeebocker,  bnt  its  readers  remain 
ignorant  of  the  fact,  as  also  of  another,  less  important  to  he  sure,  that  several  extracts 
from  this  department,  in  a  subsequent  issue  of  the  *  Poet,'  originated  here.  But  ^  't  's 
no  matter,'  as  Hackbtt  used  to  say :  only,  Vive  la  Itagatdle.  .  .  .  We  have  been 
pleased  with  the  subjoined  extract  of  a  letter  addressed  to  a  correspondent.  Who 
knows  bnt  what  some  reader  may  also  afifect  it  7  To  make  use  of  an  expreanon  which 
was  emplc^ed  some  years  ago  in  a  newspaper,  ^  Time  wDl  show  :' 

*  W tdla  me  that  yon  tre  still  at  the  old  homestead,  and  likely  to  be  for  some  woeks  to  come. 

No  newa  yet  of  your  contemplated  nupUals.  It  doth  move  me  exceedingly  to  know  what  In  the 
name  of  wonder  keeps  asmidet  two  loving  hearts,  by  nature  fitted  for  each  other.  She  to  hand- 
some? ^AyP  And  amiable?  <  Even  so.'  And  loves  yon?  <  Yea,  verily  T  And  to  in  possession 
of  *  the  tin?*    *  Yea,  Sir-zxm  V   Then  why  in  the  nameof  Ton  Walkbr  donH  yon  get  married? 

*  It  will  surprise  you  somewhat,  if  you  have  not  previously  been  informed  of  the  foct,  that  I 
have  again  taken  up  Blackstokb,  sad  expect  in  the  coarse  of  a  twelvemonth  to  come  out  fledged, 
s  *  chip'  of  the  tow.  *  Thto  worid  to  all  a  fleeting  show,'  says  TbM  Mooxc,  moomAdly.  Snppoae  it 
were  not;  who  woold  deSIre  to  look  Ibrever  on  the  same  sight?  For  one,  I  thank  Heaven,  tliat  It 
i9  fleeting.  For  twenty  yearn  I  took  it  easy  — '  come  day,  go  day,'  etc. ;  for  the  ten  succeeding,  I 
fought  it:  I  have  Jost  entered  upon  the  fourth  decade,  and  bear  It  heroically ;  the  fifth  I  shall  pass 
through  philoeophlcally ;  the  sixth,  retrospectively ;  ruminating,  while  chewing  the  cud  of  the  past ; 
the  seventh,  prospectively  fiom  the  top  of  Pisgah,  I  trust,  watching  with  hope  the  varying  glories  of 
the  far^iir  land.  Tsmperamento  differ.  Your  period  of  heroism  may  overiap  two  decades,  and  out- 
last mine.  My  working  days  cease  at  forty.  Whatever  I  am  to  do  for  humanity,  in  the  outer  wwU 
of  bustle  and  activitiea,  must  be  done  shortly.  . . .  Wrraiif  the  preclncta  of  the  Present,  Hopi  and 
Faith  enter  never ;  standing  ahrays  Just  outside  the  boundaries  of  Now.  Verily  the  days  of  my  rer- 
dant  youth  are  returning,  and  of  the  fjuidftil  I  prate  as  then,  ere  the  suUenness  of  Fate  had  dothed 

'  my  brow  wlthshadows.  In  oonsldering  what  to  here  written,  Idiseover  woids;  I  had  ahnoet  said, 
BOtfaiagmore.  NeverfhelesB,*whattowrit,towrit.*  IttoaUIhavetoolfer— a  slight  electrio  flash 
fit  i^ympsthy  flnom  my  soul  to  yours.  When  you  feel  it,  let  me  say  to  you,  in  the  most  persuasive, 
pensive,  sentimental  manner :  ^  My  dear,  dear  Tox  —  leave  off  <  chawing  terbaeker  P 

'  What  a  iidling  off  was  there,  my  countrymen !'  .  .  .  The  Summer  Watering 
Placet,  near  and  distant,  after  undergoing  great  improvements,  are  preparing  for 
'  the  season.'  The  ^  Marine  Pavilion,^  at  Rockaway,  as  heretofore  nnder  the  charge 
of  Ceanston,  than  whom  a  more  justly  popuhur  landlord  there  is  not  in  the  United 
States,  presentB  unnsoal  attractions.  New  and' spacious  buildings  have  been  annei^ed, 
others  have  heen  remodelled,  long  piazzas  and  cool  alcoves  have  been  added,  trees 
and  flowers  planted ;  every  thing,  in  short,  has  been  done  which  could  render  the 
house  BtiD  more  worthy  of  the  preeminent  favor  which  has  hitherto  been  extended  to 
it.    Nearer  the  metropolis,  and  accessible  in  an  hour's  sail  or  drive,  we  have  the 


560  EdU&r'g  Table. 


anporb  <  HamUtan  ifoiMe/  whioh  has  been  so  oztenaiYQly  implored  that  its  '  best 
friends  would  n't  know  it'  The  proprietor  has  now  two  hundred  and  thirty-seren 
rooms  for  his  guests,  ezolumve  of  the  entire  fourth  story,  the  rooms  in  which  are  for 
the  use  of  the  nurses  and  female  serrants  of  his  fianuly-boarders.  Eight  hundred 
feet  of  pia&a,  fronting  the  river,  Staten-Isiand,  and  the  bay,  now  a£ford  a  promenade 
from  which  may  be  obtiuned  not  only  a  view  of  the  beautiful  and  cultivated  grounds 
belonging  to  the  establishment,  now  full  of  trees  and  flowers,  but  of  a  distant  pano- 
rama, of  unequalled  variety  and  beauty.  The  proprietor,  Mr.  Hawuey  D.  Ci^avp, 
has  approved  himself  a  good  and  popular  landlord,  and  we  doubt  not,  as  we  hope, 
that  his  house  may  be  crowded  during  the  season.  Our  friends  the  Makvocs,  at 
Saratoga,  have  opened  their  vast  and  magnificent  caravansera,  with  renewed  and 
added  enticements ;  and  our  excellent  landlord  Shxiuiill  soon  opens  his  well-known 
and  popular  establishment  upon  the  matchless  Lake  George.  ..  .  .  Thk  following 
appears  to  us  a  felicitous  expression  of  a  beautiful  thought :  ^  Hope  is  the  morning  red 
of  joy,  and  memory  its  evening  red ;  but  the  hitter  is  so  apt  to  drop  down  as  fiided 
gray  dew  or  rain,  and  the  blue  day,  promised  by  the  red,  breaks  indeed,  but  in  ano- 
ther earth,  with  another  sun.'  ...  An  urchin,  five  or.  six  years  old,  was  on  his 
knees  the  other  day  on  the  pavemwt,  hammering  away  at  something  on  a  door-step. 
Ifis  mother,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  bawled  out :  ^  John,  what  are  yon 
standing  there  for,  sitting  on  your  knees  7'  John  vouchsafed  no  reply,  but  while  we 
were  looking  on,  eontinned  to  '  stand  sitting  on  his  knees.'  .  .  .  Of  aU  *  grand' 
musical  instruments  we  have  ever  seen,  commend  us  to  '  Ptrsfon's  Double  Cfnmd 
Piano?  It  is  not  only  a  very  beautiful  instrument,  but  its  effects  are,  beyond  de- 
scription, a9toni9hing.  It  has  softness,  sweetness,  power ;  and  with  four  persons  of 
skill  playing  upon  it  at  once,  it  is  a  whole  ooooert  in  itself.  Go  and  hear  it,  town- 
reader,  by  all  means.  .  .  .  Mr.  John  R.  Bartlett,  of  Rhode-idand,  has  been 
i^pointed  by  our  government  a  commissioner  to  run  the  Boundary  Dne  between  the 
United  States  and  Mexico.  A  better  i^pointment  could  not  have  been  made.  Mr. 
Baktlbtt  is  well  known  by  his  contributions  to  ethnological  and  geographical  scienoe 
and  by  his  connection  with  the  literary  institutions  of  the  oonntry.  lieutenant  BraAnr 
is  associated  in  the  survey,  and  from  him  also  the  scientlfio  world  will  expect  intereet- 
ing  results.  .  .  .  Ons  of  the '  noble  guests'  at  a  late  aldermanic  feast  in  Lon- 
don, remarked, '  I  've  heard  it 's  imposnble  to  eat  turtle-soup  with  impnnity.'  '  To 
whksh  thus  then'  an  alderman :  '  I  do  nH  know,  my  lord ;  I  always  eat  mine  with  a 
•poonr  Intelligent,  that  I  .  .  .  TAs 'i^Teto-Forilr  iitJUiusum,' in  Broadway,  oppo- 
site Bond-street,  will  be  found  one  of  the  best-supplied  reading-rooms  in  the  metrofKH 
lis.  The  rooms  are  to  be  spacious  and  commodious,  and  every  thing  that  can  add  to 
the  value  and  comfort  of  such  an  establishment  will  be  aviuled  of  by  the  propriekora, 
who  are  backed,  as  we  learn,  by  ample  capital  and  stimulated  by  a  laudable  spirit  of 
enterprise Ma.  A.  Hart,  late  Carbt  ano  Haet,  Philadelphia,  have  pub- 
lished, each  in  two  yery  handsome  volumes,  illustrated  with  finely-eogiaved  portraifts, 

*  JfsfRotrs  of  Marie  Antoinette,*  an  extremely  interesting  work  by  Lamaktuib,  and 

*  Memoire  of  the  Houee  of  Orleane,*  from  Louis  Thirteenth  to  Louis  Puutrs,  by 
W.  OooK  Taylor,  LL.D.  The  latter  is  also  a  work  replete  wiA  the  deepest  inte- 
rest .  .  .  NoTioBs  of  several  admirable  pieces  of  new  mosn  fhxn  the  popoiar 
establishment  of  William  Hall  and  Son,  239  Broadway,  of  new  books,  psnodMsb, 
oommnnicatioiie,  etc.,  are  postponed  to  our  next,  ha^nng  been  oroirded  oat  by  Ae 
too-late  remembered  neoessity  of  an  index  and  title-page  fer  tiie  T^dnme  wUdi  okMS 
with  the  present  nnmber. 


LITTELL'S    LIVING    AGE 


■m 


Tmi  work  la  eondueted  in  the  aptrit  of  Littell's  MnMvm  of  Foroifa  Utorttoro.  (which  wm  IIkto- 


as  fnllj  to  aatitfy  tho  wants  of  the  Ameiicaa  readar. 


The  elaborate  and  atatelj  Eaaaya  of  the  Sdinhurs^kf  QuarUrly,  and  other  SoTiewa ;  and  StaA- 
mwF$  noble  eriticiama  on  Poetry,  hia  keen  political  Commcntariea,  highly  wrought  Talea,  and 
Tirid  deacriptiona  of  raral  and  moontain  Scenery ;  and  tiie  oontrlbntioiia  to  Literature,  HLatory, 
and  Common  Life,  by  the  aagaciooa  Spectator,  the  aparkling  Xutariiwr,  the  jadleiooa  AtUnmmt  tbm 
busy  and  induatrlooa  Zittrary  Oautte,  the  aenaible  and  comprehenalTe  Britannia,  the  aober  and  ra- 
apectable  CkritUan  Obgerver ;  theae  are  intermized  with  the  Militarr  and  Naral  reminlacenea  of  the 
United  Sermee,  and  with  the  beat  artlelea  of  the  DuNin  Untoerritf/,  NaoMonUdif,  Frater'Mt  Tutfa,  Aint- 
worth*;  Hoo^t  and  Sportiit^  Magaitinet,  and  of  Chamben^  admirable  Journal.  We  do  not  eoaaider  it 
benea^  oar  dignity  to  borrow  wit  and  wiidom  from  Punch  /  and,  when  we  think  it  good  enongh, 
make  use  of  the  thunder  of  The  Tunee.  We  shall  increase  onr  Tariety  by  Importationa  from  ue 
continent  of  Europe,  and  from  the  new  growth  of  the  Britiah  coloniea. 

The  ateamabip  has  brought  Europe,  Ailat  and  Africa,  into  our  neighborhood ;  and  win  greatly 
multiply  our  connections,  aa  Herchanta,  TraTellera,  and  PoUtieiatta,  with  all  parta  of  the  world  ;  ao 
that  much  more  than  ever  it  now  becomes  cTery  intelligent  American  to  be  informed  of  the  eondl* 
tion  and  ehangea  of  foreign  countriea.  And  thia  not  only  becauae  of  thair  nearer  connectton  with 
onrseWea.  but  becauae  the  nations  seem  to  be  hastening,  through  a  rapid  proceaa  of  change,  to 
aome  new  stete  of  things,  which  the  merely  political  prophet  cannot  eompute  or  foreaee. 

Geographical  DiscoTeries.  the  progress  of  Colonization,  (which  ia  extending  OTer  the  whole 
world.)  and  Voyages  and  Trarela,  wiM  be  favorite  matter  for  our  aelectl<ma ;  and,  ia  general,  we 
ahall  aystematieally  and  very  fully  acquaint  our  readera  with  the  great  department  of  Fore  ign  af-. 
faix^.  without  entirely  neglecting  our  own. 

While  we  aspire  to  make  the  Ltoia^  Age  deairable  to  all  who  wiah  to  keep  themaeWea  informed 
of  the  rapid  progreaa  of  the  movement — ^to  Stateamen,  Dlvinea,  tAwyera.  and  Physicians — ^to  men  of 
business  and  men  of  leisure— it  is  still  a  stronger  object  to  make  it  attraetire  and  naeful  to  their 
WxToa  and  Children.    We  belioTe  that  we  can  thua  do  aome  good  in  our  day  and  generation ;  and 


©' 


character.    The  mental  and  moral  appetite  must  be  gratt6ed. 

We  hope  that,  by  **  winnowing  the  wkeat  from  the  c£ff,"  by  proTiding  abundantly  for  the  ImagfaM* 
tion.  and  by  a  large  collection  of  Biography,  Voyagea  and  Travels,  History,  and  more  aolld  matter, 
we  may  produce  a  work  wUch  shall  bo  popular,  whUe  at  tha  sama  time  it  will  aspire  to  raiae  tha 
ataadard  of  public  taate. 

TnHs.— The  Lxvmo  Aon  ia  published  every  jbntrdoy  •*  Price  \9k  cente  a  number,  or  afci  dollars  a 
year,  in  advance.  Remitteneea  for  any  period  will  be  thankfully  received  and  promptty  attended 
to.  ^^  To  insure  regularity  tai  mailing  the  work,  orderaahonld  boaddrassadtec^  <9ici<Sf  jm^ttca- 
Han,  aa  above. 

Clubet  paytog  a  year  in  advance,  will  be  supplied  as  follows : — 

Four  copiea  for  ....  .  $S0  00 

Nina       «<       " #40  00 

Twelve  "       " $50  00 

CbMptas  ssts,  in  twenty  three  volumes,  to  the  end  Of  1849,  handsomely  bound,  packed  |n  naat 
hoaea,  and  delivered  in  all  the  principal  citlaa,  free  of  expenaa  of  flight,  are  for  aala  at  for^-slx 
doUara. 

Any  9olnme  may  be  had  aeperately  at  two  dollars,  bound,  or  a  dollar  and  a  half  in  numbers. 

Any  number  may  be  had  for  13|  cents ;  and  it  may  be  worni  while  for  aubacribara  or  piarohaaan  to 
aomplete  any  brolcen  volumes  they  may  have,  and  thua  greatly  enhance  their  value. 

Binding,— "We  bind  the  work  in  a  uniform,  atrong,  and  good  atyle ;  and  where  enatonera  bring 
their  numbera  in  good  order,  can  generally  give  them  bound  volumea  in  exchange  without  any  de- 
1  ay.  The  price  oftbe  binding  la  SO  cente  a  volume.  Aa  they  are  alwaya  bound  to  one  pattern,  there 
will  be  no  difficulty  in  matehmg  the  future  volumes. 

Agendeo.  -We  are  deairous  of  maklnr  arrangemente  In  all  parte  of  North  America,  for  iaereaaing 
the  eirculalation  of  tbia  work— and  for  doing  Oiia  a  liberal  commisaTon  will  be  allowed  to  gentlemen 
who  will  interest  themselves  in  the  business.  And  we  will  gladly  correapond  on  this  iuhjeet  with 
any  agent  who  will  send  us  unboubted  references. 

Po£age.—Y/hen  sent  with  the  cover  on.  the  Living  Age  consiste  of  three  slieete.  and  ia  rated  aa  a 
pamphlet,  at  4|r  cente.  But  when  sent  without  the  cover,  it  comes  within  the  deiaitloB  of  a  aawa- 
paper  given  in  the  law,  and  cannot  legally  be  charged  with  more  than  newspaper  postage,  (1^  cte.) 
We  add  the  definition  alluded  to  :— 

A  newspaper  is  "  any  printed  publieatloa,  iaaued  in  numbers,  consisting  of  not  more  than  two 
aheete,  and  published  at  abort,  ateted  intervals  of  not  more  than  one  month,  conveying  intelligenca 
of  paaaing  evente." 

JUonthly  parte.— For  such  as  prefer  it  in  thnt  form,  the  Living  Age  is  put  up  In  monthly  parte,  eon* 
tidning  four  or  five  weekly  numbers.  In  this  shape  it  shows  th  great  advantage  in  comparison  with 
other  works,  conteining  in  each  part  double  the  matter  of  any  of  the  quarterliea.  But  we  reoonunand 
the  weekly  numbera,  as  fresher  and  fuller  of  Ufa.  Postage  on  the  monthly  pana  la  about  14  eente 
The  vohmee  are  publiahed  quarterly,  each  vohmia  containing  aa  much  matter  aa  a  qaartarly  raviaw 
gives  in  eighteen  montha. 

PUBLISHED  BY  B.  LITTELL  A  CO.,  BOSTON. 


WEBSTER^S    DICTIONARY, 

PRICE    REDUCED    TO    SIX    DOIXARS. 


Confmlniny  all  tKe  matter  of  Dr.  IVebtter's  Ori 
to  tKe  time  of  l&li  deatl&y  and  mo-w 
greatly  enlarged  and 


THE  ENTIRE   WORK,  UNABRIDGED, 

In  One  Volume,  Crown  Quarto,  of  1452  Pages, 

Original  Work,  bis  Improvenftomta   mn 
tlioroaghlv  reirised,  and 
improiredy  by 

PROFESSOR   CHAUNCEY    A.    GOODRICH,  OF    YALE   COLLEGE. 

PUBLISHED  BY  G.   &  C.   MERRIAM,   SPRINGFIELD,   MASS., 

AND    SOLD  BY    BOOKSELLEBfl    IN    NEW    YORK,    BOSTON,    PHILADELPHIA,   BALTIMORE,   WASHINOTOX, 

CHARLESTON,  MOBILE,  NEW  ORLEANS,  ST.  LOUIS,  CINCINNATI,  LOUISVILLE,  PITTSBURGH, 

CHICAGO,   DETROIT,   BUFFALO,   ROCHESTER,   ALBANY,   TROT,   BURLINGTON, 

PORTLAND,   AND  THROUGH  THB  COUNTRY. 

In  the  language  of  an  eminent  critic,  "  In  t^  Definitions  —  the  object  for  which  nine  tenths  of  our 
references  to  such  a  work  are  made  —  it  stands  without  a  rival  in  the  annals  of  English  lexicography."  • 
These  definitions,  without  abridgment  or  condensation,  are  only  given  in  this,  Dr.  Webster's  larsrc 
work,  and  are  not  found  in  any  mere  abridgment,  or  works  on  a  more  limited  plan.  It  contains 
THREE  TIMES  the  amount  of  matter  found  in  any  other  English  Dictionary  compiled  in  this  country,  I 
or  any  abridgment  of  this  work,  yet  is  sold  at  a  trifling  advance  above  the  price  of  other  and  limited  i 
works.  I 


TESTIMONIAL^. 


It  is  with  pleasure  that  we  greet  this  new  and  valuable 
contribution  to  American  literature.  We  recommend  it  to 
all  who  desire  to  possess  THE  MOST  COMPLETE,  AC- 
CURATE, AND  RELIABLE  DICTIONARY  OF  THE 
LANGUAGE. 


^- ^52.^/^fe^^^^ 


J^^ii>fvCcxA/ <^^^.^^Z^^^!k, 


And  thirty  other  members  of  the  United  States  Senate. 
Theodore  Frelinghutsen,  Chancellor  of  the  University 

of  New  York. 
William   H.   Campbell,  Editor  N.  Y.  District  School 

Journal. 
George  N.  Brioos,  Governor  of  Massachusetts. 


I  find  it  an  invaluable  vade  maatm. 


^. 


a^i^ 


^ 


I  think  it  the  most  useful  Dictionary  of  the  English 
and  American  language  extant, 


/^/. 


Every  scholar  knows  the  value  of  a  woi%  which,  in  addi- 
tion to  its  etymological  learning,  has  done  so  much  to 
enlarge  our  acquaintance  with  the  English  vocabulary,  both 
by  the  number  of  its  words,  and  the  accuracy  and  extent 
of  its  definitions. 


^ooo 


Washington,  Jan.  31,  1850. 


I  possess  many  Dictionaries,  and  of  \r,. 
most  of  the  learned  and  cultivated  lan- 
guages, ancient  and  modern  ;  but  I  nerer  5 
feel  that  I  am  entirely  armed  and  ;a 
equipped,  in  this  respect",  without  Dr.  'I 
Webster  at  command.  ,  r 

DANIEL  WEBSTER.      |/ 

We  rejoice  that  it  bids  fair  to  become  I'v 
the  standard    Dictionary  to  be  used  by   V 
the  numerous  millions  of  people  who  are 
to  inhabit  the  United  States.  —  Si(,med  hy  ,  X 
one  hundred  and  four  Members   of  Co»^ 
gress. 

"Best  specimen  of  the  printing  art 
ever  produced  in  this  country."  — Libra- 
rian of  Congress.  '*  Etymological  depart- 
ment surpasses  any  thing  that  has  been 
done  for  the  English  language." —  Georpt  \ 
Bancroft,  "  The  copious  list  of  geo-  ' 
graphical   names   is   itself  worth    the  ^ 

COST  OF  the  whole  WORK.." — School 
Committee  of  Framing  ham.  ** -Without 
reserve  or  Qualification,  the  best  extant."  [\ 

—  Pres.    Olin.      "Surpassed    in    fullness  j  ; 
and  accuracy  by  none  in  our  language."  l'; 

—  Pres.  Wayland.  "It  far  excels  all  V 
others  in  giving  and  defining  scientific 
terms."  —  Pres.  Hitchcock.  **  The  stand- 
ard wherever  the  English  language  is 
spoken,  it  deserves  to  be,  must  t^,  is, 
and  will  be."  —  Prof  Stmce.  **  An  honor 
to  the  language."— Pre*.  H\miphrey.  *•  A 
copio  isness,  perspicuity,  and  accxiracy  not 
found  in  any  other."  —  Pres.  Day.  "A 
great  improvement  on  all  which  have  pre- 
ceded." —  Pres.  Bates.  "  Worthy  of  gen- 
eral patronage." —  Pres.  Woods.'  •'Most 
complete,  accurate,  and  reliable  of  the 
language. —  William  B.  Calhotaiy  Robert 
C.  WiiUhrop,  Richard  S.  Rust,  Theodore 
F.  King,  Edmund  Burke,  John  Yoftnc, 
Christopher  Morgan ,  Alvah  Htent,  ^fU/c'rd 
Fill f nor ey  and  Presidents  BeechcTy  /.Airra. 
beCf  Keller,  Woolsey,  Blanchardy  SmitA, 
and  Kfiox. 


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