The southern literary messenger, Volume I., 1834-35 (part 2 of 11)

The southern literary messenger, Volume I., 1834-35 (part 2 of 11)

Unusual opportunity has been afforded me for seeing various lights and shades of Yankee character. In stage and steamboat, in jersey wagon and on foot, on highways and by-ways, in farm houses and city palaces, I have seen and chatted with all sorts of people, from the ---- of the ---- down to the tavern porter and the country laborer. Five days I have spent in a pedestrian stroll, calling often at the country houses to get a draught of water, rest myself, and talk with the farmer or his wife. These gossipings, you may well suppose commonly produced amusement and frequently solid information, at least solid materials for reflection; and, considering that it is only a little more than three weeks since my entry into New England, methinks I have a pretty exact measure of Jonathan's foot. Yet for all this preface, do not expect any very astounding revelations. From the thousand incidents that, unitedly, make my tour extremely interesting to myself, it is not certain that any one, or any dozen can be selected, which will materially interest another person.

In the visible face of Massachusetts and Connecticut, the features which, by their novelty or beauty, most strike a Virginian eye, are the small farms, usually of from fifty to two hundred acres; the small fields in proportion, there being sometimes fifteen or twenty in one farm; the stone fences, rendered necessary and numerous in many places by scarcity of timber, and by the troublesome superabundance of stone; the universality of hay crops, on hills as well as in meadows; the almost entire absence of wheat, (the only grains generally cultivated being corn, rye and oats,) the clustering of habitations together in villages, instead of having them dispersed at intervals of a mile over the country; the white painted village churches, all with stately spires, visible for miles around, having gilt vanes, and clocks of hands so large and stroke so loud, that I have repeatedly seen and heard the hour half a mile off.--The country is more hilly, or rolling, as our farmers would say, than the lower half of Virginia; and the hills have, generally, a smaller base and a more gracefully swelling, dome-like top, than our hills. These rotundities, with their concomitant hollows, traversed by numberless stone fences, with here and there patches of woodland and detached white farm houses, half imbosomed in elms and fruit trees; while, perhaps, two {86} or three villages, with steeples piercing the sky, are at once within the view, exhibit everywhere landscapes of a beauty unknown to eastern, or indeed, to western Virginia. Here is not a hundredth part of the appearance of abject, squalid poverty, that our state presents. I have not seen a log house in New England; and nine-tenths of the ordinary farm houses are painted. Brick and stone buildings are not common, except in the cities. This village, the most lovely to the eye in all the north, and Worcester, (take care to call it Wooster) having respectively, 3000 and 4 or 5000 inhabitants, contain, both together, hardly more than one hundred and fifty brick and stone houses.

But the morale of New England, the character of her people, their tone of thought and feeling upon some important subjects, their social and political institutions, regulations, and usages, have interested me far more than her physical lineaments.

Would that time and space were mine to explain the road, pauper, and school systems of Massachusetts and Connecticut. (They and Rhode Island are the only states of New England which I have visited.) But that would require too much detail. Their felicitous organization may be inferred from their effects.

The common roads are all, or nearly all, ridged up, turnpike fashion, and fully as good as our turnpikes. I do not mean such as a certain one not far from ----, which the traveller knows to be a turnpike only by the tolls and the jolts, but those in the valley, and near Richmond.

There is probably not a beggar by trade (except solicitors for pious charities and subscriptions) in New England. The needy are sent to a poor house, having a farm attached to it, on which they work for the parish, or are let to the lowest bidder for their maintenance, as the people of each township choose. In different townships (or towns, as the provincial dialect hath it,) the number of paupers greatly varies. I have been told of five, ten, twenty, and even thirty, or more, upon the list; and, as there are many "towns" in a county, perhaps the number of such pensioners here, equals ours. But mark! the expense here is next to nothing--sometimes absolutely nothing: nay, some "towns" actually derive a revenue from the labors of their parish poor. Salem has thus gained several thousand dollars in a year. All who are able render a fair equivalent, sometimes more, for the relief they receive.

Every person in this state, above four years of age, is entitled to instruction, at the charge of the "town," in the useful common branches of knowledge; and a man or woman who cannot read, is here a prodigy.--Nine-tenths, at least, of the whole population take, or read newspapers. (In Virginia not more than half the white population does so.) Here seems to be not a fourth of the tippling that we have; gambling is even far more rare: there is not a race course in New England; and, considering the density of the population, (eighty to the square mile, ours is only nineteen,) I do not believe there is a fourth so much vice and crime as with us. In moral science, and not least in that branch of it which investigates the texture of a people's character, it is hard to ascertain causes and effects with precision.--What was effect, by a sort of reaction frequently becomes cause; they give each other reciprocal impulses, like the mutual aid of parent and offspring; sometimes various causes mingle their operations, in unseen, perhaps invisible degrees,--and there is no laboratory, no apparatus for resolving the inscrutable compound into its elements. The moral chemist should, therefore, diffidently ascribe the order, industry, sobriety, thriftiness, and intelligence, which characterise these people, to any one cause, or to any set of causes. But general consent, and the reason of the case, leave little doubt that much, if not most of these virtues, must be attributed to the system of COMMON SCHOOLS. Yet it may be questioned if, in producing social good, the school system has not in these states a co-efficient, of equal or superior influence. The road and poor systems--nay, the school system itself, it seems to me, owe nearly all their virtues to the TOWNSHIP SYSTEM.

Each county is subdivided into districts, of no uniform shape or size, though usually four, five, or six miles long and broad. By an impropriety, too fast rooted ever to be eradicated, these are called towns; which word is never understood here in its English sense, as opposed to country, and meaning an assemblage of houses, but always as signifying one of the districts I have mentioned. Protesting against its lawfulness, I shall yet use it now in the New England sense. Each town is a sort of republic. Its people, in full town meeting, elect a representative, or representatives, in the legislature, selectmen, (nearly equivalent to common-council-men) assessor, and collector; decide how the poor shall be kept, schools organized, or roads altered or repaired, and what amount shall be raised by taxes for these and other purposes. A town meeting is held statedly, in the spring, for elections; and two or three others, whenever ten voters request it of the selectmen, in writing. At deliberative meetings, a chairman (here called "Moderator,") is chosen by the assembly; great decorum prevails, and earnest debates arise. The town, as a corporate person, is liable for any damage sustained through neglect to keep a road in repair; and damages have frequently been recovered. It is obliged by law, to support schools enough to educate all its children in the manner prescribed. It is bound to maintain its own poor. And the near interest, the direct agency which every citizen has in the performance of these duties, cause them to be attended to with an exactness and an efficacy which a government less local, never would attain. This is the very system which it was the leading wish of Mr. Jefferson's life to see established in Virginia.[1] No one can see its admirable effects without owning that wish to have been one of the wisest which his wise and patriotic mind ever cherished. Such an organization is not only a nursery of statesmen,--it diffuses among the multitude habits of reflection and of action about public affairs,--makes them feel often and sensibly, the dignity of self-government,--and fits them better and better for the exalted task. It is, morally, what a well disciplined militia would be physically. Not the wretched militia that, by our own disgraceful neglect, has now become our own scorn, but that which our forefathers recommended to us as a main "bulwark of our liberties," and "the best defence of a free state."

[Footnote 1: See his letters to Kercheval, in 1816.]

All the direct taxes in this state are laid by the towns. The state government is maintained entirely by the {87} interest on some accumulated funds, and by a tax of half of one per cent. on the capital of the state banks. By the by, there are at least one hundred of these in Massachusetts, having a capital altogether, as is computed, of about thirty millions! And this for a state of 7,800 square miles, and 640,000 people. Verily "incedit per ignes suppositos cineri doloso:" or, in English, "she sits upon a mine of gunpowder." Perhaps sailing through the air in a car buoyed by bubbles, might be as apt an illustration.

The common schools (so those supported by taxation are called) are not the only ones, for even elementary instruction. Many wealthy persons, unfortunately for the public weal, prefer sending their children to teachers of their own employing: and thus numerous private schools of various grades, and some of these of great merit, are planted over the state. Unfortunately I say, because such persons are often those whose interested countenance and supervision are most essential to the good management of the common schools,--which, deprived of them, lose half their usefulness. Female education is well attended to. Good schools for females, (reputedly so, I have not entered one of them) seem much more numerous than with us, allowing duly for population. And a judgment of the trees by their fruits, would confirm that belief; for in my casual and diversified intercourse, I have met, I think, with a larger proportion of well taught women than would occur in a similar range through our own society. Yet such a comparison is very fallacious, and perhaps not worth making. Of one thing I am satisfied, by personal observation; that the additional work rendered necessary to ladies in New England, by the imperfect and unservant-like "help" which they hire, is not at all incompatible with refined delicacy of mind, manners, and person. That it is so, however, is a leading argument with some of our philosophers for slavery. If memory served me, I would quote for their benefit, a caustic passage from the "Three Wise Men of Gotham," to the effect that "a genuine philosopher is never at a loss for facts to support any theory, however absurd or ridiculous. Having constructed that according to the most approved principles, and upon the most ingenious plan, he goes to work, and either makes all the facts needful to uphold it, or distorts actual facts to suit his purpose."

It has been my good fortune to meet with some admirable female minds in New England. Since the spells of romance were shaken from me, I have never hoped to see more happily exemplified, that trait of a capital heroine of our favorite Miss Edgeworth: "you could discover that the stream of literature had passed over her mind, only by the verdure and fertility you saw there." (I mar the quotation, doubtless, but that is its substance.) No pedantic harping upon books, and authors, and sciences; some cross-examination would be requisite, to find out that she knew their names. But let a subject be tabled, calling for ideas, or for exertions of intellect, to which a conversancy with books, authors and sciences was indispensable--and you might see that she knew them well. Then too she knew much that they--but for fear you should think I am about to fall in love, (which however is impossible,) I will suppress the rest of my encomium.

Abolition, if not dead here, is in a state too desperately feeble to give us an hour's uneasiness. Of the many intelligent men with whom I have conversed on this subject in Massachusetts, Rhode Island and Connecticut, there is but a single one who does not reprobate the views of Messrs. Tappan, Cox, Garrison and Co. as suggestions of the wildest, most pernicious fanaticism. Tappan has two brothers in Boston, both ardent colonizationists, and decidedly opposed to his mad notions. Not only do the persons I have talked with, themselves reprobate interference with that painfully delicate and peculiar concern of the south: they testify to the almost entire unanimity of their acquaintance, in the same sentiment. And such multiplied and decisive proofs have I, of the sound state of the public mind on that subject, as leave me not a doubt, that nine-tenths of the votes, and ninety-nine hundredths of the intellect of the country, are for letting us wholly alone. You have little idea of the contempt in which Garrison, and his will-o'-the-wisp, the Liberator, are held here. I have heard him spoken of as a "miserable fanatic," and "a contemptible poor creature," in companies so numerous and mixed, as to demonstrate--none gainsaying it--that the speakers but expressed the public thought. "There is in this, as in other communities," said a Cambridge Professor to me, "always afloat a certain quantity of moral virus, or noxious gas, ever and anon imbodying itself in some such form as this, of abolitionism. Not long ago, it was anti-masonry. In two years, abolitionism will be as prostrate as anti-masonry is now. It may, meanwhile, spread fast and boldly: it may create disturbances and alarms: it may prevail so far, in some districts, as to have representatives in Congress, who will there bring forward some scheme of emancipation: but triumph finally, or even extensively, in the north, it never can." And all that I saw, or heard, convinced me that Mr. G---- was not widely mistaken.

At Worcester, last year, an apostle of abolition from "some where away down east," delivered a lecture, in the Baptist Church, against slavery; depicting its wrongs and evils, and insisting upon its extirpation. He was heard patiently; but when he closed, the pastor of the church arose, and, to the satisfaction of a numerous audience, completely answered every argument; vindicated the southern slaveholders from all wilful injustice in being such; shewed the impracticability of any but the most cautiously gradual emancipation, and the madness of attempting even that, by officious intermeddling from the non-slaveholding states. Our apostle wanted to lecture again the next day; but the excitement against his doctrine had grown so strong, that he was refused a further hearing, and admonished, by some of the leading citizens, that if he remained longer, he was in danger of tar and feathers. Among the warmest of his reprobators, were the late and the present governors; both residing there. He wisely decamped; and has had no successor in Worcester. The manner in which the New York riots have been spoken of in New England, strikingly shews the bad odor of abolition here. Instead of the leaning towards that side, which I feared would result from sympathy and indignation at its being made the object of a mob's fury, the abolitionists seem to be regarded by the majority as most chargeable themselves, with all the mischief that has been done. It is the common sentiment, that they deserved the treatment they received; and the censure thrown upon the mob is very gentle roaring indeed. I find almost {88} every New Englander readily assenting to the positions,--That two millions of slaves could never be turned loose amongst us and live, while we lived: that the existence of the two castes in the same country, in a state of freedom and equality, is morally impossible: that emancipation, without removal, therefore, is utterly chimerical: that, unjustifiable as slavery is in the abstract, rights of property in slaves have been acquired, which, sanctioned as they are by the constitution, and by a claim prior and paramount to the constitution, cannot be violated without an outrage, destructive at once of our social compact: that, let slavery be ever so wrong, abolition ever so just and easy, it is a matter which concerns us alone; and as to which, we are so sensitively jealous of extraneous interposition, that every agitation of the subject in other states is calculated to weaken our attachment to them, and bind faster the chains of slavery.

In a word, the south may be assured, that on this point, New England is sound: at least the three states which I have visited. Colonization is popular here--with those, I mean, who know or reflect at all about it. The majority (like the majority with us,) are without either knowledge or thought on the subject. The abolitionists find fault with colonization, because, say they, its aim is to postpone or prevent emancipation. Our southern illuminati oppose it, on the ground that it favors emancipation! Do not these inconsistent objections neutralize each other, like opposite quantities in Algebra, or opposite simples in Chemistry?

N. P. WILLIS.

We extract the subjoined article from the Norfolk Beacon, believing that it will be both new and interesting to most of our readers. That paper has recently passed into the hands of Mr. Hugh Blair Grigsby, a gentleman of fine education and literary taste; and as he has declared himself a neutral in politics, we have a right to expect that the Beacon will be frequently rich in other matter interesting to the general reader. The eulogy upon Willis, or rather his vindication from those ill natured aspersions, which are always cast upon aspiring genius,--is honorable to the feelings of early friendship which dictated it. We have suppressed one or two passages near the commencement of the article, having reason to believe that Mr. Grigsby would not have written them if the circumstance to which he alludes had been better understood. That Willis is a man of genius and an admirable writer both in prose and verse, will not be questioned we think by a large majority of those who are at all familiar with his productions. There are some it is true, who affect a sneer at his pretensions,--and there are others doubtless, who without affectation, do not admire him. The world is infinitely diversified; and there is nothing in which diversity is more strongly exemplified, than in matters of taste. Shakspeare, Milton, Pope, Byron,--nay, almost all the illustrious votaries of the NINE, have occasionally had their revilers,--and it would perhaps be rather an unfavorable indication for any writer, that his works had never been censured or criticised. The unfavorable opinions formed of Willis's reputation, as deduced from his habitual idleness at college--his repugnance to mathematical studies--or his eccentricities either in dress or behaviour--seem to us to rest upon very unphilosophical grounds. What if the merits of the immortal bard of Avon, were to be tested by his diligence in the early acquisition of knowledge! Even Lord Byron was not remarkable either for industry or attainments whilst at school. As to the mathematics,--we dare say that the more bigoted disciples of Euclid and Hutton, would deem it evidence of bad taste, not to be inspired by the beauties and mysteries of the triangle and cone;--but what would they think of the learned and eloquent Gibbon, of whom it is said that so great was his disgust or inaptitude for their favorite science, that he could scarcely be brought to comprehend or demonstrate the three first propositions in Euclid. The truth is, there is an ethereal quality in genius, which disdains to be trammelled by the rules and systems of human invention. That it is so, is perhaps unfortunate,--yet the fact itself cannot be controverted. We commend Mr. Grigsby's article to our readers, not only because it is well written, but because also it is the testimony of a fellow student in favor of a writer who, whatever be his merits or demerits, has acquired acknowledged distinction in the literary world.

* * * * *

"Few men of his age have passed through so fiery an ordeal, and come out of the flame with greater purity, than N. P. WILLIS. It is indeed without a parallel in literature, that a young man of unblemished virtue, of accomplished genius, and of a good heart, should be sought out and hunted down with such an implacable spirit of vengeance.

* * * * *

"To those who knew Willis in his early days, it was evident that he would become, what Edmund Burke said of Townshend, 'a first rate figure in the country.' The first notice that the public had of his budding genius was a little poem in six verses, the two first lines of the first verse being

The leaf floats by upon the stream Unheeded in its silent way.

We cannot recal the whole stanza; but our fair readers may remember that their albums contained some time since, a beautiful vignette representing a lady resting in her bower listening to the notes of a pretty songster perched above her. This engraving was taken from these lines in this poem:

The bird that sings in lady's bower, To-morrow will she think of him?

"This little poem gained the prize awarded by the Mirror, but what the prize was, we really forget. We have not looked over this poem since the morning we first read it, near ten years since; and, with a little effort, we think we could recal it. It was regarded at the time as a very pretty production.

"Some of our readers, who are not wont to frown at the lighter efforts of literature, may remember some poems under the signature of Roy, which were republished in every paper in the United States, and occasionally, it is said, in the British periodicals. Those were from the pen of Willis.

"Every one who has a soul for poetry has read the scripture sketches. Hagar--Absalom--the sacrifice of Abraham--Zepthah's Daughter, are all the productions of a rich imagination. They have their faults, we allow, and so has another piece which he has called 'better moments,' and so with many others; but we will {89} take either and all of these, and will plead the splendor of his genius before any tribunal of taste under heaven. Willis's poems have passed through several editions. He also pronounced a fine poem before Brown University. But the fame of Willis, however proudly it may rest on his poetry, is still more widely diffused by his prose.

"It was a cold morning in the winter of 1824-5, before sunrise, in a division room of Yale College, that Willis gave the first sample of that mellifluous prose which has since attracted such general admiration. He was then commencing his sophomore year; and the student, who had tried a freshman hand on the translations from the classics, was now called to essay an original composition. We were class-mates, but were not in the same division. It was not our good fortune, therefore, to hear his first composition; but we never can forget the merriment which it produced in college. If we mistake not, the theme of his first essay was the dilemma of an old man who had lost his wife; and was in sad perplexity about the plant which he ought to place at the head of her grave. One suggested that an oak sapling was best; but the old man contended that it would not in its infancy protect the grave from the sun and rain; and when it grew up, it would produce no good fruit, and would, moreover, with its spreading branches, rot the shingles of his house. Plant after plant, and tree after tree, were mentioned, the merits of which Willis scanned with great felicity of thought and language. At last, after a due reflection on the useful and the becoming, the old man resolved to plant a cabbage on the grave of his wife. The cold blooded critic, who delights to fasten his fangs on rising merit, may pronounce the theme a very unfit subject for merriment; but fellows of eighteen are no philosophers; and we doubt whether any composition read within the walls of old Yale, ever produced such a happy effect as the one we have just noticed.

"It has been urged against Willis that he spent his time idly at College, and was totally unversed in those studies which are supposed to test with the greatest severity the powers of the understanding. If the meaning of all this be that he is not a profound mathematician, we readily admit the charge; and declare that we would confide as little in his judgment, as we would in that of Moore, Rogers or Campbell, in case either or all united should attempt a new edition of the Principia, or a full translation of La Place--but as we never heard of any such intention, we must in candor believe that the objection has some other meaning. If it were to appear, however, that he is not well versed in mathematics, we are willing to assign him any punishment which any one will declare that a boy of seventeen, who has failed to plunge head and ears into the mathematics, ought to receive.

"At the same time we are free to declare that the system of teaching pursued at Yale College, is the most defective the wit of man ever devised. We mean, of course, the tutorial system. A few raw lads, who have passed through the collegiate year, and rusticated for a twelvemonth afterward, are called to preside in the division rooms, and to perform all the most important duties of education. These gentlemen, if they went forthwith to supply their great and glaring defects, and to qualify themselves to perform their delicate and honorable duties with credit to themselves and honor to the university, would command our respect; but no sooner do they accumulate a sum of money, than they bid farewell to the cause of education. And herein rests our chief objection; which is not that the tutors are young but that they are utterly insensible to the dignity and importance of their office, which we deem the most honorable on earth; and merely consider teaching as the drudgery to which they must submit, to obtain money enough for their advancement in their various modes of life. In this aspect the whole system is faulty, and requires thorough amendment. We said that we did not object to the youth of the tutors--we rather deem it an advantage, when teaching is to be the great object and end of pursuit. We think that superannuated generals and professors rank in one and the same degree. The mind, after a certain time, clings to its ancient convictions, and shrinks from the field of experiment. And as the splendid example of Napoleon has opened the eyes of the world on the subject of old generals; so ought the example of Bichat, the younger Gregory and the lamented Fisher, to produce a similar result on the subject of old professors. The spring-time of life is illumined by a warmer sun than ever lights up the breast of the old man. Youth is the time of pure aspirations, of lofty daring and successful achievement. The heart yet untouched with the sickening lusts and cankering cares of the world; alive to the finest impulses of our nature, and glowing with the desire of immortality, is a noble thing; and we verily believe that such a heart is rarely to be found unless in the bosom of youth.

"We have blamed freely the tutorial system of Yale College; but we have given the dark side only. There are advantages accruing from the system; but they are, in our opinion, utterly inadequate to counterbalance its great and ruinous defects.

"While however, we freely denounce the tutorial system of Yale College, we would not be unjust to the able men who preside in the institution. For Doctor Day, Mr. Kingsley, Mr. Goodrich and Mr. Olmstead, we entertain the highest respect; and believe them to be ripe scholars; but we know the influence of ancient habit, and that miserable system is so mixed up with the entire machinery of the institution, that we have barely a hope of seeing it amended by the present administration. Could Willis have found such a tutor as Mr. Jefferson has represented Mr. Small to have been--one whose learning inspired respect, and whose parental kindness melted the heart of the obdurate, and won back the wayward--we should not have heard this grave charge against him; as it was, while his classmates were calculating eclipses, moral and mathematical, he passed with ease from beside them; and assumed an honorable station in the literature of his country.

"But to Mr. Willis as a writer of prose. And one great source of wonder with us is his uncommon acquaintance with the vocabulary of the language. He moves over the spacious field with the ease and grace of the most accomplished scholar. And then his sentences flow so sweetly on, that you liken them to some limpid rivulet from the hill of the muses flowing around and about the rich landscape before you, and if for a moment concealed from the eye, it is only to burst upon you in all its fullness and beauty. So much for the style of Willis, in its mechanical sense. But there is something beyond this; and which is far more important. It is the life of style. And here is the particular forte of Willis. {90} He reverses the rule of the logician; and instead of advancing from general to particular, he paints the species with the minutest care. The letter which we gave yesterday is a happy specimen of the philosophy of his style. His theme is a voyage on the Hudson in the summer season, when all are thronging northward, and to this miscellaneous multitude he seeks to introduce us. He selects a few individuals, and finishes their portraits with the greatest care and the most consummate skill. But first observe the connection of the trip. Whoever has travelled the Hudson in the summer season, will at once recognize the group of passengers who have arrived 'just thirty seconds too late;' and the striking description of a steamboat 'built for smooth water, long, shallow and graceful, of the exquisite proportions of a pleasure yacht; and painted as brilliantly and fantastically as an Indian shell.' Then we have the Kentuckian to the life, 'sitting on three chairs;' and the Indian, who does not deign to show the slightest curiosity, unless in eyeing the broad chest and sinewy form of the Kentuckian--detecting with characteristic skill the hardy dweller of Kentucky in the unnatural disguise of ruffled shirt and fine broadcloth coat 'cut by a Mississippi tailor'--and the Alabamian, whom the common eye would confound with the Kentuckian, and who is a different species altogether; and next, the southern beauty from the interior of Alabama, 'dressed in singularly bad taste;' graceful as a fawn, but untutored in the mysteries of the dance. In fine, the whole scene is painted before us almost with the distinctness of actual life. We pass over the great excellence of this sketch in other respects; but we are sure that he who reads the letter will long retain its striking passages in his memory.

"It will be asked by that race of cynics who set a wonderful value on the fabrics of their own manufacture, but show no admiration of the noble structures reared by the genius of others,--it will be asked by such, what good can such productions accomplish in the business of life? While we heartily repeat the sentiment first uttered by Dr. Johnson, and afterwards endorsed by Sir Walter Scott, that we hate a cui bono man, we will enter the lists in the cause, and declare that they produce a right and proper effect on the general mind. Now we have shown that the leading excellence of the writings of Willis consisted in minute and exceedingly graphic sketches of the natural world in all its varied aspect of mountain, plain, and river, and that still more varied chart of instruction--Man. His pages then reflect like some beautiful stream, with lights and shades, all the rich and stirring variety of nature. And who will deny that nature hath not a voice and eloquence that rightly speak to the bosoms of men? And herein resteth the power of Willis.

"It may with propriety be inquired, if Willis could not select a more extended field of fame? We believe that he might select a theme of higher bearing, and that he is now preparing the path before him. His present sketches are so many notes from which, in riper years, he will strike a nobler harmony. We know that he has a fine ambition; an ambition that looks far beyond the pages of the New Monthly, or the Mirror,--and which stirreth within him a desire of a great and proper poem, which 'men will not willingly let die,' and which will weave his humble name with the destinies of his country."

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

WASHINGTON AND NAPOLEON.

THE CONTRAST.

----"Urged by a curiosity common to all strangers, Captain Lockerby visited the tomb of Bonaparte. The spot where the tomb stands is only accessible by ticket. It was railed round with green palms, and a sentinel walked round it night and day to prevent approach within the railing."----

Behold what a contrast is here! Two heroes gone down to decay-- The grave of the one, how deserted and drear! While the other is deck'd in its marble array And a sentinel guards it by night and by day.

Oh, what was the life of the first, That in death they have left him thus lone?-- Was the crown of the Tyrant his thirst? And mounting in blood on the steps of a throne-- Had he murdered his thousands to aggrandize one?

Of grandeur of soul was there none In that bosom, transform'd to the clod; The end of its government done, To abandon the lictor, the axe, and the rod, When it look'd on its nothingness--thought of its God?

But see what a far different scene! The tomb of the valiant and wise! Encompass'd secure by its paling of green, And gleaming in white, as those tropical skies Beam down on the waste where St. Helena lies.

Lo! numbers resort to that spot, And beauty bows too at the shrine-- Oh virtue! how envied thy lot! The grave cannot darken thy splendor divine Nor sully thy brightness, but adds to its shine.

Yet CHRISTIAN!--come nearer and read, For conjecture hath led us astray-- Hast thou heard of one, false to his creed? Of a blood loving tyrant--ferocious--whose sway Was supported by rapine, while earth was his prey?

'Tis to him that these honors are paid, And his dust must be guarded--from whom? Are the terrified nations afraid Lest he yet should arise from the curse of his doom, And bursting its cerements, escape from the tomb?

Ah no! he lies powerless now! But thousands would bear him afar: To this Juggernaut, long did they bow, And were abjectly crush'd by the wheels of his car, As triumphant he rode through the red fields of war.

Is virtue then, nought but a name? Let us turn to the spot we have passed-- If guilt can exult in its shame, The good in his grave may be silently cast-- Abandoned--unnoticed--the scene but a waste!

Yes, yes, thou art dumb with amaze-- 'Tis WASHINGTON slumbers below-- Was language too weak for HIS praise?-- Was the grief so profound, that it baffled all show, Or the feeling too deep for the utt'rance of wo?

Let us hope that it was--let us trust That we honor the Friend of Mankind-- That the Corsican despot in dust, His merited meed of abhorrence shall find In the progress of truth and the march of the mind.

{91}

MINERAL WEALTH OF VIRGINIA.

The following interesting communication from Peter A. Browne, Esq. of Philadelphia, was submitted last winter, by the Governor of Virginia, to the General Assembly. It was printed with the documents accompanying the annual message, and bound up with the legislative journals, but has had no other publicity. It is therefore new to nineteen-twentieths, if not to ALL of our readers. We confess we feel somewhat mortified, that the valuable hints and suggestions thrown out by an intelligent and scientific stranger, should have failed to attract the attention of our public functionaries. We are not without hope, however, that a subject of such vital importance as a geological survey of the state, will claim the earnest and speedy consideration of the people, as well as their representatives. It is one of those subjects upon which all parties, however divided by sectional jealousies or other adverse views, may meet on common ground, and unite in harmonious action. There is no portion of the commonwealth which is not deeply interested in the development of its mineral wealth--none which ought not to lend its hearty sanction to a scientific survey of the country by a skilful geologist. To say nothing of the noble example of other states--among them some of our youngest sisters--our interests are too deeply involved in the proposed undertaking, longer to defer it. Agriculture,--commerce,--the arts,--are alike concerned in the successful prosecution of a work which promises to each such essential benefits. The people of Virginia have been too long ignorant and unmindful of their own vast resources. Who would have dreamed a few years since, that a vein of precious gold, which, for two centuries, had escaped observation, actually enriched our soil? Who now can form an adequate conception of the various hidden treasures which science and enterprise may bring to light. Can the paltry consideration of a few thousand dollars expense, outweigh the magnificent advantages which are likely to result? Shall the present generation fold its arms in supineness, and leave every thing to be done by posterity? We earnestly exhort our legislators to take the subject into serious consideration.

The writer of the subjoined communication will be pleased to learn that the mineral springs of the state, (which might in themselves be made a source of boundless wealth,) have been subjected to careful analysis during the past summer, by an able chemical professor in one of our colleges. It is understood that the results of his observation will in due time be laid before the public.

Philadelphia, Sept. 30, 1833.

SIR,--Although I have not the honor of a personal acquaintance with you, I have no hesitation in making the present appeal to your patriotism and wisdom, not doubting but that I shall find in the great and growing interest of the subject to the country at large, and particularly to that portion of the Union over which you preside with so much dignity and discretion, a sufficient apology for occupying so much of your valuable time, as will enable you to give the present communication an attentive perusal.

I have recently returned from a geological excursion to Virginia. I entered the state near the head waters of the Potomac, passed thence to Winchester, followed the course of that fine valley to the Natural bridge; retracing my steps, I turned westwardly at Staunton, crossed the mountain at Jennings's gap, and visited the justly celebrated medicinal springs in that region; returning, I went from Staunton through Charlottesville to Richmond, and down the James to its mouth. When this tour is taken in connection with a former visit to Wheeling, it will be conceded that I have seen enough of the state, to enable me to form a rough estimate of its geological and mineralogical importance; and I do assure you, sir, that although my anticipations were far from being meager, I was astonished at the vastness and variety of interesting objects in that department of natural history, that were constantly developing themselves, inviting the mind of man to reflection, and his hands to industry, and displaying at every step the wisdom and beneficence of the great Creator.

I determined upon respectfully suggesting to your excellency the expediency of a topographical, geological, mineralogical and oryctological survey of Virginia. Should the enlightened representatives of the freemen of your state concur in this opinion, it will redound to the honor of all concerned, by the encouragement it will give to the study of the natural sciences--by the enhancement in value of lands in the interior, thereby enriching the state and its citizens, and giving a very proper check to unnatural migrations to the extreme west, by bringing to light and usefulness innumerable valuable crude materials, thereby not only enlarging the field of manufactures and the useful arts, but furnishing carrying for the canals and roads already constructed, and assisting in new internal improvements in locations of equal importance. That I may not appear to be too enthusiastic, pardon me for pointing out some of the most obvious features in the geology of Virginia. Whether we consider the comfort and convenience of our species, or the industry and prosperity of a state, there is no mineral production that can outvie in importance that of coal. In this country, where we have hitherto always had a superabundance of fuel, owing to the vast extent of our natural forests, the importance of a constant and abundant supply is not felt, and we are too apt to neglect properly to appreciate its value, but it is not so elsewhere, and a moment's reflection will shew that it ought not to be so here. Without fuel, of what use would be to us the metallic ores? for instance iron, which is now moulded, drawn and worked into thousands and tens of thousands of useful instruments, from a knife, to the complicated machinery of a steam engine, would forever remain an indissoluble and useless mass of matter without the aid of fuel--even the steam engine itself, that colossus of modern machinery, without the assistance of fire would be inactive and impotent.

The Rev. Mr. Conybeare, an eminent English geologist, speaking of the coal veins (or coal measures, as they are there called,) of his country, thus expresses himself:

"The manufacturing industry of this island, colossal as is the fabric which it has raised, rests principally on no other base than our fortunate position with regard to the rocks of this series. Should our coal mines ever be exhausted, it would melt away at once, and it need not be said, that the effect produced on private and domestic comfort would be equally fatal with diminution {92} of public wealth; we should lose many of the advantages of our high civilization, and much of our cultivated grounds must be again shaded with forests, to afford fuel to a remnant of our present population. That there is a progressive tendency to approach this limit, is certain, but ages may yet pass before it is felt very sensibly; and when it does approach, the increasing difficulty and expense of working the mines of coal, will operate, by successive and gradual checks, against its consumption, through a long period, so that the transition may not be very violent; our manufactures would first feel the shock; the excess of population, supported by them, would cease to be called into existence, as the demand for their labor ceased; the cultivation of poor lands would become less profitable, and their conversion into forests more so."

Where is the state in this union--I might, perhaps, safely ask, where is the country in the world, that can surpass Virginia in the variety of position and abundance of supply of this valuable combustible? She possesses, not only in common with her sister states, a liberal quantity of bituminous coal in her western and carbonaceous regions, where, according to geological calculations, bituminous coal might be reasonably expected to be found; but in the eastern division of the state, within a few miles of the tide water of a majestic stream, which empties its ample waters into the Atlantic ocean, in a geological position, where bituminous coal never would have been sought after, because bituminous coal could not there have ever been expected to have been found, bituminous coal of a good quality, and apparently in great abundance, has been found; nature seeming, as it were, in this instance, to enable her to favor an otherwise highly favored land, to have defied all her own rules, and baffled the skill of the gravest geologist, by depositing bituminous coal upon the naked and barren bosom of the uncarbonaceous granite! I have often wondered why this anomaly did not strike the capacious and highly gifted mind of Jefferson, and why he, or some other of the many reflecting men of Virginia, was not led by it to inquire, what else there might be in store for the good people of that state? By neglecting to seek for them, we ungratefully reject the proffered kindness of our Creator; the laws of inanimate matter are, in this respect, in unison with those that govern animated nature; we are furnished with the material and means, but in order to stimulate us to useful and healthful industry, we must labor in their appropriation. God gives us the earth and the seed, but we must plough and sow, or we can never reap; so he has bountifully placed within our reach innumerable valuable rocks, minerals and combustibles, but to enjoy them, we must delve into the bowels of the earth--and having found them, we must, by various laborious processes, render them fit for our use. To those who are accustomed to regard these things, it is difficult to determine which causes the most painful sensations, to observe how few coal mines, in comparison to what might be, are opened in the neighborhood of Richmond, or the want of skill exhibited in the selection and working of those recently opened. Nor is the deposite of the bituminous coal upon the granite, the only geological anomaly of this quarter. Proceeding from Charlottesville towards Richmond, almost immediately after you leave the Talcose formation of the Blue Ridge, you are astonished at the fertility of the soil; you can scarcely persuade yourself that you are travelling over a country of primitive rocks. Soon, however, you discover that the fertility is not universal, but confined to patches of a brick-red covering, that overlay the disintegrated materials of the primordial formations, and upon seeking further into this curious matter, your surprise is not a little increased, upon discovering that this brick-red covering owes its existence to the disintegration of a rock, which, in most other places, is exceedingly slow to decompose, and which, when decomposed, forms a cold and inhospitable soil. It is the hornblende sienite. Here it is surcharged with iron, which oxidating by exposure to the atmosphere and moisture, the rock freely disintegrates, and the oxide of iron being set at liberty, imparts its coloring to the ground, and fertilizes the soil in an extraordinary degree.

Professor Hitchcock, in his report of a geological survey of Massachusetts, makes the following remarks in relation to the effect of iron upon a soil:

"No ore except iron occurs in sufficient quantity in the state, to deserve notice in an agricultural point of view. In the west part of Worcester county, the soil, for a width of several miles across the whole state, is so highly impregnated with the oxide of iron, as to receive from it a very deep tinge of what is called iron rust. This is particularly the case in the low grounds; where are frequently found beds of bog ore. I do not know very definitely the effect of this iron upon vegetation; but, judging from the general excellence of the farms in the Brookfields, Sturbridge, Hardwicke, New Braintree, Barae, Hubbardston, &c., I should presume it to be good. Certainly, it cannot be injurious; for no part of the county exceeds the towns just named, in the appearance of its farming interest--and nearly all the county, as may be seen by the map, is of one formation. It would be an interesting problem, which in that county can be solved, to determine the precise influence of a soil highly ferruginous upon vegetation."

Next in geological and statistical importance, I would place the mineral springs of Virginia; and these would form a legitimate subject of investigation to those who should be appointed to conduct a geological survey.

I am not aware of any portion of country of the same extent, possessing an equal number and variety of mineral springs, as the counties of Bath, Greenbrier and Monroe. This is a subject upon which one might easily compose a book, but I must confine myself to a few lines. The waters are thermal and cold; the former of various degrees of intensity. They hold in solution a variety of metals, earths, acids, and alkalies, combined in various proportions, and suited to relieve the sufferings of invalids from a number of diseases. Mineral springs of less interest than these, have excited the attention of the learned in almost every age and country; and Virginia owes it to her high mental standing, independently of every other consideration, to assist the cause of science, by investigating the causes of the high temperature, and making accurate analyses of these waters. It is the duty of states, as it is of individuals, to furnish their quota to the general stock of information; and this is peculiarly the duty of a republican state, whose happiness, nay, whose very political existence, depends upon an improved {93} state of the minds of its citizens. Mr. John Mason Good, in his "Book of Nature," after describing the barren state of society in the middle ages, says, "we have thus rapidly travelled over a wide and dreary desert, that, like the sandy wastes of Africa, has seldom been found refreshed by spots of verdure, and what is the moral? That ignorance is ever associated with wretchedness and vice, and knowledge with happiness and virtue. Their connections are indissoluble; they are woven in the very texture of things, and constitute the only substantial difference between man and man," and I would add, between state and state.

Has the heat of these waters any connection with volcanic phenomena? Or is the temperature entirely chemical, originating in the decomposition of sulphuret of iron, as I suggested some years ago in a paper published upon the subject? At the Hot Springs, the hot sulphur water and the cold pure water, issue out of the calcareous rock at the base of the Warm Spring mountain, within a few feet of each other. One of these Virginia Springs, makes a copious deposite of calcareous tufa; and at another, you perceive newly formed crystals of sulphate of iron. The White Sulphur Spring takes its name from a rich white deposite, and the Red Sulphur from one of that color. If this is not an uncommon and a highly interesting section of country, calling aloud for investigation, and meriting legislative interference, then have I taken an entirely erroneous view of the subject.

The Warm Spring mountain is white sandstone. The rocks of the valley of the Hot Springs are calcareous, argillaceous and silecious; they are all nearly vertical. At first the two former, and afterwards the two latter, alternate. They have all been deposited in a horizontal position, and between their narrow strata are thin layers of clay covering organic remains.--Those of the lime and slate are principally zoophytes. That of the silecious is the fossil described by Doctor R. Harlan, from a specimen obtained by me in the western part of the state of New York. He supposed it to be a now extinct vegetable fossil of the family fucoides, and he has called it Fucoide Brongniard,--in honor of M. Brongniard. But I suppose it to be animal, and to belong to the family of the Encrinites.[1]

[Footnote 1: See an essay of Richard C. Taylor, F. G. S. on the geological position of certain beds which contain numerous fossil marine plants of the family fucoides; near Lewistown, Mifflin county, Pennsylvania, in vol. I. part I. of the Transactions of the Geological Society of Pennsylvania, page 1.]

The mountain ranges of Virginia are more numerous, and the valleys consequently narrower, than they are in Pennsylvania; but some of them are very interesting. The great valley, as it is sometimes called, or par excellence, the valley, situate between the Blue Ridge and the North and Alleghany Mountain, is by far the most extensive. The rocks often obtrude, rendering the soil rather scanty, but nevertheless this is a fine district of country.

I could find no fossils in this rock. In regard to the metallic ores, I would observe, that I discovered sufficient indications of their existing in Virginia in quantity sufficient to justify a more accurate examination. Iron abounds in almost every part of the western section of the state. Traces of copper, lead, manganese and chrome, have also been discovered near the Blue Ridge; and the gold of Orange County is equal to any found in the Carolinas or Georgia.

I have never seen any thing that exceeds the richness and variety of coloring of the serpentine of the Blue Ridge. This mineral is easily cut, and the fineness and closeness of the grain renders it susceptible of a high polish. At Zoblitz in Saxony, several hundred persons are employed in its manufacture. Besides the minerals belonging to the Talcose formation, and generally accompanying serpentine, are many of them valuable in the arts--for instance, steatite, (soap stone,) talc, chromate of iron, clorite slate, and native magnesia. A geological survey would, most probably, lead to the discovery of most of these minerals.

I could make large additions to this communication, but for the fear of trespassing upon your patience. I will, therefore, close my observations with noticing two instances of want of confidence in the mineral productions of your own state, which I am persuaded that a geological survey would tend to correct. I met many wagons loaded with sulphate of lime (gypsum,) from Nova Scotia, being taken to the interior to be used as a manure; but I did not see one wagon employed to bring carbonate of lime (common lime stone,) from the inexhaustible quarries of the great valley to any other district to be used for the same purpose. In the beautiful and flourishing city of Richmond, I observed the fronts of two stores fitting up in the new and fashionable style with granite (so called,) (sienite,) from Massachusetts, while there exists in the James river, and on its banks, in the immediate vicinity of the town, rocks of a superior quality, in quantities amply sufficient to build a dozen cities.

I have the honor to be, sir, Your obedient servant,

PETER A. BROWNE.

_To his Excellency John Floyd, Governor of Virginia._

LAFAYETTE.

The following tribute to the memory of Lafayette, having been transmitted from Paris for the purpose of being published in some American periodical, the gentleman by whom it was received, has requested that the same may be inserted in the Messenger.

He breathed not the atmosphere of cities at his birth; he was born on the mountain top; he inhaled with the breath of life, the breath of liberty. Though sprung from a lordly race, he was the people's friend; and, under every trial, he displayed the inborn dignity of man.

Rich too he was, but lucre was not his idol; and his liberality was as unbounded, as his heart was generous. At that season of life which, to common men, is a time for pleasure and dissipation, he heard and obeyed the holy call of freedom.

Far off, beyond ocean's bounds, a young and promising nation was struggling for its rights. He felt, as if instinctively, the part allotted to him on the stage of life; and he became America's adopted and beloved son, when in his native land, his name was scarcely known.

On returning to France, he found her laboring under mysterious warnings--of good or evil he knew not--the {94} foreboding pangs of political convulsions; and he put his trust in the cause of humanity, because he judged of other men from himself.

But vain was his boldness and wisdom in council; in vain did he beard in their very den, the infuriate demagogues; a bloody pall was spread over his devoted country; he gave her up in despair, and the dungeon of Olmutz closed upon him as a tomb. When a brighter day arose, his freedom was stipulated as the most glorious trophy of his nation's victories. But the hurricane had swept the ancient fabric from the earth; not a vestige of it remained, so dreadful had been the storm. All the powers of the state were centred in one man; a man of selfishness and pride, who aimed at absorbing all wills in his own. And in sooth he did this, with one sole and great exception. The instinct of freedom, which was as the vital spark in our great citizen, kept him aloof from the man whose empty and ephemeral triumph is stained with the blood and tears of every nation. He retired to his paternal fields; and at a time when the sword ruled paramount, he guided the fruitful ploughshare.

Liberty was no more; and by a hard but just retribution, it was made the rallying word of nations against us. Then fell upon our country unheard of disasters and defeats; after which dawned a milder reign. He now reappears upon the public stage; he comes to heal our wounds, to rekindle in our hearts the love of liberty. He devotes himself to the task with a zeal unceasing, enlightened by long-tried experience, inspired by a pure and upright heart, and animated by a spirit of self denial never equalled. In the prosecution of this noble attempt--he dies!

He was one of those men who, at far and distant intervals, appear in days of degeneracy to arrest the right of proscription against virtue.

He disdained power, he despised riches, he abhorred corruption. He wished that all men should be happy and free.

Yet in the age of barefaced egotism, and under the reign of fraud and knavery, such disinterestedness and candor must inevitably be deceived; therefore is it that our political jugglers sneer at this great and good man--their grovelling minds understand him not.

But his name, pronounced with reverence in both hemispheres, is become the watchword of mankind laboring to be free; and it will stand for ages, as the brightest symbol of humanity.

Thy soul, oh Lafayette! was a pure and glorious emanation from that GOD in whose bosom thou now hast found a resting place. He alone can reward thy manifold virtues, thy constant love of humanity, thy inexhaustible charity, thy piety and truth. Thou art blessed in Christ.

ALEXANDRE DE BOINVILLE.

Paris, May 1834.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

PINKNEY'S ELOQUENCE.

Hear you this triton of the minnows?--Coriolanus.

"Yet Mr. Pinkney is not an eloquent man; he is convincing, to be sure--and that is to be eloquent in one way; but he would be more, and fails." "Nothing can be further from eloquence, if by eloquence be understood any thing that is persuasive, beautiful, dignified or natural, than the declamation or reasoning of William Pinkney." "His best speeches are a compound of stupendous strength, feeble ornament, affected earnestness, and boisterous turbulent declamation." "But God never meant him for an orator; he has no property of mind or body--no not one, calculated to give him dominion in eloquence."

As old Doiley says in the farce, when told that "gold in the balance of philosophy was light as phlogisticated air," this must be deep, for I don't understand a word of it. The above are extracts from a work, in which the author undertakes to deny to Mr. Pinkney the praise of eloquence. No kind of composition confounds me more than criticism, and especially that sort which pretends to develope the characteristics of some distinguished orator. If one

----------------should So get the start of the majestic world

as to "bear the palm alone," we feel a very natural curiosity to know what was his appearance, his manner, and peculiar style of eloquence; but alas! in the hands of the critic, he assumes so many shapes, that the imagination is absolutely bewildered, and we turn away in despair of finding out what the man was like. The critic like the newspaper, contradicts himself at every step. One sentence tells us what another denies; and we rise from the perusal of his sketch jaded and worn out with the variety of contrariant ideas which have passed through our brains. I am no critic, and heaven forbid I should ever belong to that cold hearted fraternity, who more often pervert taste than improve it; but I cannot forbear contesting the truth of this writer's assertions, and declaring that he seems to me to be a Lilliputian about the body of a Gulliver.

It has been said of Demosthenes, "that he has been deservedly styled the prince of orators. His orations are strongly animated, and full of the impetuosity and ardor of public spirit. His composition is not distinguished by ornament and splendor. Negligent of the lesser graces, he seems to have aimed at the sublime, which lies in sentiment. His action and pronunciation are said to have been uncommonly vehement and ardent. The Archbishop of Cambray gives him the preference to Cicero, against whom he makes the objection of too much ornament." According therefore to this author, if Wm. Pinkney was not an orator, it follows that Demosthenes was none; because their style of eloquence seems to have been alike in almost every particular, except that Pinkney aimed at ornament, of which Demosthenes had none and Cicero too much. If speeches, characterized by stupendous strength, and turbulent declamation, and convincing argument, are neither "persuasive, nor dignified, nor natural," then was not Demosthenes persuasive, nor dignified, nor natural, and of course he was no orator according to this definition. If ornament be a fault in Mr. Pinkney, he had it in common with Cicero; but perhaps the author may say that Cicero attained what Pinkney only aimed at. Hear him then again on the subject of ornament, so passionately loved by Mr. Pinkney. "Bring him in contact with a truly poetical mind, and his argument resembles a battery of colored fire-works, giving out incessant brightness and reverberation." It would seem then that ornament is not a common trait of his eloquence, but a {95} glitter which is effected by attrition against poetical minds. It is then that he draws upon the inexhaustible stores of beauty laid up in his mind, gathered from the writings of Shakspeare and others, and retained by the force of a powerful memory. He has no fancy of his own, but uses the fancy of others. Then surely he is so far superior to Demosthenes, whose eloquence was thought to border on the hard and dry; alike impetuous, vehement, stupendous and convincing with him, and superadding a relish for the beauties of poetry; not aiming at any ornament of his own, but contented with what suggested itself in illustration of his argument from the pen of others. Then how is he feeble in ornament? But again; if there be nothing of dignity or nature in Pinkney's reasoning, how is it discovered that his mind is "adamant clamped with iron," [a poor conception, and suiting the ideas of a blacksmith better than a belles-lettres scholar--for the iron adds nothing to our thoughts of the strength of adamant;] that it is "a colossal pile of granite, over which the thunders of heaven might roll," &c. &c. It is useless to quote the rest of the unmeaning fustian of the sentence.

After all this avowal of stupendous strength of argument, we are told in a subsequent paragraph, that say what we will of Mr. Pinkney's argument, he the author, never saw him yet--no never, pursue his argument steadily for ten minutes at a time. Then how can it be so overwhelming and convincing? Nothing lessens so much the force of argument as a perpetual aberration from the subject. Again; "God never meant him for an orator; he has no property of mind or body," &c. &c. Not to say any thing of the presumption and impiety of determining for God, I would ask what are the bodily properties of an orator? This writer has not condescended to define them, although he dwells at large upon such as he thinks cast discredit upon Mr. Pinkney. It is scarcely necessary to observe that Demosthenes was ungraceful in figure and action; and that not only orators, but very wise and learned men, have been repulsive in their persons, their features, and their manners also. Though Cæsar and Cicero were exempt from defect in this respect, as far as I remember Demosthenes stuttered--Socrates was bald and flatnosed--Anthony a rough soldier--Lord Chatham's eloquence was forcible, but uniform and ungraceful--Fox was a fop of Bond street, and wore high heeled morocco shoes. Mr. Pinkney therefore may, without reproach, be a "thick, stout man, with a red fat English face," and Mr. Fox will keep him in countenance as a fashionable man. The facetious Peter Pindar has said, that

Love hates your large fat lubberly fellows, Panting and blowing like a blacksmith's bellows;

but I never heard that oratory did.

In the next breath we hear that "Mr. Pinkney has a continual appearance of natural superciliousness and affected courtesy." Continual--and yet afterwards "his manner is exceedingly arrogant and unpropitiating;" and his deportment had been already described as "brutal, arrogant, full of sound and fury, accompanied by the rude and violent gestures of a vulgar fellow." One moment he is a giant, not only metaphorically, but in sober truth, if we may judge from his stentorian lungs, which have caused the author's whole system to jar--and from those violent gesticulations, which indicate uncommon personal strength;--the next, he turns out to be only five feet ten, and a petit maitre, and affectedly courtly and conciliatory; and yet "nothing could make a gentleman of him; he can neither look, act, speak, sit, nor talk like one." Notwithstanding all this scurrility and abuse of Mr. Pinkney's person, the author is not yet exhausted, but lavishes more upon his intellect. "The physical powers of Mr. Pinkney," he says, "are to my notion, strictly correspondent with his intellectual ones; both arc solid, strong and substantial, but without grace, dignity or loftiness." Loftiness! the same man who has such "prodigious elevation and amplitude of mind," "and both have a dash of fat English dandyism." I confess myself wholly at a loss to comprehend what the fat dandyism of the intellectual powers is. A man's mind might, by a forced metaphor, be said to be dandyish, perhaps; but a fat mind, is a solecism in words wholly inadmissible, I think. "His style of eloquence," it is added, "is a most disagreeable and unnatural compound of the worst faults of the worst speakers." "He is said to resemble Lord Erskine as he was in the day of his power: it is a libel on Erskine, who was himself a libel on the reputation of his country as a speaker." "The language of Mr. Pinkney does resemble that of Lord Erskine; his reasoning is about as forcible." If the term style here be the manner of speaking appropriate to particular characters, I have shown that the censure is equally applicable to Demosthenes, the prince of orators, who, in addition to his vehemence, was so ungraceful in his motions, that it was necessary for him to practice with a naked sword hanging over his shoulder; and therefore to compare Demosthenes to Lord Erskine is a libel on Lord Erskine, himself a libel on his country as a speaker--and argal, as Shakspeare says, Demosthenes is inferior to English orators. If, again, the word style mean the manner of writing with regard to language, these sentences would involve a contradiction, and Mr. Pinkney is like and unlike Lord Erskine at the same time.

Yet why do I talk of Demosthenes? In the following sentences the author admits that Mr. P. copied too closely after Cicero and Demosthenes. "He desired to be eloquent; he thought of Demosthenes and Cicero, and his heart swelled with ambition. He remembered not that he was to be a lawyer, and that Demosthenes and Cicero were declaimers. He who should look to move a body of Americans in a court of justice by the best thundering of Demosthenes, would only make himself ridiculous." Very true; and this may certainly prove that Mr. Pinkney might have been a greater lawyer, by bending the whole force of his mind to that one pursuit; but it has nothing to do with the premises. The ground is here changed; this is not the point to be proved--not the quod erat demonstrandum. The point to be proved is not the propriety of displaying eloquence before a jury, but that Wm. Pinkney was never meant by God for an orator; that he has no property of mind or body to make one. This is assuredly the scope of the extracts. Had Mr. P. not aimed at ornament, his ashes might have passed undisturbed by the author, who allows that he was decidedly the greatest lawyer in America, but is very angry that he was not the greatest in the world. In spite of all this, however, Pinkney "pursued his way like a conqueror, and had well nigh {96} established himself as the high priest of eloquence in America." Why, what a stupid, blind, misjudging race we must be, to think of choosing a man for our high priest of eloquence whom God never meant for an orator, and who had no property, not one, of mind or body, for his business--and never to awaken from our folly until this writer tore the urim and thummim from his breast. "The giant," he says, "is gone down like a giant to the household of death," and there should at least have escaped the imputation of baseness which deserved shooting. How giants die, I pretend not to know; but imagine such giants die pretty much like other people; and it seems to me perfectly ridiculous to talk of a man's dying like a giant. At that awful hour, the littleness of the greatest genius is a subject of melancholy reflection. I will only add that I know nothing of this writer. If his object was to guard us against the mischievous effects of a false taste in eloquence, he cannot be angry with me for wishing to guard against the equally bad effects of a false taste in criticism.

NUGATOR.

THE DANDY CHASTISED.

In this metropolis a real, downright exquisite is rarely to be seen. Curiosity may be gratified by a good description of the animal as exhibited in other places. The following communication is from one residing in a city much more fashionable than ours. Its author seems well informed in the science of æsthetics; and it is to be hoped that he will exert himself to correct mistaken impressions as to the beautiful. Further notices by him may be beneficial.

C.

Among the follies and vices of mankind, there is nothing more remarkable or ridiculous than the continual effort, among all classes and kinds of people--savage, civilized, and pseudo-civilized--to increase or impart beauty and comeliness to their forms and features. Through what various and opposite means is this cherished object pursued! This savage tattoos his cheeks--that smooths and oils them, and would esteem the gratuitous tattoonry of the small-pox a graver misfortune than all the pain attendant on the disease.

The Indians on our Western border are wont to assume the character of the bear, the panther, or some "other interesting beast of prey," and place their ambition in enacting the look and conduct of such beast to the life--and "to the death."

The belle of that age is surrounded by a vast circumvallation of hoop--of this, is pinched into a narrow breastwork of steel and whale-bone.

To cramp the feet into unnatural littleness is now the sad task of those who, to be beautiful, are willing to suffer the tortures of the thumb-screw--or the toe-screw, (it matters not.) The fashion changes, and long pointed shapeless boots deform the human foot.

In no age--in no condition, can men and women be persuaded that God Almighty has made them well,--albeit he hath "made man after his own image," and woman much better than man.

They must fall to reforming their forms by some fanciful deformity.

But the innovation stops not here. Thus far it might be borne. The human form cannot be wholly changed by all the ingenuity of vanity and fashion. It must still retain its principal attributes, and lose not all its lustre. Not so with manners. They are more plastic. From fashion and human folly they accordingly suffer most. Fashion is the sworn foe of nature, and in this field there is no natural bound to its triumphs.

On the face of the earth, or in the waters, there is no animal to my feelings so wholly hateful as a modern exquisite: a wretch that has put off his natural aspect to put on a clay mask, hard, ungainly, inflexible, of lifeless mud--which no Prometheus could vivify: a thing which can boast neither the humor of the monkey, nor the fierce respectability of the wild beast,--not the usefulness of the tame--still less the dignity and bearing of a man.

Sometime since, after sauntering an evening through a ball room, in which some such caricatures of men were existing, I went home and vented my rage in the following doggerel:

The Indignant Rhymes of a Natural Proser.

Oh! Muse, assist me in my strain! Your Museship I would entertain With a poetic flagellation: Assist me Muse, to lay the lash on, With pen formed from a dog-wood switch, Fit to chastise a dunce: with pitch For ink, and bull's hide parchment handy; Now aid me, Muse, and we'll chastise a dandy.

That petty, puny, paltry, pretty thing-- In form a wasp, but destitute of sting; Vain as a peacock, soulless as a gnat, Brainless as soulless, finical as flat: Of apes the ape most awkward and most vile-- Jackall of monkeys, and without jacko's wile. The jackall serves none but the noblest beast, But this base thing takes lessons from the least. As Egypt's sons did bow the knee of yore, And worship apes, the eternal God before-- He, in god image framed, with godlike mind, Would be a god--of Egypt's monkey kind. A traveller sage! Europe he hath explored-- His mistress fashion, and an ape his lord. No dignity finds he in native man, Acting and thinking after nature's plan; No wisdom, save in artificial fools-- Nature's apostates--slaves to senseless rules: No beauty sees he, save in gold and lace, A made up figure, and a painted face; And no politeness, save in mere grimace.

Go! thou vile satire on the human race; Go! on all fours, and seek thy proper place: Go! thing too mean for any mighty ill-- Go! petty monster, "pay thy tailor's bill."

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

PLACED WITH A ROSE UPON A LADY'S CHEEK.

Roses on roses I bestow; Bright rose! to brighter roses go-- Bask in the sunlight of her eyes, Nor dread their fires; the dews which rise In pity for a heart that grieves, Will shed reviving coolness on thy leaves.

QUESTUS.

Norfolk.

{97}

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE ALLEGHANY LEVELS.

The following description of a part of Virginia and Maryland, seldom visited and but little known, may have sufficient interest to deserve a place in the columns of the Messenger.

The country alluded to, is in the northern part of this state, and comprehends that corner of Maryland included between the North Branch of Potomac and a line due north from the Fairfax stone, at the head spring of that stream, to the Pennsylvania line; and also a portion of the territory at present in dispute between the two states; Maryland claiming as her boundaries the South Branch of Potomac and a meridian thence to Mason and Dixon's line,--while the first mentioned limits only are acknowledged by Virginia.

A short notice of the origin of these conflicting titles might, perhaps, be interesting to some readers; but in addition to our lack of complete information, the limits of this sketch will not permit it.

Between Cheat river, at the fertile bottom called the Horse-shoe, and the summit of the mountain which divides the Western from the Atlantic waters, the country is thinly peopled, and only cultivated in the largest tributary vallies: the long spurs of the Backbone being too sterile to serve any other purpose than ranges for cattle and animals of the chase. The approach to the Great Backbone of the Alleghany region is here, as elsewhere on the western side, characterized by a broad and gentle acclivity, covered almost entirely with loose rocks of various sizes, many of them of the species of agglomerated quartz, familiar to the west under the name of country mill-stone, and valuable for the domestic molendinary uses of the simple and hardy race inhabiting those regions.

There is little timber of large size, the growth being chiefly chestnut oak and small moss-grown white oaks, exhibiting upon their blackened roots the scathing effects of flames, which, through the negligence of hunters in firing the dry leaves, have often and fiercely swept down the mountain side. The more recent inroads of fire are denoted by large tracts of underwood, black and denuded of leaves, and so stiffened by scorching as to present vexatious obstacles to progress, independent of the minor, though, in that place, unimportant annoyance of soiled clothes and person.

Large pine and birch trees, and a thicker undergrowth--detached blocks of stratified sandstone, some of them of huge size--and an increasing wildness and desolation in the aspect of the scenery, inform the traveller who may have ventured so far, that he is on the confines of the Alleghany wilderness.

The mountain top, near Lord Fairfax's stone, is crowned with a bold irregular precipice, which the hunters belonging to the exploring party of which the writer of this article was a member, termed the Bear-holeing, from its being the winter abode of great numbers of those animals,--the numerous cavities of the rocks, and the tangled laurel thickets, affording them a secure refuge from foes, whether biped or canine.

We were not without hope of being treated to the novelty of a bear hunt, our guides being veterans of the rifle, and accompanied by fine dogs, one of them as his master informed us, having engaged Sir Bruin more than fifty times.

The perils of this sport may well give a reputation for boldness and hardihood to our western yeomanry, when we consider that these encounters always occur in most intricate thickets of stubborn tangled laurel, in which the bear must have greatly the advantage in progression,--the sharp form of his head, and its close proximity to the ground, making it perform, in relation to his huge muscular body, the office, it might be said, of the coulter to a plough. But few of them are killed without the sacrifice of one or more of man's zealous confederates in this dangerous sport; and the rescue of the faithful brutes, (such is the inexpugnable nature of the foe and his extraordinary vital energy, which seems often to defy even the rifle,) obliges the hunter, with a personal daring not inferior to that of the Roman gladiators, to terminate the conflict with his hunting knife;--he dies invariably biting the ground or whatever else may be within his reach; showing to the very last the propensity to combat, which he exhibits even while a cub.

The range of precipice of which we have spoken, either terminates, or is interrupted for some distance north of this point--whence, for more than thirty miles, the country is totally without human inhabitant, and will probably for a long time, if not always, so remain.

The land may be said to lie in lofty tables, though the vallies are of great depth--the latter circumstance alone reminding the traveller that he has descended a mountain,--the seemingly interminable tract of flat forest land impressing, most forcibly, the idea of a lower situation, though these are without doubt among the very highest lands in Virginia. They are called by the hunters and settlers upon their outskirts, the Alleghany Levels. In them are the principal sources of all the great waters of Virginia. The North and South Branches of Potomac, Jackson's river, and the Shenandoah, Greenbrier and Gauley, Cheat and Tygart's Valley--which flow north, east, west and south, seeking by long and winding courses, the Ohio or the Atlantic Ocean.

The greatest singularity of this country consists in its primeval appearance: the ground is carpeted throughout with an elastic and verdant moss; black spruce and hemlock pines, of dark funereal aspect, tower above the soil like an army of Titans,--the interlacing of their umbrageous arms converting the noonday into seeming twilight. Under its mossy covering, the surface of the ground is completely reticulated with roots of trees--nature seeming to compensate in numbers for the defective character of her supports, as large trees may be often observed whose roots do not enter the ground for some feet below the trunk, being previously contorted and spread out like the arms of a polypous, and clothed in the same mantle of moss which overspreads rocks, trees and earth, in this fantastic region.

This moss may be stripped from the soil in sheets of any desirable size, and, when not previously saturated with rain, affords a most comfortable substitute for a mattrass, as in our bivouacs we more than once experienced.

The underwood is mostly streaked maple or elkwood, (the Acer Striatum of Michaux,) diversified with immense tracts of the Kalmia Latifolia and the large rose-bay-tree, (Rhododendron Maximum,) more popularly known as the "little and big laurels." The last {98} named plant, when in flower, is the ornament of the wilderness. Those who have never seen it, may have some conception of its appearance, if they imagine tall bushes, from eight to twenty feet in height, with dark evergreen leaves, (not unlike in form and color to those of the magnolia grandiflora,) bearing clusters of full blown peonies, or large double damask and cinnamon roses, the intensity of the color seeming to vary with situation.

It is to be feared that this beautiful plant cannot easily be naturalized in this climate--an attempt made by the writer of this article, possibly from a too warm or not sufficiently humid exposure, having failed.

The geographical position of these "laurel beds" is a necessary part of the hunter's lore. Frequent instances are narrated of persons bewildered in them many days, and some are said to have perished. A farmer, born and residing on Stony river, five miles north of this wild, by whom we were supplied with provisions, accompanied us to the skirt of the forest, but could by no entreaty be induced to proceed farther.

These laurel thickets are most frequent in approaching vallies, which are as before remarked, of great depth; the descent is sudden, in general by what resembles a rude flight of steps, moss grown and ruined. To casual observation there would appear to be no water at the bottom; but a subterraneous rumbling, and occasional flashes through the interstices of the fragments on which he steps, inform the passenger that a stream of volume and power is beneath him.

The largest streams however, as in other regions, flow in open channels, their waters having a dark ferruginous tinge, derived it is said, from the laurel roots, but more probably from deposites of ore through which they flow.

The wild animals are no doubt many, as well as various, though the noise attending our own operations kept them from our sight. We daily saw tracks of bears, deer and elk; of the latter, a drove of some threescore is said still to inhabit these almost inaccessible wilds. Of birds, we saw none living except a few silent and melancholy snow birds; but our nightly lullaby was the whooping of owls, which here abound in great numbers.

To the reputed wonders of rattlesnake dens, where these reptiles lie in monstrous cumuli, refusing to uncoil until the whole mass has been many times assailed with rifle balls and other missiles, we cannot testify, having never, though very desirous of so doing, the fortune to find one.

The soil is a cold argillaceous loam, unsuited to the production of the nobler grains, but susceptible of becoming, under proper culture, good grazing land, and no doubt proper for rye, oats and potatoes,--the invariable products of the whole mountain region.

The botany of the wilderness proper, is confined chiefly to the two species of pine before mentioned, the hemlock pine (Pinus Canadensis,) and the black spruce (Pinus Nigra of Lambert.) Some stately specimens of the wild cherry and scattering patches of red beach complete the list.

On emerging from the wilderness, the customary variety of oak, ash maple and hickory presents itself, mingled with the cucumber tree (Magnolia Acuminata,) and that invaluable treasure to western housewives, the sugar tree,--announcing the neighborhood of cultivation.

This dreary expanse of forest terminates on the summit of the Eastern Front Ridge, at the head of the North Fork of Patterson's creek, itself an inconsiderable tributary of Potomac, but deserving celebrity for the grandeur of its scenery. It appears to have cut its way through three lofty mountains in succession, affording a more sublime exhibition of river gap landscapes than I have witnessed in any other part of the state,--the boasted grandeur of Harper's Ferry fading into insignificance when compared with it.

At the first farm east of the wilderness,--in the homely but comfortable dwelling of one of the worthy Dutch farmers, our little party enjoyed the unwonted luxury of beds, and were able to breakfast without performing for ourselves the office, which has occasioned our species to be so properly designated as "cooking animals."

C. B. S.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE CYCLOPEAN TOWERS, IN AUGUSTA COUNTY, VA.

On a fine morning in September 1834, a party of which the writer was one, consisting for the most part of gentlemen who had met together in the town of Staunton from various sections of the Union, resolved on a visit to certain remarkable NATURAL STRUCTURES which lay in the neighborhood of the Augusta Springs, and about twenty miles distant from the place of their departure.

After passing over a hilly and picturesque country, the road opened upon a fertile valley, which though in places narrow, was of considerable length,--and when seen from an elevated position, appeared like the bed of an ancient lake, or as it really is, the alluvial border of a flowing stream. The strata of limestone hills, followed their usual order of parallel lines to the great mountains of our continent, as though a strong current had once swept through this magnificent valley,--forming in its course islands and promontories,--which are now discoverable in numerous short hills and rocky bluffs, that are either naked and barren, or covered with a growth of stately trees. It was at such a projection, that we first descried the gray summits of what seemed a ruinous castle,--resembling those which were raised in feudal times to guard the passes of the Rhine, or like such as are still seen in mouldering majesty on many an Alpine rock. These summits or towers, of which there are seven, lifted their heads above the lofty elms, like so many antique chimnies in the midst of a grove; but, on approaching them nearer, our pleasure was greatly increased, to find them rise almost perpendicularly from the bed of a small stream, which winding around their base, serves as a natural moat to a building not made with mortal hands. The southern front of this colossal pile, presents a wall of about sixty feet elevation, terminating in three towers of irregular height, and perforated at its base by a cavern,--which, by an apt association, was denominated "Vulcan's Forge." The tower on the extreme right, was unanimously called "Cocke's Tower"--in honor of one of our party who ascended it. On the left, are two other isolated towers,--of which the centre or smaller one was distinguished as the "Hymenial Altar,"--a name which {99} had its origin partly in a jeu d'esprit, and partly on account of a shady bower in its rear, which seemed an appropriate shade to mantle maiden's blushes. The furthest and tallest, received the title of the "Tower of Babel." This is also the most perpendicular of all these rocky structures; an archway passes through it, by which there is an easy ascent to the remaining two, which stand on the acclivity of the hill,--and though of less altitude, are not of inferior beauty to the rest. One of them, which is of a round form, and flat at the top, and on that account received the appellation of the "Table Rock"--affords from its summit a splendid view of the whole; the other, and last of the five, we distinguished as "Shelton's Rock"--from one of our party.

These rocks in their formation resemble the palisades on the Hudson river--but are more regular in their strata,--which appear to have been arranged in huge masses of perfect workmanship--with projections like cornices of Gothic architecture, in a state of dilapidation. Those who are acquainted with the structure of the Cyclopean walls of the ancients, would be struck with the resemblance,--which suggested the name at the head of this article.

We pause to inquire why these primeval fragments of the world have remained so long unnoticed? Why is it that men are so easily awakened to the liveliest interest in distant objects, and yet neglect those which are nearer and more accessible? "A prophet" it hath been said on high authority, "hath honor save in his own country,"--and to that strange propensity of the mind to contemn whatever is familiar, must be attributed the neglect of many of the richest treasures at our own door, which frequently impart both wealth and distinction to foreign enterprise. For many years these towers have been known in the surrounding country, by the homely appellation of "THE CHIMNEYS,"--but no one has ever stopped to examine them, or to inquire how nature formed so curious a pile in such a spot. Imagination may indeed conceive that this noble structure was once the Scylla of a narrow strait connecting the waters of the north and the south, until their accumulated pressing burst through the blue ridge at Harper's Ferry, and left in their subsidence these towers, as a perpetual memorial of their former dominion.

G. C.

[We do not remember where or when the following Sonnet to Lord Byron was published. All we know is that it has been in print before, and has been ascribed to the pen of the Hon. R. H. Wilde, of Georgia.]

ORIGINAL SONNET TO LORD BYRON.

Byron! 'twas thine alone on eagle's pinions, In solitary strength and grandeur soaring, To dazzle and delight all eyes, out-pouring The electric blaze on tyrants and their minions; Earth, sea and air, and Powers and Dominions, Nature--man--time--the universe exploring, And from the wreck of worlds, thrones, creeds, opinions, Thought, beauty, eloquence, and wisdom storing. O! how I love and envy thee thy glory! To every age and clime alike belonging; Linked by all tongues with every nation's story, Thou TACITUS of song!--whose echoes thronging O'er the Atlantic, fill the mountains hoary And forests with a name which thus I'm wronging.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

MUSINGS III--By the Author of Vyvyan.

JAMESTOWN.

Yet could I seat me by this ivied stone Til I had bodied forth the heated mind Forms from the floating wreck which ruin leaves behind. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza civ.

Tawnor nehiegh Powhatan. Salvage dialect, apud Capt. Smith.

I stand on hallowed ground--the sacred sod Which once an ill-starred people bravely trod In native freedom, ere the wanderer crost The broad Atlantic waters and love lost The fair reward of labor, ill repaid By base desertion--country--friends betrayed-- Misery and exile from a native land, Ending in death upon a foreign strand.

* * * * *

My spirit falls into a deeper mood And thought goes darkly forth to gather food For bitter contemplation;--for I trace Some record of the spoilers of that race Most gallant, wheresoe'er I turn mine eyes,-- While of the exiled--neath their native skies Is scarce a token left--save what belongs To a sad history of unnumbered wrongs. Methinks the very sun's departing rays With melancholy meaning seem to gaze Upon the hostile monuments of yore,-- Yon ruined arch with ivy overgrown-- Those shattered tombs of moss-discolored stone-- That slowly moulder by the silent shore.

* * * * *

Might I the Genius of Old Time invoke, This were the hour--the place--where many an oak Tosses its arms and points to ancient graves Beside the aisleless tower, which o'er the waves Shall no more send its voice upon the air, To call to matin or to vesper prayer. Alone, it stands, like some grim sentinel And in stern silence bids the world farewell!

* * * * *

Lift we the veil of vanished centuries-- Beneath the shade and shelter of these trees The careless Indian smoked his calumet-- (The CHRISTIAN had not crost the ocean yet)-- Without a thought to mar his musing, save To strand his light canoe beyond the wave Or fasten it with sedgy rope secure, Lest the next tide should steal it from the shore. But lo! one evening as he lay beside The margin where his native waters glide, A sight of wonder on his vision broke; And the deep voice of flame in thunder spoke The doom of wo to him and all his race. Yet fear, which might have blanched a paler face, Quenched not the flashings of his dauntless eye, Nor for an instant quelled that bearing high Which best became the warrior of the wild-- The Hunter bold--the Forests' lordly child! Ay! tho' the evil spirit of his sky, For such well might his inexperienced eye Have deemed it, lurked within the snow-white mist That brooded o'er the silent river's breast, {100} And spoke in accents of the dark storm-cloud, From out the folding of its gleaming shroud, He stood prepared to meet the worst--like one Who hath no fear of aught beneath the sun. Methinks I see him watching by the shore, With strained eye, intently gazing o'er The river's course. Well may he clasp his brow In doubt and wonder--is he dreaming now?-- The cloud seems gathering up its folds of snow, And straight spars glitter in the sunset glow, Far loftier than the loftiest pine that rears Its stately crest above its tall compeers: Beneath--a huge dark mass is seen to glide With stealthy motion o'er the heaving tide, Crowded with moving forms of human mould, But of an aspect well might daunt the bold, Gazing the first time on that pallid crew, So foreign and so ghastly in their hue! But hark!--the distant shout that wildly pours Its thousand echoes on the strand, assures-- Swift to the Chiefs he speeds--the wise--the bold In council meet--his tale is briefly told; Then far and near they gathered in their might And 'gainst the invader battled for their right, As valiant men should for the altars reared By their forefathers and the homes endeared By thousand ties and recollections past To which the heart clings warmly to the last. But not to lengthen out a thrice told tale-- The Red Man never yielded to the Pale, Though forced by foreign fire to wander far, Homeless and houseless, neath the evening star. Slowly and sad, the western hills they climb, Yet find no rest beyond for wearied limb And aching heart--no single spot of earth, Of all the wide spread land that gave them birth, Is theirs. They gaze upon the setting sun And feel their course like his must soon be run-- They hear their requiem in the deepening roar Of waves that dash upon the distant shore-- But they must wander on unceasingly So long as space remains for footing free, Til hemmed at last twixt ocean and the foe They turn to bay once more and perish so.

* * * * *

Oh! little dreamed the tender hearted maid, By love and her own gentleness betrayed, That death and desolation's fellest wrath So surely followed--in the very path Of good intent--to whelm her race with woes She would have warded even from her foes. Where yonder temporary structure frail[1] Extends across the strait its slender rail, The shallow waves at flood scarce overflow The sandy bar the ebb reveals below-- 'Twas there the royal daughter crost to save The pilgrim strangers from an early grave. Who that had seen her on that fatal night, Swift gliding, like a startled water sprite, To that lone Island-Fort where calmly slept The dreaming foe, in fancied safety wrapt-- Who could have aimed at such a breast the shaft? Tho' well apprised no other means were left To baffle treason--not as such designed In the simplicity of her guileless mind. Had she been only destined to inherit A portion of that fierce determined spirit And deep prophetic hate--like vestal fire Nursed in the bosom of her royal sire, A nation's doom had not been rashly sealed By mercy thus so erringly revealed-- But it is done--and lo! the love which hurled An ancient race to ruin--GAINED A WORLD!!

[Footnote 1: Alluding to the new bridge erected by Collier Minge, Esq. affording passage from the main land to the island, where a wharf has been built for the accommodation of steamboat travellers.]

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE FATED CITY.

'Twas evening, and the sinking sun Streamed brightly in the sky, And cast his farewell beams abroad, Like smiles of an approving god, O'er plain, and mountain high-- O'er waving fields of floating gold That, round his gorgeous pyre, were rolled, And o'er the city's glistening spires, That flashed beneath his blazing fires.

There lay that city;--wealth and pride Had built their temples there, And swift-winged commerce there had brought, From many a clime, her trophies caught:-- From Indian isles afar, The pearl, the beryl and the gem;-- But treasures, far outvieing them, Were with that city's wealth combined-- The priceless treasures of the mind!

The sun went down, and night came o'er That city's winding walls; The white moon rose along the sky, And looked down calm, and silently, Upon the shouting halls, Where music rang, and laughter went, From lip to lip, in merriment;-- Where all was careless, heedless, light, Besporting on that festal night!

An hour passed on;--what cry was that, Which thrilled that city so? What shrieks are those,--what means yon cloud That wraps the temple, like a shroud, And fills the breast with wo?-- What mean yon flames, that blazing, run Along that mountain dark and dun?-- Why quakes the land,--why heaves the sea-- Why peal the heavens dreadfully?

Night left the earth;--the sun arose, As wont, above the sky, And looked,--not on that city bright, Which he had left before the night, With turrets gleaming high; But on a black and blasted waste, Dread desolation's hand had traced,-- Upon a flood of lava, where Once proudly stood POMPEII fair!

A. B. M.

Tuscaloosa, Alabama.

{101}

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

HYMN TO THE STARS.

BY D. MARTIN, of Mobile.

Ye burning blazonry of God! Ye glittering lights that never die! That pace the realms by seraphs trod! And hold untiring watch on high! And circling heaven's eternal king, Ye dwell--His glorious fashioning!

Creation saw your timeless birth, When from your own clear sapphire skies, Ye looked upon the virent earth,-- An everlasting paradise!-- And seemed to mock with silent gaze, Nature's green garb and tuneless lays!

Since then ye've read the world's black page, And seen a stream sublime, Roll its dark waters o'er an age Of countless years of time!-- In whose deep, dark, unletter'd caves, Earth hides her mighty as in graves!

Life's wasting--but ye still shine on, And seem to me to be, The lights upon the horizon Of eternity's black sea!-- Pointing to the sun-lit far off west, Where all immortal spirits rest!

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TO * * * * *.

Believe not that my heart is cold, And feels not friendship's sacred fire, If I sometimes myself withhold, And from thy festive scenes retire.

Oh, no! I love the social bower Where friendship smiles with joyous mirth, And yet to me there is an hour More dear than all those scenes on earth.

'Tis when in pensive mood, the mind, Retires within itself to muse, And some bright dream, long since resigned, With sad though pleasing thought reviews;

Some golden dream of early years, When all the heart was warm and true; And life, unshaded yet with cares, Displayed its best and brightest hue.

'Twas then I dreamed of faithful love, That would o'er time and change prevail-- Food, fairy scenes of pleasure wove-- Bright, verdant spots in life's dark vale.

But time advanced, and at one sweep My air-built castles tore away; And, like a wreck upon the deep, My shattered hopes and prospects lay.

Upon life's ocean still I'm tossed; And tho' the skies are sometimes bright, Yet on the waves again I'm lost, Midst howling storms and pitchy night.

Believe not then my heart is cold, And feels not friendship's sacred fire, If I sometimes myself withhold, And from thy festive scenes retire.

L.

Pittsylvania.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE GRAVE SEEKERS.

BY R. S. F.

Come part the crowd, and open a way, For those who are seeking the grave; Some are pressing on in the light of day, Some by the moon's obscurer ray, Some on land and some on the wave.

Now come with me to the festive hall, Where in mirth they dance and sing, Till echo is answered by echo's call, As the merry peals ring from one and all; To the grave they swiftly wing.

Again with me, come haste away Where the theatre shines so bright, For there the lamps, with their peerless ray, Have darkness changed into brighter day. They gaze on the stage with delight!

Come follow this crowd which moves as the wave On the gently ebbing sea; With the scenes of the night their bosoms heave, But little they think the next is the grave, Not of the stage--but eternity.

See, reckless youth--maturer age Alike are far from heaven; In festive scenes their time engage-- They idly sport--they madly rage-- While to the grave they are driven.

Ye may trace their path as ye move along The busy crowds of care; In the house of God--in the house of song-- In distant isles--the waves among, To the grave they must all repair.

So part the crowd, and open a way, For those who are seeking the grave; Some are pressing on in the light of day, Some by the moon's obscurer ray, Some on land and some on the wave.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TO A YOUNG CHILD.

BY D. MARTIN, of Mobile.

Thou hast a clear, unsullied brow, A bright and dreaming eye,-- And a spirit free and chainless, As cherubs in yon sky!

The meteor lights of intellect, Glance lightly on thee now, And play like fairy revellers, Upon thy parian brow!

Well, be it so--and may thy life Be like a summer stream, That sparkles into gladness, Beneath the sun's bright beam.

May thy brow ne'er wear the coloring Of passion's stern commotion,-- Which darkens many a God-like one, While on life's stormy ocean!

May the sunny hours of childhood Be the last to pass away,-- And the setting sun of life's dark night, Dawn on a brighter day!

{102}

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

CUPID'S SPORT.

"Am I in fairy land?--or tell me, pray, To what love lighted bower I've found my way? Sure luckless wight was never more beguiled In woodland maze, or closely-tangled wild."

Some where in Virginia, and in a certain year,--but I beg you will not inquire when or where, for you will break the thread of my discourse, and I shall be compelled, like corporal Trim when he was rehearsing the Lord's prayer before my dear uncle Toby, to begin at the beginning, at every interruption,--there lived a young man, in a certain town--

Now my dear reader, do you suppose I intend telling you a story without a single name, date or place in it? If you do, I am afraid you would see me at Kamschatka, or in Simms' hole, before you would make up your mind to travel one inch with me, or listen to one syllable.

Well, then, in a certain place, and at a certain time, as young Timothy was sitting in the cool evening's shade, musing o'er the events that human life befall, and reflecting upon the many ups and downs he must necessarily encounter during the residue of his life, that old heathen god, who, paradoxical as it may appear, is still as young as he was at the day of his birth, I mean sly Cupid, who was, is, and ever will be a boy to all eternity, happened to have been snugly perched upon a branch of the very tree under which our friend was reclining, and the little urchin sat pluming his variegated wings, and feeling the points of his keen feathery arrows, preparing for his evening's sport.

Poor Tim! how little did he dream he was the subject the young god had selected for as merry a frolic as ever fortune smiled upon in her merriest mood. Tim was in his twentieth year,--"a leal light heart was in his breast," he knew not the cares and anxieties of the world, nor had he yet encountered fortune's frowns; he had enjoyed a full portion of her smiles and blandishments, and his life had flitted along like a gay summer's dream. He had yet to learn that all his castles were but air built and fanciful, and it was necessary he should plod a little upon his mother earth. Tim was none of your dashing thorough-going bloods, who soar aloft with the eagles of the day, ever and anon to pounce upon some harmless pigeon,--nor was he one of your gig and tandem boys,--flourish and dash,--tinsel and paint,--who whirl about for a season, and are all the go while the chink or the credit lasts, but who, finally whirl off to jail, or into obscurity and insignificance, nobody knows where, and nobody cares when. He was a mild, pleasant, merry-making fellow. As for his person,--my dear miss, you must excuse me; I know from your looks, you are curious to know whether he had black hair and black eyes,--or light hair and blue eyes,--or red hair and grey eyes,--but, really, I can't tell you,--certain it is, he had eyes and a nose, and

"When he happened to grin, His mouth stood across 'Twixt his nose and his chin."

There he lay, all defenceless, on his right side, (I like to be particular,) with his clean white roundabout, and his waistcoat unbuttoned, both thrown carelessly over his left arm; there lay his heart, gently swelling and subsiding and he unconscious of its undulating flow--while Cupid--I was about to say, while Cupid's keen eyes were penetrating its inmost recesses, and eyeing it as a hawk some sunny perch in a limpid stream,--but, alas for Cupid--the ancients have interdicted the use of his eyes; nevertheless, on the present occasion, it is necessary for my purposes that Cupid should, at least, take the bandage from off his eyes, and the ancients to the contrary notwithstanding, I do maintain that the sly god has as beautiful a pair of eyes as ever were seen,--yes, and he is able to change them at his pleasure. At one time, he appears with the mildest, softest, kindest, clearest, heavenly blue eyes;--at another, with the keenest, blazing, and yet the blackest eyes that ever flashed wit, and eloquence, and expressing all the passions that the heart ever darts through its open portals. All eyes are his, of every hue and every form,--and at this moment, he was using as playful and as devilish a pair, as ever bewitched and enchanted a trembling maiden. He sat quietly selecting the most mortal parts of that defenceless heart, with bow well strung, and barbed arrows, and ever and anon, he placed the winged messenger to the string and twanged his silver bow. Cupid sometimes but tips his arrows' point with a poison, as rapid in its action and as efficacious as the most powerful prussic acid, and wo to the youth or the maid who feels the deadly pang; at other times, he slightly dips the barb, and leaves it to time and circumstances to develop its potent influence. On the present occasion, having smitten poor Tim with a double portion, away he flew, to practise his wiles on other subjects. Gentle reader, you are now introduced to our young friend Tim,--you have seen him in a condition worse than that of Daniel in the lions' den, and whether he is delivered or not your patience will enable you to discover. Would that I could have interposed a shield to protect the youth, but what the fates decree no mortal can prevent,--and you know, what is to be, happens for the best.

Have you ever seen a lady setting her cap for a beau? This is an every day occurrence, and yet how difficult to explain, though ever so easy to perform. It is one of those things that delicate fingers alone can accomplish or pourtray. For my part, I have seen, and heard, and thought, and talked much and often of these caps, that, nine times in ten, are no caps at all, and yet the exact method of setting them is not to be described. Were I to describe the lady's habiliments, you would have not the least idea how her cap was set,--were I to dwell upon the peculiar cut of the cap itself,--its points or its quillings, its trimmings or its laces, and how it was placed, whether on the tip of the head, or down upon the ears, or a little to one side, or square,--or round,--it matters not, you would still be wide of the mark; but yet, when the "cap is set," there is no mistake in the matter.

Good reader, you are not acquainted with my little Mary. She had as happy a knack of setting a cap, as ever a lass had since the days of mother Eve, and on this very evening, she will appear with it set to such advantage, that all the family servants, as she passes them, will utter an involuntary "umph--u--u!"--Can you conceive the peculiar sound here vainly attempted to be embodied--for of all utterable exclamations it is the most exhilirating to a miss in her teens. If you cannot:--know, that it signifies, "I tell you what, young {103} massa, you better steer clear." Little Molly is not the greatest beauty of the age, nor yet the loveliest flower that ever bloomed, but she was pretty enough to make Cupid's little arrows rankle in Tim's susceptible heart, and fate would have it, that they should accidentally meet, some how or other, wherever they went. She had a peculiar way of her own, of fixing on a bonnet,--a little gipsy bonnet,--down the sides of which, hung her long flaxen ringlets, and where she parted her hair on her forehead, there was carelessly pinned a half blooming moss rose, behind which sat Cupid laughing in his sleeve. I say carelessly pinned, because it seemed as though it mattered not whether 'twere there or not, and yet, more care had been used in giving it its particular position, than all the rest of her dress,--and perhaps, after all, this was "setting her cap." Tim had never seen little Molly look half so sweet before, and when his eyes and her's would meet, there was a sensation created that thrilled through his every fibre; to him, that rose bud seemed to be instinct with life and animation, and Cupid's laughing eyes and smiling face made every leaf "a heart quake." Tim had been thought to be brave, his comrades always looked up to him as a leader in daring enterprizes. Men have been known to walk up to the cannon's mouth when the gunner stood with the lighted match within a few inches of the powder, but to storm a rose bud, manned by Cupid, on so polished a brow, required a dare-devil spirit that human nature shrunk from,--and though Tim would have given the world to have touched that bud, he could not have advanced his finger an inch towards it by any possibility. This first symptom of the operation of Cupid's arrows but few have escaped. You would give the world to approach the loved object, and yet a touch would create a shock as violent as that from a Leyden jar, well charged with the electric fluid. Little Molly's was what would be termed a laughing face, her clear blue eyes were lighted up by a mind vivid and playful; cheerfulness and contentment were conspicuous on her brow,--but yet she was one of your real mischievous little imps, who knew a thing or two, and was up to all kinds of tricks,--in truth, she used to say of herself that she had a little devil in her;--now don't be alarmed my good reader; I don't mean the evil spirit who roams about, seeking whom to devour--"that tailed, horned, heartless chiel,--the very deil,"--but, she had a way of practising so many little artful, innocently wicked things, and they were done in so artless a manner, that though you would think from their effects his satanic majesty alone was the guilty perpetrator, yet you could not help loving his highness the more for his misdeeds. Of all things in the world, she seemed to derive most pleasure from practising her playfulness on friend Tim, and at every successive effort, Tim would only exclaim, "surely the devil's in the girl! what in the devil does she mean?" Tim had better have suffered the devil to go about his business--but no, he kept inquiring what in the devil the girl meant, till Cupid had him, head and ears, neck and shoulders, heart and soul, body and life, as safe a prisoner as ever was incarcerated in a dungeon's darkness. Little Molly was perfectly innocent of any intention to entrap our friend; nothing was further from her thoughts; she only intended at the outset to gratify her disposition for fun, and she knew no more the state of her own heart than if she had been deprived of that throbbing, thumping, turbulent member; but when kindred hearts often sport together, and kindred eyes often meet with kindred glances, kindred throbs will beat, awakening kindred feelings, which some little flaxen haired, clear, blue eyed lassies find truly difficult to obliterate.

Reader, dost thou expect me to give thee in black and white my hero's courtship? Of all the things in the world, the most tame and insipid are lovers' courtships,--it may be the most interesting, animating, soul-stirring, thrilling courtship that ever mortal breathed, but canst thou enter into the feelings and go along with the heart in its gentle outpourings? 'Tis not words, sentences, nor ideas, clothed in the dress of fancy, or robed in imagination's best attire. 'Tis the look, the touch, the action, that constitutes the universal language of love none can misunderstand.

I must take thee my good friend, (for we must be friends who are travelling so cosily together,) and place thine eye at a key hole, where "you shall see what you shall see." Alas poor Tim! I have been watching thy movements; thou evidently knowest not what thou doest,--instead of reading as thou wast wont, thou hast been serving thine apprenticeship to that manufacturer Cupid! Of all the epithets that ever were applied to a heathen god, none can be more appropriate, though I say it who should not, than this epithet bestowed by me upon Cupid.--Cupid a manufacturer? Yes, a manufacturer. Whenever you see a poor fellow sweating over the fire, filing, and stretching, and polishing rings, carving hearts and diamonds, and the like, you may set it down that Cupid is teaching his apprentice the first rudiments of his art,--for he is the master workman who superintends the manufacture of all such invaluable tokens, and teaches the how, and the where, and the when, they are to be distributed and bestowed. You are now seated at that key hole; I have told you what has been Tim's employment, make the best use of your eyes, and tell us what you see. Who ever saw a fellow try on a ring in that way before?--putting the ring upon the fore-finger?--the rogue knows as well as you do, that that little ring will not go over the first joint of that finger, but then it is so pleasant to try, the finger is so soft and white. Trying it on the middle finger?--he knows that the ring will not go over the nail, but that finger is so tapering, how could he avoid it. Had it been you or I, we should have placed it at once on the ring finger, and there would have been an end of the matter,--but look! the fellow is trying it upon the little finger--that finger is so little, and some how or other, so lonely, he feels for it a tender compassion. A little finger look lonely when in company with three fingers and a thumb? Aye,--lonely,--and its little nail is so thin you may see the blood circulating under it, and of all things to see the blood flowing fresh from the heart, so delicately tinged, is----The fellow has slipped the ring on, is gently squeezing the whole hand, and "has raised his wistful eyes to heaven,"--and little Molly has gently tapped him on the cheek with her fan, as much as to say "you rogue."

Get away from the door, my good friend, you have now seen as much as we bargained for: and my dear miss, you are curious to know what conversation passed all the while between Tim and little Mary; I'll tell you: {104} there did not pass one solitary word, but two little hearts were in as much of a flutter as ever was made by a flock of partridges, springing from their cover.

By this time Tim had become grave and sentimental, and oh! if you ever heard music!--morning, noon, and night, there was the most incessant fluting,--fluting,--fluting. It was all of that soft die-away kind, you would have thought that Tim's soul was melting away and softly escaping through his flute. His heart, too, had undergone as thorough a change as that of the silk worm transformed into the fluttering moth. His mind was etherealized: instead of the humdrum, commonplace, prosing thoughts he once indulged in, his imagination now soared aloft,--he was dwelling amid the heights of Parnassus, his soul was drinking in the nectar of poesy and revelling in the ambrosia of fancy. You may talk of the pierian spring as the fount of knowledge; you may invoke the muses from their heavenly habitation, and Apollo and Minerva may attend in their train, but unless Cupid's arrows have drank of the heart's blood, tinging the sources of the mind's impressions, poesy will still be steeped in Lethe's wave, and never spring into life's gay morn. Now, every thought is dressed and ornamented, and oh! the fantastic flights!--oh! the soft mellow pastorals,--the country life, the blue vaulted arch unspotted with a cloud--nature, simple and gay; there she is, sweetly clad all beautiful and fresh--aye, and the loved one!--pearls and gems, and diamonds, and roses, and lilies, and stars, and suns, and firmaments in splendor glowing, and "could the busy bee but taste those lips, he'd quit his hollow domes to revel 'mid the sweets upon that hallowed spot."

As for little Molly, she, too, had undergone a metamorphosis, she who was wont to play so many "tricks before high heaven," who loved to play them off upon poor Tim, better than on all others, had grown so shy, you would have sworn she hated the very sight of him. In the company of others, when Tim was present, she scarcely opened her mouth,--to him, she scarcely ever spoke,--of him--no word of remembrance broke from her lips,--you would have thought he was obliterated from her mind; but more could be read by these two in a single glance of the eye, than volumes could express. As for me, I'd rather have the sensation produced by one of those stolen glances than be made a king. In such a situation, I would not be compelled to talk, by all the racks of the inquisition--silence is delight. But at such a time, to be bored with one of your real clatter, clatter, jabbering, never ending, incessant talkers, is the most horrible purgatory. Poor Tim was just in this situation. Little Molly had a noisy, officious cousin, who, he thought uglier than the veriest hag that ever shrank and shrivelled into stringy nothingness, and yet the girl was comely enough. She had taken it into her head, that her cousin Mary hated the aforesaid Tim, and therefore kindly volunteered to rid her of so troublesome a companion; and in consequence of such sage surmises, never failed when Tim paid a visit, to intrude herself among them;--and oh the clatter!--Tim's heart sank within him--he came not to talk!

My dear young miss, whoever thou art, that seest these lines, let me advise thee as a friend, to take thyself to thine own apartment, and remain in solitude the balance of thy life, rather than interfere in these critical moments; for you may rely upon it that thou art hated, contemned, abhorred and despised to a degree that is truly sinful. Thou art cursed with ten thousand more curses than ever Dr. Slop poured upon the head of luckless Obadiah.

Gentle reader, (for thou must be gentle to have travelled with me so far without wincing, and yet have heard so little,) can you tell me how it is that when a man is in love, however rambling and roving his disposition may have been before, as soon as he is fairly caught, he becomes from that moment confined to one solitary route. Let me explain myself,--for I have been carefully noticing our friend Tim. He and little Molly lived in the same town, but at a considerable distance apart, and yet to whatever part of the town Tim was called, he was as certain to pass by little Molly's house as he was to pass out of his own door. For instance, he would go to the post office, and from the frequency of his visits, you would have supposed he had more correspondents than all the merchants of the place put together, and while the post office was up town, little Molly's was down town, and yet he invariably went down town by little Molly's to get up town to the post office. One might suppose that Tim expected to see little Molly at the windows, but she was not one of your starers, who employ themselves in gazing at the comers and goers, and I'll venture to say, that in six months, Tim never saw her once, and yet go in what direction he might ultimately intend, go down town in the first place he must,--and he experienced more pleasure in passing that house than in eating his breakfast or his dinner.--This is a species of hydrophobia that I will leave you to think on and cure.

These incidents had occurred--these symptoms had been made manifest.--In the mean time two years rolled onwards.--Tim was in his twenty-second year, and little Molly in her eighteenth.

One day as Tim stood ready with his hat in his hand to take his leave after an interview,--it had been a long and hopeless one,--looking wistfully at her, he said energetically and in a voice deep toned--"It is the last time I will ask. If you are in earnest, I go forever!" I listened, but could not hear the reply. There was a pause. Perhaps, nothing was said. I thought I heard a kiss. I may be mistaken, but certain I am, that instead of hearing Tim leave the house, I heard him walk rapidly to the table, and throw down his hat. When I again saw him,--the pensive, musing, meditative Tim was the merriest fellow that ever cracked a bottle.

When a man has had his hat in his hand, and with a wo-begone countenance has risen to make a final adieu, under the impression that he is utterly discarded and despised, and suddenly resumes his seat with such evidences of change of purpose; we generally presume he has obtained the liberty of hanging his hat up, which is tantamount to obtaining the liberty of the domicil, and is what I should call the gentleman's setting his hat, in contradistinction to the lady's setting her cap.

Day after day, go when you would, and peep into that passage, you would find Tim's new beaver hanging upon the same hook, and these two young innocents sitting side and side, cheek and joke, feasting on each others' eyes.

Tim would sometimes talk of the future, and develop his little schemes for their mutual happiness; but if ever he touched upon that most delicate of all subjects, the {105} ascertainment of the period when their two hearts were to be linked indissolubly together, all the delicacy of the female character would instantly be aroused, and little Molly, in a playful mood, would sing out "time enough yet, time enough yet."

Matters remained in this unsettled condition, our friend Tim still enduring the same uncertainty, living in that half delightful, half vexatious state which totally unfits a man for any occupation, unless it be "breathing soft music through a mellow pipe." Our friend thought more than once 'twas time these scenes should be ended: accordingly he determined to inform his good mother of his happy prospects, as a prelude to his future movements. Many ineffectual efforts were made, but it was a delicate business. How to commence these soft narrations has puzzled more heads than one. He had given the old lady repeated chances to help him out, by sly hints and inuendoes, but she would never perceive what he was driving at. The truth was, she had selected in her own mind a most eligible match for her son, and she could not believe he was so blind as not to discover its advantages. Money was the foundation upon which that edifice was to be erected; but Tim, poor fellow, belonged to an ill-fated family. Not one of his ancestors had ever married other than a poor girl, from the remotest antiquity, and he had a sentimental notion of such affairs, that would forever exclude the idea of his marrying a rich one, whatever other qualifications she might possess.

At length, Tim succeeded in getting his mother safely cornered, the door shut and no one else present. Walking backwards and forwards for a minute or two, he stopped suddenly, as if he was about to commence. The old lady was knitting away by the fire. Instead of commencing, Tim walked to a chair as if he was about placing it close along side and stating the whole case like a man; but turning about, he deliberately sat the chair in the corner and folded his arms.

"Mother," said Tim, and then he cleared his throat. "What, my son?" "I have been thinking whether it would not be better to have our old house painted?" This was a new idea, one that never had crossed Tim's mind till it was uttered, and as it happened, 'twas not an inappropriate one. "But, my child, it will answer very well as it is, for such an old body as I, and if you begin to paint, you will be compelled to furbish up every thing else." "But, mother, suppose I should think of courting some young body?" "Oh, if you will fall in love with my little favorite, you can afford to paint and furbish too." That was a chord Tim had heard struck before to-day. "Suppose she wont love me, and somebody else will." "Faint heart," said his consoling mother, "never won fair lady." The old lady was off upon the old track; but Tim having fairly begun, was not to be so easily baffled this time--so taking up his chair, he walked deliberately to the fire and seating himself, placed his feet upon the fender.

"Mother," said Tim, "it is time I should tell you that"--rap, rap, rap,--tantarara, bang--rang the old brass knocker at the outer door. "See who is there, my son." Hang all the world thought Tim--shall I never have an opportunity of telling the old lady? Tim took no candle with him to the door. "Who's here?" "Harry, sir." "Well, uncle Harry, what do you want?" "Mass Tim, Miss Mary send her complements, and tell me give you dis letter." Tim ran his hand into his pocket and gave old Harry a bit of silver. "I reckon," said Harry, who began to think Mass Tim and he were old cronies, "I reckon young Missus dont send letters to young Massa for nutting." "Wait for an answer a moment, uncle Harry," said Tim kindly. "Who's at the door, my son?" said the old lady, as Tim returned, holding an open letter in his hand. "A servant, madam," was the reply. "What," said Tim to himself, as he walked to the candle, "does my Mary want?"

Good reader, while old Harry is waiting at the door in the best humor in the world, because he had the good fortune to be the bearer of a love letter as he shrewdly suspected, from his young mistress to so good a young gentleman, and while the good old lady is knitting away and thinking how to induce her son to fall in love with her favorite, if thou wilt follow my example, thou mayst perceive what is going on for thyself. Thou seest that I am about to take a sly peep over friend Tim's shoulder, and if thou wilt peep over the other, thou mayst discover what otherwise thou wilt never have an opportunity of perceiving.

"Saturday Evening.

"MR. TIMOTHY WILBERFORCE.

"Can Mr. Wilberforce forgive and forget one who has injured him much? Oh! how I reproach myself for having given you hopes, my friend, that can never be realized. Mr. Wilberforce, you must forget me; and oh, can you not attribute my strange conduct to my youth? I am so young and thoughtless. Indeed, I would not willingly give you pain. Can we not continue friends? I hope we may, but indeed you must forget the promises I have made you, and if possible forgive me. I find I do not love you as I ought. Let us be friends, but nothing more. MARY."

Tim had seen his mother watching his countenance while he was reading: so putting on a smile, "Is that all? Pshaw, I thought it was something important," said he, going to the outer door. "Harry, there is no occasion to wait--no answer is necessary." Slam went the door. The bolt rang with a double turn. The letter was wadded in his breeches' pocket. "Who was that letter from, Tim?" said his mother. "A young friend has asked me to go serenading with him," replied honest Tim. Down he sat, with his feet upon the fender, and his arms folded over his breast. Then seizing the poker,--punch, punch, punch--you would have sworn it was freezing. Every coal was upturned--the room was filled with dust and smoke. "My son, it is not very cold to-night." Tim kept stirring the fire. "Did you desire to have the old house painted, Tim? If you wish it, my son"--"madam?"--"You were saying, Timothy, that you were about to tell me something?" "Did I?" Down went the poker, and Tim paced the apartment.

My good friend, were you in such a situation, what would you do? Only think of that rap at the door at such a moment--of the contents of that love epistle--of that dear uncle Harry! For my part, I shall ever believe as long as I live, that there is something in names, and that none but a very old Harry Scratch himself could have been charged with such a scrawl. What would you have done? Tell the old lady the whole matter? What! with all those contending, conflicting feelings--passions--hopes--blasted and utterly {106} destroyed! As for me, I think a man would be almost excusable if he had walked premeditatedly to his razor case and cut his throat. Tim did no such thing. He walked to--bed.

Will you be so kind as to explain to me, why little Mary--our sweet, innocent, flaxen-haired little Molly, who was as much in love as ever lassie was, should have acted thus strangely? You who pretend to fathom the profundity of human motives and to ascribe proper causes for every action, will you unriddle this enigma? But the day before, she was as kind, as affectionate as usual, and in every way the same to Tim. From this time forward, too, she was as friendly as any other friend; and yet, as indifferent as if their hearts had never beat in unison--as if their eyes had never read the inmost thought of each others soul--as if their lips:--to me and to Tim, it is utterly inexplicable.

Time--old father time--flies with his mowing scythe. This is the account the ancients give of the matter, but I have a notion that we should as well exclaim, time--old doctor time--flies with his healing balm, cicatrizing every wound; for if it was not for doctor time, Cupid might be more appropriately represented with his sickle gathering in his harvest; but time with his "balm of Gilead," or some pleasing draught, manages to cure many a bleeding heart. I thank thee, good doctor, thou hast come "with healing under thy wings," more than once to me.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

MY CLASSMATES.

By the author of the "Extract from a Novel that will never be published."

There were two among my companions at College with whom my intimacy was particularly close. They differed much from each other, as I did from them, in character and mental powers, but we were from the same state, viz. Virginia, although from different parts of it; and the presence of each of us spoke to the others of our distant homes, and formed a tie that bound us closely together. There is besides, a strong local attachment, separate and distinct from national feeling, (a peculiar one, as far as my observation extends, in our country,) pervading the native born inhabitants of that state, particularly the eastern and southern section of it, which draws them like brothers together when abroad. However reserved a Virginian may be to others, his heart immediately opens to one who possesses the same birthright with himself; and for him, if called upon, he will encounter pecuniary inconvenience and personal risk. I have known many instances of this feeling. But to my tale. The elder of us three, by name Morriss Heywood, was one of those beings on whom has been bestowed the fearful--almost fatal gift of genius. He stood pre-eminent among us all, towering in intellect, piercing the veil of truths hid from our dimmer eyes, revelling in the gardens of imagination barred to our dull and every day capacities. While we with pigmy steps and slow, crept along the paths of knowledge, urging our toilsome way with many a groan, he pressed forward with a giant's stride, and left us a sightless distance in the rear. His disposition too was noble as his mind. Generous beyond the bounds of prudence--brave to the verge of rashness--ever ready to afford assistance to those who required it--to promote their welfare, and to condole with, and partake of their grievances. Like most persons of extraordinary powers, his temper was unequal. At times gloomy and abstracted, shunning all communion, avoiding all recreation, abstaining from exercise and almost from food,--he would bury himself in the seclusion of his chamber, devoting day and night to intense application; then sated for a time with his "deep draught" at "the well spring of science," he would come among us full of life and gaiety, the soul and promoter of every frolic, breathing into us the spirit of his own warm heart, robing common things with the hues of his own bright fancy, and lighting up the very regions of dulness with the quick and brilliant flashes of his wit. The grave professors regarded him with amazement, and some of them even with fear; for sometimes in the spirit of mischief, he would sport with their heavy and useless learning, and puzzle them sadly with the subtleness of his inquiries,--leading them unconsciously into the mazes of metaphysical absurdities, and then leaving them with a quibble or a jest to pick their way out as they could, floundering at every step, and conscious of the ridicule they incurred. My other friend, Charles Drayton, had no peculiar characteristic that calls for present description. He had ordinary intellect, great application, a kind but not a warm heart, and a disposition to submit to legitimate authority; for all which, when we were graduated, he was rewarded with some fifth or sixth rate honor. The busy pursuits of life soon separated me from them after our departure from college. They commenced the study of the law, while I doubting my powers to succeed in the learned professions, and naturally inclined to an active life, turned my attention to commerce, and in the course of business, was called on to leave "my native land" to sojourn in a far distant one, and my return was not until after an absence of many years. During those years of labor and various fortunes, my time and talents devoted to one ruling object, the acquisition of wealth, (but not, I trust, influenced by sordidness, or ever induced to employ unworthy means,) my communications with home had been very rare, and of my early friends I had received no tidings; but often after reposing from the toils of the day, when the bustle of occupation was hushed, and the wearied mind revolted from following up the many schemes of aggrandizement that so constantly taxed it, memory would roll back to those halcyon days of my youth, and the images of Heywood and of Drayton would be mirrored in freshness to my fancy, while I busied myself in conjectures as to their probable fate and fortunes. Were they still among the living? Had Heywood fulfilled the promise of his early youth, and climbed with vigorous step

"The hill, where fame's proud temple shines afar?"

Had the perseverance of Drayton won for him wealth and respectability in his profession? More he could not attain to. And amid their busy struggles, did they ever recur to the friend who was absent, with the same deep feeling that dwelt in his heart for them?

After many efforts, sometimes crowned with success, and often, very often marked by adversity, fortune at last smiled upon them, and placed me in a situation (as I was alone in the world,) of comparative wealth. I {107} wound up my affairs as speedily as possible, and embarked for home. My voyage was prosperous: once more I trod the free soil of the United States of America, and bent my way without delay to the town of ----, where first I drew my infant breath. It was evening when I reached it. I found it much altered, enlarged and improved; but around me were many a memorial of the times gone by;--and as the slanting rays of the setting sun threw their purple and gold on the broad summit of the well remembered hills, and played in ever changing beauty on the ripple of the chrystal stream, I seemed borne back from the present, when Time had furrowed my brow and sprinkled his snows upon my hair, to that past, when the smooth forehead and the curly locks, the long loud laugh, and the joyous leap, were tokens of the happy boy. In passing along the main road leading to the town, I had observed at some little distance from it, a very large and handsome brick edifice, in the midst of highly cultivated grounds, where formerly there had stood a very indifferent wooden building, on a neglected farm, the property of an idle and dissipated gentleman. It was very foolish to do so, and yet I uttered a half sigh at the change; for although the present state of things was infinitely more agreeable to the eye, it struck coldly on my heart and jarred the chord of cherished associations. When I had fairly established myself at the "best inn," and answered as I pleased, all customary inquiries as to who I was, whence from, where going to, and numberless other impertinencies, I commenced querist in turn, and the information I then and subsequently obtained from other quarters, I am now about to lay before the reader. Both of my college friends after obtaining their licenses, had removed to my native town, which then offered the best field in the state for the practice of the law. Heywood had, as I was sure he would, commenced his career at the bar with signal success. His very first appearance, his maiden speech, had given him a station far beyond his youthful competitors, and indeed among the foremost ranks of those who had grown gray in their vocation. He had been entrusted, with others, in the management of a case of great difficulty, and involving property to a large amount; and in the examination of the witnesses, had exhibited a knowledge of human character, and a power to discover and elicit truth, that in one so young and so unpracticed, seemed absolutely marvellous; while his familiarity with the abstruse points and technicalities of the law, appeared as close and intimate as if he had spent years in acquiring it. He was regarded as a prodigy, and indeed he was one. I have seen many men in many climes, but never have I met with Heywood's equal in native genius; and then the godlike mind with which he was endowed, was set forth and enhanced by a corresponding face and figure. His stature was tall and his bulk in proportion, but there was no clumsiness. His limbs were

"Heaped with strength, and turned with elegance;"

His presence was lordly, with his statue-like brow, crested with short dark curls, the Roman nose, the sharp cut lips, and the full large pellucid eye, in which "the lightning played." His was

"A combination, and a form indeed, On which, every god had seemed to set his seal, To give the world assurance of a man."

One thus gifted was eagerly sought after, and while business poured on him from all quarters, his society was every where courted. The presence of Heywood was an indispensable requisite to any meeting whose object was pleasure. Nor did he refuse it, or hold himself aloof from the amusements sought after by others. He could be gay with the gay, and sedate with the grave, and without an effort; and even in the midst of what may be termed dissipation, none had cause to complain that their affairs entrusted to his care were not faithfully attended to and ably managed. Thus did he go on increasing in usefulness and reputation, and men looked forward to the time when he would rank among the master spirits of the day, and perhaps reach the highest honors his country could bestow. Indeed a new career had now been opened to him, which promised to lead to such a result. He had been chosen to represent his county in the state legislature, and there as at the bar, his success was immediate and brilliant. To him it truly seemed

----------------"an easy leap, To pluck bright honor from the pale faced moon;"

and, (to follow up the quotation,) he might fairly hope

"To wear without corrival all her dignities."

Such then was Morriss Heywood; in years a youth, a man in wisdom--the possessor of genius, health, reputation and beauty; his career as yet unchecked by a single obstacle--his hopes undimmed by the shadow of a fear. There resided at that period in the county of ---- an individual, who, by a long course of unremitting industry and the most grinding parsimony, together with less honest, if lawful means, had amassed an overgrown fortune; and having money at command, had contrived by lending it to the neighboring farmers, (generally improvident men,) and exacting high interest for its use, taking mortgages on their estates as security, to make himself the real if not nominal owner of half the landed property of the county. Having it at his will at any moment to strip many of their possessions, he was vested with a power that (although in their secret hearts all men detested him, and execrated his very name,) challenged opinion, and made dangerous as regarded him its public expression. It so happened that one of those gentlemen on whom his gripe was fixed, and whose debt, from an originally small sum, had swelled with usury until it covered his whole estate, had been a patron and valuable friend of this man, who was originally his overseer--had established him in the business with which he commenced his career, and aided him both with money and his name. It is a well established maxim, which hard experience has gathered from human intercourse, that you insure yourself an enemy when you bestow a benefit on a bad man. A noble mind may find an obligation burthensome, and be galled by the sense of dependence created by it. This feeling, however, does not destroy gratitude to the benefactor; but the mean and unprincipled hate those who give to them, from the consciousness that there is an utter dissimilarity of character between the giver and themselves. It grieves them that any should possess a virtue which they have not; and the performance of a good action, even although they themselves are its object, is gall and wormwood to their souls, from the secret knowledge that they are {108} incapable of doing the same. This violence of hatred which the wicked, without apparent motive, entertain for the good, is forcibly pourtrayed by Shakspeare, (nature's magician, who applied his "Open Sesame" to that dark cave the human heart, penetrated its recesses, and explored its most secret nooks,) when he makes Iago give as a reason for desiring the death of Cassio,

"He hath a daily beauty in his life That makes me ugly"----

The feelings engendered in the heart of Willis, (for that was the name of the usurer,) by the kindness of his benefactor, were envy and bitter hatred. Envy, that he possessed the means to be generous; hatred, that having them he was so. But his heart rejoiced when he reflected that this very generosity would betray itself; and as he counted his own increasing gains, and became acquainted with the diminished and decreasing resources of his friend, he foresaw the time would come when their relative situations would be changed--when the patron would in turn become the suitor, and be dependant on his former menial's bounty. The time did come. A small loan was requested, and granted with cheerfulness. "The spider" as Heywood afterwards said, "had spun his first line." Then came a demand for a larger sum, which was raised with a pretence of great difficulty. Another thread was wrapped around the body of the victim. Slowly, silently, cautiously, these tiny lines were drawn, with a touch so light, that they were not felt until the web was fully formed--the prey secure--fluttering and struggling in the toils,--but vainly struggling; for those little threads had been plied and twisted into a cord of strength to bind the unshorn Sampson.

Of all the galling miseries that man is heir to, the most intolerable, the most debasing, the most corroding to the heart, the most destructive to the mind, is the consciousness of debt without the means of payment. Oh! what days of humiliation, what nights of nervous wakefulness, or else of dreaming horror, does he abide, on whose oppressed spirit is laid the load of payments he cannot meet, of obligations he cannot cancel. For him, though the sun shines abroad, there is no beauty in his beams. The earth is clothed with verdure, and a thousand odorous flowers are scattered in his path. He heeds them not; their perfume is wasted on him. The moon rides in liquid lustre, and the myriad stars break forth in light, and the whole heaven is clothed with exceeding glory; but there is a darkness in his soul no light can penetrate--a grief at his heart no beauties of nature can assuage. His energies are dead; they fester beneath the pall of despair.

When at last every inch of his property was covered by debt, and the remorseless creditor was about to strip and turn naked on the world, him from whose hand he once had fed, kind death stepped in and released the poor old gentleman from his troubles; and what he himself was too honorable to do, his heirs did without hesitation. They resisted Willis's claim upon the plea of usury. Heywood was their advocate. Fired with indignation at the base ingratitude of the man, he summoned all the powers of his eloquence against him, and so awfully severe was the attack, that Willis, although in general bold and impudent, slunk away from the court amid the hisses and groans of the crowd. The very next day, to his utter amazement, Heywood was waited on by Willis, who placed in his hands business of great value, and paid him down a handsome fee.

"You see, Mr. Heywood, I can forgive and forget, as bad as you think of me, and as much as you have abused me. The fact is, sir, you are what I call a real clever man, and to my notion the best lawyer I've met with--so you're the man for my money; and I suppose if I pay you your fees, you'll do my business as soon as another man's--and I can make it worth your while, I tell you. You said yesterday, I was a vampire bloated with the lifeblood sucked in secret from the veins of my victims. I remember the words, but not in malice. Well sir, when I see fit I can bleed pretty free myself; and if you'll just consider yourself my lawyer in all my cases, I'll pay you fifteen hundred a year, and say done first."

"Mr. Willis," replied Heywood, "I have no hesitation in accepting your offer, and will to the best of my ability serve you, as I would any other individual who called upon me. It is my trade, or profession, to advocate that cause in which I am retained; and although I rejoice when I find I am on the right side, I have in common with my brethren, no scruples in doing battle on the wrong."

And so they parted. It may perhaps be thought unnatural that Willis should have acted in the way he did; but he was a shrewd, worldly wise man, and could make any sacrifice to promote what he deemed his interests. Now he had not forgiven, much less forgot. On the contrary, his hatred of Heywood was deep and concentrated; but he knew him to possess talents that were formidable when opposed to him, and on which he could with safety rely when enlisted in his behalf.

The transactions of business necessarily carried Heywood to his client's house, where one day being detained until the dinner hour, he was introduced to Miss Louisa Willis, an exceedingly beautiful and interesting lady of about eighteen. He was much struck with her, and indeed it was impossible for the coldest disposition to withhold its admiration from charms seldom surpassed, and then in the very fulness of their bloom. With a form over whose round and soft proportions hovered an atmosphere of the most soul subduing voluptuousness, she was the possessor of a countenance, whose features in themselves almost faultless, habitually wore the bewitching expression of confiding love; as if for all she looked upon, there existed in her bosom a living spring of kindness; and the consciousness of her own deep charities, taught her to expect a like return from others. She was the adopted daughter of Willis. Her parents, poor but highly respectable people, died while she was yet an infant, having been carried off within a few hours of each other, by one of those pestilential fevers that sweep whole districts of our country, and leave in their path the silence of death or the sob of mourning anguish, where the sounds of merriment had been wont to break upon the ear. Willis was alone in the world. There was no human being connected with him by the ties of consanguinity: there was not one whom he had propitiated by the exercise of kindness: and although the consciousness that he was hated only served to harden and imbitter his feelings, there were moments when he felt the loneliness of his situation, and longed for something that even he could love.

{109} He took the little orphan to his home, and in her found the object he had sought. Upon her he lavished all his bounty--bestowed upon her the best education the capabilities of the country afforded--and at a proper age, placed her in an eligible seminary in the city of ----, whence indeed, at the time of Heywood's first interview with her, she had just returned.--Perhaps the disposition of Miss Willis--that of great sweetness with very little energy or passion, was particularly calculated to win upon such a man as Heywood. Himself all passion, burning with the consciousness of uncommon powers, urged into action by the ever goading stimulus of a brain that teemed with strong and beautiful thought,--now breaking out into commanding eloquence--now running over with sparkling wit,--it was enjoyment to him to find repose in another. His mind self taxed to its utmost limit, was refreshed, and soothed, and solaced by the calm and even purity which dwelt within that form of intoxicating loveliness. Perhaps with persons constituted like Heywood, the same ardor of passion might be exhibited towards any object, "in whose fresh cheek" they might "meet the power of fancy;" perhaps their glowing temperament would vest with beauty both of mind and person, those who to common eyes had nothing to distinguish them. Be this as it may, it is certain that he loved Miss Willis, deeply, devotedly, ardently--with tender delicacy and with manly passion. Whether his feelings were reciprocated by her, to the extent of which she was capable, it is not for me to say: that secret lies within her own bosom. Heywood thought so. He was constant in his attentions to her, which seemed to be well received, and were certainly encouraged by Willis. The only annoyance Heywood experienced, arose from his feelings towards the latter. Greater familiarity with his character had not, it is true, increased his abhorrence of it; perhaps it had diminished it;--for as the visual eye becomes accustomed to look without winking upon the disgusting and even the terrible, so does the mental, and sad to say, the constant recurrence of deeds of vice, lessens the sense of detestation which they at first inspired. But there was something very galling to his pride, in the idea of connecting himself in so close a manner with Willis as he must necessarily do, if he married his daughter; only his adopted daughter, it is true: but still in no action that could evince a parent's fondness and a parent's care, had he been wanting to her--and he was unquestionably entitled to a full return of that affection that might be looked for from a properly disposed child; and as certainly did he receive it from Miss Willis, whose respectful love for him was without stint or measure. The struggle between pride and passion, seldom eventuates in favor of the former, particularly where our feelings are uninfluenced by the effect our actions may produce upon the minds of others, and have no reference to a degrading change of situation that may be produced on us in society. Heywood might by marrying Miss Willis, excite the sneers of the unsuccessful and the envy of the disappointed; but he would not be the less loved, esteemed and respected by the great bulk of his acquaintance, while by many it would be thought a fortunate circumstance; for in the event of their obligations falling into his hands, they might look for an indulgence it were vain to hope from the ruthless usurer. Heywood, as might be expected, yielded to the suggestions of his heart, and proffered his affections to Miss Willis. She of course referred him to her father; and with much embarrassment and hesitation of manner, Heywood announced to him the fact, and solicited his approbation. He received the information with a smile of peculiar meaning, of gratification--but apparently of malicious gratification, as if he were about to win a triumph he had been long seeking to obtain. He said but little however in reply, nor was that little, discouraging or otherwise. He professed himself honored by the proposal, coming as it did from so distinguished an individual.

"To be sure," he said, "Louisa Willis was not an every day sort of girl, and she might fairly look for as good offers as any lady in the country. She had that, or she would have, which was all the same, that would command them. It commanded every thing else, he reckoned, even talents. She was young enough too, and likely enough, for the matter of that, and he had had other views for her. Hows'ever, there was no hurry--he would see about it; he must have some little time to think before he made up his mind: when he had, he would let Heywood know what it was."

To talk to such a man of the urgency of one's affections, was ridiculous. Heywood felt it so, and therefore made no objection to the delay.

It was about a month after this interview, during which interval there had been no communication between Heywood and Willis, that the latter, accompanied by another individual, a Mr. ----, entered the office of the former. They had called for the purpose of explaining their mutual understanding of the nature of a conveyance which was to pass between them, and to request him to draw it out in proper form. He accordingly made a rough draft of it, read it to the parties, who expressed themselves satisfied, and Mr. ---- took his leave, with a promise to return and execute the deed when the fair copy should have been made out. Willis remained behind. After a few minutes silence, (of torturing silence to Heywood, for he expected he should now receive an answer on the subject nearest his heart,) "Mr. Heywood," said the hard featured old man, "let me see that deed." Heywood disappointed, handed it to him. He conned it over attentively, as he sat with one elbow placed upon his knee and his chin resting in the hollow of his hand.

"It is all right?" said Heywood inquiringly.

"Why--ye-es," replied Willis, "but there are one or two little words here I would like to have changed; that is, I would like to have some others put in their place. It's of no great consequence, but somehow they please me better."

"What words are they? Be so good as to point them out."

"Why these," answered Willis, as he shewed them with his finger, and peered into Heywood's face, over his spectacles, with half closed eyes. "Suppose now, instead of them, you was to use such words," and he mentioned those he wished adopted.

"But sir," rejoined Heywood, "these words that I have used are technical words, and express in a legal sense what I understand most positively to be the intention of the parties. Were I to substitute for them {110} those that you propose, I should make the granter convey a title it is by no means his wish to do."

"Pray, Mr. Heywood, are you acquainted with Mr. ----, and do you consider yourself employed by him or me?"

"I am but slightly acquainted with Mr. ----, sir, and it matters not to me by which party I am employed. It is my business as an honest man, to execute to the best of my ability, what I consider myself intrusted by both to perform, and that I have done."

"Then let me tell you Mr. Heywood that I know ---- well, that he has not had quite as much as either you or I to do with deeds, and that if you make the alteration I want, it's a hundred to one he will never find it out to the end of time--so where can be the harm?"

"You surely jest with me, Mr. Willis," quickly answered Heywood; "you cannot seriously propose to me to do that, which according to my view of the matter, would be neither more nor less than a legal fraud."

"A fraud, sir! do you mean to say I would commit a fraud, sir?" cried Willis, in an angry tone and blustering manner.

"I have not said so, Mr. Willis," calmly replied Heywood; "I only said, that with my knowledge of the law, I should commit one were I to do what you request."

"Well then," urged Willis, "suppose you let me go for Mr. ----, and have the alteration made before his eyes. Will that satisfy your squeamishness?"

"Certainly, if Mr. ---- consents to it, and is made fully aware of the situation in which he thus places himself."

"But you aint no ways bound to tell him that."

"Pardon me, sir, I am every way bound to do so."

"Very well, sir, very well, we'll drop the matter then--I don't care much about it; only you aint as much my friend as I thought you was--that's all. But let that pass, it don't signify no great deal. And now Mr. Heywood, for what you would call a more interesting subject." Heywood's heart beat quick. "You told me t'other day you loved my daughter, and would like to marry her. Now, sir, suppose you had a daughter, and you could afford to give her as much as would make the best men in all the land snap at her--and suppose there was one man who despised you in his heart, though he was willing to work for your money, and who had abused and insulted you in the public court, and refused to befriend you, in a small way, when you wanted his friendship, and he of all men in the world was just to pop up and say, Give me your daughter and a fortune,--what would you say to him? Would'nt you tell him, certain, and thankee to boot, sir? Would'nt it please you to the heart to have a son-in-law, who if he could help himself, would'nt speak to you when he met you, nor shake hands with you, if there was any body by to see him do it? Now just answer me that, Mr. Heywood; you're a mighty ready man with your bills and answers--answer me that if you please."

"Mr. Willis," stammered Heywood, "this is not--a fair way to--treat me."

"Aint it? Now I think it is--so there we differ again; any how it's my way, and I can afford to have my ways as well as most folks. Hows'ever, since you don't seem to fancy those questions, I'll try again. Do you really love my daughter, for herself alone mind you, and will you marry her if I tell you, and I am in earnest, that if you do, you never shall, nor she either, touch a farthing of money or an acre of land that belongs to me."

"Most readily, most willingly, and think myself but too happy in maintaining her by my own humble efforts."

"Money is not a thing to be despised, Mr. Heywood, and it would be a heap of it I can tell you, and as you partly know, that you would be giving up; you'd better think again."

"This is not a matter of reflection and calculation with me, sir. It is a feeling deep and durable, and I cannot hesitate to choose between what I esteem my happiness and my misery. With her, portioned or unportioned, I shall be happy--without her, though Croesus' wealth were showered on me, I know I must be miserable."

"Say you so, sir," shouted Willis, with an air of vindictive triumph. "Then be miserable, for I would see her, gladly see her, and I love her too, a rotting corpse in her winding sheet--or worse, a common beggar in the public road, for all the world to spit on if they choose, before you should call her wife. I am glad that you love her too. If you loved her ten thousand times better than you do--if you went mad for love, as they tell me some fools do, I should like it all the better. I wanted you to love her, and I saw you would love her, and I sort of encouraged you to do so, just that when you were fairly fixed, I might have the satisfaction to tell you that you should not have her; and now I think we're quits. You dared to tread upon me--to flout me in the open court-house, before a whole crowd of people, when you could have all the talk to yourself, and my mouth was shut and my hands as good as tied. But my turn has come, and if I have'nt paid you back, and with a stinging interest, my name is not Abraham Willis; and so good morning to you. You need'nt write no notes, nor send no messages to my daughter. She knows my mind, and she is satisfied with it. She wants no man for a husband who has abused her father. Once more, good morning to you." And with another of his demon like smiles, he departed.

Heywood remained as a man stupified, without change of position or movement of a muscle, every feature rigidly fixed as if cut out of marble, his whole appearance more like a breathing statue than a living creature. Yet who shall say what torturing thought was pressing on that brain--what stormy passions struggling in that bosom. Did the uprooting of his heart's affection, the total prostration of his hopes, the utter destruction of his anticipated bliss, smite him to despair; or did his powerful mind confront the evils that beset him, and although deeply wounded, rise in triumph from the conflict? It is only by the effects we can judge, and these to common observation were not remarkable. It is true, he resigned his seat in the legislature, and altogether withdrew himself from social intercourse, and save when necessitated by his professional duties, rarely left the solitude of his rooms. There his time was devoted to study; not confined to the acquisition of legal knowledge, but of literature in general. He collected about him a noble library, and made himself master of its contents; but though he {111} heaped up knowledge such as few possess, and added daily to his mental stores, it was even as a miser gathers pelf, to gloat upon the heap in private, but impart to none its benefits. Still, although he thus secluded himself, when he did appear abroad, there was nothing of gloom about him, or marked reserve in his manner to his fellow men. He might even sometimes have been thought gay. He would jest himself, and laugh at other's jests; but all this was but "outward seeming." There was no joy of the heart--no "flow of soul"--no living sympathy with mankind, teaching him to be glad when they rejoiced, to sorrow when they mourned.

There were none to whom he imparted his feelings, none to whom he communicated his sentiments. On none of the usual topics of conversation among men, whether of politics or literature, were his opinions ever expressed--not even on legal points, unless when sought for professionally. He lived strictly alone, concealing thought and passion within the impenetrable recesses of his unfathomable mind.

Here for the present I will leave him, to give a short account of Drayton's career, connected as it is with the main interest of my narrative.

With the assiduity, industry and application for which he had been distinguished at college, he pursued his professional studies; and although denied the gift of eloquence, or rather I should say, embarrassed by a slow and hesitating manner of speaking, it was obvious enough that his knowledge of the law was sound, and that he perfectly understood its application to the point he might be advocating. If too, he lacked the graces of oratory, and could distil no honied words into the ears of his auditory, he possessed that happy manner, which imposes on society the opinion that there is a fund of wisdom and learning to be drawn on, whenever the exigency of the case might require its use. He had a serious, business like look, and if he walked abroad for exercise, he seemed to have a deeper motive for the action. His progress was nevertheless very slow in the commencement; still he advanced by degrees, and his patience was inexhaustible. Drayton had another advantage too, that to him amply compensated for the want of purely professional business, and even the glitter of fame. A relation had bequeathed him a few thousand dollars, and this enabled him to make occasional advances to a needy client, where the claim was eventually secure, and also to carry on a traffic in bonds, exchanging one for another at a large discount, and thus in a short time doubling his original capital. One or two lucky hits in land speculation returned him large profits; and people beginning to find out his merits, as they perceived these accessions to his worldly wealth, in course of time his practice became respectable and lucrative. Between Heywood and Drayton there continued the same kindness of feeling they had mutually entertained at college, up to some short time before the philippic delivered by the former against Willis. But about that period a coolness grew between them. This arose from no misunderstanding or quarrel, but simply from a dislike Heywood entertained to the very obsequious manner Drayton exhibited towards all men who were superior to him in private wealth or public station; and the former could not refrain from telling him one day, after some display of the sort, that he reminded him of Sir Pertinax McSycophant, in the "Man of the World," who never in all his life could stand straight "in the presence of a great mon." Drayton was conscious that there was truth in the application of the sarcasm, and although he made no reply, he was hurt, and thenceforth avoided one who could and would tell him disagreeable truths. After the rupture between Heywood and Willis, the latter transferred his business to Drayton, who received from Heywood all the papers in his possession, with the necessary information and instructions, which were given to him with perfect freedom, and without the slightest manifestation of chagrin or resentment. This perhaps was not exactly pleasing to him. He would have liked on Heywood's part some small exhibition of a consciousness that he was deprived of a considerable advantage.

"This should be a valuable business I have had the good fortune to fall into, Mr. Heywood," said he; "Mr. Willis's concerns must be very extensive, and require much legal advice, as well as other matters in our way. I fear he will be hardly content with my poor management, after the able assistance he has derived from you."

"You will certainly find the business profitable," replied Heywood; "Mr. Willis pays liberal fees, and it depends upon yourself to make larger gains than I have done. I congratulate you on having obtained it."

"I suppose I shall be so unfortunate as to have you opposed to me occasionally, and if so, I trust you will not be quite so hard on my poor client as you once were," said Drayton with an insinuating smile.

"Circumstances, sir," answered Heywood, "have put it out of my power to speak of Mr. Willis as I think of him. You need entertain no apprehensions for your poor client; he is safe at least from my invective."

Some few months after this conversation, rumor babbled of the particular attentions paid by a certain lawyer, to a very wealthy young lady, and in the course of a year, the babble was confirmed by the marriage of Charles Drayton, Esq. to the all accomplished, &c. Miss Louisa Willis. Drayton was now become a very wealthy and of course a very influential man. He was sent to the legislature, then to the state senate, thence to congress, and finally having been created a judge, he took up his residence near ---- on a farm given him by Willis, where he built the handsome brick house, I had observed on my return home. Two or three days after I had fixed myself at ----, I fell in with Drayton, whom I found much altered. He had grown quite fat, and had a very justice-like rotundity of body. His manner was kind enough though somewhat pompous, and he had the air of one who was on especial good terms with himself. I dined with him and was introduced to his family, consisting of his wife and four children; the eldest, a handsome lad of seventeen, the others girls, the youngest about eight years old. Mrs. Drayton, was very pale and apparently in bad health. I endeavored to converse with her, but found her little disposed to talk. Willis was there. He was a tall, lean man, with very sharp features--small grey eyes somewhat inflamed, and almost hid by long bushy, wiry eye-brows, a pinched, sharp pointed nose, thin, pale lips, much drawn in and compressed, and a projecting chin. He endeavored to assume ease in his manners, but his vulgarity was very apparent. There were two other {112} gentlemen of the neighborhood there, and on the whole, my time was not spent so pleasantly then, or afterwards, as to induce me to repeat my visits often, although I occasionally called in as an old acquaintance of the master of the house. Heywood's name was of course, never mentioned there. I once did make some inquiries of Drayton, when only he and I were together. "Ah poor fellow, yes," said he, "he has been absent from ---- for some time, went up the country to his brother's, who I hear is lately dead. Heywood turned out badly sir with all his genius,--thrown himself completely away--no prudence--ruined himself to pay his brother's debts, and took to drinking--little better, if any, than a common blackguard." "So much for early friendship," thought I, as I turned away in disgust.

The marriage of Drayton to Miss Willis seemed not to affect Heywood; if he felt, his feelings were perfectly concealed. When he met Drayton, he congratulated him on the event, without the slightest awkwardness or embarrassment, although the former exhibited much of both; to all appearance he had entirely conquered his ill fated passion. His studies, however, became more and more intense, and his seclusion closer than ever. He scarcely eat or slept, and took no exercise. He gave up the practice he had hitherto pursued in the adjoining counties, and confined himself to that of the one he lived in. This mode of life could not fail to injure his health. He grew pale and thin, and experienced great languor: to remedy the latter, instead of resorting to the only proper mode, a change of habits, he applied to artificial stimulants for temporary relief. They naturally increased the evil, by leaving behind them when their momentary excitement had worn off, a greater degree of depression than they had been employed to remove. He was probably aware of this, but he changed not his course. On the contrary he increased the dose, and repeated it the more frequently, until gradually his libations amounted to intoxication, which after a while became daily. This, at first, was confined to the after part of the day, but by and by he was frequently found in an unfit state for business, by those who called upon him in the morning. Still, so great was his reputation as a lawyer, and so powerful were the displays he made when he appeared at the bar, that men continued to employ him, although they were put to the inconvenience and expense of associating other counsel with him, who would attend to the minutiæ and drudgery of their cases. About this time, his brother (whom I did not know,) a careless, extravagant man, with a large family, became entirely insolvent, and the farm on which he lived was exposed to sale. Heywood became the purchaser, for the wife, and nearly exhausted his own means in doing so; for though he had received large sums of money in his profession, and might with a little economy, have been very independent, if not rich, he had not retained much of his hard earned gains, and money had never been to him an object of solicitude. Besides, his library had cost him no contemptible fortune. By degrees, as the vile and fatal habit he had acquired, grew upon him, he became more and more unfit for business, and his clients were reluctantly compelled to abandon him, and transfer their cases to others. Finally, (what he had never done before,) he was compelled to run in debt. He raised money on his books, a paltry sum in proportion to their value; that was soon exhausted, and they were forced off at auction at an enormous sacrifice. Hitherto, his intemperance had been confined to the privacy of his chamber, but now he commenced frequenting taverns, where he was frequently to be found in a state of beastly drunkenness.

When I arrived at ---- he was absent, as Drayton stated, at the brother's whom I have mentioned, and did not make his appearance for several months. One evening as I returned from my accustomed walk, I entered the bar-room of the inn where I lodged, for the purpose of making some inquiries of the landlord. A man was sitting at a table, with his back towards me. He was dressed in a rusty black coat, coarse, dirty, white trowsers; shoes and stockings that were covered with the dust of the road, and a worn out straw hat, around which was a piece of ragged, soiled crape. I naturally took him for some common vagabond, and paid no farther attention to him, but commenced my business with the landlord, who was standing at the bar door with a pint decanter of common whiskey in his hand, intended, no doubt, for his genteel looking customer; who, growing somewhat impatient at the delay I occasioned by my conversation, called out in a hoarse voice, "Mr. Tomlins, do you mean to bring me that liquor or no? I tell you I am dying of thirst." "Certainly, sir," said Mr. Tomlins. "Excuse me a moment, sir," addressing me, as he proceeded to the table with the spirits, a pitcher of water and a glass. The man poured into his glass about a gill of spirits and drank it off at one gulph, taking a little water after it,--and then, without stopping, proceeded to take a second dose. I gazed at him with mingled emotions of contempt and pity. The landlord touched me on the arm. "You have frequently inquired of me, sir, about Mr. Heywood; that is him." "Great God!" I exclaimed aloud, "that Heywood?" He turned immediately on hearing his name, and I hastened to him, extending my hand. "You are familiar with my name, sir," he said, "and act as if you had a claim upon my recognition, but I have no recollection of your countenance."

"Have you entirely forgot then, your old friend S----."

"S----," he exclaimed, and he rose and took my hand in both of his, and gazed with earnestness some moments in my face. "Thirty years--yes, thirty years have fled since last this hand was clasped in mine. They are nothing in Time's record, but much to us poor, three-score-and-ten mortals, and they have shown their power on us both. S----, my friend, for you were my friend, and I loved you even with the warmth of a brother's love, I look in vain for the marks by which I once knew you. The fair cheek of youth, the laughing eye, the bold, self-confiding air, have fled. Age is a sad destroyer of good looks, is it not? It has not been over lenient with me; but never mind; our hearts are filled with hot blood yet, though sometimes I think mine is growing cold: it will be cold enough by and by, and yours too, S----; the more's the pity, for there are men, my friend, and you are one, who should never die; they should live to redeem mankind from the charge of utter selfishness; to save this Sodom and Gomorrah of a world from the curse of an outraged and offended Heaven."

{113} "Heywood," said I, interrupting him, "come with me--come to my room; I have much to say to you, and this is no place for it; I cannot talk to you here. Come where we will be private and uninterrupted."

"Not now, not now; I have just got here, after walking all day, for I am compelled to take exercise on foot for the benefit of my health as well as from poverty;" and he smiled bitterly. "I am fatigued and soiled with dust, and unfit for conversation."

"These are paltry excuses between friends--I cannot admit them. What! be thirty years apart, and when we meet have five minutes conversation in a public bar-room. That will never do."

"Well, well, then, allow me a little time to step to my room, and I will join you in an hour at farthest." This I could not refuse, although I parted with him with very great reluctance, as from the avidity with which he swallowed the spirits in my presence, I was apprehensive he might render himself unfit for rational conversation. There was a dreadful change in his appearance. I have described him as a remarkably handsome man, both in face and person. He was no longer so. I found him much emaciated, though his features were bloated; his hair was entirely gray; and in the place of the freshness and manly ruddiness of complexion for which he had been distinguished, his countenance was overcast with a sickly yellow hue; and those eyes, once so clear and expressive, were bloodshotten and dull. Age might, and would, no doubt, have made an alteration for the worse in his looks; but the prime agent in the destruction I witnessed, was habitual intemperance. That insatiate fiend, on whose bloodstained altars reeks the sacrifice of myriad hetacombs, whose worshippers, in the frenzy of their zeal, yield up all that is valuable in life; the world's respect, health, fortune, fame, domestic ties, their present good, their future hope; and whose reward is racking disease, infamy, an early and dishonorable grave.

Before the appointed time, Heywood returned. He had undergone a purification, which somewhat improved his looks, and he bore no evidence of having increased his potations. We had a long, and to us highly interesting conversation; but Heywood was not the man he had been; the mind--that glorious mind had suffered in the wreck. It is true he was occasionally eloquent, grand in his conceptions, pouring out burning thoughts, and exhibiting amazing knowledge; but there was a want of solidity and continuity in his discourse, and there were abrupt starts from deep pathos, when he touched upon his situation, to a wild and reckless jocularity that made me shudder. I had determined in my own mind, difficult and delicate as I felt the task to be, to strive to the utmost to reclaim him. It was a sacred duty devolving on me as a friend; it was a conscientious duty belonging to me as a man; and I felt if I could turn such a being from the path of evil, and lead him once again to the high and honorable station he was by his talents so eminently entitled to, it would be a deed whose reward even here would be inappreciable, and might plead against a thousand errors at the judgment seat of a righteous God. It required great tact, however, to approach the subject, for his sensitiveness was very keen, and I knew if I offended him there, I should lose my hold upon him; therefore I waited until he himself should give me an opportunity of entering on the subject. None occurred that night. Occasionally, as I have said, he would advert to himself and his present miserable situation, but in such a manner as deprived me of courage to speak upon the subject. At one time he observed, when Drayton's name had been mentioned, "It is somewhat strange S----, that man seems to have been born to supplant me. Who would have thought it? The quiet, easy, dull Charles Drayton, to supplant Morriss Heywood! Why, in the exuberance of my youthful vanity, I should have thought my wings beat an atmosphere too refined and rare, to sustain his heavy weight; that my eyes looked unwinking on a light that would have seared his duller optics. And yet he reached me, and he passed me. And while I descended in rapid whirls, until I grovelled in the very dust, he sustained his flight and held aloft his station. Yes, he supplanted me in my profession--supplanted me in public life--supplanted me in love. Ha! ha! ha! It is a strange tale to tell. What would our college mates say to it? What does the world say to it? I know what it says. No matter,

'They can't but say I had the crown; I was not fool.'

And yet I was a fool, a miserable fool; but as it is a great approach to wisdom to know our own weakness, I am in a fair way to become a Solon, and should not be surprised, if ere long, public honors were decreed me. They must hurry them tho', or it will be to my senseless ashes they will bow, and hang their laurel wreaths upon my urn. But it grows late, my friend, and I must leave you. We are neither of us the boys we were, when we could stare the rising sun in the face, as he peeped upon our protracted revels. We will meet again soon." "Soon!" I exclaimed; "yes, tomorrow; I have not exhausted the half of what I have to say to you." "Faith, I have given you but little chance," said Heywood; "I am in truth a sad talker. Good night, or rather morning, for 'methinks I scent the morning air.'" And he left me, not without a promise however, with difficulty obtained from him, that he would join me at dinner on the morrow. He was punctual to his engagement, and I was much pleased to find that he was free from all artificial excitement. After we had dined, and I had discussed my usual allowance of wine, (in which Heywood did not join, alleging that it did not agree with him,) I proposed to him to take a stroll, for I felt as if I could make the effort I had determined upon, with more ease in the open air, than when seated in a small room tete a tete. After we had cleared the skirts of the town, I commenced making my approaches from a wary distance, to the subject I was anxious to enter upon. "To-day was the first of the sitting of the superior court for this term, I believe, Heywood; were you there?"

"No, not I; what should I do there? I have always made it a rule not to thrust myself into a place where I have no business."

"Have you entirely given up the practice of the law?"

"No, but the practice has entirely deserted me."

"How happened that? I have heard your legal attainments spoken of in terms of the highest praise."

{114} "I neglected it, as I have neglected every thing else; health, reputation, my obligations to society, and my duty, if not my reverence to God. This is a painful subject, S----; let us quit it. If I dwell upon it, it will unman me, and I shall then break through a resolution I this day made, and fain would keep."

"Will you tell me what that resolution is?"

"I had rather not;

'Be innocent of the knowledge, Till thou applaud the deed.'"

"Heywood! will you let me act towards you as one friend should act towards another?"

"How? in what way? explain yourself."

"It is in your power to be all you have been--nay, more; for many men rise to eminence, but how few when once they have sunk, have energy and firmness to regain the proud height from which they fell. It may be a work of time to you--it must be one of unbending resolution; but with such a mind and such attainments as your's, it will require nothing more. In the meantime, you shall not be harassed by debts, nor tortured by poverty. I have means, my friend--ample means; wealth beyond my hopes or wishes. It is useless to me, for my habits are frugal, and my expenses do not reach a fourth of my income. I will place in your hands the requisite sum to free you from all incumbrance, and enable you to pursue the plan I propose; and it shall be a debt between us, to be repaid when you are once more in prosperous circumstances. If this place be disagreeable to you, remove to some other; I will accompany you: all places now are the same to me. Do this Heywood, I conjure, I implore you; and you will confer on me a degree of happiness which nothing I have ever yet compassed could equal. What say you?"

"I say as Nero said--'It is too late.' You speak of my mind and my attainments. It must be plain to you as it is to me, that whatever that mind may have been in the flower of my youth and the pride of my manhood, it is now weakened, broken, dropping to decay; and what avails knowledge, learning, the deep research into ancient wisdom, the unwearied study of modern science? When the judgment that should direct their use is fled, they become a pile of worthless lore. No, I am a lost, degraded wretch--a mockery and a byword--

'A fixed figure for the time of scorn To point his slow, unmoving finger at.'

There is nothing left for me but to die and be forgotten."

"Heywood, you do yourself injustice. A steady course of life, as it will remove the cause of your depression, (for your mental malady is nothing more,) so will it the effect, and I feel confident that it requires but exertion to regain all you have lost, and even to surpass your former excellence. Come; be a man. Call your philosophy to your aid--rouse from your lethargy, and start once more upon the race of honor." He placed one hand upon my shoulder, and pointed forward with the other: "Behold," he said, "yon blasted pine; its giant limbs have been snapped in twain, and its lordly trunk clove from the summit to the root by the forked lightning,--while around it in the green hues of health, full of pride, vigor and beauty, are congregated its glorious brethren of the forest. Bid that stricken tree drink in the life sap, shoot out its rough red boughs, clothe them with their feathery foliage, erect its noble crest, and stand once more pre-eminent in loftiness and grace; and what would be its answer, as its shattered body creaks to the passing breeze? 'There is no other spring for me.' And that reply is mine. Therefore torture me no more; for it is torture to me to recur to the past, or dwell upon the present. One favor I will ask of you. When I am dead, and I feel a certainty that time will soon arrive, if you are near and survive me, bury me in some private place, and do not raise even a mound, much less a stone, to mark the spot; but let the grass grow over and conceal it--for even as lonely and obscure as my latter days have been, so would I have my grave. Will you promise me this?"

"I will--I do," I replied, much affected.

The remainder of our walk was passed almost in silence; and when Heywood left me, which he did immediately upon our return to town, he pressed my hand to his heart, and sobbed, "God bless you."

The next day upon my inquiring for him, I found he had left town early that morning, saying that it was uncertain when he should return. This I regretted extremely; for although disappointed in my first attempt, I was not without hopes I might still succeed in bringing him back to the paths of virtue and of honor, from which he had so unfortunately strayed. I determined at all events to remain where I was until I had again seen him, and make another appeal to his friendship and his pride. Days and weeks passed however, and he came not. It was now the latter part of the month of May; the weather was delightful. I got tired of the solitude of my chamber, and walked out to enjoy the balminess of the air and the freshness of nature, as yet unscorched by the ardent beams of the summer sun. I took the road that led to Drayton's, and when I reached his gate, paused, as I had many a time before, to admire a noble oak that formed one of the gate posts. This splendid tree was at its base full five feet through, and its trunk shot up a height of forty feet before it gave out a branch. Thence its boughs spread out to an immense distance, forming a canopy over the road, beyond the opposite side of which they extended, and mingled with those of the trees growing there. It looked like a patriarch of the primeval forest, and seemed destined to stand while all around might decay. I sauntered along a mile or two, until I reached a favorite and secluded spot, well known to me when I was a boy, and which remained unchanged, while all else was changed or changing. There I seated myself on a moss covered rock, under the shade of a thick leaved birch, and while the bright waters rippled at my feet, passed in review before my mind some of the scenes of a busy and adventurous life. About an hour had elapsed in this pleasing melancholy of reverie, when I became conscious that a change had taken place in the weather. The refreshing breeze had died away, and the air become close and sultry, with that heavy suffocating feeling I had observed in high southern latitudes, as the invariable precursor of the coming hurricane. I made what haste I could to reach my home, which was full three miles distant, by the shortest path I could choose. I reached the upper part of Drayton's enclosure, where {115} there was an open field on either side, and paused as well from fatigue, as a desire to ascertain whether I could probably outstrip the approaching storm, or should be compelled much against my inclination to seek for shelter at Drayton's abode.

As I looked up, I perceived that the heavens were embossed with dark clouds that hung heavily in the atmosphere, scarcely moving their stations, or varying their forms, so completely stilled was the breeze--not a leaf trembled on the slenderest twig. Presently, on the extreme verge of the horizon to my right, a small, jagged cloud arose, that rested as it were a moment on the summits of the trees, and then darted high up the sky and emitted a brilliant flash of lightning, accompanied by a quick, sharp crash of thunder--as if this had been a signal summons, from all quarters of the heavens, seemingly by voluntary impulse, the hitherto inert vapors rushed with eagle speed to the spot, like mailed warriors to the battle field; concentrating, and condensing their huge forms into one, vast, deep, substantial looking body of impervious gloom, heaving to and fro with a mighty sound, like unto the rush of liberated waters that have broken down their rocky barrier. As I gazed in horror on this awful sight, there gradually descended from the centre, mass on mass of clouds, as if enormous folds of blackest velvet had been lowered down, narrowing in their descent until they almost formed a point: and then amid the lightning's incessant flashes, and the music of its own appalling roar, that drowned the loudest thunder; and the groans of the forest, as its mightiest trees were uprooted, or twisted from their stems, as a child would break a straw; the tornado marched on its appointed path of desolation. No words, at least none I can command, avail to describe its horrid majesty, its incalculable power. It was as if the very demon of destruction had clothed himself in robes of hellish grandeur, and came in the pride of his unimaginable strength, to strew with ruins the world's fair orb, and revel amidst his fiendish sport. I have in the course of my journey through life, encountered many a peril, and looked on many a sight that might strike the coward with despair, and blanch the cheek of the bravest. The appalling cry of fire has broken upon my ear, when my bark was rolling in the midst of the wide spread ocean, and the apparent choice was to leap into the wave, or perish by the flames. I have been with a crew, when the match was held by a resolute hand that would in an instant have hurled us in the air, rather than become the prey of the remorseless pirate. The storm upon the sea, the hurricane on land, and the terrors of battle upon both, I have beheld; but never did there weigh upon my heart such a feeling of unmixed dread, such a consciousness of utter helplessness, as now--still, I was not entirely deprived of my presence of mind--I was aware that the force of the tornado, although it might be extended to many miles, would probably be confined within narrow boundaries; and if I could ascertain its course, I might place myself beyond its influence. At this moment, however, it was difficult to conjecture to what point its fury would be directed: for as I have said, it was a perfect calm; the winds seemed to be enclosed within the lurid bosom of that horrible prodigy. Its approach was certainly in a line towards myself, but how soon it might swerve from that route, I could not tell; so that I dare not trust to flight. While I stood thus hesitating how to act, a horseman passed me at full speed. My attention had been so fully absorbed, and so deafening was the voice of the cloud, that I had not heard his approach, and barely caught a sufficient glimpse of the face to recognise it as that of Willis, and that it was overspread with an ashy paleness. He had not passed me a hundred yards, when as if by magic a strong wind burst from the north west, encountered the tornado, and turning it from the direction it had hitherto pursued, drove it obliquely in front of Drayton's house at about a quarter of a mile from it, and immediately towards the gate and the oak, I have spoken of. It now moved with immense velocity from me, and feeling that all personal danger was past, I could observe its appearance and effects with greater accuracy. The interior of the lower part was illuminated by flames, I may call them, of lightning; for so incessant and continuous were the flashes, that they appeared as one; and I could distinguish in the centre, large limbs of trees, and trees themselves suspended, tossed, and whirled about like feathers. Its wake was defined by the upturned ground, as if many ploughshares linked together had passed over it. Whatever lay in its track was instantaneously destroyed. It drove full upon the giant oak, and the forest Titan on whom many a storm had harmlessly broken, whose noble head was scarcely bowed in recognition of the furious gale, was wrenched, and severed from its trunk, and dashed upon the ground; that trembled as it received the enormous weight, as if an earthquake shook it. The destroyer passed on, and I stood watching it, until its noise was lost upon my ear, and its form had faded from my sight. Slowly then I bent my steps forward, mentally returning thanks to a gracious providence, for my escape from so imminent and appalling a danger. Suddenly, the recollection of Willis rose upon me, and a strong presentiment that he must have been overtaken by the cloud pressed upon my mind, and filled it with horror. The presentiment was destined to be realized. I quickened my steps, and as I approached the gate, I found the road so much impeded by the broken boughs and scattered fences hurled about in every direction, that I was compelled to make a considerable circuit in Drayton's field, to enable me to overcome the various obstacles that obstructed my passage. As I saw no trace of Willis, I began to hope he might have escaped, although it seemed scarcely possible; at all events, I thought it would be but proper for me to step to the house, a distance of some five hundred yards, and see if he had arrived in safety. I had, it is true, no respect for him, and perhaps his death could scarcely be deemed a calamity; but he was one of the great family of man, and what right had I to sit in judgment on my fellow creatures?

I found Drayton at home, standing at the front door, surveying the ravages committed on his estate. He greeted me, and commenced a harangue on the terrible phenomenon he had witnessed, which I cut short by inquiring if Mr. Willis was within--"within! No he had not seen him for several days." As briefly as I could, I then informed him of Willis' passing me on the road, of the obvious danger he had incurred, and requested he would accompany me with some of the servants, with axes and other implements, that might be necessary in prosecuting our search. He hastened to comply with {116} the request, and we soon set forward with some dozen assistants. We commenced our disagreeable undertaking, at the gate on the lower side of the prostrate oak, which lay obliquely across the road, endeavoring every now and then, to peep through the confused mass of tangled and shattered boughs that lay in heaps about us. Presently, one of the negroes uttered an exclamation, and pointing with both hands, cried out that he saw a man under the tree. We immediately gathered around him, and looking in the direction indicated, could perceive not only the object he had discovered, but also the prostrate body of a horse. There was now little doubt that Willis had here met his wretched fate.

The sun, which had come forth, was about an hour high, but we had great difficulties to overcome before we could reach the spot, where the body lay. One of the men was despatched to the house for further assistance, and we soon had all the efficient laborers of the estate at work; while the boys and women, whom curiosity brought there, were employed in holding torches, for the evening shades had fallen, before we got half through with our labor. At length, we succeeded in freeing Willis's body from the superincumbent load that pressed upon it. Life was totally extinct; his death had doubtless been instantaneous, for his bones were broken in many places, and the scull driven in, until its sides almost met. We hastily constructed a hand-barrow on which we laid the mangled remains, and were about to move off, when one of the boys came running to us from the wood on the opposite side to the gate, and with terror in his looks, informed us there was another man lying dead there. We hastened to the spot, which there was little difficulty in reaching, for the individual lay just on the skirt of the prostrate trees, and had probably been struck down by an upper bough as it fell. His face was towards the ground, and his hands outstretched. The back of the head had received a severe wound. We gently turned the body over. My heart sunk within me and a faintness came over my senses, as the light of the blazing torches revealed to my view the pallid face of Heywood. I soon recovered, however, and stood and gazed upon the features of the corpse, those features that I had so often seen lit up with intelligence, now rigid in death. Those eyes, whose piercing beams once reached the very hearts of men, and gazed upon their secret motives, had lost their "speculation," and those lips whose surpassing eloquence once filled his hearers with deep delight, ruling them with a master spell; now rousing apathy into action, now stilling passion in its wildest mood; were hushed in eternal silence. Before us was the motionless form of clay, the immortal spirit had ascended to its God. Both the bodies were removed to the house. The remainder of that night, I sat by the corpse of Heywood. The next day, I procured a plain coffin, and taking with me a couple of assistants, proceeded to the place where I had reposed after my walk on the preceding afternoon. At the foot of the birch tree we dug his grave, and heaped the earth upon the coffin to the level of the plain, and over it we spread the verdant turf: and there, in his "narrow and obscure bed," sleeps the misguided son of genius; while a splendid mausoleum marks the spot where the bones of Willis lie, and a marble slab records his thousand virtues.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

The study of poetry has been to me its own exceeding great reward: it has soothed my afflictions; it has refined and multiplied my enjoyments; it has given me (or at least strengthened in me) the habit of wishing to discover the good and the beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me--Coleridge.

STANZAS.

It is the Fall! the season now, Of rustling airs--of fading flowers; And Nature with a saddened brow, Sits brooding o'er her leafless bowers. Yet Autumn's reign was aye to me A season of felicity!

I'm standing in a dark recess Of a vast, dim, primeval wood, And on me is the consciousness That springs from such a solitude. No sounds are nigh save those I love-- No scene my heart's content to move.

A streamlet, gushing from above Goes dancing past me wild and free, As the fond boy is said to rove, Commission'd by Love's Deity. But he in cities gaily flaunts, While this seeks only nature's haunts.

And as it tracks the forest's maze, Through greensward alleys wand'ring wide, Affects not Folly's treach'rous ways, Nor looks to Fashion for its guide. How lulling to my sense its song,-- As thus it sweeps its course along!

The winds are also stirring now, In murm'ring tones, yon stately pine, Whose giant branches tend to throw A deeper shadow o'er this shrine-- This nobler shrine than priest or king Is wont to use for worshipping.

But lo! 'tis sunset--and the dew Is settling fast on herb and tree; Darkness will soon be shrouding too Each object in obscurity. My steps again I therefore turn, To mix with man, and inly mourn!

* * *

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

SONNET.

There is a splendour in these southern skies, Ofttimes at sunset, which I've nowhere seen, Wide as my range about the world hath been, Save on Italian shores; and there the dyes Have less of magic in them!--Who that tries, (Artist or Bard,) to paint such glowing hues As, in the west, mine eye this moment views, But must confess how passing far it lies Beyond his utmost skill?--High o'er my head A blue intense fades into purplish gray; And this anon to richer tints gives way, Of yellow--orange--then of deepening red, Until at length, in his all gorgeous bed, Proudly sinks down the monarch of our day.

* * *

{117}

ORIGINAL LITERARY NOTICES.

POEMS BY A COLLEGIAN, Charlottesville, Va. Published by C. P. McKennie. Printed by D. Deans & Co. 1833.

A neat and unpretending volume of poems, with the above title, was issued last year from the Charlottesville press. As a Virginia production altogether, and the first fruits of poetical genius, emanating from the University of Virginia, the collection deserves honorable mention in the pages of the Southern Literary Messenger.

Criticism might be disarmed of some of its wonted severity, when it is known that all the poems contained in this volume, were written by the author between the ages of sixteen and nineteen. This fact, however, only increases our favorable opinion of his talents, and induces us to estimate still higher his natural powers of mind.

We propose, instead of an analysis of the volume before us, and a regular review of its contents, to extract specimens of the POETRY, which struck us as displaying that fire of genius so necessary to constitute a true POET. Our readers we are sure will agree with us in the favorable opinion we have expressed, after they have perused these specimens.

One of the best and most spirited of the poems, is the Address to Constantinople on its anticipated fall, written on receiving intelligence that the Russian army was on its march to that capital in 1829. We give the two first stanzas.

"Thy plumes are ruffled now, proud bird! O'er land and ocean, forest, solitude, The echo of thy last, sad shriek is heard!-- The glance of majesty Is quailing now from thy fierce eye, And the deep wailing of thy scattered brood Is dying to a murmur. Sadly dark Is thy soiled plumage, and thy gilded crest Has fallen--so often fall the loftiest and the best. Hark! To the tread of the devouring foe!-- But ere thou art laid low, Shall not one last avenging blow Be struck? Rouse thee, proud bird! Thy voice of triumph 'mid the nations, yet May swell from mosque and minaret-- May with the bravest and the first be heard!

Stamboul! proud city of the East! Sister of Rome!--old mistress of a world-- Wilt thou from thy high state be hurled? Shall not thy sinewy arm be strung With its accustomed power?--at least Gird on thy mail, and let thy dirge, If thou must die, upon the battle's verge, Amid the shock of arms, be sung!"

The energy of the language and the appropriateness of the figures, appear to us worthy of high praise.

We have several beautiful descriptions of calm and quiet scenery. What follows, contrasts admirably with the lines we have just quoted.

"I look upon the stars sometimes--I love To watch their twinkling in the azure ground Of Heaven's o'er-arching canopy, where move Ten thousand worlds--which, starting with a bound-- Plough with fiery track, the unseen waves Of fathomless immensity; to see, Age after age, that sky hung o'er the graves Of buried nations, as a tapestry-- A funeral canopy when dyed with gloom; That sky, which, robed in majesty, looked bright Upon Columbus, when he sought the tomb Of all his hopes, or strove to snatch from night, And claim the birthright of a world. 'Tis when I view the stars, bright handmaids of the moon-- Who walks among them as a virgin queen-- That, with those stars to riot, seem a boon From Heaven; I love to see that moon's pure beams-- Like lightning shot upon the watery waste, Which like a mine of living diamonds gleams-- Each sparkling but an instant--as in haste To hide its liquid lustre in the wave-- A jeweled bathing place--a starlit home-- Fit--ay, beautifully fit to lave The light of worlds in upper air which roam."

There is much of that highly romantic and poetical imagery in this, which must please every reader of taste. A stanza of similar style is in the lines to page 32.

"And when the stars were breathing out Their holy light to earth, And diamonding the glad blue sky For the young moon's queenly birth, I've gazed upon some lovely one, And thought that it might be A glorious home in the afterworld, In which to live with thee."

And this at page 82.

"The air is like a tideless sea Of pure and silvery light, And the waters glance transparently, Illumed by the queen of night.

The crested waves as they dash on high, And dissolve in pearly beads, Appear as a carpet spread gaudily, Where the giant sea-god treads."

There is much, too, in the following lines, which comes over the senses "like the sweet south."

"Evening is stealing with her nectared breath, Slowly and calmly down to kiss each flower That pouteth in rich beauty from beneath Its emerald colored guardians--the bright leaves-- ('Tis strange what solace brings that magic hour To every heart that hopes, or loves, or grieves-- It is the fitting time for fervent prayer, Which rises holily on kindred air-- For then the air is holy--'tis the time For love--the only time to gaze and die Beneath the lustre of a diamond eye; Yet strange to tell, it is the hour for crime!) In golden majesty the glorious sun, With light too pure for eye to gaze upon, Is sinking slowly in the gorgeous west-- A monarch going proudly to his rest.-- He's gone, and mellow twilight creeps along As gently as the cadence of a song,-- Twilight, to whom each poet in his day, Hath breathed melodious and impassioned lay, While o'er his soul thy witchery was stealing, As sweetly as the whispered tones of feeling.

Evening--'tis then the o'er fraught heart doth pour Its wealth of pious incense at the shrine Of deity--the spirit then may soar Into those regions where the angels twine Wreaths for the glorious of our earthly race;-- 'Tis then that we can see, and feel, and trace His glory in the realms of starry space!"

We were pleased with the lines to ----, commencing thus:

"Memory! Memory!--'tis like the talisman We read of in the page of Eastern story, That magi used the inmost soul to scan Of friends or foes; or oft mayhap to call {118} From his bright crystal, gold, or diamond hall, Some brother in his supernatural glory-- The talisman of feeling, that doth bring Back on the heart the deeds of other days, With all their dark or glorious coloring-- The wizard of the soul, whose wand can raise The disembodied spirits of the dead Palpable as it were to touch;--impress The face of such as long ago have fled Into their state of holy blessedness, Upon the mind."

The poem, with which the volume opens, "To My Country," contains many brilliant passages;--and throughout the work, the reader will linger at almost every page to dwell upon something which must please his fancy. Indeed the extracts that we intended to have made have so multiplied upon our hands, that we have not now space to give place to them all. We trust, however, that what we have given will suffice not only to show that our own opinions are correct, but to bring the public, and especially the Virginia public, better acquainted with the author and his work. In a future number we may adorn the columns of the Messenger with further extracts from the POEMS BY A COLLEGIAN.

In the preface, the author states that his motive for preserving his poems in their present form, was his desire "to leave among those who have taken an interest in his welfare, and with whom he has been in habits of daily intercourse, a slight memorial of himself, ere more important duties urge their claims to consideration." We know that his Alma Mater will always be proud of such a son, and that his friends, with him, under her instruction will long cherish the "memorial." A favorable opinion of it will, however, not be confined to them alone. A discerning public will see and appreciate its excellence.

MY NATIVE LAND, AND OTHER POEMS. By Frederick Speece. Philadelphia: Printed for Augustine Leftwich, Lynchburg, Virginia. 1832.

Having been obligingly furnished with a copy of these poems, we take pleasure in introducing them to the notice of the public. We are somewhat surprised to learn that although published two years since in Lynchburg, they have attracted no notice in that quarter, either of applause or censure. It is perhaps, more agreeable to an author, that his works should come under the lash of satire, than that they should pass altogether without observation. The chilling neglect of the public however, furnishes no stronger proof of a writer's demerit, than do the too frequent carpings of illiberal criticism. Some of the greatest poets have been doomed whilst living, to indigence and obscurity, and owe all their honors to posthumous fame; and it is asserted of Homer especially, that seven cities claimed the honor of his birth, not one of which perhaps would have furnished a morsel to save him from starving.

We design not to raise extravagant expectations respecting Mr. Speece's poems--nor can we hazard the conjecture that the praise of future times will compensate him for contemporary injustice. We do not hesitate however, to recommend his work as incomparably superior to much of that glittering trash which passes under the name of poetry. There is a vein of good sense,--of just and honest feeling--of tender melancholy--and sometimes of rich imagination--which runs through his volume, and which cannot fail to delight such readers as have any soul for poetical composition. His versification for the most part, is sweet and melodious--though occasionally there is a little inattention to syllabick quantity, which produces rather an unpleasant effect upon the ear. There are other faults too--but they are inconsiderable when compared with the many redeeming beauties which shine through the volume. The poem of "My Native Land," in its general tone and harmony of verse, brings to recollection Goldsmith's Deserted Village--and the "Sketches," which are also descriptive of the pleasures of juvenile life and the picturesque scenery of his native hills--contain many fine passages. In the "Juvenalis Redivivus"--the author has pointed the arrows of satire against men and manners with no little severity--so much so, that he has found it necessary in his preface to acknowledge that time had softened much of the harsh coloring which he had thrown into his pictures. Many of his minor pieces abound in beautiful thoughts, expressed in smooth and flowing numbers--and upon the whole we think if Mr. Speece had been sufficiently encouraged in early life to persevere in the delightful but unprofitable task of poetical authorship--he might have reached a highly respectable rank. The following passage from "My Native Land," will probably remind the reader of Cowper's touching address to his mother's picture.

"My mother! Melancholy was the morn That found me orphaned, and almost forlorn. My friend! My guide! Oh, could not mercy save Her for her child, or lay me in her grave! Why cheer my drooping and unsheltered head, When to the skies her gentle spirit fled? Why bid me live, since riper years must pay Their long arrears to that lamented day? I had a mother, tender, kind and true, Her virtues many and her failings few; With warm solicitude and watchful eye, She taught me what to follow, what to fly; And warned me disappointment and distress In life must be my portion, more or less; That fierce disease would often banish health; Pride point the insolence of power and wealth; Folly and vice allure; pretended friends Abuse my confidence for private ends; And fears and sorrows, hovering round my head, Pursue me to my last and narrow bed. Yet would she say, in Virtue's path was found A balm to heal the bosom's deepest wound: Winged my young thoughts to better worlds above, There to repose my confidence and love. Her fond affection never would deceive, But these were things I could not then believe. Yet though her warnings vanished from my mind, Her precepts left a faithful trace behind;-- In memory's careful records still remain, And long experience proves they were not vain."

The same poem concludes in the following lines--being a farewell tribute to the place of his nativity.

"Adieu! Perhaps forever! Should it be,-- 'Land of my Fathers! I will think of thee,' Long as its motions last, and vital heat, Within my heart, thy lovely name shall beat.-- Tho' rude thy piny hills, a thankless soil, Whence scanty products meet the tiller's toil, Tho' thy wild scenery, and thy fickle clime, Exhibit little beauteous or sublime;-- And timid Superstition's witching tales, {119} And Gothic ignorance linger in thy vales; The charms that could my infant love engage, Have fixed the feelings of maturer age. So strongly linked to joys and sorrows past-- I loved thee first--loved long--will love thee last. Whether, where Beauty taught me first to feel, And mutual passion fixed the sacred seal On treasures, Heaven reserved for me alone, A friend, a bosom dearer than my own, On Staunton's banks my wandering feet shall rest, Or in some Eden of the rosy West, In Alabama's ever verdant clime, Or where the wild Missouri rolls sublime; Or, 'mid the Bedford hills, whose limpid streams, Pay scanty tribute to the mighty James.-- Land of my birth! and where my fathers sleep, Oft shall remembrance turn to thee and weep, And though my steps be doomed to wander far, Affection tremble to her Polar Star, Till the last throb shall lay this bosom low, Where Memory and Affection cease to glow."

We select a passage at random from the satiric poem, as a fair specimen of the author's style and manner.

"There was a time, our good old fathers say, (Perhaps it was so in their better day,) When coats and gowns were patch'd without disgrace, And men wore hats that cover'd all the face; When ragged virtue was not kick'd aside, Nor worth and equipage identified, Nor taste and genius by possession squared, Nor merit sold, like riband, by the yard. Temperance and charity were then esteem'd, And men and women were just what they seem'd. Labor and health with vigor strung their arms, Themselves less cultivated than their farms. No smart young master, impudent and vain, Play'd with his cue, or silver-headed cane, Forsook his grammar ere he learn'd the rules, To pilfer pins, or rifle reticules; Nor beardless hero boasted laurels won, From maids deceived, or jilted, or undone. The rosy girls, content with native bloom, Sought not the flowing robe and waving plume; Nor wish'd to gain the empire of a heart, Where half the victory was achieved by art. No wanton fashion taught with lace to deck, The shorten'd waist, and lengthen down the neck. No everlasting clack of slanderous tongues, Raised sad solicitude for female lungs; Nor had the sex divided all their cares, To sorting silks and mangling characters."

If Mr. Speece were at this time a younger man than we presume him to be, we should take the liberty of pointing out some of his defects--but various allusions in some of his minor pieces, authorise the inference that his affections are now almost alienated from the once charming society of the muses. Domestic sorrow seems to have had no inconsiderable share in producing this result. His "Apology to A. L. Esq."--is full of the poet's as well as the father's anguish at the sudden death of a favorite son sixteen years old. We give the whole to the reader.

"The generous friend may justly claim The offspring of my musing, But to excite the Muse's flame No more obeys my choosing. Life's warmest hopes, its light and pride, Fail'd with my darling when he died.

My harp, that once in rapture rung, Full-toned to joy and gladness, Lies all unheeded and unstrung Beneath the cloud of sadness; Vain were the task, the effort vain, To wake its thrilling notes again.

Once skill'd to wreath poetic flowers Around the brow of Beauty, My hand has now forgot its powers, Nor heeds that gentle duty; Fled is their bloom; the task were vain, To wreath those wither'd flowers again.

The heart that feels the mortal stroke, The bosom anguish-riven, Sinks hopeless as the blasted oak From the fierce bolt of Heaven: The oak no genial season feels; The wounded bosom never heals.

Youth may regain its honors reft, And bloom again in gladness; Age, when bereaved, has little left But ever-during sadness; And gathering years and grief dissever Hope from the heart that bleeds forever."

A VISIT TO TEXAS: Being the journal of a traveller through those parts most interesting to American settlers. With descriptions of scenery, habits, &c. &c. New York: Goodrich & Wiley. 1834.

The proximity of Texas to the United States,--the facilities of intercourse between the two countries--and the migratory habits of our citizens,--are sufficient to invest with more than ordinary interest every thing which relates to that part of Spanish America. The volume before us, is an unpretending and agreeable narrative, and is calculated we think to do good, by pointing out the mischiefs and inconveniences of emigration to the Mexican republic, and especially by calling the public attention to the many ingenious frauds which are practised by land companies and speculators. The author was a purchaser of twenty thousand acres from the Galveston Bay and Texas Land Company through their agents at New York, and full of golden dreams about this new Eldorado of the south west, he embarked in person at New Orleans, in order to take possession of his splendid principality. His disappointment and vexation may be easily imagined at finding himself on his arrival totally deceived on the subject of his title! It was not worth the parchment on which it was written, and after all his fruitless expense, anxiety and hardship, he did not enjoy even the melancholy satisfaction on his return to New York of obtaining from the trustees their sympathy, much less remuneration. Our traveller might indeed have acquired "a quarter of a league of unappropriated land, on condition of professing the Roman Catholic religion, becoming a citizen of the Republic of Mexico, and residing on the soil for six years, receiving his title from the government;"--but he was too conscientious and honorable to submit to such requirements. The truth is, that whilst there is much in the climate and soil of Texas to allure the settler, there are also numerous objections which ought to discourage the rash experiment of emigration. Our own country, particularly in its new states and territories--holds out sufficient inducements to such as find it either convenient or necessary to change their abodes; and there are no superior advantages in a residence on the Brassos or Colorado to compensate for the sacrifices of friends and connexions,--free government and the rights of conscience. It seems to us therefore to be little short of fatuity, especially in the present unsettled state of the miscalled Republic of Mexico, for a citizen of the United States to abandon for a settlement in that {120} quarter his native land, unless indeed, he be a violator of its laws and a refugee from punishment.

In truth, it appears that this desperate class of men constitute no inconsiderable portion of the population of Texas;--and our author relates that on one occasion he sat at the same table with no less than four murderers who had fled from justice. True, there is a large portion of the country extremely beautiful and fertile, and the labors of the planter and herdsman are richly rewarded;--but these advantages are greatly counterbalanced by the insecurity of the government and laws--the intolerance of religious bigotry--and the absence of most of the elements which constitute a virtuous and happy community. Minor evils and inconveniences are also felt. The spacious plains and luxuriant prairies--though they furnish abundance of food for horses and cattle, are scantily supplied with wood, and altogether destitute of stone;--and the usual incidents of southern latitudes,--bilious fever,--poisonous reptiles and insects, and alligators of enormous size, serve to fill up the revolting picture.

We have no fears therefore, notwithstanding the enchanting coloring which even the temperate feelings and chastened imagination of our author have thrown around a Texas landscape--that there are many persons of sober minds, when they shall have balanced the good with the evil, will be much enamoured with the thought of a permanent "visit" to that region. The book, therefore, may be recommended as a tolerably certain antidote to any lurking desire for a ramble across the Sabine,--and if perchance the spirit of migration shall have become too obstinate for cure,--it may still have the effect of confining the wanderer's steps within the limits of our own republic.

There are many things in our author's narrative both curious and amusing--and not among the least so, is the account he gives of that intractable animal, the mustang, or wild horse of the country. With one of that strange species he was necessarily obliged to cultivate an intimate acquaintance, having no other means of transportation between different parts of the country. The manner in which they are reduced to subjection, and the untameable perverseness of their nature, are thus related:

The first thing to be attended to, was the purchase of a horse; and this was easily effected. The small horses of the country, called mustangs, introduced by the Spaniards, and now numerous in the more northern prairies, run wild in droves over these parts of Texas, and are easily taken and rendered serviceable by the inhabitants. When caught, it would be a problem to a stranger to confine them, where there is neither tree nor rock to be found: but the Mexicans put on a halter, knot it at the end, dig a hole about ten inches deep, put in the knot, and press the earth down upon it. The pull being sideways is at a disadvantage, and the horse is unable to draw it out. They are driven to market, purchased for three or four dollars, branded, hobbled, turned out again, and entirely abandoned to themselves until they are needed. Whenever a vessel arrives, some of the inhabitants send into the woods and cane brakes for such a number as they suppose may be wanted by the passengers; and this I found had already been done in anticipation of the wants of those who came in the sloop Majesty. In the log stable belonging to Mr. Austin, at whose house I lodged, I saw a number of them, with all the wild look which might be expected from their habits of life. They are small, generally about 13 hands high, well formed, rather for strength, and of different colors. I saw others in several other stables; and at length made choice of a white one; and having paid for him a doubloon and four dollars, (a handsome advance on his original cost,) stuffed a pair of saddle bags with a few articles of food as well as clothes, and was soon ready for my journey.

As the brands on horses afford the only evidence of their identity, and the property of their owners, the rules observed in respect to them are very strict.

These horses are very useful in the country, and may perhaps become at some future time a valuable article of export, as they are innumerable, and cost only the trouble of catching. This is done with a strong noosed cord, made of twisted strips of raw hide, and called a lazo, which is the Spanish word for a band or bond. It has been often described, as well as the manner of throwing it, as it is in common use for catching animals, and sometimes for choking men, in different parts of America inhabited by the descendants of the Spanish and Portuguese. A man on horseback, with a rope of this kind coiled in his left hand, and one end of it fastened to the horse, whirls the noosed end in the air over his head as he approaches the animal he intends to seize: and, on finding an opportunity, throws it over its head or horns, and checks his horse. The noose is instantly drawn tight, and the poor creature is thrown violently down, without the power of moving, and generally deprived of breath. They are sometimes badly injured, and even killed, by bring dashed to the ground; but generally escape with a severe practical lesson on the nature of this rude instrument of civilization, which they afterwards hold in great respect all their lives, yielding immediately whenever they feel it again upon their necks.

The mustangs often carry to their graves evidence of the violent means adopted by the Mexicans in breaking them to the bridle. Many of them are foundered, or otherwise diseased. A horse which has been lazoed is blindfolded, mounted by a rider armed with the heavy and barbarous spurs of the country, after having their terrible lever bits put into his mouth, a moderate pull upon which might break his jaw, and if he runs is pricked to his speed, till he falls down with exhaustion. He is then turned in the opposite direction, and cruelly spurred again. If he is found able to run back to the point from which he started, he is thought to have bottom enough to make a valuable horse: otherwise he is turned off as good for little or nothing. The process is a brutal one; and the agony inflicted by the bits is extreme: as blood flows freely from the mouth which is often greatly swollen; and the animal yields to mere force.

In the morning we mounted our horses and proceeded to the river, where the ferry boat, a large scow, was lying near the shore. I dismounted, and taking the bridle in my hand, attempted to lead my horse in after me. Most fortunately I was looking at him, and was better prepared than I was sensible of being, to make one of those sudden instinctive motions, which sometimes prove essential to our safety. Had I been turning the other way, or a little less active, I should probably have lost my life, or at least have been seriously injured: for instead of following me into the boat, as an honest horse should, and as I had expected him to do, he fixed his eyes upon me with a malicious expression, and sprung at me like lightning, clearing the ground entirely, and making a leap of about eight feet. I jumped aside, and barely in time to avoid his feet, with which it seemed to me he designed to beat me down. I do not know that I ever had experienced such feelings as this occurrence excited in me. It betrayed a degree of spite mingled with craft which I had never seen in an animal of his species; and laid the axe at the root of all that confidence and attachment which a traveller loves to exercise towards his horse. I have been thus particular in mentioning this little occurrence, because the wit of the country appears to be largely invested in the horses; and this was the beginning of my white mustang.

Some other particulars of our traveller's own rebellious steed may also be extracted. He was not indeed "a Tartar of the Ukraine breed"--but he was as wild, mischievous and wicked an animal as ever pranked.

It was our intention to proceed to Bingham's that day: for one of my companions, who had travelled the road a short time before, had calculated that his house would afford us a very comfortable lodging after a good day's ride. We rose therefore to proceed on our journey. But I had a chapter or two more to read on the character of mustangs before I was destined to leave the place. I had never been informed of one particular propensity which they have, that is, to draw back and pull violently when approached in front, and therefore walked up to my white horse rather hastily to untie and mount him. He sprang back {121} and pulled for a moment so hard upon the sapling to which I had fastened him, that it came up by the roots; and after a few leaps and kicks, which freed him from my saddle bags, and broke the bridle, he made off towards the middle of the prairie at full speed, with his head and tail both raised, and in a state of exultation which formed quite a contrast to my own feelings.

My companions threw off their valises, mounted immediately, and gave chase to the pestilent runaway, which, after a short gallop, had halted, and with the most provoking coolness began to eat grass from the prairie. As they approached him, however, he flew off again as fast as his legs would carry him; and thus he led them to a great distance, on a chase apparently hopeless. I watched them till I was tired, coursing over the prairie here and there, now on this side, now on that, at such a distance that they looked no bigger than cats, and anon further diminished to mere mice. My white mustang led them up and down, round and crosswise, as if he delighted in worrying them, occasionally stopping, as coolly as before, to crop the grass, and then off in a new direction, like a wild creature as he was. This chase lasted without intermission for four hours, at the end of which they succeeded in driving the little white animal towards the house. Mr. Bailey, seeing him approaching, despatched a messenger to a neighboring farm for assistance; and a man soon came hurrying down on horseback, provided with a lazo: a rope with a noose at the end as before described. He joined in the pursuit with the spirit and skill of one practised in such employment, and soon got within about eight or ten feet of my horse, when, with a dexterous fling, he suddenly threw the noose over his head. Having the beast now completely in his power, he was prepared to choke him into submission; and the noose was on the point of closing its grasp round his neck. But here the intelligence and experience of the mustang stepped in with customary promptitude: for as soon as he felt the rope round his neck, he stopped stone still, and yielded as submissively as a lamb. Like an accomplished rogue at last fairly in the gripe of justice, he seemed in haste to submit, plead guilty and repent, in order to secure as much leniency as possible; and in a few moments I was again on the back of this little flying brute, jogging on as quietly as if he had never rebelled in his life. There was a great deal of farce in all this: but we had been put to too much inconvenience by the perverse trick to enjoy the joke: for our loss of time, we foresaw, would put it out of our power to perform all our intended day's journey.

It was nearly dark when we reached Hall's: a habitation of which I had heard, but at which we had not originally intended to stop, as it was only thirteen miles from Bailey's. I here found that horses in Texas are always turned out loose to feed, even if a traveller stops but for the night, which would have ensured another chase, with perhaps even more unfavorable results than that I had witnessed, but for an expedient which was recommended to us. This was to "hobble them" after the fashion of the country: which consists in tying together their fore legs with a short cord, and not one fore and one hind leg together, as we do at the north. This operation instantly changes the movements of a horse, as he is obliged to make every step a fair leap: and it excited the greatest merriment in me, when I saw the horses of my companions practising a gait so different from common, under a mode of constraint which I had never witnessed before. Fully satisfied that such confinement would be sufficient even for my white mustang, I began to tie his legs together, which to my surprise he submitted to with the utmost cheerfulness, without raising his head, for he had already began to graze on the fine grass. Although so recently accustomed to run at large in the Brazos forests, he had evidently been familiar with the hobble: for as if he perfectly concurred in my opinion as to the propriety of his being bound, whenever he wanted to move he carefully raised both fore feet together, so as not to interfere with my task, and made a gentle spring to a knot of fresh feed. Surely, thought I, I have got a steed sagacious enough to figure in one of Æsop's Fables.

Our traveller had not proceeded far on his journey, before his vexatious mustang refused to eat, and gave signs of great weariness and exhaustion. Unable however to supply himself with another, he resolved after an interval of rest to pursue his way.

We took our departure accordingly; and I had much difficulty in getting my horse out of the town. In a short time, however, he began to cheer up, and gradually quickened his pace until his strength and spirits were quite restored, and he travelled remarkably well. However strange it may seem, there was every appearance that the whole affair had been a mere trick of the wily brute; and my opinion was confirmed by several inhabitants to whom I afterwards recounted the story. They told me that the sagacity and duplicity of the mustang is well known among them, and that he is capable of almost any thing, which ingenuity or malice can invent. So ungrateful a return for all my kindness and care, under such vexatious circumstances, and aggravated by such persevering imposture, added to my previous dislike of the animal which had been guilty of it.

One would be almost tempted to think that these provoking yet sagacious quadrupeds were regular descendants from the race celebrated by Swift, and which that eccentric satirist endowed with superior intelligence to men.

From our author's account, Texas would undoubtedly furnish its full quota of contributions to a cabinet of natural history. The feathered tribes luxuriate there, especially on the coast, in great abundance and variety. The wild fowl congregate in prodigious flocks, and the ornithologist might find almost every order, genera and species in creation. The tenants of the forest are not less numerous,--there being an ample supply of wolves, bears, panthers, wild cats, wild hogs, foxes, rackoons and squirrels. The waters too, furnish their finny, testaceous and crustaceous treasures,--the red fish, buffalo, cat, drum, pearch, oysters, crabs, &c. Nor is there any want of those amphibious annoyances, crocodiles and alligators--and to crown the whole, there is an anomalous species called the alligator-garr,--consisting not of the fanciful compound of half horse and half alligator--but of the actual and bona fide admixture of one moiety of fish, and the other of alligator. We must not forget either in enumerating the zoological curiosities of that region, one which we do not recollect to have seen described by naturalists. We give the words of the author.

One of the prettiest little animals I ever saw, is the "horned frog;" which, notwithstanding its name, is far from being amphibious, as it is found on the prairies at a distance from water. Indeed it bears little or no resemblance to a frog, appearing more like a lizard, with rather a long and graceful form, a tail, and legs of nearly equal length, so that it runs swiftly and never leaps. I had often occasion to notice them, both here and on other prairies. They run with such agility, that although they do not take alarm until you have approached very near them, they dart off, and generally disappear immediately. One might often mistake them for quails, while in motion. They are of a yellowish color, mottled, and have horns about half an inch long, projecting from the front of the head. Several were caught and kept for some time in a barrel at Anahuac, and though it could not be perceived that they ate any of the various kinds of food which were offered them, they lived and continued active for a considerable time.

That formidable reptile the rattlesnake, is also found in the grassy prairies of Texas. Our traveller killed one of the "largest and noblest" of that venemous family--it being five or six feet long and about six inches in circumference. It was provided however with only eight rattles, whereas others which had been killed a few days previously of hardly half the size, were furnished with as many as thirteen;--from which the author takes occasion to contest the common opinion that the number of rattles is an indication of the reptile's age. We have heard the same fact asserted, and the same conclusion drawn from it by others, whose opportunities for careful and actual observation were undoubted.

Notwithstanding the many and formidable objections {122} to a permanent residence in Texas,--there are beauties in its scenery, which, despite of its unvarying monotony--must fill the beholder with delight. We give a description of one of the few fine estates in regular cultivation.

We were received with great hospitality by Mr. McNeil and his family, in which we found every disposition to welcome us. They set before us the best products of the soil, which is indeed a land flowing with milk and honey, in a more unqualified sense of the expression than any I had ever seen. Our exercise had sharpened our appetites; and we were soon cheered with the sight of an excellent and plentiful meal: for our hosts, without making a single allusion to the subject, had immediately given directions, on our first arrival, that our wants should be provided for, and we soon sat down to a well timed repast. It consisted chiefly of venison and a fine turkey, and was accompanied with excellent coffee. The daughter of our host was a very intelligent and well educated young lady, and had recently returned from the Northern States, where she had just completed her education.

After eating, we took a view of the charming scene around us. The house in which we were, constructed of logs, and on the plan common to the country dwellings of farmers in Texas, is well sheltered from the sun and the winds by the wood, in the verge of which it is situated: and when the beautiful China trees around it shall have attained a greater size, the spot will be rendered still more agreeable. The mansion fronts upon the estate: a fine, open prairie, over which the eye ranges with pleasure, no wild or barren spot occurring to interrupt the universal aspect of fertility and beauty, and no swelling of the surface being perceptible, which might in any degree interfere with the clearest view of every part. The only interruption is caused by clusters of trees of different forms and sizes, scattered at distant intervals here and there. These clumps and groves, apparently possessing all the neatness and beauty which could have been given them if planted by the hand of man, and tended by his greatest care, added the charm of variety to the eye, while they promised thick and convenient shelter from sun and storm to man or beast. Without such variety and such a refuge, the aspect of the prairie, with all its verdure, would have been monotonous to the sight, and disheartening to the traveller. It would be almost impossible for a person who has never seen them, to imagine the appearances of these groves. Although they are wholly the work of nature, they often present all the beauty of art: for the trees are of nearly equal size, and grow near together, without underwood, and present outlines perfectly well defined, and often surprisingly regular. Some appear to form exact circles or ovals, while others are nearly square or oblong. It is no uncommon thing to see a continued line, running perfectly straight, for a mile or more in length, with scarcely a single tree projecting beyond it: so that I found it difficult to divest myself of the impression, that much of the land had been lately cleared, and that these were but the remains of the forest.

Those groves are called islands, from the striking resemblance they present to small tracts of land surrounded by water. Nothing can be more natural than the comparison. The prairie assumes the uniform appearance of a lake, both in surface and color; and in the remoter parts the hue melts into that of distant water; and it requires no very great effort of the imagination, especially in certain states of the weather and changes of the light, to fancy that such is the nature of the scene.

The landscape was bounded on the right by a long and distant line of woodland, which concealed and yet betrayed the course of the river San Bernard, and about three miles off, and on the left by a similar limit, which formed the "bottoms" of the Brazos. Between these the prairie extended its broad, unbroken level before us about ten miles, beyond which we saw the Gulf of Mexico, reaching off to the horizon.

I stood long contemplating this charming picture, which, as I before remarked, is entirely overlooked from the door of our hospitable friend; and what greatly added to its interest, was a vast number of cattle feeding in all parts of his wide domain. How different a sight was here presented, from any of the rural scenes with which my eyes had ever before been familiar! How different was all the system of the farmer from that prevailing in those regions of my own country which I had lately visited! I was one moment struck with surprise at the vast extent of land under the care of a single proprietor, and the few human hands required to perform the necessary labor; and the next I was filled with admiration at the various advantages afforded by a mild and benignant climate, a soil of extreme fertility, and a surface best appropriate to its use, when subjected to a system of culture to which it is best adapted. The cotton field and garden, with their two hundred acres, lay on the one hand, effectually secured against all encroachment with the most substantial fence I had ever seen, which stretched off a mile on one line; and around and beyond it lay the almost boundless prairie, variegated with its numerous islands, spotted with a scattered herd of six hundred cattle, all belonging to our host. The breed is larger than those common in the north, with longer and straiter limbs, broader horns and smoother coats. They all appeared well fed, active and vigorous, and spend their lives through winter and summer in the open air. The only attention bestowed upon them, is merely to mark them when young in such a manner that if they stray they may be distinguished from the cattle of any other proprietor. Of course no housing is necessary in such a climate, and no provision of food for them is to be made, in a country where there is perpetual green. They feed during the winter in the bottoms, and as yet do not require salt, for some reason unaccountable to me. One might expect that cattle left thus to herd together in such immense droves, without the care or control of man during their lives, would contract habits of timidity or of fierceness; but I was assured that they are in one respect more manageable than the tame cattle I have seen: for a horseman can always readily separate such as he chooses from a herd, by riding after them one at a time, though this is a task of great difficulty with our northern cattle, even where they have roads and fences to restrain them.

We shall conclude by extracting another portion of the work, which in the simple and unpretending language of the author, presents a picture of such striking beauty, that the eye of a poet might almost mistake it for Elysium.

I had never been at all prepared for the indescribable beauty of a Texas prairie at this season of the year, which I now could not avoid admiring, even under such unpleasant circumstances. The wild flowers had greatly multiplied, so that they were often spread around us in the utmost profusion, and in wonderful variety. Some of those which are most cultivated in oar northern gardens were here in full bloom and perfection, intermingled with many which I had never before seen, of different forms and colors. I should despair of giving my reader any adequate idea of the scenes which were thus so richly adorned, and through which we often passed for acres in extent, breaking for ourselves the only path perceptible on the whole prairie. Among the flowers were the largest and most delicate I had ever seen, with others the most gaudy. Among them were conspicuous different species about six inches in diameter, presenting concentric zones of the brightest yellow, red and blue, in striking contrasts. In more than one instance these fields of flowers were not only so gay and luxuriant as to seem like a vast garden richly stocked with the finest plants and abandoned to a congenial soil, but extensive almost beyond limitation: for it was sometimes difficult to discover whether they stopped short of the horizon. It was singular also that patches were here and there overspread by mimosas, which, as our horses passed through them, drew up their leaves and dropped their branches whenever they were brushed by their feet, thus making a withered trace on the surface, which was but gradually obliterated as these timid plants regained their courage, raised their stems again and expanded their withered leaves. The plants whose sensitiveness had thus been overcome, were rendered distinguishable to the eye from others, by the exposure they made of the lower side of their leaves when they folded them up: that side being of a much lighter hue than the upper. There was a phenomenon connected with this striking appearance, which I was at the time unable to account for, and could hardly credit. That was, the shrinking of the delicate plants a little in advance of us, before we had quite reached them. A friend who had witnessed the same thing, accounted for it by supposing that they received a shock through the long horizontal roots which connect them together.

One of the first flowers which appears to deck the prairie in the spring, is the prairie rose, which in blossom and fragrance, resembles some of our rich red roses, though the shrub is quite different. As for others, I know not what a botanist might make of them: but I am certain that many of them would be exceedingly admired in our own country, as rich and new; and as to {123} the scenes over which they were spread, it is impossible to describe or to imagine their beauty and attraction. After looking on the rich and ever varying display, I felt a high degree of pleasure and admiration, so that I thought I could almost give my mustang his liberty, throw myself on the ground and spend the whole season among them. Occasionally too a light breath of wind would rise, and blow the mingled perfumes into my face, giving an enjoyment no less pure and refined, and most difficult to express.

VIRGINIA HISTORICAL AND PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIETY.

We select the following from the "The Western Monthly Magazine," a very neat and ably conducted periodical, published at Cincinnati. We are gratified at the favorable notice taken of the first labors of the Historical and Philosophical Society;--a society which, of all others ever established among us, ought to stir up every Virginian who possesses a particle of state pride. Why, in the name of every thing that is dear to us, do we not unite our efforts to establish something like a literary and scientific character for the Old Dominion. Is there not something, besides politics, worth living for? We shall devote some pages of our future numbers to the interests of this excellent institution.

COLLECTIONS of the Virginia Historical and Philosophical Society; to which is prefixed an Address spoken before the Society, &c. by Jonathan P. Cushing, A.M., President of Hampden Sidney College. vol. i. Richmond, T. W. White, 1833.

The Society from whose labors this pamphlet has been produced, was originated in the winter of 1831; but owing to the fatal epidemic which prevailed in that country, in common with other parts of the United States, and other adverse causes, effected but little during the two first years of its existence. The interesting publication now before us, however, affords an earnest that the rich hoard of ancient lore, treasured in the public archives, or private records, of the ancient dominion, will not be suffered to lie concealed any longer from the public eye.

We hail the establishment of this Society, at the head of which we perceive the name of the venerable Chief Justice of the United States, as an event highly auspicious to the literature of our country. Notwithstanding all that has been published, the older states of the Union abound in fragments of traditionary history, of the most interesting and valuable character, many of which will soon be lost to posterity, unless they shall be rescued from oblivion by the efforts of zealous and learned associations. Virginia especially, is rich in the materials of history. From the day when the intrepid Smith first wandered in search of adventure, along the wooded shores of the Chesapeak, and when the gentle Pocahontas gave to the world an example of female heroism and affection, more touching than any thing recorded upon the pages of romance, down to the present era, her annals have been filled with events of thrilling interest, and high importance. Long before the revolution, her scholars and statesmen were known to fame, and her soldiers were distinguished in the colonial wars. Mistress of the wide expanse of the unknown west, her sons began early to explore the wilderness, and to lay the foundation of a new empire in this enticing region. From that state came the pioneers who subdued the enemy, in the forests of Kentucky, and to whom America owes a large debt of gratitude. The war for independence, was not fought by our gallant forefathers upon the shores of the Atlantic only. While our armies were contending there, the British had turned loose the savage hordes of the west upon the frontiers, and the backwoodsmen were successfully repelling the incursions of the barbarian, while Washington was employed in fighting their regular armies. When we recal those events, when we recollect the services of Virginia, in defending the western settlements, and her magnanimity in yielding up to the general government the broad lands of this Great Valley, the larger portion of which were her own by right and by possession, it will be seen that there is no state to whom the inhabitants of this region owe so much, and none whose history is so nearly connected with our own. We witness, therefore, with no small degree of gratification, an attempt to place on record the existing reminiscences of the patriotic and hardy deeds of the noble generation which preceded our own. And we hope it will be successful. Abounding as Virginia does, in all the elements of greatness, there is no reason why she should not perpetuate the fame of her own sons. Containing within her limits so many men of genius, education, and comparative leisure, she has at command the most ample means of collecting and preserving every bright relic which has been scattered along her career, by the hand of time.

The first article in the pamphlet before us, is the address of President Cushing, of Hampden Sidney College, in which he sets forth the objects of the Society, and presses them earnestly upon the attention of the members. They are such as are usually embraced in the plans of similar institutions, including not only historical and biographical details, but facts in relation to the natural history and actual condition of the state.

The next article is a "memoir of Indian wars, and other occurrences, by the late Colonel Stuart, of Greenbrier"--a paper which sheds considerable light upon the events which transpired upon the western portion of Virginia, during the thirty years succeeding the year 1749. The writer participated in the eventful scenes of that interesting period, and was not only a soldier, but a man of strong mind, who has recorded his recollections in a clear and easy style. The following anecdote is quite characteristic:

About the year 1749, a person who was a citizen of the county of Frederick, and subject to paroxysms of lunacy, when influenced by such fits, usually made excursions into the wilderness, and in his rambles westwardly, fell in on the waters of Greenbrier river. At that time, the country on the western waters was but little known to the English inhabitants of the then colonies of America, being claimed by the French, who had commenced settlements on the Ohio and its waters, west of the Alleghany mountains. The lunatic being surprised to find waters running a different course from any he had before known, returned with the intelligence of his discovery, which did abound with game. This soon excited the enterprise of others. Two men from New England, of the name of Jacob Marlin and Stephen Sewell, took up a residence upon Greenbrier river; but soon disagreeing in sentiment, a quarrel occasioned their separation, and Sewell, for the sake of peace, quit their cabin and made his abode in a large hollow tree. In this situation they were found by the late General Andrew Lewis, in the year 1751. Mr. Lewis was appointed agent for a company of grantees, who obtained from the governor and council of Virginia, an order for one hundred thousand acres of land lying on the waters of Greenbrier river,--and did, this year, proceed to make surveys to complete the quantity of said granted lands; and finding Marlin and Sewell living in the neighborhood of each other, inquired what {124} could induce them to live separate in a wilderness so distant from the habitations of any other human beings. They informed him that difference of opinion had occasioned their separation, and that they had since enjoyed more tranquillity and a better understanding; for Sewell said, that each morning when they arose and Marlin came out of the great house and he from his hollow tree, they saluted each other, saying--good morning Mr. Marlin, and good morning Mr. Sewell, so that a good understanding then existed between them; but it did not last long, for Sewell removed about forty miles further west, to a creek that still bears his name. There the Indians found him and killed him.

Colonel Stuart gives a very detailed account of the campaign of General Lewis in 1774, which resulted in the battle at Point Pleasant. That battle was, in fact, the beginning of the revolutionary war; for it is well known that the Indians were induced by the British to commence hostilities, for the purpose of confounding and terrifying the American people. It was thought that an Indian war would prevent a combination of the colonies for opposing the measures of parliament, and would turn their thoughts from resistance to the government, by engaging them in the defence of their homes. The Shawanese, a fierce, warlike, and numerous tribe, were employed on this occasion, and they were a tribe not to be despised--for by them, with their allies, have the most conspicuous battles in the West been fought. It was chiefly the Shawanese that cut off the British army under Braddock in 1755, and defeated Major Grant and his highlanders at Fort Pitt in 1758. It was they who defeated an army composed of the flower of Kentucky at Blue Licks--who vanquished Harmer and St. Clair, who were beaten by Wayne, and conquered by Harrison.

The army sent against these formidable savages by Governor Dunmore, was composed of Virginia volunteers, led by General Andrew Lewis, a gentleman of whose military abilities General Washington entertained so high an opinion, that when the chief command of the revolutionary armies were tendered to himself, he recommended that it should be given to General Lewis. He was the companion of Washington in the fatal campaign under Braddock, and was a captain in the detachment which fought at Little Meadows in 1752. He commanded a company of Virginians, attached to Major Grant's regiment of Highlanders in 1758, and on the eve of the battle in which the latter was so signally defeated, was ordered to the rear, with his men, in order that he might not share the honor of the expected victory. There he stood with his brave Virginians, impatiently listening to the reports of the musquetry, at a distance of more than a mile from the battle ground--until the Europeans were defeated, when, without waiting for orders, he rushed to the scene of slaughter, and by his coolness and skill, turned the scale of victory, drove back the savages, and saved the regulars from massacre. "When he was advancing," says the narrative before us, "he met a Scotch Highlander under speedy flight, and inquiring of him how the battle was going, he said 'they were a' beaten, and he had seen Donald McDonald up to his hunkers in mud, and a' the skeen af his heed.' Grant made his escape from the field of battle with a party of seven or eight soldiers, and wandered all night in the woods," but surrendered himself to the enemy in the morning, while the Virginians marched home in triumph. This was the same Colonel Grant who figured in the British Parliament in 1775, when he had the impudence to say, he knew the Americans well--he had often acted in the same service with them, and from that knowledge would venture to predict, that they would never dare to face an English army, being destitute of every requisite to constitute good soldiers.

We regret that we have not room to make further extracts from this narrative. We shall have attained our object, however, if the remarks we have made, shall be the means of attracting attention to this interesting era in our history.

The last article in this pamphlet is a very curious document, being an exact copy of the "Record of Grace Sherwood's Trial for Witchcraft, in 1705, in Princess Ann County, Virginia." On another occasion we shall present an account of this singular procedure to our readers.

THE LITERARY JOURNAL.

M. M. Robinson, Esq. editor of the Compiler, has issued the first or specimen number of a new periodical to be published weekly in this city, with the title of the "LITERARY JOURNAL." Its contents will consist of selections from the mass of contemporary literature, American and foreign. We should rejoice in Mr. Robinson's success, even if his paper was likely to conflict with the interests of the "Messenger." In truth however, the two periodicals ought to flourish together, and be mutually beneficial. Whilst the "Journal" will be filled exclusively with selected matter, the "Messenger" will chiefly, though not entirely, consist of original articles. The former will improve the taste and enrich the mind of the reader, by culling from inexhaustible sources whatever may contribute to his gratification and amusement; whilst the latter will furnish the means of exercising the talents of our own writers--of imbodying our own conceptions, and reducing to practical use, the knowledge which we acquire. Whilst in order to write well, much reading is absolutely necessary, so all the reading in the world will avail but little, unless the free and familiar use of the pen is also obtained. We certainly never shall become a literary people unless we learn to use the treasures we accumulate from books; no more than the theory of military tactics will ever make an accomplished soldier in his closet--or the study of jurisprudence constitute a lawyer of one who never appears at the bar.

The first number of the "Journal" is filled with reviews of foreign publications, and other articles, which appear to have been judiciously selected. We take the liberty of making one suggestion however, and that is, that the source from which each article is derived ought to be designated. If the name of the writer cannot be given, that of the Quarterly or Monthly from which it is extracted, ought by all means to be furnished. It would moreover be doubtless gratifying to the reader to understand whether he is indebted to an American or British author for the pleasure he receives.

Mr. Robinson will, it is hoped, be successful in his enterprise.

EXTRACT FROM LACON.

Nothing is so difficult as the apparent ease of a clear and flowing style: those graces which from their presumed facility encourage all to attempt an imitation of them, are usually the most inimitable.

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EDITORIAL DEPARTMENT.

The two preceding numbers of the "Messenger" having been, as far as we can learn, favorably received by its patrons, we have endeavored in this to keep pace with expectation, by presenting a rich variety of original matter, and a few interesting selections. Among the most important duties of those who have any concern in the management of such a work--it is not the least to be watchful of an enlightened public opinion--to profit by the suggestions of others, and even to receive with patience well-intended rebuke. It is precisely in this latter spirit that we have noticed in the letters of one or two correspondents, as well as in the public prints, some animadversions upon the editorial remarks in the last number. We have been censured, and perhaps justly, for bestowing too much praise on the contributions of our friends. However great the error, it was at least honestly, if not prudently committed.

It was believed that a little commendation was not only justly due, but might stir up generous minds to increase their efforts in behalf of an infant and laudable enterprise. We should always prefer erring on the side of indiscriminate praise, rather than undeserved censure. The true path, indeed, is to avoid both extremes,--but it is much easier to prescribe good counsel than always to follow it. We have been admonished too by a very sensible and judicious correspondent, in whose judgment we entertain great confidence, that we have imposed inconvenient and impolitic restrictions upon the writers for the "Messenger," by limiting the subject matter of their contributions. We are told that we have circumscribed too much the field of their labors, by objecting to such materials as are drawn from foreign character and manners,--and we are gently reminded of an apparent inconsistency, between our professed attachment to domestic subjects, and the admission into our columns of copious extracts from an English novel. We are moreover informed from the same intelligent source, that our denunciation of all such fictions as are founded upon fairy mythology, is not very reasonable,--inasmuch as these may imbody the conceptions of imagination and genius--and may serve to illustrate and display Virginia talent and literature.

Now, with due deference to these various suggestions, which we know to originate in perfect good will--it is proper in the first place to remark, that we do not perceive any inconsistency between our objection to "the trammels of foreign reading"--and the admission into our pages of good selections from foreign publications. The "Messenger" is designed chiefly to encourage the practice of literary composition among our own writers of both sexes,--and of literary composition there are great varieties,--some founded on fact and personal observation, and some which are moulded exclusively out of the creations of fancy. A writer who will give us facts or sketches of the character and manners, or scenery of a foreign country, derived either from his own observation or authentic sources, will render an acceptable service;--but, in a pure tale of fiction, or in descriptive narrative, founded for the most part upon the mere inventions of genius--why is it necessary or proper to slight the familiar materials which every where surround us, and resort to those hackneyed and frequently distorted pictures of transatlantic manners, of which we can only form just conceptions through the secondary medium of books? If we must have foreign tales for our amusement and instruction, had we not better take them from those who copy from life, and are more likely to present faithful and finished sketches! Let foreign writers, therefore, give us pictures of their own,--and such, as we like we will publish; but let our own adventurers in the paths of literature, prefer rather to stand upon ground with which they are acquainted. Let them weave their garlands with flowers plucked from our native wilds, or our own cultivated gardens, and not rely, as too many do rely, upon exotic ornaments wherewith to embellish their pages. It is true that a strict observance of any such rule as this is not to be expected and is perhaps not practicable--and we are perfectly aware, that illustrious examples may be found in our own, as well as in other countries, of a departure from its letter if not from its spirit. These examples for the most part, however, will be found on examination, to rest on peculiar circumstances. The genius of a Scott, may soar amidst the grandeur of Alpine scenery,--or may depict the curious superstitions and simple manners of the Shetland Islanders;--but minds like his,--of such incomparable vigor and fertility, are neither bound by the confines of space or time. They have a kind of exclusive privilege to transcend ordinary rules,--and those who would plead their example, ought at least to shew something like extraordinary merit to entitle them to the same exemption. If we look to our own country, it is well understood, that Mr. Cooper owes his reputation as a writer of fiction principally to those fine romances, which are founded upon native character and scenery--and that, if that reputation has suffered at all, it is in consequence of his desertion of a field so wide and magnificent, for the beaten and monotonous track of European character and customs. Mr. Irving is undoubtedly most indebted for his literary fame to such of his productions as are purely American; and it is probable that in the future estimate which will be formed of his powers and genius, his Bracebridge Hall, and the Tales of the Alhambra, will hold no comparison in the scale of merit with his Knickerbocker, or Salmagundi. But why amplify our illustrations? We will present no absolute rule on the subject,--but rather choose to throw out these opinions and suggestions to our readers and contributors, as matter for their consideration.

In respect to the Legends of Fairy land,--which give such illimitable scope to the fancy--and operate so feebly, if at all, in imparting either rational amusement or instruction,--we confess that our opinions are more decided and our objections more insurmountable. We think that the day has past when such kind of reading will either be relished or endured. In this age of comparative mental sobriety,--aliment like that, is not likely to satisfy the intellectual appetite; no more than the spectre tales of the last century would suit the rational and regulated taste of the present time. This opinion it is not necessary to enforce by a train of reasoning. We think that a large majority of our readers will concur in the sentiment.

We are also informed from more than one quarter, that we awarded too liberal and dangerous a compliment in our last number, to one article especially, to wit--the "Recollections of Chotank;"--that we have thereby, without intending it, given a sanction to vices {126} which were once fashionable, but now no longer so: that we have offended against the laws of that chaste empress, TEMPERANCE,--who sits enthroned in so many hearts, and who will not countenance the slightest inuendo against her sovereignty; and that we have actually been guilty of the sin of commending a paper, which contained enticing references to the social excesses and abuses of ancient hospitality. To all this we reply, that we spoke of the "Recollections of Chotank" as a literary composition,--and that we had no more design, in the tribute which we paid to its merit, to recommend the vices of "gambling and drinking," than we believe the author himself had, when he sat down to sketch his reminiscences of by-gone days. We hope that the most fastidious will be content with this disclaimer.

It is impossible that the "Messenger" can always please each one of its readers. Its contents must be necessarily varied--and it will often happen, that an article which will dissatisfy one person, will be particularly acceptable to another. So it is on the stage, at the forum, and in the pulpit. Some will loath that very part of the performance, the argument or doctrine, which will inspire others with delight. As we cannot possibly please all, we must endeavor to satisfy the greater number, and in so doing we may probably please ourselves. There is one thing of which our readers and patrons may rest assured, that we shall never knowingly countenance any thing either false in taste, or wrong in morals;--and we hold--that purity in both, is necessary to the dignity and value of literature.

We have been gently reprimanded by some of our friends for not confining ourselves exclusively to original matter, whilst others have thought, that a few more good selections would add to the value of our pages. Such is the "incurable diversity of human opinion." Our own view of the subject is so much better expressed by a distinguished writer, than we can do it--that we shall give below in the "Extracts from the letters of our correspondents," a full quotation from his letter.

But what shall we say of the contents of the present number?--shall we say nothing, least peradventure we may say too much? Must we be altogether silent, in order that our patrons may judge for themselves, unbiassed by our own humble opinion? We cannot in conscience be so uncivil as not to return the kindness of our friends, with the simple expression of our thanks; and if perchance we should so far suffer our good feelings to master our judgment, as to bestow praise where none is due, we feel confident that the superior discernment, and more enlightened taste of our readers, will correct the error.

Let us therefore take a rapid survey of the feast which we have spread. Perhaps our bill of fare may tempt curiosity and whet the appetite.

The article entitled "Sketches of the History and Present Condition of Tripoli," will be read and admired, not only for the style, but the really valuable and interesting information it contains. The source from which it comes may be fully relied on.

The domestic grievances of "Belinda" are we hope not without remedy. Time and strict regimen may perhaps restore her dyspeptic consort to a more equable frame. His humors have at least had the effect of supplying us with a good article.

The "Reporter's Story, or the Importance of a Syllable," is by a practised writer,--whose pen is humorous, caustic and brilliant, as occasion requires. We should be glad to secure his constant assistance.

The "Cottage in the Glen," is by a lady not unknown as a writer. There are few who will not admire the simplicity and beauty of her narrative; and to such as are of a serious or religious cast of mind it will be particularly interesting. We hope that the authoress will often favor us with the productions of her pen.

The "Alleghany Levels," is by a gentleman of scientific acquirements and classical taste. It is with peculiar pleasure that we insert in the "Messenger" such articles as his and "The Cyclopean Towers in Augusta County, Virginia." They develope some of those rare curiosities and remarkable features in the scenery of our state, which have hitherto been undescribed. The latter article is by one who possesses a cultivated taste for the beautiful in art and nature.

The story of "My Classmates," will be read when it is known to proceed from the author of "An Extract from a Novel," which was inserted in the last number of the Messenger. The space which the story occupies will be its greatest recommendation; it is one of thrilling interest, and told in powerful language.

We know not how all our readers will relish "Cupid's Sport," but there are some passages in it which Yorick himself would not have been ashamed to write, even with "the high claims and terrifying exactions" of the widow Wadman's eyes to inspire him.

"Pinkney's Eloquence," it will be seen is from the pen of "Nugator." His pieces need no commendation from us; we are charmed with every thing about them except the signature.

The "Leaf from the Journal of a Young American Tourist," we noticed in our last number. It is a graphic sketch, from the port-folio of an accomplished young traveller.

The "Dandy Chastised," will be relished by all who desire to see that anomolous species lampooned out of countenance.

The selections in the present number are accompanied by prefatory remarks. "The Letters from New England," the first of which is inserted, though originally published in the Fredericksburg Arena, have been revised and corrected by their author expressly for the "Messenger." They deserve a more enduring record than the columns of a newspaper.

The suggestion has been made to us by one entitled to respect, that in the present condition of the public taste, too much space has been allotted in our columns to the productions of the Muse. We humbly hope that our friend is mistaken in this opinion. Nothing would grieve us more than the conviction that, among southern readers generally, there was not felt a lively concern and growing interest in the successful cultivation of that charming branch of literature; and indeed if this were the proper place, we think we could easily demonstrate that poetry exercises a most potent, diffusive and abiding influence upon the interests and happiness of society. Our present number will be found to contain some precious gems, which fully establish the claims of southern genius to high capabilities in the tuneful art. We forbear however to discriminate, confident that the taste of our readers will readily discern all that feeble language could express.

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EXTRACTS FROM THE LETTERS OF CORRESPONDENTS.

FROM PENNSYLVANIA.

Philadelphia, Nov. 4, 1834.

"I thank you truly for your obliging attention in sending to me the two numbers of your 'SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER,' which I have read with much satisfaction. I look with a deep interest and pleasure upon every effort to raise up the literary character of our country; to lay the foundations of a pure and sound taste, and to stimulate our native genius to develop and strengthen its powers. In the encouragement of these attempts, we should all act and feel as the citizens of the American republic, disregarding sectional divisions, and undisturbed by questions of state rights and constitutional scruples and constructions. Here we should be a consolidated people, and whether the candidate for fame be a native of the north or south, the east or west, we should claim him as our own, belonging to all alike. When I hear of the establishment of a seminary of learning; of a scientific or literary publication; of an invention in the arts; in short, of any thing which sheds abroad the light of American genius and power, its particular location is, with me, quite a secondary consideration, scarcely, indeed, considered at all. It is enough for me that I can say to the supercilious European, this is American.

"With these sentiments, you may be assured that I wish success to your endeavor to rouse the spirit of the South in the cause of literature; to draw its intellectual energies from the everlasting and monotonous discussion of politics, which has run the same round of topics and arguments for forty years, and to allure her favored sons and daughters to the kinder and brighter fields of science and letters. If you shall be able to continue as you have begun, your subscribers will be amply remunerated for their patronage, and your contributors may be proud to see their lucubrations on your pages. It is well that you do not confine yourself to original compositions, but mix them with judicious and interesting selections from works of established reputation. Repeated experience has shewn that an editor cannot depend much upon the voluntary contributions of our own writers, however friendly to his design, who are too much occupied with their own concerns and the serious business of life, to be relied on as the support of such an enterprise as yours.... We have not yet a class or body of authors by profession; writing is the occupation of hours snatched from business, or the amusement of the few who have leisure for indulgence."

FROM THE VALLEY OF VIRGINIA.

"I look with much anxiety to your Launch, (which I wish had been the title of your work)--the first of any promise in Virginia, heartily desiring it God-speed--yet fearing that you may meet with some inaptitude or distaste to mere literary contribution from the educated of our citizens. This, however, cannot last long; you may feel it at the outset, but it will soon end; for I doubt not that the Messenger, as one of its best effects, will draw into literary exercise the talents which now lie fallow throughout the community, or which have long extravasated in politics and professions. The mind of Virginia is unquestionably a quarry from which much that is precious may be extracted; and you may and I hope will be able to expose its strata to the light, as the huntsman of the Andes exposed to the eye of the world, at the foot of the yielding shrub which he had seized upon for support, how rich and vast was the treasure which an unexamined surface had concealed."

FROM SOUTHERN VIRGINIA.

"Be assured no effort on my part will be wanting to extend the circulation of the Messenger, and nothing would give me more unfeigned pleasure than being instrumental in the promotion of so laudable an enterprise. Your periodical is truly a pioneer in the cause of southern literature; and reasoning from the general character of the southern people, no other conclusion can be legitimately drawn, than a highly enlarged, extensive and honorable patronage. That this may be the case, permit me to add an ardent hope to my unqualified belief. We have been too long tributary to the north; it is time, high time, to awake from our lethargy--to rise in the majesty of our intellectual strength, put on the panoply of talents and genius, and strike for the 'prize of our high calling' in literature. If the object of your labors be attained, of which there can be no reasonable doubt, posterity will be more grateful to you than to thousands of the political exquisites of the day, whose memory will last just so long as their ephemeral productions."

FROM EASTERN VIRGINIA.

"I shall endeavor to avail myself of the offer of your columns, and if, as you propose, your periodical shall be issued monthly, I may probably contribute my full quota to every number. In doing so, I shall try to remember that I am writing for a literary work, and one which leans much on the support of light readers. I shall therefore endeavor to treat grave topics with as little gravity as the nature of the case may admit of; drawing my reasons less from authority than from common sense and the nature of things, and addressing them to the untaught feelings of the heart, rather than to what is falsely contradistinguished as reason and judgment. I say falsely, because when the mind is once broken in by the discipline of a spurious philosophy, it is too apt to throw out its view all considerations incapable of being established by any regular chain of reasoning. Yet these are often entitled to be regarded as first principles; and their proof is found in nature, and in the universal acquiescence of mankind, the more conclusive, because it does not rest on reason, but on a sort of moral instinct. If men wrote less for fame and more for effect, I am persuaded they would find it rarely necessary to conduct the reader through a long process of ratiocination, and that the important end (conviction) would be often best accomplished by those striking exhibitions of truth which make it manifest at a glance. Such is the case with most of those great truths on which the rights, and duties, and happiness of men depend. On such subjects truth vindicates her title to respect by her very presence. 'She walks a queen,' and the heart gives its homage, and compels the acquiescence of the understanding, without stopping to look into her patent of royalty. Does any man doubt such truths? No. Can they be proved? No; and therefore {128} they are the more certainly true. The fact that they are universally accepted, is a fact to reason from; and it is the philosophy that teaches to overlook such facts that I call false.

"How often, when a man takes up his pen to elaborate a long course of reasoning, does he find himself attempting to lead his reader along a track that his own mind did not travel. Can he wonder that his reader will not consent to be so led? Does he think that he alone has the privilege of travelling the high road of common sense, which levels mountains and lifts up vallies, and that others will permit themselves to be led a roundabout way, picking their steps with painful accuracy along the dividing ridge between 'right hand extremes and left hand defections?' And why does he attempt this? Merely to show that he is too profound, and too philosophical to take any thing for granted."

"Accept my thanks for the Southern Literary Messenger. Its contents I have perused with pleasure. Its execution is not to be surpassed in accuracy and neatness. Can a discerning public withhold encouragement, especially when the benefits will be mutual? Indeed I consider the advantages more likely to be on the side of the public provided a liberal spirit prevail, and the well stored minds of the South contribute to establish, through the Messenger, that high literary reputation which is within their power to erect. The pride of the Old Dominion should respond to your appeal by a generous contribution of subscriptions and mental effusions. Please consider me a subscriber."

"The reception of your Literary Messenger gave me much pleasure, and I thank you for your polite attention in sending it. The cause you have in hand is one very dear to my heart, and I sincerely wish you success; I must not omit, however, to testify my zeal in a more substantial way, and accordingly send you five dollars, and desire to be considered a subscriber, and promise to use every exertion to procure you others."

FROM MIDDLE VIRGINIA.

"... Taking now as many papers as I can well pay for, I am induced to support the Messenger nevertheless, from the great anxiety which I feel for the progress of literature in the South, and to show to the country that the soil of the Old Dominion, so fertile in the production of patriots and statesmen, can also support and rear to age the bright scions which adorn smoother and more ornamented fields. I feel that this is a solemn duty, which the youth of Virginia owe to the memory of their fathers,--the mantles of whose patriotism have descended upon them unsoiled; to men who were cast upon so rough a sea as to have little time to think of any thing else save the dangers around them: their whole lives having been spent in bringing the noble vessel, freighted with every thing dear to American bosoms, into a safe harbor, where she has ever since continued to ride triumphantly in prosperity and glory, it can be nothing more than sheer justice in us to raise this 'tardy bust' to buried merit. As almost the pioneer in this noble undertaking, I bid you God speed, and I trust that the success of your paper may not only blot out the only spot on the escutcheon of Virginia, but in every way equal your most sanguine expectations."

FROM A SOUTH CAROLINIAN.

"The objects you have undertaken to accomplish, and which, judging from your prospectus and the character the public have given of your paper and yourself, will most certainly be attained, are highly meritorious and praiseworthy. Such a periodical has been long desired at the south, whose literary reputation is far inferior to that of the north--to awaken the dormant faculties--to arouse the ambition, and direct and concentrate the energies of a people, whose abilities are at least equal to those of any class of men on earth. Incitement is all that is wished, and your paper, southern in its principles, and established in a southern city, will produce it, if any thing can. Capacity it is well known is not deficient. Only bring it fairly into play, and your columns will, and a hundred such would be filled with the most valuable matter--with the most finished efforts in every branch of literature."

FROM THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA.

"I have yours, with the several copies of the Literary Messenger, which I will dispose of to the best advantage, and shall be happy if I can be instrumental in circulating extensively in the West, a periodical that promises so much, and in its first number presents evidences so flattering, of the genius and refined taste of Virginians. I hope you will find ample encouragement to persevere in your work. The pride of Virginia,--the mother of states,--will surely not allow a work such as yours to fail for the want of patronage."

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS TO CONTRIBUTORS, &C.

We regret that various articles of merit both in prose and verse are necessarily excluded from the present number. Among the former, "Hints to Students in Geology"--"Eloquence"--"The March of Mind"--and the "Description of a Fourth of July Celebration," shall certainly appear in December. Among the latter, "Lines to D----," by a lady--"Beauty and Time"--"Autumn Woods"--"Powhatan;" and "Lines Suggested on Viewing the Ruins of Jamestown," shall be published.

So also shall appear "The Invocation to Religion," and other pieces by our esteemed correspondent "L."

We hope that our talented friends of Mobile and Tuscaloosa will be patient. We could only delight our readers with a part of their contributions in the present number. We greet the literary spirit of our young sister of the southwest.

We regret being obliged to decline the publication in the present number of the lines on "The Creation of the Antelope," being unable to decipher some of the words in the copy sent. Can we be favored by our correspondent "C" with another copy?

We have placed Mr. French's Grammar in the hands of a skilful philologist for examination.

We have been favored with a sight of the Poetical Manuscripts of the late excellent and lamented Mrs. Jean Wood, and we shall take the earliest opportunity to present some selections from them to the notice of our readers.

The essay on "Luxury" was received too late for the present number.

We are unable to decipher the manuscript of "Alive."

{129}

SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.

VOL. I.] RICHMOND, DECEMBER, 1834. [NO. 4.

T. W. WHITE, PRINTER AND PROPRIETOR. FIVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

SKETCHES OF THE HISTORY

And Present Condition of Tripoli, with some accounts of the other Barbary States.

No. II.

From the year 1551, when Tripoli was taken by Dragut, to the early part of the eighteenth century, it continued to form a part of the Turkish empire; and as such, but little is known respecting it. However, though governed by a Pasha appointed from Constantinople, and garrisoned exclusively by Turkish troops, it did not entirely lose its nationality, and appears to have been much less dependant on the Sultan, than the other parts of his dominions; for we find upon record, treaties between Tripoli and various European powers concluded within that period, in which no mention whatever is made of the Porte. That with England, was negotiated in 1655 by Blake, immediately after his successful bombardment of Tunis; it proved however of little value, for ten years after, Sir John Narborough was sent with a fleet against Tripoli, on which occasion the celebrated Cloudesley Shovel first distinguished himself, in the destruction of several ships under the guns of the castle.

At length a revolution was effected in the government; the allegiance to the Sultan was thrown off, and his paramount authority was reduced to a mere nominal suzerainty. In the year 1714, Hamet surnamed Caramalli, or the Caramanian, from a province of Asia Minor in which he was born, while in command of the city as Bey or lieutenant during the absence of the Pasha, formed a conspiracy among the Moors, by whose aid, the city was freed from Turkish troops in a single night. Three hundred of them were invited by him to an entertainment at a castle a few miles distant from Tripoli, and were despatched as they successively entered a dark hall or passage in the building; of the others, many were found murdered in the streets next morning, and but a small number escaped to tell the dreadful tale. A Moorish guard was instantly formed, strong enough to repel any attack which could have been expected; and Hamet was proclaimed sovereign, under the title of Pasha. The new prince did not however trust entirely to arms, for the security of his title, but instantly sent a large sum to Constantinople, which being properly distributed, he succeeded in obtaining confirmation, or rather recognition by the Sultan. He moreover solemnly adopted Abdallah the infant son of his predecessor and declared him heir to the throne; but he altered these views, if he had ever entertained them, when his own children grew up, for his eldest son was made Bey or lieutenant at an early age, and afterwards succeeded him; Abdallah, however, lived through nearly three reigns, as Kiah, or governor of the castle, and was murdered in 1790, by the hand of the late Pasha Yusuf.

Hamet seemed really desirous to advance the true interests of his dominions, and for that purpose endeavored to make friends of the European nations. Within a few years after his accession, he concluded treaties with England, the United Provinces, Austria and Tuscany, one of which alone, contains a vague proviso, respecting the approval of the Sultan. The stipulations of these treaties are principally commercial, or intended to secure the vessels of the foreign power, from capture; no mention is made in them of any payments to Tripoli, but it is generally understood that considerable sums were annually given by the weaker states for the purpose of obtaining such exemption, and by the more powerful in order to encourage the piracies. By these means the commerce of the country was increased; the manufactures of Europe were imported for the use of its inhabitants, and for transportation into the interior, by the caravans; in return, dates, figs, leather, &c. were exported from Tripoli, and cattle from the ports lying east of it. One of the most valuable articles sent to Europe, was salt, brought from the desert and the countries beyond, where it is found in abundance, of the finest quality, either as rock-salt or in sheets resembling ice on the sand. Soda was likewise exported in great quantities, principally to France; but the facility with which it is now obtained from common salt, has much lessened the value of that substance and the quantity of it carried from Tripoli.

This commerce was carried on exclusively in foreign vessels, principally English, Dutch and French; those of Tripoli being all fitted out as cruisers, and engaged in piracy. None of its vessels indeed could venture to leave the place without being armed and manned to an extent which the profits of a trading voyage would not warrant; for in addition to the Spaniards, Venitians, Genoese and other maritime states, with one or other of which the Tripolines were generally at war, they had a constant and inveterate enemy in the Knights of Malta, whose gallies were ever hovering about the port, and who in the treatment of their captives, improved upon the lessons of cruelty taught by their Barbary neighbors.

These cruisers were charged to respect all vessels belonging to powers with which Tripoli had treaties; but such charges were occasionally forgotten, when a richly laden ship was encountered by a Corsair returning perhaps from a fruitless cruise; and the Pasha who was entitled to a large portion of each prize, sometimes shewed less alacrity than was promised by his treaties in causing the damage to be repaired. A mistake of this kind with regard to some French vessels, provoked that government in 1729, when it was at peace with England, to send a squadron to Tripoli, for the purpose of demanding satisfaction. The result of this display was a treaty, the terms of which were dictated by the French Admiral de Gouyon. The Pasha in the most abject manner acknowledged his infractions of the former treaty, and accepted with gratitude, the pardon and peace which the Emperor[1] of France was pleased to grant {130} him--all the French prizes taken were to be restored, or indemnification made for those which were lost or injured--the French captives were to be released, together with twenty other Catholic prisoners to be selected by the Admiral--Tripoline cruisers were to be furnished with certificates from the French Consul, who was to take precedence of all other Consuls on public occasions--French vessels with their crews were not to be molested--together with many other provisions, calculated to give to France immunities and advantages, not enjoyed by any other nation. As an additional humiliation, all stipulations made or that might be made with the Porte, were to be observed by Tripoli; and the treaty was to remain in force one hundred years.

[Footnote 1: The King of France is always styled Emperor in negotiations with the Oriental Powers.]

This treaty is one of the many evidences of the want of common sense, which formerly presided over diplomatic negotiations, and rendered their history a record of unjust pretension on the one hand, of duplicity and subterfuge on the other. Exclusive advantages for a period which might as well have been left indefinite, are arrogantly extorted from a petty state, without reflecting, that supposing the utmost desire on its part, they could be observed only until some other strong power should demand the same for itself. The Barbary states have long known the absurdity of this, and have profited by it; to the force of the greater nations, they have merely opposed the Punica fides, and when availing resistance cannot be made, they sign any treaty however humiliating, trusting to Allah for an opportunity to break it profitably.

The inutility of these exclusive stipulations was soon proved; for in 1751 Tripoli became involved in difficulties with Great Britain, from circumstances similar to those which had provoked the ire of France. The quarrel terminated in a similar manner; a fleet was sent, and a treaty dictated, less humiliating in style to the weaker and less arrogant on the part of the stronger, than that with France, but giving to Great Britain in effect, all the exclusive or superior advantages, and to her consul the same precedence of all other consuls, which had already been solemnly guarantied to the French. As a matter of course the latter sent a squadron soon after, to require a renewal of the treaty of 1729 with stipulations still more in their favor, to which of course the Pasha consented. The same plan has been pursued by these two great nations, with regard to the other states of Barbary; and the court of each Bey, Pasha or Emperor, has been a perpetual theatre for the intrigues and struggles for influence of their consuls.

In the early treaties with these states, we see no provision against piracy in general, no protest against the principle;--Tripoline cruisers shall not make prizes of our vessels, nor appear within a certain distance of our coasts--thus much they say; but nothing else appears, from which it might be gathered, that Tripoli was other than a state, respectable itself and complying with those evident duties, which compose the body of national morals. In fact Great Britain and France, each keeping a large naval force in the Mediterranean, which could immediately chastise any offence against its own commerce, not only had no objection to the practice of piracy, but even secretly encouraged it; as the vessels of the weaker states were thus almost excluded from competition in trade. The abandonment of this despicable policy is one among the many triumphs of principle and feeling, which have marked the advance of civilization during the last twenty years, and which authorize us in hoping that a desire to promote the general welfare of mankind, may in future exert an influence in the councils of statesmen.

In addition to his acts of pacific policy, Hamet extended his dominions by force of arms; he conquered Fezzan, a vast tract of desert, sprinkled with oases or islands of fertile soil, lying south of Tripoli and which has until lately been held by his successors; this conquest was important from the revenue it yielded, and from the advantages it afforded to caravans to and from the centre of Africa. He also reduced to complete subjection, the intractable inhabitants of the ancient Cyrenaica or part lying beyond the Great Syrtis; and upon the whole displayed so much energy and real good sense in his actions, that viewing the circumstances under which he was placed, he may be considered fairly entitled to the appellation of Great, which has been bestowed on him by the people of Tripoli. Sometime before his death, he became totally blind, which affliction was believed by the more devout of his subjects, to have been sent as punishment for an act of tyranny, such as daily practised in those countries. In one of his visits to a mosque in the vicinity of the city, he chanced to see a young girl, the daughter of the Marabout or holy man of the place, whose beauty made such an impression on him, that he ordered the father to send her that evening richly drest to the castle, under penalty of being hacked to pieces, if he should fail to do so. She was accordingly conveyed to the royal apartments, but the Pasha on entering the room, found her a corpse; in order to save herself from violence, she had acceded to the wish of her father and taken a deadly potion. It is needless to relate what were the torments inflicted upon the parent; while writhing under them, he prayed that Allah would strike the destroyer with blindness; and his prayer was granted, it is said, as soon as uttered. However this may have been, a blind sovereign cannot long retain his power in Barbary; and Hamet probably felt that his own authority was less respected; for without any other ostensible reason, he deliberately shot himself in presence of his family in 1745. At least such is the account of his end given to the world.

After the death of Hamet the Great, the usual dissensions as to who should succeed him, for sometime distracted the country; his second son Mohammed at length established his claim, and with singular magnanimity, permitted seven of his brothers to live through his reign, which ended with his life in 1762.

Ali, the son and successor of Mohammed, was not so indulgent, and accordingly his uncles were soon despatched. One of them, a child, was however believed to have escaped, and a man was for many years supported at Tunis, whom the politic sovereign of that country affected to consider as the prince. The pretensions of this person were even favored by the Sultan, who, ever desirous of re-establishing his power over Tripoli, adopted this means of keeping the country in a ferment, and the Pasha in alarm. However, after this first bloody measure, which is considered as a mere act of prudence in the East, Ali passed his reign, not only without any show of cruelty, but actually exhibiting in many cases a degree of culpable kindness. He seems indeed to have been a weak and really amiable man, possessing many negative virtues, and even a {131} few positive; among the latter of which, were constancy and real attachment for his family. He had but one wife, who doubtless merited the devoted respect with which he always treated her; and when we read the details of their family life, as recorded in the agreeable pages of Mrs. Tully,[2] it is difficult to imagine that such scenes could have taken place within the bloodstained walls of the castle of Tripoli.

[Footnote 2: Narrative of a Ten Year's residence in Tripoli, from the Correspondence of the family of the late Richard Tully, British Consul at Tripoli, from 1785 to 1794.]

But if Ali received pleasure and consolation from his faithful Lilla Halluma, the mutual hatred of their three sons rendered the greater part of his existence a horrible burden. Hassan, the eldest of the princes, was a man of much energy, together with a considerable share of generosity and good feeling. He was at an early age invested by his father with the title of Bey, which implies an acknowledgement of his right to succeed to the throne, and moreover gives him the command of the forces, the only effectual means of substantiating that right. In this office he soon distinguished himself during many expeditions which he commanded against various refractory tribes; and under his administration, the army and the revenues of the country began to recover from the miserable state in which the supineness of his father had permitted them to languish. Indeed, upon the whole, he gave promise of as much good with as little alloy, as could possibly have been expected in a sovereign of Tripoli.

Hamet, the second son of the Pasha, inherited the weakness of his father, without his better qualities, and exhibited throughout life the utmost want of decision; in prosperity ever stupidly insolent; in adversity the most abject and degraded of beings, the slave of any one who was pleased to employ him. An improper message sent by the Bey to his wife, soon after their marriage, provoked a deadly hatred against his elder brother, which only exhibited itself however in idle vaporing threats of vengeance. The distracted parents did all in their power to produce a reconciliation, but in vain; the Bey was haughty, and Hamet implacable; neither trusting himself in the presence of the other, unless armed to the teeth and environed by guards.

Yusuf, the youngest son, was the reverse of Hamet; brave, dashing and impetuous, he had scarcely reached his sixteenth year, before he openly declared his determination to struggle with the Bey for the future possession of the crown, or even to pluck it from the brow of his fond and tottering parent. Hassan at first regarded this as the mere ebullition of boyish feelings, and endeavored to attach him by acts of kindness; but they were thrown away on Yusuf, who apparently siding with Hamet, acquired over him an influence which rendered him a ready tool. The whole country was engaged in the dispute, and daily brawls between the adherents of the opposing parties rendered Tripoli almost uninhabitable.

The report of this state of things produced much effect at Constantinople; the Sultan wished to regain possession of Tripoli, and he had reason to fear lest its distracted state should induce some christian power to attempt its conquest. It was therefore arranged in 1786, that an attack should be made on the place by sea, while the Bey of Tunis should be ready with a force to co-operate by land if necessary. The Capoudan Pasha or Turkish High Admiral, at that time was the famous Hassan, who afterwards distinguished himself in the wars against Russia on the Black Sea, and against the French in the Levant, particularly by the relief of Acre in 1799, while it was besieged by Buonaparte. He was the mortal enemy of Ali, and was moreover excited by the hope of obtaining the sovereignty of the country in case he should succeed in getting a footing. A large armament was therefore prepared; but its destination was changed, and instead of recovering Tripoli, the Capoudan Pasha had orders to proceed to Egypt, and endeavor to restore that country to its former allegiance; the Mamelukes having succeeded in establishing there an almost independent authority.

The Tripoline Princes had been somewhat united by the news of the projected invasion; but this change in the objects of the Porte, again set the angry feelings of the brothers in commotion, and a severe illness with which their father was seized at the time, gave additional fury to their enmity, by apparently bringing the object of their discord nearer. As the old Pasha's death was expected, the Bey called the troops around him, and every avenue to the castle was defended; Yusuf and Hamet on their parts assembled their followers, and declared their resolution to overthrow Hassan or perish in the attempt, being convinced that his success would be the signal of their own destruction. Their tortured mother prepared to die by her own hands, rather than witness the dreadful scenes which would ensue on the decease of her husband. Ali however recovered, and things remained in the same unsettled state for three years longer; the mutual animosity of the Princes increasing, and the dread of invasion causing every sail which appeared, to be regarded with anxiety and suspicion.

Yusuf had now reached his twentieth year, and had acquired complete influence over the mind of his father; a quarrel about a servant had raised a deadly feud between him and Hamet, and the Bey feeling more confidence from the success of several expeditions, was rendered less cautious than he should have been. Lilla Halluma made every effort to produce unity of feeling among them, and at length prevailed upon Hassan to meet his youngest brother in her apartments. The Bey came armed only with his sword, and even that defence he was induced to lay aside, by the representations of his mother. Yusuf appeared also unarmed, but attended by some of his most devoted black followers; he embraced his brother, and declaring himself satisfied, called for a Koran on which to attest the honesty of his purpose. But that was a signal which his blacks understood, and instead of the sacred volume, two pistols were placed in his hands; he instantly fired at the luckless Bey, who was seated next their mother; the ball took effect--the victim staggered towards his sword--but ere he could reach it, another shot stretched him on the floor; he turned his dying eyes towards Lilla Halluma, and erroneously conceiving that she had betrayed him, exclaimed, "Mother, is this the present you have reserved for your eldest son!" The infuriated blacks despatched him by an hundred stabs, {132} in the presence not only of his mother, but also of his wife, whom the reports of the pistols had brought to the room. Yusuf made his way out of the castle, offering up as a second victim the venerable Kiah Abdallah, whom he met with on his passage; he then celebrated the successful issue of his morning's achievement by a feast. This happened about the end of July, 1790.

Hamet was absent when the murder took place, and on his return was proclaimed Bey, but not until the consent of Yusuf had been obtained, which the miserable Pasha had been weak enough to require. The two brothers then swore eternal friendship, accompanying the oath with the ceremonies considered most solemn on such occasions. But oaths could have but little weight with men of their respective characters; they could give no security to Hamet, nor act as restraints upon Yusuf. In a short time the brothers disagreed; the Bey fortified himself in the castle, while Yusuf established his quarters in the Messeah, or plain which lies on one side of the City, and raised the standard of revolt. A number of discontented Moors and Arabs were soon assembled in his cause, and he formed a partial siege of the place.

Meanwhile the Sultan was again at leisure to carry into effect the long projected plan against the country. A squadron was prepared, and one Ali-ben-Zool, a notorious pirate, was placed in command, and furnished with a firman or commission as Pasha. This squadron entered the harbor of Tripoli on the night of the 29th of July, 1793, and during the confusion that ensued, the Turks having got possession of the gates, were in a short time masters of the town. The firman was then read, and the Pasha was summoned to deliver the castle to the representative of his sovereign. The poor old man was struck almost senseless with the news; his wife and family finding that resistance was impossible escaped, carrying the Pasha more dead than alive out of the city, where they at first were protected by an Arab tribe. Yusuf seeing when too late the misery which he had brought on his family, at length begged forgiveness from his father, and the Princes uniting their forces, endeavored by an assault on the town to retrieve their fortunes; but it proved unsuccessful; the Pasha's party was betrayed, and the Turkish power was for a time established. Every species of cruelty was then committed by Ali-ben-Zool, for the purpose of extorting money from the wretched inhabitants, and scenes were acted, which it would be shocking to relate. The unfortunate Lilla Halluma soon died of grief; her husband and sons retired to Tunis, where they were received and generously assisted by the Bey.

The Porte at length was induced by the cruelties of its agent, to withdraw its support, and leave was given to the Caramalli family to regain their dominions. Ten thousand troops accordingly marched from Tunis in the spring of 1795, under the command of Hamet and Yusuf; ere they reached Tripoli, Ali-ben-Zool had evacuated the place, and retired to Egypt. This ruffian was afterwards made Governor of Alexandria in 1803, subsequently to the expulsion of the French, where he pursued the same course of cruelty and extortion as at Tripoli, until he was at length murdered by his guards.

It is not to be supposed that Yusuf took all these pains merely to establish his brother quietly in Tripoli; the rude soldiery who decide matters of that kind in Barbary, could not but see a difference between him and Hamet, which was by no means in favor of the latter. Of this disposition Yusuf took full advantage, and so ingratiated himself with the troops, that when at length the news of old Ali's death reached the city, he was unanimously proclaimed Pasha; his brother, who was absent at the time, on returning, found the gates closed against him, and received an order from the new sovereign to retire to the distant province of Derne, and remain there as Bey. Hamet having no other resource, went to his place of banishment, and remained there for some time; but finding that his brother was daily making attempts to destroy him, he at length in 1797 retired to Tunis, where he was supported by the Bey.

The earliest act of Yusuf with regard to foreign intercourse, was the conclusion of a treaty with the United States, which was signed on the 4th of November, 1796, Joel Barlow then American Consul at Algiers and Colonel David Humphries, being the agents of the latter party. Its terms are generally reciprocal; passports are to be given to vessels of each country by which they are to be known--"As the Government of the United States is not in any sense founded on the christian religion, and has in itself no character of enmity against the laws, religion or tranquillity of Mussulmen, no pretext arising from religious opinions shall ever produce an interruption of the harmony between the two countries"--the Pasha acknowledges the receipt of money and presents, "in consideration for this treaty of perpetual peace and friendship, and no pretence of any periodical tribute or farther payment is ever to be made by either party." Finally, the observance of the treaty is "guarantied by the most potent Dey and Regency of Algiers, and in case of dispute, no appeal shall be made to arms, but an amicable reference shall be made to the mutual friend of both parties, the Dey of Algiers, the parties hereby engaging to abide by his decision."

To the terms of this treaty it would be difficult to offer any objection; the United States were anxious that their commerce in the Mediterranean should be undisturbed; their naval force was inadequate to its protection, and it was then considered inexpedient to increase that force. Presents were given in compliance with a custom generally if not always observed, and it was certainly the more manly course to have the fact openly stated in the treaty, with the proviso annexed, that none others were to be expected. The treaty between the United States and Algiers was on terms less equal, as it contained a stipulation on the part of the former to pay an annual value of twenty-one thousand dollars in military stores.

Thus secured from interruption, the American commerce in the Mediterranean rapidly increased, and the Tripoline corsairs were daily tantalized by the sight of large vessels laden with valuable cargoes, which were to be passed untouched, for no other reason than because they sailed under the striped flag and carried a piece of parchment covered with unintelligible characters. This must have been the more vexatious to the corsairs as they never met with ships of war belonging to the nation which they were thus required to respect.

{133} Reports of this nature did not fail to produce their effect upon Yusuf; his cupidity was excited, and he doubtless feared that his popularity might suffer, if his subjects were longer prevented from pursuing what had always been considered a lawful and honorable calling in Barbary. He had collected a small maritime force, estimated in 1800 at eleven vessels of various sizes, mounting one hundred and three guns, and thus considered himself strong enough to give up the further observance of a treaty with a power which appeared so incapable of enforcing it. In this idea he was encouraged by his naval officers. The chief of these was a Scotch renegade, who had been tempted to exchange the kirk for the mosque, and his homely name of Peter Lyle, with his humble employment of mate to a trading vessel, for the more sounding title of Morat Rais, and the substantial appointment of High Admiral of Tripoli. Rais Peter is represented by all who knew him as destitute of real talent, but possessing in its stead much of that pliability of disposition which is supposed to form an essential characteristic of his countrymen; however that may have been, he for some time enjoyed great credit with the Pasha, and employed it as far as he could against the interests of the United States. Whether this arose from any particular enmity, or from the hope of enjoying a share of the anticipated spoil, is uncertain; but to his influence was mainly ascribed the proceedings which led to a rupture of the peace. Another abettor of the war was the Vice Admiral Rais Amor Shelly, a desperate ruffian, who was most anxious to be engaged where there was such evident promise of gain. Hamet Rais, the minister of marine, was of the same opinion, and probably of all his councillors, Yusuf placed the greatest confidence in him; he is represented as a man of great sagacity and energy--such indeed, that Lord Nelson thought proper in 1798, to send a ship of the line, with a most overbearing letter, demanding his exile, which the Pasha promised, but after the departure of the ship thought no more about it. The only friend of the United States in the regency, was the Prime Minister Mahomet d'Ghies, whom every account represents as an honorable and enlightened gentleman.

Thus fortified by the assurances of his counsellors, and farther induced by his success in bringing Sweden to his terms, Yusuf commenced his proceedings against the United States in 1799, by making requisitions of their consul; these were resisted, and to a proposal from Mr. Cathcart (the consul) that reference should be made to the Dey of Algiers, as provided in such cases by the treaty, the Pasha replied that he no longer regarded the stipulations of that convention. His intentions became more clearly defined in the ensuing year, when Rais Shelly returned from a cruise, with an American brig, which he had brought in under pretence of irregularity in her papers; she was indeed restored, but not until after long delay and the commission of numberless acts of petty extortion, accompanied by hints that such lenity would not be again displayed. Considerable time having elapsed without any answer from the United States, the consul was informed that the treaty with his country was at an end; that the Pasha demanded two hundred and fifty thousand dollars as the price of a new one; and that it must contain an engagement on the part of the United States, to pay an annual tribute of twenty-five thousand dollars for its continuance. No reply having been made to this, war was formally declared by Tripoli on the 11th of May, 1801, the American flag staff was cut down by the Pasha's orders on the 14th, and Mr. Cathcart left the place a few days after.

A swarm of cruisers instantly issued from the port of Tripoli, and spread themselves over every part of the Mediterranean; two of them under Morat Rais arrived at Gibraltar, with the intention of even braving the perils of the unknown Atlantic, in search of American vessels. In the course of a few weeks five prizes were taken by the corsairs; but the consul of the United States had long foreseen the danger, and given timely warning, so that interruption of their commerce was almost the only evil afterwards suffered.

As soon as the news of these exactions arrived in Washington, President Jefferson caused a squadron, composed of three frigates and a sloop of war, to be fitted out and despatched to the Mediterranean, under Commodore Dale; it entered that sea about the end of June, 1801, and was probably the first American armed force seen in its waters. This squadron was sent with the hope that its display would be alone sufficient to bring the Pasha back to the observance of the treaty; the Commodore was therefore instructed to act with great caution, so as to repress rather than provoke hostilities; and he was made the bearer of letters to each of the Barbary sovereigns, couched in the most amicable terms and disclaiming all warlike intentions. The squadron touched first at Tunis, where its appearance somewhat softened the Bey, who had begun the same system of exactions from the American consul; it then sailed for Tripoli, before which it appeared on the 24th of July.

The sight of such a force was very disquieting to Yusuf, who sent a messenger on board to learn what were its objects. The Commodore replied by asking what were the Pasha's views in declaring war, and on what principles he expected to make peace? To this Yusuf endeavored to evade giving a direct answer, and he hinted that his principal cause of complaint was the dependence on Algiers implied by the terms of the first and the last articles of the treaty, which he considered humiliating. The American commander not being empowered to negotiate, remained for some days blockading the harbor, until having learnt that several cruisers were out, he thought proper to go in search of them. One only was encountered, a ship of fourteen guns, commanded by Rais Mahomet Sous, which after an action of three hours, on the 1st of August, with the schooner Enterprize, struck her colours; the Americans lost not a man, the Tripolines had nearly half their crew killed or wounded. As orders had been given to make no prizes, the cruiser was dismantled, and her captain directed to inform the Pasha, that such "was the only tribute he would receive from the United States." Notwithstanding the desperate valor displayed in this action by the Tripolines, Yusuf thought proper to ascribe the result to cowardice on the part of the commander; and poor Mahomet Sous, after having been paraded through the streets of the city on an ass, exposed to the insults of the mob, received five hundred strokes of the bastinado. This piece of injustice and cruelty however, produced an {134} effect the reverse of that which was intended; for after it, no captain could be induced to put to sea, and those who were out already, on learning the treatment experienced by their comrade, took refuge from the Americans and the Pasha, for the most part among the islands of the Archipelago. The two largest vessels which had been arrested at Gibraltar on their way to the Atlantic, by the appearance of the United States' squadron, were laid up at that place, their crews passing over into Morocco.

The American commerce being thus for the time secured from interruption, a portion of the squadron returned to the United States; the remainder passed the winter in the Mediterranean, and were joined in the ensuing spring (1802) by other ships. Nothing however was attempted towards a conclusion of the difficulties with Tripoli by any decisive blow; the American agents in the other Barbary states were instructed to procure peace if possible, on condition of paying an annual tribute; and partial negotiations were carried on, principally through the mediation of the Bey of Tunis. They however proved ineffectual, as Yusuf demanded an amount far beyond that which the American government proposed. The operations of the squadron were limited to mere demonstrations; a simple display of force being considered preferable to active measures. On one occasion however, the Constellation frigate, while cruising off the harbor of Tripoli, was suddenly becalmed, and in this defenceless situation, was attacked by a number of Tripoline gun-boats; their fires would soon have reduced her to a wreck, had not a breeze fortunately sprung up, which enabled her to choose her position; several of the gun-boats having been then quickly destroyed, the remainder were forced to retreat into port.

The system of caution and forbearance by which the foreign policy of the American government was then regulated, renders the history of its transactions in the Mediterranean during the first four years of this century by no means flattering to the national pride. There was a disposition to negotiate and to purchase peace, rather than boldly to enforce it, which must have been most galling to the brave spirits who were thus obliged to remain inactive; and it certainly encouraged the Barbary governments in the opinion that the Americans were disposed to accept the more humiliating of the two alternatives, paying or fighting, which they offered to all other nations. It would not perhaps be just at present to censure this patient policy; the institutions of the country were then by no means firmly established, and the utmost circumspection was necessary in the management and disposition of its resources. There was also great reason to apprehend that a decided attack on one of the Barbary powers, would produce a coalition of the whole, aided by Turkey, which might have given a blow, severe and perhaps fatal, to the commerce of the United States in the Mediterranean. The Americans may however at least rejoice, that a more dignified system can now with assurance be pursued, in the conduct of all their affairs with foreign nations.

* * * * *

The length of this article renders its conclusion in the present number inconvenient; the remainder will appear in our next.

REVIEW

of Governor Tazewell's Report to the Legislature of Virginia, on the Deaf and Dumb Asylum.

The late Chief Magistrate of Virginia, Governor Floyd, in his message of December, 1833, called the attention of the Legislature to the condition of that unfortunate race of beings for whom it has been reserved, under Providence, to the present age, to provide a suitable system of instruction, by which they should be elevated to the condition of moral and accountable creatures. The Governor says: "The deaf, and dumb, and the blind, are objects of sympathy with all classes of society, and from which no family can claim exemption. An asylum for these unfortunate beings is suggested, where proper attention and instruction can be given at public expense--where they can be taught to read and write, and learn something of the useful arts; where even the blind can be taught something to alleviate the long and wearisome night which is allotted to them. I appeal to you in their behalf with the more confidence, as it is a subject which stands wholly unconnected with the business of life, from which they are excluded; and without voice, like the eloquence of the spheres, applies to the heart of all, from which they will not be spurned by the good and the just."

These humane and benevolent suggestions were referred, by special resolution, to the Committee of Schools and Colleges, by which committee a very able report was made on the subject to the House of Delegates, concluding with a resolution, "that it was expedient and highly important to provide immediately for the establishment and endowment of an asylum for the deaf and dumb of the state of Virginia."

At the same session of the Legislature, it appears that a memorial was presented by the trustees of the deaf and dumb asylum at Staunton, an association incorporated in March 1833, setting forth that sufficient funds had been provided to purchase a suitable site for a building--and praying that the Legislature would make an annual appropriation in aid of their benevolent purposes. This memorial is written with ability, and presents in a strong light the necessity of some legislative action on the subject. The Legislature, it seems however, was not prepared to act definitively, even with all the lights before them; but as if unwilling that an object so vastly important, and involving so many high considerations, should entirely be lost sight of,--the House of Delegates, a few days before the close of the session, adopted a resolution requesting the Governor "to communicate to the General Assembly at its next session such facts and views as he might deem pertinent and useful, relative to the best plan, the appropriate extent, the most suitable organization, and the probable cost of an institution for the instruction of the deaf and dumb, to be located in some healthy and convenient situation in this state; and that he be further requested to accompany his communication by such information as he might be able to impart relative to similar institutions in other states, together with an estimate of the probable number of the deaf and dumb who would repair to such an institution, to be located within the limits of this Commonwealth."

In compliance with this resolution, Governor Tazewell, whose term of office commenced on the 31st of March last, made a report to the Legislature at its {135} present session--a report which we regret to say is entirely at variance with all the views heretofore entertained on this interesting subject--a report which, so far as such high authority can wield an influence, is calculated to repress the efforts of the friends of humanity in the prosecution of so noble a cause. We shall examine this document with the respect which is due to the high character and eminent talents of its author--at the same time with that freedom which belongs to the right of discussion--especially when we believe that the interests of humanity are deeply concerned in the issue.

The report, after a few preliminary remarks, sets out as follows: "In differing from those who may be in favor of establishing within this state a seminary for the education of the deaf and dumb at this time, I hope I shall not be considered by any as being opposed to the accomplishment of an object so truly benevolent in its character. The very reverse of this is the fact. It is only because I ardently desire to see this laudable object attained by the best means practicable, that I do not concur with those who may desire to effect it by the creation of such an institution within this Commonwealth at this time." Now with great deference to his Excellency, we humbly conceive that all the reasons which he assigns against the establishment or endowment of an asylum at this time, apply with equal force to any other time. If there be any force in his arguments, they will continue to operate, at least in a very essential degree, for a long period of years. What are his reasons?

"Schools for the instruction of the deaf and dumb differ from all other seminaries of education in this particular--that they can never prosper, except by means which may suffice to bring together, at one point, a sufficient number of pupils to commune with each other in their own peculiar mode, and to concentrate the interest necessary to be felt, and the efforts necessary to be used by those engaged in their instruction. No expense can accomplish the desired object, unless by the attainment of these means. Then, the question seems to be resolved into this: Can the Legislature of Virginia reasonably promise itself, that by the employment of any means which it ought to use, it may concentrate at any point within this state, sufficient inducements to draw thither the proper number of such pupils and of such instructers? I do not think this can be done."

We shall forbear answering this part of his Excellency's report, which we think is very easily done, until we spread still more of his reasons before the reader.

"The whole number of white persons in Virginia, of all ages, who were deaf and dumb, is shown by the last census to have been then four hundred and twenty-two only. The annual increase of such unfortunates (as shown by the calculations made upon the population of other countries less favorably situated in this respect than Virginia,) does not amount to more than about fifteen in a million--a number approaching so nearly to the annual decrease by natural causes, that the annual augmentation here must be very small indeed. Of the whole number of deaf and dumb in any state, even in those where the most liberal means have been employed to attract to their long established asylums all of that class who might be induced to resort thither, the proportion does not exceed one fifteenth. Thus in Connecticut, where the number of mutes, as shewn by the last census, was two hundred and ninety-five, there were not at their asylum, according to the last report of that institution which I have seen, more than eighteen persons of that number; and this after a period of sixteen years had elapsed since the commencement of this establishment. Yet in Connecticut the population is dense, and the inducements held out to send all their deaf and dumb to this asylum are very great indeed. So too in Pennsylvania, where the last census shews the whole number of mutes to have been seven hundred and twelve, the number of these at their excellent asylum, according to the last report, was only forty-eight, after this seminary had been opened fourteen years.

"If then," continues the Governor, "in Connecticut, where there are two hundred and ninety-five mutes, there cannot be collected at such an institution, after sixteen years, more than eighteen of that number; and if in Pennsylvania, where the number of mutes is seven hundred and twelve, only forty-eight of that number can be induced to avail themselves of the advantages held out by its admirable institution, after ---- years; it is unreasonable to suppose that the sparse population of Virginia could supply a sufficient number of pupils to attain the great object had in view by the establishment of a seminary here like that proposed. For it must not be overlooked, that the supply of pupils to every school will bear some proportion to the expense of maintaining them while there, and that in older institutions, this expense will be necessarily much less than in those of more recent origin."

The Governor would have shed much more light upon this branch of the subject, if he had expressed his opinion as to the precise number of pupils which it was necessary to bring together, in order that they might "commune with each other in their own peculiar mode;" and which, according to his view of the subject, is necessary to the existence and prosperity of all such institutions. That opinion however he has not indicated; but has left us to infer that as not more than one in fifteen has ever been induced, according to the experience of other institutions, to resort to them for instruction, even by the employment of the most liberal means,--that proportion of the whole number of free white deaf mutes in Virginia, would not be sufficient to justify the commencement of such an establishment here. One fifteenth of the whole number in Virginia, at the last census, would be twenty-eight. That number, however, will not suffice, and we must wait longer. How long, it is impossible to tell--inasmuch as from his Excellency's reasoning, the increase must be very inconsiderable--being not more than at the rate of sixteen annually for every million of inhabitants; and from this must be deducted the decrease from natural causes. Let us suppose then that the annual increase in Virginia is sixteen, and that the annual decrease is twelve, leaving a yearly increment of four to the whole number in the state. Now as, according to Governor Tazewell's views, not more than one in fifteen of the whole number can be induced to attend a school of instruction, it requires not the aid of Cocker to demonstrate that several years must elapse before even an additional pupil can be added to the twenty-eight above {136} stated. Candor compels us therefore to declare that we think this part of his Excellency's report very unsound in its reasoning. He seems to have founded his argument upon the supposition that the deaf and dumb pupils to be educated at the proposed asylum in Virginia, are to be maintained from their own resources, or the private liberality of their friends; whereas, the very object of applying for Legislative aid, is to enable many of these indigent children of misfortune to obtain instruction at the public expense. If this was not the ground of the Governor's reasoning, why does he suppose that not more than one-fifteenth of the whole number of deaf mutes could be induced to resort to a seminary for instruction? Does he mean that a larger proportion could not be obtained if the public expense were proffered for their education and subsistence? If he does, then we humbly think that his Excellency is most egregiously mistaken.

Strange as it may seem however, whilst the Governor in the part of his report which we have quoted, seems to reason upon the idea that Legislative aid is desired for the sole purpose of endowing an asylum at the commencement, and that the annual cost of supporting and educating the pupils is to be drawn from private sources,--he nevertheless suggests as the preferable mode, that the Legislature should annually appropriate a sufficient sum for the maintenance of a given number of pupils at the institutions of Connecticut or Pennsylvania. Let him speak in his own language:

"If the benevolent purpose of instructing the deaf and dumb be the great object of those who desire the establishment of a seminary of this kind in Virginia at this time, the principal question must be, by what means can such an object be best attained? The considerations I have mentioned will probably suffice to shew, that much proficiency cannot reasonably be expected from a school of this kind created here now, nor for many years yet to come, except at a cost to the public very far exceeding any public benefit that could possibly be derived from it. The benevolence of the object might perhaps justify such an expenditure for its accomplishment, if no other means existed. But when other means are open, by which the same benevolent purpose may be attained, even better, and at much less expense, it seems difficult to assign any reason why the better and cheaper mode should not be preferred. This better mode seems to me to be, to appropriate a portion of the sum it must require to create and to perpetuate such an establishment here, to the advancement of the same object in some other seminary already established in one of the other states. All the eastern states (except Rhode Island, I believe,) have pursued this course in regard to the seminary at Hartford, in Connecticut; and I understand that New Jersey, Delaware and Maryland have adopted the same plan with respect to the seminary in Pennsylvania."

In what way, let us ask, is this annual appropriation which the Governor recommends, to be expended? Upon the indigent of course--upon those to whose intellectual night the providence of God has superadded the gloom of poverty; and these objects of public sympathy and bounty are to be selected we presume from various parts of the commonwealth, according to some equitable rule hereafter to be established. Now we humbly think, that whatever inducements could prevail upon the friends of these unfortunates, to send them from three to five hundred miles abroad, in order to partake of the state's charity, would operate with much greater force if the place of their destination were somewhere within our own limits. Of this fact we presume there can be no question. The father or guardian of an indigent deaf mute in one of the border counties of this commonwealth, would vastly prefer Richmond, Staunton or Charlottesville as the place of his education, to either of the cities of Philadelphia or Hartford. There are, moreover, many strong and obvious reasons why a state institution should be patronized, in preference to any other. The public funds would be expended on our own soil, and among our own population. The state would be even richer, by the introduction among us of that peculiar science, which reveals the mysterious intercourse of human minds deprived of the usual inlets to the understanding. The Governor himself seems to be aware that the encouragement of every good thing among ourselves, rather than to be dependent upon others for their enjoyment, is an honest, natural and patriotic prejudice; and accordingly he takes some pains to encounter and overthrow it. Hear him.

"Although I will not admit that there is a single citizen within the limits of Virginia more desirous than I am to domesticate here every thing needful to the well being of the state, yet I neither consider many of what are called modern improvements as coming within this description, nor do I regard it as wise to attempt such domestication prematurely. It is among the wise dispensations of Providence, that all things really necessary to man are placed within the grasp of every community composed of men, and that much of what is not necessary, but convenient only, is of easy acquisition in every civilized society. But when you ascend higher in the scale, and seek to teach or to learn all the sublime and long hidden truths of modern science, it is perhaps fortunate for our race that there are not many any where who feel the inclination to become scholars, and very few indeed who are qualified to teach such lessons. Such science may truly say she is of no country; for no single country on the habitable globe could fill the chairs of the instructers, or the forms of the pupils. Accident generally lays the foundation of such seminaries, and the contributions of the civilized world are required to erect and preserve the edifice. Does any country grudge to pay her quota to the common stock, or seek to pluck from the wing of science the particular feather which such country may claim as her own?--each will do so in its turn--and the bird which might have soared to a sightless height, when stripped of its plumage, will but flutter on the surface, unable to wing her way on high."

Now we confess that we do not understand to our entire satisfaction this extract from the report. The figure of the bird with the plucked plumage, neither strikes us as in very good taste nor very intelligible; but as we have more to do with his Excellency's arguments than his rhetoric, we shall leave the latter to those who are better skilled than we are in following "the mazes of metaphorical confusion." The governor proceeds:

{137} "If this is the case with science, in what may now be considered its higher departments, how much stronger is the appeal humanity makes in favor of benevolence and christian charity. These are of no country, certainly. They but sojourn on earth, teaching frail man to do his duty to his maker, in providing for the wants of his unfortunate fellows, so far as is practicable. To them it must be of little consequence indeed, whether the mute by nature is made a rational being by arts employed in his education, either in one place or another. So far as regards the unfortunate mute, the only inquiry is, where can he be best taught? The only inquiry of the benevolent ought to be, where can he be so taught at the least cost? This last is an inquiry suggested not less by benevolence than the former; for as the means of even charity are necessarily limited, that application of them is best which promises to do the greatest good with the least expenditure.

"To all this let me add, that if there is any thing better calculated than any other to cement our union, and to keep bright the chain which I trust will bind these states together while time lasts, it will be found in the contributions of each to the advancement of objects approved by all, without any jealous regard to the actual spot at which such a general good may commence. If a generous spirit of this sort is but once manifested, its effects will be soon seen and felt by all. Acts of kindness will not fail to induce forbearance and to generate sympathy. When each state shall feel, that for the aid it requires to accomplish any object of general utility, it may rely confidently on its co-states, there will be no more applications to the federal government to pervert the language of the constitution, in order to accomplish the unholy scheme of robbing a minority to enrich a majority. Then, those who contend but for the spoils of the vanquished, may be safely left to the contempt which such a motive cannot fail to inspire with all the generous and the good. It would have been worthy of Virginia to set such an example: it is worthy of her to imitate that which others have already taught."

It is in these passages that we think lurks the fallacy, and we might add, the mischief of the Governor's views. He sets out first by deprecating all legislative interference on the subject. "Let us alone" is his cardinal maxim, and the maxim of the school of political economists to which he belongs.--Let individuals take care of themselves and of each other, but let not government presume to thrust its paternal care upon the community. In the next place, however, if the State, according to his Excellency's notions, will officiously obtrude into these private matters--why then let the funds of the Commonwealth go abroad and enrich some sister State.--These kind offices will brighten the chain of union which binds the States together. They will teach us all to rely more upon each other, and less upon the general government. This is the sum and substance of the Governor's reasoning; and dangerous and fallacious as we believe it to be, we feel the stronger obligation, coming from the high quarter it does, to resist and refute it if we can. It may be justly asked, if there be any thing sound in this specious appeal to the generous feelings of the States, why have not the States carried out the doctrine themselves? Why has North Carolina for example, proverbially styled the Rip Van Winkle of the South, been so blind to her own interests and duty, as not to send her deaf and dumb children to Hartford, instead of erecting an asylum at home? Why have Ohio and Kentucky been guilty of the similar folly of founding institutions themselves? We think we can answer these questions in the only way in which they can be answered, and that is, that these younger States--these (for the most part) daughters of the Old Dominion, are wiser in their generation than their venerable mother. They have discerned their true interests, in fostering their own establishments. Did any one ever dream that Kentucky had given cause of offence to her sister States, by erecting an asylum for the poor mutes? We apprehend not. The truth is, that his Excellency the Governor, is entirely mistaken in his views upon this subject. State pride,--State sovereignty,--State independence,--jealousy of the federal government,--whatever you please to call it, is best preserved by each individual State taking care of its own resources, and building up its own establishments. What a ridiculous business it would be, if twenty-four families in the same neighborhood, were to act upon the principle that each was to take care of all the rest in preference to itself? How will the twenty-four States ever be strong, unless each State will attend particularly to the developement of its own latent powers and capacities--unless each will apply its own energies for its own benefit? Pursue the Governor's doctrine to all its remote consequences, and see to what absurdities we are driven. The University of Virginia was a most palpable violation of the courtesy and good feeling due to our sister States. Besides, according to his Excellency, would it not have been cheaper to send our sons as usual to Cambridge, and Princeton, and Yale, rather than incur the enormous expense of erecting a splendid establishment from the State Treasury? The University, by the way, furnishes a very strong case, favoring, in many of the views in which it may be regarded, the positions and doctrines of Governor Tazewell; yet what Virginian regrets even the lavish expenditure by which that institution has been endowed?--Who does not rather rejoice, that in his native State, at the base of Monticello, the domes of science have been reared, to scatter its light to the present and future generations?

The truth is, and most melancholy is the truth, that many of our leading men in Virginia, perhaps the far greater number, are inclined to acquiesce in this fatal doctrine of State apathy--this most paralyzing policy of passive inertness,--whilst the world at large, and many other portions of the Union, are marching in advance of us, with a celerity which defies calculation. Governor Tazewell might well have applied his figure of the bird despoiled of its plumage, to our poor, old and venerable mother. Her daughters, and sisters, and brothers--almost the whole family--no doubt with the best intentions in the world--are practising, in one way or other, on the old lady's kind feelings and generous principles. Our worthy and excellent friends East of the Hudson, send us their notions--their long provender, their vegetables and brooms, and beg us, by all means, to buy them, because it is cheaper to do so, than to divert our labor from our valuable staples. They send us also their excellent cottons, and other fabrics of their looms, which we take liberally, although we have a good deal of surplus labor, and the finest water power in the {138} Union.--Our near neighbor and almost twin sister Maryland, is pushing, with a degree of enterprise which does her credit, her internal improvements into the heart of our own territory--and we----we have too much grace and politeness to say to her, that it is rather an intrusion. Our most filial and amiable daughters to the West, send to us their hogs, horses and cattle--and we pay them, at least so says the buyer, most tremendous prices. All these drains from our prosperity, and many more which might be enumerated, we submit to, with a degree of patience and composed resignation that even Job might have envied. Our Eagle is indeed stripped of its plumage, to adorn others more fearless and adventurous on the wing.

But to return to the Report. The Governor thinking it probable that the Legislature might not concur in his views, either to give the whole subject of a deaf and dumb asylum the go-by, or to adopt the alternative of sending the indigent pupils into other States, presents various views touching the management of such institutions--the general correctness of which we are not disposed to question. At one thing, however, we are somewhat surprised, and that is, that his Excellency seems not to have been aware of the existence within this State, of an incorporated asylum, prepared to go into operation whensoever the public shall extend its patronage. The Report seems to have been founded upon a voluminous mass of documents, which are deposited in the public library, for the use of the Legislature. Not having access to them, we shall content ourselves with a reference to such others as lay within our reach, in order to present, in a few strong lights, the importance and necessity of such an institution in Virginia.

At the session of 1825-'6, Governor Pleasants communicated to the Legislature the first annual report of the trustees of the Kentucky institution, and also the ninth annual report of the Hartford Asylum. The first mentioned document is particularly important, inasmuch as it exhibits at once the success which attended a first experiment, under circumstances extremely disadvantageous. The report of the trustees made to the Kentucky Legislature was referred to a joint committee of the two Houses,--who visited the asylum at Danville, and who, among other things, stated, on their return, "that they were greatly gratified in witnessing the progress made by the pupils, whose facility and correctness in comprehending the signs made by the teacher, and expressing their ideas, exceeded any thing that could have been anticipated by the most sanguine friends of the institution." They further state the following extraordinary facts, which ought at once to dispel all prejudice, and unite all hearts in support of a system of instruction, attended by such beneficent results. "All those who had been instructed in the asylum for FOUR MONTHS, wrote good hands, spelled correctly, and answered promptly and correctly, numerous questions that were proposed to them by the teacher and members of the committee." It also appears that the whole number of pupils, at the end of the first year, was only twenty-one--a number, which, according to Governor Tazewell's theory, is not sufficient for the purpose of mutual communion, in their peculiar mode--but which, in the instance before us, would seem to establish the very reverse of that proposition.

The report from the Hartford Asylum, which is dated in 1825, is particularly interesting, as furnishing extraordinary proofs of the progress of the pupils, both in moral and intellectual attainments. We think, if Governor Tazewell had been so fortunate as to light upon this document, he would scarcely have urged as a reason for postponing an asylum in Virginia, that the science of instructing the deaf mute was continually advancing, and was likely to be more perfect some years hence than at present. Doubtless this peculiar and valuable art will improve, and so will many other branches of knowledge which are even now in a highly advanced state. Natural history, chemistry, and the physical sciences generally, are constantly enlarging their boundaries, and extending their acquisitions--but shall we, on that account, remain in ignorance of what they now teach, in the vain hope that by and by they will reach the maximum of perfection? Strange doctrine truly!

We have already referred to the memorial of the trustees of the Staunton institution, and the report of the committee of schools and colleges--both of which interesting papers will be found among the printed legislative documents of last winter, and ought to be reprinted for distribution among the members of that body, now in session. We hope that the Legislature will take the subject into its speedy and earnest consideration, and that, in the language of the Kentucky report, they will hearken to the "claims of those whom God, in the mysterious dispensations of his providence, has deprived of the faculty of hearing and of speech; of whom an eloquent divine has said, 'silence like theirs is eloquence.'"

COLONIAL MANNERS.

A picture of the House of Burgesses of Maryland in 1766.

We have been politely favored with the sight of a letter from an illustrious philosopher and statesman, written at Annapolis on the 25th May, 1766, to his friend in Virginia, from which we make the subjoined curious extract. It is no less instructive than amusing to trace the progress of society from its rude and simple beginnings, to that more perfect form produced by civilization and refinement. It may be doubted however, whether the degree of decorum prevailing in the legislative body of a country, furnishes more than an imperfect index to the state of public manners. We will venture to assert that in 1766, the very year when the Burgesses of Maryland are represented as no better than a "mob," the Colonial Assembly of Virginia exhibited as fine a picture of gravity and dignity as could be well conceived; and yet we have no reason to believe that the people of Maryland at that day were less civilized than their brethren south of the Potomac. Perfectly aware as we are of the faults of our countrymen, we have nevertheless always contended that the Virginians are the most remarkable people in the world for the observance of a certain peculiar affability towards each other, not only in their public bodies, but in private intercourse. We mean Virginians of the genuine old stock--not the new race who have sprung up among us like mushrooms, and are trying to introduce an awkward imitation of European customs. These latter are some of them weak enough to think that the sudden acquisition of fortune, without merit on their part, or a voyage or two to London or Paris, are of themselves sufficient to constitute a finished gentleman. Real refinement is founded upon good sense, {139} and upon kindness and good will towards our fellow man, and never can co-exist with purse-proud arrogance or conceited vanity.

In reference to our public assemblies, it is a common remark, and we have no doubt a just one, that there is more order, decorum and dignity in the Virginia Legislature, than in the House of Representatives of the United States. In the latter body the members sit with their hats on, write letters and read newspapers, whilst one of their members is addressing the chair, or the speaker is putting the question. Such disorder is rarely seen in the Capitol of the Old Dominion.

* * * * *

----"I will now give you some account of what I have seen in this metropolis. The Assembly happens to be sitting at this time; their upper and lower house as they call them, sit in different houses. I went into the lower, sitting in an old courthouse, which judging from its form and appearance, was built in the year one. I was surprised on approaching it, to hear as great a noise and hubbub as you will usually observe at a public meeting of the planters in Virginia. The first object which struck me after my entrance, was the figure of a little old man, dressed but indifferently, with a yellow queue wig on, and mounted in the judge's chair. This, the gentleman who walked with me, informed me was the speaker, a man of a very fair character, but who, by the by, has very little the air of a speaker. At one end of the justices' bench stood a man whom in another place I should, from his dress and phiz, have taken for Goodall the lawyer in Williamsburg, reading a bill then before the house with a schoolboy tone, and an abrupt pause at every half dozen words. This I found to be the clerk of the Assembly. The mob (for such was their appearance) sat covered on the justices' and lawyers' benches, and were divided into little clubs, amusing themselves in the common chitchat way. I was surprised to see them address the speaker without rising from their seats, and three, four and five at a time, without being checked. When a motion was made, the speaker, instead of putting the question in the usual form, only asked the gentlemen whether they chose that such or such a thing should be done, and was answered by a yes sir, or no sir; and though the voices appeared frequently to be divided, they never would go to the trouble of dividing the house; but the clerk entered the resolutions, I supposed, as he thought proper. In short, every thing seems to be carried without the house in general knowing what was proposed."

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

WESTERN SCENERY.

EXTRACT OF A LETTER FROM A WESTERN TRAVELLER.

We had rode about a mile, when my guide said, that if I was willing to go a hundred yards out of the way, he could show me something worth seeing. I no sooner assented to this, than he cast around him his keen woodsman's glance, and then, turning his horse in a direction slightly diverging from the road, struck into the woods. I followed, and presently observed that we were pursuing a course nearly parallel to what seemed to be a precipice, beyond the verge of which I caught glimpses of a vast extent of country. Without allowing me time to see any thing distinctly, my guide pushed on, and, spurring to the top of an Indian barrow, placed himself and me at the desired point of view.

We were on the spot that overlooks the confluence of Salt River with the Mississippi. Having once travelled an hundred miles to see the Natural Bridge, and having heard from Mr. Jefferson that that sight was worthy of a voyage across the Atlantic, I certainly did not grudge the price I had paid for the view that opened on me.

The confluence of the rivers is nearly at right angles. The hill descends with equal abruptness towards each, and, at first glance, the apex seems to overhang the water of each. But this is not so. The descent, perhaps, wants two or three degrees of perpendicularity, and, at the bottom, there is a narrow border of low-ground, fringing the banks with lofty trees. The appearance of these trees gave the only measure of the height of the hill. To the eye they might be bushes. My guide assured me they were of the tallest growth.

To the East, across the Mississippi, lay what is called Howard's bottom. This is, as its name imports, a body of low ground. Its width is said to be, in some places, not less than six miles, and to be nearly uniform for a distance of sixty. Of this I could not judge. It seemed that it might be so. I was nearly opposite the middle of it, and overlooking the whole. Next the water was a border of the most luxuriant forest, apparently some half a mile in width, and beyond this, a Prairie reaching to the foot of the hills, interspersed with masses of forest, and groves, and stumps, and single trees, among which, here and there, were glittering glimpses of the Chenaille ecartee, which traverses the whole length of it. You, who know the vesture in which nature clothes these fertile plains, need not be told how rich and soft was the beautiful picture thus spread beneath my feet. Its setting was not less remarkable. This was a perpendicular wall of limestone, two or three hundred feet high, which bounds the valley on the East. An occasional gap, affording an outlet to the country beyond, alone broke the continuity of this barrier. To the North, lay the extensive plain through which Salt River winds. I have no idea of its extent. It is a vast amphitheatre, surrounded by lofty and richly-wooded hills. The plain itself is of wood and Prairie interspersed, and so blended, that every tree seems placed for effect.

You are not to suppose, because I do not launch out in florid declamation about the beauty, and grandeur, and magnificence, and all that, of this scene, that it was less striking than you would naturally suppose it must be. You know that I have neither talent nor taste for fine writing, so you must take the picture as I give it, and draw on your own imagination for the garniture. I have said nothing of the rivers, but to tell you they were there, and flowing through a landscape of many hundred thousand acres of the richest land on earth, with the most beautifully variegated surface, all spread out under my feet. I felt that the scene was sublime; and it is well for your patience, that I have learned that sublime things are best described in fewest words. It is certainly the finest I ever saw. There may be others equal to it, but the earth does not afford room for many such. What will it be, when it becomes "a living landscape of groves and corn-fields, and the abodes of men?" As it is, if the warrior, on whose tomb I stood, could raise his head, he would see it in nothing changed from what it was when his last sun set upon it.

{140}

THOM'S GROUP OF STATUARY,

FROM BURNS'S TAM O'SHANTER.

These remarkable specimens of sculpture, have been recently exhibited in this city, and have attracted, we believe, universal admiration. The artist is a native of Ayrshire, Scotland,--which also gave birth to the Immortal Bard, whose conceptions are so happily illustrated by the genius of the sculptor. Not pretending ourselves to any of those mysterious capabilities, which are claimed by connoiseurs and amateurs, to judge of the productions of art; we rely upon our simple perceptions of what is both true and excellent, in their design and execution. The following is the passage from Burns, which the artist has chosen in order to give visible and tangible form to the poet's fancy:

Ae market night, Tam had got planted unco right, Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely; And at his elbow Souter Johnny, His ancient trusty, drouthy crony: Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither; They had been fou for weeks thegither. The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter, And aye the ale was growin' better: The landlady and Tam grew gracious, Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious: The Souter tauld his queerest stories, The landlord's laugh was ready chorus: The storm without might rair and rustle, Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.

Never perhaps, as is well observed by a political journal in this city, was the genius of art so truly impressed upon stone, as in the present instance,--to represent human bodies in a state of petrifaction. A reader of Romance, would almost imagine that the wand of enchantment had passed over the merry group, and had frozen the currents of life--without disturbing the mirth, enlivened feature, the arch and humorous look,--or the easy and careless attitudes of nature. We admire the productions of the great masters of modern times, or, of classical antiquity--but, whilst we gaze, we never once even imagine that the promethean spark might have animated the marble. Belonging, as most of them do, to the ideal schools of sculpture--imbodying all that is fair and beautiful, in the artist's conception; rather than what is absolutely true in the visible forms of nature,--they do not strike us with the same irresistible force, or so instantly seize upon our feelings--as does the rude, simple, but faithful sculpture of this unlettered and inexperienced Scottish stone-cutter. Considering that Mr. Thom was entirely ignorant of the rules of his art,--that he had not even the advantage of first modelling his productions in clay,--that the group from Tam O'Shanter is among his first efforts, and that each of these fine pieces, was hewn at once out of the shapeless stone, without the power of correcting the mistakes of his chisel as he proceeded,--the mind is lost in wonder at the vigor and originality of his genius. Such a man is worthy the birthplace of Robert Burns,--who little thought whilst he was sketching the hilarities of the ale-house, that one of his countrymen would so soon arise to present in the forms and models of a sister art, so fine a representation of the scene. The following detailed account of the artist, and of his singularly successful labors, is extracted from an Edinburg journal. We copy it from "The People's Magazine." It will be highly interesting to most of our readers:

James Thom, the sculptor of these wonderful figures, is a native of Ayrshire, and of respectable parentage near Tarbolton. Although, like those of his countryman and inspirer, his relatives were all engaged in agricultural pursuits, (his brothers, we understand, possess large farms,) the young man himself preferred the occupation of a mason, and was, accordingly, apprenticed to a craftsman in Kilmarnock. This profession was probably selected as offering the nearest approach to the undefined workings and predilections of his own inexperienced mind, since he was not, as in the instance of several sculptors of eminence, thrown first into the trade of a stone mason by the force of circumstances. This would appear from his showing little attachment to the drudgery of the art: accordingly, his first master is understood to have pronounced him rather a dull apprentice. From the beginning, he seems to have looked forward to the ornamental part of his calling; and in a country town where there was little or no opportunity of employment in that line, to those more immediately concerned, he might appear less useful than a less aspiring workman. The evidences of young Thom's diligence and talent at this time, however, still remain in numerous specimens of carving in stone, which he himself still considers, we are told, as superior to any thing he has yet done.

His term of apprenticeship being expired, Mr. Thom repaired to Glasgow in pursuit of better employment. Here his merits were immediately perceived, and so well rewarded, that his wages were considerably higher than the ordinary rate.

In his present profession, Mr. Thom's career may be dated from the commencement of the winter of 1827. Being employed at this time in the immediate neighborhood, he applied to Mr. Auld, of Ayr, who afterwards proved his steady and judicious friend, for permission to take a sketch from a portrait of Burns, with the intention of executing a bust of the poet. This is a good copy of the original picture by Mr. Nasmyth, and is suspended in the very elegant and classical monument, from a design by Mr. Hamilton, erected to the memory of the bard, on the banks of the Doon, near "Allowa's auld haunted kirk." The permission was kindly granted; doubts, however, being at the same time expressed, how far the attempt was likely to prove successful, Mr. Thom not being then known in Ayr. These doubts seemed to be confirmed, on the latter returning with a very imperfect sketch, taken by placing transparent paper on the picture. These occurrences happened on the Wednesday, consequently nothing could be done till Thursday, when materials were to be procured, and other arrangements made, before the work was absolutely begun. The surprise then may be conceived, on the artist returning on the Monday following with the finished bust. In this work, though somewhat defective as a likeness, the execution, the mechanical details, and the general effect, were wonderful, especially when viewed in connexion with the shortness of the time and the disadvantage of being finished almost from memory--the very imperfect outline, already mentioned, being the only external guide. It was this general excellence that encouraged the proposal of a full length figure--a proposal to which the artist gave his ready assent, stating that he had wished to undertake something of the kind, but did not consider it prudent, without any prospect of remuneration, to hazard the expense both of the block of stone and the loss of time. On this Mr. Auld offered to procure any stone from the neighboring quarries which the artist might judge fit for his purpose. Several days elapsed in this search; in the meantime, the matter was rather laughed at than encouraged; and some apprehensions of failure, and exposure to consequent comments, being expressed, "Perhaps," said the artist, endeavoring to re-assure his friends, "I had just better try my hand at a head, as a specimen o' Tam." This being agreed to, he returned to Crosby church-yard, where he was then employed upon a grave-stone. The day following happened to be one of continued rain; and, finding that the water filled up his lines; probably, too, thinking more on "glorious Tam," than on the memento mori he was attempting to engrave, our artist resolved to take time by the forelock, and to set about the "specimen head" directly. Accordingly, pulling from the ruins of the church of Crosby a rabat of the door-way, as a proper material for his purpose, he sat himself down among the long rank grass covering the graves, and in that situation actually finished the head before rising. Nay, more, although the day has been described to us "as a dounright pour," so total was his absorption in the work--so complete his insensibility to every thing else, that he declares himself to have been unconscious of the "rattling showers," from the moment he {141} commenced. Such is the power of genuine and natural enthusiasm in a favorite pursuit. This head, which contained perhaps, more expression than even that of the present figure, decided the matter. Next day, the block requisite for a full-length of Tam o' Shanter, was brought into Ayr, a load for four stout horses, and placed in a proper workshop, within Cromwell's fort.

It may be interesting to mention a few particulars of the manner in which these figures have been composed and finished.--"Tam" was selected by the artist as a subject for his chisel. The figure is understood to bear a strong traditional resemblance to the well-known Douglass Graham, some forty years ago a renowned specimen of a Carrick farmer, and who, residing at Shanter, furnished to Burns the prototype of his hero.

---- Souter Johnnie, His antient, trusty, drouthie cronie--

is said to be a striking likeness of a living wight--a cobbler near Maybole; not that this individual sat for his portraiture, but that the artist appears to have wrought from the reminiscences of two interviews with which he was favored, after twice travelling 'some lang Scotch miles,' in order to persuade the said "souter" to transfer his body, by means of his pair of soles, from his own to the artist's studio. The bribe of two guineas a-week, exclusive of "half-mutchkins withouten score," proved, however, unavailing, and the cobbler remained firm to the last. By this refusal, "the birkie" has only become poorer by the said couple of guineas, and certain "half-mutchkins drouthier," for so true has the eye of the sculptor proved, that every one is said instantly to recognise the cobbler's phiz and person. A strange perverseness, indeed, or fatality, or what you will, seems to have seized upon all the favored few selected as fitting archetypes for these admirable figures. For, Tam's "nether man" occasioning some anxiety in the perfecting of its sturdy symmetry, a carter, we believe, was laid hold of, and the gamashins, being pulled on for half-an-hour, Tam's right leg was finished in rivalship of the said gentleman's supporter. It appears to have been agreed upon that he should return at a fitting opportunity, having thus left Tam "hirpling:" but, in the interval, the story of the sitting unfortunately taking air, and the soubriquet of "Tam o' Shanter" threatening to attach to the lawful and Christian appellations of the man of carts, no inducement could again bring him within the unhallowed precincts of our sculptor's work-room. In like manner, though at a somewhat later period, while the artist was engaged upon the figure of the landlady, no persuasion could prevail upon one of the many "bonny lasses" who have given such celebrity to Ayr, to exhibit even the "fitting of their pearlings" to Mr. Thom's gaze. One sonsy damsel, on being hard pressed to grant a sitting, replied, "Na, na, I've nae mind to be nickinamed 'landlady;' and, as for gudewife, twa speerings maun gang to that name."

It will, doubtless, excite the admiration of every one in the slightest degree conversant with the Arts, that these figures, so full of life, ease and character, were thus actually executed without model, or drawing, or palpable archetype whatsoever. The artist, indeed, knows nothing of modelling; and so little of drawing, that we question if he would not find difficulty in making even a tolerable sketch of his own work. The chisel is his modelling tool--his pencil--the only instrument of his art, in short, with which he is acquainted, but which he handles in a manner, we may say, almost unprecedented in the history of sculpture.--This, however, is the minor part; for we think, nay, are sure, we discover in this dexterity of hand, in this unerring precision of eye, in this strong, though still untutored, conception of form and character--the native elements of the highest art. These primodial attributes of genius, by proper culture, may do honor to the country and to their possessor. At all events, instruction will refine and improve attempts in the present walk of art, even should study be unable to elevate attainment to a higher. Now, however, it would be not only premature, but unjust, to criticise these statues as regular labors of sculpture. They are to be regarded as wonderful, nay, almost miraculous, efforts of native, unaided, unlearned talent--as an approach to truth almost in spite of nature and of science; but they do not hold with respect to legitimate sculpture--the high-souled, the noblest, the severest of all arts--the same rank as, in painting, the works of the Dutch masters do as compared with the lofty spirits of the Romans--precisely for this reason, that while similar subjects are not only fit, but often felicitous, subjects for the pencil, they are altogether improper objects of sculptural representation.

Though, from the circumstance of being the principals in the composition, and from the intrinsic excellence of their conception, these two figures have chiefly occupied the public attention, they ought not to induce forgetfulness of the artist's other labors. These, besides the Landlord and his mate, consist of several[1] copies, in various sizes, of this original group, and of numerous sculptures, of different character and purpose, from a "head-stane" upwards, executed by Mr. Thom, since his residence in Ayr as a professional stone-cutter. Here his studio is the resort of all intelligent strangers who visit this ancient and beautiful burgh; while his modest manners, and moral worth have conciliated the respect of every one. The character of the Landlady is well sustained, as the buxom bustling head of a well frequented "change-house." Her lord and master, on the other hand, is represented as one who has little to say in his own house, and better qualified to drink, than to earn his pint. The former seems by no means disinclined to reciprocate glances with Tam; while the latter is so convulsed with laughter at the Souter's stories, as to be hardly capable of maintaining the equipoise of the foaming tankard in his hand. Neither, however, is equal in graphic truth and humor to their two companions. A more gigantic, but by no means so happy a work, is the statue of the Scottish patriot, lately placed in the niche of the New Tower, just erected in Ayr, on the site of the ancient "Wallace Tower" of Burns. In fact, we regard this figure as nearly a failure. It possesses neither the truth of nature, nor the dignity of ideal representation. Omitting others of less moment, we shall pass to the most perfect of all Mr. Thom's works--the figure of "Old Mortality." This, though only a model, and not yet, we believe, even commissioned in stone, offers by far the most striking evidence of genius in its author.[2] The costume, attitude, and expression of the old man, as he is represented sitting upon a grave-stone, which he has been occupied in cleaning, are most admirable; and perhaps no artist ever more completely realized the exquisite conception of the original mind. The history of this composition supplies a striking instance of the power of genius over spirits of a congenial stamp, and of the singular coincidences which sometimes take place in its manner of conceiving the same sentiment. During a voyage to London, in a Leith steam packet, Mr. Thom one day found in the cabin, Sir Walter's delightful tale of Old Mortality, which he had never read. Taking it up, he quickly became entirely engrossed in the narrative. The description of the old man, to whom posterity is indebted for many a record, else lost, of our single-minded sufferers for conscience' sake--so fixed itself upon the artist's imagination, that he instantly conceived the idea of representing it in sculpture. By way of concentrating his thoughts, he sketched a figure in the imagined attitude, on one of the boards of the book he had been reading. Pleased with his idea, he transferred it to his pocket-book. A few days after his arrival in London, he was introduced to our celebrated countryman, Wilkie, who, with his accustomed kindness, showed him his portfolios. Mr. Thom's surprise may be imagined, when in one of these he found a sketch of Old Mortality, almost identical with his own, executed by Wilkie several years before. The same thought had struck both, and almost in the same manner.

[Footnote 1: There are now five sets; three of which are the size of life, and two, four and twenty inches high. One set is, or is to be deposited at the temple called the tomb of Burns, in Ayrshire.--Another belongs to Lord Cassili. The third is in this country.]

[Footnote 2: Since the above has been published, Thom has nearly finished his Old Mortality in a block too small for his conception, and which will oblige him to execute an entirely new figure.]

[We extract the following affecting story from the "Western Monthly Magazine." Though written in the form of romantic narrative, it presents one of the strongest cases we recollect to have seen, in which innocence is overborne by powerful but false appearances of guilt. It is certainly a strong illustration of the danger of convicting a fellow creature, upon what is technically called presumptive evidence, a topic upon which the gentlemen of the bar are furnished with as wide a field for the display of professional ingenuity, as upon any other in the {142} whole compass of jurisprudence. That it is often safe, and indispensably necessary however to rely upon such kind of evidence, is so obvious in itself--and so well established as a legal maxim--that the danger of sometimes convicting, upon a train of specious but deceptive circumstances, is less than the evil of acquittal in the absence of positive, conclusive, and infallible testimony.]

CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.

A TALE FOUNDED ON FACT.

The circumstances which I am about to relate, are familiar to many now living. In some particulars I have varied from the truth; but if in the relation of an event which excited intense interest, at the time of its occurrence, I shall succeed in impressing upon any one, the delusive character of circumstantial evidence, my object will be attained.

Beneath the magnificent sycamores which bordered a lovely stream in the southwest part of Kentucky, a company of emigrants had pitched their encampment, for the night. The tents were set up, the night-fire threw its gleam upon the water, the weary horses were feeding, the evening repast was over, and preparations were made for repose. The party consisted of three brothers, with their families, who were wending their way to the new lands of the distant Missouri. On their visages, where the ague had left the sallow traces of its touch, few of the nobler traits of the human character were visible. Accustomed to reside upon the outskirts of society, little versed in its forms, and as little accustomed to the restraints of law, or the duties of morality, they were the fit pioneers of civilization, because their frames were prepared for the utmost endurance of fatigue, and society was purified by their removal. Theirs were not the fearless independence, and frank demeanor which marks the honest backwoodsman of our country; but the untamed license, and the wiley deportment of violent men, who loved not the salutary influence of the law, nor mingled of choice with the virtuous of their own species.

As they stirred the expiring fires, the column of light, mingled with the smoke and cinder, that rose towards the clear sky of the mild May night, revealed two travellers of a different appearance, who had encamped on the margin of the same stream. One was a man of thirty. Several years passed in the laborious practice of medicine, in a southern climate, had destroyed his constitution, and he had come to breathe the bracing air of a higher latitude. The wing of health had fanned into new vigor the waning fires of life, and he was now returning to the home of his adoption with a renovated frame. The young man who sat by him, was a friend, to whom he had paid a visit, and who was now attending him, a short distance, on his journey. They had missed their way, and reluctantly accepted a sullen permission of the emigrants to share their coarse fare, rather than wander in the dark, through unknown forests. Hamilton, the younger of the two, was, perhaps, twenty-seven years of age--and was a young gentleman of prepossessing appearance, of cultivated mind, and of a chivalrous and sensitive disposition. His parents were indigent, and he had, by the energy of his own talents and industry, redeemed them from poverty, and placed them in easy circumstances. In one of his commercial expeditions down the Mississippi, he had met with Saunders, the physician. An intimacy ensued, which though brief, had already ripened into mature friendship.

'Affection knoweth nought of time, It riseth like the vernal flowers; The heart pulse is its only chime, And feelings are its hours.'

Together they had hunted over the flowery barrens, and through the majestic forests of their native state--had scaled the precipice, and swam the torrent--had explored the cavern, and visited whatever was wonderful or curious in the region around them; and both looked forward, with painful feelings, to the termination of an intercourse which had been pleasing and instructive.--As they were to separate in the morning, the evening was spent in conversation--in that copious and involuntary flow of kindness and confidence which the heart pours out at the moment when friends are about to sever, when the past is recalled and the future anticipated, and friendship no longer silent, nor motionless, displays itself like the beauty of the ocean wave, which is most obvious at the moment of its dissolution.

Early in the morning, the two friends prepared to pursue their journey. As they were about to depart, one of the emigrants advanced towards them, and remarked:

'I reckon, strangers, you allow to encamp at Scottville to-night?'

'Yes,' said Saunders, 'I do.'

'Well, then, I can tell you a chute, that's a heap shorter than the road you talk of taking--and at the forks of Rushing river, there's a smart chance of blue clay, that's miry like, and it's right scary crossing at times.'

Supposing they had found a nearer and better road, and one by which a dangerous ford would be avoided, they thanked their informant, and proceeded on their journey.

In some previous conversations, Saunders had learned, that his friend had recently experienced some heavy losses, and was at this time much pressed for money, and wishing to offer him assistance, had from time to time deferred it, from the difficulty of approaching so delicate a subject. As the time of parting approached, however, he drew the conversation to that point, and was informed that the sum of five hundred dollars, would relieve his friend from embarrassment. Having a large sum in his possession, he generously tendered him the amount required, and Hamilton, after some hesitation, accepted the loan, and proposed to give his note for its repayment, which Saunders declined, under the plea that the whole transaction was a matter of friendship, and that no such formality was requisite. When they were about to part, Hamilton unclasped his breast-pin, and presented it to his friend. 'Let this,' said he, 'remind you sometimes of Kentucky--I trust, that when I visit you next year, I shall not see it adorning the person of some favored fair one.' 'I have not so much confidence in you,' laughingly returned the other; and, handing him a silver-hafted penknife curiously embossed, 'I am told that knives and scissors are not acceptable presents to the fair, as they are supposed to cut love, so I have no fear that Almira will get this--and I know that no other human being would cause you to forget your friend.' They then parted.

As Hamilton was riding slowly homeward, engaged in thought, and holding his bridle loosely, a deer sprang suddenly from a thicket, and fell in the road, before his {143} horse, who started and threw him to the ground. In examining the deer, which had been mortally wounded, and was still struggling, some of the blood was sprinkled on his dress, which had been otherwise soiled by his fall. Paying little attention to these circumstances, he returned home.

Though his absence had been brief, many hands grasped his in cordial welcome, many eyes met his own in love, for few of the young men of the county were so universally beloved, and so much respected as Hamilton. But to none was his return so acceptable as to Almira ----. She had been his playmate in infancy, his schoolmate in childhood, in maturer years their intimacy had ripened into love, and they were soon to be united in the holiest and dearest of ties. But the visions of hope were soon to pass from before them, as the mirage of the desert, that mocks the eye of the thirsty traveller, and then leaves him a death-devoted wanderer on the arid waste.

A vague report was brought to the village, that the body of a murdered man was found near Scottville. It was first mentioned by a traveller, in a company where Hamilton was present; and he instantly exclaimed, 'no doubt it is Saunders--how unfortunate that I left him!' and then retired under great excitement. His manner and expressions awakened suspicion, which was unhappily corroborated by a variety of circumstances, that were cautiously whispered by those, who dared not openly arraign a person whose whole conduct through life had been honest, frank, and manly. He had ridden away with Saunders, who was known to have been in possession of a large sum of money. Since his return, he had paid off debts to a considerable amount. The penknife of Saunders was recognized in his hands--yet none were willing, on mere surmise, to hazard a direct accusation.

The effect of the intelligence upon Hamilton was marked. The sudden death of a dear friend is hard to be supported--but when one who is loved and esteemed, is cut off by the dastardly hand of the assassin, the pang of bereavement becomes doubly great, and in this instance, the feelings of deep gratitude which Hamilton felt towards his benefactor, caused him to mourn over the catastrophe, with a melancholy anguish. He would sit for hours in a state of abstraction, from which even the smile of love could not awaken him.

The elections were at hand; and Hamilton was a candidate for the legislature. In the progress of the canvass, the foul charge was openly made, and propagated with the remorseless spirit of party animosity. Yet he heard it not, until one evening as he sate with Almira, in her father's house. They were conversing in low accents, when the sound of an approaching footstep interrupted them, and the father of Almira entered the room. 'Mr. Hamilton,' said he, 'I am a frank man--I consented to your union with my daughter, believing your character to be unstained--but I regret to hear that a charge has been made against you, which, if true, must render you amenable to the laws of your country. I believe it to be a fabrication of your enemies--but, until it shall be disproved, and your character as a man of honor, placed above suspicion, you must be sensible that the proposed union cannot take place, and that your visits to my house must be discontinued.'

'What does my father mean?' inquired the young lady, anxiously, as her indignant parent retired.

'I do not know,' replied the lover, 'it is some electioneering story, no doubt, which I can easily explain. I only regret that it should give him, or you, a moment's uneasiness.'

'It shall cause me none,' replied the confiding girl: 'I cannot believe any evil of you.'

He retired--sought out the nature of the charge, and to his inexpressible astonishment and horror, learned that he was accused of the murder and robbery of his friend! In a state little short of distraction, he retired to his room, recalled with painful minuteness all the circumstances connected with the melancholy catastrophe, and for the first time, saw the dangerous ground on which he stood. But proud in conscious innocence, he felt that to withdraw at that stage of the canvass, might be construed into a confession of guilt. He remained a candidate, and was beaten. Now, for the first time, did he feel the wretchedness of a condemned and degraded man. The tribunal of public opinion had pronounced against him the sentence of conviction; and even his friends, as the excitement of the party struggle subsided, became cold in his defence, and wavering in their belief of his innocence. Conscious that the eye of suspicion was open, and satisfied that nothing short of a public investigation could restore him to honor, the unhappy young man surrendered himself to the civil authority, and demanded a trial. Ah! little did he know the malignity of man, or the fatal energy of popular delusion! He reflected not that when the public mind is imbued with prejudice, even truth itself ceases to be mighty. Many believed him guilty, and those who, during the canvass, had industriously circulated the report, now labored with untiring diligence to collect and accumulate the evidence which should sustain their previous assertions. But arrayed in the panoply of innocence, he stood firm, and confident of acquittal. The best counsel had been engaged--and on the day of trial, Hamilton stood before the assembled county--an arraigned culprit in the presence of those before whom he had walked in honor from childhood.

As the trial proceeded, the confidence of his friends diminished, and those who had doubted, became confirmed in the belief of the prisoner's guilt. Trifles light as air became confirmations strong as proofs of Holy Writ to the jealous minds of the audience, and one fact was linked to another in curious coincidence, until the chain of corroborating circumstances seemed irresistibly conclusive. His recent intimacy with the deceased, and even the attentions which friendship and hospitality had dictated, were ingeniously insisted upon as evidences of a deliberate plan of wickedness--long formed and gradually developed. The facts, that he had accompanied the deceased on his way--that he had lost the path in a country with which he was supposed to be familiar--his conduct on hearing of the death of his friend--the money--the knife--caused the most incredulous to tremble for his fate. But when the breast-pin of Hamilton, found near the body of the murdered man, was produced--and a pistol, known to have been that of the prisoner, was proved to have been picked up near the same spot--but little room was left, even for charity to indulge a benevolent doubt. Nor was this all--the prosecution had still another witness--the pale girl who sate by him, clasping his hand in hers, was unexpectedly called upon to rise and give testimony. She shrunk from the unfeeling call, and buried her face in her {144} brother's bosom. That blow was not anticipated--for none but the cunning myrmidons of party vengeance, who had even violated the sanctuary of family confidence, in search of evidence, dreamed that any criminating circumstance was in the possession of this young lady. At the mandate of the court, she arose, laid aside her veil, and disclosed a face haggard with anxiety and terror. In low tremulous accents, broken with sobs, she reluctantly deposed, that the clothes worn by her brother, on his return from that fatal journey, were torn, soiled with earth, and bloody! An audible murmur ran through the crowd, who were listening in breathless silence--the prisoner bowed his head in mute despair--the witness was borne away insensible--the argument proceeded, and after an eloquent, but vain defence, the jury brought in a verdict of guilty! The sentence of death was passed.

* * * * *

The summer had passed away. The hand of autumn had begun to tinge with mellow hues the magnificent scenery of the forest. It was evening, and the clear moonbeams were shining through the grates of the prisoner's cell. The unhappy man, haggard, attenuated, and heart-broken, was lying upon his wretched pallet, reflecting alternately upon the early wreck of his bright hopes, the hour of ignominy that was just approaching, and the dread futurity into which he should soon be plunged. It was the season at which his marriage with Almira was to have been solemnized. With what pride and joy had he looked forward to this hour! And now, instead of the wedding festivities, the lovely bride, and the train of congratulating friends, so often pictured in fancy, he realized fetters, a dungeon, and a disgraceful death! The well-known tread of the jailer interrupted the bitter train of thought. The door opened, and as the light streamed from a lantern across the cell, he saw a female form timidly approaching. In a moment Almira had sunk on her knees beside him, and their hands were silently clasped together. There are occasions when the heart spurns all constraint, and acts up to its own dictates, careless of public opinion, or prescribed forms--when love becomes the absorbing and overruling passion--and when that which under other circumstances would be mere unlicensed impulse, becomes a hallowed and imperious duty. That noble-hearted girl had believed to the last, that her lover would be honorably acquitted. The intelligence of his condemnation, while it blighted her hopes, and withered her health, never disturbed for one moment her conviction of his innocence. There is an union of hearts which is indestructible, which marriage may sanction, and nourish, and hallow, but which separation cannot destroy--a love that endures while life remains, or until its object shall prove faithless or unworthy. Such was the affection of Almira; and she held her promise to love and honor him, whose fidelity to her was unspotted, and whose character she considered honorable, to be as sacred, as if they had been united in marriage. When all others forsook, she resolved never to forsake him. She had come to visit him in his desolation, and to risk all, to save one who was dear and innocent in her estimation, though guilty in the eyes of the world.

The jailer, a blunt, though humane man, briefly disclosed a plan, which he, with Almira, had devised, for the escape of Hamilton. He had consented to allow the prisoner to escape, in female dress, while she was to remain in his stead, so that the whole contrivance should seem to be her own. 'I am a plain man,' concluded the jailer, 'but I know what's right. It 'aint fair to hang no man on suspicion--and more than that, I am not agoing to stand in no man's way--especially a friend who has done me favors, as you have. I go in for giving every fellow a fair chance. The track's clear, Mr. Hamilton, and the quicker you put out, the better.'

To his surprise, the prisoner peremptorily refused the offer.

'I am innocent,' said he; 'but I would suffer a thousand deaths rather than injure the fair fame of this confiding girl.'

'Go, Dudley--my dear Dudley,' she sobbed: 'for my sake, for the sake of your broken-hearted father and sister--'

'Do not tempt me--my dear Almira. I will not do that which would expose you to disgrace.'

'Oh, who would blame me?'

'The world--the uncharitable world--they who believe me a murderer, and have tortured the most innocent actions into proofs of deliberate villainy, will not hesitate to brand you as the victim of a cold-blooded felon. And why should I fly? to live a wretched wanderer, with the brand of Cain on my forehead, and a character stamped with infamy?'--

He would have said more--but the form, that during this brief dialogue, had sunk into his arms, was lying lifeless on his bosom. He kissed her cold lips, and passionately repeated her name--but she heard him not--her pure spirit had gently disengaged itself, and was flown forever. Her heart was broken. She had watched, and wept, and prayed, in hopeless grief, until the physical energies of a delicate frame were exhausted: and the excitement of the last scene had snapped the attenuated thread of life.

Hamilton did not survive her long. His health was already shattered by long confinement, and the chaffing of a proud spirit. Almira had died for him--and his own mother--oh! how cautiously did they whisper the sad truth, when he asked why she who loved him better than her own life, had forsaken him in the hour of affliction--she, too, had sunk under the dreadful blow. His father lived a withered, melancholy man, crushed in spirit; and as his sister hung like a guardian angel over his death-bed, and he gazed at her pale, emaciated, sorrow-stricken countenance, he saw that she, too, would soon be numbered among the victims of this melancholy persecution. When, with his last breath, he suggested that they would soon meet, she replied: 'I trust that God will spare me to see your innocence established, and then will I die contented.' And her confidence was rewarded--for God does not disappoint those who put their trust in him. About a year afterwards, a wretch, who was executed at Natchez, and who was one of the three persons named in the commencement of this narrative, confessed that he had murdered Saunders, with a pistol which he had found at the place where the two friends had slept. 'I knew it would be so,'--was the only reply of the fast declining sister--and soon after she was buried by the side of Dudley and Almira.--Reader, this is not fiction--nor are the decisions of God unjust--but his ways are above our comprehension.

EMILLION.

{145}

LAW LECTURE AT WILLIAM AND MARY.

A Lecture on the Study of the Law; being an Introduction to a course of lectures on that subject, in the College of William and Mary, by Beverley Tucker, Professor of Law.--Richmond: T. W. White. Nov. 1834.

It is impossible for a Virginian not to feel an interest in old William and Mary. Recollecting the many able men who have been nurtured within its walls, and signalized as lawyers, legislators and statesmen, we cannot but feel gratified at every effort in its behalf that promises to be of use. From the time of Judge Semple's last appointment as Judge of the General Court, until the month of July, the law chair had remained vacant. A vacancy in so important a department continuing for so long a period, could not fail to be prejudicial to the institution. It was in vain that the other professorships were ably filled. The circumstance of the lectures in the law department being suspended, made many fear that the other professorships would one by one share the same fate--that this vacancy was but a precursor to others--that a failure to fill this would be followed by like failures hereafter--and that in a few years the doors of this venerable pile would be closed. These inferences are strengthened by the fact, that a very important professorship (the professorship of mathematics) had formerly been permitted to remain vacant for even a longer period than that which is the subject of these brief reflections. With such anticipations, it is no wonder that every class has latterly been characterized by the smallness of its numbers.

The Board of Visiters, at their meeting in July, resolved that the vacancy should continue no longer, and conferred the appointment of law professor upon Beverley Tucker. Mr. Tucker is well known as a writer upon constitutional questions, and his appointment to the bench of another state, after a short residence in it, affords evidence of the estimation in which his legal attainments were there held. The same professorship to which he is now appointed, was filled many years ago by his father St. George Tucker, whose edition of Blackstone's Commentaries, and subsequent appointment first in the state and then in the federal judiciary, have given him a reputation with members of the bar throughout the Union.

The letter and answer which precede the introductory lecture of Professor Tucker, sufficiently explain the circumstances under which that lecture is published.

* * * * *

Williamsburg, October 27, 1834.

Dear Sir:--The students of William and Mary, highly gratified by your able and eloquent address, delivered before them this day, have held a special meeting, and by unanimous vote adopted the following resolution:

Resolved, (At a meeting of the students in the large lecture room on the 27th inst.) That a committee be appointed to address a note to Professor Tucker, for the purpose of expressing their admiration of the able and interesting lecture which he has this day delivered, introductory to his course on law, and to solicit the same for publication.

We hope for your assent to this request, and in performing this agreeable duty, we tender you our sentiments of respect and esteem.

JNO. W. DEW, CHAS. H. KENNEDY, WM. T. FRENCH, JOHN MURDAUGH,

Professor Tucker. Committee.

* * * * *

Williamsburg, October 28, 1834.

Gentlemen:--I acknowledge the receipt of your polite note, and am happy to comply with the request which it conveys. Identified with the College of William and Mary by the early recollections and warm affections of youth, I have nothing so much at heart as a desire to be found worthy to aid in restoring that venerable institution to all its former prosperity and usefulness. Your approbation is dear to me, as encouraging a hope that my efforts may not be unavailing. If I shall be so fortunate as to send out into the world but one more, to be added to the list of illustrious men, who are every where found upholding, with generous, devoted and enlightened zeal, the free institutions inherited from our fathers, in their true spirit, I shall have my reward. If I can succeed in impressing on my class the conviction, that freedom has its duties, as well as its rights, and can only be preserved by the faithful discharge of those duties, I shall have my reward. If I can do no more than to furnish to the profession members devoted to its duties, and qualified to sustain its high character for intelligence and integrity, by diligence and fidelity even in its humblest walks, I shall still have my reward. In either case I shall have rendered valuable service, to you, to this venerable institution, to this scene of my earliest, happiest and best days, and to Virginia--my mother--the only country to which my heart has ever owned allegiance. Far as my feet have wandered from her soil, my affections have always cleaved to her, and as the faithful mussulman, in every clime, worships with his face towards the tomb of his prophet, so has my heart ever turned to her, alive to all her interests, jealous of her honor, resentful of her wrongs, partaking in all her struggles, exulting in her triumphs, and mourning her defeats. May she again erect herself to her former proud attitude and walk before the children of liberty in the pathless desert where they now wander, as a "cloud by day, and a pillar of fire by night."

For yourselves, gentlemen, and those whom you represent, be pleased to accept my acknowledgments for the compliment implied in your application. I would ask you to accept the expression of another sentiment, if I knew how to express it. Returning to Williamsburg after an absence commencing in early life, the long and dreary interval seems obliterated. I find myself remitted at once to the scenes and to the feelings of youth. It would seem more natural to me to come among you as a companion than as an instructer. But this may not be much amiss. My business is with your heads, but the road to them is through the heart, and if I can only bring you to understand and reciprocate my feelings, there will be nothing wanting to facilitate the communication of any instruction I may be capable of bestowing.

I remain, gentlemen, with high regard, your friend and obedient servant,

B. TUCKER.

To Messrs. J. W. Dew, John Murdaugh, Wm. T. French, and Chs. H. Kennedy.

* * * * *

YOUNG GENTLEMEN:

I gladly avail myself of an established custom, to offer some remarks on the mutual relation into which we have just entered, and the studies which will occupy our attention during the ensuing course.

This day is to you the commencement of the most important æra of life. You have heretofore been engaged in studies, for the most part useful, but sometimes merely ornamental or amusing. The mind, it is true, can hardly fail to improve, by the exertion necessary to the acquisition of knowledge of any kind, even as the athletic sports of the boy harden and prepare the body for the labors of the man. But, in many particulars, what you have heretofore learned may be of little practical value in the business of life; and your past neglects may perhaps be attended with no loss of prosperity or respectability in future. Some of you are probably acquainted with sciences of which others are ignorant; but are not for that reason any better prepared for the new course of studies on which you are about to enter. Nor will such knowledge necessarily afford its possessors any advantage at {146} the bar, or in the senate, or on any of the arenas, where the interests of individuals and nations are discussed, and the strifes of men decided. But the time is now past with you, young gentlemen, when you can lose a moment, or neglect an opportunity of improvement, without a lasting and irreparable detriment to yourselves. You this day put on the toga virilis, and enter on the business of life. This day you commence those studies on which independence, prosperity, respectability, and the comfort and happiness of those who will be dearest to you, must depend. For, trust me, these things mainly depend on excellence in the profession or occupation, whatever it may be, which a man chooses as the business of his life. The humblest mechanic will derive more of all these good things from diligence and proficiency in his trade, than he possibly can from any knowledge unconnected with it.

This, which is true of all occupations, is most emphatically true of that which you have chosen. To be eminent in our profession is to hold a place among the great ones of the earth; and they, who devote themselves to it, have the rare advantage of treading the path which leads to the highest objects of honorable ambition, even while walking the round of daily duties, and providing for the daily wants of private life. The history of our country is full of proof that the bar is the road to eminence; and I beg you to remark how few of its members have attained to this eminence in public life, without having been first distinguished in the profession. To win its honors, and to wear them worthily, is to attain an elevation from which all other honors are accessible: but to turn aside disgusted with its labors, is to lose this vantage ground, and to sink again to the dead level of the common mass. You should therefore learn to look on the profession of your choice, as the source from whence are to flow all the comforts, the honors, and the happiness of life. Let it be as a talisman, in which, under God, you put your trust, assuring yourselves that whatever you seek by means of it you will receive.

I have the more naturally fallen into these remarks, as they are in some sort suggested, and are certainly justified by the history of this institution. If you trace back the lives of the men, who at this moment occupy the most enviable pre-eminence in your native state, you will find that they received the rudiments of their professional and political education at this venerable but decayed seminary. There are certainly distinguished members of the profession, and illustrious men out of the profession, to whom this remark does not apply. But when Virginia (Magna Parens Virum,) is called on to show her jewels, to whom does she more proudly point than to men who once occupied those very seats; who here received the first impulse in their career; who here commenced that generous strife for superiority which has placed them all so high.

The subject of our researches, young gentlemen, will be the municipal law of Virginia. The text book which will be placed in your hands is the American edition of Blackstone's Commentaries, published thirty years ago by one of my predecessors in this chair. You will readily believe that it would be my pride to walk, with filial reverence by the lights which he has given us, and that, in doing so, I should feel secure of escaping any harsh animadversion from those to whom I am responsible, and who still cherish so favorable a recollection of his services. I shall certainly endeavor to avail myself of this privilege; though it may be occasionally necessary to assume a more perilous responsibility. A brief sketch of the plan which I propose to myself, will show you how far I shall follow, and wherein, and why, I shall deviate from the path which he has traced.

Municipal law is defined by Mr. Blackstone, "to be a rule of civil conduct prescribed by the supreme power of the state." By Justinian it is said, "Id quod quisque populus sibi jus constituit, vocatur jus civile:" which has been well rendered thus: "It is the system of rules of civil conduct which any state has ordained for itself."

Whatever definition we adopt, we shall find that municipal law is distinguishable into four grand divisions, which may be properly designated by the following description:

1. That which regulates the nature and form of the body politic; which establishes the relation that each individual bears to it, and the rights and duties growing out of that relation, which determines the principles on which it exercises authority over him; and settles a system of jurisprudence by which it operates to protect and enforce right, and to redress and punish wrong.

2. That which determines the relations of individual members of society to each other; which defines the rights growing out of that relation; and regulates the right of property, and such personal rights as must subsist even in a state of nature.

3. That which defines the wrongs that may be done by one individual member of society to another, in prejudice of his rights, whether of person or property, and provides means for preventing or redressing such wrongs.

4. That which defines and denounces the wrongs which may be done by any individual member of society, in violation of the duties growing out of his relation to the body politic, and provides means for preventing and punishing such violation.

The first of these divisions is treated by Mr. Blackstone in his first book, under the comprehensive head of "The Rights of Persons." Under the same head he includes so much of the second division as relates to such personal rights as must have belonged to man in a state of nature, and such {147} as grow out of his relation to other individual members of society. Such are the relative rights of husband and wife, parent and child, guardian and ward, and master and servant--and the absolute rights, of personal liberty, and of security to life, limb and reputation. These rights are obviously not the creatures of civil society, however they may be regulated and modified by municipal law. They in no wise depend on "the nature or form of the body politic;" nor on "the relations which individuals bear to it;" nor on "the rights and duties growing out of that relation;" nor on "the principles on which it exercises authority over individuals;" nor on "the system of jurisprudence."

As little indeed do they depend on "the rights of property," but they have much in common with them. Together with them, they collectively form the mass of "individual rights," as contradistinguished from "political rights." Neither class derives its existence from civil society, although both are alike liable to be regulated by it, and the two together form the subject of almost all controversies between man and man. Now with rights in actual and peaceable enjoyment, law has nothing to do. It is controversy which calls it into action; and as both this class of personal rights, and the rights of property, have the same common origin--both subsisting by titles paramount to the constitutions of civil society; as both are the ordinary subjects of controversy between individuals; and as these controversies are all conducted according to similar forms, decided by the same tribunals, and adjusted by the like means,--it is found convenient to arrange them together in a course of instruction. Such I believe has always been the practice in this institution. Proposing to conform to it, I have thought it best, in the outset, to intimate this slight difference between this practice and Mr. Blackstone's arrangement.

There is another particular in which Mr. Blackstone's order of instruction has been advantageously changed at this place. His is certainly the true philosophical arrangement of the subject. When we are told that "municipal law is a rule of civil conduct prescribed by the supreme power in the state," it is obvious to ask, "what is that supreme power, and whence comes its supremacy?" When we are told that it is "the system of rules of civil conduct, which the state has ordained for itself," the first inquiry is, "what is the state?" Thus whatever definition of municipal law we adopt, the subject of inquiry that meets us at the threshold is the Lex Legum; the law which endues the municipal law itself with authority.

If the individual to be instructed were one who had heretofore lived apart from law and government, yet capable (if such a thing were possible) of understanding the subject, it is here we ought to commence. To him it would be indispensable to explain, in the first instance, the structure of the body politic; to specify the rights surrendered by individuals; and to set before him the equivalent privileges received in exchange. We too might be supposed to require a like exposition before we would be prepared to submit to the severe restraints and harsh penalties of criminal law. But in regard to controversies between individuals we feel no such jealousies. In these, the law, acting but as an arbiter, indifferent between the parties, no question concerning its authority occurs to the mind. The readiness with which we acquiesce in its decisions, is strikingly manifested in the fact, that the whole of England, Ireland and the United States are, for the most part, governed by a law which has no voucher for its authority but this acquiescence. The same thing may be said of the authority of the civil law on the continent of Europe. It thus appears that the mind does not always require to be informed of the origin of the law which regulates and enforces, or protects individual rights, before it will condescend to inquire what are its behests. Prima facie it should be so; but being, in point of fact, born in the midst of law, habituated to it from our infancy, and accustomed to witness uniform obedience to its authority on the part of those whom we were taught to obey, we learn to regard it as a thing in rerum natura, rather than of human invention; a sort of moral atmosphere, which, like that we breathe, seems a very condition of our existence.

There is therefore no inconvenience to be apprehended from taking up the subject in an inverted order, treating first of individual rights, and reserving those that grow out of the relation of the citizen to the body politic, and the correlative duties of that relation, for future inquiry.

While there is nothing to be objected to this arrangement, there is much in favor of it. It is important that they who engage in the study of political law, should come to the task with minds prepared for it; well stored with analogous information, and sobered and subdued by the discipline of severe investigation. There is a simplicity in some views of government which is apt to betray the student into a premature belief that he understands it thoroughly; and then, measuring the value of his imagined acquirements, not by the labor that they have cost him, but by the dignity and importance of the subject, he becomes inflated, self-satisfied and unteachable; resting in undoubting assurance on the accuracy and sufficiency of such bare outline as his instructer may have thought proper to place before him. But in those countries where the authority of government rests on a questionable title, they who are entrusted with the education of youth, may naturally wish to keep them from looking into it too narrowly. Hence it may be a measure of policy with them, to introduce the student, in the first place, to the study of political law, in the hope of making on his raw and unpractised {148} mind, such an impression, as may secure his approbation of the existing order of things. The faculty of investigating legal questions, and forming legal opinions, may almost be regarded as an acquired faculty; so that, in the earlier part of his researches, the student necessarily acquiesces in the doctrines which are pronounced ex cathedra by his teacher. At this time he readily receives opinions on trust; and if it be his interest to cherish them, or if he is never called on in after life to reexamine them, he is apt to carry them with him to the grave. This is perhaps as it should be in England and other countries of Europe. Having no part in the government, it may be well enough that he should learn to sit down contented with this sort of enlightened ignorance.

But with us the case is different. The authority of our governments is derived by a title that fears no investigation. We feel sure, that, the better it is understood, the more it will be approved. It rests too on a charter conferring regulated and limited powers; and the well being of the country requires that the limitations and regulations be strictly observed. Now every man among us has his "place in the commonwealth." It is on the one hand, the duty of every man to aid in giving full effect to all legitimate acts of government; and on the other, to bear his part in restraining the exercise of all powers forbidden or not granted. Every man therefore owes it to his country to acquire a certain proficiency in constitutional law, so as to act understandingly, when called on to decide between an alleged violation of the constitution, and an imputed opposition to lawful authority. Such occasions are of daily occurrence. Scarcely a day has passed, since the adoption of the federal constitution, when some question of this sort has not been before the public. Such is the effect of that impatience of restraint natural to man. So prompt are the people to become restive under laws of questionable authority, and so apt are rulers to strain at the curb of constitutional limitations, that one or the other, or both of these spectacles, is almost always before us.

When you come then, young gentlemen, to the study of political and constitutional law, you will find it no small advantage to have been engaged for some months before in studies of a similar character. The opinions you will then form will be properly your own. I may not be so successful as I might wish, in impressing you with those I entertain; but I shall be more gratified to find you prepared to "give a reason for the faith that is in you," whatever that faith may be, than to hear you rehearse, by rote, any political catechism that I could devise. I shall accordingly postpone any remarks on constitutional and political law, until your minds have been exercised and hardened by the severe training they will undergo in the study of the private rights of individuals, of wrongs done in prejudice of such rights, and of the remedies for such wrongs. All these topics are embraced in the second and third division of municipal law, that I have laid before you.

To these belong the most intricate and difficult questions in the science of law. In introducing you to the study of these, let me say, in the language of one from whom I am proud to quote, that, "I cannot flatter you with the assurance that 'your yoke is easy and your burden light.' I will not tell you that your path leads over gentle ascents and through flowery meads, where every new object entices us forward, and stimulates to perseverance. By no means! The task you have undertaken is one of the most arduous; the profession you have chosen one of the most laborious; the study you are about to pursue, one of the most difficult that can be conceived. But you have made your election. You have severed yourselves from the common herd of youth, who shrink from every thing that demands exertion and perseverance. You have chosen between the allurements of pleasure and the honors which await the disciples of wisdom. You yield to others to keep the noiseless tenor of their way in inglorious ease. You have elected for yourselves the path that philosophers and moralists represent as leading, up a rugged ascent, to the temple of fame. It may be the lot of some of you to elevate yourselves by talents and unabating zeal, in the pursuit you have selected. But these distinguished honors are not to be borne away by the slothful and inert. Nulla palma sine pulvere. He who would win the laurel, must encounter the sweat and toil of the arena. Nor will it suffice that he occasionally presses on to the goal. If he slackens in his efforts he must lose ground. We roll a Sisyphean stone to an exalted eminence. He who gives back loses what his strength had gained; and sinking under the toil his own indolence increases, will at length give up his unsteady efforts in despair."--1. T. C. Introduction, p. vi.

I can add nothing to these striking remarks but my testimony to their truth. There is, perhaps, no study that tasks the powers of the mind more severely than that of law. In it, as in the study of mathematics, nothing is learned at all that is not learned perfectly; and a careless perusal of Euclid's elements would not be more unprofitable, than that of a treatise on the laws of property. Nor will a mere effort of memory be of more avail in the one case than in the other. Both must be remembered by being understood; by being through the exercise of intense thought, incorporated as it were into the very texture of the mind. To this end its powers must be fully and faithfully exerted. As, in lifting at a weight, you do but throw away your labor, until you man yourself to the exertion of the full measure of strength necessary to raise it; so, in this study, you may assure yourselves that all you have done is of no avail, if you pass {149} from any topic without thoroughly understanding it. And let no man persuade you that genius can supply the place of this exertion. Genius does not so manifest itself. The secret of its wonderful achievements is in the energy which it inspires. It is because its prompting sting, like the sharp goad of necessity, urges to herculean effort, that it is seen to accomplish herculean tasks. He is deceived who fancies himself a favored child of genius, unless he finds his highest enjoyment in intellectual exercise. He should go to the toil of thought like the champion to the lists, seeking in the very certaminis gaudia the rich reward of all his labors.

There may be something startling, I fear, in this exhibition of the difficulties that lie before you, and it is proper to encourage you by the assurance that by strenuous effort they may be certainly overcome. Remember too that this effort will be painful only in the outset. The mind, like the body, soon inures itself to toil, and wears off the soreness consequent on its first labors. When this is done, the task becomes interesting in proportion to its difficulty, and subjects which are understood without effort, and which do not excite the mind to thought, seem flat and insipid.

But lest the student should falter and give back in his earlier struggles, it is the duty of the teacher to afford him such aids as he can. This is mainly to be done by means of such an analysis and arrangement of the subject as may prevent confusion, and consequent perplexity and discouragement.

There are two sorts of analysis, each proper in its place. The one philosophical, by which the different parts of a subject are so arranged, as to exhibit in distinct groups those things that depend on the same or like principles, and such as are marked by characteristic points of resemblance; giving a sort of honorary precedence to the most important. The other sort of analysis may be termed logical. It is that method by which different propositions are so arranged, as that no one of them shall ever be brought under consideration, until all others which may be necessary to the right understanding of that one, have been established and explained. Of this last description sire Euclid's elements, in which it is interesting to observe that no one proposition could with propriety be made to change its place; each one depending for its demonstration, directly or indirectly, upon all that have gone before.

Blackstone's Commentaries may be cited as an example of philosophical analysis. He has indeed been careful to avoid perplexing his reader, through the want of a strictly logical arrangement, by dealing chiefly in generalities, and never descending to such particulars as might be unintelligible for want of a knowledge of matters not yet treated of. This I take to be the reason why his work has been characterized as being "less an institute of law, than a methodical guide or elementary work adapted to the commencement of a course of study. He treats most subjects in a manner too general and cursory to give the student an adequate knowledge of them. After having pursued his beautiful arrangement, he is obliged to seek elsewhere for farther details. After having learnt the advantage of system, he is almost at the threshold of the science, turned back without a guide, to grope among the mazy volumes of our crowded libraries. This cannot be right. If system is of advantage at all, it is of advantage throughout. Were it practicable, it would be better for the student to have a single work, which embracing the whole subject, should properly arrange every principle and every case essential to be known preparatory to his stepping on the arena. Much, very much indeed, would still be left to be explored in the course of his professional career, independent of the apices juris, which the most vigorous and persevering alone can hope to attain."--Tucker's Commentary, Introduction, p. 4.

The justice of these remarks none can deny. It might be thought unbecoming in me to say how much the writer from whom I quote them has done to supply such a work as he describes. Yet I cannot suffer any feeling of delicacy to restrain me from the duty of recommending that work to your attentive perusal. I shall eagerly, too, avail myself of his permission to make frequent use of it, as I know of no book which so well supplies the necessary details to parts of the subject of which Mr. Blackstone has given only loose and unprofitable sketches. It is to be lamented that in doing this he has so strictly bound himself to the arrangement of that writer. That arrangement, as I have remarked, imposed on Mr. Blackstone the necessity of being occasionally loose and superficial. For want of one more strictly logical, the Virginia Commentator often finds it impossible to go into the necessary detail, without anticipating matters which properly belong to subsequent parts of his treatise; and too often, where this is impracticable, topics and terms are introduced, the explanation of which is, perhaps, deferred to the next volume.

An instance will illustrate my meaning:--Mr. Blackstone classes remedies for private wrongs, thus: "first, that which is obtained by the mere act of the parties themselves; secondly, that which is effected by the mere act and operation of law; and thirdly, that which arises from suit or action in courts." Now, it probably occurred to him, that he could not go into details on the two first of these three heads, without presenting ideas which would be unintelligible to any who had not already studied the third. In striving to avoid this, he has touched so lightly upon the other two, that his remarks on the important subjects of distress and accords, which come under the first head, leave the {150} student nearly as ignorant as they found him. For this there was no real necessity, as a knowledge of the two first heads is by no means necessary, or indeed at all conducive to the right understanding of the third. Had the pride of philosophical analysis, and symmetry of arrangement, been sacrificed to the laws of logic and reason, there was nothing to forbid the introduction of treatises on these important topics, as copious and elaborate as those supplied by the diligence and research of the Virginia Commentator. The manner in which this has been done, has made it manifest how unfavorable the arrangement of Mr. Blackstone sometimes is to amplification and minuteness. The essays of the President of the Court of Appeals on distresses and accords, leave nothing to be desired. Yet no one can read them profitably without having first studied the law of remedies by suit or action.

These, and some other instances of the same sort, have led me to this determination. Wishing to avail myself of the labors of the Virginia Commentator, without losing the benefit of Mr. Blackstone's analysis, I propose to preserve the latter, but to make occasional changes in his arrangement, substituting one more logical, though perhaps less philosophical. This, and the postponement of the study of political law, are the only liberties I propose to take. The fourth division, which relates to crimes and punishments, will be the last considered. This will be done not only in a spirit of conformity to Mr. Blackstone's plan, but also because one of the most important branches of criminal law has reference to an offence of which no just idea can be formed without a previous and diligent study of the Constitution and of the science of government.

This last mentioned subject, young gentlemen, I should perhaps pass over but lightly, were I free to do so, contenting myself with a passing allusion to its connexion with the study of the law, and the encouragement you should derive from the honorable rewards that await distinguished merit in our profession. But this is not a mere school of professional education, and it is made my duty, by the statutes of the College, to lecture especially on the constitution of this state and of the United States. In the discharge of this duty it may be necessary to present views more important to the statesman, than to the mere practitioner. When I think of the difficulty and high responsibility attending this part of my task, I would gladly escape from it; but considerations of its importance and of the benefit to the best interests of our country which has heretofore resulted from its faithful execution, come in aid of a sense of duty, and determine me to meet it firmly and perform it zealously.

The mind of the student of law is the ground in which correct constitutional opinions and sound maxims of political law should be implanted. The study of the common law involves the study of all the rights which belong to man in a state of society. The history of the common law is a history of the occasional invasions of these rights, of the struggles in which such invasions have been repelled, and of the securities provided to guard against their recurrence. A mind thoroughly acquainted with the nature and importance of the writ of habeas corpus, and the trial by jury, and rightly understanding the indestructible character of the right of private property, will hardly fail to be awake to any attack which may be aimed at liberty from any quarter. Hence liberty finds in the students of the law a sort of body guard. Their professional apprenticeship serves as a civil polytechnic school, where they are taught the use of weapons to be wielded in her defence. The history of our country from the first dawning of the revolution is full of proofs and examples of this. The clear view of the rights of the colonies which led to the Declaration of Independence, was one which hardly any but lawyers could have taken, and of the accuracy of which none but lawyers could have been sure. It was from them the ball of the revolution received its first impulse, and under their guidance it was conducted to the goal. Some few others were placed forward by circumstances; but they soon fell back, or found their proper place of service in the field; leaving the great cause to be managed by those whose studies qualified them to know where to insist, and where to concede; when to ward, and when to strike. The state papers emanating from the first congress will, accordingly, be found worthy to be compared with the ablest productions of the kind recorded in history; displaying an ability, temper, and address, which prepares the reader to be told that a large majority of the members of that body were lawyers.

In Mr. Blackstone's introductory lecture are some remarks on the importance of the study of the law to English gentlemen, strictly applicable to this view of the subject. "It is," says he, "perfectly amazing, that there should be no other state of life, no other occupation, art, or science, in which some method of instruction is not looked upon as necessary, except only the science of legislation, the noblest and most difficult of any. Apprenticeships are held necessary to almost every art, commercial or mechanical: a long course of reading and study must form the divine, the physician, and the practical professor of the laws: but every man of superior fortune thinks himself born a legislator. Yet Tully was of a different opinion: 'it is necessary,' says he, 'for a senator to be thoroughly acquainted with the constitution; and this,' he declares, 'is a knowledge of the most extensive nature; a matter of science, of diligence, of reflection; without which no senator can possibly be fit for his office.'"

If the part in the government allotted to the people of England renders this admonition {151} important to them, how much more important must it be to us, who are in theory and in fact our own rulers. Not only is every office accessible to each one of us; but each, even in private life, as soon as he puts on manhood, assumes a "place in the commonwealth." In practice, as in theory, the SOVEREIGNTY OF THE STATE is in us. Born to the purple, the duties of that high destiny attach upon us at our birth; and unless we qualify ourselves to discharge them, we must cease to reproach the ignorance and folly, the passion and presumption, which so often disgrace the sovereigns of the old world, and heap wretchedness and ruin on their subjects. The same causes will have the like effects here as there. Power does not imply wisdom or justice, whether in the hands of the few or the many: and it is only by the diligent study of our duties in this important station that we can qualify ourselves so to administer its functions, as to save the free institutions inherited from our fathers, from the same reproach which the testimony of history fixes upon all other governments.

Not only is this true in reference to us as well as to the kings of the earth, but it is more emphatically true of us than of them. Whatever be their theory of sovereignty, and however they may prate about divine right, they all know, and feel, that, after all, they are but kings by sufferance. They may talk of absolute sovereignty, and claim for government that sort of omnipotence which is said to reside in the British parliament. But, after all, they know and feel, that there is much they cannot do, because there is much they dare not do. The course of events now passing in England is full of proof of this. We have just seen that same omnipotent parliament, new-modelling itself to suit the wishes of the people. This act indeed, was itself an exertion of this pretended omnipotence, but wisely and discreetly exercised, in surrendering power. It was certainly done with a very bad grace; and at this moment we see that body anxiously watching the temper of the multitude, and adapting its measures, not to the views of its members, not even to the views of the constituent body, but to the real or supposed interests of the great unrepresented mass. Such is the check, which in spite of all positive institutions, the physical force of numbers, however degraded, and, professedly, disregarded, must exercise over their rulers; and in this check, they find a motive to justice, forbearance, and circumspection, which, in a measure, restrains the abuse of power.

But may not we, the sovereign citizens of these states, abuse power too? When men are numerous and "strong enough to set their duties at defiance, do they cease to be duties any longer?" Does that which would be unjust as the act of ninety-nine, become just, as being the act of an hundred? Is it in the power of numbers to alter the nature of things, and to justify oppression, though it should fall on the head of only one victim? It would be easy to point to instances in which we all believe that majorities have done great wrong; and that under such wrongs we have suffered and are still suffering we all know. But where is the check on such abuse of power? Constitutional authority and physical force are both on the same side, and if the wisdom and justice of those who wield both does not freely afford redress, there arc no means of enforcing it. "There is no sanction to any contract against the will of prevalent power."

The justice of these ideas is recognized in the forms of all our governments. The limitations on the powers of congress and the state legislatures, are all predicated on the certain truth "that majorities may find or imagine an interest in doing wrong." Hence there are many things which cannot be lawfully done by a bare majority; and many more, which no majority, however great, is authorised to do. Two-thirds of the senate must concur in a sentence of impeachment. The life and property of an individual cannot be taken away but by the unanimous voice of his triers; and all the branches of all our governments collectively cannot lawfully enact a bill of attainder, or an ex post facto statute.

But though such acts are forbidden by the constitution, they may nevertheless be passed, and judges may be found to enforce them, if those holding legislative and judicial offices shall be so minded. The constituents, too, of a majority of the legislature may approve and demand such acts. Where then is the security that such things will not be done? Where can it be but in the enlightened sense of justice and right in the constituent body?

I am not sure that such restraints on the powers of public functionaries are not even more necessary in a republican government than in any other. A king can scarcely have a personal interest in ruining one portion of his dominions for the benefit of the rest, and he would not dare to ruin the whole, while a spark of intelligence and spirit remained among the people. But in a republic, whenever the inclination and the power to do such a wrong concur, the very nature of the case secures the rulers from all fear of personal consequences. The majority is with them. Their own constituents are with them. To these is their first duty; and shall they hesitate to do that which is to benefit their constituents, out of tenderness to those who are not their constituents? We know how such questions are answered, when the occasion is one where a fixed majority have a fixed interest in the proposed wrong. Is not this the reason why legislative encroachment so much disposes men to acquiesce in executive usurpation? Is it not this, which, when the barriers of constitutional restraint are seen to fall, drives minorities, as by a sort of {152} fatal instinct, to seek shelter under the arm of a common master, from the all pervading tyranny of majorities exercising the power of universal legislation? The wrongs of America were the act of the parliament of England, goaded on by the people. It was they who claimed a right to legislate in all things for the colonies. It was they who demanded a revenue from America; and the colonies, eagerly looking to the crown for protection, maintained an unshaken loyalty, until the king was seen to take part with their oppressors. The wrongs of Ireland are the act of the people of England. Ireland is the rival of England in agriculture, manufactures and commerce; and every concession to the former, seems to the multitude to be something taken from the prosperity of the latter. But the representation of Ireland in parliament is to that of England as one to five; and when the Irish people cry to parliament for redress, they are answered as all appeals from minorities are answered by the representatives of majorities. But how would they be answered if the representative and constituent bodies were both thoroughly instructed in the sacred character and paramount authority and importance of the duties which belong to the high function of sovereignty? We justly deny and deride the divine right of kings; and we assert and maintain the divine right of the people to self government. And it is a divine right. It is a corollary from the right and duty to fulfil the purposes of our being, which accompany each one of us into the world. The right and the duty both come from the author of that being. He imposes the one when he gives the other, and thus fixes on us a responsibility which clings to us through life. We deceive ourselves if we think to get rid of any portion of this responsibility by entering into partnership with others, each one of whom brings into the concern the same rights, the same duties, and the same responsibilities;--neither more nor less than ourselves. We do but multiply, and divide again by the same number. Each receives, by way of dividend, the same amount of right, duty, and responsibility that he carried into the common stock. Of so high a nature are these, and so vast are the interests with which they are connected, that it has been truly said, that, whether we mount the hustings or go to the polls, we may well tremble to give or to receive the power which is there conferred.

Gentlemen; if these ideas be just, how important is the duty imposed on me by that statute of the college which requires me to lecture on constitutional law! How desirable is it that there should be every where schools, in which the youth of our country should be thoroughly imbued with correct opinions and just sentiments on this subject! It was Agesilaus, I think, who said that "the business of education was to prepare the boy for the duties of the man." How pre-eminently important, then, must be that branch of education which is to qualify him to perform this highest of all social duties, and to bear worthily his part in that relation which has been characterized as "a partnership in all science, in all art, in every virtue, and in all perfection; a partnership, not only between those who are living, but between those who are living, those who are dead, and those who are yet to be born."

These striking words, which are from the pen of the celebrated Edmund Burke, call to mind the high testimony which he has borne in favor of the study of the law, as a school of political rights. After having acted an important part in procuring the repeal of the stamp act, he made his last effort in favor of the rights of the colonies, in March, 1775. On that occasion, laboring to dissuade the British parliament from pushing America to extremities, he descanted on the love of freedom, which he pronounced to be the predominating feature in the character of our fathers. The prevalence of this passion he ascribed to a variety of causes, none more powerful than the number of lawyers, and the familiarity of the people with the principles of the common law. His ideas I will give you in his own words, for it is only in his own words that his ideas ever can be fittingly expressed.

He says, "In no country perhaps in the world is the law so general a study. The profession itself is numerous and powerful; and in most provinces it takes the lead. The greater number of the deputies sent to the congress were lawyers. But all who read, and most do read, endeavor to obtain some smattering in that science.... This study renders men acute, inquisitive, dexterous, prompt in attack, ready in defence, full of resources. In other countries, the people, more simple, and of a less mercurial cast, judge of an ill principle in government only by an actual grievance; here they anticipate the evil, and judge of the pressure of the grievance by the badness of the principle. They augur misgovernment at a distance, and snuff the approach of tyranny in every tainted breeze."

Such, young gentlemen, is the important and useful influence which the study of our profession enables its members to exert. But if, instead of preparing their minds by this study, the very men to whom the people look up for light, do but provide themselves with a few set phrases contrived to flatter and cajole them, what but evil can come of it?

"The people can do no wrong." Why! this if but what all sovereigns hear from their flatterers. In one sense, it is indeed true of both, for there is no human tribunal before which either king or people can be arraigned. But neither can make right and wrong change places and natures.

"Vox populi, vox Dei." "It is the voice of God." {153} So said the Jews of the impious Herod. But the judgments of the insulted Deity showed how mere a worm he was; and his judgments are not limited to kings, nor withheld by numbers. We may preserve all the outward forms of freedom, the checks and balances of the constitution may remain to all appearance undisturbed, and yet he who can "curse our blessings" may give us over to all the evils of despotism, if we do not "lay to heart" the high duties of that freedom wherewith he has made us free.

I am sensible, young gentlemen, that, to many, these ideas will not be acceptable. And for an obvious reason. "Men like well enough," it is said, "to hear of their power, but have an extreme disrelish to be told of their duties." Yet in a government of equal rights, these are strictly correlative. The rights of each individual are the exact measure of the duties which others owe to him, and of coarse, of those he owes to others. This is so obviously true, that it needs but be stated, to be recognized at once as a man recognizes his face in the glass. But he "goeth his way, and straightway forgetteth what manner of man he was." Let not us do likewise.

But there is another reason why many will hear with impatience of the difficulties attendant on the proper discharge of duties, which are too often made the low sport of a holiday revel. None can deny the truth and justice of the remarks already quoted from Mr. Blackstone; but few, I fear, are willing to bring them home, and to acknowledge the necessity of such severe preparation to qualify themselves to exercise the franchises of a citizen. Let me hope, young gentlemen, that you will view the matter in a different light, and go to your task with the more cheerfulness, from the assurance that you will thus be qualified to derive a blessing to yourselves and to your country, from the discreet and conscientious exercise of a privilege, which others, from a want of correct information and just sentiments, so often pervert to the injury of both.

Before I conclude, give me leave to offer a few remarks on a subject in which every member of the faculty has an equal and common interest. If there be any thing by which the University of William and Mary has been advantageously distinguished, it is the liberal and magnanimous character of its discipline. It has been the study of its professors to cultivate at the same time, the intellect, the principles, and the deportment of the student, laboring with equal diligence to infuse the spirit of the scholar and the spirit of the gentleman. He comes to us as a gentleman. As such we receive and treat him, and resolutely refuse to know him in any other character. He is not harassed with petty regulations; he is not insulted and annoyed by impertinent surveillance. Spies and informers have no countenance among us. We receive no accusation but from the conscience of the accused. His honor is the only witness to which we appeal; and should he be even capable of prevarication or falsehood, we admit no proof of the fact. But I beg you to observe, that in this cautious and forbearing spirit of our legislation, you have not only proof that we have no disposition to harass you with unreasonable requirements; but a pledge that such regulations as we have found it necessary to make, will be enforced. If we did not mean to execute our laws, it might do little harm to have them minute and much in detail on paper. It is because we do mean to enforce them that we are cautious to require nothing which may not be exacted without tyranny or oppression, without degrading ourselves or dishonoring you.

The effect of this system, in inspiring a high and scrupulous sense of honor, and a scorn of all disingenuous artifice, has been ascertained by long experience, and redounds to the praise of its authors. That it has not secured a regular discharge of all academical duties, or prevented the disorders which characterize the wildness of youth, is known and lamented. But we believe and know, that he who cannot be held to his duty, but by base and slavish motives, can never do honor to his instructers; while we are equally sure that such a system as keeps up a sense of responsibility to society at large, is most conducive to high excellence. We think it right, therefore, to adapt our discipline to those from whom excellence may be expected, rather than to those from whom mediocrity may barely be hoped. Such a system is valuable too, as forming a sort of middle term between the restraints of pupilage and the perfect freedom and independence of manhood. Experience shows that there is a time of life, when the new born spirit of independence, and the prurience of incipient manhood will not be repressed. They will break out in the airs or in the graces of manhood. Between these we have to choose. The youth of eighteen treated as a boy, exhibits the former. Treated as a man, he lays aside these forever, and displays the latter. This system is thus believed to afford the best security against such offences as stain the name of the perpetrator. Of such our records bear no trace; nor is there, perhaps, a single individual of all who have matriculated here, that would blush to meet any of his old associates in this school of honor.

May we not hope then, young gentlemen, when so much is trusted to your magnanimity, that the dependence will not fail us? May we not hope, when we are seen anxious to make our relation, not only a source of profit, but of satisfaction to you, that you will not wantonly make it a source of uneasiness and vexation to us? I persuade myself that you, at least, commence your studies with such dispositions as we desire. If this be so, there {154} is one short rule by which you may surely carry them into effect. "Give diligent attention to your studies." This is the best security against all unpleasant collision with your teachers, and against that weariness of spirit which seeks relief in excess or mischief. It carries with it the present happiness, which arises from a consciousness of well doing; it supplies that knowledge which encourages to farther researches, and renders study a pleasure; it establishes habits of application, the value of which will be felt in all the future business of life; and lays the foundation of that intellectual superiority by which you hope to prosper in the world, and to be distinguished from the ignoble multitude who live but to die and be forgotten.

Williamsburg, October 27, 1834.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE MARCH OF MIND.

"Tempora Mutantur."

The present is emphatically the age of useful invention and scientific discovery; and it is the peculiar good fortune of the present generation, that the indefatigable labors of a few gigantic minds have opened to it new and expanded sources of enjoyment, by the development of principles which have long eluded the grasp of philosophy, and by their practical application to the most ordinary affairs of life. Men are not now bewildered by the imposing mysteries in which scientific truth has been so long enveloped; nor are they deterred from a bold investigation into the solidity of theories and hypotheses, by the studied ambiguity of phrase in which the votaries of learning have veiled them. They have learned properly to appreciate the fallacy of those abstruse speculations and metaphysical researches, into which so many thousands, in pursuit of some vain chimera, have been inextricably involved--and have erected the standard of utility as that alone by which all the lucubrations of moonstruck enthusiasts, and all the experiments of visionary projectors are to be rigidly scanned and tested. The practical benefits which have resulted from the rapid march of mind, are to be seen in the application of steam to the propulsion of boats, and in the innumerable rail roads, canals, and other stupendous improvements, which have developed the resources of this extensive country, and multiplied the blessings so bounteously bestowed upon it by providence. But in the first glow of astonishment and exultation which these have excited in the minds of men, numerous beneficial changes of minor importance have followed the march of intellect, which from their comparative insignificance, have almost escaped observation.

Formerly, the professors of the complex sciences of law, medicine, and divinity, were regarded as exalted by their attainments, to an immeasurable height of superiority over the mass of mankind, because they shrouded the truths and principles of science from the vulgar eye, by a veil of unintelligible jargon and grandiloquent technicalities, entirely above the ordinary powers of comprehension. Years of laborious and incessant toil were requisite to master the hidden complexities of those venerated and "time-honored" professions; and he, who with martyr-like resolution and unwearied perseverance, devoted his time and talents to their attainment, was regarded by the "vulgus ignobile" with sentiments of respect and admiration, nearly approaching to the idolatrous reverence of a Hindoo, for the fabled virtues of his bloody Juggernaut. But the illusion has at last been dispelled by the refulgent light of truth, and those illustrious individuals, the Luthers of the age, who have stripped these hoary errors of the veil which concealed their enormity, may with merited exultation and triumph exclaim, "Nous avons changé toute cela!" The art of economising time has been simplified, and subjected to the grasp of the most obtuse intellect; so that a science which formerly required years of intense and unremitted study, united with long experience and observation, is now thoroughly understood and mastered in a fortnight! So rapid indeed has been the march of intellect, sweeping from its path obstacles heretofore deemed insurmountable, and scaling the most impregnable fortifications of philosophy, with a force no less astonishing than irresistible, that many of our most profound adepts in the "glorious science" of the law, are (mirabile dictu!) at once initiated into all its mysteries by a single perusal of "Blackstone's Commentaries" and the "Revised Code!" instead of toiling his way up the steep ascent of fame by consuming the midnight oil, by exploring the dark and forbidding chambers of the temple of law, dragging forth truth from the musty volumes of antiquity, and searching the origin of long established principles. Among the feudal customs of our Saxon progenitors, a man may now become "like Mansfield wise, and Old Forster just," by one month's attendance at the bar of a county court! At the expiration of that period, he can rivet an admiring audience in fixed attention, by the strains of Demosthenian eloquence, in which he asks if "the court will hear a motion on a delivery bond?" And will astound some illiterate ignoramus, by the consequential pomposity with which he prates of "contingent remainders," "executory devises," and all the labyrinthian subtleties of nisi prius! No one will then contest his right to perambulate the streets, with all the ostentatious dignity of a man "learned in the law," and to parade before the eyes of the admiring rabble, his colored bag of most formidable dimensions,--albeit, it may be filled with cheese and crackers to stay his stomach in the intervals of business.

But the inappreciable benefits which the "March of Intellect" has showered upon mankind, are easily discovered by referring to the stupendous revolutions it has achieved, not only in the science of law but in divinity, medicine, education, manners, and morals. Men do not now venerate the ancient fathers of the church for the profound erudition and wonderful acquirements displayed in those ponderous tomes which now and then greet the eyes of the bibliopole, exciting the same degree of astonishment as the appearance of a comet illumining the immensity of space with its brilliant scintillations, or some lusus naturæ like the Siamese twins. Far from it. Modern philosophers have discovered the inutility and absurdity of wading through the voluminous discussions of controversial theologists, and tracing the origin of some religious dogma or doctrinal schism, which has for ages furnished these pugnacious wiseacres with food for inquiry and research. Instead of {155} wasting the time necessarily consumed in these ridiculous studies, men who formerly might have dragged out their lives in the vulgar vocation of a tailor, a butcher, or a hatter, spring forth in a single week armed cap-a-pie to defend their religion from the unhallowed assaults of infidels, and amply qualified to expound the sacred texts, and deal out damnation with the indiscriminate prodigality of a spendthrift, for the first time cursed with the means of gratifying his extravagant propensities.

Formerly too, the most attentive and patient observation of the progressive development of the mental faculties of a child were necessary to enable a parent to adapt his education to the sphere of life in which nature had destined him to move. Innumerable obstacles were to be encountered in tutoring his mind to the comprehension of the profession for which he was intended; and, perhaps, after years of incessant toil and intense parental anxiety, the young stripling blasted all the hopes of his kindred, by either becoming the hero of a racefield or the magnus apollo of a grog shop, or distinguished his manhood by the puerile follies of youth, or the incurable stupidity of an idiot. But the "March of Mind" has obviated or removed all these difficulties, by the discovery of the renowned science of phrenology. A parent, in this blessed age of intellectual illuminism, may by an examination of certain craniological protuberances, ascertain with mathematical exactness, whether his child is a hero or a coward, a philosopher or a--fool; and may regulate his education in conformity to the result. The safety and well being of society, too, is thus encompassed with additional safeguards, which will effectually protect it from those evils which have heretofore been only partially suppressed by legislation. If any ill favored monster of the human species happens to have the organ of destructiveness largely "developed," (ut verbum est) and not counteracted by any antagonist organ,--all the murders, rapes and thefts which he is morally certain to perpetrate,--with their attendant train of want, calamity and ruin, may be at once prevented by hanging the scoundrel in terrorem, as a kind of scarecrow to all evil doers. A desideratum in political economy will thus be also attained. The accounts of those "caterpillars of the commonwealth," clerks, sheriffs, lawyers, et id omne genus, who swarm around the treasury in verification of the old maxim of Plautus, "ubi mel, ibi apes,"--(Anglice--Where there is money, there are lawyers,) are balanced without the payment of a cent; for it is obvious that there is no necessity for all the tedious formalities of a trial at law, the guilt of the murderer being already ascertained and summarily punished by this preventive justice, and the commonwealth of course exempted from the expense of a prosecution.

It would require a volume to enumerate all the advantages which have resulted from the discovery of this science. But even these are about to be quadrupled by the successful experiments recently made in the immortal and euphoniously titled science of phrenodontology, by which a man's grinders are regarded as the unerring indices of his habits, manners and propensities; and should these last be of an evil nature, they can be entirely eradicated by the extraction of such of the incissores as indicate their existence. There is no necessity whatever of inculcating self denial, regular habits, fortitude and virtue, to correct the depravity and vice of any individual. Only knock out his teeth, (or as that method is somewhat too summary,) have them extracted secundum artem by a dentist, and you instantly metamorphose him into a paragon of moral purity!

But one of the principal benefits of the "March of Mind," is the salutary reformation effected in the opinions of mankind, in relation to numerous important subjects. All those low and grovelling ideas which once tenanted the crania of our honest yeomanry as to the education of their children, have now evaporated into thin air. Instead of tying their sons to a vulgar plough, bronzing their visages to the complexion of an Indian, as was formerly the absurd practice, they are now transplanted into the genial hothouse of a town life, where they are soon installed in all the fashionable paraphernalia of tights, dickey, and safety chain; and astonish their honest old dads by the dexterity with which they flourish a yardstick, and by the surprising volubility with which they can chatter nonsense, a la mode du bon ton. I have often been enraptured with the incontrovertible evidence of the "March of Mind," when I saw one of these praiseworthy youngsters, with his crural appendages, cased in a pair of eelskin inexpressibles, and his nasal adjunct inflamed to that rubicund complexion which Shakspeare has immortalized in the jovial Bardolph, quiz a country greenhorn, and cul, in the genuine Brummel style, some vulgar, lowborn, mechanic acquaintance, who insolently aspired to the honor of a nod! The improvement too, in the education of our young ladies, is "confirmation strong as proof of holy writ," of the rapid and resistless march of science and intellect. With a precocity of talent which would have absolutely dumbfoundered a belle of the olden time, they now arrive at full maturity at the age of thirteen; when

"My dukedom to a beggarly denier,"

they can out-manoeuvre the most consummate coquette of fifty! They perfect their education with almost the rapidity of light; and prattle most bewitchingly in French or Italian, before their pretty mouths have been sullied by their vulgar vernacular. The odious and despicable practice of knitting stockings and baking pies, fit only for a race of Goths in an age of Vandalism, has been inscribed with "Ilium fuit," and is now patronised only by the rustic canaille, who still adhere to the horrid custom of rising at the dawn of day and attending to household business. Their proficiency too, in the science of diacousticks, or the doctrine of sounds, is truly amazing--and the whole posse comitatus of foreign fiddlers, jugglers, and mountebanks who kindly condescend to instruct them in music, (as they facetiously term it) are often thrown into raptures by the ease with which they produce every variety of noise on a piano, from the deafening roar of a northwester to the objurgatory grunt of a Virginia porker, unceremoniously ousted from his luxurious ottoman of mud!

But, as Byron says, greater "than this, than these, than all," are the wonderful phenomena which have occurred in the science of medicine. The physicians of modern times, have snatched the imperishable laurels from the brows of Galen and Hippocrates, and have compelled Old Esculapius himself, to "hide his {156} diminished head!" It had long been a source of the most poignant regret to the philanthropic observer of the ills and afflictions incident to human nature, that the benign system of medical jurisprudence, designed originally for the alleviation of human suffering, had been so dilatory and uncertain in its operation, and so fatally ill adapted to the eradication of numerous diseases from the human frame, as to effect only a partial accomplishment of its beneficent purpose. This radical disadvantage in that system of medical science, might reasonably have been attributed to the want of a proper firmness and adventurous temerity in its practitioners;--probably, also, it might have resulted from their lamentable ignorance of the structure and conformation of the human frame. This system, as was to have been expected, had met with numerous advocates, principally in consequence of their perfect personal indemnity from the frequently fatal result of their ignorance or mismanagement; it being well known that under this system a practitioner might, if he so chose, administer a deadly poison to his patient, who would naturally "shuffle off this mortal coil," while his afflicted relatives would piously attribute his decease to a dispensation of Providence; and the physician, composedly pocketing his fees, would have the satisfaction of seeing himself eulogised in his patient's obituary, as a man of "science and skill." It is obvious that under this system the patient's life was but

"A vapour eddying in the whirl of chance,"

and the distressing frequency with which we were called on to attend the remains of a fellow being to the gloomy prisons of the dead, imperatively demanded a radical and extensive reform.

But fortunately for the human species, the "March of Mind" has led to medical discoveries which have chained up the monster Death in impotence, and rendered him a plaything to "the faculty." The long and pompous pageants of M. D.'s diplomas, &c &c. have ceased to overawe the eager aspirant for medical celebrity, and he now steps forward in the path of fame at the age of nineteen, maximus in magnis, greatest among the great! Diseases that formerly baffled the utmost skill of science, and preyed upon their victims for years, are now thoroughly extirpated in an hour! The long catalogue of noxious medicines with which the pharmacopia was crammed, and which served no other purpose than to swell

"The beggarly account of empty boxes,"

which the shelves of a rascally apothecary presented to view, are now discarded; and their places are supplied by medicines so simple and so efficacious, that the value of life, once considered so inestimable, has actually undergone a considerable diminution, merely because of the ease with which it may be enjoyed. It is now no longer necessary to watch the various diagnostics of an obdurate disease through their origin and development; it is no longer important that the unfortunate patient should be bolstered up in bed for months, and his stomach annihilated by a nauseous diet of mush and water gruel. This was but the quackery of the rapacious cormorants, who grew rich upon the credulity of their dupes. The patient may be on his feet in half an hour, by the salutary operation of some harmless medicine, which produces no other evil effect than a remarkable elongation of the visage, and divers contortions of the abdominal viscera! Instead of first ascertaining to what extent the body of the patient has been debilitated by the ravages of his disorder, it is only requisite to refer to a mystical talisman, vulgarly called a teetotum, which entirely supersedes the necessity of thought or reflection; and whose final position, after performing sundry gyrations on its point, informs the practitioner with unerring certainty, whether his patient should be puked, sweated, or blistered! The result is certain. The most complicated case of pulmonary consumption is instantly and thoroughly cured by steam; and an obstinate fever, produced by a superabundance of bile upon the stomach, is effectually extirpated by an injection of cayenne pepper! As revolutions never retrograde, these important changes in medical jurisprudence will only terminate in the actual resuscitation of a dead body, by an external application of camphorated salts! a "consummation devoutly to be wished," and most certain to be effected, by the rejection of all mineral medicines,--which the "March of Mind" has demonstrated to be hurtful,--and the substitution in their stead of a few simple vegetable remedies, accurately arranged, classified, and numbered!

But enough. No man can reflect upon these things, without applying, as I do, the trite quotation, "tempora mutantur," &c. Although it has been used for the ten thousandth time, by the whole tribe of newspaper scribblers and juvenile poetasters, yet it has never been more apropos. Times are changed; and "oh, how changed!" What mind does not expand at the delightful contemplation of these grand revolutions; and who does not look forward with eagerness to the memorable era when all the vulgar bourgeois qualities of common sense, common decency, and common virtue, will fade into nothingness before the resistless and all powerful "March of Mind!"

V.

Lynchburg, Oct. 30, 1834.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE VILLAGE ON FOURTH JULY 183--.

A TALE.

Ergo agite, et lætum cuncti celebremus honorem.--Virgil.

Risum teneatis amici?--Horace.

I do not know that the celebration of a Fourth of July in a country village has ever been thought worthy of appearing in print; nor do I know that a tale, founded on such a celebration, has ever been written; and I doubt whether the fancy of any of our geniuses has ever pictured such a subject, either with the pen or pencil. Many of your readers will perhaps be amazed at the thought of such a subject for a tale; but permit me to ask, why not a tale of the Fourth of July as well as any other? Is it because the hearts of a free people, rejoicing on the anniversary of the day which gave them liberty, throb in harmony, and therefore can afford neither novelty nor variety? Granted. But are there not various modes of manifesting, more or less appropriately, the inward emotions of our hearts? Are not our ideas dissimilar as to the manner of exhibiting our feelings, according to our various means, situations and vocations in life--high or low--in cities, towns and country? Then wherefore not? We have read of tales of wo, and tales of bliss, and tales of neither; and, this being the case, I am imboldened to this undertaking, {157} leaving to the better judgment of the reader to assign it to whichever class it properly belongs.

* * * * *

At the foot of a slope, and on the right of a stream compressed between two abrupt and craggy hills, covered with oaks and pines, stands a small village, remarkable only for the rude and romantic scenery which surrounds it. Access to it from the left side of the stream can only be gained by a rocky, rugged and declivous road, the greater part of which seems to have been either blasted or hewed out of the side of a hill, around which it winds at a considerable height above the water--and, at its termination is a neat frame bridge, which when crossed admits you into the village. This stream bounds a conterminous portion of two counties bordering upon the Potomac, into which it empties itself at about five miles below the village, where the influx and reflux of the tides are felt. Although there is considerable depth of water at the village sufficient to float vessels of a large size, yet the clayey alluvion brought down by the stream, and reacted upon by the river at their junction, becomes a deposite which forms a kind of bar, over which none but small crafts can pass. The number of inhabitants may be estimated at from two to three hundred, the greater part of whom are attached to a cotton factory but recently erected, and the remainder, with the exception of a few families of consideration, are more or less connected with the country and merchant mills, established many years since, from which the village has its origin and perhaps its name.

The beating of a drum, and the shrill and false tones of a fife, at dawn of day, betokened to the villagers who still reposed upon their pillows, that the glorious birthday of independence was likely not to be passed unobserved, as hitherto it had been. This novel, and, in effect, startling ushering of the day, soon brought them upon their feet, and ere the sun had peered over the eastern, or crested the brows of the western, mounts, the streets, such as they are, had become quite enlivened. Most of the villagers had never heard the sounds of martial music, and the greater number of those who had, were indebted to the troops that had passed through the village during the late war. Those who had never seen nor heard the sounds of a drum and fife, disclosed their amazement by their gazing eyes and mouths agape. To a looker on, the performers could not but be remarkable. A European, tall, erect, lank, and already tippled, thumped away upon a drum, the vellum of the nether end of which was rent,--followed by a stout, awry necked, crumped backed and limping African, as fifer--a contrast at once striking and ludicrous, hobbled along, most earnestly occupied with their reveille, heedless of the gaze of the wonderstruck multitude--the din of their music echoing and reverberating from the surrounding hills. The drummer had been such in the United States Marines, and had but recently quitted the service--and though not sober, his performance was far from being bad. The fifer had served in that capacity during the revolutionary war. His finger, stiff from long disuse of the instrument, which he had preserved with religious care since that epoch, did not allow him to give but an imperfect specimen of his store of marches and quicksteps in vogue at that time, and his recollection of them was scarcely better; the tunes of the present times he knew nothing about. The drum used upon this occasion had been put hors de combat during the late war, as the troops passed through the village. This, together with the hallowed fife and veteran fifer, in connection with the day, did not fail to give rise to associations eminently calculated to excite enthusiasm.

It appears that the celebration of the day had originated with, and was suggested by, an honest son and follower of St. Crispin, (who had lived in a city and had acquired some knowledge of l'art militaire,) whose ambition to command a corps had led him to the most indefatigable exertion to inspire the villagers with the spirit of amor patriæ, and success having crowned his exertion, application had been made for commissions as well as for arms, in order to organize themselves in time for a parade on the approaching festival. In this however they were disappointed; for they had obtained neither when the day arrived, and having determined to celebrate it, in spite of their disappointment they would.

This resolution soon circulated through the adjacent country called the forest--its inhabitants foresters, who, anxious to witness the parade--"the spree," as they termed it, came flocking into the village on foot and horseback, singly and doubly, et cetera, by every byroad and pathway which led to and terminated there. By meridian the gathering was so great that the oldest inhabitants declared that such an influx was not within their recollection. As regards the character of the foresters, men and women, they are an honest, hardy, industrious and independent people, and on Sundays, high-days and holydays, cut a very respectable figure in the way of apparel and ornaments--and for this occasion particularly, no pains had been spared to make an eclat.

In consequence of the disappointment alluded to, every firearm that could be found was put under requisition, and the entire forenoon was consumed in collecting and preparing them for use, during which the music to arms continued without intermission. It was in this interval that the buzzing of an expected oration was heard, which swelled into a report, and heightened not a little the pre-existing enthusiasm.

Discharges of guns repeated at irregular intervals on the skirts of the village, was an indication that the parade was about to commence, and at a little after twelve o'clock the soldiery made their appearance. They wore no uniform, but were clad in their best "Sunday go to meetings;" and in the ranks were many of the foresters who had joined them--

"The rustic honors of the scythe and share"

being given up for the time, for the warlike implements then to be used.

Their arms were of divers descriptions; double barrelled guns, deer guns, ducking guns, and a blunderbuss, with powderflasks and horns swung round their shoulders,--and, volunteers in number exceeding arms, poles were substituted. A cutlass distinguished the captain; a horsewhip the lieutenant; a cane the second lieutenant. These three, together with the soldierly appearance of some, the rigidity of others, the apparent nonchalance of a few, and the deformity of several, presented a tout ensemble the most grotesque and diverting.

{158} In the midst of this band was a small man, the stiffness of whose carriage and the peculiarity of whose countenance attracted the attention of the crowd. His eyes were small--appeared to be black and twinkling, and were set into the deep recesses of sockets which projected considerably, and surmounted by dark shaggy brows; his face was contracted--his features small--and his forehead, though retreating, was not sufficiently so to denote the entire absence of the reflective faculty, according to phrenology. In his hand he bore a scroll, and the dignity which his stiffness was meant to affect, was reasonably enough imputed to the importance which he attached to the part he was to act. The scroll was the Declaration of Independence, which was to be read by him; and from the peculiarly reverential manner with which it was held in his hand, he seemed to feel that it was an instrument coeval with the birth of, and coexisting with, a free and powerful nation, and demanded deference even from the very touch of his hand. This man was not altogether devoid of talent, for he had succeeded in earning for himself among the villagers a reputation of high literary acquirements; and on hearing the report of an expected oration, (suspicion fixed on him the origin of it,) had spontaneously proposed to verify it. Of course the proposition was well received, and dissipated at once any uncertainty. The spot at which it should be delivered was soon decided upon and designated--well known--and but a short distance out of the village. Thither the multitude repaired in advance of the military, who were not to arrive there until all the necessary arrangements for their reception had been made. This duty devolved upon a self-constituted committee of arrangement, who discharged it with all the zeal and ability which the briefness of the notice would allow.

The locality was well chosen, and seemed to have been designed by nature for the scene for which it was now appropriated. From the village and around the foot of the hill, winds a path that leads by an easy ascent to the summit of another hill, capped by a grove or cluster of huge pines and oaks, which overshadow a surface clear of undergrowth and interspersed with rocky prominences. These prominences, though rough, answered admirably well the purpose of seats for the auditory, and one of them being flat and overswelling the rest, was pitched upon as a rostrum from which the orator should hold forth. On one side of it, which might be called the rear, was planted a staff, to which was tacked an old bunting American ensign or flag, pierced with holes, received at the battle of Plattsburg. At the end of the staff hung a red woollen cap, the symbol of liberty--its color emblematic of the ardor of its spirit, as explained by the committee. At the foot of the staff stood a cask of "old corn," for the refreshment and entertainment of the corps militaire, in honor of the day and orator.

The village and country belles and beaux, attired in their gayest possible manner, by way of regard, were suffered to have precedence in the selection of places, and the former had possessed themselves of those crags which might best suit them to the convenient hearing of the oration. The assembled people were now impatiently awaiting the arrival of the orator and escort, when they were at length descried wending their way up hill, at the tune of Molbrook, sent forth to the air from the fife in fragments--and having arrived, the orator was conducted in form to the rostrum by the committee, which he mounted with unfaltering steps.

The bustle and buzz incident to the choosing of convenient places amid the rugged area having subsided, the coup d'oeil presented was well worthy the pencil and genius of a Hogarth; the pen can convey but a faint idea. The gay females, elevated upon the asperated crags, overtopping every other object, seemed to shed lustre and life upon every thing around. Their attendants or beaux, resting in various postures at their feet, or lolling against a tree hard by, proved that the village and sylvan belles command the devotions of the rude sex no less than those of courts and cities. The boys were perched upon every oaken bough that overhung the spot that could bear their weight, and the military and the rest were strewed about thickly and promiscuously on the ground--sitting, squatting, kneeling; in fine, in every position indescribable which the human frame is susceptible of when adapting itself to some particular locality for its comfort.

The speaker being about to commence, many who had kept on their hats or caps were bid to uncover; the greater number of whom did so cheerfully; a few reluctantly; and several, more independent and less tractable, kept on theirs. To have insisted upon this point of decorum might have been attended with consequences to mar the rejoicing--so the point was very wisely given up. Silence obtained, nothing was heard but the rustling of the leaves, through which the breeze that prevailed passed and refreshed all below. The orator bowed and addressed his attentive auditory. His voice was clear and audible, and his words were carefully noted by a chirographer, and are here inserted.

"Citizens of the village and farmers of the forest!--I will not offer any excuse for the peramble that I will speak subsequent to the reading of this glorious document (holding up the scroll) of our ancestors. The honor with which you have extinguished me this day, by making me the reader on it, is duly depreciated.

"When you have heared the sentiments contained upon it, you will find your hearts in trepidation at the conjointure at which your forefathers dared to put their fists to it.

"While they was employed in this business, the immortal Washington, called the frater pater, because he had a brotherly and fatherly love for his countrymen, was commanding an army made up of such soldiers as you are. (Cheers.) It was with the like of you--such powerful men as you--with such cowrageous souls as yours, that John Bull was fighting with, running before and falling dead. (Great cheering.) The great Thomas Jefferson and John Adams was driving the quill in peace and comfort in Philadelphy, about this grand production, (stretching forth and unfolding the scroll,) because they knowed, and all that was there with them knowed too, that such soldiers as you, fighting for liberty, barefoot, bareback and half starved, just as you are now when you are all at home hard at work, was unresistible and unvincible. (The deafening and reiterated cheers interrupted the speaker for a short time.)

"Without you, what would have become to them, and this now free, brave and happy nation? Shall I tell you? Why they should have all been hanged or shot, and this nation would have been made up of {159} slaves. They worked with their heads, and you with your arms; to use a learned expression, they physically and you bodily: and if it had not a been for your arms and bodies, they could never--they would never have dared to do nothing with their heads. You was the strong ramparts behind which they retrenched themselves to save their necks. (Cheers.)

"Your beloved Washington could work with ither his hand or his arm, but he showed his wisdom by choosing to work with his arm--that is, by flourishing the sword instead of driving the pen--by putting himself at your head in battle--facing the cannons of the enemy, and leading you to victory or death! (Tremendous cheering.) To make this plainer still to your understandings, which is very good,--suppose a man was to abuse you and call you hard names? Why, you would up fist and knock him down at once, if you could, in course; and if you did you would be safe enough, and the matter would end. This was Washington's maxim, and he acted up to it. Now-a-days, amongst them who drives the quill, when one abuse another, they go to writing, and when they have lost a heap of time to prove one another in the wrong--mind you, because they don't want to come up to the sticking point, they are at last obliged to end the difference by shooting at one another, or one murdering the other. Now what does it all amount to in the end? All their writing did no good, and they might as well have fight it out 'right off the reel' at first--not with pistols and the like of that, but the arms that God gave them--their fists, (clenching his fist.) In times of war men fight with firearms and the like, because they can't come in contact man to man. (Cheers.)

"It was your worthy fathers and the like on 'em, who atchieved the freedom of your beloved country. Tom Jefferson and Jack Adams wrote down what they fought about, that you might have it in black and white--that you might never forget what your forefathers fought for, and that you might stimulate their actions. This is all that writing is fit or good for. Many of you don't know A from a bull's foot, but which amongst you could'nt take up a gun and shoot the crows that would come to your cornfields to destroy your crops. The British came here like crows to destroy what was yours, and you shot them down like crows and drove away the rest.(Cheers.)

"My brave friends! your present conditions is a proof of your being the ascendants of those naked and half starved warriors. You have turned out this day to prove to the world that you can depreciate the yearly anniversary of this fourth of July. You are now enjoying the blessings which they got for you by their lives, and at the peril of them who has outlived the revolution. You are now resting at ease, and listening to me, (for which I am complimented,) but they never rested at all--they was always on the go; they went through thick and thin--sunshine and rain--dust and mud--snow and ice--fire and sword--DEATH AND DESTRUCTION, (tremendous cheering,) and made less of it than you do now, for I can see that some of you is getting mighty restless. (A shriek from a female at this instant spread consternation in the assembly, which turned into a simultaneous burst of laughter as soon as it was discovered she had fallen from a crag, being unable to endure any longer the pain caused by its asperity.)

"I will not keep you any longer in distraint; but I cannot finish without saying a few words to the lovely gathering of our fair countrywomen, which has complemented me this day with their smiles.

"Your sex too, gentle hearers! had a helping hand in this glorious revolution. Your foremothers was industriously employed at home for your forefathers, while they was fighting for their country, their wives and their offstrings. With such lovely being as I see now gathered around me, this happy country need never fear of being in want of warriors. (Cheers.) Sweet lasses! may heaven send down upon you such partners as will make my prophecy come to pass."

The peal of applause which ensued and continued for some minutes, rung through the woods and welkin, and resounded from hill to hill, until lost in the distance, after which the orator proceeded to the reading of the Declaration of Independence. When he had read that part in these words--"To secure these rights governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. That whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the RIGHT of the PEOPLE to alter or abolish it, and to institute new governments,"[1] &c. in which his feelings were deeply enlisted, he concluded the clause by giving vent to them in the following fervid comments: "Behold Americans!" cried he, "behold the whole of your rights explained. Do you not see the figure which EVERY one of you cuts?! Out of you the power comes, and nothing can be done without you. Don't this prove what I said in my extompere address, 'that their heads cannot work without you?'" (Here a voice was heard to cry, "By jingo, Jack, clap on your hat; ding it, do as I do!")

[Footnote 1: In the extract the words are in italics and small capitals on which much stress was given by the reader.]

The reading ended, the assemblage broke up and dispersed, leaving the military to honor the day and orator in the manner already intimated, during which many national and sentimental toasts were drunk; after which they returned into the village in the military order they had left it for the purpose of parading.

Various evolutions were performed; among them occasionally a left wheeling for a right--a countermarch for a right or left face--keeping time with right or left foot indifferently. They carried arms either upon the right or left--trailing, supporting, sloping, advancing--just as it suited their own whim; in other words, will. In vain did their commander command, threaten or entreat. A volunteer, bolder than the rest, went so far as to ask the captain, "If he had forgot what they had heard from the Declaration?" and hinting at his being commander so long as they willed it. They felt that they were the sovereign people and only citizen soldiers.

At the order "halt!" they came to a stand, and were drawn out in a line, facing the stream, for the purpose of firing their feu de joie--an apt simile, by the way, of the state of their minds after the closing scene of the hill. The orders for execution were simply, "prime and load--ready--fire!" which was executed with tolerable precision. Three rounds being fired, they were ordered to "right face!" in order to file off and resume their march; but few only obeying the order, some confusion took place in the ranks. "Right face!" again {160} vociferated the captain, whose impatience for shaking off his brief authority was very apparent. Still the contumaceous kept their position, declaring that they would not "budge" until they had received the word to fire a fourth round, for which they had already loaded. A dispute arose between the officers and men--the former asserting and endeavoring to enforce their authority--the latter denying and obstinately determined not to move until they had received the word to discharge their pieces, considering the reservation of their fire until the order be given a sufficient evidence of their subordination. The captain finally yielded, and crying out, "make ready--fire!" the fourth round went off, and the men filed off without further hesitation; some at a common time--some at a quickstep--some skipping, and one hopping; the captain brandishing his cutlass over the drummer's pate for not "treading in a straight line"--the fifer blowing off fractions of marches and quicksteps, and the lieutenants endeavoring to keep order in the ranks. In this style they once more marched out of the village, to partake for the last time of the refreshment at the hill, and crown the celebration.

The sun was just reclining upon the western mount when they made their third and final entry into the village, in a march, technically known as the "rout march," thereby showing that the effect of the "old corn" was predominating.

The omission of testifying their respect in a military manner to the chief magistrate of the village during their first parade, had occurred to them at the hill, and concluding that it had better be done late than never, they had returned to the village, contrary to their intention when they had left it, in the manner described, and drawing up in front of the dwelling of that excellent man, they commenced and kept up a tremendous firing, shouting and huzzaing until nightfall, when all who were able dismissed themselves, (their officers having abandoned them,) leaving many on the ground as it were dead--pro tempore.

Thus terminated the village celebration of the anniversary of the day out of which a great and virtuous nation was ushered into being. However much our mirth may have been excited by the description given, yet none will deny that the feeling which actuated them in their celebration, was the identical feeling that dictates the observance of the same day throughout the cities of the union--with this difference only, that this savours of the pomp and circumstances of wealth, pride and refinement, while that is perfectly in character with nature,--true, simple and unsophisticated. I will conclude with a quotation from Boileau.

"La simplicité plaît sans étude et sans art. Tout charme en un enfant dont la langue sans faìd, A peine du filet encor débarrassée, Sait d'un air innocent bégayer sa pensée. Le faux est toujours fade, ennuyeux, languissant: Mais la nature est vraie, et d'abord on la sent; C'est elle seule en tout qu'on admire et qu'on aime."

T. P.

Alexandria, November 1834.

EXTRACT FROM LACON.

Mental pleasures never cloy; unlike those of the body, they are increased by repetition, approved of by reflection, and strengthened by enjoyment.

University of Virginia, Nov. 13th, 1834.

To the Editor of the Southern Literary Messenger.

SIR--If you think the following verses worthy of an insertion in the Messenger, you will gratify me by giving them a place. They were written two or three years ago, by a young lady of this state; and it certainly never was her intention to publish them, but I am induced to offer them to the public eye, because I think they are creditable, and that they will not appear disadvantageously in the Messenger.

R.

TO D----.

I'll think of thee--I'll think of thee In every moment of grief or of glee; The memory will come of these fleeting hours, Like the scent that is wafted from distant flow'rs; Like the faint, sweet echo that lingers on When the tones that waken'd it are gone.

There's many a thought I may not tell, Hidden beneath the heart's deep swell; There's many a sweet and tender sigh Breath'd out when only God is nigh; And each familiar thing I see, Is blended with the thought of thee.

Thy form will be miss'd from the social hearth, Thy voice from the mingling tones of mirth; When the sound of music is poured along-- When my soul hangs entranced on the poet's song-- When history points from her glowing page, To the deathless deeds of a former age-- When my eye fills up and my heart beats high, I shall look in vain for thine answering eye.

When the winds are lulled in the quiet sky, And the sparkling waters go surging by, And the cheering sun invites to walk, I shall miss thine arm and thy pleasant talk: My rustling step--the leafless tree-- The very rock will speak of thee.

I'll think of thee when the sunset dyes Are glowing bright in the western skies; When the dusky shades of evening's light Are melting away into deeper night-- When the silvery moon looks bright above, Raising the tides of human love-- When the holy stars look bright and far, I'll think of thee--my guiding star!

When all save the beating heart is still, And the chainless fancy soars at will, When it lifts the dark veil from future years, And flutters and trembles with hopes and fears,-- When it turns to retrace the burning past, And the blinding tears come thick and fast-- And oh! when bending the humble knee At the throne of God--I will pray for thee!

And wilt thou sometimes think of me, When thy thoughts from this stormy world are free? When thou turnest o'erwearied from toil and strife The warring passions of busy life, May a still, small whispering, speak to thee, Like a touch on thy heartstring--Love, think of me.

E.

{161}

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

INVOCATION TO RELIGION.

Come blest Religion, meek-eyed maid, In all thy heavenly charms arrayed, Descend with healing in thy wing, And touch my heart while yet I sing.

Heaven's own child of simple truth, The stay of age, the guide of youth, All spotless, pure and undefiled, How blest are those on whom you've smiled.

Oh! come, as thou wert wont, and bless The widow and the fatherless-- Temper the wind to the shorn lamb, Pour on the wounded heart thy balm;

Strew softest flowers, where e're they stray, And pluck, oh! pluck the thorns away. Come like the good Samaritan, Bind up the sick and wounded man;

Not like the Priest thy love display-- Just look devout, and turn away. Oh! no--the bruised with kindness greet, And set the mourner on his feet.

Teach me with warm affections pure, That holy Fountain to adore, From whence proceeds or life or thrift-- The source of every perfect gift:

Teach me thy fear--thy grace impart, And twine thy virtues round my heart; With pity's dew suffuse my eye, And teach me heavenly charity--

That blessed love, which will not halt, Or stumble at a brother's fault; But with affection's tender care, Will still pursue the wanderer.

Oh! teach my heart enough to feel, For human woe and human weal. Not that mad zeal, which works by force, And poisons goodness, at its source;

But that mild, pure, persuasive love, Which thou hast brought us from above. Thro' thy fair fields, oh! fatal change, Let no distempered maniac range,--

No frantic bigot spoil thy bowers, And blight thy pure and spotless flowers. Still, still, thou pure and heavenly dove, Still speed thy work of perfect love.

Pursue the pilgrim on his road, And oh! take off his heavy load. Peace whisper to the troubled breast, And give the weary mourner rest--

And when in that last awful hour, Death shall exert his fatal power, Oh! blunt the print of his keen dart, And sooth the pangs that rend the heart.

When the last vital throb shall cease, Oh! be then present, with thy peace: Then let thy healing grace be given To light and waft our souls to Heaven.

L.

Pittsylvania.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

BEAUTY AND TIME.

[Written under a vignette, representing a branch of roses with a scythe suspended over it, in a Lady's Album.]

Emblem of woman's beauty, This blooming rose behold! Time's scythe is hanging o'er it, While yet its leaves unfold.

Alas! that Time is ever To Beauty such a foe! How can she shun his power? How ward his withering blow?

Has she no art to foil him, And turn his scythe aside? Must she, who conquers others, To him yield up her pride?

Yes, yes, there is a conquest That Beauty gains o'er Time: Forget it not, ye fair ones, But prize the homely rhyme.

For every charm he pilfers From Beauty's form or face, Upon the mind's fair tablet, Some new attraction trace.

Thus, Time's assaults are fruitless, For, when her bloom is o'er, Woman, despite his malice, Is lovelier than before.

S[obelisk].

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

ANTICIPATION.

When life's last parting ray is shed, And darkness shrouds this pallid form; When I have laid this aching head, Secure from ev'ry earthly storm--

Oh! then how sweet it is to think That some fond heart yet warm and true, Will cherish still the severed link Which death's rude hand has snapt in two.

Who oft, at evening's pensive hour, From all the busy crowd will steal, To dress the vine and nurse the flower That deck my grave, with pious zeal.

And ling'ring there, will lightly tread, As fearful to disturb my sleep, And oft relieve the drooping head Upon her slender hand, and weep.

And oh! if in that world which rolls Sublime beyond this earthly sphere, That love still warms departed souls, Which once they fondly cherished here.

Oh! yes, if in such hour is given, And parted souls such scenes may see, At that pure hour I'd leave e'en heav'n, And kiss the heart that wept for me.

L.

Pittsylvania.

{162}

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

HINTS TO STUDENTS OF GEOLOGY.

BY PETER A. BROWNE, ESQ.

NO. I.

The word "science," in its most comprehensive sense, means "knowledge." In its general acceptation, it is "knowledge reduced to a system;" that is to say, arranged in regular order, so that it can be conveniently taught, easily remembered, and readily applied to useful purposes. An art is the application of knowledge to some practicable end,--to answer some useful or ornamental purpose. The sciences, are sometimes divided into the abstract and the natural; by the former we are taught the knowledge of reasons and their conclusions; by the latter we are enabled to find out causes and effects, and to study the laws by which the material world is governed. To the abstract sciences belong, first, language, whether oral or written, including grammar, logic, &c.; secondly, notation, including arithmetic, algebra, geometry, &c. Philosophy inquires into the laws that regulate the phenomena of nature, whether in the material or immaterial world; it is generally divided into three classes, two of which are material and one immaterial. The material are, first, those which relate to number and quantity; secondly, those which relate to matter. The immaterial are those which relate to mind. The second class of the material is called "natural philosophy" or "physics," and sometimes the "physical sciences." Natural philosophy, in its most comprehensive sense, has for its province the laws of matter, whether organic or inorganic. These laws may regard either the motions or properties of matter, and hence arises their division into two branches--first, those which regard the motions of matter, which are called mechanics; and secondly, those which regard the properties of matter, which are subdivided, and have various names, according to the different objects of investigation. When the inquiry is confined to organized bodies and life, it is called physiology; which is again subdivided into zoology and botany. When it treats of inorganic matter, it is subdivided into chemistry, anatomy, medicine, mineralogy and geology. The principles of natural philosophy rest upon observation and experiment. Observation is the noticing of natural phenomena at they occur, without any attempt to influence the frequency of their occurrence. Experiment consists in putting in action causes and agents, over which we have control, for the purpose of noticing their effects. From a comparison of a number of facts, obtained from either observation or experiment, the existence of general laws are proved. The laws of man are complicated; to understand their objects, we are often obliged to take the most circuitous routes; but the laws by which nature governs all her works are beautifully simple, and they are found to lead directly to the end she has in view. To study them, therefore, according to the rules that have been laid down, viz: from observation and experiment, is pleasant and easy. The principal difficulties that have arisen, are owing to the improper manner in which the subjects connected with natural history have often been treated. Natural philosophy regards what was the condition of natural bodies: but many persons exert the whole force of their genius to discover what they might have been. And as there is no department of natural philosophy into which this erroneous method of procedure has made greater inroads than geology, nor any science that has suffered so severely in such conflicts, it may not be amiss to appropriate half an hour to the inquiry whence this error has arisen; and, if possible, point out the best method of avoiding its dangerous tendency. The word geology is derived from two Greek words, signifying "the earth" and "reason;" and it is that science which teaches the structure of the crust of the earth, and ascertains its mineralogical materials, and the order in which they are disposed, and their relations to each other. Geognosy is used by the French as synonymous to geology, but in English is generally understood to be synonymous to cosmogony; which is an inquiry, or rather a speculation, as to the original formation or creation of the world; hence geognosy has sometimes been called "speculative geology." In pursuing the examinations to which geology leads, we reason from facts, as is done in other branches of natural science. The strata of the crust of the earth, owing to the disturbed manner in which we now find them, are in a great measure open to our examination; their composition, formation, deposition, eruption, depression, succession, and mineralogical contents, are all objects of sensation. The objects of geognosy (in the English sense of the word) are, on the other hand, for the most part, ideal, visionary and delusive. We are sensible that this earth exists and that it is material, and therefore we know that it must have been created. We know that it was not created by man, who hath not the power to add to it one single atom, nor diminish it by a single grain--so that it is manifest that it was created by a superior and omnipotent power; but by what process it was done is a mystery, and the more we seek to discover it the more we expose our ignorance. The geologist, like the mathematician, deals with the understanding; his advance is wary, admitting no conclusion until his premises are fully established. The professor of geognosy, on the contrary, addresses himself entirely to the imagination, and he delights in hypothesis and suppositions. The progress of the geologist is necessarily slow; he is like the patient miner, making his laborious but determined way into the solid rock: but the professor of geognosy will make a world or even a universe in an hour, for he deals in fancy and works in visionary speculations. The geologist delves into the bowels of the earth in search of useful metals, earths and combustible matters, which nature has kindly placed within his reach, and he strives to turn them to the best advantage in administering to the wants and increasing the comforts and convenience of his fellow creatures; but all the labors of the professor of geognosy are directed to discover a secret which appears to be hidden from human ken; a secret, the discovery of which would not, as far as we can judge, add any thing to the sum of human happiness. It excites our astonishment therefore, that so many persons of fine genius and brilliant talents should have wasted so much time in forming what are called theories of the earth, who might have been so much better employed in investigating the secondary causes by which the materials composing the crust of this earth obtained their present forms, and in examining the changes which those materials are daily undergoing. But so it is; the curiosity so natural to our {163} species opens the way--the vanity of being supposed to have penetrated deeper than others into the abstruse mysteries of nature urges them forward--the silly pride of having in their own estimations discovered the hidden ways of Providence quickens their zeal; and, such is the love of the marvellous, that if they exhibit only a tolerable degree of ingenuity, and embellish their performances with a few flowers of rhetoric, they are sure to command more attention and praise from the general mass of readers, than can be extorted by the most laborious examination of nature's works. While Martin Lister was ridiculed by Doctor King for the laudable minuteness with which he described the different natural objects he met with in his journey through France, Mr. Thomas Burnet, for a fanciful theory of the earth, was extravagantly lauded by a writer in the Spectator. Saussure crossed the Alps in fourteen places; Humboldt traversed nearly one half of the habitable globe; Cuvier spent seven years in the study of comparative anatomy, as subservient to the study of fossil remains; and Hauy studied geometry for the sole purpose of obtaining a knowledge of crystalography; but neither of these distinguished philosophers have been able to win the laurels that have been heaped upon the brow of Count Buffon for a visionary hypothesis which he calls a theory of the earth.

The substitution of these hypotheses for knowledge, unfortunately, has not been confined to the early and dark ages of geology. One entirely new theory of the earth was published as lately as the year 1825--another in 1827--and a third in 1829. It is proper therefore that the student should be warned against their fascinating and baneful influence.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

ESSAY ON LUXURY.

Of the various researches, which engage this enlightened age, there is not one perhaps more important, whether we consider the public weal, or the general interest of humanity, than that which concerns luxury. It is regarded by some as the source of the greatest calamities; by others as a source of opulence and industry. It has been said and repeated thousands of times, that we often dispute, because we do not understand each other, and that we give a different meaning to words we use, because we do not define them with sufficient precision. This is frequently true; but cases will often arise where, though the words of a proposition are taken in precisely the same acceptation, and those who employ them reason alike, yet the result of their reasonings are diametrically opposite. Luxury has at all times been considered as a cause of the corruption of morals, and the destruction of empires; but in the last ages, it has not wanted its advocates--nay, they have even pretended, that it was necessary to render empires flourishing, to favor commerce, industry, circulation, manufactures; and that it alone would redress the inequality of various conditions, by making the superfluities of some contribute to relieve the necessities and wants of others. The contrary has always been held as an irrefragible axiom. But still its advocates maintain, that it nourishes all the refinements of good taste, and developes the talents of the artist, whose art and genius are encouraged by the profusion and prodigality which it produces. This is indeed the favorable side of the picture; but how often is it, that what we see in an object, is not all we might see there, and that one truth by intercepting the view of others, conducts us often to error. It is possible by considering the subject more attentively, though we may find all we have said, true to a certain degree, yet on the other hand, the evil, which excessive luxury produces, is infinitely more dangerous;--and speculation will confirm what the experience of all ages has demonstrated. It is an historical and invariable truth, that excessive luxury has always been the harbinger of the destruction of a state. I may add, it has always been the fatal cause. Labor and economy are the principles of true prosperity--the eclat of pomp and magnificence without them, is only a false splendor, which conceals inward misery. But it is here, we must stop for a moment, before we further advance, in order to have a precise idea, of what we understand by the word luxury. If by it, we mean every thing which exceeds the physical necessities of life, I should apologize to the learned. But I do not mean to fix the boundary by the laws of Lycurgus. I agree farther, that what may be luxury at one time, is not so at another; but it is in this gradation, which may be extended to infinity, that we ought wisely to seize that degree of the scale, where it degenerates into vice--I mean political vice, which far from being useful becomes prejudicial to a state. This distinction is still local, individual, and subject to different times and eras. What is a ruinous luxury in one country, would perhaps be useful or indifferent in another. A destructive and indecent luxury in one order of society, is honorable, indispensable and useful in another; and in short, in a country where a certain degree of luxury is necessary, there may be times, when sumptuary laws would be useful. If we proceed to analyze its principles, we shall see that though abstractedly, luxury may appear to produce certain advantages, yet in general it is the cause of the greatest disorders. If the expense or luxury of each individual were the thermometer of his fortune, the degree of luxury would certainly be the symptom of power, riches, industry and opulence of a state, but it would not on this account, be the cause; for what must be the consequence, when vanity and self-love excited by opinion, by custom and by pride, make us aspire at an external show far beyond our condition in life, and run into extravagancies, which we cannot support? This is to sap a commodious edifice in order to build a larger, which we can never erect. The state loses the house and does not gain the palace. In a country where luxury reigns, this example may be seen every day and in every order of the state. The "Luxury" then of which I speak, is that which prompts many to run into expenses, beyond what their circumstances will admit, by the respect attached to it, and by that contempt, with which those are treated, who do not maintain a similar profusion; by the universality of the custom; and by the opinions of others, which render the superfluous, the useless, the frivolous, almost necessary and indispensable. It is on this account, that the felicity, or apparent power, which luxury appears sometimes to communicate to a nation, is comparable to those violent fevers, which lend for a {164} moment, incredible nerve to the wretch, whom they devour, and which seem to increase the natural strength of man, only to deprive him at length of that very strength and life itself. It is likewise physically true, that excessive luxury impairs the body and destroys courage. Effeminacy enervates the one, and artificial wants blunt the other; wants multiplied become habitual, nor by diminishing the pleasures of possession, do they always diminish the despair of privation. Let us not say that the misfortunes of individuals, do not concern the public; when many suffer, the public must feel it. If it were true, that the possessions of those who are ruined, are found dispersed among other individuals, the ruin of the unfortunate would still be prejudicial to the state; because it is the number of individuals in easy circumstances, which create its wealth. But it is absolutely false, that those possessions are found in the mass of the public; if the possession of each individual consisted in silver, this might be so; but property for the most part is fictitious or artificial: industry, credit, opinion, form a great part of the riches of each individual,--which vanish, and are annihilated with the ruin of his former possessions, and are forever lost with respect to the state. Besides, lands are best cultivated, when divided among many hands. An hundred husbandmen in easy circumstances, are infinitely more useful to a state, than an hundred poor ones, or ten powerfully rich. It is the quantity of consumers, who regularly make an honest, well supported and permanent expense,--which augments industry, circulation, commerce, manufactures, and all the useful arts. But when excessive luxury causes, that the arts are lucrative in the inverse ratio of their utility, the most necessary become the most neglected, and the state is depopulated by the multiplication of subjects, who are a charge to it. It is then we fall precisely into the case of him, who cuts down the tree to get the fruit: what weakens each member of a body, must necessarily weaken the body itself; but excessive luxury weakens, without contradiction, each member of a body politic, physically and morally,--consequently it must undermine and destroy the constitution of that body. Another inconvenience attending luxury is, that according to the order of nature, the propagation of the species ought continually to increase in a country, if some inherent vice, either physical or moral, do not prevent it. We have seen in those times, when luxury prevailed only among the superior class, swarms issue from the state, without depopulating it, in order to establish themselves in other places. But the luxury of parents, whose baleful example is often the sole inheritance of their offspring, forces them necessarily into a state of celibacy; whereas it is evident, that by a division of property among their children, the latter might, with industry and care, having a principal to begin with, increase their hereditary wealth and enrich the state. Every thing conspires, where luxury reigns, to corrupt the morals. It eclipses, stifles, or rather destroys the virtues. It knows no object but the gratification of certain imaginary pleasures, more illusory than the honor, which it attracts. Mankind are born perhaps with no particular bias to fraud or injustice. It is want, either real or artificial, which creates the robber or the murderer; but for the most part, those crimes, which are most dangerous to society, take their origin from artificial wants, which ensue from "Luxury." The brother violates the strongest ties of nature--the patriot plunges the dagger into the bosom of his country. It was "Luxury," which called from Jugurtha his celebrated observation on Rome. It would be endless to attempt to enumerate the examples of ruin, and of those calamities, which have ever followed in its train. But how is this most dangerous of evils to be guarded against? Sumptuary laws would not always be efficacious. They do not always answer the end proposed. They are eluded by refinements upon "Luxury" until it becomes "Luxury" in excess. It must be the province of the legislature to prevent this abuse. The most effectual laws would be those, which would remove that ridiculous respect, which is paid to frivolous exteriors, and would attach real respect to merit alone; which would destroy that unjust contempt into which modest simplicity has fallen by a depravity of taste and reason. He, who by a wise legislation would discover the secret of banishing those prejudices, would render an essential service to humanity. Virtue and emulation would flourish--vice and folly no longer appear. After all, I would not have it forgot, that I have agreed, that what would be "Luxury" at one time, and for one order of people, is not so for another. The "Luxury" which destroys a republic, would not perhaps destroy a large kingdom; but there is a degree of "Luxury" prejudicial to the most opulent monarchy. The universal use of wine would be ruinous to this country, but not so to France. The detail and analysis of those distinctions, are perhaps the most important object to humanity. I am persuaded, that the public good, the repose of families, and the happiness of the present and future generations depend upon it.

B. B. B. H.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TO ----

"Agite Mais Constant."

"Though the speed with which we are hurried through the immensity of space, is not perceptible to our vision; yet the truth that 'Time is ever on the wing,' should teach us to be wise while it is called 'to-day.'"

Pleasures of time and sense can give No hope or real joy; They leave an aching void behind, Are mixed with base alloy.

Say, wouldst thou twine a lasting wreath To deck thy forehead fair, Go--wipe away the widow's tear, And sooth the orphan's care.

Wouldst thou be meet to join the choir Who sing in endless bliss, Go--drink at that Eternal Fount, Whose stream shall never cease.

Wouldst thou improve the talents here, Transmitted from above; Go--turn the sinner from his way, And prove a Saviour's love.

POWHATAN.

EXTRACT.

Men will wrangle for religion; write for it; fight for it; die for it; any thing but--live for it.

{165}

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

ELOQUENCE.

In the long list of powers and endowments, we can select no faculty or attainment more useful and ennobling than that of eloquence. Brightening the gloom of intellect, and awakening the energies of feeling, it holds reason mute at its will and enkindles passion with its touch. The soldier on the tented field is incited to the charge, and animated in the conflict, and his last moments sweetened, by the magic of its influence. The cries of injured innocence it converts into notes of gladness, and the tears of sadness and sorrow into smiles of pleasure and rejoicing. The miser, gazing on the beauty of his coin, and living on the manna of its presence, and kneeling to its power as his idol, is taught to weep over his error, bow to his Creator, and despise the degrading destroyer of his peace. The infidel, unswayed by the voice of divinity, and ignorant of its attributes, and doubtful of its existence, enraptured with the glowing efforts of ethereal eloquence, is convicted of his depravity, and yields to the resistless current, which swelling in its onward course, dispels the cloud that obscures the mind, and leaves it pure and elevated. In the courts of justice, the criminal, his heart imbittered with torturing despair, and his soul torn with agonizing anguish, beholds his arms unshackled, his character unsullied by even suspicious glance, and futurity studded with honors, station and dignity. In the halls of legislation, corruption is unmasked, intrigue is exposed, and tyranny overthrown. Where is its matchless excellence inapplicable? The rich and the poor experience its effects. The guilty are living monuments of its exertion, and the innocent hail it as the vindicator of its violated rights and the preserver of its sacred reputation. In the cause of mercy it is ever omnipotent; bold in the consciousness of its superiority, and fearless and unyielding in the purity of its motives, it destroys all opposition and defies all power. The godlike Sheridan, unequalled and unrivalled, swayed all by its electric fire, charmed and enthralled the weak and the timid, and chained and overpowered the profound and the prejudiced. Burke, the great master of the human heart, deeply versed in its feelings and emotions, "struck by a word, and it quivered beneath the blow; flashed the light'ning glance of burning, thrilling, animated eloquence"--and its hopes and fears were moulded to his wish. Curran, whose speeches glitter with corruscations of wit, and sentiment, and genius, and whose soul burned with kindred feelings for its author, and teemed with celestial emanations, astonished, elevated and enraptured. Pitt, and Fox, and Henry, and Lee, and other great and gifted spirits of that golden age, have all unfolded the grandeur of its sublimity, the richness of its magnificence, and the splendor of its sparkling beauties.

At a later period, when the rising generation caught the living spark as it fell from the lips of their giant fathers; a Phillips has pleased and fascinated by the grace and vigor of his action, the strength and fervor of his imagination, and the dignity and suavity of his manner; by the warmth of his feelings and the quickness of his perceptions. A Canning, by the brilliance of his mind, beaming with gems of classic literature; the perspicuity of his diction, rich in the beauties of our language; and the commanding force of his voice, now surpassing in its deep sternness the echoing thunder, and now, soft, and sweet, and mellow as the dying cadence of a flute, has never failed to arouse, and enliven, and convince. And a Brougham, with a profound and comprehensive intellect, deep and capacious as ocean's channels, with great powers of close and sound reasoning; with an extensive knowledge of the past and the present, with untiring energies and unremitted industry, wields a concentrated mass of overwhelming argument, and hurls a thunderbolt of eloquence, subduing and crushing in its impetuous course. In our own country, so fertile in the highest orders of mind, and so successful in nurturing, and expanding, and invigorating its faculties, we may point to Calhoun, and Webster, and Clay, and McDuffie, as the master spirits of the age. Their varied endowments; their chaste language; their pure and sublime style; their bitter and withering irony; their keen and searching sarcasm; their vast range of thought and unequalled condensation of argument, command the admiration and excite the wonder of men.

That eloquence has been productive of immense good, no one can deny or doubt. From the earliest ages it has been assiduously cultivated, and ranked among the highest attainments of the human mind. So great and elevated was it deemed by the Athenians--so grand the results of its application, and so distinguished in their councils were those who possessed it--that the young Demosthenes, inspired with quenchless ardor for its acquisition, bent all the energies of his gifted intellect to the task--opposed and triumphed over every obstacle that nature presented to his advancement--heeded not the scoffs and hisses of the multitude on the decided failure of his first endeavors--and at length as the recompense for his toils, reached the pinnacle of renown--received the gratulations of an admiring age, and beheld his brow encircled with the wreath of victory, immortal as his glory, and unfading as the memory of his deeds. While language continues to exist, and breathe in beauty and vigor the conceptions of mind, his phillippics, rich in forcible and magnificent expression, in sublime thought, and bold and resistless eloquence, will survive. And the fervent, and holy, and incorruptible patriotism that speaks in every line, must elicit unbounded veneration. His matchless powers, never exerted but for the public good, inspired his enemies with respect and fear, and forced the mighty Philip to acknowledge, "that he had to contend against a great man indeed." Cicero too, entitled by a contemporary philosopher and orator,[1] one by no means addicted to flattering or giving even unnecessary praise, "The Father of his Country," has proved by a long and active career of usefulness and honor, the beneficial effects of this inestimable power. Who can conceive any thing more thrilling and overwhelming than his orations against Cataline? We can see the patriot orator, sternly bold, from the magnitude of his cause--for the lives of millions depended upon his success--hatred and abhorrence depicted in his face; indignation flashing from his eye--for love of country was his impelling motive; energy and passion in his every action, and the living lava bursting from his lips;--and the victim, shrinking awe-stricken away--his baseness exposed--his treacherous schemes unfolded to public {166} gaze; he flies a blasted and withering thing--a reckless and degraded outlaw. This is but one of his numerous triumphs, which, stamped with the seal of immortality, have secured to him a fame as imperishable as time itself. It was by eloquence that the apostle of christianity so aroused the apprehensions and pierced the hardened conscience of the heathen Agrippa, that in the fulness of contrition he exclaimed, "thou almost persuadest me to be a christian." With it, the fisherman[2] of Naples declared to the populace the sanctity of their rights--explained the violation of their chartered privileges, and pointed out the means of securing justice--denounced their rulers as tyrants, and swore upon the altar of his country to revenge them. The multitude, through instinctive esteem for intellectual capacities, however humble the station of their possessor, and urged by the enthusiasm he had excited, obeyed his every word. Passive in his hands, he guided them to the maintenance of their freedom and the expulsion of domestic foes. To its influence we may ascribe the commencement of our Revolution, and the tameless spirit which animated our fathers in the struggle. Even now its effects are visible every where around us. We see that the seducer is lashed into remorse and contrition, and the traitor has received the reward for his crime. In the chambers of congress its fire burns with increasing lustre, and sheds unending sparks of brilliancy and strength. When properly directed, it is the inseparable companion of liberty; and so long as it continues thus--so long as its efforts are characterized by purity and patriotism, the prosperity, union, and above all, the freedom of these states, will remain secure.

[Footnote 1: Cato of Utica.]

[Footnote 2: Massaniello.]

H. M.

LETTERS FROM NEW ENGLAND.--NO. 2.

Our readers will participate with us in the pleasure of reading the second letter from New England, by an accomplished Virginian, whose easy and forcible style is so well employed in depicting the manners and character of a portion of our countrymen, separated from us not more by distance, than by those unhappy prejudices which too often spring up between members of the same family. The acute observation of men and things which these letters evince, will entitle them to be seriously read and considered,--and they will not have been written in vain, if they serve to remove the misconceptions of a single mind. We repeat what we stated in our last number, that although they were originally published in the Fredericksburg Arena, they have since undergone the revision and correction of the author expressly for publication in the Messenger.

Northampton, Mass. July 25, 1834.

Of Yankee hospitality (curl not your lip sardonically--you, or any other Buckskin,)--of Yankee hospitality there is a great deal, in their way--i.e. according to the condition and circumstances of society. Not a tittle more can be said of Virginia hospitality. Set one of our large farmers down upon a hundred, instead of a thousand, acres; let him, and his sons, cultivate it themselves; feed the cattle; rub down and feed the horses; milk the cows; cut wood and make fires; let his wife and daughters alone tend the garden; wash, iron, cook, make clothes, make the beds, and clean up the house; let him have but ten acres of wood land, in a climate where snow lies three, and frosts come for seven, months a year; surround him with a dense population--80, instead of 19, to the square mile; bring strangers, constantly, in flocks to his neighborhood; place a cheap and comfortable inn but a mile or two off; give him a ready and near market for his garden stuffs, as well as for his grain and tobacco--and ask yourself, if he could, or would, practise our "good old Virginia hospitality?" To us, who enjoy the credit and the pleasure of entertaining a guest, while the drudgery devolves upon our slaves; the larger scale (wastefully large) of our daily rations, too, making the presence of one or more additional mouths absolutely unfelt;--hospitality is a cheap, easy, and delightful virtue. But put us in place of the yankees, in the foregoing respects, and any man of sense and candor must perceive that we could not excel them. Personal observation and personal experience, make me "a swift witness" to their having, in ample measure, the kindliness of soul, which soothes and sweetens human life: a kindliness ready to expand, when occasion bids, as well towards the stranger, as towards the object of nearer ties. No where have I seen equal evidences of public spirit; of munificent charity; of a generous yielding up of individual advantage to the common good. No where, more, or lovelier, examples of domestic affection and happiness--evinced by tokens, small it is true, but not to be counterfeited or mistaken. And no where have I had entertainers task themselves more to please and profit me, as a guest. Yet, as you know, few can have witnessed more of Virginia hospitality than I have. It would be unpardonable egotism, and more personal than I choose to be, even in bestowing just praise; besides "spinning my yarn" too long--to do more than glance at the many kindnesses, which warrant the audacious heresy, of comparing our northern brethren with ourselves, in our most prominent virtue. Gentlemen, some of them of advanced years, and engaged in such pursuits, as make their time valuable both to themselves and the public, have devoted hours to shewing me all that could amuse or interest a stranger, in their vicinities--accompanying me on foot, and driving me in their own vehicles, for miles, to visit scenes of present wonder, or of historic fame: patiently answering my innumerable questions; and explaining, with considerate minuteness, whatever occurred as needing explanation, in the vast and varied round of moral and physical inquiry. In surveying literary, charitable, and political institutions--in trying to ascertain, by careful, and doubtless, troublesome cross-questionings, the structure and practical effects of judicial, and school, and pauper systems--in examining the machinery (human and inanimate) of manufactories--in probing their tendencies upon minds and morals--in 'stumbling o'er recollections,' in Boston, on Bunker's hill, and around Lexington--I found guides, enlighteners, and hosts, such as I can never hope to see surpassed, if equalled, for friendliness and intelligence. A friend of ours from Virginia, who was in the city of Boston with his family when I was, carried a letter of introduction to one of the citizens. "This gentleman, for three days," said our friend, "gave himself up entirely to us; brought his carriage to the hotel, and carried us in it over the city, and all its beautiful environs; in short, he seemed to think that he could not do enough to amuse and gratify us." To enjoy such treatment as this, one must, of course, in general, come introduced, {167} by letter or otherwise. Then--nay, according to my experience, in some instances without any introduction,--the tide of kindness flows as ungrudgingly as that of Virginia hospitality, and far more beneficially to the object: at an expense, too, not only of money, but of time--which here, more emphatically than any where else in America, is money. When travelling on foot, I had no letters to present--no introduction, except of myself. Still, unbought civilities, and more than civilities, usually met me. A farmer, at whose house I obtained comfortable quarters on the first night of my walk, refused all compensation, giving me at the same time a hearty welcome, and an invitation to stay to breakfast. Next day, a man in a jersey wagon, overtook me, and invited me to ride with him. I did so, for an hour, while our roads coincided: and found him intelligent, as well as friendly. Whenever I wanted, along the road, refreshing drinks were given me;--cider, switchell, and water--the two first always unasked for. One gudewife, at whose door I called for a glass of water, made me sit down, treated me abundantly to cider; and, finding that my object was to see the country and learn the ways of its people, laid herself out to impart such items of information as seemed likely to interest me: wishing me 'great success' at parting. Many similar instances of kindness occurred. It is true, none of the country people invited me to partake of their meals, except my first host just mentioned--an omission, however, for which I was prepared, because it arose naturally from the condition of things here. One testimonial more you shall have, to New England benevolence, from a third person. A deserter from the British navy--moneyless, shoeless, with only yarn socks on; feet blistered--and actually suffering from a fever and ague--told me that he had walked all the way from Bath, in Maine, to the neighborhood of Hartford, where I overtook him, entirely upon charity; and had never asked for food or shelter in vain. A lady that day had given him a clean linen shirt. There was no whining in this poor fellow's tale of distress: his tone was manly, and his port erect: he seemed, like a true sailor, as frank in accepting relief, as he would be free in giving it.

The result of all my observation is, that the New Englanders have in their hearts as much of the original material of hospitality as we have: that, considering the sacrifices it costs them, and the circumstances which modify its application, they actually use as much of that material as we do; and that, although their mode of using it is less amiable than ours, it is more rational, more salutary--better for the guest, better for the host, better for society. And most gladly would I see my countrymen and countrywomen exchange the ruinous profusion; which, to earn, or preserve, a vainglorious name, pampers and stupifies themselves and impoverishes their country, for the discriminating and judicious hospitality of New England: retaining only those freer and more captivating traits of their own, which are warranted by our sparser settlements, our ampler fields, and our different social organization.

Yet, while such praise is due to the general civility and kindness of the New Englanders, it must be qualified by saying, that several times, I have experienced discourtesy, which chafed me a good deal: but always from persons who, in their own neighborhoods, would be considered as vulgar. The simplest and most harmless question, propounded in my civilest manner, has occasionally been answered with a gruffness, that would for half a minute upset my equanimity. For example--"Good morning sir" (to a hulking, rough, carter-looking fellow, one hot morning, when I had walked eight miles before breakfast)--"how far to Enfield?" "Little better 'an a mile,"--was the answer; in an abrupt, surly, unmodulated tone, uttered without even turning his head as he passed me. Two or three of "mine hosts," at inns, were churlishly grudging in their responses to my inquiries about the products, usages, and statistics, of their neighborhoods. For these, however, I at once saw a twofold excuse: they were very busy and my questions were very numerous--besides the irritating circumstance, that answers were not always at hand--and to be posed, is what flesh and blood cannot bear. And it makes me think no worse than before, either of human nature in general, or of Yankee character in particular, that such slights occurred, nearly in every instance, whilst I was a somewhat shabby looking way-farer on foot; scarcely ever, while travelling in stage, or steamboat. Such distinctions are made, all the world over: in Virginia, as well as elsewhere.

A Southron, not accustomed to wait much upon himself, here feels sensibly the scantiness of the personal service he meets with. Even I--though for years more than half a Yankee in that respect--missed, rather awkwardly, on first coming hither, the superfluous, and often cumbersome attentions of our southern waiters. Besides having frequently to brush my own clothes, I am put to some special trouble in the best hotels, to get my shoes cleaned. In many village inns, sumptuous and comfortable in most respects, this last is a luxury hardly to be hoped for. This scarcity of menial service arises partly from the nice economy, with which the number of hands about a house is graduated to the general, and smallest possible, quantity of necessary labor; and partly, from a growing aversion to such services among the "help" themselves, caused, or greatly heightened, by the increased demand and higher wages for them in the numerous manufactories throughout the country. Almost every where, I am told of their asking higher pay, and growing more fastidious, and intractable, as household servants. "Servants" indeed, they will not allow themselves to be called. A "marry-come-up-ish" toss, if not an immediate quitting of the house, is the probable consequence of so terming them. The above, more creditable designation, is that which must be used--at least in their presence. By the by, though the gifted author of "Hope Leslie" says that the singular plural, "help," alone, is proper, I find popular usage ("quem penes arbitrium"--you know) sanctioning the regular plural form "helps," whenever reference is made to more than one.

The spirit, and the habits, which oblige one to do so much for himself within doors, produce corresponding effects without. Useful labor is no where disdained in New England, by any class of society. Proprietors, and their sons, though wealthy, frequently work on the farms, and in the gardens, stables, and barns. Two or three days ago, I saw an old gentleman (Squire ----) a justice of the peace, and for several years a useful member of the Legislature, toiling in his hay harvest. Two of the richest men in this village--possessing habitations among the most elegant in this assemblage of {168} elegant dwellings--I have seen busy with hoe and rake, in their highly cultivated grounds. The wife of a tavern-keeper, in Rhode Island, worth $40,000, prepared my breakfast, and waited upon me at it, with a briskness such as I never saw equalled. Similar instances are so frequent and familiar, as to be unnoticed except by strangers. Many of New England's eminent men of former days, were constant manual laborers; not only in boyhood, and in obscurity, but after achieving distinction. Putnam, it is well known, was ploughing when he heard of the bloody fray at Lexington; and left both plough and team in the field, to join and lead in the strife for liberty. Judge Swift, of Connecticut, who wrote a law book[1] of some merit, and, I believe, a History of Connecticut, was a regular laborer on his farm, whilst he was a successful practiser of the Law. An amusing story is told (which I cannot now stop to repeat) of his being severely drubbed by the famous Matthew Lyon, then his indented servant; while they worked together in the barn. Timothy Pickering, after serving with distinction through the revolution--being aid to General Washington, Representative and Senator in Congress, and Secretary of State--spent the evening of his unusually prolonged and honored life, in the culture of a small farm of 120 or 130 acres, with a suitably modest dwelling, near Salem, Mass.: literally, and through necessity, (for he was always poor) earning his bread by his own daily toil. With Dr. Johnson, I deride the hacknied pedantry of a constant recurrence to ancient Greece and Rome--without, however, being quite ready to "knock any man down who talks to me about the second Punic War." But, in contemplating the stern virtues, that poverty and rural toil fostered in those earlier worthies of New England, and that still animate the "bold yeomanry, a nation's pride," who yet hold out against the advancing tide of wealth, indolence, and luxury--I cannot forbear an exulting comparison of these my countrymen, with the pure and hardy spirits that graced the best days of republican Rome:

Regulum, et Scauros, animæque magnæ Prodigum Paulum superante Poeno,

* * * * *

Fabriciumque, Hunc, et incomptis Curium capillis Utilem bello, tulit, et Camillum, Sæva paupertas, et avitus apto Cum lare fundus.

[Footnote 1: On Evidence, and Bills of Exchange and Promissory Notes.]

In the household economy of these thrifty and industrious people, it were endless to specify all the things worthy of our imitation. Their use of cold bread conduces to good in a threefold way: a less quantity satisfies the appetite, and it is in itself more digestible than warm bread; thus doubly promoting health: while there is a sensible saving of flour. The more frugal scale upon which their ordinary meals are set forth, is another point in which for the sake of economy, health, and clearness of mind, we might do well to copy them. By burning seasoned wood, kept ready for the saw in a snug house built on purpose, and by the simple expedient of having the doors shut and all chinks carefully closed, they secure warm rooms with half the fuel that would otherwise be necessary. I cannot, however, forgive their bringing no buttermilk to table. The natives seem wholly ignorant, how pleasant and wholesome a food it is for man; and give it to their pigs. The hay-harvest lasts from four to six weeks; it has been going on ever since the 1st of July. Of course, the hay cut at such different periods must vary greatly in ripeness: and here they confirm me in a long standing belief, which I have striven in vain to impress upon some Virginia hay farmers--that the hay, cut before the seeds are nearly ripe, is always best. The earlier part of the mowing, (where the crop is about equally forward) is most juicy, sweet and tender. The corn is now in tassel, having attained nearly its full height: the height of about five feet, on rich land! It is a sort differing from ours: small in grain and ear, as well as in stalk; and very yellow grained. It ripens in less time than ours; adapting itself to the shorter summers of this latitude. It is planted very thick: three or four stalks in a hill, and the hills but three feet apart.

With many vegetables and fruits, the season is five or six weeks later here than in Virginia. Thus, garden peas are still, every day, on the tables: I had cherries in Boston last week, of kinds which ripened with us early in June; and it is but a fortnight, since strawberries, both red and white, were given me in Connecticut--by the way, it was at breakfast.

On the margin of this village, is a curious agricultural exhibition. It is a large tract of flat land upon Connecticut river, of great fertility and value (one hundred and fifty or two hundred dollars an acre,) containing altogether several thousand acres. With one or two trifling exceptions, it has no houses or dividing fences upon it, though partitioned among perhaps two hundred proprietors. Hardly an opulent, or middling wealthy man in Northampton, but owns a lot of five, ten, twenty, or fifty acres, in this teeming expanse. The lots are all in crops, of one kind or other; and being mostly of regular shapes (oblongs, or other four sided figures,) the various aspects they present, accordingly as the crop happens to be deep green, light green, or yellow--mown, or unmown--afford a singular and rich treat, to an eye that can at once survey the whole. Most opportunely, Mount Holyoke (the great lion of western Massachusetts, to scenery-hunters,) furnishes the very stand, whence not only this lovely plain is seen, but the river, its valley, and the adjacent country, for twenty or thirty miles around. Nearly a thousand feet below you, and not quite a mile from the foot of the mountain, the low ground, fantastically chequered into lots so variously sized and colored--dwindling too, by the distance, into miniatures of themselves--reminds you of a gay bed-quilt. A lady of our party (we ascended the mountain this afternoon, and staid till after sunset,) aptly compared it to a Yankee comfort; the elms and fruit trees dotted over the surface, and shrunk and softened in the distance, representing the tufts of wool which besprinkle that appropriately named article of furniture. The whole landscape, seen from Mount Holyoke, it would be presumptuous in me to try to describe. I have said, twenty or thirty miles around: but in one direction, we see, in clear weather, the East and West Rocks, near New Haven--about seventy miles off. Fourteen villages are within view. The whole scene is panoramic: it is as vivid and distinct as reality; but rich, soft and mellow, as a picture. We descended; and as we recrossed the river by twilight, the red gleams from the western sky, reflected in {169} long lines from the dimpling water, forced upon more than one mind that fine passage in a late work of fiction, where the remark, that "no man can judge of the happiness of another," is illustrated by the reflection of moon-beams from a lake. But I am growing lack-a-daisical: and must conclude.

I set off in the stage for Albany, at two o'clock in the morning. Good night.

We copy the following production of Mrs. Sigourney from the "American Annuals of Education and Instruction," a periodical published in Boston. It is difficult to decide whether the prose or poetry of this distinguished lady is entitled to preference. Her noble efforts in behalf of her own sex deserve their gratitude and our admiration.

ON THE POLICY OF ELEVATING THE STANDARD OF FEMALE EDUCATION.

Addressed to the American Lyceum, May, 1834.

The importance of education seems now to be universally admitted. It has become the favorite subject of some of the wisest and most gifted minds. It has incorporated itself with the spirit of our vigorous and advancing nation. It is happily defined by one of the most elegant of our living writers, as the "mind of the present age, acting upon the mind of the next." It will be readily perceived how far this machine surpasses the boasted lever of Archimedes, since it undertakes not simply the movement of a mass of matter, the lifting of a dead planet from its place, that it might fall, perchance, into the sun and be annihilated; but the elevation of that part of man whose power is boundless, and whose progress is eternal, the raising of a race "made but a little lower than the angels," to a more entire assimilation with superior natures.

In the benefits of an improved system of education, the female sex are now permitted liberally to participate. The doors of the temple of knowledge, so long barred against them, have been thrown open. They are invited to advance beyond its threshold. The Moslem interdict that guarded its hidden recesses is removed. The darkness of a long reign of barbarism, and the illusions of an age of chivalry, alike vanish, and the circle of the sciences, like the shades of Eden, gladly welcome a new guest.

While gratitude to the liberality of this great and free nation is eminently due from the feebler sex, they have still a boon to request. They ask it as those already deeply indebted, yet conscious of ability to make a more ample gift profitable to the giver as well as to the receiver. It seems desirable that their education should combine more of thoroughness and solidity, that it should be expanded over a wider space of time, and that the depth of its foundation should bear better proportion to the height and elegance of its superstructure. Their training ought not to be for display and admiration, to sparkle amid the froth and foam of life, and to become enervated by that indolence and luxury, which are subversive of the health and even the existence of a republic. They should be qualified to act as teachers of knowledge and of goodness. However high their station, this office is no derogation from its dignity; and its duties should commence whenever they find themselves in contact with those who need instruction. The adoption of the motto, that to teach is their province, will inspire diligence in the acquisition of a knowledge, and perseverance in the beautiful mechanism of pure example.

It is requisite that they who have, in reality, the moulding of the whole mass of mind in its first formation, should be profoundly acquainted with the structure and capacities of that mind; that they who nurture the young citizens of a prosperous republic, should be able to demonstrate to them, from the broad annals of history, the blessings which they inherit, and the wisdom of preserving them, the value of just laws, and the duty of obeying them. It is indispensable that they on whose bosom the infant heart is laid, like a germ in the quickening breast of spring, should be vigilant to watch its first unfoldings, and to direct its earliest tendrils where to twine. It is unspeakably important, that they who are commissioned to light the lamp of the soul, should know how to feed it with pure oil; that they to whose hand is entrusted the welfare of a being never to die, should be able to perform the work, and earn the wages of heaven.

Assuming the position that females are by nature designated as teachers, and that the mind in its most plastic state is their pupil, it becomes a serious inquiry, what they will be likely to teach. They will, of course, impart what they best understand, and what they most value. They will impress their own peculiar lineaments upon the next generation. If vanity and folly are their predominant features, posterity must bear the likeness. If utility and wisdom are the objects of their choice, society will reap the benefit. This influence is most palpably operative in a government like our own. Here the intelligence and virtue of every individual possesses a heightened relative value. The secret springs of its harmony may be touched by those whose birth-place was in obscurity. Its safety is interwoven with the welfare of all its subjects.

If the character of those to whom the charge of schools is committed, has been deemed not unworthy the attention of lawgivers, is not her education of consequence, who begins her labor before any other instructor, who pre-occupies the unwritten page of being, who produces impressions which nothing on earth can efface, and stamps on the cradle what will exist beyond the grave, and be legible in eternity?

The ancient republics overlooked the worth of that half of the human race, which bore the mark of physical infirmity. Greece, so exquisitely susceptible to the principle of beauty, so skilled in wielding all the elements of grace, failed to appreciate the latent excellence of woman. If, in the brief season of youth and bloom, she was fain to admire her as the acanthus-leaf of her own Corinthian capital, she did not discover, that like that very column, she might have added stability to the temple of freedom. She would not believe that her virtues might have aided in consolidating the fabric which philosophy embellished and luxury overthrew.

Rome, notwithstanding her primeval rudeness, and the ferocity of her wolf-nursed greatness, seems more correctly, than polished Greece, to have estimated the "weaker vessel." Here and there, upon the storm driven billows of her history, the form of woman is distinctly visible, and the mother of the Gracchi still stands forth in strong relief, amid that imagery, over {170} which time has no power. Yet where the brute force of the warrior was counted godlike, the feebler sex were prized, only in their approximation to the energy of a sterner nature, as clay was held in combination with iron, in the feet of that mysterious image which troubled the visions of the Assyrian king.

To some of the republics of South America, the first dawn of liberty gave a light which Greece and Rome, so long her favored votaries, never beheld. Even in the birth of their political existence, they discovered that the sex whose strength is in the heart, might exert an agency in modifying national character. New Grenada set an example which the world had not before seen. Ere the convulsive struggles of revolution had subsided, she unbound the cloistered foot of woman, and urged her to ascend the heights of knowledge. She established a college for females, and gave its superintendence to a lady of talent and erudition. We look with solicitude toward the result of this experiment. We hope that our sisters of the "cloud-crowned Andes," may be enabled to secure and to diffuse the blessings of education, and that from their abodes of domestic privacy, a hallowed influence may go forth, which shall aid in reducing a chaos of conflicting elements to order, and symmetry, and permanent repose.

In our own country, man, invested by his Maker with the "right to reign," has nobly conceded to her, who was for ages a vassal, equality of intercourse, participation in knowledge, guardianship over his dearest possessions, and his fondest hopes. He is content to "bear the burden and heat of the day," that she may dwell in plenty, and at ease. Yet from the very felicity of her lot, dangers arise. She is tempted to rest in superficial attainments, to yield to that indolence which spreads like rust over the intellect, and to merge the sense of her own responsibilities in the slumber of a luxurious life. These tendencies should be neutralized by an education of utility, rather than of ornament. Sloth and luxury, the subverters of republics, should be banished from her vocabulary. It is expedient that she be surrounded in youth with every motive to persevering industry, and severe application; and that in maturity she be induced to consider herself an ally in the cares of life, especially in the holy labor of rearing the immortal mind. While her partner stands on the high places of the earth, toiling for his stormy portion of that power or glory from which it is her privilege to be sheltered, let her feel that to her, in the recesses of the domestic sphere, is entrusted the culture of that knowledge and virtue, which are the strength of a nation. Happily secluded from lofty legislation and bold enterprise, with which her native construction has no affinity, she is still accountable to the government by which she is protected, for the character of those who shall hereafter obtain its honors, and control its functions.

Her place is in the quiet shade, to watch the little fountain, ere it has breathed a murmur. But the fountain will break forth into a stream, and the swelling rivulet rush toward the sea; and she, who was first at the fountain head and lingered longest near the infant streamlet, might best guide it to right channels; or, if its waters flow complaining and turbid, could truest tell what had troubled their source.

Let the age which has so freely imparted to woman the treasures of knowledge, add yet to its bounty, by inciting her to gather them with an unremitting and tireless hand, and by expecting of her the highest excellence of which her nature is capable. Demand it as a debt. Summon her to abandon inglorious ease.--Arouse her to practise and to enforce those virtues, which sustain the simplicity, and promote the permanence of a great republic. Make her answerable for the character of the next generation. Give her this solemn charge in the presence of "men and of angels,"--gird her for its fulfilment with the whole armor of education and piety, and see if she be not faithful to her offspring, to her country, and to her God!

L. H. S.

We beg our readers to amuse themselves with the following article from Mr. Fairfield's Magazine. We cannot however, whilst we value the importance of having an euphonous and pleasant sounding name, sympathise very sincerely with Mr. Rust in the horror he has conceived towards his own. We had rather be Lazarus in all his misery than Dives in "purple and fine linen."

From the North American Magazine.

MY NAME.

"Quid rides? mutato nomine, de te Fabula narratur."--Horace, Sat. 1. Lib, I. 70.

"Nil admirari" has always been my maxim, yet there is one thing which excites my wonder. It is astonishing, that a man, who leaves his son no other legacy, cannot at least give him a good name. What could have been my father's motive, in inflicting upon me that curse of all curses--my name, I cannot determine. Trifling as so small a matter may appear, it has been my ruin. Bah! I shudder when I think of it! shade of my honored parent! would nothing but a scripture name satisfy thee? Why didst thou not then entitle me Ezra?--Zedekiah?--Nimri?--anything--it must out--but Lazarus!

Yes--LAZARUS RUST--that is my name; and, if any man can now blame me for being a misanthrope, let him come forward. As I said, my name has been my ruin. It has made existence a curse since my childhood; even at school, I was tormented almost to madness. I was the only boy who was not nicknamed. The most malicious were satisfied; they could not improve upon Lazarus.

Of all men, the most impertinent are your stage agents. They have a trick of asking your name, with an insulting coolness, which, to a man of delicate sensibilities, is extremely annoying. I shall never forget my first stagecoach journey. The fellow at the desk looked me full in the face, and calmly asked my name. I felt the blood boiling in my face, and my first impulse was to knock him down. But I was a prudent man, even when a boy; so I satisfied myself with turning contemptuously on my heel. The fellow was by my side in a moment. "Sir," said he, in the silver tones of a lackey, "will you allow me to inquire your name?" This was too much. "Allow me to tell you, sirrah," I cried, almost suffocated with rage, "that you are an impertinent scoundrel."

The bar room was in a roar. That laugh is sounding still in my ears, like the roar of a mighty cataract. What diabolical music some men make of laughing! When the agent explained to me the reason of his inquiry, I felt so consummately silly, that I forgot my {171} usual precaution of giving only my initial, and, in a voice painfully distinct, I answered--Lazarus Rust!

They did not laugh. I could have borne a deafening shout: but that suppressed smile! let me not think of it. Of all mortal sufferings, the keenest is the consciousness of being the object of ridicule, mingled perhaps with pity. O! Heaven! what did I not suffer--what have I not suffered, from this one source?

All this comes of my father's--what shall I call it?--madness, in calling me Lazarus. By the by, they tell me that, when I was baptized, a murmur of laughter arose from the whole congregation; and even the minister, as he uttered the solemn form, could not entirely conceal the smile, which, in spite of his utmost exertions played upon his lips.

A history of my ludicrous misfortunes would fill a volume. Perhaps the most ludicrous of all was at my marriage. "A rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet;" and a Lazarus may love as ardently as a Dives. I confess I did love Phoebe McLarry--(how sweetly the name flows from your lips!) she was not beautiful, but she loved me notwithstanding my name, "and I loved her that she did pity me." So we were married. But, when the priest repeated, "Son, Lazarus, take Phoebe," &c. I could not refrain from laughing myself.

They say that the constitution of our habits is such, that, by degrees, we can become reconciled to anything, but I am not yet satisfied with my name. I still persist in writing it L. Rust. I have seen a good deal of human nature; and, I must think, notwithstanding Shakspeare's opinion, that there is something in a name. Indeed, a man's name tinges his whole character. If it is a good one, he may sign even a mortgage deed with a light heart; and, if he writes a neat hand, he will rise from the desk a happy man. His flowing autograph, and more flowing name, make even poverty tolerable. But your Nimris, and Obadiahs! that which, to some men, is the pleasantest thing in existence--the seeing their names in print, is to them, utter and hopeless agony. And then their officious friends are eternally superscribing their letters with the name written out in full. There is one member of Congress, who, throughout the whole session, most perseveringly franks his dull speeches to Lazarus Rust, esq. One would think L. Rust was sufficiently definite, and it certainly has the advantage in point of euphony. I wish he was in Heaven. I know of no damper to ambition like a bad name. I would not immortalize myself if I could. Lazarus Rust, indeed,--that would look well inscribed on a monument! I say with Emmett, "Let no man write my epitaph." It would perhaps run thus:

"Here lies the body of Lazarus Rust With what a horrible name the poor fellow was cust."

No--not for me is the laurel wreath of immortality. When I die, let me be forgotten. If there is any truth in the doctrine of transmigration, I may yet take my chance. "I bide my time."

After all, I sometimes endeavor to persuade myself that it is a mere matter of taste. We have no reason to suppose that Lazarus was the worst name in the Hebrew genealogy. It must be confessed, however, that there are some disagreeable associations connected with it, aside from its sound; and, to speak the plain truth, it is a most disgusting appellation, fit only for a monkey. Yet I am compelled to bear it about with me--a thorn in the flesh, from which I cannot escape; it adheres to me like the poisoned tunic of Nessus. I would appeal to the Massachusetts Legislature, but my friends have a decided partiality for Lazarus, and would never know me by any other name. So, as Lazarus I have lived, Lazarus will I die.

I have redeemed my father's error, in naming my own children; I cannot, 'tis true, rub off the Rust: but, for the matter of Christian names, I defy the Directory to furnish a more princely list. When my eldest son was born, I vowed he should never be ashamed of his name, so I called him Henry Arthur Augustus George Bellville--so far, so good--it breaks my heart to add--Rust. The sly rogue has since improved his cognomen, by spelling it with a final e--thus: Henry A. A. G. B. Ruste--how it takes off the romance to add--eldest son of Lazarus Rust, esq.!

Finally, as I have the misfortune, like my namesake of old, to be of that class of mortals, denominated "poor devils," I can say, with the utmost sincerity, "who steals my purse, steals trash; and he who filches from me my good name," has decidedly the worst of the bargain.

J. D.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

The following lines are from the pen of Dr. J. R. Drake. Sacred be his memory! A warmer patriot never breathed. The piece was written at the time of the invasion, and but a few days previous to the brilliant victory of the eighth of January. It is addressed to the defenders of New Orleans.

Hail! sons of gen'rous valor! Who now embattled stand, To wield the brand of strife and blood, For freedom and the land; And hail to him your laurel'd chief! Around whose trophied name, A nation's gratitude has twin'd, The wreath of deathless fame.

Now round that gallant leader, Your iron phalanx form; And throw, like ocean's barrier rocks, Your bosoms to the storm-- Though wild as ocean's waves it rolls, Its fury shall be low-- For justice guides the warrior's steel, And vengeance strikes the blow.

High o'er the gleaming columns The banner'd star appears; And proud, amid the martial band, His crest the Eagle rears-- As long as patriot valor's arm Shall win the battle's prize, That star shall beam triumphantly-- That Eagle seek the skies.

Then on! ye daring spirits! To danger's tumults now! The bowl is fill'd, and wreath'd the crown, To grace the victor's brow; And they who for their country die, Shall fill an honored grave; For glory lights the soldier's tomb, And beauty weeps the brave.

{172}

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

VALEDICTORY IN JULY 1829,

At the final breaking up of the ---- School, in consequence of the ill health of Mrs. ----, the Principal, after it had continued for eight years.

Among the numerous analogies, my young friends, which have been traced between the body and the mind, there is not one that requires more of our attention than the necessity of constantly supplying each with its appropriate food, if we would keep both in sound, vigorous health. Although the nutriment of the first be altogether material, and that of the second spiritual, yet the same want of daily supply is equally obvious in regard to the improvement and preservation of mental as well as bodily qualities. Without our daily bread we must all in some short time sicken and die; without some daily intellectual repasts, the soul must soon become diseased and perish. It is true that in each case the food may be much and often beneficially diversified--although there are some standard articles that cannot be dispensed with on any occasion without inconvenience, if not actual injury. Such for example are bread for the body and some moral aliment for the mind. Upon this principle it is that I have always deemed it essential, every time I have addressed you, to mingle some moral instruction with every thing I have said, since it is this which constitutes the true leaven of the bread of life--and this it is which will always prove an acceptable part of their mental food, to all whose appetites and tastes have not been depraved by mental condiments, which stimulate and gratify the passions at the expense of the soul.

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