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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..39a190d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #53943 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53943) diff --git a/old/53943-8.txt b/old/53943-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3ef4e8c..0000000 --- a/old/53943-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8275 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., -No. 5, January, 1835, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 5, January, 1835 - -Author: Various - -Editor: James E. Heath - -Release Date: January 11, 2017 [EBook #53943] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER, JAN 1835 *** - - - - -Produced by Ron Swanson - - - - - -THE SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER: - -DEVOTED TO EVERY DEPARTMENT OF LITERATURE AND THE FINE ARTS. - - -Au gré de nos desirs bien plus qu'au gré des vents. - _Crebillon's Electre_. - -As _we_ will, and not as the winds will. - - -RICHMOND: -T. W. WHITE, PUBLISHER AND PROPRIETOR. -1834-5. - - - - -SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER. - -VOL. I.] RICHMOND, JANUARY 1835. [NO. 5. - -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. III. - - -From 1798 to 1803, William Eaton, formerly a captain in the army of the -United States, was their consul[1] in Tunis. As the character of this -remarkable man will be best illustrated by the account of his -proceedings in Barbary, it will be sufficient to premise that he had, -before his mission to that country, given proofs of more than ordinary -courage and capacity, and that the utmost confidence was placed in his -honor and integrity by those who possessed the means of forming an -opinion with regard to him. These are admirable qualities for a -diplomatic agent; on the other hand, he was irritable and cynical, and -was considered eccentric by persons who were unable to comprehend his -views or his plans. Ever open and liberal himself, he could not easily -conceal his contempt for those in whom he discovered signs of duplicity -or meanness; and his irrepressible frankness on such occasions, was not -calculated to render him an object of favor with a government which -reprobated treachery only when it was unsuccessful. - -[Footnote 1: The consuls residing in the Barbary States, are considered -as the representatives of their several governments, and are -essentially diplomatic agents; although they are not so termed, out of -respect for the Porte.] - -The Bey Hamouda, to whom Eaton was accredited, was a man vastly -superior to the generality of Barbary sovereigns; though free from none -of the vices which appear to have fixed their seat in that portion of -the earth, he was yet by no means their slave, being neither a brutal -ruffian nor a luxurious sybarite. His passions, though violent, seldom -obscured his observation, or led him to the commission of imprudences -or wanton cruelties; and it was only by means of sagacity, energy and -laboriousness such as he possessed, that the throne of Tunis could have -been held by one man for thirty-two stormy years (1782 to 1815). - -The intercourse between these two shrewd and fiery spirits, was a -continued series of discussions and struggles, of attempted -encroachments on the part of the Bey, and of obstinate resistance on -that of Eaton. The African Prince soon perceived that the American was -of a different stamp from the consuls to whom he had been hitherto -accustomed, and whom he regarded in general as mere intriguers, or -instruments for the conveyance of flattery and presents; and Eaton, -although he could not like or respect the Bey, yet seems to have -excepted him from the anathema of contempt in which he involved all -other inhabitants of Barbary. In the accounts of their interviews, we -see Hamouda ever anxious to secure advantages, yet at times displaying -something like a feeling of national pride; Eaton placing the honor of -his country as the first consideration, yet mindful of its smallest -interests when they could be reconciled with this primary object: the -Bey endeavoring to inveigle or surprise the American consul into a -promise of his influence to obtain some future concession from his -government; Eaton carefully avoiding, or boldly refusing the slightest -encouragement to such expectations, well knowing that it would be -construed and afterwards quoted as a definite or a partial engagement. -These accounts are indeed only to be found in the despatches of Eaton. -But independently of the character of the writer, his details bear -every mark of truth, and together present one of the most original and -interesting specimens of negotiation to be found in the annals of -diplomacy. The strength and the weakness of these anomalous governments -are there clearly exposed; and after the demonstrations thus given, it -would have been unpardonable in the Americans to have longer persisted -in the submissive course which they had been induced to adopt. - -Eaton's first business was to have amendments made in a treaty which -had been concluded between the United States and Tunis, through the -agency of a Frenchman named Famin; this was effected, after a display -of great ingenuity on both sides, and some mutual concessions. Then -came the arrangement of the presents from the American government, -which the Bey attempted to raise far beyond the amount agreed on, -hinting that war might be the consequence of refusal. It was on this -occasion that Eaton commenced his solicitations for the despatch of an -American squadron to the Mediterranean--"Send the _stipulated_ -presents," said he, "but accompany them by a respectable force, and let -them be tendered under our guns; if then refused, the obligation is at -an end; delay, and we shall soon be obliged to redeem our citizens from -slavery." No ship of war appearing to support the resistance of the -American consul, the Bey increased his demands, requiring at one time a -frigate, and afterwards ten thousand stand of arms. At length the -appearance of Dale's squadron (1801) induced him to lower his tone and -to suspend his exactions. - -The war between the United States and Tripoli soon occasioned new -difficulties, in the course of which the Bey showed himself well -acquainted with the received principles of national law; and -unfortunately the manner in which the operations of the American -squadron were conducted, gave him the advantage in the argument. -Tripoli had been declared in a state of blockade; yet months elapsed -during which no ship appeared on the coast to enforce it; indeed the -frigates (of which, with the exception of the schooner Enterprize, the -American squadron was entirely composed,) were nearly useless for that -purpose; the shallowness of the water enabling lighter vessels to leave -or enter the port, by running some distance close to the shore. Eaton -was unceasing in his solicitations to his government, and to the -officers of the squadron, for the pursuance of more energetic measures; -but his government adhered to its system of caution, and the naval -commanders appear to have been affected with that jealousy or distrust -which always exists in the minds of such officers with regard to the -representatives of their nation abroad, particularly towards those who -are termed consuls. They received his recommendations with hauteur, and -treated them with neglect; and on one or two occasions only could he -obtain their co-operation. - -The Bey seeing this, demanded passports for his vessels to carry grain -to Tripoli, which they had been in the habit of supplying with that -article. Eaton refused, alleging that it would be an infringement of -the blockade. The Bey replied that no blockade existed _de facto_; and -a series of discussions ensued, in which we see the Barbary Prince -insisting on an observance of the rules of national law, and the -American representative agent upholding a paper blockade. - -The difficulties between Eaton and the Bey were much increased by the -intrigues of the Tunisian ministers and officers; particularly by those -of Sidi Yusuf, the _Seid-e-Tapa_, or Keeper of the Seal, commonly -called the Sapatapa, a wretch who by the most infamous practices had -amassed an immense fortune, and raised himself from the condition of a -Georgian slave to the highest place in the ministry. To their ceaseless -importunities for presents Eaton at first yielded; but finding that -compliance only rendered them more frequent, and that the requests put -on the form of exactions, he at length plainly refused, frequently -clothing his denial in a sarcastic dress, or accompanying it by -observations which no interpreter could soften into compliments. -Indeed, on several occasions, when the inferior agents were insolent, -he did not scruple to lay his cane over their shoulders; and even Famin -the Frenchman, who had been the representative of his government in the -negotiation of the treaty, felt the weight of his arm. These -circumstances rendered him obnoxious to the whole Tunisian government, -and every attempt was made to get rid of him, in order to obtain -another consul who might be of more pliable stuff. Intimidate him they -could not, but they succeeded fully in disgusting him. - -Circumstances at length occurred which revived his hopes of seeing the -honor of his country vindicated, and its relations with the Barbary -powers established on a fair and firm basis. It has been stated that -Hamet, the exiled Prince of Tripoli, had sought refuge in Tunis from -the persecutions of his brother; he was there received and supported by -the Bey, partly from compassion, but principally from political -motives, as he might thus be employed to keep Yusuf in check. In the -summer of 1801, it was suggested to Eaton by the ex-consul Cathcart, -that the restoration of Hamet to the throne of Tripoli might in all -probability be easily effected through the assistance of the United -States, and that it would prove highly advantageous to American -interests. Eaton at first paid but little attention to the suggestion; -but afterwards having obtained information from Tripoli on which he -could rely, that the Pasha was very unpopular, and his subjects ripe -for revolt, he became acquainted with the Prince, and gradually -communicated to him his views. He proposed that Hamet should proceed to -Tripoli with the whole American squadron, and be there presented to the -people as their rightful sovereign; if accepted, peace was to be made, -on terms of which the principal were stated, one of them being the -delivery of Yusuf to the Americans; if the inhabitants should however -refuse to receive him, the war was to be prosecuted with vigor to a -conclusion. - -Hamet at first appeared to enter into the plan, and communicated -information from which its success appeared still more probable; but -his natural irresolution soon returned, and innumerable difficulties -presented themselves to his imagination. The most serious ground of -objection taken by him was, that his family were still retained as -hostages in Tripoli, and the ruthlessness of his brother's character -rendered it highly probable that he might exercise towards them any -degree of violence, when prompted either by interest or revenge. To -this, Eaton opposed the consideration, that the appearance of an -overwhelming force, with the country too in arms against Yusuf, would -impress upon him the inutility of resistance, and oblige him to enter -into some arrangement for the release of Hamet's family, and the -surrender of the throne. The exiled Prince would however make no -promises, until he had been assured of the assistance of the American -force, which Eaton immediately endeavored to obtain; but neither his -instructions, nor those of the commander of the squadron, would warrant -such proceedings; and indeed, as the proposition came from Eaton, it -was of course reprobated and pronounced visionary by the latter. The -consul therefore wrote to his government, detailing his plan, and -urging its attention; and his health being much enfeebled, he -determined to await an answer in Italy, for which country he sailed in -December, 1801. - -These projects could not be devised so secretly as to escape the -vigilance of the Tunisian government; and they were soon communicated -to Yusuf, by one of its ministers whom he kept in pay. They created in -him the utmost alarm. He had just then involved himself also in a war -with Sweden, and a fleet from that country had already entered the -Mediterranean under Admiral Cederstrom, who had orders to act in -concert with the Americans. His two largest vessels were lying useless -at Gibraltar; and Morat Rais, without whom he could do little towards -equipping others, was also at that place closely watched by his -enemies. - -In this state of things, he endeavored to amuse the Americans with -propositions of peace; and the sovereigns of Algiers and Tunis being in -consequence engaged by him as mediators, sounded the consuls of the -United States at their respective courts, as to the dispositions of -their government. Nothing definite could be drawn from either: they -merely hinted what they hoped and believed, that nothing would be paid, -either for peace or as tribute; and the mediators were not disposed to -continue their good offices on such grounds. The Emperor of Morocco -also undertook to load the ships lying at Gibraltar with wheat, and to -procure for them, as his own property, American passports for Tripoli. -These were however refused by the consul of the United States at -Tangiers, and by the commander of their squadron; at which the Emperor -was so much incensed, that he ordered the American consul to quit his -dominions, and commenced hostilities against their commerce. Morat -Rais, the Scotch renegade, was however conveyed on board a British ship -of war to Malta, whence he easily passed over to Tripoli, much to the -disappointment of Eaton, who considered him as the chief exciter of the -difficulties, and as the only person in the Pasha's service at all -acquainted with naval affairs. But very little advantage was derived -from his skill; worthy Peter had indeed found it much easier to profit -by the licenses of his new creed, than to submit to its restrictions, -and some of his old propensities had probably been revived during his -residence at Gibraltar; for after his return to Tripoli, he remained -some time in a constant state of intoxication. - -Yusuf still carried on his preparations for defence with great energy. -Moors and Arabs were called in and enrolled, some principal persons -from each village or tribe being kept as hostages in the castle. The -Swedish and American prisoners were employed in repairing the -fortifications, making gun carriages, &c.; and as no vessels could be -built in Tripoli, some were purchased and prepared for use as cruisers. - -But he had another object in view, of still greater importance; which -was to get Hamet again in his power. In this the Bey of Tunis -consented, it is said reluctantly, to aid him. Hamouda had no objection -to see the Pasha of Tripoli in an embarrassed state, or indeed to have -Hamet placed on the throne; but he was little inclined to favor the -pretensions of the latter on the score of _legitimacy_, he himself -being a usurper, and the heir to the throne of Tunis by regular -descent, being a prisoner in his castle; he also apprehended that the -success of Eaton's plan would encourage other christian powers to -interfere in the concerns of Barbary. It was therefore proposed to -Hamet to return to the government of Derne, which with his family, -Yusuf offered to restore to him; and the proposition was accompanied by -a hint that he would receive no farther supplies in case he remained in -Tunis. The poor Prince thus driven to extremities was obliged to yield; -a Russian vessel was in consequence engaged to convey him to Derne, and -he was to be escorted by a guard of honor consisting of forty Tripoline -soldiers, who had been sent to Tunis for the purpose. - -Had these arrangements proceeded much farther, there can be little -doubt as to what would have been the fate of Hamet; but information of -them was conveyed to Eaton by the Sapatapa, whose services he had -engaged before leaving Tunis. He was then at Leghorn, awaiting the -determination of his government; no answer to his communication with -regard to the restoration of Hamet had arrived, but he had just -received a letter from the Secretary of State which authorized him to -suppose that his plan would be favorably received. Therefore -considering that the present circumstances were too important to permit -delay, he hastily purchased and manned a vessel of fourteen guns, -called the Gloria, and sailed in her for Tunis, where he arrived on the -18th of March, 1802. The Bey instantly demanded of him a passport for -Hamet and his suite, who were on the point of departure. This he of -course refused. Hamouda became outrageous, threatened to imprison him, -and to declare war against the United States; but threats only -suggested new resources to this energetic man, and his determination -was soon taken. In order to secure himself however, he called a -consultation of the principal Americans then in Tunis who having -approved his measures, the Gloria was despatched with letters, to be -delivered to the commander of the first American ship of war which -could be met with, communicating the state of the affair, and -requesting assistance to prevent the Prince from entering the Tripoline -territory. The frigate Boston was luckily soon found; her commander, -O'Neill, readily agreed to what was requested, and having commissioned -the Gloria as an United States ship, to act against Tripoli, he sailed -for the coast of Derne, in order to intercept the vessel carrying -Hamet. The Gloria returned in a few days to Tunis. In the meantime -Eaton had, by a promise of ten thousand dollars to the Sapatapa, to be -given in case of the success of his plans, opened a communication with -the Tripoline Prince, whom he was not permitted to see. Every means was -used to operate on his hopes, his fears, and even his superstitious -feelings. The prospects of his restoration by the aid of the United -States, were contrasted with the danger, nay the certainty, of death, -to which he exposed himself, by confiding in his cruel and perfidious -brother; the prophecies of a Marabout, respecting his being replaced on -the throne of Tripoli, by a people from the setting sun, were gravely -and ingeniously repeated; and when all these representations had proved -ineffectual, he was plainly assured that he would not be allowed to -reach Derne, but that he would be attacked on his passage by the -American squadron, and treated if taken, as a Tripoline enemy. The -miserable exile had no other resource than to throw himself on the -protection of the American consul. It was therefore arranged that he -should sail ostensibly for Derne, furnished with a passport and also a -private letter from Eaton, to be delivered to any American commander or -other authority with whom he might fall in; and that the vessel should -on the way put into Malta, under pretence of avoiding the Americans and -Swedes. This was done, and Hamet landed safely at that island on the -11th of April. - -The news of his arrival excited the strongest interest throughout -Barbary. The Bey of Tunis pronounced that all was over with Yusuf, -unless he made peace at once. The people of Tripoli were also much -excited, as they expected an attack to be immediately made. Yusuf, -though greatly alarmed, continued his preparations for defence; and it -is said, assembled in the course of the summer, fifty thousand troops -about the city; this was probably however, an exaggerated statement. -His naval force ready for sea, amounted to one vessel of eighteen guns, -one of sixteen, three of fourteen, and one of ten; with these, Morat -Rais when a little sobered, proposed to sail for Gibraltar, and after -releasing and manning the two vessels there lying, to put out on the -Atlantic, where he expected to reap a rich harvest of prizes. In order -to escape observation, he had provided his sailors with the dresses of -christian nations; but this _ruse_, as well as the plan it was intended -to promote, were soon communicated to the watchful Eaton, and by him to -the officers of the squadron. - -However Tripoli was so carelessly blockaded, that some of the vessels -got to sea, one of which captured the brig Franklin, of Philadelphia, -and carried her into Algiers, where an attempt was made to dispose of -her and her crew. The American Consul at Algiers, remonstrated against -this proceeding, and endeavored to procure the surrender of the brig -and men, on the grounds that the Dey was bound, as guaranty of the -peace between the United States and Tripoli, to cause her delivery. The -Dey replied, that he had engaged to act only as mediator, but not to -employ force in having the treaty respected; and that moreover the -principal parties to it being then at war, and the United States -actually holding Tripoli under blockade, the treaty as well as the -guaranty were in fact at an end. However, after some delay, the -Tripoline was ordered to quit the place, which he did, taking his prize -with him, to the little port of Biserta, in the Tunisian territory, -sixty miles from the capital; and the next day (July 8) the brig and -her crew were advertised for sale at Tunis. What were the feelings of -Eaton on this occasion may be conceived; his application to Commodore -Murray who commanded the squadron nominally blockading Tripoli produced -no effect; and to his mortification he saw the cruiser quit the place -with the American captives in irons, (the brig being left at Biserta,) -and heard of its safe entry into Tripoli actually in sight of the -frigate Constellation. As a last resource, in order to alleviate the -miseries of their captivity, he wrote a moderate and conciliatory -letter to the Pasha, recommending him not to allow the American -prisoners to be sold as slaves, but to have them treated with lenity, -to refrain from farther hostilities, and even to receive Mr. Morris, -the captain of the Franklin, as the agent of the United States until -affairs could be arranged. - -The American ships of war soon after quitted that coast, to which they -did not return until the spring of 1803, leaving the consuls to defend -as they could their refusal to grant passports for Tripoli. Eaton -maintained his ground with obstinacy, the others yielded; the consul at -Algiers gave his passport to vessels which he knew were to be laden -with wheat for Tripoli; and the agent at Tangiers actually gave his, to -one of the Tripoline vessels of war which had been lying at Gibraltar, -and which accordingly sailed for Tripoli, laden with wheat from -Morocco. These circumstances when known, put an end to all -consideration and respect for the American consul, and even for the -American name in Tunis; as Eaton says, "it was a matter of exultation -at that piratical court, that _the American consul had been abandoned -by his countrymen_, and the occasion was seized _to humble his pride_." -He had involved himself in great expenses in furtherance of his plans -respecting Hamet, without authorization from his government; a portion -of the sums expended had been obtained in Tunis, and the ten thousand -dollars promised to the Sapatapa as a bribe, and which had been -forfeited by his treachery, were now demanded as the balance in a -mercantile transaction. Neither party could bring any written proofs, -the case was therefore referred to the Bey, who of course decided -against Eaton, and the successful minister on retiring from the hall of -justice, sarcastically remarked, that _in Tunis they knew how to keep -consuls to their promises_. The demand for a frigate from the United -States was renewed, which Eaton, in spite of threats and attempts to -bribe him, having refused even to submit to his government, his brig, -the Gloria, was seized and charged with the conveyance of a letter to -the President, containing the requisition; she however got safely to -Leghorn, where she was sold. - -All these things Eaton could only represent to his government, which he -did in forcible language; he demonstrated the weakness of the Barbary -States, and showing that they had not a single ship capable of -withstanding a sloop of war, again urged the employment of smaller -vessels. Finally he expressed a desire to "_be supported or -displaced_," and that "_if farther concessions were to be made, he -might not be the medium through which they were to be presented_." - -Although Eaton almost despaired of procuring the means for executing -his plan upon Tripoli, yet he maintained an active correspondence with -Hamet, for whose support he advanced the necessary funds. Soon after -the arrival of that Prince at Malta, he had met with Captain O'Neill, -of the Boston, who appeared ready to forward the project by every -exertion in his power, as also did the Swedish commander. Commodore -Murray too, who came there with the Constellation, thought better of -the affair, and offered to take him to Derne; but he preferred going -privately, in an English brig, which he had chartered, and at length -sailed in November (1802) for that place, where he was received with -every demonstration of affection by the inhabitants, and the -surrounding Arab tribes. He was soon after joined by a nephew, who had -been living in exile in Egypt, at the head of a considerable force; and -thus considering himself strong enough to commence his march upon the -capital, he despatched a confidential messenger to Eaton, in order to -inform him of the state of his affairs, and to hasten the arrival of -the expected succors; he even assured him that the appearance of a -single American frigate before Tripoli, would be sufficient to cause -its surrender. - -The receipt of this information must have been martyrdom to Eaton; he -restrained his vexation as he could, and kept the messenger concealed -in his house. At length, on the 22d of February, 1803, Commodore Morris -appeared off the harbor in the frigate Chesapeake, and soon after -landed with one or two of his officers. The object of his visit was to -contest the demand made by the Bey, for the restoration of some -Tunisian property, which had been seized in an Imperial vessel while it -was endeavoring to enter Tripoli. After some discussion, it was agreed -that the property should be restored; but this compliance only -emboldened the Bey and his minister, to demand immediate payment of all -Eaton's debts in Tunis, real or pretended; and on refusal of both the -commodore and the consul, the former was actually detained in Tunis, -and not allowed to communicate with his ship. As they were thus -completely in the power of the Bey, who had besides, at least the -semblance of right in his pretensions, nothing was left but to pay the -money, which was done. During these proceedings Eaton by his animated -remonstrances, and by the charges which he openly advanced against the -minister, had so far irritated the Bey, that he ordered him immediately -to quit the place, declaring, "that he was a man of a good heart, but a -wrong head; too obstinate and violent;" and that he "must have a consul -more congenial with the Barbary interests." Eaton therefore took his -leave, and quitted Tunis on the 10th of March. Before his departure he -had introduced Hamet's agent to the commodore, and the plans and -resources of that Prince were exposed to him. Morris however, either -did not partake of Eaton's conviction relative to the practicability of -the scheme, or did not anticipate from its success results so favorable -to his country as to warrant his interference. He therefore refused all -immediate assistance, and only promised to appear before Tripoli in -June, when, "_provided an equivalent were guarantied to the United -States in the event of success_," he would furnish Hamet with "_twenty -barrels of powder_." He did indeed appear before Tripoli about the end -of May, with five frigates and a schooner; but, with the exception of -an unsuccessful attempt to destroy some vessels laden with wheat, which -had been chased into the harbor of Old Tripoli, (the ancient Sabrata) -he confined himself entirely to negotiations. Yusuf demanded two -hundred thousand dollars and the expenses of the war "_for a peace_," -and on this being refused, he told the Commodore that "the business was -at an end, and that he must depart." Morris quitted the coast -immediately, leaving two frigates to blockade the port; he soon after -received orders to return to America, where he was tried before a court -martial, and received severe censure for his inactivity and incapacity. -Captain John Rodgers who was left in command, succeeded on the 21st of -June in destroying the Tripoline ship of war of twenty-two guns, which -as before stated had sailed from Gibraltar, loaded with wheat by the -Emperor of Morocco. With Hamet no communication appears to have taken -place. - -Eaton arrived at Boston on the 5th of May 1803, and in June proceeded -to Washington, to adjust his accounts and to urge the adoption of more -rigorous measures towards the Barbary powers. He appears to have been -coldly received. His expenses incurred on Hamet's account, were not -allowed by the Department of State, nor indeed were they completely -admitted until they had been before Congress during its two ensuing -sessions. His desire to be relieved from his situation, unless a more -determined course were pursued, was considered as a resignation of his -office, in which Mr. Cathcart had been appointed to succeed him; and -instructions had been forwarded to that gentleman to negotiate both -with Tripoli and Tunis, _on the amount_ to be paid as presents and -yearly tribute. To crown all, a letter had been written to the Bey, in -which Eaton was declared "_to have gone beyond the letter and spirit of -his instructions_," and his acts were "_disclaimed as in opposition to -his orders_." With all these circumstances he was not indeed made -acquainted immediately; but the manner of his reception did not impress -him favorably with respect to the members of the Administration, and -much increased his natural irritability. - -The American government did not however neglect to take advantage of -his information and experience; and news having arrived of some success -on the part of Hamet, it was determined to send a much larger force to -the Mediterranean. This squadron sailed on the 13th of August, under -the command of Commodore Preble; and after halting a few days in the -Straits of Gibraltar, in order to settle affairs with the Emperor of -Morocco at Tangiers, it joined the other ships off Tripoli in October. -A circumstance here occurred of the most disastrous nature, and which -probably contributed more than any other, to prevent the dethronement -of Yusuf, or the termination of the differences between the United -States and the Barbary nations, in a manner entirely satisfactory to -the former. The frigate Philadelphia, while in chase of a Tripoline -ship on the 31st of October (1803), struck upon a rock at the entrance -of the harbor of Tripoli with so much violence, that she remained -immoveable by any means at the disposition of the crew, and -consequently defenceless. Her situation being ascertained in the city, -a number of gun boats were instantly sent out, to which, as no -resistance could be made, she was of necessity surrendered. The crew, -consisting of three hundred, with their captain Bainbridge, were -transferred to the city; two days after the ship was got off, towed -into port, and being easily repaired, was likely to prove a valuable -accession to the naval strength of the Pasha. - -The capture of the Philadelphia was however calculated to produce a -moral effect infinitely more injurious to the American cause than the -mere loss of the ship, and her acquisition by Tripoli. The skill, and -even the personal bravery of the naval men of the United States, had -been rendered doubtful by the proceedings of the two previous years; -these doubts now assumed the form of a certainty, the most unfavorable -and mortifying; and unless something had been immediately done to -retrieve the honor of the flag, it must have quitted the Mediterranean -in disgrace, or designated every ship over which it waved, as the -bearer of tribute. - -But there were noble spirits in the American squadron who determined -that this should not be. On the night of the 15th of February, 1804, -Lieutenant Stephen Decatur, accompanied by seventy resolute men, -entered the harbor of Tripoli, in a small schooner which he had -previously taken and called the Intrepid, and succeeded in boarding the -Philadelphia, then lying under the guns of the castle. In a few minutes -the Tripoline crew were overpowered; many were killed, others swam to -the shore, and communicated the astounding facts. A terrible fire was -instantly opened upon the ship from the castle and batteries, aided by -those of two vessels lying near; and it being impossible to carry off -the Philadelphia, she was set on fire. The Americans retreated to the -Intrepid; a breeze fortunately sprung up; they were soon beyond the -power of their enemies, and reached the ship which awaited them, -without losing a man. The Philadelphia was totally destroyed. - -This heroic achievement restored confidence to the Americans, and -determined Commodore Preble to make a desperate attempt upon the city. -His force had however been much reduced by the loss of the Philadelphia -and the recall of other ships; and judging that an addition was -necessary to afford any prospect of success, he proceeded to Naples, -where he obtained from the King the use of two bomb vessels and six gun -boats. These were strong, heavy, flat bottomed vessels, bad sailers, -but manageable by oars, and well calculated for harbor operations. The -gun boats mounted each a long twenty four pounder, and were manned by -thirty-five men; the bombs carried thirteen inch mortars and forty men; -several Neapolitan gunners and bombardiers were also engaged to assist -in working them. The whole American force thus amounted to one frigate, -(the Constitution,) three brigs, three schooners, two bombs, and six -gun boats, carrying in all about one hundred and twenty guns, and one -thousand and sixty men; and with this armament Preble appeared before -Tripoli on the 25th of July, 1804. - -Yusuf was not however taken unawares, and he had made formidable -preparations for resistance. The number of his troops in the city was -supposed to be twenty-five thousand; the batteries mounted one hundred -and fifteen pieces of cannon; besides which, the harbor was defended by -nineteen gun boats, two gallies, two schooners of eight guns each, and -a brig of ten guns. - -The weather was for several days unfavorable for an attack. At length -on the 3d of August the American squadron approached the harbor, and -began to throw shells into the town. The fire was returned from the -batteries and vessels, and during five hours a constant cannonade was -kept up on both sides. Three of the Tripoline gun boats were boarded -and taken; their other vessels were materially injured, and much damage -was done to the town and fortifications: but as nothing more could be -effected, the squadron withdrew, having lost only one man, Lieutenant -James Decatur, and had thirteen wounded. - -The results not proving sufficient to bring Yusuf to terms, another -attack was made on the 7th of August, which terminated less favorably -to the Americans; one of their prizes having been blown up, and their -whole loss amounting to fourteen killed, and four wounded, without -having produced any notable injury to the Tripolines. On the evening of -this day a frigate arrived from the United States, bringing information -that a large reinforcement might be soon expected, under the command of -Commodore Samuel Barron, who being the senior officer, would supercede -Preble. This news caused a suspension of the attacks, during which -Yusuf made offers of peace, on consideration of receiving five hundred -dollars as the ransom of each of his prisoners. This offer was rejected -at once, and the expected reinforcement not appearing, Tripoli was -bombarded on the night of the 24th of August. On the 28th another -attack was made, by which the castle and town suffered considerably, -and three of the Tripoline gun boats were destroyed; and on the 3d of -September another, with less success. - -On the 4th a bold attempt was made to set fire to the vessels lying in -the harbor, and injure the batteries. The schooner Intrepid, with which -Decatur had executed his enterprise on the Philadelphia, was converted -into a fire ship, being filled with powder and combustibles; and in it, -with merely a boat attached in order to return after the fire had been -communicated, Lieutenants Wadsworth, Somers and Israel embarked, and -steered in the direction of the vessels. Two of the Tripoline gallies -were seen to row towards the Intrepid, and place themselves one on each -side of her; a terrific explosion then took place; the three vessels -were shivered into atoms, and a number of shells fell, spreading -destruction on the unfortunate town. Of those who had embarked in the -Intrepid, nothing was ever heard. It is supposed that seeing escape -impossible, they had involved themselves and their enemies in one -common destruction. - -No more attempts were made upon Tripoli during this season. The storms -which prevail on that coast in the Autumn had commenced, and it was -considered improper to expose the small vessels to their violence. They -were therefore sent to Syracuse, the Constitution and two brigs -remaining to keep up the blockade. - -Information of the capture of the Philadelphia did not reach the United -States until March, 1804; and it seems to have produced upon the -American government the same effects which it had upon the officers of -the squadron. It infused energy into its councils, and determined the -President to act with more vigor than he had hitherto manifested; he -resolved "to send to the Mediterranean a force which would be able, -beyond the possibility of a doubt, to coerce the enemy to a peace, on -terms compatible with the honor and the interests of the country." Four -frigates were prepared for this purpose, and placed under the command -of Commodore Samuel Barron, who was furnished with extensive authority, -to act against or treat with the Barbary powers. - -News had arrived that Hamet had met with some successes in his -expedition from Derne against his brother, and the President -"considering that concerted operations by those who have a common enemy -were entirely justifiable, and might produce effects favorable to both, -_without binding either to guaranty the objects of the other_," says in -his instructions to Barron, "with respect to the ex-Pasha of Tripoli, -we have no objection to your availing yourself of his co-operation with -you against Tripoli, if you shall upon a full view of the subject, -after your arrival upon the station, consider his co-operation -expedient." Eaton had been appointed to accompany the squadron as navy -agent for the Barbary states, with a view to his being employed, in -case a junction with Hamet were determined on; but he was placed -entirely under the orders of the Commodore, and is merely mentioned in -the instructions to that officer as likely to be "_extremely useful_." -Before the departure of the squadron, information was received that -Hamet had been deserted by his followers, and had taken refuge in -Egypt. Of his expedition no particulars appear to be on record, and no -account can be obtained of the circumstances which led to his failure: -but between Yusuf in possession, and Hamet as pretender, unsupported -too by any man of strong character, and without resources, the contest -could not have been doubtful. No change however was made in the -destination of Eaton, who sailed with the squadron in the above -mentioned capacity, in July, 1804, and arrived at Malta on the 5th of -September following. He there learnt that Hamet, fearing to trust -himself in the hands of the Turkish authorities in Egypt, had taken -refuge among the revolted Mamelukes, in one of the provinces up the -Nile. This did not discourage Eaton; determining at least to have an -interview with the exiled Prince, he prevailed on Commodore Barron to -commit the affair to his charge, and sailed with Captain Isaac Hull in -the brig Argus for Alexandria, where he arrived on the 25th of -November, 1804. - -(_To be continued_.) - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -IMPROMPTU, - -On seeing that the Publisher of the Messenger had changed the color of -its covers. - - - So _you're changing your colors_, I see, master White, - But say now d'ye think it is perfectly right? - Yet I own, on reflection, it is not so wrong, - And the reason, I think, is sufficiently strong: - Give it up? Then I'll tell you at once to your shame, - _You're a man of all colors yourself_--by your _name_; - For all the seven colors, you know, must unite - To make the commixture that people call _white_. - -P. Q. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -MR. WHITE,--On looking over a young lady's Album a few evenings since, -I met with the following lines, of which, with her permission, I -immediately took a copy. I now enclose them to you for insertion in the -Messenger, hoping that some one of your numerous readers may not only -be able to tell me in what language they are written, but let me still -further into the secret by giving me a translation of them. - - "'Adhmhur mar dhia neo bhasmhor 'ta - "'N t'oglach gu caidreach a shuis re d' sqa: - "Sa chluin, sa chěth re faad na hůin - "Do bhriara droigheal, 's do fhrea gradh cůin." - -I was also allowed to transcribe from the same source, two other pieces -which I send you herewith, under an impression that they are well -worthy a place in your interesting miscellany. - -* * * - -STANZAS - -ADDRESSED TO MISS ----. - - - Younger heads will bow before thee, - Younger hearts than mine adore thee, - Younger lips due praises sing thee, - Younger hands choice flowers shall bring thee-- - But when Time's unmelting frost, - Once hath chill'd Love's altar-flame, - Breasts, to passion's impulse lost, - Never after burn the same: - Then what has Age like mine to do - With youthful Beauty, pretty Lou? - - Brighter eyes will sparkle near thee, - Quicker ears rejoice to hear thee, - Gayer forms around thee pressing, - Woo thy gentle arms' caressing: - But when Fate's severest blow, - Bursts the heart's most cherish'd ties; - Lays its long-nurs'd wishes low, - Hope dismay'd from misery flies: - Then what has grief like mine to do - With joyous Beauty, pretty Lou? - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -THE SYBIL'S LEAF. - - - Raven-hair'd! and yet so fair, in opening youth! - Dark-eyed! with snowy brow of beaming truth! - How can thy Destiny but happy be? - Loved of a hundred hearts! bright rising star! - Light that shall bless admiring eyes afar! - How many breasts shall wildly throb for thee? - - Thine too, for one of kindred worth shall sigh, - With thought deep-seated in his soft blue eye, - Fair, but with sun-tinged roses on his cheek; - Liberal in speech, in action bold and free, - Save when with timid love he bows to thee - And silent muses what he dare not speak. - - Thou hast not yet beheld, but shalt ere long-- - And loved, drink in the music of his tongue, - And feel thy bosom a strange thrill pervade:-- - Fortune and health shall on your union smile, - And lisping lips shall every care beguile, - Till late in peace, thy lamp of life shall fade. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -And Ruth said, entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from -following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou -lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my -God. - -Where thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so -to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.--Ruth i. 16, -17. - -TO MY WIFE. - - - Where e'er thou goest I will go, - And share with thee in weal or wo-- - And where thy wearied footsteps rest, - Thy head shall pillow on my breast. - - Thy people shall my people be-- - Thy kindred find a friend in me-- - Thy God shall be my God--one hope - Shall bear our fainting spirits up. - - My earthly joys with thee shall die, - And in thy grave forgotten lie-- - So God in justice deal with me, - If aught but death part me and thee. - -HANOVER. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -THE KISS.--_A la Moore_. - - - 'Tis a sweet boy! his eye is bright, - Smooth is his cheek, and velvet soft, - And his rosy, pulpy lips invite - The kiss I give, in sooth, full oft. - How glows my eye, and my heart, how wild - It beats, as I kiss the lovely child! - - But there's a cause ye little ken, - Why thus I love to kiss the boy! - If _thou wert absent_, Julia, then, - The kiss I love so soon would cloy, - 'Twould not be half so oft as now, - 'Twould not be half so sweet, I trow. - - I mark when thy lip presses his, - And, ere the dewy moisture's flown, - I steal it with another kiss, - _And dream I rip it from thy own!_ - E'en _such_ a kiss thrills through my heart, - What bliss would thine own lips impart! - -P. H. - -_Written in the summer of 1827_. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -LOVE--MUTUAL BUT HOPELESS. - - - O! the light of thine Eye is the beam that falls - Through the narrow grate, on the Dungeon floor, - To show the sad captive the strength of his walls, - And remind him of joys he must taste no more. - - And that melting voice is Love's whispered breath, - By night through that grated casement stealing, - To rouse him from slumbers as heavy as death, - To hopeless wishes, and useless feeling. - - But that voice is dear to his wasted heart, - And dear to his eye is that lonely ray; - Though they wound his bosom, he loves the smart, - Nor wishes for death, but when these are away. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -TO DESPAIR. - - - Hail to thy tranquil and secure abode, - The gloomy refuge of the tortured breast; - Where anxious Care resigns his weary load; - And wasted Sorrow sighs herself to rest. - - No treacherous Hope here flatters and deceives, - No shortlived Rapture cheats the ravished sense; - No airy dreams delirious Fancy weaves; - Hope--Rapture--Fancy--all are banished hence. - - Here Fear, with startling cry, no more appals, - For he who knows the worst no harm can dread: - And keen affliction's dart as harmless falls, - As the vain storm that pelts the senseless dead. - - Here no _fierce_ Passions agitate the breast, - But Rage is quelled, and Hate forgets his foe: - Pride stoops; Ambition vails his haughty crest; - And Envy covets nought that kings bestow. - - But Love still feeds the never dying flame, - Whose cold pale light scarce breaks the settled gloom, - Like the Sepulchral lamp, whose livid gleam - Watches above the Silence of the Tomb. - - That light no more the dazzled sense beguiles; - That flame no more the frozen bosom warms; - Yet dear, as when, all bright in rosy smiles, - It led my faithful Laura to my arms. - - But she is lost; and now this calm abode - Affords a refuge to my weary breast; - And Care, at length resigns his weary load; - And wasted Sorrow sighs herself to rest. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -My grandfather who had died at the age of eighty-six, was the first -object I examined; his snowy locks had become, through the influence of -the leaden mantle which enveloped him, of a blood color, &c. -&c.--_Prince Puckler Muskau's visit to the vault of his ancestors_. - - - "Have ye torn away the fun'ral pall?-- - Did ye strip each corpse to sight?-- - Then leave me, in my ancestral hall, - I visit the dead to-night--" - - The clock struck twelve and I took the lamp - With a solemn step and slow-- - Down--down I went, and my echoing tramp - Rang deep in the vault below. - - I saw the dust of centuries round; - And I felt my courage droop;-- - My eyes were rivetted--strained--spell-bound-- - By three of that awful group. - - I stood in the charnel house of those, - Whose blood in my veins now ran; - My current of life seem'd nearly froze - As I strove the scene to scan. - - An aged man with his "_gory locks_" - And sightless sockets was there,-- - And _staring_ seem'd from his leaden box - With a stern--reproachful air. - - Wrapp'd in embroider'd cloth of gold, - Lay a noble knight and tall-- - And I knew at once the warrior bold, - Who hung in my castle hall. - - At head of his Cuirassiers,--there he - Was charging the flying Swede; - But here--oh pitiful sight to see! - The victor lay low indeed. - - In a gorgeous robe of silk, here lay - The finest of female forms; - I did but touch her--she pass'd away-- - My hand was alive with worms. - - I sunk on my knees in fervent prayer; - Tears fell--and my bosom thaw'd; - Horror gave place to the feeling, there - Of trust in the mighty God. - - I rose without or shudder or dread, - And I kiss'd that aged face; - I took a lock from the sightless head, - And calmly quitted the place. - - But never again till I drink the cup - Of death--will I enter there-- - The power of prayer, might bear me up-- - But God, he hath said--forbear!!! - - - - -At the suggestion of a friend, whose fine taste selected the following -effusion of the celebrated "Ettrick Shepherd," from some of the -periodicals of the day, we gladly insert it in our columns. It is a -most touching tribute of fraternal affection to an elder sister, from -one of the most distinguished bards of modern times. - -THERE'S NAE LADDIE COMING. - -BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD. - - - There's nae laddie coming for thee, my dear Jean, - There's nae laddie coming for thee, my dear Jean; - I hae watch'd thee at mid-day, at morn, an' at e'en, - An' there's nae laddie coming for thee, my dear Jean. - But be nae down-hearted though lovers gang by, - Thou'rt my only sister, thy brother am I; - An' aye in my wee house thou welcome shalt be, - An' while I hae saxpence, I'll share it wi' thee. - - O Jeanie, dear Jeanie, when we twa were young, - I sat on your knee, to your bosom I clung; - You kiss'd me, an' clasp'd me, an' croon'd your bit sang, - An' bore me about, when you hardly dought gang. - An' when I fell sick, wi' a red watery ee, - You watched your wee brother, an' fear'd he wad dee; - I felt the cool hand, and the kindly embrace, - An' the warm trickling tears drappin aft on my face. - - Sae wae was my kind heart to see my Jean weep, - I closed my sick ee, though I wasna asleep; - An' I'll never forget till the day that I dee, - The gratitude due, my dear Jeanie, to thee! - Then be nae down-hearted, for nae lad can feel - Sic true love as I do, or ken you sae weel; - My heart it yearns o'er thee, and grieved wad I be - If aught were to part my dear Jeanie an' me. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -REMARKS ON THE REVIEW OF GOVERNOR TAZEWELL'S REPORT. - - -MR. WHITE:--I have just read the Review of Governor Tazewell's Report -to the Legislature, upon the subject of a Deaf and Dumb Asylum, in your -last number, and am sorry to find that, amongst many things which I -like, it contains some misstatements which, I think, do great injustice -to that document, and to its author; and which I must therefore beg -leave to correct. - -In the first place, in noticing that part of the paper in which the -Governor argues that as the last census shews that the whole number of -deaf mutes in our State is only about four hundred and twenty-two, and -the experience of other States, particularly Pennsylvania and -Connecticut, has proved that only one-fifteenth of the whole number in -any community can be drawn to such an institution, it is fair to -conclude that the actual number of pupils who could be drawn to our -asylum would not exceed twenty-eight; the Reviewer remarks that the -Governor "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." But this is -obviously a misapprehension of the document; for the Governor says -expressly in a passage quoted by the Reviewer himself, "the question -seems to be resolved into this,--Can the Legislature 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?" But it is quite -apparent that among the "any means," and "sufficient inducements," -which he was here speaking of, he included a provision for the support -of indigent pupils, as a matter of course. Indeed, the very _object_ of -the establishment, as the Reviewer himself remarks, _implies_ the -propriety of such a provision, and the whole tenor of the Report -accordingly takes it for granted throughout. - -But the Reviewer asks: "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?" Why, for the reasons which he has so clearly stated, and -which the Reviewer ought to have understood; that such had been the -experience of other States, particularly Pennsylvania and Connecticut, -and there was nothing to authorize the hope of a different result in -our own case. Yet he asks, "Does he mean that a larger number could not -be obtained if the public expense were proffered for their education -and subsistence?" Undoubtedly he means this; for he says expressly in a -passage which the Reviewer quotes, that in those States to whose -experience he refers, "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;" and he adds still more explicitly in -another passage which the Reviewer does not quote, but which he ought -to have read, speaking of the same institutions of Pennsylvania and -Connecticut, "The only other aid" (besides acts of incorporation,) -"which either of these seminaries has ever received since, from the -several States within the limits of which they are situated, has been -_the appropriation of a sum of money annually to pay for the -instruction of a certain number of persons, the children of citizens of -these States respectively, whose parents were in such indigent -circumstances as not to be able to defray the charge of their -education_." It is apparent, then, that the Governor's reasoning on -this point is entirely sound; whilst the criticism of the Reviewer upon -it is founded altogether upon a mere misconception of his own. - -But taking it for granted that the number of pupils in our asylum would -not exceed twenty-eight, the Governor proceeds to inquire whether it -would not be better to provide for the support and education of them, -that is, of the indigent ones of course, at the asylum of one of our -sister States, rather than to establish a new seminary for them within -our own bounds; and suggests several reasons in favor of such a course. -First, it would aid the cause of science, which he thinks would be much -better promoted, in the "more sublime and long-hidden" branches of it -at least, by all communities sending in their contributions to a common -stock, wherever that may happen to have been first begun, rather than -by their separately exerting themselves to domesticate those mysterious -novelties prematurely within their respective bounds. Secondly, it -would save money, which is the sinews of charity as well as of war, and -ought therefore to be husbanded with great care. And thirdly, and above -all, the proceeding, or rather perhaps the principle which it involves, -would tend to strengthen the union, and bind the states together. Thus -he says: "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 contribution of each to 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." - -Now these views of the Governor may not be exactly correct, and I -freely acknowledge that I do not adopt them myself; but what is there -in any of them, I ask, that ought to excite the alarm, or kindle the -indignation of the Reviewer? Obviously nothing at all. Yet after -quoting them at full length, he proceeds to comment upon them in the -following words: "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." Where? In what part of the Report? For I have not seen such a -thought in it; and I have read the whole, though the Reviewer it seems -has not; and the passages under his notice most certainly do not -suggest any thing like it. On the contrary, they directly advise that -the Legislature _shall_ interfere in the case, although not precisely -in the Reviewer's way. But he goes on: "'Let us alone' is his cardinal -maxim, and the maxim of the school of politicians 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." And -where does he get this idea from again? Not certainly from any thing in -the Report before him. And was it right, then, was it courteous in him -to travel out of the record to arraign the _political_ opinions of the -Governor, and the school of politicians to which he belongs? Was it -proper even to glance at such a martial topic in the amicable columns -of the _Literary_ Messenger? Or if it was, and if the Reviewer believed -that the favorite maxim of the Governor, and the school of politicians -to which he belongs, is, "Let us alone," did he think it fair to -represent him as holding it in all the extent of its terms, without -limitation or reserve? Or, is the maxim itself utterly and absolutely -false, to all intents and purposes whatever? And is there -nothing--nothing at all--to which it may be properly applied? Is there -nothing which the Legislature ought not to meddle with? If this is his -opinion, it is easy to see to what class of politicians _he_ belongs, -and it is one whose _latitudinarianism_--but I will not follow the bad -example which he has set me, and abuse your peaceable pages to expose -the danger of its doctrines, and the folly of its flights. - -But the Reviewer proceeds: "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 obligations, coming from the high quarter it does, to resist -and refute it if we can." But is this a fair representation of the -Governor's reasoning? Is it not rather a gross caricature of it? For, -has the Governor hinted any thing like a proposal that our State should -send her funds abroad to aid all the institutions of her sister states, -instead of keeping them at home to support her own? On the contrary, -does he not say expressly, "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?" -And does he not accordingly take good care to confine his -recommendation of a contribution to the institutions of other states, -to cases of a peculiar character, in which, as in the instance of a -deaf and dumb asylum, the object in view is to furnish a small portion -of our citizens with the means of access to the "more sublime and -long-hidden truths of modern science?" And does he not, moreover, -declare it to be a part of his plan that every other State shall -reciprocate the generosity of ours, so as to return a pretty fair _quid -pro quo_ into our exchequer? And what is there, then, that is so very -"dangerous" in the Governor's reasoning? Nothing at all that I can see. -Yet our Reviewer is so much alarmed at it, or rather at a phantom of -his own imagination which he mistakes for it, that he flies off from -the true point of inquiry, and instead of calmly answering the argument -before him, as he might have done, breaks out into a warm and -impassioned strain of protestation against a mere figment of his own, -which is truly imposing; but unfortunately without object, and of -course without point. Thus he asks, "did any one ever dream that -Kentucky had given cause of offence to her sister states by erecting an -asylum for the poor deaf mutes? We apprehend not." Why then does he ask -the question? Has the Governor written any thing which fairly suggests -such a singular query? Or was the Reviewer himself dreaming when he -wrote? Yet he adds, "the truth is, that his Excellency the Governor is -entirely mistaken in his views upon the subject!"--whereas the truth -is, that his Highness the Reviewer is entirely mistaken in his views of -the Report. But he keeps on, and adds: "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!" Very true; but it is his own idea. The -Governor's seems to be, that if the good old lady at the head of any -one of these families should choose to send her little deaf and dumb -daughter to the learned French master who was teaching a class of -_sourd-muets_ in her neighbor's house, instead of importing another -Frenchman, (or Yankee, who stands ready to take any body's place,) to -open a similar school in her own domicile, it might save money and -increase love--especially if all the rest would act on the same -principle in return. And is there any thing so very ridiculous in this? -The same sort of hallucination runs through the remainder of the -paragraph; but I cannot think it necessary to expose it any further. - -I will only add that I agree entirely with the Reviewer in much, and -perhaps all, that he has written so handsomely in favor of internal -improvement, in the fullest sense of the phrase. I agree with him, more -particularly, and most cordially, in thinking that we ought, by all -means, to furnish and adorn our native state, as soon as possible, with -every thing that can promote her happiness and honor, and make her as -perfect and complete within her own limits, as any kingdom or -commonwealth on earth can be. Of course, I agree with him also in -condemning and stigmatizing, as he does, that abject and disgraceful -spirit of apathy which has so long paralyzed our citizens, but which, I -trust, we have now shaken off forever. But, at the same time, I am -persuaded that Governor Tazewell would cheerfully unite with us in -these views, to a considerable extent; and I cannot think it right or -fair to charge him, either directly or by implication, with errors -which, I am confident, he does not hold, and which, most certainly, he -has not avowed in his Report. - -A READER. - - - - -We extract the following from the "_Remains of the Rev. Charles -Wolfe_," being the description of the "Dargle," or "Glen of the Oak," -an enchanting scene in Wicklow county, Ireland, of which country Mr. -Wolfe was a native. - -THE DARGLE. - - -We found ourselves at Bray about ten in the morning, with that -disposition to be pleased which seldom allows itself to be -disappointed; and the sense of our escape from every thing not only of -routine, but of regularity, into the country of mountains and glens and -valleys and waterfalls, inspired us with a sort of gay wildness and -independence, that disposed us to find more of the romantic and -picturesque than perhaps Nature ever intended. If, therefore, gentle -reader, thou shouldest here meet with any extravagances at which thy -sober feelings may be inclined to revolt, bethink thee, that the -immortal Syntax himself, when just escaped from the everlasting dulness -of a school, did descry a landscape even in a post,--a circumstance -which probably no one had ever discovered before. - -We proceeded to the Dargle along the small river whose waters were -flowing gently towards us after having passed through the beautiful -scenes we were to visit. It was here a tranquil stream, and its banks -but thinly clothed; but at the opening of the Dargle-gate, the scene -was instantly changed. At once we were immersed in a sylvan wilderness, -where the trees were thronging and crowding around us; and the river -had suddenly changed its tone, and was sounding wildly up the wooded -bank that sloped down to its edge. We precipitated ourselves towards -the sound,--and when we stopped and looked around us, the mountains, -the champaign, and almost the sky had disappeared. We were at the -bottom of a deep winding glen, whose steep sides had suddenly shut out -every appearance of the world that we had left. At our feet a stream -was struggling with the multitude of rude rocks, which Nature, in one -of her primeval convulsions, had flung here and there in masses into -its current; sometimes uniting into irregular ledges, over which the -water swept with impetuosity;--sometimes standing insulated in the -stream, and increasing the energies of the river by their -resistance;--sometimes breaking forward from the bank, and giving a -bolder effect to its romantic outline. The opposite side of the glen, -that rose steeply and almost perpendicularly from the very brink of the -river, was one precipice of foliage from top to bottom, where the trees -rose directly above each other (their roots and backs being in a great -degree concealed by the profusion of leaves in those below them,) and a -broken sunbeam now and then struggled through the boughs, and sometimes -contrived to reach the river. - -The side along which we proceeded was equally high, but more sloping -and diversified; and the wooding, at one time retiring from the stream, -while at another a close cluster of trees of the freshest verdure -advanced into the river, bending over it in attitudes at once graceful -and fantastic, and forming a picturesque and luxuriant counterpart to -the little naked promontories of rock which we before observed. Both -sides of the glen completely enclosed us from the view of every thing -external, except a narrow tract of sky just over our heads, which -corresponded in some degree to the course of the stream below; so that -in fact the sun seemed a stranger, only occasionally visiting us from -another system. Sometimes while we were engaged in contemplating the -strong darkness of the river as it rushed along, and the pensive -loveliness of the foliage overhanging it, a sudden gleam of sunshine -quietly yet instantaneously diffused itself over the scene, as if it -smiled almost from some internal perception of pleasure, and felt a -glow of instinctive exhilaration. Thus did we wander from charm to -charm, and from beauty to beauty, endlessly varying, though all -breathing the same wild and secluded luxury, the same poetical -voluptuousness. This new region, set apart from the rest of creation, -with its class of fanciful joys attached to it, seemed allotted to some -creature of different elements from our own,--some airy being, whose -only essence was imagination. As the thought occupied us, we opened -upon a new object which seemed to confirm it. The profuse wooding which -formed the steep and rich barrier of the opposite side of the river, -was suddenly interrupted by a huge naked rock that stood out into the -stream, as if it had swelled forward indignantly from the touch of -cultivation, and, proud of its primitive barrenness, had flung aside -the hand that was dispensing beauty around it, and that would have -intruded upon its craggy and original majesty. It was here that our -imaginations fixed a residence for the Genius of the river and the -spirit of the Dargle. A sort of watery cell was formed by the -protrusion of this bold figure from the one side, and the thick foliage -that met it across from the other, and threw a solemn darkness over the -water. In front, a fragment of rock stood in the middle of the current, -like a threshold, and a spreading tree hung its branches directly over -it, like a spacious screen in face of the cell. From this we began -gradually to ascend, until _our_ side became nearly as steep as the -opposite, while the wooding was thickening on both at every step; so -that the glen soon formed one steep and magnificent gulf of foliage. -The river at a vast distance, almost directly below us; the glad -sparkling and flashing of its waters, only occasionally seen, and its -wild voice mellowed and refined as it reached us through thousands of -leaves and branches; the variety of hues, and the mazy irregularity of -the trees that descended from our feet to the river,--were finely -contrasted with the heavier and more monotonous mass that met it in the -bottom, down the other side. - -In stepping back a few paces, we just descried, over the opposite -boundary, the top of Sugar-loaf, in dim and distant perspective. The -sensations of a mariner, when, after a long voyage without sight of -shore, he suddenly perceives symptoms of land where land was not -expected, could not be more novel and curious, than those excited in us -by this little silent notice of regions which we had literally -forgotten,--so totally were we engrossed in our present enchantment, -and so much were our minds, like our view, bounded by the sides of the -glen. This single object let in a whole train of recollections and -associations: but the charm could not be more gradually and more -pleasingly broken. The glen, still retaining all its characteristic -luxuriance, began gracefully to widen,--the country to open upon us, -and the mountains to rise; and at length, after a gentle descent, we -passed the Dargle-gate, and found ourselves standing over the -delightful valley of Powerscourt. It was like the transition from the -enjoyments of an Ariel to those of human nature,--from the blissful -abode of some sylphic genius, to the happiest habitations of mortal -men,--from all the restless and visionary delights of fancy, to the -calm glow of real and romantic happiness. Our minds that were before -confused by the throng of beauties that enclosed and solicited them on -every side, now expanded and reposed upon the scene before us. The sun -himself seemed liberated, and rejoicing in his emancipation. The valley -indeed "lay smiling before us;" the river, no longer dashing over rock -and struggling with impediments, was flowing brightly and cheerfully -along in the sun, bordered by meadows of the liveliest green, and now -and then embowered in a cluster of trees. One little field of the -freshest verdure swelled forward beyond the rest, round which the river -wound, so as to give it the appearance of an island. In this we -observed a mower whetting his sithe, and the sound was just sufficient -to reach us faintly and at intervals. To the left was the Dargle, where -all the beauties that had so much enchanted us were now one -undistinguishable mass of leaves. Confronting us, stood Sugar-loaf, -with his train of rough and abrupt mountains, remaining dark in the -midst of sunshine, like the frowning guardians of the valley. These -were contrasted with the grand flowing outline of the mountains to our -right, and the exquisite refinement and variety of the light that -spread itself over their gigantic sides. Far to the left, the sea was -again disclosed to our view, and behind us was the Scalp, like the -outlet from Paradise into the wide world of thorns and briers. - - - - - From the Cincinnati Mirror. - -PHRENOLOGICAL EXAMINATIONS. - - -There never was an important discovery presented to the consideration -of men, which was not opposed by all the force that scepticism could -call to its assistance.--Truths, which at the present time are -universally recognized, had to accomplish conquests over many -obstacles, before their necessity or importance was admitted. The -all-important and sublime discoveries of Galileo, Newton and Hartly, -were first sneered at, then ridiculed, after a while considered, and -subsequently adopted. Truths do not burst in splendor from heaven on -the benighted understandings of men; but their progress ever has been -and ever must be gradual. Night, in the intellectual as in the outward -world, relinquishes its empire slowly; and hence, doctrines -appertaining to science, which seem at this time to contain within -themselves the qualities of their own illumination, were originally -rejected as unworthy of the sanction of the understanding. - -Phrenology has offered no exception to the general rule which we have -referred to. Whether it be true or false, it has at least participated -in the destiny common to truth. It has been met at every stage of its -progress with whatever of reason, ridicule, or wit, subtlety or -ingenuity could suggest. Ardent opponents have inflicted what they have -supposed deadly wounds upon it, and have anticipated the epitaph which -would be written to its memory. But these visions have not, -unfortunately for the reputations of those who indulged them, been -realized; and the period at which they predicted the extinction of the -science, has been the season of its proudest triumphs. If it be a -heresy, it is a bold one; and, like that of the Albigenses, spreads -most where opposition is deadliest. - -Phrenology is emphatically a science of observation;--by it, it has -been built up; and on it, it mainly depends. Observation and -application form the tests of scientific doctrines, and they are -invoked as the formidable auxiliaries of this science. To a mind -disposed to investigate before it decides upon the merits of doctrines, -a few interrogations present themselves forcibly. Among the advocates -of phrenology, have not some names, remarkable for ability and inquiry, -been numbered? Were these men imposed on by the fallacies of the -science, or did they wish to impose a fallacy upon the credulity of -others? Are not these suppositions effectually silenced by an appeal to -the well-determined moral and intellectual qualities of those -advocates? If phrenology be false, how has it happened that a science -which triumphantly appeals to observation, and which, in consequence, -must be susceptible of easy support or overthrow, has for years -sustained itself against the combined efforts of genius and -intelligence? Is it asked why scientific individuals have not -universally ranged themselves under the banners of this science? Two -answers immediately suggest themselves:--First; the reluctance with -which the human mind ever foregoes or substitutes its acquisitions; -and, secondly, the disinclination which men always manifest at -prosecuting inquiries into the nature of doctrines which are not -corroborated by previous studies, and which they are pleased to term -innovations. - -Phrenology must stand or fall by facts; supported by them, it must be -sustained; opposed in this wise, it must fall. Without committing -ourselves in favor of, or in opposition to its doctrines--for, in -truth, we have not yet yielded its doctrines our assent--we desire to -record a few facts which make for its truth, and which have come within -our notice. - -Doctor Powell, well known as an able and enthusiastic advocate of -phrenology, at present lecturing in the city, confident in the truths -of the science, pronounces upon character agreeably to the external -configuration of the crania with fearlessness the most perfect. Since -his arrival here, we have known him examine three different crania, -which were presented to him for the purpose of testing the truth of -phrenological doctrines. The two first were handed him by Mr. -Dorfeuille, the intelligent proprietor of the Western Museum. The first -one, which Doctor Powell saw, he immediately perceived the -preponderance of the vicious propensities over the moral sentiments, -and unhesitatingly said, its owner, according to the laws of the land, -deserved hanging, if he were not actually executed. The second one was -presented, and he forthwith pronounced its possessor equally bad with -the former, although unpossessed of his recklessness, and greatly more -cautious and secretive. Mr. Dorfeuille then stated, that the sculls -belonged to two negro fellows who were executed some years ago in New -Orleans, and whose heads after execution were stuck on pikes. The first -fellow was notoriously vile and daring; the other was more shy, and -against him no absolute proof could be brought; but he was convicted on -evidence so strong as to defy the resistance of the judgment. The -delineation of their characters upon the principles of phrenology he -acknowledged to be most complete. - -On last Monday evening, professor Cobb, of the medical college, sent a -cranium to Doctor Powell for examination, in the presence of his class. -He took it up and pronounced its prominent developments to be those of -combativeness, destructiveness, secretiveness, acquisitiveness: he said -that each of these propensities might have manifested itself singly; -but the probability was that they co-operated, and the consequence was, -that their subject was addicted to robbery on the highways, and was -highly combative. After he had finished his examination, he called on -professor Cobb to state what he knew of the character of the -individual. He arose, and said that, so far as he was aware, the -lecturer had determined truly. The skull had belonged to a Spaniard -confined under suspicion of piracy, in the Cincinnati jail last winter, -and who, while there, had committed suicide, and thus escaped -trial.--An examination of his body proved what the lecturer had said in -regard to his combativeness, as it was scarified in many places. We -have since understood, that this Spaniard was arrested for attempting -to stab a person in the street, and while in confinement, was -recognized as a pirate, and, in order to avoid the consequences of a -trial on the charge of piracy, he had cut the principal arteries of -both arms, and died from the wounds thus inflicted. Dr. Powell had no -intimation of the character of either of the individuals, which he -portrayed with such exactness; but relied solely on phrenological -science. If the doctrines be untrue, how are these results ascertained -by them to be accounted for? - -Our only object has been to give the lecturer as well as the science he -espouses, the benefit of facts we have narrated, and to which they are -so justly entitled. We leave comment for those who are curious upon the -subject. We feel assured that what we have stated must be interesting -to those who are desirous of investigating the science, for the purpose -of determining the amount of plausibility on which it is grounded. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -MR. WHITE,--As a subscriber and very sincere friend to your paper, let -me beg of you to find room as soon as you can, for three extracts, all -of which together, will not occupy more than three or four pages of the -Messenger, and yet embrace as much deeply interesting matter on the all -important subject of education, as can any where be found within the -same compass. The first two you will find in the September number for -the past year, of "_The Annals of Education_," a periodical published -in monthly numbers of forty-eight pages each, for three dollars and -fifty cents a year; or for three dollars if paid by the first of April, -or for two dollars and forty cents if five copies are taken together -and paid for in advance. Of this work I can affirm, without hesitation, -that it contains more highly useful information on the subjects of -which it treats, and at less cost, than all the other works together -that are published in the United States on the same topics. Nay, I will -venture farther to assert that there is not a parent or teacher in our -whole country, who might not derive essential service from its perusal. -This, my good sir, is no exaggeration, but my deliberate opinion; -given, I acknowledge, with some hope of promoting the circulation of -this highly valuable periodical from Yankee land, but without any other -interest in it than every man ought to feel who is so thoroughly -persuaded as I am, of the absolute necessity for educating our whole -people on principles materially different from any that have yet been -put into practice among us. - -The third extract is from a new work by James Simpson, lately -republished in New York and Boston, on "_The Necessity of Popular -Education as a National Object_." The short introduction is all that I -will ask you to insert in your paper, as I have persuaded myself to -believe that no friend to popular education can read it without feeling -a strong desire to peruse the whole volume. It contains a mass of -facts, illustrations, and arguments, exhibited in a style at once so -perspicuous, forcible, and persuasive, as must carry conviction to -every understanding capable of comprehending and feeling the vital -importance of the subject in all its bearings, both upon individual and -national happiness. In numbers one and two of the appendix, the topics -of criminal and medical jurisprudence are treated of in a manner which, -although concise, is well worthy the deepest attention of every -legislator and statesman, for they contain hints for improving our -criminal code that seem to me of the utmost importance to the general -good. - -Deem me not importunate if I petition you to publish _another_ extract -of quite a different character from the foregoing. It is from the pen -of the admirable _Mrs. Norton_, and expresses conjugal affection with -so much touching pathos, that surely no married man, especially one -from the Emerald Isle, can read it without deep emotion. It is called - -SONG OF THE IRISH PEASANT WIFE. - - - Come, Patrick, clear up the storm on your brow, - You were kind to me once,--will you frown on me now? - Shall the storm settle _here_, when it from Heaven departs, - And the cold from without find the way to our hearts? - No, Patrick, no; surely the wintriest weather - Is easily borne, while we bear it together. - - Though the rain's dropping through from the roof to the floor, - And the wind whistles free where there once was a door; - Can the rain, or the snow, or the storm wash away - All the warm vows we made in love's early day? - No, Patrick, no; surely the dark stormy weather - Is easily borne,--so we bear it together. - - When you stole out to woo me, when labor was done, - And the day that was closing, to us seem'd begun, - Did we care if the sunset was bright on the flowers, - Or if we crept out amid darkness and showers? - No, Patrick; we talk'd while we brav'd the wild weather, - Of all we could bear, if we bore it together. - - Soon, soon, will these dark dreary days be gone by, - And our hearts be lit up by a beam from the sky; - Oh! let not our spirits, imbittered with pain, - Be dead to the sunshine that comes on us then: - Heart in heart--hand in hand--let us welcome the weather, - And sunshine or storm, we will bear it together. - - - - - From the New England Magazine. - -A GLIMPSE AT BASIL HALL. - - -At the palace of the Prince Borghese in Rome, several young English and -American artists were engaged, last winter, in copying the renowned -productions of the old masters. Portray to yourself, kind reader, two -large halls--the walls of which are lined with paintings, and -intercommunicating by a side door, now thrown open for the benefit of -the parties. In the first of these apartments are erected three -easels--before which, in the attitude of painters, stand--first, a -Virginian, intent upon the exquisite Magdalene of Correggio,--opposite, -the native of a country town of Great Britain--transferring, as nearly -as possible, the Prodigal Son, of the great Venetian,--while, within a -few feet of the former, a Londoner is travailing for the inspiration of -Titian, by contemplating his "Sacred and Profane Loves." The artists -may thus be said to occupy, relatively, the three points of an -isosceles-triangle. Gaze now, through the above-mentioned passage, and -behold, at the extremity of the second and lesser hall, the figure of a -Baltimorean--fancying, perchance, the surprise of the natives when they -see _his_ copy of the inimitable Cupid beside him. - -These worthy followers of the rainbow art were wont to amuse -themselves, and beguile the time, with conversations upon the merits -and manners of their respective countries; and occasionally, by a very -natural process, such amicable debates would assume not a little of the -earnest spirit of controversy. Then would the brush fall less -frequently upon the canvass--their eyes linger less devotedly upon the -great originals around, and ever and anon the disputants would step a -pace or two from the object of their labors, raise aloft their -pencils--as though, like the styles of the ancients, they subserved -equally the purposes of art and of warfare, or wave their mottled -pallets as shields against the errors of argument. A full history of -these discussions, hallowed by the scene of the combat, diversified by -the characters of the combatants, and disguised by the nature of the -points contested--would doubtless be a valuable accession to our -literature. The great topics of national policy, domestic manners, -republicanism, aristocracy, slavery, corn laws, etc. as unfolded, in -the elegant and discerning disputations of the absentees in a Roman -palace, would prove something new, vivid and seasonable. But to me -falls the humbler task of narrating one scene of the drama, as -illustrative of the wisdom and safety of keeping one's own secret. - -On a day, when the war of words had ran unusually high, there was a -momentary, and, as it were, a spontaneous quietude. After the manner of -their predecessors in the same city--years bygone, the gladiators -rested upon their arms. There was an interlude of _silence_. They -gradually reassumed the appropriate occupations of the hour. A few -unusually fine touches were bestowed upon the slowly-progressing -copies--when the aspiring portrayer of the beautiful parable thus -opened a new cannonade: - -"Well, smooth over, as you may, the blot of slavery--and deny or -palliate, as you best can, the charge of non-refinement, the world will -never admit the existence of true civilization in a country where so -barbaric a practice as _gouging_ prevails." - -At the commencement of this speech, the pencil of the Virginian had -stopped transfixed within an inch of the pensive countenance on his -canvass; and with nerves braced in expectancy, he awaited the issue. -And when the orator, like a second Brutus, paused for a reply, his -adversary was mute--perhaps from indignation, probably in the -absorption consequent upon preparing to refute and chastise. The -Londoner wheeled around, and, with a nod of congratulation to his -brother islander, and a provoking and triumphant smile upon the -Virginian, begged to be informed "of the origin and nature of the -_American_ custom of gouging?" When lo! there were heard quick steps -along the polished floors, and as the eyes of the artists followed -their direction, the form of the Baltimorean emerged from the adjoining -hall. His painter's stick, pallet and brush, were grasped convulsively -in his left hand, as with energetic strides he reached the centre of -the arena, and gazed meaningly upon the disputants. - -"You would know, sir," he exclaimed, eyeing fiercely the hero of the -British capital, "what is gouging? Go, sir, to Basil Hall--your -literary countryman: when ascending the Mississippi, _he_ was put on -shore by the captain of a steamboat for ungentlemanly deportment--and -on the banks of that river, sir, _he was gouged!_" As the last emphatic -words exploded, a gentleman, who had been viewing the paintings, -abruptly left the room. The Londoner looked wonders, his compatriot -tittered, the Cupid-limner wiped his brow. "Who was that?" inquired the -Virginian. "That, sir, was Captain Hall!" - -H. T. T. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -THE PASSAGE OF THE BERESINA. - -"The moan of mortal agony which arose from the despairing multitude -became at this crisis for a moment so universal, that it rose shrilly -audible over the voice of the elements and the thunders of war, above -the wild whistling of the tempest and the sustained and redoubled -hourras of the Cossacks. The witness from whom we have this -information, declares that the sound was in his ears for many weeks. -This dreadful scene continued till dark, many being forced into the icy -river, some throwing themselves in, betwixt absolute despair and the -faint hope of gaining the opposite bank by swimming, some getting -across only to die of cold and exhaustion."--_Scott's Napoleon, Vol. -II. Page 385_. - - - What scene is here? The dying moan, the wailing cry - Come on the gusty blast that speeds so swiftly by; - The river rolls heavy as it struggles with dead, - Who writhe in their blood ere the spirit hath fled-- - And chafed by the winds in the wrath of the storm, - Its red clotted waters flow tortured and warm. - Thousands lie here; kindred and aliens in race, - They are rigid and fixed in death's cold embrace; - They clench and they cling in the last dying grasp, - And the living, the dead, reluctantly clasp: - Or, fearing a friend in his last cold embrace, - They spurn him beneath to his dark dreary place. - A many-voiced moan now saddens the air, - Whose tones are all blent with wild curses and prayer; - And the deep hollow moan that wails o'er the flood, - As spirits pass away in storm and in blood. - In the sad welkin tremble heart-rending shrieks, - So piercing, that startled, the deep echo speaks. - There's mirth that's of madness, one laughs in his fear, - And prayer thrills in tones of the wildest despair; - And the deep solemn curse from the blasphemer stern, - Who weeps not, who wails not, tho' his dying soul burn. - Oh spirits pass away so sad in their strife, - That the living still cling more closely to life: - With unearthliest cries, grim phantasied shapes - Brood o'er the senses ere the spirit escapes; - On the wings of the wind how swift speeds the blast, - With pinions all viewless it fleets as the past;-- - Oh say, does it bear the spirits that have fled, - In the last bitter strife, ere the dying be dead? - To the last dying sense comes a vision more dread, - For Death flaps his wings o'er the fields of the dead: - His deep hollow tones called away and away - Spirits immortal, disengaged from their clay; - And rearing aloft his deep sable plume, - On wings of the wind rose in shadow and gloom, - Still bearing them on with invisible trace, - As he swept the broad fields of infinite space-- - Whilst Terror, all wild in his deep, horrid lair, - Made sad with his moans the invisible air. - - The night wind sighs drear, in its last dying breath; - The clouds fleet away, like the shadows of death, - From the face of the moon, whose sepulch'red light - Steals softly upon the dark bosom of night,-- - As the last smile of hope, ere the spirit hath fled, - Lingers tranquil and bright o'er the face of the dead. - -ALPHA. - - - - -The lines which follow ought to be preserved in a more permanent form -than the columns of a newspaper. They were written and published before -Mr. Johnston's lamentable death. It will be recollected that he -perished by the explosion of a steamboat, ascending the Red River. - -After the above was penned, the melancholy intelligence reached us of -Mr. Davis's death. Patriotism will mourn his loss, and the Columbian -Muse hang a garland over his tomb. - - From the Augusta (Geo.) Chronicle. - -The following beautiful parody, which we met with in the hands of a -respected friend, and were permitted by him to take a copy for -publication, is attributed to the Hon. Warren R. Davis of South -Carolina--a gentleman no less distinguished, admired and beloved for -his many and striking literary acquirements, private virtues, social -qualities, fine manners, polished, varied and brilliant wit and vivid -fancy,--than for his ardent patriotism, open and fearless honesty, -independence, eloquence, and disinterested devotion to his gallant and -glorious state. It is said to have been written, on the sportive -suggestion of the moment, as a contribution to the Album of the -talented, accomplished and witty lady of the Hon. Mr. Johnston of the -United States Senate from Louisiana. The old air of "Roy's Wife of -Aldavalloch" is, we think, one of the most rare and beautiful specimens -of that class of Scottish music, which was probably introduced from -Italy, in the time of the brilliant but unfortunate Queen Mary. - -PARODY. - - - Johnston's wife of Louisiana! - Johnston's wife of Louisiana! - The fairest flower that ever bloomed - In southern sun or gay savannah.[1] - The Inca's blood flows in her veins--[2] - The Inca's soul her bright eyes lighten; - Child of the sun, like him she reigns, - To cheer our hopes, our sorrows brighten. - Johnston's wife of Louisiana! - Johnston's wife of Louisiana! - The fairest flower that ever bloomed - In southern sun or gay savannah. - - Johnston's wife of Louisiana! - Johnston's wife of Louisiana! - She hath a way to win all hearts, - And bow them to the shrine of Anna! - Her mind is radiant with the lore - Of ancient and of modern story-- - And native wit of richer store - Bedecks her with its rainbow glory. - Johnston's wife of Louisiana! - Johnston's wife of Louisiana! - She hath a way to charm all hearts, - And bow them to the shrine of Anna! - - Johnston's wife of Louisiana! - Johnston's wife of Louisiana! - The hapless bard who sings her praise, - Now worships at the shrine of Anna? - Twas such a vision, bright but brief, - In early youth his true heart rended, - Then left it like a fallen leaf, - On life's most rugged thorn suspended. - Johnston's wife of Louisiana! - Johnston's wife of Louisiana! - The hapless bard who sings her praise - Wept tears of blood for such an Anna! - -[Footnote 1: "The gayest scene in nature is a southern savannah, -enamelled with its rich variety of flowers."--_Humboldt_.] - -[Footnote 2: "The Incas claim their descent from the sun."--_Las -Casas_.] - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -BEAUTY WITHOUT LOVELINESS. - - - He looked on the chiselled _form_ and _face_, - And the roseate blush beguiling, - And the arch of the eye-brow's pencilled trace, - And the lip in moisture smiling: - - He looked on the raven _curls_ that fell - O'er the _brow_ of Parian whiteness, - And the _silken lash_ that softened the spell - Of the _eye_ that swam in brightness: - - He looked on the _slender hand_ that shone, - Where the sparkle of gems abounded, - Like the star of eve on her vesper throne, - By the pearls of the sky surrounded: - - He looked on the _arm_, as in floating grace, - It waved o'er the chords entrancing, - And the feathery _foot_, as it marked each trace - Of the melody in dancing. - - He looked on all these, while links of gold - With the silken chain were blended; - And yet in his bosom calm and cold, - No wave of the soul ascended. - - No rapture glowed in his tranquil gaze, - The tremulous thought revealing; - He looked for the light of soul in the face, - And saw not a ray o'er it stealing. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -HAPPY LOVE. - - - The Nightingale sings to the midnight air, - All darkling and alone: - And the Lover's lute, mid the gloom of despair, - Gives forth its sweetest tone. - - But the Lark springs up with the morn's first blush, - And mounts the clouds above; - As he sings to his mate, in the hawthorn bush, - The tale of his happy love. - - But hark, that note from the clustering shade! - It has reached his listening ear; - And, with pinions closed, to her leafy bed, - He comes, like a falling star. - - O! happy Love! O happy pair! - O for that tuneful art! - That I might breathe in my Lucy's ear - The voice of a happy heart. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -SORROWS OF LOVE. - -TO A BEAUTIFUL GIRL ON SEPARATION. - - - Oh! weep not tho' we're bid to part, - Since time nor distance e'er can sever - The links that bind my changeless heart, - To thy angelic form forever. - - As summer clouds that hide the sun, - When once removed restore him brighter; - This night of woe as soon as done, - Will make our love-day morn the lighter. - - Affliction now our hearts has proved, - And shown our passion's depth more clearly; - In joy we might have known we loved, - But grief has taught us, oh! how dearly. - -The foregoing was written by a gentleman of fine genius, and is -published without the author's knowledge. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -EXTEMPORAL LINES. - -On hearing Mr. Wickham's Speech at the Bar of the House of Delegates, -on the 6th instant. - - - When Wickham stood up at the bar of the House, - And every one there was as still as a mouse, - I trembled myself, (to acknowledge the truth,) - Lest his age should forget the fine feats of his youth; - And I thought that his Horace had warned him in vain, - "Release the old racer in time from the rein, - Lest he falter at length in a laughable pace, - And finish his course in diverting disgrace." - But soon, very soon, all my fears were relieved, - And hopes took their places that were not deceived; - For I saw that his motions were sprightly and strong, - And, spite of his weights, he went gaily along, - Till, safe at the goal, pleasure broke from my lips, - And I cried out delighted, "hurrah for Eclipse!"[1] - -_January, 1835_. - -[Footnote 1: Solve senescentem maturč sanus equum, ne - Peccet ad extremum ridendus, et ilia ducat. - _Hor. Epist. Lib. i. 1._] - - - - -MRS. WOOD'S MANUSCRIPT POEMS. - - -The pious and excellent Mrs. JEAN WOOD, who died in this city some -years since, was the relict of General James Wood, a distinguished -officer of the revolution, and afterwards Governor of Virginia. The -qualities for which she was remarkable, were familiarly known to a very -large circle of friends, by whom, at least such as survive her, her -memory is still held dear. She was indeed in the justest sense, a -mother in Israel,--a lady of shining christian benevolence, whose -kindly feelings towards her race did not consist in mere sentiment -only,--but were evinced in a life of active, useful, and unostentatious -charities and labors of love. Her piety moreover, though profound and -ardent, was free from austerity; and there was a grace and cheerfulness -in her manner and conversation, which won upon all of every age and -condition who approached her. Well known as she was however, and -universally respected for her virtues, there were but few comparatively -who were apprised of her varied endowments or who knew that her -practical good sense and experienced judgment were united to the -lighter attractions and more ornamental graces of the intellectual -character. Literature was to her the solace which refreshed the -intervals in her works of goodness; it furnished that balmy repose to -the spirit,--which it often needs amidst the conflicts and agitations -of human life, even in its most favored condition. The proud, the -selfish and avaricious, or the gay and luxurious, may each indulge in -his own enjoyment or follow his own delusive phantom,--but next to the -consciousness of doing good, there is no earthly happiness so pure and -unalloyed as that which springs from the silent communion with our own -spirits, or with the marvellous and multiform external objects which -surround us. "There is a pleasure in poetic pains which only poets -know." There is an exalted sense of enjoyment in contemplating all that -is beautiful and good in the moral and physical world, and this indeed -constitutes the empire of poetry in its more general and unrestricted -sense. We do not claim for Mrs. Wood very extraordinary powers in this -enchanting department of literary effort,--for how few of the thousands -who have ever essayed to climb the hill of Parnassus have reached its -highest pinnacle; and on the contrary how many have been content to -tune their unambitious lays in humble seclusion--without courting or -even desiring renown. Mrs. Wood wrote neither for fame nor the public -eye, and it is this circumstance alone which will impart an additional -interest to the natural and unstudied effusions of her muse. Her -numerous friends and relatives will at least experience a melancholy -pleasure, in tracing in these _memorolabilia_ of their deceased friend, -some of those qualities of mind and heart, which rendered her in life -an object of respect and love,--and in death,--of veneration and -regret. - -The first poem we have selected, entitled "Retrospection," appears to -have been written in 1809--when a severe illness threatened the life of -her husband. In the frame of mind natural under such circumstances, she -recalls the principal sorrows of her life, and among them there was -none more poignant than the loss of an only child, a daughter of -eighteen years old. The closing lines will indicate the source to which -she was accustomed to look in the season of human affliction. - -RETROSPECTION. - - - Why should mysterious Heaven bestow - A warm and feeling heart-- - Yet doom it naught but pain to know, - And rankle in its smart? - - That it might agonize and bleed - At every suffering pore, - The soft affections why decreed - To centre in its core? - - The tender ties my heart has proved - That heart has held most dear, - And those most dearly, fondly loved, - Have cost the bitterest tear! - - A tender parent's weeping nurse - My early youth I pass'd; - And Heaven did but those tears disperse - To bid them flow more fast: - - For rich in worth, a youth appear'd-- - I gave my virgin heart; - But Hymen scarce our vows endeared - Ere we were doomed to part: - - He, through war's ravaged fields to roam - Eight sad revolving years-- - I, droop'd, a widow'd wife at home, - In unavailing tears: - But ah! the pang was yet to feel, - (The worst the heart can know,) - The pang no earthly power can heal, - The climax of all woe! - - To me a cherub fair was given, - I placed it next my heart; - It seemed the choicest gift of Heaven-- - My bosom's dearest part: - While yet I mark'd each opening charm - That graced its baby brow, - Disease approach'd, in direful form, - To lay each promise low. - - And oh! how worse than death to see - The ruins of a mind, - Which, in its dawning, seem'd to be - For better hopes design'd; - To watch with anxious hopes and fears - The daily deep'ning gloom, - Till eighteen sad and suffering years - Had laid her in the tomb. - - Though keen the parting pang I felt, - And did my child deplore; - Yet soon in gratitude I knelt-- - _Her_ sufferings were no more. - My mind's composure once regain'd, - A competence still ours; - My loved companion, too, remain'd - To cheer my lonely hours: - - Fondly I hoped life's evening shade - Might yet in peace descend, - And grief no more my heart invade - Till closing life should end. - - But now alas! the transient calm - Flits fast and far away-- - The hope that o'er my fancy swam, - And soothed my wasting day; - For dire disease again appears - To break the mild serene; - Again commands my streaming tears, - And clouds our closing scene! - - Why, then, my God! thus closely twine - Around this bursting heart, - Those fond affections which are mine, - Such misery to impart! - Dare I, presumptuous, seek to know - What mocks our mortal sight; - Enough for me, thou will'st it so-- - It, therefore, must be right. - -The piece which follows, our readers will agree with us, is not only -very agreeable verse, but what is still better, is replete with pure -moral sentiment. - -THE CAPTIVE BIRD. - - - Say, little caged flutterer, say, - Why mournful waves thy drooping wing? - Why silent sit, the live-long day? - Nor Vespers chaunt, nor Matins sing. - - When first a captive thou wert made - And in thy wiry dwelling swung, - Suspended in the leafy shade - Or sunny door, you gaily sung. - - My careful hand supplied thee store - Of ripest berries from the hill; - Thy cup replenished, strewed thy floor - With glittering gravel from the rill. - - Beneath the same luxuriant vine, - The same kind hand supplies thy fare; - The sun's first cheering rays are thine, - Yet thou art sad and silent there. - - Ah! little captive, couldst thou see - What passes in this wayward breast, - Thou'dst ask, perhaps, the same of me, - And why vain wishes break my rest. - - Thou'dst ask me, why this quiet shade - Which late a paradise I deem'd, - Though still in verdant sweets array'd, - A melancholy prison seemed? - - And bid me mind, each passing day - That wholesome viands crown'd my board, - That flowers and fruits and sunshine gay - For me, too, vernal sweets afford. - - Nay, more,--that liberty is mine - And lends a ray to every joy-- - While sad captivity is thine, - Mingling with all its sad alloy. - - Thou "still small voice" that will be heard, - Whose whispers thrill the inmost soul! - Reproving friend--beloved and feared-- - Conscience, this is thy mild control! - - Oft hast thou urged this conscious truth, - When gloomy tears have fill'd mine eye; - Or discontent, with brow unsmooth, - Was fain to force th' unwilling sigh. - - 'Tis thy reproving voice I hear, - When from the poor and lowly cot - Content and cheerfulness appear, - Though mark'd by penury their lot. - - Then shall I bear a pining heart-- - While friendship, health, and peace combine - Life's dearest comforts to impart-- - Ah! shall a thankless heart be mine! - - No sure--content's too cold a name - For what my bosom ought to feel; - Thus favored, gratitude's sweet claim - With thanks unceasing bids me kneel: - - Bids me, thus lowly bending, vow - Before the awful throne of Heaven-- - Children of want, to share with you - The good its gracious power has given. - -In the lines which we next select, it will be perceived that to minds -of delicate fibre and poetic temperament,--the most familiar objects in -nature will often suggest mournful images and recollections. A flower -will awaken affecting reminiscences of some long lost and beloved -object. - -THE BELLE DU JOUR, OR CONVOLVULUS MINOR. - - - Sweet floret! beauty of a day, - And transient as thou'rt sweet; - Scarce opening to the morning ray - Ere shrinking from its heat: - - Noon faded sees each early charm, - Thy blue eye closed in death; - And evening's breeze, thy wasted form - Wafts lightly o'er the heath. - - While thus, sweet child of summer skies, - I see thee bloom and die; - What tender recollections rise - To prompt the pensive sigh: - - For once in this lone bosom grew - As fair, as sweet a flower, - That smiled and budded forth like you - In morn's propitious hour; - - But ah! while joy and hope were new - And promised bliss secure; - Like you, it drooping faded too-- - And sunk to bloom no more. - - Oft as I through the twilight gloom - A wandering mourner stray; - Pale shadowy tenant of the tomb, - She seems to cross my way: - - For every object, every scene - Does my lost love recall, - From cheerful morning's rising beam - To mournful evening's fall. - -Our readers must not be induced to cast aside the following poem, from -its length. It is full of genuine feeling and pious sentiment. - -EVENTIDE. - -[Written in a dejected and visionary state of mind.] - - - Sweet beams the cheerful morn o'er happy hearts, - And every smiling scene new bliss imparts; - Each gay unfolding bud, each new born flower - Exhaling odors, owns the sun's warm power; - The new-waked birds their notes of gladness raise, - The trembling dew-drop rainbow tints displays, - In pendant beauty gems the lofty bough, - Or glitters in the velvet turf below. - - On active wing abroad, the industrious bees - Their busy hum mix with the passing breeze, - The light breeze curls the silver-bosom'd flood, - Or freshening whispers through the waving wood; - The sun, now mounting, gilds the eastern skies, - Bright'ning the landscape with its glowing dyes-- - Gay beauty smiles along each field and grove-- - Congenial smiles--for youth, for joy, and love. - - But when the soul, long since, has ceased to prove - The tender fallacies of youthful love-- - And soberer joys, no more, the way adorn, - The sad heart, sick'ning, turns from sprightly morn-- - Turns, pensive eve, to seek thy milder charms, - And dewy haunts, which no gay sunbeam warms. - - When closing day shuts o'er its busy cares, - And onward stealing, twilight meek appears, - Drowns in obscurity the distant scene, - And casts a softening charm o'er all between-- - 'Tis then the sad, the lacerated mind, - Does in thy gentle gloom a soother find-- - Sighs with less pain beneath its load of cares, - And mourns its sorrows with relieving tears. - - Disrobed of gayer tint and gaudy hue, - Sweet Eventide! thy objects meet the view; - In modest russet clothed each shrub and flower, - Shades ever sacred to thy silent hour-- - Shades how congenial! every heart must find, - Which long, long suffering, feels, but is resign'd. - So we oft see in life's bright morn display'd, - A youthful beauty gorgeously arrayed! - Unbent by care, her form erect she bears, - Bright are her eyes, unsullied yet by tears; - By thought unclouded her fair polish'd brow, - Nor does her buoyant heart a sorrow know: - Gay as the lark's first carol is her song, - As with light agile step she moves along; - Each young unwary heart to love she warms, - A sparkling wonder, and a blaze of charms! - - But when this dazzling radiance is o'er - And morn's bright beauties fade to bloom no more; - When noontide clouds for evening showers prepare, - And the gay crowd no longer hail her fair-- - Then, if beneath this form so heavenly bright - Some latent virtues rest--obscured from sight, - (By suffering taught its own intrinsic worth) - The struggling heart first learns to call them forth: - Taught by her own to feel another's woes, - The sweets of Heaven-born charity she knows; - While sympathetic tears unbidden flow, - And gentle pity does its balm bestow. - Now softened every gaudy trait is seen - To milder russet changed her vivid green; - Her morning splendors caught the young and gay, - But the meek mourner loves her eventide ray. - - Ah! hour of twilight russet--thou art past-- - And hope, sweet star of eve! has shone its last-- - Nor can a ray of cheering light impart - Where midnight darkness ever wraps the heart. - - At thy soft silent hour, in pensive mood, - Sweet eventide, I love to seek the wood; - And as I, musing, wind my devious walk, - With visionary forms hold fancied talk; - Forms that the cold embrace of death enfolds, - But which my soul in fond remembrance holds, - Down the lone walk, or midst the cluster'd trees, - I hear a well known voice in every breeze-- - The passing object, or the shadowy green - Through their tall bolls in dim perspective seen, - Soft flitting forms present to fancy's eye, - That seem to glide with gentle greetings by. - - Hail gentle spirits! Shades of friends revered-- - By tender recollections now endeared; - And you, my earliest loss, parental pair-- - Though o'er your tombs the oft revolving year - Has shed its winters frost and vernal dew, - Still faithful memory fondly turns to you-- - For often in idea still are seen - Your silver locks, and venerable mien. - If conscience tells me I have err'd in aught, - Your cold reproving frown straight strikes my thought; - But if my heart acquits me of all guile, - It feels the joy of your approving smile. - A brother here, the worthiest of mankind-- - Oft I recall--with pain and pleasure joined; - Two sisters--one advanced in matron grace, - Strong sense and feeling blended in her face; - Plain worth and warm affections fill'd her heart, - And to each action did their hue impart: - Benevolence and truth still led her way - And held their tenor through each well spent day: - The other, just a bride, in youthful charms, - With grace and beauty fill'd her husband's arms-- - When Heaven, aware a mind so finely wrought, - So mild, so gentle, so refined in thought, - With erring mortals peace could never know, - Hasted to call her from a scene of woe; - And early placed her in those blest abodes - Where care no more afflicts, nor grief corrodes. - Sure, thou Supreme! of all thy works, the part - Most form'd for woe, is the soft female heart; - Her breast, the seat of innocence and love, - Was doom'd, alas! composure ne'er to prove-- - What others felt, with but a passing sigh, - Kept the meek tear forever in her eye; - The varying blush that mental suffering speaks - In quick suffusion on her lovely cheeks-- - Ah gentle Anna! leave thy Heaven awhile, - Greet a lone sister with one tearful smile. - - Aerial music oft I seem to hear - In gentle breathings, strike my listening ear-- - Full and melodious sounds, in swelling strains, - Then soothing soft, each dying note complains; - High o'er my head in trembling cadence plays, - Or lightly passes on the sighing breeze-- - The ambient air a balmy fragrance fills, - And the charm'd sense each earth-born sorrow stills; - A lambent light pervades the dewy scene, - Illumes each branch and brightens o'er the green. - Sweet powers of Fancy! can this work be thine, - Or are these sounds, these forms, indeed, divine? - For see, where lightly borne on seraph wing, - An angel band their hallelujahs sing-- - Its course, a form etherial this way bends, - Stooping to earth, and at my feet descends! - - Oh, beauteous shade of what was once my child! - Wept when I wept, and smiled but as I smiled; - Phantom of what long filled this vacant heart, - That still would claim thee as its dearest part-- - That still must hold thy cherish'd memory dear, - And greet thy much loved image with a tear. - In thy translated spirit sure I trace - Each mortal beauty of thy gentle face; - Shaded by silken curls of auburn hue, - Meet thy soft eyes of mild etherial blue; - Their look of patient innocence still feel - Touch my heart's finest nerve, with tender thrill, - See them in silent fondness fix'd on mine, - See thee for my maternal kiss incline-- - With offer'd lip and fond extended arms, - While love ineffable my bleeding bosom warms! - - Oh vision fair, of many an airy dream! - Of all my youthful hopes the darling theme; - Wreck of an anxious mother's early cares, - Loved object of her late regrets and tears-- - Why, beauteous messenger, why hither sent, - On what mild purpose is thy errand bent? - For thou couldst only leave the blest above - On errands mild, and purposes of love. - Comest thou to warn me from this life of pain? - To bid me hope we soon shall meet again? - Sure in thy dulcet voice I hear thee say, - "Come, poor lone mourner, come to peace away:" - Welcome the sounds, for wretched must I be - While weary life divides my soul from thee. - Ah, no! that softly sorrowing look declares - Thou comest to chide my impious grief and tears-- - Grief, that would thee recall to pain and woe, - Tears, that alone from selfish motives flow: - To bid me sink on an adoring knee - And thank my God, whose mercy shelter'd thee! - Who, while he seem'd, in each severe command, - To press me with a harsh chastising hand, - Prepared the balm that now my heartfelt woes - And anguished bosom, can alone compose; - And bad me know, in the conviction blest, - Though here thy suffering body knew no rest-- - That thy pure soul, as spotless as 'twas given, - By his creating hand has wing'd its way to Heaven. - - With sad solicitude 'twas mine to watch, - In silent woe, my angel's midnight couch, - Guide her uncertain steps the live-long day, - Or pine in trembling terrors when away-- - To see the impending stroke I could not ward, - And mourn the sufferer that no love could guard; - But this blest certainty my heart repays, - And bids it throb with gratitude and praise. - Yet pardon, Lord! my bosom's sorrowing swell, - When on past scenes I yet too fondly dwell; - And you who ne'er have felt the cruel pang, - Who still can o'er your cherish'd darlings hang; - Who have not learn'd how hard it is to part, - And bear about a sad bereaved heart-- - Or not possessing, ne'er conceive the charm - With which maternal love the heart can warm-- - With kind indulgence hear pale sorrow's moan, - Nor lightly judge the woes you have not known. - - Should the Supreme a cherub fair bestow, - More sweet than all his hand e'er form'd below; - While all that helpless infancy endears - Wakes into life a mother's hopes and fears-- - And if thy heart shall love as mine has loved, - And prove the bitter pangs that mine has proved, - Then may'st thou judge--for thou wilt truly know - That keenest pang, a tender mother's woe; - Then wilt thou, pitying, hear pale sorrow's moan, - And kindly mingle with her sighs, thy own. - - Thus, shadowy eve, allured and soothed by thee, - A wand'ring visionary I shall be-- - And when o'er earth thy dewy breezes sweep, - Seek thy sequestered shades to muse and weep; - Not bitter tears--or without comfort shed, - A tribute to the loved, the honor'd dead. - - Hail gentle spirits! while thus memory true - In fancy's wanderings oft communes with you, - This world recedes--the silent grave appears - A blest asylum from all earthly cares! - And faith, the hope inspiring, sooths my breast, - That _there_ the sad and weary shall have rest. - -We shall for the present, conclude with the following "_Lines written -on hearing a lady use the expression of smiling autumn_." - -SMILING AUTUMN. - - - Autumn, how should that languid air - That smoothed thy brow erewhile, - Be (though a frown thou dost not wear) - Mistaken for a smile? - - The glow that dyes thy tawny cheek, - The gleam that lights thine eye, - Nor smiling grace, nor joy bespeak-- - Thy every breath's a sigh. - - Or if, perchance, a transient smile - Breaks o'er the fading scene, - To cheer thy plaintive brow the while - And wake its sad serene; - - 'Tis like the sickly smile that sits - On hidden sorrow's brow, - Or with the last faint hectic flits - When life is ebbing low. - - From such heart-chilling smiles as these - Winter, I turn to thee-- - Thy frowning skies and leafless trees - More welcome are to me. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -STUDY OF THE LATIN AND GREEK CLASSICS. - - -Of all the "death-bed sayings" on record, none please me more than that -of Beausobre to his son: Go, said he, - - "Argentum et marmor vetus, ćraque et artis - Suspice. - Suspice, et forma non fragilis - Movebit in pectore delectationis multum. - Ibi, cum Euroauster, tum erit admiratio-- - Flori felicitatis suavis et jucunda." - -Moving among the solid temples of "silver," and of "marble," reared by -ancient literature, the intruder finds the holy beauty around him -giving softness to his step, and banishing all ungentle levity. The -plastic mind gradually yielding to the touch of that loveliness which -has crept in through the senses, becomes of itself grand and lovely. -The heart too receives its coloring--even as the cheek is colored, when -standing beneath the stained windows of some real temple. - -These truths have come home to _me_, at too late an hour, and a quill -or two will not be worn out sinfully, in an attempt to impress their -importance upon younger men. - -If I fail, as most probably I shall, the consciousness of having -consumed a day in useful effort, will be a tolerable reward--perhaps -reward enough. - -"The inner man moulds the outer," is an old and true saw. Its truth may -be seen, reader, by looking around you--indeed, by looking _at -yourself_. If you are a philosopher--a genuine philosopher--your glass -will image forth an aspect of serene dignity. If a sophist, one of -perplexed cunning. In the first instance, your _manner_ will be lofty -yet affable--a key to the better feelings of all:--in the latter -grovelling, yet scornful--to every one food for the most unreserved -contempt. Yielding that these different appearances are produced by the -workings of the inner man, can you hit upon a mode for ennobling these -workings, in themselves confused and feeble, so evidently effectual as -the introduction of knowledge and its all-arranging hand? Some may say -that the manner is of no moment. The effects produced under every one's -own observation would, if remembered, serve to stifle this assertion. -Why was it that the most eloquent of Grecians struggled for years to -remove the defects of a faulty bearing, if no valuable end was to be -attained? - -It follows then that dignity and suavity are of service: that these--in -many cases essential--are the offspring of a confidence in one's own -knowledge. And now, I ask, whence may we draw richer supplies of this -than from the pages of ancient writers? Are they not rife with all the -useful reasoning--the philosophic intelligence--the happiness of -application, that cultivated man could devise for the assistance of -untutored intellect? - -From the logic of the sage we learn, by a spirit of imitation natural -to human beings, to quicken our own powers of reasoning. The -perspicuity of arrangement and expression, so admirable in our master, -becomes gradually a part of our own style. We are led by the strength -of example to lop off the redundancies of a corrupt method, and by the -acquirement of correct notions of purity, enabled to render our -productions chaste and clear. And these improvements in the reasoning -powers are effected at the same time that we possess ourselves of the -richest treasures of lore! - -But this is only one source of advantage among many as valuable. Wit, a -power of the mind seldom granted with a liberal hand by -nature--receives, in the course of communion with the playful and keen, -a training of no little value. Charmed by the attic grace which softens -and mellows the satire of our companions, (for let us conjure up at the -hearthside the great masters of the past, and through their works hold -with them 'pleasant converse,') our efforts will be to increase by -farther intercourse, the small store already laid up perhaps -unintentionally. Thus may we, if naturally possessed of wit, so polish -and sharpen the gift of nature, that no armor may resist its progress: -or, if destitute of this strong weapon, form for ourselves one less -beautiful indeed, but of scarce less real worth. - -Without this chastening influence, native wit degenerates into a -harshness excessively grating to the ear of refinement, and productive -of no single good effect. - -Thus is improved or created a quality allowed by all to be of much -utility in the contests between mind and mind. And what is life but a -field of conflict, wherein the passions of one--perpetually at strife -with those of another--are forever calling to their assistance the -weapons of intellect! - -I have before spoken of the effect produced on the manner by a -confidence in one's acquired resources. Carrying this a step farther, I -will remark, that many of the qualities regarded as amiable among men, -such as urbanity and modesty, may be gained not only by the act of -storing the mind, but from the actual lessons and counsels of the bland -teachers from whom these stores are received. Will any one deny the -happy consequences of an urbane and modest deportment, in man's -intercourse with his fellows? Surely none would so far forget the -beauty of virtue as thus to sneer at its manifestations. - -We can scarcely find among the various pursuits of men, one in which -the pursuer may not be assisted by the experience and lessons of his -predecessors on the same path. The painter esteems himself happy when -able to collect in his studio the meanest of the antique models. The -sculptor contemplates among the relics of the past those -master-efforts, so deservedly famous, and is indefatigable in a study -essential to the production of purity in his own manner. Extend this to -eloquence. Most truly the orators of antiquity have been sturdy -pioneers upon a noble path, and to neglect their guidance would retard -the pursuer of the same course, and entangle him in many difficulties. -Indeed, with the works of these, elocutionists have invariably -recommended familiarity. The strength of Demosthenes,--_monte decurrens -velut amnis_--the 'abundant grace' of the polished Tully, are of -themselves milk for a giant's nurturing. But they have not come forth -alone from the wreck of time. They are attended by worthy companions. - -The depths of a strong mind teem with the seeds of fine thought. Ideas -lofty and rich are then in embryo, and it is a tedious but an essential -task to bring them to maturity. The lessons and practice of those by -whom excellence was most nearly approached, cannot do other than afford -aid of the strongest nature to the student, who has in immediate view -an anxious care of these germs, and looking forward to the season when -a gigantic growth has rewarded his culture, longs with a virtuous -ambition for its coming, that he may scatter among men the fruits of -mature strength. Let all remember this, and seek not only rule of -guidance, but successful illustration among the pages of the past. - -It would be no difficult matter to point out other important qualities, -ripened by a study of the ancient classics. To show how strongly -assisted the organs of judgment, &c. may be by the strength-infusing -food of knowledge, winnowed as it has been by time, would be truly -_labor absque labore_. But I have already trespassed on the reader's -courtesy, and shall leave the unfilled catalogue to be completed, if he -thinks it worth the while, at his own leisure. - -It has been my object to show that "the classical student's own good -and that of his fellows, would be advanced by his assiduity:" and as I -have not yet remarked distinctly upon the latter, I will do so now, and -briefly. - -Men unable individually to defend and protect their rights, enter into -compacts for mutual assistance. Certain laws are drawn up, guiding the -administrator of justice. This justice is the main duct by which the -social body is supplied. With it, order and tranquillity shed their -light upon a nation's progress towards happiness. Without it, the -members within, and the body sinks under a benumbing paralysis. It is, -then, the part of every good citizen to see that justice be maintained -free from impurity, and by precept and example to enliven its energies. -And what is it that gives weight to counsel, if it be not the adviser's -learning and reputation? - - "Insani sapiens nomen ferat, ćquus iniqui." - -What, in a just man's practice, so softens down to our feelings all -necessary roughnesses, as a secret veneration for himself? - -I have shown, or attempted to show, that the character becomes chaste -by communion with those exalted spirits from whom are drawn the -supplies of wisdom; and we now see that both the possession of these -supplies and the reputation gained thereby, are of service to the -public--moreover that skill, necessary in the management of public -affairs, is generated, or to say the least increased--so rendering the -ruler more capable of furthering the interests of the ruled. - -We see then, that the individual and the public good are advanced by -the study in question. Let us now examine whether this advancement may -not be effected by confining ourselves first to translations, secondly -to our own legitimate literature. - -With regard to the first, others have pointed out the futility of all -such transfers. The Turk exchanges his turban and robe for the -habiliments of the Christian. Through the mask of this assumed garb -what eye can detect the original Mussulman? Is he swarthy! others of -his adopted brethren are equally so. Does the tuft of long hair by -which Houri hands are to draw the faithful into Paradise, differ from -the unshorn locks of those around him? his assumed head-gear conceals -the difference.--Thus does he lose all trace of his former being, and -since the assumed qualities sit on him but indifferently, the change is -always for the worse. Are we to doubt the truth of this illustration? -All experience forbids us so to do. The sterling gold of -Shakspeare--converted into French tinsel--was only so converted to meet -with ridicule and contempt. - -Secondly, may not these advantages be gained by researches into our own -literature? I would say, in the first place, that this latter is but a -branch engrafted on the ancient tree; and if we wish to effect thorough -familiarity, we must examine downward--solving difficulties as we -proceed--until we come to the root, from whence springs all lore. -Farthermore:--Acquaintance with "our own literature" being but one move -towards the attainment of thorough knowledge, this very admission -stamps it as an inferior degree of excellence, and will any one doubt -the utility of gaining the greatest in a generous pursuit? - -This connexion of past lore with the present, suggests to me an -important point, upon which I shall linger for a brief space. - -Few are ignorant of the close connexion between the ancient and modern -languages themselves. It was the influence of the polished and manly -Latin that gave euphony to the barbarous jargon brought by the German -tribes from their forests. It was this that spread over the nations of -modern Europe, mellowing in one instance the roughness of the Norman -idiom, and in fine, entwining itself inseparably with the mongrel plant -brought into being in England, after the conquest of Duke William. -Indeed, so much incongruity pervaded this, that many great writers have -believed it a vehicle too rude and perhaps unsafe, for the conveyance -of their harvests to posterity. Under this belief Bacon wrote his -"_Novum Organum_," as well as many of his more important works, wholly -in Latin. - -So close, therefore, is the union, that familiarity with one of the -principal languages of antiquity has become absolutely essential to a -_thorough_ intimacy with our own. - -Upon the connexion with the other I will barely remark, that the -precept and practice of learned men most assuredly carry a weight at -home, and was it not natural for these, filled as they were with the -beauty of that tongue, whose melody and richness had lent a charm even -to the outpourings of wisdom, to introduce its merits into their own -less noble one? This they have done; and so originated a connexion -important and harmless, inasmuch as it has benefitted the one greatly, -without injuring the other. - -I will now observe upon the time of life most suited to an attainment -of that skill, essential in opening to the neophyte these well-stored -magazines of useful and pleasing information. If the candidate for -distinction in any, the simplest profession, had at the time of -entering upon it, yet to master the rudiments of his language, would he -not contemplate the double task in despair? Knowing that the greatest -genius on earth, if without the means of expressing the teeming -thoughts of a crowded mind, is but a "mighty savage," he feels, if -success be his object, the absolute necessity of beginning the almost -endless labor. From childhood to manhood he should be furbishing this -key to his mind's resources. - -And the case is the same with regard to the study of the elements which -throw open the riches of the past to our conception. These riches are -very seldom possessed when the means of doing so are not gradually -acquired in very early years. The hours are not then counted--the labor -does not present itself in a huge and startling mass to the narrow view -of youth, but is seen part by part as the student advances. With years -of inactive life before him, his time is his own, and we may almost say -unlimited. Undeterred by the calls of the world, he has leisure to -possess himself of every requisite for enjoying the feast to be -partaken of hereafter. Turn to one who, after neglecting the -acquisition of that which he has at length learned to look upon as most -valuable, attempts to rectify his error. With the duties of life -accumulating every moment on his hands--with the toil to be endured -spread out like a map before his eye, he rarely has energy enough to -persevere. The task is given up as a hopeless one, and his judgment, on -the ground of interference with essential duties, sanctions the -decision urged by timidity. Then deprived of all means of gaining the -treasure, he laments the error by which its acquisition was deferred -until too late a season. - -I have said nothing of the exquisite entertainment to be drawn from the -study before us. My object has been to work on the feelings of real and -palpable interest, so effectual in ruling men of the present day. - -Let us now turn to a picture, to me of great beauty. The strifes and -toils of the world are left behind us. We have sought the shades of -retirement, to consume in domestic happiness the few remaining years of -our earthly term. The merchant has come from the hills and valleys of -the east to the banks of the Nile. He brings with him - - "Munera terrć - Et maris extremos Arabas distantes et Indos." - -His wanderings have been among the groves of spice, and over the sands -of the great deserts. His cheek has been shaded by the palm and the -cool cedar, but it has too been blistered by a scorching sun. All this -is at length passed, and chaunting the "Allah Acbar," wearied--yet -joyful in his weariness--he plants his pavilion on the quiet shore, -there in patience to abide the coming of Dyerm or Xebeck, appointed for -his passage to the destined mart. Thus after experiencing the various -fortunes of active life, we sink into ease. - -To him who has no '_munera scientić_'--no attachment to polite -research, from which to draw pleasure in the hours of solitude, this -seclusion is worse than a foretaste of that grave so soon to succeed -it. His mind is a mere void, aching to be filled. Accustomed to -satiety, before the affairs of life were relinquished, the contrast is -now all the more painful. It is this that accounts for the discontent -of those "_refugees from the closed shop_," whom we see around us. But -on this picture I do not love to linger. There is another, possessing -in the home of his retirement, a home of placid delight. Surrounded by -the fruits of mental exertion--the parent tree long dead--he revels -among the richly flavored and the luscious, until existence becomes one -continued feast. His influence in the world is undiminished--his works -are remembered with feelings of reverence and affection. Afar from the -restless crowd he is, as has been beautifully said, like the moon in -her relation with ocean; and rendered no less influential by the -tranquil steadiness with which he keeps aloof from the scenes of his -influence. To such a man the treasures of ancient lore are invaluable; -they are charms possessing power to call up the host of worthies, by -nature and assiduous cultivation, great and excellent. In the sacred -recesses of his studio he communes with these. He is cheered by his -intercourse with companions so pleasing, and his path to the grave is -smoothed by flowers of the softest leaf. At length the drama draws to a -close! Like the chaste Talbot, he breathes his gratitude to those who -have been to him the fountains of 'sweet joy.' It is his last breath. -Loved for his virtues, and venerated for his good works, he sinks to -the grave, on whose brink he has long been lingering, and whose ideal -horrors, the lessons of true knowledge have rendered to him objects to -be welcomed, not dreaded--loved, not feared. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -MEMORY.--AN ALLEGORY. - - -An evil genius visited the happy islands which repose upon the bosom of -the deep blue sea. In these smiling gardens the blest recline, remote -from the turmoil and confusion of life: there are trees loaded with -golden fruits--flowers of a thousand hues, and sweet fountains of -limpid water spread their silvery lines along the emerald lea. The -melody of singing birds, the soft murmur of running streams, and sounds -of distant music, fall upon the ravished ear. The wanton breeze steals -fragrance from the flowers as it passes on, and sweet perfumes scent -the air. Here childish innocence reposes on beds of flowers; there -groups of maturer years recline on verdant knolls, enjoying the passing -hour. Pairs wander arm in arm in pursuit of pleasures that never pall, -and gay crowds lightly dance their hours away in mirth and song. The -genius pronounces the fatal word, and each breathing figure is -transformed to mute and changeless stone. The voice of mirth is hushed, -the tones of music have fled, years roll away, and the living statues -still look in marble coldness on the changing scene. Its flowers -wither--its trees of golden fruits die one by one away--the birds flee -from their green retreats, and the creeping serpent hisses in the -tangled brake--tall rank grass covers the favorite walks, or choke the -streams, whose turbid waters force their sluggish way. At length a -passing vessel stops--a stranger wanders over the wondrous scene. On a -pillar an inscription is engraved; he pauses to read the word, and -instantly the spell is broken--the marble statues melt into silent -shadows of the human form, and flitting forth in pairs and groups, they -wander over their once loved home. They seek their familiar haunts; -they search for the objects of their love; and each shadow as it -passes, whispers, _gone_: and returning to their places, their forms -resume their marble lineaments, and stand once more cold monuments of -their former selves. Such indeed is the human mind. First comes youth's -genial season; hopes linked with loves in happy pairs, wander around -the smiling scene, which fancy decks with flowers. Here joy dancing to -the song of mirth, lightly whiles his hours away; there young -affections and gentle thoughts, like virgin sisters of a primeval race, -pursue their quiet way to the bright abode which fancy hath created so -beautiful and fair. But at length sorrow comes to breathe its spell. -How many hopes, and loves, and pure affections, and pleasant thoughts, -are changed and gone! Inurned in icy coldness, they are sepulchered in -memory's cave; and yet, perhaps, some simple word of other times is -breathed, its spell evokes departed joys and buried loves. Dim shadows -of the past arise--they fleeting come. But fancy too is changed; it no -longer forms the gay creations of its youth, but fills its gloomy -fields with pictures at which the heart doth shrink. The very thoughts -for which we sighed, are now without a home, and seek to pass away. - -ALPHA. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -The following lines were found, written in a "delicate bird-quill -hand," on a blank leaf on the Petrarch of one, among the prettiest of -my fair cousins. The authoress perhaps caught a certain quaintness of -expression from the strained verses of the Italian lover; but the idea -I am inclined to believe original, notwithstanding the assertion "This -was stolen from Boccacio," with which the lines are capped. Stevens, -the Puck of commentators, asks "What has truth or nature to do with -sonnets?" and Byron echoes the question. There may be some truth in -this, though the opinion of the first sprung from hatred towards -Malone, and that of the latter from chagrin at his own want of success. -If the proper characteristic of the sonnet be an artificial quaintness, -my cousin has succeeded admirably,--which I presume Mr. White will have -too much gallantry to deny. - -THE CREATION OF THE ANTELOPE. - - - The tone of coming Ariel's voice was sweet - To wise Prospero; he had flown the girth - Of this green sphere, and gifts from wave and earth - Were bound with flowers upon his pinions fleet, - As singing came he to his master's feet. - Four aspen leaves plucked in the shivering north-- - The Palmiste bough and fruit--of eastern birth-- - And leaf of Abelč--a thorny sheet-- - Were there: And in a cask of quaint device - Was pent the flash thrown from the gaudy plume - Of Sopor's empress-bird, of thousand dyes-- - Then by this flash begot--from glamour's womb, - Gleamed into being two most gorgeous eyes - Like those twin stars that lit creation's gloom. - - And hoofs most delicate the wise man wrought - Of Ariel's gift of restless aspen leaves: - And skilfully as slim Tarantul' weaves - The curtain to her silken couch, soon brought - The sheet of Abelč to beauty: naught - Torn from Earth's Edens by his wily thieves - So soothed their master as this gem of leaves! - With downy softness from his magic caught, - It lay a snowy skin. Next of the bough - And fruit pluck'd from the Palmiste's sinewy stem, - A neck and graceful head formed he: Life's glow - Then tinged each vein. "'Tis done--gleam thou bright gem," - Pleased Prospero said, "on Hemalaya's brow, - A living jewel to his diadem!" - -E. D. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -LETTERS FROM NEW ENGLAND.--NO. 3. - -BY A VIRGINIAN. - - -_Pittsfield, Mass., July 26th, 1834_. - -One means by which Prussian tyranny sought to break down the spirit and -health of Baron Trenck, during his long and rigorous imprisonment at -Magdeburg, was to have him roused by a sentinel, every fifteen minutes -of his sleeping hours. You can form a lively conception of the efficacy -of the plan, if you have ever been compelled by exhausted nature to woo -her "sweet restorer" in a stage-coach, over a very uneven road: but -what think you of dozing it _outside_, on the driver's seat? Instead of -_two_ this morning, the waiter called me at _one_; when I had not slept -a single wink--("sleepless myself, to give my readers sleep.") Sickened -by the motion of the close and crowded coach, I presently mounted -beside the driver; where drowsiness soon overcame me. So, tying one arm -with my handkerchief to the iron on the stage roof, I took, for about -two hours, such slumber as was permitted by the heavings of our -vehicle, on a hilly road: such slumber, as one might enjoy while tossed -in a blanket, or "upon the high and giddy mast," rocking his brains, -"in cradle of the rude imperious surge." On fully awaking, half an hour -before sunrise, I found we were ascending a mountain (part of the Green -Mountain,) by a gentle slope of three or four degrees, continuing for -six miles. The scenery, (wildly picturesque in itself,) bursting thus -suddenly upon the view, was particularly striking. Indeed, no day of my -tour has presented a greater number of boldly beautiful landscapes. -That I never try to spread these beauties upon my page, you must -ascribe to the fear that they would but 'evanish' in the endeavor, and -by no means to any profane contempt--unpardonable, you know according -to Dr. Beattie, for - - --------"the boundless store - Of charms which Nature to her votary yields; - The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, - The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields; - All that the genial ray of morning gilds, - And all that echoes to the song of even; - All that the mountains sheltering bosom shields, - And all the dread magnificence of Heaven"-- - -I most devoutly worship them all. But humbler themes befit and demand -my pen. - -It is a New England custom, to bury all the dead of a township, or of a -certain subdivision of it, in a common grave yard; usually, not within -any village, and apart from any church. This yard is enclosed with a -wall; and every grave is marked by a stone (commonly hewn marble,) with -a neat and simple inscription of name and years, supplying "the place -of fame and elegy." By a sort of tacit consent, each family is allowed -to cluster its dead together in a separate portion of the ground; -sometimes in a capacious vault, marked with the family name. The -curious may at any time find an hour's amusement--aside from the more -serious thoughts proper to the place--in reading, on the tombstones, -the surnames common and peculiar to New England, and the Christian -names--mostly scriptural--betokening the original and enduring sway of -Puritanism. A southerner naturally wonders why the grave yards are -without the villages. To an inquiry of mine into the reason, a _'cute_ -female (evidently far wiser than her husband, who was also in company,) -answered, that it was "to accommodate those who live at a distance." -How it did this--or how, if the distant on one side were accommodated, -those on the other were not equally incommoded--my sage instructress -did not expound. The village itself (at least its ordinary _nucleus_, -the meeting-house) is usually central to the town, for the equal -convenience of all. It seems more probable that _health_, and the -readier command of space, influence the location of burying grounds. - -One of the objects that have struck me most pleasingly, is the _Liberty -Pole_, in almost every village. Its use is to hoist a flag upon, on the -Fourth of July, and other festal days. It figures exquisitely in -"McFingal"--that best poem, of its length, that America has produced; -so often quoted for Hudibras, and so inadequately honored, not only in -the south, but here, in its native north. Do take down the book, or, if -you have it not, go straight and buy it; turn to the second or third -canto--I forget which--and be grave if you can, while you read how the -Tory hero "fierce sallied forth" attended by - - "His desperate clan of tory friends: - When sudden met his angry eye - A pole ascending thro' the sky:--" - -the ceremonies of its rearing and consecration; the attack, not _wordy_ -alone, of the hero upon it; his inglorious discomfiture; his wadling -flight, - - ("With legs and arms he worked his course, - Like rider that outgoes his horse;") - -his fall, and decoration with tar and feathers; the hoisting of the -tory constable by a rope fastened to his waistband, - - "Till, like the earth, as stretched on tenter, - He hung, self-balanced, on his centre;" - -where, as Socrates (according to a witty comic poet of his day) got -himself swung in mid air to clear his perceptions, - - "Our culprit thus in purer sky, - With like advantage raised his eye; - And looking forth in prospect wide, - His _tory errors clearly spied_." - -I had enjoyed so many a laugh at the whole scene, that when a Liberty -Pole was first shown me (at Hartford) by an interesting fellow -traveller, it required all my phlegm to refrain from clapping my hands -with pleasure. - - * * * * * - -_Albany, July 27_. - -It was nearly eleven--two hours later than usual--when we arrived last -night. A series of little casualties delayed us: a thunder storm, quite -as magnificent as most that we have in Virginia, only our thunder and -lightning are far superior; a tree, of eight or nine inches diamater, -blown across the road by a _semi_-tornado that accompanied the cloud; -and divers other detentions. The storm met us near the top of a -mountain, upon the line of Massachusetts and New York; obliging us to -halt, and fend off the rain as best we might, by buttoning down the -curtains. The descent hitherward, winds, for perhaps a mile, along the -steep mountain side; commanding a fine view of the pretty village of -Lebanon, and its prettier valley. Near Lebanon is a settlement of -Shakers. The only incivility I have yet experienced from a stage -driver, was a few miles this side of Lebanon; when, availing myself of -a brief halt at a hotel to get some refreshment, I received an -indistinct notice that the stage could not wait: and a minute or two -after, some one called to me, "you are left, sir!" On going to the -door, sure enough, the horses were in a sweeping trot, twenty or thirty -yards (or, as they say here, four or five rods) off. I soon overtook -them; and was admitted, the driver surlily grumbling at the -unreasonableness of expecting him to _wait all day_. He was soured by -being so late. And whoever considers how nice a point of honor--aye, -and of duty, and interest--it is with that fraternity to be punctual, -will not blame him very severely. They have been civil and obliging to -me; the one by whom I slept yesterday morning, was even kind. - -So well established is this good character of New England stage -drivers, that ladies often travel by stage for scores of miles, with no -other protector. And the driver does protect them, vigilantly. Every -way, however, the freedom with which females trust themselves abroad -there, and in the south, is remarkably different. I have seen handsome -young ladies, of refined appearance, driving in a chaise, with no male -attendant, to a town seven or eight miles from their home. And such -things are of every day occurrence, attracting no especial notice. This -freedom arises, I believe, from several causes. It is unquestionably -owing, in part, to the sober, honest, and peaceful habits of the -people, and to the certainty, that any wrong or insult offered to a -female, would be promptly resented and punished; as in Ireland, under -the reign of Brien the Brave, a beautiful damsel, richly attired, could -walk alone, safe and fearless, from end to end of the kingdom.[1] -Contiguity of residences aids this effect. Then, in the country -villages of the north, there are many more ladies than gentlemen, from -the emigration of the latter westward, and from their resorting to the -maritime cities and to the ocean, for trade and seafaring employment. -Besides, New Englanders have less time for pleasure than we have; and -no Virginian will deny that "to tend the fair" is a _pleasure_. But the -freedom of female movements is partly attributable also to the -prevalence, among the New England men, of a less tender and obsequious -_manner_ at least, towards the fair sex, than southrons habitually -shew. They do not practise those minute, delicate attentions--that -semi-adoration--ingrained in the very constitutions of our well bred -men. (Not dandies--I speak of _men_.) Indeed our claim to superiority -may be pushed still further. In affability to inferiors, our northern -brethren are decidedly behind us. In their middling and lower classes, -nay and in the lower _tier_ of their upper classes, this short-coming -is particularly discernible: and extends even to their deportment -towards equals. Clowns and servants--I beg pardon--"_helps_"--seem not -to expect, or to relish, the courtesy which, in the Old Dominion, every -true gentleman pays to the poorest man. Soon after entering the -country, I found it necessary, if I would have respect from them, to -abate much of the respectful address, which habit had rendered -essential to my own comfort. Can these deficiencies of -manner--supposing them to exist--and _my_ belief of them is confirmed -by that of others--be ascribed to the utter proscription of -_duelling_--that vaunted nurse of courtesy? I should rather attribute -them to three other causes. _First_--a dislike to outward displays of -emotion; a hard-featured sturdiness of soul, which, content to _feel_ -kindly and deeply, and to _act_ kindly too in things of solid import, -forgets or disdains the petty blandishments of _manner_, as idle forms, -often the offspring of deceit, and unworthy of a mind bent upon -substantial good. This estimable, but unamiable trait--derived purely -from his sire, John Bull--makes Jonathan disliked on a superficial -view. But those who consider him with candid attention, and bearing in -mind the true saying of honest Kent, that - - "They are not empty-hearted, whose low sound - Reverbs no hollowness"-- - -perhaps find the unsightly iron casket stored with the richest jewels. -_Second_--(a less creditable cause; applicable only to the imputed want -of courtesy towards inferiors)--The employment of whites, as servants. -A master cannot treat these as his equals: it is utterly incompatible -with the relation. His demeanor towards them, he naturally extends to -their kindred, and to their class; that is, to all the poor around him. -According to that general principle of divine wisdom and goodness, -which, by a counterpoise of good and evil, equalizes every human lot, -the blighting curse of slavery seems to carry this mitigation along -with it--a more delicate and scrupulous regard, in the free, to even -the _minute_ gratification of their fellow-free. Hence--and from their -greater leisure to cultivate _manner_--chiefly arises, we may suppose, -the superiority of slave-holders in the several points of politeness. -Just so, according to Montesquieu, good-manners characterize a -monarchy. Those who can see in this, a recompense either for a -privation of the glorious right of self-government, or for the -unmeasured ills entailed by domestic slavery upon a community, are -welcome to the consolation. _Third_--(applicable, like the last, only -to intercourse with inferiors)--the system of electioneering practised -in the northern states. Usage and public opinion allow no man to -declare himself a candidate for office. His doing so, would be -political suicide. He must be _nominated_ by a CAUCUS--or CONVENTION, -as "ears polite" now require it to be called. The convention is got up -in this wise: One, or two, or three, tolerably influential men, having -a friend whom they wish to exalt, call a private meeting of those over -whom their influence especially is, and after insinuating his merits -into the minds assembled, get a resolution passed, for a general -_caucus_, of the whole party, in the _town_, or election district. All -who were at the private meeting, bestir themselves diligently to -congregate at the caucus, such persons, chiefly, as they, or some of -them, can control: and in this they are so successful, that a -nomination there, of the individual designated by the first movers of -the scheme, is almost sure to result. This nomination goes abroad, as -made by a _meeting of the people_; and unless some more skilfully -conducted or powerfully headed counter movement take place, our -candidate may count with reasonable certainty upon his election. Such -is the machinery by which aspirants get themselves hoisted into office; -as explained to me by one familiar with it--who had actually profitted -by it more than once--and who owned that it was rather a shabby feature -in the politics of his country. All aspirants, therefore, (and in our -country, how few are not so--openly or covertly!) pay court, not to the -people at large, but only to the known leaders of the caucus. -Contemning the passive wires and puppets, they regard only the hand -that works them. Thus the commonality, losing their importance in -elections, lose their strongest hold upon the civility of their -superiors. I need not run out the process. 'Twere well, if deprivation -of bows, and smiles, and kind words, were all that the million suffer -by the caucus system. But, by rendering them _insignificant in the body -politic_, that system threatens popular government itself with -overthrow. I wish, I long, to see my fellow Virginians copy our -brethren of the north in many things: but _this system_, may they shun -as the cholera! May they always adhere to their own frank and manly -plan, of having the candidate appear before them, and face to face -declare his sentiments and manifest his ability to defend the great -interests with which he asks to be entrusted! - -[Footnote 1: See T. Moore's Irish Melody-- - - "Rich and rare were the gems she wore."] - -While talking of _manners_, it would have been seasonable to speak of -the _impertinent inquisitiveness_, commonly ascribed to the Yankees. I -have seen no trace of the fault: not even so much as our own people -sometimes shew. While on foot, in the country, I was sometimes asked -_where I was from_; but it was always where the question was suggested -and justified by the course of conversation, or by the tenor and number -of my own inquiries; or, to furnish a starting place for our -colloquy--a platform whence to toss the ball of discourse: never, in a -manner the least abrupt or offensive. Among the better classes, such as -are casually met in stage-coaches and hotels, there was all the -delicate forbearance in this respect, which marks true politeness every -where. - -Again--Our brother Jonathan is reputed, with us, a great sharper. -_Yankee tricks_, and _Yankee knavery_, are ideas inseparable from the -word _Yankee_. Now my own experience does not enable me to add a single -one to the catalogue of anecdotes, by which that characteristic is -supposed to be proven. Not a single cheat--not a single trick--was -practised upon me during my sojourn in Yankee land: unless, indeed, it -was so adroitly done, as to have been hitherto imperceptible to me. The -fact is, our ideas on this point are derived almost entirely from those -delectable samples of honesty, ycleped "Yankee pedlers," who for many -years have so swarmed over the south: a race, by whom their countrymen -at home protest, with hands uplift, against being judged; and by whom, -in very truth, it is no more fair to judge them, than it would be to -judge of us by the vilest scum of our society, who may have fled to -Carolina or the Western forests, from the just punishment of their -crimes, or from the detestation that dogged their vices. - -It hardly needs be said--common fame loudly enough proclaims--that -religion flourishes in New England, as much as in any part of the -world. Yet it does not obtrude itself upon the traveller's notice. It -is a quiet, Sabbath-keeping, morals-preserving, good-doing, and -heaven-serving religion, free from several extravagancies, that have -elsewhere crept into christianity. Meetings for eight, ten, or twelve -days together, and suspending, meanwhile, all attention to important -secular duties, I have not seen or heard of: even a meeting at all, on -a working day, did not meet my view during the (nearly) four weeks of -my stay; except funerals. The people seem to think both parts of the -third commandment alike binding: "_Six days shalt thou labor_," as well -as "_Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy_." Dancing is by no -means proscribed, or unusual. It is taught at many or most of the high -female boarding schools. Even in Connecticut, "junkettings" are not -unfrequent, lively enough to have pleased our venerable Pendleton, yet -"soberly" enough conducted, to have suited Lady Grace. At New Haven, -within bowshot of Yale College, a dance was kept up for two successive -nights till eleven or twelve o'clock, in an apartment just across the -street from my lodging. True, I have seen no match for my father's -friend and mine, Dr. K----, who, since the birth of his seventh -grandchild, has so often realized that pleasing trait in the picture of -French rural life-- - - "And the gay grandsire, skilled in gestic lore, - Has frisked beneath the burthen of three score;" - -but I saw as great a wonder, in a church last Sunday. The music struck -me as particularly fine; I doubted not that it was an organ; till, -looking up to the gallery, there sat a gentleman scraping away with -might and main _upon a violin_, and another upon a bass viol: -accompanied by a flute, and an admirably tuned choir. "Our armies swore -terribly in Flanders:" but it was nothing to the deep, anathematizing -abomination with which some "unco guid" folks of my acquaintance (not -of yours) would have beheld this uncommon mode of "hymning the great -Creator." Even me, it affected very singularly: I thought of the -war-lock-dance in Kirk Alloway; of Auld Nick in shape of "towsie tyke, -black, grim and large," whose province it was to "gie them music;" how - - "He screwed the pipes and gart them skirl, - Till roof and rafters a' did dirl;" - While "hornpipes, jigs, strathpeys and reels, - Put life and mettle in their heels:" - "Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu' - Which e'en to name wad be unlawfu':" - -and I did not know what catastrophe might ensue, from the profanation. -Happily, however, none occurred. - -In the formalities of piety, the descendants of the Pilgrims are -radically changed from the puritanical strictness of their forefathers. -The quaint names, indeed, are retained; but the straight-lacedness they -imply is gone: you find _Leah_, or _Naomi_, upon near approach, to be -as arch a lass, and _Jeremiah_, or _Timothy_, as merry a grig, as any -Sally, or Betty, Tom, or Bob, south of the Potomac. - -No one in Massachusetts is any longer compelled by law to pay for the -support of religion, its temples, or its ministers. The law, requiring -the citizen to do so, only letting him choose the sect or the minister -to whom his contribution should enure, was repealed last year. Each -religious _society_--answering to _congregation_ with us--has a sort of -_corporate_ faculty, involving the power to tax its members for church -expenses, and to coerce payment by distress if it be withheld. Even -this is a stride towards hierarchy from which _our_ lawgivers have -shrunk ever since 1785; and which our people will probably never -permit. - -I must say more to you, of the goodly land I have just left. My having -quitted it, need subtract nothing from the credit attached to my -observations: for I shall touch no topic, which is not as fresh in my -mind, and as susceptible of truthful representation, as if the local -scene itself stretched around me. Adieu - - - - - From the Western Monthly Magazine. - -AMERICAN LITERATURE.--ITS IMPEDIMENTS. - - -We live in a country pre-eminently rich in mental and physical -resources. We have whatever internally or externally is requisite to -promote national greatness and prosperity. We live in the full -possession and enjoyment of a government founded on the experience of -the past, and reared by the genius and wisdom of an unrivalled -ancestry. The mind here blooms and grows under the protecting wings of -the Genius of Freedom--its native boldness and vigor unrestrained. Here -it may be aroused to all that is noble in enterprise, or excellent in -virtue. Here the aliments of its growth are as rich and as inspiriting, -as they are abundant. It enjoys the choice fruit of the loftiest minds -of departed ages; and may feast on the wisdom and learning of every -modern age. It enjoys the bland influence of the christian spirit; and -may attain a superior standard in moral greatness and power. But these -are not the only advantages which tend to the development of American -mind. In whatever direction we gaze, nature's beauties, as profuse and -lovely as the stars of the sky, meet the vision. We behold landscape -after landscape, enchanting beyond measure; the graceful undulations of -luxuriant prairies; tall forests, clothed in the magnificent robes of -summer, or cheerless with the storms of winter; noble and beautiful -rivers, over whose placid waters genius and enterprise have scattered -the wonders and researches of science; towering mountains, fairy -groves, and silver-sparkling lakes. Add to these, the wild traditions -of a people unknown to former minds: traditions, over which curiosity -loves to linger, and philosophy to speculate; traditions, which, -imbodying the terrific, the romantic, and the ennobling of the savage -state, throw over the page of fiction a charm and an interest, -enchanting and enchaining. - -From this view, we might indulge the prophetic thought, that our -national mind would attain to the highest degree of intellectual -pre-eminence. Now, the mind is the prime source of literature, creating -it, and giving to it an enduring form. If all its powers are fully -developed in their varied beauty and might, that literature to which it -gives character, will be of an exalted nature. Should then our national -mind be made to appreciate its advantages, it naturally follows, that -our literature will be all that is grand and sublime--will soar to the -loftiest summit of the Olympian mount. But whatever will have a -tendency to pervert these advantages, to draw the mind into pursuits -below its real nature, will impede its growth. We behold around us such -impediments. It shall be our object to exhibit a few of them, feeling -convinced that if the obstacles which retard the transit of our -literature in its ascent to greatness, be once known and surmounted, -its destiny will be bright and glorious. - -Individual character is the combined result of early impressions. The -same is true in regard to national character. Whatever most influences -the young mind, gives tone to its future action. Those circumstances, -which most excite and agitate the mind of a nation, likewise mould and -shape its future action. What has most deeply interested the American -mind? If we trace back the chain of our history to the fearless days of -our infancy, we shall find that its absorbing interests have been of a -political nature. True, there were some minds among that matchless band -of our New England ancestry, who, with the great volume of nature open -before them, wrote with a spirit of inspiration, and soared to the high -heavens of literature. They were few in number. We need not ask what -now moves and engrosses the thoughts and feelings of the American mind. -We need not now ask what form of character it is fast assuming: for it -is truly becoming a political mind. Now, what will be the effect of -such a cast of intellect in impeding the march of our literature, is -obvious to any one of common discernment. The _mind_ that would create -an exalted literature, should drink at all the fountains of knowledge; -should be clothed in forms of grace and loveliness; should have all its -powers and faculties developed; its delicate and masculine, its placid, -its stormy and religious: it should be like Phidias' Minerva, perfect -in all its proportions. Political pursuits do not produce _this mind_. -If we examine them, we shall find their elements to be the united -effects of _bad_ ambition and immature intellect. It is true, they -encourage activity of mind; but it is not that kind of activity which -develops its beauties and majesty. That mental action which they -promote, has its origin in lawless passions, in inordinate and -ungenerous emulation. The political aspirant of the day is attracted by -the false glory which beams around our political temple, and thinks no -means too low, too debased, to gain entrance there. It is true, -politics may bring into the field of competition, timid and shrinking -intellect; but they do not impart to it a masculine boldness and -nobleness. They train it to deeds of cunning and hypocrisy. We have -reference now to the general politics of the age. Party strifes, the -natural result of excess in politics, keep the mind in an unhealthy -state: at one time raising it to the highest pitch of excitement; at -another, causing the most extreme depression. That calm serenity, which -moderates and chastens its powers, passions and emotions, is a stranger -in a political contest. That mind, inured to party feelings and party -interests, can never attain its full vigor and manhood--such is the -nature of excess in political pursuits. We would ask, do they cause a -full development of the mental powers? Do they awaken the fancy? Do -they clothe human thoughts in radiant and brilliant robes? Do they -promote mental research? Do they create pure and soaring eloquence? or -tune the lyre of poesy to notes celestial? Let the genius of American -Literature, as she wings her slow flight upwards, give the answer. - -This political spirit, contagious and diffusive in its nature, has -spread itself throughout the entire frame of our government. All -classes of society, from the proudest to the humblest spheres of life, -have imbibed it, feel it, and act under its influence. It composes the -chief interests, and engages the active feelings, of almost every -community. Who can be insensible to the fact, that our universal mind -has already assumed a political character? The aspect of the times -prove it beyond the shadow of a doubt. The consequences to our -literature are obvious. The majority of our gifted, shining minds, -prefer the honors of state to classic fame--rush headlong into fierce -unnatural intellectual conflicts, rather than enjoy the calm, -soul-ennobling, and sublime strifes of literary pursuit. The goddess of -learning is uncourted in her temple. Pure mental illumination shines -only on a few isolated spots. Public taste, which may be styled the -protectress of literature in every country, instead of being refined -and elevated, is corrupted and debased. In short, our literary mind, -which, under the influence of our free institutions, might, like the -eagle, soar with might and majesty, is chained down and impeded in its -action. - -It cannot be expected, that such a state of society would patronize -noble, intellectual effort. Genuine literary merit, is unnoticed amid -the whirl of party. The beauteous and serene beams of the star of -science, are lost in the dazzling brightness of the political sun. How -feeble the inducement held out in our land to the poet, the historian, -or philosopher! The reading portion of our population is but a trifle, -compared with the whole. We have a few mature minds, who, soaring above -the common level, have taken their seats in the halls of literary -eminence. Are they appreciated? Their names are unknown to a majority -of the various classes of society? Who read the classic and eloquent -orations of Webster and Everett, full of deep principles and splendid -thoughts? Who, the placid, flowing and pathetic verse of Bryant, whose -thoughts, so melancholy, yet so beautiful, steal over the soul like -evening music on the still water? Who are delighted with the brilliant -imagery, and chaste conceptions of _Cooper_ and _Irving_? Their -productions, the results of long, close, and patient thought, serve for -parlor-ornaments, and parlor-reading. They are not studied; and who, -without studying, can master the real, pure meaning of a fine thought? -A work on modern philosophy is rarely seen, even among the learned -circles of society: it never reaches the great mass. How could it be -otherwise, when the general mind is agitated and convulsed by political -strifes! How could it be otherwise, when all that is beautiful in the -heart, and sunshine in the intellect, is debased and destroyed? - -We may be told, that learning has flourished in other countries, under -similar inauspicious influences; that the mightiest geniuses the world -has ever seen, wrote their superior works under the frowns of -patronage. They were exceptions to all rule. There are few minds cast -in the same moulds as those of Cervantes, Petrarch, Dante, Shakspeare, -and Milton. If we mark the history of mankind, we will find, that there -are now and then, in almost every nation, some unconquerable minds that -would, in spite of circumstance, illumine the world. But the principle -is a natural one. Mankind are fond of the fame of the moment; self-love -is the predominant feature of human character. Men, in general, live -not for posthumous glory. The present is more selfish than past ages. -There is something exhilarating, spirit-stirring in the smiles and -praises of our own countrymen. Genius, or _holy ambition_, then, cannot -be aroused to vigorous action, unpatronized. Let it not be supposed, -that we would have the mind think for gold. We would have it -write,--and it would write, and that, too, with an immortal pen, in -lofty and impassioned strains,--under the favor and good-feeling of -society. But how can the literary mind be thus stimulated, when the -general feeling of society is diametrically opposite to its interests? -As well might we ascribe the splendid and magnificent architecture of -the pantheon, to the skill and workmanship of the unlettered barbarian. -We would not be misunderstood. We would not have our political -interests forgotten. We would have them engage a share, but not the -universal mind of the nation. We would have communities feel the same -degree of interest in literary as in political greatness. We would have -them combined; for their united results will increase our power, and -throw around the arch of our glory, a radiance, lovely and sublime. - -What periods in the history of mankind, are most distinguished for -mental superiority? When did Grecian literature assume its brightest -charms? Who has studied the character of the Pereclean age, and not -experienced feelings of inexpressible delight, as he then beheld the -mind in its noblest form? Then, the true value of mind was appreciated, -and its efforts liberally patronized. Munificent gifts were the reward -of mental exertion. Then, all grades of society, on the return of their -Olympia, assembled with joyful hearts, to celebrate the festivities of -mind. Then, art shone in original splendor; and science, in utility and -nobleness, was unrivalled. Then, the muses were courted in their -heavenly abodes, and Grecian poetry breathed a spirit of immortality. -The tragedies of _Euripides_ and _Sophocles_ still illume the path of -the modern dramatist. Then, the poor of Athens listened to the -instructions of the divine _Socrates_. Then, the sacred groves and -shades resounded to the eloquence of _Plato_, as the 'soul of -philosophy' flowed from his lips. Then, Athens became the magnificent -sun of all antiquity. It was no political age. All literary eras of the -modern world, are analagous to the Pereclean of the ancient world. The -most resplendent galaxys of modern mind have shone in times of the -greatest literary feeling and patronage. - -But this political influence of national feelings and interests will -not be confined to the people. It will, indeed it has, entered within -the walls of our academies and universities. Now, it is founded in -reason and experience, that in the morning bloom of a literature, there -is most need of active mental vigor. It requires untiring and -unrelenting strength, to raise the stately pyramid. Alladin's magic -lamp of Arabian story, is not an inheritance of this age. Such strength -is in youthful mental cultivation. This invigorating influence must -then come from our seats of learning. They are to our literature, what -the consecrated groves and shades of Athens were to the Grecian--the -resort of its protecting spirits. Here, the mind should be trained to -action, should commence its acquisitions in knowledge. Here, it should -be taught to think, and to feel, with depth and sublimity. Here, a -fondness for whatever is great or commanding in human thoughts, should -be created. Here, the characteristic features of such minds as -Shakspeare and Milton, Newton and Franklin, should be studied; for like -bright stars they will shed a cheering light on the obscure wanderings -of the youthful intellect. When such is the case, and it never can fail -to be, if our universities preserve their characters, the success of -American literature will rest on a steadfast foundation. But such -cannot be, when their interests and those of the people run in counter -channels. In a republic, where public opinion works such magic spells, -it is the interest of the minority to yield to its sway. Upon a -principle of human nature, the weak cling to the strong. Can, then, our -colleges maintain their high, original standing? They must conform, in -some degree, to the feelings of the mass of society. Besides, the youth -who resort to them, come from the people, and must necessarily bear -with them the malady of the people. Who will deny, that this political -spirit is now, in many instances, the great stimulus of the American -student? He seldom turns his aspiring gaze toward the celestial mount -of the muses. He looks abroad upon society, and marks its character. -His grasping mind longs for fame. He beholds but one road to -eminence--the political. He beholds the splendid career of the mighty -intellects of the land; marks a growing and powerful people doing them -reverence; hears their name trumpeted by a thousand tongues; and like -the Grecian hero, whose slumbers were troubled by the trophies of -Miltiades, he burns for action. Nor is this all. In the political -world, he sees mind battling with mind; all life, all activity, the -congenial elements of panting, fiery ambition. In the literary world, -he sees the mind pursuing a silent, unobserved, noiseless march; and -not dreaming of the unfading brightness of its matured glories, he -disdains its pursuits as unworthy of his attention. The result is -natural. The grand, animating, and powerful thoughts of the splendid -intellects of the past and the present, which, when sought, come all -eloquent from the living page, never breathe their inspiriting energies -into his mind. His course being finished, he rushes, full of sanguine -hope, on the theatre of action, unskilled and unprepared. His success -hangs on a point. An inordinate ambition urges him onward; he faces the -storms and tempests, and opposes the thousand counter currents which -run in, and keep in perpetual commotion the mountain wave of the -political sea. His career is about closing, and, as he imagines, the -diadem of glory about settling on his forehead; by some unforeseen -stroke of bad fortune, he is hurled from his high elevation, sinks, and -falls, and is heard of no more. In this way, many minds meet an -unhonored and untimely end--minds, that might have proved great and -useful to society--minds, which might have illuminated the arts and -sciences with improved splendor--minds, which might have been 'founts -of beauty' to our literature. - -What preserves, in its original strength and grandeur, the rich and -massy arch of German literature? The incomparable exertions of the -German student. The German student! whose mind knows no other commune -than the thoughts of the mighty dead. The German student! who knows the -power and majesty of truth, and thinks no care, nor labor, too great to -possess it; and whose intellectual eye takes in all that is lovely and -sublime in creation. The universities of Germany are unequalled in the -world. Is it wonderful that its literature is unequalled? But they are -supported by the good feeling of society. Let then the current of -public feeling be changed in our beloved land; let the American mind -feel sensible of the importance of youthful mental cultivation; let the -youthful intellect be taught to ascribe as much value, as much -greatness, and as much immortality, to literary as to political -interests. Let this be done, and our universities will surpass even -those of Germany; will furnish to their country, instead of Schillers -and Goethes, their prototypes, Shakspeares and Miltons. - -But apart from these impediments to American literature, there is -another. It glares in the face of every one. It lies in the periodical -press. The benefits and glories of the press are familiar to every -mind. Disseminating knowledge with unexampled rapidity, its influence -is spread over and reaches the extreme borders of society. Being a -universal mental aliment, it moulds, and fashions, and directs the -thoughts and feelings of the man. Thousands on thousands of minds are -developed by its effects, never enjoying any other. To the growing, -varied classes of our society, it is the only light of information. How -important that its action be pure, healthy, and vigorous! How important -that it be the vehicle of virtuous and elevated thought! How important -that it send forth on its hundred rapid wings and eloquence, which, -like the written eloquence of the lamented Grimke, more enduring than -marble or brass, should beautify the affections, and arouse to glorious -action the intellect of this and coming ages! Thus mighty in its -influence, and thus important in its character, it cannot maintain too -high, too noble a standard. It should imbody whatever is great and -excellent in human thought. It should teach the people how to apply the -principles of science to the arts; and, therefore, should ever -preserve, with vestal care, the temple of learning. In short, it should -be the tribunal of public taste--an ordeal of criticism--severe, but -highminded. Such being its characteristics, the periodical press will -be the strongest pillar that shall support the towering fabric of our -literature. It cannot fail to be, because through its instrumentality, -public feeling is formed and swayed; and we have seen, that the right -direction of this feeling will ever insure permanent, liberal, literary -patronage. But what is the general character of this branch of the -press? Is it a fountain from which flows the pure streams of knowledge? -Is it a messenger of eloquent and exalted thoughts? Is it a friend to -literature, or the efforts of original and powerful mind? Facts speak -to the contrary. The majority of our periodicals, bear upon their very -face, a political stamp. They contain in their broad folds, no more -than the creations of rankling and disappointed passion, of unripened -and undeveloped intellect. Do such minds as Johnson and Addison, spread -beauty and interest through their columns? How paltry, how much to be -lamented the spirit of their criticisms!--They breathe the essence of -fanaticism. True, we have a few quarterlys and monthlys, that rise -above the ordinary grade, and will compare, in all the excellencies of -thought, with any productions of the kind, in any country or clime. The -North American Review, is a fair and splendid specimen of what should -characterize that department of our literature. Who ever closed its -pages, beaming with a sun-like brilliancy, without having, in some -degree, his knowledge enriched, his taste refined, his thoughts -enlarged, and his intellect expanded? But shining only on the high -peaks of society, its glorious beams never find their way to the mass: -its influence, amid the universal debasement of the press, is unseen, -unfelt. We have, likewise, a few literary papers; but in the delicate -idea and beautiful expression of one of the contributors of the -Magazine, they are the mere "sprays of the intellectual wave." We -repeat it, the periodical press is, in the strongest sense of the word, -political. Now, it is plain to every observing mind, that being the -most influential, it should be the purest and noblest portion of our -literature. How far it falls short of such a standard, our national -mind has fatally experienced. Our country's glory and pride, our own -genius, our own talent, call loudly and decidedly for a reformation. - -We have now set forth a faint view of some of the impediments to the -growth of American literature. We have seen, that political pursuits do -not tend to the full development and vigor of the mind, and that -without such a cast of mind, there cannot be eloquent and sublime -mental action. We have seen, that our nation's mind is absorbed in -political interests; in short, that the age is too political. We would -ask, if there is no necessity of a change? He who feels the heavenly -glow of patriotic devotion, and hopes to see his country the brightest -star in the firmament of modern glory, will return an affirmative -response. - -Our literature has not, as yet, assumed any permanent form. Its -features are just beginning to develope. What character it will take, -we cannot judge with any degree of certainty. Now, it is a familiar -principle, that in the formation of the mind, there is need of the most -unceasing care and attention, to shape and direct its budding energies -to virtue and excellence. Let the American mind have this attention, -and we have a literature purer, nobler, and richer, than has ever -illumined mankind. Do we desire a glorious immortality? And is not -literary immortality--the mind set forth in visible, enchanting, and -enduring forms--far more desirable, than political? How has the -greatness and grandeur of all antiquity, been perpetuated? Who will -compare the Pereclean age of Greece--an age, as we have seen, when -literature shone purely, brightly--with those that followed, when -political feuds rent every state? Who will compare the fame of Homer, -the mirror-mind of the ancient world, with the most distinguished -politician of antiquity? of Milton, with that of Cromwell? of -Shakspeare, with that of the profoundest statesman of the Elizabethan -age. Political glory, is as the short-lived plant--literary, as the -majestic oak. Political glory, is as the flashing meteor--literary, as -the splendor of the noon-day sun. - -H. J. G. - - - - - From Mrs. Jamieson's Visits and Sketches. - -THE INDIAN MOTHER.[1] - - There is a comfort in the strength of love, - Making that pang endurable, which else - Would overset the brain--or break the heart. - _Wordsworth_. - -[Footnote 1: This little tale (written in 1830) is founded on a -striking incident related in Humboldt's narrative. The facts remain -unaltered.] - - -The monuments which human art has raised to human pride or power may -decay with that power, or survive to mock that pride; but sooner or -later they perish--their place knows them not. In the aspect of a ruin, -however imposing in itself, and however magnificent or dear the -associations connected with it, there is always something sad and -humiliating, reminding us how poor and how frail are the works of man, -how unstable his hopes, and how limited his capacity compared to his -aspirations! But when man has made to himself monuments of the works of -God; when the memory of human affections, human intellect, human power, -is blended with the immutable features of nature, they consecrate each -other, and both endure together to the end. In a state of high -civilization, man trusts to the record of brick and marble--the -pyramid, the column, the temple, the tomb: - - "Then the bust - And altar rise--then sink again to dust." - -In the earlier stages of society, the isolated rock--the mountain, -cloud-encircled--the river, rolling to its ocean-home--the very stars -themselves--were endued with sympathies, and constituted the first, as -they will be the last, witnesses and records of our human destinies and -feelings. The glories of the Parthenon shall fade into oblivion; but -while the heights of Thermopylć stand, and while a wave murmurs in the -gulph of Salamis, a voice shall cry aloud to the universe--"Freedom and -glory to those who can dare to die!--woe and everlasting infamy to him -who would enthral the unconquerable spirit!" The Coliseum with its -sanguinary trophies is crumbling to decay; but the islet of Nisida, -where Brutus parted with his Portia--the steep of Leucadia, still -remain fixed as the foundations of the earth; and lasting as the round -world itself shall be the memories that hover over them! As long as the -waters of the Hellespont flow between Sestos and Abydos, the fame of -the love that perished there shall never pass away. A traveller, -pursuing his weary way through the midst of an African desert--a -barren, desolate, and almost boundless solitude--found a gigantic -sculptured head, shattered and half-buried in the sand; and near it the -fragment of a pedestal, on which these words might be with pain -deciphered: "_I am Ozymandias, King of kings; look upon my works, ye -mighty ones, and despair!_" Who was Ozymandias?--where are now his -works?--what bond of thought or feeling, links his past with our -present? The Arab, with his beasts of burthen, tramples unheeding over -these forlorn vestiges of human art and human grandeur. In the wildest -part of the New Continent, hidden amid the depths of interminable -forests, there stands a huge rock, hallowed by a tradition so recent -that the man is not yet gray-headed who was born its contemporary; but -that rock, and the tale which consecrates it, shall carry down to -future ages a deep lesson--a moral interest lasting as itself--however -the aspect of things and the conditions of people change around it. -Henceforth no man shall gaze on it with careless eye; but each shall -whisper to his own bosom--"What is stronger than love in a mother's -heart?--what more fearful than power wielded by ignorance?--or what -more lamentable than the abuse of a beneficent name to purposes of -selfish cruelty?" - -Those vast regions which occupy the central part of South America, -stretching from Guinea to the foot of the Andes, overspread with -gigantic and primeval forests, and watered by mighty rivers--those -solitary wilds where man appears unessential in the scale of creation, -and the traces of his power are few and far between--have lately -occupied much of the attention of Europeans; partly from the -extraordinary events and unexpected revolutions; which have convulsed -the nations round them; and partly from the researches of enterprising -travellers who have penetrated into their remotest districts. But till -within the last twenty years these wild regions have been unknown, -except through the means of the Spanish and Portuguese priests, settled -as missionaries along the banks of the Orinoco and the Paraguay. The -men thus devoted to utter banishment from all intercourse with -civilized life, are generally Franciscan or Capuchin friars, born in -the Spanish colonies. Their pious duties are sometimes voluntary, and -sometimes imposed by the superiors of their order; in either case their -destiny appears at first view deplorable, and their self-sacrifice -sublime; yet, when we recollect that these poor monks generally -exchanged the monotonous solitude of the cloister for the magnificent -loneliness of the boundless woods and far-spreading savannahs, the -sacrifice appears less terrible; even where accompanied by suffering, -privation, and occasionally by danger. When these men combine with -their religious zeal some degree of understanding and enlightened -benevolence, they have been enabled to enlarge the sphere of knowledge -and civilization, by exploring the productions and geography of these -unknown regions; and by collecting into villages and humanizing the -manners of the native tribes, who seem strangely to unite the fiercest -and most abhorred traits of savage life, with some of the gentlest -instincts of our common nature. But when it has happened that these -priests have been men of narrow minds and tyrannical tempers, they have -on some occasions fearfully abused the authority entrusted to them; and -being removed many thousand miles from the European settlements and the -restraint of the laws, the power they have exercised has been as far -beyond control as the calamities they have caused have been beyond all -remedy and all relief. - -Unfortunately for those who were trusted to his charge, Father Gomez -was a missionary of this character. He was a Franciscan friar of the -order of Observance, and he dwelt in the village of San Fernando, near -the source of the Orinoco, whence his authority extended as president -over several missions in the neighborhood of which San Fernando was the -capital. The temper of this man was naturally cruel and despotic; he -was wholly uneducated, and had no idea, no feeling, of the true spirit -of christian benevolence: in this respect, the savages whom he had been -sent to instruct and civilize were in reality less savage and less -ignorant than himself. - -Among the passions and vices which Father Gomez had brought from his -cell in the convent of Angostara, to spread contamination and -oppression through his new domain, were pride and avarice; and both -were interested in increasing the number of his converts or rather of -his slaves. In spite of the wise and humane law of Charles the Third, -prohibiting the conversion of the Indian natives by force, Gomez, like -others of his brethren in the more distant missions, often accomplished -his purpose by direct violence. He was accustomed to go, with a party -of his people, and lie in wait near the hordes of unreclaimed Indians: -when the men were absent he would forcibly seize on the women and -children, bind them, and bring them off in triumph to his village. -There, being baptized and taught to make the sign of the cross, they -were _called_ Christians, but in reality were slaves. In general, the -women thus detained pined away and died; but the children became -accustomed to their new mode of life, forgot their woods, and paid to -their Christian master a willing and blind obedience; thus in time they -became the oppressors of their own people. - -Father Gomez called these incursions, _la conquista espiritual_--the -conquest of souls. - -One day he set off on an expedition of this nature, attended by twelve -armed Indians; and after rowing some leagues up the river Guaviare, -which flows into the Orinoco, they perceived through an opening in the -trees, and at a little distance from the shore, an Indian hut. It is -the custom of these people to live isolated in families; and so strong -is their passion for solitude, that when collected into villages they -frequently build themselves a little cabin at a distance from their -usual residence, and retire to it, at certain seasons, for days -together. The cabin of which I speak was one of these solitary -_villas_--if I may so apply the word. It was constructed with peculiar -neatness, thatched with palm leaves, and over-shadowed with cocoa trees -and laurels; it stood alone in the wilderness, embowered with luxuriant -vegetation, and looked like the chosen abode of simple and quiet -happiness. Within this hut a young Indian woman (whom I shall call -Guahiba, from the name of her tribe) was busied in making cakes of the -cassava root, and preparing the family meal, against the return of her -husband, who was fishing at some distance up the river; her eldest -child, about five or six years old, assisted her; and from time to -time, while thus employed, the mother turned her eyes, beaming with -fond affection, upon the playful gambols of two little infants, who, -being just able to crawl alone, were rolling together on the ground, -laughing and crowing with all their might. - -Their food being nearly prepared, the Indian woman looked towards the -river, impatient for the return of her husband. But her bright dark -eyes, swimming with eagerness and affectionate solicitude, became fixed -and glazed with terror when, instead of him she so fondly expected, she -beheld the attendants of Father Gomez, creeping stealthily along the -side of the thicket towards her cabin. Instantly aware of her danger -(for the nature and object of these incursions were the dread of all -the country round) she uttered a piercing shriek, snatched up her -infants in her arms, and, calling on the other to follow, rushed from -the hut towards the forest. As she had considerably the start of her -pursuers, she would probably have escaped, and have hidden herself -effectually in its tangled depths, if her precious burthen had not -impeded her flight; but thus encumbered she was easily overtaken. Her -eldest child, fleet of foot and wily as the young jaguar, escaped to -carry to the wretched father the news of his bereavement, and neither -father nor child were ever more beheld in their former haunts. - -Meantime, the Indians seized upon Guahiba--bound her, tied her two -children together, and dragged her down to the river, where Father -Gomez was sitting in his canoe, waiting the issue of the expedition. At -the sight of the captives his eye sparkled with a cruel triumph; he -thanked his patron saint that three more souls were added to his -community; and then, heedless of the tears of the mother, and the cries -of her children, he commanded his followers to row back with all speed -to San Fernando. - -There Guahiba and her infants were placed in a hut under the guard of -two Indians; some food was given to her, which she at first refused, -but afterward, as if on reflection, accepted. A young Indian girl was -then sent to her--a captive convert of her own tribe, who had not yet -quite forgotten her native language. She tried to make Guahiba -comprehend that in this village she and her children must remain during -the rest of their lives, in order that they might go to heaven after -they were dead. Guahiba listened, but understood nothing of what was -addressed to her; nor could she be made to conceive for what purpose -she was torn from her husband and her home, nor why she was to dwell -for the remainder of her life among a strange people, and against her -will. During that night she remained tranquil, watching over her -infants as they slumbered by her side; but the moment the dawn -appeared, she took them in her arms and ran off to the woods. She was -immediately brought back; but no sooner were the eyes of her keepers -turned from her than she snatched up her children, and again -fled;--again--and again! At every new attempt she was punished with -more and more severity; she was kept from food, and at length -repeatedly and cruelty beaten. In vain!--apparently she did not even -understand why she was thus treated; and one instinctive idea alone, -the desire of escape, seemed to possess her mind and govern all her -movements. If her oppressors only turned from her, or looked another -way, for an instant, she invariably caught up her children and ran off -towards the forest. Father Gomez was at length wearied by what he -termed her "blind obstinacy;" and, as the only means of securing all -three, he took measures to separate the mother from her children, and -resolved to convey Guahiba to a distant mission, whence she should -never find her way back either to them or to her home. - -In pursuance of this plan, poor Guahiba, with her hands tied behind -her, was placed in the bow of a canoe. Father Gomez seated himself at -the helm, and they rowed away. - -The few travellers who have visited these regions agree in describing a -phenomenon, the cause of which is still a mystery to geologists, and -which imparts to the lonely depths of these unappropriated and -unviolated shades an effect intensely and indescribably mournful. The -granite rocks which border the river, and extend far into the -contiguous woods, assume strange, fantastic shapes; and are covered -with a black incrustation, or deposit, which contrasted with the -snow-white foam of the waves breaking on them below, and the pale -lichens which spring from their crevices and creep along their surface -above, give these shores an aspect perfectly funereal. Between these -melancholy rocks--so high and so steep that a landing place seldom -occurred for leagues together--the canoe of Father Gomez slowly glided, -though urged against the stream by eight robust Indians. - -The unhappy Guahiba sat at first perfectly unmoved, and apparently -amazed and stunned by her situation; she did not comprehend what they -were going to do with her; but after a while she looked up towards the -sun, then down upon the stream; and perceiving, by the direction of the -one and the course of the other, that every stroke of the oar carried -her farther and farther from her beloved and helpless children, her -husband, and her native home, her countenance was seen to change and -assume a fearful expression. As the possibility of escape, in her -present situation, had never once occurred to her captors, she had been -very slightly and carelessly bound. She watched her opportunity, burst -the withes on her arms, with a sudden effort flung herself overboard, -and dived under the waves; but in another moment she rose again at a -considerable distance, and swam to the shore. The current, being rapid -and strong, carried her down to the base of a dark granite rock which -projected into the stream; she climbed it with fearless agility, stood -for an instant on its summit, looking down upon her tyrants, then -plunged into the forest, and was lost to sight. - -Father Gomez, beholding his victim thus unexpectedly escape him, sat -mute and thunderstruck for some moments, unable to give utterance to -the extremity of his rage and astonishment. When, at length, he found -voice, he commanded his Indians to pull with all their might to the -shore; then to pursue the poor fugitive, and bring her back to him, -dead or alive. - -Guahiba, meantime, while strength remained to break her way through the -tangled wilderness, continued her flight; but soon exhausted and -breathless, with the violence of her exertions, she was obliged to -relax in her efforts, and at length sunk down at the foot of a huge -laurel tree, where she concealed herself, as well as she might, among -the long, interwoven grass. There, crouching and trembling in her lair, -she heard the voices of her persecutors hallooing to each other through -the thicket. She would probably have escaped but for a large mastiff -which the Indians had with them, and which scented her out in her -hiding place. The moment she heard the dreaded animal snuffing in the -air, and tearing his way through the grass, she knew she was lost. The -Indians came up. She attempted no vain resistance; but, with a sullen -passiveness, suffered herself to be seized and dragged to the shore. - -When the merciless priest beheld her, he determined to inflict on her -such discipline as he thought would banish her children from her -memory, and cure her forever of her passion for escaping. He ordered -her to be stretched upon that granite rock where she had landed from -the canoe, on the summit of which she had stood, as if exulting in her -flight,--THE ROCK OF THE MOTHER, as it has ever since been -denominated--and there flogged till she could scarcely move or speak. -She was then bound more securely, placed in the canoe, and carried to -Javita, the seat of a mission far up the river. - -It was near sunset when they arrived at this village, and the -inhabitants were preparing to go to rest. Guahiba was deposited for the -night in a large barn-like building, which served as a place of -worship, a public magazine, and, occasionally, as a barrack. Father -Gomez ordered two or three Indians of Javita to keep guard over her -alternately, relieving each other through the night; and then went to -repose himself after the fatigues of his voyage. As the wretched -captive neither resisted nor complained, Father Gomez flattered himself -that she was now reduced to submission. Little could he fathom the -bosom of this fond mother! He mistook for stupor, or resignation, the -calmness of a fixed resolve. In absence, in bonds, and in torture, her -heart throbbed with but one feeling; one thought alone possessed her -whole soul:--her children--her children--and still her children! - -Among the Indians appointed to watch her was a youth about eighteen or -nineteen years of age, who, perceiving that her arms were miserably -bruised by the stripes she had received, and that she suffered the most -acute agony from the savage tightness with which the cords were drawn, -let fall an exclamation of pity in the language of her tribe. Quick she -seized the moment of feeling, and addressed him as one of her people. - -"Guahibo," she said, in a whispered tone, "thou speakest my language, -and doubtless thou art my brother! Wilt thou see me perish without -pity, O son of my people? Ah, cut these bonds which enter into my -flesh! I faint with pain! I die!" - -The young man heard, and, as if terrified, removed a few paces from her -and kept silence. Afterward, when his companions were out of sight, and -he was left alone to watch, he approached, and said, "Guahiba!--our -fathers were the same, and I may not see thee die; but if I cut these -bonds, white man will flog me:--wilt thou be content if I loosen them, -and give thee ease?" And as he spoke, he stooped and loosened the -thongs on her wrists and arms; she smiled upon him languidly, and -appeared satisfied. - -Night was now coming on. Guahiba dropped her head on her bosom, and -closed her eyes, as if exhausted by weariness. The young Indian -believing that she slept, after some hesitation laid himself down on -his mat. His companions were already slumbering in the porch of the -building, and all was still. - -Then Guahiba raised her head. It was night--dark night--without moon or -star. There was no sound, except the breathing of the sleepers around -her, and the humming of the moschetos. She listened for some time with -her whole soul; but all was silence. She then gnawed the loosened -thongs asunder with her teeth. Her hands once free, she released her -feet: and when the morning came she had disappeared. Search was made -for her in every direction, but in vain; and Father Gomez, baffled and -wrathful, returned to his village. - -The distance between Javita and San Fernando, where Guahiba had left -her infants, is twenty-five leagues in a straight line. A fearful -wilderness of gigantic forest trees, and intermingling underwood, -separated these two missions;--a savage and awful solitude, which, -probably, since the beginning of the world, had never been trodden by -human foot. All communication was carried on by the river; and there -lived not a man, whether Indian or European, bold enough to have -attempted the route along the shore. It was the commencement of the -rainy season. The sky, obscured by clouds, seldom revealed the sun by -day; and neither moon nor gleam of twinkling star by night. The rivers -had overflowed, and the lowlands were inundated. There was no visible -object to direct the traveller; no shelter, no defence, no aid, no -guide. Was it Providence--was it the strong instinct of maternal love, -which led this courageous woman through the depths of the pathless -woods--where rivulets, swollen to torrents by the rains, intercepted -her at every step; where the thorny lianas, twining from tree to tree, -opposed an almost impenetrable barrier; where the moschetos hung in -clouds upon her path; where the jaguar and the alligator lurked to -devour her; where the rattle-snake and the water-serpent lay coiled up -in the damp grass, ready to spring at her; where she had no food to -support her exhausted frame, but a few berries, and the large black -ants which build their nests on the trees? How directed--how -sustained--cannot be told: the poor woman herself could not tell. All -that can be known with any certainty is, that the fourth rising sun -beheld her at San Fernando; a wild, and wasted, and fearful object; her -feet swelled and bleeding--her hands torn--her body covered with -wounds, and emaciated with famine and fatigue;--but once more near her -children! - -For several hours she hovered round the hut in which she had left them, -gazing on it from a distance with longing eyes and a sick heart, -without daring to advance: at length she perceived that all the -inhabitants had quitted their cottages to attend vespers; then she -stole from the thicket, and approached, with faint and timid steps, the -spot which contained her heart's treasures. She entered, and found her -infants left alone, and playing together on a mat: they screamed at her -appearance, so changed was she by suffering; but when she called them -by name, they knew her tender voice, and stretched out their little -arms towards her. In that moment the mother forgot all she had -endured--all her anguish, all her fears, every thing on earth but the -objects which blessed her eyes. She sat down between her children--she -took them on her knees--she clasped them in an agony of fondness to her -bosom--she covered them with kisses--she shed torrents of tears on -their little heads, as she hugged them to her. Suddenly she remembered -where she was, and why she was there: new terrors seized her; she rose -up hastily, and, with her babies in her arms, she staggered out of the -cabin--fainting, stumbling, and almost blind with loss of blood and -inanition. She tried to reach the woods, but too feeble to sustain her -burthen, which yet she would not relinquish, her limbs trembled, and -sank beneath her. At this moment an Indian, who was watching the public -oven, perceived her. He gave the alarm by ringing a bell, and the -people rushed forth, gathering round Guahiba with fright and -astonishment. They gazed upon her as if upon an apparition, till her -sobs, and imploring looks, and trembling and wounded limbs, convinced -them that she yet lived, though apparently nigh to death. They looked -upon her in silence, and then at each other; their savage bosoms were -touched with commiseration for her sad plight, and with admiration, and -even awe, at this unexampled heroism of maternal love. - -While they hesitated, and none seemed willing to seize her, or to take -her children from her, Father Gomez, who had just landed on his return -from Javita, approached in haste, and commanded them to be separated. -Guahiba clasped her children closer to her breast, and the Indians -shrunk back. - -"What!" thundered the monk: "will ye suffer the woman to steal two -precious souls from heaven? two members from our community? See ye not, -that while she is suffered to approach them, there is no salvation for -either mother or children? part them, and instantly!" - -The Indians, accustomed to his ascendancy, and terrified at his voice, -tore the children of Guahiba once more from her feeble arms: she -uttered nor word nor cry, but sunk in a swoon upon the earth. - -While in this state, Father Gomez, with a cruel mercy, ordered her -wounds to be carefully dressed: her arms and legs were swathed with -cotton bandages; she was then placed in a canoe, and conveyed to a -mission, far, far off, on the river Esmeralda, beyond the Upper -Orinoco. She continued in a state of exhaustion and torpor during the -voyage; but after being taken out of the boat and carried inland, -restoratives brought her back to life, and to a sense of her situation. -When she perceived, as reason and consciousness returned, that she was -in a strange place, unknowing how she was brought there--among a tribe -who spoke a language different from any she had ever heard before, and -from whom, therefore, according to Indian prejudices, she could hope -nor aid nor pity;--when she recollected that she was far from her -beloved children;--when she saw no means of discovering the bearing or -the distance of their abode--no clue to guide her back to it:--_then_, -and only then, did the mother's heart yield to utter despair; and -thence forward refusing to speak or to move, and obstinately rejecting -all nourishment, thus she died. - -The boatman, on the river Atabapo, suspends his oar with a sigh as he -passes the ROCK OF THE MOTHER. He points it out to the traveller, and -weeps as he relates the tale of her sufferings and her fate. Ages -hence, when these solitary regions have become the seats of -civilization, of power, and intelligence; when the pathless wilds which -poor Guahiba traversed in her anguish, are replaced by populous cities, -and smiling gardens, and pastures, and waving harvests,--still that -dark rock shall stand, frowning o'er the stream; tradition and history -shall preserve its name and fame; and when even the pyramids, those -vast, vain monuments to human pride, have passed away, it shall endure, -to carry down to the end of the world the memory of the Indian Mother. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -NOTE TO BLACKSTONE'S COMMENTARIES, - -VOL. I. PAGE 423. - -_Being the Substance of Remarks on the Subject of Domestic Slavery, -delivered to the Law Class of William and Mary College, December 2d, -1834_. - - -This subject is too interesting to be passed in silence. The time too -is rife with proofs, that unless we mean tamely to surrender a most -important interest, we must hold ourselves always on the alert to -defend it with tongue and pen. - -The short and compendious argument of the commentator, and his -confident and peremptory judgment, seem to place us in the condition of -convicted delinquents, and hardly to leave us the poor privilege of -saying one word why sentence should not be passed upon us. And yet I -hope to show, that this argument, so specious, is not less superficial, -and that the conclusion, so promptly reached, has been attained by -overlooking the most important considerations involved in the subject. - -It was natural, and it was right, that Mr. Blackstone should manifest a -zeal for the institutions of his own country, disposing him to excuse -what might be amiss, to vindicate what might be questionable, and to -place in the highest relief and in the most favorable light whatever is -praiseworthy. But while I acknowledge this, I cannot allow to him, and -them who think with him, a monopoly of this pious reverence for the -institutions of their forefathers. I would rather follow their example, -and, cherishing this sentiment so essential to the preservation of -every thing that is valuable, would ask, on behalf of it, the like -indulgence to what may be urged in defence of domestic slavery. - -I shall not stop to show (what is incontestibly true) that it has done -more to elevate a degraded race in the scale of humanity; to tame the -savage; to civilize the barbarous; to soften the ferocious; to -enlighten the ignorant; and to spread the blessings of christianity -among the heathen, than all the missionaries that philanthropy and -religion have ever sent forth. This would be no vindication, for he who -can make the wrath of man to praise him; who can overrule evil, and -make it an instrument of good, might have made it conducive to these -ends, however wicked in itself it might be. "Be it a spirit of health, -or goblin damned," on _his_ errand it has gone forth. "Be its intents -wicked or charitable," it is _his_ instrument, in _his_ hands, doing -_his_ work. When that is done, and not till then, it will cease, as -will all things else, when their appointed course is run, and their -appointed end fulfilled. - -It is hardly necessary to expose the sophistry by which Mr. Blackstone -affects to prove, that slavery cannot have had a lawful origin. We do -not pretend to trace our title to its source. We have no call to sit in -judgment between the conquered African and his conqueror. We rest our -defence on principles which legitimate our title, whatever its origin -may have been. Yet it may not be amiss to say a few words to show the -fallacy of those plausible and imposing dogmas, with which we too often -suffer ourselves to be talked down. - -"Slavery," says Mr. Blackstone, "cannot originate in compact, because -the transaction excludes the idea of an equivalent." For an answer to -this specious fallacy, I shall content myself by referring you to the -masterly essay of Professor Dew, who has so clearly exposed it as to -leave me nothing to add. - -But the commentator farther tells us, that "slavery cannot lawfully -originate in _conquest_, as a commutation for the right to kill; -because this right rests on necessity; and this necessity plainly does -not exist, because the victor does not kill his adversary, but makes -him captive." Is this a fair inference? Let us examine it. - -There is a triple alternative in the case: to kill, to enslave, or to -set at large. It may be practicable to do either of the two first; and -yet dangerous in the extreme to do the last. With a savage and -treacherous foe it is always so, unless his power of annoyance be -completely annihilated. And how can this be between two tribes of -nearly equal force? Among such is one victory an assured pledge of -future and _bloodless_ victory to the end of time? May it not, must it -not, often be, that the victorious party can have no security against -future and fatal mischief, but in the destruction, or something -equivalent to the destruction, of the vanquished? This is obtained by -deportation to distant lands, by which alone, or by incarceration, or -something equivalent, or by extermination, or a near approach to -extermination, the enmity of a savage neighbor ever can be rendered -harmless. The necessity of the case, so long as it exists, justifies -the choice of these alternatives. Among these, no argument is necessary -to prove that foreign slavery is the mildest. But were this not so, the -laws even of civilized war do not peremptorily dictate to the victor -the choice he shall make among these remedies. He may kill; he may -incarcerate; or he may enlarge on parol, clogged with such conditions -as he may please to prescribe, according to the nature and measure of a -necessity, of which he is the only judge.[1] - -[Footnote 1: It may be said that the laws of civilized war do not -permit that prisoners be slain or incarcerated; for that if this be -done, _the other party may retaliate_. This will prove, that he who is -cruel to his prisoners, _does a wrong to his own people who may happen -to be in his enemy's hands_; but that is all. The laws of civilized -warfare acknowledge the right to retaliate, and therefore _make a -case_, if there was no other, where slavery by conquest would be -lawful. Even though he who first enslaves his prisoners be wrong; yet -_ex concessis_ he who retaliates is right. Can Mr. Blackstone tell us -which of the savage African chiefs began the game?] - -When Col. Campbell, at the head of a few militia, stooped from the -mountains of Virginia on Carolina, and bore off the corps of Col. -Fergusson in his pounces, had he been pursued and overtaken by -Tarleton, he must have killed his prisoners. He could not have held -them, and to have enlarged them would have been to sacrifice the lives -of thousands. He who doubts this, knows nothing of the horrors of the -tory war that raged in that quarter. If he had had no place of refuge, -he might have handed them over to any custody, civilized or savage, in -which they might have been removed from the theatre of war. This is one -example among ten thousand, to show that the captivity of an enemy by -no means implies the security of the captor, should he allow his -prisoner to go free. The snared tiger is in your power: you may kill -him--you may cage him. "_Therefore_," says Mr. Blackstone, "you are -under no necessity to do either, and the noble beast has a fair claim -to his liberty." - -But I have given too many words to the exposure of this grave -sophistry. In self-defence it might have been pardoned; in crimination -it is intolerable. - -But, as I remarked in the outset, we have nothing to do with the origin -of any particular _mode_ of slavery. In some shape or other it exists, -and has existed every where, since first the decree went forth, which -cursed the earth, and denounced to man, "that in the sweat of his face -he should eat the fruit thereof." Here is its origin; and, as might be -expected of any thing so originating, the thing is evil in itself, and -in all its modes. The problem is to choose among them. To the practical -man it is a thing of small difficulty; _left to itself_, it assumes, in -every country, the form and texture best suited to the physical -peculiarities of that country, and the condition of society there. But -we have grown so wise, that we leave nothing to itself. The world is -full of associations and combinations of men, who make it the business -of their lives to regulate every thing but what concerns themselves. We -every where find a sort of moral treasuries of supererogatory virtue, -made up by voluntary contribution, for the benefit of all who do not -affect to be wiser and better than their fathers. Turn where we will, -we have the edifying spectacle of one half the world repenting for the -sins of the other half. - -While the discussion of this subject was confined to ourselves; while -they who denounced the practice of domestic slavery were such as could -not condemn others, without standing self-condemned, we heard them -patiently, as we hear from the pulpit the meek expostulations of the -humble and contrite. Their interest afforded a pledge that they would -not rashly carry their doctrines into practice: their self-rebukes -excused them from the charge of arrogance; and the sincerity of their -enthusiasm commanded our respect and sympathy. But since we have seen -one community rashly overturning the domestic institutions of another; -and hear from our northern neighbors an avowal of the like benevolent -design toward us, it is time to look into the subject more narrowly. -Let us understand it well. If we are wrong, the discovery of our fault -may prepare us to bear, with becoming meekness, the impending judgment. -If we are right, an understanding conviction that we are so, may be -necessary to man our hearts and brace our nerves for the impending -struggle. - -I have said that slavery exists every where--originating in the decree -which makes labor the price of subsistence. The correlative of this -proposition is that _subsistence_ is the _wages_ of labor. I shall pass -by the hackneyed topic of the process by which it inevitably happens, -in all societies, that some men rise to affluence, while others remain -as they began. So it ever has been, is, and will be, whether we find -out how it comes to pass or no. There will be rich and poor. The rich -man will not dig the earth: the poor man must. He becomes the rich -man's servant, and the wages of his abject toil are food and raiment. -This, his condition, is compulsory and inevitable; and compulsory toil -for food and raiment,--what is it but slavery? True, the compulsion is -not that of his fellow-worm. But is it the less crushing, because it is -enforced by one from whose power there is no escape? - -But are food and raiment the wages to which labor is every where -stinted? Yes. Circumstances may make occasional differences in the -price of labor, as in the settlement of a new country; but the same law -which governs the price of every thing else, governs also the price of -labor. This is, in every case, the cost of production; and food and -raiment are the cost of the production of labor. - -A few remarks will show the modifications to which this rule is -subject, and will prove, that strictly speaking, it admits of no -exception, though its modifications may occasionally afford, to -individuals, an escape from the _class_ of _laborers_ into that of -_employers_. - -In a society perfectly stationary, (if there be such a thing,) where -the wants of the whole community, and the nature and amount of labor -necessary to supply those wants, and the subjects of labor are the same -from generation to generation, there will be a steady demand for a new -laborer, to supply the place of each one that dies off. Hence the -average wages will be such as to enable each pair to produce and bring -forward another pair; or, in other words, they will enable a man and -his wife to rear two children. If, on an average, they are more than -this, then on an average, more than two children will be reared; the -number of laborers will be increased; the supply will exceed the -demand; the competition will reduce wages below the standard of the -cost of production, until the surplus laborers are starved off; and -they will then return to that standard, and settle there. - -In a society retrograde in its condition, the average of wages will be -less than enough to support a laboring pair and two children. There -will always be a stock of surplus labor to be starved off, and a ragged -lazaroni will mark this condition of society. - -In a society advancing in all things, there must be an increasing -supply to keep up with the increasing demand. Competition among -employers will enhance the price of labor, and this will enable the -laboring class to reproduce itself in an increasing ratio. And this it -will do, for he who said "increase and multiply, and replenish the -earth," has commanded it. - -It is thus perfectly true of _labor_, and the _laboring class -collectively_, that the cost of production is the measure of price; and -that food and raiment for the laborer of today, and for those future -laborers who are rising up to supply the future demand, are all that -enter into the cost of production. The seeming exceptions to the rule -do but confirm it, and show how its author has rivetted it on the necks -of men, _that they shall not escape from it_. It is the brazen collar -which marks the laborer "THE BORN THRALL OF NECESSITY." His wages are -never increased beyond the wants of his own individual nature, but for -a purpose, to which the law of that nature makes it sure that he will -apply them; the reproduction of _just so many_ others (neither more nor -less) as the exigencies of society may require, to follow in the same -dull round of labor in which his life has been spent. - -There will indeed be individuals who may seem to form exceptions to -this rule, in every state of society. The laborer, whose superior -strength or skill commands more than the average of wages, will have -something to spare. So too, he who, from prudence or coldness, remains -unmarried; because his wages are established according to an average of -the necessities of the laboring class, from a part of which he keeps -himself exempt. Such a man, if industrious, frugal, provident and -thrifty, will improve in condition, and eventually _emerge from the -class of laborers into that of employers_. But the condition of _the -class_ remains unchanged. As _he_ rose from it, some one, unperceived, -came into it, to supply his place; and others to meet the new demand -occasioned by the addition of one more to the number of employers. Thus -it is, and so it must be, that the proportional number of the laboring -class never diminishes, while society advances; and, the more rapid the -advancement of the whole, the greater the proportion of laborers to -employers, and the greater the competition for employment. There is, of -course, a progressive reduction in the price of labor, accompanying -this progressive increase of the number condemned, by impealable laws, -to this low and hard condition.--There they are, forever toiling and -sweating in the dark and cheerless abodes of poverty, aliens to the -society in which they breathe, whose comforts are ever in an inverse -ratio to the sum of general prosperity. - -But "in this lowest depth there is yet a lower deep." While superior -strength and skill, and exemption from family burdens, enable some to -escape to the upper air, others, under the pressure of disease, -infirmity and numerous children, sink into that gulph from which there -is no return. Of these we take no note. The few whom fortune favors, -come with _eclat_ upon the stage of higher life, and are pointed out as -brilliant examples of the blessings of a system of free labor. The -countless victims of her malice - - "Drop from existence like the withered leaf - That from the summer tree is swept away, - Its loss unseen." - -This compendious view of the condition of what is called "_free -labor_," in the various stages of society, is verified by the -observations and explained by the researches of the political -economists. I take it as I receive it from them, confirmed in my -conviction of its truth, by my own experience and reflections. - -Let us place along side of this a view of the condition of slave labor, -as ascertained by observation, and by the laws that determine that -condition. - -Of slave labor then, as of free labor, it may be said, that its wages -are food and raiment for the laborer of to-day, and for those future -laborers who are rising up to supply the future demand. Thus much they -have in common. I shall not pretend to point out all the differences -between the two, but shall remark on some of the most obvious and -important. - -To the slave these wages are paid in kind, and can therefore be always -made precisely adequate, and no more. To the free man they are paid in -money, and may become deficient or superfluous, from a state of -scarcity or abundance. In the last case a slight advantage is afforded -to those who need it least; in the first a ruinous loss is sustained by -those least able to bear it. - -To the slave, his due proportion of the common fund, paid to labor as a -whole, is measured out with unerring accuracy. Among free laborers, -some receive too much, and others, in a like degree, too little. For be -it remembered, that the average wages of free labor are given, not -merely as the price of the labor of the day, but also to indemnify the -daily expense of producing that amount of future labor, which the -future demand is to render necessary. He therefore who labors only, but -rears no children, receives more than his just share. He defrauds the -concern, by drawing from the common income a portion he has not earned; -while others, whom nature has burdened with more than the due -proportion of children, earn more than they receive, and suffer for -want of the necessaries of life. This is historically as well as -theoretically true. - -The slave is said to labor, uncheered by hope. This may be so. To those -who know him best, he certainly seems a stranger to despair. -Metaphysicians, I think, tell us that _hope will not be without its -objects_. But it must be confessed there are things which the slave -cannot hope for, though the freeman may. On the other hand, he is free -from many anxieties to which the freeman is exposed. In this sense of -security he has something which may well be offset against the -freeman's hopes, and which some (and they not the least wise) may deem -a fair equivalent to men of sordid habits and untaught minds; and such -are the great body of laborers, bond or free. - -Among slaves, the _individual_ is the slave of an _individual_ master. -Among free laborers, the _class_ is held in vassalage by the _class_ of -employers. Collectively the one class may be said to be the slave of -the other. I shall not go into a minute examination of this matter. As -our controversy is with Mr. Blackstone, I shall use no authority -against him but his own. Hear what he says of the law of England, his -boasted home of freedom. "All single men between _twelve_ years old and -_sixty_, and married ones under thirty years of age, and all single -women between twelve and forty, not having any visible livelihood, are -_compelled, by two justices_, to go out to service in husbandry or -certain specific trades." This is as much as to say, "they who can only -live by labor shall be made to labor." What more do we? They compel him -to choose a master. We appropriate his labor to a master to whom use -and a common interest attach him, and who is generally the master of -his choice. The wages of both are the same. - -In sickness, the slave looks for support to a master who is interested -to maintain and cherish him, and who, for the most part, knows and -loves him. What is the freeman's equivalent? Hear Mr. -Blackstone:--"There is no man so wretched or indigent, but he may -demand a supply sufficient for all the necessities of life, from the -more opulent part of the community, by means of the several statutes -enacted for the relief of the poor. _A humane provision;_ yet, though -dictated by the principles of society, discountenanced by the Roman -laws. For the edicts of the Emperor Constantine, commanding the public -to maintain the children of those who were unable to provide for them, -_in order to prevent the murder and exposure of infants_, were rejected -in Justinian's collection." Who ever heard of infanticide by a slave? - -It is here; on this very point, of the necessity of forcing those to -labor who are unable to live honestly without labor, that we base the -defence of our system. That such compulsion is often necessary, all -reason and experience prove. But to a people jealous of freedom, it is -a delicate question whether such a power over the citizen can be safely -trusted to the municipal authority. To make it effectual it must be a -power dangerous to liberty. It could never be carried into effect, but -by a degree of rigor which must bow the spirit of the laborer and -effectually disqualify him for the political functions of a sovereign -citizen. It might be too much to say, that this consideration alone -would warrant the _introduction_ of domestic slavery. _Lycurgus thought -so._ But we, _finding it among us_, think we follow the example of that -wisdom which _used_ to characterize our English ancestors, in turning -it to use, as a safeguard of our political freedom. We have learned -too, from a great master in political science, himself an enemy to -slavery in all its forms, that in every country where domestic slavery -exists, "those who are free, are by far the most proud and jealous of -their freedom. Freedom is to them not only an enjoyment, but a kind of -rank and privilege. Not seeing that freedom, as in countries where it -is a common blessing, and as broad and general as the air, may be -united with _much abject toil, with great misery, with all the exterior -of servitude_, liberty looks, amongst them, like something that is -_more noble and liberal_.... Such were all the ancient Commonwealths; -such were our Gothic ancestors; such, in our days, were the Poles; _and -such will be all masters of slaves who are not slaves themselves_. In -such a people, the haughtiness of domination combines with the spirit -of freedom, fortifies it, and renders it invincible." - -Such is the lesson read to us sixty years ago, by one who wished us -well, and who thoroughly understood the character of our people, and -the causes that had influenced in the formation of that character. It -is of a piece with the general maxims of that school of practical -wisdom, and sound political philosophy, in which our fathers learned -the grand principles imbodied in our institutions. In that school, -every thing was conceded to liberty; nothing to licentiousness: every -thing to religion; nothing to fanaticism: every allowance was made for -the natural and untaught feelings of the human heart; none for sickly -artificial sensibility. Its maxims were drawn from experience, -observation and reflection _on man as he is_; not from fanciful -speculations on _man as he might have been_, had it pleased God to have -made him differently. But since that day great light has risen on the -world, and the descendants of these statesmen now find, that the -imperfect vision of their fathers did but "see men, as trees walking." -The present generation see clearly, and renouncing all respect for -those whom God commands to honor living, and to reverence in death, -bless themselves, saying, "If we had been in the days of our fathers we -would not have been partakers" in their sins. Even so let it be. Let -them desecrate and demolish the tombs of their fathers, to build up a -monument to their own praise. But what spell is upon us, that we should -follow their example, and signalize our ingratitude to the men to whose -teachings we owe all that is valuable in our institutions, by joining -in a crusade against our own rights, and "lending an active compliance -to our own ruin?" - -_We_ certainly have reason to believe that the existence of domestic -slavery among us has been of singular advantage in preserving the free -spirit of our people. Slave labor pre-occupies and fills the low and -degrading stations in society. Menial offices are altogether discharged -by it; and all the tasks of mere brute strength are left to it. To the -freeman belong those services which imply trust and confidence, or -require skill; which therefore command higher wages than mere animal -labor, and give a sense of respectability and a feeling of -self-respect. I know we are told that if we wish to see the perfection -of free government, we must look elsewhere. We look; and we do indeed -see the theory of democracy carried to its full extent, but we behold -no practical results which we at all envy. We do not find that any good -has come from elevating the whole class of laborers, in all its servile -and degraded branches, to the sovereign privilege of voting. We -believed _a priori_ (and observation proves that we were right) that -the first and only use the hireling would make of his political -franchise, would be to sell it to the demagogue. _But though convinced -of this, the experience of other states justifies a doubt, whether_, IF -ALL OUR LABORERS WERE FREEMEN, _it would be possible to withhold from -them the privilege of voting_. We know that it has been elsewhere wrung -from the reluctant grasp of the freeholders, who deeply, _but -silently_, lament the forced concession. Our statesmen have been -_privately_ admonished by them to profit by the experience of their -error, and hold fast by our institutions. _Publicly_ indeed, we are -taunted with what are called the aristocratic features of our -government; but we know, and the enemies of freedom know it too, that -when power has marched unchecked and unchallenged over the prostrate -democracy of free labor and universal suffrage, it has always found -here the most formidable barriers to its progress. - - * * * * * - -I take the liberty of appending, by way of note, a quotation from the -same statesman, whose words I have already used, which shows that this -idea of the connexion between DOMESTIC _slavery_ and MUNICIPAL -_liberty_, is not new. Our _former oppressors_ were aware of it sixty -years ago, and seriously meditated the destruction of the latter by the -abolition of the former. The following extract may show where our -_present oppressors_ got the first hint of that scheme of interested -philanthropy which proposes to strip us of our property for the good of -our souls. - -Mr. Burke says, (in 1775) "With regard to the high aristocratic spirit -of Virginia and the southern colonies, it has been proposed, I know, -_to reduce it, by declaring a general enfranchisement of slaves_. This -project has had its advocates and panegyrists; yet I never could argue -myself into any opinion of it. Slaves are often much attached to their -masters. A general wild offer of liberty would not always be accepted. -History furnishes few instances of it. It is sometimes as hard to -persuade slaves to be free, as it is to compel freemen to be slaves; -and, in this auspicious scheme, we, should have both these pleasing -tasks on our hands at once. But when we talk of enfranchisement, do we -not perceive that the American master may enfranchise too, _and arm -servile hands in defence of freedom?_ A measure to which other people -have had recourse more than once, and not without success, in a -desperate situation of their affairs. - -"Slaves as these unfortunate black people are, and dull as all men are -from slavery, must they not a little suspect an offer of freedom from -that very nation which has sold them to their present masters? From a -nation, one of whose causes of quarrel with those masters, is their -refusal to deal any more in that inhuman traffic? An offer of freedom -from England would come rather oddly, shipped to them in an African -vessel, which is refused an entry into the ports of Virginia or -Carolina, with a cargo of three hundred Angola negroes. It would be -curious to see the Guinea captain attempting at the same instant to -publish his proclamation of liberty, and to advertise his sale of -slaves." - -This last absurdity, our northern _guardians_, _pastors_, or _masters_, -(I am not particular about the designation,) have wisely avoided. As -long as the slave trade was allowed, they were only anxious to secure -to themselves a monopoly of the advantage of carrying it on. Having -lost this, they seek an equivalent by putting a new face on the matter. - -Let me not be understood as bringing this charge against all who are -engaged in this crusade against our rights. Like all other crusades, it -is the work of a few knaves and many dupes. The latter are, -proverbially, the tools of the former. Without them, the knave cannot -carry on his trade. There are things to be done which he cannot do in -person, and which are best accomplished by the clumsy zeal of bungling -philanthropy. The fate of the West Indies is a case in point. The case -of the tame bear, set by a mischievous wag to keep the flies off of the -face of the sleeping hermit, is another. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -NAPOLEON'S GRAVE. - -BY R. H. WILDE, _Of Georgia_. - - - Faint and sad was the moon-beam's smile, - Sullen the moan of the dying wave, - Hoarse the wind in St. Helen's isle, - As I stood by the side of NAPOLEON'S GRAVE. - - And is it _here_ that the Hero lies, - Whose name has shaken the earth with dread? - And is _this_ all that the earth supplies? - A stone his pillow--the turf his bed! - - Is such the moral of human life? - Are these the limits of glory's reign? - Have oceans of blood and an age of strife, - A thousand battles, been all in vain? - - Is nothing left of his victories now - But legions broken--a sword in rust-- - A crown that cumbers a dotard's brow-- - A name and a requiem?--dust to dust! - - Of all the Chieftains whose thrones he reared, - Were there none whom kindness or faith could bind? - Of all the Monarchs whose crowns he spared, - Had none one spark of his Roman mind? - - Did PRUSSIA cast no repentant glance? - Did AUSTRIA shed no remorseful tear, - When ENGLAND'S FAITH, and thine HONOR, FRANCE, - And thy FRIENDSHIP, RUSSIA, were blasted _here_? - - No!--Holy leagues, like the heathen Heaven, - Ungodlike shrunk from the giant's shock, - And glorious TITAN--the unforgiven-- - Was doomed to his Vulture and chains and rock. - - * * * * * - - And who were the gods that decreed _thy_ doom! - A German _Cćsar_--a Prussian _Sage_, - The _Dandy Prince_ of a counting room, - And a _Russian Greek_ of the middle age! - - * * * * * - - Men called thee _Despot_, and called thee true; - But the laurel was earned that bound thy brow; - And of all who wore it, alas! how few - Were as free from treason and guilt as thou! - - * * * * * - - Shame to thee Gaul! and thy faithless horde! - Where was the oath which thy soldiers swore? - Fraud still lurks in the _Gown_--but the _Sword_ - Was never so false to its trust before! - - Where was thy vet'rans boast that day - "The old guard dies," but it "never yields!" - Oh! for one heart like the brave Desaix, - One Phalanx like those of thine early fields! - - But no! no! no! it was FREEDOM'S charm - Gave _them_ the courage of more than men; - _You_ broke the magic that nerved each arm, - Though you were invincible only then! - - * * * * * - -1823. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -A SONG OF THE SEASONS. - -BY ZARRY ZYLE. - - Methought I heard a whispering on the strings - Of hidden harps, in airy form that play, - And lend their voice to fair imaginings, - And wake young thoughts which in their cradles lay. - I wished to set the prisoned minstrels free, - Like liberated Ariels to sing, - And lend a voice to all that eye could see, - From the first dawn of the green light of spring, - To the last lowering sweep of winter's stormy wing. - _William Naylor's MSS._ - - -I. - - A Maiden sang at morn beside a leaping rivulet-- - Blithe merriment was on her lip and in her eye of jet; - Young Spring had shaken from his locks the amethystine beam-- - O, it was sweet to hear the hymn of forest girl and stream! - - A pale youth paddled wantonly far o'er a sunny lake, - And smiled to see the infant leaf in newborn gladness quake; - He had brooded the winter through, until his cheek grew pale - With dreaming mighty deeds, and now it freshened in the gale. - - A white roe wandered where sweet herbs and tender grass were - peeping-- - His snowy head was poised in pride, his chainless heart was leaping; - The bugle-bee had called the herd from icy solitude, - And he had come at bugle call--fleet centaur of the wood. - - A robin bowed her golden breast and spread her gauze-wing forth, - And aye poured she in carol fond her long imprisoned mirth; - No mournful tones, no lute-like wail, were with her music blent; - 'Twas--like the fife's shrill voice--a gush of unmixed merriment. - -II. - - The maiden wild and rivulet were louder in their glee, - The hidden weed waxed lush beneath its woven canopy, - Old summer's conch o'er air-waves lured his fragrance-breathing - throng, - All joy had deepened on the earth, and warmth and light and song. - The youth had seen the singing girl and bowed his soul to love; - Ambition--aspirations--all the subtle springs that move - Man's sleepless youth, were cast aside; old summer's beamy heat - Had fired their souls, and low he knelt in fondness at her feet. - - The roe leapt on: the robin wove her nest of downy hair, - And light with bliss high hovered as a blossom floats on air-- - Girl, brook, and youth had ripened in the gladness born of spring, - Joy still inflamed the wild-deer's heart and plumed the wild-bird's - wing. - -III. - - The marigold and rose had left the valley and the hill, - The pansy frail was sere in dust and dead the daffodil; - The aster tall yet wore its leaves, the "golden rob" its flowers, - But beauty and perfume had gone with summer's radiant hours. - - From morn to night through forest glades with naught his path to - cheer, - The roebuck wandered moodily, o'er leaves all crisped and sere; - The bird still sang, but bridal song had changed to widow's wail, - And mourning she but grieved the more that grief might not avail. - - But ah! the saddest change of all--the chilling blight had come - On hearts within whose holy bowers young love had made his home; - The verdure had departed thence, the vermeil tenderness - And frosty winds had brought to dust the growth of early bliss. - - The maiden heard the murmuring stream but murmured no reply, - A melancholy coldness dwelt within her shrouded eye, - She scarcely heard _his_ burning prayer whose love no change might - quell, - And only lived enough to breathe an icy "fare-thee-well." - -IV. - - The sombre autumn-sky no more sent down its mournful rain, - A dim and sickly veil had long o'er hill and hollow lain, - But death at last had trampled on the few remaining flowers, - All save the restless mandrake died with autumn's last sad hours. - - The mandrake yet remained, and when the keen frost pierced his - breast, - Sent forth his voice in agony upon the soughing blast: - It told of happiness too ripe, of dewy rapture fled, - Of ecstacy, and green of heart, with vanished verdure dead. - - The quiet snow came lightly through the thick and misty air, - And slantingly descended when the cold wind left his lair; - The cold wind! aye, the wind had chilled since buoyed on sunny mirth - Young Euroauster came to woo the virgin bloom of earth. - - I saw no more the antlered stag--his rocky solitude - Was fitter palace for the king than lea or roofless wood; - The robin's song had died away as all things else must die-- - Death's sleet had bound her ribbed wing and dimmed her gleeful eye. - - I saw the maiden, but alas! the snow thro' ether gliding, - Was not more chill than she, erewhile so tender, so confiding; - I saw the youth--to him naught here might honey-balm impart, - He wandered from the haunts of men in brokenness of heart. - - Oh, is there not a sympathy of all-controling power - The mother and her brood between--old earth, weak man, frail flower? - From some hearts soon the fetters fall, as spring frees lake and - river, - But many with the withered leaf, wear ruin's chain forever. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -LETTERS FROM A SISTER. - -MR. WHITE,-- - -The prominent characters in the following pages are fictitious; but the -circumstances narrated are founded on fact, and the descriptions -correct. The author was an actor in the scenes, and visited the places -described. She has not however, relied solely on her own observations -and the oral communications of others, but consulted the best guide -books and historical traditions. - - -LETTER FIRST. - -Voyage--Havre de Grace--Light Houses--Frescati Baths, and Sea -Bathing--Tower of Francis the First. - -HAVRE DE GRACE, ----. - -_My Dear Jane:_-- - -The last wave of your handkerchief, when we parted from you at -Southampton, made me feel quite sad for some time; but the bustling -scene around me at length diverted my thoughts from their gloomy -course, and I employed myself in observing the rapid movements of the -sailors, as they obeyed the orders of their captain, who had the voice -of a stentor, and took no pains to soften it. Our fellow passengers -were an elderly gentleman and his two sons, whom he was going to place -at a boarding school near Havre. We reached this celebrated port in the -evening, and I am happy to tell you (_now that it is over_,) not -without an adventure. Our parents and Edgar were not very sea sick, but -alas! for Sigismund and myself; we were the _Jobs_ of the party. I mean -as regards _suffering_, not _patience_; for of the last we both stood -in need. I already detest the sea, and dread re-crossing it. But all -this time you are unacquainted with our adventure; it was this. When -within a few miles of Havre, a sudden squall arose, and for more than -an hour our situation was truly terrifying. Fortunately the wind blew -from the land, or we should have been wrecked on the "iron bound coast" -which was very near us. The sails of our small vessel flapped with such -violence, that the captain says they must have been torn to pieces if -they had not been perfectly new. We have occupied ourselves since our -arrival here, in walking about the town and riding in its neighborhood. -Yesterday we visited the two light houses on Cape la Héve, and ascended -one of them to view from its roof the surrounding country, which is -beautiful, and bounded on three sides by the ocean. We purchased of an -old woman residing in the light house, some specimens of shell work; -and I chose for you a little dog, ingeniously made of small white -shells, whose tiny black eyes shine as brightly as your own. This -morning we surveyed the Frescati Baths, and the reservoir for oysters -in front of them. The baths are kept in elegant order, and the spacious -mansion containing them presents a handsome exterior. I did not relish -the oysters; they taste of copperas, as do those we get at home--and -this is natural enough, as they come out of the same waters. On the -shore, contiguous to the bathing establishment, we witnessed the -amusing spectacle of ladies and gentlemen in Turkish costume, -struggling in the briny element, whose billows almost threw them down, -although supported by the arms of sturdy sailors, and clinging to ropes -suspended from stakes on the beach. Last night we went to the theatre, -and were much entertained by the performance of Lepeintre, an excellent -comic actor from Paris. Havre is enclosed by lofty walls, outside of -which are deep moats, and the borders of these are covered with a -bright verdure. In the town there is a pleasant walk shaded by lime -trees, and the square in front of the theatre is laid off in gravel -walks, with seats on each side. Here the gentry of the city, and hosts -of children, with their nurses to guard them, assemble every afternoon. -It is also usual for a military band to play there at sunset. The most -interesting object in Havre is an old structure called the "Tower of -Francis the First," in which that monarch was sumptuously feasted by -the [primeval] inhabitants of this place, three centuries ago. But -money must have been of extreme value, and provisions very cheap in -that age, as it is said the banquet cost only thirty pounds; or perhaps -what then was considered a _feast_, would in these days of luxury be -thought an _ordinary meal_. The following anecdote will give you an -idea of the strength of the edifice. A crazy soldier once shut himself -up in it while the garrison were dining, and although he was strongly -besieged, maintained possession for two hours ere he was overcome. As -we are to rise at five o'clock to-morrow morning, for the purpose of -embarking for Rouen in the steamboat, I most retire to rest. Accept our -love, and remember us affectionately to aunt Margaret and Albert. I -hope you had a safe journey home from Southampton, and found all well -at the Lodge. Yours, - -LEONTINE. - - * * * * * - -LETTER SECOND. - -The Seine--Quillebeuf--Candebeck--Curious Rite at the Village of St. -Arnold--La Mailleraie--Abbey of Jamičges--Charles the Seventh and Agnes -Sorrel--Chateau of Robert le Diable--Arrival at Rouen. - -ROUEN, ----. - -_My Dear Jane:_-- - -What a silly creature you are to be sure!--to have preferred the shades -of Morren Lodge, and the company of good aunt Margaret, (not to say -that of somebody else, for fear of a blush,) to accompanying us in our -present tour! I am more and more enchanted as we proceed, and cannot -help bewailing your decision, whenever we are partaking of any pleasure -or amusement. 'Tis true, you tell us that after your marriage next -spring, Albert intends visiting the continent; but dear me! how many -things may occur in the meanwhile to alter your plans. Nay, the knot -may never be tied--for its no "wonder of wonders" now-a-days for lads -and lasses to change their minds. And should you prove a "constant -couple," and the wedding take place, I doubt that Albert will be able -to tear himself from his books and musty parchments. You know I've -often told you, that he never would have fallen in love with your -ladyship, I'm convinced, had he not surprised you that eventful morning -in papa's study, reading the life of the American President Thomas -Jefferson, while the rest of us were playing at battledore on the lawn; -and this you may tell him if you choose. "Well, enough of rattle, -Leontine, (I hear you say,) and do let's have something interesting." -So you shall, sister Jane; and I hasten to give you an account of our -voyage from Havre to this ancient capital. It was delightful! We were -favored with clear skies and propitious breezes, and remained on deck -the whole day to enjoy the scenery, for the banks of the Seine are -highly cultivated, and at every turn present beautiful points of view. -We glided by many villages, and several monasteries and castles. Among -the former I will only mention Quillebeuf and Candebeck. Quillebeuf is -famous for its ninety-nine pilots; and as the navigation there is -extremely dangerous for vessels, they have full employment. It is -remarkable that their number has always been ninety-nine from time -immemorial. Candebeck is situated immediately on the bank of the river, -and Vernet, the celebrated marine painter, pronounced the view from its -quay one of the most beautiful water prospects in France. An old lady -on board the steamboat, told mamma and myself, as we were passing -Candebeck, that a few miles from it there is a village called St. -Arnold, which contains a pool of stagnant water, that many credulous -people believe efficacious in healing cutaneous diseases, and that at a -certain period of the year, numbers who are afflicted with such -disorders go to bathe in the pool. First, however, a particular -ceremony must be performed, or the water will have no effect. Each -applicant for health, must _steal_ from the neighboring woods a stick, -and cast it down to assist in forming a pile. In the evening this is -set on fire by the curate of the village, who comes forth dressed in -his sacerdotal robes, and accompanied by priests chanting a hymn. When -the smoke begins to darken the air, a white pigeon is let loose from -the spire of the church, and the poor deluded sufferers firmly believe -it to be the holy ghost descending from heaven to cure them! Quillebeuf -and Candebeck are both associated with historical recollections. The -former was fortified by Henry the Fourth, who considered it an -important point, and wished to have it called Henry'sville, after -himself. This was not done however, and since his death the -fortifications have been destroyed. It was at Candebeck that William -the Conqueror crossed the Seine in 1047, on his way to Arques, to quell -a sedition among the people there, under the Count of Arques. It was -governed by the famous Talbot during the reign of Henry the Fifth of -England, and the inhabitants distinguished themselves by their bravery -in a combat with the English. At one period it was noted for its -manufactures of hats and gloves; and at that time no one of _bon ton_ -would wear a hat that was not made at Candebeck. The revocation of the -edict of Nantz proved a death blow to the industry of this town. Soon -after leaving it, we passed the Chateau of La Mailleraie, once the -residence of Mademoiselle De la Valličre, during her youth. The mansion -is spacious, and its gardens and thickets looked very inviting. In 1824 -the Duchess of Berri visited this retreat, and breakfasted in the -garden; and to commemorate this circumstance, a white marble column has -been erected there. I wonder they did not surmount it with a -_coffee-pot_. Beyond La Mailleraie the scenery is rather monotonous, -but at length you approach the Abbey of Jamičges, (founded by Saint -Philibert,) and the landscape becomes lovely. This noble ruin, with its -numerous Gothic windows, was a majestic spectacle. Being situated on a -peninsula, round which our course extended, we had a view of it for a -considerable time; at last, to my regret, it faded from our sight. -Charles the Seventh built a fine villa in the neighborhood of Jamičges, -and here the beautiful, but sinful and unhappy Agnes Sorrel, resided. -At her death her heart was deposited in the Abbey, and her body carried -to Loches, where it was interred with great ceremony in the choir of -the collegiate church, for Agnes had been extremely munificent to the -canons of Loches, giving them two thousand crowns and quantities of -jewels, tapestry and pictures; and these crafty ecclesiastics paid her -remains all due respect during the life of Charles the Seventh, her -royal lover; but after his demise, while Louis the Eleventh was -visiting their church, knowing that he detested Agnes, and designing to -flatter him, they pointed out her tomb and requested permission to have -it removed. "I consent," replied the monarch, (indignant at their -duplicity and ingratitude,) "but you must first restore the riches she -lavished upon you." The last object I will now describe to you is the -Chateau of "Robert le Diable," a wicked wretch, whose crimes sullied -the earth, and whose spirit is believed by the superstitious still to -haunt the places that witnessed them. The scanty remains of his -fortress are just visible on a rocky height on the southern bank of the -Seine. Beneath the steep you behold La Vacherie, a neat little country -seat that is worthy of notice, as being the residence of Madame Bocage -when she composed her "Colombiade." We landed at Rouen about six -o'clock, and are located in a comfortable hotel, where papa says we -will remain until we have seen all the curiosities of this interesting -old city. You will therefore hear from me again ere our departure. -Yours truly, - -LEONTINE. - - * * * * * - -LETTER THIRD. - -Description of Rouen--Cathedral--Church of St. Ouen--Picture Gallery -and Library in the Hotel de Ville--Square of Joan of -Arc--Theatre--Dress of the Norman Peasants. - -ROUEN, ----. - -_My Dear Jane:_-- - -According to your request and my propensity to scribbling, I intend to -be very circumstantial in my details. Pray don't grow tired of them, or -if you do, keep it a secret, and my vanity may prevent my suspecting -such a misfortune. Mamma gives me great credit for being so industrious -with my pen. Sigismund and Edgar keep a journal; but that requires more -exactness than I possess, so I prefer writing a letter when the humor -takes me. We have been out _sight seeing_, every morning and afternoon, -until to-day. A brisk rain now confines us to the house, and affords me -leisure for again conversing with you. I will commence my agreeable -task with a description of the town. Its environs are beautiful, but -the interior rather gloomy--the streets are generally so narrow and the -houses so old. It was formerly surrounded by walls and moats; the walls -have been pulled down, and the moats filled up and converted into -public walks. At Rouen, the ancient Dukes of Normandy held their -courts, and it contains many vestiges of their magnificence. The palace -of justice is a vast Gothic structure of the reign of Louis the -Twelfth. Beneath it are prisons, to which they were conducting two -culprits as we entered. One of its various halls is of immense extent, -and has a singular vaulted ceiling, that reminds you of the hulk of a -vessel reversed--a comparison by the by, that is not original with me. -The venerable cathedral, with its lofty spire and painted windows, -engaged us a long while. The spire is three hundred and eighty feet -high, and visible seven or eight leagues. There are two towers; one of -them denominated the _butter_ tower, because the expense of erecting it -was defrayed with money that had been paid by the people for permission -to eat butter during lent! It contained an enormous bell, nearly equal -in size to that at Moscow, and the founder of it is said to have died -in an ecstacy at its completion. This wonderful bell was destroyed -during the revolution. Many illustrious persons are buried in the -cathedral. Among them, Henry the Fifth of France, Richard Cour de Lion, -the Duke of Bedford, and the Cardinals of Amboise. The monument of the -two Cardinals is superb, and covered with arabesque work. They are -represented kneeling on its summit. Above them is a gilded equestrian -statue of St. George, their patron; below them (ranged in niches on the -front of the tomb,) are small marble figures, emblematical of the -virtues they possessed. Opposite this mausoleum is another, equally -remarkable. It is dedicated to the Grand Senéschal Brezé, the husband -of Diana of Poitiers, and governor of Rouen in the sixteenth century. -Of the numerous statues that adorn this tomb, that which represents the -Senéschal as an extended corpse is the most striking, and it is -inimitably executed. The pinched nose, tight drawn skin, hollow cheeks, -and sunken eyes, give it the exact appearance of a dead body. Over the -grand altar of the church hangs a fine painting, by Philip de -Champagne; the subject of it is the adoration of the Magi, and the -light is ingeniously and beautifully reflected from the infant Jesus, -(the _light_ of the world,) upon the surrounding objects. But enough of -the cathedral, Allons á Saint Ouen, famous for its fine interior -perspective, which is curiously and perfectly delineated by reflection -on the surface of the holy water, in the baptismal font, near the chief -portal of the church. St. Ouen was originally a Benedictine abbey. Its -architect Berneval, is buried in one of the chapels, and there is an -_improbable_ tradition concerning him, viz: that he was hung for -assasinating his apprentice, who by excelling him in carving some -trifling ornament for the ceiling, had excited his jealousy. The -painted windows of St. Ouen are beautiful, and shed a mellow lustre -over its triple aisle, which we regretted to exchange for the glare of -the sun without; but time pressed, and we hastened to view the picture -gallery and public library in the Hotel de Ville--neither of them -extensive, though worthy of examination. We next proceeded to the -square of Joan of Arc, where a statue of her is erected on the spot -upon which she was burnt as a sorceress in 1430. Last night we went to -the play. The theatre is a handsome edifice, and the ceiling exhibits -the apothesis of Piérre Corneille. You behold him crowned by tragedy, -while painting and sculpture vie in copying his features, and fame -sounds his praise to the world. Apollo sheds over him his brightness, -and time with his scythe drives away envy and other evil genii inimical -to his glory. The ladies here dress well and tastefully, but the -costume of the peasants is very queer. It is the same throughout -Normandy. They wear high crowned muslin caps, tight boddices, full -plaited short petticoats garnished with rows of black velvet, blue -stockings clocked with red, and black sharptoed shoes, cut low on the -instep, and ornamented with rosettes. They always have a gold cross, -suspended from a black ribbon encircling the neck, and a pair of gold -earrings. But here am I continuing to scribble, and the weather has -cleared off and the carriage is ordered for a drive, and I verily -believe coming to the door. There! papa calls me to descend. In haste, -farewell. - -LEONTINE. - - - - -We refer the reader to the editorial head for some remarks upon the -following article. - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -THE DOOM. - - -MR. WHITE,--I am about to do a very foolish thing, no less than to -write a tale of a mournful love _affaire_. What has afflicted me with -the propensity, in truth I cannot determine; but though I am conscious -of the folly, I console myself by the unanswerable question, Why shall -not I write as well as other fools? - -What I am about to write is the authentic history of a most melting -love _affaire_, which took place in this goodly city within the last -five years, and with the persons concerned in it, many of the fair and -fashionable here are, or rather were, acquainted. It was related to me -by the young gentleman himself; of him I will give a short account. Ten -years ago George B----, and myself were schoolfellows, but associated -little together except in school hours. He was a light-hearted and -joyous fellow enough, but at times as moody as the ---- himself, and he -always delighted, to an immoderate degree, in the little misfortunes -and calamities that befall schoolboys. If a poor fellow in climbing -over a paling encountered any little point or nail, whereby his nether -garment was lacerated, he it was that first made the discovery, and -raised the war whoop. Consequently he was half feared, and, when absent -wholly hated by all of us, though in his company we all strove to be on -good terms with him. After he left school I saw no more of him for some -years, and when he again came to Richmond, we met on the civil and -polite footing of passing acquaintance, until an accident brought us -together and originated a friendship between us. - -One evening in June, 1832, when the thermometer stood at 94°, I had -managed to convey myself about a mile up the river bank for the purpose -of bathing, and going into the water I splashed about with great vigor, -thinking about Leander's remarkable feat in crossing the Hellespont, -until I felt a great desire to try whether I might not aspire to equal -him, or at least E---- P----, who swam from Mayo's Bridge to Warwick -wharf some years ago. Accordingly after screwing up my courage -grievously, I approached slowly a furious and turbulent stream, which -tumbled over a ledge of rocks, producing some appalling waves and -eddying whirls, commonly known as "sucks." I stood on a rock near and -contemplated it for some moments, until perceiving that my ambition had -very sensibly diminished and was rapidly taking French leave, I was -about to retire without attempting the crossing, when I unfortunately -discovered a head on the opposite side, very quietly watching my -proceedings,--whilst its owner was luxuriously rocking himself about in -the calm element. Ashamed to retreat, while one who had accomplished -what I shrank from, was perhaps chuckling at my fears, I sprang -forward, and ere I was well aware what was the matter, found myself -lifted up, dashed down, whirled around, my limbs pulled and jerked -hither and yon by the infernal waters, whilst the waters above were -foaming over my head and plashing into my face. Finally, I was wearily -and faintly struggling, almost bursting with suppressed respiration; -and with a horrible distinctness, memory was holding up to my mind's -eye every sin wherewith she could charge me,--when my arm was seized -and myself dragged along by a powerful hand. When I recovered -consciousness, I was seated on a rock near shore, and the person to -whom I owed my life was standing by--it was my old schoolfellow, George -B----. I muttered something about gratitude, when he cut me short by -telling me he would have saved the life of a drowning dog with as much -alacrity as he had saved me, and that he would, he thought, deserve my -gratitude more for advising me not again to be fool enough to venture -into deep water until I could swim. This, I thought, was rather taking -a liberty; but he had just saved my life, and I said nothing more while -we were dressing ourselves. Then slowly walking towards the city, we -chatted about schooldays and schoolfellows. From that day we gradually -became better acquainted, until in a few weeks we were intimate -associates. It was but natural that I should be attached to a person -who had rescued me from a watery grave, yet I could not but see that -with many very admirable qualities of heart and mind, there were some -glaring defects and vices about him. He was generous and liberal to -excess, and to the necessities of the indigent his hand was never -closed; he was a true friend, but a bitter, unrelenting enemy; he -cherished revenge as food fit for gods, and therefore the more -delightful to men; no Indian was ever more unforgiving. In person he -was tall and spare; his face was not remarkable for comeliness, though -the features were good; but his eyes gave the charm and power to his -dark pale face; they could fascinate and charm as well as threaten and -command. With a fine and highly cultivated taste, and a strong -well-informed mind; simple in his habits and addicted to no species of -intemperance or dissipation; and with a fortune which placed him out of -the reach of want, yet not enough to dissuade him from exertion, George -B---- seemed destined to play with honor and success the part of a man -among his fellows. - -Our friendship had endured for nearly a twelvemonth, and the gay winter -of 1832-3 had passed. B---- had been absent from town about a month, -when one evening, near the end of May, I met him on the capitol square; -he had arrived a few days before. An uncommon gloom was seated on his -brow; but I was in no melancholic mood myself, and after a few minutes -he seemed to regain his habitual carelessness of look and manner. We -strolled off, jesting and telling anecdotes, until we arrived at the -hill which overlooks the armory. It was a Sabbath evening; and, -according to the _commendable_ custom of the young gentlefolk of -Richmond, frequent parties of six or eight ladies, with their attendant -beaux, passed by the foot of the hill and proceeded up the bank of the -canal. As the ringing laugh of some dashing belle reached us where we -sat on two granite blocks on the top of the hill, B---- would amuse me -by relating some ludicrous anecdote or odd circumstance connected with -the fair laugher. What a quantity of scandal did he impart to me, -which, had it been proclaimed from the house tops, would have procured -him the honor of martyrdom--as surely as that the satire which is so -delightful to female ears when pointed against their friends, seems too -horrible when turned against themselves. - -They passed from our sight, and in a few moments B---- became silent, -and sat with his cheek leaning on his hands. I looked down at the -beautiful river and the city spread out before me, built on the side of -a sweeping hill, like a vast amphitheatre, so beautifully and -faithfully delineated in Cooke's picture, and very soberly speculated -on the probabilities of our ever having such a city as New York or -Philadelphia. I tired at length of such inconclusive speculation, and -turning to my companion with intent to enliven him a little, said, -"B---- you have never told me of any _affaire du coeur_ in which you -were a party; tell me who is or was the goddess of your profane -idolatry." - -He started as if I had stabbed him, and gazed at me with a fixed stare. -I have said that his eyes were remarkably piercing; and I looked away -from his glance, fearing lest, inadvertently, I had awakened a painful -recollection. - -"Tell me," said he, "are you superstitious! Do you think that beings -superior to the laws of humanity have ever appeared to mortals or -conversed with them?" "Not in these latter days at all events," replied -I, "or else I should never have played the many mad pranks that I have -done, on dark still nights, in grave yards and church porches, where -the gentry you speak of would be met with, I imagine, if any where." -"Ah," said he, as if swallowing down a groan, "you jest lightly; but I -will tell you that which will somewhat shake your incredulity." In -spite of me, his manner made some impression on me, though I half -suspected it to be a mere _ruse_--but my attention became strongly -riveted, as he went on with his story. - -"Five years ago," said he, "I was entering my seventeenth year, and -began to think myself a man, especially as I had been for one session -to college. It was during the first vacation that I went down to ---- -county to see my guardian, and to wage war on every living winged -creature, from a sparrow to a turkey buzzard; and during the -continuance of fair weather, I never looked into any thing bearing the -likeness of a book, unless it was to tear out the blank leaves for -wadding. But one cold, raw, windy, drizzly day, after satisfying myself -that there was no more likelihood that the rain would cease, than if it -had been the commencement of the deluge, I desperately picked up a -book, and going to my sleeping apartment, threw myself on my bed and -fell to reading. I forget what it was, but I know it was some -extravagant Italian or Sicilian romance, in which ghosts, angels and -devils mixed themselves up with the human actors, with very little -ceremony. It interested me though wonderfully, and I continued hard at -it until late at night, when having finished it, I got into bed and lay -half thinking, half dreaming, about what I had been reading. A while -after, I heard my name called in a voice which seemed to be near me. I -shivered with dread--but made no answer. Again my name was pronounced; -and the voice continued--'Look! behold her who will blight and wither -up thy happiness and life, and drive thee to an early tomb.' -Unconsciously I sat up and looked around; the room was as dark as -midnight, and the wind sighed mournfully as it swept through the trees -in the yard. Suddenly a light glanced before my eyes; I looked and saw -a room handsomely furnished, with a small round table in the centre, -and near it a sofa. A young lady was standing, apparently just risen -from the sofa, with one hand resting on the table, and the other -extended pointing at me. Her eyes were fastened on my face, with a look -of proud, bitter scorn. I was as one fascinated: she slowly turned her -face from me and waved her hand--then all vanished. I sunk back on my -pillow with a feeling of utter despair: it passed off, and I longed for -revenge. I said aloud, 'devil or angel, grant that I may inflict misery -equal to what I shall suffer, and see her sink before me into the -grave, and then I will not repine at my destiny.' With a perfect -distinctness I heard the words, 'Thy wish is granted.' A feeling of -gratified revenge stole over me, and I sunk into a deep sleep. - -"I awoke in the morning, and having peeped from my window and found the -weather as bad as ever, I again pressed my pillow with design to woo a -morning nap. All at once I recollected the extraordinary vision or -dream of the past night--every circumstance clearly presenting itself -to my mind--every look and gesture of the figure, and every word -uttered, seemed engraved on my memory--I tried to convince myself that -it was a dream; I argued with myself and resolved that it was a -dream--but something within me said, 'it is no dream.' For several days -I thought of nothing else; but at sixteen we are not fond of a long -continued musing about any thing, good or bad; and in the excitement of -hunting, fishing, and going to meetings on Sundays, the impression wore -off by degrees. - -"I returned to college, studied hard, frolicked harder, and was -indefatigable in every piece of mischief which could be devised by the -collective wisdom and ingenuity of eighty boys; and having several -times narrowly escaped suspension and once been threatened with -dismission absolute, I finished the course, and came to Richmond to -amuse myself in every way I could find out; and for want of other -matter to engage me, to dip a little into the sublime study of the law. -The winter of 1831-2 was commencing. The redoubtable cholera had not -yet arrived in America; but all were dreading it. Folks here seemed -determined to take time by the forelock and live merrily while they -could. I made acquaintances; and received invitations to parties, of -which I attended many, where I cannot aver that even my small stock of -ideas was much augmented, though on the score of creature comforts they -were very pleasant; and by dutifully and honestly paying the expected -visit after, acquired the repute of an honest, polite and agreeable -young man. Some unthinking youths are so shortsighted as to care very -little about paying a visit after a party, though they are very -particular in paying it _before_ one is to take place. That was not my -plan: I was always addicted to the calculation of chances, and argued -that as one party had been given at a particular house, possibly, nay -probably, (bating accidents) another might be in the course of time. -Upon this principle I acted, and do not think that I ever lost by it. -The winter passed and summer came on.--I went to the White Sulphur -Springs, and by eating huge dinners and suppers, and drinking the -dreadful waters; galloping about the mountains in Miss ----'s train, -and occasionally walking five or six miles to fish, I got into -prodigious health--my limbs grew firm and hard as iron, and I felt -strong enough to brain a wild bull, or hug a bear to death. But I grew -tired of this life, and early in the fall came back to Richmond to see -what in the deuce the people were doing with the cholera. The -newspapers said the city was as silent and gloomy as a charnel house. - -"Every thing, however, must end; and the cholera's day passed;--by the -middle of November every dead person was forgotten, and every one -living seemed to forget what it was to die. The fashionables came back -in throngs about the time the Legislature commenced its _very -necessary_ and _exceedingly laborious_ annual session; and no one who -had not seen, as I had, piles of coffins six feet deep, waiting for the -graves which were to receive them, could have believed that death and -desolation had so lately hovered over the city. - -"Several parties had been given, and the regular routine had commenced. -On the evening preceding Christmas day, I went to a large party at Mr. -----'s. I was idly engaged--now in managing a jelly, now in munching a -devilled biscuit, when among the new faces shewing themselves about the -room, I discovered one which drew my attention forcibly. It was not a -very beautiful face certainly--but there was about it--a nameless -something which convinced me that she was an uncommon character. On her -pure white high forehead, was stamped the seal of bright intelligence, -and her mouth, which was rather large, indicated a world of humor. I -thought I had seen the face somewhere--but where and when I could not -tell. I inquired her name; Miss ----, staying with her aunt Mrs. ----, -I was told. Now I certainly had never seen Miss ----, though I had -heard of her; for her father lived within a few miles of my guardian's -farm--but her face haunted me as that of one I had known in days gone -by. I was standing with my arms folded, looking the picture of gravity, -when the beautiful young mistress of the merriment making came to me, -and desiring me not to get asleep, with an applauding laugh at her own -wit, said, 'come, I will introduce you to a lady who has eyes as -expressive as your own, and whose vivacity will rouse you, if any thing -can.' I languidly inquired who the lady was to whom she was so very -complimentary--she pointed out Miss ----, and I consented at once. The -introduction was duly gone through with, the pleasure of the lady's -hand for a dance asked and granted, the four cotillons which constitute -the regular allowance performed, and we seated ourselves on a charming -sofa that it really was a delight to repose on. She danced no more that -night, nor did I--but we talked about every thing and about nothing. I -listened to her musical voice and looked at her dark lustrous eyes, -until I determined with myself that I admired her very hugely, and when -I attended her to her carriage at one o'clock, and heard her say that -she would be glad to see me again, I felt as grateful as though she had -done me a kindness. - -"For a fortnight, I was assiduous in cultivating her good graces, until -I flattered myself that I was looked on as by no means an ordinary -acquaintance. About this time morning rides were all the rage. Among -all the young ladies in the city, residents or visiters, Miss ---- was -the only one who could at all manage a steed--but what of that? Young -men talked constantly of ----; how deucedly well she sat a horse; -trotting, galloping, at full speed, 'twas all one to her; indeed in -all, save perhaps one particular, she was a perfect Diana Vernon--and -no wonder that fashion and the desire of notoriety should induce many -young ladies, who knew as little about riding as they did about the -Bible, to try to rival her. Miss ---- was no exception. I was riding -one morning with a party of ladies and gentlemen, when the horse of one -of the gentlemen took fright at something, and off he started. We rode -rapidly after him to see what would be the result. The horse was -dashing down the road like the wind--suddenly he stopped short, and his -unlucky rider darted from his saddle like a bull-frog in full leap, and -plunged head foremost into a pile of brushwood, where his legs alone -remained visible, gesticulating vigorously. Up we rode in great horror, -thinking the poor fellow's neck was broken to a certainty; but no such -thing--his time was not yet come. We hauled him forth, and found, that -with the exception of a few digs and scratches about his face, he was a -whole, though a miserably crest-fallen man. That evening I related the -adventure of our morning ride to Miss ----, and instead of operating as -a damper to her desire of riding, she became more resolutely bent on -it--nothing would do but I must ride with her next day. Accordingly, -next morning we started; she riding a quiet looking pacing nag, and I -on that large fiery grey horse that broke my barouche to pieces, the -day you rode with me to Fairfield and nearly broke our necks into the -bargain. - -"I felt uncommonly dull and sleepy that morning, and was so absent that -at length I fairly wore out my companion's patience, which, by the way, -was not equal to Grissel's, and in order to rouse me from my dreaming -fit, endeavored to give me a smart cut with her switch, which missed -me--but took effect on my horse's flank. He sprang forward, and kicking -violently, pitched me from the saddle, and down I came luckily on a -soft sandy place. I jumped up and saw Miss ----'s nag rearing and -plunging furiously, and her rider clinging to the saddle with one hand -and the mane with the other. In an instant I was at the animal's head, -and seizing her nose with a powerful grasp held her quiet, while I -lifted Miss ---- from her saddle. Her face was pale, her lip quivered -with terror, and she trembled so violently that I was obliged to put my -arm round her waist to support her. I congratulated her on her escape -from the danger, and proposed that we should continue our ride, as my -horse had stopped near us and was attentively looking on, promising her -at the same time to be very attentive during the ride, and not compel -her to lash my horse in order to draw my notice. 'No,' she said, 'she -could not, she would never attempt to ride again.' I became uneasy and -earnestly besought her to permit me to lift her to her saddle, adding, -that should our mishap be known, we should be rallied to death about -it. At length she consented to ride slowly home. Neither said any thing -to any one about our ride--but I could not forget that my arm had -encircled ----'s slender waist. I became absorbingly devoted to her; -and one day when I found her alone, with her cheek resting pensively on -her little hand, I was foolish enough to tell her that I believed I -loved her, and said a deal of nonsense besides, to which she listened -with quiet resignation, and when I had finished, she tendered her hand -to kiss. - -"About ten days after this event, my guardian came to town, bringing -with him his daughter, a beautiful little creature, with whom I had -been brought up as a brother. The day after their arrival, there was a -party, to which I was to attend Miss ----. My guardian was an elderly, -staid gentleman, fond of his ease, and made it a point of conscience to -go to his rest at ten o'clock regularly, and I thought it was incumbent -on me to go with his pretty daughter. I therefore wrote a short note to -Miss ----, telling her how matters stood, and thought nothing more -about it until we arrived at the party, where I looked in vain for her. -'She will be here after a while,' thought I--and to pass off the time -agreeably, I danced with my fair companion. The night wore away, and -still the girl I wished most to see did not arrive, nor could I -conjecture the cause of her absence. Next day I went with my guardian -and my sweet cousin, as I called her, to see some paintings at the -Museum, and other sights; and the day after, she insisted that I should -accompany her in a shopping expedition. Now there is nothing in the -shape of labor or suffering that I would not sooner undergo, than -accompany a lady, and more especially a very fair young lady, shopping; -they look at a thousand things, ask one's opinion or advice about every -thing, and as a matter of course, follow it in nothing--besides all -that, I was very anxious to see Miss ---- that morning; but was obliged -to submit. - -"Next morning I paid her an early visit--she was sitting at the table -writing as I entered. As she looked up at me I thought I noticed -somewhat of displeasure in her eyes, and it occurred to me at once that -perhaps she was not pleased at my failure to attend her to the party. -If so, her pettishness was obviously unreasonable in the extreme, and I -forthwith determined to anger her a little, if I discovered my surmise -to be well founded. - -"I talked to her for some time very courteously. Her brow began to -clear up, and I feared lest she should become entirely good humored and -leave me no opportunity to vex her; so I spoke of the party, mentioned -some who were there, and how delightful the whole affair was: eatables, -drinkables, music, ladies and all, charming; and amongst other things I -dilated with great emphasis on my cousin, praised her beauty, her -gracefulness, her wit; spoke of the admiration she excited, and -concluded by declaring that she was by far the most interesting girl I -had seen there--and I ran my fingers through my curling hair, and -thrusting my right leg out before me, gazed complacently at the toe of -my pump. - -"Miss ---- looked at the fire and twisted the unfortunate pen she held -in her hand, into many unnatural shapes--but said nothing. - -"'Well,' resumed I, 'I could not imagine why you were not there; I -looked for you once or twice during the evening, and was astonished -when I heard that you had not come.' - -"'Oh, I received your note telling me that you would accompany another -lady, and not wishing to go abegging for an escort, resolved to stay at -home.' - -"'What a pity!' said I, 'if you had been there I should have had -nothing to wish for; as it was, the evening passed delightfully--I -scarce left my little cousin's side. Yesterday she carried me shopping -with her all the morning, and the day before I went with her to see the -Ariadne. She is very much like the picture, and has the same beautiful -fair complexion, the same blue eyes and yellow hair, which I admire so -much, you know.' - -"I looked up at Miss ----; she was gazing fixedly at me. I noticed a -tear in her eye, as she turned away and rested her cheek on her dear -little hand. I began to think matters were becoming too serious. - -"'Sweet ----,' I began, in an altered and earnest tone.--She raised her -head suddenly and I trembled at her glance. - -"'_Sweet_ ----,' she repeated, with scornful emphasis--'George, I owe -you my life, and for that I shall always feel gratitude. I have loved -you for yourself--for I thought you generous, sensible and sincere. -Your present conduct shews how much I have been deceived in you, and -the love I have been proud to feel is lost in contempt.' She rose from -her seat as she spoke.--Heaven and Earth! The figure seen in my almost -forgotten vision stood before me. I was motionless with horror--a -dagger of ice seemed slowly to pierce my breast--I covered my eyes with -my hand and groaned:--Too fearfully were the words of doom fulfilled. - -"I rose slowly from my chair, bowed low to ---- and leaving the house, -hurried to my room and threw myself on my bed. There I writhed in -convulsive agony, and in the frenzy of unutterable despair cursed the -hour in which I was born. The criminal who, in the confident hope of -pardon, and indulging in dreams of long life and happiness, is suddenly -dragged forth to the gallows, feels not a tythe of the utter desolation -I then felt. By degrees my frenzy subsided, and a dull stupor was -coming over me,--when the word '_Revenge_' was muttered in my ear. I -remembered the promise. '_Revenge_ is mine, and I will wreak it to the -uttermost.' I became perfectly calm--it was the calm of despair. I had -nothings to hope for but revenge, and then, come what might, I would be -ready to meet it! 'Yes,' said I aloud, 'I will twine myself round her -heartstrings--she shall love me devotedly, fatally, and I will requite -her with a contempt colder than the snows on Cotapaxi, and a hate more -intense than its fires.' - -"In a few days my guardian left town with his daughter. I went about as -usual and frequently met Miss ----, to whom I always spoke with an air -of grave politeness--but never alluded to her displeasure. I soon saw -that her anger was passed like a summer cloud, and that she was not at -all indisposed to a renewal of our former intimacy. One evening at a -party somewhere, I was engaged in a lively conversation with her, and -was quietly offering her many little polite attentions, from which a -casual observer would have inferred that we were excellent friends--but -there was nothing of confiding, affectionate interest in my tone or -looks: all was the calm, cold, habitual politeness of a thorough bred -man of the world. After a silence of some minute or two, she said -kindly, 'George, I am sorry for what I said in my hasty anger and would -be delighted if you would forgive and forget it'--and she offered me -her hand. I would have spurned it from me--but the time was not yet -come. So I took her hand in mine, and with a grateful pressure, thanked -her for her condescending goodness. 'Now,' said she, with one of her -most endearing smiles, 'we are good friends again.' - -"For an instant my dire resolution seemed melting away--but I steeled -myself relentlessly, and swore by my own head to pursue my revenge. -From that day forth I was unremitting in my endeavor to gain her whole -heart--every word and look was directed to that end. For hours have I -sat with her, pouring out for her attentive ear whatever my more -masculine studies had made me conversant with, but which to her had -been as a sealed book. - -"At length I saw that I had succeeded; her whole being seemed bound up -in my love, and I felt that my victim was in my power. 'Now for -revenge,' I muttered, as I walked slowly to the door and rang the bell. -The room was empty as I entered; I sat down and pondered over the best -and surest mode of attaining my wish. Presently I heard a light step -hurrying down the staircase, and slackening in speed as it approached -the door. I threw a slight expression of gloom over my features; the -door opened, and Miss ---- entered and greeted me with a mingling of -cordiality and bashfulness which at one time would have brought me on -my knees before her: now it was of no avail. She soon noticed the -sadness of my looks, and inquired the cause. 'I was thinking,' I -replied, 'of a past and most painful event. It was here, in this room, -that I heard, from lips that were dearest to me of all on earth, words -which stunned me more than a thunderbolt would have done, and she who -spoke them sate where you now sit.' - -"'Hush, sweet; hush,' said she, playfully putting her hand on my mouth, -'and do not again allude to an occurrence which I regret so much. -Indeed,' she continued, while her eyes filled with tears, 'indeed, I -would do any thing to convince you how much it has grieved me.' - -"I smiled fondly, and rising from my chair, seated myself by her side, -and took her little hand in mine. - -"'F----,' said I, 'you have told me that you loved me, and I believed -you; I need not say how dearly I have loved you. Listen, dear girl, to -what my love compels me to tell. Until this day I have been accustomed -to think of myself as one beyond the reach of poverty, although not -rich: this very day I have learned that I am well nigh pennyless. Our -engagement is yet unknown to any save ourselves, and it remains with -you to say whether it shall continue. I release you entirely from your -promise, and never by word or deed will I reproach you, should you -listen to the voice of prudence, and decline linking your fate to that -of one who has nothing save the gushing tenderness and love of a -passionate heart to offer you. If your generous mind reject the thought -of discarding me for my poverty, think on all you will have to undergo; -the loss of all that custom has rendered almost necessary; "the proud -man's contumely--the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune;" -perchance the bitings of absolute penury;--and tell me, can you leave -family and friends, and your childhood's home, and endure all for the -sake of my love?' - -"My arm had encircled her waist, and I gazed steadfastly on her face. -The proud blood rose in her pale cheek as she answered, 'George, I do -love you more than I know how to express, and ever for yourself alone. -I can now show you how completely I am yours, for my love can end but -with my life.' - -"Wildly, fearfully, did the fiery blood bound through my tingling -veins. I drew her to me; her head lay on my shoulder, and I covered -with kisses her forehead, her eyes, her cheek, her lips. Tears of -passionate love burst from my eyes, and I pressed her to my heart in an -agony of uncontrollable delight. Slowly my calmness returned, and again -'revenge! revenge!' sounded in my ear. - -"I withdrew my arm from her, but still retained her hand, and said in a -quiet tone, 'Listen again, and swear by your hopes of heaven that you -will divulge to no mortal ear what I shall say.' She did so, and I -continued: 'Two months ago you told me that you scorned and despised -me: I swore to requite it--and now I tell you, and I swear by the crown -of the eternal king I tell you truly, that I abhor you; I scorn and -hate you more than I do the wretch who has murdered her infant child.' -I flung from me as I spoke the hand I held, and rising from my seat, -stood with my arms folded, looking her full in the face. - -"For a moment she gazed wildly at me, as if she did not comprehend what -I had said; but as the dreadful truth forced itself on her mind her -face became white as chalk, her eyelids quivered convulsively, and with -almost a scream she fell back in a swoon. I raised her, and getting -some water from a flower jar, I sprinkled it over her face, and -supported her in my arms. In a few minutes she opened her eyes, and -fixed them on me with a gaze of imperfect consciousness; my arm still -supported her. 'Oh George, George,' she murmured, clasping my neck with -her arms, and sobbing bitterly, 'how could you jest so cruelly with me? -I know you were not in earnest; you could not speak so in earnest to -your own F----; but your dreadful look frightened me almost to death;' -and she hid her face in my bosom, and sobbed as if her heart would -break. For a few moments her sobs continued, and then she gradually -recovered herself. I quietly unclasped her hands from my neck, and -again rising from the sofa, said in a bitter tone, 'compose yourself -Miss ----, and be assured that I am in earnest. Look on my face, and -see a man marked for the grave--and you are my destroyer. You have -blighted all my happiness in this world; and before the leaves which -are new budding shall fall, I will be sleeping in my cold grave. But -_now_ vengeance is mine, and I have repaid you; your death blow has -been stricken, and soon, very soon, will you wither in your early tomb, -where I shall speedily follow. Remember your dreadful oath.' - -"She did not move nor weep, but her eyes were fixed on me with a -fearful stare as the charmed bird regards the rattlesnake, and followed -me as I moved from the room. Next day I heard that Miss ---- had been -discovered in the room where I left her in a state of insensibility, -and had with difficulty been aroused from it, but was alarmingly ill. -Conjecture was at fault as to the cause of her illness; among the -thousand and one suppositions none came near the truth, and nothing -could be learned from her. She was obstinately silent, as the attending -physician, a pragmatical, dogmatical fellow, chose to report. A week -passed and she was thought somewhat better; and her father, who had -hurried to town on hearing of her illness, insisted on carrying her to -the country with him. Another week passed and I heard nothing of her. I -became anxious; I wished to see her again; to mark the progress of -death, and exult in the completion of my revenge. I went down to my -guardian's house. They were all speaking of poor F---- when I arrived; -she was not expected to live forty-eight hours. - -"Next day my guardian, his daughter and myself rode over to Mr. ----'s -to see F---- once more. Her mother was weeping and refusing to be -comforted: she was her only child. I did not see her father; like -Hagar, he had taken a last look at his child, and had gone into the -woods to mourn unseen--he could not see his child die. - -"My cousin and her father went into the dying girl's room, while I -remained conversing with some of the neighbors who were there. After -some time had elapsed they came out; she came to me weeping bitterly, -and said that Miss ---- desired to see me alone. I almost trembled, but -hastened to the room; no one was there save the dying girl. There she -lay, her dark hair loose over her pillow, her fine face attenuated and -white as alabaster; one hand was exposed to view--it was shrunk almost -to nothing--but the lustre of her eyes was yet undiminished. I moved to -the bedside and gazed in silence on the yet living remains of the most -angelic spirit that I have met with in my intercourse with my fellow -mortals. 'George,' said she in a weak voice, 'in a few minutes I shall -breathe my last, yet I love you as fondly as ever, notwithstanding your -cruel treatment of me. Oh speak to me, George! tell me that you love -me, and I will forgive you and die contented.' My desire for revenge -melted away; I felt almost choked with emotion, and throwing myself on -my knees I kissed her emaciated hand and wept tears of bitter regret: -inextinguishable love burned in my heart, and I moaned in her ear, -'F----, my sweet, sweet F----, I do love you, and have ever loved you -more than all the world holds beside, but it was fated that thus it -should be!' A smile of delight spread over her face, her dying hand -pressed mine--and in a whisper almost inaudible she said, 'Farewell, we -will meet hereafter.' Her breathing fluttered and ceased--she was dead. -I imprinted a last kiss on her face, still lovely even in death, and -left the room. - -"I saw her body committed to the earth and her grave sprinkled with -early violets; and when all was over, we left the bereaved family to -their sorrows.--Since that day I have impatiently awaited the approach -of death, but my sufferings have not terminated as soon as I wished. At -times a dreadful feeling of remorse has seized me, and in agonies that -cannot be described have I writhed during many sleepless nights--but I -was a mere instrument in the hands of unalterable fate. - -"A few days since I came to Richmond to arrange some business. -To-morrow I shall leave this city for New York, where I shall stay for -some weeks. After this day I shall never see you again." - -He ceased. I wished to say something, but his recital had made so -strong an impression on me, and he seemed so fully fixed in the belief -of his approaching death, that I was silent. The shades of evening -began to deepen around us, and the full moon rose struggling through a -bank of clouds. "Come," said B----, "go with me to my room; I have -something to give you as a memento of me." We went to his room and he -took from a desk a dirk of beautiful workmanship, the handle richly -ornamented with gold, and giving it to me said, "take this and keep it. -I have been strongly tempted to use it against myself, but have -refrained, for it shall not be said that I feared to live. Farewell. I -have something to do, and you will excuse me." I wrung his hand and we -parted. I never saw him again; but in the latter part of July I heard -that he had returned from New York in a low state of health, having, as -was said, wasted rapidly in a consumption. Early in August he died, -making it his last request to be buried by the grave of Miss ----. It -was complied with, and before he completed the twenty-second year of -his age, he slept by the side of her he had loved. Peace to their -ashes! - -BENEDICT. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -THE CHANGES OF NATURE. - - Cum polo Phoebus roseis quadrigis.--_Boet: Lib. ii. Met. iii._ - - - How oft when Sol, in rosy car, - Pursues his radiant race, - The malice of the evil star - Sheds paleness o'er his face! - - How oft when Spring sets out her flowers, - And opening blossoms play, - An angry cloud, with chilling showers, - Sweeps all their charms away! - - How oft when Ocean smiles serene, - Composing all his waves, - A sudden storm confounds the scene, - And sailors find their graves! - - Oh! then, since this is Nature's style, - Still changing from her birth, - Why trust her false, deceitful smile? - Why look for rest on earth? - - - - -ORIGINAL LITERARY NOTICES. - - -THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII. By the author of Pelham, &c. 2 vols. New -York: Harper & Brothers. 1834. - -The "Messenger" ought to have contained an earlier notice of this -fashionable and brilliant work. If our readers have not seen it, we -would advise them by all means to send forthwith to the bookseller and -purchase a copy. We are free to confess that it has raised Mr. Bulwer -fifty per cent. at least in our estimation,--yet we do not think it by -any means a faultless performance. Mr. Bulwer's pictures, in all his -works that we have read, are too gaudy,--too highly wrought,--and -therefore too much above nature,--and want the delightful repose and -serene features which distinguish the great Scottish magician. He is, -nevertheless, an author of vivid and powerful fancy, of extensive -learning, and of high capacity to seize upon his readers and enchain -them by fine imagery and impassioned eloquence. The work before us is -one of undoubted merit. The subject is of great historical interest, -and the author has contrived to reanimate the "city of the dead" with a -group of actors who, with some exceptions, admirably sustain their -respective parts, and contribute their due share to the continued -interest and final catastrophe of the story. We shall not attempt any -analysis of the book, for that would be to deprive such of our readers -as have not seen it, of much of that exquisite pleasure which attends -the progressive developement of the plot, and the gradual -disentanglement of all the intricacies in a work of fiction. The -tragical story of Pompeii is familiar to classical readers, and -especially the graphic account of its doom by the younger Pliny, who -was an eye witness to the calamity. Its discovery and partial -restoration in latter times,--the laborious excavations which have -brought back its temples, its theatres, its triumphal arches and -spacious edifices, to the light of day;--its antique curiosities and -fine paintings, rescued as it were from a dark interment of seventeen -centuries, and now exhibited in their original form and freshness, are -all circumstances of powerful interest,--but have been so frequently -referred to by tourists, antiquarians and others, that they do not -require any particular notice at our hands. We regard Mr. Bulwer as -highly fortunate in the choice of his subject; and, as he enjoyed great -advantages by his presence on the spot, he has contrived to embellish -his story by a variety of interesting details derived from actual -inspection. The minute account, for example, of the dwelling of -Glaucus, in the third chapter,--of the complicated arrangement and -splendid ornaments of the various apartments, is not the creation of -fancy but a lively representation of a living model. By the way, since -this same chapter contains a very curious account of a Pompeian supper, -besides some other interesting matters, we are tempted to insert the -whole in our columns, especially as many of our readers may have no -opportunity of seeing the volumes from which it is extracted. The -_umbra_, who is introduced as one of the guests, is a species of animal -not peculiar we believe, to the Roman age. Society has in all ages -abounded in parasites and toadies, who, for the sake of a plentiful -repast and _fashionable_ company, have very willingly echoed the -sentiments of a rich patron. Glaucus, one of the principal personages -in the tale, had assembled a small party to partake of his luxurious -bounty,--and the chapter opens with a fine description of the host -himself. We introduce it to our readers. - - * * * * * - -Heaven had given to Glaucus every blessing but one: it had given him -beauty, health, fortune, genius, illustrious descent, a heart of fire, -a mind of poetry; but it had denied him the heritage of freedom. He was -born in Athens, the subject of Rome. Succeeding early to an ample -inheritance, he had indulged that inclination for travel so natural to -the young, and had drunk deep of the intoxicating draught of pleasure, -amid the gorgeous luxuries of the imperial court. - -He was an Alcibiades without ambition. He was what a man of -imagination, youth, fortune and talents readily becomes when you -deprive him of the inspiration of glory. His house at Rome was the -theme of the debauchees, but also of the lovers of art; and the -sculptors of Greece delighted to task their skill in adorning the -porticoes and _exedra_ of an Athenian. His retreat in Pompeii--alas! -the colors are faded now, the walls stripped of their paintings!--its -main beauty, its elaborate finish of grace and ornament, is gone; yet -when first given once more to the day, what eulogies, what wonder did -its minute and glowing decorations create--its paintings--its mosaics! -Passionately enamoured of poetry and the drama, which recalled to -Glaucus the wit and the heroism of his race, that fairy mansion was -adorned with representations of Ćschylus and Homer. And antiquaries, -who resolve taste to a trade, have turned the patron to the professor, -and still (though the error is now acknowledged) they style in custom, -as they first named in mistake, the disburied house of the Athenian -Glaucus, "THE HOUSE OF THE DRAMATIC POET." - -Previous to our description of this house, it may be well to convey to -the reader a general notion of the houses of Pompeii, which he will -find to resemble strongly the plans of Vitruvius; but with all those -differences, in detail, of caprice and taste which, being natural to -mankind, have always puzzled antiquaries. We shall endeavor to make -this description as clear and unpedantic as possible. - -You enter then, usually, by a small entrance passage (called -_vestibulum_) into a hall, sometimes with (but more frequently without) -the ornament of columns; around three sides of this hall are doors -communicating with several bed chambers, (among which is the porter's,) -the best of these being usually appropriated to country visiters. At -the extremity of the hall, on either side to the right and left, if the -house is large, there are two small recesses, rather than chambers, -generally devoted to the ladies of the mansion; and in the centre of -the tesselated pavement of the hall is invariably a square shallow -reservoir for rain water (classically termed _impluvium_,) which was -admitted by a hole in the roof above; the said aperture being covered -at will by an awning. Near this impluvium, which had a peculiar -sanctity in the eyes of the ancients, were sometimes (but at Pompeii -more rarely than at Rome) placed images of the household gods; the -hospitable hearth, often mentioned by the Roman poets, and consecrated -to the Lares, was, at Pompeii, almost invariably formed by a moveable -_brasier_; while in some corner, often the most ostentatious place, was -deposited a huge wooden chest, ornamented and strengthened by bands of -bronze or iron, and secured by strong hooks upon a stone pedestal so -firmly as to defy the attempts of any robber to detach it from its -position. This chest was supposed to be the money-box or coffer of the -master of the house; though, as no money has been found in any of the -chests discovered at Pompeii, it is probable that it was sometimes -rather designed for ornament than use. - -In this hall (or _atrium_, to speak classically) the clients and -visiters of inferior rank were usually received. In the houses of the -more "respectable," an _atriensis_, or slave peculiarly devoted to the -service of the hall, was invariably retained, and his rank among his -fellow slaves was high and important. The reservoir in the centre must -have been rather a dangerous ornament, but the centre of the hall was -like the grass-plat of a college, and interdicted to the passers to and -fro, who found ample space in the margin. Right opposite the entrance, -at the other end of the hall, was an apartment (_tablinum_,) in which -the pavement was usually adorned with rich mosaics, and the walls -covered with elaborate paintings. Here were usually kept the records of -the family, or those of any public office that had been filled by the -owner: on one side of this saloon, if we may so call it, was often a -dining room, or _triclinium_; on the other side, perhaps, what we -should now term a cabinet of gems, containing whatever curiosities were -deemed most rare and costly; and invariably a small passage for the -slaves to cross to the farther parts of the house without passing the -apartments thus mentioned. These rooms all opened on a square or oblong -colonnade, technically termed peristyle. If the house was small, its -boundary ceased with this colonnade, and in that case its centre, -however diminutive, was ordinarily appropriated to the purpose of a -garden, and adorned with vases of flowers placed upon pedestals, while -under the colonnade, to the right and left, were doors, admitting to -bed rooms,[1] to a second _triclinium_, or eating room, (for the -ancients generally appropriated two rooms at least to that purpose, one -for summer and one for winter, or perhaps one for ordinary, the other -for festive occasions;) and if the owner affected letters, a cabinet, -dignified by the name of library,--for a very small room was sufficient -to contain the few rolls of papyrus which the ancients deemed a notable -collection of books. - -[Footnote 1: The Romans had bed rooms appropriated not only to the -sleep of night, but also to the day siesta (_cubicula diurna_.)] - -At the end of the peristyle was generally the kitchen. Supposing the -house was large, it did not end with the peristyle, and the centre -thereof was not in that case a garden, but might be perhaps adorned -with a fountain, or basin for fish; and at its end, exactly opposite to -the tablinum, was generally another eating room, on either side of -which were bed rooms, and perhaps a picture saloon, or _pinatheca_.[2] -These apartments communicated again with a square or oblong space, -usually adorned on three sides with a colonnade like the peristyle, and -very much resembling the peristyle, only longer. This was the proper -_viridarium_ or garden, being usually adorned with a fountain, or -statues, and a profusion of gay flowers: at its extreme end was the -gardener's house; on either side beneath the colonnade were sometimes, -if the size of the family required it, additional rooms. - -[Footnote 2: In the stately palaces of Rome, the pinatheca usually -communicated with the atrium.] - -At Pompeii, a second or third story was rarely of importance, being -built only above a small part of the house, and containing rooms for -the slaves; differing in this respect from the more magnificent -edifices of Rome, which generally contained the principal eating room -(or _coenaculum_) on the second floor. The apartments themselves were -ordinarily of small size: for in those delightful climes they received -any extraordinary number of visiters in the peristyle (or portico,) the -hall, or the garden; and even their banquet rooms, however elaborately -adorned and carefully selected in point of aspect, were of diminutive -proportions; for the intellectual ancients, being fond of society, not -of crowds, rarely feasted more than nine at a time, so that large -dinner rooms were not so necessary with them as with us.[3] But the -suite of rooms seen at once from the entrance must have had a very -imposing effect; you beheld at once the hall richly paved and -painted--the tablinum--the graceful peristyle, and (if the house -extended farther) the opposite banquet room and the garden, which -closed the view with some gushing fount or marble statue. - -[Footnote 3: When they entertained very large parties, the feast was -usually served in the hall.] - -The reader will now have a tolerable notion of the Pompeian houses, -which resembled in some respects the Grecian, but mostly the Roman, -fashion of domestic architecture. In almost every house there is some -difference in detail from the rest, but the principal outline is the -same in all. In all you find the hall, the tablinum, and the peristyle -communicating with each other; in all you find the walls richly -painted, and in all the evidence of a people fond of the refining -elegancies of life. The purity of the taste of the Pompeians in -decoration is however questionable: they were fond of the gaudiest -colors, of fantastic designs; they often painted the lower half of -their columns a bright red, leaving the rest uncolored; and where the -garden was small, its wall was frequently tinted to deceive the eye as -to its extent, imitating trees, birds, temples, &c. in perspective--a -meretricious delusion which the graceful pedantry of Pliny himself -adopted, with a complacent pride in its ingenuity. - -But the house of Glaucus was at once one of the smallest, and yet of -the most adorned and finished, of all the private mansions of Pompeii; -it would be a model at this day for the house of "a single man in -Mayfair"--the envy and despair of the coelibian purchasers of buhl and -marquetrie. - -You enter by a long and narrow vestibule, on the floor of which is the -image of a dog in mosaic, with the well known "cave canem," or "beware -the dog." On either side is a chamber of some size; for the interior -house not being large enough to contain the two great divisions of -private and public apartments, these two rooms were set apart for the -reception of visiters who neither by rank nor familiarity were entitled -to admission in the penetralia of the mansion. - -Advancing up the vestibule, you enter an atrinum, that when first -discovered was rich in paintings, which _in point of expression_ would -scarcely disgrace a Raphael. You may see them now transplanted to the -Neapolitan Museum; they are still the admiration of connoisseurs; they -depict the parting of Achilles and Briseis. Who does not acknowledge -the force, the vigor, the beauty! employed in delineating the forms and -faces of Achilles and the immortal slave! - -On one side the atrinum, a small staircase admitted to the apartments -for the slaves on the second floor; there too were two or three small -bed rooms, the walls of which portrayed the rape of Europa, the battle -of the Amazons, &c. - -You now enter the tablinum, across which at either end hung rich -draperies of Tyrian purple, half withdrawn.[4] On the walls were -depicted a poet reading his verses to his friends; and in the pavement -was inserted a small and most exquisite mosaic, typical of the -instructions given by the director of the stage to his comedians. - -[Footnote 4: The tablinum was also secured at pleasure by sliding -doors.] - -You passed through this saloon and entered the peristyle; and here (as -I have said before was usually the case with the smaller houses of -Pompeii) the mansion ended. From each of the seven columns that adorned -this court hung festoons of garlands; the centre, supplying the place -of a garden, bloomed with the rarest flowers, placed in vases of white -marble, that were supported on pedestals. At the left end of this small -garden was a diminutive fane, resembling one of those small chapels -placed at the side of roads in Catholic countries, and dedicated to the -Penates; before it stood a bronze tripod; to the left of the colonnade -were two small cubiculi or bed rooms; to the right was the triclinium, -in which the guests were now assembled. - -This room is usually termed by the antiquaries of Naples, "the chamber -of Leda;" and in the beautiful work of Sir William Gell, the reader -will find an engraving from that most delicate and graceful painting of -Leda presenting her new-born to her husband, from which the room -derives its name. This beautiful apartment opened upon the fragrant -garden. Round the table of citrean[5] wood, highly polished and -delicately wrought with silver arabesques, were placed the three -couches, which were yet more common at Pompeii than the semi-circular -seat that had grown lately into fashion at Rome; and on these couches -of bronze, studded with richer metals, were laid thick quiltings -covered with elaborate broidery, and yielding luxuriously to the -pressure. - -[Footnote 5: The most valued wood; not the modern citron tree. Some, -among whom is my learned friend Mr. W. S. Landor, conjecture it, with -much plausibility, to have been mahogany.] - -"Well, I must own," said the ćdile Pansa, "that your house, though -scarcely larger than a case for one's fibulć, is a gem of its kind. How -beautifully painted is that parting of Achilles and Briseis!--what a -style!--what heads!--what a--hem!" - -"Praise from Pansa is indeed valuable on such subjects," said Clodius, -gravely. "Why, the paintings on _his_ walls--ah! there is, indeed, the -hand of a Zeuxis!" - -"You flatter me, my Clodius; indeed you do," quoth the ćdile, who was -celebrated through Pompeii for having the worst paintings in the world; -for he was patriotic, and patronised none but Pompeians,--"you flatter -me: but there is something pretty--Ćdepol, yes--in the colors, to say -nothing of the design;--and then for the kitchen, my friends--ah! that -was all my fancy." - -"What is the design?" said Glaucus. "I have not yet seen your kitchen, -though I have often witnessed the excellence of its cheer." - -"A cook, my Athenian--a cook sacrificing the trophies of his skill on -the altar of Vesta, with a beautiful murćna (taken from the life) on a -spit at a distance: there is some invention there!" - -At that instant the slaves appeared, bearing a tray covered with the -first preparative initia of the feast. Amid delicious figs, fresh herbs -strewed with snow, anchovies, and eggs, were ranged small cups of -diluted wine sparingly mixed with honey. As these were placed on the -table, young slaves bore round to each of the five guests (for there -were no more) the silver basin of perfumed water and napkins edged with -a purple fringe. But the ćdile ostentatiously drew forth his own -napkin, which was not, indeed, of so fine a linen, but in which the -fringe was twice as broad, and wiped his hands with the parade of a man -who felt he was calling for admiration. - -"A splendid _mappa_ that of yours," said Clodius; "why, the fringe is -as broad as a girdle." - -"A trifle, my Clodius, a trifle! They tell me this stripe is the latest -fashion at Rome; but Glaucus attends to these things more than I." - -"Be propitious, O Bacchus!" said Glaucus, inclining reverentially to a -beautiful image of the god placed in the centre of the table, at the -corners of which stood the Lares and the saltholders. The guests -followed the prayer, and then, sprinkling the wine on the table, they -performed the wonted libation. - -This over, the convivalists reclined themselves on the couches, and the -business of the hour commenced. - -"May this cup be my last!" said the young Sallust, as the table, -cleared of its first stimulants, was now loaded with the substantial -part of the entertainment, and the ministering slave poured forth to -him a brimming cyathus--"May this cup be my last, but it is the best -wine I have drunk at Pompeii!" - -"Bring hither the amphora," said Glaucus; "and read its date and its -character." - -The slave hastened to inform the party that the scroll fastened to the -cork betokened its birth from Chios, and its age a ripe fifty years. - -"How deliciously the snow has cooled it!" said Pansa; "it is just -enough." - -"It is like the experience of a man who has cooled his pleasures -sufficiently to give them a double zest," exclaimed Sallust. - -"It is like a woman's 'No,'" added Glaucus; "it cools but to inflame -the more." - -"When is our next wild-beast fight?" said Clodius to Pansa. - -"It stands fixed for the ninth ide of August," answered Pansa, "on the -day after the Vulcanalia; we have a most lovely young lion for the -occasion." - -"Whom shall we get for him to eat?" asked Clodius, "Alas! there is a -great scarcity of criminals. You must positively find some innocent or -other to condemn to the lion, Pansa!" - -"Indeed I have thought very seriously about it of late," replied the -ćdile, gravely. "It was a most infamous law that which forbade us to -send our own slaves to the wild beasts. Not to let us do what we like -with our own, that's what I call an infringement on property itself." - -"Not so in the good old days of the republic," sighed Sallust. - -"And then this pretended mercy to the slaves is such a disappointment -to the poor people. How they do love to see a good tough battle between -a man and a lion! and all this innocent pleasure they may lose (if the -gods don't send us a good criminal soon) from this cursed law." - -"What can be worse policy," said Clodius, sententiously, "than to -interfere with the manly amusements of the people?" - -"Well, thank Jupiter and the Fates! we have no Nero at present," said -Sallust. - -"He was, indeed, a tyrant; he shut up our amphitheatre for ten years." - -"I wonder it did not create a rebellion," said Sallust. - -"It very nearly did," returned Pansa, with his mouth full of wild boar. - -Here the conversation was interrupted for a moment by a flourish of -flutes, and two slaves entered with a single dish. - -"Ah! what delicacy hast thou in store for us now, my Glaucus?" cried -the young Sallust, with sparkling eyes. - -Sallust was only twenty-four, but he had no pleasure in life like -eating--perhaps he had exhausted all the others; yet had he some -talent, and an excellent heart--as far as it went. - -"I know its face, by Pollux!" cried Pansa; "it is an Ambracian kid. -Ho!" snapping his fingers, a usual signal to the slaves, "we must -prepare a new libation in honor to the new-comer." - -"I had hoped," said Glaucus, in a melancholy tone, "to have procured -you some oysters from Britain; but the winds that were so cruel to -Cćsar have forbid us the oysters." - -"Are they in truth so delicious?" asked Lepidus, loosening to a yet -more luxurious ease his ungirdled tunic. - -"Why, in truth, I suspect it is the distance that gives the flavor; -they want the richness of the Brundusium oyster. But at Rome no supper -is complete without them." - -"The poor Britons! There is some good in them after all," said Sallust; -"they produce an oyster!" - -"I wish they would produce us a gladiator," said the ćdile, whose -provident mind was still musing over the wants of the amphitheatre. - -"By Pallas!" cried Glaucus, as his favorite slave crowned his steaming -locks with a new chaplet, "I love these wild spectacles well enough -when beast fights beast; but when a man, one with bones and blood like -ours, is coldly put on the arena, and torn limb from limb, the interest -is too horrid: I sicken--I gasp for breath--I long to rush and defend -him. The yells of the populace seem to me more dire than the voices of -the Furies chasing Orestes. I rejoice that there is so little chance of -that bloody exhibition for our next show!" - -The ćdile shrugged his shoulders; the young Sallust, who was thought -the best natured man in Pompeii, stared in surprise. The graceful -Lepidus, who rarely spoke for fear of disturbing his features, cried, -"Per Hercle!" The Parasite Clodius muttered, "Ćdepol;" and the sixth -banqueter, who was the umbra of Clodius, and whose duty it was to echo -his richer friend when he could not praise him--the parasite of a -parasite,--muttered also, "Ćdepol." - -"Well, you Italians are used to these spectacles; we Greeks are more -merciful. Ah, shade of Pindar!--the rapture of a true Grecian game--the -emulation of man against man--the generous strife--the half-mournful -triumph--so proud to contend with a noble foe, so sad to see him -overcome! But ye understand me not." - -"The kid is excellent," said Sallust. - -The slave whose duty it was to carve, and who valued himself on his -science, had just performed that office on the kid to the sound of -music, his knife keeping time, beginning with a low tenor, and -accomplishing the arduous feat amid a magnificent diapason. - -"Your cook is of course from Sicily?" said Pansa. - -"Yes, of Syracuse." - -"I will play you for him," said Clodius; "we will have a game between -the courses." - -"Better that sort of game, certainly, than a beast-fight; but I cannot -stake my Sicilian--you have nothing so precious to stake me in return." - -"My Phillida--my beautiful dancing girl!" - -"I never buy women," said the Greek, carelessly rearranging his -chaplet. - -The musicians, who were stationed in the portico without, had commenced -their office with the kid; they now directed the melody into a more -soft, a more gay, yet it may be a more intellectual, strain; and they -chanted that song of Horace beginning "Persicos odi," &c. so impossible -to translate, and which they imagined applicable to a feast that, -effeminate as it seems to us, was simple enough for the gorgeous -revelry of the time. We are witnessing the domestic and not the -princely feast--the entertainment of a gentleman, not of an emperor or -a senator. - -"Ah, good old Horace," said Sallust, compassionately; "he sang well of -feasts and girls, but not like our modern poets." - -"The immortal Fulvius, for instance," said Clodius. - -"Ah, Fulvius the immortal!" said the umbra. - -"And Spurćna, and Caius Mutius, who wrote three epics in a year--could -Horace do that, or Virgil either?" said Lepidus. "Those old poets all -fell into the mistake of copying sculpture instead of painting. -Simplicity and repose--that was their notion: but we moderns have fire, -and passions, and energy--we never sleep, we imitate the colors of -painting, its life and its action. Immortal Fulvius!" - -"By-the-way," said Sallust, "have you seen the new ode by Spurćna, in -honor of our Egyptian Isis?--it is magnificent--the true religious -fervor." - -"Isis seems a favorite divinity at Pompeii," said Glaucus. - -"Yes!" said Pansa, "she is exceedingly in repute just at this moment; -her statue has been uttering the most remarkable oracles. I am not -superstitious, but I must confess that she has more than once assisted -me materially in my magistracy with her advice. Her priests are so -pious too! none of your gay, none of your proud ministers of Jupiter -and Fortune; they walk barefoot, eat no meat, and pass the greater part -of the night in solitary devotion!" - -"An example to our other priesthoods, indeed!--Jupiter's temple wants -reforming sadly," said Lepidus, who was a great reformer for all but -himself. - -"They say that Arbaces the Egyptian has imparted some most solemn -mysteries to the priests of Isis," observed Sallust; "he boasts his -descent from the race of Ramases, and declares that in his family the -secrets of remotest antiquity are treasured." - -"He certainly possesses the gift of the evil eye," said Clodius; "if I -ever come upon that Medusa front without the previous charm, I am sure -to lose a favorite horse, or throw the _canes_[6] nine times running." - -[Footnote 6: _Canes_, or _caniculć_, the lowest throw at dice.] - -"The last would be indeed a miracle!" said Sallust, gravely. - -"How mean you, Sallust?" returned the gamester, with a flushed brow. - -"I mean what you would _leave_ me if I played often with you; and that -is--nothing." - -Clodius answered only by a smile of disdain. - -"If Arbaces were not so rich," said Pansa, with a stately air, "I -should stretch my authority a little, and inquire into the truth of the -report which calls him an astrologer and a sorcerer. Agrippa, when -ćdile of Rome, banished all such terrible citizens. But a rich man--it -is the duty of an ćdile to protect the rich!" - -"What think you of this new sect, which I am told has even a few -proselytes in Pompeii, these followers of the Hebrew God--Christus?" - -"Oh, mere speculative visionaries," said Clodius; "they have not a -single gentleman among them; their proselytes are poor, insignificant, -ignorant people!" - -"Who ought, however, to be crucified for their blasphemy," said Pansa, -with vehemence; "they deny Venus and Jove! Nazarene is but another name -for atheist. Let me catch them, that's all!" - -The second course was gone--the feasters fell back on their -couches--there was a pause while they listened to the soft voices of -the South, and the music of the Arcadian reed. Glaucus was the most -rapt and the least inclined to break the silence, but Clodius began -already to think that they wasted time. - -"_Bene vobis_ (your health,) my Glaucus," said he, quaffing a cup to -each letter of the Greek's name, with the ease of the practised -drinker. "Will you not be avenged on your ill-fortune of yesterday? -See, the dice court us." - -"As you will!" said Glaucus. - -"The dice in August, and I an ćdile," said Pansa, magisterially; "it is -against all law." - -"Not in your presence, grave Pansa," returned Clodius, rattling the -dice in a long box; "your presence restrains all license; it is not the -thing, but the excess of the thing, that hurts." - -"What wisdom!" murmured the umbra. - -"Well, I will look another way," said the ćdile. - -"Not yet, good Pansa; let us wait till we have supped," said Glaucus. - -Clodius reluctantly yielded, concealing his vexation with a yawn. - -"He gapes to devour the gold," whispered Lepidus to Sallust, in a -quotation from the Aulularia of Plautus. - -"Ah! how well I know these polypi, who hold all they touch," answered -Sallust, in the same tone, and out of the same play. - -The second course, consisting of a variety of fruits, pistachio nuts, -sweetmeats, tarts, and confectionary tortured into a thousand fantastic -and airy shapes, was now placed upon the table, and the ministri, or -attendants, also set there the wine (which had hitherto been handed -round to the guests) in large jugs of glass, each bearing upon it the -schedule of its age and quality. - -"Taste this Lesbian, my Pansa," said Sallust; "it is excellent." - -"It is not very old," said Glaucus, "but it has been made precocious, -like ourselves, by being put to the fire; the wine to the flames of -Vulcan, we to those of his wife, to whose honor I pour this cup." - -"It is delicate," said Pansa, "but there is perhaps the least particle -too much of rosin in its flavor." - -"What a beautiful cup!" cried Clodius, taking up one of transparent -crystal, the handles of which were wrought with gems, and twisted in -the shape of serpents, the favorite fashion at Pompeii. - -"This ring," said Glaucus, taking a costly jewel from the first joint -of his finger and hanging it on the handle, "gives it a richer show, -and renders it less unworthy of thy acceptance, my Clodius, whom may -the gods give health and fortune long and oft to crown it to brim!" - -"You are too generous, Glaucus," said the gamester, handing the cup to -his slave, "but your love gives it a double value." - -"This cup to the Graces!" said Pansa, and he thrice emptied his calix. -The guests followed his example. - -"We have appointed no director to the feast," cried Sallust. - -"Let us throw for him, then," said Clodius, rattling the dice-box. - -"Nay," cried Glaucus; "no cold and trite director for us; no dictator -of the banquet; no _rex convivii_. Have not the Romans sworn never to -obey a king? shall we be less free than your ancestors? Ho! musicians, -let us have the song I composed the other night; it has a verse on this -subject, 'The Bacchic Hymn of the Hours.'" - -The musicians struck their instruments to a wild Ionic air, while the -youngest voices in the band chanted forth in Greek words, as numbers, -the following strain: - -THE EVENING HYMN OF THE HOURS. - -I. - - Through the summer day, through the weary day, - We have glided long; - Ere we speed to the night through her portals gray, - Hail us with song! - With song, with song, - With a bright and joyous song, - Such as the Cretan maid, - While the twilight made her bolder, - Woke, high through the ivy shade, - When the wine-god first consoled her. - From the hush'd low-breathing skies, - Half-shut, look'd their starry eyes, - And all around, - With a loving sound, - The Ćgean waves were creeping; - On her lap lay the lynx's head; - Wild thyme was her bridal bed; - And aye through each tiny space, - In the green vine's green embrace, - The fauns were slyly peeping;-- - The fauns, the prying fauns-- - The arch, the laughing fauns-- - The fauns were slyly peeping! - -II. - - Flagging and faint are we - With our ceaseless flight, - And dull shall our journey be - Through the realm of night. - Bathe us, O bathe our weary wings, - In the purple wave, as it freshly springs - To your cups from the fount of light-- - From the fount of light--from the fount of light: - For there, when the sun has gone down in night, - There in the bowl we find him. - The grape is the well of that summer sun, - Or rather the stream that he gazed upon, - Till he left in truth, like the Thespian youth,[7] - His soul, as he gazed, behind him. - -III. - - A cup to Jove, and a cup to Love, - And a cup to the son of Maia, - And honor with three, the band zone-free, - The band of the bright Agiaia. - But since every bud in the wreath of pleasure - Ye owe to the sister Hours, - No stinted cups, in a formal measure, - The Bromian law make ours. - He honors us most who gives us most, - And boasts with a Bacchanal's honest boast - He never will _count_ the treasure. - Fastly we fleet, then seize our wings, - And plunge us deep in the sparkling springs; - And aye, as we rise with a dripping plume, - We'll scatter the spray round the garland's bloom. - We glow--we glow. - Behold, as the girls of the Eastern wave - Bore once with a shout to their crystal cave - The prize of the Mysian Hylas, - Even so--even so, - We have caught the young god in our warm embrace, - We hurry him on in our laughing race; - We hurry him on, with a whoop and song, - The cloudy rivers of Night along-- - Ho, ho!--we have caught thee, Pallas! - -[Footnote 7: Narcissus.] - -The guests applauded loudly: when the poet is your host, his verses are -sure to charm. - -"Thoroughly Greek," said Lepidus: "the wildness, force, and energy of -that tongue it is impossible to imitate in the Roman poetry." - -"It is indeed a great contrast," said Clodius, ironically at heart, -though not in appearance, "to the old-fashioned and tame simplicity of -that ode of Horace which we heard before. The air is beautifully Ionic: -the word puts me in mind of a toast--Companions, I give you the -beautiful Ione." - -"Ione--the name is Greek," said Glaucus, in a soft voice, "I drink the -health with delight. But who is Ione?" - -"Ah! you have but just come to Pompeii, or you would deserve ostracism -for your ignorance," said Lepidus, conceitedly; "not to know Ione is -not to know the chief charm of our city." - -"She is of most rare beauty," said Pansa; "and what a voice!" - -"She can feed only on nightingales' tongues," said Clodius. - -"Nightingales' tongues!--beautiful thought," sighed the umbra. - -"Enlighten me, I beseech you," said Glaucus. - -"Know then," began Lepidus-- - -"Let me speak," cried Clodius; "you drawl out your words as if you -spoke tortoises." - -"And you speak stones," muttered the coxcomb to himself, as he fell -back disdainfully on his couch. - -"Know then, my Glaucus," said Clodius, "that Ione is a stranger, who -has but lately come to Pompeii. She sings like Sappho, and her songs -are her own composing; and as for the tibia, and the cithara, and the -lyre, I know not in which she most outdoes the Muses. Her beauty is -most dazzling. Her house is perfect; such taste--such gems--such -bronzes! She is rich, and generous as she is rich." - -"Her lovers, of course," said Glaucus, "take care that she does not -starve; and money lightly won is always lavishly spent." - -"Her lovers--ah, there is the enigma! Ione has but one vice--she is -chaste. She has all Pompeii at her feet, and she has no lovers: she -will not even marry." - -"No lovers!" echoed Glaucus. - -"No; she has the soul of Vesta, with the girdle of Venus." - -"What refined expressions!" said the umbra. - -"A miracle!" cried Glaucus. "Can we not see her?" - -"I will take you there this evening," said Clodius; "meanwhile," added -he, once more rattling the dice-- - -"I am yours!" said the complaisant Glaucus. "Pansa turn your face!" - -Lepidus and Sallust played at odd and even, and the umbra looked on, -while Glaucus and Clodius became gradually absorbed in the chances of -the dice. - -"Per Jove!" cried Glaucus, "this is the second time I have thrown the -caniculć" (the lowest throw.) - -"Now Venus befriend me!" said Clodius, rattling the box for several -moments, "O Alma Venus--it is Venus herself!" as he threw the highest -cast named from that goddess,--whom he who wins money indeed usually -propitiates! - -"Venus is ungrateful to me," said Glaucus, gayly; "I have always -sacrificed on her altar." - -"He who plays with Clodius," whispered Lepidus, "will soon, like -Plautus's Curculio, put his pallium for the stakes." - -"Poor Glaucus--he is as blind as Fortune herself," replied Sallust, in -the same tone. - -"I will play no more," said Glaucus. "I have lost thirty sestertia." - -"I am sorry," began Clodius. - -"Amiable man!" groaned the umbra. - -"Not at all!" exclaimed Glaucus; "the pleasure of your gain compensates -the pain of my loss." - -The conversation now became general and animated; the wine circulated -more freely; and Ione once more became the subject of eulogy to the -guests of Glaucus. - -"Instead of outwatching the star, let us visit one at whose beauty the -stars grow pale," said Lepidus. - -Clodius, who saw no chance of renewing the dice, seconded the proposal; -and Glaucus, though he civilly pressed his guests to continue the -banquet, could not but let them see that his curiosity had been excited -by the praises of Ione; they therefore resolved to adjourn (all at -least but Pansa and the umbra) to the house of the fair Greek. They -drank, therefore, to the health of Glaucus and of Titus--they performed -their last libation--they resumed their slippers--they descended the -stairs--passed the illumined atrium--and walking unbitten over the -fierce dog painted on the threshold, found themselves beneath the light -of the moon just risen, in the lively and still crowded streets of -Pompeii. They passed the jewellers' quarter, sparkling with lights, -caught and reflected by the gems displayed in the shops, and arrived at -last at the door of Ione. The vestibule blazed with rows of lamps; -curtains of embroidered purple hung on either aperture of the tablinum, -whose walls and mosaic pavement glowed with the richest colors of the -artist; and under the portico which surrounded the odorous viridarium -they found Ione already surrounded by adoring and applauding guests. - -"Did you say she was Athenian?" whispered Glaucus, ere he passed into -the peristyle. - -"No, she is from Neapolis." - -"Neapolis!" echoed Glaucus; and at that moment, the group dividing on -either side of Ione gave to his view that bright, that nymph-like -beauty which for months had shone down upon the waters of his memory. - - * * * * * - -Glaucus is a noble character throughout; educated of course a heathen, -but endowed with some of those higher faculties of reason, which -enabled him in the end to surrender the charms of a poetic mythology -for a purer and brighter faith. Ione, "the beautiful Ione," is an -almost perfect model of Grecian loveliness and accomplishment; and her -brother Apćcides, furnishes an affecting illustration of great powers -and virtues rendered prostrate by an overwrought sensibility and -enthusiastic temperament. Arbaces, the dark, wily, revengeful Egyptian, -is the demon of the tale. In profound earthly wisdom and diabolical -depravity, "none but himself can be his parallel." The "Asiatic -Journal," whose editors or reviewers we take to be much wiser than we -are, asserts that the character of Nydia is not an original creation of -Mr. Bulwer's; but that the dwarf _Mignon_ in the _Wilhelm Meister_ of -Goethe, is the exact prototype not only of the blind flower girl, but -of the fantastical Fenella in Scott's Peverill of the Peak. The -"Journal" also maintains that the witch of Vesuvius, is of the true Meg -Merrillie's family. In regard to the first supposed -resemblances,--never having seen Goethe's work, we profess our entire -incompetency to judge; but we do most fervently protest against any -comparison between our old favorite Meg and that most execrable hag -whom Bulwer has placed in the caverns of Vesuvius,--the perusal of -whose accursed incantations deprived us of several hours of our -accustomed and needful rest. - -Whilst Mr. Bulwer has rendered to the Egyptian and a few others the -just reward of their transgressions, we think that poor Nydia has been -hardly dealt by. What a fine opportunity it was to illustrate the power -of christian faith in soothing even the sorrows of unrequited love. We -do not say this reproachfully however, because we think that Mr. Bulwer -has endeavored at least, to do justice to the christian character and -principles, in his work. Olynthus is a fine specimen of that heroic -courage which, especially in the early ages of the church, was content -with ignominy, chains and poverty in this life, and courted even -martyrdom itself, in the bright anticipation of eternal bliss. - -Having thus candidly stated our impressions of Mr. Bulwer's work, -justice requires that we should spread before our readers the well -sustained vindication of one of our own countrymen, who complains that -his literary rights have been grossly violated by this eminent -transatlantic author. Mr. Fairfield, the editor of the _North American -Magazine_, a man of unquestionable genius, and a poet of no ordinary -strength, has fearlessly thrown the gauntlet, and charged the proud -Briton to his teeth with literary piracy; an offence in the republic of -letters, which ought at least to be rebuked by stern denunciation, as -no corporal or pecuniary punishment can be inflicted. This piracy it -seems, has been committed by Mr. Bulwer upon the lawful goods and -chattels, the genuine offspring of Mr. Fairfield's own intellectual -labors. We confess that we are struck with the plausible and curious -coincidence, to speak technically, between Mr. Fairfield's _allegata_ -and his undeniable _probata_. If the English novelist has decked -himself in borrowed plumage, he ought to be forthwith stripped of it, -and the stolen feather should adorn the brow of its real owner. The sin -of plagiarism however, though never so distinctly proved, ought not in -strictness to detract from the genuine and acknowledged merits of an -author. Mr. Bulwer may have done great injustice to our countryman, and -yet have some redeeming beauties to atone for his transgression. In -compliance with Mr. Fairfield's request, we insert with pleasure the -whole of his interesting article. - - From the North American Magazine. - -THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII;[8] _versus_ THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII.[9] - -[Footnote 8: The Last Night of Pompeii: A Poem, and Lays and Legends. -By Sumner Lincoln Fairfield. New York: 1829.] - -[Footnote 9: The Last Days of Pompeii: By the Author of Pelham, Eugene -Aram, England, and the English, &c. 2 vols. 12mo. New York: 1834. -Harper and Brothers.] - -While we have never failed to acknowledge and applaud the brilliant -imagination and the eloquent and fascinating style of Mr. E. L. Bulwer, -we have never feared to assert that he was a sophist in ethics and a -libertine in love, and that _effect_ was apparently the only law which -influenced his mind or guided his pen. Better disguised, but not less -pernicious in principle and evil in action than the Tom Jones and Count -Fathom and Zeluco of Fielding, Smollett and Moore, his characters not -only exist in, but actually create an atmosphere of impurity which -infects the very hearts of his admirers. He invests the seducer with -irresistible attractions, and paints the highwayman and the murderer as -examples for imitation. But even in the execution of his execrable -purposes, he is not original either in his plots or his sentiments. The -old Portuguese Jew Spinoza and his disciples Hobbes, Toland, -Shaftesbury and Bolingbroke have abundantly supplied him with infidel -arguments; and the profligate courtiers of Charles the Second have -contributed their licentious stratagems and impure dialogues to augment -the claims and heighten the charms of his coxcombs, libertines and -menslayers. Mr. Bulwer has read much and skillfully appropriated, -without acknowledgment, all that has suited his designs. He has -artfully clothed the lofty thoughts of others in his own brilliant -garb, and enjoyed the renown of a powerful writer and profound thinker, -when he was little more than an adroit and manoeuvering plagiary. This -we long since perceived, and therefore denied his claims to a high -order of genius, though we readily accorded to him the possession of -much curious knowledge and a felicitous use of language. We never -imagined that the labors of an unrewarded and little regarded American -could be deemed by the proud, _soi-disant_ highborn, and affluent Mr. -Bulwer as worthy of his unquestioning appropriation. We fancied that so -deep a scholar would continue to dig for treasures in ancient and -recondite literature, and pass triumphantly over the obscure -productions of a poor cisatlantic. But we erred. As a member of the -British Parliament, Mr. Bulwer is accustomed to the creation of laws; -and he seems to have made one expressly for his own profit and -pleasure--namely, the law of literary lawlessness. We knew that he was -well content to demand high prices for his immoral novels from his -American publishers; but, until this time, we were not aware that he -considered any thing but gold worth receiving or plundering from -Yankeeland. With his usual tact, he has managed to secure, in no slight -degree, from our labors, that which those labors failed utterly to -receive from our unlettered countrymen; and it is our present purpose -to demand back our own thoughts, which are our property and the -heritage of our children. - -It is now three years since 'The Last Night of Pompeii' was written and -published; and, among other English men of letters, a copy of that poem -with a letter, which was never answered, was sent to Mr. Bulwer, who -was, at that time, the editor of the London New Monthly Magazine. -Affliction fell heavily on our heart during the spring of 1832, and, -becoming indifferent to poetic fame and every thing not involved in our -bereavement, we bestowed no thought upon the poem or its reception. -Time has passed on; we have been intensely occupied with other -concerns, and have not been anxious about it since. The apathy, if not -contempt, with which American poets have ever been treated, has driven -Percival into solitude, Bryant and Prentice into politics, Whittier -into abolition schemes, Pierpoint into phrenological experiments, and -all others far away from the barren realm of Parnassus. But lo! the -poem, which was printed by hardwon subscription and left unwelcomed but -by a few cheerful voices, when transmuted into a novel by Bulwer, -becomes a brilliant gem, and illumines the patriotic hearts and clear -understandings of the whole Western World! Who is a Yankee poet that he -should be honoured? but to whom is the English Bulwer unknown? We live, -however--thanks be to Providence! to claim our own and expose all -smugglers, though the redrover Saxon seems to think that the Atlantic -is a very broad ocean, and that the democrats of the West are very -little capable of appreciating any compositions but his own. - -Had Mr. Bulwer confined himself to the almost literal adoption of our -title, or had certain passages in his novel betrayed even great -resemblances to others in our poem, we should have said that the -coincidences were somewhat remarkable, and then dismissed the matter -from our thoughts. Many examples in literary history might be presented -to prove that men may think and describe alike without plagiarism, but, -when the incidents and descriptions are as nearly identical as prose -and poetry can well be, we cannot deduce the charitable conclusion that -the very strong likeness is accidental. Our readers shall judge -whether, in this case, it is so. - -The characters in the poem are few--in the novel many--but, in both, -the whole interest depends on the adventures of two lovers. In the poem -these lovers are Pansa and Mariamne, a Roman decurion and a captive -Jewish maiden, both Christians; in the novel they are Glaucus and Ione, -Greeks and pagans. With us, Diomede was the prćtor and Pansa the -victim; with Bulwer, the former is a rich merchant, and the latter, -ćdile of Pompeii. Here, then, there is no similarity, nor is there but -one deserving a remark, until Arbaces--an Eugene Aram antiquated--one -of Bulwer's learned, wise and soliloquizing villains--seduces Ione to -his mansion of iniquity. The first coincidence, to which we refer, is -the scene of the sacrifice,[10] and the oracular response. The -description in the novel reads thus: - -"The aruspices inspected the entrails."--"It was then that a dead -silence fell over the whispering crowd, and the priests gathering -around the cella, another priest, naked save by a cincture round the -middle, rushed forward, and dancing with wild gestures, implored an -answer from the goddess."--"A low murmuring noise was heard within the -body of the statue; thrice the head moved, and the lips parted, and -then a hollow voice uttered these mystic words: - - "There are waves like chargers that meet and glow, - There are graves ready wrought in the rocks below, - On the brow of the Future the dangers lower, - But blessed are your barks in the fearful hour." - -[Footnote 10: Vol. i. p. 42.] - -That in the poem is as follows--the oracle preceding the description of -its effect upon the superstitious multitude. - - "The aruspices proclaimed the prodigies. - 'The entrails palpitate--the liver's lobes - Are withered, and the heart hath shrivelled up!' - Groans rose from living surges round; yet loud - The High Priest uttered--'Lay them on the fire!' - 'Twas done; and wine and oil poured amply o'er, - And still the sacrificer wildly cried-- - 'Woe unto all! the wandering fires hiss up - Through the black vapors--lapping o'er the flesh - They burn not, but abandon! ashes fill - The temple, whirled upon the wind that waves'" etc. - -_The Oracle_. - - "'Ye shall pass o'er the Tyrrhene sea in ships - Laden with virgins, gems and gods, and spoils - Of a dismembered empire, and a cloud - Of light shall radiate your ocean path!' - Breathes not the soul of mystery in this?" - - "And the prostrated multitudes, like woods - Hung with the leaves of autumn, stirred; then fell - A silence when the heart was heard--a pause-- - When ardent hope became an agony; - And parted lips and panting pulses--eyes - Wild with their watchings, brows with beaded dews - Of expectation chilled and fevered--all - The shaken and half lifted frame--declared - The moment of the oracle had come! - A sceptre to the hand of Isis leapt - And waved; and then the deep voice of the priest - Uttered the maiden's answer, and the fall - Of many quickened steps like whispers pass'd - Along the columned aisles and vestibule." - -Both oracles partake the same mystic character and allude obscurely to -the same fearful and overwhelming event. - -The character of Arbaces, the Egyptian Magus, is peculiarly after -Bulwer's own heart--for he is an entire, thorough, irredeemable demon, -who weeps over venomous reptiles and kills innocent men: but a very -large portion of his mystic discourse, which appears on pages 81-2-3-4 -of volume first, is borrowed, as customary, without even an apologetic -allusion, from Moore's Epicurean. We leave that poet to reclaim his -property, and proceed to assert the identity of our own. In the novel, -Arbaces beguiles Ione into his house, with the resolution to possess -her by fraud or violence. In the poem, the priest of Isis inveigles the -virgin of Pompeii into his lascivious temple with the same intent. Both -the priest and Arbaces, having conquered every obstacle, are rapidly -advancing to the accomplishment of their evil designs, when they are -interrupted, and their victims rescued by the very same awful -occurrence; - -"At that awful moment," says Bulwer, "the floor shook under them with a -rapid and convulsive throe--a mightier spirit than that of the Egyptian -was abroad! a giant and crushing power, before which sunk into sudden -impotence his passion and his arts. It woke--it stirred--that dread -Demon of the Earthquake," etc.[11] - - "I woo no longer, thou art in my grasp, - And by the Immortals I disown, thou shalt"-- - -Says our unsainted priest of Isis, when the victim cries exultingly-- - - "'It comes! the temple reels and crashes--Jove! - I thank thee! Vesta! let me sleep with thee!' - And on the bosom of the earthquake rocked - The statues and the pillars, and her brain - Whirled with the earth's convulsions, as the maid - Fell by a trembling image and upraised - A prayer of gratitude; while through the vaults, - In fear and ghastly horror, fled the priest, - Breathing quick curses mid his warning cries - For succor; and the obscene birds their wings - Flapped o'er his pallid face, and reptiles twined - In folds of knotted venom round his feet. - Yet on he rushed--the blackened walls around - Crashing--the spectral lights hurled hissing down - The cold green waters; and thick darkness came - To bury ruin!" - -[Footnote 11: Vol. i. p. 159.] - -The denouement of the scene is the same in the novel and the poem--a -statue, hurled from its pedestal, strikes the unhallowed violator to -the earth. There is no scene in Baron more actually transcribed from -the Andrian of Terence than this from 'The Last Night of Pompeii!' But -the scene in the amphitheatre, where the Christian Olinthus and the -lover Glaucus are doomed to perish by the fangs of the famished lion, -is still more strikingly similar than any in the novel, except the -description of the destruction. Arbaces, actuated by unholy love of -Ione, is the author of the disgrace and ruin of both these personages; -and the prćtor Diomede, in the poem, resolves to sacrifice Pansa to the -African lion, because he loves and determines to possess Mariamne. The -earlier scenes in the amphitheatre are the same; four gladiators are -represented in sanguinary strife, and two as having perished, ere the -command is given to bring the Christian and lover on the arena, and to -loose the Numidian lion. In neither instance, however, will the noble -beast attack his destined victim; but shrinks and cowers in utter -terror, though goaded on to his dreadful feast. We now solicit a -careful comparison of the scenes which succeed, with those which, -nearly two years before Mr. Bulwer's book was conceived, we had wrought -out with no slight study, and presented to our unregarding countrymen. - -The closing scene in the Pompeiian amphitheatre, as represented in 'The -Last _Days_ of Pompeii:' - -"'Behold how the gods protect the guiltless! The fires of the avenging -Orcus burst forth against the false witness of my accusers!'" - -"The eyes of the crowd followed the gesture of the Egyptian, and beheld -with ineffable dismay a vast vapor shooting from the summit of Vesuvius -in the form of a gigantic pine tree; the trunk, blackness;--the -branches, fire;--that shifted and wavered in its hues with every -moment, now fiercely luminous, now of a dull and dying red, that again -blazed terrifically forth with intolerable glare! - -"There was a dead, heart-sunken silence--through which there suddenly -broke the roar of the lion, which, from within the building, was echoed -back by the sharper and fiercer yells of its follow beasts. Dread seers -were they of the burthen of the atmosphere, and wild prophets of the -wrath to come! - -"Then there rose on high the universal shrieks of women; the men stared -at each other, but were dumb. At that moment they felt the earth shake -beneath their feet; the walls of the theatre trembled; and beyond, in -the distance, they heard the crash of falling roofs; an instant more, -and the mountain cloud seemed to roll towards them, dark and rapid, -like a torrent; at the same time, it cast forth from its bosom a shower -of ashes, mixed with vast fragments of burning stone! Over the crushing -vines,--over the desolate streets,--over the amphitheatre itself,--far -and wide,--with many a mighty splash in the agitated sea,--fell that -awful shower! - -"No longer thought the crowd of justice or of Arbaces; safety for -themselves was their sole thought. Each turned to fly--each dashing, -pressing, crushing against the other. Trampling recklessly over the -fallen,--amid groans, and oaths, and prayers, and sudden shrieks, the -enormous crowd vomited itself forth through the numerous passages. -Whither should they fly?" - -Now let us present the description, given in 'The Last _Night_ of -Pompeii,' of the horrors that succeeded the scene of the games: - - "Awed, yet untrembling, Pansa calm replied, - 'Ye hear no thunder--but Destruction's howl! - Ye see no lightning--but the lava glare - Of desolation sweeping o'er your pride! - Death is beneath, around, above, within - All who exult to inflict it on my heart, - And ye must meet it, fly when, where ye will, - For in the madness of your cruelties - Ye have delayed till every hope is dead. - Let the doom come! our faiths will soon be tried. - Gigantic spectres from their shadowy thrones, - With ghastly smiles to welcome ye, arise. - The Pharaohs and Ptolemies uplift - Their glimmering sceptres o'er ye--bidding all - Bare their dark bosoms to the Omniscient God: - And every strange and horrid mythos waits - To fold ye in the terrors of its dreams.'" - - "Like an earthshadowing cypress, o'er the skies - Lifting its labyrinth of leaves, the boughs - Of molten brass, the giant trunk of flame, - The breath of the volcano's Titan heart - Hung in the heavens; and every maddened pulse - Of the vast mountain's earthquake bosom hurled - Its vengeance on the earth that gasped beneath." - - "From every cell shrieks burst; hyenas cried - Like lost child stricken in its loneliness: - The giant elephant with matchless strength - Struggled against the portal of his tomb, - And groaned and panted; and the leopard's yell - And tiger's growl with all surrounding cries - Of human horror mingled; and in air, - Spotting the lurid heavens and waiting prey, - The evil birds of carnage hung and watched." - - "Vesuvius answered: from its pinnacles - Clouds of farflashing cinders, lava showers, - And seas drank up by the abyss of fire - To be hurled forth in boiling cataracts, - Like midnight mountains, wrapt in lightnings, fell." - - "All awful sounds of heaven and earth met now; - Darkness behind the sungod's chariot rolled, - Shrouding destruction, save when volcan fires - Lifted the folds to gaze on agony; - And when a moment's terrible repose - Fell on the deep convulsions, all could hear - The toppling cliffs explode and crash below, - While multitudinous waters from the sea - In whirlpools through the channell'd mountain rocks - Rushed, and with hisses like the damned's speech, - Fell in the mighty furnace of the mount." - - "Oh, then, the love of life! the struggling rush, - The crushing conflict of escape! few, brief, - And dire the words delirious fear spake now-- - One thought, one action swayed the tossing crowd. - All through the vomitories madly sprung, - And mass on mass of trembling beings pressed, - Gasping and goading, with the savageness - That is the child of danger, like the waves - Charybdis from his jagged rocks throws down, - Mingled by fury--warring in their foam. - Some swooned and were trod down by legion feet; - Some cried for mercy to the unanswering gods; - Some shrieked for parted friends forever lost; - And some in passion's chaos, with the yells - Of desperation did blaspheme the heavens; - And some were still in utterness of woe. - Yet all toiled on in trembling waves of life - Along the subterranean corridors. - Moments were centuries of doubt and dread! - Each breathing obstacle a hated thing: - Each trampled wretch, a footstool to o'erlook - The foremost multitudes; and terror, now, - Begat in all a maniac ruthlessness, - For in the madness of their agonies - Strong men cast down the feeble who delayed - Their flight, and maidens on the stones were crushed," etc. - -Let the reader compare each of these extracts with the other, and form -his own opinion of Mr. Bulwer's great powers and originality. These -very remarkable coincidences are followed by others not less -extraordinary and worthy of commemoration: - -"But suddenly a duller shade fell over the air. Instinctively he turned -to the mountain, and behold! one of the two gigantic crests, into which -the summit had been divided, rocked and wavered to and fro; and then, -with a sound the mightiness of which no language can describe, it fell -from the burning base, and rushed, an avalanche of fire, down the sides -of the mountain! At the same instant gushed forth a volume of blackest -smoke, rolling on, over air, sea, and earth." - -"Bright and gigantic through the darkness, which closed around it like -the walls of hell, the mountain shone--a pile of fire! Its summit -seemed riven in two; or rather above its surface there seemed to rise -two monster-shapes, each confronting each, as demons contending for a -world. These were of one deep blood-red hue of fire, which lighted up -the whole atmosphere far and wide; but _below_, the nether part of the -mountain was still dark and shrouded,--save in three places, adown -which flowed, serpentine and irregular, rivers of the molten lava. -Darkly red through the profound gloom of their banks, they flowed -slowly on, as towards the devoted city. Over the broadest there seemed -to spring a cragged and stupendous arch, from which, as from the jaws -of hell, gushed the sources of the sudden Phlegethon." - -Among the Death Cries of Pompeii, as we imagined them, is the following -lyric: - - "It bursts! it bursts! and thousand thunders blent, - From the deep heart of agonizing earth, - Knell, shatter, crash along the firmament, - And new hells peopled startle into birth. - Vesuvius sunders! pyramids of fire - From fathomless abysses blast the sky; - E'en desolating Ruin doth expire, - And mortal Death in woe immortal die. - Torrents like lurid gore, - Hurled from the gulf of horror, pour, - Like legion fiends embattled to the spoil, - And o'er the temple domes, - And joy's ten thousand homes, - Beneath the whirlwind hail and storm of ashes boil." - -Again says Mr. Bulwer, who boasts that he has succeeded where all -others have failed: - -"In the pauses of the showers, you heard the rumbling of the earth -beneath, and the groaning waves of the tortured sea; or, lower still, -and audible but to the watch of intensest fear, the grinding and -hissing murmur of the escaping gases through the chasms of the distant -mountain. Sometimes the cloud appeared to break from its solid mass, -and, by the lightning, to assume quaint and vast mimicries of human or -of monster-shapes, striding across the gloom, hustling one upon the -other, and vanishing swiftly into the turbulent abyss of shade; so -that, to the eyes and fancies of the affrighted wanderers, the -unsubstantial vapors were as the bodily forms of gigantic foes,--the -agents of terror and of death." - -Is there nothing similar to the preceding quotation in this? - - "Vesuvius poured its deluge forth, the sea - Shuddered and sent unearthly voices up, - The isles of beauty, by the fire and surge - Shaken and withered, on the troubled waves - Looked down like spirits blasted; and the land - Of Italy's once paradise became - The home of ruin--vineyard, grove and bower, - Tree, shrub, fruit, blossom--love, life, light and hope, - All vanishing beneath the fossil flood - And storm of ashes from the cloven brow - Of the dread mountain buried in horror down. - The echoes of ten thousand agonies - Arose from mount and shore, and some looked back - Cursing, and more bewailing as they fled." - - ------------"what a horrid gleam is flung - Along that face of madness, as it turns - From sea to mountain, and the wild eyes burn - With revelations of the unborn time! - We may not linger--shelter earth denies-- - The very heavens like a gehenna lour-- - And ocean is our refuge--on--on--on!" - -We have seen how remarkably the lions agreed on the impropriety of -making an amphitheatric meal of the lovers; now it appears that the -tiger, who should have eat the Christian, was of the same mind. - -"At that moment a wild yell burst through the air; and thinking only of -escape, whither it knew not, the terrible tiger of the African desert -leaped among the throng, and hurried through its parted streams. And so -came the earthquake, and so darkness once more fell over the earth!" - -Is it not strange that we should have conceived something much like -this, and explained the motive, too, of such unreasonable conduct in -any wild beast starving? - - "Nature's quick instinct, in most savage beasts, - Prophesies danger ere man's thought awakes, - And shrinks in fear from common savageness, - Made gentle by its terror; thus, o'erawed - E'en in his famine's fury by a Power - Brute beings more than human oft adore, - The Lion lay, his quivering paws outspread, - His white teeth gnashing, till the crushing throngs - Had passed the corridors; then, glaring up - His eyes imbued with samiel light, he saw - The crags and forests of the Appenines - Gleaming far off, and with the exulting sense - Of home and lone dominion, at a bound, - He leapt the lofty palisades and sprung - Along the spiral passages, with howls - Of horror, through the flying multitudes - Flying to seek his lonely mountain lair." - -We shall not protract this investigation, though many similar passages -might be produced to confirm our assertion that Mr. Bulwer has -appropriated our thoughts, and throughout wrought our descriptions into -his story, and won great profit and fame from the robbery. Those who -read his book, will readily find many descriptions closely resembling -one of the last given in the poem, which we here reprint, and many -references to ancient authors for facts which he derived from us. - - "Meantime, charred corses in one sepulchre - Of withering ashes lay, and voices rose, - Fewer and fainter, and, each moment, groans - Were hushed, and dead babes on dead bosoms lay, - And lips were blasted into breathlessness - Ere the death kiss was given, and spirits passed - The ebbless, dark, mysterious waves, where dreams - Hover and pulses throb and many a brain - Swims wild with terrible desires to know - The destinies of worlds that lie beyond. - The thick air panted as in nature's death, - And every breath was anguish; every face - Was terror's image, where the soul looked forth, - As looked, sometimes, far on the edge of heaven, - A momentary star the tempest palled. - From ghastlier lips now rose a wilder voice, - As from a ruin'd sanctuary's gloom, - Like savage winds from the Chorasmian waste - Rushing, with sobs and suffocating screams," etc. - -But, though we have been more highly honored by this last _chef -d'oeuvre_ of the honorable Eugene Aram than any author within our -knowledge, yet others are entitled to their property. Speaking of the -skeleton of Arbaces, Bulwer says-- - -"The scull was of so remarkable a conformation, so boldly marked in its -intellectual, as well as its worse physical developments, that it has -excited the constant speculation of every itinerant believer in the -theories of Spurzheim who has gazed upon that ruined _palace of the -mind_. Still, after a lapse of eighteen centuries, the traveller may -survey that _airy hall_, within whose cunning galleries and elaborate -chambers, once thought, reasoned, dreamed, and sinned, the soul of -Arbaces the Egyptian!" - -But Byron said, long ago, in Childe Harold, when gazing on a skull: - - "Yes, this was once ambition's _airy hall_, - The dome of thought, _the palace of the soul_," etc. - -And, once more, the fashionable Pelham moralizes: "and as the Earth -from the Sun, so immortality drinks happiness from virtue, _which is -the smile upon the face of God_."[12] This he italicises as one of his -most wondrous original reflections--yet it may be found in the Diary of -a Physician.[13] - -[Footnote 12: Vol. ii. p. 196.] - -[Footnote 13: In the story called 'A Young Man about Town,' we think.] - -Mr. Bulwer is particularly conceited and arrogant with respect to his -subject. He asserts that all others have failed in attempting to -describe the destruction of Pompeii, and that, therefore, he will stand -alone, the intellectual monarch of the Ruins. The candid and modest and -original gentleman probably forgot 'Valerius' and Croly and Milman and -Dr. Gray and ourself; but the productions of such persons can be of -little consequence to such a Paul Clifford in letters and Mirabeau in -morals. - -Mr. Bulwer, likewise, is ostentatious of his learning, and he quotes -from ancient authors with an air of infinite self-complacency, though -his citations had been conveniently collected, a _century_ since, in -the Archćologia Grćca of Archbishop Potter! These volumes now lie -before us, and there may all his erudition be found within a very -accessible compass. His theological knowledge or deistical design, we -know not which, is not more profound or canonical; for he makes his -Christian Olinthus say, that "eighty years ago," that is from the birth -of Christ, "there was no assurance to man of God or of a certain or -definite future beyond the grave"!! - -We have now done with Mr. Bulwer, his immoralities, and his -plagiarisms. We have sought to be very brief in our exposition, and, -for the first time that we ever expressed such a desire, we request the -literary periodicals, with which we exchange, to reprint this article. - - * * * * * - -VISITS AND SKETCHES, at Home and Abroad. By Mrs. Jamieson, author of -the "Characteristics of Women," &c. in 2 vols. New York: Harper & -Brothers. 1834. - -We intended to notice these interesting volumes sooner, and recommend -them to our readers as highly entertaining and instructive. Mrs. -Jamieson's style, though not faultless, is very attractive; and -certainly as a female writer, she is hardly surpassed in vigor and -richness. The _first_ volume is principally devoted to sketches of art, -literature and character, comprising _Memoranda_ at Munich, Nuremburg -and Dresden. It also contains a vivid account of the celebrated Bess of -_Hardwicke_, the _old_ Countess of Shrewsbury,--a visit to _Althorpe_, -the ancient seat of the Spencers--and eloquent sketches of the private -and dramatic life of _Mrs. Siddons_, and of _Fanny Kemble_. The -_second_ volume opens with three interesting stories,--the _False One_, -a pathetic oriental tale, a thousand times superior to -Vathek,--_Halloran the Pedlar_, and the _Indian Mother_. It also -contains a very amusing _drama for little actors_,--and concludes with -the _Diary of an Enuyeé_, a performance of much and deserved celebrity. -We shall make occasional selections from this work, for the benefit of -such of our readers as have no opportunity of seeing the volumes -themselves. For the present, we have transferred to our pages the -"Indian Mother," a most affecting story founded on a striking incident -related by Humboldt. The scene being laid in South America, the reader -will be struck with the strong impressions made on Mrs. Jamieson's mind -of that magnificent country, through the medium of description alone. - - * * * * * - -POEMS, by William Cullen Bryant. Boston: Russell, Odiorne & Metcalfe. -1834. - -This new and beautiful edition of Mr. Bryant's poems has undergone the -author's correction, and contains some pieces which have never before -appeared in print. As the elegant china cup from which we sip the -fragrant imperial, imparts to it a finer flavor, so the pure white -paper and excellent typography of the volume before us, will give a -richer lustre to the gems of Mr. Bryant's genius. Not that the value of -the diamond is really enhanced by the casket which contains it, but so -it is that the majority of mortals are governed by _appearances_; and -even a dull tale will appear respectable in the pages of a hot pressed -and gilt bound London annual. In justice to Mr. Bryant however, and to -ourselves, we will state that our first impressions of his great -intellectual power--of his deep and sacred communings with the world of -poetry--were derived from a very indifferent edition of his writings, -printed with bad type, on a worse paper. Mr. Bryant is well known to -the American public as a poet of uncommon strength and genius; and even -on the other side of the Atlantic, a son of the distinguished Roscoe, -who published a volume of American poetry, pronounced him the first -among his equals. Like Halleck, however, and some others of scarcely -inferior celebrity,--his muse has languished probably for want of that -due encouragement, which to our shame as a nation be it spoken, has -never been awarded to that department of native literature. Mr. Bryant, -we believe, finding that Parnassus was not so productive a soil as the -field of politics, has connected himself with a distinguished partizan -newspaper in the city of New York. His bitter regrets at the frowns of -an unpoetical public, and yet his unavailing efforts to divorce himself -from the ever living and surrounding objects of inspiration are -beautifully alluded to in the following lines: - - I broke the spell that held me long, - The dear, dear witchery of song. - I said the poet's idle lore - Shall waste my prime of years no more, - For poetry though heavenly born, - Consorts with poverty and scorn. - - I broke the spell--nor deemed its power - Could fetter me another hour. - Ah, thoughtless! how could I forget - Its causes were around me yet? - For wheresoe'er I look'd, the while, - Was nature's everlasting smile. - - Still came and lingered on my sight - Of flowers and streams the bloom and light, - And glory of the stars and sun;-- - And these and poetry are _one_. - They, ere the world had held me long, - Recalled me to the love of song. - - * * * * * - -LITTELL'S MUSEUM of Foreign Literature, Science and Arts. No. 151. Jan. -1835. A. Waldie. Philadelphia. - -This valuable periodical has maintained a high reputation and extensive -circulation for more than twelve years. The January number (1835) may -be considered a new era in its history. The size of its sheet is -enlarged, its type and paper are improved, and its contents display -more richness and variety than usual. The plan of the "Museum" is -certainly most excellent. It is to select and republish from all the -British periodicals of high reputation, every thing which is either of -_present_ or _permanent_ value, omitting the vast mass of matter which -is local to Great Britain or not interesting to an American reader. It -is in fact, a labor-saving machine, by which all the choicest flowers -will be culled from British publications and transplanted in our own -soil, leaving the weeds and trash on the other side of the Atlantic. We -heartily wish Mr. Littell and his co-laborers increased success, and we -shall occasionally draw upon his interesting paper for the use of the -"Messenger." The diffusion of fine writing from abroad, will improve -the taste and invigorate the efforts of our own countrymen. - - - - -NEW PAPER. - - -_The Southern Churchman_, edited by the Rev. William F. Lee, and -published weekly in this city, has reached its fifth number. Almost -every christian denomination among us, had the benefit of a paper -devoted to its own peculiar interests, except the Episcopalians, until -Mr. Lee commenced the publication of the Churchman. There can be no -doubt of its success, under the management of an editor of Mr. Lee's -distinguished talents and piety. - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -DANDYISM. - - -MR. WHITE:--The Optimists assert that this little world of ours, is -continually and most marvellously improving in every thing. But, -begging their pardon, I humbly conceive that this is claiming rather -too much for its onward march towards perfectibility. Many notable -instances might be adduced to prove that it is so; but I will go no -further for such proof, than to contrast the Dandyism of the present -age with that of the olden time. This term (by the way) although of -modern coinage, is but a new name for an old thing. So old indeed, -that, like the common law, it may be traced back to a period beyond -which "the memory of man runneth not to the contrary." From the -multitude of its votaries and the indefatigable diligence with which it -has always been practised, it may justly be ranked among the arts; -although we must admit it to be one of no very difficult attainment by -any whose taste leads them to prefer general contempt to universal -esteem. - -The great aim of this art being to mar effectually whatever beauty -either of person or countenance nature has bestowed on us, the task -would seem to be one of very easy accomplishment for most men. A simple -disfigurement therefore, would be no indication of genius, since the -visages upon which the laudable experiment is most frequently tried, -require very little aggravation to effect the object. But an entire -metamorphosis in the appearance of the whole animal, or at least such a -change as to render both its genus and species doubtful, being the -grand desideratum; it is _here_ that the modern Dandies have betrayed a -most woful and egregious poverty of invention, compared to those of -former times. Of this I shall presently offer indisputable testimony. - -The Dandies of our day however, may justly claim the palm of -superiority, at least in _one_ particular; I mean, quo ad, _the head_, -both inside and out: for, what with internal emptiness and external -whiskers and mustaches, many have contrived to render not only the -features of the face "perfectly unintelligible," (if I may borrow a -phrase from the Pugilists,) but to disprove the long admitted dictum of -philosophy, that there is no such thing in all nature as a vacuum. An -instance of this most successful _face-marring_ has lately fallen under -my own observation, which I will endeavor to describe, although in -utter despair of doing justice to the original. - -Many months ago, being in a much crowded public room, I was not a -little startled by the sudden appearance of a most fantastic, grim -looking biped moving among the crowd, which I first took for one of -those strange animals then showing about the country, that perhaps had -escaped from his keepers. A more deliberate view, however, from a -corner into which I had taken care to ensconce myself to keep out of -harm's way, soon satisfied me that it was nothing more formidable than -one of those harmless burlesques of manhood called Dandies, that so -much resemble the Simia genus, as hardly to be distinguished from them. -It had two large ropes (as they appeared to be) of tawny colored hair, -hanging out from between the collar and the cheek bones, and reaching -down some seven or eight inches over the breast. These I at first -supposed might be the skins of a water dog's fore legs, forming the -ends of some new fashioned comforter to keep the neck and cheeks warm -in cold weather, to which these bipeds are particularly sensitive. But -upon diligent inquiry among several, who seemed to be as much struck as -myself with so uncommon and apparently formidable a looking animal -moving upon two legs, instead of four, as might more reasonably have -been expected, we were informed that these tawny appendages, in regard -to which I had made such an egregious mistake, actually consisted of -the united hairs of the throat and cheeks, so elongated by -indefatigable culture, as to produce the grotesque appearance that had -so strongly excited the wonderment of us all. The whole was surmounted -by a pair of mustaches of the same tanned-leather color; which so -completely obscured the countenance, that not a particle of it was -discernible but the two lack-lustre eyes; and _the nose_, like a sort -of watch-tower overtopping the wilderness of shaggy hair by which it -was surrounded. - -It is the recollection of this never to be forgotten figure of an -entire stranger, seen for the first and probably the last time in my -life, which induced me to claim for the Dandyism of the present day, a -decided superiority over that of the by-gone times; at least so far as -the disfigurement of the countenance can go towards the establishment -of so enviable a claim. That it is indisputable, I think certain; for -neither in the pictures nor histories of past ages which have reached -us, can any thing be found at all comparable to what I have just -endeavored to describe, but in language so inadequate, that I am almost -ashamed to send you this communication. - -The bodily disfigurements of our modern Dandies having a great degree -of sameness in them, and being matters of general notoriety, 'tis -needless to particularise them. But to give you an opportunity of -judging whether I have unjustly charged them with poverty of invention, -when compared with their prototypes of the olden time, I beg leave to -present you with the description of an English Dandy of the fourteenth -century. It is taken from Dr. Henry's History of England, and he quotes -Camden, Chaucer, and Street, as his authorities. - -"He wore long-pointed shoes, called _crackowes_ the upper parts of -which were cut in imitation of a church-window. The points of these -were fastened to his knees by gold or silver chains. He had hose of one -color on one leg, and of another color on the other; short breeches -which did not reach to the middle of his thighs, and disclosed the -shape completely; a coat, one half white, and the other half black or -blue; a long beard; a silk hood buttoned under his chin, embroidered -with grotesque figures of animals, dancing men, &c. and sometimes -ornamented with gold, silver, and precious stones. This dress, which -was the very top of the mode in the reign of Edward the Third, appeared -so ridiculous to the Scots, (who probably could not afford to be such -egregious fops,) that they made the following satirical verses upon it: - - "Long beards hirtiless, - Peynted whoods witless, - Gay coats gracelies, - Maketh England thriftlies." - -I would add to the above what the grave Doctor says of the fashionable -ladies of those times; but being a great friend to the "womankind," as -that queer, caustic old Batchelor Monkbarns used to call them, I -forbear to run the risk of their displeasure, by disparaging their sex -so much as I should be compelled to do, were I to repeat the Doctor's -words. And now, my good sir, confidently trusting that you yourself, as -well as your readers, will admit the irrefutable character of the -proofs which I have adduced to establish my assertions, I bid you -farewell, and remain - -Your friend and constant reader, - -OLIVER OLDSCHOOL. - -P. S. For the satisfaction of yourself and readers, who might otherwise -suspect me of malevolence towards some individual, (of which I know -myself to be incapable,) I beg leave to assure you that, although the -portrait which I have endeavored to sketch is not a fancy piece, my -sole design in presenting it is _general_, not particular. It is to -aid, as far as I possibly can, in banishing from our land a fashion, -not only preposterous, absurd and filthy in the highest degree, but -actually disgraceful to rational creatures. Let it go back to the -savage Cossacks, from whom 'tis said to be borrowed, and no longer -beastify (if I may coin such a word,) the appearance of the rising -generation. - - - - - From the Augusta (Ga.) Sentinel, Jan. 15. - -VARIETY. - - -_To the Editor of the States Rights Sentinel:_ - -SIR:--Some friends, whose opinions are entitled to deference, deem it -incumbent on me to avow, or disavow the authorship of a dozen couplets, -lately become a matter of grave and high controversy. Though supposed -for twenty years past to be mine, they have recently been ascribed, by -sundry acute critics, first to O'KELLY, and then to ALCĆUS. Disdaining, -heretofore, to notice such charges of plagiarism, from a perfect -confidence in the ultimate power of TRUTH, and a contempt for this -petty species of annoyance, my silence is now broken, only in -compliance with the wishes of those whom I esteem. Valuing these rhymes -very differently from others, it becomes me, on so unimportant a -subject, merely to avow myself the author. The lines in question, then, -good or bad, are mine alone; neither Alcćus nor O'Kelly has the -smallest right to them. Originally intended as a part of a longer poem, -which, like the life of him for whose sake I projected it, was broken -off, unfinished; they were published without my knowledge or consent, -and, however the contrary may have been assumed, contain no personal -allusions. Whatever _my_ life may be like, whether roses or thorns, the -public is in no danger of being troubled with my confidence. - -I am, sir, very respectfully, your obedient, humble servant, - -RICHARD HENRY WILDE. - -_Washington, 31st Dec. 1834_. - - * * * * * - - [Communicated for the Southern Literary Messenger.] - -The first advertisement of "WALTON'S ANGLER," appeared in "Captain -Wharton's Almanacks" as Old Lily in his Life and Times calls them. - -It runs thus: "There is published a Booke of eighteen pence price -called the Compleat Angler, or the contemplative man's recreation; -being a discourse of Fish and Fishing, not unworthie the perusall. - -"Sold by Richard Marriott in St. Dunstan's Church Yard Fleet Street. -1653. - -"Motto. 'And Simon Peter saith unto them, I go a fishing: they say unto -him we also go with thee.'--_John_ xxi. & 3." - - * * * * * - -SHAKE-SPEARE. - -The following, from an old paper, will no doubt interest some of our -readers. - -"We have lying before us a volume of Shakspeare, in a tolerable state -of preservation, composed of several of his plays, published at London, -in pamphlets, at different periods during his lifetime, probably from -1609 to 1612; and it is more than probable that the author -superintended their publication in person. We think this edition will -settle many points as to the true reading, in cases at present in -dispute, and also give the correct spelling of the name of the immortal -poet, which is Shake-speare, and divided in the same manner as above. -The first is a part of the tragedy of Henry VI. entitled 'The -Contention of the Two famous Houses of Yorke and Lancaster.'" - -The next is, - -"The TRAGEDIE of King RICHARD the Third. CONTAINING His treacherous -Plots against his Brother _Clarence_: the pittifull murther of his -innocent Nephewes: his tyrannicall Vsurpation: with the whole Course of -his detested Life, and most deserved Death. As it has beene lately -acted by the Kings Majesties Servants. Newly augmented, by William -SHAKE-SPEARE. LONDON, Printed by _Thomas Creede_, and are to be sold by -_Mathew Lawe_ dwelling in _Pauls_ Church-yard, at the Signe of the -_Foxe_, 1612." - -The third is quaintly entitled, - -"THE MOST LAMENTABLE TRAGEDIE OF TITUS ANDRONICUS. As it hath svndry -Times beene plaide by the KINGS MASTIES Seruants.--LONDON, Printed for -_Eedward White_, and are to be sold at his Shoppe, nere the little -North Dore of _Pauls_, at the Signe of the _Gun_. 1611." - -The last is, - -"THE FAMOUS HISTORIE OF TROYLUS _and_ CRESSEID, Excellently expressing -The Beginning of their LOUES, WITH THE Conceited Wooing of PANDARUS -Prince of _Licia_, WRITTEN BY WILLIAM SHAKE-SPEARE. LONDON, Imprinted -by _G. Eld_, for _R. Benian_ and _H. Walley_, and are to be sold at the -_Spred Eagle_, in _Paules Church yeard_, ouer against the great North -Doore. 1609." - -The address to the reader of this play, has too much originality and -merit to omit. - -"A neur writer, to an euer reader. - -"Newes. - -"ETERNALL reader, you haue heere a new play, neuer stal'd with the -stage, neuer clapperclawd with the palmes of the vulger, and yet -passing full of the palme comicall; for it is a birth of your braine, -that neuer vnder-tooke any thing commicall, vainely; and were but the -vaine names of commedies, changde for the titles of commedities or of -playes for pleas; you should see all those grand censors, that now -stile them such vanities, flock to them for the main grace of their -grauities: especially this authors commedies, that are so fram'd to the -life, that they serve for the most common commentaries, of all the -actions of our lives, showing such a dexteritie, and power of witte, -that the most displeased with playes, are pleased with his commedies. -And all such dull and heauy-witted worldlings, as were never capable of -the witte of a commedie, comming by report of them to his -representations, have found that witte there, that they never found in -themselves, and haue parted better wittied than they came; feeling an -edge of witte set vpon them, more than euer they dreamed they had -braine to grinde it on. So much and such savored salt of wittee is in -his commedies, that they seeme (for their height of pleasure) to be -borne in that sea that brought forth Venus. Amongst all there is none -more witte then this: and had I time I would comment upon it, though I -know it needs not, (for so much as will make you think your testerne -well bestowed) but for so much worth, as euen poore I know to be stuft -in it. It deserves such a labour, as well as the best commedy in -Terence or Plautus. And beleeue this, that when hee is gone, and his -commedies out of sale, you will scramble for them, and set vp a new -English inquisition. Take this for a warning, and at the perill of your -pleasures losse, and judgments, refuse not, nor like this the lesse, -for not being suelied, with the smoaky breath of the multitude; but -thanke fortune for the scape it hath made amongst you. Since by the -grand possessors wills I beleeue you should haue prayed for them rather -then been prayd. And so I leaue all such to bee prayd for (for the -state of their wits healths) that will not praise it. Vale." - - * * * * * - - From the Albion. - -One of the enormities of Protestantism, which shocks the Papists, is -the marrying of our Clergy. What is to be said of the Roman Catholic -Bishop England, who, going on a foreign mission, takes out with him -_four nuns_?-- - - The English Bishop takes one wife, - The Papist says, "O fie!" - The Roman Catholic takes out four, - And no man asks him, why? - -Having shown this sprightly contribution to our Roman Catholic -sub-editor, he begs leave to offer an explanation of the seeming -inconsistency:-- - - To vindicate the Papist's life, - See how the thing is done; - The Protestant alone takes _wife_, - The Catholic takes _nun_. - - * * * * * - -A late number of Frazer's Magazine contains an elaborate review of -"Roberts' Life and Correspondence of Hannah Moore," in which are -interspersed much of the keen sarcasm and provoking levity for which -that periodical is distinguished. The reviewer concludes as follows: -"For Mrs. Moore we have a high regard, as a staunch tory and good -churchwoman, though of the so-called evangelical clique. She was -however practical in her piety; and this is the sure test of sincerity. -Be her name therefore honored! She was an extraordinary individual, and -would have been such had she not been an authoress. We esteem her -personal character far above her literary. In the one she was truly -great, in the other respectable and prosperous. To sum up all, she was -a practically wise and prudent woman; nevertheless her prudence was an -overmatch for her wisdom. To perfection she wanted two grave -requisites--greater intuitive knowledge, and a _happy husband_. The -first she derived at second hand and from shallow streams; the last she -avoided altogether. She thus escaped one great trial; but they who -retreat from battle have no claim to the victor's wealth." - - - - - For the Southern Literary Messenger. - -A SONG. - - _Air_--"The Lass of Peatie's Mill." - - - How sweet it is to rove - Through vallies rich and wide, - Or with a friend we love - O'er the still waves to glide! - 'Tis sweet to see the day - Withdraw her golden car, - And watch the glimmering ray - Of Eve's first silver star! - - 'Tis sweet to hail the dawn, - In blushes ever new-- - And mark the young, fleet fawn, - Brush off the crystal dew! - But sweeter far than Eve - Or early Morning's prime, - Are smiles that ne'er deceive, - And love unchanged by time! - - Tho' fickle fortune frown, - And wealth withhold her store, - What is a jewelled crown? - A bauble soon no more. - But love, pure love, is gold - Which nothing can consume; - And smiles that ne'er grow cold, - Are flowers of fadeless bloom! - -E. A. S. - - - - -EDITORIAL REMARKS. - - -We send forth our herald a fifth time, with renewed confidence in the -kind disposition of our patrons to give it a glad welcome,--to visit -its imperfections with sparing censure, and to regard with favor -whatever merits it may possess, in sympathy for its Southern origin, -and the probable advantages involved in its final success. We are much -cheered by the somewhat unexpected, and perhaps unmerited plaudits of a -large portion of the periodical press, and especially that part of it -which has heretofore enjoyed a kind of literary monopoly--but which -generously merges every thing like a feeling of rivalry in the more -honorable and patriotic sentiment of devotion to the great cause of -American literature. From our northern and eastern friends indeed we -have received more complimentary notices than from any of our southern -brethren without the limits of our own state. We say this not in a -reproachful spirit to our kindred, but in a somewhat sad conviction of -mind, that we who live on the sunny side of Mason's and Dixon's line, -are not yet sufficiently inspired with a sense of the importance of -maintaining our just rights, or rather our proper representation in the -republic of letters. - -With the almost unbroken voice of public approbation to cheer us along, -we have nevertheless heard of a few whose tastes are so exquisitely -refined that they cannot relish our simple fare. We are sorry, very -sorry indeed, that they will not be pleased; and in proof of the -sincerity of our grief, we hereby invite these accomplished gentlemen -to _improve_ our pages by contributions from their own pens. We hold -the opinion that they who undertake to denounce so boldly, ought to be -prepared to back their judgments by their own performances. - -We continue the original and excellent "_Sketches of the History and -Present Condition of Tripoli, &c._" They increase in interest to an -American reader, as they approach the period which records the hostile -collisions of the United States with those formidable powers. The valor -of Decatur, and self-immolation of Somers, Wadsworth and Israel, at the -commencement of the present century, are still fresh in the memory of -thousands. - -The authors of the original articles "_On the Study of the Latin and -Greek Classics_," and "_Memory--an Allegory_," evince no inconsiderable -share of intellectual power. To the former especially we may be excused -for remarking that, more simplicity in style would not detract from the -vigor and originality of his thoughts. There are some persons who -either from choice or the peculiar character of their minds, love to -dress their sentiments in quaint and obscure diction, but _simplicity_ -is at last the transparent medium which reflects more strongly and -clearly the force and brilliancy of the understanding. - -The able author of the "_Note to Blackstone's Commentaries_," is -entitled to be heard, even on a subject of such peculiar delicacy--a -subject upon which it is natural that the best heads and purest hearts -should essentially differ. Whilst we entirely concur with him that -slavery as a political or social institution is a matter exclusively of -our own concern--as much so as the laws which govern the distribution -of property,--we must be permitted to dissent from the opinion that it -is either a moral or political benefit. We regard it on the contrary as -a great evil, which society will sooner or later find it not only its -interest to remove or mitigate, but will seek its gradual abolition or -amelioration, under the influence of those high obligations imposed by -an enlightened christian morality. These are our honest sentiments, -which we do not espouse however in derogation of the equally honest -convictions of other minds. - -The "_Letters from a Sister_," the three first of which appear in the -present number, and which shall be regularly continued, will be read -with interest, notwithstanding the numerous diaries and epistles which -treat upon the same subjects. - -We entertained some doubt about the admission of "_The Doom_" into our -columns, not because of any inferiority in the style and composition, -but because of the revolting character of the story. The writer, with -apparent sincerity, states it to be founded upon actual occurrences; -but we confess that it seems to us a wild and incredible fiction. True -or false however, we derive from it this sound and wholesome -moral,--that sooner or later wickedness will find its just reward,--and -that of all the passions which ravage the heart and destroy the peace -of society, there is none more detestable than revenge. The hero of the -tale, who is described by his friend the writer, as "a light hearted -and joyous fellow," was in truth a remorseless fiend; compared with -whom Iago and Zanga were personifications of virtue; nor does the idle -phantasy of a supernatural vision, or the pretended influence of -fatalism, palliate the deep enormity of his crime. If the writer, who -assumes the signature of "Benedict," really had such a friend, he -should have drawn the mantle of oblivion over his dark frailties, and -never have recorded them with seeming approbation. He should have -avoided too, certain profane and unchaste allusions in his manuscript, -which we have been obliged to suppress; for we scarcely deem it -necessary to repeat that the "Messenger" shall not be the vehicle of -sentiments at war with the interests of virtue and sound morals--the -only true and solid foundation of human happiness. - -We invite attention to the third letter from New England, by a -Virginian,--whose talents, learning, and acute observation of men and -things, and whose easy style of composition, qualify him in a high -degree for the task of a tourist. - -The paper from our friend "_Oliver Oldschool_" will we hope be read by -the Dandies, if such creatures ever do read any thing calculated to -produce improvement either in mind or morals. - -The _selected_ prose articles in this number will, we doubt not, be -read with pleasure and interest. The article on "_American -Literature_," and the impediments which retard its progress, is -entitled to a patient and deliberate reading. Its sentiments and -language, if they should be so unfortunate as not to command, at least -deserve attention. The author has happily combined solidity of argument -with grace and beauty in composition. - -As we intend from this time forward to be less indulgent than -heretofore to our poetical contributors, so we hope that the specimens -now presented, if not all of equal merit, have at least enough to save -them from censure. It is not expected indeed that CRITICISM will be -either silent or forbearing; for we have never been so fortunate as to -light upon any production, in prose or verse, in which its searching -and microscopic eye might not detect some slight blemishes. - -It will be perceived that we are again favored with a piece from the -pen of Mr. Wilde; and we seize this opportunity of expressing the great -pleasure we feel in transferring to our pages (under the head of -"Variety") the letter of that gentleman, in which he assumes explicitly -the sole authorship of those beautiful lines, which have been alike -claimed for an ancient Greek bard and a modern Irish poet. The enemies -of Mr. Wilde's literary reputation will now recant their unmerited -charge of plagiarism, and one of the most exquisite poems which the -genius of our country has produced will remain the undisputed property -of its owner. - -The author of "_A Song of the Seasons_," who assumes the quaint -cognomen of "Zarry Zyle," (we wish he had chosen some other,) is -unquestionably a youth of talent, and acute perception of all those -minute, lovely and delicate objects, both in the natural and moral -world, which can only be discerned by minds of superior mould. We beg -leave however to suggest for consideration, whether he does not take -too much pains to appear obscure--whether he does not too studiously -delight in dressing up his thoughts in that mysterious and eccentric -form of expression, which has detracted so much from the usefulness and -popularity of men of genius. But for this fault, Coleridge, we doubt -not would have ranked among the greatest bards of the present age. As -it is, his reputation is only seen through the dim shadows of -twilight--it does not blaze with the splendor of open day. Simplicity, -unaffected simplicity, is the great rule in composition, as it is in -the manners and conduct of life; and he who departs from it, does so at -the hazard of not securing the just reward of his merits. - - - - -VIRGINIA HISTORICAL AND PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIETY. - - -The Anniversary Meeting of this Society was held on the 3d and 4th Feb. -1835, in the Hall of the House of Delegates. The first evening was -exclusively devoted to the transaction of business. On the second -evening a learned, elaborate and elegant address was delivered by -Professor Tucker of the University, to a numerous auditory, and was -listened to with great attention. Mr. Maxwell of Norfolk presented to -the Society the identical pistol with which Captain John Smith killed -the Turk Grualgo, at the siege of Regal; and in his peculiarly happy -manner, dilated upon the singular good fortune and heroic qualities of -that extraordinary man. We shall speak of this valuable relic of -antiquity, and of the traditional history upon which the fact of its -identity rests, more particularly, in the February number. It is with -great pleasure that we announce to our patrons that the Proprietor of -the "Messenger" is authorised, by a resolution of the Society, to -insert from time to time in his paper, under the direction of the -standing committee, such portions of the manuscripts, &c. belonging to -the Society, as the committee may select for publication. In our next -number we hope to avail ourselves of this privilege--and it shall be -our endeavor to urge the claims of the Society to the general attention -and earnest regard of the public. - -This form of our _January_ number not having gone to press until -_February_, has enabled us to pen the above. - - - - -EXTRACTS FROM THE LETTERS OF CORRESPONDENTS. - - -I send you these lines[1] without the writer's name. It is one of many -instances in proof of what I have long believed, that selections might -be made from the unpublished writings of Virginians, composing a volume -of which any country might be proud. The writer of the above throws off -such scraps at idle times, without effort, and without pretension. With -so much of the inspiration of poetry, he has nothing of its madness, -and will never consent to be known to the world as an author. - -[Footnote 1: "Beauty without Loveliness." See article above.] - -So it is in other branches of literature. A man who has sense enough to -write a good book, very often has too much sense to publish it. In -countries where the division of labor has made literature a separate -trade, necessity often overrules the judgment of the writer, forcing -him to publish against his will--_se invito_ as well as _invita -Minerva_. No such necessity exists here, and hence, among us, few -publish, but those who should be perpetually injoined the use of pen -and ink. Thank God, the literary reputation of Virginia has never -suffered much by such scribblers. We have a few such, but their -writings were too bad to do much harm; they never crossed the State -line. - -Might you not take a hint from this consideration? The merit of your -publication will give a wide circulation to all that it contains. Are -you not then bound to be chary in your selections, and not lend your -wings to bear to distant lands the weak twitterings or the tuneless -chatter of the Pie and Sparrow kinds? The nightingale does not pour her -note until their noise is stilled. Print only for poets, and poets will -write for you. This is the true solution of the difficulty you have so -strongly stated in your last number. - -It is not in Virginia alone, that the writings which are permitted to -see the light afford an inadequate idea of the literary resources of -the country. It is not fair to judge of the poetical talents of our -northern neighbors by the labored dulness of a Barlow; or by the -writings of a certain literary cabal, which is trying to push its -members into notice by mutual puffing and quotation. Halleck is not one -of the firm; and Halleck is a true poet. But his writings first came -out anonymously; and it is the blaze of his genius which has betrayed -him to the public eye. The darkness in which it shrouds itself, -distinguishes it from all that shines only by reflected light. Men hunt -for diamonds in the night. - -Even in England, where the trade of literature embraces writers of a -very high order, I am not sure that the very best minds are devoted to -it. Some of the finest poetry in the language was found among the -manuscripts of Judge Blackstone. Nobody knew that Charles Fox wrote -poetry until after his death. But he did, and such as no writer need -have blushed to own. - -Among the caprices of the "_genus irritabile vatum_," is that of hiding -their talents. Some, from sheer spleen, will not write. John Randolph -used to say that he would go to his grave "guiltless of rhyme." Yet _he -talked poetry_ from morning till night. - -As I am out a purveyor for your journal, and not a contributor, I am -bound to see that they, from whose writings I pilfer, come by no wrong. -I must therefore enter a complaint on behalf of the friend whose letter -I sent you, describing a scene on the Mississippi. His "clumps" of -trees your compositor has cut down to "stumps." Can you wonder that -your neighbor (_contemporary_ I believe is the word in fashion,) -thought his letter but "_so so_?" He was no more bound to suppose that -this was a misprint, than to reflect that a traveller, writing from the -wilds of Missouri to a friend, might innocently make an unimportant -mistake in quoting from a book that perhaps never crossed the -Mississippi. But though he has to bear the brunt of the censure, it -should in justice fall on you or me. The thing was well enough as a -letter. The fault was in publishing it. But I shall attempt no defence. -I thought it but "so so-ish" when I sent it to you, and therefore I -said so. It was a plain unvarnished description, which had enabled me -to see very distinctly what was well worth seeing, and I wished others -to see it too. Had the composition been of a different character--had -the painter thrust _himself_ between the spectator and his picture, or -so glossed it over that every object was lost in undistinguished glare, -I should have given it to the public eye by other means. I should -certainly not have defaced with it your modest pages. It surely would -not be hard to fix on some periodical in which any sort of tinsel would -be welcome, and find itself in congenial company. Such is the proper -receptacle for all the trumpery wares of frothy declamation, -incongruous metaphor, false eloquence and flippant wit, which make up -what is commonly called fine writing. There, in the gay confusion of -glass bead and gewgaw, any bauble, however worthless, finds its place, -escaping censure by escaping notice. - -To take more shame to myself, I acknowledge that the misquotation -struck me as I copied the letter. But the turn of the passage did not -admit of its correction; and I did not think it worth while to append a -note to tell what every body knows, and no one needs to know. - -But I shall do better in future. While you continue to publish what I -send you, I shall continue to cater for you. In doing this, I shall -henceforth cross the t's and dot the i's in my copies, although this -should have been omitted in the original. "I am wae to think" indeed, -as Burns says, what small critics would do for want of such mistakes. A -link in nature's chain (the last and lowest indeed) would be lost. The -_auceps syllabarum_ "the word catcher that lives on syllables" would be -starved out. The race would be extinct for want of food. The king of -these insects bears among naturalists the formidable name of the -_dragon fly_. The boys call him the _musquito hawk_. He shall have no -more food from me. Your friend, - -X. Y. - - * * * * * - -FROM EASTERN VIRGINIA. - -... I yesterday sent you some lines composed "Lang Syne," and written -from memory.... Do not print these things, I beseech you, unless you -like them. At the hazard of rapping my own knuckles, I shall quarrel -with you if you publish much trash. You may lose a subscriber by -rejecting it; but you will gain ten by every number you issue in which -every article is good. Horace tells us that neither gods nor men can -endure middling poetry. And what shall be said of that which is not -even middling? Let us take an example. Byron's name is sacred to the -muses. No man whose lips are not touched with the fire of inspiration -should be allowed to use it. Yet we have him shown up, and words put -into his mouth in many a piece, the writers of which cannot even count -their _feet_. - - * * * * * - -FROM NORTH CAROLINA. - -"I was much delighted with the third number of the Messenger. It was -really a fountain of pleasure to me, and I shall never forget the -feelings which I experienced on reading the story entitled '_My -Classmates_.' I must believe that there cannot be any thing than the -most flattering hopes and prospects of your success in your truly -laudable--your truly patriotic undertaking. The people of Virginia, if -none others, will support its cause. They cannot--no, they will -not--they have too much love for the honor of Virginia, to let the -'_Messenger_' of science and literature suffer for the want of their -most liberal patronage. But you are not laboring for Virginia alone: it -is for the south--the _whole_ south; and might I not add, for the whole -country? For who doubts but that the Messenger is destined to call into -active exertion the genius of the south? And who would deny but the -south has genius which would do honor to the _whole_ country in any -walk? I shall never believe but that the land which produced a Henry, a -Washington, a Marshall, a Madison and Monroe, can also under favorable -auspices, produce a Cooper, Irving, Paulding, or _any man_. '_Go -ahead_,' as David Crockett says, '_since you are right_.' I send you a -subscriber." - - * * * * * - -FROM A DISTINGUISHED NORTHERN LADY. - -"We are highly pleased with the Messenger. Its execution in the -_mechanical department_, is peculiarly neat; I see no periodical, that -in this point, will compare with it. And its contents are so -diversified, that there must be something adapted to almost every -taste--that is--every taste that has its foundation in correct -principles." - - - - -TO CORRESPONDENTS, CONTRIBUTORS, &C. - - -We have on hand a variety of articles in prose and verse, which we -shall dispose of as soon as possible. Some of these favors are of -decided, and some of equivocal merit. Others are so illegibly written, -that it passes our skill to decipher them. - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. -I., No. 5, January, 1835, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER, JAN 1835 *** - -***** This file should be named 53943-8.txt or 53943-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/9/4/53943/ - -Produced by Ron Swanson -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/53943-8.zip b/old/53943-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 93d9d28..0000000 --- a/old/53943-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/53943-h.zip b/old/53943-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index e93ec23..0000000 --- a/old/53943-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/53943-h/53943-h.htm b/old/53943-h/53943-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index cb1bcd1..0000000 --- a/old/53943-h/53943-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8379 +0,0 @@ - -<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> - -<html> -<head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> - <title>The Project Gutenberg e-Book of The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 5, January 1835, by Various</title> - <style type="text/css"> - <!-- - body {margin:10%; text-align:justify} - h1 {text-align:center} - h2 {text-align:center} - h3 {text-align:center} - h4 {text-align:center} - h5 {text-align:center} --> - </style> -</head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., -No. 5, January, 1835, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 5, January, 1835 - -Author: Various - -Editor: James E. Heath - -Release Date: January 11, 2017 [EBook #53943] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER, JAN 1835 *** - - - - -Produced by Ron Swanson - - - - - -</pre> - -<center>THE</center> -<h1>SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER:</h1> -<center>DEVOTED TO</center> -<h2>EVERY DEPARTMENT OF LITERATURE</h2> -<center>AND</center> -<h3>THE FINE ARTS.</h3> -<br> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem1"> - <tr><td><small>Au gré de nos desirs bien plus qu'au gré des vents. </small></td></tr> - <tr><td align="right"><small><i>Crebillon's Electre</i>.</small></td></tr> - <tr><td><small> </small></td></tr> - <tr><td><small>As <i>we</i> will, and not as the winds will.</small></td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> -<center><small>RICHMOND:<br> -T. W. WHITE, PUBLISHER AND PROPRIETOR.<br> -1834-5.</small></center> -<br><br><br><br> -<h3>CONTENTS OF VOLUME I, NUMBER 5</h3> - -<p><a href="#sect01">S<small>KETCHES OF THE</small> H<small>ISTORY</small> and -Present Condition of Tripoli, with some accounts of the other -Barbary States (No. III)</a>: by R. G.</p> - -<p><a href="#sect02">I<small>MPROMPTU</small>, on seeing that the Publisher of the Messenger had changed the color of -its covers</a>: by P. Q.</p> - -<p><a href="#sect03">S<small>TANZAS</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect04">T<small>HE</small> S<small>YBIL'S</small> L<small>EAF</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect05">T<small>O</small> M<small>Y</small> W<small>IFE</small></a>: by Hanover</p> - -<p><a href="#sect06">T<small>HE</small> K<small>ISS</small></a>: by P. H.</p> - -<p><a href="#sect07">L<small>OVE</small>—M<small>UTUAL BUT</small> H<small>OPELESS</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect08">T<small>O</small> D<small>ESPAIR</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect09">Untitled poem</a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect10">T<small>HERE'S</small> N<small>AE</small> -L<small>ADDIE</small> C<small>OMING</small></a>: by the Ettrick Shepherd</p> - -<p><a href="#sect11">R<small>EMARKS ON THE</small> R<small>EVIEW OF</small> -G<small>OVERNOR</small> T<small>AZEWELL'S</small> R<small>EPORT</small></a>: by a reader</p> - -<p><a href="#sect12">T<small>HE</small> D<small>ARGLE</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect13">P<small>HRENOLOGICAL</small> E<small>XAMINATIONS</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect14">S<small>ONG OF THE</small> I<small>RISH</small> -P<small>EASANT</small> W<small>IFE</small></a>: by Mrs. Norton</p> - -<p><a href="#sect15">A G<small>LIMPSE AT</small> B<small>ASIL</small> H<small>ALL</small></a>: by H. T. T.</p> - -<p><a href="#sect16">T<small>HE</small> P<small>ASSAGE OF THE</small> -B<small>ERESINA</small></a>: by Alpha</p> - -<p><a href="#sect17">P<small>ARODY</small></a>: by the Hon.Warren R. Davis</p> - -<p><a href="#sect18">B<small>EAUTY</small> W<small>ITHOUT</small> L<small>OVELINESS</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect19">H<small>APPY</small> L<small>OVE</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect20">S<small>ORROWS OF</small> L<small>OVE</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect21">E<small>XTEMPORAL</small> L<small>INES</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect22">M<small>RS</small>. W<small>OOD'S</small> M<small>ANUSCRIPT</small> P<small>OEMS</small></a><br> - <a href="#sect23">R<small>ETROSPECTION</small></a><br> - <a href="#sect24">T<small>HE</small> C<small>APTIVE</small> B<small>IRD</small></a><br> - <a href="#sect25">T<small>HE</small> B<small>ELLE DU</small> J<small>OUR, OR</small> C<small>ONVOLVULUS</small> M<small>INOR</small></a><br> - <a href="#sect26">E<small>VENTIDE</small></a><br> - <a href="#sect27">S<small>MILING</small> A<small>UTUMN</small></a><br></p> - -<p><a href="#sect28">S<small>TUDY OF THE</small> L<small>ATIN AND</small> -G<small>REEK</small> C<small>LASSICS</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect29">M<small>EMORY</small>—A<small>N</small> -A<small>LLEGORY</small></a>: by Alpha</p> - -<p><a href="#sect30">T<small>HE</small> C<small>REATION OF THE</small> -A<small>NTELOPE</small></a>: by a cousin of E. D.</p> - -<p><a href="#sect31">L<small>ETTERS FROM</small> N<small>EW</small> -E<small>NGLAND</small>—N<small>O</small>. 3</a>: by a Virginian</p> - -<p><a href="#sect32">A<small>MERICAN</small> L<small>ITERATURE</small>—I<small>TS</small> -I<small>MPEDIMENTS</small></a>: by H. J. G.</p> - -<p><a href="#sect33">T<small>HE</small> I<small>NDIAN</small> -M<small>OTHER</small></a>: by Mrs. Jamieson</p> - -<p><a href="#sect34">N<small>OTE TO</small> B<small>LACKSTONE'S</small> -C<small>OMMENTARIES</small>, Vol. I. Page 423</a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect35">N<small>APOLEON'S</small> G<small>RAVE</small></a>: by R. H. Wilde</p> - -<p><a href="#sect36">A S<small>ONG OF THE</small> S<small>EASONS</small></a>: by Zarry Zyle</p> - -<p><a href="#sect37">L<small>ETTERS FROM A</small> S<small>ISTER</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect38">T<small>HE</small> D<small>OOM</small></a>: by Benedict</p> - -<p><a href="#sect39">T<small>HE</small> C<small>HANGES OF</small> N<small>ATURE</small></a></p> - -<p>O<small>RIGINAL</small> L<small>ITERARY</small> N<small>OTICES</small><br> - <a href="#sect40">T<small>HE</small> L<small>AST</small> -D<small>AYS OF</small> P<small>OMPEII</small></a>: by the author of Pelham, &c.<br> - <a href="#sect41">Excerpt</a><br> - <a href="#sect42">T<small>HE</small> -L<small>AST</small> N<small>IGHT OF</small> P<small>OMPEII</small> <i>versus</i> -T<small>HE</small> L<small>AST</small> D<small>AYS OF</small> -P<small>OMPEII</small></a>: by Mr. Sumner Fairfield<br> - <a href="#sect43">V<small>ISITS AND</small> S<small>KETCHES</small>, -at Home and Abroad</a>: by Mrs. Jamieson<br> - <a href="#sect44">P<small>OEMS</small></a>: by William Cullen Bryant<br> - <a href="#sect45">L<small>ITTELL'S</small> M<small>USEUM</small> -of Foreign Literature, Science and Arts</a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect46">N<small>EW</small> P<small>APER</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect47">D<small>ANDYISM</small></a>: by Oliver Oldschool</p> - -<p><a href="#sect48">V<small>ARIETY</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect49">A S<small>ONG</small></a>: by E. A. S.</p> - -<p><a href="#sect50">E<small>DITORIAL</small> R<small>EMARKS</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect51">V<small>IRGINIA</small> H<small>ISTORICAL AND</small> -P<small>HILOSOPHICAL</small> S<small>OCIETY</small></a></p> - -<p><a href="#sect52">E<small>XTRACTS FROM THE</small> L<small>ETTERS -OF</small> C<small>ORRESPONDENTS</small></a></p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<hr> -<h3>SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.</h3> -<hr> -<center>V<small>OL</small>. I.] RICHMOND, JANUARY -1835. [N<small>O</small>. 5.</center> -<hr> -<center><small>T. W. WHITE, PRINTER AND PROPRIETOR. FIVE -DOLLARS PER ANNUM.</small></center> -<a name="sect01"></a> -<hr> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>SKETCHES OF THE HISTORY</h4> -<h5>And Present Condition of Tripoli, with some accounts of the other -Barbary States.</h5> -<center>No. III.</center> -<br> -<p>From 1798 to 1803, William Eaton, formerly a captain in the army of the -United States, was their consul<small><small><sup>1</sup></small></small> in -Tunis. As the character of this -remarkable man will be best illustrated by the account of his -proceedings in Barbary, it will be sufficient to premise that he had, -before his mission to that country, given proofs of more than ordinary -courage and capacity, and that the utmost confidence was placed in his -honor and integrity by those who possessed the means of forming an -opinion with regard to him. These are admirable qualities for a -diplomatic agent; on the other hand, he was irritable and cynical, and -was considered eccentric by persons who were unable to comprehend his -views or his plans. Ever open and liberal himself, he could not easily -conceal his contempt for those in whom he discovered signs of duplicity -or meanness; and his irrepressible frankness on such occasions, was not -calculated to render him an object of favor with a government which -reprobated treachery only when it was unsuccessful.</p> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>1</sup></small> The consuls residing in the Barbary States, are considered -as the representatives of their several governments, and are -essentially diplomatic agents; although they are not so termed, out of -respect for the Porte.</small></blockquote> - -<p>The Bey Hamouda, to whom Eaton was accredited, was a man vastly -superior to the generality of Barbary sovereigns; though free from none -of the vices which appear to have fixed their seat in that portion of -the earth, he was yet by no means their slave, being neither a brutal -ruffian nor a luxurious sybarite. His passions, though violent, seldom -obscured his observation, or led him to the commission of imprudences -or wanton cruelties; and it was only by means of sagacity, energy and -laboriousness such as he possessed, that the throne of Tunis could have -been held by one man for thirty-two stormy years (1782 to 1815).</p> - -<p>The intercourse between these two shrewd and fiery spirits, was a -continued series of discussions and struggles, of attempted -encroachments on the part of the Bey, and of obstinate resistance on -that of Eaton. The African Prince soon perceived that the American was -of a different stamp from the consuls to whom he had been hitherto -accustomed, and whom he regarded in general as mere intriguers, or -instruments for the conveyance of flattery and presents; and Eaton, -although he could not like or respect the Bey, yet seems to have -excepted him from the anathema of contempt in which he involved all -other inhabitants of Barbary. In the accounts of their interviews, we -see Hamouda ever anxious to secure advantages, yet at times displaying -something like a feeling of national pride; Eaton placing the honor of -his country as the first consideration, yet mindful of its smallest -interests when they could be reconciled with this primary object: the -Bey endeavoring to inveigle or surprise the American consul into a -promise of his influence to obtain some future concession from his -government; Eaton carefully avoiding, or boldly refusing the slightest -encouragement to such expectations, well knowing that it would be -construed and afterwards quoted as a definite or a partial engagement. -These accounts are indeed only to be found in the despatches of Eaton. -But independently of the character of the writer, his details bear -every mark of truth, and together present one of the most original and -interesting specimens of negotiation to be found in the annals of -diplomacy. The strength and the weakness of these anomalous governments -are there clearly exposed; and after the demonstrations thus given, it -would have been unpardonable in the Americans to have longer persisted -in the submissive course which they had been induced to adopt.</p> - -<p>Eaton's first business was to have amendments made in a treaty which -had been concluded between the United States and Tunis, through the -agency of a Frenchman named Famin; this was effected, after a display -of great ingenuity on both sides, and some mutual concessions. Then -came the arrangement of the presents from the American government, -which the Bey attempted to raise far beyond the amount agreed on, -hinting that war might be the consequence of refusal. It was on this -occasion that Eaton commenced his solicitations for the despatch of an -American squadron to the Mediterranean—"Send the <i>stipulated</i> -presents," said he, "but accompany them by a respectable force, and let -them be tendered under our guns; if then refused, the obligation is at -an end; delay, and we shall soon be obliged to redeem our citizens from -slavery." No ship of war appearing to support the resistance of the -American consul, the Bey increased his demands, requiring at one time a -frigate, and afterwards ten thousand stand of arms. At length the -appearance of Dale's squadron (1801) induced him to lower his tone and -to suspend his exactions.</p> - -<p>The war between the United States and Tripoli soon occasioned new -difficulties, in the course of which the Bey showed himself well -acquainted with the received principles of national law; and -unfortunately the manner in which the operations of the American -squadron were conducted, gave him the advantage in the argument. -Tripoli had been declared in a state of blockade; yet months elapsed -during which no ship appeared on the coast to enforce it; indeed the -frigates (of which, with the exception of the schooner Enterprize, the -American squadron was entirely composed,) were nearly useless for that -purpose; the shallowness of the water enabling lighter vessels to leave -or enter the port, by running some distance close to the shore. Eaton -was unceasing in his solicitations to his government, and to the -officers of the squadron, for the pursuance of more energetic measures; -but his government adhered to its system of caution, and the naval -commanders appear to have been affected with that jealousy or distrust -which always exists in the minds of such officers with regard to the -representatives of their nation abroad, particularly towards those who -are termed consuls. They received his recommendations with hauteur, and -treated them with neglect; and on one or two occasions only could he -obtain their co-operation.</p> - -<p>The Bey seeing this, demanded passports for his vessels to carry grain -to Tripoli, which they had been in the habit of supplying with that -article. Eaton refused, alleging that it would be an infringement of -the blockade. The Bey replied that no blockade existed <i>de facto;</i> and -a series of discussions ensued, in which we see the Barbary Prince -insisting on an observance of the rules of national law, and the -American representative agent upholding a paper blockade.</p> - -<p>The difficulties between Eaton and the Bey were much increased by the -intrigues of the Tunisian ministers and officers; particularly by those -of Sidi Yusuf, the <i>Seid-e-Tapa</i>, or Keeper of the Seal, commonly -called the Sapatapa, a wretch who by the most infamous practices had -amassed an immense fortune, and raised himself from the condition of a -Georgian slave to the highest place in the ministry. To their ceaseless -importunities for presents Eaton at first yielded; but finding that -compliance only rendered them more frequent, and that the requests put -on the form of exactions, he at length plainly refused, frequently -clothing his denial in a sarcastic dress, or accompanying it by -observations which no interpreter could soften into compliments. -Indeed, on several occasions, when the inferior agents were insolent, -he did not scruple to lay his cane over their shoulders; and even Famin -the Frenchman, who had been the representative of his government in the -negotiation of the treaty, felt the weight of his arm. These -circumstances rendered him obnoxious to the whole Tunisian government, -and every attempt was made to get rid of him, in order to obtain -another consul who might be of more pliable stuff. Intimidate him they -could not, but they succeeded fully in disgusting him.</p> - -<p>Circumstances at length occurred which revived his hopes of seeing the -honor of his country vindicated, and its relations with the Barbary -powers established on a fair and firm basis. It has been stated that -Hamet, the exiled Prince of Tripoli, had sought refuge in Tunis from -the persecutions of his brother; he was there received and supported by -the Bey, partly from compassion, but principally from political -motives, as he might thus be employed to keep Yusuf in check. In the -summer of 1801, it was suggested to Eaton by the ex-consul Cathcart, -that the restoration of Hamet to the throne of Tripoli might in all -probability be easily effected through the assistance of the United -States, and that it would prove highly advantageous to American -interests. Eaton at first paid but little attention to the suggestion; -but afterwards having obtained information from Tripoli on which he -could rely, that the Pasha was very unpopular, and his subjects ripe -for revolt, he became acquainted with the Prince, and gradually -communicated to him his views. He proposed that Hamet should proceed to -Tripoli with the whole American squadron, and be there presented to the -people as their rightful sovereign; if accepted, peace was to be made, -on terms of which the principal were stated, one of them being the -delivery of Yusuf to the Americans; if the inhabitants should however -refuse to receive him, the war was to be prosecuted with vigor to a conclusion.</p> - -<p>Hamet at first appeared to enter into the plan, and communicated -information from which its success appeared still more probable; but -his natural irresolution soon returned, and innumerable difficulties -presented themselves to his imagination. The most serious ground of -objection taken by him was, that his family were still retained as -hostages in Tripoli, and the ruthlessness of his brother's character -rendered it highly probable that he might exercise towards them any -degree of violence, when prompted either by interest or revenge. To -this, Eaton opposed the consideration, that the appearance of an -overwhelming force, with the country too in arms against Yusuf, would -impress upon him the inutility of resistance, and oblige him to enter -into some arrangement for the release of Hamet's family, and the -surrender of the throne. The exiled Prince would however make no -promises, until he had been assured of the assistance of the American -force, which Eaton immediately endeavored to obtain; but neither his -instructions, nor those of the commander of the squadron, would warrant -such proceedings; and indeed, as the proposition came from Eaton, it -was of course reprobated and pronounced visionary by the latter. The -consul therefore wrote to his government, detailing his plan, and -urging its attention; and his health being much enfeebled, he -determined to await an answer in Italy, for which country he sailed in -December, 1801.</p> - -<p>These projects could not be devised so secretly as to escape the -vigilance of the Tunisian government; and they were soon communicated -to Yusuf, by one of its ministers whom he kept in pay. They created in -him the utmost alarm. He had just then involved himself also in a war -with Sweden, and a fleet from that country had already entered the -Mediterranean under Admiral Cederstrom, who had orders to act in -concert with the Americans. His two largest vessels were lying useless -at Gibraltar; and Morat Rais, without whom he could do little towards -equipping others, was also at that place closely watched by his enemies.</p> - -<p>In this state of things, he endeavored to amuse the Americans with -propositions of peace; and the sovereigns of Algiers and Tunis being in -consequence engaged by him as mediators, sounded the consuls of the -United States at their respective courts, as to the dispositions of -their government. Nothing definite could be drawn from either: they -merely hinted what they hoped and believed, that nothing would be paid, -either for peace or as tribute; and the mediators were not disposed to -continue their good offices on such grounds. The Emperor of Morocco -also undertook to load the ships lying at Gibraltar with wheat, and to -procure for them, as his own property, American passports for Tripoli. -These were however refused by the consul of the United States at -Tangiers, and by the commander of their squadron; at which the Emperor -was so much incensed, that he ordered the American consul to quit his -dominions, and commenced hostilities against their commerce. Morat -Rais, the Scotch renegade, was however conveyed on board a British ship -of war to Malta, whence he easily passed over to Tripoli, much to the -disappointment of Eaton, who considered him as the chief exciter of the -difficulties, and as the only person in the Pasha's service at all -acquainted with naval affairs. But very little advantage was derived -from his skill; worthy Peter had indeed found it much easier to profit -by the licenses of his new creed, than to submit to its restrictions, -and some of his old propensities had probably been revived during his -residence at Gibraltar; for after his return to Tripoli, he remained -some time in a constant state of intoxication.</p> - -<p>Yusuf still carried on his preparations for defence with great energy. -Moors and Arabs were called in and enrolled, some principal persons -from each village or tribe being kept as hostages in the castle. The -Swedish and American prisoners were employed in repairing the -fortifications, making gun carriages, &c.; and as no vessels could be -built in Tripoli, some were purchased and prepared for use as cruisers.</p> - -<p>But he had another object in view, of still greater importance; which -was to get Hamet again in his power. In this the Bey of Tunis -consented, it is said reluctantly, to aid him. Hamouda had no objection -to see the Pasha of Tripoli in an embarrassed state, or indeed to have -Hamet placed on the throne; but he was little inclined to favor the -pretensions of the latter on the score of <i>legitimacy</i>, he himself -being a usurper, and the heir to the throne of Tunis by regular -descent, being a prisoner in his castle; he also apprehended that the -success of Eaton's plan would encourage other christian powers to -interfere in the concerns of Barbary. It was therefore proposed to -Hamet to return to the government of Derne, which with his family, -Yusuf offered to restore to him; and the proposition was accompanied by -a hint that he would receive no farther supplies in case he remained in -Tunis. The poor Prince thus driven to extremities was obliged to yield; -a Russian vessel was in consequence engaged to convey him to Derne, and -he was to be escorted by a guard of honor consisting of forty Tripoline -soldiers, who had been sent to Tunis for the purpose.</p> - -<p>Had these arrangements proceeded much farther, there can be little -doubt as to what would have been the fate of Hamet; but information of -them was conveyed to Eaton by the Sapatapa, whose services he had -engaged before leaving Tunis. He was then at Leghorn, awaiting the -determination of his government; no answer to his communication with -regard to the restoration of Hamet had arrived, but he had just -received a letter from the Secretary of State which authorized him to -suppose that his plan would be favorably received. Therefore -considering that the present circumstances were too important to permit -delay, he hastily purchased and manned a vessel of fourteen guns, -called the Gloria, and sailed in her for Tunis, where he arrived on the -18th of March, 1802. The Bey instantly demanded of him a passport for -Hamet and his suite, who were on the point of departure. This he of -course refused. Hamouda became outrageous, threatened to imprison him, -and to declare war against the United States; but threats only -suggested new resources to this energetic man, and his determination -was soon taken. In order to secure himself however, he called a -consultation of the principal Americans then in Tunis who having -approved his measures, the Gloria was despatched with letters, to be -delivered to the commander of the first American ship of war which -could be met with, communicating the state of the affair, and -requesting assistance to prevent the Prince from entering the Tripoline -territory. The frigate Boston was luckily soon found; her commander, -O'Neill, readily agreed to what was requested, and having commissioned -the Gloria as an United States ship, to act against Tripoli, he sailed -for the coast of Derne, in order to intercept the vessel carrying -Hamet. The Gloria returned in a few days to Tunis. In the meantime -Eaton had, by a promise of ten thousand dollars to the Sapatapa, to be -given in case of the success of his plans, opened a communication with -the Tripoline Prince, whom he was not permitted to see. Every means was -used to operate on his hopes, his fears, and even his superstitious -feelings. The prospects of his restoration by the aid of the United -States, were contrasted with the danger, nay the certainty, of death, -to which he exposed himself, by confiding in his cruel and perfidious -brother; the prophecies of a Marabout, respecting his being replaced on -the throne of Tripoli, by a people from the setting sun, were gravely -and ingeniously repeated; and when all these representations had proved -ineffectual, he was plainly assured that he would not be allowed to -reach Derne, but that he would be attacked on his passage by the -American squadron, and treated if taken, as a Tripoline enemy. The -miserable exile had no other resource than to throw himself on the -protection of the American consul. It was therefore arranged that he -should sail ostensibly for Derne, furnished with a passport and also a -private letter from Eaton, to be delivered to any American commander or -other authority with whom he might fall in; and that the vessel should -on the way put into Malta, under pretence of avoiding the Americans and -Swedes. This was done, and Hamet landed safely at that island on the -11th of April.</p> - -<p>The news of his arrival excited the strongest interest throughout -Barbary. The Bey of Tunis pronounced that all was over with Yusuf, -unless he made peace at once. The people of Tripoli were also much -excited, as they expected an attack to be immediately made. Yusuf, -though greatly alarmed, continued his preparations for defence; and it -is said, assembled in the course of the summer, fifty thousand troops -about the city; this was probably however, an exaggerated statement. -His naval force ready for sea, amounted to one vessel of eighteen guns, -one of sixteen, three of fourteen, and one of ten; with these, Morat -Rais when a little sobered, proposed to sail for Gibraltar, and after -releasing and manning the two vessels there lying, to put out on the -Atlantic, where he expected to reap a rich harvest of prizes. In order -to escape observation, he had provided his sailors with the dresses of -christian nations; but this <i>ruse</i>, as well as the plan it was intended -to promote, were soon communicated to the watchful Eaton, and by him to -the officers of the squadron.</p> - -<p>However Tripoli was so carelessly blockaded, that some of the vessels -got to sea, one of which captured the brig Franklin, of Philadelphia, -and carried her into Algiers, where an attempt was made to dispose of -her and her crew. The American Consul at Algiers, remonstrated against -this proceeding, and endeavored to procure the surrender of the brig -and men, on the grounds that the Dey was bound, as guaranty of the -peace between the United States and Tripoli, to cause her delivery. The -Dey replied, that he had engaged to act only as mediator, but not to -employ force in having the treaty respected; and that moreover the -principal parties to it being then at war, and the United States -actually holding Tripoli under blockade, the treaty as well as the -guaranty were in fact at an end. However, after some delay, the -Tripoline was ordered to quit the place, which he did, taking his prize -with him, to the little port of Biserta, in the Tunisian territory, -sixty miles from the capital; and the next day (July 8) the brig and -her crew were advertised for sale at Tunis. What were the feelings of -Eaton on this occasion may be conceived; his application to Commodore -Murray who commanded the squadron nominally blockading Tripoli produced -no effect; and to his mortification he saw the cruiser quit the place -with the American captives in irons, (the brig being left at Biserta,) -and heard of its safe entry into Tripoli actually in sight of the -frigate Constellation. As a last resource, in order to alleviate the -miseries of their captivity, he wrote a moderate and conciliatory -letter to the Pasha, recommending him not to allow the American -prisoners to be sold as slaves, but to have them treated with lenity, -to refrain from farther hostilities, and even to receive Mr. Morris, -the captain of the Franklin, as the agent of the United States until -affairs could be arranged.</p> - -<p>The American ships of war soon after quitted that coast, to which they -did not return until the spring of 1803, leaving the consuls to defend -as they could their refusal to grant passports for Tripoli. Eaton -maintained his ground with obstinacy, the others yielded; the consul at -Algiers gave his passport to vessels which he knew were to be laden -with wheat for Tripoli; and the agent at Tangiers actually gave his, to -one of the Tripoline vessels of war which had been lying at Gibraltar, -and which accordingly sailed for Tripoli, laden with wheat from -Morocco. These circumstances when known, put an end to all -consideration and respect for the American consul, and even for the -American name in Tunis; as Eaton says, "it was a matter of exultation -at that piratical court, that <i>the American consul had been abandoned -by his countrymen</i>, and the occasion was seized <i>to humble his pride</i>." -He had involved himself in great expenses in furtherance of his plans -respecting Hamet, without authorization from his government; a portion -of the sums expended had been obtained in Tunis, and the ten thousand -dollars promised to the Sapatapa as a bribe, and which had been -forfeited by his treachery, were now demanded as the balance in a -mercantile transaction. Neither party could bring any written proofs, -the case was therefore referred to the Bey, who of course decided -against Eaton, and the successful minister on retiring from the hall of -justice, sarcastically remarked, that <i>in Tunis they knew how to keep -consuls to their promises</i>. The demand for a frigate from the United -States was renewed, which Eaton, in spite of threats and attempts to -bribe him, having refused even to submit to his government, his brig, -the Gloria, was seized and charged with the conveyance of a letter to -the President, containing the requisition; she however got safely to -Leghorn, where she was sold.</p> - -<p>All these things Eaton could only represent to his government, which he -did in forcible language; he demonstrated the weakness of the Barbary -States, and showing that they had not a single ship capable of -withstanding a sloop of war, again urged the employment of smaller -vessels. Finally he expressed a desire to "<i>be supported or -displaced</i>," and that "<i>if farther concessions were to be made, he -might not be the medium through which they were to be presented</i>."</p> - -<p>Although Eaton almost despaired of procuring the means for executing -his plan upon Tripoli, yet he maintained an active correspondence with -Hamet, for whose support he advanced the necessary funds. Soon after -the arrival of that Prince at Malta, he had met with Captain O'Neill, -of the Boston, who appeared ready to forward the project by every -exertion in his power, as also did the Swedish commander. Commodore -Murray too, who came there with the Constellation, thought better of -the affair, and offered to take him to Derne; but he preferred going -privately, in an English brig, which he had chartered, and at length -sailed in November (1802) for that place, where he was received with -every demonstration of affection by the inhabitants, and the -surrounding Arab tribes. He was soon after joined by a nephew, who had -been living in exile in Egypt, at the head of a considerable force; and -thus considering himself strong enough to commence his march upon the -capital, he despatched a confidential messenger to Eaton, in order to -inform him of the state of his affairs, and to hasten the arrival of -the expected succors; he even assured him that the appearance of a -single American frigate before Tripoli, would be sufficient to cause -its surrender.</p> - -<p>The receipt of this information must have been martyrdom to Eaton; he -restrained his vexation as he could, and kept the messenger concealed -in his house. At length, on the 22d of February, 1803, Commodore Morris -appeared off the harbor in the frigate Chesapeake, and soon after -landed with one or two of his officers. The object of his visit was to -contest the demand made by the Bey, for the restoration of some -Tunisian property, which had been seized in an Imperial vessel while it -was endeavoring to enter Tripoli. After some discussion, it was agreed -that the property should be restored; but this compliance only -emboldened the Bey and his minister, to demand immediate payment of all -Eaton's debts in Tunis, real or pretended; and on refusal of both the -commodore and the consul, the former was actually detained in Tunis, -and not allowed to communicate with his ship. As they were thus -completely in the power of the Bey, who had besides, at least the -semblance of right in his pretensions, nothing was left but to pay the -money, which was done. During these proceedings Eaton by his animated -remonstrances, and by the charges which he openly advanced against the -minister, had so far irritated the Bey, that he ordered him immediately -to quit the place, declaring, "that he was a man of a good heart, but a -wrong head; too obstinate and violent;" and that he "must have a consul -more congenial with the Barbary interests." Eaton therefore took his -leave, and quitted Tunis on the 10th of March. Before his departure he -had introduced Hamet's agent to the commodore, and the plans and -resources of that Prince were exposed to him. Morris however, either -did not partake of Eaton's conviction relative to the practicability of -the scheme, or did not anticipate from its success results so favorable -to his country as to warrant his interference. He therefore refused all -immediate assistance, and only promised to appear before Tripoli in -June, when, "<i>provided an equivalent were guarantied to the United -States in the event of success</i>," he would furnish Hamet with "<i>twenty -barrels of powder</i>." He did indeed appear before Tripoli about the end -of May, with five frigates and a schooner; but, with the exception of -an unsuccessful attempt to destroy some vessels laden with wheat, which -had been chased into the harbor of Old Tripoli, (the ancient Sabrata) -he confined himself entirely to negotiations. Yusuf demanded two -hundred thousand dollars and the expenses of the war "<i>for a peace</i>," -and on this being refused, he told the Commodore that "the business was -at an end, and that he must depart." Morris quitted the coast -immediately, leaving two frigates to blockade the port; he soon after -received orders to return to America, where he was tried before a court -martial, and received severe censure for his inactivity and incapacity. -Captain John Rodgers who was left in command, succeeded on the 21st of -June in destroying the Tripoline ship of war of twenty-two guns, which -as before stated had sailed from Gibraltar, loaded with wheat by the -Emperor of Morocco. With Hamet no communication appears to have taken place.</p> - -<p>Eaton arrived at Boston on the 5th of May 1803, and in June proceeded -to Washington, to adjust his accounts and to urge the adoption of more -rigorous measures towards the Barbary powers. He appears to have been -coldly received. His expenses incurred on Hamet's account, were not -allowed by the Department of State, nor indeed were they completely -admitted until they had been before Congress during its two ensuing -sessions. His desire to be relieved from his situation, unless a more -determined course were pursued, was considered as a resignation of his -office, in which Mr. Cathcart had been appointed to succeed him; and -instructions had been forwarded to that gentleman to negotiate both -with Tripoli and Tunis, <i>on the amount</i> to be paid as presents and -yearly tribute. To crown all, a letter had been written to the Bey, in -which Eaton was declared "<i>to have gone beyond the letter and spirit of -his instructions</i>," and his acts were "<i>disclaimed as in opposition to -his orders</i>." With all these circumstances he was not indeed made -acquainted immediately; but the manner of his reception did not impress -him favorably with respect to the members of the Administration, and -much increased his natural irritability.</p> - -<p>The American government did not however neglect to take advantage of -his information and experience; and news having arrived of some success -on the part of Hamet, it was determined to send a much larger force to -the Mediterranean. This squadron sailed on the 13th of August, under -the command of Commodore Preble; and after halting a few days in the -Straits of Gibraltar, in order to settle affairs with the Emperor of -Morocco at Tangiers, it joined the other ships off Tripoli in October. -A circumstance here occurred of the most disastrous nature, and which -probably contributed more than any other, to prevent the dethronement -of Yusuf, or the termination of the differences between the United -States and the Barbary nations, in a manner entirely satisfactory to -the former. The frigate Philadelphia, while in chase of a Tripoline -ship on the 31st of October (1803), struck upon a rock at the entrance -of the harbor of Tripoli with so much violence, that she remained -immoveable by any means at the disposition of the crew, and -consequently defenceless. Her situation being ascertained in the city, -a number of gun boats were instantly sent out, to which, as no -resistance could be made, she was of necessity surrendered. The crew, -consisting of three hundred, with their captain Bainbridge, were -transferred to the city; two days after the ship was got off, towed -into port, and being easily repaired, was likely to prove a valuable -accession to the naval strength of the Pasha.</p> - -<p>The capture of the Philadelphia was however calculated to produce a -moral effect infinitely more injurious to the American cause than the -mere loss of the ship, and her acquisition by Tripoli. The skill, and -even the personal bravery of the naval men of the United States, had -been rendered doubtful by the proceedings of the two previous years; -these doubts now assumed the form of a certainty, the most unfavorable -and mortifying; and unless something had been immediately done to -retrieve the honor of the flag, it must have quitted the Mediterranean -in disgrace, or designated every ship over which it waved, as the -bearer of tribute.</p> - -<p>But there were noble spirits in the American squadron who determined -that this should not be. On the night of the 15th of February, 1804, -Lieutenant Stephen Decatur, accompanied by seventy resolute men, -entered the harbor of Tripoli, in a small schooner which he had -previously taken and called the Intrepid, and succeeded in boarding the -Philadelphia, then lying under the guns of the castle. In a few minutes -the Tripoline crew were overpowered; many were killed, others swam to -the shore, and communicated the astounding facts. A terrible fire was -instantly opened upon the ship from the castle and batteries, aided by -those of two vessels lying near; and it being impossible to carry off -the Philadelphia, she was set on fire. The Americans retreated to the -Intrepid; a breeze fortunately sprung up; they were soon beyond the -power of their enemies, and reached the ship which awaited them, -without losing a man. The Philadelphia was totally destroyed.</p> - -<p>This heroic achievement restored confidence to the Americans, and -determined Commodore Preble to make a desperate attempt upon the city. -His force had however been much reduced by the loss of the Philadelphia -and the recall of other ships; and judging that an addition was -necessary to afford any prospect of success, he proceeded to Naples, -where he obtained from the King the use of two bomb vessels and six gun -boats. These were strong, heavy, flat bottomed vessels, bad sailers, -but manageable by oars, and well calculated for harbor operations. The -gun boats mounted each a long twenty four pounder, and were manned by -thirty-five men; the bombs carried thirteen inch mortars and forty men; -several Neapolitan gunners and bombardiers were also engaged to assist -in working them. The whole American force thus amounted to one frigate, -(the Constitution,) three brigs, three schooners, two bombs, and six -gun boats, carrying in all about one hundred and twenty guns, and one -thousand and sixty men; and with this armament Preble appeared before -Tripoli on the 25th of July, 1804.</p> - -<p>Yusuf was not however taken unawares, and he had made formidable -preparations for resistance. The number of his troops in the city was -supposed to be twenty-five thousand; the batteries mounted one hundred -and fifteen pieces of cannon; besides which, the harbor was defended by -nineteen gun boats, two gallies, two schooners of eight guns each, and -a brig of ten guns.</p> - -<p>The weather was for several days unfavorable for an attack. At length -on the 3d of August the American squadron approached the harbor, and -began to throw shells into the town. The fire was returned from the -batteries and vessels, and during five hours a constant cannonade was -kept up on both sides. Three of the Tripoline gun boats were boarded -and taken; their other vessels were materially injured, and much damage -was done to the town and fortifications: but as nothing more could be -effected, the squadron withdrew, having lost only one man, Lieutenant -James Decatur, and had thirteen wounded.</p> - -<p>The results not proving sufficient to bring Yusuf to terms, another -attack was made on the 7th of August, which terminated less favorably -to the Americans; one of their prizes having been blown up, and their -whole loss amounting to fourteen killed, and four wounded, without -having produced any notable injury to the Tripolines. On the evening of -this day a frigate arrived from the United States, bringing information -that a large reinforcement might be soon expected, under the command of -Commodore Samuel Barron, who being the senior officer, would supercede -Preble. This news caused a suspension of the attacks, during which -Yusuf made offers of peace, on consideration of receiving five hundred -dollars as the ransom of each of his prisoners. This offer was rejected -at once, and the expected reinforcement not appearing, Tripoli was -bombarded on the night of the 24th of August. On the 28th another -attack was made, by which the castle and town suffered considerably, -and three of the Tripoline gun boats were destroyed; and on the 3d of -September another, with less success.</p> - -<p>On the 4th a bold attempt was made to set fire to the vessels lying in -the harbor, and injure the batteries. The schooner Intrepid, with which -Decatur had executed his enterprise on the Philadelphia, was converted -into a fire ship, being filled with powder and combustibles; and in it, -with merely a boat attached in order to return after the fire had been -communicated, Lieutenants Wadsworth, Somers and Israel embarked, and -steered in the direction of the vessels. Two of the Tripoline gallies -were seen to row towards the Intrepid, and place themselves one on each -side of her; a terrific explosion then took place; the three vessels -were shivered into atoms, and a number of shells fell, spreading -destruction on the unfortunate town. Of those who had embarked in the -Intrepid, nothing was ever heard. It is supposed that seeing escape -impossible, they had involved themselves and their enemies in one -common destruction.</p> - -<p>No more attempts were made upon Tripoli during this season. The storms -which prevail on that coast in the Autumn had commenced, and it was -considered improper to expose the small vessels to their violence. They -were therefore sent to Syracuse, the Constitution and two brigs -remaining to keep up the blockade.</p> - -<p>Information of the capture of the Philadelphia did not reach the United -States until March, 1804; and it seems to have produced upon the -American government the same effects which it had upon the officers of -the squadron. It infused energy into its councils, and determined the -President to act with more vigor than he had hitherto manifested; he -resolved "to send to the Mediterranean a force which would be able, -beyond the possibility of a doubt, to coerce the enemy to a peace, on -terms compatible with the honor and the interests of the country." Four -frigates were prepared for this purpose, and placed under the command -of Commodore Samuel Barron, who was furnished with extensive authority, -to act against or treat with the Barbary powers.</p> - -<p>News had arrived that Hamet had met with some successes in his -expedition from Derne against his brother, and the President -"considering that concerted operations by those who have a common enemy -were entirely justifiable, and might produce effects favorable to both, -<i>without binding either to guaranty the objects of the other</i>," says in -his instructions to Barron, "with respect to the ex-Pasha of Tripoli, -we have no objection to your availing yourself of his co-operation with -you against Tripoli, if you shall upon a full view of the subject, -after your arrival upon the station, consider his co-operation -expedient." Eaton had been appointed to accompany the squadron as navy -agent for the Barbary states, with a view to his being employed, in -case a junction with Hamet were determined on; but he was placed -entirely under the orders of the Commodore, and is merely mentioned in -the instructions to that officer as likely to be "<i>extremely useful</i>." -Before the departure of the squadron, information was received that -Hamet had been deserted by his followers, and had taken refuge in -Egypt. Of his expedition no particulars appear to be on record, and no -account can be obtained of the circumstances which led to his failure: -but between Yusuf in possession, and Hamet as pretender, unsupported -too by any man of strong character, and without resources, the contest -could not have been doubtful. No change however was made in the -destination of Eaton, who sailed with the squadron in the above -mentioned capacity, in July, 1804, and arrived at Malta on the 5th of -September following. He there learnt that Hamet, fearing to trust -himself in the hands of the Turkish authorities in Egypt, had taken -refuge among the revolted Mamelukes, in one of the provinces up the -Nile. This did not discourage Eaton; determining at least to have an -interview with the exiled Prince, he prevailed on Commodore Barron to -commit the affair to his charge, and sailed with Captain Isaac Hull in -the brig Argus for Alexandria, where he arrived on the 25th of -November, 1804.</p> - -<center><small>(<i>To be continued</i>.)</small></center> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect02"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>IMPROMPTU,</h4> - -<center><small>On seeing that the Publisher of the Messenger had changed the color of -its covers.</small></center><br> -<br> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem2"> - <tr><td>So <i>you're changing your colors</i>, I see, master White,<br> - But say now d'ye think it is perfectly right?<br> - Yet I own, on reflection, it is not so wrong,<br> - And the reason, I think, is sufficiently strong:<br> - Give it up? Then I'll tell you at once to your shame,<br> - <i>You're a man of all colors yourself</i>—by your <i>name;</i><br> - For all the seven colors, you know, must unite<br> - To make the commixture that people call <i>white</i>.</td></tr> -</table> -<div align="right">P. Q. </div> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect03"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<blockquote><small>M<small>R</small>. W<small>HITE</small>,—On looking over a young lady's Album a few evenings since, -I met with the following lines, of which, with her permission, I -immediately took a copy. I now enclose them to you for insertion in the -Messenger, hoping that some one of your numerous readers may not only -be able to tell me in what language they are written, but let me still -further into the secret by giving me a translation of them.</small></blockquote> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem3"> - <tr><td><small>"'Adhmhur mar dhia neo bhasmhor 'ta<br> - "'N t'oglach gu caidreach a shuis re d' sqa:<br> - "Sa chluin, sa chěth re faad na hůin<br> - "Do bhriara droigheal, 's do fhrea gradh cůin."</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<blockquote><small>I was also allowed to transcribe from the same source, two other pieces -which I send you herewith, under an impression that they are well -worthy a place in your interesting miscellany.</small></blockquote> -<div align="right"><small>* * *</small> </div> - -<h4>STANZAS</h4> - -<center><small>ADDRESSED TO MISS ——.</small></center><br> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem4"> - <tr><td> Younger heads will bow before thee,<br> - Younger hearts than mine adore thee,<br> - Younger lips due praises sing thee,<br> - Younger hands choice flowers shall bring thee—<br> - But when Time's unmelting frost,<br> - Once hath chill'd Love's altar-flame,<br> - Breasts, to passion's impulse lost,<br> - Never after burn the same:<br> - Then what has Age like mine to do<br> - With youthful Beauty, pretty Lou?<br><br> - Brighter eyes will sparkle near thee,<br> - Quicker ears rejoice to hear thee,<br> - Gayer forms around thee pressing,<br> - Woo thy gentle arms' caressing:<br> - But when Fate's severest blow,<br> - Bursts the heart's most cherish'd ties;<br> - Lays its long-nurs'd wishes low,<br> - Hope dismay'd from misery flies:<br> - Then what has grief like mine to do<br> - With joyous Beauty, pretty Lou?</td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect04"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>THE SYBIL'S LEAF.</h4> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem5"> - <tr><td>Raven-hair'd! and yet so fair, in opening youth!<br> - Dark-eyed! with snowy brow of beaming truth!<br> - How can thy Destiny but happy be?<br> - Loved of a hundred hearts! bright rising star!<br> - Light that shall bless admiring eyes afar!<br> - How many breasts shall wildly throb for thee?<br><br> - Thine too, for one of kindred worth shall sigh,<br> - With thought deep-seated in his soft blue eye,<br> - air, but with sun-tinged roses on his cheek;<br> - Liberal in speech, in action bold and free,<br> - Save when with timid love he bows to thee<br> - And silent muses what he dare not speak.<br><br> - Thou hast not yet beheld, but shalt ere long—<br> - And loved, drink in the music of his tongue,<br> - And feel thy bosom a strange thrill pervade:—<br> - Fortune and health shall on your union smile,<br> - And lisping lips shall every care beguile,<br> - Till late in peace, thy lamp of life shall fade.</td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect05"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<blockquote><small>And Ruth said, entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from -following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou -lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my -God.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Where thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so -to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.—Ruth i. 16, -17.</small></blockquote> - -<h4>TO MY WIFE.</h4> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem6"> - <tr><td>Where e'er thou goest I will go,<br> - And share with thee in weal or wo—<br> - And where thy wearied footsteps rest,<br> - Thy head shall pillow on my breast.<br><br> - Thy people shall my people be—<br> - Thy kindred find a friend in me—<br> - Thy God shall be my God—one hope<br> - Shall bear our fainting spirits up.<br><br> - My earthly joys with thee shall die,<br> - And in thy grave forgotten lie—<br> - So God in justice deal with me,<br> - If aught but death part me and thee.</td></tr> -</table> -<div align="right"><small>HANOVER</small>. </div> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect06"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>THE KISS.—<small><i>A la Moore</i></small>.</h4> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem7"> - <tr><td>'Tis a sweet boy! his eye is bright,<br> - Smooth is his cheek, and velvet soft,<br> - And his rosy, pulpy lips invite<br> - The kiss I give, in sooth, full oft.<br> - How glows my eye, and my heart, how wild<br> - It beats, as I kiss the lovely child!<br><br> - But there's a cause ye little ken,<br> - Why thus I love to kiss the boy!<br> - If <i>thou wert absent</i>, Julia, then,<br> - The kiss I love so soon would cloy,<br> - 'Twould not be half so oft as now,<br> - 'Twould not be half so sweet, I trow.<br><br> - I mark when thy lip presses his,<br> - And, ere the dewy moisture's flown,<br> - I steal it with another kiss,<br> - <i>And dream I rip it from thy own!</i><br> - E'en <i>such</i> a kiss thrills through my heart,<br> - What bliss would thine own lips impart!</td></tr> -</table> -<div align="right">P. H. </div> - -<blockquote><small><i>Written in the summer of 1827</i>.</small></blockquote> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect07"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>LOVE—MUTUAL BUT HOPELESS.</h4> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem8"> - <tr><td>O! the light of thine Eye is the beam that falls<br> - Through the narrow grate, on the Dungeon floor,<br> - To show the sad captive the strength of his walls,<br> - And remind him of joys he must taste no more.<br><br> - And that melting voice is Love's whispered breath,<br> - By night through that grated casement stealing,<br> - To rouse him from slumbers as heavy as death,<br> - To hopeless wishes, and useless feeling.<br><br> - But that voice is dear to his wasted heart,<br> - And dear to his eye is that lonely ray;<br> - Though they wound his bosom, he loves the smart,<br> - Nor wishes for death, but when these are away.</td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect08"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>TO DESPAIR.</h4> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem9"> - <tr><td>Hail to thy tranquil and secure abode,<br> - The gloomy refuge of the tortured breast;<br> - Where anxious Care resigns his weary load;<br> - And wasted Sorrow sighs herself to rest.<br><br> - No treacherous Hope here flatters and deceives,<br> - No shortlived Rapture cheats the ravished sense;<br> - No airy dreams delirious Fancy weaves;<br> - Hope—Rapture—Fancy—all are banished hence.<br><br> - Here Fear, with startling cry, no more appals,<br> - For he who knows the worst no harm can dread:<br> - And keen affliction's dart as harmless falls,<br> - As the vain storm that pelts the senseless dead.<br><br> - Here no <i>fierce</i> Passions agitate the breast,<br> - But Rage is quelled, and Hate forgets his foe:<br> - Pride stoops; Ambition vails his haughty crest;<br> - And Envy covets nought that kings bestow.<br><br> - But Love still feeds the never dying flame,<br> - Whose cold pale light scarce breaks the settled gloom,<br> - Like the Sepulchral lamp, whose livid gleam<br> - Watches above the Silence of the Tomb.<br><br> - That light no more the dazzled sense beguiles;<br> - That flame no more the frozen bosom warms;<br> - Yet dear, as when, all bright in rosy smiles,<br> - It led my faithful Laura to my arms.<br><br> - But she is lost; and now this calm abode<br> - Affords a refuge to my weary breast;<br> - And Care, at length resigns his weary load;<br> - And wasted Sorrow sighs herself to rest.</td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect09"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<blockquote><small>My grandfather who had died at the age of eighty-six, was the first -object I examined; his snowy locks had become, through the influence of -the leaden mantle which enveloped him, of a blood color, &c. -&c.—<i>Prince Puckler Muskau's visit to the vault of his ancestors</i>.</small></blockquote> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem10"> - <tr><td>"Have ye torn away the fun'ral pall?—<br> - Did ye strip each corpse to sight?—<br> - Then leave me, in my ancestral hall,<br> - I visit the dead to-night—"<br><br> - The clock struck twelve and I took the lamp<br> - With a solemn step and slow—<br> - Down—down I went, and my echoing tramp<br> - Rang deep in the vault below.<br><br> - I saw the dust of centuries round;<br> - And I felt my courage droop;—<br> - My eyes were rivetted—strained—spell-bound—<br> - By three of that awful group.<br><br> - I stood in the charnel house of those,<br> - Whose blood in my veins now ran;<br> - My current of life seem'd nearly froze<br> - As I strove the scene to scan.<br><br> - An aged man with his "<i>gory locks</i>"<br> - And sightless sockets was there,—<br> - And <i>staring</i> seem'd from his leaden box<br> - With a stern—reproachful air.<br><br> - Wrapp'd in embroider'd cloth of gold,<br> - Lay a noble knight and tall—<br> - And I knew at once the warrior bold,<br> - Who hung in my castle hall.<br><br> - At head of his Cuirassiers,—there he<br> - Was charging the flying Swede;<br> - But here—oh pitiful sight to see!<br> - The victor lay low indeed.<br><br> - In a gorgeous robe of silk, here lay<br> - The finest of female forms;<br> - I did but touch her—she pass'd away—<br> - My hand was alive with worms.<br><br> - I sunk on my knees in fervent prayer;<br> - Tears fell—and my bosom thaw'd;<br> - Horror gave place to the feeling, there<br> - Of trust in the mighty God.<br><br> - I rose without or shudder or dread,<br> - And I kiss'd that aged face;<br> - I took a lock from the sightless head,<br> - And calmly quitted the place.<br><br> - But never again till I drink the cup<br> - Of death—will I enter there—<br> - The power of prayer, might bear me up—<br> - But God, he hath said—forbear!!!</td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect10"></a> -<br> -<br> -<blockquote><small>At the suggestion of a friend, whose fine taste selected the following -effusion of the celebrated "Ettrick Shepherd," from some of the -periodicals of the day, we gladly insert it in our columns. It is a -most touching tribute of fraternal affection to an elder sister, from -one of the most distinguished bards of modern times.</small></blockquote> - -<h4>THERE'S NAE LADDIE COMING.</h4> -<center><small>BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD.</small></center> -<br><br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem11"> - <tr><td>There's nae laddie coming for thee, my dear Jean,<br> - There's nae laddie coming for thee, my dear Jean;<br> - I hae watch'd thee at mid-day, at morn, an' at e'en,<br> - An' there's nae laddie coming for thee, my dear Jean.<br> - But be nae down-hearted though lovers gang by,<br> - Thou'rt my only sister, thy brother am I;<br> - An' aye in my wee house thou welcome shalt be,<br> - An' while I hae saxpence, I'll share it wi' thee.<br><br> - O Jeanie, dear Jeanie, when we twa were young,<br> - I sat on your knee, to your bosom I clung;<br> - You kiss'd me, an' clasp'd me, an' croon'd your bit sang,<br> - An' bore me about, when you hardly dought gang.<br> - An' when I fell sick, wi' a red watery ee,<br> - You watched your wee brother, an' fear'd he wad dee;<br> - I felt the cool hand, and the kindly embrace,<br> - An' the warm trickling tears drappin aft on my face.<br><br> - Sae wae was my kind heart to see my Jean weep,<br> - I closed my sick ee, though I wasna asleep;<br> - An' I'll never forget till the day that I dee,<br> - The gratitude due, my dear Jeanie, to thee!<br> - Then be nae down-hearted, for nae lad can feel<br> - Sic true love as I do, or ken you sae weel;<br> - My heart it yearns o'er thee, and grieved wad I be<br> - If aught were to part my dear Jeanie an' me.</td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect11"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>REMARKS ON THE REVIEW OF GOVERNOR TAZEWELL'S REPORT.</h4> -<br> -<p>M<small>R</small>. W<small>HITE</small>:—I have just read the Review of Governor Tazewell's Report -to the Legislature, upon the subject of a Deaf and Dumb Asylum, in your -last number, and am sorry to find that, amongst many things which I -like, it contains some misstatements which, I think, do great injustice -to that document, and to its author; and which I must therefore beg -leave to correct.</p> - -<p>In the first place, in noticing that part of the paper in which the -Governor argues that as the last census shews that the whole number of -deaf mutes in our State is only about four hundred and twenty-two, and -the experience of other States, particularly Pennsylvania and -Connecticut, has proved that only one-fifteenth of the whole number in -any community can be drawn to such an institution, it is fair to -conclude that the actual number of pupils who could be drawn to our -asylum would not exceed twenty-eight; the Reviewer remarks that the -Governor "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." But this is -obviously a misapprehension of the document; for the Governor says -expressly in a passage quoted by the Reviewer himself, "the question -seems to be resolved into this,—Can the Legislature reasonably promise -itself, that <i>by the employment of any means which it ought to use</i>, it -may concentrate at any point within this State <i>sufficient inducements</i> -to draw thither the proper number of such pupils?" But it is quite -apparent that among the "any means," and "sufficient inducements," -which he was here speaking of, he included a provision for the support -of indigent pupils, as a matter of course. Indeed, the very <i>object</i> of -the establishment, as the Reviewer himself remarks, <i>implies</i> the -propriety of such a provision, and the whole tenor of the Report -accordingly takes it for granted throughout.</p> - -<p>But the Reviewer asks: "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?" Why, for the reasons which he has so clearly stated, and -which the Reviewer ought to have understood; that such had been the -experience of other States, particularly Pennsylvania and Connecticut, -and there was nothing to authorize the hope of a different result in -our own case. Yet he asks, "Does he mean that a larger number could not -be obtained if the public expense were proffered for their education -and subsistence?" Undoubtedly he means this; for he says expressly in a -passage which the Reviewer quotes, that in those States to whose -experience he refers, "the <i>most liberal means</i> have been employed to -attract to their long established asylums <i>all</i> of that class who might -be induced to resort thither;" and he adds still more explicitly in -another passage which the Reviewer does not quote, but which he ought -to have read, speaking of the same institutions of Pennsylvania and -Connecticut, "The only other aid" (besides acts of incorporation,) -"which either of these seminaries has ever received since, from the -several States within the limits of which they are situated, has been -<i>the appropriation of a sum of money annually to pay for the -instruction of a certain number of persons, the children of citizens of -these States respectively, whose parents were in such indigent -circumstances as not to be able to defray the charge of their -education</i>." It is apparent, then, that the Governor's reasoning on -this point is entirely sound; whilst the criticism of the Reviewer upon -it is founded altogether upon a mere misconception of his own.</p> - -<p>But taking it for granted that the number of pupils in our asylum would -not exceed twenty-eight, the Governor proceeds to inquire whether it -would not be better to provide for the support and education of them, -that is, of the indigent ones of course, at the asylum of one of our -sister States, rather than to establish a new seminary for them within -our own bounds; and suggests several reasons in favor of such a course. -First, it would aid the cause of science, which he thinks would be much -better promoted, in the "more sublime and long-hidden" branches of it -at least, by all communities sending in their contributions to a common -stock, wherever that may happen to have been first begun, rather than -by their separately exerting themselves to domesticate those mysterious -novelties prematurely within their respective bounds. Secondly, it -would save money, which is the sinews of charity as well as of war, and -ought therefore to be husbanded with great care. And thirdly, and above -all, the proceeding, or rather perhaps the principle which it involves, -would tend to strengthen the union, and bind the states together. Thus -he says: "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 contribution of each to 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."</p> - -<p>Now these views of the Governor may not be exactly correct, and I -freely acknowledge that I do not adopt them myself; but what is there -in any of them, I ask, that ought to excite the alarm, or kindle the -indignation of the Reviewer? Obviously nothing at all. Yet after -quoting them at full length, he proceeds to comment upon them in the -following words: "It is in these passages that we think lurks the -fallacy, and we might add the <i>mischief</i> of the Governor's views. He -sets out first by deprecating all legislative interference on the -subject." Where? In what part of the Report? For I have not seen such a -thought in it; and I have read the whole, though the Reviewer it seems -has not; and the passages under his notice most certainly do not -suggest any thing like it. On the contrary, they directly advise that -the Legislature <i>shall</i> interfere in the case, although not precisely -in the Reviewer's way. But he goes on: "'Let us alone' is his cardinal -maxim, and the maxim of the school of politicians 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." And -where does he get this idea from again? Not certainly from any thing in -the Report before him. And was it right, then, was it courteous in him -to travel out of the record to arraign the <i>political</i> opinions of the -Governor, and the school of politicians to which he belongs? Was it -proper even to glance at such a martial topic in the amicable columns -of the <i>Literary</i> Messenger? Or if it was, and if the Reviewer believed -that the favorite maxim of the Governor, and the school of politicians -to which he belongs, is, "Let us alone," did he think it fair to -represent him as holding it in all the extent of its terms, without -limitation or reserve? Or, is the maxim itself utterly and absolutely -false, to all intents and purposes whatever? And is there -nothing—nothing at all—to which it may be properly applied? Is there -nothing which the Legislature ought not to meddle with? If this is his -opinion, it is easy to see to what class of politicians <i>he</i> belongs, -and it is one whose <i>latitudinarianism</i>—but I will not follow the bad -example which he has set me, and abuse your peaceable pages to expose -the danger of its doctrines, and the folly of its flights.</p> - -<p>But the Reviewer proceeds: "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 obligations, coming from the high quarter it does, to resist -and refute it if we can." But is this a fair representation of the -Governor's reasoning? Is it not rather a gross caricature of it? For, -has the Governor hinted any thing like a proposal that our State should -send her funds abroad to aid all the institutions of her sister states, -instead of keeping them at home to support her own? On the contrary, -does he not say expressly, "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?" -And does he not accordingly take good care to confine his -recommendation of a contribution to the institutions of other states, -to cases of a peculiar character, in which, as in the instance of a -deaf and dumb asylum, the object in view is to furnish a small portion -of our citizens with the means of access to the "more sublime and -long-hidden truths of modern science?" And does he not, moreover, -declare it to be a part of his plan that every other State shall -reciprocate the generosity of ours, so as to return a pretty fair <i>quid -pro quo</i> into our exchequer? And what is there, then, that is so very -"dangerous" in the Governor's reasoning? Nothing at all that I can see. -Yet our Reviewer is so much alarmed at it, or rather at a phantom of -his own imagination which he mistakes for it, that he flies off from -the true point of inquiry, and instead of calmly answering the argument -before him, as he might have done, breaks out into a warm and -impassioned strain of protestation against a mere figment of his own, -which is truly imposing; but unfortunately without object, and of -course without point. Thus he asks, "did any one ever dream that -Kentucky had given cause of offence to her sister states by erecting an -asylum for the poor deaf mutes? We apprehend not." Why then does he ask -the question? Has the Governor written any thing which fairly suggests -such a singular query? Or was the Reviewer himself dreaming when he -wrote? Yet he adds, "the truth is, that his Excellency the Governor is -entirely mistaken in his views upon the subject!"—whereas the truth -is, that his Highness the Reviewer is entirely mistaken in his views of -the Report. But he keeps on, and adds: "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!" Very true; but it is his own idea. The -Governor's seems to be, that if the good old lady at the head of any -one of these families should choose to send her little deaf and dumb -daughter to the learned French master who was teaching a class of -<i>sourd-muets</i> in her neighbor's house, instead of importing another -Frenchman, (or Yankee, who stands ready to take any body's place,) to -open a similar school in her own domicile, it might save money and -increase love—especially if all the rest would act on the same -principle in return. And is there any thing so very ridiculous in this? -The same sort of hallucination runs through the remainder of the -paragraph; but I cannot think it necessary to expose it any further.</p> - -<p>I will only add that I agree entirely with the Reviewer in much, and -perhaps all, that he has written so handsomely in favor of internal -improvement, in the fullest sense of the phrase. I agree with him, more -particularly, and most cordially, in thinking that we ought, by all -means, to furnish and adorn our native state, as soon as possible, with -every thing that can promote her happiness and honor, and make her as -perfect and complete within her own limits, as any kingdom or -commonwealth on earth can be. Of course, I agree with him also in -condemning and stigmatizing, as he does, that abject and disgraceful -spirit of apathy which has so long paralyzed our citizens, but which, I -trust, we have now shaken off forever. But, at the same time, I am -persuaded that Governor Tazewell would cheerfully unite with us in -these views, to a considerable extent; and I cannot think it right or -fair to charge him, either directly or by implication, with errors -which, I am confident, he does not hold, and which, most certainly, he -has not avowed in his Report.</p> -<div align="right"><small>A READER. </small></div> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect12"></a> -<br> -<br> -<blockquote><small>We extract the following from the "<i>Remains of the Rev. Charles -Wolfe</i>," being the description of the "Dargle," or "Glen of the Oak," -an enchanting scene in Wicklow county, Ireland, of which country Mr. -Wolfe was a native.</small></blockquote> - -<h4>THE DARGLE.</h4> -<br> -<p>We found ourselves at Bray about ten in the morning, with that -disposition to be pleased which seldom allows itself to be -disappointed; and the sense of our escape from every thing not only of -routine, but of regularity, into the country of mountains and glens and -valleys and waterfalls, inspired us with a sort of gay wildness and -independence, that disposed us to find more of the romantic and -picturesque than perhaps Nature ever intended. If, therefore, gentle -reader, thou shouldest here meet with any extravagances at which thy -sober feelings may be inclined to revolt, bethink thee, that the -immortal Syntax himself, when just escaped from the everlasting dulness -of a school, did descry a landscape even in a post,—a circumstance -which probably no one had ever discovered before.</p> - -<p>We proceeded to the Dargle along the small river whose waters were -flowing gently towards us after having passed through the beautiful -scenes we were to visit. It was here a tranquil stream, and its banks -but thinly clothed; but at the opening of the Dargle-gate, the scene -was instantly changed. At once we were immersed in a sylvan wilderness, -where the trees were thronging and crowding around us; and the river -had suddenly changed its tone, and was sounding wildly up the wooded -bank that sloped down to its edge. We precipitated ourselves towards -the sound,—and when we stopped and looked around us, the mountains, -the champaign, and almost the sky had disappeared. We were at the -bottom of a deep winding glen, whose steep sides had suddenly shut out -every appearance of the world that we had left. At our feet a stream -was struggling with the multitude of rude rocks, which Nature, in one -of her primeval convulsions, had flung here and there in masses into -its current; sometimes uniting into irregular ledges, over which the -water swept with impetuosity;—sometimes standing insulated in the -stream, and increasing the energies of the river by their -resistance;—sometimes breaking forward from the bank, and giving a -bolder effect to its romantic outline. The opposite side of the glen, -that rose steeply and almost perpendicularly from the very brink of the -river, was one precipice of foliage from top to bottom, where the trees -rose directly above each other (their roots and backs being in a great -degree concealed by the profusion of leaves in those below them,) and a -broken sunbeam now and then struggled through the boughs, and sometimes -contrived to reach the river.</p> - -<p>The side along which we proceeded was equally high, but more sloping -and diversified; and the wooding, at one time retiring from the stream, -while at another a close cluster of trees of the freshest verdure -advanced into the river, bending over it in attitudes at once graceful -and fantastic, and forming a picturesque and luxuriant counterpart to -the little naked promontories of rock which we before observed. Both -sides of the glen completely enclosed us from the view of every thing -external, except a narrow tract of sky just over our heads, which -corresponded in some degree to the course of the stream below; so that -in fact the sun seemed a stranger, only occasionally visiting us from -another system. Sometimes while we were engaged in contemplating the -strong darkness of the river as it rushed along, and the pensive -loveliness of the foliage overhanging it, a sudden gleam of sunshine -quietly yet instantaneously diffused itself over the scene, as if it -smiled almost from some internal perception of pleasure, and felt a -glow of instinctive exhilaration. Thus did we wander from charm to -charm, and from beauty to beauty, endlessly varying, though all -breathing the same wild and secluded luxury, the same poetical -voluptuousness. This new region, set apart from the rest of creation, -with its class of fanciful joys attached to it, seemed allotted to some -creature of different elements from our own,—some airy being, whose -only essence was imagination. As the thought occupied us, we opened -upon a new object which seemed to confirm it. The profuse wooding which -formed the steep and rich barrier of the opposite side of the river, -was suddenly interrupted by a huge naked rock that stood out into the -stream, as if it had swelled forward indignantly from the touch of -cultivation, and, proud of its primitive barrenness, had flung aside -the hand that was dispensing beauty around it, and that would have -intruded upon its craggy and original majesty. It was here that our -imaginations fixed a residence for the Genius of the river and the -spirit of the Dargle. A sort of watery cell was formed by the -protrusion of this bold figure from the one side, and the thick foliage -that met it across from the other, and threw a solemn darkness over the -water. In front, a fragment of rock stood in the middle of the current, -like a threshold, and a spreading tree hung its branches directly over -it, like a spacious screen in face of the cell. From this we began -gradually to ascend, until <i>our</i> side became nearly as steep as the -opposite, while the wooding was thickening on both at every step; so -that the glen soon formed one steep and magnificent gulf of foliage. -The river at a vast distance, almost directly below us; the glad -sparkling and flashing of its waters, only occasionally seen, and its -wild voice mellowed and refined as it reached us through thousands of -leaves and branches; the variety of hues, and the mazy irregularity of -the trees that descended from our feet to the river,—were finely -contrasted with the heavier and more monotonous mass that met it in the -bottom, down the other side.</p> - -<p>In stepping back a few paces, we just descried, over the opposite -boundary, the top of Sugar-loaf, in dim and distant perspective. The -sensations of a mariner, when, after a long voyage without sight of -shore, he suddenly perceives symptoms of land where land was not -expected, could not be more novel and curious, than those excited in us -by this little silent notice of regions which we had literally -forgotten,—so totally were we engrossed in our present enchantment, -and so much were our minds, like our view, bounded by the sides of the -glen. This single object let in a whole train of recollections and -associations: but the charm could not be more gradually and more -pleasingly broken. The glen, still retaining all its characteristic -luxuriance, began gracefully to widen,—the country to open upon us, -and the mountains to rise; and at length, after a gentle descent, we -passed the Dargle-gate, and found ourselves standing over the -delightful valley of Powerscourt. It was like the transition from the -enjoyments of an Ariel to those of human nature,—from the blissful -abode of some sylphic genius, to the happiest habitations of mortal -men,—from all the restless and visionary delights of fancy, to the -calm glow of real and romantic happiness. Our minds that were before -confused by the throng of beauties that enclosed and solicited them on -every side, now expanded and reposed upon the scene before us. The sun -himself seemed liberated, and rejoicing in his emancipation. The valley -indeed "lay smiling before us;" the river, no longer dashing over rock -and struggling with impediments, was flowing brightly and cheerfully -along in the sun, bordered by meadows of the liveliest green, and now -and then embowered in a cluster of trees. One little field of the -freshest verdure swelled forward beyond the rest, round which the river -wound, so as to give it the appearance of an island. In this we -observed a mower whetting his sithe, and the sound was just sufficient -to reach us faintly and at intervals. To the left was the Dargle, where -all the beauties that had so much enchanted us were now one -undistinguishable mass of leaves. Confronting us, stood Sugar-loaf, -with his train of rough and abrupt mountains, remaining dark in the -midst of sunshine, like the frowning guardians of the valley. These -were contrasted with the grand flowing outline of the mountains to our -right, and the exquisite refinement and variety of the light that -spread itself over their gigantic sides. Far to the left, the sea was -again disclosed to our view, and behind us was the Scalp, like the -outlet from Paradise into the wide world of thorns and briers.</p> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect13"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>From the Cincinnati Mirror. </small></div> - -<h4>PHRENOLOGICAL EXAMINATIONS.</h4> -<br> -<p>There never was an important discovery presented to the consideration -of men, which was not opposed by all the force that scepticism could -call to its assistance.—Truths, which at the present time are -universally recognized, had to accomplish conquests over many -obstacles, before their necessity or importance was admitted. The -all-important and sublime discoveries of Galileo, Newton and Hartly, -were first sneered at, then ridiculed, after a while considered, and -subsequently adopted. Truths do not burst in splendor from heaven on -the benighted understandings of men; but their progress ever has been -and ever must be gradual. Night, in the intellectual as in the outward -world, relinquishes its empire slowly; and hence, doctrines -appertaining to science, which seem at this time to contain within -themselves the qualities of their own illumination, were originally -rejected as unworthy of the sanction of the understanding.</p> - -<p>Phrenology has offered no exception to the general rule which we have -referred to. Whether it be true or false, it has at least participated -in the destiny common to truth. It has been met at every stage of its -progress with whatever of reason, ridicule, or wit, subtlety or -ingenuity could suggest. Ardent opponents have inflicted what they have -supposed deadly wounds upon it, and have anticipated the epitaph which -would be written to its memory. But these visions have not, -unfortunately for the reputations of those who indulged them, been -realized; and the period at which they predicted the extinction of the -science, has been the season of its proudest triumphs. If it be a -heresy, it is a bold one; and, like that of the Albigenses, spreads -most where opposition is deadliest.</p> - -<p>Phrenology is emphatically a science of observation;—by it, it has -been built up; and on it, it mainly depends. Observation and -application form the tests of scientific doctrines, and they are -invoked as the formidable auxiliaries of this science. To a mind -disposed to investigate before it decides upon the merits of doctrines, -a few interrogations present themselves forcibly. Among the advocates -of phrenology, have not some names, remarkable for ability and inquiry, -been numbered? Were these men imposed on by the fallacies of the -science, or did they wish to impose a fallacy upon the credulity of -others? Are not these suppositions effectually silenced by an appeal to -the well-determined moral and intellectual qualities of those -advocates? If phrenology be false, how has it happened that a science -which triumphantly appeals to observation, and which, in consequence, -must be susceptible of easy support or overthrow, has for years -sustained itself against the combined efforts of genius and -intelligence? Is it asked why scientific individuals have not -universally ranged themselves under the banners of this science? Two -answers immediately suggest themselves:—First; the reluctance with -which the human mind ever foregoes or substitutes its acquisitions; -and, secondly, the disinclination which men always manifest at -prosecuting inquiries into the nature of doctrines which are not -corroborated by previous studies, and which they are pleased to term innovations.</p> - -<p>Phrenology must stand or fall by facts; supported by them, it must be -sustained; opposed in this wise, it must fall. Without committing -ourselves in favor of, or in opposition to its doctrines—for, in -truth, we have not yet yielded its doctrines our assent—we desire to -record a few facts which make for its truth, and which have come within -our notice.</p> - -<p>Doctor Powell, well known as an able and enthusiastic advocate of -phrenology, at present lecturing in the city, confident in the truths -of the science, pronounces upon character agreeably to the external -configuration of the crania with fearlessness the most perfect. Since -his arrival here, we have known him examine three different crania, -which were presented to him for the purpose of testing the truth of -phrenological doctrines. The two first were handed him by Mr. -Dorfeuille, the intelligent proprietor of the Western Museum. The first -one, which Doctor Powell saw, he immediately perceived the -preponderance of the vicious propensities over the moral sentiments, -and unhesitatingly said, its owner, according to the laws of the land, -deserved hanging, if he were not actually executed. The second one was -presented, and he forthwith pronounced its possessor equally bad with -the former, although unpossessed of his recklessness, and greatly more -cautious and secretive. Mr. Dorfeuille then stated, that the sculls -belonged to two negro fellows who were executed some years ago in New -Orleans, and whose heads after execution were stuck on pikes. The first -fellow was notoriously vile and daring; the other was more shy, and -against him no absolute proof could be brought; but he was convicted on -evidence so strong as to defy the resistance of the judgment. The -delineation of their characters upon the principles of phrenology he -acknowledged to be most complete.</p> - -<p>On last Monday evening, professor Cobb, of the medical college, sent a -cranium to Doctor Powell for examination, in the presence of his class. -He took it up and pronounced its prominent developments to be those of -combativeness, destructiveness, secretiveness, acquisitiveness: he said -that each of these propensities might have manifested itself singly; -but the probability was that they co-operated, and the consequence was, -that their subject was addicted to robbery on the highways, and was -highly combative. After he had finished his examination, he called on -professor Cobb to state what he knew of the character of the -individual. He arose, and said that, so far as he was aware, the -lecturer had determined truly. The skull had belonged to a Spaniard -confined under suspicion of piracy, in the Cincinnati jail last winter, -and who, while there, had committed suicide, and thus escaped -trial.—An examination of his body proved what the lecturer had said in -regard to his combativeness, as it was scarified in many places. We -have since understood, that this Spaniard was arrested for attempting -to stab a person in the street, and while in confinement, was -recognized as a pirate, and, in order to avoid the consequences of a -trial on the charge of piracy, he had cut the principal arteries of -both arms, and died from the wounds thus inflicted. Dr. Powell had no -intimation of the character of either of the individuals, which he -portrayed with such exactness; but relied solely on phrenological -science. If the doctrines be untrue, how are these results ascertained -by them to be accounted for?</p> - -<p>Our only object has been to give the lecturer as well as the science he -espouses, the benefit of facts we have narrated, and to which they are -so justly entitled. We leave comment for those who are curious upon the -subject. We feel assured that what we have stated must be interesting -to those who are desirous of investigating the science, for the purpose -of determining the amount of plausibility on which it is grounded.</p> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect14"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> -<blockquote><small>M<small>R</small>. W<small>HITE</small>,—As a subscriber and very sincere friend to your paper, let -me beg of you to find room as soon as you can, for three extracts, all -of which together, will not occupy more than three or four pages of the -Messenger, and yet embrace as much deeply interesting matter on the all -important subject of education, as can any where be found within the -same compass. The first two you will find in the September number for -the past year, of "<i>The Annals of Education</i>," a periodical published -in monthly numbers of forty-eight pages each, for three dollars and -fifty cents a year; or for three dollars if paid by the first of April, -or for two dollars and forty cents if five copies are taken together -and paid for in advance. Of this work I can affirm, without hesitation, -that it contains more highly useful information on the subjects of -which it treats, and at less cost, than all the other works together -that are published in the United States on the same topics. Nay, I will -venture farther to assert that there is not a parent or teacher in our -whole country, who might not derive essential service from its perusal. -This, my good sir, is no exaggeration, but my deliberate opinion; -given, I acknowledge, with some hope of promoting the circulation of -this highly valuable periodical from Yankee land, but without any other -interest in it than every man ought to feel who is so thoroughly -persuaded as I am, of the absolute necessity for educating our whole -people on principles materially different from any that have yet been -put into practice among us.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The third extract is from a new work by James Simpson, lately -republished in New York and Boston, on "<i>The Necessity of Popular -Education as a National Object</i>." The short introduction is all that I -will ask you to insert in your paper, as I have persuaded myself to -believe that no friend to popular education can read it without feeling -a strong desire to peruse the whole volume. It contains a mass of -facts, illustrations, and arguments, exhibited in a style at once so -perspicuous, forcible, and persuasive, as must carry conviction to -every understanding capable of comprehending and feeling the vital -importance of the subject in all its bearings, both upon individual and -national happiness. In numbers one and two of the appendix, the topics -of criminal and medical jurisprudence are treated of in a manner which, -although concise, is well worthy the deepest attention of every -legislator and statesman, for they contain hints for improving our -criminal code that seem to me of the utmost importance to the general -good.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Deem me not importunate if I petition you to publish <i>another</i> extract -of quite a different character from the foregoing. It is from the pen -of the admirable <i>Mrs. Norton</i>, and expresses conjugal affection with -so much touching pathos, that surely no married man, especially one -from the Emerald Isle, can read it without deep emotion. It is called</small></blockquote> - -<h4>SONG OF THE IRISH PEASANT WIFE.</h4> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem12"> - <tr><td>Come, Patrick, clear up the storm on your brow,<br> - You were kind to me once,—will you frown on me now?<br> - Shall the storm settle <i>here</i>, when it from Heaven departs,<br> - And the cold from without find the way to our hearts?<br> - No, Patrick, no; surely the wintriest weather<br> - Is easily borne, while we bear it together.<br><br> - Though the rain's dropping through from the roof to the floor,<br> - And the wind whistles free where there once was a door;<br> - Can the rain, or the snow, or the storm wash away<br> - All the warm vows we made in love's early day?<br> - No, Patrick, no; surely the dark stormy weather<br> - Is easily borne,—so we bear it together.<br><br> - When you stole out to woo me, when labor was done,<br> - And the day that was closing, to us seem'd begun,<br> - Did we care if the sunset was bright on the flowers,<br> - Or if we crept out amid darkness and showers?<br> - No, Patrick; we talk'd while we brav'd the wild weather,<br> - Of all we could bear, if we bore it together.<br><br> - Soon, soon, will these dark dreary days be gone by,<br> - And our hearts be lit up by a beam from the sky;<br> - Oh! let not our spirits, imbittered with pain,<br> - Be dead to the sunshine that comes on us then:<br> - Heart in heart—hand in hand—let us welcome the weather,<br> - And sunshine or storm, we will bear it together.</td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect15"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>From the New England Magazine. </small></div> - -<h4>A GLIMPSE AT BASIL HALL.</h4> -<br> -<p>At the palace of the Prince Borghese in Rome, several young English and -American artists were engaged, last winter, in copying the renowned -productions of the old masters. Portray to yourself, kind reader, two -large halls—the walls of which are lined with paintings, and -intercommunicating by a side door, now thrown open for the benefit of -the parties. In the first of these apartments are erected three -easels—before which, in the attitude of painters, stand—first, a -Virginian, intent upon the exquisite Magdalene of Correggio,—opposite, -the native of a country town of Great Britain—transferring, as nearly -as possible, the Prodigal Son, of the great Venetian,—while, within a -few feet of the former, a Londoner is travailing for the inspiration of -Titian, by contemplating his "Sacred and Profane Loves." The artists -may thus be said to occupy, relatively, the three points of an -isosceles-triangle. Gaze now, through the above-mentioned passage, and -behold, at the extremity of the second and lesser hall, the figure of a -Baltimorean—fancying, perchance, the surprise of the natives when they -see <i>his</i> copy of the inimitable Cupid beside him.</p> - -<p>These worthy followers of the rainbow art were wont to amuse -themselves, and beguile the time, with conversations upon the merits -and manners of their respective countries; and occasionally, by a very -natural process, such amicable debates would assume not a little of the -earnest spirit of controversy. Then would the brush fall less -frequently upon the canvass—their eyes linger less devotedly upon the -great originals around, and ever and anon the disputants would step a -pace or two from the object of their labors, raise aloft their -pencils—as though, like the styles of the ancients, they subserved -equally the purposes of art and of warfare, or wave their mottled -pallets as shields against the errors of argument. A full history of -these discussions, hallowed by the scene of the combat, diversified by -the characters of the combatants, and disguised by the nature of the -points contested—would doubtless be a valuable accession to our -literature. The great topics of national policy, domestic manners, -republicanism, aristocracy, slavery, corn laws, etc. as unfolded, in -the elegant and discerning disputations of the absentees in a Roman -palace, would prove something new, vivid and seasonable. But to me -falls the humbler task of narrating one scene of the drama, as -illustrative of the wisdom and safety of keeping one's own secret.</p> - -<p>On a day, when the war of words had ran unusually high, there was a -momentary, and, as it were, a spontaneous quietude. After the manner of -their predecessors in the same city—years bygone, the gladiators -rested upon their arms. There was an interlude of <i>silence</i>. They -gradually reassumed the appropriate occupations of the hour. A few -unusually fine touches were bestowed upon the slowly-progressing -copies—when the aspiring portrayer of the beautiful parable thus -opened a new cannonade:</p> - -<p>"Well, smooth over, as you may, the blot of slavery—and deny or -palliate, as you best can, the charge of non-refinement, the world will -never admit the existence of true civilization in a country where so -barbaric a practice as <i>gouging</i> prevails."</p> - -<p>At the commencement of this speech, the pencil of the Virginian had -stopped transfixed within an inch of the pensive countenance on his -canvass; and with nerves braced in expectancy, he awaited the issue. -And when the orator, like a second Brutus, paused for a reply, his -adversary was mute—perhaps from indignation, probably in the -absorption consequent upon preparing to refute and chastise. The -Londoner wheeled around, and, with a nod of congratulation to his -brother islander, and a provoking and triumphant smile upon the -Virginian, begged to be informed "of the origin and nature of the -<i>American</i> custom of gouging?" When lo! there were heard quick steps -along the polished floors, and as the eyes of the artists followed -their direction, the form of the Baltimorean emerged from the adjoining -hall. His painter's stick, pallet and brush, were grasped convulsively -in his left hand, as with energetic strides he reached the centre of -the arena, and gazed meaningly upon the disputants.</p> - -<p>"You would know, sir," he exclaimed, eyeing fiercely the hero of the -British capital, "what is gouging? Go, sir, to Basil Hall—your -literary countryman: when ascending the Mississippi, <i>he</i> was put on -shore by the captain of a steamboat for ungentlemanly deportment—and -on the banks of that river, sir, <i>he was gouged!</i>" As the last emphatic -words exploded, a gentleman, who had been viewing the paintings, -abruptly left the room. The Londoner looked wonders, his compatriot -tittered, the Cupid-limner wiped his brow. "Who was that?" inquired the -Virginian. "That, sir, was Captain Hall!"</p> -<div align="right">H. T. T. </div> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect16"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>THE PASSAGE OF THE BERESINA.</h4> - -<blockquote><small>"The moan of mortal agony which arose from the despairing multitude -became at this crisis for a moment so universal, that it rose shrilly -audible over the voice of the elements and the thunders of war, above -the wild whistling of the tempest and the sustained and redoubled -hourras of the Cossacks. The witness from whom we have this -information, declares that the sound was in his ears for many weeks. -This dreadful scene continued till dark, many being forced into the icy -river, some throwing themselves in, betwixt absolute despair and the -faint hope of gaining the opposite bank by swimming, some getting -across only to die of cold and exhaustion."—<i>Scott's Napoleon, Vol. -II. Page 385</i>.</small></blockquote> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem13"> - <tr><td>What scene is here? The dying moan, the wailing cry<br> - Come on the gusty blast that speeds so swiftly by;<br> - The river rolls heavy as it struggles with dead,<br> - Who writhe in their blood ere the spirit hath fled—<br> - And chafed by the winds in the wrath of the storm,<br> - Its red clotted waters flow tortured and warm.<br> - Thousands lie here; kindred and aliens in race,<br> - They are rigid and fixed in death's cold embrace;<br> - They clench and they cling in the last dying grasp,<br> - And the living, the dead, reluctantly clasp:<br> - Or, fearing a friend in his last cold embrace,<br> - They spurn him beneath to his dark dreary place.<br> - A many-voiced moan now saddens the air,<br> - Whose tones are all blent with wild curses and prayer;<br> - And the deep hollow moan that wails o'er the flood,<br> - As spirits pass away in storm and in blood.<br> - In the sad welkin tremble heart-rending shrieks,<br> - So piercing, that startled, the deep echo speaks.<br> - There's mirth that's of madness, one laughs in his fear,<br> - And prayer thrills in tones of the wildest despair;<br> - And the deep solemn curse from the blasphemer stern,<br> - Who weeps not, who wails not, tho' his dying soul burn.<br> - Oh spirits pass away so sad in their strife,<br> - That the living still cling more closely to life:<br> - With unearthliest cries, grim phantasied shapes<br> - Brood o'er the senses ere the spirit escapes;<br> - On the wings of the wind how swift speeds the blast,<br> - With pinions all viewless it fleets as the past;—<br> - Oh say, does it bear the spirits that have fled,<br> - In the last bitter strife, ere the dying be dead?<br> - To the last dying sense comes a vision more dread,<br> - For Death flaps his wings o'er the fields of the dead:<br> - His deep hollow tones called away and away<br> - Spirits immortal, disengaged from their clay;<br> - And rearing aloft his deep sable plume,<br> - On wings of the wind rose in shadow and gloom,<br> - Still bearing them on with invisible trace,<br> - As he swept the broad fields of infinite space—<br> - Whilst Terror, all wild in his deep, horrid lair,<br> - Made sad with his moans the invisible air.<br><br> - The night wind sighs drear, in its last dying breath;<br> - The clouds fleet away, like the shadows of death,<br> - From the face of the moon, whose sepulch'red light<br> - Steals softly upon the dark bosom of night,—<br> - As the last smile of hope, ere the spirit hath fled,<br> - Lingers tranquil and bright o'er the face of the dead.</td></tr> -</table> -<div align="right"><small>ALPHA.</small> </div> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect17"></a> -<br> -<br> -<blockquote><small>The lines which follow ought to be preserved in a more permanent form -than the columns of a newspaper. They were written and published before -Mr. Johnston's lamentable death. It will be recollected that he -perished by the explosion of a steamboat, ascending the Red River.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>After the above was penned, the melancholy intelligence reached us of -Mr. Davis's death. Patriotism will mourn his loss, and the Columbian -Muse hang a garland over his tomb.</small></blockquote> - -<div align="right"><small>From the Augusta (Geo.) -Chronicle. </small></div> - -<blockquote><small>The following beautiful parody, which we met with in the hands of a -respected friend, and were permitted by him to take a copy for -publication, is attributed to the Hon. Warren R. Davis of South -Carolina—a gentleman no less distinguished, admired and beloved for -his many and striking literary acquirements, private virtues, social -qualities, fine manners, polished, varied and brilliant wit and vivid -fancy,—than for his ardent patriotism, open and fearless honesty, -independence, eloquence, and disinterested devotion to his gallant and -glorious state. It is said to have been written, on the sportive -suggestion of the moment, as a contribution to the Album of the -talented, accomplished and witty lady of the Hon. Mr. Johnston of the -United States Senate from Louisiana. The old air of "Roy's Wife of -Aldavalloch" is, we think, one of the most rare and beautiful specimens -of that class of Scottish music, which was probably introduced from -Italy, in the time of the brilliant but unfortunate Queen Mary.</small></blockquote> - -<h4>PARODY.</h4> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem14"> - <tr><td> Johnston's wife of Louisiana!<br> - Johnston's wife of Louisiana!<br> - The fairest flower that ever bloomed<br> - In southern sun or gay savannah.<small><small><sup>1</sup></small></small><br> - The Inca's blood flows in her veins—<small><small><sup>2</sup></small></small><br> - The Inca's soul her bright eyes lighten;<br> - Child of the sun, like him she reigns,<br> - To cheer our hopes, our sorrows brighten.<br> - Johnston's wife of Louisiana!<br> - Johnston's wife of Louisiana!<br> - The fairest flower that ever bloomed<br> - In southern sun or gay savannah.<br><br> - Johnston's wife of Louisiana!<br> - Johnston's wife of Louisiana!<br> - She hath a way to win all hearts,<br> - And bow them to the shrine of Anna!<br> - Her mind is radiant with the lore<br> - Of ancient and of modern story—<br> - And native wit of richer store<br> - Bedecks her with its rainbow glory.<br> - Johnston's wife of Louisiana!<br> - Johnston's wife of Louisiana!<br> - She hath a way to charm all hearts,<br> - And bow them to the shrine of Anna!<br><br> - Johnston's wife of Louisiana!<br> - Johnston's wife of Louisiana!<br> - The hapless bard who sings her praise,<br> - Now worships at the shrine of Anna?<br> - Twas such a vision, bright but brief,<br> - In early youth his true heart rended,<br> - Then left it like a fallen leaf,<br> - On life's most rugged thorn suspended.<br> - Johnston's wife of Louisiana!<br> - Johnston's wife of Louisiana!<br> - The hapless bard who sings her praise<br> - Wept tears of blood for such an Anna!</td></tr> -</table> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>1</sup></small> "The gayest scene in nature is a southern savannah, -enamelled with its rich variety of flowers."—<i>Humboldt</i>.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>2</sup></small> "The Incas claim their descent from the sun."—<i>Las -Casas</i>.</small></blockquote> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect18"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>BEAUTY WITHOUT LOVELINESS.</h4> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem15"> - <tr><td>He looked on the chiselled <i>form</i> and <i>face</i>,<br> - And the roseate blush beguiling,<br> - And the arch of the eye-brow's pencilled trace,<br> - And the lip in moisture smiling:<br><br> - He looked on the raven <i>curls</i> that fell<br> - O'er the <i>brow</i> of Parian whiteness,<br> - And the <i>silken lash</i> that softened the spell<br> - Of the <i>eye</i> that swam in brightness:<br><br> - He looked on the <i>slender hand</i> that shone,<br> - Where the sparkle of gems abounded,<br> - Like the star of eve on her vesper throne,<br> - By the pearls of the sky surrounded:<br><br> - He looked on the <i>arm</i>, as in floating grace,<br> - It waved o'er the chords entrancing,<br> - And the feathery <i>foot</i>, as it marked each trace<br> - Of the melody in dancing.<br><br> - He looked on all these, while links of gold<br> - With the silken chain were blended;<br> - And yet in his bosom calm and cold,<br> - No wave of the soul ascended.<br><br> - No rapture glowed in his tranquil gaze,<br> - The tremulous thought revealing;<br> - He looked for the light of soul in the face,<br> - And saw not a ray o'er it stealing.</td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect19"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>HAPPY LOVE.</h4> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem16"> - <tr><td>The Nightingale sings to the midnight air,<br> - All darkling and alone:<br> - And the Lover's lute, mid the gloom of despair,<br> - Gives forth its sweetest tone.<br><br> - But the Lark springs up with the morn's first blush,<br> - And mounts the clouds above;<br> - As he sings to his mate, in the hawthorn bush,<br> - The tale of his happy love.<br><br> - But hark, that note from the clustering shade!<br> - It has reached his listening ear;<br> - And, with pinions closed, to her leafy bed,<br> - He comes, like a falling star.<br><br> - O! happy Love! O happy pair!<br> - O for that tuneful art!<br> - That I might breathe in my Lucy's ear<br> - The voice of a happy heart.</td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect20"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>SORROWS OF LOVE.</h4> - -<center><small>TO A BEAUTIFUL GIRL ON SEPARATION.</small></center> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem17"> - <tr><td>Oh! weep not tho' we're bid to part,<br> - Since time nor distance e'er can sever<br> - The links that bind my changeless heart,<br> - To thy angelic form forever.<br><br> - As summer clouds that hide the sun,<br> - When once removed restore him brighter;<br> - This night of woe as soon as done,<br> - Will make our love-day morn the lighter.<br><br> - Affliction now our hearts has proved,<br> - And shown our passion's depth more clearly;<br> - In joy we might have known we loved,<br> - But grief has taught us, oh! how dearly.</td></tr> -</table> - -<blockquote><small>The foregoing was written by a gentleman of fine genius, and is -published without the author's knowledge.</small></blockquote> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect21"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>EXTEMPORAL LINES.</h4> - -<center><small>On hearing Mr. Wickham's Speech at the Bar of the House of Delegates, -on the 6th instant.</small></center><br> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem18"> - <tr><td>When Wickham stood up at the bar of the House,<br> - And every one there was as still as a mouse,<br> - I trembled myself, (to acknowledge the truth,)<br> - Lest his age should forget the fine feats of his youth;<br> - And I thought that his Horace had warned him in vain,<br> - "Release the old racer in time from the rein,<br> - Lest he falter at length in a laughable pace,<br> - And finish his course in diverting disgrace."<br> - But soon, very soon, all my fears were relieved,<br> - And hopes took their places that were not deceived;<br> - For I saw that his motions were sprightly and strong,<br> - And, spite of his weights, he went gaily along,<br> - Till, safe at the goal, pleasure broke from my lips,<br> - And I cried out delighted, "hurrah for Eclipse!"<small><small><sup>1</sup></small></small></td></tr> -</table> - -<blockquote><small><i>January, 1835</i>.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>1</sup></small> Solve senescentem maturč sanus equum, ne<br> - Peccet ad extremum ridendus, et ilia ducat.<br> - - - - - <i>Hor. Epist. Lib. i. 1.</i></small></blockquote> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect22"></a> -<br> -<br> - -<h4>MRS. WOOD'S MANUSCRIPT POEMS.</h4> -<br> -<p>The pious and excellent Mrs. J<small>EAN</small> W<small>OOD</small>, who died in this city some -years since, was the relict of General James Wood, a distinguished -officer of the revolution, and afterwards Governor of Virginia. The -qualities for which she was remarkable, were familiarly known to a very -large circle of friends, by whom, at least such as survive her, her -memory is still held dear. She was indeed in the justest sense, a -mother in Israel,—a lady of shining christian benevolence, whose -kindly feelings towards her race did not consist in mere sentiment -only,—but were evinced in a life of active, useful, and unostentatious -charities and labors of love. Her piety moreover, though profound and -ardent, was free from austerity; and there was a grace and cheerfulness -in her manner and conversation, which won upon all of every age and -condition who approached her. Well known as she was however, and -universally respected for her virtues, there were but few comparatively -who were apprised of her varied endowments or who knew that her -practical good sense and experienced judgment were united to the -lighter attractions and more ornamental graces of the intellectual -character. Literature was to her the solace which refreshed the -intervals in her works of goodness; it furnished that balmy repose to -the spirit,—which it often needs amidst the conflicts and agitations -of human life, even in its most favored condition. The proud, the -selfish and avaricious, or the gay and luxurious, may each indulge in -his own enjoyment or follow his own delusive phantom,—but next to the -consciousness of doing good, there is no earthly happiness so pure and -unalloyed as that which springs from the silent communion with our own -spirits, or with the marvellous and multiform external objects which -surround us. "There is a pleasure in poetic pains which only poets -know." There is an exalted sense of enjoyment in contemplating all that -is beautiful and good in the moral and physical world, and this indeed -constitutes the empire of poetry in its more general and unrestricted -sense. We do not claim for Mrs. Wood very extraordinary powers in this -enchanting department of literary effort,—for how few of the thousands -who have ever essayed to climb the hill of Parnassus have reached its -highest pinnacle; and on the contrary how many have been content to -tune their unambitious lays in humble seclusion—without courting or -even desiring renown. Mrs. Wood wrote neither for fame nor the public -eye, and it is this circumstance alone which will impart an additional -interest to the natural and unstudied effusions of her muse. Her -numerous friends and relatives will at least experience a melancholy -pleasure, in tracing in these <i>memorolabilia</i> of their deceased friend, -some of those qualities of mind and heart, which rendered her in life -an object of respect and love,—and in death,—of veneration and -regret.</p> - -<p>The first poem we have selected, entitled "Retrospection," appears to -have been written in 1809—when a severe illness threatened the life of -her husband. In the frame of mind natural under such circumstances, she -recalls the principal sorrows of her life, and among them there was -none more poignant than the loss of an only child, a daughter of -eighteen years old. The closing lines will indicate the source to which -she was accustomed to look in the season of human affliction.</p><a name="sect23"></a> - -<h4>RETROSPECTION.</h4> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem19"> - <tr><td>Why should mysterious Heaven bestow<br> - A warm and feeling heart—<br> - Yet doom it naught but pain to know,<br> - And rankle in its smart?<br><br> - That it might agonize and bleed<br> - At every suffering pore,<br> - The soft affections why decreed<br> - To centre in its core?<br><br> - The tender ties my heart has proved<br> - That heart has held most dear,<br> - And those most dearly, fondly loved,<br> - Have cost the bitterest tear!<br><br> - A tender parent's weeping nurse<br> - My early youth I pass'd;<br> - And Heaven did but those tears disperse<br> - To bid them flow more fast:<br><br> - For rich in worth, a youth appear'd—<br> - I gave my virgin heart;<br> - But Hymen scarce our vows endeared<br> - Ere we were doomed to part:<br><br> - He, through war's ravaged fields to roam<br> - Eight sad revolving years—<br> - I, droop'd, a widow'd wife at home,<br> - In unavailing tears:<br> - But ah! the pang was yet to feel,<br> - (The worst the heart can know,)<br> - The pang no earthly power can heal,<br> - The climax of all woe!<br><br> - To me a cherub fair was given,<br> - I placed it next my heart;<br> - It seemed the choicest gift of Heaven—<br> - My bosom's dearest part:<br> - While yet I mark'd each opening charm<br> - That graced its baby brow,<br> - Disease approach'd, in direful form,<br> - To lay each promise low.<br><br> - And oh! how worse than death to see<br> - The ruins of a mind,<br> - Which, in its dawning, seem'd to be<br> - For better hopes design'd;<br> - To watch with anxious hopes and fears<br> - The daily deep'ning gloom,<br> - Till eighteen sad and suffering years<br> - Had laid her in the tomb.<br><br> - Though keen the parting pang I felt,<br> - And did my child deplore;<br> - Yet soon in gratitude I knelt—<br> - <i>Her</i> sufferings were no more.<br> - My mind's composure once regain'd,<br> - A competence still ours;<br> - My loved companion, too, remain'd<br> - To cheer my lonely hours:<br><br> - Fondly I hoped life's evening shade<br> - Might yet in peace descend,<br> - And grief no more my heart invade<br> - Till closing life should end.<br><br> - But now alas! the transient calm<br> - Flits fast and far away—<br> - The hope that o'er my fancy swam,<br> - And soothed my wasting day;<br> - For dire disease again appears<br> - To break the mild serene;<br> - Again commands my streaming tears,<br> - And clouds our closing scene!<br><br> - Why, then, my God! thus closely twine<br> - Around this bursting heart,<br> - Those fond affections which are mine,<br> - Such misery to impart!<br> - Dare I, presumptuous, seek to know<br> - What mocks our mortal sight;<br> - Enough for me, thou will'st it so—<br> - It, therefore, must be right.</td></tr> -</table> -<a name="sect24"></a> -<p>The piece which follows, our readers will agree with us, is not only -very agreeable verse, but what is still better, is replete with pure -moral sentiment.</p> - -<h4>THE CAPTIVE BIRD.</h4> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem20"> - <tr><td>Say, little caged flutterer, say,<br> - Why mournful waves thy drooping wing?<br> - Why silent sit, the live-long day?<br> - Nor Vespers chaunt, nor Matins sing.<br><br> - When first a captive thou wert made<br> - And in thy wiry dwelling swung,<br> - Suspended in the leafy shade<br> - Or sunny door, you gaily sung.<br><br> - My careful hand supplied thee store<br> - Of ripest berries from the hill;<br> - Thy cup replenished, strewed thy floor<br> - With glittering gravel from the rill.<br><br> - Beneath the same luxuriant vine,<br> - The same kind hand supplies thy fare;<br> - The sun's first cheering rays are thine,<br> - Yet thou art sad and silent there.<br><br> - Ah! little captive, couldst thou see<br> - What passes in this wayward breast,<br> - Thou'dst ask, perhaps, the same of me,<br> - And why vain wishes break my rest.<br><br> - Thou'dst ask me, why this quiet shade<br> - Which late a paradise I deem'd,<br> - Though still in verdant sweets array'd,<br> - A melancholy prison seemed?<br><br> - And bid me mind, each passing day<br> - That wholesome viands crown'd my board,<br> - That flowers and fruits and sunshine gay<br> - For me, too, vernal sweets afford.<br><br> - Nay, more,—that liberty is mine<br> - And lends a ray to every joy—<br> - While sad captivity is thine,<br> - Mingling with all its sad alloy.<br><br> - Thou "still small voice" that will be heard,<br> - Whose whispers thrill the inmost soul!<br> - Reproving friend—beloved and feared—<br> - Conscience, this is thy mild control!<br><br> - Oft hast thou urged this conscious truth,<br> - When gloomy tears have fill'd mine eye;<br> - Or discontent, with brow unsmooth,<br> - Was fain to force th' unwilling sigh.<br><br> - 'Tis thy reproving voice I hear,<br> - When from the poor and lowly cot<br> - Content and cheerfulness appear,<br> - Though mark'd by penury their lot.<br><br> - Then shall I bear a pining heart—<br> - While friendship, health, and peace combine<br> - Life's dearest comforts to impart—<br> - Ah! shall a thankless heart be mine!<br><br> - No sure—content's too cold a name<br> - For what my bosom ought to feel;<br> - Thus favored, gratitude's sweet claim<br> - With thanks unceasing bids me kneel:<br><br> - Bids me, thus lowly bending, vow<br> - Before the awful throne of Heaven—<br> - Children of want, to share with you<br> - The good its gracious power has given.</td></tr> -</table> -<a name="sect25"></a> -<p>In the lines which we next select, it will be perceived that to minds -of delicate fibre and poetic temperament,—the most familiar objects in -nature will often suggest mournful images and recollections. A flower -will awaken affecting reminiscences of some long lost and beloved -object.</p> - -<h4>THE BELLE DU JOUR, OR CONVOLVULUS MINOR.</h4> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem21"> - <tr><td>Sweet floret! beauty of a day,<br> - And transient as thou'rt sweet;<br> - Scarce opening to the morning ray<br> - Ere shrinking from its heat:<br><br> - Noon faded sees each early charm,<br> - Thy blue eye closed in death;<br> - And evening's breeze, thy wasted form<br> - Wafts lightly o'er the heath.<br><br> - While thus, sweet child of summer skies,<br> - I see thee bloom and die;<br> - What tender recollections rise<br> - To prompt the pensive sigh:<br><br> - For once in this lone bosom grew<br> - As fair, as sweet a flower,<br> - That smiled and budded forth like you<br> - In morn's propitious hour;<br><br> - But ah! while joy and hope were new<br> - And promised bliss secure;<br> - Like you, it drooping faded too—<br> - And sunk to bloom no more.<br><br> - Oft as I through the twilight gloom<br> - A wandering mourner stray;<br> - Pale shadowy tenant of the tomb,<br> - She seems to cross my way:<br><br> - For every object, every scene<br> - Does my lost love recall,<br> - From cheerful morning's rising beam<br> - To mournful evening's fall.</td></tr> -</table> -<a name="sect26"></a> -<p>Our readers must not be induced to cast aside the following poem, from -its length. It is full of genuine feeling and pious sentiment.</p> - -<h4>EVENTIDE.</h4> -<center><small>[Written in a dejected and visionary state of mind.]</small></center> -<br><br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem22"> - <tr><td> Sweet beams the cheerful morn o'er happy hearts,<br> - And every smiling scene new bliss imparts;<br> - Each gay unfolding bud, each new born flower<br> - Exhaling odors, owns the sun's warm power;<br> - The new-waked birds their notes of gladness raise,<br> - The trembling dew-drop rainbow tints displays,<br> - In pendant beauty gems the lofty bough,<br> - Or glitters in the velvet turf below.<br><br> - On active wing abroad, the industrious bees<br> - Their busy hum mix with the passing breeze,<br> - The light breeze curls the silver-bosom'd flood,<br> - Or freshening whispers through the waving wood;<br> - The sun, now mounting, gilds the eastern skies,<br> - Bright'ning the landscape with its glowing dyes—<br> - Gay beauty smiles along each field and grove—<br> - Congenial smiles—for youth, for joy, and love.<br><br> - But when the soul, long since, has ceased to prove<br> - The tender fallacies of youthful love—<br> - And soberer joys, no more, the way adorn,<br> - The sad heart, sick'ning, turns from sprightly morn—<br> - Turns, pensive eve, to seek thy milder charms,<br> - And dewy haunts, which no gay sunbeam warms.<br><br> - When closing day shuts o'er its busy cares,<br> - And onward stealing, twilight meek appears,<br> - Drowns in obscurity the distant scene,<br> - And casts a softening charm o'er all between—<br> - 'Tis then the sad, the lacerated mind,<br> - Does in thy gentle gloom a soother find—<br> - Sighs with less pain beneath its load of cares,<br> - And mourns its sorrows with relieving tears.<br><br> - Disrobed of gayer tint and gaudy hue,<br> - Sweet Eventide! thy objects meet the view;<br> - In modest russet clothed each shrub and flower,<br> - Shades ever sacred to thy silent hour—<br> - Shades how congenial! every heart must find,<br> - Which long, long suffering, feels, but is resign'd.<br> - So we oft see in life's bright morn display'd,<br> - A youthful beauty gorgeously arrayed!<br> - Unbent by care, her form erect she bears,<br> - Bright are her eyes, unsullied yet by tears;<br> - By thought unclouded her fair polish'd brow,<br> - Nor does her buoyant heart a sorrow know:<br> - Gay as the lark's first carol is her song,<br> - As with light agile step she moves along;<br> - Each young unwary heart to love she warms,<br> - A sparkling wonder, and a blaze of charms!<br><br> - But when this dazzling radiance is o'er<br> - And morn's bright beauties fade to bloom no more;<br> - When noontide clouds for evening showers prepare,<br> - And the gay crowd no longer hail her fair—<br> - Then, if beneath this form so heavenly bright<br> - Some latent virtues rest—obscured from sight,<br> - (By suffering taught its own intrinsic worth)<br> - The struggling heart first learns to call them forth:<br> - Taught by her own to feel another's woes,<br> - The sweets of Heaven-born charity she knows;<br> - While sympathetic tears unbidden flow,<br> - And gentle pity does its balm bestow.<br> - Now softened every gaudy trait is seen<br> - To milder russet changed her vivid green;<br> - Her morning splendors caught the young and gay,<br> - But the meek mourner loves her eventide ray.<br><br> - Ah! hour of twilight russet—thou art past—<br> - And hope, sweet star of eve! has shone its last—<br> - Nor can a ray of cheering light impart<br> - Where midnight darkness ever wraps the heart.<br><br> - At thy soft silent hour, in pensive mood,<br> - Sweet eventide, I love to seek the wood;<br> - And as I, musing, wind my devious walk,<br> - With visionary forms hold fancied talk;<br> - Forms that the cold embrace of death enfolds,<br> - But which my soul in fond remembrance holds,<br> - Down the lone walk, or midst the cluster'd trees,<br> - I hear a well known voice in every breeze—<br> - The passing object, or the shadowy green<br> - Through their tall bolls in dim perspective seen,<br> - Soft flitting forms present to fancy's eye,<br> - That seem to glide with gentle greetings by.<br><br> - Hail gentle spirits! Shades of friends revered—<br> - By tender recollections now endeared;<br> - And you, my earliest loss, parental pair—<br> - Though o'er your tombs the oft revolving year<br> - Has shed its winters frost and vernal dew,<br> - Still faithful memory fondly turns to you—<br> - For often in idea still are seen<br> - Your silver locks, and venerable mien.<br> - If conscience tells me I have err'd in aught,<br> - Your cold reproving frown straight strikes my thought;<br> - But if my heart acquits me of all guile,<br> - It feels the joy of your approving smile.<br> - A brother here, the worthiest of mankind—<br> - Oft I recall—with pain and pleasure joined;<br> - Two sisters—one advanced in matron grace,<br> - Strong sense and feeling blended in her face;<br> - Plain worth and warm affections fill'd her heart,<br> - And to each action did their hue impart:<br> - Benevolence and truth still led her way<br> - And held their tenor through each well spent day:<br> - The other, just a bride, in youthful charms,<br> - With grace and beauty fill'd her husband's arms—<br> - When Heaven, aware a mind so finely wrought,<br> - So mild, so gentle, so refined in thought,<br> - With erring mortals peace could never know,<br> - Hasted to call her from a scene of woe;<br> - And early placed her in those blest abodes<br> - Where care no more afflicts, nor grief corrodes.<br> - Sure, thou Supreme! of all thy works, the part<br> - Most form'd for woe, is the soft female heart;<br> - Her breast, the seat of innocence and love,<br> - Was doom'd, alas! composure ne'er to prove—<br> - What others felt, with but a passing sigh,<br> - Kept the meek tear forever in her eye;<br> - The varying blush that mental suffering speaks<br> - In quick suffusion on her lovely cheeks—<br> - Ah gentle Anna! leave thy Heaven awhile,<br> - Greet a lone sister with one tearful smile.<br><br> - Aerial music oft I seem to hear<br> - In gentle breathings, strike my listening ear—<br> - Full and melodious sounds, in swelling strains,<br> - Then soothing soft, each dying note complains;<br> - High o'er my head in trembling cadence plays,<br> - Or lightly passes on the sighing breeze—<br> - The ambient air a balmy fragrance fills,<br> - And the charm'd sense each earth-born sorrow stills;<br> - A lambent light pervades the dewy scene,<br> - Illumes each branch and brightens o'er the green.<br> - Sweet powers of Fancy! can this work be thine,<br> - Or are these sounds, these forms, indeed, divine?<br> - For see, where lightly borne on seraph wing,<br> - An angel band their hallelujahs sing—<br> - Its course, a form etherial this way bends,<br> - Stooping to earth, and at my feet descends!<br><br> - Oh, beauteous shade of what was once my child!<br> - Wept when I wept, and smiled but as I smiled;<br> - Phantom of what long filled this vacant heart,<br> - That still would claim thee as its dearest part—<br> - That still must hold thy cherish'd memory dear,<br> - And greet thy much loved image with a tear.<br> - In thy translated spirit sure I trace<br> - Each mortal beauty of thy gentle face;<br> - Shaded by silken curls of auburn hue,<br> - Meet thy soft eyes of mild etherial blue;<br> - Their look of patient innocence still feel<br> - Touch my heart's finest nerve, with tender thrill,<br> - See them in silent fondness fix'd on mine,<br> - See thee for my maternal kiss incline—<br> - With offer'd lip and fond extended arms,<br> - While love ineffable my bleeding bosom warms!<br><br> - Oh vision fair, of many an airy dream!<br> - Of all my youthful hopes the darling theme;<br> - Wreck of an anxious mother's early cares,<br> - Loved object of her late regrets and tears—<br> - Why, beauteous messenger, why hither sent,<br> - On what mild purpose is thy errand bent?<br> - For thou couldst only leave the blest above<br> - On errands mild, and purposes of love.<br> - Comest thou to warn me from this life of pain?<br> - To bid me hope we soon shall meet again?<br> - Sure in thy dulcet voice I hear thee say,<br> - "Come, poor lone mourner, come to peace away:"<br> - Welcome the sounds, for wretched must I be<br> - While weary life divides my soul from thee.<br> - Ah, no! that softly sorrowing look declares<br> - Thou comest to chide my impious grief and tears—<br> - Grief, that would thee recall to pain and woe,<br> - Tears, that alone from selfish motives flow:<br> - To bid me sink on an adoring knee<br> - And thank my God, whose mercy shelter'd thee!<br> - Who, while he seem'd, in each severe command,<br> - To press me with a harsh chastising hand,<br> - Prepared the balm that now my heartfelt woes<br> - And anguished bosom, can alone compose;<br> - And bad me know, in the conviction blest,<br> - Though here thy suffering body knew no rest—<br> - That thy pure soul, as spotless as 'twas given,<br> - By his creating hand has wing'd its way to Heaven.<br><br> - With sad solicitude 'twas mine to watch,<br> - In silent woe, my angel's midnight couch,<br> - Guide her uncertain steps the live-long day,<br> - Or pine in trembling terrors when away—<br> - To see the impending stroke I could not ward,<br> - And mourn the sufferer that no love could guard;<br> - But this blest certainty my heart repays,<br> - And bids it throb with gratitude and praise.<br> - Yet pardon, Lord! my bosom's sorrowing swell,<br> - When on past scenes I yet too fondly dwell;<br> - And you who ne'er have felt the cruel pang,<br> - Who still can o'er your cherish'd darlings hang;<br> - Who have not learn'd how hard it is to part,<br> - And bear about a sad bereaved heart—<br> - Or not possessing, ne'er conceive the charm<br> - With which maternal love the heart can warm—<br> - With kind indulgence hear pale sorrow's moan,<br> - Nor lightly judge the woes you have not known.<br><br> - Should the Supreme a cherub fair bestow,<br> - More sweet than all his hand e'er form'd below;<br> - While all that helpless infancy endears<br> - Wakes into life a mother's hopes and fears—<br> - And if thy heart shall love as mine has loved,<br> - And prove the bitter pangs that mine has proved,<br> - Then may'st thou judge—for thou wilt truly know<br> - That keenest pang, a tender mother's woe;<br> - Then wilt thou, pitying, hear pale sorrow's moan,<br> - And kindly mingle with her sighs, thy own.<br><br> - Thus, shadowy eve, allured and soothed by thee,<br> - A wand'ring visionary I shall be—<br> - And when o'er earth thy dewy breezes sweep,<br> - Seek thy sequestered shades to muse and weep;<br> - Not bitter tears—or without comfort shed,<br> - A tribute to the loved, the honor'd dead.<br><br> - Hail gentle spirits! while thus memory true<br> - In fancy's wanderings oft communes with you,<br> - This world recedes—the silent grave appears<br> - A blest asylum from all earthly cares!<br> - And faith, the hope inspiring, sooths my breast,<br> - That <i>there</i> the sad and weary shall have rest.</td></tr> -</table> -<a name="sect27"></a> -<p>We shall for the present, conclude with the following "<i>Lines written -on hearing a lady use the expression of smiling autumn</i>."</p> - -<h4>SMILING AUTUMN.</h4> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem23"> - <tr><td>Autumn, how should that languid air<br> - That smoothed thy brow erewhile,<br> - Be (though a frown thou dost not wear)<br> - Mistaken for a smile?<br><br> - The glow that dyes thy tawny cheek,<br> - The gleam that lights thine eye,<br> - Nor smiling grace, nor joy bespeak—<br> - Thy every breath's a sigh.<br><br> - Or if, perchance, a transient smile<br> - Breaks o'er the fading scene,<br> - To cheer thy plaintive brow the while<br> - And wake its sad serene;<br><br> - 'Tis like the sickly smile that sits<br> - On hidden sorrow's brow,<br> - Or with the last faint hectic flits<br> - When life is ebbing low.<br><br> - From such heart-chilling smiles as these<br> - Winter, I turn to thee—<br> - Thy frowning skies and leafless trees<br> - More welcome are to me.</td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect28"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>STUDY OF THE LATIN AND GREEK CLASSICS.</h4> -<br> -<p>Of all the "death-bed sayings" on record, none please me more than that -of Beausobre to his son: Go, said he,</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem24"> - <tr><td><small>"Argentum et marmor vetus, ćraque et artis<br> - Suspice.<br> - Suspice, et forma non fragilis<br> - Movebit in pectore delectationis multum.<br> - Ibi, cum Euroauster, tum erit admiratio—<br> - Flori felicitatis suavis et jucunda."</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>Moving among the solid temples of "silver," and of "marble," reared by -ancient literature, the intruder finds the holy beauty around him -giving softness to his step, and banishing all ungentle levity. The -plastic mind gradually yielding to the touch of that loveliness which -has crept in through the senses, becomes of itself grand and lovely. -The heart too receives its coloring—even as the cheek is colored, when -standing beneath the stained windows of some real temple.</p> - -<p>These truths have come home to <i>me</i>, at too late an hour, and a quill -or two will not be worn out sinfully, in an attempt to impress their -importance upon younger men.</p> - -<p>If I fail, as most probably I shall, the consciousness of having -consumed a day in useful effort, will be a tolerable reward—perhaps -reward enough.</p> - -<p>"The inner man moulds the outer," is an old and true saw. Its truth may -be seen, reader, by looking around you—indeed, by looking <i>at -yourself</i>. If you are a philosopher—a genuine philosopher—your glass -will image forth an aspect of serene dignity. If a sophist, one of -perplexed cunning. In the first instance, your <i>manner</i> will be lofty -yet affable—a key to the better feelings of all:—in the latter -grovelling, yet scornful—to every one food for the most unreserved -contempt. Yielding that these different appearances are produced by the -workings of the inner man, can you hit upon a mode for ennobling these -workings, in themselves confused and feeble, so evidently effectual as -the introduction of knowledge and its all-arranging hand? Some may say -that the manner is of no moment. The effects produced under every one's -own observation would, if remembered, serve to stifle this assertion. -Why was it that the most eloquent of Grecians struggled for years to -remove the defects of a faulty bearing, if no valuable end was to be attained?</p> - -<p>It follows then that dignity and suavity are of service: that these—in -many cases essential—are the offspring of a confidence in one's own -knowledge. And now, I ask, whence may we draw richer supplies of this -than from the pages of ancient writers? Are they not rife with all the -useful reasoning—the philosophic intelligence—the happiness of -application, that cultivated man could devise for the assistance of -untutored intellect?</p> - -<p>From the logic of the sage we learn, by a spirit of imitation natural -to human beings, to quicken our own powers of reasoning. The -perspicuity of arrangement and expression, so admirable in our master, -becomes gradually a part of our own style. We are led by the strength -of example to lop off the redundancies of a corrupt method, and by the -acquirement of correct notions of purity, enabled to render our -productions chaste and clear. And these improvements in the reasoning -powers are effected at the same time that we possess ourselves of the -richest treasures of lore!</p> - -<p>But this is only one source of advantage among many as valuable. Wit, a -power of the mind seldom granted with a liberal hand by -nature—receives, in the course of communion with the playful and keen, -a training of no little value. Charmed by the attic grace which softens -and mellows the satire of our companions, (for let us conjure up at the -hearthside the great masters of the past, and through their works hold -with them 'pleasant converse,') our efforts will be to increase by -farther intercourse, the small store already laid up perhaps -unintentionally. Thus may we, if naturally possessed of wit, so polish -and sharpen the gift of nature, that no armor may resist its progress: -or, if destitute of this strong weapon, form for ourselves one less -beautiful indeed, but of scarce less real worth.</p> - -<p>Without this chastening influence, native wit degenerates into a -harshness excessively grating to the ear of refinement, and productive -of no single good effect.</p> - -<p>Thus is improved or created a quality allowed by all to be of much -utility in the contests between mind and mind. And what is life but a -field of conflict, wherein the passions of one—perpetually at strife -with those of another—are forever calling to their assistance the -weapons of intellect!</p> - -<p>I have before spoken of the effect produced on the manner by a -confidence in one's acquired resources. Carrying this a step farther, I -will remark, that many of the qualities regarded as amiable among men, -such as urbanity and modesty, may be gained not only by the act of -storing the mind, but from the actual lessons and counsels of the bland -teachers from whom these stores are received. Will any one deny the -happy consequences of an urbane and modest deportment, in man's -intercourse with his fellows? Surely none would so far forget the -beauty of virtue as thus to sneer at its manifestations.</p> - -<p>We can scarcely find among the various pursuits of men, one in which -the pursuer may not be assisted by the experience and lessons of his -predecessors on the same path. The painter esteems himself happy when -able to collect in his studio the meanest of the antique models. The -sculptor contemplates among the relics of the past those -master-efforts, so deservedly famous, and is indefatigable in a study -essential to the production of purity in his own manner. Extend this to -eloquence. Most truly the orators of antiquity have been sturdy -pioneers upon a noble path, and to neglect their guidance would retard -the pursuer of the same course, and entangle him in many difficulties. -Indeed, with the works of these, elocutionists have invariably -recommended familiarity. The strength of Demosthenes,—<i>monte decurrens -velut amnis</i>—the 'abundant grace' of the polished Tully, are of -themselves milk for a giant's nurturing. But they have not come forth -alone from the wreck of time. They are attended by worthy companions.</p> - -<p>The depths of a strong mind teem with the seeds of fine thought. Ideas -lofty and rich are then in embryo, and it is a tedious but an essential -task to bring them to maturity. The lessons and practice of those by -whom excellence was most nearly approached, cannot do other than afford -aid of the strongest nature to the student, who has in immediate view -an anxious care of these germs, and looking forward to the season when -a gigantic growth has rewarded his culture, longs with a virtuous -ambition for its coming, that he may scatter among men the fruits of -mature strength. Let all remember this, and seek not only rule of -guidance, but successful illustration among the pages of the past.</p> - -<p>It would be no difficult matter to point out other important qualities, -ripened by a study of the ancient classics. To show how strongly -assisted the organs of judgment, &c. may be by the strength-infusing -food of knowledge, winnowed as it has been by time, would be truly -<i>labor absque labore</i>. But I have already trespassed on the reader's -courtesy, and shall leave the unfilled catalogue to be completed, if he -thinks it worth the while, at his own leisure.</p> - -<p>It has been my object to show that "the classical student's own good -and that of his fellows, would be advanced by his assiduity:" and as I -have not yet remarked distinctly upon the latter, I will do so now, and -briefly.</p> - -<p>Men unable individually to defend and protect their rights, enter into -compacts for mutual assistance. Certain laws are drawn up, guiding the -administrator of justice. This justice is the main duct by which the -social body is supplied. With it, order and tranquillity shed their -light upon a nation's progress towards happiness. Without it, the -members within, and the body sinks under a benumbing paralysis. It is, -then, the part of every good citizen to see that justice be maintained -free from impurity, and by precept and example to enliven its energies. -And what is it that gives weight to counsel, if it be not the adviser's -learning and reputation?</p> - -<center><small>"Insani sapiens nomen ferat, ćquus iniqui."</small></center> - -<p>What, in a just man's practice, so softens down to our feelings all -necessary roughnesses, as a secret veneration for himself?</p> - -<p>I have shown, or attempted to show, that the character becomes chaste -by communion with those exalted spirits from whom are drawn the -supplies of wisdom; and we now see that both the possession of these -supplies and the reputation gained thereby, are of service to the -public—moreover that skill, necessary in the management of public -affairs, is generated, or to say the least increased—so rendering the -ruler more capable of furthering the interests of the ruled.</p> - -<p>We see then, that the individual and the public good are advanced by -the study in question. Let us now examine whether this advancement may -not be effected by confining ourselves first to translations, secondly -to our own legitimate literature.</p> - -<p>With regard to the first, others have pointed out the futility of all -such transfers. The Turk exchanges his turban and robe for the -habiliments of the Christian. Through the mask of this assumed garb -what eye can detect the original Mussulman? Is he swarthy! others of -his adopted brethren are equally so. Does the tuft of long hair by -which Houri hands are to draw the faithful into Paradise, differ from -the unshorn locks of those around him? his assumed head-gear conceals -the difference.—Thus does he lose all trace of his former being, and -since the assumed qualities sit on him but indifferently, the change is -always for the worse. Are we to doubt the truth of this illustration? -All experience forbids us so to do. The sterling gold of -Shakspeare—converted into French tinsel—was only so converted to meet -with ridicule and contempt.</p> - -<p>Secondly, may not these advantages be gained by researches into our own -literature? I would say, in the first place, that this latter is but a -branch engrafted on the ancient tree; and if we wish to effect thorough -familiarity, we must examine downward—solving difficulties as we -proceed—until we come to the root, from whence springs all lore. -Farthermore:—Acquaintance with "our own literature" being but one move -towards the attainment of thorough knowledge, this very admission -stamps it as an inferior degree of excellence, and will any one doubt -the utility of gaining the greatest in a generous pursuit?</p> - -<p>This connexion of past lore with the present, suggests to me an -important point, upon which I shall linger for a brief space.</p> - -<p>Few are ignorant of the close connexion between the ancient and modern -languages themselves. It was the influence of the polished and manly -Latin that gave euphony to the barbarous jargon brought by the German -tribes from their forests. It was this that spread over the nations of -modern Europe, mellowing in one instance the roughness of the Norman -idiom, and in fine, entwining itself inseparably with the mongrel plant -brought into being in England, after the conquest of Duke William. -Indeed, so much incongruity pervaded this, that many great writers have -believed it a vehicle too rude and perhaps unsafe, for the conveyance -of their harvests to posterity. Under this belief Bacon wrote his -"<i>Novum Organum</i>," as well as many of his more important works, wholly -in Latin.</p> - -<p>So close, therefore, is the union, that familiarity with one of the -principal languages of antiquity has become absolutely essential to a -<i>thorough</i> intimacy with our own.</p> - -<p>Upon the connexion with the other I will barely remark, that the -precept and practice of learned men most assuredly carry a weight at -home, and was it not natural for these, filled as they were with the -beauty of that tongue, whose melody and richness had lent a charm even -to the outpourings of wisdom, to introduce its merits into their own -less noble one? This they have done; and so originated a connexion -important and harmless, inasmuch as it has benefitted the one greatly, -without injuring the other.</p> - -<p>I will now observe upon the time of life most suited to an attainment -of that skill, essential in opening to the neophyte these well-stored -magazines of useful and pleasing information. If the candidate for -distinction in any, the simplest profession, had at the time of -entering upon it, yet to master the rudiments of his language, would he -not contemplate the double task in despair? Knowing that the greatest -genius on earth, if without the means of expressing the teeming -thoughts of a crowded mind, is but a "mighty savage," he feels, if -success be his object, the absolute necessity of beginning the almost -endless labor. From childhood to manhood he should be furbishing this -key to his mind's resources.</p> - -<p>And the case is the same with regard to the study of the elements which -throw open the riches of the past to our conception. These riches are -very seldom possessed when the means of doing so are not gradually -acquired in very early years. The hours are not then counted—the labor -does not present itself in a huge and startling mass to the narrow view -of youth, but is seen part by part as the student advances. With years -of inactive life before him, his time is his own, and we may almost say -unlimited. Undeterred by the calls of the world, he has leisure to -possess himself of every requisite for enjoying the feast to be -partaken of hereafter. Turn to one who, after neglecting the -acquisition of that which he has at length learned to look upon as most -valuable, attempts to rectify his error. With the duties of life -accumulating every moment on his hands—with the toil to be endured -spread out like a map before his eye, he rarely has energy enough to -persevere. The task is given up as a hopeless one, and his judgment, on -the ground of interference with essential duties, sanctions the -decision urged by timidity. Then deprived of all means of gaining the -treasure, he laments the error by which its acquisition was deferred -until too late a season.</p> - -<p>I have said nothing of the exquisite entertainment to be drawn from the -study before us. My object has been to work on the feelings of real and -palpable interest, so effectual in ruling men of the present day.</p> - -<p>Let us now turn to a picture, to me of great beauty. The strifes and -toils of the world are left behind us. We have sought the shades of -retirement, to consume in domestic happiness the few remaining years of -our earthly term. The merchant has come from the hills and valleys of -the east to the banks of the Nile. He brings with him</p> - -<center><small>"Munera terrć<br> -Et maris extremos Arabas distantes et Indos."</small></center> - -<p>His wanderings have been among the groves of spice, and over the sands -of the great deserts. His cheek has been shaded by the palm and the -cool cedar, but it has too been blistered by a scorching sun. All this -is at length passed, and chaunting the "Allah Acbar," wearied—yet -joyful in his weariness—he plants his pavilion on the quiet shore, -there in patience to abide the coming of Dyerm or Xebeck, appointed for -his passage to the destined mart. Thus after experiencing the various -fortunes of active life, we sink into ease.</p> - -<p>To him who has no '<i>munera scientić</i>'—no attachment to polite -research, from which to draw pleasure in the hours of solitude, this -seclusion is worse than a foretaste of that grave so soon to succeed -it. His mind is a mere void, aching to be filled. Accustomed to -satiety, before the affairs of life were relinquished, the contrast is -now all the more painful. It is this that accounts for the discontent -of those "<i>refugees from the closed shop</i>," whom we see around us. But -on this picture I do not love to linger. There is another, possessing -in the home of his retirement, a home of placid delight. Surrounded by -the fruits of mental exertion—the parent tree long dead—he revels -among the richly flavored and the luscious, until existence becomes one -continued feast. His influence in the world is undiminished—his works -are remembered with feelings of reverence and affection. Afar from the -restless crowd he is, as has been beautifully said, like the moon in -her relation with ocean; and rendered no less influential by the -tranquil steadiness with which he keeps aloof from the scenes of his -influence. To such a man the treasures of ancient lore are invaluable; -they are charms possessing power to call up the host of worthies, by -nature and assiduous cultivation, great and excellent. In the sacred -recesses of his studio he communes with these. He is cheered by his -intercourse with companions so pleasing, and his path to the grave is -smoothed by flowers of the softest leaf. At length the drama draws to a -close! Like the chaste Talbot, he breathes his gratitude to those who -have been to him the fountains of 'sweet joy.' It is his last breath. -Loved for his virtues, and venerated for his good works, he sinks to -the grave, on whose brink he has long been lingering, and whose ideal -horrors, the lessons of true knowledge have rendered to him objects to -be welcomed, not dreaded—loved, not feared.</p> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect29"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>MEMORY.—AN ALLEGORY.</h4> -<br> -<p>An evil genius visited the happy islands which repose upon the bosom of -the deep blue sea. In these smiling gardens the blest recline, remote -from the turmoil and confusion of life: there are trees loaded with -golden fruits—flowers of a thousand hues, and sweet fountains of -limpid water spread their silvery lines along the emerald lea. The -melody of singing birds, the soft murmur of running streams, and sounds -of distant music, fall upon the ravished ear. The wanton breeze steals -fragrance from the flowers as it passes on, and sweet perfumes scent -the air. Here childish innocence reposes on beds of flowers; there -groups of maturer years recline on verdant knolls, enjoying the passing -hour. Pairs wander arm in arm in pursuit of pleasures that never pall, -and gay crowds lightly dance their hours away in mirth and song. The -genius pronounces the fatal word, and each breathing figure is -transformed to mute and changeless stone. The voice of mirth is hushed, -the tones of music have fled, years roll away, and the living statues -still look in marble coldness on the changing scene. Its flowers -wither—its trees of golden fruits die one by one away—the birds flee -from their green retreats, and the creeping serpent hisses in the -tangled brake—tall rank grass covers the favorite walks, or choke the -streams, whose turbid waters force their sluggish way. At length a -passing vessel stops—a stranger wanders over the wondrous scene. On a -pillar an inscription is engraved; he pauses to read the word, and -instantly the spell is broken—the marble statues melt into silent -shadows of the human form, and flitting forth in pairs and groups, they -wander over their once loved home. They seek their familiar haunts; -they search for the objects of their love; and each shadow as it -passes, whispers, <i>gone:</i> and returning to their places, their forms -resume their marble lineaments, and stand once more cold monuments of -their former selves. Such indeed is the human mind. First comes youth's -genial season; hopes linked with loves in happy pairs, wander around -the smiling scene, which fancy decks with flowers. Here joy dancing to -the song of mirth, lightly whiles his hours away; there young -affections and gentle thoughts, like virgin sisters of a primeval race, -pursue their quiet way to the bright abode which fancy hath created so -beautiful and fair. But at length sorrow comes to breathe its spell. -How many hopes, and loves, and pure affections, and pleasant thoughts, -are changed and gone! Inurned in icy coldness, they are sepulchered in -memory's cave; and yet, perhaps, some simple word of other times is -breathed, its spell evokes departed joys and buried loves. Dim shadows -of the past arise—they fleeting come. But fancy too is changed; it no -longer forms the gay creations of its youth, but fills its gloomy -fields with pictures at which the heart doth shrink. The very thoughts -for which we sighed, are now without a home, and seek to pass away.</p> -<div align="right"><small>ALPHA</small>. </div> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect30"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<blockquote><small>The following lines were found, written in a "delicate bird-quill -hand," on a blank leaf on the Petrarch of one, among the prettiest of -my fair cousins. The authoress perhaps caught a certain quaintness of -expression from the strained verses of the Italian lover; but the idea -I am inclined to believe original, notwithstanding the assertion "This -was stolen from Boccacio," with which the lines are capped. Stevens, -the Puck of commentators, asks "What has truth or nature to do with -sonnets?" and Byron echoes the question. There may be some truth in -this, though the opinion of the first sprung from hatred towards -Malone, and that of the latter from chagrin at his own want of success. -If the proper characteristic of the sonnet be an artificial quaintness, -my cousin has succeeded admirably,—which I presume Mr. White will have -too much gallantry to deny.</small></blockquote> - -<h4>THE CREATION OF THE ANTELOPE.</h4> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem25"> - <tr><td> The tone of coming Ariel's voice was sweet<br> - To wise Prospero; he had flown the girth<br> - Of this green sphere, and gifts from wave and earth<br> - Were bound with flowers upon his pinions fleet,<br> - As singing came he to his master's feet.<br> - Four aspen leaves plucked in the shivering north—<br> - The Palmiste bough and fruit—of eastern birth—<br> - And leaf of Abelč—a thorny sheet—<br> - Were there: And in a cask of quaint device<br> - Was pent the flash thrown from the gaudy plume<br> - Of Sopor's empress-bird, of thousand dyes—<br> - Then by this flash begot—from glamour's womb,<br> - Gleamed into being two most gorgeous eyes<br> - Like those twin stars that lit creation's gloom.<br><br> - And hoofs most delicate the wise man wrought<br> - Of Ariel's gift of restless aspen leaves:<br> - And skilfully as slim Tarantul' weaves<br> - The curtain to her silken couch, soon brought<br> - The sheet of Abelč to beauty: naught<br> - Torn from Earth's Edens by his wily thieves<br> - So soothed their master as this gem of leaves!<br> - With downy softness from his magic caught,<br> - It lay a snowy skin. Next of the bough<br> - And fruit pluck'd from the Palmiste's sinewy stem,<br> - A neck and graceful head formed he: Life's glow<br> - Then tinged each vein. "'Tis done—gleam thou bright gem,"<br> - Pleased Prospero said, "on Hemalaya's brow,<br> - A living jewel to his diadem!"</td></tr> -</table> -<div align="right">E. D. </div> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect31"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>LETTERS FROM NEW ENGLAND.—NO. 3.</h4> - -<center><small>BY A VIRGINIAN.</small></center> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><i>Pittsfield, Mass., July 26th, 1834</i>. </div> - -<p>One means by which Prussian tyranny sought to break down the spirit and -health of Baron Trenck, during his long and rigorous imprisonment at -Magdeburg, was to have him roused by a sentinel, every fifteen minutes -of his sleeping hours. You can form a lively conception of the efficacy -of the plan, if you have ever been compelled by exhausted nature to woo -her "sweet restorer" in a stage-coach, over a very uneven road: but -what think you of dozing it <i>outside</i>, on the driver's seat? Instead of -<i>two</i> this morning, the waiter called me at <i>one;</i> when I had not slept -a single wink—("sleepless myself, to give my readers sleep.") Sickened -by the motion of the close and crowded coach, I presently mounted -beside the driver; where drowsiness soon overcame me. So, tying one arm -with my handkerchief to the iron on the stage roof, I took, for about -two hours, such slumber as was permitted by the heavings of our -vehicle, on a hilly road: such slumber, as one might enjoy while tossed -in a blanket, or "upon the high and giddy mast," rocking his brains, -"in cradle of the rude imperious surge." On fully awaking, half an hour -before sunrise, I found we were ascending a mountain (part of the Green -Mountain,) by a gentle slope of three or four degrees, continuing for -six miles. The scenery, (wildly picturesque in itself,) bursting thus -suddenly upon the view, was particularly striking. Indeed, no day of my -tour has presented a greater number of boldly beautiful landscapes. -That I never try to spread these beauties upon my page, you must -ascribe to the fear that they would but 'evanish' in the endeavor, and -by no means to any profane contempt—unpardonable, you know according -to Dr. Beattie, for</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem26"> - <tr><td><small> - ————"the boundless store<br> - Of charms which Nature to her votary yields;<br> - The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,<br> - The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields;<br> - All that the genial ray of morning gilds,<br> - And all that echoes to the song of even;<br> - All that the mountains sheltering bosom shields,<br> - And all the dread magnificence of Heaven"—</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>I most devoutly worship them all. But humbler themes befit and demand -my pen.</p> - -<p>It is a New England custom, to bury all the dead of a township, or of a -certain subdivision of it, in a common grave yard; usually, not within -any village, and apart from any church. This yard is enclosed with a -wall; and every grave is marked by a stone (commonly hewn marble,) with -a neat and simple inscription of name and years, supplying "the place -of fame and elegy." By a sort of tacit consent, each family is allowed -to cluster its dead together in a separate portion of the ground; -sometimes in a capacious vault, marked with the family name. The -curious may at any time find an hour's amusement—aside from the more -serious thoughts proper to the place—in reading, on the tombstones, -the surnames common and peculiar to New England, and the Christian -names—mostly scriptural—betokening the original and enduring sway of -Puritanism. A southerner naturally wonders why the grave yards are -without the villages. To an inquiry of mine into the reason, a <i>'cute</i> -female (evidently far wiser than her husband, who was also in company,) -answered, that it was "to accommodate those who live at a distance." -How it did this—or how, if the distant on one side were accommodated, -those on the other were not equally incommoded—my sage instructress -did not expound. The village itself (at least its ordinary <i>nucleus</i>, -the meeting-house) is usually central to the town, for the equal -convenience of all. It seems more probable that <i>health</i>, and the -readier command of space, influence the location of burying grounds.</p> - -<p>One of the objects that have struck me most pleasingly, is the <i>Liberty -Pole</i>, in almost every village. Its use is to hoist a flag upon, on the -Fourth of July, and other festal days. It figures exquisitely in -"McFingal"—that best poem, of its length, that America has produced; -so often quoted for Hudibras, and so inadequately honored, not only in -the south, but here, in its native north. Do take down the book, or, if -you have it not, go straight and buy it; turn to the second or third -canto—I forget which—and be grave if you can, while you read how the -Tory hero "fierce sallied forth" attended by</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem27"> - <tr><td><small>"His desperate clan of tory friends:<br> - When sudden met his angry eye<br> - A pole ascending thro' the sky:—"</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>the ceremonies of its rearing and consecration; the attack, not <i>wordy</i> -alone, of the hero upon it; his inglorious discomfiture; his wadling -flight,</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem28"> - <tr><td><small>("With legs and arms he worked his course,<br> - Like rider that outgoes his horse;")</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>his fall, and decoration with tar and feathers; the hoisting of the -tory constable by a rope fastened to his waistband,</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem29"> - <tr><td><small>"Till, like the earth, as stretched on tenter,<br> - He hung, self-balanced, on his centre;"</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>where, as Socrates (according to a witty comic poet of his day) got -himself swung in mid air to clear his perceptions,</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem30"> - <tr><td><small>"Our culprit thus in purer sky,<br> - With like advantage raised his eye;<br> - And looking forth in prospect wide,<br> - His <i>tory errors clearly spied</i>."</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>I had enjoyed so many a laugh at the whole scene, that when a Liberty -Pole was first shown me (at Hartford) by an interesting fellow -traveller, it required all my phlegm to refrain from clapping my hands -with pleasure.</p> -<br> -<div align="right"><i>Albany, July 27</i>. </div> - -<p>It was nearly eleven—two hours later than usual—when we arrived last -night. A series of little casualties delayed us: a thunder storm, quite -as magnificent as most that we have in Virginia, only our thunder and -lightning are far superior; a tree, of eight or nine inches diamater, -blown across the road by a <i>semi</i>-tornado that accompanied the cloud; -and divers other detentions. The storm met us near the top of a -mountain, upon the line of Massachusetts and New York; obliging us to -halt, and fend off the rain as best we might, by buttoning down the -curtains. The descent hitherward, winds, for perhaps a mile, along the -steep mountain side; commanding a fine view of the pretty village of -Lebanon, and its prettier valley. Near Lebanon is a settlement of -Shakers. The only incivility I have yet experienced from a stage -driver, was a few miles this side of Lebanon; when, availing myself of -a brief halt at a hotel to get some refreshment, I received an -indistinct notice that the stage could not wait: and a minute or two -after, some one called to me, "you are left, sir!" On going to the -door, sure enough, the horses were in a sweeping trot, twenty or thirty -yards (or, as they say here, four or five rods) off. I soon overtook -them; and was admitted, the driver surlily grumbling at the -unreasonableness of expecting him to <i>wait all day</i>. He was soured by -being so late. And whoever considers how nice a point of honor—aye, -and of duty, and interest—it is with that fraternity to be punctual, -will not blame him very severely. They have been civil and obliging to -me; the one by whom I slept yesterday morning, was even kind.</p> - -<p>So well established is this good character of New England stage -drivers, that ladies often travel by stage for scores of miles, with no -other protector. And the driver does protect them, vigilantly. Every -way, however, the freedom with which females trust themselves abroad -there, and in the south, is remarkably different. I have seen handsome -young ladies, of refined appearance, driving in a chaise, with no male -attendant, to a town seven or eight miles from their home. And such -things are of every day occurrence, attracting no especial notice. This -freedom arises, I believe, from several causes. It is unquestionably -owing, in part, to the sober, honest, and peaceful habits of the -people, and to the certainty, that any wrong or insult offered to a -female, would be promptly resented and punished; as in Ireland, under -the reign of Brien the Brave, a beautiful damsel, richly attired, could -walk alone, safe and fearless, from end to end of the -kingdom.<small><small><sup>1</sup></small></small> -Contiguity of residences aids this effect. Then, in the country -villages of the north, there are many more ladies than gentlemen, from -the emigration of the latter westward, and from their resorting to the -maritime cities and to the ocean, for trade and seafaring employment. -Besides, New Englanders have less time for pleasure than we have; and -no Virginian will deny that "to tend the fair" is a <i>pleasure</i>. But the -freedom of female movements is partly attributable also to the -prevalence, among the New England men, of a less tender and obsequious -<i>manner</i> at least, towards the fair sex, than southrons habitually -shew. They do not practise those minute, delicate attentions—that -semi-adoration—ingrained in the very constitutions of our well bred -men. (Not dandies—I speak of <i>men</i>.) Indeed our claim to superiority -may be pushed still further. In affability to inferiors, our northern -brethren are decidedly behind us. In their middling and lower classes, -nay and in the lower <i>tier</i> of their upper classes, this short-coming -is particularly discernible: and extends even to their deportment -towards equals. Clowns and servants—I beg pardon—"<i>helps</i>"—seem not -to expect, or to relish, the courtesy which, in the Old Dominion, every -true gentleman pays to the poorest man. Soon after entering the -country, I found it necessary, if I would have respect from them, to -abate much of the respectful address, which habit had rendered -essential to my own comfort. Can these deficiencies of -manner—supposing them to exist—and <i>my</i> belief of them is confirmed -by that of others—be ascribed to the utter proscription of -<i>duelling</i>—that vaunted nurse of courtesy? I should rather attribute -them to three other causes. <i>First</i>—a dislike to outward displays of -emotion; a hard-featured sturdiness of soul, which, content to <i>feel</i> -kindly and deeply, and to <i>act</i> kindly too in things of solid import, -forgets or disdains the petty blandishments of <i>manner</i>, as idle forms, -often the offspring of deceit, and unworthy of a mind bent upon -substantial good. This estimable, but unamiable trait—derived purely -from his sire, John Bull—makes Jonathan disliked on a superficial -view. But those who consider him with candid attention, and bearing in -mind the true saying of honest Kent, that</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem31"> - <tr><td><small>"They are not empty-hearted, whose low sound<br> - Reverbs no hollowness"—</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>perhaps find the unsightly iron casket stored with the richest jewels. -<i>Second</i>—(a less creditable cause; applicable only to the imputed want -of courtesy towards inferiors)—The employment of whites, as servants. -A master cannot treat these as his equals: it is utterly incompatible -with the relation. His demeanor towards them, he naturally extends to -their kindred, and to their class; that is, to all the poor around him. -According to that general principle of divine wisdom and goodness, -which, by a counterpoise of good and evil, equalizes every human lot, -the blighting curse of slavery seems to carry this mitigation along -with it—a more delicate and scrupulous regard, in the free, to even -the <i>minute</i> gratification of their fellow-free. Hence—and from their -greater leisure to cultivate <i>manner</i>—chiefly arises, we may suppose, -the superiority of slave-holders in the several points of politeness. -Just so, according to Montesquieu, good-manners characterize a -monarchy. Those who can see in this, a recompense either for a -privation of the glorious right of self-government, or for the -unmeasured ills entailed by domestic slavery upon a community, are -welcome to the consolation. <i>Third</i>—(applicable, like the last, only -to intercourse with inferiors)—the system of electioneering practised -in the northern states. Usage and public opinion allow no man to -declare himself a candidate for office. His doing so, would be -political suicide. He must be <i>nominated</i> by a -<small>CAUCUS</small>—or <small>CONVENTION</small>, -as "ears polite" now require it to be called. The convention is got up -in this wise: One, or two, or three, tolerably influential men, having -a friend whom they wish to exalt, call a private meeting of those over -whom their influence especially is, and after insinuating his merits -into the minds assembled, get a resolution passed, for a general -<i>caucus</i>, of the whole party, in the <i>town</i>, or election district. All -who were at the private meeting, bestir themselves diligently to -congregate at the caucus, such persons, chiefly, as they, or some of -them, can control: and in this they are so successful, that a -nomination there, of the individual designated by the first movers of -the scheme, is almost sure to result. This nomination goes abroad, as -made by a <i>meeting of the people;</i> and unless some more skilfully -conducted or powerfully headed counter movement take place, our -candidate may count with reasonable certainty upon his election. Such -is the machinery by which aspirants get themselves hoisted into office; -as explained to me by one familiar with it—who had actually profitted -by it more than once—and who owned that it was rather a shabby feature -in the politics of his country. All aspirants, therefore, (and in our -country, how few are not so—openly or covertly!) pay court, not to the -people at large, but only to the known leaders of the caucus. -Contemning the passive wires and puppets, they regard only the hand -that works them. Thus the commonality, losing their importance in -elections, lose their strongest hold upon the civility of their -superiors. I need not run out the process. 'Twere well, if deprivation -of bows, and smiles, and kind words, were all that the million suffer -by the caucus system. But, by rendering them <i>insignificant in the body -politic</i>, that system threatens popular government itself with -overthrow. I wish, I long, to see my fellow Virginians copy our -brethren of the north in many things: but <i>this system</i>, may they shun -as the cholera! May they always adhere to their own frank and manly -plan, of having the candidate appear before them, and face to face -declare his sentiments and manifest his ability to defend the great -interests with which he asks to be entrusted!</p> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>1</sup></small> See T. Moore's Irish Melody—</small></blockquote> - -<center><small>"Rich and rare were the gems she wore."</small></center> - -<p>While talking of <i>manners</i>, it would have been seasonable to speak of -the <i>impertinent inquisitiveness</i>, commonly ascribed to the Yankees. I -have seen no trace of the fault: not even so much as our own people -sometimes shew. While on foot, in the country, I was sometimes asked -<i>where I was from;</i> but it was always where the question was suggested -and justified by the course of conversation, or by the tenor and number -of my own inquiries; or, to furnish a starting place for our -colloquy—a platform whence to toss the ball of discourse: never, in a -manner the least abrupt or offensive. Among the better classes, such as -are casually met in stage-coaches and hotels, there was all the -delicate forbearance in this respect, which marks true politeness every where.</p> - -<p>Again—Our brother Jonathan is reputed, with us, a great sharper. -<i>Yankee tricks</i>, and <i>Yankee knavery</i>, are ideas inseparable from the -word <i>Yankee</i>. Now my own experience does not enable me to add a single -one to the catalogue of anecdotes, by which that characteristic is -supposed to be proven. Not a single cheat—not a single trick—was -practised upon me during my sojourn in Yankee land: unless, indeed, it -was so adroitly done, as to have been hitherto imperceptible to me. The -fact is, our ideas on this point are derived almost entirely from those -delectable samples of honesty, ycleped "Yankee pedlers," who for many -years have so swarmed over the south: a race, by whom their countrymen -at home protest, with hands uplift, against being judged; and by whom, -in very truth, it is no more fair to judge them, than it would be to -judge of us by the vilest scum of our society, who may have fled to -Carolina or the Western forests, from the just punishment of their -crimes, or from the detestation that dogged their vices.</p> - -<p>It hardly needs be said—common fame loudly enough proclaims—that -religion flourishes in New England, as much as in any part of the -world. Yet it does not obtrude itself upon the traveller's notice. It -is a quiet, Sabbath-keeping, morals-preserving, good-doing, and -heaven-serving religion, free from several extravagancies, that have -elsewhere crept into christianity. Meetings for eight, ten, or twelve -days together, and suspending, meanwhile, all attention to important -secular duties, I have not seen or heard of: even a meeting at all, on -a working day, did not meet my view during the (nearly) four weeks of -my stay; except funerals. The people seem to think both parts of the -third commandment alike binding: "<i>Six days shalt thou labor</i>," as well -as "<i>Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy</i>." Dancing is by no -means proscribed, or unusual. It is taught at many or most of the high -female boarding schools. Even in Connecticut, "junkettings" are not -unfrequent, lively enough to have pleased our venerable Pendleton, yet -"soberly" enough conducted, to have suited Lady Grace. At New Haven, -within bowshot of Yale College, a dance was kept up for two successive -nights till eleven or twelve o'clock, in an apartment just across the -street from my lodging. True, I have seen no match for my father's -friend and mine, Dr. K——, who, since the birth of his seventh -grandchild, has so often realized that pleasing trait in the picture of -French rural life—</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem32"> - <tr><td><small>"And the gay grandsire, skilled in gestic lore,<br> - Has frisked beneath the burthen of three score;"</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>but I saw as great a wonder, in a church last Sunday. The music struck -me as particularly fine; I doubted not that it was an organ; till, -looking up to the gallery, there sat a gentleman scraping away with -might and main <i>upon a violin</i>, and another upon a bass viol: -accompanied by a flute, and an admirably tuned choir. "Our armies swore -terribly in Flanders:" but it was nothing to the deep, anathematizing -abomination with which some "unco guid" folks of my acquaintance (not -of yours) would have beheld this uncommon mode of "hymning the great -Creator." Even me, it affected very singularly: I thought of the -war-lock-dance in Kirk Alloway; of Auld Nick in shape of "towsie tyke, -black, grim and large," whose province it was to "gie them music;" how</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem33"> - <tr><td><small> "He screwed the pipes and gart them skirl,<br> - Till roof and rafters a' did dirl;"<br> - While "hornpipes, jigs, strathpeys and reels,<br> - Put life and mettle in their heels:"<br> - "Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu'<br> - Which e'en to name wad be unlawfu':"</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>and I did not know what catastrophe might ensue, from the profanation. -Happily, however, none occurred.</p> - -<p>In the formalities of piety, the descendants of the Pilgrims are -radically changed from the puritanical strictness of their forefathers. -The quaint names, indeed, are retained; but the straight-lacedness they -imply is gone: you find <i>Leah</i>, or <i>Naomi</i>, upon near approach, to be -as arch a lass, and <i>Jeremiah</i>, or <i>Timothy</i>, as merry a grig, as any -Sally, or Betty, Tom, or Bob, south of the Potomac.</p> - -<p>No one in Massachusetts is any longer compelled by law to pay for the -support of religion, its temples, or its ministers. The law, requiring -the citizen to do so, only letting him choose the sect or the minister -to whom his contribution should enure, was repealed last year. Each -religious <i>society</i>—answering to <i>congregation</i> with us—has a sort of -<i>corporate</i> faculty, involving the power to tax its members for church -expenses, and to coerce payment by distress if it be withheld. Even -this is a stride towards hierarchy from which <i>our</i> lawgivers have -shrunk ever since 1785; and which our people will probably never permit.</p> - -<p>I must say more to you, of the goodly land I have just left. My having -quitted it, need subtract nothing from the credit attached to my -observations: for I shall touch no topic, which is not as fresh in my -mind, and as susceptible of truthful representation, as if the local -scene itself stretched around me. Adieu</p> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect32"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>From the Western Monthly Magazine. </small></div> - -<h4>AMERICAN LITERATURE.—ITS IMPEDIMENTS.</h4> -<br> -<p>We live in a country pre-eminently rich in mental and physical -resources. We have whatever internally or externally is requisite to -promote national greatness and prosperity. We live in the full -possession and enjoyment of a government founded on the experience of -the past, and reared by the genius and wisdom of an unrivalled -ancestry. The mind here blooms and grows under the protecting wings of -the Genius of Freedom—its native boldness and vigor unrestrained. Here -it may be aroused to all that is noble in enterprise, or excellent in -virtue. Here the aliments of its growth are as rich and as inspiriting, -as they are abundant. It enjoys the choice fruit of the loftiest minds -of departed ages; and may feast on the wisdom and learning of every -modern age. It enjoys the bland influence of the christian spirit; and -may attain a superior standard in moral greatness and power. But these -are not the only advantages which tend to the development of American -mind. In whatever direction we gaze, nature's beauties, as profuse and -lovely as the stars of the sky, meet the vision. We behold landscape -after landscape, enchanting beyond measure; the graceful undulations of -luxuriant prairies; tall forests, clothed in the magnificent robes of -summer, or cheerless with the storms of winter; noble and beautiful -rivers, over whose placid waters genius and enterprise have scattered -the wonders and researches of science; towering mountains, fairy -groves, and silver-sparkling lakes. Add to these, the wild traditions -of a people unknown to former minds: traditions, over which curiosity -loves to linger, and philosophy to speculate; traditions, which, -imbodying the terrific, the romantic, and the ennobling of the savage -state, throw over the page of fiction a charm and an interest, -enchanting and enchaining.</p> - -<p>From this view, we might indulge the prophetic thought, that our -national mind would attain to the highest degree of intellectual -pre-eminence. Now, the mind is the prime source of literature, creating -it, and giving to it an enduring form. If all its powers are fully -developed in their varied beauty and might, that literature to which it -gives character, will be of an exalted nature. Should then our national -mind be made to appreciate its advantages, it naturally follows, that -our literature will be all that is grand and sublime—will soar to the -loftiest summit of the Olympian mount. But whatever will have a -tendency to pervert these advantages, to draw the mind into pursuits -below its real nature, will impede its growth. We behold around us such -impediments. It shall be our object to exhibit a few of them, feeling -convinced that if the obstacles which retard the transit of our -literature in its ascent to greatness, be once known and surmounted, -its destiny will be bright and glorious.</p> - -<p>Individual character is the combined result of early impressions. The -same is true in regard to national character. Whatever most influences -the young mind, gives tone to its future action. Those circumstances, -which most excite and agitate the mind of a nation, likewise mould and -shape its future action. What has most deeply interested the American -mind? If we trace back the chain of our history to the fearless days of -our infancy, we shall find that its absorbing interests have been of a -political nature. True, there were some minds among that matchless band -of our New England ancestry, who, with the great volume of nature open -before them, wrote with a spirit of inspiration, and soared to the high -heavens of literature. They were few in number. We need not ask what -now moves and engrosses the thoughts and feelings of the American mind. -We need not now ask what form of character it is fast assuming: for it -is truly becoming a political mind. Now, what will be the effect of -such a cast of intellect in impeding the march of our literature, is -obvious to any one of common discernment. The <i>mind</i> that would create -an exalted literature, should drink at all the fountains of knowledge; -should be clothed in forms of grace and loveliness; should have all its -powers and faculties developed; its delicate and masculine, its placid, -its stormy and religious: it should be like Phidias' Minerva, perfect -in all its proportions. Political pursuits do not produce <i>this mind</i>. -If we examine them, we shall find their elements to be the united -effects of <i>bad</i> ambition and immature intellect. It is true, they -encourage activity of mind; but it is not that kind of activity which -develops its beauties and majesty. That mental action which they -promote, has its origin in lawless passions, in inordinate and -ungenerous emulation. The political aspirant of the day is attracted by -the false glory which beams around our political temple, and thinks no -means too low, too debased, to gain entrance there. It is true, -politics may bring into the field of competition, timid and shrinking -intellect; but they do not impart to it a masculine boldness and -nobleness. They train it to deeds of cunning and hypocrisy. We have -reference now to the general politics of the age. Party strifes, the -natural result of excess in politics, keep the mind in an unhealthy -state: at one time raising it to the highest pitch of excitement; at -another, causing the most extreme depression. That calm serenity, which -moderates and chastens its powers, passions and emotions, is a stranger -in a political contest. That mind, inured to party feelings and party -interests, can never attain its full vigor and manhood—such is the -nature of excess in political pursuits. We would ask, do they cause a -full development of the mental powers? Do they awaken the fancy? Do -they clothe human thoughts in radiant and brilliant robes? Do they -promote mental research? Do they create pure and soaring eloquence? or -tune the lyre of poesy to notes celestial? Let the genius of American -Literature, as she wings her slow flight upwards, give the answer.</p> - -<p>This political spirit, contagious and diffusive in its nature, has -spread itself throughout the entire frame of our government. All -classes of society, from the proudest to the humblest spheres of life, -have imbibed it, feel it, and act under its influence. It composes the -chief interests, and engages the active feelings, of almost every -community. Who can be insensible to the fact, that our universal mind -has already assumed a political character? The aspect of the times -prove it beyond the shadow of a doubt. The consequences to our -literature are obvious. The majority of our gifted, shining minds, -prefer the honors of state to classic fame—rush headlong into fierce -unnatural intellectual conflicts, rather than enjoy the calm, -soul-ennobling, and sublime strifes of literary pursuit. The goddess of -learning is uncourted in her temple. Pure mental illumination shines -only on a few isolated spots. Public taste, which may be styled the -protectress of literature in every country, instead of being refined -and elevated, is corrupted and debased. In short, our literary mind, -which, under the influence of our free institutions, might, like the -eagle, soar with might and majesty, is chained down and impeded in its action.</p> - -<p>It cannot be expected, that such a state of society would patronize -noble, intellectual effort. Genuine literary merit, is unnoticed amid -the whirl of party. The beauteous and serene beams of the star of -science, are lost in the dazzling brightness of the political sun. How -feeble the inducement held out in our land to the poet, the historian, -or philosopher! The reading portion of our population is but a trifle, -compared with the whole. We have a few mature minds, who, soaring above -the common level, have taken their seats in the halls of literary -eminence. Are they appreciated? Their names are unknown to a majority -of the various classes of society? Who read the classic and eloquent -orations of Webster and Everett, full of deep principles and splendid -thoughts? Who, the placid, flowing and pathetic verse of Bryant, whose -thoughts, so melancholy, yet so beautiful, steal over the soul like -evening music on the still water? Who are delighted with the brilliant -imagery, and chaste conceptions of <i>Cooper</i> and <i>Irving?</i> Their -productions, the results of long, close, and patient thought, serve for -parlor-ornaments, and parlor-reading. They are not studied; and who, -without studying, can master the real, pure meaning of a fine thought? -A work on modern philosophy is rarely seen, even among the learned -circles of society: it never reaches the great mass. How could it be -otherwise, when the general mind is agitated and convulsed by political -strifes! How could it be otherwise, when all that is beautiful in the -heart, and sunshine in the intellect, is debased and destroyed?</p> - -<p>We may be told, that learning has flourished in other countries, under -similar inauspicious influences; that the mightiest geniuses the world -has ever seen, wrote their superior works under the frowns of -patronage. They were exceptions to all rule. There are few minds cast -in the same moulds as those of Cervantes, Petrarch, Dante, Shakspeare, -and Milton. If we mark the history of mankind, we will find, that there -are now and then, in almost every nation, some unconquerable minds that -would, in spite of circumstance, illumine the world. But the principle -is a natural one. Mankind are fond of the fame of the moment; self-love -is the predominant feature of human character. Men, in general, live -not for posthumous glory. The present is more selfish than past ages. -There is something exhilarating, spirit-stirring in the smiles and -praises of our own countrymen. Genius, or <i>holy ambition</i>, then, cannot -be aroused to vigorous action, unpatronized. Let it not be supposed, -that we would have the mind think for gold. We would have it -write,—and it would write, and that, too, with an immortal pen, in -lofty and impassioned strains,—under the favor and good-feeling of -society. But how can the literary mind be thus stimulated, when the -general feeling of society is diametrically opposite to its interests? -As well might we ascribe the splendid and magnificent architecture of -the pantheon, to the skill and workmanship of the unlettered barbarian. -We would not be misunderstood. We would not have our political -interests forgotten. We would have them engage a share, but not the -universal mind of the nation. We would have communities feel the same -degree of interest in literary as in political greatness. We would have -them combined; for their united results will increase our power, and -throw around the arch of our glory, a radiance, lovely and sublime.</p> - -<p>What periods in the history of mankind, are most distinguished for -mental superiority? When did Grecian literature assume its brightest -charms? Who has studied the character of the Pereclean age, and not -experienced feelings of inexpressible delight, as he then beheld the -mind in its noblest form? Then, the true value of mind was appreciated, -and its efforts liberally patronized. Munificent gifts were the reward -of mental exertion. Then, all grades of society, on the return of their -Olympia, assembled with joyful hearts, to celebrate the festivities of -mind. Then, art shone in original splendor; and science, in utility and -nobleness, was unrivalled. Then, the muses were courted in their -heavenly abodes, and Grecian poetry breathed a spirit of immortality. -The tragedies of <i>Euripides</i> and <i>Sophocles</i> still illume the path of -the modern dramatist. Then, the poor of Athens listened to the -instructions of the divine <i>Socrates</i>. Then, the sacred groves and -shades resounded to the eloquence of <i>Plato</i>, as the 'soul of -philosophy' flowed from his lips. Then, Athens became the magnificent -sun of all antiquity. It was no political age. All literary eras of the -modern world, are analagous to the Pereclean of the ancient world. The -most resplendent galaxys of modern mind have shone in times of the -greatest literary feeling and patronage.</p> - -<p>But this political influence of national feelings and interests will -not be confined to the people. It will, indeed it has, entered within -the walls of our academies and universities. Now, it is founded in -reason and experience, that in the morning bloom of a literature, there -is most need of active mental vigor. It requires untiring and -unrelenting strength, to raise the stately pyramid. Alladin's magic -lamp of Arabian story, is not an inheritance of this age. Such strength -is in youthful mental cultivation. This invigorating influence must -then come from our seats of learning. They are to our literature, what -the consecrated groves and shades of Athens were to the Grecian—the -resort of its protecting spirits. Here, the mind should be trained to -action, should commence its acquisitions in knowledge. Here, it should -be taught to think, and to feel, with depth and sublimity. Here, a -fondness for whatever is great or commanding in human thoughts, should -be created. Here, the characteristic features of such minds as -Shakspeare and Milton, Newton and Franklin, should be studied; for like -bright stars they will shed a cheering light on the obscure wanderings -of the youthful intellect. When such is the case, and it never can fail -to be, if our universities preserve their characters, the success of -American literature will rest on a steadfast foundation. But such -cannot be, when their interests and those of the people run in counter -channels. In a republic, where public opinion works such magic spells, -it is the interest of the minority to yield to its sway. Upon a -principle of human nature, the weak cling to the strong. Can, then, our -colleges maintain their high, original standing? They must conform, in -some degree, to the feelings of the mass of society. Besides, the youth -who resort to them, come from the people, and must necessarily bear -with them the malady of the people. Who will deny, that this political -spirit is now, in many instances, the great stimulus of the American -student? He seldom turns his aspiring gaze toward the celestial mount -of the muses. He looks abroad upon society, and marks its character. -His grasping mind longs for fame. He beholds but one road to -eminence—the political. He beholds the splendid career of the mighty -intellects of the land; marks a growing and powerful people doing them -reverence; hears their name trumpeted by a thousand tongues; and like -the Grecian hero, whose slumbers were troubled by the trophies of -Miltiades, he burns for action. Nor is this all. In the political -world, he sees mind battling with mind; all life, all activity, the -congenial elements of panting, fiery ambition. In the literary world, -he sees the mind pursuing a silent, unobserved, noiseless march; and -not dreaming of the unfading brightness of its matured glories, he -disdains its pursuits as unworthy of his attention. The result is -natural. The grand, animating, and powerful thoughts of the splendid -intellects of the past and the present, which, when sought, come all -eloquent from the living page, never breathe their inspiriting energies -into his mind. His course being finished, he rushes, full of sanguine -hope, on the theatre of action, unskilled and unprepared. His success -hangs on a point. An inordinate ambition urges him onward; he faces the -storms and tempests, and opposes the thousand counter currents which -run in, and keep in perpetual commotion the mountain wave of the -political sea. His career is about closing, and, as he imagines, the -diadem of glory about settling on his forehead; by some unforeseen -stroke of bad fortune, he is hurled from his high elevation, sinks, and -falls, and is heard of no more. In this way, many minds meet an -unhonored and untimely end—minds, that might have proved great and -useful to society—minds, which might have illuminated the arts and -sciences with improved splendor—minds, which might have been 'founts -of beauty' to our literature.</p> - -<p>What preserves, in its original strength and grandeur, the rich and -massy arch of German literature? The incomparable exertions of the -German student. The German student! whose mind knows no other commune -than the thoughts of the mighty dead. The German student! who knows the -power and majesty of truth, and thinks no care, nor labor, too great to -possess it; and whose intellectual eye takes in all that is lovely and -sublime in creation. The universities of Germany are unequalled in the -world. Is it wonderful that its literature is unequalled? But they are -supported by the good feeling of society. Let then the current of -public feeling be changed in our beloved land; let the American mind -feel sensible of the importance of youthful mental cultivation; let the -youthful intellect be taught to ascribe as much value, as much -greatness, and as much immortality, to literary as to political -interests. Let this be done, and our universities will surpass even -those of Germany; will furnish to their country, instead of Schillers -and Goethes, their prototypes, Shakspeares and Miltons.</p> - -<p>But apart from these impediments to American literature, there is -another. It glares in the face of every one. It lies in the periodical -press. The benefits and glories of the press are familiar to every -mind. Disseminating knowledge with unexampled rapidity, its influence -is spread over and reaches the extreme borders of society. Being a -universal mental aliment, it moulds, and fashions, and directs the -thoughts and feelings of the man. Thousands on thousands of minds are -developed by its effects, never enjoying any other. To the growing, -varied classes of our society, it is the only light of information. How -important that its action be pure, healthy, and vigorous! How important -that it be the vehicle of virtuous and elevated thought! How important -that it send forth on its hundred rapid wings and eloquence, which, -like the written eloquence of the lamented Grimke, more enduring than -marble or brass, should beautify the affections, and arouse to glorious -action the intellect of this and coming ages! Thus mighty in its -influence, and thus important in its character, it cannot maintain too -high, too noble a standard. It should imbody whatever is great and -excellent in human thought. It should teach the people how to apply the -principles of science to the arts; and, therefore, should ever -preserve, with vestal care, the temple of learning. In short, it should -be the tribunal of public taste—an ordeal of criticism—severe, but -highminded. Such being its characteristics, the periodical press will -be the strongest pillar that shall support the towering fabric of our -literature. It cannot fail to be, because through its instrumentality, -public feeling is formed and swayed; and we have seen, that the right -direction of this feeling will ever insure permanent, liberal, literary -patronage. But what is the general character of this branch of the -press? Is it a fountain from which flows the pure streams of knowledge? -Is it a messenger of eloquent and exalted thoughts? Is it a friend to -literature, or the efforts of original and powerful mind? Facts speak -to the contrary. The majority of our periodicals, bear upon their very -face, a political stamp. They contain in their broad folds, no more -than the creations of rankling and disappointed passion, of unripened -and undeveloped intellect. Do such minds as Johnson and Addison, spread -beauty and interest through their columns? How paltry, how much to be -lamented the spirit of their criticisms!—They breathe the essence of -fanaticism. True, we have a few quarterlys and monthlys, that rise -above the ordinary grade, and will compare, in all the excellencies of -thought, with any productions of the kind, in any country or clime. The -North American Review, is a fair and splendid specimen of what should -characterize that department of our literature. Who ever closed its -pages, beaming with a sun-like brilliancy, without having, in some -degree, his knowledge enriched, his taste refined, his thoughts -enlarged, and his intellect expanded? But shining only on the high -peaks of society, its glorious beams never find their way to the mass: -its influence, amid the universal debasement of the press, is unseen, -unfelt. We have, likewise, a few literary papers; but in the delicate -idea and beautiful expression of one of the contributors of the -Magazine, they are the mere "sprays of the intellectual wave." We -repeat it, the periodical press is, in the strongest sense of the word, -political. Now, it is plain to every observing mind, that being the -most influential, it should be the purest and noblest portion of our -literature. How far it falls short of such a standard, our national -mind has fatally experienced. Our country's glory and pride, our own -genius, our own talent, call loudly and decidedly for a reformation.</p> - -<p>We have now set forth a faint view of some of the impediments to the -growth of American literature. We have seen, that political pursuits do -not tend to the full development and vigor of the mind, and that -without such a cast of mind, there cannot be eloquent and sublime -mental action. We have seen, that our nation's mind is absorbed in -political interests; in short, that the age is too political. We would -ask, if there is no necessity of a change? He who feels the heavenly -glow of patriotic devotion, and hopes to see his country the brightest -star in the firmament of modern glory, will return an affirmative -response.</p> - -<p>Our literature has not, as yet, assumed any permanent form. Its -features are just beginning to develope. What character it will take, -we cannot judge with any degree of certainty. Now, it is a familiar -principle, that in the formation of the mind, there is need of the most -unceasing care and attention, to shape and direct its budding energies -to virtue and excellence. Let the American mind have this attention, -and we have a literature purer, nobler, and richer, than has ever -illumined mankind. Do we desire a glorious immortality? And is not -literary immortality—the mind set forth in visible, enchanting, and -enduring forms—far more desirable, than political? How has the -greatness and grandeur of all antiquity, been perpetuated? Who will -compare the Pereclean age of Greece—an age, as we have seen, when -literature shone purely, brightly—with those that followed, when -political feuds rent every state? Who will compare the fame of Homer, -the mirror-mind of the ancient world, with the most distinguished -politician of antiquity? of Milton, with that of Cromwell? of -Shakspeare, with that of the profoundest statesman of the Elizabethan -age. Political glory, is as the short-lived plant—literary, as the -majestic oak. Political glory, is as the flashing meteor—literary, as -the splendor of the noon-day sun.</p> -<div align="right">H. J. G. </div> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect33"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>From Mrs. Jamieson's Visits and Sketches. </small></div> - -<h4>THE INDIAN MOTHER.<small><sup>1</sup></small></h4> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem34"> - <tr><td><small>There is a comfort in the strength of love,<br> - Making that pang endurable, which else<br> - Would overset the brain—or break the heart. </small></td></tr> - <tr><td align="right"><small><i>Wordsworth</i>.</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>1</sup></small> This little tale (written in 1830) is founded on a -striking incident related in Humboldt's narrative. The facts remain -unaltered.</small></blockquote> -<br> -<p>The monuments which human art has raised to human pride or power may -decay with that power, or survive to mock that pride; but sooner or -later they perish—their place knows them not. In the aspect of a ruin, -however imposing in itself, and however magnificent or dear the -associations connected with it, there is always something sad and -humiliating, reminding us how poor and how frail are the works of man, -how unstable his hopes, and how limited his capacity compared to his -aspirations! But when man has made to himself monuments of the works of -God; when the memory of human affections, human intellect, human power, -is blended with the immutable features of nature, they consecrate each -other, and both endure together to the end. In a state of high -civilization, man trusts to the record of brick and marble—the -pyramid, the column, the temple, the tomb:</p> - -<center><small>"Then the bust<br> -And altar rise—then sink again to dust."</small></center> - -<p>In the earlier stages of society, the isolated rock—the mountain, -cloud-encircled—the river, rolling to its ocean-home—the very stars -themselves—were endued with sympathies, and constituted the first, as -they will be the last, witnesses and records of our human destinies and -feelings. The glories of the Parthenon shall fade into oblivion; but -while the heights of Thermopylć stand, and while a wave murmurs in the -gulph of Salamis, a voice shall cry aloud to the universe—"Freedom and -glory to those who can dare to die!—woe and everlasting infamy to him -who would enthral the unconquerable spirit!" The Coliseum with its -sanguinary trophies is crumbling to decay; but the islet of Nisida, -where Brutus parted with his Portia—the steep of Leucadia, still -remain fixed as the foundations of the earth; and lasting as the round -world itself shall be the memories that hover over them! As long as the -waters of the Hellespont flow between Sestos and Abydos, the fame of -the love that perished there shall never pass away. A traveller, -pursuing his weary way through the midst of an African desert—a -barren, desolate, and almost boundless solitude—found a gigantic -sculptured head, shattered and half-buried in the sand; and near it the -fragment of a pedestal, on which these words might be with pain -deciphered: "<i>I am Ozymandias, King of kings; look upon my works, ye -mighty ones, and despair!</i>" Who was Ozymandias?—where are now his -works?—what bond of thought or feeling, links his past with our -present? The Arab, with his beasts of burthen, tramples unheeding over -these forlorn vestiges of human art and human grandeur. In the wildest -part of the New Continent, hidden amid the depths of interminable -forests, there stands a huge rock, hallowed by a tradition so recent -that the man is not yet gray-headed who was born its contemporary; but -that rock, and the tale which consecrates it, shall carry down to -future ages a deep lesson—a moral interest lasting as itself—however -the aspect of things and the conditions of people change around it. -Henceforth no man shall gaze on it with careless eye; but each shall -whisper to his own bosom—"What is stronger than love in a mother's -heart?—what more fearful than power wielded by ignorance?—or what -more lamentable than the abuse of a beneficent name to purposes of -selfish cruelty?"</p> - -<p>Those vast regions which occupy the central part of South America, -stretching from Guinea to the foot of the Andes, overspread with -gigantic and primeval forests, and watered by mighty rivers—those -solitary wilds where man appears unessential in the scale of creation, -and the traces of his power are few and far between—have lately -occupied much of the attention of Europeans; partly from the -extraordinary events and unexpected revolutions; which have convulsed -the nations round them; and partly from the researches of enterprising -travellers who have penetrated into their remotest districts. But till -within the last twenty years these wild regions have been unknown, -except through the means of the Spanish and Portuguese priests, settled -as missionaries along the banks of the Orinoco and the Paraguay. The -men thus devoted to utter banishment from all intercourse with -civilized life, are generally Franciscan or Capuchin friars, born in -the Spanish colonies. Their pious duties are sometimes voluntary, and -sometimes imposed by the superiors of their order; in either case their -destiny appears at first view deplorable, and their self-sacrifice -sublime; yet, when we recollect that these poor monks generally -exchanged the monotonous solitude of the cloister for the magnificent -loneliness of the boundless woods and far-spreading savannahs, the -sacrifice appears less terrible; even where accompanied by suffering, -privation, and occasionally by danger. When these men combine with -their religious zeal some degree of understanding and enlightened -benevolence, they have been enabled to enlarge the sphere of knowledge -and civilization, by exploring the productions and geography of these -unknown regions; and by collecting into villages and humanizing the -manners of the native tribes, who seem strangely to unite the fiercest -and most abhorred traits of savage life, with some of the gentlest -instincts of our common nature. But when it has happened that these -priests have been men of narrow minds and tyrannical tempers, they have -on some occasions fearfully abused the authority entrusted to them; and -being removed many thousand miles from the European settlements and the -restraint of the laws, the power they have exercised has been as far -beyond control as the calamities they have caused have been beyond all -remedy and all relief.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately for those who were trusted to his charge, Father Gomez -was a missionary of this character. He was a Franciscan friar of the -order of Observance, and he dwelt in the village of San Fernando, near -the source of the Orinoco, whence his authority extended as president -over several missions in the neighborhood of which San Fernando was the -capital. The temper of this man was naturally cruel and despotic; he -was wholly uneducated, and had no idea, no feeling, of the true spirit -of christian benevolence: in this respect, the savages whom he had been -sent to instruct and civilize were in reality less savage and less -ignorant than himself.</p> - -<p>Among the passions and vices which Father Gomez had brought from his -cell in the convent of Angostara, to spread contamination and -oppression through his new domain, were pride and avarice; and both -were interested in increasing the number of his converts or rather of -his slaves. In spite of the wise and humane law of Charles the Third, -prohibiting the conversion of the Indian natives by force, Gomez, like -others of his brethren in the more distant missions, often accomplished -his purpose by direct violence. He was accustomed to go, with a party -of his people, and lie in wait near the hordes of unreclaimed Indians: -when the men were absent he would forcibly seize on the women and -children, bind them, and bring them off in triumph to his village. -There, being baptized and taught to make the sign of the cross, they -were <i>called</i> Christians, but in reality were slaves. In general, the -women thus detained pined away and died; but the children became -accustomed to their new mode of life, forgot their woods, and paid to -their Christian master a willing and blind obedience; thus in time they -became the oppressors of their own people.</p> - -<p>Father Gomez called these incursions, <i>la conquista espiritual</i>—the -conquest of souls.</p> - -<p>One day he set off on an expedition of this nature, attended by twelve -armed Indians; and after rowing some leagues up the river Guaviare, -which flows into the Orinoco, they perceived through an opening in the -trees, and at a little distance from the shore, an Indian hut. It is -the custom of these people to live isolated in families; and so strong -is their passion for solitude, that when collected into villages they -frequently build themselves a little cabin at a distance from their -usual residence, and retire to it, at certain seasons, for days -together. The cabin of which I speak was one of these solitary -<i>villas</i>—if I may so apply the word. It was constructed with peculiar -neatness, thatched with palm leaves, and over-shadowed with cocoa trees -and laurels; it stood alone in the wilderness, embowered with luxuriant -vegetation, and looked like the chosen abode of simple and quiet -happiness. Within this hut a young Indian woman (whom I shall call -Guahiba, from the name of her tribe) was busied in making cakes of the -cassava root, and preparing the family meal, against the return of her -husband, who was fishing at some distance up the river; her eldest -child, about five or six years old, assisted her; and from time to -time, while thus employed, the mother turned her eyes, beaming with -fond affection, upon the playful gambols of two little infants, who, -being just able to crawl alone, were rolling together on the ground, -laughing and crowing with all their might.</p> - -<p>Their food being nearly prepared, the Indian woman looked towards the -river, impatient for the return of her husband. But her bright dark -eyes, swimming with eagerness and affectionate solicitude, became fixed -and glazed with terror when, instead of him she so fondly expected, she -beheld the attendants of Father Gomez, creeping stealthily along the -side of the thicket towards her cabin. Instantly aware of her danger -(for the nature and object of these incursions were the dread of all -the country round) she uttered a piercing shriek, snatched up her -infants in her arms, and, calling on the other to follow, rushed from -the hut towards the forest. As she had considerably the start of her -pursuers, she would probably have escaped, and have hidden herself -effectually in its tangled depths, if her precious burthen had not -impeded her flight; but thus encumbered she was easily overtaken. Her -eldest child, fleet of foot and wily as the young jaguar, escaped to -carry to the wretched father the news of his bereavement, and neither -father nor child were ever more beheld in their former haunts.</p> - -<p>Meantime, the Indians seized upon Guahiba—bound her, tied her two -children together, and dragged her down to the river, where Father -Gomez was sitting in his canoe, waiting the issue of the expedition. At -the sight of the captives his eye sparkled with a cruel triumph; he -thanked his patron saint that three more souls were added to his -community; and then, heedless of the tears of the mother, and the cries -of her children, he commanded his followers to row back with all speed -to San Fernando.</p> - -<p>There Guahiba and her infants were placed in a hut under the guard of -two Indians; some food was given to her, which she at first refused, -but afterward, as if on reflection, accepted. A young Indian girl was -then sent to her—a captive convert of her own tribe, who had not yet -quite forgotten her native language. She tried to make Guahiba -comprehend that in this village she and her children must remain during -the rest of their lives, in order that they might go to heaven after -they were dead. Guahiba listened, but understood nothing of what was -addressed to her; nor could she be made to conceive for what purpose -she was torn from her husband and her home, nor why she was to dwell -for the remainder of her life among a strange people, and against her -will. During that night she remained tranquil, watching over her -infants as they slumbered by her side; but the moment the dawn -appeared, she took them in her arms and ran off to the woods. She was -immediately brought back; but no sooner were the eyes of her keepers -turned from her than she snatched up her children, and again -fled;—again—and again! At every new attempt she was punished with -more and more severity; she was kept from food, and at length -repeatedly and cruelty beaten. In vain!—apparently she did not even -understand why she was thus treated; and one instinctive idea alone, -the desire of escape, seemed to possess her mind and govern all her -movements. If her oppressors only turned from her, or looked another -way, for an instant, she invariably caught up her children and ran off -towards the forest. Father Gomez was at length wearied by what he -termed her "blind obstinacy;" and, as the only means of securing all -three, he took measures to separate the mother from her children, and -resolved to convey Guahiba to a distant mission, whence she should -never find her way back either to them or to her home.</p> - -<p>In pursuance of this plan, poor Guahiba, with her hands tied behind -her, was placed in the bow of a canoe. Father Gomez seated himself at -the helm, and they rowed away.</p> - -<p>The few travellers who have visited these regions agree in describing a -phenomenon, the cause of which is still a mystery to geologists, and -which imparts to the lonely depths of these unappropriated and -unviolated shades an effect intensely and indescribably mournful. The -granite rocks which border the river, and extend far into the -contiguous woods, assume strange, fantastic shapes; and are covered -with a black incrustation, or deposit, which contrasted with the -snow-white foam of the waves breaking on them below, and the pale -lichens which spring from their crevices and creep along their surface -above, give these shores an aspect perfectly funereal. Between these -melancholy rocks—so high and so steep that a landing place seldom -occurred for leagues together—the canoe of Father Gomez slowly glided, -though urged against the stream by eight robust Indians.</p> - -<p>The unhappy Guahiba sat at first perfectly unmoved, and apparently -amazed and stunned by her situation; she did not comprehend what they -were going to do with her; but after a while she looked up towards the -sun, then down upon the stream; and perceiving, by the direction of the -one and the course of the other, that every stroke of the oar carried -her farther and farther from her beloved and helpless children, her -husband, and her native home, her countenance was seen to change and -assume a fearful expression. As the possibility of escape, in her -present situation, had never once occurred to her captors, she had been -very slightly and carelessly bound. She watched her opportunity, burst -the withes on her arms, with a sudden effort flung herself overboard, -and dived under the waves; but in another moment she rose again at a -considerable distance, and swam to the shore. The current, being rapid -and strong, carried her down to the base of a dark granite rock which -projected into the stream; she climbed it with fearless agility, stood -for an instant on its summit, looking down upon her tyrants, then -plunged into the forest, and was lost to sight.</p> - -<p>Father Gomez, beholding his victim thus unexpectedly escape him, sat -mute and thunderstruck for some moments, unable to give utterance to -the extremity of his rage and astonishment. When, at length, he found -voice, he commanded his Indians to pull with all their might to the -shore; then to pursue the poor fugitive, and bring her back to him, -dead or alive.</p> - -<p>Guahiba, meantime, while strength remained to break her way through the -tangled wilderness, continued her flight; but soon exhausted and -breathless, with the violence of her exertions, she was obliged to -relax in her efforts, and at length sunk down at the foot of a huge -laurel tree, where she concealed herself, as well as she might, among -the long, interwoven grass. There, crouching and trembling in her lair, -she heard the voices of her persecutors hallooing to each other through -the thicket. She would probably have escaped but for a large mastiff -which the Indians had with them, and which scented her out in her -hiding place. The moment she heard the dreaded animal snuffing in the -air, and tearing his way through the grass, she knew she was lost. The -Indians came up. She attempted no vain resistance; but, with a sullen -passiveness, suffered herself to be seized and dragged to the shore.</p> - -<p>When the merciless priest beheld her, he determined to inflict on her -such discipline as he thought would banish her children from her -memory, and cure her forever of her passion for escaping. He ordered -her to be stretched upon that granite rock where she had landed from -the canoe, on the summit of which she had stood, as if exulting in her -flight,—<small>THE ROCK OF THE MOTHER</small>, as it has ever since been -denominated—and there flogged till she could scarcely move or speak. -She was then bound more securely, placed in the canoe, and carried to -Javita, the seat of a mission far up the river.</p> - -<p>It was near sunset when they arrived at this village, and the -inhabitants were preparing to go to rest. Guahiba was deposited for the -night in a large barn-like building, which served as a place of -worship, a public magazine, and, occasionally, as a barrack. Father -Gomez ordered two or three Indians of Javita to keep guard over her -alternately, relieving each other through the night; and then went to -repose himself after the fatigues of his voyage. As the wretched -captive neither resisted nor complained, Father Gomez flattered himself -that she was now reduced to submission. Little could he fathom the -bosom of this fond mother! He mistook for stupor, or resignation, the -calmness of a fixed resolve. In absence, in bonds, and in torture, her -heart throbbed with but one feeling; one thought alone possessed her -whole soul:—her children—her children—and still her children!</p> - -<p>Among the Indians appointed to watch her was a youth about eighteen or -nineteen years of age, who, perceiving that her arms were miserably -bruised by the stripes she had received, and that she suffered the most -acute agony from the savage tightness with which the cords were drawn, -let fall an exclamation of pity in the language of her tribe. Quick she -seized the moment of feeling, and addressed him as one of her people.</p> - -<p>"Guahibo," she said, in a whispered tone, "thou speakest my language, -and doubtless thou art my brother! Wilt thou see me perish without -pity, O son of my people? Ah, cut these bonds which enter into my -flesh! I faint with pain! I die!"</p> - -<p>The young man heard, and, as if terrified, removed a few paces from her -and kept silence. Afterward, when his companions were out of sight, and -he was left alone to watch, he approached, and said, "Guahiba!—our -fathers were the same, and I may not see thee die; but if I cut these -bonds, white man will flog me:—wilt thou be content if I loosen them, -and give thee ease?" And as he spoke, he stooped and loosened the -thongs on her wrists and arms; she smiled upon him languidly, and -appeared satisfied.</p> - -<p>Night was now coming on. Guahiba dropped her head on her bosom, and -closed her eyes, as if exhausted by weariness. The young Indian -believing that she slept, after some hesitation laid himself down on -his mat. His companions were already slumbering in the porch of the -building, and all was still.</p> - -<p>Then Guahiba raised her head. It was night—dark night—without moon or -star. There was no sound, except the breathing of the sleepers around -her, and the humming of the moschetos. She listened for some time with -her whole soul; but all was silence. She then gnawed the loosened -thongs asunder with her teeth. Her hands once free, she released her -feet: and when the morning came she had disappeared. Search was made -for her in every direction, but in vain; and Father Gomez, baffled and -wrathful, returned to his village.</p> - -<p>The distance between Javita and San Fernando, where Guahiba had left -her infants, is twenty-five leagues in a straight line. A fearful -wilderness of gigantic forest trees, and intermingling underwood, -separated these two missions;—a savage and awful solitude, which, -probably, since the beginning of the world, had never been trodden by -human foot. All communication was carried on by the river; and there -lived not a man, whether Indian or European, bold enough to have -attempted the route along the shore. It was the commencement of the -rainy season. The sky, obscured by clouds, seldom revealed the sun by -day; and neither moon nor gleam of twinkling star by night. The rivers -had overflowed, and the lowlands were inundated. There was no visible -object to direct the traveller; no shelter, no defence, no aid, no -guide. Was it Providence—was it the strong instinct of maternal love, -which led this courageous woman through the depths of the pathless -woods—where rivulets, swollen to torrents by the rains, intercepted -her at every step; where the thorny lianas, twining from tree to tree, -opposed an almost impenetrable barrier; where the moschetos hung in -clouds upon her path; where the jaguar and the alligator lurked to -devour her; where the rattle-snake and the water-serpent lay coiled up -in the damp grass, ready to spring at her; where she had no food to -support her exhausted frame, but a few berries, and the large black -ants which build their nests on the trees? How directed—how -sustained—cannot be told: the poor woman herself could not tell. All -that can be known with any certainty is, that the fourth rising sun -beheld her at San Fernando; a wild, and wasted, and fearful object; her -feet swelled and bleeding—her hands torn—her body covered with -wounds, and emaciated with famine and fatigue;—but once more near her children!</p> - -<p>For several hours she hovered round the hut in which she had left them, -gazing on it from a distance with longing eyes and a sick heart, -without daring to advance: at length she perceived that all the -inhabitants had quitted their cottages to attend vespers; then she -stole from the thicket, and approached, with faint and timid steps, the -spot which contained her heart's treasures. She entered, and found her -infants left alone, and playing together on a mat: they screamed at her -appearance, so changed was she by suffering; but when she called them -by name, they knew her tender voice, and stretched out their little -arms towards her. In that moment the mother forgot all she had -endured—all her anguish, all her fears, every thing on earth but the -objects which blessed her eyes. She sat down between her children—she -took them on her knees—she clasped them in an agony of fondness to her -bosom—she covered them with kisses—she shed torrents of tears on -their little heads, as she hugged them to her. Suddenly she remembered -where she was, and why she was there: new terrors seized her; she rose -up hastily, and, with her babies in her arms, she staggered out of the -cabin—fainting, stumbling, and almost blind with loss of blood and -inanition. She tried to reach the woods, but too feeble to sustain her -burthen, which yet she would not relinquish, her limbs trembled, and -sank beneath her. At this moment an Indian, who was watching the public -oven, perceived her. He gave the alarm by ringing a bell, and the -people rushed forth, gathering round Guahiba with fright and -astonishment. They gazed upon her as if upon an apparition, till her -sobs, and imploring looks, and trembling and wounded limbs, convinced -them that she yet lived, though apparently nigh to death. They looked -upon her in silence, and then at each other; their savage bosoms were -touched with commiseration for her sad plight, and with admiration, and -even awe, at this unexampled heroism of maternal love.</p> - -<p>While they hesitated, and none seemed willing to seize her, or to take -her children from her, Father Gomez, who had just landed on his return -from Javita, approached in haste, and commanded them to be separated. -Guahiba clasped her children closer to her breast, and the Indians -shrunk back.</p> - -<p>"What!" thundered the monk: "will ye suffer the woman to steal two -precious souls from heaven? two members from our community? See ye not, -that while she is suffered to approach them, there is no salvation for -either mother or children? part them, and instantly!"</p> - -<p>The Indians, accustomed to his ascendancy, and terrified at his voice, -tore the children of Guahiba once more from her feeble arms: she -uttered nor word nor cry, but sunk in a swoon upon the earth.</p> - -<p>While in this state, Father Gomez, with a cruel mercy, ordered her -wounds to be carefully dressed: her arms and legs were swathed with -cotton bandages; she was then placed in a canoe, and conveyed to a -mission, far, far off, on the river Esmeralda, beyond the Upper -Orinoco. She continued in a state of exhaustion and torpor during the -voyage; but after being taken out of the boat and carried inland, -restoratives brought her back to life, and to a sense of her situation. -When she perceived, as reason and consciousness returned, that she was -in a strange place, unknowing how she was brought there—among a tribe -who spoke a language different from any she had ever heard before, and -from whom, therefore, according to Indian prejudices, she could hope -nor aid nor pity;—when she recollected that she was far from her -beloved children;—when she saw no means of discovering the bearing or -the distance of their abode—no clue to guide her back to it:—<i>then</i>, -and only then, did the mother's heart yield to utter despair; and -thence forward refusing to speak or to move, and obstinately rejecting -all nourishment, thus she died.</p> - -<p>The boatman, on the river Atabapo, suspends his oar with a sigh as he -passes the <small>ROCK OF THE MOTHER</small>. He points it out to the traveller, and -weeps as he relates the tale of her sufferings and her fate. Ages -hence, when these solitary regions have become the seats of -civilization, of power, and intelligence; when the pathless wilds which -poor Guahiba traversed in her anguish, are replaced by populous cities, -and smiling gardens, and pastures, and waving harvests,—still that -dark rock shall stand, frowning o'er the stream; tradition and history -shall preserve its name and fame; and when even the pyramids, those -vast, vain monuments to human pride, have passed away, it shall endure, -to carry down to the end of the world the memory of the Indian Mother.</p> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect34"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>NOTE TO BLACKSTONE'S COMMENTARIES,</h4> - -<center>V<small>OL</small>. I. P<small>AGE</small> 423.</center> - -<blockquote><small><i>Being the Substance of Remarks on the Subject of Domestic Slavery, -delivered to the Law Class of William and Mary College, December 2d, -1834</i>.</small></blockquote> -<br> -<p>This subject is too interesting to be passed in silence. The time too -is rife with proofs, that unless we mean tamely to surrender a most -important interest, we must hold ourselves always on the alert to -defend it with tongue and pen.</p> - -<p>The short and compendious argument of the commentator, and his -confident and peremptory judgment, seem to place us in the condition of -convicted delinquents, and hardly to leave us the poor privilege of -saying one word why sentence should not be passed upon us. And yet I -hope to show, that this argument, so specious, is not less superficial, -and that the conclusion, so promptly reached, has been attained by -overlooking the most important considerations involved in the subject.</p> - -<p>It was natural, and it was right, that Mr. Blackstone should manifest a -zeal for the institutions of his own country, disposing him to excuse -what might be amiss, to vindicate what might be questionable, and to -place in the highest relief and in the most favorable light whatever is -praiseworthy. But while I acknowledge this, I cannot allow to him, and -them who think with him, a monopoly of this pious reverence for the -institutions of their forefathers. I would rather follow their example, -and, cherishing this sentiment so essential to the preservation of -every thing that is valuable, would ask, on behalf of it, the like -indulgence to what may be urged in defence of domestic slavery.</p> - -<p>I shall not stop to show (what is incontestibly true) that it has done -more to elevate a degraded race in the scale of humanity; to tame the -savage; to civilize the barbarous; to soften the ferocious; to -enlighten the ignorant; and to spread the blessings of christianity -among the heathen, than all the missionaries that philanthropy and -religion have ever sent forth. This would be no vindication, for he who -can make the wrath of man to praise him; who can overrule evil, and -make it an instrument of good, might have made it conducive to these -ends, however wicked in itself it might be. "Be it a spirit of health, -or goblin damned," on <i>his</i> errand it has gone forth. "Be its intents -wicked or charitable," it is <i>his</i> instrument, in <i>his</i> hands, doing -<i>his</i> work. When that is done, and not till then, it will cease, as -will all things else, when their appointed course is run, and their -appointed end fulfilled.</p> - -<p>It is hardly necessary to expose the sophistry by which Mr. Blackstone -affects to prove, that slavery cannot have had a lawful origin. We do -not pretend to trace our title to its source. We have no call to sit in -judgment between the conquered African and his conqueror. We rest our -defence on principles which legitimate our title, whatever its origin -may have been. Yet it may not be amiss to say a few words to show the -fallacy of those plausible and imposing dogmas, with which we too often -suffer ourselves to be talked down.</p> - -<p>"Slavery," says Mr. Blackstone, "cannot originate in compact, because -the transaction excludes the idea of an equivalent." For an answer to -this specious fallacy, I shall content myself by referring you to the -masterly essay of Professor Dew, who has so clearly exposed it as to -leave me nothing to add.</p> - -<p>But the commentator farther tells us, that "slavery cannot lawfully -originate in <i>conquest</i>, as a commutation for the right to kill; -because this right rests on necessity; and this necessity plainly does -not exist, because the victor does not kill his adversary, but makes -him captive." Is this a fair inference? Let us examine it.</p> - -<p>There is a triple alternative in the case: to kill, to enslave, or to -set at large. It may be practicable to do either of the two first; and -yet dangerous in the extreme to do the last. With a savage and -treacherous foe it is always so, unless his power of annoyance be -completely annihilated. And how can this be between two tribes of -nearly equal force? Among such is one victory an assured pledge of -future and <i>bloodless</i> victory to the end of time? May it not, must it -not, often be, that the victorious party can have no security against -future and fatal mischief, but in the destruction, or something -equivalent to the destruction, of the vanquished? This is obtained by -deportation to distant lands, by which alone, or by incarceration, or -something equivalent, or by extermination, or a near approach to -extermination, the enmity of a savage neighbor ever can be rendered -harmless. The necessity of the case, so long as it exists, justifies -the choice of these alternatives. Among these, no argument is necessary -to prove that foreign slavery is the mildest. But were this not so, the -laws even of civilized war do not peremptorily dictate to the victor -the choice he shall make among these remedies. He may kill; he may -incarcerate; or he may enlarge on parol, clogged with such conditions -as he may please to prescribe, according to the nature and measure of a -necessity, of which he is the only judge.<small><small><sup>1</sup></small></small></p> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>1</sup></small> It may be said that the laws of civilized war do not -permit that prisoners be slain or incarcerated; for that if this be -done, <i>the other party may retaliate</i>. This will prove, that he who is -cruel to his prisoners, <i>does a wrong to his own people who may happen -to be in his enemy's hands;</i> but that is all. The laws of civilized -warfare acknowledge the right to retaliate, and therefore <i>make a -case</i>, if there was no other, where slavery by conquest would be -lawful. Even though he who first enslaves his prisoners be wrong; yet -<i>ex concessis</i> he who retaliates is right. Can Mr. Blackstone tell us -which of the savage African chiefs began the game?</small></blockquote> - -<p>When Col. Campbell, at the head of a few militia, stooped from the -mountains of Virginia on Carolina, and bore off the corps of Col. -Fergusson in his pounces, had he been pursued and overtaken by -Tarleton, he must have killed his prisoners. He could not have held -them, and to have enlarged them would have been to sacrifice the lives -of thousands. He who doubts this, knows nothing of the horrors of the -tory war that raged in that quarter. If he had had no place of refuge, -he might have handed them over to any custody, civilized or savage, in -which they might have been removed from the theatre of war. This is one -example among ten thousand, to show that the captivity of an enemy by -no means implies the security of the captor, should he allow his -prisoner to go free. The snared tiger is in your power: you may kill -him—you may cage him. "<i>Therefore</i>," says Mr. Blackstone, "you are -under no necessity to do either, and the noble beast has a fair claim -to his liberty."</p> - -<p>But I have given too many words to the exposure of this grave -sophistry. In self-defence it might have been pardoned; in crimination -it is intolerable.</p> - -<p>But, as I remarked in the outset, we have nothing to do with the origin -of any particular <i>mode</i> of slavery. In some shape or other it exists, -and has existed every where, since first the decree went forth, which -cursed the earth, and denounced to man, "that in the sweat of his face -he should eat the fruit thereof." Here is its origin; and, as might be -expected of any thing so originating, the thing is evil in itself, and -in all its modes. The problem is to choose among them. To the practical -man it is a thing of small difficulty; <i>left to itself</i>, it assumes, in -every country, the form and texture best suited to the physical -peculiarities of that country, and the condition of society there. But -we have grown so wise, that we leave nothing to itself. The world is -full of associations and combinations of men, who make it the business -of their lives to regulate every thing but what concerns themselves. We -every where find a sort of moral treasuries of supererogatory virtue, -made up by voluntary contribution, for the benefit of all who do not -affect to be wiser and better than their fathers. Turn where we will, -we have the edifying spectacle of one half the world repenting for the -sins of the other half.</p> - -<p>While the discussion of this subject was confined to ourselves; while -they who denounced the practice of domestic slavery were such as could -not condemn others, without standing self-condemned, we heard them -patiently, as we hear from the pulpit the meek expostulations of the -humble and contrite. Their interest afforded a pledge that they would -not rashly carry their doctrines into practice: their self-rebukes -excused them from the charge of arrogance; and the sincerity of their -enthusiasm commanded our respect and sympathy. But since we have seen -one community rashly overturning the domestic institutions of another; -and hear from our northern neighbors an avowal of the like benevolent -design toward us, it is time to look into the subject more narrowly. -Let us understand it well. If we are wrong, the discovery of our fault -may prepare us to bear, with becoming meekness, the impending judgment. -If we are right, an understanding conviction that we are so, may be -necessary to man our hearts and brace our nerves for the impending struggle.</p> - -<p>I have said that slavery exists every where—originating in the decree -which makes labor the price of subsistence. The correlative of this -proposition is that <i>subsistence</i> is the <i>wages</i> of labor. I shall pass -by the hackneyed topic of the process by which it inevitably happens, -in all societies, that some men rise to affluence, while others remain -as they began. So it ever has been, is, and will be, whether we find -out how it comes to pass or no. There will be rich and poor. The rich -man will not dig the earth: the poor man must. He becomes the rich -man's servant, and the wages of his abject toil are food and raiment. -This, his condition, is compulsory and inevitable; and compulsory toil -for food and raiment,—what is it but slavery? True, the compulsion is -not that of his fellow-worm. But is it the less crushing, because it is -enforced by one from whose power there is no escape?</p> - -<p>But are food and raiment the wages to which labor is every where -stinted? Yes. Circumstances may make occasional differences in the -price of labor, as in the settlement of a new country; but the same law -which governs the price of every thing else, governs also the price of -labor. This is, in every case, the cost of production; and food and -raiment are the cost of the production of labor.</p> - -<p>A few remarks will show the modifications to which this rule is -subject, and will prove, that strictly speaking, it admits of no -exception, though its modifications may occasionally afford, to -individuals, an escape from the <i>class</i> of <i>laborers</i> into that of -<i>employers</i>.</p> - -<p>In a society perfectly stationary, (if there be such a thing,) where -the wants of the whole community, and the nature and amount of labor -necessary to supply those wants, and the subjects of labor are the same -from generation to generation, there will be a steady demand for a new -laborer, to supply the place of each one that dies off. Hence the -average wages will be such as to enable each pair to produce and bring -forward another pair; or, in other words, they will enable a man and -his wife to rear two children. If, on an average, they are more than -this, then on an average, more than two children will be reared; the -number of laborers will be increased; the supply will exceed the -demand; the competition will reduce wages below the standard of the -cost of production, until the surplus laborers are starved off; and -they will then return to that standard, and settle there.</p> - -<p>In a society retrograde in its condition, the average of wages will be -less than enough to support a laboring pair and two children. There -will always be a stock of surplus labor to be starved off, and a ragged -lazaroni will mark this condition of society.</p> - -<p>In a society advancing in all things, there must be an increasing -supply to keep up with the increasing demand. Competition among -employers will enhance the price of labor, and this will enable the -laboring class to reproduce itself in an increasing ratio. And this it -will do, for he who said "increase and multiply, and replenish the -earth," has commanded it.</p> - -<p>It is thus perfectly true of <i>labor</i>, and the <i>laboring class -collectively</i>, that the cost of production is the measure of price; and -that food and raiment for the laborer of today, and for those future -laborers who are rising up to supply the future demand, are all that -enter into the cost of production. The seeming exceptions to the rule -do but confirm it, and show how its author has rivetted it on the necks -of men, <i>that they shall not escape from it</i>. It is the brazen collar -which marks the laborer "<small>THE BORN THRALL OF NECESSITY</small>." His wages are -never increased beyond the wants of his own individual nature, but for -a purpose, to which the law of that nature makes it sure that he will -apply them; the reproduction of <i>just so many</i> others (neither more nor -less) as the exigencies of society may require, to follow in the same -dull round of labor in which his life has been spent.</p> - -<p>There will indeed be individuals who may seem to form exceptions to -this rule, in every state of society. The laborer, whose superior -strength or skill commands more than the average of wages, will have -something to spare. So too, he who, from prudence or coldness, remains -unmarried; because his wages are established according to an average of -the necessities of the laboring class, from a part of which he keeps -himself exempt. Such a man, if industrious, frugal, provident and -thrifty, will improve in condition, and eventually <i>emerge from the -class of laborers into that of employers</i>. But the condition of <i>the -class</i> remains unchanged. As <i>he</i> rose from it, some one, unperceived, -came into it, to supply his place; and others to meet the new demand -occasioned by the addition of one more to the number of employers. Thus -it is, and so it must be, that the proportional number of the laboring -class never diminishes, while society advances; and, the more rapid the -advancement of the whole, the greater the proportion of laborers to -employers, and the greater the competition for employment. There is, of -course, a progressive reduction in the price of labor, accompanying -this progressive increase of the number condemned, by impealable laws, -to this low and hard condition.—There they are, forever toiling and -sweating in the dark and cheerless abodes of poverty, aliens to the -society in which they breathe, whose comforts are ever in an inverse -ratio to the sum of general prosperity.</p> - -<p>But "in this lowest depth there is yet a lower deep." While superior -strength and skill, and exemption from family burdens, enable some to -escape to the upper air, others, under the pressure of disease, -infirmity and numerous children, sink into that gulph from which there -is no return. Of these we take no note. The few whom fortune favors, -come with <i>eclat</i> upon the stage of higher life, and are pointed out as -brilliant examples of the blessings of a system of free labor. The -countless victims of her malice</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem35"> - <tr><td><small>"Drop from existence like the withered leaf<br> - That from the summer tree is swept away,<br> - Its loss unseen."</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>This compendious view of the condition of what is called "<i>free -labor</i>," in the various stages of society, is verified by the -observations and explained by the researches of the political -economists. I take it as I receive it from them, confirmed in my -conviction of its truth, by my own experience and reflections.</p> - -<p>Let us place along side of this a view of the condition of slave labor, -as ascertained by observation, and by the laws that determine that -condition.</p> - -<p>Of slave labor then, as of free labor, it may be said, that its wages -are food and raiment for the laborer of to-day, and for those future -laborers who are rising up to supply the future demand. Thus much they -have in common. I shall not pretend to point out all the differences -between the two, but shall remark on some of the most obvious and -important.</p> - -<p>To the slave these wages are paid in kind, and can therefore be always -made precisely adequate, and no more. To the free man they are paid in -money, and may become deficient or superfluous, from a state of -scarcity or abundance. In the last case a slight advantage is afforded -to those who need it least; in the first a ruinous loss is sustained by -those least able to bear it.</p> - -<p>To the slave, his due proportion of the common fund, paid to labor as a -whole, is measured out with unerring accuracy. Among free laborers, -some receive too much, and others, in a like degree, too little. For be -it remembered, that the average wages of free labor are given, not -merely as the price of the labor of the day, but also to indemnify the -daily expense of producing that amount of future labor, which the -future demand is to render necessary. He therefore who labors only, but -rears no children, receives more than his just share. He defrauds the -concern, by drawing from the common income a portion he has not earned; -while others, whom nature has burdened with more than the due -proportion of children, earn more than they receive, and suffer for -want of the necessaries of life. This is historically as well as -theoretically true.</p> - -<p>The slave is said to labor, uncheered by hope. This may be so. To those -who know him best, he certainly seems a stranger to despair. -Metaphysicians, I think, tell us that <i>hope will not be without its -objects</i>. But it must be confessed there are things which the slave -cannot hope for, though the freeman may. On the other hand, he is free -from many anxieties to which the freeman is exposed. In this sense of -security he has something which may well be offset against the -freeman's hopes, and which some (and they not the least wise) may deem -a fair equivalent to men of sordid habits and untaught minds; and such -are the great body of laborers, bond or free.</p> - -<p>Among slaves, the <i>individual</i> is the slave of an <i>individual</i> master. -Among free laborers, the <i>class</i> is held in vassalage by the <i>class</i> of -employers. Collectively the one class may be said to be the slave of -the other. I shall not go into a minute examination of this matter. As -our controversy is with Mr. Blackstone, I shall use no authority -against him but his own. Hear what he says of the law of England, his -boasted home of freedom. "All single men between <i>twelve</i> years old and -<i>sixty</i>, and married ones under thirty years of age, and all single -women between twelve and forty, not having any visible livelihood, are -<i>compelled, by two justices</i>, to go out to service in husbandry or -certain specific trades." This is as much as to say, "they who can only -live by labor shall be made to labor." What more do we? They compel him -to choose a master. We appropriate his labor to a master to whom use -and a common interest attach him, and who is generally the master of -his choice. The wages of both are the same.</p> - -<p>In sickness, the slave looks for support to a master who is interested -to maintain and cherish him, and who, for the most part, knows and -loves him. What is the freeman's equivalent? Hear Mr. -Blackstone:—"There is no man so wretched or indigent, but he may -demand a supply sufficient for all the necessities of life, from the -more opulent part of the community, by means of the several statutes -enacted for the relief of the poor. <i>A humane provision;</i> yet, though -dictated by the principles of society, discountenanced by the Roman -laws. For the edicts of the Emperor Constantine, commanding the public -to maintain the children of those who were unable to provide for them, -<i>in order to prevent the murder and exposure of infants</i>, were rejected -in Justinian's collection." Who ever heard of infanticide by a slave?</p> - -<p>It is here; on this very point, of the necessity of forcing those to -labor who are unable to live honestly without labor, that we base the -defence of our system. That such compulsion is often necessary, all -reason and experience prove. But to a people jealous of freedom, it is -a delicate question whether such a power over the citizen can be safely -trusted to the municipal authority. To make it effectual it must be a -power dangerous to liberty. It could never be carried into effect, but -by a degree of rigor which must bow the spirit of the laborer and -effectually disqualify him for the political functions of a sovereign -citizen. It might be too much to say, that this consideration alone -would warrant the <i>introduction</i> of domestic slavery. <i>Lycurgus thought -so.</i> But we, <i>finding it among us</i>, think we follow the example of that -wisdom which <i>used</i> to characterize our English ancestors, in turning -it to use, as a safeguard of our political freedom. We have learned -too, from a great master in political science, himself an enemy to -slavery in all its forms, that in every country where domestic slavery -exists, "those who are free, are by far the most proud and jealous of -their freedom. Freedom is to them not only an enjoyment, but a kind of -rank and privilege. Not seeing that freedom, as in countries where it -is a common blessing, and as broad and general as the air, may be -united with <i>much abject toil, with great misery, with all the exterior -of servitude</i>, liberty looks, amongst them, like something that is -<i>more noble and liberal</i>.... Such were all the ancient Commonwealths; -such were our Gothic ancestors; such, in our days, were the Poles; <i>and -such will be all masters of slaves who are not slaves themselves</i>. In -such a people, the haughtiness of domination combines with the spirit -of freedom, fortifies it, and renders it invincible."</p> - -<p>Such is the lesson read to us sixty years ago, by one who wished us -well, and who thoroughly understood the character of our people, and -the causes that had influenced in the formation of that character. It -is of a piece with the general maxims of that school of practical -wisdom, and sound political philosophy, in which our fathers learned -the grand principles imbodied in our institutions. In that school, -every thing was conceded to liberty; nothing to licentiousness: every -thing to religion; nothing to fanaticism: every allowance was made for -the natural and untaught feelings of the human heart; none for sickly -artificial sensibility. Its maxims were drawn from experience, -observation and reflection <i>on man as he is;</i> not from fanciful -speculations on <i>man as he might have been</i>, had it pleased God to have -made him differently. But since that day great light has risen on the -world, and the descendants of these statesmen now find, that the -imperfect vision of their fathers did but "see men, as trees walking." -The present generation see clearly, and renouncing all respect for -those whom God commands to honor living, and to reverence in death, -bless themselves, saying, "If we had been in the days of our fathers we -would not have been partakers" in their sins. Even so let it be. Let -them desecrate and demolish the tombs of their fathers, to build up a -monument to their own praise. But what spell is upon us, that we should -follow their example, and signalize our ingratitude to the men to whose -teachings we owe all that is valuable in our institutions, by joining -in a crusade against our own rights, and "lending an active compliance -to our own ruin?"</p> - -<p><i>We</i> certainly have reason to believe that the existence of domestic -slavery among us has been of singular advantage in preserving the free -spirit of our people. Slave labor pre-occupies and fills the low and -degrading stations in society. Menial offices are altogether discharged -by it; and all the tasks of mere brute strength are left to it. To the -freeman belong those services which imply trust and confidence, or -require skill; which therefore command higher wages than mere animal -labor, and give a sense of respectability and a feeling of -self-respect. I know we are told that if we wish to see the perfection -of free government, we must look elsewhere. We look; and we do indeed -see the theory of democracy carried to its full extent, but we behold -no practical results which we at all envy. We do not find that any good -has come from elevating the whole class of laborers, in all its servile -and degraded branches, to the sovereign privilege of voting. We -believed <i>a priori</i> (and observation proves that we were right) that -the first and only use the hireling would make of his political -franchise, would be to sell it to the demagogue. <i>But though convinced -of this, the experience of other states justifies a doubt, whether</i>, <small>IF -ALL OUR LABORERS WERE FREEMEN</small>, <i>it would be possible to withhold from -them the privilege of voting</i>. We know that it has been elsewhere wrung -from the reluctant grasp of the freeholders, who deeply, <i>but -silently</i>, lament the forced concession. Our statesmen have been -<i>privately</i> admonished by them to profit by the experience of their -error, and hold fast by our institutions. <i>Publicly</i> indeed, we are -taunted with what are called the aristocratic features of our -government; but we know, and the enemies of freedom know it too, that -when power has marched unchecked and unchallenged over the prostrate -democracy of free labor and universal suffrage, it has always found -here the most formidable barriers to its progress.</p> - -<hr align="center" width="50"> - -<p>I take the liberty of appending, by way of note, a quotation from the -same statesman, whose words I have already used, which shows that this -idea of the connexion between <small>DOMESTIC</small> <i>slavery</i> and <small>MUNICIPAL</small> -<i>liberty</i>, is not new. Our <i>former oppressors</i> were aware of it sixty -years ago, and seriously meditated the destruction of the latter by the -abolition of the former. The following extract may show where our -<i>present oppressors</i> got the first hint of that scheme of interested -philanthropy which proposes to strip us of our property for the good of -our souls.</p> - -<p>Mr. Burke says, (in 1775) "With regard to the high aristocratic spirit -of Virginia and the southern colonies, it has been proposed, I know, -<i>to reduce it, by declaring a general enfranchisement of slaves</i>. This -project has had its advocates and panegyrists; yet I never could argue -myself into any opinion of it. Slaves are often much attached to their -masters. A general wild offer of liberty would not always be accepted. -History furnishes few instances of it. It is sometimes as hard to -persuade slaves to be free, as it is to compel freemen to be slaves; -and, in this auspicious scheme, we, should have both these pleasing -tasks on our hands at once. But when we talk of enfranchisement, do we -not perceive that the American master may enfranchise too, <i>and arm -servile hands in defence of freedom?</i> A measure to which other people -have had recourse more than once, and not without success, in a -desperate situation of their affairs.</p> - -<p>"Slaves as these unfortunate black people are, and dull as all men are -from slavery, must they not a little suspect an offer of freedom from -that very nation which has sold them to their present masters? From a -nation, one of whose causes of quarrel with those masters, is their -refusal to deal any more in that inhuman traffic? An offer of freedom -from England would come rather oddly, shipped to them in an African -vessel, which is refused an entry into the ports of Virginia or -Carolina, with a cargo of three hundred Angola negroes. It would be -curious to see the Guinea captain attempting at the same instant to -publish his proclamation of liberty, and to advertise his sale of slaves."</p> - -<p>This last absurdity, our northern <i>guardians</i>, <i>pastors</i>, or <i>masters</i>, -(I am not particular about the designation,) have wisely avoided. As -long as the slave trade was allowed, they were only anxious to secure -to themselves a monopoly of the advantage of carrying it on. Having -lost this, they seek an equivalent by putting a new face on the matter.</p> - -<p>Let me not be understood as bringing this charge against all who are -engaged in this crusade against our rights. Like all other crusades, it -is the work of a few knaves and many dupes. The latter are, -proverbially, the tools of the former. Without them, the knave cannot -carry on his trade. There are things to be done which he cannot do in -person, and which are best accomplished by the clumsy zeal of bungling -philanthropy. The fate of the West Indies is a case in point. The case -of the tame bear, set by a mischievous wag to keep the flies off of the -face of the sleeping hermit, is another.</p> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect35"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>NAPOLEON'S GRAVE.</h4> -<center><small>BY R. H. WILDE, <i>Of Georgia</i>.</small></center> -<br> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem36"> - <tr><td>Faint and sad was the moon-beam's smile,<br> - Sullen the moan of the dying wave,<br> - Hoarse the wind in St. Helen's isle,<br> - As I stood by the side of N<small>APOLEON'S</small> G<small>RAVE</small>.<br><br> - And is it <i>here</i> that the Hero lies,<br> - Whose name has shaken the earth with dread?<br> - And is <i>this</i> all that the earth supplies?<br> - A stone his pillow—the turf his bed!<br><br> - Is such the moral of human life?<br> - Are these the limits of glory's reign?<br> - Have oceans of blood and an age of strife,<br> - A thousand battles, been all in vain?<br><br> - Is nothing left of his victories now<br> - But legions broken—a sword in rust—<br> - A crown that cumbers a dotard's brow—<br> - A name and a requiem?—dust to dust!<br><br> - Of all the Chieftains whose thrones he reared,<br> - Were there none whom kindness or faith could bind?<br> - Of all the Monarchs whose crowns he spared,<br> - Had none one spark of his Roman mind?<br><br> - Did P<small>RUSSIA</small> cast no repentant glance?<br> - Did A<small>USTRIA</small> shed no remorseful tear,<br> - When E<small>NGLAND'S</small> F<small>AITH</small>, and thine H<small>ONOR</small>, F<small>RANCE</small>,<br> - And thy F<small>RIENDSHIP</small>, R<small>USSIA</small>, were blasted <i>here</i>?<br><br> - No!—Holy leagues, like the heathen Heaven,<br> - Ungodlike shrunk from the giant's shock,<br> - And glorious T<small>ITAN</small>—the unforgiven—<br> - Was doomed to his Vulture and chains and rock.<br><br> - * - * - * - * - *<br><br> - And who were the gods that decreed <i>thy</i> doom!<br> - A German <i>Cćsar</i>—a Prussian <i>Sage</i>,<br> - The <i>Dandy Prince</i> of a counting room,<br> - And a <i>Russian Greek</i> of the middle age!<br><br> - * - * - * - * - *<br><br> - Men called thee <i>Despot</i>, and called thee true;<br> - But the laurel was earned that bound thy brow;<br> - And of all who wore it, alas! how few<br> - Were as free from treason and guilt as thou!<br><br> - * - * - * - * - *<br><br> - Shame to thee Gaul! and thy faithless horde!<br> - Where was the oath which thy soldiers swore?<br> - Fraud still lurks in the <i>Gown</i>—but the <i>Sword</i><br> - Was never so false to its trust before!<br><br> - Where was thy vet'rans boast that day<br> - "The old guard dies," but it "never yields!"<br> - Oh! for one heart like the brave Desaix,<br> - One Phalanx like those of thine early fields!<br><br> - But no! no! no! it was F<small>REEDOM'S</small> charm<br> - Gave <i>them</i> the courage of more than men;<br> - <i>You</i> broke the magic that nerved each arm,<br> - Though you were invincible only then!<br><br> - * - * - * - * - *</td></tr> -</table> - -<blockquote>1823.</blockquote> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect36"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>A SONG OF THE SEASONS.</h4> - -<center><small>BY ZARRY ZYLE.</small></center> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem37"> - <tr><td><small>Methought I heard a whispering on the strings<br> - Of hidden harps, in airy form that play,<br> - And lend their voice to fair imaginings,<br> - And wake young thoughts which in their cradles lay. <br> - I wished to set the prisoned minstrels free,<br> - Like liberated Ariels to sing,<br> - And lend a voice to all that eye could see,<br> - From the first dawn of the green light of spring,<br> - To the last lowering sweep of winter's stormy wing.</small></td></tr> - <tr><td align="right"><small><i>William Naylor's MSS.</i></small></td></tr> -</table> -<br> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem38"> - <tr><td align="center">I.<br> </td></tr> - <tr><td>A Maiden sang at morn beside a leaping rivulet—<br> - Blithe merriment was on her lip and in her eye of jet;<br> - Young Spring had shaken from his locks the amethystine beam—<br> - O, it was sweet to hear the hymn of forest girl and stream!<br><br> - A pale youth paddled wantonly far o'er a sunny lake,<br> - And smiled to see the infant leaf in newborn gladness quake;<br> - He had brooded the winter through, until his cheek grew pale<br> - With dreaming mighty deeds, and now it freshened in the gale.<br><br> - A white roe wandered where sweet herbs and tender grass were peeping—<br> - His snowy head was poised in pride, his chainless heart was leaping;<br> - The bugle-bee had called the herd from icy solitude,<br> - And he had come at bugle call—fleet centaur of the wood.<br><br> - A robin bowed her golden breast and spread her gauze-wing forth,<br> - And aye poured she in carol fond her long imprisoned mirth;<br> - No mournful tones, no lute-like wail, were with her music blent;<br> - 'Twas—like the fife's shrill voice—a gush of unmixed merriment.<br> </td></tr> - <tr><td align="center">II.<br> </td></tr> - <tr><td>The maiden wild and rivulet were louder in their glee,<br> - The hidden weed waxed lush beneath its woven canopy,<br> - Old summer's conch o'er air-waves lured his fragrance-breathing throng,<br> - All joy had deepened on the earth, and warmth and light and song.<br> - The youth had seen the singing girl and bowed his soul to love;<br> - Ambition—aspirations—all the subtle springs that move<br> - Man's sleepless youth, were cast aside; old summer's beamy heat<br> - Had fired their souls, and low he knelt in fondness at her feet.<br><br> - The roe leapt on: the robin wove her nest of downy hair,<br> - And light with bliss high hovered as a blossom floats on air—<br> - Girl, brook, and youth had ripened in the gladness born of spring,<br> - Joy still inflamed the wild-deer's heart and plumed the wild-bird's wing.<br> </td></tr> - <tr><td align="center">III.<br> </td></tr> - <tr><td>The marigold and rose had left the valley and the hill,<br> - The pansy frail was sere in dust and dead the daffodil;<br> - The aster tall yet wore its leaves, the "golden rob" its flowers,<br> - But beauty and perfume had gone with summer's radiant hours.<br><br> - From morn to night through forest glades with naught his path to cheer,<br> - The roebuck wandered moodily, o'er leaves all crisped and sere;<br> - The bird still sang, but bridal song had changed to widow's wail,<br> - And mourning she but grieved the more that grief might not avail.<br><br> - But ah! the saddest change of all—the chilling blight had come<br> - On hearts within whose holy bowers young love had made his home;<br> - The verdure had departed thence, the vermeil tenderness<br> - And frosty winds had brought to dust the growth of early bliss.<br><br> - The maiden heard the murmuring stream but murmured no reply,<br> - A melancholy coldness dwelt within her shrouded eye,<br> - She scarcely heard <i>his</i> burning prayer whose love no change might quell,<br> - And only lived enough to breathe an icy "fare-thee-well."<br> </td></tr> - <tr><td align="center">IV.<br> </td></tr> - <tr><td>The sombre autumn-sky no more sent down its mournful rain,<br> - A dim and sickly veil had long o'er hill and hollow lain,<br> - But death at last had trampled on the few remaining flowers,<br> - All save the restless mandrake died with autumn's last sad hours.<br><br> - The mandrake yet remained, and when the keen frost pierced his breast,<br> - Sent forth his voice in agony upon the soughing blast:<br> - It told of happiness too ripe, of dewy rapture fled,<br> - Of ecstacy, and green of heart, with vanished verdure dead.<br><br> - The quiet snow came lightly through the thick and misty air,<br> - And slantingly descended when the cold wind left his lair;<br> - The cold wind! aye, the wind had chilled since buoyed on sunny mirth<br> - Young Euroauster came to woo the virgin bloom of earth.<br><br> - I saw no more the antlered stag—his rocky solitude<br> - Was fitter palace for the king than lea or roofless wood;<br> - The robin's song had died away as all things else must die—<br> - Death's sleet had bound her ribbed wing and dimmed her gleeful eye.<br><br> - I saw the maiden, but alas! the snow thro' ether gliding,<br> - Was not more chill than she, erewhile so tender, so confiding;<br> - I saw the youth—to him naught here might honey-balm impart,<br> - He wandered from the haunts of men in brokenness of heart.<br><br> - Oh, is there not a sympathy of all-controling power<br> - The mother and her brood between—old earth, weak man, frail flower?<br> - From some hearts soon the fetters fall, as spring frees lake and river,<br> - But many with the withered leaf, wear ruin's chain forever.</td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect37"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>LETTERS FROM A SISTER.</h4> - -<blockquote><small>M<small>R</small>. W<small>HITE</small>,—</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The prominent characters in the following pages are fictitious; but the -circumstances narrated are founded on fact, and the descriptions -correct. The author was an actor in the scenes, and visited the places -described. She has not however, relied solely on her own observations -and the oral communications of others, but consulted the best guide -books and historical traditions.</small></blockquote> -<br> -<h5>LETTER FIRST.</h5> - -<blockquote><small>Voyage—Havre de Grace—Light Houses—Frescati Baths, and Sea -Bathing—Tower of Francis the First.</small></blockquote> - -<div align="right">H<small>AVRE DE</small> G<small>RACE</small>, ——. </div> - -<p><i>My Dear Jane:</i>—</p> - -<p>The last wave of your handkerchief, when we parted from you at -Southampton, made me feel quite sad for some time; but the bustling -scene around me at length diverted my thoughts from their gloomy -course, and I employed myself in observing the rapid movements of the -sailors, as they obeyed the orders of their captain, who had the voice -of a stentor, and took no pains to soften it. Our fellow passengers -were an elderly gentleman and his two sons, whom he was going to place -at a boarding school near Havre. We reached this celebrated port in the -evening, and I am happy to tell you (<i>now that it is over</i>,) not -without an adventure. Our parents and Edgar were not very sea sick, but -alas! for Sigismund and myself; we were the <i>Jobs</i> of the party. I mean -as regards <i>suffering</i>, not <i>patience;</i> for of the last we both stood -in need. I already detest the sea, and dread re-crossing it. But all -this time you are unacquainted with our adventure; it was this. When -within a few miles of Havre, a sudden squall arose, and for more than -an hour our situation was truly terrifying. Fortunately the wind blew -from the land, or we should have been wrecked on the "iron bound coast" -which was very near us. The sails of our small vessel flapped with such -violence, that the captain says they must have been torn to pieces if -they had not been perfectly new. We have occupied ourselves since our -arrival here, in walking about the town and riding in its neighborhood. -Yesterday we visited the two light houses on Cape la Héve, and ascended -one of them to view from its roof the surrounding country, which is -beautiful, and bounded on three sides by the ocean. We purchased of an -old woman residing in the light house, some specimens of shell work; -and I chose for you a little dog, ingeniously made of small white -shells, whose tiny black eyes shine as brightly as your own. This -morning we surveyed the Frescati Baths, and the reservoir for oysters -in front of them. The baths are kept in elegant order, and the spacious -mansion containing them presents a handsome exterior. I did not relish -the oysters; they taste of copperas, as do those we get at home—and -this is natural enough, as they come out of the same waters. On the -shore, contiguous to the bathing establishment, we witnessed the -amusing spectacle of ladies and gentlemen in Turkish costume, -struggling in the briny element, whose billows almost threw them down, -although supported by the arms of sturdy sailors, and clinging to ropes -suspended from stakes on the beach. Last night we went to the theatre, -and were much entertained by the performance of Lepeintre, an excellent -comic actor from Paris. Havre is enclosed by lofty walls, outside of -which are deep moats, and the borders of these are covered with a -bright verdure. In the town there is a pleasant walk shaded by lime -trees, and the square in front of the theatre is laid off in gravel -walks, with seats on each side. Here the gentry of the city, and hosts -of children, with their nurses to guard them, assemble every afternoon. -It is also usual for a military band to play there at sunset. The most -interesting object in Havre is an old structure called the "Tower of -Francis the First," in which that monarch was sumptuously feasted by -the [primeval] inhabitants of this place, three centuries ago. But -money must have been of extreme value, and provisions very cheap in -that age, as it is said the banquet cost only thirty pounds; or perhaps -what then was considered a <i>feast</i>, would in these days of luxury be -thought an <i>ordinary meal</i>. The following anecdote will give you an -idea of the strength of the edifice. A crazy soldier once shut himself -up in it while the garrison were dining, and although he was strongly -besieged, maintained possession for two hours ere he was overcome. As -we are to rise at five o'clock to-morrow morning, for the purpose of -embarking for Rouen in the steamboat, I most retire to rest. Accept our -love, and remember us affectionately to aunt Margaret and Albert. I -hope you had a safe journey home from Southampton, and found all well -at the Lodge. Yours,</p> -<div align="right"><small>LEONTINE.</small> </div> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="50"> -<h5>LETTER SECOND.</h5> - -<blockquote><small>The Seine—Quillebeuf—Candebeck—Curious Rite at the Village of St. -Arnold—La Mailleraie—Abbey of Jamičges—Charles the Seventh and Agnes -Sorrel—Chateau of Robert le Diable—Arrival at Rouen.</small></blockquote> - -<div align="right">R<small>OUEN</small>, ——. </div> - -<p><i>My Dear Jane:</i>—</p> - -<p>What a silly creature you are to be sure!—to have preferred the shades -of Morren Lodge, and the company of good aunt Margaret, (not to say -that of somebody else, for fear of a blush,) to accompanying us in our -present tour! I am more and more enchanted as we proceed, and cannot -help bewailing your decision, whenever we are partaking of any pleasure -or amusement. 'Tis true, you tell us that after your marriage next -spring, Albert intends visiting the continent; but dear me! how many -things may occur in the meanwhile to alter your plans. Nay, the knot -may never be tied—for its no "wonder of wonders" now-a-days for lads -and lasses to change their minds. And should you prove a "constant -couple," and the wedding take place, I doubt that Albert will be able -to tear himself from his books and musty parchments. You know I've -often told you, that he never would have fallen in love with your -ladyship, I'm convinced, had he not surprised you that eventful morning -in papa's study, reading the life of the American President Thomas -Jefferson, while the rest of us were playing at battledore on the lawn; -and this you may tell him if you choose. "Well, enough of rattle, -Leontine, (I hear you say,) and do let's have something interesting." -So you shall, sister Jane; and I hasten to give you an account of our -voyage from Havre to this ancient capital. It was delightful! We were -favored with clear skies and propitious breezes, and remained on deck -the whole day to enjoy the scenery, for the banks of the Seine are -highly cultivated, and at every turn present beautiful points of view. -We glided by many villages, and several monasteries and castles. Among -the former I will only mention Quillebeuf and Candebeck. Quillebeuf is -famous for its ninety-nine pilots; and as the navigation there is -extremely dangerous for vessels, they have full employment. It is -remarkable that their number has always been ninety-nine from time -immemorial. Candebeck is situated immediately on the bank of the river, -and Vernet, the celebrated marine painter, pronounced the view from its -quay one of the most beautiful water prospects in France. An old lady -on board the steamboat, told mamma and myself, as we were passing -Candebeck, that a few miles from it there is a village called St. -Arnold, which contains a pool of stagnant water, that many credulous -people believe efficacious in healing cutaneous diseases, and that at a -certain period of the year, numbers who are afflicted with such -disorders go to bathe in the pool. First, however, a particular -ceremony must be performed, or the water will have no effect. Each -applicant for health, must <i>steal</i> from the neighboring woods a stick, -and cast it down to assist in forming a pile. In the evening this is -set on fire by the curate of the village, who comes forth dressed in -his sacerdotal robes, and accompanied by priests chanting a hymn. When -the smoke begins to darken the air, a white pigeon is let loose from -the spire of the church, and the poor deluded sufferers firmly believe -it to be the holy ghost descending from heaven to cure them! Quillebeuf -and Candebeck are both associated with historical recollections. The -former was fortified by Henry the Fourth, who considered it an -important point, and wished to have it called Henry'sville, after -himself. This was not done however, and since his death the -fortifications have been destroyed. It was at Candebeck that William -the Conqueror crossed the Seine in 1047, on his way to Arques, to quell -a sedition among the people there, under the Count of Arques. It was -governed by the famous Talbot during the reign of Henry the Fifth of -England, and the inhabitants distinguished themselves by their bravery -in a combat with the English. At one period it was noted for its -manufactures of hats and gloves; and at that time no one of <i>bon ton</i> -would wear a hat that was not made at Candebeck. The revocation of the -edict of Nantz proved a death blow to the industry of this town. Soon -after leaving it, we passed the Chateau of La Mailleraie, once the -residence of Mademoiselle De la Valličre, during her youth. The mansion -is spacious, and its gardens and thickets looked very inviting. In 1824 -the Duchess of Berri visited this retreat, and breakfasted in the -garden; and to commemorate this circumstance, a white marble column has -been erected there. I wonder they did not surmount it with a -<i>coffee-pot</i>. Beyond La Mailleraie the scenery is rather monotonous, -but at length you approach the Abbey of Jamičges, (founded by Saint -Philibert,) and the landscape becomes lovely. This noble ruin, with its -numerous Gothic windows, was a majestic spectacle. Being situated on a -peninsula, round which our course extended, we had a view of it for a -considerable time; at last, to my regret, it faded from our sight. -Charles the Seventh built a fine villa in the neighborhood of Jamičges, -and here the beautiful, but sinful and unhappy Agnes Sorrel, resided. -At her death her heart was deposited in the Abbey, and her body carried -to Loches, where it was interred with great ceremony in the choir of -the collegiate church, for Agnes had been extremely munificent to the -canons of Loches, giving them two thousand crowns and quantities of -jewels, tapestry and pictures; and these crafty ecclesiastics paid her -remains all due respect during the life of Charles the Seventh, her -royal lover; but after his demise, while Louis the Eleventh was -visiting their church, knowing that he detested Agnes, and designing to -flatter him, they pointed out her tomb and requested permission to have -it removed. "I consent," replied the monarch, (indignant at their -duplicity and ingratitude,) "but you must first restore the riches she -lavished upon you." The last object I will now describe to you is the -Chateau of "Robert le Diable," a wicked wretch, whose crimes sullied -the earth, and whose spirit is believed by the superstitious still to -haunt the places that witnessed them. The scanty remains of his -fortress are just visible on a rocky height on the southern bank of the -Seine. Beneath the steep you behold La Vacherie, a neat little country -seat that is worthy of notice, as being the residence of Madame Bocage -when she composed her "Colombiade." We landed at Rouen about six -o'clock, and are located in a comfortable hotel, where papa says we -will remain until we have seen all the curiosities of this interesting -old city. You will therefore hear from me again ere our departure. -Yours truly,</p> -<div align="right"><small>LEONTINE.</small> </div> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="50"> -<h5>LETTER THIRD.</h5> - -<blockquote><small>Description of Rouen—Cathedral—Church of St. Ouen—Picture Gallery -and Library in the Hotel de Ville—Square of Joan of -Arc—Theatre—Dress of the Norman Peasants.</small></blockquote> - -<div align="right">R<small>OUEN</small>, ——. </div> - -<p><i>My Dear Jane:</i>—</p> - -<p>According to your request and my propensity to scribbling, I intend to -be very circumstantial in my details. Pray don't grow tired of them, or -if you do, keep it a secret, and my vanity may prevent my suspecting -such a misfortune. Mamma gives me great credit for being so industrious -with my pen. Sigismund and Edgar keep a journal; but that requires more -exactness than I possess, so I prefer writing a letter when the humor -takes me. We have been out <i>sight seeing</i>, every morning and afternoon, -until to-day. A brisk rain now confines us to the house, and affords me -leisure for again conversing with you. I will commence my agreeable -task with a description of the town. Its environs are beautiful, but -the interior rather gloomy—the streets are generally so narrow and the -houses so old. It was formerly surrounded by walls and moats; the walls -have been pulled down, and the moats filled up and converted into -public walks. At Rouen, the ancient Dukes of Normandy held their -courts, and it contains many vestiges of their magnificence. The palace -of justice is a vast Gothic structure of the reign of Louis the -Twelfth. Beneath it are prisons, to which they were conducting two -culprits as we entered. One of its various halls is of immense extent, -and has a singular vaulted ceiling, that reminds you of the hulk of a -vessel reversed—a comparison by the by, that is not original with me. -The venerable cathedral, with its lofty spire and painted windows, -engaged us a long while. The spire is three hundred and eighty feet -high, and visible seven or eight leagues. There are two towers; one of -them denominated the <i>butter</i> tower, because the expense of erecting it -was defrayed with money that had been paid by the people for permission -to eat butter during lent! It contained an enormous bell, nearly equal -in size to that at Moscow, and the founder of it is said to have died -in an ecstacy at its completion. This wonderful bell was destroyed -during the revolution. Many illustrious persons are buried in the -cathedral. Among them, Henry the Fifth of France, Richard Cour de Lion, -the Duke of Bedford, and the Cardinals of Amboise. The monument of the -two Cardinals is superb, and covered with arabesque work. They are -represented kneeling on its summit. Above them is a gilded equestrian -statue of St. George, their patron; below them (ranged in niches on the -front of the tomb,) are small marble figures, emblematical of the -virtues they possessed. Opposite this mausoleum is another, equally -remarkable. It is dedicated to the Grand Senéschal Brezé, the husband -of Diana of Poitiers, and governor of Rouen in the sixteenth century. -Of the numerous statues that adorn this tomb, that which represents the -Senéschal as an extended corpse is the most striking, and it is -inimitably executed. The pinched nose, tight drawn skin, hollow cheeks, -and sunken eyes, give it the exact appearance of a dead body. Over the -grand altar of the church hangs a fine painting, by Philip de -Champagne; the subject of it is the adoration of the Magi, and the -light is ingeniously and beautifully reflected from the infant Jesus, -(the <i>light</i> of the world,) upon the surrounding objects. But enough of -the cathedral, Allons á Saint Ouen, famous for its fine interior -perspective, which is curiously and perfectly delineated by reflection -on the surface of the holy water, in the baptismal font, near the chief -portal of the church. St. Ouen was originally a Benedictine abbey. Its -architect Berneval, is buried in one of the chapels, and there is an -<i>improbable</i> tradition concerning him, viz: that he was hung for -assasinating his apprentice, who by excelling him in carving some -trifling ornament for the ceiling, had excited his jealousy. The -painted windows of St. Ouen are beautiful, and shed a mellow lustre -over its triple aisle, which we regretted to exchange for the glare of -the sun without; but time pressed, and we hastened to view the picture -gallery and public library in the Hotel de Ville—neither of them -extensive, though worthy of examination. We next proceeded to the -square of Joan of Arc, where a statue of her is erected on the spot -upon which she was burnt as a sorceress in 1430. Last night we went to -the play. The theatre is a handsome edifice, and the ceiling exhibits -the apothesis of Piérre Corneille. You behold him crowned by tragedy, -while painting and sculpture vie in copying his features, and fame -sounds his praise to the world. Apollo sheds over him his brightness, -and time with his scythe drives away envy and other evil genii inimical -to his glory. The ladies here dress well and tastefully, but the -costume of the peasants is very queer. It is the same throughout -Normandy. They wear high crowned muslin caps, tight boddices, full -plaited short petticoats garnished with rows of black velvet, blue -stockings clocked with red, and black sharptoed shoes, cut low on the -instep, and ornamented with rosettes. They always have a gold cross, -suspended from a black ribbon encircling the neck, and a pair of gold -earrings. But here am I continuing to scribble, and the weather has -cleared off and the carriage is ordered for a drive, and I verily -believe coming to the door. There! papa calls me to descend. In haste, -farewell.</p> -<div align="right"><small>LEONTINE.</small> </div> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect38"></a> -<br> -<br> -<blockquote><small>We refer the reader to the <a href="#doom">editorial head</a> for some remarks upon the -following article.</small></blockquote> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>THE DOOM.</h4> -<br> -<p>M<small>R</small>. W<small>HITE</small>,—I am about to do a very foolish thing, no less than to -write a tale of a mournful love <i>affaire</i>. What has afflicted me with -the propensity, in truth I cannot determine; but though I am conscious -of the folly, I console myself by the unanswerable question, Why shall -not I write as well as other fools?</p> - -<p>What I am about to write is the authentic history of a most melting -love <i>affaire</i>, which took place in this goodly city within the last -five years, and with the persons concerned in it, many of the fair and -fashionable here are, or rather were, acquainted. It was related to me -by the young gentleman himself; of him I will give a short account. Ten -years ago George B——, and myself were schoolfellows, but associated -little together except in school hours. He was a light-hearted and -joyous fellow enough, but at times as moody as the —— himself, and he -always delighted, to an immoderate degree, in the little misfortunes -and calamities that befall schoolboys. If a poor fellow in climbing -over a paling encountered any little point or nail, whereby his nether -garment was lacerated, he it was that first made the discovery, and -raised the war whoop. Consequently he was half feared, and, when absent -wholly hated by all of us, though in his company we all strove to be on -good terms with him. After he left school I saw no more of him for some -years, and when he again came to Richmond, we met on the civil and -polite footing of passing acquaintance, until an accident brought us -together and originated a friendship between us.</p> - -<p>One evening in June, 1832, when the thermometer stood at 94°, I had -managed to convey myself about a mile up the river bank for the purpose -of bathing, and going into the water I splashed about with great vigor, -thinking about Leander's remarkable feat in crossing the Hellespont, -until I felt a great desire to try whether I might not aspire to equal -him, or at least E—— P——, who swam from Mayo's Bridge to Warwick -wharf some years ago. Accordingly after screwing up my courage -grievously, I approached slowly a furious and turbulent stream, which -tumbled over a ledge of rocks, producing some appalling waves and -eddying whirls, commonly known as "sucks." I stood on a rock near and -contemplated it for some moments, until perceiving that my ambition had -very sensibly diminished and was rapidly taking French leave, I was -about to retire without attempting the crossing, when I unfortunately -discovered a head on the opposite side, very quietly watching my -proceedings,—whilst its owner was luxuriously rocking himself about in -the calm element. Ashamed to retreat, while one who had accomplished -what I shrank from, was perhaps chuckling at my fears, I sprang -forward, and ere I was well aware what was the matter, found myself -lifted up, dashed down, whirled around, my limbs pulled and jerked -hither and yon by the infernal waters, whilst the waters above were -foaming over my head and plashing into my face. Finally, I was wearily -and faintly struggling, almost bursting with suppressed respiration; -and with a horrible distinctness, memory was holding up to my mind's -eye every sin wherewith she could charge me,—when my arm was seized -and myself dragged along by a powerful hand. When I recovered -consciousness, I was seated on a rock near shore, and the person to -whom I owed my life was standing by—it was my old schoolfellow, George -B——. I muttered something about gratitude, when he cut me short by -telling me he would have saved the life of a drowning dog with as much -alacrity as he had saved me, and that he would, he thought, deserve my -gratitude more for advising me not again to be fool enough to venture -into deep water until I could swim. This, I thought, was rather taking -a liberty; but he had just saved my life, and I said nothing more while -we were dressing ourselves. Then slowly walking towards the city, we -chatted about schooldays and schoolfellows. From that day we gradually -became better acquainted, until in a few weeks we were intimate -associates. It was but natural that I should be attached to a person -who had rescued me from a watery grave, yet I could not but see that -with many very admirable qualities of heart and mind, there were some -glaring defects and vices about him. He was generous and liberal to -excess, and to the necessities of the indigent his hand was never -closed; he was a true friend, but a bitter, unrelenting enemy; he -cherished revenge as food fit for gods, and therefore the more -delightful to men; no Indian was ever more unforgiving. In person he -was tall and spare; his face was not remarkable for comeliness, though -the features were good; but his eyes gave the charm and power to his -dark pale face; they could fascinate and charm as well as threaten and -command. With a fine and highly cultivated taste, and a strong -well-informed mind; simple in his habits and addicted to no species of -intemperance or dissipation; and with a fortune which placed him out of -the reach of want, yet not enough to dissuade him from exertion, George -B—— seemed destined to play with honor and success the part of a man -among his fellows.</p> - -<p>Our friendship had endured for nearly a twelvemonth, and the gay winter -of 1832-3 had passed. B—— had been absent from town about a month, -when one evening, near the end of May, I met him on the capitol square; -he had arrived a few days before. An uncommon gloom was seated on his -brow; but I was in no melancholic mood myself, and after a few minutes -he seemed to regain his habitual carelessness of look and manner. We -strolled off, jesting and telling anecdotes, until we arrived at the -hill which overlooks the armory. It was a Sabbath evening; and, -according to the <i>commendable</i> custom of the young gentlefolk of -Richmond, frequent parties of six or eight ladies, with their attendant -beaux, passed by the foot of the hill and proceeded up the bank of the -canal. As the ringing laugh of some dashing belle reached us where we -sat on two granite blocks on the top of the hill, B—— would amuse me -by relating some ludicrous anecdote or odd circumstance connected with -the fair laugher. What a quantity of scandal did he impart to me, -which, had it been proclaimed from the house tops, would have procured -him the honor of martyrdom—as surely as that the satire which is so -delightful to female ears when pointed against their friends, seems too -horrible when turned against themselves.</p> - -<p>They passed from our sight, and in a few moments B—— became silent, -and sat with his cheek leaning on his hands. I looked down at the -beautiful river and the city spread out before me, built on the side of -a sweeping hill, like a vast amphitheatre, so beautifully and -faithfully delineated in Cooke's picture, and very soberly speculated -on the probabilities of our ever having such a city as New York or -Philadelphia. I tired at length of such inconclusive speculation, and -turning to my companion with intent to enliven him a little, said, -"B—— you have never told me of any <i>affaire du coeur</i> in which you -were a party; tell me who is or was the goddess of your profane -idolatry."</p> - -<p>He started as if I had stabbed him, and gazed at me with a fixed stare. -I have said that his eyes were remarkably piercing; and I looked away -from his glance, fearing lest, inadvertently, I had awakened a painful -recollection.</p> - -<p>"Tell me," said he, "are you superstitious! Do you think that beings -superior to the laws of humanity have ever appeared to mortals or -conversed with them?" "Not in these latter days at all events," replied -I, "or else I should never have played the many mad pranks that I have -done, on dark still nights, in grave yards and church porches, where -the gentry you speak of would be met with, I imagine, if any where." -"Ah," said he, as if swallowing down a groan, "you jest lightly; but -I will tell you that which will somewhat shake your incredulity." In -spite of me, his manner made some impression on me, though I half -suspected it to be a mere <i>ruse</i>—but my attention became strongly -riveted, as he went on with his story.</p> - -<p>"Five years ago," said he, "I was entering my seventeenth year, and -began to think myself a man, especially as I had been for one session -to college. It was during the first vacation that I went down to —— -county to see my guardian, and to wage war on every living winged -creature, from a sparrow to a turkey buzzard; and during the -continuance of fair weather, I never looked into any thing bearing the -likeness of a book, unless it was to tear out the blank leaves for -wadding. But one cold, raw, windy, drizzly day, after satisfying myself -that there was no more likelihood that the rain would cease, than if it -had been the commencement of the deluge, I desperately picked up a -book, and going to my sleeping apartment, threw myself on my bed and -fell to reading. I forget what it was, but I know it was some -extravagant Italian or Sicilian romance, in which ghosts, angels and -devils mixed themselves up with the human actors, with very little -ceremony. It interested me though wonderfully, and I continued hard at -it until late at night, when having finished it, I got into bed and lay -half thinking, half dreaming, about what I had been reading. A while -after, I heard my name called in a voice which seemed to be near me. I -shivered with dread—but made no answer. Again my name was pronounced; -and the voice continued—'Look! behold her who will blight and wither -up thy happiness and life, and drive thee to an early tomb.' -Unconsciously I sat up and looked around; the room was as dark as -midnight, and the wind sighed mournfully as it swept through the trees -in the yard. Suddenly a light glanced before my eyes; I looked and saw -a room handsomely furnished, with a small round table in the centre, -and near it a sofa. A young lady was standing, apparently just risen -from the sofa, with one hand resting on the table, and the other -extended pointing at me. Her eyes were fastened on my face, with a look -of proud, bitter scorn. I was as one fascinated: she slowly turned her -face from me and waved her hand—then all vanished. I sunk back on my -pillow with a feeling of utter despair: it passed off, and I longed for -revenge. I said aloud, 'devil or angel, grant that I may inflict misery -equal to what I shall suffer, and see her sink before me into the -grave, and then I will not repine at my destiny.' With a perfect -distinctness I heard the words, 'Thy wish is granted.' A feeling of -gratified revenge stole over me, and I sunk into a deep sleep.</p> - -<p>"I awoke in the morning, and having peeped from my window and found the -weather as bad as ever, I again pressed my pillow with design to woo a -morning nap. All at once I recollected the extraordinary vision or -dream of the past night—every circumstance clearly presenting itself -to my mind—every look and gesture of the figure, and every word -uttered, seemed engraved on my memory—I tried to convince myself that -it was a dream; I argued with myself and resolved that it was a -dream—but something within me said, 'it is no dream.' For several days -I thought of nothing else; but at sixteen we are not fond of a long -continued musing about any thing, good or bad; and in the excitement of -hunting, fishing, and going to meetings on Sundays, the impression wore -off by degrees.</p> - -<p>"I returned to college, studied hard, frolicked harder, and was -indefatigable in every piece of mischief which could be devised by the -collective wisdom and ingenuity of eighty boys; and having several -times narrowly escaped suspension and once been threatened with -dismission absolute, I finished the course, and came to Richmond to -amuse myself in every way I could find out; and for want of other -matter to engage me, to dip a little into the sublime study of the law. -The winter of 1831-2 was commencing. The redoubtable cholera had not -yet arrived in America; but all were dreading it. Folks here seemed -determined to take time by the forelock and live merrily while they -could. I made acquaintances; and received invitations to parties, of -which I attended many, where I cannot aver that even my small stock of -ideas was much augmented, though on the score of creature comforts they -were very pleasant; and by dutifully and honestly paying the expected -visit after, acquired the repute of an honest, polite and agreeable -young man. Some unthinking youths are so shortsighted as to care very -little about paying a visit after a party, though they are very -particular in paying it <i>before</i> one is to take place. That was not my -plan: I was always addicted to the calculation of chances, and argued -that as one party had been given at a particular house, possibly, nay -probably, (bating accidents) another might be in the course of time. -Upon this principle I acted, and do not think that I ever lost by it. -The winter passed and summer came on.—I went to the White Sulphur -Springs, and by eating huge dinners and suppers, and drinking the -dreadful waters; galloping about the mountains in Miss ——'s train, -and occasionally walking five or six miles to fish, I got into -prodigious health—my limbs grew firm and hard as iron, and I felt -strong enough to brain a wild bull, or hug a bear to death. But I grew -tired of this life, and early in the fall came back to Richmond to see -what in the deuce the people were doing with the cholera. The -newspapers said the city was as silent and gloomy as a charnel house.</p> - -<p>"Every thing, however, must end; and the cholera's day passed;—by the -middle of November every dead person was forgotten, and every one -living seemed to forget what it was to die. The fashionables came back -in throngs about the time the Legislature commenced its <i>very -necessary</i> and <i>exceedingly laborious</i> annual session; and no one who -had not seen, as I had, piles of coffins six feet deep, waiting for the -graves which were to receive them, could have believed that death and -desolation had so lately hovered over the city.</p> - -<p>"Several parties had been given, and the regular routine had commenced. -On the evening preceding Christmas day, I went to a large party at Mr. -——'s. I was idly engaged—now in managing a jelly, now in munching a -devilled biscuit, when among the new faces shewing themselves about the -room, I discovered one which drew my attention forcibly. It was not a -very beautiful face certainly—but there was about it—a nameless -something which convinced me that she was an uncommon character. On her -pure white high forehead, was stamped the seal of bright intelligence, -and her mouth, which was rather large, indicated a world of humor. I -thought I had seen the face somewhere—but where and when I could not -tell. I inquired her name; Miss ——, staying with her aunt Mrs. ——, -I was told. Now I certainly had never seen Miss ——, though I had -heard of her; for her father lived within a few miles of my guardian's -farm—but her face haunted me as that of one I had known in days gone -by. I was standing with my arms folded, looking the picture of gravity, -when the beautiful young mistress of the merriment making came to me, -and desiring me not to get asleep, with an applauding laugh at her own -wit, said, 'come, I will introduce you to a lady who has eyes as -expressive as your own, and whose vivacity will rouse you, if any thing -can.' I languidly inquired who the lady was to whom she was so very -complimentary—she pointed out Miss ——, and I consented at once. The -introduction was duly gone through with, the pleasure of the lady's -hand for a dance asked and granted, the four cotillons which constitute -the regular allowance performed, and we seated ourselves on a charming -sofa that it really was a delight to repose on. She danced no more that -night, nor did I—but we talked about every thing and about nothing. I -listened to her musical voice and looked at her dark lustrous eyes, -until I determined with myself that I admired her very hugely, and when -I attended her to her carriage at one o'clock, and heard her say that -she would be glad to see me again, I felt as grateful as though she had -done me a kindness.</p> - -<p>"For a fortnight, I was assiduous in cultivating her good graces, until -I flattered myself that I was looked on as by no means an ordinary -acquaintance. About this time morning rides were all the rage. Among -all the young ladies in the city, residents or visiters, Miss —— was -the only one who could at all manage a steed—but what of that? Young -men talked constantly of ——; how deucedly well she sat a horse; -trotting, galloping, at full speed, 'twas all one to her; indeed in -all, save perhaps one particular, she was a perfect Diana Vernon—and -no wonder that fashion and the desire of notoriety should induce many -young ladies, who knew as little about riding as they did about the -Bible, to try to rival her. Miss —— was no exception. I was riding -one morning with a party of ladies and gentlemen, when the horse of one -of the gentlemen took fright at something, and off he started. We rode -rapidly after him to see what would be the result. The horse was -dashing down the road like the wind—suddenly he stopped short, and his -unlucky rider darted from his saddle like a bull-frog in full leap, and -plunged head foremost into a pile of brushwood, where his legs alone -remained visible, gesticulating vigorously. Up we rode in great horror, -thinking the poor fellow's neck was broken to a certainty; but no such -thing—his time was not yet come. We hauled him forth, and found, that -with the exception of a few digs and scratches about his face, he was a -whole, though a miserably crest-fallen man. That evening I related the -adventure of our morning ride to Miss ——, and instead of operating as -a damper to her desire of riding, she became more resolutely bent on -it—nothing would do but I must ride with her next day. Accordingly, -next morning we started; she riding a quiet looking pacing nag, and I -on that large fiery grey horse that broke my barouche to pieces, the -day you rode with me to Fairfield and nearly broke our necks into the -bargain.</p> - -<p>"I felt uncommonly dull and sleepy that morning, and was so absent that -at length I fairly wore out my companion's patience, which, by the way, -was not equal to Grissel's, and in order to rouse me from my dreaming -fit, endeavored to give me a smart cut with her switch, which missed -me—but took effect on my horse's flank. He sprang forward, and kicking -violently, pitched me from the saddle, and down I came luckily on a -soft sandy place. I jumped up and saw Miss ——'s nag rearing and -plunging furiously, and her rider clinging to the saddle with one hand -and the mane with the other. In an instant I was at the animal's head, -and seizing her nose with a powerful grasp held her quiet, while I -lifted Miss —— from her saddle. Her face was pale, her lip quivered -with terror, and she trembled so violently that I was obliged to put my -arm round her waist to support her. I congratulated her on her escape -from the danger, and proposed that we should continue our ride, as my -horse had stopped near us and was attentively looking on, promising her -at the same time to be very attentive during the ride, and not compel -her to lash my horse in order to draw my notice. 'No,' she said, 'she -could not, she would never attempt to ride again.' I became uneasy and -earnestly besought her to permit me to lift her to her saddle, adding, -that should our mishap be known, we should be rallied to death about -it. At length she consented to ride slowly home. Neither said any thing -to any one about our ride—but I could not forget that my arm had -encircled ——'s slender waist. I became absorbingly devoted to her; -and one day when I found her alone, with her cheek resting pensively on -her little hand, I was foolish enough to tell her that I believed I -loved her, and said a deal of nonsense besides, to which she listened -with quiet resignation, and when I had finished, she tendered her hand -to kiss.</p> - -<p>"About ten days after this event, my guardian came to town, bringing -with him his daughter, a beautiful little creature, with whom I had -been brought up as a brother. The day after their arrival, there was a -party, to which I was to attend Miss ——. My guardian was an elderly, -staid gentleman, fond of his ease, and made it a point of conscience to -go to his rest at ten o'clock regularly, and I thought it was incumbent -on me to go with his pretty daughter. I therefore wrote a short note to -Miss ——, telling her how matters stood, and thought nothing more -about it until we arrived at the party, where I looked in vain for her. -'She will be here after a while,' thought I—and to pass off the time -agreeably, I danced with my fair companion. The night wore away, and -still the girl I wished most to see did not arrive, nor could I -conjecture the cause of her absence. Next day I went with my guardian -and my sweet cousin, as I called her, to see some paintings at the -Museum, and other sights; and the day after, she insisted that I should -accompany her in a shopping expedition. Now there is nothing in the -shape of labor or suffering that I would not sooner undergo, than -accompany a lady, and more especially a very fair young lady, shopping; -they look at a thousand things, ask one's opinion or advice about every -thing, and as a matter of course, follow it in nothing—besides all -that, I was very anxious to see Miss —— that morning; but was obliged -to submit.</p> - -<p>"Next morning I paid her an early visit—she was sitting at the table -writing as I entered. As she looked up at me I thought I noticed -somewhat of displeasure in her eyes, and it occurred to me at once that -perhaps she was not pleased at my failure to attend her to the party. -If so, her pettishness was obviously unreasonable in the extreme, and I -forthwith determined to anger her a little, if I discovered my surmise -to be well founded.</p> - -<p>"I talked to her for some time very courteously. Her brow began to -clear up, and I feared lest she should become entirely good humored and -leave me no opportunity to vex her; so I spoke of the party, mentioned -some who were there, and how delightful the whole affair was: eatables, -drinkables, music, ladies and all, charming; and amongst other things I -dilated with great emphasis on my cousin, praised her beauty, her -gracefulness, her wit; spoke of the admiration she excited, and -concluded by declaring that she was by far the most interesting girl I -had seen there—and I ran my fingers through my curling hair, and -thrusting my right leg out before me, gazed complacently at the toe of -my pump.</p> - -<p>"Miss —— looked at the fire and twisted the unfortunate pen she held -in her hand, into many unnatural shapes—but said nothing.</p> - -<p>"'Well,' resumed I, 'I could not imagine why you were not there; I -looked for you once or twice during the evening, and was astonished -when I heard that you had not come.'</p> - -<p>"'Oh, I received your note telling me that you would accompany another -lady, and not wishing to go abegging for an escort, resolved to stay at -home.'</p> - -<p>"'What a pity!' said I, 'if you had been there I should have had -nothing to wish for; as it was, the evening passed delightfully—I -scarce left my little cousin's side. Yesterday she carried me shopping -with her all the morning, and the day before I went with her to see the -Ariadne. She is very much like the picture, and has the same beautiful -fair complexion, the same blue eyes and yellow hair, which I admire so -much, you know.'</p> - -<p>"I looked up at Miss ——; she was gazing fixedly at me. I noticed a -tear in her eye, as she turned away and rested her cheek on her dear -little hand. I began to think matters were becoming too serious.</p> - -<p>"'Sweet ——,' I began, in an altered and earnest tone.—She raised her -head suddenly and I trembled at her glance.</p> - -<p>"'<i>Sweet</i> ——,' she repeated, with scornful emphasis—'George, I owe -you my life, and for that I shall always feel gratitude. I have loved -you for yourself—for I thought you generous, sensible and sincere. -Your present conduct shews how much I have been deceived in you, and -the love I have been proud to feel is lost in contempt.' She rose from -her seat as she spoke.—Heaven and Earth! The figure seen in my almost -forgotten vision stood before me. I was motionless with horror—a -dagger of ice seemed slowly to pierce my breast—I covered my eyes with -my hand and groaned:—Too fearfully were the words of doom fulfilled.</p> - -<p>"I rose slowly from my chair, bowed low to —— and leaving the house, -hurried to my room and threw myself on my bed. There I writhed in -convulsive agony, and in the frenzy of unutterable despair cursed the -hour in which I was born. The criminal who, in the confident hope of -pardon, and indulging in dreams of long life and happiness, is suddenly -dragged forth to the gallows, feels not a tythe of the utter desolation -I then felt. By degrees my frenzy subsided, and a dull stupor was -coming over me,—when the word '<i>Revenge</i>' was muttered in my ear. I -remembered the promise. '<i>Revenge</i> is mine, and I will wreak it to the -uttermost.' I became perfectly calm—it was the calm of despair. I had -nothings to hope for but revenge, and then, come what might, I would be -ready to meet it! 'Yes,' said I aloud, 'I will twine myself round her -heartstrings—she shall love me devotedly, fatally, and I will requite -her with a contempt colder than the snows on Cotapaxi, and a hate more -intense than its fires.'</p> - -<p>"In a few days my guardian left town with his daughter. I went about as -usual and frequently met Miss ——, to whom I always spoke with an air -of grave politeness—but never alluded to her displeasure. I soon saw -that her anger was passed like a summer cloud, and that she was not at -all indisposed to a renewal of our former intimacy. One evening at a -party somewhere, I was engaged in a lively conversation with her, and -was quietly offering her many little polite attentions, from which a -casual observer would have inferred that we were excellent friends—but -there was nothing of confiding, affectionate interest in my tone or -looks: all was the calm, cold, habitual politeness of a thorough bred -man of the world. After a silence of some minute or two, she said -kindly, 'George, I am sorry for what I said in my hasty anger and would -be delighted if you would forgive and forget it'—and she offered me -her hand. I would have spurned it from me—but the time was not yet -come. So I took her hand in mine, and with a grateful pressure, thanked -her for her condescending goodness. 'Now,' said she, with one of her -most endearing smiles, 'we are good friends again.'</p> - -<p>"For an instant my dire resolution seemed melting away—but I steeled -myself relentlessly, and swore by my own head to pursue my revenge. -From that day forth I was unremitting in my endeavor to gain her whole -heart—every word and look was directed to that end. For hours have I -sat with her, pouring out for her attentive ear whatever my more -masculine studies had made me conversant with, but which to her had -been as a sealed book.</p> - -<p>"At length I saw that I had succeeded; her whole being seemed bound up -in my love, and I felt that my victim was in my power. 'Now for -revenge,' I muttered, as I walked slowly to the door and rang the bell. -The room was empty as I entered; I sat down and pondered over the best -and surest mode of attaining my wish. Presently I heard a light step -hurrying down the staircase, and slackening in speed as it approached -the door. I threw a slight expression of gloom over my features; the -door opened, and Miss —— entered and greeted me with a mingling of -cordiality and bashfulness which at one time would have brought me on -my knees before her: now it was of no avail. She soon noticed the -sadness of my looks, and inquired the cause. 'I was thinking,' I -replied, 'of a past and most painful event. It was here, in this room, -that I heard, from lips that were dearest to me of all on earth, words -which stunned me more than a thunderbolt would have done, and she who -spoke them sate where you now sit.'</p> - -<p>"'Hush, sweet; hush,' said she, playfully putting her hand on my mouth, -'and do not again allude to an occurrence which I regret so much. -Indeed,' she continued, while her eyes filled with tears, 'indeed, I -would do any thing to convince you how much it has grieved me.'</p> - -<p>"I smiled fondly, and rising from my chair, seated myself by her side, -and took her little hand in mine.</p> - -<p>"'F——,' said I, 'you have told me that you loved me, and I believed -you; I need not say how dearly I have loved you. Listen, dear girl, to -what my love compels me to tell. Until this day I have been accustomed -to think of myself as one beyond the reach of poverty, although not -rich: this very day I have learned that I am well nigh pennyless. Our -engagement is yet unknown to any save ourselves, and it remains with -you to say whether it shall continue. I release you entirely from your -promise, and never by word or deed will I reproach you, should you -listen to the voice of prudence, and decline linking your fate to that -of one who has nothing save the gushing tenderness and love of a -passionate heart to offer you. If your generous mind reject the thought -of discarding me for my poverty, think on all you will have to undergo; -the loss of all that custom has rendered almost necessary; "the proud -man's contumely—the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune;" -perchance the bitings of absolute penury;—and tell me, can you leave -family and friends, and your childhood's home, and endure all for the -sake of my love?'</p> - -<p>"My arm had encircled her waist, and I gazed steadfastly on her face. -The proud blood rose in her pale cheek as she answered, 'George, I do -love you more than I know how to express, and ever for yourself alone. -I can now show you how completely I am yours, for my love can end but -with my life.'</p> - -<p>"Wildly, fearfully, did the fiery blood bound through my tingling -veins. I drew her to me; her head lay on my shoulder, and I covered -with kisses her forehead, her eyes, her cheek, her lips. Tears of -passionate love burst from my eyes, and I pressed her to my heart in an -agony of uncontrollable delight. Slowly my calmness returned, and again -'revenge! revenge!' sounded in my ear.</p> - -<p>"I withdrew my arm from her, but still retained her hand, and said in a -quiet tone, 'Listen again, and swear by your hopes of heaven that you -will divulge to no mortal ear what I shall say.' She did so, and I -continued: 'Two months ago you told me that you scorned and despised -me: I swore to requite it—and now I tell you, and I swear by the crown -of the eternal king I tell you truly, that I abhor you; I scorn and -hate you more than I do the wretch who has murdered her infant child.' -I flung from me as I spoke the hand I held, and rising from my seat, -stood with my arms folded, looking her full in the face.</p> - -<p>"For a moment she gazed wildly at me, as if she did not comprehend what -I had said; but as the dreadful truth forced itself on her mind her -face became white as chalk, her eyelids quivered convulsively, and with -almost a scream she fell back in a swoon. I raised her, and getting -some water from a flower jar, I sprinkled it over her face, and -supported her in my arms. In a few minutes she opened her eyes, and -fixed them on me with a gaze of imperfect consciousness; my arm still -supported her. 'Oh George, George,' she murmured, clasping my neck with -her arms, and sobbing bitterly, 'how could you jest so cruelly with me? -I know you were not in earnest; you could not speak so in earnest to -your own F——; but your dreadful look frightened me almost to death;' -and she hid her face in my bosom, and sobbed as if her heart would -break. For a few moments her sobs continued, and then she gradually -recovered herself. I quietly unclasped her hands from my neck, and -again rising from the sofa, said in a bitter tone, 'compose yourself -Miss ——, and be assured that I am in earnest. Look on my face, and -see a man marked for the grave—and you are my destroyer. You have -blighted all my happiness in this world; and before the leaves which -are new budding shall fall, I will be sleeping in my cold grave. But -<i>now</i> vengeance is mine, and I have repaid you; your death blow has -been stricken, and soon, very soon, will you wither in your early tomb, -where I shall speedily follow. Remember your dreadful oath.'</p> - -<p>"She did not move nor weep, but her eyes were fixed on me with a -fearful stare as the charmed bird regards the rattlesnake, and followed -me as I moved from the room. Next day I heard that Miss —— had been -discovered in the room where I left her in a state of insensibility, -and had with difficulty been aroused from it, but was alarmingly ill. -Conjecture was at fault as to the cause of her illness; among the -thousand and one suppositions none came near the truth, and nothing -could be learned from her. She was obstinately silent, as the attending -physician, a pragmatical, dogmatical fellow, chose to report. A week -passed and she was thought somewhat better; and her father, who had -hurried to town on hearing of her illness, insisted on carrying her to -the country with him. Another week passed and I heard nothing of her. I -became anxious; I wished to see her again; to mark the progress of -death, and exult in the completion of my revenge. I went down to my -guardian's house. They were all speaking of poor F—— when I arrived; -she was not expected to live forty-eight hours.</p> - -<p>"Next day my guardian, his daughter and myself rode over to Mr. ——'s -to see F—— once more. Her mother was weeping and refusing to be -comforted: she was her only child. I did not see her father; like -Hagar, he had taken a last look at his child, and had gone into the -woods to mourn unseen—he could not see his child die.</p> - -<p>"My cousin and her father went into the dying girl's room, while I -remained conversing with some of the neighbors who were there. After -some time had elapsed they came out; she came to me weeping bitterly, -and said that Miss —— desired to see me alone. I almost trembled, but -hastened to the room; no one was there save the dying girl. There she -lay, her dark hair loose over her pillow, her fine face attenuated and -white as alabaster; one hand was exposed to view—it was shrunk almost -to nothing—but the lustre of her eyes was yet undiminished. I moved to -the bedside and gazed in silence on the yet living remains of the most -angelic spirit that I have met with in my intercourse with my fellow -mortals. 'George,' said she in a weak voice, 'in a few minutes I shall -breathe my last, yet I love you as fondly as ever, notwithstanding your -cruel treatment of me. Oh speak to me, George! tell me that you love -me, and I will forgive you and die contented.' My desire for revenge -melted away; I felt almost choked with emotion, and throwing myself on -my knees I kissed her emaciated hand and wept tears of bitter regret: -inextinguishable love burned in my heart, and I moaned in her ear, -'F——, my sweet, sweet F——, I do love you, and have ever loved you -more than all the world holds beside, but it was fated that thus it -should be!' A smile of delight spread over her face, her dying hand -pressed mine—and in a whisper almost inaudible she said, 'Farewell, we -will meet hereafter.' Her breathing fluttered and ceased—she was dead. -I imprinted a last kiss on her face, still lovely even in death, and -left the room.</p> - -<p>"I saw her body committed to the earth and her grave sprinkled with -early violets; and when all was over, we left the bereaved family to -their sorrows.—Since that day I have impatiently awaited the approach -of death, but my sufferings have not terminated as soon as I wished. At -times a dreadful feeling of remorse has seized me, and in agonies that -cannot be described have I writhed during many sleepless nights—but I -was a mere instrument in the hands of unalterable fate.</p> - -<p>"A few days since I came to Richmond to arrange some business. -To-morrow I shall leave this city for New York, where I shall stay for -some weeks. After this day I shall never see you again."</p> - -<p>He ceased. I wished to say something, but his recital had made so -strong an impression on me, and he seemed so fully fixed in the belief -of his approaching death, that I was silent. The shades of evening -began to deepen around us, and the full moon rose struggling through a -bank of clouds. "Come," said B——, "go with me to my room; I have -something to give you as a memento of me." We went to his room and he -took from a desk a dirk of beautiful workmanship, the handle richly -ornamented with gold, and giving it to me said, "take this and keep it. -I have been strongly tempted to use it against myself, but have -refrained, for it shall not be said that I feared to live. Farewell. I -have something to do, and you will excuse me." I wrung his hand and we -parted. I never saw him again; but in the latter part of July I heard -that he had returned from New York in a low state of health, having, as -was said, wasted rapidly in a consumption. Early in August he died, -making it his last request to be buried by the grave of Miss ——. It -was complied with, and before he completed the twenty-second year of -his age, he slept by the side of her he had loved. Peace to their ashes!</p> -<div align="right"><small>BENEDICT.</small> </div> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect39"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>THE CHANGES OF NATURE.</h4> - -<center><small>Cum polo Phoebus roseis quadrigis.—<i>Boet: Lib. ii. Met. iii.</i></small></center> -<br><br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem39"> - <tr><td>How oft when Sol, in rosy car,<br> - Pursues his radiant race,<br> - The malice of the evil star<br> - Sheds paleness o'er his face!<br><br> - How oft when Spring sets out her flowers,<br> - And opening blossoms play,<br> - An angry cloud, with chilling showers,<br> - Sweeps all their charms away!<br><br> - How oft when Ocean smiles serene,<br> - Composing all his waves,<br> - A sudden storm confounds the scene,<br> - And sailors find their graves!<br><br> - Oh! then, since this is Nature's style,<br> - Still changing from her birth,<br> - Why trust her false, deceitful smile?<br> - Why look for rest on earth?</td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect40"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>ORIGINAL LITERARY NOTICES.</h4> -<br> -<blockquote><small>THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII. By the author of Pelham, &c. 2 vols. New -York: Harper & Brothers. 1834.</small></blockquote> - -<p>The "Messenger" ought to have contained an earlier notice of this -fashionable and brilliant work. If our readers have not seen it, we -would advise them by all means to send forthwith to the bookseller and -purchase a copy. We are free to confess that it has raised Mr. Bulwer -fifty per cent. at least in our estimation,—yet we do not think it by -any means a faultless performance. Mr. Bulwer's pictures, in all his -works that we have read, are too gaudy,—too highly wrought,—and -therefore too much above nature,—and want the delightful repose and -serene features which distinguish the great Scottish magician. He is, -nevertheless, an author of vivid and powerful fancy, of extensive -learning, and of high capacity to seize upon his readers and enchain -them by fine imagery and impassioned eloquence. The work before us is -one of undoubted merit. The subject is of great historical interest, -and the author has contrived to reanimate the "city of the dead" with a -group of actors who, with some exceptions, admirably sustain their -respective parts, and contribute their due share to the continued -interest and final catastrophe of the story. We shall not attempt any -analysis of the book, for that would be to deprive such of our readers -as have not seen it, of much of that exquisite pleasure which attends -the progressive developement of the plot, and the gradual -disentanglement of all the intricacies in a work of fiction. The -tragical story of Pompeii is familiar to classical readers, and -especially the graphic account of its doom by the younger Pliny, who -was an eye witness to the calamity. Its discovery and partial -restoration in latter times,—the laborious excavations which have -brought back its temples, its theatres, its triumphal arches and -spacious edifices, to the light of day;—its antique curiosities and -fine paintings, rescued as it were from a dark interment of seventeen -centuries, and now exhibited in their original form and freshness, are -all circumstances of powerful interest,—but have been so frequently -referred to by tourists, antiquarians and others, that they do not -require any particular notice at our hands. We regard Mr. Bulwer as -highly fortunate in the choice of his subject; and, as he enjoyed great -advantages by his presence on the spot, he has contrived to embellish -his story by a variety of interesting details derived from actual -inspection. The minute account, for example, of the dwelling of -Glaucus, in the third chapter,—of the complicated arrangement and -splendid ornaments of the various apartments, is not the creation of -fancy but a lively representation of a living model. By the way, since -this same chapter contains a very curious account of a Pompeian supper, -besides some other interesting matters, we are tempted to insert the -whole in our columns, especially as many of our readers may have no -opportunity of seeing the volumes from which it is extracted. The -<i>umbra</i>, who is introduced as one of the guests, is a species of animal -not peculiar we believe, to the Roman age. Society has in all ages -abounded in parasites and toadies, who, for the sake of a plentiful -repast and <i>fashionable</i> company, have very willingly echoed the -sentiments of a rich patron. Glaucus, one of the principal personages -in the tale, had assembled a small party to partake of his luxurious -bounty,—and the chapter opens with a fine description of the host -himself. We introduce it to our readers.</p><a name="sect41"></a> - -<hr align="center" width="50"> - -<blockquote><small>Heaven had given to Glaucus every blessing but one: it had given him -beauty, health, fortune, genius, illustrious descent, a heart of fire, -a mind of poetry; but it had denied him the heritage of freedom. He was -born in Athens, the subject of Rome. Succeeding early to an ample -inheritance, he had indulged that inclination for travel so natural to -the young, and had drunk deep of the intoxicating draught of pleasure, -amid the gorgeous luxuries of the imperial court.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>He was an Alcibiades without ambition. He was what a man of -imagination, youth, fortune and talents readily becomes when you -deprive him of the inspiration of glory. His house at Rome was the -theme of the debauchees, but also of the lovers of art; and the -sculptors of Greece delighted to task their skill in adorning the -porticoes and <i>exedra</i> of an Athenian. His retreat in Pompeii—alas! -the colors are faded now, the walls stripped of their paintings!—its -main beauty, its elaborate finish of grace and ornament, is gone; yet -when first given once more to the day, what eulogies, what wonder did -its minute and glowing decorations create—its paintings—its mosaics! -Passionately enamoured of poetry and the drama, which recalled to -Glaucus the wit and the heroism of his race, that fairy mansion was -adorned with representations of Ćschylus and Homer. And antiquaries, -who resolve taste to a trade, have turned the patron to the professor, -and still (though the error is now acknowledged) they style in custom, -as they first named in mistake, the disburied house of the Athenian -Glaucus, "<small>THE HOUSE OF THE DRAMATIC POET</small>."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Previous to our description of this house, it may be well to convey to -the reader a general notion of the houses of Pompeii, which he will -find to resemble strongly the plans of Vitruvius; but with all those -differences, in detail, of caprice and taste which, being natural to -mankind, have always puzzled antiquaries. We shall endeavor to make -this description as clear and unpedantic as possible.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>You enter then, usually, by a small entrance passage (called -<i>vestibulum</i>) into a hall, sometimes with (but more frequently without) -the ornament of columns; around three sides of this hall are doors -communicating with several bed chambers, (among which is the porter's,) -the best of these being usually appropriated to country visiters. At -the extremity of the hall, on either side to the right and left, if the -house is large, there are two small recesses, rather than chambers, -generally devoted to the ladies of the mansion; and in the centre of -the tesselated pavement of the hall is invariably a square shallow -reservoir for rain water (classically termed <i>impluvium</i>,) which was -admitted by a hole in the roof above; the said aperture being covered -at will by an awning. Near this impluvium, which had a peculiar -sanctity in the eyes of the ancients, were sometimes (but at Pompeii -more rarely than at Rome) placed images of the household gods; the -hospitable hearth, often mentioned by the Roman poets, and consecrated -to the Lares, was, at Pompeii, almost invariably formed by a moveable -<i>brasier;</i> while in some corner, often the most ostentatious place, was -deposited a huge wooden chest, ornamented and strengthened by bands of -bronze or iron, and secured by strong hooks upon a stone pedestal so -firmly as to defy the attempts of any robber to detach it from its -position. This chest was supposed to be the money-box or coffer of the -master of the house; though, as no money has been found in any of the -chests discovered at Pompeii, it is probable that it was sometimes -rather designed for ornament than use.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>In this hall (or <i>atrium</i>, to speak classically) the clients and -visiters of inferior rank were usually received. In the houses of the -more "respectable," an <i>atriensis</i>, or slave peculiarly devoted to the -service of the hall, was invariably retained, and his rank among his -fellow slaves was high and important. The reservoir in the centre must -have been rather a dangerous ornament, but the centre of the hall was -like the grass-plat of a college, and interdicted to the passers to and -fro, who found ample space in the margin. Right opposite the entrance, -at the other end of the hall, was an apartment (<i>tablinum</i>,) in which -the pavement was usually adorned with rich mosaics, and the walls -covered with elaborate paintings. Here were usually kept the records of -the family, or those of any public office that had been filled by the -owner: on one side of this saloon, if we may so call it, was often a -dining room, or <i>triclinium;</i> on the other side, perhaps, what we -should now term a cabinet of gems, containing whatever curiosities were -deemed most rare and costly; and invariably a small passage for the -slaves to cross to the farther parts of the house without passing the -apartments thus mentioned. These rooms all opened on a square or oblong -colonnade, technically termed peristyle. If the house was small, its -boundary ceased with this colonnade, and in that case its centre, -however diminutive, was ordinarily appropriated to the purpose of a -garden, and adorned with vases of flowers placed upon pedestals, while -under the colonnade, to the right and left, were doors, admitting to -bed rooms,<small><sup>1</sup></small> to a second <i>triclinium</i>, or eating room, (for the -ancients generally appropriated two rooms at least to that purpose, one -for summer and one for winter, or perhaps one for ordinary, the other -for festive occasions;) and if the owner affected letters, a cabinet, -dignified by the name of library,—for a very small room was sufficient -to contain the few rolls of papyrus which the ancients deemed a notable -collection of books.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>1</sup></small> The Romans had bed rooms appropriated not only to the -sleep of night, but also to the day siesta (<i>cubicula diurna</i>.)</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>At the end of the peristyle was generally the kitchen. Supposing the -house was large, it did not end with the peristyle, and the centre -thereof was not in that case a garden, but might be perhaps adorned -with a fountain, or basin for fish; and at its end, exactly opposite to -the tablinum, was generally another eating room, on either side of -which were bed rooms, and perhaps a picture saloon, or <i>pinatheca</i>.<small><sup>2</sup></small> -These apartments communicated again with a square or oblong space, -usually adorned on three sides with a colonnade like the peristyle, and -very much resembling the peristyle, only longer. This was the proper -<i>viridarium</i> or garden, being usually adorned with a fountain, or -statues, and a profusion of gay flowers: at its extreme end was the -gardener's house; on either side beneath the colonnade were sometimes, -if the size of the family required it, additional rooms.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>2</sup></small> In the stately palaces of Rome, the pinatheca usually -communicated with the atrium.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>At Pompeii, a second or third story was rarely of importance, being -built only above a small part of the house, and containing rooms for -the slaves; differing in this respect from the more magnificent -edifices of Rome, which generally contained the principal eating room -(or <i>coenaculum</i>) on the second floor. The apartments themselves were -ordinarily of small size: for in those delightful climes they received -any extraordinary number of visiters in the peristyle (or portico,) the -hall, or the garden; and even their banquet rooms, however elaborately -adorned and carefully selected in point of aspect, were of diminutive -proportions; for the intellectual ancients, being fond of society, not -of crowds, rarely feasted more than nine at a time, so that large -dinner rooms were not so necessary with them as with us.<small><sup>3</sup></small> But the -suite of rooms seen at once from the entrance must have had a very -imposing effect; you beheld at once the hall richly paved and -painted—the tablinum—the graceful peristyle, and (if the house -extended farther) the opposite banquet room and the garden, which -closed the view with some gushing fount or marble statue.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>3</sup></small> When they entertained very large parties, the feast was -usually served in the hall.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The reader will now have a tolerable notion of the Pompeian houses, -which resembled in some respects the Grecian, but mostly the Roman, -fashion of domestic architecture. In almost every house there is some -difference in detail from the rest, but the principal outline is the -same in all. In all you find the hall, the tablinum, and the peristyle -communicating with each other; in all you find the walls richly -painted, and in all the evidence of a people fond of the refining -elegancies of life. The purity of the taste of the Pompeians in -decoration is however questionable: they were fond of the gaudiest -colors, of fantastic designs; they often painted the lower half of -their columns a bright red, leaving the rest uncolored; and where the -garden was small, its wall was frequently tinted to deceive the eye as -to its extent, imitating trees, birds, temples, &c. in perspective—a -meretricious delusion which the graceful pedantry of Pliny himself -adopted, with a complacent pride in its ingenuity.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>But the house of Glaucus was at once one of the smallest, and yet of -the most adorned and finished, of all the private mansions of Pompeii; -it would be a model at this day for the house of "a single man in -Mayfair"—the envy and despair of the coelibian purchasers of buhl and -marquetrie.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>You enter by a long and narrow vestibule, on the floor of which is the -image of a dog in mosaic, with the well known "cave canem," or "beware -the dog." On either side is a chamber of some size; for the interior -house not being large enough to contain the two great divisions of -private and public apartments, these two rooms were set apart for the -reception of visiters who neither by rank nor familiarity were entitled -to admission in the penetralia of the mansion.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Advancing up the vestibule, you enter an atrinum, that when first -discovered was rich in paintings, which <i>in point of expression</i> would -scarcely disgrace a Raphael. You may see them now transplanted to the -Neapolitan Museum; they are still the admiration of connoisseurs; they -depict the parting of Achilles and Briseis. Who does not acknowledge -the force, the vigor, the beauty! employed in delineating the forms and -faces of Achilles and the immortal slave!</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>On one side the atrinum, a small staircase admitted to the apartments -for the slaves on the second floor; there too were two or three small -bed rooms, the walls of which portrayed the rape of Europa, the battle -of the Amazons, &c.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>You now enter the tablinum, across which at either end hung rich -draperies of Tyrian purple, half withdrawn.<small><sup>4</sup></small> On the walls were -depicted a poet reading his verses to his friends; and in the pavement -was inserted a small and most exquisite mosaic, typical of the -instructions given by the director of the stage to his comedians.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>4</sup></small> The tablinum was also secured at pleasure by sliding -doors.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>You passed through this saloon and entered the peristyle; and here (as -I have said before was usually the case with the smaller houses of -Pompeii) the mansion ended. From each of the seven columns that adorned -this court hung festoons of garlands; the centre, supplying the place -of a garden, bloomed with the rarest flowers, placed in vases of white -marble, that were supported on pedestals. At the left end of this small -garden was a diminutive fane, resembling one of those small chapels -placed at the side of roads in Catholic countries, and dedicated to the -Penates; before it stood a bronze tripod; to the left of the colonnade -were two small cubiculi or bed rooms; to the right was the triclinium, -in which the guests were now assembled.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>This room is usually termed by the antiquaries of Naples, "the chamber -of Leda;" and in the beautiful work of Sir William Gell, the reader -will find an engraving from that most delicate and graceful painting of -Leda presenting her new-born to her husband, from which the room -derives its name. This beautiful apartment opened upon the fragrant -garden. Round the table of citrean<small><sup>5</sup></small> wood, highly polished and -delicately wrought with silver arabesques, were placed the three -couches, which were yet more common at Pompeii than the semi-circular -seat that had grown lately into fashion at Rome; and on these couches -of bronze, studded with richer metals, were laid thick quiltings -covered with elaborate broidery, and yielding luxuriously to the -pressure.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>5</sup></small> The most valued wood; not the modern citron tree. Some, -among whom is my learned friend Mr. W. S. Landor, conjecture it, with -much plausibility, to have been mahogany.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Well, I must own," said the ćdile Pansa, "that your house, though -scarcely larger than a case for one's fibulć, is a gem of its kind. How -beautifully painted is that parting of Achilles and Briseis!—what a -style!—what heads!—what a—hem!"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Praise from Pansa is indeed valuable on such subjects," said Clodius, -gravely. "Why, the paintings on <i>his</i> walls—ah! there is, indeed, the -hand of a Zeuxis!"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"You flatter me, my Clodius; indeed you do," quoth the ćdile, who was -celebrated through Pompeii for having the worst paintings in the world; -for he was patriotic, and patronised none but Pompeians,—"you flatter -me: but there is something pretty—Ćdepol, yes—in the colors, to say -nothing of the design;—and then for the kitchen, my friends—ah! that -was all my fancy."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"What is the design?" said Glaucus. "I have not yet seen your kitchen, -though I have often witnessed the excellence of its cheer."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"A cook, my Athenian—a cook sacrificing the trophies of his skill on -the altar of Vesta, with a beautiful murćna (taken from the life) on a -spit at a distance: there is some invention there!"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>At that instant the slaves appeared, bearing a tray covered with the -first preparative initia of the feast. Amid delicious figs, fresh herbs -strewed with snow, anchovies, and eggs, were ranged small cups of -diluted wine sparingly mixed with honey. As these were placed on the -table, young slaves bore round to each of the five guests (for there -were no more) the silver basin of perfumed water and napkins edged with -a purple fringe. But the ćdile ostentatiously drew forth his own -napkin, which was not, indeed, of so fine a linen, but in which the -fringe was twice as broad, and wiped his hands with the parade of a man -who felt he was calling for admiration.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"A splendid <i>mappa</i> that of yours," said Clodius; "why, the fringe is -as broad as a girdle."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"A trifle, my Clodius, a trifle! They tell me this stripe is the latest -fashion at Rome; but Glaucus attends to these things more than I."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Be propitious, O Bacchus!" said Glaucus, inclining reverentially to a -beautiful image of the god placed in the centre of the table, at the -corners of which stood the Lares and the saltholders. The guests -followed the prayer, and then, sprinkling the wine on the table, they -performed the wonted libation.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>This over, the convivalists reclined themselves on the couches, and the -business of the hour commenced.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"May this cup be my last!" said the young Sallust, as the table, -cleared of its first stimulants, was now loaded with the substantial -part of the entertainment, and the ministering slave poured forth to -him a brimming cyathus—"May this cup be my last, but it is the best -wine I have drunk at Pompeii!"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Bring hither the amphora," said Glaucus; "and read its date and its -character."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The slave hastened to inform the party that the scroll fastened to the -cork betokened its birth from Chios, and its age a ripe fifty years.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"How deliciously the snow has cooled it!" said Pansa; "it is just -enough."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"It is like the experience of a man who has cooled his pleasures -sufficiently to give them a double zest," exclaimed Sallust.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"It is like a woman's 'No,'" added Glaucus; "it cools but to inflame the -more."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"When is our next wild-beast fight?" said Clodius to Pansa.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"It stands fixed for the ninth ide of August," answered Pansa, "on the -day after the Vulcanalia; we have a most lovely young lion for the occasion."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Whom shall we get for him to eat?" asked Clodius, "Alas! there is a -great scarcity of criminals. You must positively find some innocent or -other to condemn to the lion, Pansa!"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Indeed I have thought very seriously about it of late," replied the -ćdile, gravely. "It was a most infamous law that which forbade us to -send our own slaves to the wild beasts. Not to let us do what we like -with our own, that's what I call an infringement on property itself."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Not so in the good old days of the republic," sighed Sallust.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"And then this pretended mercy to the slaves is such a disappointment -to the poor people. How they do love to see a good tough battle between -a man and a lion! and all this innocent pleasure they may lose (if the -gods don't send us a good criminal soon) from this cursed law."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"What can be worse policy," said Clodius, sententiously, "than to -interfere with the manly amusements of the people?"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Well, thank Jupiter and the Fates! we have no Nero at present," said -Sallust.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"He was, indeed, a tyrant; he shut up our amphitheatre for ten years."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"I wonder it did not create a rebellion," said Sallust.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"It very nearly did," returned Pansa, with his mouth full of wild boar.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Here the conversation was interrupted for a moment by a flourish of -flutes, and two slaves entered with a single dish.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Ah! what delicacy hast thou in store for us now, my Glaucus?" cried -the young Sallust, with sparkling eyes.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Sallust was only twenty-four, but he had no pleasure in life like -eating—perhaps he had exhausted all the others; yet had he some -talent, and an excellent heart—as far as it went.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"I know its face, by Pollux!" cried Pansa; "it is an Ambracian kid. -Ho!" snapping his fingers, a usual signal to the slaves, "we must -prepare a new libation in honor to the new-comer."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"I had hoped," said Glaucus, in a melancholy tone, "to have procured -you some oysters from Britain; but the winds that were so cruel to -Cćsar have forbid us the oysters."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Are they in truth so delicious?" asked Lepidus, loosening to a yet -more luxurious ease his ungirdled tunic.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Why, in truth, I suspect it is the distance that gives the flavor; -they want the richness of the Brundusium oyster. But at Rome no supper -is complete without them."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"The poor Britons! There is some good in them after all," said Sallust; -"they produce an oyster!"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"I wish they would produce us a gladiator," said the ćdile, whose -provident mind was still musing over the wants of the amphitheatre.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"By Pallas!" cried Glaucus, as his favorite slave crowned his steaming -locks with a new chaplet, "I love these wild spectacles well enough -when beast fights beast; but when a man, one with bones and blood like -ours, is coldly put on the arena, and torn limb from limb, the interest -is too horrid: I sicken—I gasp for breath—I long to rush and defend -him. The yells of the populace seem to me more dire than the voices of -the Furies chasing Orestes. I rejoice that there is so little chance of -that bloody exhibition for our next show!"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The ćdile shrugged his shoulders; the young Sallust, who was thought -the best natured man in Pompeii, stared in surprise. The graceful -Lepidus, who rarely spoke for fear of disturbing his features, cried, -"Per Hercle!" The Parasite Clodius muttered, "Ćdepol;" and the sixth -banqueter, who was the umbra of Clodius, and whose duty it was to echo -his richer friend when he could not praise him—the parasite of a -parasite,—muttered also, "Ćdepol."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Well, you Italians are used to these spectacles; we Greeks are more -merciful. Ah, shade of Pindar!—the rapture of a true Grecian game—the -emulation of man against man—the generous strife—the half-mournful -triumph—so proud to contend with a noble foe, so sad to see him -overcome! But ye understand me not."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"The kid is excellent," said Sallust.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The slave whose duty it was to carve, and who valued himself on his -science, had just performed that office on the kid to the sound of -music, his knife keeping time, beginning with a low tenor, and -accomplishing the arduous feat amid a magnificent diapason.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Your cook is of course from Sicily?" said Pansa.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Yes, of Syracuse."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"I will play you for him," said Clodius; "we will have a game between -the courses."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Better that sort of game, certainly, than a beast-fight; but I cannot -stake my Sicilian—you have nothing so precious to stake me in return."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"My Phillida—my beautiful dancing girl!"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"I never buy women," said the Greek, carelessly rearranging his -chaplet.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The musicians, who were stationed in the portico without, had commenced -their office with the kid; they now directed the melody into a more -soft, a more gay, yet it may be a more intellectual, strain; and they -chanted that song of Horace beginning "Persicos odi," &c. so impossible -to translate, and which they imagined applicable to a feast that, -effeminate as it seems to us, was simple enough for the gorgeous -revelry of the time. We are witnessing the domestic and not the -princely feast—the entertainment of a gentleman, not of an emperor or -a senator.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Ah, good old Horace," said Sallust, compassionately; "he sang well of -feasts and girls, but not like our modern poets."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"The immortal Fulvius, for instance," said Clodius.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Ah, Fulvius the immortal!" said the umbra.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"And Spurćna, and Caius Mutius, who wrote three epics in a year—could -Horace do that, or Virgil either?" said Lepidus. "Those old poets all -fell into the mistake of copying sculpture instead of painting. -Simplicity and repose—that was their notion: but we moderns have fire, -and passions, and energy—we never sleep, we imitate the colors of -painting, its life and its action. Immortal Fulvius!"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"By-the-way," said Sallust, "have you seen the new ode by Spurćna, in -honor of our Egyptian Isis?—it is magnificent—the true religious -fervor."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Isis seems a favorite divinity at Pompeii," said Glaucus.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Yes!" said Pansa, "she is exceedingly in repute just at this moment; -her statue has been uttering the most remarkable oracles. I am not -superstitious, but I must confess that she has more than once assisted -me materially in my magistracy with her advice. Her priests are so -pious too! none of your gay, none of your proud ministers of Jupiter -and Fortune; they walk barefoot, eat no meat, and pass the greater part -of the night in solitary devotion!"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"An example to our other priesthoods, indeed!—Jupiter's temple wants -reforming sadly," said Lepidus, who was a great reformer for all but -himself.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"They say that Arbaces the Egyptian has imparted some most solemn -mysteries to the priests of Isis," observed Sallust; "he boasts his -descent from the race of Ramases, and declares that in his family the -secrets of remotest antiquity are treasured."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"He certainly possesses the gift of the evil eye," said Clodius; "if I -ever come upon that Medusa front without the previous charm, I am sure -to lose a favorite horse, or throw the <i>canes</i><small><sup>6</sup></small> nine times running."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>6</sup></small> <i>Canes</i>, or <i>caniculć</i>, the lowest throw at dice.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"The last would be indeed a miracle!" said Sallust, gravely.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"How mean you, Sallust?" returned the gamester, with a flushed brow.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"I mean what you would <i>leave</i> me if I played often with you; and that -is—nothing."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Clodius answered only by a smile of disdain.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"If Arbaces were not so rich," said Pansa, with a stately air, "I -should stretch my authority a little, and inquire into the truth of the -report which calls him an astrologer and a sorcerer. Agrippa, when -ćdile of Rome, banished all such terrible citizens. But a rich man—it -is the duty of an ćdile to protect the rich!"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"What think you of this new sect, which I am told has even a few -proselytes in Pompeii, these followers of the Hebrew God—Christus?"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Oh, mere speculative visionaries," said Clodius; "they have not a -single gentleman among them; their proselytes are poor, insignificant, -ignorant people!"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Who ought, however, to be crucified for their blasphemy," said Pansa, -with vehemence; "they deny Venus and Jove! Nazarene is but another name -for atheist. Let me catch them, that's all!"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The second course was gone—the feasters fell back on their -couches—there was a pause while they listened to the soft voices of -the South, and the music of the Arcadian reed. Glaucus was the most -rapt and the least inclined to break the silence, but Clodius began -already to think that they wasted time.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"<i>Bene vobis</i> (your health,) my Glaucus," said he, quaffing a cup to -each letter of the Greek's name, with the ease of the practised -drinker. "Will you not be avenged on your ill-fortune of yesterday? -See, the dice court us."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"As you will!" said Glaucus.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"The dice in August, and I an ćdile," said Pansa, magisterially; "it is -against all law."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Not in your presence, grave Pansa," returned Clodius, rattling the -dice in a long box; "your presence restrains all license; it is not the -thing, but the excess of the thing, that hurts."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"What wisdom!" murmured the umbra.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Well, I will look another way," said the ćdile.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Not yet, good Pansa; let us wait till we have supped," said Glaucus.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Clodius reluctantly yielded, concealing his vexation with a yawn.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"He gapes to devour the gold," whispered Lepidus to Sallust, in a -quotation from the Aulularia of Plautus.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Ah! how well I know these polypi, who hold all they touch," answered -Sallust, in the same tone, and out of the same play.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The second course, consisting of a variety of fruits, pistachio nuts, -sweetmeats, tarts, and confectionary tortured into a thousand fantastic -and airy shapes, was now placed upon the table, and the ministri, or -attendants, also set there the wine (which had hitherto been handed -round to the guests) in large jugs of glass, each bearing upon it the -schedule of its age and quality.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Taste this Lesbian, my Pansa," said Sallust; "it is excellent."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"It is not very old," said Glaucus, "but it has been made precocious, -like ourselves, by being put to the fire; the wine to the flames of -Vulcan, we to those of his wife, to whose honor I pour this cup."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"It is delicate," said Pansa, "but there is perhaps the least particle -too much of rosin in its flavor."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"What a beautiful cup!" cried Clodius, taking up one of transparent -crystal, the handles of which were wrought with gems, and twisted in -the shape of serpents, the favorite fashion at Pompeii.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"This ring," said Glaucus, taking a costly jewel from the first joint -of his finger and hanging it on the handle, "gives it a richer show, -and renders it less unworthy of thy acceptance, my Clodius, whom may -the gods give health and fortune long and oft to crown it to brim!"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"You are too generous, Glaucus," said the gamester, handing the cup to -his slave, "but your love gives it a double value."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"This cup to the Graces!" said Pansa, and he thrice emptied his calix. -The guests followed his example.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"We have appointed no director to the feast," cried Sallust.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Let us throw for him, then," said Clodius, rattling the dice-box.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Nay," cried Glaucus; "no cold and trite director for us; no dictator -of the banquet; no <i>rex convivii</i>. Have not the Romans sworn never to -obey a king? shall we be less free than your ancestors? Ho! musicians, -let us have the song I composed the other night; it has a verse on this -subject, 'The Bacchic Hymn of the Hours.'"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The musicians struck their instruments to a wild Ionic air, while the -youngest voices in the band chanted forth in Greek words, as numbers, -the following strain:</small></blockquote> - -<center><small>THE EVENING HYMN OF THE HOURS.</small></center> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem40"> - <tr><td align="center"><small>I.<br> </small></td></tr> - <tr><td><small>Through the summer day, through the weary day,<br> - We have glided long;<br> - Ere we speed to the night through her portals gray,<br> - Hail us with song!<br> - With song, with song,<br> - With a bright and joyous song,<br> - Such as the Cretan maid,<br> - While the twilight made her bolder,<br> - Woke, high through the ivy shade,<br> - When the wine-god first consoled her.<br> - From the hush'd low-breathing skies,<br> - Half-shut, look'd their starry eyes,<br> - And all around,<br> - With a loving sound,<br> - The Ćgean waves were creeping;<br> - On her lap lay the lynx's head;<br> - Wild thyme was her bridal bed;<br> - And aye through each tiny space,<br> - In the green vine's green embrace,<br> - The fauns were slyly peeping;—<br> - The fauns, the prying fauns—<br> - The arch, the laughing fauns—<br> - The fauns were slyly peeping!<br> </small></td></tr> - <tr><td align="center"><small>II.<br> </small></td></tr> - <tr><td><small> Flagging and faint are we<br> - With our ceaseless flight,<br> - And dull shall our journey be<br> - Through the realm of night.<br> - Bathe us, O bathe our weary wings,<br> - In the purple wave, as it freshly springs<br> - To your cups from the fount of light—<br> - From the fount of light—from the fount of light:<br> - For there, when the sun has gone down in night,<br> - There in the bowl we find him.<br> - The grape is the well of that summer sun,<br> - Or rather the stream that he gazed upon,<br> - Till he left in truth, like the Thespian youth,<small><sup>7</sup></small><br> - His soul, as he gazed, behind him.<br> </small></td></tr> - <tr><td align="center"><small>III.<br> </small></td></tr> - <tr><td><small> A cup to Jove, and a cup to Love,<br> - And a cup to the son of Maia,<br> - And honor with three, the band zone-free,<br> - The band of the bright Agiaia.<br> - But since every bud in the wreath of pleasure<br> - Ye owe to the sister Hours,<br> - No stinted cups, in a formal measure,<br> - The Bromian law make ours.<br> - He honors us most who gives us most,<br> - And boasts with a Bacchanal's honest boast<br> - He never will <i>count</i> the treasure.<br> - Fastly we fleet, then seize our wings,<br> - And plunge us deep in the sparkling springs;<br> - And aye, as we rise with a dripping plume,<br> - We'll scatter the spray round the garland's bloom.<br> - We glow—we glow.<br> - Behold, as the girls of the Eastern wave<br> - Bore once with a shout to their crystal cave<br> - The prize of the Mysian Hylas,<br> - Even so—even so,<br> - We have caught the young god in our warm embrace,<br> - We hurry him on in our laughing race;<br> - We hurry him on, with a whoop and song,<br> - The cloudy rivers of Night along—<br> - Ho, ho!—we have caught thee, Pallas!</small></td></tr> -</table><br> - -<center><small><small><sup>7</sup></small> Narcissus.</small></center> - -<blockquote><small>The guests applauded loudly: when the poet is your host, his verses are -sure to charm.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Thoroughly Greek," said Lepidus: "the wildness, force, and energy of -that tongue it is impossible to imitate in the Roman poetry."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"It is indeed a great contrast," said Clodius, ironically at heart, -though not in appearance, "to the old-fashioned and tame simplicity of -that ode of Horace which we heard before. The air is beautifully Ionic: -the word puts me in mind of a toast—Companions, I give you the -beautiful Ione."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Ione—the name is Greek," said Glaucus, in a soft voice, "I drink the -health with delight. But who is Ione?"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Ah! you have but just come to Pompeii, or you would deserve ostracism -for your ignorance," said Lepidus, conceitedly; "not to know Ione is -not to know the chief charm of our city."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"She is of most rare beauty," said Pansa; "and what a voice!"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"She can feed only on nightingales' tongues," said Clodius.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Nightingales' tongues!—beautiful thought," sighed the umbra.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Enlighten me, I beseech you," said Glaucus.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Know then," began Lepidus—</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Let me speak," cried Clodius; "you drawl out your words as if you -spoke tortoises."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"And you speak stones," muttered the coxcomb to himself, as he fell -back disdainfully on his couch.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Know then, my Glaucus," said Clodius, "that Ione is a stranger, who -has but lately come to Pompeii. She sings like Sappho, and her songs -are her own composing; and as for the tibia, and the cithara, and the -lyre, I know not in which she most outdoes the Muses. Her beauty is -most dazzling. Her house is perfect; such taste—such gems—such -bronzes! She is rich, and generous as she is rich."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Her lovers, of course," said Glaucus, "take care that she does not -starve; and money lightly won is always lavishly spent."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Her lovers—ah, there is the enigma! Ione has but one vice—she is -chaste. She has all Pompeii at her feet, and she has no lovers: she -will not even marry."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"No lovers!" echoed Glaucus.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"No; she has the soul of Vesta, with the girdle of Venus."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"What refined expressions!" said the umbra.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"A miracle!" cried Glaucus. "Can we not see her?"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"I will take you there this evening," said Clodius; "meanwhile," added -he, once more rattling the dice—</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"I am yours!" said the complaisant Glaucus. "Pansa turn your face!"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Lepidus and Sallust played at odd and even, and the umbra looked on, -while Glaucus and Clodius became gradually absorbed in the chances of -the dice.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Per Jove!" cried Glaucus, "this is the second time I have thrown the -caniculć" (the lowest throw.)</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Now Venus befriend me!" said Clodius, rattling the box for several -moments, "O Alma Venus—it is Venus herself!" as he threw the highest -cast named from that goddess,—whom he who wins money indeed usually -propitiates!</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Venus is ungrateful to me," said Glaucus, gayly; "I have always -sacrificed on her altar."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"He who plays with Clodius," whispered Lepidus, "will soon, like -Plautus's Curculio, put his pallium for the stakes."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Poor Glaucus—he is as blind as Fortune herself," replied Sallust, in -the same tone.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"I will play no more," said Glaucus. "I have lost thirty sestertia."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"I am sorry," began Clodius.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Amiable man!" groaned the umbra.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Not at all!" exclaimed Glaucus; "the pleasure of your gain compensates -the pain of my loss."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>The conversation now became general and animated; the wine circulated -more freely; and Ione once more became the subject of eulogy to the -guests of Glaucus.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Instead of outwatching the star, let us visit one at whose beauty the -stars grow pale," said Lepidus.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>Clodius, who saw no chance of renewing the dice, seconded the proposal; -and Glaucus, though he civilly pressed his guests to continue the -banquet, could not but let them see that his curiosity had been excited -by the praises of Ione; they therefore resolved to adjourn (all at -least but Pansa and the umbra) to the house of the fair Greek. They -drank, therefore, to the health of Glaucus and of Titus—they performed -their last libation—they resumed their slippers—they descended the -stairs—passed the illumined atrium—and walking unbitten over the -fierce dog painted on the threshold, found themselves beneath the light -of the moon just risen, in the lively and still crowded streets of -Pompeii. They passed the jewellers' quarter, sparkling with lights, -caught and reflected by the gems displayed in the shops, and arrived at -last at the door of Ione. The vestibule blazed with rows of lamps; -curtains of embroidered purple hung on either aperture of the tablinum, -whose walls and mosaic pavement glowed with the richest colors of the -artist; and under the portico which surrounded the odorous viridarium -they found Ione already surrounded by adoring and applauding guests.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Did you say she was Athenian?" whispered Glaucus, ere he passed into -the peristyle.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"No, she is from Neapolis."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Neapolis!" echoed Glaucus; and at that moment, the group dividing on -either side of Ione gave to his view that bright, that nymph-like -beauty which for months had shone down upon the waters of his memory.</small></blockquote> -<br> - -<p>Glaucus is a noble character throughout; educated of course a heathen, -but endowed with some of those higher faculties of reason, which -enabled him in the end to surrender the charms of a poetic mythology -for a purer and brighter faith. Ione, "the beautiful Ione," is an -almost perfect model of Grecian loveliness and accomplishment; and her -brother Apćcides, furnishes an affecting illustration of great powers -and virtues rendered prostrate by an overwrought sensibility and -enthusiastic temperament. Arbaces, the dark, wily, revengeful Egyptian, -is the demon of the tale. In profound earthly wisdom and diabolical -depravity, "none but himself can be his parallel." The "Asiatic -Journal," whose editors or reviewers we take to be much wiser than we -are, asserts that the character of Nydia is not an original creation of -Mr. Bulwer's; but that the dwarf <i>Mignon</i> in the <i>Wilhelm Meister</i> of -Goethe, is the exact prototype not only of the blind flower girl, but -of the fantastical Fenella in Scott's Peverill of the Peak. The -"Journal" also maintains that the witch of Vesuvius, is of the true Meg -Merrillie's family. In regard to the first supposed -resemblances,—never having seen Goethe's work, we profess our entire -incompetency to judge; but we do most fervently protest against any -comparison between our old favorite Meg and that most execrable hag -whom Bulwer has placed in the caverns of Vesuvius,—the perusal of -whose accursed incantations deprived us of several hours of our -accustomed and needful rest.</p> - -<p>Whilst Mr. Bulwer has rendered to the Egyptian and a few others the -just reward of their transgressions, we think that poor Nydia has been -hardly dealt by. What a fine opportunity it was to illustrate the power -of christian faith in soothing even the sorrows of unrequited love. We -do not say this reproachfully however, because we think that Mr. Bulwer -has endeavored at least, to do justice to the christian character and -principles, in his work. Olynthus is a fine specimen of that heroic -courage which, especially in the early ages of the church, was content -with ignominy, chains and poverty in this life, and courted even -martyrdom itself, in the bright anticipation of eternal bliss.</p> - -<p>Having thus candidly stated our impressions of Mr. Bulwer's work, -justice requires that we should spread before our readers the well -sustained vindication of one of our own countrymen, who complains that -his literary rights have been grossly violated by this eminent -transatlantic author. Mr. Fairfield, the editor of the <i>North American -Magazine</i>, a man of unquestionable genius, and a poet of no ordinary -strength, has fearlessly thrown the gauntlet, and charged the proud -Briton to his teeth with literary piracy; an offence in the republic of -letters, which ought at least to be rebuked by stern denunciation, as -no corporal or pecuniary punishment can be inflicted. This piracy it -seems, has been committed by Mr. Bulwer upon the lawful goods and -chattels, the genuine offspring of Mr. Fairfield's own intellectual -labors. We confess that we are struck with the plausible and curious -coincidence, to speak technically, between Mr. Fairfield's <i>allegata</i> -and his undeniable <i>probata</i>. If the English novelist has decked -himself in borrowed plumage, he ought to be forthwith stripped of it, -and the stolen feather should adorn the brow of its real owner. The sin -of plagiarism however, though never so distinctly proved, ought not in -strictness to detract from the genuine and acknowledged merits of an -author. Mr. Bulwer may have done great injustice to our countryman, and -yet have some redeeming beauties to atone for his transgression. In -compliance with Mr. Fairfield's request, we insert with pleasure the -whole of his interesting article.</p><a name="sect42"></a> - -<div align="right"><small>From the North American Magazine. </small></div> -<br> -<center>THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII;<small><small><sup>8</sup></small></small> -<i>versus</i> THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII.<small><small><sup>9</sup></small></small></center> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>8</sup></small> The Last Night of Pompeii: A Poem, and Lays and Legends. -By Sumner Lincoln Fairfield. New York: 1829.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>9</sup></small> The Last Days of Pompeii: By the Author of Pelham, Eugene -Aram, England, and the English, &c. 2 vols. 12mo. New York: 1834. -Harper and Brothers.</small></blockquote> - -<p>While we have never failed to acknowledge and applaud the brilliant -imagination and the eloquent and fascinating style of Mr. E. L. Bulwer, -we have never feared to assert that he was a sophist in ethics and a -libertine in love, and that <i>effect</i> was apparently the only law which -influenced his mind or guided his pen. Better disguised, but not less -pernicious in principle and evil in action than the Tom Jones and Count -Fathom and Zeluco of Fielding, Smollett and Moore, his characters not -only exist in, but actually create an atmosphere of impurity which -infects the very hearts of his admirers. He invests the seducer with -irresistible attractions, and paints the highwayman and the murderer as -examples for imitation. But even in the execution of his execrable -purposes, he is not original either in his plots or his sentiments. The -old Portuguese Jew Spinoza and his disciples Hobbes, Toland, -Shaftesbury and Bolingbroke have abundantly supplied him with infidel -arguments; and the profligate courtiers of Charles the Second have -contributed their licentious stratagems and impure dialogues to augment -the claims and heighten the charms of his coxcombs, libertines and -menslayers. Mr. Bulwer has read much and skillfully appropriated, -without acknowledgment, all that has suited his designs. He has -artfully clothed the lofty thoughts of others in his own brilliant -garb, and enjoyed the renown of a powerful writer and profound thinker, -when he was little more than an adroit and manoeuvering plagiary. This -we long since perceived, and therefore denied his claims to a high -order of genius, though we readily accorded to him the possession of -much curious knowledge and a felicitous use of language. We never -imagined that the labors of an unrewarded and little regarded American -could be deemed by the proud, <i>soi-disant</i> highborn, and affluent Mr. -Bulwer as worthy of his unquestioning appropriation. We fancied that so -deep a scholar would continue to dig for treasures in ancient and -recondite literature, and pass triumphantly over the obscure -productions of a poor cisatlantic. But we erred. As a member of the -British Parliament, Mr. Bulwer is accustomed to the creation of laws; -and he seems to have made one expressly for his own profit and -pleasure—namely, the law of literary lawlessness. We knew that he was -well content to demand high prices for his immoral novels from his -American publishers; but, until this time, we were not aware that he -considered any thing but gold worth receiving or plundering from -Yankeeland. With his usual tact, he has managed to secure, in no slight -degree, from our labors, that which those labors failed utterly to -receive from our unlettered countrymen; and it is our present purpose -to demand back our own thoughts, which are our property and the -heritage of our children.</p> - -<p>It is now three years since 'The Last Night of Pompeii' was written and -published; and, among other English men of letters, a copy of that poem -with a letter, which was never answered, was sent to Mr. Bulwer, who -was, at that time, the editor of the London New Monthly Magazine. -Affliction fell heavily on our heart during the spring of 1832, and, -becoming indifferent to poetic fame and every thing not involved in our -bereavement, we bestowed no thought upon the poem or its reception. -Time has passed on; we have been intensely occupied with other -concerns, and have not been anxious about it since. The apathy, if not -contempt, with which American poets have ever been treated, has driven -Percival into solitude, Bryant and Prentice into politics, Whittier -into abolition schemes, Pierpoint into phrenological experiments, and -all others far away from the barren realm of Parnassus. But lo! the -poem, which was printed by hardwon subscription and left unwelcomed but -by a few cheerful voices, when transmuted into a novel by Bulwer, -becomes a brilliant gem, and illumines the patriotic hearts and clear -understandings of the whole Western World! Who is a Yankee poet that he -should be honoured? but to whom is the English Bulwer unknown? We live, -however—thanks be to Providence! to claim our own and expose all -smugglers, though the redrover Saxon seems to think that the Atlantic -is a very broad ocean, and that the democrats of the West are very -little capable of appreciating any compositions but his own.</p> - -<p>Had Mr. Bulwer confined himself to the almost literal adoption of our -title, or had certain passages in his novel betrayed even great -resemblances to others in our poem, we should have said that the -coincidences were somewhat remarkable, and then dismissed the matter -from our thoughts. Many examples in literary history might be presented -to prove that men may think and describe alike without plagiarism, but, -when the incidents and descriptions are as nearly identical as prose -and poetry can well be, we cannot deduce the charitable conclusion that -the very strong likeness is accidental. Our readers shall judge -whether, in this case, it is so.</p> - -<p>The characters in the poem are few—in the novel many—but, in both, -the whole interest depends on the adventures of two lovers. In the poem -these lovers are Pansa and Mariamne, a Roman decurion and a captive -Jewish maiden, both Christians; in the novel they are Glaucus and Ione, -Greeks and pagans. With us, Diomede was the prćtor and Pansa the -victim; with Bulwer, the former is a rich merchant, and the latter, -ćdile of Pompeii. Here, then, there is no similarity, nor is there but -one deserving a remark, until Arbaces—an Eugene Aram antiquated—one -of Bulwer's learned, wise and soliloquizing villains—seduces Ione to -his mansion of iniquity. The first coincidence, to which we refer, is -the scene of the sacrifice,<small><sup>10</sup></small> and the oracular response. The -description in the novel reads thus:</p> - -<blockquote><small>"The aruspices inspected the entrails."—"It was then that a dead -silence fell over the whispering crowd, and the priests gathering -around the cella, another priest, naked save by a cincture round the -middle, rushed forward, and dancing with wild gestures, implored an -answer from the goddess."—"A low murmuring noise was heard within the -body of the statue; thrice the head moved, and the lips parted, and -then a hollow voice uttered these mystic words:</small></blockquote> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem41"> - <tr><td><small>"There are waves like chargers that meet and glow,<br> - There are graves ready wrought in the rocks below,<br> - On the brow of the Future the dangers lower,<br> - But blessed are your barks in the fearful hour."</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>10</sup></small> Vol. i. p. 42.</small></blockquote> - -<p>That in the poem is as follows—the oracle preceding the description of -its effect upon the superstitious multitude.</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem42"> - <tr><td><small>"The aruspices proclaimed the prodigies.<br> - 'The entrails palpitate—the liver's lobes<br> - Are withered, and the heart hath shrivelled up!'<br> - Groans rose from living surges round; yet loud<br> - The High Priest uttered—'Lay them on the fire!'<br> - 'Twas done; and wine and oil poured amply o'er,<br> - And still the sacrificer wildly cried—<br> - 'Woe unto all! the wandering fires hiss up<br> - Through the black vapors—lapping o'er the flesh<br> - They burn not, but abandon! ashes fill<br> - The temple, whirled upon the wind that waves'" etc.<br> </small></td></tr> - <tr><td align="center"><small><i>The Oracle</i>.<br> </small></td></tr> - <tr><td><small>"'Ye shall pass o'er the Tyrrhene sea in ships<br> - Laden with virgins, gems and gods, and spoils<br> - Of a dismembered empire, and a cloud<br> - Of light shall radiate your ocean path!'<br> - Breathes not the soul of mystery in this?"<br><br> - "And the prostrated multitudes, like woods<br> - Hung with the leaves of autumn, stirred; then fell<br> - A silence when the heart was heard—a pause—<br> - When ardent hope became an agony;<br> - And parted lips and panting pulses—eyes<br> - Wild with their watchings, brows with beaded dews<br> - Of expectation chilled and fevered—all<br> - The shaken and half lifted frame—declared<br> - The moment of the oracle had come!<br> - A sceptre to the hand of Isis leapt<br> - And waved; and then the deep voice of the priest<br> - Uttered the maiden's answer, and the fall<br> - Of many quickened steps like whispers pass'd<br> - Along the columned aisles and vestibule."</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>Both oracles partake the same mystic character and allude obscurely to -the same fearful and overwhelming event.</p> - -<p>The character of Arbaces, the Egyptian Magus, is peculiarly after -Bulwer's own heart—for he is an entire, thorough, irredeemable demon, -who weeps over venomous reptiles and kills innocent men: but a very -large portion of his mystic discourse, which appears on pages 81-2-3-4 -of volume first, is borrowed, as customary, without even an apologetic -allusion, from Moore's Epicurean. We leave that poet to reclaim his -property, and proceed to assert the identity of our own. In the novel, -Arbaces beguiles Ione into his house, with the resolution to possess -her by fraud or violence. In the poem, the priest of Isis inveigles the -virgin of Pompeii into his lascivious temple with the same intent. Both -the priest and Arbaces, having conquered every obstacle, are rapidly -advancing to the accomplishment of their evil designs, when they are -interrupted, and their victims rescued by the very same awful -occurrence;</p> - -<blockquote><small>"At that awful moment," says Bulwer, "the floor shook under them with a -rapid and convulsive throe—a mightier spirit than that of the Egyptian -was abroad! a giant and crushing power, before which sunk into sudden -impotence his passion and his arts. It woke—it stirred—that dread -Demon of the Earthquake," etc.<small><sup>11</sup></small></small></blockquote> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem43"> - <tr><td><small>"I woo no longer, thou art in my grasp,<br> - And by the Immortals I disown, thou shalt"—</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>Says our unsainted priest of Isis, when the victim cries exultingly—</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem44"> - <tr><td><small>"'It comes! the temple reels and crashes—Jove!<br> - I thank thee! Vesta! let me sleep with thee!'<br> - And on the bosom of the earthquake rocked<br> - The statues and the pillars, and her brain<br> - Whirled with the earth's convulsions, as the maid<br> - Fell by a trembling image and upraised<br> - A prayer of gratitude; while through the vaults,<br> - In fear and ghastly horror, fled the priest,<br> - Breathing quick curses mid his warning cries<br> - For succor; and the obscene birds their wings<br> - Flapped o'er his pallid face, and reptiles twined<br> - In folds of knotted venom round his feet.<br> - Yet on he rushed—the blackened walls around<br> - Crashing—the spectral lights hurled hissing down<br> - The cold green waters; and thick darkness came<br> - To bury ruin!"</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>11</sup></small> Vol. i. p. 159.</small></blockquote> - -<p>The denouement of the scene is the same in the novel and the poem—a -statue, hurled from its pedestal, strikes the unhallowed violator to -the earth. There is no scene in Baron more actually transcribed from -the Andrian of Terence than this from 'The Last Night of Pompeii!' But -the scene in the amphitheatre, where the Christian Olinthus and the -lover Glaucus are doomed to perish by the fangs of the famished lion, -is still more strikingly similar than any in the novel, except the -description of the destruction. Arbaces, actuated by unholy love of -Ione, is the author of the disgrace and ruin of both these personages; -and the prćtor Diomede, in the poem, resolves to sacrifice Pansa to the -African lion, because he loves and determines to possess Mariamne. The -earlier scenes in the amphitheatre are the same; four gladiators are -represented in sanguinary strife, and two as having perished, ere the -command is given to bring the Christian and lover on the arena, and to -loose the Numidian lion. In neither instance, however, will the noble -beast attack his destined victim; but shrinks and cowers in utter -terror, though goaded on to his dreadful feast. We now solicit a -careful comparison of the scenes which succeed, with those which, -nearly two years before Mr. Bulwer's book was conceived, we had wrought -out with no slight study, and presented to our unregarding countrymen.</p> - -<p>The closing scene in the Pompeiian amphitheatre, as represented in 'The -Last <i>Days</i> of Pompeii:'</p> - -<blockquote><small>"'Behold how the gods protect the guiltless! The fires of the avenging -Orcus burst forth against the false witness of my accusers!'"</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"The eyes of the crowd followed the gesture of the Egyptian, and beheld -with ineffable dismay a vast vapor shooting from the summit of Vesuvius -in the form of a gigantic pine tree; the trunk, blackness;—the -branches, fire;—that shifted and wavered in its hues with every -moment, now fiercely luminous, now of a dull and dying red, that again -blazed terrifically forth with intolerable glare!</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"There was a dead, heart-sunken silence—through which there suddenly -broke the roar of the lion, which, from within the building, was echoed -back by the sharper and fiercer yells of its follow beasts. Dread seers -were they of the burthen of the atmosphere, and wild prophets of the -wrath to come!</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Then there rose on high the universal shrieks of women; the men stared -at each other, but were dumb. At that moment they felt the earth shake -beneath their feet; the walls of the theatre trembled; and beyond, in -the distance, they heard the crash of falling roofs; an instant more, -and the mountain cloud seemed to roll towards them, dark and rapid, -like a torrent; at the same time, it cast forth from its bosom a shower -of ashes, mixed with vast fragments of burning stone! Over the crushing -vines,—over the desolate streets,—over the amphitheatre itself,—far -and wide,—with many a mighty splash in the agitated sea,—fell that -awful shower!</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"No longer thought the crowd of justice or of Arbaces; safety for -themselves was their sole thought. Each turned to fly—each dashing, -pressing, crushing against the other. Trampling recklessly over the -fallen,—amid groans, and oaths, and prayers, and sudden shrieks, the -enormous crowd vomited itself forth through the numerous passages. -Whither should they fly?"</small></blockquote> - -<p>Now let us present the description, given in 'The Last <i>Night</i> of -Pompeii,' of the horrors that succeeded the scene of the games:</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem45"> - <tr><td><small>"Awed, yet untrembling, Pansa calm replied,<br> - 'Ye hear no thunder—but Destruction's howl!<br> - Ye see no lightning—but the lava glare<br> - Of desolation sweeping o'er your pride!<br> - Death is beneath, around, above, within<br> - All who exult to inflict it on my heart,<br> - And ye must meet it, fly when, where ye will,<br> - For in the madness of your cruelties<br> - Ye have delayed till every hope is dead.<br> - Let the doom come! our faiths will soon be tried.<br> - Gigantic spectres from their shadowy thrones,<br> - With ghastly smiles to welcome ye, arise.<br> - The Pharaohs and Ptolemies uplift<br> - Their glimmering sceptres o'er ye—bidding all<br> - Bare their dark bosoms to the Omniscient God:<br> - And every strange and horrid mythos waits<br> - To fold ye in the terrors of its dreams.'"<br><br> - "Like an earthshadowing cypress, o'er the skies<br> - Lifting its labyrinth of leaves, the boughs<br> - Of molten brass, the giant trunk of flame,<br> - The breath of the volcano's Titan heart<br> - Hung in the heavens; and every maddened pulse<br> - Of the vast mountain's earthquake bosom hurled<br> - Its vengeance on the earth that gasped beneath."<br><br> - "From every cell shrieks burst; hyenas cried<br> - Like lost child stricken in its loneliness:<br> - The giant elephant with matchless strength<br> - Struggled against the portal of his tomb,<br> - And groaned and panted; and the leopard's yell<br> - And tiger's growl with all surrounding cries<br> - Of human horror mingled; and in air,<br> - Spotting the lurid heavens and waiting prey,<br> - The evil birds of carnage hung and watched."<br><br> - "Vesuvius answered: from its pinnacles<br> - Clouds of farflashing cinders, lava showers,<br> - And seas drank up by the abyss of fire<br> - To be hurled forth in boiling cataracts,<br> - Like midnight mountains, wrapt in lightnings, fell."<br><br> - "All awful sounds of heaven and earth met now;<br> - Darkness behind the sungod's chariot rolled,<br> - Shrouding destruction, save when volcan fires<br> - Lifted the folds to gaze on agony;<br> - And when a moment's terrible repose<br> - Fell on the deep convulsions, all could hear<br> - The toppling cliffs explode and crash below,<br> - While multitudinous waters from the sea<br> - In whirlpools through the channell'd mountain rocks<br> - Rushed, and with hisses like the damned's speech,<br> - Fell in the mighty furnace of the mount."<br><br> - "Oh, then, the love of life! the struggling rush,<br> - The crushing conflict of escape! few, brief,<br> - And dire the words delirious fear spake now—<br> - One thought, one action swayed the tossing crowd.<br> - All through the vomitories madly sprung,<br> - And mass on mass of trembling beings pressed,<br> - Gasping and goading, with the savageness<br> - That is the child of danger, like the waves<br> - Charybdis from his jagged rocks throws down,<br> - Mingled by fury—warring in their foam.<br> - Some swooned and were trod down by legion feet;<br> - Some cried for mercy to the unanswering gods;<br> - Some shrieked for parted friends forever lost;<br> - And some in passion's chaos, with the yells<br> - Of desperation did blaspheme the heavens;<br> - And some were still in utterness of woe.<br> - Yet all toiled on in trembling waves of life<br> - Along the subterranean corridors.<br> - Moments were centuries of doubt and dread!<br> - Each breathing obstacle a hated thing:<br> - Each trampled wretch, a footstool to o'erlook<br> - The foremost multitudes; and terror, now,<br> - Begat in all a maniac ruthlessness,<br> - For in the madness of their agonies<br> - Strong men cast down the feeble who delayed<br> - Their flight, and maidens on the stones were crushed," etc.</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>Let the reader compare each of these extracts with the other, and form -his own opinion of Mr. Bulwer's great powers and originality. These -very remarkable coincidences are followed by others not less -extraordinary and worthy of commemoration:</p> - -<blockquote><small>"But suddenly a duller shade fell over the air. Instinctively he turned -to the mountain, and behold! one of the two gigantic crests, into which -the summit had been divided, rocked and wavered to and fro; and then, -with a sound the mightiness of which no language can describe, it fell -from the burning base, and rushed, an avalanche of fire, down the sides -of the mountain! At the same instant gushed forth a volume of blackest -smoke, rolling on, over air, sea, and earth."</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small>"Bright and gigantic through the darkness, which closed around it like -the walls of hell, the mountain shone—a pile of fire! Its summit -seemed riven in two; or rather above its surface there seemed to rise -two monster-shapes, each confronting each, as demons contending for a -world. These were of one deep blood-red hue of fire, which lighted up -the whole atmosphere far and wide; but <i>below</i>, the nether part of the -mountain was still dark and shrouded,—save in three places, adown -which flowed, serpentine and irregular, rivers of the molten lava. -Darkly red through the profound gloom of their banks, they flowed -slowly on, as towards the devoted city. Over the broadest there seemed -to spring a cragged and stupendous arch, from which, as from the jaws -of hell, gushed the sources of the sudden Phlegethon."</small></blockquote> - -<p>Among the Death Cries of Pompeii, as we imagined them, is the following -lyric:</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem46"> - <tr><td><small> "It bursts! it bursts! and thousand thunders blent,<br> - From the deep heart of agonizing earth,<br> - Knell, shatter, crash along the firmament,<br> - And new hells peopled startle into birth.<br> - Vesuvius sunders! pyramids of fire<br> - From fathomless abysses blast the sky;<br> - E'en desolating Ruin doth expire,<br> - And mortal Death in woe immortal die.<br> - Torrents like lurid gore,<br> - Hurled from the gulf of horror, pour,<br> - Like legion fiends embattled to the spoil,<br> - And o'er the temple domes,<br> - And joy's ten thousand homes,<br> - Beneath the whirlwind hail and storm of ashes boil."</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>Again says Mr. Bulwer, who boasts that he has succeeded where all -others have failed:</p> - -<blockquote><small>"In the pauses of the showers, you heard the rumbling of the earth -beneath, and the groaning waves of the tortured sea; or, lower still, -and audible but to the watch of intensest fear, the grinding and -hissing murmur of the escaping gases through the chasms of the distant -mountain. Sometimes the cloud appeared to break from its solid mass, -and, by the lightning, to assume quaint and vast mimicries of human or -of monster-shapes, striding across the gloom, hustling one upon the -other, and vanishing swiftly into the turbulent abyss of shade; so -that, to the eyes and fancies of the affrighted wanderers, the -unsubstantial vapors were as the bodily forms of gigantic foes,—the -agents of terror and of death."</small></blockquote> - -<p>Is there nothing similar to the preceding quotation in this?</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem47"> - <tr><td><small>"Vesuvius poured its deluge forth, the sea<br> - Shuddered and sent unearthly voices up,<br> - The isles of beauty, by the fire and surge<br> - Shaken and withered, on the troubled waves<br> - Looked down like spirits blasted; and the land<br> - Of Italy's once paradise became<br> - The home of ruin—vineyard, grove and bower,<br> - Tree, shrub, fruit, blossom—love, life, light and hope,<br> - All vanishing beneath the fossil flood<br> - And storm of ashes from the cloven brow<br> - Of the dread mountain buried in horror down.<br> - The echoes of ten thousand agonies<br> - Arose from mount and shore, and some looked back<br> - Cursing, and more bewailing as they fled."<br><br> - ——————"what a horrid gleam is flung<br> - Along that face of madness, as it turns<br> - From sea to mountain, and the wild eyes burn<br> - With revelations of the unborn time!<br> - We may not linger—shelter earth denies—<br> - The very heavens like a gehenna lour—<br> - And ocean is our refuge—on—on—on!"</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>We have seen how remarkably the lions agreed on the impropriety of -making an amphitheatric meal of the lovers; now it appears that the -tiger, who should have eat the Christian, was of the same mind.</p> - -<blockquote><small>"At that moment a wild yell burst through the air; and thinking only of -escape, whither it knew not, the terrible tiger of the African desert -leaped among the throng, and hurried through its parted streams. And so -came the earthquake, and so darkness once more fell over the earth!"</small></blockquote> - -<p>Is it not strange that we should have conceived something much like -this, and explained the motive, too, of such unreasonable conduct in -any wild beast starving?</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem48"> - <tr><td><small>"Nature's quick instinct, in most savage beasts,<br> - Prophesies danger ere man's thought awakes,<br> - And shrinks in fear from common savageness,<br> - Made gentle by its terror; thus, o'erawed<br> - E'en in his famine's fury by a Power<br> - Brute beings more than human oft adore,<br> - The Lion lay, his quivering paws outspread,<br> - His white teeth gnashing, till the crushing throngs<br> - Had passed the corridors; then, glaring up<br> - His eyes imbued with samiel light, he saw<br> - The crags and forests of the Appenines<br> - Gleaming far off, and with the exulting sense<br> - Of home and lone dominion, at a bound,<br> - He leapt the lofty palisades and sprung<br> - Along the spiral passages, with howls<br> - Of horror, through the flying multitudes<br> - Flying to seek his lonely mountain lair."</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>We shall not protract this investigation, though many similar passages -might be produced to confirm our assertion that Mr. Bulwer has -appropriated our thoughts, and throughout wrought our descriptions into -his story, and won great profit and fame from the robbery. Those who -read his book, will readily find many descriptions closely resembling -one of the last given in the poem, which we here reprint, and many -references to ancient authors for facts which he derived from us.</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem49"> - <tr><td><small>"Meantime, charred corses in one sepulchre<br> - Of withering ashes lay, and voices rose,<br> - Fewer and fainter, and, each moment, groans<br> - Were hushed, and dead babes on dead bosoms lay,<br> - And lips were blasted into breathlessness<br> - Ere the death kiss was given, and spirits passed<br> - The ebbless, dark, mysterious waves, where dreams<br> - Hover and pulses throb and many a brain<br> - Swims wild with terrible desires to know<br> - The destinies of worlds that lie beyond.<br> - The thick air panted as in nature's death,<br> - And every breath was anguish; every face<br> - Was terror's image, where the soul looked forth,<br> - As looked, sometimes, far on the edge of heaven,<br> - A momentary star the tempest palled.<br> - From ghastlier lips now rose a wilder voice,<br> - As from a ruin'd sanctuary's gloom,<br> - Like savage winds from the Chorasmian waste<br> - Rushing, with sobs and suffocating screams," etc.</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>But, though we have been more highly honored by this last <i>chef -d'oeuvre</i> of the honorable Eugene Aram than any author within our -knowledge, yet others are entitled to their property. Speaking of the -skeleton of Arbaces, Bulwer says—</p> - -<blockquote><small>"The scull was of so remarkable a conformation, so boldly marked in its -intellectual, as well as its worse physical developments, that it has -excited the constant speculation of every itinerant believer in the -theories of Spurzheim who has gazed upon that ruined <i>palace of the -mind</i>. Still, after a lapse of eighteen centuries, the traveller may -survey that <i>airy hall</i>, within whose cunning galleries and elaborate -chambers, once thought, reasoned, dreamed, and sinned, the soul of -Arbaces the Egyptian!"</small></blockquote> - -<p>But Byron said, long ago, in Childe Harold, when gazing on a skull:</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem50"> - <tr><td><small>"Yes, this was once ambition's <i>airy hall</i>,<br> - The dome of thought, <i>the palace of the soul</i>," etc.</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>And, once more, the fashionable Pelham moralizes: "and as the Earth -from the Sun, so immortality drinks happiness from virtue, <i>which is -the smile upon the face of God</i>."<small><small><sup>12</sup></small></small> This he italicises as one of his -most wondrous original reflections—yet it may be found in the Diary of -a Physician.<small><small><sup>13</sup></small></small></p> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>12</sup></small> Vol. ii. p. 196.</small></blockquote> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>13</sup></small> In the story called 'A Young Man about Town,' we think.</small></blockquote> - -<p>Mr. Bulwer is particularly conceited and arrogant with respect to his -subject. He asserts that all others have failed in attempting to -describe the destruction of Pompeii, and that, therefore, he will stand -alone, the intellectual monarch of the Ruins. The candid and modest and -original gentleman probably forgot 'Valerius' and Croly and Milman and -Dr. Gray and ourself; but the productions of such persons can be of -little consequence to such a Paul Clifford in letters and Mirabeau in -morals.</p> - -<p>Mr. Bulwer, likewise, is ostentatious of his learning, and he quotes -from ancient authors with an air of infinite self-complacency, though -his citations had been conveniently collected, a <i>century</i> since, in -the Archćologia Grćca of Archbishop Potter! These volumes now lie -before us, and there may all his erudition be found within a very -accessible compass. His theological knowledge or deistical design, we -know not which, is not more profound or canonical; for he makes his -Christian Olinthus say, that "eighty years ago," that is from the birth -of Christ, "there was no assurance to man of God or of a certain or -definite future beyond the grave"!!</p> - -<p>We have now done with Mr. Bulwer, his immoralities, and his -plagiarisms. We have sought to be very brief in our exposition, and, -for the first time that we ever expressed such a desire, we request the -literary periodicals, with which we exchange, to reprint this article.</p> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="50"><a name="sect43"></a> -<br> -<blockquote><small>VISITS AND SKETCHES, at Home and Abroad. By Mrs. Jamieson, author of -the "Characteristics of Women," &c. in 2 vols. New York: Harper & -Brothers. 1834.</small></blockquote> - -<p>We intended to notice these interesting volumes sooner, and recommend -them to our readers as highly entertaining and instructive. Mrs. -Jamieson's style, though not faultless, is very attractive; and -certainly as a female writer, she is hardly surpassed in vigor and -richness. The <i>first</i> volume is principally devoted to sketches of art, -literature and character, comprising <i>Memoranda</i> at Munich, Nuremburg -and Dresden. It also contains a vivid account of the celebrated Bess of -<i>Hardwicke</i>, the <i>old</i> Countess of Shrewsbury,—a visit to <i>Althorpe</i>, -the ancient seat of the Spencers—and eloquent sketches of the private -and dramatic life of <i>Mrs. Siddons</i>, and of <i>Fanny Kemble</i>. The -<i>second</i> volume opens with three interesting stories,—the <i>False One</i>, -a pathetic oriental tale, a thousand times superior to -Vathek,—<i>Halloran the Pedlar</i>, and the <i>Indian Mother</i>. It also -contains a very amusing <i>drama for little actors</i>,—and concludes with -the <i>Diary of an Enuyeé</i>, a performance of much and deserved celebrity. -We shall make occasional selections from this work, for the benefit of -such of our readers as have no opportunity of seeing the volumes -themselves. For the present, we have transferred to our pages the -<a href="#sect33">"Indian Mother,"</a> a most affecting story founded on a striking incident -related by Humboldt. The scene being laid in South America, the reader -will be struck with the strong impressions made on Mrs. Jamieson's mind -of that magnificent country, through the medium of description alone.</p> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="50"><a name="sect44"></a> -<br> -<blockquote><small>POEMS, by William Cullen Bryant. Boston: Russell, Odiorne & Metcalfe. -1834.</small></blockquote> - -<p>This new and beautiful edition of Mr. Bryant's poems has undergone the -author's correction, and contains some pieces which have never before -appeared in print. As the elegant china cup from which we sip the -fragrant imperial, imparts to it a finer flavor, so the pure white -paper and excellent typography of the volume before us, will give a -richer lustre to the gems of Mr. Bryant's genius. Not that the value of -the diamond is really enhanced by the casket which contains it, but so -it is that the majority of mortals are governed by <i>appearances;</i> and -even a dull tale will appear respectable in the pages of a hot pressed -and gilt bound London annual. In justice to Mr. Bryant however, and to -ourselves, we will state that our first impressions of his great -intellectual power—of his deep and sacred communings with the world of -poetry—were derived from a very indifferent edition of his writings, -printed with bad type, on a worse paper. Mr. Bryant is well known to -the American public as a poet of uncommon strength and genius; and even -on the other side of the Atlantic, a son of the distinguished Roscoe, -who published a volume of American poetry, pronounced him the first -among his equals. Like Halleck, however, and some others of scarcely -inferior celebrity,—his muse has languished probably for want of that -due encouragement, which to our shame as a nation be it spoken, has -never been awarded to that department of native literature. Mr. Bryant, -we believe, finding that Parnassus was not so productive a soil as the -field of politics, has connected himself with a distinguished partizan -newspaper in the city of New York. His bitter regrets at the frowns of -an unpoetical public, and yet his unavailing efforts to divorce himself -from the ever living and surrounding objects of inspiration are -beautifully alluded to in the following lines:</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem51"> - <tr><td><small>I broke the spell that held me long,<br> - The dear, dear witchery of song.<br> - I said the poet's idle lore<br> - Shall waste my prime of years no more,<br> - For poetry though heavenly born,<br> - Consorts with poverty and scorn.<br><br> - I broke the spell—nor deemed its power<br> - Could fetter me another hour.<br> - Ah, thoughtless! how could I forget<br> - Its causes were around me yet?<br> - For wheresoe'er I look'd, the while,<br> - Was nature's everlasting smile.<br><br> - Still came and lingered on my sight<br> - Of flowers and streams the bloom and light,<br> - And glory of the stars and sun;—<br> - And these and poetry are <i>one</i>.<br> - They, ere the world had held me long,<br> - Recalled me to the love of song.</small></td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="50"><a name="sect45"></a> -<br> -<blockquote><small>LITTELL'S MUSEUM of Foreign Literature, Science and Arts. No. 151. Jan. -1835. A. Waldie. Philadelphia.</small></blockquote> - -<p>This valuable periodical has maintained a high reputation and extensive -circulation for more than twelve years. The January number (1835) may -be considered a new era in its history. The size of its sheet is -enlarged, its type and paper are improved, and its contents display -more richness and variety than usual. The plan of the "Museum" is -certainly most excellent. It is to select and republish from all the -British periodicals of high reputation, every thing which is either of -<i>present</i> or <i>permanent</i> value, omitting the vast mass of matter which -is local to Great Britain or not interesting to an American reader. It -is in fact, a labor-saving machine, by which all the choicest flowers -will be culled from British publications and transplanted in our own -soil, leaving the weeds and trash on the other side of the Atlantic. We -heartily wish Mr. Littell and his co-laborers increased success, and we -shall occasionally draw upon his interesting paper for the use of the -"Messenger." The diffusion of fine writing from abroad, will improve -the taste and invigorate the efforts of our own countrymen.</p> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect46"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>NEW PAPER.</h4> -<br> - -<p><i>The Southern Churchman</i>, edited by the Rev. William F. Lee, and -published weekly in this city, has reached its fifth number. Almost -every christian denomination among us, had the benefit of a paper -devoted to its own peculiar interests, except the Episcopalians, until -Mr. Lee commenced the publication of the Churchman. There can be no -doubt of its success, under the management of an editor of Mr. Lee's -distinguished talents and piety.</p> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect47"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>DANDYISM.</h4> -<br> - -<p>M<small>R</small>. W<small>HITE</small>:—The Optimists assert that this little world of ours, is -continually and most marvellously improving in every thing. But, -begging their pardon, I humbly conceive that this is claiming rather -too much for its onward march towards perfectibility. Many notable -instances might be adduced to prove that it is so; but I will go no -further for such proof, than to contrast the Dandyism of the present -age with that of the olden time. This term (by the way) although of -modern coinage, is but a new name for an old thing. So old indeed, -that, like the common law, it may be traced back to a period beyond -which "the memory of man runneth not to the contrary." From the -multitude of its votaries and the indefatigable diligence with which it -has always been practised, it may justly be ranked among the arts; -although we must admit it to be one of no very difficult attainment by -any whose taste leads them to prefer general contempt to universal esteem.</p> - -<p>The great aim of this art being to mar effectually whatever beauty -either of person or countenance nature has bestowed on us, the task -would seem to be one of very easy accomplishment for most men. A simple -disfigurement therefore, would be no indication of genius, since the -visages upon which the laudable experiment is most frequently tried, -require very little aggravation to effect the object. But an entire -metamorphosis in the appearance of the whole animal, or at least such a -change as to render both its genus and species doubtful, being the -grand desideratum; it is <i>here</i> that the modern Dandies have betrayed a -most woful and egregious poverty of invention, compared to those of -former times. Of this I shall presently offer indisputable testimony.</p> - -<p>The Dandies of our day however, may justly claim the palm of -superiority, at least in <i>one</i> particular; I mean, quo ad, <i>the head</i>, -both inside and out: for, what with internal emptiness and external -whiskers and mustaches, many have contrived to render not only the -features of the face "perfectly unintelligible," (if I may borrow a -phrase from the Pugilists,) but to disprove the long admitted dictum of -philosophy, that there is no such thing in all nature as a vacuum. An -instance of this most successful <i>face-marring</i> has lately fallen under -my own observation, which I will endeavor to describe, although in -utter despair of doing justice to the original.</p> - -<p>Many months ago, being in a much crowded public room, I was not a -little startled by the sudden appearance of a most fantastic, grim -looking biped moving among the crowd, which I first took for one of -those strange animals then showing about the country, that perhaps had -escaped from his keepers. A more deliberate view, however, from a -corner into which I had taken care to ensconce myself to keep out of -harm's way, soon satisfied me that it was nothing more formidable than -one of those harmless burlesques of manhood called Dandies, that so -much resemble the Simia genus, as hardly to be distinguished from them. -It had two large ropes (as they appeared to be) of tawny colored hair, -hanging out from between the collar and the cheek bones, and reaching -down some seven or eight inches over the breast. These I at first -supposed might be the skins of a water dog's fore legs, forming the -ends of some new fashioned comforter to keep the neck and cheeks warm -in cold weather, to which these bipeds are particularly sensitive. But -upon diligent inquiry among several, who seemed to be as much struck as -myself with so uncommon and apparently formidable a looking animal -moving upon two legs, instead of four, as might more reasonably have -been expected, we were informed that these tawny appendages, in regard -to which I had made such an egregious mistake, actually consisted of -the united hairs of the throat and cheeks, so elongated by -indefatigable culture, as to produce the grotesque appearance that had -so strongly excited the wonderment of us all. The whole was surmounted -by a pair of mustaches of the same tanned-leather color; which so -completely obscured the countenance, that not a particle of it was -discernible but the two lack-lustre eyes; and <i>the nose</i>, like a sort -of watch-tower overtopping the wilderness of shaggy hair by which it -was surrounded.</p> - -<p>It is the recollection of this never to be forgotten figure of an -entire stranger, seen for the first and probably the last time in my -life, which induced me to claim for the Dandyism of the present day, a -decided superiority over that of the by-gone times; at least so far as -the disfigurement of the countenance can go towards the establishment -of so enviable a claim. That it is indisputable, I think certain; for -neither in the pictures nor histories of past ages which have reached -us, can any thing be found at all comparable to what I have just -endeavored to describe, but in language so inadequate, that I am almost -ashamed to send you this communication.</p> - -<p>The bodily disfigurements of our modern Dandies having a great degree -of sameness in them, and being matters of general notoriety, 'tis -needless to particularise them. But to give you an opportunity of -judging whether I have unjustly charged them with poverty of invention, -when compared with their prototypes of the olden time, I beg leave to -present you with the description of an English Dandy of the fourteenth -century. It is taken from Dr. Henry's History of England, and he quotes -Camden, Chaucer, and Street, as his authorities.</p> - -<blockquote><small>"He wore long-pointed shoes, called <i>crackowes</i> the upper parts of -which were cut in imitation of a church-window. The points of these -were fastened to his knees by gold or silver chains. He had hose of one -color on one leg, and of another color on the other; short breeches -which did not reach to the middle of his thighs, and disclosed the -shape completely; a coat, one half white, and the other half black or -blue; a long beard; a silk hood buttoned under his chin, embroidered -with grotesque figures of animals, dancing men, &c. and sometimes -ornamented with gold, silver, and precious stones. This dress, which -was the very top of the mode in the reign of Edward the Third, appeared -so ridiculous to the Scots, (who probably could not afford to be such -egregious fops,) that they made the following satirical verses upon it:</small></blockquote> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem52"> - <tr><td><small>"Long beards hirtiless,<br> - Peynted whoods witless,<br> - Gay coats gracelies,<br> - Maketh England thriftlies."</small></td></tr> -</table> - -<p>I would add to the above what the grave Doctor says of the fashionable -ladies of those times; but being a great friend to the "womankind," as -that queer, caustic old Batchelor Monkbarns used to call them, I -forbear to run the risk of their displeasure, by disparaging their sex -so much as I should be compelled to do, were I to repeat the Doctor's -words. And now, my good sir, confidently trusting that you yourself, as -well as your readers, will admit the irrefutable character of the -proofs which I have adduced to establish my assertions, I bid you -farewell, and remain</p> - -<blockquote>Your friend and constant reader,</blockquote> -<div align="right"><small>OLIVER OLDSCHOOL. </small></div> - -<blockquote><small>P. S. For the satisfaction of yourself and readers, who might otherwise -suspect me of malevolence towards some individual, (of which I know -myself to be incapable,) I beg leave to assure you that, although the -portrait which I have endeavored to sketch is not a fancy piece, my -sole design in presenting it is <i>general</i>, not particular. It is to -aid, as far as I possibly can, in banishing from our land a fashion, -not only preposterous, absurd and filthy in the highest degree, but -actually disgraceful to rational creatures. Let it go back to the -savage Cossacks, from whom 'tis said to be borrowed, and no longer -beastify (if I may coin such a word,) the appearance of the rising -generation.</small></blockquote> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect48"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>VARIETY.</h4> -<div align="right"><small>From the Augusta (Ga.) Sentinel, Jan. 15. </small></div> - -<p><i>To the Editor of the States Rights Sentinel:</i></p> - -<p>S<small>IR</small>:—Some friends, whose opinions are entitled to deference, deem it -incumbent on me to avow, or disavow the authorship of a dozen couplets, -lately become a matter of grave and high controversy. Though supposed -for twenty years past to be mine, they have recently been ascribed, by -sundry acute critics, first to O'K<small>ELLY</small>, and then to A<small>LCĆUS</small>. Disdaining, -heretofore, to notice such charges of plagiarism, from a perfect -confidence in the ultimate power of <small>TRUTH</small>, and a contempt for this -petty species of annoyance, my silence is now broken, only in -compliance with the wishes of those whom I esteem. Valuing these rhymes -very differently from others, it becomes me, on so unimportant a -subject, merely to avow myself the author. The lines in question, then, -good or bad, are mine alone; neither Alcćus nor O'Kelly has the -smallest right to them. Originally intended as a part of a longer poem, -which, like the life of him for whose sake I projected it, was broken -off, unfinished; they were published without my knowledge or consent, -and, however the contrary may have been assumed, contain no personal -allusions. Whatever <i>my</i> life may be like, whether roses or thorns, the -public is in no danger of being troubled with my confidence.</p> - -<p>I am, sir, very respectfully, your obedient, humble servant,</p> -<div align="right"><small>RICHARD HENRY WILDE. </small></div> - -<blockquote><small><i>Washington, 31st Dec. 1834.</i></small></blockquote> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="50"> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>[Communicated for the Southern Literary Messenger.] </small></div> - -<p>The first advertisement of "W<small>ALTON'S</small> A<small>NGLER</small>," appeared in "Captain -Wharton's Almanacks" as Old Lily in his Life and Times calls them.</p> - -<p>It runs thus: "There is published a Booke of eighteen pence price -called the Compleat Angler, or the contemplative man's recreation; -being a discourse of Fish and Fishing, not unworthie the perusall.</p> - -<p>"Sold by Richard Marriott in St. Dunstan's Church Yard Fleet Street. 1653.</p> - -<p>"Motto. 'And Simon Peter saith unto them, I go a fishing: they say unto -him we also go with thee.'—<i>John</i> xxi. & 3."</p> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="50"> -<br> -<h5>SHAKE-SPEARE.</h5> - -<p>The following, from an old paper, will no doubt interest some of our -readers.</p> - -<blockquote><small>"We have lying before us a volume of Shakspeare, in a tolerable state -of preservation, composed of several of his plays, published at London, -in pamphlets, at different periods during his lifetime, probably from -1609 to 1612; and it is more than probable that the author -superintended their publication in person. We think this edition will -settle many points as to the true reading, in cases at present in -dispute, and also give the correct spelling of the name of the immortal -poet, which is Shake-speare, and divided in the same manner as above. -The first is a part of the tragedy of Henry VI. entitled 'The -Contention of the Two famous Houses of Yorke and Lancaster.'"</small></blockquote> - -<p>The next is,</p> - -<blockquote><small>"The TRAGEDIE of King RICHARD the Third. <small>CONTAINING</small> His treacherous -Plots against his Brother <i>Clarence:</i> the pittifull murther of his -innocent Nephewes: his tyrannicall Vsurpation: with the whole Course of -his detested Life, and most deserved Death. As it has beene lately -acted by the Kings Majesties Servants. Newly augmented, by William -SHAKE-SPEARE. LONDON, Printed by <i>Thomas Creede</i>, and are to be sold by -<i>Mathew Lawe</i> dwelling in <i>Pauls</i> Church-yard, at the Signe of the -<i>Foxe</i>, 1612."</small></blockquote> - -<p>The third is quaintly entitled,</p> - -<blockquote><small>"T<small>HE MOST LAMENTABLE</small> TRAGEDIE <small>OF</small> -TITUS ANDRONICUS. As it hath svndry -Times beene plaide by the K<small>INGS</small> M<small>ASTIES</small> Seruants.—LONDON, Printed for -<i>Eedward White</i>, and are to be sold at his Shoppe, nere the little -North Dore of <i>Pauls</i>, at the Signe of the <i>Gun</i>. 1611."</small></blockquote> - -<p>The last is,</p> - -<blockquote><small>"<small>THE</small> FAMOUS HISTORIE <small>OF</small> -TROYLUS <i>and</i> CRESSEID, Excellently expressing -The Beginning of their L<small>OUES, WITH THE</small> Conceited Wooing of P<small>ANDARUS</small> -Prince of <i>Licia</i>, <small>WRITTEN BY</small> WILLIAM SHAKE-SPEARE. LONDON, Imprinted -by <i>G. Eld</i>, for <i>R. Benian</i> and <i>H. Walley</i>, and are to be sold at the -<i>Spred Eagle</i>, in <i>Paules Church yeard</i>, ouer against the great North -Doore. 1609."</small></blockquote> - -<p>The address to the reader of this play, has too much originality and -merit to omit.</p> - -<blockquote><small>"A neur writer, to an euer reader.</small></blockquote> - -<center><small>"Newes.</small></center> - -<blockquote><small>"ETERNALL reader, you haue heere a new play, neuer stal'd with the -stage, neuer clapperclawd with the palmes of the vulger, and yet -passing full of the palme comicall; for it is a birth of your braine, -that neuer vnder-tooke any thing commicall, vainely; and were but the -vaine names of commedies, changde for the titles of commedities or of -playes for pleas; you should see all those grand censors, that now -stile them such vanities, flock to them for the main grace of their -grauities: especially this authors commedies, that are so fram'd to the -life, that they serve for the most common commentaries, of all the -actions of our lives, showing such a dexteritie, and power of witte, -that the most displeased with playes, are pleased with his commedies. -And all such dull and heauy-witted worldlings, as were never capable of -the witte of a commedie, comming by report of them to his -representations, have found that witte there, that they never found in -themselves, and haue parted better wittied than they came; feeling an -edge of witte set vpon them, more than euer they dreamed they had -braine to grinde it on. So much and such savored salt of wittee is in -his commedies, that they seeme (for their height of pleasure) to be -borne in that sea that brought forth Venus. Amongst all there is none -more witte then this: and had I time I would comment upon it, though I -know it needs not, (for so much as will make you think your testerne -well bestowed) but for so much worth, as euen poore I know to be stuft -in it. It deserves such a labour, as well as the best commedy in -Terence or Plautus. And beleeue this, that when hee is gone, and his -commedies out of sale, you will scramble for them, and set vp a new -English inquisition. Take this for a warning, and at the perill of your -pleasures losse, and judgments, refuse not, nor like this the lesse, -for not being suelied, with the smoaky breath of the multitude; but -thanke fortune for the scape it hath made amongst you. Since by the -grand possessors wills I beleeue you should haue prayed for them rather -then been prayd. And so I leaue all such to bee prayd for (for the -state of their wits healths) that will not praise it. Vale."</small></blockquote> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="50"> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>From the Albion. </small></div> - -<p>One of the enormities of Protestantism, which shocks the Papists, is -the marrying of our Clergy. What is to be said of the Roman Catholic -Bishop England, who, going on a foreign mission, takes out with him -<i>four nuns?</i>—</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem53"> - <tr><td>The English Bishop takes one wife,<br> - The Papist says, "O fie!"<br> - The Roman Catholic takes out four,<br> - And no man asks him, why?</td></tr> -</table> - -<p>Having shown this sprightly contribution to our Roman Catholic -sub-editor, he begs leave to offer an explanation of the seeming -inconsistency:—</p> - -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem54"> - <tr><td>To vindicate the Papist's life,<br> - See how the thing is done;<br> - The Protestant alone takes <i>wife</i>,<br> - The Catholic takes <i>nun</i>.</td></tr> -</table><br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="50"> -<br> -<p>A late number of Frazer's Magazine contains an elaborate review of -"Roberts' Life and Correspondence of Hannah Moore," in which are -interspersed much of the keen sarcasm and provoking levity for which -that periodical is distinguished. The reviewer concludes as follows: -"For Mrs. Moore we have a high regard, as a staunch tory and good -churchwoman, though of the so-called evangelical clique. She was -however practical in her piety; and this is the sure test of sincerity. -Be her name therefore honored! She was an extraordinary individual, and -would have been such had she not been an authoress. We esteem her -personal character far above her literary. In the one she was truly -great, in the other respectable and prosperous. To sum up all, she was -a practically wise and prudent woman; nevertheless her prudence was an -overmatch for her wisdom. To perfection she wanted two grave -requisites—greater intuitive knowledge, and a <i>happy husband</i>. The -first she derived at second hand and from shallow streams; the last she -avoided altogether. She thus escaped one great trial; but they who -retreat from battle have no claim to the victor's wealth."</p> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect49"></a> -<br> -<br> -<div align="right"><small>For the Southern Literary Messenger. </small></div> - -<h4>A SONG.</h4> - -<center><small><i>Air</i>—"The Lass of Peatie's Mill."</small></center> -<br> -<br> -<table align="center" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" summary="poem55"> - <tr><td> How sweet it is to rove<br> - Through vallies rich and wide,<br> - Or with a friend we love<br> - O'er the still waves to glide!<br> - 'Tis sweet to see the day<br> - Withdraw her golden car,<br> - And watch the glimmering ray<br> - Of Eve's first silver star!<br><br> - 'Tis sweet to hail the dawn,<br> - In blushes ever new—<br> - And mark the young, fleet fawn,<br> - Brush off the crystal dew!<br> - But sweeter far than Eve<br> - Or early Morning's prime,<br> - Are smiles that ne'er deceive,<br> - And love unchanged by time!<br><br> - Tho' fickle fortune frown,<br> - And wealth withhold her store,<br> - What is a jewelled crown?<br> - A bauble soon no more.<br> - But love, pure love, is gold<br> - Which nothing can consume;<br> - And smiles that ne'er grow cold,<br> - Are flowers of fadeless bloom!</td></tr> -</table> -<div align="right">E. A. S. </div> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect50"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>EDITORIAL REMARKS.</h4> -<br> - -<p>We send forth our herald a fifth time, with renewed confidence in the -kind disposition of our patrons to give it a glad welcome,—to visit -its imperfections with sparing censure, and to regard with favor -whatever merits it may possess, in sympathy for its Southern origin, -and the probable advantages involved in its final success. We are much -cheered by the somewhat unexpected, and perhaps unmerited plaudits of a -large portion of the periodical press, and especially that part of it -which has heretofore enjoyed a kind of literary monopoly—but which -generously merges every thing like a feeling of rivalry in the more -honorable and patriotic sentiment of devotion to the great cause of -American literature. From our northern and eastern friends indeed we -have received more complimentary notices than from any of our southern -brethren without the limits of our own state. We say this not in a -reproachful spirit to our kindred, but in a somewhat sad conviction of -mind, that we who live on the sunny side of Mason's and Dixon's line, -are not yet sufficiently inspired with a sense of the importance of -maintaining our just rights, or rather our proper representation in the -republic of letters.</p> - -<p>With the almost unbroken voice of public approbation to cheer us along, -we have nevertheless heard of a few whose tastes are so exquisitely -refined that they cannot relish our simple fare. We are sorry, very -sorry indeed, that they will not be pleased; and in proof of the -sincerity of our grief, we hereby invite these accomplished gentlemen -to <i>improve</i> our pages by contributions from their own pens. We hold -the opinion that they who undertake to denounce so boldly, ought to be -prepared to back their judgments by their own performances.</p> - -<p>We continue the original and excellent "<i>Sketches of the History and -Present Condition of Tripoli, &c.</i>" They increase in interest to an -American reader, as they approach the period which records the hostile -collisions of the United States with those formidable powers. The valor -of Decatur, and self-immolation of Somers, Wadsworth and Israel, at the -commencement of the present century, are still fresh in the memory of thousands.</p> - -<p>The authors of the original articles "<i>On the Study of the Latin and -Greek Classics</i>," and "<i>Memory—an Allegory</i>," evince no inconsiderable -share of intellectual power. To the former especially we may be excused -for remarking that, more simplicity in style would not detract from the -vigor and originality of his thoughts. There are some persons who -either from choice or the peculiar character of their minds, love to -dress their sentiments in quaint and obscure diction, but <i>simplicity</i> -is at last the transparent medium which reflects more strongly and -clearly the force and brilliancy of the understanding.</p> - -<p>The able author of the "<i>Note to Blackstone's Commentaries</i>," is -entitled to be heard, even on a subject of such peculiar delicacy—a -subject upon which it is natural that the best heads and purest hearts -should essentially differ. Whilst we entirely concur with him that -slavery as a political or social institution is a matter exclusively of -our own concern—as much so as the laws which govern the distribution -of property,—we must be permitted to dissent from the opinion that it -is either a moral or political benefit. We regard it on the contrary as -a great evil, which society will sooner or later find it not only its -interest to remove or mitigate, but will seek its gradual abolition or -amelioration, under the influence of those high obligations imposed by -an enlightened christian morality. These are our honest sentiments, -which we do not espouse however in derogation of the equally honest -convictions of other minds.</p> - -<p>The "<i>Letters from a Sister</i>," the three first of which appear in the -present number, and which shall be regularly continued, will be read -with interest, notwithstanding the numerous diaries and epistles which -treat upon the same subjects.</p> -<a name="doom"></a> -<p>We entertained some doubt about the admission of "<i>The Doom</i>" into our -columns, not because of any inferiority in the style and composition, -but because of the revolting character of the story. The writer, with -apparent sincerity, states it to be founded upon actual occurrences; -but we confess that it seems to us a wild and incredible fiction. True -or false however, we derive from it this sound and wholesome -moral,—that sooner or later wickedness will find its just reward,—and -that of all the passions which ravage the heart and destroy the peace -of society, there is none more detestable than revenge. The hero of the -tale, who is described by his friend the writer, as "a light hearted -and joyous fellow," was in truth a remorseless fiend; compared with -whom Iago and Zanga were personifications of virtue; nor does the idle -phantasy of a supernatural vision, or the pretended influence of -fatalism, palliate the deep enormity of his crime. If the writer, who -assumes the signature of "Benedict," really had such a friend, he -should have drawn the mantle of oblivion over his dark frailties, and -never have recorded them with seeming approbation. He should have -avoided too, certain profane and unchaste allusions in his manuscript, -which we have been obliged to suppress; for we scarcely deem it -necessary to repeat that the "Messenger" shall not be the vehicle of -sentiments at war with the interests of virtue and sound morals—the -only true and solid foundation of human happiness.</p> - -<p>We invite attention to the third letter from New England, by a -Virginian,—whose talents, learning, and acute observation of men and -things, and whose easy style of composition, qualify him in a high -degree for the task of a tourist.</p> - -<p>The paper from our friend "<i>Oliver Oldschool</i>" will we hope be read by -the Dandies, if such creatures ever do read any thing calculated to -produce improvement either in mind or morals.</p> - -<p>The <i>selected</i> prose articles in this number will, we doubt not, be -read with pleasure and interest. The article on "<i>American Literature</i>," -and the impediments which retard its progress, is entitled to a patient -and deliberate reading. Its sentiments and language, if they should be -so unfortunate as not to command, at least deserve attention. The -author has happily combined solidity of argument with grace and beauty -in composition.</p> - -<p>As we intend from this time forward to be less indulgent than -heretofore to our poetical contributors, so we hope that the specimens -now presented, if not all of equal merit, have at least enough to save -them from censure. It is not expected indeed that <small>CRITICISM</small> will be -either silent or forbearing; for we have never been so fortunate as to -light upon any production, in prose or verse, in which its searching -and microscopic eye might not detect some slight blemishes.</p> - -<p>It will be perceived that we are again favored with a piece from the -pen of Mr. Wilde; and we seize this opportunity of expressing the great -pleasure we feel in transferring to our pages (under the head of -"Variety") the letter of that gentleman, in which he assumes explicitly -the sole authorship of those beautiful lines, which have been alike -claimed for an ancient Greek bard and a modern Irish poet. The enemies -of Mr. Wilde's literary reputation will now recant their unmerited -charge of plagiarism, and one of the most exquisite poems which the -genius of our country has produced will remain the undisputed property -of its owner.</p> - -<p>The author of "<i>A Song of the Seasons</i>," who assumes the quaint -cognomen of "Zarry Zyle," (we wish he had chosen some other,) is -unquestionably a youth of talent, and acute perception of all those -minute, lovely and delicate objects, both in the natural and moral -world, which can only be discerned by minds of superior mould. We beg -leave however to suggest for consideration, whether he does not take -too much pains to appear obscure—whether he does not too studiously -delight in dressing up his thoughts in that mysterious and eccentric -form of expression, which has detracted so much from the usefulness and -popularity of men of genius. But for this fault, Coleridge, we doubt -not would have ranked among the greatest bards of the present age. As -it is, his reputation is only seen through the dim shadows of -twilight—it does not blaze with the splendor of open day. Simplicity, -unaffected simplicity, is the great rule in composition, as it is in -the manners and conduct of life; and he who departs from it, does so at -the hazard of not securing the just reward of his merits.</p> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect51"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>VIRGINIA HISTORICAL AND PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIETY.</h4> -<br> - -<p>The Anniversary Meeting of this Society was held on the 3d and 4th Feb. -1835, in the Hall of the House of Delegates. The first evening was -exclusively devoted to the transaction of business. On the second -evening a learned, elaborate and elegant address was delivered by -Professor Tucker of the University, to a numerous auditory, and was -listened to with great attention. Mr. Maxwell of Norfolk presented to -the Society the identical pistol with which Captain John Smith killed -the Turk Grualgo, at the siege of Regal; and in his peculiarly happy -manner, dilated upon the singular good fortune and heroic qualities of -that extraordinary man. We shall speak of this valuable relic of -antiquity, and of the traditional history upon which the fact of its -identity rests, more particularly, in the February number. It is with -great pleasure that we announce to our patrons that the Proprietor of -the "Messenger" is authorised, by a resolution of the Society, to -insert from time to time in his paper, under the direction of the -standing committee, such portions of the manuscripts, &c. belonging to -the Society, as the committee may select for publication. In our next -number we hope to avail ourselves of this privilege—and it shall be -our endeavor to urge the claims of the Society to the general attention -and earnest regard of the public.</p> - -<blockquote><small>This form of our <i>January</i> number not having gone to press until -<i>February</i>, has enabled us to pen the above.</small></blockquote> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"><a name="sect52"></a> -<br> -<br> -<h4>EXTRACTS FROM THE LETTERS OF CORRESPONDENTS.</h4> -<br> - -<p>I send you these lines<small><small><sup>1</sup></small></small> without -the writer's name. It is one of many -instances in proof of what I have long believed, that selections might -be made from the unpublished writings of Virginians, composing a volume -of which any country might be proud. The writer of the above throws off -such scraps at idle times, without effort, and without pretension. With -so much of the inspiration of poetry, he has nothing of its madness, -and will never consent to be known to the world as an author.</p> - -<blockquote><small><small><sup>1</sup></small> "Beauty without Loveliness." -See article <a href="#sect18">above</a>.</small></blockquote> - -<p>So it is in other branches of literature. A man who has sense enough to -write a good book, very often has too much sense to publish it. In -countries where the division of labor has made literature a separate -trade, necessity often overrules the judgment of the writer, forcing -him to publish against his will—<i>se invito</i> as well as <i>invita -Minerva</i>. No such necessity exists here, and hence, among us, few -publish, but those who should be perpetually injoined the use of pen -and ink. Thank God, the literary reputation of Virginia has never -suffered much by such scribblers. We have a few such, but their -writings were too bad to do much harm; they never crossed the State line.</p> - -<p>Might you not take a hint from this consideration? The merit of your -publication will give a wide circulation to all that it contains. Are -you not then bound to be chary in your selections, and not lend your -wings to bear to distant lands the weak twitterings or the tuneless -chatter of the Pie and Sparrow kinds? The nightingale does not pour her -note until their noise is stilled. Print only for poets, and poets will -write for you. This is the true solution of the difficulty you have so -strongly stated in your last number.</p> - -<p>It is not in Virginia alone, that the writings which are permitted to -see the light afford an inadequate idea of the literary resources of -the country. It is not fair to judge of the poetical talents of our -northern neighbors by the labored dulness of a Barlow; or by the -writings of a certain literary cabal, which is trying to push its -members into notice by mutual puffing and quotation. Halleck is not one -of the firm; and Halleck is a true poet. But his writings first came -out anonymously; and it is the blaze of his genius which has betrayed -him to the public eye. The darkness in which it shrouds itself, -distinguishes it from all that shines only by reflected light. Men hunt -for diamonds in the night.</p> - -<p>Even in England, where the trade of literature embraces writers of a -very high order, I am not sure that the very best minds are devoted to -it. Some of the finest poetry in the language was found among the -manuscripts of Judge Blackstone. Nobody knew that Charles Fox wrote -poetry until after his death. But he did, and such as no writer need -have blushed to own.</p> - -<p>Among the caprices of the "<i>genus irritabile vatum</i>," is that of hiding -their talents. Some, from sheer spleen, will not write. John Randolph -used to say that he would go to his grave "guiltless of rhyme." Yet <i>he -talked poetry</i> from morning till night.</p> - -<p>As I am out a purveyor for your journal, and not a contributor, I am -bound to see that they, from whose writings I pilfer, come by no wrong. -I must therefore enter a complaint on behalf of the friend whose letter -I sent you, describing a scene on the Mississippi. His "clumps" of -trees your compositor has cut down to "stumps." Can you wonder that -your neighbor (<i>contemporary</i> I believe is the word in fashion,) -thought his letter but "<i>so so?</i>" He was no more bound to suppose that -this was a misprint, than to reflect that a traveller, writing from the -wilds of Missouri to a friend, might innocently make an unimportant -mistake in quoting from a book that perhaps never crossed the -Mississippi. But though he has to bear the brunt of the censure, it -should in justice fall on you or me. The thing was well enough as a -letter. The fault was in publishing it. But I shall attempt no defence. -I thought it but "so so-ish" when I sent it to you, and therefore I -said so. It was a plain unvarnished description, which had enabled me -to see very distinctly what was well worth seeing, and I wished others -to see it too. Had the composition been of a different character—had -the painter thrust <i>himself</i> between the spectator and his picture, or -so glossed it over that every object was lost in undistinguished glare, -I should have given it to the public eye by other means. I should -certainly not have defaced with it your modest pages. It surely would -not be hard to fix on some periodical in which any sort of tinsel would -be welcome, and find itself in congenial company. Such is the proper -receptacle for all the trumpery wares of frothy declamation, -incongruous metaphor, false eloquence and flippant wit, which make up -what is commonly called fine writing. There, in the gay confusion of -glass bead and gewgaw, any bauble, however worthless, finds its place, -escaping censure by escaping notice.</p> - -<p>To take more shame to myself, I acknowledge that the misquotation -struck me as I copied the letter. But the turn of the passage did not -admit of its correction; and I did not think it worth while to append a -note to tell what every body knows, and no one needs to know.</p> - -<p>But I shall do better in future. While you continue to publish what I -send you, I shall continue to cater for you. In doing this, I shall -henceforth cross the t's and dot the i's in my copies, although this -should have been omitted in the original. "I am wae to think" indeed, -as Burns says, what small critics would do for want of such mistakes. A -link in nature's chain (the last and lowest indeed) would be lost. The -<i>auceps syllabarum</i> "the word catcher that lives on syllables" would be -starved out. The race would be extinct for want of food. The king of -these insects bears among naturalists the formidable name of the -<i>dragon fly</i>. The boys call him the <i>musquito hawk</i>. He shall have no -more food from me. Your friend,</p> -<div align="right">X. Y. </div> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="50"> -<br> -<h5>FROM EASTERN VIRGINIA.</h5> - -<p>... I yesterday sent you some lines composed "Lang Syne," and written -from memory.... Do not print these things, I beseech you, unless you -like them. At the hazard of rapping my own knuckles, I shall quarrel -with you if you publish much trash. You may lose a subscriber by -rejecting it; but you will gain ten by every number you issue in which -every article is good. Horace tells us that neither gods nor men can -endure middling poetry. And what shall be said of that which is not -even middling? Let us take an example. Byron's name is sacred to the -muses. No man whose lips are not touched with the fire of inspiration -should be allowed to use it. Yet we have him shown up, and words put -into his mouth in many a piece, the writers of which cannot even count -their <i>feet</i>.</p> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="50"> -<br> -<h5>FROM NORTH CAROLINA.</h5> - -<p>"I was much delighted with the third number of the Messenger. It was -really a fountain of pleasure to me, and I shall never forget the -feelings which I experienced on reading the story entitled '<i>My -Classmates</i>.' I must believe that there cannot be any thing than the -most flattering hopes and prospects of your success in your truly -laudable—your truly patriotic undertaking. The people of Virginia, if -none others, will support its cause. They cannot—no, they will -not—they have too much love for the honor of Virginia, to let the -'<i>Messenger</i>' of science and literature suffer for the want of their -most liberal patronage. But you are not laboring for Virginia alone: it -is for the south—the <i>whole</i> south; and might I not add, for the whole -country? For who doubts but that the Messenger is destined to call into -active exertion the genius of the south? And who would deny but the -south has genius which would do honor to the <i>whole</i> country in any -walk? I shall never believe but that the land which produced a Henry, a -Washington, a Marshall, a Madison and Monroe, can also under favorable -auspices, produce a Cooper, Irving, Paulding, or <i>any man</i>. '<i>Go -ahead</i>,' as David Crockett says, '<i>since you are right</i>.' I send you a -subscriber."</p> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="50"> -<br> -<h5>FROM A DISTINGUISHED NORTHERN LADY.</h5> - -<p>"We are highly pleased with the Messenger. Its execution in the -<i>mechanical department</i>, is peculiarly neat; I see no periodical, that -in this point, will compare with it. And its contents are so -diversified, that there must be something adapted to almost every -taste—that is—every taste that has its foundation in correct -principles."</p> -<br> -<br> -<hr align="center" width="100"> -<br> -<br> -<h4>TO CORRESPONDENTS, CONTRIBUTORS, &<small>C</small>.</h4> -<br> - -<p>We have on hand a variety of articles in prose and verse, which we -shall dispose of as soon as possible. Some of these favors are of -decided, and some of equivocal merit. Others are so illegibly written, -that it passes our skill to decipher them.</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. -I., No. 5, January, 1835, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER, JAN 1835 *** - -***** This file should be named 53943-h.htm or 53943-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/9/4/53943/ - -Produced by Ron Swanson -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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