



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, DECEMBER, 1834.  [NO. 4.

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




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

SKETCHES OF THE HISTORY

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

No. II.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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




REVIEW

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




COLONIAL MANNERS.

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


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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

WESTERN SCENERY.

EXTRACT OF A LETTER FROM A WESTERN TRAVELLER.


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

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

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

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

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




THOM'S GROUP OF STATUARY,

FROM BURNS'S TAM O'SHANTER.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.

A TALE FOUNDED ON FACT.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

To his surprise, the prisoner peremptorily refused the offer.

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

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

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

'Oh, who would blame me?'

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

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

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

EMILLION.




LAW LECTURE AT WILLIAM AND MARY.

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


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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

_Williamsburg, October 27, 1834_.

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

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

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

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

_Professor Tucker_.    _Committee_.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Williamsburg, October 28, 1834_.

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

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

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

B. TUCKER.

To _Messrs. J. W. Dew, John Murdaugh, Wm. T. French, and Chs. H.
Kennedy_.

       *       *       *       *       *

YOUNG GENTLEMEN:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Williamsburg, October 27, 1834_.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE MARCH OF MIND.

"_Tempora Mutantur._"


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

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

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

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

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

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

  "My dukedom to a beggarly denier,"

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

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

  "A vapour eddying in the whirl of chance,"

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

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

  "The beggarly account of empty boxes,"

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

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

V.

_Lynchburg, Oct. 30, 1834_.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE VILLAGE ON FOURTH JULY 183--.

A TALE.

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

  Risum teneatis amici?--_Horace_.


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

       *       *       *       *       *

At the foot of a <DW72>, and on the right of a stream compressed between
two abrupt and craggy hills, covered with oaks and pines, stands a
small village, remarkable only for the rude and romantic scenery which
surrounds it. Access to it from the left side of the stream can only be
gained by a rocky, rugged and declivous road, the greater part of which
seems to have been either blasted or hewed out of the side of a hill,
around which it winds at a considerable height above the water--and, at
its termination is a neat frame bridge, which when crossed admits you
into the village. This stream bounds a conterminous portion of two
counties bordering upon the Potomac, into which it empties itself at
about five miles below the village, where the influx and reflux of the
tides are felt. Although there is considerable depth of water at the
village sufficient to float vessels of a large size, yet the clayey
alluvion brought down by the stream, and reacted upon by the river at
their junction, becomes a deposite which forms a kind of bar, over
which none but small crafts can pass. The number of inhabitants may be
estimated at from two to three hundred, the greater part of whom are
attached to a cotton factory but recently erected, and the remainder,
with the exception of a few families of consideration, are more or less
connected with the country and merchant mills, established many years
since, from which the village has its origin and perhaps its name.

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

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

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

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

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

  "The rustic honors of the scythe and share"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The peal of applause which ensued and continued for some minutes, rung
through the woods and welkin, and resounded from hill to hill, until
lost in the distance, after which the orator proceeded to the reading
of the Declaration of Independence. When he had read that part in these
words--"To secure these rights governments are instituted among men,
deriving their just powers from the _consent_ of the _governed_. That
whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it
is the RIGHT of the PEOPLE to _alter_ or _abolish_ it, and to institute
new governments,"[1] &c. in which his feelings were deeply enlisted, he
concluded the clause by giving vent to them in the following fervid
comments: "_Behold_ Americans!" cried he, "_behold_ the _whole_ of
_your_ rights explained. Do you not _see_ the figure which EVERY _one_
of you cuts?! Out of you _the power_ comes, and _nothing_ can be done
_without_ you. Don't this prove what I said in my extompere address,
'_that their heads cannot work without you_?'" (Here a voice was heard
to cry, "By jingo, Jack, clap on your hat; ding it, do as I do!")

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

T. P.

_Alexandria, November 1834_.




EXTRACT FROM LACON.


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




_University of Virginia, Nov. 13th, 1834_.

To the Editor of the Southern Literary Messenger.

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

R.


TO D----.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

E.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

INVOCATION TO RELIGION.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

L.

_Pittsylvania_.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

BEAUTY AND TIME.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

S[obelisk].




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

ANTICIPATION.


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

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

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

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

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

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

L.

_Pittsylvania_.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

HINTS TO STUDENTS OF GEOLOGY.

BY PETER A. BROWNE, ESQ.

NO. I.


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

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




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

ESSAY ON LUXURY.


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

B. B. B. H.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TO ----

"_Agite Mais Constant_."

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


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

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

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

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

POWHATAN.




EXTRACT.


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




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

ELOQUENCE.


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

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

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

[Footnote 1: Cato of Utica.]

[Footnote 2: Massaniello.]

H. M.




LETTERS FROM NEW ENGLAND.--NO. 2.

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


_Northampton, Mass. July 25, 1834_.

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

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

ON THE POLICY OF ELEVATING THE STANDARD OF FEMALE EDUCATION.

Addressed to the American Lyceum, May, 1834.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

L. H. S.




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

  From the North American Magazine.

MY NAME.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

J. D.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

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


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

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

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

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




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

VALEDICTORY IN JULY 1829,

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


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

An irresistible inducement on the present occasion to pursue towards
you the course to which I have so long been prompted both by principle
and habit, is, that _this_ is certainly the last opportunity I shall
ever have of addressing you as pupils. The connexion of teachers and
scholars which has subsisted for so many years between yourselves and
my family, is about to be dissolved forever. But this circumstance has
greatly augmented my solicitude to render the last admonitions I shall
ever give you in my character of adviser, of some permanent service to
you. They will relate to such endowments of mind and qualities of heart
as you will most frequently have occasion to exercise in future life.
These are, self-control, gentleness and benevolence of disposition,
purity and rectitude of conduct, courtesy and politeness of manner.

The necessity for acquiring self-control arises, not only from the
impossibility of gratifying all, even of our lawful wishes--to say
nothing of those unhallowed ones which increase in a tenfold proportion
from every indulgence--but from the almost continual calls for its
exercise in all our intercourse with society. At home or abroad--in the
depths of solitude, or in the busiest haunts of men--in all our
domestic relations, as well as in those which place us in a more
extended sphere of action, this all important quality is in continual
demand. In governing ourselves it is indispensable; nor is it much less
necessary when duty requires us to govern, direct or persuade others.
Even when we are casually brought into the company of strangers, and
for a short time only, it often enables us to command respect and to
gain esteem, by manifesting the vast superiority of a well regulated
mind over one which yields to every impulse of passion that assails it.
This inestimable quality of self-control gives additional zest to all
our lawful pleasures, and enhances our highest enjoyments, by causing
us always to stop short of satiety; while it enables us by God's help,
resolutely and undisturbed, to meet all the crosses and trials to which
others may subject us. In a word, it arms us against the strongest
temptation of our own passions, and empowers us to disregard the worst
that can be attempted against us by the passions of other people. It is
in fact the _regulator_, (if I may so express myself,) which governs
all the machinery of our minds in such a manner as to prevent them from
going either too fast or too slow. How many mortifications and
disappointments--how much anger, resentment and grief does it not
prevent our suffering from the envy, hatred, malice and
uncharitableness of the world around us! How often does it save us from
the shame and degradation of sensual indulgence; from the turpitude of
sin; from the anguish of remorse. It is the effectual check to the
depravity of our nature, which a merciful God will enable us always to
apply, if we will only ask it of him as we ought--that is, by continual
prayer and supplication.

The other qualities, gentleness, benevolence, purity, rectitude,
courtesy and politeness, when accompanied by good sense and a well
cultivated mind, constitute the great charm of domestic and social
life. Indeed, they may well be called indispensable requisites, since
there can be no happiness and very little comfort without them. There
never was a greater, a more fatal mistake, than the too common one of
supposing that the chief use of such qualities is in society at large;
in other words, when we are acting a part before the world, in our
ridiculous struggles for distinction and power. Selfishness is the
mainspring of all such efforts, and it so sharpens our sagacity as to
convince us that our bad qualities _must_ be restrained in public, or
they will frequently subject us to punishment if we attempt to disturb
others by their indulgence. But in private life, and particularly in
the family circle, there are few so insignificant or destitute of means
to disturb others as not to possess the power of causing much
annoyance, if not actual unhappiness. A single individual of a waspish,
irritable, jealous, gossipping, envious and suspicious temper, in these
situations, may destroy the peace and poison the domestic enjoyments of
a large family. No incident is too trivial to excite some one or other
of their bad passions; no person too unoffending to provoke them; no
conduct so guarded as to escape malignant remark. Their approach, like
the sirocco of the desert, produces an irresistible depression of
spirits; constraint and embarrassment spread a gloom over every
countenance, and the voice of joy and gladness dies away in their
presence. On the other hand, the emanations of a gentle, benevolent
disposition, produce the same impression on our hearts, that the balmy
breezes and sweet smelling flowers of the vernal season do on our
senses. It is a something that we feel deeply in the inmost recesses of
our bosom, but cannot well describe. It is an atmosphere of delight in
which we would gladly breathe during our whole life.

By purity of thought and rectitude of conduct, in which are
comprehended the inestimable virtues of truth, candor and sincerity, we
secure for ourselves the unutterable enjoyment of an approving
conscience, at the same time that we obtain from others their esteem,
their admiration, and their love. We may manifest these qualities in
every part of our intercourse with others; for whether we speak or act,
occasions continually present themselves to prove that we possess them.
By conversation we show the purity of our sentiments; by conduct we
manifest the rectitude of our principles--so that in all we either say
or do, we supply others with the means of ascertaining what manner of
persons we are. True we may deceive some by playing the hypocrite; but
the persons whose good opinion is really worth gaining, are not so
easily gulled, and our loss, if the game is once seen through, is
irretrievable.

In regard to courtesy and politeness, they may justly be called the
offspring of benevolence, since their chief object is to promote the
ease, the comfort, the pleasure, and happiness of others. It must be
admitted there are counterfeit qualities which sometimes pass
undetected. But _they_ are the base born children of art and
selfishness, aiming solely to promote their own interests by deceiving
other people into a belief that _their_ gratification is the end of all
their efforts to please. To say nothing of the continual labor and
constraint necessary to enable these circulators of false coin to
escape discovery and exposure, the superior ease and safety of genuine
courtesy and politeness, should be a sufficient inducement with all
young persons to study most assiduously to acquire them, even on the
supposition that we had no better guide for all our actions in relation
to others. That honesty _in manner_, as well as _in conduct_, will ever
be found to be the best policy, amid all the varying forms, fashions
and practices of the world, is I believe, as certain as that truth is
better than falsehood--virtue preferable to vice. Another argument
greatly in favor of genuine courtesy and politeness is, that they are
the most current and easily procurable coin you can possibly use, being
equally well adapted (if I may keep up the metaphor,) to make either
large or small purchases. The articles procured too in exchange, always
greatly exceed in real intrinsic value, all that you ever give for
them. This is merely the manifestation of a sincere, an earnest desire
to please; while the precious return is almost always the cordial
expression of truly friendly feeling, the look of pleasurable emotion,
and the affectionate regards of a grateful heart, particularly where
the intercourse has been of sufficient duration to admit of some little
development of character. Let it not be said that a cause apparently so
slight is inadequate to produce such strong effects. There lives not a
human being who has ever felt the influence of genuine courtesy and
politeness, but can testify to the truth of what has been said in their
praise. Nor is it easy to imagine the possibility of any individual's
remaining insensible of their value, who like you my young friends,
have always been accustomed to the society of ladies and gentlemen.
Knowing this as I do, I should consider it somewhat like a work of
supererogation to press upon you the absolute necessity of your
constantly cultivating these invaluable qualities, if I were not
thoroughly satisfied from painful experience, that almost all young
persons require at least occasional admonition on this subject. In vain
do some parents solicit, persuade--nay, beseech their daughters, never
for a moment to forget what is due to the character of a lady, both in
manners and deportment; in vain do they implore them with aching hearts
to make a better return for all a mother's care and affection; to no
purpose do they pray for that purity of heart and rectitude of
principle in their offspring, which is the only true source of good
manners: their unfortunate, wayward children continue to act, as if the
chief purpose of their existence was to prove to the world how little
influence their parents have over them. They seem utterly reckless of
the parental tie--regardless of all the disparaging inferences which
may be drawn from their own conduct in relation to the characters of
their connexions--and continue hardened alike against advice or
reproof, in whatever language or manner it may be offered to them. God
forbid that such should be the moral portrait of any of my present
auditors; but you have all sufficient experience to know that it is not
a fancy picture, nor one wherein the features are so exaggerated and
caricatured, as to be unlike any person who has ever lived. If none of
your schoolmates have ever resembled it, you have either seen or heard
of some others in the world whom it would fit. Should your own
consciences acquit you, as I sincerely trust they do, of all liability
to pursue so reckless a course, both in regard to parental and other
admonition--let me beseech you, my young friends, not to tax your
imaginations with laboring to conjecture whether I aim at any
particular individuals, for I do not; but strive most assiduously to
examine your own hearts thoroughly as to all these points, and study so
to act on all occasions and towards every person with whom you may have
any thing to do, that the praise not only of courtesy and politeness
may ever be yours, but likewise the far more exalted merit of right
minds and pure hearts.

When I look back on the years that have passed away since this school
commenced; when I reflect on the many anxious hours which your teachers
have spent in meditating on the most effectual means to render their
instructions and admonitions conducive to your eternal as well as
temporal welfare; and when I recollect the several instances wherein I
am persuaded they had good cause to believe that an all bounteous
Providence had favored their humble labors, my heart is filled with
gratitude for the past; and I cherish the fond hope that _you too_, my
young friends, will be added to the number of those, who by the
exemplary character of your future lives, will cause your instructers
to rejoice that _you_ likewise have once been their pupils. Three or
four of you have been so from the first to the last, and the rest have
been long enough members of our family to be thoroughly acquainted with
the whole course of our instruction. You cannot therefore be ignorant
either of the chief objects at which you have always been taught to
aim, or of the means recommended to be invariably pursued for their
attainment. If you have failed to profit by them the fault must rest
somewhere; the awful responsibility attaches to one or both parties;
and let us all earnestly pray to God, that the purity and rectitude of
our future lives, should it please him to spare us, may avert the
punishment justly due to such offences. That none may plead
forgetfulness, let me briefly recapitulate once more, and for the last
time, what our course has been. The primary objects always most
earnestly pressed upon your attention have been, first and above all,
to prepare yourselves for another and a better world, by a life of
usefulness in the present; by the love and fear of God; by cheerful
obedience to his will; and by continually doing good to your fellow
creatures whenever you had the means and the opportunity. Your
secondary objects have been the study of sciences and languages,
physical and intellectual improvement, with a view, not to foster pride
and vanity, but solely to increase your power of being useful. Lastly,
you have been taught to acquire certain arts usually ranked under the
head of "accomplishments," but you have been invariably and
perseveringly admonished to consider them merely as _recreations_,
innocent if indulged in only occasionally, but sinful when made, as
they too often are, the principal business of life. On all occasions
too, you have been persuaded never so far to confide in the maxim that
"youth is the season for enjoyment," as to forget that, like old age it
_may_, and too often _is_, the season of suffering also. A preparation
for such contingencies _must_ be made by all, or the hour of
misfortune, although every human being is destined to meet it, will
overwhelm those who are unprepared for it with a degree of misery which
admits of neither alleviation nor cure. Young as you all are, and
little as you have yet seen of human life, you have already felt, if
not in your own persons, at least in the case of others, something of
the effect produced by sudden and unexpected calamity, bursting like a
thunderclap on the heads of its devoted victims. But a few days have
passed away since you were witnesses to such an event in the case of
two of your school companions. The morning on which it happened shone
upon them cheerful and happy as any among you, unconscious of any
impending misfortune, undisturbed by any anticipations to mar their
peace. Yet, in a very few hours from that time, they were both plunged
into the deepest affliction; both by a single blow reduced perhaps to
poverty; both suddenly called by the most awful death of a parent of
one of them, to return to a wretched family bereft of its chief
support, and crushed to the earth in all the helplessness of
irremediable wo. Alas! my young friends, how few of you ever think of
drawing from such occurrences the many salutary lessons they are so
well calculated to impart! How many turn away from them as matters to
be banished as speedily as possible from your remembrance; as events
never likely to happen to yourselves! Yet every hour that we
live--every moment that we breathe--not one among us, no not one single
individual, can truly say, "_I_ am free--_I_ am exempt both from
present and contingent calamity." Far, very far am I indeed, from
wishing you to be so constantly absorbed in gloomy anticipations, as to
prevent you in the slightest degree from enjoying every innocent
gratification suitable to your respective ages and situations in life.
But I would have you all to know and to feel in your inmost heart, that
"sweet are the uses of adversity," and that none should think
themselves fit to live until they feel prepared to die the death of the
righteous before God and man. Hard as this requisition may seem,
thousands upon thousands, and of your age too, have complied with it to
the very letter. Thousands have furnished angelic examples, even to the
aged and hoary headed, that the fresh, the blooming, the joyous period
of youth may be dedicated to God, as well as that worn out remnant of
life when all power of earthly enjoyment is supposed to be dead within
us, and nothing remains to be offered to heaven but exhausted faculties
and fast decaying intellects. Has not our blessed Saviour himself
declared, when speaking of children, that "of such is the kingdom of
heaven;" and in illustration of this truth, are not all the images of
cherubim and seraphim presented to our senses, always represented with
juvenile countenances, glowing with all the innocence and loveliness of
youth? Shall the youth then of the present day--the youth of our own
country--but especially the female portion of them, ever adopt the
fatal delusion that _theirs_ is an age too immature for the acquisition
and exercise of the highest moral and religious attainments. Shall
_they_ fall into the ruinous error that it is yet time enough for them
to attend to spiritual matters, and that the prime and vigor of their
lives are to be wasted in merely temporal pursuits unworthy the
characters and disgraceful to the rational creatures formed for a state
of eternal happiness? Far better would it be that they never had been
born; or that the hand of misfortune--the saddest hours of unmitigated
suffering, should continue to press on them with all their weight,
until they could be brought to know their duty to God, to their fellow
beings, and to themselves. Heaven forbid, my young friends, that such
awful discipline should be necessary to bring _you also_ to a proper
sense of all you owe to the Divine Author of your existence, and to
that society of which you may become either the blessing or the curse.
Heaven forbid that any of you should so far forget the high destinies
for which you were formed--the glorious purposes to which your lives
should be devoted--and the everlasting happiness promised in another
world to all who fulfil their duties in this, as to neglect for a
moment any of the means essential to improve your hearts and minds to
the utmost attainable degree. Nothing--no nothing within the range of
possibility can enable you to do this, but continual, earnest,
heartfelt prayer to God for the aid of his holy spirit in all your
undertakings; frequent and deep meditation on all the vicissitudes of
life; frequent and serious forethought in regard not only to what you
may probably enjoy in the present world, but to what you may possibly
be devoted to suffer. Gay and happy as you all now are in the joyous
anticipations so natural to youth and health, it _may_ be your fate
(but God forbid it ever should,) to see one by one of your nearest and
dearest connexions drop into the grave--some in the very blossom and
promise of juvenile years--others worn down by care, disease and old
age. It _may_ be your fate to be the very last of your race, reserved
to mourn over all who have gone before to another world. All this, my
children, and yet deeper affliction may possibly be _your_ lot--for it
_has been_ that of thousands, aye of millions before you. Can it be of
_no importance_ then; nay, is it not of _the last, the highest, the
most vital importance_, that you should make at least some small
preparation for such appalling contingencies, lest they befal you
utterly unawares? Will you ask me what is that preparation? It is
simply so to use all your good gifts as not to abuse them; so to
cherish all the powers both of your bodies and minds that they may last
as long as nature intended they should, and fulfil all the purposes for
which they were designed; so to divide your time between useful
occupation and necessary recreation, that none may be said to be wasted
or lost; in a word, _so to live_ that you may never be found
_unprepared to die_. The joys of heaven should ever be the beacon to
guide your course; and the road by which you should travel through the
present life to reach them, should be _that_ and _that only_ which your
heavenly Father, through his blessed Son, has commanded and besought
you to take. Thousands who have steadily pursued this course have
testified that it is "a way of pleasantness and a path of peace" to all
who have once attained the dispositions, feelings and principles
enjoined upon those who have made it their choice, in preference to all
other reputed roads to happiness; while not a solitary human being who
has ever tried these other roads, has ever yet been heard to bear
witness in their favor, after the experiment has been fully made. Woful
then must be your mistake, most fatal your error, in choosing "the way
in which you should go," should you rather be led by the sinful
allurements of illicit pleasure, than the universally concurring
testimony of the good, the wise, and the just throughout the world.

In a few fleeting hours more this school will cease to exist, and your
present monitor will have uttered the last words of admonition which he
will ever address to you as pupils. Anxiously, most anxiously do I
desire to fix them indelibly on your minds. But alas! I feel too
sensibly my own inability, as well as the evanescent nature of all
language in the form of advice, to hope for more than a temporary
impression. If I make even _that_, I shall in part at least have
attained the sole object of all that I ever said to you, which has been
your own intellectual improvement, your own happiness. Let me entreat
you, my dear young friends; let me implore you for the last time, never
to forget (whatever other things you may suffer to escape your
memories,) any of the various moral and religious instructions which
you have received under our care. I feel well assured that they will
not fail to come home to your bosoms--probably too with greatly
augmented force, should the withering blasts of misfortune ever spread
desolation and wo among you. But I pray for something more for you. I
would have you bear them continually in remembrance, even in your
happiest hours of prosperous fortune. I would have each of you
individually meditate on them "when thou sittest in thy house, and when
thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest
up." Then, but not until _then_, will you be fully prepared both for
adversity and prosperity; and then indeed may you confidently trust
that the God of all mercy and goodness will vouchsafe to impart to you
the true christian's last, best hope, both for time and eternity.

Separated from us all as you will soon be, perhaps forever, and about
to enjoy, as I earnestly desire, a happy meeting with the beloved
friends and relatives from whom you have been so long withdrawn, accept
for the last time our heartfelt assurances that our best wishes, our
anxious prayers for your happiness, will accompany you through all the
vicissitudes of life; that we shall always sympathise both in your joys
and your sorrows; and that our own enjoyments will ever be greatly
augmented by hearing that you are all leading exemplary and happy
lives. For power to do this, forget not--oh! never for a moment forget,
that your sole reliance must be on your heavenly Father and his holy
spirit, which hath been promised abundantly to all who ask it in truth
and sincerity.

"May the blessing of an all merciful God be ever on you and around you.
May his grace be a lamp unto your feet and a light unto your path. May
it guide, strengthen and support you in all the troubles and
adversities of this life, and bring you, through faith in our Redeemer,
to eternal blessedness in that which is to come."--AMEN.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE SEASONS.


The verdant spring, decked in her brightest gems, and arrayed in her
most gorgeous vesture, has driven hoary winter to his icy caverns, and
leads forth her sportive train to kindle a smile upon the face of
nature. The mountain streamlets, revelling in joyous gaiety at their
disenthralment from the chains of winter, are playfully meandering
among the flowrets which deck their velvet banks; and the smiling
vallies, embosomed amid the lofty mountains, put forth their verdure,
as if in commemoration of him who "holdeth in his hand the destiny of
nations!" The blushing rose has expanded beneath the genial rays of the
resplendent god of day, and scents with its fragrance the vernal
zephyrs which stoop to kiss it as they pass. The woods, and rivers, and
mountains, all clad in their variegated garments, seem to mingle in the
celebration of the grand jubilee of nature!

The flowers of spring have faded. The refulgent sun has ascended yet
higher in his brilliant pathway through the heaven; the gay vesture of
the earth is yellowing beneath his scorching rays. The fruit, of which
the vernal blossoms gave such fair and glorious promise, has ripened
into maturity under his golden influence. Voluptuous summer has been
ushered in upon the stage of time, accompanied and heralded by myriads
of gleesome fairies, wantonly disporting upon the rich carpets,
rivalling in splendor the purple of ancient Tyre, which nature has
spread over the earth for her reception. The chaste Diana holds her
nocturnal course through the blue expanse of ether, studded with
countless gems, the brightest jewels in heaven's diadem, shedding her
mild and mellow light over the sombre forests, and gilding the
sparkling streamlets, which placidly repose beneath her beams. Earth,
sea and air, encompassed by a heavenly serenity, seem to blend their
beauties into one rich picture of loveliness, and offer up their united
orisons to the sovereign Lord of all!

The revolving wheels of time, in their ceaseless and eternal gyrations,
have rolled away the glories of the regal summer into the vast charnel
house of the past--and the demon of decay, like the fiend consumption,
breathing its fatal influence upon the roseate cheek of youthful
beauty, has withered the tresses which hung in wild luxuriancy upon the
bosom of the earth, and has stamped upon her brow the impress of his
iron signet, as if to shadow forth her approaching doom. The limpid
streams which veined her surface, and under the mild sway of the
queenly summer, danced and sparkled in the sun's meridian beam, now
roll lazily along in their channels, as if performing the funeral
obsequies of the buried past. The vallies, but lately decorated in the
blooming apparel of spring, have now assumed a more variegated and
gorgeous hue, which like the hectic flush which fitfully crimsons the
pallid cheek of consumption's hopeless victim, only indicates the
accelerated progress of decay. A deep, monotonous, unbroken stillness
reigns o'er the hills and vallies, but lately teeming with life and
animation. A creeping, deathlike, insidious languor, the sure precursor
of winter's despotic reign, pervades the works of nature, hushing the
breezes which ripple o'er the surface of the placid lake, and fettering
the whole earth in supine inertness. The face of nature is robed in
melancholy sadness, as if mourning over the faded glories of the
declining year!

Onward, in cold and gloomy grandeur, advance the frowning heralds of
the despot winter! Every vestige of vernal beauty has faded from their
presence. The mountains, vales and rivulets, as if anticipating his
hateful arrival, have veiled themselves in a frigid, chilling vesture
of white! Even the tears which sympathising heaven sheds upon the bosom
of the earth, become congealed and frozen beneath his blighting
influence. The volcanic fires which rage in the bosom of the towering
mountain cower in dismay from his terrific glance. At length the
tyrant, with his iron sceptre and icy crown, is seated on his throne.
His attendant ministers rush to assist in the frightful coronation, and
amid the demoniac yells which announce the termination of the loathsome
ceremony, the harsh old Boreas shrieks forth the requiem of the
departed year!

V.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

BYRON'S LAST WORDS.

BY D. MARTIN.


  Summer was in its glory. Night came down,
  With a light step upon the virent earth;
  Sepulchral silence reigned on every side;
  And the winds--those heralders of storm
  Which curl the billows on Old Ocean's brow,
  In their low breathings were inaudible,--
  When a gifted son of Genius sought his home,
  And threw himself upon a lowly couch,
  And as his being's star went slowly down,
  He thus communed in low and faltering tone:--

            Oh! it is hard to die!
    To leave this world of amaranthine green,
    Whose glittering pageantry and flowery sheen,
            Vie with the glorious sky!

            But alas! the hand of Death,
    Has laid its icy grasp upon me now;
    The cold sweat rests upon my feverish brow,
            And shorter grows my breath!

            Well be it so!
    And I will pass away like light at even,
    Unto the Houri's amethystine heaven,
            Where all immortal go!

            Yet I have drank
    Unto its very dregs, the cup of Fame,
    And won myself a green, undying name,
            In Glory's rank!

            And yet!--oh, yet,
    "Break but one seal for me unbroken!
    Speak but one word for me unspoken!
            Before my sun is set!"

            Oh, for one drop
    Of the black waters of that stream sublime,
    Which follows in the stormy track of Time,
            This breath to stop!

            It may not be!
    Yet I would pray that Memory might rest,
    Like the wan beauty of the sunlit west,
            In dark oblivion's sea!

  Thus did he commune--and when the god of day
  Rose like a monarch from his sapphire throne,
  His spirit had passed away like morning mist--
  And winged its way unto that far off land,
  Where burns fore'er eternity's bright star!




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TO A YOUNG LADY.


  How beautiful, fair girl, art thou,
    All robed in innocence and truth!
  Upon thy calm and snowy brow,
    Beam, like a crown, the smiles of youth;
  Heaven's sunshine falls and lights thy way,
    As one too pure and bright for sorrow--
  And virtue's soft and seraph ray
    Flings lustre on thy dawning morrow,--
  Giving a promise, that thy life
  Will ever be, with pleasure, rife!

  Upon those dark, bright eyes of thine,
    That soft, like moonlit waters, beam,
  I love to gaze, and, as they shine,
    Of those ethereal beings dream,
  That oft, on us, have smiled, in sleep,
  Then quickly flown, and made us weep,
  That e'er to man, so much of heaven
  Should just be shown,--ah! never given!

  How soft the rose upon thy cheek,
    Blent with the lily's milder hue,
  Whose mingling tints of beauty speak
    A sinless spirit--calm and true!--
  The smile, that wreathes thy rosy lip,
    Is young affection's radiant token--
  Beauty and Truth in fellowship!--
    The symbol of a heart unbroken;
  Within thy bosom, holy thought,
    As in a temple, hath its shrine,
  Refulgent with a glory caught
    From the pure presence of thy mind,
  Whose lustre flings a hallowing ray,
  Around thee, calm as orient day!

  Oh! may thy life be ever bright,
    As aught thine early dreams have framed,
  And not a shadow dim its light,
    Till heaven, in mercy, shall have claim'd
  Thee, as a being fit for naught
  That earth can boast, all sorrow-fraught
  As are its brightest visions. May
    Thy life be one long dream of love,
  Unbroken 'til the final day,
    When heaven shall waft thy soul above,
  And crown thee, as an angel _there_,
  Who wast indeed an angel _here!_

A. B. M.

_Tuscaloosa, Alabama_.




For the Southern Literary Messenger.

LINES IN AN ALBUM.


  As sets the sun upon the wave,
    At twilight, when the day is done,
  Casting a glory round his grave,
    That lingers, though his race be run;--
  A glory, that attracts the gaze
    Of many a bright, uplifted eye,
  Leading the spirit, where his rays
    Blend with the quiet, azure sky,
  Till evening's star, with diamond beam,
  Mirrors his last effulgent gleam;--

  So I would now, upon this page,
    At parting, _this_ memorial leave,
  O'er which, perhaps, in after age,
    Some pensive eye may kindly grieve,
  And mourn the loss of him, who though
    His life was all unknown to fame,
  Left still behind a feeble glow,
    Hallowing, in friendship's sky, his name,--
  A light, that, like a star, will beam,
  Long, long, he trusts, in memory's dream!

       *       *       *       *       *

  And now my wish for happiness
    To thee, I mingle with mine own,--
  A wish--a _prayer_, that heaven may bless,
    And keep thee, kind and gentle one,
  Free from all sorrow, care and strife,--
    A being far too pure and bright
  To wander 'mid the storms of life,
    That dim affection's vestal light,--
  A seraph form'd like those above,
  For only joy, and peace, and love!

  I need not tell thee, time can ne'er
    Thy name from memory's tablet blot,
  For thou art to my heart too dear,
    To wrong its worship, by the thought;
  No! though the world may sorrow bring,
    And bear thee far away from me,
  It from remembrance ne'er can wring
    The thoughts, that aye will turn to thee,
  As Chaldea's maiden to the star,
  She worships in its sphere afar!

A. B. M.

_Tuscaloosa, Alabama_.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

PARTING.


  Farewell!--my hand is trembling yet,
    With the last pressure of thine own;
  Oh! could my troubled heart forget
    The sadness, 'round that parting thrown,--
  Could memory lose the imaged smile,
    Bright sparkling through thy gushing tears,
  Which played upon thy cheek, the while
    Hope struggled with her prophet fears,
  That love and bliss no more would throw
    Their beams around us, as of erst,
  Or happiness, with seraph glow,
    Upon our rapturous _meetings_ burst,--
  I then might lose a sorrowing thought,
  But one, with deep affection fraught!

  Yet go!--I would not keep thee here,
    When "it is best to be away,"--
  Go, seek thy distant home, and ne'er
    Let memory 'round these visions stray,
  When happiness, and love and joy,
    Unto our mingling hearts were given;--
  Oh! go, and ne'er may pain annoy,
    Or sorrow dim thine eye's blue heaven,
  But peace and pure affection hold
    Their vigils 'round thine angel way,
  And blessedness thy form enfold,
    And keep thee, 'til "the perfect day,"
  When heaven shall join the hearts of those,
  Who here have loved, through countless woes!

  Go!--and I will not ask, or give
    A sigh,--a tear,--a single token,
  To prove our cherished love will live,
    Forever true, in faith unbroken;--
  Though wayward fate has severed far
    Our fortunes, by a cruel lot,
  Yet love will live, with being's star,
    And never,--never be forgot;--
  God's blessings on thee!--if the smile
    Of heaven e'er lights a seraph's path,--
  Protecting it from blight the while
    It wanders here, 'mid sin and wrath,--
  _Its_ smiles upon _thy_ path shall beam,
  And light it, like an Eden dream!

A. B. M.

_Tuscaloosa, Alabama_.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

LINES SUGGESTED ON VIEWING THE RUINS AT JAMESTOWN.


    Monuments of other years, on ye I gaze
  As yonder sun sheds forth its dying rays;
  And as I read these marbles, reared to tell
  Who lived beloved, and much lamented fell;
  A feeling sad comes o'er my soul, and then
  My fancy brings their tenants back again.
  Not these alone, but those whose footsteps trod
  The soil before, and worshipp'd nature's god
  Free from scholastic trammel, and adored
  Him thro' his works, without the zealot's sword
  To force belief. Where are ye now? Bright star
  That shed'st thy soft light thro' the skies afar,
  Art thou the same that didst thy pale beams shed
  O'er the last broken-hearted Indian's bed?
  When death was glazing fast his eagle eye,
  Say, didst thou gleam from yonder deep blue sky
  O'er his dim vision, and point out the way
  Thro' death's dark vestibule to endless day?--
  How did he die? With curses loud and deep
  (Startling the panther from his troubled sleep,)
  All wildly bursting from his soul for those
  Who came as friends, but--proved the worst of foes?
  Say, did he breathe his untamed spirit out,
  With the stern warrior's wild unearthly shout
  Quiv'ring along his lip, all proudly curled,
  Which seem'd to say, "defiance to the world?"
  Or was the lion quiet in his heart?
  And did a gush from feeling's fountain, start
  Adown his swarthy cheek, when o'er his soul
  Came tender feelings he could not control.
  Thoughts of the past perhaps; his aged sire;
  His mother bending o'er the wigwam's fire;
  His brothers, sisters, and the joyous chase;
  The stream he used to lave in oft, to brace
  His manly sinews; and perchance the maid,
  With whom in brighter days he oft had strayed
  Mid the hoar forest's over spreading shade.
  Came there a group past mem'ry's straining eye
  To teach the _brave_ how hard it was to die?
  What boots it now to know? Yet fancy warms
  With strange imaginings, and the gaunt forms
  Of forest heroes pass her eye before,
  As a strange feeling steals the spirit o'er.
  Is that Apollo[1] with his polish'd bow
  And quiver--with rich locks that freely flow
  Adown his neck of graceful form--whose eye
  Seems like some bright orb beaming from the sky?
  O! shade of Powhatan! I would not dare
  To breathe one word upon this balmy air
  To make thee sad--for as I look around,
  I _feel_ this mournful spot is sacred ground!
  If thou dost mark my footsteps, where I tread
  Unthinking, o'er those warrior's mounds, who bled
  Contending bravely for their own green hills,
  Their sunny fountains and their gushing rills,
  Their fields, their woods, their partners and their sons,
  This noble stream which to the ocean runs,--
  Shade of the mighty Werowance[2] forgive!
  No trifling thoughts within this bosom live;
  No throb unhallowed thrills my bosom here,
  As o'er these mounds I drop a mournful tear.
  But day declines; the hosts of heaven ride
  All brightly--while the moon, pale as a bride
  When at the altar her young vows are given,
  Smiles sweetly from her altitude in heaven.

    The red man and the white, together sleep
  That dreamless slumber, and the waves' hoarse sweep
  Awakes them not--and I a wandering boy,
  Will not with my sad song their manes annoy.

    I drop a parting tear, thou sacred pile,
  To thy strewn columns and thy moss grown aisle;
  Thy broken pavement, and thy ruined arch,--
  How rapid Time, thy desolating march!

    Farewell! farewell! thou sacred, solemn spot;
  What I have felt shall not be soon forgot:
  Rest, rest, ye slumberers! would that I could sleep;
  Your's is all calm, but _I_ must live to weep.

SYLVANUS.

_August, 1834_.

[Footnote 1: It is said of West, the celebrated painter, that on being
shown an Apollo, he exclaimed, "My God, how much like a young _Mohawk
warrior_."]

[Footnote 2: Indian term for a great man.]




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

ODE WRITTEN ON A FINE NIGHT AT SEA.


  How softly sweet this zephyr night!
  To Venus sends her brilliant light!
  And Heav'n's inhabitants unite
      Each kindly beam,
  To put fell darkness' train to flight,
      With gentle gleam.

  The vessel's sides the waters wake,
  And waveless as the bounded lake,
  A solemn slumber seem to take
      Extending wide;--
  Along the ship they sparkling break
      And gem the tide.

  Midst such a scene, no thoughts can find
  An entrance in the pensive mind,
  But such as virtue has refined,
      The past must smile--
  And flatt'ring fancy will be kind,
      And hope beguile.

  Blest silence! solitary friend--
  My thoughts with thee to _home_ I send;
  And _there_ absorbed my sorrows end--
      In vain I roam--
  As blossoms to the day-star tend,
      So I to home.

  Not more I owe that glorious ray
  That beams the blessing of the day;
  Not more my gratitude I pay
      For air and light--
  Than for that Home now far away--
      First, best delight.

  A little while, and that blest spot,
  From mem'ry shall raze each blot,
  And all my wand'rings there forgot,
      At last I'll rest--
  No sorrow shall disturb the cot
      So loved, so blest.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

AUTUMN WOODS.


  A deep ton'd requiem's in the sigh
  Of the moaning blast, as it hurries by
        Yon fading forest;
  Upon its rushing wings is borne
  A voice sad as the anthem's tone
        Above the dead:
  It is the wild wind's hymn of death,
  Which pours in plaintive strains its breath
        O'er autumn woods;
  When hurl'd to earth by the fitful storm,
  Some frail leaf's wan and wither'd form
        Sinks to its tomb.
  Sad relics of the dying year;
  Thy springtide glories now are sear,
        And all departed:
  Where now's thy fairy robe of spring,
  The sunbeam and the zephyr's wing
        Once wove for thee?
  Say, where's that gush of melody
  Thy sylvan minstrels pour'd for thee
        In thy summer bowers?
  Or where's the Æolian song thou wouldst wake
  When some sporting zephyr's breath would shake
        Thy rustling leaves?
  Thy robe--thy song have past away,
  And the funeral pall and the funeral lay
        Alone are thine!
  How oft when summer's azure sky
  Was bath'd in the golden, gorgeous dye
        Of sunset's glow,
  I've lov'd to wander through thy bright
  And verdant bowers, gilt with light
        Of parting day;
  To list to the soft, faint melody
  Of thy vesper hymn, as it floated by
        On the passing breeze--
  Or view, when on the stream's bright sheen
  Was pictured all thy fairy scene
        In mimic art;--
  How calm that stream, in its slumber seeming,
  Of thee and all thy pageant dreaming
        Reflected there.
  But thro' thy shades 'twas not alone
  I stray'd. With me there wander'd one
        Of gentler mould,
  Around whose seraph form awakening,
  Young beauty's morning light was breaking
        In roseate beam--
  And round whose stainless brow fond Love,
  And Hope and Joy a wreath had wove
        Of freshest bloom.
  Thou sad memento of the tomb!
  Say, shall that wreath, with its sunny bloom,
        E'er fade like thee?
  Shall Time's chill mildew on it light,
  Or sorrow breathe its _autumn_ blight
        Upon its flowers?
  A voice is in each falling leaf
  Which says, "earth's brightest joys are brief"--
        _Thus fade its hopes!_
  Then mid that wreath of fading flowers
  Fond pleasure weaves, to deck her bowers,
        Oh! twine that flower
  Whose fadeless hue, whose springtide bloom
  Immortal lives, beyond the tomb--
        Bright SHARON'S ROSE.

H.




We extract the following sprightly effusion from the _North American
Magazine_, published in Philadelphia. It bears a strong resemblance to
the grace and freedom, and _piquancy_ which distinguish the muse of
Halleck, one of the most highly gifted poets in America. We hope our
fair readers, however, will not suppose that the author's satire is
adapted to our meridian. The BEAUTIES of our southern clime, are too
generous and disinterested to be won by the sordid allurements of
splendid edifices, bank shares and gold eagles!--at least we hope so,
and should be sorry to find ourselves mistaken.

THE DECLARATION.


  The lady sat within her bower,
    Where trellissed vines hung o'er her,
  With flashing eye and burning cheek,
    Down knelt her fond adorer;
  He took her soft white hand, and in
    Her bright eye fondly gazing,
  Sought for a look, to show that he
    An equal flame was raising;
  Yet still her eyes were turned away,
    And as his heart waxed bolder,
  And he devoured her lily hand,
    The lady's look grew colder.

  And then he swore by all the stars,
    That in the sky were shining--
  By all the verdant vines that o'er
    Her gentle bower were twining--
  By mountains, valleys, seas and streams,
    And by the moon above her,
  And everything therein that e'er
    Sophi or saints discover--
  He never could know peace again
    On earth, till he had won her;
  Yet still she answered not the look
    Of love he cast upon her.

  And then he swore, at her command,
    To show his love, he would do
  What never mortals did before,
    And none but lovers could do,
  That he would climb up to the moon,
    Or swim the ocean over--
  Would dine one day at Sandy Hook,
    And sup next night at Dover;
  Then jump from thence to London, and
    Alight on St. Paul's steeple--
  Then pull the Premier's nose, and make
    O'Connell damn the people.

  Or that he would put armour on,
    And, like a knight of yore, he
  Would fight with giants, castles scale,
    And gain immortal glory.
  Then go and build a kingdom up,
    And be a mighty winner;
  Bowstring the Sultan Mahmoud--and
    His TURKEY eat for dinner.
  Then follow Lander's dismal track,
    And on the Niger's banks
  An Empire of the <DW54>s found,
    And merit Tappan's thanks!

  If HARDER tasks she did demand,
    He would reform the nation,
  Make talent, honesty, and worth,
    Essentials to high station--
  Make politicians tell the truth,
    Give consciences to brokers,
  And put upon the temperance list
    An army of old soakers--
  Make lawyers "keep the people's peace,"
    Physicians kill them CHEAPER--
  A cloud was on the lady's brow,
    Which, as he spoke, grew deeper.

  He swore she had the brightest eyes,
    That ever look'd on mortal;
  And that their light was like the rays
    That stream from Heaven's own portal;
  That by her cheek, the opening rose
    Would look but dim and faded;
  And darker than the raven's wing,
    The hair her fair brow shaded;
  That Venus by her side would look
    A common country dowdy;--
  The lady blushed and smiled, and then
    Her brow again grew cloudy.

  Up sprung the lover then, and said,
    "Will you be Mrs. Popkins--
  Miss Julia Jane Amelia Ann
    Matilda Polly Hopkins?
  I have a house four stories high--
    We'll live in splendid style, and
  A handsome countryseat upon
    Lake George's sweetest island--
  Ten thousand eagles in the mint,
    Bankshares, untold, percented"--
  The lady bent her cheek to his,
    Her gentle heart relented!




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

FROM MY SCRAP BOOK.


  You ask me B----ty, why I mourn,
    Yet dry'st the tearful eye?
  You ask me why I look with scorn,
    And check the heaving sigh?
  Time was, when I could carol forth,
    To tune of lively glee;
  But dark despair has left no hope--
    Nor sigh--nor tear--for me.
  Like me--perchance some wayward sprite,
    Might dazzling lead astray;
  Then leave you on the giddy height,
    To perish far away:
  Take heed while yet you have the choice,
    Avoid the Syren's way;
  Nor listen to the artful voice,
    Which calls--but to betray;
  For sigh from him that is deceived,
    Or tear from eye that once believed,
  Is sought in vain--tho' fill'd with grief,
    Nor sigh nor tear can bring relief;
  'Tis _time_ alone can steel the heart,
  And foil the Syren's pointed dart.

POWHATAN.

_Petersburg, Dec. 19, 1834_.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE MECHANICIAN AND UNCLE SIMON.


About the period of what "_I am gaun to tell_," the ancient aristocracy
of Virginia had passed through its death struggle; the times when the
rich were every thing and the poor nothing, had passed away; and the
high pretensions of the sons of the Cavaliers had yielded to the more
levelling opinions of the Roundheads. The badges of distinction, such
as coats of arms and liveries, had become too odious to be generally
kept up; occasionally however the latter were seen, but so rarely, that
they looked like the spectres of departed greatness, and excited a
feeling of contempt or pity for the weakness of the master, rather than
respect for his wealth and rank. There was one class of people
nevertheless, who retained all their attachment to these distinctive
marks; and indeed they do so to this day: I mean the class of servants
who belonged to the old families. They were the veriest aristocrats
upon earth, and hated with the most unrelenting hatred all the ignoble
blood of the land, and deeply deplored the transition of property from
the nobles to the serfs. Though their own "_ancient but ignoble blood_"
had literally almost "_crept through scoundrels ever since the flood_,"
they detested the poor and adored the rich. I shall never forget the
Fall of the year ----. I had just graduated at one of our northern
colleges, and received my two diplomas, with their red ribbons and
seals attached. They were deposited by my good friend Andrew McMackin,
the most expert diploma rigger in all the village, in a plain
cylindrical case of pasteboard, for safe keeping, and would have
remained there probably to this day unmolested, had not the rats made
an inroad upon them, and in a single night demolished sigillum and
signature--all that it had cost me years of hard labor to obtain--aye,
and twenty dollars to boot. Not satisfied, I suppose, with the
attestation of the president and venerable board of trustees, they were
desirous of adding their own ratification of my pretensions to science.
Be that as it may; full of delightful anticipation at the prospect of
returning to my native state, after an absence of four years, I took my
seat in the mail stage, and travelled three hundred miles without once
going to bed. Such a journey at this day of steamboat and railroad car
would be nothing, but at that time it was a great undertaking, and
attended with much fatigue. The vehicles were crazy and often broke
down, and the passengers had the pleasure of paying dearly for the
privilege of walking many a mile through the mud. At length I arrived
at the little town of F----, the end of my journey on the great mail
route, where I expected to meet with some kind of conveyance to take me
into the country to my uncle's. As I leaped from the carriage to the
pavement, where many loiterers were gathered to witness the arrival of
the stage, I found myself suddenly locked in the arms of some one, who
exclaimed, "_There he is, the very moral of his grandpapa!_ God bless
your honor, how do ye do? I'm so glad to see you." Extricating myself
with some degree of embarrassment, because of the crowd around me, I
perceived that the salutation proceeded from one of our old servants,
who stood gazing upon me with the moat benevolent smile. His appearance
was quite outré to one who had lived so long at the north. His old and
faded livery, was blue turned up with yellow; he held in his hand a
horseman's cap, without the bearskin; his boots had once been
white-topped, but could no longer claim that distinctive epithet; like
Sir Hudibras, he wore but one spur, though probably for a different
reason; his high forehead glistened in the sun, and his slightly grey
hair was combed neatly back, and queud behind with an eelskin so tight
that he could hardly wink his eyes, exhibiting a face remarkably
intelligent and strongly marked, with a nose uncommonly high and
hawkbilled for a <DW64>. Perceiving my embarrassment, he drew back with
a very courtly bow, and begged pardon, declaring he was so glad to see
me, he had forgotten himself and made too free. I made haste to assure
him that he had not--gave him a hearty shake by the hand--called him
Uncle Simon, a name he had been always accustomed to from me, and
drawing him aside, overwhelmed him with questions about every body and
every thing at home. Tell me, said I, how is my uncle? "I thank you
sir, quite hearty, and much after the old sort--full of his projjecks,
heh! heh! perpechil motion, and what not." What, said I, is he at that
still? "Oh yes--oh yes--and carridges to go without hawses; God love
you, Mass Ned, I don't think they ken go without animel nater." And how
does my aunt like all this? "Ah!" said he, putting up his hands with an
air of disgust, "She can't abide it--things go on badly. You 'member my
four greys? So beautiful!--my four in hand!--all gone, all sold. Why,
sir, I could whistle them hawses to the charrut jest as easy as snap my
finger. Our fine London charut too! _that's gone_--and my poor Missis
your aunt, has nothin to ride in, but a nasty, pitiful push phaton." I
am sorry to hear it, Simon. "Why, Mass Ned, what mek you all let them
Demmy Cats sarve you so? What you call 'em? Publicanes? Yes, _I'd_ cane
'um as old master used to do." But Simon, how is cousin Mary? "Miss
Mary? Oh, Miss Mary is a beauty; gay as a young filly, and she walks
upon her pasterns ----." Well, well, said I, interrupting him, Simon
let us be off; what have you brought for me to ride? "Old Reglus, sir,
your old favorite." Having taken some refreshment, and transferred my
clothes to the portmanteau, I mounted Regulus, who still shewed his
keeping. He was a bright bay, and his hair was as glossy as silk under
Simon's management; his eye still glanced its fire, and his wide
nostrils gave token of his wind. He knew me, I shall ever believe it,
for my voice made him prick his ears, as if listening to the music of
former days. It seemed to inspire him with new life; he flew like an
arrow, and Simon found it impossible to keep up with me, mounted as he
was on a high trotting, rawboned devil, that made the old man bound
like a trapball, whenever he missed his up-and-down-position movement.
His figure, thus bobbing in front of a monstrous portmanteau and
bearskin, was so ludicrous, I could not forbear laughing; and reining
up my steed, I told him I would ride slower for the sake of
conversation with him. "Do, my good sir," cried he, "for this vile
garran will knock the breath out of my body. If I had but my old hawse
Grey Dick alive agin--that hawse, Mass Ned, was the greatest hawse upon
the face of the yearth; I rod him ninety miles the hottest day that
ever come from heaven, and when I got through our outer gate, he seized
the bit between his teeth, and run away with me, and never stopped till
he got clean into the stable. Whenever I fed him, I was 'bliged to shet
the stable door and go away, for if he heard me move or a stirrup
jingle, he would'nt eat another mouthful, but stood with his head up
and his eyes flying about, impatient for me to mount." I knew this was
the moment to put in a leading question to bring out a story I had
heard a thousand times. That was not the horse that ran away with you
when a boy? "No--no--that was Whalebone; _your_ grandpapa used always
to go to court in his coach and six; I can see him now, in his great
big wig, hanging down upon his shoulders, and powdered as white as a
sheet. I was then a little shaver, and always went behind the carridge
to open the gates. Waitinman George rod the old gentleman's ridin horse
Bearskin, and led Mass Bobby's hawse Whalebone; Mass Bobby rod in the
carridge with old master. Well, one day what should George do but put
me up upon Whalebone, as big a devil as ever was; soonever I got upon
him, off he went by the coach as hard as he could stave; old master
hallooed and bawled--he'll kill him--he'll kill him--George how dare
you put Simon upon Whalebone? Pshey! the more he hallooed the more
Whalebone run. I pulled and pulled till I got out of sight, and turned
down the quarter stretch, and then _I did give him the timber_--Flying
Childers was nothin to him. When old master got home, there I was with
Whalebone as cool as a _curcumber_. I made sure I should get a caning,
but all he said was, D--n the fellow! I 'blieve he could ride old
Whalebone's tail off--heh! heh! heh!"

I am sorry I cannot do more justice to the eloquence of Simon, who
excelled in all the arts of oratory. His eyes spoke as much as his
tongue; his gestures were vehement, but quite appropriate; he uttered
some words in as startling a voice as Henry Clay, and his forefinger
did as much execution as John Randolph's. As to his political opinions,
he was the most confirmed aristocrat, and thought it the birthright of
his master's family, to ride over the poor, booted and spurred. It was
his delight to tell of his meeting one day, as he swept along the road
with his smoking four in hand, a poor man on horseback, whom he
contemptuously styled a _Johnny_. He ordered the man to give the road;
but as he did not obey him as readily as he desired, he resolved to
punish him. By a dexterous wheel of his leaders, he brought the chariot
wheel in contact with the fellow's knee, and shaved every button off as
nicely as he could have shaved his beard with a razor. But enough of
Simon. I beguiled the way by drawing him out upon his favorite topics,
until we got within sight of my uncle's house, a fine old mansion, with
an avenue of cedars a mile in length. They had been kept for several
generations neatly trimmed, and he who had dared to mar their beauty
with an axe, would have been considered a felon, and met his fate
without benefit of clergy. I have lived to see them all cut down by the
ruthless hand of an overseer, who sees no beauty in any thing but a
cornstalk. However, this is wandering from my present theme. Then they
were in all their evergreen loveliness, and I hailed them as my ancient
friends, as I galloped by them, with a joyous feeling at approaching
the scene of my childhood. The folding doors soon flew wide open, and
the whole family rushed out to meet me with true-hearted old fashioned
Virginia promptitude. I must not attempt to describe a meeting which is
always better imagined than described. Let it suffice, that after the
most affectionate greeting, which extended to every servant about the
premises, I was ushered to my bed room at a late hour, with as much of
state as could be mustered about the now decaying establishment, and
soon sunk into a profound slumber, well earned by the toils and
fatigues of my journey. Early the next morning, before I left my room,
my excellent and revered uncle paid me a visit, and ordered in the
never failing julep,--_such a one as would have done honor to Chotank_.
At the same time he suggested to me that he would greatly prefer my
taking a mixture of his own, which he extolled as much as Don Quixotte
did his balsam to Sancho, or Dr. Sangrado his warm water to Gil Blas.
It was a pleasant beverage, he said, compounded of an acid and an
alkali. He had discovered by close observation, that all diseases had
their origin in acid, and that alkali of course was the grand panacea;
even poisons were acids, and he had no doubt that he should be able to
form a concrete mass, by means of beef gall and alkali, which would
resemble and equal in virtue the mad stone. If I felt the slightest
acidity of stomach, I would find myself much relieved by one of his
powders. He had written to Dr. Rush on the subject, and he shewed me a
letter from that gentleman, at which he laughed heartily, and in which
the Doctor protested he might as well attempt to batter the rock of
Gibraltar with mustard seed shot as to attack the yellow fever with
alkali. I could not help smiling at the earnestness of my dear uncle,
and assured him that I had no doubt of the virtues of his medicine, but
as I was quite well, I would rather try the anti-fogmatic; and if I
should feel indisposed, would resort to his panacea; although I
secretly resolved to have as little to do with it as Gil Blas had with
water. Having dressed myself and descended to the breakfast room, I
there met my aunt and cousin, who soon made me acquainted with the
present condition of the family. Every thing was fast declining, in
consequence of the total absorption of the mind of my uncle in his
visionary schemes; and I saw abundant evidence of the wreck of his
fortune, in the absence of a thousand comforts and elegancies which I
had been accustomed to behold. He soon joined us, and such was his
excellence of character, that we most carefully avoided casting the
smallest damp upon his ardor. Indeed, he was a man of great natural
talent and much acquired information, and was far above the ridicule
which was sometimes played off upon him by his more ignorant neighbors.
I almost begin to think that _we_ were the mistaken ones, when I look
around and see the perfection of many of his schemes, which I then
thought wholly impracticable. When old Simon thought that a carriage
could never go without _animel nater_, he certainty never dreamed of a
railroad car, nor of the steam carriages of England; and when my uncle
gravely told me that he should fill up his icehouse, and manufacture
ice as he wanted it in Summer, by letting out air highly condensed in a
tight copper vessel, upon water, I did not dream of the execution of
the plan by some French projector. I must not be thus diffuse, or I
shall weary the patience of my reader. A ride was proposed after
breakfast, and my uncle immediately invited me to try his newly
invented vehicle which could not be overset. I have constructed, said
he, a carriage with a moveable perch; by means of which the body swings
out horizontally, whenever the wheels on one side pass over any high
obstacle or ground more elevated than the other wheels rest upon; and I
shall be glad to exhibit it to a young man who is fresh from college,
and must be acquainted with the principles of mechanics. I readily
accepted his proposal, although I trembled for my neck; but declared I
had no mechanical turn whatever, and could not construct a wheelbarrow.
He was sorry to hear this, as he was in hopes I would be the depositary
of all his schemes, and bring them to perfection in case of his death,
for the benefit of his family. We soon set off on our ride; and Simon
was the driver. As I anticipated, in descending a hill where the ground
presented great inequality, the whole party were capsized, and nothing
saved our bones but the lowness of the vehicle. Never shall I forget
the chagrin of my uncle, nor the impatient contemptuous look of Simon,
as he righted the carriage; he did not dare to expostulate with his
master, but could not forbear saying that he had never met with such an
accident when he drove his four greys. "Ah, there is the cause," said
my uncle, much gratified at having an excuse for his failure; "Simon is
evidently intoxicated; old man, never presume to drive me again when
you are not perfectly sober; you will ruin the most incomparable
contrivance upon earth." Simon contented himself with a sly wink at me,
and we made the best of our way home; my uncle promising me another
trial in a short time, and I determining to avoid it, if human
ingenuity could contrive the means. The next day, as I was amusing
myself with a book, my uncle came in from his workshop, with a face
beaming with pleasure; and entering the room, proceeded in the most
careful manner to close all the doors; and producing a small crooked
stick, said to me with a mysterious air, "My boy, this stick, small and
inconsiderable as it seems to be, has made your fortune. It is worth a
million of dollars, for it has suggested to me an improvement in my
machine for producing perpetual motion, which puts the thing beyond all
doubt." Is it possible, cried I, that so small a stick can be worth so
much? "Yes, depend upon it--and I carefully closed the doors, because I
would not be overheard for the world. Some fellow might slip before me
to the patent office, and rob me of my treasure." I observed that
nobody was there who could possibly do so. "Yes, somebody might be
casually passing, and I cannot be too vigilant. I take it for granted,"
he resumed, "that you are apprised of the grand desideratum in this
business. You do not imagine, with the ignorant, that I expect to make
matter last longer than God intended; the object is to get a machine to
keep time so accurately, that it may be used at sea to ascertain the
longitude with precision. Do you know that a gentleman has already
constructed a time piece, for which the Board of Longitude paid him
fifty thousand pounds; but owing to the metallic expansion, it would
not be entirely accurate." I answered that I had not so much as heard
of the Board of Longitude--and he proceeded to explain his improvement,
of which I did not comprehend a syllable. All that I felt sure of,
although I did not tell him so, was that he would not succeed in
realizing the million of dollars; and, accordingly, when admitted as a
great favor into his sanctum sanctorum, the work shop, to witness his
machine put in motion, it stood most perversely still after one
revolution, and "_some slight alteration_" remained to be made to the
end of the chapter,--until hope became extinct in every breast save
that of the projector. I could fill a volume with anecdotes of this
sort, but will add only one, as descriptive of the very great height to
which visionary notions may be carried. My uncle was a federalist, and
of course hated Buonaparte from the bottom of his soul. He told me as a
most profound secret, that he had discovered the means of making an old
man young again, by removing from him the atmospheric pressure, and
that nothing deterred him from patenting his discovery, but the fear
that Buonaparte would attach his machinery to a body of soldiers and
fly across the British Channel, and thus light down in the midst of
England, and make an easy conquest of the only barrier left upon earth
to secure the liberties of mankind. Eheu! jam satis! thought I. In this
way did my poor uncle spend his time, to the utter ruin of a fine
estate, which was surrendered to the management of that most pestilent
of the human race, an overseer,--who would not at last be at the
trouble of furnishing the old gentleman with wood enough to keep him
warm in his spacious edifice. The means he resorted to, to reprove the
overseer, were not less characteristic and laughable than many of his
singular notions. One very cold day he sent for him; the man attended,
and was ushered with much solemnity into an apartment where a single
chump was burning feebly in the chimney place, and a table was standing
in the centre of the room, covered with papers, pen and ink. My uncle
received him with unusual courtesy, and ordered the servant to set a
chair for Mr. Corncob by the _fire_,--with a peculiar emphasis on the
word. "I have sent for you, Mr. Corncob," said he, "to get you to
witness my will. You see, sir," pointing at the same time to the
fire--"you see, sir, how small a probability there is that I shall
survive the present winter. I am anxious to settle my affairs previous
to my being attacked by the pleurisy, and have therefore sent for you
to aid me in doing so." This was a severe reproof, and the man having
done as he was bid, retired with an air the most sheepish imaginable. I
fill up the picture by stating that I married my cousin, and inherited
the estate in due course of time; but a mortgage swallowed it up as
effectually as an earthquake--and poor old Simon died of a broken heart
when Regulus was knocked off at the sale of his master's property at
twenty dollars, to the man whom he hated of all others, Christopher
Corncob, Esquire.

NUGATOR.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

LINES WRITTEN IMPROMPTU,

On a Lady's intimating a wish to see some verses of mine in the
Messenger.


  A Lady requests me to write
    Some lines for your Messenger's muse,
  And I cannot be so impolite,
    By any means, as to refuse.

  So I scribble these words in my way,
    In spite of Minerva, you see;
  But Venus will smile on my lay,
    And that is sufficient for me.

A. B.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE PEASANT-WOMEN OF THE CANARIES.


  Beautiful Islands, how fair you lie
  Beneath the light of your cloudless sky,
  And the light green waves that around you play,
  Seem keeping forever a holiday;--
  Beautiful Islands, how bright you rise
  'Twixt the crystal sea and the sunny skies!

  The luscious grape, with its royal hue
  Veil'd in a tint of the softest blue,
  Hangs on the vine in its purple prime
  As proud to garnish its own sweet clime,
  And the olive sports in your soft, sweet air
  Its pale green foliage--a native there.

  Music is ceaseless your trees among,
  Thou Island-home of a choral throng;
  Music unheard on a foreign shore;--
  Songs of the free--which they will not pour
  When exile-minstrels compelled to roam--
  They're sacred songs to their sweet isle-home.

  Why, though it's light in the Olive-bower,
  And fragrance breathes from the Orange-flower,
  And the sea is still and the air is calm
  And the early dew is a liquid balm--
  Why are the young ones forbade to roam,
  Or stray from the door of their Cottage-home?[1]

  In the light that plays through the Olive-bower,
  In the scent that breathes from the Orange-flower,
  In the liquid balm of the early dew,
  In the smooth, calm sea with its emerald hue,
  Can the Peasant-mother no charm descry
  To protect from the curse of the "evil eye."

  While they shall loiter the trees among,
  Echoing the wild Canary's song,
  The "_mal de ajo_" may on them rest
  And blight the pride of the mother's breast;
  Her bosom throbs with a secret dread,
  Though paths of Eden her loved ones tread.

  Lo, from the Peak, with its hoary crown,
  The "_el a pagador_" sails down,
  And over the Cot in the moon-light floats,
  Foreboding death in its awful notes--
  Who in that Cottage but pants for breath,
  And hears that voice as the voice of death?

  Richly the vine with its deep green leaf,
  Girdles the base of the Teneriffe,--
  Yet there, in the prime of the sunny day,
  The Peasant-maiden dares not to stray,
  Till the secret charm to her arm is set,
  And her bosom throbs to an amulet.

  When, oh! when, shall darkness flee,
  From the rosy Isles of the sunny sea?
  The light of Truth with its living ray,
  Pour on their dwellers a clearer day,
  And _Mind_ from the chain of its darkness rise,
  Like a bird set free, to its native skies?

ELIZA.

_Maine_.

[Footnote 1: D. Y. Brown's Superstitions of the Canary Islands.]




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE HEART.


  Man's heart! what melancholy things
    Are garner'd up in thee!--
  What solace unto life it brings
    That none the heart can see--
  'Tis shut from every human eye,
    Close curtain'd from the view;
  The scene alike of grief or joy--
    Man's Hell and Heaven too.

  Should all mankind combine to tear
    The curtain, thrown around,
  Their labor would be spent in air--
    It is his hallow'd ground:
  Within thy magic circle, Heart!
    So potent is his spell,
  No human hand hath strength to part
    Or turn aside the veil.

  In sadness, there's a pleasure soft,
    "Which mourners only know;"
  My heart affords this treasure oft,
    And there I love to go;
  It is the chosen spot where I
    Can live my life anew--
  My Home!--my Castle!--my Serai!
    Which none must dare break through.

  In thee, my Heart! I am alone
    Quite unrestrained and free,
  Thou'rt hung with pictures all my own,
    And drawn for none but me;
  All that in secret passes there,
    Forever I can hide;
  Ambition--love--or dark despair--
    My jealousy--or pride.

  Yes, when ambitious--ardent--young--
    I thought the world my own,
  My glowing portraits there were hung;
    How have their colors flown!--
  Some are by Time, defaced so far
    I look on them with pain;
  But Time nor nothing else can mar
    The portrait of my JANE.

  I placed her there who won my soul;
    No creature saw the maid;
  I gazed in bliss, without control,
    On every charm displayed:
  It was a sweet, impassion'd hour,
    When not an eye was near
  To steal into my lonely bower,
    And kiss her image there.

  Earth held not on its globe the man
    Who breathed that holy air;
  No mortal eye but mine did scan
    My folly with my fair;
  Sole monarch of that silent spot,
    All things gave place to me;
  I did but wish--no matter what--
    Each obstacle would flee.

  And did she love? She loved me not,
    But gave her hand away;
  I hied me to my lonely spot--
    In anguish passed the day;
  And such a desolation wide,
    Spread o'er that holy place,
  The stream of life itself seemed dried,
    Or ebbing out apace.

  But what I did--what madly said--
    I cannot tell to any--
  Her portrait in its place hath staid,
    Though years have flown so many;
  Nor can each lovely lineament
    So deep impress'd, depart,
  Till Nature shall herself be spent,
    And thou shalt break, MY HEART.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

MR. WHITE,--I send you a Parody upon Bryant's Autumn, apparently
written by some disconsolate citizen of Richmond after the adjournment
of the Legislature in time past. If the picture be faithfully drawn, it
may perhaps amuse the members of the assembly who are now in your city.

NUGATOR.

PARODY ON BRYANT'S AUTUMN.


  The very dullest days are come, the dullest of the year,
  When all our great Assembly men are gone away from here;
  Heaped up in yonder Capitol, how many bills lie dead,
  They just allowed to live awhile, to knock them on the head;
  Tom, Dick, and Harry all have gone and left the silent hall,
  And on the now deserted square we meet no one at all--
  Where are the fellows? the fine young fellows that were so lately
        here
  And vexed the drowsy ear of night with frolic and good cheer.
  Alas! they all are at their homes--the glorious race of fellows,
  And some perhaps are gone to forge, and some are at the bellows.
  Old Time is passing where they are, but Time will pass in vain;
  All _never_ can, though _some_ may be, _transported_ here again:
  Old "_What d'ye call him_," he's been off a week, or maybe more,
  And took a little <DW64> up, behind and one before;
  But _What's his name_ and _You know who_, they lingered to the last,
  And neither had a dollar left and seemed to be downcast;
  Bad luck had fallen on them as falls the plague on men,
  And their phizzes were as blank as if they'd never smile again;
  And then when comes December next, as surely it will come,
  To call the future delegate from out his distant home,
  When the sound of cracking nuts is heard in lobby and in hall,
  And glimmer in the smoky light old Shockoe Hill and all,
  An old friend searches for the fellows he knew the year before,
  And sighs to find them on the Hill Capitoline, no more;
  But then he thinks of one who her promise had belied,
  The beautiful Virginia, who had fallen in her pride.
  In that great house 'twas said she fell where stands her gallant
        chief,
  Who well might weep in marble, that her race had been so brief--
  Yet not unmeet it was he thought--oh no, ye heavenly powers!
  Since she trusted those good fellows, who kept such shocking hours.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

  Audire magnos jam videor duces
  Non indecoro pulvere sordidos.--_Hor. Car. L. ii. 1._

I stood upon the heights above Charlestown, and was silently
contrasting the then peaceful aspect of the scene with that which it
presented on the day of wrath and blood which had rendered the place so
memorable in story, as my fancy filled with images of the past and once
more crowded the hill--not indeed with knights and paladins of old,

  Sed rusticorum mascula militum
  Proles, Sabellis docta ligonibus
  Versare glebas, et severae
  Matris ad arbitrium recisos
  Portare fustes.--_Hor. Lib. iii. Car. 6._

As the silent hosts arose in imagination before me, I thought of the
complicated feelings which on that day must have stirred their hearts;
I thought of the breasts which kindled under the insult of invasion and
were nerved with the stern determination to play out the game upon
which was staked their all of earthly hope or fear, and it struck me
that the gallant Warren, whose voice had often made the patriot's heart
to glow and nerved the warrior's arm, might perhaps have addressed them
in sentiment something as follows:

THE BATTLE OF BREED'S HILL.


  Look down upon the bay, my men,
    As proudly comes the foe;
  Ah! send them back their shout agen,
    That patriot hearts may glow.

  They come to us in pomp of war--
    The tyrant in his gold;
  Our arms are few--they're stronger far,
    But who will say as bold?

  No Briton ever forged the chains
    Shall bind our hands at will;
  The Pilgrim spirit still remains,
    Out on the western hill.

  Their power may awe the coward slave,
    But not the stalwart free;
  Their steel may drive us to the grave,
    But not from liberty.

  Our fathers spirit boils along
    Impetuous through our veins;
  We ask to know, where are the strong,
    To bind us in their chains?

  Then let the foe look to his steel,
    And count his numbers strong;
  We bide him here for wo or weal,
    As he shall know ere long.

  We'll dare him to the last of death--
    We've sworn it in our hearts;
  We stand upon our native heath--
    We'll hold till life departs.

  Oh! what is death to slavery!
    The dead at least are free:
  And what is life for victory!
    We strike for _liberty!_

  This sod shall warm beneath our feet,
    All reeking in our gore,
  And hearts that gladly cease to beat,
    The foe must trample o'er.

  Our boys are bold--their mothers stern,
    Will rear them true and brave,
  And many noble hearts shall burn
    To free a father's grave.

  Let every tongue be hushed and still,
    Each soldier hold his breath--
  They're marching up the sloping hill,--
    And now prepare for death.

ALPHA.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TO A LADY.


  Oh! do not sing--my soul is wrung
    When those sweet tones salute mine ear;
  Thou canst not sing as _thou hast_ sung--
    As _I have heard_, I cannot hear.
  Then do not breathe to me one strain
    Of those I loved in years gone by;
  Their melody can only throw
    A darker cloud upon my sky.

  Speak not to me!--thine accents fall
    By far too sadly on my ear;
  They _told_ of love, and hope, and joy--
    They _tell_ of life made lone and drear.
  No word speak thou! The tones are changed
    That breathed to me thy young heart's vow
  Of all-enduring fondness; aye!
    Thou canst but speak in _kindness_ now.

  And worse than all would be the smile
    Which once was mine, and only mine;
  Thou wert my hope--thy love my pride--
    Thy heart my spirit's chosen shrine.
  But _now_--oh! smile not on me _now_;
    'Tis insult--worse, 'tis mockery!
  Estranged, and cold, and false, thou art;
    Smile if thou wilt--but not on me.

 M. S. L.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TO IANTHE.


  Think of me when the morning wakes,
    With a smile that's bright and a blush that's new;
  And the wave-rocked goddess gently shakes
    From her rosy wings, the gems of dew.

  Think of me, when the day-god burns
    In his noon-tide blaze and his purest light;
  And think of me when his chariot turns
    To the sombre shades of silent night.

  Think of me, when the evening's store
    Of brilliance, fades on the wondering eye;
  And think of me, when the flowers pour
    Their incense to the star-lit sky.

  Think of me when the evening star,
    Through the deep blue sky shall dart his beams;
  And think of me when the mind, afar,
    Shall chase the forms of its joyous dreams.

  Think of me in the hour of mirth--
    Think of me in the hour of prayer--
  Aye! think amidst each scene of earth,
    You feel my spirit is mingling there.

  For morning's beam--nor evening's light--
    Nor days of woe--nor hours of glee--
  Nor e'en religion's holiest rite,
    Can steal or force my thoughts from thee.

FERGUS.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

SONNET.

FROM THE PORTUGUES OF CAMOENS.

BY R. H. WILDE, _Of Georgia_.

  Sonnet xliii. of the edition of 1779-1780.

  "O cysne quando sente ser chegada," &c.


  They say the Swan, though mute his whole life long,
  Pours forth sweet melody when life is flying,
  Making the desert plaintive with his song,
  Wondrous and sad, and sweetest still while dying;
  Is it for life and pleasure past he's sighing,
  Grieving to lose what none can e'er prolong?
  Oh, no! he hails its close, on death relying
  As an escape from violence and wrong:
  And thus, dear lady! I at length perceiving,
  The fatal end of my unhappy madness,
  In thy oft broken faith no more believing,
  Welcome despair's sole comforter with gladness,
  And mourning one so fair is so deceiving,
  Breathe out my soul in notes of love and sadness.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

EPIGRAMME FRANCAISE.


  Lit de mes plaisirs; lit de mes pleurs;
  Lit on je nais; lit on je mours;
  Tu nous fais voir combien procheins
  Sort nos plaisirs de nos chagrins.

TRANSLATION.

  Couch of Sorrow; Couch of Joy;
  Of Life's first breath, and Death's last sigh;
  Thou makest us see what neighbors near
  Our pleasures and our sorrows are.

The above was the execution of a task proposed by a French gentleman,
who, boasting the piquant terseness of his language, said that the
original could not be rendered into English.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TRUE CONSOLATION.


  He had wept o'er the honored, in age who die;
    O'er the loved,--in beauty's bloom;
  O'er the blighted buds of infancy:
    Till all earth was to him a Tomb.

  And sorrow had drunk his youthful blood,
    And hastened the work of Time;
  And the cankering tooth of ingratitude
    Had withered his manhood's prime.

  But he turned from earth, and he looked to the sky,
    His sorrow by faith beguiling;
  Where Mercy sits enthroned on high,
    With his loved ones round her smiling.

  He looked to Eternity's bright shore,
    From the wreck of perished years;
  And Mercy's voice, through the storm's wild roar,
    Came down to sooth his fears.

  That gentle voice has charmed away
    The frenzy from his brain;
  And his withered heart, in her eye's mild ray,
    May bud and bloom again;

  And her smile has chased the gloom from his brow,
    So late by clouds o'ercast;
  And his cheek is bright with the sun-set glow,
    That tells that the Storm is past.

  And his heart returns to the world again,
    But forgets not the world above;
  For Heaven sends love to sooth earthly pain,
    But Heaven's whole bliss is Love.




  For the Southern Literary Messenger.

SONNET.

BY R. H. WILDE, _Of Georgia_.


  Thou hast thy faults VIRGINIA!--yet I own
    I love thee still, although no son of thine;
  For I have climb'd thy mountains, not alone--
    And made the wonders of thy vallies mine,
    Finding from morning's dawn 'till day's decline
  Some marvel yet unmarked--some peak whose throne
    Was loftier; girt with mist, and crown'd with pine,
  Some deep and rugged glen with copse o'ergrown,
    The birth of some sweet valley, or the line
  Traced by some silver stream that murmured lone;
    Or the dark cave where hidden crystals shine,
  Or the wild arch across the blue sky thrown;[1]
    Or else those traits of nature, more divine
  That in some favored child of thine had shone.

[Footnote 1: The Natural Bridge.]




[The following letter, written by a distinguished President of the
oldest College in Virginia, has been already or rather formerly before
the public;--but no apology is necessary for transferring it to the
columns of the "Messenger." Its elegant style and still more excellent
sentiments, will always command admiration,--and we doubt whether we
could render a more essential service to society than to republish it
annually, in order that every young married lady (at least within the
range of our subscription) should receive the benefit of its precepts.
Certain we are, that more wholesome advice conveyed in more agreeable
language, we have seldom seen contained in the same space. It is of
itself a volume of instruction, and we do most cheerfully recommend it
to the softer sex, whether married or single; for the married may
profit by it even after years of conjugal tranquillity--and the single
may at least _expect_ to profit. It is more especially applicable,
however, to her who has just sworn her vows on the altar of
hymen--whose life of bliss and peace, or misery and discord, may depend
upon the first six or twelve months of "prudent, amiable, uniform
conduct."

Let it not be understood, however, that we are believers in the
doctrine, that the pleasures of the matrimonial voyage are wholly
dependant upon the conduct of the lady. She is but the second in
command, and still greater responsibilities rest upon him who stands at
the helm and guides the frail bark of human happiness. We should indeed
be thankful if some of our highly gifted and experienced friends would
prepare a _counterpart_ to this valuable letter of advice, designed
more particularly for the edification of such of us lords of creation
as have either contracted or are likely to contract the nuptial bond.
As to the old bachelors they are an incorrigible race, upon whom such
advice would be wasted, and therefore they need not trouble themselves
to read it.]

ADVICE FROM A FATHER TO HIS ONLY DAUGHTER.

WRITTEN IMMEDIATELY AFTER HER MARRIAGE.


_My dear Daughter_,--You have just entered into that state which is
replete with happiness or misery. The issue depends upon that prudent,
amiable, uniform conduct, which wisdom and virtue so strongly
recommend, on the one hand, or on that imprudence which a want of
reflection or passion may prompt, on the other.

You are allied to a man of honor, of talents, and of an open, generous
disposition. You have, therefore, in your power, all the essential
ingredients of domestic happiness; it cannot be marred, if you now
reflect upon that system of conduct which you ought invariably to
pursue--if you now see clearly, the path from which you will resolve
never to deviate. Our conduct is often the result of whim or caprice,
often such as will give us many a pang, unless we see beforehand, what
is always the most praiseworthy, and the most essential to happiness.

The first maxim which you should impress deeply upon your mind, is,
never to attempt to control your husband by opposition, by displeasure,
or any other mark of anger. A man of sense, of prudence, of warm
feelings, cannot, and will not, bear an opposition of any kind, which
is attended with an angry look or expression. The current of his
affections is suddenly stopped; his attachment is weakened; he begins
to feel a mortification the most pungent; he is belittled even in his
own eyes; and be assured, the wife who once excites those sentiments in
the breast of a husband, will never regain the high ground which she
might and ought to have retained. When he marries her, if he be a good
man, he expects from her smiles, not frowns; he expects to find in her
one who is not to control him--not to take from him the freedom of
acting as his own judgment shall direct, but one who will place such
confidence in him, as to believe that his prudence is his best guide.
Little things, what in reality are mere trifles in themselves, often
produce bickerings, and even quarrels. Never permit them to be a
subject of dispute; yield them with pleasure, with a smile of
affection. Be assured that one difference outweighs them all a
thousand, or ten thousand times. A difference with your husband ought
to be considered as the greatest calamity--as one that is to be most
studiously guarded against; it is a demon which must never be permitted
to enter a habitation where all should be peace, unimpaired confidence,
and heartfelt affection. Besides, what can a woman gain by her
opposition or her differences? Nothing. But she loses every thing; she
loses her husband's respect for her virtues, she loses his love, and
with that, all prospect of future happiness. She creates her own
misery, and then utters idle and silly complaints, but utters them in
vain. The love of a husband can be retained only by the high opinion
which he entertains of his wife's goodness of heart, of her amiable
disposition, of the sweetness of her temper, of her prudence, and of
her devotion to him. Let nothing upon any occasion, ever lessen that
opinion. On the contrary, it should augment every day: he should have
much more reason to admire her for those excellent qualities, which
will cast a lustre over a virtuous woman, when her personal attractions
are no more.

Has your husband staid out longer than you expected? When he returns,
receive him as the partner of your heart. Has he disappointed you in
something you expected, whether of ornament, or furniture, or of any
conveniency? Never evince discontent; receive his apology with
cheerfulness. Does he, when you are housekeeper, invite company without
informing you of it, or bring home with him a friend? Whatever may be
your repast, however scanty it may be, however impossible it may be to
add to it, receive them with a pleasing countenance, adorn your table
with cheerfulness, give to your husband and to your company a hearty
welcome; it will more than compensate for every other deficiency; it
will evince love for your husband, good sense in yourself, and that
politeness of manners, which acts as the most powerful charm! It will
give to the plainest fare a zest superior to all that luxury can boast.
Never be discontented on any occasion of this nature.

In the next place, as your husband's success in his profession will
depend upon his popularity, and as the manners of a wife have no little
influence in extending or lessening the respect and esteem of others
for her husband, you should take care to be affable and polite to the
poorest as well as to the richest. A reserved haughtiness is a sure
indication of a weak mind and an unfeeling heart.

With respect to your servants, teach them to respect and love you,
while you expect from them a reasonable discharge of their respective
duties. Never tease yourself, or them, by scolding; it has no other
effect than to render them discontented and impertinent. Admonish them
with a calm firmness.

Cultivate your mind by the perusal of those books which instruct while
they amuse. Do not devote much of your time to novels; there are a few
which may be useful in improving and in giving a higher tone to our
moral sensibility; but they tend to vitiate the taste, and to produce a
disrelish for substantial intellectual food. Most plays are of the same
cast; they are not friendly to the delicacy which is one of the
ornaments of the female character. HISTORY, GEOGRAPHY, POETRY, MORAL
ESSAYS, BIOGRAPHY, TRAVELS, SERMONS, and other well written religious
productions, will not fail to enlarge your understanding, to render you
a more agreeable companion, and to exalt your virtue. A woman devoid of
rational ideas of religion, has no security for her virtue; it is
sacrificed to her passions, whose voice, not that of GOD, is her only
governing principle. Besides, in those hours of calamity to which
families must be exposed, where will she find support, if it be not in
her just reflections upon that all ruling Providence which governs the
Universe, whether animate or inanimate.

Mutual politeness between the most intimate friends, is essential to
that harmony, which should never be once broken or interrupted. How
important then is it between man and wife!--The more warm the
attachment, the less will either party bear to be slighted, or treated
with the smallest degree of rudeness or inattention. This politeness,
then, if it be not in itself a virtue, is at least the means of giving
to real goodness a new lustre; it is the means of preventing
discontent, and even quarrels; it is the oil of intercourse, it removes
asperities, and gives to every thing a smooth, an even, and a pleasing
movement.

I will only add, that matrimonial happiness does not depend upon
wealth; no, it is not to be found in wealth; but in minds properly
tempered and united to our respective situations. Competency is
necessary; all beyond that point, is ideal. Do not suppose, however,
that I would not advise your husband to augment his property by all
honest and commendable means. I would wish to see him actively engaged
in such a pursuit, because engagement, a sedulous employment, in
obtaining some laudable end, is essential to happiness. In the
attainment of a fortune, by honorable means, and particularly by
professional exertion, a man derives particular satisfaction, in self
applause, as well as from the increasing estimation in which he is held
by those around him.

In the management of your domestic concerns, let prudence and wise
economy prevail. Let neatness, order and judgment be seen in all your
different departments. Unite liberality with a just frugality; always
reserve something for the hand of charity; and never let your door be
closed to the voice of suffering humanity. Your servants, in
particular, will have the strongest claim upon your charity;--let them
be well fed, well clothed, nursed in sickness, and never let them be
unjustly treated.




ORIGINAL LITERARY NOTICES.


VATHEK--An Oriental Tale, by Mr. Beckford, author of Italy, &c.
Philadelphia: Carey, Lea & Blanchard. 1834.

The publishers of this _fashionable_ romance, by way of smoothing its
path to general reception and favor, have attached to the title page
various opinions expressed by English journalists,--to wit: The
_Quarterly Review_ says, "a very remarkable performance. It continues
in possession of all the celebrity it once commanded." The "_Printing
Machine_" (a paper we presume of that name) says, "As an Eastern story,
we know nothing produced by an European imagination that can stand a
comparison with this work." The _Morning Post_ exclaims, "The finest
Oriental tale extant!" and the "_Gentleman's Magazine_," pronounces it
"a creation of genius that would immortalize its author at any time,
and under any taste." These are very imposing authorities, and
superadded to them all, it is said that Mr. Beckford is now living, is
one of the richest men in England, and occupies so high a rank in
social life, that royalty itself has been known to court his society.
Nor is this all. Lord Byron pronounced "Vathek" to be a most surpassing
production--far superior as an Eastern tale, to the "Rassalais" of
Johnson,--and whatever has been said by Lord Byron, especially in
matters of taste, will pass with some persons as incontrovertible
orthodoxy. We have not examined particularly to ascertain what our own
critics have said on the subject; but we believe that some of them at
least, have echoed the plaudits of the British periodicals. Be this as
it may, we happen to have an honest opinion of our own, and we must
say, in our poor judgment, that a more impure, disgusting, and
execrable production, than this same "Vathek," never issued from the
English or American press. That the author was a youth of extraordinary
genius, is acknowledged; (he wrote before twenty years of age)--but it
was genius totally perverted and poisoned at its source. The work could
have been written by no one whose heart was not polluted at its very
core. Obscene and blasphemous in the highest degree, its shocking
pictures are in no wise redeemed by the beauty and simplicity of
Oriental fiction. We should pronounce it, without knowing any thing of
Mr. Beckford's character, to be the production of a sensualist and an
infidel--one who could riot in the most abhorred and depraved
conceptions--and whose prolific fancy preferred as its repast all that
was diabolical and monstrous, rather than what was beautiful and good.
We shall not even attempt a detailed account of this volume--but when
such works are recommended to public favor, we think it is time that
criticism should brandish its rod, and that the genius of morality--if
there be such a spirit in our land--should frown down the effort.


LEISURE HOURS, or the American Popular Library; conducted by an
Association of Gentlemen. Boston: _John Allen & Co._ 1835.

Here is another contribution to the constantly increasing store of
popular literature. If the present generation does not surpass all its
predecessors in the acquisition of knowledge in its various forms, it
will not be from any deficiency of intellectual food. In England, the
Family Library, the Libraries of Useful and Entertaining Knowledge, the
Penny Magazine, and innumerable other productions of the same class,
are employed to diffuse through every portion of society, sound and
valuable instruction; and many of these excellent publications are not
only reprinted in the United States, but the time is not distant when
we may justly boast of others of entirely domestic origin. The work
before us seems to have been commenced under favorable auspices, and
with laudable objects. The editors in their advertisement, which we
quote at length for the benefit of our readers, "propose to publish, at
convenient intervals, a series of volumes of standard merit, calculated
to interest and instruct every class of the community. Although they
have chosen for the title of the series, the name of the American
Popular Library, it is not to be understood that it is to consist
wholly, or even principally, of American works. Nor, on the other hand,
will any work, however popular, be introduced into the series, unless,
in the opinion of the editors, it shall possess such a character as
will secure to it a continued reputation, after it shall have ceased to
interest by its novelty. In their selections they do not propose to be
limited to any one class of works, but to include such books in each
department, as shall appear to them to be most deserving of a place in
the library of an enlightened christian family.

"It seems to them important, that the attention of our reading
community should be turned to works of more _permanent_ value, than
belongs to most of the periodical literature of the day, or at least
that it should not be confined exclusively to works of only a temporary
interest. The spirit of the times appears also to demand, that the
separation, which has too often been made between elegant literature
and pure christianity, should cease to exist, and that a christian
literature should take the place of that, which has, in many cases,
begun and ended in infidelity. It is the design of the editors of this
publication to promote, so far as shall be in their power, the union of
polite literature, sound learning and christian morals. Beyond this
they do not suppose it necessary that they should pledge themselves to
the public. A sufficient security for their patrons seems to be
provided, in leaving it optional with the purchaser to take only such
part of the series as he may choose.

"It is intended that a volume of nearly uniform size shall be issued
every two or three months, or in such a manner that four or five
volumes shall appear annually."

As a specimen of the work, we select at random the following story of

MY TWO AUNTS.

Philosophers tell us that we know nothing but from its opposite; then I
certainly know my two aunts very perfectly, for greater opposites were
never made since the formation of light and darkness; but they were
both good creatures--so are light and darkness both good things in
their place. My two aunts, however, were not so appropriately to be
compared to light and darkness as to crumb and crust--the crumb and
crust of a new loaf; the crumb of which is marvellously soft, and the
crust of which is exceedingly crisp, dry and snappish. The one was my
father's sister, and the other was my mother's; and very curiously it
happened that they were both named Bridget. To distinguish between
them, we young folks used to call the quiet and easy one aunt Bridget,
and the bustling, worrying one, aunt Fidget. You never, in the whole
course of your life, saw such a quiet, easy, comfortable creature as
aunt Bridget--she was not immoderately large, but prodigiously fat. Her
weight did not exceed twenty stone, or two-and-twenty at the
utmost--but she might be called prodigiously fat, because she was all
fat; I don't think there was an ounce of lean in her whole composition.
She was so imperturbably good natured, that I really do not believe
that she was ever in a passion in the whole course of her life. I have
no doubt that she had her troubles: we all have troubles, more or less;
but aunt Bridget did not like to trouble herself to complain. The
greatest trouble that she endured, was the alternation of day and
night: it was a trouble to her to go up stairs to bed, and it was a
trouble to her to come down stairs to breakfast; but, when she was once
in bed, she could sleep ten hours without dreaming; and when she was
once up, and seated in her comfortable arm-chair, by the fireside, with
her knitting apparatus in order, and a nice, fat, flat, comfortable
quarto volume on a small table at her side, the leaves of which volume
she could turn over with her knitting needle, she was happy for the
day: the grief of getting up was forgotten, and the trouble of getting
to bed was not anticipated. Knowing her aversion to moving, I was once
saucy enough to recommend her to make two days into one, that she might
not have the trouble of going up and down stairs so often. Any body but
aunt Bridget would have boxed my ears for my impertinence, and would,
in so doing, have served me rightly; but she, good creature, took it
all in good part, and said, "Yes, my dear, it would save trouble, but I
am afraid it would not be good for my health--I should not have
exercise enough." Aunt Bridget loved quiet, and she lived in the
quietest place in the world. There is not a spot in the deserts of
Arabia, or in the Frozen Ocean, to be for a moment compared for
quietness with Hans-place--

  "The very houses seem asleep;"

and when the bawlers of milk, mackerel, dabs, and flounders, enter the
placid precincts of that place, they scream with a subdued violence,
like the hautboy played with a piece of cotton in the bell. You might
almost fancy that oval of building to be some mysterious egg, on which
the genius of silence had sat brooding ever since the creation of the
world, or even before Chaos had combed its head and washed its face.
There is in that place a silence that may be heard, a delicious
stillness which the ear drinks in as greedily as the late Mr. Dando
used to gulp oysters. It is said that, when the inhabitants are all
asleep, they can hear one another snore. Here dwelt my aunt
Bridget--kindest of the kind, and quietest of the quiet. But good
nature is terribly imposed upon in this wicked world of ours; and so it
was with aunt Bridget. Her poulterer, I am sure, used to charge her at
least ten per cent. more than any of the rest of his customers, because
she never found fault. She was particularly fond of ducks, very likely
from a sympathy with their quiet style of locomotion; but she disliked
haggling about the price, and she abhorred the trouble of choosing
them; so she left it to the man's conscience to send what he pleased,
and to charge what he pleased. I declare that I have seen upon her
table such withered, wizened, toad-like villains of half-starved ducks,
that they looked as if they had died of the whooping-cough. And if ever
I happened to say any thing approaching to reproach of the poulterer,
aunt would always make the same reply,--"I don't like to be always
finding fault." It was the same with her wine as it was with her
poultry: she used to fancy that she had Port and Sherry; but she never
had any thing better than Pontac and Cape Madeira. There was one luxury
of female life which my aunt never enjoyed--she never had the pleasure
of scolding the maids. She once made the attempt, but it did not
succeed. She had a splendid set of Sunday crockery, done in blue and
gold; and, by the carelessness of one of her maids, the whole service
was smashed at one fell swoop. "Now, that is too bad," said my aunt; "I
really will tell her of it." So I was in hopes of seeing aunt Bridget
in a passion, which would have been as rare a sight as an American aloe
in blossom. She rang the bell with most heroic vigor, and with an
expression of almost a determination to say something very severe to
Betty, when she should make her appearance. Indeed, if the bell-pull
had been Betty, she might have heard half the first sentence of a
terrible scolding; but before Betty could answer the summons of the
bell, my aunt was as cool as a turbot at a tavern dinner. "Betty," said
she, "are they all broke?" "Yes, ma'am," said Betty. "How came you to
break them?" said my aunt. "They slipped off the tray, ma'am," replied
Betty. "Well, then, be more careful another time," said my aunt. "Yes,
ma'am," said Betty.

Next morning, another set was ordered. This was not the first, second,
or third time that my aunt's crockery had come to an untimely end. My
aunt's maids had a rare place in her service. They had high life below
stairs in perfection; people used to wonder that she did not see how
she was imposed upon: bless her old heart! she never liked to see what
she did not like to see--and so long as she could be quiet she was
happy. She was a living emblem of the Pacific Ocean.

But my aunt Fidget was quite another thing. She only resembled my aunt
Bridget in one particular; that is, she had not an ounce of lean about
her; but then she had no fat neither--she was all skin and bone; I
cannot say for a certainty, but I really believe, that she had no
marrow in her bones: she was as light as a feather, as dry as a stick,
and, had it not been for her pattens, she must have been blown away in
windy weather. As for quiet, she knew not the meaning of the word: she
was flying about from morning till night, like a fagot in fits, and
finding fault with every body and every thing. Her tongue and her toes
had no sinecures. Had she weighed as many pounds as my aunt Bridget
weighed stones, she would have worn out half-a-dozen pair of shoes in a
week. I don't believe that aunt Bridget ever saw the inside of her
kitchen, or that she knew exactly where it was; but aunt Fidget was in
all parts of the house at once--she saw every thing, heard every thing,
remembered every thing, and scolded about every thing. She was not to
be imposed upon, either by servants or trades-people. She kept a sharp
look out upon them all. She knew when and where to go to market. Keen
was her eye for the turn of the scale, and she took pretty good care
that the butcher should not dab his mutton chops too hastily in the
scale, making momentum tell for weight. I cannot think what she wanted
with meat, for she looked as if she ate nothing but raspings, and drank
nothing but vinegar. Her love of justice in the matter of purchasing
was so great, that when her fishmonger sent her home a pennyworth of
sprats, she sent one back to be changed because it had but one eye.

She had such a strict inventory of all her goods and chattels, that, if
any one plundered her of a pin, she was sure to find it out. She would
miss a pea out of a peck; and she once kept her establishment up half
the night to hunt for a bit of cheese that was missing--it was at last
found in the mouse-trap. "You extravagant minx," said she to the maid,
"here is cheese enough to bait three mouse-traps;" and she nearly had
her fingers snapped off in her haste to rescue the cheese from its
prison. I used not to dine with my aunt Fidget so often as with my aunt
Bridget, for my aunt Fidget worried my very life out with the history
of every article that was brought to table. She made me undergo the
narration of all that she had said, and all that the butcher or
poulterer had said, concerning the purchase of the provision; and she
used always to tell me what was the price of mutton when her mother was
a girl--two pence a pound for the common pieces, and twopence-halfpenny
for the prime pieces. Moreover, she always entertained me with an
account of all her troubles, and with the sins and iniquities of her
abominable servants, whom she generally changed once a month. Indeed,
had I been inclined to indulge her with more of my company, I could not
always manage to find her residence; for she was moving about from
place to place, so that it was like playing a game of hunt the slipper
to endeavor to find her. She once actually threatened to leave London
altogether, if she could not find some more agreeable residence than
hitherto it had been her lot to meet with. But there was one evil in my
aunt Fidget's behavior, which disturbed me more than any thing else;
she was always expecting that I should join her in abusing my placid
aunt Bridget. Aunt Bridget's style of house-keeping was not, perhaps,
quite the pink of perfection, but it was not for me to find fault with
it; and if she did sit still all day, she never found fault with those
who did not; she never said any thing evil of any of her neighbors.
Aunt Fidget might be flying about all day like a witch upon a
broomstick; but aunt Bridget made no remarks on it; she let her fly.
The very sight of aunt Fidget was enough to put one out of breath--she
whisked about from place to place at such a rapid rate, always talking
at the rate of nineteen to the dozen. We boys used to say of her that
she never sat long enough in a chair to warm the cover. But she is
gone--_requiescat in pace_;[1] and that is more than ever she did in
her life-time.

[Footnote 1: May she rest in peace.]




EDITORIAL REMARKS.


In presenting the fourth number of the "Messenger" to the public, we
are gratified in announcing the continued support of our friends and
correspondents, and the increasing ardor with which the work is
patronized. Far more to the great cause of southern literature, than to
our own humble efforts, is it owing that we are encouraged from a
variety of quarters to persevere in our labors; and our generous well
wishers may rely, that we are not disposed to look back or falter in
our course,--borne as we are upon the "full tide of successful
experiment." Let but our friends continue to take an interest in our
cause, and this work will soon be placed beyond contingent evils. It
will become the arena, where southern minds especially, may meet in
honorable collision; and when we say _southern_ minds, let us not be
understood as slighting or undervaluing the rich and valuable aid which
we hope to receive from our northern and eastern brethren. Far from it.
We desire to emulate their own noble efforts in behalf of American
literature, and to stir up our more languid countrymen, to imitate
their industry, and to hope for their success.

The rights and duties of the editorial chair, especially in the infancy
of a literary work, are extremely delicate. Taste is so subtle,
variable and uncertain a quality, that, for an editor to establish his
own, as a fixed and immutable standard--would seem invidious, if not
absolutely odious. On the other hand, some judgment and discrimination
must be exercised, or the consequences might be still more injurious.
The indiscriminate admission of _all_ pretenders, would be disparaging
and unjust to those whose claims are unquestionable. The true view of
the subject we take to be this--not to exclude all contributions which
do not display a high degree of merit--especially if their authors are
young and evince a desire to excel. One object of a work like the
"Messenger," is to _improve_ the exercise of thought and the habit of
composition. A literary novice, when he sees himself in print, and
contrasts his productions with those of more mature minds and more
practised hands, will rouse himself to greater effort. It may encourage
and stimulate him to more decided and brilliant exertion. Fine writing
is not the acquisition of a day or a year; it requires, in order to the
full attainment of success,--long, continued and unwearied application.

We make these remarks, because we are not entirely satisfied ourselves,
with _all_ the articles either in prose or verse, admitted into the
present number. We did not think, however, that any of them deserved
exclusion. In some of those which are published, may be perceived
undoubted indications of genius,--and in the rest, evidences of high
capacity to excel.

In noticing some of the pieces, we hope it will not be supposed that we
pass sentence of inferiority upon such as we omit to mention. Our
object is to ask the particular attention of the reader to those which
have afforded us peculiar pleasure.

It is with unalloyed satisfaction, that we continue the very able and
interesting account of "_Tripoli and the Barbary States_." The author
has thrown around authentic narrative, all the charms of romance; and
we perfectly agree with a contemporary editor in this city, that he has
reached in a very high degree the interest and dignity of the true
historic style.

The description of _Howard's Bottom_, under the head of "_Western
Scenery_," will be at once recognized as the production of a practised
and polished pen.

If the "_Hints to Students of Geology_," by an able proficient in the
science, shall serve to stimulate the languor which prevails in
Virginia on that subject, we shall be more than gratified.

In the "_March of Intellect_," by V, there is a singular mixture of the
serious and comic--of truth and caricature--which may not perhaps be
agreeable to all readers. All, however, will concede to the author,
vigor and fertility of mind,--with much of the "_copia verborum_" in
style. We should have taken the liberty to apply the pruning knife to
the luxuriant foliage of the "_Seasons_," from the same pen,--had we
not feared doing some injury to the fruit. The author has only to
cultivate his fine talents, in order to attain a high rank in the art
of composition.

There is a good deal of humor in the description of a Virginia "_Fourth
of July_,"--and we hope the writer will repeat his effort. In the local
and distinctive traits of our national manners, there is a wide field
for the pencil.

With the "_Essay on Luxury_," by B. B. B. H. we have taken some
liberties, and crave his indulgence if we have been too free. Sometimes
the finest thoughts and strongest reasoning, suffer injustice by
inattention to style.

The author of "_Eloquence_" has our earnest exhortations to press on in
the path which leads to renown. If we mistake not, he is actuated by
the noble ambition to acquire distinction.

The "_Valedictory in July 1829_," now for the first time published,
will command attention for the excellence of its precepts and doctrines
upon the all important subject of female education. No one could be
better qualified than the author, to enforce serious truths in a
graceful and agreeable manner.

We beg the reader's particular attention to the original tale of
"_Uncle Simon and the Mechanician_." The author's admirable sketches
derive additional value from the fact that they are not the mere
creations of fancy, but exact copies from nature.

Some of our readers may perhaps complain, that more than a due
proportion of the present number is devoted to the Muses. It may be so;
but our apology is, that some of the pieces have been so long on hand,
that to delay their publication would almost amount to exclusion. If
all the poetry is not of equal quality, there is still enough which is
excellent; enough to demonstrate beyond all question, that if our Bards
would only take courage, and rise superior to the fear of foreign
rivalry, the highest success would crown their efforts. Among the
pieces which have afforded us more than ordinary pleasure, we may be
allowed to enumerate the "_Peasant-Women of the Canaries_," "_The
Heart_," and that which we have taken the liberty to designate by the
title of "_True Consolation_." The oftener that we read these, the more
we like them; but we shall restrain the ardor of our own feelings, lest
our readers should suppose we indulge the presumptuous thought of
influencing their judgments.

It is with real pleasure that we insert two productions from the pen of
the _Hon. R. H. Wilde_. These would be enough of themselves to disprove
the charge of plagiarism preferred against that gentleman during the
Georgia election, in respect to the charming lines which appeared in
our first number, and which we stated were generally ascribed to him.
It is to us passing strange, that the sacred repose of the republic of
letters, should be disturbed by the agitations and conflicts of party
politics. Notwithstanding that the authorship of "_My Life is like the
Summer Rose_," has been confidently claimed by some for O'Kelly, an
Irish poet,--and by others for an ancient Greek bard named Alceus, we
still adhere to the opinion that that beautiful effusion is the bona
fide and genuine offspring of Mr. Wilde's muse. Upon this subject,
however, we shall reserve a more particular expression of our
sentiments for a future number.

We have already expressed our opinion of the bards of Mobile and
Tuscaloosa. May we not expect a continuance of their favors?

The humorous "_Parody on Bryant's Autumn_," or rather on his piece
called the "_Death of the Flowers_," will strike every one acquainted
with the productions of the New York bard, as an admirable imitation of
his style. It is the more excellent, as Bryant's sombre imagery has
been made to assume a light and sportive dress.

We could say much in commendation of many of our other poetical
contributors, if it were not somewhat improper to invade too much the
province of our readers. We hope, therefore, that they will not for a
moment believe that we slight or undervalue their favors.




EXTRACTS FROM THE LETTERS OF CORRESPONDENTS.


FROM AN EMINENT LITERARY GENTLEMAN, NOW A RESIDENT OF LOUISIANA.

"I am domiciliated in the south for the residue of my days; and so far
as residence, pursuit, and the home of those most dear to me may be
supposed to impress local preferences, I am and long have been a
southern man. But we all love our dear common country better than all
that belongs to district and climate; and so loving my country, and so
being proud of its best fame and honor, its literary advancement, I was
decidedly pleased with your periodical. The writing, the printing, _the
revision of the proofs_, the _ensemble_, are all unquestionably
creditable to you. I am too old and too much hackneyed in the style of
periodicals to compliment. The Richmond Messenger gives respectable
promise. Periodicals have to me a kind of physiognomy. Some look sickly
and death-doomed from their birth. Yours give signs of a vigorous and
healthful vitality. May it live long and prosper."


FROM A DISTINGUISHED LITERARY LADY IN NEW YORK.

"I owe you a very humble apology for not having earlier acknowledged
your first communication and the receipt of the first number of your
work, which you were so kind as to send me. I was absent on a very long
journey when they reached my residence, and then my reply fell into the
ever open grave of deferred duties. I have since been gratified to hear
from various sources that your enterprise was succeeding. It could
hardly be otherwise, if you could once rouse the minds in your
beautiful state, where inspiring subjects every where abound. Your
request is very flattering to me, and I should most willingly comply
with it, but that I have at present more work on my hands than I have
energy to accomplish. At some future time, should you continue to
desire my services, it will give me pleasure to render them."


FROM EASTERN VIRGINIA.

[A correspondent from whom we have received many favors, indulges in
the following sportive strain. So far from being willing that he should
"_sail before the mast_," we would rather see him take rank as OUR POST
CAPTAIN.]

"I sincerely rejoice in the success thus far of your undertaking, and
trust you have now been sustained long enough to give time to abler men
to come to your assistance. I wish you a good crew and a pleasant
voyage for your little frigate. I shall still occasionally sail with
you before the mast as a common sailor, until somebody gives me the
cat-o'-nine-tails, and then perhaps I shall stay at home and mind my
business, which is _clodhopping_, and which is perhaps more suitable
than the occupation I have lately been following."


"To read your paper is the _only one thing needful_ to enlarge its
circulation, to attract the attention, and to gain the affections of
the reading part of the community. It is a work peculiarly interesting
to southern literature, as its appeals are direct to the love of
letters, to the generous pride, and to the chivalric patriotism of
southerners. The monotonous sound of politics cannot but be
disgusting."




ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS TO CONTRIBUTORS, CORRESPONDENTS, &c.


We tender our thanks to the editor of the _Farmer's Register_ for
setting us right in respect to Mr. Peter A. Browne's letter on the
mineral resources of Virginia. The republication of that letter in the
Register had escaped our recollection entirely. We shall be much
gratified in having the able co-operation of Mr. Ruffin upon a subject
we have much at heart, to wit: a geological and mineralogical survey of
the state. When the legislature shall have settled the exact limits of
federal power, and the precise boundaries of state rights--if indeed
these things can be done in our time--or when we shall have laid the
broad and permanent foundation of a system of internal improvement,--we
hope then at least to see Virginia treading in the paths of other
states, and turning her attention to her own vast, and in some
respects, hidden resources.

We owe a similar acknowledgement to Mr. Fairfield, editor of the North
American Magazine, who informs us that Mr. Browne's letter also
appeared in one of his numbers, but which in like manner escaped our
notice.

The "_Remarks Delivered to the Law Class at William and Mary_," upon a
subject deeply interesting to the south, shall appear in our next
number.

The "_Letters from a Sister_," we have only had opportunity to glance
at. We have no doubt that they will furnish a rich store for the
entertainment of our readers.

The _Selections from the Manuscripts of Mrs. Wood_, are reluctantly but
unavoidably excluded from the present number, but shall certainly
appear in our next.

We have on hand a variety of poetical contributions, from which we
shall cull liberally for our pages. As some literary appetites however,
are cloyed by too many dainties, we must be somewhat particular in the
arrangement of our table.




The _Publisher_ offers an apology to his patrons for the delay in the
publication of the present number. The close of the year being, by
common consent, a season of holiday recreation rather than of business,
all just allowances will be made. He promises (always excepting
unforeseen accidents and contingencies) to be more punctual hereafter.
It is his desire to issue the Messenger, if possible, regularly between
the 20th and last day of each month. Contributors ought to be governed
accordingly. He tenders the compliments of the season to his patrons.






End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol.
I., No. 4, December, 1834, by Various

*** 