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•V2GJA 



HARVARD COLLEGK 
LIBRARY 




THE BEQUEST OF 
EVERT JANSEN WENDELL 

(CLASS OF 188::) 
OF NEW YORK 



1918 



V 



THfc 



LITERARY MAGAZINE, 



AXD 



AMERICAN REGISTER. 



FOR 



1803-— 4. 
FROM OCTOBER TO MARCH, INCLUSIVE. 



CRESCIt EUNDO. 



VOL. I. 



PHILADELPHIA, 

PBIHTSD rOR JOHN CONKAD & CO. MO. 30, CHEftKVT-lTRE<T» ^HtLAOXL^ 
VHIA; M. & J. CONRAD & CO. NO. 138, MARKET-STREET , BALTIMORE; 
RAPIN, CONRAD, & CO. WASHINGTON; SOMERVELL & CONRAD, PETERS- 
BURG; AND BONSAL, CONRAD, & CO. NORFOLK, 

AT ANY or WHICH PLACES COMMUNICATIONS WILL BE THANKFULLt 
RECEIVE!). 

PRINTBO BT T. 49* O. CALMER, 116, BIOH STBBBT. 

1804, 






>>«..;>. 



HARV^n- '!OLlFet L?«n»«-V 

FROM 

THE BEQUEST OF 

EVERT JANSEN WENDELL 

1918 



4^ 



X-r U.Uu^^^^^^ ,fxl,tiuS. 



INDEX 



TO 



THE FIRST VOLUME. 



ORIGINAL COMMUNICATIONS. 

page 
ADDRESS of the Editor 3 

Agricultunl essays 343 

Anacfeon's merits discussed 163 

Aathorship, remarks on 8 

Antiquities, on a passion for 246 

Carwin, the biloquist, memoirs of 

100»181,255,332»431 
Cook, James, an Owhyhee-man 82 
Critical notices 15, 91, 173, 336, 416 
Chemical quesiions 181 

Cotton, on the culture of 329 

Cm bono? 327 

Disputation, thoughts on 84 

Dudling, reflections on 407, 410 

Eloquence of Pitt, Fox, and £r- 

skine compared 28 

Eddystone light house, reflections on 407 
Fame, thoughts on 326 

Female learning, thoughts on 245 

Rre, on narratives respecting 7 

French language, ascendancy of 24 
Futurity, impropriety of looking into 97 
Gentleman ? what is a 243 

King's Bench prison, account of 
Legibility in writing commended 
Letter-writing 
Marriage, reflections on 
Man with the huge nose 
Mehrendorf marriages, acrount of 
Murray, Lindley, letter from 
Novel reading 
Pensions, remarks on 
Pennsylvania, journey through 167, 250 
Peruvian religion, hints respecting 
Poetry, what is the essence of 
Quakerism, a dialog^ 
Robinson Crusoe, thoughts on that 

wovk 



Rockaway, a jaunt to 10 

Royal, the epithet, remarks on 25 

Review of Abercrombie's Compends 38 
D'Israeli's Narrative 

Poems 44 

Paine*s Ruling Passion 104 
Wilson's Egyptian Ex- 
pedition 106 
Boston, a poem 190 
British Spy 261 
Town and Country Phy- 
sician 365 
Cowper's Life 345 
Millar's Retrospect 419 
•Swift's Polite Conversation, thoughts 

on 6 

Statues and busts, account of those 

exhibited at New York 185 

Traveller 21, 89, 247 

Warm rooms, on the salubrity of 341 
Wooden buildings, folly of 405 

Yellow fever, thoughts on 7 



14 


POETSr. 




83 






81 


ORIGINAL. 




85 






23 


Alccstes and Azora 


192 


88 


Artaban, the robber 


111 


244 


Boar hunt 


268 


403 


Dr Jenner, lines to 


110 


9 


Laura, to, offended 


110 


250 


Olinda, lines to 


47 


87 


Philanthropy, a prayer 


110 


165 


Peace, a sonnet 


191 


248 


Poetry, a fragment 


248 




Village Maid 


191 


323 


Youth 


424 



INDEX. 



SCLCGTE*. 



Ages, the four 


19^ 


Canzonets from Camoens 


Si 


Cominge 


4,7 


Corate, a fragment 


195 


Enigma 


426 


Grasshopper 


426 


Health 


426 


Talc frofn Cowper 


425 


Winter travd!er 


349 


SELECTIONS. 




Addington, Mr. account of 


445 


Alexander I, anecdotes of 


75 


Algiers, account of 


119, 29r 


Arts, on the imitative 


144 


Bartholemew, massacre of 


437 


doswell, account of 


224 


Brandy 


270 


]lritish populatiott 
Bear hunting irt Finland 


n 

464 


Buenos Ayres described 


283 


Biuice, character of Edmund 


374 


Cecilia, a tale 


141 


Chocolate 


427 


Coal near Woodstock 


206 


Conde, prince of, sketch of 


357 




sketch of 


431 


Chamelion described 


452 


Darwin's Temple of Nature 


434 


Darwin, account of 


384,440 


Dclwin, Philip, story of 218, 308, 3r^ 




305 


DWersity of opinion, on 


388 


Female dress 


74 


Financial statements 


133 


Fire ball, account of 


378 


France, travels in 115, S?/, 353 


Hatfield, the swindler 


219 


Hunting in Bcn^pi 


196 



Immortality, on 

Klopstock's Metdah examined 

Koilifsmark 

LibHf, account of 

Lee, anecdote of general 

Letter from Cowper 

Lewis, major, journal of 

Liverpool, state of 

London, picturesque view of 

Longevity of the learned 

Mammoth 

mNri lA tne fTtm ntuk 

Meteoric stone 

Michael Bruce 

Miscellanies 



130 
468 
301 
313 
377 
137 
377 
453 
376 
207 
293 
366 
379 
127 
77 
462 

Monthly publications, London 119 
Moore, memoirs of Dr. J. 369 

Negro slavery, address on 473 

■ abolished in New 

Jersey 47* 

Pandes, count, memoirs of 

H2, 202, 389 
Peasantry of France, state of 459 

Prayer sanctioned by philosophy 459 
Reports to congress 475 

Republican marriages in Fiance 7^ 
Resemblances, literacy 124, 214, 268 
Rccamier's bedchamber, madame 456 
Rhode Island, agriculture of 2t0 

Salaries, public* in AHierica 480 

Saxe's ghost 303 

Sicard, le-appeiinmce of 350 

Shall and will, on the words 355 

Sugar from- native plants 393 

St. Domkigo, picture of 446 

Swedish travelling on^M ioe 459 

Tangun horse • 457 

Theatrical campaign / 221 

Turkish procession described 118 

Thunder ex{^ned 465, 470 

United Sutes, debt ot 205 

' ' populaition of 206 

Wax tret, account of 371 



THE 



LITERARY MAGAZINE, 



AND 



AMERICAN REGISTER, 



Vol. I.] 



OCTOBER, 1803. 



[No. I. 



CONTENTS. 



COMMUNICATIONS. 

Page. 
Enters' Address to the Public . . 1 
Swift's Polite Conversation .... 6 

YeUow Fever 7 

Rrc ' ib. 

Authorship 8 

Pensions 9 

A Jaunt to Rockaway 10 

Account of the King's Bench 

Prison 14 

Critical Notices 15 

The TraveUer^...NO. i 21 

The Man with the Huge Nose . . 23 
Ascendancy of the French Lan- 
guage 34 

The Epithet Royal 25 

Eloquence of Pitt, Fox, and £rs- 

kine 28 

Drayton's View of South Carolina 30 



CRITICISM. 

Page. 

Abercronibie*s Compends 38 

D 'Israeli's Narrative Poems ... 44 
POE rRy....OHIGINAL. 

Lines to Olinda 47 

SELECTED. 

Cominge ib. 

Canzonets from Camoens 51 

French Invasion of Hanover ... 56 
Irish Insurrection 58 

Remarkable Occurrences 61 

French Republican Marriages , . M 

British Population 73 

On Female Dress 74 

Anecdotes of Alexander I IS 

Miscellaneous Extracts Tt 



PUBLISHED BY 

jOffX CONHAD, & CO. NO. 30, CHESNUT-STREET, PHILADELPHIA; M. & J. 
COMRAO, & CO. NO. 138, MARKET-STREEI, BALTIMORE; RAPIX, CON- 
RAD, & CO. WASHINGTON CITY; SOMERVELL & CONRAD, PETERSBURGi 
AND BONSAL, CONRAD, & CO. NORFOLK. 

11. MAXWftLLy PRINTER, NO. 25, NORTH SECOND STREBT- 

1803. 



THK 



LITERARY MAGAZINE, 



AKD 



AMERICAN REGISTER. 



^Q' ^-] SATURDAY, OCTOBER 1, 1«03. [Vol. T. 



THE EDITORS' ADDRESS TO THE PUBLIC. 



It is usual for one who presents 
the public with a periodical work 
like the present, to introduce him- 
self to the notice of his readers by 
some sort of preface or address. I 
take up the pen in conformity to this 
custom, but am quite at a loss for 
topics suitable to so interesting an 
occasion. I cannot expatiate on the 
variety of my knowledge, the bril- 
liancy of my wit, the versatility of 
my talents. To none of these do I 
lay any claim, and though this va- 
riety, brilliancy of solidity, are ne- 
cessary ingredients in a work of this 
kind, 1 trust merely to the zeal and 
liberality of my friends to supply me 
with them. I have them not my- 
self, but doubt not of the good of- 
fices of those who possess them, and 
shall think myself entitled to no 
small praise, if I am able to collect 
into one focal spot the rays of a great 
number of luminaries. They also 
may be very unequal to each other 
in lustre, and some of them may be 
little better than twinkling and "fee- 
ble stars, of the hundredth magni- 
^de ; but what is wanting in indivi- 



dual i^endor, wiD be made up bf 
theunion of all their beams mto onew 
My province a^U be to hold the 
mirror u/t so as to ajsseaible all their 
influence within its verge, and re- 
fleet them on the public' in such 
-manner as to warm and enlighten. 
As I possess nothing but zeal, I 
can promise to exert nothing else; 
but my ccmsolation is, that, aided 
by that powerful spirit^ many have 
accomplished things much more see* 
duous than that which I propose to 
myself. 

Many are the works of this kind 
which have risen and fallen in Ame- 
rica, and many of them have en- 
joyed but a brief existence. This 
circumstance has always at first 
sight, given me some uneasiness; 
but when I come naore soberly to 
meditate upon it, my courage re- 
vives, and 1 discover no reason for 
my doubts. Many works have ac- 
tually been reared and sustained by 
the curiosity and favour of the pub- 
lic. They have ultimately declined 
or £sdlen, it is true ; but why ? From 
no abatement of the pui^lic curiosity, 



but from causes which publbhen or 
editors only are accountable. Those 
who managed the ^blication, have 
commonly either changed theirprin- 
ciples, remitted their zeal, or vo- 
luntarily relinquished their trade, 
or, last of all, and like other men* 
have died. Such works have flou« 
rished for a time, and they ceased 
to flourish, by the fault or misfor- 
tune of the proprietors. The pub* 
lie is always eager to encourage one 
who devotes himself to their rational 
amusement, and when he ceases to 
demand or to deserve their favour, 
they feel more regret than anger in 
withdrawing it. 

The world, by which I mean the 
few hundred persons, who concern 
themselves about this work, will na- 
turally inquire who it is who thus 
addresses them. *' This is some- 
what more than a point of idle cu- 
riosity," my reader will say, " for, 
from my knowledge of the man must 
I infer how far he will be able or 
willing to fiilfll his promise^. Be- 
sides, it is great importance to 
know, whether his sentiments on 
certain sucjects, be agreeable or not 
to my own. In politics, for example, 
he may be a male-content : in reli- 
gion an heretic. He may be an ar- 
dent advocate for all that I ^)hor, 
or he may be a celebrated champion 
of my favourite opmions. It is evi- 
dent that these particulars must dic- 
tate the treatntent you receive from 
me, and make me either your friend 
or enemy : your patron or your per- 
secutor. Besides, lam anxious for 
some personal knowledge •of you, 
that I may judge of your literary 
merits. You may, possibly, be one 
of these, who came hither f ram the 
old world to seek your fortune ; who 
have handled the pen as others han- 
dle Uie awl or the needle : that is, 
for the sake of a livelihood: and 
who, therefore, are willing to wo^k 
on any kind of cloth or leaUier, and 
to any model that may be in demand. 
Tou may, in the course of your trade, 
have accommodated yourself to 
twenty different fashions, and have 
served twenty classes of customers j 



have copied at one time, a Parisian ; 
at another, a London fashion : and 
have truckled to the humours, now 
of a precise enthusiast, and now of 
a smart freethmker. 

" *Tis of no manner of importance 
what creed you may publicly profess 
on this occasion, or on what side^ 
religious or pohtical, you may de- 
clare yourself enlisted. To judge 
of the value or sincerity of these 
professions: to form some notion 
how far you will faithfully or skil- 
fully perform your part, I must 
know your character . By that know- 
ledge, I shall regulate myself with 
more certainty than by any anony- 
mous declaration you may think pro- 
per to make." 

I bow to the reasonableness of 
these observations, and shall there- 
fore take no pains to conceal my 
name. Any body may know it who 
chuses to ask me or my publisher. 
I shall not, however, put it at the 
bottom of this address. My diffi- 
dence, as my friends would caU it; 
and my discretion, as my enemies^ 
if I have any, would term it, hin- 
ders me from calling out my name 
in a crowd. It has heretofore hin- 
dered me from making my appear- 
ance there, when impelled by tiie 
strongest of human considerations, 
and produces, at this time, an insu- 
perable aversion to naming myself 
to my readers. The mere act of 
calling out my own name, on this 
occasion, is of no moment, since an 
author or editor who takes no pains 
to conceal himself, cannot fail of be- 
ing known to as many as desire to 
know liim. And whether my noto- 
riety make for me or against me, I 
shaU use no means to prevent it. 

I am far from wishing, however, 
that my readers should judge of my 
exertions by my former ones. I 
have written much, but take much 
blame to myself for something which 
I have written, and take no praise 
for any tiling. I should enjoy a lar- 
ger share of my own respect, at tiie 
present moment, if nothing had ever 
flowed from my pen, the produc- 
tion of which could be traced to me. 



editor's address. 



A variety of causes induce me to 
form such a wish, but I am princi- 
pally influenced by the considera- 
tion that time can scarcely £Eiil of 
enlarging and refining the powers 
of a man, while the world is sure to 
judge of his capacities and princi- 
ples at fi%, from what he has writ- 
ten at fifteen. 

Meanwhile, I deem it reasonable 
to explain the motives of thepresent 
publication, and must rely tor cre- 
dit on the good nature of my read- 
ers. The project is not a mercenary 
one. Kobody relies for subsistence 
on its success, nor does the editor 
put any thing but his reputation at 
stake. At ^e same time, he can- 
not but be desirous of an ample sub- 
scription, not merely because pecu- 
niary profit is acceptable, but be- 
cause this is the best proof which he 
can receive that his endeavours to 
amuse and instruct have not been 
unsuccessful. 

Useful information and rational 
amusement being his objects, he will 
not scruple to collect materials from 
all quarters. He will ransack the 
newest foreign publications, and ex- 
tract from them whatever can serve 
his purpose. He will not foi-get that 
a work, which solicits the attention 
of many readers, must build its claim 
on the variety as well as copiousness 
of its contents. 

As to domestic publications, be- 
sides extracting from Uiem any 
thing serviceable to the public, he 
will give a critical account of them, 
and ill this respect, make his work 
an American Review, in which the 
history of our native literature shall 
be carefully detailed. 

He will pay particular attention 
to the history oi passing events. He 
will carefully compile the news, fo- 
reign and domestic, of the current 
month, and give, in a concise and 
systematic order, that intelligence 
which the common newspapers com- 
municate in a vague and indiscrimi- 
nate way. His work shall likewise 
be a repository of all those signal in- 
cidents in private life, which mark 
the character of the age, and excite 
the liveliest curiosity* 

VOL* t....NO. I. 



This is an imperfect sketch of his 
work, and to accomplish these ends, 
he is secure of the liberal aid of ma- 
ny most respectable persons in this 
city, and New-York. He regrets 
the necessity he is under of conceal- 
ing tliese names, since they^ would 
furnish the public with irresistible 
inducements to read, what, when 
they had read, they would find suf- 
ficiently recommended by its own 
merits. 

In an age like this, when the foun- 
dations of religion and morality have 
been so boklly attacked, it seems 
necessary in announcing a work of 
this nature, to be particularly ex- 
plicit as to the path which the edi- 
tor means to pursue. He, there- 
fore, avows himself to be, without 
equivocation or peserve, the ardent 
friend and the willing champion of 
the Christian religion. Christian 
piety he re\'eres as the highest 
excellence of human beings, and the 
amplest reward he can seek, for 
his labour, is the consciousness of 
having, in some degree however in- 
considerable, contributed to recom- 
mend tlie practice of religious du- 
ties. 

As, in the conduct of this work, a 
supreme regard will be paid to the 
interests of religion and morality, 
he will scrupulously guard against 
all that dishonours or impairs that 
principle. Every thing that savours 
of indelicacy or licentiousness will 
be rigorously proscribed. His po- 
etical pieces may be dull, but they 
shall, at least, be free from volup- 
tuousness or sensuality, and his 
prose, whetlier seconded or not by 
genius and knowledge, shall scrupu- 
lously aim at tiie promotion of public 
and private virtue. 

As a political annalist, he will spe- 
culate freely on foreign transactions ; 
but, in his detiiil of domestic events, 
he will cxjnfine himself, as strictly 
as possible, to the limits of a mere 
historian, llierc is nothinj^ for 
which he has a deeper abhorrence 
than the intemperance of party, and 
his fundamental rule shall be to ex- 
clude from his pages^ all persomU 
altercation and abuse. 
2 



SDITO&'S ADDRESS. 



He will conclude by remindingthe 
public that there is not, at present, 
any other moathly publicatwn in 
America ; and that a plan of this 
-lUnd, if well conducted, cannot fail 
of being highly conducive to amuse- 
ment and instruction* There are 
many, therefore, it is hoped, who, 
-when such an herald as this knocks 
at their door, will open it without 
Teluctance,and admit a visitant who 
calls only once a month ; who talks 
upon every topic ; whose company 
may be dismissed or resumed, and 
who may be made to prate or to hold 
his tongue, at pleasure ; a compa- 
nion he will be, possessing one com- 
panionable property, in the highest 
degree, that is to say, a desire to 
please. 

SefU. 1, 1803. 



JFor the American Register* 
EXTRACTS 

FROM 

A STUDENT'S DIARY. 

swift's polite conversatiow. 

I H A V E just been reading " Polite 
Conversation" by Swift. Itisamus- 

' ing to observe how many of the em- 
bellishments of modem conversa* 
tion have been employed to the same 
purpose these hundredyears. Many 
of tliem are probably of as old a date 
as the reign of Egbert, and most of 
them, at least, as old as that of Eli- 
zabeth, when, as the comedies and 
comic scenes of Shakespeare prove, 
the coUoquial dialect of the ^glidi 
was the same as at present. 

Every body knows that Swift, in 
these dialogues, intended to ndicule 
the practice of interlarding dis- 
course with hackneyed and estab- 
lished witticisms or sarcasms. Most 
of these are wretched in themselves, 

'^ but some arc liable to no other ob- 
jection than the want of novelty. 
And yet there are some to whom the 
most hackneyed will be new. In 
truth, this must necessarily be 
the case with every good^thing. 
The tritest saying must, by e\ ery 



man, have once been heard for iht 
first time, and must, therefore, have 
once been new to him. 

The whole mass of good-things 
and good-stories, in current, use^ 
would make up a very large volume ; 
and the very tritest of these if told 
in a mixed and casual company, 
would probably be new to more than 
one person present. Hence the ir- 
resistible temptation to repeat a 
good thing, which, when we heard 
it, was new to us, and hence the 
awkward situation in which a face- 
tious narrator so often finds himself 
placed, that of finding the most im* 
pertinent gravity, on occasions 
where he looked for laughter and 
applause. 

When we examine the preten- 
sions of reputed wits^ we shall be 
surprised to find how much of their 
reputation is founded upon the same 
invariable stock of good things. 
They rarely tell a story which they 
have not told a thousand times be- 
fore, and as these stories may some- 
times be real occurences or original 
inventions of their own, they will of 
course be new to strangers. We 
must pass some time widi them be- 
fore we perceive that one day's ban- 
quet is merely a counterpart of that 
of the day before. 

Perhaps, however, it is very sel- 
dom that the humorist knovnngiy 
repeats the same story to the same 
company. Memory, as it grows re- 
tentive of remote transactions, is 
apt to lose its hold of more recent 
ones. Thus an old man of three 
score will frequently repeat to the 
same man, on the same day, a rela- 
tion of some event tliat happened 
fifty years before. 

A ^tory^ however, is one thin|», 
and a witticism is another. It is 
the latter which the Dean makes 
the object of his ridicule in these 
dialogues, and which so often in- 
trudes itself into conversation. Eve- 
ry one desirous of steering clear of 
this folly, ought to read this per- 
formance carefully, for it not only 
teaches us to shun so childish a prac- 
tice, but tells us what we are ta 
shun. 



jriRX. 



tlRX. 

Therk is nothing about which 
newspaper writers are more anx- 
ioos Uian to dignify the account of a 
fire* The plain and direct expres* 
tions are so simple and so brief, that 
they are by no means satisfied with 
them. They most amplify and de- 
corate the disastrous narrative as 
much as possible, and for this end^ 
they deal in circuitous and pompous 
phrases; in affecting epithets and 
metaphors. I have often been amu- 
sed at their laborious efforts to be 
solemn and eloquent on these occa- 
sions. 

For instance;.. .the story to be 
told is, that, at such time and place, 
a fire broke out and burnt or de- 
stroyed such and such buildings. 

Tliey disdain so straight a path as 
tlus, and will ramble very ingeni- 
ously thus :...^< The citizens were 
disturbed by the alarm of fire ;" or, 
(as an Albany editor once had it) the 
peacefol slumbers of the inhabitants 
were broken by vociferated Jtre /... 
In spite of the exertions of the citi- 
zens, such and such buildings were 
" swallowed up by the conflagra- 
tion : "or, (still more poetically) " be- 
came victims to the devouring ele- 
ment;"...or, " fell a prey to the re- 
morseless fury of the flames." 

A late newspaper introduces a 
column of such news by this sen- 
tence..." We are sorry to announce 
to our readers, the devastation com- 
mitted yesterday by the devouring 
element of fire." In the ensuing 
narrative we are told, that the " rage 
of the conflagration was appeased," 
at such, an hour and that such a part 
of the town was " snatched from the 
grti^ of the devouring element." 



TELLOW TEVER. 

How powerfully is the imagination 
affected by the frequent and almost 
periodic returns of this new, strange 
and unwelcome visitant, 'Till the 



year 1793, we, in this part of Ame- 
rica, at least, the present genem- 
tion, had only heard and read of 
pestilence. Since that period it has 
visited us five years out of ten, and, 
in our great cities, there is no do- 
mestic event more familiar to us; 
none whicli we anticipate with more 
probability, and by which we pre- 
pare more naturally to regulate our 
motions, than this. 

I often imagine to myself my feelr 
ings on being informed, by some one 
able to give the information, at the 
opening, for instance, of the year 
1793, that for the ensuing ten years, 
a destructive plague would rage 
among us, during five summers, by 
which the city would be, for two or 
three months, almost entirely depo- 
pulated ; by which all the usual func- 
tions and employments of life would 
be suspended, and a large portion 
of sixty thousand people, which sub- 
sist by daily and uninterrupted em- 
ployment, would be suddenly bereft 
of all activity. 

My notions of the evil would doubt- 
less have been imperfect and inade- 
quate, as, indeed, these notions, 
with all the benefits of experience, 
still are. I should have underrated 
it in some respects, while in other 
respects, I should equally have over- 
rated it. I should have had but fee- 
ble conceptions of the misery which 
individuals were about to sufier, 
while I should probably have com- 
puted its influence on popmation and 
general prosperity at much too high 
a rate. I could not have imagined 
before-hand the effect of familiarity^ 
the power which custom has to 
enable us to accommodate ourselves 
to inevitable evils, and that vigour 
which one spring of population is 
sure to derive from the depression 
of another. 

There is one thing, at least, which 
my ignorance of human nature 
would have hindered me fi-om pre-* 
dieting ; and that is, the effect which 
the intt'oduction of this new disease 
has had on the habits and opinions of 
physicians. Who would have dream- 
ed that this order of men would split 
into hostile factions, which shouM 



TELLOW FEVER. 



wage war against each other with 
the utmost animosity; that they 
would arrange themselves in par- 
tieSf the champions of opposite opi- 
nions not only as to the mode of 
curing the malady, but as to the 
source to which the malady itself 
is to be traced. 

What volumes of acrimonious 
controversy have the last ten years 
produced on these subjects I How 
dogmatic the assertions, how vio- 
lent the invectives, which tlie im- 
portation-men and the home-origin- 
men have darted at jcach other. 
How is the pride of human reason 
humbled, by observing that in this 
enlightened age, with so vigilant a 
police, with such comprenensive 
and exact methods of investigating 
facts, and such dififusing v^cles 
of information and comparison aa 
newspapers aflR>rd, there should still 
be in the community opposite opi- 
nions as to the nature and origin of 
a pestilence which has visited our 
principal cities five times in ten 
years: That even its contagious 
nature should not be unanimously 
settled ? If I go into company, in- 
deed, and talk with a physician on 
this subject, I shall be told that the 
means of information, on this head, 
have been so abundant and satisfac- 
tory, that the question has long ago 
been settled by* all rational people* 
Every thing, he will go on to tell me, 
demonstrates the origin of the yel- 
low fever to be foreign, and its ap- 
pearance among us to be in conse- 
quence of importation. I cannot 
help being biassed by the positive 
assertions of a man of general can- 
dour, of knowledge and experience ; 
but what am I to think When I meet 
another man, a physician, of equal 
understanding and experience with 
the former, whose assertions are 
just as positive, and directly oppo- 
site ? But still greater is my per- 
plexity when I meet a third, who 
tells mc tliat this question has en- 
gaged his attention for many \ ears, 
but tliat the more he collects, inves- 
tigates and compai-es, the farther is 
he from an absolute decision, the 
more inscrutable the question be- 



comes ; and time, he is now folly of 
opinion, instead of clearing up the 
darkness, will only involve Sie mat- 
ter in greater obscurity. 

Such reasoners as the last, are^ 
indeed, rarely to be met with. Doubt 
is so painiiil a state, and a man's 
pride and prejudice are so unavoid- 
ably engaged, on one side or the 
other, as he advances in his inquiry, 
and we so easily and suddenly 
pass from a state of neutrality, in 
which we only inquire after truth, 
into a state of conviction, when we 
merely search for arguments and 
facts in favour of one side ; that no- 
thing is rarer than a physician who 
hesitates on this subject. Some men 
may vary from year to year, and 
change sides as often as the fever 
visits us, but they are ardent and 
dogmatic in maintaining what hap- 
pens to be their present opinion, 
and stigmatize all their opponents 
as fools and villains. 

This medical controversy is much 
to be regretted on many accounts* 
It is not one of the least evils that it 
tends to shake the confidence of 
mankind in the skill of those, whose 
skill is indebted for the greater part 
of its success to the confidence, 
with which tlie patient is inspired 
by it. 



AUTHORSHIP* 

In Europe, Authorship is in 
some instances a trade: it is a call- 
ing by which those who pursue it, 
seek their daily bread as regularly 
as a carpenter or smith pursues the 
same end, by means of the adze or 
the anvil. But authorship, as a mere 
trade, seems to be held in ver>' lit- 
tle estimation. There is no other 
tradesman^ to whom tlie cpiUiet 
/ioor is more usually applied. A 
poor author is a phrase so often 
employed, that the two words have 
almost coalesced into one* The 
latter, if used alone, signifies merely 
a man who writes and publishes'; 



AUTHORSBIP. 



hut i£ floor he preftxed, it clearly 
iDdicates a writer by trade* 

This,trade is the refuge of idle- 
ness and poverty. Any thing that 
gives a permanent revenue, how- 
ever scanty the sum, or laborious 
the service, is deemed preferable 
to authorship : but when a. poor fel- 
low has either too little steadiness, 
industry, or reputation, for the post 
of clerk in a banker's office, or usher- 
in a school, or curacy in Wales, he 
betakes himself, as his last re- 
source, to writing paragraphs for a 
newspaper, translating new novels 
or travels from the French or Ger- 
man, or spinning Romances from 
his own brain ; and tliese enable him 
to live as well as habits of impix)vi- 
dence and heedlessness as to all 
economical matters, will allow him. 

While the ftoor author^ that is to 
say, the author by trade, is regard- 
ed with indifference or contempt, 
the author^ that is, the man who 
(levotcs to composition the leisure 
secured to him by hereditary afflu- 
ence, or by a lucrative profession 
or office, obtains from mankind an 
higher, and more lasting, and more 
genuine reverence, than any other 
class of mortak. As tlic re is nothing 
I should more fervently deprecate 
than to be enrolled in the former 
class, so there is nothing to which I 
more ardently aspire, than to be 
numbered among the latter. To 
write, because the employment is 
delightfiil, or because I have a pas- 
sion for fame or for usefulness, it 
the summit of terrestrial joys, the 
pinnacle of human elevation. 

ITiere is my friend H—...Can a 
man be situated more happily ? His 
aunt not only secures him and his 
charming Eleanor from the possi- 
bility of want, she secures them not 
only the pleasures and honors of cx- 
traordinar)' affluence, but even from 
the common cares of a master of a 
^mily. She is his steward, that is, 
she manages exclusively the fortune 
which is hereafter to be absolutely, 
as it is now virtually his : she is his 
housekeeper, inasmuch as she takes 
upi*n herself tlie management of 
servants, the ordering of provisions, 



and the payment of all hxoWy ex- 
penses. The young and happy 
couple have nothing to do but to 
give themselves up to the delights 
of mutual tenderness, and to fill up 
the interval between tliese joys with 
bathing and walking, or with music, 
conversation, reading and writing. 
He has no other labour on his 
hands than to decide whether the 
coming hours shall be employed at 
the clarionet, the pencil, the book 
or the pen. After a good deal of 
fluctuation, a passiou for the pen 
seems to have gotten the mastery, 
and a part of every day is regularly 
engrossed by an interesting and im- 
portant project. Every day is wit- 
ness to some progress, and thoueh 
his views continually extend to fu- 
turity and immortality, yet the im- 
mediate pleasures of reasoning, in- 
vention, and acquired knowledge 
are his, and every day is happy in 
itself, while it brings supreme fe2i<* 
city still nearer. 



^£NSXOKS« 

I UAVE been reading Burke's 
speeches on Economical Reform. 
Notwithstanding all the eloquence 
displayed sn that occasion, notwith- 
standing the pressure of public exi- 
gencies, and the hard expedients to 
which the government has been 
driven ; who would believe, if there 
were any possibility of doubting it, 
that four noblemen of overgrown 
private fortunes, divide between 
them eight thousand pounds (forty 
thousand dollars) per annum, as sa- 
laries ; one as roaster of the fox- 
hounds, anotlier as master of the 
back-hoimds, a third as master of 
the harriers, and a fourth as ran- 
ger of some park I 

The government, however, ex- 
ercises a most laudable economy in 
other respects. The greatest moral 
or literary merit, attended with the 
greatest poverty, will not tempt the 
rwling powers to stretch their libe- 



10 



rswstovs* 



tality any further, or to load the 
pubbc treasury with any additional 
incumbrances. 

To give them their due, howe- 
ver, we must admit of two excep- 
tions to this observation. Doctor 
Johnson, after struggling with dis- 
ease and poverty for sixty years, 
was presented with a most magnifi- 
cent annuity of two hundrfd/iound^ 
per annum. When travelling was 
prescribed by his physicians, an 
application was made for a small 
augmentation, but it was impossible 
to obtain it. Cowper, a glory and 
blessing to hupianity, struggled with 
narrow circumstances, aiui with 
the most horrible of maladies, for 
upwards of sixty years, when his 
majesty was graciously pleased to 
secure to him 8iree hundred pounds 
per annum. These salaries toge- 
ther were equal to one fourth of Uie 
wages of the master of the fox- 
hounds ; which, after all, is only a 
nominal ofRce, and which is always 
possessed by those who have vast 
patrimonies of their own. 

It is astonishing that kings and 
nobles are not more beneficent to 
men of genius, even from a mere 
selfish passion for praise. The gra- 
titude excited by such gifts, is al- 
ways in proportion to Ae benefits 
they confer on the receiver, not to 
the generosity of the donor: and 
what eloquent eulogies will the king 
receive, who, with one hand, be- 
stows three hundred a year on a su- 
perannuated poet, though, with the 
other, he confers seven times the 
dum on the master of his fox- 
hounds. 

Suppose the aforesaid eight thou- 
sand pounds were distributed, in 
life annuities of /wo hundred each, 
to men, whose forlorn situation, 
joined with intellectual merit, laid 
indisputable claim to so mere a 
competence, there would be no less 
th^n forty persons enlisted in the 
service of the giver's glory. How 
would such munifi^nce have sound- 
ed through the world : how rich, in 
the ornaments of public gratitude, 
would it go down to posterity! 
what a mighty and expensive effort 



would it appear ! And yet we see 

that, at present, this very sum, in* 
deed, ten times this sum, is divided 
between half a dozen noble and 
wor^ess idlers, whose claim, and 
that is only nominal, consists in their 
superintendence of a pack of hounds, 
or something of equal dignity and 
usefolness ! 

This is not a censure intended 
particularly for England, or for 
kings, lliis abuse of the public 
revenue, in a greater or less degree, 
is incident to all nations, and to 
every form, of government. 



A JAUN7T0R0CKAWAT,IN LONG- 
ISLAND. 



MT DEAR R. 



What possible amusement can 
you expect from my recital of a 
jaunt to Kockaway f I cannot dig- 
nify trifles, or give to vulgar sights 
a novelty, by making them pass 
through my fancy. That fancy, you 
well know, has no particle of kin- 
dred to that of poet or painter, and 
nobody should pretend to describe, 
who <3k>es not look through the op- 
tics of either painter or poet. Be- 
sides, my Ignorance circumscribes 
my curiosity. I have few objects 
of remembrance with which to com- 
pare the objects that I meet with. 
Hence, as the carriage whirls along, 
faces, fences, houses, barns, culti- 
vated fields, pass rapidly across my 
eye, without leaving a vestige be- 
hind them. You will of course ask 
me, how the fields are inclosed? 
How they are planted? What por- 
tion is tilled ; what is wood, and 
what is waste ? Of what numljer, 
materials, dimensions, and form, 
are the dwellings, the granaries, 
the churches, the bridges, the car- 
riages? What is the countenance, 
the dress, the deportment of tlic 
passengers, and so forth ? through 
an endless catalogue of interroga- 
tories. 



A JAUKT TO ROCKAWAT. 



11 



Now I cannot answer a word to 
aH these questions. Your attention, 
on the contrary, during such a jour- 
ney, would be incessantly alive: 
you would take exact note of all 
these particulars, and draw from 
them a thousand inferences as to 
the nature of the soil, the state of 
agriculture, and the condition of the 
people. While your companions 
were beguiling the time by a map : 
by looking eagerly forward to the 
bating place, and asking the driver 
now and then, how many miles he 
had to go to dinner, or cursing the 
dust, the heat, the jolting, and the 
hard benches, or conversing with 
each other, all your senses, and 
your whole soul would be chained 
to passing objects. Not a stone 
would you meet with, but should 
instantly pass through your cruci- 
ble ; not a tree or a post, but would 
serve as a clue to the knowledge of 
the soil, climate, and the industry of 
the island. You would count the pas- 
sengers, take an inventory of their 
dress, mark their looks and their 
steps; you would calculate the length* 
breadth, and height of all the build- 
ings; and compare every thing you 
saw, from the church to the pig-pen, 
and from the parson to the plow- 
boy, with all that you had seen 
elsewhere. 

Such is the traveller, my friend, 
that you would have made ; and you 
have known more of Long-Island 
in a few hours, than many who have 
lived within si^ht of it these fifty 
years: I, alas I am one of those 
whom fifty years of obser\'ation 
would leave in the same ignorance 
in which they found me. 

'Tis true, as you say, that such an 
unobservant wretch as I represent 
myself to be, may yet amuse by re- 
lating his own sensations, and his 
narrative, if it give no account of 
the scene of his journey, will, at 
least, comprise a picture of his own 
character. An accurate history 
of the thoughts and feelings of any 
man, for one hour, is more valuable 
to some minds, than a system of 
geography ; and you, you tell me, 
•are one of those who would rather 



travel into the mind of a plowman* 
than into the interior of Africa. I 
confess myself of your way of think- 
ing; but from v'fery different mo- 
tives. I must needs say I would 
rather consort forever with a plow- 
man, or evci^ with an old Bergen 
market woman, than expose my- 
self to an hundredth part of the 
perils which beset the heels of a 
Ledyard or a Parke. 

You see how ingeniously I put off 
this unpleasant task : but since you 
will not 'let me off, I must begin* 
Remember, it is a picture of myself, 
and not of the island, that you want : 
and such, how disreputable soever 
it may be to the painter, you shaU 
have. I have some comfort in 
thinking, that most of the travel- 
lers to Rockaway, are but little 
wiser and more inquisitive than 
myself. 

In the first place, then, we left 

I 's at one o'clock. The day 

was extremely fine, and promised a 
most pleasant ride. You may stq)- 
pose that we were most agreeably 
occupied in the prospect of a jour^. 
ney which neither of the three had 
cvcrmadebefore: but no such thing. 
We thought and talked of nothing 
but the uncertauity of getting seats 
in the stage, which goes at that 
hour from Brookl>iin, and the rea- 
sonable apprehension of being mise- 
rably crowded, even if we could 
get seats. Such is my aversion to 
being wedged with ten or twelve in 
a stage coach, tliat I had previously 
resolved to return, in case of any 
such misfortune. So I told my 
friends, but in this I fibbed a little* 
for the naked truth was that I want- 
ed a pretext for staying behind; 
having left society in New York, the 
loss of which all the pleasures of 
Rockaway would poorly compen- 
sate. 

We passed the river, and after 
dining at the inn, were seated in 
the coach, much more at our ease 
than we had any reason to expect. 
We rode through a country altoge- 
ther new to me, twelve or fourteen 
miles (I forgot which) to Jamaica. 
Sliall I give you a peep into my 



13 



A JAUNT TO ROCKAWAT. 



thoo^ts? I am half ashamed to 
admit you, but I will deal sincerely 
•with you. Still, say I, my conso- 
lation is, that few travellers, if 
their minds were laid as completely 
open to inspection, would come off 
from their trial witli more credit 
than myself. 

I confess to you then that my 
mind was much more busily enga- 
ged in reflecting on the possible 
consequences of coming off without 
several changes of dothes in my 
handkerchief, and without an um- 
brella to shelter me from simshine 
and rain, than with the fields and 
woods which I passed through. My 
umbrella I had the ill-luck to break 
as we grossed the river, and as to 
clothes, I had the folly, as usual, to 
ferget tliat Rockaway was a place 
of fashionable resort, and that ma- 
ny accidents might happen to pro- 
long our stay there four or five days, 
instead of a single day; and yet 
think not that I was totally insen- 
sible to passing objects. The sweet 
pure country air, which was brisk, 
oool and fresh enough to make sup- 
portable the noon-tide rays of a July 
sun, to the whole force of which my 
seat beside the driver exposed me, 
I inhaled with delight. 1 remem- 
ber little, however, but a country, 
pretty much denuded of its woodSy 
(as Sam. Johnson would say) a 
sandy soil; stubble fields, houses 
fifty years <Hd, a couple of miles 
from each other, and most of them, 
especially those furthest on the 
road, exact counterparts of such 
as we see in Dutch and Flemish 
landscapes; four-wheeled rustic 
carriages, of a most dispropor- 
tioned length, crazy and uncouth, 
without springs, entered from be- 
hind, and loaded with women and 
children, pigs and chickens ; not a 
single carriage of elegance or 
pleasure to be met with, though 
overtaken by half a dozen gigs, 
going to the same place with our- 
sehes. 

We reached Jamaica at five 
o'clock, and here we staid one hour. 
A glass of lemonade, a plentiful ab- 
lution in cold water, and a walk 



with B..... in a churdh-yard opp«« 
site the inn, were all the surpris- 
ing events which distinguished this 
hour. This island is one of the old- 
est of European settlements in North 
America, and we therefore expect- 
ed to find in this churchyard some 
memorial of ancient days, but we 
were disappointed. There were 
many grave-stones, broken or half 
sunken, or blackened fiy age, but 
the oldest date was within forty 
years. The church, though paint* 
ed anew and furbished up lately, 
Was about seventy years old, as an 
inscription on the front informed us. 
There was another of a much more 
antique cast within view, but we 
did not approach it 

I hope you will be sparing of your 
questions respecting Jamaica, for I 
can answer none of them. I asked 
not a single question statistical or 
topographical of our hostess. I did 
not count the houses, and therefore 
c^n form no notion of the popula- 
tion. It is a spacious, well-looking 
village, many of whose houses ap- 
pear to be built as summer retreats 
for wealthy citizens, and that is all 
I can say of it. 

During our second stage, I was 
placed much more at my case than 
during the first. I was seated be- 
side a pretty little girl, whom all 
the company took care to ijiform, 
that they tliought her pretty. For 
my part, her attractions made little 
impression on my fancy. To be in- 
firmly delicate in ^orm, to have a 
baby-like innocence of aspect, and 
a voice so very soft that it can 
scarcely be heai*d, are no recom- 
mendations to me. She prattled a 
good deal about a squirrel and ca- 
nary-bird which she had at home, 
and that respectful attention was 
paid to a pair of very sweet li/is^ 
which the words that fell from them 
» would never have obtained. The 
rest of our company were men, and 
I have not wit enough to extract any 
oddity or singularity from tlicir con- 
versation or appearance. Two of 
tliem, you know, were my compa- 
nions, and the other two cheerful 
and well-bred strangers. 



A JAUNT TO ROCKAWAY* 



11 



f , for tlic most part, was mute, 
ts I usually am, in a stage-coach and 
among strangers. Not so my two 
friends. B»«. finds a topic of talk 
and good humour in every thing, 
and J.««.'s amenity is always ready 
to pursue the other's lead. I forget 
all their topics, except a very earn- 
est discussion of the merits of differ- 
ent lodging-houses, at the sea-side, 
and many sympathetic efRisions, 
drawn forth by the shipwreck of 
imother coach* On the first head 
we concluded to go to the house 
nearest the sea, one Ben Com wall's, 
our purpose being as much to gra- 
tify the eye as the touch, and there 
we accordingly arrived, pretty late 
on a chill, moist and cloudy even- 
ing. 

There are few men who are al- 
ways masters of their spirits, and 
mine, which had not been high 
through the day, fell suddenly some 
degrees lower, on stepping out of 
&e carnage into the piazza of the 
house. This place appeared, at the 
first glance, to want at the same 
time Uie comforts and sechision of a 
private houses and the oi*der and 
plenty of a public one. The scene 
without was extremely dreary, and 
the vicinity of the sea, not being a 
quarter of a mile distant, gave us 
very distinctly the music of his mul- 
titudinous waves. 

Our curiosity would not allow us 
to go to bed, till we had touched the 
ocean-wave. We, therefore, after 
a poor repast, hastened down to the 
beach. Between tlie house and the 
water, is a wide and level expanse 
of loose white sand, which is a pretty 
good sample of Arabia or Zaara^ as 
I have heard them described. Tell 
me, you who have travelled, whe- 
ther every country, in the temperate 
zone, of moderate extent and some- 
what diversified, contains not sam>r 
pies of every quarter of the globe ? 

The air was wet to the touch and 
saUne to the taste, but the novelty 
of the scene, to which a canopy of 
dark douds, with a pale star gleam ^^ 
log now and then tlirough the cre- 
vices, tended to increase, buoyed up 
my spirits to their usual pitch. I'o 

VOL. z. NO. I. 



my friend B.... this novelty was ab- 
solute. He never before saw the 
ocean ; but to me it was new only as 
I now saw it, at night. Seven years- 
ago I found my way to the margent 
of the sea, between Sandy hook and 
the mouth of the Raritan. I took a 
long peregrination on foot, in com- 
pany witli two friends, and shall ne- 
ver forget the impression which th^' 
boundless and troubled ocean, seen 
for the first time, from an open 
beach, in a clear day, and with a 
strong wind blowing landward, 
made upon me. It was flood-tide, 
and the sandy margin formed a pret- 
ty steep shelf. The billows, there- 
fore, rose to a considerable height, 
and brake with great fury against it ; 
and my soul was suspended for half 
an hour, with an awe, a rapture 
which I never felt before. Far dif- 
ferent were my feelings on this oc- 
casion, for tlie scene was no longer 
new to me, and the scene itself was 
far less magnificent. There was 
scarcely any wind, the tide was 
ebb, and the shore declined almost 
imperceptibly. 

As we came to this place for the 
purpose of bathing, and had so 
short a time to stay, we thought we 
could not begin too early, and tliere- 
fbre stript immediately, notwith- 
standing the freshness of the air, 
and what is of greater moment, our 
ignorance of thp shore. 

Up, pretty high upon the shore, 
is an house, no better than a fish- 
erman's hut. 'Tis a meix; frame of 
wood, boarded at the sides and top, 
with no window, and a door-way. 
The floor is sand, and there are 
pegs against the wall to hang clothes 
upcHi. There is a tub provided for 
cleansine the feet from the sand, 
which wnen wet clings to the skin 
like bird-lime. Towels, which are 
furnitihed at the house, we brought 
not with us. 

Is there any tiling, the advan- 
tages of which are more iinivcr;,ally 
and constantly manifested, tnan or- 
der ? Its value is seen in the mr^t-t 
trivial matters, as in the most mo., 
mentous. This room was pitch» 
dark, and we were wholly uua&v 



VI 



jl jaunt to rockawat. 



quainted with it: and yet by the 
simple proccs» of hanging our 
clotheS) as we take tliem on, on a 
pegy and putting them on in the same 
order reversed, there is no difficul- 
ty« Some of us were not so wise as 
to practise this order, and, of con- 
sequence, were condemned to grope 
about half an hour longer tlian 
othersy in the daric, for stockings, 
s^eeve-buttonsy hats, and handker- 
diiefs* 

What would physicians say to 
standing naked on a bleak night, 
with the wind at east, while the 
billows broke over you for ten mi- 
nutes? There is an agreeable tre- 
pidation felt, while the scene is 
new, and the sudden e£fusion of cold 
water must, methinks, produce 
powerful effects of some kind or 
another* 

As we were early comers to this 
house, we were honoured each with 
a room to himself. There were 
twenty or thirty persons to be ac- 
commodated, besides a numerous 
family, in a wooden house of two 
stories; so that we could not but 
congratulate ourselves on the privi- 
lege thus secured to us* The cham- 
ber, however, allotted to me was 
a little nook, about seven feet long 
and three wide, only large enough 
to admit the bedstead and liim that 
slept in it. In such excursions 
as tliese, however, hardships and 
privations, are preferable to ease 
and luxury. There is something 
like consciousness of merit in en- 
countering them voluntarily and 
with chearfulncss. There is a ri- 
valship in hardihood and good hu- 
mour, more pleasurable than any 
delights of the senses. A splenetic 
or fastidious traveller is a great 
burden to himself and to his com- 
pany , and ought, throueh mere gene- 
rosity, to keep himself at home. In 
saying this, I am conscious, that in 
some degree, I pronounce my own 
condemnation, but I hope I am not 
very culpable. 

My friends rose at day-light next 
Vioming, and went to bathe. They 
gave me warning, but I heeded it 
not. My little nookJiad half mehed 



me with heat, and I felt as if un- 
qualified for the least exertion, t 
was sorry to have lost the opportu* 
nity, and rose, when the sun waa 
high in the heavens, with some de- 
gree of regret. But;, more lucky 
than I deserved to be, I found a 
country waggon at the door, ready 
to carry down any one that chose* 
to the strand* I went down with 
another. 

This was a far difercnt bathing 
£rom that of the night before. Th«» 
waggon carries us to the water's 
edge, and there we may undress at 
our leisure amidst a footing of clean 
straw, convenient seats and plenty 
of napkins. The waggon receives 
us directly from the water and car- 
ries us home, without trouble or de- 
lay. On this occasion the sun was 
just warm enough to be comfortable^ 
and the time o'day exacUy suited 
to the bath. Such is my notion of 
the matter, but I doubt whether any 
body else will agree with me. Sun- 
rise and sun-set are the usual bath- 
ing-times. 

After breakfost, we took a walk 
along the strand. My pastime con- 
sisted in picking up shells ; in sift- 
ing and examining the fine white 
sand ; in treading on the heels and 
toes of the wave, as it foil and rose, 
and in trying to find some music in 
its eternal murmur. Here could 
I give you long descants on all these 
topics, but my vague and crude re- 
veries would only make my dull 
epistle still more dull. The sun at 
last broke out with the fiill force of 
midsummer, and we panted and 
waded through the sand, home- 
ward, witii no small regret that we 
had ventured so for. We Ameri- 
cans in general have fedUe heads: 
those of us, I mean, who were not 
bom to dig ditches and make hay. 
A white hat, broad-brimmed, and 
light as a straw, is an insufficient 
shelter against the direct beams of 
the sun. What must we have suf- 
fered on Uiis occasion when tho 
vertical rays fell on a sui*face of 
smooth white sand: We were al- 
most liquefied before we reached 
the house* 



A JAUNT TO ROCKAVAT* 



n 



llie compcLnyy at this house, was 
numerous, and a£forded, as usual, 
abundant topics of speculation. 
Some were young men, in the hey 
day of spirits, rattling, restless, and 
noisy. Some were solid and con- 
versiUe, and some awkward and 
reserved. Three ladies, married 
women, belonged to the company: 
one of which said nothing, but was 
as dignified and couiteous in demea- 
nor as ailence wotild let her be: 
another talked much, and a third 
hit the true medium pretty well. I 
^d not fidl to make a great many 
reflections on the passing scene, 
which, together with a! volume of 
Cecilia, n^de the day pass not very 
tediously. 

My i&iends always carry books 
with them, even when they go 
abroad for a few hours. One of 
them to day produced the Maxims 
of La Bruyere, the other those of 
Rottchefoucauld, and some minutes 
were consumed in decyphering and 
commenting on these. But the sub« 
ject which engrossed most attention 
in the morning, was a plan for pro- 
turing a dozen of claret for the em- 
bdKshment of dinner ; and the re- 
turn of man and chaise, without the 
daret for which he had been sent to 
a <Kstant tavern, cast a great damp 
upionthespiritsofmostof us. Wegot 
rid of the afternoon pretty easily, by 
giving an hour or two to the bottle^ 
and the rest to the siesta. As to 
our talk at dinner, there was p^r- 
Itct good humour, and a good deal 
of inclination to be witty, but I do 
not recollect a single ^ood thirty 
iSaaX deserves to be recorded ; and 
my powers do not enable me to 
place the common place characters 
around me in an interesting or 
amunng point of view. As to my- 
srff, I am never at home, never in 
my element at such a place as this. 
A thousand nameless restraints in- 
cumber my speech and my limbs, 
and I cannot even listen to others 
witli a gay, uiicmbarraj^sed mind. 
Towards evening it began to rain, 
and not only imprisoned us for the 
present, but gave us some appre- 
hensions of a detention herp for a 



week. A detention, which, for many 
reasons, one of which I have alrea- 
dy mentioned, would have pfoved 
extremely disagreeable to me. 
^ My friend, I have grown very 
tired of my story. I believe I wiU 
cut short the rest, and carry you 
back with me next morning, to New 
York, In a couple of sentences. The 
weather on the morrow, was damp 
and lowering, but it cleared up 
early. We were again agreeably 
disappointed in our expectations of 
a crowded stage,and after breakfast- 
ing at Jamaica, reached town at one 
o'dock. On my return, I Was just 
as imobservant of the passing scene 
as before, and took as little note of 
the geography of the isle. Set me 
out on the same journey again, and 
I should scarcely recognize a foot of 
the way. I saw trees and shrubs 
and grasses, but I could not name 
atienxybcing as hotv lam no botanist* 
Perhaps, however, I mistake the 
purpose of such journeys, which is 
not to exercise the reasoning facul- 
ties, or to add to knowledge, but to 
unbend, to dissipate thought and 
care, and to strengthen the frame, 
and refresh the spirits, by mere 
motion and variety. This is the lan- 
guage which my friends hold ; but, I 
confess, mere mental vacuity gives 
me neither healtli nor pleasure. Tp 
give time wings, my attention must 
be fixed on something : I must look 
about me in pursuit of some expect- 
ed object ; I must converse with my 
companion on some reasonable to- 
pic ; I must find some image in my 
own fancy to examine, or the way 
is painfuUy tedious. This jaunt to 
Rockaway has left few agreeable 
traces behind it. All I remember 
with any pleasure, are the appear- 
ance of the wide ocean, and the in- 
cidents of bathing in its surges. Had 
I been a botanist, and lighted upon 
some new plant; a mineralogist, 
and found an agate or a petrifac- 
tion ; a naturalist, and caught such 
a butterfly as I never saw before, 
I should have reflected on the jour- 
ney with no little satisfaction. As 
it was, 1 S3t my foot in the cit>' with 
no other sentiment, but that of re- 



14 



XIKG'S BENCH PRISON* 



gretyfor not having employed these 
two days in a very dinerent man- 
ner* c* £• 



For tfie jfmtrican Reguterm 

Some jfccount of the King^a Bench 
Prison; in a letter from an Ame^ 
rlcan in London to the Editor. 

The comparative comforts of 
their prisons offer sometliing in 
mitigation of the severity of tlie 
debtor laws of the English, as they 
relate to persons who are not whol- 
ly destitute of the " one thing need- 
ful :" but no apology can be invent- 
ed for their absurd rigour, as they 
respect by far the greater number 
of the victims of debt* The law 
presumes every debtor solvent; 
which presumption, in innumerable 
cases, IS absolutely false. The bo- 
dy of the debtor, Uierefore, in sup- 
position of ability and fraud is 
consigned to imprisonment at tlie 
pleasure of a vmdictive creditor* 
If the debtor be really insolvent, 
which is surely as probable a sup- 
position, as the opposite, he is at 
the mercy of an angry and perhaps 
injiu'ed individual, who, by a strange 
perversion of every judicial princi- 
ple, becomes a judge, with criminal 
jurisdiction, and is invested with the 
power of dispensing a severer pu- 
nishment than the law inflicts on 
the deepest offences. If poverty be 
no crime, why punish it witli arbi- 
trary' imprisonment? If criminal, 
why is it entrusted to private hands 
to pardon without discretion, or 
punish without measure* , 

An insolvent law is now under 
parliamentary discussion, for tlie 
relief of about ten thousand misera- 
ble wretches, now imprisoned in 
all the different gaols of the United 
Kingdom, who will probably be 
soon let Inosc upon the public, cor- 
rupted by tlie habits, and soiled by 
the ignominy of a prison. This ex- 
pedient is adopted once in six cr 
seven ve:irs, not as a remedy for 
the defcclivc laws, but because the 



prisons overflow* On this joyfid 
occasion, thousands will emergs 
from many years' imprisonment, 
whose original debts did not exceed 
twenty pounds, now augmented, 1^ 
the expenses of the law, to fifty ot 
sixty, and in some instances, to an 
hundred pounds* 

If it be for the benefit of trade, 
the idol of the English nation, that 
such laws exist, it is much to be la- 
mented that the supposed interests 
of trade, and the real interests of 
humanity and justice, should be so 
much at variance; but tlie well- 
l^unded terror of innovation, 
which prevails in this government, 
will probably prevent for a long 
time any change in this^monstrous' 
feature of British policy. 

The King's Bench prison, which 
the misfortune of our friend L«.-..* 
has given me an opportunity of ex- 
amining, is appropriated to debtors 
alone, and to such of these only as 
are prosecuted in the court of 
King^a Bench. Tliis delicacy, 
which excludes from this society 
felons, or criminals of any kind, it 
must be confessed, is honorable to 
the laws, and adheres to a distinc- 
tion not well drawn in other re-* 
spects between debt and felony* 
The police of this institution is un- 
der the direction of a marshal, de« 
puty, clerk of the papers, and three 
turnkeys ; all of which offices are 
considerably lucrative. There arc. 
many immunities and privileges pe* 
cuUar to the place, and not enjoyed 
by provincial and county prisons* 
Each resident holds tlie key of his 
own apartment, and has the un- 
limited power of locomotion at all 
hours of tlie day and night, within 
an area of about six thousand 
square yards (an acre anda quarter) 
enclosed by a brick wall forty feet 
high, over which, fi'oni the tops of 
a stately edifice, you haye a plea- 
sant view of the hills of Kent and 
the city of X4ondoii» The principal 
building is three hundred feet in 
length, fifty feet wide, and four sto- 
ries high; and contains one hun- 
dred and eighty apartments, tlie 
gi-eatttr part cf whicli are in good 



XING'8 BENCH PKISON* 



15 



. wpair, painted, and some of them 
papered* Two persons are allot- 
ted to each of these rooms, lyhidi 
ane filteen feet by twelve, length 
and breadth; but one may enjoy 
exclusive possession by paying five 
shillings a week, which the poorer 
class of prisoners accept as a con- 
sideration for relinquishing their 
right, and, with it, eke out a mi- 
serable existence in a common re- 
ceptacle* Within tlicse walls are 
inexhaustible springs of hard and 
soft water^ one of which has mi- 
neral qualities that are salutary* 
Shambles every day exhibit every 
variety^ in kind and quality of Leaid- 
,'Cnhall and BHlingsgate markets; a 
public kitchen for cooking, besides 
half a dozen cook-shops ; a coffee- 
house and two public taps, from 
which beer and even wme flow 
without measure; a bake-house, 
and ia fine every handicraft is car- 
ried on here, in the different apart- 
ments, making the place a good 
epitome of London. An unre- 
strained ingress and egress is al- 
lowed from eight in the morning, 
till ten at night; and the hum of 
innuxaerable visitors of every garb 
and deportment, with the motley 
music and appearance of every 
class of pedlars that walks the 
streets of London, display n scene 
extremely lively and grotesque* 
There is every shade of character, 
every grade of wealth and (except* 
ing privileged persons) of rank and 
title. Some of the prisoners eio- 
ceed a thousand guineas a year in 
their expences, and are visited by 
their families, who, if we may 
judge from their equipages, abate 
nothing of their wonted luxury. 
There is another class of debtors 
who place their fumilies in the 
neighbourhood, and rather than 
suri'ender an amiuity or jointure, 
take up their rest, for life : an in- 
solvent act, or act of grace, com- 
pels him not to give his property to 
the creditor, but leaves him the 
option of freedom or captivity, and 
many prefer the Matter. 
• The third class are driven to the 
most deplorable ^shifts, and, like 



the moths, feed upon their clothes, 
as long as they last* Absolute star- 
vation, tliou^ not frequent, does 
-yet sometimes occur in the annals 
of the King's Bench* The num- 
ber of prisoners now amounts to 
five hundred, and the original debts 
of threefourths of the number do 
not, on an average, exceed forty 
pounds, from which we are obliged 
to inf^ tliat the laws give im- 
punity to opulent knaves, while 
it bears with undistinguishing se- 
verity on the innocent and culpable 
•poor. 



For the American Rtgi^term 

CRITICAL NOTICES, 
i^o* I. 

I have now in my hands an old 
copy of Milton, which at first be- 
longed to my father. It is an old 
book, and few volumes have been 
oftener in my hands. I would not 
exchange it for an edition of tlio 
same work embellished by ^ the 
arts of the printer, the engraver, 
and the bmder.*.*Inanimate objects 
have an influence on the affections ; 
else why do I prefer this homely 
volume, sliattered by the hands of 
time and of use, to Paradise Ldst 
newly printed and decorated f MU- 
ton is only inferior to the voice of 
inspiration....He is first among the 
poets who were not the prophets of 
the Lord. His erudition was vast, 
but his genius was vaster. Hi^ 
learning did not restrain, but re- 
gulated his flight. Amidst the glQ<« 
rics of heav«i he looked undazzlcd, 
and rays from his penetrating mind 
ttluminated tlie depths of despair* 
Did not their antiquity increase tho 
veneration bestowed on the names 
of Homer and Virgil, criticism 
would always place them below 
Milton on the sc^e of poetical me« . 
rit, I have read, I have studied 
the Iliad and the .A!lneid....I have 
read and examined with critical' 
scinitiny, in the original language 
or in the translation most of the por 
ems which bear the name of epic mv 



» 



C&ITICAX VOTXCES....HO* !• 



.hetoiCi and ibe more I read the 
more I am convinced, the longer I 
live the more I am convinced that a 
greater magnitude of mind is disco- 
vered in the Paradise Lost, than in 
any other iminspired poem in exist- 
ence. Paradise Lost is the greatest 
effort of its author. His other 
-works rank as follows in the scale 
of merit: 

2 Comus.*».«3 Paradise Regained 
••••4 Sampson Agonistes**...5 Lyci*- 
das«...6 L'Alegro and 11 Penseroso 
••••7 Hymn on the Nativity. 

I consider the relish for the po- 
etry of Milton as a criterion of the 
taste and mental elevation of the 
reader. None can fully admire him, 
|>ut those who are raised in mind 
above the firqfanum vjUgua. Mi- 
serable was the judgment of Vol- 
taire, which could wonder at an 
Englishman's passionate adnuration 
of Milton and Shakespeare. An 
object of contemptuous pity was that 
feshionable Lord* who declared his 
preference of the Henriade of Vol- 
taire, before the works of hb immor- 
tal countryman. Such a man might 
harrangue to tlie astonishment of as- 
sembled peers, he might offer his 
sacrifices on the altar of the gi^aces, 
but he should never attempt to join 
the councils of correct and digni- 
fied criticism. I could fill a volume 
in speaking of Milton, so keen is 
my sensibility to his excellencies, 
so great is the instruction and plea- 
sure whicli I have received from 
him. I have marked many of his 
passages in my almost worn-out 
copyj and offered upon them some 
remarks: To these I sometimes 
recur with satisfiaction ; tliey are 
mementos of former periods whicli 
have been passed in converse with 
the mighty bard, and of some hours 
of dejection which were lightened 
by his voice. 

Dr. Johnson has said, that we 
must read Milton's Paradise Lost 
as a task. This is one among the 
many premature sentences pro- 
nounced b}' that great man. The 
whole of his M'ork we could not ex- 

• Chesterfield, 



pect to excite the same pleasore; 
but if the greater part produces not 
delight, then there b no delight iit 
elevated poetry.....! consider Dr. 
Johnson's criticism however,on this 
performance, with some excep- 
tions, to be in the highest degree 
excellent. A^disbn's Saturcfaiy't 
Papers on the same subject, though 
not equally acute, are erainenUy 
pleasing. Cowper has said in one 
of his most agreeable letters, that 
Milton has employed the only ma- 
chinery which was justifiable in a 
Christian poet. I have however 
admired tiie conception of Dryden, 
who, when he thought of writing an 
epic poem in honour of King An-^ 
thur, determined to introduce an- 
gels as the guardians of nations. It 
was the lot of Arthur and the (guar- 
dian angels to foil into very diflfer- 
ent hands. Perhiqw some have 
heard that Sir Richard Blackmore 
has written an epic poem called 
Arthur, and used the intervention 
of angels, though they may not have 
read the poem. The exordium 
and invocation of Paradise Lost, 
are eminently hiq^py. They em- 
brace completely the subject which 
is to be sung; they are simple and 
strong. How poor is the mvoca- 
tton of any muse to Milton's invo* 
cation of the Spirit? His strain 
was heavenly, and to heaven he 
looks for aid. As the £all of angels 
was the foil of man, Milton first 
discloses to our view the apostate 
^rits in their regions of sorrow, 
forming new schemes of rebellion 
and malice. 

Many of tlie most striking pas- 
sages of Milton have been noticed 
by the critic, and suggested to tlie 
admiration of the reader. I hare 
however the hope of pointing out, 
in the course of my Critical Notices, 
some portions of Milton, and of other 
poets, which are deserving qf the 
highest commendation,and on which 
criticism has not yet been lavish of 
its praises. 

I am deceived if, from all the vo- 
lumes of uninspired poetry, there 
can be produced a sublimer descrip- 
tion than that which is contained in 



CRITICAL ]rOtICBS«.MtfO» X* 



IT 



Ae {oUowmg^ lines of the Vlth Book 
of Paradise Lost: 

Tet half hU strength he pot not forth, . 

but check 'd 
His thunder in mid volley ; for he meant 
Not to destroy, but root them out of 

heaven 5 
The overthrown he rais'd, and as a herd 
Of goats or timorous flocks together 

throng'd, 
Drove them before him thunderstruck, 

pursued 
With terrors and -with furies to the 

bounds 
And chrystal wall of heaven ; which 

opening wide 
EoWd ifneard, and a Bfiaeioui gap dit- 

chtei 
Lao the 'maUefiU deep; the numttrouM 

tight 
Struck tbcm faith horror hachwardt but 

far worse 
Urg'd them behind : Headlong tliem- 

selves they threw 
Down from the verge of heaven ; eter- 
nal wrath 
Burnt after them to the bottomless pit. 
Heli heard thcinauffarabU noite, hell 

tas» . 
Metnen ruirungfrom heanen, and wmld 

' hone fed 
Affrighted; but strict fate had cast too 

deep 
Her dark foundations, and too fast 

had bound. 
Nine days they fell : confounded chaos 

roar*d, 
And felt tenfold confution in their Jail 
Through hia toild anarchy ^ #0 huge a rout 
Ineumher^d him vjith ruin: Hell at last 
Yawning received them whole, and on 
them closed. 

I cannot conceive how it is pos- 
sible for words or conception to 
exceed the preceding passage in 
strength. It represents a termina- 
tion of a battle purely original.... 
Here Milton could not tread either 
in the footsteps of the Grecian or 
the Roman bard. The scene of the 
action was on the borders of hea- 
ven, and the place in which the 
routed army was plunged, was the 
bottomless abyss...«chaos, the em- 
pire of universal confusion, was, by 
the rout, encumbered with ruin. 
The soul which conceived this un- 



commonly original description, must 
have been agitated by the tumults 
of poetical rage; and the hand 
which wrote it, must have trem» 
bled. Though all the lines are ad- 
mirable, yet I have ventured to. 
mark in italics, those which I 
thought were supereminent among 
the eminent. 

As a contrast to the passage al- 
ready quoted, I shall offer the fol- 
lowing tendu* and sweetly modu- 
lated lines : 

« O unexpected stroke, O worsethan 
death ! 
Must I thus leave thee. Paradise I thus 

leave 
Thee, native 9bil! these happy walks 

and shades. 
Fit haunt of Gods \ wh^re I had hope 

to spend. 
Quiet tho* sad, the respite of that day 
That must be mortal to us both. O.' 

flowerst 
That never will in other cUmate gro^» 
My early visitation, and my last 
At even, which I bred up with tender 

hand 
From the first opening bud, and gave 

ye names! 
Who now shall rear y« to the Am, or 

rank ' 

Your tribes, and water from the anw 

brosial fount ? 
TTiec lastly, nuptial bower! by me 

adom'd 
With what to fight or smell was 

sweet ! from thee 
How shall I part, and whither wan- 
der down 
Into a lower world ; to this obscure ^ 
And wild ? how shall we breathe in 

other air 
Less pure, accustomed to immortal 

fruits ? 
Whom thus the Angel intem^rted 

mild. 
Lament not. Eve, but patiently reMgn' 
What jusdy thou hast lost, nor set thy 

heart. 
Thus over-fond, on that which is not • 

thine : 
Thy going is not lonely ; with thee goes 
Thy husband; him to follow tliou art 

bound ; 
Where he abides, think there thy na^ - 

tive soul. 
Adam, by this from the cold suddeg 

damp 



IS 



CftlTlCAL VOTICX«.««»N*. U 



Recoveringf and his scatter 'd spiriu 
retum'di 

To Michael thus his humble words 
address'd* 
CelestialfWhether among the thrones, 
or nam'd 

Of them the highest ; for such of shape 
may seem 

Prince above princes ! gently hast thou 
told 

Thy message, which might else in tell- 
ing wound, 

And in performing end us ; what be- 
sides 

Of sorrow, and dejection, and despair. 

Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings 
bring, 

Departure from this happy place, our 
sweet 

Recess, and only consolation left 

Familiar to our eyes ! all places else 

Inhospitable appear, and desolate ; 

Nor knowing us, nor known : And, if 
by prayer • 

Incessant I could hope to change the 
will 

Of Him who all things can, I would 
not cease 

To weaiy him with my assiduous cries : 

But prayer against his absolute decree 

No more avails than breath against the 
wind, 

Blown stifling back on bim that 
breathes it forth ; 

Therefore to his great bidding I sub- 
mit. 

This most afflicts me, that, departing 
hence. 

As from his face I shall be hid,depriv*d 

His blessed countenance: Here I could 
frequent 

With worship place by place where he 
vouchsafed 

Presence divine ; and to my sons re- 
late, 

" On this mount he appear*d ; under 
this tree 

Stood visible ; among these pines his 
voice 

I heard ; here with him at this foun- 
tain talk»d:" 

So many g^teful altars I would rear 

Of grassy turf, and pile up every stone 

Of lustre from the brook, in memory 

Or monument to ages ; and thereon 

Offer sweet-smelling gums, and fruits, 
and flowers : 

In yonder nether world where shall h 
seek 

His bright appearances, or foot-step 
trace i 



For though I fled him angry, yetr re^' 

call'd 
To life prolong'd and promised race, I 

now 
Gladly behold though but his utmost 

skirts 
Of glory ; and far off his steps adore. ** 

In this passage tiicre is a beauti- 
ful contrast between the sorrow of 
Adam and that of £ve..«The sorrow 
of Eve was more melting than that 
of her husband.«..it dwelt more mi- 
nutely^n the favourite objects which 
she was to leave behind her. The 
flowers which she had nursed and 
cherished with her o^n hand....the 
nuptial bower which she had deco- 
rated...«the walks and shades among 
which she had rambled and reposed ; 
and from which she must now be 
separated forever, filled her with 
the most piercing regret. The 
sorrow of Adam dwelt more espe« 
cially on his banisment from the di- 
vine presence, and on the places in 
which he appeared or stood visible^ 
and where he heard the sound of 
his compassionate voice. He re- 
solves that should he be permitted 
still to dwell in Paradise, he would 
rear up many mementos of his for- • 
mer days of happiness, that so he 
might be able to telHo his children, 
that here his God appeared before 
him, and from that thicket he heard 
the sound of his voice. The comfort 
which the angel endeavours to give 
to each of our parents, is of the 
most conciliating and soothing kind. 
These speeches of Adam and Eve 
have been noticed before, but I think 
not suflBciently. No lines could be 
more pathetic. When we consider 
that they were spoken by our pa- 
rents and representatives, can any 
passage in poetry be produced 
which can equal them in dignified 
pathos, and in the effect which they 
communicate ? While reading them, 
every son and daughter of Adam 
may unite in language somewhat 
similar. Fields of Paradise, the 
dwelling of my parents, farewel.... 
Abodes of innocence and of happi- 
ness, *' fit hauit for C»o<ls," from you 
we must be ever secluded... CXir foot- 
steps shall not be impinntcd upop 



CRITrCAL irOTICE9.,,.)fO. U 



1» 



^rmir9o3....We shall gather no flow- 
f?rs from the garden of Eden, to the 
whisper and music of your woods ; 
to the murmur of your streams we 
shall never listen....reclining from 
the banks, our lips shall never 
Juss the coolness of your waters 
•••••In your bowers of bliss we 
flIiaU not be permitted to repose«... 
Our parent fathers shall never tell 
US, " On this mount God appeared^ 
under this tree stood visible, among 
these pines his voice I heard, here 
with him at this fountain talked," 

The description in Paradise Lost, 
Book XL of th^ abatement of the 
waters after the deluge, is remark* 
ably strik^g, and deserves to be 
repeatedly noticed ; 

'* He look*d» and saw the ark hull 

on the Hood, 
Which now abated; fof the clouds 

were fled, 
Drhreh by a keen north-wind, that, 

blowing dry, 
Wrinkled the face of deluge, as de- 

cay'd ; 
And the clear sun on his wide watery 

glass 
paz'd hot, and of the fresh wave 

largely drew. 
As after thirst; which niswU their 

flowing shrink 
From standing lake to tripping ebb, 

that stole 
With soft foot towards the Deep; 

who now h;id stopt 
His sluices, as the Heaven his win« 

dows shut. 
The bold and curious personiHca- 
ttons in this passage are most wor- 
thy of remark. The face of the do- 
luge is wrinkled by the keen nortli 
wind, Hke that of an old man by 
age- The sun gazes hot, in his 
wonderful mirror of the expanded 
waters, and draws f^om them such 
draughts to qi\ench the fi^rcenesii 
of his thirst, that they hush the tu- 
Qiults of their bi^ows, shrink aMfav 
before him, and " witli soft foot," 
pr with gentle n\urmurs steal agaiq 
to the bosom of the deep. None 
Iriit the most mighty imagination 
could have given birth to such a 
picture, and none but a giant in in- 
tellect could have begotten such gi- 
gantic personiiications. 



Some critics, in order to afford 
to the world the testimony of their 
discernment, have asserted .that 
such books were the best in such a 
work. One critic has discovered, 
and after him many have said, that 
the first six books were the best of 
the Paradise Lost. Upon what thej 
have grounded this opinion, Ican«r 
not discover. They have much 
more discernment than I pretend to 
possess. In the different books, 
tliere is a variation of matter ; but 
the same strength and ardour of 
imagination....the same burning, 
intrepid and victorious genius i$ 
preserved without diminution 
throughout aU of them. I am of- 
ten tempted to laueh at the manjr 
absurd criticisms \wiich have been 
written on epic poetry. It forsooth, 
must have a beginning, a middle, 
and an end. Tliis we all must ac^ 
knowledge to be indispensable ; for 
we cannot conceive how any man- 
in his senses could give a finished 
narration without these. Every 
composition on earth, "not repre-. 
seuted as a ft'agment, written by a' 
rational man, has a beginning, nlid-, 
die, and an end. Then ajain in the 
epopee there must be machinery, 
because Aristotle said so, and Ho- 
mer has employed it in his Iliad.... 
but with all due deference to critical 
acumen; if all the machinery of 
Homer could be withdrawn, and a 
substitution be made of an equal; 
number of Homer's lines with those 
taken away, so as to fill up every 

?ap and incoherence of transition, 
should vote fbr the destniction o^ 
Homer's machinery. Milton *s ma- 
chinery Is stupendously great, andt 
as far superior to that of all other 
poets as can be conceived. Th6 
Jerusalem Delivered stands next' in 
dignity, in this respect, to Paradise* 
Lost. The machinery of (xothic 
superstition is vastly more pleasing^ 
to me when embodied hy poetry^ 
than Homer's Oods* Iq the bosom^ 
of every son and^daughter of poetry, 
there is a chord whjch vibrates to 
the sound of Goth?c story. But; 
Homer's mytliology communicatei^ 
(10 ploasmg dread, M. thri^ln wit]i\ 



2^ 



Cir^TICAL KOTXCES.««.VO. I. 



the presante of no icy fingers, and 
1k>l(& out not one supernatural be- 
ing that we can love. In the days 
of my boyhood* when the marvel- 
lous in fiction lifted me above the 
world, I read with indifference all 
the stories of Homer's Gods^ and 
was always sorry when I was in- 
troduced in their company. Like 
Achilles, I searched for Hector 
amidst the embattled ranks, not 
with his terrible look of revenge, 
but with the eye of interest and af> 
lection ; and I could not forgive the 
venerable Grecian for making my 
favourite hero fly from his ap- 
proaching enemy. 

If we exclude from the compa- 
rison the dramatic writers, who 
among the English poets, who have 
written in blank verse, shall we 
rank next to Milton ? Without he- 
sitation I would assign that place to 
Young. In some respects, he hXLn 
not breath Milton. In condensing 
bought within a small compass, he 
surpasses all ancient and modem 
authors. When he wrote his great- 
est work, he courted the stillness of 
the night, he associated with sha- 
dows drear....his eyes caught 
through his lattice the raysofUie 
moon and the stars, and his ears 
listened to the music of tlie spheres. 
After Young, come Thomson and 
Cowper.... Thomson is praised by 
every body, whether they relish 
him or not ; and they never praise 
him unjustly. *' Arise ^ JufiUer^ 
and snuff the moouy** was not only 
the language of a madman, but of a 
poet ; and indeed, the highest exhi- 
liration, the most elevated inven- 
tive agitation of every poet of the 
first order, is on the borders of 
phrenzy. The soul of Pope was 
never tossed by these tumultuous 
sensations....he is an accurate, , a 
reasoning poet... .he is melodious In 
the highest degree....he must al- 
ways please. .. .he should always be 
admired ; but he is vastly surpassed 
by Milton, Dryden, Young, Thom- 
son, Cowper, and Gray, in poetical 
enthusiasm. Cowper has not the 
music or romance of Thomson ; his 
eye, however, roiled in a Jinc 



phrenzy; he is the most fiimiliar 
and domestic poet of the English 
language ; he is fiill of thought and 
exquisite morality. If he has less 
music and romance than Thomson, 
he has more solidity anderavity ; he 
is a better instructor. I have been 
lately reading, with delight, his 
Letters and pc^thumous poems, pre- 
served in Hayley's life of him, and 
would enrich mv Notices with some 
extracts from them ; but I wish not 
to put in my sickle, before the har- 
vest is ripe ; for an edition of Hay- 
ley's Life of Cowper is now in an 
American press ; and if this work 
be prosecuted, will form the subject 
of a minute and interesting Review* 
Were I called upon in a compa- 
ny of poetical votaries and talkers, 
to give utterance to one of the most 
strilung passages of Young's Night 
llioughts, I jshould rq>eat the fol- 
lowing (m time, from Night ther 
second.... 

All-sensual man, because untouched, 

unseen, 
He looks on time as nothing : nothing 

else 
Is truly man's ; 'tis fortune's. Time's 

a god ... 
Thou hast not heard of Time's omni- 
potence ; 
For, or against, what wonders can he 

do! 
And will : to stand blank neuter ho 

disdains. 
Not on those terms, was time, heav'ns 

stranger, sent 
On this important embassy, to man, 
Lorenzo! no: on the long destin'd 

hour, 
From everlasting ages growing ripe & 
That memorable hour, of wond*rous 

birth, 
When the dread Sire, on emanation 

bent. 
And big with tiature, rising in his 

might, 
Call'd forth creation, (for then time 

was bom) 
^y godhead ttreaming^ tbrougb a tbou' 

tand vtorldi. 
Not on tbote terms, from the great 

daysof heav*n, 
From old eternity's mysterious orb, 
W(u time cut off, and catt beneath the- 

sites. 



CRITICAL NOTICRS....1iro. I. 



21 



fktkie9,Vfhieh nDateb*d him in bit new 

abode, 
Mttuurinr hie motione by revohing 

tpheree. 
That horologe machinery divine. 
Saurt, daj^, and months and yeare hie 

children play, 
Like numeraue vtinge, around him, ae he 

JUee: 
Or nther, as nnequal plumes, they 

shape 
His anople pinions, swift as darted 

flame, 
To gain his goal, to reach his ancient 

rest, 
And join anew eternity, his sire; 
In his immutability to rest» 
When worldly that count hie circlee, nan 

unhinged, 
(Fate the loud signal sounding) head' 

Umgrtuh 
To timeUu night and chaoe, whence 

they rote. 

If these lines are not admired, it 
vill not be for want of grandeur in 
them, but for want of elevation 
somewhere else. The conception 
that time is a portion cut off from 
eternity, and thrust down beneath 
the slues, and watched by the hea- 
Tenly bodies, and measured by their 
revolutions«...that days, months, 
and years, are his children, or ra- 
dier so many wings, which hover 
around him, and direct him in hb 
course to the bosom of eternity 
again, is inexpressibly great. The 
closing lines might serve as a motto 
for a philosophical discussion. ••• 
Time, separated from the existence 
of animated beings, is nothing : it is 
measured by our consciousness; if 
we bestow individual existence on 
what we mean by time, it is evident 
that it cannot cease to exist : though 
worlds should be destroyed, yet 
such an airy notlilng as we mean by 
time, separated from animated na- 
ture, must still be just as it was : 
how very fine, then, is the idea of 
Young, tiiat time is cut off from 
etemity..,.that it is hastening into 
eternity ag^in, with its years and 
its centuries«...andthatwhen worlds 
are destroyed, and in the places 
which they now occupy, nothing 
will be left, to measure tke lapse of 



time. Time will be swallowed up 
in eternity, which is occupied by 
the existence of God, of angels, and 
of men. 

Hert I shall, for the present, sus- 
pend my Critical notices, by assur- 
ing^ those who have derived any 
satisfoction from following the 
traces of an hasty and busily occu- 
pied writer, that should the project- 
ed work of my friend the Editor, be 
sufficiently encouraged by a liberal 
and discerning public, they shall 
(Deo volante) repeatedly meet the 
productions of the same pen. 

I. 0* 



THE TRAVELLER....yO. U 

I am a man left solitary in th6 
world. I have neither parents, 
nor wife, nor children, to rejoice in 
my prosperity, or to mingle their 
sorrows with mine : my friends and 
associates are few. I am not more 
than thirty years of age, but my 
pallid cheek, my musefiil counte- 
nance, and some hairs which have 
been silvered by an aching head, 
would declare that I was nearer to 
forty. In the course of my journey 
thus far on the stage of human ex- 
istence, I have not been an inatten- 
tive observer of the characters of 
men, and of passing events.. •• 
Though I could tell much, yet I am 
called a silent man: and I must 
confess, that what I have seen in 
life, has more disposed me to be- 
come a speculative, thoughtful and 
melancholy man, than a vivacious 
and busy narrator of facts. I am 
oftentimes more fond of employing 
my pen, than my tongue, and have 
occasionally, through its instrumen- 
tality, pre;.crved on paper some 
sentimental speculation, and the 
traces of some musefiil journey. In 
this j)ropeiisity I still persevere, 
and shall probably to the public ad- 
dress several numbers of my specu- 
lations and rambles, wluch shall 
succeed th<! one wliich now solicits 

heir attention. . 



di 



TRB TRAYSLLX)l.»«irO« r« 



The attachments, which we form 
3n early life, are generally the 
strongest and the most sincere* 
The feelings have not then lost 
Uieir generous warmthy nor is the 
ardour of sensibility damped, by 
commerce with the world. Covet- 
ousness has not then been bom, and 
made the soul the grave of every 
noble passion ; malice has not then 
aroused from its slumbers, nor does 
envy sicken at tlie praise of a bro- 
tlier....The heart then pants with a 
noble emulation, and the blush of 
shame burns on the dieek* Stran- 
gers to the world, the prospect that 
spreads before the eyes of youth, 
appears pleasing and enchainting* 
Ko hills of difficulty arise before 
them ; no snares open beneath their 
feet; the world to them is virtuous 
and honest, for they have not yet 
experienced its guile. It has been 
often tlie remark of experience, 
that when we are most igno- 
rant of human nature, we are 
freest from care ; that those years 
which are spent within the walls of 
a college, and which are devoted to 
the acquirement of knowledge, 
form the happiest period of our 
lives. Though I cannot wholly sub- 
scribe to this remark, yet I can 
safely say, that, while at college, 
I passed my most unincumbered 
da> s. Often fi*om the most exalted 
stations in society, has the manof the 
world looked back, with regret, on 
the scenes of his youth, on those 
happy da}'s, when, immersed in 
academic shades, he had not yet 
mingled with the noise and uproar 
of men ; when he had not yet disco- 
vered their machinations and their 
wiles; when. his ambition was con- 
fined to the little sphere in which he 
moved ; when he trod, unwearied, 
the paths of science, and when the 
strains of the Grecian and Roman 
bards kindled his soul to rapture. 

When wasting pains, and manhood's 
brooding woes 

Broke not the slumbers of his gay re- 
pose; 

When o*cr the fieldi , light as the sum- 
mtr wijid, 



He flew, and left escb anxloustboi^ghf 
behind. 

All these remembrances, as thc^ 
shades of departed pleasures, arise 
before his view, and he mourns 
over their grave, with a tear; ** all 
these remembrances sweep over 
his mind with an enchanting power 
of melancholy tenderness, and lull 
to sleep the cares and business of 
the moment." 

Frequent sensations of this kind 
are congenial to the mind which 
has not lost its sensibility and its 
taste. Who can hear with indiffer- 
ence, in more advanced age, the 
strain to which he has often listened 
in his infancy, and which then 
transported him with its liveliness, 
or soothed him with its sadness? 
Who can behold, without emotion, 
the shades, beneath which he has 
often reclined, or revisit the stream' 
to whose murmurs he formerly lis- 
tened, and along. whose banks he 
directed his earliest rambles ? Who 
can behold, without being carried 
back to scenes which have forever 
gone, the building in which he was 
boni? 

I have been excited to these re- 
flections, by a visit to the place of 
my nativity ••••I am now gazing on 
the house in which I first opened my 
eyes on the light of heaven, and ex- 
ploring the hills, the plains and wa- 
ters, which I traced while a vagrant 
boy. Sensations, which are unde. 
scribable, rush on my mind at this 
review, and I cannot restrain my 
desire to pourtray my boyhood, and 
to talk of events, which this spot of 
my birth recals. Come then, let me 
make this log my chair, this old 
stump my table, and with my pencil 
let me fill these blank leaves of my 
pocket-book with the images of the 
past. 

TUB DAYS or CHTLDHOOD. 

Where have ye flown, ye visions 

gay» 

Which flutter'd round my head? 
Has time's rude hand brush'd you 

away ? 
Is youthful fervor 4ead? 



THE THATKLLER....NO. U 



l^ace to thy banks, thou gentle 

stream. 
Where first 1 saw the light, 
Yet do thj munnurs fill my dream. 
And soothe the sleep of night. 

The house which stands upon the hifl, 
The waving wood behind. 
The distant church, the busy mill. 
Are pictur*d in my mind. 

O let me wander o»cr again 
These scenes of artless joy, 
And mark the shades, the hills and 

n' in, 
while a boy. 

Fond memory, bear me to that cliff, 
That overhangs the shore. 
And let me watch the passing skiff, 
i^ hear the dashing oar ... 

On that rude seat, with moss o'er- 

grown, 
I often lay, rcclin'd, 
lndulg*d my pensive whims alone. 
And listened to the wind. 

One night I sat upon that rock. 
No human foot was near, 
The close of day had toUd tlie clock, 
But still 1 knew not fear : 



Beheld me at the peep of dawfi, 
Loud clamouring o'er my book. 

Ah ! mc, how many a restless day 
Has held m^ captive there ! 
How did I hail the hours of play. 
Which slew each litde care. 

The teacher was an aged wight, ^ 
With spectacles on nose; 
To me how dreadful was the sight, 
When'er his anger rose. 

My book, bethumi^d dog-ear'd and 

torn. 
Each day he heard me read ; 
And how approvingly, each mom. 
He strok'd my flaxen head. 

Goodman! he's gone, he's sunk t» 

rest ; 
His little reign is o'er, 
And squabling imps shall not raolsst 
His peace and quiet more. 



For the Literary Magazine. 

THE MAN WITH THE HUGE KOSE. 
In Imitation of the Mamcr of Stenx, 



Pale rose the moon, and o'er the flood 
Her trembling lustre cast. 
And loud and sullen, from the wood. 
Came on my ear the blast. 

The moon withdrew her silver beam, 
The night grew damp and dark. 
Lash'd by the north-wind, howl d the 

stream. 
And rose the watch-dog's bark 

Ah I then I started from my seat, 
Swift to the house 1 fled, 
With fears my childish bosom beat. 
For ghosts were then my dread. 

Such fears leave sunshine in the 

breast. 
When all the danger's gone • 
Sweet are the dreams of childhood s 

rest, 
When some gay trophy's won. 

That school-house on the shaded lawn, 
B«&idM ihttbabl^Uog brook. 



My uncle Toby, one cold Decem- 
ber evening, sat smoking his pipe 
bv the fire, involved in deep reve- 
rie, when Corporal Trim entered. 
Please your honour, said the Cor- 
pral, slowly approaching. My uncle 
W made no reply. There is a 
biting air abroad, your honour. 
My uncle Toby spoke not. SluiU 
I help your honour to a cup of sack, 
continued the Corporal, raising hw 
voice. Still my uncle Toby was ii- 
Icnt. I have seen the man with tlitf 
huge nose, said Trim. My uncle 
Toby dropped his pipe. I ha\e 
seen the man with the large nose, 
continued the CorponU; the m^m 
whom your honour heard so muLU 
of in Strasburgh, i^ith the satin- 
crimson breeches. 1^^^ ^^^^/,^^ 
was seen by the centmel and the 
baudv-leeged trumpeter, 1 nm . .. .• 
ffiamf your honour. My uncle 

Toby arose. I dreamt that I saw 
that man last night. Trim, conti- 

n«»d my uncle Toby, juiit a* he ea- 



u 



THE MAN WITH THE RUGS HOSE. 



tcTcd the gates of Strasburgh, hold- 
ing a scimitar before his nose. Hea- 
ven defend his nose, exclaimed the 
Corporal* Let no man do it any 
harm, echoed my uncle Toby. Hea- 
ven defend it from the finger of the 
bandv-legged trumpeter, continued 
the Corporal. And from those of 
the hostess of the inn, continued 
my uncle Toby. May his crimson- 
satin breeches escape all danger, 
exclaimed the Corporal. May mey 
escape all pollution, echoed my 
uncle Toby. May the hands of the 
trumpeter's wife never lay hold up- 
on thetoi, continued Trim. Nor of 
the hostess of the inn, continued my 
uncle Toby. He has a noble nose, 
please your honour, said Trim.... 
tlie bandy-legged trumpeter swore 
it was as long as his trumpet, and 
that it made a noise as loud....the 
bandy-legged trumpeter's wife 
swore it was a sweet noae^ and as 
soft as a flute....O! it is a noble 
nose, your honour. Trim, quoth 
my uncle Toby, I should like to see 
that nose. You shall see it, please 
his majesty, exclaimed the Corporal 
....I will fetch it to your honour. 
Forget not, Trim, replied my uncle, 
to bring the man along with his nose . 
Trim disappeared, and my uncle 
Toby walked the room, agitated 
and silent. The clock had struck 
eight, when Trim returned with a 
nose in his hand, followed by an 
elegant young stranger. llere, 
your honour, said Trim, is the 
man, and here is the nose. My 
imcle Toby was silent, gazing on 
the stranger. Before him stood the 
figure of a man of twenty-five, tall, 
and of a martial air. He was ar- 
rayed in a military habit, and wore 
a small scimitar on his thigh. His 
countenance was manly and noble, 
but overcast with a shade of melan- 
choly sadness. As he cast on my 
imcle Toby a look from his dark- 
brown eyes, a big tear rolled from 
his cheek. Gallant stranger, I have 
seen ytm before, said my uncle 
Toby. You have, said the stranger, 
while he fell on one knee, and raised 
his hands toward heaven. I have 
se«n you before, and I know you 



how, said my uncle, while he fell 
on his neck, and wept. Ask him, 
please your honour, quoth Trim, 
6ic Corporal, why he wore this 
huge no8e....and wl^t has become 
of his crimson-satin breeches....if 
they have escaped the fingers of the 
bandy-legged trumpeter's wife, and 
those of tiie hostess of the inn..*. 
Hold thy peace. Trim, quoth my 
uncle Tobjr, while he wiped his 
eyes, we will hear that by and by*... 
Trim? Your honour, answered 
Trim. Trim, continued my uncle 
Toby, in a moumfiil voice... Jlere 
I am, answered the Corporal..— 
Trim, continued my uncle still 
more mournful. God bless your 
honour, exclaimed Trim, letting 
fall tlie waxen nose. Mend that 
fire, Trim, and bring mfc anotlier 
pipe, ended my uncle Toby* 



For the Literary Mttgazine. 

ASCEKDANCT OF THE FRENCH 
LANGUAGE* 

The ascendancy of the French 
language, in the nations who arc 
neighbours of France, is a circum- 
stance somewhat remarkable. In 
the English language, for instance, 
we find the teclmical vocabulary of 
several arts to be cliiefly or wholly 
French. In many cases not only 
words are pure French, but the or- 
der in which they stand in the 
Ehrase, is agreeable to tlie French 
ishion, and very many of these 
words and phrases are not of remote 
and Norman origin, but recently 
imported. As, The Art Military, 
Prerogative Royal, Ambassador 
Plenipotentiary, Envoy Extraordi- 
narv. Commissary General, and so 
forth. 

It just now occurred to me to in- 
quire what arts had adopted their 
language from the French. In the 
first place, the art of war, and its 
kindred art of fortification,- are en- 
tirely French. Their terms are all 
borrowed from that language. 

The diplomatic dialect is French, 
and many French terms and phraaca 



ASCENOAKCT OF THS FRENCH LANGUAGE* 



9S 



•re preserved when the corres- 
pondence of governments is carried 
on in English, or translated into it* 
It is remarkable, that the only oc- 
casion on which the adjective of Bri- 
ain is Britannic^ is in diplomatic 
papers, in imitation of the French 
adjective. This is so well estab- 
lislied, that to say his British or his 
English majesty, would be a sole- 
cism ; whereas to substitute Britan- 
nic for British on any other occa- 
sion, would be equally singular and 
uncouth. The Britannic Jleet or 
army, would sound as strangely as 
his British majesty. 

The terras in cookery, in confec- 
tionary, in perfumery, in hair-dress- 
ing are mostly imported, together 
with the arts themselves, from 
France. 

Among the fine arts, music de- 
rives its language from Italy. The 
terms of sculpture and painting are 
many of them Italian, and many of 
them are also French. To France 
arc we indebted for most of our ar- 
chitectural terms. 

The terms of science are chiefly 
derived from the Oreek and Latin. 
The French, however, have the 
honour of inventing an entire new 
language for cliemistry. The French 
re\'oiution, as it has given birth to 
a great many new doctrines, has 
likewise brought into existence a 
great number of new words; and 
the Elnglish, with an unaccountable 
servility, have always made haste 
to adopt them. It is common to 
hear writers and speakers declaim- 
ing against France, and against in- 
novation in general, in a language 
that may be termed revolutionary 
French, and which would be quite 
anintelligible to the contemporaries 
of Steele and Addison. The Eng- 
lish are hostile to innovation in e vei7 
thing but language. 

In the arrangements now taking 
place in Engliind to resist imi/cnd- 
ing invasion, there is a law for rais- 
ijig what is called, in direct i nata- 
tion of the French, an army of re- 
serif e. This phrase (like one of 
long standing, though also borrow- 
ed from the French, c or/it de rC" 



9ervcy or body qfreservcy) is a di- 
rect hostility on the genius of old 
English, l^ut it is used merely be- 
cause the French have given the 
same name to the same t£ng. 

V. 



For the Literary Magazine* 

THE EPITHET ROYAL. 

Tif£ affectation of honouring 
places, associations, and profes- 
sions with the epithet Royal, which 
at present prevails in ^gland, and 
formerly in France, has been car- 
ried to great, and sometimes ridi- 
culous extremes* In England, the 
first society of sages called itself the 
Royal Society. It would puzzle any 
one to discover, from their title, 
the pursuits of the association. In 
this case, the appellation is merely 
fulsome and unmeaning flattery, 
since it is well known, that this fra- 
ternity owed nothing, at its first 
formation, to the King. Within a 
sliort period a great number of so- 
cieties have sprung up, which, from 
the spirit of absurd imitation, oi^ 
with a view to curry favour with 
majesty, have been careful to add 
royal to their name. Thus we have 
the Ro)'al African Association, the 
Royal Academy, the Royal Institu- 
tion of Great Britain, the Royal 
Insurance Company, the Royal 
Bank (of Edinburgh,) the Royal 
Jennerian Society, the Royal Aca- 
demy of Dublin, the Royal Society 
of Edinburgh. 

Among the Royals of elder date, 
we have the Royal Exchange, the 
Royal College of Physicians, and 
Theatres-Royal of Drury-lane and 
Covcnt-Carden. In recent times, 
the establishment of new theatres 
has put their proprietors to sad 
shifts for names sufficiently digui- 
fled ; one of them is obliged to re- 
verse the name already in use, -cuid 
to call itself IVie Royal Thcairr. 

The thrifty class of mankind, 
who have their subsistence to jiro- 
cure by stud} ing the popular hu- 
mimr, have made extensive use of 
this epidiet. Travellci-s describe 



THk EPITHST BOTAL. 



the whimsical effect produced in 
tiiis respect, among the French ar« 
tizans, by the chanee of govern- 
ment, dn the downlal of Sie mo- 
narchy, " Royal" was every where 
«uperseded by ^< nationale," and 
yery odd combinations ensued. 

We in America, having no kings 
nor princes among us, are obliged 
to content oqrselvp^ ^ith describ- 
ing our vocations by their propter 
names. I do not recollect to have 
met with but one instance in which 
an artist has endeavoured to ac- 
quire repute by the use' of some 
great name, ^iany of my readers, 
perhaps, recollect an advertise- 
ment of a New-York operator on 
the teeth, who advertised himself 
as " Dentist to the late General 
Washington;" and to support his 
^ pretensions, published a letter from 
the General, which ran in these 
terms.... Sir, whenever I have oc- 
casion for your services in the way 
of your profession, I shall have no 
objection to employ you. 

G. W. 

I recollect a barber, for whose 
razor I used to have daily occasion, 
who displayed one morning an 
nnnsual share of self-importance, 
which he presently accounted for, 
by telling me that he had just had 
the honour of shaving his excel- 
kncy the Governor. 



Ftyr the Amtrican Pe^9ter^ 

on THE ELOQUKNCK OF PITT, 
FOX AND ERSKINE. 

[The kindness of a friend has permit- 
ted us to print the following letter, 
written by a young American now 
in Europe. The author has already 
afforded proofs of talents, which 
will probably one day raise him to 
the first stations in his country, and 
this lettt»r is no mean evidence both 
of a delicate taste, and an amiable 
disjiosition. ^ e.] 

London, ISth July,' 1803. 
Dear Sir^ 

Ma.W.........istosailfor Phila- 

dielpliia to-morrow, aud I cannot 



permit such an opportunity to oe- 
cur, without letting you know, thaty 
wherever I am, I cherish the re^ 
membrance of you with that of my 
country. The distance which in- 
terrupts our correspondence, and 
the engagements which often per- 
plex me, serve only to endear to 
me the recollection of my absent 
friends, to whom my heart has long 
desired to be reunited. In the 
midst of this crowded metropolis, 
I am yet literally a stranger : I find 
no spot in which I can plant one 
new affection, and I long to culti- 
vate those which I left at home* 
You wiU, I know, reprove me for 
this disposition ; which, you will sup* 
pose, disqualifies me for improving 
my new situation in a Country 
which affjrds so many curiosities to 
an inquiring mind ; which you deem 
the seat of the arts and sciences* I 
won't argue with you : I submit to 
your reproof with a consciousness 
that it is not entirely unmeritted* 
But I am conscious, sJso, of having 
made many laudable efforts to sot- 
ten the severity of English cour- 
tesy , and, when repulsed in the pri- 
vate walks of life, I have turned my 
footsteps to the public scenes, best 
calculated to aSbrd innocent amuse- 
ment and useful information. I at- 
tended the theatres, till they dis- 
gusted me, as well by tlieir perfor- 
mances, as their audience. Though 
repeatedly baffled in my attempts 
to gain admission into the courts, I 
have sometimes succeeded in hear- 
ing Erskine, Garrow, and Gibljs : 
and at the * imminent haxardof mf 



• The writer here alludes to tho 
difficulty of gaining access to the 
House of Commons, on occasion of 
Pitt's speech on the renewal of war. 
The contemporary journalists mentioa 
this speech as having been lost to the 
world by the exclusion of the note-ta-. 
kers. The writer, more adventurous 
and rfiore fortunate, got a seat in the 
lobby of the house, by being throwim 
headlong, though without injury, with 
a «corc or two of others, from tho 
gallery, by the pressure of an ii^mensot 
crowd. 



BLe^EWCE OF PITT, FOX, EftSKIVE, ScC* 



Hfe, I, at last, witnessed the fiill 
' blase of Mr. Pitt's eloquence. This 
last is the g;reat era of my enjoy- 
ments here, pre-eminently surpass- 
ing all the rest, and so far, indeed, 
as almost to make me recollect it 
alone. You will believe all I say, 
when I assure you, that Mr. Pitt 
realized the highest expectations I 
had formed. He is the greatest 
orator that I ever heard. His elo- 
quence is a clear and constant 
stream; you admire its majestic 
windings, you are dazzled by the 
lights reflected from its smooth and 
unbroken surface. I feel its pre- 
sence, when I behold the current 
rolling in Uie field of my imagina* 
tion, and I strive in vain to discover 
some other object which can cx)n- 
Tey to you a more correct idea of 
this great orator. His very defects 
are so peculiarly fitted to each 
other, that they do not impair the 
great character of his eloquence, 
while his forcible reasoning, his ar- 
dent and uninterrupted delivery oc- 
ci^y the mind, and carry it along 
with him, it does not perceive that 
his person is slender, his carriage 
and gesture awkward, or that his 
perii^s, so happily are they balanc- 
ed, and so well adjusted to the tone 
and cadence of his voice, are longer 
than the rules of criticism allow to 
discourses which are to be spoken. 
Without the formality and stiffness 
of formal divisions of his subject, he 
displays the most methodical ar- 
rangment, so natural that, while you 
listen to him, you do not perceive it, 
and, after speaking two hours, you 
think that he has spoken only a few 
minutes. His style is rather argu- 
mentative than figurative. , But al- 
though it presents you no bold apos- 
trophes, no splendid comparisons, 
it abound* with tropes and meta- 
phors, which come to his assistance 
unasked, which he utters without 
appearing to be conscious of using 
them, and which you perceive only 
in the general light they shed over 
lus discourse. iTiey resemble the 
innumerable star^ which compose 
Ihe galasty, and which a telescope 
TOU I....NO. i« 



only can separate into distinct lumi- 
naries. 

He is completely the sun of elo- 
quence in the House of Commons, 
K>r he eclipses the light of every 
other orator. Mr. Fox is the morn- 
ing-star only, till his great opponent 
rises. Mr. Fox's eloquence is whol- 
ly of a diffetent character. In in- 
vention. Quickness of apprehension, 

* variety of illustration, humour, and 
one species of pathetic eloquence*. .• 
perhaps in till the constituents of 
eloquence, derived from the mind, 
independent of delivery^ he is at 
least equal, if not superior to Mr. 
Pitt. In that which addresses itself 
to the tender emotions of the heart. 
Fox is, I believe, unrivalled. In 
his late speech, he displayed, in a 
very uncommon degree, a talent for 

•exciting the ridiculous. He suc- 
ceeded so well, as to make the pa- 
triotic ardour, kindled by Mr. Pitt, 
and those who took the same side of 
the question, explode in repeated 
bursts of laughter. In the charac- 
ter of Muley Molock, Mr. Pitt 
laughed heartily at himself, and the 
declaimers against the injustice of 
France were astonished, when they 
came to defend their own coimtry 
from the same charge, to perceive 
that their arguments must resemble 
the reply of " the lady in the farce,'* 
that " she had always been chaste 
on this side of the Cape of Good 
Hope." But Mr. Fox's delivery 
is exceedingly disagreeable. His 
voice is squeaking, his utterance 
embarrassed and interrupted. He 
frequently recals his words, and al- 
ters the arrangement of his sen- 
tences, after having gone lialf 
through them.. Nevertheless, there 
is no orator, after Mr. Pitt, whk» 
deserves to be^compared with Mr» 
Fox ; and, on the whole, I believe 
there is less eloquence in England 
than in America. I have not men- 
tioned Mr. Sheridan, because I have 
net had the pleasure of hearing him, 

•except for a fiew minutes. Gray, 
Erskine, Canning and Wilber.. 
force, have no pretensions to elo- 
quence, nor is there one grealt 
5 



90 



BLOQUXKCC or PITT, FOX, EaSKXNKy kc* 



dpeaker in the present administra- 
tion« You are surprised, perhapsi 
at my denying eloquence to Mr. 
Erskine : I heard him speak for one 
hour in the House of CommonB, and 
I found it impossible, I would have 
defied any body else to tell on what 
side of the great question, peace or 
war, he intended to v<fte, unless, in- 
'deed, it be always proper to judge 
from the place where a member 
seats himself, of what party he is. 
Mr. Pitt's great speech followed 
Mr. Erskine's, and contained, as 



nearly as I can recoUect, the follow- 
ing words : ^' In reply to the honour- 
able member who has just spoken, 
I shall j)ot consider what he has ut- 
tered as either a very systematic or 
a very clear view of the subject 
which he proposed to Investigate, 
nor can I suppose that he hims^ 
considers his remarks in that light«" 
I have also heard Mr* Erskine at 
the bar, and been almost as much 
disappointed as in the house. In 
both places he is, in my opinion at 
least, far surpassed by Mr. D^— -• 



I^or the Literary Magazine* 

CRITICISM. 

A View of South CaroUnoj as retfiecta her natural and civil concetns^. 

by John Drayton. Charleston^ IV. P. Youngs 1802, 8vo. boards, ftp* 255. 

between one and two in the after- 
noon of the same day, was seen ap- 
proaching us very fost in a direct 
line, and not three miles from the 
town. But when it had advanced 
to the distance of about half a mile 
from us, it was providentially op- 
posed b^ another whirlwind, which 
came from the north-east; and 
crossing the point of land on which 
Charleston stands, the shock of 
their junction was so great as to al- 
ter the direction of the former some- 
what more towards tlie south,where- 
by great part of this piace was pre- 
served from inevitable destruction. 
It then passed down Ashley river 
with such rapidity and violence, 
that in a few minutes it reached 
Rebellion Road, where a large fleet 
of loaded vessels with one of his 
majesty's ships, their convoy, lay, 
about four or five miles below the 
town, ready to sail for England; 



We have great pleasure in meet- 
ing with a work of this Idnd. At 
present, the geographical and sta- 
tistical condition of the United States 
is very little known ; and it can on- 
ly be known by the compilation of 
works like the present. The Dis- 
trict of Maine, the Spates of Ver- 
mont and New-Hampshire are the 
only portions of our country, which 
have been made the subjects of par- 
ticular histories or descriptions, be- 
fore the present undertaking ; and 
we now add the name of Drayton 
to those of Williams and Belknap, 
as the literary benefactors of their 
country. 

We are first presented with a ge- 
neral account of the discovery and 
settlement of this state. Then fol- 
lows a description of the face of the 
country, its mineral and vegetable 
productions, and its climate. The 
tlelineation of the face of the coun- 



try is accurate and scientifical. The three of which were overset and 



climate is illustrated by thermome- 
trical tables, by tables of diseases 
compiled by a medical society at 
Charleston, and by other valuable 
documents and observations. 

The following account of a whirl- 
wind deserves to be extracted : 

" About ten o'clock in the morn- 
ing, on the 4th of May, 1764, a 
dreadful whirlwind was said to be 
observed in the Indian country, 
above three hundred miles to the 
westward of Charleston; which, 



sunk so suddenly, that some people 
who happened to be in one of their 
cabins had not time to come on 
deck ; and many of the other ships, 
which, luckily, did not lie so imme- 
diately exposed to the greatest fury 
of the ten)])est, would have shared 
the same fate, had not their masts 
.given way ; for all tliose it passed 
over, were laid down on their sides : 
and tlie mizen-mast of the king's 
ship was carried off close to the 
quarter-deck, as smoothly as if it 
had been cut witli a saw. 



A vnCW OF SOUTH CAROLINA* 



sr 



** As people sat at dinner that day, 
they were alarmed with an unusual 
sort ^f stunning noise, as of the ruf- 
fling of many drums, intermixed 
with such a roaring, thundering, 
churning or dashing sound, as the 
sea makes, in breaking on a hollow 
rocky shore, during a violent storm ; 
when, on running out of doors, the 
tremendous cloud was seen advan- 
dng at a great rate, with a quick 
ciroilar motion, its contents seem- 
ing in a violent agitation, from the 
great tumult that appeared, not on- 
ly in the body of the column itself, 
batj likewise from the contiguous 
clouds which drove rapidly towards 
it from all directions, as if the 
wlM^e contents of the atmosphere 
flowed thither, and were instantly 
absorbed by it. Hence it was, that 
this meteor every moment appear- 
ed so diflferently ; some parts of it 
being black and dark at times ; 
others of a flame colour ; and again, 
as if vast waves of the sea had risen 
into the air. But such was the per- 
turbation in the cloud, that these 
phenomena varied continually ; all 
parts of it rolling over each other 
m the most confused and rapid 
manner : and everV now and then, 
large branches oi trees might be 
seen hurled about in it« Its diame- 
ter was tliought to be about three 
hundred yards, and the height thir- 
ty degrees ; a thick vapour emitted 
fi*om it rising much higher. In 
passing along, it carried the waters 
of the river before it, in the form 
of a mountainous wave ; so that the 
bottom was seen in many places. 
Such floods of water fell on tliose 
parts over which it passed, as if a 
whole sea had been discharged on 
them at once; and for a mile or 
two on each side of it, abundance 
of rain fell. As the wind ceased 
presently after the whirlwind pass- 
ed, the branches and leaves of va- 
rious sorts of trees, whicli had been 
carried into the air, continued to 
fall for half an hour ; and in their 
descent, appeared like flocks of 
birds of different sizes. A gentle- 
man, over whose plantation the 
skirt of this storm passed, not more 
than two miles from Cliarlcstony 



assured me, that had a thousand 
negroes been employed for a whole 
day in cutting down his trees^ they 
could not have made such a waste 
of them, as this whirlwind did in less 
than half a minute. Such trees as 
were young and pliant, stooped to 
its violence, and afterwards reco- 
vered themselves. But. all those, 
which were more inflexible, and 
firmly rooted, were broken off, and 
hurled away: so that no part of 
many of them could afterwards be 
found; anoongst which were some 
live oaks of near two feet diameter, 
the wood of which is known to be 
almost as ponderous and hard as 
lignum vita; so that some of these 
trees, must have weighed, perhaps 
more than two tons. Yet heavy as 
they were, no remains of them 
could afterwards be found any 
where, except the roots, which 
were fixed in the earth. These 
whirlwinds more often proceed 
through the upper country, some- 
times in a width of half a mile, 
tearing up the largest oaks and 
other trees in their way ; or twist- 
ing and shivering them to pieces." 

The following statement of the 
nature and extent of estates is va- 
luable : " 

" The incomes of the planters, 
and farmers, are various ; ranging 
from eighty to forty thousand dol- 
lars. Very few, however, receive 
incomes of the above magnitude. 
Many receive from twelve to tvyen- 
ty thousand dollars per annum ; and 
the greatest part of the planters are 
only in the annunl receipt <)f from 
three to six thousand dollars. The 
estates of these latter may be wortii 
from 20 to 40,000 dollars. The 
farmers are on a smaller scale ; and 
their incomes may be said to range 
between two thousand, and forty 
dollars. The best lands in this 
state, which are tide swamps, if 
cultivated, have sold for one hun- 
dred and seventy dollars an acre. 
In general, however, they sell from 
seventy to ninety dollars an acre ; 
on a credit of « one or two years. 
Uncultivated tide land sells propor- 
tionably lower. Inland swamps, if 
cultivated, sell at prices betwixt 



. X tiBW or SOUTH CAROLIVA* 



twenty and fifty dollars each acre. 
Good cotton land has sold in Beau*- 
fort district, as high as sixty doUars 
per acre. In general, however, 
Its value, in dlrorent parts of the 
state, is from six to forty dollars ; 
the same depending much on its si* 
tuation ; as that nearest the sea is 
considered the most valuable, and 
produces the finest cotton. Other 
high lands sell from one to six do]* 
lars an acre ; according to their re- 
spective situations, and conveni- 
ences to navigation. Hence, men 
possessing any capital whatever, 
may settle themselves independent- 

a; upon lands which descend to 
eir posterity ; together with every 
improvement made thereon, by 
their industrious labour. 

^ The buildings are also as va- 
rious, as the values of estates ; ran- 
ging in value between thirty thou- 
sand and twenty dollars. They are 
commonly built of wood; some, 
however, are constructed of brick ; 
principally those in cities and 
towns. And of late years, build- 
ings have been carried on with spi- 
rit throughout the state ; and houses 
of brick and wood erected, suitable 
to the improvementof manners, and 
comforts of society. The houses 
are, for the most part, built of one 
or two stories, according to the 
taste and abilities of the owner. 
One particularity, however, may 
be remarked respecting them, which 
is, that. piazzas are generally at- 
taclied to their southern front, as 
well for the convenience of walk- 
ing therein, during the day, as for 
preventing the sun's too great in- 
fluence on the interior part of the 
house ; and the out-ofiiccs are rare- 
JLy connected with the principal 
dwelling, being placed at a distance 
from it, of thirty or forty yards. 
The houses of the poorest sort of 
people, are made of logs, let into 
each other at the ends, their inter- 
stices being filled up with moss, 
Straw, and clay ; and are covered 
with clap-boards. Their plans are 
simple, as they consist only of one 
f r two rooms: and the manners of 
their tenants are equally plain. 



But, it is here, that health 
independence dwell* And a crop 
of an hogshead of tobacco, or a bag 
or two of cotton, forms an income 
which pays the taxes and expenses 
of the farm, and makes a family 
happy and contented." 

The most valuable part of this 
performance, is the detail it con- 
tains of the agriculture and rural 
economy of this state. We have 
here a more clear and satisfactory 
account of the culture of those im- 
porUnt articles, rice and cotton, 
than is elsewhere to be found. A 
distinct view is given in an happily 
conceived table, of the comparative 
modes of cultivating rice in South 
Carolina, Spain, Egypt, Sumatra, 
and China. 

As cotton is growing very rapidly 
into esteem, and its cultivation be- 
gins to be attended to in the middle 
districts of the United States, we 
shall extract our author's account 
of the Carolinian culture : 

<^ Cotton is noticed as an article 
of export in South Carolina, as 
early as the year 1754; and from 
that time to this, it has been grown 
in the state ; but, without any par- 
ticular attention, until of late years. 
During the American war with 
Great Britain, it was raised through 
necessity; and with a mixture of 
wool, or sometimes by itself, was 
woven into negro cloths: but, it 
ceased with the cause which excited 
its culture ; and again sunk to its 
former level. As an article of ex- 
port from theUnitedStates of Ame- 
rica, it originated in Georgia, since 
the peace of 1783 ; and yidUling ex- 
traordinary profits to the planter, 
soon recommended itself to those 
of tliis state. And hence that be- 
ginning, which has now surpassed 
in value the greatest crops of rice 
or indigo, which have ever been 
made in South Carolina. 

" Tlie cotton wliich is grown in 
this state, may be ranged in three 
classes: viz. nankeen^ green sted^ 
and black eeed, cotton. 

" Nankeen cotton is principally 
grown in the middle and upper 
country, for family use. It is sr 



▲ riEW OF SMTH CAROLIITA. 



«iBed from the wool, resembling 
tbe colour of nankeen or JSTamking 
doth; which it retains as lohg as 
It is worn. It is not in much de- 
mand, the white cotton having en- 
i;n)ssed the public attention. Were 
it encouraged however, cloths might 
be manufactured from it, perhaps 
not inferior to those imported from 
the East Indies, it being probable 
the cotton is of the same kind ; as 
from experiments which have been 
made, nankeens have been manu- 
£actared in this state, of good co« 
lour and of very strong texture. 

*< Green seed cotton, produces a 
good white wool, adhering much 
to the seed ; and, of course, with 
difficulty ^imed. Its produce b 
greater, and its maturity is sooner 
than the black seed ; for which rea- 
son it is principally cultivated in the 
middle and upper country ; as the 
seasq^ of those districts are shorter, 
by several weeks, than those of the 
lower country ; and the frosts are 
more severe. 

^^ Black seed cotton is that which 
is grown in the lower country, and 
on the sea islands ; producing a fine 
white cotton, of silky appearance \ 
very strong, and of good staple* 
Hie mode of culture is the same 
with all these species; and rich 
high land, is the soil, on which 
^ey are generally planted. In the 
middle country, however, the high 
noamfi lands produce tlie green 
9€ed in great abundance ; and some 
tide lands and salt water marshes 
(after being reclain^ed) in the lower 
country, have also made excellent 
crops of this valuable article. 

*' This plant is raised from the 
seed, and is managed in nearly the 
IbUowing manner: About the latter 
end of March, or beginning of 
April, commences the season for 

enting cotton. In strong soils the 
d is broken up with ploughs, and 
the cotton is sown in drills, about 
five feet from each other, and at 
the rate of nearly a bushel of seed 
to the acre ; after which, when the 
•otton is a few leaves high, the dirt 
is thrown up in a ridge to the cot- 
ton, on each side, by a plough, with 



a mould board adapted to that pur- 
pose. Or, in the first instance, 
beds are made rather low and flat, 
and the cotton is sown therein. By 
some they are sown in holes, at 
about ten inches distance ; but the 
more general practice is to sow the 
cotton in a drill, along the length 
of the bed; after which it may be 
thinned at leisure according to its 
growth. In rich high land soils, 
not more than fifteen of these beds 
are made in a quarter of an acre ; 
but in inferior lands, twenty-one 
beds are made in the same space of 
ground. When the plants are about 
four or six leaves high, they re- 
quire a thinning; at which time, 
only a very few plants are left at 
each oistance, where it is intended 
the cotton is to grow: and from 
time to time these plants are thin- 
ned, until at length two plants, or 
only one, are left at each distance. 
Wliere the land is not rich, the 
plants remain withui ten or twelve 
inches of each other ; but when a 
luxuriant growth is induced, they 
are thinned to eighteen inches, and 
two feet ; and in rich swamp lands, 
to four feet distance in the rows. 
At the time of thinning also, the 
first hoeing is generally given ; and 
the rule is, not to draw the earth 
down, but constantly to draw up a 
little earth, at each hoeing, to tho 
plant ; and to give the fields a hoe- 
ing every two or three weeks. 
With some planters, the practi:o 
of topping the main stalk has been 
used, when the plants are too luxu- 
riant; but the plant throwing out 
consequently an abundance of suck- 
ers, and Uiereby increasing the toil 
of the negroes to pull them away, 
ha? induced its discontinuance. 
Towards the middle of September, 
however, it may be advantageous 
to top tlic cotton to the lowest blos- 
soms ; as from that time no blos- 
soms will produce cotton. By this 
treatment, also, the sun has a great- 
er influence on the plant, the pods 
sooner open, and the strength of 
tlie plant is not drawn unnecessarily 
from those pods, whicli are likely 
to come to maturity. 



u 



A VIEW OP SOVf A CAROLIHA. 



M At Che first hoeing, the grass 
U carefully picked from aaiongst the 
plants, and a little earth is drawn 
around them. The second hoeing 
l» also done in the same manner, 
and those sacceeding ; with this ad- 
dition, that at every hoeing, the 
beds are drawn up more and more 
into an angular ridge, for the pur- 
pose of better throwing off the au- 
tumnal rains from the roots of the 
cotton. Some cotton-planters plant 
Indian com at the intersections of 
•very twenty-four feet, throughout 
the cotton field ; and by' this mode 
nearly make their provisions. But 
whether both the cotton and the 
com would not do better by them- 
selves, is for experience to deter- 
mine. Towards the middle of 
June, the plants begin to put forth 
their beautiful blossoms ; and con- 
tinue blossoming and forming the 
pods, until the frosts set in; at 
which time all the pods that are 
not well grown, are injured and 
destroyed. Early in August, the 
harvest of cotton begins on the sea 
islands; and in September, it is 
general throughout the state, con- 
tinuing until December. The cot- 
ton wool is contained in the pod in 
three or four different compart- 
ments ; which, bursting, when ripe, 
presents the cotton full blown to the 
sight, surrounding its seeds. In 
small bags of oznaburgs, which are 
slung over the negroes' shoulders 
for the purpose, the cotton is then 
picked m>m the pods, and is car- 
ried home to the cotton house. 
From whence, for one or two days 
thereafter, it is taken out and spread 
to dry on a platform adjacent to tlie 
house, for that purpose ; after which 
it is ready for ginning. For this 
purpose, a suitable house is neces- 
sary, sufficiently large to receive 
both the cured cotton and that which 
has been latelv brought in. To the 
upper part of this house the scaf- 
fold is generally connected, for the 
greater convenience of taking the 
cotton from the upper part of the 
house to dry, and of returning it 
therein. When the cotton is well 
opened, a negro will gather sixty 



or seventy pounds of cotton in the 
seed in a day. The produce -of 
cotton is various, according to 
its different situations and kinds. 
In the lower country, the black 
seed ranges between one hundred 
and three hundred pounds weight, 
of clean cotton, to the acre. In 
the middle and upper country, 
green seed does the like. Upon 
uidifierent lands, only from sixty to 
one hundred weight of clean cotton 
is made to the acre; on better 
lands, from one hundred to two 
hundred ' pounds weight are pro- 
duced ; and on the best lands, with 
happy seasons, three hundred 
weight of clean black seed cotton 
has been made in Beaufort district 
to the acre. This, however, is 
rarely done ; and the planter is sa- 
tisfied with from one hundred and 
fifty to two hundred pounds of clean 
bhck seed cotton to the acre. .The 
green seed planter expects some- 
what more. 

" The cotton, thus picked and 
brought in, is next to be ginned; 
for which purpose a suitable house 
is necessary. And various kinds of 
gins are used for extricaUng this 
valuable staple from its seed. Those 
at present in use, tLtcfoot gin^ 
£vee»'9 gin*^ barrel giriMj and mw 

" JFoot ghf are worked with 
cranks, by a foot board, or treadle, 
almost resembling a turner's lathe. 
They are composed of two small 
rollers, about three-fourths of an 
inch diameter, which by puUies arc 
made to turn contrary ways. To 
each of these gins a negro is placed,' 
with cotton for ginning; this he 
constantly applies to the rollers 
on the side next to him, which, by 
their moUon, clraw the cotton from 
the seed. It then falls into a bag, 
and the seed is discharged on the 
ground. With one of thcfe gins, a 
negro will gin from twenty to twen- 
ty-five pounds of clean black seed 
cotton in a dny ; and can clean out 
about lOOOlbs of clean cotton du- 
ring the seas'^n. 

^^IZvets*9ff2ng work similar rollers 
with additional mechanism; con- 



A VIEW OF SOUTH GAROLXlf A. 



35 



Bsdng of iron teeth and puUies, by 
which the niill| with a little assis- 
tance, feeds itself. These mills are 
worked by horses and oxen, or by 
water. They were some time past 
introduced into Beaufort district; 
but not answering tlie expectations 
which had been formed of them, 
they are but little used. 

** Barrel gina are either worked 
by oxen or water ; and may be said 
to be nothing more than foot gins, 
to which greater power is applied 
by complicated mechanism. This 
consists of a large driving cog- 
wheel, working a small trundle 
wheel. This smaller wheel gives 

. motion to a large cylinder or bar- 
rel, round which from eight to twen- 
ty-four sets of bands are passed, 
communicating with the pullies of 
as many cotton gins ; which are 
fixod in rows on each side of it. A 
n^;ro is stationed at each of these 

, gina, to feed it with cotton ; besides 
one who superintends tlie whole; 
and the larger kind of these mills will 
gin out from six to eight hundred 
weight of clean cotton in a day* 

** The «ow gina are used particu- 
larly for extracting the cotton from 

. the green 9eed^ to which it closely 
adheres. This mill is worked ei- 
ther by oxen or water, and consists 

.of an horizontal cog-wheel, or a 
water wheel, woi'king a band which 
puts the puUies of the saw-mill in 
motion* One of these pullies turns a 
cylinder, round which is affixed from 
twenty to forty circular iron plates, 
about three-fourtlis of an inch dis- 
tant from each other, serrated at 
the edge; which continually revolve 
between iron straps, into the com- 
partment where the cotton is plac- 
ed ; and thus tear the cotton from 
the seeds, as the space throu^ 
which they revolve, is not suffici- 
ently large to let the seeds pass 

.through. Another puUy moves a 
cylinder with a set of brushes op- 
posite each saw ; which takes the 

. clean cotton from the teeth of the 
saw, and discharge it from the gin. 
One person besides the packers, 
and those who drive the oxen is 
sufficient for attending tliis gin; 



and the cotton cleaned by it dailf 
may be fi*om six to nine hundred 
weight. 

" After the cotton be thus ginned) 
by these different machines, a num- 
ber of hands is employed in picking 
from it any dirt or bits of seed, 
which may remain in it : it is then 
packed up in bags, weighing from 
250 to 300lbs. and is ready for mar- 
ket. As the nicety of its prepara- 
tion more than its bulk, is the ob- 
ject with manufacturers, it is wdl 
worth the planter's attention to be 
careful in having it gathered clean 
from tlie field, ajid otherwise cleans- 
ed from all trash, broken seeds, 
and stained wool, which may re- 
main, after its having passed 
through the gin . Cotton, prepared 
in this way, will assuredly com- 
mand a ready and good price ; as, 
in the extensive spinning machines 
which are established in Europe, the 
smallest particle of trash or seed 
breaks the thread, and iivterrupts 
the progress of the manu&cture. 

<^Such is the growth of cotton in 
South Carc4ina, and the mode of 
preparing it for market. But it is 
not all of the same intrinsic value, 
as that raised on lands adjacent to 
the sea and salt water, called Uland 
or tea %hore cotton^ being black 
9eedy it is preferred to tlie green 
9eed cotton^ which is raised in die 
interior of the country." 

After discussing, very fiilly, the 
agriculture of tlie state, the author 
proceeds to make some few re- 
marks on negro slavery. On this 
dehcate topic it is but justice to all 
parties to hear what a shrewd and 
candid judge has to say in defence 
of negro servitude. 

" In the pursuits of agriculture, 
slaves were introduced into this 
state; and importations from Africa 
soon supplied the planter with as 
many negroes as he was able to 
purchase. This gave a rapid in- 
crease to the settlement, and riches 
of the lower country; when, other- 
wise, its richest lands would not 
have been worth tlie cultivating, 
nicy, consequently, became a vest- 
ed property in their respective own- 



.^ 



A TXSW OF SOUTH CAROLIVA. 



ers, b^ the laws of the land ; and 
however paradoxical it may appear, 
their owners, on obtaining their in- 
dependence, and a right by the cop- 
stitution and e;ovemment of tins 
state, and theseUnited States, thence 
flowing, to be protected in their fter^ 
9&ns and ftro/iertijy had an indefea- 
sible right in them: without the 
reach of laws to alter, unless by 
their own consent, or by suitable 
compensation. Notwithstanding, 
however, this barrier, which has 
been, and will continue to be placed 
against an^ innovations respecting 
this property ; many are the eflbrts 
which are not only tried mdividu- 
ally, but collectively, to weaken 
this right of property; and, ulti- 
mately, to change its very nature. 
The impropriety appears greater ; 
as these attempts flow, not from 
our own citizens, Jbr they know 
their rights and interests better; 
but from those of the Northern 
States; who are less acquainted 
with them . With as much propri- 
•ty might we request them to dis- 
miss their horses from the plough ; 
as for us to dismiss these people 
from labour. For in both cases ^ 
lands of excellent quality ^ rv/iich are 
fultivated by theniy would revert to 
a state qf nature* And with the 
same reason might they be asked to 
give the money out of their pockets, 
in order to equalize the situation of 
every person ; as the people of the 
. soutliem states be requested to make 
changes in this property, which 
would materially aflect the fortunes 
they possess. And notwithstand- 
ing this impropriety, societies have 
intruded so far, as to send addresses 
to the different branches of our le- 
gislature ; recommending certain 
modes, which they deem most eli- 
gible for us to pursue in this respect ; 
and all thh for the good of the 
whole family of mankind ! The 
reception which these addresses 
have met with, renders any fur- 
tlier comment on them unnecessary. 
This much, however, may be said ; 
that, if it be an evil, it will sooner, 
or later, effect its own cure ; and if 
it be a sin, it is the happiness of 



those who are not engaged in tV, t4 
be safe from any of its future cala« 
mities. 

** Should we for a moment inqiure, 
what is the situation of negroes in 
Africa; we shall find them gene* 
rally in a state of slavery ; liable to 
be sold for the luxury of their 
princes, or, as following the chances 
of war. Some few are stolen from 
their parents, and others are taken 
by deception and fraud. But the 
great mass, which have been brought 
to South Carolina, only exchanged 
one slavery for another ; and £at 
too, with many advantages infa^ 
vour of their present situation in 
this country. There, they are sub* 
ject to the uncontrouled pleasure of 
princes; and are sometimes even 
slaughtered for the ceremonies of 
their funerals. Neither life nor pro« 
perty is secured to them. But 
force, oppression, and injustice, are 
the great engines of their govern- 
ment. Nercy laws are passed for 
their security tind protection* They 
are worked by certain tasks, which 
are not unreasonable; and whea 
they are dHigent in performing them^ 
they have some hours of the day to 
themselves. Hence they are en- 
couraged to plant for their own 
emolument ; raise poultry for their 
own use, or for sale ; and are pnw 
tected in the property which they 
thus acquire. With good masters^ 
they are happy and contented ; and 
instances are known, where they 
have declined an offered freedom. 
It is prohibited by law to work them 
more than certain hours of the day, 
during different portions of the 
year ; and their owners are liable 
to a penalty J if they do not feed and 
clothe them in a suitable manner. 
Should they treat them cruelly, thef 
are amenable to a court of justice 
for the sanle. If a slave be killed 
in the heat of passion, fifty pounds 
sterling is forfeited to the state :*^ 

* What a poor defence is this, if 
it should appear that these laws af|^ 
r-ever executed, these penalties never 
levied, these forfeitures never ex- 
acted I Z4 



AtlEW OF SOtJTH CAROLINA. 



and if wUfulIf murdered, one hun- 
dred pounds sterling is forfeited in 
liie manner by the person offend- 
ing, and he is rendered forever in- 
capable of holding, exercising, en- 
joying, or receiving the profits of 
sny office, place, or emolument, 
civU or military, within this state. 
And in case such person shall not 
be able to pay the said penalty, or 
forfeiture, he is liable to be sent to 
any frontier garrison of the state ; 
or to be committed to prison, or a 
work-house, for seven years; and 
during that time be kept at hard 
labour. Their importation has been 
prohibited since the year 1786 ; not, 
however, without struggles in our 
legislature, respecting it. But, ne- 
vertheless, numbers of them have 
been introduced into this state, both 
by land and water ; and that smug- 
ging, which Mr. Edwards, in his 
history of the West Indies saga- 
ciously predicted would happen in 
»ich case, has actuallv taken place 
in a great degree.* What the dif- 
ferent importations of negroes, into 
this state, from time to time, may 
be, is not in my power to relate. 
But the census, which was taken 
of the population of this state in 
1801, by direction of the federal 
government, gives us the number 
of them, about that time, amount- 
ing to 146,151 ; since which period, 
their numbers have no doubt in- 
creased, as well by births, as by 
smuggling. 

Had not this agricultural strength 
been fiimished South Carol ma, it is 
probable, in the scale of commerce 
and importance, she would have 
been numbered among the least re- 
spectable states of the union. At 
this moment, the extensive rice 
fields which are covered with grain, 
would present nothing but deep 
swamps, and dreary forests; in- 
habited by panthers, bears, wolves, 
and otlier wild beasts. ^ Hence, the 
best lands of this state, would have 

• Sec Edward's History of the West 
Indies* 4to. vol. II. pages 115, 116. 
And also page 503, ct scq. of the ap- 
pendix of the same volume*- 

▼OL. I....V0. U 



been rendered useless; while the 
pine lands, from their barren na- 
tures, although they might'maintain 
the farmer, would have done little 
towards raising the state to its pre- 
sent importance. At its first set- 
tlement, the fertile lands in the up- 
per country were not known ; or if 
they were, surrounded by Indian 
nations, they offered no reti-eat to 
the calm exertions of the farmer; 
where wars interrupted navigation, 
and unopened roads, would arrest 
from him the profits of his industry. 
But, should it be asked, why the 
swamps and low lands in the lower 
country, cannot be cultivated by 
whites, and without the labour of 
negroes? I would answer, these 
situations arc particularly unheal- 
thy, and unsuitable to the constitu- 
tions of white persons ; whilst that 
of a negro, is fierfectly adapted to 
its cultivation. He can, uncovered, 
stand the sun's meridian heat ; and 
labour his appointed time, exposed 
to the continual steam, which arises 
from the rice grounds; whilst a 
white person could barely support 
himself under the shade, surround- 
ed by such a relaxing atmosphere* 
He can work for hours in tnud and 
water ^ (which he is obliged to do in 
the rice culture^ in ditching" and 
draining^) witliout injury to him- 
self; whilst to a white this kind of 
labour would be almost certain 
death. Should these observations 
be founded on fact, (which it is be- 
lieved they arc) they sufficiently 
justify the present condition of this 
stale, in the kind of property to 
which we immediately refer. And, 
while we lament the iniquitous pas- 
sions, which originally introduced 
slaveiy into this state; it is with 
satisfnction we can assert, that their 
condition is far ameliorated to what 
it formerly was. They have their 
houses, their gardens, their fields, 
their dances, their holydavs, and 
their feasts. And, as far as is con- 
sistent with our government, they 
enjoy privileges and protections, in 
some cases, superior to the poor 
whites of many nations; and in 
otlicrs equal to the mildest slavery 



A ViXtr OF lOUTB dABOtllTA* 



in an^ part of the world. It may 
be Baid, this U still elaverj* True. 
Buty as was observed, it is prefer- 
able to the condition of the peasantry 
of some countries. How many tracts 
of land are there on this globe, 
whose inhabitants cannot boast as 
ftiuch good ? How many thousands 
are there, who labour from morn- 
ing until night, and from season to 
feason, for at best a beggarly sub- 
sistence ; whose tenure depends on 
the will of a prince, at once master 
of their fortunes, and of their liber- 
ties? With them, the father may 
in vain attempt to raise up his son 
for his support and comfort; but 
yhen the time arrives, and with 
increasing years, he comes to u&e- 
fiil manhood; he is torn from the 
presence of his parents, and the en- 
dearments of his relations ; to swell 
the pageantry of a court....or to con- 
found the liberties of his country. 

^^ This is what may be seen on 
the theatre of human life ; conti- 
nually chequered with good and 
evil, happiness and misery. The 
philanthropist may seek perfection 
and happiness among the human 
race ; but he wil^ never find it com- 
plete. The philosopher may plan 
new laws, and new systems of go- 
vernment ; which practice too often 
declares but the effervescence of 
fancy, and unequal to the end pro- 
posed. Nature, governed by uner- 
ring laws, which command the oalL 
to be stronger than the willow, and 
tlie cypress to be taller than the 
shrub; has at the same time im- 
posed on mankind certain restric- 
tions, which can never be over- 
come. She has made some to be 
poor, and otliers to be rich ; some 
to be happy, and others to be mi- 
serable; some to be slaves, and 
others to be free. Tlic subjects, or 
people, on which these principles 
are enforced, may be changed by 
industry, intrigues, factions, or re- 
volutions; but the principles can 
never be altered; they will shew 
themselves again, with the same 
force on new subjects; unchange- 
able in their natures, and constant 
in their effecUi. i»e woods may be 



cut down, and the lands on whidi 
they grew may be made to produce 
grains, which nature never planted 
Siere. But, withhold the hand of 
cultivation ; andnature immediately 
causes weeds and plants to spring 
up again : and, in course of time^ 
covers them with her dark r&- 
treats, and stately forests." 

We have marked in italics the 
passages in this extract, on which 
the friend of ne^o liberty will be- 
inclined to meditate. We should 
have been much better pleased with 
our author, if he had admitted the 
iniquity of the traffic, and urged 
these considerations rather to ac- 
count for and excuse, than to Jus" 
tijy the practice. Had he insisted 
on the enormous evils which would 
accrue even to the blacks them- 
selves, from general or partial 
emancipation, rather than on the 
abstract right of the planters, to 
the persons of the blacks, as to the 
persons of their hogs and sheep, 
he would have gained a favourable 
audience, even with the greatest 
enemies of slavery, and have takeo 
the stro7ig€^t ground even with its 
friends. 

We have next a very good ac- 
count of the manufactures, inland 
navigation, and foreign commerce 
of the state. For this purpose, he 
has consulted the public offices, and 
procured the most ample and au- 
thentic documents. 

Then follows a political view of 
the state, its constitution, laws and 
revenue; and a topographical ac- 
count of Charleston, and other 
principal towns; and some parti- 
culars of the literature, and man-- 
ners of the people. 

On the whole, this publication is 
a valuable addition to our slender 
stock of information, and we sin- 
cerely hope that Mr. Drayton's 
laudable example will be followed 
by otlier ingenious men. 

B. 

For the Literary Magazine* 
Two Coupes^ps for the use of the 
Philadelphia Academy....!. Of Elo- 
eutioa; 2. Of N&tural History. By 



ABtRCKOM BIE 911 ELSCVTIAN. 



I» 



James Abercronibie, A. M. one of 
the Assistant Ministers of Christ's 
Church and St. Peter's, and Di* 
rector of the Academy. 

Quicquid prxcipies, esto brevis : lit 

cit6 dicta 
Percipiant animi dociles, teneantque 

fideies. 

HoR. 

Philadelphia, H. Maxwell, p. p. 254. 

MR.ABERCROMBiEhasforsome 
time pSLstf been engaged as the in- 
structor of youth. The Philadel- 
phia Academy under his care, has, 
we have no doubt, promoted the in- 
terests of religion and literature in 
this city. The duties of the teacher 
in science, may be very properly 
united with those of the preacher 
from the pulpit ; and in both capa- 
cities Mr. A. deserves no small 
f approbation. In prosecution of the 
plan of education which he has 
adopted, the Qompends now under 
examination were written. These 
are two....The^r«r on elocution... 
the second on natural history. In 
the endeavour to reduce these to a 
concise and systematic order, the 
writer has availed himself of what 
has been written <m these subjects 
by many excellent writers. Mr. A, 
has not however implicitly followed 
these authors, but has thought for 
himself, and in several instances has 
discovered considerable originality^ 
His style is always neat and perspi- 
cuous, and occasionally elegant and 
elevated. The Compend of Elocu- 
tion, we think, is more successfully 
executed, than the one of Natural 
History. The former is divided in- 
to two parts. The Jirst fiart^ on 
the art of reading, includes the fol- 
lowing subdivisions : On the voice, 
of reading, of accent, of emphasis, 
of modulation, of expression, of 
paHses....The second part, on the 
art of speaking, includes the fol- 
lowing subdivisions: Of tones, of 
looks, of gesture • In treating these, 
Mr. A. has succeeded in conveying 
instruction in an easy and impres- 
sive manner to the young. He con- 
cludes the Compend wittj^ the Col- 
«||wing ientence^f • 



•^CONCLUSIOir. 

** Thus have we endeavoured to 
delineate those outlines, which no<. 
thing but good sense and taste can 
fill up. 

" These few hints, however, if 
duly attended to, may suffice to aid 
and direct your efforts for improve- 
ment. Though, after all, it is im- 
possible to acquire a correct and 
Judicious pronunciation, a command 
of the various modulations of the 
voice, and strict propriety of ges- 
ture, merely from rules, without 
practice and an imitation of the best 
examples: which shews the wis- 
dom of the ancients, in training up 
their youth to the study and prac« 
ticc of ELOCUTION, by the assist* 
ance of the most accomplished 
teachers, who exemplified the rules 
which were given to form the 
speech and action of their pupils. 

*' Yet, the more distinctly the.<re 
outlines are marked and remem- 
bered, the easier will be the finish- 
ing: and if, instead of leaving so 
much taste, as is generally done, 
we were to push, as far as possible, 
our inquiries into those principles 
of truth and beauty in delivery, 
which are immutable and eternal | 
if we were to mark carefully the 
seemingly infinite variety of voice 
and gesture in speaking and read- 
ing, and compare this variety with 
the various senses and passions, of 
which they are expressive; from 
the simplicity of Nature, in her 
•ther operations, we have reason 
to hope, that they might be so 
classed and arranged, as to be of 
much easier attainment, and pro^ 
ductive of much certainty and im-t 
provement, in the very difRcult ac- 
quisition of a just and agreeable de» 
livery ; which, when once acquired, 
gives a polish to the character 
which irresistibly captivates and 
arrests the attention of the hearers 
and b^ehoiders. The accomplished 
speaker at once regales thp eye 
with a view of that most noble ob- 
ject the human form, in all its glory , 
the ear, with the perfection and 
original of all music; the under- 
Standing, yritli its proper and n*ti%i 



40 



ABERCROMBIS OIT ELOCUTION. 



ral food, the knowledge of impor- 
tant truth; and the imagination, 
with al] that in nature or m art is 
beautiful, sublime, and wonderful : 
for the orator's field is the universe, 
and his subjects are all that is 
known of God and his works. 

^' In a finished speaker, there- 
fore, whatever there is of corporeal 
dignity or beauty.. ..the majesty of 
the "human face divine,** the grace 
of action, the piercing glance, the 
gentle languish, the fiery flash of 

. the eye ; whatever of lively passion 
or striking emotion of mind ; what- 
ever of fine imagination, of wise 
reflection, or irresistible reasoning ; 

.whatever of the sublime and beau- 
tifiil in human nature ; all that the 
hand of the Creator has impressed 
of his own image, upon the noblest 
creature we are acquainted with.... 
all this appears to the highest ad- 
vantage. And whoever is proof 
against such a display of real ex- 
cellence and dignity in the human 
character, must be void of sensibi- 
lity, of taste, and of understand- 
ing." 

" Such are th* effects of action, in 
the fields 

" Of oratorial fame ! and such the 
pow'rs, 

" Which Nature gives her children j 
while a /ooi, 

*' A tone^ a getture, conjures up the 
host 

«* Of passions, to transfix the con- 
scious heart. 

«* But, if the force of tentiment, ar- 
ranged 

** In beauteous order, and of language, 
drest 

" In elegant attire, with those com- 
bine.... 

** The fire-fraught urn of Eloquence 
devolves 

«* Its rapid v.ave, and nations catch 
the flame !" 

FOLWHELB. 

Mr. Abercrombie introduces his 
Compend of Natural History in the 
following manner.... 

" Natural History has been long 

and very justly ranked by the wise 

and good of all enlightened nations, 

. among the most useful and interest- 



in g branches of science* Its excel- 
lence arises from its contributing 
equally to promote knowledge, cul- 
tivate moral habits, and implant 
sentiments of rational piety. Its 
chief effect is to introduce man to 
an acquaintance with himself and 
the various objects of nature around 
him. But its influence over him 
does not terminate here. It irre- 
sistibly directs the powers of his 
mind to contemplate, and the affec- 
tions of his heart to adore the Cre- 
ator and Governor of the universe, 
the inexhaustible source of wisdom, 
-of virtue, and of happiness. 

" Natural History, in its most ex- 
tensive signification, denotes a 
knowledge and description of the 
material universe ; but in its more 
limited and familiar sense, extends 
only to the construction of the 
earths its productions, inhabitants, 
and the atmosphere which sur- 
rounds it. It treats of those sub- 
stances of which the earth is com- 
posed, and of those organized bodies, 
whether vegetable or animal, which 
adorn its surface,' which rise into 
the air, or live in the bosom of the 
waters. But as a science so various 
and comprehensive, could not pos- 
sibly be discussed within thenarrow 
limits of this manual, it is proposed 
to give a general view of the sub- 
ject, and merely to delineate, in a 
summary manner, whatever curi- 
ous, worthy to be known, or not 
obvious to every observer, occurs in 
the three kingdoms of nature. Or 
in other words, a brief, though com- 
prehensive view of that all-wise 
disposition of the Creator, in rela- 
tion to natural things, by which they 
are fitted to produce general cnd% 
and rec^rocal uses. For tliough 
we see the greatness of the Deity 
in all the seeming worlds which 
surround us, it is our chief concern 
to trace him in that which we in- 
habit ; the examination of the earth, 
audits wonderful productions, being 
the proper business of the natur^U 
historian. 

" It is necessary, therefore, here to 
remark, that Uiis Compend is in- 
tended only to ^wal^n curiosity '^ 



ADXaCROMBIE ON NATURAL HISTORY. 



41 



the yoathM mind, by a disj^ay of a 
few striking objects ; not to gratify 
the fulness of its wishes. From 
the extensive nature of the subject, 
and the necessary conciseness of 
such a summary, we arc compelled 
to generalize, rather than enume- 
rate, and to exhibit only such pro- 
.minent features as may best serve 
to stimulate farther examination; 
at the same time endeavouring to 
condense as much information as 
can possibly be contained witliin so 
restricted a boundary. 

*' All the sciences are, in some 
measure, linked witli each other ; 
and before the one is ended, the otlier 
.begins. In a natural history, there- 
fore, of the earth, we must bej^in 
with a short account of its situation 
andform, as given us by astronomers 
and geographers ; it will be suffi- 
cient, however, upon this occasion, 
just to hint to the imagination what 
they, by a train of elaljorate and ab- 
stract reasonings, have forced upon 
the understanding. 

** The earth, which we inhabit, is 
one of those bodies which circulate 
in our solar system : it is placed at 
a middle distance from the Sun, 
which is the center of that system ; 
not so remote from it as the Geor- 
gium Sidus, Saturn, Jupiter and 
Mars, and yet less parched by its 
rays than Venus or Mercury, which 
are situated so near the violence of 
its power. 

** Besides that motion which the 
earth has round the Sun, the circuit 
of which is performed in a year, it 
has another upon its own axis, which 
it performs in twenty-four hours. 
From the first of these arises the 
rrateful vicissitude of the seasons ; 
m>m the second day and night. 

*' Human invention has been exer- 
cised fer several ages, to account 
fortlie various irregularities of the 
earth, and various have been the 
speculations of philosophers re- 
specting it: but our attention is now 
to be directed to the earth and its 
productions, as we find them ; not 
to th^ reveries and reasonings of 
opposing theorists, concerning the 
•auses of those productions; that 



being the province, not of natural 
history, but of natural philosophy." 

He tlicn proceeds to treat sepa- 
rately of Meteorology. ...of the Ele- 
meuts.—Fire.... Water.... Common 

Water Sea Water Mineral 

Waters... .He considers the Three 
Kingdoms of Nature...,The Mine- 
ral Kingdom, which consists of 
four classes : 1 Earths and Stones ; 
2 Salts ; 3 Infiammables ; 4 Metallic 
Substances or Ores....The Vegeta-* 
"ble Kingdom,.,.The Animal King^ 
doni wiUi its various classes....He 
then proceeds to consider the na- 
ture of instinct in animals,' and in 
the Conclusion of his work gives ra- 
pid portraits of some of the differ- 
ent races of men, and offers some 
properties which may be consider- 
ed as forming a criterion to distin- 
guish between animals, vegetables, 
and minerals. 

*' Tlie present fashionable mode of 
blending the vegetable with the ani- 
mal creation, and the rational with 
the ir rationed classes of the latter, 
by referring every impulse in hu- 
man nature to a particular in- 
stinct as its ultimate cause, is a tlie- 
or}- hurtful to science, and danger- 
ous to morals ; tending directly to 
materialism, and couhcquently to 
tlie degradation and extinction of 
Christianity, the only true bource of 
consolation and of happiness to a 
virtuous and well disjKJsed mind. 

" In contemplating that portion of 
the great scale of creation which is 
subjected to our inspection, Man 
is unquestionably the chief or capi- 
tal link, from whom all the othei* 
links descend by almost impercep- 
tible gradcitions : and as head of the 
animal kingdom, while all the infe- 
rior orders are solely intent on the 
gratification of the senses, or are 
conducted to the performance of 
certain duties by blind instinct, un- 
conscious of the wonders which sur- 
round them, it is ///.•; glory and pre- 
rogative to be gifted with an ability 
of extending his views beyond hit 
own insulated existence, of examin- 
ing^ the relations and dependencies 
of things, and of contemplating the 
vast universe of being. As a highl/ 



4r 



AB£KCROMBXE OK NATURAL RISTORT. 



rational animal, improved with sci- 
ence and arts, he is m some measure 
related to beings of a superior or- 
der, having been originally made 
** but a Tittle lower than the angels." 

" Though there cannot be a doubt 
but that ^ mankind, however dis- 
seminated over the globe, sprang 
from one parent stock ; yet the in- 
fluence of climate, civilization, and 
government, has created great and 
sensible diversities in colour, form^ 
and stature. These broad lines of 
distinction, it is the businesa of the 
naturalist to remark, and of the phit 
Ibsopher to explain* 

** In taking an extensive view of 
our species, there does not appear 
to be above five or six varieties, suf- 
ficiently distinct tn constitute faroi- 
lies; and in them the distinctions 
arc more trivial than is frequently 
seen in the lower classes of animals* 
In all climates, man preserves the 
erect deportment, and the natural 
superiority of his form. There is 
nothing in his shape or faculties 
that designates a different original ; 
and other causes connected with the 
climate, soil, habits, customs, laws, 
&c. sufficiently account for the va- 
rieties which exist among them* 

" Tlie Polar regions exhibit the 
JSr»t distinct race of men. The 
Laplanders, the Esquimaux In- 
dians, the Sanioied Tartars, the in- 
habhants of Nova Zembla, the 
Greenlandcrs, and the Kamtscha- 
dales, may be considered as form- 
ing a race of people, all nearly re- 
sembling each other in stature, com- 
plexirjn, habits, and acquirements* 
Bom under a rigorous climate, con- 
fined to particular aliments, and 
subjected to numerous hardships, it 
seems as if their bodies and their 
mindshave not had scope to expand. 
The extreme cold has produced 
nearly the same effect on their com- 
plexions, as intense heat has on the 
natives of the tropical regions: 
they are generally of a deep 
brown, inclining to black. Dimi- 
nutive and ill shaped, their as- 
pects are as forbidding,as their man- 
ners are barbarous. Their visage 
ii large and broad, theiiose flat and 



short, the eyes brown suffused witk 
yellow, the eyelids drawn towards 
the temples, the cheek-bones high^ 
the lips thick, the voice effeminate, 
the head large, and the hair black 
and straight. The tallest do not ex- 
ceed the height of five feet, and 
many not more than four* Among 
these nations feminine beauty is al- 
most unknown ; and little difference 
is to be discerned in the external 
appearance of the sexes. In pro* 
portion as we approach the nor^ 
pole, mankind seems to dwindle in 
energv and importance of charac- 
ter, till we reach those high lati- 
tudes that forbid rational, if not 
animal life. The gradations, how- 
ever, vary almost imperceptibly; 
but on the southern borders we find 
people of a large stature and more 
noble form, which, compared with 
those of tlie more northern, exhibit 
a striking contrast, and prove the 
omnipotent influence of climate on 
whatever breathes and lives* 

** The *econ// great existing varies 
ty in the human species, seems to 
hie the Tartar race, whence it is 
probable that the natives of the 
hv'perborean regions spi-ung. The 
Tartar country, in its common a"b- 
ceptntion, comprehends a very con-^ 
siderable part of Asia, and conse- 
quently is peopled by natives of 
very difierent forms and complex- 
ions ; yet there are leading traits of 
distinction between the whole race, 
and the people of any other country* 
They all have the upper part of the 
visage very broad, and early wrin- 
kled; the lower narrow, and ap- 
proaching to a point at the chin ; 
their eyes are small and wide apart, 
their noses short and flat, their 
cheek-bones high, the eye-brows 
thick, the hair black, and the com- 
plexion olive* In general they are 
of the middle stature, strong, robust 
and healthy. 

" The Calmucs in particular, are, 
according to our ideas of beauty, 
not only ugly, but frightfiil. 

" Different as the Chinese and Ja- 
panese are in their manners and 
customs, they are evidently of Tar- 
ur origin* The general contour d^ 



ABERCROMBIEON NATURAL BISTORr* 



i3 



Ibatares is the same, and the vari- 
ations in complexion, stature, and 
observances, may be satisfactorily 
explained from the principles of 
climate^ food, and political institu- 
tions* To the class of original Tar- 
tars may be referred the Cochin 
Chinese, the Siamese, the Tonqui- 
nese, and the natives of Aracan, 
Laos, and Pegu ; which all evince 
a common origin. 

" The southern Asiatics constitute 
the tMrd variety in the human spe- 
cies. In stature and features they 
bear a strong resemblance to the 
Europeans^ they are slender and 
elegantly formed, have long straight 
black hair, and not unfrequently 
Roman noses. Their colour, how- 
ever, according to the diversity 
of the climate, assumes different 
ihades, from pale olive to black. 
The Persians and Arabians may 
be referred to this class; which, 
including the inhabitants of the 
widely dispersed islands in the ori- 
ental ocean, constitutes a very large 
mass of mankind. 

The negroes of Africa form a 
well defined and striking variety of 
our species, which may be called 
ihR fourth. This sable race is ex- 
tended over all the southern parts 
of Africa: and though there are 
various shades of distinction in 
point of colour and features, all may 
be grouped with propriety in tlie 
same picture. As among Euro- 
peans we find some handsomer than 
others; all, however, have the 
bluck colour, the velvet, smooth 
sltin, and the soft frizzled hair. 
Their eyes are generally of a deep 
hazle, tiieir noses flat and short, 
their lips thick and prominent, and 
their teeth of ivory whiteness. 

We shaU find ihejiflh variety of 
the human species among the Abo* 
riginal AmericanSy who are as dis- 
tinct in colour, as in their place of 
residence or habitation, from the 
rest of the world. These people, 
except towards the north, among 
Ibe Esquimaux, whcr« ih^y rekam- 



ble the Laplanders, are of a red or 
copper colour, with less variation, 
however, than might be expected 
in such a diversity of climates* 
They have all black, straight hair, 
and thin beards, which they take 
care to extirpate in whole or in 
part, flat noses, high cheek-bones, 
and small eyes. Various deformi- 
ties are created by art, among dif- 
ferent tribes, under the idea of 
beauty ; and for this puipose they 
paint the body and face, m a man- 
ner truly hideous, if scanned accord- 
ing to the standard of European 
regularity. 

" The sirth and last grand division 
of the human race, and the most 
elevated in the scale of being, com- 
prehends the Europeans and those 
of European origin. Among whom 
may be classed the Georgians, Cir-» 
cassians, and Mingrillians, the na« 
tives of Asia Minor, and the norths 
ern parts of Africa, together with 
parts of tliose countries which lie 
north of the Caspian Sea. The m- 
habitants of countries so extensive 
and so widely separated, must be 
expected to vary a good deal from 
each other ; but in general there it 
a striking uniformity in the fairness 
of their complexions, the beauty 
and proportion of their ]imbs, and 
the extent of iheir capacity. 

" To some one of the classes alrea-* 
dy enumerated, the people of every 
country may be referred. It is easy 
to perceive tliat of all the colours 
by which mankind is diversified| 
white is not only the most beautiful, 
but also the most expressive. The 
fair complexion becomes like a 
transparent veil to the soul, through 
which every shade of passion, every 
change of health, may be seen with- 
out the necessity of oral utterance ; 
whereas, in the African black, and 
the Arabian olive complexion, the 
countenance is .found a much less 
distinct index of the mind. With 
regard to atature^it wholly depends 
on climate, food, aiid other local 
causes. 



44' 



ABERCR0MBI2 ON NATURAL HISTORT* 



** The European figure and com- 
• plexion, riiay justly be considered 
as the standards, to which all the 
other varieties must be referred, or 
■with which tliey may be compared. 
In proportion as other nations ap- 
proach nearer to Euix)pean beauty, 
the less they may be said to have 
degei^erated ; and in proportion as 
they recede, the farther they have 
deviated from that original form 
impressed on them by their gi*eat 
Creator.*' 

We conclude this Review, by re- 
commending these Compcnds j\nd 
an excellent Compend of Logic, 
written by die Reverend Dr. An- 
drews, Vice Provost of the Univer- 
sity of Pennsylvania, to tho attention 
of the schools in the United States. 

When the works of our country- 
men discover talents and informa- 
tion, the feelings of every scholar 
and of evei-y patriot should wish to 
see them meet proportionable en- 
couragement, instead of being rank- 
ed below European productions of 
inferior merit. 



for the Literary Magazine. 

J^arrative Poews^ by J. d^lerarii; 
published by John Conrad ^ Co. 
Phiiadelphia....T. isf G.Falmery 
/irinters...,/u fi. 63* 

From several of the prosaical 
works of 1) 'Israeli, we have re- 
ceived pleasure and instruction. 
He is a writer who discovers an 
uncommon store of anecdote, who 
riots in the luxuries of literature, 
and leaves the more profound re- 
searches to minds more patient 
and inquiring. It is probably well 
known, that to him we are indebted 
for Curiosities of Literature, Vari- 
eties of Literature, Literary Amuse- 
ments, a volume of Miscellanies, 
a Sketch of the Times, an Essay 
on the Literan' Character, and the 
luxuriant and patlietic Tale of Mej- 
ncun. Hie p>oems under consider- 
ation, will not detract from the fa- 
irourable opiuion which we h&v 



formed of the talents of Disraeli. 
ITie Narrative Poems are entitled, 
" The Cai^der and the Carrier".... 
" A Tale addressed to a Sybarite.** 
All of these poems are exemplifica-' 
tions of the passion of love.. ..their 
plans are extremely simple, and 
such as do not afford great interest 
in narration....they are however 
told very poetically. The first 
narrative describes an affection 
which subsisted between two per- 
sons in an humble station in life.... 
their intercourse and their conver- 
sation....and their innocent sport in 
the garden, by which one of the lo- 
vers was deprived of life. The 
narrative continues to unfold the 
suspicion which was fixed on the 
surviving maid, as the destroyer of 
her lover Pasquil, her accusation, 
and her condemnation. It close* 
with the following speech of the 
mrtid to her accusers, and tlie ac- 
count of her death,... 

" Too well we Igv'd in separate life 

to grieve, 
Or live a day when Love has ceased to 

live. 
Born in Desire and nursed by chas(c 

Delight, 
Our infant Love the stranger eye 

would fri^'ht; 
The child of Sohtudc and Fear Would 

fly. 

Nor to the world would trust its in- 
fancy. 

Think not, yc Rich ! in Poverty's rude 
sphere 

We feel no rapture from a heart tliat's 
dear ; 

Think not, ye Delicate ! wc take no 
part 

In all the tender magic of the Heart. 

Such happiness not Envy could for- 
give ; 

Nor in one house, can Love and Pru- 
dence live. 

H;d in this copse we blest the gloom 
above, 

And gave the hour to privacy and love. 

Here Pasquil sate the fateful plant be- 
side. 

In sport he tasted and in sport he died^ 

Bowing her head, the plant of poi- 
sonous breath 
She sucked, and blest the vegetable 

death. 



VARHATIVE POEMS. 



45 



Qmck thro' her veuis the flying poi- 
son's dart, 
And one cold tremor chills her beating 

heart. 
She kneels, and winds her arms round 

Pasquil's breast, 
There, as 'twere life to tonch, she 

creeps to rest ; 
On him once more her opening eyes 

she raised, 
The light died on them as she fondly 

gazed; 
With quick short breath, catching at 

life, she tried 
To kiss his lips, and as she kissed, she 

died. 

O did the muse but know the learned 

name 
To blast that fair-deceiving Plant to 

Fame! 
With mimic tints the vegetable child 
Low as the sage-plant crept along, 

and smiled. 
O never may it drink the golden light 
With laughing tints the Garden's 

Hypocrite ! 
Ye colder Botanists the Plant describe, 
Gaze on the spectre-form* and class 

the tribe! 
But ye sweet-souled, whose pensive 

bosoms glow 
With the soft images of amorous woe, 
From you the muse one tender tear 

would claim ; 
One shudder, at the plant voitbout a 

name/ 

Loved of the Muse, thou self- 
devoted Maid ! 
(A verse is music to a Lover's shade) 
For thee she bids a silver lily wave, 
Planting the emblem on a Virgin's 

grave; 
On Love's immortal scroll with ten- 

derest claim. 
Inscribes a Carder** with a Carrier's 
name! 

The second tale was to us the 
most interesting in the volume. It 
bears some resemblance to Gold- 
smith's Hermit, and to a tale in the 
Spectator, entitled Tlieodosius and 
Constantia. As we intend to give 
this tale entire in the poetical de- 
partment, we shall pass it over with- 
out any further comment. 

• In an Hortu* Siccui,„4bat tepulcbre 
i^depcrtedflcvsera. 

TOL. I....NO. l* 



The third tale, addressed to a Sy-» 
barite, is a very pleasing improve- 
ment upon the well-known story of 
Pygmalion and tlie Statue. It has. 
also taken a- hint from an incident 
contained in the "Winter Tale." 
The argument of this performance 
is as follows...«Anasilis is a youth 
of the town of Sybacis, unrivalled iu 
beautv. He excites the love and ri- 
valship of all the females of theplace^ 
but he remained unmoved by their 
sighs, and unconquered by their 
charms,..,or in the figurative lan- 
guage of the poet. . . . 

*♦ This bird on fluttering wings re- 
fused the cage, 
Nor lost a feather in his sprightly agej 
From the soiled nets of beauty fiew 

secure. 
No touch could lime him, and no 
< glance secure." 

This day of freedom, however, 
does not always last. In a solitude 
not far from the town, an hoary 
lover kept secluded from public 
view, a child-like maiden called 
Aglaia, under the care of a woman 
named Myseida. This matron had 
been the nurse of Anasilis, and 
still retained for him maternal 
affedtion. She, in violation of her 
trust, permits him, while conceal- 
ed, to see Aglaia. He becomes 
instantly passionately enamoured 
of her. He prevails on Myseida 
to introduce into the apartment 
of the maid, a statue exquisite- 
ly executed, exactly resembling 
himself. Aglaia beholds this statue 
••••admires its surpassing beauty..*, 
calls it by the name of loYe....and 
her imagination dwells in rapturous 
fondness on its charms, Anasilis 
having thus far succeeded in his de- 
sign, withdraws the statue from 
Aglaia's chamber...,and unseen be- 
holds her warm tears, and hears 
her enamoured sighs. In a favour- 
able moment, he enters the bower, 
throws himself upon the ground, 
closes his Qyes, and seems to be 
locked in insensibility and slumber, 
Aglaia comes, beholds the youth 
in the arbour. She supposes him 
to be the statue. She runs d»* 
7 



46 



NARRATITE POEMS. 



lighted to embrace him, and he 

awakens to life and to love 

Here, however, we shall let the 
author speak for himself, as the 
dose of this poem is one of Uie finest 
specimens of his poetry*,.* 

" Ti» love ! (»hc hardly breathes) the 

God is here ! 
Stept from his pedestal, a breathing 

form! 
Marble so lov'd relents, and like my- 
self is warm. 
Ah, not in vain th* ideal form I loved, 
Kot vain the silent tears, a picture 

moved ?.... 
Stilly she trod and all unbreathing 

gazed. 
Then tremulously kissed the hand she 

raised. 
The Virgin Kiss imparts the finest 

iiame, 
The sweet sensation trembling thro' 

her frame ; 
Nor quits the hand, but half delirious 

takes 
To press it to her heart....and love 

awakes ! 

She kneels....Can anger in that soft- 
ness dwell ? 

Once having seen thee must I bid fare- 
wel> 

Is love a crime ? then half the guilt be 
thine, 

Blame thy seducing powers, thine 
eyes divine ! 

Think ere thou shak'st me from thy 
gentle arm 

How small the triumph o'er a virgin 
form! 

Anasilis in fond entrancement hears. 

Bends o'er the Nymph and kissed 
away her fears. 

Then thus.... An innocent deceit for- 
give ; 

Smile on thy picture and the form 
shall live. 

She then, " Unskill'd how features 

are abroad," 
First of thy Race, to me thou art a 

God! 
How oft when idle Fancy idly roved 



For uncreated shapes, ...'twas thee I 

loved ! 
And if I may not mate with thee I diet 
Oh, be not twice a Statue to my sigh! 

With meek surrender and a timorous 
glance. 

The boy, each soft retiring grace en- 
chants i 

While to his bosom all the virgin stole. 

Kissed w^ith adoring lips, and gazed 
his soul. 

Then triumphed Love, with Natnie 
for his dower, 

And time with silvery feathers winged 
the hour. 

To thee, young Sybarite! the tale 

wc give. 
If once thou sigh'st for graces that 

will live. 
To one dear Nymph thy spotless Youth 

resign, 
And Love's Eternity shall all be thine! 
To modest Beauty, Fate decrees the 

power 
To raise with fond delay, the amorous 

hour. 
Who knows a soft Aglaia's heart to 

move. 
To her shall be.. ..the tender Power of 

Love ! 

It will be observed by the Critical 
Reader of these -Narrative Poems, 
that the author endeavours to apply 
words in a singular and original 
manner, and that though he is 
somethnes happy in his attempt, 
yet it sometimes leads into ob- 
scurity. We think that he is ra- 
ther too rapid in his narration, that 
he leaves too much to be supplied 
by the imagination of the reader, 
and that he would interest more, 
did he introduce more events, and 
dwell more minutely upon them. 
We fear that D*Israeli is rather 
verging too much on the borders of 
DeUa Cniscan and Darwinian po* 
etry; but with all his faults, we 
consider him as a writer who pos- 
sesses a rich and original €uicy«,.« 
who discovers an active and well 
furnished mind. 



4r 



POETRY. 



For the Literary Magazine. 

ORIGINAL. 

LINES TO OLINDA. 

Whbrb roves my sad romantic maidi 
Kind shepherds, can you tell \ 

Say have you seen her in the shade, 
The hill, or tangled dell ? 

Tell me, sweet stream thatbabblestby, 

Hast thou not listened to her sigh \ 

Sad echo, from thy mossy hall, 
Didst thou the wanderer see ; 

And didst thou answer to her call, 
And did she speak of me ? 

Soft gales of evening bath'd in dew, 

O ! have you seen her as you flew ? 

I seek her over hill and dale. 

O'er stream, thro' whisp'ring grove; 

I tell her name to every gale 

Breathed from the heart of love ; 

I call... but still no voice replies, 

I call... but still Olinda flies. 

The robe she wears, of azure hue. 

Floats loosely on the air ; 
Her eyes are of seraphic blue. 

Pale-brown her waving hair. 
Her steps are like the bounding roe. 
Her cheeks the ro8e,her forehead snow. 

The nightingale would cease to sing 

To listen to her lay, 
And zephyr spread his silken wing 

To bear the notes away : 
Her voice, her air, her face impart 
A mind, a genius, and a heart. 

Behold the sun withdraws his beam. 
And darkness shrouds the scene; 

The night-bird pours his hollow scream 
The night-wind sweeps the green. 

No pipe is heard on mead or rock, 

The shepherd homeward drives his 
flock. 

O then return my peerless fair, 

Restrain thy eager Hight, 
The falling dews will drench thine 
hair. 

Unwholesome is the night... 
Ill wind each thicket, beat each shade, 
Till I have found thee, wandering maid. 

I. O. 



, SELECTED. 

COMINGE. 
BT J. S'ISRAELI. 
Tw AS where La Trappe had raised 
his savage seat, 
Of grief and piety the last retreat ; 
And dark the rocks and dark the fo- 
rest lay. 
And shrill the wind blew o'er the Ab- 
bey grey. 
House of remorse, of penitence, and 

care. 
Its inmate grief, its architect despair ! • 

The shepherd frpm the stony pas- 

ture flies, 
No music warbles in those silent skies; 
Where in the wilderness the cypress 

waves, 
The pale-eyed votaries hover round 

their graves; 
Silence and solitude perpetual reign 
Around this hermit-family of pain! 

M^rk the dread portal!.... who with- 
out a tear 
Forgets the murmuring earth to enter 

HERE? 

As the deep solitude more sternly 

grows, ^ 

With social tenderness the pilgrim 

glows ; 
And while he reads the awful lines 

above, 
Turns to his native vale and native ^ 

love. 

" Lo death, the pale instructor I 
giuirds this porch. 
And truth celestial waves her mighty 
torch ! 

• The founder, or ratlier reformer, 
of the severe order of the Monks of 
La Trappe, was the Abbe Rancc, 
whose romantic adventure with his 
mistress is so well known. As the 
last effort of despair he planned this 
institution : among the frightful auste- 
rities there practised, were those of 
perpetual silence, midnight prayers, 
manual labours, and digging their ow n 
graves. The story of Cominge may 
be found in a little novel, by Madame 
I'encin. 



48 



POiTRT. 



Far from the world's deceiving path And lo ! as the fair-handed Father 



we fly, 
To find a passage to Eternity ?"• 

AU are not sinners here ! these walls 
detain 

Much injured loves.. ..the men of soft- 
er vein '. 

Hope to their breast in fond delirium 
springs.... 

The laugher, while she charmed, con- 
cealed her wings ; 



kneels, 
Pale on the ey€ a woman-hermit 

steals ! 
All gaze with wonder, but Cominge 

with dread ; 
She dies, whom long his hopeleat 

heart thought dead ! 

Fathers, (she cries) my sex profanes 
your gown, 



And from heri.;;?; copious seed. I "-adejw sUence.no. yourgriefsn,y 

she threw. 
Which never to the eye of promise 

grew. 



Here bade Cominge the world for ever 
close : 

Soothing his spirit with the dread re- 
pose: 

He called it Peace ! while in the mid- 
night prayer. 

The bed of ashes and the cloth of hair, 



own. 

I loved Cominge ; my parents frowned, 
and power 

Long chained my lover in the tyrant'i 
tower. 

Ah, could I live, and think Cominge 
for me 

Was worn by chains, and lost in mi- 
sery ? 

Those parents doomed me to a loveless 
mind. 



Vainly his soul oblivion's charm would Not to their daughter but a stranger 
prove ! kind. 

Alas ! there's no oblivion in his love ! Ruthless ambition ! immolating sires 

Around the altar's shade the £xile With victim-children crowd thy Mo- 
trod; loch fires. 

The soul that lost its Mistress sought The early rose, by hands ungentle cast. 



its God ! 

Hark ? to that solemn ssxmd ! ....the 
passing bell 

Tolls, the still Friery catch the awful 
knell; 

Loud as it bursts the message from the 
skies. 

Why drops the human tear from ho- 
liest eyes ? 

The dying father bends ! they start! 

they trace 
A fine proportion and a slender grace ; 
Touched by the magic circle of his 

eye 



Feels o'er its youth of sweets the wast- 
ing blast ; 
Such wo the ransom of my lover paid. 
And sometimes more than constancy 
displayed. 

To me Cominge on love's swift pi- 
nions flew. 

No other use of liberty he knew 

" Be free in all but love !".... and here I 
sighed. 

" Can there be freedom without love ?*• 
he cried. 

" Was it for this I woke, O vision 
blest! 



The heart that slept for years now Romantic fondness in a woman's 



wakes to sigh ; 

O sacred form of beauty ! sacred here ! 

Prevailing softness e'en in souls aus- 
tere ! 

As falls his cowl the lengthening 
tresses rest. 
Twine a white neck, and veil a rising 
breast, 

• The following inscriprtion was 
placed on the gate of the Abbey : 
C'est ici que la morte et la verite, 
Elevent leur flambeaux terrible, 
C'est de cette demeure au monde 
inaccessible 
ffvLt Ton passe a I'Etemite. 



breast. 
And thought my painted heaven was 

true! to sigh 
My ruin'd feelings in thine altered eye. 
A woman's magic will but last its hour. 
Her heart a wandering wave, her fac* 

a short-lived flower!" 

How bitter in my soul his words I 

found ! 
He gave my wounded breast another 

wound. 
He knew it not!.. ..the fond recital 

spare !.... 
Tormenting memory cease !».. my tears 

declare 



FOSTHT. 



49 



More than my words our fate....8ilent 
he stood. 

Looking at once reproach and grati- 
tude ! 

In vain we part....the peril still was 

near! 
The madness of sweet words had 

charmed the ear ; 
And while the last farewel was told so 

sweet, 
'Twas but an invitation still to meet. 
But sympathy, that softer kind of love. 
Would rack the breast it hardly seem- 
ed to move. 
Was this a crime ? ah, piteous fathers, 

mourn 
From love's soft witcheries the virgin 

torn J 
Still let me plead, ye hallowed sons of 

time! 
The daughter's error was the father's 

crime. 

My lord within an arbour's green 

retreat 
My unblessed lover weeping at my feet 
Beheld....to me the fervent steel he 

flung; 
Cominge, a living shield around me 

clung, 
Warm on my breast I felt his welling 

blood! 
My lover feU...the coward victor stood ! 

No transient vengeance fills so base 

a mind, 
His was no stream that trembles with 

the wind ; 
But dark and wild, his soul the Furies 

form, 
His soul was like a sea, blown by a 

storm. 

Now frowned the dungeon's vault... 

there sunk so drear, 
Cold on my grate I pour'd the fruitless 

tear; 
Esbch day more sharply felt the iron 

bound 
Inexorable, close the world around. 
The sun my sole companion ! and he 

cheers 
With morning light.. ..the evening sets 

in tears. 
There the fresh breeze would melan- 
choly swell 
To pale-eyed beauty fading in a cell. 
The vermeil cheek, the golden tress"^ 

decay, 
And love's delicious hour in youth's 

brief day. 
That drops such sweets and flies so 

swift away ! 



Yet could the cell the liberal soul de- 
tain ? 

It knows no solitude, it feels no chain; 

There its sweet habitudes like nature 
bless, 

And what it doats on it will still pos- 
sess. 

My lover's image in my slumbers stole; 

There love and fancy, painters of the 
soul! 

In no weak tints their airy pencils 
steep. 

Holding their pictures to the pillowed 
sleep. 

Again I live to hope, to love again. 
The hour my tyrant died, unbound my 

chain. 
Twas for Cominge my pensive soul 

was gay. 
And sprung exulting to the life of day. 

With love's inventive mind Cominge 

I trace, 
And hope still changes with each 

changing place. 
Oft tracked yet never found.. ..in stem 

despair 
No more the softness of my sex I 

share ; 
A restless exile in my native home, 
Love wav'd the torch of hope, and 

bade me roam. 
The verdant groves within whosc"^ 

shades I grew. 
The cherished mates my gayer 

childhood knew, 
All that a woman loves.. ..from 

these I flew. 

A novel sex I take.. ..the ruder air 

Yet ill conceals the woman's heart I 
bear. 

No guide save love, thro' pathless 
ways for me. 

Earth was my couch, my canopy a tree! 

For still the mountain girl, the peasant 
rude,' 

The curious hamlet's cautious neigh- 
bourhood. 

Frowned on the vagrant loitering at 
their door, 

Still are the poor suspicious of the poor. 
Oft by some river's brink, with wist* 
ful eyes. 

Leaning I viewed the soft inverted 
skies ; 

How oft, my spirit darkened by des- 
pair, 

I breathed a sigh to find a passage 
there ! 

Yet then with sweet enchantment te 
my mind 



50 



POBTHY. 



On earth's greeitlied some curious pi ant 

inclined ; 
Some tender bird the woodland song 

would troll, 
And leave the melting music in my 

soul; 
Gazing on lovely nature while I grieve, 
I think on Nature's Author....fear and 

live! 

I hail the desert which religion chose. 
Severe, to build the wanderer's last sad 

house ; 
Grown weary of the worid's unpiteous 

eye, 
Wailing for him who never heard the 

sigh, 
Fresh tears stood in my eyes, and 

sweetly stole, 
Melting the fears that shake a wo* 

man's soul. 

The air was still, the sleepy light 

was grey. 
When faint and sad I crossed my 

hands to pray ; 
h e evening star iUum'd her bashful 

beam; 
The holy Abbey in the twilight gleam 
Breathed a celestial calm How rap- 

turous stole, 
The oraison from my delighted soul ! 
'Twas inspiration all, ecstatic prayer ! 
I bend, and lo ! a vision fills the air ! 
Heaven opens here, and here its Se- 
raphs dwell ! 
I hear your vesper's sweet responses 

swell ! 
Amid the choral symphonies ye sung, 
I hear the warblings of my lover's 

tongue ! 

Twas like a dream when madness 
shakes the brain ; 
The trembling pleasure fills my soul 
with pain. 

At length 'twas silence ; your lone 
gate I found. 

Strike the small bell, and tremble with 
the sound ; 

That gound so dear to many a pilgrim 
nigh, 

Who seeks the desert's hospitality. 

There without breath to form a sigh, 
I wait, 

While my heart bounded to the turn- 
ing gate ; 

And lo ! with downcast eyes a Father 
meek ! 



Scarce mounts the life-blood to hti 

ashy cheek : 
Ah, 'twas Cominge! tU' imperfect 

face inclined, 
Marked by the traces of a ruined mind. 

Twas then I vowed, the impious 

deed forgive, 
A woman vowed beneath your roof 

to live ! 
From silence, and from solitude, I 

sought 
Stillness of soul, and loneliness of 

thought. 
But gives the holy spot a holy mind ? 
A saint is oft a criminal confined. 
The lifted torch that gilds the pomp of 

night. 
The antliem swelling in the gorgeous 

rite; 
Think ye such forms can wing the sin- 
ner's soul. 
When passion bums beneath the 

saintly stole ? 

These frightful shades some tran- 
sient pleasures move ; 
How sweet to watch the motions of 

my love ! 
O'er his still griefs in secrecy to melt. 
And kneel on the same cushion where 

he knelt; 
Musing on him, to sit beneath the tree. 
Where a few minutes past he mused 
on me! 

With manual toil my slender frame 

is worn. 
The faggot gathered, and the water 

borne. 
Faint where the gushing rock its cur- 
rent spread. 
The ponderous waters trembled on my 

head; 
Or toiling breathless in the winding 

wood. 
Moaning beside the forming pile I 

stood; 
Silent he viewed me with a pitying 

smile. 
Bore half my vase, and bound with his 

my pile. 

Oft hovering near him has my flut- 
tering heart / 
Bade me my life's unfinished tale im- 
part; 
Once lost in frenzy at the solemn hour 
Ye dig your channels to death's silent 
chore. 



POETXT« 



51 



And more than human in th' unnatural 

glooms 
With hope and fear ye sit beside your 

tombs, 
I marked his eager hand sublimely 

mould 
The house sepulchral which himself 

must hold ; 
I hear the sullen spade with iron sound. 
Wild on his grave I shriek and wail 

around! 
Th' eternal silence broke !....he cen- 
sures mild 
A holy man with worldly sorrow wild. 
Hast thou not known (I cried) some 

human woe 
That lives beyond the tears it caused 

to flow?.... 
Deep was the groan the fond inquiry 

moved ; 
Deep was the groan that told how still 

he loved! 
He flies me, but to the recalling tone 
He turns! he hears a voice so loved, 

so known ! 
But ah, th* uncertain voice but fancy 

deems. 
Starting like one half-wakeful in his 

dreams. 

Who with religion's pale atonement 

pleads, 
Leans on a thorn, and tho' supported 

bleeds ; 
She, the stem mother of each stubborn 

child, 
Scares its desponding eyes with terrors 

wild; 
Vet a soft balm her seraph-hand can 

pour 
On hearts that pant not, and can love 

no more ; 
Me all ungracious, prayer nor penance 

moved, 
My heart rebellious grasped the crime 

it loved. 
What though I dropt a tear before the 

shrine ? 
Thine was the image, and the tear was 

tbine / 
Ah, let thy voice but speak, thy hand 

bat wave ; 
Approach ! and hide the horror of the 

grave! 
Cominge ! how chill my blood ! how 

dark my eye ! 
Ah, soon perhaps.... fare wel, Cominge 

....Idie! 



She dies to alU but to Cominge !., 
kc pr«ct 



Once more his mistre#s to his hermit 
breast ; 

Love's sweet vibration woke his trem- 
bling soul ; 

Tears dropt his stony eyes, and mur- 
murs stole 

From his mute tongue....ah, poor dis- 
traction's child ! 

He holds with her who was, a con- 
verse wild; 

Distraction's child! still doat upon 
thy shade ! 

Still grasp a corse thou deem*st thy 
living maid. 

O could thy soul this little moment 
keep, 

Gaze on cold eyes, and kiss th* unkiss- 
ing lip ! 

But all has past! Despair, and 

Thought, and Pain 

Rend the fine texture of the working 
brain. 

Few hours shall part ye, and one tomb 
receive, 

While Hermit-Lovers there, assem« 
bling grieve ! 



JFor the Literary Magazine* 

CANZONETS FROM CAMOBNS. 

[An English Viscount has lately trans- 
lated from the Portuguese, several 
Canzonets and Sonnets of Camoens, 
who has been hitherto known to the 
English reader as the author of the 
Lusiad. These poems discover that 
their writer was a man of uncom- 
mon sensibility, that he was the en- 
thusiast of beauty, and a vivid 
painter of charms. They cannot 
fail to interest all whose eyes have 
melted with the tears, and whose 
bosoms have beat with the fervour 
of love. Two specimens will enable 
our readers to judge of these luxu- 
riant wild flowers of poesy.] 



" Quando o sol encuberto vay mo- 

strando 
*» Ao mundo a luz quieta," &c. 

When day has smil'd a soft farewel, 
And night-drops bathe each shutting 

bell. 
And shadows sail along the green. 



52 



JPOSTRT. 



And birds are stiU, and winds serene, 
I wander silently ; 

And while my lone steps print the dew, 
Dear arc the dreams that bless my 

view, 
To memory's eye the maid appears, 
For whom have sprung my sweetest 

tears, 

So oft, so tenderly. 

I sec her, as with graceful care 
She binds her braids of sunny hair; 
1 feel her harp's melodious thrill 
Striketo my heart...and thence be still, 
Re-echo'd faithfully : 

I meet her mild and quiet eye. 
Drink the warm spirit of her sigh. 
See young love beating in her breast, 
And wish to mine its pulses prest, 

Ah, me ! how fervently. 

Such are my hours of dear delight. 
And morn but makes me long for night, 
And think how swift the minutes flew. 
When last amongst the dropping dew 
I wandcr'd silently. 



For the Literary Mag'fiine* 

CANZONET. 

" Polo meu aportamento 
** Se amazao," &c. 

I whisper'd her my last adieu, 

I gave a mournful kiss ; 

Cold showers of sorrow bath'd her 

eyes. 
And her poor heart was torn with 

sighs ; 
Yet.. .strange to tell.. .'twas then I 

knew 

Most perfect bliss. 

For love, at other times suppress'd. 

Was all betray 'd at this.... 

I saw him weeping in her eyes, 

I heard him breathe amongst her 

sighs, 
And every sob which shook her breast, 
Thrill'd mine with bliss. 

The sighs which keen affection clears, 
How can it judge amiss? 
To me it pictur'd hope ; and taught 
My spirit this consoling thought, 
That love's sun, though it rise in tears. 
May set in bliss ! 



jFor the Literary Magazine. 
SUMMARY OF POLITICS. 



The revival of the war between 
France and England, which took 
place at the close of tlie last vear, 
has not hitherto been productive of 
any very important events. It is, 
however, in many respects, the most 
remarkable that has ever hitherto 
occurred. France by the continu- 
ance of peace between her and her 
immediate neighbours, is at liberty 
to bend her whole force against 
F.ngland. England, by her insular 
sitUiition and by her great maritime 
force, puts her enemy at bay. 
France has no option but to aim an 
expedition against Great Britain, 
to embarrass theEnglii.hdbmmerce 
on the continent, and to Uhe what- 
ever territories on tlie continent 
belong to England. 

Tlie first object at present en- 
gages the attention of the First 
Cciihul a;id his ministers. Beats 



are constructing in all the ports and 
rivers of the republic : and a migh* 
ty army is Icvymg and equiping for 
tlie purpose of invading England. 
The English arc busy in preparing 
for this mvasion. A strong appre- 
hension of danger seems to prevail, 
and the preparations for defence 
are more formidable, than has ever 
taken place since the time of the 
Spanish armada. 

The minds of political enquirers 
are earnestly engaged in specula- 
ting on the possible events of the 
present state of things. The great 
force of the English at sea, and the 
extreme vigilance of their com- 
manders: and the heavy encum- 
bered, and defenceless state of the 
armaments of the invaders t the 
turbulence of the winds and Avaves, 
especially in autunm, are extreme- 
ly unfavourable to tlie landin|j of 



SUMMARY or POLITICS. 



53 



Che French in England. The zeal, 
union, and numbers of the English : 
the universal preparation made for 
arming and transporting the people 
to the scene of action : the fortifica- 
tions and signals on the coast most 
obnoxious to the attack, are cir- 
cumstances much insisted on by 
those who predict the speedy de- 
•truction of the French army should 
its landing be effected. 

On the other hand, there are some 
who insistupon the implacable hosti- 
lity of the French, which will 
prompt them to acts of the greatest 
temerity: on that caprice of fortune 
which sometimes delights in crown- 
ing with success, undertakin gs which 
have nothing to distinguish them 
bat their temerity: on the great 
number of points from which the in- 
vading armies will set out, and 
which, by dividing and distracting 
the adversary fleets, may insure a 
landing to some of them. These 
reasoners draw arguments in favour 
of the undertaking from the unex- 
ampled efforts which the British are 
making to defeat it, and the vigour- 
ous and sanguine efforts of the 
French, to carry it into execu- 
tion. 

There is probably ne person in 
&igland or France, who sincerely 
believes in the ultimate success of 
the invasion ; that is, who believes it 
possible for France to make a con- 
quest of England. ITie great pow- 
ers of Europe, are too nearly balan- 
ced to allow to any one of them the 
hope of conquering the other. The 
great object of their warfare is, not 
to subdue^ but merely to annoy. 
How £ar this end will be accom- 
plished by France, in compelling 
the English to such vast and expen- 
sive preparations of defence by sea 
and by land ; on what side the ba- 
lance of benefits will fall, at the con- 
clusion of the year, should the 
French never leave their ports, or 
should they loose half a dozen bat- 
ties and fifty thousand of their troops 
in England, is a difficult question. 

The French, while ent^ged in 
these preparations^ have not been 
idle in annoying tlic English on the 

YQL. I....NO. 1. 



continent of Europe. They have 
hitherto succeeded in persuading 
their neighbours, Austria, Russia, 
and Prussia, to preserve their neu- 
trality. They have not succeeded in 
persuading any of them to join their 
party : and the diplomatic warfare 
which is eagerly carrying on at Vi- 
enna, Petersburg, Berlin, and Ma- 
drid, between France and England, 
has produced nothing hitherto but 
an equipoise of favour and inte- 
rest. 

One of the first attempts of 
France, after the renewal of th« 
war, was to send an army into Ger- 
many and to take possession of Ha- 
nover. This territory is large, 
rich, and populous .: it is little infe- 
rior in extent and military force to 
Bavaria, Bohemia, or Saxony, and 
yet by some dreadful defect in its 
political system, a fine army, a thou- 
sand towns and villages, and a mil- 
lion of citizens, surrendered to the 
first summons of an inconsiderable 
detachment, with as much precipi- 
tation and facility as a petty and 
dilapidated fortress. 

It requires a better acquaintance 
with the subject than we at this dis- 
tance possessjto account for this sur- 
render. What circumstances have 
so far weakened the attachment 
of the Hanoverians to their prince 
and to their independence, as to 
induce them to give such ready 
entrance to an enemy who, the ex- 
perience of others might teach 
them, would not fail to treat their 
country as a conquered one, and as 
one of which the possession was to 
be precarious and brief, can only 
be explained by those who reside 
upon the spot. 

The intelligence which the pre- 
sent month has brought us, relates 
chiefly to tlie preparations, which 
are made in France and England 
for attack and defence ; to the 
journey of the first consul through 
the provinces of his empire ; to the 
capitulation of Hanover, and to the 
insurrection in Ireland. 

On the first head our intelligenc« 
does little more than confirm th« 
accounts which had been previous-* 



54 



SUMMARY or POLITICS. 



Iv received. On the second head, 
Uie principal circumstance is, an 
address said to have been made by 
Buonaparte, on his setting out upon 
his journey, on the twentietli of 
June. 

It is so very faitliful a statement 
of the probable views of his govern- 
ment, that we are inclined to doubt 
its authenticity. It is too candid a 
display of his sentiments to have 
been safely made in the maimer 
mentioned. It Is, however, valua- 
ble as an historical picture of the 
present state of France, and the sen- 
timents of its ruler.. ..He delivers 
himself in the following terms : 

*' Before I commence one of the 
most important joumics ever un- 
dertaken by the Chief of an Em- 
pire, I tliink it necessary to inform 
my Council of State, that I am per- 
fectly satisfied with their zeal and 
fidelity. 

" A great entcrprize occupies my 
mind, gi*eat meliorations demand 
my attention. Without detailing 
to you, at this moment, a vast pro- 
ject, in which I shall require the as- 
sistance of your knowledge and 
your eflForts, I shall describe to you 
the different subjects on which 1 am 
desirous the Council should delibe- 
rate without delay. 

" \Vc cannot deny, that our inter- 
nal administration has not that uni- 
ty and activity which distiuguisli 

our external relations We are 

powerful and respected abroad, and 
at home we are tiimdlu irresolute 
••••obliged to consult public ofiinion^ 
witliout possessing the means of 
ccntrouling or directing it. 

*' Why our progress is thus em- 
barrassed I have not yet discoveied. 
Perhaps, enterprizes, which require 
boldness, have been conducted with 
too much circumspection.. ..perhaps 
too much imfiortance haa been gi- 
ven to public o/iinionin circumstan- 
ces in which it ought to have been 
opposed or disregarded, 1 know not 
but it appears to me to be necessary 
instantly to break all the habits 
which great bodies of the people 
have contractedby the revolution.... 
Thus conducted to obedience by 



firm measures, they vill feel lest 
interest in the changes which the 
return of order requires, and we 
shall at the same time be more at 
liberty to attempt these changes. 

'' The French are in general, of 
9Xi unquiet and discontented dispo- 
•ition. That levity with which tiney 
were reproached, and which som« 
skilful Alinisters have turned to 
their advantage, in establishing ab- 
solute authority, no longer exists. It 
is replaced by suspicion and restless- 
ness. I have received many reports 
on the manner in which the people 
view our administration, on what 
they hope,and on what they require. 
I have almost always observed a dis- 
content without any pretext, or by 
which tiiose which existed were ex- 
aggerated. We have not yet ad- 
vanced far enough from the chaos 
tov/hichjve succeeded, and the/irt- 
tenaiona which contributed not a 
little to produce it are but too wel| 
recollected. Indeed when I see the 
injustice with which our meliora- 
tions are received, and the liberty 
which is taken with our conduct, I 
am compelled to ask myself, whe- 
ther we have not been too gentle^ 
too conciliating and whether it if 
possible for this nation to accommo- 
date itself to a temperate autho^ 
rity? 

" I am pretty well satisfied witf^ 
the rich proprietors. They have 
that respect for the government, 
which we are entitled to require of 
them. But, perhaps, they have net 
displayed sufficient conjidmce^ per- 
haps they have shewn little anxiety 
to involve themselves in its destiny, 
and finally, they, perhaps, made too 
few sacrifices for supporting it ii^ 
its embarrassment : but this is not 
tlie moment for investigating all 
these subjects of dissatisfaction. 
It is, however, necessary to discover 
the cause of this uncertainty and 
coldness in the public opinion, and 
to remedy it promptly by strong 
measures and vigorous institu- 
tions. 

"I know, that in general, the 
new government is reproached for 
its expenses* If, however, ih.% 



SUMMAftt Ot POLITICS. 



Si 



people cauia reason when their 
irahts are in question, it would be 
cay to prove, that the expenses 
which are so disagreeable to them 
^ in a smaU proportion on the 
public treasury ; but we well know, 
that the multitude are incapable of 
entering into suck details. The 
Revolution has rendered them jea- 
lous of every thing connected with 
rank and splendor ; but to thaty it 
ia /iro/zer iheir minds should be ha-' 
bituated. As to the burden of taxes, 
I am of opinion tiiat it is not suffici- 
ently disguised, and that it may be 
aagmeuted without being so sensi- 
Wy felt. It is the opinion of finan- 
ciers, thnt too much is levied on 
iond. We must have recourse to 
indirect taxation ; but that requires 
an extended commerce ; and this 
war, which I could neitlier prevent 
nor delay, has deranged all my 
plans for the restoration of our in- 
dustry and navigation, I hope, 
however, that wiUi the aid of some 
regular tributes which we have a 
right to require Jrom our neighs 
boura^ either for the benefits which 
they have received, or which we 
grant them, it will be possible to di- 
minish the public charges ; but this 
resource is not yet fixed, though it 
has already firoduced much. But 
the 'measure in the execution of 
which I have experienced real ob- 
stacles, and open disaifection, is my 
attempt to increase the army to 
that degree of force which is pro- 
portionate to our influence in Eu- 
rope, and the expeditions I am pre- 
paring. 

"VVe cannot support our power 
without a great military establish- 
ment. We cannot remain formi- 
dable, unless we present to astonish- 
ed Europe a gigantic army. Mili- 
tary glory has raised us to our pre- 
sent situation, and it is only by a 
display of military power, tliat we 
cin maintain ourselves in it. 

" I confess, that for constructing 
this formidable support of our gran- 
deur, I thought I perceived great 
facilities in the national character, 
In the warlike talents of the French 



people, and their thirst of glory and 
conquest, which success only serves 
to stimulate. In this, however, I 
have been a good deal deceived. 
The conscription was at first effect- 
ed with scarce any obstacle, but 
not without great murmurs; that 
institution which peculiarly belongs 
to France, seems about to fail coni- 
pletely. There is no ardour in this 
youth, much indisposition in the pa- 
rents The Government ought, 

therefore, to direct all its attention 
to an inquiry into the causes which 
have produced this apathy, and re- 
sistance. Vigorous measures are 
necessary to remedy those evils, par- 
ticularly, if I do not succeed in the 
efforts I still intend to make in m^ 
journey, for re-animatirig that war- 
like spirit which seems about to be 
extinguished. 

" I must next notice those scenes 
ifrom which I have experienced an 
almost equal degree of anxiety, 
which fortunately, hov/ever, bes^in 
to diminish. I mean the crimes wliich 
some months ago still assjiilcd us. 
....That phrenzy of vengeance and 
pillage has long given mc g^eut un- 
easiness, and the special tribunals 
will never be able to protect usfroni 
its attempts. Here I must observe, 
that our judicial organization is bad ; 
the Judges are too independent of 
the Governmtut, Their places 
ought not to be for lifc^ and we 
ought to possess more means of sti- 
mulating them, when they arc inac- 
tive or timid, or of punishing them 
when they miiAuidt-rstAnd their du- 
ty. The institution of j\iries, v/hich 
1 have preserved out of respect to 
those who founded it, rather than 
from any regard to the public opi- 
nion, is useless wnd.never can be 7ia^ 
turalizcd among us. Popular in- 
stitutions will never suit France, 
Every thing which approximates 
to the people, soon becomes either 
the object of their contempt or indif- 
ference. We must have sc v t re j u- 
dicial forms, and inflexible juf'ges. 
Such a reform would be worth y of 
our meditations. You ought to pave 
the way for it by your speeche;ii*aid 



#6 



SUMMARY OF POLITICS. 



your writings.. ..Without it, there 
IS neither refioaefor U9^ nor securi- 
ty for the people." 

Cafiitulation of Hanover. 

The capitulation of Hanover, was 
made upon condition tliat the En- 
glish government should ratify the 
terms of it. The French minister 
appears to have lost no time in 
transmitting this instrument to the 
English court, and demanding the 
confirmation of it. The following 
reply was made by Lord Hawkes- 
bury, inJune 15, 1803. 

" I have his majesty's orders to 
inform you, that as he has always 
considered the character of Elec- 
tor of Hanover as distinct from his 
character of King of the United 
Kingdoms of Great Britain and 
Ireland, he cannot consent to acqui- 
esce in any act which might sanction 
the idea Uiathe is justly susceptible 
of being attacked in one capacity, 
for the conduct he may think it his 
duty to adopt in the other. It is not 
now that this principle has, for the 
first time, been advanced. It has 
been recognized by several powers 
of Europe, and more particularly 
by the French government, which, 
in 1796, in consequence of his ma- 
jesty's accession to the Treaty of 
Basle, recognized his neutrality in 
his capacity of Elector of Hanover, 
at the moment when it was at war 
with him in his quality of King of 
Great Britain. This principle had 
besides been confirmed by the con- 
duct of his majesty in reference to 
the Treaty of Luneville, and by the 
arrangements which have lately ta- 
ken place relative to the Germanic 
Indemnities, whose object must have 
been, to provide for the indepen- 
dence of the Empire, and which 
have been solemnly guaranteed by 
the principal Powers of Europe, 
but in which Iiis Majesty took no 
p irtr.ji King of Great Britain. 

'* In tliefcc circumstances, liis 
majesty, in his character of Elec- 
tor of Hanover, is resolved to aj)- 
peal to the Empire, and the Powers 
of Europe, who have guaranteed 
tiic Germanic Constitution, and 



consequently, his rights and posses* 
sions in quality of Prince of that 
Empire. 

<'In the mean time, until his ma- 
jesty shall be informed of their sen- 
timents, he has commanded me to 
state, in liis character of Elector of 
Hanover, he will scrupulously ab- 
stain from every act which can be 
considered as contravening the sti- 
pulations contained in the Conven- 
tion which was concluded on the 
3d of June, between the deputies 
appointed by the Regency of Hano» 
ver and the French Government. 

" General Mortier was then in- 
formed, that in consequence of the 
refusal of the ratification on the 
part of the King of England, the 
Convention of SubUngen was con- 
sidered as null, as the following let- 
ter from Mortier to Walmoden was 
the consequence of this informa- 
tion. 

" I have the honour to inform 
your Excellency that the First Con- 
sul would have approved in its en- 
tire contents, the Convention of 
Sublingen, had the King of England 
himself consented to ratify it. It is 
therefore with pain I have to ac- 
quaint you that Lord Hawkesbury 
has informed Citizen Talle)Tand 
that his Britannic Majesty formal- 
ly refused that ratification. 

" Your Excellency will recollect 
that in 1757, a similar Convention 
was concluded at Closter Seven, be- 
tween M. de Richelieu and the 
Duke of Cumberland, and that the 
King of England not being disposed 
to adliereto it, gave orders to his 
array to recommence hostilities. 

" It is to avoid a renewal of the 
scenes which then took place, that 
Government charges me to inform 
your Excellency, that the refusal of 
his Britannic Majesty annuls the 
Convention of Sublingen. 

" I have empowered general 
Bcrthier, chief of the general stafi^ 
to coranTkunicate to you my propos- 
als. I must insist that your Excel- 
lency will have the goodness to 
give me a categorical answer in the 
space of twenty-four hours. The 
army whicli I have the honour ts 



SUMMART OF POLITICS. 



S7 



command is ready, and waits only 
for the signalto action.*' 

The subsequent events are thus 
detailed by the French commander 
in a letter to his government. 

" On the 30th ult. I wrote to 
Marshal de Walmoden a letter, of 
which a copy is hereto subjoined. 
Baron de Bock, colonel in the regi- 
ment of guards, waited on me, on 
hi«» part, the following morning. 
Hct« "Id me that the proposal of mak- 
ing his army lay down their arms, 
for the purpose of being conducted 
prisoners into France, was of a na- 
ture so humiliating, that all of them 
would rather perish with arms in 
their hands ; that they had made a 
sufficient sacrifice for their country 
by the capitulation of Sublingen ; 
that it was now time to do something 
for their own honour ; that their of- 
ficers and their army were reduced 
to despair. M. de Bock then re- 
presented to me the extreme fideli- 
ty with which the Hanoverians had 
scrupulously executed all the arti- 
cles of the convention of Sublingen, 
which concerned them ; that their 
conduct in regard to us was exempt 
from all reproach, and ought by no 
means to draw upon them the mis- 
fortunes with which I menaced them. 
I, on my side, recriminated on the 
perfidy of the King of England, who 
had refused to ratify tlie Convention 
of the 3d of June ; that it was the 
Machiavelian policy of England 
alone that they had to accuse, and 
that it was manifest that Govern- 
ment would sacrifice them, as it had 
always sacrificed its friends on the 
Continent. 

" M. de Bock is a man full of ho- 
nour and generosity. He said, that 
If I could make admissible projwsi- 
tions, such as that of sending home 
a part of the army for six months 
in rotation, and keeping up a body 
of 5 or 6000 men in Lunenburg, 
that he conceived the ^^Hrsllal 
ini.^ht enter into an arrangement 
wiSi me. My answer was in the 
negative, and we parted. I had al- 
ready made every preparation for 
passing die river. A number of 
boats collected in the Elbe and the 



Esmenan furnished me with abun- 
dant means. The enemy occupied 
a position between Steknitz and 
BiUe. 

" The general attack was to have 
taken place in the night of the 4th i 
The enemy had got some artillery 
of a large calibre at Ratzburg, and 
with this they mounted all the bat- 
teries on tlie Elbe. 1 had, on my 
side, erected counter-batteries ; my 
troops were well disposed, and eve- 
ry thing announced a fortunate is- 
sue, when M. de Walmoden com- 
municated to me the following pro- 
positions. 

'* Citizen First Consul, the Hano- 
verian army were reduced to des- 
pair, they implored your clemen- 
cy. I thought that, abandoned by 
their king, you would treat them 
with kindness. In the middle of 
the Elbe I concluded the annexed 
capitulation with general Walmo- 
den. He signed it with bitterness 
of heart: you will there see that 
his army lays down their arms ; 
that his cavaliy are to be dismount- 
ed, aud to put into our hands nearly 
4000 excellent horses. The soldi- 
ers returning to their homes will 
devote themselves to the labours of 
apiculture, and need give us no 
kmd of uneasiness. They will l>cno 
longer under the orders of England. 

" Health and profound respect, 

(Sij^ned) E. MoRTiER." 

"P.S. It would be difficult to de- 
scribe to you the situation of the fine 
regiment of the king of England's 
guards, at the moment of their dis- 
mounting." 

"The King of England having 
refused to ratify the Convention of 
Sublingen,the First Consulhas been 
obliged to consider that Convention 
as null. In consequence thereof 
Lieutenant General Mortier, has 
agreed to the following capitulation, 
which shall be executLd, witJiout 
being submitted to the ratification 
of the two Governments. 

Article I. The Hanoverian ar- 
my shall lay down its arms ; they 
shall be given up with all its artille- 
ry, to the French army. 



n 



SUMMARY OF POLITICS. 



IL An the horses of the Hano- 
verian cavalry and artillery shall 
be given up to the French army, by 
one of the members of the States. 
A Commissioner, appointed by the 
commander in chief to that effect, 
shall be instantly sent to take an ac- 
count of their state and number. 

in. The Hanoverian army shall 
be disbanded ; the troops shall re- 
pass tlie Elbe, and withdraw to their 
respective homes....They shall pre- 
viously give their parole not to car- 
ry arms against France and her al- 
lies until after having been ex- 
changed for those of equal rank by 
as many French military as maybe 
taken by the English in the course 
of thfe present war. 

rV. The Hanoverian generals 
and officers shall retire upon their 
parole to the places which they 
may choose for their abode, provi- 
ded they do not depart from the con- 
tment. Theyshallkeep their swords 
and take away witii them their 
horses, effects, and baggage. 

V. There shall be given to the 
commander in chief of the French 
army with the least possible delay, 
a nominal list of all the individuals 
of whom the Hanoverian army is 
composed. 

VI. The Hanoverian soldiers 
sent to their respective homes shall 
not be allowed to wear tht'r uni- 
forms. 

VII. Tfiey shall be provided 
vith subsistence until their return 
home, and forage shall also be 
granted to the horses of the officers. 

VIII. The 16th and irth aiti- 
desofthe Convention of Sublingen 
shall be applicable to the Hanoveri- 
an army. 

IX. The French troops shall 
immediately occupy that part of ihe 
Electorate of Hanover situated in 
the county of Lauenbui^. 

T7ie Inaurrcction in Ireland. 

The only particulars, of this im- 
portant event are contained in the 
following letters from Ireland* 
July 24. 

**At an early hour yesterday 
evening, a variety of inflaunmatory 



proclamations were distributed in 
every part of the town, calling on 
people to unite as before, in opposi- 
tion to English oppression, See. and 
at so early an hour as eight o'clock, 
a large party forced into the Lord 
mayor's, and seized all the arms 
and pikes, whish were in tlie house, 
and about ten o'clock a general en- 
gagement took place in the neigh- 
bourhood of James-street, Thomas- 
street, and in every purt of the liber- 
ty. Lord Kihvarden (the chief jus- 
tice of the king's bench) coming to 
town about 9 o'clock, was forced 
out of his carriage in Jame's-street, 
with his nephew, and were both 
killed by pikes. 

"Col. Brown of the 21st, and a 
few more officers, and several of 
the soldiery and yeomen have un- 
fortimately been killed, together 
with a grieat number who appear 
of tlie very lowest order. But what 
is the most alarming, is that their 
plots have been earned on witlisuch 
secrecy that they arc not yet disco- 
vered, notwithstanding several per- 
sons were taken. Mr. Clark, of 
Palmerston, cotton manufacturer, 
was shot on Arran quay, at b o'clock 
in the evenmg : and it appears 
there were several parties collect- 
ing, in different parts of the town, 
at a very early hour. The privjr 
council has been sitting at the cas- 
tle these two hours past, and it is 
expected martial law will be pro- 
claimed immediately. There arc 
several gallows's erected in differ- 
ent parts of the town, and the exe- 
cutions it is supposed will be innu- 
merable, as there are about one 
hundred prisoners taken. They do 
not seem to have any leaders of con- 
sequence ; tlie only one taken is a 
man of the name of M'Cabe, a pub- 
lican, at whose house about one 
thousand pikes and six hundred 
rounds of ball cartridge were found. 
We have not yet heard of any dis- 
turbance in the country, and all the 
coaches have arrived this morning. 
" The situation of the ciu is most 
awful. The drums beat to arms at 
ten o'clock at night and continued 
to twelve, when almost every citi- 



SiyyiilABT or ?0X.XTIC3. 



5a 



«e9 w^s under ^nn^. The engage- 
ment continued up til four o'clock, 
and within these two hours two of 
the 62d regiment have been killed 
in the nei^jhbourhood of the royal 
hospital." 

July 25. 

**On Saturday evening last, go- 
Tcmment having had intimation 
that a depot of pikes and other en- 
gines of destruction, had been made 
By a newly organized horde of in- 
surgents in tlie vicinity of Bridge- 
foot-street, a detachment 01 cavalry 
had been ordered by Gen. Dunn 
from the ban*acks, which were 
joined by a company of yeomen in- 
fentry,part of the Liberty Rangers, 
now under the command of the earl 
of Meath, arrived at the spct v/here 
their instructions directed tliem, 
after a skirmish of a few minutes 
with the populace, in which a few 
lives were lost, a great number of 
pikes were found, also several com- 
bustibles, parcels of nails, fragments 
of iron, glass, compost clay, oakum, 
and other materials. 

*'With these were discovered a 
onmber of deal balk, in pieces of 
various lengths, from seven to fif- 
teen feet in length, with a circular 
cairity in each of about three inches 
diameter, filled with gun-powder, 
to each aperture was applied a 
wooden plug, with a handle and 
vent hole, or receptacle for a fuze 
appear on the upper surface of the 
timber about the middle : This ma- 
chine was supposed to have been 
intended to aid the projected ope- 
rations of setting fire to Dublin Bar- 
racks.. ...Several kegs of powder 
were discovered, with parcels made 
off our musket balls in each, and a 
tin tube of about two inches long, 
through which fire was to have 
been communicated to whatever 
vehicle was constructed to discharge 
them. 

A suit of green uniform, with 
gold epaulets and a splendid cm- 
broidery was also found, and seve- 
ral papers, by which the train of 
operations fixed by these deluded 
people was discovered and will 
doi^Uess be prevented. Among 



the melanchply disasters of the 
night, might be reckoned the mur- 
der of Lord Kilwarden, chief jus- 
tice of the court of king's bench, 
and tbjc Rev. Arthur Wolfe, his 
nephew, who accompanied him 
with the ladies of his lordship's fa- 
mily, in a carriage to town. The 
wound he received was a large la- 
cerated one in the side, having tiie 
appearance of being inflicted by a 
shot from a blunderbuss. 

A privy council have been sitting 
yesterday at the castle, and did not 
break up until a late hourlast night ; 
a proclamation offering a regard of 
one hundred pounds for the disco- 
very of the murderers of Lord Kil- 
warden, and the Rev. Arthur 
Wolfe, had been issued, upwards 
of one hundi'ed prisoners had been 
lodged yesterday, in the new prison, 
in the barracks. A printed notice 
from the Lord Mayor and board of 
magistrates, was yesterday handing 
about, apprizing all the citizens of 
Dublin, that from the recent dis- 
turbances, they feel it incumbent 
on them to reinforce the insurrec- 
tion act, pursuant to which it be- 
came penal, during the last rebel- 
lion, for any citizen not on military 
duty, to be out later than eight 
o'clock in the evening." 
August 1. 

" We understand that the whole 
of the plan for insurrection, of 
which the affair of Saturday night 
was the commencement, has been 
developed. A general levy often 
men from every parish in Ireland 
had been agreed upon by the re- 
bels ; these were to form a body of 
thirty-eight thousand men, who 
were to make their way to Dublin, 
as privately as possible, in small 
bodies, where they were to be sup- 
plied with arms, and then to rise 
e7t masse, 

<< Lord Kilwarden had been sent 
for from his countr}'-house, and was 
on his way to the castle to attend a 
pri\7 council, when he was mur- 
dered. 

" An Englishman and his wife, 
by the name of Cater, coming into 
town from Naas, tlie former was 



60 



SUHMART OF POLITIS. 



dragged out of the carriage, and 
piked in several places ; but the 
military appearing at a distance, 
the rebels left him half dead, after 
taking from him seven hundred 
pounds he happened to have in his 
pockets ; he is, however, stated to 
be in a fair way of recovery. 

** In one place in the Liberty was 
found a large quantity of gun-pow- 
der and seven hundred pikes. 

"On Sunday morning, the dead 
bodies of the rebels were taken up 
in the streets, and a great number 
of cars were employed in carrying 
them to the castle-yard for the pur- 
pose of having them identified. In 
the number were several women, 
who were found with pikes and 
stones in their hands. One corpse 
particularly attracted attention. 
It was the body of an old man, 
upwards of seventy, a shoe-ma- 
ker, well known in the liberty. 
He was bare-footed and bare-leg- 
ged. He had been shot through 
the body, and lay upon the ground 
with a large knife in each hand. 
The dead bodies appeared to be of 
the lowest orders of society." 

CORK, AUGUST 5. 

"The disafiected did not openly 
avow themselves here. It is weU 
known that their determination was 
to adopt the same rebellious pro- 
ceedings as their brethren in Dub- 
lin. The greatest exertions are 
making here by the magistracy, 
veomanry. Sec. to prevent surprise. 
Many men of good property are be- 
come inhabitants of our prisons, 
which are well guarded.... among 
these are the two Drianes, one of 
whom is said to be worth two hun- 
dred thousand pounds ; Simon Don- 
aven, and Todd Jones, of the Noith, 
whom I before mentioned ; Dr. Cal- 
lahan and his son, of Glognakcity ; 
no relation whatever to the worthy 
phvsiciaivof this city; a Mr. BucJc, 



from the West, who had been for 
some time agent to Arthur O'Con- 
nor, and a Mr. Finn. It does not 
follow because these persons are ta-* 
ken up, that they are guilty ; but 
consistently with the conduct of the 
present mild government, their 
conduct will be fairly investigated, 
and none but the guilty will suffer.^ 

« The insurrection in Ireland is 
stated to be completely queUed. 
This howevr is a point that still re- 
mains questionable : At best we sus- 
pect the flame is only smothered for 
a season. 

" Papers have fallen into the hands 
of government, from which we learn 
that the combination has been aug- 
menting for at least eight months, 
and arranged with the most syste- 
matic attention. A provincial go- 
vernment had been projected, which 
was to resign its functions as soon 
as a regular system of legislation 
should be adopted. 

" A manifesto has also been dis- 
covered, written in a very impres- 
sive style, setting forth the oppres- 
sions which the people of Ireland 
had long suffered, explaining their 
equal rights as men and citizens, 
the injustice of their being forced 
into an union with Great Britain, by 
which they sustained nothing but 
disadvantage, and the propriety of 
their rising up like one man, throw- 
ing off the yoke by which they were 
galled, separating from the country 
to which they were chained, and 
establishing themselves as an inde- 
pendent nation. 

" It is stated, that the plans of the 
insurgents were so well constructed, 
the attack on the castle having been 
arranged by midnight, that had it 
been concealed till that time, it 
might have been successfuL But 
the distribution of arm staking place 
in the evening followed by intoxica- 
tion, occasioned a premature disco- 
very." 



REMARKABLE OCCURREVCES. 



#1 



REMARKABLE OCCURRENCES, 



LONDON, MAY 10. 

Saturday, between one and two 
o'clock, a most alarming tire broke 
out on the roof of the tower on the 
centre of Westminster Abbey, The 
accident arose from the scandalous 
negligence of thejoumeymen plum- 
crs employed at present on the ne- 
cessary repairs of the roof, who left 
their melting pot in an improper 
state. The catastrophe likely to be 
the result of such a conflagration oc- 
casioned a sensation in the public 
mind, which every one may readily 
conceive. The Abbey is the depo- 
sitory of the remains of many of our 
sovereigns, and of many of our 
most illustrious and celebrated 
countrymen and countrywomen, as 
well as of the chef d*xuvrca of our 
national skill in the art of sculpture ; 
endeared to the public mind by so 
many valuable and exalted consi- 
derations, it became the object of 
universal anxiety. As in too many 
other cases, so here, water could 
not be had for nearly two hours af- 
ter the fire commenced, in any 
quantity sufiBcient for the working 
of the engines. But, when it was 
procured in abuncli^ncc, after the 
utter exhaustion of all the water- 
tubs and cisterns in the neighbour- 
hood, it was used with great effect, 
and before six o'clock all entirely 
disappeared. We were extremely 
happy, on inspecting the state of 
the cathedral carefully, after the 
flames v.crc extinguished, to find so 
little injury sustained. What da- 
mage was done hi the interior, was 
occasioned by the burning of the 
roofof the tower (which communi- 
cates to the grand arches of wood- 
work which appear to support it 
from the inside), the fall ot which, 
by its violence, and by the commu- 
nication of the flames, destroyed a 
considerable portion of the seats 
and ornaments of the chcir. It has 
been gcnemlly supposed that the 
whole roofing of the arches of the 
church was of masonry; but our 

V0L.I....N0. I. 



readers will recollect that the 
church was greatly repaired about 
a century ago, under the direction 
of the great Sir C. Wren, when a 
considerable part of the roof was 
replaced by carpentry, to save the 
expenses. This tower was then 
intended as the basement of a 
magnificent spire, with which that 
architect had designed to decorate 
this noble and august temple of 
British valour and wisdom. Tlic ex- 
ertions of every description of per- 
sons emphatically demand the un- 
qualified praise of a British Journal- 
ist. Every one seemed to feel the 
fire in Westminster Abbey, as a 
common public concern. The sol- 
diers in tlie neighbourhood, the 
Westminster scholars, the clerg}'^ 
the volunteers, the lowest classes, 
vied together in the earnestness of 
their efforts to stop the progress of 
devastation. The corps of St. Mar- 
garet and St. John maintained the 
most perfect order and regularity, 
both within and without the Abbey, 
during the whole of this most seri- 
ous affair. We were extremely 
happy to find some of the most distin- 
guished members of parliament ta- 
king the lead, and sharing all the 
dangers and difficulties of the fire- 
men in their endeavours; among 
them Mr. Windham was very con- 
spicuous. Nothing escaped his ac- 
tivity, which was such that one 
could hardly distinguish his clothes 
from those of a common labourer 
after the bustle was over, in conse- 
quence of his exertions. Lord 
Westmoreland, the lord Chancellor 
and the dukes of Gloucester and 
Norfolk, likewise attended. 

We must conclude this account 
by congratulating the public on the 
speedy termination of a calamity, 
which, had it happened at night, 
would not only have consumed the 
choir and organ, but likewise all the 
valuable antiquities of a combustil^le 
nature in the Abbey ; and have de- 
faced the fairest productioas of cur 
9 



^ 



m£UARKABLE OCCUBBEKCES. 



science and skill, as well as have 
inflicted the keenest wounds on the 
feelings of the relations of all the 
brave and great who are there com* 
niemorated. The damage sustain- 
ed, may perhaps be estimated at 
four or five thousand pounds. 

A measure, in which the trade 
and navigation of this country 
(Great Britain) are incakulably in- 
terested, received last ni^ht the 
most wiUing concurrence of a com- 
mittee of the House of Commons. 
On the motion of Mr. Hawkins 
firowne, in the committee of sup- 
ply, twenty .thousand pounds were 
granted towards making a naviga- 
ble canal through the Highlands of 
Scotland from sea to sea. The ex- 
tent is fifty-nine miles, twenty of 
which are occupied by lakes of un- 
fathomable depth. The remaining 
are to be twenty feet deep, and of a 
proportionable breadth, so that sliips 
of the line may pass from the Baltic 
to the British channel. 

This would obviate all the diffi- 
culties of going round about by the 
Shetland and Orkney Isles ; a pas- 
sage of fourteen days in the calmest 
weatlier, and which in the windy 
season is rarely eflfected in less 
than three months : while, by the 
proposed canal, the passage in the 
most unfavourable weather, will not 
occupy more than twelve days, and 
frequently little more than half that 
period. It is calculated, that the 
whole expense of this canal wilj not 
exceed the loss sustained by ship- 
wrecks in the present course of na- 
vigation in five years. 

School for Deaf and Dumb* At 
the London tavern, on ITiursday, 
March 30, a respectable and nu- 
merous company of gentlemen met 
to celebrate the anniversary of this 
Institution, Sir Thomas Turton, 
baronet, one of the vice-presidents 
in the chair. After dinner, the 
Stewards, preceded by the Rev. 
Mr. Mason, as secretary, introdu- 
ced the children (forty-seven in 
number) at present under a course 
of instruction in language, writing, 
arithmetic, mechanic arts, morals 
and religion, who produced spcci- 
iQcns of their writing, &c. and some 



of them recited a few lines prepared 
for the occasion, with distinctness 
and emphasis, far surpassing the 
expectations of those who heard 
them, demonstrating to the most 
credulous, that the naturally deaf 
and dumb are here taught speech, 
so as to render it an intelligible ve- 
hicle of their thoughts* 

The Chairman announced from 
the best authority, that the funds 
are as yet unequal to relieve the 
numerous candidates for admission 
into an asylum* where alone there 
is relief for them. The impression 
made upon the company by these 
observations, and the scene they 
had just witnessed, produced some 
handsome donations and many an- 
nual subscriptions. 

The parish of Presteign, in Rad- 
norshire, in Wales, embraces a cir- 
cle of nineteen miles. The burials, 
on an average of seven years are 
only twenty -six persons a year ; and 
births for the same time forty-two. 
And of the burials, upwards of 
eighteen of the twenty-six, were of 
^persons from eighty to one hundred 
years old. 

DomeUic incidenta on board the 
American frigate JVew-Yorkm 
April 25th, IfiOS, off Sardinia.... 
early in the morning the gunner's 
mate had been returning the signal 
lanthorns into the gunner's store- 
room, as usual, and also the match 
which is kept burning during the 
night. He returned, and the gun- 
ner went immediately down into 
the cock-pit, and it seems took a 
light into the store-room to see if 
every thing was properly secured, 
when from the snuff of the candle 
or otherwise, fire was communica- 
ted to a considerable quantity of 
powder, upwards of an hundred 
weight. Tlie explosion took place 
precisely at three o'clock, those in 
the cock-pit suffered beyond concep- 
tion though most of them have sur- 
vived it. The gunner, Morril, 
died the following night and also a 
boy named Hamilton. Mr. Shults 
died ia about thirty-six hours. 
Burrior, captain's clerk, died since 
our arrival here (Malta). Dr.- 



mKMAKABLS OCCURRENCES. 



6S 



Weeros is yet ill, though recover- 
ing iaaXj as are likewise Mr. Alex- 
is, midshipraan, Kennedy, purser's 
steward, and M^Gee, marine. Mr. 
Lewis, midshipman, and Mr. Israel 
welL The explosion blew the gun 
deck and quarter deck hatches up 
.... started the gun magazine, ward- 
room, and cabin bed heads. Exer- 
tion alone saved us. The fire was 
extinguished in one hour. 

GEORGE-TOWN, AUG. 10, 1803. 

The fetal effetts of the flux which 
rages with the utmost violence in 
this and the neighbouring coun- 
ties, exhibits a very distressing 
scene; upwards of five hundred 
porsons, it is thought, within a few 
weeks, have been swept oflF; and 
in some parts more than two-thirds 
of femilics have fallen a prey to 
this depopulating disorder. 

CINCINATTI, AUG. 17. 

Two Indians were lately killed in 
Montgomery county by a white man, 
the particulars as £fir as has come 
witl^n our knowledge, are ; the 
white man was hunting and hap- 
pened to fall in with an Indian camp 
....the Indians appeared not very 
friendly, he left them.. -he had not 
went far on his way, when he saw 
two of the Indians a-head, and both 
taking aim at him, their guns flash- 
ed, the white man fired and killed 
one, and ran upon the other and dis- 
patched him with the but of his 
gun....It is said the white man has 
given himself up. 

rORT NIAGARA, AUG. 17. 

I have just seen a British oflScer 
from Fort George, who informs me 
that they have discovered a conspi- 
racy that was to have taken place 
among the soldiers of that garrison 
this evening... their intentions were 
to have murdered the whole of the 
officers, burnt the garrison, and to 
have fled to the United States. This 
is a battalion of the forty-ninth 
Irish re^ment, about one hundred 
and fifty in number; the principals 
are sent to York, where an exam- 
ple will be made of them. Had they 
•fibred to come within reach of our 



cannon they would have met with 
a warm reception. 

Further information states, that 
there are a number of letters found 
with them from inhabitants of this 
state, oflering them assistance and 
protection, ^ould they prove suc- 
cessful. Does tills not shew the 
rascality of Demos f 

LOUISVILLE, AUG. 25. 

An expedition is- expected to 
leave this place shortly', under the 
direction of Capt William Clark 
and Mr. Lewis, (private secretary 
to the President) to proceed through 
the immense wilderness of Louisia- 
na to the Western or Pacific ocean. 
The particular objects of this un- 
dertaking are at present matters of 
conjecture only j but we have good 
reason to believe, that our govern- 
ment intend to encourage settle- 
ments, and establish sea ports, on 
the coast of the Pacific ocean, which 
would not only facilitate our whal- 
ing and sealing voyages, but enable 
our enterprising merchants to carry 
on a more direct and rapid trade 
with China and the East Indies. 

SAVANNAH, GEORGIA, AUG. 23. 

This day at twelve o'clock a duel 
was fought by Samuel Howard and 
Joseph Welcher, Esqrs. Tlje sub- 
ject of dispute arose in the city 
council, of which they were both 
mcmljcrs. Ho ward was dangerous- 
ly wounded by being shot through 
the belly. He fell on the spot, and 
was supposed to be dcad....He has 
been brought to town, his wounds 
examined, and it is expected he 
will recover. George D. Sweet 
w«as Howard's, and George M. 
Thromp, Wclchcr's second. The 
place of action was the Jews burj*- 
ing ground. 

Elizabeth-town, (M.) AUG. 31. 
On Wednesday the 24th, Peter 
Lights of Shaipsburgh, was ar- 
raigned at the bar of Washington 
county court, for making counter- 
feit dollars, and after a fair and im- 
partitil trial, was found guilty. On 
Thursday following, he wassenten- 
ccd to be wlupty pillored^aad cropt 



€4 



ItEM ARKABLS OCCT7R&ENGE8* 



•••.which •entencc was accordingly and destroyed materials and appa* 

put into execution by the sheriff. rates to a consideraWc amount. 

*^ J^ew yorA:....The circumstances 

Portsmouth, (N. H.) auo. 27. ^hich have come to our knowledge, 

Sporting, or hunting the bear.... respecting the reported embezzle* 

A grand bear hunt is proposed on ment of money by a person inthe scr- 

., ., ._j «T-j_— J... :« r\^*,^\.^^ vice of the Manhattan company, are 



the' third Wednesday in October 
next, in the grand forest in Dcr- 
ryfield and Chester ; which will be 
conducted by surrounding the whole 
desert, and marching in a regular 
manner to the centre thereof, in 
order to enclose all the wild game 
in the woods. Any gentleman dis- 
posed to divert himself with a day's 
fatigue, is invited to repair to one 
of the places of rendezvous, on the 
morning of ssdd day, at eight o'clock, 
equipt with a good gun, powder and 
ball, provisions, canteen, &c. 

The above forest has been time 
out of mind, and now is an asylum for 
and a habitation of a swarm of 
bears, wolves, and other beasts of 
prey, which have been hunted by 
small parties, without success. 
Bears are almost daily seen, and« 
make frequent depredations on 
young cattfe and sheep, and have 
become a serious evil to the^nhabit- 
ants residing near the premises. 

In several parts of Massachu- 
setts, Cpnnecticut, and New-Hamp- 
shire, the dysentery, and other dis- 
eases prevail to a very afflicting de- 
gree. Many villages experience, 
in proportion to their relative num- 
bers, a mortality much greater 
than any of our devoted cities, by 
the fever. 

On the 28th, the bam of Henry 
P. Moore, of Poughkeepsie, in N. 
E. town was destroyed by fire, to- 
gether with the whole of his sum- 
mer crop of grain and hay* Also a 
sleigh, fanning-mill. Sec. &c. The 
barn was purposely set on fire by a 
boy wiio lived with Mr. Moore, by 
the name of Peter Canady. He is 
}odged in gaol and confessed the 
fact to a number of persons. 

PhiladelfiMa On Wednesday 

night, August 30, between ten and 
eleven o'clock, a fire broke out in 
the chemicallaboratory of Mr. Him- 
ter, in Second, below Walnut street. 
it consumed a part of the building, 



these : In consequence of the indis- 
position of Mr. Hunn (one of the tell- 
ers) and the absence cxf the first book- 
keeper, the situation of temporary 
teller, on Saturday the srth ult. de- 
volved upon Mr. Benjamin Brower, 
who had been received into the 
bank with very respectable recom- 
mendations, and at that time filled 
the office of second book-keeper to 
the entire satisfaction of the Direc- 
tors, whose opinion of his integrity 
was highly flattering. 

On the day above mentioned, Mr. 
Brower received, in his capacity of 
teller, upwards.of seventy thousand 
dollars. The money delivered by 
him to the cashier, in the evening, 
at the closing of the accounts, fell 
ten tliousand dollars short of this 
sum; but as the money and the 
ivritten statement of receipts had 
been made to correspond in the sum 
total, no suspicions of fraud werQ 
entertained. Mr. Brower was ab- 
sent from the bank on the Monday) 
Tuesday and Wednesday following ; 
still, from the general tenor of his 
former conduct, and from the sickly 
state of the city, no one entertained 
a sentiment injurious to his reputa« 
tion, or supposed his absence occa- 
sioned by any other circumstance 
than some derangement in his own 
health, or the health of his family. 
The adjustment of the accounts of 
the bank, preparatory to its re- 
moval to Greeuwich, took place on 
Wednesday evening, the 31st, when 
a deficiency to the amount above 
stated, was discovered ; " and the 
cup was found in Benjamin's sack.** 
An inquiry was immediately insti- 
tuted respecting Mr. Brower. The 
result was, that he had left the city 
on Sunday, with his family ; but no 
person could give information to 
what part of the country he had 
absconded. Messengers were dis- 
patched in diflferent directions, in 



BEHASEABLE OCCUKKSXCEf. CS 

•eardiof him; t>at,v« understand, bostoK) atjo. 30. 

•"<*^^^l«ace has hitherto been ^y^ „, ^fbAant. 

"xteManhattan Company have . <^.5'*; '^^V ^''** ""^^^^ht, the 

•Seted a reward of fivrhJindml »?I?''?^*' "^ fe '"'Z "^ ?"* 

doDars far his apprehension, and J^'* *^^ ?^ !>^ *"*• 9. * *^,1* 

ten per cent. npoSWh part of the fr^™ *"•* slumbers, tiie awfully 

e»b^ded property a« iay be re- distressing spectacle of Johnson> 

covered* *^ *^ ' ^ . Hotel at Nanant, enveloped m 

fiames, presented itself to their 

view, which, in a short period was 

Trenton, august 29, entirely cbnsumed. So rapid was 

. , the conflagration, that the family 

OnMondayeveninglaatadanng escaped only with their lives, not 

robbery was committed on the per- ^i^^ ^ble to preserve the smallest 

jon of a Dutch genUeman from article of furniture, or even of rai- 

Surinam, m the upper part of this ment. 

township, by a person of the name * sept. 1 

of Zdmlon Phares. The gcnUe- Came on before the hon.*J<iui 

manhad lately come into the coun- gjo^s Hobart, judge of the court of 

try for Uie benefit <J his heafth, and ^^ United Sutes for this district^ 

was on his way to the state of New- ^^ ^^al of a young man of the name 

York, m the mail stage, where ^f WiUiam H. Burredge, lately 

Phares came across him ; who, af- employed in the post-office of this 

ter mtroducmg himself by familiar ^ity. The charge was published 

conversation, very kindly invited ^^^ time since...,it was that of 

the gentleman to spend a day or purloining a letter, enclosing bank 

two at his house, which, he said, j^otes to the amount of 800 dollars^ 

was near Trenton, to which the ^j^^ property of Mr. John D. Mar- 

gentleman, after some hesitation, tj^. He pleaded guUty to the in- 

consented. On crossing the Dela- dictment. 

ware, they left the stage together, j^^ p'unishment was mitigated 

and walked five or six miles into ^^ account of the youth and contri- 

the country, when coming int6 a ^ion of the delinquent; he was sen- 

piece of woods m a by place, fenced to thirty stripes, and to suf- 

Phares caught the gentleman by the fer six months imprisonment. 

throat, and demanded his money, j^ ^j^y be of use to observe, that 

which he compelled him to give up, this crime of letter-stealing is one 

together with a numlw of triflmg ^i^j^h the laws of the United Stotes 

articles which he had about him, consider highly atrocious, and treat 

and a few pieces of wearing appa- ^5^ g^g^t severity. For the first 

ri* ^ , he immediately ^ff^^^ the punishment in extent is 

left the gentleman, Md disappeared thirty-nine lashes and ten years im- 

in the woods. The genUeman pHsonment; but a second convic 

sought an asyluin m the first house ^^j^ ^f robbing the mail, is punished 

he could find, which was that of Mr. ^ jth death. 

Israel Moore, where he lodged that ^j^^ following is the quantity of 

night. On the following morning a flour inspected in Fredericksburg, 

warrant was is^ed by Andrew (Virg.) from the 1st of September, 

Recder, Esquire, for the apprehen- j802, until the same date 1803, viz. 

sion of the perpetrator, and by the Superfine 41,62r 

activity of the people of the neigh- Yme: 12 944 

bourhcx)dhe wastaken in the course x MVdSin^\\V.V.V.'..l,'461 

of the day, and a number of the ar- ** .___ 

tides found upon him alleged to Total....56,033 
have been stolen ; he was of course 

committed to Flemington goal to kew-brunswick, sept. 1. 

take his trial at the next court of llie fallowing unfortunate cir-» 

Oyer and Terminer. cumstance happened at Matchipo- 



66 



KEMARKABLK OCCURREVCrES. 



nix, Middlesex county, on Sunday 
morning last.... A well had been dug 
the week before on a farm belong- 
ing to Mr. Cornelius Johnson, fifty, 
one feet deep. On the morning 
above-mentioned, Samuel Garrit- 
son, a tenant on the place, who dug 
the well, attempted, with the as- 
sistance of his son, to let down his 
feon-in-law, William Brown, in a 
bucket, who, when he had descend- 
ed about twenty feet, called to those 
above to lower away; a few mo- 
ments after which they discovered 
that he had fallen out of the bucket 
to the bottom of the well....upon 
which Mr. Garritson was let down 
by his wife and son to the assistance 
of his son-in-law ; when he had got 
down about the same distance, he 
also called out to lower away ; he 
also fell out of the bucket when 
within about six feet of the bottom : 
a trial was then made with a lighted 
candle, which went out after it de- 
scended ten feet, and no person 
dare go down to their relief. Gar- 
ritson continued to groan for more 
than half an hour, but there was no 
possibility of getting him out ; they 
were afterwards taken up by grap- 
^ngs and their remains interred. 
Thus were two honest, industrious 
and respectable men, snatched from 
their families and connexions when 
least expected. 

\P/uladel/ihta.....The prosperity 
and growing wealth of our coun- 
try, must be evident to the most 
common observer who will view 
the surprising increase of our 
cities and villages within a few 
years, and the change that has 
taken place in the whole face of the 
country, including many new and 
extensive settlements, in parts that 
were lately wilderness. 

As an evidence of the monied 
wealth of Philadelphia alone, there 
have been lately established two 
new Insurance Companies, and a 
Bank, which will together embrace 
a sum of nearly two millions of dol- 
lars. 

Under these circumstances, and 
as the wel£are of agriculture and 
eommerce mutually depend on each 



other, and as there is a competi* 
tion between the states of New- 
York and Maryland, for a partici- 
pation in the trade of Pennsylvania^ 
would it not be good policy in our 
citizens to endeavour to promote an 
union of town and country capitaL 
for the imftrtrvement of water car^ 
riage and roada generally^ either 
by a new establishment for that 
purpose, or by engrafting an in- 
creased capital and plan on some 
one of those already existing, with 
the consent of the present stock- 
holders. 

This would produce a concert of 
measures, that might doubtless be 
highly beneficial to the whole trade* 

We are told that a fund ahd in- 
^tution of a private nature, some- 
what of the kind proposed, is in 
contemplation by a company of 
landholders, for the improvement 
of their back lands. Whatever 
may be proposed in this way, is no 
doubt intended to be done with the 
approbation of the legislature, and 
will be something more solid, than 
the wild schemes of the extrava- 
gant landjobbers of 1794 and 1795. 

KEWBERN, SEPT, 2. 

On Wednesday last, this town 
was visited by the most violent 
storm of wind and rain, which has 
been experienced in many years* 
The day before, the appearance of 
the weather was extremely threat- 
ening; and about three o'clock in 
the moraing of Wednesday it be- 
came alarming. Many persons 
who had property on the wharves, 
saved it, but notwithstanding every 
precaution great damage was done. 
The greatest sufferers on this occa<* 
sion were Mr. Thomas Turner, 
and Mr. John Harvey ; the former 
had his warehouses carried off, 
which were filled with pork, and 
other articles of value, and the lat- 
ter, we learn, lost about sixteen 
hundred bushels of salt. Sec Se- 
veral vessels which attempted to go 
up the river, ran ashore, and it 
will be with great difficulty that 
some of them will be got off. 



RXMARKABLS OCCUBRZKC£S. 



&r 



The storm began about three 
o'clock In the morning;, with the 
wind at N. £. and continued with 
Increased fiiry, till about 4 o'clock 
in the evening, when the wind 
shifted to tlie westward, and check- 
ed its havock. It is supposed, that 
the water rose about ^nine feet per- 
pendicular. A small negro girl 
was drowned. 

SEPT. 7. 

In the late storm there have been 
^ve, vessels cast away in Edenton 
Sound, and none of the crews saved. 
There have been six dead bodies 
taken up, that floated on the beach, 
and some casks of wine ; the latter 
belonged to Robert Armistead of this 
place, and was shipped at Norfolk, 
but we know nothing more of the 
vessels, than that the hulls are seen 
floating about. There are some 
women's as well as men's clothes 
found floating. We have not heard 
from the bar yet, but it is thought 
there are a great many vessels cast 
away there." 
Frederick County^ Sefit. 4, 1803. 

On Friday, the 2d Inst, a most dar- 
ing murder and robbery were com- 
mitted on the main road from Stras- 
burg, (Virgiaia) to Staunton. From 
the papers found about the body of 
the person murdered, he is supposed 
to be from Philadelphia ; his name 
is William C. Simonton, or Sim- 
merton ; he rode in a chair which 
is marked on the back with the let- 
ter Sw The chair was drawn by a 
bay horse, on whom no brand was 
perceivable. The property left by 
the atrocious murderer, and found 
about the body of the deceased, is 
all 8ecured....it consists of one him- 
dred and forty-iive dollars in bank 
notes, four dollars in silver, and 
£nur and a half pence ; a box of 
medicines, and some wearing ap- 
pareL It appears that he was tra- 
vcUing to the Sweet or Warm 
Springs* It would, perliups, be 
AJi act of benevolence to have the 
contents of this letter inserted in 
Uie public prints, in order that the 
relations of the deceased may know 
Ids unfortunate fate, and get the 
property which he has left. 



Being in Shenandoah county on 
Friday evening last, I was informed 
that a most atrocious murder and 
robbery had been committed on the 
body of a travelling gentleman, a 
little above Stoverstown, on the 
main road. Impelled by curiosity 
as well as duty, I rode with several 
gentlemen to view the body, early 
on yesterday morning. 

Upon examination, we found that 
he had received a violent blow upon 
the head, just above the left ear.... 
the contusion was as large as the 
palm of a man's hand. There were 
several other wounds on the head, 
and a bruise on the breast. The at- 
tack was made about nine o'clock, 
A. M. not more than two hundred 
and seventy paces from Mr. Jacob 
Snapp's, and he expired about 
twelve. He was found weltering 
in his blood, a few minutes af^r, 
by two Germans ; when they came 
up, they inquired '* what was the 
matter?" He replied, "that he 
had been robbed by a negro or mu« 
lutto man," and immediately faint- 
ed. One of these strangers ran to 
Mr. Snapp's, whilst the other re- 
mained with him. The alarm was 
immediately given, and notice sent 
to P. Spangler, a magistrate, who 
made use of every exertion to dis- 
cover the perpetrator of this horrid 
crime, but without effect. Two per- 
sons are suspected, one a mulatto 
fellow, who, it appears, was tra* 
veiling towards Rockingham, and 
lives at Holker's plantation, in this 
county ; the other calls himself 
James Scott, a free mulatto, who 
has lived some time near Middle- 
town. Pursuit was made after 
the first, but, by the information 
of some travellers, it appears, the 
fellow had left the road, and was 
not taken early yesterday morning. 
Scott was apprehended on suspicion, 
examined before two magistrates, 
and committed to jail : I however 
incline to think he is not guilty, and 
that it is more probable that the 
first mentioned fellow committed 
the murder. He is said to be a tall 
dark mulatto, stoops much in. his 
walk, blinds of an eye, and was 



ftEMARKABLE OCCURftSKCKS. 



dressed in coarse linen clothes; 
carried a budget, and a large club. 
The sUck with which the murder 
was committed, was a dead hickory. 
It was found near the deceascd^with 
the hair remaining to the big end 
from the violence of the btow. I 
am informed the above described 
fellow, was noticed to have used 
such a club as a walking-stick. 

I requested to examine the pa- 
pers in the pocket-book of the de- 
ceased, and found one hundred and 
forty-five dollars in bank notes, and 
four dollars and six cents in silver. 
It appears that his name was Wil- 
liam C. Simonton ; and that a com- 
mission of bankruptcy had issued 
against him in Philadelphia, in De- 
cember last ; that he was in a de- 
clining state of health, and on his 
way to the Sweet-Springs. It is 
highly probable that the assassin 
missed his object, and that he was 
routed before he could plunder his 
victim. He took nothing but a 
trunk, which was lashed behind 
the chair in which he travelled, 
probably containing nothing but 
clothing. 

S. KERBHKVAL. 

K. B. An inquest was taken on 
tlie body, before Capt. Spangler's, 
yesterday, and the jury pronounced 
It a most atrocious, wilfol, and ma- 
licious murder, perpetrated by the 
hand of a mulatto man, by the in- 
formation of the deceased, but by 
which particular person was not 
known to the jurors. 

SEPT. 8. 

The foundation stone of St. John's 
Church, which is to be erected on 
the east side of Hudson-square, was 
laid by the right rev. Bishop Moore, 
in the presence of the members of 
the corporation of Trinity Church, 
the workmen who are to be employ- 
ed in the building, and many specta- 
tors who attended on the occasion. 
The ceremony of laying the stone 
was succeeded by a short address by 
Bishop Moore ; and the whole so- 
lemnity was concluded by prayer 
for tlic divine benediction on their 
.present undertaking. 



NORFOLK, SEPT. 6. 

Tuesday came on the trial of ne» 
groes George and Charity, before 
Uie magistrates of Princess Ann 
county, under a charge of attempt- 
ing to poison the whole of the white 
family of Thomas Lawson, E«q. 
of said county; the charge being 
fully proven, they were condemned 
to be hanged on the seventh of 
October next* 

The negro fellow advertised in 
the late papers as a runaway, and 
committed totlie jail of this borough 
under the name of John (but whose 
real name is Peter) was yesterday 
delivered to a guard of citizens from 
Gates county, North-Carolina, to 
take his trial for the murder of a 
young man in the employ of Mr. 
Daniel Southall at Gates county 
court-house, about eight weeks 
since. He was outlawed by the go- 
vernment of that state, and a re- 
ward of seven hundred dollars of- 
fered for apprehending him and 
another black man, who is not yet 
taken* 

KEW-TORK, SEPT. 9. 

This morning about half past four 
o'clock a fire broke out in the bake- 
house of Simon Frazer, inCliflfnear 
John street, which before it was ex- 
tinguished destroyed eleven front 
and four back buildings, four of 
which were brick. In consequence 
of the deserted state of the city, 
and particularly in that neighbour- 
hood, the fire had made great pro- 
gress before a sufficient number of 
firemen and citizens were collected 
to arrest its progress. Fortunately 
it was a perfect calm or its rava^ 
might have spread destruction 
to a much greater extent. Many 
families have lost their all....seve- 
ral of the occupants had removed to 
the country. We have not learnt 
all the names of the sufferers.. ..The 
following are among them : Simon 
Frazer, bake-house ; Mr. M'Kee, 
brick-house, grocer, comer of John 
and Cliff-streets ; Mr.Bukee, coop- 
er, dwelUng-hcuse, CliflF-strect ; 
Michael Bloomer, pilot, dwelling- 
house, corner of Cliff-street; Mr. 



mSXARKABLS OCCURRSHCES. 



ۥ 



Caimes, chair-makeri Cliff-^reet ; 
W. Kersheitt, ^ver-6mith, John- 
street; Mr. M'Cleod, dwelling-* 
house, Cliff^treet; Widow Baily, 
dwelling-house, do. Dr. Fargures, 
dweliing-^iouse, in John-street ; Mr. 
Hazlet, chair-maker's shop, do. 

On Wednesday evening last, as 
one of the hearse-men was entering 
the alms-house gate his attention 
was attracted by a bundle, which 
on examination he found to contain 
an infant mulatto child. He took 
it into the alms-house, and also an 
old negro woman who was near the 
spot, and who appeared from her 
actions to entertain no little con- 
cern for its fate. Great pains were 
taken to induce her to disclose the 
author of so brutal and unfeeling 
an act, but to no purpose. Tlie 
child is about a week old, and was 
very abundantly supplied with 
cloathing. 

September 13. 
About eight o'clock, a smoke was 
discovered bursting out of the win- 
dows of the house lately occupied by 
Mr. Kelso, No. eighty-four, Fair- 
street. On entering the house a 
straw bed was found on lire in the 
middle of the floor of the lower room, 
and in a few minutes the house 
would have been enveloped in the 
flames. It has been evacuated for 
three weeks past by Mr. Kelso's fa- 
mily, and there remains no doubt 
of its being the work of some incen- 
diary* 

Frost has been known in Hudson 
every month in the year excepting 
July : and a few days past was per- 
ceived in the vicinity of this city to 
have damaged some vegetables. 

FISHKILL, SEPT. IS 

On Monday evening last, myself 
and Underbill Budd,of Philipstown, 
discovered one Nathaniel Sear Is, 
who had passed two counterfeit dol- 
lars in said Budd's store. We im- 
mediately pursued and took the fel- 
low before esc;i*s. Neilson and Hor- 
tom, and on interrogating him, he 
brought out four others, whom we 
al50 pursued and took, and on Tues- 
di-y evening we committed three of 

vot. i....::o. I. 



them to jail at Poughkeepsie, but 
Natlianiel Searls and his brother 
Joseph Searls unfortunately made 
their escape. Natlianiel is about 
five feet three or four inches high, 
light complexion and light hair ; 
had on a light blue coat, red and 
brownish striped vest, and I think 
wears his hair tied. Joseph is about 
five feet six inches high. I cannot 
give a pailicular description of him, 
as he made his escape while I was 
securing the principal coiner in his 
chamber. After Mr* Budd and 
myself with a number of respecta- 
ble citizens descended a cave of 
about sixty feet, three quarters of a 
mile east of John Warrens in the 
high-lands, we had the good luck 
to discover and take a pair of bel- 
lows, and all the implements and 
contrivances those villains made use 
of for coining dollars, with a num- 
ber of dollars. A reward of fifty 
dollars will be paid with reasonable 
charges for securing both»the said 
Searls, and confining them in jail or 
delivering them to the authority in 
Duchess county. 

N. B. It is supposed they will 
go to the Neversink, or lurk in the 
mountainous country, in Smith's 

Cove. THOMAS PALMER. 

WINCHESTER, Sept. 13. 

Scott, the mulatto fellow, who 
was committed to Shenandoah 
county jail, on suspicion of murder- 
ing and robbing William C. Sim- 
merton, has partly confessed to be 
the perpetrator of that crime, by 
giving information where he had 
concealed those articles of clothing 
8cc. of which he had robbed Mr* 
S. and search having been made 
accordingly, found its statement to 
be correct. 

BALTIMORE, SEPT. 23. 

This day the sun entered the sign 
of Libra; at the same time the 
planets Mercury, Mars, Jupiter, 
and the Georj^ian planet or Hers- 
chel, are also in Libra; Venus and 
Saturn are both in the twenty -fourth 
degree of Virjro, but six degrees 
distant from the sun. Thus aU the 
planets are nearly in conjunctioa 
10 



To 



S^UARXABLt OCCURRXKCSS. 



with the son, at the same period 
that the sun crosses the line* Ma* 
ny^ years must elapse before a simi* 
lar occurrence can take place. It 
is worthy of attention whether this 
singular phenomenon will produce 
any material effect on the weather* 

August 29* 
Interments in the different burying 
grounds of this city ^ for the week 
ending this morning at sun rise. 

Drowned, 1 

Cramp in the stomach, 1 

Casualty, 1 

Consumption, 2 

Croup, 1 

Intemperance, 1 

Bilious fever, 1 

Dr<^sy, 1 

Hooping ooug^y 1 

Worms, 1 

Mumps, 1 

Teething, 2 

Fits, 2 

Still-born, 3 

Hives, 1 

Cholera, 17 

Diseases unknown, 2 
Adnltff, 5 

ChiMren, 33 

39 



Septembers. 






Consumption, 


9 




Old age, 


2 




Hemorrhage, 






Sudden death. 






Bilious fever, 






Worms, 






Fits, 






StiU4)om, 






Mumps, 






Disease unknown, 






Cholera, 


15 




Adults, 




8 


Children, 




21 
29 


September 12. 






Old age, 


1 




Dropsy, 


1 




Cramp in the stomachy 


1 




Sudden death. 


1 




Bilious fever. 


2 




Fits, 


2 





Teething, 2 

Hooping cough, 1 

Diseases unknown, 2 

Adults, 8 

Children, 12 

20 

CARLISLE, PEKW. SEPT. 17m 

At a court of oyer and terminer, 
held in this town last week, came 
on the trial of John and James Ca* 
rothers, for manslaughter, in taking 
the life of James Carothers, senr. 
The trial commenced on Friday 
morning, and lasted until Saturday 
evening ; the Jury after remaining 
about an hour, returned a verdict, 
"Not Guilty." 

PHILADELPHIA, SEPT. 8. 

Kumber of interments in the burial 
grounds of the city and liberties 
of Philadelphia^ in the month of 
jiugust lasty viXm 

JduL ChiU 

1 Christ church 5 10 

2 St. Peter's ' 3 3 

3 St. Paul's 1 3 

4 German Lutheran, 8 18 

5 German Presbyterian, 3 9 

6 Society of Friends, 5 13 

7 St. Mary's, 5 12 

8 Holy Trinity, 3 7 

9 First Presbyterian, 1 3 

10 Second do. 1 6 

11 Third do. 4 7 

12 Fourth do. 1 4 
lo Scotch do. 5 

14 Associate do. 1 

15 Moravian, 1 

16 Swedes, 8 

17 Methodist, 1 2 

18 Society of Free Quakers, 6 % 

19 Baptists, 1 2 

20 Universalists, 

21 ews, 

22 African Episcopalians, 1 3 

23 African Methodists, 1 3 
i4 Kensington Burial 

Ground, 2 103 

25 Coats's Burial Ground, 

26 Public Burial Ground, 30 50 



Totals, 


122 182 


Of the above died of 
Bilious fever 
Childbed 


6 



lt£FUBLlCAH FESTIVAL*. 



71 



.CoosoBptsaii 


17 


Cholic 


1 


Decay 


5 


Dropsy 


4 


Fcrer 


5 


Fits 


15 


Flux 


9 


Gout in the stomach 


2 


Hooping coog^ 


4 


KiUed 


4 


Limacy 


1 


Mortificatioa 


3 


Palsy 


1 


Pleurisy 


1 


Purging and yomiting 


65 


StiU.born 


2 


Teeth and worms 


10 


Sore throat 


3 


Drowned and other casualties 


13 



Diseases not mentioned 



»120 



Total 294 
• Of thb number fifty-three were 
orders from the Alms House, and 
three from the Pennsylvania Hos- 
pital. 

The number of deatha in the fire" 
tent year., cofUraated with the 
deaths which occurred in theaame 
montha of 1802. 

1802. 1803. 

Adult 8. Chit. Tot. Ada. Ch. Tot. 



Jan. 

Feb. 

March 

April 

May 

June 

July 

August 



142 

110 

100 

90 

82 

96 



75 217 
60 170 
47 147 
SB 148 
59 141 
67 165 
129 132 261 
109 153 262 



Totals 85^ 651 1509 



42 110 
35 111 
41 107 
41 116 
41 110 
64 142 
78 127 205 
112 182 294 



68 
76 
66 
75 
69 
78 



6225731195 



£jctractfrom the correspondence of 
an American Traveller in J^yance. 

BORDEAUX, JUNE 23, 1798. 

IN my last, I gave you an account 
of some pf the melancholy occur- 
rences which took place during the 
revolution ; 1 have now to- describe 
son^e of those republican institutions, 
by which the Directory expect to 
make amends to the people for all 
the evils which accompanied tliis 
great political event. I this day 
witnessed one of their public fetes, 
called tlie fete of ag^ricidturei >vhich 



is celebrated on this day, as being 
the first of their month of Afeaaidor^ 
or the harvest^month. The name 
of Meaaidor applied to this montili 
shews that the usual harvest-month 
of France is from the 23d of June 
to the 23d of Julv, which is earlier^ 
I believe, by a fidl month than the 
harvest in England. This fete con- 
sisted of municipal officers, adorned 
with tri*coloured scarfs, marching 
in a procession, in the centre of 
which was a chariot drawn by oxen* 
In this chariot, which was covered 
and decorated with ^;reen boughs, 
twisted together to form a shade, 
were seated four old fiu>mers, hav- 
ing ears of com in their hats. This 
procession was attended by the mi- 
litary of Bordeaux, of which there 
are not more than 500 in tliis large 
city. 

When theprocession stopped in the 
public gardens, the military paraded 
round the chariot, and the band 
played the different republican airs. 
The lower orders of the people are 
miglitily pleased witli these proces- 
sions and fetes, while the higher 
orders seem to despise them as 
mountebank mummery, and the 
foppery of republicanism. The 
government, however, considers 
these institutions in the most seri- 
ous light ; they hope from them to 
attach the passions and pleasures 
of the people to the republican 
cause, and to republican ideas. 
With this view, they give them 
many republican holidays, set off 
with republican pomp and repub- 
lican music. 

These kind of holidays have, I 
believe, never been introduced be- 
fore in any coimtry. I remember 
notliing like them in ancient or 
moderu history ; if we except the 
annual rejoicincrs of the E^p- 
tians on the retiring of the waters 
of the Nile, and the annual custom 
of the Emperor of China holding 
t!ic plough, as an example' to his 
Mil/jccts, and as a mark of respect 
to Uie first of arts. It appears to 
me, that the idea cf thc^iC national 
holidays was fir.st Mir^f^ested to the 
French philusopjierji and litviud by 



72 



mSPUBLlCAir KAHHIAGtt 



Marmontel, in his historical ro- 
mance called the Incae of Peru. 
The Peruvians are there represent- 
ed as having annual feasts of the 
Kun ; fetes for youth, for marriage, 
and for old age* The Directory 
have instituted annual fetes for 
youth, and fetes for old age ; and 
as for marriages, having seen their 
republican marriages, I think the 
subject too important to pass it 
over without a particular descrip- 
tion. 

I was in the cathedral last De- 
cade (which is the republican sab- 
bath) and saw ten or twelve couple 
married. A part of the church was 
inclosed for the purpose, with seats 
at each side, and an altar at the ex- 
tremity, to which one must ascend 
by steps. Upon the altar lay a 
basket of flowers, most of them the 
common flowers of the fields ; at 
one side sat the brides and their 
female friends, all in white, with 
garlands of white flowers (natural 
or artificial) on their heads, the 
same in their bosoms ; at the other 
side sat the bridegrooms and the 
male friends, l^he inclosure was 
taken iii> exclusively by the parties 
to be married and their friends; 
but from the outside of the inclosure, 
I saw distinctly what passed within* 
After the company liad been some 
time seated, the noise of the fife 
and drum at the church door, and 
the display of military standards, 
announced the arrival of the muni- 
pal officers. The appearance was 
not much superior to tliat of con- 
stables of the watch in England: 
they were distinguished by tri- 
coloured scarfs, and wore their hats 
on during the ceremony, which is 
considered by the law as a mere 
civil contract. 

Every couple knew the order that 
they were to go up in to the altar. 
At the si|2;nal, which is given by the 
roll of a drum, the first couple, \v ith 
two or three friends on either side, 
who attended as witnesses, went up 
to the altar and wgned tlie marriage 
contract ; they theii descended, and 
signed their names in two more 
books or registers, which lay upou 



a table in the centre of the incl«* 
sure. 

They then salute the municipal 
officer; and a short republican 
hymn, appropriate to the occasion, 
is sung. That couple then retires 
from the church with their friends, 
and another roll of the drum givea 
the signal to th« second couple to 
come forward, and go through the 
same ceremonies. With such a 
display of militaiy standards and 
military music, you would almost 
suppose, that the government meant 
to consider marriage as a military 
institution; but the real cause is, 
that, of all sliews, a military shew 
is the least expensive, and govern- 
ment wishes to have as much shew 
as possible at a small cost. Before 
the ceremonv had begun, I particu- 
larly noticed among the females, 
who were within the inclosure, one 
of about nineteen years of age, who 
peculiarly attracted my attention by 
the superior fineness of her form 
and eyes, and the great degree of 
sensibility and soul which marked 
her countenance, which was n<^le 
and interesting in the extreme. 

She was, of all the females within 
the inclosure, the most carelessly 
dressed, not having tlic usual orna- 
ments of flowers in her hair. She 
was so remarkably unadorned (ex- 
cept by nature), that I rather won- 
dered at her coming to tliis feast 
witliout a wedding-garment. For 
a considerable time she seemed easy 
and careless, but a roll of the drum 
(awfol to her as the last trumpet) 
seemed to harrow up her whole soul; 
she stood up, burst into tears, and 
dropped down again upon her seat. 
It was with the utmost difficulty that 
she could be supported to the altar, 
where she stood drowned in tears, 
and hardly knowing where she was, 
or what was passing. From the 
men's side of the inclosure there 
hi^bbled out an old fonrnisseur^ or 
coatrRCtor of the army of Italy, who 
was to be her spouse. Then what 
there was before of mystery in her 
deep affliction became apparcn' ; 
then cme could trace her sorrow to 
its secret source, where it lay con- 



tN rftANCK* 



73 



cealed among the warm wishes and 
natural desires of a young heart, 
formed for enjoying and communi- 
cating perfect happiness. 

She went to the church, and was 
sacrificed at the altar, in obedience 
to the advice of friends (which has 
more weight with the girls here 
than in England); but, when ar- 
rived at the altar, she could no 
longer govern her affliction, or re- 
strain her tears* I have seen dif- 
fe|*ent executions, and have, in dif- 
ferent countries, witnessed very 
barbarous military punishments, but 
never did I see any thing more af- 
fecting than this human sacrifice of 
a forced marriage. 

The old foumiaaeur was so stu- 
pid as to appear quite insensible of 
the great aversion of his young bride, 
and to consider her tears and agony 
as the meit; commcHi effects of youth- 
ful bashfulness and maiden modesty. 
In France, the tmmarried girls have 
usually not so much liberty as in 
England, while the married women 
take more : this makes young girls 
impatient to be married ; and, when 
marriages are made without much 
previous acquaintance, and without 
mutual affection, in acoimtry where 
gallantry is somewhat the fashion, 
husbands must be prepared for the 
consequences. This, I believe, is 
a principal cause which gives the 
French woman the reputation of 
being ratlier loose in respect to the 
point of female honour. I am con- 
vinced, that when they are united 
to a man fi-om choice and their own 
inclination, they are as affectionate 
and agreeable companions as any in 
the world, as constant, and as much 
attached, as ready to share his for- 
tunes, and to make any sacrifices or 
exertions for his interest. There 
are many persons here, who are 
not content with a republican mar- 
riage, but get themselves also pri- 
vately married by a priest, accord- 
ing to the forms ftf the Catholic re- 
ligion. This not "only satisfies every 
conscientious scruple, but makes the 
marriage binding in case of a coun- 
ter-revolation^ .which is a case, as 



they consider, by no means impos- 
sible. 

The people here are, at present, 
very much divided between Decade 
and Sunday: government will not 
allow the shops to be shut on Sun- 
days, as they consider that a direct 
opposition to the republican calen- 
dar, which will not admit of the 
Christian era. The people, on the 
other hand, wiU not shut their shops 
on Decades^ or voluntarily acqui- 
esce in the new calender. The 
consequence of this opposition is, 
that the Bordeaux shopkeeper keeps 
no holiday, or day of rest, and 
drudges the whole year round. 

I have seen the celebrated Bar- 
rere, who appears very publicly 
here, and is much respected on ac- 
count of his private character, not- 
withstanding the places he held in 
the Committee of Public Safety. 
He is a smart well-looking little 
man ; his air and manners easy and 
genteel, his complexion, hair, and 
eyes dark, and his countenance ex- 
pressive of sensibility and imagina- 
tion.* The government must have 
connived at his escape from prison, 
or he would not venture to appear 
so pui)licly. Drouet, the celebrated 
post-master of Varennes, who stop- 
ped the royal family, and afterwards 
was taken prisoner, and lay many 
years in the Austrian dungeons, was 
suffered to escape at the same time. 
When he was taken by the Austri- 
an s, his friends, the Jacobins, had 
the government of France ; when 
he was released, he found his friends 
proscribed by the re-action which 
took place after the death of Robes- 
pierre, and, as an Austrian dungeon 
was no school of philosophy or po- 
litics, it was but reasonable to ex- 
pect that he would come out of it 
with the same political principles 
with which he entered it. 

BRITISH POPULATIOy. 

THE act directed that a general 
enumeration should be made oh 
the 10th March, 1801, in England 
and Wales, and in Scotland as soon 
after as pos&ible. The summary 



74 



BRITISH POPULATION. 



of the enumeration appeared to be 
as follows : 

Persons. 
In England «,331,434 

— Wales 541,546 

^ Scotland 1,599,068 

— Army and Militia . . . 198,351 

— Navy and Marines . • 126,279 

— Merchant Seamen . • 144,558 

— Convicts 1,410 



Total.. ..10,942,646 

The total population of Great 
Bi itain is supposed to exceed the 
above number, as from some pa- 
rishes no returns were received. 

The number of houses in Ireland 
has been nearly ascertained, by the 
collection of the hearth-money tax, 
from which it has been computed 
that the population of that part of 
the United Kingdom somewhat ex- 
ceeds 4,000,000. 

The islands of Guernsey, Jersey, 
Aldemey, and Sark, the SciUy isl- 
ands, and the isle of Man, were not 
comprised in the enumeration. The 
totid population of these islands has 
been usually estimated at 80,000 
persons. 

On these grounds, with a moder- 
ate allowance for omissions in the 
returns, the totrl population of the 
United Kingdom of Great Britain 
and Ireland, appears to be as fol- 
lows: 

Persons. 
England and Wales • . . 8,872,980 

ScoUand 1,599,068 

Ireland 4,000,000 

Islands of Guernsey, &c. 80,000 
Allowance for omissions 77,354 



Soldiers . 
Sailors • . 
Convicts 



J4,629,402 

198,351 

270,837 

1,410 



Total. 



.15,100,000 

Tlie abstracts of the registers of 
baptisms,burial8, and marriages, all 
concur in shewing that there has 
been a gradual increase of tlie po- 
pulation during the last century. It 
appears from the above accounts, 
that the enumeration of 1801 a- 



mounts to. 8,872,980 pcrsonlf fof 
England and Wales, to which num- 
ber an appropriate share of the 
soldiers and marines is to be^dded. 
These appear to be about a thir- 
teenth pai't ; tlie existing population 
of England and Wales is therefore 
in the following table taken at 
9,168,000, and the population there- 
in attributed to the otlicr years is 
given in proportion to the avcx*age 
medium of baptisms at the respec- 
tive periods. 

Population of Elngland and Wales 
throughout the last century. 
In the year Population* 

1700..... 5,475,000 

1710....... .5,240,000 

1720. 5,565,000 

1730 5,796,000 

1740......... 6,064,000 

1750 6,467,000 

1760 6,736,000 

1770 ....7,428,000 

1780 7,953,000 

1790 8,675,000 

1801 9,168,000 

The following table for Scotland, 
is formed in the same manner, but 
is of much less authority, as found- 
ed on a collection of no more than 
99 registers from different parts of 
the countr)'. 

Population of Scotland through- 
out the last century. 

In the year Population 

1700 1,048,000 

1710... ........1,270,000 

1720 .....1,390,000 

1730 1,309,000 

1740 1,222,000 

1750 1,403,000 

1760 1,363,000 

1770 1,434,000 

1780 1,458,000 

1790 1,567,000 

1801 1,652,370 

REMARKS ON FEMALE DRESS. 

IT has been a matter of some 
surprise among the curious, and of 
still gi'eater concern among the 
benevolent part of mankind, that 
the present lip;ht, airy, and liiglily 
unsuitable dresses should prevail 
among females at this inclement 



ON rEMALK AltKSS. 



rs 



season of the year ; more especial- 
ly in a climate like our's, where we 
are subject to continual variations 
of weather, and sudden changes of 
temperature in the atmosphere. 

Whether these fantastic fashions 
have been adopted fitom the French, 
some doubt ; bat, if the supposition 
be admitted, I believe it may b6 
justly asserted, that they have been 
more pernicious and destructive 
in Aeir consequences, than even 
French principles. 

It is a well-known fact, that with 
us, by far the greater proportion of 
females die of consumption, or com- 
plaints in the chest, the foundations 
of which are commonly laid in colds, 
caught either by exposure to night- 
air, or perhaps, more frequently^ 
from the OTnissicm of due c loathing : 
these, so often repeated, seem to 
produce an aptitude to disease : we 
hear them complain of chilliness, 
cough, pain in the side, or similar 
symptoms, which at first are looked 
upon as slight indispositions, are 
lightly treated, or perhaps wholly 
disregarded* llius the insidious 
approaches of this direful malady 
are suffered to pass unnoticed. Dur- 
ing the succeeding summer, its ra- 
vages are probably suspended, and 
they are flattered with returning 
health; but, no sooner do nipping 
frosts, or chilling winds, set in, than 
disease appears in an aggravated 
form, and, after a tedious confine- 
ment and illness, the hapless female 
is cut off in the bloom of life ; or, 
should she be preserved bjr art 
through the cold months of wmter, 
it serves but to ensure her death on 
their return. This is not an exag- 
gerated picture, nor designed as a 
bug-bear to produce fear, but is 
every day seen verified in numbers 
of instances. Yet, whilst we see 
females of strong stamina, and ro- 
bust consitutions, who, in the natural 
course of things, might have lived 
many years, faU victims to their 
own imprudence ; we also observe 
others, who, with great delicacy of 
frame,' and even pre-disposition to 
disease, are, by the use of proper 
means (and of thqsC warm covering 



is a most essential one) safely con- 
ducted through the dangerous pe« 
riod of youth. 

The wearing of flannel under- 
dresses has of late been strongly 
recommended by some eminent men 
of the medical professsion, and the 
obvious advantages acciniing from 
this practice have fully justified 
their recommendation; but it un- 
fortunately happens, with many, the 
name of flannel carries witli it an 
idea of something coarse or uncom- 
fortable, when contrasted with tlie 
l^nen usually worn. This objection, 
however, exists but in imagination, 
and it requires only a trial to con- 
vince them that the wearing of it 
(particularly of the soft Welsh kind) 
is, of all other substances that come 
in contact with the skin, the most 
pleasant and genial. Without at 
all entering into a physical definition 
of its manner of acting, it need only 
be observed, that, by a constant 
transpiration from the surface of 
the body being kept up, an universal 
equable action is preserved between 
the superficial vessels, and those of 
the heart and large arteries; the 
functions of the organs essential to 
life are less liable to become disor- 
dered, and susceptibility to cold is 
considerably diminished. 

If, then, ye aimable part of man- 
kind, on the terms we have stipu- 
lated, the attacks of disease can 
be warded off, or rendered less fre- 
quent, your comfort can be secured, 
or your apprehensions allayed, list- 
en to the dictates of your reason, 
and suffer not the tyrannical sway 
of fashion to beguile you out of that 
most estimable of blessings......... 

« Health." 



ANECDOTES OF THE PRESENT 
EMPEROR or RUSSIA, ALEX- 
ANDER I. 

JUSTICE and clemency are in 
all cases the fairest and firmest pil- 
lars of the throne ; and the prince, 
who, like Alexander the First, acts 
uniformly upon this principle, may 
rest securely upon the affections of 
his people. l*hc sliort period of 



^6 



AITECDOTES. 



his administration has been distin- 
guished already by the noblest ac- 
tions ; as a proof of which we have 
only to peruse his excellent edicts, 
which are so fiill of humanity, affa- 
bility, clemency, and justice ; and 
especially his ordinance by which 
he has granted an unlimited free- 
dom from informers and spies: He 
wishes his people to be informed 
and enlightened, and hates, there- 
fore, every species of controul. He 
is persuaded indeed that a supreme 
governor is as necessary to an en- 
lightened nation, as it is to a people 
in ignorance and error ; butjie knows 
that the former will venerate its so- 
vereign with a thousand times more 
affection than the latter* He knows 
that the best administration of a 
state, can only advance in a parallel 
direction with the best progress of 
sound reason. Let his imperial let- 
ter be attentively perused, which he 
lately wrote to one of his grandees, 
and which is one of the fairest jew- 
els of his crown* In what humane 
and paternal language does he there 
express himself on the degradation 
and slavish misery under which the 
Russian peasantry for the most part 
groan. He detests the idea of human 
creatures being bought and sold in 
the manner of cattle ; and is en- 
gaged seriously in making such ar- 
rangements as may set bounds to 
such abuses for the future. To 
himself, besides the occupation of 
government, he allows so few plea- 
sures or amusements, that the Em- 
peror might be taken for a private 
person. 'Of the simplest appear- 
ance, and generally dad in the 
strictest style of military uniform, 
he is seen almost every day on the 
parade, and receives the petitions 
of suppliants himself, or gives orders 
to his adjutant for that purpose. 
With the greatest affability, and a 
pleasing smile, he salutes every one 
that comes in his way, and gives 
audience to each of them himself. 
He then takes an airing on horse- 
back, attended only by a single ser- 
vant ; and when he meets with any 
of those persons whom he formerly * 
knew when Grand Duke, he enters 
inmediatelyinto familiar conversa- 



tion, and talks of past circumstances 
in the most engaging manner* Even 
those who are entire strangers to 
him, however disagreeable their 
subjects of conversation, and at 
times highly improper and imper- 
tinent, are frequently heard by him 
with the utmost composure, of which 
Uie two following are striking ex- 
amples. 

A voung woman, of German ex- 
traction, waited once for the Em- 
peror on the stairs, by which he 
was accustomed to go down to the 
parade. When the monarch ap- 
peared, she met him on the steps 
with these words in her mouth*. *• 
" Please your Majesty, I have some- 
thing to say to you." " What is it ?" 
demanded the Emperor, and re- 
mained standing with all his at- 
tendants. " I wish to be married ; 
but I have no fortune ; if you would 

graciously give me a dowry " 

" Ah, my girl, (answered the mon- 
arch) were I to give dowries to all 
tlie young women in Petersburgh, 
where do you tliink I should find 
money?" The girl, however, by 
his order, received a present of 
fifty rubles. 

On another occasion, at the very 
moment when the Emperor had 
given the word of command, and 
the guard on the parade was just on 
the point of paying him the usual 
military honours, a fellow approach- 
ed him with ragged garments, with 
his hair in disorder, and a look of 
wildness, and gave him a slap on 
on the shoulder. The monarch, 
who was standing at that time with 
his face opposite to the military 
front, turned round immediately, 
and, beholding the ragamuffin, start- 
ed at the sight, and then asked him, 
with a look of astonishment, what 
he wanted. " I have something to 
say to you, Alexander Paulowitz," 
answered the stranger, in the Rus- 
sian language. " Say on then," 
said the Emperor, with a smile of 
encouragement, and laying his hands 
upon the vagabond's shoulders. A 
long solemn pause followed; the 
military gu ird stood still ; and no- 
body ventured by word or motion to 
disturb the Emperor iuthis singular 



KISCELLAIfXOITS SXTHACTS. 



ff 



• fntervlcw. The Grand Duke Con- 
stantine alone, whose attention had 
been excited by the unusual stop- 
page, advanced somewhat nearer, 
to his brother. The stranger now 
related) that he had been a captain 
in the Russian service, and had 
been present at the campaigns both 
in Italy and Switzerland ; but that 
he had been persecuted by his com- 
manding officer, and so misrepre- 
sented to Suwarf ow, that the latter 
had him turned out of the army. 
Without money and without friends, 
in a foreign country, he had after- 
wards served as a private soldier 
in the Russian army; and being 
wounded and mangled at Zurich 
• (and here he pulled his rags asun- 
der, and showed several gun-shot 
wounds) he had closed his campaign 
m a French prison. He had now 
begged all the way to Petersburg, 
to apply to the Emperor himself 
for justice, and to beg him to in- 
Quire into the reason of such a 
snameful degradation from his post. 
Tlie Emperor heard him to the 
end with patience ; and then asked, 
in a significant tone, " if there was 
no exaggeration in the story he had 
told ?" " Let me die under the 
knout, (said the officer) if I shall 
be found to have uttered one word 
of falshood!" The Emperor then 
beckoned to hisbrother, and charged 
him to conduct the stranger to the 
palace, while he turned about to the 
expecting crowd. The command- 
ing officer, who had behaved so 
shamefully, thoughof a good family, 
and a prince in rank, was repri* 
manded very severely ; while the 
brare warrior, whom he had un- 
justly persecuted, was reinstated in 
his former post, and had besides a 
considerable present from the Em- 
X>eror. 

Every thing that savours of harsh- 
ness or cruelty is abhorent to the 
temper of this aimable Monarch: 
as an evidence of which we need 
only mention the well-known story 
of the torture inflicted on a poor 
Russian, who had fallen under the 
suspicion of having wilfully set fire 
to buildings. No sooner wa$ tlxs 



good-natured Emperor informed; 
that this poor wretch had, upon 
mere suspicion, been put to th« 
rack in the most inhuman manner ; 
that he had given up the ghost in 
the midst of torments, and asserted 
his innocence widi his last breath,, 
than he sent immediately an officer 
to Casan, to investigate the matter 
to the bottom ; and published at the 
same time that remarkable edict, 
in consequence of which, the term 
torture is for ever blotted out from 
tlie legal language of Russia. 

MISCELLANEOUS E^^TRACTS. 

A new flexible tube for the gazes 
has been invented : it consists of a 
brass wire, twisted round a long thin 
cylinder, and covered with oiled 
silk, twice wrapped round, and, fas- 
tened, by means of thread, between 
the gi-ooves of the wire. It is then 
again varnished, and covered in a 
spiral manner with sheep-gut, slit 
longitudinally, and again seaired 
with thread. Lastly, to protect tlie 
whole from external injury, it is to 
be covered with leather in the same 
manner as the tubes of inhalers. 
These flexible tubes answer the 
same purpose as the ^ery costly 
ones of elastic gum, similar to the 
hollow bougies made for surgeons. 

Mr. E. Walker, in his experi- 
ments on the quantity of light af- 
forded by candles, observes, thac 
when a lighted candle is so y^laced, 
as neither to require snuffing, or 
produce smoke, it is reasonable to 
conclude, that the whole of the com- 
bustible matter which is consumed, 
is converted to tlie purpose of ge- 
nerating light; and that the inten- 
sities of light, generated in a given 
time by candles of diffi?rent dimen- 
sions, are directly as the quantities 
of njatter consumed; that is to say, 
when candles are made of the same 
materials, if one produce twice at 
much light as another, the former 
will, in the same time, lose twice as 
much weight as the latter. The fol- 
lowing general law Mr. Walker 
states a<* the result of many experi^ 
meats ; Where combustioo is com-? 



MISCELLANEOUS E2(TRACT8« 



plete, the quantities of light pro- 
duced by tallow candles are in the 
duplicate ratio of their times of 
burning and weights of matter con- 
sumed. For, by experiment, it is 
found, that if their quantities of 
matter be equal, and times of burn- 
ing be the same, they will give equal 
quantities of light ; and, if the times 
of burning be equal, the quantities 
of light will be directly their weights 
expended : therefore, the light is 
universally in the compound ratio 
of the time of burning and weight 
of matter consumed* Mr. Walker 
concludes, with observing, that it is 
the sudden changes produced by 
snuffing, and not the light itself, 
that does w) much injury to the eye 
of the student and artist*, .an injury 
tliat may be easily prevented by lay- 
ing aside the snuffers, and, in the 
place of one large candle,, to make 
use of two* 

It has been ascertained by Mr.W. 
Wilson, that the shavings of wood, 
cut under certain circumstances, 
are strongly electrical. From sun- 
dry experiments, it appears, that 
where very dry wood is scraped 
with a piece of window-glass, the 
shavings are always positively elec- 
trified ; and, if chipped witlia knife, 
the chips are positively electrified, 
if the wood be hot, and the edge of 
the knife not very sharp ; but nega- 
tively electrified, if the wood be 
quite cold; if, however, the edge 
of the knife is very keen, the chips 
will be negatively electrified, whe- 
ther the wood be hot or cold* If a 
a piece of dry and warm wood is 
suddenly split asmider, the two sur- 
faces, which were contiguous, are 
electrified, one side positive, and 
the otlier negative. 

Mr. John Harriott has invented 
a new engine for raising and lower- 
ing weights, and for oilier pur])oses, 
by the action of a coUunn of water. 
llie principle of ilus engine con- 
sists in combining the power of Uie 
sjqphon witli the direct pressure of 
a column or stream of water, so 
that they may act together. It 
works by mea^s of tlie syphon con- 
stantly acting in concert with the 



feeding stream of water, so that 
each alternately act on the upper 
and lower part of a piston, within 
a cylinder, as it were, reversing the 
syphon at each change ; and the 
power is equal to a column of water 
of the same diameter as that of the 
cylinder, and equal in length to the 
height of the head above Uie tailr 
water. By this engine, it is said, 
that a boy can raise or lower goods 
of any weight, without other exer- 
tion than that of merely turning a 
cock to the stop-mark hi the index* 
It raises and lowers goods with 
thrice the velocity usually produced 
by manual labour. The ingenious 
inventor has pointed out a variety 
of other purposes to which this dis- 
covery may be applied. 

It is said, from evidence arising 
from long experience, that straw or 
loose twi es, scattei*ed over any plant 
or bed ofplants, preserve from frost 
better than a solid or close cover- 
ing ; and that nete, three or four 
thick, hung on a wall before fruit- 
trees in blossom, preserves them 
better than any substance that quite 
excludes the air in any direction* 

It has been found, that bags steep- 
ed in a solution of nitre will effectu- 
ally keep off the weavil, and other 
destructive insects, from com dur- 
ing Uie longest voyages. 

It is said, that olive-oil, gently 
boiled for a considerable time, in a 
copper vessel newly tinned, is an 
effectual cure for cancers. The oil 
roust be brought to the consistency 
of ointment, and then constantly 
rubbed on the part affected for two 
or three weeks or longer. 

A new and cheap polishing sub- 
stance has been found out. It con- 
sists of pieces of old hat (wliich arc 
dyed with iron) immersed for a 
few minutes in sulphuric acid : the 
iron passes to the state of red oxide, 
and they then become excellent 
pieces for giving the last polish to 
the hardest matters. 

The following is recommended as 
a simple and easy metluid of ob- 
taining water in almost imv situ.i- 
tion:— The ground is perforated 
by a borer. In llie perforation i% 



M^SCELIiAVSOUS EXTBACTS* 



placed a wooden pipe) which is 
driven down ivith a mallet, after 
which the boring is continued, that 
the pipe may be driven still farther. 
In proportion as the cavity of the 
borer becomes loaded, it is drawn 
ttp and emptied, and in time, by the 
addition of new portions of wooden 
pipe, the boring is carriM t^ any 
depth, and water is generally ob- 
tained* 

Tiie following arc the antiquitiea 
which have been collected in the 
excavations at Herculaneum, and 
presented to the French govern- 
ment : — In gold, a bulla, a collar, a 
pair of bracelets, a pair of ear- 
pendants, a ring with a stone (dia- 
mond), and asimple ring* In silver, 
a needle to hold the hair* In bronze, 
a small statue of Hercules, another 
of Mercury, a Priapus, a Tripod, a 
Patera, a Fracfericula, a gilt cup 
with two handles, a seal, two craters 
with feet, six candle-sticks, four 
lamps, a lamp-supporter, to which 
four lamps are suspended, a vessel 
lor oil, a patera for perfumes, four 
currying combs to be used in the 
baths, an oval vessel to throw water 
over the back, a casque, two pieces 
of armour for the defence of tlie 
legs, and part of the thighs, two 
pieces of armour for the defence of 
the lower part of the legs, an arm- 
our for the defence of the shoulders, 
and a frying pan. 

It appears, from some experi- 
ments made by Mr* £. Walker, 
that acoustic instruments may be 
constructed, for conversing at a 
distance, witliout the assistance of 
tubes to convey the sound* ^^ Ex* 1* 
I took a deal rod, sixteen feet long, 
and about an inch square^ and, after 
having fixed one end of it into the 
small end of a speaking trumpet, I 
laid it upon two props, in an hori- 
zontal position. One of the props 
was placed under the trumpet, 
about three inches from its wide 
end, and the other prop was placed 
near tlie ctUcr end of the rod : 
another speaking-trumpet was then 
laid across the rod, alxiut tur^^e 
inches from tlie end. The wide 
part of this trumpet re!>ted upon 
the. rod, but the other end was sus- 



pended by a riband* Tlie appa- 
ratus thus adjusted, I introduced a 
watch into tlie end of the trumpet, 
and, applying my ear to the ci*oss* 
trumpet, I heard l>eats much louder 
than if the watch had been at tJie 
distance of a few inches only. The 
sound appeared to come out of the 
cross-trumpet, although tlic watch 
was at the distance of seventeen 
feet and a half; and, when it wits 
laid into the cross-truinjiet, it was 
heard equally well at the end-trum- 
pet. Ex. 2. My assisti:nt in these 
experiments being seated at one 
end of tlie trumpet, and nn i>elf at 
tlie other, a conversation took place 
through tliis apparatus, but in whis- 
pers too low to be heard through 
the air at that distance. When the 
ear was placed in a certain position 
the words were heaixl as if they had 
been spoken by an inviKible i)cing 
within the trumpet j and the sound 
was more distinct, softer, and moi-c 
musical, than if they had been spo- 
ken through the air." Mr. Walker 
infers from these experiments, that, 
if a communication wsa made on 
this principle between a shop or 
warehouse, and the dining-room, 
&c. it might contribute to the dis- 
patch of business j and instiniments 
might be formed on the same prin- 
ciple, and introduced between the 
parlour and servants-hall, so that 
directions might be given to a do- 
mestic without his entering the 
room, and in whispers too low to 
disturb the company. 

Captain Wilson, the gentleman 
who was wrecked at the Pclew Isl- 
ands, is just returned from Cuina, 
and reports, that the Keys to the 
Chinese Languuge, lately i:ublish- 
ed in London by Dr. iia^cr, have 
been presented to the gentlemen of 
the Englisli tactory at Canton, and 
to some of tlie Chiiiese liter;\ti, ai.d 
that the work has met with thtir 
complete approbation. Several per- 
sons, and auiong tlicni a s(»n ofC'iip- 
tam Wilson, have been induced, by 
the aid of this introduction, to com- 
mence the study of the Chinese 
Language. Dr. Hager is now at 
Paris, pr Clearing for publication a 
Chinese andEreuchDicticnaiy, un- 



80 



MISCELLAITEOVS EXTltACT9« 



der the patronage of the French 
Government- 
It has been found by Dr. Nauche, 
at Paris, that a person perfectly 
blind may be made to perceive very 
lively and nunverous flashes of light) 
by bringing one extremity of the 
voltaic pi e into communication witii 
the hand or foot, and the other with 
the face, skin of the head^ and even 
the neck. That reiterated appli- 
cations of Galvanism, when they 
comprehend the half trunk, produce 
in tlie person subjected to them 
great agitation, many reveries, in- 
voluntary tears, increased secration 
of the salivc), an acid alkaline taste, 
a great secr.ition of the urine, and 
increase of heat and transpiration, 
r.nd of perspiration hi the Galva- 
nised parts. That the action of the 
Galvanic fluid may be increased by 
drawing it off by a sharp point. 

Journey to Mcnt Bianc^,,,*M. 
Fomeret, of Lausanne, and the 
Baron de Dortheren, have under- 
takea a new journey to Mont Blanc 
After two day's travel, they arrived 
at the summit, when the tempestu- 
cus weatlier obliged tliem to sit roll- 
ed up together with their guiles, 
for fear of being precipitated. The 
cold which they felt here was six 
degrees beneath the freezing point ; 
the variety of the air, and the ex- 
treme pungency •f the cold, lace- 
rated their lungs in so cruel a man- 
ner, that they declared no motive 
should induce them ever to recom- 
mence so painful a journey. 

litip.nd. Manager of the Berlin 
theatre, equally distinguished as an 
actor and a dramatic- writer, has 
deserved well of the Stage, by pub* 
lishing a scries of tasteful theatri- 
cal decarations and costumes. He 
is the Talma of the Germans. The 
second number of this work has 
appeared, and, like the first, con- 
tains eight well executed plates in 
small folio, exhibiting scenes from 
tlie most favourite German dramas. 
No. 2. viz. Or. ntes, the Parthian 
AnibaKsador (m the tragedy of Ro- 
dogiine) is drawn with striking 
fidelity, according to the antique. 
Another old work, Dxdalus and his 



Statues, a pantomimic dance, (Aerw 
Un-slander) is deserving of honourw 
able mention. This ballet, the music 
to which was composed by Rhigioi^ 
was danced by the Court at Berlin, 
under the Erection of Mr. Hirt, 
the celebrated antiquarian. Daeda- 
lus is here supposed, under the guid^ 
ance^f Iflinerva, to have animated 
whole groups of ancient heroes^ 
There arc ten of these groups; 
and the whole is represented by 
Hummel, an artist of distinguished 
merit, in twelve excellently-design- 
ed and coloured copperplates. In 
the commentary, which accompa^r 
nies theprmls, Mr. Hirt intpoducea 
his fair readers dancing into a 
knowledge of the feiry-world of 
antiquity. 

A method has been discovered 
and practised with success, by M. 
Bertrand, at Metz, of extracting a 
spirit from potatos. The process 
is as follows : Take 600 lbs. of pota- 
tos, and boil them in steam about 
three-quarters of an hour, till they 
will faU to pieces on being touched* 
The vessel in which they are boiled 
consists of a tub, somewhat inclined. 
In the lower pan of it are two holes, 
one for the purpose of bringing in 
the steam produced in another vessel 
over a coal fire, and the other made 
to carry off occasionally the con- 
densed water. After die potatos 
are boiled, they are crushed and 
diluted with hot water till they arc 
of a liquid consistence; then add 
twenty-five pounds of ground malt, 
and two quarts of wort ; the mix- 
ture is to be stirred, covered with a 
cloth, and kept to the temperature 
of 15** of Reaumur, or of 66® nearly 
of Fahrenheit. After fermentation, 
and the exhalation of the carbonic 
acid, the matter sinks down, and 
is fit for distillation. By means of 
two stills, this mass may be recti? 
fied in one day, and it will produce 
about forty -four quarts of spirit, 
worth a guinea and a half, while 
the whole cost, including coals and 
labour, is about twenty-three shil- 
lings and sixpence. The residuun^ 
is good food for hogs. 



THE 



LITERARY MAGAZINE, 



AMD 



AMERICAN REGISTER. 



Vol. L] 



NOVEiMBER, 1803. 



[No. 2. 



CONTENTS. 



COMMUNICATIONS. 

pag;c. 

Student's Diary 81 

James Cook 82 

Legibility in Writing 83 

Disputation • 84 

Marriage ■ 85 

The PeruviaA Religion 87 

Mebrendorf Marriages 88 

The TraveUcr...^o. 2 89 

Critical Notices No. 2 91 

On the impropriety of looking 

into futurity ......•• 97 

Memoirs of Carwin the Biloquist 100 
CRITICISM. 

Paine's Ruling Passion 104 

Wilson's History of the British 

Expedition 106 

POETRY ORIGINAL. 

Philanthropy A Prayer 110 

To Laura offended ib. 

Lines addressed to Dr. Jenner ib. 
Artaban the Robber... An extract 

from a manuscript poem ..... Ill 
• SELECTIONS. 
Memoirs of Count de Parades 112 
Extracts from the correspondence 

of an American in France . . . 115 



page* 
Dr. Whitman's Aceoimt of the 

Greek Women. 118 

Dr. Whitman's account of the 

Turkish procession ib. 

List of Monthly Publications in 

London 119 

Account of Algiers ib. 

Specimens of Literary Resem- 
blance 124 

Extracts from Drake's Literary 

Hours 127 

Extract on Immortality, from 

Zollikofer's Sermons 130 

Abstract of the Report of the 

Secretary of the Treasury . . . 133 
Lett^ from William Cowper to 

LadyHesketh 137 

Account of Boethius 138 

Story of Cecilia* from Literary 

Leisure 141 

On the Arts called Imitative .... 144 

Remarkable Occurrences 152 

Literary Intelligence 158 

Note from the Editor ib. 



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LITERARY MAGAZINE, 



AMERICAN REGISTER. 



No. 3.] SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 1803. [Vol. I. 



FOR THE LITERARY MAGAZINE. 



A STUDENTS DIARY LETTER WRITING. 



We are often told that we may 
read an author's character in his 
works, and that of all modes of com- 
position, letter writing is the most 
characteristic and descriptive. A re 
these assertions true ? In what de- 
gree and respect are they tme? 
It is plain enough that books and 
letters are sufficient, and indeed, 
the only proofs of a capacity for 
writing books and letters, but this 
seems tobe all that they prove. They 
seem to let in but Httlc light upon 
the actual deportment of the v/ritcr, 
upon his temper, his favourite pur- 
suits, and his habits of talking and 
conversing. 

I am led to these remarks by 
reading over the letters of my de- 
ceased friend W \VhsX a 

difierence between his actual de- 
portment and any notion of that 
deportment to be collected by a 
stranger, from his letters. His let- 
ters to me are as unreserved and 
confidential as letters can be, yet 
they form a picture totally the re- 
verse of his conversation and his 



conduct. He had no small portion 
of wit, and this power was in in- 
cessant exercise in company. He 
could very seldom be prevailed upon 
to discuss any subject soberly, to 
reason or to speculate, or to moral- 
ize, but his whole s6cial life was one 
invariable effort to be witty, to ex- 
cite laughter : some good thing was 
forever in his mouth, and like all 
men who are habitually witty, he 
was nine times out often, extremely 
trite and duU, yet this man, the 
moment he took up tlie pen to write 
a letter or essay, forgot all his 
mirth and jest, and became pensive, 
sentimental, and poetical. To hear 
him talk, one would think he never 
had a serious moment in his life.... 
He literally sung himself to sleep 
and awoke in a burst of laughter. 
To see the effusions of his pen, 
one would imagine that he was a 
stranger to smiles, that he was 
forever steeped in tears and wrap- 
ped iii melancholy. 

In this, there was nothing that 
deserved to be called aflbetation or 



83 



LETTER WRITING. 



hypocrisy, since he corresponded 
only with those with whom lie was 
occasionally in the habit of convers- 
ing ; and his tongue regaled them 
with unceasing jests, with just as 
much fiicility as hia pen saddened 
them with its austerity or melted 
them with its pathos. 

His sonnets and letters talk al- 
most altogether of love, and ou this 
topic, no Petrarch was ever more 
refined, tender and pathetic. l"Ke 
youth was forever in love, and was 
all impassioned eloquence at the 
feet of an adored fair one; but his 
love Y/ns merely the exubenmce of 
health and an ardent constitution. 
Crnscquently his devotion was al- 
Wvi) s bestjowed upon the present 
object, antl never stood in the way 
of the most licentious indulgences. 

After receiving a letter full of the 
mcst doleiul eulogies of some divine 
but refractory creature, and hinting 
at hij resolutions to " shake rff the 
yoke of inauspicious stars," I have 
h?.rtcned tnliin charrbers to console 
h.irji, and fcuiiil him at a loj;-tal)lc, 
pivbiiiinj^* witli marks of iui-nite 
satisf-.i.tion, and iLccjJng tlicmotly 
crcvv thai: .*uri oiii.ded him inacoii- 
Btant v.'ar. Such was my friend, 
and such \v ere his letters ; his to i \ [rue 
and his pen, his actions and his 
written speculations were as oppo- 
site to each oth.cr as the poles. 

Perhaps, indeed, this case may 
be deemed an exception to general 
rules. There is another remarka- 
ble instance, however, to the same 
effect in the letters lately published 
of the poet Cowper. They are 
almost all of them, to a certain 
degree, lively and witty. On one 
occasion, he appears conscious of 
this inconsistency and alludes with 
jome surprize to the opposition be- 
tween the sprightly tenor of his 
letters, and the dreadful gloom of 
his thoughts. 

A man may counterfeit senti- 
ments and feeiinga with more suc- 
cess in letters tlu;n hi.discourse,and 
though it should s^eeiu that letters, 
when written withcnit any ivoiives 
to deceive, afford n pretty"acc»irai.e 
criterion of character, yet we cer- 



tainly meet with many instances of 
men who write and ialk wider the 
dominion of haLits and feelings dia- 
metrically oppof ite to each other, 
and as a man's dUcourte is often at 
variance with his actions, so it 
ofterer hnj.^pens that his letters arc 
at variance wiUi both his actions 
and his discourse* 

OK OWHYHEE MAN. 

I have just been conversing with 
a captain* who has spent all his 
life in long voyages. He has been 
regaling me with a very amusing 
account of his residence in Otaheite* 
Tlie novelty and elegance of Cook's, 
or rather of Hawkesworth's de- 
scri])tion of this island, has g:iven 
it the same kind of celebrity, which 
the same circumstances hsid previ- 
ously conferred upon Tinian and 
Juan Fernandez. Eloquent and 
circumstantial as Hawkesworth's 
narration is, I confess myself much 
better pleased, and mudi more ac- 
curately informed by this talk with 
my friend the captain ; he is very ob- 
ligingly communicative, his descrip- 
tions arc connected with the story 
of his personal adventures, and being 
at hand to answer all questions, his 
intelligence exactly meets my curi- 
osity. 

After a good deal of talk he told 
me he would shew me a curiosity, 
and immediately called ^ James 
Cooh," into the cabin. A man im- 
mediately made his appearance, 
about tliirty years of age, of a mid- 
dle stature, and remarkably athletic 
in his make 2 he had a foce full of 
smiles and good humour, and every 
air and motion bespoke those feel- 
ings tliat flow from exuberant health 
and a total exemption from care... 
His complexion was nearly the same 
with that of an American Indian, 
and his hair, face, and figure, led 
me to suppose when I first ^anced 
my e} c at him, that he was cne of 
our own aboriginals. 

This man, the captain informed 
me, waij a native of Owhyhee. He 

. • Ship Ccmmerce, Ray, from Am- 

Etcrdam. 



HAPPINEJia. 



•3 



present whea a child, at the 
death of Captam Cook, and that 
extraordinary event had made an 
indeliable impression on his memo- 
ry ; he was one of a group of wo- 
men and children, who stood aloof, 
qiectators of the fray. 

In answer to my inquiries, the 
Captain told me, that this man and 
another he had taken onboai*d from 
another ship at sea : on what terms 
or with what motives they left their 
native country was not explained, 
but this one (he shortly after parted 
with the other) has been the mirror 
of good nature, cheerfulness and 
fidelity ever since. He has never 
betrayed the slightest uneasiness at 
his situation, nor expressed the 
least desire to i*etum. His country 
and all its concerns are to him like 
the dream of infancy ; they are sel- 
dom called back to remembrance, 
and appear to' produce no emotion 
when they are remembered. 

He made his appearance last 
winter on the New-York Theatre, 
in a drama, exhibiting the death of 
Captain Cook, and displayed with 
gi-eat applause, the peculiar dress, 
weapons, and exercises of his coun- 
try.—Here was an actor, such as 
fciUs to the lot of but few Managers 
to obtain. 

If it be a blessing to enjoy perfect 
health, a chearful temper, an aflbc- 
tionate heart, and a robust frame, 
'* James Cook" deserves to be en- 
vied. His understanding does not 
appear to be an improveabie one. 
He has more resemblance to Omai 
tlian to Prince Leboo, and joins the 
docility of a child to tiip vigjur of a 
man. * 

On board of thU ship, two hun- 
dred and fifty persons have resided 
four months, and traversed three 
thousand miles of ocean ; they are 
of all ages and sexes; many have 
been born on board: yet they all 
have enjoyed, within such narrow 
compass, with the recollections of 
an home forever abandoned, and 
with the prospect of years of ser- 
vitude to unkngwn miuiters in a 
strange land, as much chccrfuhiess, 

VOL. I....N0.ai. 



and more health than probably hat 
ever fallen to the lot of the same 
number of men in any situation for 
the same period. 

Such a thing is happiness, which 
the poet defines to be " health, 
peace, andrompetcnce," but which, 
if resolvable into any one thing, 
must be traced to a temper consti- 
tutionnUy cheerful. As to health, 
it is, at best, only certain degrees 
of it, that are necessary to tran* 
quiUity : as to peace, there is too 
much ambiguity in this expression 
if mental peace be meant, it amounts 
to no more than what had previously 
been said, " that happiness is h.ip- 
piness." Jf external circumstances 
be meant, it still amounts to nothing, 
for no term can be more vague and 
indeterminate, as descriptive of 
personal conditions. As to compe- 
tence, happiness su' ely consists in 
the fiumtit of competence rather 
than in the enjoyment, and the hap- 
piest faces are those animated by 
hope, and eager in the pursuit of 
a distant object. 

Among all my acquaintance, the 
poorest and most depeudt;nt, the 
least qualified for gaining aifluenoe 
and dignity among -a civilized ra(« 
of men, and, at the same time the 
man whose hours fly away in most 
gaiety of heart, is my friend Jaiue4 
Cook, the Owhyhee matt. 



LEGIBILITY IN WRITING- 

I have just received an apj)lica- 
tion iu writing from a writing- 
m:ister, which it has erst me some 
trouble to decyplier. He piofcsi-es 
to teach inuny Vcthuible arts, and, 
among other things, *' a free, tasy 
and elegant h uid." This letter is, 
no doubt, dctjigned as a specimen 
of penmanship, and it cannot be 
denied to be free, easy and elei'jant. 
It is frcf^ th;it is, the strokes are 
almost horizontal, and the worda 
are very nedr to^:',ether, while ili^ 
lines and letters are \tivy v/i<]e 
apart ; it is < a«f/, inasmuch as the 
pen flew like a glance of lightninj*; 
from one side oi" the sheet to the 
other, ;'.nd what a ntau perforuMi 



•4 



LEGIBILITY IK WttlTINC. 



with ease, he generally doea quick: 
it is elegant^ because the ink is 
very black and brilliant, and the 
strokes, at the same, time, are the 
most graceful curves, and are 
*< slender by degrees and beautiful- 
ly less^" Unluckily, however, and 
as the consequence of thi8 freedom, 
ease, and elegance, his words oc* 
cupy four times more space upon 
the paper than is necessary, and 
are scarcely legible. 

It is very strange that custom 
should thus consecrate a manifest 
defect, and that writing should be 
generally condemned, in propor- 
tion as it accomplishes the very 
end of writing, which consists 
in being read. To occupy as small 
a space as is consistent with dis- 
tinctness, and to adopt that size and 
form of letters which is most easily 
read, is the legitimate excellence of 
writing, and ought to be exclusive- 
ly studied by all teachers. Any other 
elegance than that arising from uni- 
formity is spurious and pernicious. 
Lines straight, parallel, and equal 
in width: and letters uniform in 
size, figure, and relation to each 
other, constitute the genuhie ele- 
gance of writing. 

I believe it wiUbe found that those 
who write with most exceUence, 
according to my notions of excel- 
lence, have taught themselves, be- 
cause such are most likely to copy 
printed books, and typographical 
characters are far superior, in ge- 
neral, to written ones, in the pro- 
perty of being legible. 

I have often been amused in 
observing the vast difference be- 
tween writing and printing. A 
miserable scrawling hand, never to 
be decyphercd but by the study of 
the context, ragged paper of all 
textures, colours, and sizes, filled 
with interlineations and blots, and 
the nice adjustment of points and 
capitals totally neglected, is meta- 
morphosed by tlidt magical ma- 
chine, the press, into the perfection 
of beauty, regularity, and accuracy. 
It is like the form of a Dorick 
temple, riiiing, at tlie waving of an 
omnitic wand, from a chaotic heap 
ef spairs and brick-bats: and the 



contents of a score of huge mishapen 
and gigJmtic pages are reduced to 
the limits of a few octodecimos^ as 
Milton's infernal giants were re- 
duced to pigmies. 

These wlio write for the press, 
have seldom any mercy upon the 
eves cf the poor devils, the printers. 
They, who are careless and hasty 
on other occasions, are doubly so 
on this, alleging, forsooth, that all 
pains are tlirown away upon a paper 
which is to be used for a few mi- 
nutes, and then cast away forever. 

Bad writers cannot write well, 
without more tlian usual delibera- 
tion and delay, and this is the great 
cause of their continuing to scrawl. 
I wish it were possible to convince 
them that, abstractedly co sidered, 
it is as easy to form characters cor- 
rectly as incorrectly, and that the 
most distinct and legible hand is 
written, by some persons, who are 
well instructed, with as much facility 
and expedition, as they themselves 
disp.ay. Habit is as necessary to 
make us write zig-zag lines and 
horizontal strokcb with dispatch, as 
on straight lines and upright letters. 

DISPUTATION. 

ALL the errors, and all the spi- 
rit of disputation, in cases where 
the parties have been limited to pen 
and ink, have been exemplified 
in the controversy which has been 
carried on for several years in the 
United States, on the origin and 
nature of the yellow fev er. During 
the present season the controversy 
appeared, at fir is t, to have languish- 
ed, but the example ofone of our ga- 
zettes gradually inflamed the rest, 
and the fever was not suffei cd whol- 
ly to pass without a renewal of the 
warfare. I have jubt been amused 
with the perusal cf a newspaper 
essay on this subject, in which the 
writer reasons with great force 
and ingenuity, in favour of foreign 
oririn, but in which lie is betrayed, 
by the strengh of his own con- 
viction, into the usual invectives 
against his adversaries. 

For instance.... Reference (says 
he) to these facts (those which he 
had just descanted on...*) are sufH- 



DISPUTATZOH. 



u 



^nt to convince the mo9t incrtdu- 
huM vfko are detirotu that the truth 
MheiUd be eatabluhed* 

*' But," he thus proceeds, " not^ 
withstanding these undeniable and 
decisive firoofa^ there are some who 
•..•still deny their validity, and, 
with the obstinacy of fiends^ per- 
severe in their endeavours to esta- 
blish its domestic origin.*' 

After comparing the present and 
former condition of Philadelphia, 
in point of cleanliness, he inquires, 
** How any man, acquainted with 
the connection between cause and 
effect, or accustomed to reason on 
the nature and causes of events, 
can firesume to ascribe such a dis- 
ease to," &c. 

After the considerations enume- 
rated, he proceeds to exclaim.... 
" No man, fiosscssed of rational 
facul'ifSj can fiosnbly hcsifate in 
deciding to which doctrine, if truth 
xsere his object^ he ought to sub- 
•cribe." 

He winds up his dissertation in 
the following style :.. .." If the facts 
which have been stated are au- 
thentic, no man who examines 
them disfiassionatelyy or whose 
mind is not under the dominion of 
the most extraordinary dflusion^ 
can /lossibly withhold his belirf" 
Sec. &c. How unnatural it is, or 
rather how perfectly natural it is 
for a reasoner of this kind to sign 
himself " A Disfiassionate PhiU- 
delphian." 

Such an arguer as this, places hjs 
adversary in a veiy v/himsical di- 
lemma. He dares not deny any of 
these undeniable positions, without 
incurring the charge of " being 
destitute of rational faculties".... 
•* of being under a most extraordi- 
nary delusion" " of wishing to 

establish falshood. " 

One would think that a man, de- 
urous of gaining converts, v/ould 
not begin with awaken in;?; tlie pre- 
judices of his opponents, by question- 
ing their understanding and their 
honesty. If we cannot hindf'r the 
heat of argument from inspiring us 
with doubts of the reason or inte- 
^xly of our opponents ; prudence 



or politeness, or a desire of con-^ 
vincing ought to induce us to con« 
ceal our doubts. There is nothing 
clearer than that acrimony and con- 
tempt only fortify the mind against 
conviction, and that the strongest 
arguments will only be thrown away 
upon those whom we charge as 
foolish or criminal for diroring 
from us. \ 



MARRIAGI. 

I have retired at a late hour 
to my lonely and quiet chamber, 
and taken up the pen as usual, 
to rescue some of the events of 
this day from oblivion. This 
solitude, seclusion and quiet, and 
the perfect Hbeijty they confer 
are not without nrany charms ; but, 
alas ! my mind is seldom in a state 
to relish these charms. This free- 
dom is servitude; tliis stillness is 
irksome ; this loneliness is dreary. 
My heart pants after a companion 
at such hours of retirement: an 
ear to drink in the effusions of my 
boundlessly communicative tongue : 
a tender bosom unlocking all its 
treasures of thought and feeling in 
return. 

This is happiness. It may not 
be the only species of felicity, and 
of all the kinds of terrestrial bliss, it 
may be the seldome&t enjoyed, and 
the most transitory and precarious 
in pNsssession, but to me, this is 
the highest bliss. 

Seldom, indeed, is marriage pro- 
ductive of an harmony and union 
like this ; if the wedded pair have 
equal understandings, and conse- 
quently feel and think in a manner 
intelligible to each o'ther, ten thou- 
sand chances to one, but some 
humour, some caprice, some fas* 
tidious delicacy on one side, or 
some h ihitual indecorum on the 
other, einl)itters their secluded mo- 
ments. Without taking into view 
the external ills of life, incident in 
some de;^rec to all, and doubled 
upon each devoted heart by com- 
munion and sympathy, there is a 
plenteous and inexhaustible source 
of miseiy in temfier. Jill are, in this 



\ 



BAPPINKSi* 



respect, in lome deg^M defective, 
ttnd tempers, harmless by them- 
telves, are frequently pernicious by 
being unhappily sorted* 

This unhappiness, however, 
though occasionally intense, allows 
of bright intervals : there are for- 
tunate moments when such minds 
meet without collision; in which 
their thoughts and feelings are 
alike. To ijuch, therefore, happi- 
ness, though a rare visitant, and 
frequently turned out of door by 
humour and caprice, is not utterly 
a stranger. Pure and uiunterupted 
misery belongs only to a couple 
whose minds are uni mpai red : so un- 
equal to each other in capacity and 
dissimilar in feelings, that they are 
never permitted to recognize a kin- 
dred spirit, and to whom the compa- 
ny of each otlwr is the worst solitude. 
Nothing is more common than such 
marriages as this. Whetlier it be 
the incurable defect of human na- 
ture, which forbids men and women 
to resemble each other sufficiently 
for their mutual happiness, or the 
folly and precipitance of youth in 
the marriage choice, is a point easi- 
ly debated, but hard to decide. 

My friend J endeavours to 

console himself under his late dis- 
appcintment, by insisting on the 
imposjiibility of any permanent har- 
mony in marriage, or any sufficient 
coincidence between tlie tempers 
and understandings of men and 
women. He pretends not to set 
himself up as an immaculate ex- 
ample, but admits with facility, 
that his own temper and habits 
would be incompatible with matri- 
monial felicity. However vague 
and hollow the pleasures he derives 
from indulging a fertile imagina- 
tion on this topic, and creating a 
wife and a woman to his fancy, he 
thinks greater happiness is to be 
expected from this source thun 
from any actual marriage. In liis 
waking dreams, he can model his 
owh person and temper, and those 
of his wife and children as he 
pleases ; but the real w ife, and the 



real children, Mid bk own aetsd 

temper, and person, and manners, 
are beyond hw power to bend and 
mouM agreeably to any imaginary 
■tandard. 

I spent this evening at C..«.«..'S| 
and had two amusing instances of 
matrimonial character before me. 
The lady was very unhappy. She 
could not rid herself for a moment 
of an air of apprehension and dis- 
quiet. On inquiry, I found that 
all this discomposure arose from the 
absence of her husband, who was 
gone ten miles out of town, and 
contrary to expectation was to stay 
the night abroad. How necessary, 
thought I, is the company of her 
hubband to this lady's happiness, 
since his absence for one night is 
so intolerable ; but I quickly ceased 
to wonder at this impatience, m hen 
she proceeded to infoi m me tliat 
this was the first night which they 
h.:d passed under separate roo&i 
during the eleven and an half years 
of their marriage. 

This lady *s impatience is no proof 
of attachment to her husband, nor 
of the happiness his company af- 
fords her. Were there no other 
proofs of their mutual affection and 
domestic harmony, I should more 
readily infer an unhappy, than an 
happy life, since many must be the 
occasions of repining to one, whom 
a day's absence of an husband makes 
miserable. 

I was much amused with the 
contrast which the lady's sentiments 
and ex])ericnce bore to tliose of 

captain L , who happened to 

be present. After expressing his 
surprise at her emotion, he shewed 
us a letter from his wife which 
breathed tlie utmost cheerfulness 
and good humour, though she had 
not seen him during the last eigh- 
teen months. In this time he hiid 
crossed the Atlantic several times, 
but always returnin.^^ to a port, dis- 
tant from his wife's resiclcnce, he 
found it most convenient to defer 
visiting her till his next voyage was 
accomplislied. 



^KRVVIAN mELXGION. 



Mfi. C. expressed her surprise, 
that any woman could endure such 
an absence from a man she loved* 

My wife (returned the captain) 
b a very excellent woman, and 
loves her husband as well as the 
common run of women. Thtre is 
not an happier couple breathing, 
when we are together. 

I suppose, said I, your interviews 
are' too short to allow you to be 
tired of each other. 

By no means* I have been at 
home above three weeka at a time. 

And pray, said I, what has been 
your longest absence from her ? 

Three years and an half is the 
very most....The captain proceed- 
ed to teU me, that he had had seven 
children, not one of whom he had 
ever seen, and explained this seem- 
ing paradox by observing, that each 
of his children had come into the 
world in his absence, and gone out 
of it again before his return ; one 
of them, it seems, was two years 
and an h^lf old at its death. 

What conceivable purpose of 
marHage was answered by an union 
of persons in these circumstances? 
It is commonly supposed, that peo- 
ple marry in order to live together ; 
and that marriage is a curse, instead 
of a blessing,to those who are obliged 
to be separate. 

An ill assorted couple, indeed, 
can only find their happiness in se- 
paration, and to such, absence and 
Ibrgctfttlness are the highest goods. 
But there are many well disposed 
men, among sailors, who seem to 
have much humanity and milkiness 
of disposition, and who are fortun- 
ate in tender and amiable wives, 
and yet find home insupportable. 
After being a few weeks on sliore, 
the uniformity and stillness of the 
acene becomes intoler^.b-e, und tliey 
pine after storms and billows with 
as much intensity, as seme other 
people sigh after a quiet fire-side, 
the caresses of a wife, and tiie clig- 
Aky and qom^Drts of home. 



For the Literary Magazine, 

THE PERUVIAN RELIGION. 

To the Editor, life. 

SIR, 

I wish some of your correspondents 
woulid inform me where I must 
look for an accurate acquaintance 
with the Peruvian religion. The 
very brief abstract to be found in 
Dr. Robertson, serves rather to 
whet curiosity thsi to gratify it. 
The books to which the historian 
alludes, are chiefly Spanish, and 
some of these, perhaps, are trans*- 
lated, but which of them has been 
made accessible by an English trans-' 
lation, I am desirous of knowing. 

I should be still better pleased, if 
some ingenious scholar would sup- 
ply me and the world with an ac- 
count of this religion, compiled from 
ori^nal writers as fiilly and circum- 
stantially as these authorities would 
admit. Should he carry the spirit of 
Robertson into this subject he would 
produce a very interesting per- 
formance. 

The Peruvian religion is the 
most extraordinary form of wor- 
ship known in the world. The 
nation, indeed, in every point of 
view, is the most singular and 
most like the creature of a roman- 
tic invention, of any to be found 
in the records of history, and 
deserves much more attention from 
philosophical inquirers than it has 
hitherto obtained. The true cir- 
cumstance in this religion, most 
worthy of note, appears to be the 
selection of the sun...." of this great 
world both eye and sour*....as the 
only object of worship, and the use 
of flowers and fi uils, ns oflferings 
to this divinity. Unbloody sacri- 
fices, and the ivdoration of the great 
himin .ry, is a species of idolatry 
thele.iFt absurd and pernicious that 
can be inia}::ined, and the influence 
of this rctit;i >n on the manners of 
Pe^u, jur'ciiies this opinion. 

I hc)*j:e F.'>me of your readers will 
attend to this request. 

o. 



irERREMDOEF MAkRiAOKS* 



For the Literary Magazine. 

M£HR£NDORF MARRIAGES. 

MEnRKNDORF IS a barony of 
considerable extent in the Austrian 
territory, which, however, as to its 
internal economy, enjoys ?n entire 
independence. It has been for some 
centuries, the property of cne fami«- 
]v, who stand in a mere feudal rela- 
tion to tiie s^vereigns of Bohemia. 
In the travels of Sumlich of Vienna, 
there i^ a very curi«>us account of 
this little St itr which dcbcrves a 
translation i;:to Knr'i h- as well as 
anv book of the kiiil 1 have Ir.ttly 
iv*et with. It-is r.ot. liov.cvcr, likely 
to meet with tiiish'MKUvin Aiacrica, 
and we must, tlicrtt .'c, v.-iiit wiih 
piticnre, ti'i it f -lis into the ha. ids 
.of some of the fr.>tt n:ity at Pivis 
or LonHor : mc-mwhi c, 1 cinnot 
resist the i:irlin;;tinn of transcib- 
inp; sonic r a^^^ tT^>'» which, Mr. 
Editor, ifthv-v prr\e j*s intevesling 
to you I'.s to DC, \ ou will rbligc me 
by invcrling in your work- 
As rcnrirka'»le:' cirrumstc^nce as 
occurs in this acccnnt, is tlie l^w of 
the country r(srerting marri.'^c'cs. 
In this rcFprct, the people of Mcji- 
rcndr rf have morses and custr>ms 
altcrctlier peT.r.li r to themselves, 
and as nothinj; h is so much infiucnce 
on human happiness, as the terms 
rf this c-^ntract, it becomes a print 
of gmt c'irioi-itv to know the effects 
of their h\wp, en the happiness of 
tlic Mehi cndorfiaris. 

As thev fire c Uholics, the relative 
duties of hu'iband and \\ife are 
pretty much like those of all chris- 
tian countries.Thc same restrictions 
as to consanguinity prevail, and tlie 
same obligations to fidelity, but the 
points in which they bear little or 
no resemblance to the i est of the 
civilized world, are the following: 

No woman, says Sumlich, is per- 
mitted to marry wlio is under thirty 
years of a^;e, or above forty-five ; 
and no man can claim this privilege 
who is under thirtv-five, or above 

fifty. 

Nomi^n can m^u? ry a second tim.e. 

No woman can marry a second 
time, if vsxoro. than one child of the 



former marriage be alive, nor whhifl 
one year and an half af the death of 
her former husband.. In no case 
can she marry a third time. 

Marriages cannot be so far dis- 
solved, except by death, as to allow 
the parties to marry again, but 
parties may be separated for good 
cause. 

Marriages can be solemnized onlf 
on two days in the year, the first 
day of J.muiiry, and tlie first day of 
July. The intentions of the parties 
must he laid bcfcyre the elders of the 
vi !hge at least six months before the 
celebration. 

The ciders are ten persons se- 
lected hy the lord for the internal 
jroxcrnment cf each district, witha 
jjowcr cf aj»]>eal in nK)bt cases to 
the lord hi^l^elf• 

it \s in tlic i)owcr cf the elders to 
refuse the privilege, if they shall 
think jiroper, e\ en if all the above 
conditions be fulhiled, but the lord 
oniy in his own chancery can dis- 
fer-pe with any of these conditions. 

All marriages ars solemnized in 
church, in the presence of the whole 
peqjle, and in the f )llowing man- 
ner.. . .The parties, after a brief and 
solemn desciint on the duties of mar- 
riage by the first of the elders, stand 
up, in the presence of the congre- 
gation, and pronounce their vows 
cf lo\e and fidelity, with the right 
hands joined to;;cther. The priest 
then steps forth and executes the 
f )rmulary of the church. 

On examining these miles, (says 
my author) tlie most obvious re- 
flection that occurs, is the (difficulty 
and delay which they create in the 
affair of marriage: this contract is 
loaded with more restrictions and 
conditions than in any other known 
community, and the consequence 
must be, that a greater proportion 
of the people remain unmarried here 
than elsewhere. A great deal of vice 
and a great deal of misery must like- 
wise be the consequence. The passi- 
on cf the sexes takes root and ex- 
pands i!!to maturity, fifteen and 
twenty je ars before the laws allow it 
to be gratified.The dictates of natuw 
are systematically thwarted and 



THE TRAVELLEn — ON FUlENDSHIF. 



89 



obstructed in this respect ; however 
snddenly the first marriage may 
terminate, and however ardentthe 
affection m. IV be which a second ob- 
ject m iv excite, nuirriage on the 
mm'sside is impoiisibic: tlie lady, 
indeed, enjoys the privilege of giv- 
lag her hand to a second lover, but 
bhc is subjected to a tedious widow- 
hood of eighteen months, and even 
then, if she has two or more chil- 
dren living by the former husband, 
she cannot marry. After all, witli 
all thei-e burdensome conditions 
realized, having attained the age 
of thirty lierself, and her lover 
reached the mnniiigable period of 
thirty-five, the parties are at the 
mercy of ten old fellows, who have 
probibly outlived all the feelings in- 
cident to youth and love. 

It seems, indeed, that the sole 
object cf the legislator was to dis- 
courage marriage, and of course 
to check population, two things, 
'Which, on account of their influence 
on private happiness and public 
prosperity, are fostered and encou- 
raged with the utmost care by or- 
dinary governors. With restraints 
like these, it is natural to suppose 
that great corniption of manners 
must prevail, since love, if it can- 
not gain its object by open and 
lawful means, is in danger of ac- 
complishing it by means illicit and 
circuitous. In the contest between 
arbitrary laws and those principles 
of our nature which are most pow- 
erful and universal, the former can 
scarcely be expected to obtain the 
victory, or if they succeed in this 
contest, it must be by such vigilance 
and such severity as will make the 
remedy far worse than the disease. 

These reflections, which occurred 
to Sumlich, will naturally occur to 
every reader, and I felt no small 
part of that curiosity which aetuiited 
Sumjich, in ex raining withhisown 
eyes the re il c'fccts of such institu- 
tions on the manners and c^indition 
of the people. He appears to h.«ve 
^pent several months in this pro- 
vince, and tiiuivc familiarly con- 
versed with all classes of the inha- 
bitants* In your next number I will 



give you the result of his inquiries, 
and meanwhile am, fccc. 

Inquisitor- 



For the Literary Magazine* 

THE TRAyKLLER...NO. II. 

It has been the fate of the tra- 
veller to benl over the grave of a 
friend, to hehtilil the remains of a 
once ami ible, e.cgint, and hi:^h 
spiiitcd vouth deposited in the 
earth.. ..Tiiis event, while it elo- 
quently declared the inst ibility of 
life and of worldly pie isure, led . 
liim to indulge in the following;; me- 
ditation on th.it passion wliich had 
received so severe a wound. # . 

Friendship springs from the nrost 
amiable dispositions of the mind, 
and betokens the absence of those 
selfish and discordant passions 
which disgrace our nature. The 
ancient writers and seme of the 
moderns, have ranked friendship 
among the number of the virtues, 
and if it be net a virtue, it is some- 
thing so nearly allied to it, that it 
can scarcely be distinguished from 
it. It is a source of a large portion 
of our happiness ; it is the tie of con- 
geni \\ souls. Amidst a world en- 
snaring and deccitfiil, where so wild 
and tumultuous are the passions and 
pursuits of men, where disinterest- 
edness is seldom found, and where 
justice often holds unequal scales, 
how necessary to our peace and 
comfort is that person who will 
join with us in our councils, who 
will rc])0£e in us hii confidence, 
who v/ill be the solace of our soli- 
tude, the partner of our prosperity, 
and the support of our adversitv... 
Let none say that friendship is fi)r- 
bidden, or not encouraged by the 

scii-turcs Keligion forbids no 

ratiDual ep.joymeiit... Religion would 
never pi cclude us from one cf the 
swcctt'.vt consob'.tions that h^^s ever 
been disco\ered fc-r tMe various 
afiliclions of lifvL»....ii/li^ion cxcitrii 
us to cu'iivate every jr^'ncrras and 
anii^blc jji-iiicii.^c, Mid alhn.'s us 
every indulj^ciicc n<;t incon>itrnt 
with duty....Thc examples in the 



THE TIlAVXLLSE--Oir yRIENOSSIP. 



tcriptares of the cultivation of this 
passion by great and good men are 
numerous* The souls of David and 
the princely Jonathan were knit 
together. The arm of death could 
only dissever their cords of love. 
The instances recorded of their 
attachment are m the highest degrc e 
striking and affecting. When Saul 
and Jonathan were slain, David 
seized his harp, and from a soulful! 
of sorrow poured forth his inimita- 
ble elegy, pursued with his sighs 
the spirit of his departed friend, 
and blasted the mountain of Gilboa 
in the language of poetical indig- 
nation The example of our Sa- 
viour, independent of all other 
instances, gives a sanction to the 

cultivation of friendship From 

the world and the number of his 
disciples, he selected John, on him 
bestowed his warmest affections, 
and admitted him to his freest com- 
munication. 

The silence of scriptural precept 
coucerning friendship, permits no 
inference to be drawn against its 
lawfulness. To have made it the 
subject of divine command would 
have been absurd, for it cannot be 
called a duty, and similarity of dis- 
position and coincidence of senti- 
ment and afiection, on which 
friendship is founded, do not depend 
upon our choice, neither are they 
under the direction of our will. The 
propensity in our natures toward 
this passion is sufficiently strong 
and operative without the force of a 
command. The object of our Sa- 
viour was to inculcate the plain and 
pracical duties of piety and moral- 
ity, those duties which are indispen- 
sable, and impose universal obliga- 
tion, and which are necessary to our 
everlasting happiness in the future 
world. 

Let none say that the dictates of 
friendship are opposed to the duties 
of universal benevolence, that it 
lavishes on one object that kindness 
and affection which ought to be 
difiiised through the whole human 
race: thisobjection is certainly un- 



founded : we may discharge evciy 
tender office which friendship de- 
mands, and still be observant of 
the duties enjoined by revelation...* 
Various are the gradations of affec- 
tion corresponding with the different 
relations of life, and each contri* 
buting its share to that harmony 
which should reign throughout so* 
ciety. Parental tenderness, filial 
reverence, brotherly affeciion, arc 
all limited in their operation, and 
yet are the subjects of command* 
The desie^n of Christianity was not to 
extinguish these, but to regulate 
them, and to reduce them to their 
proper dimensions. As the sun is 
to the planetary system, so love for 
God, love for men, is the centre, 
round which all oar other affections 
founded on the world andmortality^ 
should revolve ; these are the only 
restrictions which Christianity im- 
poses upon our impartial attach- 
ments, and under these restrictions 
it excites us to indulge them. It 
strengthens the ties of Friendship, 
by holding out to our view immor- 
tality. ^' U revives (says an author) 
that union which death seems to 
dissolve, it restores us again to 
those whom we most dearly loved, 
in tiiat blessed society of just men 
made more perfect." 

Friendship subsisting between 
persons of a different sex, is of a 
nature still more refined than that 
which prevails between men. A 
brother feels more tenderness for 
his sister than he can for his bro- 
ther. There is in the female, more 
gentieness, more softened amiable- 
ness than men possess : she has more 
sensibility, more influence upon the 
heart, more eloquence of persua- 
sion. Man finds in her one who 
sooths him in desertion, who envi> 
gorates his hopes, and impels him 
to laudable enterprizes...«she finds 
in man a provider, a protector, and 
one who will for her encounter the 
roughness and jarrings of the 
world from which her nature would 
shrink. 

I. o. 



▼ IRGIL'4 aneis. 



/Vr the JUterary Magazine, 
CRITICAL NOTICES. • 

I have bceii lately looking into 
the iEneiB of Virgil, and will hazard 
the declaration, that as a narrative 
poem it does not stand in the iirst 
rank. It has little originality as an 
epic; it is a copy both of the Iliad 
and Odyssey....it'8 failure in pour- 
traying characters has been fre- 
quently remarked.. ..It's battles are 
but feebly described..,. it does not 
hurry the mind rapicU^^ alon^ with 
the onset of hosts, and it &ppjt:ars ito 
me that Maro, amidst his scenes 
of war, sighed for the beaclien- 
&hade beneath which Tit}rus 
reclined. Virgil was not a bard 
which Homer muing hi9 mighty 
youngs could train successfully to 
deeds of blood. I am not always 
pleased with his attempt to excite 
terror. I like not the prodigy which 
^Dc^as describes at his landing in 
Tlirace. The bleeding myrtles are 
not equal to Tasso's enchanted fo- 
rest. Could not the imagination 
have represented an omen more 
grand and terrific, which forbade 
die settlement of the Trojans vi 
that country. I find great fault 
with the character of .^Siea^....He 
is not an hero sufficiently interest- 
ing....His conduct on many occa- 
sions is base and detestible....He 
might, however, have answered a 
beathen's idea of excellence*. ..He 
falls vastly below Homer's Hector, 
Sarp^on and Achilles in interest. ..• 
Achilles, tliough more cruel than 
iBneas«...vet still has more impos- 
ing qualities. 

l>r. Beattie has endeavoured to 
shew in his essays, that the hero of 
the Iliad Is the most perfect of 
epic characters : his arguments are 
grounded upon the following re- 
rpresentationa of the poet:.«,«A- 
chiUes was the bravest, the strong- 
est, the swiftest, the joiost beautifal 
of mortals.. .his friendship was ar- 
ident«*.«he'hadf the most vehement 
love for Ills father, and so grctit 
.waahismanianimity^^that although 
told that u he departed from th« 

VOL. I..««NO. II. 



siege of Troy, he should in old age 
fall peacefully into the grave.. ..yet 
he, notwithstanding he was wrong- 
ed by Agamemnon, refosed to go. 
I am not, however, satisfied with 
this reasoning of Dr. Beattie, and 
think the answer to it is sufficient. ••• 
tliat Hector, if not the universal, 
is the general favourite of the read- 
ers of Homer. The celebration of 
the games in the ^neid, I think a 
very feeble imitation of those of the 
Liad, indeed the copy appears to 
me to be servile, it may be an- 
swered, that notwithstanding these 
objections, the celebrity of the ^- 
neid is a confirming evidence of Ub 
excellence.. .that it has stood the test 
of years, and that one might as well 
deny its superiority to modern po- 
cm8,as well as the strength of a tower 
which has warred with the elements 
during the lapse of several centu- 
ries, and still bids defiance to their 
rage....Such an answer might carry 
conviction to the minds of many, 
and overthrow all that I could ur^ 
in opposition ; but still I will retam 
my opinion that Virgil, as a nar- 
rative poet, is surpassed by more 
than one of our modem wxiters.*.. 
Paradise L.ost...«.Fenelon's Tele- 
machus«««.Tas8o's Jerusalem De- 
livered, in this respect I place be- 
fore it;.«.*and were not the rust of 
years so very venerable, did not 
distance diminish errors and mag- 
nify excellencies, I think that my 
decision would be acknowledged as 
iust. The sixth book of the Jfeneid 
has been supposed by some critics 
to be ^c most precious remnant of 
antiquity. I am not disposed to 
make any formal dissent from this 
opinion. It certainly unfolds, in a 
satisfactory and pleasing manner, 
the Roman idea of the state of de- 
parted men, and leads to inquiries 
gratifying to the curious mind. The 
following picture of the Sibyl at the 
opening of tliis book is striking, 
and prepares us for the exposition 
which is to follow : 

All this with wondering eyes JEneas 
vicw'd : 
Ejch varxing object his delight re- 
new 'd. 

3 



93 TIRGIL'ft JENEIS. 

Eager to read the rest, Achates'^ She said no more : the trembling Tro- 

came, I jans hear: 

And by hia aide the mad divining I 0*«r8pread with a damp sweat, and 

dame ? | holy fear. 

The priestess of the god, Deiphobe I The prince himself, with a¥rful dread 

her name. J possess*d, 

Time suflfcrs not, she said, to feed His vows to great ApoUo thus ad- 

your eyes dress'd- 

IVith empty pleasures: haste the sa- Indulgent god, propitious pow'r to 

crifice. Troy, 

Sev'n bullocks yet unyok'd, for PhcE- Swift to relieve, unwilling to destroy : 

bus chuse, Directed by whose hand, the Dardan 
And for Diana scv*n unspotted dart 

ewes. Pierc*d the proud Grecian's only mor- 
This said, the servants urge the sa- tal part : 

cred rites ; Thus far, by fate*s decrees, and thj 
While to the temple she the prince commands, 

invites. Thro* ambient seas, and thro' devour- 
A spacious cave, within its farmost ing sands, 

part, Our exil'd crew has sought th' Auso- 
Washew'd and fashion 'd by laborious nian ground: 

art. And now, at length, the flying coast 
Thro* the hills hollow sides : before is found. 

the place. Thus far the fate of Troy, from place 
A hundred doors a hundred entries to place, 

grace : With fury has pursu*d her wand'ring 
As many voices issue ; and the sound race : 

Of Sibyrs words as many times re- Here cease ye pow'rs, and let your 

bound. vengeance end, 

Kow to the mouth they come : aloud Troy is no more, and can no more 

she cries, offend. 

This is the time, inquire your des- And thou, O sacred maid, inspir'd to 

tinies. see 

He comes, behold the god! Thus while Th* event of things in dark futurity; 

she said, Give me, what heav'n has promis*d to 
{And shiv'ring at the sacred entry my fate, 

staid) To conquer and command the Latian 
JHer colour chang*d, her face was not state : 

the same, To fix my wand'ring gods ; and find a 
And hollow groans from her deep place 

spirit cam e. For the long exiles of the Troj an race. 

Her hair stood up: convulsive rage Then shall my grateful hands a temple 

possess 'd rear 

Jler trembling limbs, and hcav'd her To the twin gods, with vows and so- 

lab'ring breast. lemn pray'r; 

Greater than human kind she seem'd And annual rites, and festivals, and 

to look : gp.mes. 

And with an accent, more than mcr- Shall be perform *d to their auspicioua 

tal, spoke. names. 

Her staring eyes with sparkling fury Nor shalt thou want thy honours in 

rovkl; hiy land. 

When all the god came rushing on For there thy faithful oracles shall 

her soul. stand, 

Swiftly she tum*d and foaming as she Preserv*d in shrines : and ev'ry sacred 

spoke, lay, 

Whythisdelay, shecry*d; the pow'rs Which by my mouth, Apollo shall 

invoke. convey. 

ThypTay*rs alone can open this abode. And shall be treasur*di« by a chotea 
Else vain are my demands, and dumb train 

the god. Of holy priests, and ever shall remain. 



VIRGIL'S JEVEIS. 



f3 



But, oh ? commit not thf prophetic 
mind 

To flitting leaves, the sport of ev'ry 
wind: 

Lest they disperse in air our empty 
late: 

Write not, but, what the pow'rs or- 
dain, relate. 
Struggling in vain, impatient of her 
load, 

And laboring underneath the pond'rous 

god. 
The more she strove to shake him 

firom her breast. 
With more and far superior force he 

press'd : 
Commands his entrance, and without 

controul, 
Usurps her organs, and inspires her 

soul. 
Now, with a furious blast, the hun-"' 

died doors 
Ope of themselves : a rushing 

whirlwind roars 
Within the cave ; and Sibyl's vojce 

restores. 

The second and fourth books are 
the highest displays of Virgil's ^- 
Dius. They contain the most in- 
teresting narrations in the ^neid. 
The second book is the most mag- 
nificent, the fourth generally most 
tender. Next to these, no part of 
the work has pleased me more tlian 
th* Episode of Nisus and Euryalus. 
Whatever may be the defects of 
Virpl as an epic poet.... he, in the 
music of his numbers, in the selec- 
tion of his words, has never been 
excelled...«In judgment he stands 
before Homer, though he is very 
far behind him in genius....After 
these observations which have been 
adventurously, and perhaps too 
carlessly thrown out, I shall pro- 
ceed to suggest to the attention of 
the reader some extracts from the 
i£neid, which I have not seen par- 
ticularly noticed, and which to me 
were striking and above the com- 
mon level of Virgil's poetry.—For 
a vcrj sufficient reason I shall take 
all the passages from Dr>'dcn's 
translation • The portrait of JEueas, 
when first discovered to the eyes of 
pido, has been deservedly admired. 
In that description, however, there 
aie four lines which arc pre-emi- 



nent, and on which the finger of 
criticism has never rested: 
Scarce had he spoken, when the cloud 

gave way. 
The mists flew upward, and dissolv'4 

in day. 
The Trojan chief appear'd in open 

sight, 
August in visage and serenely bright. 

In the second book, which is 
throughout excellent, few passages 
have pleased me more than the de- 
scription of the last efforts and the 
death of Priam«...Though it must 
be familiar to the scholar, ^et he 
will be pleased to see it in this way 
recalled to his remembrance....Thc 
translation of Dryden isfiillof his 
peculiarities and strength of phrase* 
Perhaps you may of Priam's fate in- 
quire. 
He, when he saw his regal town on 

fire, 
His ruin'd palace, and his ent'ring 

foes. 
On ev'ry side inevitable woes; 
In arms, disus'd, invests his limb* 

decay'd 
Like them, with age ; a late and use- 
less aid. • 
His feeble shoulders scarce the"^ 

weight sustain : 
Loaded, not arm'd, he creeps along 

with pain s 
Despairing of success: ambitious 

to be slain ! 
Uncovcr'd but by heav'n, there stood 

in view 
An altar; near the hearth a laurel 

grew; 
Dodder'd with age, whose boughs en- 
compass round 
The houshold gods, and shade th# 

holy ground. 
Here Hecuba, with all her helplesa 

train 
Of dames, for shelter sought, but 

sought in vain. 
Driv'n like a flock of doves along th« 

sky, 
Their images they hag, and to their 

altars fly. 
The queen, when she beheld her trem- 
bling lord, 
And hanging by his side a heavf 

sword, 
What rage, she cry'd, hM seia'd my 

husband's mind ; 
What arms arc thes^ and to what 
use dcsi^'d I 



§4 TIRGIL'S AKEIS. 

These times want other aids: were Just, and but bareljr, to the mark it 

Hector here, held, 

Ev'n Hector now in vain, like Priam And faintly tincki'd on the brazen 

would appear. shield. 

With us one common shelter thou Then Pyrrhus thus : Go thou from 

shah 6nd, mc to fate ; 

Or in one common fate with us be And to my father my foul deeds re- 

join'd. late. 

She said, and with a last salute em- Now die : with that he dragged the 

brac'd trembling sire, 

The poor old man, and by the laurel Slidd'ring thro' clotter'd blood and 

placed. holy mire. 

Behold Polites, one of Priam's sons, (The mingl'd paste his murder'd son 

Pursu'd by Pyrrhus, there for safety had made,) 

runs. Haul'd from beneath the violated 

Thro' swords, and foes, amaz'd and . shade ; 

hurt he flies And on the sacred pile, the royal vie- 
Thro' empty courts, and open galle- tim laid. 

ries: His right hand held his bloody fau- 

Him Pyrriius, urging with his lance, chion bare ; 

pursues ; His left he twisted in his hoary hair: 

And often reaches, and his thrusts Then, with a speeding thrust, his"^ 

renews. heart he found : 

The youth transfiz'd, with lamenta- The lukewarm blood came rushing 

ble dries thro' the wound. 

Expires, before his wretched }>arent'8 And sanguine streams disdain'd the 

eyes. sacred ground. 

Whom, gasping at his fe6t, when Thus Priam fell : and shar'd one com- 

Priam saw, mon fate 

The fear of death gave place to na- With Troy in ashes, and his ruin'd 

ture's law. state: 

Attd shaking more with anger, than He, who the sceptre of all Asia 

with age, sway'd. 

The gods, said he, requite thy brutal Whom monarchs Hke domestic slaves 

rage : obey'd. 

As sure they will, barbarian, sure On the bleak shore now lies th'aban- 

they must, don'd king. 

If there be gods in heav'n, and gods • A headless carcase and a nametes 

be just : thing. 
Who tak'st in wrongs an insolent 

delight I ^ , . ^ ^ ^ , The foUowing picture fipom the 

With a son's death t' mfect a father's ^^ ^00^ j^ ^'^..^^ ^^ must gra- 

■KT-.* tf ' u .u J 1 • ^ tify all who are ftwKi of minuteness 

coisl^rt™ ly»n«fame i^description. Dryden, by his bold 

To call thee his ; not he. thy vaunted P?!^' has stren^encd the Unes 

gjfg^ which are discoverable m the ori- 

Thus us'd my wretched age j the gods g*"^- 

The itws^of 'nature and of nations In shady woods we pass the tedious 

heard. ^^S^^> 

He cheer'd my sorrows, and for sums Where bellowini sounds and groans 

of gold our souls affright. 

The bloodless carcase of my Hector ^^ ^!"J** "**» ""*« " ^ff*^*"'^ ^^ ^^« 

sold; «g^^- 

Pity'd the woes a parent underwent, ^^^ \^ «»« ^^^ ^*» ^»ndlcd in the 

And sent me back in safety from his „ ^^^ ' . , , 

f^^i Now could the moon her borrow d 

This said, his feeble hand a javlin ^'*S*»* supply : 
threw. 

Which flutt'ring, seem'dto loiter as * This whole line is taken from 

it flew : Sir John Denham. 



VIRGIL'S JtVLli. 



93 



For misty 'clouds involv*d the firma- 
ment; 
The stars were muffled, and the moon 

was pent. 
Scarce had the rising sun the day 

reveal *d ; 
Scarce had his heat the peariy daws 

dispeird ; 
When from the woods there bolts, 

before our sight, 
Somewhat betwixt a mortal and a 

spright. 
So thin, so ghastly meagre, and sowan, 
So bare of flesh, he scarce resembled 

man. 
This thing, aU tatter'd, seem'd from 

far t* implore, 
Our pious aid, and pointed to the 

shore. • 
We look behind ; then view his shaggy 

beard; 
His clothes were tagg'd with thorns, 

and filth his limbs besmeared : 
The rest, in mien, in habit, and in 

face, 
Appear'd a Greek, and such indeed 

he was. 
He cast on us, from far, a frightful 

view, 
\V'T)om soon for Trojans and for foes 

he knew; 
Stood still, and paused; then all at 

once began 
To stretch his limbs, and trembled as 

he ran« 
Soon as approach'd, upon his knees 

he falls. 
And thus with tears and sighs for pity 

calls. 
Kow by the pow'rs above, and what 

we share 
From nature's common gift this vital 

air, 
O Trojans take me hence : I beg no 

more. 
But bear me far from this unhappy 

shore. 

The representation of a battle- 
niarch, contained in the following 
lines, is both beautiful and magni* 
iicent, and the comparison true and 
illu^jtrative : 

The horsemen march ; the gates are 
open*d wide ; 
^neas at their head. Achates by his 

side. 
Next these the Trojan leaders rode 

along; 
X.ast, follows in the rear, th' Arca- 
dian throng. 



Young Pallas shone conspicuous o'er 

the rest; 
Guilded his arms, embroider'd was 

his vest; 
So, from the seas, exalts his radiant, 

head 
The star, by whom the lights of hea-r 

vcn are led ; 
Shakes from his rosy locks the pearly 

dews ; 
Dispels the darkness, and the day, 

renews. 
The trembling wives, the walls and 

turrets crowd : 
And follow, with their eyes, the 

dusty cloud ; 
Which winds disperse by fits; and 

shew from far 
The blaze of arms, and shields, and 

shinning war, 
The troops, drawn up in beautiful 

array. 
O'er heathy plains pursue the ready. 

way. 
Repeated peals of shouts are heard'1 

around ; 
The neighing coursers answer to ' 

the sound. 
And shake with homy hoofs the I 

solid ground. 

Will the reader excuse me for 
offerinj^ to his attention the subse- 
quent long passage from the Epi- 
sode of Nisus and Eun^alus. I 
could not curtail it without present- 
ing it in an injured form, and it will 
reward the minutest examination 
which can be bestowed upon it. 
The lines marked in italics appear 
to me uncommonly excellent. 

The speedy horse all passages belay. 
And spur their smoking steeds to cros» 

their way ; 
And viotcb each entrance of the xoirdini^ 

Vioodf 
Black toat the foreit, thick fsith beech 

it ttood: 
Horrid vrith fem^ and intricate fsith 

thorn. 
Few paths of human feet or track* of 

beaat» vsere worn. 
The darkness of the shades, his heavy 

And fear, misled the younger from 

his way. 
But Nisus hit the turns, with happier 

haste. 
And thoughtless of his friend, the 

forest pass'd ; 



96 riRGIL's JLNEIS. 

And Alban plains, from Alba's name Pierc'd his thin armonr, drank hl» 

so call'd, vital blood, 

Where king Latinus then his oxen And in bis body left the broken wood. 

stalled. He staggers round, his eye-balls roll 

Till turning at the length, he stood in death, 

his ground. And with short sobs he gasps away 

And miss'd his friend, and cast his his breath. 

eyes around ; All stand amaz'd, a second javlin 

Ah wretch, he cry'd where have I left flies, 

behind With equal strength, and quivers thro* 

Th' unhapppy youth, where shall I the skies ; 

hope to find ? This thro' thy temples, Tagus, forc*d 

Or what way take! Again he ventures the way, 

back And in the brain-pan warmly bury'd 

And treads the mazes of his former lay. 

track. Fierce Volscens foam with rage, and 

He winds the wood, and list'ning gazing round, 

hears the noise Descry'd not him who gave the fatal 

Of trampling coursers, and the rider's woudd ; 

voice. Nor knew to fix revenge ; but thou. 

The sound approach'd, and suddenly he cries, 

he view'd Shalt pay for both, and at the prisoner 

The foes enclosing, and his friend flies, 

pursued ; With his drawn sword. Then struck 

Forlay*d and taken, while he strove with deep despair, 

in vain. That cruel sight the lover could not 

The shelter of the friendly shades to bear ; 

gain. But from his covert rush'd in c^en 

What should he next attempt ! what view, 

arms employ, And sent his voice before him as he 

What fruitless force to free the cap- flew. 

tive boy ? Me, me, he cry'd, turn all your 

Or desperate should he rush and lose swords alone 

his life. On me; the fact confess'd, this fault 

With odds oppress'd, in such unequal my own, 

strife I He neither could, nor durst, the guilt- 

Resolv'd at length, his pointed spear less youth ; 

he shook ; Ye moon and stars bear witness to the 

And casting on the moon a mournful truth ! 

luck. His only crime, (if friendship can 

Guardian of groves, and goddess of ofi'end,) 

the night ; Is too much love to his unhappy 

Fair queen, he said, direct my dart friend, 

aright ; Too late he speaks; the sword, which 

If e'er my pious father for my sake fury guides. 

Did grateful off 'rings on thy altars Driv'n with full force, had pierc'd hi» 

make; tender sides. 

Or I increas'd them with my sylvan Down fell the beauteous youth ; the 

toils, yawning wound 

And hung thy holy roofs with savage Gusli'd out a purple stream, and stain'd 

spoils; the ground. 

Give me to scatter these. Then from His snowy neck reclines upon his 

his car breast, 

He pois'd, and aim'd, and launch 'd Like a fair fiow'r by the keen share 

the trembling spear. oppress'd ; 

The deadly weapon, hissing from the Like a white poppy sinking on the 

grove, plain, 

Impecuous on the back of Sulmo Whohc heavy head iioyerdiarg'd with 

drove : rain. 



▼IRGtL'a JENEIS. 



tr 



Alter I have extracted one more 
passage from the ^neid, I shall 
close the present No. of Critical 
Notices, with a few short sentences 
on the comparative merits of the 
versification of Dryden and Pope in 
tiieir respective epic translations. 

The two following extracts de- 
scribe the inquietudes and tortures 
of a dreamful sleep. The terrible 
apparition, commonly called the 
night-mare, has been variously de- 
scribed by poets, as it assumes dif- 
ferent shapes. Darwin's luxuriant 
pencil has attempted its portrait 

-with considerable success but 

bolder and more original outlines 
sse to be found in the pidture which 
Sotheby has given in his translation 
of Wieland's Oberon, of this mid- 
night hag. 

And as when heavy sleep has clos'd 

the sight, 
The sickly fancy labours in the night ; 
We seem to run ; and, destitute of 

force. 
Our sinking limbs forsake us in the 

course: 
In vain we heave for breath; in"^ 

vain we cry : 
The nerves unbrac'd, their usual 

strength deny ; 
And, on the tongue the falt'ring 

accents die. 

The critical world is divided in 
opinion concerning the merits of 
Dryden's and Pope's translation. I 
think it must be acknowledged, that 
the versification of the former is less 
regular and less magnificent, but 
more forcible and natural than that 
of the latter. Pope has less vigour,less 
variety, but more harmony and more 
uniform magnificence than Dryden. 
ITie first book of the Iliad, trans- 
lated by Dryden, is not equal to the 
same book translated by Pope.. ..it 
has however some parallel passages 
superior. The excellencies of Pope 
are more glaring than those of 
Dryden. The latter must be read 
and examined with attention before 
we can become familiar with his 
beauties. His mind was a rich soil, 
out of which sprang weeds as well 
as amaranthine flowers, and oaks of 
great growth. ITie mind of Pope 



was a sou not so rich, but it was 
cultivated with more care, it was 
a luxuriant garden in which were 
permitted to spring but few or n» 
weeds. 



jPor the Literary Magazine. 

CM THE IMPROPRIETY OF LOOK- 
ING INTO FUTURITY. 

" In human hearts, what bolder 

thought can rise 
Than man's presumption on 

to-morrow's dawn ? 
Where is to-morrow ? iK 

ANOTHER world!" 

Aspiring mortal !....«..wheii 
wilt thou learn thy duty, and 
act consistently with the sense of 
it in thy own breast? When will 
thy arrogance meet with its just 
sentence....when wilt thou be ren- 
dered more dignified in thy nature 
and thy actions, by the practice of 
humility, by an acceptance of thy 
own good, and a proper condemna- 
tion of that censurable curiosity, 
which leads thee to be dissatisfied 
with the present, and seek to de- 
velope that which is not in thy 
power, the future state of events ? 
Leave fiiturity to Him, who, only, 

is capable of regulating it,. who 

*' rides on the whirlwind, and di- 
rects the storm!" Perform thy 
duty, and no evil shall befal thee : 
as the sacred language of Him, 
from whose lips flow eternal wis- 
dom and truth, pronounces! Why 
seek to entangle thyself in the laby- 
rinth of metaphysical research? 
yet if thou muat'h^ inquisitive.... 
if thy restless spirit, ever on the 
wing, despises all controul, seek 
those things which will be produc- 
tive of everlasting benefit, before 
the decree shall be announced, 
which hides them from thy eager 
view, and bids the unavailing sigh 
of remorse to arise in thy bosomi 
never to be repressed. 

It is evident, even to the super- 
ficial observer cf causes and effects^ 



u 



rUTUAlTY* 



that there arc immerotts mjrsteries, 
vhich are beyond the power of man 
in his most perfect state^ with the 
fiill enjoyment of his corporeal and 
mental nculties, to disclose; and 
it is likewise manifest, that an in- 
quiry into these things, which are 
in their elucidation, superior to the 
cfibrts of the most energetic reason, 
must be highly improper: for this 
rash endeavour only serves to mis- 
lead £he mind of man, and excite, 
either doubts to shake his faith, or 
a belief in the truth of Uiose mis- 
taken precepts which declare him 
to be equal to the angels of light ; 
and consequently produces the most 
arrogant and supercilious conduct* 
He can, nevertheless, by acontrarv 
line; by endeavouring to investi- 
gate the nature of objects that are 
within the narrow sphere around 
him, gain accurate, as well as en- 
larged and comprehensive infor- 
matioB; such a degree of know- 
ledge at least, as may render him 
tue/ul m life : tliis, indeed, ought 
to be tlie purpose for which he seeks 
it; vain is every other intention! 
hence it will be sufficiently extend- 
€dy if it is commensurate with this 
noble end. Investigations into the 
jiature of future events, therefore, 
must be criminal and absurd ; for 
•we possess no data which may serve 
to direct them : and to refrain from 
tlicm, our reason, limited as it is, 
informs us is proper : for into His 
hands, who sways the sceptre of in- 
finite power, are aU thmgs to he 
deIivcred.....to His mercy, must 

every tiling be confided! And 

whatsoever the great and compre- 
Jiensive plan may be, by which He 
rules the natural and moral uni- 
verse, whatsoever wise pui*pose 
His intention serves to fulfil, in 
secreting from our eyes certain 
events which it concerns us not to 
know, let us endeavour to act con- 
sistently witli it, by consulting those 
feelings which have been placed 
within our bosoms: a resistance 
renders us guilty ; and as such, will 
surely attract the lightnings of 
ctenial majesty, and draw down 
tlie vengeance of heaven, to burst 



like terrific thunder o'er OBr bead^ 
Let us, with pious resignation to 
that will which is guided by lovs, 
and uncootrouIaUe by the weak at- 
tempts of man, with stedlast confi- 
dence ia the execution of justtoe 
tempered by mercy, and with ft 
rigid fidelity in performing our 
moral, civil, and religiotts obii^- 
tions, refraiii from seeking to in- 
quire too de^y into those truths, 
on the nature of which our reason 
owns itself incompetent to decide; 
and which inquiry, it declares to be 
rash, culpable, presunptuons ! Tiie 
duty of man is loiown to man : if he 
peirorras it, every event will ooin-r 
cide in a g^ood, though incompre- 
hensible design; if a r^ectioh is 
persevered in, the oppoute conse- 
quences will likewise be inevitable, 
nor will tliat benevolent design be 
frustrated: " Providence is not 
cQimteracted by any means, which 
Providence puts into our power* ;" 
and it may please Him, in order to 
preserve tlie general good, to in- 
iict particular eviL 

Tlie present is a changeable state 
of being, but the foture, permanent* 
Yet on thU varying scene of exist- 
ence, depends the ultimate condi- 
tion, to which we are all hastening 
with rapid steps. Who, then, can 
dare to lift the voice of censure to 
the Omnipotent....to arraign His 
wisdom, His justice, or His bene- 
volence, while here He affords 
man, free agency* 

Suffer, tlien, ye sophists of the 
age, who delight to pervert your 
faculties to the most base purposes, 
suffer Reason, your boasted divini- 
ty, to evince her decision: and 
though unaided**.».unillumined by 
that light, whose guidance you wiU 
not permit her to follow, she will 
declare the truth ; and present to 
your averted eyes the black cata- 
logue of crimes, which in a future 
day shall, by the power of con- 
science, be made to glow as a fur- 
nace in your breasts: when ima- 
gination, di£tcnipcred and frantic^ 
sliall be forced by that inward mo- 

•J)r. Johnson, 



tUTUilTT. 



99 



Idtor, to cDiifiire vp in yoot view, 
gcenes, the terrors of 'which die is 
fM>w unable and unwilling to con- 
ceire. 

Presume not^ then, to scan the 
intricate and unsearchable designs 
of Providence ; nor impiously dare 
to trace the dark events of futurity : 
these are enveloped in a shade, 
which human reason can never be 
able to illuminate; their recesses 
no one can describe with any de- 
gree of certainty, notwithstanding 
those aids which we possess in the 
■acred writings. The ordainment 
of the Deity, in secreting them from 
our narrow conceptions, is, no doubt, 
in the highest degree, wise and be- 
nevolent ; and from this considera- 
tion, which is verified by daily ex- 
perience, it is made manifest, that 
the whole duty of man in the pre- 
sent state of' existence, is a per- 
formance of that, which the witness 
within his breast declares to be 
right, in opposition to the .vain wis- 
dom of this world ; and to leave to 
the providence and direction of a 
superior being, those events, which 
he neither can prevent, hasten, nor 
postpone* 

When we view objects around us 
in their proper light, we find that 
the prospects of st/ileasinff fiiturity 
may be blas^ted, and our expecta- 
tions be disappointed, long before 
the time in which the mind supposes 
they would have been realised,... 
Were a certain knowledge of cir- 
cumstances,the occurrence of wh^ch 
is now in the womb of future times, 
given to us, how miserably Would 
life slide on l..««f6r,ontheone hand, 
if it presented a perspective replete 
with unutterable horror, what pre- 
vious pleasure could balance the 
sad condition, and afford any satis- 
faction ?.«.onthe other, if happiness 
should dwell in the mental eye, how 
would impatience to seize it, conti- 
nually prevent us from the due and 
rational enjoyment of this life ?••••. 
But, if this anticipated state was, 
nevcrtlicless, liable to f)c chani^d 
lhron«5h our own misconduct, what 
multiplied danj^ers surround, and 
tlirc&ten it with irreparable rnin ! 

VOL, I....NO. II. 



This last is our ntoation ; and rea-> 
son declares it to be stamped with 
the seal of divine wisdom : for as 
we know the consequences resulting 
from our evil actions, their opera- 
tion is given into our hands, either 
to remove the effect by destroying 
the cause, or let it act, unopposed* 
In this, as well as in other instances 
which press with vigour on the 
mind, the intentions of the Author 
of Good are elucidated in their pur- 
est lustre, to the prejudiced, and 
the dissatisfied. 

To a mind which professes to be 
actuated by principles deduced from 
reflection, man appears a candidate 
for an office of high calling; and 
according with the conduct which 
he pursues in this life, will his un* 
alterable portion be allotted to him^ 
from the hands of Eternal Justice ; 
which, a% governed by an infinitely 
wise, though inscrutable spirit, must 
be stretched forth, uncontrouled by 
any power which dares to act in 
opposition to it ; yet let us also re- 
collect, that the eye of Mercy views, 
her influence modifies, the decision* 
Here, therefore, a noble, glorious 
prospect opens to the mind, in beau- 
ty unparalleled !...... in simplicity 

unequaled!....Adoration of the dis- 
poser of this system, will be the in- 
separable attendant of a just view 
of its tendency : and a coincidence 
with the plan of creation, the please 
ing result. Will man, with bright 
realities before him, reject these, to 
accept others far inferior in their 
natures and ends ? Will he permitt 
that heavenly spark, wisdom...that 
clear, though limited illumination 
of the mind, reason, to be reduced^ 
to an ignoble subjection to his pas- 
sions, and his prejudices ? Surely, 
KoI....If ever he sinks to so great) 

a depth.... .if ever he acts so oppo^ 

sitely to the intention of his creator, 
which is the advancement and pro- 
motion of his glory, by the exercise 
of tficse agents in conjunction with 
religion, what hope can remain of 
his refraininjj from the fnistation 
of that principle, implanted in hu- 
man bosoms for the support of civil 
and moral socict)', order ? Tlutl 
4 



100 



MEMOIRS or CARWIN 



expectation wears, indeed, but the 
semblance i>i reality 1 it is vain... it is 
presumptuous ! 

Can we not, therefore, allow rea- 
son and religion, " those heavenly 
guards that round us wait," to as- 
sume their proper dominion over 
us ? If the former is not perverted, 
it will invariably act in coincidence 
-with the latter....the bright, unsul- 
lied emanation from the Creator.... 
the delightful communion, tt'Ao«^ na- 
ture cannot be described ! 

D£NVILL£. 



WEMOIRS or CARWIN THE BII.O- 
qUIST. 

' I w A s the second son of a farmer, 
whose place of residence was a west- 
ern district of Penns> Ivania. My eld- 
est brother seemed fitted oy nature 
for thvi emjiloyment to which he 
^vfis destined. His wishes never 
led hini astray from the hay-stack 
i;tuI the furrow. His ideas never 
langcd beyond tlie sphere of his 
\ ision, or sugj^csted the possibility 
that to-morrow could differ from to- 
day. He could read and write, be- 
c:iuse he had nu alternative between 
learning the lesson prescribed to 
him, and punishment. He was di- 
ligent, as long as fear urged him 
fi'rward, but his exertions ceased 
with the cessation of this motive. 
The limits of his acquirements con- 
sisted in signing his name, and spel- 
ling out a chapter hi the bible. 

My character was the reverse 
of his. My thii-st of knowlcJj^e 
was augmented in proixirlion as it 
was supplied with gratification. 
The more I heard or read, the 
more restless and unconquerable 
my curiosity became. My senses 
vtre perpetually alive to novelty, 
my f.-incy teemed with visions of 
the future, and my attention fas- 
tened upon every thing mysterious 
or unknown. 

My fither Intended that my 
knowledge sliouid keep pace with 
tiiat of my brother, but conceived 
that all beyond the mere c^piicity 



to write and read was useless or 
pernicious. He took as much pains 
to keep me within these limits, as 
to make the acquisitions of my bro- 
ther come up to them, but his eflforts 
were not equally successful in both 
cases. The most vigilant and jeal- 
ous scrutiny was exerted in vain : 
Reproaches and blows, painful pri- 
vations and ignominious penances 
had no power to slacken my zeal 
and abate my perseverance. He 
might cnjoinupon me the most labo- 
rious tasks, set the envy of my bro- 
ther to watch me during the per- 
formance, make the most diligent 
search after my books, and destroy 
them without mercy, when they 
were found ; but he could not out- 
root my darling propensity. I ex- 
erted all my powers to elude his 
watclifulness. Censures and stripes 
were sufficiently unpleasingto make 
me strive to avoid them. To af- 
fect this desirable end, I was in- 
cessantly employed in tlie invention 
of stratagems and the execution of 
expedients. 

My passion was surely not de- 
serving of blame, and I have fre- 
quently lamented the hardships to 
which it subjected me; yet, per- 
haps, the claims which were made 
upon my ingenuity and fortitude 
were not without beneficial effects 
upon my character. 

Tills contention lasted from the 
sixth to the fourteenth } car of my 
age. M)' father's opposition to my 
schemes was incited by a sincere 
though unenlightened desire for my 
happiness. ThataU his efforts were 
secretly eluded or .obstinately re- 
pelled, was a source of the bitterest 
regret. He has often lamented, 
witli tears, what he called my in- 
corrigible depravity, and encou- 
raged himself to perseverance by 
the notion of the ruin that would 
inevitably overt- Jic me if I were 
allowed to persist in my pre^ent 
career. Peiha',s the suffirings 
which arose to him from the dis- 
appointment, were equal to those 
which he inflicted on me. 

In my fourteenth year, events 
happened which ascertained my 



THE BILO<^IST« 



101 



future destiny- One evening I had 
been sent to bring cows from a 
meadow, some miles distant from 
my lather's mansion. My time was 
limited, and I was menrced with 
severe chastisement if, according 
to my custom, I should stay beyond 
the period assigned. 

For some time these menaces 
rung in ray ears, and I went on my 
way with speed. I arrived at the 
meadow, but the cattle had broken 
the fence and escaped. It was my 
duty to carry home the earliest 
tidings of this accident, but the first 
suggestion was to examine the 
cause and manner of this escape. 
The field was bourided by cedur 
railing. Five of these rails were 
!:;id horizontally from post to post. 
The upper one had been broken 
in the middle, but the rest hnd 
merely been drawn out of the holes 
on one side, and rested with their 
ends on the ground. The means 
which had been used for this end, 
the reason why one only was broken, 
and that one the uppermost, how a 
pair of horns could be so managed 
as to effect that which the hands of 
man would have found difficult, sup- 
plied a theme of meditation. 

Some accident recalled me from 
this reverie, and reminded me how 
much time had thus been consumed. 
I was terrified at the consequences 
of my delav, and sought with eager- 
ness how they might be obviated. I 
asked myselJF if there were not a 
way back shorter than that by which 
I had come. The beaten road was 
rendered circuitous by a precipice 
that projected into a neighbouring 
stream, and closed up a passage by 
which the length of the way would 
have been diminished one half: at 
the foot of the cliff the water was 
of considerable depth, and agitated 
by an eddy* I could not estimate 
the danger which I should incur by 
plunging into it, but I was resolved 
to make the attempt. I have reason 
to think, that this experiment, if it 
had been tried, would have proved 
ibtal, and my father, while he la- 



mented my untimely fate, would 
have been wholly unconscious that 
his own unreasonable demands had 
occasioned it. 

I turned my steps towards the 
spot. To reach the edge of the 
stream was by no means an easy 
undertaking, so many abinipt points 
and gloomy hoUows were interpos- 
ed. I had frequently skirted and 
penetrated this tract, but had never 
been so completely entangled in the 
maze as now : hence I had remain- 
ed unacquainted with a narrow pass, 
which, at the distance of an hun- 
dred yards from the river, would 
conduct me, though hot without 
danger and toil, to the opposite side 
of the ridge. 

This glen was now discovered, 
and this discovery induced me to 
change my plan. If a passage could 
be here effected, it would be shorter 
and safer than that which led 
through the stream, and its prac- 
ticability was to be known only by 
experiment. The path was narrow, 
steep, and overshadowed by rocks. 
The sun was nearly set, and the 
shadow of the cliff alx)ve, obscured 
the passage almost as much as mid- 
night would have done : I was ac- 
customed to despise danger when it 
presented itself in a sensible form, 
but, by a defect common in every 
one's education, goblins and spec- 
tres were to me the objects of the 
most violent apprehensions. These 
were unavoidably connected with 
soHtude and darkness, and were 
present to my fears when I entered 
this gloomy recess. 

These ^errors are always lessen- 
ed by calling the attention away to 
some indifferent object. 1 now made 
use of this expedient, and began to 
amuse myself by hallowing as loud 
as organs of unusual compass and 
vigour would enable me. 1 uttcncd 
the words which chanced to oct in- 
to mc, and repeated in the Khrill 
tones of a Mohock savage. .." Cow ! 
cow I come home ! home !"...Thcic 
notes were cf course reverberated 
from llic rocks which on eithcy bide 



103 



XKHOlA^.Or CARVIir 



towered aloft, but the echo was 
confused and indistinct. 

I continued, for some time, thus 
to beguile the way, till I reached a 
6pace more than commonly abrupt, 
and which required all my attention* 
My rude ditty was suspended till I 
had surmounted this impediment. 
In a few minutes I was at leisure to 
renew iti After finishing the strain, 
I paused. In a few seconds a voice 
as I then imagined, uttered the same 
cry from the point of a rock some 
hundred feet behind me ; the same 
words, witli equal distinctness and 
deliberation, and in tlie same tone, 
appeared to be spoken. I was 
atartied by this incident, and cast a 
fearful glance behind, to discover by 
whom it was uttered. The s;x)t 
where I stood was buned in dusk, 
but tlie eminences were slill invest- 
ed with a luminous and vivid twi« 
Ught. The speaker, however, was 
concealed from my view* 

I had scai^iy begun to wonder at 
this occui'rence, when a new occa« 
sion lor wonder, was afforded me. 
A few seconds, in like mancei. 
iblapsed, when my ditty was again 
rehearsed, with a no less perfect 
imitation, in a different quarter..... 
To this quarter I eagerly turned 
my eyes, but no one was visible.... 
The station, indeed, which this 
new speaker seemed to occupy, was 
inaccessible to man or beast. 

If I were surprized at tliis second 
repetition of my words, judge how 
mucli my surprise must have been 
augmeatcd, when the same calls 
were a third time repeated, and 
coming still in a new direction. Five 
times was tliis ditty successively 
resounded, at intervals nearly equal, 
always from a new quarter, and 
with little abatement of its original 
distinctness and force. 

A little reflection was sufficient 
to shew that this was no more than 
an echo of an extraordinary kind. 
My terrors were quickly supplanted 
by delight. The motives to dis- 
patch were forgotten, and I amused 
myself for an hour, wltli talking to 



these cliffs: Iplacedmyidf innew 
positions, and exhausted my lung* 
and my invention in new cla« 
modrs. 

The pleasures of this new disco* 
very were an ample compensation 
for the ill treatment which I expect* 
cd on my return. By some caprice 
in my father I escaped merely with 
a few re2>roiiches. 1 seized the first 
opportunity of again visiting this 
recess, and repeating my amuse^ 
ment ; time, and incessant repeti* 
tion, could scarcely lessen its channa 
or exhaust the variety produced by 
new tones and new positions* 

The hours in which I was xnost 
free from interruption and restraint 
were those of moonlight. My brother 
and I occupied a small room above 
the kitchen, disconnected, in some 
degree, with the rest of the house. It 
was the rural custom to retire etuv 
ly to bed and to anticipate the rising 
of the sun. When the moonUght 
was strong enough to permit me to 
read, it was my custom to escape 
fi*om bed, and hie witli my book to 
some neighbouring eminence, where 
I would remain stretched on tlie 
mossy rock, till tlie sinking or be- 
clouded moon, forbade me to con^ 
tinue my employment. I was in- 
debted for books to a friendly jier- 
son in the neighbourhood, whose 
compliance with my solicitations was 
promptedpartly by benevolence and 
partly by enmity to my father, whom 
he could not more egregiously of« 
fend than by gratifying my perverse 
and pernicious curiosity. 

In leaving my chamber I wa# 
obliged to use the utmost cautii n to 
avoid rousing my brother, whose 
temper disposed liim to thwart me 
in the least of my gratifications* M jr 
purpose was surely laudable, and 
yet on leaving the house and ret urn- 
ing to it, I was obliged to use- the 
vigilance and circumspection of a 
thief^ 

One night I left my bed with this 
view. I posted first to my vocal 
glen, and thence scrambling up |i 
neighbouring steep, which overlook* 



THE Bii^qtrif t« 



M 



'od a wide exteojt ei thk romantic 
fXNftBtry, gave myself up to conteia- 
platum, sui4 the perusal of Milton'9 
Comu3* 

My refiectioDS were naturally sug- 
gested by the singularity of this echo. 
To hear my own voice speak at a 
distance would have been formerly 
regarded as prodigious. To hear 
too, that voice, not uttered by an- 
other, by whom it might easily be 
mimicked, but by myself I I cannot 
now recollect the transition which 
led me to the notion of sounds, simi- 
lar to these, but produced by other 
means tiian reverberation. Could 
I not so dispose my organs as to 
make my voice appear at a dis- 
tance ? 

From speculation I proceeded to 
experiment. The idea of a dis- 
tant voice, like my own> was inti- 
mately present to my fimcy. I ex- 
erted myself with a most ardent de- 
sire, and with something like a per- 
4nasion that I should succeed. I 
•started with surprise, for it seemed 
as if success had crowned my at- 
tempts, f repeated the eflbrt, but 
failed* A certain position of the 
organs took place on the first at- 
tempt, altogether new, unexampled 
and as it were, by accident, for I 
could not attain it on the second ex- 
periment. 

You will not wonder that I exert- 
ed myself with indefJEttigable zeal to 
regain what had once, though for 
so short a space, been in my pow- 
er. Your own ears have witnessed 
the success of these efforts. By per- 
petual exertion J gained it a second 
time, and now was a diligent observ- 
.er of the circumstances attending 
it. Gradually I subjected these finer 
and more subtle motions to the com- 
mand of my will. What was at 
first difficult by exercise and habit, 
was rendered easy. I learned to 
accommodate my voice to all the 
varieties of distance and direc- 
tion. 

It canxkot be denied that this fa- 
culty is wonderful and rare, but 
when we consider the possible modi- 
fications of muscular motion^ how 



few of these ax« usuaQy exerted, 
how imperfectly they are subjected 
to the will, and yet that the will b 
capable of being rendered unlimit- 
ed and absolute, will not our Yfopr 
der cease ? 

We have seen men who could 
hide their tongues so perfectly that 
even an Anatomist, after the most 
accurate inspection that a living sub- 
ject could admit, has affirmed the 
organ to be wanting, but this was 
effected by the exertion of muscles 
' unknown and faicredible to the great- 
er part of mankind. 

The concurrence of teeth, palate 
and tongue, in the formation of 
speech should seem to be indispen- 
sable, and yet men have spoken dis- 
tinctly though wanting a tongue, and 
to whom, therefore, teeth andpalate 
were superfluous. The tribe of mo- 
tions requisite to this end, are wholly 
latent and unknown, to those who 
possess that organ. 

I mean not to be more explicit. 
I have no reason to suppose a pe- 
culiar conformation or activity in 
mv own organs, or that the power 
which I possess may not, witli suita- 
ble directions and by steady efibrts, 
be obtained by others, but I will do 
nothing to facilitate the acquisi- 
tion. It is by far, too liable to per- 
version for a good man to desire 
to possess it, or to teach it to an- 
other. 

There remained but one thing to 
render this instrument as powerful 
in my hands as it was capable of 
being. From my childhood, I was 
remarkably skilful at imitation. 
There were few voices whether of 
men or birds or beasts which I could 
not imitate with success. To add 
my ancient, to my newly acquired 
skill, to talk from a distance, and at 
the same time, in the accents of 
another, was the object of mv en- 
deavours, and this object, alter a 
certain number of trials, I finally 
obtained. 

In ray present situation every 
thing that denoted intellectual ex- 
ertion was a crime, and exposed me 
to invectives if not ta stripes. This 



104 



XVLIKG PASSIOir. 



circumstance induced me to be si- 
lent to all others, on the subject of 
my discovery. But, added to this, 
-was a confused belief, that it might 
be made, in some way instrumental 
to my relief from the hardships and 



restraints of my pi^sent condition* 
For some time I was not aware of 
the mode in which it might be ren- 
dered subservient to tliis end. 
ITo be continued,] 



REVIEW. 



The Rulinj^ Passion: an occamonal 
poem. IVritten by (he apfiointment 
of the Society of tfie <I> B K, and 
sfioken^ on their jinniversary^ in 
the Cliafiel of the Univerhity^ 
Cambridgey July 20, 1797, By 
Thomas Patne, a. m. PubUshed 
according to act of Congress, 
Boston,.„Manning and Loring, 

The interest with which we read 
this poem, was increased by the 
recent and melancholy termination 
of the author's lifc.Mr* Paine was 
considered and respected by those 
who knew him, as a scholar and a 
poet. Several circumstances tended 
to embitter his life ; and over his 
death, those who have most injured 
him, will have most cause to lament. 
It is, however, not our province or 
desire to dwell on his history, nor 
are we possessed of sufficient infor- 
mation concerning him, to become 
his just and satisfactory biogra- 
phers. 

The Poem before us was printed 
in Boston , 1 797. As we do mean to 
confine our attention entirely in our 
reviews to recent performances, 
we shall, from time to time, give 
some account of selected works 
which we deem above the common 
level of American poetiy....In this 
class, we have no hesitation in 
placing the " Ruling Passion."..... 
It discovers in its author very con- 
siderable talents at satire, and a 
pupil who has studied in the school 
of Pope. Notwithstanding the me- 
rits of this poem, and its just title 
to the notice of criticisms, we have 
never seen it mentioned in the 
American prints. 



Mr. P. in his Riding Passion, 
after representing man as a world 
of wonders in himself, and in some 
respects inexplorable, then endea- 
vours to descrilje him as he seems 
to be^ and draws several pictures 
of persons actuated by a predomi- 
nant passion... .Some of tiiese dis- 
cover strong and vivid touches of 
a keen and harmonious pencil.. ..• 

Though some of the characters are 
of the same nature with those 
painted by Pope in his first moral 
epistle, yet they bear not the least 
impression of imitation.. ..we trust 

that our readers will acknowledge 
the propriety of our commendation, 
when they have read and examined 
the following extracts......Mr. P. 

after comparing men to animals, 
represents life as a Print-shop, 
where we may trace different out- 
lines in everv face. ..he paints the 
beau as fashion's gossamer ^ and 
then in a rapid transition, presents 
before us a character of a very dif- 
ferent description : this is a Pedant 
deefi and duU^grax^e tvithout senscj 
o*erfiovnngy yet not fuU* 

In embodying this character, the 
poet thus proceeds : 
" See, the lank book-worm, pil'd 

with lumbering lore, 
Wrinkled in Latin, and in Greek 

fourscore, 
With toil incessant, tbumbt the an- 
cient page. 
Now blot9 a hero, now turn* down a 

sage! 
0*er learning's field, with leaden eye 

he strays, 
'Mid busts of fd.me, and msnumenti 

of praise. 
With Gothic foot, he treads onfimrrt 

of taste. 



RULING rASSIOV* 



Its 



Yet stoops to pick* the pebble* from the 

vL-a&te. 
Profound in triilcs, he can tell, how 

short 
"Were iEsop*s legs.. ..how Urg^ was 

Tully's wart; 
And, scal'd by Gunter, marks, with 

joy absurd. 
The cut of Homek's cloak, and Eu« 

clid's beard! 

Thus through the weary watch of 

sleepless night, 
This learned ploughman plods in 

piteous plight; 
Till the dim taper takes French leave 

to doze. 
And the fat folio tumbles on his 

toes." 

The following picture of the 
Miser, we think deserving of high 
commendation* 

« Next comes the MxsER....palsied, 
jealous, lean. 
He looks tiie very skeleton of 

SPLEEN ! 

'Mid forests drear, ht haunts, in spec- 

tred gloom. 
Some desert abbey, or some Druid's 

tomb ; 
Where, hcrs*d in earth, his occult 

riches lay, 
Fleeced from the world, and buried 

from the day. 
With crutch in hand, he points his 

mineral rod, 
Limps to the spot, and turns the well- 
known sod ; 
While there, involv'd in night, he 

counts his store. 
By the soft tinklingsof the golden ore, 
He shakes with terror, lest the moon 

should spy, 
And the brc*eze whisper, where his 

treasm-es lie. 

This wretch, who, dyings would not 

take one piJl, 
If, iivihj^t he nnist pay a doctor's bill, 
btjll cliiigs to lite, of every joy bereft ; 
i/.j GoJ iu gUdy ami his i^le i^ioh ileft ! 
And, as ot vorc, when mudcni vice 

V atj srrai.;:^e, 
C'juld U itlfcrn iiK>jiey pass on 'Change, 
Hts lepjle soul, v.hoic reaooniiig 

pi>wciik arc jicnc 

V/lt..»t» iUl- lo^k bwUhds of CEXT PER 



Would %ooxitT coin bis eari, than stocks 

should fall. 
And cheat the pillory, than not cheat 

ataU!" 

The last extract which we shall 
offer from this meritorious poem, is 
the description of the Savoyard on 
his native hills ; and while we offer 
it, we assert with confidence, that 
it is equal to any similar represen- 
tation contained In the celebrated 
Pleasures of Memory^ 

•* To fame unknown, to happier 
fortune born, 

The blythe Savoyard haiU the peep 
of mom ; 

And while tht fluid gold his eye sur- 
veys. 

The hoary Glaciers fling their dia- 
mond blaze ; 

Geneva's broad lake rushes from its 
shores, 

Arve gently murmurs, and the rough 
Rhone roars. 

Mid the cleft Alps, his cabin peers 
from high, 

Hang^ o*er the clouds, and perches on 
the sky. 
> O'er fields of ice, across tha headlong 
flood, 

From dill to cli.f he bounds in fearless 
mood. 

While, far beneath, a night of tem- 
pest lies, 

Deep thunder mutters, harmless light- 
ning flies ; 

While, far above, from battlements 
of snow. 

Loud torrents tumble on the world 
below ; 

On rustic reed he wakes a merrier 
tune, 

Than the lark warbles on the " Idet 
ofjuner 

Far oft, let Glory's clarion shrilly 
swell ; 

Ife loves the music o£ his pipe as well. 

Let shouting millions cro\\n the he- 
roe's Iwad, 

And Pride her tessellated pavement 
tread ; 

More hap;>y far, this denizen of air 

Enjoys vha- Na'iurc condescends t» 
sjiare :.... 

His da) s are jocund, undisturbed his 
nighls ; 

His spi. use coiv.ent% him, and his mv/* 
(itii' h-.s'. " 



loS 



BUL1H6 PASSioV. 



The poem closes with a just tri- 
bute to the memory of the greatest 
character which this country, or 
this age has produced*. .to our peer- 
less Washington ; who, greater 
than the Cobham of Pope, deserves 
the celebration of k bard, as pre- 
eminent in the walks of poetrv, as 
he Vas in the military and political 
life. 



For the Literary Magaxme* 

History of the British Ejc/iedition 
to EgyfU ; to vfhich is subjoined^ 
a sketch of the present state of 
that country audits means ofde^ 
fence. Illustrated vrithmafis^and 
a portrait of Sir Ralph Mer^ 
trcmbym By Robert Thomas 

Wilson^ lieutenant colonel of ca^ 
vairy in his Britannic Majesty's 
serine e J and knight <ft)ie Impe'- 
rial Military Order qf Maria 

TTieresa* 

IngcnB, Insigne, Recens, adhuc 
Indictum ore alio. Hor. 

Philadelphia: published by Cor- 
rady isf Co.-~nonsal ksf Mlcs^ 
Printers^ fVilmingtonm^^p. p. 
317. 

This narrative is drawn up by 
An oiBcer, whose education and 
pursuits appear to have been chiefly 
confined to military affairs. His 
professed object indeed is the British 
expedition to £g>pt> and though a 
soldier has abundant opportunities 
of indulging a liberal curiosity in the 
scene of his exploits, and has some- 
times more advantages for literary 
and scientific rescrxrchesthfin other 
men, Colonel Wilscn appears to 
^ee little beside the movements of 
the army and records little beside 
their movemements. He is actu- 
ated likewise by the national :ind 
professional spirit, and is not slow 
to asiert and vindicate the reputa- 
ticn of the troc4)8 to whica he be- 
longs. 



It is to be expected that on^ 
knowledge of Egypt will be greatly 
enlarged by the rejjorts of British 
travellers, whom the temporary do* 
minion of their nation in that coun- 
try, will have enabled to inquire 
'and examine for themselves* Co- 
lonel Wilson gives us reason to fornn 
expectations of this kind. He men- 
tions several persons who penetrat- 
ed much farther than anjr of the 
French, into Nubia and mto the 
western deserts. By these the world 
will probably be furnished with the 
means of corroborating or correct^ 
ing the accounts of the French, and 
thus, whatever evils have befallen 
humanity in the Egyptian war, Eu- 
ropean curiosity will be greatly in- 
debted to it. 

This militar)"^ narrative is plain 
and distinct. It is adorned with no 
flowers of rhetoric, and enlivened 
by few of those minute circumstan- 
ces, which give interest and colour* 
ing to a picture. On this account^ 
though, perhaps, less amusing to 
the general i*eader, it is more in- 
'structivetothe military one. 

Among the articles of general 
interest, the following; account of 
Rosetta and the Nile, » one of the 
most striking, as it shews the dif- 
ferent lights in which the same ob- 
ject will present itself to .different 
spectators : 

" The ofTiccrs of tlie English ar- 
my who went to Rosetta, expected 
to find Savary's glowing description 
of its beauties realized, as they had 
found some justice in his remarks 
on that Desert, which separates 
Aboukir and Alexandria. Their 
mortification was extreme, to dis- 
cover that the boasted delights of 
this city only consisted in compari- 
son. The sight of verdure after 
that ban*en waste is a gratifying 
n'5vclty,which pleases and fascinates 
the eye, in projjortion to the pre- 
vious suffering of tlie traveller, re- 
lieving his despondency, and charm- 
ing the seniics. For two or three 
miles immediately on the bank of 
the Nile, towards St. Julicn, is cer- 
tainly u luxui'iant vegetuliouy but 



V1LS0V% KABftATXVE# 



w 



htytmH tibaft, ind over in the Delta, 
the scenery is bleak. To the south, 
hiils of sand are only to be seen. 

<' Rosetu is built of a dingy red 
brick ; a great part of the town is 
In itiina, many of the houses having 
been puDed down by the French for 
Ibel : the streets are not more than 
two yards wide, and full of wretches, 
which the pride of civilized man 
revolts at, to acknowledge human. 
The number of blind is prodigious ; 
nearly every fifth inhabitant has 
-loat, or has some humour in Ills 
eyes ; the erysipelas, the dropsy, the 
lepro^, the elephantiasis, idl kinds 
Off extraordinary contortions, and 
hisus nature, constantly oflfend the 
light. 

^ Filth, musquitos of the most 
dreadful sort, vermin of every kind, 
women so ugly, that, fortunately 
lor Europeans, their faces are con- 
cealed by a black cloth veil, in which 
two eye holes are cut, stench into> 
lerable,houses almost uninhabitable, 
form fhc charms of Rosetta and 8a- 
Tary's garden of Eden. ITie quay 
is alone a handsome object, and this 
certainly mig^t be made noble. On 
it General D*Estaign had fitted up 
a bouse in the Italian style, in whidi 
were the only dean apartments in 
the city, excepting a house belong- 
ing to Mrs^D'Arcy. 

"The Nile, the celebrated Nile, 
afforded, uncombined with its boun- 
ties and wonderfiil properties, no 
pleasure to the sight ; the muddy 
stream , rotten banks, putrify in g with 
the fatness of the slime, left from 
the waters ; its narrow breadth, not 
toeing more than a hundred yards 
across, impressed with no idea of 
majes^ ; hut a reflection on the 
miraculous qualities of this river, 
ananticipation of the luxuries which 
the very kennelly waters would af- 
ford, rendered it an object of con- 
aderable gratification. 

«' The baths at Rosetta were es- 
teemed very fine, and Savary de- 
scribes them as such; therefore 
they must be mentioned. Tlie cu- 
rious stranger enters first into a 
large saleon, where many people 
are laying naked in bed, or getting 

VOL. 1....N0. II. ^ 



up, having perfemied their aUui* 
tions ; he then passes through nar« 
row passages, smelling offensive^ 
ft^m the abuses allowed in theooif 
whilst each becomes gradually 
warmer, till theateam heat is almost 
intolerable ; when he arrives in the 
room where the baths are, he sees 
a number of naked people, in vari^; 
ous attitudes, some in the water^ 
others rubbing down by the atteni* 
dants, with gloves filled with coU 
ton. Their horrid squalled figures^ 
with their bald heads, excepting a 
little tuft of hair on the crown, and 
bristly black beards, made the place 
resemble a den of satyrs. No scene 
could be more disgusting; and 
it is astonishing how any person 
could remain five minutes, since 
the air is so tainted and oppressive* 
Hundreds of English, attracted by 
the description, attempted to getaa 
far as the baths, but were oblige^ 
to turn back when they had advanc- 
ed a little way. The Mosaic pave*' 
ment, witli which, however, the 
floors are paved, is really beautiful^ 
and repays some inconvenience." . 

Among the many accounts %e 
have received of tlie Egyptian pea- 
sants, the following deserve^ a con- 
spicuous place : 

^<A11 language is insufficient to 
give a just idea of the misery of an 
Egyptian village; but those who 
have been in Ireland may best sup- 
pose the degree, when an Irish hut 
is described as a palace, in compari- 
son to an Arab's stye, for it can be 
called by no other name. 

^^ Each habitation is built of mudt 
even the roof, and resembles in 
sliape an oven : within is only one 
apartment, generally of about ton 
feet square. The door does not ad- 
mit of a man's entering upright; 
but as the bottom is dug out about 
two feet, when in the room, an erect 
posture is possible. A mat, some 
large vessels to hold water, which 
it is the constant occupation of the 
women to fetch, a pitcher made of 
fine porous clay, found best in Up^ 
per Eg>-pt, near Cunie, and in whi^]^ 
the water is kept very cwA^ a r{^ 
pan, and coffee-pot, ar^all the qj^ 



loi 



WtLSON'i ]IARMATITI« 



Baments andutenrilt. Here then 
a whole fkmily eat and sleep, with- 
out any consideration of decency or 
deanlinesB, being in regard to the 
latter, worse even than thebcastv of 
the field, who naturally respect their 
own tenements* It was scarcely 
possible to witness this disgusting 
scene, to behold men, women, and 
children so wretched, so hideous, 
and so abject, without reflections 
not very conforming to doctrines, 
which for the happiness of tlie world 
should be inculcated ; and the beau- 
tiful reasoning of the philosopher 
and poet, was scarce suihcient to 
check tlie presumptuous discon- 
tent. 

" All the villages have high mud 
walls, flanked with little towers of 
the same material, to protect tliem 
from the Bedouin Arabs. At night 
a const .nt guard is mounted, and 
the faithful dog, who in Egypt is 
treated with such barbarity, pro- 
tects the thankless roaster's proper- 
ty ; for the magazines of corn are 
formed on the outside of the walls, 
otherwise they would be too extend- 
ed for the inhabitants to defend. 
•ITie property of eacb village is de- 
posited m one place, every iudi* 
vidual owner heaping up his own 
rick) and keeping it distinct from 
his neighbours, by preserving a path 
ronnd. l^us the depot resembles 
a com field in England, only more 
compressed, previously to its pro- 
duce being carried into the bams : 
but the interior regulations of these 
little independent states, and gene- 
ral system of government in the 
country, are beyond the limits of 
• this work ; nor could they be so well 
described as General Keynier has 
succeeded in doinp^, who has exem- 
plified these details in a very in- 
structive and able manner, since his 
knowledge and talents were not, as 
in his Military History, fettered 
with prejudice. A perusal of his 
work is well worth tlic attention of 
every man to whom legiblulion is in- 
teresting." 

The following picture of Cairo is 
another u**tiju«ce uf ihediffeient im- 



pressions excited in diflferent naoAB 
by the same objects : 

** The inspection of Grand Cairo 
was no less big with dinappointinent* 
The French had anticipated on their 
arrival the sight of magnificent 
buildings, grand squares, sumpto- 
ous decorations, a general appear- 
ance of wealth and riches, of com- 
merce, the enjoyment of every lux^ 
ury in all the profusion of eastern 
splendor, in short, a capital wheie 
their recreations would amply com* 
pensate them for the misery they 
had suflfcred on their route tliither. 
This city they fondly fancied to have 
been the emporium, which was the 
object of the expedition, and the re- 
ward of France to them for their 
services in Europe. Great there- 
fore was their disappointment, whea 
tliey saw none of Uiese expectations 
realized, but on the contrary, the 
desperate certainty that they were 
involved in a wretchedness, from 
which they could not escape. 

** The English, instructed by their 
error, expected little, yet did not 
reduce their ideas low enough. 

" ITie town of Boulac, which it 
the great suburb of C:aro, was one 
heap of ruins, having been destroy- 
ed by the French during the siege 
in the insurrection in the year 17^. 
A few wretched hovels, and two or 
three barracks, were the only re- 
maining buildings of tliis once large 
and populous fauxbourg. 

" The city of Cairo itself is also 
very much shattered at tlie diflfer- 
ent entrances ; the streets are about 
two yards wide, the houses very 
high, and built of brick, like those 
of Rosetta. 

" The palaces of the Beya are 
large ; two or three of them are 
very fine buildings; particularly 
Cassan Bey's, where the Institute 
was held, and the house in Place Be- 
quicr, in which Kleber lived, and 
in the garden of which he was mu!-- 
dercd.* 

• He was stabbed whilst walking on 
a terrace, and several drops of his 
blood still mark the railing against 
which he staggtreU. 



WILSON'S KARRATIYE. 



100 



" Place Bequier is a large open 
sqnare, where most of the 2e)'s re- 
sided, but many of their houses have 
been destroyed by the French ; in- 
deed, one whole side is in ruins. 
This place has, however, been 
otherwise improved by them, trees 
being planted on cacli side of the 
roads, which cross the square at 
right angles, and fosses having been 
dug to retain the water, with the 
view of checking the dreadful quan- 
tity of dust wliich flics from the 
sand and ruins always in the even- 
ing. 

'* To conceive the true n^iture of 
this insufferable nuisance, the whirl- 
wind of other countries must l)e ima- 
gined as occurring every evening, 
and fillin,^ the whole atmosphere of 
I^pt with burning dust, and the 
light particles of rubbish. Thus the 
only part of the day which is tolera- 
ble from the diminution of heat, can- 
not be taken advantage of as the op- 
portunity for exercise, ♦ 

" llie French had intended to 
have opened the streets of Cairo, 
and formed through Place Bequier 
a magnificent road from the citadel 
to Giza ; but the distraction of the 
tiroes did not allow of these im- 
provements being attended to, and 
thus the city bears irretrievable 
monuments of their ravages, with 
very few indeed of their benefits. 
The bairas or exchanges, which the 
merchants occupy, are large square 
buildings, divided into little shops, in 
which the treasures of tlie caravans 
were deposited. Since the aiTival 
of the French, none had come from 
Arabia, and even an unwashed 
shawl was not to be bought. 

" Th« citadel, in which the P^- 
cha was always kept as a kind of 

• Independent of this general state 
«f the atmosphere, large pillars of dust 
and wind arc always visible. Some- 
times in the circle of the horizon %v.'cn- 
% are to be seen, and scarcely ever 
fewer than four or live. ' Their force 
19 very great, and the tents were in- 
^antiy blown into the air by them- 



state prisoner, is a miserable paltry 
castle and the avenue of houses lead« 
ing to it is horrible. In the citadel 
is the celebrated well called Joseph's, 
being dug in the time of a Vizir 
bearing that name. It is excavat- 
ed in the rock, is two hundred and 
eighty feet deep, and forty-two in 
circumference. Winding stairs lead 
gradually to the bottom, and some 
way down, oxen are employed ih 
turning the wheels to raise the wa- 
ter, which is very brackish. 

*• l^he circumference of the city 
of Cairo, including the suburb of 
I3oulac, is six miles } and yet this 
place, till lately, whs considered in 
the east, and partially through Ei^- 
rope, as tlie largest capital in the 
world. 

" Th« people were excessively 
dirty, mostly affected in their eyes ; 
and swarms of beggars, distort- 
ed, or unnatural formed wretches, 
crowded the streets. The manners 
and customs of the inhabitants arc 
so well delineated in the Arabian 
Nights Entertainments, that every 
one has been agreeably made ac- 
quainted with them." 

The sequel of this work con- 
tains some valuable particulars re- 
specting the disensesof Egypt. The 
author maintains that the plague is 
local, occasioned by a corrupted at- 
mosphere, and never introduced by 
contagion* This appears to be the 
creed of the French physicians, and 
is made at least plausible by the facts 
enumerated by the author. Indeed 
the metUcal science is that branch 
of knowledge which will be most 
indebted to the campaigns in Egpyt. 

The catalogue of major and mi- 
nor x>lagues to which Eg}'pt is suIj- 
Ject, is a terr^bl^; list. T^^y ^X^ 
sucli as to deter any reasonable 
being froni ev^r residingan the coun- 
try, who has the choice of lca\ ing 
it ; but we are not thoroughly ap- 
prized of those advantages which 
belong to the country, and of the 
influence of custom to inure us t^ 
physical and moral cyils^ 



11« 



POETRY....ORIGINAL. 



i'bf the Literary Magazine* 

FHILAMTBROPT....A PRATES. 
O for the heart whose snaicious arms 

Can bear the world along ; 
Whose ear, no jarring note alarms, 

In Nature's general song! 

Who hears from all that be, arise 
The harmonies of praise, 
. And Echo bring them from the skies. 
As in primaeval days : 

Like him that made, preseires and 
ends 

The scene abroad displayed : 
O ! for the mind, whose eye extends 

To all that He has made ! 

That can the boon divine bestow 

Of universal love. 
And boundless praise ( since all bx- 

LOW 
Is C009, AVD ALL ABOVX. 



. For the Literary Migazine. 

TO LAURA, OFFENDED* 
Thxeb days had passed with linger- 
ing steps away, 
While I to narrow verge confined. 
To body's pain and solitude a prey. 
And sad unrest of mind. 

The fourth serene and painless rose, 

I hie me to thy door; 
It opens, but thy altered aspect shews 

An open heart no more. 

A ttranger I, thou hail^d'st me Friend 
no more ; 
Nor welcome sweet bestowed : 
No questions that the absent past ex- 
plore. 
In tender accents flow'd. 

A brow, -alas! severely bent, was 

thine;. 
Reluctant was thy hand; 
Thy eyes, that so serenely us'd to 

shine, 
Their sternest |^lance command. 



To tedious exile from thy conrerte, I* 
By sickly blasts consigned, 

A respite from the long-drawn, loneljf 
«gh. 
At some time hoped to find. 

Ah, Laura, wilt thou snatch that hop« 
away? 
And lost must I believe thee \ 
Not merely take from life its deareat 
stay 
Of life itself bereave me. 



For the Literary Magaiine. 

LINES ADDRESSED TO DOCTOR 
JENNER. 

JENNER, permit a muse unknown 

to fame 
To twine a scanty wreath around thf 

names 
Proceed and prosper in the generouB 

plan. 
Of mitigating woes of suffering roan. 
While gentler gales exhale their fra- 
grant breath 
'TIS thine to blunt another dart of 

death ; 
In Pity's service bear a noble part. 
Nor check the ardor of thy glowing 

heart. 
To quench the burning pang, the fe- 
verish groan. 
Most sure be incense sweet at Mercy's 

throne. 
Go on, secure that heaven thy viewB 

will bless. 
And crown thy efforts with the wish'd 

success. 
At length the slaughterous rage of 

war must cease. 
Ah! then go forward in the works of 

peace! 
In foremost rank with spotless fla^ 

unfurl'd. 
Publish thy mission to a listening 

world. 
Behold ! our plains luxuriant catch tl^ 

sound 
And spread with joy the grateful tid» 

ings round ; 
'Midst hardy sons of northern lands 

begun, 
They reach the climes that own % 

burning kon. 



FOBTHT. 



ill 



€ytt tlic blue mutt of AUcghany rise. His stride is dreadful to the fields of 
Mingling with purest airs of western strife, 

skies; And his bright armour fear-strik«a 

Down the bold stream of fair Ohio hosts of men. 

roll. He like a God by all his clan is fearedi 

And fill with pleasingawe the farmer's His nod, his look, is by them all 

toul ; obeyed. 

Diffusing balmy comfort far and wide One who had dared to question his 
Float <m the waves of Missisippi's tide. command 

Even 'midst the forest's dark and Was piece-meal hewn by his indignant 

gloomy round, sword, 

Where yet the woodman's axe must And thrown to blood-hounds to regale 

not resound, their thirst. 

The future mothers, as their babes He has withstood the threats and 

they kiss, power of kings. 

Shall breathe a prayer to heaven for And plans to seize him ft«quently hat 

braved. 
p« D« • Many strange tales concerning him 
are told 
Expressive of his fierce and wayward 



Jenner's bliss. 
December^ 1801. 



mind. 
A band of men his lofiely steps had 

traced 
Far from his mountains to a hoUow 

glen. 
Within their grasp they thought their 

prey secure, 
And £IIed the air with saucy shouts 

of joy. 
But as they cagcriy press'd on to seize 
SKIRTING the north a chain of The mighty robber in his hollow nook, 
mountains spreads. He disappointed all their hopes of 

That with their blue heads pierce the triumph. 



F^r the IMerary Magazmcm 

ARTABAV TBE ROBBER. 

An. Extract fivm a Mamucri/it 
J^oem. 



passing clouds. 
No culture tames the fierceness of 

their soil ; 
The larch-tree climbs their steep and 

rocky sides, . 
In which with toil some miSan-hordes 

have deivod 
Some wild and darksome dens; from 

which they come 
At night's still hour, in search of 

food and spoil 
And urged by thirst of blood. These 

bands are led 
3yARTABANofgiant-port, and skilled 



Collecting all his strength, he dashed 

to earth 
The foremost who advanced, and with 

a bound 
Flew o'er the heads of those who yet 

press'd on, 
And swift as lightning disappeafed 

from view; 
Nor could their search discover his 

retreat. 
A pilgrim clambering o*^r the rocks 

benighted. 
Sought shelter from the storm within 

his cave, 



In wiles, and all the robber's artifice. Artaban^ then was prowling on the 

His arm desc(^nds like some high-fall- plains. 

ing tmver The stranger wearied threw hinrself 

On the sad stranger wandering in the to rest 

dark, On some dry-leaves, and closed hts 

And, like a whirlwind, in his wrath, eyes in sleep. 

he sweeps He had not slumbered long when he 

Unsheltered viUages,ung\iardedfiocks. was roused. 

Grim visaged man ! none but tlie By the loud blast of an approaching 

brave can meet horn. 

The terrors of his dark and flashing And by the entrance of the scowling- 
eye, thief. 

Or mark the bend of his o*ershado>V' The pilgrim started from his bed of 

iag brows..., leavts. 



112 



rOKTRY. 



AsTABATc's dress, his manners and Rov'd o*er the figure of the trembling 

his looks man ; 

Told what he was : and the affrighted But when he saw him poor, in tat- 

man tered cloths 

Waited in terror his descending With age worn down» he gently bade 

blow. him stay, 

The chief of robbers when his eyes Rest on his leaves and fear from him 

first met no harm. 

The stranger sheltered in his rugged When morning came he led him on 

cave his way, 

ynsheathed his sword, and with his And him in peace and betur garb dia« 

•yes on fire, missed. i. o. 



A 



SELECTIONS. 
MEMOIRS OF COUNT DE PARADES. 



This man. being of an ardent 
«pirit and an enterprising soul, by 
the eccentricity of his character 
divided the opinion of the world.... 
By some he was supposed equal to 
the highest enterprises; while others 
regarded hin^ as a desperate ad- 
venturer: but by his wit and the 
lively display of his talents, he had 
gained the confidence of M. de 
bartine and the Count de Maurepas, 
who afterwards employed him in 
^\c most dangerous attempts. 

l\)wards the close of the year 
1774^ Parades completed his tour 
through Swisserland and the lower 
Valais, where making himself a- 
greeable to several persons of sci- 
ence and distinction, he was em- 
ployed as an engineer; in which 
capacity he formed the superb pix)- 
jcct of opening, by means of a canal 
from the Rhone, a communication 
between Geneva and the Vircntin, 
the object of which was to render 
France mistress of an imnicnj»e 
commerce. This plan was laid be- 
fore the Marquis de Vergcnnes, 
then ambassador to the Swiss Can- 
tons, who judging it of the highest 
importance, sent the projector, 
with letters of recommendation, to 
the Comte de Vergcnnes at Paris, 
where he ftrri\'ed early in the year 
3 778, and took the title of the Comte 
«le Parades, fir the first time. 

UsifortuHH-lclv for the kingdom of 
France, and the honour and advan- 
tage of the engineer,this scheme was 



laid aside : but France then being im 
a state of fermentation, in expect- 
ancy of a war with England, Parades 
entertained hopes of being once 
more actively employed. Having 
well weighed the probabilities of 
his future fortune, he resolved to 
]>a88 over into England, to acquire 
an accurate knowledge of the 
strength of Great-Britain ; of her 
forces by sea and land ; of her ma- 
ritime fortifications; with such 
other information as might form the 
basis of his future exaltation. 

He put his design into execution, 
and early in February arrived in 
England, where he visited all the 
principal towns ; examining every 
tiling worthy of notice, and digesting 
his remarks into a memorial, with 
which he arrivedat Paris in March. 
This memorial was presented to 
M. de Sartine, who praising his 
zeal expressed his satisfaction, and 
recommended another journey into 
Kngland, entirely for the purpose 
of jjrocuring correct plans of every 
sea-port ; to learn the separate sta- 
tions of the Britisli navy ; the num- 
ber of ships of war ready for sea, 
with those refitting and building; 
the condition of the magazines and 
dock-yards ; and, in short, of every 
thing connected with the English 
maritime resources. 

Parades accordingly quitted Ver- 
Riillcs a second time, and soon after 
arrivcvtl in England, whore he mo^ 
strictly fulfilled his commission: he 



xsMoiRS or cotrvT ss paxasbs. 



115 



ttieB returned to Paris, tad was 
still more warmly i^ceired by the 
minifiters of France* 

M« de Sartine wishing to establish 
fiuthliil agents (or rather spiesO &t 
every port of consequence, sent 
Parades a third time to England, 
with 35,000 livres, to be properly 
disposed of^ This indefatigable par- 
tizan, after several dlsappoint- 
ments, at length discovered a per* 
ton who exactly suited his purpose ; 
and this person agreed to procure 
him all the information he required, 
on condition of receiving a stated 
worn as adeposite, and 100/. sterling 
per month* All being agreed oi>, 
thb traitor to his country introduced 
him to two Jews, in whom (he said) 
Parades might confide, and with 
whom he set oif for London; a 
journey more interesting, but in- 
iiniteiy more dangerous, than the 
two he had undertaken before. 

By means of these conductors, 
and the letters of recommendation 
he was furnished with, (added to 
a complete knowledge of the En- 
glish language,) Parades got ad- 
mittance into every place he wished 
to visit. He received uivitations 
to dine from persons entrusted with 
the dock-yards, and other places of 
importance; where every move- 
ment was closely observed by him, 
and privately noted down. 

An adventure he met with in his 
third tour to Plymouth is so extra- 
ordinary, that it deserves record- 
ing, and shall be given in his own 
words: 

*• We entered Plymouth at mid- 
night, and though I had taken no 
rest during several days, yet I de- 
clined going to bed. My design was 
to reconnoitre bv break of day the 
citadel, which i had only imper- 
fectly viewed in my last two voy- 
ages. 

^^ I took as my conductor, a la- 
bourer whom 1 met in the street, 
and arrived at the glacis a little after 
the opening of the gates. The two 
first centinels suffered us to pass 
freely, and when we had entered 
the place, I turned to the left up 
tkt slope that leads to iheramparU; : 



havingquickly traversed those parts 
of the fortification that overlooked 
the country, I repaired to the saliant 
angle of the bastion en the right of 
the road, where I took such sketched 
as were necessary. In about aa 
hour, I wished to change my situa* 
tion to the left bastion ; but in pas* 
sing aloni; the curtiiin, (for it l^ 
necessary to observe that no centiv 
nel is placed on the rampart in th0 
whole circuit of the place,) I was 
observed by a soldier mounting 
guard at a short distance ; this 
centinel, astonished to see two 
strangers on the ramparts at so 
early an hour, and whom he hsui 
not observed to pass, alarmed those 
at the guard-house: a serjeant 
and two fusileers approaching di« 
rectly towards me, nothing remain- 
ed but to set a rood face on the 
matter. I therefore leisurely de- 
scended the slope from the ram- 
parts, as though my walk had been 
finished, and met them on the plain s 
the Serjeant demanded my business 
in that place, where I ought to 
know that entrance is forbidden. I 
replied, tliat being a stranger, I 
was ignorant of the prohibition ; and 
tliat tlie man who was my conductor 
ought to have informed me of it, as 
he belonged to the town and might 
be expected to know how far it was 
proper to go. " Seize the rascal 
(cries the Serjeant,) and convey him 
to the guard-house." The soldiers 
seized my conductor by the collar 
and were dragging him along, when 
I immediately pulled out six guineas 
and presented them to the serjeant, 
saying in a low voice, " Let this 
poor devil go ; he has done wrong 
to be sure, but it is tlirough igno- 
rance." He pocketed my money, 
and tuniint; to the soldiers, called 
aloud, " Drive that rascal out, and 
take care he comes here no more." 
Afterwards addressing himself to 
me iu a softened tone, he said, 
" Perhaps your honour would wish 
to see the fortress; if so, I will 
conduct you over it; I will only 
leave my fiisil at the guard-housi-, 
and be with you in a moment." 
Placing no great confidence ia his^ 



114 



MBK«ni9 or COVITT SK PABASIti 



word, I got rid of mf pipers by 
thnudng diem into the mouth of a 
camioD 1 aeemingljr examined ; hot 
I had no canae for distrust: my 
friend the Serjeant, after escorting 
me twice round the ramparts, de- 
scended with me into the batteries 
that command the Sound and the 
entrances of Cutwater and Ha- 
nioaze; the most complete works 
of their kind I ever beheld. 

^ After remaining nine hours in 
the citadel, where I took notes of 
all i saw, I thought it time to retire ; 
the Serjeant accompanying me to 
way inn, f there gratified him witli a 
present of two guineas more for his 
trouble. He then took leave, after 
assuring me, that he should be de- 
voted to me as Icmg as he lived* 
Previously to this I had withdrawn 
my papers from the cannon, finding 
that the danger was over. It wtU 
be seen in the sequence of what 
further utility this. man was of to 
me, and with what fidelity he served 
me* 

" I found ray two Jews at the inn, 
flatly alarmed at my long absence; 
and as the object of our journey was 
completely accomplished, we im- 
medlr.tely set out for London.'* 

So far M. Parades ; whose agent, 
not less active than himself, had 
made an agreement with a person 
dtsaflected to government and over- 
whelmed with debts, for the use of 
his vessel, which was to be under 
the direction and at the disposal of 
the French ministry, on the condi- 
tions of the owner's receiving 80(V. 
sterling per month, and the pro- 
duce ofall captures from the French 
and Americans. 

This vessel was occasionally em- 
ployed by Parades as a contraban- 
dier or smuggler, under whicli de- 
scription he got acquainted with the 
officers of Hurst Castle, and landed 
two cargoes of spirits at the garri- 
son; by which means he made 
himself fully ncxiuainted with the 
strength of that key to the Needles, 
and cnnccived the project of de- 
stroy in?; the British fleet at Spithead, 
by sending fire ships through tliis 
pafisagCi und also others &oxn the 



eastward from St« Heleoi, wowmt$ 
attack the fleet at each extremity; 
this plan was frnstrated by the cnv^ 
of his rivals, who, jealoos of his 
credit with the minister of marine, 
pretended to demonstrate the im- 
practicability of this scheme, which 
was in consequence laid aude. 

Parades having received adrioe 
from his trusty agent, that ordera 
were issued for die equipment of 
twelve sail of the line at Plymouth, 
under the command of Admiral 
Byron, whose destination was Ame* 
rica, despatched a courier to inform 
M. de Sartine: tliough the destina* 
tion of this armament was kept 
secret, Parades found means to 
inform the French minister of the 
progress made in its fitting out, and 
the day that was fixed for its de- 
parture. 

l*he English minister having re« 
ceived advice of the sailing of 2S 
ships of war from Brest, was afraid 
they had quitted that port with aa 
intention of attacking iSyron's squa- 
drcR ; in consequence of which, 
orders were dispatched to Admiral 
Keppel to sail immediately, with 
such ships as were then ready, tO 
reconnoitre the French fleet, but 
not to engage without urgent neces- 
sity ; to favour by his maneuvreSftbe 
progress of Byron, and not to lose 
sight of the enemy till he was sure 
Byron had gained a secure distance 
in the Atlantic ; after which he was 
to return to Portsmouth, where all 
the ships at that port were prepar- 
ing for sea with tlie utmost dis- 
patch. 

Parades had judged of the desti- 
nation of these two British arma- 
ments, though it was kept secret in 
England, by Byron's squadron being 
quite complete and victualled for 
seven months; whereas Keppel's 
had provisions for only twenty days, 
and was greatly deficient in its 
complement of men ; and time 
evinced that he judged right* 

His advices and conduct were so 
satisfactory to M. de Sartine, that 
he promised him a pensicm of 6000 
livrcs from the king, to prompt him 
to further exertion. 



HElfOIItS or COVVT DK PARADES. 



lis 



Admiral Kq)pel having sailed 
Brom Portsmouth pursuant to his 
orders, in quest of tlie French fleet, 
ibU in with it in the channel ; tnit 
as his orders ivere notto engage, he 
kept at a certain distance. 

The two fleets remained several 
days in sight of each other. The 
Count d'Orviliiers made no prepa- 
rations for attack, fearing to engage 
32 sail of the line, instead of 20, as he 
had expected ; and because he want- 
ed confidence ui the accounts with 
which Parades supplied him: so 
while those two fleets were watching 
each others motions, Byron's squa- 
dron escaped into the Western 
ocean. Keppel having fully ejie- 
cuted his orders, returned to Ports- 
mouth, carrying with him the two 
French frigates PallaisandLicome, 
which were taken by advancing too 
near to reconnoitre. 

From this distT-ust of Parades, 
the timeforattackingeither of these 
squadrons singly, and preventing 
Admiral Byron fulfilling his mission, 
was irretrievably lost, and its con- 
sequences felt during the whole 
course of the war. 



ETtractBfrom the corresfiondence 
qfan American in France, 

Aftek having made a stay of 
six weeks in Bourdeaux, I resolved 
Upon visiting Paris. Having ap- 
plied for and obtained my passport, 
I proceeded to make inquiries about 
the different modes of travelling. 
The distance from Bourdeaux to 
Paris is about one hundred and 
fifty leagues, which is only fifty 
leagues short of the entire length 
of France. The common Diligence 
makes the journey in six days, tra- 
vels very little in the night, and 
allows its passengers sufficient time 
for deep and refreshment. The 
Courier, which carnes the post,gocs 
from Bourdeaux to Paris in little 
more than four days. This car- 
riage admits but one passenger wlio 
is more hurried than a traveller 
would wish to be in a cx)uiitry so 
worthy of observation as France. 

TOL* !«•... NO. iz. 



It is so unusal to travel post here, 
that their post carriages, or cadrio" 
letsy are horrid machines, and un- 
safe conveyances. The inns on the 
road are so little accustomed to be 
visited by persons travelling post, 
that they are not prepared to re- 
ceive them. Every inn has its /a- 
ble d^hoUj and its regular hour for 
dinner and supper : those travellers 
who come at tiiis regular hour are 
sure of meeting with entertain- 
ment, at a moderate price ; but 
those who do not come at the regu- 
lar hour can hardly get any thing 
to eat. So that, all circumstances 
being considered, it is best to content 
one's self with the accommodation of 
the Diligences, which, being almost 
the universal mode of travelling in 
France, are put under very good 
regulations. 

While I was looking out for a 
conveyance to Paris, I was not a 
little surprised at reading, in an ad- 
vertisement respecting one of these 
Diligences, / 

** On ne mst pas de* boeuft k ce voi- 
ttire." 

De9 Aoeu/M / Oxen to a Diligence, 
give me a very strange notion of 
French travelling. But, upon mak- 
ing inquiries respecting that cir- 
cumstance, I was informed, that 
parts of the road had been, in win- 
ter, in such a wretched condition, 
that, in those bad spots, thcv pre- 
ferred oxen to horses, as having 
more dead strength, and being con- 
sequently better able to pull the 
carriages through the sloughs ; but 
as soon as the bad spots were pas- 
sed, the horses were again put to 
the carriage. Bofi.»rc I attempt de- 
scribing the country, I shxill first 
give you a description of tlie Frendi 
Diligences, which, as I be fore men- 
tioned, may be considered as the 
universal mode of travelling in 
France, and which is the only way 
by vkhicli money is remitted bettvccii 
Paris and the departments, whether 
for the national treasury, or the use 
of individuals. Almos tall the Dili- 
genccs in France belong to two 
or yiree great estabHsliniciUs xii 
$ 



116 



MODE 01" TRAVELLIKa 



Paris ,(the .principal of which is 
the company of Si, Simon*) They 
are, therefore, all of them so much 
alike both in their appearance, and 
their regulations, that a descrip- 
tion of one of them may be consid- 
ered a description of tliem all : and 
whoever has travelled in one French 
Diligence roust liave a pretty good 
idea of the universal mode of tra- 
velling in France. Those carriages 
are, in general, as good as the stage 
coaches in England, of nearly the 
same construction, and, like them, 
accommodate six inside passengers. 

Fresh horses and postilions arc 
taken every post (that is, every 
two or three leagues) and the 
drivers rewarded with a penny or 
two pence ft*om each passenger. 

As the carriage is driven by pos- 
tilions belonging to the post-houses, 
there is no coachman ; but, in the 
place of one, is sent a confidential 
person to take care of the carriage, 
be responsible for any incidental 
expenses, and see that the passen* 
gers are properly treated at the 
inns. This man is called le cou' 
ducteuvj or the conductor. Instead 
of a coach-box, there is in the front 
of the coach, a cabriolet, where 
one sits as comfortable as in a phae* 
ton, having, in fine weather, the 
advantage of air and prospect, and 
having curtains, by drawing of 
which one can, in bad weaUier, 
•shelter one*s self from its incle- 
mency. This cabriolet is the station 
of the conducteurj and admits also 
two passengers. 

The Diligences are in general well 
appointed and well regulated ; the 
horses good, and the travelling as 
expeditious us tlie state of the roads 
will admit oL 

The roads have been very much 
neglected since tlie revolution ; or, 
to speak perhiips more correctly, 
the government has been so distres* 
sed for want of money to carry on 
the war, that they have been oblig- 
ed to seize on those funds that were 
destined for the repair of the roads. 
This has been the cause of the pre- 
sent ruinous state of the roads in 
this country. Although the Dili- 



gences are, as before saidi very 
well appointed, yet it is impossible 
for an Englishman to avoid laugh* 
ing at the strange appearance 9f 
the French postiUons, m those ab- 
surd and monstrous machines, that 
they call 6oot9. 

They come up to the middle of 
the thigh, are thick enoa|^ for 
Ajax's ^eld, and are, I verily be- 
lieve, musket-proof. Sometimes 
these boots are not made of leather^ 
but of wood, covered with leather; 
they stand upright in the stable 
yard} and the postilion steps into 
them with the greatest ease. I can 
confidently say, that nothing of the 
burlesque has been exhibited on the 
sta^, or in the caricature shopSf 
which is more ludicrous Jthan the 
appearance of a French 'postilion 
in his boots* 

As there is no circulation of pa- 
per money in France, and aD re- 
mittances must be made in argent 
com/itanty or ready cash, which is 
sent by these carriages every Dili- 
gence carries a considerable sum 
of money, lliis gives such a tempta- 
tion to indigent and desperate men 
to attack these carriages for the 
sake of plunder, that the case occurs 
very frequently. The robbers are 
generally so well armed, and so nu- 
merous, that resistance is in vain ; 
but (luckily for the passen^frs) 
in order to give respectability to 
thdr vocation, tliey usually niake 
H a point not to plunder -or molest 
the travellers, and often abstain 
entirely from what is private pro- 
perty. They only demand the money 
of the Republic, with which they 
say they are at war, and profess to 
be royalist soldiers, and not rob- 
bers. There is another class of 
brigands however, who are not so 
scrupulous, but take whatever they 
can lay their hands on, without in- 
quiring, whether it is public or pri- 
vate property. This evil is grown 
to such an alarming height, that 
government has at length occupied 
itself seriously in directing such 
measures as wiU probably soon put 
an effectual stop to this species of 
brigandage. ITie conducteurj per- 



IK FRANCS. 



nf 



ceiYini^me to be a stranger, and con- 
aeqnently unacquainted witii the cus- 
tomsof travelling, ofleredto pay my 
expenses on the road, for which he 
would settle with me on our arrival in 
Paris. I gladly embraced this offer ; 
It saved me a good deal of trouble, 
and some money, as I should cer- 
tainly have given more to the postil- 
ions and servants than what is cus- 
tomary in this country. On my ar- 
rival at Paris, he presented my ac- 
count, and I found that my whole 
expense of travelling from Bour- 
deaux to Paris (which is farther 
than from London to; Edinburgh) 
amounted to about seven guineas. 
The journey took up six days, and 
we had sufficient time for deeping 
on the road. 

This, I think, may convey to you 
a tolerable idea of the rate and ex- 
pense of travelling in France. As 
to our living on the road, we always 
had two regular meals, the diner 
and the wupcr. At both those 
meals, the table was covered with 
a variety of dishes, and a pint of 
good wine was placed at each cor- 
ner. The diner was usually at ten 
or eleven o'clock, the soufier at 
iiveor six. An Englishman would 
rather call the first a meatibreak- 
&8t, and the last the dinner. 

The table was regularly covered, 
both at dinner and supper, and the 
soup and heavy dishes removed by 
poultry— ^'Wrr, or game of some 
sort, omelets, &c. and Vegetables; 
after whidi follows the dessert. 

When I talk of henvy dishes be- 
ing removed, you will probably 
wonder what I mean by heavy dishes 
in France. In the first place, there 
is always on the table a large piece 
of beef, which has been boiled for 
the soup. As France is as famous 
for soup and dpuiiUj as old England 
for roast-beef, the French cooks 
have the art (perhaps more than 
any other) of making good soup, 
without spoiling the meat, the best 
pieces of which are used here for 
soup. 

A leg of mutton roasted, or, as 
they call it, un gigol dc mouton 
trtiiaee (which means dressed with 



charcoal, in distinction to baked 
meat) is a very favourite dish here ; 
there is always a roti either of beef, 
mutton, or veal ; but one does not 
see large joints roasted as with us. 

I believe that they do not know 
how to roast a large joint of meat 
in France: their little chardoal 
fires, and their kitchens (which are 
quite in Count Rumford's style) 
were not constructed for dressing 
very large jomts, and I doubt very 
much whether they have such a con- 
trivance as a jack for roasting meat 
in the whole country. 

I met once, among the side dishes, 
with a Jricaasee (^Jroga : as we 
have heard so much of this French 
dish, I was determined to taste it : I 
was helped to some of it, and 
thought it very nice. The frogs 
grow here to a much larger size 
than in England, the hind quarters 
only are eat. I am convinced, that 
if English frogs was as large as the 
Frendi, this dish, instead of being 
despised in England, would be oxm^* 
sidered a delicacy. The mention 
of French frogs and English beef 
reminds me of a story I heard told 
at a table d' /ic/r, by a French of- 
ficer of character. He said, that at 
a time when he was prisoner in 
England ; he was asked by an En-. 

fli^ officer, whether there was any 
eef\xi France ? -He answered, with 
much gravity, that there was not^ 
and that, for want of beef. French- 
men eat frogs. So I have heard, 
replied the Englishman . But then. 
Sir, rejoined the French officer, 
our frogs are of a very different 
kind from yours. They are almost 
as large as ;^our oxen !-— we plough 
our fields with them first, and then 
eat them. Indeed ! said John Bull, 
opening his mouth wide with as- 
tonishment, and swallowing the 
story of the French frogs, that were 
nearly as largje as English oxen. 
Having now given you a general 
view of my journey, I shall, in m^ 
next, give you a more minute cfetail 
of circumstances, and some de^ 
scription of the face of the coan« 
try. 

[Tb be carMnued.^ 



118 



ACCOUNT or THE CBEEK WOMEV* 



BR. WHXTMAK'S ACCOUNT OF THE 
GREEK WOaCKN, 

The Greek women have the 
face, which is beautiful and of an 
oval form , uncovered . Their eyes 
are black, as are also their eye- 
brows, to which, as well as to their 
eye-lids, they pay a particular at- 
tention, rubbing them over, to be- 
stow on them a deeper hue, with a 
leaden ore reduced to an impalpa- 
ble powder, blended with an unctu- 
ous matter to give it consistence. 
Their complexion is generally pale* 
They wear their hair, whidi is of a 
great length, and of a deep shining 
black, in tresses, and sometimes 
turned back, in a fanciful way, on 
the head. In other instances it hangs 
loosely down the back, extending 
to the hips. They are commonly 
dressed in a pelice of silk, satin, or 
some other material : they are cost- 
ly in their attire, in the choice of 
which they are not attached to any 
particular colour. On the head 
thev wear a small cap. 

The Greek women marry at 
about the age of fifteen ; they are 
short-lived. At twenty-five they 
wrinkle and decay, bearing t^e ap- 
pearance altogetlier of old women. 
They have tine children, who, how- 
ever, partake of the pallid com- 
plexion of the mothers. It is un- 
questionably to the too frequent use 
of the warm bath, to which the 
Greek women are so much habitu- 
ated, that their veiy relaxed and 
debilitated state is to be ascribed ; 
and this abuse, added to their natu* 
ral indolence and their inaction, 
as certainly tends to shorten their 
lives. 



DR.WHITMAN'S account:^ THE 
TURKISH PROCKSSION AT THE 
OPKNING OF THE BETCAM CA- 
VIBAM, 

About eight o'clock in the morn- 
ing the procession commenced ; but 
the Grand Seignior did not make 
his appearance until half past nine. 
The dresses of all those who com- 



posed the procession were splendid 
and costly. Tlie fine horses on 
which they were mounted, and 
more especially those of the eu- 
nuchs antl principal officers of state, 
were most gorgeously caparisoned^ 
the housings of many of them be- 
ing of gold embroidery, studded 
with precious stones, by which a 
very brilliant effect was produced. 
In the turban of tlie Grand Seignior 
was a beautiful aigrette of very 
great value, the diamonds of which 
it was composed being of uncom- 
mon magnitude. Several of his 
horses, on wliich his shield and va- 
rious trophies were carrried, were 
led in the procession; and being 
very richly caparisoned, and orna- 
mented with a profusion of dia- 
monds, rubies, and other precious 
stones, gave a brilliancy and mag- 
nificence to the scene, which far 
exceeded any idea I could have pre- 
viously formed of it. 

During the procession, a Turkish 
officer was constantly employed ia 
throwing on the heads of the popu- 
lace handfiils of new paras (small 
coins). The contest which ensued, 
to pick tliem up, affi>rded to the 
Turkish spectators no little amus^ 
ment. 

The Grand Seignior, who was 
very superbly mounted, was follow- 
ed by his sword-bearer, carrying 
his sabre, the hilt of which was 
profiisely studded with diamonds. 
Next came several officers of his 
seraglio, richly dres&ed, bearing on 
cushions his turbans, ornamented 
with diamonds and other gems. The 
streets were lined on each side with 
janissaries, whose dress-caps ap- 
peared to me both ridiculous and 
unbecoming. As the Sultan passed 
along, he from time to time bowed 
with great affability to the people, 
all of whom prostrated themselves 
at his approach. 

The kisla aga, or chief of the 
eunuchs, officiated at the mopque, 
and wore on his return a valuable 
pelice and a rich caftan, with which 
the Grand Seignior had presented 
him. Several other caftans, of quali- 
ties suited to the rank of those for 



ACCOUNT OF ALGICRS* 



lit 



ivlioiii they were destined, were dis- •• cf« 

tribttted by the Sultan on this occa- Monthly Mirror 1 

aion.., •••••••••••• Spitome 6 

The procesMon was conducted ••• Visitor 1 

with great decorum, and through- Medical and Physical Journal 3 

out the whole of it, the best order Military Journal 3 6 

observed. It would be impossible Naval Biog;raphy 3 

to describe all the striking appear- Chronicle 3 6 

ances it exhibited, or to enter into ••. Magazine 1 

a detail of the great variety and ex- Navy List 6 

treme singularity of the magnifi- Naturalist's Miscellany 3 

cent costumes which were display- Nicholson's Journal 3 6 

ed. To be bricf-~it afforded to us Philosophical Magazine 3 

strangers a spectacle truly novel Repertory of Arts 1 6 

and interesting, and fully i-epaid us Sowerby's Botany 1 6 

for the trouble we had taken to be Sporting Magazine 1 

comprehended among the number tfniversal ditto 1 

of the spectators. By eleven o'clock Young's Annals of Agricul- 

the streets were cleared. ture 3 

Zoological Magazine 1 • 



LIST or MOKTI^LT PUBLICATIONS 
IN LONDON (1800.) 

«• dm 

Army List sells at 1 
Anderson's Recreations in 

Agriculture 1 6 

Anti-Jacobin Review 2 

Arminian Maraizine 6 

British Critic Review 2 

British Magazine 1 6 

Britannic ditto 1 

Botanical ditto 1 

Critical Review 2 

Chirurgical ditto 1 6 

Commercial Magazine 1 

Cq)per-plate ditto 1 

Donovan's British Insects 10 

••••.•••••••'s Shells 2 6 

European Ma^zine 1 6 

Repertory 2 

Evangelical Magazine 6 

Fashions of London and Paris 1 6 

Gentleman's Magazine 1 6 

German Museum 1 6 

Gospel Magazine 1 6 

General Baptist's ditto 6 

Historical ditto 1 6 

I^ondcn Review 1 6 

London Medical Magazine 1 6 

Lady's Magazine 1 

Lady's Museum 1 

Monthly Review 2 

•.••• Magazine 1 6 

•*..*•• Preceptor 1 



ACCOUNT OF ALGIERS* 

THE mhabitants of the Algerine 
State are partly Turks, partly 
Moors, and partly Christians and 
Jews* Each of these fdur divisions 
contains different subdivisions* 

TheTurks have established them- 
selves here since the middle of the 
sixteenth century, and have ren- 
dered themselves so formidable* 
that tliat thev may be considered 
as tlic lords of the country. They 
are the nobility: their privileges 
are founded on their personal va^ 
lour ; and in their hands are aJl the 
offices and employments ; the other 
inhabitants being kept by them in a 
state of ignorance and subjection* 
All the Turks settled here, have at 
different times arrived eitlier as 
emigrants, or even fugitives, from 
the dominion of the Grand Seignior* 
According to the established con- 
stitution of Algiers, no native of the 
country can be a Turk : he only is 
considered as a genuine Turk, and 
enjoys the privileges annexed to 
that class, who is descended from 
Mahomedan parents, or bom of a 
Mahomedan mother, in th^ domi- 
nions of the Grand Seignor* Re- 
negadoes, who come from Turkey 
to Algisrs,are indeed in one respect 



ISO 



itCCOUVT Oy AtGIERfr 



esteemed Turks, but not so noble as 
the odiers ; holding a rank as much 
inferior to the genuine Turks, as 
the new to the old nobility in Eu- 
rope. 5 Formerly the number of 
Turks established at Algiers was 
from fourteen to sixteen thousand 
men : but now they at most amount 
to nine or ten thousand, among 
whom there are many invalids* 
The vacancies occasioned by death 
or otherwise, are filled up by re- 
cruiting, chiefly at Smjrma and 
Alexandria, where young men are, 
by tempting and fallacious promises, 
enticed to leave their native land, 
and enter into the service of the 
Dey. The recruits who here offer 
themselves are almost all of the 
lowest class of the populace, run- 
away artificers, shepherds, crimi- 
Tuds escaped from the hands of jus- 
tice, among whom there are not 
seldom muMerers and villians gpiil- 
ty of other the most atroaous 
crimes. Their first reception at 
Algiers answers not to their hi^h- 
wrought expectations : they receive 
a few coarse clothes, free quarters 
in the barracks, daily two small 
loaves of bread, and every other 
month 406 aspers. Twelve or 
even sixteen years may thus be 
passed, before a Turk is raised to 
the class of those who are entitled 
to the highest pay. Such as have 
relations, or exercise a trade, sub- 
sist tolerably well : the others over- 
run the country in bands, and live 
by plundering and robbing. These 
excesses are indeed sometimes pu- 
nished by the government : but, as 
the cause stUl continues to exist, 
they cannot be entirely suppressed. 
No wonder, then, if tKe Turks are 
hated by the Moors: but their 
hatred shews Itself in acts of ven- 
Mance only against such of them as 
singly stray too far into the country; 
for, on the whole, they are more 
feared than hated by the cowardly 
natives. 

The Turks resident in Algiers 
are ignorant, proud in the highest 
degree, lazy, voluptuous, rev'cnge- 
ful and jealous : but then they are 
; t the same time faith^l, sincere, 



courageous, atid tolerant. . The 
meanest Turk esteems himself far 
superior to the Moors, Christians 
and Jews. These ideas of superi- 
ority, which he brings 'with him 
from his native country, are nou- 
rished and confirmed by the privi- 
leges he enjo^'s at Algiers. 

In repose and conveniency the 
inhabitant of the East places his 
chief happiness. Stretched in in- 
dolent ease on his carpet, the opu- 
lent Turk smokes with voluptuous 
relish his pipe, remains for hours 
in the same posture, drinks his 
coffee, slumbers between whiles 
when he has no company; takes 
sometimes by way of clutn^ a little 
opium; agtdn smokes his pipe; 
orders hb slaves to perfume him, 
and in particular his beard, with 
incense; and in such a round of 
enjoyments consumes the whole day. 
Those who are less favoured by 
fortune enjoy as much as they can, 
and for this purpose hasten to the 
coflfee-house, to smoke their pipes, 
at ease, to view the passengers, and 
enjoy the pleasant delirium arisrog 
from opium. Even the poor and 
indigent will live on a scanty por- 
tion of the coarsest food, tend wan- 
der about the streets dirty and 
covered with rags, rather than sub- 
mit to work. Nothing is able to 
rouse the Turk from his. inactivity ; 
he seems merely to vegetate, and 
to prefer this torpid state of exist- 
ence to every other. 

Tills indolence is accompanied 
witlx an unbounded propensity to 
sensual pleasures. A moderate 
passion ror the sexual intercourse 
is in this country a rare phenome- 
non. Not less excessive is the Al- 
gerine Turk in his jealousy i no 
punishment is so cruel, no deed so 
black, but the offended party will 
resolve upon, to wreak his ven-* 
gcance on his rival. As the Turk 
knows no higher happiness on eartlv 
than the gratification of his volup- 
tuous desires, and as his heart isfiilk 
of it, his lips overflow with it, and 
it forms the darling subject of his 
conversation : here his habitually 
serious countenance brightens up ; 



ACCO0NT or ALGIERS. 



121 



jiad his fimc^ Is sufficiently awak* 
eoed to iuniish him with the neces- 
sary imam. Those who are strong- 
ly built, live upon a generous and 
nourishing diet, belongto the beau- 
tifiil race^of man, and are justly 
renowned for hercidean TOwers. 
But as they enter upon tiietburse 
of pleasure at too early an age, they 
preserve the reputation of superioi^ 
prowess for only a short time. 

Avarice^ too, is a characteristic 
of the Turks at Algiers. Their 
original indigence lays the first 
foundation of this passion. In the 
sequel, domestic cares, and the 
extraordinanr expenditure neces- 
sary to smoom their way to promo- 
tion and to the offices of the state, 
render parsimony a duty, which at 
last degenerates mto the most sor- 
did avarice. The Turk, however, 
has likewise his good side. One 
may almost always rely on his word, 
and reckon upon his fidelity and 
promised assistance: he is a stranger 
to dissimulation and to deceitful 
evasions. A Turk will seldom se- 
cretly purloin any thing, whatever 
he takes, he takes openly and by 
force, from pride or revenge. He as 
much abhors cunning and deceit, 
as he does pusillanimity and cow- 
ardice. It must be observed, how- 
ever, that among the Turks their 
natural disposition to these virtues 
becomes considerably weakened in 
proportion as they rise^ high 
ncmours and dignities. 

The Turks not only think, but 
act tolerantly: at the most, they 
pity those who profess not their 
rehgioii. Some of them even think 
too nobly and rationally, to condemn 
^tfiose of a different persuasion 
merely for following the dictates 
and conviction of their consciences. 
Kay, there are not wanting in- 
stances of Turks exhorting their 
Christian slaves to the observance 
of the external rites of Christian 
worship. Renegadoes are by the 
most of them despised. In general 
the Algerine Tavk is equally a 
stranger to fanaticism and bigotry ; 
he hates both. 



The privileges and perogativei 
of the l\irk8 here are merdy per* 
sonal. They pay no poll-tax, and 
have an exclusive title to rise to the 
first offices of the state : to the dig- 
nity of Dq^f none but a geniiine 
Turk can be exalted. NoTurkcaa 
be punished except by the express 
command of the Dey : when con- 
demned to death, the mode of put- 
ting them to death, according to 
rule, is by strangling : sometimes^ 
though rarely and for secret reasons 
of state, the execution is performed 
by the administration of a dose of 
poison in a cup of coffee. To their 
otlier privileges must likewise be 
added, that they buy all the neces- 
saries of life at a lower price ; that 
from all gardens and vineyards 
which are not inclosed with high 
walls, they may take as much fruit 
as they can eat ; and that their tes« 
timony, all oiher circumstances 
being equal, is always preferred to 
and held oi more value than that of 
the Moors, Jews, and Christians... 
Their male children and descend- 
ants inherit only a small part of 
these privileges; and constitute a 
peculiar class of men, who are next 
in rank and dignity to the Turks. 

These sons, who spring from the 
marriages of Turks with women 
natives of Algiers, are called CoiO" 
lU or Coloria. They have the pri- 
vilege to be in cases of necessity 
admitted, by permission of the Dey, 
into the military. After their en- 
rolment, they are considered as 
equal to the genuine Turks, and 
advance like them in rank and pay. 
They may likewise be raised to civil 
offices of the state, but not to the 
first. The number of these Coloria 
is considerable, especially in the 
vicinity of the capitiil. Among 
them are ancient, rich, and res- 
pectable families. The sons even 
of the Dey hhpself belong to the 
class of Coloris; and consequently 
cannot succeed to the throne, or to 
any of the higher offices of state. 
It may even be asserted, that the 
richest and most considerable fami- 
lies of this country consist of Colo- 



133 



ACCOUKT OF ALGlEftS. 



ris; as &I1 the Beys, Califs and 
Caits are always Turks, who leave 
great wealth to their children. The 
Colons form a middle class betwixt 
the l\irks and Moors: they arc 
cerUunly the most dangerous ene- 
mies ot the domination of the 
Turks, and continual envy and 
mistrust subsists between bom par- 
ties, llie government therefore 
admits as few as possible of the 
Coloris into the military corps; 
nor ever employs them in secret 
and dangerous expeditions; and, 
in case of any dispute arising 
between them, always fiavours the 
Turks. With respect to the cha- 
racter of the Coloris, they resem- 
ble the Turks in being proud, vain, 
jealous and courageous; and like- 
Wise votaries of sensual pleasure, 
but more laborious and addicted to 
business. On tlie other hand, they 
partake of the perfidy and dissimu- 
lation of the Moors, and of their 
propensity to superstition* In bodily 
strength and structure, they arc 
not inferior to the Turks, and can- 
iK)t in this respect be distinguished 
from them. Being the descendants 
of the richest and most considerable 
men, many of whom have travelled 
into distant countries, the>' undoubt- 
edly belong to the most intelligent 
and cultivated part of the inhabit- 
ants of Algiers, from whose con- 
versation a European may derive 

entertainment and instruction 

They have likewise a genius for 
the arts ; and the most expert art- 
ists and artificers of the country 
are Coloris. 

The second grand division of the 
inhabitants of Algiers is the Moora. 
Under this general name are com- 
prehended the Moors pi-operly so 
called; the Cabyles^ mixed with 
Brebera {Berbers) ; and several 
proper Arabian tribes. The Moors 
m the Algerine dominions {Mauri 
Mauritani) must not be confounded 
with the JSTegroes^ the more so, as 
their natural colour is as white and 
beautiful as that of the natives cf 
the south of France, of Spain, and 
Italy. The coimtry people, indeed, 
who expose themselves half naked 



to thebummg rays of the sun, hatfe^ 
an adust and reddish-yellow appear- 
ance: but this is not the natural 
colour of their bodies. 

With respect to their moral cha- 
racter, the Moors of this country 
are i»ferior to the Turks. They 
are malicious, folse, cowardly^ 
revengefol, fanatical, ignorant^ su- 
perstitious, fraudulent, avaricious, 
and, as far as regards the lower 
class, likewise tiiievish and rapa- 
cious. But, then, they are more 
active than the Turks, and especi- 
ally have a turn for commerce and 
the mechanic arts. The Moors who 
live in die cities, do not appear in 
so odious a light: for, by their 
frequent intercourse and dealings 
with otlier nations, they become 
more polished. They are likewise 
for the most part, in easy circum- 
stances, and some of them even 
rich. The Turks are hated, and 
even despised, by the rich Moors; 
who reject and avoid ell connection 
and inter-marriage with them and 
the Coloris : but they dare not openly 
shew their hatred and pride; on 
the contrary, they are obliged to 
take refoge in dissimulation and 
flattery, and to purchase with prc- 
sents,patrons and protectors among 
the Turks. The less wealthy Moors 
in the towns are for the most pai:t 
artificers : many of them likewise 
follow tie sea service. Among Uic 
rich, and those of a higher rank, 
we find some, who even are fond 
of books, and apply to the study of 
the sciences ; but their knowledge 
extends not beyond the Koran, and 
history, as told by the Arabian 
writers and chronicles. The greatest 
villians in the cities are? found 
among the lowest class (^f Moors : 
these cannot be kept within bounds 
and restrained from crimes of eveiy 
kind, but by extreme j-cverity, bor- 
deHng on cruelty. The Biscaris 
form a small exception. Very few 
of the country people who are 
Mtiors are wealthy: the greater 
part ha^e hirdly a sufficiency to 
s cisfy their most pressing wants. 
On tiiera rests with cU its weight 
the de^lx)tic pressure of the^ovcrn* 



AtC0mM9 0F At«te&s« 



Its 



4Md ki %9»^fsiBttiMfregp and 
ftgents* They are ignorant, rude, 
«fid uncultivated, and strangers to 
|dl the advantages and comibrts of 
•ocial life. They retain the ancient 
custom of disthigi)ishine;^enise1ves 
by families and tribes, in the towns 
this distinction is no longer attended 
Ip: srhidicircttmsUnce would seem 
to corroborate the opinion of those 
«b0 nwinrwn that the inhabitants 
of the cities are descendants of the 
Moors whQ were expelled from 
Spain and Portugal. Many Moorish 
families do not remain constantly at 
a fixed place of abode, but lead a 
nomadical life. Some of the poorest 
^affc pn the estates of the wealthy 
Moors, Turks, or Colori^ -where 
a^ eai» tlieir subsistence by c^lti- 
▼ating the land und/er certain con- 
ditions. These fare better than 
their nomadical brethren, are more 
OAV^hfidj nor have so savage and 
frightful an appearance. Among 
ail the Moorish tribes in the coun- 
try, polygamy prevails : but in the 
towns they seldom avail themselves 
of this privilege. Into the chief 
wiilitary corps, or the infantry, the 
Moors are never admitted: but 
tiie whole cavalry of the Dey of 
Algiers is composed of them ; for 
^e Turks and C<4oris seldom serve 
as horse-soldiers. This body of 
cavalry are not bad troops; but 
they are not much esteei^d, as the 
govcmmeut cannot rely on them so 
confidently as upon tJie infantry : 
besides, from the mcuutainous state 
of tlie country, cavalry cannot he 
•o often and usefiiUy employed. 

The Moorish mountaineers are 
called Cabylcs or Cabeyis : tliey are 
partly the immediate descendants 
of the most ancient inhabitants of 
the country, and are in this res- 
pect frequently denominated Ure- 
ters or Berbers ; partly the mixed 
progen^r of the abori.^ines and of 
the nations who in tqrmer times 
invaded and settled in the count^ry ; 
but all of them have always been, 
^d ^tiU are distinguished from the 
other inhabitants of the country by 
their language, love of freedom, and 
^de jui^Kilishod m^maers- The 

TOL. I....NO. iz. 



CabyUsj too, «» iliv^jdcd Into dis- 
tinct tribes, many of which are 
fpee and independent, and do not 
acknowledge the superiority of 
Algiers ; e^seciaUy d&ose who inha- 
bit the inaccessible ridges of moun- 
tains. The neighbounng tribes are 
often united by friendly alliance^ 
wiUiout, however, subjecting tliem- 
aelves to a common head. Others 
live in a o<mtinual state of conten- 
tion and feud with th^ neighbours: 
the most pocent causes of these 
quarrels are the infidelity and elope- 
ment of their wives- lliey are in 
general well grown, robust, mea- 
gre, and of a. 6un->bumt, red, and 
often blackish yellow complexion, 
and have'black or dark-brown hair. 
Their external appearance is ren- 
dered still more uncouth by dirt and 
tattered clothes. They generally 
dwell in straw -huts : however, stone 
houses here and there occiir in 
their DaskraSy or villages. Their 
number decreases ; and their love 
of liberty likewise gradually wears 
away. Only the inhabitants of the 
higliest parts of the mountains jstill 
assert their independence, and 
defend their liberty with undaunted 
valour against every Jiostile attack. 
Their courage, joined to a perfect 
knowledge of the country, saves 
them from the superior force of 
their enemies: as the Algerines 
have several times, and even no 
later than twenty years ago, expe- 
rienced to their cost. The govern- 
ment therefore endeavours to main- 
tain a good undemanding and 
friendship, where force canjWJduce 
no effect ; and often gives way to 
even their unreasonable demand?* 
.Thus the Cabxjks of Caitco s^p 
treated with vei7 jpeat lenity ; Cor 
the situation of their country is 
favourable, and they can o^ci^b^ 
a strong array; and they cany 
great quantities of oil and soap toF 
sale to Algiers. The 3aa?e is tj^ 
case with respect to the Cabyles 
who inhabit the fea coa^t aboyt 
Bugia, Bona, and TaWca- Amox^ 
tlie Cabyles who acknp>yle(l|(e Ap 
comoitoii cjiicf, those of thegre^tesft. 
age ^re particularly honovu*^ 'J^l^ 
7 



1S4 



I.ITERART RESXXBLANCI. 



only their priests, or Marabutg^ 
enjoy the general confidence of the 
tribes, and have under the cloak of 
religion accjuired great power and 
authority, which in sonic instances 
has become hereditary. These then 
act in the capacity of he.ids of the 
tribes, form treaties of peace, send 
ambassadors, and are by others, and 
even by the Turks, considered as 
the chiefs of the nation. In the 
vicinity of the sepulchre of a 6e^ 
ceased Afarabuty or saint, generally 
. is the habitation of the Marabut of 
the tribe, who gives, by means of a 
flag, hoisted on a pole, erected upon 
the edifice, the usuaI signal when the 
time of prayer arrives. From tlie 
same place signals are made, on the 
approach of an enemy, to the Ca- 
byles, to assemble them at the 
appointedplace of rendezvous* The 
language of the Cabyles, like that 
of the Moors, is a dialect of the 
Arabic. It deviates, however, so 
much from the latter, that in many 
places Moors and CsLbyles are not 
able to understand one another. 
[ To be amciuded in our next*'] 



SPECIMENS OF LITERARY RE- 
SEMBLANCE. 

[Thz Editor will occasionally give 
Extracts from Berdmore*s Literary 
Hesemblance, a late performance^ 
full of g«cd tense and acute criti- 
cism.] 

LETTER I. 

HT DEAR P. 

The remarks which I sent you a 
few days ago, on a passage in Pope's 
translation of Homer, have engaged 
me so far in the consideration of 
Literary Rrskmblakci£ or 
Imitation, and the subject is so 
curious and interesting, that per- 
haps you will indulge me while I 
pursue it in a page or two fiirtlier. 

In a periodical paper, begim 
\751y are cited many passages froin 
Pope, said never to have been 
taken notice of, as " evidently 
borrowed, thou^ they arc im- 
'proved." 



Superior Beings, when of late they 

saw 
A mortal man unfold all nature's 

Uw 
Admir'd such wiulom in an earthly 

shape, 
And shew 'd a Newton, as we shew 

an ape. 

Essay on Man, Ep. ii. V. 31. 

Utque n^ovet nobis imitatrix simia 

risum, 
Sic nos coelicolis, quotics cervica. 

superbl 
Ventosi gradimur. 

Again, 

Simia coelicolAm risusque jocusque 

Deorum est 
Tunc homo, quum temere ingenio 

confidit, et audet 
Abdita nature scrutari, arcanaqtie 

Div&in. 

Palingenius. 

When the loose mountain tremblea 

from on high. 
Must gravitation cease ? when j<m 

go by ; 
Or some old temple, nodding to its 

fall. 
For Chsrtre*s head reserve tho 

hanging wall. 

Essay on Man, Ep. iv. V. 133. 

If a good man be passing by an in- 
firm building just in the article of 
falling, can it be expected that God 
should suspend the force of gravita- 
tion till he is gone by, hi order to his 
deliverance \ 

Wollaston, Rel. Nat. 

Chaos of thought and passion, all 

confus'd, 
Still by himself abus'd, or disa- 

bus'd; 
Created half to rise, and half f* 

fall. 
Great lord of all things, yet a prey 

to all ; 
Sole judge of tru'.h, in endless 

error huri'd; 
The glnry, jest, and riddle of the 

world. 

Essay on Man, Ep. it. V. IX 



LITXRART RESEBCBLAKCE* 



i«r 



Vkmt a cb' men then it man ! what 
a coDiiised chaos ' what a subject of 
cootradiction ! a professed judge of 
an things, and a feeble wcrm cf the 
earth ; the great depositary and guar- 
dian of truth, and )et a mere huddle 
of uncertainty ; the glory and scandal 
of the universe. 

Pascal. 

None of these passages can be 
new to you, but I have taken the 
Uberty of transcribing them, as 
they famish occasion for a few 
remarks : and I have selected tlie 
three above from several others ; as 
a LEARNKD CRITIC, whom, while 
on this subject, we cannot fail of 
having continually incur view, has 
chosen these very instances to ii- 
histrate some observations in his 
letter to Mr. Mason on the marks 

OF IMITATION* 

It will be thought perhaps some- 
what strange, that he takes no no- 
tice of the Adventurer. But we 
must suppose that either he had 
never read those ingenious essays ; 
or, if he had, that he thought them 
little worthy liis attention ; though, 
in general) the sentiments, contain- 
ed in this paper, seem to bear a 
very near relation to those, which 
he himself advances. Engaged, as 
he at all times was, in pilr&uits so 
much more important, he never, it 
•eems« found an hour or two of 
leisure to read more than one work 
of the very learned ai^d respectable 
Dr. Leiand; and that one, only 
with an intention to refute it. 

Be this as it may, he cei'tninly 
stamps a value on these quotations 
by adopting them. He had too 
much respect both for himself and 
for his readers, to obtrude upqn 
" their consid.e ration, those vulgar 
passages, which every body recol- 
lects, and sets d'>wn for acknow- 
ledged imitations." 

If you compare the different m:\n- 
ijer of the ^wo writers, you cannot 
but admire the siinenor manage- 
inent and address (^ the learn Kn 
CRITIC. In the Adventurer, the 
passages from Pope are brought 
forwaixi without preparation, and 
copfi*ontcd at once with the authors, 



said to be imitated. In the le arn» 
£D CRITIC they are ushered in 
with all the ceremonies of a regtilar 
introduction, and presented in form. 
In the first cited instaice, we ob- 
serve a very remarkable difierence 
between the one and the other : 

Superior Beings , when of late they 

saw 
A mortal man unfold all nature's 

law, 
Admir'd such wisdon\ in an earthly 

shape, 
And shew'd a Newton, as we shew 

an ape. 

The Adventurer derives this sin- 
gular passage from one Palingenius« 
an obscure monk. Not so the 
LF.ARNED CRITIC. He did uot 
wish to have it thought, that he 
could for a moment so far forget his 
own character, as to waste any por- 
tion of his valuable tinie in turning 
over such traehf much less that 
the " great poet" so superior to 
ADDISON in true' genius, could 
ever degi*ade himself bv borrowing 
a tliought from one of so inferior 
an order. More conformably there- 
f )re to that literary dignity, which, 
he was conscious, belonged not less 
to himself, th;m to Pope, he pro- 
nounces tli.\t th^ " great fioet had 
his eye on Plato, who ^akes So- 
crates say, in allusion to a remark 
of Heracjitus;" 

OEON vtdnictf ^«y|iT«4. 

Hipp. Major. 

Conspiring with this laudable 
sense, which the LKAK NED CRITIC 
at all times fondly cherished, of 
literary dignity, there appears to 
have been another motive for his 
conduct m this place. Had he dc* 
rived the passage, as the Adven- 
turer did before him, from Palin- 
geiiius, he would Iwve had no op«^ 
portunity of exhibiting that master- 
ly display of Uic tioic critic ; and 
all the refined reasoning which foU 
lows, with the nice distinction be-» 
^wecu tl^e god pf the pliUosophei^^ 



£» 



UTSRAftt Xf SEKftLAirCe* 



«nd the Superior Beings of the 
Poet, had been lost. 

Does it not require more than a 
common share ot critical acumen^ 
ft perspicacity far beyond that of 
<< those doll minds, by which the 
shapes and appearances of things 
are apprehended only in the gross; " 
to discriminate between a Heathen 
pxl and a Superior Being? The 
real state of the case seems to be, 

aiattheLEARNKD CRITIC, in or- 
er to make the sentence which he 
has quoted, more accommodable to 
his purpose, concealed, eveh from 
himself, the true meaning of the 
philosopher's words. The philo- 
topher, he says, refers ir#«$ 0EON, 
i* e. not to God the God; but, 
a^eeably to the idiom of the Greek 
language, as the word stands with- 
out tlie article, a god ; one amongst 
many ; according to the genera^y 
received opinion of tlie age and 
country in which Plato lived; as 
appears more evidently by what 
fi>llows: 

Again, 

««A«» T« «v^^«««-t<«» 7f>«f. ju r. A* 

Thus the god of the philosopher 
is plainly no more than one of the 
Superior Beings alluded to by the 
poet ; consequently the application 
IS, in botli cases, precisely the same ; 
addressed to the same order of be- 
mgs; and the ape, ; wifinxof, be. 
comes an object either of dertti&n 
or admiration^ as the one or the 
other may chance to fall in more 
aptly with the writer's views. 

Th^ great fleet y it must be said, 
appears in the hands of the learn- 
ed CRITIC to advantage; yet I 
doubt whether an indifferent looker- 
en would not, after all, be disposed 
to think with the Adventurer, that 
more probably Pope at this time 
hat his eye on Paligenius. Tliere 
Ate seme plauublc reascm, whidx 



teem to operate ver)r mtcttg^ is- 
&vour of tiiis opinion. 

Ih a paper, printed 1745, Ar* 
pointed out several Expression^ 
Similes, and Sentiments in Paltn- 
genius. Translated and Itnproved 
by Mr. Pope, in his Essay on Matk« 
amongst which this very simile of 
the ape is one ; whence it appears 
that the great fioet condescended 
now and then to amuse himsrif wi^ 
turning over $itch tranh $ and tiiat 
he was tempted to turn over tht 
pages of this obscare author mar^ 
than once. At the same time I 8iup> 
pect that he was very Uttle coinrer- 
sant in the writings of PlatOb 

If you are not quite wore down, 
I am tempted to remind yoa of a^ 
apparent imitation in Pbpe from 
Ovid, which I sent yon some timi 
ago. It has at least one merit, whkch 
I find is considered by other collec- 
tors of these curious trifleSY as a 
primary recommendation. Ithafe 
never, so far as I know, been biown 
ufian by any of the swarm, whick 
usually buz about the works <3ict3t^ 
brated writers. In the Eloise you 
have these charming lines. 

In each low wind methinks t spirit 

calls, 
And more thin echoes talk along this 

walls ; 
Here, as I watch'd the dying lamps 

around, 
From yonder shrine I heard a hollow 

sound ; 
Come, sister, come / it taid, or seem'd 

to say. 
Thy place is here ; sad sister, come 

awav. 



/ come, I come. 

Now turn to Ovid: 

Est mihi marmorea sacratus in aede 
Sichreus, 
Appositx frcndes, velleracjue a!ha 
tegunt, 
Jline ego the tensi moto tfuater dte citaH, 

Ipse aono tcnui dixit, I/iaa, vent. 
Kulla mora est, vettio, fjcnh, &c. 



Didoifincfcf V.99. 



Ltf ItAtV MVftt^ 



IdT 



Ift^ «re Ml Milf tlie tfatf^ 
VkAf^ts, dfid tfKj^ii^uiofi, but, itfiat 
#il( LiAHiifcb cilittc cDhshliKrft as 
H HkM detld^ mark of imitation, 
tbc; same A^^tion cff the jmrt^ 
Tettt dtcm^ to me thatyou do^h^ 
Irfteth^ i¥t toidd |iH>ft6mK»e with 
W&Hainty^ that oar English bat*d 
h&m^ta tht^ ihoaghts frtun tbe 
nontan* 

You wm flot thitiK that T d^l 
<Hriy witii your ikroui-it*, If I do 
not here add aitolh^^ paii^ge froti^ 
the ^IM poem, where you think, 
tety jtifttly, that Pope has ttlich 
hntmred and entbellhhted the hilft 
Which Ovid gave him. 

Not Caesar's empreu would I deigfi 

to prove ; 
]lo ! make Mt mUtreis to thfe man I 

hce. 
If ibtTt be yet aitdther ninte more 

free, 
ilore foted than miitrcsf, m^e mc 

tbdt to thee. 

it podet uxoris, non nupta, *ed botpita 
dicar; 
Bum tua sit Dido, guidHhet isie 
Jeret. 

Dido Mtitx, V. 167. 

Every reader of taste will agree 
io the opinion of P(^ 'a snperiority. 
\ am pleased to leave hhn with you 
Udder such fiivourable circum- 



ADIKU. 



faOM f>RAKfc*8 LITEUARY ROuaS. 

^ Poor Edwin was no vulgar 

bay: 

Song waft his favoocrite and first par- 
suit; 

The wild harp rang tobi^ adventurous 
hand, 

^And langtushM to his breath the 
plaintive flute. 

Hi* infant muse, though artless, was 
not niute. 

Bbattze. 

Iw the periodical paper entitled 
Tkt Minrovy is ah elegant essay 
cm the character and genius of 
ARchael Bruce^ a young poet of 
^Gohsiderable abllit>*, who %vas dc- 



sceBikd Irmto pttt^ntt reAiarkable. 
lor nothing but the itmocenee an4 
simplfeity of their Uvea, and who 
in ^6 twenty- first year of hb ag« 
periDhed under that scoor^ of out 
islfe, pulmonary consumption. 

Ih the year 1^8r, travelling 
through the western Highlands of 
Scotland) and returning to Edim* 
burgh bv Loch Leven and North. 
Ferry^ i rode by the house, situated 
about three miles from Kini-oasi. 
where this ingenious youth waa 
bonii ** I never look on his dwell^ 
ihg," says the. author of the Min- 
ror, << a small thatched house di»-. 
tliiguised from the cottages of the 
other inhabitants only hy a sashed 
window at the end, instead of a 
lattice, fringed with a honey-suckle 
plant, which the poor youth had 
trained around Jt;.*...I never find 
myself in that spot, Imt I stop my 
horse involuntarily; and looking oti 
the window, whfch the honey* suckle 
has now almost covered, in the 
dream of the moment, I picture out 
a figure for the gentle tenant of the 
mansion; I wi^h, and my heart 
swells while I do so, that he were 
alive, and that I were a gi*ea,t maa 
to have the luxury of visiting him 
there, and bidding him I>e happy/'. 

These natural and pleasing ideas 
possessed my mind at the time I 
passed his door, which I did not do 
without checking mv hor&e to in-* 
didge the tribute of a sigli- Tlie 
concluding lines of his beaudfiilix 
descriptive poem on Loch Leven, 
which was finished under the pres- 
sure of mortal di&ease, and at a 
distance from his native cottage, 
instantly occurred to my memory* ' 

Thus sang the youth, amid unfertile 

fields 
And nameless deserts, unpoetic 

ground ! 
Far from his friend£ he stray'd, re- 
cording thus 
The dear remembrance of his native 

Eelds 
To cheer the tedious nigh': ; while slow 

disease 
Prey 'J on his pining vitals, and the 

blasts 
Of dark December shook his humbly 

cot. 



12S 



LITERABT ROURf^ 



Loch Leven, the subject of Mr. 
Bmce's poem, is a beautiful fresh 
water Lake uear twelve miles in 
circumference, on the side next 
Kinross bounded by a plain occu- 
pied by open groves, on the other 
side by m(>iu)tdin8. About the cen- 
tre of the I-ikc are two islands, one 
of which, called St. Serf's isle, has 
not less than forty acres of excel- 
lent pasturage, and was formerly 
the fceat of tlie ancient priory of 
Loch Leven dedicated to St Ser- 
vanus. On the other, which con- 
tanis not above an acre of ground, 
«tand the picturesfjue iniins of the 
castle of the Douglas's. Here was 
confined the beautiful but unfortu- 
nate Mary, queen of Scots» a cir- 
cumstance which, from the associ- 
atim of idei, throws an air of 
interesting melancholy around, and 
adds much to the effect of the scene. 
Trom this place however, she at 
length cjicaf ed through the assist- 
ance of George Douglas, a youth 
cf eighteen, who had been deeply 
smitten with tJie charms of Mary, 
and who contri\ ed, on Sunday night 
the second r>f May 1568, as his 
bexlhcr sat down to supper, to se- 
cure tlie ke;. s of the castle. Ha\ing 
19)er.ited his f^eloved prisoner he 
iRckcd the g:ite behind her, threw 
the keys into the lake, and having 
previously secured a boat, whilst 
the oi;rs of all the other boats were 
Ihrov.B adrift, reached the shore in 
fjjfcty. Mr. Gilpin in his Scotch 
Tr.ur has thus elegantly allegcrized 
this ! cmarkable event : ** But n^i- 
tlier the walls of Loch Leven castle, 
nor the lake which surrounded it, 
were barriers a gair St love. Mary 
fi::d tliobchewitchingc'iarms, which 
always raided her f: lends. She 
wore a cvji^ms ; and might be said 
to number amongst licr constant 
i8tt«>ndaius, the God of Loa e hire- 
s^^'lf. His re:»dy wit restored her 
lH>ertr. Time ?ind place were obe- 
«lie:;t to liis will. His contrivance 
rdd tlKJ pi •.. I lis address secured 
the keys; and his activity provided 
the biirk^ tr, which he led her ; with 
hii (iwiihunil c.vrryinc tV.c torch, to 
giarlc her foc^tbteps through the 



darkness of the nig;kt«.*M*.«Coiifif-' 
sion ran through the castle. HastjT 
lights were seen passing and repass-* 
ing at every window ; and travers* 
ing the island in all directions. The 
laughing God^ the meanwhile, rid* 
tng at the poop, with one lumd held 
the helm ; and with the other waved 
bis torch in triumph round his head* 
The bo:it soon made the shore, anfl 
landed the lovely queen in a port of 
security; where Loyalty and Friend- 
ship waited to receive her." • 

At the west end of this noble 
sheet of water stands a very ele- 
gant house formerly belonging to 
tlie family of Bruce, but now in the 
possession cf a Mr. Graham; it 
commands a delightful view of the 
lake, and is well screened by extent- 
sive pine plantations ; it was built 
by the celebrated Architect, Sir 

• Scotch Tour, vol. i. p 96 |t 

has been a doabt with some whether 
Mary really possessed the fine features 
so generatly attributed to her by his- 
torians f her portraits are numerous^ 
and vary much in the reprerentation 
of her countenance, some of them by 
no means impressing us with a fa- 
vourable idea of her charms : the two 
following anecdotes however, and they 
may be depended upon, dearly ascer- 
tain her extreme beauty, and afford a 
striking instance of the fascmation 
which usually waited upon her person. 

When Mary, in the full bloom of 
youth, was walking in a proce$sK>n 
throngh I*aris, a woman fi reed her 
way throujfh the crowd and touched 
her. Her excuse for this rudeness 
wr.s c arerre curioMty, which prompt- 
ed her to feci if so angelic a creature 
were formed cf flesh and blord. 

CaAlNCEK. 

Chatclard, grandson to the ccle» 
bratcd Bayard, a man of litera»4Uic, 
arid an elegant poet, who had long 
adored the beautiful Mary in secror^ 
pemiittcd his love so far to overpower 
his prudence as to tempt him to hide 
himself iu the queen's bcd<hambcr. 
He was discovered and forg;iven. The 
5ane instilt again repeated, proved 
fatal He was delivered up to the 
law, tried and executed. 

Vie Dc Marie Par Brantome. 



tlTERARY BOtJRS* 



J» 



WUfiam Bruce, in 1685, and is 
^^nerally esteemed a noble speci- 
men of his skill in that depart- 
ment* 

A spot abounding in so much 
lovely scenery, and rendered still 
more attractive by the associations 
of childhood and early youth, would 
necessarily impress on the suscep- 
tible heart of our young poet the 
roost Uv^ly and endearing sensa- 
tions, and when far distant from his 
humble shed and tender parents, 
when suffering under sickness and 
sorrow, it was a consolation of no 
vulgar kind to recollect the plea* 
tures of his native vale, to paint in 
glowing colours its delicious land- 
scapes, and ere the fairy colours 
laded from his view to give tliem 
\ocsA habitation and a name in 
strains which should perpetuate his 
memory and his genius. 

His poem on Loch Leven displays 
a fertile imagination, and is ren- 
dered interesting to every reader 
by tlie vein of pathetic sentiment 
which pervades the whole. As an 
appn^riate specimen of the elegant 
versification and superior merits of 
this production, I shall quote his 
descrlptioo of the two islands of 
the lake. The first delineates that 
on which the Priory had anciently 
stood, and then adverts to the pre* 
sent ruins of the famous castle of 
the Bnices. It is my wish that these 
lines may recommend to fiirther 
notice the poetry of this amiable 
^at unfortunate youth, 

. Here Superstition for her cloister*d 
sons 

A dwelling rear'd, with many an 
arched vault ; 

Where her pale vot'ries at the mid- 
night hour, 

In many a mournful strain of melan- 
choly, 

Chaunted their orisons to the' ccld 
moon. 

It now resounds with the wild shriek- 
ing gull, 

The crested lapwing, and the clam'- 
rous mew, 

The patient heron, and the bittern 
dull 



Deep-sounding in* thr base, with all 

the tribe 
That by the water seek th* appointed 

meal. 
From hence the shepherd in the 

fenced fold, 
*Tis said, has he&rd atiange soands, 

and music wild ; 
Such as in Selma, by the burning oak 
Of hero fallen, or of batrlr tost, 
Warn'd Fingal's mighty son, from 

trembling chords 
Of untouch *d harp, self-sotmding in 

the night. 
Perhaps th'afQicted Genitiis of the lake 
That leaves the watVy grot, each 

night to mourn 
The waste of time, his desolated isles 
And temples in the dust : his plain- 
tive voice 
Is heard resounding through the dreary 

courts 
Of high Loch Leven castle, famous 

once, 
Th* abode of herces of the Bruce'* 

line; 
Gothic the pile, and high the aclid 

walls, 
With warlike ramparts, and the 

strong defence 
Of jutting battlements, an age's toil! 
No more its arches echo to the noise 
Of joy and festive mirth. No more 

the glance 
Of blazing taper thro' its windows 

beams. 
And quivers on the undulating wave : 
But naked stand the melancholy walls, 
Lash'd by the wintry tempests, cold 

and bleak. 
That whistle mournful thro* the emp- 
ty halls. 
And piece- meal crumble down the 

towers to dust. 
^Equal in age, and sharers of its fate, 
A row of moss-grown trees around it 

stands ; 
Scarce here and there, upon their 

blasted tops, 
A shrivcird leaf distinguishes the 

year 

Perhaps in some lone, dreary, desert 

tower 
That time has spar*d, forth from the 

window looks 
Half hid in grass, the solidary fox; 
While from above the owl, musician 

direl 
Screams hideous, harsh, and grati i^ 

t« the ear. 



tso 



Kif.iia;ortft 9W 



tICMftOTALirr. 



[I hive lately been delighted «rith some 
pf the works of ZoUiko£er a German 
divine. His putpit-discourses yield 
not in eloquence to those of Massil- 
Ion. He every where discovers a pi- 
ous and proliBc mind, liideed in 
rhetorical reasoning I know not 
who should St and be fore him. Fro|n 
his discourse on the immortality of 
maa the following ex tract is taken-^ 
which (as his Sermons are not gene- 
rally l^nownhere) shall beoccasipq- 

wally succeeded by others from tl|e 

^samc pen.] 

*« To the man who knows notiiing 
<ef ftiturity, who has no hope of im- 
'inortality,all nature is a scaled book, 
*nd he is the greatest of all myste- 
ries to himself. The design of )iis 
existence is incompi*ehcnsible to 
him ; and of the other purposes Ibr 
which the other creatures that sur- 
round him were formed, and whic|i 
so far exceed mankind in number, 
jnagnitude, and beauty, he kno'v^s 
still less. £very thing he sees and 
hears is to him an suigma, to the 
solution whereof he can Hnd do key. 
Kcpresentto yourself a philosopher, 
"who knows nothing of the gospel, 
and from whom foiurity is concealed, 
profoundly contemplating the hea- 
ven and the earth and himsdf, and 
that you hear him discourse on these 
important objects in his comfortless 
solitude : what a doubtful, what a 
desultory, and dismal language he 
Jiolds ! Methinks I hear him ex- 
claim, in a doleful voice, Why is 
the heaven so beautifully adomi^l, 
find to what end is this magnificcncfe 
which nature so profusely displays 
wherever I turn my view ? Whit 
is the purpose of this great, this 
immense and ingenious structure ? 
How gloomy, how painful to mc is 
this prospect, so charming in it.'?eif, 
since I,pcrhaps now for the last time, 
«njoy It, and at all events shall 
shortly be dejirivcd of hU sentiment 
fr^rever ! \\*cre 1 bhut up in some 
dark and dismal dungeon, had the 
day never shone upon my dwelling, 
my misery had then been tolera- 
i>le : but here like some malsfactor> 



I sit imprisoned in |t g <w |y qn|bfa#e» 
and can find ootbiog ikliobfA^ly 
nuthiog agreeable in it, as exfrnj/t- 
ing every moment the sumqMM to 
d^tli l-n-Aad what m^an thfi fiicul- 
ties I feel vitliin me ? How am I 
benefited by the capaci t ioi I pap- 
scss, but wliich I cuiukK fopioy f 
1 behold many beauties, mudlmacT* 
nificence, many astoiHshing eff^ots 
befiire me* I am curious to invead- 
gate and understand tliern. But 
.tb^ are all incomprrlMnsihite to 
me : it is too high for roe, I cannot 
attain unto k. My abilities £«tl 
me, and the light itself is dnrkiicss 
to me^T^It is true, nalure is beaiili- 
ful ; she is ple^isanit and eharmiag; 
she invites my ^ n&es to aUmdaiKie 
of pleasure aod joy. But whyj 
then, am I so rcstiess and uneasy ? 
Why cauQot all tho&e gocds£iulbeaii» 
ties satisfy my mind f Whence pro- 
ceeds the want Ifeel amid^ this ahun* 
dance, and^he sentimeot of which ao 
often disturbs my liveUe&t pleasurey 
and always renders it incomplete ? 
Why is my inqiiintiveiiess nevierto 
he satisfied? Wherefore cao I sever 
cease from wishing! Wheocecomcs 
the disgttst that ao quickly aucoecds 
to enjoyment^ and deprives all I 
earnestly loneed after, in a moifiiri 
of its worth ? Has the Creator^ thea, 
<:alled me out of nothisf^ for mf 
punishment? Has he given me sHoh 
capacities, such desires, fotr the 
augmentation of my miscoy ? To 
what purpose such great pnq>aia* 
tivesfor the few and uncertain hoiMrs 
of hfe ? — ^I'hus does the hopeless 
mortal entangle himself in rtAec-s 
tion. He finds himself in the most 
delightful garden ; but it is all a 
labyrinth to him, to him k loses 
every charm from his want of a 
clue to guide him through it. 

** Before the chnstian, on the 
other hand, who expects immor- 
tality and an evcrlastmg life to 
come, all these dit^iculties \^Qi,<^ 
awtiy- He sees that it is a wise 
and bountiful God, who has placed 
him on the globe of tlie earth* He 
discovers tlie principal scope of 
things, and sets his mind at rest. 
The hope of iuturity gives every 



IMMOETALITY* 



>m 



thing, beautiful and great, he 
in ^e leorid, a heightened coh>ur 
and a new display. The view of 
the boundless creation j that utterly 
pe^exed and confounded yonder 
unhappy being, inspires the chris- 
tian with admiration, and leads him 
to adore tlie Most High In serenity 
and satisfoction* In a sacred tran- 
sport he exclaims, with the Psalm- 
ist : — ^^ Lord, how gloHous are thy 
works I in wisdom hast thou mkde 
them all ; the earth is ftill of thy 
riches 1" Here I perceive eternal 
work : here I find materials for in- 
cessant discovery ; here I see sour- 
ces of knowledge and joy, whence 
rational, beings may draw for ever, 
without any fear of their failing. 
How gloomy to me would be the 
contemplation of beautiful nature, 
how sad the sentiment of my pow- 
ers, how troublesome my curiosit)-, 
how fertile in vexation my infinite 
desires, if I had to dread, in a few 
moments, the utter extinction of 
knowledge and enjoyment ! But 
thou hast ordained me, O God, to 
life, to a life that shall know no 
end. At present my capacities are 
too great to exhibit themselves in 
all their strength. The body of 
death surrounds mc, and fixes nar- 
row limits to tlie workings of my 
mind. But soon shall I be freed 
from these bonds. My soul will 
soar aloft, and mount into the realms 
of light. ' She will rise at the re- 
surrection of tlie just, united to a 
glorions, a spiritual, an incorrupti- 
ble bcdy . Then , O God, then shall 
I first behold tliy works in all their 
grandeur, in all their pomp and 
bcaiity ; then shall I be for ever em- 
ployed in the investigation of tliem, 
and never be weary of admiring 
tliy wisdom and power ; then will 
uU my desires be satisfied, and all 
my wishes accomplished. This is 
not the place of my final destina- 
tion. It is but preparatory to a far 
better and more glorious state. Here 
it is my business, by generous occu- 
pations, to begin to qualify myself 
tor the purer dolighls that await 
me in that world, und even wh-it I 
. coll troublesome and imperfect ^in 

VOL. I...KO. II. 



my pr e s en t condition must, if I but 
properly ap^ly it, promote my fu- 
ture pmection. Thus- does the 
christian unravel the design of his 
being and the tendency of his pow- 
ers; andthuadoes^hedissipfttefthe 
darkness that surrounds him> on 
earth, by the light of the gospel, 
which discloses to his view the fidr- 
est prospects in eternity. 

<' Knowledge and virtue are, in- 
deed, in and for themselves, and 
without regard to futurity, the 
strongest supports and the richest 
sources of our happiness. How» 
without knowledge, should we sa- 
tisfy^ the curiostv of our minds ? 
How, without virtue, should we 
tranquilize our hearts? How should 
we tame our turbulent passionsy 
how should v/e controul them when 
they contend with each other, and 
bring ;to a rational equilibrium, if 
we were destitute of knowledge 
and virtue ? Let us now compare 
the mortal without hope with Ihe 
christian that expects eternity, and 
see which of them has the greatest 
means and the greatest encourage- 
ments to build his happiness on this 
foundation, and to render his life 
pleasant by knowledge and virtue* 
We will here allow them both to 
speak their natural sentiments, and 
thence it will plainly appear which 
of them has the advantage of the 
other. It is true, knowledge ia 
ornamental to the mind; thus speaks 
the man whose hopes are confined 
to this life. I experience, that 
what thinks within me is capable of 
mounting above visible objects, and 
of piercing into the combination of 
things. I feel a great pleasure when 
I increase my perceptions, and can 
discover the traces of the wise au- 
thor of nature. But how foolish and 
unprofitable is this my employment ! 
Wisdom cannot be acquired without 
much toil. Truth never appears 
to her votaries till after many suc- 
cessful researches; one may fall 
into a hundred eiTors sooner than 
discover one truth. We must dedi- 
cate both day and night to the study 
of the latent operations of nature, 
ere wq can acquire but a slight 



139 



ZOLIKOFKR Oir 



knowledge of her secrets. Mean- 
time, the mind grows weary : its 
powers diminish ; the body is weak- 
ened by strenuous exertions of it, 
and I become daily less capable of 
relishing the pleasures of sense. 
And what is, at length, the result 
of all my pains? After a few mo- 
xnents are past I shall be no more, 
and my. laboriously acquired know- 
ledge will likewise be no more. 
That which thfaika in me, and often 
fondly soars above the clouds, win 
in a few days he lost to existence. 
The great discoveries I am striving 
to make, will vanish into thin air, 
and my lofty imaginations, and my 
exalted conceptions, will be enve- 
loped in the shades- of everlasting 
night. Such is the language of the 
man who has no views beyond the 
grave. His endeavours after know- 
ledge must necessarily appear ridi- 
culous to himself; and he has little 
or nothing to encourage him in the 
prosecution of it. 

No less feeble are his motives to 
virtue, and his purpose to follow her 
precepts will as easily fiul. He 
withers like a flower tiiat springs 
up in a parched soil, or on a stony 
ground. Though great the native 
beauty of virtue, yet is it not suffi- 
cient to render the man who looks 
upon death as the period of his be- 
ing constant in the love and the 
practice of it. Self-interest and 
the hope of advantage are the prin- 
cipal springs of human actions. 
Few men, however, are so enlight- 
ened as to perceive tiie combination 
of virtue with self-love and with 
real advantage. It costs a man 
labour and tou before he can arrive 
at a certain aptitude in goodness. 
He has many obstacles to surmount, 
and many diflUculties to encounter, 
if he would fulfil his duties with 
exactitude, and conduct himself in ' 
all circumstances like a true chris- 
tian. Riches and honours and days 
of ease, are not always the compa- 
nions of integrity. How often, on 
the contrary, is it attended by po- 
..yerty anU scorn! Nay, is it any 
thing uncommon for the brightest 
virtue to be attacked with animosi- 
\f and persecuted with vengeance I 



And yet it is impossible, widuNit^ 
virtue, to acquire tranquility oC 
mind. Vice, on the other liand, 
is often arraved in charms: she 
holds, out, to ner followers, "power 
and authority, opulence and re-> 
spect ; she promises them abund- 
ance of pleasure. And yet vice 
renders us unhappy, and, so long 
as we are slaves to it, it is impos- 
sible for us to be calm and content* 
ed. Therefore, if a man would flee 
from vice ; if he would love virtue $ 
if he would thus live contented and 
happy : he must have certain im- 
pelling motives to do so. But do 
you imagine that any one, who has 
no punishment to fear in futurity^ 
and no reward to expect, is in a 
capacity to vanquish ail tempta- 
tions to evil, and devote himself to 
tiie service of insulted virtue wiUi 
her mean appearance ? Certainly * 
not. Her beauty might probably* 
attract him ; he migiit even deter- 
mine to follow her precepts : but 
how long would his resolution last i 
The iirst violent temptation would 
put it to flight. Were he frankly to 
explain himself, it is thus he would 
speak « What will it profit me if I 
eamesUy strive to be virtuous? 
What avails this unremitted at- 
tention to all my thoughts, my de- 
sires, and actions ? These violenf 
conflicts with m^ propensities and 
passions ? How mmcult it is to con- 
quer one's self! And what benefit, 
what fruit, have I at last to expect 
from the victory ? My probity will 
be taken for afifectation, my piety 
will be imputed to melancholy ; and 
1 shall sit solitary in the dust, while 
others, of laxer principles, sre loll- 
ing in the scats of honour ! What 
have I toprovide for but ray body and 
my temporal affairs T W'hy should 
I quarrel' with the amusements and 
delights that so many ethers enjoy ? 
Shall I embitter my life by the re- 
strictions of temperance, and for 
the sake of an imaginary intel- 
lectual pleasure, deny myself the 
more sure and substantial pleasures 
of sense ? I have nothing to fear or 
to hope after death ! So speaks the 
hopeless mortal : tiius will his pur- 
poses to follow virtue be enfeebled. 



IMMORTALITY. 



139 



^Itnn he aDows himself to be se- 
duced by the wages of sin ; and 
discontent and vexation, perplexity 
and fear, and every disastrous con- 
«eqaence of vice, at once take pos* 
session of his heart* From want 
of hc^je^ he neglects the principal 
and'pnrest sources of earthly hap- 
piness, and will always be becoming 
more unhappy than he was. 

Qoite otherwise is it with the 
christian, who expects immortality. 
He daily endeavours to augment his 
knowledge and to improve in virtue, 
and thus daily promotes his true 
felicity* He can never be wanting 
in encouragement to firmness and 
seal in his generous endeavours; 
and the futurity which is ever in 
his view, renders all he undertakes, 
in this desi)^, not only easy but 
pleasant. How pleasant, he says 
mthe simplicity of his heart, how 
pleasant to me are the meditations 
1 indulge on the perfections •f my 
<>od and father, the greatest and 
be^ of beings ! What a pure delight 
streams through my soul, when I 
consider his ways and admire his 
works! How it exalts my spirit 
when I perceive the wisdom of the 
Creator in his creatures, and trace 
oat the marks of his greatness I 
How reviving my meditations on 
my divine Redeemer, and his con- 
Mdatory office ! My knowledge in- 
deed, in all respects, is very imper- 
fect and weak ; but this ^all not 
disheaaten me from constantly la- 
bouring, with renovated ardour, at 
its extension and improvement. 
In the matters of most importance 
I have the gospel for my guide, and 
am safe from all deception. By that 
I perceive an eternity approadung. 
The real knowledge I ahaU hei-e 
collect, is out of the power of that 
spoiler death. Hereafter, in the 
world of spirits, I shall pursue my 
researches ; what is £Edse will eva- 
porate from my attainments, and 
what is solid and just will form the 
basis of my higher perfection. Thus 
does the hope of futurity animate 
the christian ; and the pleasure he 
procures from the>contempUtiou of 



religion and nature will be ever in- 
creasing, as he has no need to fear 
it will ever be lost. 



ABSTRACT OF THE REPORT OF 
THE SECRETARY OF THE 
TREASURY. 

The annual net proceeds of the 
duties on merchandise and tomiage 
had, in former reports, baen esti- 
mated at nine millions five hundred 
thousand dollars. That revenue, 
estimated on the importations of the 
years immediately preceding tha 
late war, and on the ratio of in- 
crease of the population of the U. S. 
have been under-rated. The net 
revenue from that source, which 
accrued during the year 1802, ex- 
ceeds ten millions one hundred 
tliousand dollai*8» The revenue 
which has accrued during the two 
first quarters of the present year, 
appears to have been only fifty 
thousand dollars less than that of 
the two corresponding quarters of 
the year 1802 ; and the receipts in 
the Treasury, on account of tha 
same duties, during the year ending 
on the 30th of Sept. last, have ex- 
ceeded ten millions six hundred 
thousand dollars. 

These facts prove that the wealth 
of the U. S. increases in a greater 
ratio than their population, and 
that this branch of tne public re- 
venue may now be rated at ten mil- 
hons of dollars. 

The same revenue for the two last 
years of the late war, at the present 
rate of duties, averaged 11,600,000 
dollars a year ; but though it might 
be supposed that the renewal of hos- 
tilities will produce a similar in- 
crease, no inference from that 
period is now drawn in relation to 
the revenue of the ensuing years. 
Although the sales of public lands 
during the year ending on the 30th 
Sept. last, were lessened by the 
situation of the westeiii country; 
two hundred thousand acres have ** 
bttcn Bold during that period^ aa4 



19f 



TftKA&t7RXE*6 -ftSFOET. 



indepcAdoit of 'futiiK.salest the 
sums already paid to the receivers, 
with those which, exclusive of iiv- 
terest, fall due during the three en- 
mng years, amount to 1,250,000 
dollars, the annual revenue arising 
from Uiose sales, may be estimated 
at four hundred thousand dollars* 

The extension of post roads, and 
the acceleration of the mail, while 
diffusing and increasing the benefits 
of the institution^ have rendered it 
less productive* The receipts ha\*e 
amounted, during last year, to 
S7,tX)0 dollars ; but as neither these, 
nor those arising from' some other 
Ineidental branches, effect any ge-*- 
ueral result, the whole revenue of 
the U« S. will bcf only ten millions 
four hundred thousand dollars* 

l.The appropriation of 7,300,000 
dollars, for the payment of the 
principal and interest of the debt; 
of which' about three millions and 
an half are at present aj^Ucable to 
to the discharge of the principal, 
and the rettdue in the paymeat of 
interest, Dc«ls* 7,300,060 

2* The expenses of 
government, according 
to the estimates for the 
year 1804, viz. 

For the civil depart- 
ment and all domestic 
expenses of a civil na- 
tdrcj r91,0W 

Fbr expenses attend* • 
ing the intercourse with" 
Ibreign nations, includ-' 
inf^^Jj^ers, and all ex*. • , 

penses relative to tlie- 
BM>ary powers, 134,000 

For the military and 
Indian departments, 875,a 

For the navy, sup-i 
posing two frigates and- 
ibm* smaller vesselshe in 
commission, 650,000 

9,800,000 
And deducted fr6m • the 
pemanent revemie*of 10^400)000 ' 



The extraordinary reseiircei and 
demands not permanent, to wits 
Hie specie in theTrea- Dollars; 

sury, on the 30th of 

SepL last, 5,860,000 

The arrearsof thedirect 

tax, 250,000 

The outstanding inter* 

nal duties, near 400,000 

The sum to be repaid to 

theU. S* on account 

of advances made in 

Engiland fbr the pro- 
secution of claims, 150,300 

Total, . 6,660,000 



This sum, after reserving the 
sirni which it is necessary to keep 
in the Treasury, will discharge the 
demands on account of the conven- 
tion with Great Britain, viz* 

DoUs* 2,664,000 
Extraordinary e^qienses 
inrrelatioB to the cou« 
ventioDs with France 
and Great Britain, 100»000 

The loan from Mary- 
land, for the city of 
Washington, 200,000 

And also to pay 2,000,000 



4,964,000 



of dollars on account of the pur- 
chase^of LfOuisiatta ; being the sum 
rs!served by tlie law of the last ses- 
sion^ for extraordinary expenses at- 
ten^ng the intercourse with foreign 
nations* 

During the year ending on the 
oOdi Sep^ .last, the payments on 
account of the pi&licd^t, were 

Dolls. >3,096,700 
whtcli,withtiie increase 
of specie in ^the- Trea*^ 
sury during- the same 
period, 1,620,000 . 

4>416,70G^ 



l^ave- 



makes a difierenoe in £xvour of the^ • 
U* S» of more than four huB^.< 
600,000 dred thwitwid doUara during tiMt 
• year* 



treasurer's R£P0ST« 



135 



The payments on account of the 

principal of the public debt, from 

the fi^ clay of Sept. I8O0, were 

Dolls. 9,924,0,04 

The specie in the 
Treasury, on the first 
of April, 1801, 1,794,000 
And on the. 

30th of Sept. 

1898, 5y860,00a 



"Making an in- 
crease of 



4,066,000 



Those amount to 13,990,004 

From -which deducUng^ 

as arising from the 

sales of bank shares, 1,287,600 



Leaves, 12,702,404 

In £ivour of the U. S. for that pe- 
riod of two years and an half* 

From that view of the present 
siiuatioDr of the U. S. the only ques- 
tioii isy whether any additional re- 
venues are wanted to provide for 
the new debt, which will result from 
the purchase of Louisiana. 

The U. S. may have to pay, by 
virtue of that treaty, fifteen millions 
of dollars. First, 11,250,000 dolls. 
in a stock bearing an interest of 
she. per cent, payable in Europe, 
and the principal of which will be 
dischar^sd at the Treasury of tlie 
U%. S* in four instalments, to com- 
mence in the year 1818....2dly, A 
sum which cannot exceed 3,750,000 
dollars, payable at the Treasury of 
theU. S. during the ensuing year, 
to citizens having certain claims on 
France. 

.As two millions of dollars may be 
paid from the specie now in tlic 
Treasury on account of the last 
item; and the new clebt cannot 
exceed tliirteen millions of dollars, 
the interest of which is 780,000; 
but on account of commissions, and 
variations of exchange, will be eight 
hundred thousand dollars. 

The surplus revenue of the IT. S. 
will discharge six hundred thousand 
dollars of that sum, and it is ex- 
pected that the net revenue col- 
le^cted at New-Oiieans will be equal 
to the remaining two hundred thou- 
sand dollars. 



That opinion rests on the sup- 
position that Congress shall place 
that port on the same footing as the - 
U. S. so th^t th6 same duties shall 
be collected there, on the importa-> 
tion of foreign merchandise as are 
now levied in the U, S. and that no^ 
duties shall be collected on the ex^ 
portation of produce or merchan- 
dise as are now levied in the U". S. 
that no duties shall be coUected on 
the exportation of produce or mer- 
chandise from N..O. to any other 
place ; nor on any artiples import- 
ed into the U. S. from the ceded • 
territories or into those territories 
from the U. S. 

The statement (G) shews that 
the exportation fi-om the Atlantic 
States to those Colonies, of articles 
not of the growth or manufacture 
of the U. S. amounted for the years 
1799, 1800, and 1801,. to 6,622,189 * 
dollars ; making an average of more 
than two millions two Hundred tliou- 
sand dollars,, of foreign articles, , 
liable to pay duty, annually export- 
ed to Florida and Louisiana from 
the U.S. aloiye. 

The exportations from the U. S. 
to Florida are so trifiing that that ' 
statement may be considered as ap- 
plying solely to N. O. ; it is also 
known, that almost the whole of 
those exportations were consumed * 
within that colony, and that during 
the war the supplies from the U.S. 
constituted by far tlie greater part ' 
of its imports. 

Thenee it results that the annual . 
importations into the ceded terri- 
tory, of articles destined for the 
consumption of its own inliabitants, 
and which will, under the laws of i 
the U. S. pay duty, may be esti- 
mated at two millions five hundred ' 
thousand dollars: which, at the • 
present rate of duties, will yield a 
revenue of about 350,000 doUai's. ^ 
From that revenue must be deduct- 
ed 150^000 dollars, for the follow- 
ing: viz. 

Ist. The duties on a quantity of 
sugar and indigo equal to that whidi 
sliall be imported from N. O. into 
the U. S. ; as those articles being 
imported free from duty, will dimi- 
nish by so much revenue now c^ 



136 



%'1SASUR£A'$ Rfipoar. 



lected in the seaports of the U. S. 
The whole amount of sugar ex- 
ported from N. O. is less than 
4,000,000 of pounds, and that of in- 
digo is about 30,000 pounds. Suppos- 
ing that the whole of those articles 
should hereafter be exported to the 
U. S. the loss to the revenue will 
be about 100,000 dollars. 

3d. No increase of expense in 
the military establishment of the 
U. S. is e:q>ected on account of 
the acquisition of territory ; but 
the expenses of the province and of 
the intercourse with the Indians ; 
are estimated at 50,000 dollars, 
leaving for the net revenue derived 
from ti(ie province, and applicable 
to the payment of the interest of 
the new debt, 200,000 dolls. 

The only provisions necessary, 
are, 

1. In relation to the stock of 
11,250,000 dollars to be created in 
favour of France ; 
That that debt be made a charge 
on the sinking fund, directing the 
commissioners to apply so much of 
its proceeds as may be necessary 
for the payment of interest and 
principal, in the same manner as 
they are directed to do in relation 
to the debt now charged on that 
fund. 

That so much of the duties on 
merchandise and tonnage as will be 
equal to seven hundred thousand 
dollars, being the sum wanted to 
pay the interest of that new stock, 
be added to the annual permanent 
appropriation for the sinking fund ; 
inaking, with tlie existing appro- 
priation, eight millions of dollars, 
annually applicable to the payment 
4)f the interest and principal of the 
public debt; 

And that the said annual sum of 
eight millions of dollars remain in 
trust for the said payments, till the 
the whole of the existing debt of 
the U. S. and of the new stock, 
shall have been redeemed* 

As a sum equal to the interest of 
the new stock will thus be added to 
tlie sinking fund, the operation of 
that fund, as it relates to the ex- 
Mneuishment of debt, will remaia 



on the same footing as has beeo^ 
heretofore provided by Congress^ 
The new debt will neither impede 
nor retard the payment of the prin- 
cipal of the old debt, ; and the 
fund will be sufficient, beside pay- 
ing the interest cm both, to discharge 
the principal of the old debt, before 
the year 1818, and that of the new, 
within<«ne year and an half after 
that year. 

11. In relation to the American 
claims the payment of which is 
assumed by the convention with 
France: 

That a sum not exceeding 
3,750,000 dollars, inclusive of tlie 
two millions appropriated by the 
last session of Congress, be appro- 
priated for the payment of those 
claims, to be paid out of any monies 
in the Treasury not othei-wise ap- 
propriated. 

That for effecting the whole of 
tliat payment, the President of the 
U. S. be autiioriscd to borrow a 
sum not exceeding 1,750,000 dollars, 
at an interest not exceeding six per 
cent, a year. 

And that so mucli of the proceeds 
of the duties on merchandise and 
tonnage as may be necessary, be 
appropriated for the payment of 
interest and principal of the loan 
to be thus effected. 

It is not proposed to charge that 
loan on the sinking fund, because - 
its amount cannot at present be 
asceitained; and because it may 
I^rhaps be found more expedient 
to pay out of the sinking ftmd, the 
whole or part of the two last in- 
stalments, payable . by virtue of 
conventions with Great-Britain. 

The possibility of tlius providing 
for the payment of the interest of a 
new debt of thirteen millions of 
dollars, without recurring to new 
taxes or interfering with the* pro- 
visioHs heretofore made for the 
payment of tlie existing debt, de- 
pends on the correctness of the 
estimate of the public revenue which 
has been submitted. It rests prin- 
cipally on the expectation that the 
revenue of the ensuing years shall 
net be less than that of the yeat* 



TREASVRER'lS REPORV^- 



isr 



1802* Nopartof itde(>endsonthe 
probsd>le increase which may result 
fit>m the neutrality of the U. S. 
during the present war, nor even 
oa the progressive augmentation, 
which, from past experience, may 
naturally be expected to arise from 
the g;radiial increase of population 
and wealth. Nor has that effect 
been taken into consideration which 
the uninterupted navigation of the 
Missisippi, and the acquisition of 
New-Orleans may have, either on 
the sales of the public Ismds, or on 
the resources of the inhabitaifts of 
the western states. 



LETTER FROM WM« GOWPCR 
TO LADY RESKETR. 

October 12, 1785. 
My dear CouHiiy 

It is no new thing with 
rou to give pleasure, but I will ven- 
ture to say that you do not oflen 
give more than you gave me this 
morning. When I came down to 
breakfast, and found upon the table 
a letter franked by my uncle, and 
when opening that &ankl found that 
it contained a letter from you, I said 
within myself, this is just as it should 
be ; we are all grown young again, 
and the days that I tliought I should 
tee no more, are actually returned. 
You perceive therefore that you 
judged well when you conjectured 
iluit a line from you would not be 
disagreeable to me. It could not 
be otherwise, than as in fact it 
proved, a most agreeable surprise, 
Ibr I can truly boast of an affection 
Ibr you that neither years, nor in- 
terrupted intercourse have at all 
abated. I need only recollect how 
much I v;i.lucd you once, and with 
how much cause, immediately to 
feel a i cvival of the same value ; if 
thct can be said to revive, which at 
the most has only been dormant for 
want of employment. But I slander 
it when I say that it has slept. A 
tlious-md times have I recollected a 
Uiam»and scenes ia whi«ih oar tir* 



selves have formed the whole of 
the drama, with the greatest p]ea« 
sure ; at times too when I had no 
reason to suppose that I should ever 
hear from you again. I have laughed 
'With you at the Arabian Nights 
Entertainment, which aiibrded us 
as you wetl know, a fund of merri- 
ment that deserves never to be for- 
got. I have walked with you to 
Wcttley Abbey, and have scrambled 
with you over hedges in every di- 
rection, and many other feats we 
have performed together, upon the 
field of my remembrance, and all 
within these few years, sliould I say 
within this twelve, month I should 
not transgress the truth* The hours 
that I have spent with you were 
among the pleasantest of my for- 
mer days, and are therefore chron- 
icled in my mind so deeply as to fear 
no erasure. Neither do I forget 
my poor friend Sir Thotnas. I 
should remember him indeed at any 
rate on account of his persoual 
kindnesses to myself, but the last 
testimony that he gave of his regard 
for you, endears him to me still 
more. With his uncommon under- 
standing (for with many peculia- 
rities he had more sense than any 
of his acquaintance) and with hi& 
generous sensibilities, Jt was hardly 
possible that he should not distin- 
guish you as he has done ; as it was 
the last, so it was the best proof, 
that he could give of a judgment, 
that never deceived him, when he 
would allow himself leisure to con- 
sult it. 

You say that you have often heard 
of me : that puzzles me. I cannot 
imagine from what quarter, but it is 
no matter. I must tell you, how- 
ever, my cousin, that your informa- 
tion has been a little defective.... 
Tliat I am happy in my situation is 
true; I live and have lived thcsa 
twenty years with Mrs. Unwin, to 
whose affectionate care of me duiing 
the far gi'eater part of th\t tin^e, 
it is, under Providence, owin^that 
I live at all. But I df) not account 
mvself happy in havinjj been for 
thirteen of those years in a state of 
mmd that has made aU that care 



138 



COWPER'S LETTER, 



and attention necessary. An atten- 
tion, and a care, that have injured 
her health, and which, had she not 
becfi uncc>mmonly supported, must 
have brought her to the grave. But 
' I will pass to another subject > it 
•would be ciniel to particularize only 
to give pain, neither would I by any 
means give- a sable hue to the first 
letter of a correspondence so unex- 
• pcctedly renewed. 

I am delighted with what you tell 
me of my uncle's good health ; to 
enjoy any measure of cheerfulness 
at so late a day is much, but to have 
' that late day enlivened with the 
vivacity of youtli, is much more, 
and in' these postdiluvian times a 
rarity indeed. Ha|ipy for the most 
. F*rt, arc the parents who have 
daughters. Daughters are not apt 
to outlive their natural affections, 
"wliich a Bcn has generally surviveil 
even before his boyish years are 
e:q)ired. I rejoice paniculaviy in 
iny uncle's felicity, who has three 
female descendants from his little 
pcrsrn, who leave him noth'uig to 
wish for upon that head. 

My dear cousin, dejection of spi- 
rits, wlaich I suppose may have 
2>revented many a man from be- 
coming an author, made me one, 
• I find constant employment neces- 
sary, and therefore take care to 
be constantly employed. Manual 
occupations do not engage the mind 
sufficiently, as I know by experi- 
cnce, having tried many. But 
composition, especially of verse, ab- 
sorbs it wholly. I write therefore 
generally three hours in a mornings 
and in an evening I transcribe. I 
read also, but less than I write, for 
i must have bodily exercise, and 
thei^ore never pass a day without 
It. 

You ask me where I have been 
tills summer. I answer, at Olnoy. 
hhould you ask me where I spent 
the last seventeen summers, I 
Rhould still answer, at Olney. 
Ay, and the winter also, 1 have 
seldom left it, and except when I 
attended my brother in his last ill- 
ness, never 1 beiic\e a k;rtniglit to- 
gether* 



Adieu, my beloved cousin ; I shall 
not always be thus nimble in reply, 
but shall always have greatpleasnrc 
in answering you wlnin I oan. 

I YoTirs> my friend and eausin, 

%vwcowi»Ea» 

ess > 

ACCOUNT OF BOETBItTS. 

Ta E senator Bocthius is -the kst 
of the Romans whom Cat© or TVd- 
]y could have -acknotrlcdged for 
their countryman. As a wealthy 
orphan, he inherited the patrimo- 
ny and honours of the Amcian fa- 
mily, a name ambitiously assumed 
by the kings and emperors of the 
age ; and the appellation of Man- 
lius asserted his genuiiie or fabulous 
descent from a race of consuls and 
dictiitors, who had repulsed the 
Gauls from the Capitol, andsacrifi^ 
ced their sons to the discipline of 
the republic. In the youth of Boe- 
thius, the studies of Rome were 
not totally abandoned ; a* Virgii is 
now extant, corrected by the hand 
of a c(uisul ; and the professors of 
grammar, rhetoric, and jurispru- 
dence, were maintained in their 
privileges and pensions, by the Kb- 
erality of the Goths. But the eru- 
dition of the Latin language waa 
insufficient to satlnte hb ardent cu-* 
riosity ; and Bocthlus is said to have 
employed eightcn laborious }cars 
ia the scliools of Athens, which 
were supported by the zeal, tlte 
learning, and the diligence of Pro- 
clus and his disciples. The reason 
and piety of tlieir Roman pupil were 
fortunately saved from the conta- 
gion of mystery and magic, which 
polluted the groves of tlic academy; 
out lie imbibed tlie spirit, and imi- 
tated the method of his dead and 
living masters, who attempted to 
reconcile the strong and subtle 
sen:ie of Aiij>t<jt]c vith the devout 
contemplation an I s^u'^Vime fancy of 
PJato. After his : • Vmi to Rome, 
aiid his mariidgc wuU t'*c daughter 
of bis friend, 'the patvioian S\Tn- 
ijuaciiub, Boethius still coutiimed, ia 



ACCOUNT OF BOETHtUS. 



1» 



a palace of ivory and marble, to 
prosecute the same studies. The 
church was edified by his prc^ound 
defence of the orthodox creed 
against the Arian, the Eutychian, 
•nd the Nestorian heresies; and 
the Catholic unity was explained or 
expoved ia a formal treatise by the 
mdifferenee of three distinct though 
censiibstantial persons. - For the 
benefit of his Latin readers, his 
genius submitted to teach the first 
elements of the arts and sciences 
of Greece. The geonjetry of Eu- 
clid, the music of Pythagoras, tlie 
arithmetic of Nichomachus,^ the 
mechanics of Archimedes, the as- 
tronomy of Ptolemy, the theology 
of Plato, and the logic of Aristotle, 
with the commentary of Porphyry, 
-were translated and illustrated by 
the mdefiBitigable pen of the Roman 
senator. And he alone was esteemed 
capable of descrilnng the wonders 
of art, a sun-dial, a water-clock, 
or a sphere which represented the 
motions of the planets. From 
these abstruse speculations, Boetliius 
stooped, or to speak more tndy, he 
rose to the social duties of public 
and private life : the indigent were 
relieved by his liberality ; and his 
eloquence:, which flattery might 
compare to the vwce of Demos- 
thenes or Cicero, was uniformly ex- 
erted in the cause of innocence and 
humanity. Such conspicuous merit 
was felt and rewarded by a discern- 
ing prince ; the dignity of Boethius 
was adorned with the titles of con- 
sul and patrician, and his talents 
were usemlly employed in the im- 
portant station of master erf the 
ofiices. Notwithstanding the equal 
claims of the I\ast and West, his 
two sons were created, in their ten- 
der youth, the consuls of the same 
year- On the memorable day of 
their inauguration, they proceeded 
in solemn pomp from their palace 
to the forum, amidst the applause 
of the senate and the people ; and 
tlieir joyfiil father, the true consul 
of Rome, after pronouncing an ora- 
tion in the praise of his royal bene- 
factor, distributed a triumphal lar- 
gess in the games of the circus. 

VOL. I....KO. II. 



Prosperous in his &me and fortunes, 
in his public honours and private 
alliances, in the cultivation of sci- 
ence and the consciousness of vir- 
tue, Boethius might have been styled 
happy, if that precarious epithet 
could be safely appfied be£[>re the 
last term of the life of man. 

A j^losopher,liberal of his wealth 
and parsimonious 'of his time, mi^t 
be insensible to the common allure- 
ments of ambition, the thirst of 
gold and employment. And some 
credit may be due to the assevera- 
tion of Boethius, that he had re- 
luctantly obeyed the divine Plato, . 
who enjoins every virtuous citizen 
to rescue the state from the usurpa* 
tion of vice and ignorance. For 
the integrity of his public conduct 
he appeals to the memory of his 
country. His authority had re- 
strained the pride and oppression 
of the royal officers, and his elo- 
quence had delivered Paulianus from 
die dogs of the palace. He had al- 
ways pitied, and often relieved, the 
distress of the provincials, whose 
fortunes were exhausted by public 
and private rapine ; and Boethius 
alone had courage to oppose the 
tyranny of the Barbarians, elated 
hy conquest, excited by avarice, 
and, as he complains, encouraged 
by impunity. In these honourable 
.contests, his spirit soared above the 
consideration of danger, and per- 
haps of prudence ; and we may 
learn from the example of Cato, 
that a character of pure and in- 
flexible virtue is the most apt to be 
misled by prejudice, to be heat^ 
iy enthusiasm, and to confound pri- 
vate enmities with public justice. 
The disciple of Plato might exag- 
gerate the infirmities of nature, and 
the imperfections of society ; and to 
the mildest form of a Gothic king- 
dom, even the weight of allegifuicc 
and gratitude, must be insupport- 
able to the free spirit of a Roman 
patriot. But the favour and fidelity 
of Boethius declined in just propor- 
tion with the public happiness; and 
an unworthy colleague was imposed, 
to divide and conti-oul the power of 
the master of the offices* In the 
9 



140 



ACCOUKT or BOETHIUi. 



!«tt gloomy setiMn of Theodonc, he 
indignantly felt that he was a slave ; 
but as his master had only power 
over his life, he stood without arms 
and without fear against the fece of 
an angry Barbarian, who had been 
provoked to believe that the safety 
of the senate was incompatible with 
his own. The senator Albinus was 
accused and already convicted on 
the presumption of hoping^ as it 
was said, the liberty of Rome. ** If 
Albinus be criminal," exclaimed 
the orator, <' the senate and my- 
self are all guilty of the same 
crime. If we are innocent, Albi- 
nus is equally entitled to the pro- 
tection cf tlie laws." These laws 
might not have punished the simple 
and barren wish of an unattainable 
blessing ; but they would hare shewn 
less indul^nce to' the rash confession 
of Boethms, that, had he known 
of a conspiracy, the tyrant never 
should. The Advocate of Albinus 
was soon involved in the danger and 
perhaps the guilt of his client ; their 
signature (which they denied as a 
forgery) was affixed to the original 
address, inviting the emperor to 
deliver Italy from the Goths ; and 
three witnesses of honourable 
rank, perhaps of infemous reputa- 
tion, attested the treasonable de- 
signs of the Roman patrician. Yet 
his innocence must be presumed, 
since he was deprived by ITieodo- 
ric of the means of justification, and 
rigorously confined in the tower of 
Pavia, while the senate, at the dis- 
tance of five hundred miles, pro- 
nounced a sentence of confiscation 
and death against the most illustri- 
ous of its members. At the com- 
mand of the Barbarians, the occult 
science of a philosopher was stigma- 
tised with the names of sacrilege 
and magic A devout and dutifiil 
attachment to the senate was con- 
demned as criminal by the trembling 
voices of the senators themselves ; 
and their ingratitude deserved the 
wishorpredictionof Boetliius, that, 
af\er him, none should be found 
guilty of the same ofience. 

While Boethius, oppressed with 
feuers) expected each moment the 



sentence or the stroke of death, He 
composed in the tower of Pavia the 
Coruolation qfPhUo9tifihy ; a goideat 
volume not unworthy of the leisure 
of Plato or Tttlly, but which claims 
incomparable merit from the bar- 
barisim of Uie times and the situa- 
tion of the author. The celestial 
guide whom he had so long invoked 
at Rome and Athens, now conde- 
scended to illumine lus dungeon, to 
revive his courage, and to pour into 
his wounds her salutary balm. 
She taught him to compare his 
long prosperity and his recent dla- 
tress, and to conceive new hopes 
from the inconstancy of fortune. 
Reason had informed him of the 
precarious condition of her gifts ; 
experience had satisfied him of 
their real value ; he had enjoyed 
them without guilt ; he might re- 
sign them without a ngh, and calm- 
ly disdain tlie impotent malice of 
his enemies, who had left him hap- 
piness, since they had left him vii*- 
tue. From the earth, Boetliius as- 
cended to heaven in search of tlw 
SUPREME good; explored the 
metaphysical labyrinth of chance 
and destiny, of prescience and free- 
will, of time and eternity ; and 
generously attempted to reconcile 
the perfect attributes of the Deity, 
with the apparent disorders of his 
moral and physical* government* 
Such topics of consolation, so (^ 
vious, so vague, or so abstruse, are 
inefifectual to subdue tlie feelings of 
human nature. Yet the sense of 
misfortune may be diverted by the 
labour of thought ; and the sage 
who could artfully combine in the 
same work, the various riches of 
philosophy, poetry, and elocjuence, 
must already have possessed tlie in- 
trepid calnmess, wliich he affected 
to seek. Suspense, tlie worst of 
evils, was at length determined by 
the ministers of death, who exe- 
cuted, and perhaps exceeded, the 
inhuman mandate of l^ieodoric. 
A strong cord was fastened round 
the head of Boethius, and forcibly 
tightened, till his eyes almost start- 
ed from their sockets; and some 
mercy may be discovered in the 



ACCOUIIT or BOBTSIVS. 



in 



nikler torture of beatiiiK him with 
clubs till he expired. Hut his genius 
samved to dintise a ray of iuiow. 
ledge over the darkest ages of the 
Latin world ; the writings of the 
philosopher were translated by the 
most glorious of the English Kings, 
and the third emperor of the name 
«fOtho removedtoa morelKmour- 
able tomb the bones of a Catholic 
saint, who, from his Arian perse- 
cutors, had acquired the honours 
of martyrdom, and the fiune of 
miracles* In the last hours of Boe- 
thius, hederivedsome comfort from 
the salety of his two sons, of his 
wife, and of his &ther-in*law, the 
venerable Symmachus. But the 
grief of Symmachus was indiscreet, 
and perhaps dbrespectiiil : he had 
presumed to lament, he might dare 
to revenge, the death of an injured 
friend* He was dragged in chains 
fnm Rome to the palace of Raven- 
na; and ^he suspicions of Theo- 
doric could only be iq>peased by the 
lilood of an innocent and aged sena- 



-STORT or CECI1.IA. 

The passion of love is supposed 
to exert its sway most despotically 
•over the softer sex, the gentler lialf 
of our species ; but though I cannot 
hut confess that women, taken in 
the aggregate, are more delicate 
animals than men, and less capable 
of resolute exertion and firmness, 
yet there are instances among them 
of a firm endurance of evil, an 
energy of mind fiiUy equal to the 
boasted strength of the stem Lords 
of theCreation* A woman indeed who 
has a soul at all, (foritiswellknown 
to be the Turkish creed that that 
. beautifiil madiine is not endued with 
BO useless a spring, and there are 
some instances among our own coun- 
trywomen that would almost induce 
one to believe that a few fair Turks 
Jiad straggled into Great Britain)... 
a woman, I say, who lias a soul, 
is much more animated, more alive 
than mas* Her impulses, if less 



permanent, are more lively; and 
though their vigour may quickly 
relax, yet the first spring is so pow« 
erfiil, that it will carry them fur- 
ther than a more continued inq)etus 
will lead a man....But I am going 
to set before my readers the cha- 
racter of a female, not more dis- 
tinguished for her feeling than her 
resolution ; and whose case, as it 
may be common to all, may con- 
tain a general warning and a gene- 
ral example. 

Cecilia was, from her infimcy, 
the child of misfortune. She lost 
her mother in the fii-st month of 
her life, and experienced through 
her childhood every disadvantage 
which can attend a motherless 
female. It is needless to detail the 
circumstances which threw Cecilia, 
without fortune and without friends, 
into a dependent situation in an 
«legant £aiail)k There, however, 
we find her, from a very early age, 
bereft of all the splendid hopes her 
&Uier's prospects once held out to 
jher, and trusting alone to <^ Inno- 
cence and Heavea." 

Cecilia was no beauty ;M**instead 
of the Grecian fikgaace of formi 
and the unrivafled delicacy of fea- 
tures she might have inherited from 
her lovely mother, she -could boast 
only an active, though not a slender 
person, a complexion that glowed 
with the pure tints of heidth, a 
countenance that bespoke good 
humour, and an eye that beamed 
intelUgence. Her skin had been 
despoiled of its polish Jjy thatioe to 
loveliness, the small-pox ;...*snd the 
narrowness of her fortune deprived 
her of the adventitious advantages 
of dress. The lowliness of her 
situation, which she felt most acute* 
ly, (perhaps too much so, since 
circumstances, not incurred by guilt| 
ought to bring no imputation with 
them) repressed all the freedom of 
her manner, and aU the graces of 
her youth. With these exterior 
disadvantages, Cecilia was living 
with a woman of fashion, fortune, 
and beauty, who, satisfied witli tho 
charitable deed of affording a homo 
to a feUow-creature, Ibought abfr 



142 



BTORY Oy CECILIA. 



treated her with sufficient kindnesa 

-when she did not beat her. 

Cecilia, however^ possessed a 
mind hr superior to her situation : 
it had been elegantly and even 
studiously cultivated. She was no 
mean proficient in the modern ac- 
comphshmentSy and was more than 
commonly skilled in the Belles Let- 
tres. She had loved moral philo- 
sophy, as the most improving and 
the most interesting study ; and she 
now sought in its doctrines a relief 
from the discomforts she experi- 

. enced. %e could not believe but 
that unwearied assiduity, diligence, 
and good-humour would procure 
her the good-will, and even the af- 
fection of her patroness; but the 
course of a few years shewed her 
that she deceived herself, and that 
a fine lady is a non-descript in 
etliics. ■ . 

Had Cecilia been one of those 
humble toad>eatcrs, who can bear 
to dangle after their ladies into 
public, clad in their forsaken orna- 
ments, at once the enyy and tlie 
scorn of the whole tiibe of waiting 
gentlewomen,...«had she been an 
adept at flattery, and echoed with 
applause the unmeaning witticisms 
she was condemned to hear, she 

. . -would probably have been a favour- 
ite : but such was not her character. 
Conscious of sonxe internal merit, 
Cecilia sought to be chosen, not 
suflferciili and finding, unhappily, 
that she could not ob&in what she 
sought, she gradually witlidrcw 
niore and more from' observation, 
and though obliged to frequent all 
company, she never met -with even 

• tlie common attentions due to her 
age and sex. 

Thus retired in herself, and thrust 
hack by circumstances, it was not 

. iwshible for her to obtain any atten- 
tion in the gay and dissipated cir- 
cle in which she was condemned to 
move, nor to have the least chance 
of being lifted to a better situation. 
The best years of her life were 
Wasted in hopeless despondency, 
and she could look forward to no- 
thing but passing the evening of her 
<days in the same joyless gloom, 



when acme events occmred, whk^ 
seemed to promise a possibility €jf 
happiness. 

Alcanor, an intimate friend of 
the family, had for some time dis^ 
tingttished Cecilia with more than 
a polite.....with a kind attention.— 
Alcanor was a man of sense, a com- 
plete gentleman, and bore an un- 
blemished characterforprobityand 
honour. Cecilia, who, with a bos©m 
formed to feel the warmest raptmres 
of love, with a judgment keen to 
perceive, and a heart alive to dis- 
tinguifih excellence, had hitherto 
preserved herself from any parti- 
cular attachment only by perpetual 
reflections on the hopelessness of 
her situation, felt a fearless grati- 
tude for the friendship of Alcanor. 
It exalted her in her owncycsabovc 
the insignificance into which she 
was conscious she had sunk in the 
estimation of those around her; 
yet considering Alcanor as a being 
many degrees above her, she indulg- 
ed her gratitude without the small- 
est idea that it would ever ripen 
into a warmer sentiment. Nor could 
it ever have disturbed her peace, 
though it might have added to her 
happiness, but for some occurren- 
ces, not necessary to be detailed, 
whirji threw her often into confi- 
dcntiid talk with Alcanor. 

Though wholly a novice in the 
afiairs of love, Cecilia had not 
reached the age of twenty-eight 
without havitig observed the effects 
of the passions ; and the inquietude 
. she now began to be conscious of, 
alarmed her for the nature of her 
sentiment towards Alcanor. His 
increasing kindness increased her 
inquietude and her alarms. Slie 
strictly examined her hearty and 
learnt to distrust, not him, but 
herself. She had hitherto put no 
restraint on the natural warmth of 
her manner when conversing wi^ 
him: she now assumed a more 
guarded style. Alcanor saw the 
difference oif her conduct, and strove 
by the most delicate attentions, to 
bring her back to her former unre- 
serve. Cecilia could no longer be 
blind to the meaning of -Alcanor.*.* 



STORT OV CBGILIA. 



ite 



\^liat had she to feav firoma man 
irbose bosom was the seat of ho- 
nour? What a happiness^ what a 
trininph for her to be selected by 
so saperior a being! She looked 
thnidly at Alcanor. His respectful 
deference, his afiectionate attea- 
twDSy his graceful gaiety reassured 
her ; by degrees her timidity, her 
reserre wore off, and without a 
• word on either side, they were on 
.the footing of avowed lorers. To 
have doul^ed his honour would have 
been sacrilege* She became a new 
being. She looked forward with 
some apprehension, indeed to the 
situation to which her marriage 
would raise her; but she endea- 
voured to render hersdf worthy of 
it* She hourly improved in grace, 
gaiety, and appearance, and Alca- 
nor became hourly more and more 
attached: yet so delicate were the 
marks of his attachment, as to be 
by all unnoticed, save by the con- 
scious Cecilia ! 

She was now anxiously expecting 
the moment when his avowal should 
disnpate all apprehensions, when 
one day, after a temporary absence, 
as she advanced to meet him with 
her accustomed gladness, she was 
struck with the strangeness of his 

manner! Polite he was indeed ; 

but what was mere politeness from 
Alcanor to Cecilia ? She gazed in 
his face ; she saw in it no answering 
warmth ; she retired to weep, and 
in solitude, chid herself for her fan- 
cifulness. . She returned to prove 
Alcanor faultless, and herself mis- 
taken. She found him to all others 
cheerful, animated, gay, as usual... 
to her invincibly cold. Day after 
day passed on, and no returning 
kindness beamed in his e3re. Hope 
was extinct, and thus ended forever 
an attachment singular ia its pro- 
gress, and barbarous in its termi- 
nation...No opportunity now offered 
of speaking alone to Alcanor, and 
if it had, of what service would it 
have been to the unfortunate Ceci- 
lia ? Of what Was she to complain ? 
Nothing, however, was ever fur- 



ther, from her wishes than to com- 
plain, except to reproach Alcanor! 
To conceal her griefi», to conquer 
her feelings, to command her coun- 
tenance, diese were the tasks she 
imposed upon her9elfM..these were 
the efforts that exhausted her 
strength,that imbittered her solitary 
hours, that bathed her pillow with 
tears! 

These salutary efforts, however, 
succeeded, and Cecilia is a noble 
example that philosophy and exer- 
tion can surmount the greatest 
trials, and afford comfort under the 
heaviest misfortunes. She has de- 
voted her time, witli exemplarjr 
fortitude, to those pursuits which 
formerly interested her ; and she 
finds from her laudable exertions 
the truest and most permanent com- 
fort. One only reflection remains 
to imbitter her hours of retirement, 
and that is, her earnest and not 
unjustifiable curiosity to learn the 
reason of Alcanor's sudden change: 
but this explanation she must as- 
suredly rest without obtaining, since 
. she can never ask, and he seems 
not at all disposed to volunteer 
it. 

That no future clouds may arise 
to disturb a serenity so laudably 
regained, must be the wish of every 
one who reads this recital ; but what 
words can do justice to the unsus- 
pected perfidy of Alcanor, who first 
obtained the full confidence of his 
destined victim, and then amused 
himself with watching the progress 
of a passion he cooUy resolved to 
reduce to despair ? Cecilia, indeed, 
with a delicacy of which only the 
most feeling mind could be cap^le, 
sometimes reproaches herself with 
having too readily yielded to the 
semblance of affection; but her 
own heart, and that of the trea 
cherous Alcanor, must fully excu^ 
pate her from this blame. Tl 
following lines, however, whicli 
obtained by an accident not to ' 
related, prove her jealousy of h 
own conduct, and tlie acutencss 
her feelings. 



144 



BTOftT or CECILIA. 



I cmnght m Mght Ikntaitic clond, 
And in the eUtterinfir moonlirht 
drcM'dit, 
Then, of the beauteous pageant 
proud^ 
Too fondljT to my bosom press'd it. 

I fancied, by the dubious U^ht, 
I taw my phantom sweetly fmiling ; 

Mj bosom throbbed with wild delight, 
AU reason's soberer fears beguiling. 

What dreams of joy my soul revolv*d, 

What pleasant visions hoverM o'er 

tne! 

Tin by th' incautious warmth dis- 

solvM, 

My treatuM faded from before me ! 

Condemned henceforward stiU to 
grieve, 

My senses rove in wild confusion* 
K or can I scarcely yet believe 

My bliss was all a vain illusion. 

From treacherous hope will I no more 
Deceitful forms of pleasure borrow, 

But silently my loss deplore. 
And sink a prey to secret sorrow. 

Such is she tale I wish to impress 
on the minds of my hir country- 
women ; since to all the lot of Ceci- 
lia is possible, it would be wise in 
all to arm their minds with similar 
fortitude. The above lines, written 
at a very early period of her dis- 
tress, but verjr ill convey her pre- 
sent philosophic calmness. 



KSSAT ON THE ARTS, COMMOVLT 
CALLED IMITATIVE. 

It is the liEite of tliose maxims, 
which have been thrown out by 
•very eminent writers, to be re- 
ceived implicitly by most of their 
-followers, and be repeated a thou- 
sand times, for no other reason, 
than because they once dropped 
iroro the pen of a superior genius : 
one of these is the assertion of Aris- 
totle, that < aU poetry consists in 
imitation,' which has been so fre- 
quently echoed from author to au- 
tiior; tlmt it would seem a kind of 
arrogance to controvert it; for al> 



most all the philosophert and cri- 
tics, who have written npoo the 
subject of poetry, music, and paint- 
ing, how little soever they ma^ 
a^ce in some points, seem of one 
mind in cxinsidering them as arts 
merely imitative: yet it must be 
clear to any one, who examinca 
what passes in his own mind, that 
he is aflfected by the finest poems> 
pieces of music, and pictures, upon 
a principle, which, whatever it be^ 
is entirely distinct from imitatioiu 
M. le Batteux has attempted to 
prove that all the fine arts have a 
relation to this common pnnciple of 
imitating : but, whatever be said of 
painting, it is probable, that poetry 
and music had a nobler origin; and, 
if the first language of man was not 
both poetical and musical, it is cerw 
tarn, at least, thit in countries, 
where no kind of imitation seema 
to be much admired, there are 
poets and musicians botii by nature 
and by art: as in some Mahometan 
nations ; where sculpture and paint- 
ing are forbidden by the laws, where 
dramatic poetry of every sort ia 
wholly unknown, yet, where the 
pleasing arts, of expressing the 
passions in verse, and of enforcing^ 
that expression by melody, are caU 
tivated to a degiee of enthusiasm. 
It shall be my endeavour in thia 
paper to prove, that, though poetry 
and music have, certainly, a power 
of imitating the manners of men, 
and several objects in nature, yet, 
that their greatest effect is not pro- 
duced by imitation, but by a very 
difierent principle ; which must be 
sought for in the deepest recesses 
of the human mind. 

To state the question properly^ 
we must have a clear notion of what 
we mean by poetry and music ; but 
we cannot gjve a precise definition 
of them, till we have made a few 
previous remarks on their origin, 
tlieir relation to each other, and 
their difference. 

It seems probable then that poe- 
try was originally no more than a 
strong, and animated expression of 
the human passions, of joy and grief, 
love and hate, admiration and anger. 



XaSAT ON TBS IMITATITE AXT9. 



J4S 



aoaetiinespareftnduainixed, some- 
times variously modified and com- 
bined : for, if we observe the voice 
and accents of a person affected by 
any of the violent passions, we shaQ 
perceive something in them very 
nearly approaching to cadence and 
measure; which is remarkably the 
case in the language of a vehement 
Orator, whose talent is chiefly con- 
versant about praise or censure ;^ 
and we may collect from several 
passages in Tully, that the fine 
speakers of old Greece and Rome 
Ittd a sort of rhythm in their sen- 
tences, less regular, but not less 
melodious, than that of the poets. 

If this idea be just, one would 
suppose that the most ancient sort 
of poetry consisted in praising the 
Deity ; for if we conceive a being, 
created with all his foculties and 
senses, endued with speech and 
reason, to open his eyes in a most 
delightful plain, to view for the first 
time the serenity of the sky, the 
splendor of the sun, the verdure of 
the fields and woods, the glowing 
colours of the flowers, we can hard- 
ly believe it possible, that he should 
refrain from bursting into an ex- 
tacy of joy, and pouring his praises 
to the creator of those wonders, and 
the author of his happiness. This 
kind of poetry is used m all nations ; 
but as it is the sublimest of all, 
when it Is applied to its true object, 
so it has often been perverted to 
impious purposes by pagans and 
idolaters: every one knows tliat 
the dramatic poetry of the Euro- 
peans took its rise from the same 
spring, and was no more at first 
than a song in praise of Bacchus ; 
so that the onUr species of poetical 
composition (it we except tlie epic) 
which cr.n in any sense be called 
imitative, was deduced from a na- 
tural emotion of the mind, in which 
imitation could not be at all con- 
cerned. 

llie next source of poetry was, 
probably, love, or the mutual incli- 
nation, wliich naturally subsists be- 
tween the sexes, and is founded 
upon personal beauty : hence arose 
the most agreeable odesy and love- 



songs, which we admire in the 
works of the ancient lyric poets, 
not filled, like our sonnets and 
madrigals, with the insipid babble 
of darts, and Cupids, but simple, 
tender, natural ; and consisting of 
such unaffected endearmentSi and 
mild complaints, 

* Teneii sdegni, e placide e traaqnilla 
Repulse, e can vezsi, e liete psci^* 

as we may suppose to have passed 
between Uie first lovers in a state 
of innocence, before the refinements 
of society, and the restraints, whidi 
they introduced, had made the 
passion of love so fierce, and im- 
petuous, as it b said to have been 
m Dido, and certainly was in Sap- 
pho, if we may take her own word 
for itf. 

The grief, which the first inha- 
bitants of the earth must have feH 
at the death of their dearest friends, 
and relations, gave rise to another 
species of poetry, which originally, 
perhaps, consisted of short dirges, 
and was afterwards lengthened into 
elegies* 

As soon as vice began to prevail 
in the world, it was natural for the 
wise and virtuous to express their 
detestation of it in the strongest 
manner, and to show their resent- 
ment against the corrupters of man- 
kind: hence moral poetry was de- 
rived, which, at first, we find, was 
severe and passionate; but was 
gradually melted down into cool 
precepts of morality, or exhorta- 
tions to virtue : we may reasonably 
conjecture that epic poetry had 
the same origin, and Uiat tlie ex- 
apiples of heroes and kings were 
inti*oduced to illustrate some moral 
truth, by showine the loveliness 
and advantages ot virtue, or the 
many misfortunes that flow from 
vice. Where there is vice, which 
is detestable in itself, there must be 
hate, since 'the strongest antipathy 
in nature,' as Mr. Pope assetted in 

• Two lines of Ttuto^ 
f See the ode of SaffJbo quoted by 
Longintu, and tranUatea by £oiitaiu 



146 



£SSAr OV THE IMITATITX ARTSV 



bis writings, and proved by his whole 
jiife, * subsists between the good and 
the bad:' now this passion was th& 
source of that poetn , which we 
call Satire, very improperly, and 
x»miptl)', since the Satire of the 
Romans was no more than a moral 
piece, which they entitled Satura 
or Satyra*, intimating, that the 
poem, like a dish of fruit and com 
ofies*ed to Ceres, contained a vari- 
ety and plenty of fancies and figures; 
-whereas the true invectives of the 
amdcnts were called Iambi, of wliich 
"we have several examines in Catul- 
lus, and in the I^xxies of Horace, 
who imitated the very measures and 
manoer of Archilochus. 

These are the principal sources 
of poetry ; and of music also, as it 
«haU be my endeavour to show : but 
it Is first necessary to say a few 
words on the nature of sound; a 
very odious subject, which would 
require a long dissertation to be 
Accurately discussed. Without en- 
tering into a discourse on the vibra- 
tions of chords, or the undulations 
of the air, it wll be sufficient for 
our purpose to observe that there 
is a great difierence between a com- 
mon sound, and a musical sound, 
which consists chiefly in this, that 
the former is simple and entire in 
itself like a point, while the latter 
is always accompanied with other 
sounds, without ceasing to be one ; 
like a circle, which is an entire 
figure, though it is generated by a 
inultitudeof points flowing, at equal 
distances, round a common centre* 
UTiese accessory sound*;, which are 
caused by the aiiquots of a sonorous 
body vibrating at once, arc called 
Harmonics, and the whole system 
of mo<Icni harmtniy depends upon 
them ; though it were eapy to prove 
that the system is unmiiiral, and 
only made toleiabie to the ear by 
habit: for whenever we strike the 
perfect accord en a harpsichord or 
an organ, the harmonics of the 
third and fifth have also their own 

• S^'>rr:c latin v.-(^rds were r.ncllcd 
^'•^cr wiAi un u cr a v, us ^'uUa cr 



Imrmonics, which are dissoftant 
from the principal note: These 
horrid dissonances are, indee<1, al^ 
most overpowered by the natural 
harmonics of the principal chords 
but tliat does not prove them agree- 
able* Since nature hat given us a 
delightful harmony of her own, why 
should we destroy it by the additions 
of art ? It is like thinking 

to paint the lily. 

And add a perfume to the violet. 

Now let us conceive that some 
vehement passion b eiqiressed in 
strong words, exactly measured, 
and pronounced in a common voice, 
in just cadence, and with proper 
accents, such an expression of the 
passion will be genuine poetry ; and 
the famous ode of ^/t/^isailowed 
to be so in the strictest sense : but 
if the same ode, with all its natural 
accents, were e:q)ressedin a musi- 
cal voice (that is, in sounds accom- 
panied with their harmonics), if it 
were sung in due time and measure, 
in a single and pleasing tune, that 
added foi*ce to the words widiout 
stifling tiiem, it would then be pure 
and original music; not merely 
soothing to the ear, but afibcting t0 
the heart ; not an imitation of na- 
ture, but the voice of nature her- 
self. But there is another point in 
which music must resemble poetry, 
or it will lose a considerable part of 
its effect : we all must have observ- 
ed, that a speaker, agitated with 
passion, or an actor, who is, indeed, 
strictly an imitator, are perpetually 
changing the toncand pitch of their 
voice, as the sense of their words va- 
ries: it may be worth while to exa- 
mine how this variation is expressed 
in music. Every body knows that the 
musical scale consists of seven notes, 
aljove whicii wc find a succession of 
-similar sounds repeated in the same 
order, and above that, other sue-- 
cessions, us far as tliey can be con- 
tinned by the human voice, or dis- 
tinguished by the human eur : now 
each of these seven sounds has no 
more meaning, when it is heard 
separately, thun a single letter of 



SSSAT 0)1 TBS IMITATIVE ART»« 



1^ 



te alpbftbet would have ; and it is 
mnly by their succession, and their 
relation to one principal sound, that 
tfaey take any rank in the scale ; or 
difier Ironi each other, except as 
tiiey are graver, or more acute : but 
in the r^;ular scale each interval 
assumes a proper character, and 
every note stands related to the first 
or principal one by various propor- 
tions. Now a series of sounds re- 
lating to one leading note is called 
a mode, or a tone, and, as there are 
twelve semitones in the scale, each 
of which may be made in its turn 
the leader of a mode, it follows that 
there are twelve modes^ and each 
of them has a peculiar character 
arising from the position of the 
modal note, and from some minute 
difference in the ratios, as of 81 to 
80, or a comma ; for there are some 
intervals, which cannot easily be 
rendered on our instruments, yet 
have a surprising effect in modula- 
tion, or in the transitions from one 
mode to another. 

The mode-s of the ancients are 
said to have had a wonderful effect 
over the mind ; and Plato, who per- 
mits the Dorian in his imaginary 
republic, on account of its calm- 
ness and gravity, excludes the Ly- 
dian, because of its languid, tender 
and effeminate character : not that 
any series of mere sounds has a 
power of raising or soothing the pas- 
sions, but each of th^sfi modes was 
appropriated to a particular kind of 



poetry, and a particular kind of in 
strument ; and tlie chief of them, as 
the Dorian, Phryp;ian,Lydian, Ioni- 
an, Eolian, Locnan, belonging ori- 
ginally to the nations, from which 
tiiey took their names: thus the 
Phrygian mode, which was ardent 
and impetuous, was usually accom- 
panied with trumpets, and the Mix- 
olydian, which if we believe Aris- 
toxcnus, was inventetl by Sappho, 
was probably confined to the pathe- 
tic and tragic style : that these 
modes had a relation to poetry, as 
weU as to music, appears from a 
fragmentofLasus, in which he says, 
* I sing of Ceres, and her daughter 
Melibcea, the consort of Pluto, in 

VOL. I...«lfO. II. 



the Eolian mode, fufl oi gravity ;.* 
and Pindar calls one of his Odes a^. 
^ Eolian song/ If the Greeks sur- 
passed us in the strength of their 
modulations, we have an advantage 
over them in our minor scale, which 
supplies us with twelve new modes, 
where the two semitones are re- 
moved from the natural position 
between the third and fourth, the 
seventh andeigi^th notes, and placed 
* between the second and third, the 
fifth and sixth ; this change of the 
semitones, by giving a minor third 
to the modal note, softens the gene- 
ral expression of the mode, and 
adapts it admirably to subjects of 
grief and affliction : the minor mode 
of D is tender, that of C, with three 
flats, plaintive, and that of F, with 
four, pathetic and mournful to the 
highest degree, for which reason it 
was chosen by the excellent Pergo- 
lesi in his Stabat Mater. Now these 
twenty-four modes, artfully inter- 
woven, and changed as often as the 
sentiment changes, may, it is evi- 
dent, express all the variations in 
the voice of a speaker, and give an 
additional beauty to the accents of 
a poet. Consistently witli the fbre<^ 
going principles, we may define I 
original and native poetry to be the 
language of the violent passions, I 
expressed in exact measure, witli / 
strong accents and significant words; / 
and true music to be no more than] 
poetry, delivered in a succession o^ 
harmonious sounds, so disposed j 



to please the ear. It is in thisvie^. 
only that we must consider the mu- 
sic of the ancient Greeks, or at- 
tempt to account for its amazing 
effects, which we find related by the 
gravest historians, and philoso- 
phers ; it was wholly passionate or 
descriptive, and so closely united 
to poetry, that it never obstructed, 
but always increased its influence ; 
whereas cur boasted harmony, with 
all its fine accords, and numerous 
parts, paints nothin^^fixpresses no- 
thing, says nothing to the heartland 
consequently can only give more or 
less pleasure to one of our senses ; 
and no reasonable man will serious- 
ly prefer a transitory pleasure, 
16 



14S 



SSfiAT 6n THX IMITATIVE ABT$« 



^irhich must soon end in satiety, or 
even in disgust, to a delight of the 
»oul, arising from sympathy, and 
founded on the natural passions, aK 
ways lively, always interesting, al- 
ways transporting. The old divi* 
sions of music into celestial and 
earthly, divine and human, active 
and contemplative, inteUective and 
orator ial, were founded rather upon 
metaphors, and chimerical analo- 
gies, than upon any real distinctions 
m nature ; but the want ot making 
a distinction between music of 
mere sounds, and the music of the 
passions, has been the perpetual 
source of confusion and contradic- 
tions both among the ancients and 
the modems : nothing can be more 
opposite in many points than the 
systems of Rameau and Tartini, 
one of whom asserts that melody 
springs from bannony, and the 
other deduces harmony from me- 
lody ; and both are in the right, if 
the' first speaks only of that music, 
which took its nsc'from the multi- 
plicity of sounds heard at once in 
the sonorous body, and the second, 
of that which rose from the accents 
and inflexions of the human voice, 
animated by the passions : to de- 
cide, as Rousseau says, which of 
these two schools ought to have the 
preference, we need only ask a 
ulain question. Was the voice made 
^ tor the instruments, or tlie instru- 
ments for the voice ? 

In definhig what true poetry 
ought to be, according to our prin- 
ciples, we have described what it 
really was among the Hebrews, the 
Greeks and Romans, the Arabs and 
Persians. The lamentation of Da- 
vid, and his sacred odes, or Psalms, 
the Song of Solomon, tt\e prophe- 
cies of Isaiah, Jeremiah, and the 
other inspired writers, are truly 
and strictly poetical ; but what did 
David or Solomon imitate in their 
divine poems ? Amun who is really 
joyful or afflicted, cannot be said to 
imitate joy or affliction. The lyric 
verses of Alcaeus, Alcman, and 
I^ycus, the Hymns of Callimachus, 
the Elegy of Moschus on the death 
ni Eion, are all beautiful pieces of 



poetry ; yet Alcaeus was no imita* 
tor of love, Callimachus was no 
imitator of religious awe and admi- 
ration, Moschus was no imitator of 
grief at the U ss of an amiable friends 
Aristotle himself wrote a vci*) poe- 
tical eleg)' <m the death of a man^ 
whom he had loved ; bu it would 
be difficult to say what he imitated 
in it: '^O virtue, who pro]'Osest 
many labours to the human race, 
and art still the alluring object of 
our life ; for thy charms, O beauti- 
ful goddess, it was always an envied 
happme^^s in Greece even to die, 
and to suffer the most painful, the 
most afflicting evils : such are the 
immortal fruits, whicli thou raisest 
in our minds ; fruits, more precious 
than gold, more sweet than the love 
of parents, and soft repose : for thee 
Hercules the son of Jove, and the 
twins of Leda, sustained many la- 
bours,and by their illustrious actions 
sought thy favour ; for love of thee, 
Achilles and Ajax descended to the 
mansion of Pluto ; and, through a 
zeal for thy charms, the prince of 
Atarnea was also deprived of the 
sun's light : therefore shall the mu- 
ses, daughters of memory, render 
him immortal for his glorious deeds, 
whenever they sing the god of hos- 
pitality, and the honours due to a 
lasting friendship." 

In the preceding collection of po- 
ems, there are some Eastern fables, 
some odes, a -paneg)'ric, and an 
elegy : yet it does not appear to me, 
that there is the least imitation in 
either of them : Petrarch was, cer- 
tainly, too deeply aflTected with real 
grieti and the Persian poet was too 
sincere a lover, to imitate the pas- 
sions of others. As to the rest, a 
fable in verse is no more an imita- 
tion than a fable in prose ; and if eve- 
ry poetical narrative, which de- 
scribes the manners, and relates the 
adventures of men, be called imita- 
tive, every romance, and even eve- 
ry history, nmst be called so like- 
wise ; since many poems are only 
romances, or parts of history, told 
in a regular measure. 

What has been said of poetry, 
may with equal force Lc applied t# 



SS9AT OV THE IMITATIVE AKTS. 



14f 



..vmsiCy which Is poetry, dressed to 
advantage ; and even to painting, 
many sorts qf which are poems to 
the eye, as all poems, merely de- 
scriptive, are pictures to the ear : 
and this way of considering tliem, 
will set the refinements of modern 
artists in their true light ; for the 
passions which were given by na- 
ture, never spoke in an unnatural 
form, and no man, truly affected 
with love or grief, ever expressed 
the one in an acrostic, or the other 
in a fugue : tliese remains, there- 
fore, of the false taste, which pre- 
vailed in the dark ages, should be 
banished from this, which is en^ 
lightened with a just one. 

It is true, that some kinds of 
painting ai'e strictly imitati\e, as 
that which is solely intended to re^ 
present the human figure and coun- 
tenance ; but it will be found that 
those pictures have always the 
greatest effect, which represent 
some passion, as tlie martyrdom of 
St. Agnes by Domenichino, and the 
various representations of the Cru- 
cifixion by the finest masters of 
Italy ; and there can be no doubt, 
but that the famous sacrifice of Iphi- 
genia by Timantlies was affecting 
to the highest degree ; which proves 
not that painting cannot be said to 
imitate, but that its most powerful 
influence over tlie mind arises, like 
tliat of the other arts, from sym- 
pathy. 

It is asserted also that descrip- 
tive poetry, and descriptive music, 
{ s they are called, are strict imita- 
tions ; but, not to insi:>t that mere 
description is the meanest part of 
both arts, if indeed it belongs to 
tlicm at all, it is clear, that words 
and sounds have no kind of resem- 
blance to visible objects : and what 
is an imitation, but a resemblance 
of some other thing? Kesjde^, no 
unprejudiced hearer will say thnt 
he finds the smallest traces of imi- 
tation intlie numerous fi^gues, coun- 
tei'f agues, and divisions, which ra- 
ther disgrace than adorn the mor 
dem music : even sounds them- 
selves are imperfectly imitated by 
harmon^i and} if we sometimes hear 



the murmuring of a brook, or th^ 
chirping of birds in a concert, wc* 
are generally apprised before-hand 
of the passages, where we may ex- 
pect them. Some eminent musi- 
cians, indeed, have been absurd 
enough to think of imitating laughs 
ter and other noises; but if Uiey had 
succeeded, they could not have 
made amends for their want of 
taste in attempting it ; for such ri- 
diculous imitations must necessarily 
destroy the spirit and dignity of tho 
finest poems, which they ought to 
illustrate by a gi*aceful and natural 
mckody. It seems to me, tliat, as 
those parts of poetry, music, and 
painting, which relate to the pas- 
sions, affect by sympathy, so those, 
which are merely descriptive, act 
by a kind of substitution, diat is, by 
raising in our minds, aflfections, or 
sentiments, analogous to those, 
which arise in us, when the re- 
spective objects in nature are pre- 
sented to our senses. Let us sup- 
pose that a poet, a musician, and a 
pauiter, are striving to^ give tlieir 
friend, or patron, a pleasure simi- 
lar to that, which he feels at the 
sig;ht of a beautiful prospect. The 
first will form an agreeable assem- 
blage of lively images, which hp 
will express in smooth and elegant 
verses of a sprightly measure ; he 
will describe the most delightful ob- 
jects, and will add to the graces of 
his description a certain delicacy of 
sentiment, and a spirit of cheerful- 
ness. 'I'he musician, -who under-, 
takes to set the words of the pcet, 
will select some mode, which, on 
his violin, has the character of 
mirth and gaity, as the Kolian, or 
E flat, which he will change as the 
sentiment is varied: he will express 
the words in a simple and agreeable 
melody, which will not disguise, but 
embellish them, without aiming at 
any fugue, or figured harmony : he 
will use tlic bass, t;o mark tiie mo- 
dulation more sti^ongly, especially 
in the changes ; and he will place 
the tenour generally in unison with 
the bass, to pinivcnt too great a dis-i 
tance between the parts : in tho 
syuii'>hony he will| al^ve ^U Umu^s^ 



156 



ESSAY ON THK IMITATIVE ART»« 



ftyoid a doable melody, and will 
apply his variations only to some 
accessory ideas, which the princi- 
pal part, that b, the voice, could not 
easily express : he will not make a 
number of useless repetitions, be- 
cause the passions only repeat the 
same expressions, and dwell upon 
the same sentiments, while descrip- 
tion can only leprescnt a single ob- 
;ect by a single sentence. The 
>ainter will describe all visible ob- 
ccts more exactly than his rivals, 
>ut he will fall short ot the other ar- 
tists in a very material circum- 
atance ; namely, that his pencil, 
which may, indeed, express a sim- 
ple passion, cannot paint a thought, 
or draw the shades of sentiment : 
he will, however, finish his land- 
scape with grace and elegance ; his 
colours will be rich and glowing ; 
his perspective strikmg ; and his 
^gures will be disposed with an 
agreeable variety, but not with con- 
fusion : above all, he will diffuse 
over his wholepiece such a spirit of 
liveliness and festivity, that the be- 
holder shall be seized with a kind of 
rapturous delight, and, for a mo- 
ment, mistake art for nature. 

Thus will each artist gain his 
end, not by imitating the works of 
nature, but by assuming her power, 
and causing the same effect upon 
the imagination, which her charms 
produce to the senses : tins must be 
the chief object of a poet, a musi- 
cian, and a painter, who know that 
. great effects are not produced by 
minute details, but by the general 
spirit of the whole piece, and that a 
gaudy composition may strike the 
mind for a short time, but that tlie 
beauties of simplicity are botii more 
dehghtfiil, and more permanent. 

As the passions are differentiy 
modified in different men, and as 
even Uie various objects in nature 
affect pur minds in various degrees, 
it is obvious, that tiiere must be a 
great diversity in the pleasure, 
which we receive from the fine 
arts, whether that pleasure arises 
from sympathy, or substitution ; and 
that it were a wild notion in artists 
tQ thinK of pleasing every reader^ 



hearer, or beholder ; since every 
man has a particular set of objects, 
and a particular inclination, which, 
direct him in the choice of his plea- 
sures, and induce him to consider 
the productions, both of nature and 
of art, as more or less elegant, in 
proportion as they give him a 
greater or smaller deg^ree of de- 
light : this does' not at all contradict 
the opinion of man^ able writers, 
tiuit there is one umform standard 
of taste ; since tiie passions, and, 
consequcntiy, sympathy, are gene- 
rally the same in all men, till they 
are weakened by age, infirmity or 
other causes. 

If the arguments, used in this es* 
say, have any weight, it will ap- 
pear, that the finest parts of poetry, 
music, and painting, are expres- 
sive of the passions, and operate on 
our minds by sympathy ; that the in* 
ferior parts of them are descrip- 
tive of natural objectf, and affect us 
chiefly by substitution ; that the ex- 
pressions of love, pity, desire, and 
the tender passions, as weU as the 
description of objects that delight 
the senses, produce in the arts 
what we call the beautiful ; but that 
hate, anger, fear, and the terrible 
passions, as well as objects, which 
are unpleasing to the senses, are 
productive of the sublime, when 
they are aptiy expressed, or de- 
scribed. 

These subjects might be pursued 
to infinity; but, if they were amply 
discussed, it would be necessary to 
write a series of dissertations, in- 
stead of an essay. 



HISTORY OF PHILIP DELLWTV. 

When I was in Wales last sum- 
mer, I was very much struck with 
the situation of a little village on 
my road ; and as my plan in travel- 
ling is always to adopt whatever 
idea promises amusement, I deter- 
niincd, as I alighted in the yard 
of the inn, to remain there a few 
days, if I could find tolerable ac- 
commodations* The inn, howeveri 



HISTORY or DKLLWTH. 



m 



was extremely wretched, and I wan- 
dered forth to see all that could be 
^en in the shortest jjossible space of 
time ; for I felt that it would be im- 
practiciible to i^main there so long 
as I had first intended. I ascended 
a rugged hill to the east of the vil- 
lage, and as from its summit I was 
admiring tlie prospect, I perceived 
a Quaker, apparently engaged in 
the same amusement. — ^^ A very 
fine view from this hill," observed I. 

" Very fine indeed," replied the 
Quaker ; " lovest thou fine views ?" 

" So well," returned I, ** that I 
would have staid in this village for 
some days to have indulged the pro- 
pensity, but that the inn affords no 
accommodations at all." 

I need not, however pursue the 
conversation, which lasted during 
a long walk, at the end of which, 
my friendly Quaker invited me to 
remain at his house till I had suffi- 
ciently feasted my eyes. I accepted 
the invitation, and established my- 
self there that very evening, I 
staid there five or six days, in the 
course of which time something 
like a friendship took pi ace between 
the Quaker and myself, and even 
his pretty daughter Martha mani- 
fested no small partiality for me. 
However, except an occasional pre- 
sent now and then, to prove my 
gratitude, no intercourse has ever 
taken place between us, until the 
post, the other day, brought me a 
letter in a hand I was ivholly unac- 
quainted with. I opened it hastily, 
and found it as follows. 
" Esteemed Friend, 

*' Thou wilt perhaps be 
surprised <at receiving a letter from 
me — ^nay, perhaps, thou wilt have 
forgotten the existence of Abraham 
Upright ; however, neither I nor 
ray daughter Martha h;ive forgot- 
ten thee, but have continued to wish 
thee all welfare and happiness every 
day of our lives. 

" If thou hast not forgotten us, 
perhaps thou remeniberesl the 
young man named Philip Dellw)-n. 
Ihe young man w<is sick thou 
knowest : — he now sleeps with his 
fathers. I one day burprised my 



daughter Martha in the room where-) 
he dwelt, in tears over a roll of/ 
paper, which 1 soon saw was in liis 
hand- writing. Had there been a 
fire at hand, I should have tossed' 
the papers into it in a moment ; as 
there was none, I contented myself 
with taking them from Martha, and 
locked them up in my bureau. 
There they have lain ever sincei 
until the other day, hearing talk 
made of thy work, my daughter 
reminded me of these papers, and 
advised me to send them to thee. 
I have followed her advice, and this 
night thou wilt receive by the wag- 
gon the whole roll, to do therewith 
as pleaseth tliee. Martha sendeth 
her best wishes to her old friend| as 
doth also, 

«i Esteemed Friend, 
thy sincere friend 
and well-wisheri 

ABRAHAM UPRIGHT." 

I had certainly not forgottea 
Abraham or his feir daughter; 
much less had I forgotten Philip 
Dellwyn, who jouied to a look a£ 
fragile health, a countcnarice so 
pale, a form so slight, and yet eyes 
so resplendent with sense and sen- 
sibility, that it was evident a figure 
so etherial, could not be long for 
this world. I fou}«d my worthy 
friend Abraham Upright, had^iven 
him shelter fur the sake of his 
health, for he was trying pure air, 
and goat's-milk whey; and had 
neverdemanded the stipulated rent, 
because he remarked the unrenew- 
ed s»habbinei»s of his lodger's thread- 
bare coat. I had enueavoured to 
obtain sonic knowledge of the young 
man's fate, but could only learn it 
had not been happy ; and I felt my- 
self unequal to relieve any actual 
distress : — but his demeanour so 
gentle, so placid, so pen>:ive, in- 
terested my heart extremely, and 
net less the Iieart of the pretty 
Martha. Poor Dellwyn would h;^ k 
at her, when the uncontrouied 
emanatioi.s r-f her countenance al- 
most betrayed her secret, with 
lotiks animated by the purest de- 
light : then suddenly, ds some re- 
membered trouble aliot across hi» 



152 



mSTORT or DKLLWTK* 



heart, he would withdraw his eyes 
from her lovely countenance, and 
cast them from he.iven to earth 
with a look so mildly resigned, so 
contentedly pensive, that it was 
impossible to notice it unmoved. 

Poor little Martha confessed to 
me one day, th:it she thought Philip 
pellwyn the most amiable man she 
knew — she wished he was but a 
friend, I could not help hoping 
that some unforeseen events would 
at last bring so iimocefit a love to a 
happy issue ; — but, alas ! it was 
brought very rapidly to a period 
after I had left Wales. Poor Dell- 
wyn ! many a sigh has the recol- 
Action of thy dejected countenance 
cost me — many a tear will the ter- 
mination of thy blameless life oc- 
casion me I 

I looked into the packet sent me 
by my friend Abraham, with a sort 
of tender melancholy, which its 
contents served to heighten. The 
first paper I unfolded was a little 
history of liimself, which interested 
mc the most, and which I therefore 
first present to my readers, with- 
out further ceremony. It has neitlier 
regular beginning nor end, and the 
first and some intermediate leaves 
appear to be wanting; — ^j)erhaps, 
the pi^ty Mnrtha may have pre- 
served them as a relique ; however, 
tlie talc is sufficiently intelligible. 

* And am I never to know the 
truth I* said I. ' What good would 
tlie truth do you V replied he, with 
an air but ill ailculated to repress 
my ardent curiosity. ' VV'hile you 
contentedly remain in ignorance,* 
added he after a pause, * you will 
be sheltered and supported ; bat if 
you persist in your inquiry, you 
will be obliged to seek your bread 
with toil and labour.' 

" For some time longer these an- 
iwers Cf -ntented me. I was pursu- 
ing with ardour an education which 
I thought preferable even to inde- 
pendence ; and though the manners 
of my guardian were not much cal- 
culiited to conciliate esteem, those 
of liis sister had won my warmest 
affection. Gentle, caressing, and 
indulgent, a word from her had 



more power over my mind than the 
strictest command from my pre- 
ceptor ; and when I have been stub- 
bom and sullen under pimishment 
from him, a look from Miss Goldney 
has subdued my proud heart, and 
melted the obstinacy of my resolu- 
tion into tears of penitence. To 
her I was indebted for every indul- 
gence I obtained — lier lundness 
sweetened to me hours rendered 
intolerable by the harsh severity 
of Mr. Goldney ; a severity, which 
would have exasperated me to seek 
my liberty at once, but for the ad- 
vantage of the knowledge I was 
acquiring: and Miss Goldney sa 
forcibly pointed out to me the value 
of this circumstance, and the in* 
fluence it would have on my future 
life, that I was contented to abide 
stripes and ill treatment, rather 
than forego the completion of an 
education which was to soften a 
savage into man. • ^ 

" That part of it however, which 
Mifis Goldney conducted, was pre- 
cisely that which was dearest to 
me, and that which has most influr 
enced me through the short and 
wretched remainder of my life. 
Full of the most noble sentiments, 
and the tenderest sensibility. Miss 
Goldney, with delight, cultivated 
in me dispositions which ought to 
have been repressed, but which arc 
too fascinating not to throw a veil 
over the dangers they create. Alive 
to every virtuous feeling — indig- 
nant at vice, oppression, and tyran- 
ny, she saw with delight the tremu- 
lous fibres of my soul viSrate to 
the slightest touch ; she saw the 
fire, the enthusiasm, tluit animattd 
my eye — the strong resolution that 
arose in my bosom, never to submit 
to oppression. She strengthened 
these disjiositions — ^she rendered me 
most sensibly awake to the voice of 
affection — UAt harmonious voice I 
was destined to hear no more ! 
She foresawnot my future situation, 
or slie would have striven to render 
m\ heart callous to injustice, my 
spirit subservient to oppression, my 
manners servile, and my principles 
obedient. [ To be continued.']^ 



HKVARKABtX OCCUltlttkckS« 



153 



REMARKABLE OCCURRENCES. 



PHILADELPHIA, OCT. ^7* 

On Friday xnornbg last, between 
the hours of one and two o'clock, 
Mr. Salter, Treasurer of the State, 
was alarmed by a noise which he 
beard in a lower apartment of the 
house in which he resides, and 
which is his office and the place of 
depositc for the public money. Not 
being under apprehensions of any 
thing serious, he did not alarm the 
rest of the &mily, but proceeded 
down stairs with a lighted candle, 
and on perceiving a window raised 
in a back room, was proceeding to 
shut it, when immediately on his 
entering the room, he was sur- 
rounded by four men armed with 
knives, who immediately demand- 
ed the keys of the public treasure 
and threatened him with instant 
death in case of refusal or noise. 
Alone and defenceless Mr. Salter^ 
was forced to comply, and compel- 
led to accompany them while they 
plundered the public money. A fter 
taking what they conceived the 
whole of the paper money in the trea- 
sury, each one helped himself to a 
bag of dollars, containing, it is sup- 
posed about 5000. A consultation was 
then held by the villains how Ihcy 
should dispose of Mr. Salter, when 
the fellow who seemed to act as 
principal, seized a small rope which 
was lying near, tied his hands be- 
hind him, his knees end feet to- 
gether, and putting a stick in his 
mouth for a gag, secured it there 
by a string at each end which he tied 
round his head ; they then laid him 
upon tlie floor, at the back side of 
the room, went out with their spoil, 
and locked the door upon him. 

All this was transacted with so 
much silence that no one was 
awakened in the house. Mr. Sal- 
ter endeavoured to make a noise 
with his feet against the floor, but 
having left his shoes in the chamber 
where he slept, he was unable to do 
any thing to that cflx^ct. He then 
endeavoured to move l\imsclf by de- 
Ifi-ccs toward* the door of tlic of- 



fice, which he supposes he affected 
in about an hour. By kicking the 
door violently, he soon awakened 
Mrs. Salter, who, on coming down, 
and finding the door of the treasury 
locked, and hearing the incohe- 
rent words attempted to be uttered 
by her husband, wasextremly agi- 
tated and overcome by fear. She, 
however, made out to awaken tlie 
family of Mr. Abraham Hunt, tlie 
next neighbour, with her'cries fronl 
the window of her chamber. Mr. 
Hunt was the first man that got to 
the house. With a violent exertion 
he made out to burst open the office 
door, and release Mr. Salter from 
his distressing situation . The neigh- 
bourhood was soon alarmed, and 
early in the morning persons were 
dispatched and hand-bills circulated 
in every direction. The woods and 
swamps in the vicinity were sccnr- 
ed by the citizens, and the following 
night the diflcrcnt roads leading 
from town were watched by armed 
persons ; but all efibrts to take the 
viUians have hitherto proved una- 
vailing. The amount taken tff by 
the robbers is estimated at about 
12,000 dollars: a very large sum in 
Bank Notes escaped their notice. 
Mr. Salter does not tliink he ever 
saw the men before — three of them 
wore lion-skin great-coats, the other 
had a coattce and boots on — 5C0 
dollars is the reward offel'ed foi* 
their apprehension. 

The situation of Mr. Salter on 
this occasion, justly demands the 
sympathy of all. — He has for some 
time past experienced a very bad 
state of health — Weak and enfee- 
bled by dibC'dse, the dreadful sliock 
he must have ex])crier.ced, on l>c- 
ing attacked by a body of desperr- 
dccs ih tlie €!cad of nii;ht, >viih in- 
fctruments of death prtveiited to liis 
breast, could not but t^i eatly a("!d to 
tlie fr.rce of hi'j malady antl inci c :<>e 
debility in his feeb'.e st:.te. Tl.e 
rgitiition of his mind duriog ilie 
tra.riS;;ction — t!ie very disitres&ii.g 
SjitrtiLtion which the robbers left hiia 



154 



ftEHA&XABLE OGCU&BEltCCS. 



in, and the violent exertions he was 
prompted to make in order to 
awaken his fomily, added to the 
rreat weight upon his mind, arising 
from the high responsibility of his 
trust, roust have formed an aggre- 
gate of distress, better conceived 
than described. His illness has 
been so much increased that he is 
BOW confined to his bed. 

ITrcnion FcderalUt. 

NEW-TOR K, OCT. 2B. 

At 9 o'olock P. M. fire was dis- 
covered barfcting cut of a fttible in 
Dutch-street, and in a few minutes 
that and another building were 
burnt to the ground. Though the 
evening was still and the fire-men 
and citizens very active, yet, owing 
to a scarcity of water, two other 
adjoining buildings caught fire ; one 
of them is aimo&t entirely destroyedy 
tlie upper story of the other, a fine 
brick building> was consumed. It 
is said that the fire was communi- 
cated to the hay in the st ible from 
a candle which a persrn had ujed 
in taking out a horse — ^The stable 
was owned by Mr. Perrsal, and 
occupied by the horses of the Alba- 
ny stage, none of which were in it 
when the accident happened.— 
llie house is owned by Mr. Crom- 
well of Long-Isliind ; 'nnd the brick 
house by Mr. Minard, at present 
out of town. These buildings were 
occupied by small families ; and, 
we believe, were all insured. The 
damage b estimated at 3000 dol- 
lars. 

OCT. SI. 
All restrictions on the intercourse 
between New-York and Philatiel- 
phia, either by land or water, were 
removed by order of the Board of 
Health of Philadelphia, so far as 
imposed by tlicm. 

PKTKnSBURG, (VIR.) NOV. 1. 

On Thursday ni?;ht, about 8 
o'clock, an aitcrc£»tion took place 
between James Fleming and Alien 
Stone, in which W e former dis- 
charged a loaded pi* trl at the lat- 
ter. The ball nub&cd him, and en- 
tered the breast of Nicholas Agin^ 



which put an almost immediate pe- 
riod to his existence. 

NEW-TORE. VOY. 1. 

Much injury was done by the ex* 
treme high tide, which overflowed 
the wharves and fiHed the ceilars in 
the lower parts of the cit>— an in« 
stance of the kind has not been 
known, nor damage done to the 
amount sustained yesterday since the 
year 1790, or 1797. 

PRILADRLPRIA, VOT. 3« 

A fire broke out in the morning^, 
about 2 o'clock, in a frame building 
situate at the extremity of the Noi> 
them Liberties, in Front-street. 
Three frame buildings were con- 
sumed before it was sulxlued. 

Export n from the port ofPhiladrU 
phia from thf lat of Jxdy to the 
50 A of September; both inciu- 
9ive : 

51,563 barrels Flour, 
4^.>0 half do. 

'505 barrels Middling, 
3,095 barrels Rye Flour, 
2.333 hluls. Indian Meal, 
7,491 barrels do. 
SO half do. 

NEW-HAVF.N. 

For several days past this city 
has been the resort of a very extra- 
ordinary number of quails. ITieac 
natives of the grove seem desirous 
of fixing;their abode among us ; and, 
divested in a degree of their usual 
timidity, they visit our gardens and 
our streets, nnd in some ioKtances 
enter our houses. They indeed, 
abound with such frequency at 
would fiimish no inconsiderable 
amusement to the lovers of sport, 
did not our municipal regulations 
render the use of fire arms (within 
the city) rather too expensive. The 
boys, however, find much diversion 
in attacking them with btones and 
other missile weapons, by wliich 
means m«iny ai^ secured. 

It is, or m!»y be conjectured, 
there is something ominotf in thi» 
aerial disposition of our feathered 

visitniits Some very good sort of 

j*et.ple, but of temperaments a lit- 
tle proue to hypochondria, art 



miHA&KABLS OCeU&EEXCKS. 



155 



extremely apprehensive that this 
phenomenon indicates the triumph 

of democmcy in the state or at 

least in the city! Others suppose 
they may be on their way to Penn- 
^Ivania) ^itha view to obtain cer- 
tificates of citizenahi/i^ preparatory 
to the next presidential election. 

CONNECTICUT. 

It appears by the report of the 
Treasurer made to the General 
Assembly, now in session, that the 
school lunds, tlie stocks in the 
fiinds of the United States, Uic 
balances of taxes due, the bonds 
and notes due the state, casli in the 
Treasury, and shares in the banks, 
amount to one million nine hundred 
and four thousand nine hundred and 
one dollars, and forty-one cents ; 
and that the great debt formerly 
due from the state is extinguished. 

It appears also, that the state is 
now able to subscribe to the banks 
thirty thousand dollars, and leave a 
aufficiency in the Treasury to meet 
the current expenses of the govern* 
mcnt. 

MIDDLEBURT, (VIR.) OCT. 19. 

The foUowine melancholy acci- 
dent happened at Shelburn on 
Thursday last. A Mr. Soper, who 
had been assisting in digging a well 
in that place, wluch they had sunk 
about 50 feet, and which, on account 
of the rain, Uiey had determined to 
discontinue for that day, by request 
descended into the well for the pur- 
pose of bringing up the tools for 
tome other use. When he had 
descended within about 12 feet of 
the bottom, he appeared to struggle 
and breathe with difficulty, and soon 
feU out of the tub in which he was 
descending, to the bottom of the 
well. Alighted candle let down to 
the depth at which Mr. Soper fiedled, 
was extinguished ; and a cat at the 
same depth, seemed to be in great 
agony, and was drawn up to appear- 
ance lifeless, but soon recovered. 
An alarm was immediately spread. 
The father of the unfortunate young 
man soon arrived to witness the 
affecting scene. Deaf to all per* 

VOUI...liO. It. 



suasion, he determined to descend 
and bring up tlie body of his son..* 
To prevent his falling from the tub, 
he was secured by a rope. On 
descending to the depth where his 
son first tailed, he struggled and 
breathed with difficulty,butthought, 
as he afterwards said, he should be 
able to hold his breath till he should 
get to the bottom, and return with 
tlie body of his son. When there, 
he fbmid himself unable to reach 
his son without untying himself, 
which he effected, and immediately 
fell apparently lifeless. The people 
at the top, aa soon as possible, let 
down burning tar, and also rags wet 
in spirits into the well, in order to 
cleanse tlie air ; and after continu- 
ing their exertions for about an hour 
and an half, the fatlier of the young 
man so far recovered as to call for 
the tub to be let down, which was 
done immediately, and he ascended 
bearing the corps of his son to the 
view of his sympathising neigh- 
bours* 

RALEIOH, (N. C.) OCT. 13. 

About 12 o'clock in the day of the 
6th inst. the dwelling house of Hugh 
Mac Kay, Esq. of Robeson, wan 
burned, while Mr. Mac Kay waa 
in an adjoining field at work......no 

persons being at the house except 
two small children, who had like to 
have fallen victims to tlie flames. 
It was not discovered in time to 
make any efforts necessary to save 
the building, so that the house, 1000 
dollars, and furniture, were entirely 
destroyed, except about 1 1 pounds 
weight of silver which he gathered 
out of tlie ruins. 

On the following day about the 
same hour, as he was in his field he 
observed an unusual smoke, and 
running to the place, discovered 
that a block had been rolled from 
the other fire to the back of the 
kitchen...wliich would have shated 
the same fiate of tlie house if ho 
had not come at that moment...* 
And on Saturday mbming the 6th 
instant, while he was at a neigh- 
bour's house, his out-houses consist- 
ing of two stables and a cora-hous^ 
11 



156 



MEMAftKABLS OCCOMMSITCf V. 



containing his whole crop, with his 
farming utensils, were all reduced 
to ashes* All this mischief which 
has almost ruined him, he has every 
reason to believe was perpetrated 
hy a despicable incendiar}*, a villiiin 
w)k) has lurked about the neigh- 
bourhood, and who had uttered 
^ threats against him* 



CHARLESTON, OCT* 14* 

Between the hours of five and 
six this morning, a fire was disco* 
vered in the house of Mr. P* Cohen, 
in Orange-street* The alarm being 
promptly given, it was fortunately 
extinguished with little injury to 
the lumse* It evidently appeared 
to have been the work of design ; 
and a negro wench has l)een com- 
mitted upon suspidon* 

OCT* 19* 
The Board of Health of Phila- 
delphia announced this day, the 
cessation of the epidemic* 

OCT* 20* 
The Mayor of Baltimore, by 
proclamation, removed the restric- 
tions imposed by that city on its 
intercourse with Philadelphia* 

CAHAAR (n*LEB AVON) COLUMBIA 
COUNTY, OCT. 22* 

About the last of September, a 
man by the name of Charles Crane, 
canic passenger in the stage to Kew 
I..ebanon, where he left the stage, 
went to Uie house of John K. Pebody , 
and staid about a week ; from thence 
he went to the house of Thady 
Abbot, where he staid two or three 
days ; and on Monday the 10th inst* 
came to the house of Major Ammi 
Doubleday, inn-keeper, in a very . 
low state of health* Nf edical aid 
was soon after called, though some- 
what contrary to his desire* He 
coughed much, and appeared to 
breathe with the utmost difficulty 
whilst asleep* When first awalung, 
he sometimes appeared a little de- 
ranged, but would scon become 
perfectly rational* A day or two 
previous to his deatli, he was ques- 
tioned relative to his jilaoe of vmr 



aence) his friends and relations.. •• 
He said he was from Newark in the 
state of New Jersey, and that he 
had a brother and sister livin|^ 
there. 

On the night cf the eighteenth 
inst. he went to bed at about ten 
o'clock... about twelve Major Dou* 
bleday got up as had been his cus* 
tom, and went into tlie bed-room 
where said Crane had slept (the 
same being on the lower story) and 
finding the window up, shut it, and 
then bghted a candle and returned^ 
and to his great surprise, found that 
Crane was gone. He thereupon 
immediately went into the chamber 
and awoke a traveller who lay there, 
who went with htm in search of said 
Crane. Tliev found him lying dead 
out of doors, by the side of the house, 
about twenty feet from the window 
of his bed-room. From the posi* 
tion in which he lay when found, it 
appeared that he lay down delibe* 
rately and expired. A coroner's 
inquest was h^d and the jury hav- 
ing viewed the body and heard the 
evidence, found that the deceased, 
between the hours of ten and twelve 
o'clock at night, left his bed, either 
in a deranged state of mind, or ex- 
treme distress for want of breath, 
and sought the open air ; that hav* 
ing wandered to the place where h* 
was found, his strength was exhaust- 
ed, and that he then sunk down and 
died a natural death. The jury on 
examination, found that he had 
left sundry articles of dotliing, and 
one hundred and three dollars, 
eighty-one cents, in money* 

His funeral was attended on 
Thursday last, and a bcrmon^^ell 
adapted to the solemn occasion, was 
delivered at the meeting house in 
this town* 

OCT. 22* 
Amelandioly accident happened 
a few days since at Kinderhook, 
when Mr* Beverly Bennet, a pro- 
mising young man of the age of 28, 
was shot to death in the following 
manner. With some other youijg 
men he was setting off on a fowling 
pan^ , some of whoa were pushini; 



KtXAEKABLS OCCU&RKNCXS. 



isr 



t)lf a canoe, in which a gun was 
laid, the lock supposed to be iialf 
cocked, when the motion of the 
canoe shaking the piece, it went off 
and discharged its contents into 
Mr. Bennet's head, blowing out his 
eyes and entering the skull, upon 
which he fell dead upon the spot.... 
On repairing to the scene <^.f distress 
his mother was so shocked by the 
spectacle, she fell into fits which 
continued upon her five hours, when 
she was revived by medical assist- 
ance, and is yet living, though in 
great distress. 

On the 23d, a bam belonging to 
John Peckham, of New Bedford, 
was entirely consumed by fire, to- 
gether with its contents, consisting 
of 15 tons of hay, and a quantity of 
fla3^ rye, oats, apples, &c...It was 
set on fire by a black boy about ten 
irears old, while most of the family 
were at meeting. 

. 

BOSTON....24. 

Benjamin Brower, who lately 
robbed the Manhattan Bank, in 
New York, of a very considerable 
sum of money, was taken up in this 
town on Friday evening last, and 
after an examination, and the dis- 
covery of between 7 and 8000 dol- 
lars which had been concealed at^-tut 
bb clothes, confessed the fact. He 
took passage, ' a few weeks since, 
from Ncwburyport for Passama- 
auoddy, where he arrived; bnt 
from whence he returned to this 
place in a vessel, commanded by 
Captain Pulsifer, of Newburyport. 
It is to the vigUance of this gentle- 
man, with the aid of some others, 
that he was detected and commit- 
ted* The re ward for taking Brower 
is 500 dollars, and ten per cent, of 
•n the money recovered* 

intermenU at Baltimore^ Jbr the 

Wetk ending 

Oct. 17. 11 M. 18 Chii. 

24. 10 11 

31. 13 13 

Nov. 7. 8 13 

Total 41 in 



77ie Mimber qfDeathe in the pre* 




9cnt yeary comfiared with the 
JOeatha in the tame months of 






1802. 




M. Ch. Tot. 


M. Ch. Toi. 




1802. 


1803. 




Jan. 142 75 217 


68 42 110 




Feb. 110 60 170 


76 35 111 




March 100 47 147 


66 41 107 




Api-il 90 58 148 
May 82 59 141 


75 41 116 




69 41 110 




June 96 67 163 


78 64 142 




July 129 132 261 


78 127 205 


■ 


Aug. 109 153 262 


112 182 294 




Sept. 178 106 284 


208 84 303 




Oct. 211 78 289 


182 51 233 





Totalsl247 8352082 1012 7081720 

NEW YORK, OCT. 17. 

The whole number of deaths by 
the epidemic, from its commence- 
ment, to Saturday, ending 26th Oc- 
tober, including those at Bellevue, 
and Marine Hospital, amounts to 
61 l....of these there were 

In the city, 457 

Bellevue, 96 

Marine Hospital, 68 

611 

Lord Carrington, President of 
the Board of Agriculture, in the 
true spirit of practical humanity, 
requested Messrs. Mellish to mako 
trial at the Tictualling office ^in 
England) of the slaughtering kmfe 
for laying oxen, lliose genUemen 
complied, and with a commendable 
Zealand perseverance, totally over- 
came the obstinate prejudices of 
the persons employed under them, 
in consequence of which, the method 
of laying oxen with the knifo, in- 
stead of the old, cruel, laborious 
and troublesome method, has me« 
the most complete success. The 
animal falls senseless in an instant, 
and not only the head and neck, but 
the carcase in general, is found to 
be in a much superior condition to 
that in which it had used to be after 
the numerous and uncertain blows, 
bruises and frights too commoolf 
attendant on the old method. 

In the same way we are assured 
by tbcRer. Mr. Marshall, eels and 



158 



tlTE&ART IITTELLXCEirCK* 



fith of all kindi may be instantanc- 
ously killed) an incision being made 
with a shaip pointed penknife, or 
puncture vith a bodkin, longitudi- 
nally into the brain about half an 
inch or an inch above the eyes, 
according to the size of the fish.*** 
ft method which will be remero« 
bered by those who wish to lessen 
the unnecessary sufierings of animal 
nature* 



LXTEHA&T XNTELLXOEirCE. 

TheJbUowing WorkM have lately 
afifiearedjrom American PretMes : 

Juvenile Magazine, 4 vols.*.* John- 
son, Philadelphia. 
Haley's Life ot Cowper....PeIlam| 

Boston. 
Ellicot's Journal.. ..Dobson. 
Pleaders' Guide....Duane. 
Chitty on Bills of Exchange..... 

Byrne. 
Fifth Volume of Vcsey, Junior's 

Reports....Byme. 
Linn's and Priestley's Pamphlets. 
Montifeor's Commercial Prece- 
dents. 
Hear Both Sides, a Comedy. B7 

Reynolds....Conrad, & Co. 
Marriage Promise. A Comedy.... 

Conrad, & Co. 
Maid of Bristol, do. 
Account of Louisiana, Sec. do. 
Wilson's Egypt, do. 
Barton's Botany... .For the Author. 
Observations on Trial by Jury.... 

Luicaster. 
John Bull, A Comedy. Butler, 

' Baltimore. 
Priestley's Lectures on History.... 

New Edition....^ vol8....Byrne. 
Nineteenth Volume of the British 

Classics.... S. F. Bradford, and 

Conrad, Sc Co. 
Friend of Women....Conrad, & Co. 
Graydon's Digest....Wyeth, Har« 

risburg^ 
Denon's Travels, 3 VQls.....Camp- 

beU and others. 
Roscoe's Lorenzi di Medici, 3 vols. 

Bronson 8c Chmoncey. 



The felhwing Wortt are fire* 
paring fir Publication in thU 
City: 

Pinkerton's Geography....Heron'» 

Letters of Jimius..... Johnson's 

ani Stceven's Shakspeare......... 

Aiken's Complete Edition of the 
English Poets...»Burke's Works, 
Sec. 8cc. 

ITie London Prints mcniion that 
Godwin's Life of Chaucer is nearly 
ready for the Press.....Tliat the 

Reverend Mr. Boyd is engaged in 
the Translation of the Auraucana 
of Eroella....That Miss Seward is 

writing the Life of Darwin....That 

Mrs. Raddiffe is writing another 
Romance. 



KOTK FKOU THE EDITOB. 

The Editor of this work having 
engaged jn a very arduous under- 
taking, is conscious that his success 
wiU in a great measure depend upon 
the literary aid which he shall re- 
ceive from his friends, and the 
Literati of this country.. Jle, there« 
fore, most earnestly solicits from 
the nan of science, and from the 
polit'e scholar, the contributions of 
their genius and leisure: while the 
Editor performs all that is in his 
power, he hopes that they will not 
permit another attempt to extend 
abroad useful knowledge, to perish. 

All communications addressed to 
the Editor, should be left at the 
Book-store of Mr. Conrad. 

Authors and Publishers who are 
at a distance, and who wish their 
works to be immediately noticed, 
are requested to forward them to 
the Editor. 

Denville is thanked for his com- ^ 
munication, and is informed, that 
his offers are gratefully accepted. 

The pages of this work are al* 
ways open to the impression of the 

S:n of the author of the lines t» 
r. Jenner. 



Ttffi 



LITERARY MAGAZINE, 



AXD 



AMERICAN REGISTEH. 



Vol, I.] 



DECEMBER, 1803. 



[No. 3. 



CONTENTS. 



COMMUNICATIONS. 

Stadents Diary- ..•..• 163 

MemoTaiiidum9 made on a jour- 
ne7 through part of Pennsyl- 
vania IGT 

Critical Notices... .No. 3 173 

Chemical Questions 18f 

Memoirs of Carwin the Biloquist 

(Continued) ib. 

Account of Statues, Busts, &c. 
in the collection of the Acade- 
my of Arts, New- York 185 

REVIEW. 
Bo8ton....A Poem, by Winthrop 

Saigeant 190 

POETRY. 

Peace.... A Sonnet 191 

Village Maid ib. 

Akestet and Azora 193 

The four Ages 193 

The Curate. ...A Fragment 195 

SELECTIONS. 
English manner of hunting in 
Bengal : 196 



pag6« 
Memoirs of Count de Parades 

(Continued) 203 

Statement of the debt of the 

United States S05 

Description of Coal found near 

Woodstock 306 

Longevity of the Learned 30r 

Progress of Population in the 

United States 208 

AgricultuAl Report for the state 

of Rhod«-Island....Annol803. 210 
Anecdotes of Coimt Rumford. . 311 
Specimens of Literary Resem- 

blance....(Continned) 314 

History of Philip DeUwyn.... 

(Continued) 218 

of Hatfield,, the noted 

Swindler ' 219 

A Theatrical Campaign 221 

Memoir of James Boswell, Esq. 224 

Remarkable Occurrences ...... 238 

Literary Intelligence 239 

Note from the Editor 240 



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LITERARY MAGAZINE, 



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AMERICAN REGISTER. 



No. 3.] 



DECEMBER, 1803. 



[Vol. I. 



FOR THE LITERARY MAGAZINE. 
A STUDENTS DIARY. 



1HAVE been Usteningthis half 
hoar, to R<-«--> redting the odes of 
Aaacreoiu He k wonderfolly de« 
lig^Hted with thb old aongiter, and 
iiacka his praise with a thousand te»- 
thnonies o£ sage critics, and enligh- 
tened contemporaries of the poet. 
Nothing, in U&e whole universe of 
poetry, he sa^s, is so sweet, so deli- 
cate, so delicious. He utters w/ch 
duiett and harmoniou* breath that 
tiie rudest savage would be soothed 
hf it into civility, and the gloomiest 
anchorite t/or^ madfy into extacy 
at the sound. 

There nmstsurely be some magic 
in tbe Greek language, incompre- 
hensible by common understand- 
ings: some music in its accents un- 
intelli^;ible to vulgar ears: for I 
have listened to Tom's recitals, with 
asanxioosa desire to be pleased as 
I could possibly conjure up and yet 
my rapture was extremely mode- 
rate. Iheardno sounds thatbreathed 
of heaven. Nothing that' 'snatched 
my soul out 'of my body and lafified 
ir in £iyHum» I wiU not confess, 
ei t he r ^ a total inseoaibility to plea^ 



sare from music I have listened 
to a sweet enchantress, and though 
I felt no inclination to weep, to cast 
up my eyes, to throw abroad my 
hands, or utter incoherent excU^ 
matioasy yet my eye was chained 
to the singer, and I had almost for- 
got to breathe. As to verse, it has 
really some charms for me, and 
numbers though silently read, has 
frequently bewitched me nearly as 
much, as a concert of flutes. Indeed, 
being tired of listening to a voice 
not the sweetest and most tunable 
that ever warbled, I snatched the 
book from his hand, and by read^g 
the lines according to my own sys- 
tem of rhythm and pronunciation, it 
was easy to perceive that Greek 
verse is, indeed, articulated har- 
mony. 

It is not, however merely the 
sound, the Mufihonyy that capti- 
vates Tom. It is, it seems, the 
style, the imagery, the sentiment. 
Love, according to him, never had 
so just, so exquisite, so impassion- 
ed a eulogist. Mirth had never so 
divinely eloquent, so inisistibly se- 



164 



student's diaet* 



ductive an advocate since love and 
mirth came into fashion, and Tom, 
says, if all ^ this be not worthy of 
credit on hia wordy he can produce 
a whole army of critics, of all a^s 
and nations, to second him % wl\/nfe^ 
there is not to be found on record a 
single declaration, doubting or de- 
nying the merit of this poet. 

This was extremely formidable 
to one like me who, if I may praise 
myself when nobody is bye, am not 
noted for conceit of arrestee* 6e« 
anxious for something Kke proof of 
these assertions, I again seized the 
book and turned to that side of the 
page which contained a literal 
translation into English. I can read, 
but cannot understand Greek, and 
a literal trc^slation, I imagiaedf 
would exhibit at least the naked 
thought, the image though una- 
dorned. 

Far be it from me, said I, my gofod 
friend, as I turned over tlie leaves, 
to bring into question the divinity 
of cither Love or Mirth. To re- 
ject «r dis^«e the first is to reb^ 
agakMfc Heavcti, who soppofts by 
ttii« ch«im, the fettdty and even the 
existence of alt animatad nature « 
aikl a« to mirth, it is the seasMmig 
of life ; tka compansttn of love and 
frieadshif); beattvolence fo htsfaitber 
a»d kifi mother is wit. Were I 
bom to tlie hotiottrs of poetry, I 
woaldliQi(d my claiim an nothitig 
Imt the feirvency of niy devotians to 
Iitve, and tivs zeal f^ my panegy- 
rics upon mirch. If these he the 
powers tnv^ed by Aaacreea, I 
wiil not be tlie la^ to honour kia 
tttemory* 

But #htt 18 here ? I see net a 
jTr'tJ^ible {thont W>ve. I see a great 
deal ^ont fkimcs, and fef vottf«, and 
kkiees, smd I famw not what, but I 
sec nothing that relates to love^ On 
th*i cf»Mrary, «1t that I ftwrl here is 
ill JiS*solHte hofiility to !iliat passion. 

I drt not wndo-staml y«i, said n»y 
fth ml, if these he not the tokens 
aini RerHiati;>ns of Ime, I should be 
|i^l*td to ki^iw v/hirt arc* 

I«ce no^rhiiip; here, replied I, but 
t^w^c fir^fc tlidt a»^ rni^'cd and 
qutjuhcil ill a bwt-iel, wliivli 



are excited bymere sex, and Whidi 
nothing but wanton arts, unceas- 
ing variety, and glossy youth can 
keep alive. I see nothing but a 
gross appetite, dig^ingu»bed ^ no 
humanity, no delicacy, from that 
which stimulates the goat and the 
buU. I dee pi-opensities kept alive 
by nothing but the force of habit, uid 
by inflammatory liquors ; I see hoary 
age, glorying in sensations, ^ 
which the hey-day of youth scarcely 
afibrds aa f^M^qg^. 

Nay, the passion which in^ires 
the greatest part of all this %v^, 
and all this'poctry appears not to 
have even woman for its obifiCt* 
Pougli ! The very thought exidXit:^ 
noufiea« 'Between disgust atad «^ 
howeiiee^ my <tpwiacw iica W Mb xo^ 
dignation indeed, ought to get the 
better of every other emotion. In- 
dignation, at those who dare ta 
name sacred tove,tn such company* 
Amid such unhallowed fires, stimu- 
fafeted ky ebriety, by novelty, by 
variety, by youth ; terminating in 
t2te ^y sioal and momentary gtmifi* 
catnii, aod «o partly seasucd tflM 
sex it^etf M €onfo«n4^ ^ dMfl wa 
l<Mk for tlMitpaMioa whi^ is hoS/t 
upon esteem, matared ^ po Bs csfc 
sion, strengthened by tme ; 4fM 
v«vy essence of w^«h » kifdCvidliMK^ 
ty, fidelfty to eae aiM cotistditcy Hk 
oae sentiment. 

It is not here that we moat leMk 
for that love, the aool ef which H 
ohasdty : tl«»t is to {my, an ^bso^ 
kiteindifierence to aBbntonct asitf 
tenderness, that is to say, a somei- 
thing compounded of d^ire and 
esteem t a something whidi #owa 
partly from personal diarms, and 
chiefly from expeHence of go^ 
olices, kin«lness, and eqf»n$mity : 
apassieatbat owes its highest ^(v 
li^ts to the endearmews of crfft* 
pHng, aeireumstftftce tfaat 90 fer 
from being ever aWoded to by Ana- 
creon is utterly ihcaBmpaHh^ wil& 
the swhject of Im etdogjiesr 

The mit^h o^SftrirJiOet fe on ft- 
level with his love, i see ne^in^ 
btit t)ie apparMiw of a drinking 
mutch — lAsits,a!ia« Baeehas, vS^^ 
wiae, is the eternal theme of hia 



trvhknrH AtAsr. 



165 



pnast, mowing cups, myrtle 
-wreathes and rosy garlands, laugh- 
ter and song, and the dance, giv- 
ing occasionally place to nymphs, 
inspired by the same divinity, not 
encumbered with modesty , and glo w« 
ing with fifes, worthy of the pow- 
er that lundles them, are the per- 
■ons in this drama* As to' that 
liilarity of heart and vivacity of 
converse, flowingfrom soundhealth, 
the child of temperance, the can- 
dour of innocence, the ardour of 
social affection, and the sparkling 
of true wit, we find nothing here 
but t^iw dance and jollity, the deli- 
rium of intoxication and the goad- 
inn of lasciviousness. 

How much are nuinldnd misled 
bynames. Lyceus and A]>hrodite, 
Bacchus and Venus, the mirth and 
love of Anacreon and Horace shall 
be listened to with reverence, and 
regarded as something like divfni- 
ties, and yet reduced into plain 
English, and stripped of metaphor, 
'diey are nothing but drunkenness 
and lewdness. Anacreon is neither 
more nor less- than a hoary de*- 
baucheeand reveller, whose vicious 
and beastly habits are only strength- 
ened by age, and whose tmderstand- 
ing is so depraved, ^hat he glories 
in that which should constitute his 
shame, which at any age, is hostile 
to true joy and true dignity, but 
which is pecufiarly shameful and 
' detestable in grey hairs. 

Tom here interrupted my ha- 
rangue, with a severe invective 
agamst my prudery, my cant and 
to forth, and I listened without re- 
ply : for, Tom, I am sorry to say, 
IS one of these who have no concep- 
tion of love, but as leading to the 
brothel, or of joy, but as 'flowing 
irom the bottle. They study night 
and day, Anacreon, Horace, and 
all those bards ancient and mo- 
dem, who resolve ' all human joy 
into the odour of roses, tlie 
fumes of wine, and the instigations 
of venereal appetite. I pity, even 
more than 1 despise, the disciples 
of Much pleasure, andterminated the 
dd>aty by referring Tom. to the £iu 
' VOL....! xo«^«xxi» 



ble of the Sparrow And the Dove by 
Moore, where my notions of lova 
and joy are exhibited at fuUlength. 



POKTKT. 

This Evening the conversation of 
the company tamed upon the ingre- 
dients of poetry. Some maintained 
that verse and even rhyme were in- 
dispensable. Others were satisfied 
with verse alone, but differed among 
themselves as to the criterion of 
verse : some restricting it by veiy 
rigorous laws, and others extend- 
ing its bounds so as to comprehend 
much of what is vulgarly called 
prose* 

Some considered langoage and 
measure as things of no importance 
in the estimate. They confined 
their views entirely to thouriit 
and Imagery, and maintained that 
strength and beauty in these re- 
spects, constituted poetical excel- 
lence* According to this class of 
critics, Tacitus is by fiur a better 
poet than Virgil, and some of Mil- 
txm'tproMc contains for more poetry 
than any of his ver^em In short, 
wherever there b warmth of rea- 
8oning» invention or imagery, de- 
livered through the medinm of 
wordS) there is poetry* 

Another set extended the limits of 
poetry still further, and made it com- 
prehend every cfflbrtof the imagina- 
tion, whether conveyed by means of 
sounds, or colours, oV figures ; and 
whether the pen, the pencU, the 
chissel, or the tongue, be the instru- 
ment. 

It is amusing to hear men employ- 
ing terms, for years together, with-* 
out any visible diversity in their no- 
tions of the meaning of such terms: 
and yet when it is formally propo- 
sed to define them, there are gene- 
rally as many definitions given as 
there are persons present. 

Some people are very fond of 
this kind of discussion. X«anguage 
is tlie Instrument of thought, and to 
improve this instrument seems to 
be a most important undertakings. 
There is infimte room for fkrthi^ 
2 



16$ 



on. MS9&T* 



kivcs^pKtiOii on this auljijeety for 

there u Zkot one word in ten in the 
£ng;Iish Un8;uage, the meaning of 
which is settled with absohite pre- 
cision. Poetry U«ne of those tennSf 
and the debate of this evenin^y left 
^e company as &r from unanimity 
as it found them. Even on this sub- 
ject, ^e zeal of disputation almost 
degenerated into asperityi and the 
combatants were more active and 
vigorous at twelve o'dock than they 
had been at eight. At kst, a tem- 

• porary truce was effectedbyH,.*..n, 
who called the attention of the com- 
pany to the following lines, as con- 

' taimng all the requisites of poetr)', 
according to every one's hypothe- 



• Hark ! univcnal nature sbook and 

groan'd! 
Twas the last tnimpet^^See the Judge 

enthron'd ! 
Rouse all your courage, at your utmost 

need: 
' Kofw rummon tyery virtue....stand and 

plead.... 

• What ! silent ? Is ycto- boasting heard 

no more ? 
That self-raiouncing wisdom, learn'd 

beftw, 
Jia4 ihed kmaortal glories on your 



That all your virtues cannot piBdnse 



LAT1VISMS. 

We had a very animated conver- 
•ation to night of a phylollogtcal 
nature* The question was whedier 
Latin or French had entered most 
into the composition of the English 
language. As French is little else 
than a dialect of Latin, every thing 
derived from the former must ulti- 
mately be traced to the latter, biit 
the point in view was to ascertain 
how fsLT the Latin had been incor- 
X>orated without alteration or d'U'- 
iion into our own tongue. 

The languages of moat of the 
i>ciences is pure Latin, but many 
*« ords and phrases are taken into 
the substance of the popular dia« 
lect, without changing tl^ ortho- 



graphy* Some at Umit axe acSpft^* 
tific terms also, but their utiUtj 
has brought them into ordinary and 
popular use. 

Bv way of illustration the follow- 
ing nragpent was producedin which 
a very Uberal use had been made of 
these foreigners without encroach- 
ing; upon custom or upon any law 
of composition but elegance: id 
C9t : viaelicit : cxamfilo gratia* 

v^ My Lady, 

' I have long been your 

slave incQgnitOf and intimate^ my 
devotion to your charms, by hints 
and innuendo** f which my diffi- 
dence would not sufier you to un- 
derstand. I labour under the odfum 
of poverty, though I by no mea^s 
merit the charge, for though I 
abound not with gold, and silvery I 
have virtue which ought always lo 
be SL tucccdancum for riches. In 
the minds of ordinary women, I 
know, money is the ne fiius ultra 
of their wishes. Among many who 
is less selfish, though money be not 
every thing, yet it is the «{/i^ qua 
fion, without which a lover cannot 
ho]^ to succeed: and certainly 
it is to be numbered among the 
denderata of Jiuman life, by those 
who are moat dispassionate and 
unambitious. Nor should I dare to 
appear before you in this guise, 
were I not persuaded, that though 
I am poor, you have enough for ua 
both. 

A woman, to whom a lover's 
poyertjr creates no objection to hia 
suit, is indeed a rare phenomenon : 
but I hope, thougd hitherto a non 
detcri/ity that you, Madam, will 
fomish an example of disinterest. 
ednesa. What my merits are, it 
is for your own observation to in- 
form you. My mere ifise dixit is 
of no weight, nor would there be 
any decorum in enlarging on my 
own virtues. 

I have long been anxious to dis- 
burden my heart to you, but I can 
neither sing im/iromptu nor speak 
ex tcmjiore^ where my hopes are so 
much engaged* I could never get 
so for as the exordium of a dechgra- 



ixirtirTsm: 



l«f 



'flM'tlifti im0ittt» of 

an my thoughts. My 
^loqueiiee at best is but a caftut 
m9rnaim and though some weeks 
hste been employed in making* 
MtetMranda for this letter, I am 
9h^SA it win do injustice to the sin- 
-cevfly of my passion. 

I pretend not to befeulUess^ in! 
ttitrty respects I am a mere ignora* 
#ni«, and to many accusations, thith 
trould oblige me to cry fteccatn^ 
tet I hope my ftiults are not of 
such magnittide as to make you en- 
ter a ^ffifATf against my pretensions. 
KmV actions, rather than my woi^s 
Betl&ed'arff on which a judgment 
he formed, I shall have little fear 
tffttk fitipartial decision. 

I shall anxiously look for your 
idtimatum* In the inierimlhope 
vrery thing may be considered as 
Mttr iU>9^, Meanwhile, I am, 
Your moat humble, 

most obsequious et cetera^ 

M^tt bene* I made my exit ves- 
%eniay ftbraptly,merely because Mr. 
X.%..... entered, and I cannot de- 
rife any pleasure from your com- 
filnyf unless I enjoy it «o/tt«. 



MVUdRAVSOMS MADE OK AjOUR- 
KKT TBROUGB PART OF PEKN- 
STLVAiriA. 

Afig. 19, 1801. ....Tlus day being 
fixed on for setting out upon our 
journey op the ^squehannah, bro- 
^bitt L... and myself, mount^ our 
lK>rses at six in the afternoon, and 
taking to the Ridge road, arrived 
at the Wissihicken, where we aiap- 
|)ed for the night. 

Previous to the adc^tlon of the 
plan, now in operation, for water<r 
mg the city of Philadelphia^ this 
creek was recommended to the no- 
tice of the corporation, as eligible 
for the purpose ; but as there was 
reason to fear, that m dry seasons 
the water would prove insufficient 
and as it would have been attended 
with considerable ex|M»ise to pur- 
chase the requisite number of mifis 



which mttthmbetfAdifttMyedto 
acquire a siifflcienthead,thcl project* 
was abandoned. KotWithstaftdilig 
the periodical licantiness of the sup- 
ply, this is a valuable stream. From 
Vttat Robinsoi^'s, where it dis- 
charges itself into the Schuylkill, 
to Witder's, a distance of about 
twelte miles, in a direct- line, thei^ 
are eighteen merchant and grist* 
milb, capable of fomisfaing, at 
least, one huxidred thousand barfeUr 
of flobr, per annum ; but as they aro 
not constantiy provided with gnun^ 
and the water frequently £tfils, it is 
believed that they do not prepare 
more than sixty thousand* The 
average Philadelphia price of flouf 
for the last ten years, may be safely 
taken at eightdollars and a quarter 
per barrel,* which proves that the 
millers d WissQiicken receive al» 
mostludf a million of dollars anno* 
ally, for the produce of their mlDs. 
In the year 1796, when flowr was ax 
tiie highest, and when, from the ex- 
traormnary price, it is presumable 
that they manufactured more than 
the usual quantity, it is probflft>le 

• The followittg statement extrac • 
ed from the books of an exteiv^^^ 
sad correct flonr factor, in IHii^^'* 
pbia, wiU shew the psice of fl^J/'}''. 
a period of te<i years. loste?* ,^* /®'" . 
lowing the floctuations niii-*®'y "1^° i 
every month, the swemgie ***". **^ ^^^ , 
two priacipai seasons i*"*^ y**' , 
have been taken. Xi^'^'^T**" 
high as fourteen and "~''.*"° TT" 
fifteen dollars; but^"**'"**' 
prices for a very *"»*«<* *"»*' 

AvaaAca ra-" <"• '^°^* '* '"** 
^DBtparA. 



Sfiring. 

1791.- •• 
f • • • • 


DOLLS. 

5 

4 


rail. 

DOLLS. 

5 

5 20 


3...* 


6 


6 33 


A 


.... 7 


7 


5 .. .. 


11 


........ ti 


6 


14 


,.; 11 


7 


9 


8 50 


g 


... B 50 . 




9 


9 50 .. 


9 25 



1800 M 10 50- ^ 1^ 



16« 



lOURVET THftOt^GB VAET OV PSVySTLTAVIA. 



tiiAt their receipjU fellMtOe ahort of 
a million. ; ana tliat they have not 
laboured in vain, is fairly dedoce- 
able from the circumstance of their 
l^eing rich* 

The univenal vehicle for convey- 
ing the flonr to market, is the wag- 
gon ; and the vicinity to the city 
gives theae millers no inconsiderable 
advanti^ over'thdr competitors* 

This mode of conveyance i; com* 
mon throughout Pennsylvania* In 
l^ew-York it is otherwise { water^ 
carriage alone being used there* 
The consequence of which is, that 
whenever the navigation of the 
Korth and East rivers is interrupt- 
ed by ice, that city is deprived ox 
her inland coromerpe; whereas, 
Philadelphia carries on a brisk 
trade with the interior country and 
her back settlements during the se- 
verest frosts. 

. The banks of the Wissihicken 
are steep and rugged* They are 
covered with a rich foliage of na- 
tive trees, interspersed with the 
wild grape, the woodbine, and other 
flowering plants, which perfume the 
0^ \T with their odour, and add great- 
lr!.to the beauty of the scenery..... 
4lhe wanderer may here immerse 
himsfu^f in the deepest solitude, and 
conteoc^^latc nature in her most 
hidden ^re cesses : or, if other views 
be more i^reeable to his fiincy, he 
may direct vbis steps towards the 
habitations c^^^he millers, and feast 
his eyes on.luactu'iant and well culti- 
vated fields, vei«d*"nt meadows, and 
variegated gardona* To those who 
have not lost their j^lish for the 
sportive charms of luUive scenery, 
.contrasted and blendec^ with the 
useful works of roan, Wissihicken 
will ever be adeli^tful reU'eat* In 
my juvenile days, I havcLjofW^A*^ visit- 
4ed' &ese hiUs to gaze on the tit'nped 
stceam, and breathe the delki'^us 
fragrance of the wild flower. Tiie 
/emembrance is now dear to me. 

T%t clatter of the mills mig^ 
well recal to our memory, the sim* 
pie story of the German boor, who, 
xm his first approach to a mill, heard 
Ji strange voice loudly and delibe- 
irately pronounce ** Ich juckt ihr 



buckel..«.*Ich juckt ihr biichel..M» 
Ich juckt ihr buckeL"* The.laa- 
guage was sufficiently inteUigible ; 
but, as he had committed no o^ 
fence, he supposed the threat was 
uttered against some other person* 
Curiosity tempted him to enter« 
He gave umbrage to the surly pro- 
prietor, received a drubbing, and 
was turned out* The miller had 
occasion to alter the gears, and as 
the tmhicky clown was liastening 
away, he suflfered the additional 
mortification of being briskly taunt- 
ed by the flippant mill with, ^^Geit 
Ich habt ihr buckel gejuckt ? Gei£ 
Ich habt buckel ihr gejuckt ? Geli 
Ich habt ihr buckel gejuckt ?"t 

20.*..Lodged as comfortably as 
a sultry night would permit, at our 
hospitable friend, P. Robinson's, 
where we likewise break£uted« 
My unruly steed chose to put his 
foot on mine, so that lameness is 
added to debility. A foggy morn- 
ing, succeeded by a bright and hot 
sun. Stopped to bait at Norris- 
town. 'Tis a poor, ill*lo(^ing place, 
consisting of about twenty houses. 
The courts of justice for Mon^^o- 
mery county are held in this plaice, 
in an ill-fashioned stOne buildmg..*. 
placed on a naked eminence* The 
town is tttnated on a sloping baidc, 
on the margm of the river, which 
flows here, with a gentle current 
over a gravelly bottom. It is 
here that the canal is taken from 
the Schuylkill, and considerable 
progress has been made in cat- 
ting it through a rocky ridge, be- 
low tbe town. The want of funds 
has put a total stop to the work* It 

t Hey f didnh I tlckU jour back.,.. 
Mn fdid*ntll3fc. 

I know of no word in the English 
language that expresses the full mean- 
ing of the German Juck or Jacken. 
1 have used tickle....bat it has by no 
jneana the same humorous sigpifica- 
tlon. It is also observable, that the 
Gevman articulation more neatly re- 
sembles the language of the mill than 



jotmvET TBmatoGH PAET or PSirirsTtTAirrA* 



m 



Sa tabe boped, that it will at some 
period be resumed* NotvithsUuid- 
lag 'the large sums which have al- 
ready been expended on this ob- 
ject, it is probable that it will yet 
require between three and four 
hvDdred thousand dollars to com^ 
piete it* It is satisfactor)', however, 
to observe, that much of what is 
^Looe is of a permanent nature; 
but unless the Susquehannah and 
SchaylkilL canal be accomplished, 
and the navigation of the rirer 
above this place be considerably 
improved, the utility of the ScbuyL* 
Jkill and Delaware canal may be 
questionable* Whenever the waters 
are sufficiently high to admit of the 
passage of rafts or loaded boats to 
iforristown, they can always pro- 
ceed with safety to the city. This 
orcnmstance, no doubt, occurred to 
tiie projectors and prosecutors of 
.the work* 

In one of the rooms of the tavern, 
we observed a pedlar, vei-y busy in 
displaying his scanty wares on the 
backs of chairs, on tables and 
tmni^ with an air as consequen- 
tial as if he were surrounded with 
the riches of Indostin* He had 
posted an advertisement on the 
^oor, enumerating^ the articles he 
had for sale, and giving notice that 
he would sell very cheap, and con- 
tinue for 9ome dsiysj and longer if 
encouraged. Itisremarkable,how- 
ever^ notwithstanding the general 
opprobrium heaped on the poor 
pedUirSfthat some of the wealthiest 
traders in America commenced bu- 
siness in this humble station* 

The JRidg-c road is a channel 
through which immense riches flow 
into the city* Large quantities of 
Mme, marble, flour, and other pro- . 
dnce of the country, being continu- 
ally conveyed along it, whicli occa- 
sion it to tMs much cut up, and from 
the nature of the soil, it is, during 
winter, nearly impassable ; while 
in summer the deep bed of dust 
which covers it, renders travelling 
very unpleasant* A turnpike has 
become almost^uidispensable* 

We stopped to view the stone 
bridge over the Perkiomcn, a small 



hat beantifiil stream* This is one ' 
of the greatest structures of the kind 
in America, and adds greatly and 
justly to tlie fame of Pennsylvania 
in this respect. It was built by one 
XfCwis, a Welshman, of no educa^ 
tion. Helias, however, ^ven much 
satisfaction tn his employers in the 
execution of this work..It is built not 
without taste, and has a good eflect 
upon the eye, though irregular in 
its constniction* It has one arch 
of seventy-five feet span, three of 
-sixty, and two of thirty, resting on 
^rong piers and solid aoutments. It 
passes obliquely over the channel, i 
«nd appears to be, including the 
abutments^ between seven and eight 
hundred feet in length ; but the 
stream does not usually occupy 
more than one fourth of that space* 
The bridge is sufficiently broad to 
admit two carriages a-breast* 

Dined at the IVafi Tavcmj a 
mile and an half beyond the bridge, 
and twenty-six miles from Philadel- 
phia* During our stay, there oc- 
curred a heavy fall of rain. We 
were overtaken here by the sheriff 
of Montgomery county, with a jury 
in his train* As they appear^ to 
be bent upon a frolic, I inquired 
of one of them, whom I knew, 
whitlier they were going. He re- 
plied, '^ A few miles higher up to 
hold an inquest on some land, which 
might be done in a day ; but, as the 
sheriff was just going out of office, 
and the expense was to &11 on 
•others, they intended to keep it ufi 
three days." All of them were 
counted, and if some of the horses 
lacked s/iirit^ it was otherwise with 
their riders* 

Showery all tlie afternoon. Eve- 
ry little transient cloud was sur- 
charged with water, and seemed in 
a humour to be merry with us* We 
stopped to save our jackets, a^jd 
then it ceased to rain* Invited by 
a bright sun, we set out again, and 
it immediately began to pour*.**. 
Others were no better off than our- 
selves. One care-taking man, par- 
ticularljr, was constantly occupied 
iu putting on and pulling off hit 
great coat, and hp uuiucky w J% he^ 



170 



jomnrsT t«toncs r^ir *ov MCinrsTtvxvrA* 



Unit he wu tddom in the right. 
When it rained, his coat wm miigly 
tied to hii saddle-..he made haste 
ta get it on his back, and lo i it 
ceased to rain : while the heat of 
tiie son soon obliged him to alight, 
nnd fix it on the saddle again. It 
served ns for an occasional laugh, 
tad if all our miscalculations and 
.misfortunes could be passed off as 
merrily, we should fare much bet- 
ter thiui most of us do, in our jour- 
neythrough life. 

The farm-houses w:thin sight are 
generallj built of stone, and form, 
in this respect, a striking contrast 
to the wooden houses of New-£ng- 
Jand. Dwelfings of stone and of 
brick are universallj condemned 
bj our eastern breUiren, as de8tru&> 
tive of health ; but if this prejudice 
mtire not otherwise coatra^ctcd, 
the htrdjr appearance of the peo- 
ple among whom we now are, is far 
mm warranting tlie belief* No 
lack of. tavems«.Mthere are ele- 
ven in a distance of as many 
mHes, between the Bridge and 
Pottsgrovc* So many are not ne<- 
ecssary for the accommodation of 
traTelijer8*.*.they serve as places of 
dronkenness and debauchery to tlie 
idle and profligate in the neig^ibour** 
hood, and are, in fact, public nui- 
aanoes. The soil is not gene- 
ralljr rich, oonnsting of a thin 
redidi loam, hilly and gravelly...^ 
Wepassed though a populous coun- 
try,' and arrived at the pretty little 
irBlage of Pottsgrovebefore sun-set. 
At the entrance of tlie town, there 
is an unoccupied large stone- 
lumse, which, as we were inform- 
ed, was erected by one of the Pott's, 
on a high fepot of ground, which 
. never was completed, from water 
bemg nowhere to be found upon the 
kin. lliough several hundred 
pounds were expended on this 
house, the builder was not more 
Sfaort4ig^ted than he who built a 
mill in Dauphin county, intending to 
make it pump up the water, by 
which it was to be supplied, and 
from which it was to derive all its 
fi>rce. 



The htfid dknt this Yfflase iricft* 
tile,uidwencuUivated. iWtows 
is situated thli^*ecvcn miles ntna 
Phihuklphia, in a valley, neat* tlie 
SchuylkiU, butnotwithiB si^ d 
it ; and contains one huDdrad and 
fifty houses, chiefly stone and bride 
The most notable dk^^unfttmce 
that occurred liere, was tiR men* 
snring of a radish in the laiidlard*s 
garden, which proved to be twentyw. 
two and an half inches in drcoBa* 
ference. 

31..4j>epartedbytimei. Cmsv^ 
ed the Ma wn yt aw p y ,> smdl creek« 

and breakfasted at the White-hors4 
five miles on our way.««.fiaTd well* 
Soon after crossed the Monockass, 
over a substantial stone4>ri4ge of 
six arches. Tarried nn hstir at 
Reading, which is a considerdilev 
but iU-kxdring town, sixteen and an 
half mHes firom Pottsgrove. One 
story log-houses, filled in with Inrick 
or stone, smaB, skyvenly and intbn- 
vcnient, with a lew modem boat- 
ings, clorosily ornamented, ia n 
fidl description of Reading. We 
met here a Philadelphian, whft 
told us, he oould not, after re«> 
peated trials, find a chaise, or any 
kind of carriage, for hire in tiie 
town^ Hiis place is noted fiir its 
hatters. A great many wool hats, 
of good fiibric, are made here, sold 
to the Philadelphia hatters, and 
thence dispersed every whereiMM.* 
They manufiictore them so cheap^ 
and their work is in soch credit^ 
that no body in Phtladelphin aU 
tempts the same business. They are 
much superior to the wool hats nsn^ 
nUy imported from England. 

Schuylkill is on the west side of 
Reading, oat of view. HiUs obstruct 
the prospect on every other side. 
The town lies, comparatively, low, 
in a contracted, but fertile valleys 
the hiUs are generally cultivated tm 
their sides, though some of tliem 
are Ueak and barren. The contrast 
Is not unpleasant. Near the town 
flows the Tolpehocken into the 
Schuylkill. By means of this stream^ 
and the Quitipihilla, the sources of 
each approachingverynearioeadi 



}SSimU%r 78»0«G» PAftT OV rSUVSY^ASIA. 



in 



r, one of tke projected canals 
waa intended to uaite.the Su«qiie- 
Ivuinali and ScbuylkilL 

lliia canal ha« suffered theaame 
fikte aa the other«.«.the work haa 
longiiace been suspended. To ren- 
der tbe Delaware and Schuylkill 
canal eictensively useful, it will be 
aecessarv to complete tlus««.«b]r 
meana 0/ which a water communi- 
«atio& may be opened with an ex- 
aeoaire coimtry bordering on the 
wide ^reading branches of the 
ISuaqpelia&nal)) and on the lakes 
luwUi-west of the Pennsylvania 

My ooantrymea project with 
more seal than they execute, and 
are' no^ backward to undertake 
morethan they can perform. The 
iailure of these canals may be aU 
tiibnted toi a variety of causes. ^ It 
was not to be expected, considering 
the namber and magnitude of the 
puUic works commenced at the 
same period, that a sum, commen- 
surate to their seasonable comple- 
tium, conkl be suddenly diverted 
from ihe capital employed, by the 
citiaens, in pursuits more pressing 
in their demands, more gonerally 
owleratood, and more certain in 
their issue* Many of the subscri* 
ben were mere speculators, and 
becMse stockholders with no view 
steadily to prosecute the work ; but 
to ento^ce the &>st£avourable mo- 
ment to sellout to a profit. These 
aAfomi^y members were like dead 
weii^ts on the exertions of the rest. 
Ceitain other individuals, whose 
extensive schemes <^ agj^randize- 
ment have no parallel in this, or 
perh^w any other country, having 
purchased Uu*gely of the stock, pos- 
sessed themselves of a considerable 
portion of the funds of their asso- 
oialed bvethrai, and then becoming 
bankrupts, thus effectuaUy para- 
liaed) if ttar have not given the 
death wound to these valuable 
works* . 

. Still pursuing the course of the 
river on its eastern side, we. halted 
tan miles from Reading, at Ham- 
burgh,orCarter*s-town«M.or,as the 
G^mausin tbeQeigbiMirhood pro^ 



1^ Kanrker'ssiiiemc.^. 

a small place of €9ity houses, which 
seems to carry cm a brisk trade in 

Bemre we readied Hambui^h, 
we crossed Maiden-creek, a consi- 
derable stream, over a woodea 
bridge, resting on stone pier8.«M. 
About this creek there is good 
land, and the redish hue of the soil 
so conspicuous hitherto, begins to. 
decline. 

Every where we find the descend- 
ants of Germans. They are the 
principal settlers of the coimtry, 
and are a rude uncultivated people, 
not noted for civility, nor apt to 
render disinterested services to 
strangers or each other. 

A mile from Hamburgh we began 
to skirt the first ridge of mountains, 
on a wild, rugged road, cut ak>ng 
its sides, at the foot of which flows: 
the nver, sometimes placidly and 
slowly, and sometimes rapidly and 
tufbuleutly over rocks and shoals* 
The road is frequently sixty,and an 
hundred feet almost vertically above 
the river, and is too narrow to al- 
low carriages to pass each other« 
Three miles further we crossed al> 
Ege's Forge the eastern branchcall- * 
ed Little Schujrlkill, having passed 
in view of the junctions htUebelow«, 
Both branches head in thisimmense 
chain of mountains. The roug^mcasof 
the road made travelling very tire- 
8ome,andoccasionedus to be benight* 
ed, a circumstance however* which 
we had little reason to regret. The 
air of the mountains after a hot day, 
was ver^ refreshing, and the full 
moon, rising majestically over tho 
hill-tops, contributed not a little to 
the grandeur of the scenery. ~ The 
dark sides of the mountains formed 
ft picteresque contrast to the silvery 
illumination which invested the rest 
of the landscape. At length we 
reached our intended resting place, 
and were received with significant 
bows and looks, by a boorish look- 
ifig German, whom we soon found 
to be our landlord. Judging from, 
appearances we prepared ourselves 
for rough fair in this barren region. 
We enquired vha^ we could hav^ 



173 



JOtTBKEr THXOVGH FAIT Of PX]r]rSTl.rAtflA. 



to eat| and were answered) anything 
vou please. J.*... was for coffee, 
but I dissuaded him, expecting he 
would not relish it if made ; we call- 
ed for milk, which was furnished 
of the best quality and in nice or- 
der, with abundance of good butter 
and cheese. J..... proposed the ad- 
ditienof pye, *< well," said our host, 
** you can have it," and forthwith 
produced pjres of two kinds, both 
excellent* Such fare in a wilder- 
ness was unexpected, and we did it 
justice by finishing near a quart of 
milkeaclu 

Our landlord's name is David 
Pensinger. His house is nine miles 
from Hamburgh. He seems desirous 
of pleasing, and aroused us much by 
his aukward nods and singular re- 
marks. As an instance, when we 
ordered oats for our horses, he 
-stopped to point out to us the remark- 
able resemblance between the Eng- 
lish and German pronunciation of 
the word, one being "oats," and the 
other ♦' haaver." 

22. ••••Several of us, haxdrgbeen 
crowded together in a small, close 
room, and the weather bemg ex- 
ceedingly warm, I slept little on 
'my musty dusty bed of chaif with 
one scanty sheet: heard the clock 
strike every hour of the night, and 
rose between three and four in the 
inomlng^ 

J«..^..'s horae is lame, and mine 
mudi galled, and this is the more 
unpleasant as we have a rough 
tiresome day's ride before us. 
We are now among the mountains, 
and expect to travel slowly. Pen- 
mnger, after examining J.....^'8 
horse, gravely informed him of a 
cure which he said could not foil of 
success*..." At the next house you 
atop at, look for a bag, and steal 
the string, lliis, tie round your 
horses lame leg, but be sure you do 
it without being seen by any body." 

We have been diligently- employ- 
ed three hours in going to Reever's, 
ft distance of eight or ten miles. 
J.«... will scarcely find it necessary 
to purloin a string, as his horse 
moves as usual. No improvements 
irlsiUe except a few low hnta, with 



small patches of cleared 
about them, mostly ]rfanU 
buck-wheat. Buck-wheat is the mm 
chiefly grown in this part of the 
country, and b employed to feed 
their poultry, their hojp and them- 
selves. Good rye is hkewiae culti- 
vated to )>rofit, but the soil la too 
light for wheat, and we saw none 
of it. 

Every where the women are \msr 
in the fields with the men, and bom 
sexes are principally occupied in 
destroying the trees. A shirt of 
coarse linen, wide trowsers of tow 
cloth, a broad rimmed black wool 
hat, and leather shoes, composed 
the dress of the men ; most of them* 
had pipes in their mouths. The 
dress of the women consisted of 
three articles ; a hat similar to that 
worn by the men, the usual gar- 
ment of coarse linen, and a lio- 
sey petticoat, to which some of 
them added a neck handkerchief 
and shoes. The air we breathe b 
impregnated with the odour of 
wild flowers, with which the 
woods abound, and of which we 
observed a great variety. Ree- 
ver's wife appeared to exert herself 
to entertain us,and amongother dain- 
ties placed before us a large dish of 
fried onions swimming in fat. Here 
we were overtaken by three voung' 
men on foot from Philadelphia, 
bound to Catawessey, who left 
Reading when we did. An active 
man on foot, will, on a journey of 
considerable extent, keep pace 
with a horseman, so mudi time ia 
consumed in the care necessarily 
bestowed on that animal, and who 
requires longer and more frequent 
intervals of rest, Inasmuch as he 
carries not only himself, but his ri- 
der. 

It is amumg to observe the eilect 
of }X>liticaI veal in this impoverish- 
ed tract. Every few miles present 
us with a liberty pole towering near 
some dismal hovel^ and decorated 
with party coloured flags and liber- 
ty caps. 

We perceived no pines, nor ever- 
greens of any kind till we entered 
die mouataios, andnow lew <Ah^r 



JOUKNAL TBROUOB VART OF PENNSTLTAVIA. 



ITS 



trees of aoy iiiaiiortance present 
themselves. It is reasonable to 
believe that these trees prevailed 
originally and generally through- 
out a considerable portion of the 
United States. Where settlements 
are newly made, and the pine and 
hemlock are cut down, they are in- 
variably succeeded by the oak and 
hickory. It is probable that the 
dwarf bush or scrub oak differs not 
in species from those of larger size, 
for it is always sure to expand to the 
customary magnitude,when the lofty 
trees which overshadoW,and impede 
its growth are removed. This is the 
case in every part of the continent 
diat I have visited. 

Between Reever's and Kepner's 
(about eight miles) there is but one 
house, or rather hovel. Kepner is 
a lively talkative old fclIoW|^ and 
his house is one of the best m its 
materials and construction in the 
woods. It is of hewn logs one story 
lii^y and twenty feet square, com- 
posing a single room in which the 
kndlord tells us he has lodged forty 
persons at once. 

This man left a good plantation 
in a populous neighbourhood to re- 
side m this lonely and sterile spot. 
Thb he does not regret, but laments 
very much his having abandoned 
another mode of life, which was 
that of driving a waggon and team 
of horses, which he says, he follow- 
ed for forCy-five years, without in- 
terruption. We had a repast of 
some venison, rye bread and butter, 
radishes and cheese, all very excel- 
lent, and whisky, being the only li- 
quor his house am>rded. Our horses 
had a plentiful mess of cut rye and 
straw: for aU which he charged us 
twenty-five cents. " Twenty-five 
cents," exclaimed J.....r with vtp-' 
lifted hands and eyes, affecting to 
be amazed at the extravagance of 
the demand. '^ Why tus you dink 
es is du much?" Was the query 
of our good natured host, with- 
drawing his hand as the money was 
presented to him. He would wil- 
ungly have reduced the price. In 
any of the southern states a less 
•omfort^le and plentiful supply 

vol,. X....MO. III. 



would have cost us two dollars. 
The old man was well pleased with 
our liberality in paying the /iiil 
quarter of a dollar^ and on parting^ 
wished us a pleasant ride. 



For the Literary Magazine* 
CRITICAL NOTICES. 

KO. III. 
AWALTSIS OF MILTOK'S 

^^ n FerueroBO." 
Why the objects either of nature 
or poetry produce di^rent effects 
on different minds, is easily explain- 
ed. Ideas and images are differ- 
ently linked and associated ; and as 
all art tinctured with pain or with 
pleasure, it is impH>ssible that any 
two readers should read the same 
performance with exactly the same 
emodone ; or. even that the same 
person should derive the same im- 
pressions from the perusal at dif- 
ferent times. Thought is volatile 
and flexible beyond any other es- 
sence : yet, like every other, is bound 
by certain laws, and particularly 
influenced and swayed by habit..... 
Hence it is, that those who begin, in 
early youth, to read a poem, con- 
tinue, generally, for the rest of their 
lives, to read with much the' same 
impression, rude, vague, and super- 
ficial as thev are. Often as I have 
recited the following lines, contain- 
ing the pedigree of the goddess to 
whom this poem is dedicated**.* 

Thee bright-hair'd Vesta, long of yore. 
To toiitazy Saturn bore ; 
His daughter she (in Saturn's reign 
Such mixture was not held a stain) 
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades 
He met her, and in secret shades 
Of woody Ida's inmost grove. 
While yet there was n9 fear of Jove..^ 

Often as this passage has been re- 
cited bv me, it n^ver occurred to 
me, till very lately, to discuss the 
meaning or weigh the propriety of 
this genealogical tree. What train 
of reflections it was....what course 
of education induced tlie poet to give 
such a fxther and mother to his darU 
3 



174 



CUTICXSX OW XILTOV* 



ing xnelaiicboly.M.Wbf these crea- 
tures of ancient fancy^ and a certain 
mountain in a certain isle of the 
Mediterranean, shouldbe fixed upon 
as the parents and birth place of 
this perBonificaticn ; or what legi- 
timate gratification a modem reader 
can or ought to derive from the tale 
of auch a meeting between father 
and daughter, in the forests of Crete, 
<< while yet there was no fear of 
Jove," arc questions that never be- 
fore occurred to me ; and now that 
they do occur, I must own myself 
onable, at this moment, to give a 
satisfiictory answer to them. 

That habit qf reflection called 
melancholy, may, like other intel- 
lectual existences, be endowed with 
body, name, vesture and symbols, 
and may even have a parentage and 
birth-place assigned to it; but why 
the should be made to spring from. 
those mythological chimeras, Sa- 
turn, and hia daughter Vesta, in a 
Cretan cave, some of your readers, 
more learned than I, may, perhaps, 
be able to tell me. 

In the description given of ^ de- 
vinest melancholy," we are told, 
that to adapt her visage to our 
weaker view> it is 

Wr laid wtb Uadt% stud wisdom's 

hue.... 
Blacky but such as, in esteem, 
]lhuice Memnon'i sister might beseem ; 
Or that starr'd Ethiop queen that 



To set her beauty's praise above 
The Sea Nymphs.... 

The poet could not but be aware, 
that to give hb goddess the com- 
plexion of an Alrican, was some- 
what hazardous : he therefore en- 
deavours to disarm us of our pre- 
judice, b^ calling it the hue of ftM- 
doniy and by reminding us of per- 
sonages who, though black, have 
laid some claim to reverence* Per- 
haps my ignorance may be my dis- 
g;race, when I confess, that this sis- 
ter of prince Memnon, and this 
Ethiopean queen, with the story of 
her competition with the Naiads, 
loe whplly strange to me; but I sas« 



pect most readers are, in tlds re- 
spect, as ignorant as I am. 

The phrase "o'erlaid," orcoatad 
<^ with black," evidently means a 
fiice of the A^ican hue. That this 
is the true construction is plain, from 
the additional assertion. ...it is, in- 
deed black, but then it was such a 
blackness as belonged to the Ethi- 
oi>ean queen, Ccc Memnon, if I 
mistake not, is a soldier in the Iliady 
a Moorish or Egyptian auxiliaij of 
king Priam. Now, I really thmk, 
this conception of tiie poet is liable 
to some censure. I cannot imagine . 
why black should be termed the, 
hue of witdom^ llie owl, the bird 
of Minerva, is, indeed, generally 
black ; and this, though by a very 
remote and fiuitastic association, 
perhaps suggested this idea to the 
poet. Milton, as all his poetry shews, 
was totally and thoroughly imbued 
with the ancientmythology. Hence 
it is, that many passages in his 
works are, to readers less learned 
than himself, unintelligible. 

Black has alwavs been sjmboli-^ 
cal of death, grief, mourning, and 
of the evil passions, but is utterly 
incongruous with those which are 
merely serious and solemn. Melan- 
choly, it must be owned, is com- 
monly called black ; but then the 
melancholy thus described, is the 
popular and common acceptation of 
the term, in which it has a near al- 
liance with grief and madness; and 
is a very difierent thing fnmi the po- 
et's melancholy, the lonely, muse&J, 
studious dispoution: a peculiar sus* 
ceptibility of solemn and rapturous 
emotions. 

The habiliments and gesture of 
this being are thus described : 

All in a robe of darkest grain 
Flowing with majestic train. 
And sable stole of Cyprus lawn. 
Over thy decent shoulders drawn. 
• Come but keep thy wonted state. 
With even step and musing gait. 
And looks, commencing witli the 

skies. 
Thy lapt soul sitting in thy eyes* 
There held in holy passion still 
Foiget thyself to marble, till 



6KITIGISM Oir iriLTOir. 



ITS 



Whh a 9adt leaden^ downward czst 
Those fix them on the earth at fast. 

Here the imag;es and terms, with 
•ome exceptions, are equally beauti- 
iul and happy. ^< Flowing with ma- 
jestic train" indicates the manners 
of Afilton's age. The epithet ma- 
jetiicj does not seem to coalesce 
easily with the impression which 
other parts of the picture produce. 
Neither can we appro%'e of sady 
ieaden cast. Leaden is akin to all 
that is stupid, heavy and dreary. 
The looks of this raptured contem- 
platist need not surely be sad. 

The companions, or attendants of 
ndancholy, are, 

Peace and quiet* 
Spare fast, that oft with gods doth 

diet, 
And hean the muses in a ring 
Ay round about Jove's altar sing ; 
And add to these, retired leisure 
That in trim gardens takes his plea- 
sure. 
But first and chiefest with thee, bring 
Him that now soars on golden wing^ 
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, 
The cherub contemplation 
And the mute silence hist along^^ 

This selection of images appears 
to have been made carelessly, and by 
chance. The personages ate not 
■distinguished with skill or precision. 
Peace, quiet, fast, retirement, lei- 
sure, contemplation are an odd as- 
semblage to walk in the train of 
** melancholy." The privileges of 
M fast" to diet with gods, and hear 
the song of the muses, as thev circle 
love's altar, have, at once, the my- 
thological and religious peculiarities 
of Milton's ap;e. I1ie merit of fi^st- 
ing, and its mfluence in focllitating 
intercourse with heaven, are now 
exploded ; but no one but our poet 
seems to have imagined it favoura- 
ble XjQfioetical inspiration : and the 
modem votarist will generally pre- 
fer some other mode of gaining 
access to the banquets of Olympus, 

and the concerts of the muses 

Trim gardens are no longer the &- 
Tourite retirements of leisure. This 
epithet **trini" forcibly indicates 



the old formal style of rural decora- 
tion, which it is worth observing, 
nowhere enters into the subsequent 
account of the haunts, most dear to 
the musefiil wanderer, or Into any 
of Milton's rural descriptions. 

Contemplation, the last of the 
group, is described ' as a cherub, 
golden-winged, soaring, and guid- 
ing a throne, with wheels of fire. I 
must confess, that these images do 
not please me. Golden mng is a 
phrase without peculiar signifi- 
cance ; and there seems to be some- 
thing incompatible in the double 
office ofaoartngy and guiding a cha^ 
riot. I am at a loss too, to know what 
is meant by the ^ery- wheeled 
throne. 

From this display of allegorical 
portraits, the poet now proceeds, 
by a happy transition, to describe 
the occupations of the melancholy 
roan. 

These naturally divide themselves 
into such as are pursued during the 
nighty and such as beloi^gto the day* 
His nights are spent, according to 
the state of the air, either in the 
wood* and Jtelda^ or within doora / 
iand are employed in liatMng to 
«olemn sounds, or surveying the 
fece of nature: or, when confined 
by the atmosphere at home, either 
first, in musing by the fire-side.... 
or secondly^ in the study of the 
sciences....or thirdly, in musical 
perfbrn)ances.M.or lastly, in read- 
ing poetry. 

On the return of day, he resorts 
to the woods and glades ; books and 
company, and all the social recre* 
ations are avoided. He seeks the 
shadiest and loneliest haunts, and 
strives to loose himself in reverie* 
The only substitute for nature's 
recesses, he allows to be the arcades 
and recesses of some public edifice^ 
where the sublimities of architec- 
ture and the moral greatness of some 
appendage are adapted to raise the 
soul above all private and personal 
affections. 

It is thus that the museful man 
wishes to pass the flower of his 
days. Por his declining years, hit 
imagination looks forward to the 



ITS 



CRITICISM •» MIXTOir. 



pleasures of seclusion, and the calm 
parsuits of some enobling sdeoce. 

Tliis is the outline of Milton's 
lecture. It agrees pretty accurately 
with the scheme of every mind, ha- 
bituated to the exercise of its facul- 
ties ; but no two minds, it is Ul^ely, 
would ^11 u/i the picture precisely 
in the same manner. It would be 
curious and instructive to examine 
what are tlie minuter particulars of 
Milton's scheme. What objects of 
nature would mast attract lus con- 
templation in his wandering;s, and 
what guides he would take through 
the regions of poetry and science. 
2n these respects, the individual 
character of the poet, and the fosli- 
ions of his age and nation, will ma- 
nifest themselves, and a£ford us an 
occasion of comparing the views of 
others with our own. 

In his nightly rambles we may 
observe, that his darling passion is 
to listen to the nightingale. He in- 
vokes, the company of silence.... 

*Less Philomel will deign a song 
In her sweetest aaddett plight, 
'Smoothing the rugged brow of night; 
While Cynthia checks her dragon 

yoke. 
Gently o'er th' accustomed oak.... 

This previlegc an American con- 
tcmplatist must dispense with. Our 
► groves arc full of the music of noc- 
turnal insects, which can have no- 
tliing in common witli the notes of 
Philomela. Why is the nightin- 
^le's song so commonly supposed 
indicative either of wu/tutm or lo\ e ? 
It is obvious, that the music may be 
particularly adapted to call up me- 
lancholy in the hearer, and to sooth 
the reveries of one whom love keeps 
Awake ; but tlus supplies no reason 
for imputing amorous despair, or a 
rueful temper to the bird itaelf^..* 
The dragon yoke of Cynthia, ap- 
plied to tl\e lunar progress, b an 
antiquated image, which true taste 
does not incline us to relish, though 
Iraming may enable us, in some 
degree, to comprehend. Night, 
turned into a person, whose rugged 
brow is smoothed by the music» is a 
very ^rand conception. 



The nightingale is not always, 
present to rcgsue the ear* In facr 
absence, the eye is fixed 

Upon the wand'ring moon 
Riding near her highest nooa. 

The grandeur of the starry firma- 
ment is omitted, though, perhaptff 
tliat is a more subline, various and 
thought-producing spectacle than 
the other. It is, however, after- 
wards introduced as one of tlie 
amusements of old age. 

This image is congenial with eve- 
ry fiincy, and is to be seen in every 
climate, llie poet goes on to par- 
ticularize the only two situationB 
in which the moon is advantageously 
seen ; in a dear, and in a chequered 
sky. 

After the moon and the nightin- 
gale, the curfew is introdncedl.** 

Oft on a plat of rising gromid, 
I hear the far-oJT curfew sound 
Over tome wide-watered shore, 
Swinging slow with sullen roar. 

These lines arc very defcctire in 
perspicuity. Is it the curfew, or the 
shore that Mwings on this occasion ? 
If the wide water be meant, which, 
though not expressed, is highly pro- 
bable, the term rtvinging conveys 
no adequate or ugnificant image. 
The stulen roar must belong to a 
torrent, and the kind of concert 
which a tolling bell, and a roaring 
torrent produce, can be known only 
to those who have witnessed the 
combination. Either, separately, 
must have a powerful influence on 
the imagination. 

The "air not permitting" dicsc 
enjoyments, we are transported to 
the room, warmed by embers on the 
hearth, with no sound to engage the 
attention, but tlie chirrup of the 
cricket and the watchman's larum, 
which, in our country, is a catly and 
not a bell. 

From these contemplative em- 
ployments we are now carried to the 
summit of a tower, where, by the 
midnight lamp, the melancholy 
man pores over hia books. What 



CRITICISX Oy XILTOV. 



iwr 



are the subjects, or the masters, 
which tlic poet selects ? They are 
either the works of Hermes Tris- 
magisttts, or the speculations of 
Plato on tlie soul's immortality, 
guides which a more recent student 
would not be likely to select, espe- 
cially the former. 

The following are the topics of a 
visionary, or a necromancer, more 
ihxa of a rational student. 

And of those demons that are found 
In xir, fire, flood, or under ground ; 
Whose power hath a true consent 
With planet or with element. 

The theory which peoples all na- 
ture with active and subordinate 
intelligences ie very agreeable. No 
wonder that a warm imagination 
has built large inferences on slen- 
der premises in relation to this 
subject. That hints and tokens, 
noted or imparted in dreams, or in 
casual coincidences of events, have 
been eagerly employed to remove, 
in some degree, the veil which hides 
the original and primary agencies 
of nature from our view. 

The laws of nature are still, with 
all stremioas minds, objects of curi- 
ous research ; but instead of vague 
and superstitious reveries, we now 
confide in the power of industrious 
experiments to decompound, set 
free, and render sensible the primi- 
tive ingredients of the universe 

The same passion which led men to 
solicit the intercourse and aid of 
demons, now incites them to inves- 
tigate the simplest and most evanes- 
cent elements of nature. The en- 
thusiast for knowledge has descend- 
ed from the summit of the tower 
to the recesses of the laboratory ; 
and Hermes and Plato are super- 
ceded by Boerhaave and Lavoi- 
sier* 

These lines are remarkably com- 
prehensive. More meaning in fewer 
words it would be scircely possible 
to comprise. The respective me- 
diuma of this activity are accurately 

enumerated air, fire, flood, or 

under grotmd ; and a poetical use 
is made of tlie supposed connexion 



between events, and the influence 
eitlier of the planets or the ele- 
ments. 

Philosophy looks not beyond tlie 
elements themselves, which act 
agreeably to a supreme will ; but 
poetry discovers beings whose pow- 
ers harmonize or concur witli these 
elements. 

The sciences, however, are some- 
times to give place to poetry, and 
especially to tragic scenes* 

Sometimes let gorgeous tragedy, 

In iceptrc'd pall come sweeping by.... 

We may remark, that some words 
have undergone a singular revolu- 
tion of meaning since tlie time of 
Milton. " Gorgeous" and " De- 
mure" are instances of this, being 
used by the poet in a serious sense^ 
though, at present, they have a bur- 
lesque or ludicrous meaning. Could 
the figure thus displayed be paint- 
ed ? No doubt every epithet here 
used, contributed to an actual pic- 
ture in the poet's fancy. Tlie scep- 
tre, the pall, and the sweeping mo- 
tion will be as differently imagined 
as there are different readers. 

The succeeding lines shew Mil- 
ton's preference of tlie ancient dra- 
ma. Sliakspeare, it should seem 
by his silence here, was held in lit- 
tle repute as a tragic poet. Jon- 
son and Shakespear are mentioned 
in the Allegro, merely as administer- 
ing entertainment to the man of 
gaiety and good humour. 

Mournful music is next mention- 
ed as a darling occupation. It is 
worth while to remark the mytho- 
logical images which tlie idea of 
music suggests to his fancy. 

O 9ad virgin that thjr power 
Might raise Mutau* from his ^ottwr* 
Or bid the soul of Orpbeiu sing 
Such notes, as warbled to the strings, 
Drew iron tears down Pluto* t cheek. 
And made hell grant what love did 
seek. 

In his picture of lively music in 
the Allegro, Orpheus again recurs ; 
but such is the superiority of mirihm 



iw 



eftlTICISM Oir XILTOV. 



^/, over mournfiii strains, in this 
poet*8 rq>re8entation,that while the 
Penseroso produces only a condi- 
tional assent, the << Allegro" would 

Have won the ear 
Of Pluto to have quite tttfrct 
Hit half-regain'd £urydice. 

Milton's passion for ancient lore' 
the theme and style of Attic tragedy » 
one would think hardly compatible 
with his attachment to the clil- 
meras of modem romance. Yet his 
fayoorite books we are informed, 
were Ovid's Metamorphoses and 
Spenser's Fairy Queen. According- 
ly we find in this place, the plea- 
sures of music succeeded by stories 
of forests, inchantments, tumeys 
trophies, and all the apparatus of 
the Italian poetry. 

In this manner does the melan- 
choly enthusiast pass the night, the 
€rvil*-9mted man has no sooner risen 
than he hies him to the forests. 
The morning which the rambler 
loves, must not 

Be trick'd and fromic't as she was 

wont, 
With the Attic boy to hunt, 
Bat, kerehief*d in a comely cloud 
While rocking winds are piping loud, 
Or ushered with a shower still 
"When the gust hath blown bis fill. 
Ending on the rustling leaves^ 
With minute drops from off the eaves. 

I cannot affix any distinct mean- 
rag to the epithet civil-^uitedy the 
morning here is personified, but the 
image of a modem female, with a 
eloud for a kerchief seems wanting 
in dignity. The allusion to the 
Attic boys is, I confess, unintelligi- 
ble to me, and, I much suspect is so 
to most readers. There is a con- 
fusion of images lU'-^Rocking winds 
are/ri>ii«j^loud — though each sepa- 
rately is very vivid. A blustering and 
cloudy dawn, or one calm and still, 
after the subsiding of a rain-storm, 
are the fiivouritcs of his fancy, 
"With minute drops from off the 
eaves—" contains one of those 
specimens of original observation 
and selection, so rarely to be found 
among poets. 



The scenes which he selects fife 
his noon-day meditations^ are, 

Arched walks of twilight groves 
Andh shadows brow% that Sitwm iemtt^, 
Of pine or monumental oak» 
Where the rude ax» with hetved 

stroke, * 

Was never heanl....ei&ef9w^ Id dWamr^ 
Or fright them from their hallow *d 

haunt 

Groves andg^deacouldnotoocar 
to the poet's nmcy, without callini; 
up Silvanus and the nymphs. 

lliese lines are fiill of images ; 
the scene described, and the xioral 
incidents are calculated deeply tor 
affect the sensSnlity to mralchanna. 
The grove and its arched walks^ 
the formation of art, was accesui>le 
to Milton, but the forests of pine 
and oak, where the ax waa never 
heard, could not occur within the 
circuit of his rambles* Ko more 
powerful conception of solitude can 
be formed than what must flow from 
the covert of such a forest, as many 
a pilgrim in the American wilder- 
ness is capable of judging* 

The epithets in this passage are 
very energetic, though some excep- 
tion may perhaps be made against 
monumentai oak* Why is oak called 
monumental? 

The effect of the woodman's pr^i^ 
sence to fright away the nymphs is^ 
to me, origmal, and is very beauti- 
ful. 

Having reached this friendly 
covert, what attitude does tlie en- 
thusiast assume ? What sounds at- 
tract his attention, and what images 
hover in his foncy. He stretches 
liimself like the melancholy man, in 
Shakspeare, along some brook, the 
ripUng of whose waters, and the 
hum of bees constitute his music 
This music is propitious to sleep, 
which is invokcxl, in company with 
mystic visions, and which must re- 
tire only at the bidding of some un- 
seen Genius. 

Hide me from day's garith eye 
While the Bee ^itb honied thigh , 
That at her flower)' work doth«i/i^ 
And the waters murmuring. , 



<miTICI$X ON XILTOIV* 



jn 



Wi^ vac\ concert as they keep, 
&Atice the dewy fea^ered sleep ;.... 

The poet was not physiologist 
enough to know that the worlung 
Beeisof nosexAatthehoDcvisex^ 
tractedby the td^;ue, and deposited 
&r safe carriage, in the mouth of 
tite insect. It was prdxibly for 
rfayflse-sake that the Bee is made 
to tinfy bat, m reality, it is ascer* 
tained that tiie Bee has a voice ca- 
pable of various modulations. 

The term gariah conveys no 
meaning to me. I never met with 
Itdsewhere. It is capable, no doubt, 
cf eiqplication, but its etymology is 
ftot obvious. Milton's use has con- 
secrated it, and it is often quoted, 
but the same use would have sanc- 
tified any other arbitrarily invented 
sound. 

And let some strange mysterious. 

dream. 
Wave at iu wings, an airy stream. 
Of lively portraiture display 'd 
^ftly on my eyelids laiiL 

I cannot clear up the obscurify of 
^is passage. At vfAo9C wings? 
those of the dream or those of sleep I 
m either sense, to wave an airy 
stream of lively portraiture dis- 
phiy'd^ is vague and without mean* 
mg« 

And as I wake, sweet music breathe. 
Above, about, or underneath, 
Sent by some spirit to mortals good 
Or th' uasfen genius of the wood. 

This is a himinons thought. Mil- 
ton fostered the imagination of this 
interposition with |^at delight. 
Comus is entirely built upon it, and 
a survey of that poem, would iJbrd 
apleasing i^yportunity of investigat* 
ing the various hints, and sources 
'W&ch contributed to form his notion 
ofthe essence and attributes of these 
aerial beix^. In this passage, the 
ancient and modem, the mytholog- 
ical and christian notions on the 
•subject are briefly and strikingly 
displayed. Let an aerial musician 
be heardy a spirit that is guardian 



and attendant, either of person or 
of place ; the genius of the deeper 
himself^ or ofthe wood in which he 
loiters. 

Devotion is not for^tten among 
the employments of this enthusiast* 

But let my due feet never fail 

To walk the studious ehuterU pale» 

And love the high tmbcmed roof 

With antique pillart massy proof. 

And ttoried woindomi* richly dight. 

Casting a dim religious light. 

There let the pealing organ blow 

To the full voiced cbwr beUm^ 

In service high, and anthems clear 

As may with sweemess thro' my ea.. 

Dissolve me into extasies 

And bring all Heaven before my eyes. 

Milton was in love with the solema 
peculiarities of the gothic temple*^ 
To those therefore who never en- 
tered such a building, the first six 
lines communicate no image. An-* 
tique pillars, embowed roof, storied 
windows, clobtered pale, are un- 
meaning sounds to those on this side 
the ocean, who have never seen^ 
and never collected from delinea- 
tions or descriptions any imi^s of 
Gothic building. In Milton's mind, 
these terms possessed vivid coun- 
ter parts. Memory set before him 
ihe9tudioiia c/bi>r^« of Cambridge 
where he passed his youth, and tho 
aisles and arches of St. Paul's or 
Westminster, with their organs and 
chorusses, whose devotional influ- 
ence he had often experienced. Hon 
different the conceptions then, 
which the poet derived from these 
lines, from those of an American 
reader. We are not however to- 
tally deprived of the solemnities of 
the organ and the chorusses of pub- 
lic worship. 

Having passed the flower of his 
days in such amusements, what is 
reserved for the pastime of s^* 
Diflferent minds touched with Uie 
same sublime passion, for serious 
pleasures, would probably form 
very different visions of the foture. 
We might, in general, aspire after 
quiet and seclusion, but we should 
not be ambitious of absolute solitude, 
and the penury and hardships ofthe 



380 



CXITICMIC Oir MXLTOir. 



Aachorite* To be our own nurse 
•and servant, and to seek in a 
cavemed rock, not an occasional 
retreat, a permanent abode, seems 
to be a perverse wish. ^^The 
hairy govm and mossy cell are not 
necessary to be united, and though 
'^musing meditation may most affect 
pensive secrecy," it need not be in 
the torpid character of a hermit, 
nor need his cell be *' a desert cell." 
The hairy gown, the maple disli, 
and a few books, with a bed of 
leaves and the cheerless shelter of 
a rock, befit nothing but poverty 
and superstition. 

Wild, mountainous, and lonely 
scenes* arc dear to a museful tem- 
^r. Kocks and caverns are de- 
lightful as occasional retreats, but 
these enjoyments are compatable 
with a civilized life, and constitute 
a kind of Hermit and Hermitage, 
very different from Milton* We 
may wish that 

At I&Bt our weary age 
May liod the peaceful herniitaf*;e. 
The peaked rock, and mossy celj, 
Where we may tit, and righUy spell 
Of evcry^star that heaven doth shew^ 
And every herb, diat sips the dew. 

A wise old age may find delicious 
recreations for its soUtude in astro- 
nomy and botany, but there 
thingagreeable to these views, in the 
poet's Hermiu He merely ex- 
amines earth and heaven, with the 
naked eye, and aims at gathering 
ivom his contemplations some mira- 
culpus power of healing diseases, 
and foreseeing future events. These 
are the views of an ignorant and 
Gothic age, and though somewhat 
congenial to the mind of one fresh 
from reading the old chivalrous 
poetry, are m reality savage and 
debasing and are not at all neces- 
sary to give sublimity or pathos to 
our conceptions of solitude and 
fural retreat. 

Here the melancholy man, how- 
ever wishes to sit, 

Tin old experience do attain, 

T^ somethiug like prophetic stnis. 



The life just before describetf^ 
does not seem to befit the term 
"experience." 

In fine, this poem, considers seii- 
otts pleasure, not as flowing from 
the performance d^ur duty, frem 
intercource with nbred minds, or 
the contemplation of that happineaeiy 
in other bemgs which we hav e been 
instrumental in conferring or pre- 
serving. It considers man, not aa 
the recipient of social or moral 
pleasures, but as reaping his high- 
est happiness from a certain refined 
indulgence of his senses, the cold 
abstractions of his intellect and the 
freaks ofa superstitious fancy. The 
seriousness or melancholy here de^ 
picted has aometlung in it unaoctalt 
misanthropic and selfish, and though 
we may admire the portrait, ob a 
portrait, yet, no man with a true 
taste for serious pleasures, will fuUjr 
concur with the poet, when he ter* 
minates his soliloquy with saying, 
and 

I with thee will chuse to live. 



For the Literary Magazine, 

[Thb following «« Chemical Qties- 
tton" was first proposed in a daily 
paper of this city, neatly two yean 
ago: I have not seen any answer 
to it since that time, and from the 
intended scope of the Literary Ma- 
gazine, I am induced to request a 
comer for it. This question must 
be considered an important one, as 
it may tend to elucidate some of 
those causes, which act so power- 
fully, (because secretly) towards 
the rapid destruction of the human 
teeth in all climates and situations. 
Whether Sugar is one of these 
agents of decompcsition,cr notyoor 
present imperfect state of scienti- 
fic knowledge will not admit us to 
decide : but h rather appears from 
concurring circumstances, that its 
ejects arc not deleterious in their na- 
ture : — ^as I am told, that the inha- 
bitants cf the ^Vest Indies preserve 
their teeth in great perfection and 
beauty : but for the truth of this, I 
cannot vouch. It is hoped that 
some of the ^rat luminaritt of science 



CBZMXCAL QSESTIOlf. 



UX 



now ifi the city, who frequent **hot 
Jecture-rooms" (to the great disad- 
vanuge of their helath and spirits, 
from being unaccuttomed to such a 
mode of life) will endeavour to throw 
fight on this select. In doing so, 
however, I woma recommend them 
to refrain from adopting the vision- 
ary and groundless theories of a cer- 
tain nptyiedDoctort who resides in a 
city at no great distance from Phi- 
ladelphia. While he has fed his 
own vanity, science has suffered 
from his attempts to form an 
hypothesis, not only unsupported by 
facts, but in direct opposition to 
them.] 

Dec. 2, 1803. 

CHEMICAL QUBSTION. 

Th e oxalic acid, it is well knowti, 
can be produced by oxygenating 
common white sugar, powdered, by 
means of the nitric acid : in this 
process, part of the oxygen of the 
nitric acid unites to the carbon and 
hydrogen (the other constituent 
parts) of the sugar, and the nitrous 
acid escapes. This substance, ac- 
cording to Lavoisier, consists of 8 
parts of hydrogen, 64 of oxyg^en, 
and 28 of carbon. lyieae are also 
tlie ingredients of the oxaUc acid, 
but the proportions in which they 
exist, yet r^toain tmknovrn : hence 
it is evident, that sugar, by the ad- 
dition of a certain quantity of oxy- 
gen, becomes converted into the 
oxalic acid. 

Now sugar is generally supposed 
to be injurious to the teeth : how fer 
this opinion is sujjyported b^ truUi, 
will be seen from the following con- 
siderations. The teeth are com- 
posed of lime united to the phos- 
phoric acid, or are pho6fihate9 of 
Umem Oxalic acid possesses a great- 
ek* affinity with the base of this salt, 
and wherever it meets witli it, unites 
to it, and separates the other acid. 
Sugar is, by some, supposed to act 
in this manner :...• the oxalic acid 
ur.ites to the lime of the phosphate 
of lime, and forms an insoluble salt, 
andthus the teeth decay ^ or become 
decomposed ; but docs su^r really 
contain the oxalic acid ready 
formed? for if this is not the case, 

VOL....I. N0....III. 



how can it decompose them? A so* 
lution of sugar will not precipitate 
lime from lime-water, and hence it 
is clearly proved that it cannot ex- 
ist in this substance ; for Hme, either 
in simple sohition, or in combination 
with other substances, is reckoned 
the best test of this acid chemists 
have. How then does sugar act on 
the teeth ? It is proved by experi- 
ment, that if a smaller portion of 
oxygen is added to sugar, than 
what would be necessary to convert 
it into the oxalic, the tartarous or 
some other vegetable acid would 
be formed : none of which have so 
great an attraction for lime, as the 
oxalic possesses. Can, therefore, 
sugar be prejudicial to the teeth ?•••• 
if so, in what manner does it act ? 
The solution of the above ques- 
tion, is requested from some to the 
scientific readers of his Maga« 
zine. 

AMICUS SCIEKTIJB. • 



For the Literary Magazine, 

MKMOIRS OF 

CARWIN THE BILOQUIST. 

{Continued.") 

My fether's sister was an ancieift 
lady, resident in Philadelphia, ^ife 
relict of a merchant, whose decease 
left her tlie enjoyment of a frugal 
competence. She was without 
children, and had often expressed 
her desire that Tier nephew Frank, 
whom she always considered as a 
sprightly and promising lad, should 
be put under her care. She oflered 
to be at the expense of my educa- 
tion, and to bequeath to me at her 
death her slender patrimony. 

This arrangement was obstinate- 
ly rejected by my father, because it 
was merely fostering and giving 
scope to propensites, which he con- 
sidered as hurtful, and because his 
avarice desired that this inheritance 
should fall to no one but himself. 
To me, it was a scheme of ravishing 
felicity, and to be debarred from it 
was a source of anguish known to 
few. I had too much experience 
4 



laa 



MEUOIRS or CAEWIK THE BIL0qUI8T» 



of my father's pertinaciousness 
ever to ho[>e for u change m his 
views; yet the bliss of living witli 
my aunt, iu a new and busy scene, 
and in tlie unbounded indulgence of 
my literary passion, continually 
occupied my UioughtK : for a long 
time these thoughts were productive 
only of despondency and tears. 

Time only enhanced tlie desira- 
bleness of this scheme ; my new fa- 
culty would natural]/ connect itself 
with tliese wishes, and the question 
could not fail to occur whetlier it 
might not aid me in the execution 
of my favourite plan. 

A tliousand superstitious tales 
were current in the family. Appa- 
ritions had been seen, and voices had 
been heard on a multitude of oc- 
casions. My father was a confident 
believer in supernatural tokens. 
The voice of his wife, who had been 
many years dead, had been twice 
heanl at midnight whispering at Ids 
pillow. I frequently asked m) self 
whether a scheme favourable to my 
views might not be built upon the^e 
foundations. Suppose (thought I) 
my mother should be made to enjoin 
upon him comptiance with my 
wishes? 

This idea bred in me a temporary 
constematioD. To imitate the voice 
of the dead, to counterfeit a com- 
mission from heaven, bore the aspect 
of presumption and impiety. It 
seemed an offence which could not 
^1 to draw after it the vengeance 
of the deitf. My wishes for a time 
yielded to my fears, but this scheme 
in proportion as I meditated on it, 
became more plausible; no other 
.occurred to me so easy and so effica- 
cious. I endeavoured to persuade 
myself that tlie end proposed, was, 
in the highest degree praiseworthy, 
and that the excellence of my pur- 
pose would justify the means em- 
ployed to atttun it. 

My rcsohitionj were, for a time, 
attended with lluctuations and m^s- 
givmgs. These gradually disap- 
peared, and my purpose became 
jirm ; I was next to devise tlie means 
of effecting my views, tliis did not 
idcmand any tedious deliberation* It 



was easy to gain access to my father '» 
chamber without notice or detec- 
tion, cautious footsteps and the sup- 
pression of breath would place me, 
unsuspected and unthought of, by 
his bed side. T^ words I should 
use, and the mode of utterance were 
not easily settled, but having at 
length selected these, I made my selF 
by much previous repetition, per- 
fectly familiar with the use of them. 

I selected a blustering and incle- 
ment night, in which the darkness 
was augmented by a veil of the 
blackest clouds. The building we 
inhabited was slight in its structure, 
and full of crevices through whicfai 
the gale fomid easy way, and whist- 
led in a thousand cadencies. On 
this night t!ie elemental music was 
remarkably sonorous, and was 
mingled nut unfrequently with /Atiiz- 
der heard remote* 

I could not divest myself of secret 
dread. My heart faultered with a 
consciousness of wrong. Heavea 
seemed to be present and to disap- 
prove my work ; I listened to the 
thunder and the wind, as to the stem 
voice of tliis disapprobation. Big 
drops stood on my forehead, andmy 
tremors almost incapacitated mc 
from proceeding. 

These impe&nents however I 
surmounted; I crept up stairs at 
midnight, and entered my fatlier's 
chamber. The darkness was intense 
and I sought with outstretched hands 
for his bed. The darkness, added 
to the trepidation of my thoughts, 
^sabled me from making a right 
estimate of distances : I was con- 
scious of this, and when I advanced 
within the room, paused. 

I endeavoured to compare the 
progress I liad m^de with my know- 
ledge of the room, and governed by 
the result of thb comparison, pro- 
ceeded cautiously and with hands 
st^l outstretched iu seaich of the 
huA of the bed. At tliis moment 
lightning flasV.ed into the room : the 
brightness ci the j;leani was daz- 
zling, yet it aflw'dcJ me an exact 
knowiet^^c of Bay litu ration. 1 had 
mistaken my way, aii:l discovered 
that my knees 'nearly touched the 



HEUOIRS OF CARWIV THE BILOQUIST. 



183 



fjedstetd, and that my hands at the 
next step, would have touched my 
father's cheek. His closed eyes and 
every line in his countenance, -were 
painted, as it were, for an instant 
on my sight* 

The flash was accompained with 
a barst of thunder,whose vehemence 
was stunning. I always entertained 
a dread of thunder, and now re- 
coiled, overborne with terror. 
Kever had I witnessed so luminous 
a gleam and so tremendous a shock, 
yet my father's slumber appeared 
not to be disturbed by it. 

I stood irresolute and trembling ; 
to prosecute my purpose in this state 
of mind was impossible. I resolved 
for the present to relinquish it, and 
turned with a view of exploring my 
way out of the chamber. Just thcii 
a light seen through the window, 
caught my eye. It was at first weak 
but speedily increased; no second 
thought was necessary to inform me 
that the barn, situated at a small 
distance from the house, and newly 
stored with hay, was in flames, in 
consequence of being strudt by the 
lightnmg. 

My terror at this spectacle made 
me careless of all consequences re- 
lative to myself. I rushed to the bed 
and throwing myself on my father, 
awakened liim by loud cries. The 
family were speedily roused, and 
were compelled to remain impotent 
spectators of the devastation. For- 
tunately the wind blew in a contrary 
direction, so that our habitation was 
not injured. 

The impression that was made 
upon me by the ipcidents of that 
night is indelible. The wind gra- 
dually rose into an hurricane ; the 
largest branches were torn from the 
trees, and whirled aloft into the air ; 
others were uprooted and laid 
prostrate on the ground. The barn 
was a spacious ediflce, consisting 
wholly of wood, and filled with a 
plenteous harvest. Thus supplied 
with fuel, and fanned by the vcind, 
the fire raged withincredifcjle fury ; 
meanwhile clouds rolle;1 above, 
whose blackness was rendered moi-e 
conspicuous by reflection from tl>e 



flames ; the vast volumes of smoke 
were dissipated in a moment by the 
storm, while glowing fragments 
and cinders were borne to zn im- 
mense hight, and tossed everywhere 
in wild confusion. Ever and anon 
tlie sable canopy that hung around 
us was streaked with lightning, and 
the peals, by which it was accom- 
pained, were deafhing, and witli 
scarcely any intermission. 

It was, doubtless, absurd to ima- 
gine any connexion between this 
poi*tentous scene and the purpose 
that 1 had meditated, yet a belief 
of thisconne^ion, though wavering 
and obscure, lurked in my mind; 
something more than a coincidence 
merely casual, appeared to have 
subsisted between my situation, at 
my faUier's bed side, and the flash 
that darted through the window, 
and diverted me from my design. 
It palsied my courage, and strength- 
ened my conviction, that my scheme 
was criminal. 

After some time had elapsed, and 
tranquiliUr was, in some degree, 
restored m the family, my father 
reverted to tlie circumstances in 
which I had been discovered on the 
first alarm ©f this event. The touth 
was impossible to be told. I felt the 
utmost reluctance to be guilty of a 
falsehood, but by falsehood only 
could I clu^'^e de|cction.That my guilt 
was the offspring of a fatal necessi- 
t'.', that the injutitice of others gave 
it birth and made it unavoidiible, af- 
forded me slight consolation. Noth- 
ing can be more injurous than a lie, 
but its evU tendency chiefly respects 
our future conduct. Its direct con- 
sequences may be transient and 
few, but it facilitates a repetition, 
strengthens temptation, and grows 
into habit. I pretended souie neces- 
sity had drawn inc from iiiy bed, 
and thnt discovering the cciudition 
of the barn, 1 hastened to inform 
my father. 

Some time after this, my father 
summoned me to his presence. I 
li::d l>een Tjreviously guilty of dis* 
obedience to his comio.iinds, in a 
mattei* al)out which he v/as UFu?Jly 
very scrupulous. My brother ha4 



M4 



MXM0IR5 OF CARWIV THE BILOC^ISTv 



been privy to my ofience, and had 
threatened to be my accuser. On this 
occasion I expected nothing but ar- 
raignment and punishment. Weary 
of oppression^ and hopeless of any 
change in my father's temper and 
views, I had formed the resohition 
of eloping ifrom his house, and of 
trusting, young as I was, to the 
caprice of fortune. I was hesitat- 
ing whether to abscond without the 
luiowlcdge of the family, or to make 
my resolutions known to them, and 
while J avowed my resolution, to 
adhere to it in spite of opposition 
and remonstrances, when I received 
this summons. 

I was employed at this tune in 
the iu 1(1 ; night was approaching, 
and 1 h id made no preparation for 
departure ; all the preparation in 
my power to make, was indeed 
small; a few clothes made into a 
bundle, was the sum of my posses- 
sions. Time would have little in- 
fluence in improving my prospects, 
and I resolved to execute my scheme 
immediately. 

I left my work intending to seek 
my chamber, and taking what was 
my own, to disappear forever. 
I turned a stile that led out of the 
field mto a bye path, when my fa- 
ther appeared before me, advanc- 
ing in an opposite direction; to 
avoid him was impossible, and I 
Summoned my fortitude to a conflict 
with his passion* 

As soon as we met, instead of 
anger and tipbraiding, he told me, 
that he had been reflecting on my 
aunt's proposal, to take me under 
her protection, and had concluded 
that the plan was proper ; if I stiU 
retained my wislies on that head, 
he would readily comply with them, 
and t^at, if I chose, I might set off 
for the city next morning, as a 
neighbours waggon was preparing 
to go. 

I shall not dwell on tlie rapture 
with which this proposal was lis- 
tened to : it was with difficulty tliat 
I persuaded myself that he was in 
earnest in making it, nor could 
divine the reasons, for so sudden 



and unexpected a change in hi# 
maxims... .These I afterwards dis- 
covered. 9ome one had instiUeci 
into him fears, that my annt exaa* 
perated at his opposition u> her 
request, respecting the unfortunate 
Frank, would bequeath her pro- 
perty to stranp-era; to obviate this 
evil, which his avarice prompted 
him to regard as much greater 
than any mischief, that would ac- 
crue to me, from tiie change oimj 
abode, he embraced her proposal. 

I entered with exultation and tri- 
umph on this new scene ; my hopes 
were by no means disappointed. 
Detested labour was exchanged for 
luxurious idleness. I was roaster of 
my time, and the chaser of my 
occupations. My kinswoman on 
discovering that I entertained no 
relish for the drudgery of coUegesi 
and was contented with demeans 
of intellectual gratification, which 
I could obtain under her roof, al- 
lowed me to pursue my own draice. 

Three tranquil years passed 
away, during indiich, each day ad- 
ded to my h^piness^by adding to 
my knowledge. My biloquial frui- 
ty was ndt neglected* I improved it 
by assiduous exercise ; I deaply re- 
flected on the use to which it might 
be applied. I was not destitute c^ 
pure intentions ; I delighted not in 
evil ; I was incapable of knowing- 
ly contributing to anether's misery, 
but the aole or principal end of 
my endeavours was not the happi- 
ness of others. 

I was actuated by ambition. I 
was delighted to possess superior 
power; I was prone to manifest 
that superiority, and was satisfied 
if this were done, without much 
solicitude concerning consequen- 
ces. I sported frequently with the 
apprehensions of my associates, 
and threw out a bait for their won- 
der, and supplied them with occa- 
sions for the structure of theories. 
It may not be amiss to enumerate 
one or two adventures in which I 
was engaged. 

[ To be continued.'] 



JfmW'-YOftK AC4J}JEICT OF AETS« 



tBX 



For $hc Utcmry Migaxine* 

ACCOUXT Sa STATUKS^ OUSTS, 
Ice. IJI TOS COLLECTXQII OF 
THK AGA»X1CT OF AJLTS. lfSW-> 

TOBrX. 

MO»I. 

3fte PytMan jifioUo: calied the 
Afiollo Belvedere* 

Thx son of Latona, in his rapid 
ocNiFsei has just overtaken the ser- 
pent Python. The mortal dart is 
already discharged from his dread- 
ful bow, which he holds in his left 
handy and from which his right is 
jnst withdrawn ; the^otion impres- 
sed on all his mnscles is still pre- 
served. indigDation sits on his lip, 
hut on his coonteaance the certain- 
ty of victory is imprinted, and his 
eye sparkles with satisfaction at 
having delivered Delphos firom the 
monster which ravaged its coasts. 

His hair, lightly curled, flows in 
vioglets down his neck, or rises 
yiitk grace to die summit of his 
head, which is encircled with the 
9trofihium^ the distinguishing band 
of gods and kings. His quiver is 
su^cndcd by a belt across his left 
shoulder. His robe (chlamys) at- 
tached to the shoulder, turned up 
on the left arm oxdy, is thrown back, 
shewing to greater advantage his 
divine form. The glow of youth 
enlivens hiselcgant person, in which 
nobleness and agility, with vigor and 
elegance are sublimely blended, 
preserving a happy medium be- 
tween the delicate form of Bacchus, 
and the more firm and masculine 
lines of Mercury. 

AJioILq^ the vanquisher of the ser- 
pent Python<i is the subject of an in- 
genious fable, invented by the an- 
cients to express the genial influence 
of the sun that renders the air more 
•salubrious, by correcting the inlecti- 
ous exhalations of the coasts of 
Which this reptile is- the emblem — 
ever)* thing in this figure, nay the 
very tnmk of the tree ind reduced 
to support it, presents some inte- 
resting allusion. This trunk is that 
of the ancient olive tree, of Delos, 



under whose shade the god was 
bom. It is adorned with fruit, and 
the serpent ascending it is the sym- 
bol of life and health, of which Apol- 
lo was the god. This statue, the 
most perfect of all that time has 
apared, was found about the close 
of the fifteenth century, on Cafio der 
Anzfi^ twelve leagues from Rome, 
on tlie margin of tlic sea, in the 
ruins of the ancient Antvum,^ a city 
celebrated for its teinpie of fortune, 
and for the rival viUns built by the 
emperors and embellished wiih the 
master pieces of art. 

Julius tlie second, while a cardi* 
nai, purchased this statue, and 
placed it, in the first instance, in 
the palace he occupied near the 
church of tlie hoiy apostles; but 
shortly aiber having attained the 
pontificate, he removed it to the 
Belvedere of the Vatican, where 
for three centuries it remained tlie 
admiration of the world ; when a 
hero, guided by victory, arrived to 
transplant and Ax it, perhaps for- 
ever, on tlie banks of the -Seine. 

It is a question for antiquaries 
and natopalists to detcrmme, from 
what quarry the marble of this 
Apollo has been cut. The statuaries 
of Rome, who from their occupation 
have an extensive knowledge of 
ancient marbles, liave invariably 
deemed it an artcient Grecian tnar^ 
bUy although of a quality very dif- 
ferent from the most known spe- 
cies. On the contrary, the painter 
Menffa^ lias asserted that this sta- 
tue is of the marble of Lwii or Cc* 
rffnz, the quarries of which, were 
known and worked in the time of 
Julius Cesar. Citizen Dolwnieu a 
learned mineralogist, laof the same 
opinion, and lie pretends to have 
found in one of the ancient quarries 
of Luni^ fragments of marble re- 
sembling that of the Apollo. Not- 
withsl^.nding these suthoritics, this 
subject may still be considered as 
very doubtful. 

The beauty of the statues of ^w- 
finous^ and the pcrfeciicn of sculp- 
ture at th it tiiTie evitlently demon- 
stnitcthut until Use epoch of -./tf>T*a« 
at IcAst, tlic Grecian hchool furniilt- 



160 



KEW-TORX ACADBXT OT ARTS. 



ed artists TTorthy to be compared 
-«rith the most able statuaries of an- 
tiquit]^* Pliny entertaioed the same 
opinion of the artists of his age. 

The author of this chef d' oeu vre 
is urJuiown. The lower part of the 
right arm and the left hand, which 
were wanting, have been restored 
by Oiovarmi Jingch de Mentorsoiij 
sculptor and pupil of Michael An- 
gelo, 

KO. II. 

Venu9 of the CapitoL 
Vevus, the queen of love and 
the goddess of beauty, is here re- 
presented as just from the bath; 
ner divinely graceful form is unem- 
barrassed by drapery, her hair col- 
lected behind displays the beauties 
of her polished neck, and her head 
gently inclines to the left, as smil- 
ing affably upon the graces who are 
about to attire her. At her feet 
stand a vase of perfumes covered 
partially with a fringed drapery. 
The value of this Statue is height- 
ened by its perfect preservation.... 
it was found in Rome, about the 
middle of the last century, between 
the Quirinal and Viminal Mounts, 
and was placed in the capitol, of 
Benedict XIV. 

Ho, Til. 
iMoeoon* 

Laocoon, the son of Priam and 
Heculia, and priest of Apollo, in- 
flamed by love for his country, vio- 
lently opposed the reception of the 
wooden horse within tlie walls of 
Troy. To awaken his countr} men 
*o the impending danger, he dared 
to hurl his javelin against the fatal 
machine, consecrated to Minerva. 

Enriged at his temerity, those of 
the gods hostile to Troy, resohcd 
to punish him, and shortly after, 
as Laocoon, crowned with laurel, 
was sacrificing to Keptune on the 
beach, two enormous serpents, 
emerged from the waves, and in- 
stantly sprang upon his two chil- 
dren, who had accompained him to 
the altar. The distracted father 
flies to their aid : in vain he strug- 
gles against these monsters, they 
enclose him with his sons.... they roll 
themselves around their bodies.... 



they crush them in their coils....the3r 
tear them with their venomous 
teeth.... in spite of their efforts to 
disengage themselves, this unfor- 
tunate mtiier with his sons, the 
victims oJF an unjust vengeance, fall 
attlie altar of the god....and turning 
their distracted eyes towards hea- 
ven, expire in the most cmd 
agonies. 

Such is the patlietic subject of this 
admirable group, one of the most 
perfect works which the chissel has 
ever produced, the master-piece of* 
composition, design, and sentiment ; 
and the impression of which, can 
only be enfeebled by commentary. 

It was found in the ruins of the 
palace of Titus, on the Esquiline 
Mount, during the pontificate of 
Julius II. Pliny, who speaks of it 
with admiration, saw it in tiiis place. 
To this writer we owe the know- 
ledge of the three skilful sculptors 
who executed it. Their names arc 
Agesandcr, Polydorus, and Athcne- 
dtrus. Agcsander was probably 
the father of the two others; they 
flourished in the first age of the 
vulgar sera. The group is com- 
posed of five blocks so artificially 
united, tiiat Pliny believed tiiem to 
Ix! but a single piece. The right 
arm of the father and the two arms 
of the children are wanting. 

NO. IT. 

Gladiator of the Borghese Palace* 
This statue has been improper- 
ly denominated the *^ Gladiator of 
tiie Borghese Palace." Fi-om the 
characters of its inscription it ap- 
pears to be of greater antiquity 
than any other characterized by the 
name of the artist. History gives 
us no pfirtjculars relative to Agasi- 
us of Kphesus, author of this chef 
d'oeuvrc; but the work which he 
has left, hears the strongest testi- 
mony of his merit. 

In the statue of the Apollo of Bel- 
vedere we arc struck with the sub- 
limity of ideal beauty. The group 
of the Laocoon ofiers us a repre- 
sentation of natural beauties unas- 
sisted by imagination : the former 
may be compared to ars epic poem, 
which, from probabiiit}*, jessing 



. VKtr-TOHK AGAD£MT OV ARTS. 



i«r 



. Die bounds of truth, leads to the 
marvellous; the latter to faithful 
history, which in the exposition of 
truth, makes choice of the most re- 
fined ideas, and most elegant ex- 
pression. 

The head of this fi[g;ure shews 
that nothing but the truth of nature 
has been consulted in its formation ; 
no traces of the ideal beauty of the 
Apollo are. to be found, and his 
whole air is that of a man in the ^U 
vigour of mature age, whose muscles 
are strengthened by liabitual activi- 
ty, and whose body is hardened by 
exercise. 

Antiquarians are divided in their 
judgment of tliis figure ; some have 
supposed it a discobolus, or throw- 
er of the disk ; but others with more 
probability have pronounced it, a 
statue erected to the honour of some 
Grecian warrior, who had signalis- 
. ed himself in a dangerous position : 
this appears perfectly to coincide 
'with tlie attitude of the figure, 
which is at the same time actively 
ofiensive and defensive ; on the left 
arm the strap of the buckler wliich 
he is supposed to carry is seen ; the 
right arm is supposed to hold a jave- 
lin : his looks are directed upwards, 
as if defending himself from a dan- 
ger threatening from above: this 
position militates ngaiost the idea 
of its being the statue of a fi)>;hting 
gladiator, as his opponent may be 
supposed on hors^ck: besides, it 
is believed the honour of a statue 
was never granted to a gladiator of 
of the public arena ; and tins pro- 
duction is supported anterior to the 
institution of gladiator^ in Greece. 

This statue as well as tlie Apollo, 
was discovered in tlie city of Anti- 
uni, tlie birth place of the emperor 
Kero, whicli he embelished at an 
enormous expense. 

NO. V. 

Castor and Pollux ^ 
Castor andPoLLUx, were twin 
bfotlierSf and sons' of Jupiter and 
Lcda. Mercury, immediately after 
^heir birth, cuiried them toPallena, 
where they were educated, and 
AS soon as they had ari'ived at tlie 
^cai'fi of maturity, they embarked 



witli Jason on the Argonautic expe- 
dition. In this adventure, they 
botli behaved wiih signal courage; 
the latter conquered and slew Amy- 
cus, in the combat of the cestus, 
and was ever after considered the 
^|od and patron of boxing and wrest- 
hng....the former distinguished him- 
self in the management of horses. 
After their return from Coldiis 
they cleared the Hellespont and the 
neighbouring pass from pirates, 
from which circumstance tl|ey have 
always been deemed the protectors 
of navigators. 

They made war against the A- 
theniansy to recover their sister 
Helen whom llieseus had ca rri e d 
away, and from their clemency to 
the conquered, they acquired the 
surname of Anaces or Bene&c- 
tors* 

They were invited to the nuptial 
feasts of Lycas and Idas, where be- 
coming enamoured with the brides, 
(the daughters of Leucippus)....a 
battle ensued in which Lycas fell by 
the hand of Castor, who was killed 
by Idas. PoUux revenged the death 
of his brotlier in the blood of Idus« 
PoUux tenderly attached to his 
brother, and inconsolable for his 
loss, intreated Jupiter either to re- 
store Castor to lite, or permit him 
to resign his own immortality ; Ju- 
piter listenedbcnignly to his prayer^ 
and consented that the immortality 
of PoUux should be shared with his 
brother, and tliat it should be alter- 
nately enjoyed by them. This adt 
of fraternal love, Jupiter rewarded 
by making the two brothers constel- 
lations in heaven, under the name 
of Gemini, which never^Dpear 
together, but when one iHa the 
other sets. 

NS. VI. 

GermamcuM* 
This fine statue has been sup« 
posed to represent Germanicus, 
son of Drusus and Antonia. The 
style of the hair indicates indeed « 
Roman personage ; but it cannot be 
tliis prince, for the medals and 
other monuments we have of him 
represent him very differently. 
A more attentive examiaatioa ef 



1^ 



nW-rOVK AGADKMt or AATS. 



this figure ^scovers an analogy 
vrixh that of 'Mercury ; the ex- 
tended position of the right arm, 
the MamvB throim over the left, 
which holds the cadticeus, and rests 
on a tortoise, consecrated to this 
Kod as the inventor 'of the harp, 
Sivour this idea. Bot a more rea- 
sonable conjecture may perhaps be 
admitted, that, under these forms, 
and with the attributes of the god 
of eloquence^ the ingenious artist 
has pourtrayed a Roman orator, 
celebrated K>r his success in the 
rostrum. 

HO. TII. 

Hermaphrodite* 
Iw the person of Pandora were 
united all the perfections of her 
sex, but these were eclipsed by the 
Superior exceBencies of Herma- 
phrodite, the son of \^entts and 
Hermes, (as his Greek name 
imports) who, to tlie unrivalled 
beauty of his mother, united tlie^ 
genius, wit, and elegance of his 
father. Such is the intcrcstingpour- 
trait that poetry has given us of 
Hermupliro(ii'ce, and sculpture has 
Tcnturcd to materialize and exhibit 
tills rt lined idea in the animated 
form -which here claiins our admi- 
rnticn ; this noble competition of 
the poets and artiste of antiquity, 
shews us the elevation to which the 
aits had then attained. Poetry had 
exhausted the richness of her ima- 
gination in creating Hermaphrodite 
••i.in blending, thccharacteristics of 
masculine grace 'and beauty, with 
the soft anda.wcllin^ contour of the 
female form. This ideal union 
warmed the genius of the sculptor, 
and ^^ stubborn marble, under his 
aniimBhg chissel, started almost 
into existence. 

• The masters of antiquity have 
. left us several statues of Herma- 
phrodite, this, whose original forms 
tht great ornament of the Borghese 
palace at Rome, is considered of 
the most perfect beauty, aI;liough 
that of the Florence gallery has 
^ the advantage of having the Antique 
* Bed, with the Lion's Skin, on which 
the figure reix)se8. The matrass 
In this figure is a ridiculous conceit 



of the sculptor Bernini, who re^ 
stored it. It * is unnecessary to 
remark that this figure can have 
no analogy with those misshapen 
objects of the human race, who 
have passed under the name of 
Hermaphrodites, they ore partico-- 
larly remarked for an unDatnral 
and'heterogeneotts mixture <ii haM 
and uaharmonious ports* 

KO« VIII. 

Ceretm 

The original of this channnil^ 
figure is of Parian marble ; tlie 
correctness of its form, and deli- 
cacy of its drapery, entitle it to be 
called a model of taste. It is clad 
in a tunle, over which is thrown a 
mantle, or fiepium z both are finish- 
ed m so masterfy a manner, that 
through the mantle are perceived 
the knots of the cord which ties the 
tunic round her waist. 

llie artist who repaired tiiis 
statue, having placed in its hand 
some ears of wheat, the name of 
Ceres has probably from that cir- 
cumstance been given to it ; other- 
wise, the virginal character of the 
head, and simplicity of its head- 
dress, would induce a belief that 
the muse Clio was intended by it ; 
and that a book should have been 
placed in the hand, instead of the 
ears of wheat. 

It was taken from tlie Museum of 
tlic Vatican, having been placed 
there by Clement XIV. It pre- 
viously ornamented the Villa Mattel 
on Mount E^quilin. 

KO. IX. 

Venus of the Bath» 
It is not necessary that we should 
say much to recommend this beau- 
tiful little figure to those who can 
appreciate excellence, and it is 
rare to see a subject in which it has 
more charms. 

NO. X. 

7br*o of a Venu*. 
This Torso (or mutilated figure) 
of a Venus, is of most gracefbl 
beauty, and must recommend itself 
strongly to tlie amateurs of taste 
and discernment ; we have only to 
regret, that time has spai*ed us 
but a fragment of what in its perfect 



iTEW^dRK ACAVEHT r>r ARTS;* 



1^ 



State mn^havebeen a chef d'oravre 
of the art. 

NO- xu 
Grecian Cu/iid, 

Tsis beautiftd figure is knowi^ 
by the name of the Grecian Cupid, 
who was sometimes, as in this 
instance, represented under the 
matarer age of Adolescence, and 
possessed a character much more 
nuldwndneasoaaUe than that attri- 
buted to the scm of Mars and Venus* 
The . sizpposition that this statue 
was intended for a Capidy is perhaps 
driewB Arom> thiS' evident marks of 
its having bicen originally with 
wings j one of the attributes of his 
divinity: but however the intention 
of the artist' may be mistaken as to 
the cubject, it wiU remain a beau«> 
tiful monument of the art in the 
age o£ its excellence, 
NO. xiu 
Homer- 

This fine bust represents the 
immortal Homer, > the father of 
Grecian poetry, and the ornament 
of/ human- natune; the diadetn 
which encircles his head is the 
emblem of th^ divinity which he 
merited by his exalted genius, and 
by which he obtained- th^ honour 
ix( his apotheosis. The formation 
of Che eyes, (of adrntrablis execu- 
tion), indicates the privation of 
sighi, .a misfortune under which 
diis celebrated poet is generally 
8i^>osed to have laboured* 

Although the portrait of Homer 
has always been considered doubt&l 
even among the ancients, it is yet 
well; known that busts similar toi 
this have passed imder his name. 

NO. XZII. 

Demoai/ienes*. 
TftERE'isno reason to doubt 
that this is a faithful portrait of 
Demosthenes, the prince of orato- 
ry j whose name will live while 
eloquence in the cause of liberty, 
shall have power to command ve- 
neration. 

NO. ziv. 
T/ie Family of Alobe* 
Abconcst the busts which orna- 
ment the Museum, this group, 
ivith the head of Klobe, ought to 

VOL. I....NO. III. 



engage particidar attention, from 
the acknowledged purity of style 
which reigns tliroughout the heads 
which compose it. The Abbe 
Winkleman the most classical judge 
of the arts, has pronounced the 
head of Niobe to be a model of the 
highest style of beauty^ and Guido, 
the painter of the graces , made it his 
peculiar study. The age of their ex- 
ecution is supposed to be that of the 
highest glory of the arts, that is, 
in the time of Phidias, but it is not 
ascertained whether the statues 
which now compose this interesting 
'group at Florence, are the originals 
or not. By the jealousy and hatred, 
cf Latona, the< children of Ni«be 
feU victims to the darts of Apollo 
and Diana, and the expression of 
the head of Niobe, is strongly indi-. 
catLve of such peculiar disti-ess. 

NO. XV. 

Bacchua, . 

This bust of a Bacchus is strikn 
ing^y beautiful, and offers to the 
admirers of the art, a fine study 
of XliQ. l>eau ideal f of the beauty of 
form dive^ed of any of tliose affec-. 
tions of the mind which give ex- 
pression to the countenance, and 
which, however they may increase 
its interest with us, tend to remove 
it from the ackf^owledge^ criterion 
of beauty, l^e appropriate orna- 
ment of the h^ildkis m a style pecu- 
liarly graceful^ Ymd corresponds 
perfectly with thfe , effeminate soft« 
ness intended to be expressed*. . 

It is necessary. t<^ remark that 
Bacchus is here repretented not as 
the hero and conqucrcj' of India, 
but as the voluptuar.y» sunk in the 
lap of ease and enjoyment; both 
of which characters ai-e ^Aibed 
to him inaacient mytholoj»:>\ Under 
the fii-st, sculpture has represented 
him bearded, muscular and active; 
under the last, as approaching tb 
the- luxurious fullness of the fcn^le 
form, and without beard. 

NO. XVI. 

Roma, 

By the emblem on the helmet of 

tliis figure, wc arc enabled to iden- ■ 

tify the goddess Roma, which in 

other respects might be mistaken 

5 



190 



KEW.TORK ACADEMY OV A&TS* 



for Mmerva«**.««.Jt is of great 
beauty. 

The heads of Seneca and HipfiO' 
crates stand on each side of the 
door on entering; and together 
vith the head of JHuri/iides arc in- 
teresting as portraits of great men. 
The Grecian bust of a female is 
conddercd as deserving attention* 



REVIEW. 

For the Literary Magazine. 

BOSTON...A POEM, 

£^ fVinthrofi Sergeant....Bo»ton^ 
Sfcragucy fi. /r. 23. 

Tbis poem seems intended as 
an imitation of Dr. Johnson's 
« London." There is, however, 
very little similarity in its topics. 
It is' a very brief descant on the dis- 
coura^ments "which genius meets 
ivith m Ameriai ; on the frailty 
and inelegance of our architecture, 
in that jnode of building which 
exposes our towns, and particularly 
Boston, to the ravages of fire ; on 
the broils and animosities of party, 
and on the absurdities of fashion 
and dress, manners, amusements, 
music and poetry. On each of these 
topics, the poet expatiates brieiy, 
but with considerable spirit and 
elegance. He is most copious, and 
writes with most etergy, on the 
folly of wooden buildings. Tlie 
lines on this subject, wiU afford a 
very advantageous specimen of the 
performance, and few readers will 
refuse to join in the justice of tlie 
sentence pronounced : 



et^icre no 



splendid monuments 



No 



dome ascends, no turret itrikes 
^ the skies. 

where s])h*es should parley with the 

sctiing sun, 
Ai^ shine with lustre when the day 

is clone ; 
A pyre of shaj:elcss structures crowds 

t!ic spur, 
Where taste, ar.d all but cheapness, is 

fori,-ct. 
One llt.Ie spark the funeral pile may 

fire, 
And Boston blazing, see itself expire. 



Monstrous collection ! Where th« 

wondering sight, 
Beholds but few in symmetry unite. 
These, carelessly disposed among the 

rest, 
Seem rough -hew'd diamonds meanly 

set at best. 
The wall's of these, in some sad future 

day, 
May serve to ahe^ir the traveUer wheie 

it lay ; 
Awake his pity, and etche a sig » 
For partimomaiu prodigality, 
£ach night the tenant, tiiongh with' 

fastened door. 
Awaking starts from slumbers tnae» 

cure ; 
Views the bright casement of his 

window glare, 
And hears the brazen clamour in 

the air. 
Ascending columns point the fatal 

doom, 
And flashing, rend uncertain mid- 
night's gloom. 
Along the streets tumultuous thunders 

While vfoking vtatebmen join the 

dismal cry. 
All headlong rash, attracted by the 

blase, 
And crowd around to moralize and 

gaze. 
Some more benevolence, than }adg- 

ment have, 
And, over anxious, ruin what they 

save ; 
Too idly active, mischievously kind, 
Throw from the windows every thing 

they find. 
Part 'gainst the rest unconsciously 

conspire. 
And loud confusion mounts on wings 

of fire. 
But half attir'd, and wrapp'd in night- 
ly dress, 
The shivering, houseless victims of 

distress 
A shelter seek ; pcrhvpB of all bereft, 
Or stav to guard the worthless little 

'left: 
Yet with the blushes of another day. 
They scrape the ashes from the spot 

away ; 
And aided by subscription's liberal 

hands. 
On the warm spot another mansion 

stands, 
Larger by far, more comely to the 

view, 
Of better ^ar(/# and better #i6m^/tfr too. 



So tkose who llv^ near burning 

Etna's base, 
Cliann'd by the magic thnnders of 

the place, 
Though Bery torrents desolate, the 

plain, 
Hetum enchanted to the spot again. 

The following lines on the f&sh- 
kmable style of poetry, reflect much 
credit on the writer : 

Soimeta and ridd{e9 celebrate the 

trees, 
And ballad-mongers charter every 

breeze. 
Long ode9 to monkies, tquirrel elc- 

lineM and acrostics on dead butter. 

flies; 
Endless effusions, some with Greek 

bedight. 
And hymns harmonious, sweet, as 

infinite, 
So freely flow, that poesy ere long 
Must yield to numbers, and expire by 

song. 
SU^ac lays such taste and truth 

combine. 
The lap'dog lives and barks in every 

line. 



BOSTOK...A POEM. 191 

/ 

Each rebus-maker takes the, poet's 

name, 
And every rhymer is the heir of fame. 



On the whole, there is much 
strength of imagery, and spirited 
versification in this little perform- 
ance. Should the writer continue 
to pursue the same path, we doubt 
whether his own case would'' not 
prove an exception to the charge 
so often made against America, of 
being insensible and inattentive to 
genius of its own growth. It is the 
spirit of satire to deal out invec- 
tives wiiiout measure, and to' 
heap penalties on the breach of 
laws, the very breach of which 
carries ite own punishment along 
with it. Thus the insensibility to 
poetical and literary merit, so far 
as this insensibility is real, ought 
to entitle us to condolence and com- 
passion, rather than to chiding and 
rebuke, since to want this faculty, 
is to want a source of very great 
pleasure ; and since no man is ena- 
bled to acquire it by reproach and 
ridicole* O. 



POETRY. 



For the Literary Magazine* 
ORIGINAL. 

PSACC....A SONNET. ' 

As when the furious winds arc hu8h*d 
to rest, 
And the soft zephyr o'er the mea- 
dow blows ; 
No wave deforms the river's poUsh'd 
breast, 
But calm and peaceful through the 
vale it flows ; 
But when dark clouds deform the 
azure skies. 
Red lightnings gleam, hoarse thun- 
der shakes the pole^, 
And whiriwinds rage ; the heaving 
billows rise. 
While ruin sits on ev'ry wave that 
rolls : 
No longer in their wonted bounds 
confin'd. 
The waves o'erwhelming fierce 

destruction spread 

So when mild peace dwells in the 
human mind 
A sweet complacence through the 
frame is shed. 



But when the storms of fierce conten- 
tion rise, 
Destruction comes, and peace he 
bosom flies. 

Valvebdi. 



VILLAGE MAID. 

Your village maid forever true, 
Will own no passion but for you. 

Your village maid believe. 
She knows no art, she knows no guile. 
No cunning lurks beneath her smik. 

She never wiU deceive 

Within these wild romantic dells. 
Far from the treacherous world she 
dwells. 

Your village maid so true. 
Say can you love ymir village maid. 
And live with her amid this shade, 

And bid the world adl^? 

The Stock-dove from the slumbering 

grove, 
Shall sweetly swell the note of love. 



192 POETRT* 

And channt our nuptial song: And not onpleattng for the vorid to 

Serene our days shall pass awaf .... hear! 
O stay ye fluttering moments stay^y 

Nor glide so swift along ! A man revered within Montalm, 

^ I. o. lived, 

Alcestes named, low bow'd< with 

^^gg weight of years. 

He by his King in love and honour 

EXTSACT FROM A VAnATIVB PO«M held, 

zv M. s. sxoKDiuM. ^^°' ^Y ^^^ popuUce esteem*d for 

age 

ALCESTES AND AZORA. ^"^ manners mUd, pretended that hc 

could * 

Fa« in the east, washed by the rest. ^^*«« «^«"*» y«* buried in the 

less wave womb 

Montalvia spreads its boU and fruit. Of onward time ; he said the Gods 

ful shores; „ *^,Jl*"\. ^ _,. 

There dweh a people little known to Reveal d those secrets to the world 

fame unknown; 

But bravi and hardy. No historic That oft at midnight to his listening 

paafc ^^» 

Has held their picture to succeeding Some heavenly angel told in whis- 

ycars pcrs soft 

Nor told those customs, those heroic The wUl of those who rule the fates 

deeds ^^ men.... 

Those eaHy scenes of love, which ^" ^ * «***^ '*^**^ amoontain's 

might instruct „ j *!^ , • *. ^. - 

The children of a distant age and Stood the low mansion of this sged 

climt... ' „ "^e* , ^. ^ 

Through the long waste of time J O, let Some mossy trees bent over hu nide 

me look . ^c°*'. . , . ^ ^ . 

Upon these regions, on their waving ^^^ swinging to th« winds their 

woods giant-arms 

On their high rocks beat by unceasing Made music Uke the dashing of the 

Rise to my view embodied forms of P*>°^ ^^" ^^« ^^^ furniture with- 

men. . ^ , »f * 

And airy fancy hither speed thy A bed. some rushy scats, an age.wom 

flight; <^^«f» 

Unroll thy records; whisper to my Were almost all the best aputvent 

ear r / j^^i^. 

Thy burning thoughts; lend me thy Upon the hearth with some d«y fel 

wings and bear a ^ T. j i u j 

Me. over tracts unvisited by man! ^ watch-dog slumbered, grey with 

Thy fairy visions oft have met my ^ many years: ^. ^ ^ 

e/es Attendant on Alcestes his fond nas* 

When musing in the dark of soli- . J^^' ., ^ ^ . ,. , 

tuiie, And g;catcful to the hand which gave 

And night; Oft listening to thy way- „ f'"'J''?f , ^ ^ ,^ 

ward dreams, ** • ' ' He slmnbcr'd only where the old osan 

I've foUowedtheco'erdoud-capt hills, * J^/* j ^. . „ ^. 

o'er streams. And f llowed him m aU his miiseful 

0*er plains, o'er scorching sands o'er walks. 

unsunn'd inowi, ' 

O'er deserts wild, where tcmpestt ^" ®"^y ^^'^^ watch'd Xh€ declin- 

evcrhowl: mg age 

Now be my guide once more, and let Of this kind man, Azoft^ was she 

my song call'd ; 

Prove not unworthy of thy varying ^ ^V^^ "^^^^ no fancy ever form'd. 

powers Time had iiown by -and numher'd 

eighteen years, 



rjM^v^r. 



Jf3 



Sifi£e..on'her^irtkhev hM)P7 &Uier 

amird. 
Her form was moulded hy the softest 

grace, 
Bov'd o'er her iac^ the fascinating 

smile, 
And o'er her shoulders fell a flood 

•f hair. 
No step so lightly as Azora's mov'd 
In the gay gambols to the tabor's 

sound. 
When yeUow. moonlight slept upon 

the hills. 
Slciird was her father to draw music 

forth 
From a string'd instrum^tit, which like 

an harp, 
Breath*d sounds most sweet most 

ravishing and sad ; 
And he had taught his daughter all 

his art. 
And oft when twilight stole upon the 

plains 
And silence came upon the wings of 

night, 
Azora's harp was heard upoo the 

hill. 
In union with a voice of magic 

tones 

I. O. 

(To be continued.) 



- SELECTED. 

BXTRACTCD FROM COWPER's LIFE. 

A LI. who delight to accompany the 

fenius . of Cowpce in animated 
ights of maral contemplation, will 

. deeply regret that he was precluded 

. . by a variety of trouble, from indulg- 
ing his ardent imagination in a 
work that would have afforded him 
such ample scope for all the sweet- 

, nesst and all the sublimity of his 
spirit. His feiici^ of description, 

,. and his excpiisite sensibility; his 
experience of life, and his sanctity 
of pharacter, rendered him singular- 
ly tit and worthy to delineate the 
progress of nature, in all the differ- 
ent stages of human existence. 

A poem of such extent and diver- 
sity, happily completed by such a 
poet, would be a national treasure, 
. of infinite value to the country that 
gave it birth ; and I had fervently 

. hoped, that England might receive 
it from the band of ClowrER. 



With 9, rfgret»;;p)nQport«oiied; to 
those hopes, I now insipaiA tp my 

. r^lkders the wvutf ^d iniperfect 
fragment of a .jprqiect so inighty. 
Yet even the few verses . which 

• C4>wpjc9..had. ti^ruw^ on p^pe^ as a 
commencement of such a ,work, 
wiA be rea4 with peculiar iuterest, 
if .there is, truth, asl fe<;],jthe^e is» 
in the foUo^y^ing repi^rk of t^e^l^er 
Pliny:.... 

"Suprema opera artiJUum, MnpCT" 
. JefStqique.TainUMf in puijorifftimira' 

tione esse quam perfecta t ^uippe in 
. ii^ iiw^qn^ta rdiqua ipupifufi fiogi- 

tationes artificum specUuUur^ atque in 

icnodm'o comme^ationi* dolor ert a... 

Manus, qim id gg^rent eaftincUt, de- 

siderfftaur,'* 

H ▲¥!«£¥. 
THE rOUE ACES. 

(A brief Fragment of an cxtonsive 
pfojectod poem.) 

Vl covLo be well content, aUow'd 

the use 
Of .past experience,, and the wisdom 

glean'd 
From wpm-out follies, now ackaow* 

ledg'd such. 
To recommfnee life's trial, in the 

hope 
Of fewer- errors* on a second proof!" 

Thus, while grey evening luU'dthe . 

wind, and c^U'd 
Fresh odours from the shrubb'ry at 

my side. 
Taking, my lonely winding walk t 

mus'd, 
And held accustom'd conference with 

my heart; 
When, from within it, thus a voice 

replied. 

" Could'st thou in truth .' and-art 
thou taught at length 
This wisdom, and but this from .all 

the past \ 
Is not the pardon of thy long ar- 

rear. 
Time wasted, violated laws, abuse 
Of talents, judgments, mercies, bet- 
ter far 
Than opportunity vouchsaf 'd to err 
With less excuse, and haply, wone 
effect:" 



194 



POSTST. 



I hatrd, and acqukst'd: Then to 

and fro 
Oft pacing, as the mariner his deck. 
My grav'Uy bounds, from self to hu* 

roan kind 
I pass'd, and next consider*d....What 

is Man ? 
Knows kevhis origin ?....can he ascend 
By^ reminiscence to his earliest date ? 
Slept he in Adam? and in those 

from him 
Through num'rous generations, till 

he found 
At length his destin'd moment to 

be bom ? 
Or was he not till fashion'd in the 

womb? 
Deep myst'ries both ! which school- 
men much have toil'd 
T' unriddle, and have left them 

my&t'ries still. 

It is an evil, incident to man, 
And of the worst, that unexplor'd 

he leaves. 
Truths useful, and attainable with 

ease,. 
To search forbidden deeps, wherc 

myst'ry lies 
Not to be selv'd, and useless if it 

might. 
Myst'ries arc food for angels; they 

digest 
With ease, and find them nutriment ; 

but man. 
While yet he dwells below, must stoop 

to glean 
His manna from the ground, or 

starve, and die. 

Those who peruse the following 
Poem, may perhaps find themselves 
sufficiently interested in it, to wish 
for some account of the Author. 

He was the son of the Rev. Mr. 
Penrose, Rector of Newbury, 
Berks ; a man of high character and 
abilities, descended from an ancient 
Cornish family, beloved and re- 
Bpccted by all who knew him; 
Mr. Penrose, jun. being intended 
for the Church, pursued his studies 
with success, at Christ church, Ox- 
ford, until the summer of 1762, 
when his eager turn to the Naval 
and Military line overpowering his 
attachment to his real interest, he 
left his College, and embarked in 
the unfortunate expedition against 
Nova Colouia, in South America, 



mtder the cMnmand of Captain 
Macnamara. The issue was fatal..^ 
The Clivc, (the largest vessel) waa 
bumt....and though the Ambuscade 
escaped, (on board of which Mr. 
Penrose, acting as Lieutenant of 
Marines, was wounded) yet the 
hardships which he afterwards 
sustained in a prize sloop, in which 
he was stationed, utterly ruined his 
constitution. Returning to Eng- 
land, with ample testimonials of 
his gallantry and good behaviour, 
he finished, at Hertford College, 
Oxon, his course of studies'; and, 
having taken Orders, accepted the 
curacy of Newbury, the income of 
which, by the voluntary subscription 
of the inhabitants, was considerably 
augmented. After he had continued 
in that station about r.ine years, it^ 
seemed aS' if the clouds of disap- 
pointment, which had hitherto 
overshadowed his prospects, and 
tinctured his Poetical Essays with 
gloom, were clearing away ; for he 
was then presented by a friend, 
who knew his worth, and honoured 
his abilities, to a living worth near 
500/. per annum. It came, how- 
ever, two late ; for the state of Mr. 
Penrose's health was now such 
as left little hope, except in the 
assistance of the waters of Bristol. 
Thither he w^ent, and there he died 
in 1779, aged 36 years. In 1768, 
be married Miss Mary Slocock, of 
Newbury, by whom he had one child, 
Thomas, now on the foundation of 
Winton College. 

Mr Pevrosb was respected for 
his extensive erudition, admired for 
his eloquence, and equally beloved 
and esteemed for his social quali- 
ties...,. By the poor, towards whom 
he was liberal to his utmost, ability, 
he was venerated to the highest 
degree. In oratory and composi- 
tion his talents were great. His 
pencil was ready as his pen, and on 
subjects of humour had uncommon 
merit. To his, poetical abilities, 
the Public, by the reception of his 
FUgbu of FtMC^^ &c. have given a 
favourable testimony. To sum up 
the whole, his figure and address 
were pleasing, as his mind was 
ornamented. 

Such was Mr. Penrose; to whose 
memory- 1 pay this just and willing 



POETRY. 195 

tribute, and to whom I consider it ** Unanxious of the paina, lon|[ 

as an honottr to be related. doom'd to feel, 

** Unthinking that the voyage misrht 

MoLTiB ILLS BOMI8 FLBBX1.IS end in noughte. 

OCCIDIT 

KULI^X rLSBILIOR GUAM MIHI. «, . ^ 

, n . Pleased on the summer-sea I daim- 

TH£ CURATE " ^**** ^*^ companions, and with 

views as fair; 

A IFRACMEHT. " OutstrippM by these, I'm left to 

^. , . . i. , . humble toil, 

0'«B the pale «mbers of a dying « My fondest hope abandoned in 

nre, ^ despair 

His little lamp fed with but little 

The C^tc sate (for scantie wai his '* ^^ ™y. ambitious mind been led 

hire) *** "*^ 

And ruminated sad the morrowe's " ^o highest flights, to Crosier and 

toil. ^^ ^*^» 

** Scarce could I mourn the misting of 

Twaa Sunday's eve, meet season to „ •. *^® ^^®' . . ,, , 

prepare soannge wishes well deserve 

The stated lectures of a coming ^^" ^*^^' 
tyde ; 

No day of rest to him,....bttt day of " No tow'ring thoughts like these 

care, engag'd my breast. 

At manie a Church to preach with " I hoped (nor blame, ye proud, tbs 

tedious ride. lowly plan) 

" Some little cove, some parsonage 

Before him sprede, his various ser- of i^st, 

mons lay, " T^^^ scheme of duty suited to the 

Of explanation deepe, and sage man; 
advice ; 

The harvest gained from many a « Where, in my narrow sphere, i 



thoughtful daye 



at ease. 



The fruit of Icaminge, bought with m F^om vile dependence free, I 

heavy price. might remain, 

^ , " The guide to good, the counsellor 

On these he cast a fond but tearful of i>eace, 

cy«» " The friend', the shepherd of the 

Awhile he paused, for sorrow stop- village swain, 
ped his throte. 

Aroused at lengthe, he heaved a bit- „ «V ,- , .,, , „ 

tcr siehe * ^^^^ ^*** deni'd the small re- 

And thus complainede, as well ,, . quest, . 

indeed he mote: ^""^ ^^.'^^ me fast, m one lU- 

omen d hour, 

« Hard is the schoUr'slot, condemned " ^^^o^^ *!»« *^^*n" °^ remedic, to 

to sail ^^^^ 

" Unpatroniz'd o'er life's tempcstu- " The slave of wealthie pride and 

ouswave; priesthe pow'r. 
" Clouds blind his sight ; nor b ows a 

friendly gale, " Oft as in russet weeds I scour 

" To waft him to one porto..ezcept along, 

the grave. " In distant chappels hastilie to 

pray. 

•* Big with presumptive hope, I *' By nod scarce notic'd of the pas- 

launch'd my keele, sing thronge, 

« With youthful ardour, and bright " 'Tis but the Curate, every childe 

science frauthe s will say. 



1^6 



poETir. 



*' Nor cirenihacrib'd m dignitie alone " To labour doom'd, and deitin'd 'to 



" Do I mj rich superior's rassal 

ride'; 
** Sad penurie, as was in cottage 

known, 
"With' all its frowrts, does't>*er 

my roof preside. 

" Ah I not for me the harvest yields 
ittf'store, 
•* The bough-crown'd sheaf i 
vain slttyacts mine eye ; 



be poor, 

« I pass the field, I hope not <n« 
vious, by. 

" When at the alfar, ButpUce<lad I 
stand, 
" The bride-gTQom*s joy draws 
forth the golden fee ; 
'* The gift I take, but dare not close 
my hand ; 
** The splendid present cefttRs not 
in me." 



SELECTIONS. 



On ike manner of hunting and 
•fiorting by the MiigHsh at Ben-^ 
gttL Uommunitated dy CoU G. 

.iRONSIfiS*. 

Few parties of pleasure can be 
more agreeable than those for 
hunting, formed by ladies and gen- 
tlemen in Bengal, particularly at 
some distance from the presidency 
erf" Fort William, where me country 
is pleasanter, and game of every 
kind in greater plenty. Any time 
between the beginning of Novem^^ 
ber and end of February is taken 
for these excursions ; during which 
season tlie climate is delightfiiUy 
temperate, theair perfectly serene, 
and the sky often without a cloud. 

To transport the tents and other 
requisites, for the accommodation 
of the company, to some verdant 
qwt, near to a grove and rivulet, 
previously selected, elephants and 
camfelsarebonx)wed; small country 
carts, oxen, and bearers hired, at 
no considerable expense, the price 
of all kinds of grain, and wages of 
course, being exceeding reasona- 
ble. Nor does the commanding offi- 
cer of the troops within the district, 
oftfen refuse a guard of seapoys to 
protect the company from the 
danger of wild beasts, ffor such 
generally resort to the haunts of 

» JF'fvm the JitiadO' Jirmuai Re- 
gister^ for 180U 



game,) or the depredations of still 
wilder banditti, now and then per- 
vading the country. 

The larger tents are pitched in 
a square or circle, while those for 
thte guards and servants usuallj^ 
occupy the outer ^ace. Every 
marquee for a lady is divided into 
two or three apartments, for her 
camp-bed, her closet, and her 
dressing-room ; is carpetted or 
matted, and is covered with a 
spreading fly, for defence againac 
rain, or exclusion of casual heat^ 
the air ventilating powerfully be- 
tweefi the vacuity (about two feet) 
of the tent and its canopy ih unre- 
mitted undulation. The doors or 
curtains of the marquee, wattled 
with a sweet-scented grass, are, if 
the weather chance to become 
sultry, continually sprinkled with 
water from the outside ; and a 
chintz wall, stained in handsomely- 
figured compartments, encompasses 
the whole. 

For the supply of common food, 
if no village be very near, petty- 
chandlers shops enow are engaged 
by the family banyans (house stew- 
ards) to accompany them, glad to 
proiit of such an opportimity of 
gain. Liijuors, and every species 
of European articles, are provided 
by the party thchasclves. 

Horses are employed for the con* 
vcyance of the gentlemen^ and pa- 
laiiquinsifor the ladies, with their 
female attendants : aad, where the 



ItlTGLXSR MAKKElt OF RVUrittG 19 BEKGlt. 



Iff 



roads will admit of it, close and 
t>pen English carriages also. 

Part of the morning sports of 
the men, commencing at the dawn 
of day, consist in rousing and chasing 
the wild boar, the wolf, and ante- 
lope (or gazelle), the roebuck, the 
musk, thered and other deer, hares, 
Ibxes) and jaccals : besides the 
common red, the spotted and the 
small moose, there are ten or 
twelve sorts of hog or short-bristled 
deer. Boars are usually found 
amongst the uncultivated tracts, 
or the more regular plantations of 
sugar-canes, which give to their 
flesh the finest flavour imaginable. 
Wolves and jaccals are seen 
prowling and lurking, at break of 
day, about the skirts of towns and 
villages, or retiring from thence to 
their dens within woods ; or within 
pits, hollows, or ravines, on the 
downs. Hares shelter in the same 
situations as in England. The hog, 
roebuck, and musk-deer conceal 
themselves amongst the thickest 
heath and herbage, and the ante- 
lope and large deer rove on the 
plains. All these animals, however, 
resort not rarely to the jungles (or 
very high coarse and implicated 
grass), with which the levels of 
Hindostan abound, either to graze, 
to browse, or in pursuit of prey. 

A country of Asia, abounding in 
inch variety of game, is, of course, 
not destitute of wild beasts ; the 
principal of which are the tiger, 
leopanl, panther, tiger-cats, bear, 
wolf, jaccal, fox, hyena, and rhi- 
nocercs* The leopard^ are of three 
or four kinds. 

Or the gentlemen divert them- 
selves with shooting the same ani- 
mals ; as also common partridge, 
rock partridge, hurrial or green 
pigeons, quaU, plover, wild cocks 
and hens, curlews; black, white, 
and grey peacocks ; florikens, 
storks of several kinds and colours, 
together with water hens, Braroiny 
geese, cranes, wild geese and ducks, 
teal, widgeons, snipes, and other 
aquatic fowl, in infinite abundance ; 
many of them of extraordinary 
shape, of glowing variegated plum- 

VOL. I...,N0. Ill* 



age, and of unknown species; 
whose numbers almost cover th« 
water when they swim, and, when 
alarmed and flushed from the lakes, 
like a cloud, absolutely obscure the 
light. 

The foxes arc smdll, slenderly 
limbed, delicately furred with a 
soft brown hair, and by no means 
rank in smell ; feeding principally 
upon grain, vegetables, and fruit. 
They are exceedingly fleet and 
Hexibie, though not strong or per- 
severing. When running, they 
wind in successive evolutions to 
escape their pursuers, and aflbrd 
excellent sport. Their holes are 
usually excavated, not in woods, 
but on hillocks, upon a smooth £^en« 
sward or lawn, where, in a morning 
or evening, they are seen playing 
and frisking about with their young* 
They feed generally amongst the 
corn, and are oftenest found Within 
fields of mustard or linseed, when 
it has sprouted up high enough to 
conceal them. 

A minor critic, on perusal of 
-ffisop's, or rather Pilpay's Fables, 
ridiculed the idea of roxes feeding 
upon grapes ; but, had he consulted 
any Asiatic natural history, he 
would have learned that they subsist 
upon grain, pulse, and fruit, par- 
ticularly grapes and pine-apples, 
when within their range, much 
more than upon flesh or fowl. Or, 
had he turned to the Bible, he 
would have there found the following 
passage in confirmation of it :•••» 
" Take us the foxes, the little foxes, 
that spoil the vines, for our vinea 
have tender grapes".....Cem/ir/f«, 
c. ii. vcr. 15. 

Jaccals are rather larger than 
English foxes; but of a browa 
colour, clumsier shape, and p > 
pointed about the nose. In nature, 
they partake more of the wolf than 
of the dog or fox. Their real 
Asiatic name is shuganl, perverted 
by English seamen trading to the 
Levant (where they are in plenty 
on tlie coasts of Syria, and Asia 
Minor) into jaccals. 

Of the partridge there are seve- 
ral kinds, one with a white belVr , 
6 



m 



XKGLISa MAWSt Of lUVTlVa tV S&ITOAU 



and another with aomethbg like 
frooae, only more motle)^ feathered* 
Florer too are various ; and, 
when the weather becomes warm, 
ortolans traverse the heaths and 
commons in immense flocks. 

There are no pheasants in the 
woods of Bengal or Bahar, nearer 
than the conuMs of Assam, Chit* 
tagong, and the range of mountains 
separating Ifindostan from Tibet 
and Napi^ul. But there, particu- 
larly about 'tile Morung and in Be- 
tiah, they are large and beautiful, 
more especially me golden, the 
burnished, the spotted, and the 
asure, as well as ue brown Argus 
pheasant. 

As for peacocks, they are every- 
where in multitudes, and of two 
or three species. One tract in 
Orissa is denominated More4Hmje, 
or the Peacock district. 

Cranes are of three sorts, and 
all of a cerulean grey s the vtry 
lofty one, with a crimson head, 
called mru$i the smallest called 
turcurrah, iht(demoUelle of Lin- 
naeus and Bunbn), uncommonly 
boLUtiiul and elegant, whose snow- 
white tuf^ behind its scarlet-glowing 
eyes, is Uie appropriate ornament 
for the turban of the emperor alone, 
and the middle-sized one with a 
black head, the common grus. 
They return to the northern moun- 
tains about the autumnal equinox, 
after the cessation of the periodical 
rains, with their young, in myriads 
of flights, frequent as the wood* 
pigeon in North-America: and 
sometimes, when the wind is very 
violent, flocks of them mount to 
a vast height in the air, and there 
wind about in regular circles, seem- 
ingly with much delight, and venting 
all the time a harsh discordant 
scream, heard at a considerable 
V distance. 

In the wilds of Hindostan cer- 
tainly^ originated the common do- 
mestic fowl, for they are there dis- 
covered in almost every forest. 
They are all bantams, but without 
feathers on their legs; the cocks 
are in colour all alike, what 
^)ortsmen call ginger red ; they 



have a fine tufted duster of wlnt^ 
downy feathers upon their rumpsy 
are wonderfully stately in their 
gait, and fi[[^t like fiiries. The 
hens are invariably brown. It is 
extremely pleasant, in travelling 
through the woods early in a 
morning, to hear them crowing^ 
and to perceive the henf and 
chickens skulking and scudding 
between the bushes. For food, they 
are neither so palatable nor tender 
as the tame fowL 

Florekins are amongst the v^bncff^ 
9cri/iia^ I believe, in ornithology. 
A drawing can alone exhibit an 
adequate representation of this 
fine bird ; it harbours in natural 
pastures amohgst the long grass, 
on the extremity of lakes, and the 
borders of swampy grounds, lying 
between marshy soils and the 
uplands. Hence its flesh seems to 
partake, in colour and relish, of 
the nature and flavour of both the 
wild duck and the pheasant ; the 
colour of the flesh on the breast and 
wings being brown, but on the legs 
perfectly white, and the whole of 
the most delicate, juicy, and sa- 
voury flavour conceivable. 

There are only three claws to its 
feet : the roots of the feathers of 
the/emale are of a fine pink colour. 

Wfien the cock rises up, some 
fine black velvet feathers, which 
commonly lie smooth upon liis head, 
then stand up erect, and form a 
tuft upon his crown sjid his neck. 

When set by dogs, it lies close, 
and scarcely ever rises till the 
fowler is so near as abnost to tread 
npon it. The neit of it 19 made 



amongst tfie gnMs. 

You read of them in descriptions 
of ancient knightly festivals of the 
Nevilles, Percys, Mortimers, Beau- 
champs, Montacutes, DeCourceys, 
Mohuns, Courteneys, and Mow- 
braysy under the name, I believe, 
oi Jianderkina ; but whether they 
were then natives of England, I am 
uncertain. 

The height of the cock florekta 
of Bengal, from the ground when 
he stands, to the top m his bdck> ia 
seventeen inclies. 



EN9LISS HANKER OF HUKTXNC IN BEH6AL* 



m 



The height from the ground to 
the top of ms heady when he holdt 
It wpright, is twenty-seven inches. 

The leng^ from the tip of his 
back to the end of his tail, is twenty. 
seven inches. 

In no part of southern Asia did 
I ever hear of woodcocks ; but 
amongst the breed of snipes there 
is one called the painted snipe, 
larger than ordinary, and which 
well compensates for want of the 
former. 

Fishing) both with Unes and di- 
versity ci nets, is the employment 
of other sets of the party ; or the 
hawUng of herons, cranes, storks, 
and hares, with the falcon ; and of 
partridge and lesser birds, with tlie 
sparrow and amali hawks. 

Ladies now and t3&en attend the 
early field: if it be to view the 
coursing or hawking, they mount 
upon small, gentlest (for they are 
all gentle) female elephants, tur- 
mounted with arched-canopied and 
curtained seats ; otherwise they 
ride on horseback ; more frequent- 
ly however in palanquins, under 
which, as well as under the ele- 
phants and horses, the Inrds, (par- 
ticularly the white stork or paddy 
bird), when pounced at by the 
hawks, and the little foxes, when 
hard pressed by the dogs, often fly 
for belter and protection. In 
general, however, the ladies do not 
rise betimes, nor stir out till the 
hour of airing. 

The weapons in use on these ex- 
peditions are, fowling pieces, horse 
pistols, light lances or pikes, and 
heavy spears or javelins ; and every 
person has, besides, a servant 
armed with a scimitar or sabre, 
and a rifle with a bayonet, carrying 
a two ounce ball, in the event en 
meeting with tigers, hyenas, bears, 
orwildbuffiiloes. Some of the ladies 
(like Thalestris or Hypolita, quite 
in the Diana style), carry light 
bows and quivers to amuse them- 
selves with the lesser gam6. 

The dogs are, pointers, spaniels, 
Persian and European greyhounds, 
andstrongferociouslurchers. Keav 
Calcutta a few gentlemen keep 



English hounds; but their scent 
qmckly fades, and they soon dege- 
nerate. 

But the liveliest sport is exhibited 
when all the horsemen, elephants, 
servants, guard, and hired vil- 
lagers, are assembled and arranged 
in one even row, with small white 
fla^ (as being seen the furthest) 
hoisted pretty nigh at certain dis- 
tances, in order to prevent one 
part of the rank from advancing 
before the rest. Proceeding in this 
manner, in a regular andprogressive 
course, this line sweeps the surfeoe 
like a net, and impels before it M 
the game within its compass aad 
extent. When the jungle and 
coppice chance to open upon a plain* 
it is a most exhiUrating si^ht to 
behold the quantity and variety of 
animals issuing from thehr coverts : 
some are driven out reluctantly, 
others force their way back into 
the brake. During this scene of 
developement, rout, and dispersion, 
prodigious havoc is made by the 
fowlers, falconers, and huntsmen, 
whilst the country people and 
children, with sticks and staves, 
either catch or demolish the fawns, 
leverets, wild pigs, and other young 
animals, whidi have returned into 
tiie ceppice. 

Instances occasionally 'occur, 
when the natives of the vicinage 
petition the gentlemen to destroy a 
tiger that has infested the district, 
to the annoyance and devastation 
of their flocks and shepherds, and 
perpetual alarm of the poor cot- 
tagers themselves. Although an 
arduous and perilous adventure, and 
what the gentlemen all profess, in 
their cooler moments, to reprobate 
and decline, yet, when in the field, 
tliey generally comply with the soli- 
citation, and undertake the exploit. 
Their instant animation, not unat- 
tended with emotions of benevo- 
lence and compassion, presently 
supersedes every dictate of pru- 
dence, and, iptte of their predeter- 
mination, they proceed to the 
assault, the villagers aH the while 
standing aloof. If conducted d^ 
berately, with circQmspectitai and 



^Ci» 



BVGLISB XAKHKR OF HUVTIHG IN BEKOAt* 



:v^ith the aid of the seapoys, they 
«oon accomplish tlieir purpose, and 
bring in the most dreadful and for- 
midable of all tremendous beasts, 
amidst the homage and acclama- 
tions of the peasantry. But should 
they lose their presence of mind, 
prolong or precipitate the conflict, 
.act with incaution, or attack the ex- 
asperated and infuriated beast with • 
tumult and confusion, the event Is 
often fatal, by his seizing, lacerat- 
ing, and crushing, every creature 
within his reach; not ceasing to 
rend, tear, claw, and destroy, to 
jthe very moment of his destruction, 
or of his flight. 

Sometimes do the natives intreat 
the gentlemen to rid them of wild 
^uflfaloes, (the largest of all known 
animals, the elephant excepted), 
that have laid waste their cultiva- 
tion ; and at others, to clear their 
vast tanks, or small neighbouring 
lakes, of alligators, which devour 
their fish^ or do mischief on shore. 
So much hazard is not incurred, 
however, by achievements of this 
sort, as from the encounter of a 
tiger ; for though the hides of those 
creatures resist a ball from a firelock 
at common musket distance, they 
are by no means impenetrable to a 
shot from a rifle, or other pieces with 
a chamber, or of a wider calibre. 

A drum, with a banner displayed 
from the hall tent, gives signals to 
the company for their meals. 

Breakfast is a most delightful 
repast : tlie sportsmen return Jteen, 
fresh, ruddy, and voracious ; and 
the appearance of the ladies jn 
fiimple loose attire, the elegant dish-' 
abille of clearest muslin, with plain 
floating ribbons, and dishevelled 
tresses, captivate to fascination. 
Nor is the palate less gratified : 
Englisb) French, Italian, and Dutch 
viands, aU combine to provoke it, 
by a pnoftision of cold victuals, 
salted and dried meats and fish) 
hams, tongues, sausages, hung-beef, 
salladsj chocolate, coffee, tea, fresli 
^ilk,. ]^rcserYCs, fruit, and eggs, 
rendered Vtin more grateful by Ae 
lyst *^priglitly cheerfiilness> and 

Vcral gaiety. 



.ffi 



Afler breakfast, conveyanect of 
different sorts are prepared for an 
airing, not merely for the sake of 
airing only, but to view some natu- 
ral or artificial curiosity or mant»- 
£iicture ; some noted town, distin- 
guished mosque, celebrated pago-» 
da, renowned dirgah, or venera- 
ble mausoleum ; some consecrated 
grove, tlie sequestered residence 
of fakeers, or some extensive 
prospect from the summit of rugged 
clifi^, impending over an expanse 
of water, bordering perhaps a level 
lawn, whose verdure is vaulted only, 
not concealed, by a diffused assem- 
blage of stately columniated palms 
of four different species, tufted and 
foliaged only, in graceful inclina- 
tions at their capitals, all equally 
bmamental, the date, the cocoar 
nut, the beetel, and the palmyra* 

Between the airing and an early 
dinner, the hours are irregularly 
disposed, as chance may dictate, or 
caprice suggest. Some play at 
cricket and quoits, swim, jump, 
fence, t*un a match of horses, or 
shoot at a mark ; whilst otiiei's direct 
the mountaineers and woodmen 
(who rove about in bands for this 
express purpose) where to inveigle^ 
entangle, or kill beasts, birds, fish, 
and snakes, for which tliey are fur- 
nished with variety of implements^ 
such as matchlocks, tiger4x)ws9 
spears, darts in grooves, balls in 
tubes, pcllet'>bow8, limed rods, 
stakes, and bushes ; fascinating al- 
lurements, such as painted, spotted, 
and foliaged sci*eens, bells, net$y 
and torches, bundles of twigs, rushes, 
and reeds, artificial ducks and decoy 
birds, with traps, gins, springs, 
snares, and other stratagems and 
inventions of wonderful enchant, 
ment, ingenuity, mechanism, and 
contrivance. 

It is somewhat extraordinary, 
but nevertheless a fact, the influence 
I'f fascination possessed by the tiger, 
and all of his, (the feline) species, 
over many other creatures. Espied 
by deer particularly, they stop at 
once, as if struck by a spell, while 
the tiger lies still, his eyes fixed oa 
thepi, and quietly waiting their 



XNGLISH MANNZK OF HVNTXNC IN BEKGAL^ 



301 



Approach, which they seldom fail 
to make gradually withiA his spring ; 
for tiie large royal tiger cannot run 
speedily or far. The glow of their 
eyes is fierce and powerful. I 
myself once passed a royal tiger in 
the night near a wood, and could 
plainly perceive the scintillations 
from his eyes. He was deterred 
from approaching us by the light of 
Bambeaux, and the noise of a small 
drum which we carried, and was 
beat by a servant for the purpose of 
scaring him away. 

Wherever tigers roam or couch, 
« number of birdis continually collect 
or hover about them, screaming 
and crying, as if to create an alarm. 
But the peacock seems to be par- 
ticularly allured by him ; for the 
instant a flock of pea-fowl perceive 
him, they advance towards him di- 
rectly, and begin strutting round 
him with wings fluttering, quiver- 
ing feathers, and bristling and ex- 
panded tails. Of this enticement 
the fowlers also make their advan- 
tage ; for, by painting a brown 
cloth screen, with black spots or 
streaks, about six feet square, and 
advancing under its cover, fronting 
the sun, the birds either approach 
towards them, or suffer thetn to 
steal near enough to be sure of their 
mark, by a hole left in the canvas 
for them to fire through. 

Several other instances of , the 
fescination of animals I have myself 
been witness to in Bengal. Three 
or four times, where a line of troops 
were marching in a long uninter- 
rupted series, passed a herd of 
deer ; I observed that when their 
attention was taken off from grazing, 
by the humming murmuring noise 
proceeding from the troops in 
passing, they at first and for a 
while, stood staring and aghast, aa 
if attracted by the successive pro- 
gression of the files, all clothed in 
red. At *length, however, the 
leading stag, *' vir gre^'a ifiae" 
•triking the ground, snorted, and 
immediately rushed forward across 
the ranks, followed by the whole 
collection, to the utter distnay and 
confusion of tlie soldiery : thus 



running into the very danger 09e 
naturally supposes they must have 
at first been anxious to avoid. The 
men, who were apprised by the 
sound of their approach, stopped, 
and made way for theoi. Overthe 
heads of the others,' who were 
heedlees and inattentive, they 
bounded with wonderful agility, and 
fled over the plain. 

Driving one evening along the 
road in a phaeton, and pretty fast, 
I perceived a yoimg heifer running 
near the carriage, witli her eyes 
intently fixed upon one of the hind 
wheels ; by the whirling of which, 
the animal seemed completely 
struck and afiected. Thus pursu- 
ing her object for about a quarter of 
a mile, she, by a sudden impulse, 
rapidly darted forward towards the 
wheel, whidi then striking her 
nose, the attention of the creature 
became interrupted by the violence 
of the friction, and was, of course^ 
withdrawn : she then immediately 
stood still, and presently after 
turned about slowly, and made oSL 

Beyond all other animals, how- 
ever, serpents possess most emi- 
nently this occult power : frequently" 
are they seen revolved on the 
branches of trees, or on the groundf 
meditating their prey, either birds, 
squirrels^ rats, mice, bats, frogSf 
hares, or other animals. 

The ladies, as they are inclinedi 
eitheii read, walk, swing, exercise 
themselves in archery, or at shut- 
tlecock in the groves ; or they sing 
and play in their tents. Others, 
whilst at work, are read to by their 
companions ; of all amusements, 
perhaps, the most delectable. 

At the end of a convivial dinner, 
every soul, provided the weather 
prove sultry, or they find themselves 
fatigued, retire to repose. 

On rising from this siesta, (of 
all listless indulgences the most 
soothing, comfortable, and refresh- 
ing, and certainly most wholesome, 
all animals inclining to sleep after 
nourishment), carriages are again 
in readiness, or light boats, where 
a stream or lake is near, to give 
the company the evening's respira- 



^Nfi 



*XKGLX8H MAITKVR OF BUKTINO IM BXJI^AL* 



tion (uliich the inhabitants of cold- 
er regions taste only in poetical 
description,) breathing health as 
urell as recreation. 

The twilight being short under 
the tropics,' .the day, of course, 
•huts In presently after sun-set, 
when cards and dice become part 
of the evening's entertainment* 
Chess, backgammon, whist, pi- 
quet, tredrille, quint, and loo, 
are the favourite games. These, 
with domestic sports, antics, gam- 
bols, tricks, pranks, and frolics, 
where the humour prevails ; to- 
gether with the sleights of jugglers, 
feats of tumblers, (in which per- 
formances tlie Hindoos are expert 
adepts,) and dances of the natives, 
wile away the time and beguile it 
not unpleasantly to the hour of sup- 
per, the principal meal; when a 
repast, enlivened by every eleva- 
tion of spirit and kindly disposition 
that can conduce to promote good- 
humour and festive hilarityy ter- 
minates the day. 

These parties generally continue, 
with some variation in Uie amuse- 
ments, fifteen or twenty da} 8 ; and 
the dissolution of them is as gene- 
rally lamented, with heart-felt re- 
gret, by the individuals who com- 
pose them. 

Fw the Literary Magazine. 

MEMOIRS OF . 

COUNT DE PARADlfeS. 

{Continued from fiage 115.) 
Parades remained only two 
days at Versailles, then returned to 
London, where finding his vessel 
completely equipped, he took the 
command of her, sailed from the 
Thames to Spithead, where he 
anchored near the English fleet* 

The East-India company having 
received advice, by a swift-sailing 
cutter dispatched nrom a large and 
rich fleet belonging to them, that 
they might then be in soundings, an 
express was forwarded to Admiral 
Keppel, with orders to put to sea 
with the ships under his command 
without delay, for the safe- guard of 
this valuable fleet, and to secure 
its entrance into the English porta 



by every means in his power, bat t* 
avoid engaging the enemy, except 
defensively* 

In the meantime cutters were* 
dispatched to this fleet, with orders 
to its commanders to keep at a di»- 
tance from the coast till joined bj 
Admiral Keppel, or assured from 
him that the passage was clear. 

Advice of this was immediately 
sent by Parades to M. de Sartine, 
and the French fleet under d'Orvil- 
liers put instantly to sea. 

Keppel sailed from Portsmouth 
on the 10th of July, 1778, with 25 
saU of the line, and being joined by 
three more off Plymouth^ his fleet 
consisted of 28 ships of the line of 
batUe. 

This fleet was attended and close- 
ly watched by Parades in his vessel 
of 14 guns, under English colours, 
furnished with suitable ugnals to 
apprise d'Orvilliers of every move- 
ment of consequence. 

The English and French fleets 
discovered each other in the en- 
trance of the Channel, but theN. £• 
winds drove them considerably to 
the westward: the British admiral 
used every practicable mansuvre 
to favour the passage of the India 
ships. On the 2rth of July, the two 
fleets approaching each other, an 
indecisive en^|;ement ensued : the 
Count d'Orvilliers then threw out 
the signal for action, which brought 
on a general engagement that con- 
tinued the greatest part of the day ; 
after which both fleets separated, 
without much damage on either 
side. On tlie morning of the 28tfa, 
the East-India fleet passed over the 
scene of action, and entered the 
Channel in sight of several French 
vessels, which had been disabled in 
the combat* Thb fleet would ine- 
vitably have been taken, had the 
French squadron, or even a division 
of it, continued on the station twen« 
ty-four hours longer. 

The campaign being now nearly 
finished, the Count Parades, unwil- 
ling to remain idle, turned his 
thoughts towards Plymouth: he 
accordingly set sail for that place 
and anchored in the Sound, under a 



xxMoxas or count de parades. 



203 



pretence of wantinr provisions : he 
went on shore prof^sedly to pro- 
cure necessaries, and immediately 
repairing to the citatel, soon recog- 
nized his old friend the sergeant, 
whom he invited on board his ship, 
which invitation was next day 
eagerly excepted. Parades gave 
the sergeant ten guineas, and half a 
dozen bottles of brandy ; and after 
some artful circumlocution, made 
him a direct offer of fifty guineas, 
if he would assist in tran^erring' 
the citadel of Plymouth into the 
power of the French Kin^; and if 
that could be effected by his means, 
the Count would insure to him the 
pa}rment of 10,000/. sterling. 

The sergeant, whose feelings had 
been artfully wrought upon, by a 
comparison between the penury 
and subordination of his present 
life, and the independent opulence 
that awaited him, (in addition td 
the splendid presents he ha4 re- 
ceived,) was prepared for some 
sudi like oflfer, but trembled at the 
greatness of die danger he had to 
encounter. Parades did not give 
him time to reflect ; but putting into 
his hands a solemn promise in writ- 
ing, in the name of the French 
King, for the 10,000/., made him 
completely his own. 

The honest sergeant then received 
his instructions; which were, to 
form a close intimacy with the 
keeper of the colours, and by act- 
ing with caution, to gain him if pos- 
sible ; next, the porter of the gate, 
which might be easily accomplished 
he being a particular intimate of 
the sergeant; but above all, the 
keeper of the signals, on whom no 
expense was to be spared : Parades, 
strongly enjoining prudence and 
secrecy, saw his friend safely on 
shore, and two days after quitting 
Plymouth, arrived in a short time 
at Brest. 

After delivering to the marine 
minister, details of his proceedings, 
M. Parades was gratified with a 
brevet, dated the 31th of August, 
17r9, appointing liim a captain of 
cavalry, witli a pension of 10,000 
llvres. 



The Count then returned to Lon- 
don, where he arrived on the 18th 
of September ; from thence he went 
in a post-chaise to Plymouth, and 
found the flag-keeper and porter 
entirely gained over to his interest; 
for by means of a lodger and friend 
of the keeper, a copy of all the 
friendly signals was procured; to 
each of those persons was assigned 
a pension of 25/. per month. 

The sergeant then undertook, 
should the enterprise be attempted, 
that the great gate should be shut, 
but not locked ; the same was to be 
done at the postern in the angle of 
the bastion, through which the 
troops might defile; he likewise 
engaged to spike the cannon. After 
which Parades, with a handsoni^e 
remuneration, once more took leave 
of his friends. 

After making a tour to Bristol 
and the western seaports, where 
he exercised his usual adroitness in 
gaining useful information, Parades 
again presented his memorials to 
M. de Sartine, who called a coun- 
cil of the ministry to take into con- 
sideration the probable advantage 
that might result from putting his 
plans into execution ; and whether 
it would not be for the interest of 
the state, to take immediate advan- 
tage of the negligence of the ene-; 
my. 

Though the Count's plans were 
approved of by a part, others 
thought some of his narrations al- 
most incredible, and his proposi- 
tions of too romantic a cast. After 
much debate it was at lengUi re« 
solved, that a person who posses- 
sed the confidence of the ministry, 
should be sent to England, for the 
purpose of examining into the truth 
of Parades' reports : M. de Ber- 
thols, an officer of genius, was 
instantly sent for from Calais, where 
he was then employed. On his 
arrival at Paris, and being made 
acquainted with his intended busi- 
ness, he requested twenty-four hours 
to consider of it : but the Prince of 
Montbarrey informing him that the 
cross of St. Le w is, a brevet of lieu te- 
nant-colonel, and a pension of 400O 



304 



MIMOIRS or COUNT DE PARADES. 



livres awdted his acceptance, he 
immediately complied ; and Para- 
des was also promised, if he brought 
back M. Berthois in safety from his 
mission, the cross of St. Lewis, to- 
gether with a pension. 

At the appointed time, they em- 
barked in the vessel belonging to 
Parades, and set sail for England. 
M. Berthois wishing to begin his 
observations with Plymouth, they 
-directed their course to that port, 
■where they arrived on the second 
day of their leaving Brest. As ill 
fortune would have it, the crew 
were drunk at the time of their 
coming to an anchor, and being hail- 
ed from a frigate riding in the 
Sound, demanding tlie vessel's 
name and her destination, the mas- 
ter gave an insolent answer. The 
captain of this frigate slept at Dock, 
and the commanding lieutenant 
being offended at the reply, imme- 
diately ordered the barge to be 
manned, and boarded Parades' ves- 
sel with twenty-five marines under 
urms, demanding to know to whom 
tiie vessel belonged, and the name 
of the fellow who had returned 
such an insolent answer. The terri- 
fied M. de Berthois hid himself 
among the crowd of sailors on the 
deck: the master, confounded at 
the appearance of the marines, im- 
prudently answered, «*The vessel 
belongs to those gentlemen," (point- 
ing to Parades and Berthois, who 
were both dressed as sailors.) The 
lieutenant, astonished, addressing 
himself to Berthois, asked him, if 
he was the owner. He understand- 
ing English very imperfectly, an- 
swered Outy (yes in French,) The 
master was so embarrassed, as to 
be incapable of replying to the 
lieutenant, who said, it was his duty 
to secure them; and they were 
immediately taken on shore, under 
a guard, to Dock. 

By singular good fortune, the of- 
ficer whose duty it was to. examine 
them, was a correspondent of Para- 
des, and likewise on terms of inti- 
macy with the captain of the fi-i- 
gate : the consequence was that by 
means of a draft of 15001. on Para- 



des' banker in London, he otitained 
the release of his people and the 
discharge of his vessel. 

The two adventurers now tliink- 
ing themselves perfectly secure, 
took a lodging and changed their 
dresses. Returning from one of 
their evening walks, they were 
surprised to see a soldier mounting 
guard at the door where they lodged t 
tliough this sight was far from bein^ 
agreeable. Parades with his usual 
effrontery, entered the house, fol- 
lowed by M. Berthois. Here they 
found an old acquaintance of the 
Count, who was an officer of rank 
quartered at Dock, to whom he 
had before made himself agreeable s 
this gentleman reproached Parades 
for not having called uix)n him at 
his quarters, and requested to see 
him and his friend at the barracks ^ 
after which he took his leave. 

The fertile genius of Parades 
immediately saw the use to be made 
of this; M. Berthois was shewn 
every part of the citadel, and from 
the commanding eminence on which 
it is situated, had a favourable op- 
portunity of viewing the dificrent 
branches of the sea, as Hamoaze, 
Catwater, and Sutton Pool ; all of 
which he found tacorrespond exact- 
ly with the descriptions given to 
M. de Sartine. 

In the meantime their vessel wa» 
riding in the Sound, and the Union 
of 90 guns in her passage thither 
being becalmed, and obliged to 
anchor too near the citadel, the 
captain sent to press the boats and 
crews belonging to four vesseb 
then in the Sound, to as&ist in tow- 
ing her off, the crew in Parades* 
was consequently included, except 
his secretary, whom they had just 
time enough to hide in a cask. 

Before they quitted Plymouth, 
Parades, who had frequently pur- 
chased stores at the dock-yard sales, 
and was veil known there in the 
character of an English merchant, 
bought nine condemned French 
vessels for 4,600/. and having resc Id 
them by his agents, cleared by the 
speculation 7000/. sterling,' « 
166000 livres Tourncis. 

{To be coniinued.) 



305 



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Udmhurumera of Six per CenU at the ahove date. 
Brousftt forward, 82,909,636 86 



On 



»iunt torwara, o-^,:n/y,ojv oq 

28.202,007 41fll6 857635-> S> 

ioooooo:f^5,o8r.r40 5r 



On 1Z,677^17 82 a 2 



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S> Unredeemed principal l8tjan.l802, 77,881,890 29 



▼9L« I«.«.KO. Ill 



S06 STATEMEITT Of THE DEBT OF THE UVITEl^ STATES. 



' iC7*The interest on the public 
deot7 including the reimbursement 
of the six per cent, stock, is pay-* 
able quarterly ; either at the seat 
of Government, or the Commis^ 
uoner of loans, where the certifi- 
cates have been issued. 

Transfers and dividends of every 
kind of stock (including that of the 
U. S, Bank, the capital of which 
b, Ten MUHoM ofDoHav divided 
iijto 25^000 shares of 400 dollars 
each, dividends paid in January and 
Jiily,) can be made and received 
everyday hi the wed^; excepting 
that the hcx>ks for transforming 
funded stock, are dosea Ibr fourteen 
days previous to the end of each 
quarter, and for Bank stock in like 
mamter half yearly. 

The reimbursement of old six per 
cents, commenced on the 1st of Jan- 
uary, 1796, and of the new, on the 
1st of January, 1802. On the Ist of 
January, there is 3} per cent, paid 
on the nominal amount, a]id inevery 
succeeding quarter 1\\ making 8 
. per cent, per annum, on account of 
mtetest and principal. On the 1st of 
January 1804, there will have been 
^redeemed of the old sixes 23 11 and 
01^ new 6 37 per cent. 

iivthe Secretary's report of De- 
cember X802, he states, that an im- 
pression >ad been made on the 
public debt M*tj^at year, by thb sale 
of 2,220 U. S. ^nk shares, and 
otherwise, to tbii^ amount of 
5,440,469: 66 dollars, v 

The president in his tiHssage of 
the 17th October 1803, iiOv^ned 
Congress, that the revenue for ^ 
year ending the 30th of September 
1803, amounted to between 11 and 
12 millions, and exceeded the sum 
counted on«...That there was dis- 
charged of the public debt in the 
same period, about 3,100)000 dol- 
lars, isid, ^at by the purchase of 
Louisiana an addition will be made 
to the debt, of nearly 13 millions, 
besides 2 millions which had been 
appropriated ; most of which will 
be payable after fifteen days 

M. M'CoNNEL, Broker. 
Philadelphia, 21st Nov. 1803. 



REPORT....The committee vp-' 

pointed to execute the several acta 
of Gongress to provide more efibc* 
tuaOy for the settlement of the ac^ 
counts between the United States 
and the individual States, report, 
that there is due including interest 
to the Slst day of December, 1789, 
to the states of 
New-HampshireM...M 75yO$^ 
Massachusetts.......... 1,248,801 

Rhode Island........*... 299,511 

Connecticut.....—**.*. 519,131 

New Jersey...........^. 49,030 

South CaroliBa.....M.. 1,205,978 

Georgia •.•••....•«»••.. 19,988 

And there is due including interest 
to the third day of December, 1789, 
from the state of 
New*York.......*.....M. 3,074,846 

Pennsylvania...... 76,739 

Delaware •••...••.••...•.. 612,128 
Maryland .M..........M.. 151,640 

Virginia....M....M....... 100,870 

North Carolina......... 501,082 

Which several sums they, by virtue 
of the authority to them deleigated, 
declare to be the final and conchi- 
sive balances due to and from the 
several states. 



wf deacri/ition of aapetUt <f Coai 
found near Woodcock* 
Th& moimtain which contains 
this coal, is situated about twelve 
miles north-west from Esopus. By 
the people, who reside near itsbase, 
it is called Blue Mountain: the 
coal is found in the horizontal fis- 
sure of an almost perpendicular 
rock, upon the S. E^ part of it, about 
^^]f the distance to its summit, which 
isu^posed to be nearly two miles 
above thelevel of the Hudson Ri- 
ver. The stratum is of various 
thickness, fpOM seven to ten inches 
and Inwards. It i«. visible in dif- 
ferent parts, at considerable dis- 
tances from each other. The incum- 
bent mass of rack is not less than 

twenty feet in depth In one place 

it is of a grey colour, and argiUace- 
ous composition, though s^jparently 
very hard ; in another, it is brown, 
and composed of hprvspu,tal layers, 
easily split or divided. 



A DESCBIPTIOH OF COAL FOTTHD VSAR WOODSTOCK* 



:m 



The coal ^pcan to form a con- 
siderable angle with the strata of 
the rock, and dips into the mountain* 
Its colour is brownish* It yery 
mnch resembles that species of coal, 
which is foutid in Great Britain^ in 
the crevices of rocks ; and generally 
known bv the name of Suturbrand* 
By the Mineralogists it is called 
brown coal, or carbonated wood; 
aome pieces have a glossy lustre* 
It is very brittle* It sinks in wa- 
ter* A small bit of it was kept in 
diluted nitrous acid, for the n)ace 
of two days, which caused it to 
sepKarate and crumble by the appli* 
cation of a gentle force* It disco- 
vers no impression of leaves, nor 
any internal indication of vjegetable 
origin* In some specimens the 
fracture is slaty, in others uneven; 
exposed to the blow pipe It swells, 
and bums very slowly, giving out 
a slightly sulphurous smell*.***A 
small quantity of it was used, some 
vears ago in a forge in this village, 
md was found to give a strong heat, 
vhen mixed withcharcoaL The 
;uide who conducted us up the 
aountain, mentioned, that he late- 
> procured some of iu at the re- 
ciest of a blacksmith, for the pur- 
pse of fbrging an axe.*..Thi8 side 
(f the mountain is the joint proper* 
t' of Major De Zeng, and Capt* 
dark, who intend to blast the rock, 
ii order to discover the .extent and 
qiantity of the coal****lt may not be 
uinteresting to mention,that in the 
lime rock, atthe western extrerair 
y or the stratum of coal, we found 
I luminous etirdi, consisdng of 
alum, silex and iron* 



J'rom the Mw-Tork Commerciat 
jfdvertiaer. 
It has been a subject of contro- 
nrersy, whether intense application 
of mind tends to shorten life* Opi^ 
mons on this point are various, and 
perhaps we may throw light on it 
by an appeal to facts* 

The following list of names has 
been made from a promiscuous 
K^Barcby and the names and ages 



of all men distingiiished by their 
intellectual imprav^nxents, have 
been noticed, as they liave occurred 
to the writer : 

AnctetU Writcru 

GRE£K. 

Age* Died before 
. . Cbruu 

Xenophilos. • - « « • • 169 .•• 
TheQphrastus.* • • i 106 ... S88 

Xenoptuiiics 100 . . . 500 

Democritiu 100 ... 

Isocrates. 98 . . . 338 

ThaOes 92 ... 548 

Cameades 90 ... 

Pyrrho 90 ... 28i 

Sophocles 91 ..^406 

Slmonides 90 ..* 468 

^.eno 97 ... '264 

Pythagoras 90 ... 510 

Hypocrates 80 ... 

Chrysippus 83 ^.. 204 

Diogenes 88 ..« 

Pherycides 85 ..« 

Solon «...«•• £2 • . • 558 

Periander 80 ... 579 

Plato 81 ... 348 

Thucydides 80 ... 391 

Xenophor... 89 ... 359 

Xenocrates....... 81 ... 314 

Polybius 81 ... 134 

Socrates 70 ... 400 

Anaxagoras 72 ... 428 

Euripides 7^ ... 407 

i£schyius 70 ... 456 . 

Aristodc 63 ... 322 

Ana^imander 64 ... 547 

Pindar.... 69 ... 45S 

Grttk Autbort Total .... 30 

Died above a hundred 4 

Above 90 8 

Ditto 80 11 

Ditto 60 ^....•.. 7 

Socrates died prematurely by poison. 

^nciera Writere* 

ROMAN* 

Age. Died hefore 
C£riit, 

Varro 87 .-. 28 

Lucian 80 ... 

Epicurus 73 ... 168 

Cicero 63 ... 43 

[by a violent death. 

Livy 67 A. D IT 

Pliny, the elder 56 ... 79 

[by a violent death. 

Fliny« the younger, 52 ... lU 



906 



AUTHORS....AVCXXVT AVS MODERIT. 



Ovid 59 ... 17 

Honce 57 

Virgil 51B.C... 19 

JMxUm jiuthort on the continent 
qf Eurofie. 

Died, Age. 

Voltaire 1779 ... 85 

Swedenbofirg 1772 ... 83 

Boerhaave 1738 ... 70 

Galilleo 1643 ... 7^ 

Scaliger, J. Cxsar . 1558 ... 74 

Scaltger, J. J 1909 ... 69 

Vossius, J. G 1649 ... 72 

Voftutu, Isaa£.... 1683 ... 70 

Copernicus 1543 ... 71 

Grevius, 1703 ... 71 

Gronovius 1671 ... 58 

Grotios 1645 ... 63 

Erasmus 1536 69 

Thuanus 1617 ... 64 

Spinosa 1677 ... SS 

Hallcr 1777 ... 69 

Kepler 1631 ... 60 

PufTendorf 1693 ... 62 

Leibnitz 1715 ... 69 

Des Cartes 1650 ... 54 

TychoBrahe 1601 ... 55 



Total.... 21 



Above eighty. 
Ditto.... 70 
Ditto.... 50 



EngUah jiuthor; 



Newton..*... 
Whiston .... 

Hoadly 

Burnet 

Hobbes 

Hales 

Hallcy 

Spelman 

Sloane, Hans 
Sherlock. B.. 
Bacon, R.... 

Swift 

Selden 

Locke 

Camden^.... 
Johnson, S... 
Robertson. •• 
Hale, M.... 
Baccn, N. . . . 
Fothergill . . . 
Bacon, F.... 

Milton 

Sherlock, W. 
Sydenham.... 



Bom, 
1642 
1667 
1676 
1635 
1588 
1677 
1656 
1561 
3660 
1678 
1614 
1667 
1584 
1632 
1551 
1709 
1721 
1609 
1510 
1712 
1560 
1608 
1641 
1624 



Died, 
1727 
1762 
1761 
1725 
1679 
1761 
1742 
1641 
1752 
1762 
1694 
1745 
1654 
1704 
1623 
1784 
1793 
1676 
1578 
1780 
11616 
1674 
1707 
1689 



2 

7 
12 



Age. 
. 84 
95 
. 83 
. 85 
92 
84 
85 
80 
92 
84 
80 
78 
70 
73 
72 
75 
72 
67 
68 
68 
66 
66 
66 
65 



Tillotton.... 1630 1694 ••• 6i 

Boyie 1627 1691 ... 65 

Kennicot.... 1718 1783 ... 6$ 

Pope 1688 1744 ... 56 

Steele 1676 1729 ... 53 

Addison 1672 1719 ... 47 

Spenser 1553 1599 ... 45 

Total.... 31 

Above ninety 3 

Ditto.... 80 8 

Ditto.... 70 6 

Ditto 45 14 

That country is esteemed veiy 
healthy, in which fifteen penonfl to 
a hundred bom, arrive to 70 years 
of age. Among the emment Greek 
authors, 17 of 30 arrived to that 
age. llie fact is almost incredible* 
But the climate and modes of life 
practised b^ the old Greek philo- 
sophers, will bring the &ct within 
the compass of belief 

The ages of the Roman writers 
indicate a less salubrious climate, 
or more luxurious habits of life, or 
both. 

The ages of the modem writers 
far surpass the due proportion. O 
21 authors on the continent, nin< 
reached the age of 70....or almos 
half..».whereas, the usual propor 
tiim is not more than an eighth, or . 
seventh at most. 

Of 31 English authors, 17, c 
more than half, died above 70* 

These results do not justify th 
opinion that intense applicatia 
abridges human life. It is probt- 
ble, however, that the uousal prt» 
portion of learned men who live U 
a great age, may be in part as 
cribed to their temperate habits a 
life....and to an original firmnesi 
of constitution. Their great inteJ. 
lectual acquirements, and their oil 
are, may not improbably be thi 
effect of a common cause— the or* 
ginal organization of the body. 

RUSTICUS. 

JProm the JsTew-York Commerdd 
jfdvertueTt 

PROGRESS OF POPCLATIOW. 

The following table exhiUta 
certain results from the census of 



PROGRESS or POPULATION* 



%d 



ISOO, which are Interesting to the 
inquiries hito the state and progress 
of pc^ation in the United States, 
as also into l&e longevity of the in- 
habitants in different districts or 
portions of territory. The first 
column gives the number of free 
persons under ten years of age in 
each state, and each district of the 
state, which are divided in the of- 



ficial report published by congress ; 
the second gives the propiortion 
which that number bears to a 
hundred of the whole population ; 
the third exhibits the number of 
persons above forty-five years of 
age, in each state and district ; and 
the fourth, the proportion of that 
number to a hundred : 



Under 10. pro. to bund. 

New-Hampshire 60.565133 17-182 

Maine 54.896 36 54-150 

Massachusetts 124.566 39 381-416 

Connecticut 73,682 30 36-244 

Vermont 57,692 37 74-253 

Rhode-Island 19,469 29 49-065 

New-York 195,ii70 S5 139-555 

New-Jersey 66,522 34 45-194 

East-Pennsylvania 103,943 32 276-316 

West- Pennsylvania 98.907 36 166-270 

Delaware 15,878 31 42-049 

Maryland 71,454 33 40-222 

East-Virginia 113.993 33 156-340 

West-Virginia 67.327 37 147-177 

North-Carolina 122,192 36 59-337 

South-Carolina 72,075 36 143-296 

Georgia 38,248:37 85-101 

Kentucky 72,223.40 27-179 

Tennessee 27,677l4l 7-091 



abone 45 pronto buni 



23,857 
16,380 
66,688 
39,803 
15,125 
10.535 
60.506 
24,229 
40.253 
31,827 

4,603 
24.305 
38.318 
26,303 
36.202 
19,681 

8.851 
16.313 

7,616 



13 6-182 
10 138-150 
16 5-416 
16 64-344 
9 127-153 
16 8-65 
10 499-555 

12 91-194 

13 221-316 
12 211-279 

9 11-49 

10 210-222 

11 84-340 

14 177-177 
10 244-337 
10 

8 76-101 

9 12-197 
8 27-91 



From the foregoing table, if the 
figures are correct, result the fol- 
lowing observations : 

1st. The states, and parts of 
states which contain new land, and 
are now settling, contain the 
greatest proportion of children*... 
witness Maine, New-York, Ver- 
mont, &c This fact evinces, that 
the migration to the new lands are 
chiefly by the young and middle 
aged....and that such hardy, labo- 
rious people are most prolific* 

2d. The excess of children in 
Kentucky and Tennessee, demon- 
strates, in addition to the forego- 
ingconsiderations, the mildnessand 
silubrity of the climate, which are 
favourable to the rearing of child- 
ren. 

Sd. The greatest proportion of 
persons above 45 years of age, are 
in Massachusetts, Connecticut, and 
Rhode-Island.. ..and in these, the 
lughest fraction is in Connccticut,t«. 



this arises from two causes..*.first, 
these states have no uncultivated 
lands, and of course are continually 
sufiering a loss of young persons 
by emigration.«..and second, the 
salubrity of the climate. As these 
states have the greatest proportion 
of old people, so they have the 
smallest proportion of those under 
ten years of age«...and it is observ- 
able how nearly this proportion is 
the same in three states. Of the 
three, however, Connecticut has 
not only more old people, but more 
young..*.and hence is proved to be 
either the most healthy, or it is 
demonstrated that her state society 
is most favourable to long life, by 
afifording to all conditions of people 
the best m^ans of subsistence, and 
by restraining the vices wliich 
shorten life. 

4th. From the northern to the 
southern extremity of the union, as 
there are more children under tcoi 



910 



PEOOBiaS 07 POFULATIOV* 



SO tbeve ave fewer peraons above 
45, as we prooeed southward. •••«Q 
ih&t Georgia has but half the pro- 
portion of elderly peraoos as Con- 
BecticuU Itisobaervable^however, 
that the difference b chiefly in the 
iat country «* for in the western^ 
and of course mountainous parts of 
VirKinia, the persons above 4Sy are 
to those in the eastern states, as 14 
to 16 ; while the proportion in the 
eastern district, and in Maryland, 
is onty as 11 and 10 to 16. This 
shows the salubrity of a hilly 
country, and its preference over 
plains and low gprounds. 

In making mrther comparisons 
and deductions on this subject, a 
philosophical mind may find much 
amusement and useful information. 
One striking fact deserves notice. 
In the six northern and eastern 
states, which cover the territoipr 
north of the 40th degree of lati- 
tilde, there are someu'hat more 
than hatf a million of persons under 
ten years of age....and more than 
two hundred thousand above 45.«.. 
In the sik ssuthern and western 
states, there are nearly the sama 
numbers under ten, but not so many 
above 45, by a fourth, or more than 
fifty thoiuand souls ! 

It is a remarkable fact, that the 
proportion of all who are above 45 
in the eastern states, is almost ex- 
actly the same as the proportion of 
persons who reach Uie age of 70 
f^ears, viz, 16...«The number of 
persons out of each hundred bom, 
who die at 70 or upwards, is in 
Kew-England between 15 and 16.... 
the number living above 45, is 16, 
and a fraction to each hundred* 



• I^rom the Prmtidence Gazette* 

AORICULTfTRAL REPORT 

For the State t^f Rhode^hlandj 
Anno 1803* 
This has been rather a singu- 
lar season. We had sleighing from 
the 20th to the 23d of April, and 
sharp frosts continued, with only 
two intermissions, till the 8th <» 



May. On that day the ground wss 
agam covered with snow. About 
20 miles westward of Providence, 
the SDOW covered tiiegronnd to the 
depth of five inches on a leveL On 
the 10th of May there was ice oct 
the water half an ioch thick I and 
tfie frost made its appearance seve- 
ral times in the course of the month, 
particularly on the 29th day. We 
had frost again on the 7th of Sep- 
tember, so Aat we were free from 
it only three months and eight days. 
There was not a sufficiency of rain 
north-west of Bristol befi>rethe 23d 
6[ July, but from that day till the 
Itth of August, a great quantity 
fiell everywhere. Since then, rain 
has been much wanted. The pas- 
tures have suffered much thnnigh 
the whole season....in the qyring, 
from the cMd and want of rain ; 
and in the fall from the dry weather* 
The after-seed has been generally 
cut off, which is much against the 
farmers ; as the crop of hay was 
^ort. The products of the year 
may be stated as follow : 

Haym In some places the crop 
was promising till the last week in 
June...but we then had several days 
of very harsh drying weather, 
witho\^t dew, which was very inju- 
rious to the grass. It never reco- 
vered the check it I'eccived, and 
in most places there was not more 
than hal f a common crop. The very 
best land sufibred considerably. 
Oats sowed for fodder, suflered 
more than the grass. These, and 
a great portion of hay, were much 
damagedby the rains. Com fodder 
is abundant, and never was better. 

Rye. Winter rye was tolerably 
good, but summer ryefiuled^totally^ 
m many places. 

Flaxm l*his article seems to be 
nmou/, in this state. The crop 
never was worse than this year, it 
being almost destitute of coating.' 
There will be a considerable quan- 
tity of good seed. 

Peaches. In warm situations none, 
but they were plenty in very cold 
places*. 

* I presume that this paradoxical 
circumstance is to be accounted for ia 



AGRICULTURAI. R£FQST. 



ftn 



Corn. Before the rain set in, 
Almost every one had g^iven up tins 
com for lo6t«...the prospect was 
truly discouraging*, .tbut the rain 
had a most surprising effect on it. 
On warm rich land it never grew 
with greater rapidity, and the crop 
is very great*««.but on cold land, 
where the growth was slower, it 
did not fill out quick enough to 
escape a check from the frost on 
the 7th of SeptemberM..there it is 
light... .but upon the whole the cn^ 
is an extraordinary one. 

Afiple: Many orchards have 
lailcMl this year, but others have 
been successful ; and it appears that 
iBore cider will be made in this, 
than in either of the three preced- 
ing years* 

pQtato9» We hear many com- 
plaints of their having feiled.... 
but, on some kinds of land, they 
have succeeded very well, and 
doubtless our market will be well 
supplied with them. 

Tobacco, Remarkably good. 

Vegetfd)le9. They have suffered 
considerably from the dry weather. 
Green Peas were scarce, and sold 
high....but upon the whole, we had 
a tolerable supply. 

A Fabkek* 



ANECDOTES 

or BENJAMIN COUNT RUMFORD* 

Sir Benjamin employed the 
four first years of his abode at Mu- 
nich in acquiring the political and 
statistical knowledge necessary for 

this way : wc had some warm sultry 
weather in January, which put the 
buds into motion on the trees in shel- 
tered places » and warm land ; and the 
coU weather which succeeded, killed 
them ; but in cold places, where the 
bods did not surt in the winter, the 
peaches were safe. The season ope- 
rated on apples much in the same 
way. A great many trees bore fruit 
on tha north tide. It is said the fruit 
to the southward wascntirely«de8troy- 
cd by the coldneit of the spring. 



realizing the plana trhkh h^.phi-' 
lanthropy suggested to him for im- 
proving the condition of the lower 
orders. He did not neglect in the 
meantime his favourite studies and 
it was in tlie year 1766, in a jour-^ 
ney to Manheim, that he made his 
first experiments on heat. Politi- 
cal and literary honours poured in 
upon him during that interval. In 
1785 he was made Chamberlain of 
the Elector, and admitted a mem- 
ber of the academies of science of 
Munich and Manheim* In 1786 he 
received from the King of Poland 
tlie order of St. Stanislaus ; in 1787 
he made a journey to Prussia, dur- 
ing which he was elected a member 
of the academy of BerUn. In 1788 
he was appointed major-general 
of cavalry and privy counsellor of 
state. He was placed at the head 
of the war department, and parti- 
cularly charged with the execution 
of the plans whidi he had proposed 
for improving the state of the Bava- 
rian army. 

At last, the following year (1^89) 
witnessed the accomplishment of 
the numerous projects meditated, 
during those which preceded. The 
house of industry of Manheim was 
established ; the isUnds of Mulhan 
near Manheim, which till that time 
bad been nothing but a pestilential 
morass, useless for culture and per- 
nicious to the health of the inhabit- 
ants of the city, were joined toge- 
ther, surrounded by a mound and 
ditch, and transformed into a fertile 
garden, consecrated to the industry- 
of the garrison. The fine esta- 
blishment of the military academy 
of Munich was founded ; a scheme 
of military police was founded to 
deliver the country from the nume- 
rous gangs of vagabonds, robbers, 
and beggars, who infested it : schools 
of industry, belonging to every regi- 
ment, were established, to employ 
the wives and children of the sol- 
diers ; a veterinary school was in- 
stituted, and a stud of horses pro- 
vided for improving the breed of 
the country. 

At the beginning of the year 1790 
the house of industry at Munich, 



313 



AVECDOTKS OF COUNT RUMTORD. 



that fine establishment, which the 
Count himself has described at 
length in his essays, was formed, 
for bettering the condition of the 
poor; and mendicity was complete- 
ly abolished : nor has it again made 
its appearance in Bavaria since that 
memorable epoch. The beautiful 
Elnglish garden of Munich was be- 
gun, and military gardens establish- 
ed in all the garrisons. The sove- 
reign exi>res8ed his obligation for 
these numerous services,by confer- 
ring on Sir Benjamin the rank of 
lieutenant-general of his armies, 
and giving him a regiment of artil- 
lery. 

mh 1791 he was created a Count 
of the Holy Roman Empire, and 
honoured with the order of the 
White Eagle, He employed that 
year and the following in complet- 
mg his projects, in removing the 
obstacles by which attempts were 
made to interrupt their progress ; 
in a word, since the truth should be 
spoken, in resisting the attacks of 
enemies who envied hb success* 
This species of labour, and the anx- 
iety of mind inseparable from it, 
impaired his health to such a de- 
gree, that his physicians declared 
Uiat his hfe was m danger, unless 
he retired for some time from busi- 
ness, and had recourse to a change 
of climate. He obtained permis- 
uon from the elector to take a jour- 
ney into Italy ; and before leaving 
him, communicated, in a detailed 
account, the principal results of his 
four years administration, compar- 
ed with the four years which had 
preceded his entrance into office. 

The joum^ lasted sixteen months. 
Count Rumford, after having tra- 
velled over all Italy, and a part of 
Swisserland, returned to Bavaria in 
the month of August, 1794. He had 
been attacked with a dangerous ill- 
ness in Naples, and his slow reco- 
very did not permit him to resume, 
on his return, the transaction of the 
business of his department, over 
which he contented himself with 
exercising a general superintend- 
ance* He laboured in lus closet ; 



and it was at this time that he pre- 
pared the first five of the essays 
which he has published. 

In the month of September, 1795, 
he returned to Eng^Uuid, after wa 
absence of more than eleven years. 
The principal object of his journey 
was to publish his essays, and to 
direct the attention of the English, 
nation towards the plans of public 
and domestic economy which he 
had conceived, and reaUxed in Ger- 
many. One of the most respectaUe 
men in England, lord Pelham, now 
one of the ministers, was then secre- 
tary of state in Ireland. The Count 
complied with his invitation in the 
spring of 1796, and took that occa- 
sion of visiting that interesting coun- 
try. He introduced, at Dublin, 
several important improvements 
into the hospitals and houses of 
bdustry, and left there modeb of a 
number of useful mechanical inven- 
tions. They were the first objects 
that struck mv attention when I 
visited the Society of Dublin. 

Every testimony of honour and 
gratitude was lavished upon him in 
this country. The royal academy 
of Ireland, the society for the en- 
couragement of arts and manufac- 
tures, both elected him an honorary 
member : and after having left the 
country, he received a letter of 
thanks from the grand jury of the 
county of Dublin, an official letter 
from the lord mayor of the city, and 
one from the lord lieutenant of Ire- 
land. These pieces, all of which I 
have seen, are filled with the most 
flattering expressions of esteem 
and of gratitude. 

On his return to London, he di« 
rected the alterations, which had 
been adopted, on his recommenda- 
tion, in the foundling-hospital, and 
he presented to the board of agri- 
culture several machines, as models 
for imitation. 

^ ITie philanthropic activity which 
distinguished this epocii of his life 
manifests itself in evtfry form. It 
was at this time he placed in the 
English and American fonds, two 
sums of lOOOU sterling each, U 



ANECDOTfcS Of COUNT KUUFORD. 



sy. 



establish a premium to be given eve- 
ry two vears to the author of the most 
"Useful discovery, made respectively 
in Europe or America, on light or 
heat. The premium is a g:old medal 
-worth 1500 francs. It must be ad- 
judged in Europe by the royal so- 
ciety of London, and in America by 
the academy of sciences of Ame- 
rica. 

Nothing seemed sufficient to with- 
draw him from these tranquil and 
important occupations, when the 
events of war called upon him to 
display his military talents for the 
service of his adopted country. 
General Moreau having crossed the 
Rhine, and defeated several bodies 
of soldiers, who disputed him its 
passage, advanced by quick marches 
to Bavaria. Count Rumford, on re- 
ceiving this intelligence, immedi- 
ately set out to join the elector. His 
arrival at Munich was eight days 
previous to the epoch when the 
sovereign was called upon to quit 
his residence, and to take refuge in 
Saxony. Rumfbrd remained in 
Munich, with instructions from the 
elector to wait events, and to act 
according to the exigency of cir- 
cumstances ; they were not long in 
requiring his interffercnce. After 
tiie battle of Friedberg, the Aus- 
trians repulsed by the French, fell 
back upon Munich ; the gates of the 
city were shut against them. They 
marched round it, passed the Inn, 
by the bridge, and ported themselves 
on the other side of the river, on a 
height which commanded the bridge 
and the town, lliere they erected 
batteries, and firmly waited for the 
French. In tliis situation, some 
inconsiderate transactions which 
happened in Munich, were inter- 
preted by the Austrian general as 
an insult pointed against himself, 
and he demanded an explanation of 
th^n from the council of regency, 
threatening to order the town to be 
fired upon, if a single Frenchman 
entered the city. At this critical 
moment, the Count made use of the 
eventual ordei-s of the Elector, to 
take the command in chief of tlie 

TOL» 1..«|K0. Hit 



Bavarian forces. His firmness and 
presence of mind awed botli par- 
ties ; neither the French nor the 
Austrians entered Munich ; and 
that city escaped all the dangers 
with which it had been threatened. 
On the return of the elector, he 
was i>laced at the head of the de- 
partment of the general police in 
Bavaria. The services which he 
rendered in that capacity, though 
less brilliant than his military ex- 
ploits, have been neither less valua- 
ble, nor less conspicuous. But the 
excessive labour to which his zeal 
and activity betrayed him, the op» 
position which he often experienced 
in the exercise of his office, again 
affected his health to such a degree, 
as threatened his life. The elec- 
tor impressed with esteem and gra- 
titude towards him, wished not to 
allow him to sink under a labour too 
severe for him, and desired to find 
the means of procuring him the 
repose which he required, without 
altogether depriving himself of his 
services : he appointed him his en- 
voy extraordinary and minister 
plenipotentiary at the court of Lon- 
don. But the rules of England not 
permitting a subject of the king to 
be accredited as a foreign minister, 
the Count has not exercised tliat 
office, and has lived, since his re- 
turn to England in 1798, as a private 
individual. 

Meanwhile it was reported in 
America that hehad quitted Bavaria 
forever, and the government of the 
United States addressed to him, 
through the medium of the Ameri- 
can ambassador at London, a formal 
and official invitation to return to 
his native country, where an honour- 
able establishment was destined for 
him. The offer was accompanied 
with the most flattering assurances 
of consideration and confidence. 
He replied, declaring at the same 
time his profound gratitude for such 
a mark of esteem, " That eiy^age-. 
mcnts, rendered sacred and invio- 
lable by great cbligatlons, did not 
permit liim to disjiose of himFclf in 
such a manner as to be aUc W 



214 



ANECDOTES OF COUNT RUMF9RO« 



accept of the oflfer which was made 
to him." There remains nnt, sure- 
ly, in that reciprocril language, tlie 
least mark of enmity ; ami the His- 
torical Society of Massachusetts, on 
electing Count Rum ford a member, 
coramumcated to him, by their pre- 
sident, al^out the same time, their 
unanimous desire of seeing him re- 
turn to his own country, and take 
up his rcs^idence among them. His 
answer, which is to I>e found in tlie 
American paj)crs of Uiat time, was 
very much admired. 

Towards the autumn of 1800, 
Count Rumford went to Scotland. 
The magistrates of Edinburgh paid 
him a visit of ceremony ; gave a pub- 
lic dinner on his accoimt,and to these 
m.^rkTof distinction added tlie free- 
dom of the city, conceived in terms 
the most flattcrini^. l!hey consult* 
ed him on the means of improving 
the existing charitable institutions, 
and on tlio measures proper for 
abolishing mendicity. The work 
was luulertaken without loss of 
tin.e, and that great enterprise was 
finished in a few months with com- 
plete success. In Edinburgh, beg- 
giirs are no longer seen, and all the 
j)(>or tit ffir work are become indus- 
trious. The royal society of Edin- 
burgh, and the college of physicians, 
elected hnn at the same time, re- 
spectively, an honorary member, 
and the university l)cstjnwcd upon 
hrn the degree of doctor of laws. 
The dipUiUia was inserted in the 
Kuiii!)urgh newspapers; it is writ- 
ten in the nn)st eler.mt Latin, and 
rrronnts sliprtly aiul truly tlic obli- 
gations of humcnity towards my 
illustrious friend. 

He employed himself duriiig his 
stay in that city in superiutcii:ling 
the cxccut'Mu, ir the gi e;it est:i!:li-.h- 
ment of Hcrioi's hosj;ital, of the 
jn;p! ovcmcnts which he has in\ enl- 
ed with rc'iri.nl to the cmpU>\ ment 
of fuel in the prcpjiration of food. 
1 nivbclt ha^ e heard the high appi o- 
balif'vi '.viih which tl.e c>.ok ct this 
h V T>iuil sjjf5.:ks oi these improAe- 
mr^t^. 1 have herure me a more 
rcj-pt'vt.'.ble te-iinojiV and in .ij)pro- 
b^iion oi whiciv the grounds are 



better expressed, on the same sub* 
ject. It is a letter lately received 
from Mr. Jackson, one of the chief 
manage IS of the hospital, to the 
author of these improvements* The 
foliowing is a copy of it : 

Edinbur^hj Jtdy 21, 1801. 

« MY DKAR SIR, ^ 

*' In order to aflbrd you the most 
exact information with regard to the 
result of the preparations made 
in Heriot's hospital, I have thought 
it better to let a considerable time 
elapse, that their utility might be 
the better confirmed. 1 have now 
the satisfaction of informing you, 
that an experience of six months 
proves with certainty, that the 
same operations are executed with 
a sixth part only of the fuel which 
was employed before. The sav- 
ing, however, will be onty two- 
thirds, because the price of char- 
red coal (coak) is nearly double that 
of the fiiel which was used before. 
I assure you too, with much plea- 
sure, that the victuals are much 
better dressed than before, and 
with ofie half less trouble to the 
servants. In a word I cannot ex- 
press to you the convenience, the 
neatness, and the saving, which 
distinguish the improvements intro- 
duced into the hospital under your 
direction. The kitchen, the wash- 
ing-room, and the drying-room, are 
so admirably contrived, that in my 
humble opinion, it would be impos- 
sible to improve them. 

The Lord-Provost and th^ Ma- 
gistrates join me in acknowledg- 
ments. 

« JAMES JACKSON.*' 



SPECIMENS OF LITERARY RK- 
SEMBLANCE. 

{Continued from /lage 124.] 

LETTER II. 
MY DEAR P. 

The subject, touched upon in my 
labt, has taken such strong hold of 



SPECIMENS OF LITERARY RESEMBLANCE. 



215 



my imagination, that T cannot for- 
bc^ recalling your attention to it. 
I do this with the less scruple, as I 
do not mean to trouble you witli 
any of those " vulgar fia^ages" 

Wluchthe LEARNED CRITIC, with 

a delicacy highly commendable, 
** 9partd his friend the dUguat of 
coimdering. Under this restric- 
tion, it may not be unentertaining 
Jo see in what manner writers of 
the first rank, and acknowledged 
abilities, imitate their predeces- 
sors so, as to make what they bor- 
row appear their own. You will 
not, I apprehend, require any apo- 
logy from me, for suspending awhile 
the design, with which I seemed to 
set out. I see no reason why, in 
our conversation or correspondence 
with each other, we should confine 
ourselves within any 'one certain 
track. Whatever subject may ac- 
cidentally be started in our way, we 
are, I think, at full liberty to follow, 
whithersoever it may lead ; and to 
continue the pursuit, so long as it 
affords amusement. 

We have often, you will recollect, 
read together, and been as often 
charmed with the introductory 
stanza to the first of Mr. G ray's 
two Pindaric Odes....the Progress 
of Poetry : where you have these 
admirable lines : 

Now the rich stream of music winds 
along, 

Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong ; 

Through verdant vales, and Ceres' 
golden reign : 

Now rolling from the steep amain, 

Hradlong imj^tumis see it pour ; 

Tlie rocks and nodJing groves rebel- 
low to the roar. 

The great excellencies of die sub- 
limcst poetry arc here united, with 
an ease and cU'giiuce which give to 
the composition so much the air of 
an original, that none of ^ir. Gray's 
editors, or commentators on his 
works, seem to have suspected an 
imitation- 
Mr. Mason, who appears to have 
been suflTicicntly assiduous in biing- 
ing together every sentiment, or 
expression » from other auihois. 



bearing resemblance to any part of 
the writings of his respected friend, 
has produced no parallel to this 
exquisitely beautifiil passage. 

Mr. Wakefield has also given U6 
an edition of Mr. Gray's poems, 
enriched with many valuable and 
interesting notes : in which he pro- 
fesses " not to be sparing of quota- 
tions from the poets," and conceiyes 
" no author to be a more proper 
vehicle for remarks of this sort, at 
once usefiil and entertaining," than 
Mr. Gray :" yet, in all his extensive 
range through tlie fields of- classic 
lore, he notices only one or two 
slight resemblances. 

Having thus taken the liberty of 
introducing Mr. Wakefield, I can- 
not suffer so favourable an opportu- 
nity to escape me, without return- 
ing to that candid and discerning 
critic my warmest thanks ; in whicli 
I am persuaded I shall be joined by 
every friend to genius, and lover of 
the muses, for his very able and 
spirited defence of the Britijh Pin- 
dar against the illibei*al attacks of a 
prejudiced commentator ; whose 
puerile strictures on these divine 
poems certainly cast a shade on his 
literary character. 

Even Dr.Johnson himself, willing, 
as he evidently wasyfrom whatever 
cause^ to degrade the high charac- 
ter which Mr. Gray deservedly 
held, of an original writer, with 
uncommon powers of fancy and in- 
vention, and, therefore, ever on the 
watch to detect any latent imita- 
tion, has been able to discover no 
instance of similar composition. 

Now allow me to submit to your 
consideration the following lines, 
wtiich, I am inclined to believe you 
have already in imaginntion antici- 
pated, from one of tlie sublimest 
Odes in Horace : 

Quod adest, memento 

Comptnicve a(]iiuj. Civtera Hiiminis 
Ritu IcruritiiT, nunc medio ulveo 

Cum j.acL* dclabcntis Eiruscum 

In niufc ; nunc lajndes adcsos 
Stirjjcquc raptas, et ]jccus, ct domes, 
^<.lvcnt".s una; non s;ne nnmtium 

CLmore, >ic;nx(jiic svlvjr. 

B. 111. O. 29. 



210 



sPEcmKVs or litkiaat bbsbmblavcb. 



With tUi stanza before ut, will 
there not arise in the mind some* 
thing like 9U9picion^ that Mr. 
Gray, when he wrote the fine lines 

3 noted above, had hU eye on Horace ? 
lUow me to mark the principal 
features of resemblance. \Ve have 
In each poet a stream, applied by 
the one to the various forms of 
poetrj-, by the other to the vicissi- 
tudes of human afiiiirs, with espe* 
cial reference to political revolu- 
tions* It is conducted by both, first 
in a course of placid serenity, then in 
torrents of rapid impetuosity ; and 
marked at tlie close, by the same 
striking and impressive conse- 
quence. I 

" The rocks and aodding groves re-' 
bellow to the roar." 

Ven' nearly a verbal translation of 
the Latin text, 

" Non sine montium 

*' Clamore, vicinxque sylvx." 

Here is certainly in these two pas- 
sages an extraordinary coincidence 
of thought and imagery. In addi- 
tion to which, the varying circum- 
stances, described in boUi, follow 
each other exactly in the same or- 
der. The attentive reader will 
however discover, under this gene- 
ral similitude,* a considerable dif- 
ference in tlie mode of composition 
between the British and tlie Roman 
Pifndar. Enough, perhaps you will 
think, to remove all appearance of 
direct imitaticn. It is most proba- 
ble that Gray, without recurring to 
the text of Horace, has only copied 
from the traces, which a fi*equent 
perusal had left upon his memory. 
This hypothesis will appear more 
credible, when we analyze tlie dif- 
ferent forms of composition. W hile 
the stream of Horace glides quietly 
into the Etrus-can ocean, with no 
other distinction than that uf gen- 
tlencLs, 

** C«w/>flce ddabentisElruicum 
" In marc ; 



the Stream of Grmy winds Bkngiritk 
a marked character, ^)pn^»riate to 

his subject: 

^Decp, majestic, smooth, and steo^i;." 

Mr. Gray gives also peculiar graof 
and beauty to the piece, by his sky- 
fid use of tlie metaphorical style, 
blending the simile with the subject, 
so much in the manner of Pindar ; 
and not making, as Horace has 
done, a formal comparison of the 
one with the other. 

I cannot here resist the tempta- 
tion of recalling to your recollection 
an exquisitely fine passage in the 
book of Psalms ; in whidi similar 
imagerv is applied, under the same 
form, m a manner most awfiiUy 
sublime. It is where the divinely 
inspired poet, magnifying the God 
of his salvation, describes, in the 
true spirit of Eastei*n poetry, his 
protecting power as follows : 

•* Who stillest the ragtj^ <>f the Mea, 
and the noise of his waves, and th# 
tnaduett (f the people " 

Psalm Ixv. V. 7. 

Pope has, in many instances, adopt- 
ed this graceful manner ; and in 
none more successfidly than in that 
celebrated address to his guidej 
philosopher, and friend, in th» 
Essay on Man, £p.'iii« 

'' Oh ! while along the stream of time 

thy name, 
" Expanded, flies, and gathers all its 

fame ; 
" Say, shall my little bark attendant 

sail, 
" Pursue the triumph, and paruke 

the gale V 

It will be rather a matter of curi». 
osity, if I do not appear too trifling, 
to see how this beautiful passage 
would read, taken out of metaphori 
and delivered in the plain compara- 
tive form. I will endeavour to ren- 
der it in this form, as correctly as 

may be Oh ! while your name 

flics abroad along^ the course cf time, 
and gatliers all its fame, like a sliip 
going down the stream, and, '\\itk 



AFECIVEVS OF LITERART RESSHBLAXCS. 



2i7 



^laptMSkd ails, gathering* as it goes, 
the wind ; say ! shall I attend, like 
A little bark, pursue the triumph, 
and share in your fame, as the little 
bark partakes the gale, which 
awelia the canvass of the larger 
vessel ? You will not, I trust, require 
any fiirther coviment to ascertain 
the respective merits attached to 
these different* forms of compo- 
sition* 

Mr. Gray, it will be seen, has 
still further improved upon the 
Roman bard, by the addition of 
those verdant vales, and golden 
fields of com, through wliich, in 
the first division of his subject, he 
conducts the peaceful stream : 

Through verdant vftles and Ceres' 
golden reign. 

In the second division he simply 
describes it, now swollen into an 
overflowing river, rolling impetu- 
ously down the steep descent/ 
which Horace emphatically ex- 
presses from Homer, by the effects. 

You, who are wont to view all 
works of taste with so correct and 
critical an eye, cannot £ail to observe, 
and at the same time to admire, the 
masterly skill of these great artikts 
in the execution of their separate 
designs. 

In Mr. Gray's Ode, the varying 
movements of music, or poetry, 
are very happily illustrated by the 
inconstant cnrrent of a riter ; as- 
suming in different places, a dif- 
ferent character; presenting you 
by turns, either with rich and beau- 
tiful prospects, in sootliing com- 
posure; or rousing the mind into 
emotions of wonder and astonish- 
ment, by scenes of a bolder feature ; 
rolling, with the roar of thunder, 
down broken rocks and precipices. 

The imagery of Horace is equally 
well cho&cn, and suiied tu his 
purpose. His object was the course 
of events, which altet iiAlely take 
place in a popular government, at 
onetime peaceful and oiderly, dis- 
pensing case, security, and happi- 
ness to all around ; at another, ir- 
regular^ tumultuous, and turbulent, 



marking its progress with terror 
and destruction ; like thechang-efui 
course of a river, the Tiber for 
instance, which was daily in liis 
view, flowing at one time quietly 
and equably within its accustomed 
banks, atanotlier, 

" Cum fera diluvies quietos 
*< Irritat amnes ;" 

raising its swollen waves above afl 
bounds, breaking witli irresistible 
fury through all obstacles, and, 
with wide-spreading desolation, 
bearing down every thing in its way : 

....*' lapides adescs, 
'* Stirpesque raptas, et pec us, et do- 

mos." 

It is the more remarkable that 
Dr. Johnson should have overlooked 
this apparent imitation, when he 
has chosen, with Algarotti, he says, 
to consider the Bard as an imitation 
of the Prophecy of Nereus. This 
is more than Algarotti anywhere 
affirms. In his letter to Mr. How, 
he says th:it tlie Bard is very far 
superior to the Prophecy of Nereus* 

" Che quel vaticinio mi sembra di 
graniuuga kuperioreal vaticinio di 
Nereo supra lu eccidio Oi Troia." 

In whidi opinion Dr. Johnson does 
not seem equally disposed to concur 
with the learned Italian. 

This Is a question which does not 
admit of argument. If there be a 
man who can bear the sudden 
breaking fortli cf those terriAc 
sounds in tlie exordium, at which 
alout Gloucester Htood aghaaty and 
Mor tinier cried to artna^ and not 
thrill with horror: if tliere be a 
man, who can behold tlie awi'ul 
figure of the bard, in hisi aaola 
•veatmentSy wiih his haggard tyea^ 
hi« looae deardj and /loary huiry 
which 

** Streamed like a meteor tj the troubleJl 
air;" 

and hear him 



S18 



SPKCIMEHB OF LITEIARY RKSBMBLAMCE; 



•* StrUe the deep wmmM ofbu iyrt/* 

without emotion : this man, if such 
a man there be, has no feelings, to 
which a critic on the works of a 
great poet can apply. It were as 
vain and useless to converse with a 
man of this description on such 
subjects, as to commune with a deaf 
man on the enchantments of music, 
or with one blind on the charms of 
beauty. 



BISTORT OF 

• PHILIP DEUAVYN, 
( Continued Jrom/iage 152, J 

" What had I,....thc outcast of 
•ociety...,tlie poor, rightless de- 
pendant on the caprice of others**., 
what had I to do with high feeling, 
conscious worth, the sense of ex- 
alted gcnerosit}', or the haughty 
indignation of innocence aguinst op- 
prcsbion....Ah, dear and amiable 
Miss Goldney, when I shed those 
bitter tears over your untimely 
grave, when I refused comfort, 
when I shunned society, and aban- 
doned myself to a despair that was 
imputed to mc as a crime, I doubtless 
foresaw that I was to hear no more 
the soothing tones of knidncss.... 
tliat I was no more to experience 
the blessing of a friend ! 

" How can I bear to dwell on the 
melancholy scene of her illness ; 
and yet, in my hours of misery, I 
love to recal her patient and dig- 
nified suffering*. ..the resignation 
with which she awaited the stroke 
which was to release her from a 
painful disease, and a world, in 
which for my sake alone, she 
wislicd to continue. 

" Pliilip," said she to me one 
day, while I sat beside her, " I 
look forward with anxiety to your 
fate. Your ardent, impeluous tem- 
per, when I am no longer at hand 
to rcstr ain it., .your gloon^y firmnesF, 
when tlie voice ot kindness shull 
no longer attempt to soften it, will 
expose you to serious calamity ! 
Fhihp l)ellwyn) when injustice 



rouses yoo, when capricfc despises 
you, when meanness injures, or 
when t>Tanny oppresses you, Uiink 
of me:....Oh then be gentle, be 
patient !....Your situation, my dear 
boy, will not admit of those high* 
spirited virtues, which yet, I trust, 
will, one day or other, when all 
yonr difficulties shall be surmounted, 
render you respectable and happy, 
the exalted, the dignified being I 
wish to see you ;..*.but remember, 
Dellwyn, through patient suffering 
lies the road to peace." 

*' Her woihIs were surely pro- 
phetic.***! promised to remember 
her ; alas i could I ever forget the 
sweet mouitress of my early days, 
whose smile had cheered me, and 
whose approbation had exalted me ? 

" I besought her to tell me who 
I was. She refused ; but was it in 
Miss Goldney *s power to preserve 
a silence which she felt it was in* 
jurious to keep i I entreated, I 
reasoned: ....her steadiness totter- 
ed, the secret trembled on her lips, 
and a few minutes would have put 
me in possession of a truth, which 
slie would have softened to mc, 
when Mr* Goldney entered* She 
was worse in the night, and the 
next day •••* *•.••••* 

^^ Mr* Goldney now kept no 
terms with me ; he ridiculed my 
sorrow, and scoffed at my feelings : 
my answers he treated as the wild 
e^sions of enthusiasm, almost to 
madness ; but the cautions of my 
lost friend kept down the irritation 
of my temper. Mine was, how- 
ever, naturally combustible : I was 
was no longer a child. The know- 
ledge Mr. Goldney had communi- 
cated, had enlarged my under- 
standing ;...*his mind was not to 
be enlarged, even by learning: 
learning burdened his head and 
memory with much cumbrous pomp, 
but his heart could not open 'to 
wisdom. He continued to treat , 
me with the same intolerable sar- 
casm ; it seemed as if he strove to 
provoke the consequences* Long 
did I bear, without explosion, the 
irritiiting taunts of malice, the 
biting irony of spleen, the mean 



RISTOKT OF PHILtP:pELLWT)r. 



219 



jdlkisions to a secret he refused to 
disclose, the threats of low-minded 
oppression, and the stings of unjust 
opprobrium. At length I could bear 
these no longer ; my spirit revolted 
against such palliating conduct as 
mean and servile :••••! retorted 
when next Goldney taunted me, 
add retorted with such keenness, 
that I shook his very soul. We 
knew no limits ; I reproached him 
with his conduct in terms which 
took fipm him all self-command : 
I acted on principle, and therefore 
possessed fnine. I had argued with 
myself, that, with a body strong, 
hc»lthy, and active, with a mind 
well cultivated, and no rebellious 
will, I could not fail to support 
myself. I cared little, therefore, 
what consequences I provoked, and 
I forbore no reproach, no expres- 
sion, that could set before him, in 
its true light, the abominableness of 
his conduct. At length he ordered 
me to quit his house, and to see it 
no more....^< This conduct, young 
man," Said he, *' absolves me from 
•all fiirther care of you, and exo- 
nerates me and all concerned from 
any engagements. Had you de- 
served it, the munificence of your 
father would have given jou, at 
twenty-one, one thousand pounds ; 
now go forth, a high-souled, pen- 
ny less bastard !" 

^' I refiised to go, till I knew the 
name of this munificent parent: 
but Goldney, well aware that his 
silence on this head would be a far 
greater punishment than the po- 
verty he had denounced against me, 
resolutely maintained it, nor could 
all my exertions obtain the least 
information. 

** Irritated and dejected, I went 
to weep over the grave of Miss 
Goldney. I recalled her mild and 
complacent manners, her concilia- 
tory advice, her patient spirit ; 
yet I reproached not myself. For 
her sake, I had boine for months, 
treatment the most injurious ; to 
have submitted longer, had been 
to deserve it....hadbeen to shew a 
spirit nitlier servile than resigned, 
a spirit even my patient monitrcbs 



could never have approved :....but 
on her grave I wept so long that 
night found me still there. I had 
taken with me a small packet of 
linen, a book, the valued present 
of Miss Goldney, and two guineas 
....all in the world I could call my 
own ; for it appeared to have been 
Goldney *s policy or orders to keep 
me wholly without property 1 I was, 
however, rich enough to pay for a 
supper and a lodging, and walked 
away to a village a few miles distant. 

" The night brought no sleep to 
my eyes ; the world was now before 
me. " The moment," said I to 
myself, *' must have arrived, when 
I must have made choice of some 
mode of obtaining subsistence ^ it 
has advanced rather more rapidly, 
that is all." 

" At eighteen, with health, 
strength, and talents, one does not 
readily despair. "London," thought 
I, " is the great mart for talent :".... 
and to London I determined to go. 
The pen offered itself as the readi- 
est means of gaining bread, and I 
resolved to wri^c. Already had I 
laid the plan of my futui*e labours, 
already had I turned some very 
eloquent periods, when I fell into a 
doze, from which I was awakened 
b> the morning sun. As I prepared 
for my journey, I felt the spirit of 
independence rise within me: I 
took a hasty breakfast, and set 
forward on foot for London, exult- 
ing in the thought of the shame 
with which I should so soon over- 
whelm Goldney. I felt invigorated 
with hope, and enlivened with tlic 
thought of depending only on myself. 
Full of delightful reveries, I forgot 
that I was a hundred and hfty miles 
from London, that I was unused to 
long journies, and unacquainted 
with the world :...alas 1 at eighteen, 
all difficulties fade before the con- 
sciousness of health, talents, uud 
liberty." 

(^2o be continued, J 



HATFII'XD. 
This man, v/ho became the 
victim of an ungovernable propcn- 



220* 



HATFIELD. 



«ity to deceptioit, was, when a 
youth, employed in the capacity of 
a rider to a linen draper in the north 
of En^and* In the course of this 
service he became acquainted with 
a young woman, who was nursed 
and resided at a farmer's house in 
the neighbourhood of his employer. 
8hc had been, m her earlier life, 
taught to consider the people with 
whom she lived, as her parents. 
Remote fi*om the gaieties and follies 
of what is so idly denominated po- 
lished life, she was unacquainted 
with tlic allurements of fashion, 
and considered her domestic duties 
as the only object of her considera- 
tion. When this deserving girl 
had arrived at a certain age, the 
honest farmer explained to her the 
secret of her birth ; he told her, 
that notwithstanding she had always 
considered him as her parent, he 
was in fact only her poor guardian, 
and that she was the natural 
daughter of Lord Robert Manners, 
wIk) intended to give her one 
thousand pounds, provided she 
rnaiTicd witli his approbation. 

This discovery soon reached the 
ears of Hatfield : he immediately 
p lid his respects at the farmer's, 
and, having represented himself as 
a young man of considerable ex- 
pectations in tlic wholesale linen 
business, bis >isits were not dis- 
ctiiiutcnanced. 'Die fcirmer, how- 
e'ver, thought it incumbent to 
acquaint his Icivdship with a propo- 
cnl made to him by Hatfield; that 
he would marry the young woman 
if her relations were sjitisfied with 
their union, but on no other terms. 
TItis hi 6 so much the appearance 
of hn honourable and prudent in- 
tentitin, that' his Loidship, en being 
acquainted with the circumstances, 
desired to see the lover. He accor- 
dingly puidhis respects to the noble 
find uusus]:ccting parent, who, con- 
ceiving tlie young man to be what 
he represented himself, gave his 
consent at tlie first interview, and, 
the day after the marriage took 
jjlace, ];rcscnted the bridegroom 
>itli a draft on liis banker for 15001. 



lliis transftCtiofn txyck pLwct ab6Qt 
32 or 33 years ago. 

Shortly after the receipt of his 
Lordship's bounty, Hatfield set off* 
for London, and was perpetually^ 
at the coffee-houses in Co vent 
Garden ; describing himself to 
whatever company he chanced to 
meet, as a nefir relation of the Rut- 
land family ; would frequently pur- 
chase a haunch of venison ; invite 
his coffee-house acquaintance to 
dine with him, and entertain them 
with a flowing description of his 
park in Yorkshire, and the flavour 
of the venison it produced, a spc* 
cimen of which he passed curmit 
for a few weeks ; when some of his 
new acquaintances began to find 
him out, and frequently jeer him 
on his being an adept in what they 
styled " poetical prose, or th€ 
beauties of imagination." Hatfield, 
however, was insensible to all these 
rebukes, and continued to retail hia 
preposterous fabrication with such 
an air of confidence, that he became 
generally known throughout Co* 
vent Garden by the name of Lying 
Hatfield, 

I'he marriage portion bemg 
nearly exhausted, he retreated from 
London, and was scarcely herrd 
of until about the year 1782, when 
he again visited the metropolis, and 
was shortly afterwards arrested, 
and committed to the King's -Bench 
prison for a debt, amountmg to the 
sum of 1601. Several unfortunate 
gentlemen then confined in the same 
place, had been df his parties when 
he flourished in Co vent Garden, 
and perceiving him in extreme 
poverty, frequently invited him to 
dinner; yet, such was the unac- 
countable disposition of this man, 
that, notwithstandinghe knew there 
were people present who were tho- 
roughly aequainted wjjth his cha<». 
racter, still he woulcfcontinuc to 
describe his Yorkshire park, hift 
estate in Rutlandshire, settled upon 
his wife, and generally wind up the 
whole with observing how vexa- 
tious it was to be confined at the 
suit of a paltry tradesman for «e 



1IATFXSL9- 



f%t 



iDMgnificaDt a vufh at the Viory 
moment wlwn he had thirty men 
employed in cutting h piece of wa;t^r 
i^eAr the iaipUy oiaofiioii in York- 
sbke. 

At the time Hatfield bec^iine a 
pnaoner i^ the Kii^g's Benchs the 
late imfortunate Valentine Morri39 
formerly Govemoi: of the island 
of St. Vincent^ was confined in the 
same place* Tnis gentleman was 
frequently visited by a clergyman 
of the most benevolent and humane 
disposition* Hatfield soon directed 
his attention to this good man, and 
one day earnestly invited him to his 
chamber* After some preliminary* 
apologies, he implored t^e worthy 
pastor never to disclose what he 
vas going to communicate. The 
divine assured him the whole should 
remain in his bosom. ''Then," 
said Hatfield, '< you see before you 
^ man nearly allied to the house of 
Rutlahdj and possessed of estates : 
(here followed the old story of the 
Yorkshire park, the Rutlandshire 
property, &c. &c.) yet, notwith- 
ftanding all this wealth, continued 
he, I am detained in this wretched 
place for the inaignificant sum of 
1601. But the truth is, Sir, I would 
not have my situation known to 
any man in the world but my 
worthy relative his Grace of Rut- 
land (the father of the present 
Duke was then living)«...inideed I 
would rather remain a captive for- 
ever. But, Sir, if you would have 
the goodness to pay your respects 
to this worthy nobleman, and frankly 
describe how matters are, he will 
at once send me the money by you, 
and this mighty business will not 
only be instantly settled, but I shall 
have the satisfaction of introducing 
you to a connexion which may be 
attended with happy consequences." 

The honest clergyman readily 
undertook the commission; paid 
his respects to the Duke, and pa- 
thetically described the imfortunate 
situation of his amiable relative. 
His Grace of Rutland, not recol- 
lecting at the moment such a name 
as Hatfield, expressed his astonish- 
ment at the application. This re- 

TOL. I....KOft III. 



4mcjQ4 4^ w<9r4iy divide to an 
awkward situf^tion, and he faul- 
tered in his speech, >yhen he began 
qoaking an apology, which Uie Duke 
f^coiying, he very kindly pbjserye<|, 
that he beMeved iho whole wa^ 
some idle tale of an impostor, for 
tliat he ney^ )uiew any persgn of 
the name mentioned, althotig^ h^ 
had some faii^t recollection of 
hearing Lord Robert, his relation, 
say that he had marned a natural 
daughter of his to ^ tradesman m 
the north of England, and whose 
name he believed was Hatfield* 

7^he reverend missionary was fo 
eonfounded, that he immediately 
retired and proceeded to theprison, 
where he gave the unhappy gent^e^ 
roan, in tlie presence of Mr, Morris, 
^ most severe lecture. But the ap-> 
pearance of this venerable man aft 
his friend, had the effect which 
Hatfield expected ; for the J)\ji^(^ 
sent to inquire if he were th^ m^ 
that married the natural .daughter 
of Loi*d .Robert Manners ; ai¥l 
being satisfied as to tl^e fact, dis^ 

Satched a messenger with 2001* and 
ad him released. 
In the year 1784 or 1785, hi9 
Grace of Rutland was appointed 
Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and, 
shortly after Ixis arrival in Dublin^ 
Hatfield made his appearance ii| 
that city. He immediately on his 
landing, engaged a suit of apart- 
ments at a hotel in CoUege-green, 
and represented himself as nearly 
allied to the vicerpy, but that ho 
could not appear fit tiie castle until 
his horses, servants, apd carriages 
were arrived, which he ordered^ 
before his leaving England, to be 
shipped at Liverpool. The easy 
and familiar manner in which he 
addressed the master of the hotel, 
perfectly satisfied him that he had 
a man of consequence in his house, 
and matters were arranged accord- 
ingly. This being adjusted, Hat- 
field soon found his way to Lucas's 
coffee-house, a place where people 
of a certain rank generally frequent, 
and, it being a new scene, the 
Yorkshire park, the Rutlandshire 
estate, and the connexion with the, 
9 



in 



MXTnSLtf. 



Rotlmid familf , stood their ground 
"eery well for about a month. 

At the expiration of this timey 
the bill at the hotel amounted to 601. 
and upwards. The landlord became 
importunate, and, after expressing 
his astonishment at the non-arrival 
of Mr. Hatfield's domestics, Bcc 
requested he might be permitted to 
fiend his bill, lliis did not in the 
least confose Hatfield ; he imme« 
diately told the master of the hotel, 
that very fortunately his agent, who 
received the rents of his estates iir 
the north of England, was then in 
Ireland, and held a public emplo)*- 
ment ; he lamented that his agent 
was not then in Dublin, but he had 
the pleasure to know his stay in the 
country would not exceed three 
days. This satisfied the landlord, 
and at the expiration of three days 
he called upon the gentleman whose 
name Hatfield had given him, and 
presented the account. Here fol- 
lowed another scene of confiision 
and surprize. The supposed agent 
of the Yorkshire estate very frankly 
told the man who delivered the bill, 
that he had no other knowledge of 
tlie person who sent him, than what 
common report fiimishedhim with, 
and that his general character in 
London was that of a romantic sim- 
pleton, whose plausibilities had im- 
posed on several people, and plunged 
himself into repeated difficulties. 

The landlord returned highly 
thankful for the information, and 
immediately arrested his guest, who 
was lodged in the prison of the 
Marshalsea. Hatfield had scarcely 
seated himself in his new lodg- 
ings, when he visited the jailer's 
wife in her apartment, ai^d, in a 
whisper, requested her not to tell 
any person, that she had in custody 
a near relation of the then viceroy. 
The wonjan, astonished at the dis- 
ccvery, immecliatelv shewed him 
into the best apartment in the prison, 
had a table provided, and she, her 
husband, and Hatfield, conjitantly 
dined top;ether for nearly three 
weeks, in the utmcst harmony rjid 
gccd humour. 



Daring this time he had petition--' 
ed the Duke for another supply, who, 
apprehensive that the fellow might:' 
continue his impositions in Dublin^ 
released him, on condition of his im- 
mediately quitting Ireland ; and his 
Grace sent a servant, who conduct* 
ed him on board the packet that 
sailed the next tide for HoUyhead. 

A few years after his arrival oir 
the other side of the water, we- 
understand he was arrested for a 
debt contracted in the north of 
England, and that he remained in 
prison for seven years* 

Sometime after he was liberated, 
he had the good fortune to cotmect 
himself with some respectable 
tradesmen in Devonshire, where 
he might have lived happily, se- 
cluded from those who formerly 
knew him, and acquired an honest 
independency; but deception was 
so rooted in his nature, that he 
could never shake it off. He was 
soon detected in fraudulent pactices, 
and, as we have heard, declared 
a bankrupt. His flight succeeded^ 
and unfortunately some evil genius 
directed his steps to the once happy 
cottage of poor Mary of Butter^ 
mere. Her story is well known, 
and generally lamented ; but let us 
in charity hope that this wretch's 
crimes will be forgiven " in another 
and better world,".. ..and that his 
punishment in this, will answer 
tlie salutary purposes of example ! 



A THEATUICAL CAMPAIGN. 

[The frllowin(3^ is so agreeable a spe- 
cimen of wit, that though it has 
already appeared in a daily pftper, 
wc cannot re&ist tUe inclination t« 
insert it in this ccUccticn.] 

To Mr. Andrew Quoz. 

Dear Sir^ 
I concluded my former letter, 
with an accoimt of our melancholy 
lack of auditors, on our first even- 
ing of performance, in consequence 
of a miraculous draught of Slur^eoa. 



A TBEATRICAL CAMPAXCir. 



^9 



FuBy conrinced, however, that 
it was not thi-oagh want of faaie 
tliat the Albanians did not attend, 
we immediately went to work with 
renewed spirit, and determined to 
melt them with tragedy on the next 
exhibition. 

An army was equipped, equal in 
number and splendor to those who 
generally tag at the heels of our 
theatric warriors in New York ^ 
our military music consisted of a 
drum, fife, and tvvo pot lids, by 
way of cymbals, and for want of a 
trumpeter, the entree of our heroes 
was announced by a ferryman, with 
his conk-shell. Our orchestra was 
in a style equally superb, and con- 
eisted of three most inveterate 
£ddlers. Their music was much 
admired, being a selection of vete^^ 
ran aymphoniea^ from the ancient 
stock of the New York leader, that 
"hsid.grown grey in the service* 

For a few evenings we succeeded 
liappily. The novelty of a theatre 
was attractive ; our sceneries were 
■admired ; the citizens were pleased 
to express their approbation of our 
operas, because '^ we sung wiihaiu 
vmrbling^ tliat defect so common 
to modern sinj^crs ! !" and as to our 
dander and blixum^ it gave uni- 
versal satisfaction. Indeed, we 
ibund our thunder of most material 
service, for whenever any of us 
were out in our parts, or an actor 
was tardy in making his appear- 
ance, we had but to wink to the 
prompter, and a peal of thunder 
came happily to our assistance; 
the audience clapped their hands^ 
encored, and pronounced the gen- 
tleman who roiled the thunder ball, 
A most promising performer. 

Ah happy days ! Ah prosperous 
4jmcs of hearty dinners and hot 
suppers, why was your date so 
short 1 why were your enjoyments 
80 transient! Poor dogs ihat we 
were, no sooner had we begun to 
get familiar with our new patrons, . 
and to display our talents with con- 
Adcnce, but we had the misfortune 
to experience a general desertion. 

Far be it from me, Mr. Quoz, 
4^ question the taste of tlie good 



people of Albany; their love of 
Sturgeon, and hatred of warbling, 
place that far beyond the reach of 
dispute. Unfortunately, however, 
they were too much engaged in 
more 9QUd and firqfitable pursuits 
to pay us that attention they 
doubtless would otherwise have 
shewn. Of course, the number of 
citizens who attended our exhibi- 
tions, was rather circumscribed, 
and tlieir curiosity was unluckily 
diverted into another channel. 

An er/unent artist^ arrived from 
New York, loaded to the muzzle 
with fire-works ; his bills blazed 
conspicuously at every comer ; his 
rockets soared over the city, and 
dazzled every eye. The honest 
folks gaped at them with astonish- 
ment, " they swore in faith, 'twas 
strange ! 'twas passing strange !*^ 
and then, so cheap....wondrous 
cheap; at our place they had to 
pay a dollar admittance, while 
here, it was but climbing on a 
fence, and they miglit see the whole 
^^free gratia'* for nothing at all ! 1 
In vain we essayed every art to 
draw them back ; in vain we rein- 
forced our orchestra with a music« 
grinder, and advertised an extra 
storm of dunder and bitjcum,,,* 
all would not do. ...the artist still 
kept his gi*ound. To be sure, he 
sometimes got out of gun-powder, 
but then he always gave them///^yi/y 
qf brimntone. 

How long fire-works would have 
been tlie rage, I cannot say, had 
not brimstone disagreed as much 
with their nerves, as it did with 
those of the honest citizens of New 
York, on a certain fourth of JuLy 
exhibition ; we should therefore, 
most probably have experienced a 
return of their patronage, hrul not, 
as ill luck would have it, a company 
of wooden puppets arrested their 
attentioiu To see a number of 
persons act a play, even tliough 
they did it tolerably well, was 
notliin g remarkable ; for what could 
be more natural or easy, than for 
a- man to walk and talk in his own. 
manner and language ; but to sec- 
several little sticks 01 wood, stmt? 



$94 



it TRBATKltrAL CAH^AlOlr* 



ting about, squeaking tiirongh tire 
nose, and hopping a hompi|)c like 
men and women. .;.Lord, it was so 
strange, bo qncer, so nut of the 
T^ay, every lady was In raptures. 

In a short time, however, their 
surprise wore off, end they begn.n 
to look upon ud with returning 
complHcency, when who should ar- 
rive in town, but another formi- 
dable enemy... .the learned Pig! 
There was new matter for astonish- 
ment and admiration ! A pig that 
understood, one nnd one made two, 
and could cast up a sum according 
to Cocker or Dil worth, was not to 
be passed over with neglect, by a 
mercantile people. Every one was 
for seeing the remarkable animal.... 
every one was ft*r having some of 
the breed to stock their counting 
rooms. For some time we kept 
the field agamst the pig, with unequal 
Micce«8, when, fortunately we ad- 
vertised a play for the benefit of 
Mr. Hogf^. Here then, the match 
stood, Hogg against Kg, the bets 
tan high in favour of Pig, when as a 
desperate resource, we promised in 
the bills a dissertation between the 
^lay and the farce, on the art to 
^jrow rich, to be spoken in the cha- 
racter of Major Sturgeon. The 
pbn succeeded, Hogg beat Ae Pig 
aft hollow, and the knowing one^ 
■^erc finelv taken in. 

Thus, Mr* Quoz, were the honest 
people of the metropolis, distracted 
with a variety of amusements, and 
their judgments continually unde- 
termined, on which they should 
bestow their patronage....good 
aouls ! how do I wonder, that pos- 
*6esscd of such a flow of spirits, 
such volatile imaginations, you ma- 
naged to keep your senses in such a 
confused medley of plays, puppets, 
"pigs and brimstone ! 

Satisfied with the meagre success 
of our expedition, we determined to 
return once more to our old situation 
in New York, and henceforth be 
content with the humble honours of a 
firoiunciai theatre. We accord- 
ingly took our leave of Albany, 
fans drtimj san» trumfiet^ a la mode 
Jhyaiicauc^ and arrived safely ia 



this city, Where #e h«t* ahriiyfl 
found the inhabitants not t«io re^ 
fined to relish our performances, 
but indulgent in our Rtulta^ and sen- 
gibleof our merits. Happy were^ 
we, to meet once more our fellow 
performers who had not aecom^ 
pained us in our unfortunate excur- 
sion, and infinitely more so w e r ^ 
we on our first evening's exhibition^ 
to behold once more the smilinf^ 
faces of our patrons, and receive 
their kind and friendly salutattons* 
We f oimd the theatre in some little 
derangement on our return, having 
been converted during the sickly 

season, into a printing-office* 

Tliis change, however, was mate- 
rial in its nature, as the place had 
fttill been devoted to the instmctioB 
and amu^ment of the public ; things 
Vere much in ^e state we left 
them, except the robes of Dr. Last, 
which were considerably worn by 
the Editor, during his medical 
lucubrations. 

This reminds nie of an obsenra- 
tion 1 have somewhere seen, ^tfr 
temfiora Mtctantnr ei trumpery 
mutantur etiam.** 

Your humble tiervant, 
Dick Buckham. 



MEMOIRS OF 

JAM£S B08WELL, ESQ. 

Japies Boswell wasbomaboQt 
the >iear 1740. He was the eldest 
son of Alexander Boswell of Auchtn- 
leek, the representative of a very 
ancient and respectable family, and 
one of the senators of the CoHege of 
Justice, the supreme tivil court fh 
Scotland. 

He received his early education 
at the sdiools and in the miiveratty 
of Edinlborgfa, where his fafter^s 
professional pursuits necessarily 
fixed his residence. In his very 
boyish years, he was distrnguished 
among his young companions for a 
quickness and precocity of parts, 
and for a playfol vivacity of humour. 
During his attendance at the uni- 
versity, '^e powers which lie dis- 



xsMora or james boswcll, S8<^ 



939 



ykmd in his exciues, and in the 
societies of his feUow-8tudeiits> ex- 
cited an applause vhich wanned 
Ills opening mind with hopes of 
ftitare literary greatness. 
. Some eminent Scotsmen, s^ch as 
Hume^ KaimeS) and Robertson, had 
about this time, dbtinguished them- 
selves in literature. Those ancient 
preiodlces had been gradually ef« 
faoediby which the Soots were too 
long withheld from the liberal cul- 
tivation of every Engliali art. A 
theatre for the exhibition of the 
works of the English drama had, 
in spite of presbyterian prejudices, 
at length, begun to attract, at £dm« 
burgh, the resort of the leaders in 
the sphere of fiEtthiOD. Even the 
pleaders at the Scottish bar began 
to become ambitious of discarding 
from their speech the broad gabble 
of tl)eir native dialect, and anxious- 
ly asked the players to tutor them 
to prattle English. The voice of 
fashion, loudly echoing the softer 
suggestions of academical erudition 
and taste, catted all the gay and the 
young to cultivate and to prize ele- 
gant letters. 

Passionately desirous to flutter 
and to shine among the young and 
faahioiQable, as well as ambitious to 
merit the esteem of the learned, 
Boswell, the farther he entered 
upon the scenes of life, became still 
more ardently the votary of wit 
and of the literary arts. The greater 
number of the young men of for- 
tune, in many countries, are com- 
monly so idle, and of course so silly, 
in the first years of opening man- 
hood, that a very small portion of 
wit and common sense must be 
easily sufficient to constitute a pro- 
^gy of parts among them. Boswell, 
acoordingl)', fennd no difficulty in 
making himself the dictator of a 
little circle. He was taught to be- 
lieve himself a native genius, 
destined to attain to all that was 
great in elegant literature, ahnost 
without the aid of study. Hh socie- 
ty Iras eagerly courted ; hissayiiigs 
were repeated; his little composi- 
tious, however light and friyohnis, 
were praised^ as flowing from an 



unrivalled felicity of humour, wit^ 
and fancy. So much hasty applausa 
would have been enough to spoil 
any young man. Not pride, but 
the vanity of literary ancl colloquial 
eminence, was thus early i*ooted in 
Boswell's bosom, and became hia 
ruling passion. lie learned to ac* 
count it the supreme felicity of life^ 
to ^Murkle in gay convivial converse 
over wine, and to mingle with pas* 
sionate delight in the society of 
professed wits. He was encouraged 
to try his fortune, far too rashly, 
as a youthAil author ; and to send 
to the press various levities in poe* 
try and prose, which had been 
much more wisely condemned to 
the fire. Of these, several a{^iear-r 
ed in a small Collection of Poems, 
by Scottish p;entlemen, which was, 
about this time, published at Edin- 
burgh. BosweU's pieces in this 
Collection possess scarcely any 
other merit than that of a giddy 
vivacity, h was fortnately ea- 
riched with some more precious 
materials, the compositions of Dr* 
Thomas Blacklock, of Gilbert Gor- 
don, Esq. of Halleaths, and of 
Jerome Stone, rector of the schodl 
of DunkeUL A series of letters 
between Boswell and his friend^ the 
late Hon. Andrew Erskine, were, 
with similar imprudence, published 
about the same time, but certainly 
not at all to the honour of ^ther of 
the young gentlemen. So little fit- 
ted tsoftenthat which has enlivened 
the gaiety of convivial con versatioa, 
or has, in manuscript, been ap» 
pkuded, to meet, from the press, 
the examination of an unprejudicod 
jury^ before which none but its 
genuine independent merits can 
have weight in its favour. 

Thus far, young BosweU's life 
had been gay and flattering: he 
was now to launch farther out upon 
the ocean of the world. In the 
choice of professional destination, 
he hesitated between a life of lite- 
rature and business, and one of idle- 
ness and fashion. Had it not been 
for his father's authoi^ty, the latter 
would have gained his preference. 
Bat liocd Auclunkck, belleviqg 



39a 



irtMOIl or JAMES B08WKLL, CSQ*' 



that the lively talents of his son 
could not fail of success at the bar, 
vrged him to become a lawyer, 
ivith flatteries, promises, and some 
threats, which at last subdued 
James's passion for a red coat, a 
cockade and a commission in the 
Guanls. A sort of compromise 
took place between the father and 
the son ; in consequence of which, 
the latter obtained permisiiion, with 
a suitable pecuniary allowance, to 
visit London, to study the civil law 
nt Utrecht, and to make the tour of 
Europe, before he should, finally, 
fix himself at home as a practising 
advocate* 

With abreast agitated by a tumult 
of h<^8, wishes, and uncertain fan- 
cies, young Boswell repiiiredto that 
great mart of business, knowledge, 
and pleasure, London. He was 
impatient to mingle in its scenes of 
amusement, to drink of all that was 
elegant in its letters and its arts at 
the very fountain-head, to gratify 
an ingenuous curiosity, which he 
long continued to feel, of approach- 
ing the presence, and obtaining the 
personal acquaintance, of all those 
who were, on any accotmt, the most 
illustrious among his contempora- 
ries« A young man of manners so 
lively and agreeable, talents so 
promising, and a family and fortune 
«o respectable, could not but meet 
vith nn easy indroduction, by means 
of his father's friends and his own. 
Into tlie hirhest and the most fa- 
shionable circles of polite company 
which the metropolis afforded. The 
charm of his sprightly conversation 
and good natured manners was uni- 
Tersally felt. He became a general 
fevoarite ; and quickly led to diffiise 
himself, if we may so speak, very 
widely in the society of London. 
He plunged eageriy into the stream 
of convivial festivity and of gay 
amusement. No young man ever 
enjoyed, with a keener and more 
exquisite f^st, the flatteries of par- 
tial friends, the success of a bril- 
Kant repartee, the attentions of that 
fascinating politeness which aims to 
win your heart by making you in 
4ove with yourself} or thut happy 



play of convivial conversation te 
which wisdom, wit, elegance, and 
good breeding, temper sensual and 
social enjoyment with the generooa 
flow of liberal intelligence. For the 
sake of knowledge, of social con- 
verge, of commendation, of celebri- 
ty, he was rtill ready to forsake his 
study to mingle with company; and 
he might pcrhai^s gain in the one 
way more than he lost in the other* 
But, in the meantime, the dissipatioo 
of perpetual company-keeping, and 
the use of the sensualities with which 
it was accompained, made them- 
selves still more and more necesary 
to the >'oung man, who thought on- 
ly of enjoying them without making 
himself their slave* 

His passion for the acquaintance 
of men of great intellectual emi* 
nence had, however, in the first 
instance, the merit of saving him 
from the emptiness of mere fop- 
pery, as from brutal and profligate 
debauchery. Even in the society 
of a Wilkes and a Foote, in their 
loosest and most convivial hours, k 
was not possible, that there should 
not be more of the feast of reasooi 
and the flow of son], than of sensual 
grossncss* Men of well-earned 
celebrity for any sort of intellectual 
excellence, although they may have 
their hours of relaxation, can never 
be acceptable associates to tlie sot- 
tish dcbaucliec. He who lores to 
converse with them, even in these 
hours, must possess a mind some- 
what congenial with theirs: nor 
will he long seek their company 
with fondness, imless his heart and 
understanding become inprcgnated 
with their sentiments. Attaching 
himself to Dr. Samuel Johnson, 
Boswell thus acquired a protection 
from frivolity and vice, and the ad- 
vantage of the lessons of an instruc- 
tor in wisdom, scarcely less benefi- 
cial than when the Athenian youth, 
with sudden emotion, dashed his 
crown of roses on the ground, and, 
abjuring the false joys of love and 
-wine, devoted all his future life to 
the study of ]jhilosophy, and the 
practice of austcro Tirtae* 



MXMOIR 07 JAKES BOSWSLL, ES^ 



s» 



The eloquence of the Ramblers, 
being of that gorgeous and strongly 
discriminated character which the 
most easily engages the attention of 
yooth, had powerfully impressed 
the imagination of Boswell during 
his studies at Edinburgh. Johnson's 
Dictionary, presenting its autlv>r in 
tlie character of the great censor 
and dictator of the English language, 
aided and confirmed tlie impres- 
sion. When, in addition to this, he 
learned, that Johnson's conversation 
was not less rich and original than 
his books, there needed nothing 
more to-make him earnestly ambi- 
tious of the great lexicographer's 
acquaintance. He found in John- 
son, when the desired introduction 
•was at last obtained, not pi'cdsely 
what he had imagined, but of a d'lf- 
fereat sort even more than his 
hopes and wishes had taught him 
to expect. He courted with every 
wimung assiduity a man of whom 
he was proud to profess himself the 
follower. Almost from the very 
first days of their acquaintance, he 
gladly haunted the prescfice of the 
illustrious moralist, and watched 
and preserved the treasures which 
fell from his lips, as if he had al- 
ready determined to become his 
biogi*aphcr. Attentions so resp e c t- 
fiilly flattering are not easily resist- 
ed by either philosoplicrs or he- 
roes ; Johnson could not but become 
partial to an admirer who professed 
to court his com])any almost Avith 
the humble devotion of a mortal 
attendingthe footstepsof a divinity ; 
who was himself a youth of genius, 
fortune and fashion ; and vf^\o ar- 
dently professed to be ambitious of 
notliing so much as of makin«^ emi- 
nent improvement in piety, virtue, 
and liberal intelligence. 

Satiated, at lenj^th, with the en- 
joyments of London, Boswell depart- 
ed, witli a new flutter of hopes and 
wishes, to pursue knowlcl^e and 
pleasure in those new varieties of 
form, in which they might present 
themselves on the contiiicnt. At 
Utrecht he studied lav/ far some 
time, under an eminent civilian; 
•Uity as I should suspect, >Yi|Ucut 



such enlamd and successful appre- 
hension of the noble collection of 
Tribonian, as might have enabled 
him to see in it a wonderfully per- 
fect system of moral wisdom, ap* 
plied, upon the principles of right 
and expediency, t% a very extensive 
variety of cases in the practice of 
social and political life ^ or to trace 
it, with a curious and philosophical 
eye, as one of the naost faithful, 
minute, and interesting,^ of all re- 
cords of the detail of manners. He 
failed not, however, to make a few 
slight inquiries into the laws and 
the language of the country, which 
ser\'ed to fill with erudition his let- 
ters to Johnson, and, it may be, 
also, to his Scottish friends, Lord 
Kaimes and Lord Hailes. From 
Utrecht, he, after a while, continued 
his travels through Germany into 
Switzerland. The ambition of be- 
coming known to eminent men, 
was still one of his predominant 
foibles; and, to tlie unspeakable 
gi'atification of that passion of his, 
he had the felicity of l^ing, in his 
tour through Germany, the travel- 
ling companion of tlie Right Ho- 
nourable George Keith, the last Earl 
Marischal of Scotland. In Switzer- 
land, Lord Marischal introduced 
his young cowitry man to Rmisscau ; 
who then, an exile from France 
and from Geneva, resided at Mo- 
tiers, in the principality of Neuf. 
chatel, under the protection of the 
grent King of Prussia. Boswell ia 
due time, found occasion to tell the 
world how fondly he had visited 
Jean-Jaques Rou' scan ; how kindly 
he had been receded by the solita- 
ry philosopher ; witli wliat flatter- 
ing and confidential commendation* 
a man so discerning and so suspi- 
cious had dei^.ied to honour his 
merits ! But, when Rousseau's Con- 
fessions were, long after, published, 
it did not appear from them, that 
he preserved the recollection of 
having ever seen such a man^ as 
James Boswell. To have seen only 
Citizen Rousrccu, would have beea 
little. Boswell had ihc pleasure of 
visiting also the patriarch of Fcr- 
uey, and xho deliglit of hearmi; 



SS8 



XBvoim or jaxks BeywBLL^ B6(^ 



Voltaire deri out sarcasms and 
malicious fictionS) the inspirations 
of fear and envy, againat a rival 
wit and philosopher, who was as 
vain and as (embous as himseif. 

From Rousseau, BoswdQ obtained 
an indirect reconunoidation, which 
procured him one of the most 
splendid and lasting friendships of 
tus subsequent li£e. But it is proba- 
ble that he was more charmed with 
tlie conversation and manners of 
Voltaire, than wi^ those of the ex- 
citizen of Geneva. 

Having thus seen the lion* in 
Germany andSwitzerland, Boswell 
hastened away over the Alps to 
Italy. It was not enough for this 
youth's ambition, to make nothing 
more than the common tour which 
was or<finarily made by every one 
rise* Addison had pervaded and 
celebrated the republic of San Ma- 
rino ; BosweU resolved to visit that 
of Corsica. The Corsicans, after 
«truggling wit^ various success, for 
a long course of years, to throw off 
tlie yoke of the Genoese, were at 
iast about to be transferred to mas- 
ters against whose power their 
efforts would be vain. At this 
moment th^ enjoyod, in the inte- 
rior parts of tlie isle, a miserable 
Independence, purchased at the 
expense of almost all besides that 
■was precious in life. Their last 
generous exertions to secure the 
prize of liberty had, more than all 
the former, drawn upon them the 
mlmiration and the eager sympathy 
of Europe. Courts and cabinets 
might see their fortunes with indif- 
fei'ence, or might even cabal against 
them ; but the people, true philosp- 
•phers, the benevolent and humane 
in ever)' condition, and particularly 
all the enthusiastic admirers of man- 
ly fortitude and gallant enterprise, 
were ardent in their wishes for the 
^milnuccess of the Corsicans. Paoli, 
4hcir leader, was celebrated as a 
•hero and a lawgiver, worthy of the 
most lHustrious times of Grecian or 
of Roman liberty. Rousseau, the 
^arm friend of Corsican freedom, 
•had receivefl Paoli *s invitation to 
iH^Gome the historianand the assist- 



ant^legidator of the rismg rcfmb^ 
lie llie fiuae of Pa(^ ajid ths 
Corsicans had greatfy iaterested 
the curiosi^ of BosweU, as a young 
Scottish Whig, evi^ before he saw 
Itousseau. Rouascftii's conversa- 
tion completed the charm* The 
Genevan philosopher was too cau<i 
tious, however, to give BosweU 
more than an indirect letter of in- 
troduction to the Corsican general. 
With this, and such other rea>m«> 
mendations as he could procurey 
our traveller Eiade his way to Pao- 
li's head^uiuiers. Pleased with 
^e visit crt an admirer trho wiu a 
man of ftLshion, a Briton, a young 
enthusiast for liberty, Uie Corsicaoa 
rec^ved BosweU with kindness and 
respect, and entertained him with 
liberal ho^tality. He was too 
polite and good-natoved, too much 
an enthusiast for freedom, not to 
express himself to be more than 
pleased with all that he experienc- 
ed and all he saw. General Paoli, 
who was truly a man of keen an4 
oomprehensive understanding, with 
a heart pregpoant with heroic an^ 
patriotic sentiments, seems to have 
been not less sensible to admiration 
and praise, than almost all other 
fi^reat men whose hearts have been 
frankly unfolded to the world, are 
known to have commonly been* 
Boswell flattered the General, and 
the General flattered him in return. 
l*he legislature, the administratioa 
of justice, the arms, the vigilance 
for defence, the modes of Industry^ 
the familiar manners of the Corsi- 
cans, every thing in truth that 
could r.c perceived bv a few liveljr 
superficial glances ; but, above all, 
^he conversation, the figure, the 
looks, the gestures of Paoli, were 
observed by the young Scotsman 
witii the enthusiasm of an admirer, 
and with the care of one that meant 
to treasure up his present observa. 
tions for foture use. Paoli, and his 
Corsicans, could not help express-, 
ing, in Bos well's hearini^, their 
wishes, that they might obtain the 
protection and aid of Britain : and 
Boswell, in the Don Quixote-like 
fervour of his imagination^ was aU 



MIMOIR OF JAMES BOSWKLL, £S^ 



320 



most moyed) when these wishes met 
liis ear^ and when he saw himself 
lodged, feasted, and attended in 
ceremonious state, to believe him- 
self a British ambassador, deputed 
to declare Britain the tutelar divini- 
ty of Corsican freedom. To flatter 
him in a manner the most intoxicat- 
ing,, it was supposed by some wise 
headed politicians on the Continent, 
that it was not for nothing such a 
man as Boswell could have gone 
among the Corsican savages ; and 
all the newspapers of Europe soon 
told, th^t he had adventured thither 
as the secret agent of the British 
court. After he retired from the 
court of Paoli, he was politely re- 
ceived, and entertained with cour- 
teous hospitality, by the French of- 
ficers on the isle : he returned' at 
last to the Italian continent, vain of 
his expedition, and gratefully boast- 
ing of all the favours and honours 
which it had procured him. 

He did not now prolong the time 
of his absence from his native coun- 
try. Taking his way through 
France, he had soon the pleasure 
of presenting himself to his old 
friends in London. His temper and 
manners were still as conciliating 
as formerly ; his briskness of talk 
was now somewhat softened; his 
politeness was improved by a grace- 
ful polish, which the converse of 
elegant strangers had naturally 
communicated : and, as it is not so 
much from study as from the obser- 
vation of nature, and from mingling 
in society, that the traveller's pro- 
per improvements are to be obtain- 
ed; Boswell had proRted in the 
acquisition of knowledge, much 
more than nine-tenths of the young 
men of fortune from Britain are 
commonly wont to profit in the same 
course of fashionable travel; he 
could boast, too, of having kept, in 
his absence, some of the best com- 
pany in Europe; and, whenever 
any of the wits or the heroes of the 
Continent were mentioned, might 
speak of them almost as famili<ir 
acquaintance. None of all his 
friends in London welcomed his re. 
turn wiUi more cordial kindness 

VOL. I. ...NO. III. 



than Johnson. From the Continent 
he had held an epistolary corres- 
pondence with this Coryphaeus of 
English philology ; and from John- 
son had received several letters fil- 
led with such benignity and wisdom, 
as but few of the wits or philoso- 
phers of the Continent had hearts 
and understandings to supply; 

He soon hastened down to Scot- 
land. His father and his Scottish 
friends were sufficiently charmed 
with his new acquirements, and still 
partial to his genius and merits. A 
while he was busied in paying his 
compliments, in displaying his im- 
provehients, and in receiving flat- 
teries and congratulations. In com- 
pliance with the wishes of his liter- 
ary friends, he then prepared to 
give to the public, through the press, 
those observations which l^e had 
made in the Corsican part of his 
travels. From his boolu, and from 
the information of his learned 
friends, he sought a knowledge of 
aU those facts conceniing the an- 
cient and modem state of that isle, 
with which his personal observation 
and inquiries in the isle had not 
already furnished him. His book 
at length appeared : and as Corsica 
was, just at that time, a very popu- 
lar subject of conversation and in- 
quiry ; a work upon it, from a young 
man of whom the fashionable dicta- 
tors in literature were inclined to 
speak favourably, could not be 
otherwise than well received. Its 
genuine merits deserved no less. 
It is written in a pure, lively, cor- 
rect, and easy style and 'flow of 
composition. With the anecdotical 
sprightliness of Boswell himself, it 
mingles in no sparing proportion a 
seasoning of the erudition of his 
friend Lord Hailes, and of the light 
philosopliical speculation of Lord 
Kaimes. The history, natural, 
civil, and military, which it exhibits, 
of the isle of Corsica, is, as proprie- 
ty required, on a small scale, but 
in all its p:irts wonderfully complete. 
It marks the character of the Corsi- 
can people ^ixh a picturesque feli- 
city which few historians liave 
excelled. Above all, he paints the 
10 



ssa 



ICKKOim OF JAMBS BOSWXLL, £S^ 



character of Paoli, it may be, with 
a very flattering pencil, but cer- 
tainly with exquisite skill and efllect, 
and with many nice and delicate 
touches which bespeak the hand of 
the artist of genius ; but, after all, 
this book is not the work of a pow- 
erfil mind. It displays neither 
piercing discernment, nor any ex- 
traordinary vigour of imagination. 
]t IS, plainly, the composition of a 
man who possessed no rich stores 
of learning, so familiar to his mind 
as to intermingle itself impercepti- 
bly with the ordinary current of his 
thoughts. Even the learning which 
it shews, comes in such a shape, 
as to evince the author to have pos* 
sessed very little erudition at all, 
tare what he sought from books or 
friends for this express occasion. 
An ill-natured critic might say, 
'that the Pao liana which fill a 
part of this volume, are at least not 
superior to the jests of Joe Miller, 
or Swift's well known Critical 
Bssay. But the author's friends 
praised the book; the world, in 
general, were amused with it ; and 
Boswell was made superlatively 
happy. Compared with his more 
Juvenile performances, his account 
of Corsica undenialily proves his 
mind to have made very great ad- 
vances in knowledge and good sense, 
in the time which intervened be- 
tween the publication of the former 
works and that of the latter. 

About the same period, he sub- 
mitted to the usual course of trials 
which the candidates for admission 
into the Scottish faculty of advo- 
cates are, by the regulations of this 
Incorporated body, required to un- 
dergo, before they can.be received 
in to it as members. He passed 
through Uiese trials with honour. 
Called to the bar he distinguished 
himself in his first appearances by 
an ingenious invention of argu- 
ments, a brilliancy of eloquence, 
and a quickness of wit, such as suf- 
ficiently confirmed that favourable 
opinion of his talents, which his 
friends had long entertained, l^'hc 
famous legal contest for the succes- 



sion to the estates of the Rouse of 
Douglas, being, about this time, ia 
its progress, engaged tlie attenticm} 
and divided the wishes, of the Scot- 
tish public, almost as if it had been 
a matter of great national concern. 
Young Bosweirs passions were far 
a time, mterested to a pitch of ex- 
traordinar}' enthusiasm in fevour of 
the heir, whom it was attempted to 
exclude from his inheritance upon 
the pretence that he was 9u/t/iositi^ 
tiouM. Lady Margaret Macdonald 
gave a masquerade, a species of 
amusement very unusual at £^n<4 
burgh ; and James BosweU, almost 
alone of all the masqued characters^ 
was admired as having acted the 
part he had assumed with charmins 
felicity. To fix his son the more cC 
fectually to a sober, habitual appli^ 
cation to business, it was the ear<% 
nest desire of Lord Auchinleck to 
see him settled in marriage with 
some amiable and deserving woman* 
James obeyed, and gave his hand 
to his cousin Miss Montgomeiy. He 
was extensively acquainted in the 
country, and was beloved amon^hia 
acQuuintance : he was an ingenious 
and winning pleader, if not yet a 
profound lawyer: In the papers, 
manuscript ^or printed, which he 
had occasicn to prepare for the in- 
foionation of tlie Judges in those 
causes in which he was employed, 
there appeared commonly a erace, 
an eloquence, a correctness ol com- 
position, which were as little to be 
expected from most of his brother 
advocates, as an air of Haydin's 
from a dying sow. The Court, too, 
were not dispoted to frown on his 
merits ; and the partiality of the 
Court towards any advocate never 
fails to recommend him to increas- 
ing employment at the bar. All 
things c(^curred, therefore, to en- 
courage this young lawyer with the 
hopes of acquiring, in due time, 
whatever honours and emoluments 
his profession had to bestow, fa 
the meanwhile, that he might net 
be ill at ease in his domestic cir- 
cumstances, his father was suffi- 
ciently liberal. 



XXXOIH. or JAKES BOfVKLI.) ES^ 



tn 



AlMJ poor Boswell's colloquial 
mod convivial talenta were too fasci* 
Bating to permit that he should be left 
hf his compaDions and admirers, to 
tte sober pursuits of busiaess, or to 
quiet domestic bliss: nor could he 
himself resist, with efiectual steadi- 
nesSfthoae allurements which too of- 
ten called him away to join in elegant 
and witty conversation, and to enli- 
▼en social festivity. Even during 
the terms of the business of the 
Court of Session, Boswell*s after- 
noons and evenings 'Were so fre* 
quently passed in company, that 
those who could have wished to em^ 
ploy him, durst not always confide 
mhis attention to their affairs. The 
heir to a considerable estate, and 
enjoying already an ample allow«> 
ance from his father, he did not feel 
the strong necessity of pleading 
causes that he might live. Hence, 
content with the praise of colloquial 
talents and of captivating social 
qualities, he suffered men of far 
inferior powers, without other me- 
rit save that of plodding assiduity, 
to outstrip him in his juridical 
career, and to engross that business 
at the bar which their clients would 
much rather have committed to 
him. Though i>erhaps never a 
deeply learned and acutely discri- 
ninating counsellor, he might un- 
doubtedly have soon attained, if he 
himself had so chosen, to almost 
unrivalled eminence as a pleader. 
He was a man of the kindliest affec- 
tions towards all his domestic rela- 
tions; yet, carried away by his 
irresistible passion for that gay and 
enlightened society in which he was 
qualified to shine, he still hastened 
impatiently away to London, as 
soon as the vernal cr autumnal vaca- 
tion of the Court of Session com- 
menced, leaving a lovely and excel- 
lent wife to hmgiiish for his return, 
consuming in his own ])ersonal ex- 
pense too large a portion out of an 
income which it had been better to 
appropriate almost entirely to fami- 
ly uses. His father might from 
tin^ to time murmur against this 
plan of life, his wife might with 
lean see him depart : but the kind- 



ness of his natiu^, the honesty of 
his heart, the sweet undesigning 
vivacity and insinuation of his man- 
ners, were ever sufficient to conci- 
liate the wonted fondness of both at 
his return. Another evil than infe«> 
licity in domestic connexions arose . 
to make the quiet of his home un- 
pleasant to liim : Gay social con- 
verse and convivial enjoyment had 
been so long and so habitu ally court- 
ed by him, that their excitement 
became at last absolutely necessary 
to maintain his mind in a tone at 
all above dejection and melancholy* 
He had been wont at one time per- 
haps to affect occasional fits of low 
spirits, accounting them, I suppose, 
a proof of high refinement of soul, 
and of the ebbings and flowings of 
genius ; but such affectations soon 
ceased to be necessary. 

Yet, sure, if foibles like these 
could be pardoned to any man. Bos- 
well well deserved that he should 
not be scorned for them. It was 
ever <^ the feast of reason and the 
fiow of soul" Which he sought in 
those scenes of conviviality' which 
he delighted to frequent. Hia 
friends and companions were all 
men of the first rank in intellectual 
powers and social virtues.... Who 
is there that would not have sacri- 
ficed as much as Boswell did for the 
sake of enjoying the familiar con« 
verse of such men as Johnson, Beau* 
clerk, Reynolds, Burke, Fox, Gar- 
rick, to whom it was imposMble to 
listen without receiving equal im- 
provement and delight ? Who 
would not have been willing to 
forego almost every other advan^ 
tagc, in order to merit the praise 
of havinj* made his presence accept- 
able to the&e men in tlieir hours at 
unrestrained social joy ? Not sullen 
selfish Pride, neither courting a 
brother's praise, nor greatly con* 
cemed for his scorn, but gentle, 
caressing, entreating Vanity, was 
the nightmare which still bestrode 
honest iJoswell's fancy. He never 
assumed such arrogance as to throw 
off his veneration for talents which 
he had once accustomed himself 
to respect. While mingling with 



939 



KKHOIX OF JAMES BOSWELL, XSQ. 



wits, philosophers, and men of 
fasihion, he never suffered his reli- 
rious belief to be shaken, nor the 
impressions of piety to be effaced 
from his mind* Rough manners 
could not drive him away from the 
friendship of Johnson, whose wit, 
ethical sagacity, and stern virtue, 
he had the discernment to regard 
with a continually growing esteem. 
Scarcely any other man in these 
kingdoms enjoyed a more extensive 
acquaintance than Boswell had by 
this time acquired ; and there was 
hardly another man whose pre- 
sence was so generally agreeable to 
all who were of his acquaintance* 

It was, 1 think, in the year 1773, 
that -he at last prevailed with Dr* 
Johnson to accompany him in an 
autumnal journey through the 
Highlands and the* Western Isles of 
Scotland* Johnson joined him at 
Edinburgh, nearly at the com- 
mencement of the vacation of the 
Court of Session for that season. 
Boswell, with pride, introduced his 
great literary friend to all the best 
company in the Scottish metropolis, 
and carried him to view every ob- 
ject whether of modem elegance 
or venerable for its antiquity, which 
he supposed likely to give him clear 
and not unfavourable notions of the 
state of the arts, manners, and 
wealth of Scotland. Leaving Edin- 
burgh, they crossed the frith of 
Forth, passed through Fife to St« 
Andrew's, and, after sighing over 
the ruins of its cathedral and dilapi- 
dated colleges, preceded across the 
Tay to A!)erbi'otliwick. ITie ruined 
priory and conventual church of 
Arberbrothwick again awakened 
their solemn indignation and regret. 
Tliey were made burgessea of 
Aberdeen ; were lulled to sleep in 
Slains castle by the winds breaking 
on its battlements and the billows 
dashing against its base ; looked in 
vain for the xveird^Uters^ on the 
heath on which Macbeth heard 
those doubtful prophecies which 
urged him to his fate; talked of 
savages and shopkeepers with Lord 
Monboddo; and, "//rr varios ca^ 
«««, per muUa ducHmina rerumj** 



arrived at length at lOTeniess* 
From Inverness they, travelled 
across the isthmus of theHighlaads 
to Glenelg* Ferried over from the 
5kx>ttish continent to the Isle of 
Skye, the greatest of the Hdiudse, 
they then wandered about for 
a while among these isles, charmed 
with the kind and luxurious hospi-^ 
tality of the iusular chieftains, inte- 
rested by the simplicity and peca* 
liarity of the n^anners of the High- 
land rustics ; now astonished, now 
amused, by the 'wild scenery of sea 
and land which they beheld around 
them ; having their devotional feel- 
ings occasionally elevated to the 
height of pious rapture » by the con- 
templation of ruined convents and 
the recollection of the monks hj 
whom these had once been tenant- 
ed; and wondering what all the 
world was in the meanwhile saying 
of them and of their adventurous 
voyages! Atlast they returned within 
the bourne of lowland life. John- 
son, havihg talked down the Edin- 
burgh-men, departed for London ; 
and Boswell betook himself for the 
winter to the ungrateful business of 
the Scottish bar. 

But while the analogy of nature 
remains the same, it will ever be 
the final cause of all the actions of 
a true man of letters to produce a 
book. The world expected a book 
or two to be the results of the He- 
budean travels of Boswell and John- 
son; nor were they disappointed. 
Within a reasonable lengdi of time 
after Johnson's return to London, 
appeared his account of his ** Jour- 
ney to the Western Isles of Scot- 
land**' It is perhaps the best work 
of its author. In it nature is dis- 
played, and life and manners are 
pictured out with the happiest skill* 
There are a noble pathos and sub- 
limity in those indignantly plaintive 
reflections wliith burst from John- 
son's bosom at sight of the august 
ruins of those saci-cd edifices which 
the Scottih Reformation dcmo- 
lished....'rhat ethiral wisdom in 
which he the most eminently ex- 
celled, continually breaks forth 
amid those observatious which are 



HIMOIR OF JAMES BOSVELL, ESQ. 



S33 



tnggested by the passing series of 
objects of different characters* In 
oeconomical science, Johnson has 
in this small work displayed the 
elements of a skill more just and 
profound than that of Adam Smith 
and the philosophers of France. 
Even in the physical sciences and 
the mechanical arts, which he could 
be the least expected to understand, 
Johnson has, in this book, evinced 
no common intelligence. A doi^Ie 
portion of that sagacity which we 
call common sense, pervades the 
whole....In nothing is this more re- 
.markably exhibited than in the logi- 
cal discrimination with which he 
asserts the possibility, while he 
allows the improbability, of those 
supernatural appearances which 
superstition has ever too credulously 
believed, and scepticism perhaps 
too pertly and unthinkingly denied. 
Johnson's remarks on tlie incredi- 
bility of tlie tale which had been 
S'ven out to the public concerning 
ssian's Poems, happily served to 
check the evil arts of a race of pre- 
tended men of taste and erudition, 
who were degrading the literature 
of their country by going about to 
exalt its glory upon the tricks of 
imposture. All the genuine par- , 
tialities of an old-fashioned English- 
man, were interwoven into tlic 
very stamina of Johnson's soul : yet 
it must be confessed, that no man 
who was resolutely determined not 
to sacrifice truth to courtesy, could 
have spoken with greater kindness 
and favour of tlie Scots and of their 
country. This journey of Johnson's 
may be regarded as the most useful 
memorial of the state of Scotland, 
that has even hitherto been pub- 
lished : it is certain, that no other 
publication has ever contributed 
half so much toward the improve- 
ment of the general condition of 
things among the Scots. It is ex- 
tremely painful to reflect, that veiy 
few of the Scots are so candid us to 
acknowledge this ! Boswell's little 
bark^ although not quite so soon 
launched as the great 7?;*^? rate of 
his friend, was, however, to sail at- 
tendant on its triumph. His** Tour 



to the Hebrides" did not appear in 
print till a number of years after* 
It was then received by the public 
with an avidity which even ex- 
ceeded that with which Johnson's 
book had been bought and read* 
It was tilled chiefly with the detail 
of Johnson's conversation and minu- 
test acts during the journey. It 
added also lights, shades, drapery, 
and colouring^, to that great pour- 
trait of the Scottish Highlands, 
which Johnson had drawn with a 
pencil, careless of all but the pri- 
mary and essential proportions and 
the grandest effects : it had in it too 
much of gossiping colloquial tattle, 
and betrayed in the mind of its wri- 
ter a siUy proneness to gawky ad- 
miration of trifles, which none but a 
weak mind can admire. It shewed 
Bos well to have acquired new acute- 
ness of discernment, and new stores 
of* knowledge, since he wrote his 
account of Corsica ; but it at the 
same time proved him to have bu- 
sied himself about trifles, tftl trifling 
was almost all the business of which 
he was capable . It evinced the 
truth of Johnson's observation of 
him, "that he wanted bottom !" 

From the era of this famed Hebu- 
dean excursion till the time of his ' 
father's death, Boswell's life ran on 
in its usual tenor, undistinguished 
by any remaikable change in its 
circumstances or habits.. ..He con- 
tinued to make frequent visits to 
London, to linger as long as possi- 
ble upon every visit, amidst the fas- 
cinating society to which his pre- 
sence was there acceptable, to leave 
it ai)on every occasion of his return 
to Scc>tland,witli the reluctance and 
depression of one driven into exile 
from a scene of pureunmingled joy. 
To the business of the Scottish bar, 
to that career for ambition which 
was open before him in Scotland, 
to the company, the scenery, the 
amusements of his native country, 
he became continually more indiffe- 
rent.. ..Seeing men of less shewy 
talents, but more diligent applica- 
tion to business, outstrip him in suc- 
cess as counsellors and ple:iders 
he cowld not regard without an in- 



154 



MXMOIK or JAKES tOIWELL, SKi«. 



dignation which moved him to quit 
the com])etition, that tasteless and 
undiscerning stupidity which could 
prefer them to him. Finding his 
allowance from his father, to which 
the addition from the prohts of his 
business was not considerai)le, to 
be scaixely sufficient for both the 
suit^le support of his family and 
his own personal expenses, he be- 
came in vain sohcitous to obtain a 
Csirther supply from the emoluments 
of some place under governnoent. 
Naturally ambitious to obtain ad- 
mission into that convivial Literary 
Society, in which Johnson and Rey- 
nolds united some of their select 
friends^ for the good purposes of 
dining and talking occasionally 
together, he succeiled in this object 
of his wishes thrtfugh the powerful 
recommend-ition of Johns<>n. Ready 
to swear aju-r Jolmson in almost 
every thincr else, he ventured, how- 
ever, to r1if;er in opinion, from his 
gre^t friend, on the subject of the 
American war ; and in this instance 
icniT led not to prefer to the stem 
tor\-lr,gic of Johnson, the more 
generous whiggish declamation of 
Burke. But in tnith, lioswell's 
political principles seem to have 
Deen a medley of torvism and whig- 
gism, not very harmoniously inter- 
mingled. He had been educated 
among staunch Whigs ; he had 
conversed not a little with Jacobites 
and Tories ; he always adopted his 
principles of belief and action, not 
from deep i)hilosophical investiga- 
tion, but from the authorities of 
the most eminent persons with 
whom he was wont to converse ; 
from ^xcry one somewhat : and in 
regard to many things, therefore, 
he was still as heartily a Tory as 
even Johnson could possibly desire. 
During all this while, Boswell, if 
sometimes a little negligent as a 
son, a husband, or a fatlicr, was, 
however, blamelessly kind-hearted 
in all these relations, and anxious 
to fulfil aright their resi3cctive du- 
ties. His religious sensibility be- 
came continually more delicate and 
just ; and the impressions of piety 
upon his heart became still deeper 



and more habitnallf Ti^id* Kw 
moral wisdom, and his knoiHedge 
of life and manners, were at £e 
same time considerably enlarged*. • 
But still he studied litUe ; lie taught 
Uie world to regard him at tncapft- 
ble of the sedate habits of business; 
he acquired the character of % 
giddy flutterer on the stage of life ; 
while he became the acquaintance 
and the convivial companion of al* 
most every one, he lost the power 
of commanding the substantial 
friendship of ail but a very few. 
His predilection for London deter* 
mined him, at length, entirely to 
relinquish the Scottish bar lor the 
£n(>;lish bar, and he entered himsdf 
as a student at the Temple. 

Lord Auchinleck soon after died, 
James, as his eldest son, succeeded 
to the possession of the family es-> 
tates. He might perhaps expect 
to find himself now affluent, inde* 
pendent, and happy. But the rents 
of the estate exceeded not fifteen 
hundred pounds a year : a jointure 
to his mothcr-in-Uw was to be paid 
out of tlys income : James himself 
was but a life renter, enjoying the 
produce, but bound up by a strict 
entail, from impairing the capital : 
for a little he found the change ia 
his condition not unpleasant ; but 
his revenue was soon experienced 
to be inadequate to his wishes*.... 
Mrs. Boswell 's health began to de- 
cline : the affairs of his estate for a 
time detained him from revisiting 
London : his wonted fits of low- 
spirits occasionally returned ; and • 
his ordinary happiness quickly set^ 
tied rather under than above the 
same mediate level as before. He 
however pleased himself with the 
prospect of going to settle perma- 
nently in London, and probably- 
hoped that then indeed would his 
felicity be complete ! 

Being ambitious of that celebrity 
which was to be gained by dabbling 
in politics, his keenest attention was 
attracted l»y those nii:nsterial con- 
tests and re volutions amidst which 
the late war with America was 
brought to its close. Wliether from 
paitiality to the name of the great 



KEMOia or JAMES BOSWSLL, ES^ 



dss 



«arlof Chatham, or because he him- 
self was persooaily acquainted with 
the preheat Mr. Pitt, Boswell be- 
came a zealous parti zan of the young 
minister ; whose popularity, alas I 
though then in its^l and seemingly 
amaranthine bloom, has long since 
gone perhaps in quest of the maiden- 
head of Orlando Furioso's mistress* 
He even at one time wrote some few 
short politicaf letters, by which he 
expected to stir up a mighty fer- 
ment among the good people of 
Scotland ; but is it not said, that 
maggots will sometimes burrow in 
the snout of a |ow, without exciting 
in the poor animal any sense of their 
presence I He had hopes that Mr* 
Pitt, with the generous gratitude of 
a youthful heart, would reward his 
services with a place or pension ; 
but Mr. Pitt found it easier to put 
him off with a simple complimen- 
tary letter. Upon a subtioquent 
occasion he ventured to offer him- 
self a candidate for the representa- 
tion of tlie county of Ayr in the 
house of commons : but other inte- 
rests quickly threw him at a dis- 
tance m the competition. I own 
I think it is to be regretted that he 
did not succeed ; for he would pei^ 
haps have proved a tolerably honest 
member of parliament ; md his 
flights and his witticisms might have 
served to enliven many a dull de- 
bate. 

He at length fixed his residence 
in London, and offered himself as a 
candidate for business at the Eng- 
lish bar. His beginnings were here 
also not unpromising. By the fa- 
vour of Lord Lonsdale he obtained 
the respectable appointment of Re 
corder of Carlisle. He attended tlie 
Judges, in pursuit of business, upon 
several of their circuits. He was 
sometimes retained to plead in a 
Scottish Appeal. But his habits of 
conviviality, his character for flighty 
gaiety, incompatible with eminence 
m business, the lateness of the 
time in his life at which he made 
the attempt, and perhaps, also, his 
want of perseverance, soon stopped 
him short in his career of juridical 
practice in England as before in 



Scotland. The levities and the 
flowers of literature were forever 
tempting him to stra>' with truant 
steps from the thorny paths of law. 
The publication of his Hebudean 
Tour too, as 1 have been taught to 
believe, exhibiting him as the mi- 
nute recorder and retailer of what- 
ever careless conversations might 
have passed between persons of any 
eminence in hts presence, excited 
among his acquaintance a general 
alarm, that tended at once to hurty 
in some small degree, his practice 
at the bar, and to exclude him from 
some of those social circles in Which 
he had been before a familiar and 
welcome guest. His first ardour 
was gradually extinguished: he 
relinquished the hope of becoming 
more eminent in Westminster- hall, 
than he had been in the Parliament 
house, at Edinburgh. He saw, when 
it was too late, that the man who 
consumes in conviviality, and in the 
pursuit of witty and splendid socv- 
ety, those prime years of youth, in 
which our permanent habits are 
usually formed, must be content to 
forego those ' successes of avarice 
and ambition, which incessant and 
nerve-strung industry in the toils 
of study or business, is alone desti- 
ned by Nature to command. He 
even resigned the office of Recorder 
of the city of Cciriisle, and resolved 
henceforth to court only the praise 
of literature, of song-singing, and 
of colloquial sprightliness. 

It was extremely fortunate for 
the lovers of literary anecdote, and 
of the memory of Johnson, that he 
was driven to adopt this resolution* 
Much more had his feelings been 
gratified by the eager curiosity with 
which all the world bought and 
read his Hebudean Tourj than of- 
fended by the puetical raillery of 
Dr. Walcot, by the complaints of a 
violation of the ordinary mutual 
confidence of men in convivial inter- 
course^ or by that ridicule which 
men, far weaker than himself, de- 
lighed to throw out agi:inst the va- 
nity and the love of trifles, which 
that book betrayed. Having trea- 
sured up, with woaderfiil diligence 



S36 



MEMOIR OF JAMES BOSWELL E8C^ 



the better part of what had fallen 
from his late friend Johnson, in 
many of the conversations in which 
be had excited or listened to John- 
ton's wisdom and colloquial elo- 
quence, from the commencement of 
their acquaintance to the period of 
his friend's death, he now under- 
took to compose a bio^aphical ac- 
count of that wise and good man, 
in which those treasured glean- 
bigs from his colloquial dictates 
ihould be carefully interwoven. 

This book was, with much care 
and pains, conducted through the 
press, presented to the public* 
Its composition delightfully soothed 
the author's mind, by calling up to 
]iim> in retrospective view, theas- 
■ociates, the amusements, the con- 
versations of the prime years of his 
past life. By the public it was, at 
£rst sight, received with some mea- 
inre of prejudice against it; for 
vho could suppose that he who could , 
not make up a moderate octavo, f 
'without introducing into it, a num- 
ber of trifles unworthy to be written 
or read, should have furnished out 
two copious quartos of the biogra- 
phy of a single man of letters, other- 
wise than by filling tliem with tri- 
fles to sense, in the pro]K>rtion of a 
, bag of chaff to a few grains of wheat I 
Bat every reader was soon pleas- 
ingly disappointed. This work was 
quickly found to exhibit an inimita- 
bly faithful picture of the mingled 
genius and weakness, of the virtues 
and the vices, the sound sense and 
the pedantry, the benignity and the 
passionate harshness, of the great 
and excellent, although not consum- 
mately perfect man, the train of 
whose life it endeavoured to unfold. 
It appeared to be filled with a rich 
•tore of his genuine dictates, so elo- 
quent and wise, that they need hard- 
ly shun comparison with the most 
elaborate of those works which he 
himself published. Johnson was 
ieen in it, not as a solitary figure, 
but associated with those groupcs 
of his distinguished contemporaries 
with which it was his good fortune, 
in the latter and more illustrious 
jearsaf his lifC) often to meet and 



to converse. It displayed many 
fine specimens of that proportion, 
in which, in the latter part of the 
eighteenth century, literature and 
philosophical wisdom were liable to 
be carelessly intermingled in the or- 
dinary conversation of the best 
company in Britain. It preserved 
a thousand precious anecdotical 
memorials of the state of arts, man* 
ners, and policy among us during 
this period, such as must be invalu* 
able to the philosophers and anti- 
quarians of a future age. It gave 
in the most pleasing mode of insti- 
tution, and in many different points 
of view, almost all the elementary 
practical principles both of taste and 
of moral science. It showed the 
colloquial tattle of Boswell, dulf 
chastened by the grave and rounded 
eloquence of Johnson. It presented 
a collection of a number ot the roost 
elaborate of Johnson's smaller oe- 
casional composition^, which might 
otherwise, perhaps, have been en- 
tirely lost to future times. Shew- 
ing BosweU's skill in literary com- 
position, his general acquaintance 
with learning and science, hu 
knowledge of the manners, the for- 
tunes, and the actuating principles 
of mankind, to have been greatly 
extended and improved, since the 
time when he wrote his Account of 
Corsica, it exalted the character of 
his talents in the estimation of the 
world; and was reckoned to be such 
a master-piece in its particular 
species, as perhaps the literature 
of no other nation* ancient or mo- 
dem, could boast. It did not indeed 
present its author to the world in 
another light than as a genius of tl^e 
second class ; yet it seemed to rank 
him nearer to the first tlian to the 
third. This estimation of the cha- 
racter of BosweJl's Life of Johnson, 
formed by the best critics soon after 
its publication, seems to haA e been 
smce fiilly confirmed. I am well 
persuaded that not one, even of the 
most successful cf his contempora- 
ries at the Scottish bar, could have 
produced a work equally replete 
with charmingly amusive elegance 
and wisdom* 



XEJiont OF jAxxs ISOSWSLL9 Esqjt. 



sar 



Hie' pabficatioa of this capital 
irork was the last eminently •con- 
spicuous event in Boswell's life* 
Mrs* Boswelly an amiable, accom- 
plished, and prudent woman, had 
died about the time when he 
went to settle permanently in Lon- 
don. Some of his children had 
been cut off in early infancy ; but 
two sons and three daughters still 
remained to him« Over tlieir edu- 
cation he watched with a solicitude 
worthy of the tendercst and the 
most prudent of parents. Elegant 
accomplishments, virtuous princi- 
ples, a taste for moderate, simple, 
and innocent pleasures, and for 
these only, were earnestly, and not 
unsuccessfully, endeavoured to be 
impressed, as lasting endowments 
and ornaments of their minds. To 
the necessary e^cnse of his chil- 
dren's education, he is indeed said 
to have appropriated a very large 
proportion of hb income, in the 
latter years of his life. With the 
principles of piety, his own mind 
was too habitually and deeply im- 
pressed, not to make liim anxiously 
careful to instruct persons who were 
so dear to him, in the Christian 
&ith, the consolations of which 
afford ever our best resource amidst 
all the sorrows of human life. I 
have been informed, tliat, with a 
tacit condemnation of his own plan 
of life, he was exceedingly desirous 
that his eldest son, a young man of 
very promising disjiositiona and 
talents, ahould, after studying the 
civil law at the Saxon University 
of Leipsic, qualify liimsclf at Edin^ 
baigh for admission into the Scottish 
Faculty of Advocates, and after 
that, be content to spend his time 
/quietly in his native country, witlv- 
out adventuring rashly into the 
iNcrils of gay or ambitious life in 
England. 

In the last years of his life, Bos- 
well still continued to frequent the 
societies in which he had been 
wont to delight. But death carried 
away, one after another, many of 
his dearest companioi>s. The di- 
viding paths of life parted him from 
•thers. The fickle multitude of 

VOL, I.M.KO* 111. 



unattached acquaintnnde desetted 
him from time to time, for newer 
faces, and less fiiroillar names. His 
jokes, iiis song, his sprightly effu« 
sions of wit and wisdom, were 
ready, but did not appear to pos- 
sess upon all occasions, their wonted 
power of enlivening convivial joy. 
He found that fortune, professional 
connections, great expense, and 
the power of promoting or thwart- 
ing people's personal interests, are 
necessary to give, even to the nwst 
polished and lively conversational 
talents, the power of pleasing 
always. His fits of dejection be* 
came more frequent, and of longer 
duration . Convivial society became 
continually more necessary to him, 
while his power of enchantment 
over it, continued to decline. Even 
the excitement of deep drinking in 
an evening, became often desirable, 
to raise his spirits above melan* 
choly depression. Disease, the 
consequence of long habits of con^ 
vivlal indulgence, prematui^ely 
broke the strength of his constitu- 
tion. He died before he had yet 
advanced to the brink of old a^, 
and left assuredly few men of 
worthier hearts, or more obliginf; 
manners, behind him. 

In an attempt to exhibit a summa- 
ry of the qualities of Boswell's cha- 
r<iCtcr, I should mark him as a genius 
ofthe second class. Hehadvivacity, 
but wanted vigour of imagination 2 
his judgment was more quick thaa 
just ; an unlucky passion for cele- 
brity, made him run continually in 
quest of it, as the peasant-boy runs 
to find tlie treasure at the end of 
the rainbow, instead of earning it 
by that energetic diligence in busi- 
ness, or that toil of solitary study, 
which are necessarily to be paid as 
the prices of great and lasting re- 
putation. He courted the acquain- 
tance of eminence, as if genius, or 
the praise of it, were to be caught 
by a sort of contagion. He seems 
likewise to have thought genius to 
consist in some innate peculiarity 
of mind, and not rather to be 
formed by the happy natural and 
artificial cultivation of any iotdlcct 

n 



i 



JM 



. IkIM OIR Of JAMES ADS VBLL) XSQ* 



.cfiginally found) btttnot cast in anf 

mysteriously peculiar mould. These 
two vulgar errors seem to have led 
^im astray from his earliest youth* 
The lasdnation of a society, in 
which sensuality was enlivened and 
Te£uied by wit, elegance, and lite- 
rature, <Ud the rest. He posses- 
sed, for a man of a liberal educa- 
tion and literary ardour, little 
knowledge, save what he picked 
up in conversation. His principles 
ivere derived from the authority 



of others, not from discemlii^ in-^ 
vestigation by himself. Hence te» 
was subject to whim, affectatioa, 
and caprice; but all of an amii^le 
character. He was too fond of ge- 
neral society, to be the very best 
of domestic men. He was, in ther 
sincerity of his belief, and the warm, 
but perluips inconstant piety of his 
sentiments, a true Christian. He 
might have been more useful in the 
world; more amusing he could 
scarcely liave been. 



REMARKABLE OCCURRENCES. 
CALAMITY AT MADEIRA. 



This extraordinary event, 
which we briefly noticed in our 
paper of yesterclay, happened on 
Sunday the 7th of October, at eight 
In the evening. The day had been 
previously very cloudy, and a con- 
tinual rain had fallen, accompanied 
irith squalls, which were not vio- 
lent, until the sun had sunk beneath 
the horizon, when the sea appeared 
to be unusually agitated, and such 
darkness prevailed, that an object 
was not discernible at a yard 
jiistance. During this progress, 
every person remained witliin their 
houses, in seeming security, and 
wholly unconscious of that ap- 
proaching horror which was des- 
tined so Portly to sweep them from 
off the earth! 

The clock of the cathedral was 
striking eight, when an instanta- 
neous storm of terrible lightning 
and thunder began ; and the rain 
lell in such torrents, that all the 
cross streets of the eastern part 
of the city of Funchall, were sud- 
denly filled with mud and water 
above the first floors of the houses, 
which was occasioned by its being 
impeded, in some measure, from 
its furious descent from the ravines 
c£ the mountains into the sea. At 
this shocking period, the stoutest 
heart fek appalled ; notliing was 
to be heard but the din of ruin 
working in every direction : hun- 
dreds of hnge stones, that had been 
tsm from their quarries en the 



hilk tliree miles above the town^ 
were tumbling over eadi other in 
stupendous concussion, carrjing 
wiUi them, in conjunction with the 
deluge, churches, convents, streets, 
trees, bridges, battlements, and 
eight hundred human beings into 
the bottom of the deep. Whenever 
a flash of lightning penetrated the 
gloom, were seen mothers wading 
through the streets, up to their 
chins m water, holding their in&nts 
on their heads with one hand, and 
endeavouring to c^tch security with 
the Qther ; while those who at- 
tempted to assist ^em, were fre- 
quently maimed or killed, by beams 
of timber or wine pipes, which 
floated around them; and the sea 
presented a scene not less awful, 
tliough less ruinous: most of the 
vessels lost their cables, anchors, 
and boats; andmanyof the seamen 
were washed overboard. The ships 
rolled, in some part or another, 
several feet beneatli the water con- 
tinually, and all the sailors who 
were tliere on that dismal night, 
whether Americans, English, or 
Portuguese, gave themselves up aa 
lost meu. 

Thus, in so short a space of time 
as a few minutes, were many 
hundred individuals carried to their 
eternal home, in the very pleni- 
tude of an apparent security ;. and 
several thousands reduced from af- 
fluence to poverty : and many of 
thcmj it is probable^ in tlie iiidu^ 



ftXMARltABLS OGCURREKCEy. 



5» 



fenc6 of tliose imperfections which 
constitute our 'criTAlnsdity or our 
fol^, afad sent to thfcir account, 
<* unblanched, unanointed, unnan- 
nealed." Ten thousand pipes of 
irine and brandy were destroyed, 
and the sea-shore' was skirted on 
the ensuing morning with milGons 
Of fragments, among which the 
mourning survivors of the calamity 
-were eagerly seeldn^ for the dead 
remains of their relations or friends. 
Several days after, the air of Fun- 
chall became so putrescent, from 
the rotting bodies that were buried 
l^eneath the congregated mud and 
filth, that a pe^ence was appre- 
hended: but in consequence of 
burning tar and pitch, and other 
neutralising combustibles, . that 
scourge was providentially avoided. 

It was remarki^ble that this de- 
lu^, in its course, swept away 
twenty-nine vine^yards that were 
situated on the south-west side of 
the City ; and so decisive was the 
ruin, that it tore up all the trees 
by the roots, and bore away not 
only them, but nil the cottages with 
their inhabitants, the ground, cattle 
and appurtenances, and left tlie 
. rocky basis as bare of vegetation as 
the diffii of Norway. All this as- 
semblage of objects were whirled 
into the Rtbeira Brava, or Mad 
river, and ingulphed nearly the 
whole of the small town which 
bears the name. 

In this wreck of matter there 
was but one human creature saved, 
and that was an infant in a wooden 
cradle, which was lodged among 
some reeds on the side of the decli- 
vity, and when discovered, on the 
ensuing day, was in a profound 
sleep : this unconscious infant was 
saved, ^m its ignorance of fear, 
as it is in the nature of feari to 
counteract its own desires. 

The small town of Machico, was 
likewise ruined by this singular 
tempest, and many lives were lost 
there also ; which leads to a sup- 
position, that the lamented event 
XV as occasioned by a water spout, 
, that had burst against the side of 
the mountain, and discharged itself 



down the gullies, produced t^iose 
aiHictive and sudden disasters, that 
all feeling persons must deplore i 
and which} whenever recollected, 
should operate to remind us of our 
frailty and our 'respbn^ility, and 
make us Uve well, tiiat we may die 
happily. 

This is admitted to have been the 
greatest civic evil that has hap« 
pened since the earthquake of 
Lisbon, in ir54, and was the most 
tragical of its nature, that ever 
happened. Had the younger Pliny 
been on the spot, it would have been 
adequately detailed. 

TJ^e property destroyed, has been 
estimated at upwards of a miUion 
of pounds sterling. 



I.ITSRARY INTBLLICEirCB. 

Wk can promise the public another 
evidence of the rapid improvement 
in elegant typography in this coun- 
try, from Mr. Bradford's edition of 
« the Letters of Junius, with Notes 
and Illustrations, Historical, Politi- 
cal, Biographical, and Critical, by 
Robert Heron J Esq." He purpo- 
ses making it equal in all respects 
to the London edition, and promis- 
es to publish it in January. 

Mr. Samuel Lewis has drafted a 
Map of Louisiana from Spanish 
and French Maps, and compared 
with the account of that country, 
laid before congress by the Presi- 
dent : it is now in the hands of the 
engraver, and will be piubliscd by 
Conrad, & Co. in February. 

Messrs. Birch and Small have 
published the fourth volume of the 
Domestic Encyclopedia, with addi- 
tions by Dr. Mease. The same 
gentlemen have issued proposals for 
an edition of Gibbon's History of 
the decline and fall of the Roman 
Empire, wliich, if they print witli 
the same neatness and accuracy as 
they have Ruseli's Ancient and 
Modern History, and VVilHch's 
Encyclopedia, will doubtless meet 
with the encouragement that the 



340 



UTXKA&T iKYXLLXOXircS* 



magnitude of the underdertakiog 
deserves. 

Mr. Woodward has published, 
-Burden's Village Sermons, or fifty- 
two plain and short discourses on 
the principal doctrines of the Gos- 
pel; and William's new translation 
and commentaries on the Songs of 
Solomon. 

Conrad & Co* have printed and 
published, an elegant edition of 
Don Quixote, Smollett's translation, 
with plates, by Lawson, Tanner, 
and Seymour, from drawings by 
Btothart. 

Pinkerton's Geography will be 
published in March next. 

Mr. Cary has announced the ac- 
complishment of his attempt to 
keep the Quarto Bible standing, 
and offers for sale eighteen difierent 
priced Quarto Bibles. He says, 
*' he trusts it will be borne in mind, 
and operate in his favour, that his 
is the first attempt that has ever 
been made to keep the Quarto Bible 
complete standing. The paper, 
type, printing, engravings, and 
binding, are aU American, and af- 
ford a comfortable support to a 
large number of artists, in the dif- 
ferent branches connected with 
this business. Without any vain 
boast of his own manu&cture, he 
invites a fair comparison with the 
productions of European competi- 
tors, and no longer hopes for patron- 
Age than he shall be found to merit 
a continuance of what has been so 
liberally afforded him." 

Dr. Barton is preparing for the 
press, a second part of his collec- 
tions for an essay towards a Mate- 
ria Medica of the United States. 

The first v-olume of the Lile of 
General Washington, is in the 
press. 

Conrad, Ic Co. will complete 
their edition of " Select British Clas- 
sics," in all the month of January; 
we are informed it is their intention 
to publish tlic I're&ces, Historical 
and I:iograj5hir.al, by Alexander 
Chair ers, A. M. in two or three 
supplementary voluir.es. 

Arranp;en]ents are makli^g for 
ihe publithiDg an elegant edition of 



Poems, by Peter Bayley, jus. Esq* 
These poems have been read by the 
editor, who ranks them at least as 
high, in poetical merit, as the Plea- 
sures of Memory, or Uie Pleasures 
of Hope, hy^ Rogenand Campbell* 

We are informed that a Narra- 
tive Poem, built upon the eariy suf- 
ferings of the Christians, and in* 
tend^ to illustrate the influence of 
Christianity on the manners of na- 
tions, may diortly be expected from 
a pen, with which the pabUc are 
already acquainted. 

llie Rev. Mr. Miller, <me of 
the Ministers of the Presbyterian 
Church, in the city of New York^ 
has been for some time past en- 
gaged in writing a Review of the 
Progress of 'Litei*ature, of Art and 
Science, &c. duringthe last century. 
We are happy to hear that he has 
nearly brought his labours to a 
close, and that in the course of two 
months we may expect to receive 
from his hand, two large octavo 
volumes, foil of the most usefol and 
interesting information. 

The London prints mention, that 
Hayley is adding to his Biography 
of Cowper, a third volume, con- 
taining Letters of that great and 
amiable Poet, which have not, hi- 
therto, been published. 

Hoicroft's Travels in France, are 
published in the most splendid stile. 



XOTB8 FROM THB BDTTOH. 

The Editor thanks his chemical 
friend for his communication. 

Valverdi's fovours will be accepts 
able. 

The Editor higihly estimates the 
memorandums of his friend the 
Traveller, tiiinks no tracts cd this 
work Avill be read with mere plea* 
sure tlian those written by him. 

Some of the lines in Cassaader'a 
verses on Solitude, are rather too 
luxui'lant to be published in tliis 
Magazine. — ^Mis lines on the New 
Year, are not sufficiently correct— 
Cassander may, however, fiiruikk 
something acceptable* 



THE 



LITERARY MAGAZINE, 



AND 



AMERICAN REGISTER. 



Vol. I.] 



JANUARY, 1804. 



[No, 4.' 



CONTENTS. 



COMMUNICATIONS. 

What is a Gentleman 

Lindley Munrray 244 

Female Learning 245 

Antiquities « 346 

The Traveller....No, 4 347 

Qiiakensm.,..a Dialogue 348 

Memorandums made on a journey 

through part of Pennsylvania 350 
Memoirs of Carwin the Biloqoist 255 

REVIEW. 

Letters of the British Spy 361 

The Town and Country Friend 
and Physician *. 365 



POETRY....ORIGINAL. 
TM Boar Hunt 



Brandy 



SELECTIONS. 



368 



270. 



page. 

Memoirs on the Wax'Trec, &c. 271 
Extracts from the correspondence 

of an American in France • . . 377 
Memoirs of Count de Parades 380 
Account of Bnenos-Ayres, in S. 

America . . . 4. . . .'. 283 

Specimen of LiteratyResemblancA 288 

Account of the Mammoth 292 

Account of the Inhabitants of ' 

Algiers 297 

Count Koningmark 301 

De Saxe's Ghost «.... 303 

Observations on Dairies, Self- 
Biography, and Self-Characters 305 

History of Philip Delwynn 309 

Account of the venerable Labre SIS 

Remarkable Occurrences ...... 817 

Marriages and Deaths • 319 



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Ko. 4.] 



JANUARY, 1804. 



[Vol. L 



FOR TOE LITERARY MAGAZINE. 
A STUDENTS DIARYm......WHAT IS A GENTLEMAN ? 



An amusing controversy took 
place this evening, at my lire-side, 
on this important (question. One 
was busy in eiEamining the matter 
etymologically, and historically. 
Another attempted to settle the 
point of prevailing custom, and 
the general result was, that nothing 
was more vague and equivocal than 
tbis term. 

^ Gen//^m^" says an innkeeper 
to a mixed company of sailors and 
taylors, whites and blacks, whom 
a stage coaah hkd brought to dine 
at his house, ^ the stage is ready, 
andyouhave to pay me half a dollar 
a piece." 

The curtain fells p.t the theatre, 
and a performer steps forth, and 
addresses his motley audience thus : 
*< Ladies and Gentlemen^ to-mor- 
row night will be presented," Sec. 
&c. 

'A man at an inn, who, in a mixed 
company, carves a pig or goose 
with dexterity and ease, who carries 
the glass to his mouth, without 
faurry or confusion ; who is careful 
to supply the wants of all present, 



from the dish before him; who 
speaks mildly and complaisantly to 
the waiter ; who finds no fault with 
any thing produced ; who is dressed 
in a sattin waistcoat ; a black doth 
coat, without rent or patch ; clean 
linen and shining boots, that man 
is applauded by ms companions as 
a true gentleman. 

If you listen to the conversation 
of a well dressed woman, you will 
probably catch such sentences as 
these.../' The gentlemen are so 
apt to flatter us poor girls"...." We 
move, dress, and talk, for no other 
purpose than to please the' gentle^ 
mffw"...." You gentlemenh&ve such 
advantages over us ; gentlemen can 
get rich by their own exertions ; 
can pursue any trade, and aspire 
to any office hi society that pleases 
them." 

What kind of a man is that, 
whom you overhear in a coffee- 
house, claiming from another " the 
treatment (or satisfaction) due to 
a gentleman ?" 

A man justifies his avenging an 
imagined wrong, with a pistol rather 



346 



STUDENTS BIAET. 



than a cudgel, by acknowledging 
his adversary to be a gentleman* 

** Pray," says a black girl, usher- 
ing a couple of gallants of her own 
colour, into the kitchen, ^^ take 
seats, gentlemen. 

Now, in all these cases, there is 
doubtless the propriety that flows 
from custom and usage ; and yet, 
the persons that are thus denomi- 
nated gentlemen^ have no circum- 
stance of age, rank, education, or 
profession in common with each 
other. They are alike, in short, 
only in two circumstances: that of 
sex, and that of the respectM in- 
tention of those who use it. A 
gentleman, is a title which merely 
implies a desire to please and flatter 
those to whom it is applied. 
*In some parts of Europe, there 
are permanent distinctions, origi- 
nating in birtli, between gentlemetf 
and others* The son of a butcher, 
whatever be his actual situation, 
or personal accomplishments, will 
frequently have his claim to this 
title disputed by those who know 
kis pedigree : and yet, the two pro- 
fessions of clergyman and soldier, 
however incompatible in other re- 
spects, give, it seems, to those who 
^ embrace them^ the rank of gen- 
tleman. 

LiVDLET MURRAT* 

It is certainly remarkable that 
tlie natives of America, who have 
af'rived at eminence in arts and 
literature, have chiefly done so in 
a foreign country. The adage, 
^' that ^ prophet has no honour in 
his own country," is not strictly 
applicable to tliese cases, because 
America is justly proud of these 
her sons, and afibrds them every 
9ort of patronage and countenance 
consistent with her situation ; but, 
to obtain this credit with their coun- 
trymen, it seems previously neces- 
sary to have commenced their 
career, and to have established 
their fame in Europe. Tliis is a 
kind of test and recommendation 
which our ]}unctiHo demands* 

It would be worth while to form 
a list of those who have doue honour 



to their country in Ibreign dimes ; 
among those the names of Benja-* 
min Thompson and Lindley Murray 
deserve a conspicuous place. The 
latter has had the honour of coq<v 
tributing more essentially to the 
education of Englishmen, and to 
the settlement and elucidation of 
the English language, than any 
person uving. Hb grammatical 
treatises bid fair to gain an unri« 
valled and permanent pre-emi- 
nence ; and his collections for the 
use of scholars, have already ex- 
cluded most others from seminaries 
of instruction. 

I was shewed to-night a letter 
from him, dated May, 1799, in 
which he rives the following ac- 
count of the success which has 
crowned his eflforts as an author : 

<^ My literary labours," says he^ 
^ were the oflB^ring of a sense of 
duty, and have amused many an 
hour that might otherwise have 
been languid, and perhaps weari- 
some, it affords me great satis- 
faction to find that the public appro- 
bation of these works has £ur 
exoeeded my most sanguine expec- 
tations. In four years there have 
been printed of the Abridgment, 
the Grammar, the Exercises, and 
Key, forty-six' thousand copies; 
eight thousand of *' The English 
Reader," and eleven thousand of 
« The Power of Religion." The 
Grammar and exercises have been 
so well approved, and are in such 
extensive use, that an eminent 
house in London, in the book trade^ 
offered me 7001. for the copy-right^ 
and afterwards 3501. for that of the 
English Reader. These ofiers I 
have accepted. I had before sold 
the Abridgement for 1001. Thou 
wilt agree that the copy-rights are 
well sold, especially as thereby my 
wish for a still more extensive and 
permanent use, will probably be 
accomplished. ^ 

'< As this, prima facie, carries 
with it an interested appearance, 
it seems incumbent on me to inform 
thee, that, as I wrote irova disin- 
terested motives, I have appropri- 
ated the whole 1350U {ji»!f^ 600Q 



irfUBlsVts DiAliy* 



24» 



dollars) for ^e bcne6^^ others, 
^rithoat l^pftttte any of it to my 
private use* 

Fexale Learkihg. 

I li%ve been listening, to-night, 
to a yery ingenious defence of un- 
ieamedvrommf by Miss »»»*». I 
Ikad ventured to insinuate against 
lk«r, as a &ult, an ki(£fbrenceto 
books ; a want of curiosity ; and 
had chieflfy insisted on this defect, 
not as disparaging her character in 
the eyes of others, but as depriv- 
ing her of a source of occupation 
and amusement the most rational, 
commodious, and efficacious of aH 
others. 

To this censure she replied by 
appealing to every one's experience, 
whether a passion for rea<Mng does 
not necessarily encroach upon, and 
Impair that attention to domestic 
du&es, and regard for personal 
decorum, without which, no woman 
can be either usefol, happy, or 
respelitable. It is infiuitely better, 
she tiiinks, to have no taste but for 
domestic ai&irs, than to have no 
taste but for literature. It is im- 
possible for human creatures to hit 
the true meifium : to<x>mbine and 
compound various tastes and incli- 
nations in such due proportions, 
that each shall be indulged to the 
exact exteni^ and at the very time 
which propriety allows* Books 
must either please us too much, 
and, of consequence, absorb our 
attention unseasonably and exces- 
nvely, or they must mil to please 
atalL 

To say truth, this conversation 
arose from my observingmy friend's 
indifference to a book which I liad 
lent her. I expected to find her 
deeply engaged in it tliis evening, 
whereas she was quietly employ^ 
with her needle* It seems she had 
taken up the book, and after reading 
a few pages with little interest, had 
laid it aside for the needle, which 
pleased her much better* She 
maintains very strenuously, that if 
she had a stronger inclination to 
reading than to sewing, the latter 
employment, however enjomed by 

VOL* Z....NO* IV* 



duty and necessity, would be ne- 
glected, and congratulates herself 
on findmg pleasure in that to which 
propriety enjoins her to attend* 

There is surely a great deal of 
truth in these remarks of my friend* 
It is not, strictly speaking, impos«* 
sible to combine business and study 
in just proportions ; and sOMe ex- 
amples, no doubt there are, in 
cither sex, of persons whom a pas- 
sion for study never seduces^ a 
moment from the rigid line of their 
domestic and social duty. Though 
the possibility of such characters 
cannot be denied, I must aver that 
I never met with any such. I' never 
saw man or woman, smitten with 
a passion for books, whose h^pi- 
ness and use&ilness were not some- 
what injured by it ; but the injury 
is much greater, and more palpable 
in women than in men* The do- 
mesftic sphere being appropriated 
to the female, her mattention and 
tmskilfulnass produces the most in- 
jury; whereas her prudence and 
economy nuiy obviaifee many incon- 
venient and disgusting effects of a 
studious ^sposition in the master 
of a fomily. 

A woman who hates reading, ig' 
not necessarily a wise and prudent 
economist ; and this estimable cha- 
racter is sometimes, though rarely 
found in a woman of sound judg- 
ment, and liberal curiosity*. This 
curiosity is not, however, in any 
case that I know of, just so ardent 
as to make books acceptable when- 
ever there is leisure to attend to 
them. There are many hours in 
the life of such women, which drag 
on heavily or mournfully, for want 
of literary cariosity* 

I beseech you my irxend, for it is 
probable you willsometime see this, 
not to consider this verdict as limi- 
ted to you, or to your sex* It ex- 
tends to all human beings, and I 
am half inclined to revoke the con- 
cession I just now made, that such 
a curiosity, as will fill up, and no 
more than filliq>every truly leisure 
moment, can possibly exist* 

One of the most accomplished 
women of the last age (intellectually . 
S 



946 



SttJDEKTS OIAKY. 



considered) wasLady M. Wb fisoit- 
tague, bat the gtories of ber per* 
■onal indelicaciet are weQ known. 
Women, like men, are known 
to the world at large, chiefly by 
their writingB. Such, thereibre, 
bemg oblige to handle the pea 
frequently, have some apology for 
inattention to other obiectt. Of 
that numerous class of females, 
who have cultivated their minds 
with science and literature, without 
publishing thmr labours, and who 
consequently are unknown to gene* 
ral inquirers ; how many nave 
preserved the balance inunoveaUe 
between the appout^ demands c^ 
the kitchen, the drawing room, the 
nursery, and the library ? We may 
safely answer from our own esLpe* 
rience, not one. 

AWTK^KS* 

I was shewn, to-ni|^t, a* frag* 
ment oi a coverlet, which once be- 
longed to William Penn. The old 
lady who produced it, gave roe a 
veiy circumstantial history of this 
relique. It seems, the coverlet, 
very old, and very ragged, was 
taken by a curious person from the 
very bed in which the patriarch of 
Pennsylvania lay, <and was distri- 
buted in small strips among her 
particular friends. 

American anHguitie»f if any 
such things there be, chiefly relate 
to monuments of those nations who 
occupied America before the Euro- 
pean discoveries* The most per- 
manent, con^icuous, and remark- 
able of these, are undoubtedly the 
mounds or ramparts scattered over 
the western country. These have 
two qualities to reooromend them, 
in the highest degree, to curiosity, 
and that is the retnoteness of tlieir 
ori^n, and the my^teriousness of 
their design. Other monunrtents 
consist of the weapons and domes- 
tic utensils, which are made of du- 
rable materials, and will probably 
ccmtinue to be found, or to be pre- 
served, some thousands of years 
hence. 

The spirit of curiosity is exactly 
in proportion to tlie remoteness and 



inc wy-^rioumess (and the latter 
IS one of the consequeoces of tte 
former) of the cx^kxx & «u timt Use 
reliques of Indian manners win go 
on acquiring valae fitxnage to age z 
a greater number will be boay in 
collecting and describing thenas 
and a stone, tobacco-j^pe, or arrow* 
head, will, in time, became of 
much more value than its wef|^ 



will produce another ipe^ 
cies of antiques, in the reliques o£ 
those gjenerations which have passed 
away since die colonization of^Ame- 
rica. Two centuries have almost 
elapsed, since our ancestors b^an 
to migrate hither, and this penod 
will admit of a succession of ten 
generations at least. There are a 
great number of books, and of do- 
mestic utensils, which were manu- 
foctured in Europe, and were 
brought hither for their immediate 
acconunodation, by the eari^ colo- 
nists* These are greatly pnxc^ by 
their descendants. This city (Phi- 
ladelphia) which .was the earliest 
settlement of the English in this 
st^te, contains a great number of 
these reliques, and the antiqnarian 
spirit glows very strongly in some 
bosoms. 

Besides the coverlet, Mrs. ••••• 
shewed me a sampler worked by 
her great erandmother, in the year 
1669, in Holbum ; a silver spoon, 
with which all the ciiildren of the 
fomily have been fed, since the one 
that was bom in the year 168r, on 
the passage from the Thames to 
the Delaware ; and a Beza's Tes- 
tament, which was one of the few 
of his moveables rescued by an an- 
cestor of hers from the great fire of 
London, in 1665. 

Some people may smile at the 
spirit which affixes value to objects 
ot' this nature ; and those in whom 
the sight of tliese monuments of 
times past, awaken no solemn or 
agreeable emotions, will naturally 
throw the sampler into tlie fire, the 
spoon into the crudble, and the 
Bible to the cook ; but to me, and 
such as me, who cannot handle or 
view such articles as I have )ast 



AUTXQUBS. 



described, without a thousand pic 
iDg and elevating thoughts, they 
wiU always be precious and sacred. 
To become an antiquary, I only 
want the leisure and the opportu- 
nity required. 



/br the XMerary T^agazine* 

THE TRAVELLER. •••NO. IV* 

Attachment between /ier8on* <ifthe 
aame sejcm 

TO TBS TRAVELLER. 

Ik reading your remarks in your 
last number, upon friendship, I 
could not forbear sending you a few 
thoughts of my own upon the same 
subject. 

' The attachment between persons 
of the same sex, is called friend- 
ahip; and perhaps can, strictly 
speaking, be said only to exist in 
relation to persons of the same sex. 
Friendship between man and 
woman, according to the above de- 
finition, must be love. Esteem for 
one of the opposite sex may influ- 
ence to numberless friendly offices ; 
but this is not what is meant by 
Iriendship. The affection which 
sobsits between some brothers and 
sisters, is nearer to friendship; 
stin it is distinct, and must be de- 
signated by the appellation of fra- 
ternal love. 

^ In the course of his life, a man 
generally feels the attachment of 
fHendsh^, &t different periods, 
towards several individuals of va- 
rious characters, and dissimilar 
merit. If he is of a generous and 
ardent temper, he is,' at no 
period, without some one favoured 
and &vouring being, to whom he 
feds united, by the passion of 
friendship; yet it is often found 
that the objects of a man's early at- 
tachments, prove, after absence, 
or the lapse of time, to be such as 
the heart can no longer cleave to. 

I can remember no period of 
my life, at which, among many 
^hom I loved, theie was not one, 



of my own sex, to whom I was 
passionatelv attacheiL While yet 
an infent, I was attached to a good- 
natured servant lad, who toldm 
stories, taught me to find birds 
nests, and took me with him to 
hunt rabbits. At the age of eight, 
I was passionately attached to a 
boy of^ ten. We shouldered our 
wooden muskets toged^er, and 
would have died in ddlence of each 
other, if there had been any knight 
or giant who wished the death of 
either. These bonds were broken 
by absence : I felt a pang, but im* 
mediatelv found another friend. 
During tne time between the ages 
of nine and fifteen, I remember a 
succession of boys to whom I waa 
sincerely attached, and with whom 
I had quarrcJs and reconciliationa 
innumerable. With one I was en- 
gaged in reading the achievements 
of knights-errant; with another, 
in enacting plays ; and with a third, 
in making pictures* From fifteen 
to eighteen, I had another attach- 
ment; though during this period I 
had at the same time a succession 
oi love a^irs, unknown to the ob- 
jects, and only imparted to my 
friend, who I recollect was as cold 
to the charms of the other sex, as 
he was warm in his attachment to 
me. This union was broken by 
my departure for Europe. It was 
there die same ; I Immediately found 
a friend, from whom I was insepa- 
rable, and who sincerely loved me. 
On my return to America, af- 
ter an absence of some years, 
I found some of the persons 
whom I had formerly loved, but 
thq^ were no longer the same, and 
certainly /was no longer the same. 
I was pleased to see them, but my 
heart had again to seek a friend. Is 
this the picture of friendship, as 
others feel it, or am 1 singular in 
my temper or my fate ? Be that a$ 
it may, such is the view of friend* 
ship, which my experience of life 
presents, but there is yet another 
trait. 

I married, and the passion of 
friendship was swallowed up in the 
passion of love. A husband and a 



«4a 



THE TRAVELLER. 



iktfaftr, my heart aeeks not away 
fh>m my own fire-sldei a bosom to 
share its tmn^orts, or quiet its 
tumults. Is my mind less capable 
of f riendshm than at an earlier pe- 
riod ctf life f I think not. Though 
undoubtedly my eye is much quicker 
in discerning blemishes than at that 
time : yet my heart bounds towards 
every object which spears to wish 
its sympathy. I have now a num- 
ber of persons whose friend I am^ 
and whom I am proud to call my 
friends; but the sentiment which' 
binds me to them^ is not passion. 
J esteem A, B, C, D, £, F, and 
G, and I love H, I and K ; but 
still the pQMion of friendship is 
swallowed up in the passion of 
love. W. D. 



For the Literary Magazine. 

qUAKERlSM....A DIALOGUE. 

R. How does thee do, my dear. 
J have been Iboking out for Uiee 
several days, but thee has disap- 
pointed me as usuaL Thee is 
careless, I fear, of thy engage- 
ments. 

L. Foreive me, madam. The 
weather has detained me; very 
much, I assure you, to my own 
disappointment ; but, (taking up a 
book) I see you know how to be- 
guile lassitude, and supply yourself 
with company. What have you 
got? " Men and Manners." What ! 
a novel ! I thought this kindjof read- 
ing was prohibited by the canons 
of your &ith. 

R. And so it is ; that is to say, 
these rules, interpreted most strict- 
ly, and as they are usually inter- 
preted by those who are deemed 
most conscientious and apostolical 
among us, absolutely foi-bid the 
reading of fictitious books. Time 
thus spent, is thought to be spent 
frivolously or perniciously, 

L. What then am I to infer? 

R. I understand thee. I am far 
from being so good a quakcr as I 
ought to be. In many tilings I fall 



behind my own prindplet, but aol 
on the present occaaiQ&« I am no- 
wise scrupulous about readingeitfacr 
plays or novels. My duty requires 
that I should not bMtow too mucb 
time upon them, and that I diould 
careiiiUy distinguish between the 
good and the bad. 

L. And does this novel justify 
your choice > 

R. I read it merely on the re- 
commendation of a friend, who 
told me the story was well contrived, 
and that the hero was a quaker* 

L. Will you, on the same ac- 
count, recommend it to me. 

R. Why, the story is not ill con- 
trived, and the characters, in ge- 
neral, appear to be well enoii^ 
supported, except the princ^ 
one, the quaker. In him I disco- 
ver not a single feature that resem- 
bles my neighbours and relations, 
unless indeed, it be his benevor 
lence. That, however, though 
characteristic of the true quaker, 
as it is of the true christian of any 
sect, is, I must reluctantly acknow- 
ledge, by no means characteristic 
of us as a sect ; in that reelect, 
we are neither better n^ worse 
than other societies. 

L. Has the author ful^m^dam, 
in ascribing this property to his 
hero? 

R. Far from it, my dear. In 
this respect, he has given to Jona- 
than Parkinson no more than is due 
to many quakers. What I con^ 
demn, is, the dialect and manners 
which Jonathan adopts. 

L. My dear madam, I have read 
the work, and was so ignorant as 
to think Jonathan a very good por- 
trait of a quaker. 

R. Thy ignorance, my dear, is 
very excusable, nay, unavoidable, 
since thee has XoMl me, tiill thy in- 
troduction to me, thee never con- 
versed with B^JricTtd* This waa 
erobably the case with our author. 
[e must have somewhere heard, 
that the quakers use thou and thee, 
or, as we term it, the fiiain Ian" 

ft/a^^, to single persons. This he 
as believed, and has inferred that 
the formal style of Aaih and doth s 



>^AK£RISM»*«A OIALOGUe. 



249 



^eolossr, approachingy in ail re- 
apeets, to the scriptiml, were ad* 
liered tO| with equal scrupulosity. 
Kow the truth is, that thee may 
ocmyerae all thy life with JHeruU^ 
and never hear the pronoun thou 
uttered* The various forms of 
tkouj thee and thy^ have kmg ago 
degenerated among us, into the 
single rii^r, and ejq>ericnce proves 
that no obscurity arises from this 
circumstance. The termination, 
€thy and the expletives do and did^ 
of which Jonathan Parkinson is so 
liberal^ is just as seldom heard from 
lis as from others* The use of 
thou in any funiliar instance^ 
would be deemed an intolerable af- 
fectation* 

L* My dear madam, is not this 
alildeodd? I have heard that you 
has been objected to by the friends, 
as being, among other accounts, 
ungrammaticaL 

R* I know, my dear, what thee 
would say, and certainly such ob* 
jections are inconsistent* I, for 
my part, condemn it, not on that 
account, and I vmdicate the disuse 
of Mott, merely because it is the cus- 
tom* It is plain enough how this 
custom arose* Iliou appears to 
require the harsh correqx>ndent 
endings of th and «/, and we drop 
the first to get rid of the last. In* 
atead of saymg, ^^ thou mistakest," 
or ^ thou dost mistake," we con- 
tent ourselves with ^* thee mis* 
takes*" 

L* Pray madam, inform me 
wherein lie the peculiarities of a 
quakcr's manners or speech. 

R. I will do it cheerfiillv, my 
dear. In the first place, a friend, 
either by principle or habit, and 
nine out of ten of those who are 
members of society, belong to the 
latter class, are to be known by 
having none of those airs and mo- 
tions &at are given by the dancing- 
master. In saluting, they incline 
the head, perhaps, bat never the 
back* They take not off their hat 
to their neighbours, and even, in 
entering an house, seldom think of 
this ceremony. Their dialect is 



utt^ly a stranger to Sir^ MUtcr^ 
and Madanu They use the chris- 
tian name much more frequently 
than others, but they shew their 
respect, especially to elders, by 
puttinff fiiendj in place of Mr« 
and Mrs. 

L. Pray, madam, what language 
would you use on an occadon where 
I should employ such words as 
these: ^^ Gentlemen and la^es, 
will you fiivour me with your com* 
pany on Tuesday evening, and 
you, Mr* Blank, may I see you in 
June?" 

R. These would be my words s 
<^ Win you give me your company, 
/riendsj on third^-day evening, and 
thee, friend Kank, shaU I see thee 
m the sixth month?" Thee is 
probably aware that we always 
name the days of the week, and the 
months, numerically. I do not re- 
cdlect any other peculiarities than 
those I have mentioned. In all 
other respects, my dear, ^^ friends" 
are like others, and their langua^ 
and deportment square with their 
temper, and h proportioned to 
their knowledge. 

L« According to this represen* 
tation, madam, Parkinson talks in 
avery unnatural style indeed: hoi? 
is it with his conduct ? Has the an* 
thor as much mistaken that as his 
speech? ^ 

R. Why, my dear, the author ^ 
thee knows, tells us that Jonathan , 
though bom Kfriendy had early 
laid adde the profession. That 
the sect was visible in nothing but 
his dialect. This is an ample apo-i 
logy, of course, for every tlunfj^ 
un-quaker-like in his conduct, ^.s 
I said before, the conduct of qua* 
kers is like that of the rest of tiae 
world, neither worse nor better^ 
unless, indeed, he be a sinccsre 
and conscientious quaker, and then 
his system of action, has, indeed^ 
no psu*allell in any other sect, I da 
not mean in the degree,, but oaly 
in the modes of his benevolence. 

L. Have you ever met with thA 
quaker truly'described in books ? 

R. Never in any books but their 
ownj my dear, and especially never 



850 



<2UAKKRIftK..MA DtALOGVK 



in fictitious writings. In no play 
or novel that I hare read, was the 
ouaker ever justly conceived or 
Aithfully portrayed. He that is 
made to pass by that name in such 
books, is usuall)r a very respecu- 
ble and meritorious character, but 
bas no resemblance to the tmequa- 
bers, tiie quaker either of habit or 
of principle. The reason is plain. 
Ko one but a man educated a quaker 
can truly describe the sect, and no 
one hitherto, with such an educa- 
tion, has turned fabulist, or, at 
least, aUempted to portray in his 
frble, one of this sect. 

L. I think, madam, it would be 
«n excellent scheme to eidiibit the 
tnie character of vour frientU. 
•The theme is certainly not wanting 
ni importance and dignitjr, and, to 
a large part of the readmg world, 
would be full of novelty and interest: 
as Tou do not object to reading, 
perhaps you would be persuaded to 
write a story of this sort* 

R. There is another thing, my 
dear, which I deem of far more 
fanportance, and that is a candid 
and accurate view of their *^ dis- 
cipline,*' that is, of their system of 
iBoral and ecclesiastical govem- 
vient. I have often been astonished 
at the ignoranco on this head, of 
aien otherwise enlightened and in- 
anisitive. There are, indeed, some 
jifBcelties in the way of acquiring 
: tfiis knowledge, but none which a 
Tational curiosity might not over- 
come. Tills system differs from 
most other religious systems, as it 
Is intended to supply a rule of uni- 
tersal action, and to supersede all 
ether law and government. Acom- 
-mmity entirely oi friends would 
need no other laws and institutions 
than the society has at present. 



XEMORAKDUMS MADR ON A JOtJR- 
KKY THROUGH PART OF PENK- 
STLVANIA. 

CCmtinucdfromfiage 1 67. J 
Thz next stage wasLavenberg's, 
— - miies from Kepner's. Tliere 



is no cultivation of anv kind betweeii 
the two places. The large trees 
have at diflerent periods bera blown 
down, and the ground is thickly 
covered with low timber, chiefly 
oak bushes, producing vast quanti- 
ties of acorns, nuts and berries, and 
inhabited by panthers and deer, 
together with' immense multitudes 
of pheasants, and other wild fowl, 
among which the turkey u fre- 
quently seen. 

It is probable that many years 
will elapse before this tract win 
become the home of man, as there 
are yet so many millions of acres 
of better land unsettled in the United 
States. The temptation to cultivate 
any portion of this spot must there- 
fore be feeble and remote. Hie 
period may never arrive.M.but it ia 
evident, sterUe and bleak as it i% 
diat it might be forced to contri- 
bute to human support. One great 
art in cultivation consists in adapt- 
ing the product to the nature of 
the climate and soil, and where 
berries and nuts grow spontane- 
ously, the genins and industry of 
man, goaded by necessity, may 
surely contrive the means of sob- 
sistence. The surfisice is gravel, 
sand, and rock, with a smoU mix- 
ture ^f loam. 

We overtook two yotmg men on 
foot, who had killed a rattle-snake 
having twelve rattles. Thb is 
undoubtedly one of the most formi- 
dable reptiles of North-America ; 
and it is a fortunate circumstance 
tiiat he seldom if ever commences 
an attack without previous notice. 
He is naturally sluggish, but, con- 
scious of his power, is little dis- 
posed to yield his path to an intru- 
der. His maxim seems to be, 
^< Let me alone, and I'll let you 
alone." Wlien irritated he rarely 
misses his object, if within his reach, 
and it is a remarkable foot, that, 
after the head is severed from the 
body, if you touch the tail with a 
stick, the'part nearest the head will 
strike the offending stick with great 
force, and so instantly and cer- 
tainly, that it requires uncommoa 
dexterity to avoid the blow. 



A J0URN2T TBaOUGH FABT OV PKNHSTLVANIA. 



351 



Tfotwithstanding vulgar preju- 
dice, ^ere are few of our snakes 
ivhose bite is not as harmless as the 
bite of a mouse. This itf certainly 
the case with the black snake, gar- 
ter snake, water snake, and some 
others. 

Lavenberg finds it necessary to 
house his sheep at night. Not many 
years since the wolves were so bold 
that they frequently advanced into 
his bam yard in the day time and 
carried off his flock* 

To keep the wolf at a distance, 
it is sufficient occasionally to scour 
his haunts with a pack of the larger 
spedes of hounds : they are his natu- 
ral enemies, and he never fails to 
desert the country which echoes to 
their music. 

When at Lavenberg's, we ima- 
gined we had passed the worst of 
our day's ride, having crossed no 
less than five stupendous ridges of 
mountains: the Blue, the IHisca- 
roro, the Locust, the Broad, and 
the Mahanoy. The passage over 
them is better adapted to the taste 
of a poet, than to that of a former. 
Here are aUo a few handsome 
lover's leaps, where tlic heart-sick 
melting swain might find a ready 
xorefor all his earthly afflictions. 
The road skirts some of these 
ridges at the height of one thou- 
i»nd or more feet, nearly vertically 
•above the contracted vallies whidi 
border their rude bases. Instances 
jometimes occur of loaded waggons 
meeting in these dangerous passes, 
in which case there is no altera- 
tive but to ungear one of the teams, 
to conduct the horses one by one to 
the rear of the waggon, and then to 
draw it back until a spot can b^ 
found sufficiently level and spacious 
to turn aside, which in some parts 
requires the patient toil of hours, 
and the retrograde motion of miles. 
To prevent these disagreeable con- 
sequences, the waggoners crack 
tlieir whips, and whoop to give 
notice of their approach. They 
had need to be carctul, for a trifling 
mistake would be attended with 
inevit^le destruction. It is not a 
Tittle surprising that waggons^ car- 



rying from twelve to fourteen bar- 
rels of flour, are continually tra- 
velling tl)ese roads, which, we 
thought, were almost impassable 
on horseback, and frequently led 
our horses, and walked for hoon 
successively in preference to riding* 
It had been threatening rain all 
day, and while at Lavenberg's, a 
smart shower fell ; it ceased betweett 
four and five in the afternoon, when 
we again mounted and proceeded 
on our way. Presently we began 
to ascend what is called the Little 
Mountain, but which is in reality a 
very lofty and rugged ridge. As 
we approached its summit, a scene 
suddenly opened to our view, which, 
for a time, rivetted our whole at- 
tention, and engrossed all our 
thoughts. We were struck with 
admiration and surprise, mixed 
with pleasure and awe. Towards 
the south-west our view extended 
to a3\ immense distance over aa 
unimproved and woody countr)", 
where mountains ri3e back of moun- 
tains as far as tlie eye can reach^ 
seeming to vie with each other ia 
the wild SLspcct of their fronts, and 
in the bold elevation of their peaks. 
Around them clouds were seen to 
rush in every direction, and dark 
storms were ^t gathering on their 
craggy sides* Neither of us bad 
ever witnessed similar appearai:^ 
ces, and we involuntarily halted to 
indulge in the transports of the mo^ 
roent. We saw tlie rain descend^ 
iug in copious streams beneath tlio 
mountains' tops ; witne2»sed the vivid 
flash of the tremulous lightning ap- 
parently below us ) and listened to 
the awful peal of distant thunder 
re-echoed from cliff to cliff, and 
answering to the hollow blast of the 
driving wind. Wc were not long 
permitted to remain idle spectators 
of this conflict of life elements, nor 
to enjoy unmolested the novelty and 
sublimity of this &cene. Presently 
a tumultuous assemblage of clouds 
arriving from various ]ioints, pre- 
sented themselves against the side 
of the momitain nearest to us, and 
distant about three miles. We saw 
the storm hastilv advance, and dasK 



SSft 



mixoravbitk xadr or 



iUdfa^iintttheopporingcinmeDce. 
It grew darker and darker, as if 
enraged at the intermption, and 
determined to tnrmount it. We 
were in iiiU view of the contest* It 
was of short duration. The storm 
moved slowly to the summit in an 
oblique direction from us, and hav- 
ing surmounted it, came with head- 
kmg speed down the opposite side. 
The mountain on which we were 
was the next highest point of at- 
tractibn, and the gloomjr mass ad- 
vanced with ^resLt vekxuty towards 
OS. The wind began to whistle 
keenly aroand us, and the wild 
drivii^ of the coming tempest soon 
awakened us to a sen^^e of our ex- 
posed situation. To avoid it was 
impossible, and our inhospitable 
region affisrded us not the slightest 
shelter. We prepared to defend 
ours^ves in the best manner we 
eould, by covering our huto with oil 
doths, andbttttoningourgreatcoats 
tig^t about us. It was in vain; for^ 
in a few minutes we were wet to 
the skin and completdy drenched ; 
the water appeared to fell, not in 
drops, but in sheets, and the eflfects 
of its violence onour faces was very 
disagreeable and even painfel. Our 
htorses were not better pleaa^ than 
oursdves* lliey could snort and 
prance, but, like their masters, 
were compelled to bear the wind 
and rain without a hope of protec- 
tion or escape. On our right there 
was an insurmountable Imrrier of 
rockst and on our left a most dan« 
gerons precipice. The road was 
too rough and steep to admit of 
their being urged out of a slow 
walk, in addition to which th^ rain 
that fell so covered the passage, 
that, in a short time, they were 
constantly wading through torrents, 
which must have' efieciually pre- 
dttded our march, had not the 
floods found frequent openings, 
down which diey rushed to Uie 
lower grounds : in this situation we 
dn^;ged on, the storm beating on 
OS with great violence....our horses 
moved forward with reluctance, 
and we became apprehensive, that, 
when we should descend to the op- 



porite foot of the nMuntain, we 
should have to encounter some aar^ 
rent rendered impassable by tbc 
rain, and thus be compelled to re- 
turn to Lavenberg's after ni^t. 
In tliis apprehension we were psrtljr 
mistaken, for we afterwards diaco<» 
vered that our course lay over high 
grounds, the western descent of the 
mountain being inconsiderable. We 
continued in a wildemesa, nor sair 
improvement of any kind, until we 
were seven miles from our las;t 
stage, when wewere gratified with 
the appearance of a house. The 
storm had greatly abated, but it 
continued to rain very &st, and we 
pleased ourselves with the hope of 
procuring a comfertable retreat for 
the night. A nearer inspection of 
the miserable hovel decided the 
matter, and we determined to pro- 
ceed rather than enter it. It was a 
one story building, but whether of 
wood or ston^ we did not suficiently 
examine to remember. It was evi- 
dently too much open to the wea- 
ther to protect its inhabitants, whoy 
young and old, (kicked together to 
gape at us as we passed* Their 
complexions were ruddy, and the 
children were in rags about the 
door sporting in the rain and mod* 
Two miles further on our way we 
passed another sorry dwelUnr, after 
which we saw several newly im- 
proved ferms and cottages, in a to- 
lerable soil. Night came on at we 
crossed the Catawesay Mouatais, 
which was nigh occaaoning oa n 
disagreeable if not a fatal accideBt. 
We were utter str an ger s to the 
road, and it became so dxrk that 
we could scarce see a yard before 
us. When arrived at the Cata- 
wessy creek, my horse refused to 
move forward ; I urged him but he 
became unruly. J. who had been 
behind me, came up, and thought 
he could perceive that we were 
about to eoter on the ruins of a 
bridge totallj)' impassable on hoi-sc- 
back. This we found to be the 
case when we had an opportunity 
of viewing the same place in open 
day, and had we proceeded many 
st4>» further, it is quite probable 



A JOURKET TRltOV^a »ARt OF PKNNSTLVAKXA. 



SS3 



that both honte and riders would 
han; been kwt* The skeleton of an 
old wooden bridge, with a single 
piank' extenderl len^-wise over 
the stream, and barely sufficient to 
admit a footman, was all that re> 
vnained/ From the roaring <^ the 
water it was evidently not inoqnsi- 
derable either in quandty or force ; 
tput whether the noise was the ef- 
fect of natural fells, or pi*oceeded 
irom a mill-dam, we were nnable 
to determine. We couM not, in 
oar wet disagreeable trim, think of 
turning back, especially as there 
was no house near us, nor any that 
We knew of, in whidi we could 
count on being comfortably lodged 
on this side of Lavenberg's* llie 
|>ro8pect on either hand was not 
Very consoling ; we could not have 
reached Lavenberg's before morn- 
ing, and we knew not the width, 
depth, or rapidity of the creek. 
There was no person at hand to 
consult, and who by a single friendly 
word, might have relieved us from 
<Mr perplexity. At length we de- 
termined to proceed, encouraged 
bf the appearance of a light on the 
opposite shore, which convinced us 
tiiat a human habitation was at 
hand. Directed by the roaring of 
the falls, we moved cautiously be- 
tow them, and boldly took the 
stream : we were exceedingly elat- 
ed on finding it less formidable than 
we feared, and soon landed safely 
on the western banks. We now 
inquired our way, and being di- 
rected into ihe right road, reached 
the town of Catawessy in a short 
time, it being but about half a mile 
from the creek. 

Our first care was to change our 
clothing, but on opening our saddle- 
bags, we perceived that the rain 
had penetrated them and wet every 
^rment. However, by an inter- 
change of civilities, we contrived 
to muster as many pieces l)etween 
Us as enabled each to have a tolera- 
bly dry suit. A silk coatee in which 
I rode, was changed into a dozen 
colours and shades, and might have 
suited Joseph uf cM, though it was 



rendered useless to me. Even our 
hats, notwithstanding their cover- 
ings of oil cloth, were thoroughly 
wet. After a litUe furbishing and 
recruiting, we could not but give 
vent to some merriment, on look- 
ing Tt^und our chamber, which had 
more of the appearance of a washer- 
woman's kitchen than of a lodging 
room, so handsomely had we deco- 
rated it with our dripping apparel. 

23d. A good dish of cofifee in tlie 
evening, and a comfortable night's 
lodging, make us feel Httle the 
worse for the exposure and drench- 
ing of yesterday. It rained most of 
tlw night. This morning tlie sky 
is fair and serene. 

It seems an odd hnmoor in onr 
landlady to make choice of a case 
of walnut drawers placed in our 
chamber, for the storage of her 
Dutch cheese. The odour is gene- 
rally not much more agreeable to 
the nose of an Englishman than the 
smell of rotten eggs. This cheese, 
or, as the Germans call it, kar^Cy is 
made of the curd of miHt suffered 
to grow sour ; it is salted, pressed 
in cloths, and afterwards dried and 
hardened in the sun, and not unu- 
sually ripened in hay. In this state, 
when made of rich milk, it is very 
palatable, and little inferior to the 
cheese of the English dairy, but the 
Germans prefer it when rancid or 
putrid, in which state it emits a 
stench to which nothing but habit 
and prejudice can reconcile us. 

An agreeable sauce caHed^cA^nrrr- 
kaese^ is also made by the Germans, 
from the curd of sow* milk, llie 
whey being entirely pi-esscd out, 
tiie curd is moistened with fresh 
cream, bi-ought to a suitable con- 
sistence for spreading, and then 
eaten on bread, but more frequently 
on bread and butter. This is a de- 
licate preparation, and is rarely 
rejected by tlie most dainty palate. 
The Germans of Pennsylvania are 
greatly attached to tliese simple 
relishes for bread, and it is not un- 
common, among the better class of 
the farmers, to see the master of 
the house regale himself with butter, 



254 



UIMORAKDUM MAOB OF 



honey^ apple*butter*, and schineer- 
kaese, spread in successive layers 
on the same slice of bread, and in 
tliis manner eaten with milk, and 
sometimes with wasser-suppe. The 
latter is an universal disli among 
the German- Americans, and is com- 
posed of fried flour and butter, on 
which boiling water is poured, after 
the addition of thin slices of bread, 
and the comm- n culinary s>pices. 

My boots being too wet to wear, 
I have been obliged to borrow a pair 
of shoes from the landlord, which 
being much too large, 1 make ra- 
ther an aukward appearance, and 
J. is very merry at my hobbling 
gait. We nevertheless attended 
divine service at friends' meeting- 
house ; about one hundred persons 
of both sexesr and mostly fi-om the 
adjacent settlement, wei*e present. 
It is the only house of worship in 
the town. 

There are about forty-five dwel- 
lings in Catawessy; only one of 
them is built of stone, the rest are 
either log or frame. It is a place 
of little or no trade, and most pro- 
bably ever will be. It was planned 
and settled about fifteen years ago, 
when every specul-tor, who owned 
a level tract of land on the Susque- 
hanna, seemed infected with the 
town-making mania. Poor people 
were induced, by specious and illu- 
sory representations, to pui*chase 
lots, and having spent all their mo- 
ney, and perhaps run in debt, in 
the erection of small tenements, 
thev could not, after finding them- 
selves deceived and disappointed, 
sell '.ut, and have therefore been 
compelled to remain for want of 
the mcc.ns to remove. 

Catav^e.-sy is x>n the eastern 
branch of the Susquehanna. The 
mount:. ins ^ n the east, south, and 
Borth of the town, form nn irregu- 
lar scmi-ciicle, with the points ter- 
minating in the ri^ er, and are dis- 

• The subs.ance is made b> boiling 
apples in sweet culcr, to which some 
simple spice, most generally pimento, 
is added. The Qermans call k lud- 
wcrg. 



tant about three-fourths of a mile. 
The highest ridge lies to the east^ 
ward, and is said from actual mea^ 
surement, to be twelve hundred 
feet above the adjacent plain. 

Here are still some vestiges of an 
Indian burying ground, and some 
peach trees of their planting in to- 
lerable preservation. Having in 
the afternoon visited J. S. who lives 
on the western bank of the Cata- 
wessy creek, he pointed out to us 
what he takes to be the traces of an 
Indian fortification : it consists of a 
num!ier of square holes, dug at 
equal distiinces on the eastern shore, 
describing a line of several hundred 
feet : whether these apertures serv- 
ed as intrenchments from which an 
assaulting enemy might be annoyed, 
or were subservient to some more 
complex scheme of warlike opera- 
tions, or whether they were at all 
used for hostile purposes, may be 
left for the sage determination of 
some fiiture dealer in antiquities. 

Some years back a few of the in- 
habitants, from motives of curio- 
sity, dug up a corpse from the 
grave-yard. It proved to be a fe- 
male ; she had been interred with- 
out a coffin, and was, according to 
the custom of the Indians, placed 
in a sitting posture. Care had been 
taken to provide her with a small 
iron kettle, some trinkets, and a 
tobacco-]>ipe, ready charged in each 
hand. These equipments were 
doubtless intended to contribute to 
the comfort and convenience of the 
deceased on her journey to the land 
of spirits, and would probably be as 
efficacious as the tolling of bells, 
and the firing of guns, over the 
body of a white man. If this cus- 
tom of our tawney brethren be re- 
pugnant to our notions of good sense, 
we should not forget that our own 
must appear to them equally irre- 
concil'Able to reason and phil«6opliy» 
We were shewn one ot the pipes* 
It is the comn;on clay of European 
manufucture. The skeleton was 
preserved for sometime by the phy- 
sician of the town, but the super- 
stitious Germans in the neighbour- 
hood, fearful perhaps that Uds out- 



A ^OVRVKT THROUGH PART OF PENNSYLVANIA. 



USS 



rage on the bones of the unqflend- 
ing squaw might be fbllowetl by some 
tremendous act of vengeance on her 
part, compelled the doctor to re- 
inter them. 

The inhabitants still preserve a 
large elm on the bank of the river, 
under which the sachems formerly 
held their councils. I could not 
contemplate this object with indif- 
ference. Who that has the feelings 
of a man, and whose bosom glows 
with the smallest sense of honour 
and justice, can view this elm with 
apathy ? Where are now those ve- 
nerable and veteran* chieftains and 
•warriors, who were accustomed 
to assemble beneath its friendly 
shade....and who received here with 
open arms the first white man who 
came helpless and forlorn among 
them ? Surely they were unconsci- 
9US that, m a few very few revolv- 
ing moons, the stranger whom they 
here cherished and warmed by the 
council fire; to whom they here 
presented the wampum of conse- 
crated fnendship, and with whom 
they here smoked the sacred ca* 
luniet of peace, had come to sup- 
plant them in their native posses- 
sions, to root out their posterity ' 
from the country, and to trample 
down the graves of their fathei's. 

These ancient inheritoi*s of the 
9oil reluctantly submit to the disci- 
pline and shackles of civilized life, 
and in general have shewn con- 
tempt for our customs and man- 
ners ; but as their hunting grounds 
become destroyed, necessity may 
force them to resort to other means 
of subsistence. 

An Indian being asked by two 
white men, how he, who gave him- 
self no concera about religion, ex- 
X)ected to reach heaven, answered, 
** Suppose we three in Philadel- 
phia, and we hear of some good 
rwn at Fort-Pitt.... we set off to get 
some, but one of you has business 
at Baltimore, and he go that way.... 
the other wants to make some mo- 
ney too on the road, and he go by 
Reading.. ..Indian got no business, 
Bo money to get....lic set off and go 



strait up to Fort-Pitt, and get there 
before either of you." 

The Indians of North-America 
are well skilled in this species of 
sarcastic humour. I remember to 
have been present at an interview 
between some of their chie& and a 
select number of citizens who had 
benevolently devoted both time and 
property to the introduction of use- 
ful and civilized arts among the sa- 
vages. The Little Turtle, among 
other improvements which he enu- 
merated to have taken place among 
his people, mentioned that they ma- 
nufactured considerable quantities 
of sugar from the juice of the ma- 
ple. He was asked how they con- 
trived to procure suitable vessels 
to contain the syrup when boiling. 
He affected a very grave counte- 
nance, as he answered " that the 
unfortunate affair of St. Clair had 
furnished them with a considera- 
ble number of camp kettles which 
answeix^d the purpose very well." 
It was known that this chief had 
headed the united Indian forces in 
their intrepid attack on the Ame- 
rican army, commanded by Gene- 
ral St, CI lir, and in which the lat- 
ter were defeated with immense 
slaughter, and suffered the loss of 
their camp equipage. 

C'i^o be cominued.J 



For the Literary Magazine. 

MEMOIRS OF 

CARWIN THE BILOQUIST. 

C Continued, J 

I HAD taken much pains to im- 
prove the sagacity of a favourite 
Spaniel. It was my purpose, indeed, 
to ascertain to what degree of im- 
provement the principles of reason- 
mgan^ imitation could be carried in 
a dog. niere is no doubt that the 
animal affixes distinct ideas to 
sounds. What are the possible 
limits of his vocabulary no one can 
tell. In conversing with my dog 



tJ6 



NEMoima Of eAiwiH 



I did not use EngUhh words, bul 
selected simple monosyllables. Ha- 
bit likewise enabled him to compre- 
hend roy gestures. If I crossed my 
hands on roy breast he understood 
the signal aiid laid down behind me. 
If I jomed my hands and lifted them 
to my breast^ he returned home. If 
I grasped one arm above the elbow 
he ran before me. If I lifted my 
hand to roy forehead he trotted 
composedly behind. By one motion 
I could make him bark ; by another 
I could reduce him to silence. He 
would howl in twenty different 
strains of moumfiilncsH, at my bid- 
ding. He would fetch and carry 
with undeviating faithfulness. 
His actions beingthus chief))- regu- 
lated by gestures, that to a stranger 
would appear indifferent or casual, 
it was easy to produce a belief that 
the animal's knowledge was much 
greater than in truth, it was. 

One day, in a mixed company, 
the discourse turned upon the unri- 
valed abilities of Damon, Damon 
had, indeed, acquired in all the cir- 
cles which I frequented, an extra- 
ordinary reputation Numerous in- 
stances of his sagacity were quoted 
and some of them exhibited on the 
4)ot. Much surprise was excited 
by the readiness with which he ap- 
peared to comprehend sentences of 
considerable abstraction and com- 
plexity, though, he in reality, at- 
tended to nothing but* the move- 
ments of hand or fingers with which 
I accompanied my words. I en- 
hanced the astonishment of some 
and excited the ridicule of others, 
by observing that my dog not only 
understood English when spoken 
by others, but actually spoke the 
language himself, with no small de- 
gree of precision. 

This assertion could not be ad- 
mitted without proof ; proof, there- 
fore, was readily produced. At a 
known signal, Damon began a low 
interrupted noise ^in which the ast<m- 
ished henrers clearly distinguished 
English words. A. diakgue began 
between the animiil and bis master, 
which was maiutained, on tlie part- 



of the former, witli great ^Tadtjv 

and spirit. In tliis dialogue the dog 
asserted the dignity of hk ^)ecies 
and capacity of intellectual im* 
provement. The company ftepa"* 
rated^lost in wonder, but perfectly 
convinced by the evidenoe that had 
been produced. 

On a subsequent occasion a te. 
lect company was assembled at a 
garden, at a small distance from thfi 
city. Discourse gUded through a 
variety of topics, till it Hghted at 
length on the subject of invisible be« 
ings. From the speculations of phi« 
loaophers we proceeded to the ere* 
ations of the poet. Some maintain- 
ed the justness of Shakspear's de<« 
lineatious of aerial beings, whilo 
others denied it. By no violent tran* 
sitipn, Ariel and his aongs were in- 
troduced, and a lady, celebrated for 
her musical skill, was solicited tar 
accompany her {ledal harp with the 
song of ^ tive &thom deep thy fe* 
ther lies". ..She was known to haye 
set, for her favourite instnunent^ 
all the songs of Shakspeare. 

My youth made nie little more 
than an auditor on this occasion* I 
sat apart from the rest of the com- 
pany, and carefully noted every 
thing. The track which the con- 
versation had taken, suggested a 
scheme which was not thoroogkly 
digested when the lady began her 
enchnnting strain. 

She ended and the audience were 
mute with rapture^ The pause 
continued, when a strain was waft- 
ed to our ears from another quartor. 
The spot where we sat wasembow- 
ered by a vine. The verdant arch 
was lofty and the area beneath waa 
spacious. 

The sound proceeded from above* 
At Rrst it was fiEiint and scarcely 
audible ; presently it reached a 
louder ke> , and every eye was cast 
up in expectation of beholding a 
face among the pendant clusters* 
The strain was e .sily recognized, 
for it was noo'JRT than tint which 
Ariel is made to sing when finally- 
absolved from the service of the 
wizard. 



TKE BItOqUIST. 



25? 



U tto Cow»ii9t bell I lie, 
On the Bat*9 back I do fly... 
After summer merrily, &c. 

Their hearts jMilpitated as they 
listened : they gazed at each other 
for a solution of the mystery. At 
leagth the strain died away at dis- 
tance, and an interval of silence was 
siicceded by an earnest discussion 
of the caUIsc of this prodigy* One 
9U]^M>sition only could be adopted, 
which was, that the strain was ut- 
tered by human organs. That the 
songster was stationed on the roof 
of the arbour, and having finished 
his melody had risen into the view- 
less fields of air. 

I had been invited to spend a 
week at this house : this period 
was nearly e^red when I received 
information that my aunt was sud- 
denly taken sick, and that her life 
was in imminent danger. I imme- 
diately set out on my return to the 
city, but before my arrival she was 
dead. 

This lady was entitled to my 
gratitude and esteem ; I had receiv- 
ed the most essential benefits at her 
hand. I was not destitute of sensi- 
bility, and was deeply aflfected by 
this event : I will own, however, 
that my grief was lessened by re- 
flecting on the consequences of her 
death, with regard to my own con- 
dition. I had been ever taught to 
consider myself as her heir, and 
her death, therefore, would free nie 
from certain restraints. 

My aunt had a female servant, 
who had lived with her for twenty 
years : she was married, hut her 
husband, who as an artizan, lived 
apart from her : I had no reason to 
suspect the woman's sincerity and 
disinterestedness ; but my aunt was 
no sooner consigned to the grave 
than a will was produced, in which 
Dorothy was named her sole and 
universal heir. 

It was in vain to urge my expec- 
tations and my claims—.tlie instru- 
ment was legibly and legally drawn 
up..-. Dorothy was exasperated by 
my c^po'^ition and surmises, and 
vi^rously enforced her title. In a 



week after the decease of my kins- 
woman, I was obliged to seek a new 
dwelling. As all my prc^erty con- 
sisted in my cloths and my papers, 
this was easily done. 

My condition was now calami- 
tous and forlorn. Confiding in the 
acquisition of my aunts' patrimony, 
I had made no other provision for 
the future ; I hated manual labour, 
or any task of which the object was 
gain. To be guided in my choice 
of occupations by any motive but 
the pleasure which the occupation 
was qualified to produce, was into- 
lerable to my proud, indolent, and 
restive temper. 

Tliis resource was now cut off; 
the means of immediate subsistence 
were denied me : If I had deter- 
mined to acquire the knowledge of 
some lucrative art, the acquisition 
would demand time, and, mean- 
while, I was absolutely destitute of 
support. My father's house was, 
indeed, open to me, but I preferred 
to stifle myself with the filth of the 
kennel, rather than to return to it. 

Some plan it was immediately ne- 
cessary to adopt. The exige^ice of 
my affairs, and this reverse of.for- 
tune, continually occupied my 
tlioughts ; I estranged myself from 
society and from books, and devoted 
myself to lonely walks and mourn- 
fiii meditation. 

One morning as I rang;ed along 
the bank of Schuylkill, I encounter- 
ed a i)erscn, by nunie Ludloe, of 
whom I h'ld some previous know- 
ledge. He was from Ireland ; was 
a man of some rank and apparently 
rich: I had met with him before, 
but in mixed companies, where lit- 
tle direct interccuse had taken place 
between us. Our last meeting was 
in the arbour where Ariel was so 
unexpectedly introduced. 

Our acquaint: nee niei eh justified a 
transient salutation ; but he did not 
content himself with noticing me as 
I passed, but joined mc in my walk 
and entered into conversation. It 
was easy to advert to the occasion 
on which we had last met, and to 
the mysterious incident which then 
occurred. I was solicitous to dive 



258 



MEMOIRS OP CARWIV 



into his thoughts upon this h^&d 
and put some questions which tend- 
ed to the point that I wished. 

I was somewhat startled when he 
expressed his belief, that the per- 
former of this mystic strain was 
one of the company then present, 
who^xerted, for this end, a faculty 
not commonly possessed. Who 
this person was he did not venture 
to g;uessf and could not discover, by 
the tokens which he suffered to ap- 
pear, that his suspicions glanced 
at me. He expatiated with great 
profoundness and fertility of ideas, 
on the uses to which a faculty like 
this might be employed. No more 
powerful engine, he said, could be 
conceived, by which the ignorant 
andtredulous might be moulded to 
our purposes ; managed by a man 
of r. dinary talents^ it would open 
for him tlie straightest and surest 
avenues to wealth and power. 

His remarks excited in my mind 
a new strain of thoughts. I had not 
hitherto considered the subject in 
this light, though vague ideas of the 
importance of this art could not fail 
to be occasionally suggested : I 
ventured to inquire into his ideas 
of the mode, in which an art Uke 
this could be employed, so as to ef- 
fect the purposes he mentioned. 

He dealt chiefly in general repre- 
sentations. Men, he said, believed 
in the existence and energy of invi- 
sible powers, and in the duty of dis- 
covering and conforming to their 
will. This will was supposed to be 
sometimes made known to them 
through the medium of their senses. 
A voice coming from a quarter 
where no attendant form could be 
seen would, in most cases, be ascrib- 
ed to supernal agency, and a com- 
mand imposed on them, in this man- 
ner, would be obeyed with religi- 
ous scrupulousness, l^hus men 
might be imperiously directed in 
the disposal of their industry, their 

groporty, and even of their lives, 
len, actuated by a mistaken sense 
of duty, might, under this influence, 
l>e led to the commission of the most 
flagitious, as well as the most heroic 
acts : If it were his desire to accu- 



mulate wealth, or faistitute anew 
sect, he should need no other in- ^ 
strumeiit. 

I listened to this kind of discourse 
with great avidity, and regretted 
when he thought proper r to intro- 
duce new topics. He ended by re- 
questing me to visit him, which I 
eagerly consented to do. When 
left alone, my imagination was fil- 
led with the images suggested bj 
this conversation. The hopeless- 
ness of better tbrtune, which I had 
lately harboured, now gave place 
to cheering confidence, lliose mo- 
tives of rectitude which should de- 
deter me from this speciesof impos- 
ture, had never been vivid or stable, 
and were still more weakened by. 
the artifices of which I had already 
been guilty. The utility or harm- 
lessness of the end, justified, in my 
eyes, the means. 

No event had beeii more unex- 
pected, by me, than the bequest of 
my aunt to her servant. Jlic will, 
under which the latter claimed, 
was dated prior to my coming to 
the city. I was not surprised, 
therefore, that it had once been 
made, but merely that it had never 
been cancelled or superseded by a 
later instrument* My wishes in-i 
cliued me to suspect the existence 
of a later will, but I had conceived 
that, to ascertain its existence, was 
beyond my power. 

Now, however, a different opinion 
began to be entertained. This wo- 
man like those of her sex and class 
was unlettered and superstitious. 
Her faith in spells and apparitions, 
was of the most li vcly land . Could 
not her conscience be awakened 
by a voice from the gi^ave I Lonely 
and at midnight,' my aunt might be 
introduced, upbraiding her for her 
injustice, and commanding her to 
attone for it by acknowledging the 
claim of the rightful proprietor. 

True it was, that no subsequent 
will might exist, but tliis was the 
fruit of mistake, or of nep;Ugence. 
She probably intciuled to cuicel the 
old one, but tliis act might, by her 
own weakness, or by the artifices 
of her bcrvant, be delayed till death 



THE BILOQUIST. 



255 



had pat it out of her power. In 
either case a mandate from the 
dead could scarcely fail of being 
obeyed. 

I considered this woman as the 
usurper of my property. Her hus- 
band as well as herself, were labo- 
rious and. covetous ; their good for- 
tune had made no change in their 
mode of living, but they were as 
frugal and as eager to accumulate 
as ever. In their hands, money was 
inert and sterile, or it served to 
foster their vices. To take it from 
them would, therefore, be a benefit 
both to them and to myself; not 
even an imaginary injury would be 
inflicted. Restitution, if legally 
compelled to it, would be reluctant 
and painful, bai if enjoined by Hea- 
ven would be voluntary, and the 
performance of a seeming duty 
would carry with it, its own re- 
ward. 

These reasonings, aided by incli- 
nation, were sufficient to determine 
me. I have no doubt but their fal- 
lacy would have been detected in 
the sequel, and my scheme have 
t>een productive of nothing but con- 
fusion and remorse. From these 
consequences, however, my fate in- 



terposed, as in the former instance, 
to save me. 

Having formed my resolution, 
many preliminaries to its execution 
were necessary to be settled. These 
demanded deli!;eration and delay ; 
meanwhile I recollected my promise 
to Ludlow, and paid him a visic. I 
met a frank and affectionate recep- 
tion. It would not be easy to paint 
the delight which I experienced in 
this man's society. I was at first 
oppressed with the sense of my own 
in^riority in age, knowledge and 
rank. Hence arose numberless re- 
serves and incapacitating diffiden- 
ces ; but these were speedily dissi- 
pated by the fascinations of this 
man's address. His superiority was 
only rendered, by time, more con- 
spicuous, but this superiority, by 
appearing never to be present to 
his own mind, ceased to be uneasy 
to me. My questions required to 
be frequently answered, and my 
mistakes to be rectified ; but my 
keenest scrutiny, could detect in 
his manner, neither arrogance nos* 
contempt. He seemed to talk 
merely from the overflow of his 
ideas, or a benevolent desire of im- 
parting information. 

CTo be conUnued.J 



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BRITISH SPT....L^TTER VIX. 



26i^ 



REVIEW. 



7^ Letters 9/ the BritUh Sfiy. 
Originally /iublUhcd in the Virgin 
ma '/irgU9'i in August and Se/i' 
iember^ 1803. 

Richmond: Pieasant^.^^ftfi. ^3* 

The fiction on which the title 
of these letters would lead us to 
suppose them built, is very favour- 
•ble to curiosity and invention; 
If we. mistake not, it took its ori- ' 
gin, as roost schemes of the kind 
have done, in the prolific imagina- 
tion of the French. The first exam- 
ple was set in the voluminous, and 
once popular work of *' The Turk- 
ish Spy j" and has been followed by 
a numerous train of Chinese, Jewish, 
&C. This, before us, is the second 
histance of the kind in America; 
for a well known writer published, 
formerly, what he called " The 
Algerine Spy." 

The mystery and danger en- 
drclini; the character of a Spy, 
give his adventures a peculiar and 
micommon interest ; and the busi- 
ness of his life being to inquire and 
observe, and his foreign prejudices 
leading him to view every object in 
a new light, there cannot be a part 
more favourable to original and 
striking speculations. Most of the 
Spiesy however, with whom we are 
acquainted, seem to have forgotten 
their true character ; and turn out, 
upon examination, to be nothing 
more than men travelling for their 
own amusement. ^ 

The letters before us, are written, 
in the character of an English tra- 
veller, to Mr. S*»**»»*, alias Mr. 
Sheridan. They are few and brief, 
and exhibit but very few points' in 
that immense picture which the 
United States constitute in the eye 
of a stranger. The traveller arrives 
at Richmond, and there he chiefly 
continues. He begins his* corres- 
pondence witli some remarks upon 
American, that is Virginian rever- 
ence for rank and wealth, and some 

yQU X....MO. IV, 



account of the local situation of 
Richmond. He then digresses into 
some geoligical speculations on the 
origin and age of our continent, 
which, after some time, provokes a 
reply, that is also publisned in this 
collection. He next discusses the 
. eloquence of America ; states its 
defects and their causes, and draws 
the portraits of several eminent 
pleaders at the bar. We likewise 
meet with various thoughts on the 
subject of style and eloquence in 
general. 

There is some liveliness of fancy, 
and a sparkling'style in the efilisions 
of tliis writer : there are many 
marksof a juvenile and undisciplmed 
pen, and in most of his recitals we 
have found that degree of interest 
and amusement which it was proba- 
bly the whole intention of the writer 
to afford. The following portrait 
of a pulpit orator will serve as a 
specimen of this performance. 

« I have been my dear S* ••»•»♦, 
on an excursion through the coun- 
ties which lie along the eastern side 
of the Blue Ridge. A general de- 
scription of that country and its 
inhabitants may form the subject of 
a future letter. For the present, I 
must entertain you with an account 
of a most sin|;ular and interesting 
adventure which I met with, in the 
course of the tour. 

" It was one Sunday, as I travelled 
through the county of Orange, that 
my eye was caught by a cluster of 
horses tied near a ruinous, old, 
wooden-house, in the forest, not far 
from the road side. Having fre- 
quently seen such objects before, in 
travelling through these states, I 
had no difficulty in understanding 
that this was d place of religious 
worship. Devotion alone should 
have stopped me to join in the du- 
ties of the congregation; but I must 
confess that curiosity to hear the 
preacher of such a wilderness, was 
n<K the least of my moti\cs. On 
4 



s^a 



ftfltTtSII $t»Y...4LETtfeR iril. 



enteringy I was struck with his pre- 
ternatural appearance* He was a tall 
and very spare old nian*««.his head^ 
which was covered with a white 
- linen cap, his slirivelled hands, and 
his voice were all shaking under the 
influence of a palsy, and a few mo- 
ments ascertained to me that he 
was perfectly blind* The first emo- 
tions which touched my breast were 
those of mingled pity and venera- 
tion* But ah ! Sacred God I How 
soon were all my feelings changed ! 
ITie lips of Plato %vere never more 
worthy of a prognostic swarm of 
bees, than were the lips of this holy 
man ! It was a day of the adminis- 
tration of the sacrament, and his 
subject, of course, was the passion 
of our saviour* I had heard the 
subject handled a thousand times : 
I had thought it exhausted long 
ago. Little did I suppose that in 
the wild woods of America I was to 
meet with a man whose eloquence 
would give to this topic a new and 
more sublime pathos tiian I had ever 
before witnessed. As he descended 
from tlie pulpit to distribute the mys- 
tic symbols, there was a peculiar, 
a more than human solemnity in his 
air and manner which made my 
blood run cold, and my whole frame 
to shiver* He then drew a picture 
of the sufferings of our saviour**., 
his trial before Pilate*. **his ascent 

up Calvary.***.his crucifixion 

and his death* I new the whole 
history ; but never until then had I 
heard the circumstance so selected, 
so arranged, so coloured I It was all 
new ; and I seemed to have heard 
it for the first time in my life* His 
enimciation was so deliberate, that 
Ids voice trembled on every sylla- 
ble ; and every heart in the assem- 
bly trembled in unison* His pecu- 
liar phrases had that force of de- 
scription that the original scene 
appeared to be at that moment 
acting before our eyes* We saw the 
very faces of the Jew8**.*the star- 
uig,friglit;fol distortions of midice and 
rage* We saw the buffet*.. .my soul 
kindled with a fiame of hidignation, 
and my hands were involuntarily 
and convulsively clenched* But 



when he came to touch thepatienoey 
the forgiving meekness of our Sa« 
viour*.**when he crew, to the life, 
his blessed eyes, streaming in tears 
to heaven. «**his voice breathing to 
God a soft and gentle prayer of par- 
don on his enemies, ^^Fathei* forgive 
them, for they know not what Siey 
do"....the voice of the preachery 
which had, all along, feltered, grew 
funter and fainter, until his utter- 
ance being entirely obstructed by 
the force of his feelings, he raised 
his handkerchief to his eyes and 
burstHnto a loud and irrepressible 
flood of grief* The effect is incon- 
ceivable* The whole house re- 
sounded with the mingled groans 
and sobs and shrieks of the congre- 
gation* It was some time before th» 
tumult had subsided so&r as to per- 
mit him to proceeds Indeed, judg- 
ing by the usual but fallacious stand- 
ard of my own weakness, I be^an to 
be very uneasy for the situation of 
the preacher* For I could not con- 
ceive how he would be able to let 
his audience down from the height 
to which he had wound them, with- 
out impairing the solemnity and 
dignity of his subject, or perhapa 
sliockmg them by the abruptness of 
the fiiU* But*.*.no : the descent was 
as beautifiil ai^d sublime, as the 
elevation had been rapid and en* 
thusiastic* The first sentence with 
which he broke the awful silence 
was a quotation from Rousseau^ 
^' Socrates died like a philosopher, 
but Jesus Chrbt like a God ! ! !" 
I despair of giving you any idea of the 
effect produced by this short sen- 
tence, unless you could perfectljr 
conceive the whole maimer of the 
man, as well as the {peculiar crises 
in the discourse. K t- \ c r bcfoi*e did 
I completely understand what De- 
mc sthenes meant by laying such 
stress on dclizery* You are to 
bring before you the venerable figure 
of tht:preachcr.,..Iiii> blindness, con- 
stantly reculiiiig, to your recullt:ction 
old Homer, O^sinn and Miltc^n, and 
associating with his i^trformiince, 
the melancholy grandeur of their 
gCiiiuses....you are to imagine you 
hear his slow, solemn, well accented 



BRITISH SPT....LETTKR riU 



S63 



•nanciation and his voice of affect- 
ing, tremblins melody ••••you are to 
remeroher the pitch of passion and 
enthusiasm to which the congrega- 
tion were raised—.and then the few 
minutes of portentous, deoth-Iike 
^lence which reigned throughout 
the house, •••the preacher removing 
his white handkerchief from his 
aged fece (even vet wet from the 
recent torrent of his tears^ and 
slowly stretching forth the palsied 
hand which holds it, begins the sen- 
tence—." Socrates died like' a phi- 
JoBopher"*..«^th«n pausing, raising 
his other hand, pressing them both, 
clasped together, with warmth and 
•nergy to his breast, lifting his 
^ sightless balls" to heaven, and 
pouring his whole soul into his tre- 
mulous voice.**^*' but Jesus Chnst.*.. 
like a God ^•••If he had been indeed 
and in truth an angel of light, the 
«ffect could scarcely have been 
more divine. Whatever I had been 
able to conceive of the sublimity of 
MassiUon or the force of Bourda- 
louc had fallen fiir short of the power 
which I felt from the delivery of this 
simple sentence. The blood which, 
just before, had rushed in a hurri- 
cane upon my brain, and, in the 
violence and agony of my feelings, 
had held my whole system in sus^ 
pense ; now ran back into niy heart 
with a sensation which I cannot de« 
scribe ; a kind of shuddering, deli- 
cious horror I The paroxysm of 
blended pity and indignation to 
which I had been transported, sub- 
sided into the deepest self abase- 
ment, humility and adoration ! I had 
just been lacerated and dissolved by 
sympathy for. our saviour as a fel- 
low-creature ; but now, with fear 
and trembling, I adored him. as^«M 
"aGodi". 

" If this description giyes you the 
impression that this incomparable 
miAister had any thing of shallow, 
theatrical trick in his manner, it 
does him gi-eat injustice. I have 
never seen, in any other orator, suck 
an union of simplicity and m yesty. 
He has not a gesture, an attitude, 
•r au accent to )vhicb he does not 



seem forced by the sentiinent which 
he is expressing. His mind is too 
serious, too earnest, too solicitous, 
and, at the same time, too dignified 
to stoop to artifice* AUl^ough as 
fsLT removed from ost^atatioQ as a 
man can be, yet it is clear from the 
train, the style and substance of hi« 
thoughts, that he is, not only & very 
pohte scholar, but a man of exten- 
sive and profound erudition. I was 
forcibly struck with a short, yet 
beautiftil character which he drew 
of ouf learned and amiable countiy-i 
man. Sir Robert Boyle : he spoke of 
him, as if "his noble mind had, 
even before death, divested herself 
of all influence from bis frail t«ibcr. 
nacle of flesh ;" and called him in his 
peculiarly emphatic and impressive 
manner, "a pure intelligence. ••. 
the link between men and angels I'* 
"This man has been before my 
imagination almost ever since. A « 
thousand times, as I rode along, I 
dropped the reins of my bridle, 
stretched forth my hand and tried 
to imitate his quotation from Rous- 
seau ; a thousand times I abandoned 
the attempt in despair, and felt jjcr* 
suaded that his peculiar manner 
arid power arose from an energy of 
soul which Nature could give, but 
which no human being cojild justly 
copy. In short, he seems to lie aU, 
together a being of a former age, or 
of a totally different nature from the 
rest of men. As I recal, at this 
moment, several of his awfully strik- 
ing attitudes, the chilling tide with 
which my blood begins to pour along 
my arteries reminds me of the enioi 
tions produced by the first sight of 
Gray's introductory picture of his 
bard. 

On a rocjc, vyhosc \iaiighty brow. 
Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming 

floodj 
Roh'd tn the saSle garb of woe, 

With haggard eyes the poet stood j 
(Loose his beard and hoar/ hair. 
Streamed, like a meteor, to the troti- 

bled air) 
And with a poet's hand and prophet'r 

fire 
StrucI: the deep sorrows of his lyrc.^ 



S64 



BHXTISH SPT..., LETTER VIT. 



<< Guess my sui^irise when, on my 
arrival at Ridimond and mentioning 
the name of this man, I found not 
one person who had ever before 
beard of James Walbell ! Is it not 
strange that such a genius as this, 
so accomplished a scholar, so divine 
an orator, should be permitted to 
languish and die in obscurity within 
eighty miles of the metropolis of 
Virginia 1 To me it is a conclusive 
argument, either that the Virginians 
have no taste for the highest strains 
of the most sublime orotary, or that 
they are destitute of a much more 
important quality, the love of ge- 
nuine and exalted religion. Indeed 
it is too clear, my friend, that this 
soil abounds more in weeds of foreign 
birth, than in good and salubrious 
finiits. Among others the noxious 
weed of infidelity has struck a deep, 
a fatal root, and spread its pestilen- 
tial branches far around. I fear that 
our excentric and fanciful country- 
man, Godwin, has contributed not 
a little to water and cherish this 
pernicious exotic. There is a no- 
velty, a splendor, a boldness in his 
scheme of morals peculiarly fitted 
to captivate a youthful and an ar- 
dent mind. A young man feels his 
delicacy flattered, in the idea of 
being emancipated from the old, 
obsolete and vulgar motives of moral 
conduct ; and acting correctly from 
motives <juite new, refined and sub* 
limated m the crusible of pure, 
abstracted reason. Unfortunately, 
however, in this attempt to change 
the mt.tivts of his conduct, he loses 
the o!ii ones, while the jiew, either 
from being ttx> ethcrial and sublime, 
or from some other want of conge- 
niality, refuse to mix and lay hold of 
the gi'oss materials of his nature. 
Thus he becomes emancipated, in- 
deed ; discharged not only from 
ancient and vulgar shackles, but 
also, from modern fine-spim, tinseled 
restraints of his divine Godwin. 
Having imbibed the high spirit of 
literary adventure, he disdains the 
limits of the monil world ; and ad- 
vancing boldly to the throne of God, 
he questions him on his dispensa- 
tions, and demands tlie reasons of 



bis laws* But the counsds of bea* 
ven are above the ken, not contrary 
to the voice of human reason ; and 
the unfortunate youth, unable to 
reach and measure them, recoils 
from the attempt, with melancholy 
rashness, into infidelity and deism* 
Godwin's glittering theories are on 
his lips. Utopia or Mezoraniaboast 
not of a purer moralist in mords^, 
than the young Godwiniao. But 
the unbridled licentiousness of ins 
conduct makes it manifest, that if 
Godwin's principles are true in the 
abstract, they ard not fit for this 
system of things, whatever they 
might be in the republic of Plato. 

" From a life of inglorious indo- 
lence, by far too prevalent among 
the young men of this country, the 
transition is easy and natural to im- 
nckorality and dissipation. It is at 
this giddy period of life, when a 
series of dissolute courses have de- 
bauched the parity and innocence of 
the heart, shaken the pillars of the 
understanding, and converted her 
sound and wholesome operations, 
into little more than a set of feverish 
starts, and incoherent and delirious 
dreams, it is in such a situation that 
a new-fangled theory is welcomed 
as an amusing' guest, and deism is 
embraced as a bafany comforter 
against the pangs of an ofiended con- 
science. This coalition once formed 
and habitually consolidated, ^* for- 
wel,/a long farwel" to honour, ge- 
nius and glory ! From such a ^ilf 
of complicated niin, few have the 
energy ever to attempt an escape. 
The moment of cool reflection, 
which should save them, is too big 
with horror to be endured. Every 
plunge is deeper and deeper, until 
the tragedy is finally wouni up by a 
pistol or a haltar. Do not believe 
that I am drawing feom fancy ; the 
picture is unfortunately true. Few 
dramas, indeed, have yet reached 
their catastrophe ; but, too many are 
in a rapid progress towards it. 
These thoughts are affecting and 
oppressive. I am glad to retreat 
from them by bidding yoa adieu; 
and offering my prayers to heaven 
that you may never lose the pure^ 



BRITISH SKT....LETTER VII. 



265 



die genial consolatioQs of unshaken 
^th and an approving conscience. 
Once more, my dear S* ••**•*, 
adieu i" 



ne tOTrni and country friend and 
fihy9ician:m.,.0r an affectionate 
addren on the. preservation of 
healthy ahd the removal of die* 
ease on its first appearance :•••• 
Supposed to be delivered by a 
country physician to Hie circle 
of his friends and patients on 
his retiring from business :•••• 
With cursory observations on 
the treatment of children^ klfC;,, 
Intended for the promotion of 
domestic happiness.,. .In two 
parts. 

Philadelphia : Humphreys^ pp. 
103. 
This little book, written in the 
true spirit of moderation and bene- 
volence, has afforded us no incon- 
siderable pleasure. This is, ex- 
actly, the subject on which the 
humble and laborious classes of so- 
ciety, stand in most need of infor- 
mation, and in which, credulity, 
ignorance, and negligence, lead 
their victims into the most perni- 
cious errors. We cannot do better 
than to extract the preface entire. 
** To those who peruse the fol- 
lowing pages, it is scarcely neces- 
sary for the editor to say what were 
his motives in handing tliem in this 
plain and compact form to the 
public The promotion of domes- 
tic comfort and happiness, he flat- 
ters himself, wiU be found so evi- 
dently written in every line of them, 
as will be sufficient to evince his 
object. ...a general circulation and 
pPTusal of them, which would not 
80 likely be the case, if they were 
swelled out, as. they might be, and 
the price proportionably advanced. 
^ '" The first pan, independent of 
a few observations, and some alte- 
rations, arising from locality cjf ex- 
pression, is nearly a copy of a late 
celebrated publication, intit>ed, 
« The Villager's Friend and Phy« 



sician," and is from the pen of that 
worthy philanthropist, Mr. James 
Parkinson, of London. 

The second part will be found, 
chiefly, to consist of a selection of 
short extracts from some other late 
celebrated publications, on the 
means of preserving health and 
prolonging life ; also of some ob- 
servations and remarks calculated 
to enforce the precepts and advice 
contained in the first part; and to 
which, it is presumed, it will prove 
an acceptable and useful addition. 

" It will be acknowledged by all 
who peruse the work, tliat a gene- 
ral circulation of it must be accom- 
panied with beneficial effects ; such 
as must tend to the promotion of, 
not only domestic, but of general 
happiness. Perhaps no little book 
extant, is better calculated for it ; 
or to answer the purposes of those 
who are desirous of sowing the 
germ of healtli, comfort, and pros- 
perity, among the miserable, by 
tlie distribution of cheap and useful 
I)ooks. Perhaps also, there is not 
a means in the hands of the afBu- 
ent, by which solid comfort dan be 
more permanently, or more .easily 
administered to the infirm and 
wretched,* than in the proper dis- 
posal of such books among them ; 
nor is, in general, the gratitude of 
such for comfort administered, m«i'e 
expressive and permanent, than 
that which arises out of this source." 

The precepts contained in the 
first part, relating to the symptoms 
and cure of various diseases, are 
perhaps of less practical utility, 
than mere directions for preserving 
health. They are infinitely more 
liable to be mistaken and misap- 
plied. Every uneasy sensation, 
transient obsti'uction, or momenta- 
ry excrescence, is converted, l)y a 
feaHul fancy, into the symptom of 
some dangerous disease. There 
are innumerable instances, some- 
times deplorable, and sometimes' 
ludici'ous, of mistakes, arising from 
partial information. How m :iiy 
months and \ ears have been eni- 
biuered by a chimera of tliis sort, 
in the lives of man}' persons. There 



266 



TfiC TOWK AVD COUNTRT FRIEND AND PBTSXCIAV. 



arc very few who have dipped into 
nedical works, or iDto books in- 
tended to supply the place of sci* 
CBtific treatises, whose little know- 
ledge has not cost them a thousand 
terrors, and anxieties* lliese evils, 
though great, are fiar inferior to 
SQch as arise from total ignorance 
aiul negligence. While the former 
inevitably terminates in ease and 
security, the latter are real, per* 
manent, and perhaps incurable* 

The second part is not liable to 
any objection, and it is impossible, 
we think, for any to peruse it at- 
tentively, ' without benefit* We 
ftball close with tlie following re- 
marks on cleanliness, which, though 
trite, can never be too frequently 
repeated, or widely diffused : 

^^ Cleanliness is a principal duty 
of man, and an unclean or filthy 
person, Is never completely healthy* 
it is better to wasli ourselves ten 
times a day, than to allow one dirty 
spot to remain on the skin. On a 
place where impurities are suffei^ed 
to clog tlie pores, not only insensi- 
ble perspiration* but likewise the 
absorption by the skin is entirely 
suppressed ; and, if the whole body 
be, as it were, covered witli a var- 
nish, formed of perspirable matter, 
it is impossible that a person in 
such a state can possess sound blood, 
fir enjoy good health* 

^' Believe me, the lady, the man 
of fortune, and the ill-fated man 
of letters, all require more active 
exercise than they actually take, 
which alone can promote a free 
perspiration, and enliven the sur- 
face of the body ; but, by their in- 
dolent habits, tlie whole machine 
is in a languid state, and the •kin 
becomes contracted and debili- 
tated. 

"The husbandman,. it is true, 
labours dilii^cntly : and tliough, by 
perspiration, his skin prcsei-ves 
more life and activity, it is neither 
kept .sufficiently clean, nor pre- 
vented from being obstructed by 
perspiriolc matter. Tlie artist 
and nriimfncturcr carry on their 
pursuits in a sedentary mamicr, 
and in a confmed impure air : the 



▼oluptuary and the ghitton do no( 
nilTer less than the former, at they 
impair the energy of the 9kin by 
excesses of every kind, and take 
no precautions to preserve its elas- 
tic texture. Oar usual articles of 
dress, fiannel excepted, are not 
calculated to promote a free perspi- 
ration ; and the free use of liquort 
contribute greatly to rriax the 
skin. If we add to this list of pre- 
disposing causes, our inconstant 
climate, which at one hour of thc- 
day braces, and at another relaxes 
the surface of tlie body, alternate- 
ly heats and cools it, and, conse- 
quently, disturbs its uniform action ; 
it will be easily understood, that 
the •kin must, for these reasons, 
be almost generally vitiated ; and 
that it really is a leading source of 
many of our indispositions* 

When the sensibility of the ««r- 
face is impaired ; when the myriads 
of orijtcegy that are designed for 
the continual purification and reno- 
vation of our fluids, are obstructed, 
if not closed : when the subtle ner^- 
vous texture is nearly deprived of 
its energy, so that it becomes an 
imfienetrable coat of mail^ is there 
any reason to wonder, that we are 
80 often harassed by a sense of con- 
straint and anxiety : and, tliat this 
uneasiness, in many cases, termi- 
nates in a desponding gloom, and, 
at length, in complete melancholy ? 
Ask the hypocondriac, whether a 
certain degree of cold, paleness, 
and a spasmodic sensation in the 
•kin^ do not always pi'ecede his 
most violent fits of imbecility I and, 
whetlier his feelings are not most 
comfonable when the surface of 
his body is vigorous, warm, and 
perspires freely I In short, the de- 
grees of insensil^e perspiration are 
to him tlie surest barometer of his 
state of mind* If our 9kin be dis- 
organized, the free inlets and out- 
lets of the electric, magnetic, and 
other matters, which afiect us at 
the change of the weather, are ia« 
active. Thus, tlie origin of extreme 
sensibility towards the various at- 
mospheric revolutions, is no longer 
a mystery \ for, in a healthy wr- 



tHS TOWN ANO GOVNTRr FRIEND AND PHTSICIAK.) 



26r 



fice of the body, no inconvenience 
will follow from such changes* If 
we £uther advert to those acrimo* 
nious fluids, which, in consequence 
of an impicrfect state of fiert/iira" 
tion, are retained in tlie body, and 
which affect the most sensible . 
nerves and membranes, we shall 
the better comprehend how cramps 
and spasms, the torturing pains of 
the gout and rheumatism, and the 
great variety of cataneous diseases, 
have of late become so obstinate 
and general* 

^^ The just proportion of the 
ihiids, and tlie circulation of the 
blood, are also determined, in no 
small degree, by the akin; so that 
if these fluids become thick and 
languid, the whole momentum of 
the blood is repelled towards the 
interior parts. Thus a continual 
plethora, or fulness of the blood, 
IS occasioned ; the head and breast 
are greatly oppressed ; and the ex- 
ternal parts, especially the lower 
extremities, feel chilly and languid. 

*^ May we not iiiier, from what 
I have thuii advanced, tliat the use 
of batlis is too much neglected, and 
<Might to be universally introduced ? 
It is no^ sufficient, for the great 
purposes here alluded to, that a 
lew of the more wealthy families 
repair every season to watering- 
places, or that they even make use 
of other modes of bathiug, cither 
for their health or amusement. A 
very different method must be pur- 
sued, if we seriously wisli to 
restore the vigour of a degenera- 
ting race* I mean here to uicul- 
oate the indispensable necessity of 



domestic bathsy so well known »- 
mong the ancients. 

^^ Bathing may be considered as 
an excellent specific for alleviadng 
both mental and bodily affections. 
It is not merely a cleanser of ike 
skifiy enlivening and rendering it 
more fit for performing its offices ; 
but it also refreshes the mind, and 
spreads over the whole system ^ 
sensation qf ease^ activity and 
pleasantness^ It likewise removes 
stagnation in the larger, as weU as 
in the capillary vessels ; gives an 
uniform, free circulation to the 
blood; and preserves that wonder- 
ful harmony in our interior organs, 
on the disposition of which our 
health and comfort so much depend. 
A person fatigued, or distressed ia 
body and mind, will derive vaare 
refreshment from the luxury of a 
lukewann bath, and may drowa 
his disquietude in it more effectu- 
ally, than by indulging in copious 
libations to Bacchus. 

The wissh to enjoy perpetsal 
youth, is one of the mo^ predom- 
inant and pardonable. Though it 
cannot be rationally asserted, that 
bathing will confer continual youth ; 
yet I will hazard an opinion, that 
It has a very uncommon and supe- 
rior tendency to prolong that happy 
state ; it preserves jdl the solid 
parts soft and pliablej and rcndem 
the joints flexible. 

^^ It is BO less certain, that bathing 
is one of the best preservatives of 
beauty ; and tliat tliose nations, 
among whom it is a prevailing prac- 
tice, arc usually the most distin- 
guished for elegance of form,- and 
fieshncss of complexion*" 



268 



POETRY....ORIGIN.VI^ 



THE BOAR HUNT. 

From a Mamucri/it Poenim 

Gondalbc's trumpet, at the dawn of 

day. 
Had summofi'd to the chace his sport- 
ful friends ; 
With these came forth a .troop of 

martial dames. 
Led by Kolinda, first of all in charms. 
Valerian, curious to ex]>lore t)ie wood, 
Where the Magician kept his Mystic 

School ; 
Accoutred in the armour of the land. 
Mounted a steed and followed in the 

train. 
His stately form, the grace with 

which he mov'd 
And check*d the fury of his headlong 

horse. 
Struck his beholders with sur|>rise : 

but most 
RoUnda's eye, him follow 'd o'er the 

plains. 
And most her tongue was lavish in 

hib praise. 
His ccurstr bounded to the winding 

horn. 
And to the clamours of the noisy 

hounds. 
That echoed firom the hills ; he proudly 

pranc'd ; «» 

He snuif'd the gale and wav'd his 

floatingvmane. 
When they had reach'd the bcAders 

of the wood. 
Valerian saw with wonder its thick 

shades ; 
The towering height of its deep-rooted 

oaks ; 
And felt the chillof their overshadow- 
ing gloom. 
Far in the woods the hunters had not 

plung'd. 
Before the hounds, from his rude 

covert, rous*d 
A huge and furious boar ; his glaring 

eyes 
Shone like two stars amidst the depths 

of night : 
Like to the murmur of seditious 

winds 
His breath was heard from far ; he 

champ'd the foam 



Which drop*d down roping irom his 

crooked tusks. 
He heard the tumult of the coming 

war, 
And high upridgtng his hard bristly 

back 
Prepared to meet th« onset of his foes. 
The dogs that first advanc'd were 

gash'd and torn, 
Their fellows fled, the stovtest hunter 

paus'd. 
Swift as the winds Rolinda onwatd 

flics. 
Nor heeds the counsel of her female 

train. 
At the fierce Beast she boldly hurls 

her spear. 
True to her aim, it strikes him in the 

side, 
The blood pours down in torrcnt» 

from the wound ; 
The monster rages with excess of 

pain, 
And turns his wrath on her who gave 

\\it blow, 
Loud roaring like the stornL...RoUa- 

da's steed 
Starts back and trembles, while the 

ponderous boar 
Against him rushes, throws him to 

the earth. 
And with him, the fair burden whicli 

he held. 
Helpless, Rolinda lies, expecting 

death.... 
Valerian sees ; he hastens to her aid : 
rHe throws himself, like lightning, 

from his horse : 
With his long spear he rushes on the 

Boar, 
And buries it in his extended jaws : 
He falls and shakes, beneath his 

weight, the ground. 
Valerian raises the afirigthed maid 
And gives her back in safety to her 

friends 
The danger pasU...again the trumpet 

sounds. 
The signal for the chase ; and on they 

rush. 
While horn and clamourous hound 

and joyous shouts 
With peal on pea.1 through the deep 

thickets break. 
And rouse up silence from her lonely 

haunts. 



fOXTRT. ^e9 

As thus they wound tke tangles of And meet the brunt of thy united 

, the wood, force ; 

And beat each thicket and ezplor'd But that I have within the sound of 

each hill, horn 

Thty heard the loud biast of a bqgle- A gallant band of soldiert, who have 

horn, hither come 

And far within the foveat's shade, With me to share the pleasuies of the 

beheld chace. 

A youthful warrior leaning on his Then tremble, ruffian, measure back 

spear. thy steps 

As they approach'd they mark*d his While now I bid my absent ^friends 

noble form; approach." 

His dark plume waving to the breath He said, and loudly blew his bugle^ 

of air; horn. 

His glittering armour and his gallant Which far extended its indignant 

mien : blast. 

And soon Rolinda in the youth be- The warning sound his friends obed^ 

held ent heard. 

Brave Torismond, the Arimaspian And swifdy at his call through thickets 

chief, dash'd 

And trembled for the fate o£ him she And gather'd round their brave and 

lov'd. warlike chief. 

The Hunter, when he saw the train Then had the storm of bloody battle 

approach, rag*d 

Started supris'd and sternly grasp'd But that young Torismond his sol- 

his spear, diers check'd, 

And soon as he and the Montalvian And thus accosted the Montalvian 

Prince Prince ; 

Each other knew, rage sparkled in " Ha ! man of words, now execute 

their tyts, thy threat ! 

And indignation crimson 'd o'er their Now bind me fast and bear me to thy 

cheeks. king ! 

Aloud Godaibo call'd upon his foe Sooner 6y far you might arrest the 

Upbraiding him with uunts, and bade winds ; 

his troop And yoke the lightnings to your battk 

Seize on the wretch and bind him car.... 

hand and foot, But why for t^ should these bold wai> 

And bear him to the presence of the riors bleed ? 

king. Why in a private quarrel should we 

TBB COMBAT. wastC 

The prince undaunted at this insult The lives of friends so faithful to our 

laugh *d i cause. 

Firm in his place he stood, and shook Come on then, chief, alone, and leave 

his spear thy horse 

And towering in his pride of strength And meet the prowess of this single 

thus spoke, arm, 

*■ Ha ! thinkst thou Prince, thou And let our bands look on and mark 

mighty man of war, our feats, 

Thou bold upbraider of a single And say who most excels in deeds. 

man, of arms. 

That thou hast caught the lion in thy He said : Gondalbo bounded from his 

toils I horse; 

The lion who has thin'd thy crowded He bade his soldiers pause, nor raise a 

ranks ? hand 
And that thoul't seize him, and him Or weapon in the fight....Silence en- 
bound, expose sued, 
To the rude gaze of thy detested The combatants drew near ; aside 

slaves. they threw 

I scorn thy threats....here would I Thtirspears; theyseiz'dtlxeirswo.-ds, 

stand, alone, together rush'd 

VOL* t....KO. IV. 5 



870 



»oiTir« 



And shook the earth beneath their Thejr to their aid with ea^cnien 

mighty strides. nish'd on, 

Swift fen the blows of sheir loud Each man belicv*d his fallen chief 

thundering steel, was dead. 

And far and wide their din of battle And breath'd revenge upon his hated. 

spread. foes. 

At times Gondalbo seem'd to press 'Darlc was the battle which with fnrf 

his foe rag'd 

With conquering force, at times he Between these adverse bands; they 

seem'd to yield were two clouds 

Beneath his rival's force, and both at Charged with dread thunder that 

times together meet. 

Seem'd weary of the €g^t and dread- They were two torrents meeting on a 

f ul toil. hill 

Long they contended, and the turf And upward dashing in the air their 

beneath spray. 

With foot they harden 'd and with Valerian's noble soul was sick of 

blood they dyed. wars.... 

Tet still in doubtful scales the vict'ry He moum'd for men contending like 

hung. the beasts 

At length, Gondalbo, with a weary With cruel joy, and rioting in blood: 

But now in self defence he drew his 

sword. 
And with an arm unrivafled in its 

strength 
Beat from him the assaidts and lage 
of war. 
The fight was won by bold Montal- 
via's sons. 
Through the wild shades the Aiimas- 

pians fled 
And left their leader bleeding on the 

earth. 
Valerian cheak'd his friends on the 

pursuit, 
And bade them both the fallen prin- 
ces raise 
And to the city gently bear them 

hack. 
Rolinda followed in the moumfol 

train. 
With eye dejected and with alter'd 

air. 
Her long dishevel'd hair waves in the 

wind. 
And frequent sighs break frop the 
aching heart. 



eye 
Believ'd be saw his rival's power de- 
cline, 
And thought one mighty effort would 

secure 
To him the triumph of the bloody 

strife : 
Rousing his strength and raising high 

his sword, 
He struck the head of his relentless 

foe. 
While at the moment he himself re- 
ceived 
Deep in the side, the pUmge of his 

deep sword : 
Both fell, and roU'd in anguish on the 

ground. 
Loud shriek'd Rolinda and within the 

arms 
Of his attendants sunk : her lover's 

name 
Burst from her tips, and told the 

tender flame 
She nurs'd with secret sorrow in her 

breast. 
When the troops saw their princely 

leaden fall. 



SELECTIONS. 



BRANDY. 
Thk time of the invention of 
brandy, or ardent spirit, which 
has had so wonderful an influence 
on many arts, on commerce, on 
the habtte, health, and happiness 
of the lir.man race, is not exactly 
known* That the first was made 



by the Arabians from wine, and 
thence called vinum uatum; that 
Arabian physicians first employed 
it in the composition of medicines ; 
and that so late as the ^ear 1SS3, 
the manner of prepanng it was 
very difficult and tedious, and still 
considered by surgeons as a secret 



BRANDTi 



an 



ut; it appears from the writings 
of Arnold de ViUe Ncuvc [Amol- 
du» de Villa J^ova] Raymond 
Lully, .and Theophrastus Paracel- 
sus ; and it is without sufficient 
reason, that some ascribe the in- 
vention to Arnold. Alexander 
Tassoni relates, that the Moden- 
ese were the first, who, in EUiroj^e, 
on occasion of too abundant a vin- 
tage, made and sold brandy in con- 
aiderable quantities. The German 
miners had first acquired the habit 
of drinking it ; and the great con- 
ttimption of, and demand for, this 
liquor, soon induced the Venetians 
to participate with the Modenese in 
the new lucrative art and branch 
of oommerxc* However, it ap- 
pears, that brandy did not come into 
general use till towards the end of 
the fifteenth century ; and then it 
was stiD called burnt whte. The 
first printed books which made 
mention of brandy, recommended 
it as a preservative against most 
diseases, and as a means to pro- 
long youth and beauty. Similar 
encomiums have been bestowed on 
tea and coffee ; and people become 
so much habituated to these liquors, 
that they at last daily drank them, 
merely on account of their being 
pleasant to their palate. In tlie 
Reformation of the archbishopric 
of Cologne, in the first quarter of 
the sixteenth century, no mention 
is made of brandy; although it 
must certainly have been named 
there, if it had then already been 
used in Westphalia. William II, 
landgrave of Hesse, about the com- 
mencement of the siicteenth century, 
ordered that no seller of brandy 
should suffer it to be drunken in his 
' hou3e....and that no one should be 
allowed to offer it for sale before 
tlie church doors on holidays. In 
1524, Philip, landgrave of Hesse, 
totally prohibited the vending of 
burnt vfinem But in the middle of 
the sixteenth century, when Baccius 
wrote his History qf Wine^ brandy 
was every whei*e in Italy sold under 
the name of at/ua xHtia or i/irnr. 
Under king Erick, It was iutro- 
dii«ed' into Sweden. For a long 



time this Mqutfr was distiUed only 
from spoilt wine ; afterwards from 
the dregs, &c. of beer and wine ; 
and when instead of these, the dis« 
tillers employed rye, wheat and 
barley, it was considered as a 
wicked and unpardonable. misuse 
of corn ; it was feared that brandy 
made from wine, would be adulte* 
rated with malt^spirits ; and an 
idea prevailed, that the grains were 
noxious to cattle, but especially to 
swine; whence originated among 
men, that loathsome and contagious 
disease, the leprosy. Expx^easljr 
for these reasons, burnt vine was, 
in January, 1595, forbidden to be 
nrnd* in the electorate of Saxony, 
except only from wine lees, and the 
dregs of beer. In iJdS, 't)randy 
was prohibited at Frankfort, on 
the Mayne, because the barber-> 
surgeons had represented, that it 
was noxious in the then prevalent 
fatal disorders. From the same 
cause, the prohibition was renewed 
in 1605. With astonishing rapidi* 
ty has the love of brandy, and 
ardent spirit in general, spread 
over aU parts of the world; and 
nations the most uncultivated and 
tlie most ignorant, who can neither 
reckon nor write, have not only 
comprehended the method of dis- 
tilling it ; but even had ingenuity 
enough to apply to the preparation 
of it, the products furnished by 
their own country. Malt spirits 
and French brandy, which, when 
both are jiure, are however alike 
in their component parts, may, 
wjth the greatest ccrtamty, be dis- 
tinguished by the taste which is 
left after burning them. Of the 
latter, this watery remainder is 
sharp, nauseous, and almost sour ; 
but what is left after burning the 
malt spirits, excites a taste of 
burnt, or at least roasted, meal. 

Memoir on the Wax-^Dree qfLcu^ 
iniana and Pcfinaylvania* By 
CuARLLEs Louis Cadet, of 
the college of Pharmacy^m 
A number of plants, such as 

the Croton cebiferum^ the Tcmcx 



^rS OV THE WAX-TKES OF tOViSlAlKA AVD PfiVVSTLTAVIA. 



«tfd{/if»« of LonveilOy tlie poj^r, 
the alder, tiie pine, and lome /oM- 
atiy give bjr decoction a concrete 
inwtnimaMe matter, similar, in a 
greater or Icm degr^ to tallow or 
wax ; that it to say, a fixed oil as- 
Inrated wkh exfgtn. llie light 
down, called the bloom of fruits, 
and which gives a silvery appear- 
ance to the suriace of phims and 
other stone fruits, is wax, as has 
been proved by M. Proost. But 
fte tree which tarnishes this matter 
in the greatest aboodance, and 
which in many respects deserves 
the attention of agricoltnrists, che- 
mists, physicians, and commercial 
men, is tne Afyriea cefi/brut or 
wax-tree. 

Wenmd-hi Uic History of the 
Academy of Sciences for the years 
1733 and 1735, that M. Alexandre, 
a surgeon and correspondent of M. 
Mairan, observed in Louisiana, a 
tree of the siee of the cherry-tree, 
having the appearance of the myrtle, 
and nearly the same odour, and 
bearing a seed of the size of cori- 
ander* These seeds, of an ash- 
grey colour, contain a small osseous 
atone, pretty round, coveredwith 
shining wax, which is obtained by 
boiling the seeds in water. This 
wax is drier and more friable than 
ours. The inhabitants of the coun- 
try make tapers of it. M. Alex- 
andre adds : ^' Thu seed has com- 
monly a beautiful lake colour, and 
on being bruised with the Augers, 
they acquire the same tint; but 
this takes place only at a certain 
season." 

The liquor in which the seeds 
have been boiled, and from which 
the wax has been taken, when eva- 
porated to the consistence of an 
extract, was found by M . Alexan- 
dre to be an effectual remedy for 
checking the most obstinate dysen- 
teries. 

Tlie advantageous properties ex- 
hibited by tills tree, could not but 
induce scientific men to make re- 
searches ^r the pui'pose of ascer- 

• From the Annales de Cfiimc^ 
Ab. 131. 



taining the varieties of iStAs v^(»« 
table production, and what care 
was required in its culture. It 
was lone considered as a mtfre 
object of curiosity. 

Linnsus, in his Vegetable System, 
speaks only of the wax-tree of Vir- 
ginia (MyrUa eeriferajy with 
leaves lanoeolated as if indented, 
stem arborescent. 

Having requested C. Ventenat Xf> 
inform roe how many qiecies there 
are of it, he replied that Ayton has 
distinguished two, vis. 

1st. Myrica terifera wngutHfrh- 
lia^ whidi grows in Louisiana. 
This tree is delicate, flowers with 
dUBculty in our green-houses : ita 
seeds are snuJler than those of the 
following. 

3d. Myrica cerifiru iatiJbStty 
which grows in Pennsylvania, Ca- 
rolina, and Vir^nia. It does n<ft 
rise to such a height as the Ibrmer, 
and is perfectly naturalized in 
France. These two Bfyrka are 
of the fiunily of the diteci* 

They are both cultivated at the 
Museum de* PlantM^ and in the 
gardens of C. Cels and Lemomer. 

C. Michault admits a third spe- 
cies of Myrica cerifera^ which he 
callsthe dwarf wax-tree. C. Ven- 
tenht thinks that wax may be ex« 
tracted from all the Myric^tm 

The authors who have spoken of 
these trees with some details, are 
C. Marchal, translated by Leferme, 
I^page-Duprat, and Toscan, libra- 
rian of the Museum of Natiiral 
History. A- memoir inserted t>y 
the latter in his workentitled L'Ahd 
de la Xaturc^ makes known tlm 
manner in which vegetable wax is 
collected in tlie colonics. 

<^ Towards the end of autumn,*' 
says he, ^< when the berries are 
ripe, a man quits his home, with 
his family, to proceed to some 
island, or some bank near the sea, 
where the wax-trees grow in abun- 
dance. He carries wiUi him vessci s 
for boiling tlie berries, and an axe 
to build a hut to shelter him during 
his i-esidcnce in that place, which 
is generally thix;e or four weeks. 
White he is cutting down the trees, 



Oir THK WAX-TRXK 07 LOUISXAVA ANO PEiTNStLVANlA* Sfi 



Wid eonstrnctiiig the hut, his chil- 
dren collect the berries : a fruitful 
shrob can furnish about seven 
peunds. When the berries are 
coflectedy the whole hrnHy employ 
thenaaelves in extracting the wax. 
A certain quantity of the seeds are 
thrown into .the kettles, and water 
ii poured over them in sufiBcient 
quantity to rise to the height of half 
a foot above them. The whole is 
dicn boiled, stirring the seeds from 
time to time, and pressing them 
against the sides of the vessels, that 
the wax may more easily be de- 
tached. A little after, the wax is 
seen floating in the form of fat, 
whi<^ is collected with a spoon, 
and strained through a piece of 
coarse cloth, to separate the impu- 
rities mixed with it. When no 
more wax detaches itself, theberries 
are taken oat by means of a skim- 
mer^ and new ones are put into the 
water ; taking care to renew it the 
second or third time, and even to 
add more boiiing water in propor- 
tion as it is consmned, in order that 
the operation may not be retarded. 
When a certain quantity of wax 
has been collected in this manner, 
it is placed on a piece of linen clotli 
to drain, and to separate the water 
with which it b still mixed. It is 
then dried, and melted a second 
lime for the purpose of purifying 
it, and is moulded into the form of 
cakes. Four pounds of the seeds 
give about a pound of wax. That 
which detaches itself first, is gene- 
rally yellow, but m the last boilings 
it assumes a green colour, in con- 
sequence of the tint communicated 
to it by the pellicle with which the 
nucleus of the seed is covered." 

Kalna, the traveller, speaking of 
the vegetable wax, says that in 
countries where the wax-tree 
grows, it is employed for making 
excellent soap, with wliich linen 
can be perfectly washed. 

S3uch was the knowledge natu- 
ralists had of tlie niyricu, or at 
least no-other observations, as far 
as I know, had been published re- 
specting it, when a natura4ist gave 
me half a ktk)gi*ainme of the vege- 
table wax of Louii^iana. I was de- 



sirous to anylyse it, and compavc 
it with the wax made by our bees, 
but before I undertook ^s labour, 
I wished to be acquainted with the 
nature of the shrub, and of the 
seeds of the myrica. I saw this 
valuable production in the Jardki 
dea Flantesy and wrote to C. De- 
shayes, a zealous botanist, who su* 
perintends at Rambouillet the cul- 
tivation of the Myrica fiennsytva^ 
fUcay to beg he would give me a 
few details on that subject. He 
was so kind as to return an answer, 
accompanied with some of the 
seeds, which I took the earliest 
opportunity of examiniug. 

This seed is a kind of berry, of 
the size of a pepper-corn ; its sur* 
fece, when it is ripe and fresh, is 
white, intenpersed with small black 
asperities, which give> it the ap- 
pearance of shagreen. When 
rubbed between the hands it renders 
them unctuous and greasy. 

If one of these small berries be 
strongly pressed, it divesu itself of 
a matter in appearance amylace- 
ous, mixed with small round grains, 
Uke gun-powder. The nucleus, 
which remains bare, has a very 
thick ligneous covering, and con- 
tains a dis cotyledon kernel. By 
rubbing a nandful of the berries on 
a hair sieve, I obtained a grey dust, 
in which i could distinguish, by 
the help of a magnifying glass, the 
small brown grains already men- 
tioned, in the middle of a white 
powder. 

I put tills powder into alcohol, 
which by the help of a gentle heat 
dissolved all the white part, and 
left the black powder which I col- 
lected apart. Water poured over 
this alcoholic solution, disengaged 
a substance which floated on the 
surface of tlie liquid. I melted 
this substance, and obtained ^ 
yellow wax similar to that brought 
me from Louisiana, lliis experi- 
ment was sufficient to prove that 
tlie wax of tlie myrica is the white 
rough matter wluch envelopes the 
seeds. 

The black powder which I sepa- 
rated, appeared to me to contain a 
colouring principle, and I did not 



STA OV TSE WAX^TRXE Or LOOrSIAKA AKD FEKNSTLVAKIik. 



tteipAir that I ehould find in it tlie 
beftutifiil lake, mentioned by M. 
Alexandre. With this view I 
bruiied strongly the powder, and 
boiled it in a solution of acid sul- 
phate of alumine. I was much 
astonished to obtain nothing but a 
liquor scarcely coloured, and the 
alumine precipitated by an alkali, 
was only slightly stained. 

I took anoUicr part of this black 
bruised powder, and put it to infuse 
Id alcohol* I soon obtained a tincture 
of the colour of wine lees : on 
heating this tincture, it became as 
red as a St rong tincture of cinchona, 
or caehon. This result induced 
me to believe that the colouring 
principle was resinous, but by addi ng 
. water, I saw no precipitate formed. 
I poured into this tincture, water 
charged with sulphate of alumine ; 
a slight precipit4\tc was produced ; 
a soltttionof sulphate of iron formed 
it immediately into an ink. 

What is the astringent colouring 
principle which is not soluble in al- 
cohol, which forms no precipitate 
with water, and which has so little 
attraction for alumine ? To find it 
a series of experiments, which the 
few substances I had iu my posses- 
sion did not permit me to make, 
would have be(Hi necessary. The 
astringent matter mentioned by M. 
iVlexandre, nmst be found in tlie 
decoction of the unbi*uised seeds. 
To ascertain this fact, I boiled the 
seeds in a silver vessel, 'i^e de- 
ception on which a little wax floated, 
Y/as of a greenish colour, with a 
taste somewhat stj-ptic : it precipi- 
tated ferruginous solutions black. 
Having heated it in a very clean 
iron vessel, it spectUly became 
black. To know wliether thi:; pro- 
perty arose from the gallic acid 
ulonc, or from tannin, I mixed a 
little of tlie concentrated decocticn, 
with a solution of gelatin, but no 
precipitate was formed* 

It is therefore to the pretty con- 
siderable quantity of gallic acid 
t(jntaincdin the seeds of the myrica, 
tiiat the virtue of its extract in 
checking dvsentaries ought to be 
ufccribed. In this lespect, I am cf 
o;;li]icu that the lc«Lves and bark of 



the tree would fomiflSi nn esctract 
still more astringent thanr the 
berries. 

The following are the most In- 
teresting results of an ezaminatioa 
of the wax : 

When extracted either by decoc- 
tion from the seeds, or by solutxcm 
of the white powder in alcohol pre- 
cipitated by water ; this melted 
wax IS always of a yellow colour, 
inclining to green. Its consistence 
is stronger than that of the wax 
made by bees ; it is dry and fnoble 
enough to be reduced to powder ; 
in a word, it is manifestly more 
oxygenated than wax prepared by 
these insects. Tapers made with 
the wax of the myrica, give a. 
white flame and a beautiful light, 
without smoke, do not run, and 
when new, emit a balsamic odour, 
which the inhabitants of Loubiana 
consider as very beneficial to the 
sick : when distilled in a retort, it 
passes in a great part to the state 
of buttvr. This portion is whiter 
than it was before, but it loses its 
consistence, and acquires that of 
tallow. Another portion is decom- 
posed, furnishes a little water, 
scbacic acid, and empyreumatic 
oil. A gi'eat deal of carbonated 
hydrogen gas, and carbonic acid 
gas, are disengaged, and there 
'remains in the retort a black car- 
bonaceous bitumen. Commcm wax 
when distilled, exhibits the sanoe 
phenomena. 

I have already said that alcohol 
dissolves the w^x of the myrica, 
but ether dissolves it much better, 
and, by the evaporation of the 
liquid, it separates in the form of 
stalagmites. Neither of these 
liquids destroy its colour. If this 
wax be boiled with dilute sulphuric 
acid, it becomes a little whiter, but 
there is no sensible combination cf 
the acid with it. Tlie yellow wax 
of bees, treated in the same manner, 
did not change its colour. 

Oxygenated muriatic acid bleaches 
both kinds of wax perfectly. The 
vegetable wax, however, loses its 
colour with more difficulty. 

The vegetable wax dissolves in 
ammonia. The solution assumes 



ON TBS WAX*TBES OF LOUISIANA AND PENNSTLTAVIA STS 



»i)rown colour ; a part of the wax 
becomes saponaceous. The vola- 
tile alkali has much less action on 
the wax of bees. 

These two kinds of wax, when 
strongly agitated in a boiling solu- 
tioD of caustic potash^ wash and 
form a real soap, as observed by 
Kahn the traveller. The white- 
ness which wax acquires by this 
saponification, b not a new phe- 
nomenon. C. Chaptal, in his process 
for bleaching by the steam of alka* 
line lees, has proved that the 
colouring principle of vegetables 
yields to the action of alkalies. 
Some chemists ascribe this effect to 
the direct combination ..f soda or 
potash with the coloured extrac- 
tive part, and a combination which 
brings it to a state almost sapona- 
ceous, and renders it soluble. 

According to my opinion, the 
alkali, in this operation, exercises 
over the oil or wax a double attrac- 
tion, first direct with the constituent 
principles of tlie oil, then predis- 
posing and fiavouring the combina- 
tion of the oxygen of Uie atmosphere 
wiUi oil or wax. I do not know 
whether any one before me ever 
entertained this idea ; but it was 
suggested by observing what takes 
place when soap is decomposed by 
an acid. The oil is always concrete 
and more oxygenated than it was * 
before. 

It woqid be of importance for the 
theory of chemistry to make soap, 
if possible, in a close vessel, and to 
examine the air afterwards, or in 
different gases containing no oxy- 
gen. 

By decpmposing soap of the 
myrica, very white wax is obtained ; 
but in a particular state, which 
does not admit of its being employed 
for our purposes. 

Litharge, or semi-vitreous oxide 
of lead, dissolves veiy weU in the 
melted wax of Louisiana. It forms 
a very hard mass, the consistence 
of which may be diminished at 
pleasure, by the addition of a iittle 
oil. If the wax of the myrica, as 
there is reason to think, retains a 
portion of the astringent principle 
by a decoction of the berries, the 



physicians, perhaps, will find 
useful properties in topics made 
with this wax. 

By taking a general view of what 
has been here said, it is seen that 
the myrica may be of very great 
service in the arts. The wax 
which it furnishes is sufficiently 
abundant to prove an ample indem- 
nification for the care and expense 
of cultivation, since a shrtib in fuU 
bearing g^ves six or seven pounds 
of berries, from which a ficMirth of 
wax may be extracted. This wax 
is of a quality superior to that of 
bees. 

The astringent principle of the 
mjrrica, extracted on a large scale, 
may be very useful either in medi« 
cine or in the arts. In certain 
respects it may be substituted for 
the gall-nut in dyeing, hat-making, 
and perhaps in the tanning some 
lunds of leather. The colouring 
principle seems to be sufficiently 
fixed to deserve some attention ; 
and. if it be true that in Louisiana 
beautiful lakes are made from it, 
why is it not rendered useful in 
painting ? 

When tills wax becomes suffi- 
ciently common to be sold at a low 
price, great advantage might be 
derived from it in making soap. 

The art of bleaching this wax 
requires also some researches, 
when it is to be performed on a 
large scale with economy. Two 
re-agents present themselves to 
manufacturers....the sulphuric acid 
and the oxygenated muriatic. But 
as wax does not sink in these liquids, 
means must be found to multiply 
the contact, either by cuttngthe 
wax into sUces, and bespriniding 
it with oxygenated muriatic add, 
or shutting it up when cut in this 
manner, in casks, into which oxy- 
genated muriatic acid is introduced. 

I shall propose a third method, 
which seems to promise a speedier 
effect. Place the wax, cut into 
small pieces, in alternate strata, 
with hyper-oxygenated muriate of 
lime : when arranged in this man- 
ner, leave it for sometime dry, and 
in contact. The salt and acidulous 
water are then to be decomposed 



3r& OV THE WAZ-TIBB OF tOVtSIAVA AVO rfiVVITLTAVIA* 



by the mlphttric add, taking care 
to pottr in water gradaally, at dif- 
ferent periods, till there ia no longer 
a teaaible disengagement of muri- 
atic gas. A large quantity of water 
18 thai to be added, and tlie mixture 
must be stirred with a rod. By 
rest, the insoluble sulphate of lime 
is precipitated, and the bleached 
wax will float at the surfitce. 

I shall terminate this memoir 
with sone observations on the 
caltare of the myrica* 

C. Deshayes, to whom I am in- 
idjted for the trials I have made, 
has observed, for several years, 
the wax«trees oi Ramboiiillet« 
What he observed to (me on this 
subject, is as follows : 

^ The Alyrica iat^/bUa (Ayton) 
is here absolutely in its native 
country : it is in the soil proper for 
it; that is to say, in sandy and 
blank lah turf. We have sixteen 
wax*trecs in full vigour. They are 
four, five, and six feet in height: 
one male is seven feet. The seeds 
are abundant almost every year ; 
I say almost, because in some years 
they fail. The fruit in general is 
in that part of the English garden 
assigned to it* 

^^ The culture requires no care. 
Every year a great number of 
shoots, wliich proceed from the 
roots of the large trees, are pulled 
up. These are so many new shrubs, 
which are then planted at the dis- 
tance of a yard from each other. 

^ Tlie seedsmay be sown in beds 
in the spring, and then transplant- 
ed: but this method is tedious. 
The myrica will succeed wherever 
it finds a light soil, somewhat moist. 
How many provinces are there 
where the cultivation of this shrub 
would be useful, and employ land 
almost neglected ! 

^ Whatadvantages may not agri- 
culture hope for from such an ac- 
quisition, since Prussia has so long 
seen the myrica flourish in its dry 
aandy plains V 

C. Thiebault, of the academy of 
Berlin, gave me the following in- 
teresting note on this subject : 

*« The late M. Solzer, author of 
It general dictionary of the fine arts, 



had obtained from Frederic tlift 
Great a pretty extensive piece of 
waste Und on the banks of the 
Spree, at the distance of half a 
league from Berlin, inaphice called 
tlie Moabitcs. However barren 
this ground, which presented only 
a very thin, poor tluri, above fine 
Uglit sand, mig^t be, M« Snber^ 
converted into a very agreeable 
garden, worthy of a philosopher* 
Among other remarkable thingsy 
he formed a plantation of foreign 
trees, consisting of five pretty Im^ 
alleys running east and west. Id 
these alleys there were not two 
trees of the same kind following 
each other. In the alleys most ex- 
posed to the north, he planted none 
but the highest trees, capable of 
withstanding the severit)' of the 
climate. Hence, in proceeding 
from the north to the south, the 
first alley exhibited trees of abeut 
seventy feet in height, the second 
trees of from twenty-five to tliirty, 
and so on, in the form of an am* 
phitheatre ; so that all these trees 
had the sun at least in part, and the 
weaker were sheltered by the 
stronger. 

<< In the most southern alley I 
observeda sort of shrub which rose 
only to the height of two or three 
feet, and which M. Salzcr called 
the wax-tree. Every person visited 
this alley in preference to the rest» 
on account of the delicious perfiune 
emitted by the leaves, which they 
retained a very long time." 

C. Thiebault then speaks oi the 
method of extracting the wax. 
This operation is the same as that 
described by M. Alexandre. 

^^ I have seen," adds he, ^^ one 
taper of this wax perfome three 
chambers wliich composed M. 
Sulzer's private apaitments« not 
only during the time it was lighted, 
but even for the rest of the evening." 

The myrica cultivated at Berlin, 
was, no doubt, more odoriferous 
than that which we possess, the wax 
of which does not emit the same 
perfume. 

M. Sulzer intended to make 
tapers xfthb wax not bleached, 
covered with a coating of our finest 



Oir THE WAX-TB:Kft oy LOTTISlAKA AVD PENNSYLVANIA 877 



wax* The lieirs of this acadeim« 
cian sold the garden, but the wax« 
trees still remain. They were 
planted in 17ro* 

If it has been found possible to 
naturalize the Aiyrica cerifera in 
the north, why should we neglect 
a vegetable production so valuablci 
which would certainly thrive in our 
aouthem departments^ and which 
requires less care than bee*hives. 
7he successful trials which have 
been made, must excite the zeal 
fd our agriculturists. 

The government has already 
imcouraged thtsbrandi of industry, 
by ordering plantations of the wax- 
tree. There are nurseries at 
Orleans and Rambouillet, which 
contain more than 400 shrubs. 
Hesults so satisfactory, cannot be 
made too public Useful plants are 
alwayspropagatedslowly: a barren 
.but ^cturesque tree, an agreeable 
shnui, are soon adopted through 
fashion: they ornament the par- 
^rres of our modern LucullU8es> 
and the flower-pots of our Phrynes, 
cWiiile our indefatigable agricultu- 
rists exhaust themselves in vain 
eflforts to enrich our meadows with 
a new grassy or to fill our granaries 
with a new nourishing grain. The 
vulgiar) through prejudice, lone re- 
jected maiz and potatos, which 
have been of so much service to 
our soldiers, and to the poor. The 
oak, which fed our ancestors, is no 
longer found in our forests. Let 
.us, however, hope that our agri- 
AiHurists will at length open their 
eyes to their real interests ; and 
that, laying aside their old preju- 
dice, they will not disdain the pre- 
sents which learned societies are 
desirous to ^ive them, and which 
will conduce as much to their ad- 
vantage, as to the glory and pros- 
perity of France. 

EXTRACTS FROM TBE CORRKS- 
PONDEKCE OF AN AMERICAN 
IN FRANCE. 

( Ontinucdfrwi Mtmber 2, 

Be FOR E I attempt describing the 
country from Boiirdeaux to PariSj 

VOL. 1mmN0# IV. 



I shall first itientiOii a pe^uliartty, 
which I have noticed in my walkif 
about Boordeaux. One hears, in 
every field, a noise as loud, but not 
so sweet, as the singing of birds. I 
was a little surprised at tiiis kind of 
Jield'tnusic .-..«. My first guess was, 
that the performers were frogs } 
but, upon ^inquiry, I learned that 
it proceeded from a kind of fly, 
nearly as large as a grass-hopper, 
and of which there was a great 
number both on the grass aiKi in 
the trees. Previous to getting into 
the diligence fi>r Paris, the river 
Garonne must first be crossed in a 
ferry-boat. It is somewhat surprise 
ing, that a city so large, rich, and 
commercial, as Bourdeaux, sitould 
not have a bridge over the riven 
The Garonne is certainly, at Hour** 
deaux, broader than the Thahies 
at Westminster Bridge, and some- 
what more rapid ; but a wooden 
bridge might easily be thrown across 
it, the expense of which woidd bear 
no proportion to the advantages 
that would be derived firom it. On 
this subject I can say, with tru^, 
tAey manage those things better i^ 
America. 

The soil about Bourdeaux is a 
rich, deep mould, resembling gaiv 
den-mould. The country is beau- 
tifiilly diversified with com and 
vines; the rich green of the vines 
forms, at this season of the year, a 
fine contrast to the yellow harvest. 

As it is probable, that you havie 
never seen a vineyard, I think -it 
will not be superfluous to mentioD 
to you, that tlie vines are here not 
suffered to gi*ow above fimr or five 
feet in height ; that they are sup-* 
ported, sometimes by espaliers, 
sometimes by stakes ; and are plant- 
ed in regular lines, at such dlstaa- 
.ces as will barely allow roim to 
to the labourers to pass betweei;^ 
them. As the growth of the vit>e 
is so much checked, the quantity of 
fruit is greater. The season of the 
vintage, ia vendange^ is the ses^a'm 
of merriment with the peasants of 
the South of France: the labour, 
though severe, is varied by dancing 
and enlivened by music 
6 



trs 



MODE OF TRAVELLIVa 



The rich aofl of the neighbour* 
hood of Bourcleaux is very favoura- 
ble to Indian wheat, of which they 
have large plantations; it is here 
used principally for feeding and 
fattening fowls. This corn, which 
we call Indian wheat, the French 
call bled de Turquie^ or Turkey- 
wheat; and, on the other hand, the 
bird, which we call Turkey-cock, 
from the country we suppose it to 
have originally come from, they 
call coq d^Indtj or Indian-cock* This 
is the etymology of tlieir words 
Dinde^ Dindony which also signify 
a Turkey. The country, in this 
neighbourhood, and indeed in the 
greatest part of the South of France 
is not only highly cultivated, but so 
elegantly laid out and planted, as to 
give the appearance of a rich de- 
mesne to extensive districts, llie 
trees are principally chesnut and 
walnut, which are suffered to grow 
to a great age, and which pay, not 
only by their beauty, but by their 
fruit, for the ground they occupy. 

They are planted sometimes in 
clumps, though oftener singly. It 
was formerly the custom in France 
for the owners of estates to keep 
them entirely in their own hands, 
and ailtivate them by baillies or 
stewards, who accounted annually 
for the profits, and could be dismis- 
sed at the pleasure of tlie lord : at 
present it is not much better; a 
lease or bail (as they call it) for 
three ur four years, is as much as a 
farmer can expect ; the trees are 
reserved for the landlord, who 
makes more by tbeir fruit, than he 
would by cutting them down. This 
is the reason the country is so 
beautifully ornamented with fine 
old trees. I cannot perceive that 
tills custom of giving short leases 
has checked,in any degree, the cul- 
tivatirn cf the ground ; but it makes 
an estate much more valuable to a 
purchaser, when neither old leases 
fior the customs of the country, pre- 
vent his receiving the annual value 
cf bis land, according to the rise of 
times. In the first day's journey 
from Boun'caux, the river Dor- 
dojiie, which is neltlier half as 



broad nor as deep as the Garonne, 
is crossed by a ferry4x)at. It ap- 
pears to me, that it would be a ve- 
17 good speculation for any compa-* 
ny or individual, that has a com- 
mand of money, to propose to the 
government for leave to build wood- 
en bridges across those two rivers* 
A i*easonable* toll wouM give a ve- 
ry ample interest for the money 
expended. After crossing the Dor- 
dogne, we passed through a pretty 
considerable town, called Barbez- 
zioux, on our way to Angouleme^ 
which is the principal town of the 
rich department of la Charentr. 
Angouleme is the most romantically 
situated town I have yet seen. 

It lies so high, that, on viewing 
it from a disttmce, its steeples and 
its towers seem elevated to the 
clouds. It is a large town, strong 
by situation, and fortified in the old 
manner, %vithouc out works. It was 
in the N'endee war, considered a 
very respectable and important 
post, and was always well garris- 
oned. 

The view of tlie country from the 
ramparts is uncommonly bold and 
beautiful: the ramparts ai-e very 
steep, and at the foot of them, on 
one side of the town, runs the river 
Charente, which gives the name to 
the department, and which can be 
seen for many leagues, directing 
its winding course through a rich 
vale and luxuriant scenery. 

The ramparts are the public 
walk to Angouleme, and a more de- 
lightful one can hardly be seen in 
any country. Here as in the pub- 
lie walks of Bounleaux there are a 
number of chairs, and the inhabit- 
ants pass the greater part of a sum^ 
mer*s evening on the ramparts. 

From Angouleme we pass through 
Chattelleraut ; the Dvinin^ham of 
the South of France, to Poictiers, 
which is also a chief town of a de- 
partment, and famous for a com- 
plete victory gained by the English 
army, commanded by Edward the 
Black Prince, over the French ar- 
my, which was considerably more 
numerous, and commanded by their 
King in person. 



IN FRANCE* 



vn 



The memoty of this battle gives 
a particular interest to this ^own, 
and makes the surrounding country 
ciasuC'ground* The town is also 
ficirtified, and has a noble public 
walk) which is a raised terrace, 
near a mile in lengtii, having an 
extensive view of the river and the 
surrounding country. I dwell par- 
ticularly on the public walks^ as it is 
in this respect that the French 
towns, although by no means so well 
bmlt as tlie English towns, have a 
considerable advantage over them* 
It appears to me, that, whether the 
cause is in the climate, or, as I ra- 
ther think, in the attractions of the 
walks themselves, which collect all 
the inhabitants of a town together 
in the evenings, it must produce a 
considerable dfect on the mannei» 
of the people, and improve th«ir 
social habits. From Peictiers to 
Tours, there b no town of conse- 
quence, except St. Maure. As 
Tours and its neighbourhood de- 
serve a particular description, I 
shall postpone it for the present,and 
give you some more genial obser- 
vations that I have made on this 
journey from Bourdeaux to Tours* 
Although the face of the country is 
much superior to England, for na- 
tural beauty, and, I believe, I may 
say, for productive cultivation, yet 
it is very far inferior to it in some 
other respects. Instead of the ^^ 
gant houses of noblemen and gen- 
tlemen of fortune, one sees here on- 
ly a few old ruinous chateaux or 
castles, built some centuries ago, 
and which no English gentleman 
would live in': the few houses one 
jneets, which convey any-idea of the 
eoB^rts of a middHng station in 
life, are called maiaonsbur^iats to 
distinguish them from the chateaux 
of the nobility, which, with all their 
pride of antiquity, are not near so 
commodious. The only buildings 
I have met with in this journey (the 
immediate neighbourhood of the 
great towns exceiHed) ^ which can 
pretend to elegance or .tase, arc the 
ci-devant religious est«iblisments, 
which are converted pi^tty genc- 
fiJly into iqauufactojics : ntfitlier 



well-built villages, nor comfortable 
farm-bouses, are often to be seea 
here. The middling, as well as the 
higher ranks, usually live in the 
towns, and it seems as if the coun«> 
try was entirely abandoned to the 
peasants, who cultivate the ground, 
and to their overseers. The roads 
do not afford the same variety as ia 
England. . From Bourdeaux to 
Tours (a distance of above two 
hundred miles) I did not meet a pri- 
vate carriage of any sort. 

Public diligences and cabriolets 
carry all travellers who go in car- 
riages, and enormous waggons, 
with only two wheels, convey all 
goods, whether the merchandize o£ 
the town, or the productions of the 
country. As for n*y living on the 
road, I have, in my last, described 
it to you ; and, as to my>companions, 
I have only to say, that they were 
all of them easy, good-humoured, 
and agreeable. This is mdeed the 
universal character of Frenchmen 
in mixed companies ; they are not 
at all reserved, but on the contrary 
lay thems^ves out to please and be 
pleased, and are generally success- 
ful. There was only one pf my fel- 
low-passengers, whose story was 
sojBtrongly marked as to be worthy 
of a particular account : I shall 
mention this case in my next. 

I shall conclude this letter with a 
d^criptlon of tX\e petit commerce of 
tiie fair marchandea^ in all the 
towns on this rqad. Had Sterne tra- 
velled this way, or heard of this class 
of tradeswomen, they would have 
had a conspicuous place in his ^^i- 
timental Journey. In every town^ 
as soon as the carriage stops, or 
you enter the inn, you are sur- 
i*oundcd by a groupe^f young girls 
and women, all neatly dressed, and 
some very handsome. They all 
sell the same things....knives, scis- 
sars, and tooth -picks, made at Cha- 
tellerault. The power of beauty, 
and all the arts of female eloqucncfi 
and persuasion , are used to induce 
you to buy a two penny tocth-pick, 
in case you arc already provided 
with knives and sci-sars. As it is 
very hard iq refuse a U«ind.some 



S8a 



XOSB or TKATELLXWG IN FRAVCB. 



coubig young womam to small a 
invoDr, my pocketo were soon full 
eftooth-fiicltt. It is the custom here 
lor every one to have a couteau in 
Iheir pocket, to cot their meat and 
bread with, as at the inns they do 
not i^ve yon knives, tmt only fcirlu* 
Thio&t eouteoux are tiie articles 
^rinciiMlly sold by the fair retailers' 
of themanu&ctaes of ChateUerault, 
as every one who travels this road 
■raft be provided with one of them. 
When I consider how poor the pro- 
fits of those female {lewars most be, 
I cannot but regret that so mu<!h 
beauty, address, and persuasive 
power, shouU be exerted to so small 
advantage* 



MEMOIRS OF COUVT X>E PARA- 
DES. 

{Concluded from fiage 204.) 

M. de Berthois being unable to 
bear tlie sea, the vessel was ordered 
to repair to Portsmouth, for which 
place the two gentlemen set out, 
after taking a cordial leave of their 
Pl3rmouth friends, and their country- 
men in Mill-prison, amongst whom 
in due time, their agent had orders 
to distribute ten guineas, lliey 
aiTived at Portsmouth at ten in the 
evening ; and the next two days 
Were employed in examining the 
various fortifications of Ports- 
mouth, Gosport, and Soutli-Sea- 
Castle : after which Parades, as a 
country gentleman of fortune, hired 
a pleasure-yatch, in which they 
surveyed Hurst-^^astle, the Needles, 
Spithead, and St. Helens. Berthois 
being fully satisfied with all Para- 
des* plans and observations were 
perfectly just, they departed for 
Dover, their vessel being ordered 
to wait for them there ; and in a 
short time af^er, they set sail and 
landed in safety at Calais. 

Two days after tliis they arrived 
at Versnilles, where their pi ms and 
o')servations were examined sepa- 
rately and found to corr-^spond ; 
they only diflRered xm opinion en 



the mode of attack. The promises 
made to Berthois were isfthfidly 
fulfilled ; he received the cross cf 
St. Louis, the brevet of lieDtmant* 
colonel, and a pension of four thcxi* 
sand livres, with the Heversion t» 
his wife and children. 

Parades, who only obtsined tiss 
brevet of mestre de canmolcavalty» 
without the cross, was mg^dissa 
tisfied,' as he very jnstity sttegcd 
that the most dangerous part off die 
business was imposed on him, white 
they seemed only to regard him ss 
the guide of M. de Berthois : his 
loud remonstrance on this subject, 
was the first cause of the disa^ve- 
ment between him and the minis- 
try. 

When M. de Berdiolfl, the engi« 
neer, delivered in hb report, it was 
decided that the necessary disposi^ 
tions should be mads not only fi>r 
attacking Portsmouth, but likewise 
the Isle of Wight. 

M. de Sartine agreed with Para- 
des, that the attack should be made 
by the surprise of a sadden invasion 
....but when the plans were laid be- 
fore the council, they were greatly* 
altered, and at length wholly reject- 
ed, though the propositions were 
extremely simple. He required 
four thousand men for Plymoutli^ 
and fifteen hundred ibr Hurst-Cas- 
tle that commands the passage o£ 
the Needles ; two ships of the line, 
two frigates, and two fire-ships : the 
troops were to be embarked at Brest 
as it for America, and when once 
out of port, it l^ccamc his province 
to conduct ihera to the place of their 
destination. 

tie had his small vessels constant- 
ly in motion, to acquaint him witl^ 
every naval movement of the ene- 
my ; nor was he ignorant of what 
passed in the cabinet- coimcfl at St» 
James. He could not have been te 
more security ut Brest than he was 
at Plymouth, where all was in per- 
fect tranquillity : the English ha4 
not any suspicion of the danger that 
threatened them. But the French 
ministry tliouj^ht his means too weak 
to attain the desired pur]xi6e ; they 
wi^ed for an enterprise of edat^ 



vEMoiss 07 etvvr paiiadxs; 



28t 



ind that very icka was the cause of 
its failure. Orders were given to 
Parades and M* deRefthois, to con* 
fer with M* de Vaux and to lay 
t^eir plans and obscnrations before 
him : from which he prepared and 
digested a plan conformably to the 
views of the ministry, for an attack 
upon Portsmouth ; and instead of 
five thousand five hundred troops, 
and two millions of livrcs for ex- 
penses, which the count required, 
an army of thirty thousand men was 
assembled at an expense of fifty 
millions of livres, to perform...* 
Nothing,.. ..as Parades had pre- 
dicted. 

M. le Comte charged M.d'Orvil- 
liers with gross neglect, in not pay- 
ing proper attention to hi^ intelli- 
gence ; by which neglect, many 
valuable British convoys escaped : 
this made him his most inveterate 
enemy ; and as d'Orvilliers was the 
protege of M. de Montbarrey| he 
round means to prejudice the pnncc 
against Parades ; so that when he 
strongly solicited the ministry for 
tlie cross of St« Louis, he experienc- 
ed the disappointment of a refusal, 
though M. de Sartine endeavoured 
to console him by an assurance, that 
it shoidd be sent on his arrival at 
Brest. 

The French armament under 
d'Orvilliers sailed from Brest in 
quest of the Spanish fleet, with 
which they were to form a junction, 
though Parades strongly remon- 
strated against that measure, and 
recommended, in the most forcible 
terms, that instead of steering for 
the coast of Spain, d*Orvilliers with 
thirty sail of the line should direct 
his course up the channel, and make 
an immediate descent on that of 
England. 

" H«d my advice been taken,** 
says Parades, " the English would 
have been embarrassed in the high- 
est degree : that pov/er had not 
ahore hfceen sail of the line in a con- 
dition fit for sea ; therefore the 
enterprise would have been easy 
with the French forces alone : but 
reasons of state, of whicii I am totally 
ignorant, determined it otherwise. 
£%€nts shewed I was right, as the 



English squadron did not put to sea 
till a month after d'OrviliicTB; 
tlioughfrom the time of their sailinj^ 
to the capture of the Ardent, ships 
were daily joining their fleet as aeon 
as they were fitted for sea.** 

In conformity to the orders of M. 
de Sartine, M. Parades embarked 
at Brest in the fiMgate la Glmre, 
and on the Tfih of August fiell in with 
the French fleet under Ushant ; he 
immediately repaired with govern- 
ment despatches on board the Bre- 
tagne, in which ship IVC. d'OrviiUers 
hoisted his flag, and had a confer- 
ence with the axlmiral, who repeated 
to him what he liad already been 
informed 'Of before by the ofllcers, 
<' That he did not think it was ia 
his power to act with any prospect 
of success, on account of 'the bad 
state of tlie ships and the lateness of 
the season.*' 

At this time advice was received 
of the sailing of an English out- 
ward-bound fleety which it would 
have been easy to have intercepted. 
Parades proposed to the admit*al to 
double Ushant ; but his advice was 
followed when it was too lace : on 
the 14th, signals were made for an 
enemy's fleet, the rear division of 
which was visible ivom the masts^' 
heads; but tlie admiral pretend- 
ing to believe them a part of Cor* 
dova's squadron, refused, though 
contrary to the opinion of hisofllcers, 
to throw out the signal to cliace. 

The provisions and water of the 
fleet being nearly exhausted, and no 
convoy arriving from Brest, Parades 
advised the admiral to steer for 
Plymouth, demanding only six hun- 
dred men, a bomb-vessel, and a fire- 
ship) to make himself niaster of the 
place. The admiral seemed willing 
to grant his request ; but the officers 
representing Uie smattness of the 
force to be employed, persuaded M. 
d*Orviliiers to the contrary \ and he 
told Parades an private, that his age 
and rank as a famd officer, per^ tlie 
obstacles that laid in his ni^ay. 

In the meantima, a cotter sent 
to PlymontH by the niaster of Para-^ 
des's' vessel arvivad) requiring ta 
know tlie reason why the French 
fleet did not enter and seise the 



283 



XEUOIHS OF COUKT' PARABZS* 



place, at there was not a single ves- 
sel in thesoand, the British squadron 
being then cruising between the 
Start and Lizard. At length the 
Mutine lugger* under the command 
of the chevalier dc RoquefiiiUe, was 
dispatched to reconnoitre Plymouth, 
and reported on his return, that 
he had discovered nine 80 gun-ships 
and six frigates riding in the sound, 
and that by his glass he had observed 
the masts of a much larger number 
behind the citadel. This was posi- 
tively asserted ; yet Parades was so 
wen convinced of the contrary, and 
made such solid objections to the 
report, that tlie chevalier was 
greatly embarrassed, but neverthe- 
less stood to his point. 

Parades's representations ap- 
peared so just, that it was resolved 
to despatch a frigate on the same 
inquiry, from which, on her return, 
a similar account was received. 
The agreement of these reports 
convinced Parades, that the captains 
sent to reconnoitre, being his ene- 
mies,^ had combined in bringing a 
&lse account. He therefore earnest- 
ly requested the admiral to set him 
on shore after dark, with two sailors 
and a marine officer, solemnly pro- 
mising to rejoin him en board the 
Brctagne in the rooming. D'Orvil- 
liers seemed inclined to grant his 
request, but was again dissuaded by 
the officers, who told him, tliat it 
would be highly degrading to the 
captains he had sent, should he dis- 
pute their word. 

Parades being thus silenced, 
(though he had reason on his side,) 
It was unanimously resolved, that 
the blockade of the English fieet 
should continue, and theMagicienne 
frigate was dispatched to carry the 
news lo court. What opinion can 
now be formed of d'OrvilUers and 
his officers ? It was then known at 
Versnilles, and over Europe, that 
the EngliUi fieet was* at sea, cruis^ 
ing in the chops of the channel. 

As to Pcirades, his reputation fell 
a saci'ifice to tlic fi;lse reports of the 
two officers, whose mean jealousy 
iCf his credit witli the ministry ren- 



dered them traitors to the kia^ and 

the state* 

After these repeated disai^xmit- 
ments the count fell sick, and easiljr 
obtained leave to quit the fleet : on 
the 4th of September he was landed 
at Brest from the Tartar frigate* 
Soon after his arrival he had a re- 
lapse, and was confined by iUness 
above a month. On his recovery^ 
he found that calumny had attacked 
his character from all quarters ; bat 
he disregarded it, as springing from 
those who were envious of his merit 
and promotion. 

His indefatigable spirit prompted 
him to^form three more difierent 
plans of attack on the coasts of Bri- 
tain ; and he had even formed a 
model in plaister of Paris, of the 
citadel of Plymouth and the adjacent 
eminences, shewing the modes to bb 
pursued, either in rendering the 
French masters of it by surprise, or 
by open attack : ships and troops 
were readily promised, but the usual 
procrastination prevailed till it was 
known that Plymoutli was com- 
pletely secured against any attempt, 
when Parades and his projects were 
entirely laid aside* 

Government was now in arrears 
with him to the amount of 587630 
hvres ; and as all the hopes which 
he had entertained from the 
success of his labours was com- 
pletely blasted, he turned his 
thoughts towards procuring a reim- 
busenient, but in vain. On his ap- 
plication to one minister, he was 
referred to another ; at one time he 
was told that his accounts were 
under examination, and would soon 
be expedited ; at the end of which 
be was advised to wait with respect 
and patience : at last the ministers 
wearied with his importunities, 
caused him to be arrestod en charges 
of unjustly assuming the name of an 
hcnourable family, and of betraying 
th e secrets of state. The£rst cha rge 
he endeavoured to repel, by offering 
to prove his descent from tliat family, 
and made a pertinent observation 
to tl'Js purport, " While I can serve 
ycu, what dees it signify who I am I'* 



MEMOIRS OF COUNT PARADES. 



283 



The other charge, thongh uiljast, 
was more difficult to obviate : Para- 
des in the course of his missions, 
had been unavoidably under the ne- 
cessity of giving such explanations 
to his confidants as might in some 
degree countenance that charge. 
The truth was, the ministers had 
done witli Him, and were resolved 
to be no longer tea zed with his 
remonstrances : the result wa^,that 
he was committed to the bastile. 

The origin of this enterprising 
adventurer was extremely obscure. 
He and his friends constantly as- 
serted his descent fi*om a noble house 
in Spain ; though in his answers to 
the interrogatories of M. de Noir 
at the bastile, he was unable to prove 
it : on the contrary, many believed 
him to be the son of a pastry-cook 
at Phalzbourg, and the latter opi- 
nion obtained general credit. But 
as ^M. Parades justly observed, 
*' Provided he could do the king 
service, of what signification was it 
who he was?" In his early tour 
•through Germany and Swisserland, 
he called himself M. Robert de Pa- 
rades ; but on his arrival in Paris 
with letters of recommendation to 
M. de Vergenncs, he for the first 
time took the title of'count. 

In the memoir which Parades 
presented to M.Sartine, he informed 
him, that had the making of his own 
fortune been his principal object, he 
could easily have doubled it ; but 
the king's service demanding his 
whole . attention, the advantages 
accruing to himself were those that 
arose from accidental circumstan- 
ces. Notwithstanding this declara- 
tion, it will appear hereafter, that 
Pai-ades had by no means omitted 
making full use of these accidental 
circumstances, nor of the passports 
granted by the king for the two ves- 
sels he had purchased in £ngland. , 

The produce of his private adven- 
tures, viz. by the purchase and sale 
of several vessels ; the profits of his 
shares in six privateers ; on the ex- 
change t>f louis d'ors into guineas, 
Sec. brought him in a few months 
the sum of 825000 livres. He lent 
350000 livres on secure mortgages ; 



purchased a house in Paris for which 
he gave 70000 livres, besides 50000 
expended in forniture and horses. 
He kept in bank 450000 livres, 
(independently of the sums belong- 
ing to government,) to wait oppor- 
tunities of trying farther the fortune 
that had used him so well. 

Parades was kept in the bastile 
four montlis ; after which, nothing 
of consequence being proved against 
him, he obtained his liberty, and 
engaged the ctistle of Vrainville for 
his future residence, where he was - 
styled M. le Comte by his domes- 
tics. 

His restless spirit not suffering 
him to remain long stationary in 
any place, he made several voyages 
to Gibraltar, England, and Spain : 
then taking two of his stewards with 
him, who bore the name of Richard^ 
and were believed by many to be 
his brothers, he retired to the islaml 
of St. Domingo, where he died, 
leaving a great part of his fortune, 
with his plans, manuscripts, and 
memoirs of his life, to Richard the 
elder, who, in justice to his brother 
or his friend, or both, it is hoped, 
will not sufier them to be lost to the 
world. 

The variegated history of this 
man will, in some measure, shew 
the impolicy of abrogating titles and 
other honourable marks of distinc- 
tion, which as certainly as pecuniary 
treasures, form part of the riches 
of a state ; as the most, estimable 
reward Parades proposed to him- 
self by the hazard of his life on 
innumerable occasions, was the 
Cross of St. Louis. 



jiccount of the firesent state of the ■ 
firovince of Buenoa^jiyres^ in 
South'jimeriea, 

Since the time of Ulloa and of 
Condamine, the state of this part 
of South-America has undergone 
great alterations for the better. 
The whole tract of country which 
now constitutes the province of 
Buenos- Ayresy was formerly* sub- 



AOCOUIVT OF BUEVOS-ATRKI* 



ject to the conttoul of the viceroy 
of Peru; but, in irrs, it was 
cvoctedioto a separate govemmeDt. 
The country has been gl*eatly bene- 
fited by this regulation, and parti- 
cularly by an edict of the king of 
Spain, promulgated in the same 
year^ by which a free trade was 
granted* In ir91, Spanish as well 
«» foreign merchants moreover re> 
ceived permission to import negro- 
slaves and hardware, and to export 
In return the productions of the 
country* This encouragement has 
contributed greatly to the advance- 
ment of agriculture, and the in- 
crease of population ; and, such is 
the fertility of tlie soil, tliat, if the 
same wise regul( tioni should con- 
tinue in force, £uenjs-Ayres will 
probably become, in a sliort time, 
the granary of South-America, and 
of Spain* Another royal edict, 
flAfied April 10, 17^3, allowed the 
exportation of salted meat, as like- 
wise of tallow, duty free. 

The most oppres^ve fetters on 
industry and commerce having been 
removed by these and similar royal 
. edicts, the prosperity of the coun- 
try must continue to increase every 
year ; for, m these regions which 
mre blessed with' the most favoura- 
Ue climate^ nature alone, if no 
impediments be tlirown in her way, 
wifl almost spontaneously produce 
every thing. ITie province of 
fivienos-Ayrcs has a very great ex- 
tent, every where aboundiug with 
the most fertile cultivated lands : 
these are intersected, in every di- 
rcctkm^ by brooks and rivers, 
which all flow in Hfo great river 
De la Plata* The pasture-grounds 
support millions oi beeves, horses, 
sheep, and swine. Such numbers 
«f homed cattle are reared, that. 
In the year 1792, ^25,609 ox-hides 
were shipped for Spain.««.not to 
reckon such as were used in the 
country, or were bartered for ne- 
gro-slaves. Thers is an abundance 
of salt ; and no v mt of convenient 
places, where bo its and ships may 
take ina cargo of salted flesh for ex- 
portation. The Hio de la Plata, the 
tJra^;uay, Parana, and other smal- 



ler streams, afford great ndtan- 
tages in this respect* There are 
likewise some good and capacious 
harbours, as, for instance* those 
ctf Buenos-Ayres itself, of Monte^ 
video, Maldonado, and the Bay of 
Barragan. The fishery on the 
coasts, especially of the whale and 
sea-wolf, is frequently very pro- 
ductive : and in the interior ot the 
country, the chase furnishes manj 
articles for commerce ; for the 
skins of the tigers that are found 
here, are no less esteemed for their 
beauty, than the ostrich-foathers, 
of which there is great plent}*. In 
the villages and districts of the 
Missions, cotton, and likewise fiax 
and hemp are cultivated. Nor is 
this provmce entii*ely dcKtitute of ' 
gold mines : some of them are 
worked near Maldonado and San 
Luis, at the distance of two hun* 
dred leguan from the capitaL 

We shall be best enabled to form 
a correct idea of the prosperity 
and commerce of this country, by 
taking a view of the imports and 
exports. In the year 1796, there 
arrived thirty-five loaded ships 
from Cadis y twenty-two from Bar- 
celona; Malaga, and Alfaques; 
nine from Corunna ; five from San- 
tander ; one from Vigo ; and one 
from Giion. The value of that 
part of the cargoes which consisted 
of Spanish production s^ amounted 
to 1,705,866 American piasters* 
The value of the foreign manufoc- 
tures, &c« which were imported in 
the above ships, amounted to 
1,148,078 ) and sum total of both, 
to 2,853,944 piasters. On the other 
hand, there sailed from Buencs- 
A}Tes, twenty-six ships for Cadiz ; 
ten for Barcelona, Ma]ag;a, and 
Alicante ; eleven for Corunna ; snd 
four for Santander* These carried 
coined and uncoined gold of the 
value of 1,425,701 piasters* The 
value of the silver exported amoun- 
ted to nearly 2,556,304, and that 
of the oilier productions of pro- 
vince, to 1,C76,877 piasters* The 
valueof all the exports'x?en)scqucntiy 
amounted to 5,05d,S82. Tl>e goods 
ejcported) consisted of 874.59S 



ACtOtTNT Of BVElrOS«>ATllCS« 



S69 



fftvoy-hides; 45,752 horse-hides ; 
S4,43(S skms of a finer sort, 
46,800 arrobas of mehed talbw ; 
ftl arrobas of Vicunna wool ; 
4264 arrobais of common wool ; 
and 2dl arrobas of the wool of the 
Gnanaco, Or camel-sheep ; 11,890 
goosewings ; 45 1,000 ox-horns ; ^223 
cwt. of copper ; 4 cwu of tin : 
3541 tanned hides ; 222 dmsen of 
hiatiu£ftctured sheep-skins ; 2123 
cwt. of salted beef; and 165 cwt* 
of salted pork* 

From the Havanna two ships 
Strrired. These were freighted 
"with 22,159 arrobas of sugar ; 239 
tasks of brandy ; 212 large vessels 
iuD of honey ; 258 arrobas of cacao : 
1864 arrobas of white wax : and 
750 varas of acana wood; the 
whole value of the imports from 
^e Havanna amounting to 123,562 
);)iasters. In the same year four- 
teen ships sailed from Buenos- 
Ayrcs to the Havanna* Their 
cargoes consisted of 24,060 pias- 
ters -in ^Id; 69,050 cwt* of salted 
fleshy 15,600 arrobas of tallow; 
5^52 dotens of manufactured sheep- 
skins ; 323 skins of a finer sort ; 
190 arrobas of wool ; 280 goose- 
wings ; the value of all these ex- 
ports to the Havanna amounting to 
160,110 piasters* 

Two ships'from Lima and Guay- 
aquil, brought 10,975 arrobas of 
sugar ; 200 salt-stones ; 1472 arro- 
bas of cacao ; 816 arnicas of rice; 
378 pounds of cinnamon; 990 
pounds of indigo ; the value of the 
whole amounting to 50,154piasters* 
In return, 20,94 hoes ; 238 slaves ; 
1680 arrobas of tallow ; 620 pounds 
of thread ; 42 dozen pairs of silk 
stockings ; and 120 hats, were sent 
from Buenos-Ayres to the above 
named places. ITie value of all 
the%e exports amounted to 67,150 
piasters. 

In the same year, 1350 negro- 
slaves were imported in four Spa- 
nish, and five foreign ships. On 
the other hand, two foreign diips, 
^and nhie belonging to the country, 
'sailed from Buenos-Ayres on a 
slave-trade voyage, carrying with 
'them" 159,820 piasters in money, 

VOL* I**..NO* IV. 



and of the produc^ons of the coun-i 
try and other merchandize, as much 
ks was estimated at 24,703 piasters. 

The rapid increase of trade in 
the .province, clearly appears from 
& comparative state of the imports 
and exports of the years 1795 and 
1796. In this latter year, there 
were imported 932,481 piasters' 
worth of goods from Spain ; 760,361 
piasters' worth from the Havanna ; 
and 50,154 piasters* worth from 
Lima, more than in the year im- 
mediately preceding, ITic impor- 
tation of negro-slaves, likewise ex- 
ceeded in value that of the former 
year, about 11,895 piasters* The 
exports too were likewise much 
mone considerable : the excess of 
those to Spain amounting to 274,476 
piasters* 

But, in the following years, 
through the war, and the insecu- 
rity of commerce thereby occa- 
sioned, a change for the worse had 
taken place* This we learn from 
the Corrco Mercantii of the year 
1799, No. 3, which contains a 
letter from Buenos-Ayres, dated 
October Si, 1798, relative to the 
stagnation of trade. According to 
this letter, above three millions of 
skins were lying in the warehouses 
of Ae capital and Montevideo, 
which could not be exported, on 
account of the danger Of their foiling 
into the hands of the enemy* Many 
sorts of European goods and manu- 
factures were totally wanting, or 
had risen to prices excessivelyhigh. 
In pardcular, a great want was 
felt of European linen ; in lieu of 
it, however, they substituted stuffs, 
either manufactured from cotton 
in the country itself, or imported 
fit>m Peru* Of these stufib, whidi 
are much esteemed, above a mil- 
lion of ells were, in the above- v 
named year, imported into Buenos- 
Ayres* Those most in request, 
come from the country of the Chi- 
quitos and Moxos* Brandy and 
Spanish liquors could not be pro- 
cured at any price* They endea- 
voured, however, to supply the 
most pressing wants, by encourag- 
ing tin maaafoctmres of the couq- 
7 



.•. 



uas 



ACCOUNT OF BUEKOS-ATRES* 



try; so that the stagnation of trade 
may eventually prove beneficial to 
the province, by forcing them to 
the knowledge and exercise of their 
own powers and resources. 

Montevideo is the most conside- 
rable, and most advantageously si- 
tuated harbour of the whole pro- 
vince* Don Bruno de Zabala was 
the first, who, in the year 1731, 
settled here with fourteen or fifteen 
fiimilies from Palroa, one of the 
Canary islands, and laid the foun- 
dations of the city. Since that 
time it has greatly increased, and 
still continues toribe in importance, 
in proportion as the trade of the 
province becomes more extensive. 
Provisions are here very plentifiii 
and cheap. This abundance of the 
necessaries of life, encourages, in 
the common people, a propendty 
to idleness, which has given rise to 
an order of strollers who are called 
Gauderio8m Their mode of life re- 
sembles that of the gypsies, except 
that they are not addicted to thiev- 
ing. These vagabonds are natives 
of Montevideo, or the circumja- 
cent places: they are very badly 
clothed, their whole dress consist- 
ing only of a coarse shirt, and a 
worse upper garment. These 
articles of dress, together with 
horse-furniture, serve tliem for 
bedding, and a saddle for a pil- 
low. They stroll about with a 
kind of small guitars, to the sbund 
of wliich the^ sing ballads of their 
own composition, or such as they 
have learned from others. Love 
is in general tlie subject of these 
songs. Thus they wander about 
the country, and endeavour to di- 
vert the peasants, who, in return, 
shew their patitude by furnishing 
them with victuals during their stay 
with them, and even giving them 
other horses when they lose their 
own. This liberality and genero- 
sity will appear the less surprising, 
when it is considered, that in this 
country horses are of very little 
value. Great herds of them run 
about wild in the vast plains, and 
seem to belong to whoever will take 
the trouble of catching them. The 



Gaoderioa generdly mtrck about 
in parties consbting of four, and 
sometimes even of more. With 
respect to the means of procuring' 
food, they give themselves so little 
concern, that, when setting oat on 
an excursion, they provide them- 
selves only with a rc^, a few ballSf 
which are fastened to the ends of 
the ropes, and a knife. When at- 
tacked by hunger, they contrive to 
get one of the young cows or bulla, 
which run about wild, entangled in 
their snares. They Uirow the cap- 
tured animal down, tie its legs to- 
gether, and then cut, eten before 
It is dead, the flesh, together with 
the skin, from the bone, make a 
few incisions in it, and, thus pre- 
pared, put it to the fire : when half- 
roasted, it is devoured without any 
addition or condiment, except a 
little salt, when they happen to 
carry any with them. Some of 
them kill a cow merely for the pur- 
pose of obtaining the flesh between 
the ribs and the skin. Otliei^ eat 
notliing except the tongue, which 
they roast in the red-hot embers. 
Hie remainder of the carcase is 
all left in the field, and becomes 
the prey of carnivorous birds and 
wild beasts. Others again are still 
moi-e easily satisfied, taking nothing 
but the marrow-bone, from which 
they cut off all the fiesh, and then 
hold it over the fire till the marrow 
becomes 'soft and fluid. Sometimes 
they practise the following siu^lar 
mode of cookery. Having killed 
a cow, they take out the entrails, 
and, collecting all tlie tallow and 
lumps of fat, put them into the 
hollow carc&se. They then kindle 
some dried cow-clung, and apply it 
to the tallow, tliat it may take fire, 
and penetrate into the flesh and 
bones. For this purpose, they close 
up the carcase as well as possible^ 
so that the smoke comes out at the 
mouth, and another aperture made 
In the lower part of the beUy. In 
this manner a cow often continues 
roasting a whole night, or a con- 
siderable part of the day. What 
it is done enough, the company 
place themselves ai-ound^ and each 



ACCOVITT OF IIUKVOS-ATRBS. 



aer 



cttts for himstif the piece be likes 
1)681, and devours it without bre&d 
x>r salt. What remains, is left in 
the field, except any of them hap- 
pens to cany a portion of this fa- 
vourite food to some particular 
-friend. 

There are two way's of travel- 
ling from Montevideo to Buenos- 
Ayres : one of them by land as far 
as £1 Real de San Carlos. In the 
dry season of the year, this is the 
shortest ; but, in the rainy season, 
the smallest rivulets swell to such a 
height, that no one can cross them 
'without danger, sometimes not at 
all. At San Carlos boats are al- 
'ways in readiness to transport pas- 
sengers across the Rio de la Plata, 
which is here Xjtnleguaa broad, ami 
to carry back the orders of the 
jQfvemor, and all kinds of provi- 
sions, to San Carlos. The most 
usual manner of travelling from 
Montevideo to Buenos-Ayres, is 
by water. If the weather be fa- 
vourable, a boat may pei*form this 
passage in twenty-four hours, 
though the distance be forty Ugvuu \ 
but, when the wind is contrary, it 
may happen, that fourteen days 
will scarcely be sufi&cient. 

Buenos-Ayres is situated on the 
western bank of the great river De 
la Plata. So lately as forty years 
ago, this dty was considered as 
only the fourth as to rank and im- 
portance in the viceroyalty of Peru. 
Lima then held the first rank, and 
next in importance to that capital, 
were Cuzco and Santiago in Chili. 
Since that time, circumstances 
havc^eatly sdtered, and at pre- 
sent, Lima alone can be reckoned 
superior to Buenos-Ayres. Since 
this latter city became the seat of 
a new government, it has greatly 
increased, and still daily increases, 
in consequence of the improved 
state of agriculture and commerce, 
and, in the course of time, will 
probably rise to an equal rank with 
Lima itself. Formerly, the citi- 
zens of Buenos-Ayres had no coun- 
tr)''-houscs ; and, except peaches, 
Sone of the finer sorts of fruits 



were produced here* At present, 
there are but few persons of opu- 
lence but have villas, and cultivate 
in tfieir gardens all kinds of fruit, 
culinary plants, and flowers. The 
houses are in general not very high ; 
but most of them are built in a 
light but beautiful manner. 

At Buenos-Ayres, the men, as 
well as tlie women, dress after the 
Spanish mode, and all the fashions 
are brought thither from the mother 
country. The ladies in Buenos- 
Ayres are reckoned the most agree- 
able and handsome of all South- 
America ; and, though they do not 
equal those of Lima in magnifi- 
cence, yet their manner of dressing 
and decorating themselves is not 
less pleasingt and even evinces a 
greater delicacy of taste* • 

Until the year 1747, no regular 
X)ost was established either in Bue- 
nos-Ayres, or the whole province 
of Tucunrvih, notwithstanding the 
great intercourse and trade with 
*the neighbouring provinces* Mer- 
chants sent, as often as they, found 
It necessary, a messenger witli 
their letters ; and their friends and 
iieigKbours made use of the same 
conveyance ; or, what was more 
usual, they loaded travellers with 
letters and commissions, &c. which 
was however attei^led with great 
delays and inconvenience, as 
from Jujui to Mendoza one is obliged 
to travel very slowly In a kind of 
two-wheeled caits. But, in 1748, 
the viceroy Don Andonaegui insti- 
tuted regular poists. 

Duenos-Ayres is well supplied 
with provisions : of flesh-meat in 
particular, there is so great an 
abundance, that it is frequently dis- 
t^buted gratU to the poor. The 
river water is rather muddy : but 
it soon becomes clear and drinka- 
ble, by being kept in large tubs or 
earthen vessels. Of fish too tliere 
is a great abundance. 

Neitlicr in the district of Buenos- 
Ayres, nor in Tucuman, docs any 
snow ever fall : sometimes it freezes 
a litde, so as to cover the water 
with a^ fiiui oating of ice, which 



98$ 



AQQf^VHT 09 BVS«0f-ATH4^ 



n coHectad asd preserved vitk 
great care for the purpoae ef cool- 
ing their liquors. 

Tliat the climate of BucBOft- 
Ayrcs b very salubriouSf appears 
from the proportion of the birtlis to 
the deaths; and consequently the 
city has not been improperly named* 
In June, July, August, and Septem- 
ber, however, fogs arise from the 
river^ inhirh affect the lungs and 
brc ast. I'he vehement winds too, 
which blow from the Pampas, and 
arc therefore called PamfteroMy 

grove very tronblesoneto the inha- 
itants* 

Those who wish to cross the con- 
tment from Buenos-Ayres to Peru, 
have many things to attend to, and 
guard against. The greatest dan- 
ger arises from Indians who inhabit 
the Pampas. Whole troops of these 
attack travellers, and cause them 
much loss. The Pampas Indians^ 
as well as the other tribes of saya- 
ges^ send out scouts to acquire in- 
telligence of the number and 
strength of travellers. These spies 
frequently pretend to be deserted 
or driven away and pursued by 
their countrymen. The lasiness of 
the Pampass surpasses all descrip- 
tion. On this account the number 
does not increase ; and the Span- 
iards entertain well-founded hopes 
that the whole race will soon be ex- 
tinguished. They are treacherous 
and cowardly; and, although they 
can manage the lance with some 
skin, on horseback, they do not pos- 
sess valour sufficient to maintain 
the combat for any length of time* 
Their victories over the ^Miniards 
are therefore very rare. 'Tisthen 
only that their atttacks prove suc- 
cessful, when they are able to lie in 
ambush, and surprise th^r enemy, 
or when fifteen of them fi^^t against 
one European. 

SP^CIMEHS OP LITSRABT RE* 
SEMBLANCX.- 

( Continued fnmfiage 218.^ 

LETTXa III. 
MY DEAR P. 

The observations which I olBer- 
ed on two beautiful passages, the 



cNiefpom Gray, Aeodier from Bo- 
race, have not exhausted the sub* 
ject, on which I was then treating* 
AUow me to submit to your conside- 
ration another instance of similar 
coincidence, which has always ^k 
pear^ to me very remarkable, 
though it seems to have escape4 
the notice of other readers. In the 
Bard we have a picture, esdiibitin^ 
the death of Richard II. by famine, 
as reoM^d by Archbishop Scroop 
aud the older writers, executed by 
by the boldest pencil of creative 
Fancy: 

Fill high the sparkling bowU 
7** rkb repatt frepwrt g 
Kcft of a crown he still may &hve 
the feast. 
Close by the regal chair 
Fell Thirtt ami Famine scowl 
A baneful smile upon their bafled 
guest. 

Compare these fine lines widk 
the following, equally fine, lines of 
VirgU: 

Lucent genisfibus sMs 

Aurea f ulcn tons i efmi^f, amtt 

era parous 
Jtegifieo luxu, Furiarum w air i ns 

juifta 
JceuAat, ct manibus pioh i be t coa- 

tingfere mensas. 
£xiirgitque facem atioUeas* at% 

intonat ove. 

JEsa. B. VI.l. 603. 

The two poets chanced to have 
the same subject in contemplation* 
Your atteation will be cau^t at first 
view by a striking similarity of 
manner in the execution of their 
design. It will be observed alsO| 
that this manner, so admirably suit, 
ed to their purpose, is out of the 
common way, very for be3rQnd the 
reach of common minds. In order 
to aggravate the distress, and to 
render the infiicted torments more 
poignantly excruciating, a rich and 
luxurious banquet is, with exquisite 
refinement, previously prepared by 
each of these great masters, and 
spread in splendid array before the 
mce of the unfortunate sufferers ; 



49KISIS1I4 Of UTStAUT m»SlV9l*AVeE« 



m 



Uie iWbl ofwhidi, white Unty art 
vitlihad from purtakiiig it, irri* 
tateft tbe cravingf of tmng^ry evcv 
to a^cmy • Their coastnuoed «bstii* 
nence is enforced in boch^ by the 
»me poetiqal maQhinery. Id uray, 
JPVtf J7ur»t and Fanum exactly 
correspond to the Qfdefqf theju' 
Tie9 ii) VirgiU The baneful miU^ 
tawUd on the baffled gucMt^ in the 
fftrmer, carries witii it, perhaps, 
more of scorn and mortifying insult, 
than the more direct opposition of 
^^ Fury, wttih her vft^fted torch 
and thundering' veiecj docs in the 
latter. Still, however, the imagery 
••••the turn of thoaght....the plan 
and structure of the piece, and the 
disposition of the parts, are in both 
instances precisely the same* 

Whence this extraordinary con* 
g;ruity arose, or by what means it 
wasafiected,Iwill not take upon me 
to determine. So &r I will venture 
to say, and I assui-e myself of your 
cordial concurrence, that Gray's 
charming stansa, when seen by it* 
aelf, has very much the air of an 
original. 

^' Common sense,'* we are told 
on high authority, '^ directs us for 
the most part to regard resemblan- 
ces in great writers, not as the pil- , 
Jerings, or frugal acquisitions of 
jieedy art, but as the honest fruits of 
l^nius, the free and liberal boun* 
ties of unenvying nature." 

The LKAaNED CRITIC calls for 
this liberality of judgment in behalf 
of the Poettf with whoraparticu* 
larly he was concerned. I find my- 
self just at this present, very much 
disposed to claim the same conside- 
ration for the writers in Prose f 
having in my mind two passagss 
from two celebrated writers in 
that form, which I am strongly 
tempted to send you. 

The late Dr. Ogden, who in my 
judgment, holds the very highest 
rank amongst the moet eminent 
preachers, in one of those excellent 
sermons on the fifth commandment, 
addressing himself to a young man, 
whose bdbiaviour he supposes less 
correct than it ought to be, enfor- 
ces the obligations ^of children to 



their parents in a strain of irreust^ 
ible eloquence, as follows 9 

«< Now so pro\^d I aejfpwilled ! in* 
eyorablel thou couKUt then only 
ask by wailing^ and move them by 
thy tears i and they were moved* 
Their heart was touched with thy 
distress : they relieved and watched 
thy wants, before thou lowest thine 
awn necessities^ or (heir kindnesem 
They clothed Uiee ; thou knev^est 
not that thou wast naked* Thoii 
a^kedst notfsr breads but they fed 
thee." 

Did you ever read ? or can any 
young man, however proud, self- 
willed, inexorable, ever read this 
impassioned address without emo- 
tion ? Nor can we easily persuade 
ourselves otherwise than that the 
respectable author was here trans- 
cribing the affections of his own 
heart; for, as appears from the 
short memoirs of his life, drawn up 
and prefixed to an edition of his 
sermons, in two volumes, by the 
late Dr. Hallifax, he was a trulvg^ 
affectionate and dutiful son, such t^ 
one as *' maketh a glad father." 

It may not be uninteresting to see 
the same thoughts worked up into 
an elegant form by an admired An«» 
cient« Xenophon, you will recol- 
lect, in his Memoirs of Socrates, 
introduces the Philosopher discourse 
ing m the following terms : 

C«{vv#/«ffS rt »#i Kjviufivax Tipnt 
C.Si umi fitf^AAurti rm r^%^y i ««< 
avm Tpi^fTPii, Mti rf f 9r«AA«p Wfm 
)<iyfy«tfa« xm rrmo'm rfi^u ri ««< 
tTtftiXurmy u^t -Jrp09rf3r«f^vi« vdtr 
•y«0«, vh nrNfiSICON To BPE- 
0OX 'r^^ 'OTOT ETHAXXEl, vSf 
SHMAlNElK AtNamCNoN 'o- 
Tor AEITAI. 

Xkn. Mbm. 1. ii. c. 11. 

The sentiments under the expres- 
sions, marked in the English text 
by Italics, and by capitals in the 
Greek, bear, you will take notice, a 
striking resemblance to each other ; , 
and, though evidently most just and 
natural, arc, so far as my obscrva- 



990 



SPECIMENS or LTTKEARr BSSBMBLAVCS* 



tiOD goes, no where to be foand,biit 
in these two passages* If you read 
the whole chapter, from which the 
lines above are taken, and the pe- 
rusal will abundantly repay your 
tronUe, you will find tliroughouta 
great similarity of thought between 
die Philosopher and the Preacher. 
In the short passage immediately 
before us, the Preacher appears to 
have g^ven more of pathos to the 
subject, by a judicious amplification 
illustrating the general sentiment 
by specific instances, yery happily 
chosen to afiect the feelings. 

Dr. Ogden was undoubtedly weU 
versed in all the works of Xenophon. 
May we not therefore suppose, 
without any derogation from his 
merit, that, while he was composing 
tills admirable sermon, his thoughts 
might take their colour from the 
tints, collected upon his mind by 
frequent communication with this 
fine writer ? 

Whatever may be your ojMnion 
M on this point, you will not, I am per- 
Buaded, regret my having called 
your attention to an old acqnaint- 
nnce, nor think your time misem- 
ployed in comparing the works of 
two such authors as Xenophon and 
Dr. Ogden ; from either of whom 
you cannot fail, as you read, of re- 
ceiving the highest gratification. 

I could amuse myself, if I thought 
it would be equally amusing to you, 
with tracing these literary resem- 
blances still fiirther. But* I rather 
wish you now to consider with me 
another species of imitation, if it 
may be so called; ^'the manage- 
mci^ of wliich," Dr. Hurd says, 
*' is t<S be regarded, perhaps, as one 
of the nicest offices of Invention ;** 
I mean, the allusions often made by 
the first writers to old rites and ce- 
remonies, or to prominent circum- 
stances in ancient or modem his- 
tory. 

Dr. Hurd somewhere notices a 
beautiful specimen of this delicate 
allusion in a poem , called the Spleen, 
by Mr. Green, of the Custom-house. 
The Poet is recoromen'Mug exer- 
cise, as a sovereign remedy against 



that depression of spirits, and those 
hypooondriac aflections, which are 
always produced by this morbid hu- 
mour; and exemplifies his doctrine 
b^ one of ihe simplest and most tri- 
vial modes, which can possibly be 
conceived. 

Fiin^ InU a tUme- 
You will not discover in this 
plain sentence any great effort of 
imagination, any ridi colouring of 
expression, any thing either of no- 
velty or beauty. But when to this 
so common an action is added the 
unexpected image, under which is 
conveyed the promised benefit. 

The giant die*. 
all the circumstances attending an 
interesting history, which we bave 
been accustomed to read from our 
childhood, and to think imnortant 
from an early reverence for the 
writings, in which it is contained, 
are at once recalled to the mind ; 
and give to the passage a life and 
spirit beyond what the greatest 
refinemeiit of thought, whh all tlie 
embellishments of language, could 
ever have produced. 

Fling but a etonct the giant diet* 
Of the same class with this I have 
always considered that fine image- 
ry, under which Mr. Gray repre- 
sents the indications of genius, sup- 
l)osed to discover themselves in the 
infancy of our immortal Shakspeare 
....the early promise of hianiture 
greatness. On the awful appear- 
ance of Nature, who comes in a. 
majestic form to invest her darHng^ 
with the happily-fancied ensigns of 
that high office, which he was ,des- 
tined afterwards to fill with such 
astonbhing powers, 

the dauntleu child 

Strrch'd forth his little hande and 
sniird. 

Did yoo ever contemplate the 
animated figure of this dawuhsM 
child withoutrecurring, at the same 
time, in your mind, to the fabulous 
description of Hercules in the cra- 
dle, grasping in his infant hand» 



SPECIMEVS OF LITKRART RESEMBLANCE* 



2»1 



iSie serpents, and throwing; them 
j^yfolly at the feet of his fethcr i 

tint m^ mf uhrr' EniTlTOION 

e4pf)vM;^tf(i«'rif«r^i$AnAAAlSlN 

llieoc Idyl. xxiv. 

In these examples every thing is 
plain and obvious. The propriety 
and aptitude of the allusions are 
seen at once. But it has often oc- 
curred to me, that we lose many 
beauties in the ancient poets fh)m 
not knowing the facts, to which 
probably, rrequent allusions are 
made, to us, at this distance of time 
totally inexplicable. 

I have been led into this train of 
thought by an obscure passage in one 
of the Odes of Horace; which has 
created no small perplexity amongst 
the scholiasts and commentators, 
such of them I mean, as have ven- 
tured to remark upon it ; for some 
of the first order, as Bcntley, Ges- 
ner, and others, with a reserve not 
very unusual where real difficulties 
occuryhave kept a wary silence. 

Hinc afiieem rafiax 

Fortima cum itridore acuta 
Sustaliti hie posuisse ^audet. 

Cabk. Lib. i. O. 34. 

It may not be unamusing to ob- 
serve for a moment, how these 
learned Critics puzzle themselves 
in endeavouring to explain what, by 
their aukward attempts, they very 
plainly shew tliat they did not at all 
undbrstand. 

One gravely interprets the term 
rapax by mutabiiia^ acuto by iuctu- 

OBO. 

Another, bv an exposition still 
snore extrardlnary, renders rapax 
sttstulit by ctam sustulit. 

A third, with great importance, 
on the words cam atridore acutQ^ 
^ his Tex1>is puto significari Fortu* 



ns commutationem, qu« vixinlel- 
ligi potest sine magno sonitu acfra-* 
gore. Stridor enim sonitum ac 
strepitum significat, non clamo* 
rem." 

Thus do they go blundering on, 
rendering "conmsion worse con- 
founded," not attempting, any of ^ 
them, to describe the unusual figure 
which Fortune is here made to as- 
sume. Had they attended a little 
more to this circumstance, it would 
perhaps saved them much of the 
trouble, in which they have involv- 
ed both themselves and their read- 
ers. 

Bene, says 'a modem Editor, in 
general an acute and sagacious in- 
terpreter of his author, Baxter, 
cum 9tridore acutOy cum ante posu- 
erit rafiaxy adinstar scilicet proceU 
losi turbinis. 

This roar t>f storm and thunder 
seems alSb to have rumbled in tlie 
ears of M. Dacier ; though, when 
on second thoughts he explains atri^ 
dore acuto by Uie sounds made by 
the wings of Fortune, he seems to 
liave caught a glimpse of the real 
image, whidi Uie Poet had in hin 
eye, that of a soaring eagle ; as 
will appear from an extraordinary 
occurrence related by the historian. 
I will beg leave to transcribe the 
passage. 

" Ei (Lucumoni) cai'pento se- 
denticum uxore, a^uila suspen- 
sis denussa leniter alis pileum aufert 
superq. carpentum cum magno 
clangore volitans rursus, velut nii- 
nistcrio divinitns missa, capiti apte 
reponit ; inde sublimis abiit. Ac- 
cepisHC id augurium Ixta dicitur 
Tanaquil, perita, ut vulgo Etnisci, 
celcstium prodigiorum raulier. Ex* 
celsa et alta sperare complexa vi- 
rumjubet. Eam alitcm ea regir 
one cofli, et ejus Dei nunciam ve- 
nissc. Circa sumnium culmen ho- 
minis auspicium fccisse. Levassf> 
humano superpositum capiti decua^ 
ut cidem divinitus reddcrct." Liv. 
lib. i. c. 34. 

Wonders and prodigies ever at- 
tend the remoter periods of great 
states and kingdoms. They never 
fail to be recordod in tlieir earlier 



^n 



aPfiCllCKy^ 6r Ltt£llARt MBtltftl.AlrtE« 



aittiftls; ftfesup^tstidoustjTdelivefw 
cd down from father to son, and 
received with an easy and willing 
credence amongst the populace. Of 
this description is the tale of Luctj^ 
■to and the Eaole ; whiehl doubt 
not was as fismlUar amongst \ht 
llonian8,as well-known, and asof«> 
t^n reputed, as with us the leeendft 
of King Arthur, and the Rnights of 
the Round Table, Guv Earl of 
Warwick, St. George and the Dra- 
^fpti^ Stc. 

Thus it ajmears, that the Poet) 
when he attrifnited so uncommon a 
figure to Fortune, with so singular 
m mode o^ action, alluded to a popu- 
lar story in every body's mouth. 
The alhisioto, of course, Was imrne-^ 
iliately acknowledged by the reader 
"kud felt in all its force. 

By the light hence thrown on the 
subject, whatever there was of ob- 
scurity has vanished, all difficulties 
are done away, every expression 
resumes its usual and proper sigoi*- 
fication, and the sentence becomes 
clear and luminous. 

The term ra/tajc is not, you see, 
to be understood ai epithetical to 
Fortuna, but to be taken, as adjec- 
tives are often used by the poets, 
adverbially, and joined in construc- 
tion with the ven> sustullt. Rafiax 
sustulit, i. e. rapaciter sustulit, tv- 
Jiuit, 

By the expression tfrn'cfore tfr«/o, 
the great stumbling-block of the 
coniTnentators, arepuunly signified, 
as intimated by a vague conjecture 
of the learned Frenchman, the 
sounds made by the eagle clapping 
its Avings, and screaming m its 
flight ; which the historian expres- 
ses by the words magyw cfttfi^or^, 

I will not frit1g;iie you by dragging 
ycu further through these dry and 
tiresome disqut&iti( ns into the nice- 
ties of grammatical arrangement, 
which, I suspect, are not much to 
your taste. You will not however 
thitik that labour in vain, which 
tends in anv way to elucidate the 
sense of a favourite author, and to 
draw fbrih into more open view a 
latent beauty, which has so long 
lain buried under ^e accumulated 



iMbbish thrown over it, fiMni tim^ 
to time, by profetoied critics and la-» 
borious annotators. Reposing se- 
curely on this assurance, for fSbM 
present I will bid you 

Adieu. 



A SHORT ACCOUNT Of THE MAK- 
MOTH. 

By Mr. Rftnbrandt Peak. 

The Mammoth is so caBed frbm 
the Russian name, supposed to have 
been derived from the Hcbmr 
Behemoth^ Job, chap. id. It is pro* 
perly continued, both words being 
expressive of a large ande xtnw r d i* 
nary animal. 

For a number of years past maiiT 
large and extraordmary bones and 
teeth have been discovered both ift 
Siberia and America which at first 
were generaUy attributed to the 
elephant,* except some very large 
teeth of the carnivorous kind tolaUy 
different from those of any animid 
known. 

In Siberia they were attrimted 
to the mammoth, whose fobukot 
existence they supposed to be under 
ground, and of whldi Isbrand idea 
pretends to give a deacrtption* Itt 
Worth-America these large bones 
and carnivorous grinders have been 
found in great abundance on the 
Ohio and its tributary streams, 
washed from tlietr banks, or disco- 
vered by digging in salt morasses 
in the neighbourhood of Cindnnati ; 
where they are found faitcrmixed 
with the bones of bullkloes and deer^ 
which a tradition of the Indians 
states to have been destroyed by a 

• Naturalists were led to this idea 
in consequence of Hnding, in a few 
instances in America, but frequently 
in Siberia, S3n\e iary^e graminivoroaa 
teeth, which pi'obatbly belonged to an 
animal of the elephant kind, though 
certainly- of diflcrcnt species from any 
known: these teeth arc remarkatle 
. for sue, and in the number of lamel- 
l»Hrd veins ef enamel which pervade 
them. 



ACCOVVT or TVS XAXMOTH. 



S9S 



Yt^td of these aniioab which came 
%Mpfm them from tiie north. This 
«veiit happened, the Indians beheve, 
us a potiishment for their sins; bat 
thef saythc good spirit at length 
interposed to save them, and, seat- 
ing Idmsetf on a neighbouring rock> 
^where they show you the print of 
liis seat and of one foot, hurled his 
tliundefbotts among them. All were 
killed except one male, who, pre- 
venting his forehead to the shafts, 
^ook them off, until, at length 
^wounded, he sprung over the Wa- 
bash, the Illinois, and the Great 
X«ake, where he still lives. 

These bones were forwarded 
•with great eagerness to all parts 
%si Europe, and deposited in muse- 
ums, where they attracted the curi" 
osity of all naturalists, whose con- 
jectures and theories on them wei^e 
very various, until Dr. Hunter, by 
•a more accurate comparison be- 
tween them and the bones of othei* 
«nimals, determined that they must 
have belonged to a large non- 
lAescript animal of the carnivorous 
Idnd, somewhat resembling the hip- 
p^otamus and the elephant, yet 
essentially dilierent from both. 

The subject is now completely 
-elucidated. Not long since some 
farmers in the state of New- York, 
digging marie from their morasses 
in tlie neighbourhood of New-Wind- 
«or, accidentally discovered several 
of these bones,which were preserved 
by physicians in the neighbourhood. 
In the autumn of 1801, my father 
Charles W. Pcale and myself, hav- 
ing obtftinec^ possessioa of these 
bcmes, persevered for nearly three 
•months, at the expense of much 
time, labour, and money, in a search 
for the remainder of the anittiul ; 
and were fortunate enough to ot)tiiiii 
two skeletons, found in two distinct 
situations, and unmixed with liones 
of any otlwr individual whatever : 
-one of these is preserved in the 
museum at Philadelphia, sitid the 
other is now exhiliiting in the old 
noademy-room, Pull-Mall, previous- 
ly to its l>eing taken to Paris. 

The skeleton of the niammotli 
beat*s some general resemblance to 

VOL. I....N0. IV. 



that of the elephant, yet on exami- 
nation even tlie general figuie is 
found to be considerably difierent ; 
principally in the effect of the tusks, 
structure of tlic head, prominence 
and pointedncss of the back over 
the shoulders, its great descent 
thence to the hips, together with 
the comparative smaUnes^ of the 
body and the necessarily detached 
•effect of the hind-legs... .proofs of 
greater activity than in the ele- 
phant. On a cl'^scr examination, 
thecharartcristicfeaturcsaregrcit- 
ly multiplied ; and with respect to 
the hind-logs, the idea of activity is 
confirmed from the structure of the 
thigh4x)nes, which arc extremcly 
broad and flat, and well adapted for 
great exertions of strength, beyond 
tliat of the elephant, whose tliijijh- 
bones are not flat, but round. This 
effect of strength likewise prevails 
in the ribs, which arc of a very 
unusual structui'C, bcinc; bent edji^e- 
w ise and having their greatest thic k- 
ness at top, gi'adually becoming 
smaller towards their junction with 
the cartilage ; whereas in the ele- 
phant they arc bent flatwise, like 
those of the ox, and are narrow at 
top and broad at the lower end% 
This peculiarity in the ri^is of tlie 
mammoth is worthy of particulnv 
notice, not oi\ly on account of the 
unusual position of strength, hut 
because,from their distance between 
each other, they show the anin^al to 
have had considerable flexibility in 
its body ; to which the breadth and 
proximity in the ribs of the elephant 
as well as the ox, are a certain im- 
pediment. Besides, as I observed 
before, the body is corny arativelv 
smaller, in conseqtiencc of the buiall 
leni!;th of the ril)s. 

The spines of the back o^xjr the 
shoulders are of an imusuul rnHgni- 
tude, which gives the apj)earance of 
a hump, like the bismi, and are cal- 
culated to give ]>o\\er and motion to 
the head. Those In the elephant 
are not so lartc over the shoulders, 
bvit much more so all the way to the 
sacrum : conseqiiently his l)ack is 
more arched. The proportionate 
length of the processes from the 
8 



294 



ACCOUNT OF THE MAMKOTB. 



Spine of the scapula dilTen essen- 
tiaUy from all other animals. And, 
independently of any other variation 
ill form, ail tlit: bones of the limbs in 
particulari are astonishingly thick 
and strong* 

We now come to the'hcad, where 
the most striking features of this 
animal are to be round ; and since 
between the corresponding parts of 
all animals there is a general alia- 
Jcgy, it is the province of compara- 
tive anatomv not Only to trace out 
the points of distinction, but, since 
they originate from certain fixed 
principles, in the discrimination of 
-variations, to confirm their proprie- 
ty by an examination of the princi- 
ples on which they are founded. 

Although it is sufficiently evident 
to those who are accumstomed to 
this kind of investigation, from the 
observation of a few facts, tliat this 
animal must have been carnivorous ; 
yet to others it is necessary to intro- 
duce every proof and conclusive 
evidence. Many persons, from a 
false impression, believe that teeth 
are determined to be carnivorous 
.Bperely from their having a rugged 
surface : with this opinion they very 
propel ly ask, ** May not the vege- 
table food be of a coarser qualitv ?" 
It is true that the surface is roughest 
on those graminivorous teeth which 
arc emplo) cd in the mastication of 
the coarsest vegetable substances, 
not only because such roughness is 
requisite, but because the teeth are 
rendered so from the quality of the 
food, the bony interstices wearing 
down more easily than the ridges of 
enamel, which operate as the rough- 
ness in a mill-stone. It is not there- 
fore from this species of roughness 
that we presume on so important a 
determination : the roughness exist- 
ing on the surface of carnivorous 
teeth is of another nature, much 
more strongly marked, and £ar from 
being rendered so by usage : the 
more they are used, the more even 
do tliey become. The tooth of a gra- 
minivorous animal is composed of 
alfernate veinn of enamel and bone, 
which thus pervade tlie whole mass 
••••those of carnivorous animals are 



covered with a sheQ or cnist: of 
enamel, which is merely eztemalt 
and exists as well in the cavitka as 
on the ridges ; which is not the case 
with other teeth. This enamel is 
i-cquired in the cavities, because the 
teeth interlock with each other, the 
prominences striking into the cavi- 
ties. 

An uniform compo«tion of tooth» 
as it respects the intermixture of 
enamel and bone, is observed to 
prevail in those of the elephant, 
horse, ox, &c. principally differing 
from each other in ih^ figure which 
those veins of enamel assume, and 
by which alone they may be discri- 
minated among themselves. On the 
other hand, carnivorous teeth, in- 
crusted with enamel as €sr as the 
gums, yet vary in the form and num- 
ber of their protuberances, so a& 
generally to designate their species s 
yet among them there is a vciy pro- 
per distinction to be observed, which 
is, that those carnivorous animals, 
the form of whose teeth and the 
attachment of whose jaws allow 
them tlie side or grinding motion, 
are always of the roixt kind. Mao, 
the monkey, hog, kc are carnivo- 
rous animals, because their teeth 
are incrusted with enamel, and be- 
cause they do eat flesh ; yet they are 
adapted for other food, by the rota- 
toiy motion of tlieir jaws and the 
form of their teeth : this rotatory- 
motion does not exist in the jaws of 
those animals which live entirely 
upon flesh ; for they are attached by 
an oblong head or process inserced 
itito a tr&nsverse groove, aad con- 
sequently have no other motion than 
up and down* In graminivoroita 
animals the under jaw is attached 
by means of a ooni^erably round 
head (condyloid process) to a pro- 
minence of flat surface, so that they 
rotate s and, to fovour this motion, 
the coronoid process is generally 
thicker and not so long as the con- 
dyloid ; whereas in camivoroos 
animals the coronoid process is ex- 
tremely flat and long, being never 
acted on except lengthwise. 

But it must not even be supposed 
that an an'm U may be of the moct 



ACCOUNT or THE MAMUOTtt. 



«5 



idndf unless we observe a capacity 
£aT mastication ; without ivhich we 
must declare it exdasively carnivo- 

Some object to the camtvoroas 
natore of the mammoth from its not 
having cutting or canme teeth. To 
this it may be replied, that if we 
form our rule of judgment, as to 
what constitutes a graminivorous 
animal, from the construction of an 
ox's jaw, the elephant would cer- 
tainly be excluded, because it has 
not inciwrea at least in the lower 
jaw ! the fact is, that all carnivorous 
as wcU as graminivorous animals 
difier among themselves with re* 
spect to the number and situation of 
their teeth ; and hence they afforded 
to the sagacious and celebrated Lin- 
BSBUs the most infallible method of 
dassiiicatlon, which has since been 
adopted, either wholly or partially, 
by all naturalists* The proboscis 
of the elephant answers the purpose 
a£incisore9 : he therefore requires 
no others than grinders, which en- 
tirely fill his jaws : hence he is com« 
pletely graminivorous. And although 
the mammoth is deficient in cutting 
teeth, and has no other canine teeth 
than his enormous tu8ks,the deficien- 
cies of which may have been sup- 
plied by a pair of large and power- 
ful lips, indicated by the uncommon 
sinuosity on the front of the lower 
jaw ; yet I am decidedly of opinion, 
since it cannot be contradicted by a 
single proof or fact, that the mam- 
moth was exclusively carnivorous ; 
by wliich I mean, that he made no 
use of vegetable food, but either 
lived entirely on flesh or fish ; and 
not improbably upon shell-fish, if, as 
there are many reasons to suppose, 
he was of an amplilbious nature. I 
therefore only require assent to 
these facts : 1st, The teeth are cer- 
tainly of the carnivorous kind : 3dly, 
They are not of the mixed kind, 
because they have not the least 
rotatory motion, and so completely 
lock together ; 3dly, Since, there- 
fore tJiey are not graminivorous, 
since they cannot be of the mixt 
k^d, from a dc/ect in motion, they 



must be exclusively and positirdx 
caniivorous. 

Independently of the teeth, the 
under jaw of the mammoth difiex^ 
most essentially from that of the 
elephant, which in its outline Is 
semi-circular, from the condyle to 
the chin ; whereas in the mammoth 
the outline is distinctly angular, and 
b much greater in the length than it 
is in the height, which isthe ret^erse 
in the elephant; besides several othet 
striking distinctions in both jaws. 

When the skeletcm was first erect*- 
ed, I was much at a loss how to dis- 
pose of the tusks ; their sockets 
showed that they grew out forwards, 
but did not indicate whether they 
were curved up or down. I chose, 
therefore,first to turn them upwards, 
not because they produced the same 
effect as in the elephant, for it is 
evident they could not in any posi- 
tion, owing to two circumstances. 
In the elephant, taking the level of 
the teeth for a horizontal base line, 
the condyle of the neck is at right 
angles with it ; and the perpendicu- 
lar, one third longer than the base 
line : hence they are useful on every 
occasion, the tusks themselves being 
nearly straight, and pointing down* 
wards ; whereas in the mammoth, 
taking the level of the teeth for a 
base Imc, the condyle of the neck is 
situated but a few inches above it a 
consequently the sockets for die 
tusks and the condyle of the neck 
are in a horizontal direction : this 
eircumstance, together with the ex« 
traordinary curve of tlie tusksi 
would raise the points in the air, 
directed in some degree backward 
over the head, twelve feet from the 
ground, and never could have been 
brought lower than six or seven feet 
from it. This position was evidently* 
absurd : I therefore resolved on re<* 
versing them ; in which position, in 
consequence of their twist or double 
curve, they appear infinitely more 
serviceable. ^ 

Six miles from the spot where 
this skeleton was discovered we 
found two entire tusks, in form 
exictly like-tliosc in the skeletoBy 



I. 



396 



i^XCXUNT 0^ TBE »IAMMOTJ|« 



but very nmch yfom at the extremi- 
ties (the point of one I have with 
me), and worn in so peculiar a 
manner, considering their form, as 
could not have happened in an ele- 
vated position ; unless on the absurd 
supposition, that the animal amused 
himself with wearing and rendering 
them blunt,by rubbing them against 
high and perpendicular i*ocks : this 
m a state of nature can never be 
supposed, whatever habits may be 
acquired when in a narrow confine- 
.xient. There can be no doubt, then, 
of their having been U9ed against 
the ^ound, aivd not improbably in 
tearing up ^ell-iish, if, as we have 
many reasons to suppose, he was of 
an amphibious nature : for this spe- 
cies of food his teeth seem admira^ 
tily adapted. All animals of similar 
habits have similar teeth : this ani^ 
jDal has teeth unlike any other with 
which we are acquainted : there is 
much reason, therefore, in suppos- 
ing hb food to have been different ; 
especially when we consider the 
thickness of enamel which covers 
the teeth, the peculiar manner in 
which they are worn, and the small 
opening for the throat. But, whe- 
ther amphibious or not, in the in- 
yerted position of the tusks he could 
have torn an animal to pieces held 
beneath his foot, and could have 
struck down an animal of common 
site, without having his sight ob- 
structed, as it certainly would have 
been in the other position. 

The tusks themselves are com- 
posed of two very distinct sub- 
stances : the internal bony or ivory 
part, which we find iti the greatest 
state of decay ; and a thicks d'lstinct 
coating, doubtless having undergone 
some decay, yet at present abso- 
hitely heavier and harder tlKin tlie 
freshest ivory* No part of tlie ske- 
leton is petrified, but all in their 
pr^seht state of preservation from 
having been surrounded by a calca- 
reous soil, composed principully of 
decayed rficlls, and covered with 
water even in the driest seasons. 

How long since tliese animals 
have existed, we shall perliaps ever 
remam in ignorance ; as no judg- 



ment can be formed ffom thA qvaii'^ 
tity of vegetable soil which has ac« 
cumulated over their bones. Cer- 
tain we are, that they existed in 
great abundance, from the number 
of their remains which are found in 
America : wc are likewise sure that 
they must have been destroyed by 
some sudden and powerful cause $ 
smd nothing appears more probably 
than one of those deluges or ^suddeii 
irruptions of the sea, which have 
left their traces in every part of thQ 
globe, and which are in amazing 
abundance on the very spot where 
these bones are found t ti^y consist 
of peUi&ctions of sea productions^ 
shells, corals, &c. It is extremely 
probable that, whenever and by 
whatever means the extirpation of 
this tremendous race of animals wan 
c^Bected, the same cause must havo 
operated in the destruction of all 
those inhabitants from whom we 
might have received some satisfac^ 
tory account of them. 

DIMENSIOVS OF THE SKELETOK* 

Height over the shoidders 1 1 
Ditto over the hips 9 O 

Length from tlie chin to 

the rump 15 O 

From the point of the tusks 
to the end of the tail, fol- 
lowing the curve 31 O 
Length in a strai^t line 17 O 
Width of the hips and 

body 5 8 

Length of the under-jaw 2 10 
Weight of the same 63 J//5. 
Width of the head 3 2 

Length of the thigh-bone 3 7 
Smallest circumference of 

the same 1 6 

Length of the tibia 2 a 

Length of the humcras, or 
large bone of X\\c foi*e- 
leg 2 ICT 

Largest circumference of 

the same 
Smallest ditto ditto 



Length of the radius 



3 2^ 

i 5 

2 5i 



ACCOVVT Of TKB VAMMOTIT. 



3f>r 



CarcimifereQce round the 

elbow 3 8 

L^ength of the scapula, or 
shoulder blade 3 1 

Length of the longest ver- 
tebra, or back-bone 2 3 

Longest rtby without carti- 
lage 4, r 

Length of the first rib 2 

Ditto of tlic breast-bone 4 

Length of the tusks, de- 
fences, or horns 10 7 

Circamferenccof one tooth 

or grinder 1 6 J 

Wci^t of the same, four 
pounds ten ounces 

The vhole skeleton weighs 
about 1C//3 pwinds. 



With tliese they descend from lh« 
mounthins into t)ie puin cuuntrvi 
whenever they think tiiey ciin ao 
it with hiifcty. To prevent tjnjlr 
being ttucUlcnly mvprittrd by their 
enemies, they pbce KHardtt in evrry 
direction around thcni, and on tlio 
first appearance of dauf^er, rttttru 
again to tlieir mountaini. Tho 
number of tlieite nomadewdecreuMs 
however, every vear, cbpecially in 
the province or Mukcura, wlierfl 
the pre->ent dcy hai» nm^o many 
conr|iic(ft«. Tlu: Ara!> triifc^ kni), 
jcctcd Ui the Aljjtriiicfe, ir^y a 
small tribute, and are treaU'd with 
great lenity, for Ceiir tA' irnt4^Cnig 
tbeni to relx;! au^l 'f*An Uun Cai>yl« 
and fmk'p4;nd<mt Arali^* 

The iium>r of Jtw$ in il^m ter- 
riuiry of Airier* i« not frtrat ( IhA 
it ib diffioilt e;wu;tiy U> d<t't>'r««if*« 
It, a» it IK IpefA «iecr«t 1^ tWuu 
•the*, ior tii« fMJi-jyyM; -of {/fc^ytfiit^ 
in^ an AKny^u^H^it^M of U*« tAX, 
ii;*ich i* r*ri^iJUi.UxJ *(»^<iijAj^ <K^ tii4f 

cuu&trr* itM*'« KMStiifA HJiyi^fm 
iatuotiti ifrfr^jtftrX,Y iu A ^jj^j^ 'i iiiey 
are Ij^evihtr ir/'/r^^^^A stud dk*^ 

Jf: tUifc n-y«^.i*?'jl t.i*: «<»IMjv <:"'/>y 

itwrve*- iirtr KJ'-jici to ;•.:♦]> hr m 
VUJiit: vjiii it -nv.l- JV'«^- ^^ s-u* 



ACCCinrT or the lyHABITAVTS 
or Al.&IEa&, AJTD COUJVTPT 
SriJlCT T© THt OET, A»D OF 
79E1X BIFTEZIXCE WITH ZZ- 
SrCCTXDt^ICLf. CfiJ&KACTKa 
Ays CITIL EELATIOX S- 

{Caaca,ded fn^ fi. 124. J 

tif tut AirtrxDE c.jniud'.nift. 
JfrZiUJUii t^itm. v \r.„ -v r:'»'-»ut n '•!!?"- 
jHflBosfKiinr of tut c'Jinrrv, tit' t- tD 

jja^au hi tt stijxe a* «iat:j»»niU»nf.*i, 
ii-iiL nurtn & itiiiiitt'.^i« v. -if, ti. - 
Xi*E» art- distiusiit:,!itr'. :*^ji\x '.irt; 
SDC iir tiieiT i^i.-jj ..u. l-- ".-ir 
nxtit iiuT.tt*r~v i. vtr--... ..»■ uiu:*t 'jI 
1 II «:. iiu: i>» tii'ji' ''MU*^ u-^'viT"':^ 
U«:Ui?f*-«*rL ' --Tt*^ itUL If .av :i' :ii 

p^l - ;.ir^4-i I —11 IT r. •rni iii«r . i: ■ r . ^ • -r 
Viiu tu.v\ \n V li^'fj*-"*»rc t* IL 1 :*. 

ird^i^' «». .rt- ♦•-.^,, ! .»»-r ^.l-.'Uj a'.", .it *»..tTt»r 
xr..^i •,- li t-lV!T •». ..^ i*..L J -'•u— . n< r*. J» t* -.'„. .J- 



t:: ' 


• »;'t*»wJ», *»• 


n In*- %i 


* • .' 


►-. '. w 


\i\\ 


{. cTVt tJ . 


* , 11. •- 1 


*.« 


•^it 


lei- 


:.»-*' '.»' ^'1' 


••.»•:.. ti'V.. 


v*t - 


,1 Ill's*' 



1 "ill*, t. l4, li •_ !i-'* .».";■* OC* '.,-«. : 






296 



ACCOUVT or AL0IE18. 



oa$ can place confidence ; and the 
g;reatest cheats are found among 
3ie most wealthy. In affairs if hich 
concern only themselves, they are 
judged liy their own tribunals and 
an elder, who is known by the name 
of a king" of the Jewt. One of the 
most pernicious customs prevalent 
among them is, that parents form 
marriage contracts for tlieir yet in- 
fimt duldren, who, in that case, 
are even married at the age of four 
or six years ; and in their ninth or 
tenth year cohabit as man and 
wife. 

The number of ncgro€9 annually 
imported as slaves into Algiers, 
amounts to from 150 to 180. Their 
price \'aricsfrom 50 to 150 zechins* 
The female negro-slaves are in 
greater request, as attendants on 
the Moorish ladies, and as domes- 
tic servants, and therefore fetch a 
higher price tlian the males* Many 
ot the negresses are likewise very 
frequently purchased and kept as 
concul>ines by the wealthy Turks 
and Moors, and not seldom pre* 
ferred to tlie fair natives of the 
country. It however happens very 
rarely that a Turk actually marries 
a negress : but such intermarriages 
are more frequent among the^ 
Moors and Coloris. Although all 
the negroes came into the country 
as slaves, yet the greater part of 
them are, either gratuitously, or in 
consideration of a large sum of 
money, manumitted by their mas- 
ters. Nor ai-e they here, in gene- 
ral, so badly treated as in the West- 
Indian colonies of the Europeans : 
they enjoy, on the contrary, a con- 
siderable poKion of Iil)erty, are not 
confined, or in a cruel manner over- 
whelmed with excessive labour. 
Any over-rigid or unjust treatment 
of them is even punished bv the 
I50vemmcnt, Negro and christian 
slaves are, at Algici*s, employed in 
the same olBces as our domestic 
servants. But Jews and christians 
are not permitted to keep negro- 
•slaves who profess the Matiomedan 
religion. As soon ns a negro ac- 
quires his freedom, which is often 
granted on occasions of rejoicing. 



or on the deceate of his master, hk 
is esteemed equal to, and is entitled 
to the same privilege as the Moors* 
Tliey may then even intermarry 
among themselves, and with the 
Moors. The negresses are gene- 
rally the confidantes df the youn^ 
ladies in their master's house, ia 
which case their situation becomes 
very comfortable. They have 
likewise a great influence on the 
education of youth, as they are em* 
ployed as attendants on the chil- 
dren, who, in their tender years, 
are with them more than with their 
parents. But they spoil the children 
by over-indulgence, as they ate 
apt too much to give way to and 
flatter the desires of these th^ 
future masters. 

We now come to the cAr£#/tii«#, 
but who, on acoovnt of their tran- 
sitory residence, can hardly be 
said to constitute part of the' pro- 
per inhabitants. It is almost in 
the cities only that we meet with 
christians, but very rarely in the 
open country. On the western 
coast, the Spaniards occupy Oran 
and Masalquivir : the citizens r^ 
sident there, for the ntost part fu- 
gitives from their nati%'e land, de- 
rive their subsistence from tlie gar- 
rison, and live in indolence* misery, 
and poverty, being destitute oC 
trade, agriculture, and mann&c- 
tttres* ITie christians who are 
met with in the other cities (a few 
travelling merchants and literati 
excepted) are all slaves : but treat- 
ed with a gi*eat deal more lenity 
than themselves and the roissiona* 
ries pretend. ITicre are two clas- 
ses of christian slaves. To the 
first belong all those who arc cap* 
tured by tlie Algerine corsairs s 
these are preferred to the others, 
and are truly worthy of commisera* 
tion. On their arrival at Algiers, 
they are separated into divif^ons, 
and conducted to the palace of the 
dey, that lui may select whomsoe* 
ve'r he pleases from them ; the re- 
mainder are taken to the market^ 
place, and sold to the h%he&^. bid- 
der. The captains and chief offi- 
cers of 6hi§s, and all persons of 



ACCOUNT OF ALGIERS. 



999 



«kstiBCtk)ii and of a better appear- 
mnce, are placed in the first divU 
&i«a of prisoners^ and treated with 
greater mildness than the rest, be- 
cause it is expected that they will 
purchase their liberty. In the day 
time they must work in the sail- 
magazines belonging to the navy i 
and at night they are shut up with 
the other slaves in the bagnios. 
The children and women are kept 
as servants in the palace of the dey : 
or purchased by other grandees, to 
attend on their wives. If among 
the female captives there happens 
to be a lady of high rank, she i>e- 
mains indeed the property of the 
dey, but is permitted to reside in 
the house of some of tlie free chris- 
tians. The remainder of the sh^'s 
crew are publicly sold to the high- 
est bidder, and become the proper- 
ty either of the state or of private 
iiidividuals. 

The second class of christian 
slaves at Algiers consits of (what 
will appear strange to many of our 
readers) persons w]v> of thoir own 
accord enter into a state of slavery* 
They are, for the most part, de- 
serters from the Spanish garrison 
in Oran and Masalquivir, who from 
fear, despair, ignorance or preci- 
pitancy, make their escape. Oran, 
then, is the nursery of this kind of 
christian slaves : and the number 
cf such runaways is reckoned to 
amount annually to about one hun- 
dred. Among them ara natives of 
upmost every countr>' of Europe. 
While the author, from whom this 
account of Algiers is extracted, re- 
sided there, the German Granites 
were for the most part men, who, 
in their native countr>', had been 
for«ed or inveigled to enter into tlie 
army*«..had deserted.«..been pick- 
ed up by bpanish or French re- 
cruiting parties, and at last, after 
various intermediate adventures, 
beea sentenced to transportation to 
Oran. They wei*e almost all ad- 
dicted to drunkenness, but in otlicr 
respects faithful, good-natured, 
TveU-behaved, laborious, and not 
so abandoned as the rest of their 
companions, lliosc who were na- 
livci of France were adventurers, 



or had been ruined by gamfai|j, and 
thus incited to the commission of 
crimes, which obliged them to fly« 
Few of them had retbrmed. They 
were almost without exception of a 
volatile and daring dispositiouy 
careless, lazy, and adepts in char« 
latanry and knavery. The greater 
part of tlie Spanish Granites were 
transported smugglers. Among 
those from Italy were found the 
most abandoned wretches, and the 
most atrociouK criminals, and even 
among these the Keapc^tans and 
Genoese distinguislied themselves 
by their superior wickeclDcss. "Most 
of them had been banditti, high- 
way robbers and murderers, and 
been forced to fly to Spain, where, 
even after their transportation to 
Gran, they pursued their old prac- 
tices, and on that account made 
their escape to Algiers, to avoid 
the punishment due to their crimes* 
They related with the greatest un- 
concern and frankness all tlie deeds 
of horror they had formerly per- 
petrated : the oldest were the roost 
hardened and shameless, probably 
because tliey had lost all hope o£ 
ever returning to Europe. The 
younger among them were not so 
cominuni<^ative ; but sufficiently in«- 
dicated by their gestures that they 
were not much better tlian the 
others. They believe that they 
are now doing penance for their 
sins, diiigently attend tlic confes- 
sional, and are scrupulously ob- 
servant of the fasts enjoined by tlie 
chuixh. A mon g the G ra nitcs there 
were very few English, Portuguese, 
Swiss, Poles, and Prussians: l)ut 
no Dutch, Swedes, Russians, and 
Danes; and only one Norwegian- 
All these ^leserters know bclore- 
hand what doom awaits tliem on 
their arrival : they, however, pre- 
fer a state of slavery to that of a 
Spanish soldier at Gran, as in Al- 
giers they ai*e better treated, and 
flatter themselves with the hope of 
being ransomed, in which expec- 
tation they very fi'equently fina 
themselves deceived. 

VVitli re&pcct to the treatment of 
tho christian slaves, no particular 
distinction is made between the de- 



Sbo 



ACCOUNT or AtGtCKff* 



ftertefs from Oran, and those <^ap' 
tured by the cruisrrs. They are, 
in general^ well kept, and not 
overwhelmed with labour, or chiel 
usage ; as every proprietor finds it 
his interest to preserve his slaves, 
for the sake of the ransom he ex- 
]pects to receive for them. Those 
who belong to the dey, are kept as 
attendants in his palace. There 
ftre a great number of them, they 
have little to do, and are well, and 
even richly, clothed. Many of 
them live in abundance, as they 
receive valuable presents from the 
srandees who are applying for some 
£ivaur from the dey : but their situ-* 
ation is so fisir irksome that they 
must live quiet and retired, and 
seldom receive permissimi to leave 
the palace* The youngest and 
most beautiful amon^ them are 
likewise exposed to the seduction 
of the corrupt courtiers* The 
other christian slaves who arc the 
property of the state, are employ* 
ed in the dock-yards and maga- 
cines, and are under the command 
of Turkish taskmasters. At sun- 
rise, they are conducted to their 
labour ; and receive three small 
loaves for breakfast: those who 
have moneys may purchase fniit 
in addition to their bread. Their la- 
bour never surpasses their strength. 
At mid-day they are called to din- 
ner by the sound of two Frencli 
horns ; their dimier consists of a 
kind of ^rits, boiled in water, and 
seasoned with some old butter or 
oil. llie portions are large ; but 
the manner of cooking the mess is 
nauseous and disgusting. After 
dinner, their labour recommences, 
and lasts till about snn-set ; when 
each slave again receives three 
coarse loaves, and a few olives* 
Tlieir clothes are fumisbed at the 
•expense of the^ey. After their 
daily labour is over, they are, for 
the most port, shut up in the b am- 
nios. When ti^ number of slaves 
«is considerable, those of a virtuous 
disposition, and wlio have former- 
Jy been accustomed to better ac- 
commodations and company, com- 
plain more of this niglitly lodging, 



than of ^le fatigues of the day ; 
filth, corrupted air, and vermin in 
abundance, prevent the repotc ao 
necessary to them . To which may 
ha added jests, and discourse ofinn^ 
sive to chaste ears, not to mention 
the abominable vices so prevaleiit 
in this country: the society of aban* 
doned Granites, in particular, 
proves extremely disagreeable to 
many unfortunate men of worth. 

The condition of the slaves of 
private persons is, with very few 
exceptions, preferable to that of 
those who belong to the states In 
the cities, they are employed as 
menial servants; in the ooimtry, 
they cultivate the gardens and 
vineyards. Every thing depends 
npon their being able to gain the 
favour and confidence of their mas* 
ters. llie amorous intrigaes, of 
which so many of the ransomed 
slaves boast, may in general be 
considered as fictions* Many pri- 
vate persons, especially Jews, and 
even the dey and his ministers, hire 
out christian riaves a& servants 
to the free christians, on their giv- 
ing good security. Many of ^se 
slaves have then an opportunity to 
accumulate some money for them- 
selves, in which case, they leave 
their masters, take taverns hi the 
city, where they sell wine and spi- 
rituous liquorS) and often acquire 
considerable pix>perty. 

Those who had been captured by 
the Algerine corsairs, frequently 
regain their liberty by being ran- 
somed : but the Granite deserters 
have little or no ho]x:B of such good 
fortune, and generally remain in 
slavery to tlie end of their lives. 
Sometimes however it happens, 
ttiat a government, as, for instance, 
the French in 1784, ransomed all 
their countrymen without except- 
tion. The number of christian 
slaves was formerly much more 
considei-able than in 1 788. In 1 785, 
though intheprecedingyearalitlie 
French had been ransomed, they 
were computed to amc^Unt to about 
two thousand. In 1786-7, five hun- 
dred Spaniards and Neapolitans 
were liberated; and ^out scvea 



ACCOVl^Y Of ALGISKS. 



501 



Itandreddied of the plague: •ot)iat 
uot above 800 christian slares were^ 
felt at that time ; and the most of 
tbese were deserters from Orai»« 

We shall conclude with a lew 
obaer^tions relative to the renrga^. 
doe: lliere are few of them in 
thk coontry ; and these may l>e di- 
vided into two chivses^ vie* H^^ 
and christians. With respecl to 
the lews, many aealous Mahome* 
tans are of opinion, that it would 
be better if they adopted the chris* 
tian religion previously to their be- 
coming proselytes to Mahometism. 
Of the Jewst more women than 
men renounce the fiiith of their an* 
cestors. They are indoced to em* 
brace the dominant religion of (he 
conntry, either for the purpose of 
being revenged of their relations, 
or of escaping some punishmeixtt 
or from motives of ambition or in« 
terest« If such a renegade be en- 
dowed with superior talents, and 
possess knowledge, address, and 
courage, and have the good fortune 
to render his servioes useful to the 
^vemment; he is esteemed e^ual 
to the ColoriB, and may be raised 
to honourable and lucrative offices. 
Thus, for instance, the present ad- 
miral of the Algerine fleet is a re- 
li^ado, who was formerly a Jew* 
RenegsMloes who were christians, 
are less numerous* Formerly tliey 
were eager to gain proselytes from 
Christianity ; but at present, such 
conversions are very rarely encou- 
raged, nay, in most instances, not 
even permitted, as the proprietors 
of the slaves would be losers, and 
be deprived of the expected ran- 
som. On the whole, in this coun- 
try too they are of opinion, that it 
is best for every one to adhere to 
the religion in which he was edu- 
cated. They even deq>ise and 
distrust ren^^oes : and tiiat not 
without reason, for the greater 
part of them are in their hearts at- 
tached to neither one religion nor 
the other. 

BZTE ACTS FROM WR AZALL's ME* 
MOXRS Of tax COVBTS f f BBR- 
TOl. i«.«»]ro» IT* 



LIIT, DRESSXir, ifARSi^W, AKO 
VIENNA, IN THE TEARS ITTTy 

1778, AND 1779. 

Cmtnt Konigamerkt 
. Among the strangers of dkdnc^ 
laon who visited the oourt of Hailo^ 
yezy .was count Komgsnwrk, ft 
man whose crimes, adventures, ami 
tragical eisdi^ have rendered him 
too much known. He was by trirtls 
a Saxon, though his Ikmily was orl<r 
ginaUy from Sweden* Handsome 
in his person, captivating in hia 
manners and address, he wa| form** 
ed to succeed with women. He had 
been early known by, and pect4!-t 
arly acceptat^e to, the princess of 
Hanover, before her marriage^ 
when she resided at Zell in her fa* 
^er't palace. ItisevenpretehdBd* 
that she had retained a deep im^ 
pression of thtt pattiafity for the 
count, whidi naturally revived ois 
seeing htm again. Konigsmarky 
whatever personal or external 
graces he possessed, was uncpie»< 
tionably a dissolute, unprincipled| 
enterprizing man of pleasure, ca^ 
pable of the greatest crimes in the 
pursuit or attainment of his views^ 
He had travelled over Europe, had 
seen service in various countries^ 
and distinguished himself by faia 
gallantry, magnificence and con-* 
rage, in Spain he had displayed 
his address on public occasions, and 
was honoured by as public testis 
monies of attachment on the part 
of the ladies of the court of Kf a-f 
drid. When in England, he nar« 
rowly escaped an ignominioas exe« 
cution for the murder of Mr« 
Thynne, in 1662. His accompHcesy 
for it is impossible to doubt that he 
employed or subomedthem, though 
the feet could not be judiciaUy 
brought home to him, were aO ex« 
ecuted at Tyburn for tiiat atrocious 
act. He himself was reserved for 
a destiny hardly less unfortunate^ • 
few years later ; and his name is 
now inseparably connected with the 
princess of Hanover, Sophia Do- 
rothea* 

The prince her husband, who 
served during more than one cam- 
9 



502 



exTKACTS rnoM whaxalI's msmoirs. 



paign in the imperial army against 
€le Turks, was frequently absent 
&t>m her, a circumstance which 
naturally facilitated Konigsmark's 
access Co the princess. It b un- 
questionable that she entertained 
»>r him sentiments of the most par- 
tial nature, and that she indulged 
Ihem in a manner, which, if not 
ertminal, was at least imprudent. 
She was accustomed, two or three 
tim<SB a week, to feign an indispo- 
sition, under which pretence she 
retired to her apartment. Konigs- 
mark was then admitted; they 
topped together, and usually re- 
ftiained at table, or in conversation, 
t91 two or three o'clock in the 
ihnoming. When he retired, he 
descended by a little private stair- 
ease, near the great gate of the 
ducal palace, which conducted him 
into the town. 

Interview* of such a nature, at 
such hours, and in the princess's 
own apartment, imply great, and 
«ae may add, improper intimacy ; 
partnmlarly if Konigsmark's profU- 
gate character be recollected. It 
i« even difficult at first sight, not 
to connect with them the idea of a 
criminal connection. But on the 
Other hand, there is, neither any 
proof that they were so in ctfoct, 
Bor was any sudi proof ever at- 
tempted to be made out against 
her, though her enemies were 
deeply interested to establish the 
&ci, if it had been possible. In 
addition to this negative presump- 
tion in their favour, it is positively 
asserted that during the time when 
Konigtmark was with her, they 
never remained alone together; 
one or more of her ladies of honour, 
waA those of the most unimpeachcd 
characters, being always present* 
ITie very imprudenee of admitting 
him to such interviews, seems to 
prove that they were innocent, 
siuce it wtas impossible that they 
could be altogether concealed or 
unknown. 

Unfortunately, Konigsmark's 
person and accompli&Iimcnts had 
made an impression, net only on 
tlie prhicess, but on Madame de 



Platen, mistress of £rnest Aagn$^ 
tus. Whether, as it is pretended^ 
he had divulged the favours whidr 
s^e had conferred on him, or whe-^ 
ther he had returned her partiality^ 
with indifierence tfnd contempt, as 
other persons assure us, it is certain 
that i}ie deeply resented his befaa* 
viour. Irritated at hit p re fer e n ce 
for the princess Sophia Dorothea, 
of which she was well apprised, 
and having set spies to^ watdi his 
motions, she soon discovered his se- 
cret interviews with licr riva^ of 
which she gaveinfbrroatioit to tJle 
duke of Hanover. It was nabiral 
to suppose that he wooM not tole- 
rate them ; and thecoimt soon after- 
wards received an indirect, but pe- 
remptory intimation, that his longer 
stay at Hanover would be displeas- 
ing. As he delayed compliance- 
with the injunction on various pre- 
tences, it was reiterated. He 
Aerefore madepiri>lic preparations 
for hb departure, fixed the day 
and hour, ordered his post-horses^ 
and having commanded his servants^ 
to expect him at three o'clock in 
the morning, he went privatriy to 
the ducal palace* The princess, 
under pretence of indisposition, ad- 
mitted him as before to her s^)art*. 
ment, where a supper was served, 
and they remained for some hours 
together, but always m company 
witli one or more of her ladies. 

No sooner was the countess of 
Platen apprised that Konigsmark 
was in the princess's cbamber, 
than she instantly carried the intel- 
ligence to the duke, and represent- 
ed to him the insolence of thus 
braving, if not dishonouring hint 
in his own palace* Profiting of his 
indignation, she iaduced him to 
give directions for punishing the 
count's temerity, by an act of im- 
mediate violence. It is doubtless 
to be lamented that Ernest Augus- 
tus should have sanctioned or au- 
thorised an assassination ; for such 
it must be deemed: but, it should 
likewise be remembered that he 
was a sovereign prince, and tlie 
provocation was great, if he really 
believed Konigsmark's yiuta to hi& 



Extracts from wraxall*s memoirs^ 



:m 



^ughter-in-law to have been of a 
<:riminal nature. No appeal could 
1>e made to his sod, who was absent 
in Hungary, and the count wa^ on 
^e point of leaving Hanover. 
How far these considerations may 
«eem to palliate the act, I lieave 
others to determine. 

A very general idea prevails 
throughout Germany, that Ernest 
Augustus having caused four of his 

r-ds to put on masks, tliey, by 
order, attacked Konigstnark 
as he came out of the princess's 
apartment, and killed him on the 
t4X)t. I saw this very morning, the 
place in the electoral palace, where 
tradition savs the count fell. It is 
a passage almost destitute of Ugl^ 
not above nine or ten paces in lcn|;th, 
A door at one extremity opens mto 
a large handsome apartment, the 
£rst of the range occupied by the 
princess of Hanover, and out of 
vhich Konigsmark passed when he 
quitted her on the night that he 
perished* At the other end is ano- 
ther door, near a staircase by which 
he was to have left the palace. 
That Uiis was the scene of his 
jeizure, there is no doubt ; but the 
means used to put him out of life 
were more secret, though not less 
effectual, than open attack. I 
shall relate them from good autho- 
rity. 

Orders were issued on the part 
©f the duke of Hanover, to the 
soldier on guard at the palace gate, 
to stop Konigsmark as he came 
down the private staircase before 
mcntionetl; to force him by menaces 
of immediate death to follow, and 
then to shut him into a subterranean 
vault or cellar, which was indicated. 
The soldier punctually executed the 
commission, without knowing or 
suspecting the xxnsequcnce. It 
would seem that the count qehher 
made nor attempted resistance; 
a fcict which proves cither his v/aut 
of Courage, or of any means of de- 
fence ; unless we suppose thai con- 
fiding in his innocence, he tock no 
precaution for his security, and 
was unsuspicious of an intention to 
jnterrujit his passage out of the 



palace. The vault into which thfc 
unfortunate Konigsmark was forced 
could at pleasure be filled with 
water by means of a pipe. It was 
in fact a reservoir, and no sooner 
was he shut up, than they imme- 
diately let in the water and drowned 
him. His body on the ensuing 
morning was4Mit into a heated oven, 
-and the mouth of it bricked up, as 
the most effectual means of con- 
cealii^ the whole transaction* 

Chrualier De Saxcm 
Thk chevalier de Saxe, third in 
order of birth, among the natural 
sons of , Augustus Uie second, king 
of Poland, was only half brother to 
the famous nmrshal Saxe, as thev 
were by different mothers. Ip 
right of his wife, who was a princess 
Lubomirska, of a v^ry iUiistrioi^ 
Polishiamily, the chevalier inherit- 
ed considerable property in that 
country, as well as ui Saxony. Ho 
resided principally in Di'esden, and 
died only a few years ago at his pa- 
lace in this city ; which his ncljhew 
prince Charles, who was his prin- 
cipal heir, occupied after his de- 
cease. In addition to liis matetiial 
estates, tlie chevalier possessed a 
vast income from his iniliUry and 
ether appointments in tl»e electoral 
serv ice ; and as he left no issue, he 
was supposed to have amassed creat 
sums. . Reports had been circulated 
tliat money was concealed in the 
palace; but no one pretended to 
ascertain the pixcisc place where 
it was deposited. If his spirit could 
be compelled to appeir, that inter- 
esting secret might be extorted from 
kini. Xhus curiosity combiuing 
v;itli avarice, or at least witli the 
hope of discovcrini; a cunsiderabic 
treasure, prompted prince Charles 
to name his uncle, as the object of 
the experiment*. 

On t!ic appointed mght," fur 
Srhrepfcrf naturally preferred 
darkncbs, as not only more private 
in it itself, but better calcululcJ foi* 
the cflec t of incantations, the coii>- 

• Of raising u. deceased j>€Tiani. 
f The prcfiidcJ iiu^iciwu 



M* 



SXTBACTS FROM irRAMLI.'t MtMOtlS 



leen in number^ of wliom I pencm- 
•lly know Mveral^ who are penoiiB 
of cflDidderation, diaracter, and 
reqieotability. When they were 
»et in ^ great gallenr of the pa- 
kce, the first object of all present 
was to secure me windows and 
doors, in order equally to prevent 
iatrudoQ or deception. As fiir as 
precaution could effect it, they did 
to, and were satisfied that nothing 
cacoept Tioienoe could procare ac- 
^ cess or entrance. Schrepfer then 
acquainted them, that the act ifhich 
lie was about to perlbrniy would de- 
mand all their firamess, and advised 
tiiem to fortify their nerves by par- 
taking of a bowl of punch, which 
was placed upon the table. 6eve- 
ffttl of them, indeed, as I believe, 
afl except one or two, thinking the 
«9diortatioa judicious, very readily 
f^wed it; but, the gentleman 
firom whom I received these parti- 
culars, declined the advice. *< I 
am come here," said he to Schrep- 
fer, *< to be present at raising an 
Apparition. Either I will see all 
or nothing. My resolution is taken, 
and no inducement can make me 
put any thing within my lips." 
Another of the company, who pre- 
served his presence of mind, placed 
himself ck>se to the principal door, 
in order to watch if an^ one at- 
tempted to open or force it. These 
preparatory steps being taken, the 
great work began with the utmost 
solen^nity. 

Schrepfer commenced it, by re- 
tiring into a comer of the gallery, 
where, kneeling down, with many 
mysterious ceremonies, he invoked 
the spirits to appear, or rather to 
come to his aid, for it is allowed 
that none were ever visible. A 
very considerable time elapsed be- 
fore they obeyed ; during which in- 
ter val he laboured apparently under 
ffreat agitation of body and mind, be- 
ing covered with a violent sweat and 
almost in convulsions, like the Py- 
thoness of antiquity. At length, a 
loud clatter was heard at ail the 
windows on the outside ; which was 
Huoo followed by another noise, re- 



sembling more Hie eftct prt^dvocd 
by a number of wet fingers dra^wft 
over the edge of glasses, than mnf 
thingebetowhi^iteoiidd wdl be 
compared. This sound a&iioBiiced» 
as he said, the arrival of his good 
or protecting' spirits, and seemed 
to encourage him to proceed. A 
short time afterwards a yelling was 
heard, of a frightful and unusuAl 
nature, which came, hedecbuvdt 
firom the malignant qiirita, 
presence, as it seems, was i 
sary and indispensable to the i 
pletion of the catastrophe^ 

The company were now, at leait 
the greater part, electrified wids 
amaaeement, or petrified with bor* 
ror ; and oif coarse, fbUy prepa* 
red for every object which could be 
presented to than. Schrepfer coo-* 
tinuing his invocations, the door 
suddenly opened witii violeace, end 
something that resembled a black 
hall or i^obe, rolled into the room. 
It was invested with smoke or cloud, 
in the midst of which appeared tta 
be a human fece, like the counte* 
nance of the chevalier de Saxe ; 
much in the same way, it would 
seem, that Corregio or Hannibal 
Carrache have represented Jni^ter 
appearing to Semele. From thia 
form issued a loud and angry voice, 
which exclahnedin German, ** CaH 
was woltedumit mich f " «« Charles 
what wouldst thou with me ? Why 
dost thou disturb me ?" 

Language, as may be sqiponed, 
can ill describe the coostematiQ& 
produced among the apectators at 
such a sight. £ither firmly per* 
suaded tliat the appearance which 
they beheld, was spiritiuil and fan 
tangible; or deprived of resolutioii 
to approach and attempt to smse 
it, they appear to have made no 
efibrt to satisfy themselves of its in- 
corporeal nature. The prince, 
whose impious curiosity had sum- 
moned his uncle's ghost, ^d to 
whom, as the person principally 
responsible, the spectre addressed 
itself, far from manifesting cool- 
ness, or attempting replv, betrayed 
the strongest marks of horror and 
ccntrition. Throwing himself on 



XJtTKACTS FftOM WRAZALL'S XSVOISt. 



MS 



}d9 toectf lie calted on Qod for 
mercy ; while others of the terri- 
iietl party earnestly besought the 
nugician to give the only remain- 
ing proof of his art for which they 
^now were anxious, by dismissing 
.the apparition. But, Schrepfer, 
though apparently willing, found, or 

Fended to fond thk effort beyond 
power. However increAbk, 
absivdy or ridiculous it may be 
thought, the persons who witnessed 
the scene, protest that near an hour 
elapsed, before, by the force of his 
invocations, the spectre could be 
cdrnpeUedtodisaTOear. Nay, when 
at length Schrep&r had succeeded 
in dismissing it ; at the moment that 
the 'company began to resume a 
degree of serenity, the door, which 
had be^n closed, burst open again, 
and the same hidious form presented 
itself anew to their eyes. The most 
resokite and collected among them, 
were not proof to its second appear- 
aoce, and a scene of universal dis- 
may ensued. Shrepfer, however, 
t^ reiterated exorcisms or exer- 
tKms, finally dismissed the appari- 
tioii. The terrified spectators soon 
dispersed, overcome with amaze- 
ment, and fully satisfied, as they 
well might be^ of Schrepler's soper- 
nataral powers. 

iOME OBSERVATIOKS ON DIAHIES, 
SXLF-BIOGRAPHT, AND SKLF- 
CHABACTERS, 

The study of Biography is a re- 
cent taste in Britain. The art of 
writing lives has been but lately 
known ; and it was, therefore, an 
usual complaint with the meagre 
biographers of the last century, 
when their subject was a man of 
letters, that his life could not be 
deemed very interesting, sbce he, 
who had only been illustrious in his 
closet, could not be supposed to 
ilfibrd any materials for the histq- 
rian. llie life of a prime-ndnister, 
or the memoirs of a general, as th^ 
contained the detail of political in- 
trigues and political opposition ; 
battles or stratagems ; were consi- 
dered to afford happier opportuni- 
ties for aiwriter to di&play the abi- 



lity of his literary powersi the sob* 
tilty of his discernment, and the 
colouring of hb descriptions. 

But as the humaii mind became 
the great object of our inquiry, and 
to -detect and separate the shades of 
the passions the great aim of the 
biographer, reflecting men perceiv- 
ed, that the philosopher, like other 
men,hadh]sdistinct characteristics. 
And it has now become the labour 
of criticism, to compose the life of 
an author | no writer can now suc- 
cessfoUy accomplish his biographic 
attempts, unless he possesses a flex- 
ibility of taste, which, like ^e came* 
leon, takes the colour of that object 
on which it rests. 

Every man, in whatever deparU 
ment he moves, has passions, which 
will vary even from those who are 
acting Uie same part as himselfi 
Our souls, like our faces, bear the 
general resemblance of the q>ecies, 
but retain the particular form which 
is peculiar to the individual. He 
who studies his own miad, and has 
the industry to note down the fluc- 
tuations of his opinions, the fallacies 
of his passions, and the vacillatioqs 
of his resolutions, will form a jour- 
nal to himself pecuUarlv interesting, 
and, probably, not undeserving the 
meditations of others. Nothing 
which presents a foithful relation of 
humanity, is inconuderable to a 
human being. 

There once prevailed the custom 
of a man's journalising his own life* 
Many of these journals yet remahi 
in their MS. state, and some, un- 
fortunately for journal-writing} 
have been published. We are not, 
however, to decide on the nature c^ 
a work by the ineptitude of its per- 
formance. The writers of these 
diaries were not philosophers, for 
tlieage was not philosophic Too 
often they were alchemists, and 
sometimes considered themselves as 
magicians. Some only registered 
thc^minutest events of domestic life. 
Dates ef birth, and settlements of 
marriage, may be pardoned to the 
individual ; but to give the import* 
ancc of history to the progress of a 
purge, and to return divii^ thank* 



306 



OBSERVATIONS OH DIARIES, kc* 



' foT the cutting of a com, (and the 
editedjournalof £]ias Ashmolc con- 
tains few other facts,) is g;iving im- 
portance to objects wliich can 
only be observable in the history of 
any other animal but man. I am 
acquainted with a worthy gentle- 
man, who, for this half century, is 
I)erforming the same labours. He 
can tell where he dined fifty years 
past, and accompany the informa- 
tion with no concise critique. When 
he takes one of these little volumes 
down, he applies to himself the obser- 
vation of Martial, and says, he has 
learnt the art of living life twice 
over. ITie pleasures of memory 
are delicious ; its objects must, how- 
ever, be proportionate to the pow- 
ers of vision, and a meagre or a 
smart dinner, is an object sufficiently 
delightful, or terrible, to give play 
to the rccordatory orj^ans of this 
diiarist. I have remarked, however, 
one thing from his contemptible 
narrative. He resolved to distin- 
guish tlie happy cincumstanccs of 
Tiis life in red ink. In looking over 
his diaries, notwithstanding the ob- 
scurity of his situation^ and the 
humility of his desires, 1 cannot 
find that his pen was often dipt in 
the crimson ink of felicity. 

An pbserxation ma}- be made on 
the diui*nal page. He who can, 
without reserve or hesitation, form 
auch a jouraal, may be safely pro- 
nounced an honest man. Could a 
Clive, or a Cromwell, have com- 
posed a diary ? Neither of these 
men could suner solitude and dark- 
ness ; at the scattered thoughts of 
casual reflection they started ; what 
-would they have done, had memory 
marshaled their crimes, and arrang- 
ed them in the terrors of chi'ono- 
logy ? These difiries form that other 
self, which Shaftesburj' has describ- 
ed every thinking being to possess ; 
and which, lo converse with, he 
justly accounts the highest wisdom. 
When Cato wishes that the breast 
of every man were diaphanous, it 
Is only a metaphorical expression 
Jor such a diaiy. 

There are two siJccies of minor 
l>iography which may be discriaib- 



nated ; detailing our own life, and 
pourtraymg our own character.^.. 
The writing our own life has been 
practised with various success ; it 
18 a delicate operation ; a stroke too 
much may destroy the efiect of the 
whole. If once we detect an author 
deceiving or deceived, it is a livid 
spot which infects the entire body. 
To publish one's own life has some- 
times been a poor artifice to brin^ 
obscurity into notice ; it is the ebri- 
ety of vanitv, and the delirium of 
egotism. When a gr^at man leaves 
some memorial of his days, his 
death4x:d sanctions the truth, and 
the grave consecrates the motive* 
There are certain things which re- 
late to ourseK'Cs, which no one can 
know so well ; a great genius obliges 
posterity when he records them* 
But they must be composed widi 
calmness, with simplicity, and with 
sincerity ; the biographic sketch of 
Hume, written by himself, b a 
model of attic simplicity. TTie life 
of lord Herbert is a biographical 
curiosity. The memoirs oiSheffield 
dulce of Buckingham is very inte- 
resting ; and those of Colley Cibber 
is a fine picture of the self-painter. 
We liave someother pieces of self-bi- 
ography precious to the philosopher. 

Biography should not be written 
with eloquence ; with Rotisseai;, 
perhaps, eloquence was only a natu- 
ral harmony from the voice of trutii ; 
but it may also be the artificial tones 
of deceit. What in Rousseau was 
nature, may in others l)e artifice'. 
Self-biographers, like Hume, who 
state facts with an attic simplicity, 
appear to speak unreservedly to the 
reader, and as if tliey prox)osed only 
to supply facts, for others to explain 
and embellish. 

There is another species of miner 
biograghy, which, I am willing to 
believe, could only have been in- 
vented by the most refined and the 
vainest nation. A literary fashion 
formerly prevailed with French 
authors, to present the public with 
their own ch aracter, and tliis fashion 
seems to have passed over to our 
country ; Farquhar has drawn his 
character in a letter to a lady^ and 



OBSX&VATIONS ON D^AHIES, Scc« 



307 



others of our writers I believe have' 

fiven us their own miniatures. The 
'rench long cherished this darling 
egotism ; and Uiere is a collection of 
these literary portraits in two bulky 
volumes. Tlic. brilliant Flechier, 
and the refined St. Evremond, have 
framed and glazed their portraits. ' 
Every writer then considered his 
character as necessary as his pre- 
face. I confess myself much de- 
lighted with these self-descriptions 
of "persons whom no one knows." 
I have formed a considerable col- 
lection of these portraits, and have 
placed them in my cabinet of curio- 
sities, under the title of strong like- 
nesses of miknown persons. Their 
vanity 15 too prorauient to doubt 
their accuracy. 

I. shall not excite the reader's 
curiosity, without attempting its 
gratification ; and if he chiises to 
see what now passes in the minds of 
many obscure writers, whom he 
never will know, let him attend to 
the following character, which may 
not be so singular as it appears. 

There was, as a book in my pos- 
session will testify, a certain versc- 
miker, of the name of Cantenac, 
v.ho, ill 3662, published in the city 
of Paris, the above-mentioned vo- 
lume, containing some thousands of 
verses, which were, as his country- 
men express it, de nafacon^ after 
his own way. He fell so suddenly 
into the darkest and deepest pit of 
oblivion, that not a trace of. his 
memory would have remained, had 
he not condescended to give ample 
infonnation of every particular re- 
lative to himself. He has acquainted 
us with his size, and tells us " that 
it is rare to sec a man smaller than 
himself. I have that in common 
^vith all dwarfs, that if my head only 
were seen, I should be tliouj^^lit a 
large man." This atom in creation 
then describes his oval and full f icc 
....his fiery and eloquent eyes.... 
his vermil lips.. ..his robust consti- 
tution, and li's effervescent piw:- 
"sions. He appears to h.ive been a 
most pctulcnt, honest, and uiiv/uui- 
tne beuTg. 



ITie description of his intellect, is 
the object of our curiosity, and I 
select the most striking traits in his 
own words. " I am. as ambitious aa 
any person can be ; but I would not 
sacrifice my honour to my ambition* 
I am so sensible to contempt, that I 
bear a mortal and implacable hatred 
against those who contemn me, and 
I know I could never reconcile my- 
self with them, but I spare no atten-< 
tions for those I love.; I would give 
them my fortune and my life. I 
sometimes lie ; but generally in af- 
fairs of gallantry, where I voluntari- 
ly confirm falsehoods by oaths, with* 
out reflection, for swearing with me 
is a habit. I am told that my mind 
is brilliant, and that I have a certain 
manner in turning a thought, which 
is quite, my own. I am agreeable 
in conversation ; thougli I confess I 
am often troublesome ; for I main- 
tain paradoxes to display my genius, 
wbioi savour too much of scholastic 
subterfuges. I speak too often and 
too long ; and as I have some read- 
ing, and a copious memory, I am 
fond of shewing whatever I know. 
My Judgment is not so solid, as my 
wit is lively. I am often melancho- 
ly and unliappy ; and this 8t)mbrous 
disposition proceeds from my nu- 
merous disappointments in life. My 
verse is preferred to my prose ; and 
it has been of some use to me, in 
pleasing the fair sex ; poetry is most 
adapted to persuade women ; but 
otherwise it has been of no servite 
to mc, and has, I fear, rendered me 
unfit for many advantageous occu.. 
pations, in which I might have 
drudged. The esteem of the fair 
has, however, charmed away my 
complaints. Tills good fortune has 
been obtained by me, at the cost of 
many cares, and an unsubdued pa- 
tience ; for I am one of those, who^ 
in affairs of love, will suffer an entire 
vear, to taste the pleasures of on0 
ilay." 

This character of Cantenac had 
some local features ; for an English 
poet v*'cidd hardly ccusole himself 
witli so m!ich gaiety. The French- 
man's altachment to the ladles, 



306 



oBSSliTAnoifs oir DtAitiirs, 8co. 



ttcms to be equivalent to tlic adv^ui- 
tagcou.s '^'CruT^, tions hd had lort. 
But as the niispries of a literan' 
nany without conspicucus talents, 
arc always the same at Paris, as in 
London, there are some parts of 
^s character of Cantenac, which 
^pear to describe them with tmth. 
<^tenac was a man of honour ; as 
irarm in his resentment as his gra- 
titude ; but deluded by literary 
vanity, he became a writer in prose 
and Ycrsei and while he saw the 
ixrospects of life closing on him, 
probably considered that the age 
%at unjust. A melancholy exam- 
^ for certain volatile, and fervent 
8pirit% who, by becoming authors, 
either submit their felicity to the 
capHces of others, or annihilate the 
obscure comforts of life, and, like 
him, having " been told that their 
infaid is brilliant, and that they have 
A certahi manner In turning a 
tlioiight," become wrhers, and com- 
piain ^at they are ^^ often melan- 
choly, owing to their numerous dis- 
amointments.*' Hi^py, however, 
It ttie obscure, yet too sensible wri- 
ter, can suffer an entire year, for 
the enjoyment of a singfle day ! But 
for this,a man rms&t have been bom 
in France. 



■XSTOftir OF 

PHILIP BELWYNN, 

(Continued /htm fiage 219. J 

TB0t7Gff far short of my destined 
goal, and btiU further from that ca- 
reer of fame I had promised myself 
I was contented to remab where I 
was. My Lord was gracious and 
aflRible, and seemed to remember 
with gratitude the service I had 
done him. 1 yielded, therefore, to 
his wishes, and consented to lead his 
two sons forward in the literary 
paths I had already trodden. I re- 
flected that wliile' I dedicated my 
time and my talents to the advance- 
ment of two human beings towards 
tbatperfection wcought all to aspire 



to, I was worthily and us^^fifllf, tf 
not brilliantly employed, l^bofi 
had genius and good temper ; th^ 
attached themselves to me, and t 
taught Greek and Latin con amore. 

I lost not sight, however, of xht 
more splendid route I had marked 
Out for myself, and frequently ex- 
ercised my unfledged Muse in short 
poetical flights, more distinguished 
by exuberance tlian by genius. Tht 
Lady Matilda, only daughter %A 
Lord Emolf, was, !iowever, jdeaiB* 
cd with my attempts, and was no 
niggard of her applause. To ap- 
plause no poet ever yet was caK 
lous :....this is not the place to prove 
that he who could be so, would be 
incapable of being a poet ; but ta 
applause from a pair of brilHanC 
black eyes, from a pair of smtSlnc 
coral lips, from the exquisitely deli- 
cate voice of the Lady MatUda, it 
was still less possible to be iasenai- 
ble. 

The Lady Matilda was just «t 
thattouchine age, when the vivacl* 
ty of the child is softened by tM 
delicacv of the woman. Unadulte* 
rated by art, unsophisticated bv* 
fashion, this lovely creature, wim 
beauty enough to have ruined half 
the sex, had all the native inno- 
cence of an infjEuit.- Brou^t np 
wholly in the country, she &oug^ 
not ot subordination of rank.».aB 
idea which the children of Katuro 
could never adopt! a refinement* 
which those best understand, who 
require the aid of extrinsic merit 
to entitle them to the respect tliegr 
love....Keither Matilda nor \ 
thought about the matter; die 
treated at first with distlnctioDy 
and afterwards with kindness^ tho 
man who had saved her father ; 
she chatted with me as with a br^ 
ther, and nothing can I recollect so 
delightful as her unfi;uarded con* 
versatlons. She was indeed secur- 
ed from any improper attachmeirt 
to me by a previous engngement 
to Lord' Villars, a cousin of hers* 
sanctioned by the parents on hoih 
sides, and confirmed by a mutual 
preference. 



iUStO^r OV tBlLlP BZLWiiVlfi 



dof 



That J was not informed of this 
arrangement, reflects no blame on 
any one : it was, in the first place, 
most generally known throughout, 
lK>t the family alone, but all their 
retainers and dependants) and, in 
the next place. Lord Emolf was se^ 
cured by the pledged afiections of 
bis daughter^ from any danger to 
her, and I was supposed too suffix 
ciently warned of the difference of 
our ranks, to allow me to raise the 
superstructure of Love on so sandy 
a foundation. Be that as it will, the 
edifice was erected, and I even be- 
lieve a little lurking hope formed a 
corner-stone of the foundation* 

When I learned of her pre*^n* 
fcagement, in the simplest manner 
unaginable, I own I felt plunged in- 
to an abyss of despair ; but I conti-' 
nued for several months imbibing 
deeply the deUcious poison of a first 
love, and it is on that intermediate 
portion of my life I best love to rest 
my mental eyes, from the fatigue of 
viewing the workings of tyranny, 
and the goadings of malice. 

In one of these conversations, I 
oftce let £ftll the name of Goldney* 
Matilda seemed to recognise it as 
familiar, and not as bringing with 
it a pleasing recollection. She 
asked me if I had ever known any 
body of that name. I replied with 
ardour, and the exuberance of my 
mind displayed itself alike in my 
vehemence against the brother, 
and my tender gratitude to the sis-* 
ter. Matilda confessed that in my 
portrait of Miss Goldney she saw 
a strong resemblance to the charac-* 
ter of a lady, whom she remember- 
ed her mother pitying as unfortu-" 
nateand ill-used ; and some strange 
and bewildering ideas crossed my 
brain in consequence of what she 
further said. She recollected but 
little, for her mother had been dead 
some years, but she had sometimes 
accompanied her in her visits to 
this Miss Goldney, and the impress 
sion made on her young and afie&* 
tionate mind by the kindness of the 
lady, had never been efl^ced. 
Something too, she retained, of Miss 
Goldney's living in absolute retire- 

V0L.J.«..K0< !▼• 



ment, of the lowness ot het spirits^ 
and the paleness of her cheeks^ 
an(} to Matilda I now confided th6 
tiioughts which these recollections 
had given birth to. 

One while I was delighted with 
the possibility that the woman who 
had treated me with so much kind-< 
ness, might be my mother ; at ano^ 
ther I felt it an incongruity to sup- 
pose that a truth of such import 
tance could, from any motives, have 
been, in such circumstances, con« 
cealed by a parent* Again could I 
suspect Miss Goldney, whose life 
had been a model of purity and vir« 
tue, whose sentiments had been no-( 
J>le and excellent, whose principles 
had been invariably just, and whos0 
name even the lawless tongue of heif 
brother had never dated to revile 
....could I suspect her of having 
committed such an impropriety^ 
such a crime ? Yet, at times, my 
ingenious fancy formed a romance 
by which this might be reconciled^ 
She might have been the victim o^ 
treachery and falsehood : there 
were men who would impose on wo* 
men by pretended marriages, or 
who, having contracted such as 
proved inimical to their fotur^ 
views, would boldly disown the 
wretched woman whose hardiness 
in the cause of innocence was less 
firm than their efOrontery in sup-^ 
porting falsehood* 

In {dl these romances^ the Lad/ 
Matilda was my confidant and as-< 
sistant. We talked on the subject 
till we doubted not that I should 
make some great discovery that 
would reinstate the injured fame o( 
my mother, and restore me to my 
rights in society* Alas ! in these 
visions of futurity glided away all 
the real happiness destined ever to 
gild my life ; and I busied myself in 
forming chimeras never to be real- 
ized, while I suffered the actual fe-' 
licity within my grasp to slip from , 
me unobserved and imenjoyed^ ia 
my visionary eagerness after un* 
known events* But man is the 
creature of hope and expectation I 
The most deligh^d present is over- 
looked in anxious graspings aftei' 



SIO 



BISTORT or PBILIP DSLWTlTlr. 



future joy ; but in returuy the faiiiy 
promises of hope, by detaching; the 
eye from the passing scene, allevi- 
ate the pang of actual misery with 
the cheering view of bliss hereafter 
to be enjoyed. 

It is by a wise dispensation of 
Providence that the human mind is 
ever unsatisfied with that which it 
possesses ;...«this ^^ eager longing 
for futurity" is a proof that we are 
destined to a state of more exalted 
bliss than the present one, in which 
nothing can arrest the fancy from 
its flights into the ideal world of un- 
arrived events. Were it not thus, 
we should see men more disposed 
to profit by the reasonings ot phi- 
losophers, and to attend to the 
paths they are actually confined to. 
C To be continued. J 



ACCOUNT or 2>KLHI, TBE CAPI- 
TAL or INDIA. 

Shah Jehanabad is adorned with 
many fine mosks, several of 
whidi are still in perfect beauty and 
repair. The following are most 
worthy of being dcsscribed, and 
first, the Jama Musjcdj or great 
cathedral. This mosk is situated 
about a quarter of a mile from the 
royal palace : the foundaUon of it 
was Isad upon a rocky eminence, 
named Jujula Pahary and has been 
scarped on purpose. The ascent 
to it is by a flight of stone steps, 
thirty-five in number, through a 
handsome gateway of red stone. 
The doors of this gateway are co- 
vered tliroughout with plates of 
wrought brass, which Mr. Bemier 
imagined to be copper. The ter- 
race on which the mosk is situ- 
ated, is a square of about fourteen 
hundred yards of red stone ; in the 
centre is a fountain lined with mar- 
ble, for the purpose of performing 
the necessary ablutions, previous 
to prayer. An arched colonade of 
red stone surrounds the whole of 
the terrace, which is adorned with 
octagon pavilions, at convenient 
distances, for sitting in. The mosk 
is of an oblong form^ two hundred 



and sixty-one feet in length, sftr^ 
rounded at top by three magnific^nf 
domes of white marble, intersected 
with black stripes, and flanked by- 
two minarets ot black marble, and 
red stone alternately, ri^ng to tho^ 
height of a hundred and thirty feet. 
Each of these minarets has three 
projectmg |;alleries of white nuur* 
blie, and their summits are crowned 
wiUi light octagon pavilions of the 
same. The whole front of the Jama 
Musjed is faced with large slabs of 
beantiful white marble, and along 
the cornice are ten compartments, 
four feet long, and two and a half 
broad, which are inlaid with in- 
scriptions m black marble, in the 
Miakhi character, and are said te 
contain great part, if not the whole, 
of the Koran. The inside of the 
mosk is paved throughout with 
laige flap of white marble, deco- 
rated with a black border, and Is 
wonderfully beautffol and delicate ; 
the flags are about three feet in 
length, by one and a half broad. 
The wall and roof are lined with 
plain white marble, and near the 
Kibla is a handsome taak or niche, 
adorned with a profusion of freeze- 
work. Close to this is a mimber, 
or pulpit of marble, having an as* 
cent of four steps, and ballustraded* 
The ascent to the minarets is by a 
winding staircase of a hundred and 
thirty steps of red stone, and at 
the top you have a noble view of the 
king's palace, and the whole of the 
Cuttub Minar, the Curmn Minar, 
Hummaioon's tomb, the palace of 
Feroze Shah, the fort of old Delhi, 
and the fort of Loni, on the oppo- 
site side of the Jumna, llie domes 
are crooned with cullises, richly 
gilt, and present a glittering ap- 
pearance from a distance. This 
mosk was begun by Shah Jehan, 
in the fourth year of his reign, and 
completed in tlie tenth : the ex- 
penses of its erection amounted to 
ten lacks of rupees ; and it is in 
every respect worthy of being the 
grand cathedral of Uie empire of 
Hindostan. 

Not far from the palace is the 
mosk of Rosliun-a-DowIah, ren- 
dered memovable to the Delhians 



ACCOUNT or DELHI* 



311 



^r bemg the place whence Nadir 
Shah saw the massacre of the un- 
fortunate inhabitants. The cause 
assigned by historians for this in- 
human act is, that a sedition broke 
out in the great market, 'in which 
two thousand Persians were slain. 
Kadir, on hearing of the tumult, 
marched out of the fort at night 
with a small force to the Musjed of 
Roshun-a-Dowlah, where he was 
fired upon in the morning from a 
neighbouring terrace, and an offi- 
cer killed close by his side. He 
instantly ordered an indiscriminate 
slaughter of the inhabitants, and 
his squadrons of cavalry, {>ouring 
through the streets, before the a£ 
temoon put to death one hundred 
thousand persons of all descrip- 
tions. " The king of Persia," says 
the translator of Ferishta, " sat 
during the dreadful scene, in the 
Musjol of Roshun-a-Dowlah ; none 
but slaves durst come near liim, 
for his coimtenance was dark and 
terrible. At length the unfortunate 
emperor, attended by a number of 
his chief Omrahs, ventured to ap- 
proach him with downcast eyes. 
The Omrahs who preceded Mo- 
iiummud, bowed down their fore- 
heads to the ground. Nadir Shah 
«temly asked them what they wan- 
ted; fliey cried out with one voice, 
** Spare the city." Mohummud 
said not a word, but tears flowed 
last from his eyes ; the tyrant, for 
once touched with pity, sheathed 
his sword, and said, '^ For the sake 
0f the pnnce Mohummud, I for- 
l^ve." Since this dreadful massa- 
cre, this quarter of Dellii has been 
but^very thinly inhabited* 'Vhc 
mosk of Roshun-a-Dowlah, is situ- 
ated at the entrance of the Chand- 
ney Choke, or market ; it is built 
of red stone, of the common size, 
and surmounted by three domes 
richly gilt. 

2^enuI-al-Mussajid, or the orna- 
ment of mosks, is on the banks of 
the Jumna, and was erecteid by a 
idaugter of Auningzebe, of the 
jiame of Zeenut-al Nissa'h. It is 
4of red stone, with inlayings of mar- 
)}\Cy and has a spacious terrace in 



front of it, with a capacioas reaer« 
voir faced with marble. The prin- 
cess who built it, having declined 
entering into the marriage state, 
laid out a large sum of money in 
the above mosk, and, on completing 
it, she built a smaU sepulchre of 
white marble, surrounded by a wall 
of the same, in the west comer of 
the terrace. In this tomb she was 
buried in the year of the Hegira 
1132, corresponding with the year 
of Christ 1710. "ITiere were for- 
merly lands allotted for the support 
and repairs of this place, amount- 
ing to a lack of rupees per annum, 
but they have all been confiscated 
during the troubles this city has 
undergone. Exclusive of the mosks 
above described, there are in Shah 
Jehanabad and its environs, above 
forty others ; but as most of them 
are of inferior size, and all of them 
of the same fashion, it is unneces- 
sary to present an^ further detail. 

The modem city of Shah Jeha- 
nabad IS rebuilt, and contains many 
good houses, chiefly of brick. The 
streets are in general narrow, as 
is usual in most of the large cities 
in Asia ; but there were rormerly 
two very noble streets ; the first 
leading from the palace-gatethrough 
the city to the Delhi gate, in a di- 
rection north and souths lliis 
street was broad and spacious, ha- 
ving handsome houses on each side 
of the way, and merchants shops, 
well furnished with the richest ar- 
ticles of all kinds. Shah Jehan 
caused an aqueduct to be made of 
red stone, which coaveycd the wa- 
ter along the whole length of the 
street, and from thence into the 
royal gardens, hy means of a reser- 
voir under ground* Some remains 
of the aquedu<^ are still to be seen ; 
but it is choaked up in most parts 
with rubblslu Tlie second grand 
Street was likewise from the palace 
to the Labor gate, lying east and 
west: it was equal in many re- 
spects to the former, but in both of 
them the inhabitants have spoiled 
their appearance by running a line 
of houses down the centre, and 
across the streets in other places, 



313 



ACCOUNT OF DSLRf* 



80 that it » with difficulty a person 
can discover their former situation 
-without a narrow inspection. The 
bazars in Delhi are but indifferently 
furnished at present, and the popu- 
lation of the city miserably reduced 
of late years : the Chandny Choke 
is the best furnished bazar in the 
city, though the commerce is very 
trifling. Cotton cloths are still ma* 
nuiactured, and the inhabitants ex- 
port indigo: th^ir chief imports 
are by means of the northern cara* 
vans, which come once a year, and 
bring with them^ from Cabul and 
Cashmere, shawls^ fruit, and hor- 
ses » the two former articles are 
procurable in Delhi at a reasonable 
rate. There is also a manufacto- 
ry at Delhi for bedree hooka bot- 
toms. The cultivation about the 
city is principally on the banks of 
the Jumna, where it is very good ; 
the neighbourhood produces com 
and rice, millet and indigo. The 
limes are very large and fine. Pre- 
cious stones are likewise to be had 
at Dellii of very good auallty, par- 
ticularly the large red and black 
cornelians, and peerozas are sold 
in the bazars. 

Tlic city is divided into thirty-six 
mohauls or quarters, each of which 
is named either after the particu- 
lar Omrah who resided there, or 
from some local circumstance rela- 
tive to the place. It appears that 
the modpm city of Shah Jehana- 
bad has been built principally upon 
two rocky eminences ; the one 
where the Jama Musjid is situated, 
named Julula Pahar, and the other 
the quarter of the oil sellers, called 
Bejula Pahar ; from both of tliese 
eminences you have a commanding 
view of the remainder of the city. 
Ancient Delhi is said by the histo- 
rians to have been erected by Rajah 
Delu, who reigned in Hindostan 
prior to the invasion of Alexander 
the Great ; others afhrm it to have 
|>cen built by Rajah Pcttourah, who 
flourished in a much later period. 
It is called in Sanscrit, Indraput, 
or the ab<.de of Indra, one of the 
]^indoo deities, Pnd it is also thus 
distinguished in the royal diplpmas 



of the chancenr office. Whedier 
the city be of the antiquity report* 
ed, is difficult to determine; but 
this much is certain, that the vast 
quantity of buildings which are to 
be found in the environs, for np* 
wards of twenty miles in extent* 
as well as their grandeur and style 
of architecture, prove it to have 
once been a rich, flourishing, an4 
populous city. 



ACCOUNT OF TBE ySJrERABLK 
LABRE. 

In the course of the month of 
April, ir83, while Pius VI, was on 
a visit to the Pontine marshes, a re- 
port was suddenly spread in Rome, 
of the death of a French beggar, 
who Was become the object of pub* 
He veneration. His body, which 
was exposed for three da}'s, pre*, 
served, it was said, the flexibility of 
its members, without shewing the 
least sign of putre&ction. He ha4 
lived nine years at Rome unnoticed 
by every one ; but po sooner had 
he closed his eyes, than the most 
edifying wonders were related of 
him. He had led the most pious 
and most exemplary life. Reduced 
to the lowest degree of indigence, 
he added voluntary sufierings to his 
unavoidable privations ; covered 
with rags, he remained exposed to 
the inclemency of the weather, and 
by way of penance, suffered the 
vermin to prey upon his flesh. Ma«. 
ny persons recollected to have seen 
him stand motionless in the streets, 
and at the doors of churches, ex^ 
pecting) without asking, the charity 
of passengers. It was said, that he 
was accustomed to distribute the 
surpAis of the alms he received to 
other paupers, and that he had pre* 
dieted the moment of his death* 
The greatest personage in Rome, 
the populace, and all, the priests, 
hastened in crowds to his tomb^ 
where a great number of miracles 
were performed. The sick were 
carried thither : they returned 
healed I and these vopders, ay a}« 



AccovKT er the venerable labbs* 



S0 



«hqrB hBppejBLS^ were attested by nu- 
merous and creditable witnesses. 
The roost minute particulars of his 
life were collected; his portrait 
was engraved; and in less than 
Iwentf-four hours more than four 
thousand impressions were sold. 
While waiting for canonisation, the 
title of veneradie was adjudged to 
him* Men of observing minds were 
not long befbre^ey perceived that 
this was a competitor, set up by the 
lesaistical party, in opposition to 
the venerable Palafbx, whose speedy 
canonisation the court ot Spain was 
at that moment, soliciting out of ha- 
tred to the Jesuits. It was tlie 
heads of that party who appeared 
to concern themselves the most 
about the beatified beggar. In the 
absence of the pope, the cardinal* 
vicar gravely countenanced the 
disgusting farce ; and, at the 'end 
of three days exhibition, ordered 
the holy mendicant to be pompous- 
ly interred in a vault constructed 
on purpose by the side of the princi- 
pal altar of the church of Madonna 
del Monte* In his tomb was inclos- 
ed a brief notice of his life written 
in Latin, an Italian translation of 
which was profusely given away. 
In spite of thy style of minute exag- 
geration, in which this singular 
piece of necrology was composed, 
means could not be found to render 
it interesting. It was confined to 
the few following facts. 

" Benedict Joseph, son of J. B. 
Labre and of Anne-Barbe Gransir, 
was horn on the 26th of March, 
1748, in the parish of St. Sulpice 
d'Anettes, in the diocese of Bou- 
logne. After having passed his 
youth in the most orderly maimer, 
under the care of an unde, who 
was curate of Erin, he determined 
to devote himself to a life uf peni- 
tence, and took the monastic habit 
in the convent of Sept. Fonts of the 
Cistercian order. The austerity of 
this mode of life occasioned a dis- 
ease, which he suffered patiently ; 
but the physicians obiiged him to 
lay aside the habit, after a noviciate 
of eight months. He afterwards 
went on several pilgrimages, parti- 



cularly to our lady of Loretto, and 
to th'e holy bodies of the apostles 
Peter and Paul. He then came 
and bettled at Rome, which he ne- 
ver quitted, unless to go once a year 
to Loretto. He lived at Rome up- 
on alms, of whidi he reserved but 
very little for himself, constantly 
giving the surplus to the poor. He 
led at the same time a very exem- 
plary life, allowing himself onljr 
what was rigorously necessary for 
his food and raiment; holding all 
worldly things in sovereign con- 
tempt; and edifying mankind by 
the severe penance he imposed up- 
on himself ; by the continual pray- 
ers which he offered up in the 
churches ; and by the other emi- 
nent % irtiies which he displayed* 
Although, while living thus, he ap- 
peared disgusting from the rags 
with which he was covered, he was, 
nevertheless, rendered dear atid 
amiable to other men by his man- 
ners, forgetting himself and seeking 
only to please God. On the 16th 
of April, 1783, after a long prajcr 
in the church of Madonna del Mon-- 
r<f, he was seized with a fainting 
fit, and carried to the house of a 
pious man, who happened to be 
there. His disorder growing worse 
he received extreme unction, and 
at an hour after midnight, departed 
this life. The following day his 
body was conveyed, with decent 
funeral ceremonies, at the expense 
of sonic good Christians, to the said 
church. The report of his death 
difRised itself through the city ; and 
ere long, such an immense number 
of persons of all ranks hastened 
thither to see him, that it became 
necessary to ball in the assistance 
of the military, to keep off the 
crowd. His body was thus exposed 
till the evening of Easter-day (the 
20th of April), when it was attest- 
ed by eye-witnesses, before a nota- 
ry, that it was still Jlexibley palpa- 
ble^ andfree from putridity » It was 
then put into a wood coffin, which 
was sealed with the seal of the car* 
dinal vicar, inclosed in another cof* 
fin also of wood, and deposited in a 
vault, constructed on purpose, on 



514 



ACCOUNT or TRR VEVSBABLX LABKB. 



the q>!stie side * of the principal 
altar of the said church." 

This monttinent of superstition 
and hypocricy is worthy of preser- 
vation. It is well that posterity 
should know with what consummate 
impudence the priests imposed on 
the credulity of the people at the 
end of this enlightened century, in 
acity abounding with illustrious per- 
sonages, with travellers from eve- 
ry part of Europe, and with master- 
pieces of art. It is well that pos- 
terity should be able to appreciate 
those factious knaves, who, disguis- 
ing their worldly ambition under 
the mask of fanaticism, had the ef- 
frontery to engage heaven in a con- 
test with earth ; called upon the 
devout to pay homage to a vile 
mendicant, whose only merit, ac- 
cording to their own confession, 
was the having led a useless and 
disgusting life ; and thus exposed 
to ridicule that religion of which 
they called themselves the support- 
.crs ; and paved the way ibr its final 
overthrow. 

Instead of the hand of God, the 
hand of the Jesuits was plainly visi- 
ble in the whole of this affair. In 
order that the enthusiasm inspired 
by the new saint, might not cool, a 
collection was made to defray the 
expenses of his beatification ; and 
this pious care was entrusted by 
tjie cardinal-vicar to several per- 
sons of distinction at Rome, notori- 
ous for their attachment to the de- 
funct society. Care was taken to in- 
form all the friends it had in France, 
of the miracles performed by the 
Jholy Labre, which wanted nothing 
but witnesses; and of his prophe- 
cies, which were only known to his 
confessor, and which threatened the 
Holy Sec with gi*eat calamities, 
that were about to follow the sup- 
pression of tlie Jesuits. The bishop 
of Boulogne, one of their furious 
partisans, already announced to his 
flock, that they had another coun- 

• In Roman catholic churches, the 
two sides of the church are distin- 
guished by the terms, the gospel sid«, 
sad the epistle side. T. 



tryman in heaven, and recommend- 
ed him to their devotion. He col* 
lected with scrupulous attention the 
most minute particulars of the life 
of the venerable Labre, both durine 
his abode under the paternal roo^ 
and after he quited it* His rela- 
tions, intoxicated with the unhoped- 
for honour, and little inclined to 
wait for the happiness that would 
thence result to them in heaven, al- 
ready thought th«r fortune made 
upon earth; and solicited pensions 
and benefices ; while the sage car- 
dinal de Bemis, who knew not whe- 
ther to laugh or weep at all these 
foUies, saw a new artide added to 
his diplomatic correspondence. He 
advised the enthusiastic admirers 
of the holy man to moderate their 
zeal ; or at least to defer the expres- 
sion of it, until it should be proved 
that their new idol was deserving 
of their worship. But at Rome no- 
thing could repress the transports 
of devotion. To doubt the mira- 
cles of the blessed Labre was impie- 
ty. His revered images were pro- 
fusely circulated ; the pencil, the 
Aurifij and the chisel, emulated each 
other in producing them ; and even 
the scraps of his ras^geid apparel 
became an object of contention. 
The Pope himself, at a loss how to 
act; dreading the reproach of fa- 
vouring Jesmtical intrigues, and 
dreadmg still more the danger of 
opposing them openly, dared not 
refuse to join his pious homage to 
that whidi was lavished upon the 
relics of the holy mendicant ; order- 
ed the bedstead in which his dis- 
gusting limbs had been laid, to be 
carried to the Vatican ; and resolv- 
ed to make it serve for the repose 
of his own. 

.In the meantime, information 
continued to be collected, with re- 
gard to Benedict Labre, as well at 
Rome as out of Italy, llie whole 
of it did not prove to his advantage. 
It was even to be feared lest one of 
his letters sent to that capital of the 
Christian world, by tlic bishop of 
Boulogne, should throw a damp up- 
on the fervour of the devout. In 
that letter, Labre adiised his pa- 



ACCOUNT OF THE TEVERABLK LABRS. 



31S 



T^nts to read the works of a certain 
lather Lejeune. Now &tber Leje- 
one had been a disciple of&ther 
QuesneU This affection for the 
prodttctions of a Jansenist was a 
bad recommendation to the Jesuits ; 
but they had advanced too far to 
retire without shame. What was 
of all things the most important to 
them was to find food for supersti- 
tion: and the blessed Labre an- 
swered that purpose as well as any 
one else. 

His credit was still more hurt by 
a rumour, that when solicited to re- 
ceive extreme unction at the hour 
of death, he had made answer that 
U was not necessary* But what 
injured it more than all was the re- 
port made of him by the vicar of his 
parish, who affirmed that, notwith- 
standing his entreaties, Labre would 
never consent to come to his church 
to receive the sacrament at £aster, 
and that his abstinence did not de- 
serve to be so highly extolled, since 
it was well known that he often 
went to eat and drink at a neigh- 
bouring public*House, where nobody 
had been much edified by his fru- 
gality. It was also discovered that 
his only confessor at Rome was the 
priest who declaim liimself the de- 
positary of his prophecies, and who 
was notorious for his attachment to 
the Jesuits. In a short time, the 
Utter were the only partisans he 
had at Rome ; but that was a great 
deal. Their most active agent was 
an Ex Jesuit of the name of Zacca- 
rioy whom Pius VI, honoured with 
a share of his confidence. It was 
he who was charged to compose the 
life of Benediet Labi-e, in two vo- 
himes; and to fornish a list of the 
pretended miracles. The pope, 
who never resisted with firmness 
the solicitations of the Jesuitical 
part}*, suffered himself to be per- 
suaded to give a bookseller the ex- 
clusive privilege ot printing the his- 
tory of the venfrabie'8 life, and all 
the writings relative to his beatifi- 
cation. 1 he congregation dei /?f - 
it was already engaged in that im- 
portant task ; and was anxious to 
abridge the customary formalities. 



All these intrigues, and all these 
efforts, did not, however, produce 
the intended effect. The blessed 
Labre was in vogue in those coun- 
tries only where the Jesuits had a 
party. In Spain and Portugal his 
sanctity and his miracles were ob- 
jects of derision. In France, a fow 
prelates alone endeavoured to bring 
him into fashion ; but in Rome, in 
that centre of religious mummery, 
he found for some time abundance 
of panegyrists, and even of imita- 
tors. It was by no means uncom- 
mon to meet devotees in the streets 
of that city begging like him ; rag- 
ged, and motionless like him ; and 
like him expecting alms from the 
passengers, but soliciting none. 

Great pams continued to be taken 
to collect, upon the spot and else- 
where, every particular relative to 
his life. The most singular one is 
that to which amateurs are indebt- 
ed for his much revered portrait. 
A French painter, of the hante of 
Bley, who was at Rome in 1777, 
and who had it in contemplation to 
paint a picture of the calling of St. 
Peter met at the comer of a street a 
young beggar with a little red beard. 
He looked at him; and tliought 
that his head might serve as a mo- 
del for that of Christ. " Will you 
come to my lodgings^ and be paint- 
ed ?*' said he to him in Italian. The 
beggar refused in a surly manner, 
and in an accent by which the paint- 
er knew him to be a foreigner.... 
" Are you a Frenchman ?"...." Yes 
sir."....'* In that case you have it in 
your power to render a service to 
one of your countrymen. I wish to 
introduce the head of our Saviour 
in a picture I am painting, and am 
at a loss for a model. You would 
answer my purpose. Pray do me 
the favour to follow me. "....The 
painters entreaties, joined to the 
word countryman^ overcame the 
beggar's reluctance...." With all 
my heart," said he, "but upon con- 
dition that you do not keep me 
long."...." A single morning will 
suffice." Upon this they walked 
on J and upon their arrival at the 
artist's the beggar became as mo- 



316 



ACCOUNT Of THB TEHRA&LE LAB&ttf ' 



tionlcss as a statae. This was a 
part which he had been long accus- 
tomed to play. When the sitting 
•was over a reward was offered him ; 
but he obstinately refused it, and re- 
tired. The painter heaixl no more 
of him. 

As he was not dissatisfied with 
his sketch, he preserved it in a 
poi*t folio, which he left at Lyons, 
in a journey that he made thither 
in 1782. During passion-week in 
1783, a report was spread in Rome 
that a young French beggar, who 
enjoyed a high reputation for sane* 
tity, was dead : that his body was 
exposed to public view, and attract- 
ed a prodigious crowd; and that 
miracles were ascribed to him. 
llie painter had not curiosity 
enough to go and see him. He had 
something else to do. After the 
interment of the beggar, the con* 
course i*ound his tomb, and the mi- 
raculous result, were the same. 
One day a model*, who was often 
employed by the artist, spoke to 
him of the dead man, whom he had 
attentively surveyed. From the de- 
scription he gave of him, the paint- 
er recollected his French acquaint- 
ance, sent to Lyons for his drawing, 
and ere long found his apartments 
crowded by the curious and the de- 
vout. All of them recognised the 
features of the venerable Labre. 
To satisfy the impatience of the 
public, he put his sketch into the 
lumds of an Italian engraver, by 
■whose means the portrait of the ho- 
ly man was s])cedily dispersed all 
over the toimtiy. 

This violoit enthusiasm wns not, 
however, of lonq duration. Before 
the year 1763 had elapsed, thei'e- 
verublc Lubrc, wns a little less spo- 
ken of ; and the fame of his mira- 
cles* was already upon the decline. 
All those ridiculous scenes which, 
in France, hud been acte<l at the 
jjrave of Paris, the deacon, were 
rehearsed rcuad his tomb..... 

• Mod'.'l Is the name given at Rome 
to the males and females who hire 
themselves to such artiste as wish to 
study the human form after the life. 



The lame repaired thithet to i 
a cure : and notwithstanding their 
implicit faith, and the munimery of 
the priests, returned as lame as 
they went. No matter ; his mira- 
cles were already numerous and in^ 
contestible; and what inference 
could be drawn from aVfew abortive 
cures. It was the fault of the sick^ 
and not that of the physician. The 
congregation dei Riti was not the 
less busy in the beatification of the 
pious beggar ; but it was a work oC 
time. It was necessary to cc^ect 
information in all the places which 
the candidate had inhabited. It 
was necessary to have the moat au<« 
thentic testimonies. It was neoes^ 
sary to observe a number of slow 
and minute formalities; such, in 
short, as made it impossible for 
fraud to procure, forgone of die pro« 
fone, the reward that was reserved 
for the elect alone. It was necessary 
above all. to have money; for the 
church of Rome afibrded nothing 
gratuitously* This was one of tbie 
most scandaloiis remains of those so*' 
perstitious times, when she imposed 
a tribute upon every species of fol« 
ly. On some future day, indeed, it 
will scarcely be believed that ^e 
dared to disfigure those brilliant 
apotheoses, which she borrowed 
from the pagans, to such a degree 
as to put up to auction the seats she 
had to diqwse of in the celestial 
court, and to knock them down, 
not to men known by their splen- 
did virtues, by some great service 
rendered to their countiy, or at least 
by some illustrious crime, produc- 
tive of a change in the cx>ndition of 
mankind; but most frequently to 
vile and indolent wretches, who 
ought at least to have been con- 
demned to that obscurity to which 
thc>' had devoted themselves. 

llie contributions, however, of 
credulity increased sufficiently in a 
few years for the congregation dei 
Hiti^ to accelerate the first triumph 
of the venerable Labre. He was 
beatified in the course of the year 
1792, when the country which had 
given him birth was already rescued 
from the clotcbes of superstition^ 



ACCOUNT OF THK VENlRABLK LABRE. 



Sir 



T^hre was then enrolled in the num- 
ber of the blessed. There remain- 
ed a still greater victory for him to 
obtain ; that which was to procure 
him his insertion in the calender of 
samts,m other wordp, his cannom- 
satiOT. But the ascent to this high- 
est deeree of celestial honours was 
difiBciJt and tedious. There were 
a multitude of obstacles to be over- 
come. It was necessary that a cen- 



tury should elapse from the death 
of him for whom that signal &vQur 
was solicited ; and it must be con- 
fessed, that in these latter times ca- 
nonisations were become very ua- 
frequent. None had licen pronouoo- 
ed since the pontificate of Clement 
XIII. As to that of the blessed La- 
bre, it is more than probable, thai 
it is adjourned to an indefinite pe- 
riod. 



REMARKABLE OCCURRENCES. 



HUDSOK, xov. 22. 
On Wednesday morning- 23 
wacKons arrived in this city from 
Kew-Lebanon, loaded wiA provi- 
sions, ficc- with three hundred dol- 
lars in specie, as a donuUon frt>m 
3^ sm^ company of Bchevers, 
C^^calWShakers) of New- 
i^on and Hancock,^to Ae cor- 
J^on a^ N^^-York, for the 
S'lief of the poor of that aty. 
While werecord with pleasure wch. 

an instanceof UbeVaiity, we foi-bear 
e^ressingourfeelingsonthe<MDca. 
«on. The deed speaks for Itself; 
and every person acquainted with 
S^eiSlJS^itatious character of the 
-rencrous donors, must be sensible 
that it was not done for praise sake. 
But we have strong motives for 
m^tk^ingsuchadeed. We wish 
toXw the proud rich man an ex- 
ample wor^y of bis imitation. 
Therefore,if hehas cars to hear 
let him " go and do kkewise. 

The above mentioned donaUon, 
we understand, consisted of the 
following articles •.— 

300 Dollars, specie*, 
953lb.Pork, 
1951 lb. Beef, 
1744 lb. Mutton, 
1185 lb. Ryo Flour, 
52 Bushels Rye, 

* Exclusive of 26 dollars 50 cents, 
intended for the payment of expense 
of freighting the articles from ww» 
place to New York. 

VOL* X.o.KO. ly- 



34 do. Carrots, 
2 do. Beets, 
2do.DryedApplcs, 

24 do. Beans, 
179 do. Poutos, 

Crossed the PWladelphia Middle 
Ferry Bridge, in one week end- 
ing 27th Kovember, 180J. 
124 Pleasure carriages, 
529 Chairs, 

527 Heavy loaded waggons, 
91 Emp^ waggons, 
237 Light market waggons, 
517Loadedciirts, 
In all 6004 horses. 
Taken from the account kept by 
the toll gatherer. 

ELIZABETH-TOWN, NOV. 28. 

Some seamen, on board the Bri- 
tish frigate* that lays at the qua- 
antine ground in York Bay, late- 
ly concerted the following stra- 
tagem to make their escape :— 
It was agreed, at a certain hour ot 
the night, that the best swimmer 
among the number, should fall 
overboard, and drift down with 
the tide as fast as he could, crying 
help I help ! and the others wcra 
to stand ready to man the bout to 
pick him up , but by the by, thvy 
took care to let him get a good dis- 
tance from the ship bclnrc tliry 
reached him, and then shaped their 
coui^se for I.onr; Island, where they 
landed in safety, and made their cj*- 
capc. I'Ue gunner huppeuing to 
11 



918 



HSMAUXABLS OCCURnEKCES. 



jump into tlie boat with them, and 
after pickinf^ up the man, disco- 
vered thei* ntention, attempted to 
hall the si*,, upon which they 
threw him down, gagged him, and 
■when they got to die shore, pushed 
him and tlie tx>at adrift. 

Nine hundred American vessels, 
from 39 to 200 tons, and having up- 
wards of 9000 persons on board, 
were engaged in the Labrador fish- 
cry the present year, which proved 
uncommonly abundant ! ! ! ! 

A Dwarf is exhibiting at Balti- 
more, who is stated to be twenty- 
four years old, and only thirty in- 
ches high. He is said to possess 
all the faculties of the mind, and to 
be conversant and well informed on 
most subjects ; was bom in Meck- 
lenbui'gh county, Virginia. 

On the night of the 2nh of Octo- 
ber last, a certain Mr. James How- 
ard in conjunction with myself, 
were travelling down the Ohio ri- 
ver, ^ith a nunilx:r of negroes, 
bound to the Natchez ; unfortunate- 
ly some of the negro men meditited 
the sanguine intention of murder- 
ing us as wc were lying asleep, and 
accordingly attempted to carry 
their object into execution ; one of 
them witli an axe and another with 
a loaded whip, terminated the life 
of the said Mr. Howard ; I fortu- 
nately got overboard, receiving a 
stroke on my wrist, and swam 
ashore. The fellows were all caught 
and committed to jail in Kenawha 
county, two of whom have received 
sentence of death, the others have 
been ordered to be hired out, and 
will be detained until the friends of 
Mr. Howard come forward. 

Staten Island, Woodbridge, Pis" 
cataway, September 27th, 1803. 
About 9 o'clock P. M. an earth- 
<iuake was heard and felt in those 
parts. The sound seemed to pro- 
ceed from the west or north-west, 
and to pass off to tlie east or south- 
east: It very sensibly shook the 
houses for the space of half a mi- 
nute or more. 



On Monday night of the 34di idt, 
the following prisoners broke out of 
the Portland gaol : Richard Flood, 
Samuel Thompson, • Charles Cane, 
Stephen Hawkins, and George Pe- 
ters. 

On Monday night, a house at 
Beverly, occupied b>- Mr. A. Stone's 
family, and three other fiunilies, 
was destroyed by fire The pro- 
gress of the fiames was so rapid, 
that tlie people of the house had 
only time to escape, without clothes, 
from their beds. 

NKW INVENTION. 

Jedediali T. Turner, of Cazeno- 
via, in the state of New York, has 
obtained a patent for the inventjoa 
of a THRESHING MACHINE, 
upon entirely new, and very plain 
principles, calculated for the thre^- 
ing all kinds of grain, from wheat 
to beans, peas, and com. The 
machine is turned by horses, oxen, 
wind or water, and tlie operation 
is performed by whipping, so that 
smutty grain is not broken, as is 
the case with many other modes of 
threshing ; it will thresh from 50 
to 150 bushels per day, and clean 
it at the same time. The expense 
of building the machine, wiU not 
generally exceed 40 or 50 dollars. 
The Patentee intends selling the 
patent right on the most reasonable 
terms. 

NEW.TORK, SEPT* B- 

On Sunday afternoon, between 
the hours of 4 and 5 o'clock, as a 
beautiful female child of the late 
Mr. Samuel Levy, aged some- 
thing more than four years, was 
standing at the corner of Broad 
and Friend-streets, a chair drove 
fiiriously out of Friend-street, and 
before die infant could get out of 
its way, the wheel passed over its 
body, and in consequence of the 
bruises it received, died about 9 
o'clock the same evening. It may 
be recollected that Mr. Levy was 
drowned on his passage last year, 
from New- York to iVlbany, liuving 
been knocked overboard by the 



XBMAAitABLE OCCUHaENCES. 



31^ 



bo6m erf the Teasel. These two 
melancholy accidents leave the sur- 
viving; widow and mother in a state 
of distress wUidi can be better con- 
ceived tiian described* 

On Saturday evening, the 12th 
ihstant, Chilberry House, the ele- 
gant seat of th^ late James PhiHipS) 
^sq. in Hartfol^d county, Maryland, 
was entirely consumed. By the 
bursting of a chimney then ^n fire, 
tiiat destructive element was in- 
stantaneously communicated to 
every part of the roof, and in less 
than two hours, that extensive edi- 
fice, occupying nearly one hundred 
and fifty feet in front, was razed 
to the ground* 



Mr. Jodn Bacon, of Colchester, 
New-London county, Connecticut, 
at his decease some time ago, left 
property to the aitiount of thirty 
tiiousand dollars, to be appropriat- 
ed as a fiind for the erection and 
support of an academy. This aca- 
demy has been built, and was open- 
ed on Tuesday the 1st instant, for 
the reception of students, under 
the direction of John Adams, A. 
yrM. late of Plainfield Academy, 
principal. The buiicting is of brick, 
75 feet by 34, and three stories 
hi^h, in a pleasant and eligible situ- 
ation, on the new turnpike road 
from New-London to Hartford, in 
a neighbourhood where living is 
cheap, and the society respectable* 



MARRIAGES AND DEATHS. 



SIARRIAGKS. 

December 16. Charleston....Cap- 
tain J. Stiles to Mrs. M. S. Wilkon- 
son. 

——23. Newtown, N.Jersey.... 
S. W. Fisher, Esq. to Miss S. W. 
Cooper. 

»— 31. Baltimore......Jerome 

Bonaparte, youngest brother to the 
first consul, to Miss E. Patterson, 
daughter of William Patterson, Esq. 
merchant, of that city. 

^-— Philadelphia....Mr. J. Cou- 
Ion to Miss H.. Armstrong. 

Mr.LabanHilltoMiss 

A. Dawson. 

^— Captain S. Crosswell 

to Miss M. Watt. 

January — , 1804. Athens, Ver- 
mont....Mr. Silas Chaplin, aged 15, 
to Miss Susaima Powers, aged 13. 

— 7. Captain P. Geyer, 

aged . 62, to Miss Polly Sancry, 
aged 14. 

, — ., Greenwich, Connecti- 
cut.. ..Mr. Z. Lewis, editor of the 
New-York Commercial Advertiser, 
and Spectator, to Miss S. Nitchie. 

^—12. Philadelphia....Captain 
J. Coffin to Mrs. Adams. 

——19. Haddam,Connecticut.... 
Mn R. Keene, of Providence, to 



Miss H. Rowen. The parties were 
strangers on Saturday, and were 
man and wife on Sunday evening. 

-«-.- 20. Philadelphia....Mr. J. 
Neale, principal of the young ladies 
academy, to Miss C. Psdmer. 

„ -J — Mr. J. Brown, of Bal- 
timore, to Miss A. Smith. 

— 21. Mr. B. Harbeson 

to Miss S. Lawlef, daughter of M. 
Lawler, Esq. 

23. Mr. C.P.Wayne 

to Miss M. Stokes. 

2r. Charle^ton....T.Pinck.- 

ney, jun. Esq. to Miss E» Izard. 



DEATHS. 

• Decembers. Charleston.... After 
a short, but severe illness, Miss Eliza 
Edwards,daughter of JohnEdwards, 
Esq. deceased. She had lately ar- 
rived from the north, in the full 
bloom of perfect health. The death 
so unexpected, of a person in all 
respects so excellent, so amiable, 
fills the mind with aw fill and afflict- 
ing emotions....Yet such have their- 
use....They admonish us (in this 
instance strikingly) that neither 
health, youth, virtue, beauty, nor 



929 



■ AKBIACeS AWD DXATVS. 



all the accomplishments which ren- 
der human creatures lovely can 
afibrd us a moment's assurance of 
life. And they stimulate us to virtue^ 
by allbrding us the comfortable a»- 
anrance, that if we lead an amiable, 
well spent life, however short, we 
are sure, when dead, to be embalmed 
with the tears of the virtuous. 

In the North Parish inWeymouth, 
on the 14di instant, Widow Mary 
Ripley, who had attained, (wsntine 
a few days,) the ace of one hundred 
and four years. Her existence was 
commensurate with one entire cen- 
tury, and a part of the preceding and 
following century. Till withm a 
very short time before her death she 
possessed very considerable bodily 
strength and alertness, a sense of 
hearing which wasremarkably good, 
and a distinctness of vision by which 
ahe could recognize people with 
whom she was acquainted, by the 
features of the fece, without the help 
of glasses. She early made a public 
profession of religion, and throup;h 
iier long life, gave evidence, that its 
doctrines and precepts were deeply 
engraven on her heart. A few days 
before her death sensible that the 
time of her departure was at hand, 
■he expressed a firm and stediast 
hope in the divine mercy, and a 
desire to depart and be with Christ. 
She died without a struggle or a 
groan, leaving a very numerous 
train of descendants ; the number, 
from their local situations cannot 
easily be ascertained. Blessed are 
the dead wfdch die in the Lord. 

New-York....Mrs.MaryBanckcr, 
wife of Christopher Bancker, Esq. 

January 22. r^cw-London....Mr. 
John Tom was found drownad in a 
well pond at Hebron. 

— 24. Chambersburg, Penn- 

?lvania.«..At the dwelling of the 
ranklin Repository, Mr. Benjamin 
January, bookbinder, late of the 
city of Philadelphia. 

24. Philadelphia....Caleb 

Jackson, an aged and respectable 
inhabitant of this city. ...formerly of 
Chester county. 

— 29. — Mrs. Margaret 
Harper, relict of Mr. Thoma 



harper, formerly of this cky, mer^ 
chant. 

New-York.......Miss Catharine 

Clarkson Rutherford, of the city of 
Trenton, in the 18th year of her 
age. 

January 14. Philade]ph]a.«...In 
the sixty-seventh year of his age, 
after a severe illness of twenty days, 
Mr. Zachariah Poulson^ printer, 
father of the editor of the American 
Daily Advertiser^ He was a native 
of Copenhagen, the metropolis of 
Denmark, and emigrated with his 
fether from thence to this city in the 
year 1749, where he has unce gene- 
rally resided, and has always been 
esteemed, by those who knew him, 
for his integrity, for the sincerity 
and ardor of his friendship, and for 
the amiable and inoffensive deport- 
ment. He bore his afiSiction with- 
out a murmer, and departed with 
that resignation and humble confi- 
dence which is inspired by religion 
and a consciousness of a well spent 
life. On the following day his re- 
mains were bom to the cemetry of 
the Moravian church, by respect* 
able brethren of the typographical 
art, and interred in the presence of 
a considerable number ot his friends. 

— - 14. Of a consumption, 

in the twenty-fourth year of his age, 
Mr. Charles Bush. As he was de» 
servedly respected while living, so 
he died lamented by all who had the 
pleasure of his acquaintance. 

When blooming youth is snatched 

away, 
By Death's resistless hand ; 
Our hearts* the mouraful tribute pay. 
Which pity must demand. 
While pity moves the rising sigh, 
O may this truth impressed 
With awful pow'r, I too most die ! 
Sink deep in every breast. 

John Tucker, a soldier in Ash- 
ford barracks. He died at 4 o'clock 
in the morning ; before twelve, on 
the same day, his widow was mar- 
ried to another man, and in the 
evening the hafifiy couple followed 
the cori)se of the first husband to 
the grave as diief mourners. 



THK 



LITERARY MAGAZINE, 



▲NO 



AMERICAN REGISTER. 



Vol. L] 



FJEBRUARY, 1804, 



[No. J 



CONTENTS. 



COMBfUNICATIONS. 

page. 

Robinson Crusoe 323 

Fame 326 

Cui Bono ? 327 

The Culture of Cotton 329 

Anecdotes from my Port Folio. . . 331 
Memoirs of Carwin the Biloqoist 332 

Critical Notices.... No. IV 336 

On the Salubrity of Warm Rooms 341 
Agricultural £Bsays....No. 1 343 

REVIEW. 
The Life of Cowper 345 

POETRT.».ORIGINAL. 
Invocation of the Spirit of Poesy 348 

SELECTED. 
The Winter Traveller 349 

SELECTIONS. 

Account of the Re-appearance of 
Sicard, Teacher of the Deaf 
aodDumb in Paris 350 



P»g«- 
Extracts from the correspondence 

of an American in France. . . . 353 
On the use of the words *< Shall** 

and ••Will" 355 

Biographical Sketch of Louis of 

Bourbon, Prince of Conde .... 357 

The Man in the Iron Mask 366 

Memoirs of Dr. John Moore ..... 369 

Character of Mr. Burke 374 

Picturesque View of London .... 376 
Anticipation of Major Lewis's 

Journal • 37^ 

Anecdote of General Lee iM 

Account of a Fire Ball 378 

Meteoric Stone 379 

History of Philip DeUwyn iM 

Biographical Memoirs of Doctor 

Darwin 384 

Whence arises the Diversity of 

Opinion ? 388 

Extraction of Sugar from indige- 
nous Plants 393 

Remarkable Occurrences 396 



PUBUSHED BY 

JORif COVRAB & CO. VHILABBLVHIA | M. & J. CONBAO & CO. BALTIMORB* 
BAPIN, COWRAD & CO. WASHINOTOB CITY; SOMBRVBLL h CONBAD9 
PBTBBSBURC; BON8AL, CONBAD & CO. NOBrOLK; BBBKABD DOBBZM, 
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CHARLBSTOB, 8. C. 

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1804. 



THE 



LITERARY MAGAZINE, 



AMD 



AMERICAN REGISTER. 



No. 5.] 



FEBRUARY, 1804. 



[Vol, L 



FOR THE LITERARY MAGAZINE. 



A STUDENTS DIARY......NUMBER IV. 



mOBIKSOK CRUSOE. 

iHIS eTening; was a most unwel- 
come one. The weather would not 
mflfer me to go abroad, and I had 
planned bushiess abroad of the most 
agreeable nature. At home there 
was no emplojrment or amusement, 
lor which 1 had any relish. ... I took 
my seat, therefore, by the fire, in the 
most irksome and impatient mode 
imaginable, and after sitting an half- 
hour away in listless musing and 
fruitless regrets, betook myself, at 
last, to my book-case. As it con- 
tained nothing new, I went thither 
in the dark, determined to bestow 
an hour on the first book on which 
my hand should acpdentally light. 

The volume, thus taken up at 
random, proved to be Robinson 
Crusoe ; and, agreeably to my pre- 
vious resolution, I began the perusal 
of it. I received this book, as a pre- 
sent, when a child of ten years old, 
^ud read it with all the raptures 



which it usually affords to chUdren. 
Twenty years have since elapsed* 
and during that time, it has laia 
quietly in my book-case. Number- 
less times have I ran over my books 
in search of something to beguile a 
lonely hour. ^^ Robinson Crusoe,'' 
have I said, as my eye glanced over It, 
*^ that's stale. I have ransacked the 
boweb of that long ago. Besides, 
it is a tale only fit for children." 
Now, however, I bc(|pin my task 
with desperate resolution ; but very 
soon did 1 discover sufficient rea- 
sons for continuing it in the book 
itself. Every thing wa» n«^ ^ we. 
Either the particulars had been en- 
tirely forgotten, or they appeared 
to me in a light entirely new, and 
suggested reflections which had 
never before occurred, and which, 
indeed, could not possibly occur to 
the raw and unexperienced imagi- 
nation of a child. I never read a 
work which appeared before me 
robed in so much novelty and siogu- 



324 



X STUDXVTf DIAftTM.tirVMBXft IT. 



larity u this work now wears. I 
know of none, whose plan is, in any 
degree, similar to it, and which has 
more importance and dignity. I no 
k>nger see in it, the petty adven- 
tures of a shipwrecked puuii the 
recreations of a boyish fenoy i bat 
the workings of a mmd, left to abso- 
lute and unaccustomed solitude ; and 
a picture of the events by which 
the race of man is dispersed over 
the world^ by which desert regions 
are colonized, and the foundations 
laid of new and civilized communi- 
ties. 

l*he felicity with which the story 
is expanded..Mthe exquisite judg- 
ment displayed in giving conduct 
and feelings to the hero of the tale^ 
suitable to his education, character, 
and situation are truly admirable, 
and ftmn a subject for the medita- 
tion of the strongest and most intel- 
ligent minds. No quality is more 
conspicuous in this narration than 
geniuMi or the pftwer which supplies 
the place of esqierience ; and images 
to itself, the feelioes flowing from 
situations in which tne author nerer 
was, and perhaps never could be 
actually placed* 

This talc is said to have been 
founded on the adventures of an 
Alexander Selkirk \ but if Selkirk's 
story be truly related by Sir Richard 
Sted, it appears merely to have 
suggested to Defoe his plan, and not 
to nave supplied him with materials. 
There is nothix\g in common between 
the real and fictitious characters, 
but die mere circumstance of pasa- 
Ing some time, alone, upon a desert 
island. In all other points, their 
destuues and characters are not only 
difierent, bat opposite. 

It is somewhat remarkable, that 
Robinson's adventures are exceed- 
ingly trite, or absurdly marvellous, 
before his shipwreck, and after his 
departure from his island. Capti- 
vity, in Barbary, was a favourite 
theme with tlie &bulists of ttuit age, 
and as this misfortune frequently 
befel the mariners of Christian 
Europe, it is surprising that inven- 
tion, when it expatiated on this sub- 
ject, has ever been so barren and 



I should like to aee M 
edition of Robmson Crusoe, in whicii 
nothing was retained but what was 
connected with the island. 

I begin to soqiect that aome die* 
advantaKea^fiaefronv^eadingvalo. 
atatebookaataifeT^«arlya|e« A 
child can comprehend very imper- 
fectly the feelings and conduct oC 
men ; and though the young and old 
of the same species most ahraja 
have something in common, and 
therefore every narrative in winds 
mn| perform a part, must be, ia 
pome degrtct iattfUgible to men oC 
all ages, yet the conceptions of the 
young are always crude and errone* 
ous; and experience proves, that 
Hie nna mspv^saoWQ sveiMNvn^ 
obstinate. As the preseiit.agahaa 
fumishednuniberle8sbQQkaex{ffcas» 
Iv designed for the young, in which 
tne characters, reasonings, and inci- 
dents are adapted to their oompre* 
hension and scmak^ty, it n inex-^ 
cuseable to tie them down to worlca 
suited to a riper age. 

Henceforth^ when any of my 
fHends are particularly auxious m 
something new and interesting ia 
the literary way, I shall feoammend 
them to Robinson Crusoe, provided 
tiiey h»ve not read the hook afeace 
their fifteenth year. 

FaiSMBSBir. 

How many harangues have been 
delivered upon fric&dsMp fteoi oHI 
Cicero's speeches to his friends «•- 
der a plane tree, te my friend 
T......'s last nig^t by my fire-aideu 

T...M., indeed, is no servUe eopyial^ 
for his notiotts of friendship ere d^ 
rectly the reverse of Cicero's...* 
According to Jack, this paettoo^ 
which all tlie world have cembttied 
to extol as a virtue, is no better then 
a specious vice. It is merely fltaetif 
the innumerable forma whi<^ s^f> 
love assumes. He measures every 
man's affccti^ lor another by the 
gratification which his pride ee> 
sumes. Tom loves Will merely 
because Will shews respect for 
Tom and interest in his coeeem^ 
Tom values and esteems Willy be- 



▲ STVBBSTS 9XAmV« 



Stf 



enae Win Yilftet wd 
We naUmllf love hoDOiir and di»- 
tiBctkn; and he who flstters us bf 
bomafe, v1k> makes our repotatkai 
aad interest fais owb, will be sure to 
fjhiain our fncnddlup* Wnen that 
bDOtti^ is vidkdrawn..«»when that 
sjnnpathy has ceased* we sink not 
Merely into indifierence ; bat |>ass 
into the adrevse dement of anger 
and revenge* One instance of neu- 
trali^caAcdbiaUformergood offices 
^••ovr pride weald never have been 

BMnlified if it had never been flat* 

A. — ■» 

KTCfl* 

To this remark) I had only to re* 
peat lack's own words and admit 
the trath of them—.that we love 
•Iftrrt because they love «« : for if 
Ibis he true, there is genuine bene- 
volence in him who begins to love ; 
and thoag^ vft may have no claim 
to disinterestednesst those who pro- 
vokeeiir afiection by giving us their *s 
gratuitonsly, have surely a title to 
that praise. 

From thisconduuon^ Jack could 
easily escape^ by averring that all 
gratustous triendship, was !kelf-inte- 
restandhypocrisy, and assumed for 
the sake of some advantage to be 
gsbedbyit: I took some pains to 
remove this opiniouy merely for 
lack's sake ; for surely a man, who 
harbours such opinions, must want 
one of the chief sources of human 
cmisolation and felicity. 

The truth is, that the question 
about the disinterestedness of our 
passions, properly relates merely 
to their origin* The means by 
which the seeming opposition be« 
tween theorists have been reconcil- 
ed, have been the notion of a pro- 
gress in our feelings ; in consequence 
of which, that which begins in self- 
ishness, terminates in generosity. 

There is surely a capacity in 
human nnture for loving and adroir- 
hig ifltellcctiuil and moral excel- 
leuce* No excellence is more be- 
witching than tliat constitution of 
miod which impels men to love ex- 
cellence for its own sukc« and with- 
out re^diad to their own interest. 
When ttils disposition i« manifested 
by a man, it can hardly fall of cxcit«> 

VOL. 1....N0.V. 



ing die attachment of a i_ 
heart; and if this dispositioa selects 
ourselves as the objects of its lU'dDur, 
what wander that we love it the 
more on that account ? 

In their sennlulity to exoeIlence» 
and capacity for loving it, men dif« 
fer from each other by numberieas 
gradations. Thereis a scale, whose 
divisions would puzsle a Newton's 
arithmetic, to count from him who 
values others merely as they are 
instrumental to his own wealthy 
fame, or power, up to him who pro* 
portions his regardexactly to intrin* 
sic merit. That the world at large 
furnishes numerous examples of the 
lowest, the highest, and of every 
intermediate degree in this scalcy 
cannot be reasonably doubted. The 
numbers we assign to each division^ 
affords, in some degree, a criterion 
of our own character, since we are 
extremely apt to make what we feel, 
and what tpe can do, the measure 
of oUier men's feelings and capa* 
city. 

To some men, the language of a 
kind and generous emotion is just as 
unintellig3>le as the terms of an 
Algebraic solution are to an uncul- 
tivated boor ( or a discant on the 
purturbation of the planets to a girl 
of thirteen ; or the dessection of i^ 
sunbeam into colonfic and calorific 
rays to oneb:)m blind : inlike manner 
there are, perhaps, a few, an happy 
few, who can as little comprehend 
those who love themselves only, and 
whose complacency for others is ex- 
cited by nothing but incense oflfored 
to their pride, or gratificfttions admi- 
nistered to their sensuality. 

There are many petty quesdons, 
in relation to this subject, that are 
always in discus^on. Thus, how 
of^en is it asked, whether friend- 
ship can subsist between more than 
two persons : whether, it can possi- 
bly subsist between man and woman: 
whether marriage does not dissolve 
all the ties of friendship : whether 
love for a woman add wings to our 
philantliiopy, or take them away « 
>vhether the ties of kindred be, In 
their own nature, distinct from the 
friendly sentiment. On all these 



tM 



A %tymwtrt% vtAar. 



t«bfects» tlie CMvemtiOtt of the 
seHoiit and inteUtgent ddi^itt to 
dwell, and iUustratknia and exam- 
ples are contkm^f mnldplyini^. 

My creed, on thk topiC) wanta 
much to make it absahite and oom- 
preheaaive ; but I beliere J an not 
arach In danger of contradiction in 
nnaintaining;^ that die number of 
those whom a man loFet, and the 
degree in which he loves them, 
depend, firal, i^xm the aflfectioiiate* 
■ess of his own teraper*M.a quality 
which nature must gtre, and ednca* 
tion must cherish; and seoondlyi 
on his o]^>ortunities of meeting wi&i 
smd knowing those who are excel* 
Itnt, according to his notions of 
caccettence* As no two persons can 
present themselves to our iriew ex« 
actly in the same light, mther in 
kind, or in quantity, every man must 
have hb i^referaUe object* Mmi 
and wife, when they love and esteem 
eochother, have, in general, motives 
and incentives to affection peculiar 
to that relation, and far stronger 
than are incident to any other ; but 
this is not always so : the cement, 
arising from character and situation 
is frequently as strong, or stronger, 
between a married person and a 
stranger, as between wife and hus- 
band* And though,from the nature 
of a hmnan being, who cannot be 
everywhere at once, and cannot 
think on two subjects at a time, hb 
degrees of affoction must be unequal 
tawards difierent persons ; but the 
Rumbo' of beloved objects, and the 
degree in which each is loved, as 
well as. their characters, depends 
upon the quality of his understand* 
lag, and his heart* A man may love 
his wife, or brother, better than any 
body else; and yet may love his wife, 
or brother very little. Another man 
loves his wife or brother best, but 
he loves a thousand others a great 
deal* So much, indeed, that his 
ficelings towards the least worthv of 
tiie thousand^ and his efforts for his 
benefit, may fer exceed what the 
majority of mankind commcmly feel 
and do fer their wives or brothers* 
He who estimatea the characters of 
nhcn mostjustly, b the wisest man 



nmnher wcrtfay of afibctim, JsliMi 
mostfertnBate«**«he who lovci loa^ 
Uber^, andbraefits aoat an^ 
the objects of Ms love, aecores to 
himself hb own reward in ^« veiy 
act of loving a]id:bencitiBg, wd as 
the happiest of mankind. 

I have been amuaed Uh4mpy\ff^km 
exact and mimite semfciny mids 
the condnot of an abscure-mao iwa 
undergone, from some €»f the noit 
respectable meaobers of tfaeomnmu- 
nity* The aid^ect of diis acdntefi 
b an Irishman who arrhrcd in tht 
oountiT ten weeks affo, and wiw 
Uxik hk pasaagc, on hiaivlttm, aht 
weeks afterwards. HeisacoaaMMi 
man,of nameless orig^ andobacofv 
walk. He got into service aa a derti 
in a retail shop, eat hbaoeab at fl» 
nearest tavern, and hatbonved at 
night in the garret of anhome with* 
out any other tenant, and where he 
was si^ered to sleep, menifto gftv# 
security to the premises* Theman 
was a quiet, sober, piod to g , ami 
unsocial animal, who shewed kb 
fece in a certain corDer,at a oeital* 
hour ; filled up die oohmms of akdger 
with figuses* How few, and hoir 
feint are the traces which are Idk 
behiadby tlieexiatencefor«en weekv 
of such a man* How quickly wf 
ihesetraceaoblitcvatedfinim memo- 
ry* fiy how small a motiber of per- 
sons, and lor howahoH a peried^ 
would his dq>arture be feDofwed bv 
the words****"* Where b Mr* mAor 
tP^caUAimt* ««Heisf;oneaway.»* 
Amidst the erouda of a gi«eaicicy^ 
of passengers in a buqr street, what 
little momentary space did thb ordf * 
nary figure engrom in the «y« of iho 
ebserver 

Very diffsrent,heweTer, haabem 
the fete of poor M«Coy* Afewdi^ 
after hb departure, above t w m t y 
persons were anxiously and botSSf 
employed in ascertaining hb Sttaa- 
tion, and the last acta of hbretf<> 
deace among us, as if he w«f« tfone 
very great personaee. Hb name 
was inquired into; hb hand-writing 



A STVOKHTS BKA^T. 



QQSr 



^AffiiUy inveskig^ed; bis lodginj^ 
roooi} aBd every dark comer of the 
house he occapied, were ransacked ; 
Ilia dress, voice, stature, and general 
ttiamiorSfWereaccuratel y ex;imined. 
The mCftttraDsieut and frivolous dia- 
logves with those around him, were 
kboriously recalled to remembrance 
and compared with each othe r« All 
this ouiiosity arose from the simple 
chrcttmstance of M^Coy *sputtinginto 
hill pocket, before his departure, a 
a ttw more liundreds than were 
4ftrictly his due ; and he thus become 
m peraotiage of far morelo^ortance 
t&An his mother ever dreamed of* 

Oreat misfortunes^or great cri mes 
are inevitable roads to notoriety. 
la Ea^and and America, where 
nawBpapers and other periodical 
yrorksyfty about in such numbers, and 
penetrate into every the remotest 
aad obscurest corner, the history of 
a worthless individual, whom nobody 
knew in his life time, shall, after his 
dsi^ be an object of curiosity to 
miUioiiB. One, who died of ^miine 
and neglect, in the darkest garret 
of the obscurest alley in London, 
•haUy twelve months afterwards, be. 
In aU his habits and concerns, iati- 
meiely known to the inhabitants of 
lamaicay Canada, Bengal, and Ken* 
tecky« 

Who, that has read or conversed 
within the last twenty years, is not 
fsmilaar with the name of Dr, Dodd i 
Elwes is quite a proverb, wherever 
Uie English language is read« And 
ao tiring poet, or statesman,, has 
balf as i^any to inquire after and 
talk abotit, as George Barringtoa. 
Kathing, indeed, is easier than to 
acquire iame ; that is, to obtain the 
privilege of being talked about very 
much, and by a great many. Dodd, 
Qwes,«ndBarriugton^§ ability may, 
perhiQis, be termed infamy ; but the 
tf«ilh is, tiiat the memory of Elwes, 
is noit generally pursued with either 
ahborrenca or cantempt. He is 
surreyed chiefly as a singularity or 
^■"odigy ; and tliere are lines of mag* 
nuiimty and genius ia Barringtoni 
w^kkh laake him, on the whole, re« 
garded with admiratioa and good 
vilU 



The cdebrity of such mca is, or 
ought to be, as much allied to praise 
as that of many authoi's and heroes, 
whose nfimes enjoy the veneration 
of the multitude. In bestowing 
fame, the tendency of mens actions 
to good, are little considered, and 
those who merely go about doing 
good all the d:iys of their life, are 
fated to obscurity ; or at least, come 
in for the smallest share, in the disi- 
tribution of renown* Great powers 
of invention, great knowledge, or a 
great command of the powers of 
others, are the recommexidations to 
glory ; and these, exerted with no 
moral or l)eneficient purpose what- 
ever, but merely to gratuy our own 
caprice, to elude poverty, amass 
wealtli, or beguile the tediousness of 
leisure, liave given to the temple of 
£une almost all its inhabitants. 



GUI BONor 

My new astronomical acquaint- 
ance was haranging my visitants 
(there were three besides himsclQ 
this evenuig on the history of those 
stones which are supposed to have 
fallen from the upper regions of tlie 
atmosphere* He stated, with great 

greci8ion,the various modes adopted 
y ingenious men, of accounting for 
tliis wonderful shower, and took the 
trouble to detail a mathematical 
confutation of those who maintain 
that these masses, are thrown by 
volcanic explosion from the moon. 
These details excite the liveliest 
interest in all present, except E[. m*.» 
who wound up the conversation 
with the ingenious exclamation oi 
CuiBono? What matters it whence 
they fall, or whether they fall at all / 
What is the use of such inquiries? 
There can hardly be a more absurd 
or unseasonable question introduced 
than this, Cui bono f There is hardly 
a surer indication of a narrow ana 
short-sifted mind. Almost ever>' 
man has his favourite pursuit, and 
while enthusiastically attached to 
that, holds in soveftgn contempt 
every other topic of inquiry. When 
lie curves others busy in a path 



389 



A STVDXVTt MAAT. 



i 



diflferentfroa hii owii,he is irresist- 
ibly tempted to exclaim*.** WImt i$ 
ihetue qf it? Not re6ecting; that 
othen Ittve jnst as good a riplit to 
arraign the UiefalneBs and dig^iity 
of hi9 pvrtmt, and that every one^ 
"Who has a speodative path in which 
he delights to tread, has the same 
answer to niake**.*/ir^/M«rf me* 

The mere Chymisit, when he lis- 
tens to the political tbeorist,is asto- 
nished any reasonable being should 
entertain a momentary regard for 
such contemptible objecu. The 
dabbler in newspaper and party 
poKtics turns from the hicubrationa 
of Lavoisier with disgust, and takes 
up the Gaaette in search of wme^ 
thing U9efuim He who spends his 
life in settling the true reading, and 
elucidating the true meaning of 
Theocritus or Chaucer, or in trans- 
lating Milton or Grey into greek, 
makes scornful faces at him who b 
busy in examining the great points 
ei morbed anaiomy^ or the form and 
texture of the body when afiected 
'With disease* The poet who muses 
all night long over elegy and sonnet, 
despises him who&tigiies his brain 
with determiningthe directions and 
degrees of velocity with which wa- 
ter flows from a round hole, at the 
bottom of a cask* A collector of 
prints and paintings wonders tiiat 
shame does not prevent his neigh* 
hour from roaming about the fields 
to pluck weeds, catch beetles, or 
pick up stones* Thus each enthu- 
siast is absorbed in wonder that all 
mankind are not penetrated witii 
the charms of his own idol, and 
that any reasonable being should 
value what he despises* 

There is doubtles something that 
serves as a criterion of utility, by 
which the comparative vahie of all 
speculative studies, (for to them 
my present observations are confin- 
ed) may be measured* Among dif- 
ferent pursuits, some produce a 
jleasure more intense, more last- 
ngk and cfTccting greater numbers 
than others ; but this truth will 
scarcel;, justify any one in ridicul- 
ing or condemning his neighbour^ 



ir 



for in the first plaoe, tiiere Is httt 
one out of many thousands, whidi 
is best, and consequently all but one 
is liable to some d>jection* In the 
next place, there is none among all 
the thousand, wholly destitute of 
use and benefit, for whatever agree* 
ably employs the human foc n loes in 
■o for good: so far beneficiaL 

True wisdom requires us to re« 
joice that ourneighbour is not worse 
emplo>ed than he is, since a pur- 
suit which we may deem frivoious) 
is still better than the objects whidi 
engross the seal of the majority of 
mankind, and candour will restrain 
ear censure when we reflect that 
very probably, our own porsaita 
cannot be more easily defended 
from the chargeof frivoloua or hurt* 
fol than our neighbours, and thnt, 
if they reaUy possess advanti^;cs 
which others want, our attachment 
was not excited by the perception 
of their superior dignity or UGefttl» 
ness but sprung up by accident. 
That we embraced it for exactly 
the same selfiish reason that infhi- 
enced our neighbour, because sonn 
fatuitous association disposed us to 
find pleasure in it* 

These are sufficient reasons why 
the votaries of different sciences- 
should not dispise each other* H 
well becomes an enlightened vaiuAf 
however, to entertain curiosity for 
every kind of truth, and to GonV«l 
by the alchemy of a strong under* 
standing, the basest matter into 
gold* buch a one will perceive the 
kindred tics which coanept all the 
objectoof human knowledge* He 
will be everywhere at hoase* He 
will extract useful and delightfol 
information from a tieatiae upon 
heraldry s or a catalogue of Scottish 
kings, who reigned before thefttiod i 
or a volumeof year>book8: or one 
of Wordsworth's pastorals or Mn- 
ria Regina Roche's novels* Such n 
one can listen with equal interest 
to Rumford while he expatiates on 
the proper form of atea-kettie, and 
to Herschel while he decypherstbc 
Galaxy, and finds valuaUe know* 
ledge in each of them* 



CULTVAE or QOTTOV* 



399 



J^fir the Literary Magazine. 

THE CULTURE Of COTTOV. 

Mr. EniiOR) 

CoTToH has become of late 
years, one of the most considerable 
WHirces of our national wealth* It 
rontribates to this end, not only as 
an article of exportation, but of 
importation. It enridies or main- 
tains, not only a nnmerous class of 
cultivators, who produce the raw 
material, but a considerable num«> 
ber of merchants, who import the 
Bumufactured article ; of shop-keep- 
ers, who vend it throughout the 
oountiy, in smaller proportions ; 
widof a third class, principally fct 
males, who are employed with the 
scbsara and the needle, in model* 
linr it into* dress. 

It is a question whether all the 
cotton stuns annually consumed in 
the United States, do not fall short 
of the quantity raised and exported 
from a single state. South Caro- 
lina, daring the last two or three 
years, has supplied a quantity, pro- 
bably double the consumption of all 
the states during the same period. 
Some curiosity, dierefore, respect- 
ing the history of so important a 
substance, may be expected in all 
intelligent minds, and the informa- 
don which I collected for my own 
use, may be equally acceptable to 
some of your readers. I shall be- 
gin with giving you some account 
of the mode of cultivating and pre- 
paring the raw matenaL 

It is only within about twenty 
years, that cotton has become a 
regular subject of ajfHculture in the 
United States. I'he congeniality 
of our soil and climate to this plant 
was long ago discovered, but the 
revolution, by unfettering our com- 
merce, and removing all impedi- 
ments to entcrprize, has occasion- 
ed our present eminence in this 
branch of trade andtillnge. 

Cotton is distinguished, like all 
4ither domesticated plants, (if I 
may use the expresson) by many 
minute varieties : Out the principal 
and usual distinctions consist in tlie 



colour of tha wool and the seed. 
The colour of the wocd is either a 
pale dusky yellow, commonly, 
though improperly, called nankeeuf 
or a snowy and brilliant white. The 
latter is again distinguished into 
two kinds, from the colour of its 
seed, the green seed, and the black 
aeed. The cottons likewise diftir 
from each other in the proportion- 
al produce ; in the period whidi 
they take to reach maturity : and, 
what is of most importance, in thb 
•tafiUy that is to say, in the length 
and tenacity of their fibres. That 
la the best cotton, or cotton of the 
best eta/lie^ vhich is reducible ta 
the finest, evennest, and strongest 
thread* 

The yellow, or nankeen cotton 
produces stuff of a stronger tex- 
ture than any other, but there is a 
reasonable prejudice in favour of 
the white, whose native hue is fiir 
the most beiiutiful, and which n 
susceptible of all sorts of dyes, llie 
black seed cotton, (or sea-ishnd, 
as it is termed in commerce) b 
the finest in iu coloar and staple^ 
of any cultivate I by us, and brings 
a propoitionable price at nnirket. 

The various kinds of cotton dif- 
fer not materially in the mode of 
cultivation. A dry soil, in which 
sand does not constitute a very 
large proportion,is well suited to this 
plant. The land, however, can- 
not be too rich, provided it be nol 
low and wet, Whatwer gltmnd 
is congenial to wheat and maize, is 
favourable to cotton, but the latter 
cannot bear the cold and storms to 
which the two former are insensi- 
ble. The torrid and the warmest 
part of the temperate zones, are 
the only climates that are suited to 
it, and though the more regular 
seasons of Europe allow it to be 
raised as far north as the forty-fifth 
degree of latitude, it is not culti- 
vated in China beyond the thirty- 
fifth, nor in North America beyond 
tlie thirty-eighth deg;ree. Its 
growth seems to requiie th«t a 
warm sutRmcr temperature i;hoold 
prevail, without any remarkable 
dbpi*oporticu between wetanddry. 



»» 



CtJLTirmE OF COTTDir* 



.for luitf the year, at least horn 
J^pril to Se])teinber tnchMivey in 
the northern hemisiihcrr. 

la tfie beginning of April, thie 
Jasd 18 broi^eu iip as usual by the 
plough, and divided mto two rowi, 
about five feet asander* These 
rows are iligiht trenches, which, 
viten the plant has appeared some- 
tine above the groimd, are rmised 
into ridges by the plough* 

TTbere are two modes of phmting 
the seed, one is to drop a certain 
momber of seeds into holeti, made 
eight or ten inches from each other. 
And this, though most laborious^ 
■aves much subsequent trouble, and 
•ocasioM iMich less waste of the 
seed than the other mode, which 
consists in dropping the seed unin- 
tcrniptedlralongthe trench. The 
auperihious growth thatis thus pro* 
Asced, is thinned by the hand* The 
leas promising shoots are plucked 
0ut| and by successive pickings, the 
crop is so fhr tliinned, as to leave 
intervals of ten or twelve inches 
between the stalks* These inter* 
vnlsYnay be enlarged according to 
the htxurinnce of the plant, and 
nny be extended, in the richest 
aoib and finest seasons, to two, 
three, and four lbet» One bushel 
•f seed in tiie latter mode of plant* 
ing, is required lo a» acre* 

The hoe is constantly employed 
to subdue the weeds, and no part 
•f the field can be neglected with 
impunity longer than a fortnight* 
Little hills are formed round the 
•elected plants, to strengthen the 
stalk, and avert the rain. In Sep* 
tember, when all the pods are 
formed which can be expected, the 
temaining blossoms arc cut ofl^ that 
the sun and air may exert their in* 
fiuence the better on what remains* 

In two months after planting, the 
blossoms make their appearance, 
and continue to succeed each other 
till arrested by the frost. In warm- 
er climates thaA curs, the last of 
these blossoms is not matured into 
a pod till November or December, 
but as frost generally commences 
throughout the states as early as 
October, and as the cold destroys 



all the blossoms and imperfect pod% 
this month and September are gen* 
erall)' tlie harvest months in Caro- 
lina and Georgia, for cotton. 

I need hardly mention that thft 
cotton-blossom is succeeded, like 
UmU of the pea and b e an , by a pod 
or seed-vessel, divided into difler* 
ent cells, which oootain seeds bedr 
ded in a fine silky weoL Nodnag 
xemaina after the pod is cxuppicttly 
ripened and burst, bat to acpamta 
this wort (thescedadlmiDgto it) 
from the pod, and aterwarda tv 
separate the wool inm tibe taed* 
The first is doae bv tlie hand, tha 
pod beina left in the field. Sia^ 
poaads (ifseedoootton can be plaek* 
ed in a day by one hand* Tlie aa- 
cond procasa baa somediaea baca 
effected in the same wa^, but ma* 
chinery of some kind is so easily 
adapted lo tho puipose, that the 
mere hand no longer performa it^ 
where the crop is cnasidrrahhy 

The prodaoe of an acre variea 
ver>' much according to the soil and 
tiie season^ The Urgest crop of 
whidi 1 have aver heard, is Geor* 
gia or Carolina, has bees threa 
bandred and fifty pounds of deaa 
cotton per acre. The smallest pro* 
duce, when tliere is any crop at all, 
on ordinary lands, doe» not fiUl 
short of sfacty pounds per acre* 
From one to two hundred pounds 
must be considered as the middling 
produce, and from two to tfafrea 
hundred as an excellent harvest* 

Machines for cleaning the cotton 
from the seed, are ciiUed gins* 
The simplest of these is called a 
foot gin, being kept in motion by 
the foot acUng'on a treadle, in the 
manner of a lathe^ or spinning- 
wheel. They consist of two sroaU 
rollers, which move in opposite 
ways, the circumference of each 
being so near each other as to admit 
the wool, but exclude the seed* 
Each of these is managed by ona 
slave, who seta the rollers in nib- 
tion, while he feeds them with cot- 
ton, and by tliis means will produca 
about twenty^five pounds a day* 

A number of these machines ia 
somcUmes subjected to a conuaoa 



CULTXTKB Oir COTTOlT. 



3SI 



Tf by vwftnk of intenncdidlic 
^[[teC(l*«or]i& These are * oaMed 
borr^ |^n% and are moTed by oaceri 
orwasitr. By this machineryy ftDin 
tcti to tiiifty foot-gtns are set in 
aKvtiea at once, each being fed by 
a alavcy and the ivorlL periormei 
is in p«>portioii to the aumber of 
these. 

The most complete andpoweiu 
U of ^ese madiines are called 
sav-ipaaj their apparatua beia^ 
adapted to diaengage the seed more 
efibctuaHyi while at the same time 
it nearly siu>pHe8 itadf^ One per- 
aon will anffiee fin* a gin of this kind, 
wIMvcieana eight hundred pounda 
»day« 

Mo machinery hitherto invented 
win entir^y free the cotton from 
aH impurities. It must therefore 
andergo a new and careftil picking, 
before it is pot into bags. Cotton, 
which, when loose, occupies an 
enormous space in proportion to its 
wdght, is so violently compressed 
by means of screws into these bags, 
as to be almost as impenetrable as 
a board ) at the same time, such is 
file specific levity of cotton, that a 
cubic foot of it tlms compressed, 
shall not weigh more than twelve 
or fifteen pounds. 

The mode of cultivation, and 
the manufacture of cotton in China 
and India, are very little known 
beyond the limits of th^se countries. 
It is natural to be supposed that 
our arts in both these respects, 
might be very much improved by; 
a knowledge of the Indian and the 
Chinese arts : for any information 
on^ these interesting heads, it is 
vain to look into ancient or modem 
travellers. By some fatality or 
ether, the few who have traversed 
China, have fixed their eyes scarce- 
ly on a single object which descn^ed 
to be examined or descrilied. 

As to the advantages of cotton- 
planting, these are extremely* va- 
riable. The tide of commerce is 
influenced by the tide of war, and 
as the planter's profit depends upon 

S rices that are always fluctuating, 
le profit of one vear afifords no 
criterion of that of the next. X. 



I'or the Idterary^ Magazine* 

AVECDOTES, FKOH MY POIT ^ 
FOLIO. 

Philip de ViTgE was a weaL> 
thy citizen of Amiens, iq the four^ 
teenth century. Many straagci 
stories were current about hioi^ 
but the most ren^ar^abk are tlieaes 
He confined Umself to one pint of 
cold water, and half a pound of 
hard rye buiscuit. baked with tha 
bran, per day, from the thirty- 
seventh to the ninety-nintli year o£ 
his age. He divided thia into two 
equal portions, eating one at twelve 
o*clocL ^ night, and tlie otlier at 
twelve at noon. . He limited hit 
sleep to six hours on an hard boards 
walked in the opei> air in his garden 
two hours daily, and bestowed the 
rest of his time op solitary. study« 
In his dress, he was equally rigo^* 
rous, but no particulai*t respecting 
that dr his studies or employmenta, 
are recorded. One cannot but be 
desirous of knowing more of such 
a man, and of discovering tlie in- 
influence of such regimen and diet 
on his body and mind. His greaft 
age is a proof tliat this influence 
was salutary, and the ver>' late pe* 
riod of his life, at which he conv. 
menced ascetic is likewise a proof 
to the same purpose. This old 
gentleman might have been quite 
as remarkable as Ludovico Cana« 
ro, and his fiime as extensive, had 
he devoted one studious day, out 
of eighteen thousand, to put hia 
history on paper. We are equally 
in the dark as to the object of hia 
studies, and all the benefit which 
by so long a life thus speat, might 
have accrued to posterity, some 
cross accident or perverse whim, 
denied to us. Some ignorant hdr 
may have huddled all his papera 
into a chest, and that chest into a, 
garret, where the moth and cock.- 
aroach have long converted the con- 
tents to their own use. 

In the year 1777 ^ one Thomas 
Coccles or Yarmouth was rcbbed 
of a large sum of money. He ad- 



533 



AW%C90rXB4 



Tertised bis loss, mod threatened 
the unknown robbers, that, if they 
did not retam tfie money by a cer- 
tahi dnvt he would apply to Abram 
Cavenaugh the cunnings man. The 
l^reater part of the money was re* 
turned before the day appointed, 
with an excuse, that the remainder 
had been spent* Witchcraft, we 
see, can produce some advantages. 
By the way, has ^e pretensions of 
that class of persons who profess 
to tell fbrtmies and discover stolen 
goods, even been examined by In- 
telligent observers ? 
• A magistrate of Yarmouth, hav« 
tag his attention excited by the 
foregoing incident, paid a visit tn 
Abraham the conjurer, who pro. 
duced a letter indonng a bank note 
often pounds, llie letter signi* 
lied that the bill was sent to him as 
hush money, should Coccles, dis* 
satined with a partial reimburse- 
ment, still appl^ to him. ^ Your 
raverance,*' said the postcript, 
<* knows every thing, and so your 
worship knows that I gave the rest 
lo Pig Singleton, and she's run'd 
away to Lunnon with a sailor.'* 

The ma^strate recognized, in 
this scrawl, the hand of a discarded 
footman of his own, who was forth- 
with arrested, ccmfessed the fact, 
and was transported for fourteen 
years. As hone^y, tiie proverb 
says, is tlie best policy, every 
rogue must be a fool: but evei^ 
rogue is a fool in a less refined sense 
of the word. He almost univer* 
sally wants skill enough to effect 
bis own purpose, and discretion 
enough to keep his own secret. At 
the vulgar in general, and especially 
the dishonest part of them, are ex- 
tremely ignorant and credulous, 
might not the magistrate make a 
ra>d use of an engine like this ? 
Constables and conjurers would 
make useful officers of justice, and 
the lutter would, perhaps, be much 
the most useful of the two. 

In the year 1733, a traveller ar- 
rived, late at night, at a large vil- 
lage in the north of England, (say 
thd chronicles of the times) tired 



and dispirited* As toim as he cb« 
tered the Boar*head inn, the land* 
lord inqidred his name* He was. 
in debt, and was actuall) making- 
his way to the nearest seaport, to 
escape froa England. This in* 
quiry awakened Ills suspicion, and 
though his real name was Caclde^ 
thinUfy he told them it was ThUtle'" 
thwaite. One looked upon die 
rest, and exclaimed, ^ a near 
chance indeed 2" Th^ then exhi- 
bited a copy of a will made by an 
inhabitant of the town, leaving ten 
thousand pounds, his whc^ pro- 
perty, to that person, bearnigy mm 
his birth, the same name wim hiro- 
self, who should first arrive at the 
Boar-head inn. The testators 
name was CackletAhtir^ and tids 
will was made in pursuance of an 
hasty vow made by the testator, on 
some act of disobedience in his only 
relation. It is needless to add tliat 
the traveller immediately estab- 
lished his cldm, and got the legacy. 
A will of this kind, appears, at 
first sight, very absurd ; but, in a 
reasonable point of view, nine out 
of ten of the wills, both of the 
li\nng and of the dead, are equally 
absurd. As men scrape together 
money without any view to the 
pulilic good, so when they can en* 
joy it no longer, they dispose of it 
as chance, anger or caprice sng- 
geKt. In European countries, 
-wherejamify is of so much impor- 
tance, there is no stronger claim to 
posthumous beneficence, than si- 
militude of name. 



MEKOtRS op CARWIW TBB Bl- 

LoquiST. 

( Continued from fiage ^59* J 

My visits gradually becanse more 
frequent. Meanwhile my wants 
increased, and the necc'S'-ity of 
some change in my condition be- 
came dally more urgent, llib in- 
cited my rejections on the scheme 
which 1 had formed. Tlic time 
and place suitable to my design, 



ttEMoiRS OF CARviir THE iiLoqtrist. 



3dd 



iRrere not selected without much 
ansdous inquiry and frequent wa- 
verings of puxpose. These being 
at length nxed, the interval to 
elapse, before the carrying of my 
design into efl^t, was not without 
perturbation and suspense. These 
could not be concealed from my 
new friend and at length prompted 
him to inquire into the cause. 

It was not possible to commu- 
nicate the whole truth ; but the 
warmth of his manner inspired 
me with some degree of ingenuous- 
ness. I did not hide from him my 
former hopes and my present des« 
titute conctition. He listened to my 
tale with no expressions of sympa- 
thy, and when I had finished, ab- 
ruptly inquii*ed whether I had any 
obfection to a voyage to Europe? 
I answered in the negative. He 
then said that he was preparing to 
depart in a fortnight and advised 
me to make up my mind to accom- 
pany him. 

This unexpected proposal gave 
me pleasure and surprize, but the 
want of money occurred to me as 
an insuperable objection. On this 
being menticmed, Oho! said he, 
carelessly, that .objection is easily 
removed, I will bear all expenses of 
your passage myself. 

The extraordmary beneficence 
of this act as well as the air of un- 
cantiousness attending it, made me 
doubt the sincerity of his offer, and 
when new declarations removed 
this doubt, I could not forbear ex- 
pressing at oQce my sense oi his 
generosity and of my own unwor- 
thiness. 

He replied that generosity had 
been e3q>unged from his catalogue 
as having no meaning or a vicious 
one. It was the scope of his exer- 
tions to be just. This was the sum 
of human duty, and he that fell short, 
ran beside, or outstrim)ed justice 
was a criminal* What ne gave me 
was my due or not my due. If it 
were my due, I might reasonably 
demand it from him and it was 
wicked to withhold it. Merit on 
one side or gratitude on the other, 

VOL* Im.«K0. v. 



were contradictory and unintellig!* 
ble. 

If I were fully convinced that this 
benefit was not my due and yet re^ 
ceived it, he should hold me in cpn* 
tempt. The rectitude of my prin-« 
ciples and conduct would be the 
measure of his approbation, and no 
benefit should he ever bestow which 
the receiver was not entitled to 
claim, and which it would not be 
criminal in him to refuse. 

These principles were not new 
from the mouth of Ludloe, but they 
had, hitherto, been regarded as the 
fruits of a venturous speculation in 
my mind. I had never traced them 
into their practical consequences, 
and if his conduct on this occasiott 
had not squared wth his maxims, 
I should not have imputed to him 
inconsistency. I did not ponder on 
Aese reasonings at this time : ob- 
jects of inmiediate importance en« 
grossed my thoughts. 

One obstacle to this measure was 
removed. When my vovage wasi 
performed how should isubsit iti 
my new abode ? I concealed not my 
perplexity and he commented on it 
in his usual manner. How did I 
mean to subsist, he asked, in my 
own country i ITie means of living 
would be, at least, as much within 
my reach there as here. As to the 
pressure of immediate and absolute 
want, he believed I should be ex<« 
posed to little hazard. With U- 
lents such as mine, I must be 
hunted by a destiny peculiarly ma- 
lignant, if I could not provide my- 
self with necessaries wherever my 
lot were cast. 

He woidd make allowances^ how« 
ever, for my diffidence and self-dis- 
trust, and would obviate my fears 
by expressing his own intentions 
with regard to me. I must be ap« 
prized, however, of his true mean- 
ing. He laboured to shun all hurt^ 
fid and vitious things, and therefore 
carefully abstained from making or 
confiding in pramUe** It was just 
to assut me in this voyage, and it 
would probably be equaUy just to 
continue to me similar assistancij 
3 



9^ 



UXiiOJM n CA^^W TIW ^\t9f^l$'9• 



ybenitwj^&ualiecL Thatindeed 
■was a subject, in a great degree, 
ivithin mv owa 90giuzaBC€;. His 
aid j^ould be proportioxied to my 
IpranU and to my merits, and 1 bad 
^ly to ta](.e care tbat my claims 
v^rejust, for tliem to be admitted* 
This sckem^coujLdoot but appear 
1p me eligible. I thirsted alter aa 
acquaintance vith new scenes; my 
present situation could not bechang- 
ed for a worse ; I trusted to the 
QonstajBcy of Ludloe's friendship ; 
to this at least it \^as better to tnist 
t|han to the success of my imposture 
on Dorothy, which was adopted 
merely as a de^^erate expediisnt : 
nnally I determined to embarJ^ with, 

Jn the course of this voyage my 
mind wa# busily, employed. There 
If ere no othe^ passengers beside 
ourselvesi so thajt my own condi- 
tion and the character of Ludloe, 
ContinoaUy presented themselves tQ 
* my refiectiops* It will be supposed 
^t, I waa not a vague or indi&^reni- 
observer* 

<li'here were no vicissitudes in the 
deportment or ,lapses in the difi« 
course <^ my friend* His feelings 
appeared to preserve an unQhange- 
able tenor, and his thoughts and 
words always to Qow with Uie same 
rapidity* Hi9 slumber was profound 
and his "wakeful hones, serene* He 
was regular and temperate, in all. 
liis ^ercises. and* gratifications* 
Hence were derived his clear per- 
ceptions and emiberant healt)A« 

This treatment, of me, lik/e all 
his other mental. apd corporal ope- 
rations, was modelled, by one. in- 
flexible standard* Certain scruples 
and delicacies, were incident to mf 
situation* Of die existence of tliese 
he seemed to be unconscious, and 
yM nothing espaped him inconsist- 
«sit. with a state of absolute equa»> 
Uty. 

1 was natterally inquisitive as to 
his fortune and the collateral cir- 
cumstances, of. his condition* My 
notions of poUtene^ss hindered me 
from making direct inquiries* By 
indirect means I could gather no- 
thing but that his.state was opulent 



und in4^)«nd^% 4^ that halMMl 
two sisters lyhoso si^uajl^ resev^ 
Ued his own* 

Though, in c^nvenwtion, h^ b^ 
peared to be govern^ fa^. th^ uU 
most candour ; no li^t ijfas kt in 
upontlie former transaction^ of hi« 
life* The puirpose ci his visil ta 
America I could merely guess to bo 
the gratification of oinQsity* 

M^ future pursuits mus]^ be sup- 
posed chiefly to occupy my, attesr- 
tion* C^ thU head I was destitnte 
of all stedfost views» Without prOf« 
fession or habits.o{ industry or ^aur- 
ces of permanent revenue, the w/oxid 
appeared to me an ocean on whick 
my bark was set afloaA, without 
compass or saiK The wodd into^ 
which I waa about to enter, was un- 
tried and unknown, and though h 
could consent to profit by tbe guid«. 
ance I was unwiUing tp rely oa the 
SvpiK>rt of others* 

Thia topic being nearest nqr' 
heart, I frequently introduced intOk 
Qonversaiico with my friend; -but 
on this sfibject he alwaya allowed^ 
himself to be led by me, while on 
aU- others, he was zeajouato poins 
the w/iy* To every acheawL thai I 
proposed he was sure. to canae ob» 
jections* AU the liberal profeauons 
were censured, as perv/ecting tiie. 
understanding, by. giving scope to 
the sordid naotive o£ gain, or«m.. 
buing the mind with erroneons 
principles* Skill was slowiy. ob- 
tained, and success, thnug^integci- 
ty and independence, must be. given 
for it* 4ub£Mis and» instable* The 
mechanical trades were.equally ob- 
noxious ; they were vitious by con** 
tributing to the spurious g^tUifica- 
tions of the ridi and multiplying the 
objects of luxury; they wene de- 
sti^uction to the intdlect and vigour 
of the artizan; thcy.en^Brvated-hia 
frame and brutallaed hia mind. 

When I pointed out to him the 
necessity of some species of labour, 
he tacitly adinitted. that necessity, 
but rctiised to direct me in the 
choice of a pursuit, which though 
not free from defect should yet 
have the fewest inconveniences* 
He dwelt on the fewneaSiOf our at- 



HSMOXRS Olr CMlWlir THE BlLOqUIST. 



iis 



tadl moktkj the^temptatioHB which 
mttfend the poMession of wealtli, tht 
tienefits of seclusion and privacy, 
b&d the duty of unfettering our 
minds from this prejudices which 
Kovetnth^ world. 

ifis discourse tended merely to 
unsettle my Views and incrca;^ my 
fietplexity. This effect was so unl* 
form that I at length desisted fi*om 
titll allusions to this theme and en* 
tte^TP^oured to divert my own reflec- 
tions from it. Whfen our vovage 
tiioutd be finished, and I should ac- 
tually tread this new stage, 1 believ- 
ed that 1 should be better qualified 
to judg^ of the measures to be taken 
by me. 

At length we reached Belfast* 
FrdiA thence we im mediately re- 
)ifdted to Dublin. I was admitted 
«s St member of his family. Whert 
I expressed my uncertainty as to 
tiie place to which it would be pro* 

Esr for ine to repair j he gave me A 
unt but cordial invitation tb his 
)Mmse. My circumstances allowed 
ihe no cn)tion and I readily com^ 
plied. My attention was for a time 
engrosded by a diversified succes- 
sion of new objects. Their novelty 
however disappearing^ left me at 
liberty to turn my eyes upon my- 
self and my companion, and here 
my reflections were supplied with 
abundant food. 

His house Was spadouc ftnd com- 
modkms, and furnished with profu- 
sion and elegance. A suit of apart- 
ments Was assigned to me, in which 
1 was permitted to reign uncontrol- 
ed and access was permitted to a 
well fbmished library. My food 
was forhished in my own room, 
prepared in the manner which I 
Had previously directed. Occasion- 
ally Ludloe would request my com- 
pany to breakfest, when an hour 
was usually consumed ih earnest or 
^rightly conversation. At all other 
times he was invisible, and his 
apartments, being wholly separate 
from mine, I had no opportunity of 
discovering in what way his hours 
were employed. 

He defended this mode of living 
ts being m^sft compatibly with 



liberty. He delighted to e^atiate 
on the evils of cohabitation. Men, 
subjected to the same regimen, 
compelled to eat and sleep and as-^ 
sociate at certain hoUrs, were stran- 
gers to all rational independence 
and liberty; Society would Uever 
be exempt from servitude and mise- 
ry, till those artificial ties which held 
human beings togetiier under the 
same roof were dissolved.He endea- 
voured toreg^late his own conduct in 
pursuance of these principles, and 
to secure to himself as much free- 
dom as the present regulations of 
society would permit. The same 
independence which he claimed fof 
himself he likewise extended to me; 
The distribution of my own time( 
the selection of my own occupation^ 
and companions should belong td 
myself. 

But these privileges, though 
while listening to his arguments I 
could not deny them to be valuable, 
I would have willingly dispensed 
with. The solitude in which I lived 
became daily more painful. I ate 
and drank^ enjoyed clothing and 
shelter, without the exercise of 
forethought or industry; I walked 
and sat, went oat and returned fof 
as long and at what seasons t 
thought proper, yet my condition 
was a fertile source of discontent. 

I folt myself removed to a com^ 
fortless and chilling distance from 
Ludloe. I wanted to share in his 
occupations and views. With all 
his ingenuousness of aspect and over- 
flow of thoughts, when he allowed 
me his company, I felt myself pain- 
iSly bewildered with regard to his 
genuine condition and sentimentsV' 

He had it in his power to intro«« 
duce me to society, and without an 
introduction, it was scarcely possi- 
ble to gain access to any social cir- 
cle or domestic fireside. Add to 
this, my own obscure prospects aud 
dubious situation. Some regular in- 
tellectual pursuit Twould render my 
state less irksome', but I had hither- 
tp adopted no scheme of thiskindt 

CTo dr continued, J 



336 



ClITieAL ]rOTIC£S* 



/br the LUetary Magazine. 

CRITICAL NOTICES. 

yo. IT. 

I KNOW lew performances which 
have assumed the name of poetry and 
which have obtained a considera- 
ble share of celebrity , so truly worth- 
less as Wordsworth's Lyrical 
Ballads. As it is a principal de- 
ugn of this work) to enforce the pure 
principles of morality and taste, 
to detect false pretensions and erro- 
neous criticism, as well as honestly 
to applaud literary merit wherever 
it is found, the reader of these cri- 
tical notices will excuse the writer 
for descending from the observa- 
tions of Milton's heaven-ward flight, 
to point out the bat-like wheelings 
of this rhyming wight* It appears 
to be the great aim and study of Mr. 
Wordsworth to be simple ; but he 
knew not what simplici^ was. He 
did not know how to disUnguish this 
daughter of beauty and grace from 
affectation. His pretended simpli- 
city resembles the vacant-headed 
girl, who, in order to appear inte- 
resting, and to discover more than 
infantUe sweetness, hangs her head 
on one shoulder, points forward a 
coral lip, and rolls backward and 
forward a dark eye-ball void of spe- 
culation. Let us, however, take a 
nearer view of Mr. Wordsworth's 
poems. General rema rks like those 
which have been offered, arc no de- 
tection of his false taste. Our court 
of criticism is governed both by law 
and equity. We shall neither ap- 
prove nor condemn a man without 
proof. Nay, we are determined 
never to arraign a man, or condemn 
him, without we conceive that it will 
tend to the public good. Now I 
conceive, that Mr. Wordswortli's 
writings have had some influence in 
establistiing perverted principles of 
taste. His works have been ad- 
mired and imitated in London, and 
in this city ....therefore, if we prose- 
cute tlie intentio^i which has been 
p^entioncd, something must be said 
popccming these. 



I would be mjatt did I my, that 
idl the poems contained in the two 
volumes of Lyrical Ballads wa« 
equally ridiculous. I have here and 
there met with a strain which they 
contained that I admired ; but thie 
nonsense of them so very far over 
balances any thing in them deserv- 
ing of the slightest approbation, 
that my general decision concerning 
them, I deem to be perfectly cor- 
rect. Perhaps no poem, in the 
whole collection, has received more 
applause than the one entitled *^ The 
Thorn." I once heard a gentleman 
say, smacking lips (and this gentlew 
man entertained the most exalted 
opinion of his own diccemment and 
importance) Sir, had Wordsworth 
taken a little more pains with that 
*( Thorn,' ' it wpuld have been a most 
delectable performance* I will 
endeavour to give some account of 
this *' Tliorn," and to follow my out- 
line with a delicious extract. «..**0^ 
the side of a mountain was disco- 
vered an a^ed Thorn, a pond and 
something in the form of an infont's 
grave....to the very spot where these 
objects were viable, nightly resorted 
a woman in a scarlet cloak, and theif 
she squatted down and cried 

«< Oh miwry ! Oh misery t 

*' Oh woe is me ! Oh misery.'* 

The author is very solicitous to 
discover why this woman resorted 
to that singular spot ; and why she 
poured forth on the ear of night her 
heart-rending ditty. He tells his. 
readers, that he will do aU he can 
to satisfy them as to the reasons ; 
and after unfolding all that he knew, 
h^ leaves it to them ^o determine, 
whether this wsmaii had not mur- 
dered her infant, and impelled by the 
Btrengtliof her remorse, did not thus 
frequently visit the spot where she 
had buried it. It is, however, but 
just that the poet should sp^Jt a 
little for himself, as indeed no 
analysis could do justice to his won- 
dei*ful story. Take then, gentle 
readers, the folloi^ ing verses which, 
by the help of the pr^eding account, 
you may be enabled to unray^* 4 



CHITICAL K0TICX9. 



33r 



hare marked in italics, what I have 
no doubt the author, simple genius ! 
thought the most excellent lines ci 
his poem. 

*' Now wherefore tfius, by day and 

night, 
'* In rain, in tempest, and in tnow, 
** Thus to the dreary mountain-top^ 
*' Does this poor woman go ? 
" And why sits she beside the Thorn 
•* When the blue day-light's in the 

sky, 
" Or when the whirlwind*s on the 

hill, 
*' Or frosty air is keen and still, 
«' And wherefore does she cry ? 
" Oh wherefore ? wherefore ? tell me 

why 
•* Does she repeat that doleful cry ?" 

I cannot tell; I vub I could; 

For the true reason no one knows, 

But if you'd gladly view the spot. 

The spot to which she goes ; 

The heap that's like an infant's 

grave, 
The pond....and Thom....80 old and 

grey. 
Pass by her door....tis seldom shut.... 
And if you see her in her hut. 
Then to the spot away ! 
I never heard of such as dare 
Approach the spot when she is there. 

'< But wherefore to the mountain- 
top 
«' Can this unhappy woman go, 
'* Whatever star is in the skies, 
•* Whatever wind may blow ?" 
Nay nek your brain.... 'tis all in 

vain ; 
/'// tell you every thing Iknon ; 
But to the Thorn, and to the pond 
Which is a little step beyond, 
I wish that you would go .* 
Fcriiaps when you are at the place 
You something of her tale may trace. 

Ill give you the best help I can : 
Before you up the mountain go. 
Up to the dreary mountain-top, 
III tell you all I know. 
'Tis now some two and twenty years^ 
Since she (her name is Martha Kay) 
Gave voitb a maiden** true good vjill 
Her company to Stephen Htll; 
And she was blithe and gay. 
And she was happy, happy still 
Whene'r she thought of Stephen HilL 



And as they 6x*d the wedding day. 
The morning that must wed thefti 

both ; 
But Stephen to another maid 
Had sworn another oath ; 
And with this other maid to church 
Unthinking Stephen went.... 
Poor Martha ! on that woeful day 
A cruel, cruel fire, they say. 
Into her hone* too* sent.' 
It dried her 6o(fy like a cinder. 
And almoet tum'd her brain to tinder. 

They say, full six months after this. 
While yet the symmer-leaves were 

green. 
She to the mountain-top would go. 
And there was often seen. 
'7i* said, a child toot in her nomh, 
A* now to am eye wa* plain ; 
She vjtu viith child, and *he vms mad. 
Yet often she was sober-sad 
From her exceeding pain. 
Oh me ! ten thousand times I'd ra« 

ther 
That he had died, that cruel father! 

Sad case for such a brain to hold 
Communion with a stirring ehild ! 
Sad case, as you may think, for one 
Who had a brain so wild ! 
Last Christmas when we talked of 

this. 
Old Farmer Simpson did maintain. 
That in her womb the infant wrought 
About its mother's heart, and brought 
Her senses back again : 
And when at last, her time drew 

near. 
Her looks were calm, her senses 

clear. 

No more I know, Iwi*h I did. 

And I would tell it all to you ; 

For what became of this poor child 

There's none that ever knew . 

And if a child was born or no. 

There's no one that could ever tell 

And if 'twas born alive or dead, 

There's no one knows, as I have said» 

But some remember well, 

That Martha Ray about this time 

Would up the mountain often climb. 

And all that winter, when at night 
The wind blew from the mountain- 
peak, 
'Twas worth yottr whilci though in ^M 
dark, 



33S 



<:RtTtGAL troYtCESk 



The chmth-y»nl path to leek : 
For many a time and oft were heard 
Cries coming from the mountain- 
head, 
Some plainly living- voices -were, 
A4fid others, I've heard many swear. 
Were voices of the dead : 
I cannot think, whate'er they say. 
They had to do with Martha Ray. 

But that iht goes to this old Thorn, 
The Thorn which I've described to 

you. 
And there sits in a scarlet cloak, 
I will be sworn is true. 
For one day with my telescope, 
To view the ocean wid« and bright, 
When to this country first I came. 
Ere I had heard of Martha*s name, 
I climbed the mountains' height : 
A storm came on, and 1 could see 
No object higher th:in my knee. 

Twaa mist and rain, and storm and 

rain, 
Ho screen, no fence could I discover, 
Jnd then the vsind / infaitb rt vtom 
A mindfuil ten timn oner / 
I looked around, I thought I saw 
A jutting crag, and off 1 ran, 
Head-foremost, through the driving 

rain. 
The shelter of the crag to gain, 
And, as lam a man, 
iMtead qfjutHng crag, I found 
A fzoituui seated on the ^ound. 



Some say she drowned it in the poni, 

Which is a little 6te|> beyttnfl, 

but all and each agi«e. 

The little babe was buried thete^ 

Beneath that hill of moss so fair. 

Enough of the Thorn. Who now 
will not say with the critic alluded 
to, hftd Wordsworth taken a little 
more pains with that Thorn, it would 
have been a most delectable thing. 
I pass on to a performance 9tiii ni- 
/teriorj entitled, The Idiot Bey, 
whose mother's name, by way of 
gingle, was Betty Foy. 

I have always admired strikiop 
exordiums. 

" Ruin seise thee, ruthless king"*... 
is a bold and abrupt beginning. 

*' Hark ! heard you not that footstep 
dread".... 

is an opening which at once awakens 
attention. 

•* Had I but the torrents might'*.... ' 

is a first line which is strong and 
iffipresslve. 

Who would not thbk that Ham- 
let saw a ghost, when he suddenly 
and tremblingly exclaimed 

** Angels, and miaisten of grace, de- 
fend us!" 



I did not speak....I saw he^ face.... 
JUrfact it vcu enough for tnet 
I turned about and heard her cry, 

** Oh misery ! Oh misery !" 
And there she sits, until the moon 
Through half the clear blue sky will 

And when the little breezes make 
The wat<»rs of the pond to shake. 
As all the country know, • 
She shudders and you hear her cr>', 
*< Oh misery ! oh misery !" 

*• But what's the Thorn ? and what*s 

the pond ? 
" And what*s the hill of moss to 

her^ 
«• And what's the creeping breeze that 

comes 
« The little pond to stir ?" 
1 cannot tell ; but some will say 
She hanged her baby on th^ tree. 



Aiter observing th^se examines, 
let us attend to the manner in which 
<mr poet commences his tale of the 
Idiot Boy. 

'Th eight o'clock a clear March 

night. 
The moon is up.... the sky is blue. 
The owlet in the moonlight air. 
He shouts from nobody knows where; 
Me lengtbent out bit lonely tbout. 
Halloa! halloo! a longh^dloo! 

....Why bustle thus about your door, 
What meaiis this bustle, Betty Foy I 
Why are you in tbi* migbtyjretf 
And why on horseback have you set 
Him whom you love, your Idiot boy I 

■Beneath the moon that shines s* 

bright. 
Tin she if tired, let Betty Foy, 



CRcITIOAL VCTICSS^ 



Ut 



JHtb girt a^ «Hrrupfii4ieJ'addU^ 
But wherefore set upon a sadcUe 
Him whom she loves, her Idiot boy ? 
1 here* 9 »carct a soul tbat^t out of bed; 
Good Betty ! put him down again t 
His lips with joy they burr at you 
But, Hetty ! what h^s he to do 
With stirrup, saddle^ or with rein ? 

The poet then proceeds to let us 
know the reason why Bettv Foy has 
placed her son upon the norse, at 
this unseasonable h6ur of the night; 
and, in his own language, her rea- 
sons are simply these.... 

Old Susan, she who dwells alone. 
Is sick, and makes a piteous moan. 
As if her very life would faiL 

Thei^'s not a house within a mile, 
No hand to help them in distress : 
Oki Susan lies a-bed in pain. 
And sorely puzzled are the twain. 
For what she ails they cannot guess. 

And Betty's husband's at the wood, 
Where by the week he doth abide, 
A woodman in the distant vale-; 
There's none to help poor Susan Gale, 
What must be done ? what will betide ? 

And Betty from the lane has fetched 
Her pony, that is mild and gocd. 
Whether hfc be in joy or pain. 
Feeding at will along the lane. 
Or bringing faggots from tlie wood. 

ITie poet proceeds to inform us, 
that after Betty haslet Johnny upon 
the saddle^ she gives him particular 
directions in what way to go in 
search of the doctor, and to desire 
him to come and " contfort poor old 
Susan Gale." Johnny, wc are in- 
formed, after he gets under way, 
instead of proceeding in the most 
expeditiouB numner to tlic house of 
the physician, wanders wherever 
Ills bewildered fancy entices him. 
The offset of his curious journey, is 
so peculiarly described, that justice 
wiU not permit me to \^ith)iold it 
tfrom my readers. 

But when the pony tnovtd hit leg^t 
Ok! then foi the |x>or Idiut boy I 



For joy he canaot holdf th9 bridge. 
For joy his head and heels are idkii • 
Jfc4 idle all for cwrj^Jqy, 

And while the poney moves his legs. 
In Johnny's left hand you may see 
The green bough motionless auui dead ^ 
The moon that shines above hb he&d 
)s not more still and mute than he. 

His heart it wtas so full of glee,^ 
That till full fifty yards were gon^ 
He quite forgot his holly whip. 
And all his skill in horsemanship. 
Oh ! happy, happy, happy John ! 

Andi Betty'i standing at the door 
And Betty's face with joy o'esf]x}w«« 
Proud of herself and proud of him^ 
She sees him in his travelling trim. 
How quietly her Johnny goes. 

The silence of her Idiot Boy, 
"What hopes it sends to Betty's heart t 
He's at the gHide-post....he turns right, 
She watches till he's out of sight. 
And Betty will not then depart. 

Burr, burr....now Johnny's lips thej* 

burr. 
As loud as any mill, or near it ; 
Meek as a Iamb the poney moves. 
And Johnny makes the noise heloves^ 
And Betty listens, glad to hear it. 

Away she hies to Susan Gale : 
And Johnny's in a merry tune. 
The owlets hootv theoWlets curr, 
Jnd y^btmy^t lip* they imrTy httrr, hurr. 
And on Ite- goes beneath the mottn. 

The time expected for Johnny'* 
return arrives, but he does notJnake. 
his appearance. Says the poet.... 

The clock is on the stioke of twelve^ 
And Johnny is not yet in sight, 
The moon's in heaven, as Betty sces^ 
But Betty is not quite at ease ; 
And Sosan.has a dreadful nighu 

The restless and indiscrectBettyv 
unable to quiet her apprehensions, 
goes in pursuit of her Idiot Son- 
....«ihe searches every hilj^d lane,, 
&c....she uses a number of excla- ' 
TOations»...slie spares neither John^ 
his poney,nor thedoctor.The author 
at length condnctB her to th^J.door 



340 



CRITICAL K9TICI^. 



of the son of i![&cu1apius.«..and then 
entertains ut with the following 
description and dramatic inter- 



view. 

And now •heU at ibe dociorU door. 
She lifts the knocker, rap, nip, rap ! 
The doctor at the casement shews, 
His glimmering eyes that peep and 

doze; 
And one hand rubs hit old night-cap. 

" Oh doctor ! doctor ! where's ray 

Johnny ?" 
*' I'm here, what Is't yoa waat with 

«• Oh Sir ! yon know I am Betty Foy» 
*' And 1 have \o$x my poor dear boy, 
*' You know bim....him yoa often see ; 

'* He's not so wise as some folks be ; 
'* The devil take his wisdom !" said 
The doctor looking somewhat grim, 
•* What, woman ! should I know of 

him?" 
And, grumbling, he went back to bed. 

«* O woe is me ! O woe is me ! 
'* Here will I die ; here, will I die ; 
'* I thought to find my Johnny here, 
'* But he is neither fu: nor near, 
<« Oh ! what a wretched mother I f" 

As it wbnld take up too much of 
our time to pursue Bet^ in aU her 
^* quandaries" and wmdmgs in 
search of Johnny, let me inform my 
readers^ that Betty, while almost 
spent with toil, finds her boy, em- 
braces him, and gives way to the 
wild tranqxirts of her joy. This 
successful termioatioa of her weari- 
aome search, is one of the finest 
exhibitions of the author's simplicity 
of manner. I shall therefore gi\'e 
it to the eager curiosity of criti- 
cism* 

Who's yon, that near the water-fall 
Which thunders down with headlong 

force, 
j^neath the moon, yet shining fair, 
As careless as if nothing were, 
Sits upright on a feeding horse ? 

Upon his horse, that's feoding free. 
He seems, I think, the rein to give i 
Of moon or stars he takes no heed ; 
Of such we in romances read, 
•...Tts Johnny ! Johnny ! as I live ! 



And that's the very poney tod, 
Where it sbe....V}bere U Betty Fay} 
She hardly can sustain her fears s 
The roaring water-fall she hears. 
And cannot find her Idiot boy. 

Tourponeft ts^rtb bu foeigbt tn gold, 
Thdn calm your terrors, Betty Foy f 
She's coming from among the trees* 
And now, aU full in riew, she sees 
Him whom she loves, her Idiot Boy. 

And Betty sees the poney too : 
Why stand you thus Good Betty Foy J 
It is no goblin, 'tis no ghost, 
"Tis he whom you so long have lost* 
He whom you love, your Idiot boy. 

She looks again.. ..her arms are up.... 
She screams.... she cannot move for 

joy J 
She darts as with a torrent's force. 
She almoit bas o'ertttm*d tbe borse. 
And fast she holds her Idiot boy. 

And Johnny burrs and laughs aloud. 
Whether in cunning, or in joy, 
I cannot tell : but while he laughs, 
Betty a drunken pleasure quails. 
To hear again her Idiot boy. 

And nan tbe' 9 at tbe poney* t tail. 
And nan tb^t at tbe paneft bead. 
On tbat tide non, and nots on tbit. 
And almost stifled with her bluut* 
A few sad tears does Betty shed. 

She kisses o'er and o'er again. 
Him whom she loves, her Idiot boj! 
Sbe't bappy here, tbe't bappy tbere. 
She it une^ty every vjbere s 
Htf limbs are all alive with joy. 

She pats the poney, where or when 
She knows not, happy Betty Foy f 
The little poney glad may be. 
But he is milder far than she. 
You hardly can perceive his joy. 

The tale concludes with the ap- 
pearance of old Susan Gale, who 
had left her sick-bed and came out 
with the laudable desire of discover^ 
ing what retarded the return of her 
two absent compassionate friends* 

This tale considered in the ag- 
gregate, lias surely great claims to 
originality* It must be oonfessedy , 
that it rtrictly observes the ^ic 



CRITICAL HOTICBS. 



341 



rulesJlhas a beginning,a middle and 
mn end ; and if what Bossuet insists 
apon is true, that an epic poem must 
hold in view some moral, this tale 
will not shrink from Bossuet*s exa- 
inination.«..For what can be more 
praiseworthy than to indulge com- 
passion and benevolence for a poor 
tick neighbouring wind. 

To drop all irony. ..I was, at times, 
disposed to think that Wordsworth 
intended some of his ballads as bur- 
lesques, as impositions upon the cre- 
dulous parts of the world. Bi it when 
I turned to his notes, and found them 
from his own pen, some very serious 
criticisms on his own performances, 
and when I read his preface, in 
which he advocates, with all his in- 
genuity, his adopted style of writing . 
this surmise was put to flight. 

I designed to close this numl)er of 
critical notices with some observa- 
tions intended to distinguish between 
simplicity, vulgarity, and affectation 
....but upon trial, I find that the dif- 
ference can be much easier per- 
ceived and felt than described.... 
what it would take pages to explain, 
true taste would perceive with the 
rapidity of a glance. Tlie classical 
scholar...tlie man of elegance and 
refinement will express his opinions 
with simplicity....he will avoid both 
vulgar .and pedantic words. De- 
mosthenes, who is the orator of sim- 
plicity, spoke a language intelligible 
to the lowliest of his countrymen, 
and, at the same time, strictly ele- 
gant. An orator of a very different 
description, not long ago rose in the 
house of commons, and in the sim- 
plicity of his heart, and in the honesty 
of his terms thus s^dvocated buU- 
baiting....^' The people have a right 
to their pleasures : the rich have 
their Kembles, their Siddons's, and 
their Billingtons....whv then will you 
rob the poor peoplo of theirBuUsf " 

The critic would never- consider 
simplicity as the distinguishing ex- 
cellency of the poetry of Cowley, 
of Milton, of Pope, of Gray, of 
Akenside, of Collins ; but he would 
say, that it peculiarly belongs to 
Theocritus, to Thompson, to Arm- 
strong, to Shenstone, to Goldsmith, 

vol.. I««mNO. v. 



to Cowper, to Bums. He would 
say, that Darwin's poems are glar- 
ing instances of departure from sim- 
plicity, and purity, and elegance. 
He would say, that although the 
prose writings of Johnson and Burke 
are, in most respect?, among the 
greatest performances of genius; 
yet that they are not peculiarly 
marked by simplicity....while, on 
the other hand, in the works of 
Swift, of Sir William Temple, of 
Addison, of William Melmoth, and 
of Goldsmith, this quality is conspi- 
cuous. Shakspeare, whose portraits 
no painter has rivalled, who wielded 
a literary thunderbolt which no other 
■poet could grasp, has, occasionally, 
touched the strings of the purest 
simplicity. I would enrich these 
notices with some extracts from 
him, in exemplification of thid as- 
sertion; but this number has, imper- 
ceptibly, been extended to such a 
length, that I fear the patience of 
my readers has already said...* 
desist. I. 0* 



For the Literary Magazincm 

OK THE SALUBRITY OF WABtf 
ROOMS. 

It is a question often discussedi 
whether living in a warm room in 
winter be, or be not, detrimental to 
health? 

There is no doubt whatever of the 
necessity of pure air for the support 
of life and health, but erroneous 
opinions are entertained, respecting 
the effects of that equal, and at the 
same time moderate heat, which can 
only be obtained in rooms where 
strong currents of air up the chim- 
ney are not permitted. Those who 
have been uued to living in large 
apartments, in which the large fires 
that are kept up, instead of making 
the rooms equally warm, do little 
more than increase the violence of 
those streams of cold air, which 
come whistling in through every 
crevice of the doors and windows; 
when such persons come into a room 



342 



ON TBE SALUBRITY OF WAEX &OOMS* 



m vthldx KdtifaaA and genial warmth 
prevails in every part, struck with 
the novelty of tlie sensation that this 
general warmth produces, they are 
very apt to fancy that the air is 
close, and consequently that it must 
be unwholesome, and are uneasy 
until a door or a window be opened, 
in order tJiat they may get what 
they call fresh air. 

But thev do not seem to make a 
proper disthiction between fresh 
air, and pure air. When they call 
for fresh air, they doubtless mean 
purer air. lliey certainly get colder 
air, but 1 much doubt whether they 
often get air thati^ more wholesome 
to breathe ; and it is most certain, 
tluit the chilling sti-eams and eddies 
that are occasioned in the room by 
the fresh air so introduced, are ex- 
tremely changed, and are often the 
cause of the most fatal disorders. 

It is universally allowed to be 
very dangerous to be exjiosed in a 
stream of cold air, especially when 
standing or sitting still; but how 
much must the danger be increased 
if one side of the body be heated by 
the powerful rays from a large fire, 
while the other is chilled by these 
cold blasts? And there is this singu- 
lar circutnstance attending these 
chills, that they frequently produce 
their mischievous effects without 
our being sensible of them ; for as 
the mind is incapable of attending to 
more than one sensation at one and 
at the same time, if the intensity of 
the sensation produced by the heat 
on the one sic;e of the body be supe- 
rior to that of the cold on the other, 
■we shall remain perfectly insensible 
of the cold, however severe it may 
really be, and if we are induced by 
the disagrceableness of what we do 
feci to turn about, or change our 
position or situation, this movement 
will be occasioned, not by the cold, 
which we do not feel, but by the heat, 
which being superior in its effect 
tipon us, engages all our attention. 
And lienc^ we may account for those 
severe colds or catarrhs, which are 
lio frequently gotten in hot rooms by 
persons who are not conscious at 
the time of being exposed to any 



coldt but, on the cootruy, 
great and continual inconveniciM^e 
from the heat. 

I have said, that these coUb are 
gotten in hot rooms, but it would 
have been more accurate to have 
said, in rooms where there is a great 
fire«...or where there is a great 
heat, occasioned by a great number 
of burning candles, or by a great 
number of persons crowded toge* 
ther....€6r it is very seldom indeed 
that our rooms are much heated, 
and there being cold b the principal 
cause which renders partial hc»ts 
that occauonally exist in them so 
very injurious to health. 

The air of the room that comes 
into contact with the cold walls, and 
with the enormous windows, is sad- 
denly cooled, and being condensed, 
and made specifically heavier than 
it was before, in consequence of this 
loss of heat, it descends and forms 
cold streams, that are no much the 
more rapid and more dangerous as 
tlie parUal heats in the room are 
more intense, consequently they are 
the more dangerous, as they arc 
less Uable to be observed or felt. 

If to these ccld currents which are 
generated in the i*oom, we add those 
which come iuto it from without, to 
supply the enormous quantity of air 
that is continually going off by the 
chimne)', when there is a great 
quantity of coals burning in an open 
grate, we shall not be surprised, 
that those who venture to go into 
such rooms without being well 
wrapped up in furs, or other warm 
clothing, ^ould be liable to take 
colds. 

I never see a delicate young lady 
dressed in thin muslins, or gauses, 
in the midst of winter, expose her- 
self in such a perilous situation with- 
out shuddering for the consequences. 
But how many young persons of 
both sexes do we find, of delicate 
habits, and particularly among the 
higher ranks of society ? And what 
vast numbers are carried off annu- 
ally by consumptions ! 

It is well known, thatthfs dread- 
ful disorder is almost always brought 
on by coldst &nd that the cold of 



OK THE SALUMtlTT OF WARM ROOMS. 



349 



winter is commonly fatal to con- 
aamptive peoplei but why should 
the inhabitants of this country be so 
peculiarly subject to these colds? Is 
ft not highly probable, that it is be- 
cause they do not take proper care 
to prevent them ? For my part, I 
declare, in the most serious manner; 
that I have not the smallest doubt 
that this is really the case. 

Much has been said of the sup- 
iposed dtmger of keeping rooms 
warm in winter, on account of the 
necessity most people are under of 
-sometimes g(^g into the cold air. 
Bat how many proofs are there, that 
Uiese sodden transitions from heat 
to cold, or from cold to heat, are not 
attended with danger, if care be 
taken to be properly dothed,* and 
if the heats and colds are not par- 
tial? 

How very hot do the Swedes and 
the Russians keep tlieir houses dur- 
ing the long and severe frosts that 
prevail m winter in those countries ; 
and yet no people are more strong 
and healthy than they are, nor are 
there any less liable to catarrhs and 
consumptions. 

It is the very warm rooms in which 
this hardy race of men spend much 
of their time in winter, (which, 
by promoting a free circulation of 
their blood gives them health and 
strength) that enables them to sup- 
port, without injury, exposure, for 
short periods, to the most intense 
cold. 

In Germany, the rooms of people 
of rank and fashion are commonly 
kept in winter, at the temperature 
of about sixty-four or sixty-live de- 
grees of Farenheit's thermometer 
(the dwellings of the peasants are 
kept much hotter) but though the 
ladies in that country are, from their 
infancy, brought up with the great- 
est care, and are as little exposed to 
hardships, as the women of condi- 
tion in tliis, or in any other country, 
they find no inconvenience in going 
out of these warm rooms into the 
cold air. They even frequent the 
plays and the operas, and go on 
slaying parties, during the severest 
t'i*o&tS) and spend one whole mouth 



in the depth of winter(in the season 
of the carnival) in one continual 
round of balls and masquerades. 
And what ii(iay appear to many sUU 
more incredible, they seldom fail, 
whatever theseverity of the weather 
may be, to spend half an hour every 
morning in a cold church. 

But if in Germany, where the 
winters are very severe, persons 
tenderly brought up, and of delicate 
habits, find no inconvenience what- 
ever in living in warm rooms, and 
in going from them into the cold 
air, why should wann rooms be un- 
wholesome in any country ? 

There cannot surely be any thing 
injurious to health in the genial 
• warmth of sixty or sixty-five degrees 
...and if pure air for respiration is 
what is wanted, a suitable height of 
ceiling secures us against all da^jger 
from Uiat quarter* 



For the Literary Magazine^. 

AGRICULTURAL ESSAYS. 
NO. I. 

Digna manet divini gloria runs... Via. 

Mr. Editor, 

If you can occasionally spare a 
column of your work for plain and 
useful subjects, I propose, from time 
to time, as inclination and leisure 
are afforded, to offer you somehii'.t^i 
on agricultural subjects.. 

Agriculture has long been consi- 
dered by the wisest and best men, 
as the base of the pyrami'J of nf»- 
tional wealth and happiness. Our 
immortal Washington gave his as- 
sent, his practical assent to this pro- 
position ; and I wish his example 
may be more generally followed by 
his countrymen. 

Upon consulting the history of 
English agriculture, we shall be 
convinced of the Importance of the 
improvements to which it owes its 
present degree of prosperity in that 
country. 

The advantages that have result- 
ed to Great Britain fvom the cultU 



su 



AGHICULTVXAL ESSJir« 



vation of three articles, clover, tur- 
nips, and sainfoine, are almost in- 
credible, were they not vouched by 
the reqiectable auUiority of Arthur 
Young, Esq. a man to whom agri- 
culturalists owe more than to any 
person that has ever attempted to 
improve their useful art. 

He says the annual product of 
turnips and clover, amounts to 
ten millioDs six hundred and sixty- 
six thousand five hundred and eleven 
....Sainfoine cannot make it less 
than twelve millions. 

Remember, says he, that by rea- 
son of turnips the barley is greater, 
and by the preparation of clover, 
the wheat is more productive. Con- 
sider the change from a barren fal- 
low to so profitable a husbandr}', 
and the infinite value of improve- 
ments in agriculture must be ac- 
knowledged. 

In all probability, continues he, 
we have been benefitted by these 
plants to the amount of five hun- 
dred millions sterling*. ..Of what 
consequence then must it not be to 
spread as widely as possible, such 
productive articles of culture. 

But if so much has been done in 
England by the improvements in- 
troduced into the practical parts of 
agriculture, may we nothoi)ein this 
country to feel a portion of the same 
spirit, and emulate tlie enterprize 
and industry of our European bre- 
thren, and thus enjoy a share of the 
benefits which they have felt from 
the above articles. 

We can ali eady boast among our 
countrymen of the n.imes of some 
scientific and practical farmers, 
whose writings have tended to in- 
form the ignorant and stimulate the 
inactive.. .Need I mention the names 
of Bordley, Peters, and Livingston, 
in proof of my assertion ? 

The latter, in a short compara- 
tive view of the advantages of agri- 
culture in Gi e;it Britain and ia tlic 
stutc In which he resides, gives an 
undouhtin? preference to New- 
York. The soil of Great Brit.iin, 
he observes, is less productive, ex- 



cept where great laboar u bestowed 
on cultivation ; and the dimate is 
many respects, is less friendly to 
agriculture. If this be true, and he 
has founded his assertion upon a 
carefiil examination of the best Eng- 
lish writers on the subject^ what 
encouragement does it not afford to 
the American farmer to press for- 
ward in the praiseworthy work of 
agricultural improvement ; for, as 
the writer above referred to thinks^ 
that whenever our circumstances 
shall enable us to circulate our ar- 
tificial improvements, that agricul- 
ture will be carried to a much 
higher pitch here than in Great 
Britain. 

But to hasten this desirable peri- 
od, our farmers, or at least some of 
them, must not only reflect and con- 
verse, but read and experiment on 
agricultural subjects. There are 
many ingenious and usefiil papers 
in agricultui*e published from time 
to time, which have not that circu- 
lation which they deserve, and that 
is necessary to benefit our country- 
....they are confined very much to 
the libraries of large towns, or the 
houses of the rich and the curious. 
The dwelling of the honest and labo- 
rious fiirmer they seldom reach. 

It shiUl be my endeavour to make 
the contents of these works more 
generally known, pai-ticularly their 
practical and useful parts, by send- 
ing you occasionally such extracts 
from, and remarks on them, as may 
be readily pertised and comprehend- 
ed, even by those who may not be 
versed in scientific pursiuts. 

But thinking it most prudent on 
my first introduction to my readers 
to make them but a short visit, lest 
I might be considered as a tiresome 
intruder, I shall bid them farewel 
at present, with a quotation from 
one of Chancellor Livingston's pro- 
ductions. " When the hero, the pa- 
triot, the statesman, Washington, 
did not disdam to guide, who can 
refuse to venerate the plough." 

aURICOLA. 






345 



REVEIW. 



The Life and Posthumoua Wridngt 
of WilHatn Cowfier^ £9g* vfith an 
Jniroductory Letter to the Right 
Honourable Earl Cow/ier....m.By 
William Haylajy E9qm 

Boston...* Manning and Ijiring^nd 
£m Lincoln,.., Bvo. 

On E of the chief ornaments of the 
present age was William Cowper, 
the subject of this work. The 
strength and originality of his genius 
will bear a favourable comparison 
with any of his contemporaries. In- 
deed, we shall be in little danger of 
contradiction, in asserting that none 
of his contemporaries have written 
80 much, or so well. 

The moral tendency of his poetry 
••••the elevation of his motives in 
writing above every thing sordid or 
humiliating, place him in the noblest 
rank of those who have employed 
their lives in purifying the hearts, 
and delighting the imagination of 
mankind. 

The life and private character of 
such a man must be regarded with 
the most ardent curiosity, and the 
world has waited for few works of 
this kind with a more lively impa- 
tience than has been excited by the 
present publication. 

Tlie hopes tliat we had formed 
respecting it, have not been alto- 
gether disappointed. The letters 
of Cowper, which compose so large 
a part of thb work, are fiilly wor« 
thy of the writer, and afford the most 
distinct and familiar view of his 
character and sentiments. In the 
multitude of these, it is, perhaps, 
unreasonable to repine at the sup- 
pression of any of his letters, or to 
regret that Cowper does not every 
where appear, instead of Hayley. 

The Biographer has performed 
his part in- a manner which we little 
expected, from the elegance and 
spirit he displayed in the life of 
Milton. The similarity of genius 
between poet aud poet^ by no means 



qualifies one to be the biograi^et 
of the other. The sympathv of tastd 
and pursuits, may enable the one to 
comprehend and relish the works ; 
but, in no degree, fits hion for ana- 
lysing the motives and detailing the 
actions of his friend : but as, on this 
account, Hayley rose far above our 
expectations in his life of Miltony 
he has fallen even very much below 
thenv in his present perfbrmance* 
The style of this work is florid, with- 
out splendor....and puerile without 
simplicity : and forms the strongest 
contrast imaginable with the charm- 
ing ease and elegant simplicity of 
Cowper's own letters. 

The defects of this woii^ as a 
biographical performance, shew 
themselves in particulars more im- 
portant than style. The writer 
seems to have been restrained by 
< considerations, less excusable than 
ignorance, from entering fiilly into 
the early history of Cowper. Some 
fantastic and unseasonable delicacy 
has prevented him frpm dwelling on 
those incidents of the poet's youth- 
ful life, which probably determined 
his future destiny ; and from which 
the reader might have drawn useful 
and important lessons in relation to 
his own character. From a notion, 
that regard for the poet's memory 
required silence on any topic wliich 
might reflect disgrace or disappro- 
bation on his relations, the writer 
is profoundly silent on occasions 
where he ought to have been most 
communicative, and thirty years of 
the poet's life pass over in his 
narrative without any particulars 
with which a reasonable curiosity 
would be gratified, except the fi)l- 
lowing ^m Cowper's own pen.... 

" I have been all my life," says 
Cowper, "subject to inflammations 
of the eye, and in my boyish days 
had specks on both that threatened 
to cx)vcr them. My father, alarmc d 
at the consequences, sent me to a 
female oculist of great renown at 



346 



KEVIEW. 



that time, in whose home I abode 
two years, but to no good purpose* 
From her I went to Westminster 
sdiooOyWhere, attheageof 14, the 
smaU-fwx seized me, and provcad the 
better oculist of the two, for it de- 
livered me from them all; not 
however from great liableness to 
inJBammaikm, to which I am in a 
degree still subject, though much 
less than formerly, since I have 
been constant in the use of a hot 
foot-bath every night, the last thing 
before going to rest." 

Speakinff of his own early life, in 
a letter to Mr. Park, (dated March, 
1792) Cowper says, with that ex- 
treme modesty, which was one of 
his most remarkable characteristics 
....*' From the age of twenty to 
thirty-three, I was occupied, or 
ought to have been, in the study of 
the law ; from thirty-three to sixty 
I have spent my time in the countr}', 
where my reading has only been an 
apology for idleness, and where, 
when I had not either a magazine 
or a review, I was sometimes a car- 
penter, at others, a bird-cage maker, 
or a gardener, or a drawer of land- 
scapes. At fifty years of age, I 
commenced an author : it is a whim ' 
that has served me longest and best, 
and will probably be my last." 

The blamcable,or at least, illaud- 
able timidities of Cowper, which 
adhered to him through life, are 
described as they appeared in child- 
hood, in the foUowmg manner..... 
This is a ^ood specimen of the judg- 
ment which the biographer has 
brought to his task.... 

*' It appears a strange process in 
education, to send a tf^ndcr child 
from a long residence in the Ijouse 
of a female oculist, immediately into 
all the hardships that a /i///^ delicate 
boy must have to encounter at a 
public school. But the mother of 
Cowper was dead, and fathers, 
though good men, are iu general 
utterly unfit to manage their younj; 
and tender orphans. The little 
Cowper was sent to his firit school 
in the year of his mother's death , 



and how ill-suited the scene was to 
his peculiar character, must be evi- 
dent to all, who have heard him 
describe his sensations in that sea- 
son of life, which Is often, very 
erroneously, extolled as the happiest 
period of human existence. He has 
been frequently heard to lament the 
fitT9ecuti(my that he sustained in his 
childish years, from the cruelty of 
his school fellows, in the two scenes 
of his education. His own forcible 
expression represented him at 
Westminster om not dming to ntUe 
ki9 eye above the shoe-bnckle of the 
elder-boys, who were too apt to 
tyrannise over his ftentle spirit. 
The acuteness of his feelings in his 
childhood rendered those important 
years, (which might have produced, 
under tender cultivation, a series of 
lively enjoyments) miserable years 
of increa»ng timidity and depres- 
sion, which, in the most cheerful 
hours of his advanced life, he could 
hardly describe to an intimate fnend 
without shuddering at the recollec- 
tion of his early wretchedness. 7et 
to thisperhapB ihewortdU indebted 
for the pathetic and moral eloguemte 
f^ thoee forcible admonitions to pa" 
rente^ which give intereet and beau- 
ty to his admirable poem on public 
schools. Poets may be said to real- 
ize, in some measure, the poetical 
idea of the nightingale's singing 
with a thoi-n at her breast, as their 
most exquisite songs have often ori- 
ginated in the acuteness of their 
personal sufferings. Of this obvious 
truth, the poem I have just men- 
tioned, is a very memorable exam- 
ple; and if any readers have thought 
the poet too severe in his strictures 
on that system of education, to which 
we owe some of the most accom- 
plished characters that ever gave 
celebrity to a civilized nation, such 
readers will be candidly reconciled 
to that moral severity of reproof, in 
recollecting that it flowed from se- 
vere personal experience, united to 
the purest xptritof philanthropy and 
patriotism." 

Who that readstliefoUowmglines 
but must regret the total silence of 



XEYIEm 



3ir 



Uie biogmfiher'oa certaSn incidents 
ef Cowper'slile. 

Still, stUl, I mooni with each retnnn- 
ing day, 

Him snatch 'd by fate, in early youth, 
away. 

And "her.... through tedious years of 
doubt and pain, 

Fix'd in her choice, and faithful. ..but 
in vain ! 

O prone to pity, generous, and sin- 
cere, 

Whose eye ne'er yet rcfus'd the wretch 
a tear; 

Whose heart the real claim of friend- 
ship knows, 

Nor thinks a lover's are but fancied 
woes; 

See me, ere yet my destin'd course 
half done. 

Cast forth a wand'rer on a wild, un- 
known ! 

See me neglected on the world's rude 
coast. 

Each dear companion of my voyage 
lost \ 

Nor ask why clouds of sorrow shade 
my brow ! 

And ready tears wait only leave to 
flow! 

Why all, that sooths a heart, from 
ang^h free. 

All that delights the happy.. ..palls 
with me ! 

The following most extraordinary 
instance of timidity, will suggest to 
our readers, many reflections on the 
frowardness and frailties of the 
human constitution. 

^^ Though extreme diifldence, and 
a tendency to despond, seemed early 
to preclude Cowper from the expec- 
tations of climbing to the splendid 
summit of the profession, he had 
chosen ; yet, by the interest of his 
family, he had prospects of emolu- 
ment, in a line of public life, that ap- 
peared better suite'd to the modesty 
of his nature, and to his moderate 
ai)abition« 

In his thirty-first year, he was 
nominated to the offices of reading 
clerk, and clerk of the private com- 
mittees in iht house of lords. A 
situation the more desirable, as such 
an establishment lAight enable him 



to marry earHf m Ufe$ a meaaitms 
to which he was doUblv disposed by 
judgment and inclination. But th^ 
peculiarities of hnwond^ffiitmind 
rendered him unalue to support tb* 
ordinary duties of his new office! 
for the idea of reading in pnblie 
proved a source of torture to hfs 
tender and afiftrehennve 9ftirit. 
An expedient was devised to pro> 
mote his interest, without wounding 
his feelings. Resigning his situation 
of reading clerk, he was appointed 
clerk of the journals in the same 
house of parliament, with a hope, 
that his personal appearance, in that 
assembly, might not be required ; 
but a parliamentary dispute made 
it necessary for him to appear at 
the bar of the house of lords, to en- 
title himself publicly to the office. 

<^ Speaking of this important inci- 
dent, * in a sketchy wnich he once 
formed himseify ^f pasaagen in hU 
early lifcy he expresses what he en- 
dured at the time in these remark- 
able words : " They, whose spirits 
are formed like mine, to whom a 
public exhibition of themselves is 
mortal poison, msnr have some idea 
of the horrors of my situation...* 
others can have none." 

'^ His terrors on this occasion 
arose to such an astonishing height, 
that they utterly overwhekued his 
reason : for although he had endea<* 
Youred to prepare himself for his 
public duty, by attending closely at 
the office, for several months, to ex^ 
amine the parliamentary journals, 
his application was rendered use- 
less by that excess of diffidence, 
which made him conceive that, 
whatever knowledge he might pre- 
viously acquire, it would all forsake 
him at the bar of the house. This 
distressing apprehension increased 
to such a degree, as the time for his 
appearance approached, that when 
the day, so anxiously dreaded, ar- 
rived, he was unable to make the 
experiment. The very friends, 
who called on him for the purpose 
of attending him to the house of 

* Why was not this sketch pub- 
lished? 



S4B 



azTiKw; 



iocdBf aoquifCed la tfae cruel necet. 
tity of his relinquishing the pros- 
pect of a sUlioD so severely formi- 
dable to a frame of such tingular 

** The conflict between the wishes 
of just aflectionate ambition, and the 
terrors of diffidence, so entirely 
overwhelmed his health and facul- 
ties, that after two learned and 
benevolent divines, had vainly en- 
deavoured to establish a lasting 
tranquillity in his mind, by friendly 
and religious conversation, it was 
found necessary to remove him to 
St. Alban's, where he resided a con- 



siderable tamei under the. cure of 

doctor Cotton. 

*' The misfortune of mental de- 
rangement is a topic of such awfiil 
delicacy, that I consider it aa the 
duty of a biographer, rather to sink 
in tender silence, than to proclaim, 
with circumstantial and offensive 
temerity, the minute particulars of 
a calamity, to which all human 
beings are exposed, and perhafiM in 
pro/iortion as they have received 
Jrom nature those delightful^ bui 
dangerous gifts^ a heart of cxgid^ 
site tendemessj and a mind ofcrt- 
ative energy**' 



POETRY ORIGINAL. 



mvocATioar to the spirit or 
roBSY. 

Hail, spirit of poetic phrenzy.... 
Hover, with thy plumes of ether, 
0*r the cavern, or the torrent. 
Where their social arms entwining, 

Oatcs and cedars hide the ground : 
Where estranged from human con- 
verse, 
Kindred, friends, and home forgot- 

ten, 
I^onely, and to thought devoted, 
Lost in trance of meditation. 

Oft thy museful son is found. 

Hover where the ghosts of pilgrims 
Nightly, from their iron slumber 
Waking, leave the dark recesses, 

Where their mouldering relics 
sleep: 
Time sepultercd, or the emblem. 
Or the artless tale of sorrow 
Graven on the tomb of hermit. 

Teaches vanity to weep. 

Thee he strongly importuning. 
While from light ana noise secluded, 
Wrapp'd in jobless pall of midnight. 
O'er the starry regions roaming, ' 

Tracing in each radiant sphere. 
Thy arial footsteps, music 
Potent as the breath of angels, 
Such as fervours of devotion, 
Teach extatic souls to utter.... 

Nightly shall salute thy ear. 



Lift or rend the veil asimder, 
From audacious eyes concealing 
All the grace and grandeur decking 
Glory's cloudless shrine, and altars 

Dedicate to endless fame : 
Where divinity is present, 
Seen, and felt, and known, and wor- 
shipped.... 
Where eternal splendors beaming 
O'er the earth forgetting bosom. 

Kindle a diviner flame. 

Bear me from the haunt of sorrow 
And the dark abode of mortals. 
To a brighter region, where grief 
Or disquiet never enters. 

Nor malignant demon strays: 
Where to fancy's will propitious. 
Earth", and air, and water hasten 
Into magic forms and nature 
Fetterless, at length, and free, each 
Wafture of her wand obeys. 

O'er thy starry mantle, waving 
Round my steps, with hues umium- 

bered. 
Wisdom throws aerener lustre. 
Such as shrouds Jove's throne and 

altar. 
Viewless to seraphic sight ; 
But to frailer nature's gracious, 
Bend a less effulgent aspect ; 
Be with meeker rays, thy temples 
Wreathed, and mist involve those eyes « 

that 
Shed Insufferabie light. 



rCSTRT. 



349 



Vettnred with thy native brightneu, 
Eyei of earth could ne'er behold thee ; 
None beneaih the moon, thy features 
Yet have viewed of veil divested 

None that drink the solar ray : 
Who has held the pencil fitted 
To iUume the pictured canvas 
Where thou visibly art present ? 
Who, in blazing hues, thy image 

£'er attempted to pourtray i 



SELECTED. 

THK WINTEa TRAVKLLEH. 

£The following little tale is extracted 
from the fourth edition of '< Walks 
in a Forest," a poem by Thomas 
Giabom, A. M. one of the most 
moral of the present English writ- 
ers....one whose works deserve 
the highest commendation.] 

Mark on that road, whose unobstructed 
course 

With long white line the unbusied furze 
divides, 

Yon solitary horseman urge his way. 

He, not unmindful of the brooding 
storm, 

Ere yet by strong necessity compeird 

Of pressing occupation, he exchanged 

The blazing hearth, the firm-compact- 
ed roof, 

For naked forests, and uncertain 
skies, 

With wise precaution, armed himself 
to meet 

The winter's utmost rage. In silken 
folds 

Twice round his neck the handker- 
chief he twined. 

His legs he cased in boots of mighty 
size. 

And strength experienced oft i warm'd 
through and through 

Jn chimny-comer ; and with glossy 
face 

Prepared descending torrents to re- 
pel. 

As roll the round drops from the sil- 
very leaf 

Of rain*besprinkled colewort, or the 
plumes 

Of seagull sporting in the broken 
wave. 

Then o'er his limbs th« stout gr^at* 
coat he drew. 



With collar raised aloft, and threefold 

cape 
Sweep below sweep in wide concen- 
tric curves 
Low down his back dependent ; on his 

breast 
The folds he cross'd, and in its des* 

tin'd hole 
Each straining button fix'd : erect h« 

stood, 
Like huge portmanteau on its end up? 

rear'd. 
Fearless he sallied- forth ; nor yet dis- 

dain'd 
The heartening draught from tankard 

capp'd with foam. 
By host officious to the horseblock boms 
With steady hand, and eloquently- 
praised; 
While litigering on the step hb eye he 

tum'd 
To every wind, and raark'd the embat» 

tied clouds 
Ranging their squadrons in the soUen 

East. 
How fares he now? Caught on the 

middle waste, 
Where no deep wood its hospitable 

gloom 
Extends ; no friendly thicket bids hint 

cower 
Beneath its tangled roof; no lonely 

tree 
Prompts him to seek its leeward side* 

and cleave, 
Erect and into narrowest space com« 

prest, 
To the bare trunk, if haply it may 

ward 
The driving tempest: with bewilder'd 

haste 
Onward he comes. " Hither direct 

thy speed ; 
« This sheltering grove".... He hears 

not ! Marx his head 
Oblique, presented to the storm i hit 

hand 
Envelop'd deep beneath the inverted 

cuff. 
Strives to confine, with many a fruit. 

less grasp, 
His ever flapping hat; the cold 

drench'd glove 
Clings round the imprison'd fingers. 

O'er his knees 
His coat's broad skirt, scanty now 

proved too late. 
He pulls and pulls impatient, muttering 

wrath 
At pilfering tailors. Bafled and per« 

plex'd, 

5 



050 



POEXaT* 



.With joints b«numb'd and aching, 

scarce he holds 
•The rein, scaree^uides the steed with 

breathless toil 
O'eqxvwcr'd, and shrinking sidewa)'8 

from the blast. 
Behold that steed, with icy mane, and 

head 
Depressed, and quivering cars now for- 

ward bent. 
Now backward swiftly thrown, and 

offering still 
Their convex penthouse to the shifting 

gale; 
Behold that steed, on indurated balls 
Of snow upraised^ like schoolboy 

rear'd on stilts, 
Labour unbalanced: the fallacious 

prop. 
Kow this, now that, breaks short: 

with sudden jerk 
He sinks, half falling ; and recovering 

quick, 
On legs of length unequal reels along. 
Scarcr on his seat can clinging knees 

susuin 
The trembling rider : while the snow 

upheaves 
In drifts athwart his course projected 

broad; 
Or o'er the uncover*d gravel rattling 

sweeps, 
Caught up in sudden eddies, and 

aloR, 
Like smoke, in suffocating volumes 

whirrd. 
The road he qtiits unwary, wandering 

wide 
O'er the bleak waste, mid brushwood 

wrapped in snow, 
Down rough declivities and fractured 

banks, 



Throngh miry plashes, ca viti ca aa- 

scen. 
And bogs of treacherous snr£ace; till 

afar 
From all that roeeu his recoDcclioa 

borne. 
Dismay 'd by haaards scarce escaped, 

and dread 
Of heavier perils imminent, he 

stands 
Dismounted, and aghast. Now even- 
ing draws 
Her gathering shades around ; the tem- 
pest. fierce 
Drives fiercer. Chill'd withia him 

sinks his heart. 
Panting with quick vibrations. The 

wild blast 
Appall'd he hears, thinks on his wife 

and babes. 
And doubts if ever he shafi see them 

more. 
But comfort is at hand ; the skies have 

spent 
In that last gust their Cury. From 

the west 
The setting sun with horizontal 

gleam 
Cleaves the dense doudsi and tbroogh 

the golden breach 
Strikes the scathed oak, whose blanch- 
es peel'd and bare 
'Gainst the retiring darkness of the 

storm 
With fiery lustre glow. The traveller 

views 
The well known landmark, lifts to 

heaven his eyes 
Swimming with gratitude, the friendly 

track 
Regains, and speeds exulting on his 

way. 



SELECTIONS. 



ACCOUNT or THE RE-APPSAR- 
ANCE OF SICARD, TEACHER 
OF THE DEAF AND DUMB IN 
PARIS, 

TwENTY-EiGHT months had the 
man, whom theAbbe de I'Epce chose 
for his immediate successor, the ce- 
lebrated and modest Sicard, been 
the object of a proscription in which 
lie was undeservedly included* 



Concealed in the house of a trusty 
friend, who for two years risked his 
own life to save a headof such value, 
Sicard undertook the task to bestrew 
with flowers the first studies of chil- 
dren, to faciliute their progress^ 
and to render the perfbrnoance of 
their duty easier to theiiakthers of 
families. In a narrow ceU, by the 
light of a lamp, whose faint ^immcr 
seemed loth to discover the vencra- 



.ACCOUWT OF TBE HS-Al^PSARAVCE OF SICAmA. 



351 



ble traits of the estimable recluse^ 
and to betray his place of reiiige, 
he wrote hfs Untveraal Grammar ; 
thus revenging himself of the injus- 
tice of men, only by heaping new 
benefits upon them. 

In the meantime the deaf and 
dumb of every age and sex lamented 
the absence of their teacher : some<» 
times they looked up to the windows 
of his apartment, and their eyes 
were bedewed with tears : or they 
woold regard with fixed attention 
the arm-chair, where Sicard had 
been wont almost daily to expand 
their souls, and render them suscep- 
tible of the impressions of nature ; 
and of the significant and various 
gestures that at other times animat- 
ed their countenances, the expres- 
sions of dejection and sorrow alone 
remained* 

One of them in particular, Jean 
Massieu,the fifth of the same family 
who enjoyed the instructions of the 
venenUsle Sicard, was so affected tnr 
the loss of histeacher, that, to pacify 
him, they were obliged to make him 
acquainted with his place of re-' 
fugc. This young man, whose 
understanding and talents all Paris 
admires, and who, notwithstanding 
his weak state of health, had been 
promoted to the place of refieteur 
in the school, with a salary of 1200 
francs, repeatedly offered to share 
his small income with Sicard : " My 
father (said he by means of rapid 
signs) has nothing : I must provide 
him with food and clothing, and 
save him from the cruel fate that 
oppresses him." He accordingly 
took the necessary steps with pru- 
dencc, engaged some of his friends 
to assist him in putting his generous 
project into execution, and kept 
himself in readiness to lay hold of 
the first favourable opportunity,... 
At length the ardently wished-for 
moment arrived. A dramatic poet, 
whom the enthusiasm of his heart 
rendered courageous (Bouilly) form- 
ed the resolution to interest the pub- 
lic in favour of the successor of the 
Abbe de I'Epee by producing on the 
stage a memorable scene from the 
life of that celebrated founder of the 



institution for instrucdhg the deaf 
and dumb. The undertaking was 
dangerous, but the motive irresisti- 
ble. The audience shed tears to 
the memory of the Abbe de TEpee \ 
and whilst his sainted name was re^ 
peated, the unfbrtunate Sicard's 
likewise resounded. O that fronk 
his asylum he coyld have l^eard 
these affecting exclamations of a 
numerous and respectable assembly, 
this consoling burst of enthusiasm 
from a people, which paid homage 
to virtue, and pleaded the cause 
of innocence. " Sicard," they ex** 
claimed from every side; <* Restore 
to us Sicard!" 

From the emotion that animated 
every countenance, from the ap- 
plause that was clapped from every 
hand, and especially from tl\e in- 
describable transports of the author 
(Bouilly), it was easy for Massieu) 
notwithstanding his deafiiess and 
dumbness, to form an idea of the in* 
terost which the audience expressed 
in favour of his preceptor : and he 
BO well contrived matters, that a 
few days after, he and Bouilly met 
together at the house of a legislator, 
who is a friehd of men of merit, and 
of the unfortunate, and whero a bro« 
ther of the chief con sul of the French 
republic happened to be on a visit* 
Having here, by the affecting an- 
swers which he gave to the ques* 
tions put to him, softened the hearts 
of a groat number of persons to a 
participation of hisfeelings ; he gave 
to the brother of the consul a letter 
which he had written in his prosence, 
and which concluded with the fol- 
lowing remarkable words: "Pro- 
mise, O promise me ! that you will 
speak for us to the chief consul : they 
say he loves those men who labouf 
for the happiness of others ; surely 
then he must love Sicard, whose 
sole happiness it is to render the 
poor deftf and dumb happy !" 

This touching language of nature 
Excited the admiration of all present 
and produced the most lively emo- 
tion. Massieu observed this: im- 
mediately he flung one arm round 
the neck of Joseph Bonaparte and the 
other round Bouilly ; and all three 



558 



ACCOVIKT OF THE ltB*AFPKAmAIICB OF SXCARB. 



taidtediiitotemn* Joseph Bonapartei 
who was rooit affected, pressed the 
amiable pupil of Sicard to his heart, 
and requested his worthy friend to 
vgnify to him, that he wouM on the 
aame evening present his letter to 
the consul, and that he would ven- 
tnre to promise him that it would 
have the wished for effect. 

Masftieu's hopes were not disap* 
pointed : the consul ordered Sicard's 
name to be erased from the list of 
the proscribed; and soon after he 
was restored to the right of again 
giving instructions to his pupils. 

The 14th of February, 1800, was 
the day on which this giood father 
appeared again in the midst of his 
children* 

It was about eleven in the morn- 
ing; already was the hall appro- 
priated for the public exercises of 
the deaf and dumb, fiUed with cele- 
brated men ; among whom, those in 
particular were observed who dedi- 
cate their talents and labours tu the 
instruction of youth, and to the pro- 
motion of the happiness of the 
human race* In the midst of the 
hall stood the deaf and dumb pupils 
of both sexes and different ages : the 
vivacity of their looks, and the ra- 
pi(Uty of their signs, by which they 
mutually communicated their senti- 
ments, indicated that this day was 
the happiest of their life* 

The triends of the venerable pro- 
script, among whom was likewise 
the excellent man who had sheltered 
him from the storm of party-rage, 
enter the hall in crowds ; and a num- 
ber of beautiful ladies embellished 
the company by the lustre of their 
charms* 

At once a penetrating cry of joy 
escapes Massieu: every one rises 
up ; a respectful silence reigns 
throughout Uie whole assembly ;•••• 
Sicard appears... .Massieu is already 
in his arms, his mouth is joined to 
the mouth of Sicard ; hf s whole soul 
seems to be transfused into the 
soul of his preceptor ; he takes him 
by the hand, and conducts him to 
his chair. Immediately the male 
pupils rush towards him : the more 
adult among them suiround their 



adored master, press him to HieiF 
hearts, and hold him in their arms ; 
the little ones kiss his hands, dii^ 
to his garment, and climb up to hb 
breast and his head : he is covered 
with the most tender kisses, cares* 
sed with the most affecting sgns, 
with the tears of the adults and of 
the children. 

Sicard endeavours to speak, but 
his emotion deprives him of the 
power of utterance* He wishes to 
communicate to each of his pupils 
what passes in his heart, but all at 
once nx their eyes upon him, em* 
brace him, caress him ;....to extend 
over them his beneficent hands, to 
tell by signs that he loves them all 
with the same paternal aflfectioB, 
that he receives them all into his 
bosom, is all he has power to do, all 
that the blissful intoxicatioo of his 
soul inspires him with. 

As however nothing escapes his 
penetrating glance, he now observed 
that his female pupils, restrained by 
the bashfulness peculiar to their sex, 
venture not wholly to give way to 
the emotion which eradicates from 
their eye, and glows in every fea« 
ture of their expressive counte- 
nances ; affected by this struggle of 
modesty and sentiment, he goes to* 
wards them, stops for a moment, 
then stretches out his arms, and re* 
cei^'es their caresses with a tone 
that seems to say ^< Should a £ather 
blush to embrace his children V 

Whilst these bashful maidens are 
expressing to their teacher the joy 
which his return occasions them« 
the, boys who have made the great- 
est progress approach the table, and 
delineate with lettei*s of fire, and the 
rapidity of lightning, the emotions 
which animate them. One of them 
thanks the consul and his brother 
for having restored to them the man 
from whom they received their 
moral existence : another describes 
the anxiety and melancholy with 
which they were overwhelmed dur- 
ing the absence of their beloved pre- 
ceptor: a third writes down the 
sentence, ** That virtue and truth 
sooner or later will triumph over 
the artifices of the wicked." At lastp 



ACCOUXT OF TBB RB-APPSARAirCB OF SXCARO. 



353 



Maanea himself appears at the table, 
and while he presents to the eyes of 
the admiring spectators the pro- 
fiDondest truths of the physical and 
moral sciences, a blooming maiden 
places on the head of Sicard a 
wreath of poppies and heliotropes, 
eiql^lems of the sadness of his pupils 
during his absence, and of the im« 
morUdity with which his genius, his 
patience, his beneficent labours, 
will be crowned* 



BZTRACTS FROM THK CORRES- 
PONOKKCE OF AN AMERICAN 
IM FRANCE. 

( Continued from page 230 J 

The city of Tours, the capital 
of the ci-devant province of Tou- 
raine, lies on the south side of the 
the river Loire, which b the larg- 
est river in France, and navigable 
fi>r several hundred miles* 

There is here a magnificent stone 
bridge over the Loire, of which one 
of the arches was purposely de- 
stroyed during the Vendee war, to 
prevent the rebels from crossing 
the river, and marching towards 
Paris* Tours is entirely built of 
hewn stone, and its main street is 
one of the finest in Europe. It is 
called, in compliment to die army, 
Bue de I'Jrmee d* Italic. In this 
street there are but few shops ; the 
houses are mostly private ones, be- 
longing to the proprietors of es- 
tates in the neighbouring districts, 
and to merchants who trade exten- 
sively between Nantes and the dis- 
tricts of the Upper Loire. At 
Tours, travellers from the south 
must have their passports vMr, or 
examined and counter-si^ed, be- 
fore they cross the Loire tor Paris. 
In the neighbourhood of this city is 
a fine palace, that formerly belong- 
iiA to the archbishop of Tours, the 
gardens oi which are made one of 
the many fine public walks liclong- 
Ing to this town. At the other side 
Af the river, close to the bridge, 
th^re is a village, at least half a 



mile in length, constructed in the 
same manner as that which I de^ 
scribed on the Garonne. At the 
foot of the hills, on the north side 
of the Loire, is a regular range of 
soft rock, of about two miles in 
length. 

It is from this quarry abijtve 
^oundj that the city of Tours itself 
IS built* In these rocks, which they 
have excavated, the villagers have 
very comfortable habitations, and a 
neat town. 

I'he shell and roof of these hous- 
es, hollowed from the rock, may 
last as long as the world itself, and 
bid defiance to the storms, or the 
winter's nuns* Some of those houses 
are so covered with vines, that one 
would not easily know what mate- 
rials they were made of. The 
country in the neighbourhood of 
Tours, for riches and beauty, ex- 
ceeds all power of description* 
Touraine has been always deemed 
the Garden of France; and I be- 
lieve it may be called with truth the 
Garden of Europe. Here every va-» 
ried beauty that cultivation can 
draw from the richest soil, and 
happiest climate, is to be found in 
the utmost luxuriance, while an 
immense population animates the 
scene, and gives it an interest, 
which a mere landscape cannot 
convey; neither can one or two 
great demesnes, however dressed 
in solitary grandeur. The verdure 
oitht English pastures, nor the cat- 
tle and ^e flocks that are to be 
seen feeding upon them, by no 
means present a scene so interest- 
ing to the heart as these deliehtfiil 
valleys, through which the Loire 
winds its majestic course : they are 
covered with the richest produc- 
tions of nature in European cli- 
mates ; the air breaths fragrance, 
the climate and the rural beauties 
of the prospect dispose the mind to 
tranquillity and harmonv, while the 
never-ceasing sounds of mirth and 
gaiety proclaim the happiness of 
dieir numerous inhabitants* The 
high road from Tours to Blois keeps 
close to the river-side the whole of 
the way, and cannot be surpassed. 



S54 



son OF THilVBL&lWO IN rRAWOS* 



er I believe e^UftUed, m Enro^ for 
richneis of prospect and scenery. I 
think that every traveller, nrho 
wishes to have a complete idea of 
France, and happens to be in PlEiris 
in the summer season, should visit 
this country, which has long been 
called the g^arden of France* A 
week's excursion from Paris would 
be sufficient for the purpose; and 
k surely would be a week well cm- 

Coyed* Blois is a large but trre^pi- 
r town, and is neither welMMult, 
nor handsome* As it has long en- 
joyed Uie rmitation of being tho 
town where the French language is 
spoken with the greatest purity, I 
must therefore suppose that many 
persons of foshion and high educa* 
tion live at Blois, although it cannot 
be compared wittt Tours for beauty 
or attractions. In the centre of 
the town of Blois there is a very fine 
palace, which formerly belonged to 
the bishop ; but was, in the time of 
assignats, sold for a mere trifle to a 
negotiant. The town of Blois gain- 
ed but very little by this transfer of 
property ; for, in the bishop's time, 
the gardens were thrown open to 
the public for a walk ; hut the ne^ 
gotiant's first act of ownership was 
to shut them up, and exclude the 
pubKc from the liberty of walking 
there. 

From Blois to Orleans, whkh is 
also upon the Loire, the road follows 
the direction of the river, but in a 
8traif»:htcr course. The country is, 
the v/Lole of the way, rich andbeau- 
tilul. 

Orleans is a large city, possessing 
a considerable share both of manu* 
fectures and commerce. 

There are a great number of pas* 
sage and trading vessels belonging 
to Orleans, which go regularly to 
Kante9, which lies at the mouth of 
the Loire, nearly two hundred miles 
from Orleans* 

There is also a canal near Orle- 
ans^ by which the Loire is connect- 
ed with the Seine, and Orleans com- 
municates with Paris. This town 
is large, and rich enough to support 
its theatre, and a tolerably^good set 
of actors, for the greatest pait of 



tke year. I mentioned to fan ia 
my last, that of all my fellow-tra^ 
vellert ftom Boordeaux to Paris, I 
should only describe one* Common 
characters, such as are to be seen 
every day, in every country, are 
hardly worth describing ; but, iHiea 
a character is net with, whose io' 
terest and whose history isderfred 
from the prejudices of the country 
through which one travels, from 
the barbarous pride of an order 
which no longer eadsU in France ; 
the description of such a character 
will give something of historical in- 
formation respecting the nMuuMra 
of the times that are past. About 
twelve leagues on the south side of 
Tours, a lady of about twenty-five 
years of age entered the carriage, 
with her attendant. She was tall, 
and wcll-foraied, her features were 
regular, her eyes large, but vacant^ 
ReaM>n had long quilted its seat; 
and her soul, having lost its object, 
had forgotton to animate her coub- 
tenancc, or sparkle in her eyes. Its 
pulses had almost ceased to beat. 
Scarcely liad she taken her seat, 
when her talkative attendant in- 
formed us.«..£lle est foUe, She b 
cut of her reason. On inqniring 
into her story, she told me, that 
Mademoiselle etoitde la plus haute 
noblesse; that is, blonged to the 
highest rank of nolnlity ; that she 
dared not tell her name ; but that 
her story was, that in her youth she 
had fallen in love with a neiglibonr- 
mg bourgeois, who was young, rich, 
and handsome, and equally in love 
with her; but, that asitwasimpos* 
sible for her parents dela plus haute 
noblesse to consent thatlheir daugh- 
ter should marry a bourgeois, what- 
ever qualifications he might have, 
the consequence was, that &e young 
lady grew deranged, had been seven 
years in the condition I then saw 
her, and no hopes were entertained 
of her recovery. Such was the me- 
lancholy effects I have witnessed 
witli my own eyes, of the distinc- 
tions that once subsisted betiecen la 
plus haute noblesse, and la boor- 
geoisie....Who is it that would wish 
to revive such distinctions f 



KOOS OF TBAVELLING IN FRANCE* 



^ 



. From Orleans to Paris, the road 
is paved, and^ I am told, that to the 
north of Paris aU the high roads are 
paves* On tliis road, particularly 
as one approaches Paris, one meets 
with many magnificent houses, de- 
mesnes, and parks (the country- 
seats of the great nobles, who usu- 
ally resided at Versailles or Paris). 
"^Iie villa that once belonged to the 
celebrated Madam dc Pompadour, 
mistress to Louis XV, is very grand , 
but the most magnificent country- 
seat on the road belongs to mon- 
;aieur| formerly marquis, D*-tVrgen- 
son, son to a farmer-general, who 
built this place during Ids admini- 
stration. This place may compare 
with the duke of Bedford's seat at 
Woburn for grandeur and magnifi- 
cence. The park, which is in tlie 
highest state of cultivation, cont^ns 
between three and four thousand 
a<:res, surrounded with a stone-wall, 
eight feet high, and of the neatest 
masonry. The money expended 
on this wall alone would purchase a 
considerable estate. The mansion- 
house, and the village, which may 
be considered as an appurtenance 
to it, are, in every reject, suita- 
ble to the grandeur of the park. I 
was much surprised that a marquis, 
a son of a farmer-general and mini- 
ster of finance, should be permitted 
to retain this fine property, acquir- 
ed probably out of the revenues of 
the nation. On inquiring the caues 
of it, I was informed, that at least 
nine-tenths of the nobility of France 
would have preserved their proper- 
ty as well as monsieur D'Argenson, 
if they had not chosen to emigrate, 
and abandon their estates, in hopes 
of recovering them again, with the 
titles and privileges that the revo- 
lution had abolished. Most of them 
chose to stake their fortunes on tliis 
chance, and they lost them ; as to 
those who quitted the country in 
tlie reigh of terrrr, they are not 
considered as emigrants, and very 
little of their property has been sold. 
As to this monsieur D'Argerson, 
. be constantly resided at his coun- 
try-seat, and all the harm he suffer- 
ed during the revolution was, that. 



in the times of tlie Sans culottini, 
some of his neighbours broke down 
part of his park-wall, and turned 
their cattle into it ; but, when the 
levelling spirit had spent its rage, 
and government was a little better 
established, he repaired his wall, 
and has enjoyed his fine demesne 
very peaceably ever since. 

It therefore appears to me, that 
all the compassion due to the French 
emigi'ants, as a body, is what mis- 
fortune may claim, even wJien the 
effect of imprudence. If, without 
any necessity, they chose to stake 
their fortunes on a most hazardous 
s]>eculation, they must, in some de- 
gree, blame themselves for the con- 
sequences. Those who have pur- 
chased the estates of emigrants usu- 
ally allow an annuity out of them 
for the support of the original pos- 
sessor. This custom the general 
opinion of the neighbourhood, and 
the advice of the priests, makes 
almost universal. The country in 
the neighbourhood of Paris exliibits 
considerable variety j it is some- 
what hilly, where, as France is in 
general a veiy fiat country: its 
villages also are, as might be ex- 
pected, much neater than they are 
at a distance from Paris, and tlie 
country-seats more frequent. 



ON THE USE OF THE WORDS 
5' SHALL" AND " WILL." 

It is commcHily acknowledged, 
tliat foreigners find a difficulty in 
theuseofthe English words " shall" 
and will," and that many amongst 
our own countiyraen, (particularly 
the Scotch and Irish) often substi- 
tute improperly the one for the 
other. Yet I meet with no rule 
anywhere laid down on the subject ; 
and I have frequently heard it as- 
serted, that there is none ; that 
the knowledge of the right use of 
the words cannot be attained by 
foreigners, but by a familiar ac- 
quaintance with the language in its 
purest style; and that provincials 
can only by obbervaiion fi-ee them- 



S56 O* TBK VSB or THE WOBDS << SBALL** AH0 ^ WILL." 

•elves Iroin the habit of speech na- It it a mind, that «Aatf remain a pri- 
turaily acquired where the car is •on where it i». 

accustomed to the misuse of the Shall remain ? 

words. Thus we pretend ourselves 
to decide aI^lit^anly, this is right, 
and that is wi-ong, without any rule, 
at if wc could discriminate by in- 
tuition ; and we expect those, with 
whose phraseology wc are oilcndcd, 
to adopt by observation that for 
which there is no standard* 

On referring to Dr. Johnson, I 
fed he gives no rule : he confesses 
the difficulty, and does, in my ojii- 
luon, very little towards removing it. 

In his dictionary, under the word 
«< shall," he says: 
«< Shall, v. defective [pcMil* Saic. 

is originally / owr, or / oug^ht. 
In Chaucer,'" thefaithe IthaU to 

Gnd," means the faith I owe to 

Cod ; thence it became a sign of 

the future tense. The French 

use ^ei'Oir,</of«,</oi/, in the same 

manner, with a kind of future 

signification; and the Swedes 

have tkally and the Icelanders 

hkaly in the same sense. It has 

no tenses but •^a//, future; and 

shouidy imperfect.] 
The explanation of «Atf//, whkh 

foreigners and provincials con- 
found with fnV/, is not easy ; and 

the difficulty is increased l>y the 

poets, who sometimes give to 

MhaUvji emphatical iCJueo( wiii; 

but I shall endeavour ^cro««a 

Minerva J to shew the meaning of 

fhail in the future tense. 

1. I hhuUlove, It will so happen 
that I roust love ; I am resolved 
to love. 

2. ShaliliaveP Will it be permit- 
ted me to love ? Will you permit 
me to love ? Will it happen that I 
must love ? 

3. nou ithalt iaveP I command 
thee to love. Itis permitted thee 
to love: (in poetry or solemn 
diction) it will ha]}pen that thou 
must love. 

4. Shaii thoul(rve? Will it happen 
that thou must love \ Will it be 
permitted to thee to love. 

5. He shaii iwe* It will happen 
that he must love; it is com- 
inanded him tliat he love. 



Hear you this Triton of the minnows? 

mark you 
His absolute thait? Shaitpeare. 

See Romulus the Great : 
This prince a priestess of your blood 

sl>ail bear, 
And, like his sire, in arms he shall 

appear. 

JMydenU JEm. 

That he shaii receive no benefit 
from Christ, is the alfirmatioB 
whereon all his despair is fcond- 
ed ; and the one way of remov- 
ing this dismal apprahenskm, is 
to convince him that Christ's 
death, and the benefits thereof^ 
either do, or if he perform die 
condition required of bin, shaU 
certainly belong to hinu.../fiim- 
ond'M Fundamentaltm 
6. Shail he iave? It is permitted 
him to love? In solemn language, 
will it happen that he must love V 
Thus far Dr. Johnson. 
Now I contend that, if there fa 
a right and a wrong, there must 
be a rule. Perhaps it may be said 
that I am fighting against the air, 
that the matter is obvious, and 
known to every one. I can only 
answer, if the role is any where 
given, I shall be glad to have it 
pointed out to me; if not I think it 
is wanting ; and, till some one shall 
lay down a better, I shall venture 
to retain that which is herepropos- 
ed to your readers. 

In the first place then, I observe, 
that in English we have no simple 
future, but express it 1^ auxiliary 
with the principl verb. 

Now the auxiliaries have also an 
appropriate signification themselves 
as simple verbs...." Will" implymg 
intention or volition, or rather 
fiirther a determination or resohi- 
tion of the actor; ♦* shall" tmpHing 
a determination on the part of tiie 
Mpralcer. Ex. ** He says he iwtf 
not, but he shaii*,** Here the actor 
is compelled. 

It may be softened into a ^miff*> 
a»on, fls <* he shall if he will;*'.... 
**he shall have my fiermiswm i*' 



•H THE WIX OF THE WORDS « SHALL" AHD ^ WILL." 35f 



slfil this implies intention of the 
speaker relative to something in his 
power, and it is not a mere mture. 

Now^ as our language is so con- 
Btrncted, that, while we want only 
to express a mere future, we are 
obliged to use one of these words, 
so that we cannot get rid of an im- 
plied determination either of the 
apeaker or of the actor, the con- 
trivance seems to be to throw it off 
from the Weaker ; and, with respect 
totheuclor, a degree of ambiguity 
is left, which an Interpretation, 
arising out of the general' connec- 
tion, and probable intention, of the 
sentence, removes in a degree suf- 
ficient lor genera] use* 

In speaking in the first person, 
the dfteaker is the nominative to the 
verb; the actor and the speaker 
areone and tiie same. Inthiscase, 
•* mil" implies the determination 
of the speaker, because he is also 
the actor. In the second and third 
person, the person or thing M/ioken 
of is the nominative case to the 
verb; the actor and speaker are 
not the same ; therefore the word 
^ will" does not involve the inten- 
tion of the speaker. 

This therefore I propose as the 
rule, viz. that, when we intend a 
mere future, the wonl " shaii** is 
used m the first person, and '< will" 
in the second and third; and the 
cause of the rule I take to be, the 
meakeif's desire to avoid expres- 
sing his own intention. 

For these reasons, when speak- 
ing in the first person, we say «< I 
dktiC fi>rget," in which no actual 
will or determination of the speak- 
er is implied; for the actor and the 
q)eaker being the same person 
(since the meaning cannot be *' I 
will compel myself") the compul- 
sonr signification of the word 
** shall" cannot be intended, and 
it is a mere future. 

In the third person, we cannot 
say *^ he shaii forget," on account 
fd the compulsory signification of 
the word *' shall ; and we say " he 
w^ forget." 

laneitherofthesecasesdo we find 
•By ambiguity ; for io/orgti ianot a 

VOL. I....VO. VI. _-,_ 



subject either of will or compul- 
sion* 

In verbs denoting any act the 
subject of will or compulsion, the 
ambiguity relative to the wiUof the 
actor is left, when the speaker 
either cannot express, or diooses 
to avoid expressing, his own will i 
as " the sun wiii not shine to day ;" 
** my servant tviV/not be in town to- 
morrow." These are mere fiitures; 
but by possibility might be constru* 
ed to express a determination of 
the sun or the servant, to which 
^tmbiguity we submit, as to a defect 
in the language. 

In the Uke cases, but in the first 
person, we sliould say, ^^ J thaii be 
distressed with this bumfaig sun ;" 
in which it is out of the speaker's 
power to express his will; or, " I 
9ha/l not be in town to day," when 
he chooses to avoid expressing his 
will ; and these also are mere fii- 
tures. 

We cannot exchange these words, 
and say, in the first case, ^< the sim 
»ha/i not shine," or " I wili not be 
distressed;" for then instead of a 
fiiture the words express the will 
and determination of the speaker in 
matters out of his controul : nor, in 
the second case, can we say, ^ my 
servant «Aa// not be in town," or 
^« I Ytrr//notbe intown;" for then 
the words express the win of the 
speaker, where he means merely 
to speak in the fiiture tense, with- 
out declaring his own determina- 
tion on the subject. 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Of LOUIS 
' OF BOURBOV, PRINCE OF COVDX. 

Louis Bourbon, prince of Con- 
de, was bom on the 8th of Septem- 
ber, 1/31. His studies were direct-/* 
ed bythe Jesuits. His military ar- 
dour broke forth early in life, and 
superseded every other object. At , 
the age of eighteen he served as a 
volunteer at the celebrated siege of^ 
Arras, where he gave the first sig- 
nal proofii of that courage for which 
he was afterwards so\|minent]y 
distingui^ed. In 1640 he married 



3J» 



liaoUAtmCAL SKBTCH OF ft»UU OV MOftl 



the niece af the cardiaal Richdieo. 
lliis marriage, which administered 
%o the ftmbition of the aspiring pre- 
late, did not contribute to t)ic hap- 
piness of the young devoted bride- 
groom. 

Being in 1643 appointed com- 
mander In chief, he ascended with 
ipgantic Bveps, (throuych a tttcces- 
sion of victories) the fsuromit of re- 
nown. His great merit, however^ 
did not shield him fi*om the suspi- 
cious nature of Mazarin ; lor soon 
after he had siiWued the Pariuan 
msurgeotB^ his own destruction was 
the object of the subtle Italian, who 
procured an order (under various 
pretences) for the imprisonment of 
the prince of Conde, of his brother 
the prince of Conti, and of his bro- 
ther.iii4aw the duke of Longue- 
viUe. 

The prince of Coode endured thk 
indignitv with that calm fortitude 
which he so eminently possessed 
upon every trial* His brotlier un- 
equal to this sudden inverse of for^ 
tune, sunk under it ; and having de^ 
&ired to be provided with a reiigkms 
Imok, entitled. The Imitation of 
Christ, the prince is reported to 
have archly said, ** I beg I may be 
provided witli the Imitation of Beau- 
foft, that I may learn the manner 
of his escaping Iroro his confinement 
two >*ear9 ago." The Illustrious 
prt!ioner frequently amused himself 
with working in the garden of the 
casde ; a circumstaoce which called 
from the pen of mademoiselle de 
Scudery these Hues, the best per- 
haps she ever wrote : 

En vrrant ccs (EiHets qu'un illastre 

giicrricr 
Arroea d*mie main qui gagna les ba- 

taillM, 
S<^ien6-toi qu'ApoUoA batiiaoit des 

muraiUcE 
Ct ne t'ctonne pas que Mars soit jar- 

dinicr. 

- At tt\^ expiration of thirteen 
months he wbm set at lilierty, is eon- 
sequence of the repeated and poes- 
sing solicitations of the parliament, 
liwaa dni ing this confinement^thal^ 



takiny onemn oem reven^^, 
formed thoae reseletiona, aad i 
ditated upon that acheoiet 
proved so fotal to his cooBtry. Itis 
to be presumed that euch were Ite 
wnrl^mn of his mind (wt thattifliie), 
from wtuit he was onea heard to 
say, ^ that he went into prison the 
most Innocent of meOf and came eet 
the most guitty/* The fir«t indi- 
cation he mscovered of In advene 
inteotkm towards the _ 
waswhenheasabted at tlie 
ing of tiie parlknw&t, where ] 
self a turbulent nan, piupoaid eeve- 
ral things that had a tendency to 
foctioa: at the concfanon of Broa- 
sel*8 speech, a cnnfoied hwiukj of 
approbatkm was heard, upon whkh 
the^rittce of Conde exclaimed Fmlm 
tm hd echo! Not hm^ after be 
threw off tlie mask, aadwefindhia 
in Gutenne at the head of the ininr- 
gents, where not meetfai^ with duit 
success his ardent presnmplien had 
led him to expect, he entered tiie 
Spanish service, and at length ter- 
minated his rebdUous career (as tiie 
cardinal of Rets obaervea) at the 
goal of loyalty. Having obtained 
his pardon, he ever after manifested 
a warm and active attadunent to 
his sovereign and his country* He 
died at Fontatnblean, in his sixty- 
iifth year,on the 1 Idi of December, 
1686. 

The following discourse was de- 
livered on the 10th of March, I68T, 
in the cathedral at Paris* 

The splendid cenotaph erected 
on the occasion, diaplai^ at once 
the magnificence of art, and the 
sumptuoin Invention of Perrault, 
. and has been ever since the modd 
for funeral decoration* It was sup- 
posed to have cost a hundred tiioii- 
sandlivres* 

Bourdaloue also pronounced the 
pancg)'ric of the great Conde : but 
the unimpassioned didactic style of 
the celebrated Jesuit was ill adap^ 
to encomiastic compoMtion* The 
close, however, of his discourse is 
warm and animated, llie iaddent 
of the prince's having reqnested, In 
Ids last moments, tiuit his hwt 
should be deposited in the dmrdt. 



inNUt^FwcALsnTca or lmIis of movrmoh. 



359 



_ J to the JetDit% calls fnm 
^le oriMr this fervid cAnaan of 
gratitiide: 

<< Yes! we vifl be the feithAil 
gMTdians of this s&cred dqiosite : 
yoor request O Prince^ we will 
nwpectfhHy end afiecticmaftdy per* 
fiMiB. The heart of each Individoal 
of oor order wiU be a liviog aianso- 
leinDy io which years shall be inurn* 
edi The solemn enga|;enient we 
now contract, will be held in \'eoe» 
ration from one extremity of the 
earth to the other: in the old and in 
the new world will be found hearts 
glowiag with gratitude for the obli- 
fatioos Conferred upon our society 
by the illustrious prince of Conde !" 

T^ Ftmeral Oration en Louis ^ 
JBourboUj Prince of Conde^ 

Sr BOSSUET. 

Wbbv I omsider that thedis* 
course lam entering upon is to cele* 
brate that ever dear and reaplendeot 
name* Louis of Bourbon, prince of 
Conde, I am at once overpowered 
by the magnificence of the subject 
and its inutility: for where is that 
distant and obscure comer of the 
earth to which his renown is not 
become fomiliar ? What I shall offer 
this day to your attention, I am cpn- 
scious will not rise to the demands 
of your gratitude, nor fill the grasp 
of youre2q)ectation* Feeble orators 
as we are, we cannot diffuse any 
additional lustre over tliose rare and 
^tinguished personages, whom na- 
ture hath selected and highly pri- 
vileged* The wise man, therefore, 
says with his accustomed sagacity, 
^ Let their own works prase 
them." The panegyrist, like a 
timid ** inexperienced statuary, 
recoils from the laborious task of 
feshioning a colossal figure." A 
foathfol unadorned narrative would 
best display the features of our 
hero's mind: history must perform 
that task, and move the admiration 
of posterity by a simple recital of 
his actions* We will in the mean- 
time endeavour to comply with the 
request of agrateful public, and with 
the orders of an illustrious monarch. 
What a deep sense of obligation 



should wenotentertahi for aprinco, 
who has not only flung a new splen- 
dor round the tiiurone, and exalted 
the French name, but who does 
honour to<tiie present age, and who 
ennobles even human natnre I 

The ilhistrious mooardi to whoai 
I lately alluded, hath summoned to 
this venerable tensile the most db» 
tingutahed and august personages of 
tibe kmgdom, to pay their united 
homage to the memory of our de- 
parted hero; he hath also ordained 
that I should lend my feeble voice 
to this foneral exhibition, to these 
rites of sorrow. A reflection (more 
worthy of this hallowed place) now 
occupies my mind, which is, that 
God alone forms the soul of the con- 
queror* The PsaUnist says, ^< Bless- 
ed is the Lord my strength, which 
teacheth my hands to war." If 
valour is breathed into him by the 
Almighty Power, his other attributes 
are no less derived from the same 
inexhaustible source* We should 
learn to discriminate those gifts 
which the Omnipotent Hand dts. 
perses among the wicked, and those 
which are imparted to the virtuous. 
The great distinguislied ^ft of God 
is a sense of religion : wiihoct this 
inestimable gift, what would hare 
availed to the eminent person- 
age whose loss we now deplore, 
aU the amiable attributes ol his 
heart, or all the sublime energies 
of his mind ? Had not religion con- 
secrated the rare qualities which 
adorned his character, the august 
personages now present would not 
have found amidst their sorrow any 
consoling reflection : the venerable 
prelate would perform, devoid of 
hope, his aw fill ministry, and I 
should look in vain for any basis on 
which I might erect the structure of 
his fame. Let then human glory 
vanish as a transient meteor ! 
and let me at this altar l)oldly sacri- 
fice the idol of ambition ! I should 
wish to bring togctl\er in one col- 
lected view his superior qualities, 
his valour, his magnanimity, his 
amiahlenesii, witli all the requisites 
peculiar to genius, CAgle-c> ed saga- 
city, invention, bublimity. 'V\\x% 



sto 



uoamAPHZGAL sUTCK or* Lovis-or 'loomaoiT^ 



•stenrida^, this coosteUotioii of 
exceUencies, would be nothing more 
than a bright phantom, were not 
those excellencies consecrated by 
religion. 

God hath revealed to os, that he 
appoints the conquerors who are to 
subdue the world, and makes thdr 
conquests subservient to hisdedgns*. 
Was not the splendid designation of 
Cyrus made known two hundred 
years before his birth? Was not 
Alesmnder predicted in the most 
figurative manner, as coming from 
tbs west, ^ on the £ace of the whole 
earth, andnot touching the ground ;" 
like an Alpine deer, whose every 
movement is a bound ; and whose 
rapid progress is not delay ed by rug- 
g^ acclivities, by roUing torrents, 
by gaping chasms, or by precipitous 
descents* The Persian monarch is 
already subdued* He ran unto him, 
says the prophet, in the fory of his 
power* He cast him down to the 
ground, and stamped upon him* 
Xk) we not behold in this metephoric 
representation the semblance of our 
hero, blended with that of Alexan* 
der ? Heaven, no doubt, sent him 
forth endowed with every martial 
accomplishment, to save his coun- 
try* It was at the age of twenty- 
two that the comprehensive mind of 
our warrior conceived a design of 
such magnitude, that the most ex- 
perienced commanders recoiled at 
the proposal, but which victory sanc- 
tioned before the walls of Rocroy ! 
The enemy brought into the fiekl 
the hardy veteran bands of Wal- 
loons, Sp^iniards, and Italians, who 
till ^at hour, were unacquainted 
with defeat, and whom renown had 
proclaimed invincible* Among our 
troops an uncommon intrepidity dif- 
fused Itself, kindled, as it were, at 
the sight of our heroic youth, on 
whose eloquent and presageful eye 
victory sat enthroned ! The renown- 
ed Don Francisco de Mellos waite\l 
with undaunted brow for the ap- 
proach of our army* Our heroic 
youth, inBamed with so vast an ob- 
ject, and impatient of celebrity, 
revealed at once the whole splendid 
tncTgy of his mind* Yet tlicn tran- 



qoifiity, that baHhSal iftleadMit'no 
true greatness, possessed his soiilt 
on the night preceding the impor* 
timt day, he is known to have re- 
signed himself to rest withall the 
unruffled calmness of a deeping 
H^nt* But now the eventfol honr 
is come* Bdu>ldhimhasteimigjfron 
rank to rank, diAising his owtt 
ardour wherever he flies* Suchwaa 
his activity, as if several Ccmdes 
were in the field ! Here was he scea 
forcing the ri^twing of the enemy, 
there si^porting ana encouraging 
our right that had given way: in 
one plftce spreading terror, in ano* 
ther reanimating defeat* The for« 
midab|e Spanish- infieuitry remained 
still unsubdued, which separating 
into several close-compacted batta- 
lions, stood like towers amidst the 
general ruin* Three times did our 
heroic youth, collecting hisfiill force, 
rush on these intr^Md combfttants, 
and every time met with a repulse* 
The valiant Spaniard, the Count de 
Fuentes, displayed under the pres- 
sure of illness the most unconquer* 
able mind : conv^ed in a litter irom 
danger to danger, he breathed defi- 
ance : but the efforts of tliis superior 
energy were doomed to prove inef* 
fectual* In vain did the cdebrated 
Bek, bursting from a wood, attempt 
with his daring c^avalry, to surprise 
our exhausted troops: our young 
commander, with a preventive wis« 
dom, a prophetic caution, placed a 
select body of his men in a position 
ready to resistthis onset. The fore- 
most ranks of the enemy, finding 
themselves envelq)ed, threw down 
their arms and implored our mere)' ; 
while our prince was hastenine to 
receive their submission, the other 
part of the hostile army, not advert* 
ing to the surrender of the advanced 
battalions (or instigated by whatever 
motive) discharged on our men the 
whole thunder of their artillery, 
which so incensed, so inforiated our 
troops, that an unutterable carnage 
ensued, till our hero, exerting every 
effort to calm the maddening rage 
of his soldiers, added to the pride of 
conquest the more soothing satisfoc- 
tion of forgiveness* 



AtoamAMzeiL iKStctf or toon or boobbov* 



861 



HieTBliiUBt count de FSietitei kom 
became the object of his Itiimfine 
anxiety^ hut he was fbuiul expiriftf 
amidst the thousands l»ho w^w^ 
dying and bleeding round hhivr 

On this tremendous fi^kWir Tir- 
tuous youth with bended knee dedi- 
cated to the epeAt disposer of events, 
Ibe glory oiliP/Uay. The security 
of Rocrois the degraded menaces of 
a fomai^ailile enemy, the regency 
BOW standing on an immoveable 
Bail*, iMff^the topics of this exult* 
kig dlijvttt^ which was added the 
preie«»liint of the lustre that was 
tB accempany a future reign, which 
preiagtiment was sanctioned as it 
were under the auspices of so glo- 
rious a commencement. Universal 
lEune pronounced with admiration 
the name of our heroic youth ! This 
military essajr (as it might be deno- 
minated) which would have thrown 
an amiMe lustre round any other 
person, was to him oitXy the prelud- 
mg danvn of that meridian splendor 
which afterwards illumed the hori- 
aoni After this great achievement 
' when he returned to his court, such 
was the delicacy, or rather the 
greatness of his mind, that, indocil 
to the voice of flattery, he received 
the applauses to which he was so en- 
titled with a reluctant ear* Germany 
now demands his presence, to which 
place < you must direct your atten- 
tion ; where you will behold the most 
Ibrmidable preparations ; where the 
science of war (by multiplying her 
inventions, and by exertmg her 
utmost eiibrts) is going to summon 
the abilities of our hero to the se- 
iwrest trial* The local scener}' is 
present to my view ! In the fore- 
ground rises a tremendous mountain 
••••en one side of which are seen 
hideous chasms, and precipitous 
descents.... on the other, an impene- 
trable forest, «tanding on a marshy 
ground* To impede the march of 
our army, several fortsjarc erected, 
and bodies of trees of immense form 
are thrown across the roads, aug- 
menting at once the difficulty of 
progress, and terror of situation. 
Beihind tfaoforest the intrepid Merci 
sUAids intrenched with his B&^"arian 



*t:^6apB*.....Merci, who never waB 
known to make a retrogressive mo- 
tion ; whom the circumspectlvo 
Turenne never detected in an irre« 
gular movement; in whose oom« 
mendation Conde united with Tu- 
renne, and wlio frequently wae 
heard to say that Merci never los| 
the fleeting occadon of a fisvoura^ 
ble moment, and that he entered 
into their plans with such a pervade 
ing wisdom, as would almost Its^ 
them to think he had assbted at 
their councils. In the space of 8 
days four obstinate actions tode 
place, in which were at once dis« 
played the most impetuous attack^ 
and the mostdetermmed resistancew 
Our troops had to struggle with the 
difficulties and perils attending their 
position, as well as with the valour 
of the enemy. Conde was for some 
time under the apprehension of be- 
ing deserted : but,like another Mac- 
cabaeus, his own arm did not desert 
him ; and his adventurous spirit, 
irritated by so many obstacles, sur- 
mounted them all. He led the way 
on ftx>t up tlie severe ascent, and 
having with a persevering fortitude^ 
laboured to the summit ofthe moun- 
tain, his own ardour accomplished 
the rest. Merci foresaw hb own 
defeat ; the advanced part of his 
army is suddenly vanquished, and 
the veil of night secures the remain- 
der. I must not omit to say, that ib 
heavy incessant rain fell during this 
memorable action, so that our hero 
had not only to climb a steep and 
rugged mountain, not only to com- 
bat a most formidable enemy, but 
even to contend with the warring 
elements ! 

This victor}" lengthened out its 
effects to distant places: behold* 
Wormes, Spires, Mayence, Landau, 
throw open their gates. Astonished 
Europe saw our warrior at the early 
age of twenty-six obtain this im- 
mortal victory I The speed of exe- 
cution allowed not sufficient time to 
the enemy to traverse his plans : 
this is the characteristic feature of 
a great commander. Swifter than 
eagles, bolder than lions, are the 
comprehensive allusions of David 



969 



MO«tAPBICAL 5K£TCK ltf LpfllS Pf SOUBAOH* 



ttHbe iwooelebmted warriors whoee * 
death he ao forc&ly UmeDts : out of 
tiuB compound imagery equally 
riaes the characteristic iarm of our 
iUnatrious oountrymaiu He waa 
pre]lent,at erery scenet foremost in 
(very peril ; aad aa he flew from 
place to place, it aeemed aa if he 
awitiiilic^ himadf^ auch was his 
tdodty ! the more rapidly he jtoig- 
ed ioto ibt aceiie of action, the more 
ke aeemed protected by the shield 
«f heaven. 

• It is now with extreme rductance 
^t I advert to that unlortunrte 
period ci his life, when he was a 
state-prisoner. I will venture to 
Ti^>eat, even before that sacred al- 
t$r, the words which I once heard 
hjim pronounce, which indicate the 
workings of a loyal heart* He ob- 
si&rves to me, that be was perfectly 
kmocent on the day be entered his 
ikison, and exceedmgly criminal on 
0ie day he waa set at liberty* In 
Ihe small compass of these few ex- 
pressive worcb, are contained his 
self'^eproaches^ and the cause and 
extent of his error. But I will throw 
a veil over the exceptionable part 
of his conduct, and will only observe 
tjhiat where a crime in subsequent 
aignal services is so illustriously lost, 
nothing should be recalled but the 
fcnerous -acknowledgment of the 
offender, and the clemency of the 

' In bis first campaigns he had hut 
one life to ofSbr to his sovereign and 
his state ; now he leads his son into 
the fiekl, and there illuHtratesby the 
ener^ of example, the precepts he 
had mculcated in tlie cabinet* I 
emit dwelling on the passage of the 
Rhine, that miracle of our sovereign, 
and tlia stupendous transaction of 
the a^ I in order to carry your 
attention to the young warrior in 
the battle of Senef, in whi(:h he saw 
his father fall,and beheld him strug- 
gling under his wounded horse, and 
covered with blood : he wades 
through every danger to his assist- 
ance; and while he is raising; him 
from the ground, receives a wound ! 
happy to have served at the same 
moment t}ie cause ot glory, and of 



fitid pie^ 1 The prmce of Conile, 
from that hour, entertained for hta 
MODI an increased affection* But hit 
afl^ction was not caafined witlua 
the pale of his family and ralati vea» 
It reacS;^ the circle ci his friends, 
it reached the mt^wtunea of hia 
distant aoquaintance, it reached t)ift 
whole human niccv Far from my 
Hps be the elogium m \ conqueror 
devdid of humanity ! Wh^ <[>odfirst 
liMrmed the heart (^man, be placed 
benevolence there as the character^ 
i^c of the Divine nature. Bei^- 
vdence then ought to be the moa^ 
active principle of our heart ; ,the 
charm of the most powerfol attrac- 
tion towards our nei^bour* The 
splendor of birth, the accession of 
riches, &r from depressing this 
active principle, will enaUe it the 
better to communicate itself ; as a 
public fountain which the more it is 
elevated, the more easily can the 
stream be diffused. They to whose 
bosom benevolent bommunication 
is a stranger, are punished f^ their 
disdainful ijusensibility, befaig de- 
prived of the gratification arising 
from mutual intercourse. Never 
waa there a man whose compliant 
elegance of nuinners was b^ter 
ad^ed to general society. Is this 
the conqueror who laid towns In 
aslies, and whose approach was 
announced by terror r Beh<^ him 
mild, beneficent, cheerfol, compla- 
cent, and yielding to every person : 
so the same river, which, rolling 
down some eminence, swells and 
enrages at every obstacle, a|K 
preaches the precincts of a town 
with a calm and unequal flow, and 
then diffusing its course into various 
channels, communicates health and 
refreshment to every mansion. 

Let us now advert to the genius 
peculiar to the military department* 
As the art of war, so fatal to the 
human race, demands the most 
comprel^nsive capacity, let us exa- 
mine his claims to tiiat superior 
excellence. Wc have already ob- 
served that he was renowned ibr 
his preventive wisdom ; one of hh 
maxims was, that we should fear an 
enemy at a distance, aanhrejoic^ 



nocMAVBicAL sxsTca or Lotrxs or boitrbov. 



3CS 



^pi!ien he approaches : another max- 
Im of his was, that an able general 
may be defeated ; bat he should ne- 
ver be taken by surprise. To this 
principle he perpetually directed 
his attention. At whatever hour, 
from whatever quarter, the enemy 
appeared, they found hihn upon his 
^ard, as if he' was expecting diem. 
So an eagle sailing through the air, 
or stationed on a lofty rock, sends 
bis excursive brilliant eye around, 
eager to behold and rush upon his 
prey. Thoughnattire had endowed 
him wHh her best gifts, he still sup- 
plied and enriched his mind with 
study and reflection. .He investi- 
^ted Cxsar's military stations witli 
a peculiar attention : I remember 
how accurately he pointed out to us 
one day, the spot on which, by the 
advantage only of situation, Cxsar 
compelled five Roman legions, com- 
manded by two experienced gene- 
rals, to lay down tiwir arms, with- 
out striking a blow. He had for- 
merly examined every river and 
mountain which had co-operated to 
the completioa of so great a plan. 
Never did a p ro fe ssor read so learn- 
ed a lecture on the commentaries. 
The leaders of armies yet unborn 
will pay the same honours to the 
modem Caesar. They will wander 
over widi peculiar delight the plains, 
the eminencjes, the vallies, theforests 
which served, as it were, as so many 
theatres for the warlike exhibitions 
ctf.our conqueror. It wa8y>bserved 
by those who accompanied him to 
the wars, and who approached his 
person in the field, that in the ardour 
of combat, in the imminent moment 
to which victory had affixed her 
only hope, he possessed an uncom- 
mon tranquillity. At another time 
he was docile to suggestion, and sub- 
missive to cconsel : but now illumi- 
nationflashcid on hismind,unembar- 
rassed by a muldplicity of pressing 
objects ; he seises his plan, and en- 
fofTces it with hasown personal intre- 
pidity ! On that day of terror, when 
at the gates of dte town, in view of 
all its hihabitants, when he was 
opposed by an expert general at the 
head of his select troops; at that 



hoiir, when he seemed to be aban- 
doned by capricious fortune, they 
who were fighting at his ude have 
assured me, that, had they any im- 
portant business to confer with him 
upon, they would have appointed for 
the time of their discussion the mo- 
ments when he was surrounded by 
danger and destruction: so calm, 
so unruffled, was his exalted mind! 
like a high mountain, whose aspir- 
ing summit, piercing the clouds and 
midway storm, remains invested 
with a splendid serenity. 

It was reserved for tliese cventfiil 
times to bring to our view at the 
same period Conde and Turenne ! 
now commanding separate divisionsi 
now acting in conjunction. What 
boldness of execution I What pro* 
phetic sagacity! what perils! what' 
resources! Were there ever seen 
two men of such a corresponding 
genius, stamped with such a diver* 
sity of character ? One ^speared to 
act by the slow impulse of profiwrnd 
reflection, the other by the sudden 
influx of illumination. One no sooner 
entered the field, than he excited 
the idea of the highest valour, and 
awakened expectation : yet leisurely 
advancing to the object in view, he 
gradually attained the summit of 
fame ! And on a memorable dayi . 
prodigal of safety, and profuse, as it 
were, of life, we know how iQus- 
trious he fell ! The other, impelled 
by an ardent instincdve intelli- 
gence, pregnant of inspiration, ri- 
valled ' in Uie opening of his first 
campaign the achievements of expe- 
rienced commanders. One, confid- 
ing in the resources of his inventive 
courage, challenged die most immi.> 
nent danger, and turned even to his 
advantage the caprices of fortune* 
The other, by the prerogative of a 
sublime mind, and of a certain mys- 
terious, infallible perception (the 
secret of which was unknown to 
other men), seemed bom to control 
chance, and, as it were, to subjugate 
destiny. 

Such are the characters which the 
world someUmes displays, when 
God (for the purpose of revealing 
his o^vn power or wisdom) ordaiiui 



•tOORAPHICAL SKBTCa OF LOtIS Of BOVRBMr* 



•mbicnt perBODag:es to ascrnd the 
iccn«* Say, do his divine attributes 
appear more illustrious in the won- 
drrftil creation of the expanded sky, 
than in those men on whom he con«- 
iers such splendid intellectual en- 
dowments ? What star in the firma- 
ment glows with more lustre than 
Conde among the exalted charac- 
ters of Europe ? It was not, however, 
to the art of war, alone, that he owes 
his celebrity. His comprehensive 
mind embraced every other science: 
with the works of literature, and 
with the authors, he was equally 
acquainted : and they acknowledged 
th'it they never quitted his society 
without canning with them a por- 
tion of his communicated wisdom, 
without being inforihed by bis judi- 
cious reflections and pregnant ques- 
tions, and without being Qlummed 
br the ooruacattons that nashed from 
his vivid imagination^ These intel- 
lectual powers, flowing from the 
fbontain of wisdom, demand cur 
cateem. Yet, to humble the pride 
of man, we see the^ mental dis- 
tinctions bestowed by God even on 
tliose who were deprived of the 
Imowledge of religion. Need I pro- 
nounce the names of Marcus Aurc- 
Hiis ? of Scipio ? of C«sar ? of Alex- 
ander ? These illustrious personages 
were called into existence to illumi- 
nate society, as the sun was planted 
in the firmament to illuminate the 
world. Who does nnt admire the 
meridian glory of that splendid orb I 
Who is not delighted with the orient 
colours which adorn his rising, and 
with tlie gorgeous clouds and majec- 
tic pageantry that dignify his de- 
cline ? So are renowned personages, 
those mental luminaries, ordained 
to shine forth for the purpose of de- 
corating the moral world ! Alexan- 
der, whose ol)jcct was celebrity, 
transcended the boundary of his 
utmost wishes. A kind oi^ glorious 
fotalitv attended this conqueror..... 
He glides in every paneg)'ric, and 
no military genius can receive the 
crown of honour due to his memory 
without enwrcHthing it with the 
name of Alexander. If a remune- 
ratsoa formerly were dtie to the 



prowess of nie Romans, God Tt» 
, warded that prowess by giving them 
the empire of the worid, as a m^ 
sent of no value: a present which 
does not actually reach them, be- 
cause it b now contracted and 
shrunk to a renown, which lives on 
their medals and mutilated st^tnca 
dug from a pile of ruins ! a renown 
which lives on their monumeats 
mouldering at tiie touch of timet 
a renown that is affixed to their 
idea, to their shadow, to that airy 
nothing their name! Behold, ye 
powers of the earth, O kings ! O coo- 
ouerors! the reward that atteods 
tJie labours of your ambition : gra^ 
to your boaom, if jroo caiH this glo- 
rious phantom ; she will deceive 
your expectation, and mock your 
wishes even in the hour of poaaea* 
sion. From tiie pursuit of tida 
phantom our warlike priaee diverts 
hiscourse: no lon^r now the ardent 
warrior in the noisy chase of ambi- 
tion, he treads the walk of the 
obscure virtues, and of the retired 
graces of religion, llie horohle^ 
duties of domestic life, die govern* 
ment of your family, the edifieatiaa 
given to your servants, acts of joatioe 
and indulgence to your depeBdaati, 
attention, charity, consolation given 
to the simple inhabitants of the oot* 
tages which surround your aianaion 
..••these lowly virtues will one day 
be lifted high, and will at the last 
day be exnlted by the Saviour of the 
world, in the presence of angels and 
of his Father. 

Without waiting ibr the approach 
of illness, or the wamingof caducity, 
Conde now dedicates his hoora to 
religious reflections : an enlightened 
monk attends iMm in hia recess: 
with this pious monitor he perusea 
the sacred page, and drinks at the 
fountain of tmeknowledge. Woidd 
to God that they who are now listen* 
ing to this discourse wookl imitate 
his example ! How improvident to 
wait till you are languishiiig on the 
couch of death ! How improvident 
to delay the duties of rdigion, tfil, 
freesing under the cold toudi of 
dissolution, yon scarcely can be 
reckoned among tlie liviagl The 



MIQQEATUICAL SKETCH OF LOUIS OF BOVRBOV. 



S6S 



wtiA jof our pioiu hero being 
strengthened by this preparatory 
disci|riuie, he was equal to the last 
conflict. When the utal time drew 
near, and he was informed of the 
approaching moment, after a short 
pause, he cried out in the most 
energetic manner, << Thy will, O 
God: be done : O give me grace to 
die ^e death of the jnst." From 
that moment he appeared as in the 
day of battle, occupied but not ruf- 
fled, intent but not alarmed, resolute 
but cahn : and he looked upon death 
with an equal eye, whether it pre- 
sented itself in the languid form of 
disease, or whether it rushed on his 
view in the midst ci combat clothed 
with terror. 

Religimi now claims his last 
thoughts, and takes entire posses- 
sion of his mind. As the ministers 
of the altar drew near, he cried out 
with an impressiTe voice, '* These 
are my true physicians." While 
they recited the prayers of the dying 
he listened witli an awful and sub- 
missive expectation. In these pa^ 
thetic prayers and agonizii^ excla- 
mations, oiir holy mother the rhnrcli 
seems to suffer the pangs of labour, 
and endure the painful anxieties of 
a parent in brining forth her chil- 
dren to celestial birth. Now calling 
his confessor, he solemnly attested 
that he had ever adhered to the be- 
lief of the Christian doctrine: he 
added, that his belief was now at- 
tended with a stronger conviction, 
and he cried out with a rapturous 
ooo&leace, ^^Yes, I shall behold my 
God face to foce." It seemed as if 
he was suddenly illuminated, as if a 
celestial ray had in a moment pierc* 
ed the cloud of ignorance, and (if I 
may be allowed to say) the awful 
obscurity tliat hangs over our faith. 
At the dawn of such a pure inefiRible 
M|^ did not the phantoms of this 
world recede? How dim noW appears 
the splendor of victory ! how con- 
temptible the pride of descent ! how 
trifling the majesty of grandeur 1 
how puerile, how infontine the seri* 
OBS toils and pursuits of life ! Let me 
then summon to this mournful solein* 
nity, pecsons of every rank and pro** 

VOL. I....N0. V. 



fession. Draw near, ye great! ye 
humble! ye rich! ye poor! and 
chiefly ye, oh illustrious progeny of 
the house of Bourbon ! draw neari 
and behold all that remains of a birth 
80 exalted, of a renown so extensive, 
of a glory so brilliant ! See all that 
sumptuousness can perform to cele- 
brate the hero! Mark the titles, the 
inscriptions, she has flung around! 
vain indications of an existence that 
is not now to be found ! Mark those 
sculptured images, that, sorrowfoUy 
bending round yon monument, ap- 
pear to weep ! mai*k those aspiring 
columns which magnificently attest 
our nothinp;nesi8 ! Amidst this wast» 
of decoration, this profiision of ho- 
nours, nothing is wanting but tlie 
person to whom they are deidicated ! 
Let us then lament our frail and 
fugitive existence, while we perform 
the rites of a sickly immortality to 
the memory of our departed hero. 
I now address myself particularly to 
those who are advancing in the same 
career of military glory. Approach, 
and bewail your great commander. 
I can almost persuade myself that I 
hear you say, <* Is he then no more 
our intrepid chief, who through the 
rugged paths of danger led us often 
to victory ? His name, the only part 
of him that remains is all sufficient 
to goad us on to future exertions 
....his departed spirit now whispers 
to our soul this sacred admonition, 
that if we hope to obtain at our 
death the reward of our labours, we 
must serve our God as well as we 
serve our eartlily sovereign." Enter 
then into the service of your God, 
the great remuneration ! who, in ^e 
prodigality of his indulgenpe, wiU 
estimate higher one pious sigh, ar a 
drop of water given in his name, 
than the sovereigns of the eartli 
will prize the sacrifice of your lives 
in their service. Will not they 
also approacli this mournful monu- 
ment, they who were united to him 
by the sacred bond of f nendship ? 
Draw near, ye companions of his 
social hour; pay homage to the 
memory of your associate, whose 
goodness of heart equalled its intre- 
pidity ; and let his death be sl% once 
7 



BfOOXAPHICAL SSITCS OF LOtTtS 09 BOUXBOV* 



tiw dbjoct of yov sorroir, of your 
ccBMoUtioBt and of yoor example 
As for nc, if I najr be permitted in 
my torn to delirer the sentimcnte of 
my affection^ I thoald say, O thoa 
ittustrioDS theme of my encomium 
and of my regret i thoa shaH ever 
daim a place in my gtatefiil recoU 
lection : the image, however, wliich 
is tiMre engraved, is not impressed 
with that daring eye which foretels 
victory 2 for I will behold nothing in 
yon that death dflbces: bat on this 
image sliall be found the features of 
immortality. The image presenU 
Itself as I beheld you on the hour of 
dissolution, when l3ie glories of the 
celesdal abode seemed to burst upon 
yoQ. Yes I at that moment, even on 
the couch of languor, did I behold 
jvu more triumphant than in the 
plains of Fribourg and Rocrov ! So 
tnie it is what the beloved discmle 
says: ^ lliis is the victory that 
overcemeth the world, even our 
fiiith." Ei^oy, O Prince! this vic- 
tory, and let it be the eternal object 
of your triumph, which you have 
obtained through the meditation of 
a crucified Savioor. Indulge the 
closing accents of a voice which was 
not unknown to you. These lips, 
which have pronounced so man^ 
Ibneral discourses, diall now be si« 
lent. My encomiums on departed 
greatness ihall terminate with you : 
instead of deploring the death of 
oUiers, I will labour to make my own 
resemble yours : and fortunate will 
it be for me, if, taking warning from 
these white hairs, 1 devote myself 
exclusively to the duties of my epis- 
copal functions, and reserve for my 
flock (whom I ought to feed with the 
words of life^ die g^imroeriDg of an 
ardour that is almost extinguished, 
and the ^nt efforts of a voice that 
is expiring. 



THE MAX IX TBX IKOX MASK. 

Tax sufferings of this unfortu- 
nate victim to an unknown policy, 
commenced in 1685, when M. St. 
Mars, goverLor of the isle of St. 



Marguerite on fhe coast of Tt^ 
vince, received ax order from 
Louis XI\', to build a secure prttott 
for the recep ti on of the Iron Maak| 
to which placehe was removed in 
1687. 

The following is a des cripti on of 
that prison, which fother Papon 
had the curiosity to visit on the Sd 
of February, 1778. The chamber 
occupied by tiie captive was smaB, 
and was lighted by a siug^ vrindow 
fronting the north, securad bjr three 
iron grates at an equal distance 
from each other: this window, in 
a wall of extraordinary thickness, 
overiooked the sea, and was raised 
fourteen or fifteen foet above the 
level of the ground. 

The governor treated hb prison- 
er with die most pn>fonnd respect ; 
waited on him himself; ^d took 
the dishes, at the outer door of the 
chamber, from the eervants who 
brought them iq>, but were not wai^ 
fered any nearer approach. None 
had ever seen the foce of the cap- 
tive. He one day thought fit to en- 
grave his name with a fork on a 
silver ]datc : a servant, into whose 
hands it foil, thought to make his 
court by carrying it to tiie gover- 
nor: this unhappy man was £ceiv- 
cd; being privately made away 
with, xndthe important se c ret buri- 
ed with hiro. 

Another account says, That the 
prisoner having engraved his name 
upon the pUte, threw it out of the 
window, it fdl upon the beach at 
the foot of the tower, where it was 
found by a fisherman, and carried 
to M. St. Mars, who greatly asto* 
nished at the incident, asked the 
fisherman *^ If he could read, and 
if any one had seen the plate in his 
hands?" ^I cannot read, (replied 
the fisherman,) and no one hasaoon 
the plate." The governor detsfaied 
this man until he -was convinced 
that he could not read, and that no 
one had seen the plate: hethendis* 
missed him with diese words; 
«'Go. (said he) and thank God yon 
were never taught to read." There 
is strong living testimony to tiie 
truth of this latter accounti. 



T^IS MAN IN THS IROy VA9C. 



W 



M« 4e la Motte Gueriny who ha4 
the command of this isl? and prison 
in iri4, assures us. Than M* de SU 
Mars treated hU prisoner with the 
utmost respect : he was served in 
tilver> and waited on by the govern- 
or himself) who wa$ always nn- 
covered, and never sat down but by 
bis express desire. He was fur- 
nished with books and the most su- 
perb clothes^ and seemed particu- 
larly fond of lace and fine linen. 

\\lien he was ill and used the ad- 
yice and assistance of a physician 
or surgeon, he was forbid, under 
pain of death, to unmask; but they 
-were at liberty, in the presence of 
the governor, to fieel his pulse, or 
examine his tongue, which might 
be put forth by raising the lower 
part of the mask. All boats were 
prohibited approaching the isle, 
under psun of being fired on by the 
^ntinels* 

After remaining in the isle of St« 
Marguerite eleven years, the man 
in the iron mask was removed in 
1698, to the bastile. 

The prisoner, in a litter, preced- 
ed St* Mars, escorted by a number 
of armed men on horseback. At 
Villeneuve-Roy, St. Mars ate with 
his prisoner, who sat with his back 
to the casement of the dining-roomt 
which looked into the court-yard* 
The peasants of the place, when 
interrogated, could not tell whether 
he ate with his mask on or off; but 
they clearly observed that M. St. 
Mars, who was seated opposite the 
prisoner, had a pistol laid cm each 
side of his pkte. They had only 
one valet de chambre to wait on 
them, who brought and took away 
the dishes into the anti-rooro, care- 
fully shutting the door when he en- 
tered or retired. When the pri- 
soner crossed the court, he always 
wore the black mask on his face; 
but the peasants remarked. That 
they could see his teeth and lips ; 
that he was taU, and had.grey hair. 
« M. St. Mars slept in a bed near 
hinu We never could learn whether 
or no he had any foreign accent in 
his speech. 



The MowiQg p^rticidai^ are 
taken fi^om the manuscript joumfU 
of Pu Jonca, the king's lieutenao^ 
at the bastile. 

<< On Thursday the 18th of Sep* 
tetnber, 1698, at three in the after* 
noon, M. 4e St. Mars arrived from 
the isle of Marguerite, brin^iiig 
with him, in a litter, an ancient 
prisoner, whose name he told not, 
and whose &ce was covered with 
an iron mask. This prisoner 
was lodged in the tower Basi- 
niere till night, whei9,.^at n^ine 
o'clock, he was conduct^ tQ^ the 
chamber in the third story of the 
tower la Bertaudiere, which accord- 
ing to particular orders g^ven, wa^ 
furnished with ever^ th^ignecessa* 
ry. In conducting him to &e above* 
mentioned apartment, I waa ac«. 
Gompanied by the Sieur Rosarges^ 
whom Mf de St. Mars had brought 
with bii^f and who bad orders to 
wait on hnd take charge of tbci 
prisoner." 

The great register coiifirms the 
journal of Ou Jonca, In the {bUow<» 
ing manner; vi^t 

JVames and quality qf /prisoners t 
Ancient prisoner from Pignerolf 
obliged to wear an iron mask, 
covered with black velvet: igno^ 
rant of his name and quality ; 

Date qf entry: 
September 18th, 1698, at three ia 
the afternoon. 

Motive of deientioni 
Unknown. 

This mysterious personage amus« 
ed himself with reading, walking 
in his chamber, and sometimes by 
playing on the guitar. Every deU« 
cacy he wished for, was immedi'* 
atley ordered : but when he attend- 
ed mass he waa given to utfderstand, 
that death would be the conse- 
quence of his speaking, or attempt- 
ing to uncover his fiftce, the iAva- 
li& who guarded him liaving tiieir 
pieces charged with ball. An old 
physician, who frequently attended 



366 



THE KAW IV THS IMOV MASK. 



Mm during his illness, deckred, 
That thou^ he had examined his 
tongue and other parts of his body, 
yet he had never seen his face ; he 
said, his voice was dear and plain- 
tire ; yet he never heard him com- 
plain of his hard fate, nor give the 
foast intimation who he was* The 
above naturally leads us to the rest 
of Dn Jonca's journal, relative to 
the sudden death of this illustrious, 
but unknown person* 

On Monday the 19th of Novem- 
ber, iroSy die prisoner in the iron 
mask, being taken ill after the ce<* 
l^ratlon of mass yesterday, died 
in this evening about ten o'clock. 
His death was so sudden, that M. 
Girault, the almoner who confessed 
him on the '19th, had not time to 
•dminister the sacraments, but 
onhr to eichort him, a few minutes 
before his departure. He was in- 
terred on the 20th, at four in the 
afternoon, in the church-yard of 
St. Paul, (the parish church of the 
bastile,) under the name of Mar- 
thiali; his burial i-egister being 
signed by M. de Rosarges, major, 
and M. Reilh, surgeon-major of 
the bastile : the expenses of his fu- 
jieral amounting to 40 livres. 

His bed, tables, chairs, and the 
other furniture of his chamber, 
were burnt, and^e ashes carried 
out: the silver aishes and plates, 
and even the utensils of copper and 
brass were melted down ; the plais- 
ter of the room was scratched off, 
till the stones wei*c laid bare ; tlic 
])avcd floor was chipped ; and even 
the doors and window -shutters 
burnt with the rest. 

Numberless are the courtiers, 
politicians, and writers, who have 
hitherto x-ainly endeavoured to 
•pierce through the thick cloud of 
darkness enveloping this unfortu- 
nate pei*sonage. By some he was 
supposed to have been a twin-bro- 
ther of Louis XIV, by others, the 
fruit of an illicit amour between 
Anne of Austiia and cardinal Ma- 
Karine* Voltaire imannes him to 
have been the duke of Vermandois, 
natural aoti of Louis XIV, and t^e 
celebrated countess la Valiere, who 



had so hr forgot himself as togfve 
a blow to the dauphin: but the 
great dispari^ of their ages, ren- 
ders this conjecture altogether im* 
probable. 

St. Fond, who proved ID the moat 
satisfactory manner, that the man 
in the iron mask could nother be 
the duke of Beaufort, nor the count 
of Vermandois, bdievethin to have 
been the duke of MonoMmth ; and 
this strange hvpotheals he austains 
with a considerable degree of 
ardour. ** It is certafai (sajrs Bi« 
St. Fond,) it was current^ report- 
ed in London, that a gentleman 
strongly resembling the duke, and 
lately serving in his army, beiag 
condemned to death on that accomt, 
received the proposal of paaaing for 
this unfortunate nobleman, and be- 
ing beheaded in his stead, with as 
much joy as though he had receiv- 
ed a free pardon. It Is added, that 
Monmouth escaping in disguise, the 
sentence was executed on thia offi- 
cer believed to be the duke; and 
that a great court lady (the lady 
Wentworth,) having bribed the 
warden of the chapu, had his cot- 
fin opened, and hia arm stripped, 
whereon was a mark by whicJi site 
could recognise him} but seeing 
none, started back, and Immedi- 
ately exclaimed, ** This is not the 
duke of Monmouth.*' 

<< St. Fond adds otiier remarks, 
equally tendingtoimpobe upon those 
as credulous as himself^ but he 
who had confuted Voltaire with re- 
sf)ect to the count of Vermaitdois, 
was in his turn confuted by his an- 
tagonist, in the following nanner. 

^* ht. Fond imagines the man in 
the iron mask to have been dte 
EngUbh duke of Monmouth, the 
son of Charles II, who must ha\e 
risen from tlie dc»d and changed 
the order of time, to have occupi- 
ed his pkice. Is it likely that James 
lid, who never pardoned a con- 
victed state prisoner, should for- 
give one who attempted to wresW 
the sceptre from hia hand> and 
that he should lie so fortunate as 
to suffer a public execution, from 
attachment to the duke ? lliat af- 



THE UAM IV TBS IBON ItASlC^ 



389 



ter this trftnaactioQ, the saperb and 
]ugh««pirited Louis k Grand should 
submit to be a gaoler to the king of 
England, though hisintiniate friend ; 
and tliat after the abdication of 
James, he should do the same fa- 
vour lor William III, and his suc- 
cessor queen Anne, both of wliomhe 
detested, and with whom he was con- 
tinually at war ; and that he should, 
during their reigns, with tlie ut* 
niobt solicitude occupy tlie situation 
of a goalcr, witli which dignity 
lames II« luid honoured him ?" 

^ The duke of Monmouth was 
publicly beheaded between the hours 
of ten and twelve in the forenoon, 
on the lith of July, 1685 ; and St. 
Mars relates, That the man in the 
iron mask was detained in the cita- 
4lel of Pignerol, from 1671 tol691 ; 
poDsequently tliis prisoner could 
not be the duke of MonmouUi. 

By others it was asserted, Tliat 
the man in the iron mask was Fo- 
quet« superintendant of tlie finances ; 
but it has been incontestably prov- 
ed, that Foquet died in confinement 
at Pignerol, and was buried at 
Paris in 1681 ; whereas the masked 
prisoner died at the bastile in ir03. 
. With an equal degree of proba- 
bility it was asserted, That the 
man in tlie iron mask was a secre- 
•tary. of the petty duke of Mantua. 
If so why sliouid a person of that 
description be treated with such an 
extraordinary degree of respect, 
as is only paid to crowned heads or 
their relatives? This supposition 
stands upon so feeble a basis, that it 
is easily overthrown. 

The most probable account seems 
to be that given in the memoirs ot 
the Marescbal Richelieu, in which 
it is asserted, That the secret was 
extortod from the regent duke of 
.Orleans, by his favourite daughter, 
who communicated it to Richelieu, 
at that time her professed gallant. 
From this detail, it seems that the 
man in the iron mask was the twin 
brother of Louis XIV, born eight 
hottraafterhim. Their father Lcmis 
XUI, who was superstitious in a lugh 
degree, giving credit to certain im- 
poaton, who prvdicting that should 



the queen be delivered of twins, the 
kingdom would be involved in a ci^ 
vil war, ordered the birth of the 
latter prince to be kept a profouud 
secret, and had him privately edu* 
cated in tlie country, as the natural 
son of a person of distinction. But 
on the accession of Louis XIV, the 
young man having given hints that 
he had made a discovery of his pa* 
rentage, his brother being inform* 
ed of it, ordered him to be impri- 
soned for life, and to wear a mask 
to prevent his being known* 

Here we seem to have arrived at 
the solution of this enigma : but 
what shall we conclude, when we 
arc informed from respectable 
autliority, << That the pretended 
memoirs of Due de Richelieu are« 
in fact, no better than a chain of 
ingenious fictions, linked together 
by tlie dexterous liand of the Abbe 
Soulavie." 

From the high consequence at- 
tached to the confinement; the un- 
common respect ordered to be paid 
him ; ami the silence of the regis- 
ters of the bastile, we cannot sup- 
pose that this C4;lebrated prisoner 
could be a person of ordinary rank ; 
yet when it is considered, as Vol- 
taire very acutely observes, that 
no man of superior station was 
missing at that time, the imagina- 
tion wanders in vain over an ocean 
of doubts, without a single star or 
pharos to direct it to the long desir- 
ed point* 

At the time of his death, this re- 
markable personage was supposed 
to be in tlie 60th year of his age. 

MEMOIRS OF DR. JOHN MOORE. 

Dr. John Moore, a native of 
Scotland, was the author of Zelucu, 
and of travels into France, Ger- 
many and Switzerland. His finther, 
the Reverend Charles Moore, was 
a clergyman of the established 
church, and greatly esteemed for 
the purity of his manners and the 
amiableness of his disposition. He 
was one of the ministers of Stir- 
ling, where his only survimg son 
was bom in 1730, and he contrived 
in that country, and at that time of 



3ro" 



VBMOXR.S or 0B« JOBN.ICOOMK* 



day, to live in a reipectaUe man- 
Ber on th^ usual stipend of about 
1001. or 1201. a year. On the de-» 
mise of his father about the year 
1735, John, then a boy of about five 
years old, removed with his mo- 
ther to Glasgow of which she was 
a native, and where a small for- 
tune left her by her.father was situ* 
ated* This lady was distinguished 
by the strength of her understand- 
ing, which enabled her to conduct 
her own afl^irs, and superintend 
the education of her son with be- 
coming propriety ; she was at the 
^ame time eminent for her piety, 
which ^e early infused into the 
mind of her only child, as well as 
for the benevolence of her heart, 
that enabled her to cherish a love 
of humanity in others, while she 
herself exhibited a living example 
of its eflccts. Young Moore, after 
the necessary preparation at tiie 
grammar school, was matriculated 
at the university of Glasgow, and 
attended its various classes* Being 
destined for the profession of medL> 
cine, he was placed under the care 
of Dr. Gordon, an eminent prac- 
titioner of tiiat day, who, like the 
greater ptfrt of the physicians 
among his own countrymen, did not 
disdain to unite tlie Ivindred arts of 
surgery and pharmacy. The stu- 
dent at the same time that he wit- 
nessed the doctor's mode of treat- 
ing diseases, attended the lectures 
of Dr. Hamilton then anatomical 
tlemonstrator, as well as tiie medi- 
cal ones of Dr. Culien, his relation, 
whose fame soon after obtained 
for him a professor's chair in the 
university of Edinburg. After Mr. 
Moore had obtained a sufficient 
knowledge of the usual practice, he 
determined to improve hiniself by 
visiting foreign parts, and a good 
o]>portunity presented itself at this 
period. His royal highness the duke 
of Cumberland, uncle to his pre- 
sent mHJesty, after having extin- 
guished a domestic rebellirn in Scot- 
&nd, had rcpaire<l to the Continent 
in order to combat our foreign ene- 
mies there. He at that period 
(1747) commanded the allied army 



in Flanders, and «s nmoh lastnic* 
tion and information was to be de« 
rived from the scenes of slaughter 
attendant on aUoody campaign, stu-« 
dents from all parts of the emfure 
flocked thither,wiUi a view of observe 
ing and improving by the practice 
of the hoq)itals. Luckily for Mr. 
Moore, he obtained an introductioa 
which tended not a little to lacilitate 
his pursuits, for he was presented 
by his relations to the duke of Ar^ 
gyle, then a commoner, and repre* 
sentative of Glasgow inparlianusnty 
who was also lieutenant-colonel of a 
regiment of foot, ready to embark for 
Flanders, in ordfiv to serve under 
his royal highness the commander in 
chiefi He accordingly accompani- 
ed him on board, and passed over 
to the continent under his protec- 
tion. On his reaching Maestricfat| 
in Brabant, our young surgeon at* 
tended the military hospitiQs there 
in quality of a mate, the usual pre- 
liminary step, and as he expected, 
soon enjoyed a sufficiency c^ prac- 
tice, for tiie patients were at this 
time exceedingly numerous, in con- 
seouence of the unfortunate battie 
of Laffeldt. From Maestricht Mr. 
Moore afterwards removed toFhish- 
ing, whither he repaired and spent 
the winter of 1747, inconsequence 
of recommendations from Mr. Mid- 
dleton,director general,oftiie milita- 
ry hospitals to the earl of Albemarle ; 
whence he wasdetachedtotheassist- 
ance of Uie surgeon of the Cold- 
stream regiment of foot guards, com- 
manded by that gen. Braddock, who 
was afterwardsdoomedto«x]Matehis 
rashness and ignorance of Ameri- 
can warfare by death and defeat. 
He accompanied this regiment from 
Flushing to Breda, where he spent 
the winter of 1748 in garrison, and 
on the conclusion of peace accom« 
panied general Braddock to Eng- 
land. A littie attendance to dates 
will suffice to shew, at what an ear- 
ly period the subject of these me- 
moirs was thrown, as it were, op- 
en the world ; for we find him leav- 
ing his native country, and acting 
as a surgeon's mate in the 17th year 
of his age* When he vim «&M)9t 



tmtont Of sk. joait nooftK. 



851 



^^tMi flff • Moore repftir6d to 
Loiidoii, with the advantage of two 
yean constant practice : so far was 
good, but he soon perceived that it 
woold be highly proper to reap as 
nnich benefit as ppSsible from theo> 
ry also* He accordingly deemed it 
necessary to attend tlie anatomical 
lectures of his countryman Dr. 
Hunter, and derive every possible 
assistance that could be obtajned in 
ffie British capital* After this, as 
Paris at that period ponsessed and 
actually merited the reputation of 
being the best school in Euro^Te, he 
determined to go thither, and actu- 
ally set out soon after in company 
with the late Sir William Fordyce, 
who like himself had served on the 
Continent, and like himself also be- 
came a physician. Luckily (or thtf 
Ibrmer, lord Albemarle, whom he 
had known in Flanders, and who 
while he acted in the capacity of a 
general under the duke of Cumber- 
land, was at the same time colonel 
of the Coldstream, pf which Mr, 
Moore had been surgeon's mate, 
happened at this very period to be 
the British ambassador at the court 
of Versailles. Having paid his re- 
siDects at the English hotel imme- 
oiately after his arrival, Mr. Moore 
was instantly recognised and pro- 
tected by his exceUency, who had 
a high opinion of his merit ; in con- 
aequence of which, he appointed 
him surgeon to his household. 
This situation, which was highly 
desirable for a young man, afford*- 
ed him an opportunity of being 
with the ambassador, and partici- 
pating in the good company and 
good Cheer of his table ; but as Mr. 
Moore's attachment to his profcft^ 
aion wasat that time unbounded, he 
preftrrred to lodge near the hospi- 
tals, and other sources of instruc- 
tion, with which a more distant 
part of the capital abounded, than 
at the hotel de Mirepoix, situated 
close to the invalids, and in a more 
fashionable district. He according- 
ly chose to live in lodging, in a 
quarter more congenial to his habits 
and pursuits, and visited lord All)e- 
marle's family only when his assist- 



ance was required. After resid. 
mg two years in Paris, it was pro- 
posed by Dr. Gordon, who was not 
Insensible to the assiduity and im- 
pi*ovements of his former pupil, 
that he should return to GlasroW, 
and enter into partnership with him, 
a custom very common in norUi 
Britain, and necessarily resulting 
from the extensiven^ssot apractice, 
which, among the other branches 
ot medical science, embraced that 
of midwifery. Mr. Moore by the 
advice of his friends accepted the 
invitation, but deemed it proper to 
take London in his way, and while 
there, in addition to the lectures of 
Dr. Hunter, which he had attended 
before, he went through a course 
under Dr« Smellie, then a celebrat- 
ed accoucheur. On his return to 
Glasgow, the subject of tiiese me* 
moirs practised there during the 
q)ace of two years, but when a di- 
ploma was granted by the universi- 
ty of that city to his partner, he 
chose to prescribe as a physician 
alone, an example which, at that 
period, was only followed in the 
great towns, and is still unknown 
in the more northern counties. On 
this occasion, Mr. Moore still con- 
tinued to act as a snrgeon ; and, as 
a partner appeared to be necessary, 
he chose Mr. Hamilton professor of 
anatomy, as his associate. Mr. 
Moore remained for a considerable 
period at Glasgow; but when he 
had attained his fortieth year, an 
incident occured that gave a new 
turn to his ideas, and opened new 
pursuits and situations to a mind na- 
turally active and inquisitive. James 
George, duke of Hamilton, a young 
nobleman of great promise, being 
affected with a consumptive disor- 
der, in 1769, he was attended by 
Mr. Moore, who has always spokdi 
of this youth in terms of the high- 
est admiration ; but as his malady 
baffled all the efforts of medicine, 
he yielded to Its pressure, after a 
lingerine illness, in the fifteenth 
year of his age. This event, 
which Mr. Moore recorded, toge- 
ther with the extraordinary en- 
dowments of his patient, on bis 



sn 



jiEMoifts or om* jonv moobb« 



tooU> in'the boryiag place at Hamil- 
toD) led Co a more intimate ooa- 
nection with this noble family. 
The late duke of Hamilton, being 
like his brother, of sickly constitu- 
tioDt his mother, the duchess oi 
.^^le, determined that he should 
travel in company with some gen- 
tleman, who to a knowledge of me- 
dicine added an acaoaintance with 
the Continent. Both these qualities 
were united in the person of Dr. 
Moore, who by this time had ac- 
mired the d^rce of M. O. from 
the university of Glasgow. l*hey ac- 
cordingly set out tog«^er« and they 
spent a period of no less than 5 ^ears 
abroad, during which they visited 
France, Italy, Switserland, and 
Germany. On their return, in 
1778, Dr. Mo(M>e brought his fiimi- 
Iv from Glasgow to London, and in 
the course of the next year appear- 
ed the fruits of his travels, in '* A 
View of Sodety and Manners in 
France, Switzerland, and Germa- 
ny," in 2 vols. 8vo....Two years 
after, in 1781, he published a con- 
tinuation of tlie same work, in two 
additional volumes, intitled ^' A 
View of Society, and Manners in 
Italy." Havingspent so large a por- 
tion of his time either in Scotland 
or on the Continent, he could not 
expect suddenly to attain an exten- 
sive practice m the capital; per- 
haps, indeed, his travels and litera- 
ry recreations rendered hi ro averse 
Irojn engaging in the hurry, bustle 
and intrigue, incident to the pro- 
fession of a London physician ; he 
however was, till the time of his 
death, consulted by his particular 
friends. As if to prove, that he 
was neither unworthy, nor incapa- 
ble of employment, in 1785 he pub- 
lished his (« Medical Sketches." a 
work, like all his other productions, 
fisvourably received; he is, how- 
ever, supposed to have given some 
ofience to a few narrow-minded 
men among his bretliren, by the 
disclosure of certain arcan:i which 
they wish for the sake of their in- 
rerest to conceal, and therefore 
consider it as high treason for any 
one to reveal. The next of our 



andior*s works wlueh w« shdH i 
tion, is his Zehico. This perfonn- 
ance abounds with many iatcresfc- 
ing events, but its chia tendency 
is directed towards the education of 
youth, as it liitty evinces tfie fstal 
effects resulting from uacootrolM 
passion on the part of a darling son, 
and unconditioned compliance en 
that of a fond mother. While draw- 
ing the character of hb hero, the as- 
thor considers himself employed in 
*' tracing the windings of vioe^ 
and delineating the disgnsting fea- 
tures of vtllany." Tlus story b calcu- 
lated rather to aflect the reader with 
horror, than warn him by example ; 
it abounds, however, with incicteat, 
but it is to be hoped that a character 
so atrocious asthat of Zuhioo never 
existed in life, and is only to be met 
wiUi in the pages of a noveL A 
great and important event, no less 
than that of the French revolution, 
now occupied the minds and writ- 
ings of the literary world. Dr. 
Moore, instead of surveying it at 
a distance, like the bulk or rovK 
kind, was lucky enough to contem- 
plate a most critical portion of it on 
the spot : he wa«i not, indeed, hicky 
enough to be present at the period ' 
when tlie bastile, a structure dedi- 
cated for centuries to the crimes of 
a capricious and unbridled despo- 
tism, was overcome by a people 
who aspired to be free ; but he re- 
sided in France when the hoard of 
foreign mercenaries, thatpretium- 
ed to give law to an independent 
state, was rooted and driven back 
by tlie energetic enthusaism of a 
whole people, rather than the arms 
of the troops of the line 1 And alas i 
it was his &te also to witness the mur- 
ders, tlie crimes, and the barbarities 
of September, 179S, when the 
atrocious machinations of a few ruf- 
fian enthusiasts deluged Paris with 
innocent blood, and a9>ni^ * pre- 
tence to fanaticise the greater part 
of Ejurope against the infant liber- 
ties of France, llie Doctor hav- 
ing made the necessary prepara- 
tions, set out from London, and 
reached Dover in the beginning of 
Aupist, 1793, sailed on the 4th for 



MEMOIRS OF DR. JOHN MOOR£« 



srs 



Calais, and arrived thei-e in the 
course of the same day, after a 
voyage of only a few hours. As 
lord Lauderdale's delicate state did 
not permit them to press forward 
-with rapidity, our travellers did 
not propose to make rapid journies 
towards the capital: oh tlie contra- 
ry, after being conducted to the 
.town-Jiouse of Calais, where a cir- 
icumstantial description of their 
persons and features was taken, 
and inserted in their passports, they 
slept all night there, and proceeded 
no further than Abbeville next 
day. Here they learned, tjiat tu- 
mults were very prevalent in the 
capital, and that a petition for the 
decheance of Louis XVI, or forfei- 
ture of his crown, had been pre- 
sented to the national assembly. 
After their arrival in Pacis, the 
Doctor appears to have visited the 
assembly frequently, and he was 
awoke about two o'clock of the 
morning of the 10th of August by the 
ringing of the tocsin, and alarmed at 
ten by the firing of cannon ; events 
that led to the overthrow of the 
mpnardiy^ and the execution of the 
weak but unhappy king. Having 
repaired after the engagementto tlie 
palace of the thuilleries, lie .followed 
the crowd along the grand staircase, 
and had proceeded only half way 
upy when he was deterred from as- 
cending further, first by the shrieks, 
and then by tlie immediate execu- 
tion of a man, who had been de- 
tected by the populace in stealing 
6ome of the furniture. " This ex- 
peditious mode of executing justice 
(says he) removed all inclination of 
Tisiting the royal apartments: I 
descended to the terrace, and took 
another melancholy walk among 
the bodies of those whom I had 
seen two days before in all the pride 
of health and military pomp.*' The 
times being now very critical, and 
tlie massacres of September tend- 
ing to render a residence in Paris 
highly disagreeable, the Doctor and 
liis friends had applied to the mu- 
nicipality for passports, and at 
length found means to leave the 
.capital on the 4th. Dr. Moore, on 

VOL. J*.f.KO« V. 



his arrival in England, began to 
arrange his materials, and, in 1795, 
published " A View of the Causes 
and Progress of the French Revo- 
lution," in two volumes, 8vo. dedi- 
cated to the duke of Devonshire. 
He begins with the reign of Henry 
IV, and ends with the execution of 
tlie royal family. In 1796 appeared 
*' Edward : various View^s of Hu- 
man "Nature, taken from Life and 
Manners chiefly in England." In 
1800, Dr. Moore published his ' 
" Mordauut,"bcing**sketches of life, 
Characters, and .Manners in vari- 
ous countries: includmg the Me- 
moirs of a French Lady of Quali- 
ty," in two volumes, 8vo. This 
chiefly consists of a series of letters, 
written by " the honourable John 
Mordaunt," while confined to his 
couch at Vevay, in Switzerland, 
giving an account of what he had 
seen in Italy, Germany, France, 
Portugal, &c. The work itself 
comes under no pi*ecise head, be- 
ing neither a romance, nor a novel, 
nor travels : the most proper title 
would be that of " Recollections." 
Dr« Moore ivas one of the first to 
notice tlie talents of his country- 
man, the unfortunate Robei t Bums« 
who, at his request, drew up an 
account of his liie, and submitted it 
to his hispection. Jn 1787, a cor- 
respondence took place between 
them, in consequence of an event 
noticed in the following letter, from 
the poet to the traveller.... 
« To Dr. Moore^ 

" SIR, 

^^ Mrs. Dunlop has been so kind 
as to send me extracts of letters she 
has had from you^ where you do 
the rustic bard the honour of notic^ 
ing him and his works. Those who 
have felt the anxieties and solici- 
tudes of authorship, can only know 
what pleasurs it gives to be noticed 
in such a manner by judges of th© 
first character. Your criticisms, 
Sir, I receive with reverence, only 
I am sorry they mostly came too 
late ; a peccant passage or too that 
I would certainly have altered were 
gone to press. The hope of beir.5 
admired for ages is, in by far tb,e 



sn 



SKXMOIUft or Bft* JOHV ]fOORK% 



greatest part of those even who arc 
authors of reput?, an unsubstantial 
dream* For my part, my first am- 
bition was, and still my strongest 
wish is, to please my compeers, the 
rustic inmates of die hamlet, while 
ever-changing language and man- 
ners shi^U allow me to be relished 
and understood. I am very willing 
to admit that I have some poetical 
abilities ; and as few, if any, writers, 
either moral or poetical, are inti« 
mately acquainted with the classes 
of mankind anu)ng whom I have 
chiefly mingled, I have seen men 
and manners, in a dilferent phasis 
from what is common, which may 
assist originality of thought* Stiil 
I know very well the novelty of my 
character has by far the greatest 
share in the learned and polite 
notice I have lately had ; and, in a 
language where Pope and Church- 
ill have raised the laugh, and 
Shenstone and Gray drawn the tear ; 
where Tliomson and Beattie have 
painted tlie landscape, and Lyttle- 
ton and Collins described the heart, 
I am not vain enough to hope for 
distinguished poetic fame."***. 

In return for this letter, the 
Poctor presented him with a copy 
of the new edition of his, " View 
of Socictj'," and took great pains 
to promote hb interests—." 1 am 
happy to hear (says he,) that your 
subscription is so ample, and shall 
rejoice at every piece of good for- 
tune that befalls you; for you are 
a very i^at favourite in my famio 
ly ; ami this is a highercompliment 
than perhaps you are aware of. 
It includes almost all the profes- 
sions, and of course is a proof tliat 
your writings arc adapted to varl- 
ous tastes and situations. My 
youngest son, who is at Winchester 
school, writes to me, that he is 
translating some stanzas of your 
Hallow E'en into Latin verse, for 
the benefit of his comrades* This 
union of taste partly proceeds, no 
doubt, from the cement of Scottish 
partiality, with which they are all 
somewhat tinctured- Even your 
translator, who left Scotland too 
^rly in life for recollection, is not 



without it. I remdn, widi grcfi^ 
sincerity, your obedient servantw 
J. Moor e . " Since his return from 
his third and last joumej &om 
France, Dr. Moore remained in 
the bosom of his family, and enjoy- 
ed all the pleasures in which a hus- 
band and a &ther could participate, 
at his house in Cliffy rd-strect. 
Many years since, he became hap- 
pily united with Miss Simpson, the 
daughter of a gentleman of the 
same name, who was professor of 
divinity in the university of Glas- 
gow. By this lady he had a daugh- 
ter and five sons. 



CHARACTER OF MR. BURKS. 

Mr. Burke is dead. He is beyond 
tlic reach of public regard and ha* 
tred ; and those who persecuted, and 
those who loved him, may weep 
alike for the loss of a victim, and a 
friend. 

He was for so many years engaged 
in public life ; so long the most con- 
spicuous and interesting figure ; that 
with respect to him every mode of 
description has been exhausted; 
every talent viewed in every light ; 
every virtue either lavished or with- 
held ; and so universally, tliough ^va- 
riously, did he touch the passions of 
mankind«that all who spoke of him, 
or heard of him, became parties 
in tlie decision upon his character, 
and entertained an host of adverse 
or partial feelings, enemies at once 
to truth, and evidences to the mag- 
nitude of the subject. 

His private qualities, as an ac- 
Quaintance, a companion, and a 
friend, are said to have been most 
usefid, gratifying, and endearing. 
His manners, like his wit, were ever 
playful. The naked charms of vir- 
tue and of truth, received innumera- 
ble and unstudied ornaments, from 
a conversation pure in all its viva- 
city, though unconscious of its in- 
fluence over every description of 
hearers, who had taste or disposi* 
tions to be delighted or improv- 
ed. 



CdARApTKK OF »K. J^URKI, 



m 



"The genius of Mr. Bur|ce was fiill 
6f splendor j it was the reflexion of 
lights from €;very quarter of tlie 
material and intellectual universe. 
His eyes shot through the depths Qf 
§cie/ice,and ascei-t^ed the wajider- 
iugS) or enlarged the limits pf con- 
jecture. His fancy ^ rich and bright, 
infinite in its vi^" iety, apd intoxicat- 
ing with its beauty , funiished copious 
and striking images, to illustrate 
and familiarize the operation? of a 
reasoiv^ power, otherwise too pro- 
found . fo|' common apprehension. 
His eloquence, convincing, persua- 
sive, terrible when it assaulted. 
Irresistible when it soothed, digni- 
^td m its rapidity, polished in its 
vdiemence, diffuse, without being 
languid, concise, on occasion, with- 
out being obscure, never failed to 
agitate toe fiercer, or to interest the 
milder passions. A spirit of divine 

fiorality breathed through him ; and 
owever our opinions may differ 
upon the actual effects of his words 
and writings, it is no great exercise 
of candour to suppose that his inten- 
tions were pure. His immense stores 
of knowledge, were, in general, 
drawn forth ta promote, or to resist 
some practical object, and he forced 
i^n us the necessity of appreciat- 
ing all human intelligence, by the 
^od or evil to which it is directed. 
The sensibility of his heart was ex- 
quisite, and ever alive ; more rapid 
than the flights of his imagination 
....infinitely too rapid, and at times, 
perhaps, too strong for his reason, 
it often turned against the latter, 
the strength it occasionally received 
from both. Always engaged in the 
contemi^tion t)f mighty objects, he 
^lew, that although his objects were 
mighty, his instruments must be 
men. In order to make the constl- 
tution what he could approve, and 
the empire what he wished, he unit- 
ed wiUi a parliamentary party, 
whigh appeared the most respect- 
able and effectual means of accom- 
plishing these ends ; but in attempt- 
ing to render party his instrument, 
he became himself, for a time, the 
instrument of party ; and his derelic- 
tion of that system upon tlie new 



tjim of affairs in Europe, (tlje act 
of his life which has been the most 
unpopular) ought to vindicate his 
principles, though the consequences 
of it may arraign his judgment. 

In our imp^r^ct nature, the supe^* 
riority of one man to another, is np 
ijdore than a partial superiority. On.e 
towering faculty, in the composition 
of an individual, bears down and 
oasts a shade upon the rest ; iu con« 
4uct it obstructs their use, asip com^ 
parisoQ it extipguishes their lustre. 
Mr. Burke's miscarriages iu the 
world of politics, though not ptopor««. 
tioned to the grandeur of his under- 
tsikings, have boen more than pro- 
portioned to thbse indirred by ordi- 
nary men, in the ordinary level of 
human charactea*. His fertile mind 
uourished every sub^'ect on whic^ ho 
thought, into a vast creation, midti- 
form, rich in realities, m imager 
and in conjectures ; much of it mic* 
tuating and fugitive, comples^ ju^ 
its materials, boundless in its dimen- 
sions, and new to its author. Mor^ 
secure, but far Jess elevated, their 
lot, in whom their is little of inven- 
tion to suggest, and nothing of ima* 
g^nation to delude ; whose ideas do 
not multiply into clo^ upon their 
judgment, but leave it^ through an 
em^ty region, a free and inglorious 
path f Where these, and such men 
as these, have to manage only their 
respective atoms, Mr. Burke, in his 
luxuriance, had to wield an universe 
....and to say that he failed, is to say 
that he w^ not a God. 

Some weeds of prejudice sprung 
up with his opinion s ; a m ist of super- 
stition hung over him, which obscur- 
ed important truths, and raised a 
multitude of illusory forms ; hisfancy 
associated other subjects with these; 
and his zeal committed them, so in«* 
fected, to the world. The rest of 
mankind saw truth and falsehood in 
colours less strong than Mr. Burke, 
though perhaps more minutely accu- 
rate. All mose whose cold and 
shallow mediocrity was incapable 
either of sympathizing with his sen- 
sibilities, or of fathoming his deduc- 
tions, made his gi*eatness a reproach 
to him^ aud>ridicttled his intellect ib/ 



376 



CUARAGTKtt Of KB* BUftSr. 



being superior to their own. Some 
philosophers, also, of that malignant 
school which affects the abtence of 
feeling to disguise its perversion, 
joined in a league of abusive contro- 
versy ; and madness and despotism 
were common themes of invective, 
against one of the wisest and the 
best of men. 

Upon the whole we must impute 
to Nlr. Burke some of the evils we 
have suffercdjbut posterity may reap 
unmixed advantage from his works. 
He combined the greatest talents of 
the greatest men, and his judgment 
was overmatched, not by the abili- 
ties of other^but bx his own. He 
roused, by a wound, the sleeping 
tyger of Democracy, and provoked, 
and almost justified, hisdcvastations. 
Had he lived in the most despicable 
age, his genius would have exalted 
it ; had he lived in the most trancjuil 
age, his conduct mieht have dis- 
turbed it. He has Icit a space that 
wUl not soon be filled. He describ- 
ed a grand, but irregular course ; 
his meridian was more tolerable 
than his descending ray; but the 
heat with which he scorched us will 
soon be no longer felt, while tlic 
light which he diffiised will sliine 
upon us forever. 



PICTURESQUE VIEW OF LOVDOIT. 

Smoke, so great an enemy to all 
prospects is the everlasting compa- 
nion of this great city ; yet it is the 
smoke of London, emblematic of its 
magnificence. 

At times, when tlie wind changing 
from the west to the east, rolls the 
vast volumes of sulphur towards each 
other, columns ascend to a gi*eat 
height, in some parts bearing a blue 
tinge, in others a flame colour, and 
in a third, accumidated, and dense, 
they darken portions of the city, till 
the back rooms require candles. A 
reiddent in London cannot form an 
idea of the grand and gloomy scene 
••..it must be viewed from the envi- 
rons* 



In the spring, before ores mtc 
discontinued during a cahnday, Ve^ 
Buvius itself can scarcely exceed this 
display of smoke, k b pleasing to 
observe the black itreama which 
issue from the diflbrent manu£BCti>- 
ries ; sometimes darting upwards, 
while every trifling; current govern 
graceful undulation ; at others ml^ 
Hngin low movements, blending witk 
the common air ; when the dreuy 
season of November arrives, aach 
the atmosphere is dark and dan^ 
a change in the wind produces an 
eflfect dismal and depressing. The 
smoke sometimes mixes with the 



cloudS) and then they aaaui 
electric appearance. When the smr 
breaks through this veil during tiie 
summer, its beams have a wonderfiit 
effect on the trees and grass; the 
green is brightened inconcetvdbly 
beautiful. 

London is not without attraction 
on a dark evening ; chiefly so in win- 
ter, when a strong wind prevails. 

It is then that the innumerable 
lights in the shops and streets send 
their rays towards heaven ; but 
meeting with the smoke, depressed 
by a wet air, they are reflected and 
multiplied, making an arch of splen- 
dor, against which the houses and 
steeples appear in strong outlines. 
I have found the reflection so powen* 
fill as to dazzle my sight, and nuike 
the path dark and dangerous. A 
general illumination occasions great 
brilliancy. 

Let us now ^new our suf)jeet hoiA 
the surromiding country ; and this 
should be done on a summer morn- 
ing, befi)re tlie industrious inhabit- 
ants begin their 1 abours. The most 
perfect and delightfiil prospect is 
from Hamstead-Heath, when the 
wind blows strong from the east. 
Then it is that the clear bright fiekl 
of ground, broken into a thousand 
grotesque shapes, gives lustre to the 
projecting front of Highgate, topped 
with verdure, and serving as a first 
distance, from which in gradual un- 
dulations the fields retire, till lost in 
a blue horizon. Hence, spread be- 
fore you, are numberless o))jects to 
please the most difllcult. The sic- 



MCTURESqUE VtEW OF LONDOIT^ 



srr 



.barbs, as advanced guards, meets 
the eve in all directions, contract- 
ing their fawn-coloured sides with 
the neighbouring trees. Beyond 
them reposes in fml majesty the main 
body, with its mighty queen, whose 
lofty cupola overlooks her phalanx 
of c^dren, crowned with spires of 
various sizes and beauty, protected 
on the south by a chain of hills. 

Much of the external splendor of 
London, I conceive must nave been 
lost on the suppression of religious 
houses. Numerous towers and spires 
were destroyed, and those of the 
most venerable character. Several 
attempts to preserve ^. John's, 
Clerkenwell, and St. Augustine's, 
were without success. 



Fe,* the capital of New-Mexico^ 
from which he will turn eastwardljr 
to the Red river ; and after explore 
rog the silver mines in itsneigh^ur- 
hood, descend by it into the Mis-^ 
sisippi, at seventy leagues abpve N*- 
Orleans. 

The party is expected to return 
in July, 1804, after having made ther 
most correct obsen^ations on the 
climate, soil, trecs^ plants, waters, 
minerals, mountains and volcanosf 
men, beasts, fowls, and fishes: 

The longitude and latitude is ta 
be taken in certain points, and *^the 
spaces between protracted on a mapy 
in time instead of space," in the 
manner of Ellicott; see his journal 
p. 137. 



ANTICIPATION 
•F MAJOR LEWIS'S JOURNAL, 

Mr. Jefferson having given an 
official account of the territory of 
Louisiana, has thought proper to 
send his first secretary to know how 
fer that information might be relied 
upon. 

It is said the route of the party will 
be as follows. It will ascend the 
Missisippi from the mouth of the 
Ohio, to the fiUls of St. Anthony, to 
gain some knowledge of the north- 
em fur-trade. From thence it will 
direct its course «ooth-westwar^, 
Bntil it strikes the Missouri, which, 
jrfter taking a peep at the big Indi- 
ans, and viewing some part of the 
Salt Mountam it win ascend to its 
source. 

From tfiis point the party wHl 
proceed south-eastwardly, along the 
Jieights that divide the waters of 
the Missisippi and the Pacific 
ocean, noting particularly those that 
fall into the latter, until it reaches 
the heads of the river Arkansas, it 
is proposed that some part of the 
escort sliall fall into these waters 
imd float down to the Missisippi, 
which tliey will enter two hundred 
and fifty leagues above N. Orleans. 
'thtQ major will proceed ou to Santa 



. ANECDOTE OF GENERAL LEE. 

General Lee was remarkably 
slovenly in his dress and manners ; 
and has often by the meanness of hi» 
appearance, been subject to ridicule 
and insult. He was once attending 
general Washington to a place dis- 
tant from the camp.... Riding on, he 
arrived at the house* where they 
were to dine, sometime before the 
rest of the company. He went di- 
rectly to the kitchen demanding; 
something to eat ; when the cook, 
taking him for a servant, told him 
she would give him some victuals in 
a,moment....but he must help her off 
with the pot. This he complied with 
and sat down to some cold meat 
which she placed before him on the 
dresser. Hie girl was remarkably 
inquisitive about the guests who were 
coming, particularly of Lee, wha 
she said she heard was one of the 
oddest and ugliest men in the world. 
In a few moments she desired the 
general again to assist her in plac- 
ing on the pot, and scarcely had he 
finished, when she requested him to 

• This city is in long. W. from Phi- 
ladelphia 29'' N. lat. 3(5*' and stands o» 
a river which runs into the gulf of 
Me;cicQ. 



sra 



AKTICIPATIOV or lCA|01t LKVI8*S JODRKAL. 



take the bucket and go to the well. 
l.ee made no objections, and began 
^rawing the water* In the mean- 
time general Washington arrived, 
find an aid-<Ie-camp was dispatched 
ill scarcli of Lee ; whom to his sur- 

erise he found engaged as above.... 
;ut what was the c^irfusion of the 
poor girl on hea ring the aid*de-canip 
address the man with whom she had 
been so ft. miliar, with the title of 
Excellency I 

The mug fell from her hands, and 
dropping on her knees, she began 
cr>Tng f)r pardon ; when Lce» who 
was ever ready to see the impropri- 
ety of his own conduct, but never 
willing to dumge it, gave her a 
crown, iind turning to the aid-de- 
camp, observed...." you see, young 
man, the adv.tntage of afinecoat.... 
the man of consequence is indebted 
to it for respea ; neither virtue nor 
Abilities, without it, will make him 
look, Hke a gentleman. " 



4CC0UKT OF A FIRE BALL. 

C. Biot, member of the national 
institute, in a letter to the French 
ninieter of the interior, dated July 
20, 1S03^ g]vcs a detailed account 
of his inquiries, &Ctf respecting a fire 
ball which fell in the neighbourhood 
of Laigle. From this the following 
description of the phenomenon b 
^educetU 

• On I'uesday, April 26, 1802, 
about one in the afternoon, the wea- 
ther beinc: serene, there was ol)8erv- 
•d from Goen, Paint-Audemer, and 
the environs of ^lencon, Falaise, 
and Vemeuil, a fiery globe of a very 
briUiant s^ilendor, which moved in 
the atmosphere witli great rapi- 
dity. 

Some moments after there was 
heai*d ct Laigle, and in the environs 
of that city to the extent of more 
than thirty leajjues in every direc- 
tion a violent explosion, wliich lasted 
five or wx minutes. 

At first there were three or four 
reports like those of a cannon, fol- 



lowed by a kind of difidiarge wliich 
resembled a firing of musketry ; 
after which there was heard adread** 
fill rumbling like the beadog of a 
drum. The air was calm and the 
sky serene, except a few clouds^ 
such as are frequently observed. 

The noise proceeded from a small 
cloud w^h had a rectangiilarform, 
the largest side being in a direction 
from east to w«st. It api>eared 
motionless all the time* the pheno- 
menon lasted. But the vapour of 
which it was composed was project- 
ed monientarily from the difl^rent 
sides by tlie eflfect of the successive 
explosions. Ill is cloud was about 
half a league to the north-north-east 
of the town of Laigle : It was at a 
great elevation in the atmos]>here, 
for the inhabitants of two hamlets a 
league distant from each other saw 
it at the same tune above their heads. 
Jfi the whole Canton over which this 
cloud hovered a hissing noise like 
that of a stone discharged from a 
sling was heard and a multitude of 
mineral masses exactly similar to 
those distingnlshed by the name of 
meteoric stones were seen to fall at 
the same time. 

The district in which the stones 
fell forms an elliptical extent of about 
two leagues and an half in length 
and nearly one in breadth, the great- 
est dimensions being io a direction 
from south-east to north-west, form- 
ing a declination of about twenty- 
two degrees. This direction which 
the meteor must have followed is 
exactly that of the magnetic meri- 
dian ; which is a remarkable result. 

The largest of these stones fell at 
the south-east extrenuty of thelarge 
axis of the ellipse ; the middle sized 
ones fell in the^centre, and the small- 
est at the other extremity. It there- 
by appears that the largest foil first, 
as might naturally be supposed. 

I'he largest of all those which fell 
weigh seventeen and an half pounds. 
The smallest I saw wcig^ about two 
gros, which is the thousandth part 
of the former. The number that 
foil is certainly abo;^ two or three 
tlkousand*. 



ACOOUKT or A riBE BALL* 



Q79 



th this Biecoisnt I have confined 
tnyaelf to a simple relation of facts ; 
I have endeavoured to view them 
as any other person would have 
done, and I have employed every 
care to present them ^vith exacts 
ness* * I leave to the sagacity of 
philosophers the numerous conse- 
quences that may be deduced from 
iJiem ; and I shall consider myself 
happy if they find that I have suc« 
ceeded in placing beyond a doubt 
the most astonishing phenomenon 
Over observed by man. 



METEORIC STONE, 

At Ensisheim, in Germany, there 
is a mass of stone, of the weight of 
upwards of two hundred pounds, 
called the Thunder Stone, and is 
generally supposed to have fallen 
from the atmosphere. It is of an 

oval form, and a rugged aspect 

In the year 1800, a piece of this 
mass was analyzed by Professor Bar- 
thold, who observed that its texture 
was so loose, that it could easily be 
separated by a knife, and reduced 
to a greyish blue powder. It was in- 
termixed witli insulated and irregu- 
lar crystals of pyrites, which in some 
parts appeared like small veins....* 
rrom the analysis, this stone ap- 
peared to contain, of sulpher, 0.02 ; 
iT:on0.2 ; magnesia, O.H; alumine, 
0.27 ; lime, 0.202 ; and of silex, 0.42. 



History of philip dellwyn. 

( Concluded /rom page 320.) 

The autumn was advancing fast 
•••.already the late leaves lingered 
on the trees, as if reluctant to lose 
their faint hold of life ; already occa • 
sional storms of sleet and rain de- 
formed the fair face of nature, and 
debarred the lady Mati!da from her 
frequent wanderings, and lord Er- 
nolf talked of removing to London. 
Our conversations now ran on the 
new woiM 1 was fi^bout tp be intro« 



dnced to ; and Matilda promised to 
herhelf a pleasing amusement in my 
astonishment at the vustness and 
ceaseless business of the metropo« 
Us. 

" But fear not," said she, « my 
Henry will b% your Cicerone, he will 
be your friend, and >cu« I am sure 
you will love my Henry !" 

'* And who," exclaimed I, " it 
Henry ?" 

*• Good heavens," returned Ma« 
tilda, ^^ do you not know that I mean 
my cousin, !ord Villars, who is soon 
to be my husband?" 

How 1 looked, 1 know not, but 
Matilda sufficiently comprehende<| 
all that passed in my hearU Aftet 
a tew minutes paubc, she left me to 
solitude and reflection. What a 
night did I pass ! but J was capable 
of forming my resolution. 1 appear- 
ed the next day thoughtful and pen- 
sive, but fir m • I neither sought nor 
avoided Matilda : I hud determined 
to suffer ui silence, and she, who 
wished, as I flatter myself, to pre- 
serve for a friend, the man who bad 
been so presumptuous as to think of 
loving her, assisted my endeavours 
Jby the continued mildness of her 
manners towards me. She affected 
notio have penetrated my secret, 
but retained, as much as possible, 
her former sweet and easy confix 
.dence. 

The short time that remained 
previous to our exchanging rural 
shades for dusty streets, was insuf- 
ficient to bring me into a temper of 
mind fit to see and be introduced to 
lord Villars; and I suffered more 
than language can describe, when 
an elegant young man, of a most 
prepossessing countenance, in the 
most graceful manner, thiinked me 
for the service I had rendered his 
uncle, and bespoke my friendship in 
exchange for his own, adding, that 
his Matilda's account of me liad dis- 
posed his heart to love me. 

Oh had I but known of her en- 
gagement 1 tliat certainly would have 
secured my young and innocent 
heart from feeling the fatal passion 
that will ndw quit it but with life ! 
2>Ior will it be long that I shall con* 



$^ 



BISTOmr of PHILIP BSLLWTX. 



^ae to feel its torments. I am ra- 
pidly approaching the end of all my 
sorrows. Every hoar bnngs me 
sensibly nearer to that grave where 
alone this harassed heart can hope 
lor rest. It was not in my nature to 
refiise the graceful offers of lord 
Villars. I could not but confess that 
he deserved to possess Matilda, and 
I strove to rejcdce that she was se- 
cured from tearing the uncertain 
lortunes of such an outcast as my- 
self. But to live in the daily sight 
cf their affectionate intercourse was 
too much for my feelings^ and the 
l^^y of my soul first undermin- 
ed tliat best portion of my hopeless 
youth, health and exertion. 

It was thought London did not 
agree- with me ; and lord Emolf, 
who would not hvLve been sorry to 
have detached his two sons from 
pleasures so enticing at their age, 
proposed my returning with them to 
the country. But &te£sposed other- 
wise of me. I had been one morn- 
ing out with lord ViUars, and stop- 
ped at hts fother's house in my way 
nome, when, in the next room, I 
heard a voice which instantly chased 
the colour from my cheeks. Lord 
Villars saw me change countenance, 
and inquired the cause. I eagerly 
asked who was in the next room. 

« I believe," said lord VUlars 
carelessly, " there is nobody there 
but Goldney.'' 

« Goldney I'Vexclaimed I, *'I am 
then on the point of knowing all.... 
Lord Villars, indulge me with seeing 
Mr. Goldnev." 

Loi*d Villars, astonished at my 
too evident agitation, besought roe 
to compose myself: but while he was 
yet exhorting me to do so, Goldney 
departed. All composure vanished 
before this di sappointment ; and lord 
Villars, terrified at the state I was 
In, inquired of the servants when 
Mr. (xoldney was likely to return. 
Tliey replied that he was going im- 
mediately into tlie country. With 
the zeal of a true friend, he ordered 
them to pursue and bring him back 
if possible, and I remained during 
liieir absence in a state of indesci'ifc^ 
.able .emotion* 



The effort was succetafnl : ther 
reached Goldney 's inn just as he 
was going to mount his horse, and 
prevailed on him to return to the 
earl's before his departure. Lord 
VilUrs had taken me into the apart- 
ment where his father sat. 

The old earl of St. Albans, though, 
too much of a courtier to behave 
with incivility to any one, had never 
appeared pleased with me. Miscon- 
duct had been marked with a cold 
reserve, and yet a scrutinizing exa- 
mination, neither of tliem ptea^ng 
to such a temper as mine. He now 
surveyed me with more attentive 
curiosity tlian ever, and attempted 
not to enter into conversation. Lord 
Villars, indeed, endeavoured to en- 
tertain me ; but the earl pretended 
to be engaged with a book, from 
which, however, I could perceive 
him perpetually raising his eyes, 
and fixing them on my face. At 
length, a knock at the door gave me 
reason to expect the return of Mr- 
Goldney. 

It was he, Ijut I took care to be 
standing, so as that he should not 
perceive me at his entrance. 

" I returned instantly," said hc^ 
in a tone of servility, *^ to receive 
your lordsliip's further commands.'* 

Tlie carl expressed his surprise, 
and I advanced immediately oppo- 
site to Goldney. 

" They were my commands, Mr. 
Goldney," said I ," *' I was unwilling 
to lose this opportunity of thanking 
you for past favours." 

<* I am happy to sec you well, Mr. 
Dellwyn," replied he ; " but it is 
rather inconvenient to me to be de^ 
tained at present." 

«' Stay, sir," said I ; « will you 
&vour me with your company iu 
anotlier room ?" 

The earl looked haughtily at me 
••••" These are strange liberties in 
my house, Mr. Dellwyn." 

*' I heartily beg your lordship's 

pardon, but if you knew. Lord 

Villars, will you indulge me with, 
tlie use of your apartment ?" 

Lord Villars was kindly leading 
me tlutlier. Goldney shewed great 
ea^mess to be gone^ and lord St* 



IttSTORT or rBILtP BELLWTir. 



S81 



Albans, in a stem voice, said, << This 
18 a very singular scene ; let it be 
terminated here !" 

« With all my heart, my lord," 
replied I. ** Mr. Goldney, I wish 
to have a categorical answer... •• 
Who am I ? Who were my parents ? 
Wliy am I thus turned adrift on the 
wide world?" 

The earl started up in astonish- 
ment...." Frederick,*'saidh6to lord 
Villars,who stood wondering in what 
this would end, " you have encou- 
raged this insolence; leave the 
room!" 

Lord Villars 6be3rcd the tyrannic 
mandate of his father, who now 
ordered me to proceed. 

" Let Mr. Goldney answer those 
questions," said I ; " and say why 
1 have hitherto been denied the 
knowledge of my parents ?" 

*' Is it your lordship's pleasure 
that I answer these questions?" de- 
manding the fawning Goldney. 

**I wiU answer them myself," 
said the earl. " I doubt, not ynung 
man, that this is a predetermined 
scheme to affront me ; yet I cannot 
Imagine from the events that have 
taken place, that Mr. Goldney has 
betrayed his trust. Your conduct, 
however, evidently proves that you 
deserved not the intended bounty of 
your father. But go....you have no 
father I Return to your original no- 
thingness ; leave my house, and if 
you dare to publish what you think 
you know, be assured no one will 
credit you." 

" I know nothmg, my lord," 
said L 

" *Tis well then," replied the 
earl ; on this head you ouglit to know 
nothing. Leave my house]** 

" Mr. Goldney, said I, " I require 
your company.*' 

" You will excuse me," Mr. 
DeUwvn," answered he ; it is at 
present impossible." 

It was impossible now to repose 
confidence in' the bosom of Matilda. 
I had not courage to enter into an 
interesting conversation with a being 
too fatally dear to my heart; but 
even, could I in time have sought 
That resource, I was soon utterly 

VOL. I....NO. Y. 



deprived of it. The next day brought 
me a letter from lord Villars. 

" What can have Incensed my 
&ther against you so cruelly, I can- 
not imagine; but trust me, dear 
Dellw)Ti, tlie heart of your friend 
will not change. Though I am at 
present forbidden all intercourse 
with you, depend upon the constant 
and unalterable friendship of 
" Your truly attached 

" VILLARS." 

niis heart-breaking blow was 
speedily followed by another. Lord 
Ernolf desired to speak with me* 
He began a long harangue, parading 
his gratitude, his esteem, his affec- 
tion. I would have disclaimed his 
praises; they soon ended of them- 
selves with a qualifying but........... 

I was aware, he knew of the inti- 
mate connection between his family 
and lord St. Albans. I had offend- 
ed the earl ; he could not imagine 
how a man of my gentle manners 
could have given so irreparable of- 
fence ; but in short.... 

** In short, my lord," replied I, 
'< the earl requires you to dismiss 
me : lie has made a similar request 
to his son: the earl is extremely 
obliging ; he is determined to teach 
me to feel the natural independency 
of man. My lord, our obligations 
have been mutual. If I had the good 
fortune to render you a piece of ser- 
vice, you have, in return, treated 
me with delicacy and kindness ; 
nay, my obligations to you are of a 
superior kind: your lordship wiH 
accept my best thanks....you will 
allow me to bid your sons adieu." 

" Nay, go not so,'* Mr. Dellwyn ; 
let me give you some more substan- 
tial mark of my gratitude." 

" Pardon me, my lord, there is no 
contract between us* Iretumtotiie 
world richer than when I entered 
your lordship's mansion: I have re- 
quired more knowledge of man !" 

Again lord Ernolf would have 
pressed some jiecuniary reward up- 
on me ; but I spurned the idea of 
receiving assistance from a being 
who could so far adopt the prejudicMT 
9 



38ft 



HXSTOST or PBXLIP DKLLWTir^ 



of another, as 19 abandon a man from 
ivhnm he had received an important 
perscnal 8er\-ice, and who had un- 
ci' rt<iken for him the dignified task 
of leading the mind of youth through 
the toilsome paths of learning and 
virtue. Lord Ernolf was offended 
at my resolution : he called it pride, 
and left me with less complacency 
in liis manner than when he first 
addressed me. 

M) farewel to the two boys was 
short, but friendly : they loved and 
respected tlieir tutor, and the prin- 
ciples he taught them will never 
disgrace themselves or him. I wished 
to have avoided the saying " adieu !" 
to the lady Matilda; but she sought 
tne. She spoke in the voice of the 
tenderest friendship ; she entreated 
me to let her know what became of 
me ; she referred me to the stability 
of her Henry's friendship, to my 
own merits, and to the power of 
time for raising me to happiness* 
I thanked her for her consolations, 
affected to believe them sufficient, 
and departed. 

I felt that, if I could depend on lord 
Villars's friendship, he was at least 
too much under the controul of a 
domineering fatlier, to have it in his 
power to serve me. My merits, I 
found, were insufficient to support 
me against calumny and unfounded 
enmity; and time. yes, I felt al- 
ready that a very short time would 
indeed put an end to my sorrows. 
I was now, with respect to mj' future 

f respects, precisely in the situation 
was on quitting Goldncy's house. 
I had still my pen to depend on, and 
I had improved my stock of expe- 
rience ; but other circumstances cast 
a shade over every effort: health 
Was houi'ly eluding my grasp, nor 
had the fatal passion for Matilda 
undermined that alone.. ..it had also 
robbed me of the po>i er of exertion. 
Yet that ardent pnssion preserved 
me from ever committing a mean 
or a vicious action ; it ennobled all 
my views, and rectified my notions. 
Of the enmity of lord St. Albans, I 
though. <^ little!... that of lord Ernolf 
was cepicable ! I now lived for my- 
.SClf alone 1 It was necessary to exert 



myself, and my pen at times gaine4 
me a decent subsistence; bat this 
subsistence was precarious) and I 
was sometimes in a state almost 
amounting to starving I 

I disdained, however, to let either 
lord ViUars or the lady Matilda know^ 
where I had hidden mv wretched 
head ; but I found all my ftmd dreams 
of fame and grandeur gradually Udt 
away, and I could not help wishing, 
at some impious moments, to ex- 
change situations with any poor 
mecl^nic, whose labour secured to 
him a decent and permanent sub- 
sistence. Then again, when I had 
obtained a fresh suijply of that ne- 
cessary yellow dirt, which serves in 
civilized nations as the medium of 
nfe, I would wander forth amid 
fields and woods,and foel triumphant 
at my own independency. I would 
feel too the morsel more sweet, for 
being gained by mental talents.....! 
would feel it almost sacrilege to wish 
to exchange the luxury of internal 
refinement and cultivation for any 
pecuniary advantages tlie world can 
offer. 

My mind sometimes dwelt on the 
strange conduct of lord St. Albans : 
an idea that I was his son haunted 
me. How else could he so readily 
have conceived the meaning of my 
questions to Goldney? Why else 
should he have answered them as he 
did ? This persuasion became daily 
stronger and stronger, and I deter- 
mined to stiind once more before 
lord St. Albans. I had nothing to 
detain me in one place more than 
another. I loitered therefore near 
his house, till I was convinced that 
neither lord ViJlars nor lady Matil- 
da were at home, and the door being 
opiened to me by a servant, to whom 
I was unknown, I was introduced at 
once to the earl. 

He knew me instantly, and order- 
ed the man to turn me out. I calmly 
turned round to the man, and as- 
sured him I was no ruffian, but had 
particular and private business with 
lord St. Albans. The man, as was 
his duty, was preparing to obey his 
master. I was, however, at that 
moment nerved by resolution^ and 



lUStOHIr OF 1»H1LI1» DiLLWYir. 



d83 



"Mzing him, forcibly pushed hiin 
out of the room: then calmly secur- 
ing the door, I advanced to the 
carl. 

' *' My lord," said I, "yoii would 
"not be so eager to dismiss me, were 
you not conscious I have ti claim to 
oe heard. I am your son, lord St. 
.Albans!" His teeth gnashed with 
y-age....his cheeks lost every parti- 
cle of colour. ...I repeated aloud, 
"** I am your son I** 

" Where did ydu....who has dar- 
ed.,.." 

His Words were now not more in- 
coherent than unintelligible. 

" My lord,** resumed I, " you 
yourself have been my informer. 
Tour emissary, Goldney, has been 
true to his trust. Your own unjus- 
tifiable rage, your present agitation 
aU confirm it. I am your son !" 

*' I defy you,*' said he, " to prove 
your words.*' 

" I am perfectly indifferent," re- 
turned I, " whether they are ever 
'proved or not. I mean not to assume 
any splendor in consequence of 
knowing myself to be the offspring 
of an earl ; but suffer me to ask, why 
Was I brought into the world, why 
was I taught all kinds of learning, 
and then left to chance, to misery, 
to ruin ?*' 

** Let me ask you two questions, . 
Mr. Dellwyn,"said the earl sternly, 
but calmly. " If you are not my son, 
in what light can you justify this con- 
duct ? And if you are such, how dare 
you question your father ? *• 

" If the name of father gives you 
any rights, my lord," replied I. 
"the name of son gives me no fewer ! 
The sort of protection hitherto be- 
stowed, the education I have receiv- 
ed, perhaps call upon you for still 
more than the mere paternal rela- 
tion. If, on the contrary, I am not 
your son, I may demand, in my turn, 
what meant your vehemence when 
I met Mr. Goldney here?" 

" Learn all you wish to know of 

Goldney," retorted the earl 

*'He can explain the mystery to 
you." 

" He cannot root from my bosom,'' 
returned I, " th^ conviction tha 



you are my father....and can proud- 
ly say, I was not unworthy of your 
intended bounty....! am not unwor- 
thy of your regard and affection ; 
but think not, my lord., that I would 
now accept either : your bounty I 
should despise, and your affection I 
could not return.*' 

*' This Insolence is past bearing," 
said the earl. 

" I am not insolent, my lord," saii 
1 ; "I am only resolute. Declare 
once upon your honour that I aiii 
not your son, and I will make ar^ 
apology for my conduct, and quit 
.your presence directly." 

" Are you to dictate to mc," said 
lord St. Albans, " the conditions on 
which you will leave me at j)cace ?" 

*' I have a right to Insist on an 
.'answer to this question," said I; 
'* yon have raised this idea in my 
heart, and I am entitled to have it 
confirmed or destroyed by a posi- 
tive answer!" 



Merc a leaf of the manuacrijit i» 
wanting^ 

# ft • • ft ft li 

LordVillars was kind, affectionate) 
and generous, but his endeavours 
came too late; the incurable blow 
was struck, and I laboured under the 
slow but sure disease of a broken 
heart. In vain he spoke to me iii 
the voice of the most soothing 
friendship ; in vain he dwelt upon 
the name of brother : I could not 
reflect without horror that I owed 
my birtli to a man who had dis- 
graced humanity by his treatment 
of my mother. Too feeble now tq 
record the dreadful tissue of villany 
by which she was deceived* I can 
only say, it ought to stamp the name 
of St, Albans with eternal infamy* 
The amiable lady Villars too exerted 
all her powers to console me. She 
spoke to me of my unfortunate mo« 
ther ; she recollected every little 
incident that she thought would 
prove to me her superiority to her 
sorrows. As she described b«r, I 



■ ISTOET Of PHILir DELLWTV. 



thought of my dear Miw Goldney, ihed a melancholy tear orer g^ 

now dear to roe in the sad light of earW grave I 

■liter to my mother. Had I been left in utter ignorance^ 

Lord Villars was pleased to see I might have been contented and 

the power the soothmgs of his Ma* happy. No dreams of perfectioiiy 

tilda had over my mind* He besought no visions of felicity would have dis- 

me to reside wholly with them ; but turbed my quiet ease ; but ah, ever 

though the love I bore to the lovely dear Miss Goldney ! you opened to 

lady Villars was no longer impe- my view a species of happiness, to 



cuous, it was still too tender to allow 
me to see her daily, llie tones of 
her voice, the touch of her hand, 
the glance of her eye quickened my 



which my soul was congenial ; nor 
could mere vulgar comforts have 
satisfied a being who had been form- 
ed by your converse I Not long wiQ 



pulses, and agnized my feelings, it be ere I join your pure spirit and 
ne convinced that I should my blessed mother's m those realms 



I became 
only linger on in irremec! table weak< 
ness, while I continued to behold her 
MO frequently. I determined to re- 
move to adistance from those, whose 
friendship, more than any earthly 



whence we shall view with pity the 
errors of misguided man: I feel 
daily the approaches of the deliver* 
! I welcome those symp. 



er, Death 

toros which tell me I have not long 
blessing, would have soothed me, to groan under the sense of hopeless 
but for the nature of my feelings for misery: even now I can rejoice in 



the kdy Matilda 

I resolved to bend my course into 
Wales. I passed through the vil- 
lage where mine in£int years had 
N^n spent. I wept over the grave 
of my dear Miss Goldn^ ; and as I 
gazed on the records of frail morta* 
Sty which surrounded me, I per- 
ceived in an obscure corner, a plain 
|»]ack tablet, which I approached.... 

MARIA GOLDNET, 
AGED 25. 

Oh, what bitter tears did I shed 
over Uie tomb of my mother ! I knew 
not how to tear mvself thence ! 

At length I reached this romantic 
country ; but its pure air, its salu- 
brious whey cannot restore a con- 
stitution broken by incurable sorrow. 
I have fomid here hospitality un- 
bounded, sympathy sincere, and ge- 
nuine affection. Ves, worthy and 
virtuous people, your generous sim- 
plicity has soothed a broken heart, 
and calmed the jarring irritated 
passions of an injured man. And 
tUou, lovely flower, whose mild e)es 
beam the sweetest pitj^ for sorrows 
no human aid can relieve, Oh may 
thy lot through life be happy ! May 
no artful villain lay snares tor thy 
unsuspecting. innocence; but happy 
i B mutual love,may st thou sometimes 



the continued happiness of lord Vil- 
lars and Matilda. l>ear to my soul 
as she will ever be, while it retains 
its consciousness, my love is purified 
from every selfish emotion, and ex- 
ults in her felicity. l*o that love I 
have owed much... 



There abruptly ends this little 
history. Whether thus suddenly 
left by the increasing weakness of 
its hapless writer, or whether ano- 
ther leaf has been lost, I cannot de- 
termine ; such as it is, however, it ia 
sufficiently connected to create in- 
terest; and the gentle spirit of Phi- 
lip Deilwyn will be gratified with the 
sympathy his fate will hare excited. 



BIOGRAPniCAL MEMOIRS OF TBK 
LATE OR. DABWIIC. 

Concerning this far-celebrated 
man, whose death we had the pain- 
ful task of announcing in our last 
number, we have collected the 

following particulars: Erasmus 

Darwin, the treventli cliild and 
and fourth son of Robert Darwin, 
Esq. was bom at Elston, near New- 
ark, in Nottinghamshire, on the 
12th of December, 1731; he re- 
ceived his early education at Ches* 



MKXOIES or THX LATX DS. DARWIV. 



SSdf 



%erfi€ld-school, under the Rev* Mr* 
Burrows, of whom he always spoke 
vith ^at respect* He was enter- 
ed with two of his elder brothers, 
at St* John's college, Cambridge; 
and, being intended for the prac- 
tice of m^cine took the degree of 
M. B. in 1755, defending in his 
thesis an opinion, that the motion 
of tlie heart and arteries is pro« 
duced by the immediate stimulus of 
the blood* During liis residence 
at Cambridge, Mr. Darwin was 
elected to one of lord Exeter's 
scholarships, worth about 161. per 
annum, which, from the meager- 
ness of his father's income at that 
time was esteemed a desirable ac- 
quisition. After having prepared 
himself for his future profession, 
by an attendance on the lectures of 
Dr. Hunter, in London, and by a 
severe course of study at Edinburgh, 
he contemplated the metropolis as 
the proper theatre for his exertions* 
Deterred, however, by the want of 
an immediate* introduction, and the 
improbability of obtaining imme- 
diate patronage. Doctor Darwin 
thought it altogether more advisea- 
ble to settle in the country; tlie 
first place to which he went, in tlie 
capacity of a physician, was Not- 
tingham, where he was entirely 
disappointed in his hopes of prac- 
tice; he removed, therefore, to 
Litchfield, with letters of introduc- 
tion to lady Gresley and the Hev* 
Mr. Seward. Here his great ca- 
pacity and various acquirements 
were more justly appreciated; he 
resi:icd at Litchfield during a great 
number of years, in the enjoyment 
of a v^ry extensive reputation, and 
a very profitable practice, the foun- 
dation of which is said to havebccn 
laid by his success in restoring lo 
health a gentleman of fortune in 
the neighbourhood, whose rccove- 
. ry was desj)aii*ed of by a numerous 
circle of friends and acquaintances* 
In the year 1757 Dr. Darwin 
married Miss Mary Howard,daugh- 
ttT of Ciiaiit s Howard, Esq. by 
his wife, Elizabeth Folev : she 
lii^U iu 1770. By thi» lady he h*^d 



five children, two of whom died 
in their infancy: the eldest son, 
Charles, he educated to his own 
profession, but he died in the 20th 
year of his age, very soon after hm 
had finished his course of studies at 
Edinburgh, where he gained con^- 
derable reputation, by endeavour- 
ing to furnish a criterion for dis- 
tinguishing pus from mucus.* The 
second son, Erasmus, was an at- 
torney, and practised at Derby: 
about three years since (in 1799) 
he walked into his garden, at dead 
of night, threw hims^f into the 
Derwent, and was drowned* Dr. 
Darwin's third son, Robert, is a 
physician, in very extensive prac- 
tice, at Shrewsbury, and married 
the daughter of the late Mr* 
Wedgewood, of Etruria* 

Soon after the decease of hit 
wife. Dr. Darwin commenced his 
laborious work, Zoonomia, which, 
however, he did not think proper 
to publish till about eight years 
since* 

In 1778 he obtained a lease of a 
picturesque spot of ground, about 
a mile from Litchfield, where a 
cold bath was erected by Sir John 
Flayer, an eminent physician in 
the beginning of tlie last century : 
there is a grotto, surrounded by 
projecting rocks, from tlie edges of 
which trickles a perpetual shower 
of water. This place became hit 
favourite retreat and amusement; 
here he formed a botanic-garden, 
and began his poem on the " Loves 
of the plants," the scenery of 
which, << as adapted to love-scenes, 
and being thence a proper resi- 
dence for the Goddess of Botany," 
is taken horn these sequestered 
bhades:.*.* 

• Dr. Darwin edited this posthu- 
mous work of his son Charles which 
was published in 1780, under the title 
of •* Experiments, establishing a cri- 
terion between mucilaginous and pu- 
rulent matter: and an account of the 
retrograde motions of the absorbent 
vekseU of ahim^l bodies in some dis- 
eases." 



586 



XEVOiafS 6F THE ^ATE int. DARtrtlT. 



** And if whk tlv^ lome hiptesss 

maid sht>uki ftny, 
.Disastrous Love companion of h<r 

way, 
Oh lead her timid steps to yonder 

glade, 
Whose arching clifis depending ai- 
ders shade ; 
There as meek Evening wakes her 

temperate breeze, 
Arid hiooh-bearns glimmer through 

the trembling trees. 
The rills, that gnggle round, shall 

soothe her ear, 
•The weeping rocks shall number tear 

for tear," &c. &c. 

Canto 1, iine 25. 

In the year 1780, Dr, Darwin 
was called to attend colonel Sa- 
cheverel Pole^ of Radboume-hall, 
distant four miles from Derby, and 
« few months after the decease of 
the colonel he married his relict, 
Mrs, Pole, with a jointure of 6001. 
per annum, to which lOOL was 
iidded, by establishing the validity 
of a promissory-note, which had 
been given to her by her former 
h\isband. The marriage of Dr. 
Darwin occasioned his immediate 
removal from Litchfield to Rad- 
bbume, where he resided till he 
could be accommodated with a 
house in Derby : in this last situa- 
tion he remained till about three 
months before his death, when he 
removed to an old mansion, called 
Sreadwall priory, about three miles 
distant from Derby, which was a 
•commcdious and peaceful retire- 
ment for his old age. During the 
last few years Dr. Darwin was 
much subject to inflammation in 
his breast and lungs : he had a very 
serious attack of this dihcase In 
tht' course of tlie last spring, from 
wiiirh, aficr repeated bleedings by 
hin^sc'if and a surgeon, be with 
gi'eal ditTiculty recovered. On the 
10th of A];ril lost he was attacked 
with a severe sluverinH; fit, follow- 
ed by a cori'cspondent hot one, and 
accompanied witli s)mptoms of in- 
flauiirnilicn in his lungs: his surge- 
on, Mr. IlHcliey, tiM>k from him, 
in course of the day, twenty-five 
ouiices of blood : tlie fever was re- 



move, and in two or thi-cfc da^s 
he became to all appearance, quite 
well, and declared himself pertect- 
ly recovered. On Saturday, the 
17th he amused himself in h!s gar- 
den, with all his children, who 
were come home from school, pro- 
bably on account of the easter-holi- 
days: in the evening, as he was 
walking with Mrs. Darwin, and a 
lady ofaboui his ouii agc^ the latter 
remarked, that lie would have suf- 
ficient emplo} mcnt for ten year^ in 
bringing all liis plans about the 
place to perfect ion, ** Vou, Madam 
(he replied) Uitve as good a pros- 
pect as any bed)' 1 kjiow, of your 
age, of living ten years.-, -I have 
not.**....Mrs. Darwin remarked his 
good looks, spirits, uih] strength; 
he said, " I alwajs appear parti- 
cularly well inimcdijtely bcfoj-e I 
become ill-" He sal with his fa- 
mily in the even lug, conversing 
with his usuril rhccrfulne?^s, went 
to bed, rose at six on the following 
morning, s^nd wiotc some letters: 
he then called his servant, fell into 
a violent iit of pasaif^n with him on 
account of his horses, and was 
seized with a cold shivering fit, 
which increased, and was attended 
with thirst: he then sat down by 
the kitchen-fire, and drank a con- 
siderable quantitv of butter-milk, 
but feeling himself much indispos- 
ed, he lay down on a sofa, when 
becoming more cold and torpid, he 
was raised up, and placed in an 
arm-chair, where, without pain, 
or any emotion, he expired, be- 
tween eight and nine o'clock, in 
the 71st year of his age. 

The death of Dr. Darwin is va- 
riously accounted for : it is suppos- 
ed to have been caused by a cold 
fit of an inflammatory fever : Dr. 
Fox, of Derby, considers the dis- 
ease which occasioned it to have 
been angina pectoris ; but Dr. Gar- 
like, of the same place, thinks this 
oj)inion not suificiently well-found- 
ed : whatever was the discztse, it is 
not improbable, surely, that the 
fatal event was hastened by the vio- 
lent fit of passion witli which ht 
was seized in the morning. 



MRMOa^S OF THE LA-^B DR. OARIflN^ 



38^ 



, Dr.. D^r^in lias.left a widow and 
rfix children by his last marriage : 
besides these, there are two na- 
tural daughters (Miss Parkers) 
-whom he has established at a school 
at Ashbourne, and for whose instruc- 
tion and assistance he composed and 
published his Treatise on Female 
^ucation* , 

During the whole of his life. Dr. 
Darwin was remarkable for great 
benevolence* of disposition, and it 
was particularly conspicuous in tlie 
care he took even of the lowest 
animals. He had frequently ex- 
pressed a strong desire, that the 
termination of his existence might 
l>e without pain, having always 
looked upon death as the less evil 
of the two. He was of a middle 
stature, iu person gross and cor- 
pulent; his features were coarse,, 
and his countenance heavy ; if not 
wholly void of animation, it cer- 
tainly was by no means expressive. 
The print of him, from a painting 
of Mr. Wright, is a good Ukeness. 
In his gait and dress he was rather 
clumsy and slovenly, and frequent- 
ly walked with his tongue hanging 
out of his mouth. 

A gentleman with whom he was 
many years in the habits of intima- 
cy, relates " that in his youth Dr. 
Darwin was fond of sacrificing to 
both Bacchus and Venus : but he soon 
discovered that he could not conti- 
nue his devotions to both these 
deities witliout destroying his health, 
and constitution.* He therefore 
resolved to relinquish Bacchus, but 
his affection for Venus was retained 
to the last period of life." 

• At this period of life, when he was 
hesitating from which of the tvvo fa- 
vourite altars he must discontinue his 
sacrifices, we may suppose him to 
have translated, with so much spirit 
and effect, the following epigram' of 
Martial:.... 
Balnea, Vina, Fentu, corrumpunt cot" 

para noftra, 
M/adunt vitam Balnea, Vina, Ventu, 
Wine, women, warmth, against our 

lives combine; 
But what is life without warmth, wo- 
men, wine! 



In the second vol. of Zoonomia[ 
(Class iv. 1, 2, 15. Art. Podagra,), 
Dr. Darwin relates, that ahoulj 
forty-five years ago he was firs^ 
seized with a fit of the gout ; in, 
consequence of which he totally ab-, 
stained from all fermented liquors^, 
not even tasting snjall beer, or a^ 
drop of any kind of wine : but he, 
ate plentifiilly of flesh-meat, an^ 
all kinds of vegetables and fruit, 
using, for his drink at meals, chief- 
ly water alone, or creamand water> 
with tea and coffee between them,j 
as usual. By this abstinence from, 
fermented liquors he kept quitev 
free from the? gout for fifteen, or 
sixteen years, and from. some other 
complaints to which he had been 
subject: he then indulged liimsell 
occasionally with a little wipe an4 
water,, cyder and water, &c. but 
w^s speedily admonished into hi^ 
former temperance, by a paroxysm 
of the gout. He was in the habitf 
of eating a large quantity of food, 
and his stomach possessed a strong 
power of digestion : his advice fre- 
quently was " t^at, eat, eat as much 
as you can ;" but he took every op* 
portunity to impress a di-ead of all 
fermented liquors on the minds of 
his patients, whose diseases he was 
too ready to represent as originat- 
ing in the frequent use of them. 

In the " Botanic Garden" (Part 
n. Canto iv. 357, &c.) Dr. Darwin 
has taken an opportunity to express 
his strong antipathy against fer- 
mented liquors, by comparing their 
effects to that of the Promethean 
fire :.-.." The ancient story of Pro- 
metheus, who concealed in his. 
bosom the fire he had stolen, an4 
afterwards had a vulture perpetu- 
ally gnawing his liver, anords so 
apt an allegory for the effects of 
drinking spirituous liquors, that 
one should be induced to think Uie 
art of distillation, as well as some 
other chemical processes (such as 
calcining gold), had been known 
in times of great antiquity, and lost 
again. The swallowing drams can- 
not be better represented in hiero- 
glyphic language than by taking 
fire into one*s bosom ^ and ccrtaia 



S9B 



XEXOIKS or THE LATE DK. DAKWIIT. 



by n]Hd glances, from any books 
which accident throws in our way. 
Inatead of that orderly, scientific 
method of study, which is the di« 
rect road to knowledge, are sub- 
stituted miscellaneous reading, and 
Tague thinking, from which noth- 
hig is to be expected, but a confus- 
ed mass of truth and error. Thus, 
c^inions, once introduced, however 
k is, that the general efiect of 
drinking fermented or spiritooua 
Mquors is an inflamed, schirrous, or 
paralytic liver, with its various cri- 
tical or consequential diseases, as 
leprous eruptions on the lace, gout, 
dnipsy, epilepsy, insanity." 

In the very brief and hasty me- 
moir which we are now compiling, 
it is not to be expected that we 
should dissert on the genius and 
writings of Dr. Darwin: the vari- 
ous productions of his lancilitl and 
philoaophical pen have lonj; since 
been exposed to public criticism, 
and received an ample share, 
as well of obloquy as applause. 



WREtfCa ARISES THE DIVEISI- 
TT or OPINION? 

Ever since men began to think 
and inquire, they have differed in 
opinion; and it does not appear 
mm the history of mankind, that, 
as they have increased in know- 
ledge, they have hitherto propor- 
tionably approximated towards a- 
greement* Hence some have been 
inclined to infer, that to such beings 
as men, diversity of opinion is a 
benefit. It might as reasonably be 
asserted, that disease is a benefit, 
because it has given birth to the 
science of medicine. Truth being 
one, if there was no such thing as 
error, all men must think alike; 
and error is certainly a disease, or 
defect of the mind, which it is the 
business of philosophy to remove* 
Diversity of opinion, if it has sti- 
mulated inquiry, has also generat- 
ed animosity and intolerance. It 
must, therefore, be considered as 
aa evil, which it is for the interest 



of mankind, as much aa pouSbStf 
to banish from the world : and it is 
of importance to examine, whence 
this imperfection in the nature, or 
present state, of nuin arises; for 
it is only by attending to the cansea 
of any malady, that we can hope 
to discover the means of cure. 

Many of the causes of dlveruty 
of opinion, are of a moral nature* 
originating in the habit and .temper 
of the mind. Among these, one of 
the most prevalent, is indolence, or 
an indisposition to mental exertion, 
in the search after truth. The 
present modes of education are in 
no respect more faulty, than in ne- 
glecting to cultivate and improve 
die reasoning fnculty. During the 
early period of instruction and dis- 
dplme, in which the mind is mould- 
ed, it is thought sufficient to store 
the memory with words and fiicts. 
enrich the fancy with images, and 
impress the heart with senti- 
menty, without instituting any coarse 
of intelectual exercises, by means 
of which young people may form a 
habit of deducing from admitted 
premises, certain, or probable, con- 
clusions. It is not till they pass 
from the grammar-school, to the 
last finishing of the university, that 
young men are taught to think* 
Hence arises an indolent and desul- 
tory habit of the mind, which in-^ 
disposes it for those vigorous and 
continued exertions which are ne- 
cessary to the suscessfiil investiga- 
tion, or even the accurate ajipre- 
hension, of truth. To escape the 
fatigue of pursuing a regular train 
of thought, and examining minute- 
ly and methodically any subject ^d 
inquiry, we content ourselves with 
eeneral ideas, casually collected 
from conversation, or snatched up 
by rapid glances from any books 
which accident throws in our way. 
Instead of that orderly, scientific 
method of study, which b the direct 
road to knowledge, are substituted 
miscellaneous reading and vague 
thinking, from which nothing b 
to be expected, but a confused masa 
of truth and error. Thus opinions 
once introduced, however ill found- 



DIVRRSITT Of OPINION. 



389 



'«d, obtain an easy reception, and 
are transmitted from hand to hand 
without due examination, till the 
counterfeit currency becomes more 
numerous than the sterling coin. 

That diligence of inquiry which 
leads to truth is prevented; and, 
consequently, those erroneous con- 
ceptions which multiply contrary 
Clintons, are fostered bv conceit. 
This quality is called by the French, 
opiniatrete and by some of our old 
]^glish writers opiniatry, doubt- 
less to ex))ress the immoderate 
fondness of the conceited man for 
his own opinions. To this fault 
young people are particularly lia- 
ble. The first acquisitions which 
a young person msikes in science, 
like the first piece of money which 
a child calls his own, are valued 
beyond their real worth; and the 
reason in both cases is, that the 
possessor is not capable of compar- 
ing his little stock with the larger 
treasures of others. It is chiefly on 
this account, that 

• A little learning is a dangerous thing.* 
While we are at the foot of the hUl 
of science, our view is so confined 
that we can neither perceive to 
what heights others have attained, 
nor observe what vast regions re- 
remain unexplored by ourselves. 
IjA the lov^er stages of improvement, 
men are apt to rest satisfied with 
their present attainments, and to 
sit down contented with their pre- 
sent stock of ideas, and their pre- 
sent set of opinions, without sus- 
pecting that they may be false and 
erroneous, or apprehending any 
necessity for giving them a careful 
rcvisaL It is from the modest in- 
quirer, and not from the conceited 
sciolist, that the world must look 
for the correction of those errors 
which have diversified opinion. 

Kcarly allied to conceit is perti- 
nacity, another moral fault, which 
has the same tendency. Some men 
grasp their opinions, in whatever 
way they acquired them, with so 
firm a hold that they cannot be 
wrested from them by any force or 
argument. Witli such persons, 

VOL. I.*..N0. y* 



opinions have all the value and cer- 
tainty of axioms. Never admit- 
ting a doubt concerning the truth of 
the dogmata tliey embrace, or 
making the supposition, so morti- 
fying to their pride^that they possibly 
may be mstaken, they read and 
converse only to support their sys- 
tem. "Why should we g-ve our- 
selves the trouble to search for a 
treasure, which we already pos- 
sess ? or why listen to men who are, 
either ignorantly or dishonestly, 
pleading the cause of error?" Such 
is the genuine language of dogma- 
tism. Its sure effect upon others, 
is to produce disgust instead of con- 
viction ; upon the dogmatist him- 
self, to shut him up forever within 
the narrow enclosure of his own 
prejudices: it therefore tends to 
perpetuate multiplied and contra- 
dictory errors. 

Dogmatism upon the most fa- 
vourable supposition, proceeds from 
narrow and partial views. But . 
men are often positive and dogma- 
tical, not because they have stddied 
the subject in dispute imperfectly, 
but because they have not studied it 
at all. They have no doubt Uiat 
the opinions which they have re- 
ceived from their ancestors, or from 
their instructors, must be true: 
without examining the arguments, 
or evidence on which they are 
founded, they embrace them as in- 
controvertible doctrines, and main- 
tain them as strenuously, as if they 
had seen them established upon the 
fiillest demonstrations. Such per- 
sons seem to consider their opini- 
ons as a part of their inheritance, 
and to retain them as tenaciously 
as their estates. This implicit de- 
ference to authority, evidently tends 
to preserve alive those false opini- 
ons which have once obtained the 
sanction of a great name, or the 
patronage of the civil power. Ac- 
cording to this principle, Aristotle 
ought still to preside in our schools, 
and the system of Descartes should 
never have gi\'en way to that of 
Newton. Were this principle uni- 
versal, error, in its multifarious 
forms, must become perpetual; and . 
10 



390 



olTERstTT or OMirioir* 



it would no longer be true, that 
• ** time, while it confirms the dic- 
tates of nature, destroys the fic- 
tions of opinion*" 

But nottiing has a more powerful 
tendency to produce those errone- 
ous judgments, which occasion di- 
versity of opinion, than the predo- 
minancy of passion over reason. 
While the mind is kept perfectly 
cool, and free from agitation, it 
can contemplate objects according 
to their real nature, without eX'^ 
aggeration or distortion: and to 
View every thing as it is in itself, 
and as it stands related to other 
things, is the proper office of the 
understanding, and the only wajr to 
discover truth. In mathematical 
and philosophical reasonings, pro- 
vided tiie reelings of vani^ and 
emulation be exdnided, the under* 
standing is commonly free from the 
Mas of passions, aad pursues truth 
in the right line of fair investiga- 
tion. But on other subjects, in 
which personal interest b concern* 
ed, and concerning which, hope, 
lear, or any other powerfiil pas* 
aion renders Uie decison, on either 
side, an object of desire or aver* 
sion, we are in perpetual danp;er of 
fbrming false judgments. It is not, 
indeed, certain, that in determin- 
ing any doubtful question, in the 
manner which best accords with 
our private advantage, we are 
adoptmg an error ; for it may hap- 
pen, that speculative truth and per- 
sonal interestmay coincide : "Peo- 
g»le," says Mr. Ixx^ke, <* may f turn* 
le upon troth in the way to prefer- 
ment." But in cases in which the 
inquirer Is deeply concerned in the 
result of his speculations; when, 
for example, wealth, popularity, of 
advancement, is connected with 
one decision, and poverty, obscu- 
rity, or suffering with the reverse, 
it requires no small portion of in- 
tegrity and fairness, to make an 
impartial judgment. It cannot ad- 
mit of a doubt, that the edifice of 
superstition has lasted longer, by 

• Opinionum commenta delct dies, 
Naturae judicia confirmac. 



means of the bttttrenet wlikh pofw^ 
er has erected to support it, titan 
it coidd have done wMioat ttkemm 
Many opinions are now c xiati n gj i 
and even flourishing, through their 
•Uiance with interest, which, left 
to the natural process of the hv* 
man intelleet, would probablf , bjr 
this time have been extinct. 

The moral causes of ^versity of 
opinion, already enumerated, nmy 
be sufficient to account for imni* 
merable cases of erroneous jod^- 
ment, in which men wander, m ▼&* 
rious directions, from Ifae trutb, 
merely because Uiey are not honest- 
ly and resolutely engaged ia tiie 
pursuitof i.nowledge. O&ereaiuieay 
less under ourcontroul, remain to 
be mentioned. 

Great confiision of ideas, nnd 
consequent diversity of opink m , 
arise from die wMrt of predaion 
in the use of terms. The only 
science in which the leading teras 
is accurately defined, and strictlf 
used in one given sense, is mathe* 
matics; and to this cause is, la 
a great measure, owing the su- 
periority of this science to all 
others, in perspicuity and certain- 
ty. As far as the science of phy- 
sics partakes of mathematical ac- 
curacy, in its use of terms, it be- 
comes capable of demonstration; 
and just in die degree in whidh, 
from the want of a complete idea 
of the things or properties whiA 
the terms express, they are imper- 
fectly defined, uncertainty arises. 
In odier sciences, particulariy me- 
taphysics, theolo^, and morals, 
innumerable terms are adopted, 
which in difierent connections, and 
used bv different persons, repre- 
sent difterent combinations ofidcas. 
Hence when they are emp}o>*ed in 
argument, a confusion of concep- 
tion, and diversity of opinion, are 
necessarily produced. The whole 
metaphysical doctrine of Aristotle, 
concerning being abstractedly con- 
sidered, is a mere science of words ; 
and the innumerable disputes which 
it created among the scholastics 
in the middle age, were nothing 
better than logomachies. The sects 



DIVUftITT OF OPINION. 



391 



of Uie nemiatUits and realists, 
which through the eleventh and 
tw^lih centuries, disturbed the 
worlds with angry contentions on the 
question) whether the universals 
have a real es^sence, or are mere 
Barnes, would have been at once an- 
nihilated by settling the meaning of 
the terms genus and species. Confu- 
•ion in the use of the terms sub- 
stance, nature, being, person, gene- 
ration, kc* gave rise to the nume* 
rous sects in which the christian 
church was early divided, concern* 
ing the divine nature and person 
of Christ. The ancient schocds of 
the pMfesophers, maintained end* 
leas disputes concerning the su- 
preme good, the value of pleasure, 
juid other moral topics, which ori- 
ginated entirely, in the difierent 
collections of ideas which they re- 
flectively connected with the same 
words* *^ Let us," says Cicero, 
to the Stoic, « settle the meaning 
of terms, and no controversy 
will remain**" Among diqwtants 
of modem times, gi*eater preci- 
abn of language has been studied; 
yet, perhaps, it will be found, that 
the controversies concerning liber* 
ty and necessity, concerning the 
foundation of morals, and some 
others, are rather di^mtes about 
words than things* 

Disagreement in judgment, and, 
conseouently, diversity of opinion, 
is ftirUier increased by the injudi- 
cioua use of metaphorical language. 
Fignrea of ^»eech are the instru- 
ments of oratory, not of logic* By 
dtstnicting the mind between diU 
ferent objects, they interrupt that 
steady contemplation of the matter 
in question, which is necessary to 
the discovery of truth. They are 
also frequently employed to create 
arbitrary associations, and to pre- 
possess the mind by impressions on 
the imagination, while the under- 
standing ought to be coolly occupied 
in argumentative discussion* Of 
this, ahnost every treatise in theo- 

• * Conferam tecum quam cUique ver- 
bo rem subjicias nulla erit controver 
sia. Dc Fin. I. iv.c. 27. 



logical or political controverqr fur- 
nishes examples. This is often to 
be imputed to crafty design, but is 
sometimes merely the eflfect of lit^ 
rary vanity. Writers who excel 
more in fancy than judgment, and 
whose taste in style inclines ratlier 
to ornament than simplicity, are 
too apt to load even scientific dis-> 
qidsitions with rhetorical figures 
and thus lose in perspicui^ of rea- 
soning, more than Uiey gam in ele- 
gance of writing* It may deserve 
the attention of those who are fond 
of eloquent argumentation, that one 
of the most perfect books of rea- 
soning in the world, the Elements 
of Euclid, has not a single rhetori- 
cal figure from the beginning to the 
end* As far as language is con- 
cerned in argument, a better rule 
cannot be laid down, than that of 
Cicero : *' Care should be taken to 
make use of the most common 
words, and such as are best adapt- 
ed to express the meaning**" 

The neglect of method in study, 
is another fruitful cause of diversi- 
ty of opinion* Even in the con- 
struction of general plans of edn* 
cation for public schools, much re- 
mains to be done, before a regular 
edifice of instruction will be erect- 
ed* There is a natural connection 
among the several parts of science, 
which renders it exceedingly de- 
sirable that a broad foundation be- 
ing laid in tlie knowledge of the 
materials and the instruments of 
science, things, and words, the su- 
perstructure should be raised with 
a due i-egard to relation, propor- 
tion, and harmony. When this 
great work shall be accomplished, 
by the united exertions of weli-in- 
formed and comprehensive minds, 
it n\ay be e3q)ected, that many 
systems of opinions will be over- 
turned, and that the uniformity of 
judgment, which statesmen and 
priests have so long in vain at- 
tempted to produce by coercion, 

* Opera danda CBt» ut verbis iita- 
mur quam usitatissimis, & quam max!- 
me aptis, id est, rem declarantibus. 
De Fix. 1. iv. c. 20. 



392 



oivEKsiTT or opivioir. 



^in in some degree arise from the 
regular investigation of truth. For 
the want of such a plan of instruc- 
tion, knowledge, even upon the 
subjects most interesting to man, is 
commonly gatheretl up in an acci* 
dental and desultory manner. Par- 
tial views are taken of great ques- 
tions in theology, morals, and poli- 
cy; no single point is exammfd 
throughout, and in regular train. 
A few arguments, on one side, are 
contemplated in full view, and in a 
strong light; others of equal im- 
portance are slightly noticed ; and, 
perhaps, the whole, or the greater 
part of the evidence, on the side 
contrary to that which the reader 
is disposed to fi^vour, is overloc^ed, 
or designedly kept out of sight* 
The inevitable effects must be pre- 
judice, error, and diversity of opi- 
nion. 

If the matter be traced still high- 
er, it will be found th^t, where 
neither passion nor prejudice, in^ 
terferes, men still think diffcrentJv, 
from the want of certain data, m 
vhich they are agreed, as the ba- 
sis of their subsequent reasonings. 
Excepting only in pure geometry, a 
foundation of definition and axioms 
has never yet been so firmly laid as 
.to produce, in the application, 
irresistible demonstration. Some 
philosophers have conceived, that 
there Hre in every science certain 
first principles, the truth of which 
is intuitively perceived. But it is a 
strong presumption a^inst the ex- 
istence of such principles, that no 
one has ever been able to discover 
a criterion by which they are to be 
distinguished, on the one hand, 
from opinions formed by prejudice, 
and, on the other, from the legiti- 
mate deductions of reason. It will 
perhaps be found, upon strict exa- 
mination, that those first princi- 
ples which are called Jixioms in ge- 
ometry, appear to the mind as cer- 
tain truths, because they necessari- 
ly follow from the admitted signifi- 
cation of the terms. Tlie whole is 
known to be greater than its part, 
not by intuitive reason, but, be- 
cause the terms whole and part, Ic- 



ing understood toexpreis certais 
relative ideas of magnitude, can- 
not retain their meiming, imless 
the proposition be rec c iTcd aatme. 
If this explanation of the nature of 
an axiom be accurate, the rcaaoa 
why there is such a perfect agree- 
ment concerning geometrical tn»th% 

and so much diversity of ( — '-^ 

concerning propositions in 
sciences, is, that, in the 
case, the leading terms which are 
made use of are oniversattyunder* 
stood in the same sense; but, in the 
latter, have diflerent roeanings. 

Diversity of opinion must be ul- 
timately ascribed to the difierant 
degrees of imperfection in hunsaa 
knowledge. Were all men per* 
fectly acquainted with thenaturey 
properties, and relations of tiie be- 
mgs which come under dieir per- 
ception or contemplation, they i 
see erery things as it is, 
must, therefore, form the ^ 
jndgmetit concerning iV Did ail 
men know alike, thov^ imperfect- 
ly, their opinions most be the same. 
6ut, while one roan knows more 
than another, and wliile mea, 
from their incomplete knowledge of 
things, must necessarily Ttew the 
sameobjecu under dififereatu^iccta, 
and be liable to misoonccptiDn and 
error, it is impossible that diverse 
ty of opinion should not arise. Con* 
coming mathematical figures and 
quantitiies, our knowledge is cer- 
tain. Concerning the mrms and 
obvious properties of bodies, which 
come under the notice of the senses, 
the judgments of difierent personu 
will commonly be the same. Con- 
cerning physical powers, theeffectft 
of which are subjected to experl* 
ment, a general agreement may be 
expected. But, with respect to 
historical facts, which must be re- 
ported on human testimony, and 
cannot be judged of without weigh- 
ing various circumstances; with 
respect to moral and politicjil ques- 
tions, the acrjrate decision of 
which requires a diligent examina- 
tion of numerous focts; and with 
respect to intellectual beings, and 
their powers and their qualities* 



DITEHSITT Of OPINIOir. 



393 



Imown only from inference or ana- 
logy, opinionsi however satisfacto- 
ry, must be liable to great diversi- 
ty. On on these latter subjects, as 
oae has well observed*, it is diffi- 
cult to find out truth, because it is 
in such considerable proportions 
scattered in a mass of opiniatlve 
uncertainties, like the silver in 
Hiero's crown of gold. 

Error and its inseparable con- 
comitant, diversity of opinion, are 
entailed by an irreversible decree 
upon human nature. These defects 
may, however, be in some measure 
corrected. Without the' aid of 
persecution, which can at most 
only enforce an hypocritical unifor- 
mity of profession, instead of unity 
of belief, the liberal protection and 
encouragement of free inquiry may 
cherish the love of truth, and pro- 
mote the honest and ardent pursuit 
of knowledge. Individual atten- 
tion to mora) discipline may cure 
those diseases of the mind, which 
multiply and perpetuate erroneous 
opinions. If the project of an uni- 
versal philosophical character, in 
which Uie present ambiguities of 
language should be avoided, and aU 
the varieties of human ideas should 
be correctly represented, and clas- 
sically arranged, be too difficult to 
be accomplished, men may, at least, 
learn to use with greater caution 
and skill, the symbols with which 
they are already furnished. New 
institutions of education adapted to 
the present state of knowledge, 
may be introduced, in the room of 
the' cumbrous systems,' which time 
has feirly worn out. Unprofitable 
speculations may give way to such 
literary and scientific pursuits, as 
premise general, utility. And if, 
after all, knowledge should never 
become so perfect and universal, as 
to banish diversity of opinion, men 
may, at least, be heartily united in 
prosecuting the great object of the 
common good, and, with respect to 
every point of doubtful speculation, 
may candidly agree to differ* 

• Ghinvilk. 



CHEMICAL EXPERIMXNTS AMD 
OBSERVATIONS OM THE EX- 
TRACTION OF SUGAR AND 
Sy-RUP FROM INDIGENOUS 
PLANTS.*«.H£RJfSTADT. 

From the chemical analysis of 
vegetable substances, and the know- 
ledge of tlieir constituent and other 
particles contained and mixed with 
them, it is sufficiently evident that 
the East and West-Indies are not 
the only countries provided by na- 
ture with saccharine plants; but 
saccharine matter is abundantly 
found in other productions of the 
vegetable kingdom, and it only re^ 
quires an assiduous examination to 
point out those vegetables from 
which it may be most copiously and 
in the least expensive way obtain- 
ed. 

Among the plants hitherto exa- 
mined, none deserve to be ranked 
so near the true sugarcane as ^le 
whole genus of maple trees, and of 
these, particularly the sugar and 
silver maple, Acer saccharinum, 
and A. Dasycare pon Elhrh : Both 
trees have been used for these tifky 
years, to obtain sugar from them, 
which in the last years has proved 
to be particularly profitable. By 
my own experiments, which I have 
repeatedly made since the wintu' of 
1796, I found out, that from aH spc^ 
cies of maples, sugar may be, with 
more or less profit, obtained ; and 
that the sugar and silver maples^ 
growing even in Germany, though 
not in tifie best soil, give a very good 
raw sugar, not inferior to the best 
West- India can]? sugar, and which 
is got so cheap, that a pound of it 
wiU come no higher than eighteen 
or twenty pfennige, or about two 
pence half-penny, and only a groshen 
or a penny, when instead of char- 
coal common coal or turf are em-i 
ployed for boiling the juice, and 
particularly when the operation is 
made ui)on a large settle, as one 
labourer is able to attend five hun- 
dred trees during the pericd of tap- 
ping tbctn. The process of boiling 
tlie juice is besides so very simple^ 



SXT&ACTIOV or SUGAR VaOK IVOICSVOUS PLAMTS. 



tfMt evciy bodjr nay toon learn it* 
Bot these advantages are only to be 
cocpecttd from tlie sugar and silver 
Biaple, as the other species, Acer 
Kegundo, A. campestre, A. plata- 
noides, and A. pseudoplatanus, con- 
tain a less quantity of juice, which 
is also not so rich in saccharine 
natter. However, as plantations 
of those maples require a space of 
twenty or twenty«nve years before 
the trees are large enough to admit 
tapping, it will be not improper, 
httt of great utility to the communio 
aity, to examine,'meanwhi]e, those 
indigenous plants, from whidi like- 
wise a useful substitute for the West- 
India sugar majr be extracted ; and 
it is with this view 1 have made the 
fidlowing experiments : 

Exfierimenn to obtain Sugar from 
Jhdia^Comm 

India-Corn (Zea Mavs) is said to 
eontain, according to Von Justi, su- 
gar, particularly in the nodes of the 
young stalks, from which Mr. Jac- 
quin, of Vienna, has successfully pre- 
pared it ; and this is fiftrther con- 
firmed by Mr. Marabeili, in a db- 
sertation on the subject. It is like- 
wise reported, that the extraction 
of the sugar from the stalks of India- 
corn, growing particularly in a 
mardiy soil, has been tried m Italy 
upon a large scale, but afterwards 
left off again, as it was found not to 
answer the purpose, the sugar dius 
obtained being more expensive than 
common raw sugar. To be con- 
duced by my own experience, on 
tills subject, I made some experi- 
ments, of which the following are the 
results: A quantity of India-corn 
was cultivated in a tolerable, and 
somewhat marshy soil, for die pur- 
pose : when the young plants were 
about six inches high, the leaves, 
when chewed, had a sweetish taste, 
but the stalks, particularly about 
the nodes, tasted quite like sugar. 
These young plants being cut off as 
near the ground as possible, freed 
from the leaves, and sufficiently 
cleaned ; ten pounds of them were 
cut in pieces, and> bemg pounded in 



a stone mortar, the jmoe was ex- 
pressed, which weiglied three 
pounds. This juice, whose sweet- 
ish taste had still adisagreeable fla- 
vour of herbs, was darified with the 
white of eggs, after which that taste 
was scarcely perceptible ; and being 
thickened to the consistence of a 
svrup, eight ounces of a very agree* 
able tasting syrup were obtained. 

Examination qfthe ^ket ^InAa^ 
Com* 
As the young spikes, when the/ 
are beginning to form, possess a 
very agreeable saccharine taste« 
they were thought fit for being ex* 
amined. Ten pounds of them were 
accordingly squeezed in a stone 
mortar, and tne juice e3q>resaed« 
after the leaves had been stripped 
off. These gave four pounds of a 
milky juice, which could not be reo* 
dered perfectly clear by the white 
of eggs. By a slow evaporation to 
the conustence of a syrup, nine 
ounces of a brown agreeable tasting 
syrup were got, but which difiered 
from the former by being more mu- 
cilaginous. 

Examination qf Stalkt ^ India- 
com^ of a mttreadvancedgrowtt. 

Twenty pounds of these stalks 
were cut in pieces, and with the ad- 
dition of water, squeezed in a stone 
mortar, and the juice expresaed^ 
which possessed a disagreeable and 
somewhat acrid taste. Being in the 
same manner thickened to the con- 
sistence of a syrup, twelve ounces 
of syrup were obtained, which had 
a disagreeable saline taste, and 
might rather be considered as a ve- 
getable extract, than as sugar. 

Exfieriment* Jar obtaining Dry 
Sugar from India»Com. 

To learn, whether it was possible 
to exhibit a crystaUisiMe sugar from 
this plant, the syrups prepared from 
the young stalks and the opikeswere 
each dissolved by itself in fresh 
lime-water, and gently boiled, hj 
which a great part of Uieir iropun- 



BXT&ACTIOV Of 6U6A& VROM tNDIGENOtJS PLAftTS« 



»S 



ties was carried off. The liquor 
being strained through a woolen 
clothy each of them was boiled to the 
thickness of a syrup, which was put 
in a glass, and set eight months in 
a warm place, when little crystalli- 
sations of sugar appeared, which 
were with difficulty separable from 
the fluid. For this purpose each 
syrup was evaporated by a gentle 
fire, till they became dry, and this 
mass was digested with alkoholized 
spiritus vini to ebullition* The fluid 
still hot was instantly poured through 
a linen cloth, whereon the mucila- 
ginous parts remained , but on the 
cooling of the spirituous solution, a 
true sugar, of a yellow colour, cry- 
stallised in small grains. The al- 
kohol being drawn from the remain- 
ing fluid, by distillation, another por- 
tion of sugar was got by gentle eva- 
poration ; and altogether, two ounces 
from the syrup of the young stalks, 
and one ounce and a half from that 
of the spikes. 

By these experiments it is suffi- 
ciently sliewn, that from the young 
fresh stalks, as well as from the 
spikes, of India-corn, a true sugar 
can be extracted ; but as its separa- 
tion from the gummons and other 
particles mixed with it is combined 
with such difficulties, and the gain 
so inconsiderable, that a pound of 
raw sugar from this plant would cost 
one rixdollar, or above three shil- 
lings, appears that no profit or 
economy will arise from the fabri- 
cation of this sugar. 

JSxfierimmfa for obtaining Sugar 
Jrotn the Siberia Covt-Parsncfi. 

The Russian cow-parsnep(Hera- 
cleumSphondyliumLin ; Heracleum 
sibiricum) has been long known, as 
a plant containing a great deal of 
saccharine matter, hi which respect, 
according to Steller (in his travels 
to Kamtchatkn, in German) it de- 
serves the next place to the sugar- 
cane, and the natives call it the 
sweet herb or Ratsh. According to 
Gmelin (Flora Sibirica, s. i. p. 
214) it does not differ from our com- 
mon cow-parsnep, but others think it 



a particular species, to which they 
give the name of Sphondylium Pe- 
naces. The inhabitants of Kamt- 
chatka gather the stalks of this plant 
in June, and having stripped off the 
leaves, tliey shave <^ the outer 
skin with muscle shells, 'and dry 
them in the sun, and af^rwards 
they are chewed for the sake of 
sucking out the saccharine matter. 
In drying the surface lyf the stalks, 
it is covered with a white saccha- 
rine powder, which they separate by 
shaking them in a leather bag; but 
forty pounds of them afibrd only a 
quarter of a pound of thb powder- 
sugar, which therefore is considered 
as a great rarity. Besides this the 
stalks and roots of the plants are 
employed for obtaining a sort of 
brandy. I was aapplied with some 
fredh plants of the Heracleum sibi« 
ricum for my experiments, but find- 
ing that the stalks were by no means 
so rich in sugar, as it is related of 
those plants growing in Sibiria, I 
tried the roots* of which I got fovr 
pounds, whose taste is-sweetish^like 
thatof parsneps. Having freed them 
from the outer skin they were dried, 
but no saccharine crust appeared on 
the surfoce. Tliey were therefore 
ground ; and being mixed with water 
the juice was pressed, which tasted 
sweetish, but a little acrid. Being 
boiled with the wliite of eggs, and 
clarified, it was thickened to the 
consistence of a syrup, of which six 
ounces were got', wherein after a 
space of three months, a brown 
grainy sugar had crystallized, which 
however was not quite free from 4 
disagreeable flavour. Though it Is 
shown by these experiments, that 
sugar may be obtained from that 
plant, yet the preparation of the 
sugar is too expensive, for making 
use of it in economy. It is however 
probable, that the soil has a great 
influence upon the plant, and that 
therefore those growing in Siberia 
are richer in sugar. 

Exfterimmta to obtain Sugar from 
the Muat of Wine. 
It might be presumed from the 
taste of must obtained from ripe 



396 



KXTBACTION OF SUGAR FROM IlTDIGKVOUg PLAVTS. 



grapct) that a considerable quantity 
of saccharine matter is contained in 
itf though involved by mucilage. To 
trf whether a true sugar could be 
extracted from it, some experiments 
were uudertaken. Eight Berlin 
quarts of must, from ripe sweet 
grapes, were seethed with the white 
of eg>?s, clarified and filtered. The 
fluid being evapornted, gave three 
pounds of an agreeable but acidu- 



lous syrup. To take away this free 
acid, the syrup was dissolved again 
in limewater, and so much uf it 
added, till no acid was perceived by 
reagents. The fluid being again 
clarified and ev^K>rated, a very 
agreeable syrup was obtained,from 
which It was by no means possi))ie to 
exhibit crystallised sugar. How- 
ever, this svrup would, at the id^jk 
price of must, not be veryprofitai^ 



REMARKABLE OCCURRENCES. 



Hanover^ (F/.) Dtc* 2. 
A remarkable bird was last Srttur- 
Aiy killed by Henry Nevens, of this 
town. It was upwards of three feet 
in hetght«.M.though it weighed but 
twelve poundsy it was judged suffi- 
ciently stout, and bold enough to 
kave attempted and even destroyed 
the lives of calves, sheep, and lambs* 
Its wmgs extended, measured seven 
feet, eif^t inches ; and its daws were 
two and one-fourth inches in length. 
This fowl is supposed to be of the 
eagle q)ecics ; but few of this size 
are rarely met with in this part of 
the country. What is remarkable, 
Mr. Nevens shot him tying, sitting 
on his horse* 

RewUng^ Perm. Dec* 3. 
In the night of Monday and Tues- 
day, the 29th ult. the bam and sta- 
bles of Mr. Waters Dewees, at 
Birdsboroi^^h, with ten of his best 
]K)rBes, and a quantity of grain and 
hay, were entirely consumed by fire, 
and so violent were the flames that 
nothing of this valuable property 
could possibly be savcd« only the 
riding liorse of Mr. Dewees,' who 
escaped much burned, and will hard- 
ly ever be fit for use. Tlie worst 
of the horses was wortii fifty pounds 
..*.Nobody kuowkhow the &i e broke 
out* 

Boston^ Dec* 5. 
Two highway robberies have been 
committed in the vidnity of this 



town» within these few days* On 
Tuesday evening about 7 o'clock, 
Mr. John Winship, returning home 
from maiket,was attacked by three 
persons on the Medford and Meno- 
tomy road, opposite the Ten-Hills 
iisrm, in Chartestown, robbed of be- 
tween twenty and thirty dollars in 
tuiver, and severely wounded. On 
Friday evening, on the same road 
and near the same spot, a Mr* Bat- 
ley, of Charlestown, on his return 
from a journey to the upper parts of 
the country, was assailed by seven 
persons, two of whom entered his 
chaise, and presenting pistols at his 
breast, demanded lib mpney, and 
took all he had about him, then th rew 
him ou the ground, searched for his 
pocked-book and watcli ; and not 
finding either, bade him get into his 
chaise and go back to Medford. .••• 
After proceeding about forty rods, 
thinking the robbers had dispersed, 
he attempted to get to Charlestown ; 
but on arriving at the spot where 
he had before been robbed, he was 
again assailed by the robbers, and 
obliged to return to Medford, where 
he continued all night* The rob- 
I>ers were armed with musquets and 
pistols* 

Paieighy JV^ C. Dec. 6. 
A bed of gold ore has been lately 
discovered in Cabarrus county, in 
this state, in a creek runningthrough 
the land of Mr John Reed, a native 
of Hesse Casseli in Germany, which 



SSNitSKABLB OCGUSftElTcrSf. 



S* 



pronAaem to be a aoafce of great 
riches to the proprietor. The me- 
tal was first found by two or tiiree 
children of Mr. Reed| who were 
fishing. They brought a few pieces 
home to their iather, as a cnrioskyi 
Ignonuit of its value. On escamina- 
tion, the ore was found not only to 
be gold, but gold of a very pure qua- 
lity. Since this discovery, these 
little boys have picked up daUyfrom 
one hundred to one hundred and 
twenty penny-weights (wortfi up- 
wards of twenty pounds sterling] 
but the proprietor has lately found a 
lump of the ore twenty-eight pounds 
Weight, which it is supposed, when 
iiuced win yield twenty-seven 
pounds of pure gold, and is worth 
upwards of five thousand six hundred 
dollars! These facts are assured to 
us by one of the members of our ge- 
neral assembly from Cabarras, now 
in this city, who has in his posses* 
sion two specimens of this precious 
netal, one as itxs found and theother 
as purified. 

Staunton^ fir* Dec, 9. 
A melancholy accident happened 
on Thursday, the 1st instant, in this 
country. The kitchen of Mr. Coiner 
was consumed by fire, and with it 
two of his children, one about two 
and the other about four years of 
age 'together with a negro child. 
Mrs. Coiner and the children being 
at home by themselves, slie, while 
cleaning the house, told them to 
go to the kitchen, a few minutes af^er 
having occasion to go there het*self, 
discovered it enveloped in flames, 
supposed to have originated by the 
eKildren in playing with tlie fire, 
dropping some coals in a quantity of 
flax contiguous to the door, which 
prevented her from entering, she 
immediately ran to a hole in the 
wall where she beheld her tender 
offspring widi uplifted hands, sup- 
plicating assistance ; her exertions 
to rescue them were in vain; on 
taking hold of their arms the^ slip- 
ped from her grasp, the akin re- 
maining in her hands; she made a 
second effort, and got the head of 
•ne thi-ough the crevice, *but being 

V0L«Z*...N0. V. 



unable to get it farther, it was con*' 
sumed together with the others, lA 
sight of its agonized parent. Their 
bones were gathered up on the fc^« 
lowing day and decently interred^ 

, Alej^ndrioy December 12.. 
Flour inspected hi the town of 
Alexandria, for the quarter endii^ 
the nth December, 1803: 
10,48.5 barrels 
1,938 half barreb 
1 19 barrels Indian meaL 

PhtladeiftMa^ December 15. 
About two o'clock in the after- 
noon, a fire broke cut in an unfinish- 
ed three story brick house, situated 
en the south side of Sansnm-street| 
near Seventh-street. Although the 
citizens immediately repaired to the 
place, and used every efibrt in their 
power to stop its progress, it waa 
not subdued until it had destro)-ed 
the house in which it originated^ 
and seven other new brick buiidiuga 
of the same size, adjoining it. iThe 
burning shingles were carried by 
the force of the wind, in a south- 
westerly direction, several squares 
from the place, and they would pro- 
bably have occasioned other confla* 
grations had not the houses been 
previously wet by a seasonable rain* 
These buildings were neariy tenant* 
able, but fortunately neither of theiB' 
were occupied by a fiimHy- We 
understand that they were Uie pro- 
perty of industrious carpenters and 
bricklayers....some of whom, it i* 
said, are not in a situation to bear 
so heavy a loss. None of th» houses 
were insured. 

^evf'Yorkj December 15» 
There is now in the harbour of 
New York, 131 ships, 96 brigs,146 
schooners, and 354 sloops.... total 
727 1 exclusive of mill, market| 
pleasure, and ferry boats, pettiang- 
ers, 8cc. a greater number than has 
been in it at one time since the re« 
volutionary war* 

December 16. 
We can hardly recollect so severe 
a gale of wind as has prevailed diir- 
11 



398 



REMARKABLE OCCORRRMGKft* 



iBg the UiAt fbrty^igh*. hours* It 
commenced before day on Tuesday, 
accompanied with violent rain. Our 
liarbour crowded with shipping and 
coasting crafty waa exposed, espe- 
ctall)' on the Hudwm side of ihe town, 
to all its rage* The following ves- 
ids were either dashed to pieces 
against the wharves and adjoining 
Teasels, or sunk. In the Nnrth river 
near the hay-scales, a schooner be- 
longing to Mr. John Hatfield, of 
8taten*ialand, laden with hay ; and 
m sloop, name unknown : near the 
«>fporation dock^a sloop laden with 
wcxxl and marketing: off the battery 
a sloop laden wi tli pork, bee^ chce&e, 
Ilc. in the East river, near the Ex* 
duinge-slip, a schooner belonging 
Id Mr. Com well, owner of the mills 
at Red hook« laden with flower ; and 
a schooner belonging to Mr. Rey- 
nolds* Exclusive of the above«whicli 
liave been completely wrecked, a 
Tast number have sustained more 
«r less injury, and the total damage 
cannot l)e rated at less than twenty 
thousand dollars* 

December ir. 
The lovers of the fine arts will be 
,patified to learn, that a very inge- 
aious painter from Italy, has taken 
Ids residence in this state, which we 
liopc soon to see enriched with his 
productions. Mr.Zuchotti some time 
since arrivcfl and took l€xlg;i!.g in 
Roxbury, where he remaijied unnu- 
tked and unkm^wn, till a gentlcniuu 
pive him his permission to orna- 
ment a room which he was finishing. 
The superior beauty and elegance of 
tliis perf<'rmance caught the eye of 
a watchmaker of taste who was fit- 
ting up a shop in Boston ; Mr. Z. 
was engaged to embellish it ; when 
this second wcirk was finished, his 
genius was suffered no longer to rc- 
B&ain in ()<>scurity; for, from tlie 
Itbcrdl citizens of Boston, he h..d 
immediate t4j)])lici:tKTis for work, 
the completion uf whicli will take 
more than two years. 

CarHfie^ Perm. Dec. 14. 
On Saturday morning; last, a fire 
broke out in the dwelling-house of ful Murder I 



John Steele, esq* about one oufefrnia 
this boroogli, and bciore any assists 
aoce could reach the place waa burnt 
to the ground* All his furniture* 
together witli a large quantity of 
grain, which was in iShe upper story 
of the house, were entirely con- 
suxaed* 

Harverhidy Dec. 30* 

On Saturday hist, a bam in An* 
dover, containing twenty head of 
CAttlc, a horse chaise, and a qoaa- 
tity of grain, hav, See* belonging to 
Mr* Nathanial trage, was entirety 
consumed by fire. It is supposed 
this accident was occasioned by a 
negro boy, who carried fire in a 
mug, into the barn, to warm his 
hands while foddering the cattle* 

On Sunday night, the 18th D«. 
cember, Mr* Phineas Moody, of 
Sonicrs, (Con*) who had for some 
time previous been In a low, me* 
lancholy state of mind, was led to 
the horrid purpose of murdering hu 
family and himself. 

After tlie fiiraily were a^eep, he 
procured an axe with which he in 
the first place killed his wife and 
infant child, about twelve mooths 
old. His wife was badly cot in se- 
veral places ; her arm, on which 
probably the chifd lay, waa cot 
almost entirely off, likely by the 
blow which dispatdied the infant* 
He tlien went up into a chamber 
where a niece of his slept, about 
eight years of age, whom he man- 
gled in a shocking manner* 

She had several gashes of the axe 
in different parts of her &ce, neck^ 
and breast ; tlkree of her fingers cut 
entirely cff, and others partly. He 
then lYtunied to the room where hia 
wife WHS, and left the axe, went 
into a lower room, and cut his throat 
from ear to ear. He was about 40 
years of age. The next morning 
the deed was discovered by a little 
hid who went to the house ^ith an 
errand, who spre;*d tlie alarm.. .m 
The scene was enough to " harrow 
up the soul" of a stoic* A jnry of 
inquest was immediately summoned 
who brought in a > erdict o£.** Wil- 



REMABKABLE OCCURBEVCKS. 



399 



Mw'-Bed/ord^ Dec. 28. 
On the 16th instant, the deputy- 
marshal) agreeable to previous no- 
tice, proceedecl to sell by public auc- 
tion, at twelve o'clock, on that day, 
a quantity of rum and molasses, 
which had been justly forfeited by 
law, for an attempt to evade the 
payment of the duties* At the com- 
nienceraent of the sale, a mob col- 
lected to the number of one hundred 
and fifty or two hundred, with an 
evident determination to abuse anv 
person who should over bid the ori- 
ginal owners....two or three respec- 
table individuals from the country, 
saw proper, notwithstanding these 
« squally appearances," to make 
higher bids ; they were shamefully 
abused, and one of them, after an 
unsuccessftil attempt had been made 
to throw him into the dock, was 
beaten in a most shocking manner, 
and it was only by the most spirited 
exertions of his friends, that he was 
rescued from the hands of the ruf- 
fians, in so mangled and exhausted 
a situation that his life was at first 
despaired of. We forbear adding 
more at present, we regret that a 
cause should exist for saying so 
much, and sincerely hope, fi)r the 
honour of that ancient town, that 
the instigators of so daring an out- 
rage on Uielaws of civilized society, 
will receive the punishment which 
their conduct merits. 

Late in the fall of the year 1^98, 
as I went down the Ohio in compa- 
ny with tliree or four others, we 
lodged one ni^ht at a house on the 
bank of the river opposite to the 
upper end of a smaU island, about 
thirteen miles above Marietta. In 
the morning our landlord asked us 
if we would go over to the isl jnd to 
see the big tree. I had several years 
before heard of a remai'kabl y Lirge 
tree somewhere on the Ohio, but 
had not I'ecoliected where, neither 
had I much ciu^osity to see it.... 
however, the comj^an}' being very 
desirous to go, I went with them.... 
the island is supposed to contiun 
about ten or twelve acres of lc.ni, 
lying low, just above hl^h wale;** I 



thought it one of the finest or richest 
pieces of land I had ever seen. At 
a few perches from the shore our 
conductor brought us to the stump 
of a large tree, indeed. The stump 
was about twelve or fifteen feet hip;h, 
and being hollow, there was a kmd 
of door cut in one side, where I went 
in, the shell was about two or three 
inches thick and the ca^'ity nearly 
circular. We had the curiosity to 
measure the diameter on the ground 
inside, and found it upwards of 
eighteen feet, and as high as we 
could reach up, it was about thir- 
teen and an half feet on the outside, 
on the ground the circumference 
was about sixty feet, but not quite 
so much higher up, though it kept 
its thickness remarkably. The tree 
had two large branches or limbs, 
' which w^re broken down, and had 
fallen in opposite directions. One 
of these limbs, at the distance of 
twenty steps, or about sixty feet from 
the root of the tree, we all supposed 
to be six feet in diameter, the other 
I did not so particularly attend to, 
but one of the young men in compa- 
ny told me he stood upright in the 
hollow, in this end of it, as it lay 
near the root of the stump. Tliese 
branches had separated from each 
other, perhaps fifteen or twenty 
feet high." 

Cabarraa County^ A*. Ceroitna. 
The gold mind in Cabarras, has 
of late drawn the attention of a 
num!>er of our citizens very much. 
Indeed it has so far engaged the 
minds of many, iliat it has become 
the common theme in almost every 
company. The tict is, it has lately 
produced wonders. Besides a vari- 
ety of less magnitude, there was, 
about three weeks ago, one lump 
f )und just below the surface of the 
earth, that weighed twenty-eight 
p::iinds, stcellyard weight. Tliis, at 
the common calculation , will be 
worth cibout seven thousiind dollars. 
So th.it fn^m its present appearance 
it is well worthy of notice. 

Fredericksburg^ Vir. Dec. 29* 
On Monday last, Mr. WilUaa 
Thornton and Mr. Francis Conwa 



400 



aSMA&KABLE oeCURRElTGBS* 



met) in conse^ence of a previous 
misuiiderstandingyintiie neighbour* 
hood of this town, and sorry we are 
to announce, that the event proved 
ftital to buth parties. 

In the same hoar on Tuesday hist 
th^ both departed this life. 

By their untimely fate two weep- 
ing mothers are 1^ to deplore the 
loss of two dutiful sons, their chil- 
dren two affectionate brothers, and 
society two most promising citizens* 
The (surviving relations are in a si* 
tuation easier to be imagined than 
described* 

Lynthburgu Fir. Dec, 28. 
On Saturday, the 34th instant, at 
the store of Mr. Abner Early, in 
Campbell,, a period was imt to the 
life of Mr. Blufbrd Early, who ex- 
pired a few minutes after receiving 
the contents of a loaded gun, from 
the hands of Isaac Butterworth.... 
said to have been dene intentionally 
....a controversy having previously 
taken place between &em. The 
particulars of this event we have 
not learnt. Mr. Earlv was a man 
much respected, and m the prime 
of Ufe. 

LefBburg^ 
During the gust of rain on Sundav 
evening last a Negro quarter of col. 
T. L. Lee's, near Goose creek, was 
struck by lightning, and two negroes 
were struck dead, and six or seven 
. wcunded ; one of the wounded soon 
• died, and it is hoped the others are 
out of danger.. They had assembled 
for the laudable purpose of prayer, 
and were singing hynms at the pe- 
riod of this awnd i^sitation. 

llie following is said to be an ac- 
curate statement of the number of 
posi-rffices in the several states, 
distiiru, and territories of the 
union: 

SUte of Virginia 199 

New-York 159 
Pennsylvania 102 
Massachusetts 24 
North-Carolina 83 
Maryland 74 

New«Jer8e]r 57 



Connecticut 54 

Vermont 48 

New-Hampshire 46 

Sou^-CaroHna 46 

Kentucky 36 

Tennessee 28 

Georgia 23 

Delaware 14 

Ohio 13 

Rhode-Island 8 

District of Maine 53 

Columbia 3 

Missi^pi Territory 9 

Indiana do., ^ 

TotaL»* •^ i ,159 

SINGULAR DISCOVERT* 

Several workmen engaged m dig-^ 
8;ing a well for Mr. Samuel Wigtott^^ 
Hudson, New-York state, a few rods 
fhmi an upright rock, which forms 
the bank of the river in &ont of that 
city, a few days since Uirew up a 
number of fragments of well burnt 
bricks, which were found about 40 
feet imder the surface of the earth. 
llie account which the workmen 
gave of a discovery so singular, was 
at first conddered as a trick to im^ 
pose on the credulous people, until 
two gentlemen, to convince them- 
selves,descended to the bottom of the 
well, and with a pick axe, dug some 
out of ttie hard compacted gravel, 
which still retain perfectly ue im» 
pression of the mould. No whole 
bricks were seen, though a irork- 
man broke with his spade one which 
be thinks was entire, and says the 
pieces when put tc^ther, would 
have made a brick of about eight at 
nine inches in length. The hori- 
zontal or allovial strata of earth, 
perforated in digging the well, were 
as follows, or nearly so: five feet 
yellow sand, sixteen feet of yellow 
clay, seventeen feet marl, very pon* 
deroas, and of a blue colour, rr. 
sembling that of the lime rock in 
the vicinity; one and an half feet 
redish ocherons and gravel, six 
inches hard pan, or gravel cement- 
ed with marl, one and an half feet 
fine yellow sand, and three feet 
coarse slaty gravel. 



THE 



LITERARY MAGAZINE, 



AND 



AMERICAN REGISTER. 



Vol. L] 



MARCH, 1804. 



[No. 6 



CONTENTS. 



COMMUNICATIONS. 

page. 

Novel-Reading 403 

Wooden BuUdings 405 

Eddystone 407 

DneUing . . . • « ibtd 

Agricultural Essays 408 

Thoughts on Duelling 410 

Memoirs of Carwin the Biloquist 412 
Critical Notices....No. V 416 

REVIEW. 

A Brief Retrospect of the Eigh- 
teenth Century 419 

POETRY....ORIGINAL. 
Youth... 424 

SELECTED. 

A Talc-From Cowper. 425 

To Health 426 

On the Grasshopper iifid 

An i£nigma ibid 

SELECTIONS. 

Chocolate 427 

Account of the massacre of St, 

Bartholomew ibid 

Account of the life of Mr. Cooper, 

the tragedian 431 



page. 
Remarks on Darwin's Temple of 

Nature 434 

Biographical Memoirs of Doctor 

Darwin 440 

Biographical Sketch of Mr. Ad- 
dington .•••.•..•...••*.•••• 44o, > 

Picture of St. Domingo 446 

State of the French Peasantry. . 450 
Account of the Chamelon. ..... 453 

Account of the state of society 
and manners in Liverpool. . . . 453 

Madame Ricamier*s Bedchamber 456 
Account of the Tangun horse 

found at Tibet 457 

Prayer sanctioned by philosophy 458 
Swedish mode of travelling on the 

ice 459 

Mesmerism •' 462 

Bear-hunting in Finland. ....... 464 

Bathing in Finland ibid 

Nature of Thunder, by Euler.. . . 465 
Criticism of Klopstock's Messiah 463 
The possibility of preventing the 

effects of thunder 470 

Addressof the American conven- 
tion to the people of the United 

States 473 

Abolition of slavery inNew-Jersey 474 

Reports to Congress 475 

Salaries of Public Officers. ..... 480 



PUBLISHED BY 

JOHN CONRAD & CO. PHILADELVHIA ; M. & J. CONRAD & CO. BALTIMORE ^ 
RAPIN, CONRAD & CO. WASHINGTON CITY; SOMERVELL 8t CONRAD, 
PETERSBURG; BONSAL, CONRAD & CO. NORFOLK; BERNARD DORNIN, 
NEW-YORK; WHITING, BACHOS, & WHITING, ALBANY; SAMUEL PLEA» 
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U04. 



TBK 



LITERARY MAGAZINE, 



AKD 



AMERICAN REGISTER. 



No. 6.] 



MARCH, 1804. 



[Vol. I. 



FOR THE LITERARY MAGAZINE. 



A STUDENTS DIARY......NUMBER V. 



KOYEL-READIKG. 

I HAVE just been reading a dis- 
sertation upon novel-readingy in 
which the writer says a great many 
|;rave and weighty things on the 
subject, and finally winds up by as- 
serting, that supposing the whole 
stock of the Novelist's library to 
amount to one thousand, five hun- 
dred of these are void of all judg- 
ment, genius and taste, composed 
without knowledge of the world, or 
skill in composition ; and of the re- 
mainder, four hundred iind ninety- 
nine are calculated only to corrupt 
and deprave the morals. While en- 
gaged in pondering on this very com- 
prehensive declaration, who should 

enter the apartment but Miss D 

on a visit to my sister. This lady 
has an ample fortune, a lively curio^ 
sity, studious temper, and, though 
young and handsome, no lover. She 
has therefore abundant leisure, and 
all the means of reading at com- 



mand. Novels are her favourite 
performances, and she has collect- 
ed such a number of these as would 
enable her to supply the whole stock 
of a circulating library. As soon 
as she was seated, 1 read to her this 
severe sentence upon novels, and 
desired her opinion upon the sub- 
ject. 

Pray, said she a little indignant, 
who is this pr^ound judge ? I Should 
like to be acquainted with a man, 
who knows of the existence, nay, 
who has, himself, read one thousand 
novels. I have never been able to 
collect even the titles of three- 
fourths of that number, and have 
spared neither pains nor pence in 
the attempt. 

This number, said I, is merely 
hypothetical; but why should you 
suppose him to have read all the 
thousand ? 

Because I am charitable enough 
to suppose him possessed of com- 
mon justice and common sense; 



404 



A STUDEKTS DIART. 



and either of these would hinder 
him from judging without inquiry, 
of deciding wifiiout knowledge; and 
especially, would forbid him to pro- 
nounce so absolute and so severe a 
sentence without a careful and ex- 
tensive examination of the subject. 

I doubt much, said J, whether, in 
this case, he has read very closely 
or extensively, I am told, that he 
has little leisure for that kind of 
reading which the world, in gene- 
raVhas agreed to call mere pastime 
or amusement, and his taste leads 
him far away from such a library as 
yours, 

'Tis a pity then, replied the lady, 
that he did not forbear to judge so 
severely and so positively. One in 
ten, that is one hundred in the thou^ 
eand is the least that we novel-read- 
ers can allow him as a sample, by 
which to jiul^ of tlie rest. If he 
has read this number impartially 
and carefully, let him then pro- 
nounce judgment, telling us, at the 
same time, by what shred he has 
judged of the piece, aitd then, though 
we may reject his decision as 
groundless and absurd, yet we shall 
not deny his rie;ht to deliver an opi- 
nion. Without a suitable examina- 
tion, this suiely is a most rush and 
culpable thing, thus to condemn, as 
labouring only for corruption and 
depravity, so great a number of that 
unfortunate class of men, called 
authors. Novelists, in general, 
write for the sake of a subsistence. 
Their end is not only innocent but 
laudable, and the means they em- 
ploy is to gratify that passion of en-, 
lightened minds which loves to con- 
template human life in the mirror 
which genius holds up to it. 

Those who condemn novels, or 
fiction, in the abstract^ (continued 
the lady) are guilty of shameful ab- 
surdity and inconsistency. They 
are profoundly ignorant of human 
nature; the brightest of whose pro- 
perties is to be influenced more by 
example than by precept: and of 
human taste; the purest of whose 
gratifications is to view human cha- 
racters and events, depicted by a 
vigorous and enlightened fancy.... 



They condemn cvepy thing which 
has gained the veneration of the 
world in all ages. They who can* 
demn novels as they are actually 
written^ evince nothing but an early 
prejudice, which will not permit 
them to examine before theyjud^e^ 
or a casual bias in favour of parti- 
cular pursuits, which always leads 
a narrow mind to condenm all other 
reading as frivolous or pernicious* 

You are very severe roethinks. 
said I. Are you really willing to 
maintain that ail 'novels are inge- 
nious and beneficial f 

That would be the height of the 
ridiculous, she replied. I love poetry, 
and revere the poets ; but 1 never 
dreamed that aU the verse that ever 
was written or published is useful 
and good. I love books, and read 
not a little ; but I do not imagine 
that every thing firinted is neces- 
sarily full of entertainment or in- 
struction. Neither can I refuse to 
teach a child to read, because he 
may possibly light upon something 
in the form of books trifling or per- 
nicious. It would be just as wise to 
sew up his mouth, because he may 
possibly swallow a poisoned berry, 
or a brass pin : to break both his 
legs, because he mav possibly waHc 
under a penthouse when it is ndling. 
As to prohibit him from reading 
every thing called a novel, because 
there are books under that denomi- 
nation, which may possibly deprave 
the morals, or vitiate the taste. 

But my good friend, said I, you 
.cannot but be aware that your com- 
parisons are out of place. Many 
I serious people prohibit novels alto- 
Igether, merely because a vast ma- 
jority of them are bad ; because the 
chances of hurt, from reading them, 
greatly exceed the chances of bene- 
fit. 

I deny it, said the zealous lady* 
A profligate novel is an extreme 
rarity. To write immoral tales, 
whatever recluse pedants may say, 
is by no means the road to popula- 
rity. In every kind of comjiosition, 
it is always a small proportion, and 
the smallest proportion that is ex- 
cellent. The larger propoi-tion i» 



A STUDENTS DIARY« 



405 



iadififerent or doubtful. The num- 
ber of good novels, that is to say, 
novels that may be read with benefit 
and pleasure by persons of good • 
nior:.ls and good taste, is very con- 
siderable. It is not true that the 
resit are paiticularly deficient in 

' morality. The herd of romance- 
•writers,arc, for the most part, goad- 

.' ed by necessity into authorship* 

\ They seldom bring to the trade more 
than a good education, and good in- 
tentions ; and the deficiency is not 
in the moral purpose ct tlie work, 
but in tlie taste and genius displayed 
in the execution. If there arc many 
insipid novels, it is because the whole 
number is very great, llie man of 
taste easily discerns their defects, 
and lays them aside at the bottom 
of the first page. Boys and girls, 
and men and woman whoae judg- 
ments are no better than those of 
boys and girls, read andrelisli them. 
The food is suited to the palate, and 
they derive a pleasure from it which 
at least is innocent. 

The number of good novels, I re- 
peat, is very large. It is not a task 
of such mighty difficulty, to distin- 
guish them from the still p*eater 
Bumber which are trivial or insipid. 
A list is easily formed, and those 
who want a guide in the selection 
may easily find one : and even the 
trivial and injudicious are not with- 
out their use, since there are vast 
numbers whose judgment and edu- 
cation raise them just high enough 
to relish these meagre tales, and to 
whom sublimer fictions and austere 
studies ai'e totally unfit. 
They who prate about the influ- 

; cnce of novels to unfit us for solid 

' and usefiU reading, are guilty of a 
double error: for in the first place, 
-a just and powerful picture of hu- 
3nan life in wliich the connection 
{between vice and misery, and be- 
tween felicity and virtue is vividly 

, p«urtrayed, is the most solid and 
useful reading that a moral and 

' social being (exclusive of particular 
cases and professional engagements) 
can read ; and in the second place, 
the most trivial and trite of these 
performances are, to readers ofccr* 

VOL. 1. NO* VI. 



tain ages and intellects, the only 
books which they will read. If they 
were not thus employed, they would 
be employed in a w^ay still more tri- 
vial or pernicious. Pray, Crito, 
what do you think of the matter ? 

Why, my fair critic, you are a 
warm and zealous advocate; and, 
perhaps, defend your cause with a 
little more eloquence than truth. I 
cannot but say, however, that my 
fancy has received more delight, 
my heart more humanity, and my 
understanding more instruction from 
afew novels I could name, than from 
any other works ; and that the merit 
of a score or two of these is, in my 
apprehension, so great, that they are 
the first and principal objects to 
which I would direct the curiosity 
of a child or pupil of mine. 

I think, however, you assert a 
little rashly, when you say that a 
profligate novel is an extreme novel- 
ty. I could name half a dozen, 
French and English, in a trice, that 
deserves this character ; but all that 
your cause requires is, that there 
are a great many specimens of fic- 
tion where merit is liable to no ex- 
ception; that there are tlie most 
popular and current works of the 
kind, and, consequently most likely 
to fall into the hand of readers who 
take up books at random: and that 
guides to a right clioice are always 
to be found. 

WOODEN BUimiNCS« 

T have heard very disastrous 
news to-day. A large part of the 
town of Norfolk has been destroyed 
by fire, and property to the vahie 
oif near two millions has been con- 
sumed. The whole subsi.^tence of 
some ihousanfls has been swallov/cd 
up in a moment. They have been 
turned forth from their dwellings iX 
an instiir.t's notice, i:i a winter night. 
Their very clouths, in many in- 
stances, denied them : their furni- 
ture, their moveahies involved in 
destruction, or lost, or stolen, or 
shattered in removal ; and even the 
source of future subsistence cut off 
to many in the dciiUnicticn of goods 



406 



A STUDEKTS DIARY. 



on the sale, or of booses on the rents, 
of which they live. 

In the long and diversified history 
of human foBv, there are few things 
more remarkable and more egre- 
gious than the custom of building 
houses of wood. It is almost imix)s« 
tible to count up the various evils 
which flow from this practice. ^ It 
branches into such endless and in- 
numerable channels that the most 
rigorous understan^ng would be 
overtasked in reckoning or tracing 
them. 

The roost obvious evils are those 
which arise from the sudden dis- 
truction of property, and the re- 
duction to abject poverty of num- 
bers thrifty or affluent; but these, 
the direct consequences, are by no 
means the only ones. The fear of 
death, according to the proverb, is 
worse than death itself; and the 
calamity of fire is little, compared 
with the terror of it, by which so 
many minds are incessantly haunted. 
Let us, likewise, reflect upon the 
injury which men incur in tlieir 
health, in being summoned at unsea- 
sonable hours to a fire ; perhaps at 
the hours dedicated to repose, in the 
depth of winter. How many lives 
have been shortened, and how many 
have been incommoded while they 
lasted, by unseasonable exposure to 
wet and cold. 

And what a troublesome and ex- 
pensive apparatus does the dread of 
fire give birth to. Here is a com- 
plicated engine to build and pre- 
serve : a house erected to cover it : 
officers appointed to drag it to the 
scene of destruction, and to manage 
it when there : eight or ten thousand 
leather-buckets : long hocks, and 
enormous ladders ; one to pulldown 
a roof, and the other to scale it. 

If all this devastation was indur- 
ed, all this danger and terror in- 
curred^ without any fault of our own, 
and all this cumbrous apparatus pro- 
vir!cd, to obviute a natural evil : an 
evil which tlic nature of things ren- 
ders insepai'Jible fromhumnn socie- 
ty, they woiiid excite no admiraticn; 
but the truth is, that all these are 
the ccnLcquences of our own mad- 



ness and infatua^n. We baOd oar 
houses of materials which a spar^ 
will consume, instead of sach as fire 
can take no hold off. Instead of 
brick, stone, tiles, and slate, which 
are so much more stable and dura- 
ble ; which contribute so infinitely 
more to quiet, comfort, and warmth, 
and which not only give us absolute 
security from fire, but supersede 
every troublesome precaution, and 
lays to rest every tremor and in- 
quietude ; instead of these, we sur- 
round our beds with pine, oak, and 
cedar ; andcoronut our property and 
our existence to the mercy of a ran- 
dom spark. 

In a city that could not take, or 
could not diffuse fire the tollinglarom 
or the midni^t outer}', would never 
be heard. No associations would be 
formed to extinguish fires, or indem- 
nify the sufferers : no engines would 
thunder along the streets : and no 
sleep would be disquieted by appre- 
hensions. Neither negligaice, nof 
ignorance, nor villainy would have 
it in their power to do /Ars species 
of mischief: the easiest, roost ob- 
vious, and most practicable mischief 
that can be committed. 

When the benefits of one sort, and 
the disad\^ntages of the odier :iort 
of buildings, are so enormous and so 
manifest, what has induced man- 
kind, in all ages, to build widi wood? 
The superior cheapness of timber 
will not solve the riddle, because all 
mankind are not obliged to consult 
frugality, and small mdeed is that 
number who abstain fx-om luxuries 
because necessaries are cheaper. 
Man must have a roof to shelter 
him, and if he cannot build a stone- 
house, he must have a wooden one ; 
but I repeat the number is very 
large, of those who can afford to con- 
sult not only safety, comfort, and 
convenience, but even elegance in 
their habitations, who yet cling as 
obstinately to wooden walls, wooden 
floors, and wooden nx/fs, as if dif- 
ferent materials were impossible to 
be obtained. 

But is timber in whole, or in part, 
cheaper than stone and brick ? This 
question will depend on local cir- 



A STUDENTS DIARY* 



4or 



cumstances for its answer. In tliis 
city (Philadelphia) for instance how 
is this question to be answered? 
It is surely worth while to form some 
estimate of this nature ; and let it 
be taken into the account, that a 
bowl which costs sixpence, and 
lasts only a year, is twice as dear as 
one that costs a shilling and lasts 
four years. 

EDDYSTONE. 

I have been reading Smeaton's 
history of his light-house at E^dis- 
tcn. There is a good deal in the 
book to instruct the architect ; but 
not a little likewise to amuse and 
inspire the imagination. The situa- 
tion of this tower rising di recti y from 
the waves, and far distant from any 
land ; in the midst of a sea remark- 
ably tempestuous, and beaten almost 
constantly by billows so enormous as 
to throw their foam far above the 
summit of the edifice, which, never- 
theless, is a very lofty one, is such 
as to fire the fancy. The solitude 
of Uiis mansion, ascending amidst 
the waste of waters, the seeming 
frailty, yet real stability of its foun- 
dation, the drearty uniformity of 
the surrounding scene, 

Dark, illimitable, wastful, w»]d, 

all conspire to feed and harmonize 
with uielancholy and ferocious pas- 
sions, llie gloomily sublime, and 
the awfully magnificent are no where 
so amply and terribly unfolded as 
in the appearance of Eddyston in a 
storm. 

I am the more interested by this 
description, because it has been my 
foitune to view this beakon by day 
and by night* I had a view of it in 
the morning on my voyage out, and 
at midnight, in a gloomy sky, on my 
return. The danger of too near an 
approach to the rocks on which it 
stands; the recollection that this 
tower was erected not to invite the 
wanderer to its shelter, but to warn 
him to keep off; the star-like bril- 
liancy of the light at a distance, and 
its splendour and seetningly rapid 
motion when near, altogether con- 



spired to fill me with a mixed emo- 
tion of terror, confidence, and won- 
der, which I can never forget. In 
the midst of an half pleasing tremor, 
and while I grasped a rope to keep 
my feet steady on the shining deck, 
I found myself involuntarily mut> 
tering.... 

Let my lamp at midnight hour. 
Be seen in some high lonely tower, 
Hewn out of peaked rock that laves 
His foot wi:h all the world of waves. 

Smeaton anticipates the curiosity 
of the reader as to the means of 
persuading people to reside on this 
stormy and comfortless spot. A 
salary of about one hundred and 
twenty dollars a year, is, however, 
an adequate inducement, and there 
ai-e some lightmen who have passed 
thirty years on this rock, without 
sufiering their wishes or persons to 
stray from it more than a few weeks 
in the twelve months. As their con* 
tract is from month to month, they 
may be justly deemed their own 
masters, and their stay here must 
be accounted voluntary* Little can, 
indeed, be inferred from men's wil- 
lingness to stay here as to the plea- 
sures of the residence, since our 
motive to stay in one place is gene- 
rally no other than the impossibility 
of changing it for a better ; and we 
mav, acconling to the mood we are 
in, mdulge either our wonder at that 
pliability of temper, and that force 
of habit which enable men to find 
charms in a dwelling of this kind, 
or our compassion for that wretched 
lot, which cannot be improved by a 
change of abode. 

DUELLING. 

I have been reading a very amus- 
ing controversy in the public papers, 
which originated in a duel. I took 
it into my head to read it to the 
cynical Lysander, forjgetting, for a 
moment, his mveterate animosity 
to duelling. 

Lysander is neither tall nor strong; 
but he is agile and vigorous in pro- 
portion to his size ; and can handle 



408 



A STtrSENTS DIAEY. 



a stick with a dexterity to which few 
are equal. He has always resorted 
to this weapon in resenting insults, 
and conscious of his ability to defend 
himself, he laughs at challenges. 
Duelling is a subject of perpetual 
declamation to him, and on which 
his eloquence is nexxr tired, and his 
indignation never exhausted* On 
this occasion he, as usual, broke out 
into a philippic against honour ^^ and 
ran volubly over ail ^e usual topics 
against it, drawn from the impiety 
and immorality of revenge and from 
the Iblly of seeking vengeance in 
this way, supposing vengeance to be 
a reasonable or Christian passion. 

L^-sander has declaimed all his 
life on this subject without making 
a sinp;le convert. All the moral and 
religious writers of the age have 
taken up arms in the same cause, 
and employed in the warfare all 
manner of weapons. They have 
attacked duelling with argument 
and with jest, they have endeavour- 
ed to convince the judgment by 
Sylogisms, to seduce the passions 
by tales of terror and pity, and to 
gain over pride itself by loading 
honour and revenge with scorn and 
ridicule, and yet this universal con- 
spiracy and strenuous combination 
aj^inst custom^ has produced no 
effect. Custom, the godof this world, 
has still as many votaries as ever, 
and will slacken and disappear, 
merely through tbe caprice and in- 
stabiiity of human nature. In no 
case is the tyranny of custom more 
conspicuous than in this. Nobody 
pretends publicly to justify ; yet 
every body practices the rules of 
honour* 

I have met wit>^ a couple of qunr- 
tocs, one upon duelling-, and tlic other 
upon suicide. W'c a!'c generally so 
fully convinced by our own reason- 
ings, that no doubt the writer of 
these bul!;y voluTTjes fondly iinajjin- 
cd that r.ftcr their publication, due'- 
linp; and suicide '.vcnid never nioi-e 
be licard of ; and yet, how small a 
part even of the n ading world ever 
heard of these bnf v. s ; and thase who 
have prevailed upon themselves to 
travel through them, are not very 



likely to recollect their contents is 
the hour of revenge or despair. 

The legislature has come in aid of 
the moralist, and denounced heavy 
penalties against duelling. He that 
kills his anta|;onist in a duel, is 
guilty of homicide ; and the exchange 
of challenges is punishable with 
heavy fines ; and yet challanges are 
bandied to and fro, without ceremo- 
ny or reserve, and men continually 
shed each other'i blood in phanta«- 
tic quarrels with absolute impunity. 
The very makers and distributers of 
law, are the first to enter the lists j 
and the most violent and unquestion- 
able breach of the duty of men, as 
moral, reasonable, and sociable be- 
ings, are daily obser%'cd with indif- 
ference or approbation. 

Experience has, by this time, suf. 
ficiently proved, that duelling is 
proof against argun>ent and jest, 
against religion and law ; and those 
who employ their time in framing 
laws and declamations against it, 
had better turn tlieir attention to 
subjects on which men are capable 
of acting up to their convictions. 



For Uit Literary Magazine. 

AGRICULTURAL ESSAYS. 
NO. II. 

EvF.n Y Farmer who had a mind 
in the least degree inquisitive, must 
^e gratified by knowing something 
of the tjeneral nature of plants, and 
tlic liistory of vegetation: for such 
the following explanation is intend- 
ed, for which I acknowledge myself 
to be chiefly indebted to the Georgi- 
cal Essays of the ingenious and 
lcari:cd doctor Hunter, of York, in 
Ei-bnd. 

TIic seed of a plant, after it has 
drojn from its receptacle, may be 
conr.idcrcd as an impregnated egg, 
wi'.]nn which the embryo plant is 
securely lrdp;cd. In a few days after 
it is c'^niifiitted to the earth, we may 
discern the rudiments of the future 
plant. P_lvery part appears to exist 
in minaturc. The nutritive juices 



AGRICULTURAL ESSAT9* 



409 



of the soil insinuate themselves be- 
tween the orig;inal particles of the 
plant, and brinjj about an extension 
of its parts* lliis is what is called 
the growth of the vegetable bod> • 

Seeds have two coverings and two 
lobes, or distinct parts. These lobes 
constitute the body of the grain, and 
in the farinaceous kind, such as 
wheat, rye, oats, &c. they are the 
flour of the gi*ain« Innumerable 
iiaall vessels run through the sub- 
stance of the lobes, which, uniting 
as they approach the seminal plant, 
from a small chord to be inserted 
mto the body of the germe or sprout. 
Through it the nutriment supplied 
by the lobes is conveyed for the pre- 
servation and increase of the embryo 
plant. 

To illustrate the subject, let us, 
with Dr. Hunter, take a view of 
what happens to a bean after it has 
been committed to the earth. 

In a few days generally the exter- 
nal coverings open at one end, and 
disclose to the naked eye pai-t of the 
body of the grain. This substance 
consists of two lobes, between which 
the seminal plant is securely lodged. 
Soon after the opening of the mem- 
brances, a sharp pointed body ap- 
pears. This is the root. Bj* a kind 
of principle which seems to carry 
with it some appearance of instinct, 
it seeks a passage downwards and 
fixes itself into the soil. At this 
period the root is a smooth and po* 
iished bodvv^'^d perhaps has but 
little power to absorb any tiling from 
the earth for tiie nutriment of the 
gcrmc. 

The two lobes now began to sepa- 
rate, and the germc, or sprout, w'.tli 
its leaves may plainly be discovered. 
A> the germe increases in size, tlye 
lobes are further separated ; and the 
tender leaves being closely jomed 
push themselves for ward in the form 
of a wcdive. 

The leaves take a contrary direc- 
tif>n to the root. Influenced by the 
tame miraculous instinct, if wc may 
be allowed tiie expression, they seek 
a- passage upward, wbirh having 
obtained, they lay a.sidc their wedge- 



like form, and spread themselves 
in a horizontal direction, as being 
the best adapted to receive the rains 
and dews. 

The radicle, or small root, every 
hour increasing in size and vigour, 
pushes itself deeper into the earth, 
from which it now draws some nu- 
tritive particles. At the same time 
the leaves of the germc being of a 
succulent nature, assist the plant by • 
attrr ctingfrom the atmos]:here such 
particles as their tender v.csscls are 
fit to c n vey . ITiese par i ides, how- 
ever, have not in their own nature 
a sufficiency of nutriment for the 
increasing plant. 

The young anin>al enjoys the 
milky humour of its parent, llic 
vegetable lives upon a similar fluid, 
though diffirently supplied. For its 
use 3ic £&rinaceous lobes are melt- 
ed down into a milky juice, which, 
as long as it lasts, is conveyed to the 
tender plant by means of innumera- 
ble small vessels, which are spread 
through the substance of the lobes ; 
and these vessels unitmg into one 
common trunk, enter the body of 
the germe. Without this supply of 
bahny liquor, the plant must inevi- 
tably have perished; its roots being 
then too small to absorb a sufficiency 
of food, and its body too weak to as- 
similate it into nourishment. 

A grain of wheat contains within 
two capsules, a considerable share 
of flour, which, when melted down 
into a liquor by the watery juices of 
the earth, constitute the nourish- 
ment of the tender plant, until its 
roots are grov/n sufficiently large to 
absorb their own food. Here is 
evidently a storehouse of nutriment. 
And from that idea it is plain that 
the plumpest grains are the most 
cHjrible for seed. 

For a more full illustration of, this 
interesting subject, I must recom- 
mend the work from which this is 
♦extracted to these who can procure 
it. 

RURICOLA. 

• Mentioned in ihc ccinimertCCfjjent 
of this cgfcav. 



410 



THOUGHTS 09 OVVI.I.llfO. 



THOUGHTS OH DUELLIHG. 

/^or the Literary Magazine* 

Though so many pens have 
been drawn to condemn this unna- 
tural and inhuman method of decid* 
ing personal disputes; yet I con- 
ceive I shall do no harm if I add 
one to the number. 

The first thing I shall endeavour 
to prove^ is, thai the custom is not 
a natural consequence of the causes 
whicli generally occasion duels: Re- 
venge is the real motive which in- 
duces men to appeal to thb bloody 
tribunal; suppose an insult given, 
or an injury inflicted, the injured 
party would acting from an imme- 
diate impulse of nature, seek im- 
mediate revenge aAd if tlie injury 
was great, he would probably sa- 
crifice his enemy to his resentment* 
Those men who are but little refin- 
ed, punish slight insults by corpo- 
ral chastisement, an injury, if great, 
by deatli, if the fear of punishment 
do not deter them from shedding 
the blood of a fellow creature ; but 
men of refined feelings, men of 
modem honour, who dread tlie 
laugh of fools, and tlie censures of 
madmen, unreasonably demand the 
same reparation for an insult as for 
an injury, even if tlie insult is in 
itself trifling ; some petty obsei*>'a- 
tion displozising in its nature though 
perhaps just in itself, some ungard- 
cd exprcsbion, perhaps, wliicli es- 
caped in a moment of conviviahty 
and merriment, the offender is 
cluJlengcd to the field of honour, 
to prove his assertion or to give 
what is called honourable satisfac- 
tion. Shots aix3 exchanged, one par- 
ty is wounded, pcrliaps killed, and 
nothinj^ more can be demanded. 
This is the general consequence of 
insults, and injuries wiUmut discri- 
mination. It may be jinswci'cd — 
the fear of thus beinj; cailcd to an 
account, acts as a restraitit on the 
in>oient; pcrh?*r>s it docs, but it 
should be rciiic!i)bcre.l th.it these 
insults arc not alw.i) s intentionally 
given, and are not repaired by an 
immediate aciinc*.Yied;^iiRnt, cnly 



becaote men are too proud to ac- 
knowledge an error or oflfer a repa^- 
ratioD, lest tlteir courage should be 
doubted ; but what are we to think, 
when the greatest of injuries, such 
as are capable of firing every in- 
flammable particle of the soul, and 
stimulating an insatiable desire of 
vengeance in the bosoms of men, 
are usually atoned for in the same 
manner f It is natural indeed, that 
men for a trifling injury seek a great 
revenge, but it is not natural for 
noen, to be content with a trifling 
revenge, when they have suficred 
a great injury ; did man act frosn 
an impulse of nature, would he 
challenge his enemy, who perhaps 
ruined him, his fiimily, or Islasted 
the brightest prospects of his liie, 
who has perhaps seduced bis sister, 
or his wife from the paths of vir* 
tue or conjugal fidelity, would he 
be satisfied by his enemy's exposing 
himself to the firing of his pistol^ 
when he, perhaps, is himself ex- 
posed to tlie greatest danger ? Would 
tlus honourable parade be a suflSci- 
ent atonement for the injury he has 
suffered I No, no man would, I am 
certain. He would rather seek liis 
destruction without injury to him- 
self; he woidd lurk in ambush, take 
him by sur^srize, orpursuc him to 
the earth's utmost verge, rather than 
leave his revenge ungratified. For 
the truth of Uiis I appeal to cxpc- 
ence,— I appeal to the well known 
customs of savage nations, who 
are not led to act differently eitlier 
from motives of honour or reli- 
gion ? It is among these untutored 
I>eopie that we find the warmest 
friendships ; and the most instances 
of the unrelenting spirit of revenge. 
Let us look back to tlie earliest 
periods and we shall find men acting 
in the same manner. Each man 
thoi\^ht liinisclf bound to avenge 
personal ii!id family injuries, and 
gen/ially ijratified his i*cvcnge or 
perisUcO i:i the attempt, but these 
men acted iVoin motives of revenge 
only ; they were unmixed with any 
notions of licnoui', they did not 
thijik it ntcessary in oixlcr to gra- 
tify this i^asilcn to run an e(;ual 



TBOUG&TS OV DUXLLIVC* 



41 



chance with the enemy, Ijut now 
cnstom enacts, that he who has 
sullered an injury or received an 
insult, shall call the ofTender to the 
field, and there decide their diiler- 
ences by the force of arms ; is not 
tills unreasonable and preposterous ? 
Ought I, if I am injured, give my 
enemy an equal chance with myself? 
perhaps better skilled in the use of 
arms, he adds my death to the in- 
juries I have already suffered, and' 
&US completes his triumph, or if I 
wound him, is perhaps, a three 
years confinement to be my only re- 
paration ? Do men act thus in a 
state of nature ? no a very differ* 
ent course is pursued, they become 
assassins, this is a humiliating con- 
fession, but yet, its truth cannot be 
disputed. 

Let us next consider the effects 
it produces on society ; there cer- 
tainly has been a time, when hu- 
man laws did not punish ofienders 
against the common rights of man- 
kind, when the security of man 
rested on his personal courage and 
prowess, and that of the weaker 
sex on that of their defenders, then 
force was necessarily repelled by 
force, it was then necessary that 
men should consider their strength 
their only protection; but, since 
the power of punishing offences 
and deciding differences, is by com- 
mon consent, placed in the hands 
of government, the laws place men 
on an equal footing, none can injure 
another with impunity, the ofiend- 
er is justly accountable to the laws 
of his country, to laws made for 
the express purpose of deciding 
dififerences between man and man, 
to protect the weak from oppres- 
sion, and to administer impartial 
justice, it is therefore the duty of 
men to sacrifice private resent- 
ments at the shrine of public good, 
and though human wisdom has been 
found unable to devise a remedy for 
every possible case of the kind, yet 
it is the dutv of every man, to sub- 
mit to a trifling injury, rather than 
to transgress those laws which are 
so evidently calculated to preserve 
the peace of society. Tlie welfare 



of every nuuii their fiunilies and 
their country demand this sacri- 
fice, ifmenboastof refinement and 
generosity, is it not greater proo& 
of it to forgive than avenge an in- 
jury ? surely the generosity of hia 
character shines with greatersplen- 
dor in the former than in the latter 
case. Reflect ye men of honour, 
reflect a moment on the consequen- 
ces of your conduct, your d^pnte 
ends in the death of your adversa- 
r)-, who has perhaps injured you so 
slightly that after an hour's reflec- 
tion you would willingly have for- 
given him, he perhaps is >our 
&iend, yet the false notion of 
honour you entertain, prevents yonr 
being the first to propose a recon- 
ciliation ; when your enemy lies wel- 
tering in his blood, then are the 
mists of passion, prejudice and 
custom dissipated, and you see 
every thing in its true colours ; then 
do you repeat your rashness; when 
you see an aged parent, whose only 
joy perhaps has follen by your arm, 
or when the tears of a mother and 
sisters whose iupport depended on 
his exertions, ifhen all these follow 
in moumfol silc nee and inexpressi- 
ble grief, the dear departed to the 
repositories of the dead, will not 
your conscience accuse ynu of mur- 
der ; reflect on this ; think that your 
friends may be doomed to suffer the 
same ills, and then say, whether 
in such a cause you ought to risk 
the production of so dreadfol a 
catastrophe^ 

Considered in a religious view, 
should not the fear of foture pu- 
nishment restrain the rash duelist, 
from the perpetration of so dread 
fill a crime ; disguise it as we wil 
it is still murder in the foUest sens* 
of the word, tlie parties (general 
)y) with a view, each to destroy 
his antagonist, from motives of ce- 
venge, a passion c*f which the mild 
precepts of Christianity fi>rbids the 
indulgence, it inculcates the nobl^ 
virtues, the forgivtmess of our ene- 
mies, let any one, advise another 
to assasinate his foe, and not risk 
his life in the event of a battle 
where his enemy has an equal 



413 



THOUCBTt OV DUKLLIir«« 



dyuce, and which cannot rertere 
any Uung he or his have lost by his 
enemy, would he not shndder at the 
proposal? would he not brand its 
author with in&my ? would he not 
dread the vengeance of a justly of- 
fended God ? he would ; but strange 
inconsistency ; he wiU meet his ene- 
my, both armed with deadly wea- 
pons, and standing for ought he 
knows on the veiy brink of etemW 
ty, and in cold blood raise his wea- 
pon to take another's life, while he 
knows not, but that very instant 
may send him, with his guilt upon 
his head, into that eternity which 
his intentional (perhaps actual) ' 
crime has made so terrible. 

But, says the duellist, shall I sub- 
mit to an insult f shall I refuse a 
challenge ? what would be the con- 
sequence? I should be called and 
treated as a coward ; it would be said 
I had not sufficient courage to give 
my antagonist honourable satisfoc- 
tion: what man can bear this? 
where is the roan who would not 
pre f er death, to life under the bas- 
est epithet ? aye who would not in- 
deed, if life alone was at stake, if 
*< to be, or not to be^' was the only 
question, but, remember there is 
.another world; there is another 
trHmnal, where human customs 
will not influence your just and 
unerring judge, where yon will 
plead in vain, that you were oblig- 
ed to fight or Bufifer disgrace; 
this argument is counterbalanced 
by another consideration) how ma^ 
ny persons are dsomed to suffer 
almost all the evils which af- 
flict humanity, the privations of 
poverty, the pains of sickness, and 
the loM of friends and fortune, yet 
would these perssns put an end to 
their existence, and plead in exte- 
nuation, that Uieir miseries were 
greater than they could bear, — ^that 
they pre f erred death, to a life so 
taught with wee; they would be 
thought rash and impious, to ven- 
ture to fly thus is the face of Heav- 
en, and commit a crime where 
death precludes repentance. 

Another absurdity is this ; if one 
who considers himself a gentleman, 



injures one who is not oonudered 
such by the world ; if from this person 
he receives a challenge ; be does not 
in this case think himself bound to 
fight, because — ^he is not a gentle- 
man ; when even to judge by a bad 
rule, be has as just a right to de- 
mand satisfaction as any other per- 
son whatever* I shall now dose 
these observations with a quei»tioii: 
since the severest punishments have 
hidierto failed in the prevention of 
duelling, — ^woold not a punishment 
of a disgraceful and ignominious 
kind, have more effect in putting a 
final end to this disgraceful and in- 
human practice ? — ^this, however I 
leave to the decision of legislators* 

ViLVKROI. 

PAilad. Feb. 28, 1804. 



For the Literary Ma^zine, 

MEMOIRS or CARWIK THE BI- 

LoqyisT. 

Time tended, in no degree, to 
alleviate my dissatisfaction. It in- 
creased till the determination be- 
came at length formed of opening 
my thoughts to Ludloe. At the next 
breakfast interview which took 
place, I introduced the subject, and 
expatiated without reserve, on the 
state of my feelings. I concluded 
with intreating him to point out some 
path in which my tafents might be 
rendered usefiil to himself or to 
mankind. 

Ai^r a pause of some minutes^ 
he said, What would you do ? Yo« 
forget the immaturity of your age* 
If you are qualified to* act a part in 
the theatre of life, step forth; bat 
you are not qualified. You want 
knowledge, and with this you ought 

greviousTy to endow yourself.. ..^ 
leans, for this end, are\vithin yonr 
reach . Why slioold you waste your 
time in idleness, and torment your- 
self with unprofitable wishes ? Bcoks 
are at hand....books from which 
most sciences and languages can be 
learned. Read, analibc, digest; 
collect factS) aud investigate Qieo^ 



MEMOIRS or CARWtK THE BILOQUIST. 



411 



fies : ascertain the dictates of rea- 
son, and supply yourself with the 
inclination and the power to adhere 
to them. You will not» legally speak- 
ing, he a man in less than three 
years. Let this period be devoted 
to the acquisition ot wisdom. Blither 
stay here, or retire to an house I 
have on the banks of KiUamey, 
"where you wiU find all the conve- 
niences of study. 

I could not but reflect with won- 
der at this man's treatment of me. 
I could plead none of the rights of 
relationship ; yet I enjoyed the pri- 
vileges of a son* He had not im- 
parted to me any scheme, by pur- 
suit of which I might finally com- 
pensate him for the expense to 
which my maintainance and educa- 
tion would subject him. He gave 
me reason to hope for the continu- 
ance of his bounty. He talked and 
acted as if my fortune were totally 
disjoinedfrom his ; yet was I indebt- 
ed to him for the morsel which sus- 
tained my life* Now it was pro- 
posed to withdraw myself to studious 
leisure, and romantic solitude* All 
my wants, personal and intellectual, 
-were to be supplied gratuitously and 
copiously. No means were pre- 
-scribed by which I might make com- 
pensadon for all these benefits* In 
conferring them he seemed to be 
actuated by no view to his own ulti- 
mate advantage. He took ho mea- 
sures to secure my future services. 

I suffored tliese thoughts to escape 
me, on this occasion, and observed 
that to make my application success- 
iul, or useful, it was necessary to 
pursue some end. I must look for- 
ward to some post which I might 
hereafter occupy beneficially to 
myself or others; and for which 
all the eflR>rts of my mind should be 
bent to qualify myself* 

These hints gave him visible plea- 
sure ; and now, for the first time, 
he deigned to advise me on this 
head. His scheme, however, was 
not suddenly produced. The winr 
to it was circuitous and long. It 
-was his business to make every new 
step appear to be suggested by my 
•wn reflections. His own id^M 



were the seeming result of the mo- 
ment, and sprung out of the last ide^ 
that was uttered. Being hastily 
taken up, they were, of course, liable 
to objection. These objections, 
sometimes occurring to me and 
sometimes to him, were admitted 
or contested with the utmost can- 
dour. One scheme went through 
numerous modifications before it 
was proved to be ineligible, or be- 
fore it yielded place to a better* It 
was easy to perceive, that books 
alone were insufficient to impart 
knowledge: that man must be exa- 
mined with our own eyes to make 
us acquainted with their nature : 
that ideas collected from observa- 
tion and reading, must correct and 
illustrate each other: that the value 
of all principles, and their truth, lie 
in their practical effects* Hence, 
gradually arose, the usefulness of 
travelling, of inspecting the habits 
and manners of a nation, and inves- 
tigating, on the spot, the causes of 
their happiness and misery. Finally, 
it was determined that Spain was 
more suitable than any other, to tli<» 
views of a judicious traveller. 

My language, habits, and reli- 
gion were mentioned as obstacles 
to close and extensive views ; 
but these difficulties successive- 
ly and slowly vanished. Con- 
verse with books, and natives of 
Spain, a steadfast purpose and un- 
wearied diligence would efface all 
differences between me and a Cast!- 
lian with respect to speech. Per- 
sonal habits, were changeable, by 
the same means. The bars to un- 
bounded intercouse, rising from the 
religion of Spain being irreconcila- 
bly opposite to mine, cost us no little 
trouble to surmount, and here the 
skill of Ludloe was eminently dis- 
played. 

I had been accustomed to regard 
as unquestionable, the fallacy of the 
Romish faith. This persuasion was 
habitual and the child of prejudice, 
and was easily shaken by the arti- 
fices of this logician* I was first 
led to bestow a kind of assent on the 
doctrines of the Reman church ; 
but my 9«Qvi«Uoiis ivf re fssi^y mih 
8 






414 



MXMOIIS OF CARWIV TBB BILO^IST. 



ducd by a new species of argumen- 
tation, and, in a short time, I re- 
rerted to my ancient di&belief| so 
that, if an exterior conformity to the 
rights of Spain were requisite to the 
attainment of my purpose, that con- 
ibrmity must be Assembled. 

My moral principles had hitherto 
been vag^ue and unsettled* My cir* 
cumstances had led roe to the fre- 
quent practice of insincerity; but 
my transgressions as they were 
slight and transient, did not much 
excite my previous reflections, or 
subsequent remorse. My devia- 
tions! however, though rendered 
easy by habit, were by no means 
sanctioned by my principles. Now 
an imposture, more profound and 
deliberate, was projected ; and I 
could not hope to perform weU my 
part, unless steadfastly and tho> 
ToaMy persuaded of its rectitude. 

My friend was the eulogist of 
^ncerity. He delighted to trace 
its influence on the happiness of 
mankind; and proved that nothing 
but the universal practice of this 
virtue was necessary to the pecfec- 
tion of human society. His doctrine 
was splendid and beautifuUTo detect 
its imperfections was no easy task ; 
to lay the foundations of virtue in 
utility, and to limit, by that scale, 
the operation of general principles ; 
to see that the value ot sincerity, 
like that of every other mode of 
action, consisted in its tendency to 
good, and that, therefore the obliga- 
tion to speak truth was not para- 
mount or intrinsical : that my duty 
is modelled on a knowledge and 
foresight of the conduct of others; 
and that, since men in their actual 
state, are infirm and deceitful, a just 
estimate of consequences may some- 
times make dissimulation my duty 
were truths that did not speedily 
occur. The discovery, when made, 
appeared to be a joint work. I saw 
nothing in Ludlow but proofs of 
candour, and a judgment incapable 
of bias. 

The mea^f which this man em- 
ployed to'fit me for his purpose, 
perhaps owed their success to. my 
youth an4 ij^norance. I may have 



given you exaggr t«d ideaa of Vm 
dexterity and admass. Of that 1 
am unable to judge. Certain it Is, 
that no time or reflection has alwitrcf 
my astonishment at the profounil* 
ness of his schemes, and Uie perse- 
verence with which they were pur-* 
sued by him. To detail their pro- 
gress would expose me to the Hak 
of being tedious, yet none but miiui^ 
details would sumcientiy display hia 
patience and subtlety. 

It will buffice to relate, that after 
a sufficient period of preparation 
and arrangements being made £or 
maintaining a copious intercourse 
with Ludlow, I embarked for Bar« 
celona. A re&tless curioaiity and 
vigorous application have distin- 
guished my character in every 
scene. Here was spacious field for 
the exercise of all my energies. I 
sought out a preceptor in my new 
religion. I entered into the hearta 
of priests and confessors, the iUdSoj^ 
and the peaaant, the monk and the 
prelate, the austere and voluptaooa 
devotee were scrutinized in aU their 
forms. 

Man was the chief subject ai mj 
study, and the social sphere that in 
which I principally moved; but I 
was not inattentive to inanimate na** 
ture, nor unmindful of the past. If 
the scope of virtue were to maintaia 
the body in health, and to fumisk 
its highest enjoyments to every 
sense, to increase the number, and 
accuracy, and order of our intcDec- 
tual stores, no virtue was ever 
more unblemished than mine. If to 
act upon our conceptions of rights 
and to acquit oursdves of all preju* 
dice and selfishness in theformaticm 
of our principles, entitle us to tbe 
testimony of a good canacience, I 
might justly claim it. 

I shall not pretend to ascertaia 
my rank in the moral scale. Your 
notions of duty differ widely from 
mine. Ifas>'8temofdeceit,pttrsoed 
merely from the love of truth ; if 
voluptuousness, never gratified at 
the expense of healA, may incur 
censure, I am censurable. This, 
indeed, was not the limit of my 
deviationa. Deception waa o6a^ 



XXVOTBS or CAKWIN THE BlLOqUIST. 



4ii 



tranecessarily practised, and my bi- 
loqnial faculty did not lie luiemploy- 
ed. What has happened to your- 
selves may enable you, in some 
degree, to judge of the scenes in 
which my mystical exploits engaged 
me. In none of them, indeed, were 
the efiects equally disastrous, and 
they were, for the most part, the 
result of well digested projects. 

To recount these would be an 
endless task. They were designed 
as mere specimens of power, to 
illustrate the influence of supersd* 
tion : to give sceptics the consolation 
of certainty : to annUulate the scru- 
ples of a tender female, or facilitate 
my access to the bosoms of courtiers 
and monks. 

The first achievement of this 
kind to<dL place in the convent of tlie 
Escurial. For some time the hos- 
pitality of this brotherhood allowed 
me a cell in that magnificent and 
gloomy fabric. I was drawn hitlier 
chiefly by the treasures of Arabian 
literature, which are preserved here 
in the keeping of a learned Maronite, 
from Lebanon. Standing one evening 
on the steps of the great altar ,this de- 
vout friar expatiated on the miracu- 
lous evidences of his religion ; and, in 
a moment of enthusiasm, appealed to 
San Lorenzo, whose martyrdom was 
displayed before us. No sooner was 
the appeal made than the saint, ob- 
sequious to the summons, whispered 
his responses from the shrine, and 
commanded the heritic to tremble 
and believe. This event was re- 
ported to the convent. With what- 
ever reluctance, I could not refuse 
my testimony to its truth, and its . 
influence on my faith was clearly 
shewn in my subsequent conduct. 

A lady of rank, in Seville, who 
had been guilty of many unautlio- 
rized indulgences, was, at last, 
awakened to remorse, by' a voice 
from Heaven, which she imagined 
had commanded her to expiate 
her sins by an abstinence frcfEa^ 
Ibod for thirty days. Her friMMI 
found it impossible to outroot this 
persuasion, or to overcome her re- 
solution even by force. I chanced 
to be one in a numerous company 
where she was present. This fatal 



illusion was mentioned, and an op- 
portunity afforded to the lady of 
defending her scheme. At a pause 
in the discourse, a voice was heard 
from the ceiling, which confirmed 
the truth of her tale ; but, at the 
same time revoked the command^ 
and, in consideration of her faith, 
pronounced her absolution. Satis- 
fied with this proof, the auditors 
dismissed their unbelief, and the 
lady consented to eat. 

In the course of a copious corres« 
pondence with Ludlow, the observa- 
tions I had collected were given* 
A sentiment, which I can hardly 
describe, induced me to be sOent on 
all adventures connected with my 
bivocal projects. On other topics^ 
I wrote fully, and without restraint. 
I punted, in vivid hues, ^e scenes 
with which I was daily conversant, 
and pursued, fearlessly, every spe- 
culation on religion and government 
that occurred. This spirit was en- 
couraged by Ludloe, who failed not 
to comment on my narrative, and 
multiply deductions from my prin* 
ciples. 

He taught me to ascribe the evils 
that infest society to the eiTors of 
opinion. The absurd and unequal 
distribution of power and property 
gave birth to poverty and riches, and 
these were the sources of luxury 
and crimes. These positions were 
readily admitted ; but the remedy for 
these illf, the means of rectifying 
these eiTors were not easily disco- 
vered. We have been inclined to 
impute them to inherent defects in 
the moral constitution of men : that 
oppression and tyranny grow up by 
a sort of natural necessity, and that 
they will perish only when the humafi 
species is extinct. Ludloe laboured 
to prove that this was, by no means, 
the case : tliat man is the creature 
of circumstances : that he is capa- 
ble of endless improvement: that 
his progress has been stopped by 
the artificial impediment of govern- 
ment : that by the removal of this, 
the fondest dreams of imagination 
will be realized* 

From detailing and accounting for 
the evils which exist under our pre* 
sent institutions, he usually proceed- 



416 



MKXOIAI or CAlWfV THE BtLOQUIST* 



ed to delineate some scheme of 
Utopian felicity, where the empire 
of reason should supplant that of 
force : where justice ^lould be uni« 
versally understood and practised ; 
where the interest of the whole and 
of the individual should be seen by 
all to be the same ; where the pubh- 
lic good should be the scope of all 
activity; where the tasks of all 
should be the same, and the means 
of subsistence equally distributed* 

No one could contemplate his pic- 
tures without rapture. By tlieir 
comprehensiveness and amplitude 
they filled the imagination* I was 
unwilling to believe that in no region 
of the world, or at no period could 
these ideas be realised. It was plain 
that the nations of ^rope were 
tending to greater depravity, and 
would be the prey of perpetual vi- 
c isistude* All indi vidual attempts at 
their reibrmation would be fruitless. 
He therefore who desired the dif^ 
fusion of right principles, to make a 
just byst^ro be adopted by a whole 
community! must pursue some ex- 
traordinary method. 

In this state of mind I recollected 
my native country, where a few 
colonists from Britain had sown the 
gcrme of populous and mighty em- 
pires. Attended, as Uiey were, into 
I heir new abode, by all their preju- 
dices, yet Euch had been the in- 
fluence of new circumstances, of 
consulting for their own happiness, 
of adopting simple forms of govern- 
ment, and excluding nobles and 
kings from their system, that they 
cnjoxed a degree of happiness far 
superior to their parent state. 

To conquer the prejudices and 
change tlic habits of millions, are 
impcssible. The hum?n mind, ex- 
posed to social infmences, inflexibly 
adheres to the direction u\nt is given 
to it ; but for the same reason why 
men, who iKgin in error wiU conti- 
nue, those who commence in truth, 
may he exjrected to persist. Habit 
and exair.plc ^\ ill operate with equal 
force in both instances. 

Let a few, sulncient'.y enlightened 
fiYid disinterested, take up their 
^bodein some un visited region. Let 



their social scheme be founded im 
equity^ and how small soever then'' 
original number may be, their 
growth into a natioa is inevitable* 
Among other effects of natioiial jns-^ 
tice, was to be ranked the swtit in- 
crease of numbers. Exempt from 
servile obligations and perverse 
habits, endowed witli property^ wis- 
dom, and health, hundreds wiU ex» 
pand, with inconceivable rapidity 
into thousands and thousands, into 
millions ; and a new race, tutored 
in truth, may, in a few centuries^ 
ovei*flow the habitable world* 

Such were the visions of youth! 
I could not banish there from my 
mind. I knew them to be crude; 
but believed diat deliberation would 
bestow u^ them solidity and shape. 
Meanwhile I imparted them tn 
iAidloe. 

fTo be ewitinued.J 



CRITICAL NOTICES. 

KO. V. 

I TOOK up lately Goldsmith's 
Traveller, the £svourite of every 
philosophical and poetical reader. 
The most charmmg part of this 
poem is, to me, that which relates 
to Swisscrland. When I came to 
this I could not forbear pausing at 
each line, and indulging, at leisure, 
the thoughts which the sentiment, 
epithet or image suggested : per- 
haps these spontaneous meditations 
may possess llic merit of novelty 
at least to some of my readers. The 
subject is unhackneyed, while at 
the same time, few performances 
in tlie English language are more 
read and more commended. 

llie poet turns his moralizmg 
vision fiom tlie country of ancient 
virtue lyid modem effeminacy, 

To survey 
Where rougher climes a nobler race 
display ; 

cHtt poet is extremely liberal of his 
epithets, but, contrary to custom 
his epiUiets ai*e always eminent for 
force and beauty. They are never 
added mei^ly to fill up a chasm and 



CRITICAL NOTICES* 



4ir 



complete the measure, but are most 
lutninous additions to their substan- 
tives. Instead of overloading or 
enfeebling they adorn and dignify 
their subject. 

Where the bleak Swiss their stormy 

mansion tread, 
Andforce^ichurlub soil for acantyheard. 

How much harmomy and splen- 
dour are tliere in this couplet? a 
"whole description is comprised in 
the epithet bifaky as applied to 
the people, and the same figure is 
beautifully reversed in the applica- 
tion of churlUh to tlie soil. Is 
there not some little incongruity in 
the phrase of treading a mansion ? 
Ko product here the barren hills afiPord 
But man and steel : the soldier and 
the sword. 

Tlie word barren in the first line 
is an exception to Goldsmith's cus- 
tomary accuracy ; it is here a re- 
dundency, and is every where too 
trite, indistinct and general for po- 
etry. The repetition in the second 
line IS beautiful and energetic. 

Ko vernal blooms their torpid rocks 

array, 
But winter Unking chili* the lap of 

May. 
Tor/lid is another example of an 
epithet, tmly happy and poetical: 
and indeed the four phrases of the 
bleak Swiss; churlish soil; of tor- 
pid rocks; and lingering winter; 
are delightful samples of the power 
characteristic of poetry, by which 
it animates the dead and impassions 
the insensible, in the concisest and 
most rapid, and consequently the 
most co^nt manner* I have, how- 
ever, tried in vain to form a distinct 
image from the last line : perhaps 
a reader of more taste may not ob- 
ject to th;. tconfusion that arises from 
winter, lingering^ which is making 
winter a person, and at the ssune 
time, chilling^ which it can only 
perform in its original and unperso- 
nified capacity. The same mistake, 
if it be one, is committed by the 
poet who, in order to descsihle the 
same circumstance, tells us that 
the buds of spring are — nipt by the 
li'gf^ng rear of winter's frost, nei- 



ther am I pleased with the phrase, 
lap of May. 

No zephyr fondly sues the mountains 

breast, 
But meteors glare, and stormy glooms 

invest. 

No reader of taste, can fail of 
being enraptured by the image con- 
tained in the first of these lines, 
and both are, in all the requsites of 
poetry, very near perfection. 

Yet still, e*en here, content can spread 

a charm, 
bedrest the clime, and all its rage 

disarm. 
Tho' poor the peasant's hut, his feasts 

tho' small, 
He sees his little lot the lot of all ; 
Sees no contiguous palace rear its 

head, 
To shame the meannett of his bum- 

^/rshed; 
No co9tly lord the tumptuouM banquet 

deal, 
To make him loath his vegetable 

meal ; 
But calm, and bred in ignorance and 

toil. 
Each wish contracting, fits him to the 

soil. 
Cheerful at mom, he wakes. from 

short repose, 
Breasu the keen air, and carob as he 

goes; 
With patient ang^e trolls the/mi/ deep^ 
Or vl rives his ven'troiu plowshare |» 

the steep i 
Or seeks the den where snow trsdv 

mark the way, 
And drags the struggling savag^ liil# 

day. 
At night returning, every laboar s^ed* 
He sits him down the monarcb <f m 

tbedi 
Smiles by his cheerful fire, and roaad 

surveys 
His children's looks, that brigbtgk^ 

the blaze; x 

While his lov'd partner, boastful of 

her hoard, 
Displays her cleanly platter on the 

board : 
And haply too some pilgrim, thither 

led, 
Wiih many a ulc repays the nightly 

bed. 

Among the resplendent beauties 
of this passage, there arc two linesi 



4li 



CRITICAL VOnCES. 



feeble and redtmdaDt. The coHly 
lord with the aumfituouM banquet, 
and the nit innesa of an humble 
shed : are both censurable, and m 
these respects, the pilgrim spoken 
of, is probably Goldsmith himself* 

Thus every good hia native wilds im» 

part, 
Imprints the patriot passion on his 

heart; 
And e'en those hills, that round his 

mansion rise. 
Enhance the bliss his scanty fund sup. 

plies : 
Dear is that shed to which his soul 

conforms. 
And dear that hill which lifts him to 

the storms ; 
And as a child, when scaring sounds 

molest. 
Clings close and closer to the mother's 

breast. 
So the loud torrent, and the whiil* 

wind's roar, 
But bind htra to his native mountains 

more. 

Few of my readers, I trust, will 
refuse to share my admiration of 
this passage* I am particularly 
•truck wkh the /(rati/y of the similie \ 
nothing can be happier than the 
language and numbers in which it is 
conveyed* Some doubt, however, 
lAay by some fastidious critic, be ex- 
frresseid of the propriety of thb com- 
parison* Admittin g that the moun- 
tahieer*s attachment to his natal 
^pot, is stronger than that of the 
tenant of the plain to the place 
•f bU nativity, which is a very 
Huestionable point, and even ad- 
mitting that the peculiar features 
§£ a hUly country the tempest and 
the torrent, constitute this tye^ 
^ey do not influence him as scaring 
sounds influence the child* The 
terror of these sounds makes the 
latter cling more closely to the mo- 
ther's breast, but it is not the fear 
of the torrent and the whirlwind, 
that makes the Swiss cling closer 
to the mountain. 

The poet thus proceeds to exhibit 
the influence of soil and climate, 
4>n the temper and manners of the 
Jbwis8« 



Such are the charms to barre^n states 
assign'd ; 

Their wants but few, their wishes all 
confin'd : 

Yet let them only share the praises 
due.... 

If few their wants, their pleasures are 
but few ; 

For every want that stimulates the 
breast. 

Becomes a source of jileasure when 
red rest. 

Whence from such lands each pleas- 
ing science flies, 

That first excites desire, and then 
supplies ; 

Unknown to them when sensual plea- 
sures cloy. 

To £11 the latnguid paose with finer 
joy; 

Unknown those powers Aat raise the 
soul to flame. 

Catch every nerve> and vibrate thro' 
the frame. 

Their level life is but a mouldering 
fire, 

Unquench'd by want, unfann'd by 
strong desire; 

Unfit for rapnnes, or, if raptures 
cheer 

On some high festival of once a year» 

In wild excess the vulgar breast takes 
fire. 

Till bury'd in debauch, the bliss cz« 
pire. 

But not their jojs alone tints coamdy 
flows 

Their morals, like their pleasures, art 
but low ; 

For, as refinement stops, from sire td 
son 

Unalter'd, unimprov'd, the manners 
run; 

And love's and friendship's finely- 
pointed dart 

Fall blunted from each indurated 
heart. 

Some sterner virtues o'er the moon- 
tain's breast 

May sit, like falcons cowering <m the 
nest; 

But all the gender morals, snch A 
play 

Through life's more cultur'd widks.aad 
charm the way, 

These, far dispers'd, on timeroos pi- 
nions fly. 

To sport and flutter in a kinder sky. 

After pausing to admire the beau- 
ty of Uicse lines, thi^ mind ge&e- 



CRITICAL KOTICES. 



41f 



nJly passes on to inquire into the 
theory the poet designs to inrul- 
cate^ the justness of the reason- 
ings by which he supports it, and 
the fidelity of his pictures to na- 
ture. 

I'he poet appears to think that, 
barren states, such as Swisscrland, 
create few wants and few wi&hes : 
tliat their pleasures are proportion- 
ably few, since pleasure arises from 
supplying wants; that from such 
land, the sciences that excite and 
supply desire, depajt. That they 
know not how to fill the intervals of 
sensual pleasure with finer joy* 
Kot only their joys, but their mo- 
rals it seems, are slow. Love and 
friendship and the gentler morals, 
sbaent themselves from such rugged 
and are only found in milder skies. 
In short that civilization, with 
its vices, makes greater pro- 
gress in fertile soils and mild cli- 
mates, than in the barren and cold, 
and that this different influence, 
is exemplified in Swisserland and 
France. 

After thus stripping the poet's 
sentiments of the imbellishments 
of poetry, they appear to be re* 
markably crude, injudicious and 
erroneous. It is universally agreed, 
that the Swiss possessed,' while an 
independant nation, more genuine 
refinement, more knowledge, more 
liberty, more of the gentler virtues, 
more sensibility of heart and fancy 
than their neighbours* Swisser- 
land is composed of plains and val- 
leys as well as hills, and as the 
manners of the nation are the same, 
or essentially the same in all its dis- 
tricts; itismapossibletoprovethat 



certain sort of temper or manners it 
connected with particular soils or 
fihaze9 of the country* 

A barren soil will mdintain fewer 
people than a fertile one, but the 
number of people that actually live 
upon it, and the degree of afflu- 
ence and ease and refinement the/ 
enjoy, depend on other circum* 
stances ; on their religion, govern-* 
ment, laws, tlieir facility of com- 
mercial intercourse and their aits* 
The numbers which derive their 
subsistence from any soil, are pro« 
portioned to thequantity of product* 
The barren affords as plentifiila 
subsistence to a few, as the fertile 
does to many, the portion of each 
one, being the same, and as easily 
obtained in both cases. From the 
most fruitfiil soil, the bad cultiva** 
tion of some nations, draws a less 
quantity of food, than the good cul« 
tivation of other nations draws from 
the sterile. The country too bar- 
ren and irregular for tillage, is de- 
voted to pasture and the shepherd's 
life, being easier than the tillerSf 
ought, in itself con^dcred, to be 
more favourable fi>r improvement 
of the taste and sensibitity, and ac- 
cordingly the Swiss mountaineers 
possess more intelectual and moral 

Pleasures than the husbandmen of 
iedmont and Flanders. 
What pity is it, that every poet 
is not a philosopher, that he, who 
is most capable of adorning and en- 
forcing truth, does not most clearly 
discern it. No less a pity is it, that 
every philosopher is not a poet} 
that he who reasons in the soundest 
manner, does not speak or write in 
the most engaging stile. 



REVEIW. 



A hrUf Retro9fiect (f the FJgk' 
tetnth Centuryy first fiart ; con* 
taming a Sketch of the Revolum 
turn and Improvements in Science j 
ArtSjond lAteratur^ during that 



/ieriod,»»^by SamuelMtUar^ A*M* 

^c. ^c. 
JSTevf' York J Sivordsj 1803, 2vol. 9v. 

Ths origin and history of this 
work are (letailed by the author is 



420 



lEVlSW* 



his prcbce with a decree of modes- 
ty sufficient to apoiogtze for defects 
much more glaring and important 
than are to be found in it. So great 
a plan as the author has adopted 
might well impreiis an ingenous 
mind with bome degree of timidity 
and diffidence, I'o give conci&e 
iricwB of the state cf every branch 
of human knowledge, during so busy 
and enlightened an age as the last, in 
all the cultivated nations of mankind 
is one of the most arduous under- 
takings imaginable. It has been 
executtrd, however, by tlie present 
writer, with a degree of judgment 
and skill that has seldom been ex- 
ceeded. Mistakes and omissions 
w ill, of coarse, be discovered in each 
department by adepts in tliat parti- 
cuhir pursuit ; but tnese bear a very 
small proportion to the whole, and 
our admirution is much more excited 
by the degree of accuracy with wliich 
it is executed thsn our ta£te is of- 
fended by its occasional errors* 

The author has arranged the 
whole mass of human knowledge 
under four divisions; the first of 
which is only discussed in the vo- 
lumes before us, and is comprehend- 
ed under the general denomination 
of science, arts and lxteratui*e« The 
rest, we are informed the writer 
does not propose to prosecute at 
present, being intimidated by the 
magnitude of his theme. 

The following suij»ject s occupy this 
portion of his work in the order in 
wlijch they staxu! : mechanics, che- 
mistry', natural history, medicine, 
geography, mathematics, naviga- 
tion, agriculture, the mechanic arts, 
the fine arts, physiognomy, philoso- 
phy of the human mind, classical 
learning, oriental learning, modem 
languages, philosophy of language, 
history ,biography,romaDces,novds, 
poetry, literary and poliiical jour- 
nals, literary societies, encydiopx- 
dics, education, nations lately be- 
come litcran*. These arc intro- 
duced and closed by some general 
pbsenrations, and are distributed 
Into those 8ut>-divisions, of wych 
]^ Ibey arc uaturaliy «uaccptible« 



Oneof the most remaricaUe i» 
proveroents of the recent century is 
the practice of reducing the whoSe 
body of bunnan knowledge into a 
comprehensive and systematic or- 
der. General views of the or^in, 
progress, and present state of ecMJt 
science have often been given, and 
these have been frequently digetfted 
into a natural or alphabetical method 
or series. The present work moat 
be considered as a general histoiTr of 
this kind, limited by the boundaries 
of tlie eighteenth century* In the 
execution of this work, the writer 
has no doubt been chiefly indebted 
to other compihitions, on a narrower 
or larger sode, and his judgment 
has been principally exercised in 
■electing and condensing the mattev 
thus supplied. It cannot be denied 
that he has manifested great know« 
ledge and industry, in tlie perform, 
ance of his task, and evinces, in 
some instances, an independent 
judgment ahd original inquiries. 

This work, as might naturally be 
expected, is executed in an unequal 
manner* The various departments 
of physics and nuithematics, evince a 
more careful and intelligent hand 
than the sections which bek)ng to 
topics of mere taste and fancy* On 
many subjects the writer may claim 
no inconsiderable praise, and on 
those on which he probably was but 
little informed, and was, consequent- 
ly obliged to rely on the judgment of 
others ; the ]:leas contained in his 
preface will obtain frcm every can- 
did reader, a large share of allow- 
ance and excuse. 

It will not be expected that we 
should enter into an analysis of a 
work in its own nature so summary 
and s) stematic, or into a laborious 
detsil of its merits or its imperfec- 
tions. It will suffice to observe, that 
every reader will obtain from this 
work, a great body of curious and 
valuable information, delivered in a 
very luminous method, and coached 
in a style remarkable for sim{riicity 
and perspicuity. While lie reads 
with no view, perhaps, but to gain 
an historical acquaintance with tho 



HEVIEW. 



421 



A^ that is passed, he viU find him- 
self initiated in an agreeable and 
easy manner, itito the general ])re- 
cepts of many sciences^ and into the 
lives and characters of many emi- 
nent men. 

We s'lould be glad to extract as 
a specimen, the author's " recapi- 
tulation," but it is somewhat too 
long for our limits. The following 
statement of our own literary situa- 
tion, as a people, shall content us* 
After detailing the state of science 
and literature in their various 
branches, in North- America, Mr. 
M* proceeds in the following man- 
ner: 

« It must, however, after all, be 
acknowledged, that what is call- 
ed a liberal education in the Unit- 
ed States, is, in common, less 
accurate and complete ; the erudi- 
tion of our native citizens, with some 
exceptions, less extensive and pro- 
fimind ; and the works published by 
American authors, in general, less 
learned, instructive, and elegant,* 
than are found in Great-Britain, 
and some of the more enlightened 
nations on the eastern continent* 
Tliese facts, it is apprehended, arise 
not from any deficiency of talents in 

our country, nor from any inaptitude parati vely equal distribusion of pro* 
in its soil or atmosphere to promote perty in America, while it produces 
the growth of genius ; but ft'om one the most benign politic and moral 
or another, and, in some cases, from efiects, is by no means friendly to 
a combination of the following great acquisitions in literature and 
causes* science* In such a state of society, 

" 1* Defective plans and means of there can be few persons of leisure* 
instruction in our Seminaries of It is necessary that almost all should 
Leaming.***.The great majority of be engaged in some active pursuit* 
our colleges have very madequate Accordingly, in the United States, 



Hence they can convey but very 
superficial knowledge of the various 
branches which it is made their duty 
to teach, and if well qualified them- 
selves, which is far from being al- 
ways the case, find it impossible to 
do justice to tlie pupils* In some 
instances, also, the trustees or 
governors of American colleges, 
either from their own ignorance, or 
in compliance with popular preju- 
dice, have so contracted the time 
requisite for completing a course of 
instruction, as to render it necessary 
wholly to dispense with, or lightly 
to hurry over, some of the most im- 
portant branches of knowledge**.* 
Accordingly, in some of these msti- 
tutions, mathematical science is un- 
popular, and the acquisition of as 
little as possible especially of the 
higher branches of it, enjoined on 
the student. In others, classic lite- 
rature, and especially the Greek 
language,* is in low estimation, and 
not more studied than is indispensa- 
bly necessary to obtaining a diploma* 
If well bred scholars ever issue from 
such seminaries, they most be form- 
ed by a degree of private and indi- 
vidual application rarely to be met 
with in youth. 
2. Want of Leisure. Tlie com- 



funds* Tlie consequence is, that in 
most of them the professors are few 
in number, and have assigned to 
them too large afield of instruction. 

• It is not meant to be denied that a 
few of the works published in America 
are as profound and instructive as any 
on similar subjects published elsewhere. 
It is simply intended to give a general 
character of American publications, 
liable to such exceptions as the mind 
of the well-informed reader will rsadi- 
Iv- supply. 

VOIi. X«*ttNO» YI* 



the greater number of those who pass 
through a course of what is called 
liberal education, in the hurried 
manner which has been mentioned^ 
engage immediately after leaving 
college, in the study or business to 
which they propose to devote them- 

* In some American colleges, we 
are told that no more knowleidge of 
Greek is required in those who gra- 
duate Bachelor of Arts, than diat 
which may be derived from th« ^m- 
nur 9^d the Grsek testament. 
4 



<!2T' 



IVE VLCW." 



selves. Having run over die pre- 
liminary steps oT instruction in this 
business, probably in a manner no 
less huTiied and superficial than 
their acndrmic studies, they instant- 
ly commence its jpractical pursuit; 
afnd ?.re, perhaps^ dnring the re- 
mainder of life, consi^^ncd to a daily 
toil for support, which precludes 
them from reading, and especially 
from cr:nnini!; much knowledge out 
of their parlici^iar profes^Mon. Suck 
is the career of ninety-nine out of 
an hundred of those in our country 
who belong to the learned profes- 
sions. When the alternative eitlier 
lies, or is supposed to lie between 
erudition and poverty, or comf([)rt- 
Me affluence and nKHlerate learn- 
in jr, it is not difficult to conjecture 
which side will be chosen ; nor is it 
surprising that, in such a state of 
thinjrs, there should be less profound 
erudicion, less elegant accomplish- 
ment in Iherature, than where a 
considerable number enjoy all the 
advantages of exemption from la- 
borious duties, and all the accom- 
modations of opulent leisure. 

To this circumstance may be 
Mcribed the superficial and un- 
polished character of many of our 
native publications. All that their 
authors, in many cases, want, to 
render them moi-c rqjletc with iu- 
struction, more attractive in man- 
ner and, of course, more worthy of 
public approbation, is leisure. But 
able only to redeem a few hasty 
hours for literary pursuits, from the 
employment which gave them bread 
tiiey must necessarily, if they publish 
at all, send forth productions, from 
time to time; hearing all the marks 
of haste and immature reflection. 

" 3. Want of Elncouragement to 
Lcarr.ing....Men cannot be expected 
to labom* without the hope of some 
adequate reward. Genius must be 
nourished by patronage, as well as 
htrcngthened by culture. Where 
substantial emoluments may be de- 
rived f mm literary exertion, there, 
aRdthere alone, will it be frequently 
undertaken to any considerable ex- 
tent. Hence, in those countries 
where genius and learning are best 



rewarded, there thcyarreverfbmtd^ 
to be most cultirated. In the United 
States, the rewards of literatiipe aje. 
small and tmcertain* The people 
can not afibrd to remunerate eminent 
talents or great acquirements*^. . 
Booksellers, the great patrons of 
learning in modem times, are in- 
America, too poor to foster and re* 
wards the efibits of genius* There 
are no rich Fellowships in our nni* 
versitiesto excite the ambition of 
students; no large eccleataaticai 
benefices to animate the exertions 
of literary divines.* Academic 
cludrs are usually connected with 
such small salaries, that they pre-, 
sentlittle temptation to the scholar ; 
and, finally, the state offers rery in* 
considerable motives for the acqui*^ 
sttion of knowledge, and the exer-i 
tion of talents. Its rewards are 
small, and its favour capricious. 
Can it be wondered, then^ that those 
who have some acquaintance with 
books, and hold important stations^ 
are more anxious to secure pecuni^ 
ary advantages, and to place them* 
selves in a sitimtion independent of 
popular favour, than to make ad- 
vances in literature, or to do tumour 
to their coimtry l^ the display of 
intellectual pre-eminence I 

Besides, the spirit of our people 
is commercial. It has been said, 
and perhaps with some justice, that 
the love ot gain peculiarly charac- 
terises the inhabitants of the United 
Stat^. The tendency of this spirit 
to discourage literature is obvious* 
In such a state of society, men will 
not only be apt to bend their whole 
attention to the acquirement of pro- 

• The author wonld by no means be 
imderstood to express an opinion, that 
such immoderately lucrative places,' 
either in church or in state, are. on the 
whole, useful, or desirable. He is per- 
suaded that they are mach more pro- 
ductive of mischief than of advantage. 
But that they often excite literary am- 
bition, and sflTord, in maiiy instances, 
convenient and useful leisure to litera- 
ry characters, will scarcely be qties- 
tioned by thos« who have paid' an^ • 
attention to the subject. 



WV|IVf 



in 



Wwiff Mid neglect tli« cuUi vation of 
their minds as an affair of secondary 
moment ; but lettersand science wiU 
«feldom be found in high estimation ; 
the amount of wealth will be th<$ 
principal test of influence ; the learn* 
^d will experience but little rewai*d 
either of honour or emolument ; and) 
ef course, superfici^ educatioa wiU 
be the prevailing character. 
• Kor is it of less importance here to 
l^collect) that the nature of our con* 



« 4, W^ntof Books....In the ca- 
pital cities of Europe, the votary of 
literature is surrounded with ini* 
mense libraries, to which he may 
easily obtain access; and even in 
many of tlie smaller towns, books 
on any subject, and to almost any 
number, may be easily obtained* It 
is otherwise in America. Here tlie 
student, in addition to all the oUit^r 
obstacles which Ue in his way, has 
often to spend as much time and 



section With Great-Britain has ope- thought to obtain a particular book, 
rated) a9d continues to operate un^ 
&vorably to the progress of Ameri- 
can literature. Longaccumstomed 
to a state of colonial dependence on 
that enlightened and cultivated na- 
tion, we have also been accustomed 



as the reading it ten times would 
cost. Our public libraries are few, 
and, compared witli those of Europe, 
small. Nor is this defect supplied 
by large private collections ; these 
arc alw rare. And to render the 



to derive from l^er the supplies for evil still more grievous, the number 
•ur iiterar)' wants. And still con- of literary and enterprising book- 
sellers is yet smaller. It is only 



nected with her by the tics of Ian. 
gpage, manners, Uiste, and commer- 
cial intercourse, her literature, 
science and ails may be considered 
as ours. Being able, thei-efore, with 
so much ease, to reap the fruits of 
h&r fields, we have not sufficient in- 
ducement to cultivate our own . And 
even when an excellent production 
of the A^ierican soil isofi^red to the 
public, it is generally undervalued 



within two or three years that wft 
have begun to receive, with any 
kind of regularity or promptitude, 
the best British works as they issue 
from the press. 

'* Such are some of the causes 
which have hitherto impeded the 
progTess of American literature. . 
Their influence, however, is gra- 
dually declining, and the literary 



and ne^ected. A large portion of pros^iects of our country are br ight- 



our citizens seem to entertain the 
idea, that nothing worthy of patro- 
nage can be produced on this side of 
the Atlantic Instead of being 
)>rompted to a more liberal encon- 
ragemenjt of genius because it is 
American, their prejudices, on this 



ening every day. Letters and sci- 
ence are becoming more important 
in the public estimation. The num- 
ber of learned men is becoming 
rapidly greater. The plans and 
means of instruction in our semina- 
ries of learning, thougli by no means 



account, are rather excited against improving in all respects, are, in 



iw 



• The writer in the Monthly Maga- 
zine, whose strictures on Araericaa 
literature were before mentioned, re- 
presents the inhabitants of the United 
States as having strong prejudices in 
favour of their own ])roduction$, and 
ridicules them for preferring American 
publications to all others. In this, as 
well as in most of his assertions, he 
discovers profound ignorance of the 
subject. The fact is directly the re- 
.vcrse. American'^ are too apt to join 
with ignorant or fastidious foreigners, 
in undervaluing and decrying our do- 
in«£fic iireraturej and this circum- 



some, receiving constant meliora- 
tion. The emulation of founding 
and sustaining a national character 
in science and learning begins to l>e 
more generally felt, and, nam time 
to time, will doubtless be augmented. 
A larger proportion of the growing 
wealth of our country will hereafter 
be devoted to the improvements of 
knowledge, axtd especially to the 

stance Is one of the numerous obstacles 
which have operated to discourage lite- 
rary exertions on il\is side of the At- 
lantic, and to impede Oiir literary pro« 
grcss- 



424 



SETIEir, 



furtherance of all the means by 
which scientific discoveries are 
brought within popular reach, and 
rendered subservient to practical 
utilit}'. American publications are 
every day gi-owing more numerous, 
and rising in rcsijectability of cha- 
racter. Public and private libra- 
ries are becominjc more numerous 
and extensive. The taste in com- 
position among our writers is mak- 
ing very sensible progress in cor- 
rectness and refinement. Ameri- 
can authors of merit meet with 



more liberal eRCoarmgement ; and 
when the time shall arrive that we 
can give to oar votaries of literature 
the same leisure, and the same sti- 
mulants to exertion with which they 
are favoured in Europe, it may be 
confidently predicted, that letters 
will flourish as much in America as 
in any part of the world ; and that 
we shall be able to make some retom 
to our transatlantic brethren, for 
the rich stores of useful knowledge 
which they have been pouring up- 
on UB for nearly two centuries* 



POETRY......ORIGINAL. 



YOUTH... No. I. 

^CKxas of my youth ! O how shall I 
describe, 

Your var>'ing charms! In what gay 
hues. 

In what transporting attitudes of life 

Shall I pourtvay your transitory forms ! 

The images of time forever gone, 

KuftU on my mind, and to the me- 
mory's eye 

Flutter, and move in countless mazy 
rounds. 

The child of sunshine happy with a 
toy, 

The sportful cunning, and mischie- 
vous boy, 

The school-boy whistling o'er the 
summer-fields, 

Rise to delight my retrospective view ; 

Put soon is clos*d their thoughtless 
wild career ; 

Tlic roll of years, tlic rushing course 
of time 

Stay not for man: But dissolution's 
wheels 

Move onward with a wing'd impetu- 
ous speedy 

Bearing the world and all the race of 
men. 

The child that breathes its prattle in 
the air. 

Youth fuU of vigouri manhood and 
old age. 

Tread on this earth with ^n uncertain 
step, 

And cannot call a day or hour their 
own : 

pchind thcra all, death takes his un- 
seen st^nd 



And launches his unerring shaft: No 

power 
On earth can stay its flight, or shield 
The human mark, at which the ar*> 

cher aim'd« 

Mark the gay youth, just starting 

in the world, 
The Syren's music sounding in his 

ear. 
Delusions beckon him on every side. 
And lead his steps astray: tempta* 

tions press. 
And like the beating flood vez'd by 

the wind. 
Threaten the ruin of his soaring mind. 
His eye on fire drinks up the streana 

of day. 
His panting bosom quaffs the balmy 

air. 
And on the billows of tumultuous joy 
His soul is toss'd. He looks with 

brow exulting 
On the dark years of onward rolling 

time, 
And eager rushes headlong in his race. 
Thus the bold courser pomper'din the 

stall, 
When first he presses with his hoof 

the plain 
And snuflTs the air; with a shrill pier- 
cing neigh 
His joy bespeaks, and over-leajung 

walls 
Darts like an arrow from the hunter's 

bow, 
Tramples the ground with thundering 

feet, and flings 
On the rude winds the glory of hU 

man^, 



SSLCCTSD FOEIET. 



435 



The mind of youth is prone to be se- 
dnc'd, 

On it impression easily is made : 

It like the wax yields to the figiir*d 
seal. 

And bears the image which has been 
enstamp'd. 

Youth is a reed which waves beneath 
the breath 

Of kissing zephyr ; or which hangs its 
head 

Beneath the weight of falling dews of 
morn. 

The rous'd up passions hear the 
tempter's call. 

Too apt to scorn the rein of all re- 
straint 

They lend to artful tales a willing ear. 

And leave for fancy's paths, the ways 
of truth. 

Youth turns his eyes from sorrow's 
lonely haunts. 

To scenes of pleasures and of noby 
. ./nirth ; 

He joins with ardour in the world's 
gay song. 

And kindles into rapture at the voice 

Of praise, of honour and of loud ap- 
plause. 

I. O, 



SELECTED. 

FBOM TRB POSTHUMNUR POSMS OT 
COWPE&. 

A TALE. 

In Scotland's realm, where trees are 
few. 

Nor even shrubs abound ; 
But where, however bleak the view, 

Some better things are found s 

For husband there, and wife may 
boast 

Their union undefil'd ; 
And false ones are as rare almost. 

As hedge-rows in the wild : 

In Scotland's realm, forlorn and barei 
This hist'ry chanc'd of late.... 

This hist'ry of a wedded pair, 
A Chaffinch and his Mate. 

The spring drew near, each felt a 
breast 

With genial instinct fill'd ; 
They pair'd, and only wish'd a nest| 

Bnt found not where to baiU. 



The heaths ttncover*dv and the moors. 

Except with snow and sleet ; 
Sea-beaten rocks and naked shores. 

Could yield them no retreat. 

Long time a breeding place the/ 
sought. 

Till both grew vex'd and tir'dt 
At length a ship arriving, brought 

The good so long desir'd. 

A ship!.. ..Could such a restless thing, 
Afford them place to rent ? 

Or was the merchant charg*d to bring 
The homeless birds a nest ? 

Hush !....SileKit hearers profit most !.... 
- This racer of the sea 
Prov'd kinder to them than the coast. 
It serv'd them with a tree. 

But such a tree \ 'twas shaven deal. 
The tree they call'd a mast ; 

And had a hollow with a wheel, 
Thro' which the tackle pass'd. 

Within the cavity aloft 

Their roofless home they iixt ; 

Form'd with materials neat and soft. 
Bents, wool, and feathers mixt. 

Four iv'ry eggs soon pave its floor. 
With russet specks bedight:.... 

The vessel weighs forsakes the 

shore, 
And lessens to the sight. 

The mother bird is gone to sea. 
As she ha4 chang'd her kind i 

But goes the mate? Far wiser he 
Is doubtless left behind. 

No!.. ..Soon as from ashore he saw 
The winged mansion move { 

He flew to reach it, by a law 
Of never-failing love ! 

Then perching at his consort's side. 

Was briskly borne along; 
The billows and the blasts defied. 

And cheer'd her with a song. 

The seaman with sincere delight. 

His feather'd shipmate eyes, 
Scarce less exulting in the sight. 

Than when he tows a prize. 

For seamen much believe in signs. 
And from a chance so new. 

Each some approaching good divinet, 
And may his hopes be true .* 



42« 



S^t«crB«» POKTftT* 



9«il! 1ioiioiir*4Un4( adeicK, where 

Not even birds can hide ( 
Yet parent of this loving pair. 

Whom nothing couki divide. 

And 7; who rather than veiign 

Yonr matrimonial plan t 
Were not afraid to plough the hriney 

Im company with a man. 

To whose lean country, much disdain 
. We £ngliih often show i 
Yet from a richer, nothing gain 
Bnt wantomesa and wo. 

Be It yoor fortune, year by year. 

The same reaourse to prove t 
And may ye, sometimes landing here, 
. Inatruct na how to love ! 



TO HEALTH. 

ELDEST-bom of powr*s divine ! 
Blest Hygeta ! be it mine 
To enjoy what thou canst give. 
And henceforth with thee to live. 
For in pow'r if pleasure be. 
Wealth, or num'rous progeny. 
Or in amorous embrace. 
Where no spy infests the place ; 
Or In ought that Heav'n bnestows 
ToaUeviate human woes. 
When the wearied heart despairs. 
Of a respite from its cares ; 
These and ev'ry true delight 
Flourish only in thy sight. 
And the sister Graces Three . 
Owe, themselves, their youth to thee. 
Without whom we may possess 
Much, but never, happiness. 



ON THE GRASSHOPPER. 

Hafpt songster! perch*d above 
On the summit of the grove, 
Whom a dew-drop cheers to nng 
With the freedom of a king. 
From thy perch, survey the fielda* 
Where prolific nature yields 
Naught that willingly as she, 
Man surrenders not to thee. 



For hostility or haft 
None thy pleasures can create* 
Thee it satisfies to sii^. 
Sweetly, the return of Spring, 
Herald of the genial hours« 
Hnrviing neither herbs nor flow^ok 
Therefore man thy voiee attends 
Cladif....Tho« and he are frie»4is 
Nor thy never ceasing strasna 
Phobus Or the Muse disdains 
As too simple or too long. 
For themselves in^re the song. 
Earth-bom, bloodless, nndecajring. 
Ever stnpng, sporting, playing. 
What has nature else to show. 
Godlike in its kind as thou 2 

AN ifiNIGMA. 

A VEBOLS small, as small can be. 
In bulk and use, surpasses me. 

Nor is my purchase dear; 
For litde, and aJmost for naught 
As many of my kind are bought 

As days are in a year. 

Yet though hot little use we boast. 
And are procured at little cost. 

The labour is not light. 
Nor few artificers it asks, 
All skilful in their sev'ral tasks. 

To fashion us aright. 

One fuses metal o*er the fire, 
A soci nd draws it into wire. 

The sheers another plies. 
Who clips in lengths the brasen thread 
For him, who, chafing every shred. 

Gives all an equal size. 

A fifth repares, exact and round. 
The knob, with which it must be 
crown'd. 

His foiow'r makes it fast. 
And with his mallet and his file 
To ohape the poiDt, employs a whQe* 

The seventh, and the last. 

Now HMvefoie, Oedtpvs! declare 
What creature wonderful and tare, 

A process, that obtains 
Its purpose with so rouOh ado. 
At last porduces ! — Tell me true. 

And take mt for your pains t 



48r 



SELECTIONS. 



CHOCOLATE. 

Th e goodnes of chocolate depends 
first, upon the quality of the cocoa. 
Of this there are three principal 
species : Caracas, quayaquil, and that 
from the islands of St. Domingo, 
Martinique, Curra9oa, &c. The 
Caracas is extremely dear, even in 
time of peace ; and in the best years 
the pound is never sold for less than 
three francs. To make the chocolate 
the Caracas is mixed with the quay* 
«quil ; two parts of the Caracas and 
one of the quayaquil, make the first 
kind ; two parts of the quayaquil, and 
one of the cocoa of the islands, make 
the second....and the simple cocoa 
of the islands, the third. 

The goodness of chocolate de- 
pends, in the second place, on the 
care with which it is ground and 
roasted, on the proper prqx>rt]on 
of the cocoa, the sugar, and the 
different aromatics, which enter 
into its composition, and on the at- 
tention with which it is worked to 
procure a better or worse mixture 
of the ingredients^ 

The characteristics of a good, 
unadulterated chocolate, are the 
following; a deep fresh colour; a 
fine, close, shining grain ; small 
white streaks ; an aromatic odour ; 
a facility of dissolving in the mouth, 
with a sensation of freshness, to pro- 
duce no appearance of gliie in cool- 
ing, and to shew an oily cream' on 
the top. 

The general marks of a bad, 
adulterated chocolate, are ; a black, 
pitchy colour; an insipid taste of 
syrup ; a farinaceous, unequal, and 
coarse graih ; a burnt smell while 
boiling ; and lastly, a glutinous humi- 
dity, an aqueous solution, a gross 
and muddy sediment. 

Chocolate is adulterated in seve- 
ral ways ; first, by an unequal mix- 
ture of the different kinds of cocoa : 
for example, when a fourth of Cara- 
cas, a fourth of quayaquil, and a half 
of cocoa of the islands^ is sold for the 



first kind, which ought to be com* 
posed of two-thirds of Caracas and 
one of quayaquil ; but the fairest ma- 
nufacturers of diocolate find them- 
selves compelled to adopt this means 
oi adulteration whenever the price 
of good cocoa rises considerably,and 
the public will not pay more than, 
the ordinary prices. 

The noxious and blameable adul- 
terations are the following: to ex- 
press the cocoa oil, in order to sell 
its butter to the apothecaries and 
surgeons; then to substitute the 
grease of animals, to roast the cocoa 
to excess in order to destroy this 
foreign taste, to mix it with rice, 
meal, potatoes, honey, syrup, &c 
A pound of Caracas chocolate, cost- 
ing here nearly three livres, you 
may easily conceive what must be 
the nature of that kind of prepara- 
tion in most places of Europe. Be- 
sides, chocolate ought to be boiled 
in a particular manner, to possess 
all its power and flavour. The rule 
is, to take a cup of water to two 
ounces of chocolate. It is allowed 
to dissolve gently on tlie fire, and 
poured out as soon as it begins to 
rise. It is then made to boll again 
for a few minutes in the cup on hot 
coals. 



ACCOUNT OF THE MASSACRE OV 
ST. BARTHOLOMEW, IN 1752. 

All the necessary orders being 
f^ven, the murderers, at tlie dead 
hoiur of midnight, took the stations 
assigned them | and the files of soU 
diers drawn up in the different 
streets and cross-ways, only waited 
for the expected signal to fall with 
fory on the protestants. 

As the fatal hour drew nigh^ 
Charles is said to have been goaded 
by the stings of remorse, and to have 
betrayed such fear and irresolution, 
that all the art of his mother was 
r^utsiti to extort from him an order 



428 ACCOUKT OF THB MASSACRE OF ST. BAKTHOLOMKtr* 



to the assassins to begin their dread- 
ful busi ncss. '* Shall the occasion," 
ftaid the blasphemous Catharine, 
«* that God presents, of avenging 
t!ie obdurate enemies of yourautho- 
nt)', be suffered to escape through 
your want of courage ? How much 
better is it to tear in pieces those 
corrupt members, than to rankle the 
bosom of the church, the spouse of 
€wr Lord?*' Tliis impious exhorta- 
tion expelled from his bosom every 
sentiment of humanity, and, with 
eyes glaring with rage, he thus pro- 
nounced tlie horrid mandate 

** Go on then, and let none remain to 
reproach me with the deed." Hav- 
ing thus obtained her aim, Catharine 
anticipated the fixed hour of the 
signal, which was given by ringing 
tlie bell of the church of Saint Ger- 
man de L'Auxerrois. 

The duke of Guise immediately 
issued forth, with a select party, to 
perpetrate the murder of the admi« 
ral, and meeting some protcstantsin 
the streets, who had been alarmed 
by the sound of the bell, a firing of 
pistols ensued, which being heard in 
the palace, Charles's terror and ir- 
resolution returned, and a message 
was dispatched by Catharine to 
cx)untcrmand the duke of Guise, 
which she well knew would arrive 
too kite, and be totally disregarded. 
Already had that princely assassin 
beset tlic admiral's lodgings, the 
gate of which being shut imd guard- 
ed, would have required some time 
to force open ; but Cosseins having 
demanded admittance in the king's 
name. La Bonne, who kept the keys, 
having no suspicion of what was go- 
ing forward, admitted him, and was 
instnntly stabbed. Some of the king 
of Navarre's Swiss soldiers flew to 
the inner gJite, and endeavoured to 
barricade it. The noise awakened 
the admiral, who, unused to appre- 
hension, Ijelieved it to be only some 
riot of the i}opulace, which the guard 
would soon quell. But the clamour 
increasing, and several shots being 
fired in the court, he rose from his 
bed, and coveretl himself with his 
night-gown, when he was soon con- 
vinced, by hb attendants^ who hur- 



ried to his chamber, that the worst 
was to be feared. Being few in 
number, and most of them only do- 
mestics, their pale looks and trem« 
blin^ gestures denounced the im- 
mediate fate they expected......* 

*• This instant," exclaimed one of 
them, "God calls us to meet death." 
** It is enough," said Collgna, •♦ that 
I know it." He leaned for some 
moments against the wall, while the 
minister Merlin prayed. Then, 
with a countenance undismayed, 
« Away," said he, "my friends^ 
save yourselves if possible: now I 
have no peed of yoiir help ; to that 
of God I have commended my booL 
But let not your unprofitable stay be 
mourned by vour wives and childreii, 
as a sad infelicity, occasioned by ymir 
attendance upon my exit." All but 
two of them, whose fidelity to their 
master rose superior to the fear of 
death, fled into the upper rooms of 
the house. In a few minutes the 
door was burst open, and a group 
of seven armed ruffians enteral the 
apartment." Besme, a German, 
stept before the rest, and flourished 
his sword, « Art thou Coligni ?"..,. 
" I am," replied the admiiral, with 
a steady voice^and firm countenance 
...."andyou, young soldier, ought 

to respect my grey hairs. But, come 
on," said he to Besme, " do what 
thou wilt, thou canst shorten my Bfc 
but little'." At that instant he re- 
ceived the villain's sword in his 
breast, which rather courted th<m 
shunned the blow, and a repetition 
of stabs soon deprived him of hfe, 
which he yielded up without utter- 
ing a groan. The assassins th«ii-' 
selves were stricken with the invin- 
cible intrepidity of his spirit; and 
one of them, whose name was Attin^ 
declared, that never had a man been 
seen to brave such a death, with so 
much magnanimity. His body was 
thrown from the window into the 
court-card, where the duke of 
Guise waited to enjoy his dastardly 
triumph. Having wiped the blood 
from the face, he exclaimed, in «. 
toneof exuHiitflon, "We have begun 
well, my friends, let us proceed to 
complete the rest with courage \ k 



▲cconvT or trb xassacrk or st* bastroloxews 4» 



is the king's command, we cbey." 
Immediately the alarm bell of the 
palace was rung, and the populace 
were roused to spread the massacre* 
The admiral's body being found by 
these Parisian blood-hounds, it was 
maimed, gored,and dragged through 
the kennels, and^ after serving at 
intervals as the pastime of their 
fury, for two days was suspended 
on the gibbet of Mbnt£Eiucon. But 
neither the inhuman massacre of 
Coligni, nor the horrid indignities 
committed on his corpse, have, says 
Le Gendre, effected the smallest 
diminution of his fame, or tarnished 
In the least the merit of a character, 
illustrious for those qualities and 
virtues, which have formed the 
heroes and the patriots of all na- 
tions. The body of Coligni, half 
consumed with fire, was, under 
favour of the night, conveyed to 
the vault of the Montmorencies at 
ChantiUy, and from thence trans- 
ferred to the &mily vault at Cha- 
tiUon. 

The massacre continued, with 
unrelenting fury, among the pro- 
testant chiefs, who were assaulted 
bv the assassins, when destitute of 
au means of defence, and were in- 
humanely butchered by a dastardly 
crew who had often fled before them 
in the field* llie count de Roche- 
foucaud had passed the early part 
of the night with the king at the 
Louvre, where the pleasant sallies 
of his wit, and ficetious humour had 
entertained the courtier, and dis- 
'|>osed Charles to save him. Believ- 
ing when the chief of the assassins 
knocked at the door, and said he 
had a 'message to deliver from the 
king, that it was some frolic intend- 
ed by his majesty, he opened it, and 
«poke in a humorous strain to those 
who answered him by drawing their 
poniards, and plunging them into 
nis bosom. Teligni, unsuspicious 
to the last, endeavoured now to es- 
cape over the roofis of the houses ; 
but being discovered, he was drag- 
ged down, when the sweet engaging 
form which nature had given him, 
made a mbmentary impression on 
the assassins, who stood, with looks 
vjol* I....NO. y^. 



of suspence, before they gave the 
fatal blow. At the same time pe- 
rished the counts of Revel and 
Quellenec, with the barons de La- 
vardin, Boaudisner, and Pluviaut, 
and others of distinguished valour, 
driven through the streets by the 
duke of Anjou's guards, and mas- 
sacred in the view of the windows 
of the Louvre. 

The king of Navarre and the 
prince of Conde were awakened, 
about two hours before day-break, 
by a band of soldiers, who rushed 
into their chamber in the palace, 
and insolently commanded them to 
dress themselves, and attend the 
king, unarmed. They were, bv 
Catharine's orders, led though 
vaults and dark passages, lined with 
troops, who shook their Spears at 
them as they passed along. la the 
meantime, the cries from without 
were dismal and terrifying ; while 
all that party of their friends and 
followers, who were invited to take 
their abode in the Louvre, were 
precipitated from the windows, or 
dragge4 forth in crowds to be assas- 
sinated in the court-yards. Here, 
Saint Martin, Pardaillan, Beauvois, 
and the gallant Piles, with many 
others, suflfered death; while the 
indignant expresdons df the last, as 
he cast a look on his murdered com- 
panions, were thus uttered aloud. 
<< Are these the testimonies of the 
king's face ; of the peace he hath 
sworn ; and of all the gracious pro- 
mises he hath made ? But the Al- 
mighty God will revenge such mon- 
strous perfidy." Leiran,besmeared 
with blood anddesperately wounded^ 
found his way into the queen of Na- 
varre's chamber, and threw himself 
upon the bed of that princess, who 
ran forth screaming, and met with 
such objects in her way, as made 
her foil into fits, from which she 
was with difficulty recovered, and 
conducted by Nansey, captain of 
die guards, into the apartment of 
the duchess of Lorrain. Her hus- 
band, and the prince of Conde, after 
whom she inquired with great 
eagerness, had been introduced into 
the king's chamber; when they 
S 



430 ACC0t7VT Of THE MASSACB|r OP ST. BARTHOLOMEWS. 



were thus addressed by Charles, in 
a tone and accent fierce and impe- 
rious..*/^ To-day, I revenge myself 
«)f my enemies, and such I may justly 
reckon you to be, who have sup* 
ported them by the authority of 
your names, and your presence 
amongthem. Nothing but a respect 
to mv blood deters me from infiict- 
ing tne same punishment on you. 
But this regard hath iu conditions. 
When I pardon your past conduct 
I require and insist ufion your im- 
medttte renunciation of that impious 
fidth whieh contradicts mine, and 
teadied you to affront heaven, and 
insult my authority.'* The king of 
Navarre's answer was ^ven in a 
low and embarrassed voice, but in 
terms that promised submission. 
But the prince of Conde boldly tes- 
tified his discontent at the indecent 
violence used with them ; complain- 
ed of tiie breach of honour in this 
treatment; and declared, that his 
fear of death was not so great as to 
render him an apostate from his 
religion* Charles, provoked by his 
resiftance, called him obstinate, 
seditious, a rebel, and the son of a 
rebel; and threatened that he should 
suffer the death of a traitor, if, in 
three days, he did not yield obe- 
dience. " Remember," said the 
merciless t)'rant, <'itisMass,Death, 
w Bastile." Upon the apparent 
compliance of the king of Navarre, 
Charles granted him the lives of the 
count de Grammont, de Duras, and 
Bouchavannes ; and a few others 
were saved at the earnest applica- 
tion of his sister of Navarre. 

In a former part of our history 
we have shewn of what horrid acts 
of barbarity the Parisians, when in- 
stigated !>y hatred, bigotry, malice, 
or rcvenj^, c uld be guilty. Their 
present rage and ferosUy had nothing 
human in them. Wherever their 
ruffian bands wei*e led by the muni- 
cipal officers, their track was mark- 
ed by violence, bloodshed and bruta- 
lity : neither ap^e nor sex was spared : 
pregiiant women and helpless infants 
were alike sacrificed to their barba- 
rous fun% Bnon, the veneritble 
preceptor of the prince of Couti^ 



was murdered, while clasped in the 
arms of his infant pupil: Frands 
Nonpar deGaumontwas massacred 
in his bed between his two 8ons,ODa 
of whom was stabbed by his side, 
but the other, concealing himself 
under the bodies of his father and 
brother, fortunately escaped. Bri»- 
sonet, niece to the bishop of Meanx, 
a woman of exemplary roamiersy 
projected an escape from the dty 
m disguise, with her young daughter 
in her hand, and followed by Epina^ 
the minister, in the habit of a do- 
mestic ; but being discovered in the 
attempt, and refusing to abjure her 
religion, she was stabbed with iron 
rods, and thrown half dead into the 
river, where, floating on the sur&ce, 
the watermen pursued her as their 
pra^, and put her to a slow and lia- 
genng death* 

Upon the first noise of the tumult, 
a report was carried to that party 
of the protestant chiefe, who, by the 
advice of the Vidame of Chartrea, 
had fixed their quarters in the 
suburbs of Saint Germain, that the 
populace had taken up arms. The 
sound of the bells, and the shoots of 
the mob confirmed the intelligence. 
Anxious and doubtful what might be 
the ^und of the inturrection, thc^ 
contmuedlong in suspence,and6t)m 
some persuasion that it was pro. 
moted by the Guises, against the 
will of the king, they were on the 
point of passing the river, in order 
to venture their lives in supporting 
his authority and defending their 
friends. The morning light, how* 
ever, soon dispelled their error, and 
shewed them the river covered with 
boats fiiU of soldiers coming to attack 
them, and Charles himself from the 
windows of the louvre, firing his 
carabine upon some wretched fugi- 
tives ; and scarce did time and asto- 
nishment permit them to escape 
with precipitation from their blood* 
tlursty pursuers. 

For threfe days the massacre was 
continued witli unabated fury : it is 
certain tliat the populace woiildhave 
readily proceeded to the destruc- 
tion of those who were said to favour 
the Hugonots, as well as of the 



ACCOUNT OF THE MASSACRE OF ST. BARTHOLOXEWS. 431 



Hugonots themselves ; and that the 
queen-mother might have consum- 
mated her diabolical scheme, by in- 
stigating them to assault the Mont- 
morencies, as friendly to the admi- 
ral; but intimidated from proceed- 
ing so far, on account of the absence 
of the MareschelMontmorenci,and 
other obvious reasons, she allowed 
the popular outrage to take its 
course. From the dread of it many 
Catholics were obliged to be on their 
guard; and de Bii*on, who com- 
manded in the arsenal, ordered two 
culverins to be placed at the gate, 
and put himself in the posture of 
defence. 

After various i nstances of violence 
and slaughter committed upon the 
Catholics, and when the carnage 
became noisome, an order was pub- 
lished by the king, requiring all the 
citizens to retire to their houses, 
and not to stir from themuniier pain 
of death. What remained still to 
be executed was intended to be per- 
formed by a more regular process 
of the king's guards through the 
city. But the sanguinary rage of a 
ferocious people was more easily 
excited tlian restrained ; and the 
violence and plunder on the second 
day, nearly equalling those of the 
first, it only subsided by degrees. 
ITie destruction of above six thou- 
sand protestants, of which five hun- 
dred were nobility, may be reckoned 
the hXal issue of tlxis dreadful mas- 
sacre, which was called, by some, 
The Parisian Matins, as the massa- 
cre in Sicily, in 1281, had been de- 
nominated The Sicilian Vespers. 



ST5ME ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE OF 
MR. COOPER, THE TRAGE- 
DIAN. 

In Amerioi, where business is 
every one's occupation, but few re- 
markable characters have appeared 
....and scarcely a biographer has 
been found to disting;insh those few 
l)efore the world. However con- 
genial die mystery of money-making 
may be with a cheerful evenness of 



temper, it is certainly inimical to 
genius ; and were the opulent loung* 
er would foster^ the man of trade 
frowns on the efforts of imagination 
....our luxuries are exotic^ our en- 
tertainments imported, our public 
spectacles more or less excell^t as 
they approach the European models 
of which they are the distant imita* 
tions* l*he barrenness of our lite- 
rary domain is not therefore to be 
wondered at ; nor where the soil^ 
though so rank has hitherto been so 
uncultivated, should it surprise, that 
when a native plant has sprung up, 
its virtues have not been recorded, 
or when a foreign one transplanted 
here, has thriven, though its quali- 
ties may have been used or enjoyed, 
they have not been sufficiently made 
known , or justly appreciated. The 
writer of the following memoir, is 
among the earliest in this country 
to attempt the delineation of a living 
character, and the subjects of one 
of the most eminent of those whose 
walks of life have not been political, 
that have presented themselves to 
the biographer, llie undertaking 
is made with that diffidence, which 
respect for the world's voice, and 
the magnitude of a biographical 
attempt inspire : the writer's motto 
is Nendnen Hbenter nomtnem^ nisi 
ui iaudem ; sed nee fieceata refire* 
henderumj nin ut tUiU firodesMem. 

Mr. ThomasAbthorp Cooper was 
bom in 1777, of reputable parents : 
bis father was a surgeon, and ac* 
quired considerable property in the 
East, under Warran Hasting's 
Indian administration.. ..Jbut of the 
greater part, if not all of this, the 
widow and children were at his 
death, defrauded and left destitute. 
When nine years old, Cooper was 
taken out of friendship to his family, 
and in some sort adopted by Mr. 
Godwin, the well known author of 
the Essay on Political Justice, bf 
whom he waseducated and intended 
for a writer. He is probably one 
of a very few, who have been ap- 
prenticed to authorship ; and as it 
is impossible to determuie the bent 
and much more so the soundness 
and strength of a mind so young, it 



453 



tOMB ACCOUNT OF TBS Lit B OP Itt. COOPBB* 



IB lomewhat remarkable that a 
man of Godwin's understanding 
should train a boy to write books, 
before it was certain he could ever 
be induced to read them. •••What 
Mr. Godwin's particular method of 
education was, we do not know ; and 
though when his opinions are ad- 
verted to, it should seem it was not 
a system of restraint, yet when 
Cooper's readiness on most subjects 
is considered with his negligent 
habits for some years past, a belief 
cannot be impressed, but that the 
foundation laid, was, of its kind, a 
good<me. He went through a regu- 
lar course of the Greek and Latin 
classics, and was also instructed in 
the French and Italian languages* 

Such a pupil to such a master 
must have been roused, and delight- 
ed by the French revolution.*.— 
Cooper was scarcely seventeen 
wben his enthusiasm prompted him 
to relinquish the pen rar the sword, 
and to seek a commission in the 
armies of the great republic* l*he 
just sprouting, sensitive and uncer- 
tain laurels of the author were 
blasted.**.civic and mural crowns, 
ovations and sabres d'honneur were 
much more glittering, and accord- 
ingly it was already determined he 
should f engage for' the banners of 
equality and confosion, when the 
war broke out between England and 
France, and clouded the brilliant 
prospects of military promotion and 
renown in the cause of lil^crty . Then 
it was, he turned his attention to the 
stage, and communicated his wishes 
to his benefector ; they were receiv- 
ed with coldness and regret, not till 
after sonte time assented to, and 
then with decided disapprobation. 
His intention however being found 
invincible, Mr. Holcroft undertook 
to give some preparatory lessons. 
When he was thought prepared, 
many difficulties occurretl, before a 
suitable place could be procured for 
his first appearance : at last Mr. 
Stephen Kemble offc red h is auapiccs, 
and Ediiiburg was concluded on. 
The writer of this sketch has heard 
Cooper describe, with great plea- 
santry, his ili'st iutcrvicw witli the 



Scotch manager: he waa at Hiaf 
time a raw country youth of seven- 
teen. On his arrival in Edin- 
burg, little conscious of his appear- 
ance and incompetency, he waited 
on Mr. Kemble, made up in the ex* 
treme of rustic foppery, proud of 
his talents, and little doubting hia 
success. When he mentioned hb 
name and errand, Mr. Kemble't 
countenance chan|;ed from a polite 
smile to the stare of disappointment : 
Cooper had been prepared for young 
Non^el ; but he was obliged to ex- 
change all his expected cdat for a 
fow cold excuses from the manager, 
and the chagrin of seeing tome 
nights after, his part filled by an 
old man and a bad player. Diving 
the remainder of the season he con« 
tinued with Stephen Kemble, with- 
out ever appearing. From Edin- 
burgh he went with the company to 
Kewcastle-upon-Tyne, there be 
lived as dependent, inactive, and 
undistinguished as before, tin, owing 
to the want of a person to fill the 
part of Malcolm in Macbeth, he waa 
cast to that humble character**..ia 
so inferior a sphere did he begin to 
move who is now become one of the 
brightest luminaries of the theatrical 
hemisphere. His debut was even 
less flattering than his reception 
from the manager had been. TiH 
the last scene he passed through 
tolerably well, but when he came to 
the lines which conclude the play ..^ 

" So tlianks to all at once and to 

each one 
Whom we invite to see us citni'n'd 

at Scone," 

af^er stretching out his han^s and 
assuming tlie attitude and smile of 
thankfulness, slight embarrassment 
checked him, and he paused, still 
kee]nng his posture and his look.... 
th^ prompter made liiinself heard 
by every one l:ut the bewildered 
Malcolm, who still continued mute, 
e\ ery instance of his silence natu- 
rally increasing ten-fold his per- 
plexity ••..Mucauff whispered the 
words in his ear....Macbet]i who 
lay slaughtered at liis feet, broke 
Uie bonds of dcatli to a&bi&t his dumb 



SOME ACCOUNT OF THE LXFB OF UB* COOFEX* 



433 



flrucessor, the prompter spoke almost 
to vociferati(|n..«.l^ch Thane dead 
or alive joined his voice«.*«but this 
-was only ^' confusion worse con- 
founded"....if he could have spoken 
the amazed prince might with great 
justice liave said : ^^ &o thanks to all 
at once"«..,but his utterance was 
gone ^' vox faucibus hxsit"...,ahiss 
presently broke out in the pit, tlie 
clamour soon became general, and 
the curtain went down, amid a shout 
of- un iversal condemnation* 

After this discomfiture) Cooper 
returned not a little humilated to 
England. 

His friends, Godwin and Holcroft, 
who were convinced that he pos- 
sessed the requisites for a performer 
of eminence, sent him on a tour of 
improvement at the provincial tliea- 
tres. They expected that he would 
tlius acquire an acquaintance with 
the stage, and prepare himself for 
the theatres of the metropolis. An 
evil genius seemed still to preside 
over liis wanderings.- He api^eared 
-to the managers in whose corps he 
was enlbted, as a raw reciniit who 
possessed no talents for the profes- 
sion. Characters of importance 
were considered utterly beyond Ills 
reach. Those of inferior rank he 
played without success, and he de- 
generated into a mere letter-carrier. 
•...In this manner he murdered a 
few months starving on a paltry 
salary, and then, abandoning his 
irksome and degrading situation, 
travelled on foot to London.. 

Mr. Cooper's friends now aban- 
doned the idea of practice on pro- 
vincial stages : Mr. Holer oft tigain 
took him in hand, and selected some 
of Shakspeare's most distinguished 
characters for his instructions. He 
made him recite passages, and would 
. explain to him the nature of the 
characters, the situations in which 
they were placed, the pa!^sioris by 
w hich they were influenced. Thus 
he taught him that great requisite 
of a performer... .to conceive the in- 
tention of the author, and enter into 
the feelings of the character. Alter 
i^otne months cIokc atteniion, in 
which the extraonUuarv talents of 



the youthful pupil were rajndly 
evolved, he was thought ready m 
a public appearance. He accord* 
ingly at the early age of eighteen 
performed in one week the arduous 
characters of Hamlet and Macbeth, 
on the boards of Covent Garden, to 
overflowing houses, and i^ith the 
most flattering applause* 

On this subject we have heard 
that Mr. Tyler, at present of the 
New-York theatre, had belon^^d to 
one of the provincial ccmipanies in 
which Cooper had held a very hunw 
ble station. Mr. Tyler forming 
other engagements wiUi Mr. Henry, 
quitted the British for the Americaa 
stage* Shortly after his arrival, he 
received a letter fr<xn one of his 
Thespian friends, who after regal* 
ing him wit^ a variety of Green- 
room history, added, and now pre- 
pare yourself for astonishment. That 
Identical Mr* Cooper who a few 
months ago was playing tl^ very 
underling characters at our theatre 
aiKl who appeared so extremely 
incompetent, is now performing 
Hamlet with applause at London ! 

After Mr. Cooper had met so 
favourable a reception from the 
London audience, he was ofiered a 
liberal engagement; but as he was 
not yet capable of sustaining a line 
of characters, he was expected to 
take such business as he was able to 
perform. This engagement he de- 
clined. " Aut Cxsar aut nuUus" 
seems to have been already his 
motto and he refused any secondary 
situation. He accordingly retiretl 
to the country, where he employed 
himself in cultivating his dramatic 
talent. 

Shortly after tliis period Mr. 
WigneU who had visited England 
for the purpose of raising a rein- 
forcement for the Philadelphia com- 
pany, heard of him. He imme- 
diately entered into a negotiation 
which was promptly concluded, and 
in a few days from its commence- 
ment Mr. Cooper was on the Atlan-* 
tic voyaj^ing to America. 

The Philudelphinns were slow at 
discovering his merits. His line of 
acting interfered with that of their 



434 



SOHE ACCOUNT OF TBE LIFE OF MR. COOf ER* 



favourite performers, and as he had 
many careless and some dissipated 
habits, he was far from being a fa- 
vourite. Tills was particularly 
evidenced at his benefit, for which 
there were only ri few seats taken. 
This did not affect CoojM^r's pocket, 
for his benefit was guaranteed to a 
certain amount by his engagement 
"With the manager. It however 
affected his pride, and he was deter- 
mined to avoid the di«?g;i'ace attend- 
ant on " a beggarly account of 
empty boxes." He therefore closed 
a bargain for sixty dollars with a 
man who owned the elephant. Play- 
bills were po^led up in in all direc- 
tions, advertising, in letters of the 
largest size, that the ele])haitt would 
be introduced on the stage ; curiosity 
■was all alive, and Cooper, aided by 
his elephant, was honored with an 
overflow. 

When the winter campaign had 
closed, the company made a summer 
excursion to New-York. The cir- 
cus was fitted up for the puq^ose, 
and the most admirable acting ever 
witnessed in America was then ex- 
hibited. Cooj. cr, Fennel, Moreton, 
Harwood, and Bemanl, were the 
most prominent male performers, 
and Mra. Merry sustuined the he- 
roines in a style of great j^crfection. 
The season ojcned with Venice 
Preserved, in wliich Cooper, as 
Pierre, made an in'leliable impres- 
sion on the audience. A coldness 
had for sometime subsisted between 
him and the maijager, wliich in- 
duced a wish to chanj^e his situntion. 
His engagement bimnd liini in a 
penalty of aljoiit two tiiousand dol- 
lars, but tliis it was ulleged had 
been already broken on the mana- 
gers part. In short the sum was 
subscribed by a number of gentle- 
men, who engaged to advance it if 
necessary, and Mr. Cooper was 
transferred to the New- York thea- 
. tre. 

With the exception of one season, 
in which he was at Philadelphia 
where he also became a great 
favourite, Mr. Cooper continued in 
New-York, till January, V'():>, He 
tlien received an iiivltjiicii from 



London. Kemble had quarrelled 
with Drury Lane Theatre, had left 
it and gone on a tour to the conti- 
nent of Europe. Cooper was in- 
vited to come if he felt confidence 
for tlie attempt, and was proffered 
Kemble's situation if it should ap- 
pear that he couM sufficiently satis- 
fy the town. He accordingly went, 
but does not seem to have succeeded 
in London ecjual to the expectatioo 
of his friends. His performances 
have been received with much ap- 
j>lause, but the people there, having 
formed their tastes on the acting of 
Cooke and Kemble, or from his real 
inferiority to these gentlemen, did 
not consider him equal to their fa- 
vorites. He has since been per- 
forming, for a few nights at Liver- 
pool, with great eclat ; it is rumour- 
ed that he has concluded an engage- 
ment with the manager of Drury 
Lane ; but, many persons yet enter- 
tain hopes that he may yet be re- 
stored to the American stage. 

Mr. Cooper is rather sdbove the 
middle size, well proportioned, with 
a handsome and expressive counte- 
nance, fine form, intelligent eye, and 
a voice admirably adpated to the 
stage. He excells in the weightier 
characters of the drama; while, in 
those of a secondary nature, he is 
generally crirclcss and indifferent. 
His performance is particularly dis- 
tinguished for chasleness, character 
and energy. 



REMARKS OK DARWIN'S TEMPLE 

OF NATURE. 

This Poem does not pretend to 
instruct by deep researdies of rea- 
soning. *' Its aim is simply to 
amuse by bringing distinctly to the 
imagination the be:tutiful and su- 
blime images of the operations of 
natuj'C, in onler as the author be- 
lieves, in which the progressive 
course of time presented them." 

It is di\ itled into four cantos : the 
first t^'cats on the producti^^^of life, 
the second on the reproduction of 
life, the third on thej>!'ogrtsa of the 



REMARKS OK DARWIN'S TIMPLS 6F NATURR, 



435 



mind) and the fourth on good and 
evil. The madunery of the poem 
is drawn from Eleusian Mysteries ; 
as in them the philosophy of the 
works of nature, with the origin 
and progress of society, arc sup- 

e)sed to have been explained by 
ieroplymts to Uie initiated, by 
means of alligoric scenery, so in 
the present poem, the priestess 
of nature at the intercession of 
Urania, withdraws from the god- 
dess the mystic veil whicli shrouds 
her from profane eyes, and un- 
folds to her votary the laws of 
organic life. 

The theory which Dr. Dar- 
win laid down in tlie first volume 
of Zoonomia, he has here illuminat- 
ed with all the splendor of poetry : 
it is illustrated witli additional ob- 
servations, and supported with ad- 
ditional facts; in short. " The 
Temple of Nature" may be almost 
called 2^nomia in verse* We 
have read the poem witli attention 
and delight ; so accustomed as we 
are to behold the mental imbecility 
which old age induces, it is most 
p^teful and consolatory when we 
contemplate those exceptions which 
occasionally present themselves, 
where the vigour of the mind out- 
lives the vigour of the body, and 
where old age, which has relaxed 
the fibres of the outward man, and 
struck with infirmity and decripti* 
tude his mortal frame, retires, baf- 
fled and disgraced, from an unequal 
conflict with his etherial and im- 
mortal part. 

The poem bears no mark of seni- 
lity about it ; the lamp of Darwin's 
genius boms brightly to the last ; 
its light, if not at all tiroes safe and 
steady, is ever bcautifiil and brilH^ 
tmt ; and the Temple of Kature, 
in its darkest and most secret re- 
cesses, is partiallv at least illumi- 
nafed by its rays. 

Tbe present poem if possibJe^ is 
more carcfidly pcdished than tlif; 
Botajiic Garden: it pretenlfe vjthc 
]iictnrcs of umumuaoa ijeauty; -»e 
could select Kvcrai, but nravt cxm- 
tent ouTbcltes with one or lvo^». 
The c^ltLt'ts iuA the ix&a^ier} cm- 



ployed in the following description 
of the den of despair are singular- 
ly appropriate: 

" Deep-whelm'd beneath, in vast le- 

pulchral caves, 
Oblivion dwells amid unlabelM jjravcs i 
The storied tomb, the laurel'd bust 

o'crturns, 
And shakes their ashes from the 

mould'ring urns.... 
No vernal zephyr breathes, no sun^ 

beams cheer, 
Nor song nor simncr ever enter* here j 
O'er the green floor, and round the 

(lew-damp wall. 
The slimy snail, and bloated lizard 

crawl ; 
While on white heaps of intcrmin- 

gled bones 
The nurse of melancoly sits and 

moans ; 
Showers her cold tears o'er Beauty's 

early wreck. 
Spreads her pale arms, and bends her 

marble neck, 
So in rude rocks, beside the >€gean 

wave, 
Trophonius scoop'd his sorrow-sacred 

cave; 
Uabarr'd to pilgrim-feet the brazen 

door. 
And the sad sage returning smil*d no 

more. 

The solitude, silence, and decay, 
here reprcwntod, are so many in- 
signia of Oblivion; and lier resi- 
dence among " unialx:ird graves," 
together with her cmploymeut of 
o'crtuming tonil>s of fcluiking their 
ashcs.**.thatlastnieinoriaJ!*«»*frciiu 
the mouldering unih, are \i:ry hap. 
pily imagined* ^Hie n/^tx* on the 
ca%'C of Trophoui'ju* is wortli in* 
serting: ^' FJutarch met itioufe, that 
pro{^<:cies of evil eve/it^ were uU 
tared from the cave of Troj>hoijJus; 
but this allogut ical str^r) , tXij^ who* 
c%'er entered tXn% Ci.*em ner* 
never again Msen to wnik, teems 
to ha%'e been cefcigned t/i yimrii tlie 
c',iitenjpii.tive irom *y tthtdi-riuy x^jo 
niuch the dark tA<> of .N- e# 
lliut an accieirt ^TA- . • >. • " . • ve 
vntten s« yK-m <^i t.*. •: • • • • <4 
the vorid, tr. h<.\*: ^ , :"^ • • ;e 
*o ui*haj;py ^ tocvi'v;*.-/ i ;;_«.. I* 



436 



mXEASKS OK BARtriir^t TXMPLX Of KATU&E. 



When we reflect on the perpetual 
tfettruction of organic life, we 
should also recollect, that it is per* 
petually renewed in other forms by 
the same materials, and thus the 
sum total of the happiness of the 
world continues undiminished ; and 
that a pliilosopher may thus smile 
again on tummg his eys from the 
coffins of Nature to her cradles*" 

After a picture of the triumphal 
C|tf of Cupid, 

^ In beauty's pride» 

Celestial Psyche sitting by his side, 

we have the following highly finish- 
ed description in genuine Darwi- 
aean verse: 

•• DeTighted Flont» gazing from afar. 
Greets with mute homage the trium- 
phal car; 
Ob silvery slippers steps with bosom 

bare, 
Beads her white knee, and bows her 

auburn hair ; 
Calls to her purple heaths, and blush- 
ing bowers, 
Baisu her green gems, and opens all 

her flowers ; 
0*cr the bright pair a shower of roses 

sheds. 
And crowns with wreaths of hyacinth 

their heads.... 
^.Slow roll the silver wheels, with 

snow -drops deck'd. 
And primrose-banda the cedar spokes 

connect ; 
Round the fine pole the twisting 

woodbine clings. 
And knots of jasmine clasp the bend* 

ing springs ; 
Bright daisy links the velvet harness 

chain. 
And rings of violets joins each silken 

rein; 
FestooA'd behind, the snow-white li- 
lies bend, 
And tulip-tassels on each side depend. 
M..Sk>w roll the car.... the enamour'd 

flowers exhale 
Their treasured sweets, and whisper 

to the gale ; 
Their ravelled buds, and wrinkled 

cm>s unfold. 
Nod Iheir green stems, fltud wave 

their bells of gold ; 
Breathe their soft sighs from each en« 

chanted grove. 
And hail the Deities of Sexual Love." 



We have on more occasions 
than one given our opinion of Dr. 
Darwin's poetry: the^ present 
volume emmently exhibits afl his 
beauties and all his faults. The 
Doctor overloads his Unes with 
gold and siher, silks and velvets, 
corals and chrystals, and with ori- 
ent pearls. He seems to £sncy 
that a monarch is no longer a mo- 
narch than when he is seated on the 
throne, clothed in his robes of 
royalty, and encumbered with his 
rich crown of jewels! With him 
the king of Great Britain, plainly 
dressed like a private gentleman, 
is nothing compared to the king of 
Ava, whose limbs totter under the 
wealthy weight ofhis omaments,and 
who, Major Symes assures us, is 
unable to mount his throne with- 
out the support and assistance of 
twp pages! l*he last eictract was 
not selected with any view to expose 
this taste for finery; but it wiU be 
observed, that the lines are almost 
so many threads of gdd or silver: 
and although it happens that no 
orient pearl or random niby is 
strung upon them, the poem is ridi- 
ly gemmed also with such Euro- 
pean rarities. If it would not be 
thought captious and hyper-criti- 
cal, that we should also object to 
the too frequent use of affected 
words : nascent and renoBCftU^ vo» 
iantj wMurrantj Sec &c In short, 
the great fault of Dr. Darwin's 
poetry is its dazzling and excessive 
polish, and that ^^ balancing of the 
line,*' as Mr- Headly calls it, which 
makes the first part of it betray 
the second. 

But let us not be suspected of de- 
preciating Dr. Darwin ; his know- 
ledge was various and profound; 
his imagination ardent and fertile; 
and liis genius, ever on the wing, 
penetrated into the obscurest my- 
steries of organic nature. 

In one of his notes we see that 
Dr. Darwin has revived the ex- 
ploded doctrine of Soontaneous Vi- 
tality. As the sublet is curious, 
we shall endeavour to compreshis 
arguments. He begins by endea- 
vouring to remove some prejudices 



&KMARKS ON OARWIK^S TElfPLE Of ITirVRE* 



43r 



UgainBt the doctrine, arising from 
the misconception of the ignorant 
or superstitious ; in the first place, 
that it is contradicted by Holy 
Writ, which says that God created 
animals and vegetables; as if there 
were not more dignity in our idea 
of the Supreme Author of all things 
when we conceive him to be the 
cause of causes, than* the cause 
«impl^ of the events we see...Jn 
the next place, that it is applied to 
the production of the larger ani- 
mals; but spontaneous vitality is 
certainly only to be looked for in 
the simplest organic beings, as in 
the smallest microscopic animal- 
cules : and thirdly, that there is no 
analogy to sanction it; but this 
want of analogy equally opposes 
all new discoveries, as of the mag- 
netic needle, the coated electric 
jar, and the Galvanic pile. 

He then makes some prelimina- 
ry observations: That Uie power 
of reproduction distinguishes or- 
ganic being whether vegetable or 
animal, from inanimate nature. 
That the reproduction of plants 
and animals is of two kinds, which 
may be termed solitary and sexual : 
that the former of these, as in the 
reproduction of the buds of trees, 
and of the bulbs of tulips, of the 
polypus and aphis, appears to be 
the first or most simple mode of 
generation, as many of these or- 
ganic beings afterwards acquire 
sexual organs, as the flowers of seed- 
ling trees and of seedling tulips, and 
the autumnal progeny of the aphis. 
By reproduction organic beings are 
gradiudly enlarged and improved ; 
" thus (says he) the buds of a 
seedling tree, or the bulbs of seed- 
ling tulips, become larger and 
stronger in the second year than 
tiie first, and thus improve till they 
acquire flowers or sexes ; and the 
aphis, I believe, increases in bulk 
to the eighth or ninth generation, 
and then produces a sexual proge- 
ny. Hence the existence of spon- 
taneous vitality is only to be cx- 
-pected to be found in the simplest 
Biodes of animation a» the fomplt» 

YtL. J.t.^St. VX. 



ones have been formed by many 
auccetaive reftroductionsm*' 

From these preliminary obser* 
vations, Dr. Darwin proceeds to 
experimental fects: "By the ex- 
periments of BufRm, Reamnury 
Ellis, Ingenhouz, and others, mi- 
croscopic animals are produced in* 
three or four days, according to the 
warmth of the season, in the infusi- 
ons of all vegetable or animal matter. 
One or more of these gentlemen put 
some boiling veal-broth into a i^- 
al, previously heated in the fire^ 
and sealing it up hermetically, or 
with melted wax ; observed it to bo ' 
replete with animalcules in three 
or four days." " To suppose the 
eggs of these animals to float in the 
atmosphere, and pass through the 
sealed glass phial, is contrary to 
apparent nature, as to be totally 
incre^ble." Again : " In paste 
composed of flour and water, which 
has been suffered to become sces- 
cent, the animalcules called eels, 
vibrio angtdlliUay are seen in great 
abundance; their motions are ra- 
pid and strong; they are vivipa- 
rous, and produce at intervals a 
numerous progeny: animals simi- 
lar to these are also found in vine- 
gar; MituraUBt*9 Miecellam/y by 
Shaw and M)dderj,voL IL...A» 
these animals are viviparous, it im 
absurd to suppose that their pa- 
rents float universally in the atmos- 
phere to lay their young in past^ 
and vinegar ! 

ITie conferva fontinali$ of Dr. 
Priestly is a vegetable body whicA 
appears to be produced by a spon- 
taneous vital process. Dr. Ingen- 
houz asserts, " that by fiUing a 
bottle with well-water, and invert- 
ing it immediately into a basin of 
well-water, this g^een vegetable is 
formed in great quantity ; and hot 
believes, that the water itself, or 
some substance contained in the 
water, is converted into this kind 
of vegetation, which then quickly 
propagate a itself." 

Mucor, or mouldiness, is another 
vegetable, the incipient growth of 
which Mr. £llis obgenred by hit 
6 



438 



BIMARKS OV BAKWIV'S TSXPLS Of VATOSX* 



iBicroscope near the warhce of all 
putrifyin; vegetables or animal 
matter. 

After having proceeded thus far, 
Dr. Darwin mfolds his theory of 
spontaneous vitality ; it will be re- 
cognised as extremely similar to 
the theory of glsndular secretions, 
kid down by 2oonomia, and after* 
wards applied to vegetable repro- 
ductions in PhytDlogia« A j in ani- 
mal or chemical combinations, one 
of the composing materials must 
possess a power of attraction, as 
the magnet, and the other an apti- 
tude to be attracted, as a piece of 
iron: so in vegetable or animal 
oombinations there must exist two 
kindsof organic matter, one posses- 
nng the appetency to unite, and the 
other the propensity to be united* 
Thus in the generation of the buds 
of trees, it is probable that two 
kinds of vegetable matter ••••one of 
them endued with this appetency 
to unite with the other, and the 
latter with this propensity to be 
united with the former..***' as they 
are separted from the solid system, 
and float in the circulation, become 
arrested by two kinds of vegetable 
glands, and are then deposited 
beneath the cuticle of the tree, 
and there join together, forming a 
new vegetable, the caudexof which 
extends from the pulmula at the 
summit to the radicles beneath the 
soil, and constitutes a single fibre 
of ^e bark;" so in the sexual re- 
production of animals, certain parts, 
separated from the living organs, 
and floating in the blood, are arrest- 
ed by the sexual glands of the fe- 
male, and others by those of the 
male. Of these none are complete 
enibryon animals., but form an em- 
bryon by their reciprocal conjunc- 
tion. " There hence appears to be 
an analogy l^twcen generation and 
nutrition, as one is the production 
of new organization, and the other 
the restoration of that which previ- 
ously existed, and which thei'efore 
may l>e supposed to require mate- 
rials somewliat similar. Now tlie 
food taken up by animal lacteals is 
previously prepared by the chemi- 



cal process of digestion in the sl^ 
mach ; but that which b taken vtp 
bv ve^table lacteals is prepared by 
cnemical dissolution of organic 
matter formed beneath the surface 
of the earth. Thus the particles 
which form ^mrrar^d animal en^ 
bryons are prepared from dead or- 
ganic matter by the chimico-animal 
processes of sanguification and of 
secretion ; while tliose which form 
sfiontaneoiLM microscopic animals 
or microscopic vegetables are pre- 
pared by chemical dissolutions and 
new combinations of organic mat- 
ter in watery fluids with sufficient 
warmth!" 

Some microscopic animalcules are 
said to remain dead for many days 
or weeks, when the fluid in which 
they existed is dried up, and quick- 
\y to vecover life and motion by the 
msh addition of wate;* and warmth ; 
thus, the chao9 redrvtvum of Lin- 
Bsus dwells in vinegar, and in 
book-binder's paste : it revives by 
water, after having been dried for 
years, and is both oviparous and 
viviparous* Syit^ Mit, Shell-snails 
have been kept in the cabinets of 
the curious in a dry state for ten 
years or longer, and have revived 
on being moistened with warmish * 
water. PhiU TVaa—.The hydra 
of Linnsus revives after having 
been dried, restores itself after 
mutilation, is multiplied by being 
divided, is propagated from small 
portions, and lives after being in* 
verted. All these plienomena Dr. 
Darwin thinks would be best ex- 
plained by the doctrine of sponta- 
neous reproduction from organic 
particles not yet completely decom- 
posed ; and he is inclined to infer 
tliat *' organic particles of dead 
vegetables and animals, during their 
usual chemical changes into putri- 
dity or acidity, do not lose all their 
orifanization or x*itality^ but retain 
so much of it as to unite wi^h the 
parts of living animals in the pro* 
cess of nutrition ; or uaite anfl pro- 
duce new complicate animals by se- 
cretion, as in generation ; or pro- 
duce very simple microscopic ani- 
mals, or microscopic vcgctable:», 



ftfllASKS OV BABWIV'S TXMFLS QV VATUftX. 



43f 



h^, tfadr new combinatkuis in 
warmth and moisture." 

This theory, then, assumes the 
principle of a perpetual and pro- 
C;ressive improvement, by repro- 
duction, in all animals and ve^ta- 
bles ; it assumes also that this im- 
provement produces an absolute 
change in the generating organs. 
Chemical dissolutions and new com- 
binations of organic matter in wa- 
try fluids, with sufficient warmth, 
prepare particles, which in conse- 
quence of certain inherent and es- 
sential appetencies and propensi- 
ties, unite with each other and form 
microscopic animalcules* This Dr. 
Darwin calls spontaneous vitality, 
and is the first link in the chain. 
Dr. Priestly *s ctmferva fontinalia^ 
ih^ Jungi which grow on rotten 
timber, in vaults, kc the esculent 
mushroom, and the microscopic 
animalcules found in all solutions 
4if vegetable or animal matter in 
water, although themselves sponta- 
neously originatin|; fi'om tlie ton* 
<^pess of decomposmg organic par- 
ticles, Nevertheless possess the 
power of producing others like 
themselves by solitary rq)roduction 
without sex. Mrm EUit in PhiU 
TraTia. V. LJX. The next inferi- 
or kinds of vegetables and animals 
also, as the buds and bulbs raised 
immediately from seeds, the lyco-r 
perdon lub'er^ with probably many 
iJther^n^',andthe^ofy^tt«, votvox 
and taniUy propagate by solitary 
generation only. This is the se- 
cond link. ^' Those of the next 
order propagate both by solitary 
and sexual reproduction, as those 
buds and bulbs which produce flow- 
ers, as weU as other buds and bulbs, 
and the apis, and probably many 
other insects; whence it appears 
that many of those vegetables and 
animals which are produced by so- 
litary generation, gradually become 
more perfect, and at length pro« 
duce a sexual progeny." 

But the transition from solitary 
to sexual reproduction was too at>- 
rupt; a small intermediate link 
therefore was interposed, namelvi 



the hermaphrodite modeof fcp'o- 
duction; as in those flowers which 
have anthers andstipaas in the same 
corol: from this imperfection of 
state, some animals, as snails and 
worms, have not yet extricated 
themselves. As hermaphrodite in* 
sects, shell-snails, dew-worms, Sec 
are seen recifirocaify to copulate 
with each other, it is susp^ted 
that they are incapable oT im- 
pregnating themselves. For the 
final cause of this incapacit)', see 
Zoon. Vol. I. Sect, xxxix. 6. 2. This 
is the third link. The most perfect 
order of animals are propagated by 
sexual intercourse only.* This la 
the last nnk: the master piece of 
Nature! 

If such has been the progress of 
perfection in the formative or^aaa 
of the animal and vegetable king- 
doms... .if the powers which cer- 
tain species now enjoy, are the 
consequence of efibrts uninterrupt- 
edly exerted through the lapse of 
countless ages, are we to infer, 
that the nobler animals, and Maw 
among them, were originally con* 
stituted with this primitive organic 
simplicity? All male quadrupedSf 
and the biped man, have breasts and 
nipples : the breasts at nativity are 
replete with a thin milky fluid, and 
the nipples swell on titillation* 
Are these, then, the frustrate ves- 
tiges of ancient structure? Waa 
there a time in the juvenility of the 

♦ " This however docs not extend 
to vegetables, as all those raisefl from 
seed produce some generation of buds 
or bulbs previous to their producing 
flowersi as occurs not only in trees* 
but also in annuad plants. Thus three 
or four joints of wheat grow upon 
each other before that which produces 
a flower"... -analogously with inl re- 
production of aphides....*' which joints 
are all separate plants growing over 
each other, lil;e the buds of trees, 
previous to the uppermost; though 
th}€ ha])pens in a few months in an* 
nual plants, which requires as many 
years in the successive buds of trees, 
as is further cxpUined. in Phytologiai 
Sect. IX. a. 1." 



440 



■SVABKS 0« BABWIV'S TCMPLE Of VATITIS. 



world when May propa^tcd his 
flpedet by hermaphrodite gene- 
tion? This was the idea of Plato, 
and Dr. Darwin shrinks not from 
the inference. (Sec Note to Tern- 

ee of Nature, cant. 3,1. 120. AddiU 
otes on Spontan. Vital, on the re- 
production: see also Zoon. vol. I. 
Mct. xxxix. 4. 8.) But according 
to this theory, we must not stop 
here : reproduction by hermaphro- 
dite sexuality is the Mrtf chain of 
the link : ages and ages must have 
rolled away before he had arrived 
at this stage of perfection. For 
the juvenility of the world, there- 
fore, we must g;o back to its infan- 
CY, and from its infisncy to its very 
birth : did Man, then, once propa^ 

Sate his species by solitary repro- 
uction, by mutilation, by division, 
by oifi«ts? and was his orc^n the 
spontaneous production of organic 
particles, uniting with each other 
in consequence of certain inherent 
and essential appetencies and pro- 
pensities ? Is Dr. Darwin prepared 
to allow this inference too? He 
shall speak for himself: ^' But it 
may appear too bold^ in the present 
state of our knowledge on this sub- 
ject, [reproduction] to suppose 
that all vegetables and animals now 
existing were originally derived 
from the smallest microscopic ones 
formed by spontaneous vitality; 
and that they have by innumerable 
reproductions during innumerable 
centuries of time, gradually acquir- 
ed the use, strengUi and excellence 
of form and feculties, which they 
now possess ; and tliat such amaz- 
ing powers were originaUy impres- 
sed on matter and spirit by the 
Great Parent of Parents! Cause 
of Causes! Efu Entium!** 

Qpe question only remains to be 
asked, and to that the answer has 
this moment been given : how came 
these organic particles endued with 
such wondrous appetencies and pro- 
pensities? " Such amazing powers 
were originally impressed on mat- 
ter and spirit by the Great Parent 
of Parents! Cause of Causes! Etib 
EntiumV* 



BIOGBAPHICAL MSBfOIBS OVTB^ 
LATE DR. BARWIV. 

Continued from page 388. 

In the biographical sketch of a 
man, the incidents of whose private 
life are intrinsically unimportant, 
and acquire an interest only froin 
theliterary lustre which adorns his 
character, it may not be irrelevant 
to risk a few remarks on the nature, 
of those claims from which his ce» 
lebrity is derived. 

There are three points of view 
in which the literarjf character of 
Dr. Darwin most obviously pre* 
sents itself :....First, As a Medbcai 
Philo8opher....Secondlv,asaPhik>» 
sophicalAgricultor....AiKi tfairdlyy 
As a Poet. 

I. The pretensions of Dr. Dar* 
win to high rank as a Medical 
Philosopher will, of course, bot- 
tom themselves in tlie merits, nume- 
rous and solid as they are, of die 
great work which he gave to the 
world in the vear 1794. In which- 
ever point ot viewtheZooyoMiA 
shall be considered, whether as a 
mere repository of curious natural 
and medical facts, or as a scheme 
and system of pathological and phy- 
siological disc]uisition, b probably 
matter of triilme import, so fisr a« 
the reputation of its author is con- 
cerned. By either mode of appre- 
tiation it is, unquestionably, a noble 
effort of human labour or of hunum 
wit. 

In a work, indeed, so varied, so 
complicated, so extendve, it b an 
easy task, and requiring no extra- 
ordinary powers of perception, to 
discover many lapses in the design 
and execution ; but when we call to 
mind the vastncss of the whole &bric, 
the boldorigin.ility of the plan upon 
which it is constructed, the curions 
nature and beautiful arrangement 
of the materials which compose it, 
the elegance of all its ornamental, 
and the solidity of very many of its 
useful parts, we cannot hesitate to 
assign to its contri\ or the merit of 
uncommon taste, uncommon perse* 
▼erence, and uncommon skilL 



BIOGRAFBICAL MEMOIRS OF THE LATE OR. DARWIK« 



441 



To justify the panegyric which 
we have now ventured to pro- 
nounce, it may seem reasonable to 
expect that we should present to 
our readers an analysis of the sys- 
tem invented by Dr. Darwin, in or- 
der ^^ to reduce the facts belonging 
to Animal Life into classes, or- 
ders, genera, and species ; and, by 
comparing them with each other, 
to unravel the theory of diseases." 
Such, howe%'er, is the extent of, 
and so diversified are the topics cm- 
braced by, his plan, that barely to 
enumerate the respective titles of 
the several sections into which it is 
broken, would be greatly to exceed 
the comparatively scanty limits 
within which, by the nature of our 
arrrangement, we Are of necessity 
confined. To the work itself we 
must and do appeal for our justifi- 
cation, confident, that although its 
illustrious author may have some- 
times erred from excess of ingenu- 
ity, that however he may have 
been occasionally blinded by too 
great a love of system, the ZooNO- 
MiA will ever be considered as a 
production of transcendant merit. 

Thy work is done ! Nor Folly's active 

rage, 
Kor Envy's self, shall blot the golden 

^»^' 
Time shall adniire....his mellowing 

touch employ. 

And mend the immortal tablet, not 

destroy. 

II. As a Philosophical Agri- 
CULTOR Dr. Darwin must ever be 
entitled to the liighest considera- 
tion in order to profit by the multi- 
tudinous experiments of Hales, 
Grew, Malpighi, Bonnet, Du Ha- 
md, Buffbn, Spallanzani, Priestly, 
&c. collected in the Phytologia, it 
is not necessary to take possession 
of the air built theory of vegetation 
which is there constructed, and se- 
curely inhabit it as an edifice whose 
solidity is equal to its elegance. 
Whether the analogy is in tact so 
close between the parts and fimc- 
tions of animal and vegetable be- 
ings ;...«whether the anatomy of 



the one so strictly corresponds with 
that of the other, as to induce a be- 
lief that theiatter are in reality an 
inferior order of the former, pos- 
sessed of a brain, uterus, muscles, 
and complete nervous system, is an 
inquiry, which, however curious^ 
must surely be subordinate, other- 
wise than as it may possiblv lead 
to a more successful culture of those 
vegetable products which immedi- 
ately or remotely are essential to 
tlie subsistence of man. And this 
does not always appear to be the 
case :.... whether the ascent of sap 
is owing to capillary attraction, fa- 
cilitated by an expansion of the ga- 
seous fluids, or to certain irrita- 
tive motions of the absorbents.. •• 
whether the spiral vessels of a vine 
are,in fact, the bronchia of Malpighi 
and Grew, or the nurture bearing 
absorbents of Darwin...*.whether 
the motions of the Dionxa Musci- 
pula, the Mimosa, the Hedysarum 
gyrans, ftcc. are the exercise of a 
muscular power, or the effect of 
some external excitement acting 
onan irritable organ.... whether as 
the leaves of vegetables are suppo- 
sed to serve them as lungs, so the 
corol or petals of a flower are ta 
be considered as a pulmonary or- 
gan belonging to thd " amatorial 
parts," the anthers, and the stig- 
mas. ...and whether the leaves of 
both are furnished with a venous 
and arterial apparatus, the one dia- 
tribtued over the upper surface, 
exposing its contents under a thin 
moist pellicle to the action of the 
light and air ; tlie other receiving 
them thus oxygenated, and conduct- 
ing them on the under surfecc to 
tlie leaf-bud in the one case, and to 
the anthers and stigmas in the 
other. ...these, and many other simi- 
lar questions, however curious in 
themselves, and whatever physiolo- 
gical skill and delicate analogies 
may be displayed in the investiga- 
tion of them, must, as before observ- 
ed, be ever considered as subordi« 
nate in comparison witli those grand 
and indisputable discoveries which 
the application of chemistry to 
agriculture has brought to light* 



«l» 



SIBKOTBS or THE LATS OS. DAftWIV. 



ComparatiTely speaking, there* 
fore, a amall portion only of the 
Phytologia is devoted to that fanci* 
fol system of vegetable pbynolngyi 
intheilhistration ^f which Dr. Dar- 
win has displayed such a wanton- 
neas of conjecture, and apparently 
inch a waste of Ingenuity* 

The second part of the Phytolo- 
gia treats on the economy of vege- 
tation: the first section is a very 
elaborate and interesting one on the 
growth of seeds, buds, and bulbs; in 
wliich a curious analogy, Interspers- 
ed with much useful matter, u in- 
stituted between animal and vegeta- 
table propagation. A very imoor- 
tant chapter succeeds on ^ Ma- 
<iiares:" this subject had already 
been treated by Mr. Kirwin, and 
the Earl of Dundonald, in a very 
masterly manner, but was not ex- 
hausted. The question which Dr. 
Darwin first asks himself is.... 
What is the food of vegetables? 
The embryon plant in the seed or 
fruit is surrounded with sa6charine, 
mucilaginous, and oily materials, 
like the animal foetus in the egg or 
uterus, which it absorbs and con- 
verts into nutriment ; the embryon 
buds in deciduous trees are supplied 
with a saccharine, mucilaginous 
juice by the roots or sap-wood of 
their parent trees. Adult plants, 
having no stomach enabling tliem to 
decompose by a chemical process 
either animal or vegetable substan- 
ces, must wait^for the decomposi- 
tion which is continually going on in 
those soils and climates, and those 
reasons of the year which are most 
Iriendly to vegetation. For the 

gurpose of supplying adult vegeta- 
les with a larger portion of noii- 
lishment than they could obtain- 
without our assistance, the philoso- 
phical agricultor first considers 
what kinds of matter are most pre- 
TalAit, or most necesssary in their 
composition: secondly, what of 
these substances they can absorb 
without previous decomposition: 
and lastly, how to expedite that 
process when it becomes necessary. 
A valuable section succeeds on 
draining and watering lands: here 



some useful hints aretlirownont §af 
detecting the situation of ttprm^ 
and for conveyii^ away the water 
from those plains and morasses 
where there is no obvious channd 
for its escape: the benefits of fbod- 
ingland are enlarged on ; some ne- 
cessary cautions introdnced re- 
specting the process, and «iSBC»- 
tions made for the extension of the 
practice, not only by takinr advan- 
tage of the natural fidla of brookr 
and springs, and by occasionaBy 
damming Uiem up to snppAv hi^er 
situations, but by the use of various 
machinery. 

A section on the aeration aai 
pulverization of the soil succeds, m 
which the uses of fallowing are jpAu^ 
loaophioally estimated, and the ma- 
nagement of the wheat-crop enlai*g- 
ed on. llie transplsbtation of 
wheat Is here recommended in a 
very unqualified manner; we havo 
ourselves tried it, on a scale of be^ 
tween four and five acres, with 
complete success. 
* The sucoeding section treats on 
Light, Heat, and Electricity : under 
the last of these three heads one 
cannot but smile at the ** pro/liable 
application of electricity*' which is 
intimated to the gardener or the 
agricultor: as the oxygen or hydro- 
gen gasses may exist m the sum- 
mer atmosphere In a state of mix- 
ture, but not of combination, and as 
tlie electric spark or flash of light- 
ning may combine them and pro- 
duce water instantaneously, ^ it is 
probable that in dry seasons the 
erection of numerous metaUic 
points on the surface of the ground, 
but a few feet high, might in the 
nighttime, contribute to precipitate 
the dew by facilitating the passage 
of electricity from the air into the 
earth ; and that an erection of such 
points higher in the air, by means 
of wires wrapped round tall rods, 
like angle rods, or elevated on buil- 
dings, might frequently precipitate 
showers from the higher parts of 
the atmosphere." An interesting 
and valuable section on tlie diseases 
of plants, concludes the second parts 
these diseaaes are divided mtoi 



MEMOISS or TBS LATS DS. OAEWIH* 



4a 



tkoGe whkb a|ipear to origiiiAte 
froBi mtemal causes, those from the 
external elements, and those from 
the nidification or depredations of 
insects : to which is added, the de- 
. atniction by rermin. Under the 
^rd head is given a very curious 
account of the aphisj together with 
▼arious methods for destroying it ; 
and the ingenious ona is suggested 
of propagating its greatest enemy, 
the larva -of the aphidivorous ily, 
and thus devouring one insect by 
the means of another. 

The third part of the Phytologia, 
on agriculture and horticiUture, is 
divided into six sections : the first 
treats on the production of fruits ; 
in which the four methods are en- 
larged on of procuring fruit trees 
for the purposes of horticulture by 
seeds, by root-suckers, by planted 
scions, and ingrafted scions: the 
author next proceeds to shew how 
a tree may be necessitated to in- 
crease the number of flower buds, 
in preference to its leaf-bud s. The 
means of perfecting, enlarging, and 
preserving fruit are then severally 
msisted on* The i mportan t subject 
of the production of seeds occupies 
the next section; in which rules 
are laid down for producing^ them 
early, and in great quantity..«.for 
ripening them....for generating the 
best kinds* •••for collecting good 
seeds and determining Uieir good- 
ness..*«fbr the prej»crvation of 
seeds, and for sowing them advan- 
tageously. The two next sections 
treat one on the production of rof)t» 
and barks, and the other on the 
production of leaves and woo<l: and 
the last contains a })lan for diniK^s- 
ing part of the vegetable fcvstcm 
of Linnxus into more natural c1h«>h- 
es and orders^ llie plan here s'lg- 
gesied, of adopting the situations, 
proportions or form»,with or with- 
out the numbers of the Mrxual < or- 
gans as critei icns ol the ord<fr atid 
cla)^cs,is well worthy llie attcnti /« 
of botanists. Wliiie the nurn'^ r of 
stamma and pi-itMla are ^.i'yjcct Uf 
variation, both from luxijrt;uit an'! 
deficient growth, impiKh oor;fi- 
doice canuot be placed 'm t^ut 



alone, as indicatiTO either oC aa 
order or class. As the pr«^rtiona 
and figures and purposes of tha 
stamina and pistilla are immutahlet 
Dr. Darwin imagines they would 
form a preferable standard, both for 
classical and ordinal arrangment. 

But it is time that we should con* 
sider Dr. Darwin in his thinl cha« 
racter, namely as a Pokt. Di^ 
Darwin lately said to a friend, that 
in his poetical works his great aim 
was to present an object to meet 
the eye, and that he was not anxi« 
ous to touch the heart* A more 
severe criticism could scarcely have 
been pronounced ; there is, notwith* 
standmg, a justness in the remark, 
which is not to be disputed, and wo 
are happy that himself has relieved 
us from the pain of making It. It 
must be observed, however, in miti« 
gation of the censure, that a DU 
dactic Poem, and as such we must 
consider the " Botanic Garden," is 
rather addressed toUie understand- 
ing than the heart : it is not to bo 
expected that we (should l)e fired at 
the description of%n ardent ttametif 
or melt with sympathy at a Ian* 
guishing//f>/r7/um; where the au- 
thor'sowu feelings were excited, ho 
fails not to touch a corrcbponding 
chord. If an imaginatimi vi unri- 
valled richneHs,...ii felicity of al- 
lusion to whatever can throw iwhtrc 
on his huhjert.*.«to ancient mytho- 
logy and modern dicovcTit:H.i..t/i 
the works of nuturo and of art; If 
these are sonic of the esuentiuls of 
jKjetry, Dr. Uurwin may crtHinly 
claim them as hii own* No nnutf 
perhaps, wnn ever liHj.p'K'r in tho 
seler.tiMn and comi<M»».itjrm of his 
ef/ithetH, hiid a more imperial roiu- 
mand of words, or ci>uld eliirldato 
with such w-curacy and elrj^uncr 
the mof»t complex and intricate, 
marliincry* 

Who hut J)r, Diirwln wwld have 
tliouijht of d< vriibiiig a putctrhiUt' 
manufactory in vtznui; the tnor- 
Ht'iU*! iKiWeiHand c'oH'.us <'i,h«-tnjr- 
IjMi *4 a *U:am-ejiffjfit! ; iUt- iUuii/Mc 
tuechuuhm of a watch ^ and (Ik* 
int'ti/i*J:a/m]iU'%\iy i f a<Mtot»'CfiiMf 



KEMOISt or THB LATt DR. OARWIir. 



tions to be found in the << Botanic 
Garden," are inimitable in their 
way ; and that they do not " touch 
the heart/' is attributable to the sub- 
ject, and not to tlie poet : the sweet 
8]m])le nmstc of an old Scotch air 
is infinitely more affecting than the 
rapid complex movements of a 
modem concerto :....but a vagrant 
minstril could compose the melody 
of the one, though it requires the 
scientilic hand of a master to 
combine the various harmony of 
the other. 

After all, we are quite ready to 
acknowledge that Dr. Darwin is 
not a poet who stands very high in 
our estimation ; the ear is fascinat- 
ed and seduced by the mellifluence 
of his numbers, but tliere is a har- 
lotry in his embellishments which 
is to us unchaste. His cadences are 
not sufficiently varied for a poem 
of such length as the ^^ Botanic 
Garden ;" indeed there is an evi- 
dent mechanism in tlie construction 
of his lines which it is by no means 
pleasant to detect ; one half of the 
verse is frequently a perfect equi- 
poise to the other. We are even 
so fastidious and delicate as to be 
cloyed with the uniform sweetness 
of his vercification : the current of 
Dr. Darwin's poetry is unruffled 
and serene ; its sur&ce smooth and 
polished ;....Still as the sea ere 
winds were taught to blow;" but 
oftentimes we would gladly trans- 
port ourselves to where 
" The rich stream of music winds 

along, . 
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong." 

Dr. Darwin is particularly happy 
in some of his minor eflfusious : the 
beautiful little song ^^ to May," is 
exquisitely finished; and it would be 
(lifHcult to find thirty lines in the 
*' Botanic Garden," to rival in dig- 
nity and pathos the " Address to 
Swilcar*s Oak," introduced in the 
Phytologia, XVIII. 2. 16, 

There is a noble and indignant 
eloquence poured forth in the trans- 
lation of a few lines from tlie eighth 
satire of Juvenal, CStemjuata quid 
faciunty UTc. See Zoon, Vol. II. 
ciass Hi. 1. 2.J which seems to 



flow immediately from the heiot* 
These, (particularly the two last> 

and some detached passages in the 
*< Botanic Garden," possess & 
chasteness and simplicity of colour- 
ing, the want of which can never 
be compensated by the temporary 
lustre of any varnish : it is this ar- 
tificial gloss, the too hvish use of 
this deceitful varnish, which dis- 
pleases us with the poetry of Dr. 
Darwin. As a prose writer, Dr, 
Darwin was incorrect ; his granw 
matical errors are numerous. He 
was even deficient in orthography: 
his faults ia spelling were some- 
times corrected by his son the attor- 
ney. He gave earty evidence of 
a poetical genius and a philoso- 
phical turn of mind: whilst he held 
the appointment of Lord Exeter's 
scholarship, he distinguished him- 
self by his poetical exercises, and 
acquired an uncommon fiicility in 
the composition of them. In the 
year 1758, he published in vol. L« 
of the Philosophical Transactions, 
** An attempt to confute the opi- 
nion of Henry Earl, concerning 
tlie ascent of vapour;" and " An 
account of the cure of a periodical 
hxmoptoe, by keeping the patient 
awake." This was followed by 
^' Experiments on Animal Fluids in 
the exhausted Receiver." 

Dr. Darwin printed in the Derby 
Mercury, an elegy written at Mat- 
lock, and addressed to Mrs. Dar- 
win : another piece was inserted in 
the same paper, occasioned by the 
appearance of a most f&tal distem- 
per amongst homed cattle, at 
Calke, near Derby. It consisted of 
instructions to give an immediate 
stop to its rapid and alarming 
progress* A third article was 
written on occasion of tlie earth- 
quake, which several years ago was 
rclt at Derby, and in the suri'ound- 
ing country. In the year irss, the 
Botanical Society of Litchfield 
published a translation of Linnas- 
us*s Syattma VegetabiUumy the 
execution of which was principally 
confided to Dr. Darwin, one of its 
two principal members. The Doc- 
tor's other works have already 



KBMOIRS OF THE LATB Dft* DAILWtVi 



Aii 



been mentioned in the course of his 
biographical sketch. He has left a 
boem entitled «< ITie Shrine of 
Nature;*' which is now in the 
press, and will shortly be published. 

Next to Medicine, Mechanics 
«nd almost every branch of Natu- 
ral History engaged his attention. 
He not only pursued those studies 
"With great ardor and diligence 
himself, but also embraced every 
opportunity of cultivating and en- 
couraging them amongst his nume- 
rous connections and acquaintance. 
Very soon after he settled at Der- 
by, he instituted and established a 
ghilosophioal society and library, 
oth of which were in a flourishing 
condition at the time of his decease. 
The society, of which he was pre- 
sident, consists of members who 
reside in different parts of Notting- 
hamshire, Derbyshire, and Leices- 
tershire. He also took pleasure in 
encouraging works in natural his- 
tory. 

But though the learning, taste, 
and genius of Dr. Darwm were 
eminently displayed in these pur- 
suits, yet there was one great end, 
to the attainment of which all his 
talents and views were earnestly 
and uniformly directed. He did 
not hesitate openly and repeatedly 
to declare in public company, that 
the acquisition of wealth was the 
leading object of all his literary 
undertekings! He once said to a 
friend : " I have gained 9001. by 
my Botanic Garden, and 9001. by 
the first volume of 2^nomia : and 
if I can every other year produce 
a work which will yield this sum, 
I shall do very well.*' He added ; 
'< Money, and not fame, is the 
object which I have in view in aU 
my publications." 

But Dr. Darwin was by no 
means insensible to the value of 
reputation. During the last years 
of his life, the love of fiime was 
a passion which had great power 
over his mind; and the incense of 
praise was so very pleasant to 
him, that flatterv was found to be 
the most saccessfiil means of gain- 
ing his notice and farour. 

VOL. i«.*.vo» TI. 



The conversation of Dr. Darwin 

abounded with very unequal sallies 
of wit; when he found himself 
engaged with a powerful antago- 
nist m argument, he had some- 
times recourse to ridicule, a wea- 
pon which he did not always han- 
dle with dexterity, for he was af- 
fected with an impediment in his 
speech which rendered his enim- 
ciation scarcely intelligible; 

There are reasons for suspecting 
that Dr. Darwin was not a beliei^- 
er in Divine Revelation; but 
belief is a matter of necessity, not 
choice. Tlie religion of a man b a 

Erivate afiair between himself and 
is Maker : we have nothing to do 
yrith it. A 'few days before his 
death, a gentleman to whom we 
are indebted for the materials of 
a considerable portion of tibese 
memoirs, endeavoured to di3Cover 
whether he entertained a belief and 
expectation of a future state of 
existence, the Doctor was observed 
to speak with a considerable degree 
of sedateness on the subject, and 
remarked, that it was natural tO' 
extend our wishes and views beyond 
the prsesent scene, and that it was 
right to pursue such measures ai 
are likely to secure our happinesf 
ia another world; << but," << let us 
not hear any thing about hell." 

In the foregoing sketch, the in* 
tention has been merely to state a 
few plain fiicts: the excellencies 
of Dr. Darwin have been noticed, 
and his errors exposed with equal 
openness: biogri^hers, like jury- 
men, should deliver a verdict ac- 
cording to the evidence, uninfluen- 
ced by ^* fear, favour, or auction*'* 



BIOGHAPBICAL SKSTCH Ot Xft* 
ADDINGTON* 

Mr. Addington is the son of a 
physician of some eminence, who 
died about eleven years since, after 
having practised with equal cele- 
brity and success. That ^tie- 
man, daring the whole of his life^ 
appears to have been a great phil*- 
7 



44« 



8RSTCV OF Mft* AB9I««T0M» 



ticiany and to havt Studied with equal 
attention the constitution of a patient 
and the constitution of the state. 

During the latter part of lord 
Chatham's life, the doctor lived 
in great intimacy with that noble- 
man : and such was the confidence 
rjN^Wng between them, that when 
a negotiation was c^iened with the 
late earl of Bute, respecting his re- 
turn to power, he acted as the ple- 
nipotentiary of the ex-minister* 

It may be naturally supposed that 
this of course led to an intimacy 
between the families, and we accord- 
ingly find that the young Pitts and 
the ^roung Addingtons, early in life, 
cultivated a firiendship with each 
other, which received a fresh in- 
crease when Mr. Wm* Pitt became 
a member of the society of Lincoln's 
Ian, and Mr* Henry Addingtoo en- 
tered his name as a student, and eat 
commons at the same hall. 

The present premier possesses 
great influence, m consequence of 
the excellence of his character, and 
the high respect he had acquired 
during the time he acted as sfkeak- 
er* His majesty may be said to 
evince a personal attachment to him, 
and, if report be true, he has pre- 
sented him with, and fimushed lor 
him, a house in Richmond Park, in 
order to be near him at all times* 

In private life Mr* A* is particu- 
larly amiable* He is a sincere friend, 
an afiectionate brother,akind£Bither, 
and a tender husband* Possessing 
an ample income, and being but lit« 
tie devoted to expense^he cannot be 
supposed to be instigated by the 
sordid wish of creating a fortune 
ibr himself; and, as his connections 
are all in affluent circumstances, he 
has no poor relations to provide for 
out of the public purse* On the 
otiier hand it remains to be proved, 
whether his abilities entitle him to 
rank as a first rate statesman ; and 
a few years**.. perhaps a few months 
••••will determine, whether the new 
minister be destined to confer glory 
or disgrace on the empire ; to sub- 
vert or to restore the liberties of his 
country! 



PICTUaS Of ST. OOKIVGO. 

bar 3, 1803. 
Dear Friendi 

At the last time I had the plea- 
sure of addressing you, under date 
of June, ultimo, the horrors of St. 
Doming^ and the dangers that sur- 
rounded me in my escape from that 
unfortunate colony was fresh in my 
mind: but at this i>re8ent period those 
^gnant sensations are in some 
measure blunted by the lapse of in- 
tervening time, and possessiBg feel- 
ings more harinoniaed, I will now 
proceed to fiilfil my promise men- 
tioned in my last* I mean that of 
giving you the details of the asto- 
nishing and unforeseen revolntioa 
that there took place. 

You are well aware that I left 
France in May, 1803, and arrived 
at the Cape in the beginning of July 
following. A few DKmths before 
that time, Le Clerc had landed his 
army for the purpose of reclaiming 
the blacks to the obedience of the 
French government. Toussainthad 
just been adzed and sent over to 
France; the chiefr, his followers, 
had already made a voluntary sub- 
mission : so that this political stroke 
on the part of the commander in 
chief, promised to the inhabitants of 
the island a return of peace and 
plenty, and to the trade of France, 
security and gain* Had this gene- 
ral not been diffident of his own 
talents and aliilities, being placed in 
a country that opened to him an en- 
tirely new scene, and vested with 
powers of such momentous wei^t 
he would not have foiled in eflfecting 
this grand object : but unhappily for 
himself*. •*unhappilv for the com- 
merce of France, he suffered him* 
self to be surrounded by some of the 
inhaUtants of the place, and the 
chiefs of the army, whom he believ- 
ed were better acquainted with the 
local circumstances and advantages 
to be gained, he communciated to 
them his plans, and opened before 



»IGTt7&S or St. SOMIHdd. 



44y 



tbem the means by which he pro- 
pcMed to effect the entire re-esta- 
bli^ment of order in St. Domingo. 
These people, insincere in the cause 
^hich thef appeared to wish to serve, 
once made acquainted with the ge- 
neral's projects, employed erery 
means secretly to undermine his 
measures ; so that the edifices he 
erected on one side, were sapped 
and thrown down on the other. Le 
Clerc, possessing a mind strong, 
though softened by sensibility, was 
not long before he perceived him- 
self the dupe of thb class of men ; 
he saw his schemes thwarted and 
overturned, the evidence of which 
80 forcibly preyed on his spirits, as 
soon to terminate his existence. 

You are already informed of the 
horrors that calumny has bekhed 
out against him,I shall therefore oass 
them over in silence, immedisKely 
to proceed to that ^period, when 
Kochambeau, the hope of the culo- 
nials,or rather some of them, seized 
on the chief command of the island, 
now vacated by the premature death 
of the above general. 

The partizans of Rochambeau 
who were in the mysteries of his 
Iniquities, not knowing whether 
their friends in France would suc- 
ceed with the government, to esta- 
blish him in the chief command of 
the army of St. Domingo, proceeded 
to address petitions, in which they 
pictured this general to the first 
consul, as the only person capable 
of saving the colony from the state 
of annihilation with which it was 
threatened. 

The multitude always blind and 
easily deluded, forgetting what Ro- 
chambeau had done at Martinique ; 
forgetful of what he had even done 
at St. Domingo, under Santhonaz, 
signed the petition, which was for- 
warded by express te the first con- 
sal; who had already, on the solici- 
tations of the chiefs, the foction 
agitating at St. Domingo, had pre- 
pared in France; anticipated the 
wishes of the colonials, by cosfer- 
ring on Rochambeauy the chief com- 



But what was the debut of this 
general when vested with the chief 
command ? What were his first 
steps ? He altered the plans of his 
predecessor; who had in view to 
open the campaign as soon as the 
arrival of the troops, promised him 
by the French republic, placed it 
in his power ; he cantoned in de- 
tachments the forces that were al^ 
ready in the colony at the death of 
Le Clerc, and pursued the same 
measure with the reinforcement of 
18000 men, thatafterwards arrived : 
and if he made any sorties to attack 
the insurgents, they were partial 
and always inferior in numbers, as 
one is to twenty. By a conduct like 
this, in a climate, burning and ob- 
noxious to the European constitu- 
tion ; he would have absorbed im- 
mense treasures and destroyed an 
army of one hundred thousand men^ 
had they been at his disposal, with- 
out gaining an inch of ground from 
the insurgents.* 

Business requiring my presence 
at Port-au-Prince, f had an oppor- 
tunity of taking a near view of the 
bent of Rochambeau's intentions. 
iTie month of November, and the 
two succeeding ones, were destined 
to witness scenes the most horrid ; 
scenes that bear the deepest tinge 
of barbarous atrocity. Seven or 
eight hundred blacks, and men of 
colour were seized upon in the 
streets, in the public places, in the 
very houses, and for the moment 
confined within the walls of a prison. 
Thence they were hurried on board 
the national vessels lying in the har- 
bour, from whence they were plung- 
ed into eternity. 

These horrid scenes were repeat- 
ed at Leogane, at Petit-Guave, and 

* It is well known that St. Domingo 
has cost France fifty-two thousand 
men, and one hundred and fifty miL 
lions of livTCS toumois, nearly thirty 
millions of dollars: an expenditure 
sufficient to have effected the conquest 
of all the Antilles, but- which has only 
served to arm and strengthen those it 
was intended to subdue. 



\ 



.448 



riCTUES OF 8T* SOMUTGO. 



in the whole circuit of Jeremie ; at 
"that time commanded by D'Arbois^ 
the friend and protege of Rocham- 
beau : but before I proceed iiiither 
In these details, I must place before 
you the onhr military expedition I 
aaw, headed by this general. .^at it 
as follows: 

He sailed out of Port-au-Prince 
with one thousand men, almost all 
regular troops, and proceeded to 
Jacquemel, at that time blockaded 
b^ the insurgents ; he raised the 
•lege, threw in one hundred and 
twenty men, and marched direct to 
Petit-Guave, from whence it was 
supposed he would have proceeded 
to the south by land, where his army 
would have destroyed the seeds of 
insurrection that began to appear, 
•nd by the impression it would hare 
made on the black tillers of the 
f;round, hindered a renewal of the 
•ame: On the contrary, he left 
eighty men at Pctit>GuaT»,pftrtook 
of a ban and entertainment, he 
caused to be prepared, and then 
embarked for Jeremie, where he 
arrived the day following, and con- 
ferred with D'Arbois, whom he or- 
dered to scatter in i.e diflferent 
points of the coast, the remain- 
mg part of the detadmient that ac- 
Gompaiiied him. 

D'Aihois and his commander of 
Jeremie, and whose name will al- 
ways be held in execration ; this 
commander, I say, to whose charge 
Rocliambeau had been pleased to 
add the towns of Baradiers, Petit- 
Trou, and L'Anseveau; appeared 
in these places to perform what he 
called his circuit of inspection, that 
is to deal out desolation and death ; 
to carry on his plan of butchery : in 
like manner as he had done in the 
other parts annexed to his com- 
jnand. But it was at L'Anseveau 
that I was myself a witness of the 
most premeditated barbarity. He 
arrived there, as well as I remem- 
ber, in Nivose, ultimo, accompanied 
by twenty men of the legion Polo- 
naise, eight men of the artillery 
corps, one field piece, and ttventy 
national dragoons of Jeremie, besides 
several aid-de*camps, four soldiers^ 



and the commandant atPetlt-Troii, 

which closed his suite* The schoo- 
ner Adelaide, followed him there. 
From the moment she was moored 
on the Fonds Blancs, in the ouU 
ward harbour, covered by the guns 
of a small neig^ibourin^ fort, th* 
orders for arrests were issued. 

Immediately twenty men of cokmr 
amongst whom was die above men* 
tioned commander and four men, 
belonging to Pctit-Trou; several 
blacks, and one white from Nantes, 
whose name I well remember was 
Billiard, were all carried on board 
the Adelaide for the purpose of be- 
ing sunk in a watery grave ; but the 
captain of the vessel not taking the 
precaution fo draw oflf to some dis- 
tance from the shore, caused the 
town to participate in a scene, the 
horror of which stands unequal- 
led. 

At the still and solemn hour of 
midniglit, when even the slumber- 
ing guard totters at his post, did the 
captain, or rather the executioner, 
begin to folfil his duty, by executing 
the orders of the atrocious D' Arbois. 
The poor wretches on board, hud- 
dled and then tied together, at the 
sight of tlie lingering and dreadfiil 
fote that awaited them, strug^ed 
with their assassins, and all at once 
calling forth the most dreadfol ycHs, 
roused the peaceful citizens l^ the 
noise, who entirely unacquamted 
with the cause, passed the remain- 
ing part of the night under arms, in 
horror and dismky. On the suc- 
ceeding day, being informed of what 
had taken place on board the Ade- 
laide, as they met, they looked at 
, each other in silent horror; one saw 
painted on tlieir furrowed counte- 
nances the presages of thefote they 
themselves had to expect. 

Notwithstanding, the same scene 
was repeated on board the schooner 
••••but that the town might not ex- 
perience the same alarm, she stood 
out to sea a small distance, consign- 
ed her load to tlie waves, and on tiie 
succeeding day returned to her for- 
mer anchoring place. 

These proceedings, that the most 
hardened mind cannot but content 



PICTVRB OF ST, BOKXKCO* 



44» 



plate with horror, and which lasted 
several days, cast the pang^ of des- 
pair into the hearts of the people of 
colour in the diiferent quarters, and 
dreading the same &te, they fled in 
bodies to the insurgents, and aug- 
mented the number. 

Nevertheless, the ferocious D'Ar- 
bois was not satisfied ; he was anxi- 
ous to provoke a general insurrec- 
tion in the south of the island. With 
this view he crossed the mountains 
with some of his satellites, and ar- 
rived at Aux-Cayes where he re- 
ceived information of three or four 
hundred men of colour that then 
crowded the prisons. He forthwith 
solicited the black commander of 
that place. La Plume, to suffer hiki 
to dispatch out of the way these 
poor wretches. La Plume, naturally 
humane, and possessing a soul timid 
and unprepared for such guilt, abso- 
lutely refused. What did D'Arbois 
then do ? He quieted the fears of the 
black chief, by telling him to take 
no part in the affair, to leave it en- 
tirely to him, he would answer for 
the whole. 

In two days he emptied the pri- 
sons of Aux-Cayes, and then return- 
ed triumphant to I'Ansevau ; whose 
inhabitants the preceding eve had 
been siensibly struck at the sight of 
the bodies of the poor wretches, 
who, a few nijp^hts before, amidst all 
the horrors ofhowling depair, had 
been consigned to the waves, and 
that by their cries had made them 
pass a great part of the night mider 
arms. The billows now washed 
these unfortunate victims to the 
shore, floating with tlieir eyes, as it 
were, turned towards heaven, they 
seemed to demand vengeance on the 
author of their untimely death : A 
vengeance that called for the red- 
dened blasts of an avenging hand on 
the head of him who so deliberately 
provoked it. Conceive then what 
must have been the welcome this 
wretch met with here ! 

Soon after his alighting, he re- 
ceives news that the insurgents are 
encamped on the plantation called 
Bourignau, four leagues distant from 
the town^ and amounting to a consi- 



derable number. Immediately the 
gay d'Arbois orders forty of the 
national guards to proceed to meet 
them, but the insurgents were al- 
ready in motion and facing them* 
killed some and forced the remain-* 
der to retreat. The routed hand- 
ful returns to TAnseveau, spreads 
the alarm, and d'Arbois, informed 
of what passed, hurries the remaind- 
er of the national guard then in the 
town to oppose their approach to 
tlie city ; but himself, foreseeing the 
event, mounts on horseback and 
rides off to Petit-Trou, situated four 
leagues in the opposite direction, as 
he said, to dine with the curate. 

Scarcely had the dragoons pro- 
ceeded a league on their way, when 
they are met by the insurgents, 
whose number was now consider- 
ably augmented ; they were attack- 
ed, routed, and dispersed ; some 
regained the town, a general alarm 
was sounded, and scarcely had the 
remaining inhabitants time to re- 
trsat to, and rally at a small redoubt, 
unprepared for resistance, when the 
insurgents, anxious to push their 
victory, rushed into the town.... the 
artillery corps fired a few guns ; tlie 
in^try joined by the inhabitants, 
opposed feebly with their musque- 
try, all was confosion ; no leader to 
animate, rally and command, num- 
bers overpowered them, and in a 
short time they were cut to pieces 
by the swords of the blacks. 

D'Arbois, on receiving the news, 
brought him by one of the nine wh» 
escaped from this massacre, mounts 
his horse, accompanied by his sate- 
lites, and proceeds m haste to Jere- 
mie, saying, they had a design on 
his i>erson. 

This unfortunate affair which al- 
most cost the whole of the white 
population of the place, was a signal 
for a general insurrection in the 
south side of the island ; it seemed 
to promise success to the blacks, 
who successively took possession of 
the difiierent places belonging to 
that quarter. 

I was myself amongst the very 
small number of those who escaped 
from TAnsevau, and returned to 



450 



neranm or tr* BOMiirod« 



Port-au-Prince, with a view to ter- 
minate my affiurSfin order to absent 
myaeif as soon as possible from this 
land of liorror and desolation ; but 
before I close this letter, I must add 
a few observations on a man, whose 
secret mission to this island was 
never fathomed or known. 

This extraordinary character, 
■tyled an envoy from the govern- 
ment of Havanna, to the general in 
chief of St. Domingo, arrived ,at 
Port-au-Prince, in a Spanish cor- 
vette. He had no exterior mark of 
distinction, but he was received, 
treated, rc^ed, and feasted, with 
the most pointed marks of distinc- 
tion. 

In his honour were heard salutes 
from all the vessels, from all the 
armed posts, and from all the ves- 
sels of the state. 

In his honour were prepared 
feasts at the government-house, 
feasts on board the commander of 
the station. La Touche Treville; 
feasts by the prefSect d'Aure. 

At each' of^ these entertainments 
were heard to roartalotes from all 
the forts, posts and vessels, pf the 
nation. 

In his honour were given balls 
and tournaments, celebrated by the 
tight of torches. 

At his departure, after flnishinf^ 
■o glorious a campaign, he was con- 
ducted on board the same vessel 
that brought him there, in a man- 
ner the most distinguished ; and in 
hb honour the forts, posts^ and ves- 
sels, for the last time rent the skies 
with their thunder. 

I often asked myself the question, 
who could this man be, that Ro- 
chambeau treated with such distin- 
guished marks of respect ? I never 
could satisfy myself....I never could 
be satisfied. I believe that he only, 
and his intimate friends. La Touche 
Treville, still more cunning than 
himself, can explain the mystery : 
with regard to myself from the dis- 
play of shew and parade I witnessed 
on the occasion, I imagined him the 
envoy of princes, or the represen- 
tative of mighty powers and poten- 
tates. 



I could still koger dwdl on tbewB 
and other scenes that have risen 
horrid to my sight, since my retttm 
to diis unfortunate spot ; but I al- 
ready exceed the botmds of a letter 
...•shall therefore only add an adieu, 
and again advise you to remain 
snug on the continent where you 
are, as long as it presents yon witii 
the means of a livelihoed, at least 
till the revolutionary tempest is 
entirely passed, for the calm we at 
this time enjoy, is possibly merely 
momentary: and certainly, itvift 
the part of prudence, not to brave 
the threatened storm, as long as 
one can command the security of 
the port. 

Your's sincerely, 



STATE or THE FRENCH PSASAV- 
TET. 

Ip provisions are cheaper in 
France than they are in England, 
labour is proportionably paid for : 
so that the peasant, probably, is 
not better off here, where mutton 
and pork are two pence halfpenny 
or three pence per pound, and the 
quartern loaf is at eight pence or 
nine pence, than in England, where 
these, and every other article, are 
considerably higher. The advan- 
tages, however, to persons of fixed 
income, are obvious and great: the 
exchange of coin ai^ainst England 
is not to be compared with the ex* 
change f^ ftrtwinon^ m fevour of 
France. I know nothing about the 
burden of taxation here ; house- 
rent b dear, however, and feel is 
dear ; whether these form a coun* 
terptoise to the advantage just men- 
tioned, I am not able to say. To 
return to the peasantry:.... 

The French are incomparablf 
better managers of their provi- 
sion than the English. Nothing 
can possibly be more comfortless, 
more unsociable, ibore sulky, if I 
may so express myself, than the 
manner in which the labourers of 
England take their meals. Ofths 



STATE Of THE FEEWGH PSASANTftT. 



451 



coimtrT-labourers I speak, with 
whom I am a good deal conversant : 
with the domestic habits of city- 
workmen, manu&ctory-tabourerS) 
fee* I am totally unacquainted. It 
is the custom of countrymen to 
brin^ in.their wallet a large hunch 
(as It is emphatically called) of 
coarse and stide brown bread : this 
b eaten for breakfast, sometimes 
with a parsimonious accompani- 
ment of cheese or butter, but this 
relisher is not always afforded* At 
dinner the treasures of the wallet 
are brought forth, and in the 
depth of winter a cold heavy dum* 
plm, of no mean magnitude indeed, is 
produced, in the centre of which 
IS a lump of fat bacon, and perhaps 
a slice of apple! This lx>wever| 
does not fall to the lot of every 
one : many a labourer have I seen 
dine off a hard dry loaf, which he 
cheerlessly eats under a cart-shed 
to shelter him from the weather. 
The o|ily comfortable meal which 
our labourers get, the only meal, 
at least, which gives roe any idea 
of comfort, is their supper: after 
bis day's work, if a man has a 
careful and industrious wife, he 
may expect to see a pot boiling over 
his fire when he goes home;. he 
may expect something warm and 
nourishing for his supper; he may 
perhaps, afford himself a pint of 
beer.«*«throughout the day his thirst 
IS quenched at the pump, unless 
his master finds him a little beer**** 
and at last, indeed as that most 
simple and sweet song of the 
" Shepherd's Wife" says.... 

To bed he goes, as w^inton then, I 

ween, 
As is a King in dalliance with a 

Queen, 

More vranton too ; 
For Kuigs have many griefs their 

souls to move. 
While Shepherds have no greater 

grief than love. 

Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as 

sound 
As doth the King upon his bed of 
, down, 



And sounder too ; 
For cares cause Kings full oft their 

sleep to spill, 
While weary Shepherd»lie and sleep 
their fill, 

Ahthen....Ah then, &c. 

The French cookery is the most 
economical in the world, and Uie 
lower classes of the people are not 
excluded from the comfort erf* it: a 
great deal of Indian wheat is grown, 
and this is said to thicken soups in 
a very profitable degree* About 
Geneva the bread, which the poor 
people eat, is made either nom 
this wheat or from bu'ley, which 
is cultivated on a very extensive 
scale in the neighbourhood of Man- 
tua, whence it is exported to the 
town: the bread, which we have 
sometimes seen in the cottages, 
where we have stopt to boil a lew 
eggs, has been dark in colour, and 
very harsh to the palate, but when 
softened in soup, may probably be 
nevertheless extremely nutritious 
and palatable* 

Tea is a -luxury but little known 
among the poor in the provinces of 
France: instead of it, however, 
they have abundance of cofee, a 
far greater luxury when so delici- 
ously prepared as it is here. We 
have seen coarse-looking fellows sit 
round the- kitchen-fire at a post 
house, drink their hot cofice, and 
eat their hot rolls, wiUi a great 
deal of apparent, and no doubt of 
real enjoyment. We have occa- 
sionally stopt to change horses at 
the hour of dinner, and have seen 
a number of labourers*...at Pont 
sur Ain, there could not be less than 
a dozen of them.... collect together 
and call for their dinner, which the 
hostess had already prepared for 
them. To the water in which 
meat has been boiled, a large quan- 
tity of vegetables of various soi*ts, 
turnips, carrots, potatoes, garlic, 
&c. are added ; large slices ofbread, 
or some farinaceous substance, is in- 
certed, and together with a proper 
proportion of pepper, salt, and 
herbs, form a soup which is thus 



4a;s 



STATS or TBS rSSNCH PBASAWTST. 



sociably eaten, and has the appear- 
ance at least of giving a comrorta- 
ble meal to thoae who partake of it* 
Each peasant drinks his vin ordi- 
naire de pays out of a separate 
glass ; and, with all their abomina- 
ble filth, the French may, in this 
particular, teach the English a les- 
son of 'Cleanliness. In England, 
not merely at a harvest frolic and 
a sheep-shearing, but at the tables 
of most respectable and genteel 
persons we are in the habit of sea- 
soning beverage with the copious 
aalivaof half a dozen greasy mouths! 
But it is time to take leave of this 
subject, and proceed to my journal : 
one remark I shall make on the ge- 
neral appearance of the peasantry, 
and that is, that we see no fine old 
heads of cither «ex. We see m any 
healthy children, many very beau- 
tiful girls, and fresh hardy-looking 
boys : but when the men and wo- 
men approach to sixty years ofrage, 
we have very frequently had occa- 
sion to observe, that tlieir complex- 
ions are sallow, and their faces 
shrunk and unhealthy. How is this 
to be accounted for ? I shall not stop 
to inquire, but merely suggest two 
circumstances which it strikes me 
may possibly co-operate to produce 
it. Almost nil the hovels, and in- 
deed all the hotels, that it has been 
our fortune to rest at, are afflicted 
with smoky chimneys: in France 
every body takes snuff, and many, 
no doubt, in an immoderate degree. 
If the peasant and his family, re- 
siding in a dark and filthy room, 
are ever inhailing the suffocating 
particles of wood-smoke, and using, 
moreover, the vile stimulus of snuff, 
it IS not very wonderful, that their 
countenances should prematurely 
become haggard and unhealthy. 
We have never seen a drunken 
man in France, but eau dc vie is 
sold in almost every other shop : if 
it is habitually drunk by the labour- 
ing people, as one is forced to infer, 
from the frequency of its exposure 
for sale, a third and ver>' powerful 
cause presents itself to account for 
the fact. 



AccovirT or trs chambleov 

By Mr. Reilly. 

About the time I ccnnmeiiced 
my experiments, Mr. Pritchard, 
master of his majesty's ship Priace, 
presented me with a chamelean, 
tliat had been sent him by a gentle- 
man from Saffia in Barbary, which 
extraordinary production of nature 
I remarked with particular atten- 
tion ever)- morning after fumigat- 
ing. On the admission of atmos- 
pheric air I had this animal broaght 
into the berth, and as regularly ob- 
served his cdlour change to a vari- 
egated black, which in no small 
degree excit^ my curiosity: un- 
thinkingly,! one morning aUowed it 
to remain in the berth during tlie 
fumigating process, which, I am 
sorry to say, ended its existence. I 
found, when it was dead, its coloor 
was black, the reason of which I 
shall attempt to explain. As this 
animal is not known in En^and, I 
examined the comparative anatomy 
of the thorax and abdominal vis- 
cera, these being the only parts I 
dissected, having stuffed his body ; 
which will fiilly account for the 
singular phenomenon that takes 
place in its changing to the same 
colour with the object placed before 
it. On opening to view the thorax 
and abdomen, there appears no 
mediastinum, but a thorough com- 
munication, without any interven- 
ing substance ; the whole space of 
which is filled by three bladders, 
the middle and smallest of them 
may be called with propriety the 
oesophagus and stomach. It is 
firmly attached to the os hyotdes, 
and terminates in the anus. The 
other two bladders are attached to 
the trachsa, and in every respect 
perform the office of lungs: and the 
animal can at discretion fill itself 
out to a large size, by inflating these 
vesicles, which are extremely pel- 
lucid, and, wlien inflated, fill com- 
pletely the whole of the abdominal 
cavity, where there is no other 
substance but these transparent 



ACCOtJUT Of THK CHAKELBOH. 



45S 



krambranes and the change of 
colour that takes place is occa- 
sioned by the reflection of any other 
colour on these transparent mein«> 
braneS) as the skin of the animal is 
extremely thin, and between the 

* cellular substance and the skin is a 
filamentary expansion of the mem* 
branes ; which pellucid or transpa- 
rent membrane serves as a lens or 
mirror to reflect the rays or colour 
when objects are placed before it. 
A very clear demonstration of this 
is, that when a collapse takes place, 
which is not unfrequent, it is not 
influenced by colour; and, on the 
contrary, when these bladders are 

' fiill, its colour is influenced by the 
dbject placed in competition, but 
scarlet more particularly, from its 
being more vivid* I doubt much 
whether nature has designed this 
annual to live on food or not, from 
the following circumstance ; that I 
have frequently given it flies, which 
it never appeared to swallow with 
avidity ; and I believe, if it were 
possessed ofthe power of returning 
them, that it would have done so ; 
and in dissecting it I found the 
whole of the flies unaltered in this 
middle space; and, as a farther 
proof, from the part of the cyst 
where the flies were, to its termi- 
nation, was so closely filled with 
4)ezoar-mineral, that the most mi- ^ 
nute substance could not have pas- ' 
sed. This, in my opinion, clearly 
proves that nature did not design 
It to live on food ; or, if it had, that 
its feces were of the bezoar mi- 
neral. 

The tongue of this extraordinary 
animal is seven inches long, and in 
appearance like the sucker of a 
pump, with two apertures. The 
"expansion of the nerves is beauti- 
fiil, having no muscular substance 
to cover their colour: I counted 
distinctly twenty<4iine pair ; they in 
every deg^ree perform the office of 
muscles, and all motion is performed 
by them the same as by the muscles 
in other animals. The eyes are of 
a very particular structure ; they 
are »ery prominent, with a small 
pupil; and the animal can look 

vol,. I.«mNO« Yt* 



forward with one, and back with 
the other, at the same time. Its 
colour, when not influenced by 
objects^ is a bluish grey, beautifoUy 
variegated with small yellow spots ; . 
its b^y about seven inches long ; 
its head about an inch and one hsdf^ 
handsomely helmeted; its tail about 
five inches long, whidi it makes as 
much use of as any of its legs, 
panicularly when descending from 
heights ; it is of the oviparous class, 
resembles much, only smaller and 
handsomer, thegauana of the West* 
Indies. 



ACCOUNT OF THE STATE OF SO- 
CIETY AND MANNERS IN LI'* 
VSRPOOL. 

Miratur moKm iEneas, magalia ^uon« 

dam: 
Miratur portas strepitDmque et strata 

viarumi 
Instant ardentea Tyrii* Viae. 

Tbe extraordinary increase of 
the town of Liverpool, which has 
been commensurate with the exten- 
sion of its commerce, has of late 
years rendered it an object well 
worthy the attention of the enlight- 
ened traveller. The particular 
circumstances of its trade have 
frequently occupied the delibera- 
tions of the British legislature ; and 
the literary reputation of some of 
its inhabitants has conferred upon 
it no snudl degree of lustre. 

The streets of Liverpool present 
the appearances which usually 
occur in large towns. The cam- 
ages of the wealthy splash the 
humble pedestrian, and the splen- 
did ornaments lavished upon youth 
and beauty form a striking contrast 
to the misery of aged poverty. But 
we do not here meet with the ex- 
treme squallidity, and the quantity 
of disgusting objects which deforia 
the streets of manufiictnring towns. 
Poverty is here decent in its ap- 
pearance ; and the lower classes of 
people, not being corrupted by the 
bare-foced licentiousness of crowd- 
ed &Ctoi:iiS, wear tolerably heaHtur 
9 



4i4 



%eeovwr or tirttrooL. 



couotnumcMy snd are in general 
cyrderly and civilised in their belia- 
Tiour. 

Liverpool is the child of com* 
B|erce« it owes its existence and its 
prosperity to trade, joid its inhabit- 
ants pav honour doe to that activitr 
towhichitowesiudevation. With 
the exception of the costomary pro- 
portion of prolesuonal men, almost 
eveiv body resident in the town is 
cmmoyed in some department of 
traffic Consequently, a gentleman^ 
that is to say, a person not engaged 
in bosiuessy is out of his element in 
LiverpooL There he is, as it were, 
alone, in the midst of a crowd* He 
meets with no associates whose com- 
pany will ipeed the beavr flight of 
time ; and what is worse, he b held 
in very dight estimation in tlie pub- 
lieopmion. So strikingly is thbtho 
case, that many instances have oc- 
cnrrcd of merchantsof the first con- 
sequence entirely loosing their influ- 
ence In the tiyWn on tiieir retiring 
firom busmess with large fortunes. 

As commercial puraoits are in 
tiieir natni^ hazardous, the annals 
of a town of such extensive commer- 
cial dealings as Liverpool may be 
naturally expected to exhibit most 
strilung instances of the vicissitudes 
of fortune. It often liappens that 
the servant rises while ue roaster 
falls. To-day a man is a merchant, 
all spirit and cnterpriie, and living 
In splendor and hMury...«.t(K>mor- 
row he 18 a bankrupt, humMy re- 
questing the signature of his certifi- 
cate, or soliciting for some scanty- 
salaried situation m the custosisor 
excise. Families, which twenty or 
thirty years ago took the leads in 
Ihe circles of Liverpool fiishion, are 
now seduced, forgotten, and un- 
known. More fortunate or indns- 
Srions characters have risen to sup- 

2r their place, and shine for their 
y, in all probabflity never asking 
fhemselves, whether it is not possi- 
hie that they may be ki their turn 
eclipsed byfoture adventures. In 
Liverpool, the prophecy may at any 
given time be safely pronounced.... 
^ Many that are first shall be last, 
Wthe last duiU be first.'* In this 



town, few famines am 

opulent or socc es s n u g ep ei atiflps* 

In reference to tliM flnctnatkiM 
in the circumstances of individnal^ 
and of fiunilies, it may be observed* 
tiiat the mercantile inhabitaiita of 
Liverpocd Imve been charged witis 
the indulgence of a propttsi^ to 
faasardous specula^oiis. It is difli- 
cuh todeterminehowfiirtfaflsckarBO 
is well fimnded, smce it ia < 
to define the limits beyoad ' 
speculation, the main-ming of oo 
merce, is unwarrantable. The ge» 
neral prosperity of the town AaM 
seem to indicate that it oii|^t at 
least to be confined to a few ladivi* 
duals. Nowhere does tiie imsnctf 
cessfo] traflicer meet with mora 
lenity and fortiearanoe than in LI* 
verpod. This is not an indicatkn 
of laxity of principle or vidoasaesa 
of disposition. It is an unrversaff 
canon that knaves axe suipicioBa 
and unrelenting, while good men are 
open-hearted and mercifiil. If the 
mercantile character of Ltverpool 
be tried by this test it win appear t» 
considerable advantage. 

They who make the acquisitioa 
of a fortune the main obfect of thor 
exertions are, generaDy speakingt 
abs o rbed in attention to business; 
because it is a very evident and in* 
tdligent truth, that industry is the 
high road to wealth. The cultiva* 
tion of the elegant arts tends too 
much to the unproductive consump- 
tion of time, and to the detraction 
of the mind from less amusing con* 
oems, to be tolerated in a coontingw 
house. Of coarse it frequently ha^ 
pens in Liverpool, as in all com- 
mercial towns, Uiat men rise t9 
affluence by mere dint of undeviat* 
ing industry ; and tlie cultivation of 
the mind, and the refinement of 
manners, do not keep pace with the 
accumulation of property. In Li- 
verpool there \% no court«nd of the 
town, no permanent selection of so- 
ciety which has sufficient influence 
to give a tinge to the public charac- 
ter. Commerce is the soul of the 
place; and purity of pedigree, and 
liberality of education, are by no 
means indifprasaM^rfiO ffT ^^i^''^*^ 



ACCOVHtV OV UTSftPOOt* 



454? 



I^rtidpatiofi of the best lodety 
ivhich the town affords. Hence the 
general Hianners of the cirdes of 
mercantile faahkm will not perhai>8 
bear the minute and Costidious cri- 
ticisms of Ch^terfield. It is almost 
iimpoasU^ for those who have spent 
^e prime of their life in the unce- 
remomoits bustle of the wharf and 
ihe ware4iause.to divest themselves 
'Of a certain air de bourgeois ; and 
where lately acquired property isy 
by a kind of tacit compact, made 
the chief critenon oi re^>ectability, 
it would be idle to expect to meet 
with the hig^ polish which at once 
.graces and renders uninteresting 
2he society of aristooracy. 

But th« people of Idverpod may 
^lallenge a comparison with the in- 
habitants of any town in the king- 
4lem, with regard to the essence of 
true poUteness, viz* friendly atteni- 
tion and hospitality. In Liverpocd 
no manlives to himself^ The selfish 
«ave-aUy who alter poring o^ier bis 
ledger all the moming^ at noon has- 
tily devours his unsocial steak at a 
wyp-house, and then returns for his 
evening^s amusementto hiadungeon 
tif a counting-house, a character 
Which perpetuaUy occurs in the me- 
tropolis, is bene unknown* Ccmvi- 
'Viality is indeed a. striking charac- 
teristic of the place. Its inhabitants 
loel a laudable ^sposition, not only 
to acquire, but to enjoy, the good 
things of life; and wherever this 
<1ispositinii prevails, .it inevita2>ly 
produces the cordial warmth of 
hospitality. It has been well observ- 
ed, that ^' our very meals, our very 
cupsyaxetasteless and joyless,unles8 
we have a companion to partake of 
them." 

The ho^itality of Liverpool t&^ 
tders it an agreeable place of resort 
to strangers. Military gentleman 
find it a very pleasant station. It 
is enlivened hy the amusements 
which usually diversify the occupa- 
tions of large towns, llie thcatve 
is open during the greater part of 
^e year. Public concerts are^ven 
every fortnight, in an elegant room 
Appropriated to the purpose. As- 
iiemblies ace held at stattd periods. 



Clubs and societies of various dena> 
minations and descriptions occur 
in every tavern, and the crowded 
discomfort of publico-private routa 
occasionally vies with the foUy of 
the metropMolis. 

The spirit ofliberalit^ which influ* 
ences the inhabitants of Liverpool is 
not, however, exhausted in revelry 
and show. Every charitable insti- 
tution, every scheme projected for 
the alleviation of human misery, 
meets with their ready and strenu«» 
ous patronage. 

The exertion of public munifi* 
cence has long supported in this. 
town the Blue-coat hospital, in which 
a considerable number of poor child* 
ven are provided with clothes, lodg- 
ing, bowl, and education....a re- 
markably well regulated infirmity^ 
aosd a fispensary. Of late years, 
the marine socie^, several Sunday- 
schools, and a school of industry for 
the Uind, have claimed, and hava 
Beceived, the public support. 

Nor does the genius of commerce 
in this great emporium pefiise Xq 
associate with the Muses. Varioua 
publications bear testimony that 
here literature has been cultivated 
with considerable ability. Several 
names might be enumerated of gen^ 
tleraen, who, in the midst of the 
active concerns of this town, have 
found leisure to attend to the study 
of the polite arts. It is a remarki^ 
ble fact, that the two workfi Whidi 
have lately obtained the greatest 
share of public approbation (the life 
of I^renzo de' Medici, and the life 
of Bums), issued from the Liverpool 
press. That a taste for reaAng is 
widely diffused through all franks of 
the residents in this place,is evinced 
by the numerous list of subscribers 
to the LiverpoolpubHc library : and 
an inspection of the catalogue of 
that library will prove that this taste 
has been systematically directed to 
useful objects. The constitution of 
tlie Atheaxum, of which an account 
was given in the Monthly Magazine 
^r July, 1799, indicates an incrcasi- 
ing maturity of literary taste ; and 
the resort of the voung men to the 
seadiug rooms ot this institution^ 



450 



ACCOUWT or LIVSBPdOL« 



after ^e hoars of imsincss, gives a 
good augury of the future accotn- 
pHafaments of the rismg generation. 
When to this is added, tliat a plan 
for the extension of the old library 
has been eagerly adopted, and that 
proposals for the establishment of 
of a botanic garden, now in circula- 
tion, have been countenanced by a 
respectable number of subscribers, 
ample proof has perhaps been ad- 
duced that letters are by no means 
neglected in Liverpool. 

ft is obvious that the public esta* 
blishments which have been enu- 
merated, cannot be supported with- 
out the united exertions of all sects 
and parties. It is highly to the 
honour of Liverpool, that its peace 
has very seldom been disturbed by 
the rage of religious bi^try, or the 
effervescence of political enthusi- 
asm. Not that we shall find with- 
in its precincts that unanimity 
of opinion which is the result of pas- 
sive ignorance. The dissenters of 
all denominations arenumerous, and 
the opponents of his majesty's mi- 
nisters are neither few nor silent. 
But it has so happened, that the 
exercise of the virtue of mutual for- 
t)earance has happily preserved 
Liverpool trom those public acts of 
acrimonious hostility, whkh have 
at various times since the era of the 
French revolution troubled the quiet 
of other districts of the kingdom. 
This fact cannot be entirely the re- 
sult of a fortunate concurrence of 
circumstances. It is the effect of 
various causes, among which may 
be enumerated the prudence and 
candour of the leaders of parties ; 
the regular and constitutional man- 
ner in which the overt acts of sup- 
poi^ and of opposition to ministry 
have been conducted ; the activity 
of the police ; but, above all, the 
intermingling of interests, which 
necessarily apsults from the exten- 
sion of conimei'cial transactions. It 
has been observed with pride and 
aatisfactinn, that even immediately 
after the intemperate heat of a con- 
tested election, the merchants and 
tradesmen of different interests 
meet toother at the exchange, and, 



in the mutual acconunodatiaiis of 
business, at once lose the remem- 
brance of a dispute in whidi^ but a 
day or two before, they had spared 
neither their pmonal exeftiaDay 
nor their purses. 

The public indi^atioo haa been 
so successfoUy exctted against the 
African trade, the profit and infiuny 
of which are almost monopolized ^r 
the town of Liverpool, that many 
wiU be apt to suppose that this on* 
popular branch of commerce must 
nave some effect nptm tiie manners 
of its inhabitants. But when it is 
considered how few out of a popula- 
tion of sixty-fiva thousand persons 
have any direct concern in this trade, 
it will be obvious that its influence 
on the habits of society cannot pos- 
sibly be discernible, llie merchant 
who buys and sells one thousand 
negroes, may be as sociable in his 
manners, and as humane in his ge- 
neral conduct, as the statesman who 
hires, or lets to hire, one thousand 
soldiers. A company of tradesmen 
ma}^fit out an adventure to Africa ; 
a cabinet may lay a plan to plunder 
a province: but the individuals of 
the company, and the members of 
the cabinet, will, in all probability, 
be found todiflfer little from the other 
men of their own station in the com- 
mon intercouses of life. 



MADAMB RICAMIER'S BS1>CBAX- 
BKR. 

The luxury of le^ fiarvetntMg 
hUj nouveaux richly upstarts, or 
new gentry, is scarcely conceivable 
....the following is a description of 
the house of Madame Ricamier. 

The drawing-room and •alle a 
manger (eating-room) were not yet 
finished. The furniture prepared 
for each was rich. I did not think 
it particularly beautiful ; but the bed- 
room and bathing cabinet exceeding 
in luxury every thing which I ever 
beheld, or even ventured to ima- 
gine. The canopy of the bed was 
of the finest muslin, the covering of 
pink sattin, the frame of beautifoi 



VADAXE BICAXIER*S BED-CRAMBES. 



45? 



mahogany) supported by figures in 
^Id of antique ^shapes. The steps 
-which led to this delicious couch 
■were covered with red velvety orna- 
mented on each side with artificial 
flowers, highly scented. On one 
aide stood, on a pedestal, a marble 
statue of Silence^ with this inscrip- 
tion«««* 

** Tutatur somnos et amores conscia 
lecti." 

On the other, a very lofty gold 
;8tand, for a taper or lamp. A fine 
mirror filled up one side of the bed, 
and was reflected by one at the top, 
and another at the opposite side of 
the room. The wails were cover- 
ed with mahogany, relieved with 
gold borders, and now and then 
with glass. The whole* in excel- 
lent taste. The bathing cabinet, 
which adjoined, was equally luxu- 
rious. The bath, when not in use, 
forms a sofa, covered with kersey- 
mere, edged with gold; and the 
whole of this cabinet is as pretty as 
the bed-room. Beyond this room 
is the bed-chamber of Monsieur^ 
plain, neat, and unaffected ; and on 
the other side a little closet, covered 
with green silk, and opening on the 
garden, in which Madame sits 
when she amusA herself with 
drawing. To conclude,! find "the 
loves" which " Silence guards," 
ai^ of which this Paphian seat is 
the witness, are those of January 
and May ; for the wife is twenty, 
the greatest beauty in Paris, and 
the husband sometliing less than 
sixty." 



ACCOUNT OF THJi TANGUN HORSE 
FOUND AT THIBET* 

This species, which is indigenous 
to Bootan, has its title from tiie re- 
gion in which they are bred : being 
called Tangun, vulgarly Tannian, 
from Tangustan, the general ap- 
pellation of tliat assemblage of 
mountains which constitutes the 
territory of Bootan. The breed 
is altogether confined withjn these 



limits, being found in none of the 
neighbouring countries; neither ia 
Assam, Nipal, Thibet, nor Bengal. 
I am inclined to consider it as aa 
original and distinct species : they 
are distinguished in colour by a 
general tendency to piebald: those 
of one colour are rare, and not so 
valuable in the opinion of the 
Booteea,but they are more esteem* 
ed by the English, and bear a 
higher price than the party-colour- 
ed, which are composed of the 
various shades of black, bay, and 
sorrel, upon a ground of the pur- 
est white. They are usually about 
thirteen hands in height, and are 
remarkable for their symmetry 
and just proportions ; uniting, in 
an eminent degree, both strength 
and beauty. They are sliort bo- 
died, clean limbed, and, though 
deep in the chest, yet extrem^y 
active. From this conformation 
they derive such a sui)eriority in 
strength of muscle, when condens- 
ed by the repeated effort of 
struggling against acclivities, as 
can never be attained by a horse 
of a thin and light shoulder. It is 
surprising to observe the energy 
and vigour apparent in the move- 
ments of a 1 angun. Accustomed 
to struggle against opposition, they 
seem to inherit this spirit as a 
principle of their nature; and 
hence they hifre acquired a cha- 
racter among Europeans, of being 
headstrong and ungovernable ;...« 
though, in reality, it proceeds from 
an excess of eagerness to perform 
their task. 

Indeed, some of those that come 
into our hands aged, have acquired 
habits of resistance, which it is 
rather difficult to modify or reform. 
These are chiefly to be attributed to 
the strong hand with which they 
are governed : I have seen a Tangun 
horse tremble in every joint, when 
the groom has seized both ends of 
a severe bit, and compressed his 
jaws, as it were, in a vice. Under 
the strongest impression of fear, 
they execute their labour with an 
energy unsubdued even by fatigue ; 
and t&ir willingness to work; added 



451 



AcctirvT w^n tAVcmr boisc* 



tothdr oomparftthrdy imall rahifs 
|utf drawn upon them a heavy 
■hare of the hardeit senrket in 
Bengal, equal with that o£ the 
tallest and mogt powerful hones 
in India, both for the road and 
draught I yet,inthe heaviest carri- 
mges, they are never seen to ftnch, 
but often betray an impatience, and 
gtart forward with a spring, that 
nometimes surprises thor driver* 
If they liappen to have been unskil* 
feUy treated, they will not unfre- 
qaent^y bear against the bit with a 
force which seems to increase with 
every effort to restrain them. 
Sometimes, with less apparent 
cause on their dde, they lean 
jigainst each other, as though it 
a struKgle which of them 



I begin with 
objectioD, which almost all the phiki^ 
sophic systemshave started againet 
prayer. Reli|;ion pr cs ci i b e a tlus 
as our chity, wtth an assurance tliat 
God will hear and answer our vowa 
and prayers, provided they are ooo* 
formaUe to the precepts whkh hm 
has given us. Philosophy, on tiie 
other hand, instructs us, that all 
events take place in strict conform 
mity to the course of nature, esta- 
blished from the beginniiuji;, and 
that our prayers can efrect no 
change whatever, unless we pre- 
tend to expect, that God should be 
continually working mirades, in 
compliance with our prayers. This 
objection has die greater we^ht; 
that religiqp Itself teaches the doo 



•hould push us companion down ; trine of God's having establishrd 

at other times, they lean with so ♦**- -«"i^ ^f -n ^^^^ -«^ *k«» 

great an inclination from the pc^, 

that a person unacquainted with 

them would apprehend every in* 

«tant, that they roust either fall or 

the traces break. These are ha^ 

hits, indeed, which it requires the 

greatest patience to endure, and 



tt long coore of mild and good usage 
to swdue. By such means it Is 
practicable to govern them ; but to 
a person not endued with a very 
even temper, 1 would by no means 
recommend the contest; for, after 
an, strong and hardy as Tanguns 
are, they are less aHe to bear the 
"beat of an Indian sun than any 
other breed, and they often fall vic- 
tims to it when hard driven in very 
hot weadier. 



TRAYEm SANCTIONEP BT HILO* 
S0PHT..mBT buler. 

BsroRE I proceed forther in 
my lessons on philosophy and phy- 
sics, I think it my dut^ to point out 
to you their connection with reli- 
gion.* 

• 1 tske the liberty, Kkewise, to re- 
store the following passage, which 
M. dc Condorcet, in hu philosophi- 
cal sq[ueaniisluiesSy has thought im« 



the course of all events, and that 
nothing can come to pass, but what 
God foresaw from all eternity. Is 
it cre^ble, say the objectors, that 
God should think of altering this 
settled course, in compliance with 
any prayers which men might std* 
dress to him? 

But I reroaii:, first, that when 
God established the course of the 
universe, and arranged all the 
events which must come to pass m 
it, he paid attention to all the dr- 
cumstances which sheuM aooompfr. 

worthy of spkce in his edition of ^bi 
work. 

«< Howeverextravagant and absurd 
the sentiments of certain ^losopheia 
may be, they are so obstuately pre- 
possessed in favour of them, that they 
reject every religious opinion and 
doctrine which is noc confonnable to 
their system of philosophy. From 
this source are dewred most oi the 
sects and heresies in religion. Seve. 
ral philosophic systems are realy 
contradictory to religion; but in that 
case, divine truth ought surely to be 
jirefcrred to the reveries of men, if 
the pride of philosophers knew what 
it was to yield. Should sound pbiloo 
sophy sometimes seem in opposition 
to religion, that opposition is more 
apparent than real ; and we most not 
suffer ourselves to be dazxled whk 
the fpecionsoess of ohjectioL'V 



f ftATBm SAWCTIOVBD BT FHILOSOPRT« 



4^ 



Vf tuth event; and particularly to 
ihediflpotttiqiis, to the desires, and 
prayers of every intelligent being; 
and that the arrangement of all 
events was disposed in perfect har- 
nooy with all these circumstances. 
When, therefore, a man addresses 
to God a piayer worthy of being 
heard, it must not be imagined, 
that such a prayer came not to the 
knowledge of God till the moment 
it was formed* That prayer was 
already heard from aU eternity; 
and if the Fadier of mercies deem- 
ed it worthy of being answered, he 
arranged the world expressly in fo- 
Toar of that prayer, so that the ac- 
complishment should be a conse- 
quence of the natural course of 
events. It is thus that God answers 
the prayers of men, without work- 
ng a miracle. 

The establishment of the course 
ef the universe, fixed once for all, 
&r from rendering prayer unne- 
cessary, rather increases our con- 
fidence, by conveying to us this 
consolatory truth, that all our pray- 
ers have been already from the be- 
ginning, presented at the feet of 
tiie throne of the Almi|;faty, and 
tliat they have been admitted into 
the plan of the universe, as motives 
conformably to which events were 
to be related, in subserviency to 
the infinite wisdom of the Creator* 

Can any one believe, that our 
condition would be better, if God 
had no knowledge of our prayers 
hefore we presented them, and 
that he should then be disposed to 
change in our lavour, the order of 
the course of nature f This might 
well be irreconcileable to his wis- 
dom, and inconsistent with his ado- 
rable perfections. Would there 
not, then, be reason to say, that the 
world was a very imperfect work I 
That God was entirely disposed to 
be favourable to 4he wishes of men • 
but, not having foreseen them, was 
reduced to the necessity of, every 
instant, interrupting the course of 
natui*e, unless he were determined 
totally to diregard tlie wants of 
intelligent beings, which, neverthe- 
less, constitute the principal part 



of the universe? For to what pur^ 
pose create this material worldt 
replenished with so many wonderst 
if there were not intelligent beiagSf 
capable of admiringit, and of being 
elevated by it to Uie adoration <« 
God, and to the most intimate uni- 
on with their Creator, in which^ 
undoubtedly, their highest felicitf 
consists? Hence it must absolutely 
be concluded, that intelligent be- 
ings, and their salvation, mast 
have been the principal object in 
subordination to which God regulat- 
ed the arrangement of this worlds 
and we have every reason to rest 
assured, that all the events whidi 
take place in it, are in the most 
delightful harmony with the wants 
of intelligent beings, to conduct 
them to &eir true hapfMness; but 
without constraint, becauseof their 
liberty, which is esseatial'to spirits 
as extension is to body, lliere is^ 
therefore, no ground for surprise^ 
that th^re should be intelligent 
bein|;s, which shall never reach 
felicity. 

In this connectioQ of spirits 
with events, consists the mviae 
providence, of which eveij indi- 
vidual has Uie consolation of bein|; 
a partaker; so that every man 
may rest assured, that from all 
eternity he entered into the plan, 
of the universe. How ought this 
conuderation to increase our confi« 
dence, and our joy in the provi- 
dence of God, on which all reii* 
gion b founded? You see tiien^ 
3iat on this side religion and 
philosophy are by no means a^ 
variance* 



SWEDISH MODS Of THAVELLIITC 
ON TRK ICE, BT S. ACSaBI. 

Whrk a traveller is going te 
cross over the gulf on the ice to 
Finland, the peasants always oblige 
him to engage double tlie number 
of horiies to what he hud upon his 
arriving in Grislehamn. Wc were 
forced to take no less than eight 
sledgcS} being thice in company,. 



460 



SWEDISH MODE 07 TRAVELLIKa OH THE ICE* 



fitid two servants. This appears 
at first sight to be an impo^tion on 
the part of the peasants ; but we 
found, by experience, that it was 
a necessary precaution. The dis- ' 
tance across is forty-three English 
miles, thirty of which you travel 
on the ice without touching on kind. 
This passage over the frozen sea is, 
doubtless, the most singular and 
striking spectacle that a traveller 
firom the south can behold. I laid 
my account with having a journey 
more doll and unvaried than sur- 
prising or dangerous. I expected 
to travel forty-three miles without 
«ght of land over a vast and uni- 
form plain, and that every succes- 
sive mile would be in exact unison 
and monotonous correspondence 
with those I had already travelled ; 
but my astonishment was greatly 
increased in proportion as we ad- 
vanced from our starting-post. 
The sea, at first smooth and even, 
became more and more rugged and 
unequal. It assumed as we pro- 
ceeded, an undulating appearance, 
resembling the waves by which it 
had been agitated. At length we 
met with masses of ice heaped 
one upon the other, and some of 
them seeming as if they were sus- 
pended in me air, while others 
were raised in the form of pyra- 
mids. On the whcdc they exhibited 
a picture of the wildest and most 
savage confiision, that surprized 
the eye by the novelty of its appear- 
ance. It was an immense chaos of 
icy ruins, presented to view under 
every possible form, and embellished 
by superb stalactites of a blue green 
colour. 

Amidst this chaos, it was not with- 
out difficulty and trouble that pur 
horses and sledges were able to find 
and pursue their way. It was ne- 
cessary to make frequent windings, 
and sometimes to return m a contra- 
ry direction, following that of a 
frozen waxx, in order to avoid a col- 
lection of icy mountains that lay be- 
fore us. In spite of all our expedi- 
ents tor discovering the evenest 
paths, our sledges were every mo- 
ment overturned to the right or the 



left, and frequently the legs of one 
or other of the company, raised per^ 
pendicular in the air, served as a 
signal for the whole caraven to halt* 
The inconvenience and danger of 
our journey were still former in- 
creasect by the followii^ circum- 
stance. Our horses were made wild 
and forious, both by the sight and 
the smell of our great pelkes, ma^ 
nufoictured of the skins of the Rus- 
sian wolves or bears. When any 
of the sledges was overturned, the 
horses belonging to it, or to that 
next to it, mghted at theaghtof 
what they supposed to be a wolf or 
bear rollmg on the ice, would set off 
at foil gallop to the great terror of 
both passengers and driver. The 
peasant, apprehensive of losing his 
horse in the midst of this desert, 
kept firm hold of the bridle, and 
suffered his horse to drag his body 
through masses of ice, of which 
sharp points threatened to cut him 
in pieces* The animal, at last wea- 
ried out by the constancy of the man, 
and disheartened by the obstacles 
continually opposed to his flight, 
would stop ; then we were enabled 
again to get into our sledges, but not 
till the driver had bUndfolded the 
animaPs eyes : but one time, one of 
the wildest and most spirited of all 
the horses in our train, having taken 
fright, completely made his escape. 
The peasant who conducted hun, 
unable any longer to endure the 
pain and fatigue of being dn^eed 
throu^the ice, let go his hold of 
the bridle. The horse relieved from 
this wbight, and feeling himself at 
perfect liberty, redoubled his speed, 
and surmounted every impediment, 
llie sledge, which he made to dance 
in the air, by alarming his fears, 
added new wings to his flight. When 
he had fled to a considerable dis- 
tance from us, he appeared from 
time to time as a^dark spot whicl^ 
continued to diminish in the air, 
and at last totally vanished from 
our sight. Then it was that w%re- 
cognized the prudence of having in 
our party some "spare horses, and 
we were fully sensible of the danger 
that must attend a journey across 



SWEDISH MODE OF TRAVELLING OH THE ICE« 



461 



the gulf of Bothnia without such a 
precaution. The peasant, who was 
the owner of the fugitive, taking one 
of the sdedges, went in search of him, 
trying to find him again by following 
the traces of his flight* As for our- 
selves we made the best of our way 
to the isles of Aland, keeping as 
nearly as we could in the middle of 
the same plain, still being repeatedly 
overturned, and always in danger 
of loosing one or other of our horses, 
which would have occasioned a veiy 
serious embarrassment. During the 
whole of this journey we did not 
meet with, on the ice, so much as one 
man, beast, bird, or any living crea* 
ture. Those vast solitudes present 
a desert abandoned as it were by 
nature. The dead silence that 
reigns is interrupted only by the 
whistling of the winds against the 
prominent points of ice, and some- 
times by tlie loud crackings occa- 
sioned by their being irresistibly 
torn from this frozen expanse ; 
pieces thus forcibly broken off are 
frequently blown to a considerable 
distance. Through the rents produc- 
ed by these ruptures, you may see 
below the watery abyss; and it is 
sometimes necessary to lay planks 
across them, by way of bridges, for 
the sledges to pass over. 

The only animals that inhabit 
those deserts, and find them an 
agreeable abode, are sea<»calves or 
seials. In the cavities of the ice they 
deposit the fruits of their love, and 
teach their young ones, betimes, to 
brave all the rigours cif the rudest 
season. Their mothers lay them 
down all naked as they are brought 
forth, on the ice ; and their fathei*s 
take care to have an open hole in 
the ice near them, for a speedy 
communication with the water. In- 
to these they plunge with their young 
the moment they see a hunter ap^^ 
proach ; or at otlier times they de- 
scend into them spontaneously in 
search of fishes for sustenance to 
themselves and their offspring, llie 
manner in which the male seals 
make those holes in the ice is asto- 
nishing : neither their teeth nor tlieir 
paws have any share in this opei*a«> 

VOL. I....MO. VI« 



tion ; but it is performed solely by 
their breath. They are often hunted 
by the peasants of the isles* When 
the islanders discover one of those 
animals, they take post with guns 
and staves, at some distance from 
him, behind a mass of ice, and wait 
till the seal comes up from the water 
for the purpose of taking in his quan-» 
turn of air. It sometimes happens^ 
when the frost is extremely keen^ 
that the hole is frozen up almost 
immediately after the seal makes 
his appearance in the atmosphere i 
in which case the pisasants fall on 
him with their sticks, before he has 
time with his breath to make a new 
aperture. In such extremities the 
animal displays an incredible degree 
of courage. With his formidable 
teeth he bites the club with which 
he is assaulted, and even attempts 
to attack the persons who strike 
him ; but the utmost efforts and re- 
sistance of these creatures are not 
much dreaded, on account of tlie 
slowness of their motions, and the 
inaptitude of their members to a 
solid element. 

After considerable fatigue, and 
many adventures, having refreshed 
our horses about half way on the 
high sea, we at length touched at 
the small island of Signilskar. This 
island presents to the view, neiUiet 
wood nor lawn, and is inhabited only 
by some peasants, and the officer of 
the telegraph which is stationed 
here for keeping up a correspond*' 
ence with that of Grislehamn. It 
is one of those little islands scatter- 
ed in this part of the gulf, which 
collectively bear the name of Aland^ 
The distance from Grisehlamn to 
Signilskar, in a strat line, is five 
Swedish miles, which are nearly 
equal to thirty-five English ; but the 
turnings we were obliged to makei 
in order to find out the most prac- 
ticable places, could not be less than 
ten English miles more. All this 
while we were kept in anxious sus- 
pense concerning the fate of our fu« 
gitive horse, and entertained the 
most uneasy appreliensions that he 
was either lost in the immensity of 
the icy desei*t, or buried perhaps Im 
9 



463 



tWEfilSH MOM OF TKAVELLI1I6 OW TBS ICS# 



the watery abjrss. We were pre- 
paring to contiiwe our journey 
through the isles on the ice, and had 
iJready put new horses to our sledge, 
when we spied, with inexpressible 
pleasure, the two sledges returning 
with the fugitive. The animal was 
in the most deplorable condition 
imaginable ; his body was covered 
an over with sweat and foam, and 
was enveloped in a cloud of smoke. 
Sdll we did not dare to come near 
him; the excessive &tigue of his 
violent course had not abated his 
ferocity ; he was as much alarmed 
at the sight of our pelices as before ; 
he snorted, bounded, and beaa the 
snow and ice with his feet ; nor could 
the utmost exertions of the peasants 
to hold him fiist have prevented him 
from once more making his escape, 
if we had not retired to some dis- 
tance, and removed the sight and 
the scent of our polices. From Sig- 
nilskar we pursued our journey 
through the whole of the isles of 
Alan£ In different parts of Aland 
you meet with post-houses, that is to 
say with places where you may get 
horses. You travel partly by land 
and partly over the ice of the sea. 
The distance between some of these 
islands amounts to no less than eight 
or ten miles. On the sea, the na* 
tiveshave used the precaution of 
fixing branches of tree% or putting 
small pines along the whole route, 
for the guidance of travellers in the 
night-time, or directing them how 
to find out the right way after fidls 
of snow. 



M1.SVERISM....FB01VTHB SAME. 

The Baron Silfverkielm was a 
very amiable man, who had past a 
'great part of his life near the person 
of King Gustavus, had traveUed, 
and seen much of the world. He 
was an excellent mechanic, amused 
himself with chemistry ,possessedan 
admiral English electrical machine, 
made experiments, and was fond of 
reading and the study of belles-let- 
tres. He was a man of no cerexno-^ 



ny, and (which wiU not be believed 
by every one) a roost fiimoos mag- 
netiaer, and one of the greatest pro- 
ficients among the disotples of Mes- 
mer. I have seen the l>aron give 
proofs of his skill in animal magne- 
tism, which, I confess, shook my 
incredulity a little, both in respect 
to the efficacy of his principles, and 
the existence of the magnetic fluid, 
or whatever else it may be^ called, 
which is supposed to operate upon 
Individuals. The eftct it produces 
cannot easily be attributed to ordi- 
nary causes, nor supported by rea- 
sons derived from the known laws 
of nature. Although he was unaUe 
to afiect me with his magnetical 
powers, yet he wrought upon per- 
sons whose prolnty and good &th 
I am not at hberty in any degree to 
question* He repeated to me expe- 
riments he had made In difierent 
places, on diiierent individuals, and 
in difrrent circumstances; uid I 
find myself satisfied as to the exist- 
ence of some natural cause or prin- 
cipla which has hitherto remained 
unknown : it is wrapt up in obscu- 
rity, and is as yet inexplicable to the 
understanding. I am very &r from 
attempting, iSter the baron's exam- 
ple, to account for it ; though I think 
that a solution of this problem may 
be reserved for a period of higher 
improvement in Uie knowledge of 
nature, the study of wliidi has bete 
so successfully pursued, and so ra» 
pidly advanced, in the course of the 
present century. I saw my fellow* 
traveller, as incredulous as myself, 
£fcll into a profound sleep by the 
mere motion of the magnetiser's 
fingers ; I heard him speak in his 
sleep, and reply to whatever ques* 
tions I proposed to him ; I saw him 
again wake by the simple motion of 
the magnetiser'sfingers,Mrhile I was 
unable to rouse him from his som- 
nolency, though I brought lire close 
to his hand, an ex])erinient to which 
he was as insensible as a dead body* 
He awoke, after sleeping from 
five to six hours, remembering no» 
thinp; of what he had said, denying 
obstinately that he had been asleep, 
and yielding with difficulty at last ta 



XESMBRXSX* 



46S 



file attdioritjr of his watch, and the 
testimony of all those who had wit- 
neftsed the circumstance. I might 
mention a number of facts relative 
to this subject, by which I should be 
able to prove, that in these trials 
fj!ktre could be neither connivance 
nor imposture, nor previous ar- 
rangement ; but this doctrine still 
lies too much under suspicion for 
me to dwell any longer upon it. I 
ahaU only add, that two English tra- 
vellers, better informed, and, if pos- 
sible, greater infidels than myself 
respecting mesmerism, happening 
to pass by Uleabourg at the same 
time, stopped a day, that they might 
observe some of the magnetical per- 
formances* From previous concert 
one of them was to assume the ap- 
pearance of being affected ; but at 
the moment when the magnetiser 
should seem confident that his art 
had taken effect, he who was to 
feign himself asleep, at a sign given 
him by the other, was to awake in 
surprise, and thus disappoint the 
credulity of the operator and his 
audience* The e3q>eriments accord- 
ingly began : one of thera was un- 
susceptible of the magnetic impres-> 
sion, the other was actually alfected, 
and his companion might make what 
sigi^ he pleased ; he was deaf, inca- 
p&le of understanding any thine, 
and in such a languid and lethargic 
state, that every act of volition was 
entirely stispended. The two gen- 
tlemen will probably give some ac- 
count of their travels, and possibly 
confirm the truth of my relation of 
Ahese almost incredible experi- 
ments. 

It is to be regretted, that the mes- 
merians in general have their minds 
so beatedby the extraordinary, I had 
almost said supem&tural, aspect of 
tiiose phenomena, that they suffer 
themselves to be so hurried away 
by the imagination, as to mount the 
akies in order to find the physical 
cause of those effects among the 
clouds, instead of consulting and in- 
vestigating nature in the practice of 
frequent experiments, and with that 
sobriety of mind which ought to be 
the iaithfiil |;uide of philosophy in all 



her inquiries into the causes of 
things. The imagination, fascinat- 
ed and enslaved by the charm of 
s<jmcthing preternatural, tries,while 
bewilder^ with confused concep- 
tions, to divine the meaning, the 
purpose, and the end of objects ; and 
while it rambles about in the obscure 
and boundless regions of conjecturei 
the true spirit of inquiry loses the 
thread of its observations and of its 
analysis, and, bounding fi^om one 
imperfect impression to another, is 
incapable of stopping to observe^ 
compare, and judge : this was the 
infirmity of the good baron. He 
fancied to himself, that the soul of 
the person asleep was transported 
to regions of which the human mind 
in conjunction with the body, can 
form no idea. He went into parti- 
culars still more ridiculous, and as- 
serted, for instance, that there all 
the souls were dressed in white, and 
that they enjoyed in that scene of 
delights such agreeable sensations 
as surpass all conception. He be- 
lieved, that in that state of sleep they 
foresaw future events ; and that their 
soub being exalted to alngher sphere 
of perception, they could see many 
things that are invisible to the ma- 
terial organs of our imperfect vision • 
Instead of interrogating the sleeper 
as to the nature of his feelings dur- 
ing his torper ; instead of trying to 
sound the condition of his physical 
faculties, or questioning him as to 
intelligible objects, his queries were 
•always concerning the "^hite robes^ 
.the paradise, and those elysian fields 
where, according to liis theory, the 
souls are m the fruition of every spe- 
cies of pleasure, are perfectly at ease 
and clothed in their rode de chant" 
hre. He was desirous to receive in- 
telligence from his ancestors, his * 
mat grandfather, or his late 
father ; and they very kindly in ge- 
neral, sent liim their compliments 
by the mouths of those couriers in 
white jackets. 

From the manner in which Iha^x 
stated my remarks, the reader will 
be abl^ to judge of the light in which 
I viewed tliis subject. Having suc- 
ceeded in our researclies conceniing 



v04 



IIKSMtftlSM. 



the electricid ihiidt and what is called 
galvanisro, I think it not impossible 
but we nuijr discover some other 
fluid or material substance, which 
shall have its particular laws, rela- 
tions and affinities. I am of opinion, 
that in animal magnetism we meet 
-with appearances which cannot be 
traced to the imagination as their 
cause, nor indeed to any cause known 
or stated by the enemies of this doc- 
trine* The French academicians 
themselves, in their report on animal 
magnedsm, shew, perhaps, that they 
bestowed upon it neither the time 
nor the candour and impartiality 
which a subject so difficult, and so 
much entangled in the grossest pre- 
judices, had a right to obtain (rom 
them* Upon the whole, I conclude 
that we are still entirely in the dark 
as to this unknown cause, which, 
though we cannot as yet assign to it 
any name or determinate qualifica* 
tion, is not on that account less pos- 
sible* 



BSAR*HUNTING IN FINLAND* 

The favourite weapon of the Fin- 
lander in hunting the bear, is an iron 
lance fixed at the end of a pole. At 
about the distance of a foot from the 
point of the lance is fixed a cross- 
bar, which prevents the instrument 
from penetrating too hr into the 
body of the bear, or passing through 
both sides* V^Hien the Finlander 
has discovered where the bear has 
taken up his winter quarters, he 
goes to the place and makes a noise 
at the entrance of his^den, by which 
he endeavours to irritate and pro- 
voke him to quit his strong held* 
The bear hesitates and seems un- 
willing to come out ; but continuing 
to be molested by the hunter, and 
|)erhaps by the barking of his dog, 
he at length gets up and rushes in 
jury from his cavern* The moment 
he sees the peasan", he rears himself 
upDn his two hiiMi legs ready to tear 
him to pieces. The Findlander in- 
stantly puts himself in the attitude 
of di^fence; that is to say, he brings 



back the iron lance cloae tohiabreaft 
concealing from the bear the length 
of the pole, in ordei^that he may 
%ot have time to be upon his {[uard, 
and conacquc^ntly to parry with hb 
paws the mortal blow which the 
hunter means to aim at his vitala. 
The Findlander then advancesbokl- 
ly towards the bear, nor does he 
strike the blow till they are ao near 
each other, that the animal stretches 
out his paws to tear his ant^onist 
limb from limb* At that instant the 
peasant pierces his heart with the 
lance, which, but for the cross-bar^ 
woi^ come out at his shoulder ; nor 
couiQ he otherwise prevent the bear 
from filing upon him, an acddeot 
which mig^t be highly dangerous. 
By means of the cross^Jiar the ani- 
mal is kept upright, and ultimately 
thrown upon his back ; but what may 
seem to some very extraordinary, 
is, the bear, feeling himself wound* 
ed, instead of attempting with bis 
paws to pull out the lance, holds it 
&8t, and presses it more deeply into 
the wound* When the bear, after 
rolling upon the snow, ceases from. 
the last struggles of death, the Find- 
lander lays hold of him, and calls 
for the assistance of his friends, who 
drag the carcase to his hut ; and this 
triumph terminates in a sort o^fes* 
tival, where the poet assists, an4 
sings the exploits of the hunter* 



BATHING IN FINLANB* 

Almost all the Finnish peasants 
have a small house built on purpose 
for a bath: it consists of coly one 
small chamber, in the innermost 
part of which are placed a number 
of stones, which are heated by fire 
till they become red* On these 
stones, thus heated, water is thrown, 
untill the company within be involv- 
ed in a thick cloud of vapour. In 
this innermost part, the chamber is 
formed into two stories for the ac- 
commodation of a greater number 
of persons within Uiat small conv- 
pass ; and it bring the nature of heat 
and vapour to ascend, the aecond 



BATHING XV FIKLAKD^ 



161 



story is) of course, the hottest. 
Men and women use the bath pro- 
miscuously, Vithout any conceal- 
ment of dress, or bemg the least 
influenced by any emotions of at- 
tachment. If, however, a stranger 
open the door, and come on the 
bathers by surprize, the women 
are not a little startled at his ap- 
pearance ; for, besides his person, 
he introduces along with him, by 
opening the door, a great quantity 
of light, which <tiscovers at once 
to the view their situation, as well 
as forms. Without such an acci- 
dent they remain, if not in total 
darkness, yet in great obscurity, as 
there is no other window besides a 
small hole, nor any light but what 
enters in from some chink in the 
roof of the house, or the crevices 
between the pieces of wood of 
which it is constructed. I often 
amused myself with surprising the 
bathers in this manner, and I once 
or twice tried to go in and join the 
assembly ; but the heat was so ex- 
cessive that I could not breathe, 
and in the space of a minute at 
most, I verily believe, must have 
been sufibcated. I sometimes step- 
ped- in for a moment, just to leave 
my thermometer in some proper 
place, and immediately went out 
again, where I would remain for a 
quatter of an hour, or ten minutes, 
and then enter again, and fetch the 
instrument to ascertain the degree 
of heat. My astonishment was so 
great that I could scarcely believe my 
senses, when I found tlyit those 
people remain together, and amuse 
themselves for the space of half an 
hour, and sometimes a whole hour, 
m the same chamber, heated %o the 
70th or 75th degree of Celsius. 
The thermometer in contact with 
those vapours, became sometimes 
so hot, that I could $carcely hold it 
in my hands. 

The Finlanders, all the while 
they are in this hot bath, continue 
to rub themselves, and lash every 
part of their bodies with switches 
formed of twigs of the birch-tree. 
In ten minutes they become as red 
fu raw flesh, and have altogether a 



a very frightful appearance. In 
the winter season ^ey frequently 
go out of the bath, naked as they 
are, to roll themselves in the snow, 
when the cold is at 20 and even 30 
degrees below zero.* They some- 
times come out, still naked, and 
converse together, or with any one 
near them, in the open air: Iftra« 
vellers happen to pass by while the 
peasants of any hamlet, or little 
village, arc in the bath, and their 
assistance is needed, they will leave 
the bath, and assist in yoking or 
unyoking, and fetching provender 
for the horses, or any thing else^ 
without any sort of covering what* 
ever, while the passenger sits shi veiw 
ing with cold, though wrapped 
in a good sound wolf's skin. Thei*e 
is nothing more wonderful than the 
extremities which man is capable of 
enduring through the power of habit. 
The Finnish peasants pass thus 
instantaneously from an atmosphere 
of 70 degi-ees of heat, to one of 30 
degrees of cold, a transtion of a 
hundred degrees, which it the same 
thing as going out of broiling into 
freezing water ! and, what is more 
astonishing, without the least in- 
convenience; while other people 
are wery sensibly effected by a va- 
riation of but five degrees, and 'in 
danger of being afflicted with rheu- 
matism by the most trifling wind 
that blows. Those peasants assure 
you, that without the hot vapour 
baths they could not sustain as they 
do, during the wliole day, their va- 
rious labours, hy the bath, they 
tell you, their strength is recruited 
as much as by rest and sleep. The 
heat of the vapour mollifies to 
such a degree their skin, that the 
men easily shave themselves with 
wretched razors, and without aoap* 



NATURE OF THUNDER BT EULER. 

Let a bar of metal, say of iron, 
be placed on a pillar of glass, or 
any other substance whose pores 

• I speak always of the thermome- 
ter of a hv-adred degrees, by Celuas 



.4tt 



STATUmX OT THUVAU. 



are dote, th&t ^ten the bar 
eoquiret electricity il may not 
escape or commiiiiicate itself to the 
body whkh supports the bar; as 
BOOM as a thunder-storm arises, and 
the clouds which contain the thun* 
der come directly over the bar, 
you perceive in it a very strong 
electricity, generally fiar surpassing 
that which art produces, if vou 
apply the hand to it, or any other 
body with open pores, you see 
bursting from it, not only a spark 
but a very bright flash, with a noise 
•imilar to thunder ; the man, who 
applies his hand to it, receives a 
•shock so vixdent that he is stunned. 
Mliis surpasses curiosity, and there 
h (ood reason why we should be on 
oar guard, and not approach the 
bai' during a storm. 

•A professor at Petersburgh, 
named Richmann, has fiimished 
a melancholy example. Having 
percei\ ed a resembl^ce so strik- 
ing between the phenomena of 
thunder and those of electricity, 
this uni'trtunate naturalist, the 
more cle^irly to ascertain it by 
experiment, raised a bar of iron on 
the roof of his house, cased below 
ki a tube of i^^ass, and supported by 
a mass of p&'tch. To the bar he 
attached a wire, which he conduct- 
ed into his cliamber, that as soon 
as the bar slM^uld become electric, 
^e electrcity might have a free 
communication with the wire, and 
ao enable him to prove the efiects 
Bi his apartmeint. And it may 
be proper to inform you, that 
this wire was con^ducted in such a 
manner as no whei;*e to be in con- 
tact but with bodies whose pores 
are close, such as i^lass, pitch, or 
silk, to prevent ;the escape of 
electricity. 

Having made thiff'tirrangement, 
iie ^ expected a th under- storm, 
which, unhappUy fnv.* him, soon 
came. The thunder was heard at 
a distance; Mr. Richm ann was all 
attention to his wire, t d see if he 
ccMild perceive any mar *k 6f elec- 
tricity. As the storm a), ^proached, 
he judged it prudent .to employ 
«»ne precaution, and notl keep too 



near the wire ; but happening care* 
lessly to advance his chest a littlet 
he received a terrible stroke, 
accompanied with a loud clap, 
which stretched him lifeless en the 
floor. 

About the same time, the late 
Dr. Lieberknhn and Dr. Ludolf 
were about making simflar experi- 
ments, and in that view had fixed 
bars of iron on tlieir houses; but 
being informed of the disaster 
which had befellen Mr. Richmann, 
they had the bars of iron imme- 
diately removed, and, in my opi- 
nion, they acted wisely. 

From this you wiU readily judge, 
that the air or atmosphere must 
become very electric during a 
thonder-storm, or that the ether 
contained in it must then be carried 
to a very high degree of compres- 
sion. This ether, with which die 
air is surcharged, will pass into the 
bar, because cf its open pores, and 
it will beco0)e electric, as it wonld 
have been in the common method, 
but in a much higher d^ree." Mr. 
£. concludes his explanation of the 
phenomenaof thunder and lightning 
with these observations in letter 38, 
and then proceeds to state the 
possibility of preventing and of 
averting the efiects of thunder ia 
letter 39. 

Thunder then is nothing else but 
the effect of the electricity with 
which the colours are endovrcd; 
and as an electrified body, applied 
to another in its natural state, emits 
a sparky with some noise, and dis- 
charges into it the superfluous ether, 
with prodigious impetuosity; the 
same thing takes place in a cloud 
that is electric, or surcharged with 
ether, but with a force incompa- 
raMy greater, because of the terri- 
ble mass that is electrified, and in 
which, according to every appear- 
ance, the ether is redupedto a vaxnch 
higher degree of compression thaa 
we are capable of carrying it by 
our machinery. 

When, therefore, such a doud 
approaches bodies, prepared fcnr 
the admission of its ether, this 
discharge must be made with in* 



XATURt OF THT7VBEH. 



4St 



credible violence: instead of a 
umple spark, the air will be pene- 
trated with a prodigious flash, 
which, exciting a commotion in the 
ether contained in the whole adjoin- 
ing region of the atmosphere, pro- 
duces a most brilliant light : and in 
this lightning consists* 

The air is, at the same time, put 
into a very violent motion of vibra- 
tion, from which results the noise 
ef thunder* This noise must, no 
doubt, be excited at the same 
instant with the lightning ; but you 
* know that sound ^ways requires a 
certain quantity of time, in order 
to its transmission to any distance, 
and that its progress is only at the 
rate of about a thousand feet in a 
second ; wliereas light travels with 
a velocity inconceivably greater* 
Hence we always hear the thunder 
later than we see the lightning : and 
from the number of seconds inter- 
vening between the flash and the 
report, we are enabled to deter- 
mine the distance of the place where 
it is generated, allowing a thousand 
fe«t to a second* 

The body itself, into which the 
electricity of the cloud is discharg- 
ed, receives from it a most dreadfal 
stroke ; sometimes it is shivered to 
pieces; sometimes set on fire and 
consumed, if combi^tible; some- 
times melted, if itbe of metal ; and, 
in such cases, we say it is thunder- 
struck ; the effects of which, howe- 
ver surprising and extroardinary 
they may appear, are in perfect 
consistency with the well-known 
phenomena of electricity. 

A sword, it is known, has some- 
timesbeenby thunder melted in the 
scabbard, while the last sustained no 
injury ; this is to be accounted for 
from the openness of the pores of the 
metal, which the ether very easily 
penetrates, and estercises over it all 
its powers, whereas the substance of 
the scabbard is more closely allied 
to the nature of bodies with close 
pores, which permit not to the 
ether so free a transniiHston. 

It has likewise l)een found, that 
of several persons, on whom the 
guilder has fallen^ some only have 



been struck by it ; and that those 
who were in the middle suffered na 
injury. The cause of this pheno- 
menon likewise is manifest* In a 
group exposed to a thunder-storm, 
they are in the greatest danger 
who stand in the nearest vicinity to 
the air that is surcharged with 
ether; as soon as the ether is dis- 
charged upon one, all the adjoining 
air is brought back to its natural 
state, and consequently those who 
were nearest to the unfortunate 
victim feel no effect, while othersi 
at a greater distance, where the 
air is still sufficiently surcharged 
with ether, are struck with the 
same thunder-clap* 

In a word, all the strange cir- 
cumstances, so frequently relat- 
ed, of the effects of thunder, 
contain nothing which may not be 
easily reconciled with the nature 
of electricity. 

Some philosophers have main- 
tained, that thunder did not come 
from the clouds, but from the earth, 
or bodies* However extravagant 
this sentiment may appear, it is not 
so absurd, as it is difficult to distin- 
guish, in the phenomena of electri- 
city, whether the spark issues from 
the body which is electrified, or 
from that which is not so, as it 
equally fills the space between the 
two bodies ; and if the electricity is 
negative, the ether and the spark 
are in effect emitted from the natu- 
ral or non-electrified body. But 
we are sufficiently assured that, in 
thunder, the clouds have a positive 
electricity, and that the lightning is 
emitted from the clouds. 
• You will by justifiable, however, 
in asking, if by every stroke of 
thunder some terrestrial body is 
affected ? We see, in fact, that it 
very rarely strikes buildings, or the 
human body ; but we know, at the 
same time, that trees are frequent- 
ly affected by it, and that many 
thunder-strokes are discharged in- 
to the earth and into the water. I 
believe, however, it might be main- 
tained, that a great many do not 
descend so low, and that the elec- 
tricity of the clouds is very fre- 



468 



VATURE or THUVDEm. 



qaently discharged into the air or 
atmosphere. 

The small opening of the pores 
of the air no longer opposes any 
obstruction to it, when vapours or 
rain have rendered it sufficiently 
humid; for then, we knowy the 
pores open. 

It may very possibly happen, m 
this case, that the superfluous ether 
of the clouds should be discharged 
simply into the air ; and when this 
Cakes place, the strokes are neither 
ao violent, nor accompanied with so 
great a noise, as when the thunder 
bursts on the earth, when a much 
fpreatcr extent of atmosphere b put 
in agitation. 



CRITICISM OK KLOFSTOCK'S 
MESSIAH. 

AcoMPLKTE translation ofKIop- 
itock*s Messiah into English is de- 
voutly to be wished. It may pro- 
bably be expected from the hand of 
Sir Hkabert Croft. He pro- 
jects a prose-translation line for 
line, and has enjoyed so much of 
the author's acquaintance as occa«- 
sionally to have consulted him about 
the meaning of those obscurer 
passages, which- even Germans in- 
teqjret witli faultering. Such a 
version would not howc\ er preclude 
the wish for a metrical^ polished, 
and less anxiously verbal transla- 
tion : but I cannot in recommend- 
ing to the future translator, the 
adoption of five-foot couplets, or 
heroic verse,, as our most customa- 
ry metre is called.' So much En- 
glish poetry has been written, since 
Drydeii, in this form, that all pos- 
sible structures of line arc fanwlar, 
and all sources of variation ex- 
hausted ; every cadence is an echo, 
exQTy ijause expected, every rhyme 
foreseen. It bestows therefore, 
even on novelty of thought, a flat 
featureless meiu, an insipid treacly 
sameness, a terse quotidian trivi- 
ality, vei7 unfavourable to impres- 
sion, and wholly impervious to pe- 
culiar aud characteristic sallies of 



genius and origiiudity. The uae- 
of heroic verse, for rendering the 
work of a mannerist, is like adding 
to wine milk, which turns hock or 
sherris into Uie same undistinguish- 
able posset. How much more of 
variety there is in the Homer of 
Cowper, or in the Tassoof Fair&x, 
than in the cotiplets of Pope, and 
Hoole. Had Macpherson verafi- 
ed all Ossian, like the specimen in 
his pre&ce, would he have detain- 
ed to the end our attention so de- 
Uehtfuily ? To a majestic umplicitjr 
of style, to the sublime of thought 
only, heroic verse seems peculiar* 
ly tatal..«.consult the rhyme book 
of Job....it is more insufferable than 
the Alexandrines of a French tra<« 
gcdy. 

The very metre employed in the 
original Messiah is no less adapta- 
ble to the other Gothic dialacts 
than the German. In all of them 
stress makes quantity. An em- 
phatic syllable is long; an tmem- 
phatic syllable, sl^ort. The scan- 
ner has to consider neither the ar- 
ticulation of the vowels, nor the 
position of the consonants; two 
accented syllables form his spon- 
dees; one accented and two unac- 
cented, his dactyls. With soch 
feet Klopstock composes Hcxome-^ 
tern^ carefoUy putting a dactyl in 
the fifth place, unless a peculiar 
hea\dness of cadence is requisite ; 
and indulging frequently in the li- 
centious substitution of trochees to 
spondees, not only the sixth placci 
as was common among the anci- 
ents, but in any other. This form 
of line is usually fluent to rapidity : 
it invites and favours a fi-equent use 
of compound words, which abound 
in Klopstock, and which, like every 
|>eculiarity of a great master of 
song, ought in a version carefully 
to be retained. Such compounds, 
especially when they consist of two 
monosyllables, would read harsh in 
English, is rhynied, or even in 
blank verse; and would appear to 
clog the iambic step with spondaic 
ponderosity. Hexameter is there- 
frre better adapted than the metres 
in use to transfer Tf ith fuiU&fulness 



CBXTICISM OW KLOFSTOCK'S KBS9XAH. 



46» 



the roaniser of this writer. Take 
the passage already produced in 
rhyme, as a Bpecimeii. 

So at the midnight hoar draws nigh to 
the slumbering city 

Peftilence. Couch'd on his broad- 
spread wings lurks under the ram- 
part 

Death» bale-breathing. As yet un- 
alarmed are the peaceable dwellers ; 

Close to his cghtly-lamp the sage yet 
watches ; and high fiiends 

Over wine not unhallow'd, in shelter 
of odorous bowers, 

Talk of the soul and of friendship, 
and weigh their immortal duration. 

But too soon shall frightful Death, in 
a day of affliction. 

Pouncing, over them spread; in a 
day of moaning and anguish.... 

When with wringing of hands the 
bride for the bridegroom loud wails ; 

When, now of all her children bereft, 
the desperate mother 

Furious curses the day on which she 
bore» and was bom... .when 

Weary with hollower eye, amid the 
carcases totter 

Even the buriers....till the sent Death- 
angel, descending. 

Thoughtful, on thunder-clouds, be- 
holds all lonesome and silent, 

Gazes the wide desolation, and long 
broods over the graves, fixt. 

Perhiq>s some other writer will 
tiirow this fine picture into blank 
verse so well, aa to convince 
Hie public, that the beauties of 
Klopstock can be naturalized with- 
out strangeness, and his pecnliari- 
ties retained without afl^ctation ; 
that quaintness, the unavoidable 
eompanion of ueologism, b as need- 
less to genius, as hostile to grace ; 
the hexameter, until it is ^miliar, 
must repel, and, when it is fami- 
liar, may annoy; that it wants a 
musical orderliness of sound; and 
that its cantering capricious move- 
ment opposes the grave march of 
solemn majesty, and better suita 
the ordinary scenery of Theocritus 
than the empyreal viidons of Klop- 
stock. 

Yet these considerations can all 
be enfeebled, l^e unumal in metre, 
as in style, must appear strange, 

▼OL. I..««NO. VI. 



affected or quaint at first, but with 
each successive act of attention this 
impression by its very nature dimi- 
nishes ; it arising solely from ivant 
of habit. When the latent utility 
and adequate purpose of innovation 
comes at length to be discemed| 
the peculiarity commonly afibrds an 
additional zest. The employment 
of hexameters would obey this ge- 
neral law. Use would render their 
cadence soothing. All supposed 
association between metre am) mat- 
ter is in a great degree arbitrary, 
and is commonly accidental. The 
first classical and popular work 
produced in a given measure de- 
cides the reputedly appropriate ex- 
pression of that measure. DouUe 
rhymes, which are thought to have 
a ludicrous effect in English, are 
in every other modem language 
essential for sublime composition* 
Anapaestic metre would have pas- 
sed for elegiac, if Shenstone, Beat- 
tie, and the plaintive poets, had 
not been intermpted in the use of it 
by the author of the election-ball. II 
Penseroso and Hudibras scan alike x 
and hexameters may again, as of 
old, serve both for an luad and a 
Margites. In short, the matter not 
the torm, constitutes the essence 
of a work of literary art; and 
where the matter is fine, the form 
will soon be supposed to have con- 
tributed to its spirit, and to its 
beauty. The adoption of hexame- 
ter would afford that sort of delight 
which arises from the contempla- 
tion of difficulty oveixomc. It 
would necessarily introduce many 
novelties of style; and variety is 
the grand recipe of gratification. 
It would banish, from metrical rea- 
sons, half the established phrases 
and hacknied combinations of the 
rhymer's dictionary. It would 
arouse the industiy of the compos- 
ers, who^ not finding a ready made 
acquaintance of substantives and 
e]>ithets well paired and rytlimical- 
ly drilled, would have to contrive 
fresh unions, and would often ac- 
complish happier matches. While 
some withermg words would drop 
from the foliaceous tree of our Ian- 
10 



470 



CftlTICISM OH KLOFSTOCX*S MESSIAH. 



guage; the light freen leaves of 
many a new and uirer sprout of 
expression would spread abroad, 
and fresh blossoms of diction un- 
rimple their roseat peuls. 

When Klopstock published the 
^rst five books of his Messiah, hexa- 
meter was assailed by the critics 
as a roost unnatural costume for the 
German Muse : the poet persevered, 
and the nation is converted* Why 
should not his future translator an- 
ticipate a similar success ? 

It may be doubted however if 
the most fortunate Englisher of 
Klq>8tock would obtain that nation- 
al popularity and gratitude, that 
recognition of his work as a perpe- 
tual classic, which Mickle, beyond 
our other epic translators, seems 
to have attained* Klopstock's Mes- 
siah, why should it not be owned f 
will appear dull in English ; because , 
it is really so in German. The 
plan was not struck out at a single 
effort ; it is all piece-meal solder- 
ing, instead of being melted in one 
cast. It wants distinctness, pro- 
portion, cohesion* The &ble is 
consequently deficient in interest. 
Where there is no wholeness, there 
can be no care for the one great 
end. Nor does all the topical ap- 
plication of the poet overcome this 
constitutional imperfection of his 
work. The crucifixion and the re- 
surrection ought to have been the 
focuses of expectation, the centres 
of attraction along the whole orbit 
of his cometary course: they are 
lost sight of in fiivour of a galaxy 
of minute anecdotes, and a zodiac 
of mythological apparitions. What 
the action wants of extent as to 
tisie, the poet hai endeavoured to 
supply by extent as to space, and 
beckons spectators from every cran- 
ny of the universe. He seems 
aloof and adrift in a crowded at- 
mosphere of spirits and angels, 
where every little group is gibber- 
ing, and occasionally veers to look 
at the execution that is going on : but 
his mortal astonishment, instead of 
selecting the mightier business for 
record,thinks every character in the 
throng worth describing, and gets 



bewildered in the infinitude of his 
task. No epopcea exists, out of 
which so many passages and per- 
sonages could be cut without muti- 
lation. Distracted by the multipli* 
city of subordinate objects, curiosi- 
ty excited concerning each is incon- 
siderable. That headlong partici- 
pation in the pursuits of the heroes» 
which bawls aloud along with 
Hector for fire, is nowhere fidt in 
the Messdah. Every secondary in- 
cident should have fimnd a place 
only in as much as it tended to ad- 
vance or retard, or influence, the 
grand catastrophe. An anxiety 
about the chief business of the poem 
might thus have been inspired. 
Now, the parts withdraw attentioa 
from the whole: one sees not the 
forest for the trees. Instead of 
bearing down on the point for which 
he is bound, and sailing with full 
canvas toward his main destination, 
Klopstock is continually laveering : 
beautiful or sublime as the blanda 
and rocks may be which he thus 
brings into view, they indemnify 
not his forgettinp; the voyage. One 
as willingly begms with the seconjl 
book as with the first : one as wil- 
lingly stops after the eighth canto as 
after the tenth. The thousand and 
one episodes of the second half of the 
poem have interrupted many a 
reader, and one translator, in hia 
determination to travel to the end. 
The multiplicity of the pietistical 
rapsodies would weary even Saint 
Tlieresa. 

( To be ContitmetLJ 



THE POSSIBILITY OF PREVENT- 
ING, ANB OF AVERTING, TBB 
EFFECTS OF THUNDER. 

It has been asked, whether it 
might not be possible to prevent, or 
to avert, the fatal efibcts of thun- 
der? You are well aware of the 
importannce of the question, and 
under what obligation I should lay 
a number of worthy people, were I 
able to indicate aninfiiUible method 
of finding protection against thun- 
der. 



TO PRSVSKT THK EFFECTS OF THUNDER./ 



471 



The knowledge of the nature 
and effects of electricity, permits 
me not to doubt that the thing is 
possible* I corresponded some 
time ago with a Moravian priest, 
named Procoptus Divisch, who 
assured me that he had averted, 
during a whole summer, every 
thunder-storm which threatened 
his own habitation and the neigh- 
bourhood, by means of a machine 
constructed on the principles of 
electricity. Several persons, since 
arrived from that country, have 
assured me that tlTe fact is undoubted, 
and confirmed by irresistible proof. 

But there are many respectable 
characters, who, on the supposition 
that the thing is practicable, would 
have their scruples respecting the 
lawfiilnessof employing such a pre- 
servative. The ancient pagans, no 
doubt, would have considered him 
as impious, who should have presu- 
med to interfere with Jupiter, in 
the direction of his thunder. Chris- 
tians, who are assured that thunder 
is the work of God, and that Divine 
Providence frequently employs it 
to punish the wickedness of men, 
might with equal reason alledge, 
that it was impiety to attempt to 
oppose the course' of sovereign jus- 
tice. 

Without involving myself in this 
S delicate ^scussion, I remark that 
conflagrations, deluges, and many 
other general calamities, are like- 
wise the means employed by Provi- 
dence to puni^ the sins of men ; 
but no one, surely, ever will pre- 
tend, that it is lawful to prevent, or 
resist, the progress of a fire or an 
inundation. Hence I infer, that it 
is perfectly lawful to use the means 
of prevention against the effects of 
thunder, if they are attainable. 

The melancholy accident which 
befel Mr. Richniannat Petersburg, 
demonstrates, that the thunder- 
stroke which this gentleman unhap- 
pily attracted to himself, would 
undoubtedly have fallen somewhere 
else, and that such place thereby 
escaped : it can therefore no longer 
remain a question whether it be 
possible to cenduct thunder to one 



place in preference to another ^ 
and this seems to bring us near our 
mark. 

It would, no doubtt be a matter 
of still greater importance, to have 
it in our power to divest the clouds 
of their electric force, without be- 
ing uMder the necessity of exposing 
any one place to the ravages of 
thunder; we should, in that case, 
altogether prevent these dreadful 
efiects, which terrify so great a 
part of mankind. 

This appears by no means impos- 
sible; and the Moravian priest, 
whom I mentioned above, unques- 
tionably effected it ; for I have been 
assured, that his machinery sensi^ 
bly attracted the clouds, and con- 
strained them to descend quietly in 
a: distillation, without any but a 
very distant thunder-clap. 

llie experiment of a bar of iron t 
in a very elevated situation, which 
becomes electric on the approach 
of a thunder-storm, may lead us to 
the construction of a similar ma- 
chine, as it is certain, that in pro- 
portion as the bar discharges its 
electricity, the clouds must lose 
precisely the same quantity; but 
it must be contrived in such a man- 
ner, that the bars may immediately 
discharge the ether which they 
have attracted. 

It would be necessary, for this 
purpose, to procure for them a . 
free communication with a pool, or 
with the bowels of the earth, which, 
by means of their open pores, may 
easily receive a much greatef quan- 
tity of ether, and disperse it over 
the whole immense extent of the 
earth, so that the compression of 
the ether may not become sensible^ 
in any particular spot. This com- 
munication is very easy by means 
of chains of iron, or any other me- 
tal, which will, with great rapidity, 
carry off tlie ether with which the 
bars are surcharged. 

I would advise the fixing of 
strong bars of iron, in very elevated 
situations, and several of them to- 
gether, their higher extremity to 
terminate in a point, as this figure 
is very much adapted to the attrac- 



472 



T* FtBTBITT THE imCTS OF THVVDEX. 



tkm of electricity. I would, after-' 
wmrdi, attach lon^ dudne of Iron 
to these ban, which I would con- 
ductonder ground into a pool, lake, 
or river, there to discharge the 
electncity ; and I have no doubt, 
that after making repeated essays, 
the means may be certainly disco- 
vered of rendering such machi- 
nery more commodious, and more 
certain in its effect. 

It is abundantly evident, that on 
the approach of a thunder-storm, 
the ether, with which the clouds 
are surcharged, would be transmit- 
ted in great abundance into these 
bars, which would thereby become 
very electric, unless the chains fur- 
nished to the ether a free passage, 
to spend itself in the water, and in 
thetx>welsofthe earth. 

The ether of the clouds would 
eontinne, thereafter, to enter quiet- 
ly into the bars, and would, by its 
agitation, produce a light, which 
might be visible on the pointed 
extremities. 

Such light is, accordingly, often 
observed, during a storm, on the 
summit of spires, an m&lIiUe proof 
that the ether of the cloud is there 
quietly discharging itself ; and every 
one considers this as a very good 
sign, of the harmless absorption of 
many thunder-strokes. 

Lights are likewise frequently 
observed at sea, on the tops of the 
masts of ships, known to sailors by 
the name of Castor and Pollux ; and 
when «uch signs are visible, they 
consider themselves as safe from 
the stroke of thunder. 

Most philosophers have ranked 
thepc phenomena among vulgar su- 
perstitions ; but we are now fully 
assured, that such sentiments are 
not without foundation ; indeed they 
are infinitely better founder! than 
many of our philosophic reveries. 

ADDBKSS or THE AMERICAN 
CONVENTION TO THE PEOPLE 
or THF UNITES STATES. 
FELLOW CITIZENS, 

The American convention for 
-•"^oting the abolition of slavery, 



aad improvfaig the condhioii of the 
Aftican race, assembled lor the 
purpose of deliberation upon such 
matters as relate to the design of 
their institution, believe it their 
duty to address ynu at this time: 
not with a view to descant upon the 
horrors of slavery, or its incompa« 
tibility with sound policy, with 
justice, with morality, and with 
the spirit and doctrines of Christi- 
anity: for besides that the drcQin- 
scribed nature of such an address ne- 
cessarily preclude^engthy animad- 
venuon, these are topics whidi 
have been so repeatedly and ably 
discussed, as to leave little room 
for additional argument or new il- 
lustration. The feelings and the 
judgment have been often addreaed 
with all the strength of reason and 
the powers of eloquence, and al- 
though prejudice may blind the 
eyes of some, and avarice close 
the avenues of sensibility in others, 
we derive consolation from the 
assurance, that the wise and the 
good, the liberal and the considerate 
of all classes of the community, la- 
ment the existence of slavery^ and 
consider it as a dark stain in the 
annals of our country. We do not 
even hesitate to believe that many 
who hold slaves by demise, acknow- 
ledge the injustice of the tenure ; 
but i^erplexed in the contemplation 
of the embarrassment in which 
they find themseVves, they are 
ready to exclaim, ^< What shall "be 
done with them?" We would wil- 
lingly include these among the 
number of our friends, and intreat 
them to unite in the removal of an 
evil so justly and almost universally 
deplored. 

A principal object of our con- 
cern, is to rouse the attention of 
tlie public to the c«nttnued....may 
we not say....increasing necesMty" 
of exertion. We fear many have 
taken up an idea, that there is less 
occasion now thf.n formerly, for 
active zeal in promoting the* cnu<e 
of the oppressed African : l>ut when 
it is rememliered that there aiv 
about nine hundred thousand slaves 
in this country! ^hat hundreds of. 



ADDRESS TO THB PEOPLE OF THE VVITED STATES. 471 



vessels do annually sail from oar 
shores to traffic in the blood of our 
fellow men ! and that the abomina- 
ble practice of kidnapping is carri- 
ed on to an alarming extent ! surely it 
will not be thought a time for 
supineness and neglect. Ought not 
rather eTcry faculty of tlie mind to 
be awakened? and in a matter 
wherein the reputation and prospe- 
rity of these United States are so 
deeply involved, is it possible that 
any can remain as indifferent and 
idle spectators ? 

The gix>ss and violent outrages 
committed by a horde of kidnap- 
pers, call aloud for redress. We 
have reason to believe, there is a 
complete chain of them along our 
sea cpast, from Georgia to Maine« 
Like the vulture, soaring in ap- 
parent indifference, while watch- 
ing for his prey, these shameless 
men, disguised in the habiliments 
of gentlemen, haunt public places, 
and at night seize and carry off the 
vicUms of their avaricc.—The 
<;onvention are informed of some of 
their insidious manoeuvres. They 
^nerally liave vessels moored 
m small rivers and creeks, and 
after stealing the unprotected, they 
decoy by stratagem and alhire by 
specious offers of gain, such free 
persons of colour as they find sus- 
ceptible of delusion.....Others re- 
siding near the sea coast, are con- 
tinually purchasing slaves in the 
middle states, to sell at an advanc- 
ed price to their compeers in infa- 
my. For the victims of this shock- 
ing business, they find a ready 
market among the soutliem plant- 
ers. The design of this detail, 
miLst be obvious: it is to excite tlie 
vigilance of every frietid to huma- 
nity and to virtue, in the detection 
and punishment of tlicse monsters 
in the shape of men. 

To coniplnin of injustice, or pe- 
tition for redress of grievances, 
cannot be mistaken for rebellion 
against the laws of our country..... 
We lament therefore the existence 
of statutes in the state of North 
Carolina, prohibiting individuals 
the privilege of doing justice to the 



unfortunate slave, and tx> their 
own feedings, by setting him> at 
liberty; and we learn with the* 
deepest re^t, that the state oC 
South Carolina has recently repeal* 
ed the law prohibiting the importa- 
tion of slaves from Afidca into that 
state. Such appears to be Che 
melancholy fact ; but we cannot re* 
strain the involuntary question.^* 
Is this possible ? Is the measure of 
iniquity not yet filled ? Is there no 
point at which you will stop? Or 
was it necessary to add this one 
step, to complete the climax of 
folly, cruelty, and desperation? Oh 
legislators! we beseech you to re- 
flect, before you increase the evils 
which already surround you in 
gloomy and frightful perspective ! 

Beholding with anxiety the in- 
crease rather than diminution of 
slavery and its dreadful concomi- 
tants^ we earnestly request the 
zealous co-operation of every friend 
to justice and every lover of his 
countn*. It IS an honourable, a 
virtuous and a humane cause in 
which we have embarked. Much 
good has already been effected, but 
much remains to be doxie ; and, un- 
der the divine blessing, may we not 
confidently hope, that m proportion 
to the sincerity of our motives, and 
the temperate, firm, and persever- 
ing constancy of our exertions will 
be our success, and peaceful re* 
ward* Those who live contiguous 
to the sea ports, in particular, we 
wish may be stimulated to vigilance, 
that none of those shameful acts of 
atrocity adverted to, may elude de- 
served punishment: and our fellow 
citizens of the eastern atates are 
respectfully invited to pay attention 
to the clandestine traffic in slaves 
carried on from some of their ports. 
Such daring infractions of the laws 
of our country require prompt and 
decisive measui^s. 

Many aspersions have been cast 
upon the advocates of the freedom 
of the Blacks, by malicious or 
interested men; biit, conscious of 
the rectitude of our intentions, and 
the disinterestedness of our endea- 
vours, wc hope not to be intimi- 



474 



AOOSESS TO TBB PEOPLB 09 THE VVITED STATES* 



dated by censure from perforniin^ 
the part assig;ned us. We frankly 
own, that it is our wish to promote 
a general emancipation; and, in 
domg this, it b our belief that we 
essentially promote the true inte- 
rests of the state : Although many 
inconveniences may result from a 
general liberation of the People of 
Colour; yet those which flow from 
their continuance in slarery must be 
infinitely greater, and are eyery 
day increasing. It is, therefore, in 
our estimation, desirable that this 
object should be brought about with 
as much speed as a prudent regard 
to exhting circumstances, and the 
safet)' of the country will admit : 
But in all our endeavours for its 
accomplishment, wc hope to move 
with care and circumspection. We 
pointedly disavow the most distant 
intention to contravene an^ exist- 
ing law of the states collectively or 
8eparatelv....We will not know- 
ingly infringe upon the nominal 
rights of property, although those 
rights may only be traced to our 
8tatute*books ; and while wc desire 
to foe supported in our endeavours 
to defend the cause of the oppress- 
ed, we hope* that discretion and 
moderation will characterize all 
our proceedings. We feel with 
others the common frailties of 
humanity, and, therefore cannot 
expect an exemption from error. 
The best intentions are sometimes 
inadvertently led astray ; a lively 
zeal in a good cause may occasion- 
ally overleap the bounds of discre- 
tion : although therefore individuals 
may in some instances, have suffered 
their zeal to exceed knowledge, yet 
we repeat, that the line of conduct 
which we approve, and which is 
consonant with the spirit and 
design of our institutions, is in 
strict conformity with a due sub* 
mission to existing laws, apd to the 
legal claims of our fellow citizens. 
On this giound we think we have a , 
just claim to the countenance and ' 
support of all liberal minds....of ail 
who delight in the real prosperity 
of their country, and in the multi- 
plication of human happiness. 



We conclude in the expression 
of a hope that llhe Supreme Dis- 
poser of events, will prosper our 
labours in this work of justice, and 
hasten the day, when liberty shall 
be proclaimed to the captive, and 
this land of boasted freedom and 
independence, be relieved from the 
opprobrium which the sufirrings of 
the oppressed African now cast 
upon it. 

By order of the Convention, 
Mat. Frakklin, President. 
Attest....OTHN. Alsop, Sec'ry. 

Philadelphia, Jan. 13thy ISOl. 



ABOLITION of SLAVERY IV NEW 
JERSEY. 

The legislature of New Jersey^ 
on the 15th February passed a law 
for the gradual abolition of slavery* 
It enacts that every child bom of a 
slave after the 4th day of July next, 
ahail bejrecy but shall remain the 
servant of the owner of the mother, 
in the same manner as if such child 
had been bound to service by the 
overseers of the poor, males vntO 
the age of 25, and females until the 
age 01 21... .provides for the regis- 
try of the birth of all such children 
within nine months after such birth 
....and gives liberty to the owner, 
at any time within one year from 
the birth, to ciect to abandon his 
right to any such child, the owner 
being, nevertheless, Uable to main- 
tain the child until one year old, 
and thereafter the child to be consi- 
dered as a pauper, and liable to be 
bound out to service as other poor 
children, male^ until the age of 25, 
and females 21....but while the 
child remains a pauper, and until 
it shall be bound out, it is to be 
maintained by the town, at the ex^ 
/tmse q/*/A^«/arr, not exceeding the 
rate of three dollars per month. •• 
the owner not abandoning the child 
within the year, to be considei-ed 
as having elected to retain the 
chiUl, and liable to its maintenance 
during the respective periods of 
servi<ie limited by the act. 



475 



REPORTS TO CONGRESS. 

The Secretary -of the Treantry*9 Refiort to the Comndseioners of the 
Sinking Fund* 

That at tke close of the year 1801, the unexpended balance of the dis- 
bursements made out of the treasury, for the payment of the principal and 
interest of the public debt, which was applicable to payments falling due 
after that year, as ascertained by accounts rendered to the treasury de- 
partment, amount to - - - Doliara 1,085)997 60 
Thatduringtheyearl802,thefollow- 

ing disbursements were made 

out of the treasury, on the same 

account, viz 
L There was paid on account of the 

reimbursement and interest of 

the domestic funded debt, the 

sum of 4,618,021 39 

n. On account of domestic loans 

obtained from the bank of the - ' 

United States, viz. 
On account of the principal - 1,290,000 , 

Ditto interest, - - 162,025 

1,452,025 

III. On account of the domestic un- 
funded debt, viz* 

On account of the debts due to fo- 
reign officers - - 7,994 92 

Ditto certain parts of the Dutch 

debt .... 14,966 84 

, 21,961 r« 

IV. On account of the principal and 
interest of the Dutch debt, in- 
cluding repayments in the trea- 
sury - 3,359,992 3 

Amounting altogether to • - - JDoliara 9,453,000 II 

Which Diaburaementa were made out qfthejollovtingfunday viz* 

L From the funds constituting the 
annual appropriation of seven 
millions three hundred thou- 
sand dollars, for the year 1802, 
viz. 
' From the fund arising from interest . 

on the debt transferred to the 
commissioners of the sinking 
fund ..... 326,44992 

From the fund arising from pay- 
ments into the treasury, of 
debts which originated under 
the late government - « tdS 79 



476 



mtrOlTS TO COMGlKSf. 



Prom tiie fend ariung from divi« 
dcnds on the capital stock, 
which bdoDged to the United 
States, in the bank of said 
tUtes ... 

Txom the fend arisinpfrom the sales 
of public lands, being the 
amount of monies paid into 
the treasury, in the year 1802, - 

IVom the proceeds of duty on goods, 
wares, and merchandise, im- 
ported, and on the tonnage of 
ships sjid vessels, •. . • 

IL From the proceeds of duties on 
goods, wares, and merchan- 
dise, imported, and on the ton- 
nage ot ships or vessels ad- 
vanced in part and on account 
of the annual appropriation of 
seven millions two hundred 
thonsand dollars, for the year 
1803 ... 

IIL From repayments in the trea- 
sury, on account of remit- 
tances purchased for providing 
for the foreign debt, via. , 

Repa3rment of the purchase mo- 
ney • - - 109,120 

Damages and interest recovered 10,471 79 



^960 



79,575 52 



6,759,125 77 



7,5Q0,00a 



745,807 40 



IV. From the proceeds of two 
thousand, two hundred and 
twenty shares capital stock of 
the bank of the United States, 



Tliat the above disbursments, toge- 
ther with the above-mentioned 
balance which remained unex- 
pended on the 1st of January, 
1802,and amounted altogether 
to - - - - 

Ten millions five hundred and thir- 
ty-eight thousand nine hundred 
and seven dollars, and seven- 
ty-eight cents, have been ac- 
counted for in the following 
manner, viz. 

L There was repaid in the treasury, 
during the year 1803, on ac- 
count of protested bills, or ad- 
vances made for contracts 
which were not felfilled 

JL The sums actually applied dur- 
ing the same year, to the pay- 
ment of the principal and inter-' 



119,592 78 



1,287,602 



Z7o/. 9,459,000 18 



10,538,907 78 



109,r» 



&EPORTS MADE TO C0HGRX5S. 477 

est of the public debt, as as- 
certained by accounts rendered 
to the treasury department 
amount to seven millions seven 
hundred and seventy-two thou- . 
sand eight hundred and fifty. 
four dollars and seventy cents, 
viz. 

L Paid in reimbursement of the 

principal of the public debt 3)633,744 63 

n. On account of the interest ' 

and charges on the same, 4,134,110 07 

7,772,854 TO 

III. The balance remaining uneill 
pended at the close of the year 
1802, and applicable to pay- 
ments falling due after that 
year, as ascertained by ac- 
counts rendered to tlie trea- 
sury department, amounted to - 2,656,933 08 



Two millions six hundred and fifty- 
six thousand, nine hundred and 
thirty-three dollars and ei^t 
cento 10,538,907 7S 



nat during the year 1803, the following disSiiraerrttnts were made out 
of th( Treatmry^ on account of the firincijial and interest of the 
fiublif^debt^ vizm 

I. There was paid on account of 

the reimbursement and interest 
of the domestic funded debt, a 
sum of - - - - 4,568,176 68 

II. On account of domestic loans 

obtained from the bank of the 

United States, viz. 
On account of the principal 500,000 

Ditto ditto interest - - 8J2,300 



III. On account of the domestic un- 
funded debt, VIZ. 

On account of debts due to foreign 

officers - - 12,123 31 

Ditto certain parts of the domestic 

debt ... 12,07343 



582,000 



24,196 74 



IV. On account of the principal 
and interest of the foreign debt, 
including repayment in tlie 
treasury ... 2,153.348 17 



Amounting altogether to .... 7,3S7,721 

VOL. I....N0. VI. 11 



471 



BXPOlTt MADB TO COKGRXSS. 



Which dUhuTMementM were made ufi of thefoUvmngJundMj inn. 

I. From the funds constituting the 

annual appropriation of seven 

millions Uiree hundred thuu- 

luuid dollars for the ) ear 1603, 

viz. 
From the fund arising from interest 

on the debt transferred to the 

comnuFsioners of the sinking 

fund, <isperst;.tement (N) - • - 401,315 5 
From the fund arising from pay- 
ments into the treasury^ of 

debts which originated under 

the late government, as per 

sUtement (O) 105 46 

From the fund arising from the 

sales of public lands, being the 

amount of monies paid into the 

treasury in the year 1803, as 

per statement (P) . - - - 158,949 65 
From the proceeds of duties on 

goods, wares, and merchan- 
dise imported, and on the ton- 

Bage of ships and vessels - - 5,993,752 4i 

Amounting altogether to - - - - 6^54,192 60 

Which sum of - - - - 6,554,192 60 

together with the sum advanc- 
ed during the year 1802, on 
account of the appropriation 
for the year 1805, and amount- 
ing, as above stated, to - - 745,807 40 



Make in the whole tlie annual ap- 
propriation of dollars, for the 
year 11^03 - - - 

n. From the proceeds of duties on 
goods, warcsy and merchandise 
imported, and on the tonnage 
of ships or vessel b advanced in 
part, and on account of the an- . 
nual appropriation for the year 
1804 - - . - 

III. From repayments in -the trea- 
sury, on account of remittan- 
ces purcha!>ed for providing for 
the foreign debt, and of ad- 
vances made to conunissioners 
of loans, viz. 

Repayment of the purchase money, 

and advances - - 13,117 48 

Damages and intei*est recovered 2,218 



7,300,000 



753,236 40 



IV. From the monies appropriated 
by law for paying commission- 
ers to agents employed in the 



15,335 43 



BEYOSTS MADE TO COHORESS. 47t 

norohase of remittances for the 
foreign debt, being the amount 
paid at the treasury during the 
year 1803, for that object 4,957 1 

7,327,721 59 

That the abovemcntioned disburse- 
ments, together with the above 

sUttd balance of dollars - ... 2,656,933 

which : emitincd unex])ended at 
at the close of the year 1802, 
and with a further sum aris- 
ing from the profits made on 
remittances made to H>>ll'ind, 
by the way of London, which 
is estimated at - - - - - * 11,200 



Dollar9y 9,995,854 67 
And amounting altogether to nine 

millions nine hundred and fifty 

thousand eight hundred fifty. 

four dollars, sixty-seven cents, 

will be accounted for in the next 

annual report, in conformity 

with the accounts which i^hall 

then have been rendered to 

the treasury department. 
That in the mean while, the man- 
ner in which the said sum has 

been a])plied, is from the partial 

accounts which have been ren- 
dered, and from the knowledge 

of the payments intended to be 

made both in Holland and in 

America, estimated as follows, 

viz. 
I. The repayments in the treasury 

have amounted to - - - 13,117 43 

n. The sums actually applied, 

during the year 1803 to the 

payment of the phncipal and • 

interest of the public debt, are 

estimated as follow, viz* 
I. Paid in the reimbursements of 

the principal of the public 

debt - - . 4,528,196 74 

On account of interest and 

charges on the same ^ 3,903,144 11 

Amounting altogether to ... 8,481,34085 

IIL' The balance remaining unex- 
pended at the close of the year 
1803, and applicable to the 
payments falling due after 
that year, is ^timated at - - - - 1,5^,396 34 

Doiiarsy 9,995,857 
That no purchases of the debt of the United States have been mi 
since the date of the last report to congress. 



4S4 SXP9STS MASS TO COVGtKSS. 

Ths Secretary of the Trensury has transmitted to Congress^ a stale* 
ment of goods, warrs^ and merchandise^ expoi*ted from the United 
States for one year, prior to the first day of October, 1803. The goods, 
wares and merchandise of domestic growth '^r nianufaQture* included in 
the statement, are estimated at fbrty-two rn'Kii.tns two hundred and five 
thousand nine hundred and sixt\-one thousiuid dollars ; and of those of 
foreign growth or manufactuvi-t> at thirteen millions five hundred and 
ninety-four thousand and seventy-two €li)!)ars. 

ITie exports to Great Britain and her colonies, it appears, has increased 
immensely for the last year. It is stated, that «!even millions six htmdred 
and two thousand four h\mdred and hft> -se\ eii dollars of domestic pro- 
duce of America, has been ex; sorted to Knghtnd, Maoy and Berwick 
alone. While the exports to all i- r mce, aii^i her colonies, amount only to 
jftnir millions nine htmdred and thirty •two thousand one hundred and 
ninety-^hree dollars. 

It will also be observed that tlic exports from the state of New-¥Di^ 
exceed that of any other state in the union by upwards of two millions. 

The following is a summary of the value of the exports from eadi 
state: 





Dometttic, 


Foreifp^* 


TotaL 


New-Hampshire, 


443.527 


51,093 


494,620 


Massachusetts, 


5,3V9,0-0 


3,369,546 


8,768,566 


Vermont, 


89,540 


27,940 


147,450 


Rhode-Island, 


664,C?30 


611,366 


1,275,596 


Connecticut, 


1,C3F,388 


iai88 


1,248,571 


New-York, 


7,626,831 


3,191,556 


10,813,3<7 


New-Jersey 


21,311 




21,311 


Pennsylvania 


4,021,214 


3,504,496 


7,525,710 


Delaware, 


186,087 


240,466 


. 428,153 


Maryland, 


3,838.396 


1,371,022 


5,209,418 


Virginia, 
N. Carolina, 


7,229,967 


184.376 


7,414,346 


926,308 


26,296 


952,614 


S. Caix>lma, 


6,863,343 


947,765 


7,811,108 


Georgia, 
Territory of the 


2,345,387 


% 25,488 


2,370,875 


United States, 


1,301,832 


32,476 


1,343^308 




42,205,961 


13,594,072 


55,800,033 



SALARIES OF PUBLIC OFFICERS* 

The Secretary of Stite....Five Thousand Dollars. 
The Secretar>' of thfe Treasury. ...Five Thousand Dollars* 
The Secretary of Wnr....Four Thousand Five Hundred Dollars.. 
The Secretary of theNavy....Four Thousand Five Hundred Dollars* 
'ITie Attorney -Gcncral—.Three Thousand Dollars. 
TheComptroller of the Treasury....ThrecThousandFiveHundredDollars. 
The Treasurer... .Three Thousand Dollars. 
The Auditor of the Treasury.... Three Thousand Dollars. 
The Register of the Treasuiy....Two Thousand Four Hundred Dollars* 
The Accountant of the War Department.. ..Two Tliousand Ddllars. 
The Accountant of the Navy Depart ment.. ..Two Thrmsand Dollars* 
The Post-Masler General....Three Thousand Dollars. 
The Assistant Post-Master General.. .One Thousand Seven Hun- 
dred DfJLirs. ^ 

lyable quarterly •*.*to continue for three years from January 1, 1804* 



L 



This book should be returned to 
the Idbrsry on or before the last date 
stamped below. 

A fine of five cents a day is inoitrred 
by retaining it beyond the specified 
time. 

Please return. promptly. 



^^" 




DUEJAr^3H,