The Port folio

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P30I.I

r

~i

A CAKT COBB.

THE PORT FOLIO.

' Vol. XII. M
FROM JULY TO DECEMBER.
1821.

EDITED BT

JOHN E. BOLL, Esq.

Various, tbtt the mind
Of desultory man, stndiow of change
And pleta'd with novelty, amy be indulged*— Cowper.

PHILADELPHIA:
PUBLISHED BT HARRISON HALL,

JVo. 5 Jforik Eleventh gtreeL

1821.

~T±u.\

CONTENTS OP NO. 236. VOL. XII.

XMBBXJUKHMKNTS.

L Portrait of Hugh Williamson, LL.D.
II. Bridge on the Delaware, at Philadelphia.
HL A Flicker, or Woodpecker.

IV. Wier's Cave in Virginia.

V. The Marine Velocipede.

Art. I. Memoirs of Anacreon, . . 249

II. Ayrshire Legatees; or, the Correspondence of the

Pringle Family, . • . . 270

m. Letters from an Englishman in the United States

to bis friend in Great Britain, . . 301

IV. Description of Wier's Cave in Virginia, in a letter

from Calvin Jones, Esq. . .325

V. The Marine Velocipede, . . 332

VI. The Tyrol Wanderer, . . . 333

VII. Account of the Coronation, - . . 340

VIII. Eleanor Selby and the Spectre Horseman of Soutra 364

IX. Alice and Berenger, a tale from the French, 377

X. Life of Hugh Williamson, M. D. L L. D. . 388

XL Notes on Rio de Janeiro, and the Southern parts

of Brazil, by John Luccock, . . .406

XII. Letters from, a traveller in the Western States, 440

XIIL Theology explained and defended in a Series of

of Sermons, by Timothy Dwight, S. T. D.

L L. D. . . . .453

XIV. The Gold-winged Woodpecker, or Flicker, . . 475

XV. Poetry, ..... 485

XVI. Literary and Scientific Intelligence, . ' . 496

r List

riM9

THE PORT FOLIO,

CONDUCTED BY OLIVER OLDSCHOOL, ESQ.

Various, that the mind
Of desultory man, studious of change
And pleased with novelty, may be indulged.— Cowpeb.

Vol. XII. SEPTEMBEH, 1621. *v. . I,

*T " ' ' i f ■ ' '- ■ . ■ . ■ ,

LETTERS FROM AFRICA,

By Dan Signor Travidcani, or Aviero, to Canova, the Sculptor.

no* THE ITALIAN.

Palmyra 17th December, 1818.

Marino a short stay at Grand Cairo, I embarked in the neigh*
bourhood of Babylonia ; and turning away from Rhodes, proud of
its Nilometer, I found running upwards, Cimopolis, and the city
that calls to remembrance the depraved licentiousness of Adrian,
the Lower Abydos, Lycopolis, and many other places not men-
tioned with us.

The picturesque prospect of a thousand cavities called to my
mind the anchorites of Thebes.

Following the well-employed journey, I observed Abotis, Arro-
topholis, and Tentea, where, in the temple of I sis, I tasted, with
wonder, the Egyptian learning; and, turning towards the opposite
shore, I passed by Coenas, and Apollinopolis Minor ; reviewing
near thereto the city of the Hundred Gates.

Here is Carnak with its boundless walks of sphinxes, the Pro-
pylceon, porticoes of granite, the courts, the squares, and the tem-
ple, with eighteen ranks of columns hieroglyphically sculptured,
the circumference of which seven men hardly span with their arms.

Luxor, with its obelisks and innumerable colonnades.

Behold Medmet Abu covered with endless ruins, and with the
monstrous colossus that saluted the appearance of the king of the
stars, and still shadows the Theban plain.

vol. xn. 1

2 Letter* from Africa,

Follow and behold Kowm, where the seat of Memnon makes a
rich display ; and the bright image of the great Sesostris.

But the tombs of these subterranean abodes, that which an Itali-
an (Giovanni Belzoni,) opened last year, under the auspices of Mr.
Salt, consul-general of Eugland, in Egypt, excites a doubt whe-
ther they are the production of a mortal hand.

The ulterior is entered through an ample gate, where a path,
with walls beautifully sculptured, leads to galleries still more beau-
tiful, by the side of which are the royal rooms, which preserve in
diffuse painting the Egyptian mysteries, and the different nations first
known. The sanctuary of Isis captivates both the eye and the mind.

Then a catacomb of alabaster, adorned with hieroglyphics, both
externally and internally, rises in the centre of the greater wing,
which alone might enrich and give reputation to a museum. Why
were not you with me in that hour when I found in the great
Thebes the whole world ?

Having so good a motive, I directed to you from thence a let-
ter. Tearing myself away, as it were, by force, from the divine
Hecatompylos, I passed Armumis, Crocodilopolis, Latopolis, and
Apollinopolis Major, saluting afterwards, amongst its pleasing hills,
the remote Syene.

Having visited the temples of that frontier, and the well that was
the looking-glass of the Sun, and the Elephantine Island, the
abode of Emefet, 1 joined the illustrious party of my Lord Bel-
more, intent upon visiting Nubia ; and, having passed the last cat-
aract^ improperly called the first, the caves of granite, and the
sumptuous edifices of Phitoe, fee. reached Sicg Ib9ambaly the an-
cient Aboceis, abandoned to Petronius by the unfortunate Candace,
and where is still the best monument of Ethiopia, re-opened by
order of Mr. Salt, by our Belzoni, and by us another lime when the
Nisis had covered it with sand. The name of Mr. Salt is dear to
the republic of the literati, and to amateurs of travels, by calling
to their remembrance the interesting accounts of Abyssinia*

From Ibsambal, passing over to Ischiet, we met Daud Kas-
chef, one of the seventy children of Hassan, who received us with
an agreeable politeness, under a canopy of palms, in a field. Oh 1
if you had seen how different from our own are the customs of the
people of Nubia.

Here Captain Coney, brother of Lord Belmore, and myself, were
seized with the desire of passing the penultimate cataract, in order

Letters fr**i j09**. %

to arrive by the way of Senur at the pleasant island of Meroe,
which is the Saba conquered by Moses before the high mission,
when, under the name of Sontifanti, ha engaged high credit at the
court of Pharaoh.

We were fall of this project, when some people of the pro*
vinces, subject to the Grand Negus, told us, that the Mamelukes
confined in Dongola by the brave Mahomet Ali, vehemently sus-
pected all those who came from Egypt ; wherefore we retraced*
ed, and, on the 26th of Dec. 1817, 1 cut in the name of Mas and
my own, upon the highest top of the cataracts of Nubia.

That river which fertilizes so many kingdoms, and makes them
fruitful, is here divided into millions of various streams, which,
gushing out from amongst the stones, and folding into heaps of
flowers, form to the eye a spectacle not elsewhere known in na-
ture.

Having found under the torrid Zone the scites of the ancient
Phthuris, Assciga, Yicroseia, Corthes, Pselchaa, Thutzis, Tahnis,
Tapais, and Thitzi, and having returned to Syene, and soon di-
rected my steps towards Ombos Sacra, to Crocodile, to Stilithia,
Anubis, to Koptos, the friend of the maritime Berenice, and which
experienced all the rigour of Diocletian, to Dioscopolis Minor,
Abydos Major, which preserves considerable remains of the tem-
ple of Osiris, to Panopolis Antinopolis, Hermapolis, Magna, Ta-
nis Superior, and to Osirineus in Sim, where I met with the French
traveller, Count Forbin.

Spending some time in Radamore, where is a distillery of rum,
and a sugar bakery, under the direction of the hospitable Mr.
Brine, I went down to the pyramids of Saccara, and by the plain of
Memphis, to those of Ghizeh, where I found M. Belzoni anxious
to penetrate into the second of those heaps, thought to be of Ce-
phrenns. Knowing his intelligence, I endeavoured only to ani-
mate him still more to the undertaking, and after a stay of some
days, we traversed a place which had been inaccessible for many
generations ; and I know not how to express my feelings at wan-
dering amongst those cavaties.

A very long-inclined gallery, entirely of fine and massy granite ;
a passage at the end so narrow, that a man bending horizontally
can hardly enter ; then a horizontal gallery, which looks into the
hall where is the tomb worn away ; a perpendicular gallery, some-
what inclined, with a room on the left side of the passage ; various

4 L<Uer$frowt Africa*

collections of saline productions figured upon the walls ; nume-
rous inscriptions ; and, finally, crosses drawn upon these same
frails $— this is what we saw.

Emerging from this delirium to the light, I wished to ascend the
highest pyramid, and arrived at the top ; I appeared to touch the
stars : I remained there the whole night, which was the best of
my life. Forty centuries had been silent under my feet, whilst I
was pondering on the cause and effects of the creation.

The following morning the rising San illumined me, which
shone with a pomp never dreamt of either by painter or by poet.

From this place I wrote to you, to Dionigi, Morghen, Bartolo-
mei, Pindemonte, Morichini, Ferroni, Vacea, Scarpellini, Camel-
lieri, Delfico, to the Cardinal Gonzalvi, to the Chevalier Fossom-
broni, and to other lights and souls of my country.

I have scarcely mentioned to you the celebrated woman of Miz-
raim ; she has been a prey to all the scourges of time, so that wo
can only write upon her remains, " there was Memphis."

Turning from the pyramids, I entered into Grand Cairo, and
thence down to Alexandria, in order to expedite to you the plan
of my researches : for you and the Regent of England were the
first to second in> efforts.

During the above mentioned period, I went to pay homage to
the man who governs Egypt, worthy of being inserted in the pages
of history by the side of Moeris and Menes, or with Euergetes and
Ptolemy, sons of Lagos.

Returning to Grand Cario, I repaired to Asia : and, plunging
into the deserts of Etam and those of Kedar, I saw on one side
Pliaraw, and on the other Casiotis, which includes in its bosom
the bones of the great Roman yet unrevenged

As I left Egypt, which was deserting me, I was reminded of
what Araru wrote to the great Omar, who was desirous of having
a picture of that country : •» O prince of the Faithful, it is a vast
and arid desert, with a river in the middle, which is attended in
its course by two opposite hills, the borders of the ground render*
ed fertile by that flood so blessed by heaven/1 Most just is the
picture, and in that too which afterwards follows.

Continuing my route I pasbed the isthmus of Suez, and the frag-
ments of Rinocerura, Rapha, and Agrippiades, and leaving behind
me Bezor, I comforted my weary eye with the olives of Gerara,
the happy land of the Philistines.

Letter* from Afric*. §

Departing from Gaza I went to Beersheba, to Sorek, upon the
borders of which lived Dalilah, to Timnath, and Gabatha, known
already by the feats of Samson ; and getting out of the way of the
tribe of Simeon, I advanced into the mounts of Judah and Benja-
min, arriving by the plain of Boaz at Jerusalem, in the very time
of the Greeks demanding from Heaven their sacred fire.

At the view of the Hill of Sion and Mount of Olives, at the ap-
pearance of the city, I felt both as a christain and as a philosopher,
touched by an hitherto unfelt emotion, which, somewhat retarding
my steps, covered my heart with pleasing melancholy, and my
mind with incessant meditation. Oh ! what a difference between
the imagination and the reality.

Having reverenced those places which record the beginning of
the best religion in the world, I contemplated with indescribable
transport, the Tower of David, the Temple- of Solomon, the Pa-
lace of Herod, the Fountain and the Pool of Siloah, the Sheep-
pool, and that of Beersheba, the Kedron, the Golden Gate, the
well of Nehemiah, which concealed the true fiery element, the
Mount of Offence, and that of Scandal, with the Valley of Tophet,
where the priests of Israel sacrificed human victims to Moloch ;
the Sepulchre of Manasseh in the garden of Uzza, the sepulchres
of the kings, and those of Absalom, of Jehosaphat, of Zachariah,
son of Barachiah ; the only architectural objects I thought worthy of
you amongst the modern antiquities of the Hebrews.

Ton are never satiated with delight over the ruins of Jerusalem ;
and, taking the advantage of a company of pilgrims, I went with
them to Bahurim, whence Shimei threw stones at the Psalmist, in
Adummim, or Place of Blood, to the fountain of Elijah, to Jericho,
which no longer gives odour to the chaste flower, down to Gilgal ;
I purified myself in the Jordan at Bethabara, where John baptized*

Before me were Reuben and Gad, with the plains of Moab, and
the Land of the Ammorites.

Amongst the crowd of pilgrims were distinguished the Britons,
Bengs, Mangles, Irby, Legb, and the exemplary companion of the
Italian Belzoni.

Returning to Jerusalem, I was present at the tragic quarrel
which occurred between the Greeks and Latins, near the tomb of
Jesus Christ. I wrote to the hero of the pontificate, exhorting
him to interfere, in order, that, in future, such scandalous occur*
rences might not happen.

I then undertook another journey, and the places I saw were the

6 Lett&rs/rovi Afrit*.

Valley of the Giants, the Lands of Jacob, the sepulchre of Rachel,
near Ramah, the Cistern of David, Bethlehem, a smiling town of
Judea, the Villa of the closed Garden, the Sealed Fountain, and
the vessels of Solomon ; the Hills of Engeddi, Tetna, the country
of Almos ; and Giloh, country of Ahitophel ; the Grottos of Adul-
lam, and the wood of Ziph, where the successor of Saul, David, of-
ten hid himself; the valley of Mamre, the field of Damascus ;
whence re-proceeding, the vale of Terebinthus, fatal to Goliah,
and the surrounding places renowned by the nativity and abstinence
of the precursor. Lastly, I saw Bethany.

Having drawn from the library and the archives of the fri-
ars what I thought of service to my purpose, I bid adieu to the
daughter of Sion, and by the Pool of Gibeon, Beth-horon, Succoth
the Valley of Rephaim, Azekah, Emmaus, Anathoth, the coun-
try of Jeremiah placed against Modin, the glory of the Maccabees,
and by Aramathea, passing Sharon, I stopped at Joppa, which still
boasts of its rocks warm with the tears of Andromeda. Here ar-
rived the Tyrian ships, bearing the precious stones and purple
which the son of Abibal sent to the sapient king, and here, too,
daily arrives the pilgrim, led from afar to pay the vow.

From Joppa I went by the shore to Ekron, Ashdod, which kept
the ark a prisoner, to Ashkalon, now destroyed, and having return-
ed to Joppa, I ascended the inheritence of Ephraim to the Sepul-
chres of Benjamin and Simeon ; to Sichem, whence we mounted
Ebal and Gerezzim, to the well of Jacob, and the Sepulchre of Jo-
seph ; and meeting with the Abbe de Mazure, a warm panegyrist
of France, and measurer of Judea 1 went with him to Siloa, upon
the road that leads from Jerusalem to Neapolis.

Neapolis, or Napolosa, lies upon the ruins of Sichem, and here,
returning from Siloa, I found the ancient Samaritans, or Cuteans,
who were praying from error, by a well, believed to be Jacob's. I
taught them the truth, which doctrine excited against me no small
disturbance ; so far, that the said Samaritans, thinking me one of
their brethren, wished by all means, to retain me in the country ;
and what is more singular exacted that I should promise marriage
to a woman of their sect.

The christians of Napolosa took up my defence ; whence, get-
ting off at my own hazard, foreseeing the favour of the former, I
took shelter in Samaria, where there is no vestige of the importu-
nate Samaritans. I wrote to you, that, with the exception of some
columns, there is nothing interesting in Sebaste.

Lctttffrom 4fir*c*> 7

On tearing Samaria the tribe of Issachar presented themselves
to me in Galilee, with the fountain of Israel, and plain of Esdraelon,
over which the eye cannot reach ; Endor, at the foot of the second
Hermoo, known by the victory of Debocaji and Barak. Sophos,
the native place of James and of the friend of his master ; Cana,
the country of Simon and Nathaniel; Tabor, terminating with
Heaven ; beautiful ports of Zabulon ; Bethsaida, the country of
Peter and Andrew on the shores of that water, abundant in the
deeds of the Divine Instructor of virtue.

Returned to Tiberias, I undertook the analyssis of those mine-
ral waters 4 and in the city where lives, in retired delight, that de-
serving member of society, the noble gentleman Raphael de Pici-
otlo, consul-general of Austria in Syria, whose roof and whose for-
tune never denied to any one a constant and sacred hospitality.

And you must know a firo/ios, that, amongst the Hebrews dis-
persed in the various regions of the globe, and amongst those of
Asia and Africa particularly, there exists an ancient custom of
coming to finish their days upon the spot, bedewed by the sweat
of their ancestors. Such a sentiment gladdens their heart from
the most tender years of youth, and hence it is moving to see ar-
rive in the ports of Palestine, the aged Israelite, who, leaning upon
the shoulder of his old consort, approaches with her amidst the
cheers of hope, to deposit his ragged spoils in the sepulchre of
their forefathers.

The heats suffered upon the lake of Gennesareth having mode-
rated, I revisited the tribe of Issachar, and having ascended Car-
mcl, I dropped down to Hepna, to Dora, to Cesarea, to Manasseh ;
and, passing in the tribe of Asher, over the space of Semeron and
the waters of Ceiideria, I continued afterwards the Bel us to Pto-
lemais, still dyed with that blood which the cruel Djezar caused
to flow in torrents-

Thus following the course of the Phoenician shore, every mo-
ment appeared to me an age which interfered with that which
showed me in a miserable rock, surrounded with water and with
sand, that once powerful mistress of the sea.

The Greek archbishop, D. Cirillo Debbas, received me cordi-
ally in his house, and causing to be prepared a frugal repast,
placed on the ground, after the fashion of the East, and sitting
himself down beside me, spoke as follows : — " Eat with good will,
that God may preserve it to thee. I receive thee negligently after

• Letters from Africa.

the manner of the apostles, and this scanty food I consume with
thee in good will, as I do daily with the other guests* If I had
more I would give thee more, but my only income, which is that
of the archbishopric of Tyre, does not produce me more than two
hundred crowns (schdi) annually of thy country, the half of which
I employ to nourish the poor of my diocese. Besides being their
spiritual, I am also their temporal, physician, and lend gratuitously
my remedies wherever they are necessary. The other prelates
live more secure under cover of the mountains, but I am more
fortunate than they are, who divide with my flock the days of
sorrow and of joy." May those be blessed who speak and reason
with so much truth.

Leaving Tyre with the benedictions and sincere embraces of
my host, I passed the Well of Living Waters, the Pseudo Eieu-
therius, and Sarepta, where the smiling plain of that Sidon open-
ed itself before me, which struggled hard with its approaching
fall. Monsieur Huffin, French consul, politely offered me a re-
ception, and I deplore the loss he has since sustained in a com-
panion who was the model of the tender sex.

The Lady Esther Stanhope, who, for so many years, has at-
tracted the attention of Asia and Europe, by the singular manner
of life she has adopted, is encamped one hour's distance from
Sidon, in a small habitation called Ceraba ; and, in order to ren-
der herself still more remarkable, she insists upon her will being
obeyed, that no European shall approach her, even for a moment.
Would it not be an act of intolerance to blame her for it ?

Traversing that mountain which includes so many mountains)
and may properly be called a kingdom, and which I shall call Li-
bania, I hastened forward to Cilicia, and thence to Damascus, the
name of which imposes more than is due to it.

In all the circuit oi Libanus, as well as in Carmel, I collected
,a thousand fruits and petrified testaceous substances, the proof of
a tremendous deluge.

My intention of going from Damascus to Palmyra not succeed-
ing at that time, I came to Balbec, where it appeared to me as if
Thebes were revived in the midst of Syria*

An entire volume would be insufficient for the description of
the Temple of the Sun.

Six columns arise among the marshes, each in height seventy-
one feet, and twenty-one feet eight inches in circumference. Three

Letter* from Africa, .9

■tones of granite occupy the space of one hundred and seventy.five
and a half feet, and another has sixty-nine feet of length, twelve of
breadth, and thirteen of thickness. You alone, sublime genius !
can solve the problem, whether it is the work of common men,
•r of a race of beings superior to our own.

Re-ascending mount Libanus, I wished to smell its boasted ce-
dars, see Eden, the grottos of Canobin, and the horrible cave of
the great Egyptian hermit. Oh 1 how the pure and sweet life of
the patriarchs flourishes here. Here is that simplicity and peace
that man in vain seeks amongst mankind. .

After returning to Phoenicia, I went to Tripoli, to Tortosa, wit-
ness of the great congress in the first crusade ; to Eleutherius,
Sober ; to the city of Gabale, which preserves one of its amphi-
theatres; to Laodicea, where Signor Agostino Lazzari entertained
me with more than social treatment ; and penetrating amongst the
mountains of the Arsarites, I arrived at the Milky Waters of
Orontes and at Antiooh, an object worthy of contest

From Theopolis, by a road covered with abusive inhabitants, I
came to the more flourishing Aleppo, thence to the Euphrates9
and hardly touching Mesopotamia, the sound of Ninevah and Ba-
bylon already struck my fancy, and drew it away more rapidly
than the steed of Elimaides, the chariot of Cyrus.

Passing again through Aleppo, I kept the other road of Da*
mascus by Apamea, Cima, and Emesa, where the delicately fair*
haired, white-complezioned nymphs display themselves, with their
black eyes, more beautiful than were ever produced by the native
of Urbino or by Titian.

Whilst I was enjoying the presence of Emesa, the catastrophe
of the Palmy renes came to my memory, and the blood of the acute
Longimis almost drew from me a tear.

Warmly recommended to the governor of Damascus by the
excellent Piciotto, consul-general of Austria in Aleppo, a son
worthy of his father, I advanced towards Palmyra, in company
with a single guide, and, after five days of a most troublesome
journey, reposed in the court of Odenatus and Zenobia.

But what can I tell you of this memorable spot, which so much
electrifies the intellects, unless that about thirty towers, the Tem-
ple of the Sun, and three hundred columns scattered here and
there, over a soil covered with sand, and still standing to eternize

VOL, XII. 2

10 Letters jfoom 4friea*

the great Palmyra I What I pat* over in silence shall bloMem
In my future little work.

In fifteen months, and about seven thousand miles, I have passed
through the Mediterranean, Misraim, Nubia* Kedar, Idumea, Phi*
listia, Judea, Samaria, Galilee, Phoenicia, Caele, Syria, and Meso*
potamia, having seen the sea of PentapoMs, have drank of that of
Tiberias, and the Nile, the Jordan, Orontes, and Euphrates; have
ascended the Pyramids, Sion, Gerezim, Tabor, Libanus, and Car*
mel, and. have reposed in the tombs of Thebes* amongst the cata*
racts of Nubia, and upon the dust of Memphis, Heliopolis, Ash*
kalon, Tyre, Sidon, 3albeck, Palmyra, Samaria, and Jerusalem.

II.

Mount Sinai) %th May, 1819.

I write to you from the most memorable, heights in the world;
hut hear how I came hither.

Having closed the letter which I directed to you from the ruins
of Palmyra, I followed the silent contemplation of those remarka-
ble remains, and, under the protectipn of the hospitality of the
modern Palmyrenes, who are the best Arabs I know ofj I passed
joyful and tranquil hours.

Their questions turned upon Bonebortc (Bonaparte) and mjr
L,ady Stanhope ; the former they remembered from his expedition
into Soria, for the fame of him resounded greatly amongst them \
and the latter for the liberality displayed in the journey which *ta
undertook in the desert.

Their curiosity and my own being satisfied, I continued my
journey with my guide, and arrived at Damascus. Thence,
through Coele and Syria, I ascended Libanus once more, which I
was delighted to contemplate amidst t,he horrors of the winter, and
descending to Berytus by Phoenicia, the pleasant Philistia, and ttu)
wearisome Elara, I returned to the Nile.

After one day's repose, I went to offer my personal tribute to
the nyramids) and a-flrQfloa of these heaps, while I was writing
my name upon the third, called Phryne, I perceived that Frcdjani
was the anagram of Pia Frine.

I then returned to Cairo, and as the pestilential scourge was
beginning to mow down human victims, instead of remaining

Lttt&B /rem Africa. 1 1

there f thought it better to continue my journey, and three days
of sand made me ejaculate Dutoe TfAett Suet.

Having admired the progress and decrease of the waters, I puf
ttiyself 6h board an India ship, commanded by the excellent cap*
tain Laudale ; and embarking afterwards in a small boat, 1 sailed
as far as Dtr Rhtafran, where it is believed Israel passed over,
and traveling almost in a right line the famous sea, 1 approached
Del el Hatommn.

Departing by the waters of Sues, I had ordered my Arabs to
wait for me at a place indicated, and judge of my surprise upon
my arrival to find no ohe there !

The solitude of the place, the inefficiency of the bark to con-
tinue as for as Tor, the wind contrary for my return to Sue*, the
want of provisions, and water particularly, were the mournful
thoughts that sat heavy upon my heart.

But that immutable eternal Providence, ever present where he
least ippiart so, but where most necessary, caused in an instant
my guides to approach : whence by the path of the Chosen Pec*
pie I trod upon Pavan and Sin, and sighing, arrived at the sides of
these mountains, which are Sinai and Horeb.

The first idea I conceived, when for the first time I heard of
Mount Libanus, was that of an insulated mountain, and in such
respect all the ideas of men are alike, whence I shall call it Coun-
try of Libany, instead of Libanus ; that country as large almost as
our Abrutzo, and larger than our Tyrol, which comprises luxu-
riant valleys, fertile meadows, flowing rivers, beautiful hills, very
high mountains, populous towns, ten bishoprics, seventy princi-
palities, and Which can produce fifty thousand ohampions for the
protection of its precious liberty.

lit

Cairo 9 Ut Dccembet, 1820.

Leaving Horeb and Sinai, from the summits of which I gazed
at lands which form lucid points in the blase of human intellect
I descended into the country of Elim, where still are to be seen
the palms and the wells that quenched the thirst of the Jews.

Having cooled myself in Tor, where I tried its water*, I re-
tained by the road of Suez to Cairo, and going down to Alexan-

1 2 Reeve*9* Edition* of the BMe, &e.

dria, I turned towards the lake Mareotis, thence to that of Maadie
and Etko, and making an e&ctiFsion in. merry company to the beau-
tiful Rosetta, I traversed the branch Bolbitina, the Delta, and ar-
rived at the ruins of Botia, and the mouth of the Sebeae, upon the*
Fammeticus branch, in modern Oamietta.

Embarking thence upon the lake of Memale, and arrived at the
islands of Mataria9 I advanced into the canal of Moez, whence I
might view the scattered remains of Taenia, and returning to the
lake, I recognized the Tanities and Pelusiac mouths, with the
Boga* of Rahi.

Disembarked upon the shore, I arrived through the desert at
the side of Mount Castas, and thei day following ascended that
celebrated eminence, whence I came to Pelusium, that famous
Rey of Egypt, and trusting myself once more to the waves, I
visited the islands of Tennis and Thuria, and passing over the
Mendesian mouth, I returned to Damietta.

Reposing a little I took diversion upon the lake, and penetrated
by* the canal of Moez, into that of Salahie, and descending into the
desert, I found endless fields of soda, both vegetable and mineral.

Whence approaching the Nile, I arrived by the canal ofjftmun,
at the city of Benhi, the ancient Mendes ; thence upon the branch
Fammeticus to the bed fatal to Louis IX ; and finally returned to
Grand Cairo.

Now that, thanks to the magnanimous Viceroy of Egypt, the
brave Mahomet Ali, and his faithful minister Burgoss Jusuff, I
am furnished with ample and generous means of penetrating into
spaces shut up by the seal of ages, I am preparing to approach
the torrid zone, where I hope to show to Italy that I am not en-
tirely unworthy of belonging to her.

m . . _.. r 11 i ii . - _ »

Art II. — The Holy Bible, containing the Old and New Testament.
lOvols. crown 8vo. 31. 3s. boards.

The New Testament, 2 vols, royal 8vo. 11. 7s. Boards. Finely print-
ed by Benslcy.

The Common Prater Book, with an Introduction and Note*.. In
three sizes : viz. royal 8vo. 11. 4s. crown 8vo. 17s. 12mo. 10s/ 6d.
boards. All finely printed by Bulmer. G. and W. Nicol, Pall Mall.

From the days of James I. the text of the Bible has ever been
printed in the same form of chapter and verse ; the difference in
editions has consisted in a different sized volume ; a larger of smal»

Reevefe Edition* of the Bible, &c. 1 3

tor type ; better or worse paper r sometimes with notes, but gene*
rally without ; with more or less marginal master, and sometimes
without any ; having neither various renderings, nor parallel pas-
sages ; these are the points in which one Bible differs from another
in all preceding editions.* Mr. R. is the first who has had courage
to make an experiment upon the text itself, and print it in some
other division, than that of chapter and verse. He has divided the
whole Bible into sections and paragraphs, conformably with the
natural divisions of the several subjects ; but he has preserved the
chapter and verse for the sake of reference ; so that this Bible
gives a new view of the Sacred Wr kings, and yet retains every ad-
vantage belonging to the former Bibles ; being a sort of novelty
without innovation. Mr. R. has not taken such liberties without hav-
ing sufficient reasons to justify him. These he has set forth in a
Preface prefixed to the work ; and, as they are well worthy the con-
sideration of every reader of the Bible, they had better be seen in
the Editor's own words. Indeed, the whole of his Preface contains
so much information and remark on the Bible, and the various
manners of publishing it, that we shall give it at full length, as the
best prospectus of the work.

M The design of this publication is to provide the public with an edi-
tion of our Church Bible, which, according to what appears to be the
taste of the present time, may be deemed a more convenient book for
reading, than any of the Bibles now in use.

" It has ever seemed to me a just cause of complaint, that while every
English book, of any character, has had the advantage of being printed
in various forms and sizes, to suit the different taste of readers, The
Holt Bible has been still printed in no other form, than that of one
single book, which from the bulk of the contents must necessarily make -
an unhandy and inconvenient volume, even if printed in a small type.
All other books that are of any length, and are in much request whether
for instruction or amusement, are divided into convenient volumes, and
generally have bestowed upon them the advantage of a larger print ;
from which it may reasonably be concluded, that this is a prevaling
taste ; and that for a book to have readers, it must have these recom-
mendations. It appeared to me, that the readers of the Bible were en-
titled to every accommodation of this sort ; and further, that it was an
experiment worth trying, whether persons might not be attracted, by
such means, to the reading of the Bible. Such sentiments as these sug-
gested to me, to put to the press an edition of the Bible in separate vo-

• Indeed Bishop Wilson's Bible is an exception to the verses, but not as to
the chapters.

M Betv**>4 Edition* tftk* Bftfe, (ft.

tttfle?, that weald maka a manual, commodious for pefctsal, like the
cditiam of our best Qnglish books.

M There stilly however, appeared to me another obstacle to the Bible
being generally read, with the same degree of facility and satisfaction as
other English books ; and that arose from the division of the matter in-
to chapters, and more particularly into verses. This very often inter-
rupts the Current of the sense ; it sometimes misleads with a false ap-
pearance, as if it presented for a complete sentence, or aphorism, What
is only the fragment of a narrative, of the sentence of an argument, both
ef which suffer, by such mutilation.

44 The manner of subdividing the matter of a book into small verses,
is peculiar to the Bible ; and it is the abuse of a contrivance, that was
designed for another purpose, the history and progress of which is worth
considering.

44 The sacred books, whether Hebrew or Greek, came from the pen
ef their writers, and were m the hands of those, for whom they were
originally composed, without any division of this sort. The first need
ef any* thing like such a division, was after the Babylonish captivity : the
Jews bad then mostly forgotten the original Hebrew ; and when it was
read in the synagogue, it was found necessary to have an interpretation
into Chaldee for the use of the common people. To make this inter-
pretation intelligible, and useful, the reader of the Heorew used to pause
at short distances, while the interpreter pronounced the same passage
in Chaldee ; such pauses became established, and were marked in the
manuscripts, forming a sort of verses, like those in our present Bibles.— -
This division into verses, was confined to the Hebrew Scriptures, and to
the people for whose use it was contrived ; no such division was made
in the translation of the seventy nor in the Latin version ; so that the
Bible used in the Greek and the Western Churches, was without any
such division, either in the Old or New Testament.

•• It was, however, found necessary, in after times, to make a division
and subdivision of the sacred books ; but it was for a very different pur-
pose ; it was for the sake of referring to them with more ease and cer-
tainty. We are told that Cardinal Hugo, in ihe 13th century, made a
concordance to the whole of the Latin Bible, and that for this purpose of
reference, he divided both the Old and New Testament into chapters,
being the same that we now have. These chapters he subdivided into
smaller portions, distinguishing them by the letters of the alphabet; and,
by those means, he was enabled to make references from his concord-
ance to the text of the Bible. The utility of such a concordance brought
h into high repute ; and the division intochapers, upon which it depend-
ed, was adopted along with it, by the divines of Europe.

" This division into chapters was afterwards, in the 15th century*
adopted by a learned Jew, for the same purpose of reference, in mak-
ing a concordance to the Hebrew Bible. This was Rabbi Mordecai
Nathan, who carried the contrivance a step further; for instead of ad-

R*ev€iJ$ JSdition* of the gibic, yv« 1 5

heriog to the subdivisions of Cardinal Hugo, he made others, much
smaller, and distinguished them, not by letters but by numbers. This
invention was received into the Latin Bibles, and they make the present
verses of tfce Old Testament. In doing this, he might possibly have
proceeded upon the old subdivisions long before used for the interpreta-
tion into Chaldee. We see, therefore, that the present division of the
Old Testament into chapter and verse, is an invention partly Christiao
and partly Jewish, and that it was for the sole purpose of reference, and
not primarily with a view to any natural division of the several subjects
contained in it

4i The New Testament still remained without any subdivision into
verses, till one was at length made, for the very same purpose of a con-
cordance, about the middle of the 16th century. The author of this was
Robert Stephens, the celebrated printer at Paris. He followed the ex-
ample of Rabbi Nathan, in subdividing the chapters into small verses,
and numbering them ; and he printed an edition of the Greek Testament
so marked. This division soon came into general use, like the former
one of the Old Testament, from the same recommendation of the con-
cordance that depended upon it ; and Latin Testaments, as well as Bibles,
were ever alter distinguished into chapters and verses.

44 It remained for the translators of the English Bible to push this in-
vention to an extremity. The beginning of every chapter had been
in^de a fresh paragraph in all the printed bibles ; but the verses were only
marked by the number, either in the margin, or in the body of the mat-
ter ; such minute subdivisions did not then seem fit to be made into dis-
tinct paragraphs. But the English translators, who had fled to Geneva,
during the persecution of Queen Mary, and who published there a new
translation, famous afterwards under the name of the Geneva Bible, se-
parated every one of the verses, making each into a distinct paragraph.
This new contrivance was soon received with as much approbation as
the preceding ; and all Bibles, in all languages, began to be printed in the
same manner, with the verses distinguished into paragraphs ; and so the
practice has continued to the present time. A singular destiny, to which
no other book has been subjected ! For in all other works, the index, or
concordance, or whatever may be the subsidiary matter, is fashioned so,
as to be subordinate to the original work ; but in the Bible alone, the
text, and substance of the work is disfigured in order to be adapted to
the concordance that belongs to it ; and the notion of its being perused,
is sacrificed to that of its being referred to. In consequence of this, the
Bible is to the eye, upon the opening of it, rather a book of reference than
a book for perusal and study ; and it * much to be feared, that this cir-
cumstance makes it much more frequently used as such ; it is referred
to for verifying a quotation, and then returned to the shelf. What book
can be fundamentally understood, if consulted only in such a desultory
way 2 Those who extend their reading, but still regulate their efforts

16 Jteeve9*9 Edition* of the Bible* &c.

by the chapters, are not more likely to see the scriptural writings in the
true view.

44 These observations upon the size and fashion of our Bibles, will,
perhaps, be questioned by some ; but the justness of them may be tried
by putting a few questions. How many of us would be at the trouble of
reading our best English authors in such an inconvenient volume as
the Bible ? Who would endure to read our best prose writers, if divided
into verses like the Bible ? We all know, what answers must be given
to these questions. Why then should the Bible be thus rendered less ac-
ceptable than all other books ? If it is entitled to any peculiarity, that
might distinguish it above other books, surely it ought to be such as
would attract, not such as would repel. The book should be printed in
the most commodious size, and the text exhibited in the most intelli-
gent form ; it should be addressed to the eye, and to the understanding ;.
to invite and to detain every one who opens it. These advantages are
lavished upon poets and historians, but the Bible is sent into the world
without them !

44 There is another disadvantage which the Bible labours under, be-
yond other ancient books. Like other productions of high antiquity,
the sacred writings stand in need of explanation. The ancient writings
of Greece and Rome are constantly published with more or less of ex-
planatory notes, in all sizes. But all our authorized Bibles, published
by the King's printer, and the universities, are wholly without explana-
tory notes. These privileged persons have confined themselves to re-
printing the bare text, in which they have an exclusive rignt ; forbear-
ing to publish it with notes, which, it is deemed, may be done by any of
the King's subjects as well as themselves.41 However, there is no want
of notes and commentaries to the Bible ; they have been provided, in
great abundance, by persons of sound learning, eminently qualified for
the undertaking ; but these labours are confined to volumes still larger,
and more unwieldy than the common Bibles before spoken of; so that
readers in general have no aid of this kind to assist them in perusing, and
understanding the obscure parts of Holy Scripture.

M Under these disadvantages from the size, the form, and the want of
explanation in our Common Bibles, I have long thougrht, that many se-
rious persons, who are desirous of acquainting themselves with the con-
tents of the Bible, are induced to seek them any where, rather than to
the Bible itself; they go to Histories of the Bible, to Expositions, to
Paraphrases, and the like substitutes ; turning to the Bible only on par-

* I mean such notes, as are bwiAfide intended for annotation; not the pre-
sence of notes, which I have seen in some editions of the Bible and Common
Prayer, placed there merely as a cover to the piracy of printing upon the pa-
tentees, as if fraud could make legal any thing that was in itself illegal. In
some of these editions the notes are placed purposely so as to be cut off by
the binder. n

Reevt*** Editions' $f ike Bible > &c. \7

tieutar occasions, as a book of reference, to verify passages, and to de-
termine in the last resort. There are many such publications, which
may bethought by most readers more favourable to study than the text
of the Bible, as now printed. It cannot be denied, that such works are
Excellently contrived, and have their use ; but still they are only substi-
tutes ; and if they prepare some minds for going on to a perusal of the
Bible itself, it is to be feared they seduce others from reading it at all,
in the way of study. Something, therefore, seems wanting, that shall
bring studious persons to the Very text of the Bible, as well as the con-
tents of it ; where the law of God maybe read in the very words of the
law itself, as commodiously, and with as much intelligence and satisfac-
tion, as in books of the above description, that are substituted for it.

M It was in an humble, but earnest endeavour to furnish such a book,
that I have put myseK to the trouble and expense of preparing and pub-
lishing this edition of the Bible. 1 have made it a book, that is free from
all objection to the size, or to the type ; it can tire neither the hand, nor
the eye ; it is in the fashion and taste of those books, which are most
read, and read with pleasure. If these external circumstances should
tecomtriend it to perusal, I venture to hope, that the method in which
the text is here exhibited, together with the aid of the notes, will fix
the attention of the reader to a studious reading of the Holy Scriptures,
because he will read with ease and with understanding also.

44 The plan is, to give to the text of Scripture the appearance which
the different characters of it claim. Thus the greater part of it is un-
questionably prose; but a part of the Old Testament is judged by the
best critics to be, what may be called metrical, tor want of some other
word to distinguish it from prose. These respective parts are distin-
guished in this edition. All the historical books of the Old Testament,
and all the New, are of the former kind ; the Psalms, the writings of So-
lomon, tifbst of Job, some songs in the historical books, and the greater
part of the prophecies, are of the latter kind. The prose parts are
here printed as prose compositions are printed In all other books, with-
out regard to the division of chapters, and verses ; which, however, are
preserved for their original purpose, that of reference, but concealed m
a manner not to obstruct the progress of the reader. The metrical
pans are printed in the old division of verses. This appeared to me suf-
ficient to mark the ^distinction between metre and prose : and I judged
h tanore prudent to retain a division already in use, than to hazard any
Hew one that might be made into lines or versicles, according to some
late theories of Hebrew poetry ; for I wished merely to distinguish what
is metrical, without presuming todecide, what is the metre. In this man-
ner, I have been able to furnish novelty without innovation ; and those
who are inclined to criticise the metrical part of the work, should re-
OoBect, that the singularity is really not in that, but in the prose.

•* In the historical books, the metrical parts arc easily known, for
they are distinguishable by the very subject of them t as the Song of

Vol. xii. 3

It Reeve*'* Edition* ©/ the Bible, &c.

Motes, and the Kke. In the books that are wholly metrical, as the

Psalms, there is no distinction to be made. The difficulty is in the pro-
phetical books ; where, it is acknowledged, there is a mixture of prose
and metre, but where the subject all through is so similar, that some
other criterion becomes necessary; this criterion can only besought in
the original itself. Metre, strictly speaking, is a syllabic measure ; but
none such is now discoverable In the Hebrew ; there is, however, often
discernible a peculiarity in the language and stile, consisting of some-
thing rhetorical in the choice of words, and something rythmical in the
collocation of them. Such artificial passages ought surely to be regard-
ed, and distinguished. They continually recur in the prophets ; and it
appears from this view of their writings, that they often change from
one tenor of composition to another, giving the whole an air of some-
thing rhapsodical, analogous to a transition from prose to verse* and from
verse to prose*

" The prophets would not thus have varied their strain, unless it was
to produce some different effect ; and if this change can be represented,
or even notified to the English reader, it helps to make a still closer re*
semblance of the prophetical writings. I found this to be a critical
attempt of some nicety, and that there might be various opinions
and feelings about it. 1 hope, the experiment which I have ventured
upon, will at least be thought temperate, and accordingly be received
with candour. In making up my mind on this part of the work, I have
relied much on the judgment of a learned person, in whose knowledge
of Scripture, and Scriptural Hebrew I have great confidence, and who
is alluded to in my Collation of the Hebrew and Greek Texts of the
Psalms.*

** It was only in the Hebrew Scriptures, that any such variance in
the (anguage and the stile could make a distinction between metre and
prose. The Greek language has confessedly no metre, but such as is
expressed in a syllabic measure ; every other composition is prose, how-
ever, elevated the stile may be; and as there is no syllabic measure in
the Greek Scriptures, they must therefore be treated as plain prose.
But there are other considerations, which inclined me to give a me-
trical appearance to some parts even of these. The Hymns in Luke L
ii. which we are used to see divided into verses in our Common Prayer
Book, under the titles of Magnificat, Benedktue, and Mine Dtmilti*, I
have for that reason, printed here in verses ; I have done the same, for
the same reason, with The Song of the Three Children ; it seemed
consistent to print the Song of Judith in the same manner. The books

* "I mean Mr. Jacob, a learned and enlightened Jew ; who besides h»
Biblical learning, is master of all the Tahnudical and Rabbinical writings, with-
^ out being a superstitious admirer of them. I am greatly obliged to this gen-
tleman for his advice in matters that required knowledge and judgment ; and
likewise for his condescension in attending to the progress of the work, as it
went through the press."

Rented* Edition* of the BiUe% &c. If

tf Wisdom and Fxclesiasticns, being imitations of Solomon's writings,
and consisting of sentences, that are co-extensive with the present verses,
I tttenght could not be printed in a better way, than in oar common
Bibles.

M The whole of the Bible, whether prose or metre, is divided in this
Edition into sections, without any regard to the preseut chapters and
verses. These sections are intended to conform to the divisions of the
several subjects ; and it is hoped, they will exhibit the whole of the Bi-
ble in an order, system, and coherence, which will throw new light
upon every part of it. To make way for this sectional division I have
been obliged to discard the arguments of the chapters ; but I have done
this with the less scruple, because thev do not appear to me to be a part
of the original work ; for the translators, after they had completed the
revision of the text, by the joint and several labours of the whole body,
delegated to two only of their number the office of making arguments to
the chapters. Later editions have, no doubt, observed this, and have
for that reason taken liberties with these arguments, adding to thein, or
diminishing them, according to their fancy ; in some late editions from
the Cambridge press the arguments of the chapters are reduced to a
single line. With this history, and these examples before me, I felt less
difficulty in rejecting the arguments entirely, and substituting for them
the sectional heads, and the marginal abstracts ; thinking that these
will be found to do more than compensate for the loss.

" In planning this edition, I constantly kept in view the orignal work
of the Translators, and the practice of the two Universities in their edi-
tions of it ; and I have always endeavoured to adapt my designs so as to
be justified either by one or the other. Wishing to give a plain text, to
look like other English books, I was desirous of ©^incumbering the
margin from the numerous parallel passages, that seem to load the page,
while they contribute little, that is useful to the generality of readers.
I found, that these parallel passages were very few in the first edition in
King James's time, and that the present number had grown by gradual
additions, derived from the industry of successive editors. The much
greater part of them, therefore, might be discarded without interfering
with the original work ; and the Oxford and Cambridge editors have
dismissed the whole of them, in some of their late octavo Bibles. This
was authority enough for me to do the same ; but, in this case, as in that
•f the arguments of the chapters, I have provided a substitute ; for in
the notes will be found all the references to parallel passages, which ap-
peared to me necessary for explaining the text. Some might, indeed,
be added, that would be of use ; but for many of the others, they conduce
more to a curious comparison of words and phrases, than to any true il-
lustration of Scripture. y

u The other branch of marginal matter appeared to me of a much
more important nature; I mean the Hebrew and Greek renderings, as
they are called. These are auch translations of the original as give ano-

ther, or a more literal, sense of a;wroni or phrase in the original, which,
could not properly be introduced into the text itself; these were wisely,
placed in the margin by the translators, in order to afford additional
light to the reader. I considered these, as a real part of the translation*
no less than the text itself, and that no Edible was fairly given to the
public, that was without them. 1 have, therefore, retained the whole of-
the Hebrew and Greek renderings in this edition ; and I regret that there.
is any example of disregarding them in others, which, for that reason* I.
cannot look upon as genuine editions, though coming; from authority.
Extricated as these renderings are, in this edition, from the heap of par-
allel passages, with which they are confounded in the quarto editions,,
they will, I hope, attract the reader's notice, and thus contribute their
share towards conveying the true sense of the* words and. phrases of the
original language.

" Such is the.plan upon which I have exhibited the text of our Church
Bible. For the text itself, I made choice, of the Oxford Bjble, which
was adjusted with great care in the year 176$, and which the university
has made the copy in all reprints, ever since. I directed the Printers to
follow that copy implicitly ; and if there is any deviation, even in the
punctuation, it is from an error in the press, and not by design*

" To the text ot the Psalu.s I have added, in another column, that of
the Psalms in the Common Prayer Book. These two texts are of dif-
ferent characters ; the former is nearer the Hebrew, but the latter
seems to have less difficulties ; those will become still less by a compa-
rison with the Bible text; aud the two will reflect alight uponeachvother,
that must make both better understood.!

" Although I persuaded myself, that the Bible was more likely to be
read, and would be read with more interest, and intelligence, if the text
was presented to the reader in the form in which it is disposed in this edi-
tion, yet it seemed to me necessary, that the text should be accompa-

* « There is a peculiarity in this Oxford edition which I do not approve,
and which, therefore, I am desirous should not be ascribed to me. The Edi*
tor has united into one word what are elsewhere two words, or at most are
joined by a hyphen, making such compounds, as shoelatchet, evetdngtide, grape-
gatherers, bloodgmkiness, manservant, maidservant, and the like ; all which are
printed as two words in the original edition in King James's time, and are
commonly so written in the present day. The printers were startled with
these novelties, but I directed them to follow the copy. Having determined
to reprint this text, I thought it proper to adhere to it, in every particular.
ThisI observed so scrupulously, that when my sectional division happened, as it
did more than once, to end where there was only a colon in the text, I would
not allow them to change it to a full stop. So that this edition may be consi-
dered as an Oxford text, if reprinted correct^."

t " The notes are upon the Bible text only ; for notes upon the othertext,
I must refer to the new edition of my Common Prayer Book.

ife*a*t'* Sditom* a/ito Bible, Wc* %l

ued with some explanatory nates, before it could be said to be upon a .
footing of equal advantage with other ancient writings. In order, there-
fore, to make the work as complete as I could, I resolved to compile
some short notes both to the Old Testament and the New ; I did not
feel courage to bestow the same pains on the Apocrypha.* The rule I
had laid down to myself for framing these notes was this ; that they
should be very numerous, and very short ; so that nothing might be pass-
ed over that appeared in the least to need annotation ; and that no anno-
tation should digress from the text ; but, on the contrary, that every note
should keep the text closely in view, and should bring the reader back
to it, as soon as it had served the purpose of explaining the difficulty that
occasioned it. Further, 1 resolved to keep out of these notes every
thing that was learned, or curious, or novel. Formed upon this princi-
ple, they aim at nothing, but to give a plain interpretation of Scripture,
such as has been- known and well received for many years ; and, as they
are intended for English readers of every class, so both learned and
unlearned, I should- think, may find something in them that wilt be
osefuL

" In giving this new form, to the English Bible, I claim little merit to
myself beyond that of the labour and expense ; the authorship is of a
ve-y humble sort ; it is that of bringing forward the works of others, and'
pl:\cin< them in a situation, where they may be more useful to the pab<-
lic. The substance of every thing, that may be thought valuable in this
edition, is to be found in book* a century old ; little of it is mine, but the
selecting, adapting, and wording t If there has not always been judg-
ment in the choice, nor every where success in the execution ; if I have
done too much in one place, and .too little in another ; I hope allowance
will be made for such inequalities, considering that the work is long, and
various, and the attempt new.

" 1 beg. leave here to repeat, what I have said on a former occasion^
by way of apology for presuming to meddle with the Bible and Prayer
Book, as Editor or Commentator, that I desire in these publications to
be considered as acting only officially, and more in the character of a
printer, nan an author. It is the performance of a suit and service, which
I thought due for my share in the office to which I belong. While my
copatentees were carrying on the ordinary business of the King's press
for the present,!conformably to an agreement between us, I was unwilling
to be wholly idle in the station wherein I was placed* The Bible and
Prayer Book are connected with some of my former studies, and I re-

• " For the reasons see the preface to the Apocrypha.

f « The ground work of this edition may be seen in Well's Paraphrase of the
Old and New Testament ; and the notes may be considered as containing what
Seems most necessary in the voluminous commentaries of Patrick, Lowth, and
Whitby, not to mention others.

t " In the Prefatory Epistle to my Collation of the Hebrew and Greek text?
•f the Psalms."

** , Reeve*' • Adttion* qfthe Bible^c.

solved to try, whether any thing new could be devised for providing the
public with better editions of those books. Hence arose the present edi
tion of the Bible, as well as that of the Common Prayer Book. 1 have
in contemplation some other biblical works ; but I shall pause for the
present, till what I have already done, shall be received in a manner,
that will justify me in pursuing, any further, my notions of improve-
ment."

Having given the Editor's Preface at length, wherein is fully
shown what he has proposed in this publication of the Bible, we
now come to consider the execution of his plan ; and we shall en-
deavour to make this as plain to our readers as he himself has his
design, by exhibiting such extracts from different parts of the
work as will be specimens of the method he has followed in print-
ing the whole of it.

The manner in which he has disposed the text, without regard
to the obstacles from the divisions into chapter and verse, and the
assistance which is derived to the texttrom marginal abstracts
of the contents of each paragraph, may be seen in the following
passage.

An angel ap- " 13. And it came to pass, when Joshua was by Jericho,
pears to Jo- that he lifted up his eyes and looked, and, behold, there
skua. stood a man over against him with his sword drawn in his

hand : and Joshua went unto him, and said unto him. Art
thou for us, or for our adversaries ? 14 And he said, Nay ;
but as captain of the host of the Lord am I now come.
And Joshua fell on his face to the earth, and did worship,
and said unto him. What saith my lord unto his servant ?
15 And the captain of the Lord's host said unto Joshua,
Loose thy shoe from off thy foot ; for the place whereon
thou standest is holy. And Joshua did so. chap. vi. Now
Jericho was straitly shut up because of the children of
Israel : none went out, and none came in. 2 And the Lord
said unto Joshua, See, I have given into thine hand Jericho,
and the king thereof, and the mighty men of valour. 3 And
ye shall compass the i ity, all ye men of war, and go round
about the city once. Thus shalt thou do six days. 4 And
seven priests shall bear before the ark seven trumpets of
rams' horns : and, the seventh day yc shall compass the
city seven times, and the priest ■* shall blow with the trum-
pets. 5 And it shall come to pass, that when they make
a long blast with the ram '» horn, and when ye hear the sound
of the trumpet, all the people shall shout with a great shout;
and the wall of the city shall fall down flat, ana the people
shall ascend up every man straight before him.
The ark is car- " 6 And Joshua the son of Nun called the priests, and
ried round Je- said unto them. Take up the ark of the covenant, and let
richo on the seven priests bear seven trumpets of rams' horns before
first day. the ark of the Lord. 7 And he said unto the people.

Pass on, and compass the city, and let him that is armed
pass on before the ark of the Lord. 8 And it came to

Rtevt*** Edition* qftht Bible, &t. „33

, when Joshua had spoken unto the people, that the
seven priests bearing the seven trumpets of rams' horns
passed on before the Lord, and blew with the trumpets:
and the ark of the covenant of the Lord followed them/'
&c. &c. &c

This passage is selected from Joshua, ch. v. 13. as a specimen
of the good sense and utility in Mr. It's divisions, because (as he
tells us in a note on cb. vi. 2.) those who read this passage in our
common Bibles, by chapters, would suppose " the Lord" mention-
ed in c\u vi. 2. was u the Lord," that usually spoke from the sanc-
tuary, and not the angel, who spoke to Joshua in the latter part of
cb. v. In the present new form, it appears, as it really is, namely
the continuation of a story, that was mutilated by being divided
into another chapter.

The next prominent circumstance in this new manner of print*

ing the text of the Bible, consists in the distinction made between

the prose parts, and those that are metrical. Thus the Song of

Moses is introduced, and distinguished in the following manner.

44 chap. xv. Then sang Moses and the children of Israel The song of
this song unto the Lord, and spake, saying, Moses and the

"I will sing unto the Lord, for he hath tri- Israelites,

umphed gloriously : the horse and his rider
hath he thrown into the sea.

* 2 The Lord is my strength and song, and
he is become my salvation : he It my God, and
1 will prepare him an habitation ; my lather's
God, and i will exalt him.

"3 The Lord ia a man of war: the Lord
it his name.

"4 Pharaoh's chariots and his host hath he
cast into the sea : his chosen captains also are
drowned in the Red sea.

«5 The depths have covered them : they
sank into the bottom as a stone.

u 6 Thy right hand, O Lord, is become glo-
rious in power : thy right hand, O Lord, hath
dashed in pieces the enemy." &c. &c. &c.
The chorus of Miriam and the women is introduced thus;

u 20 And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took —

a timbrel in her hand ; and all the women went out after
her with timbrels and with dances.
**21 And Miriam answered them.

u Sing ye to the Lord, for he bath triumph-
ed gloriously ; the horse and his rider hath he
thrown into the sea."

The prophecies of Balaam are distinguished as metrical, as may

be seen in the following extract from Numbers, ch. xxii. 41.

" 41 And it came to pass on the morrow, that Balak took Balaam blesses
Balaam, and brought nim up into the high places of Baal, the Israelites
that thence he ought see the utmost ftort of the people, the first time.

** Reeve*** fMmn+yjPme Sf»A?,*fe.

chap, xxm. And Balam said unto BahtkY Buffi! Me Iferfe
seven altars, and prepare me here seven oxen and seven
rams. 2 And Balak did as Balaam had spoken ; and Balak
and Balaam offered on every altar a bullock and a ram.
3 And Balaam said unto Balak, Stand by thy burnt offer-
ing, and 1 will go : perad venture the Lord will come to
meet me: and -whatsoever he sheweth me 1 will tell thee.
And he went to an high place. 4 And God met Balaam : •
land he said unto him, I have prepared seven altars, and I
have offered upon every altar a bullock and a ram. 5 And
the Lord put a1 word in Balaam's mouth, and said, Return
onto Balak, and thus thou shalt speak. 6 And he reftun*-
ed unto him, ;aad, lo, he stood by his burnt sacrifice, he,
and all the princes of Moab. 7 And he took up his para-
ble, and saia, -

"Balak the femgof Moab hath brought me
from Aram, out of the mountains of the east,
Maying, Come, curse me Jacob, and come,
-defy Israel.

" 8 How shall I curse, whom God "hath not
cursed? orftow shall I defy, whom the Lord
hath not defied ?

" 9 For from the top of the rocks I see him,
anil from the hills I behold him : lo, the peo-
ple shall dwell alone, and shall not be reckon-
ed amone the nations.

"10 Who can count the dust of Jacob, and
the number of the fourth fiart of Israel? Let
me die the death of the righteous, and let my
last end be like his!
« 11 And Balak said unto Balaam, What has thou done
unto roe ? I took, tfree to curse mine enemies, and, behold,
thou host blessed them altogether. 12 And he answered,
and said, Must I net take heed to apeak that wliich the
Lord hath put iuto my mouth ?'
The song of the well, in Numbers, ch. xxl is al«o distinguished
as a metrical composition, thus ;

And thence to " 16 And from thence they went to Beor ; that fe the well
Beor. whereof the Lord spake unto Moses, Gather the people

together, and I will give them water. 17 Then Israel sang
this song,

" Spring up, O well ; sing ye unto it:
1 18 The princes digged the well, the no-

bles of the people digged it, by the direction of
the lawgiver, with their staves.
And to the foot " And from the wilderness they vxnt to Mattanah : 1%
of Mount Pis- and from Mattanah to -Nahafiel : and from Nahaliel to
gib. Bamoth : 20 and from Bamoth m the valley, that is in the

country of Moab, to the top of Pisgah, which looketh to-
ward Jeshimon."
The advantage to the reader, in these distinctions, which excite
attention) and give new interest to the subject, must be felt by
every one. But this advantage is much heightened in the pro-
phetical books ; these writings, composed as they are of rhapso-
dies, some In jnetre, and some in prose, ateJie re exhibited in their

true tight ; and; it must be confessed, that many passages in them
derive, from this distinction, an importance that cannot fail of in-
teresting the reader in a very particular manner. The following
are specimens of the prose and metre in the prophetical writings
ef Jeremiah, ch. xxiii. 7.

"7 Therefore, behold, the days come, saith the Lord,
that they shall no more say, The Lord Hveth, which
brought up the children of Israel out of the land of Egypt.
8 But, the Lord liveth, which brought up and which led
the seed of the house of Israel out of the north country,
and from aH countries whither I had driven them ; and
they shall dwell in their own land.

* 9 Mine heart within me is broken because Judgments

of the prophets ; all my bones shake ; I am denounced

like a drunken man, and like a man whom against false

wine hath overcome, because of the Lord, P~Plket^

and because of the words of his holiness. and mockeia

«10 For the land is full of adulterers; for <* ^ **?*

because of swearing the land mourneth ; the prophecies,

pleasant places of the wilderness are dried
op, and their course is evil, and their force is
not right.

«* 11 Tor both prophet and priest are pro-
feme ; yea, in mv house have 1 found their
wickedness, saith the Lord."

Again, Jeremiah ch. xlvl 1.

* Chap, xlvl The word of the Loud which came to A prophecy of
Jeremiah the prophet against the Gentiles; 2 against the defeat of
Egypt, against the army of Pharaoii-necho king of Egypt, the Egyptians,
which was by the river Euphrates in Charchemish, whicb*that samson*
Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon smote tn the fourth year ed Charche-
of Jehoiakim the son of Josiah king of Judah. mish, by the

« S Order ye the buckler and shield* and Chaldeans.

draw near to battle.

"4 Harness the horses; and get up, ye
horsemen, and stand forth with your helmets;
furbish the spears, and put on the brleandines.
" 5 Wherefore have I seen them dismayed
mnd turned away back! and their mighty ones
are beaten down, and are fled apace, and look
not back : f*r fear wo* round about, saith the
Loan.

"6 Let not the swift flee away, nor the

mighty man escape ; they shall stumble, and

fell toward the north by the river Euphrates.

" 7 Who is this that cometh up as a flood,

whose waters are moved as the rivers r*

So the following passage from Zechariah, ch. vi. 9.

"9 And the word of the Lord came unto me saying. By two crowns
10 Take of Mm of the captivity, even of Heldai, of Tobi- set on Joshua
jah, and of Jedaiah, which are come from Babylon, and is typified the
come thou the same day, and go into the house of Josi- high priest-
ah the son of Zephania ; 11 then take silver and gold, and hood and king-
make crowns, and set #Aem upon the head of Josfaaa the dom ot Christ.

VOL. xii. 4

it Xeevef* Edition* of the Bible, Wc.

son of Jnsedech, the high priest ; 12 and speak unto hiaa#

saying* Thus speaketh the Lord of hosts, saying,
" Behold the man whose name is The
BRANCH ; and he shall grow up out of his

Elace, and he shall build the temple of the
iORD ;

" 13 Even he shall build the temple of the
Lord ; and he shall bear the glory, and shall
sit and rule upon his throne ; and he shall be
a priest upon his throne ; and the council of
peace shall be between them both.
"14 And the crowns shall be to Helem, and to Tobijah,
and to Jedaiah, and to Hen the son of Zephaniah, for a
memorial in the temple of the Lord. 15 And they that
are far off shall come and build in the temple of the Lord,
and ye shall know that the Lord of hosts hath sent me
unto you- And this shall come u» pass, if ye will diligent-
ly obey the voice of the Lord1 your God."

Again, Zech. xiii. ).

The crucifix- « Chap. XIII. In that day there shall be a fountain open-
ion of Christ ed to the house of David and to the inhabitants of Jerusa-
foretold, and lem for sin and for uncleanness. 2 And it shall come to
the general pass in that dav, saith the Lord of hosts, that I will cut off
conversion of the names of the idols out of the land, and they shall no
the Jews. more be remembered : and also I will cause the prophets
and the unclean spirit to pass out of the land. 3 An' I it
shall come to pass, that when any shall vet prophesy, then
his father and his mother that begat him shall say unto
him, Thou shalt not live ; for thou speakest lies in the
name of the Lord : and his father and his mother that begat
him shall thrust him through when he prophesieth. 4 And
•it shall come to pass in that day, that the prophets shall be
ashamed every one of his vision, when he hath prophesied ;
neither shall they wear a rough garment to deceive : 5 but
he shall say, I am no prophet. I am an husbandman ; for
roan taught me to keep cattle from my youth. 6 And one
• shall say unto him. What are these wounds in thine hands f
Then he shall answer, Those with which 1 was wounded
is the house of my friends.

u 7 Awake, O sword, against my shepherd,
and against the man that is my fellow, saith
the Lord of hosts : smite the shepherd, and
the sheep shall be scattered: and I will turn
mine hand upon the little ones.

"8 And ii shall come to pass, that in all the
land, saith the Lord, two parts therein shall
be cut off and die ; but the third shall be left
therein.

" 9 And I will bring the third part through
the fire, and will refine them as silver is re-
fined, and will try them as gold is tried: they
shall call on my name, and! will hear them :
I will say, It is my people : and they shall say,
The Lord is my God."

Mr. H. has told us in his preface, that the rule he follows in de-
termining certain part* to be metrical, is founded on the style and

RttVf'i Edition* tf the Bible, Wc. 97

imposition of the original Hebrew. The result of this criterion
appears, upon comparison, not to differ much from the notion en-
tertained by some learned persons, who in some late publications
have given a metrical appearance to the pmphetical writings; we
mean bishop Lowth, archbishop New come, and Or. Blayney. The
principal difference we have observed between them and Mr. R.
seems to be this : what Mr. R. states in a metrical form, is gene-
rally so given by those learned persons ; but many passages, we
observe, that are put in a metrical form by them, are printed as
prose by Mr. R. We do not presume to decide betweea them ;
but, we cannot help remarking, that, upon the whole, Mr. R. seems
to have taken the safer course, in such an intricate way ; for his
metre, after all, is only the established verses in our common
Bibles, and therefore open to none of the criticism, to which the
verses, or rather lines of those learned persons are subject. Mr.
R. has endeavoured to show us, what is metrical, without under-
taking to pronounce what is the metre.

The following are instances of metre distinguished by Mr. R,
from prose, in writings that have not undergone the learned la- «
hours of the above mentioned biblical critics; in Job i. 13.

" 13 And there was a day when his sons and his daugh- Satan destroys
sers were eating and drinking wine in their eldest brother's Job's cattle
house : 14 and there came a messenger unto Job, and said, and childreir.
The oxen were plowing, and the asses feeding beside them :
15 and the Sabeans fell ufion them, and took them away ;
yea, they have slain the servants with the edge of the
sword ; and I only am escaped alone to tell thee. 16 While
be was yet speaking, there came also another, and said.
The fire of God is fallen from heaven, and hath burned up
the sheep, and the servants, and consigned them ; and I
only am escaped alone to tell thee. 17 While he was yet
speaking, there came also another, and said, The Chal-
deans made out three bands, and fell upon the camels, and
have carried them away, yea, and slain the servants with
the edge of the sword ; and I only am escaped alone to tell
thee. 18 While he vms yet speaking, there came also
another, and said, Thy sons and thy daughters were eating
and drinking wine in their eldest brother's house : 19 and,
behold, there came a great wind from the wilderness, and
smote the four comers of the house, and it fell upon the
young men, and they are dead ; and I only am escaped
alone to tell thee 20 Then Job arose, and rent his man-
tle, and shaved his head, and fell down upon the ground,
and worshipped, 21 and said,

a Naked came I out of my mother's womb,
and naked shall I return thither : the Lord
gave,<&nd the Lord hath taken away ; bless-
ed be the name of the Lord.
22 In all this Job sinned not, nor charged God foolishly."

Again ip Ecdeaiaatfft, i*. IS.

Piety teaches « This wisdom have I seen ate under the sun, and it
us to to see seemed great unto me : 14 Tftene was a little city, and few
that prudence men witnin it ; and there came a great king against it, and
should direct besieged it, and built great bulwarks against it : 15 Now
us in the ma- there was found in it a poor wise man, and he by his wis-
napement of <$om delivered the city ; yet no man remembered that same
affairs. poor ms&, u Then said I, Wisdom is better than strength*

nevertheless, the poor man's wisdom w* despised, and his
words are not heard.

M 17 The words of wise men art heard in
quiet more than the cry of him that ruleth.
among fools.
• ** 1 ft Wl sdom i* better than weapons of war :

but one sinner destroyeth much good.

" Chap. X. Dead flies cause the ointment of
the apothecary to send forth a stinking sa-
vour : so doth a, little folly him that is in re-
putation for wisdom and honour.

" 2 A wise man's heart U at his right hand ;
but a fool's heart at his left.?

Again, Ecclesiastes, xi. 7.

Lastly it " Truly the light t* sweet, and a pleasant thing it i* for

teaches to live the eyes to behold the sun : 8 But if a man live many years,

piously from and rejoice in them all ; yet let him remember the days

our very ot darkness ; for they shall be many. All that cometh it

^rputh. vanity. 9. Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth; and let

thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in

the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes ;

but know thou, that for all these thing* God will brin£

thee into judgment. 10 Therefore remove sorrow frona

thy neart, and put away evil from thy flesh : for childhood}

and youth are vanity.

Chap XII Remember now thy creator in
the davs of thy youth, while the evil days come
not, nor the years draw nigh, when thoushalt
say, 1 have no pleasure in them ;

•' 2 While*he sun, or the light, or the moon,
or the stars, be not darkeoea, nor the clouds
return after the rain :

M 3 In the dav when the keepers of the
house shall tremble, and the strong men shall
bow themselves, and the grinders cease be-
cause they are few, and those that look out of
the wiidows be darkened,

" 4 And the door shall be shut in the streets,
when the sound of the grinding is low, and he
shall rise up at tfye voice of the bird, and all
the daughters of music shall be brought low ;
"5 Also when they shall be afraid of that
which is high, and fears 9hall be in the way,
and the almond tree shall flourish, and the
grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire
shall fail: because man goeth to his long
home, and the mourners go about the streets^
" 6 Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the
golden bowl be, broken, or the pitcher be bra-

Jfaff9«**« Editions a/tf* Bihlt, W*. Sft

kern at the fountain, or the wheel broken at

the cistern.
44 7 Then shall the dust return to the earth

as it was: and the spirit shaM return unto

God who gave it.
u 8 Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher ; all is vanity. Solomon en-
9 And moreover, because the Preacher was wise, he still forces the ob-
taugbt the people knowledge ; yea, he pave good heed, servsnoc oi
and sought out, and he set in order many proverbs. 10 The these instrue-
Preacher sought to find out acceptable words: and that tiona,
which was written v^aa upright, even words of truth. 11
The words ot the wise are as goads, and as nails fastened
by the masters of assemblies, which are given from one
shepherd. 12 And further, by these, my son, be admon-
ished : of making many books there is no end ; and much
study is a weariness of the flesh."

The foregoing passages exhibit completely the effect of Mr. R.'s
division into paragraphs, and the distinction he has made between
prose and metre ; the other characteristic of this novel edition of
the Bible is the divisions into sections. These section's are made
conformably with the natural division of the matter, and have the
effect of presenting portions of scripture, whether historical, pro-
phetical, or doctrinal, that contain in themselves a complete
whole ; they stand at the head of each division in the following
manner :

14 Section I. — Of the Creation of the visible world; and the orderly

formation of the several fiarts thereof in six days* time : Chap. i. it.

A. c. 4004.

"chaf.i. In the beginning God created the heaven OftheCrea-
and the earth. 2 And the earth was without form and void; tion.
and dark* ess wo* upon the face of the deep. And the
Spirit of Gt<l moved upon the face of the waters.

" 3 And God said, Let there be light : and there was The work of
light. 4 And God saw the tight, that it was good: and the first day.
God divided the light from the darkness. 5 And God
called the li§ht Day, and the darkness he called Night
And the evening and the morning were the first day."
So in the prophecy of Isaiah.

"Sectiov IU. — Containing such firofihecfes as were revealed to Isaiah
in the reign ofAhaz* Chap, vii,— xil a. c. 745—730.
•* chap. vii. And it came to pass in the days of Ahaz They are pre-
the son of Jotham, the son of Uzziah, king of Judah, that mised deliver-
Rezin the king of Syria, and Pekah the son of Remaliah, anee from the
king of Israel, went up toward Jerusalem to war against forcesof Syria
it, but could not prevail against it. 2 And it was told the and Israel, an!
house of David, saying, Syria is confederate with Ephraim. the end of
And his heart was moved, and the heart of hisjupple, as those king,
the trees of the wood, are moved with the winajs Then doms is fore-
said the Lord unto Isaiah, Go forth now to m At Ahaz, ***<*•
thou, and Shearjashub thy son, at the end of the conduit
of the upper pool of the highway of the fuller's field ; 4
And say unto him,

30 Reeve?* Edition* of the Bible, toV.

" Take heed, and be quiet; fear not, neither

be fainthearted for the two tails of these snv k-
ing firebrands, for the fierce anger of Rezin
with Syria, and of the son of Remaiiab."

So in the apostolical writings, as in the epistle to the Hebrews*
"•Section 11.— He proceeds to prove the excellency of the Christian rc~

ligion above the Jewish, by shewing the pre-eminence of Christ above

Moses* Chap. iii. iv. 1"
*• Section III.— He shews, by the way% the pre-eminence of Jesus above

Joshua, who brought the Israelites into the promised land. Chap* iv.

2-13."
H Section IV.— He proceeds to show the fire-eminence of Christ above

Aaron, or any other high priest of the Jewish church. Chap. iv. 14—
.% viii.5."

The historical books of the Old Testament are divided into
sections, that are numbered in regular series from the beginning
of Genesis to the end of Esther; this order is interrupted by jhe
necessity there was of notifying, that the book of Esther should,
in order of time, be introduced in the middle of Ezra ; this is done
by numbering the sections of Esther, as if they were really so
placed ; the series then goes on to the end of Nehemiah, which
was the last written of all the historical books, and indeed of all
the books of the Oid Testament, Another exception to this scries
of historical sections fo the two books of Chronicles, which, con*
taining a repetition of the story already told in other books, par-
ticularly those of Samuel and Kings, are divided, very properly,
into distinct sections of their own. As these sections coincide
with parallel sections in Samuel and Kings, and notice is generally
given of such parallelism, they contribute to bring before the
reader this part of the scriptural history, in the clearest manner ;
a part, which, in our common Bibles, has always seemed to us the
most involved and perplexing, and greatly to need the disentan-
glement which is here effected by Mr. R.'s method.

After the historical books are brought to form a continued series
of history from the creation, to the building of the second temple,
the other books, both of the Old and New Testament and also of
the Apocrypha, are divided into sections of their own, distinct from
one another. Perhaps none of the sacred books have derived
more advantage from this sectional division, than the prophecies
of Jeremiah. It see^, these writings are agreed by the best
critics to be misplace^ but the order, in which they ought to stand,
has been tolerably well ascertained. Mr. R. has contrived to re-
duce them to this order, by means of his sections, without disturb-

Reeve*' s Edition* qf the Bible, &c> 3 1

ing the series of chapters. Another part, where the utility of this
sectional division is particularly distinguished, is the four Gospels;
these seem to be harmonized, in a new manner, by means of the
sections, into which each is divided ; the sections of each gospel
comprehend a period between one passover and another, and thus
preserve an exact parallelism in the narratives of the four evan-
gelists.

What we say upon this publication is confined wholly to the text
of tht- Bible ; it might be added, that the notes, which Mr. R. has
compiled on the Old Testament and the New, and subjoined to
each volume, conspire with the new form of the text, to make the
leading of scripture still more intelligible and easy.

Upon the whole, comparing the execution with the design, as set
forth by Mr. R in his preface (to which, and the discussions therein
contained, we again refer the reader) we have no hesitation to de-
clare our opinion, that he has succeeded in accomplishing what he
proposed ; namely, to furnish the public with a more convenient,
more intelligent, and altogether a more useful ana readable Bible
than we have yet had. After this, it can be no longer objected,
that the Bible is an anomalous book both in size and fashion ; not
easily lifted, and still less easy to read ; for we may now take a part
of it only from the shelf, like a volume of any English writer, and
may pursue the study of any one among the holy penmen, without
being incommoded with the remainder of that bulky collection of
sacred w itings. It can no longer be complained, that there is one
undistinguishmg sameness in the text of the Bible, and that too a
sameness which revolts rather than invites the reader, we mean
the division into verses ; for the text is now distinguished, accord-
ing to its true nature, into prose, and metre ; this variety strikes
the eye, at the first opening of a volume, and the reader is enabled
to cbuse the style of composition, that suits best with the present
temper of his mind : again, when he has made his choice, he can
easily collect the complete whole of the subject before him, by
means of the sectional heads, and marginal abstracts of the para-
graphs. Whether we consider the instruction, or amusement, of
the reader, we are bound to say, that the holy scriptures, in all
their parts, appear to us to be laid before the public, in this edi-
tion of them, with a perspicuity of order, and discrimination of
parts, that must attract and detain every person of judgment and
taste. We have now a rational and readable Bible ; and there is

i% B**my on tte SeUe qf Dr. tomuel fohnton.

bo lftnger the same excuse that many hare hitherto made, for not
perusing the sacred writings, with the same attention* readiness,
and frequency, that they employ on profane writers. Our trans*
later gave us the Bible in the English language ; it remained for
Mr. It to make it an English book, adapted to the perusal of
every reader of English ; an improvement which cannot fail of
making the Bible more read and better understood, and of pro*
noting still more extensively the interests of religion and virtue.

Ml' 'I ' ii :' ' »

AftT. ill.— £**ay on the StUe of Dr. Samuei Johnton.
(Continued from Vol- XI. p. 309. )

It is hardly possible for an author who writes much to avoid
a peculiarity of manner. The recurrence of thoughts, similar in
their restrictions and mutual dependance, introduces to the mind,
by a natural association, the same arrangement and construction ;
and the mind, disdaining to bestow upon words that attention
which is due only to things, will be too apt, through haste to exe-
cute its task, to admit the first expressions as to the best. It
despises the humble as well as tedious labour of turning back to
je-examine sentences already marked with approbation, and will
not easily be persuaded to vary, what considered simply in itself
appears to have no fault Thus from the peculiar turn of each
author's thoughts, even though there should be no other cause
concurring, there will naturally arise a corresponding peculiari-
ty of stile : a peculiarity which the powerful influence of habit
makes so predominant, that there are very few pages , even of
our best writers, which to those who are at all acquainted with
their stile, do not readily betray their author. Such favourite
forms or ornaments of expression, such peculiar modes of arran-
ging, combining and connecting, lie within the easy reach of imi-
tation ; and as every writer of eminence will have many who rely
on their success in copying him for the foundation of their fame,
and many who from admiration of his general excellence are led
at last involuntarily to resemble him, criticism can never be more
usefully employed than in examining these peculiarities of authors
of acknowledged merit, and determining how far they are deserving
of praise or censure, how far they are to be imitated or avoided.

As there are no modern writings higher in public estimation
than Doctor Johnson's, and as there are none which abound mere

Jtoaay m the Style o/Drl Samuel JohtuttL %$

fa appropriate marks of stile, there are none which can with more
advantage be made the subject of critical enquiry. On their ob-
vious and distinguishing characteristic, the too frequent use of
Latin derivatives, I have already discoursed at large. I shall in
this essay consider soch other peculiarities of Johnson's stile, as*
though less apt to be taken notice of, will it is presumed when
noticed be readily recognized.,

And of ail these the merit Or demerit must rest with full force
on Johnson : for, however the stile of his compositions may cor-
respond with his stile of conversation, and however extraordinary
and perhaps authentic the stories his biographers tell of his fluen-
cy may be, yet nothing in his works can fairly be ascribed to
carelessness. His stile in writing, which he had formed early,
became familiar by abundant practice and in the course of a long
continued life of dissertation became also his stile of speaking.
His authoritative decisions on the merit of all our English authors
demand, and his constant employment in critical disquision should
have enabled him to grant it without injury to his literary charac-
ter, that his own stile should be fairly subjected to animadver-
sion: nor should negligence, which will never be insisted on in
diminution of his merit, be admitted as a sufficient plea in ex-
tenuating his faults.

As his peculiarities cannot be ascribed to carelessness, so nei-
ther are they the effect of necessity. Few of them would have
appeared, had Johnson, intent only on communicating l?is ideas,
despised all aids of embellishment. But that this did not suit his
ideas of literary perfection, we are sufficiently informed in his re-
marks on the stile of Swift ; an author who has at least this merit,
that he has escaped all those faults which the critic has fallen in-
to. The easy and safe conveyance of meaning Johnson there de-
clares to be " not the highest praise : against that inattention with
'( which known truths are received, it makes/' he says, " no pro
* vision; it instructs, but it does not persuade.9' Our author
seems therefore to have thought it necessary, in conformity with
his own principle, to introduce into his stile certain ornaments,
which, in his opinion, would prove the effectual means of captiva-
ting attention ; and these ornaments, too laboriously sought for,
and used without sufficient variety, have become the peculiarities
of his stile. I shall comprise the principal of them under two
heads, as arising either from his endeavours after splendor and
Vol. xii. 5

magnificence, or from Jrfe endeavours after harmony ; for to theme
tiro heads they nay almost all be referred.

Not that it is denied, that magnificence and harmony are ob-
jects worthy an author's regard ; but the means, made use of to
attain these, if not skilfully selected* may fail of their intended
effect ; may substitute measurement for harmony* and make thai
only pompous which was designed to be magnificent. On digni-
fied subjects they are no doubt to be attended to, for the stile
should always be proportioned to the subject ; but on familiajr
and meaner topics they should, by a parity of reasoning, be avoid*
ed ; and however well adapted to excite attention, it may be re?
marked, that in general they rather fix it on the expression, than
on the sentiment, and too often cloy that appetite they were in*
tended but to stimulate

Johnson's study of splendor and magnificence, by inducing
bim as much as. possible to reject the weaker words of language*
and to display only the important, has filled his pages with many
peculiarities. His sentences, deprived of those feeble ties which
restrained them to individual cases and circumstances, seem so
many detached aphorisms, applicable to many other particulars,
and certainly more dignified as more universal. But though h*
may have employed this art with some advantage, it is yet hardly
to.be recommended. Johnson's thoughts were so precise, and
his expressions sp minutely discriminated, that he was able x»
keep the leading circumstances of the particular case distinctly ia
view, and in , the form of an universal sentence implicitly to insinu-
ate them to the reader; ajo injudicious imitator, by generalizing
his expressions, might in some instances make that false .which
under restrictions might have been true ; and in almost all, make
that obscure which otherwise would have been perspicuous*

As every substantive presents a determinate image to the
mind, and is of course a word of importance, Johnson takes care
to crowd his sentences with substantives, and to give them on all
occasions the most distinguished place. The instrument,; the
motive, or the quality therefore, which ordinary writers would
have in the oblique case, usually takes the lead in Johnson's sea*
tences ; while the person, which, in connected writing is often ex-
pressed by some weak pronoun, is either entirely omitted, or
thrown into a less conspicuous part. Thus, ^fruition left thee*
« nothing to ask, and innocence teft them nothing to fear" w tri-

Ruay on the Style e/ Dr. OtmuH Jokrn**** U

«* tcs written by idleness and published by vanity"—" wealth niayv
«**y hiring flattery or laying diligence asleep* confirm error and'
" harden stupidity/9 This practice doubtless gives activity and
importance) but caution most be used to prevent its exceeding the
bounds of moderation. When the person is to be dethroned from
its natural preeminence, it is not every quality which has suffi-
cient dignity to- assume its place : besides, in narration, or con-
tinued writing of any sort, the too frequent change of leading ob-
jects in sentences contributes to dissipate the attention, and with-
draw k from the great and primary one : and even in Johnson**
bands this ornament has become too luxuriant, when affections,
instead of being personified, are absolutely humanized, and we are
teized with the repeated mention of "€ar of greatness/ --* the
* bosom of suspicion,"— and « the eye of wealth, of hope, and of
"beauty."

This attachment to substantives has led him, wherever it was
possible by srcbange of construction, to substitute them in place
ot the other parts of speech ; instead therefore of the usual con-
struction, where the adjective agrees with the substantive, he
forms a new substantive from the adjective, which governs the
other in die possessive case. Thus, instead of " with as easy an
a approach," he always writes, ** with the same facility of an*
" preach :" instead of « with such lively' turns, such elegant irony,
•and such severe sarcasms,"— he says, « with such vivacity of
"turn, such elegance of irony, and such asperity of sarcasm*"
When the effect produced no otherwise arises from the substan*
tire, than as possessed of the quality which the adjective denotes,
this change of construction is an happy one ; it expresses that
which is necessary in the thought, by a necessary member of the
sentence ; whereas the usual form lajs the whole stress of the idea
on a word, which, wkhcut the smallest injury to the construction*
aaay be safely removed. An instance however may shew,: that
Johnson sometimes uses it where the same reasoning would shew
it to be absolutely improper* « Steele's imprudence of generost*
" ty, or vanity of profusion," he says, " kept him always incurs>
**bty necessitous."— Here, since Steele's generosity could not
have kept him necessitous if it had not been excessive or impru*
dent,* imprudence of generosity19 is proper: but as his being vain
of profusion, if he had net actually been profuse, never could have
produced this effect ; since bis vanity is but the very remote cause

36 M*9ay oh the <&tyfo qf Dr. Samwtt John***.

of that which his profusion would have effected, whether he hfcfl
been vain of it or not, " vanity of profusion" is an improper ex-
pression*

This ambition of denoting every thing by: substantives has done
considerable violence to Johnson's constructions :— >♦ places of
a little frequentation/'— " circumstances of no elegant recital,"
— " with emulation of price/*— & the library which is of late erec-
w tion/ — ** too much temerity of conclusion/'-^ " Philipe's ad-
* diction to tobacco/' are expressions of affected and ungrace-
ful harshness. This, however, is not the worst fault such con-
structions may have, for they often become unnecessarily obscure :
as " he will continue the road by annual elongation ;" that is*
by compleatiug some additional part of it each year :— *; Swift
« now lost distinction ;" that is, he could not now distinguish his
acquaintances. Many of the substantives too which are thus in-
troduced, are words absolutely foreign to the language : as
"ebriety of amusement,"—" perpetual perflation/9— # to obtain
« an obstruction of the profits, though not an inhibition of the
performance/'—*4 Community of possession, must always in-
« elude spontaneity of production." One of our most usual form*
of substantives, the participle of the verb used substantively, to
give room for such introduced words he has on all occasions
studiously avoided : Yet Dr, Lowth would scarcely have given the-
rule for a construction repugnant to the genius of our language *r
and some arguments will be necessary to prove that the words,
<* renewing, vanishing, shadowing and recalling/' should give place
to " renovation, evanescence, adumbration and revocation/' when
it is considered, that all who understand English know the
meaning of the former, while the latter are intelligible to suck
only of. them as understand Latin; but of this I have elsewhere
treated fully.

. Johnson's licentious constructions however are not to be con-
ceived as flowing entirely from his passion for substantives. His
endeavours to attain magnificence, by removing his stile from
the vulgarity, removed it also from the simplicity of common
diction, and taught him the abundant use of inversions and licen-
tious constructions of every sort. Almost all his sentences begin
with an oblique case, and words used in uncommon significations*
with Latin and Greek idioms, are strewed too plentifully in his
pages. ' Of this 6ort are the following t « I was only not a boy"

JUwy em the Style */ Dr. Samuel Jo&neon. 37

+~* Part they did"—" Sbakspeare approximates the remote"—
tt Cowley was ejected from Cambridge"—" Brogues are a kiod
*of artless shoes"—** Milk liberal of curd," Such expressions
it is unnecessary to mark .with censure ; they bear in themselves
an harshness so repulsive, that easy writing must be held in more
than ordinary contempt, when they are considered as patterns
worthy of mutation*

Metaphorical expression is one of those arts of splendor which
Johnson has most frequently employed ; and while be has availed
himself of all its advantages, he has escaped most of its concomi-
tant faults. Here is no muse, which in one line is a horse and in
the next a boat; * nor is there any pains requisite to keep the
horse and boat from singing. Johnson presents to your view no
chaos of discordant elements, no feeble interlining of the literal
with the figurative* In his metaphors and similes the picture is
always compleat in itself, and some particulars of exact resem-
blance are distinctly impressed upon the reader. What image
can be more beautiful than that which represents the beginnings
of madness as "the variable weather of the mind, the flying va-
« poors which from time to time cloud reason without eclipsing
* it ?" Or what more apposite than that which calls Congreve's
personages " a sort of intellectual gladiators ?"

Sometimes, indeed, it must be acknowledged, his metaphors
succeed each other in too quick succession, and are followed up
too elaborately : but to commit this fault he was solicited by temp-
tations scracely to be resisted. Much of his life had been con-'
sumed in enquiring into the various acceptations of each word,
all of which except the primary one are so many metaphorical
uses of it i so that every word suggested many metaphors to bis
mind, presenting also from his quotations a variety of other terms
of the same class, with which it would wish to be associated.
Thus *rd9ury which in his preface to his Dictionary, he observes,
is never used to denote material heat, yet to an etymologist would
naturally suggest it ; and Johnson accordingly, speaking of the
•ardour of posthumous fame," says that " some have considered
* it as little better than tfilendid msdness ; as a flame kindled by
pride wad fanned by felly." Thinking of a deep stratagem, he is
naturally led from the depth to the surface, and declares " that

• Vide Johnson's Life of Addison.

$1 JUnay tor tWe Btyc'ty t)r. Jfemfcef JWto&n.

«- Addison Irtcw the heart of than frefn the drftt/t* of itnfcaffew to
«* the surface of affectation ** tfb subjects too were such as scarce-
ly could be treated of without tgurative diction : the powers of
the understanding require- the aid of illustration to become tatelli*
gfblc to common readers. But to enquire how our author illus-
trates them, is to detect the greatest and almost the only fault in
his metaphors. " The mind stagnates without external ventUa-
« tk>n"— " An intellectual digestion, which concocted the pulp of
« learning, hut refused the husks"—" An accumulation of knowi-
"edge impregnated his mind, fermented by study* and sublimed
by imagination." From such illustrations common readers wiH,
it is feared, receive but little assistance. The sources from which
his allusions are borrowed are so abstruse and scientific, and bis
expressions so studiously technical, that even those who moat
commend his similes as apposite, cannot pretend that many of them
are explanatory.

Of the peculiarities of Johnson ^s sttte, which I proposed to
treat of under my second head, as arising from his study of har-
mony, the principal I may call the parallelism of his sentences ;
~ which admits no clause, without one or two concomitants, exactly
similar in order and construction. There is scarcely a page of
the Rambler which dees not produce abundant instances of tliwi
peculiarity ; and what Is the ornaifcent, which, if introduced so
often, can be always introduced happily ? Or what is the orna-
ment, however happily introduced, which win hot disgbst by such
frequent repetitions? Johnson's mind was so comprehensive,
vhat no circumstance occurred to him unaccompanied by many
others similar ; no effect, without many others, depending on the
same or similar causes. So close an alliance in the thought natu-
rally demanded a corresponding similitude in the expression : yet
surely all similar circumstances, all the effects of each cause, are
not equally necessary to be communicated ; and as it is acknowl*
edged that even a continued poem of pure iambics would disgust,
variety must appear an indispensably necessary ingredient to har-
mony. " Were we even to admit then, that in any particular triod
the construction of one of its clauses could not bo altered without
injuring the harmony of the sentence, yet a regard to the harmony
of the whole treatise will occasionally make such an alteration
necessary.

But these parallel sentences are not always faultless in them-

M$u* <m fie Style & &r, &rm*et Jbtoum. »

selves. . Sometiiqes, though indeed rarely, a word U used without
a definitive appropriation to that to which it. is. annexed ; at. in
this instance, «* Omnipotence cannot be exalted, infinity cannot be
tt amplified, perfection cannot be improved ;" where the exact rela*
tioa between amplitude and infinity, ami between improvement*
and perfection, is »ot at aU kept np by exaltation being applied to
Omnipotence. Sometimes. too words are introduced, which ant
awer hardly any ot'er purpose than to make the parallelism more
conspicuous, by adding a new member to each clause. Thus, in
the following passage, « grows too fclothful for the labour of con-
gest, too tender for the asperity of contraction, and too delicate
"for the coarseness pf truth;" where labour, asperity and coarse*
ness are sufficiently implied in slothful, tender and delicate.
Sometimes too the parallelism itself is unnecessarily obtruded on
the. reader, aa " quickness of apprehension and celerity of reply,"
where «• celerity" having precisely the same meaning as " quick*-
* nesa," could only have been introduced to make up the parallel'
ism : u Nothing is far-nought, or bard*4abpured" where the first
adverb is essential to the sense, and the lastmriy to the sound*
M When tiro Englishmen meet, their first talk is of the weather,
«they are in haste to tell each other what each must already
"know, that it is hot or cold, bright or cloudy, windy or cahe>/'
Such uninteresting enumerations, singe they contribute nothing
to the moaning, we can only suppose .introduced, as our author
observes of some of Milton's Italian names, to answer the purpo*
ses of harmony.

It were unjust however not to declare, that many of his paral-
lelisms are altogether happy. For antithesis indeed he waa moat
eminently qualified; none has exceeded him in* nicety of discern,
ment, and -no ejuthor's vocabulary has ever equalled his in a copt»
ous assortment of forcible ami definite, expressions. Thus, in hie
comparison of Blackttore'a attack on the dramatic writers with
Collier's, " Blackmove's censure," he says, " was cold and gene*
u ral, Collier's waa personal and. ardent :• Blackmore taught hie
tt readers to dislike, what Collier incited them to abhor." But it
is useless to multiply instances of that which all must have per*
ceived, since all hia contrasts and comparisons possess the same
high degree of accuracy and perfection. From the same cause
may be inferred the excellence of his parallel sentences, where
praise-worthy qualities are separated from their concomitant

40 Euay on the Style qf Dr. Samuel Johntoti.

faults, or kindred effects are disunited : as where he calls Gold*
smith " a man who had the art of being minute without tedious*
« ness, and general without confusion ; whose language was copi-
ous without exuberance, exact without constraint, and easy
« without weakness/9 But Johnson's triads occur so frequently,
that I find myself always led aside to wonder, that alt the effects
from the same cause should be so often discovered reducible to
the mystical number three s I torment myself to find a reason fur
that particular order in which the effects are recited, and I am in-
voluntarily delayed to consider, whether some are not omined
Which have a right to be inserted, or some enumerated which due
discretion would have suppressed. Surely I must be singular in
my turn of thought, or this art of attention, which thus leads
away from the main subject, cannot be an happy one.

His desire of harmony has led him to seek even for the minute
ornament of alliteration. Thus, he says, M they toil without pros-
u pectof praise, and pillage without hope of profit."— -Shakespeare
* opens a mine, which contains gold and diamonds in inexhausti-
« ble plenty, though clouded by, incrustations, debased by irapu*
« rities, and mingled with a mass of meaner minerals." Allitera-
tion indeed is so often casual, and so often necessary, that it is
difficult to charge it on an author's intentions. But Johnson em-
ploys it so frequently, and continues it through so many words,
as in the instances given above, that when we consider too how
nearly allied it is as an ornament to parallelism, we have I think
sufficient grounds to determine it not involuntary.

Under this head I shall beg leave to mention one peculiarity of
Johnson's stile, which though it may not have arisen, at least not
entirely, frbm his endeavours after harmony, yet discovers itself
obviously to the reader by its effects upon the ear ; I mean the
studied recurrence of the same words in the latter part of the sen-
tence, which had appeared in the former ; the favourite ornament
of his Idler, as parallelisms are of the Rambler, and used not un-
frequentiy in the Lives of the Poets. As the use of it is attend-
ed with many advantages and many disadvantages, the author who
would adopt it should watch it with a suspicious eye. If restrain-
ed within the bounds of moderation, it is on many occasions the
most lively, concise, perspicuous and forcible mode of expressing
the thought. Since the words too at their return naturally recall
to the mind the antecedent members of the sentence, it may be

£**ty on the Style of Dr. Samuel Johmon. 4i

ftoosjdered as a valuable assistant in imprinting the thought upon
the memory. It has also this additional advantage, that as un-
fairness in reasoning often arises from change of terms, so where
the terms are not changed, we are apt to presume the reasoning
.to be lair. Thus, where we read in the Life of Savage the fol-
lowing sentence, " As he always spoke with respect of his maa-
M tcr, it is probable the mean rank in which he then appeared did
a not hinder his genius from being distinguished or his industry
"from being rewarded ; and if in so low a state he obtained dis-
« Unctions and rewards, it is not likely they were gained but by
" genius and industry." In this instance the perspicuity of the
reasoning seems to have been preserved through such a chain of
propositions, merely by the artifice of returning the same words a
second time to the reader's observation. But the unrestrained
use of this art is perhaps one of the greatest faults an author can
adopt. A fault, which burlesques grave subjects by communica-
ting impressions of levity, and on occasions less serious, instead
of being sprightly degenerates into quaintness : which for disqui-
sition and reasoning gives us nothing but point and epigram ; by
a constrained conciseness often betrays to obscurity, and where
most successful, leads but to trite retorts and verbal oppositions,
which the reader has already anticipated, and perhaps already
rejected.

Were Johnson however to be charged with negligence, it
night be most fairly on the subject of harmony. There are
many passages in his works where sounds almost similar are suf-
fered to approach too near each other ; and though some of these
are too palpable to be passed over unnoticed by the author, yet I
can never think any ear so incorrect as to adopt sameness and
monotony for harmony. Either way Tiowever Johnson is culpa-
ble, and his alternative is either a faulty principle, or a negligence
in his practice.

Yet his pages abound with memorials of close attention to
harmony; unfortunately Mith memorials equally deserving of
censure ; with heroic lines and lyric fragments. Thus, he says,
11 Pope foresaw the future efflorescence of imagery just budding
u in his mind, and resolved to spare no art or industry of cultiva-
"tkm ; the soft luxuriance of his fancy was already shooting, and
tt all the gay varieties of diction were ready at his hand to co-
Mpur and embellish it." «' I will chase the deer, I will subdue

Vol. xii. 6

42 ^V^^^A.

« the whale, resistless as the frost of darkness, and unwearied fs&
«« the summer sun." Surety this is to revive the Pindaric licen-
tiousness, to confound the distinction between prose and poetry,
to introduce numbers by study while negligence admits rhymes)
and to annihilate the harmony of prose, by giving the reader kn
obvious opportunity to compare it with the harmony of versification .

Indeed all the peculiarities of Johnson's style, pursued to their
excess, tend to raise prosaic composition above itself : the/ give
the admirers of Gray a fit occasion of retorting « the glittering
" accumulation of ungraceful ornaments, the double double toil
« and trouble, the strutting dignity which is tall by walking on
u tip toe," which have so harshly been objected to their favounte.
Simplicity is too often given up for splendor, and the reader's
mind is dazzled instead of being enlightened.

1 shall now conclude this enquiry into the peculiarities of
Johnson's style with remarking, that if 1 have treated more of
blemishes than beauties, I have done it, not so much to pass cen- '
sure on Johnson, as to give warning to his imitators. I have in-
deed selected my instances from his writings : 1>ut in writings so
numerous, who is there that would not sometimes have indulged
his peculiarities in licentiousness ? 1 have singled him out from
the whole body ol English writers, because his universally ac-
knowledged beauties would be most apt to induce imitation ; and
I have treated rather on his faults than his perfections because an
essay might comprize all the observations I coufd make' upon
his faults, while volumes would not be sufficient for a treatise 6n
his perfections.
— . - - '__

Alir IV. THE AYRSHIRE LEGATEES;

Or, the Correspondence of the Pringle Family.

[From Black wood's Edinburgh Magazine.]

(Continued from Vol. XI. p. 427.)
There was a great tea-drinking held in the Kirk-gate of !Ir.
vine, at the house of Miss Mally Glencaim, to which bur intelli-
gent correspondent, Mr. M'Gruel, the surgeon of Kilwinning, was
invited. At that assemblage of rank, beauty, and fashion, among
other delicacies of the season, several new-come-home Clyde
Skippers, roaring from Greenock, and Port-Glasgow, were served
up— but nothing contributed more to the entertainment of the eve-

The AyT$hfre IfCgatet: 43

aing, than a proposal, on the part of Miss Mally, that those pre-
sent, who had received letters from the Pringles, should read
tfeein for the benefit of the company. This was no doubt a pre-
concerted scheme between her and Miss Isabella Todd, to hear
what Mr, Andrew Pringle had said to his friend Mr. Snodgrass,
and likewise what the doctor himself had indited to Mr* Mickle-
wham, some rumour having spread of the wonderful escapes and
adventures of the family in their journey and voyage to London.
For, as Mr. M'Gruel, with that peculiar sagacity for which he is
eminently distinguished, justly remarked, " had there not been
some prethought of this kind, it was not possible that both the
helper and session clerk of Garnock could have been there toge-
ther, in a party, where it was an understood thing that not only
Whist aix) Catch Honours were to be playedi but even obstrepe-
rous Birky itself, for the diversion of such of the company as were
not used to gambling games." It was it\ consequence of what
took place at this Irvine route, that Mr. M'Gruel was led to think
of collecting the letters ; and those which were read that evening,
in addition to what we have already published, constitute the bur-
then of our present article.

JLettjbr VIII.

Mu$ Rachel Pringle to Mim I$cbeUa Todd.

London.
Mt Dkab Bell, — It was my heartfelt intention to keep a re*
gular journal of all our proceedings, from the sad day on which
I bade a long adieu to my native shades-— and I persevered with a
constancy becoming our dear and youthful friendship, in writing
down every thing that I saw, either rare or beautiful, till the hour
of our departure from Leith. In that faithful register of my feel-
ings and reflections as a traveller, I described our embarkation at
Greenock, on board the steam-boat^— our sailing past Port-Glas-
gow, an insignificant town, with a steeple ; the stupendous rock
of Dumbarton Castle*— that Gibraltar of antiquity ;— our landing at
.Glasgow*— my astonishment at the magnificence' of that opulent
metropolis of the muslin manufacturers. My brother's remark,
tfcpt the punch bowls on the roofs of the infirmary, the museum,
and the other trade's hall, were emblematic of the universal esti-
mation in which that celebrated mixture is held by all ranks and

44 The Ayrshire Legatees.

degrees— learned, commercial, and even medical, of the inhabi-
tant* ;— our arrival at Edinburgh— my emotion on beholding the
castle, and the visionary lake which may be nightly seen from the
windows of Prince's street, between the old and new town, re-
flecting the lights of the lofty city beyond— with a thousand other
delightful and romantic circumstances, which render it no longer
surprising that the Edinburgh folk should be, as they think them-
selves, the most accomplished people in the world. But alas, from
the moment I placed my toot on board that cruel vessel, of which
the very idea is anguish— all thoughts were swallowed up in suf-
fering—swallowed, did I say I ah, my dear Bell, it was the odious
reverse— -but imagination alone can do justice to the subject. Not,
however, to dwell on what is past, during the whole time of our
passage from Leith, I was unable to think, far less to write— and,
although there was a handsome young officer belonging to the ce-
lebrated Glasgow Huzzars, also a passenger, I could not even lis-
ten to the elegant compliments which he seemed disposed to of-
fer by way of consolation, when he had got the better of his own
sickness. Neither love nor valour can withstand the influence of
that sea demon. The interruption thus occasioned to my obser-
vations, made mc destroy my journal, and I have now to write" to
you only about London— only about London ! What an expres-
sion for this human universe, as my brother calls it, as if my weak
femenine pen were equal fb the stupendous theme \

But before entering on the subject, let me first satisfy the anx-
iety of your faithful bosom with respect to my father's legacy. All
the accounts, I am happy to tell you, are likely to be amicably set-
tled, but the exact amount is not known as yet, only I can see, by
my brother's manner, that it is not less than we expected, and my
mother speaks about sending me to a boarding school to learn ac-
complishments ; nothing, however, is to be done until something
is actually in hand. But what does it all avail to me ?— here am
I, a solitary being in the midst of this wilderness of mankind, far
from your sympathising affection, with the dismal prospect before
me of going a second time to school, and without the prospect of
enjoying, with my own sweet companions, that light and bounding
gaiety we were wont to share in skipping from tomb to tomb in
the breezy churchyard of Irvine, like butterflies in spring, fly-
ing from flower to flower, as a Wordsworth 6r a Wilson would
express it.

The Ayrshire Legatee: 45

We have got elegant lodgings at present in Norfolk-street, but
my brother is trying, whb all bis address, to get us removed to a
more fashionable part of the town, which, if the accounts were
once settled, I think will take place— and he proposes to hire a
carriage for a whole month ; indeed, he has given hints about the
saving that might be made by buying one of our own; bin my mother
shakes her head, and says, " Andrew dinna be carrit,'*— from all
which it is very plain, though they don't allow me to know their
secrets, that the legacy is worth the coming for. But,, to return
to the lodgings, we have what is callted a first and second floor, a
drawing room, and three handsome bed-chambers. The drawing
room is very elegant ; and the carpet is the exact same pattern of
the one in the dress-drawing-room of Eglintoun castle. Our land-
lady is indeed a lady, and I am surprised bow she should think of
letting lodgings, for she dresses better, and wears finer lace, than
ever I saw in Irvine. But I am interrupted.—

I now resume my pen— we have just had a call from Mrs* and
Miss Argent, the wife and daughter of the Colonel's man of busL
nesa. They seem great people, and came in their own chariot,
with two grand footmen behind ; but they are pleasant and easy,
and the object of their visit was to invite us to a family dinner to mor-
row, Sunday. 1 hope we may become better acquainted ; but the
two livery servants make such a difference in our degrees, that I
fear this is a vain expectation. Miss Argent, was, however, very
frank, and told me that she was herself only just come to London
for the first time since she was a child, having been for the last
seven years at a school in the country. I shall, however, be better
able to say more about her in my next letter. Do not, however,
be afraid that she shall ever supplant you in my heart— no, my dear
friend, companion of my days of innocence,— that can never be-
but this call from such persons of fashion, looks as if the legacy
had given us tome consideration ; so that I think my father and
mother may as well let me know at once what my prospects are,
that I might show you how disinterestedly and truly 1 am, my dear
Bell, yours,

Rachxl Paivglx.

When Miss Isabella Todd had read the letter, Mr. M'Gruel
says, there was a solemn pause for some time— all present knew
something, more or less, of the fair writer ; but a carriage, a car*

4* Tht Ayr*hi*e. he§atof.

pet, like the best at Eglintoun, a Glasgow Huxzar, and two fbot-
nen in livery, were phantoms of such high import, that no one
coord distinctly express the feelings with which the intelligence
affected them. It was, however, unanimously agreed, that the
doctor's legacy had every symptom of being equal to what it was
at first expected to be, namely, twenty thousand pounds ;— a sunt
which, by some occult or recondite moral infiuence of the Lottery,
is the common maximum, in popular estimation, of any extraor-
dinary and indefinite windfall of fortune. Miss Becky Glibbans*
from the purest motives of charity, devoutly wished that poor
Rachel might tye able to carry her full cup with a steady hand ;
and the Rev. Mr. Snodgrass, that so commendable an expression
might not lose its edifying effect, by any lighter talk, requested
Mr. Micklewham to read his letter from the doctor.

Lkttbb IX*

Tht R*v. Z. PringU, IX D. to Afr. Jf/cMreri?*, SfihoolmatUr on#
Sution C+*rff of Garnoct.

London.

D*ar Si*y—I have written by the post tfcat will take this to
band, a letter to Ranker M'*f"*"y» at Irvine, concerning acme
small matters of money that I may ateju) in need of his opinion
anent ; and as there is a p/ospect now of a settlement of the lega-
cy business, I wish you to take a step oyer to the banker, and be
will give you ten pounds, which yon will administer to the poor,
by putting a twenty shilling note in the plate on Sunday, as a pub-
lic testimony from me of thankfulness for the hope that is before
us ; the other nine pounds you will quietly, and in your own can*
ny way, divide after the following manner, letting none of the par-
takers thereof know from what other band than the Lord's the
help comes, for indeed from whom but jus does any good be-
fall us. *

You will give to auld Mixy Eccles ten shillings. She's a care-
ful creature, and it will go as far with her thrift as twenty will do
with Effy Hopkirk ; *o you will give Effy twenty. Mrs. Binacle,
who lost her husband, the sailor^ last winter, is, I am sure, with
her two sickly bairns, very ill aff ; I would therefore like if you
will lead her a note, and ye may put half a crown in the hand of
each of the poor weans for a pUyoek,ibr she's a proud spirit, and

will bear much beftoe Oie complain. Thofhas Do*y lias toen
loti^ unable to do>a tU*n of work, so^rou may give ninra note too.
i promised that donsytftdy, Willy Shachle, the be there!, that When
I "got my legacy, he sbotttd get a guirt&a, which- would be tnoYe
to him tl^ if the'Coloriel bad died at hotne, and he had had tH*
httfkingof bfcgr&ve •; you may thefrelbfe, in the mean time, give
t¥itty a* cVdwn, and be' sure to waJrn htnvWetl not to* get fou with
it, for I'll Be very angry if he does. But what in this -matter Will
need ail your skill, is the giving of the Remaining five pounds to
auld Miss Betty Peerie ; being a gentle woirifcn' both by blood and
education, she's a Very slimmer affair to handle in a doing of this
kind. But I anr persuaded she's In as great -necessity as many
that seem far-poorer, 'especially since the mUslki flowering has
gone^so (town. Her bits' of brats* are aairly worn, though she keeps
out an apparition of gttftilfty. Ntfw, for all this ttbuble, I will
give you an account of 'what we have been doing since my last.

When we bad gotten ourselves made up in order, we went wkh
Andrew Pringle, 'my son, to- the counting-house,' and had a satis-
factory vista of the residue, but it- Will be'sotr.e time before' things
Can be^settled^-indeed, I fear, not for months to come-*-so that!
have been thinking* if the parish* Was pleased with Mr. Snodgrass,
it might be1 my difty to my people to give up to him my stipend,
and tefhinTbe' appointed not only helper, but sueeessor likewise.
It frould -riot be right of nie to give the manse, both because be*
a young ana" inexperienced man, and cbnnot, in the course of m*
tore, have got into the way 'of visiting the' sick -beds of the- frail,
which is theTnain pdrt of a pastor's duty, and likewise because I
wish to die, as I have lived, atriong my people. But* when altti
settled, I will know better what to do.

When We had got an inkling from Mr. Argent of what the
Colonel has left, and I do assure you, that monef is not to be got*
even in thetoay of legacy, without anxiety^— Mrs. Pringle andrft
consulted together, and resolved that it was our first duty, ad' a
token of our gratitude to the Giver of all Good, to make our first
outlay to the poor. So without -saying a word either to Rachel,
or to Andrew Pringle, my son, knowing that there was a daily
worship in the church of England, we slipped out of the bouse
by ourselves, and hiring a hackney conveyance, told the driver
thereof to drive us to the high church of St. Paul's. This was
nut of no respect to the pomp and pride of prelacy, but WHita

48 The Aynfurt legate**.

before whom both pope and presbyter are equal, as they are seen,
through the merits of Christ Jesus. We had taken a golden
guinea in our hand, but there was no broad at the door, and in*
stead of a venerable elder lending sanctity to his office, by reason
of his age, such as we see in the effectual institutions of our own
national church— the door was kept b> a young man, much more
like a writer's whipper-snapper-clerk than one quali6ed to fill
that station, which good king David would have preferred to dwell-
ing in tents of sin. However, we were not come to spy the nak-
edness of the land, so we went up the outside stairs, and I asked
at him for the plate : " Plate !" says he, " why it's on the altar !"
I should have known this— the custom of old being to lay the of-
ferings, on the altar, but I had forgot, such is the force you see of
habit, that the Church of England is not so well reformed and
purged as ours is from the abominations of the leaven of idolatry.
We were then stepping forward, when he said to me as sharply
as if I was going to take an advantage, " you must pay here ;"
« very well, wherever it is customary," said I, in a meek manner,
and gave him the guinea. Mrs. Pringle did the same. " I can-
not give you change," cried he, with as little decorum as if we
had been paying at a playhouse. " It makes no odds," said I,
« keep it all." • Whereupon he was so converted by the mam-
mon of iniquity, that he could not be civil enough he thought—
but conducted us in and showed us the marble monuments, and the
French colours that were taken in the. war, till the time of wor-
ship—nothing could surpass his discretion.

At last the organ began to sound, and we went into the place of
worship— but, O Mr. Micklewham, yon is a thin kirk. There was
not a hearer forby Mrs. Pringle and me, saving and excepting
the relics of popery that assisted at the service. What was said
I must, however, in verity confess was not far from the point.
But it's still a comfort to see that prelaticaf usurpations are on
the downfal ; no wonder that there is no broad at the door to re-
ceive the collection for the poor, when no congregation entereth
in. You may, therefore, tell Mr. Craig, and it will gladden his
heart to hear the tidings, that the great Babylonian madam is now,
indeed, but a very little cutty.

On our return home to our lodgings, we found Andrew Pringle,
my son, and Rachel, in great consternation about mxt absence.
When we told them that we had been at worship; I saw they were

The Ayrshire Legatee*. 49

tech deeply affected, and I was pleased with my children, the
more so, as you know I have had my doubts that Andrew Prinze's
principles have not been strengthened by the reading of the Edin-
burgh Review. Nothing more passed at.that time, for we were
disturbed by a Captain Sabre that came up with us in the smack,
calling to see how we were after our journey ; and as he was a ci-
vil, well-bred young man, which I marvel at, considering he's a
tmsaar dragoon, we took a coach, and went to see tfee lions, as he
said ; but instead of taking us to the tower of London, as I ex-
pected, he ordered the man to drive us round the town. Jn our
way through the city he showed us the Temple £ar, where Lord
Kilmarnock's head was placed after the rebellion, and pointed out
the Bank of England and Royal Exchange. He said the steeple
of the Exchange was taken down shortly ago— and that the late
improvements at the bank were very .grand. I remembered having
read in the Edinburgh Advertiser, sonic years, past, that there was
a great deal said in Parliament about the state of the .Exchange, and
the condition of the bank, which I could never thoroughly under-
stand. And, no doubt, the taking down of an old building, and the
building up of a new one so near together, must, in such a crowded
city as this, be not only a great detriment to .business, but danger* '
ous to the community at large.

. After we had drivenabout for more than twohours,andneither seen
Bons nor any other curiosity, but only the oujtside of houses, we
returned hornet where we found a copperplate card left by Mr. Ar-
gent, the Colonel's agent, with the name of his private dwelling-
house. Roth me and Mrs. Pringle were confounded at the sight of
titis thing, and could not but think that it prognosticated no good ;
for we had seen the gentleman himself in the forenoon. Andrew
JPringle, my son, could give no satisfactory reason for such an ex-
traordinary manifestation of anxiety to see us, so that after sitting
in thorns at our dinner, I thought that we should see to the bottom
of the business. Accordingly, a hackney was summoned to the
door, and me and Andrew Pringle, my son, got into it, and told
the man to drive to second in the street where Mr. Argent lived,
and which was the number of his house. The man got up, and
away we went, but after he had driven an awful time, and stopping
and inquiring at different places, he said there was no such house
as Second's in the. street, whereupon Andrew Pringle, my son,
asked him what he meant, and the man said, that he supposed it
vol. in. 7

50 The Aytthirt Legatee*.

was one Second's Hotel, or Coffeehouse that we wanted. NdW
only think of the craftiness of the neer-da*weel, it was with some
difficulty that I could get him to understand, that second was just
as good as number *wo, for Andrew Pringie, my son, would
not interfere, but lay back in the coach, and was like to split
his sides at my confabulating with the hackney man. At long
and length we got to the house, and were admitted to Mr. Ar-
gent, who was sitting by himself in his library reading, with
a plate of oranges, and two decanters with wine before him. I
explained to him, as well as I could, my surprise and aniexty at
seeing his card, at which he smiled, and said, it was mere-
ly a sort of practice that had come into fashion of late years ;
although we had been at his countinghouse in the morning, he
considered it requisite that he should call on his return from the
city. I made the best excuse I could for the mistake, and the
servant having placed glasses on the table, we were invited to take
wine. But I was grieved to think that so respectable a man should
have bad the bottles before him by himself, the more especially
as he said his wife and daughters had gone to a party, and that he
did not much like such sort of things. But for all that we found
him a wonderful conversible man, and Andrew Pringie, my son,
having read all the new books put out at Edinburgh, could speak
with him on any subject In the course of coversation they touch*
ed on politic economy, and Andrew Pringie, my son, in speaking
about cash in the Bank of England, told him what I had said con-
cerning the alterations of the Royal Exchange Steeple, with
which Mr. Argent seemed greatly pleased, and jocosely proposed
as a toast, « may the country never suffer more from the alterations
in the Exchange, than the taking down of the steeple." But as
Mrs. Pringie is wanting to send a bit line, under the same frank to
her cousin Miss Mally Glencairn, I must draw to a conclusion, as-
suring you, that 1 am, dear sir, your sincere friend and pastor,

ZAOHARIAH PatNOLK.

The impression which this letter made on the auditors of Mr.
Micklewham was highly favourable to the doctor—Hill bore testi-
mony to his benevolence and piety, and Mrs. Glibbans expressed,
in very loquacious terms, her satisfaction at the neglect to which
prelacy was consigned. The only person who seemed to be af-
fected by other than the most sedate feelings on the occasion, was
the Rev. Mr. Snodgrass, who was observed to smile in a very un-

The Ayrshire Legatees. 4J

fcecoming manner at some parts of the doctor's account of his recep-
tion at St* Paul's. Indeed, it was apparently with the utmost dif-
ficulty that the yopng clergyman could restrain himself from giv-
ing liberty to his risible faculties. It is really surprising how dif-
ferently the same thing affects different people. '< The Doctor
and Mrs. Pringle giving a guinea at the door of St. Paul's for the
poor need not make folk laugh," said Mrs. Glibbans, " for is it not
'written, that whosoever givetb to the poor iendeth to the Lord ?"
« True, my dear Madam," replied Mr. Snodgrass, « but the Lord
to whom our friends in this case gave their money, is the Lord Bi-
shop of London; all the collection made at the doors of St. Paul's
Cathedral is, I understand, a perquisite of the Bishop's. In this the
Rev. gentleman was not very correctly informed, for, in the first
place, it is not a collection, but an exaction ; and, in the second place,
it is only sanctioned by the Bishop, who allows the inferior clergy to
share the gains among themselves. Mrs. Glibbans, however, on
hearing his explanation, exclaimed, « Gude be about us," and push-
ing back her chair with a bounce, streaking down her gown at the
•June time with both her hands, added, " no wonder that a judgment
is upon the {and, when we hear of money changers in the temple."
Miss Mally Glencairn, to appease her gathering wrath and holy in-
dignation, said, facetiously," Na,na, Mrs. Glibbans, ye forget, there
was na changing of money there. The man took the whole guineas.
But not to make a controversy on the subject, Mr. Snodgrass will
now let us hear what Andrew Pringle, < my son,' has said to him :"
—And the Reverend gentleman read the following letter with due
circumspection, and in his best manner.

Letter X.

Andrew Pringle, Esq. to the Rev. Charlee Snodgraee.
Mv Dkar Friend,— I have heard it alleged, as the observa-
tion of a great traveller, that the manners of the higher classes of
society, throughout Christendom are so much alike, that nation*
al peculiarities among them are scarcely perceptible. This is
not correct ; the differences between those of London and Edin-
burgh are to me very striking. It is not that they talk and per-
form the little etiquettes of social intercourse ^differently ; for in
these respects they are apparently as similar as it is possible for
imitation to make them ; but the difference to which I refer is an

id The Ayrthkre Legatee*

indescribable something which can only be compared topecvlinrfc*
ties of accent. They both speak the same language ; perhaps Iff
classical purity of phraseology the fashionable Scotchman is even
superior to the Englishman, but there is a flatness of tone in his
accent, a lack of what the musicians call expression, which gives
a local and provincial effect to his conversation, however in other
respects learned and intelligent. It is so with his manners ; he con-
ducts himself with equal ease, self-possession, and discernment,
but the flavour of the metropolitan style is wanting.

I have been led to make these remarks by what I noticed in the
guests whom I met on Friday at young Argent's. It was a small
party, only live strangers, but they seemed to be all particular
friends of our host, and yet none of them appeared to be on any
terms of intimacy with each other. In Edinburgh, such a party
would have been at first a little cold ; each of the guests would
there have paused to estimate the characters of the several stran-
gers before committing himself with any topic of conversation.
But here the circumstance of being brought together by a mutual
friend produced at once the purest gentlemanly confidence ; each,
as it were, took it for granted that the persons whom he had come
ahiong were men of education and good breeding, and, without
deeming it at all necessary that he should know something of their
respective political and philosophical principles, before venturing to
speak on such subjects, discussed frankly, and as things unconnect-
ed with party feelings, incidental occurrences which in Edinburgh
would have been avoided as calculated to awaken animosities.

But the most remarkable feature of the company, smaH as it
was, consisted of the difference in the condition and character of
the guests. In Edinburgh the landlord, with the scrupulous care
of a herald or genealogist, would, for a party, previously unacquaint-
ed with each other, have chosen his guests as nearly as possible
from the same rank of life ; the London host had paid no respect
to any such consideration— all the strangers were as dissimilar in
fortune, profession, connexions, and politics, as any four men in
the class of gentlemen cculd well be. I never spent a more de-
lightful evening.

The ablest, the most eloquent, and the most elegant man pre-
sent, without question, was the son of a sadler. No expense had
been spared on his education. Mis father, proud of his talentS1
had intended him for a seat in parliament ; but Mr. T— • him-

The Ayrshire Lefmttt^ $&

Jeifptfefaf* 1M m§f ewjeymeriW ef private life, ax* has kept Mm*
sett «loof from politics and parti©* Were,I to form an estimate off
bis qualification* tor excel in puftlk speaking, by the clearness and
weautifa! propriety ef his colloquial language, I should conclude
that be was stiff destined to perform* a distinguished part. But he
ie content with the liberty of a private station, ssa spectator only,
and, perhaps, in that he shews his wisdom ; for undoubtedly such
men are not cordially received among hereditary statesmen, un-
less they evince a certain suppleness of principle, such as we have
seen in the conduct of more than one political adventurer.

The next in point of effect was young C— G— — . He evi-
dently languished under the influence of indisposition, which,
while it added to the natural gentleness of his manners, diminish-
ed the impression his accomplishments would otherwise have
made— I was greatly struck with the modesty with which he of*
fered his opinions, and could scarcely credit that he was the same
individual whose eloquence in parliament is by many compared
even to Mr. Canning's, and whose firmness of principle is so uni-
versally acknowledged, that no one ever suspects him of being
liable so change. Yen may have heard of his poem « On the re*
storation of learning in the east,99 the most magnificent prize essay
that the English universities have produced for many years. The
passage in which he describes the talents, the researches, and
learning of Sir William Jones, is worthy of the imagination of
Burke, and yet, with all this oriental splendour of fancy, he has the
reputation of being a patient and methodical man of business. He
looks, however, much more like a poet and a student, than an or-
ator and a statesman ; and were statesmen the sort of personages
which the spirit of the age attempts to represent them, I for one,
should lament that a young man, possessed of so many amiable
qualities, ail so tinted with the bright light* of a fine enthusiasm,
should ever have been removed from the moonlighted groves and
peaceful cloisters of Magdalen college, to the lampsmelling pas-
sages and factious debates of St. Stephen's chapel. Mr. G. cer-
tainly belongs to that high class of gifted men who, to the honour
ef the age, have redeemed the literary character from the charge
of unfitness for the concerns of public business ; and he has shown
that talents for affairs of state, connected with literary predilections,
are not limited to mere reviewers, as some of your old classfellows
^woeid have the world to believe. When I contrast the quiet tin-

54 Tke Ayrshire Legatee*

obtrusive developement of Mr. G's character with that bustling
and obstreperous elbowing into notice of some of those to whom the
Edinburgh Review owes half its fame, and compare the pare and
steady lustre of his elevation, to the rocket-like aberrations and
perturbed blaze of their still uncertain course, I cannot but think
that we have overrated, if not their ability, at least their wisdom
in the management of public affairs.

The third of the party was a little Yorkshire baronet. He
was formerly in Parliament, but left it, as he says, on account of its
irregularities, and the bad hours it kept. He is a Whig, I under-
stand, in politics, and indeed one might guess as much by lookingat
him ; for I have always remarked, that your Whigs have something
odd and. particular about them. On making the same sort of re*
mark to Argent, who, by the way, is a high ministerial man, he ob-
served, the thing was not to be wondered at, considering that the
Whigs are exceptioiis to the generality of mankind, which natu-
rally accounts for their being always in the minority. Mr. T— ,
the sadler's son, who overheard us, said, slyly, " that it might be
so, but if it be true that the wise are few compared to the multi-
tude of the foolish, things would be better managed by the minori-
ty than as they are at present."

The fourth guest was a stock broker, a shrewd compound, with
all charity be it spoken, of knavery and humour. He is by profes-
sion an epicure, but I suspect his accomplishments in that capaci-
ty are not very well founded ; I would almost say, judging by the
evident traces of craft and dissimulation in his physiognomy, that
they have been assumed as part of the means of getting into good
company, to drive the more earnest trade of money-making. Ar-
gent evidently understood his true character, though be treated
him with jocular familiarity. I thought it a fine example of the in-

■ tellectual superiority of T , that he seemed to view him with

dislike and contempt. But I must not give you my reasons for so
thinking, as you set no value on my own particular philosophy,
besides, my paper tells me, that I have only room left to say, that
it would be difficult in Edinburgh to bring such a party together ;
and yet they affect there to have also a metropolitan character. In
saying this, I .mean only with reference to manners, the methods of
behaviour in each of the company were precisely similar— there
was no eccentricity, but only that distinct and decided individuality
Which nature gives, and which no acquired habits can change,—

The Ayrshire Legatee*. ££

each, however, was the representative of a class, and Edinburgh has
no classes exactly of the same kind as those to which they belong*
edj— Tours truly,

AXDftBW PaiMOLB.

Just as Mr. Snodgrass concluded the last sentence, Captain
Jemmy — — T— — -n, one of the Clyde skippers, who had fallen
asleep, gave such an extravagant snore, followed by a groan, that
it set the whole company a laughing, and interrupted the critical
strictures which would otherwise have been made on Mr. Andrew
Pringle's epistle. " D— n it," said Jemmy, " I thought myself
in a fog, and could not tell whether the land a-head was Plada or
the Lady Isle." Some of the company thought the observation not
inapplicable to what they had been hearing.

Miss Isabella Todd then begged that Miss Mally, their hostess,
would favour the company with- Mrs. Pringle's communication.
To this request that considerate maiden ornament of the Kirk-gate,
deemed it necessary, by way of preface to the letter to say, " Ye a9
ken that Mrs. Pringle's a managing woman, and ye maunna ex-
pect any metaphysical philosophy from her." In the mean time,
having taken the letter from her pocket, and placed her spectacles
on that functionary of the face which was destined to wear specta-
cles, she began as follows >—

Lxttsr XI.

Mr*. Ftfngle to Mi— Mally Qlencatrn.
Mt dear Miss Mally,— We have been at the counting-house}
and gotten a sort of a satisfaction : what the upshot may be, I can*
natake it upon myself to prognosticate, but when the war comes
to the want, I think that baith Rachel and Andrew will have a
nest egg, and the doctor and me may sleep sound on their account,
if the nation does na break, as the Arglebarglers in the House of
Parliament have been threatening : for all the Comal's fortune is
sunk at present in the per cents. Howsomever, it's our notion,
when the legacies are paid off, to lift the money out of the funds,
and place it at good interest on hairetable securitie. But ye will
hear after from us, before things come to that, for the delays, and
the goings and the comings in this town of London, are past all ex*
preshon*

56 Tkt dyrMre LcgaUt*.

Aft yet, we have been to see no fairliea, except going in a coach
from one part of the toun to another ; but the Doctor and me waa at
the he-kirk of Saint Paul's for a purpose that I need not tell you, aa
it was a-doing with the right hand what the left should not know.
I could na say that I had there great pleasure, for the preacher waa
very cauldrife, and read every word, and then there was such a beg-
gary of popish prelacy, that it was compassionate to a Christian to
see.

We are to dine at Mr. Argent's, the Comal's hadgint, on Sunday,
and me and Rachel have been getting something for the okasion.
Our landlady, Mrs. Sharkly, has recommended us to ane of the
most fashionable millinders in London, who keeps a grand shop <n
Craobqrn Alia, and she has brought us axteecles to look at j but I
was surprised they were not finer, for I thought them of a vera in-
ferior qualaty, which she said was because they were not m^de for
no easterner, but fpr the public

The Argents seem.as.if they would be discreet people, which,
to us who are here }nthe jawsef jeopardy, would be a great comfort
•— for I am no overly satisfcet with many things. What would ye
think of buying coals by the stimpert, for any thing that I know,
andithen setting up the .poker afore the. ribs, instead of blowing
with, the bellies to make, the fire burn ? I was of a pinion that the
Englishers were naturally wasterful ; but I can ashure you this is
no the case at all— and I am beginning to think that the way of
leeving from hand to mouth is great frugality, when ye consider
that ail is left in the logive hands of uncercumseezed servans.

But what gives me the most concern at this time is one
Captain Sabre of the Dragoon Hoaars, who come up in the smak
.with usifrom Lejih, and is looking more after our Rachel than I
could wish, now, that she might set her cap to another sort of ob-
ject. ,8»t he's of a re*pectit family, and the young lad himself
is no to-be deapisid, hewsamever, I never likit officir-men of any
description, and yet the thing that makes, weiook down on the
captain, is all owing to the Comal, who wasan officer of the .native
.poors of India* where the, pay must indeed have been extraordi-
nary for whoever heard either of a corpal, or any officer whom-
soever, making a hundred thousand pounds in our regiments* no
that I say the Cornel has left so meikle. to us.

Tell Mrs. Glibbans tbat.I have not heard of no sound preacher
as yet in London, the want of which is no doubt the great cause of

The Ayrshire Legatees. 57

the crying sins of the place ; what would she think to hear of
newspapers selling by tout of horn on the Lord's day ; and on the
Sabbath night, the change houses are more throng than on the
Saturday. I am told, but as yet I cannot say that I have seen the
evil myself with my own eyes, that in the summer time there
are tea-gardens where the tradesmen go to smoke their pipes of
tobacco, and to entertain their wives and children, which can be
nothing less then a bringing of them to an untimely end. Bat
you will be surprised to hear, that no such thing as whusky is to
be had in the public houses, where they drink only a dead sort of
bear; and that a bottle of true jennyinn London porter is rarely to
be seen in the whole town— all kinds of piple getting their portor
in pewter cans, and a iadie calls for in the morning to take away
what has been yoused over night. But what I most miss is the
want of creem. The milk here is just skimm, and I doot not,
likewise well-watered— as for the water, a drink of clear whole-
some good water is not within the bounds of London ; and truly,
now may 1 say, that I have learnt what the blessing of a cup of
cold water is.

Tell Miss Nancy Eydent, that the day of the burial is now set*
tied, when we are going to Windsor Castle to see the prescesson
—and that by the end of the wick, she may expect the fashons
from me with all the particulars. Till then, 1 am, my dear Miss
Mally, Your friend and well wisher,

Janet Pringle.

JVbfo Be ny— Give my kind compliments to Mrs. Glibbans, and
let her know, that I will, after Sunday, give her an account of
the state of the Gospel in London.

Miss Mally paused when she had read the letter, and it was
unanimously agreed, that Mrs. Pringle gave a more full account
of London, than either father, son, or daughter. By this time the
night was far advanced, and Mrs. Glibbans was rising to go away*
apprehensive, as she observed, that they were going to bring « tho
carts" into the room. Upon Miss Mally, however, assuring her,
that no such transgression was meditated, but that she intended
to treat them with a bit nice Highland-mutton ham, and eggs, of
her own laying, that worthy pillar of the Relief Kirk consented to
remain.

It was past eleven o'clock when the party broke up ; Mr.

Vol. xii. S

5fr Account qf the Chtroket BchooU.

If Gruel, with Mr. Sasdgms, and Mr. Micklewfaant, walk***
borne together, and aa they were crossing the Red hum bridge*
«t the entrance of Egiintoun woody—a place well noted from an*
dent thnea for preternatural appearances, Mr. Micldewham de*»
dared, that ho thought he heard something purring among the
bushes ; upon which Mr. M'Gruel makes an observation, staring,
that it could be nothing but the effect of Lord North's strong ate
ki his weak bead, adding, by way of explanation, that the Lord
North here spoken of, was Willy Grieve, celebrated in Irvine fair.
the strength and flavour of his brewing, and that in addition to a
plentiful supply of his best, Miss. Mall/ had entertained them wick
tamarind punch, constituting, in the opinion of Mr. M*Gruel, a na-
tural cause adequate to produce all the preternatural purring that
terrified tfic domine.

(To be continued.)

SOU TM SORT VOLIO.

Art. V.— Account of the Cherokee Schools,
By Gen. Calvin Jones, of North Carolina.

I must premise that wben I visited the Cherokee nation lately,
I had no predilections in its favour. I had known something of
two nations of Indians, and that all attempts to civilize one of them
bad been unavailing, and had every where seen the various tribes
recede and melt away at the approach of the white people. I had
always believed the enthusiastic zeal of good mealed then* to ex-
pect human meant* would accomplish what had been denied by an
interdict of nature ; that there were physical as well aa moral
causes which would for ever prevent the civilization of these sa-
vages until the capabilities of their minds were improved* sutur-
ed, and perfected, by the long continued existence of. their race
and species. But I have seen the nation and* have witnessed the
attempts which are making to instruct and humanise it, and am.
no longer sceptical. 1 renounce my Darwinian error. I firmly*
believe, if the efforts now making are duly seconded^ the little that
remains of a. brave and unfortunate nation will be rescued* from
barbarism, suffering, and utter annihilation.

Heretofore there, seems to have been more seal for Christianity*
than knowledge of the constitution of the human mind, employed
in missionary labours. Little is to be expected front preaching

Mcount */ the Okerokee ScAook. *9

sfcstmse doctrines to met who hare never been taught the exer*
esse of their thinking faculties. The American beard of com*
snbsioners for foreign missions have profited by experience of
the abortive attempts of others i they have anatomised the mind
and know ita properties and structure j the? have learned (to bor-
row the expression of the poet,) that the twig must be bentto give
fashion to the tree.

The first school in the Cherokee nation was founded by the Rev*
Abraham Stciner, under the anspiciea of the Moravian Society of
Salem, North Carolina, about twenty years ago, and has been con--
dno^withe^ttnteiToptwn^btttonalimkedscakjeversm^ The
Rev. Mr. Gambold is the present missionary. Me is a plain wor-
thy man, and supports his family chiefly by the labour of bis own
hands, while hta wife, a woman of uncommon mental endowments*
instructs ten or fifteen Indian children. On the Sabbath Mr. G.
preaches. Charles Hicks, a chief, and the second man norainaK
ty in the nation, bnt in influence the first, is a member of his church,
and is reputed an intelligent and devest christian wbo<dees honour
to his profession.

But die most considerable school is at Chichamauguh (the lo-
cal name Brainerd) under the superinteadance of the American
hoard of commissioners for foreign missions. Its first instructor
was the Res*. Cyras Kingsbury, who went into the nation three
years ago, hut left it last wimer to found a school among the
Choctaws. It is due, however, to the distinguished merit of the
Raw.' Gideon Blackburn of Tennessee, to state here, that he was
the pioneer in this business, having, by his individual exertions,
maintained a school, taught by himself, in that part of the nation,
many years ago; which, however, the difficulty of subsisting, and
tnueh unfounded obloquy, thrown upon his conduct and motives,
made it expedient for him to abandon.

The present head of the missions is the Rev. Hard Hoyt, a ven-
erable, pious, sensible, and discreet man, who, with his wife and
six interesting children, left the pleasant valley of Wyoming, m
Pennsylvania, to encounter the difficulties and endure the priva-
tions of a wilderness, with the single view of extending the bless-
ings of civilization and Christianity among the Cherokees. The
teacher of the school is Mr. William Chamberlain, of Vermont :
the steward and manager Mr. Moody Hail, of Troy, in New York,
and besides Mil* Hoyt, the son of tho missionary, there are twn

60 Account of the Cherokee School*.

young men learning the Cherokee language, with a view to eft*
crease the utility of their labours, Daniel S. But rick and L Long.

This institution is very creditably patronized by government.
The expenses of the buildings for the accommodation of the fa*
xnilies attached to the mission, of the Indian pupils, and of the
school, are defrayed by Col. Meigs, the Indian agent, who fur-
nishes, at the charge of the government, all the requisite imple-
ments of husbandry. A fertile tract of land is loaned to the mis-
sionaries so long as their institution exists, which serves the dou-
ble purpose of lessening the burthen of expense upon the board
of missions, and of initiating the Indian youth into the principles
and practice of agriculture.

The school is conducted on the Lancasterian plan, and consists
of fifty-three scholars, of whom forty-nine are Indians. I spent a
day, taught and heard every one of the classes myself, and I de-
clare that I never saw a better regulated school, or scholars of
more promising dispositions and talents. They were quick of
apprehension, retentive in memory, docile and affectionate. The
greater number of the scholars were between eight and twelve
years of age $ a few were sixteen, and one, I think, was eighteen.
This last was a young woman of much merit : she read well, con-
versed sensibly ; was grave, dignified, and graceful in her man-
ners, handsome in her person, and would be an ornament to al-
most any society. I was told that at their female society meet-
ings, when asked to pray, she always unhesitatingly did so, and
in a manner peculiarly fervid and eloquent. Her name is Catha-
rine Brown. Not four years ago she wore the dress, spoke the
language, and had the manners of her nation. Lydia Lowry, Alice
Wilson, and Peggy Wolf, three other Indian girls that I recollect,
of less mature age, were good scholars, aiidgemecl and agreeable
in their manners. Edward, a brother of Catharine Brown, Horace
Loomis, and too many other boys to be enumerated, would, for
their open manly countenances, correct manners, and decent school
acquirements, obtain respect and consideration in any community.

Tne school is opened and closed by prayers, and all the scholars
join in singing hymns. Those who merit them receive as rewards,
daily, and twice a day, for " fiunctuo.1 attendance " M behaviour f"
and " diligence^9 cards, or tickets, with the initial letters of those
words printed on them, which are valued at half a cent, a cent, and
three half cents. These are current money, and are exchanged

Account of the Cherokee School*. 61

for knives, books, or whatever else they wish to purchase. For
damaging states, losing pencils, negligencies, fee. Sec. they are
sometimes fined in tickets. The children value these tickets
highly, both for the honour which the number of them confers,
and the substantial profit they afford.

All the scholars live at the mission house, where they are both
clothed and fed gratuitously, unless their parents choose to pay
the expense which is not often the case. Besides the literary,
religious, and moral instruction which they receive, they are
taught practical farming, and are initiated into habits of industry,
an art and virtue unknown among savages. They all eat in a
spacious hall attached to the rear of the mansion, the boys at one
table and the girls at another, at which the pastor, teacher, and
the ladies of the family preside. The order and decency observ-
ed at their meals equally surprised and pleased me. The boys-
occupy several detached cabins as lodging rooms, which form the
right wing of the mission house ; the girls a spacious one on the
left, where they are accompanied by a daughter of Mr. Hoyt.
They, in the day, sit and work in the main building, where they
form busy, interesting, and pleasing groups, around some of the
ladies of the family.

What is learned in the school-room is not the most considers*
ble, nor, considering the situation of the nation, the most import-
ant part of their education. They are made practical farmers un-
der the direction of an excellent manager, by which means they
give direct support' to the institution, and procure important ad-
vantages to themselves.

Every Monday morning the labours of the week are assigned
to each, the boys being mustered before the house, and the girls
assembled within it. The former, according to their employments,
are denominated hoe boyaf axe boyay plough boyt^ Sec. and among
the latter are divided the duties of carding, spinning, cooking, and
house work, and making and mending the garments of the scho-
lars. Every morning of the week afterwards the boys are sum-
moned into line by the sound of a whistle. After the roll is called,
the classes are designated by naming their avocations, when the
members of each step out of the ranks, and enter upon their several
employments with great spirit and alacrity. They remain in the
school six hours a day, and work four. I went round to visit them
at their several labours in the wood and in the field, and found

N

them every wJhere busy and cheerful. They seemed fey ibeir
manner to require tie other recreation. A prudent well regu>
iated system of moral discipline appeared completely to supersede
the necessity of every kind of corporal punishment or physical
coercion. The utmost harmony reigned throughout. Neither
Idleness nor games gave them occasion for feuds and distentions.
Their affection for their teachers seemed to fee unbounded. I hare
seen the boys, by half dozens, surround Mr. Chamberlain when he
came in fatigued, clasp him round the neck andaYms, all eager to
*eH or ask something, and engage his attention ; and when lie
bad good humouredly shaken off one set he would be immediate-
ly surrounded by another, clamorous as blackbirds. A command*
however, would always reduce them instantly to order and place.
Play is eccasionally allowed. One hoy will throw up a gourd
or shingle, which will come to the ground with half a dozen
arrows sticking in h. Bathing in the fine clear streams of Chicfe-
amauguh is permitted twke a week. Indeed an Indian would not
dispense with this, for they are scrupulously attentive to cleanli-
ness. An Indian child runs into the water as naturally as a duck.
1 hate seen them {particularly among the Chickesawe) scarce si*
years old, up to their chins in the stream of a bold creek. Cot.
Meigs, the Indian agent, asked a Cherokee girt why she did not
marry a white man who paid his addresses to her; she replied,
that she could not endure white men, they were so dirty, never,
as she understood, bathing in the creeks as the red people did.

I have seen the girls at their several employments forming cir-
cles round some of the ladies of the family, beguiling the time by
dinging and conversation, and seeming, as no doubt they really
were, very happy. The white children of the mission family are
treated in all respects as the Indian children are. Indeed an ex»
emption from any part of the routine of duty and labour would be
no favour. To the Indians this course is indispensably necessary
to their civilization and future welfare, and I am not sure but the
plan of the Brainerd school, in all its details, is the best that could
be devised for children in any community. During the week of
my visit, it fell to the lot of a girl (a young lady I might with per-
fect propriety style her) to wait at table as a part of the household
labours, and she performed the duties with equal propriety, cheer-
fulness, and grace. It was feh to be, as it really was, perfectly
proper and honourable, because it was a place that each one, in turn,

Mtottnt qf lee Ckcrikttr frgaweln, 6&

ins destined to fill^ and no ideas o£ servitude, could of course, be
attached lo h. This young: woman was the daughter of a wealthy*
ktffh-inuKied chief, who kept a good tabic, and servants, at whose*
bsasi I bare been* handsomely entertained, and who spoke of the
economy of thi* school in terms oil high commendation.

The Indiana are mostly favourable to the missions. Mr Hoyt
ia known among them by the- appellation of the good man; and)
some nsofes* as lore to< hear the g*od book /oJsyas they term ready-
ing she ttbie. Every where the mission family are treated by the
Indians withi great respect and affection, and they will rarely ns~
or we pay font them, for whet they are accustomed to consider a»
source* of profit, and subjects* of charge upon travellers. This ie
not the unmeaning politeness with which* Indians hare been charg-
ed, it is a very emphatic expression of their sense of the disin-
terested and useful labours of the missionaries* A little circutnv
stance which took piece a few days before I was at the school*
speaks very distinctly the sentiments which prevail* An old In-
dtam woman) who seemed not to have a vestige of civilization,
brought a little saaage,.her grandson, to place at the school. When
the former we* about to depart, she wept so much over her child,
Who criexl to aei^mpanyherfUiat Mr. Hoyt apprehended she would
net leave him, ano% through an interpreter, assured her that ho
wooed in a few days be reconciled to his situation; She replied,
that eke bad no intention but to leave him ; that the parting was
very pamfal to her, but she too well knew what was for the child's
good. An Indian who had once been to visit the President at
Washington, told me that civilisation* had made the white people
great, but ignorance had made the Indians dwindle away to nothing.
Most of those with whom I conversed, seemed to feel the senti-
ment of patriotism strong in their bosoms* to deplore the fall of
their once wide extended and powerful nation, and to be anxious that
the little of it which* remained should be saved from annihilation.
Who that himself enjoy* the comforts* of civilized life and the con-
seJqdons of religion, and knows the wants and capabilities of these
people, would withhold a contribution to a purpose so benificent
and fall of merit ?

One or two facts will enable all to judge for themselves of the
teachableness of their dispositions, and of their capacities for ac-
qniretnent. A wild, naked*legged boy, eight years old, named
Cheoo-quan^e-tah, or, a young bird, who could speak nothing, but

64' Account of the Cherokee School*.

Cherokee, came for the first time into the school on the day on
which I visited it, and I taught him the alphabet three or four
times over, using some devices to impress the letters more strong-
ly on his memory, in one of which I was assisted by a beautiful
and sprightly little girl who told me she was the Black warrior's
daughter, and named, Polly Blackwood. This was to place the
letters ocu together, the pronunciation of which in the Cherokee
tongue signifies good, which I made him understand was, applica-
ble to him. The little girl who spoke English tolerably, in a play-
ful manner, with a look full of arch simplicity, told me her mo-
ther seldom applied it to her, but much oftener a word, of which
I have now forgotten the Indian, that signified bad. At night the
boy distinctly remembered seven letters of the alphabet.

A little girl by the name of Jenny Reece had been six weeks in
the school, and could spell very well in words of three letters,
and yet had never, in conversation, been heard to utter a word of
English. It is remarkable of the Indians that when they com-
mence expressing their ideas and wants in English, they in a time
surprisingly short, speak very distinctly : But they cannot be
persuaded to speak until conscious of their ability to do it well,
afraid I suppose of drawing upon themselves, ridicule, and indeed
their first essays are calculated to excite a smile in many, when
the ardour of their anxiety to be understood, prompts them to
premature efforts. Like the Greeks and Romans, they placed
the object before the agent. I heard this from a boy anxious to
go to the store on mail day. « Store go to who ? want some go
me." It was predicted from their usual progress, that this boy
would speak correctly in a month.

The mention of Jenny Reece brings her father's name and
merit before me, and I hope to be pardoned for a passing notice of
him, though apparently very remotely, if at all in connexion with
the school. This man, Charly Recce was a very distinguished
warriour and one of the three Indians, who at the battle of the
Horse Shoe, swam the river in sight of the contending armies,
under showers of arrows and bullets, and brought over the canoes
which contributed so essentially to the dislodgement and defeat of
the Creek Indians. Gen. Jackson mentioned him most honoura-
bly in his despatches and general orders, and President Madison
wrote him a letter and presented him with a superbly mounted
rifle, with suitable inscriptions. This, once his boast, is his

Jiccov* t 9ftkt Vkttoktc School. 65

pride no longer. I bad some conversation withhim and he spoke
of his military exploits with evident reluctance: this once fero-
cious warriour is now a humble and devout professor of the reH-
900 of Jesus. The wild hunter, who could not endure the res-
traints of home and but one wife, is now the industrious and pros-
perous farmer and the respectable head of a happy family. This
man's example, the happiness he has conferred on a wife and
amiable children, is surely enough to overturn infidelity in the
heart of obstinacy itself, and make the most heedless anxious to
promote the diffusion of principles capable of such happy influ-
ence. I belong to no or church sect, but I have seen too much
of the benign effects of religion to withhold from it this testimo-
nial in its favour. I am convinced of the very great and essential
importance of its principles and doctrines to civilization. The
Chinese can make pots and the Turks carpets, but they are bar-
barians, and neither science nor manners will ever obtain there,
until the domestic fireside becomes the place where confidence
can repose itself, where the best and holiest affections of our na-
Hate can find their solace, and where the infant mind will he form*
*d under the influence of precept and examples. Polygamy is at
eternal and irrecuncileable war with civilisation.

t had almost forgotten to say, that there is one certainly, and I
•believe two schools in the nation, supported and patronized ex-
clusively by the Indians. I visited one of the patrons. He com-
plained much of the moral character of the' master, and said he had
seen him drunk, even on the Sabbath, and threatened to dismiss
him. This teacher, a native of Europe, had the common stipend
of country schoolmasters allowed him, was permitted to cultivate
as much ground as he pleased, and had a good number of schol-
ar! ; but the Indians were scandalized at his irregularities, and I
expect, if they failed to civilize him, they would, as they threat-
ened, discharge him. I neither saw the teacher nor his school.

It would swell this article beyond the limits prescribed to it
were I to speak of the character and manners of the Indians, and
it would besides, he foreign to the object for which I commen-
ced it I will therefore only say in a few words, that I found
them every where kind and obliging in their deportment and cor-
rect in their conduct j that in their houses, and I entered not a few,
I observed a general appearance of order and neatness that indi-
cated comfort. The women seemed very industrious in various

VOL. XII. 9

66 Jceount of the Cherokee School*.

domestic employments, and the men much more so in their agri-i
cultural pursuits than in any Indian nation I had ever visited.
Many of them had considerable plantations, and two, at whose
houses I was, owned several negroes and employed white men a*
overseers ; and all had horses and cattle, and many of them carts
and wagons. Every thing manifested the progrss of civilisation
and the practicability of its soon attaining the ordinary degrees
of perfection.

Possibly this brief expositio uof facts and circumstances, new
to many, will excite in the benevolent a desire to strengthen the
hands of those employed in this work of instruction, and of giving
them the means of more extended and general usefulness. The
education of the Cherokees will only be limited by the ability to
found and support schools. I have no correspondence with the
boaid of missions, but presume donations to their treasurer in
Boston, Jeremiah Evarts, will be acceptable. It is equally likely
that the Moravian Society of Salem N. C. would not refuse benefac-
tions, though they have never asked contributions. The good
they have done has been their own and it has been done without
ostentation. I was told that plain ready made clothing for boys,
particularly hunting shirts and tnwsers, was much wanted. Dr.
Strong of Knoxville, A. J. Huntington of Augusta, S. C.Danuing
of Savannah, and the superintendant of Indian affairs at Washing*
ton city will remit any thing to the Mission- ho use at Chickamau-
guh, that is committed to their care. I add this paragraph at the
suggestion of a traveller, now confined in this city by sickness,
who observed to us yesterday, that the good deeds of many fell short
ef their beneficent wishes from not knowing how and where to du~
flense their liberalities.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

Art. VI. — Letters from the West. — No. I.
Can you tell me, my dear N. why I left you in sadness, thougk
I would fain have chased away the cloud that hung upon my brow I
If you can, you will explain a feeling which I have often experi-
enced, but never could exactly define. I have never left a spot
where I had sojourned long enough to form acquaintances, with*
out a heavy heart ; and yet there is something in that same heart,
which makes me delight to be ever roving from scene to scene,
Can it be fondness for the spot which has already been enjoyed to
satiety, where every thing has become monotonous, and where the

Letter* from the Wett. Qf

palled senses mast feed upon the food they have grown tired of?
Can it be regret when pleasure allures in the perspective, and when
any dear object which is left behind, will be regained, and glow
with new charms aiter a temporary absence ? These are ques-
tions which yon may answer if you please, for I assure you I shall
not take the trouble to investigate them ; it is enough for me to
leave my friends without heaviness, and to return to them with de-
light, without intruding on philosophic ground, to analyze the light
and shade of those conflicting emotions of which the experience
is sufficiently pleasureable.

Now while you are answering my questions I will reply to
yours. You ask me, in the very spirit of Goldsmith's Hermit/
what allures me « to tempt the dangerous gloom," and to risk my
neck— aye, and my complexion too— among the tangled forests,
and sun-burnt prairies of the west ? I might reply, in my usual
style, by a quotation from my favourite author :

We may roam through this world like a child at a feast,
Who bat sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest,
And when pleasure begins to grow dull in the East,
We may order our wings and be off to the Wett ;

or f might simply say with the churlish Shylock, "it is my hu~
moor." But as I would have you to know, that I am not so much
•fa knight errant as to seek for giants for the mere pleasure of
overcoming them, nor so sentimental as to hie me to purling
streams, and spreading shades, to cool my blood and warm my
fancy, I will discuss my reasons in sober prose.

My desire of exploring the western country has not been alto-
gether the effect of that wandering disposition, to which my friends
have been good enough to attribute it. It is true—too true, per-
haps—-that a roving fancy, indulged and confirmed into habit, by
the unsettled manner of my early life, has had much weight in
forming my determination*; but it is equally true, that this is a
national trait, entailed in common upon most of my countrymen,
for there are few of us who regard time or space, when profit or
amusement allures to distant regions. But I found my strongest
inducement in the deep interest that we all feel in those young
states which have sprung up in the wilderness, and expanding
with unexampled rapidity, are fast becoming the rivals of their
elder sisters in the east.

It might be questioned whether I have reached the years of

6% 4*;*r«jfr<** tf* Hfett

discretion ; and yet, young as lam* I c,a» reweirtf>e^thAtUne wsheu
Pittsburgh was considered a* one o£ the out-posts of civilised)
America ; and I shall never forget the intense interest, and un-
mingkd admiration, which I felt while a boy, in gazing at tho,
brawny limbs and sun-burnt features of a Kentuckian, as he pass-
ed tnrough the streets of; Philadelphia. The rough hardy air of
the stranger— the jaded paces of his nag—the blanket, bear-skin,,
and saddle-bags— nay ,tbe very oil-cloth of* his hat* and the dirk that
peeped from among his vestments, are still in my eye;— they be*
spoke him to be of distant regions, to have been reared among
dangers, and to be familiar with fatigues* He strode among us
with the step of an Achillea, glancing with a good-natured super-
ciliousness at the fragile butterflies of fashion, that glittered in the
sunbeams around him. I thought I could see in that man, one of.
the progenitors of an unconquerable race ; his face presented- the
traces of a spirit quick to resent— he had the. will to. dare, and the
power to execute— there was a something in his look which be-
spoke a disdain of control— and there was an absence of constraint
in all his movements, which indicated an habitual independence
of thought and action. Such was the stock from which a new
people were to spring^-but the oak has .blossomed and borne fruit,
Science and refinement, engrafted upon the rude stem* have flour-
ished, and have mingled their verdure and their sweets among,
its hardy branches. That " lone way •faring man" is not now. the
only representative of his country ; the West has already aent u*
the statesman, on whose accents listening thousands have hung
enraptured, the gentleman whose politeness pleaaes,,and the mwi-
en whose loveliness delights us*

In the times to which I have alluded, a journey from Philadel-
phia to Pittsburgh, was a most serious affair ; and he who would
adventure further, took with him arms, and guides* and^provi-
sions, and " all appliances and means to boot,'' necessary for sub-
sistence and defence. What was then the goal is nowr the start-
ing place. Pittsburgh is the tbreshhold by^ which, we pass into.
the great states of the West ; and Kentucky, but lately * w**ur*
frontier, is now one of the eastern boundaries of the western
country.

The shores of the Mississippi, and. its tributary streams* ha*©>
presented to the world a singular and almost enchanting, picture
one which future ages will contemplate with wonder and delight.

The cekrity with wbtoh to* seal has been peopled* anditfeei for*
mony whkb has prevailed in the erection of their governments*
ha* no parallel in. history) and seems tebe the effect of megid
rather than of human agency. Europe was. at one time overrun
by numemisAordes, who rushing like a torrent from tbe North)
in search of a more genial climate, captured or expelled the ef-
feminate inhabitants of the South, and planted colonies in its rioh-
eat provinces. But these were, barbarians, who conquered with
the sword* and ruled with the rod of iron* Tkai « arm of flesh" was
visible m all their operations. The colonies^ like ours*, were fornv-
ed by emigration*— the soil, was peopled wish an exotic population
—but here the parallel' ends. That country gained- by violence*
was held by sbicc^ the blood stained; soil produced nothing but
* man and steel* the. seidier aaeVbis sward;"

What a contrast does our happy country present to scenes Jibe
these ! It remained for ue to exhibit to the world, the novel spec-
tacle of a people* coming from various' nation*, and differing in
language politics and religaort, sitting down quietly together*
erecting new states, forming constitutions and enacting, laws, with-
out blood-shed or dissension* Our curiosity is naturally excited
to know what powerful attraction has drawn, these multitudes
from their name plains* and why, like bees, they swam asitwerej
to the same bough ; nor is it less interesting to inquire by what
process such heterogeneous particles have become united, and
to observe the effect of so extraordinary a combination. Is it not
singular to behold tbe Englishman and the Frenchman rushing
to the same goal; the laborious, economical New-Englander?
treading the same path with .the high-minded, luxurious native
of tbe South ; nay, even the cautious German, with an enterprise
foreign to his nature, rearing hia vine and his fig-tree, at a spot
whence the footsteps of the savage aborigines are scarcely yet
efiaced ? Is it not more strange that, such men can- live in fellow*
ship, act in unison, make lawa in peace, and « do all things which'
are requiaite and necessary, aa well for the body as the soul,"
in harmonious concert.

But there are other considerations besides those, of a politics*
nature, which render this country peculiarly interesting. It is
the refuge of thousands), who have fled from poverty, from tyran*
ay, and from fanaticism. The tumults of Europe have driven
nkher crowds of unhappy beings, whose homes have been ren

10 Letter* from the Went.

dered odious or unsafe, by the mad ambition of a few aspirings
sovereigns. Here is no Holy Alliance, trafficking in human
blood ; no sceptre to be obeyed ; no mitre to be worshipped. Here
they find not merely a shelter from the rude storm that pelt*
them, but they become proprietors of the soil, and citizens in the
state. Here they learn the practical value of that liberty, which
they only knew before in theory. They learn here that although
the Englishman is born a freeman^ the American only is bred a
Jrccman. You are not to suppose, however, that this is the land
of radicals and paupers: Far from it. Though many emigrate
from necessity, still more do it from inclination. Among the
emigrants are many gentlemen of wealth and education, whose
object is to build up estates for their children, in a country which
offers such facilities for the accumulation of property, and which
presents so fair a promise to posterity. By far the greater class,
however, are neither wealthy nor poor ; these are respectable far-
mers and mechanics, who in the present unpropitious times, find
it to their interest to seek out a residence, where their labours
will yield more profit than at home.

There are also a variety of historical and literary facts connected
with this country, Which serve to give it interest in the eyes of
an American. Braddock was defeated, and Washington immor-
talized on the romantic shores of the Monongaheia ; and the vi-
cinity of Pittsburgh, already famous for the loveliness of its moun-
tain scenery, and the magnitude of its mineral treasures, has been
the scene of martial atchievements, which may one day wake the
1^ re of the Pennsylvania bard, to strains as national and as sweet
as those of Scott. In the western forests, did Wayne gather a
wreath of imperishable laurel ; and St. Clair— i blush to name
him— injured man ! a crown of thorns. On the borders of the
Ohio, Butler fell in the prime of- his lifer and the vigour of hi*
ambition, leaving a name which his countrymen have delighted to
embalm. Can we trace with indifference the path of Burr, the
sweetest of all seducers, but himself seduced by the wildest of all-
visionary schemes ; or pass without a tear of sympathy, the spot
where the philosophic Blannerhasset, surrounded in his loved se-
clusion, with' rural and literary enjoyments, tasted of " that peace
which the world cannot give"— tasted alas ! but for a moment,
and dashed away 1 Is it not delightful, to stray along those shores
where Wilson strayed— to view the scenes which charmed his

Letter 9 Jrom the Went. fl

poetic fancy— to mark the plumage, and listen to the " wood-notes
wild," which allured him through many a weary mile.

Who has not heard of the Antiquitit* of the Went ? Who that
has heard, has not listened with admiration or incredulity ? Of
all that has been written on this most interesting subject, how lit-
tle has appeared that could satisfy a reasonable mind ! The time
was when the tales of western travellers, were received as fanci-
ful productions, written to beguile the unwary emigrant into the
fangs of speculating avarice. When we read of the Great Val-
ley, whose noble rivers stretching in every direction from the dis-
tant mountains, poured their waters into the bosom of the Father
qf Stream* ; and of the rich bottoms, extensive prairies, and gi-
gantic forests of the west, we could smile at what we believed to
be simple exaggeration. But when we heard of caverns extend-
ing horizontally for miles, and exhibiting traces of former inhabi-
tants ; of immense mausoleums filled with human bones, some of
them of a dwarfish size, which indicate the former existence of a
pigmy race ; of the skeletons of gigantic brutes ; of metalic orna-
ments, warlike instruments, and earthen utensils, found buried in
the soil ; of the vestiges of temples, and fortifications, in short of
the many remains of a civilized population, we were inclined to '
consider them as gross impostures. Yet all these curiosities ac-
tually exist, as well as many others of equal interest ; and while
we can no longer withhold our credence, we cannot help exclaim-
ing,

— — ** Can such things be,

And overcome us like a summer cloud,

Without our special wonder !"

Are you answered now I Is not here sufficient food for specula-
don ? Will it not be gratifying to mingle with the mighty Rood
which is sweeping onward to the west, to see it prostrating the
forest, and depositing the seeds of art and refinement ? The spots^
which I shall visit have not been consecrated by the classic pen
—an Homer has not sung their heroes, nor an Ovid peopled their
shades with divinity— but shall I not stroll among the ruins of
ancient cities, and recline upon the tombs of departed heroes ?
You may not admire my taste— -but believe me, I should tread
with as much reverence over the mausoleum of a Shawance
chief as among the catacombs of Egypt, and would speculate with

7% Lettert (from 4he West.

k
as much delight on the rite of an Indian village, as in {he gar-
dens of Tivoli, or the ruins of Hercukneum.

But to add ^amither, and a last inducement; there has been a
Material variance in the statements of writers who have treated
of this country, and of travellers who have visited it. Some laud
it as a paradise, ethers denounce it as a hell. Some have given
it health, fertility, and commercial advantages, others have filled
it with swamps, agues, tomahawks, and mu&quitot'*. One writer
tells us, that " a dirk is the inseparable companion of every gen*
tleman in Illinois," white another facetiously hints that the ladie*
in Kentucky, conceal the same weapon among the folds of their
graceful vestments. This latter insinuation, however, I take to
be a metaphorical compliment to the lovejy daughters of Kentuc-
ky, believing as I do, that the gentleman, alluding to an expres-
sion of Komeo, intended to say, " there is more peril in those
eyes than twenty of their dirku." I could refer you to a thousand
other strange stories, but I have not room.

« I wiil see into it," said Mr. Shandy, when he went to France
to learn whether " they ordered things better" there than at home ;
*»« I wiU see into it" said I, when I found how doctors disagreed
• about a section of my native country, and it is in conformance with
this determination, that I am now fairly embarked, and gliding
merrily down the Ohio.

Aa. 2.

Dear N.

The promises of friendship, like those of love, are often care*
lessly made, and lightly broken. We are ready to concede any
thing to the entreaty of one we love, without reflecting how many
little contingencies may interfere with the engagement. Our
hearts are indeed but bad economists, and are apt to make liberal
promises, which they have neither the ability, nor the inclination
afterwards to fulfil. Thus it is that the last request of a friend,
which at parting, vibrates feelingly on the ear, and entwines itself
among our warmest sympathies, is often obliterated by the pains
or pleasures of new scenes and novel avocations. My pledge te>
you, however, was of such a nature as not to be so easily forgotten.
Dearly as I love to lounge away ihe passing hours, I should feel
highly culpable, could I forget, for a moment, that you have a claim
to part of them ; and independently of this incentive, I assure you

Letter* from the Wt*u 7S

that the pleasure I shall experience in participating my sentiments
with one so able to appreciate thera, will more than compensate
me for tiie labour of making up the record. But for these reflec-
tions, believe me, my last long epistle would have exhausted my
patience, as I dare say it has yours, and I should never have had
the temerity to attempt another. But I have promised to write,
and you are doomed to listen.

I left Pittsburg* in a keel-boat, carrying about forty-five tons,
laden with merchandise, and navigated by eight or ten of those
u half horse and half alligator" gentry,. commonly called Ohio
boatmen, whose coarse drollery, I forsee already, will afford us
some amusement* My cabin is in the bow of the boat, and is form-
ed by leaving a vacancy among the boxes and barrels which en-
compass me. I have an excellent bedstead composed of the same
materials as the walls aforesaid ; and here I snore among British
goods, and domestic manufactures, as composedly as if neither of
those articles bad ever caused us one moments angry discussion.
The deck, or roof, of the boat, affords ample room tor a promen-
ade ; and there I saunter or recline, and enjoy the varied hues of
the forest, now just budding into luxuriance. When tired of this
employment, or when the sun is too high to allow me to continue
it, I retire below, and read a little, sing a little, whistle a little, and
if all that will not fill up the time, I turn in and sleep a little —
Thus I manage to pass away the time, in the most tedious of all
tiresome situations, that of being imprisoned in a boat.

The view of Pittsburg, from the Ohio river, is exceedingly
beautiful. The rivers AUeghenny and Monongahela, with their
fine bridges, the surrounding hills, the improvements in the rear
of the town, and the villages on each side of it, all show to great
advantage. Description would be vain— for I assure you I have
seldom yWl so lovely a prospect.

The river pursues a winding course to Steubenville, presenting
nothing worthy of remark but its beautiful scenery, which is in
the highest degree romantic. From Steubenville, which is a pret-
ty village in Ohio, we pass on by Charleston in Virginia, to Whee-
ling, in the same state.

This latter place, which the editor of the Pittsburg Gazette,
calls " the little town at the foot of the hill," most truly deserves
the pleasant appellation he has given to it ; and I no sooner saw it,
than I subscribed to the correctness of his coufi d9 cbU. The hill

vol. xn. 10

74 Letter* from the West.

is surely the most conspicuous object in the scene. Wheeling*
has, however, been much talked of, and its inhabitants indulge in
golden visions with regard to its future greatness. It may not be
useless to examine the ground of their hopes.

Until within a few years, the immense supplies of merchandise
which were imported into the Western Country, were transported
from Philadelphia and Baltimore, to Pittsburg, whence they de-
scended the Ohio to their places of destination. This was one of
the great sources of the wealth of Pittsburg ; and she might and
ought to have retained it, had it not been for the culpable negli-
gence, and want of public spirit, of her own citizens, and those of
Philadelphia. The road to Pittsburgh, extending three hundred
miles, through one of the richest states in the Union, was perhaps
as bad as it was possible for any road to be ; and by this route
alone could the Western merchants gain access to the waters of
the Ohio. In vain were remonstrances made and reiterated on
this subject. In vain did a few public spirited individuals plead to
the justice and generosity of Pennsylvania — in vain did they ad-
dress her interest and her avarice. The Pennsylvanians affected
to despise the trade of the Western Country, as a matter of little
importance ; but, in fact, they neglected to secure it, because they
imagined it was already secure. They believed the western trad-
ers could purchase goods to advantage only at Philadelphia, and
that they could transport them to the Ohio by no other route than
that leading through Pittsburgh. The inference from this sort of
reasoning was, that it would be time enough to make a good road
through their state a half a century hence, when they should have
grown rich enough to expend money on such luxuries ; and that
in the meantime the western people must drag their goods over
rocks and mountains and through mud and water, the best way
they could. But the western people were by no means satisfied,
with such treatment. In their annual excursions to the Eastward,
they expended hundreds of thousands of dollars in Penn-
sylvania, and they thought it but fair that the people whom
they had thus enriched, should take some pains to render the
trade as convenient and as advantageous as possible to all parties.
They found that in some seasons they could procure transporta-
tion, to Pittsburg, for four dollars per hundred pounds, and that at
others, they were obliged to pay more than double that sum ; a
disparity occasioned chiefly by the state of the road, in conse-

Letters from the West. 76

quence of good or bad weather. It seemed to follow, as a natural
consequence, that if a safe and permanent road was built, the low-
eat price which they now paid at any *ea*on> would become the
average price for all *ea*on* ; and they conceived every thing
above that to be an unjust tax paid to Pennsylvania. They, of
course, began to cast about in search of a remedy for the evil.

In the meanwhile, from the causes I have mentioned, as well as
others of a more general nature, serious enquiries began to be
made on the subject of connecting the Eastern and Western sec-
tions of the Union, by a channel of intercourse more safe and ex*
peditious, than those which already existed. Various routes were
proposed. The people of New York, with a liberality and promp-
titude which does them infinite honour, projected their grand ca-
nal from the Hudson to lake Erie, expecting through this chan-
nel to become possessed of a large portion of the western trade.—
The western representation in Congress, on the other hand, devis-
ed the National Turnpike, or, as it is commonly called, the Cum-
berland road. This project was proposed in such a form as to
meet the approbation of the executive, who, pleased with the idea
of strengthening the bonds of the Federal Union, by facilitating the
intercourse between its two grand divisions, easily came into the
plan of establishing a great permanent route which should lead
from the metropolis through the western states* Thus supported,
a law was passed, making an appropriation for a section of the
road, to extend from Cumberland, (formerly fort Cumberland) in
Maryland, to Wheeling, in Virginia. This section of the road,
which embraces the Alleghenny mountains, has since been comple-
ted, in a manner which reflects the highest credit upon those en-
gaged in its construction.

Cumberland is a pretty little town, delightfully situated on a
branch of the Potomac, and in one of those romantic spots which
we often find in mountainous and secluded situations. Braddock
assembled his army here, at the commencement of the celebrated
campaign, which led to his defeat and death ; and he passed the
mountains by nearly the same route which has been selected for
the national road. This path was traced by an indian guide, who,
with that instinctive acuteness for which the whole race is remar-
kable, added, no doubt, to an intimate knowledge of the country,
at once struck out the very course, which the experience of half
a century, has proved to be the best and shortest.

76 Letter* from the Wt*t.

The Pennsylvania^ were at last aroused from their apathy by
the successful exertions, which they saw in operation to the
north and south of them, to direct the western-trade into new chan-
nels. To do them justice, they had expended a great deal of mon-
ey upon the Philadelphia and Pittsburgh road; but the money had
been raised in small sums and injudiciously applied.

In 1819 Mr. Breck,of Philadelphia, a member of the Pennsyl-
vania Legislature, issued a pamphlet, in which he endeavoured to
turn the legislative attention, to the subject of slack -water navi-
gation. His work is valuable on several grounds : 1. As showing
what has already been done for the promotion of internal improve-
ments in Pennsylvania, and therein exhibiting many facts highly
honourable to that state ; 3. As showing what yet remains to be
done; and 3. As pointing out the ample resources of the
state, for executing the works which he recommends, and
most eloquently advocating an appropriation of them to those pur*
poses. His favourite project seems to be that of joining the De-
laware and the Ohio by means of canals. For this purpose he pro-
poses to cut a canal from the waters of the Schuylkill to those of
the Susquehanna, and from the head waters of the Susquehanna,
to those of the Aileghenny. This part of the work contains many
interesting details, useful facts, and correct inferences ; but unfor-
tunately, Mr. Breck, with a great deal of practical good sense,
mingles a great deal of enthusiasm. His notions are entirely too
speculative for common use. He carries us over the mountains—
or round them— with a facility that surprises us. Rocks and
mountains present no obstacle to his enterprising genius. We ac-
company him with great pleasure, and even without suspicion, un-
til we get to the end of the journey, but then we look back and
wonder " how the devil we got there." He seems equally surpri-
sed at his own success ; for, on arriving at Pittsburgh, he is so ela-
ted, that nothing short of the Pacific ocean bounds his future pro-
jects. He carries us down the Ohio and up the Mississippi,
shows us how easy it would be to cut a canal from its head waters
to those of the Columbia ; and exultingly prophecies, that the day
will come when our teas and India muslins, will be transported by
this route from the Pacific ocean to Philadelphia ! All this may
possibly be done hereafter— but it would be as well for us to leave
the question to be discussed in the legislature of some future
state to be located among the Rocky Mountains ; or before a Con-

Letferijtom the Wrtf. TT

gress *fttich nifty be hcW at St. Loots— or perhaps at Shawnee-
town— who know* ? Do not suppose that I mean to make a jest
of Mr. Brock's book. He is a man highly respected ; as well for
his genius, as for the excellence of his heart and principles; but
the wisest men of all ages, says my friend Shandy, have their hob-
by-horses,*nd my uncle Toby among the rest ; and he wisely de-
duce* therefrom, that, *dc gu*Hbu% non eat dUflutandum ; that
there is no disputing against HOBBY-HORSES."

Mr. BrecVs pamphlet was immediately followed by another,
from the pen of Mr. John £. Howard, jun. of Baltimore, a mem-
ber of the executive council of Maryland. This gentleman pub-
lishes a variety of official reports, and other documents, on the
subject of Roads and Inland Navigation, which afford ample tes-
timony, that his own state, has not been backward, in her attention
to this important branch of political economy. He strenuously
advocates the policy, of contending with Pennsylvania, for the West-
ern trade; and shows, by 'a series of facts and calculations, the
practicability of throwing a large portion, if not the whole of it,
into the arms of Baltimore. His distinct proposition is, to com-
plete a turnpike road to intersect the Cumberland road ; by which
means, a route will be opened all the way from Baltimore to the
Ohio. This he shows can easily be done, as several sections of the
route which he proposes to pursue, have already been turnfliked,
either by the state, or by private companies. I cannot give you his
estimate of the expense, as I write from memory entirely ; but it
is quite inconsiderable. He combats some of Mr. Brock's notions
with considerable ability : but at the same time treats that gentle-
man with the courtesy which is due to his genius and patriotism*
and on the whole, conducts the controversy with a liberal and gen-
tlemanly spirit.

The next champion, who took to the highway, in this contest,
was Mr. Neville, the able editor of the Pittsburgh Gazette. Hi-
therto the writers on this subject were eastern men, who, proba-
bly, thought more of the interest of their respective cities, than of
the Western Country. It was gratifying, therefore, to see the ques-
tion taken up by a gentleman of acknowledged abilities, on this
side of the mountains, and conspicuous Tor his attachment to west-
ern interests. He at once turns Mr. Breck's canal project heels
ever head, by stating the simple fact, known to every Pennsylva-
, that a canal through the region, which the one alluded to, is

TS Letters from the West.

proposed to pass, would be frozen ufi four months in the year, and
that in the summer season, seme of the streams proposed to be
navigated, would not contain water enough to float a canoe— the
Juniata, for instance. He urges, with much eloquence, the more
reasonable and feasible plan, of completing the Philadelphia road,
and clearing the bed of the Ohio, from Pittsburgh to Wheeling.
He states the fact, on the authority of experienced boatmen, that
the impediments in the navigation of the Ohio, between Pittsburgh
and Wheeling, are not greater than between Wheeling and Mays-
vilie ; and that there is no season when boats may descend from
Wheeling, that they cannot descend also from Pittsburgh. Wheel-
ing, therefore, possesses no advantages over Pittsbugh, but Pitts-
burgh has many advantages over Wheeling, arising from her be-
ing an older, and more wealthy place. Mr. Neville, therefore,
seems to consider the competition of Wheeling to be by no means
formidable ; and contends, that the Western trade, may still be
kept in the old channel, if the people of Pennsylvania can be
brought to see their own interests, and to exercise their energies,
with that enterprise, and that liberality, which the occasion so loud-
ly demands. This writer adverts also with much feeling to the situa-
tion of the Ohio. This noble stream, which is now useless to us, dur-
ing the Summer months, he believes, may be so improved by re-
moving the obstructions in its channel, as to be navigable for keel
boats, at all seasons. At the very time that Mr. Neville was en-
gaged in this argument, the existence of a single fact, proved the
correctness of his views. There was at that time, (in the autumn
of 1818) merchandise worth three millions of dollars, belonging to
Western merchants, lying along the shores of the Monongahela,
waiting a rise of water, before they could be conveyed to their
places of destination. The Western merchants were lounging dis-
contentedly about the streets of Pittsburgh, or moping idly in its
taverns, like the victims of an ague. From these, and a variety of
other facts our author felt himself authorised to call on the state to
rise in the majesty of its power, to preserve a lucrative, and impor-
tant trade, from being diverted into foreign channels.

The treasury of Pennsylvania, as is correctly observed by Mr.
Breck, is not only solvent, but in a flourishing condition, and her
credit has always stood so high, that she is at any time able to
command the most ample resources. Philadelphia, by the wealth,
steady habits, and the extensive credit abroad, of her merchants*

Letter* from the Wett. 79

bas it in her power to furnish the traders of the west, with better
assortments of goods, and those at more reduced prices, than can
yet be afforded by Baltimore. But Baltimore is not a rival to be
despised ; though young, she is public spirited ; her citizens are
acute and enterprising ; when excited they are full of fire, and
though that fire has sometimes kindled a conflagration in her own
bosom, it must be irresistible when properly directed. If the Penn-
sytoanians, therefore, neglect tocherish the trade which has poured
millions of dollars into the state, Philadelphia and Pittsburgh will
be forsaken ; Baltimore will become the mart, and Wheeling the
place of deposite. The situation of this place is pretty enough, ex-
cept that the hill, at the foot of which the town is built, is so near
to the river, as to leave scarcely room for the houses. They are,
however, beginning to build on a fiat a little lower down. An emi-
nence back of the Town, over which the turnpike passes, affords
one of the most beautiful prospects imaginable. The place is
quite healthy ; the inhabitants are respectable and correct in their
deportment, and the society good*

It is perhaps not a matter of great importance to the West-
ern people, whether they purchase their goods at Philadelphia, or
at Baltimore, or whether they transport them by way of Pittsburgh,
or of Wheeling. Time will decide these rival claims ; the west-
ern merchant will make his purchases where he can do it to most
advantage, and will transport his goods by the cheapest and most
expeditious route. The establishment of steam boats, has car-
ried much of this trade to New Orleans; but how far this latter
place will ultimately interfere with the eastern cities, I must ex-
amine hereafter.

But there are other points of view, in which this question is
highly interesting. By the controversy which I have alluded to,
together with the writings of Govenor Clinton of New York, and
Mr. William J. Duane of Philadelphia, it appears that the spirit
of improvement is awakened in various sections of our country,
and that men distinguished by their popularity, abilities, and official
rank, conceive it worthy of their notice. It seems also that the
rising greatness of the Western Country is not unnoticed, nor the
value of her commerce unregarded.

It shows further that she has more than one outlet for her pro-
duce. Mr. Cobbett, in hi3 letters to Mr. Birkbeck, inquires, " in
case of a war with England what would become of your market

ao Letter* from the Weet.

down the Mississippi ? That is your note market. That way
your produce mutt go ; or you must dress yourselves in skins, and
tear your food to bits with you hands " " On this side of the
mountains, there are twelve hundred miles of coast to blockade ;
but you, gentleman prairie owners, are like the rat that has but one
hole to go out and come in at." To observations of this kind,
evincing a deplorable ignorance of the country, and its resources,
it is easy to answer. In the first place, we doubt whether England
will ever again have it in her power, to blockade an American port.
But leaving that point to be settled by our gallant navy, or even
admitting Mr. Cobbett's premises, I then say, that if we cannot
descend the Mississippi, we can ascend the Ohio. We now have
a road from Wheeling to Baltimore, another from Pittsburgh to
Philadelphia, and a communication will soon be opened, from the
sources of the Ohio, to lake Erie. Large Steam boats have alrea-
dy ascended the river as far as Pittsburgh, in high water ; but in
the event alluded to, our streams would be covered by lighter ves-
sels, propelled by steam, which would bid defiance to every obsta-
cle, except the low water in dry seasons, and in that particular we
should not be worse off than at present. The country, also pre-
sents ample means, for opening other channels of trade. The state
of Ohio, part of which borders on lake Erie, will be intersected
with roads and canals, as soon as the people of New York shall
have completed their great work. The Illinois, or the Wabash
river, will be connected with lake Michigan, and thus the people
of Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, and the lower parts of Kentucky,
will have water transportation to the city of New York.

It is a well known fact, that large quantities of peltry, brought
to St. Louis, by the Mississippi and Missouri traders, have been
carried to Philadelphia by way of Pittsburgh ; and that the saltpe-
tre, tobacco, and hempen yarn, of Kentucky, have been taken to
the same market, by the same route. Even yet a large portion
of the bacon and venison hams of Kentucky, are sold at Pittsburgh.
Lately, to be sure, the introduction of steam boats, has carried
much of this produce down the river ; but i^ when the Mississip-
pi was open, any portion of the produce of the west has been
transported up the Ohio, what would be done if the navigation of
the former was closed ? Is not the inference plain, that if produce
could be shipped up the Ohio with advantage, when the Mississip-
pi was open, there could be no great hardship in forcing U into
the same channel, when that river should be closed ?

Letter* from the We*L 81

As I h*ve spoken of the public spirit of Pennsylvania) and par*
ticularly of her two principal cities, allow me to explain myself
on that subject. I am far from wishing to derogate from the ho-
nour of my native state. The merchants and gentlemen of Phila-
delphia, are liberal and high minded men ; but they are in the ha-
bit of attending more to their own, and less to public business,
than the same class of society in almost any other part of the
United States. They have a regular routine of avocation, which
they seldom allow to be broken in upon, by affairs which axe not
of immediate interest. Consequently they are less intimately ac-
quainted with the character and resources of their own state, than
the gentlemen of ether cities ; and much less so than could be ex-
pected in men so well educated, and so enlightened on other sub-
jects. Many of the most intelligent persons in Philadelphia, are
utterly ignorant of the geography, population, improvements, and
productions, of the interior and western parts of the State. Men
who can converse learnedly of the classics, and tastefully of the
fine arts, who are intimately acquainted with European history, po-
litics and manners, and who scrutinize with critical acuteness
the measures of the Federal government, glance with careless
unenquiring eyes, at the lofty mountains, and fertile vallies within
the bounds of their own Commonwealth. They of course feel lit-
tle interest, in a subject upon which they think so little.

The state of politics, too, in Pennsylvania, has had much weight
in preventing the growth of public spirit. Party tfiirit has ra-
ged in that devoted land with ungovernable fury ; the bitterness
of contention has been permitted to overstep its proper bounds ;
the gall of political enmity has been infused into the cup of social
intercourse ; and the interests of the state, have too often been
forgotten, in the tumult of schemes to raise or to defeat a party,
to prostrate or to exalt an individual. These contests have been
distinguished by a virulence hardly known elsewhere, and a scur-
rilous personality which could no where else be tolerated. Men
of feeling and modesty shrink from such conflicts ; however wil-
ling they might be to bare their breasts in honourable war, they
covet not the invidious honour, of exposing their reputations as
targets for the archery of faction. No men would be more apt to
stand aloof on such occasions than the Philadelphians, reared as
they are, in the practice of temperance, and in habits of chaste
methodical reflection. The consequence is, that the state is rie-
Vol. xit. 11

82 History 'if the Reformation.

privcd of the use of much of the talent, which she certainly pos-
sesses. Do not understand mc as making any comparison, in point
of ability, between the dominant party, and the minority. My po-
sition is simply this,— -that where party spirit is carried to such
excess as to alienate friends, and distract society, so that one por-
tion looks with jaundiced eye upon the other, the arm of govern-
ment must be paralized, and the impulses of patriotism benumb-
ed. The man who possesses the genius to devise, or the wealth
to execute, will not co-operate with him whose popularity enables
him to gain the voice of the people, or the sanction of the execu-
tive. When, therefore, a work, however noble, which is propo-
sed by one party, is sure to be denounced by the other, men of
talent retire from the disgusting controversy, and the wealthy re-
fuse to risk their gold, in uncertain and contested schemes.
When, in addition to all this, it is observed how much of the le-
gislative time is occupied in the impeachment of officers, and the
discussion of party questions, it will be seen that Pennsylvania has
enough to do, to manage the wheels of government, which carry-
ing too much steam, require the attention of all hands to pre-
vent accidents.*— Yet, when, in spite of all these causes, we ob-
serve what Pennsylvania has accomplished— when we see the fine
bridges over the Schuylkill, the Susquehanna, the Allegheny, and
the Monongahela— the noble turnpike roads in the eastern part of
the state—- the splendid public buildings in Philadelphia— her
charitable institutions,— and her literary monuments,— we cannot
but acknowledge that she has the spirit, nor refrain from deplo-
ring the existence, of those counteracting causes, which keep
that spirit dormant.

[The preceding letters from the pen of one of our former correspondents,
were originally intended for a Western Newspaper in which a few of them
appeared, but the writer having enlarged his design, determined, at our re-
quest, to publish the Series in the Port Folio. He has desired us to state
that they are written under the pressure of ill health and much business : he
therefore claims a candid jndgment.]

[Ed. P. F.]

TOR THE PORT TOLIO.

Art. VII. — History of the Reformation. Being an abridgement
of Burnet's History. By the Rev. Benjamin Allen, Rector
of the parish of St. Andrews, Virginia, p. p. 297.
The writer of this work has given us an abstract of the Re-
formation, in a very small compass ; and it is to be regretted, that

History of the Aeformaihu. *3

in a portion of history so deeply interesting, his plan did necessa-
rily restrict him to a mere outline. A multitude of events, trans-
acting simultaneously in several countries—the conduct, and the
motives of the chief actors, their alternate success and disappoint-
ment ; require folios to detail them.

But if these are neither within the means, nor adapted to the
taste of many readers— shall we therefore remain in ignorance of
the privileges we enjoy of being taught the pure precepts of the
Gospel, and the liberty of worshipping God, according to the dic-
tates of our own consciences ? To appreciate these, we should con-
template the deplorable darkness that once involved the christian
church— the perils, and the labours of those undaunted men who
said to her, " Arise, for thy light is come," and that wonderful
providence, which supported them in their opposition to Princes
and Powers, to wealth and superstition ! Let us contrast our own
times, when every one may peaceably enquire, and unmolested
pursue the way, which even his own fancy has traced out— when
the Bible is not only open to all, but all are solicited to know its
contents — with the gloomy period when the will of an earthly po-
tentate, was alone the Oracle, and when the Bible was prohibited
by the severest penalties ! Indeed the history of the Reformation
is to us a Romance. We cannot realize the excess ot barbarism
which compelled men to pray in a language, not one word of which
they understood— or the heartless cruelty which brought the
meek and beautiful Jane Grey to an ignominious death, and such
men as Cranmer and Ridley with thousands of their disciples to
the stake I If we reflect on these things we cannot lightly esteem
the u pleasant places'9 which have fallen to us.

Mr. Allen has given these considerations their due weight. He
has judged" wisely that we had better know something than nothing.
He has therefore condensed the leading features of these scenes
of blood and horror into a volume of such a size and price as might
conduce to a general circulation. Enough is given to shew the
progress of the Reformation amidst the fluctuating spirit of un-
instructed zeal.

A sketch of the lives of Luther, Calvin and Zuingle, are ap-
pended to the history of the Reformation. Germany, the birth-
place of Luther, became the cradle of the Reformation by his bold
and persevering devotion to the Holy cause. Many of the princes
of that empire became his converts and supported him against the

f 4 Hfotory of the Reformation.

Pope and Emperor. Civil wars ensued, and the most interesting
events, that can be found in the annals of nations; belong to that
period ; particularly the misfortunes of the amiable Elector of Sax*
ony, and the Landgrave of Hesse — the 6rm su porters of the new
opinions, and to whose adherents the name of Protestant was first
applied.

A brief catalogue of facts and dates must be unfriendly to a
flowing style ; we should however pronounce favourably of our
author's abilities, from the handsome introductory remarks to his
chapters. And from these too, we might charitably believe that
his hearty interest in the cause of religion had lightened his la-
bours* had we not the better evidence of our knowledge of his ^
character, which is that of a pious and indefatigable preacher
of the Gospel. The first chapter of his book is thus introduced :

44 It is pleasing to behold the rising of the sun, when, from his orient bed
he throws his first rays across the mountains, and in the progress of his
ascent, wakes into being myriads of songs, and gives to the eye all the
sublime, and beautiful, and busy of the landscape. It is pleasing, also,
when the heavens have been covered with blackness, to behold the
breaking away of the gloom, to see cloud after cloud dissipating and dis-
appearing, until, at length, the whole orb of effulgence bursts forth up-
on the world.

" A similar pleasure awaits those who contemplate the progress of the
reformation, who mark its first springtngs, its gradual germination, and
the various steps of its approach to the vigor and stability of a tree,
whose leaves are for the healing of the nations."

The accession of Edward VI. to the throne of England—- the
young but steady prosecutor of the Reformation is poetically an-
nounced—

" From Henry's tomb there sprung forth a vine, which, though tender
in age, was beautiful in promise, and rich in fruit as the clusters of Esh-
col. The hills were covered with the shadow of i£, and' the boughs
thereof were like the goodly cedars. It passed away, but its memorial
lived, fresh to the view of each succeeding generation, and fragrant even
now as the odours of sweet incense. Edward, the Josiah of England,
succeeded his father. He was only nine years old when he began to
reign, and, by the will of his father, was placed under the care of six-
teen counsellors, who were to govern the kingdom until the completion
of his 18th year."

Chap. XIII. is prefaced by a practical admonition which every
reader may address to his own conscience, whilst his indignant
spirit swells at the inhuman sacrifices to the bigotry of the detes-
table Mary.

Convcruation* on the Bible. 85

" We would fain pause amid this recital, and contemplate, for a mo-
ment, the desperately wicked character of the human heart ; how entire-
ly resigned to selfishness, and how utterly dead to all that is holy, ex-
cept so far as influenced by the spirit of God. We have adverted to this
repeatedly before, but it is useful to revolve the reflection again and
again, as it may fasten upon our souls a deep sense of the importance of
our securing the baptism of the Holy Ghost. These English, or rather
Romish persecutors, of olden time, though they appear to our view reek-
ing from their butcheries, are only exhibiting the same depravity of
which we ourselves are sharers. If the blessed reformation, it- fleeting
upon our fathers and upon us, the unclouded light of the Bible for cen-
turies, has taught us better ; we should remember that, if left to our-
selves, we should be prone to similar enormities. And though, like Ha-
zael, we may each exclaim, " Am I a dog that I should do this thing ?"
we should rather enquire— were not these papists from the same stock
with us ? inheritors of the same nature ? united to the same fallen Adam ?
Have we not in ourselves the seeds of every evil passion ; and, though
our constitutions are cast in somewhat different moulds, and our sympa-
thies are diverse in degree, would not those seeds, if unchecked, spring
up to the perpetration of every variety of sin ? Surely then it becomes
us, while we are weeping for others, to weep also for ourselves. Sure-
ly it becomes us, while we are wondering at the depravity of human na-
ture, to call to mind the fact, that we are partakers of the same human
nature ; and to ask our consciences the question, each and every one of
us— Have I been born again? Am I a new creature ? Have old things
passed away, and all things become new in me ? If this question cannot
be answered in the affirmative, we are not lit for the kingdom of Hea-
ven : so says He who has the key of that kingdom — the Lord Jesus
Christ."

Upon the whole, we consider Mr. Allen's, a very useful and in-
teresting book, which ought to be generally read. We are
pleased to hear that it is likely soon to arrive at a second edition,
when we should be glad the author would render more plain, such
passages as the following at page 253, he says " they formed the
League of Smalcald for their mutual defence." Should he not
have told us that the league was formed at Smalcatd, thence the
name.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

\rt. VIII.— ^Conversation* on the Bible. By a Lady of Phila-
delphia. Second edition enlarged and improved. Philadelphia,
published by Harrison Hall 2 vols, price S 1 75-

Jr. Editor.
Aft you are nearly related to the author of the abovementioned

rork, and will, probably, feel some delicacy in expressing your

86 Conver**tion9 on $ht J9*6/e.

whole sentiments about it, I beg leave to present to you the following
brief review, which I regard as only a small tribute te its merit.

It is with great pleasure that I recognise in the author of this
learned and judicious production, a lady of our own City and a
daughter of a former Provost of our University. Mrs. H. has
before been known in the character of an author and her pieces
have always displayed marks of genius, but, i believe, she has never
before ventured upon so extensive a performance as the one now
presented to the public. Her plan in this work, is a good one,
and executed with considerable skill and address.

She has contrived to comprise in a very small compass an in-
teresting narrative of all the leading facts recorded in the Old
Testament. Objections to the Scriptures, which would naturally
occur are stated by the different dialogists, and very ingenious
and satisfactory answers are returned to them. The author dis-
covers, throughout the whole of this treatise, that she is well
versed in theological learning, and there is not a single view
taken by her of the several subjects which she discusses, to which
the sound divine might not cheerfully accede. Indeed, it is not
a little creditable to her, that while too many of her sex are spend-
ing the force of their understandings and exhausting their sensi-
bilities, in perusing works of mere amusement, such as novels
and romances, or pieces of frivolous poetry, she should have found
time, amidst the cares of a family, to make such solid and useful
acquisitions in sacred literature. May her excellent example
have its effect upon the ladies of our City and Country, and lead
them, instead of uselessly consuming their time in the perusal of
those fictitious productions, which enfeeble their intellectual
powers, deprave their taste and awaken a spurious sensibility, to
direct their attention to higher pursuits, and spend their leisure
hours, in contracting an intimacy with the great and good among
the dead and living, which shall serve to enlighten their minds,
cultivate their moral feelings and prepare them cheerfully and ju-
diciously to perform those duties which are imposed upon them
in life.

The style of Mrs. H. is neat, perspicuous and chaste, in a very
considerable degree. She has confined herself, for the most part
to the humble task of putting into correct and condensed phrase
the facts of the sacred writers, although, in doing this, she disco-
vers genius that might succeed in much bolder undertakings.

Convtrtatton* 9* the Bible. *T

In a few instance*, however, she hat become somewhat more ad-
venturous, in attempting to turn into our English rhyme some of
the Hebrew songs, and we do not think that we bestow undue
praise upon her, when we say that she has executed this task also
with more than usual happiness of style and manner. To justify
ourselves in the praises which we very sincerely and cordially be-
atovr upon this production, we beg leave to present our readers
with the following specimens both of the prose and verse,

« Mother* All that I have said to you my dear, or shall say, is
one connected story, though episodes, particularly affecting, are
sometimes interposed, and it is no wonder you should hear them
with delight. You cannot study them too much, for they are ac-
curate pictures of the human heart, and related with exquisite
skill. The most accomplished writers of fiction have taken hints
from many of them for their finest compositions ; but as the face
of nature is always more interesting than a copy, so the real inci-
dents of life, are infininitely more affecting than the best imita-
tions. The wisdom and goodness which dictated the scriptures
for our instruction, are evinced in giving us lessons in a form so
engaging, that pleasure and profit go hand in band. That which I
am about to relate of Abraham, would be incredible, if it were not
stamped with the unquestionable impress of veracity.

To put the faith and obedience of Abraham, who is emphatical-
ly called, " the father of the faithful," to the most rigid trial, God
commanded him to take Isaac his son into the land of Moriah, and
offer him on one of the mountains for a burnt offering. Isaac, his
only son, whom he loved— Isaac, whose children were to be mul-
tiplied as the stars of heaven— and in whom, " all the families of
the earth were to be blessed i"— How can all this come to pass if
he is to be put to death before he has one child from whom a race
might descend ? Without being a father ; the father of an only
child— and one too from whom great and peculiar blessings were
to be derived, it is impossible to appreciate the extreme hardship
of this singular experiment.

Faxmt. I often recollect a very affecting answer of a lady
which I have somewhere read, who in excessive grief for the loss
of a child, was exhorted by her confeiior to imitate the resigna-
tion of Abraham. « Ah ! father," cried she, « God would never
have required such a sacrifice at the hand of a mother /"

Charles. But how could Abraham be made to believe that so
cruel a sacrifice was required at his hand ?

Motiibh. The creator of the human mind, my son, must know
how to impress it infallibly ; and we may be sure that he would
leave no doubt of the source of a command so truly distressing.
We may be sure the patriarch had none, because he obeyed. He
obeyed too, because he knew that the sovereign had a right to re-
quire the life he had given. He arose early in the morning, and

88 Conversations on the Bible.

took Isaac his beloved child, and two of his young men, and after
cutting the wood for the fire, went three days' journey into the
land of Moriah. Wuen they came near to the appointed place,
Abraham directed the servants, who might have interposed to
prevent the execution of bis purpose, to remain there, while he
and the lad should go and worship. Then laying the wood on the
shoulders of his son, and taking the fire and the knife in his own
hand, they proceeded to prepare the altar. Unapprised of the se-
vere duty imposed on his father, Isaac, very naiuralh enquireoV-
" Here is the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for a burnt
offering ?" " My son," said the pious Abraham, " God will pro-
vide himself a lamb.M And so indeed he did ; for at the moment
when, having bound his son, and laid him on the altar, his uplift-
ed arm with still unshaken confidence, prepared to strike the fatal
blow, the Angel of the Lord called to him out of heaven, " Lay
not thine hand on the lad— for now I know that thou fearest Godf
seeing that thou hast- not withheld thy son, thine only son from
me/' Looking up, the* patriarch beheld a ram caught in the
thicket by his horns. This he took, and offered instead of his son.
This act of faith, more honourable to Abraham than wealth and
military triumphs, God was pleased to reward with renewed as-
surances of protection and favour. (B. C. 1871.)

Charles. Such an uncommon act of submission certainly de-
served a reward.

Mother. No act of man can deserve a reward from the Deity
to whom all his services are due. But virtue and piety are some-
times graciously distinguished even in this life, and for our en-
couragement we know, they will certainly be rewarded here-
after.

A very eminent advocate for the divine legation of Motes, whose
learning and ingenuity entitle his opinions to great respect, takes
another view of this remarkable event in the life of Abraham,
which, although not inconsistent witlf, is somewhat different from
that which I have just presented to you. Action being a common
mode of communication in the East, he considers this whole exhi-
bition as designed to develope completely the promise to Abraham
(hitherto opened by degrees, and but partially understood) by a
lively representation* of the sacrifice of an Only Son, which
should one day be offered on this same Mount of Moriah. Thus
the seemingly harsh command, became really, the brilliant re-
ward of his singular piety.

Catherine. Why then did Moses in his relation, conceal
this most interesting truth and speak of the command as the trial
of Abraham's faith ?

Mother. It was truly, though incidentally, atrial of his faith ;
while, according to this writer it had, primarily, a more important

* Bishop Warburton considers this the true interpretation of that declara-
tion of Christ. " Abraham rejoiced to ««•<• mv d»v.'*

PonvcrtQtipn* o* 14* Bibk. 49

reference, which, his people being then under a preparatory dis-

Ensatiou, Moses was not permitted to declare otherwise, than in
i prelusive institutions.99 Vol. 1, page 42.

u Charus. Let me take this opportunity to ask the reason of
that ancient custom of giving travellers water to wash their feet ;
we should think it an awkward piece of civility now.

Mothke. We do not require it Our convenient boots and
shoes were not known to the people who practised this courtesy*
They wore sandals, which exposed the upper part of the foot to
the dust. Washing the feet and bathing the whole body is so ne-
cessary to health, as vrell as comfort, that it becomes a religious
rite in very hot climates. But I will not detain you from the
meeting of Joseph with his brethren*

Fawkt. Yes, I am impatient to return to that eventful dinner.

Mother. No explanation however took place at this second
meeting, for the purposes of Providence were not yet completed.
Every thing that occurred was calculated to excite wonder and
reflection ; especially the singular notice that was taken of Benja-
min : lor Joseph not only graciously accepted their present, and
asked affectionately for their father, ** the old man of whom they
bad spoken ;" but seeing a new face among them, he gently in-
quired, " is this your younger brother ? God be gracious to thee
my son," was ail he could articulate ; and hurrying from them to
his chamber he gave vent to his tears. When his agitated feelings
were in some measure tranquilized, he washed his face, and assu-
ming an air of indifference, met his family and guests.

Three table* were prepared ; one for the governor of Egypt,
another for bis eleven brothers, and a third for the nobles who
were admitted to his society, and who could not submit to the a-
homiDation of eating with the Hebrews.

Cbablks. Bear mother, your narrative so often encounters
the caatoms or prejudices of the ancients, of whom I am always
anxious to learn what I can, that I am tempted to interrupt you.—
Pray tell me why these people could not eat together.

Moruaa. because the Hebrews, who at that time made no
distinction in articles of food, would eat the flesh of animals held
sacred by the Egyptians ; and the abhorrence of the latter for
each a profanation would not permit them to sit at table with those
who committed k.

But though offensive in this particular, the strangers were
treated with extraordinary civility. Arranged carefully in the or-
der of their birth, they received each a portion from the governor's
table ; but Benjamin's was fiveiimes the quantity of any of his broth-
era'. This singular attention amazed them ; but as they saw no im-
suediate occasion of alarm, they enjoyed the present moment in
feasting and mirth. Early the next morning they commenced their
tourney homeward laden with provisions as much as they could
possibly carry. But scarcely had they lost sight of the city, when
tfamr were overtaken by the very steward whr had seemed so stu-

Vou xix. 12

90 Conversation* on the Bible.

dious of their comfort, and abruptly reproached with having re-
turned evil for good in that they had stolen the golden cup of his
master ! Confident in their innocence, and seeing only in this
disgraceful charge some new oppression of their mysterious per-
secutor, they fearlessly inquired, how they who had brought back
the money discovered in their sacks on the former occasion, which
they might have concealed and retained* could now be suspected
of an action they abhorred ? And to evince their indignant sinceri-
ty, they added, a let him die with whom the cup shall be found.'1
The terms were accepted, and the baggage immediately examin-
ed ; beginning with Reuben's and descending to Benjamin, when
lo ! In the sack of the latter the goblet was found.

Fanny. Alas ! Had he stolen it indeed ?

Mother. O no— it was placed there secretly by Joseph's di-
rections, who intended by these trials to bring them to a sense of
their guilt. Their conviction had seemed yet incomplete : but
now overpowered entirely by the dreadful result ef heir own sti-
pulation, they saw the hand of God taking vengeance for their
brother's blood. In awful suspense they returned to the presence
of Joseph, and prostrating themselves at his feet, they exclaimed,
" what shall we speak, or how shall we clear ourselves ! God
hath found out the iniquity of thy servants': beheld wc are my lord's
servants, both we, and he with whom the cup is found."

" God forbid," returned he, " that 1 should do so : the man in
whose hand the cup is found, he shall be my servant, as for you,
get you up to your father in peace."

" This determination was the climax of their sufferings. To see
the sorrow they had once wantonly brought upon their father by
tearing from him his favourite, renewed in the loss of Benjamin,
they could not endure. Judah, therefore, encouraged by the amia-
ble deportment of Joseph, approached him, and deprecating his
anger, he prayed to be heard. He then went on to rehearse with
the simple eloquence of heartfelt grief, the whole history of their
coming into Egypt. He painted the anguish of his father for the
loss of Joseph, his best beloved child, his subsequent tenderness
for Benjamin, the only remaining son of their mother, and his ex-
cessive unwillingness to trust him out of his sight. Nor did he
forget indirectly to appeal to the generosity of the governor, by
reminding him that the unhappy Israel would not have been
brought into this dilemma but for his own rigid enquiry,—" have
ye yet a brother ?" and his refusal to let them have corn except
their younger brother came down. " Suspecting no danger," he
continued, " he had readily become the surety for his safety ; and
now that the liberty of Benjamin was thus inexplicably forfeited,
he would pay the penalty in his stead, for he could not return and
behold the anguish of his father."

" This pathetic speech of Judah, not one word of which can be
omitted without losing a significant expression, was admirably
adapted to affect such a man as Joseph ; his firmness was conquer-

Ccnvcrtations on the Bibie 9 1

ed— -the tide of tender emotions could no longer be restrained—
and hastily commanding every one except the culprits to leave the
room, he exclaimed, " I am Joseph— does my father yet live ?"— -
Amazement, joy, and shame overpowered his brethren. Silence,
the most profound, could alone declare the tumultuous passions
which mingled in their bosoms. He saw them unable to speak,
and generously encouraged and comforted them — * Come near, I
pray you," said he, «* I am Joseph your brother, whom ye sold into
Egypt ; be not grieved therefore nor angry with yourselves that
ye sold me hither, for God did send me before you to preserve,
life." And seeing them incredulous, and pitying their confusion,
he continued to assure them, " haste ye, go to my father and say
' to him, thus saith thy son Joseph, God hath made me lord of
all Egypt ; come down unto me, tarry not, and I will nourish thee,
for there are yet five years of famine ; thou shalt dwell in Goshen,
with all that thou hast, lest thou come to poverty* Your eyes see,
and the eyes of my brother Benjamin see, that it is mv mouth that
speaketh unto you ; tell my father of all my glory in Egypt, and all
that ye have seen, and haste and bring down my father hither.0—*
The generous effort to relieve his troubled brothers was now ex-
hausted. Language refused any longer her aid ; but throwing
his arms around his beloved Benjamin, and by turns embracing
them all, tears, the natural eloquence of unutterable tenderness,
expressed the rest

" Tranquillity and confidence by degrees succeeded these impas-
sioned feelings, and they conversed affectionately together. In
the mean while, the report of this unexpected meeting had gone
abroad. The violence of Joseph's agitation had been overheard
by his servants ; every one rejoiced in the happiness of their bene-
factor ; and Pharaoh himself, embracing every opportunity to tes-
tify his high regard for him, gave immediate command that car-
riages should be prepared to bring down the father of Joseph and
his whole family into Egypt. " Regard not your stuff/' said the
generous prince, " for the good of all the land of Egypt is yours."

Preparations were accordingly made, and the sons of Israel, la-
den with provisions and presents both for him and themselves, re-
turned to their father with the tidings of Joseph's existence and
elevation in Egypt.

Fawny. These tidings would be almost as insupportable as the
former had been, though from an opposite cause.

Mothbr. His feeble spirits fainted under the excess of sur-
prise and joy, and only the evidence of the carriages provided by
Joseph and the munificent monarch whom he served, to transport
him with all that he had, could convince him that such great and
unexpected blessings were his. " It is enough, (said he) Joseph
my son, i* jet alive— 1 will go and see him before I die*" Vol. I,
page 101.

Song of Deborah and Barak.

« Praised be the Lord, the high, the hofjr ttn%
Who Israel's sons avenged — Himself alone.
Our willing hands the sacred banners raise,
Thine is the cause ; be thine our God the praise I

Hear O ye Princes— O ye kings give ear,
Sing praise to Israel's God ; adore and fear.
When Thou went'si forth from Edom's smoking field,
The heav'ns bow'd down, the clouds their droppings yieW.
Seir's dewy mount thy awful presence felt,
Its bases tremble, and its summits melt !

From Israel's hills, unhallowed altars rise ;
Then wasting wars, the guilty land chastise.
In valiant Shamgar's rule and Jael's days,
Oppressed Israel walked in secret ways ;
From wonted paths they turn in fearful haste,
Their towns deserted and their fields laid waste t
Vengeance they cry, in vain— -of all bereft,
With forty thousand not a spear was left.
Then heaven-appointed Deborah arose,
To rescue Jacob, and chastise his foes.
From Tabor's sides the awakened people pour,
And fill the plain of Kishon's wide-spread shore.
The chiefs of Israel to the combat came,
Led by Jehovah. Praise his mighty name !
Speak ye his wond'rous deeds, who ride in state.
Who sit in judgment hi the lofty gate.*
Speak ye, whose happy villages are freed,
Whose flocks beside your wells securely feed.
No more the archer's shout, your ears assail,
Rings through the hills, and saddens ev'ry vale.

Barak arise ! Lead on— in triumph lead,
The captive princes, and the prancing steed.
Mother in Israel I Deborah awake,
Judgment, renown, and wide dominion take !
Why t'euben didst thou in the sheep-fold stay,
The bleating of thy flocks what charm had ttiey?
Asher beside the Sea secure remained ;
His freighted ships, ignoble Dan detained.
Gilead from far, beheld the hostile scene,
While Jordan's peaceful current roll'd between.

Thy patriot warriors Zebulon, were they,
Who dared the battle that disastrous day !
Thy chiefs too, Naphtali, were they who fought,
On Tabor's heights they set their lives at nought.
Canaan's impious princes came from far,

* The Gate of the city— whereunciently judgment was dispensed.

Ctattftosflfos* *•***> BtfJr. 9$

If egMnVs waters saw the unrighteous war.

Vainly they ■trove*— the coursing stars can tell ;

They fought ibr Israel, when bold Sisera felll

Kishon, that ancient stream, avenging roars,

And sweeps the invaders from his blood-stained shores.

Awake my soul ! thy mighty deeds rehearse,
But curse ye Merox— said the angel*-— curse !
They came not to the battle of the Lord,
Nor in Jehovah's honour drew a sword.

Blessed beyond the lot of woman's fame
Be Heber's wife— illustrious her name !
The deadly implements her hands impel
And at her feet proud Sisera bowed— he fell i

Ah, hapless mother ! thou enquirest in vain,
What direful cause his chariot-wheels detain ?
Her ladies answer— she herself replies,
While fearful visions in her bosom rise,
" Comes not my son in gorgeous robes array'd,
" The victor's spoil, of curious texture made.
tt Do captive maids the conq'rors triumph grace
u The blooming daughters of that hated race ?"

As Sisera, be thine enemies, O Lord !
While those who love and trust thy holy word,
Shine like the Sun, progressive in his strength,
And reach thy glorious mount of peace at length.

Favny. Difficult as it is to reconcile our present notions with
the conduct of Jael— or indeed to the participation of women in
warlike exploits at all, I must plume myself on Deborah. The
appointment of a woman to the dignity of a ruler and a prophet, by.
unerring wisdom, is in favour of my opinion, that the mental pow-
ers of the sexes are naturally equal.

Mother. This is a question my dear, which we can never de-
termine until their natural powers are alike cultivated by educa-
tion. So long as one and twenty years are unremittingly given
to the improvement of the one, and not more than half that time
to the other, and that besides in a desultory manner, it will be al-
together unfair to estimate the minds of men and women by their
subsequent conduct.

That the Creator, has separated their respective spheres of ac-
tion by a line almost impassable, there ought to be no question,
and perhaps the entire devotion of females to study for so many
years, might be somewhat incompatible with their peculiar desti-
nation, still we may be allowed to contend, that a large portion of
knowledge, the early and careful improvement of every talent, is
necessary to qualify women' for the useful discharge of those du-
ties—as well as to sustain them, under the sufferings to which
they are peculiarly liable. Neglected as they are, and unfurnish*
ed with adequate armour, they often meet theil&s of life with sur-

94 Conversation* on the Bible.

prising fortitude, and have even governed empires with ability. I
cannot however gratify you with the elevation of another female
besides Deborah in this period of sacred history. A female So-
vereign arose some centuries after in Israel, but toe derive no ho-
nour from her character.*' Vol. 1. page 275.

Fanny. Mother, you have now finished the history of the Old
Testament, without mentioning the Book of Job. You have I be-
lieve named every other,— why did you omit that ?

Mother. The Book of Job was omitted because it is wholly
unconnected with the history cf which we have spoken. Job was
not a Jew, nor does he appear to have known any thing of that
people,, but rather to have lived some ages before they became a
nation.

Fanny. Why then, is his story inserted amongst the sacred
writings, which are chit* fly devoted to their affairs.

Mother. By the sieved writing* ^ we do not mean merely such
books a* were connected with the Jewish history, but all the in-
spired books which have come down to us, and considering the
scrupulous care that has been most religiously devoted to their
preservation, it may be presumed that we now possess all that did
ever bear the sacred stamp. We have histories of the Jews by
some profane authors, and frequent allusions to them by others.
We read also of" the book o/Jovher" " the book of Iddo the seerf*
and " the book of the wars of the Lor d"~ these were historical, but
probably not inspired, otherwise, they would not have been lost,
as they now certainly are. But this sublime poem has been trea-
sured up with the sacred rolls of the Jews from the earliest peri-
od of their written history, and is transmitted with them for our
instruction. It has all the marks of divine inspiration ; its views
of the deity are the most elevated, and its moral sentiments the
most pure : we conclude then, that it was delivered to them by
their revered legislator, from whom alone perhaps, they would
have received a rule of faith and manners.

Catherine. By whom was it written ?

MoTHtR. That is a question which divides commentators.
Some have assigned it to Moses, and some to Job himself. Some
have supposed it to have been written by Elihu one of the actors
in the drama, whilst others have not scrupled to bring it down so
late as the time of Ezra, but so various are the opinions on this
uncertain subject, that still others, and intermediate persons, be-
tween the first and the last named, are supported as the authors.

No book of scripture has been more severely scrutinized than
this. The reality of Job's existence, the period, and the place in
which he lived, as well as the pen to which we arc indebted for
this portion of his story— have all been made the subjects of very
able discussion. The time and the design of its publication have
also been examined. Some writers more fanciful than wise, have
imagined the whole book to be an allegory, or fable, agreeably to
the eastern mode of giving lessons. Whilst others,, with mora.

Conversations on the Bible. 95

reason defend the literal truth of every circumstance related, ad-
mitting however, that the dialogue is ornamented by the florid
language without which, a conversation could not have been re-
duced to measured numbers consistently with the elegance re
quired in an epic poem. But all these disputed points arc put to
rest by the successful labours of commentators* all competent to
the work. It is not necessary that I should rehearse all the argu-
ments on either side, an abstract on each particular wiil prepare
you to read their works, and to study the sublime original. I shall
only premise, that it is allowed on ail hands to be a poem of the
roost lofty character, excepting the two first and the last chapters,
which are plain narrative, and that it is replete with instruction.

Cathebive. On what ground is the reality of his existence
questioned, when the patience of Job is proposed as an example
by the apostle James ?f

Mother. Objections are made to the transactions related in
the exordium. That the adversary of mankind should have ap-
peared with the « sons of God" before the throne of the omnipo-
tent and have obtained permission to bring a succession of calami-
ties beyond the common lot of mortals, on a righteous man, say
the objectors, appears fabulous, and the protraction of the patri-
arch's days to the amount of an hundred and forty years after his
trial, is inconsistent with the abridgment of man's life after the
flood, for that he lived after that catastrophe is evident from the
text.

Now the experience of every age in accordance with the words
of inspiration is sufficient proof that the patience and resignation
of the most pious, are often severely tried by affliction. That Sa-
tan may be the agent, is also clear. He tempted Eve in Paradise,
and our Saviour in the wilderness— but in what manner he ob-
tains his commission, or what takes place in the celestial regions
respecting this awful arrangement, is amongst the secret things
of God, which we are not permitted to know. If the fact is to
he communicated to mortals, it must be done in some way com-
patible with human comprehension. Another argument against
the reality of the whole story is assumed, from its metaphorical
style, in the debate between Job and his companions. In answer
to this, it is not necessary to contend that every word is related as
it was spoken, although much may be allowed to the known figu-
rative style of the Arabians, the country in which the scene is laid.
If the sentiments are preserved, the dignified form into which the
poem is cast, does not impugn the reality of the events. Besides,
to the testimony of an apostle we have added that of a prophet,}
concerning the existence of such a man as Job. And with res-
pect to the number of his years— they did not so far exceed that

♦Gray, Magee, Peters, Horne, &c.
t James, v. 11. % Eizekiel, xiv. 14.

M Goiwefmtim* *» 4s* BWd.

of altar patriajcks* (considering too that bo was bnt yenrog at the
dale of his trial) that we may not suppose him to have ben fa-
voured with an extraordinary length of life, as a reward of his pi-
ous fortitude, and a gracious compenaaAiou for his extraordinary
sufferings.

Job is called " the greatest of all the men of the East/' by the
inspired historian. " The whole region between Egypt and the
Euphrates, was called the East, at first in respect to Egypt, and
afterwards absolutely, and without any relation to situation or cir-
cumstancea."* He dwelt in the land of Uz, which is said to be a
district of Arabia, lying between Egypt and Philistia. Ha ring
discovered the place of Job's residence, there is no difficulty in
ascertaining the period at which he flourished. The whole com-
plexion of the book in question, bears the mark of high antiquity-
He was the priest of his own family according to patriarchal cus-
toms, and offered sacrifices for his children and his friends ; con-
sequently he lived before the institution of a regular priesthood
by Moses, to which alone belonged this privilege after the pro-
mulgation of the law. He offered them at his own dwelling,
whereas, the Levites, as you know, might sacrifice only at the con-
secrated tabernacle. Had there been a law, the acknowledged
piety of Job would have restrained him from transgressing it*
His wealth is reckoned by his flocks— «he had seven thousand
aheep, and three thousand camels, besides an immense herd of
cattle ; he therefore led the pastoral life— the earliest occupation
of man. Our bible chronology dates the trial of Job about twen-
ty-nine years before tbe Exodus from Egypt. That there is no
allusion to such a nation as the Israelites, or their peculiar system,
to the miracles by which they were delivered from the cruel hand
of Pharaoh, or by which they were sustained forty years in a de-
sert, is abundant evidence that he lived anterior to these wonder-
ful events. Their number, and their notoriety, must have reached
the ears of those who lived in the very neighbourhood where they
occurred. Sodom, Gomorrah and the other cities of the plain law
still nearer to the land of Uz— all ttie people of Idumea must have
known of their miraculous ruin, yet none of all these most re-
markable transactions are mentioned in tbe conversation between
Job and his companions— a conversation which turning chiefly on
the power of God, and the manner of his dealings with Che chil-
dren of men, afforded an opportunity so favourable, that they must
have been noticed had they taken place before that time. It is
also observable, that all these men, though coming from differ-
ent parts of Arabia, spoke the same language, the original He-
brew ; from which k would appear, that they conversed together
on this memorable occasion before it was corrupted into different
dialects by the posterity of Abraham.

It is well known that of all the various forms by which the true

* Home's Introduction to the study of the Bible.

Conversion* on the BiHe. $7

religion. Was debased, amongst the most ancient Was the worship
of the sun and moon ; and to this alone is there any allusion in the
book of Job.

From these* and yet other arguments, the high antiquity of this
incomparable book is completely proved. A late writer* of great
erudition, collecting them alt— concludes the time of Job to have
been eight hundred and eighteen years after the deluge, and one
hundred and eighty-four before the birth of Abraham, which
would carry it back some ages beyond the dale in our common
bibles. But it is a nicer point to determine by whom this interest-
ing story was written* It may have been the work of Job him*
self, but the thirty second chapter affords a strong presumption
that EJibu was the author. Moses having found it during his long
exile in Midian, might deliver it to his rebellious people in the
desert, as a corrective of their unthankful temper, and an encou-
ragement to submission by the rewards that are there held out to
quiet suffering*

Catherine. It would then appear that this is the oldest book
in the world, even more ancient than the pentateuch. 1 should
now be glad to have some account of the argument which is be^
yond my present comprehension. I hope it will not be always so,
but that 1 may hereafter obtain a better knowledge, both of this
and every other part of sacred writ*

Mother. I am only able to give you a general view of a com-
position so magnificent i although it contains instruction the most
obvious, it is yet veiled to the most illustrious scholars* by our im-
perfect knowledge of the eastern idioms, and by the transcendant
nature of the subject The God of nature is discovered in his
works, we see— we feel— we admire and adore 1 Much is given
to exercise the intellectual faculties of man, but much more is ex-
alted beyond bis best attainments. Of his justice and his mercy
we see the effects in his moral government, but we are often lost
in- conjecture when we attempt to scan the reason of his dispen-
sations. These high matters were the chief subject of debate be-
tween Job and his disputatious friends. Guided only by the light
of nature and tradition, and destitute of the revelation with which
we are favoured, although they oiten u spoke amiss," it is yet sur-
prising that they were in general so correct*

Job was a man of great eminence, a prince perhaps, or a ma-
gistrate in the land of Uz. Endowed with wisdom, wealth, and
virtue, he was reverenced by every class of society. His children
had grown to maturity and misfortune had not violated his dwell-
ing. Encompassed by all the blessings of domestic and social
life, he seemed almost beyond her reach. But suddenly he is
bereft of all ! Neighbouring bands of roving Chaldeans overrun
his fields— his flocks and herds are swept awp.y, and the shep-
herds and ploughmen put to the sword ! Scarcely had these dis-
asters reached bis cars, when the blow is finished by another

♦ Herne.
vol. sit, 13

98 Co#0€f*«*i9n*><m4&*i&Hk*

messenger* AU'his children, assembled at a, feast in their older >
brother's house, are crashed to death in its fall, by a fierce whirl-
wind ! Such a tide of accumulated evils, might well have burst*
the heart of a father, and a man! But in the* midst of prosperity
Job had prepared his heart for. a reveme. Whilst his sons and
daughteis, had gone from house 10 houteat some festive season,
the pioua patriarch had ** risen early in the morning, *nd offered
burnt offerings, according to the- number of them all ;" " It may
be," said he, " that my sons have sinned in a moment of intempe-
rance, and blasphemed their Creator/' Thus he stood ready to
submit to the divine will, in that beautiful ascription to his un-
questioned sovereignty, which fell without a murmur from his
lips. u The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away— Slewed
be the name of the Lord/' But this was not all— the saint was
to be yet further proved. He is smitten with "sore boils, from
the sole of his foot to his crown !" His wife, who seems not to
have borne affliction with the same placid temper, was astonished
that he should yet confide in Jehovah—but he silenced her :
" What," said he, « shall we receive good at the hand of God, and
not evil ?" " In all this," adds the historian, u Job sinned not
with his lips." Happy would it be for you and me, who have the
assured hope of rejoining our pious friends after death, could we
give them up with the same obedient wiM.

Fanny. Was he altogether without that consoling *hope?

Mother. By some it has been supposed that he was. By
others, his belief in a future state*of glory through the interces*
sion of a hedeemer, is supposed to be clearly marked in some
sentences, which he afterwards uttered. Be this as it may, hia
subdued disposition is intitled to the highest praise; And in this
happy state of mind, it is- probable he would have remained had
he been left to himself. But that serenity which the heavy-hand '
of God had never moved, was disturbed by man, less mereiful—
and less just. Such imparalielled calamity was soon spread far and :
wide throughout Arabia, and three men his- particular friends,
Bttdad, Zopfiar, and Eliphaz, all men of rank in Idumea, came-
together to condole with him. They had heard of the loss of hi*
immense property— the -death of ail his children-— and of his owa *
agonizing disease — but when they, approached htm whom they
had seen seated in the gate dispensing the law— the most honour*
able in all the land— " before whom the princes refrained talking*
and the nobles held their peace— in whose presence the aged
arose, and the young men shrunk away," when they now saw him
stretched upon the earth, a loathsome spectacle from which his*
own domestics turned away— amazement, grief, and horror, struck
them dumb— they sat down by him on the ground, and for days
and nights no one broke the solemn silence of unutterable woe i
In this interval of meditation, the kindly ■ sympathy of pitying
friendship gave way to the cooler dictates of erroneous reason.
Thcv were themselves virtuous and had flourished in uninter-

CwfeffWftofM -•* tht Bitot. $9

-■opted joy— they were not overwhelmed by misery in every tor-
Curing shape like the wretched Job-— piety in them had found a
rich reward— whence then the uncommon weight of woe that had
befallen him ! Surely, they concluded, his religion was but a vain
pretence, and the hypocrite is now exposed by the just judgment
of a righteous Ruler. When therefore, the sufferer at length broke
out into a passionate lamentation, even execrating the day he first
•beheld the light— they advised him to confess his secret sins, and
thus conciliate an offended God ! Conscious of the integrity of a
well-spent life he firmly pleads his innocence* This they refused
to admit, his unsullied reputation notwithstanding. A dialogue
•then ensues, in which the comforters contend, that the wicked on-
ly, are punished, whilst the upright are protected and crowned
with temporal blessings. " Remember," they say, " who ever pe-
rished being innocent, or where were the righteous cut off?
They that plough iniquity anjl sow wickedness reap the same."
They even cruelly intimate, that his children had sinned, and
were cut off for their transgressions. They magnify the divine
attributes, they contend that God is just. " Happy is the man,"
says Eliphaz, u whom God correcteth, therefore despise not thou
the chastening of the Almighty." He accuses Job, whose wis-
dom and benevolence had heretofore supported others, of weak-
ness in sinking under his own calamity. " Behold, thou hast in-
structed many, and thou hast strengthened the feeble knees ; but
now it is come upon thee, and thou faintest." So hard is it to
judge of that wnich experience has not made us feel ! But the
sufferer answers—" To him that is afflicted, pity should be shown
from his friends"— he desires only death — *• even that it would
please God to destroy him— to be hidden in the grave, where the
wicked cease from troubling, and where the weary are at rest.
Where the prisoners rest together, and hear not the voice of the
oppressor." He confesses his own un worthiness and the absolute
.power of Jehovah, but inasmuch as he is nothing in His hands,
he expostulates with him on his exceseive rigour— and complains
that vice and virtue are not distinguished in his administration.

Zophar reproves him harshly for attempting to know the mind
of the Omnipotent, and for vindicating himseli : again accuses him
of unknown crimes, and beseeches him to repent. Exasperate^
at length, by the unfeeling acrimony of his accusers, while yet
they lay no specific sin to his charge, Job ridicules their affected
wisdom, as if he were ignorant who had been their teacher !—
" Miserable comforters," cried he, •< are ye all !" He patheti-
cally laments his altered state, and entreats their compassion.
** Have pity upon me— have pity upon me, O ye my friends 1 for
the hand of God hath touched me 1" But in vain he asks their
pity, and in vain he contrasts bis fallen state with the days when
the light of God shined on his tabernacle. « When the Almigh-
ty was yet with me, "when my children were about me— when the
ear hoard me then it blessed me, and when the eye saw me it gave

100 Converts ti<rn* vn tht Bible,

■witness to me. Because I delivered the poor that cried, and the
fatherless, and him that had none to help him— the blessing of him
that was ready to perish came upon me, and 1 caused the widow's
heart to sing for joy t the cause which I knew not I searched out.**
In vain he calls upon them to attest the active usefulness and in*
tegrity of his whole life, recounting, eloquently, his deeds of jus-
tice and of charity. In vain he contends, " that the wicked are of-
ten prosperous all their days;" that M they are reserved to the day of
destruction ;" and confidently invokes the wrath of his Omniscient
Judge, if he had gloried in his wealth, or had perverted his pow-
er or bis possessions to the purposes of pride or oppression— or
if he had been betrayed into idolatry, when he " beheld the sun
when it it shined, or the moon walking in brightness ;" and ar-
dently desires that the Almighty would appear, and permit him
to plead his cause in His presence !

Argument and asseveration were alike lost on his hard-heart-
ed accusers. Unmoved by the pathetic appeal of their suffering
friend, and still persuaded that he had enjoyed an unmerited re-
putation, yet unable to name the turpitude they suspected, and
disgusted that they could not drive him to a voluntary confession
of his guilt, they are at length silent. Eiihu, then, who seems to
have joined the company while they were engaged in conversation,
and who had not yet spoken, now arose ; and, after apologizing for
his interference, because he " was young and they were very old,"
he declares that he had listened attentively to the debate, and had
discovered that " great men are npt always wise, neither do the
aged judge correctly," evidently reproving the pretended triends
for the severity with which they had irritated the virtuous pa-
triarch. He then turns to Job, and tells him that he had erred in
justifying himself rather than God ; that by affirming himself to
1>e altogether perfect, he had arraigned the wisdom and the jus-
tice of the Sovereign ; that virtue could not entitle a creature to
exemption from calamity, because it could net profit the self-suf-
ficient Creator ; that the counsels of God are not to be developed
by finite man ; but his chastisements are to be received with hu-
mility ; that the righteous and the prosperous are afflicted to re-
mind them of their dependence on the Great Supreme. " If they
*bcy and serve him,9' he adds, " they shall spend their days in
prosperity and their years in pleasure.9' He speaks in glowing
terms of the magnificence of the Creator's works, and admonishes
Job to reverence the Deity.

From the phraseology of Elihu, he would seem to be the author
of the whole narrative. In the introduction to his speech, he says
— « When I had waited," (for they spake not, but stood still, and
answered no more,)** J said I will answer my part, J will also show
mine opinion," thus speaking in the first person, whereas the other
speakers are always quoted in the third.

When Elihu had ceased speaking, then comes the most majes-
tic part of the poem, a conclusion that cannot be surpassed in gran-

Cowvrrwutton* on the Bible. 1 0 1

4cur. « Tlic Lord answered Job out of a whirlwind." This is
mysterious language to us, nor dr. we pretend to know how the In*
risible Spirit spoke to man, A voice, probably, was heard in the
whirlwind, and words were pronounced becoming a Deity to utter.
Job is reproved for presuming to scan the moral government of
God, the meanest of whose works he cannot understand. He is
called upon to contemplate the works of creation, and see if he is
able to imitate the least of them. Where wast thou (it asked)
when the foundations of the ponderous earth were laid : " when the
morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for
joy — when the bars and the doors of the unfathomable deep were
set." and the raging floods were restrained by the high command
— a Hitherto shalt thou come but no further, and here shall thy
proud waves be stayed." He asks, if man can control the paths of
light or darkness : can he direct the stars in their annual round,
or set limits to their dominion ? Thunders, and lightnings, and
clouds, and rain, and hail, and ice, and snow, are all arrayed in
grand succession, to show the astonished auditors their compare-
thre impotence. Descending from the firmament the august
speaker continues to display his transcendant attributes in a few
specimens, though but very few indeed, of animated matter— the
eagle who mounts on high at His command-— the peacock who
proudly spreads his glittering plumes, and the young raven u who
cries to God for food"— -the wild goat that leaps fearlessly from the
craggy rock, and the lion who prowls the forest for his prey-— tho
warlike horse, " whose neck is clothed with thunder," and the
stupendous whale,* "before whom the mighty are afraid :"— All,
all, are the work of His hands :— " who, then," He asks, " is able
to stand before me ?"

This appalling address produced the intended effect— Job is
humbled, and confesses, u Behotd, I am vile, what shall I answer
thee ? I will lay my hand upon my mouth." " I have heard of
thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth thee—
wherefore, I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes."

As a testimony that his penitence was accepted, and that his
sin had not been less offensive than that of his companions, he is
now commanded to offer a sacrifice in their behalf, because " they
had not spoken of the Lord the thing that was right," and is gra-
ciously assured that his prayers for them would be answered. Job
is afterwards restored to health, and his friends and his (relations
visit' him with presents and gratulations. Sons and daughters
again bless his dwelling— prosperity, tven more affluent than he
had enjoyed before his /rial, is again bestowed upon him, and an
hundred and forty years being added to his life, he lived to instruct
four succeeding generations, by the wisdom and the piety which,
sad experience had superadded to his original endowments.

* Leviathan.

100 ASficmUh Story.

Art. IX.— Donna Aminta de Buxheda : a Bpanith Story.

In ray way through Spain to Corurma, I had occasion to visit
the city of Ordunna in Biscay. In the principal room of the htn9
1 found several people gathered round an elderly woman, who was
speaking with great emphasis. I was attracted to listen, and heard
the following tale ; but I have to regret that I did not arrive in
time to hear its commencement.

« Indeed, Senor Juan," said my lady to the music-master, as she
turned over a book of Italian songs, " I do not like those airs just
now : let us play over the patrotic song that was sent me this Boom-
ing from my cousin at Madrid.

<< As it may please your Excellency," said BattUta, taking a-
way the book. " Colonel WcUtein my dear," said Don Antonio Pe-
rezy opening the door, and introducing an officer in the French
uniform. At this sudden intrusion, my lady stepped back, and put
on one of those looks, which when a girl she had learned from me,
as being proper on such occasions. " This gentleman," said he,
" commands the detachment of the French army which does Or-
dunna the honour of a visit on its return to France." " Madam,"
said the Colonel, addressing himself to my Lady, and at the same
time looking very archly on me, « with the assistance of that lady,
I hope soon to have the good fortune to be less disagreeable to you."
" I beg you to be seated, Sir," said my lady, with becoming digni-
ty. Without more ceremony, Monsieur le Colonel drew his
chair close to the Lady Aminta> and took her by the hand with an
excessive freedom, requesting her to sit down also. My Lady
was perfectly well bred, having had me about her from her infan-
cy, so that she acquiesced without the least embarrassment. Don
Antonio cast a look on me, made an attempt to say something ve-
ry courteous to the stranger, and withdrew.

"Sir," said Donna Aminta *to the Colonel, looking steadily at
him, notwithstanding his glances and impertinences, " we are very
happy in seeing you at Ordunna, as you are so far on your return
to France. We understand that they have not been very civil to
you at Madrid, and that the ladies of Saragoza have been still less
amiable." He replied with much gaiety, and, after a short pause,
added with a smile of self-approbation, that neither Madrid nor
Saragoza could boast a Donna Aminta de Buxheda. My Lady
remarked, that she did not think her family name was known any

ji Spaithk Sttry. 103

where* b*a in Grenada. M Nay*'* said he, «1>y the eyes of beauty,
your name is known throughout the universe. I asked this route
from Burgos* solely that' I might have the worshipping of the*
feet of /forma Amtnt* tie Buxrheda?' He* made this co nt mow-place
attack on female vanity with* much spirit, and throwing himself btv
one knee a little before he had done speaking, took my Lady by
the hand, and looked in her face with an air of devotion.

** Duenna Brigida," said my sweet Lady to me, »* I think it is
time we should go to mass-; rise, sir, you must excuse my leav-
ing you."— She then - courtesied very low, and left the room.
Monsieur ie Colonel followed us to the door, and then putting a
double pistole into my hand, said, " Pray for me, my good lady,
fee." I did not like to receive a present from a strange cavalier,
aad more especially from one of France, as my confessor had as-
sored' me that all the* present great people of that country are
Atheists 'and Heretics, and that their emperor himself has drank
lately of the Mood of his Holiness the Pope. L however, took the
money, with the determination not to keep it myself; but as I did
not know what else to do with it, I put it into my work-bag, and!
* followed my Lady to her own room.

** I hate a Frenchman Brigida," said 'she, " and that Colonel
more than any that I ever saw : and now get my Mantilla, that we-
may go to church ; and my Basquina, for it is late."

On our way to mass, we passed through crowds of French sol-
diers, who had just entered the town from the Burgos road. The*
Square was quite full of them, and every street and door.— -
At such a- sight, I crossed myself and said an ave-maria» and I
am sure my Lady did the same ; for, Heaven help us, they.
looked at me for aH the world like a troop of hungry wolves, which'
after having- carried off the shepherd, are ready to fall upon the*
flock. We did not return home till it was quite noon, for my La-
dy chose to confers, to which resolution I had nothing to oppose.
I believe, poor thing, she felt her hatred to the French so heavy
on her heart, that she found it necessary to ligJlen it by repent-
ance. To love our enemies is certainly a part of a Christian's du-
ty, with which, if we cannot comply, we ought to confess, and do '
penance for our disobedience. As we entered our own house, the
Colonel met us at the door. He approached my Lady with more
gravity than I had believed him to possess, and requested the ho-
nour of handing fcer up stairs. She gave him hev hand without

104 A S/tanUA Story.

a word. Don Antonio was already in the dining-room, enjoying 0*
cigar agreeably to his custom before dinner. My Lady and I went
to change our dress, leaving the Colonel and him together. Or
our return, the gay officer rose, but Don Antonio kept his seat, and
continued to smoke his cigar. " I have just been observing to
your husband, Madam,*' said the Colonel, « how happy he must be>
in the possession of so much beauty and merit." M Monsieur Le
Colonel," replied my Lady, " it would seem that flattery is still a
part of French education, from your being such an adept. Pray
tell me," added she, " is it Talleyrand or the Emperor who has the
office of flattering our beloved sovereign now that he is in France.
We know who did it before he left Spain. Monsieur, then," said
she, with an emphasis not to be mistaken, " those who flatter of-
ten', do it that they may betray." « My dear," said Don Antonia,
laying dowr his cigar, " don't insult his Excellency/9—" On the
contrary," said the Colonel, " I admire her wit and her spit it J"—
Then turning to my Lady, he continued, " forgive me Dodo*
Aminta, I ask your pardon." The servants at this moment came
in with dinner, so that I was obliged to leave the room ; although
much against my inclination, as nothing is more proper than deco-
rum. I retired to my Lady's bed-chamber, and ruminated the
whole time of their dinner on Monsieur the French Colonel. I
did not like Don Antonio's calling him His Excellency ; and as to
his coming to my Lady's house, I knew, he had inquired at the
inn on the other side of the Square, for the person who kept the
best table, and had the prettiest wife in Ordunna. " By the eyes
of beauty, your name is known through the Universe !" What
hypocrites those vagabonds, are thought I. " The villain, I am
so happy my Lady told him how his Emperor cajoled our unsus-
pecting King. I wish the devil would fetch his eldest-born Napo-
leon, with Oodoy round his neck, and all that like them, for the
earth was never so beset with hell-hounds, as in these days I am
sure this fellow's attentions and compliments, will make no impres-
sion on Donna Aminta : every drop of her blood is Spanish, and
she has always been faithful to Don Antonio !" Thus I sat think-
ing, when she sent for me to attend her Siesta $ she said little to
me, but lay down apparently much absorbed in meditation.

When my Lady rose from her sofa, " It is almost time,'' said she
« to dress ; I expect the Aglaura family here to night from Vitto-
Fia to my Tertujla ; I suppose our French guest will come ; I have

A "Spitnhh 9t6ry. 105

desired Viih fb ihtite as toany of hfc oftfc&re As he think* (toper.
Send in {heCameralfe. Rosina has k good taste, she shall arrange
*iny hair." M You are too beautiful already, my dear Lady,*' said
I," ft* your own peace." " Listen," she replied, ** to night I am
to fight the French, So call in Rosina. You shall know more of my
thoughts to-morrow." Rosina dressed my Lady's hair, which was
naturally long and beautiful. No ornament was added to it, but
me large pearl rosette above the forehead. Her robe of black
muslin was elegantly fitted on by my own hands. I thyself adjust*
ed round her neck the rosary of virgin VtearS, from which the cru-
cifix hung devoutly on her bottom. As She rose from her toilette,
the <feurl upon her brow looked like the frozen tear, that, the
'Moors say, 'die angel of forgiveness clianged into a brilliant for
the crown of pity. « God bless you my child," said I, '* Oh que
t>ellez&," said Rosina, clapping her hands together, " there is
Something divine in beauty ; that inspires the old with admi'ratiot!,
«rid the young with rapture." « Well BrigMa," said tny lady
* We wtli now go to the saloon, ttnd Rosina, acquaint the Senor,
that I attend thu there."

On entering the saloon we met t)on Antonio ; he had just risen
frdm his Sic*ta. « I salute you, Don Antonio," said my lady ;
•but what's thre matter ? you look displeased." " Ydtt are the
cause,9* said he, « at least in yctor heart you are, but I will take
care of you." " Are you not ashamed of yourself, Sir," she firm*
ly replied, " to hold stach language to your wife ? Every thing is
an object fit to rouse your low suspicions ; have you not had suf*
frcrent proof of my fidelity ?" « I have taken care you should have
lib opportunity to be unfaithful," was his answer. " However,
said he, after a slight pause, and in a fawning tone, « there is no
end of this, let us be friends ; I may have said a little too much,
let us forget the past, and love each other as we have ever done."
ttTo be friends with you, Don Antonio, I have no objection," she
tepHed ; "the decorum of ihatrimony requires it, but to love you
sow is perfectly impossible, the fine thread which might have
hound our affections has been so cruelly broken, that it cannot be
united again. Observe, for irif own sake, whether you are happy
or otherwise depends on yourself." " How cool you are," said
Don Antonio, " I can manage no argument with you." u Be*
cause I am always temperate,9' she replied. <* You are too violent
of too cold." « Gite me a ktes,n said the stupid, sottish, jea-
Vol. xu. 14

4<>6 A Sfiani$h Story.

lous Don. " If I do, said the Lady Aminta, « may I be false to
you.'' As she spoke, she sat down to the piano, but she did not
play : she put her elbow on the keys, and hung her cheek on her
hand. He put on his capote, and walked down stairs. " What a
brute !" murmurqd I as. he went out. " Duenna," said my lady,
warmly, " I beg you would forbear such exclamations.", The
French Colonel came in while she was in this attitude. He stood
a moment gazing at her ; she perceived him, and suddenly rising
said, « I thought we .were to have had the pleasure of seeing sotne
of your officers." " You must excuse them to-night," he replied ;
" they are all employed in seeiog the troops lodged in their quar*
ters.'' 1 was about to retire. " Remain where you are, Duenna
Brigida," said my lady, somewhat austerely. " Monsieur," said
she abruptly to the Colonel, " I have only to request that you will
act candidly towards me." 1 did not understand what my lady
could mean by this address. But love has quicker perceptions
than duty. " Be assured. Madam," said the Colonel, " act or
apeak as you will in my presence, I will neither denounce nor find
fault with you." " What pledge will you give me for that ?'*
" Any tiling you may please/' « Then," said my lady, " I will
put you to the proof." She took his arm, and walked to the oth-
er end of the room. I could not hear distinctly what she said, but
I gathered enough to know that it was some question she put
about the French Marshal Ney. The Colonel started at it, and
putting his hand to his forehead, said, « I dare not." « Weil,"
she replied, " it is of no consequence," turning from him. " But,**
said he, " what use do you mean to make of the information?"
* Whatever I please, except discover its author." He remained
much agitated, and as if he wished me to leave the room. I with-
drew into the little hall, and in about half a minute my lady came
out to me, and said* M Brigida, you must never mention a word
of what you have seen or heard this night to any living soul."
"You may depend on me," I replied/1 1 have neither confidants,
nor curiosity ; but what was it he said to you just now ?" " That
must be my secret*" said she smilingly, and walked away to the
library, taking a light in her hand. As she desired me to follow
her, I felt a strange desire to see if the Colonel had any thing to
?ay, that would take the veil from the mysterious half minute.
" Sir," said I, going into the saloon, " my lady will be here in a
moment ; she has only gone to see if the moon keeps her place

yA SfiavUh Story* lOf

ib the heavens as formerly ; for we are beginning to think that
you French will run away with every thing in Spain ,,r « I wish
to heaven, Duenna/* said he, " that I' could ran away with her :
here, come here, if you will assist me, you shall have a purse of
three hundred double pistoles." I hesitated. « Will you V re-
joined he, with much earnestness and emotion : " here, take this/9
putting a handful of gold pieces into my hand, as some one was
beard coming into the saloon, " take this, as an earnest of the fu-
ture." Now I was in a great fright, because my lady might as
well be caught with him alone as I : I therefore brushed away,
'along the balcony down the winding stairs, into the garden, for
there was no other way of getting back to the little hall unseen.
I had very imperfectly collected my senses on getting into the
garden, when I was confounded by seeing my Lady and a man in
close conversation, not far from me. I approached as near as I
could*— not from curiosity, but from duty,— and hid myself be-
hind the great mulberry-tree, near where they stood. «« Now,'*
said my Lady, tt Diego, you understand me, and here are three
hard dollars for you ; set off immediately, and do not return till
you see the General. You remember my uncle ; you must h ve
seen him at my father's, when you were a boy. Be sure you give
this walnut into his own hands, and fifty others, which you must
get by the way. You will wait his pleasure. I think you will
meet him at Valmesada, or at farthest, at Bilbna." " There is
something more than kernel in this walnut, please my Lady," said
Diego. " There is, Diego, and take you care of it, as you value
your own soul.1' Now I was, I will confess, for once curious, but
I dared not stay any longer ; so slipping along, to observe what
might pass at the garden porch, 1 remained there, but could ob-
serve nothing more than that my Lady gave him two hard dollars
more, and he departed.

Donna Carolina de Aglaura% with some ladies, were announced ;
my lady met them in the great hall, and accompanied them to the
saloon, where the Colonel, Don Antonio, and a male relation, were
already waiting. After the coffee and ices, there was a little con
venation, somewhat general, but altogether uninteresting. Some
attempts were made at liveliness, but in vain. The evening pass-
ed slowly, and irksomely, for it was obvious that every one was
engrossed by some object foreign to the conversation. Don An-
tonio thought upon the colour of jealousy ; the Colonel upon the

io% 4sp&i*k Sm*

quiver of Cupid ; Donna. ApiinU was an^kws-afcout theT*|te.of hep,
walnut ; Don Pedro Perez was meditating about joining Romano? •
army, next day, at Leon ; Donna Carolina was calculating whether
her house was not tenanted by the French, as it was understood
thai they were retreating in the direction of Vittoria. I may have
been mistaken in giving them those things to think of; but there
is no doubt that they were, thinking of any thipg but what waft
talked of in the saloon.

There had been such a noise in the house, all day* that when at
last we retired, sleep had fled from my pillow. For from the hour
I kissed my Lady's hand in bidding her good night, I did nothing -
but turn, and toss, and build castles in. Andalusia. I rose at the
dawn of day, and as soon as it was clear light, went into my La-
dy's apartment, to see that her morning things were ready to be
put on* I was surprised to find her. already out of bed, standing
by the window that faces the East. The blush of the early sky
was on her cheek, and as she smiled upon me, she might have
stood for the image of siui-rise. « We shall have an agreeable
waljt this morning, Brigida," sajid she,. « The day. is fine, I al-
most begin to hope, Heaven smiles upon Spain." « May it please
it to bless my Lady," said L « And this,, my wretched country !"
she sighed, putting her hands together* as she raised them to,
heaven, in an hour the house, was afoot. Special care had been
taken of the chocolate. I gave the, Colonel a. cup* in which the
spoon would stand on end* Donna Carolina dx Jgjavra came ia
as we were getting ready. " A charming day, dear Anrinta," said
she, «* we shall have a delightful walk to the head of the valley.
I have desired the mules to be sent on before." " Don Jintontof
said my Lady, ** are you ready ?" ** No* I won't go." was his an-
swer. " Cousin Pedro will attend you/9 We met the Colonel
just after we had passed the Square, or rather he had seen us go
by, and overtook us. " I have been fortunate," said he. " I am
glad you have joined us," said my Lady, M I. think we shall have
a pleasant walk." '• Pray, Senor," said Donna Carolina, « do you,
know if your countrymen have retreated from Vittoria yet?" " In-
deed, Madam," answered the Colonel, « I am not in the secret, I
only know what my orders are." "And pray, Senor/9 said the
Donna, *' what may they be V9 " Ah ! I am afraid they are des-
tined to remain a secret too," replied he, laughingly. Her inqui-
ries, however, were resumed} and dexterously parried. At last

J*Sfiank* Story. 109

she suddenly said, "Apropos, Colonel, is it true that a French
grenadier took a child, at E&tella, by the feet, and dashed its brains*
oat against the step of a door ?" " I am grieved to be obliged to
confess/' said he* " that it is true." " And does the wretch live ?"
said my Lady* with a flush of indignation in ber cheek. " I have
no reason to believe otherwise," he replied; ** the conduct of the
town had placed it out of the pale of military protection," " Where
is thy arm. O God !" cried out my Lady, " and to What hour dost
thou reserve thy vengeance ?" " In that hour preserve us, Hea-
ven i" said the Colonel. « Aye, you may well say that/9 said Don-
na Cerotina, exultingly, I, more sedate in my abhorrence, ut*
tejed an ave-maria.

Don Pedro was now to take his leave and proceed on his jour-
ney. The Colonel took him by the arm, and they walked aside
for a few minutes in deep conversation. During this time, Don*
Ma Carolina was persuading my Lady to go on to the summit of
the hill to the left ; and to. make all certain, she ordered the ser-
vants and. mules to , move before us. The view from above was
worth our trouble. The valley stretched itself in great richness
at our feet, and the hills which completely shut it in, are known
throughout ali Biscay for trees and beauty. This scenery would
doubtless have drawn some fine observations from my Lady, had
not the Colonel been present ; and probably from the Colonel too,
but for Donna Carolina incessantly teasing him with questions.
It took, us an hour's climbing to reach the spot where we stood,
and there we were perched like flies upon the edge of a chine
basin, looking down upon the landscape lying in shades and spots
of blue and green, and gold and purple, below. Here Donna Caro*
ana mounted her mule, and left us for Vittoria. She had a long
way before her ; it was at least a ride of five hours. " You must
be fatigued," said the Colonel to my Lady, « will you take my arnt
as we return ?" " That is not the custom in Spain," she replied*
M we must be content to act in trifles as the world does." " Well,
my Lady," said I, " if you will not profit by the Colonel's arm, I
will; for I am ready to sink with fatigue/' The Colonel's arm
was not enough, I actually sunk down. I soon, however, recov-
ered, but my Lady forced me to rest a little longer.

« Indeed,9' said the Colonel, " Duenna I am indebted to you
for this happy occasion. I feel a pleasure in this moment, Donna
Amiota/' continued he, « that I cannot express, and perhaps, as it

110 Ji SftanUh Story*

is tbe most. delightful I have ever experienced, so it mayber
the happiest of my whole existence. You have inspired me with
a sentiment that has raised my soul above itself, that has made me
feel that I can love you without desiring more. Perhaps it is in
the same spirit that we think of heat en." "For that heaven's
take Monsieur Walstein," said my Lady, " do not talk thus, for
that passion of which you speak, is net to be tempted in any shape ;
there is no safety from it but in flight, and therefore— —let us go."
" Stay but another moment," he replied, " and let us enjoy the blame-
less delight of looking on this lovely scene— lovely to me indeed
-—with you so nigh. How tranquil is tbe bosom of that valley
.opening beneath us like a mighty amphitheatre, whose walls reach
up to heaven. What richness in the colours of those fields whose
happy stream hastens to fill Aminta's bath. Sweet angel, when
you descended to trouble the waters, I would wait there to be
healed by them." My Lady interrupted him. " Monsieur Wal-
stein, you must not say these things ; you would flatter me into
folly. Have you discovered that you are riVNdisagreeable to me I
and would you profit by my good opinieVtf you ? But, be-
lieve me, the attempt is vain ; for I would ncVthink myself wor-
thy to live if I did not deny myself even the dearest wish in life,
if it were opposed to my duty to my God.'9 " Nay;" replied he,
« but for whom do you cherish with so much sanctity all your
friendship and all your love ?— he who now calls you wife is most
unworthy of it." « Who is it that is faultless?" she replied. « I
would not for the world offend you," said the Colonel : <* that which
I have ventured on your ear is nothing new. I willjiot now bring
in graver authorities, but I shall repeat a passage of Taaao^ that I
think may amuse . you, and particularly as it is my own transla-
tion." Well," said she, " setting the question aside, I would
like to hear your translation. I admire Tasso as a poet, but
when I read poetry, I keep in remembrance that I am reading fic-
tion ; and perhaps that is the reason why they deal so much in
pictures of passion. Come begin,*9 said she. " To what passage
do you allude ? I cannot recollect the beginning ;" said he, « but
it was the description of Armidan bird, with its song among the
trees of the enchanted garden" " I will try,'' said she, " and
bring it to your recollection. Does it not begin thus ?
« Vezzosi augelli infra le verdi fronde."
" That is the beginning/1 observed he, " but as I find you are so

A Sfianith Story. 1 1 1

intimate with the original, I feel afraid of showing my presump-
tion instead of my skill/* " Nay, Colonel," said my Lady, « if
you hare do desire beyond that of pleasing me, I think 1 shall be
pleased ; and if I could be certain that you would be contented
with my friendship, I should not withhold it from you ; but, to be
candid, you may rest assured that if you look to other objects, not
even my friendship shall be given," M Then,*' said the Colonel,
endeavouring to conceal his emotion, " then,'* said he, offering
her his hand, u let me touch the strand on which all my hopes are
shipwrecked- '* M Colonel," resumed my Lady, giving her hand,
u I am serious in every word I have spoken ; it is the best part of
my character to be steady in every business of life. I teel that I
am rather blameable in contracting so unripe a friendship, but
we live in such times that life is too short for acting our parts by
the old rules of caution and propriety.'* w I swear to you," said
he. u Nay," she interrupted him, •• do not swear, for oaths and
faithlessness follow each other like substance and shadow." I now
remarked to my Lady, that it was full time for our return, that we
haf} come much farther than we had intended, and that Don Ante*
nio would be waiting dinner for us. We then arose and made good
haste down the hill. The walk home was pleasant, but very
little conversation occurred, except that my Lady often pressed
the Colonel to repeat his translation of Tasso, which he as often
declined, promising that he would give it to her at some other
time. On our arrival we found an officer with dispatches for the
Colonel. Don Antonio w^s out, and it was not quite dinner time,
so all was right. The Colonel retired into the balcony to open the
packet, but soon returned, saying to the officer, * Very well, send
the adjutant to me" The officer bowed and withdrew. The Co-
lonel seemed pensive, and spoke not a word for some minutes;
during which time my Lady looked at him as 1 neversaw her look
at a man in my life. Bless me, thought I to myself, what can this
mean? He raised his eyes from the ground, on which they had
been fixed, and gazing on my Lady, said, " we have no time to
lose ;" upon which they exchanged a look or two, and immediate-
ly she rose up, saying, « B rigid a, leave us alone for a few minutes."
I remarked to her that there could be nothing which I might not
know with safety ; that my secrecy was only exceeded by my fideli-
ty. She made no reply, but pointed to the door. u Oho !" said I
*> myself, « is it come to this ?" So 1 curtesied and left the room.

lid J SftanUh 8t<>ry

As soon as I got out, I brushed through the hall, went round by
the Chinese saloon, and placed myself opposite to a crack in the
false door, where I could see and hear every thing ; not that I had
any desire to know what they had in view, but I went there, be-
cause I think a third person proper on all occasions ; for, as my
grandmother used to say, u there never were two together yet
but there was a third, and if it was not a human creature it was
the Devil." So I went to make a third, and keep off Satan. I
put my ear to the chink* after looking two or three times through
it, to make sure that my eyes did not deceive me, for of all the
senses the sight is the least to be depended on. I heard my Lady
say, " for God's sake." " So !" saall, taking away my ear, and put-
ting my eye in its stead ; but I sa^ nothing that could throw any
light upon the nature of the interview ; nor could I make head or
tail of what they said, for they spoke by fragments : however, I
•kept my post, to keep off Satan ; and he was kept off, for not a
word was uttered by either of them that the recording angel
might not have heard without a frown. Seeing my Lady go out,
I ran to her chamber, where 1 put on a sulky look, aa she came in-
to it. " Brigida,'' said she, " you shall know all my secrets in a
day or two.' I pretended to be made easy by this declaration,
and kissed her hand. " Tell me," said she, " have you heard aiif
thing of Diego." « No, Senora $ that is exactly what I want to
hear." " Inquire, Brigida." " My Lady, I believe you are the
only person to inquire of." " Nay, nay," said she anxiously, " go
and ask Sebastian if he has returned ; I expect him hourly." On
my going out, I took a peep at the Colonel, to see what he was
about, and found him surrounded with papers. Diego had not re-
turned, but Don Antonio had ; and, contrary to custom in very
good humour. " So the French are all going to leave Duenna,"
he said. " Good heavens !" said I. " Why you seem," returned
he upon me, " to take it to he*rt, I suppose the Colonel has been
generous." On this, I turned to fly at him, but my Lady catfie
in. He was afraid I should tell her what he had insinuated ; so
holding out his hand, he said, " Duenna Brigade, do not let ua
quarrel." I turned up my lip at him in contempt, and left him
and my Lady together. They walked towards the saloon, where
the Colonel was, while I returned to my Lady's room. Now ail that
I thought on this shall be told another time s for if I were to tell
you now what it was, it would look like prophecy, which I do
not chuse to set down for, for you know it looks like witchcraft.

A SfianUh Story. 1 13

After dinner, my lady came to her Siesta. She was very thought*
fill and sparing of her conversation. I attributed this to the de-
parture of the French, or rather of the Colonel. u So my lady,''
said I, « they are going away.*' « Yes, Brigida, they are, thank
Heaven, though I fear not for good." At this moment Rosina
came in, and said that Diego had returned. " Bring him up/' ex-
claimed my lady, springing from the bed. " Into your bed-room''
I observed with wonder.—'* Yes," said she, « here or any where."
Rosina now came back with Diego, bringing a letter which my
lady snatched from him, and putting her finger on her lip*, " Re-
member, Diego," were her words. ** I will, my dear lady," re-
plied he, but stood still. I believe he was as eager as myself to
kuow the contents of the letter ; but my lady hurried out of the
room. I followed her as close as I could tp the saloon, where the
Colonel had been sitttng. I believe it was for him she was look-
ing, bat he bad gone out soon after dinner. She paced the room
with great anxiety for about half an hour, and then sat down to
the .piano ; she played a few notes of the patriotic song, then got
up, stood motionless, lifted her hand above her bead, and then be-
gan to walk up and down with a very quick pace. At this junc-
ture the Colonel came in— my lady ran to him with the letter,
which she had put in her bosom. The Colonel took the letter
and read— * I thank you for your information, but it is quite in-
correct ; the enemy are retreating in every direction, and I shall
follow up the advantage I have gained— 52000! it is impossible,9'
—may God preserve you many years,— from your affectionate
Uncle." B.

« There is but one thing for it now," said the Colonel ; " I have
ordered all the troops from Ordunna, agreeably to my commands,
but I have not given the route which was pointed out. I have
I have sent them out of the way of the impending business, but I
fear the trap is too well placed for us to break the spring of it,
since your uncle will not believe that it is laid. There is now,"
continued he, « but one thing for it, and that is, that I go to him
myself. My own company is so attached to me, 1 am convinced
I can persuade them to join in the cause of the patriots. They
are all Tyrolese, and as such, know how sacred a thing is liberty,
and how great a villain the man is who wrested it from them, and
is endeavouring to tear it from the Spaniards." u May God bless
you !" said my lady, as she threw herself upon his neck in tears.

Vol. xii. * 15

The Colonel took out his handkerchief to wipe them away f but
could not see them for his own— -thus, without a word the) stood,
and 1 believe in innocence, tasted the most refilled pleasures of
friendship. « I will go and prepare for my departure/* said he,
collecting himself, « and you must be so kind as to order Diego
to accompany me, that I may send him on before occasionally ; in
the mean time," continued he, drawing a paper from his sleeve,
" here is the little translation I promised to you ; you can read it
when you have nothing better to do " My lady took it from him
with marked complaisance and put it in her bosom ; the Colonel
then observed there was no time to be lost, and that to arrive soon
enough to prevent the snare, he proposed setting off at 10 o'clock
that night, with seventy of his detachment, who had attached them-
selves to his person, so that he begged a letter might be ready at
that time for the Spanish General her uncle. My lady took him
by the hand, with more pleasure* in her countenance than I ever
saw before in that of any one, and walked down stairs with him,
continuing all the way to hold his hand— a piece of imprudence I
should not have thought her capable of. Said I to myself, as they
passed my hiding hole, if you meet Don Antonio now, what a pre-
cious explosion we shall hsve. However they encountered no one,
and she returned in high spirits. About 10 o'clock Don Antonio
came home, and found my lady and myself in the saloon ; she had
been writing, but was now playing and singing. She had very
handsomely told me all I knew before, but there was still a strange*
ness in the matter, the drift of which I could not understand.—
<* Well my dear," said Don Antonio, " it gives me great pleasure
to see you join in the general sensation of the day, for I was afraid
that the departure of our guest might not be altogether agreeable
to you." " He told me," replied my lady, " that he would go at
10 to-night ; I shall be glad when he is gone," continued she ;
« but I am not uneasy—- for I am sure he will keep his word."—
« It is just 10 now," said Don Antonio. " And there he is/9 return-
ed she, seeing him enter the door. « Welcome, Colonel," said
Don Antonio. « I have only come to take leave," he replied ; " I
am just going." " Nay, you shall not go before supper," said
Don Antonio. " I cannot stay one moment," rejoined the Colo*
nel. " You must stay supper," repeated Don Antonio, embracing
him. " Excuse me, my dear friend," rejoined the Colonel, « I
cannot delay." " Let him go," said my lady, « perhaps he can-

yd fiftitnitA 4sWjfr MS

oat, stay." " How do you know any thing about it," replied hot
husband angrily. « There it it, Colonel ! now that you are going
away, you may see really who are your friends among us." « Then"
rejoined my lady," as you are so rery kind, let us see you produce
some of your liqueur de Barbade, and drink to the Colonel's good
health before he goes.'9 " Well, I will," said Don Antonio, and
immediately went out of the saloon into the study, where he kept
this precious stuff locked up. The instant he turned his back my
lady drew a letter from her bosom, which she had written in the
early part of the evening, and put it into the Colonel's hand.-i-
Tney seemed to have forgotten that I was in the room, for be kiss*
ed the hand that gave it to him, saying, " We will meet again I
trust under more propitious circumstances." " May it please God"
she replied, * to crown our wishes I" They now looked at each
other, as if they wished to say, or do some thing, which they did not
dare ; but they neither said, nor did any thing, but continued to
bold each other's hands, looking I cannot tell how. « Farewell,'9
said my lady, bursting from him ; he struck his hand upon his
forehead as she fled, and sunk upon the chair that stood near him.
In a few minutes Don Antonio returned with a flask, but he soli*
eked the Colonel in vain to taste of it, who turning round to me,
as Don Antonio drank bis health, said, " Farewell Duenna ;" then
taking a gold#ring from his finger, which he gave to me, he em*
braced Don Antonio, and took his leave. '• Where is Donna
Aminta,'9 said her husband to me, as soon as the Colonel had gone
down stairs. " In her chamber," i replied ; " where should she
be V a 1 should like to see her then,99 continued he, " for there is no
knowing what schemes there may be against me,'9 " Oh,9' said I,
"if you suspect any thing, come along with me.9' I now walked
as slowly as possible to my lady's room, so that he lost all patience
before we arrived there ; which was just what pleased me. We
found my lady sitting in the dark, but the candle which I carried
in aay hand showed her to be much engaged in thought. When
Don Antonio found she was there, he apologised by saying he on-
ly wished to know where she would desire to sup. * I am not
very well," said she, " Duenna, I would like to go to bed.99 He
kft os, and' my lady proceeded to undress, and hurried herself to
rest— but never could I imagine her reasons for it, unless it was
toget rid of me ; and God knows there was no occasion for that,
as I was already in the secret : however, I kissed her hand and re-

116 Jl Sfianiah Story .

tired to bed alto. In the morning she called me to matins, whieh
was the reverse of our custom. She looked as if she had slept lit-
tle although she went to bed early. " It is late, Duenna," said
she, " although it be dark ; the day is gloomy." I arose immedi-
ately, and certainly we were in the church before any body. I felt
the morning very cold, and was very glad when we returned home
to our chocolate : I took mine with great pleasure, but my lady
turned her cup round and round, and stirred it twenty times, and
then after dipping the toast, she left it there, and set down the cup.
« I do not care for it, Brigida," said she ; « tell Senor Juan I wisk
to speak to him." I obeyed ; and in about a quarter of an hour,
Senor Juan made his appearance. " 1 kiss your Excellency's
h?nd," said he, " pray command me." tt Have the goodness, then,"
she replied," to go through the town inquiring for all sorts of pub*
lie news from Biscay." " I will do it willingly," said he, and
withdrew. " Now, Brigida,'' said my lady, " we will go to our
country garden, and there pais the day ; 1 will take my guitar, and
you your -spindle, that we may amuse ourselves if we can/' K That
is well put in," said I. The sun came out as we left the house,
which made our walk extremely pleasant, for the morning had
been dark and lowering, with a cold east wind. It was 9 o'clock
when we entered the garden, where we amused ourselves coiirit-
ing the bunches on a muscadine vine during the greater part of
the forenoon. " This is endless work," said my lady ; « i have no
genius for counting truly, come." Now, I counted the bunches
over and over again patiently, while my lady walked up and down
the gravel before me. * How many do you think there are ?" said
I. " Perhaps 666," said my lady. " No, iudeed," replied I, " the
good vine is not the beast in the Apocalypse." " I wish it were,"
exclaimed she, " we should soon root him out, even, if he had
fourteen crowns and twenty horns, and every crown and every
horn was marked Afafloleon." " Heaven save uf*,iny lady i" said
I, crossing myself. « I always have the horrors when one speaks
of the devil." «• Come, come, Duenna," said she "let us talk no more
of him. Come away and help me to gather some laurel and a few
roses, that to-morrow I may have a garland ready for ■ ." " For
whom, my lady ?" said I at once. " For a friend of ours, for a
friend of our country." « The French Colonel, my life on it I" ex-
claimed I " Not a word, Brigida," said she. * But in one thing you
"have been mistaken. He is not a Frenchman, but a Tyrolean,

A SftanUh Story. - 117

faced into Ntpotetm's service, and hating its crimes." " Oh, I am
so glad 1" said I, M now I understand the mystery of your loves.1'
* No, Brigida," she replied, " do not mislead yourself. If I were
inclined to lore him I dare not, my heart will never admit an un-
becoming sentiment." « But you looked at him as if you could
love him/9 said I. « Perhaps I did, Brigida ; but you make no
distinction between the action and the person. It is abundantly
easy to abhor an action, and yet to love the person guilty of it. I
own it ttKfce the case with Don Antonio. Now if I can separate Don
Antonio and his conduct, why not Monsieur Walstein and his ?"—
** You are perhaps right, my child," observed I : »* but remember
what you yourself said to the Colonel about the danger of tempting
love in any shape. " Depend upon it, Duenna,9' she replied, " it
is a mistake to say that love overcomes all things, or that he is
the tyrant of our liberty. To attribute all to fate and necessity,
is but the weak stratagem of lovers to excuse their own faults."
" I cannot argue with you^ my dear," said I ; " but pray keep in
mind the fable of the moth and the taper " She made no reply,
but smiled ; then taking a paper from her bosom, she said, " Nei-
ther you nor Armida's bird shall have any influence over my sen-
timents/1 « Pray, my lady, what says Armida's bird to the ques-
tion ?" She read it as translated by the Colonel. " Well," said
she, « it is very pretty," as she finished it, and folded up the
paper.

* And now let us gather the roses and laurels ; but I will mix
no myrtle with my garland I assure yqu. Would to heaven that
I could in reality entwine it with the olive !" I do not know how
I could have made the mistake, but so it was, that I plucked cy-
press instead of laurel. She took it from me, then looking wistful-
ly on me, dropped it on the ground, and burst into tears. " Bles-
sed saints !" said I * my lady, what is the matter ?" " Nothing,
nothing," said she, recovering herself; u a sudden thought occur-
red that bad almost overpowered me, but it was too like a foolish
superstition. I will think no more of it. But we must gather
some of this laurel," continued she, going to a shrub, and without
looking at it pulling the leaves. I was surpri&ed. « What would
you do with that, my lady ? it is aconite." " You know nothing
about these things, I see," said she, rather displeased. " Come
along, we will go home/'

We arrived just time enough ior dinntr. But my lady sat at ta-

110 A Sfienisk **ry.

We, like thestatue of thought feeding upon itaefc Once or twico
she attempted to eat something, but seemed to forget that she had
put it to her lips. Don Antonio took his cigar, and my lady and
I retired to her room. « I shall not lie down/' said she, on enter*
iftg it, " for I cannot rest* But Brigida, bring me my father's and
mothers hair from the wardrobe, that I may employ myself an
plaiting it" u Dear my lady/' observed I what puts such a fancy
into your head, as to think of plaiting dead people's hair ? Rosi-
ns can do it at any time, and there is no chance of making her
melancholy " " r am rather unhappy, Duenna, though I do not
know why ; and I think looking at my father's and mother's hair
may comfort me." " If so, my lady, it shall be done ;" and so say-
ing, I brought it out. « Now, Brigida, send for Roeina, to settle
my own hair, while I employ myself with this." I called Roaina*
who set about her work, but after she had taken out the braids*
and let the hair fall, she was desired to leave it, and help to arrange
the long tresses of the dead. By my assistance they were soon set
in order, and looked, what they were, the true and plain proofs of
Iberian blood. My lady fastened them together, and hurig them
thus round her own neck. She stood up to admire their length ;
and indeed it was admirable, for they hung down to her feet, like a
sable tippet, such as you may have seen worn by some beautiful
maiden of England or Russia. As she stood, her figure engaged
me much, but her countenance still more ; I would have given the
world to know what thoughts passed in her mind* as she gazed up*
on the dark tresses of her parental but whatever they were, her
soul seemed entirely occupied, it was perhaps filled with a presen-
timent of what was so soon to come.

The door of the chamber opened. I thought it was accident* '
and went to shut it. To my astonishment I saw Diego, pale and
covered with dust ; he looked like a ghost escaped from a cbarnel
house. " What ails you," cried I. He spoke not a word, but'
opened his mouth as if exhausted. " Who is it f said my lady.
" Diego," said I, " and the picture of death, Senora." She flew to
the door, and catching him by the arm* looked him eagerly in the
face, and shook her head. " It is all over then f He made no
answer, but with a trembling hand drew a paper from his breast ;
she looked at it for a moment, and then dropt it from her hand, ex*
claiming, u O my God !" She sunk upon the floor. While Ro»
sina ran for water, I knowing k was no time for ceremony, picked
up the paper ; it was thus :—

J fyanM Btory. 1 19

•My dear child, fire well. Before this reaches you, I shall be
no more. My wounds are mortal, but that concerns me little.—
Your friend b wounded and taken. He was alas, too late. Your
information was true. But it is now finished. The day is lost,
and with it, perhaps the freedom of our country. Vive Fernando*
farewell, Farewell, my child.

Fitttria, Nov, 7, 180*. Boxed a.

My lady raised herself on one hand, and with the other seemed
to brush away something that floated in the air before her eyes.— .
Rosina and I helped her to the bed-side. But she would not lie
down, continuing to look wildly round until ber eyes felt on Diego;
when seeming to collect herself, she fcatd, " Where is the letter
I saw just now, Diego V9 Diego stood like a statue, and knew
nothing ; but put it into her hand. She read it over and aver again ;
every now and then putting her hand to and from her eyes, as if
to sweep away something that interrupted the sight At last, « Oh
Diego !' she exclaimed wildly, " tell me when he died." « No
one isMead, my lady/* said he, scarcely intelligibly ; ** but," and he
paused and grew paler still; " but,— -they are bringing the Colonel
—tied with ropes to Ordunna, where, they say, he is to be shot this
night." "Merciful Godl" she uttered in a low tone, fixing her
eyes above ; « and my uncle J** * I saw him last, my lady, when be
gave me this letter* He was then lying on the large table in the
Posada at Vittoria. He also gave me his purse : there k is," con-
tinued Diego, throwing it on the floor, « and he said to me, Ood
bless you Diego, you are the son of an honest man."

The Saints deliver me, I did not know what to make of all this,
but I plainly saw there was sorrow enough in it. Poor Rosina
hang upon the lady Aminta's arm, and wept aloud. Diego did
not move, but my lady looking strangely on him, took him by the
neck, and kissed his forehead. Heaven deliver me, but I wonder*
ed at her ; but when she turned round to me, and told me that I
had married Godoi, and was a traitor, I trembled ; for I saw that
her Wits were gone. Rosina tried to soothe her: <> Do not you
know your own Dnenna, my dear lady ?» said she. But to strange
were my lady's looks, that Rosina trembled too. I took her hand,
and went upon my knees. She raised me up* with a softened
countenance, saying, " Come, let us go look for him/' She was
leading me to the door, when I entreated her to stop a little ; she
scene* persuaded* and turned toward* the toilette* wreathin g the

.120 -J S/umUJk Story.

hair that still hang from her neck, round and round her arms*
Catching up some of the flowers and shrubs that we had brought
in with us, <* Here," turned she to Rosina, giving her a rose, « put
that in your bosom, and. wrap patience round the thorn. We will
go now, my mother," she repeated, touching my face with some
sprigs of the laurel which she had held in her hand ; then sud-
denly starting, she threw them down, exclaiming, M No ! 1 will
have none of you. My mother told me in. a dream last night,
that you were aconite." " God save you, my lady," interrupted I ;
" it is night— pray, and go to bed."— * 1 am not dead yet," said
she, » why bury me? I am going to a wedding. Will you go
too ? If not, stay here, and I will send for you."—*4 Providence
set p us all in our senses/' thought 1 ; then looking at her, op*
pressed by, such a thought, I was overcome, apd fell into violent
hysterics.

What happened for some time, I know not, but when I recov-
ered, I found myself in bed, and alone. There seemed to be a
dreadful noise in the Btreete. I endeavoured to collect myself,
and ran from room to room to find my unfortunate lady., A great
light in the street, and the sound of a vast tumult drew me to the
balcony. I saw the Colonel, lying in a cart, .almost lifeless, and
bloody, with his handB tied behind him. He was in the midst of
soldiers, horse and foot. I thought that the Lady Aminta might
have seen the same sight, and that it had driven her to despair.
I looked among the crowd for her, but to no purpose. There
was not a soul in the house. So finding myself unable to remain
a moment longer in suspense, 1 ran out of doors, and made my
way immediately towards the square. Seeing that I could not
get through the crowd when 1 reached it, I went round to the
Posada, where I might overlook it from the balcony. The door
was not to be passed for the press of people. They were carry*
ing in the Colonel's dead' body. I now knew the meaning of the
musketry I had heard as I was getting towards the square. I
forced my way up after the body, into the great room. The mo-
ment they set it down, I discovered my lady coming towards it.
She did not start at the sight, but sat down by its side without
emotion ; then lifting its eyelids with her fingers; "Do not you
know me ?" she sighed. ** You used not to look at me thus !*
Then pausing and casting her eyes up and down the body, '* Ah l"
said she, shaking her head, " I see it has rained blood in Spain

M Fiction* \%l

this day. Oft this she arose suddenly, and taking him by the
hand, ** Come with me, Walstein ; I have laurels for you. Bux-
eda sent them by Diego." Then kneeling, she took her uncle's
letter, and tearing it into little strips, stuck it in his hair, with a
few green sprigs which she bad kept in her hand. «* And here
are rosea for you," as she pulled off the leaves of a rose, and threw
them on his cheek. " But they will fade too ; I will go and bring
you lilies. Stop then," wept she, " stop, and do not move until
I come again."

' ** Alas 2 poor lady," continued the Duenna, " oppressed by the
fete of her friend, her relation, and her country, her sole delight
is now to wander about the roads and gardens, singing broken
songs, and! gathering shrubs and flowers. I attend close to her
in all her walks, and have succeeded this morning in persuading
her to come in and rest herself. For my part, I think it was Hea-
ven's mercy that deprived her of her wits. There she lies," said
the Duenna, pointing to an inner room, " there she lies, poor
thing, Cast asleep, and may her sleep be refreshing ; for she was
the sweetest lady that ever eyes looked at upon Spanish ground."

Art. X.— jVb Fiction; or the Tent of Friendship : a Narrative found-
ed on recent and interesting facts. Baltimore : 2 vols, price 8 2.

Oua distant readers expect from us some account of the mul-
titude of new books which daily meet their eyes in the pages of
our city papers ; and we endeavour to gratify them, when we find
any thing really worth their notice. This curiosity is most readi-
ly and most generally excited by the title of a new novel— the de-
light of all readers— both young and old, grave and gay.

The singular title at the head of our page would seem to imply
a story-— it is therefore asked on all hands— Is it a Novel ? If a
Novel mean a fiction, the author says it is " No fiction.". If
a Novel means a new story— then it is a Novel, for the book con-
tains a story, with a beginning, middle, and end, and powerfully
sustained throughout. If this intimation should induce our read-
ers to take it up, the result will probably be, that the serious wilt
read it, every page with delight and edification, whilst another
class, will run their eye from page to page to pick out the story,
and will declare at last that the whole is overstrained ! To apolo-
gize for this anticipation, we must now tell them that the staple of

VOL. XII. 16

the book, is deep, genuine, religious reflection* W# «re not oar*
selves, very fond of this anode of conveying religious iestrucUoa.
Let us sit down to theology under its own proper Bause— -*nd fct
us have a Novel for a lighter how, always premising however, that
piety should be the governing principle of every Novel to which
wc would give our sanction. Perhaps no writer of Novels baa
deserved more respect than Mrs. West for this characteristic of
her works. All her best characters are religious.

" No Fiction" bears the stamp of truth, at kast so far as the in*
cidento are concerned— *Uoy are exceedingly interesting, but sci-
ther romantic nor surprising ; all flow easily, and naturally from
the circumstances. The actors are few, and they act like human
nature — but some of them we fear, are made to speak and feel as
human nature seldom does. Douglass and Lefevre were friends.
Both were young, and alike possessed of a taste lor literature, for
the grand and beautiful in nature— and an ardent desire to improve
their minds, and increase their religious knowledge. Douglass
was a settled christian, jLefevre of more susceptible tempera-
ment, but with the most honourable and upright intentions, ofieo
mistook passion for reason and fell into her snares. His falls, his
affections, his recoveries, and the noble and unconquerable attach-
ment of his friend, form the entertainment prepared in this «* Nar-
rative.

Lefevre's account of his first leaving home, to go into business
in London, will be read with syivpathy by every mother.

"Of my residence and relauonslneed say nothing; and the events
of my boyish life would scarcely have any thing to distinguish them
from those of most boy sat the same period of existence. Perhaps the
firfct occurrence that is worth mentioning, is my departure from
the maternal roof. I retain, and shall ever retain, a lively impres-
sion, of the feelings of that day. 1 seem to hear the stage-coach rat-
tling up the paved street. I seem to feel my mothers'* kisses—-
first impressed in the parlour— -then renewed in the passage—^
and finally repeated on the steps at the door. I fancy I see her
standing on the spot where we last embraced ; the tears running
down her cueek,as she said, * My dear Charles, beware of tlie snares
of London !'•— and then, as we separated, clasping her hands and
looking towards the heavens, regardless of spectators, earnestly
exclaim, * God Almighty keep my child !' *> Vol. 1. page 38.

Having been soberly educated, the habits of his young acquaint-
ances in the Metropolis were somewhat shocking to his feelings.

" Perhaps one of the worst effects of this intercourse was,
that it begat light thoughts of religion and of the sabbath, 1

wett mnmfctr the feelings of one sabbath, which I bad derated
to recreation end amusement ; and which, as my companions in-
sisted, were so needful after the confinement and labour of the.
week. I returned, in the evening, to my dwellings more fatigued
than by the duties of any common day, and dissatisfied with plea-
sures which my heart told me were mixed with sin. I retired to
mj chamber. Former days came to ray mind. The words of my
mother—* Beware of the tnares of London J9 sunk hi my heart*
1 sighed— J thought 1 would beware in future~—I kneeled down
and prayed to God to be my keeper*

" Must I tell you, my friend, how soon these impressions were
removed, and my tows broken !— tfutt they were often lenewed,
and as often violated, with more carelessness of the consequences
each time !— 90 that I know not what I might have been at this
moment, but for a season of affliction."

His early principles however, are sustained by a timely ac-
quaintance with Douglass, assisted by two excellent people with
whom be lodged, who are thus finely described

" Mr. Russell was unusually tall, portly, and of fine presence ; with
such an appearance of strength and dignity as to excite unmixed awe
in the mind, had it not been united with a remarkable expression of
meekness and benevolence in his countenance. His dispositions
were habitually calm, contemplative, and devotional. He had be-
come aimost " the man of one book ;" that book was the Bible j
and on this be seemed rather to feed than to speculate. Religion
with him was not so much an object of pursuit, as the element in
which he constantly dwelt* Its influence appeared 10 raise him
above this life ; and you would have thought him unconnected with
earth, had it not been for the affection he discovered as a husband, a
father, and a friend. He passed through the world as a pilgrim,
ignorant of its cunning, and unruffled by its uproar ; and, if, in his
passage, some events had power to agitate the surface of his pas-
sions, like the deep sunk well, he seemed to contain beneath, those
fresh springs of happiness which were inaccessible to all external
accidents.

On the whole, there was something highly apostolic about
him. Frequently, after Douglas and Left vre have witnessed his
serene and heavenly piety, rendered impressive by a majestic
figure, crowned with locks bleached to the whiteness of snou by
the hand of time, have they repeated these beautiful lines of Gold~
Smith :

" Like some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swehs from the vale, and midway leaves the storm:
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread.
Eternal sunshine settles on its head."

Mrs. Russell, on the other hand, appeared the contrast of her
husband. Her person was short, but by no means unphasant.
Active, generous,, susceptible and communicative, she readily se-

124 JTo Fiction.

cured that confidence which recoilt from all the doublings of cold
hearted selfishness. She was devoted to her husband, and over-
flowed with fondness to her offspring. In piety she was not at all
behind Mr. Russell ; but, while it was the same in. principle, and
equal in strength, it differed amazingly in many of its features*
It was the same in the spring, but it received the colouring of the
several channels through which it flowed. If the piety of Mr.
Russell seemed to delight in still communion, that oi Mrs. Rus-
sel seemed to exult in holy and active obedience. If the fire
of his devout affections seemed to rise like a sacrificial flame,
immediately to heaven, her's seemed to linger on the earth to en-
lighten and animate those around her. If religion in him appear-
ed to raise the mind superior to the events of this life ; in her,
while it was, « as an anchor sure and steadfast," it left it still sus-
ceptible of their influence. Temporal sorrow could reduce her
to momentary despondency ; temporal disappointment could lash
her into vexation ;~and temporal happiness could exalt her to the
ectasies of joy.

With all this contrariety there were not wanting the strongest
ties of union. Even the particulars in which these worthy per-
sons differed, as they daily convinced them they were necessary*
to each other's existence, had a tendency to strengthen their at-
tachments. In the most entire concord, they had seen forty sum-
mer suns pass away ; and time had so far smoothed, and propor-
tioned, and united their distinct characteristics, as to make them
almost one person.* And, if to reduce their opposite characters
wholly to .one existence, was not within the power of time, it was
within the province of Nature. Providence had given them one
son, who seemed to be formed from a simple mixture of their two
natures." Vol. 1. page 49.

In the society of these worthy persons he continues about two
years improving in virtue. The two friends, read and walked,
and performed acts of benevolence, together, and devoted to each
other the most of those hours that were unoccupied by their re-
spective pursuits in business, delighted with one another, and
happy in themselves. At this period Douglas is called to a dis
tant part of the kingdom, and Lefevre by degrees becomes the
associate of the young men in the public office in which he was
engaged. These were spirited youths, liberal in their expenses,
liberal in their morals, and very liberal in their religious senti-
ments. They admired his talents, and skill in business— they re-
spected his virtue — but they ridiculed his fiuritanum. Douglas
his Mentor, was now gone, and Lefevre is drawn into their parties.
They sup and drink together, and soon, he is not easy under

* This is a fine portrait of earthly felicity, and clearly evinces its indispen-
sable ingredients to be— -piety, virtue, gratitude, resignation, and contentment.

Jfo fiction. 195

this change of bis regular economical habits, but he hopes he is
not very wrong. His income will not now meet his expenses,
bat they have a prospect of an encrease of their salaries— and this
will discharge his debts. The encrease is obtained, but still he
is in debt ;

« This was a great disappointment to Lefevre. Something
he must do to extricate himself, and that immediately. The
friendship of Douglas seemed to invite him to explain his difficult
ties to him ; but his pride resisted the suggestion : he feared i(
would lower Douglas's respect for him ; and he knew that he
would not fail to express surprise and concern on the occasion.

It was about this period that Lefevre renewed his connexion
with Wallis, on the business of the office. His attachment to
Wallis was not attended with that esteem and respect which mark-
ed his friendship for Douglas ; he, therefore, found it comparative-
ly easy to intimate his straitened situation to him. Wallis was
just then seeking to weaken the influence of Douglas, and to tie
Lefevre to himself; and he fairly rejoiced at so favourable an op-
portunity. He understood the wishes of Lefevre before they were
half expressed, and insisted on his accepting twice the sum he had
named, with the air of a man who was receiving rather than con-
erring a favor.

This conduct powerfully affected the open and generous mind
of Lefevre. It did, indeed, to his eye, hide a multitude of sins ;
and so bound him to Wallis, that even when conscience, as we
have seen, reproached him with continuing the intimacy, the
weight of obligation withheld him from breaking it. So true it
is that a state of debt and dependence ire inseparable.

Meanwhile Wallis's assistance, though it afforded Lefevre tem-
porary relief, did not really benefit him. It encouraged him rather
to rest his hopes on expedients and favourable accidents, than on
a determination of living within his certain income. " Wallis,**
be allowed himself to think, " would still do more for him if he
required it ; he might soon obtain a rise in the office, and that
would set all right ; and if these failed, he had no doubt that his mo-
ther and Douglas would do their utmost for him, on an emergen-
cy." With such vague and unjust reliances, it may easily be ex-
pected that, on slight temptation, Lefevre would involve himself
in even greater expenses than those which he had already found
too large for his income. This was really the case. His reunion
with Wallis ; his liberality to the distressed persons in the office ^
his coffee-house suppers ; his encreased taste for company ; his
abhorrence of every thing mean and shabby ; and particularly his
having made himself responsible for some debts of his deceased
brother ; had joined to throw him into a state of embarrassment
more serious than at any former period.

Lefevre, though not fond of obligation to any one, felt not the
evil of his obligations to Wallis, till the moment in which he resolved

126 Ab Fiction.

to break with him. Be then discovered that they tad robbed him
of a portion of his independence ; and that, should he do what he
though this duty, Wall is might charge him with ingratitude and
baseness. The reflection was bitter to him ; but he confirmed
his intentions by prayer, and laid himself on his pillow that eve-
ning, resolving to recover himself from his engagements to Wal*
lis, and drop a friendship which was prejudicial to his best inte-
rests.

The ensuing morning, as Lefevre was thinking how he might
best carry his purposes, he was served with a copy of a writ ! It
was the first he had received. It alarmed him. It came from %
tradesman least expected to act so, as he had done much to serve
and recommend him. His pride and kindness were wounded.
He sat still and silent a few moments ; he rose and paced the
room, repeating the words, " base, insolent, worthless fellow !"
and then he returned to his chair, sensible of the folly of railing,
and of the necessity of doing something for his personal liberty
without delay. " And what/9 said he, " can I do I The sum is
small — not ten pounds— but what does that signify ?— small as it
is, I cannot pay it. O, I never knew the misery of debt till now I
•—What shall I do ? — Douglas ?— No— I will not apply to Doug-
las— he will despise me. I will not be despised ; and yet do I
not despise myself ? — Wallis ?— shall I go to him f— that will
only increase the obligations I purpose to abolish ! Well, I can*
not help it, I must apply somewhere— -and I know he will be kind
—Hard is my fate." How apt are we to impeach Divine Provi-
dence, when we have nothing to complain of but our own impru-
dence !

Lefevre hastened to the dwelling of his friend, and explained
his situation to him. Wallis received him just as he could have
wished — w Ungrateful impudent fellow !" exclaimed he— "plague
on him ! Put your mind at rest — leave it all with me — I'll show
him a trick or two for this, I warrant you. Leave it to me— you
shall hear no more about it— I'll see him— -and he shall either
take my word for the payment, or, if that won't do, I'll settle the
account at once — if he dare to take it."

Lefevre's anxieties subsided, and left him wholly the subject
of admiration and gratitude. He seized the hand of his friend*—
" Thank you ! thank you I" said his lips ;— « Generous Wallis !"
said his heart, " why did I think of breaking with you !— I will

never .'* His convictions struggled with his overwrought

feelings— he could not expressly resolve on inviolable friendship."
Vol. 1, page 229.

We have been tempted to make this impressive extract for the
sake of those young men who do not yet know that borrowing of
money for unnecessary expenses will inevitably rob them of their
peace. Gratitude had now bound the generous Lefevre to his
unprincipled companion, he consents to spend a week in the coun-

Mo Ptttimi. lSf

try with Mm, but wtoont letting the RtisseTPa know where he waft

going. « So surely does a practice which our conscience condemns,
lead the most ingenious minds to concealment. The anticipated
week was a week of pleasure. The mornings were given to sport-
ing, and the evenings to convivial pleasure." " Lefevre had

brought himself to call this period a week of innocent recreation,
hut with all his speciousness he could not induce his heart to jus-
tify the appellation." He felt there was too much eating, too much
drinking, too much jesting, too much folly, in the absence of all
ele%ated and religious conversation, for hh conscience wholly to
approve. « And yet* said he fretfully, * why do I not approve ?•• The
rest are happy, why should I be miserable V In that moment of
passion, such is the wickedness of the human heart, he had almost
branded religion and iris religious connexions as the disturbers of
his peace 1"

The blossoms ef hope and resolution had however withered,
and vice had gained the ascendance : still he was unhappy. The
concert, the ball-room, the card-table, the tavern club, the theatre,
the masquerade, all witnessed his attendance— -but all left him un-
happy. Attendance on the sick-bed of his friend Douglas, tor
whom he still felt the warmest affection and esteem, arrested for
a moment his career-— but the dread of singularity, that bane of
young men, and the fear of being branded with the odious stigma
of memnness* if he should contract his expenses, tormented him.
Debt had destroyed his manly spirit, and dissipation must drown
reflection ! Still he was wretched—he condemned himself— curs-
ed his being, and flew to the stupifyiug draught ! The affection-

- ate admonitions of the Russels disgust him, and the tender letters
of bis mother, while they wound his heart, lead him only to disen-
genuous disguises of the truth. He changes his lodgings to free
himself from the restraints of inconvenient friendship, but is again
aroused by several letters from Mr. Douglas, who entreats him to
connider^ and informs him that he is about to complete his happi-
ness by an union with a lady of similar character with his own.
Poor Lefevre, now laments his past folly— begins a reformation,
and visits Miss D. with a view to confirm his good resolves by
by matrimonial comforts-he addresses her and is accepted. All
now went on very well, and he is wholly unprepared for a reverse
w-but Miss D. is informed by a rival of his excen&cs and he is dis-
missed, by a note from her, delivered by her grandmother, at the

12* Afc Fiction.

moment when be expected the day of bis nuptial* would have bees
named i His entreaties procure an interview, which, as it is the
only love-scene in the book, we must indulge our young readers
with at full length, and advise all young ladies to imitate the wis-
dom of Miss D.

" Hope and fear struggled in the bosom of Lefevre, at the sight
of her, so violently, that he could not address her.

" I had hoped you would have spared us this painful interview,"
said Miss D— , " but as you request it, I come."

44 O" said Lefevre, afflicted by her changed manner, " speak
not so coldly.— Receive my explanation— let me hope — "

" You have no reason to think me cold on such an occasion.
Alas ! I am not ashamed to acknowledge, this affair has cost me
more than you— more than my greatest enemy, would have wish-
ed me to suffer."

The forbidden tear stole from her eye* Lefevre was melted at
her emotion. He seized her hand, and exclaimed—" My dear
Miss D ! Let me "

She withdrew her hand, and interrupting him, said, u Mr. Le-
fevre, this is not wise. Do not misconstrue my involuntary feel-
ings. I do feel— but my feelings cannot change my opinion-
should I even sink under them, my resolution will remain the
same. To destroy the power of suspense on your mind, let me
deliberately assure you "

" O, say it not I" interrupted Lefevre— "I am lost if you say it !
Say you will use your influence to fix me in virtue— to raise me
to happiness I"

" I cannot— indeed I cannot .'" she replied, with an agitated
voice. " My heart knows I wish you happy — wish you every thing
that is good— but I must not sacrifice myself."

m No i" — Said he — »* you need not. I should be all you wish-
all I wish to be. Of you know not what power you have over me !"

" I cannot trust that power ! All who have trusted it, have re-
pented of it. In the past you have submitted to one temptation
after another, and what security is there for the future ? And,
eould that security be given, it would not be sufficient forme. No
—forgive me in saying it, duty imposes it on me— I could never
give my hand to a person, allowing him to be reformed, who has, in
former life, been familiarized with vice. This will convince you,
that I never can be your*. No— And in withdrawing my hand
from you, I do it with a resolution of never giving it to any other !
Yes— my vain dream of bliss is followed by real sorrows ! and I
only blame my own indiscretion for it !"

The tears flowed freely as she ceased. Lefevre stood motionless.
The struggle was deep in his soul. Hope expired— despair tri-
umphed—-the conflict of the passions produced a calm, more dread-
ful than their violence. At length, raising his eyes, and forgetful
for the moment of those about him, he exclaimed, with a tone as

M> Fiction. 189

deep as bis feeling, « O God ! it is thine hand-^and I deserve it !"
Then catching; her hand be pressed and repressed it to his burn-
ing lips, and dropping it, said, " There ! now it's all over i now I'm
a lost man ! The outcast of Providence ! — I have no friend !— no—
neither in heaven nor on earth ! — O, weep not for me— -I deserve
it not ! Best of women ! 1 ought not to be yours— I am not worthy
of you ! Forget me— Tell me I have not power to make you unhap-
py—that alone can give me some comfort !''

He paused— but was answered only by sobs and tears. He was
pa**ing to the door, but checking himself, he turned back, and said,
— * At least. Miss D— , do me the justice to believe, that, in my
conduct before you, I was not acting a fiart. No— whatever I have
been— whatever I may be— 1 was not a hypocrite. I acted upright-
ly—and really meant to be what I professed— Farewell— for ever
farewell !"

So saying, he dashed the stale tears from his eyelids— and hur-
ried from the room and the house. «

" Mr. Lefevre !" cried the agitated grandmother, " leave us not
thus."

" O, stay I stay 1"— exclaimed Miss D— — , roused by the voice
of her relative, to a sense of his departure, and losing all restraint
cm her feelings.

Lefevre did not obey— did not hear. He had fled to the stable—*
thrown himself on hit saddle, and, in an instant, the shoes of the
horse were ringing on the pebbled court yard. The chords of her
heart answered to every sound. She hastened to a window that
commanded aa comer of the road. She saw Lefevre turn the angle,
and disappear— she /W* it was for ever!— She clasped her hands in
anguish— a sense of suffocation rose to her throat— she hurried to
her closet to weep and sigh in secret !

Lefevre sighed not— wept not— spoke not— thought not The
vultures of remorse and despair were busy at his heart ; and he
surrendered it as a victim, without an effort or a wish for its pre*
serration. He was alive only to a sense of wretchedness ; and he
hurried over the road, which, an hour ago, had been so pleasing to
him, as if he felt that change of place might bring relief. Wretch-
edness, however, like happiness, is not the inhabitant of fllacc*
but of fiertton* $ and Lefevre found himself at home, without any
mitigation ot his pains. He locked his door, and threw himself
on some chairs that were near it, overcome with that stupor which
follows bodily exhaustion, and acute mental sufferings. Thus be
lay for some hours. Vol. 2. page 49.

Reason and hope, no longer casting their occasional glimmer-
ings on the victim of forbidden passions, Lefevre returns to intem-
perance. Intemperance disorders his business— and his employers
ask a statement of his accounts.

To be suspected after ten years of faithful services Gil up the

Vol. xii. 17

130 Jfo Fiction.

measure of Ms sufferings ! Indignant and sefecendeifmeA, deli-
rium and despair come next*- despair of all peace in this world, orin
that to come ! Despair, settles down into melancholy*— he escapes;
from his weepfog friends into the country, and is tempted by the
sight of a river to drown himself !

" The side to the water rose perpendicularly about four feet
above the surface, and descended several feet below it. To thi«
elevation Lefevre ascended. He walked to and fro, agitated with
those throes of passion, which, by the torment they gave, biassed
his mind to the sinister resolution. Weary of action and weary of
life, he sat himself on the stones at the very verge of the river.
This was the moment of trial ! The night had come on. Ob-
scurity had fallen on every thing but the waters ; on them the
moon beams played with most fascinating sweetness. Lefevre'*
frame was heated with fever and exercise ; no breeze was stirring
to invigorate it ; the river alone looked cool and refreshing, and
seemed inviting him to its very bosom. — He listened— not 9 sound
was to be heard. He looked round — not a living creature was to
be seen. His purpose strengthened-— he started on his feet. His
spirit shuddered with horror — not at the leap to the waters— but
at the idea of rushing into the presence of the great God he ha4
offended ! He walked about in agitation— sat down again. He
postponed a purpose which he had not power either to break or
fulfil— he would do it when the tide came to a certain height. Hia
aching eye hung over the bank, watching the awful progress of
the rippling waters. Now they ran over the stone, which was to
fill up the measure of his time— -but they sank again i The blood
fell back to his heart, and the sweat drops sprang on his forehead !
Now again the little waves ripple over the mark— and— subside no
more ! He rises from his seat for the last time ! He starts to
see a person in the path which ran along the bottom of the bank.
He paused to get the stranger out of sight. This was not so
reacHly done. He waited— -and waited ; and, at last concluding the
intruder meant to watch him, he descended to the pathway, and
left the place, full of indignation." Vol. ?. page 10?.

Thus happily discovered, he is restored to his distracted mo-
ther, but the solicitude of his friends moves him only to the deter-
mutation of hiding his disgraced head. He finds an opportunity
to abscond again, and enlists in a regiment ordered to Canada. The
last glimpse of his native land effected what every other effort had
failed to do— it is thus beautiful described,

" The ship how stood out to sea, and every object was distanc-
ed tQ hia sight. He painfully felt each inch of the way the vessel
made. Soon the light of day became fainter, and the distance more
considerable ; till England only appeared as a promontory on which
nothing could be distinguished, except the deep fogs that surround-
ed its foot, and the dim, heavy glory that pressed its summit. Inuv-

MeFictitu. 131

ginatkm vfeiB rtn over its favourite spots, and hit affections* ao long
inactive, obstinately clung to his friends, now the hand of time
threatened to separate him from them forever. His distressed
thoughts flew from thing to thing, and from one beloved person
to another, busy but restless ; as though the opportunity of dwel-
ling on them would be lost to him, immediately the receding point
of land should sink in the dark horizon. The vessel heaved— and
his eye was thrown from the dear spot on which it hung ! He
shifted his position — and strained every nerve of sight to recover
it. Now he saw it ! — no, it was a mist i Now !— no, it was a
wave ! Still his eye pierced to the line that bounded the sky and
water ; but, no*— nothing could be found !— Indescribable anguish
swelled within him. A thousand tender ties seemed snapped at
once. All the smothered sentiments of friendship, of filial affec-
tion, of local endearment, invigorated by the love of country, a pas-
sion so often found to survive other attachments, rose in his soul.
The depths of sorrow were broken up— tears gushed from his
eyes— he sank down on the deck, and long and bitterly did he
weep!** Vol. 2. page 156.

Salutary were the tears of Lefevre— They relieved the gloomy
torpor of his soul.

u The light of heaven seemed beaming through the sepa*
rating clouds of melancholy, and his whole conduct appeared
to bim in a totally new point of view. He was confounded at his
own folly and presumption, in tearing himself from the bosom of
bis friends, and his native country. The name of his mother qui*
vered on his lips, while he thought, for the first time seriously,
of the agonies she must have suffered through his rashness. .Soft-
enend by filial love, his mind turned to religious objects." Vol. 2.
page 158. *

" Painful was it to think of the pious entreaties he had slight-
ed-—of the privileges he had cast away— of the talents he had
squandered— of the immortal hopes he had pawned to a base and
deceitful world !"— " His heart filled." " O God 1" he cried, with
emotions made up of sorrow humility and love ; and the tears of
regret were changed into those of generous penitence i

Arrived in Canada, the penitent becomes once more excellent,
active, and useful. He writes to his friends and after a conside-
rable time they procure his discharge. The « fatted calf9' is killed
to receive the « prodigal son," and joy again illumines the virtuous
group. It is hard to part with our hero without marrying him to
the worthy Miss D. as any common writer would have done*— but
this is " No Fiction99— Miss D, had perhaps repented of her resolu-
tion—and given her hand to another— but for the honour of " in-
curable love9' this fact must be concealed. We have given large

1$2 J^o Fiction.

extracts to show the powers of ear author, in making an unpopu-
lar subject delightful.

Throughout there is much beautiful description, much pathos
—sound sense — and sound piety.

We are tempted to give one more passage which is so in
nature— « so truly womanly" that we should think no wan could
hare conceived it. The time, is the day ef Lefevre's return to
his first lodging and the kind Mrs. Russel's introducing him to
his former rooms.

" The minute thus stolen from ceremony, was given to the ex-
ercise of a lively and delicate affection. It gave Mrs. Russel op-
portunity to assure herself that all was arranged as she would
have it. Her truly womanly eye offended instantly by the want
of order and proportion, ran over the room. Every thing was in
its place— the whole looked well. Yet, thete was an unaccounta-
ble itching in ber fingers, to give a touch to all things. She strok-
ed the plaits of the curtains — regulated the drop of the blinds to
the light and to each other— ran her hand along the surface of
the book-shelves— shifted the desk and chair about half an inch
—hastened into the anti-chamber, passing her fingers over the
counterpane as she went— and opened, finally, the linen-drawer,
to see that nothing there was rumpled. All this was done in a
shorter time than is required to tell it ; and being done, Mrs. Rus-
sel took her stand in the middle of the room, waiting to mark with,
glistening eyes, the first impression on Lefevre." Vol. 2. page 273.

This is a very serious book, intended for instruction, not
amusement, yet it is so beautifully written— so truly interesting,
that we cannot believe those who be%in, will leave it unfinished.
If the people of England have read five editions, will the people
of America stop at two ? Are we less disposed to encourage lite-
rature—or are we less disposed to serious meditation ? We are
not inclined to concede either, to our trans-atlantic brethren ; but
we ought in justice to acknowledge, that the rapid circulation
of such a book, is presumptive evidence in favour of their moral
character, and reminds us of " the masculine morality — the so-
ber and rational piety which are found in all classes" ascribed to
this nation by Mr. Walsh, in one of the most eloquent passages
that ever fell from his pen.

From the specimens we have given, our readers must be satis-
fied with the language of « No Fiction:'1 but we beg leave to
enter our protest against an innovation, which this writer has
adopted, and which we have very lately observed to be creep-
ing in amongst ourselves—" Lefevre made a motion to leave.*'—

The Bogle of Annexe. 132

This phraseology occurs several times. To leave what ? To
leave whom ? We are no friends to innovation in our language— >
especially if its effect should be to leave the speaker's meaning
uncertain. H.

Art. XL— TAr Bogle ofAnnealU.
From the Etonian.

« < An9 ye winna believe i' the Bogle ?" said a pretty young las-
sie to her sweetheart, as they sat in the door of her father's cot-
tage one fine Autumn evening :— 4k Do you hear that, mither, An-
drew '11 no believe i' the Bogle !"

"Glide be wi* us, Effie i" exclaimed Andrew, — a slender and
delicate youth of about two-and-twenty?-— «* a bonny time I wad hae
•% gin I< were to heed every auld wife's clatter."

' The words " auld wife'1 had a manifest effect on Effie, and she
bit her lips in silence. Her mother immediately opened a batte-
ry upon the young man's prejudices, narrating that on Anneslie
Heath, at ten o'clock o' night, a certain apparition was wont to ap-
pear, in the form of a maiden above the usual size, with a wide
three cornered hat. Sundry other particulars were mentioned,
but Andrew was still incredulous. " He'll rue that, dearly will
be rue't !" said Effie, as he departed.

* Many days, however, passed away, and Effie was evidently
much disappointed to find that the scepticism of her lover gath-
ered strength. Nay, he had the audacity to insult, by gibes and
jests, the true believers, and to call upon them for the reasons of
their faith. Effie was in a terrible passion.

* At last, however, her prophecy was fulfilled. Andrew was
passing over the moor, while the clock struck ten ; for it was his
usual practice to walk at that hour, in order to mock the fears of
bis future bride. He was just winding round the thicket which
opened to him a view of the cottage where Effie dwelt, when he
beard a light step behind him, and, in an instant, his feet were
tripped up, and he was laid prostrate on the turf. Upon looking
up he beheld a tall muscular man standing over him, who, in no
courteous manner, desired to see the contents of his pocket
" Deil be on ye I" exclaimed the young forester, " I hae but ae
coini' the warld." " That coin maun I hae," said his assailant.

134 Th.c BofltofAnneilie.

« Faith 2 I'st show f e play fer't, then,9' said Andrew, and sprang
upon his feet

* Andrew was esteemed the best cudgel-player for twenty miles
round, so that in brief space, he cooled the ardour of his antago-
nist, and dealt such visitations upon his scuil as might have made
a much firmer head-ache for a fortnight. The man stepped back,
and, pausing in his assault, raised his hand to his forehead, and
buried it among his dark locks. It returned covered with blood.
" Thou hast cracked my crown," he Baid, " but yet ye sha' na
gang scatheless ;" and, flinging down his cudgel, he flew en his
young foe, and grasping his body before he was aware of the at-
tack, whirled him to the earth with an appalling impetus. «* The
Lord hae mercy on me !" said Andrew," I'm a dead man/'

< He was not far from it, for his rude foe was preparing to put
the finishing stroke to his victory. Suddenly something stirred
in the bushes, and the conqueror, turning away from his victim,
cried out, " the bogle ! the bogle !" and fled precipitately. An-
drew ventured to look up. He saw. the figure which had been
described to him approaching ; it came nearer and nearer; its
face was very pale, and its step was not heard oa the grass. At
last it stood by his side, and -looked down upon him. Andrew
buried his face in his cloak : presently the apparition spoke — in-
distinctly indeed, for its teeth seemed to chatter with cold :—
« This is a cauld an9 an eerie night to be sae late on Anneslie
Muir I" and immediately it glided away.— Andrew lay a few min-
utes in a trance ; and then arising from his cold bed, ran hastily
towards the cottage of his mistress. His hair stood on end, and
the vapours of the night sunk chill upon his brow as he lifted up
the latch, and flung himself on an oaken seat.

« Preserve us !" cried the old woman, " Why, ye are mair than
eneugh to frighten a body out o* her wits ? To come in wi' sic
a jaunt and a jerk, bareheaded, and the red blood scattered a9 o'er
your new leather jerkin ! Shame en you, Andwew ! in what mis-
hanter hast thou broken that fule's head o* thine !"

« Peace mither," said the young man, taking breath. " I hae
seen the bogle."

The old lady had a long line of reproaches, drawn up in order
of march between her lips ; but the mention of the bogle was the
signal for disbanding them. A thousand questions poured in, in

The BogU o/Jtme$H*. 135

rapid succession^—* How old was she ?* How waa she dressed !
Wl o was she like ? What did she say ?

« She was a tall thin Woman, about seven feet high iM

« Oh Andrew !" cried; Effic.

« As ugly as sin !M

« Other people tell a different story," said Effie.

" True on my Bible oath ! and then her beard"—-

M A beard ! Andrew/' shrieked Effie, " a woman with a beard ?
For shame, Andrew 1"

*« Nay, I will swear it !— She had seen full saxty winters afore
she died to trouble us !"

« I'll wager my best new goun," said the maiden, " that saxteen
would be nearer the mark."

•• But wha was she like, Andrew !" said the old woman. " Was
she like auld Janet that was drowned in the pond hard by ? or
that auld witch that your master hanged for stealing his pet lamb ?
or was she like— v

« Are you sure she was na like me, Andrew !" said Effie, look-
ing archly in bis face.

a You— Pshaw ! Faith, guid mither, she was like to naebody
that I ken, unless it be auld Elspeth, the cobler's wife, that was
spirited awa' by the Abbot, for breaking Father Jerome's head
wi' a tin frying pan V

" And how was she drest, Andrew ?" •

" In that horrible three cornered hat, which may I be blinded
if ever I seek to look upon again 1 an' in a lang blue apron."

« Green, Andrew !" cried Effie, twirling her own green apron
round her thumb.

" How you like to tease one !" said the lover. Poor Andrew
did not at all enter into his mistress's pleasantry ; for he laboured
under great depression of spirits, and never lifted his eyes from
the ground.

« But ye hae na tald us what she said, lad !" said the old woman,
assuming an air of deeper mystery as each question was put and
answered in its turn.

« Lord ! what signifies it whether she said this or that ! Haud
your tongue ! and get me some comfort j fdr, to speak truth, I'm
vera cauld."

Weil mayest thou be sae," said Effie ; •* for indeed," she con-
tinued, in a feigned voice, M it s»a* a cmtUd an9 an eerie night to be
eae late on AnneeUe Jtfutr."

186 Humboldt' $ Narrative.

Andrew started, and * doubt seemed to pass over his mind.
He looked up at the damsel, and perceived, for the first time, that
her large blue eye was laughing at him from under the shade of
a huge three-cornered Hat. The next moment he hung over her
in an ecstacy of gratitude, and smothered with his kisses the ridi-
cule which she forced upon him as the penalty of his preservation.

" Seven feet high, Andrew !"—

* My dear Effie !"— -

" As ugly as sin V9

" My darling lassie ?''—

« And a beard I"—

« Na ! na ! now you carry the jest o'er far !"

« And saxty winters !'»

« Saxteen springs ; Effie ! dear, delightful, smiling, springs I*

•« And Elspeth the cooler's wife ! oh ! Andrew, Andrew ! I never
can forgive you for the cobler's wife !— and what say you now,
Andrew ! is there nae bogle on the muir ?"

" My dear Effie ! for your sake I'll believe in a' the bogles in
Christendie !"

44 That is," said Effie, at the conclusion of a long and vehement
fit of risibility, " that is, in a' that wear three-cornered Hats."

Art. XII — From Baron Humboldt'* ficr tonal Narrative— Vol. 4.

[We have selected from Baron Humboldt's personal narrative, which has
not been republished in this country, the following account of his jour-
ney down the Bio Apure to its junction with the Oroonoko. We have
marked some other passages, which we shall give in a future number. — Ed.
P.F.]

Having passed the Diatante, we entered a land inhabited only
by tigers, crocodiles, and chigwre*, a large species of the genus
caria of Linnaeus. We saw flocks of birds, crowded so close to-
gether, as to appear against the sky like a dark cloud, that every
instant changed its form. The river widens by degrees. One of
its banks is generally barren and sandy from the effect of inunda-
tions : the other is higher and covered with lofty trees. Some-
times the river is bordered by forest, on each side, and forms a
straight canal, a hundred and fifty totses broad. The manner in
which the trees are disposed, is very remarkable. We first find
bushes of #auto forming a kind of hedge four feet high, and ap-
pearing as if they had been clipped by the hand of man. A copse

Humboldt* 9 Narrative. 137

ef cedars, brazillettoes, and lignum viae, rises behind this hedge.
Palm trees are rare ; we saw only a few scattered trunks of the
thorny pirilu and corozo. . The large quadrupeds of those regions,
the tigers, tapirs, and pecaris,have made openings in the hedge of
aautQs which we have just described. Through these the wild an-
imals pass, when they come to drink at the river. As they fear but lit-
tle the approach of a boat, we had the pleasure of viewing them,
pace slowly along the shore, till they disappeared, in the forest,
which they entered by one of the narrow passes left here
and there between the bushes. 1 confess that these scenes,
which were often repeated, had ever for me a peculiar at-
traction. The pleasure they excite is not owing solely to the in-
terest, which the naturalist takes in the objects of his study j it is
connected with a feeling common to all men, who have been
brought up in the habits of civilization. You find yourself in a
new world, in the midst of untamed and savage nature. Now it is
the jaguar, the beautiful panther of America, that appears upon
the shore, and now the hocco* with its black plumage and its
tufted head, that moves slowly along the buubo: Animals of the
most different classes succeed each other. " Es*e como en el Pa-
raiso,9ft said our pilot, an old Indian of the missions. Every thing
indeed here recalls to mind that state of the primitive world, the
innocence and felicity of which, ancient and venerable traditions
have transmitted to all nations : but, in carefully observing the
manners of animals between themselves, we see that they mutual-
ly avoid and fear each other. The golden age has ceased ; and in
this Paradise of the American forests, as well as every where else,
sad and long experience has taught all beings, that benignity is
seldom found in alliance with strength.

When the shore is of considerable breadth, the hedge of sauso
remains at a distance from the river. In this intermediate ground
we see crocodiles, sometimes to the number of eight or ten
stretched on the sand motionless, the jaws opened at right angles,
they repose by each other without displaying any of those marks
of affection, observed in other animals that live in society. The
troop separates as soon as they quit the shore. It is, however,
probably composed of one male only, and many females ; for, as
Mr. Descourtils, who has so much studied the crocodiles of St.

* Crax alector, the peacock pheasant ; c. pauxi, the cashew bird.
J u It is just as it was in Paradise."
Vol, xii. 18

13$ MumMdt'tMirTwHvt*

Domingo, observed fcefose me, the males are rare, because they
kiU one another in fighting' during the season of their leves.—
These monstrous reptiles are so numerous, that throughout the
*hole course of tie rivet- we had almost at every instant ftte or
sue in view. Vet at this period the swelling of the Rid Apure
was scarely perceived ; and consequently hundreds of crocodiles
were still buried in the mud of the savannah*. About four in the
afternoon we stopped to measure a dead crocodile, that the Waters
had thrown on the shore. It was ooiy sixteen feet eight inches
long ; some days after Mr. Bonpland found another, a male, twenty
two feet three inches long.. In every gone, in America as in Egypt,
this animal attains the same size. The species so abundant in the
Apure, the Oroonoko, and the Rio de la Magdalena, is not a cayman,
or alligator, bat a. real crocodile, with feet dentatcd at the exterv
nal edges* analagous to that of the Nile. When it i« recollected',
that the male enters the age of puberty only at ten years, and that
its length is then eight feet, we may presume, that the crocodile,
measured by Mr. Bonpland waa at least twenty-eight years old. The
Indians told us, that at San Fernando scarcely a year passes, without
two or three grown up persons, particularly women who fetch water
from the river, being drowned by these carniverous lizards. They
related to us the history of a young girl of UritUeu, who by singular
intrepidity and presence of mind, saved herself from the jaws of a
crocodile. When she felt herself seized, she sought the eyes of
the animal, and plunged her fingers into them with such violence,
that the pain forced the crocodile to let her loose, after having bit*
ten off the lower part of her left arm. The girl, notwithstanding
the enormous quantity of blood she lost, happily reached the shore,
swimming with the hand she had still left. In those desert coun-
tries, where man is ever wresting with nature, discourse daily
turns on the means, that may be employed to escape fiom a tiger,
a boa or traga venado, or a crocodile ; every one prepares himself
in some sort for the dangers that await him. I knew, said the
young girl of Uritucu coolly, " that the cayman lets go his hold,
if you push your fingers into his cyes.n Long after my return to
Europe I learned, that in the interior of Africa the negroes know
and practise the same means. Who does not recollect with* a live-
ly interest Imacoy the guide of the unfortunate Mungo Park, seiz-
ed twice, near Boulinkombou, by a crocodile, and twice escaping
from the jaws of the monster, having succeeded in placing
his fingers under water in both his eyes ? The African Ieaaco,

Humboldt' $ Jtartmtivc. 139

tod the young American, owed their safety to the tame pretence
of mind, aid the same combination of ideas*

The movements of the crocodile of the Apure are abrupt and
tapid when it attacks any object i but it mores with the slowness
of a salamander, when it is not excited by rage or hanger. The
animal in running makes a rustling neise, that seems to proceed
from the rubbing of the scales of its skin against one another. In
this movement it bends its back, and appears higher on its legs
than when at rest. We often heard this noise oi the scales Tory
near us on the shore ; but it is not true, as the Indiana pretend,
that, like the pangolins, the old crocodiles * can erect their scales,
and every part of their armour/' The motion of these animals is
no doubt generally in a straight line, or rather tike that of an ar-
row which changes its direction at certain distances. However,
notwithstanding the little apparatus of false ribs, that connects the
vertebrae of the neck, and seems to impede the lateral movement,
crocodiles can turn easily, when they please. I often saw young
ones biting their tails ; and other observers have seen the same
action in crocodiles at their full growth. If their movements al-
most always appear to be straight forward, it is because, like our
small lisards* tbey execute them by starts. Crocodiles are excel-
lent swimmers ; they go with facility against the most rapid cur-
rent. It appeared to nie, however,, that in descending the river
they had some difficulty in turning quickly about A large dog
that had accompanied us in our journey from Caraccas to the Rio
Negro, was one, day pursued in swimming by an enormous croco-
dile, which had nearly reached him, when the dog escaped its en-
emy by turning round suddenly and swimming against the current*
The crocodile performed the same movement, but much more
slowly than the dog, which happily gained the shore.

The crocodiles of the Apure find abundant nourishment in the
Chiguires, (the thick nosed tapir of the naturalists,) whicli live
50 or 60 together in troops on the banks of the river. These un-
fortunate animals, as lsrge as our pigs, have no weapons of de-
fence ; they swim somewhat better than tbey run : yet they become
the prey of the crocodiles in the water, as of the tigers on land*
It is difficult to conceive, how, persecuted by two powerful ene-
mies, they can become so numerous ; but they breed with the same
rapidity as the cobayas, or little guinea-pigs, which come to us
from Brazil.

1 40 Humboldt* 9 Narrative.

We stopped below the mouth of the Cano de la Tigrera, ii> a
sinuosity called La Vuelta del Joval, to measure the velocity of
the water at its surface. It was not more than 3.2 feet in a second ;
which gives 2.56 feet for the mean velocity. The barometrical
heights, attending to the effects of the little horary variations, indi-
cated scarcely a slope of seventeen inches in a mike of nine hun-
dred and fifty toises. The velocity is the simultaneous effect of
the slope of the ground, and the accumulation of the waters by the
swelling of the upper parts of the river. We were again surround-
ed by chiguires, which swim like dogs, raising the head and neck
above the water. We saw with surprise a large crocodile on the
opposite shore, motionless, and sleeping in the midst of these nib-
bling animals. It awoke at the approach^ of our canoe, and went
into the water slowly, without affrighting the chiguires. Our In-
dians accounted for this indifference by the stupidity of the ani-
mal ; but it is more probable, that the chiguires know by long
experience, that the crocodile of the Apure and the Oroonoko
does not attack upon land, unless he finds the object he would
seize immediately in his way, at the instant when he throws him-
self into the water*

Near the Joval nature assumes an awful and savage aspect*—*
We there saw the largest tiger we had ever met with. The na-
tives themselves were astonished at its prodigious length, which
surpassed that of all the tigers of India I had seen in the collec-
tions of Europe. The animal lay stretched beneath the shade of
a large zamang.* It had just killed a chiguire, but had not yet
touched its prey, on which it kept one of its paws. The zamuroes,
a species of vulture *hich we have compared above to the perc-
nopterus of Lower Egypt, were assembled in flocks to devour the
remains of the jaguar's repast. They afforded the most curious spec-
tacle, by a singular mixture of boldness and timidity. They advanc-
ed within the distance of two feet from the jaguar, but at the least
movement the beast made, they drew back. In order to observe
more nearly the manners of these animals, we went into the little
boat, that accompanied our canoe. Tigers very rarely attack boats
by swimming to them ; and never but when their ferocity is
heightened by a long privation of food. The noise of our oars led
the animal to rise slowly and hide itself behind the •auno bushes

* A species of mimosa.

Humboldt'* Jfarrattvr. HI ,

that bordered the shore. The vultures tried to profit by this mo-
ment of absence to devour the chiguire : but the tiger, notwith-
standing the proximity of our boat, leaped into the midst of them ;
and in a fit of rage, expressed by his gait and the movement of his
tail, carried off his prey to the forest. The Indians regretted,
that they were not provided with their lances, in order to go on
shore, and attack the tiger. They are accustomed to this weap-
on, and were right in not trusting to our musquets, which, in an
air so excessively humid, often miss fire.

Continuing to descend the river, we met with the great herd'
of chiguires, which the tiger had put to flight, and from which he
had selected his prey. These animals saw us land with great tran-
quility ; some of them were seated, and gazed upon us, moving
the upper lip like rabbits. They seemed not to be afraid of men,
but the sight of our great dog put them to flight. Their hind
legs being longer than their fore legs, their pace is a slight gal-
lop, but with so little swiftness, that we succeeded in catching two
of them. • The chiguire, which swims with the greatest agility,
utters a short moan in running, as if its respiration were impeded.
It is the largest of the family of gnawing animals. It defends it-
self only at the last extremity, when it is surrounded and wound-
ed. Having great strength in its grinding teeth, particularly the
hinder ones, which are pretty long, it can tear the paw of a tiger,
or the leg of a horse, with its bite. Its flesh has a smell of musk
somewhat disagreeable ; yet hams are made of it in this country,
which almost justifies the name of water hog given to the chiguire
by some of the older naturalists. The missionary monks do not
hesitate to eat these hams during lent. According to their Zoo-
logical classifications, they place the armadillo, the thick nosed
tapir, and the manatee near the tortoises ; the first, because it is
covered with a hard armour, like a sort of shell, and the others be-
cause they are amphibious. The chiguires are found in such
numbers on the banks of the river Santo Domingo, Apure and
Arauca,in the marshes and the inundated savannahs, of the Llanos,
that the pasturages suffer from them. They browze the grass
which fattens the horses best, and which bears the name of chi-
gufrero, '« chiguire grass.99 They feed also upon fish ; and we
saw with surprize, that, affrighted by the approach of a boat, the
animal in diving remains eight or ten minutes under water.
We passed the night as usual, in the open air, though in a

14? Bu*U>qI(U>9 Afarratfpt,

fllantation, the proprieor of which employed himself in hunting
tigers. He was almost miked, and of a dark brown complexion
Uke a £ambo. This did not prevent his thinking himself of the
cast of Whites. He called his wife and his daughter, who were
as naked as himself, Qonna Isabella, and Donna M&nuela. With-
out haying ever quitted the banks of the Apure, he took a lively
interest " in the news of Madrid, in those wars which never end-
ed and in every thing down yonder ; toda* la§ co*a§ de alia."
He knew, that the king was soon to come and visit « the grandees
of the country of Caraccas," but, added be with some pleasantry,
" as the people of the court can eat only wheaten bread* they
will never pass beyond the town of Victoria, and we shall not see
them here." I had brought with me a chiguire, which I had
intended to have roasted ; but our host assured us, thai such " In*
dian g^me" was not food fit for uqm otro* cavallero* bianco << white
gentlemen like him tnd me/* Accordingly be offered us some
venison, which he had killed the day before with an arrow, for he
had neither powder nor fire arms.

We supposed that a small wood of plantain trees concealed
from us the hut of the farm : but this man, so proud of his nobility
ap4 the colour of his skin, had not taken the trouble of construct-
ing an qjoiifia of palm leaves. He invited us to have our ham-
xpocks hung near his own, between two trees ; and he assured us
with an stir of complacency, that, if we came up the river in the
rainy season, we should find n him beneath a roof, (baxo techoJ)
We soon had reason to complain of a philosophy, which, indul-
ged to indolence, renders a man indifferent to the conveniences
qf life. A furious wind arose after midnight, lightnings ploughed
the Jioriaon, the thunder rolled, and we were wet to the skin.
Puring this storm a whimsical incident served to amuse us for a
inoment. Donna Isabella's cat had perched upon the tamarind-tree,
at the foot of which we lay. It foil into the hammock of one of
our companions, who, wounded by the claws of the cat, and awa-
kened from a profound sleep, thought he was attacked by some
wild beaqt of the forest. We ran to him on hearing his cries,
and h^d some trouble to convince him of his error* While it
rained in torrents on our hammocks, and the instruments we had
landed, don Ignacio congratulated us on our good fortune in not
sleeping on the strand, but finding ourselves in his domain,
among whites and persons of rank ; entrc genie blanca y de trmto.

Htmbof6f9 Mrrattve. 14$

Wee air w* wet*, we could not easily persuade durserte* of the
advantages of our situation, and listened with some impatience to
the long narrative our front gave us of his pretended expedition
Co Rio Meta, of the' Valour he had displayed hi a bloody combat
With the Guahibo Indians, and " the services that he bad rendered
God and' his King, in carrying away children (lot Indieeitoa) from*
their parents, to distribute them in the missions." How singular a'
spectacle, to find hi that vast solitude a man, #ho believes himself
of European race, and knows no Other shelter than the shade of a
tree, with all the vain pretensions, all the hereditary prejudices,
all the errors, of long civilization I

April the 1st. At sun rise we quitted signior don Ignacio, and
Signora donna Isabella his wife. The weather was cooler, for
the thermometer, which generally kept up in the day to 30 or 35*
had sunk to 24°. The temperature of the river was little changed, it'
continued constantly at 26° or 27°. The current carried With it
an enormous quantity of trunks of trees. We mightimagine, that
On ground entirely smooth, and where the eye cannot distinguish
die least hill, the river would have formed by the force of its
current a channel in a straight line. A glance at the map, which
I traced by the compass, will prove the contrary. The two banks,
worn by the waters, do not furnish an equal resistance ; and al-
most imperceptible inequalities of the level suffice to produce
great sinuosities, yet below the Joval, where the bed of the river
enlarges a little, it forms a channel that appears perfectly straight,
and is shaded on each side by very tall trees. This part of the
river is called Cano Ricco. I found it to be one hundred and thirty
six toises broad. We passed a low island, inhabited by thousands
of flamingoes rose-coloured spoonbills herons, and moorhens,
which displayed a mixture of the most various colours. These
birds were so close together, that they seemed to be unable to stir.
The island they inhabit is called Ula de Ave: Lower down we
passed the point, where the Rio Arichuna, an arm of the Apure,
branches off to the Cabulare, carrying off a considerable body of
its waters. We stopped on the right bank, at a little Indian mis-
sion, inhabited by the tribe of the Guamoes. There were yet only
sixteen or eighteen huts constructed with the leaves of the palm
tree ; yet, in the statistical tables presented annually by the mis-
sionaries to the court, this assemblage of huts is marked with the
> of the village de Santa Barbara de Arichuna.

144 Humboldt* • Narrative.

The Guamoes are a race of Indians very difficult to fix on a set-
tled spot. They have great similarity of manners with the
Achaguas, the Guajiboes,* and the Oiomacoes, partaking their
disregard of cleanliness, their spirit of vengeance, and their taste
for wandering ; but their language differs essentially. The greater
part of these four tribes live by fishing and hunting, in plains of-
ten inundated, and situated between the Apure, the Meta, and the
Guaviare. The nature of these regions seems to invite the na-
tions to a wandering Life. On entering the mountain* of the Cataract*
of the Oroonoko we shall soon find among the Piraoa*% the Macoe*f
and the Maquiritare*, milder manners, the love of agriculture,
and great cleanliness in the interior of their huts. On the backs
of mountains, in the midst of impenetrable forests, man is com-*
pelfed to fix himself, and cultivate a small spot of land.— This cul-
tivation requires little care ; while in a country where there are no
other roads than rivers, the life of the hunter is laborious and dif-
ficult. The Guamoes of the mission of Santa Barbara could not
furnish us with the provision we wanted. They cultivate only a
little cassava. They appeared hospitable ; and, when we entered
their huts, offered us dried fish and water (in their tongue cub.)
This water was cooled in porous vessels.

Beyond the Vuclta del Cochino roto> in a spot where the river
has scooped itself a new bed, we passed the night on a bare and
very extensive strand. The forest being impenetrable, we had
the greatest difficulty to find dry wood to light fires, near which
the Indians believe themselves in safety from the nocturnal attacks
of the tiger, Our own experience seems to depose in favour of
this opinion ; but M. d'Azzara asserts, that in his time a tiger in
Paraguay carried off a man who was seated near a fire lighted in
the savannah.

The night was calm and serene, and there was a beautiful
moonlight. The crocodiles were stretched along the shore.
They placed themselves in such a manner as to be able to see the
fire. Wc thought we observed, that its splendour attracted them,
as it attracts fishes, crayfish, and other inhabitants of the water.
The Indians showed us the traces of three tigers in the sand, two
of which were very young. A female had no doubt conducted her
little ones to drink at the river. Finding no tree on the strand, wc

* Their Indian name is Guaiva pronounced GuaMvm.

Humholdt'i Mirrativt. 144

stuck our oars in the .ground, and to these we fastened w ham-
mocks Every thing passed tranquilly till eleven at night ; and
then a noise so terrific arose in the neighbouring forest, that it
was almost impossible to close our eyes. Amid the cries of so
many wild beasts howling at once, the Indians discriminated such
only as were heard separately. These were the little soft cries.
of the sapajous, the moans of the alouates* the bowlings of the ti-
gi-r. the couguar, or American lion without mane, the pecarii
an<t the. sloth, and the voices of cura&soa, tjfee parraka, and some
other gallinaceous birds* When the jaguars approached the skirt of
the forest, our dog, wbiqh x\\\ then had never ceased barking, began
to liowj and seek for shelter beneath our hammocks. Sometimes, a£
Vtr a long silence, the cry of the tiger came from the tops of the
tret* ; and in this case it was followed by the sharp and long whist*
B/ig of the monkeys, which appeared to flee from the danger
that threatened them

I notice every circumstance of these nocturnal scenes, because)
being reoently embarked on the Rio A pure, we were not yet ac-
Cjubtomed to them. We heard the same noises repeated, during
the course of whole months, whenever the forest approached the
bed of the rivers. The security displayed by the Indians inspires
travellers with confidence. You persuade yourself witb them*
that the tigers are afraid of fire, and do not attack a man lying in
bis hammock* These attacks are in fact extremely rare ; and, dur-
ing a long abode in South America, I remember only one example
of a Llanero, who was found torn in his hammock opposite the
i+Jand of Achaguas.

When the natives arc interrogated on the causes of this tre-
mendous noise made by the beasts of the forest, at certain hours
of the night, they reply gaily, " they are keeping the feast of the
full moon I"

I believe this agitation is most frequently the effect of some
contest, that has arisen in the depths of the forest. The jaguars,
for instance, pursue the pecans and the tapirs, which, having no
defence hut in their numbers, flee in close troops, and break down
the boshes they find in their way. Affrighted at this struggle, the
timid and mistrustful monkies answer from the tops of the trees,
the cries of the large animals. They awaken the birds that live-
in society, and by degrees the whole assembly is in movement.—*
AJfe »h*tt soon find, that, it U not always in. a tu>P moonlight, but
Vol. xii. 19

U6 Humboldt9* Mtrrative.

i
more particularly at the time of a storm and violent showers, that
this tumult takes place among the wild beasts. u May heaven
grant them a quiet night and repose, and us also !" said the monk
who accompanied us to the Rio Negro, when, sinking with fatigue,
he assisted in arranging our accomodations for the night It was
indeed a strange situation, to find no silence in the solitude of
woods. In the inns of Spain we dread the sharp sounds of guitars
from the next apartment; in those of the Onoonoko, which are an
open beach, or the shelter of a solitary tree, we are afraid of being
disturbed in our sleep by voices issuing from the forest.
• April 2d. We set sail before sunrise. The morning was beau-
tiful and cool, according to the feelings of those, who are accus-
tomed to the heats of these climates. The thermometer rose to
38° only in the air ; but the dry and white sand of the beach, not-
withstanding its radiation toward a sky without a cloud, retained
a temperature of 36°. The porpoises (tonina*) ploughed the ri-
ver in long files. The shore was covered with fishing birds.—
Some of these embarked on the floating wood, that passed down
the river, and surprized the fish that preferred the middle of the
stream. Our canoe touched several times during the morning.
These shocks, when violent, are capable of splitting a light bark.
We struck on the points of several' large trees, which remain for
years in an oblique position, sunk in the mud. These trees de-
scend from Sarare, at the period of great inundations. These so
fill the bed of the river, that canoes in going up find it difficult
sometimes to make their way over the shoals, or wherever there
arc eddies. We reached.a spot near the island of Csrizales, where
we saw trunks of the locust tree of an enormous size above the
surface of the water. They were covered with a species of plo-
tus nearly approaching the anhinga, or white-bellied darter. These
birds perch in files, like pheasants and parrakas. They remain
for hours entirely motionless, with the beak raised toward the sky,
which gives them a singular air of stupidity.

Below the island of Carizales we observed a diminution of the
waters of the river, at which we were so much the mere surprised}
as, after the bifurcation at la Boca dc Arichuna^ there is no branch,
no natural drain, that takes away water from the Apure. The
loss is solely the effect of evaporation, and of filtration on a sandy
and wet shore. We may form an idea of the magnitude of these
effects) when we recollect) that we found the heat of the dry sands.

Humboldt* 9 Narrative. 1 if

at different hours of the day, from 36° to 53° and that of sands cov-
ered with three or four inches of water 39°. The beds of rivers
are heated as far as the depth, to which the solar rays can pene-
trate without having undergone too great an extinction in their
passage through the super incumbent strata of water. Besides,
the effect of filtration extends far beyond the bed of the river ; it
may be said to be lateral. The shore, which appears dry to us, im-
bibes water as far as the level of the surface of the river. We saw
water gush out at the distance of 50 toises from the shore, every time
that the Indians stuck their oars into the ground ; now these sands,
wet underneath, but dry above, and exposed to the solar rays, act
like a sponge. They are losing the infiltrated water every in-
stant by evaporation. The vapour, that is emitted, traverses the
upper stratum of sand strongly heated, and becomes sensible to
the eye when the air cools toward the evening. As the beach dries,
it draws from the rivers new portions of water; and it may be con-
sidered,that this continual alternation of vaporization and lateral im*
didition must cause an immense loss, difficult to submit to exact cal-
culation. The increase of these losses would be in proportion to
the length of the course of the rivers, if from their source to their
mouth they were equally surrounded by a flat shore ; but these
shores being formed by depositions from the water, and the water
having less velocity in proportion as it is more remote from its
source, deposing necessarily more in the lower than in the upper
part of its course, many rivers of hot climates undergo a diminu-
tion in the quantity of their water, as they approach their mouth.
Mr. Barrow has observed these curious effects of sa*ids in the
southern part of Africa, on the banks of Orange river. They
are even become the subject of a very important discussion, in
the various hypotheses that have been formed on the course of
the Niger.

Near the Vuelta de Basilio, where we landed to collect plants,
we saw on the top of a tree, two beautiful little monkies, black
as jet, of the size of the sai, with ftrehen*Ue tails. Their physi-
ognomy and their movements sufficiently showed, that they were
neither the quato [simia beelzebub, L.], nor the chamek, nor any
of the atclc: Our Indians themselves had never seen any that
resembled them. These forests abound in sapajous unknown to
the naturalists of Europe ; and as monkeys, especially those that
live in troops, and for this reason are more enterprising, make

148 Humboldt** Mrr+athm.

long emigrations, *t certain periods, it happen^ thtt attheftefti**
Ding of the rainy Reason the natives discover Vound their hutsxlif*
ferent kinds, Which thejr had never before observed. Oh this kame
bank, bdr guides showed us 'a nest of young iguanas, that wem
only.fotir inches long. It was difficult to distinguish them from
h common lizard. There wa* nothing yet formed but the dew-
lap below the throat. The dorsal spines, the large erect scales,
all those appendages, that render the iguana so monstrous when
ft attains the length of three or four feet, were scarcely traced.

The flesh of this animal of the taurien family appeared to us to
have an agreeable taste in every country, where the climate it
very dry ; we even found it so at periods when we where not -fa
want of other food. It b extremely white, and next to the flesh
of the armadillo, here called cachicamo, one of the best eatables
to be found in the huts of the natives.

It rained towards the evening. Before the ndn fell, swallows,
exactly resembling our own, skimmed over the surface of the wa-
ter. We saw also a flock of paroquets pursued by little goshawks
without crests. The piercing cries of these paroquets contrasted
singularly with the whistling of the birds of prey. We passed
the night in the open air, upon the beach, near the island of Caii-
e&les. There were several Indian huts in the neighbourhood,
Surrounded with plantations. Our pilots 'assured us before hand*
that we should not hear the cries of the jaguar, which, When not
extremely pressed by hunger, withdraws from places where be
does not rule alone. " Men put him out of humour," lot hombre*
la mfadan, say the people in the missions, a pleasant, and simple
expression, that marks a well observed fact.

April 3d. Since our departure from San Fernando we have not
tnet a single boat on this fine river. Every thing denotes the
most profound solitude. In the morning our Indians caught with
■a hook the fish known in the country by the name of caribe, or
xaribito, because no Other fish has such a thirst for blood. It at-
tacks bathers and swimmers, from whom it oftfch carries away con-
siderable pieces of flesh. When a person is only slightly wound-
ed, it is difficult for him to get om of the 'water Without receiving
•a 'severer wound. The Indians dread extremely these earibc* ;
<and several of them shewed us the scars of deep wounds, in the
"calf of the leg and in the ttrigh, made by these 'little animals, which
the Maypiires call ubiuti. They live at the bottom Of rivers ; but

ttrtftMfr't Wkrrutive. 141

if a few drops of blood, be shed on the water, they arrive by thou*
sands at the surface. When* we reflect on the number of
these fish, the tncfet voracious and cruel of which are only four or
five incite* long ; cm the triangular form of their sharp and cutting
teeth, ttnd on the amplitude of their retractile mouth, we need not
be surprised at the fear which the carioe excites in the inhabit^
ant* of the banks of the A pure and the Oroonoko. In places where
the river was very limpid, and Where not a fish appeared, we
thttWinto the water little morsel* ©i flesh covered with blood.
In a few minutes a cloud of caribes came to dispute the prey.
The belly of this fibh has a cutting edge, indented like a saw ; a
character that may be traced in several kinds, the #trro-*o/mr#,
die my/r/et, and the flrUtigattre*. The presence of a second
adipoua dorsal fin ; and the form of the teeth, covered by lips dis-
tant from each other, and largest in the lower jaw ; place the r«-
tide among the *<rrra-»a/me«. Its mouth is much wider than that
of the mylettu of Mr. Cuvier. It's body toward the back is ash*
coloured, with a tint of green ; but the belly, the gill covers, and
the pectoral, anal, and ventral fins, are of a fine orange. Three
aperies (or varieties) are known in the Oroonoko, and are distin-
guished by their sise. The mean, or intermediate, appears to be
identical with the mean species of the piraya, or piranha of Maro
grav. (Saimo Thombeu*,\At\.) I described and drew it on the spot.
The cariblto- has a very agreeable taste. As no one dares to
bathe where it is found, it may be considered as one of the great-
eat scourges of those climates, in which the sting of the moschet-
toes, and the irritation of the skin, render the use of baths so ne-
cessary.

We stopped at noon in a desert spot called jftgodonaL I left
my companions, while they drew the boat to land, and wtrejoccu-
piedfo preparing our dinner. 1 went along the beach to observe
nearer a -group of crocodiles sleeping in the sun, and placed in
auch a mdnner, as to have their tails, furnished tuth broad plates,
Vesting on one another. Some little herons, white as snow, walk-
ed along their backs, and eVen upon their beads, as if they mere
passing over trunks of trees. The crocodiles were of a gt'eenitfh
grey, half covered with dried mud ; from their colour and immobi-
lity they might have been taken for statues of bronze. This ex-
cursion had nearly proved fetal to me. I had kept my eyes con-
stantly turned toward the river ; but, on picking up some spangles

150 Humboldt'* Marratwe.

4>f mica agglomerated together in. the sand, X discovered the re*
cent footsteps of a tiger, easily .distinguishable from their form
and size. The animal had gone toward the forest ; and turning
my eyes on that side, I found myself within eighty steps of a ja-
guar, lying under the thick foliage of a ceiba. No tiger had ever
appeared to me so large.

There are accidents in life, against which we might seek in
vain to fortify our reason. I was extremely frightened, and yet
sufficiently master of myself, and of my motion*, to enable me to fol-
low the advice which the Indians had often given us, how to act in
such cases. I continued to walk on, without running; avoided moving
my arms ; and thought I observed that the jaguar's attention waa
fixed on a herd of caflybara; which were crossing the river.— I
then began to return, making a large circuit toward the edge of
the water. As the distance increased, I thought 1 might accelerate
my pace. How often was I tempted to look back in order to assure
myself that I was not pursued ! Happily I yielded very tardily to
this desire. The jaguar had remained motionless. These enor-
mous cats with spotted robes, are so well fed in countries abound-
ing in capybaraHy fiecari*, and deer, that they rarely attack men. I
arrived at the boat out of breath, and related my adventure to the
Indians. They appeared very little moved by it ; yet, after having
loaded -our firelocks, they accompanied us to the ceiba, beneath
which the jaguar had lain. He was there no longer, and it would
have been imprudent to have pursued him into the forest where
we must have dispersed, or marched in file, amid intertwining
lianas.

In the evening we passed the mouth of the Cano del Manatiy
thus named on account of the immense quantity of manatees
caught there every year. This herbivorous animal of the ceta-
ceous family, called by the Indians aficia and ovia, attains here ge-
nerally ten or twelve feet in length. It weighs from five hundred
to eight hundred pounds. We saw the water covered with ii'a
excrements, which are very fetid, but perfectly resembling those
of an ox. It abounds in the Oroonoko, below the cataracts, in the
Rio Mela, and in the Apure, between the two islands of Carrizales
and Conserva. We found no vestiges of nails on the external sur-
face or the edge of the fins, which are quite smooth ; but little ru-
diments of nails appear at the third phalanx, when the skin of the
fins is taken off. We dissected one of these animals, which was

HumboldtU Narrative. 151

nine feet long, at Carichana, a mission of the Oroonoko. The
tipper lip was four inches longer than the lower. It is covered
with a very fine skin, and serves as a proboscis or probe to dis-
tinguish surrounding objects. The it*stde of the mouth, which
has a sensible warmth in an animal newly killed, presents a very
singular conformation. The tongue is almost motionless; but
before the tongue there is a fleshy excrescence in each jaw, and
» concavity, lined with a very hard skin, into which the excrescence
fits. The manatee eats such quantities of grass, that we have
found it's stomachy which is divided into several cavities, and it's
Intestines, which are a huudred and eight feet long, alike filled
with it. On opening the animal at the back, we were struck with
the magnitude, form, and situation of it's lungs. They have very
large cells, and resemble immense swimming bladders. .They
are three feet long. Filled with air, they have a bulk of more than
a thousand cubic inches. I was surprised to see, that, possessing
auch considerable receptacles for air, the manatee comes so often
to the surface of the water to breathe. It's flesh, which, from
what prejudice I know hot, is considered unwholesome and eaten-
turfowa, is very savoury. It appeared to me to resemble pork ra-
ther than beef. It is most esteemed by the Guanoes and the Ot-
tomacks ; and these two nations addict themselves particularly
to the catching of the manatee. It's flesh, salted and dried in the
Sun, can be preserved a whole year ; and, as the clergy regard *
this mammiferous animal as a fish, it is much sought for during
Lent. The vital principal is singularly strong In the manatee ; it
ia tied after being harpooned, but is not killed till it has been ta-
ken into the canoe. This is effected, when the animal is very
large, in the middle of the river, by filling the canoe two-thirds
with water, aliding it under the animal, and then bailing out the
water by means of a calebash. This fishery is the easiest after
great inundations, when the manatee has passed from the great
rivers into the lakes and surrounding marshes, and the waters di-
minish rapidly. At the period when the Jesuits governed the
missions of the lower Oroonoko, they assembled every year at
Cabruta, below the mouth of the Apure, to have a grand fishing
for manatees, with the Indians of their missions, at the foot of the
mountain now called El Cafiuchino. The fat of the animal, known
by the name oimanteca dcmanmti, is used for lamps in the churches;
and is also employed in preparing food. It baa aot the fetid smell

I ** MumtoMs9; Mm**?*

e4 inhale oil, or that of other cetaceous anifnsJs that spout water.
The hide of the manatee, which is more than an inch and a half
thick, is cut into slips, and serves, lik^e thongs of ax leather, to
supply the place of cordage in the Llanos. When immersed in
water, it has the defect of undergoing an incipient degree of pu-
trefaction. Whips are made of it in the Spanish colonies. Hence
she words latigo and maiutfiare aynonimous. These whips of ma-
natee leather are a cruel instrument of punishment for the unhap-
py slaves,- and even for the Indians of the missions, who, accord
ing to tbe laws, ought to be treated like free nien,

We passed the; night opposite the island of Conserva. In skirt-
mg the fej?es*i ace were struck at the view of an enormous trunk
of a tt ee seventy feet high, and thickly set with branching thorns.

II ia called by the natives barba de tigre* It was perhaps a tree
of the berbertdeous family. The Indians hafl kindled fires at the
e^ge o£ the water. W« again, perceived, that thei* light attracted
th* crocodiles, and even tb* porpoises ((Qnfna*,) the noise of
which inHf irupie4 our sieepi till the fire was extinguished. W*
bad W> persons on the watch this, night ; whi<+ I mention only
hec***e it serves to paint the savage character oC these places.
A female jaguar approached our station in taking her young one
to drink at the rive*. The Indian* succeeded in Chasing her away,
hut we heard for a long tune the cries of the little jaguar, which
moved like a young ca*. Soon after our great dog was bitten,
or, aa the Indiana say, ffficked, at the point of the nose by some
enormous bats, tha* hovered around our hammpeks. They were
famished with * long tajl> like the *w/o««.*«; I believe however,
that they were fihylht&mtti the tongue of* which, furnished with
papilla, is an organ of suction, and is capable of being considera-
bly elongated* The wound was very small and round. Though
the dog uttered a plaintive cry, when he felt himself bitten, it was
not from pain, but because he was affrighted at the sight of the
bata, that' came out from beneath our hammocks. These accidents
are much more rare than is believed even in the country itself!
In the course of several years, notwithstanding we slept so often
in the open air, in climates where vampires* and other analogous
species are so common, we were never wounded. Besides, the
puncture is no way dangerous, and in general causes so liule pahs*

* * Vetjpcrti|io spectmm.

Humboldt* Mtrrativf. 153

that it often docs not awaken the person, till after the bat has with*
drawn.

April the 4th. This was the last day we passed on the Rio
Apure. The vegetation of it's banks become more and more uni-
form We had begun for some days past, particularly since we had
left the mission of Arichuna, to suffer cruelly from the stings of
insects, that covered our faces and hands. They were not mos*
chettoes, which have the appearance of little flies, or of the genus
*i tffutiuA but zancudoe; which are real gnats, very different from
our culex pipiens.* These tipulariae appear only after sunset.
Their proboscis is so long, that, when they fix on the lower sur-
face of a hammock, they pierce the hammock and the thickest gar*
ments with their sting*

We bad intended to pass the night at the Vuelta del PatyUoj
but the number of jaguars at this part, of the Apure. is so great,
that our Indians found two hidden behind the trunk of a locust*
tree, at the moment when they were going to sling our hammocks.
We were advised to re-embark* and take our station in the island
of Apurito, near its junction with the Oroonoko. That portion
of the island belongs to the province of Caraccas, while the right
banks of the Apure and the Oroonoko make a part, one of the
province of Varinas, the other of Spanish Guayana. We found
no trees to which we could suspend our hammocks, and were
obliged to sleep on ox hides spread on the ground. The boats
are too narrow, and too full of zancudoea, to pass the night in them.

In the place where we had landed our instruments, the banks
being steep, we saw new proofs of what I have elsewhere called
the indolence of the gallinaceous birds of the tropics. The curas-
soas and cashew birdst have the habit of going down several times
a day to the river to allay their thirst. They drink a great deal,
and at short intervals. A great number of these birds had joined
themselves near our station to a flock of parraka pheasants. They
had great difficulty in climbing up the steep banks ; they attempt-
ed it several times without using their wings. We drove them
before us, as you would drive sheep. The zamuro vultures also
raise themselves from the ground with great reluctance.

I had a good observation after midnight of the meridian height

* Mr. Latreille ha* discovered, that the moschettoes of South Carolina are
ef the genus simulium (attractocera meigen.)

t The latter (crax pauxi) is leas common than the former.
VOL. XIX. 20

154 Humboldt9 9 Narrative.

of « in the Southern Cross. The latitude of the mouth of the
Apure ib 7° 36' 'J J". Father Gumilla fixes it at 5° 5' , U'Auville
at 7° 3' ; and Caulin at 7° 'itf. The longitude of the Boca of the
Apure, calculated from the altitudes of the Sun, which I took on
the 5th of April in the morning, is 69° 7' 29", or 1° 12' 41" east of
the meridian of San Fernanda

April the 5th. We were singularly struck at the small quan-
tity of water, which the Rio Apure furnishes at this season to the
Oroonoko. The Apure, which, according to my measurements,
was still one hundred and thirty-six toises broad at Cano Riceo,
was only sixty or eighty at it's mouth.* It's depth here was only
three or four toises. It loses no doubt a part of it's waters by the
Rio Arichuna,and the Cano del Manati, two branches of the Apure,
that flow into the Payara and the Guarico ; but it's greatest loss
appears to be caused by filtration* on the breach, of which we
have spoken above. The velocity of the Apure near it's mouth
was only 3*2 teet a second ; so that I could easily have calculated
the whole quantity of the water, if I had taken by a series of proxi-
mate soundiugs the whole dimensions of the t ran verse section.
The barometer, which at San Fernando, twenty-eight feet above
the mean height of the Apure, had kepi, at half after nine in the
morning, at 335-6 lines, was, at eleven in the morning, at the en-
trance of the Apure into the Oroonoko, 337-3 lines.f In estimat-
ing the total length, including the sinuosities^ at ninety-four miles,
or eighty-nine thousand three hundred toises, and attending to
the Utile correction arising from the horary movement of the ba-
rometer, we find a mean fall of thirteen inches (exactly 1-15 foot)
in a mile of nine hundred and fifty toises. La Condamme and the
learned Major Rennel suppose, that the mean fall of the Amazon
and the Ganges does not amount even to four or five inches in a
milr.§

We touched several times on shoals before we entered the
Oroonoko. The lands gained from the water are immense co-
ward the confluence of the two rivers. We were obliged to be

* Not quite so broad as the Seine at Pont Royal, opposite the palace of
the Tuileries.

f The temperature of the air in these two places being 31-2° and 32-4°.

t I estimated them at a quarter of the distance.

§ Tuckey, Exped. to the Congo, 1818; Introduction, p. 17.

Cafltato Parry? * Journal. 155

lowed along by the bank. What a contrast between this state of
the river, immediately before the entrance of the rainy season,
when all the effects of the dryness of the air and of evaporation
have attained their maximum, and that autumnal state, when the
Apure, like an arm of the sea* covers the savannahs as far as the
eye can reach ! We discerned toward the South the lonely hills
of Coruato ; while to the East the granitic rocks of Curiquima>
the sugarloaf of Caycara, and the mountain* of the Tyrant* (Ccr-
to* del T&ano) began to rise on the horizon. It is not without
emotion, that we behold for the first time, after long expectation,
the waters of the Oroonoko, at a point so distant from the coast.

Art. XIII. — Caficain Parry** Journal.^

This book, which has been so long expected, has at length
made its appearance ; but it has been published so very late in the
month, as to render it utterly impossible lor us to present any
thing more than a general analysis of its contents. Even this
we should not have done, had not the subject been one of very uni-
versal interest. As the public are aware of the leading objects of
the expedition, we do not feel it necessary to insert the Adiniralty
orders under which the navigators sailed, and which Captain Par-
ry has prefixed to his narrative. On the 10th of June, 1819, the
Hecla and Griper sailed from the Nore with a complement of
ninety-four men, being the entire number included in the expedi-
tion. After enduring the usual dangers from icebergs and " be-
setting*," and all the various impediments usual in the North
Seas, they entered Lancaster's Sound, in high health and spirits,
and without having undergone any casualty, on the 1st of August.
They had passed innumerable capes, headlands, and promontories :
to all of which Captain Parry annexed some name, according to
the custom of previous discoverers. At one or two islands some
of the crew landed, where, however, they found nothing remarka-
ble, except that in one, which they called Sir Byam Martin's isl-

* This name alludes no doubt to the expedition of Antonio Sedeno : thus
the port of Caycara, opposite Cabruta, still bears the name of this Conquis-
tador*

f Journal of a Voyage for the discovery of a North-west Passage from the
Atlantic to the Pacific, performed in the Years 1819-20, in his Majesty's Ships
Hecla and Griper, under the orders of W. E. Parry, It. N. 4to. Murray, 1821.

156 €afit<&n Parry* • Journal.

and, there were the distinct remains of four Esquimaux habita-
tions. On the 4th they had the satisfaction of penetrating so far
westward within the Arctic circle, as to entitle themselves 10 the
reward of 5000/. allotted by Act of Parliament for the achieve-
ment of that enterprise. In order to commemorate this success,
a bluff head which they had just passed was called Bounty Cape ;
and Captain Parry, having assembled the crews after Divine ser-
vice on the 5th, announced to them their good fortune, and order*
ed an addition to their allowance for the day. We may be per-
mitted, here, to remark, en passant, that nothing could well have
exceeded the attention to the minutest circumstances which re-
garded his seamen, the inventive powers for the promotion of good
humour* or the zeal and benevolence with which he puts his plans
into execution, than was evinced by the commander of this expe-
dition throughout the whole of the voyage. Shortly after this a
fresh gale arising from the northward, and the ice continuing to
oppose an impenetrable barrier to their further progress, they
dropped anchor in a bay of Melville Island, which they named the
Bay of the Hecla and Griper. Some of the crew landed on this
island, where they collected in a day two thirds of a bushel of coals,
being equal to the daily consumption of the Hecla ; and Mr Dealy
was fortunate enough to kill the first musk ox to which the sports-
men could get near. It was at such a distance, however, from
the ship, that they could not transport it thither ; but a piece of the
beef was brought as a sample, the taste of which appears to have
been much more inviting than the perfume. The crews of both
vessels suffered here the most serious apprehensions for the safe-
ty of Mr. Fife, and a party from the Griper, who had lost their
way on the island, while deer hunting. The w hole earth was one
waste of white around them ; and the snow continued to fall so in*
cessantly, that the various flag-stuffs which were set up as guides
could not be discerned at a few yards' distance. Just, however,
as the sun was descending on the third day from their departure*
a signal from the Griper announced the joyful intelligence, that
they were descried on their return. The account which they gave
was, that they had lost their way a few hours after their separa-
tion from the ship, and had wandered about ever since. At n ght
they endeavoured to shelter themselves from the inclemency of
the weather, by erecting little huts of stones and turf, and setting'
fire with gunpowder to the loose moss. Their food consisted of

CafUain Parrf* Journal. 1 57

r»w grouse, of which fortunately they were able to obtain suffi-
cient for tn?ir subsistence. They were much debilitated, and se-
verely frost-bitten, both in the toes and fingers ; and the night on
which they returned proved so dreadfully inclement, that their
exposure under it must have been certain death. In gratitude for
this signal escape, they distinguised the western head land by the
title of Cape Providence.

Captain Parry had been given the option of the Admiralty of return-
ing to England after he had minutely explored Lancaster's Sound, or
of wintering in the Arctic regions, as he thought proper. He prefer-
red the latter ; and the increasing perils of the navigation, the unpro-
mising appearance of the ice to the westward, together with the ad-
vanced period of the season, admonished him that it was now high
time to look out for winter quarters. He determined to return to the
Bay of the Hecla and Griper, as being the only one which he had
observed as at all calculated for security. He proceeded, there-
fore, on his return ; which was effected slowly, and with considera-
ble difficulty, owing to the perpetual formation of the ice, which
was never interrupted, although the waters were agitated by a
hard gale. What was their mortification, on their arrival off Fife's
Harbour, to find that the whole bay was covered with one solid
sheet of ice, which had been formed since their previous visit !—
It became, however, absolutely necessury to secure themselves
for the winter ; and in doing this, the sailors displayed wonderful
ingenuity and perseverance. The only way to preserve the ships
was, by cutting a passage for them through the ice ; and to accom-
plish this, they, in the face of snow storms, actually worked nine-
teen hours during the first day ! Our readers may have some idea
of the extent of this undertaking, when we inform them that the
length of this canal was 4082 yards, and that the averege thick-
ness of the ice was seven inches. At a quarter past three on the
third day, they tracked the ships through this canal into winter
quarters, an event which was commemorated by three hearty
cheers. Here then they were to remain for at least eight months ;
during three of which a glimpse of the sun would not be visible ;
and it became immediately necessary to commence preparations
for meeting this new and extraordinary situation. Not a moment
was lost in the commencement of their operations. The masts
were all dismantled, except the lower ones ; and a kind of housing
was formed on deck by lashing the yards fore and aft amidships,

158 Captain Parry9* Journal.

and supporting them by upright planks, over all of which, a thick
wadding-tilt, such as usually covers waggons, was thrown by way
of roof, and formed a comfortable shelter, at least from the snow
and wind. The boats, spars, running sails, and rigging, were all
removed to the land, in order to afford the crews room for exercis-
ing on deck, whenever the inclemency of the weather prevented
their going ashore. The next consideration was the preservation
of the health of the crews during this trying period. The diffi-
culty of keeping the bed-places dry, may be gathered from the
fact of a crust of ice forming every night of more or less thickness,
according to the temperature of the atmosphere, on the inner
partition of all sides of the vessel. The steam arising from their
brewing was so annoying, that, valuable an anti-scorbutic as beer
was, they were obliged to discontinue their brewery. The cold
was obviated by means of heated air-pipes ; and a strict attention
to diet, except in one instance, effectually counteracted the scurvy.
The men were obliged to drink a certain proportion of lime-juice,
sugar, and water, every day, in the presence of an officer. The
allowance of bread was diminished to two thirds ; and a pound of
Donkin's preserved meat, together witb one pint of vegetable or
concentrated soup, was substituted for one pound of salt beef
weekly. Sour krout and pickles, with as much vinegar as could
he used, were issued at regular intervals. The men were care-
fully mustered every morning and evening, and a medical inspec-
tion of them took place once a week. Captain Parry himself ex-
amined the beds every day ; and when the crews could not exer-
cise on shore, they were obliged to run on deck for several hours,
keeping time to some merry tune. The consequence of these very
judicious arrangements was, that only one instance of mortality
occurred during the entire expedition ; and that was hastened, if
not altogether created, by predisposing causes. Placed in this
novel and awful situation, Captain Parry proposed the erection of
a theatre on deck, and that performances should take place during
the winter— a proposition which was gratefully acceded to ; and
accordingly, on the 5th of November, sailors, officers, and com-
mander, all appeared in Miss in her 7Wn.?, to the great satisfac-
tion, as the play-bills would express it, of a crowded and delight-
ed audience. A weekly newspaper, called the North Georgia
Gazette, was also actually composed and printed on board, the of-
ficers becoming voluntary contributors, and Captain Sabine acting;

Captain Party'* Journal* 159

as Editor. We are a lilile jealous that it was not a Magazine ;
bat it must be confessed, that the establishment of a newspaper
was a tempting apeculation, where there was neither a stamp, of-
fice, nor an Attorney -General.

The effects of the cold were most distressing : the least expos-
ure of the band in the open air, caused such severe frost-bites, that
amputation became sometimes unavoidable, and the skin general-
ly adhered to any metallic substance with which it came in con-
tact 1 In one or two instances, persons labouring under the conse-
quences of severe cold seemed to have had their minds, as well as
their persons torpified ; they looked wild, spoke thick, and inar-
ticulately ; and, when recovering, exhibited all the symptoms of
complete intoxication ; so much so, indeed, that Captain Parry
could not have credited that they were sober, if he had uot perfect
demonstration that they had taken nothing stronger than snow wa-
ter. On the 4th of November, the sun bade them farewell, and
did not appear again above their horizon, till the 8th of February,
an interval of ninety-six days ! The North Georgia Gazette,
which is now in the London press, the theatre once a fortnight,
the Aurora fiorealis at times, and the howling of wolves, trapping
of white foxes, and tracing of wild deer, were their principal oc-
cupations. We find that there were not only political, but dra-
matic authors on board ; for a play was actually written on boaid the
Hecla, and played, with the thermometer belovt Z< ro, on the stage.
The piece had decided success ; though we apprehend there was
not much clapping o/hanut during its performance. The wearing
of leather on the feet even caused such frost-bites, that the Cap-
tain was obliged to substitute a kind of canvass boot, lined with
woollen. During their refuge in winter quarters, they formed a
number of hunting parties, and obtained by that means, not only
some amusement, but a considerable supply of frc&h provisions. —
The following is a list ot the game killed on the shores of Melville
Island for the use of the expedition, during a period of twelve
months : Three musk oxen, twenty-four deer, sixty-eight hares,
fifty-three geese, fifty -nine ducks, 144 ptarmigans, making a sum
total of 3,766 lb. of fresh meat. Captain Parry, also, by artificial
means, contrived to grow some small sallads on board the vessel ;
but his seeds all perished in the soil to which veget tion seems to
have sworn eternal hostility. By the bye, it is very plain that our
gallant author has hunted after game much more by sea than land,

160 Captain Parry* $ Journal.

from the circumstance of bit always calling a fiack of- grouse, a
covey*

It is very remarkable, that some of their dogs formed a very
close, and even tender acquaintance, with the wolves on Melvillo
Island, so much so, as to stay away for days and nights from the
ship, and only one was lost ; but whether he was a voluntary exile,
or whether he was devoured by the male wolves, remains a prob-
lem : the Utter, we fear, was the case, from the circumstance of
one of the captain's own favourites returning, after a long visit, se-
verely lacerated. Some of the animals in these regions appear,
indeed, to have been remarkably tame ; and there is a very enter-
taining account given by Captain Parry, of his forming an ac-
quaintance with a rein-deer, in his excursion across Melville isl-
and. Captain Sabine and he, having been considerably a-head of
the rest of the party, sat down to wait for them, when a fine deer
came up, and began to gambol round them, at a distance of thirty
yards. They had no gun ; and at all events considered that hostili-
ty would have been but a bad return for the confidence reposed iu
them. When the rest of the party appeared, the deer ran to pay
them a visit ; but they being less scrupulous, fired two shots' at
him without effect, when he returned again to Captain Parry even
nearer than before, accompanying him, and trotting round him like
a dog, until the rest of the party came up ; upon which, with much
good sense, he disappeared.

We are sorry we have not room to detail Captain Parry's ac-
count of his tour through Melville Island, which possesses con-
siderable interest. They collected some specimens of mineralogy ;
and, amongst others, a piece of fossil wood ;— saw abundance of
sorrel and saxifrage ; and in many places, a great deal of grass and
poppies. The whole island bore evident marks of being frequent-
ed much by game ; and, from the marks in several places, seemed
to abound in musk oxen, deer, hares, foxes, grouse, plover, geese,
and ptarmigan. The wolves appear to prey upon the foxes ; and
a beautiful little white one, which was caught in a trap near tne
Hecla, showed evident symptoms of alarm when it heard their
howl. The month of July turning out very favourable, the ice be-
gan gradually to disappear; and on the 1st of August, the ships
took their departure from Winter Harbour, where they had lain
for very near twelve months. Even after* leaving this, they were
terribly impeded by the ice j and the Captain called a council of

Captain Parry** Journal*. 161

the officers, to have their advice upon his future operations. They
all agreed that it would be most wise to run a little along the edge
of the ice to the eastward, in the hope of finding an opening to
lead to the American continent ; and, if this should fail, that then
they should, after a reasonable time spent in the' search, return to'
England. This return was rendered doubly necessary, as the
exhaustion of their principal antiscorbutic, and the diminution of
their fuel, made the delay of another winter a dangerous experi-
ment. They determined, however, in the first instance, to pene-
trate still farther southward from their present position ; so as, if
possible, to bring the accomplishment of the passage through
Behring's Strait, within the scope of their remaining resources.
Pursuing this 'direction, they made land, which1 they had 'no
doubt had been, at no great distance of time, visited by the* Esqui-
maux ; and, in a few days after, they were agreeably surprised by
encountering' a whaler. Some idea may be formed of the ice-'
bergs in these seas, from the account which Captain Parry gives
of two which he passed by on Sunday, the 3d of September, and
which he estimates at the height of from 150 to 200 feet above
the surface of the water ! ' On the morning of the 5th; they also
met another whaler, which proved to be the Lee, of Hull, Mr.:
Williamson, master, who reported that he had seen some Esqui-
maux a few days before, in the inlet which had been, in 18 18, na-
med the river Clyde, and which was then only a little to the south-'
ward of them. As Captain Parry thought it probable that these
people had never before been visited by Europeans, and as it
might be of consequence to examine the inlet, he determined to
stand in to1 the land. While they were making the best of their
way to the islands, it is curious enough that they met the identi-*
cal iceberg which had been measured in 1818, and which was then
ascertained to be two miles in length I It was aground in precise-
ly the same spot as before. At six in the evening, being near the
outermost of a groupe of islands, with which they afterwards'
found this inlet to be studded, they observed four canoes paddling
towards the ship. The Esquimaux advanced boldly up, and had
their canoes taken on board by their own desire. They approach- '
ed amid the loud vociferations of their inmates, who were found
to be an old man much above sixty years of age, and three youn-
ger ones from nineteen to thirty. On receiving a few presents,
they began making a number of ejaculations, which they continued
Vol. xii. 21

IQ) Captain Parry9* Journal.

tyi they were haaw, accompanying their noise by a jainpin^ gev.
ture, which was more or less violent, accoitfing tp the powers of
the jumper- They went down into the cabin ; and the old gra*
tkraan was pervaded tp ejtjbrhi* fricture to lieutenant Heecbey,,
which he did very quiet\y for more than an hour ; but after that,,
it seems to have required, a^l the pantocaine rhetoric which Cap-
tain Parry was possessed of, to keep him in his position. How-
ever, the old gentleman turned out to be a wag, and rsimjckedL
the gestures of the gallapt navigator, with such humour, as to^
create considerable diversion amongsjt the byc-standejrs. His. pa-
tience, however, was put to a very severe test, as a barter for
commodities was going on between the crew and bis. companions^
yery near him, ail th<* time he was sitting. Thejr sejqmed to bajre
a very good notion of making a bargain ; and their manner of con-
cluding it was by licking the article purchased twice all over j
after which ceremony, it was considered to be final. There are
some things, we imagine* with reference to which this mode of
consummation would not be very agreeable. The canoes were,
found to move much faster in the water, when there was no sea,
than the ship's boat, but only one person could sit ip each. Those
people seem to have very strict notions of honesty, and they show*
ed every disposition to do the crews any service in their power*
They acquired very quickly several words of English, which they
were fond of repeating ; and, in their gestures and vociferations,
evinced a strong inclination to humour. Captain Parry tells us,
quite in the spirit of our delectable old friend, Jamie Boswell, that
when these people looked through a telescope, or a kaleidoscope,
*ome of them *ht+t the right eye, and *omc of them the left. We
Jjope this was carefully noted among the discoveries in the log
book.

The Captain afterwards, landed on the main land, and visited
two. of the Esquimaux tents, where they were received by men,
women, and children, with a general, but welcoming vociferation.
They exchanged several articles with the cre,Wj and were very
strict in their dealings. In order to prove their honesty, Captain
Parry relates that he had sold an axe to an old woman, for a dog,
and had given her the ax<_ in advance ; the dogs were exceedingly
shy, and she might easily have evaded the performance of her con-
tract ; but she immediately sel off with a kind of thong noose,
which they are obliged to use for the purpose, and soon, presented

Cafitafn Parry** Journal. 143

the purchaser with one of the finest in the country. There is a
thinme description of these people, which serves to fill up a few
pages ; but they appear, both in person and habitation, not to dif-
fer from the general class of Esquimaux. They seem* indeed,
not to be very delicate in their appetites ; for both old and young,
nhen a bird was given them, swallowed itfratkett and ati, in the
most ravenous manner. This delicate propensity seems to he
fully participated by the four-legged companions ; for it seems the
dog which Captain Parry purchased from the old lady, after hav-
ing been regularly fed, immediately, and without scruple, swal-
lowed a large piece of canvass, a cotton handkerchief which had
been just washed, and part of a check shirt. We are of opinion^
that the old lady was very right to part with him. It certainly
showed a due regard for her seal-skin wardrobe. The puppies
would at any time, if permitted, kill themselves by over eating j
and it is curious enough, that in the different bargains, the chil-
dren, invariably, and without any question, exercised a right over1
the young dogs. The behaviour, however, of these simple peo-
ple, impressed the navigators with a high respect for them ; and
they never evinced, in all their intercourse, the least disposition
to purloin any thing. The crews made them some trifling pre*
sents, for which they were very grateful, and they watched the"
departure of the vessels in sorrowful silence.

On the 26th of September, the ice appeared to be so packed
towards the westward, as to preclude all posibility of any farther
progress, or indeed of even minutely examining the coast, there
being then twelve hours of darkness. Under these circumstan-
ces, any farther attempt was considered useless ; and the ships
steered their course for England, in their passage to which thef
experienced very stormy weather. During this expedition, per*
haps, the most interesting phenomenon, which the navigators re-
marked, was the effect which the approach to the North Pole ob-
viously had upon the needle.

From the time of their entering Lancaster's sound, the slug-
gishness of the compasses, and their great irregularity, became
apparent ; and, at last, the directive power of the needle became
so weak, as to be completely overcome by the attraction of the
ship. In a few days, the binnacles were removed, as usele&n
lumber, from the deck to the carpenter's store room ; and the
true courses, and tttrectton of the wind, were in future noted in

104 Cafxtam Parry's Journal.

the log book, as obtained to the nearest quarter point, when the
sun was visible, by the azimuth of that object, and the apparent
time. With respect to the main object of the expedition, Cap-
tain Parry seems to entertain very sanguine expectations. In ad-
dition to the discoveries which have been already made by him-
self, to those of Cook and Mackenzie, and on an inspection of the
map, he thinks it almost a certainty that a north-west passage in-
to the Pacific will be finally accomplished, and that the outlet will
be found at Behring's. Strait. But thin he considers altogether
impracticable for British ships, in consequence of the length of
the voyage which must first be performed, in order to arrive at
the point where the work is to be begun. Upon the whole, there-
fore, he considers that any expedition equipped by England with
this view, would act with greater advantage by at once employ-
ing its best energies iii the attempt to penetrate from the eastern
coast of America, along its northern shore. Whatever may be the
ultimate fate of these attempts, and whatever may be the ultimate
result of these discoveries, which may, perhaps, add something
to the science and the fame of our country, but which will, we fear,
prove of but little practical utility, taken in a commercial point of
view ; still there certainly can be but one opinion as to the zeal
and capabilities of Captain Parry. He seems to have performed
the duties entailed on him by the Admiralty, not only with the
skill of an able seaman, tfut to have much recommended his per-
formance of them by the good humour and humanity which mark-
ed his conduct in the most trying situations. Perhaps the loss of
the sun, and the inutility of the needle, and the frost bites in Win-
ter Harbour y will not give the land reader half so distinct an idea
of the perils to which such seas expose the navigator, as a single
glance at some of the plates which are given in this volume. The
situation of the ships at times must have been tremendous ; and
nothing can have been more awful than to behold sea and shore,
hill and valley, in short, nature herself, under the aspect of one
continued iceberg — no sound to break upon the silence, but the
explosions of the ice, or the howling of the wolves ; and no living
thing to meet the eye, except some ravenous and half-famished
animal.

The embellishments of the work are very well executed ; and
the narrative is clear, consecutive, and simple. Our limits, and
the late time at which we received this volume, will not allow us

Moore's Selection of Irish Melodic*. 1*5

to give more than what we are aware is, and necessarily roust be,
a very hurried sketch, but we hope we have said enough to direct
the reader to the original fountain. The gallant navigator is
again securely cased in icebergs, from the shaft* of criticism—
we sincerely wish him a good voyage, a happy termination—
smiles and welcome from the Esquimaux Venus, and all the re-
wards and honours of the board of Admiralty.

Aht. xiv.— A Selection of IrUh Melodic*. By Thomas Moore.

Thk eighth, and, we fear, the last number of the Irish Melodies,
by the union of whose music to his beautiful verse, Mr. Moore
has laid his country under such infinite obligations, has just issued
from the press. When, in a former portion of the work, the poet
bade " farewell to his harp," with all respect for him, we doubt-
ed his sincerity. M At lover's perjuries they say Jove laughs.**
— At poet's lapses, then, why should mortals be too serious ? In
this case it is impossible, because the delinquent has the double
justification of love and poetry. However, there is prefixed to
this number a general and final dedication of the entire work to
the nobility and gentry of Ireland, which really looks as if it was
brotfght to its termination in good earnest. Why this should be
so, it is not for us to say. The poet is still, and long may he con-
tinue so, in full possession of his fine faculties ; and the wild moun-
tains and valleys of his country are still rich in most melodious
airs, which have escaped the accompaniments of Mr. Bishop.
Whether, however, this is to be the last sound of the Irish harp,
or whether it will produce another dulcet echo, its music has cer-
tainly established, for Ireland, a high name in vocal science, and
the verse to which it has been "married" places its author
amongst the very first lyric poets of any age or nation— even by
the side of Horace and Anacreon. Beautiful as are many parts
of his Lalla Rookh, and exquisite as we admit many of his epistles
from America to be, it is to his songs that Moore must trust for
immortality, and immortal he must be as long as English ladies can
love, or Irish gentleman can drink, which, we take it, is as much
of immortality as any modern bard can consider himself equitably
entitled to. The lyrist has, indeed, in this respect, a great advan-
tage over the brotherhood of Parnassus. The heart of every one
takes its season of benevolence, and grows tired of satire— the
mind will not for ever chill itself within the shade of ethics, and

4 tt Moert'* SetecHon of &Uh MffaRet.

neither heart nor mind con sustain eternally the horrors or the
heights of the epic aspirant. But the lyrist strays carelessly along
the verges of the mountain.— The echoes which he awakens, if not
loud, are sweet ; and the chords with which he produces them arfe
heart-strings. He identifies himself with the passions of youth
—he associates himself with the pleasures of manhood— he sighs
melodious • comfort in the bower— he sings most mirthful logic
over the bottle*— he resounds and sweetens the music of the chase ;
and whether with young or old— in bowers, or copses, or banquets "
—sighing with lovers, or carousing with Bachanals, he entangles
himself with the richest threads of our existence— he is determin-
ed, at all events, to have a garland ; and, when the season of the
flowers is past, he jovially awaits its return, clustering his brows
with the fruitage of the vineyard. In this last department, indeed*
Moore has one living rival in the patriarch person of Captain Mor*
ris ; but he has only one— there is no one else *imUU out 8?cun-
dus. It is no disparagement to any one to admit Morris to a con*
vivial competition. Bacchus in his wildest, merriest, and moat
classical moods, has not a more inspired idolater than the veteran
laureate of the vintage— the snows of eighty winters have not wi-
thered a leaf of his laurels, and even Mont Blanc's " diadem"
might melt in the sunshine of his perennial imagination. * That
time flies fast, the poet sings,9 and * That I drink's a reason fair
to fill my glass again,' will remain the standard justifications of
every reveler who can blend wine, and wit, and music together,
as long as the ivied god retains a single votary to hiccough over
his orgies. Of course when we speak of the songs of Captain Mor-
ris, we speak only of those which he composed be/ore the second
bottUf—oi those which age may hear withouta blush, and to which
youth may listen without any fear of the consequences. As the
lyrist of love, however, Moore stands alone and unrivalled. An*
acreon might rise from his grave to hear him, and Lalage herself,
whether " dulce ridens,'' or " dulce loquens," might forget for
him, for a moment, eves the nightingale of Italy.

Of the songs contained is the present number, the one compos-
ed in memory of Mr. Grattan is the most elaborate, if not the hap-
piest. But it is scarcely fair to consider it altogether as a song, be-
cause a note informs us that only the first two verses are intended
to be sung. It is a poem, which the heart aided the head in dictating,
and its subject well deserves the celebration. The first patriot of

Moure % Stiletto* </ IrUA Melodic 1*7

any country is worth the commemoration of its first poet. In this
beautiful and spirited production (here is much of history-— the
leading points, both of Mr. Gratta*'* public and private character,
* are touched with the fidelity of an anaHst. The utter darkness in
which he found hit country— the glorious splendour which he
flashed on it— the memorable epoch of 1782, when he obtained a
free trade, a free constitution, and a final judicature— the rewards
given him by an attesting parliament-— the sweet simplicity of his
domestic life, and the noble equanimity which he preserved, alike
amid the shade or the sunshine of popular versatility, are finely
and judiciously illustrated. This monument, furtnntu* *rr, erect*
ed by the bands of friendship, patriotism, and genius, is more than
an equivalent to the children of Grattan, for the heartless ingrati-
tude with which his memory has been treated. Alas, in Ireland
there is little hope, that even Hamlet's span of commemoration
will be permitted to u a great man." Athens was remarkable, and
has become branded to all posterity, for the denunciation of the
» bravest, the wisest, and the best" of her citizens ; but Athens
was civilized, and refinement too often polishes away the most
•ubstantial virtues of a national character.— What excuse, how-
ever, can the catholics of Ireland plead for having once, with sa-
vage ferocity, attempted the life of her Aristides ! for having, be-
fore his ashes were cold, preferred to his candidate son, a man
« without a name ;" and for not even raising one poor stone in his
honour, who rescued her from being a proverb and a bye-word
among the nations i The same excuse will serve her for permit-
ting the bones of Curran to rot unhonoured and forgotten in the
vaults of Paddington. The following is the heart-touching effort
by which Moore has exonerated himself from the general oppro-
brium. It is set to a mournful but spirited air, called MacJarUne**
Lamentation.

Shall the harp then be silent, when he, who first gave
To our country a name, is withdrawn from all eyes?

Shall a minstrel of Erin stand mute by the grave.
Where the first— where the last of her patriots lies >

No— faint though the death-song may foil from his lips.
Though bis harp, like his soul, may with shadows be crust,

Yet, yet shall it sound, 'mid a nation's eclipse,
Aud proclaim to the world what a star hath been lost!

* 63 Moore* t Selection of frith Melb&ie:

' Wiiat 'a union of all the affections and powers,

Bv Which life Is exalted, embellish'd, refin *dt' "
Was embraced in that spirit- whose >cecftre w as ours,
t , While its nughtycircuwfe^W^ecirotedmafckiiKl.
Oh, who that loves Erin — or who that can see :

Through the waste of her annals, that epoch sublime-
Like a pyramid, rais'd in the desert— where he

And his glory stand out to the eyes of all time !—
That one lucid interval, snatch *d from the gloom

And the madness of ages, when, fill'd with his soul,
•' A nation o*erleap*d the dark bounds of her doom,

And* for one sacred instant, touch'd liberty's goal !
'Who, that ever hath heard him— hatn drank at the source
. Of that wonderful eloquence, alt Erin's own.
In whose high-thoughted daring, the fire, and the force,

And the yet untam'd spring of her spirit are shown-*
An eloquence, rich— wheresoever its wave

Wander'd free and triumphant*- with thoughts that shone through.
As clear as the brook's ** stone of lustre," and gave,

With the flash of the gem, its solidity too.
Who, that ever approach'd him, when, free from the crowd,

In a home full of love, he delighted to tread
'Mong the trees which a nation had giv'n, and Which bow'd,

As if each brought a new civic crown for his head-
That home, where— like him who, as fable hath told,

Put the rays from his brow, that his chfld might come near—
Every glory forgot, the most wise ot the old

Became all that the simplest and youngest hold dear.
Is there one, who hath thus, through his orbit of life,
. But at distance observ'd him — through glory, through blame,
In the calm of retreat, in the grandeur of strife,

Whether shining or clouded, still high and the same —
Such a union of all that enriches life's hour,

Of the sweetnes we love and the greatness we praise,
As that type of simplicity blended with power,

A child with a thunderbolt only portrays.—
Oh no— not a heart, that e'er knew him, but mourns,

Deep, deep o'er the grave where such gloiy is shrin'd—
O'er a monument Fame will preserve, 'mong the urns

Of the wisest, the bravest, the best of mankind !

The following extract is from another and a very different kind
of song set to one of Ireland's merriest planxties, and composed
io honour of her far famed Pouheen Whukeyy which we are told

Miore'e Selection of Iri$k Melodies. 1 Q9

once superseded even the " divine tnarasquino" on the lips of roy-
alty. The second verse cannot well be understood by the English
reader without some little explanation. The unfortunate Irish
peasant who cannot well pay the exorbitant rent of an absentee
landlord, and is quivering under the fangs of the " middle man,"
or agent, betakes himself to the loftiest and most unfrequented
mountains, where he manufactures the magic beverage, by the
smuggled sale of which, he hopes to disencumber himself. His
small uncouth rustic still, and the green turf, which he is obliged
to use in the process, gives it the smoke flavour, which is alluded
to in the second stanza. This manufacture has been made " un-
lawful*' by act of parliament, and the penalty is a fine and nine
months' imprisonment. The peasantry have an utter abhorrence
of the licensed whiskey, which in their vocabulary is termed, "the

PARLIAMEKT."

Their excuses, sometimes, when detected and arraigned, are
most amusing. The writer of this once saw one of them put upon
his trial, which he had contrived to evade at the previous assizes,
under pretence of the indisposition of a witness ; the real cause
was his fear of the then going judge oi assize. To his great discom-
fiture, however, the same judge chose the ensuing circuit. When
arraigned, Baron M'Clelland addressed him— >* Well, my lad. I
remember you, what have you got to say for yourself this time ?"
« In troth, little enough, my lord, for you kilt my witness !**— /kill
your witness, fellow— what do you mean ?" " No offince at all
my lord, but sorrow a word of lie there's in if— -we were all so
iustvated at the last assizes, that my poor Paddy would'nt touch
a drop ever since, except thr parliament , and it finished him fairly
—my lord, you know well it'd pison the devil." Appeals of this
sort are by no means unfrcquent. The following are the two last
stanzas of the Irish M John Barley Corn ;"—
Never was philter form'd with such power

To charm and bewilder as this we are quaffing ;
Its magic began when, in autumn's rich hour.

As a harvest of gold in the fields it stood laughing.
There, having, by nature's enchantment, been, fill'd

With the balm and the bloom of her kindliest weather,
This wonderful juice from its core was distill'd,

To enliven such hearts as are here brought together!
Then drink of the cup — you'll find there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality—
Vol. xii. 22

170 Mbort?$ Selection o/Irhh Meiodiee.

Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen,
Her cttp was a fiction, but this is reality.

And though, perhaps — but breathe it to no one-
Like caldrons the witch brews at midnight so awful,
In secret this philter was first taught to flow on,

Yet— *tisn*t less potent for being unlawful.
What, though it may taste of the smoke of that flame,

Which in silence extracted its virtue forbidden-
Fill up — there's a fire in some hearts I could name,

Which may work too its charm, though now lawless and hidden.
So drink of the cup— for oh there's a spell in
Its every drop 'gainst the ills of mortality-
Talk of the cordial, that sparkled for Helen, .
Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality.

We are not fond of accusing poets, and particularly such poets
as Mr. Moore, of any thing like plagiarism. He is too orignal to
become an imitator of any one — too rich in his own stores to draw
upon the coffers of another* — but there certainly is a singular,
and rather suspicious coincidence in one of the songs of this num-
ber, and the lines which we annex, and which are selected from a
pretty, and rather unjustly neglected poem, published by Murray
in 1813.

Ne'er ask the hour— what is it to us

How time deals out his treasures?
The golden moments, lent us thus,

Arc not his coin, but Pleasure's.
If counting them over could add to their blisses,

I'd number each glorious second ;
But moments of joy are like Lesbia's kisses,

Too quick and sweet to be reckon 'd.
Then fill the cup — what is it to us

How time his circle measures ?
The fairy hours we call. up thus,

Obey no wand but Pleasure's !

Young Joy ne'er thought of counting hours,
Till Care, one summer's morning, \

Set up, among his smiling flowers, _

A dial, by way of warning.

The parallel lines to which we allude are these :

Fronting the ocean, but beyond the ken

Of public view and sounds of murm'ring men,

MooreU Selection ©/ Irish Melodic )fl

Of unhewn roots composed, sod knarled wood,

A small and rustic oratory stood—

Two mossy pines, high bending, interwove

Their aged and fantastic arms above.

In front, amid the gay, surrounding flowers,

A dial counted the departing hours,

On which the sweetest light of summer shone—.

A rude and brief inscription mark'd the stone-
To couojt with passing shade, the hours,
I plac'd the dial 'mid the flowers ;
That one by one, came forth and died,
Blooming and withering by its side.
Mortal, let the sight impart
Its pensive moral to thy heart.

The coincidence cannot fail to strike the reader ; it may, how*
ever, certainly be altogether accidental. The name of the poem
is tt The Missionary."— There arc a number of other very beauti-
ful poems, which our limits will not allow us to select. The poem
called the M Parallel'* is extremely touching, and quite character
ristic of the author. In taking our leave of this volume, which
we recommend to all who have " music in their souls," we cannot
conclude better than by noticing the great simplicity and beauty
of the air to which the words, " Oh banquet not," are set, and by
quoting the following fine hymn, which we wish the Neapolitans
could have heard in their ranks, before they relinquished the last
hope of freedom for the land of song.

Oh, the sight entrancing.

When morning's beam is glancing

O'er files, array'd

Wit * helm and blade,
And plumes, in the gay wind dancing !
When hearts are all high beating,
And the trum|iet's voice repeating

That song, whose breath

May lead to death.
But never to retreating !
Oh the sight entrancing,
When morning's beam is glancing

O'er files, array'd

With helm and blade,
And plumes, in the gay wind dancing !

tfS Legal Lyric:

Yet, 'tis not helm or feather—
For ask yon despot, whether

His plumed bands f

Could bring such hands
And hearts as ours together,
Leave pomps to those who need 'em-
Adorn but man with freedom,

And proud he braves

The gaudiest slave-.
That crawl, where monarch* lead 'en.
The sword may pierce the beaver,
Stone walls in time may sever,

*Tis heart alone,

Worth steel and stone.
That keeps men free for ever T
Oh that sight entrancing.
When the morning's beam is glancing

O'er files array d

With helm and blade,
And in Freedom's cause advancing !

Art. XV.— Legal Lytic:
From the London Magazine.

«— — JYwneruque fertur
Lege solutis. Horace, 0. 2, lib. iv.

Mr. Editor,— One of our modern philosophers has asserted
that poetry pervades the whole system of nature, and that every
inhabitant of the earth (I know not whether the observation ex-
tends to the other planets) is born a poet. I am flerfectly satisfied
with his reasoning and his proofs; (as who can be otherwise ?)
although I am aware that the expression which we were formerly
accustomed to quote as the result of philosophical speculation,—
«' poeta nascitury non Jit," now becomes a mere truism. But I
do not consider this nearly so material as the almost universal
ignorance that exists among the bulk of mankind, of the powers
with which they are endowed,— powers, the exercise of which
would add so much to the happiness and enjoyment of themselves
and their Ecilovr-floeta (I was going to say— creatures)— but which
are suffered to sleep, and lie useless in decay. It is true, that,
notwithstanding this ignorance, almost all classes of society are
daily giving involuntary proofs of their poetical capabilities. In

Legal Lyric*. 173

travellers, and dealers in general, we invariably perceive the de-
▼elopement of the fiction of poetry ; in the daily-— and indeed
nightly-series of London, we hear its music ;— in the trades of
shoemakers and hosiers, we find iH measurement of feet j— in the
accidents of children, and in the performance of pantomimic ac-
tors, we may recognize its cadence

With a dying, dying fall,—

and even in the miscalled vulgarity of swearers, we discover the
germs of tublime invocation.

The class of society which seems to be most unaware of its
poetical temperament, is the profession of the law. Although
their study has been charged by some with a veiy intimate con*
nection with one of the principal constituents of poetry— fiction i
—it is apparently of that dry and systematic kind, that few have
recognised its relationship to poetry itself. It would, indeed, be
difficult to appropriate it to any particular class of poetry* It
cannot be called strictly didactic, for where shall we find its mo-
rality ?— nor dctcrifttivc, for who can understand it ?— nor humor*
out, at least suitors deny that — nor fiat hr tic* unless wc look at its
consequences, it has a touch perhaps of the fiat t oral, in settle-
ment cases ; and of the dramatic in the uncertainty of its issues.
Its duilne$99 it is said, has nothing analogous to poetic genius,
whatever it may have to some of its flrofetsor*,

I, Mr. Editor, have the honour to belong to this profession,
which I have long considered as scandalized by these depreciating
insinuations ; and, in order to prove their falsity, and to redeem
the poetical character of my brethren, I have lately resolved to
reduce all its technicalities into metre, and at all events to hold
my legal correspondence in measured lines. If possible, I intend
to introduce the practice of charging by stanzas, instead of by
folio, being convinced, with the Newcastle Apothecary, who seems
to have adopted the same means to obviate a similar objection—
that as my clients mutt have the requisite quantity, which ihey
too often consider to be without reason,—

It is but fair to add a little rhime.

As it must be allowed to be of great importance to teach man-
kind thcm*elve*f and to point out to them the talents, the instincts,
and, I may say, the properties, they poss< ss, — 1 conceive, Sir, that
in thus endeavouring to sweeten the bitterness of law, to smooth

If 4 Legal Lyric*.

down its excrescence*, and to render more musical its expres-
sions^—in short, to show that there u poetry in its practice,—- 1
have deserved the thanks of my countrymen* and of my profes-
sional brethren in particular ;— for I have thus not only made the
study of it more palatable to our pupils, but its practice also more
attractive to our clients.

The following is a slight specimen of my new mode, in a letter
which I lately sent to an opposing brother, with whom, however,
I am on familiar terms, giving him notice of my intention to file
a demurrer to some of his proceedings. 1 generally adapt my
letters to some favorite tune, and the last which happened to be
in my head was that to which Moore has written the beautiful
words, beginning with " Oh think 'not my iflirit* are afawyt ae
light

»9

AIR—" JOHN O'REILLY THE ACTIVE."

Oh ! think not your pleadings are really so sly.

And as free from a flaw as they seem to you now ;
- For, believe, a demurrer will certainly lie,—

The return of to-morrow will quickly show how :
No, all is a waste of impertinent reading.

Which seldom produces but quibbles and broils ;
And the lawyer, who thinks he's the nicest in pleading,

U likeliest far to be caught in its toils.
But, brother attorney ! how happy are we !

May we never meet worse in our practice of law,
Than the flaw a demurrer can gild with a fee,

And the fee that a conscience can earn from a flaw t

Yet our doors would not often be dark, on my soul !

If Equity did not to Law lend its aid :
And I care not how soon I am struck off the roll,

When I for these blessings shall cease to be paid !
But they who have fought for the weakest or strongest,

Too often have wept o'er the credit they gave ;
Even he, who has slumber'd in Chancery longest,

Is happy if always his costs he can save.
But, my brother in law I while a quarrelling germ

Is in man or in woman, this pray'r shall be ours,
That actions-at-law may employ ev'ry term,

And equity-suits cheer vacational hours !

Yours devotedly,

One, Sec*
Templet Jfiril 1, 1821.

Mhjor 8?m. ■ m

Art.XVI Major Schill.

In the year 1813 I made a tour of a considerable portion of the
north of Germany. From the Elbe to the late of Rugen my route
lay through the country which had' been the principal scene of
the celebrated Setoffs operations. The peasantry were foil of
the recollection, and when they were not afraid of findings spy,
or smarting under a recent visit from the French, they were
boundless in their histories of the miraculous achievements pf
« the Brandeuburgh Hussar."— thosjs narratives had gradually
grown romantic, little as romance was to be expected from a boor
on the edge of the Baltic. But the valour and eccentricity of
Schfll's attempt, his bold progress, and his death in the midst of
fire and steel, would have made a subject for the exaggerations
and melancholy of romance in any age.

A thousand years ago a German bard would have seen his spir-
it drinking in the halls of Odin, out of a Gaelish skull, and lis-
tening to the harps of the blue-eyed maids of Valhalla, bending
around him with their sweet voices, and their golden hair. Ar-
minius might hare been no more than such a daring vindicator of
his country ; and, but for his narrower means, and more sudden
extinction, Schill might have earned from some future Tacitus
the fine and touching panegyric, " Liberator haud dubte Germa-
nise, et qui non primordia populi Romani, stent alii reges .duces*
que, sed florentissimum Hnpcrium laceeserit ; proeliis ambiguus,
bello non victus, septem et triginta annos vitae explevit. Canitur
adhuc barbaras apud gentes, Grxcorum annalibus ignotas, qui
sua tantum mirantur, Romania haud perinde Celebris, dum vetera
extol limus, recentium incuriosi." Schill was thirty-six, but a
year younger than Arminius at his death. The rude prints and
plaster images at the German fairs, gave him a vigorous figure,
and a bold physiognomy. He was active in his exercises, supe-
rior to fatigue, and of acknowledged intrepidity ; fond of adven-
ture in the spirit of his corps, and his natural enthusiasm deepen-
ed and magnified by some intercourse with the Secret Socictie§ of
Germany, which, with much mysticism, and solemn affectation
of knowledge, certainly inculcated resistance to the tyrant of Eu-
rope, as among the first of duties*

He was said to be more distinguishable for bravery than for

17$ Major SchtU.

military knowledge or talent. But the man who could elude or
overpower all opposition in the heart oi an enemy's conquest for
months together, must have had talent as well as heroism. SchuTs
first operation was to pass over the Elbe, and try the state of the
public mind in the country round Magdchnrgh.

It is still difficult to ascertain, whether his enterprise bad a high-
er authority. The situation of Prussia, after the battle of Jena, in
1806, was one of the most deplorable suffering. The loss of in-
dependence, the loss of territory, the plunder of the public pro-
perty, and the ruin of the Prussian name in Europe were felt like
mortal wounds. But the personal insolence of the French, who
have always lost by their insolence what they had gained by their
rapine, struck deeper into the national mind. The innumerable
private injuries to honour and feeling, the gross language, and
the malignant tyranny of the Frencli military, inflamed the peo-
ple's blood into a fever of impatience and revenge. I have often
expressed my surprise, on hearing those stories of French atroci-
ty, that no German had taken up the pen to transmit them as a
record and a warning to posterity. One evening, standing on the
banks of the Elbe, and overlooking the fine quiet lakdscape of the
islands towards Haarburg, 1 remember to have made the observa*
tion, after hearing a long detail of the sufferings of the peasantry,
whose white cottages studded the scene at my feet. " My dear
sir," said an old German officer, " My countrymen are like that
river; their whole course has been through sandbanks and shal-
lows, but they make their way to the end at last." Then, indulging
his metaphor, and waving his hand as if to follow the windings of
the stream, *» I am not sure but that this very habit of reluctance
to unnecessary exertion, may have allowed them to collect com*
forts by the way, which neither Englishman nor Frenchman would
have been calm enough to gather. If that river had been a tor-
rent, should we now be looking on those islands ?" There may
be some experience in the old soldier's answer, but if Germany
is slow to give a history of her misfortunes, she ought not to leave ,
her heroes in oblivion. S chill deserves a better memoir than a
stranger can give.

In this fermentation of the public mind, the North of Germany
was suddenly denuded of troops to form a part of the grand im-
perial army, marching against Austria. Slight garrisons were
placed in the principal towns, and the general possession of the

Major Sckili. ' 177

open country was chiefly left to the gendarmerie. Schill, then
major of one of the most distinguished regiments in the service,
the Brandenburg h hussars, one morning suddenly turned his
horse's head towards the gate of Berlin, on the "dismissal of the
parade, gave a shout for " King and Country," and at the head of
this regiment burst from the Glacis. Though the whole garri-
son of Berlin, French and Prussian, were on the parade, there
wis no attempt to intercept this bold manoeuvre. They were
thunderstruck, and by the time that orders were determined on,
Schill was leagues off, galloping free over the sands of Prussia.
The officers of his corps were among the best families of Br*n-
denburgh, and some fine young men of rank joined him immedi-
ately. It is uncertain, to this hour, whether he was not secretly
urged by his court to make the experiment on the probabilities
of insurrection. But Napoleon was too near to allow «f open en-
couragement, and at the demand of De Marsan, the French am-

>»

bassador, who was, as Tiinculo says, « Viceroy over the King,'1
Schill was proclaimed an enemy to the state.

His first attempt was the surprize of Magdeburgh, the princi-
pal fortress of the new kingdom of Westphalia, and famous to
English ears for the imprisonment of Trenck. He advanced to
the gates, and after sustaining a vigorous skirmish with the gar-
rison, in which the French were on the point of being cut off from
the town, was forced to abandon an enterprize, which was proba-
bly undertaken merely as a more open mode of declaring, that
u war in precinct" was levied against the oppressors of the popu-
lation. He then plunged into Westphalia. His plans in this coun-
try have been often canvassed ; for the Germans are, in a vast
proportion to the English, military disputants ; and the names of
their highest soldiers, from Frederick down to Blucher and Bulow,
are discussed without mercy and without end. Schill shares the
common fate, and all the armies of Germany would not have been
enough to fill up the outline of the campaign, which I have heard
sketched for him round the fire of a table d'hote in the north.
According to those tacticians he should have marched direct up-
on Cassel, and made himself master of Jerome Buonaparte. He
should have charged up to the gates of Berlin, and delivered the
country. He should have attacked the rear of the grand army,
and given time for the arrival of the Arch-duke. He should have
made an irruption into the French territory in its unguarded

vol. xii. 23

\TB Major $cM.

state, and compelled Napoleon to consult the safety Qf Pari* . To
all this the natural answer was, that Schill had but from four tp
six hundred hussars, and a few infantry, deserters from the line*
With those he remained for nearly three months master of the
communications of Westphalia, continually intercepting officer*,
functionaries, and couriers, and either eluding or beating every
detachment sent to break up his flying camp. In one of his ex*
peditions he took Marshal Victor with his suite and despatches;
on his way to join the army before Vienna. But it affords an ex-
traordinary evidence of the apathy, or the terror of Germany, that,
during this period of excitement, his recruits never amounted to
two hundred men. It, however, grew obviously perilous to leave
this daring partisan free to raise the spirit of the country, and a
considerable force was despatched against him. A corps front
Cassel moved in direct pursuit, while another, composed of Dutch
and Danes, turned towards his rear. It was now time to fly.
The experiment on Westphalia was completed ; and an escape
into Sweden was the only course of safety. Schill has been bla-
med for lingering on this retreat. But a gentler estimate, and
probably a truer one, would have attributed his tardiness to the
natural reluctance of a brave man to leave the ground while there
is a chance of disputing it. Every hour was full of change ; *
battle on the Danube might alter the whole fortunes of Germany
within an hour, and Prussia would have been the first to raise the
Standard. But Schill suffered no advantage to be taken of his de-
lay. His marches were regular, he fixed his head-quarters for
ten or twelve days at Domitz, a small town on the Mectlenburgh
side, which he fortified so far as to be secure from a surprise.
Se abandoned it only on the approach of the enemy, to whom he
left nothing but his sick,— advanced to Stralsuwl, the strongest
fortress, in Pomerania, dismantled by the French, but still in their
possession, and capable of defence against an ordinary hazard ;
Stormed the gates ; drove the French before his cavalry into the
great square ; and was in possession of the town after a brisk en*
gagement of less than an hour. On the road to Stralsund I was
shown the remains of a field fortification where a French detach*
ment had attempted to stop the hussars. It was a rude work* a.
parapet of earth and a trench filled with water. The gates and
guns had probably fallen into the hands of the peasantry. Schill,
en proposing a capitulation to those men, had been fired on. He

Major frkilL 179

ibmiedhitery charged at the head of his regiment, leaped the
trench, and got no the fortification on horseback. All the French
Were killed or taken.

Pomeraoia (in German, Pommcm) is one vast flat, which proba-
bly was once at the bottom of the Baltic. It is fertile, and was,
When I passed through it, covered with a carpet of springing cdrn.
But on my approach to the sea the prospect on the side of the Is-
land of Rugen became diversified. The sea between the island
and the main land looked like a broad river, tranquil and glassy,
with a low rich border of vegetation, leading the eye across to the
woods and picturesque rocks that crown the shore of Rugen,
The country was thinly peopled, but those were times of the
tt pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war." The Swedish
army, under the Crown Prince, going to fight his countrymen,
were now moving down from Sweden. A strong corps had just
landed at Stralsund, where the head-quarters were now establish-
ed. As I approached Stralsund from a bend of the shore, I at
once saw the dome of the great church and heard the sound of a
trumpet, as if to announce its appearance. Then, military sights
and sounds followed in quick succession ; a squadron of Swedish
gun-boats were lying off the shore, with the yellow cross brig tu-
ning in the sunset. Chalopes and rafts were passing with troops
and stores. A line of huge pontoon wagons stood on the shore
of Rugen like the bastions of a fortress ; the flags of all nations
in the harbour were displayed in honour of the presence of royal*
ty ; and on driving round to the glacis, I was dazzled by the glare
of a whole host of mujsquets and sabres flashing in a lovely set-
ting sun, at the close of a review before the Duke of Brunswick,
then on his way to the camp of the allies.

But the military spirit of my reception was not yet complete.—-
At the gate I found the Burgher guard of the town returning from
their evening parade ; and was led to my hotel in the midst of a
gallant dissonance of clashing cymbals, drums, trumpets, and res-
tive horses caracoling and curvetting under the uneasy heroism
*f all the chief warriors of the corporation of Stralsund.

Schill had found the principal works destroyed, but yet not to be
gained without fighting, and it was not till after a sharp contest
that be forced his way over the ramparts.

On his march he had baffled the Dutch general, Gratien, whose
express commission was to extirpate him in the field. Schill out-

180 Major Sckill.

manoeuvred the general, and was master of Stralsund a week be*-
fore he saw the faca of a pursuer. There can be no doubt that ho
might, in that interval, have made good his retreat into Sweden.
But the reluctance to leave Germany was strong upon him at all
times. In addition to this, he was now master of a city ; the sea
wai at his back ; the state of Germany was hourly fluctuating ; and
his position still served as a rallying point, if the old genius of
Prussia was at length to shake the ashes from her head. Such
might have been among the motives for this apparent imprudence
in a man who had hitherto taken his measures with equal conduct
and intrepidity. In this period of inaction he appears to have lost
his habitual temper, and, like Richard before Bos worth, to have
given an ill omen by his melancholy. He was said to have indul-
ged in drinking, and to exhibit altogether the aspect of a man ex-
pecting ruin. But in his dejection he omitted none of the usual
arrangements for defence. He set the peasants at work upon the
approaches to the town, collected ammunition, planted a battery to
command the principal entrance, I believe, borrowing the guns
from the merchant ships, and seems to have neglected nothing
but the means of retreat.

Stralsund is a city of much interest for its share in the " thirty
years war ;" and Wallcnstein, the wonder of arms in his day,
brought some disgrace on the standard of his imperial master, by
h|s repulse before the walls. Its position renders it the key of
Pomerania, on the side of Sweden, and the Crown Prince was now
busy in repairing its fortifications to cover his retreat, if the cam-
paign should turn in favour of Napoleon. It has a tolerable com-
merce, and some of its buildings exhibit the old ponderous mag-
nificence of the time when German traders made head against prin-.
ces. The principal streets are wide, and the square in the centre,
which serves, as in all the German towns, for all imaginable public
pu rposes, a mart, a parade, and a place of j ustice, has the picturesque,
look of English architecture in the days of Elizabeth. It was
in this spot that Schill drew up his reserve on the morning of the
attack. Among the accounts of the fight, to be received from
persons who, during the day, were hiding in their cellars from the
shots that still had left many a fracture on the front of the build-
ings, exactness was not to be expected. But the battle seems to
have begun about mid-day, and to have continued with desperate
determination till three or four in the afternoon. The Dutch ui-

Major 3eM. 181

Vision advanced to the great gate, and were repeatedly driven
back. Gratien, however, was responsible to a master who never
forgave, and the assault was continued under the fire of Schill's
only battery. The Danes were embarked in some gun-boats, and
landed on*he unprotected side of the town. It was said that their
red uniforms deceived the Prussians, and that they were looked
on as British troops coming to their assistance. This attack took
Schill in flank, and his purpose, from this time, was obviously to
sell his life as dearly as he could. His corps were gradually forc-
ed from the square, down a narrow street leading to the sea-gate,
which I often trod with the sentiments not unnatural to the spot
where a hero and a patriot fell. The struggle here was long and
bloody, from the narrow front which the enemy were compelled
to observe. The Prussians were finally pushed through the gate,
and the engagement ceased without their surrender. Gratien's
loss was supposed to exceed two thousand in killed and wounded.
A striking instance of the gallantry of his opponents, whose force
did not equal half the number. Of Schill nothing had been known
for some time before the close of the battle. He had exposed
himself with conspicuous bravery during the day, and had been twice
wounded. About an hour after the square was taken, he was seen
standing on the steps of a house in the narrow street, with the blood
streaming down his face, and cheering the troops with his sabre
waving. In the confusion of the next charge he disappeared.
In the evening he was found under a heap of dead near the steps,
with two musquet wounds on his body, and a sabre cut on his fore-
head. The remnant of his band of heroes, chiefly cavalry, had
retreated to a neighbouring field, and were there found exhausted
and unable to move farther. An adjutant of General Gratien,
sent out to propose their surrender, was answered that they had
determined not to receive quarter. Some messages followed be-
tween them and the general, but they refused to give up their
' swords while Schill lived. On their be ing told of his fall, they
obtained leave to send two officers to see the body. The officers
were brought to the hall where the corpse had been drawn from
the slaughter : they recognised it at once, and at the sight burst
into lamentations and tears. On their taking back this melancholy
intelligence, the cavalry, then reduced to a small number, surren-
dered at discre ion.
The lurtiicr tustory of these brave men is almost still more

18$ Major SchUl.

melancholy. A generous enemy, or even any than wMf t huimutf
heart would have honoured their devoted gallantry.— But Napo-
leon ordered them for execution. They were taken to Wesel, and
the only favour which they could obtain, was that of dying by each
other's hands. Some had made their escape on the way through
Germany, but twenty-two, by one account, and twelve or fourteen
by another, remained to glut the tyrant's appetite for murder.—
They were taken to a field on the glacis of Wesel, and there,
standing in a line behind each other, each shot the comrade before
him, the last shooting himself. Two sons of General Wedel, the
Prussian, were among the victims. This was said to be the sole
act of Napoleon ; those young soldiers were subjects of Prussia,
and amenable only to their own sovereign. It is next to impossi-
ble to avoid a feeling of indignation and abhorrence at the nature
which could have thus rioted in gallant blood ; and hoping that,
sunk and punished as their enemy is at this hour, he may be des-
tined to exhibit a still deeper example of justice to the world •

The following is the translation of a popular song, which I met
in the original in Mecklenburg :—

SCHILL.

Es zog au8 Berlin ein muthigcr Held.

Who burst from Berlin with his lance in his hand ?
Who ride at his heel like the rush ot the wave ?
They are warriors of Prussia, the flower of the land.
And 'tis Schill leads them on to renown and the grave.

Six hundred they come, in pomp and in pride,
Their chargers are fleet, and their bosoms are bold,
And deep shall their lances in vengeance be dyed,
Ere those chargers shall halt, or those bosoms be cold.

Then, through wood and through mountain, their trumpet rang

clear.
And Prussia's old banner was waved to the sun.
And the yager in green, and the blue musketeer,
By thousands they rose, at the bidding of one.

What summoned this spirit of grandeur from gloom ?

Was he call'd from the camp, was he sent from the throne i

* We would not make any change willingly in any communication from so
valued a correspondent as the author before us. But he is a classical man,
and we would simply ask him whether—" Parcere victu, debellare superbis,"
is not a precept as heroic as it is classics!.— Ed. Lowd. MU*.

Major Schill. 18*

Twas the voice of his country — it came from his tomb,
And it rises to bless his name, now that he's gone.

Remember him Dodendorf : jet on thy plain

Are the bones of the Frenchmen, that fell by his blade ;-—

At sunset they saw the first flash of his vane.

By twjjjgfet, three thousand were still as its shade, v

Then, Domitz, thy ramparts in crimson were dyed,
No longer a hold for the tyrant and slave.
Then to Pommern he rush'd, like a bark on the tide.
The tide has swept on to renown and the grave.

Fly slaves of Napoleon, for vengeance is come ;
Now plunge in the earth, now escape on the wind ;
With the heart of the vulture, now borrow its plume,
For Schill and his riders are thundering behind*

All gallant and gay they came in at the gate,
That gate that old Wallenstein proudly withstood,
Once frowning and crown'd, like a King in his state.
Though now its dark fragments but shadow the flood.

Then up fiash'd the sabre, the lance was couch'd low,
And the trench and the street were a field and a grave ;
For the sorrows of Prussia gave weight to the blow,
And the sabre was weak in the hand of the slave.

Oh Schill ! Oh Schill ! thou warrior of fame !

Li the field, in the field, spur thy charger again ;

Who bury in ramparts and fosses the flame

That should burn upon mountain, and sweep over plain!

Strabund was his tomb ; thou city of woe !
His banner no more on thy ramparts shall wave ;
The bullet was sent, and the warrior lies low,
And cowards may trample the dust of the brave.

Then burst into triumph the Frenchman's base soul,
As they came round his body with scoff and with cry,
" Let his limbs toss to heaven on the gibbet and pole.
In the throat of the raven and dog let him lie."

Thus they hurried him on, without trumpet or toll,
No anthem, no pray vr echoed sad on the wind,
No peal of the cannon, no drum's muffled roll,
Told the love and the Borrow that lingerM behind.

They cut off his head— but your power is undone ;
In glory he sleeps, till the trump on his ear
In thunder shall summon him up to the throne ;
And the tyrant and victim alike shall be_ther»t

134 The present state of Abyssinia.

When the charge is begun, and the Prussian hussar
Comes down Like a tempest with steed and with steel,
Id the clash of the swords, he shall give thee a prayer.
And his watchword of vengeance be " Schill, brave Schill !"

e*.

Art. XVII.— On the fire sent state of Abyssinia.
From the Bombay Literary Society Transactions.

The second article is a very interesting account of the present
state of Abyssinia, by Nathaniel Pearce, an English sailor, who
was left in the country, at his own desire, by Lord Valentia, in
1805, and who still continues to reside there. Mr. Salt found him
little altered in appearance or manners, and so well acquainted
with the languages and customs of the Abyssinians, as to be of
much advantage to him in the capacity of interpreter. He has
subsequently suffered much from disease and oppression. In a
letter to Theodore Forbes, Esq. British Resident at Mocha, he
complains of the hard usage he had received from the Ras in
whose service he was. That prince, on the arrival of Cofti,
bishop or aboon from Cairo, whom he had brought to Abyssinia
at great expense, ordered Pearce to quit his house, that it might
be taken possession of by this Egyptian patriarch.

" I leave you to guess," he says, " how it would touch an
Englishman's heart, after seven years endeavouring to teach those
idle villains to be a little industrious, by showing them the pro-
duce of my garden — grapes, peaches, limes, English cabbage of
all sorts, turnips, carrots, potatoes, pigeon-houses, &c. to have all
taken from me without one farthing of payment, by an old miserly
wretch that I have been serving in all his wars above ten years.
I begged of him to let me go to Mocha ; but he says he can never
agree to that, as I know all the country, and shall of course be
able to conduct an army through any part of it. He says that
the Musselmen tell him, the English got into India by first send-
ing people to live among them V

Pearce still retains feelings of warm attachment to his country.
Mr. Forbes sent him some English newspapers which happened
to contain an account of the defeats of Bonaparte, after his re-
treat from Moscow. *' 1 really think," says Pearce, " that the
" glorious news the papers gave me in respect of old England
" has done a great deal towards curing my complaint, which I
" have had above three years. I hope you will always oblige me

9he fireitnt stmte of My Brink. 105 .

* with such news." It appears from the latest accounts, (1818,)
•that Mr. Pearce had been employed in the distribution of psalm
books in Ethiopic, sent by the Bible Society. The people to
whom they were given said they were more exact than their own
writings, but complained of the smallness of the print, and the
want of red ink at the name of God. In another letter, he says
that the arrival of these had 4( created great jealousy in the mind
u of the Egyptian patriarch, who tells the population the Feringas
M are working cunningness among them."

After the preface, whioh contains these and a variety of other
particulars, we come to the " Small but true Account of the
Ways and Manners of the Abyssinian*," which is written with-
out any regard to arrangement, in a vigorous, though neither an
accurate nor a polished style : such indeed as we have reason to
expect from a man of a strong untutored miud, detailing the re-
sult of his own observations, and expressing his own opinions and
feelings. The inhabitants of Abyssinia are of many tribes, re-
ligions, and colours. In some of their customs they resemble
Jews and savages : for they keep holy the Saturday as well as
the Sunday, and eat the flesh of an animal before it is dead. They
keep many lasts ; that of Lent begins in March and ends in May ;
and besides this there is the fast of Nineveh, of the apostles, of
the Virgin Mary, all Wednesdays and Fridays throughout the
year, with a variety of others. The priests, it is said, have a
great feast at the end of each of the fasts.

« They then kill one or two cows, according to their number,
close to the door ; and, before the animal is done kicking, and the
blood still running from its throat, the skin is nearly off on one
side, and the prime flesh is cut off, and with all haste held before
the elders or heads of the church, who cut about two or three
pounds each, and eat it with such greediness, that those who did
Dot know them would think they were starved j but they at all
times prefer the raw meat to cooked victuals. After they have
finished their brindo, as they call ii, they take a little of the fattest
parts of the cow, just warmed on the fire, to settle their sto-
machs, and then one or two large horns full of xv)oir, or beer,
which is very strong, and made of several sorts of corn. They
then have the table brought in and covered with bread and cooked
victuals, where those that are not satisfied with the- raw meat, eat
until they are of the cooked/9

The second and third class of priests succeed the first, and eat
brindo laid on bread, and devour all the victuals more like hounds
Vol. xii. 24

1 86 The ftrt$ent $tatt qf Jty*i*m.

than men. Half of the moveable property of all who die isgiveQ
to the priests of Uje parish in which they ai*e buried, and is calk*
ed tetarty or money of forgiveness. The heirs of the other half
are obliged to give a feast to ) the priests on the 7th, 40th, and
80th day after the death ; besides an annual feast for several
years : these feasts are called the feasts of ra*rar, or of charity.
* They have great crying and yowling for the dead for many days,
tt and appoint a particular day for a general cry, which ends their
" crying." They then place the effigy of the deceased in a cra-
dle, and all his household servants run round it " crying, yowling*
« and firing matchlocks, and tearing the skin off their temples and
" forehead until the blood runs down their neck." Carpets are
spread before the cradle, and on them are placed the riches of the
deceased person's house ; the men sit down on the right, and the
women on the left, with their temples torn so as to frighten any
one who was not acquainted with them. « The relations stand up
u one by one in their turns, with a servant on each side of them
« to keep them from falling, as they pretend to be so weak with
" sorrow99— and speak in praise of the deceased, saying, M that
« when on horse buck he was like St. George, and en foot like the
« angel Michael, and a great deal of other nonsense." The ce-
remony concludes with a feast, which turns the 6orrow into merri-
ment. A corpse is not kept a moment in the house ; and none
but kings or great men are put in coffins.

In Gondar are twelve learned men called lickcouts, who, though
not priests, officiate in the office of the Copti Aboon, or the Egyp-
tian bishop. They keep the time ; and indeed every thing is re-
gulated by them. Their year begins on the first of September,
the day on which St. John was beheaded, and is divided into four
quarters called Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. " All the Abys-
« sinians have a father confessor ; and I myself am obliged to
« have one of these holy fathers, or else it would not be allowed
« that 1 were a Christian." Few can read except the priests ; and
most • ven of them know nothing more than the Psalms of Da vidt
which is their principal book. In many of the churches are
priestesses ; but there are some in the country into which no fe-
males are allowed to enter. The Virgin Mary is an object of
profound veneration, but little partiality is shewn to her sex. On
holidays, which Mr. Pearce thinks too numerous, no work, how-
ever urgent the necessity, must be done. Little regard for truth

Tkt fire%eni ««*{* qf 4*y*Hn4*. M

is shewn by any class of the inhabitants, and oath* are broken
without ceremony or apparent remorse. Both Christians and
Mussulmen frequently become converts to each other's religion.
Christians have an aversion to hares, geese, and ducks, but Mus-
tuhnen eat these animals, and also locusts ; " so if they lose their
u crops, they live upon the destroyers/9

The Abyssinians think diseases are caused by the devil ; and
ene complaint to which women are chiefly liable, the author is
rather disposed to think may be the work of that being. His
two wife, after he had lived with her five years, was seised with
h $ and, from his own account, which is certainly very curious, he
seems to have sympathised but little with her during her illness.

44 At the first appearance of this complaint, she was five or six
days very ill, and her speech so much altered, that I could scarcely
understand her. Her friends and relations who came to visit her
told me that her complaint was the tegretirr^ which, from what I
had heard, frightened me, and I would at the instant have turned
her away, only for fear they might think me a brute for turning
away my wife when afflicted with sickness. Her parents, how-
ever, persuaded me to bear it with patience and say nothing, for if
I were angry it would cause her death, and that they would cure
her as ail others were cured in their country. After the first five
or six days9 sickness she began to be continually hungry, arid
would eat five or six times in the night, never sleep ; and in the
day time she would go about followed by some of her parents to
all her neighbours borrowing rings and other ornaments for her
neck, arms, and legs. I did not like the thing at all ; but for the
sake of seeing the curiosity, I endeavoured to hold my tongue,
and be patient. Her speech I could scarcely understand at all ; .
t and she, like all others troubled with the same complaint, called a
man *hc and a woman he. One day she called unto me in the
presence of her friends after the manner of calling a woman,
which vexed me so much that I swore she should not stop in the
house. But the moment she saw me in a passion, she tell as if in
a fit ; and I can assure you that I saw the blood run from her eyes
as if they had been pricked with a lance. This quite made me
fearful she would die ; and as her friends had told me previously
that if I were to be out of temper it would be the cause of her
death, I thought perhaps they might bring me in for murder.
But they, however, brought her to by bringing her ornamental
dresses, which the great people willingly lend on such occasions ;
and indeed the greater sort of people are mostly troubled with this
complaint. Her countenance had been changed as well as her
speech, being from the beginning quite frightful. I determined
to keep myself at a distance, and say nothing until the day appoint-
ed Car her cure, or the devil to be drove out of her. Her friends

lit The present ttatc of Abyirinia*

had hired as many trumpeters and drummer*, who go about the
country for that purpose, as they thought sufficient ; and early in
the morning of the day appointed, they loaded her neck, arms,
and legs, with silver ornaments, and dressed her with a dress
which the great men wear at reviews after battle, which the owners
readily lend on such an occasion. After she was sufficiently
dressed, she was taken to a plain appointed by herself, about a
mile from the town, \ihere hundreds of boys and girls and men
and women of low class follow. Her friends and relations take a
great many large, jars of maize and swair for them to drink. I
have often seen people go out of the town for the same purpose,
but would not for shame follow to see them. However, fot the
sake of curiosity,. I was determined to see the last of this, and I
therefore went to the place appointed before day-light* and waited
until they came ; a cradle was placed in the midst of the spot,
covered with a carpet, and a great many jars of maize were placed
round it. As soon as she came near she began to dance, and the
trumpeters all began to play in two parties ; when one party were
tired the other relieved them, so that the noise constantly might
be heard ; the drink being continually served out by her friends
to all, kept them singing and shouting ; she still dancing and jump-
ing, some limes four or five feet from the ground, and every now
and then she would take off an ornament and throw it down. Some
one being appointed to take care they might not be lost, picked
them up and put them in a basket. She went on jumping and
dancing in this manner without the least appearance of being
tired until nearly sunset, when she dropped the last ornament, and
as soon as the sun disappeared she started ; and I am perfectly
sure that for as good as four hundred yards, when she dropped as
if dead, the fastest running man in the world could not have come
up with her. The fastest running young man that can be found
is employed by her friends to run after her with a matchlock well
loaded so as to make a good report ; the moment she starts he
starts with her ; but before she has run the distance where she
drops as if she were dead, he is left half-way behind ; as soon as
lit comes up to her he fires right over her body, and askb her
name, which she then pronounces ; although during the time of
her complaint she denies her Christian name, and detests all
priests or churches. Her friends afterwards take her to church,
where she is washed with holy water, and is thus cured."

Both men and women are subject to complaints as bad as this.
The zakerry is the worst ; but the author says, " I never had the
" curiosity to look into it, as they are very apt in their mad hours
" to affront any one who^approaches them." Fever is not com-
mon, but the itch, syphilis, rheumatism, violent colds, and sore
eyes, are prevalent. The small pox and measles commit great
liavock among them, Inoculation is practised ; and for- this they

The firetent %tatt of ABytinia. 189

seek the rankest matter they can obtain. The payment for this
operation is a piece of salt.

Matriage is not celebrated in churches* " Every one has at
*« many wives as he likes, and turns away and takes as he likes."
They build a dat,—-a Urge temporary edifice, in which the par-
ties with their friends eat and drink. The bride is placed in a
cradle at the bead of the tables. The bridegroom comes gallop-
ing to the das, jumps and cuts capers, boasting what " he has
<* done or would do." After a variety of ceremonies he dr parts
-with his bride. The marriages of the common people are more
simple. Any man of that class gives the girl of his heart a drube
and a firgy ; the one a large and the other a small piece of cloth
for robes ; and then the parents deliver up their daughter as a pur-
chased slave. Girls become mothers at the age of thirteen or
fourteen ; and Mi . Pearce gives a sad account of the want of chas-
tity in the women of the country. Ladies wear a shirt of white
India cloth, ornamented with silk twist of different colours ; over
this a robe with a white silk border ; some of them have red Egyp-
tian leather shoes, or black ones of leather made in the country ; and
many of them prick their legs, arms, and breasts with charcoal.
The lower class have scarcely any clothes, except a tanned goat's
skin about their waist, and a sheep's skin oyer their shoulders.—
44 They work like slaves, grind corn, carry water in large jars up-
<ion their loins, enough to load a yoni g ass." u A Christian
" woman never milks a cow, as it is thought a great scandal, but
w their reason for this is not worthwhile mentioning.'' The Abys „
-sinians use a great deal of sweet scented oil and blacken their eye-
brows with a mineral called cole brought from Egypt. They are
polite in their manners, pay a great many compliments, and al-
ways kiss each other in the open way. " No one ever passes his
u equals or betters without uncovering his breast, and bowing
" with his head, which they return in the same manner." They
have monthly clubs tor eating, drinking, and friendly intercourse.
The members seldom exceed twelve, who meet at each other's
houses once a month ; but a man may connect himself with as
many clubs as he pleases. " They always mantain one priest in
« these clubs, to keep them in order ; if a man be absent upon his
" own business, his wife attends in his place." The women have
also separate clubs, which meet generally on the holidays of the
Virgin Mary. No man is permitted to wear *bctor} a gold or sil:

f W The firnent tan o/4i yaafeftk

ver ornament, except he has killed an enemy in presence of tl e
king or his commander ; but every other ornament isat the option
of all who can afford it.

» The king or ras has an elevated place, built up with mud and
atone like a stage in the front of the o»A*Krr, 6r court where the
review is. This stage is covered with Persian carpets, silk pil-
lows, and other valuable articles ; in the middle is a cradle neatly
covered, upon which the king or ras sits, with all his household
servants standing round him The troops then come in galloping
belter skelter, and making a great noise. They afterwards come
one by one in' their turns at full gallop to the foot of the raised
place where the kiog is seated, and turn their horses round and
round, shaking their heads and spears as if they were mad ; boast-
ing of themselves in such a manner as to make any stranger be*
lieve they were mad. I write the following only to show in what
nonsensical manner the greatest noblemen in Abyssinia boast of
themselves before their king. I am man's master ; I am a lion 5
1 am fire; on foot I am a leopard ; I am thunder ; all men tear
me ; I am the physic for fear ; I have killed Shangarlers ; killed
Ga. lers ; and a deal of other nonsense. All who have killed an en-
emy throughout the year, have his pudenda huftg te their right
arm, which, after ending their speech, they throw down at the
king's feet. This review lasts three days ; after which every one
knows his destiny, whether he is to remain governor of his dis-
tricts, or whether another is to take his office. All preferment,
breaking, making, and changing in the governments is done at this
. time ; and although they pretend to give preferment to the bra-
vest, and to the higher rank of persons, I know for truth that most
preferment is given to tattlers, who are always making mischief
by sly conversations with their masters ; and through false reports
and false witnesses, many are innocently dismissed from their
stations."

In battles, the infantry keep to the sides of the mountains ;
while the horse are in valleys and plains ; but their want of discip-
line and regulations is such, that did they not constantly use their
chief's name as a watch word, they would often mistake the party
they belonged to. Business of all kinds is in general left to the
Mussulmen who inhabit the country. It is customary for ladies
to spin, and for great houses to keep one or two mussulmen weav-
ers. Their cotton cloths are of fine texture, and are in general
exchanged for salt or corn. The markets are furnished with raw
cotton, cotton cloths, tanned hides, cattle of all kinds, honey, wax,
butter, corn, fowls, knives, spears, ploughshares, baskets, beads,
and a variety of other articles ; but they are never visited by people
of distinction. Silversmiths, coppersmiths, and saddlers, are the

teat employed artist* in the country. But laainess is, it would
seem, the besetting sin of every class of the Abyssinians. A young
man is not happy till he has killed an enemy ; and it is common*
Ibr the yottths to seek an occasion of quarrelling with the Gar-
Iters who come to the markets, or are found in desert places with
their cattle.

The Garler are a brave people ; many of them are Mussuhrien,
but more of them have no religion or place of worship. They5
are, however, not entirely without some notion of a supreme being.
Their kings are not hereditary, and are chosen for seven yearn
only. They eat Ifttle bread, and have no cultivation in their coun-
try, but £ive their cattle for corn. The lower orders go from place
to f face with their cattle, and live entirely on milk and flesh.—*
Trey drink hot blood, but do not eat raw flesh. ** They use a deal
"of butter in their hair and skin, which makes their company dis-
" agreeable." They take as many wives as they choose ; the wo-
men perform every species of drudgery, while the men do nothing
but carry their spears and shields. The Argou are a very bad tem-
pered people living in the very middle of the Christians. The
La star, thoug! Christians, are quarrelsome and covetous. They
bad formerly great veneration for springs and fountains of water,
« which, I hear, they worshipped." When they drink at a spring*
they afterwards make it muddy to ptevent others from drinking
at the same time. Mr. Pearce one day, when extremely thirsty*
Was played this trick, " which brought pn a very serious quarrel."
He was pacified by a " respectable Ammer," who told him the
king would have been served in the same fashion. " Being as*
« sured it was their custom, I gave way to the ways of the coun*
* try, and made it up with the Argou soldier." The Teltal are
Mussulmen, and live upon their cattle after the same manner a*
the Garler. All the salt that passes as small money in Abyssinia
comes from their country.

Art xviii — The Mountain Bard; Consisting of Legendary
Ballad* and Tale*. By James Hogg, the Et trick Shepherd.
The third edition, greatly enlarged ; to which is prefixed a Me-
moir of the Author's life, written by himself. Edinburgh.
Oliver and Boyd. 1821. pp. 386. 12mo.

Wehe we left to form our estimate of the mental powers of the
Ettrick Shepherd, (to give him his poetical name,) solely from the

199 Jame* Hogg.

memoir of his life affixed to this new edition of the " Mountain
Bard," we should be inclined to rate them very low, and think hi*
intellects, if not really w^ak, at least uninfluenced by sound sense*
.That he has acted unadvisedly in publishing this memoir, we' think
will be generally allowed ; and he himself, it is hoped, will, in time,
be of the same opinion. To make public what may have' been
said in ordinary conversation, or occurred in familiar and personal
transactions, however common the practice, must be condemned.
Bui what are those to think of Mr. Hogg, who are unacquainted
with him in private life, when, besides this, they see him volunta-
rily and unnecessarily making confessions, and placing himself in
that ludicrous point of view in which we are persuaded few men
would wish to be found ? That he has done so will not be ques-
tioned ; and, when too late, he perhaps may regret such inconside-
rate rashness and folly.

Mr. Hogg's reputation stands tolerably high in public esteem,
and it is painful to think he should have done any thing to lessen
it. The public have often enough been informed by what means
he succeeded in raising himself to so respectable a situation in
the scale of literary merit, and therefore no such exposure as he
has chosen to make was called for ;— besides, all that may be re-
quite of this sort comes with better grace from a friend than from
the individual himself. Still we must confess, that we have been
greatly amused with this piece of auto-biography ; and, in place
of visiting him with that degree of censure which some people
think he has justly merited, having generosity enough to find
some excuse for him, as we verily believe he is entirely free from
sordid or unworthy motives, we shall content ourselves with ex*
tracting some of its more curious passages, interspersing them
with occasional remarks on the character of his different publica-
tions.

We need be less particular in the account of the earlier period of
Mr. Hogg's life, as that part of the memoir is preserved in the
original state in which it was prefixed to this volume, when first
published in the year 1807. There he gives a minute and inte-
resting account of his various situations in life, and his literary
progress up to the time of its appearance. His education consist-
ed in his being taught to read the Shorter Catechism ; when he
was " advanced so far as to get into the class which read the Bible,"
with some experiments which he made in learning to write. « Thus,"
he says, " my education terminated," and be adds,

Jamf Hogg. 193

" ArWthU I was iiever another day at any school whatever. In all I
had spent about half a year at it. It is true my former master denied
me, and when 1 was only twenty years of age, said, if he was called to
make oath, he would swear I never was at his school. However, I
know I was at it for two or three months ; and 1 do not choose to be
deprived of the honour of having attended the school of my native pa-
lish ; nor yet that old John Beattie should lose the honour of such a scho-
lar/

In this hopeful state, he served, under many successive masters,
in herding cows and keeping sheep ; and at this period of his life,
the only hook he had access to was the Bible, when he learned the
, greater part of our present metrical version of the Psalms by heart.
He speaks of his want of clothing, and at one time was possessed
only of two shirts, which often grew so tattered, that he was oblig-
ed u to quit wearing them altogether ; for when (he says) I put
« them on, they hung down in long tassels as far as my heels. At
« those timet I certainly made a very grotesque figure ; for, on
" quitting the shirt, I could never induce my trews, or lower vest*
<* ments to keep up to their proper spheres." But we must pass
over much information of a similar kind, with all that he tells us
regarding his first poetical compositions, (he began to write verses
in 1793,) to come to the passage wherein he describes the singu-
lar occasion, in the year 1801, of his appearing first to the world
in the character of an author.

w Having attended the Edinburgh market one Monday, with a number
of sheep for sale, and being unable to dispose of them all, I put the re-
mainder into a park until the market on Wednesday. Not knowing how
to pass the interim, it came into my head that I would write a poem or
two from my memory, and get them printed. The thought had no sooner
struck me, than it was put in practice : and I was obliged to select, not
the best poems, but those that 1 remembered best. I wrote several others
during my short stay, and gave them all to a person to print at my expense ;
and, having sold off my sheep on Wednesday morning, I returned to the
Forest. 1 saw no more of my Poems, until I received word that there-
were one thousand copies of them thrown off. I knew no more about
publishing than the man of the moon ; and the, only motive that influ-
enced me was, the gratification of my vanity by seeing my works in print.
But, no sooner did the first copy come to hand, than my eyes were open
tathe folly of my conduct ; for, on comparing it with the MS. which I
had at home, I found many of the stansas omitted, others misplaced, and
typographical errors abounding in every page."

Some of the pieces in this volume, Mr. Hogg says, attracted a
share of attention ; but he confesses, that « all of them were tod

Vol. xii. 25

19* J*me* Hogg'

* ***/f although I judged them to be exceedingly go*d.'* No
wonder, therefore, he should consider the publication of this vo-
lume as " one of the most unadvised actions" he ever committed.
We have not seen it for several years, but cannot say we are dis-
posed, by any recollections of it, to give a more favourable ver-
dict upon its merits. This is but one instance, among many, of
poets having occasion to repent their longing desires to see "their
works in f>rint ;" and how willingly, were it in their power, they
would annihilate most of their earliest effusions. Youth, it ought
to be remembered, can never be a proper apology for deluging the
world with the mere firomUe* of genius.

After this period Mr. Hogg continued several years writing oc-
casional songs and verses; he gained two prizes given by the High-
land Society for the best essays on the rearing and management
of sheep ; and made repeated journeys into the Highlands, of which
be favoured the public with accounts through the medium of the
old Scots Magazine. Finding matters not so prosperous as he
could wish in his own native vales, he had resolved to emigrate
and settle in Harries, but his1 scheme was accidentally frustrated ;
and shortly afterwards his prospects in life brightened, at the first
publication of the work before us. The Mountain Bard is well
known to consist of a number of tales and legendary ballads, found-
ed on traditionary events current in the southern parts of Scotland.
The idea was suggested on perusing the Minstrelsy of the Scot-
ish Border, and the volume is unquestionably the best of his early
publications. This new edition, besides the addition of the truly
original memoir, which we are now considering, has undergone
several material alterations and enlargements. Some of the mi-
nor miscellaneous poems, originally added to fill up the volume,
have been struck out, and their place supplied with other pieces of
a character more accordant with the rest. The following curious
passage gives us the particulars of its first publication.

4t Mr. Scott had encouraged the publication ot the work in some let-
ters that he sent me, consequently I went to Edinburgh to see about it.
He went with me to Mr. Constable, who received me very kindly, but
told me frankly that my poetry would not sell. I arid I thought it wot ao
good as any body** I had seen. He said, that might be, but that nobody's
poetry would sell ; it was the worst stuff that came to market, and that
he found ; but, as I appeared to be a queer chiei, if I would procure him
200 subscribes, he would publish my work for me, and give me as much
for it as he could. I did not like the subscribers much ; but, having no

Same* Affp* *9$

alternative, I accepted the conditions. Before the work was ready for
publication, I had got above 500 subscribers ; and Mr. Constable, who,
by that time, had conceived a better opinion of the work, gave me half-
guinea copies for ail my subscribers, and a letter for a small sum over
and above. I have forgot how much ; but, upon the whole, he acted
with great liberality. He gave me, likewise, that same year, 867. for
that celebrated work, Hogg ok Shlep ; and I was now richer than I
had ever been before."

His success only led him into difficulties, and having engaged
in farming beyond his means, he was soon " fairly run a»ground,"
when, finding himself without employment, and without money,
he came to a striking resolution ; but this we must give in his own
words.

" In February 1810, (says Mr. Hogg,) in utter desperation, I took my
plaid about my shoulders, and marched away to Edinburgh, determined,
since no better ^oold be, to push my fortune as a literary man. It is
true, 1 had estimated my poetical talent high enough, but I had resolv-
to use it only as a staff, never as a crutch ; and would have kept that re-
solve, had I not been driven to the reverse. On going to Edinburgh, I
found that my poetical talents were rated nearly as low there as my shep-
herd qualities were in Ettrick. It was in vain that I applied to news-
mongers, booksellers, editors of magazines, &c. for employment. Any
of these were willing enough to accept of my lucubrations, and give them
publicity, but then there was no money going— not a farthing ; and this
suited me very ill.

I again applied to Mr. Constable, to publish a volume of songs for me ;
for I had nothing else by me but the songs of my youth, having given up
all these exercises so long. He was rather averse to the expedient ; but
he had a sort of kindness for me, and did not like to refuse ; so, after wait-
ing on him three or four times, he condescended on publishing an edi-
tion, and giving me halt profits He published 1000 copies, at five shil-
lings each ; but he never gave me any thing ; and as I feared the concern
might not have proved a good one, I never asked any remuneration."

The name of this work was u The Forest Minstrel,'* of which,
he adds, about two-thirds of the songs were his own, the rest be-
ing furnished by correspondents. Besides Thomas Cunningham,
a brother of the ingenious Allan Cunnigham alluded to in a for-
mer number, we have heard, with what truth we know not, but we
think on good authority, that his correspondents A, B, and C, were
his friends, Laidjaw, Grieve, and John Ballantyne.

Mr. Hogg's next literary speculation was indeed a rare one for
a person in his situation, and with his humble attainments. This
was a regular weekly paper, named " The Spy," in imitation of
the Essayists of the last century, and which he actually commenc

196 Jane* Hogg.

ed and carried on for twelve months, with little assistance from
others of any kind. We cannot afford room to detail the canons
particulars he has given regarding this periodical work $ neither
can we allude to his oratorical exhibitions, although we confess
we should like, to refresh our recollections of the characters of
its drama, to have a peep at his unpublished musical farce^in three
acts, entitled M The Forum* or, a Tragedy for cold weather." We
must also decline any distinct notice of the exertions of some of his
friends, to whom he was at this time much indebted for unweari-
ed attention, and whose good advice it had been well for him to
have taken with more docility. But *re cannot omit a passage in
which one of his friends is spoken of in a becoming manner, and
which does credit to Mr. Hogg's feelings He has indeed made
similar acknowledgments in the dedication of his Mador of the
Moor ; and we question if he has ever written any thing more
honourable to himself than that dedication to his friend John Grieve.

M All this while there was no man who entered into my views, and
supported them, save Mr. John Grieve, a friend, whose affection neither
misfortune nor imprudence could once shake. Evil speakers had no ef-
fect on him. We had been acquainted from our youth ; and he had form-
ed his judgment of me as a man and a poet ; and from that nothing could
ever make him abate one item. Mr. Grieve's opinion of me was by far
too partial, for it amounted to .this, that he never conceived any effort
in poetry above my reach, if 1 would set my mind to it ; but my care-
lessness and indifference he constantly regretted and deprecated. Dur-
ing the first, six months that I resided in Edinburgh, I lived with him,
and his partner, Mr. Scott,* who, on a longer acquaintance, became as
firmly attached to me as Mr. Grieve ; and, I believe, as much so as to
any other man alive. We three have had many very happy evenings
together ; we indeed were seldom separate when it was possible to meet.
They suffered me to want for nothing, either in money or clothes; and
I did not even need to ask these. Mr. Grieve was always the first to
notice my wants, and prevent them In short, they would not sufier me
to be obliged to one but themselves for the value of a farthing ; and with-
out this sure support, 1 could never have fought my way in Edinburgh. *
I was fairly starved into it, and if it had not been for Messrs Grieve and
Scott, would, in a very sjiort time, have been starved out of it again."

This brings us to the time when the distinguished work, on which
his poetical fame may be said to have been raised, was proposed
and perfected.

Daring the time that the Forum was going on, the poetry of Mr. Wal-
ter Scott and Lord Byron had made a great noise. I had published some
pieces in Tat Spy that Grieve thought exceedingly good; and nothing

Jame* Hogg. 197

would serve him, but that I should take the field once more as a poet,
and try my late with others. I promised ; and having some ballads or
metrical tales by roe, which I did not like to lose, I planned the Queen's
Wake, in order .that I might take these all in, and had it ready in a few
months after it was first proposed. I was very anxious to read it to some
person of taste, but no one would either read it, or listen to me read-
ing it, save Grieve, who assured me it would do."

There is no occasion for us to say any thing of the Queen's
Wake, and its great successy— neither can we enter upon the state
of his own feelings at first, which he characteristically describes,
when, as he says, u he was like a man between death and life,
tt waiting for the sentence of the jury." For this part, and the
different transactions he had with his publishers, we must refer to
the Mtmoir itself.

Next came Mador of the Moor. Mr. Hogg notices the inci-
dent which suggested this poem, originally meant as descriptive
of the River Tay ;# and he fixed on the Spenserian stanza, exclaim-
ing to himself^ « That is the finest verse in the world, it rolls off
<* with such majesty and grandeur. What an effect it will have
M in the description of mountains, cataracts, and storms 1" He
then very good-naturedly informs us, " There is no doubt what-
«* ever that my highest and most fortunate efforts in rhyme, are con-
« tained in some of the descriptions of nature in that poem, and in
M the Ode to Superstition which follows it."

The « Pilgrims of the Sun" followed ; and, having alluded to
some of his transactions with " the trade/' which in general *re
Tery entertaining, we should^ have liked to have given the detail
which Mr. Hogg has thought expedient to favour us with, rela-
tive to the publication of this poemy— more particularly so, as that
part of it concerning his interview with Mr. Constable is certain-
ly the most graphic scene in the whole memoir. Its length would
preclude us from giving the entire narrative ; and the frequent
occurrence of profane expressions certainly lessens the interest
which the perusal excites— though the passage, we doubt not, de-
rives verisimilitude from that peculiarity. We, therefore, though
we confess it with reluctance, pass over the whole transaction ia
silence.

Unfortunately he was* induced to deviate from the intentions
which he had formed to himself whilst writing this poem. " In

* the year, ( 1 8 1 4,) I conceived a plan (these are Mr. Hogg's words)

* for writing a volume of Romantic Poems, to be entitled Mldsum-

I9t Jame$ Hogg.

« mcr Mght Dreamt, and am sorry, (so are tre«) that chanre adu~
u lation prevented me from accomplishing my design, for of all
« other subjects, there were none that suited the turn of my
« thoughts so well.*9 This poem had, it see ins, but little success.
We have not looked at the " Pilgrims of the Sun1* since its first
appearance, nor have we in Edinburgh been able to meet with a
copy to refresh our recollections of it, but we do remember how
much we were gratified with tfie powers which it evinced ; and
with all Us occasional extravagance and wildness, Mr. Hogg has
little need to feel ashamed of any thing contained in the most Jtoctf-
cai of all his works. But, to proceed with the Memoir.

44 My next literary adventure was the most extravagant of any. I
took it into my head, that I would collect a poem from every living au-
thor in Britain, and publish them in a neat and elegant volume, by which
I calculated I might make my fortune. I either applied personally, or
by letter, to Southey, Wilson, Wordsworth, Lloyde, Morehead, Pnngle,
Paterson, and several others ; all of whom sent me very ingenious and
beautiful poems. Wodsworth afterwards reclaimed his ; and although
Lcrd By ron and Rogers both promised, neither of them ever performed,
1 believe they intended it, but some other concerns of deeper moment
had put it out of their heads, Mr. Walter Scott absolutely refused to fur-
nish me with even one verse, which 1 took exceedingly ill, as it frustra-
ted my whole plan. What occasioned it, 1 do not know, as I accounted
myself certain of his support from the beginning, and had never asked
any thing of him all my life that he refused. It was in vain that I re-
presented, that 1 had done as much for him, and would do ten times
more if he required it. He remained firm in his denial, which I thought
very hard ; so I left him in high dudgeon, sent him a very abusive letter,
and would not speak to him again for many a day. I could not even
endure to see him at a distance, 1 felt so degraded by the refusal ; and
I was, at that time, more disgusted with all mankind than I had ever
been before, or have ever been since.

I began, with a heavy heart, to look over the pieces I had received,
and lost all hope of my project succeeding. They were, indeed, all ve-
ry well ; but I did not see that they possessed such merit as could give
celebrity to any work ; and after consid* ring them well, I fancied that
I could write a better poem than any that had*becn sent or would be
sent to me, and this so completely in the style of each poet, that it should
not be known but for his own production. It was this conceit that sug-
gested to me the idea of The Poetic Mirror, or Living Bards or
Britain. I set to work with great glee, as the fancy had struck me,
and, in a few days I finished my imitations of Wordsworth and Lord
Byron. Like a fool, I admired the latter poem most, and contrived to
get a large literal*}' party together, on pretence, as I said, of giving them
a literary treat. I had got the poem transcribed, and gave it to Mr:

Mme% Hogg. 199

Jkuiantyne to read, who did it ample justice. Indeed, he read it with
■extraordinary effect ; so much so, that 1 was astonished at the poem my-
self, and before it was h&lf done, all pronounced it Byron's. Every one
was deceived, except Mr. Ballantyne, who was not to be imposed on in
that way ; but he kept the secret until we got to the Bridge, and then he
told me his mind.**

We understand that Lord Byron's Lara, and Roger's Jacque-
line, originally printed together in a little volume, were express-
ly written for this object ; but, that in place of having them join-
ed with productions which perchance had disgraced them, they
preferred to allot the profits to Mr. Hogg. It would seem to have
been otherwise, or at least that the money was pocketed quietly
by the authors themselves. This scheme suggested the Poetic
Mirror, which has been fully as successful as it merited. There
are indeed a few good imitations in it ; but others equally poor
and miserable. In the extract just made, as Mr. Hogg informs
us oi a quarrel he had with our great Minstrel, we cannot refrain
quoting another paragraph, which is honourable to Mr. Hogg
himself, and speaks much for the forbearance and warm-ntarted
kindness from his illustrious friend. After narrating some other
affaiis,he says,

" Tiiis brings me to an anecdote which I must relate, though with* lit-
tle credit to myself ; one that I never reflect on but with feeiings of res-
pect, admiration, and gratitude. I formerly mentioned, that i had
quarrelled with Mr. Walter Scott. It is true, 1 had all the quarrel on
my own side ; no matter for that, I was highly offended, exceedingly an-
gry, and shunned all communication with him for a twelvemonth. He
heard that I was ill, and that my trouble had assumed a dangerous as-
pect. Every day on his return from the Parliament House, he called
at Messrs Grieve and Scott's to inquire after my health, with much
friendly solicitude. And this, too, after 1 had renounced his friendship,
and told him that I held both it and his literary talents in contempt.
One day, in particular, he took Mr. Grieve aside, and asked him if I
had proper attendants and an able physician ; Mr Grieve assured him
that I was carefully attended to, and had the skill of a professional gen-
tleman, in whom I had the most implicit confidence. * I would fain have
called,' said he, * but I knew not how I would be received ; I request,
however, that he may have every proper attendance, and want for no-
thing that can contribute to the restoration ot his health. And, in par-
ticular, I have to request that you will let no pecuniary consideration
whatever, prevent his having the best medical advice in Edinburgh, for
I shall see it paid. Poor Hogg, I would not for all that I am worth in
the world, that any thing serious should befal him.'

** As Mr, Grieve had been enjoined, he never mentioned, this circura-

500 Jame* Hogg.

stance to me ; I accidentally, however, came to the knowledge of it some
months afterwards ; I then questioned him as to the truth of it, when he
told me it all, very much affected. I went straight home, and wrote an
apology to Mr. Scott, which was heartily received, and he invited me
to breakfast next morning, adding, that he was longing much to see me.
The same day, as we were walking round St. Andrew Square, I endea-
voured to make the cause of our difference the subject of conversa-
tion, but he eluded it. I tried it again some days afterwards, sitting in his.
study, but he again parried it with equal dexterity ; so that I have been
left to conjecture what could be his motive in refusing so peremptorily
the trifle that I had asked ot him. I know him too well to have the least
suspicion that there could be any selfish or unfriendly feeling in the de-
termination that he adopted, and I can account for it in no other way,
than by supposing, that he thought it mean in me to attempt either to
acquire gain, or a name, by the efforts of other men ; and that it was
much more honourable, to use a proverb of his own, * that every herring
should hang by its own head. ' "

We have made so many extracts, that we see the propriety of
conciseness in what remains to be said. The Poetic Mirror
was followed by two volumes of Dramatic Tales, of which, as
we have never read them, we must say nothing. u The small
" degree of interest, (he confesses!) that these Dramas excited in
« the world, (we regret to add,) finished my, (that is, Mr. Hogg's)
" dramatic and poetical career." He now ventured on another
field, and takes credit to himself in having " had the honour of
" being the beginner and almost sole instigator of that celebrated
" work, Blackwood's Magazine !" How this may be, we shall
not pretend to determine ; but we are not a little surprised here to
find Mr. Hogg avowing himself the author or projector of the
renowned Chaldee Manuscript, which appeared in that publica-
tion ; as we think, all circumstances considered, it would have
been fully as well for himself, and for others concerned in it, to
have kept prudent silence respecting that jeu d'etflrit and its ac-
knowledged " dcevilry."

To come to Mr. Hogg as a novelist, in which character he has
not been altogether unsuccessful, though we really cannot bring
ourselves to recommend him zealously to labour in a field which
at present is so ably occupied. The Brownie of Bodsbeck, he
informs us, was retarded so long, that at length the appearance
of the inimitable « Old Mortality," by the prolific author of
Waverly, caused him to make material changes in the characters
of his tale, in order to save himself from the charges of plagia-

Jam** Hogg. 201

liam, or at least of vile imitation. The hero of .both tales hap-
pened curiously to be the same ; and it was vain to hope for
much eclat after such a production. The redoubted Balfour of
Borley, therefore, he had to transmute into the Brownie, with
other alterations ; but all was vain, even although the other minor
tales were really good of their kind, except the last, the meaning
of which' was perfectly unintelligible. The Brownie, with all
the defects occasioned by this metamorphosing process, is an in-
teresting tale, and ought to be read along with its rival, as it .
shews the sufferings which the persecuted Covenanters had to
endure, when they had fled to their secret mountain recesses,
in order to avoid the intolerant and impolitic measures of a ty- .
rannic government. The character of John Brown is, on the
whole, well drawn, and produces considerable effect.

His Winter Evening Tales seem to have l>ad better success,
as we lately received a copy of the second impression. It
has undergone some necessary, though slight alterations, which,
although they have not removed the vulgar character of some
parts, and the extravagancies of others, have at least put it in
pur power with less scruple to recommend to our readers two
amusing volumes at a moderate price. They have one recom-
mendation to some readers, that of recording many curious ad-
ventures which happened to the author himself, as have been
surmised, but which he thinks it wise to pass, tub *ilentio, in the
present memoir. Some of the stories are absurd in the ex-
treme, though we cannot help laughing at their very absurdity ;
others we recognise as old acquaintances, being gathered from
all quarters, from newspapers, from old magazines, Sec. ; but, on
the whole, there is a great variety of interest as well as incident
contained in them, and they display considerable knowledge of
the habits, manners, and superstitions of our country people.

So much for his Tales. His Collection of the Jacobite Relics
came under our review too lately, and at too great length, to re-
quire any farthei notice at this time. Not long since he publish-
ed the first Number of the Border Garland, which, unless to
change the solitary No. 1. in the list of his works, or, that the fu-
ture Numbers should be much superior in merit, we have no de-
sire to see it continued. Another, and the last of his works of
which we have to speak, was not more successful, his Hebrew
Melodies ; yet we are tempted to think that Mr. Hogg might usc-
vol.^ii. 2w

3<)8 Same* Hogg.

fully direct sortie of his future leisure hours to such a themes-
Lord Byron has confessedly failed in it, although his Hebrew
Melodies possess much of his usual energy of thought ; and those
of Moore's are beautiful, but too full of conceits ; as neither of
these distinguished poets seems to possess that freshness and
simplicity of sentiment, or to have drunk from those hallowed
streams, whence alone such productions as are worthy of the name
can be expected to flow.

On sitting down to write the present sketch, we had contem-
plated making occasional extracts from Mr. Hogg's tales and po-
etical works, but must, wc find, deny ourselves ; we shall there-
fore conclude with such reflections as this memoir of his life has
suggested. We have gone over with freeness, yet with imparti-
ality and forbearance, the particulars which he has made public,
with what degree of prudence we have already expressed. He
no doubt has communicated them with all seeming candour and
integrity ; for, although we have heard some of his averments con-
tradicted, yet, with a little colouring for effect, and such a degree
of embellishment as truth may receive when emanating from a
poetic imagination, we are persuaded of the truth of what he re-
lates. Had he consulted his friends on this occasion, as we pre-
sume he did not, they unquestionably would have voted for its
suppression. After all, what has this memoir to do with a new
edition of the Mountain Bard? Was it to proclaim himself the
author of the Chaldee Manuscript ? Surely the world does not
need to be put in mind of his other and avowed productions. It
could not be to honour his friends, some of whom are dragged
forward' with very little ceremony. It was not to raise his own
character, by laying aside that natural reserve which best befits
the possession of genius ; and we will not lower Mr. Hogg so much,
as to suspect it was merely to bring him in a lew pounds from the
excitement of a depraved curiosity. It is characteristic, indeed,
and altogether told in a naive and graphic manner ; and it is inter-
esting to observe a vigorous mind, raising itself from obscurity,
struggling onwards under disadvantages, and, relying mainly on
its own internal strength, at last overcoming them. But have
we not been informed of this over and over again ? He may,
through compassion, escape from the censure which would have
fallen unmitigated on the head of almost any other individual, but
certainly we must condemn his imprudence in trying that feeling

Jamen lfogg% . 80$

to such an extent. What have the people to do with his educa-
cation— his personal quarrels or reconciliations— his private deal-
ings, and so on ? Will posterity view with more indulgence ihe
productions which he bequeaths them ? or, will the doing so fa-
cilitate and render smoother his own progress through what re-
mains to him of life I Surely not. And yet he repeatedly tells
us that this memoir is meant solely as a foretaste of what may be
expected ! We wonder Mr. Hogg has not a chapter in the pre-
sent memoir, on a new and improved manner of accepting chal-
lenges, and Aw original mode of preventing the effusion of blood
occasioned by duelling, with other singular incidents fresh in our
memory. These, it may be, are reserved for his larger work —
He shews at least some discretion, when speaking of this intended
production, that «' there is much that 1 have written that cannot
u as yet appear ;" and he manifests no less circumspection, when
he adds, « for the literary men of Scotland, my contemporaries,
" may change their characters, so as to disgrace the estimate at
« which I have set them, or my social companions may alter their
«* habits."P. 77. A pretty fellow, indeed, to talk of estimating the lit-
erary characters of his contemporaries 1 Let us only judge from
the manner in which he speaks of himself and those uhoin he in-
troduces. As a set off to one of his friends, whom he considers
a greater " prodigy than any self-taught painter or poet in the king-
dom,"—we have Mr. Jeffrey usually styled, "the Prince of Review-
ers," who, be says, " in the long run," will not be honoured ; and
why not ? Why, for not reviewing any other poem by James
Hogg than the Queen's Wake 1 In one place he tells us he
considers himself u exquisite at descriptions of nature, and of
« mountain scenery in particular j" in another he very contented-
ly informs us, that at one time he held Walter Scott's «* friendship
and talents— in what ?— a in contempt .'" Now we may laugh at
all this absurdity ; but it were too much for such a person to sit
down and estimate the literary characters of our countrymen.

We have no wish to depreciate Mr. Hogg's talents, though we
cannot say much either for his judgment or his prudence. We
think him possessed of a fine imagination, and a mind feelingly
alive to the beauties of nature ; but we really do not look on him
with that degree of astonishment with which he seems to con-
template himself; whilst, having no intention to flatter him, we
really wish to see his talents properly applied. We trust, there-

304 New Bank tfikt United State*.

fore, be tits not forsworn poetry, a* tie seems to intimate ; tod '
would also counsel him to regard his own ettaracter with more jea-
lous regard than he has hitherto done. We know from bis own
words that he does not receive advice with so much grace as to
lead us to offer him any unnecessarily. But should he ever re-
solve to appear again to the world, in his poetical character, we
cannot think of any theme which he is likely more successfully to
attempt, than those aerial beings

« who pluck the winges of painted butterflies,
« And fenne the moon-beams from our sleeping eyes,"

respecting whom the 6ner portions of his existing poetry are
composed. In one word, let us cdunsel him to abandon confes-
sions and disclosures, and revert to an old project, that of filling
lip a volume with those delightful subjects which he contemplated
ibr his Midsummer's Night Dkkams.

Art. XIX — JVetv Bank qf the United States in Philadelphia.

[We are indebted to the publisher of that valuable manual, « The Builder's
Assistant," for the annexed representations of the interior and exterior of the
Splendid edifice which is described in the following article. The description
is from the pen of the ingenious architect, Mr. William Strickland, by woods
the plan was designed.)

In the design and proportions of this edifice, we recognise the
leading features of that celebrated work of antiquity, the Parthe-
non at Athens. In selecting this example as a model for a build-
ing such as a bank, requiring a peculiar internal arrangement and
distribution of space and light, it becomes a difficult task for ah
architect to preserve all the characteristics of a Grecian temple,
whose otiginal and appropriation was solely for the worship of th6
Gods, and for the depositories of public treasure. The peripteros
or flanking columns of a Grecian building produces a decidedly
beautiful feature in architrave. But they cannot be applied with
their proper effect to places of business, without a sacrifice of
those principles which have a constant application to internal
uses <tnd economy.

The design before us is of tbe Grecian Doric, characterised a«
Hy} aethero*, having eight fluted columns 4 feet 6 inches in dia-
meter, embracing the whole front, taken from the Parthenon, or
temple of Minerva, Hecatompedon at Athens, being dtvested of
the columns of the peripteros and pronatis* of the sculptured

J¥ew Bank if the Unite* State*. 805

metopes of the freise, and the basso-relievo figures in the Hyra-
panum of the pediment.

The column? rise from a basement 6 feet in elevation support-
ing a plain entablature* extending along the sides of a parallelo-
gram 86 by 160 feet including the body of the building and porti-
cos that project 10 feet 6 inches from each of the fronts. The
Tertical angle of the pediment is 159° forming an uninterrupted
line from end to end of the ridge or apex of the roof.

The ascent to the porticos from the street is by a flight of six
steps, to a terrace or platform, extending 16 feet on each flank,
and in front of the edifice.

It is on this terrace that the building is reared, and from which
it derives a great portion of its effect. The. gateways oif the
right and left, open into paved avenues, which extend from Ches-
Dut to Library streets, along each of the fla.»ks serving to insulate
the building from surrounding objects, it being inclosed along
these avenues by a return of the iron railing exhibited in the
front elevation.

This edifice is situated in a north and south direction fronting
on Chesnut and Library streets.

Its length including the portico, is 161 feet, and breadth in front
Srieet. The floor of the principal or ground story is elevated 9
feet, surrounded on all sides by a terrace 14 feet wide, rising 3
feet wide, and paved with large flag stones jointed together. The
main entrance is from Chesnut street, by a flight of marble steps
extending along the whole front of the portico.

The door in the centre opens into a large vestibule with cir-
cular ends embracing the Transfer and Loan offices on the right
and left, together with a commodious lobby leading to the bank*
ing room.

The vestibule ceiling is a prolonged panneled dome divided in-
to three compartments, by bands enriched with the Guillochea
springing from a projecting impost containing a sunken frette.-—
The pavement is tessilated with American and Italian marble
throughout.

The Banking room occupies the centre of the building, being
48 feet wide, having its length 81 feet, in an east and west direc-
tion, and lighted exclusively from these aspects. Its leading fea-
tures present a double range of six fluted marble columns 22 inch-
es diameter, at a distance of 10 feet each from the aide walls*

308 JVbw Bank of the United State:

forming a screen or gallery for the clerks* desks which are placed
within the intercolumniations.

These columns are of the Greek Ionic Order, with a full enta-
blature, and blocking course on which the great central and later-
al arches are supported ; the central arch being semi-cylindrical
is 98 feet in diameter* 81 feet in length, and subdivided into seven
compartments with projecting concentric platbands over and of
equal diameter with each column, the intervals being enriched
with square sunken moulded panne Is ; this ceiling is 35 feet
from the floor to the crown of the arch, executed with great pre-
cision and effect.

An Isthmian wreath, carved in one entire block of Pennsylvania
while marble, surrounds the clock-face, which occupies the space
of the first pannel over the entablature in the centre, the design of
which is copied from the reverse of an antique gem, found at Co-
rinth, and described by Stuart in his valuable work on the Anti-
quities of Athens.

The tellers' counters are composed of marble, forming pannel-
led pedestals across each end of the banking room commencing
at the first column from each of the end walls.

The stockholder's room is a parallelogram of 28 feet by 50 feet,
being lighted from the south front, having a groin arched ceiling,
with projecting platbands, enriched with the Guilloches springing
near the base of the groin angle, across the semicircular intrado*
of the arch. Each end of the room is ornamented with niches 8
feet wide, the heads of which form an architrave concentric with
the semicircular paunels in the tympanum of the shortest di-
ameter.

The committee rooms from the stockholders9, open right and
left, flanked by two flights of marble stairs, leading to the clock
chamber, and other apartments in the second story. The private
stairway from the banking room leads to the directors', engravers',
and copper- plate printers' rooms being lighted from the roof by a
plain convex glass light, 20 inches in diameter, and six inches
thick, manufactured in Boston by Messrs. Jarvis & Co. the light
being inserted in a marble curb, is placed on the apex of a cone
which perforates the arch above the stair* way.

All the internal door jambs, sills, and imposts are of "marble.—
The fire places are principally under the windows, and formed
within the thickness of the external walls, and covered with thick
east iron plates.

View of Society and Manner* in Jmerica. 207

The banking room is amply warmed by two cast-iron furnaces,
lined wiu. fire-brick, being simply erected within an air chamber,
through which the external atmosphere passes and becomes heat-
ed by the furnace, it then rises through the arch* into a circular cast-
iron pedestal, perforated on the sides, out of which it is suffered
to escape into the room.

The whole body of the building is arched 'in a bomb-proof man-
ner from the cellar to the roof, which is covered with copper.—
All the groik arches art: girdled at the springing line with iron
straps, passing round within the body of the division walls.

It may be here practically useful to observe, that all buildings
of a public nature, should be thus constructed, as the only safe-
guard against the ravages of the incendiary, and the no less fatal
but inevitable attacks of time.

An i. XX. — Ficw* of Society and Manner* in Americu; in a Srrie*
of Letter* from that Country to a friend in Englund% during the
year* 1818, \*\9$and 1820. By an Englishwoman. New York,
1821. pp. 387. boards g 2.

Ok seeing a picture of America so captivating and in many
instances so just, as this lady has exhibited, we are at once led
to inquire into the causes which have drawn delineations from
her pencil so totally different from those which have been pre-
sented by her countrymen. Shall we adopt the opinion which
many men have maintained, that women have more native discern-
ment than men ; a happier tact in discovering the true feature* of
a character ? Or shall we say that their superior candour exam-
ines without piejudice, and their good-nature inclines them to
place objects in the fairest point of view ? Our self love may
suggest all this, and our consciousness will confirni/the repre-
sentation that Mis» Wright, to whom these " Letters" are ascrib-
ed, has given of the virtue, the intelligence, and the prosperity of
our country. But her brethren on the other side of the Atiai tic
will not let us rest in this complacent state. They will remind us
that female fancies have ever the hues of the rain-bow at their com-
mand, and, with still greater truth, that this votary of liberty
would have lauded a republic had she found it in the frozen wilds
of Siberia ! It is very evident Indeed, that a disgust with the po-
licy of her own government, and an enlightened sense of the rights
of man had prepared her to sympathise with a people who had

90i Fiew iff Society end Manner* in Americm.

successfully resisted their oppressions and to admire their insti-
tutions. They have all the excellence she ascribes to them.

This lady is a great politician, but we shall not quarrel with
her ; much as we dislike a democrat in petticoats. We agree
that women who are to be the companions of husbands, and the
instructors of sons, ought to possess every kiud of knowledge,
which opportunity places within their reach, so far as it is compa-
tible with a due attention to the peculiar duties of their own de-
partment. We regret, however, that this lady has devoted so
large a portion of her work to our political institutions and our
wars : things, which have been so often treated, and are every where
to be found. If her countrymen are yet to learn the great princi.
pies of our republic, they are more ignorant than we had suppos-
ed them to be. But in the United States, the leaves which contain
these discussions will seldom be opened.

We are the less surprised at the masculine choice of her
Subjects since we have heard of the Amazonian character of
the lady. Without a male protector and accompanied only by
a sister, she dashes across the Ocean, perambulates our ci-
ties,—-clambers over the rocky sides of our mountains— and
looks down upon the roaring Genesee from the excavated root
of an old pine, whilst the earth beneath, crumbling under her
weight, fell into the water— and the blood of a spectator on
the opposite shore, « ran cold9' at the perilous situation of the
intrepid traveller ! So little have we been accustomed to praise
from British writers, that we seem to be very ungracious in repel-
ling the statements that now deal it out in ample measure, full,
and running over. She is indeed the only one who has done us
justice. She has seen the bearing of our political institutions
en the personal character of our citizens with a philosophic
eye, and we accept her eulogium with due homage to her dis-
cernment and good-nature. Bui that very probity which she as-
cribes to us, forbids that we should receive what is not our own.
Miss Wright has fallen into many errors, some of which are so de-
rogatory to the honour of a great portion of our citizens, that we
should be wanting in duty to them, and to a cause for which we
have endured much, if we should suffer them to pass un re proved.
We shall at once be understood by our home-readers, to allude to
the aspersed Federalists ; whilst those abroad— if any such there
be, will require to be told that there are yet such men amongst us.

At other mis-statements of this Author we do but smile while

Fleto 0/ Society and Manners in America* 209

we correct. Philadelphia is proverbially clean, and of course, she
was to commend our neatness ;-— an army of brooms therefore
spring out of her creative imagination* and the pavement is washed
before each door, every morning 1 Alas ! if this were true our
printers would lose many a complaining paragraph about our dirty
streets. The fronts of our houses have a bright, orderly, and sub-
stantial aspect ; therefore, they are painted anew* both brick and
wood, every year ! Now the honest truth is, that the brick houses
are very rarely painted, and not a single one is thus adorned every
year 1 Still our city is comparatively a very clean city, and Miss
Wright had heard so, many a time and oft ; but the good lady
walked about in such entertaining company, that her ears alone
were employed while her eyes forgot their office ! For such
blunders as these she is herself responsible ; for her tales about
our political parties, our anger falls rather on the deceivers who
misled her. As water finds its level, so does a stranger generally
fall into that society for which his own prejudices or education has
prepared him. But this rule would seem to have been reversed
in the case of our traveller. The colouring she has given to all
her discussions of party questions, could have been obtained alone
from the democratic party, yet We know that she conversed much
amongst the federalists. Mr. A. M. to whose " kindnesiand hospi-
tality she was so much indebted," and whom she introduces as" a
most amiable specimen of the American country gentleman,"* is a
federalist— The lady who is understood to be described in page 94-*
as educating her young family in the morning and entertaining the
literati in the evening — is a federalist,— (that is to say, her hus*
band is a federalist— for men and their wives, usually hold the
same political opinions,) and we have heard of other families of
the same description to which Miss VV. was introduced in Phiia*
delphia. Mr. H. to whom she carried a letter from the gifted lady
above described, and through whose politeness she obtained a
view of the " pretty villa" of ** the Ex-King" at Bordentown, is
one of our most illustrious federalists. To these respectable
names we could add several others who are mentioned in this
" View of Society in America," and very confidently aver, that
the writer did not obtain from any one of them such a M view*' at
the following :

* We never before heard of the « diplomacy" of Mr. M*
VOL. XII. *7

310 View of Society and Manner* in America.

« Among the first Federals* there were men no less respec-
table for their virtues, than their talents ; but these bad gradually
fallen off from the minority, to mingle themselves with the
bulk of the nation, leaving only the old toriet, and some dis-
appointed politicians, to disgrace a title which patriots had worn
and under it* t/teciou* mask to attempt the ruin of their coun-
try." p. 261. Did Fearon ever write any thing more outrageous
than this ? Washington, Adams, Hamilton, Pickering, the de-
stroyers of their country ! And again,

« The name of a party once respectable, but now disgraced by
itself, became universally odiou* ; and its members to rise from
the contempt into which they had fallen, found it advisable to
declare their own conversion to the principles of popular govern-
ment and federal union/' p 262. This was a conversion with a
witness I— federalists converted to federalism 1 But Miss W. is
not without documents to prove her extraordinary assertions. " It
is difficult now," she says, " to a find a Federalist absolutely so call-
ed. A certain soreness upon some political topics, a coldness of
manner in pronouncing the name oi Jefferson, and I have observ-
ed, of Franklin, is what may sometimes enable you to detect a ci-
devant member of the fallen party !" p. 279. There is much of
this sort of stuff scattered through her volume, too ridiculous for
serious indignation ; and only laughed at by sensible men of all
parties. That there is less asperity now than formerly between
the great political parties of the Union, is very true, but names
have not ceased to be distinctive appellations, although there is
little to keep them in existence. " In the quiet exercise of their
powers" (this lady tells us) M the sovereign people set all things to
rights." p. 247. How were they set to rights ? By the adoption
of all the measures for which the federalists had contended, by
their successors in power. Forgetting that she had ascribed all
the prosperity of the country to her favourite politicians, she her-
self in another page thus speaks of Hamilton—*4 The measures
of that able statesman restored the credit of the nation, revived
commerce, invigorated agriculture, and created a revenue 1"
« Whatever might be the political opinions of the former (Ham-
ilton) whether purely republican, or leaning, as was suspected,
towards aristocracy, it was soon universally acknowledged, that
his measure* had promoted the prosperity and lasting interests of
his country." p 245. It is idle to waste words in proving that
which is self evident) but document for document is the fair argu-

Viev) of Society and Manner* In America. 2 1 1

stent : at the moment we are writing, a newspaper of the day,
containing a notice of a Federal meeting lies before us. Parties
exist, and according to the most approved recipe they ought to
exist— they are the palladium of liberty-— the healthful diet of the
body politic, which would sicken and die without the proper ali-
ment.

It is true that the number of Federalists has so greatly dimin-
ished that they can scarcely be regarded as a distinct party, with
reference to the general government. Nor is this to be regretted,
since all the principles by which they were distinguished from
their opponents are now fully recognized in the administration of
our national affairs. When Washington, Hamilton, Ames, Har-
per, Otis, Sedgwick, Sitgreaves, Bayard, and the train of worthies
who stood in the front rank of federalism, devised the measures
which are now admitted by every man of sound understanding to
. be the very buttresses of our civil polity, they knew that they
were making an experiment upon the good sense of the people
which would shake their own popularity. In Jefferson, Madison,
Giles, Gallatin, Livingston and Nicholas they had wary adversa-
ries who readily availed themselves of the advantages which they
possessed in having the popular side of the argument. The Fe-
deralists are no longer in power, but we hazard nothing in saying
that they are highly respected by those of their adversaries whose
good opinions are desirable. As to the persons who have " fallen off
from the minority," we shall only say of them that so far from, be-
ing M respectable for their virtues/9 they are men who will hang
loosely wherever they go. They are destitute of principle and
love none but themselves. Tergiversators are not very bountiful-
ly rewarded in any country, and of ours, with a very few .excep-
tions, we may say " they are small among the heathen^ and despis
ed among mem."

Although our author has succeeded better than her predeces-
sors in discovering the true character of America, in the general,
yet like them, she has imagined that she could discern every thing
at a glance. She has drawn inferences from single facts, and has
been misled by her own prejudices. Amongst the society of Friends
she probably heard the sage of Monticello denominated Thoma*
Jefferson, and she therefore concludes that this is our common
style. She hears a story of14 a master who was dismissed from a pub-
lic school for having struck a boy." The little rebel turns upon

212 ' Fiewdf Society and Manner* in America.

his teacher. *• Do you dare to strike ne ?— You are my teacher?
hut not my tyrant M The school -room made common cause in a
moment : the fact was inquired into and the master dismissed.
No apology for the punishment was sought in the nature of the
Offence which might haye provoked it." From this instance-*-
disgraceful to our understanding if true — she argues that " vio-
lence is positively forbidden in the schools,'' and observes, to the
honour of our independent spirit " By this early exemption from
arbitrary power the hoy acquires feelings and habits which abide
with him through life." Change the word exemption in her
sentence to assumption^ and we shall have the boy acquiring the
feelings of an outlaw, and the habits of a despot ! No, no,
we have not yet abandoned the rules of the good old Book.
The Bible is still read in our schools, and there the boy re-
cognizes the prerogative of his master. " Foolishness is bound
up in the heart of a child, tut the rod of correction shall drive
it far from him." But this is not the only place, where we
are sorry to find this lady setting her Bible at defiance. Speak-
ing of the penal code of William Perm, she says, " In retaining
the punishment of death, even for the murderer, his mild spirit
seems rather to have issued the sentence of « blood for blood" in
conformity tp the divine law, as given in the Old Testament, than
from the argued conviction of its propriety.*' The reasoning then
pf fallible men, is a better test of propriety than the divine law !
She found herself however in some difficulty, and she adroitly
throws it off, by telling us that " the law of Moses is not the law
of christians, nor the law of nations ; and if we dispense with it in
other cases, we may be allowed to do so in this." From several
remarks about Unha nanism, fanaticism, and so on, we indeed per-
ceive that she is not deeply read in the law of christians. We shall
therefore lay her under an obligation by informing her, that the
moral law of Moses is the broad basis on which both the law of
christians, and the law of nations, is predicated. We dispense with
Jus ritual law because the new Testament has abolished it. Pur-
suing her argument against capital punishment in cases of murder,
she says— p. 43.

« On the other hand, where executions are rare, they as natu-
rally excite unmixed horror ; the atrocity oi the crime and of the
criminal are tost in this one overpowering sensation ; he whom
the heart curstd, and at whose sight the blood ran cold, is changed
fit a moment to ap object pf compassion ; his deeds of darkness ar§

View of Society and Manner* in America. 2 1 3

forgotten when his life's blood is poured at our feet ;— the mur-
derer in our eyes is no longer the lifeless wretch, a is the hired
executioner. Can the law be wise which thus trifles with our
moral feelings ? and that it does so, we need not look to the spe-
culations of philanthropists, 1 have the testimony of many citi-
zens ot these republics for asserting, that when executions, rare
and far between, as they are in this happy country, occur, they
have no other effect than to excite amazement and horror at the
suffering, and commiseration for the suffVrer. Nay, so much is this'
the case, that the execution of a pirate, convicted of the most a-
trocious crimes, has, upon one or two occasions, assumed the ap-
pearance of a martyrdom ; multitudes crowding to gaze upon him,
as led from the prison, with all the respect that the citizens of
Rome might have seen a victorious general enter their gates under
the honours of an ovation. The criminal himself has caught the
enthusiasm of the hour, and ascended the scaffold with the majes-
ty of Kemble in Coriolanus, seeking the hearth of his enemy ; the
scene closing with a funeral procession, and all the solemnities of
Christian interment."

M Ascended the stage with the majesty of a Kemble !" sheer
rhodomontade — »* a funeral procession, and all the solemnities of
christian interment !" In a single instance, and in a city notorious
for its manifold iniquities, the unfortunate culprit was honoured
with " christian interment ;" but is this to stigmatize us with ha-
bitual mockery of the laws of every civilized nation ? Even here
the scandalous proceeding was very generally disapproved, although
it wa% not carried so far as to erect a stage for the poor wretch to
emulate ** the majesty of a Kemble/' Bm perhaps Miss W. who
is very fond of stage effect, intended no more than to exalt a cart
into a stage !

Some sage or other, has advised us to profit by what our ene-
mies say of us. Now we are no* so ungracious as to call this
writer our enemy— she is our very hearty friend— -but let her mis-
takes instruct us. She says, " marriages are usually solemnized at
the paternal mansion of the bride, in which the young couple conti-
nue to reside for six or twelve months." Now this we think, would
be a great improvement on our plan. Let the young couple remain
for a year in the paternal mansion. The lady would in that time
take more efficient lessons from her mother's housekeeping than
she had done while surrounded by admiring beaux, and the ambi-
tion to shine in a house of their own, would give way to sober cal-
culation : a house and furniture in moderation would then suffice,
and perhaps we should hear less of great establishments broken
up in a few years !

214 View of Society and Manner* in America.

At page 60, we are told—" The legislature now meets in Lan-
caster about 60 miles west from hence (Philadelphia,) but this
also has already grown out of the centre of the fast spreading cir-
cle of population, and by an act of the assembly the capital is or-
dained to travel yet farther west to Harrisburgh, on the east
. branch of the Susquehannah* This town, the definitive seat of
the siate-government, is, I am informed, laid out with great care,
much on the same plan as Philadelphia, and promises in the gran-
deur of its public buildings to outstrip the parent city." Harris-
burgh is beautifully situated on the main river, at leaut fifty mile*
below the ea*t branch. The legislature had been fixed there ten
or twelve years before the date of this letter. The State is now
erecting a superb capitol at the seat of government, but we know
of no other public buildings, to make us tremble for " the parent
city." Mind, not matter, was the nobler pursuit of our sage tra-
veller. While she "walked our streets with the celebrated de Ser-
ra, our splendid edifices scarcely caught her eye— -the intelligent
conversation of its inhabitants filled her whole soul with the beau
idc ai, and our walls are adorned with fresh paint every year !

In the same manner while she talked witff King Joseph, and
sought excuses for the atrocious u drama of his brother's life,"
the majestic Delaware and its cultivated shores— a scene for which
an English nobleman would give uncounted guineas, is coldly call-
ed a " fine prospect9' — and his extensive improvements sink into
a " pretty villa." In a descant on the neatness of our city— to which,
much praise is really due— poor Water-street fares hardly. <* In-
stead of leaving a sloping bank of verdure rising gradually from
the river, which would have left the city open to the view of its
magnificent waters, as well as to wholesome and refreshing breezes,
it in choked up with wharfs and ugly ruinous-looking buildings, the
nest of infection during the summer. Fortunately these are of
woody and must soon run their time"— Leaving the debatiable
ground of yellow fever and the utility of Mr. Beck's plan of im-
proving the shore of our majestic river, to wiser heads, we shall
only contradict one assertion in this statement. Wooden buildings
are scarcely seen in Water-street; they are all of brick, and many
of them are large and convenient houses. Like other things of an-
cient fabrication, houses, furniture, and clothing, they are more
substantial than those of modern date, and will not " soon run out
their time." We may lament this fact, as it concerns the beauty
and salubrity of our city— but it is nevertheless true.

fUvt of Society and Manncr$ in America. 215

The day is well remembered by citizens not much beyond the
euddle age, when they were inhabited by some of our wealthiest
merchants ; and several *till remain.

In September 1818 our traveller landed at N.York and there
received her first impressions of the sublime features of our coun-
try, from " the broad and silver waters of her bay, and the heights
of Neversink opposing a black screen to the crimson glories of the
evening sky." Here too, she first felt the kind-heartedness of
our citizens in the mutual gratulations of the numerous boats
which darted from the different shores, and their returning friends
on board the Amity, In New York, she saw M not a public building
worth noticing except the City Hall !" We have always understood
that New York contained many handsome Churches, but this lady
did not come to look for Churches^— accordingly, they are every
where passed without notice, excepting only the Roman Catho-
lic Cathedral and the Unitarian edifice in Baltimore. From hence
she comes to Philadelphia, where the descendants of William
Penn, and the negroes— we mean no disrespect in placing them
aide by side— claim her chief regards. The vast number of be-
nevolent institutions with their commodious buildings are passed
by, to make room for politics and jurisprudence — certainly much
better known to the people for whose information her letters were
ostensibly intended, than the former. 6ur University— at least
among the oldest seminaries in America, and containing a Medi-
cal school, unquestionably the first in celebrity, is not even nam-
ed ! An enthusiast for freedom, however, could not behold the
State-house where the first American Congress sat, without a
merited encomium on that august body. We next trace her on
the spacious bosom of the Hudson, enraptured with the romantic
scenery of the Highlands— -we have a word or two on the Acade-
my at West Point — and then in detail the well-known story of Ar-
nold and Andre. From Albany she struck across the State to the
.far-famed falls of Niagara. The following passages will show the
good humour and spirit with which she made her journey-
sometimes smooth, and sometimes rough : — p. 127.

M In this journey, as I have often found before, the better half of
our entertainment was afforded by the intelligence of our compan-
ions. It was our good fortune on leaving Albany to find ourselves
seated immediately by a gentleman and his lady returning from
Washington to this their residence. He was a native of Scotland,
but came to this country in his early youth, followed the profes-

3 1 6 Vie* of Society and Manners in America*

sioft of the law, settled himself many years since in affluence 6n
his farm, (which seems rather to furnish his amusement than hta>
business,) married into a family that had emigrated from New-
England, and settled down in the neighbourhood, and lives sur-
rounded not only by all the comfotts, but the luxuries of life. We
were variously joined and abandoned by citizens of differing ap*
pearance and. professions, country gentlemen, lawyers, members
of congress, naval officers, farmers, mechanics, kc. There were
two characteristics in which these our fellow travellers generally
more or less, resembled each others—good humour and intelli-
gence. Wherever chance has as yet thrown me into a public
conveyance in this country, I have met with more of these, the
best articles of exchange that I am acquainted with, than I ever
remember to have found elsewhere.

Our second day's journey was long and fatiguing, but withal
very interesting ; the weather delightful, and the scenery pleas*
ing. The road bore every where heavy marks of the flag citation*
inflicted by the recent storms. It seemed often as if not only the
rain but the lightnjng had torn up the ground, and scooped out
the soil, now on this side, and now on that ; into which holes, first
the right wheel of our vehicle, and anon the left making a sudden
plump, did all but spill us out on the highway. To do justice
to ourselves, we bore the bruises that were in this manner most
plentifully inflicted, with very tolerable stoicism and unbroken
good humour.

Gaining the banks of the Mohawk, we traced its course for six-
ty miles, which, between the lower cataract of the Cohoes and the
ufifier falls, flows placidly through a country finely varied, rich*
with cultivation, and sprinkled with neat and broad-roofed cottag-
es and villas, shadowed with trees, and backed with an undulating
line of hills, now advancing and narrowing the strath, and then re-
ceding and leaving vistas into opening glades, down which the
tributaries of the Mohawk pour their waters. Massy woods eve-
ry where crown and Usually clothe these ridges ; but indeed, as
yet, there are few districts throughout this vast country where
the forest, or some remnants of it, stand not within the horizon.

The. valley of the Mohawk is chiefly peopled by old Dutch set-
tlers ; a primitive race, who retain for generations the character,
customs, and often the language of their ancient country. Of all
European emigrants, the Dutch and the German invariably thrive
best, locate themselves, as the phrase is here, with wonderful sa-
gacity, and this being once done, is done for ever. Great must be
the penury from which this harmless people fly, who are thus at-
tached to the ways of their fathers, and who, once removed to a
land yielding sustenance to the swart hand of industry, plant so
peacefully their pe nates, and root themselves so fixedly in the soil.
As a settler next best to the German, thrives the Scot; the French-
man is given to turn hunter ; the Irishman, drunkard, and the
Englishman, speculator. Amusement rules the first, pleasure

View of Society and Manner* in America. 317

Jrtins the second, and self-sufficient obstinacy drives headlong the
third. There are many exceptions, doubtless, to this rule ; and
the number of these increases daily,— and for this reason it is a
higher class that is at present emigrating, I speak now more
particularly of England. It is men of substance, possessed in
clear property of from five hundred to five thousaod pounds, who
now attempt the passage of the Atlantic. I know of thirteen fa-
milies who lately arrived in these states from the Thames, not
one of which is possessed of less than the former sum, and some
of more than the latter. I fear that the policy of England's rulers;
is cutting away the sinews of the state. Why are her yeomen
disappearing from the soil, dwindling into paupers? or flying as
exiles ? Tithes, taxes, and poor rates—these things must be
looked into, or her population will gradually approach to that of
Spain, beggars and princes ; the shaft of the fair column reft
away." P. 127.

The tremendous cataract of Niagara— one of the wonders of the
world, is an object of curiosity to ail who have heard its name y
language must fail to give a complete idea of its grandeur. Our
readers shall judge for themselves how Miss W. has succeeded
in description.— P. 173.

" Next morning we set off in a little wagon, under a glorious'
sun, and a refreshing breeze. Seven miles of a pleasant road
which ran up the ridge we had observed the proceeding nighty
brought us to the cataract. In the way we alighted to look down
from a broad platform of rock, on the edge of the precipice, at a
fine bend of the river* From hence the blue expanse of the Onta-
rio bounded a third of the horizon ; fort Niagara on the American-
shore ; fort George on the Canadian, guarding the mouth of the
river, where it opens into the lake ; the banks, rising as they ap-
proached us, finely wooded, and winding; now hiding and now re-
vealing the majestie waters of the channel Never shall I forget
the moment when, throwing down rny eyes, I first beheld the deep,
slow, solemn tide, clear as crystal, and green as the ocean, sweep-
ing through its channel of rocks with a sullen dignity of motion
and sound, far beyond all that I had heard, or could ever have
conceived. You saw and felt immediately that it was no river
you beheld, but an imprisoned sea ; for such indeed are the lakes
of these regions. The velocity of the waters, after the leap, un-
til they issue from the chasm at Queenston, flowing over a rough
and shelving bed, must actually be great ; but, from their vast
depth they move with an apparent majesty, that seems to temper
their vehemence, rolling onwards in heavy* volumes, and with a
hollow sound, as if labouring and groaning with their own weight*
1 can convey to you no idea of the solemnity of this moving ocean.
Our eyes followed its waves until they ached with gazing; and
^ad not our little guide and wagoner startled us, by hurling a fra$*

Vol. x^i. 2*

21* Piti9qf8Qti€$9m*4 Manner* titjimefica*

metit' of rock from the precipice, I know not when we should have
awakened from our dream.

A mile farther, we caught a first and partial glimpse of the ca-
taracl, on which the opposing sun flashed for a moment, as on a
silvery screen that hung suspended in the sky. It disappeared
again behind the forest, all save the white cloud that rose far up
into the air, and marked the spot from whence the thunder came.
IV e now pressed torward wiih increasing impatience, and after a
( few miles reaching a small inn, we left our rude equipage, and
hastened in the direction that was pointed to us.

Two foot-bridges have latterly been thrown, by daring and dex-
terous hands, from island to island across the American side of
the channel, some hundred of feet above the brink of the fall ;
gaining in this manner the great island which divides the cataract
into two unequal parts, we made its circuit at our leisure. From
its lower point, we obtained partial and imperfect views of
the falling river; from the higher, we commanded a fine prospect
of the upper channel. Nothing here denotes the dreadful com-
motion so soon about to take place ; the thunder, indeed, is behind
you, and the rapids are roiling and dashing on either hand ; butt
before, the vast river comes sweeping down its broad and smooth,
waters between banks low and gentle as those of the Thames.—
Returning, we again stood long on the bridges, gazing on the ra-
pids that rolled above and beneath us ; the waters of the deepest
sea-green, crested with silver, shooting under our feet With the
Telocity of lightning, till, reaching the brink, the vast waves seem-
ed to pause, as if gathering their strength for the tremendous
plunge. Formerly it was not unusual for the more adventurous
traveller to drop down to the island in a well manned and well
guided boat. This was done by keeping between the . currents,
as they rush on either side of the island, thus leaving a narrow
stream, which flows gently to its point, and has to the eye, con-
trasted with the rapidity of the tide, where to right and left the
water is sucked to the falls, the appearance of a strong back
current.

It is but an inconsiderable portion of this imprisoned sea which
flows on the American side ; but even this were sufficient to fix the
eye in admiration. Descending the ladder (now easy steps) and
approaching to the foot of this lesser Fall, we were driven away
blinded, breathless, and smarting, the wind being high and blow-
ing right against us. A young gentleman, who incautiously ven-
tured a few steps farther, was thrown upon his back, and I had
some apprehension, from the nature of the ground upon which he
fell, was seriously hurt; he escaped, however, from the blast, up*
on hands and knees, with a few slight bruises. Turning a corner
of the rock (where, descending less precipitously, it is wooded to
the bottom) to recover our breath, and wring the water from our
hair and clothes, we saw, on lifting our eyes, a corner of the sum-
mit of this graceful division of the cataract hanging above the pie-

Tie* «/ $*H&ty tmd Mkmit* fn Antfit*. Sit

jecting mass of trees, as it were in mid air, like the snowy top of
a mountain. Above, the dazzling white of the shivered water was
thrown into contrast with the deep blue of the unspotted heavens ;
below, with the living green of the summer foliage, fresh and
sparkling in the eternal shower of the rising and falling spray.—
The wind, which, for the space of an hour, blew with some fury,
rushing down with the river, flung showers of spray from the crest
of the fall. The sun's rays glancing on these big drops, and some-
times on feathery streams thrown fantastically from the main bo* ft
dy of the water, transformed them into silvery stars, or beams of
light ; while the graceful rainbow, now arching over our heads,
and nuw circling in the vapour at our feet, still flew before us as
we moved. The greater division of the cataract was here conceal*
ed from our sight by the dense volumes of vapour which the wind
drove with fury across the immense basin directly towards us ;
sometimes indeed a veering gust parted for a moment the thick
clouds, and partially revealed the heavy columns, that seemed
more like fixed pillars of moving emerald than living sheets of
water. Here, seating ourselves at the brink of this troubled ocean,
beneath the gaac of the sun, we had the full advantage of a vapour
bath ; the fervid rays drying our garments one moment, and a blast
from the basin drenching them the next. The wind at length
having somewhat abated, and the ferryman being willing to at-
tempt the passage, we here crossed in a little boat to the Canada
side. The nervous arm of a single rower stemmed this heavy
current, just below the basin of the Fails, and yet in the whirl oc-
casioned by them ; the stormy northwest at this moment chafing
the waters yet more. Blinded as we were by the columns of va-
pour which were driven upon us, we lost the panoramic view of
the cataract, which, in calmer hours, or with other winds, may be
seen in this passage. The angry waters, and the angry winds to-
gether, drove us (Farther down the channel than was quite agreea-
ble, seeing that a few roods more, and our shallop must have been
whirled into breakers, from which ten such arms as those of its
skilful conductor could not have redeemed it.

Being landed two-thirds of a mile below the cataract, a scram-
ble, at first very intricate, through, and over, and under huge mas-
ses of rock, which occasionally seemed to deny all passage, and
among which our guide often disappeared from our wandering
eyes, placed us at the foot of the ladder by which the traveller
descends on the Canada side. From hence a rough walk along a
shelving ledge of loose stones brought us to the cavern formed by
the projection of the ledge over which the water rolls, and which
is known by the name of the Table Rock.

The gloom of this vast cavern, the whirlwind that overplays in
it, the deafening roar, the vast abyss of convulsed waters beneath
you, the falling columns that hang over your head, ail strike, not
Upon the ears and eyes only, but upon the heart For the first
lew moments, the sublime k wrought to the terrible. This posi-

930 View of Society and Manner* in America.

tion indisputably the finest, is no longer one of safely. A part of
<he Table Kock fell last year, and in that still remaining, the eye
traces an alarming fissure, from the very summit of the projecting
ledge over which the water rolls ; so that the ceiling of this dark
cavern seems rent from the precipice, and whatever be its hold, it
is evidently fast yielding u> the pressure of the water. You can-
not look up to this crevice, and down upon the enormous masses
whch lately fell, with a shock mistaken by the neighbouring in-
habitants for that of an earthquake, without shrinking at the dread*
ful possibility which might crush you beneath ruins, yet more en-
ormous than those which lie at your feet.

The cavern formed by the projection of this cock, extends some
feet behind the water, and, could you breathe, to stand behind the
edge of the sheet were perfectly easy. I have seen those who
have told mc they have done so t for myself, when I descended
within a few paces of this dark recess, I was obliged to hurry back
some yards to draw breath. Mine to be sure are not the best of
lungs, but theirs must be little short of miraculous, that can play
in the wind and foam that gush from the hidden depths of this wa-
tery cave. It is probable, however, that the late fracture of the
rock has considerably narrowed this rtcess ; and thus increased the
force of the blast that meets the intruder.

From this spot, (beneath the Table Rock,) you feely more than
from any other, the height of the cataract, and the weight of its
waters. It seems a tumbling ocean ; and you yourself what s
helpless atom amid these vast and and eternal workings of gigan-
tic nature! The wind had now abated, and what was better, we
were now under the lee, and could admire its sport with the va-
pour, instead of being blinded by it. From the enormous basin
into which the waters precipitate themselves in a clear leapof 140
feet, the clouds of smoke rose in white volumes, like the round-
headed clouds you have sometimes seen in the evening horizon of
a summer sky, and then shot up in pointed pinnacles, like the ice
of mountain glaciers. Caught by the wind, it was now borne down
the channel, then, re-collecting its strength, the tremulous va-
pour again sought the upper air, till, broken and dispersed in the
blue serene, it spread against it the only silvery veil which spot-
ted the pure azure. In the centre of the Fall, where the water
is the heaviest, it takes the leap in an unbroken mass of the deep-
est green, and in many places reaches the bottom in crystal col-
umns of the same hue, till they meet the snow-white foam that
heaves and rolls convulsedly it> the enormous basin. But for the
deafening roar, the darkness and the stormy whirlwind in which
we stood, I could have fancied these massy volumes the walls of
some fairy palace^vliving emeralds chased in silver. Never sure-
ly did nature throw together so fantastically so much beauty with
such terrific grandeur. Nor let me pass without notice the love-
ly rainbow that, at this moment, hung over the opposing division
of tl)e cataract as parted by the island, embracing the whole;
breadth in its span. Midway of this silvery screen of shivered

Vitw of Society and Manners in America. 22 1

water, stretched a broad belt of blazing gold and crimson, into
which the rainbow dropped its hues, and seemed to have based its
arch. Different from all other scenes of nature that have come
. under my observation, the cataract of Niagara is seen to most ad-
vantage under a powerful and opposing sun: the hues assumed
by the vapour are then by far the most varied and brilliant ; and
of the beauty of these hues I can give you no idea. The gloom
of the cavern (for I speak always as if under the Table Rock)
needs no assistance from the shade of evening ; and the terri-
ble grandeur of the whole is not felt the less for being distictly
seen. We now ascended the precipice on the Canada side, and
having taken a long ga^e from the Table Rock, sought dry
clothes and refreshment at a neighbouring inn.

We have again visited this wonder of nature in our return from
lake Erie ; and have now gazed upon it in all lights, and at all
hours, — under the rising, meridian, and setting sun, and under
the pale moon when

" Riding in her highest noon."

The edge of the Table Rock is not approached without terror
at the latter hour. The fairy hues are now all gone ; excepting,
indeed, the rainbow, which, the ghost of what it uas, now spans a
dark impervious abyss. The rays of the- sweet planet but frebly
pierce the chill dense vapour that clogs the atmosphere ; they only
kiss, and coldly kiss, the waters at the brink, and faintly show the
upper half of the columns, now black as ebony, plunging into a
storm-tossed sea of murky clouds, whose depth and boundaries
are alike unseen. It is the storm of the ck-mems in chaos. The
shivering mortal stands on the brink, like the startled fiend

"On the bare outside of this world,
" Uncertain which, in ocean or in air."

" La buja campagna
* Tremd si forte, che dello spavento
" La mente di sudore ancor mi bagna."

Standing on the very theatre of our last war it was not to be
supposed that our fair advocate would avoid the subject She
apologises for the burning, of Newark in Canada, by our people,
and seems to consider it as an act of M blind vengeance" for the
horrible massacre of our prisoners at the River Haisin. She tells
this story, which should be blotted from the annals of the Btitish
nation — and declaims with proper indignation against a govern-
ment which had conferred rewards upon the officer, who had thus
dared to disgrace his profession and his nation."*

• Miss W. has committed another error in locating the philanthrophic deeds
•f Mlntosh at the River Raisin. Cape Francois, during the insurrection of
the negroes, was the place where he so highly distinguished himself.

222 ' Vim qfSccltty and Manner* in Jhnerim*

By land, on the Canada shore, our traveller passed from the ca-
taract to Kingston, and thence in a batteau down the St. Law-
rence to Montreal. Returning she finds herself" on classic ground"
at Plattsburg on Lake Chainplain.

We should be unjust to this writer, after having made pretty freo
with her faults, did we neglect to give her very*eloquent account of
the victory of Mac Donough, and the burning of the steam-boat
Phoenix, p. 311.

« The enemy soon advanced up the shores of the lake to the ri-
ver Saranac, at the mouth of which stands the village of Pitts-
burgh, backed and flanked by the forest, whose dark interminable
line it sweetly breaks with its neat and cheerful dwellings, over-
looking the silver bosom of a circular bay, which receives the wa-
ters of the river. Continual skirmishes now took place between
the enemy and flying parties of militia, seven hundred of which
soon collected from the surrounding fo rests. The state of Vermont,
which tines tne opposite shores of the lake, then poured forth her
mountaineers. Scattered through a mountainous country, it might
have been thought difficult to collect the scanty population ; but
the cry of invasion echoed from hill to hill, from village to village ;
some caught their horses from the plough, others ran off on foot,
leaving their herds in the pastures, and scarce exchanging a part-
ing blessing with their wives and mothers as they handed to them
their muskets.

" From the grey sire, whose trembling hand

Could hardly buckle on his brand,

To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow

Were yet scarce terror to the crow.

Each valley, each sequestered glen,

MusterM his little horde of men,

That met, as torrents from the height.

In highland dale their streams unite ;

Still gathering as they pour along,

A voice more loud, a tide more strong."
Their guns on their shoulders, a powder-flask at their sides, some-
times a ration in their pockets, crowd after crowd poured into
Burlington, and all, as a friend who had witnessed the scene, de-
- scribed it to me, « came at a run, whether on their own legs or
their horses." •

The beautiful little town of Burlington covers the breast of a
hill on the opposite shore, and somewhat higher up the lake than
Pittsburgh. Here every boat and canoe was in requisition ; troop
After troop hurried to the shore, and as the scattered crowds pour-
ed into Pittsburgh, they collected in lines on the Saranac to resist
the passage of the enemy, or struck into the woods, with orders
to harass their rear.

The fleet was now equipped ; and, when that of the enemy ap-
' peared in sight, moored in line across the entrance of the bay,

J%* 4f fectoy mnd M*n*w fe Jtmerk*. figs

vita s*ch Breathless alacrity had the Americans prepared to meet
this encounter, that one of the vessels which then entered into ae#
tiea, had been built and equipped in the spate of a fortnight ;
eighteen days previous to the engagement, the timber of which
it was constructed, bad been actually growing in the forest upon
the shores of the lake.

The British flotilla, under the command of Captain Downie,
mounted ninety-five guns, and upwards of a thousand men ; the
American, under Commodore M Donough, eighty- six gun*, and
nearly eight hundred men. The first exchange of ctmnon between
the fleets was the signal of the armies on land. A desperate coo-
teat ensued. The British, with daring bravery, twice attempted
to force the bridges, and twice were driven back ; then, filing up
the river, a detachment attempted to ford ; but here a volley of
musketry suddenly assailed them from the woods, and forced
them to retreat, with loss.

The issue of the day was felt by both parties to depend upon the
naval engagement then raging in the sight of both armies. Many
an anxious glance was cast upon the waters by those stationed near
the shore. For two hours the conflict remained doubtful ; the ves-
sels on either side were script of their sails and rigging ; stagger*.
ing and reeling hulks, they still gave and received the shocks
which threatened to submerge them. The vessel of the Ameri-
can Commodore was twice on fire ; her cannon dismounted, and
her sides leaking ; the enemy was in the same condition. The hat*
tie for a moment seemed a drawn one, when both attempted a
manoeuvre which was to decide the day. With infinite difficulty,
the American ship veered about ; the enemy attempted the same
in vain ; a fresh fire poured upon her, and she struck. A shout
then awoke upon the shore ; and ringing along the American lines*
swelled for a moment above the roar of the battle. For a short space
the British efforts relaxed ; but then, as if nerved rather than dis-
mayed by misfortune, the experienced veterans stood their ground*
and continued the fight until darkness constrained its suspension.

The little town of Burlington, during these busy hours, display*
ed a far different, but not less interesting scene ; all occupation
Was interrupted ; the anxious inhabitants ; lining the heights, and)
straining their eyes and ear* to catch some signal that might speak
the fate of a combat upon which so much depended. The distant
firing and smoke told when the fleets were engaged. The mi?
nutes and the hours dragged on heavily ; hopes and fears alter-
nately prevailing ; when, at length, the cannonading suddenly
ceased ; but still, with the help of the telescope, nothing could be
distinguished across the vast waters, save that the last wreath of
smoke had died away, and that life, honour, and property were lost
or saved.

Not a sound was heard, the citizens looked at each other with*
out speaking f women and children wandered along the beach, with
many of the men of Vermont, who had continued to drop in during

2S4 View qf Society and Manner* in America.

the day, but found no means of crossing the lake. Every boat
was on the other shore, and all were still too busy there to ferry over
tidings of the naval combat. The evening fell, and still no mo-
ving speck appeared upon the waters. A dark night, heavy with
fogs, closed in. and some with saddened hearts slowly sought their
homes ; while others still lingered, hearkening to every breath;
pacing to and fro distractedly, and wildly imagining all the proba-
ble and possible causes which might occasion this suspense*
Were they defeated— some would have taken to the boats ; were
they successful— -some would have burned to bring the tidings.—
At eleven at night, a shout broke in the darkness from the waters*
It was one of triumph,— Was it from friends or enemies ? Again
it broke louder ; it was recognized and re-echoed by the listeners
on the beach, swelled up the hill, and « Victory ! victory !" rang
through the village. I could not describe the scene as it was de-
scribed to me ; but you will suppose how the blood eddied from?
the heart ; how young and old ran about frantic ; how they laugh*
ed, wept, and sang, and wept again.-— In half an hour, the little
town was in a blaze of light.

- The brunt of the battle was now over; but it still remained
doubtful, whether the invaders would atttempt to push forward*
in despite of the loss of their fleet, and of the opposing ranks of
militia, now doubly inspirited by patriotism and good fortune. At
daybreak the nexumorning, were found only the sick, the wound*
•d, and the dead, with the military stores and munitions of war.
The siege had been raised during the night ; and the baggage
and artillery having been sent back, the army were already some
miles oil their way towards the frontier. The skirmishing that
harassed their retreat, thinned their numbers less than the sudden
desertion of five hundred men, who threw down their muskets,
and sprang into the woods. A few of these sons of Mars are now
thriving farmers in the state of Vermont ; others faired, with more
or less success, according to their industry and morals." p. 215.

« One of the finest steamboats ever built in the United States-
lately ran upon this inland sea, and was destroyed, ten days since,
by fire, in a manner truly terrible. The captain of the vessel had
fallen sick, and entrusted its management to his son, a young man
just turned of one-and- twenty. Making for St John's with up*
wards of forty passengers, they encountered the equinoctial gale
which blew with violence right ahead. The fine vessel, however,
encountered it bravely, and dashed* onwards through the storm,
until an hour after midnight, she had gained the broadest part of the
lake. Some careless mortal, who had been to seek his supper in-
the pantry, left a candle burning on a shelf, which, after some
time, caught another which was ranged above.

The passengers were asleep or at least quiet in their births*
when a man at the engine perceived, in some dark recess, of the
vessel an unusual light. Aproaching the spot, he heard the crack-
ling of fire, and found the door of the pantry a glowing and tre~

Vien» qf '^Society and Manner* tn America. MB

mulous widl of embers. He had scarcely time to turn himself,
ere he was enveloped in flames ; rushing past them, he attempted
to burst into the ladies' apartment by a small door which opened
into the interior of the vessel : it was locked on the inside, and the
noise of the storm seemed to drown all his cries and blows. Hur-
rying upon the deck, he gave the alarm to the captain, and flew
to the women's cabin. Ere he leaped down the stairs, die flames
had burst through the inner door, and had already seized upon
the curtains of the bed next to it. You may conceive the scene
which followed.

In the mean time the young captain roused his crew and his
male passengers, warning the pilot to make for the nearest inland.
Summoning his men around him, and stating to them that all the
lives on board could not be saved in the boats, he asked their con-
sent to save the passengers, and take death with htm. All ac-
quiesced unanimously ; and hastened to let down the boats. White
thus engaged, the flames hurst through the decks, and shrouded
the pilot, the mast, and the chimney, in a column of flames. The
helmsman, however, held to the wheel, until his limbs were scorch*
ed and his clothes half consumed upon his back. The unusual
heat round the boiler gave double impetus to the engine. The
vessel dashed madly through the waters, until she was within a
few roods of land. The boats were down, and the captain and his
men held the shrieking women and children in their arms, when
the helm gave way, and the vessel, turning from the wind, flew
backwards, whirling round and round from the shore. None could
approach to stop the engine ; its fury, however, soon spent itself,
and left the flaming wreck to the mercy only of the winds and
waves. With dreadful struggles, the naked passengers got into
the boats, and received the women and children from the hands of
the captain and the crew, who, while the flames whirled over
their heads, refused the solicitations to enter the overburdened
barks, and pushed them off from the fire which had nearly caught
their sides. It was now discovered that one woman and a youth
of sixteen had been forgotten. Hurrying them to the windward
of the flames, the youth was bound to a plank, and a skilful swim-
mer of the crew leapt with him into the lake. The captain, hold-
ing the frantic woman in his arms, stood upon the edge of the
scorching and crackling wreck, until he saw the last of his com-
panions provided with a spar, and committed to the waters ; then,
throwing from him with one arm a table which he had before se-
cured for the purpose, and with the other grasping his charge, he
sprang into the waves. The poor woman, mad with terror, seiz-
ed his throat as he placed and held her upon the table ; forced to
disengage himself, she was borne away by the waves ; he tried to
follow, and saw her for the last time, clinging to a burning mass
of the vessel. One last shriek, and the poor creature was whelm-
ed in flood and fire. Swimming round the blazing hulk, and call-
ing aloud to such of his companions as might fee within hearing,
vol. XII. 39

226 View of Society and Manner* in America*

to keep near it, he watched for the falling of a spar. He seized
one while yet on fire, and, quenching it, continued to float round
the wreck, deeming that the light might be a signal, should the
boats be able to return ; but these had to row, heavily laden, six
miles through a mountainous sea. It was long before they could
make the land, and that, leaving their helpless freight naked on
the shore of a desert island, in the dark and tempestuous night,
they turned to seek the drowning heroes.

The day broke while they were labouring against the roaring
elements, seeking in vain the extinguished beacon that was to
guide their search ; at length a blackened atom appeared upon
the top of a wave ; stretched upon it was a human figure. It was,
I rejoice to say, the young captain— senseless, but the generous
soul not quite departed. He is alive and doing well. One other
of these devoted men was picked up late in the morning, and
wondrously restored to life, after having been eight hours swim-
ming and floating on the water. Seven perished.

The citizens of Burlington hastened with clothing and provi-
sions to the sufferers on the island ; took them to their homes ;
and nursed them with affectionate solicitude.

The blackened wreck of the Phoenix is now lying, in the midst
of the lake, upon a reef of rocks, to which it was drifted by the
storm."

We must close our extracts from this popular work by another
passage which is full of truth and good sense, p. 232.

u If * # » » win 8tudy the history of this country, he will find it
teeming with buninc**. America was not asleep during the thirty
years that Europe had forgotten her ; she was actively employed
in her education ;— in framing and trying systems of government ;
in eradicating prejudices ; in vanquishing internal enemies ; in re-
plenishing her treasury ; in liquidating her debts ; in amending her
laws ; in correcting her policy ; in fitting herself to enjoy that li-
berty which she had purchased with her blood ; — in founding se-
minaries of learning ; in facilitating the spread of knowledge ;— to
say nothing of the revival of commerce ; the reclaiming of wil-
derness after wilderness ; the facilitating of internal navigation ;
the doubling and tripling of a population trained to exercise the
rights of freemen, and to respect institutions adopted by the. voice
of their country. Such have been the occupations of America.
She bears the works of her genius about her ; we must not seek
them in volumes piled on the shelves of a library. All her know-
ledge is put forth in action ; lives in her institutions, in her laws;
speaks in her senate ; acts in her cabinet ; breathes even from the
walls of her cities, and the sides of her ships. Look on all she has
done, on that which she is ; count the sum of her years ; and then
pronounce sentence on her genius. Her politicians are not inge-
nious theorists, but practical statesmen ; her soldiers have been
courjuerors, but patriots ; her philosophers not wise reasoners, but

tieno of Society and Marnier* in America. 22?

wise legislators. Their country has been and is their field of ac*
tion ; every able head and nervous arm is pressed into its service.
The foreign world hears nothing of their exploits) and reads none
of their lucubrations ; but their country reaps the fruits of their
wisdom, and feels the aid of their service ; and it is in the wealth,
the strength, the peace, the prosperity, the good government, and
the well administered laws of that country that we must discover
and admire their energy and genius." p. 233.

Upon the whole we consider these " Views of Society and Man-
ners in America/' as the product of more than common intellect.
It is a very entertaining book, although, to us, it contains nothing
new. We are gratified by her approbation, while we smile at her
mistakes. Many of them, are evidently misreprescnticns to which
she yielded. Her own observation could not have told her that
" Baltimore" (now an opulent and beautiful metropolis,) « at the
time of the revolution comprised some thirty houses of painted or
unpainted frame, with perhaps as many of logs scattered in their
vicinity." " If this does not confound your understanding," (she
exclaims,) " it has well nigh confounded mine." The dwellings
of wealthy merchants, who had already made ample fortunes in
that city, were of brick, at the date above mentioned. Had the
vast number of villages and towns in the West, which have sprung
up, since our Independence, and are now ornamented by large
mansions, and splendid furniture, been mentioned to her, her un-
derstanding might have been confounded indeed ! But she
came to be pleased — and pleased she was. She pre-determin-
ed to praise and she praises indiscriminately. Perhaps she had
got a little seasoning from the British Journals, which call us
a vain and self-sufficient people ; and by way of trying what potions
of flattery we can swallow, she tells us, that our servants, the very
plagues of a suffering country — are good, honest, high-minded
souls, that M will not receive an insulting word I'9 What we our-
selves, cither lament or ridicule, are with her among the most de-
lectable points of our system. She somewhere see* a ragged troop
of militia going through their exercise, " the blacksmith from his
forge, the mechanic, his coat marked with saw-dust ; the farmer,
with the soil yet upon his hands," and being asked, what she
thought of our soldiers— she " secretly brushed a tear from her
eye !" This was singularly pathetic, yet it mischievously brings a
story to our recollection of an old lady in a neighbouring village
who allowed a militia company to provide themselves with arms

22* Vi"Q) tf Society and Mknflpr* in Afneficfi,

from her wood-pile, provided they wouk) <H»tni»* and "stack,
arms" at her door when the parade was over. But after all, if her
book should prove an antidote to the tribes that have gone before
her, she will have done us " good service." Let her applause be
flattery, we take it all in good part, for while we would respectful-
ly recommend a little of the same sort of sensibility to Miss
Wright, we all profess to feel that inimitable apostrophe oi Sir
Waiter Scot->-

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,

Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own my native land !

Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,

As home his footsteps he hath turned,
From wandering on a foreign stand !

If such there breathe, go, mark him well ;

For him no Minstrel raptures swell ; N

High though his titles, proud his name,

Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ;

Despite those titles, power, and pelf,

The wretch concentred all m self,

living, shall forfeit fair renown,

And, doubly dying, shall go down

To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,

Unwept, unhonouredy and unsung.

ffc

Art. XXL— Italy. By Lady Morgan. 2 Vols. 4to. London, 182 K
Lady Morgan, as a female, is, to a certain degree, exempt from
the severity of criticism : were it not so, many of her offences are
of so masculine a character, that she could hardly escape, what
she perhaps would call ultra-castigation. We are unfortunately
unenlightened enough to dislike petti coated patriots and frilled
philosophers. Nothing fatigues us sooner than rhapsodies ten
thousand times repeated, which signalize the fiteudo Uluvnnati of
the present day ; and nothing disgusts us more, especially in wo-
men, than the jargon of doctrines inimical to the peace and happi-
ness of social life. What Lady Morgan's religious principles are,
we cannot take upon us to say ; but we are sorry to observe in the
writings of a persou of her lively talents, a constant disposition to
turn into ridicule what so many of mankind consider sacred, and to
scoff at what the wisest and the best of human beings have thought
essential to felicity on earth, and to beatitude in heaven* As far

the political teQpts of this author, we have nobbing to dp with the<q,
]t U of very little consequence U> the relations of Europe, wheth?
pr she he a Jiheral^qr a republican ; it only occqrs. to p>, that fpr £
democrat, she appears to he very fbn$i of quoting tfjp arpfocra^jc
company to which she was admitted on her travels.

With much of cleverness, she has, however, gone pver oftitrojjU
den grounds, and were it not for the everlasting boring' us with
party opinions, her work: wopld be infinitely more entertaining and
agreeable. As it is, on finishing the first volume, tfte reader will
have learnt little about the Julian cities, nothing at all «ihout the
manners and customs of their inhabitants, bujt a great deal ajbogt
the writer's revolutionary septyn}entsf 1° short, he will have
found hatred to every established gQye.ro ipent, and rnpe^ery of al-
most every religious institution in each page of the work, and yin
Struction and amusement (excised by these absurd tirades,) ip
scarcely one. Oj> closing the whole, ft will appear to be tri^y
« Italy by Lady Morgan" an4 no other Italy whafeyex, either ip
description or in realty 1

The statements of this My are throughout so no^oripusly loos£
and incorrect as to invalidate all her aa^ertipos ; while the flippant
and dpgmatical way m which she writes aggravates the evil bjr
adding what is u^pleasanjt in tone to what is pot precise in fact,--*
There is no reliance on the rhpdopiontadipg sketches of ancient
history, and, if it were possible, less op the v^ews. of iqodepi
events.

(n the very first page we bear of the « va*t" terrjtpries of the
Etruscans— -of Rome becoming " the destiny of mankind :" ajif
these are fair examples pf the style to which we allude-— the
Etruscans never possessing a vast territory, nor Rome having ev-
er been (if it means any thing) the destiny of mankind, though in
a comparative degree, the former were powerful in Italy, and the
latter bore a prominent rank among mighty empires.

The second page (for we will not go far in quest of our reas-
ons) affords an equally strong example of this lady's style— -we
had almost said click. She tells us most grandiloquently :— " The
dissolution of the mightiest social combination which had ever ex-
isted, stands foremost among those rare events that serve as bea-
con rpeks, in the ocean of time, to break up its vastness, and give
to the eye of philosophy a point of concentration and repose.-—
When Rome fell, the elements of existing society separated, to

230 Lady Morgan9* Italy.

recombine under new forms, and to unite in new proportions. A
race of another mould and fibre from that with which the redund-
ant population of the east had colonized the more temperate re-
gions of Europe, swarmed over the cultivated plains of Italy, and
violated its luxurious cities. An unknown product from the
foundery of a new creation thinned the ranks of refined degen-
eracy."

We are really amazed at her ladyship's language, about moulds
and fibres and founderies of new creations i probably it belongs to
the modern school of feminine philosophy, probably it may be
borrowed professionally from Sir Charles, who takes a share in
the production of these volumes. But, indeed, this historical sketch
of the Roman empire is unique in its kind. For illustration sake :
« On the fall of the Roman empire, the social and political organi-
zation of Europe, her master language and universal laws, alike
submitted to change, or to extinction. Every trace of the Asiat-
ic characteristics, which distinguished her southern regions, was
effaced ; and the brilliant mythology she had adopted and natural-
ized, which had so long peopled her temperate climes with the
bright imagery of more fervid zones, faded away like the fantasms
of a gay dream. Then arose a system to govern the minds of
men, remote alike from the divine revelation of Jehovah, as from
the splendid rites of Jove. Founded in sacrifice, enforced by. per-
secution, with terror for its spring, and human degradation for its
object, dark, despotic, exclusive, and sanguinary, it rose above all
temporal power ; and arrogating a divine origin, called itself — The
Church.

" The northern hordes were well adapted to receive and propo-
gate a doctrine, gloomy and powerful as the creed of their fathers ;
and while the altars of Odin still smoked, his followers present-
ed themselves, smeared with the blood of victims, at the baptis-
mal font,* whence they went forth to plunder, and to kill ; to*

* When the bands of the fierce and petty chieftain Clovis were flying be-
fore the Germans in the plain of Tolbach, he, having in vain invoked the aid
of his own battle-god, exclaimed, in his despair, " God of Clotilda, I vow, if
thou gainest the battle for me, to have none other god but thee." The bat-
tle was won. Clotilda, who was carrying on the war in the south, hastened
to her husband's christening, burning some towns in Burgundy on her way,
which belonged to her own uncle. Clovis was baptized at Rheims, with three
thousand of his followers, for whose faith he pledged himself to St. Remi ; de>

Lady Morgan* 9 Italy. 23 1

propagate doctrines by the sword, and to punish resistance by
the faggot."

It would puzzle a plain man to tell what the dickens this note
had to do with the fall of Rome ; but legitimacy, and the church,
and religion, are prejudices which her ladyship never spares ; and
is sure to lug in a hit at them, however foreign the question and
inconvenient the place. Her notions on these points are peculiar
—for instance, she goes on to affirm— * The town of Lombardy
demanded permission of the emperor to defend themselves ; and
political necessity produced their enfranchisement. The immuni-
ty became universal ; the effect was electric. Every town had its
charter, every village its diploma, to use the right given by the
God of nature, the true and only right divine, the right of self-
defence.*'

This is the drollest limitation of the right divine we ever met
with ; but we will wade no farther into this absurd cento oi wri-
ters, whose meanings are almost always twisted, misrepresented,
or misunderstood, and only quote one other passage to indicate
the author's purpose : — u To trace the result of this European re-
volution in Italy, which broke up for ever the stale institutes of
feudality, and the power of the Church, is the object of the follow-
ing pages; to which the foregoing brief sketch of Italian story has
been deemed necessary."

At Rome, Lady M. says, — " We were one day returning from
visiting the galleries of the Palazzo dei Conservator^ and were
issuing from its portico, when a dirty stable-boy, a sieve of oats
in one hand, and a bunch of keys in the other, asked us, as he pas-
sed, if we wanted to see the Tarjreian Rock, (or, as he familiarly
called it, w Nostra Rufie Tarfieja,") which is said to lie behind
the palace of the Conservators, commanding the Piazza della Con-
solazionne. Although 1 had no greater desire to see this Tyburn
or Place de Greve of antiquity) than any other place of execution,
yet there was something in a stable -boy Cicerone leading the way
to this great shrine of classic homage, which was irresistible ; and
we accepted his invitation. As he led us through a dirty yard

daring, that when he had time, he would inform them what the ceremony
meant. It was upon this occasion that Clovis received the St. Ampoule,
which has conferred divine right upon all his successors. An angel descend-
ed from heaven with the holy ointment to St. Remi, which lasted till the Re-
volution, when it emigrated with the other legitimate relics, to return with
(hem at the Restoration.

23* Mctiibtf* of Jthutrfat.

over piles of rubbish and heap* of tttanure, I could scarcely ficlji
exclaiming with the Manlius of an Irish tragedy, when at thg
brink of this precipice, •« Oh ! Jasus, where skin I going to ?"* We
leaned over a broken wall, and our virtuoso of the stables pointing
to a projecting clump of rock, exclaimed, M Ecco nostra Rupe
forpeja !w He then held out his hand for a paolo, and whistled
Us out 6f the Sanctuary i to the tune bf * Fra temti fialfiUi.9

" It were vain, under such unfavourable circumstances, to con-
jure up one classical association, to affect one of those tkrilU
which vibrate in the hearts of all true Corintias, when the very
Sound of the Tarfitian Rock meets their ear ; but even had it been
seen under the consecrated authority of those arch-mist agog ues of
all classic lore, Signori Fta and JfebbU to the heart of an unlearn*
ed woman it could bring no throb of pleasure ; nor could its view
increase the sum of interest or respect which the Capitoline he-
roes still awaken in the minds of the most erudite. One of the
most prominent landmarks of human civilization, is the mode of
punishment ordained by judicial laws. Public executions are not
acts of vengeance— they are, at best, but fatal necessities; intend-
ed more to admonish the survivors, than to torture the criminal.
In general they are the remains ot great barbarism not yet reform-
ed, and they are found even in that country where they are most
frequent (England,) to be sources of crime rather than its retri-
butions or preventatives. The heart ef him who returns from
witnessing an execution is rarely the better for the spectacle.—
But the English gallows, terrible as it is (and infinitely less ha- .
mane than the French guillotine,) is still a merciful refinement,
compared to the wild horses, wheels, thumb-screws, holes dug
for living burials, and all the horrible devices of tortures which
Christian governments and Christian sects have invented or era-
ployed to agonize that dupe and victim of all systems — man /**
- • ......

Art. X1LI.— Memoir* of jtnacr eon ; by J. E. Hall.
(Continued from Vol. XI. p. «7.)
The hymn by Sappho, being the best that had been written up-
on the oecasion, the laurel, as I have before said, was unanimous-
ly decreed to her. She received, also, a brass discus upon which
an artist bad engraved, an exquisite picture of the mother of Love*
This divinity was represented at that period so intesesting to the

* This exclamation could only proceed from a mind habitually vulgar. Ed* P. F.

Memoir* o/Anmertou. 335

world, when she was partly risen from the waves. The Loves
were seen striving to facilitate her splendid emergence and flut-
tering their wings to testify their joy at her natal hour But I
will not continue a description in dull prose, when it can be given
so vividly in the lines of Anacieon.

OH A DISCUS REPRESENTING VENUS.

Aod whose immortal hand could shed
Upon this disk the ocean's bed r*
And, in a frenzied flight of soul
Sublime as heaven's eternal pole,
Imagine thus, in semblance warm.
The Queen of Love's voluptuous formf
Floating along the silv'ry sea
In beauty's naked majesty !
Oh ! he lias given the raptur'd sight
A witching banquet of delight ;
And all those sacred scenes of love.
Where only hallow'd eyes may rove,$
Lie faintly glowing, half-conceal'd,
Within the lucid billows veil'd.
Light as the leaf, that summer's breeze
Has wafted o'er the glassy seas,
She floats upon the ocean's breast,
Which undulates in sleepy rest,
And stealing on, she gently pillows
Her bosom on the amorous billows.
^■■' ■ ■ i ■■ i ■ .I. .I- i —————— w^»

* The abruptness of *t* m r*t*>*t «w«?» is finely expressive of sudden
admiration, and is one of those beauties, which we cannot but admire in
their source, though, by frequent imitation, they are now become lan-
guid and unimpressive.

t Dr. Garth has caught this idea.

So when bright Venus rises from the flood
Around in thongs the wond'ring Nereids crowd ;
The Tritons gaze, and tune the vocal shell,
And every Grace unsung the waves conceal.

Dispensary B. 6.

X The picture here has all the delicate character of the semi-reduc-
ta Venus, and is the sweetest emblem of what the poetry of passion
ought to be ; glowing but through a veil, and stealing upon the heart
from concealment. Few of the ancients have attained this modesty of
description, which is like the golden cloud that hung over Jupiter and
Juno, impervious to every beam but that of fancy.

VOL. XII. 30

234 Memoir* 0/ Anatrton.

Her bosom, like the humid rose,*
Her neck, like dewy-sparkling snows,
Illume the liquid path she traces,
And burn within the stream's embraces!
In languid luxury soft she glides,
Encircled by the azure tides,
Like some fair lily feint with weeping.
Upon a bed of violets sleeping !
Beneath their queen's inspiring glance,
The dolphins o'er the green sea dance,
Bearing in triumph young Desire,
And baby Love with smileB of fire !
While, sparkling on the silver waves,
The tenants of the briny caves
Around the pomp in eddies play,
And gleam along the watery way.

It having been resolved to bestow some additional testimony of
respect upon Anacreon, similar to that which Sappho had received,
an aitist, who from his skill, was surnamed Vulcan, waited upon
him, in order to know what would be most congenial with his wishes.
Anacreon would have declined an honour which was to be pur-
chased at the expense of an established custom and in favour of
a stranger. But the Lesbians, insisted upon his acceptance of
some token of their friendship and admiration, and he then adr
dressed the following lines to the graver.

TO VULCAN.

Vulcan ! hear your glorious task ;
I do not from your labours ask
In gorgeous panoply to shine,
For war was ne'er a sport of mine.
No— let me have a silver bowl.
Where I may cradle all my soul ;

* " Po/m»" (says an anonymous annotator) " is a whimsical epithet for
the bosom." Neither Catullus nor Gray have been of his opinion. The
former has the expression,

£11 hie in roseis latet papillis.
And the latter,

Lo ! where the rosy- bosom *d hours, 8cc
Crottus, a modern Latinist, might indeed be censured for too vague
an use of the epithet •• rosy," when he applies it to the eyes: •• e roseja
<oculis."

Memoir* tf Jnacrew, 335

But let not o'er its simple frame
Your mimic constellations 6ame ;
Nor grave upon the swelling side
Orion, scowling o'er the tide.
I care not tor the glitt'ring wane,
Nor yet the weeping sister train.
But oh ! let vines luxuriant roll
Their blushing tendrils round the bowl.
While many a rose-lip'd bacchant maid
Is culling clusters in their shade.
Let sylvan gods, in antic shapes,
Wildly press the gushing grapes ; ,
And flights of loves, in wanton ringlets,
Flit around on golden winglets yr
While Venus, to her mystfc bower,
Beckons the rosy vintage-Power.

Alcceus, who became uneasy at the success of Anacrebn, for
which he had long exerted all the arts of persuasion, in vain, one
day reproached him for lavishing so much of his .time and talents
upon frivolous pursuits.

Anacreon answered him, that there was a time when he avoid-
ed the society of women, and devoted himself to the composition
of poetry of a more exalted kind, than amatory effusions. But
Cupid and Bacchus he said, had conquered him and taught him
how to live.

« I remember," he continued, « the day that I felt, fpr the first
time, the passion of love. 1 composed, on the occasipn a song
which I will give you."

THE RACE.*

Arm'd with hyacinthine rod,
(Arms enough for such a god,)
Cupid bade me wing my pace,
And try with him the rapid race.
O'er the wild torrent, rude and deep,
By tangled brake and pendent steep,

♦The design of this little fiction is to intimate, that much greater pain
mttends^nsensibility than can ever result from the tenderest impres-
sions of love. Longepierre has quoted an ancient epigram (I do not
know where he found it), which has some similitude to this ode:
Lecto compositus, vix prima silentia noctis
Qarpebam, et somno lumina victa dabam ; dec,

9*6

WHh weary ftot I panting flew.
My brow was chffl With drop* of dew.
And now my soul, exhausted, dying,
To my lip was faintly flying f ,
And now I thought the spark had fled,
When Cupid hover'd o'er my head,
And fanning light his breesy plume,
RecalTd me from my languid gloom ; f
Then said, in accents half-reproving*
••Why hast thou been a foe to loving ?w

Since that time I have unceasingly worshipped at the shrine*
of love and wine. I would hold no communion with him
whose heart cannot be warmed by wine and cheered by the smiles
of beauty. And if you, my friend, would convert all tb"M ^ r-

Upon my couch I lay, at night profound,

My languid eyes in magic slumber bound.

When Cupid came and snatch 'd me from my bed,

And forced me many a weary way to tread.

M What !" said the god, " shall you, whose vows are known,

44 Who love so many nymphs, thus sleep alone r"

I rise and follow ; all the night I stray,

Unshelter'd, trembling, doubtful of my way. $

Tracing with naked foot the painful track,

Loth to proceed, yet fearful to go back.

Yes, at that hour, when Nature seems interr'd,

Nor warbling birds, nor lowing docks are heard;

1, 1 alone, a fugitive from rest, (

Passion my guide, and madness in my breast,

Wander the world around, unknowing where,

The slave of love, the victim of despair! M.

* In the original, he says his heart flew to his nose ; but our manner
more naturally transfers it to the lips. Such is the effect that Plato tells
us he felt from a kiss, in a distich, quoted by Aulus Gellius :

Tat 4vX*r Aya6«?« ftkmt , tin £f#xirir W£«r.

Whene'er thy nectar'd kiss I sip.
And drink thy breath, in melting twine,

My soul then flutters to my lip.
Ready to fly and mix with thine.

t"The facility with which Cupid recovers him, signifies that the
sweets of love make us easily forget any solicitudes which he may oc-
casion." La Fosse.

4WTWWWW «{/' ^•■WGFTSW* 9##

like instruments, which terrify the Graces from £olr walla* into
goblets and lyres, you would lire happier and longer."

With these words he left him and repaired to Sappho.

" I am glad you have come," said the nymph. «* Lo 1 1 am trying
an ode on your new instrument. Its tones are so sweet, that they
make even my poetry melodious. Will you listen to me ?"

« I will," said Anacreont » for to hear your voice and to see
your beaming eyes are my chief delights."

ON ANACRSON.

I saw the smiling bard of pleasure,
The minstrel of the Teian measure ;
Twas in a vision of the night,
He beam'd upon my wondering sight ;
I heard his voice, and warmly prest
The dear enthusiast to my breast.
His tresses wore a silvery die,
But beauty sparkled in his eye ;
Sparkled in his eyes of fire.
Through the mist of soft desire.
His lip exhal'd, whene'er he sigh'd,
The fragrance of the racy tide;
And, as with weak and reeling feet
He came my cordial kiss to meet,
An infant, of the Cyprian band,
Guided him on with tender hand.
Quick from his glowing brows he drew
His braid, of many a wanton hue ;
I took the braid of wanton twine,
It breath'd of him and blush'd with wine !
I hung it o'er my thonghtless brow,
And ah ! 1 feel its magic now !
I feel that even his garland's touch
Can make the bosom love too much !

As she concluded she placed a wreath of roses upon the head
of the enraptured bard. He pressed her hand and thanked her
for the elegant compliment.

* I will sing in return ;" said he « but I must henceforth yield
the lyre to your superior hand."

ON THE ROSE.

Buds of roses, virgin flowers,
Cull'd from Cupid's balmy bowers,
In the bowl of Bacchus steep, .
Till with crimson drops they weep !

238 3€emoit» qf AnturtoA*

Twine Che rose, the garland twine,
' Every leaf distilling wine ;
Drink and smile, and learn to think
. That we were born to. smile and drink.
Rose ! thou art the sweetest flower
That ever drank i he amber sh ower ;
R**se ! thou 'art the fondest child
Of dimpled Spring, the wood-nymph wild !
Even the Gods, whd walk the sky, . .
Are amorous of thy scented sigh,
Cupid too, in Paphian shades,
His hair with rosy fillet braids,
When with the blushing, naked Graces,
The wanton winding dance he traces. *
Then bring me, showers of roses bring.
And shed them round me while I sing ;
Great Bacchus ! in thy hallow'd shade,
With some celestial, glowing maid,|
While gales of roses round me rise,
In perfume, sweeten'd by her sight,
I'll bill and twine in airy dance,
Commingling soul with every glance !

« The flowers bloom so fragrantly in four ode, dear Anacreon'*
said Sappho " that I fear to give you one which I had intended t#
send with this chaplet."

Sappho then took his lyre and sung a fragment of an ode.

ON THE ROSE.

Would Jove appoint some flow'r to reign,
In matchless beauty on the plain,
The Rose, mankind will all agree
The rose, the queen ot flowers should be.
The pride of plants, the grace of bowers
The blush of meads, the eye of flowers.
Its l>eauties charm the Gods above
Its fragrance is the breath of love ;
Its foliage wantons in the air
Luxuriant, like the flowing hair.

* " T.us sweet idea of Love dancing with the Graces, is almost pecu-
liar to Anacre on." Degen.

t The epithet /8*8i/*oxjrof , which he gives to the nymph, is literally
'•full- bosomed :" if this was nralh Auacreon's taste, the heaven of Ma-
homet would suit him in every particular. See the Koran, cap. 72.

Memoirt qf Anacrcon. 239

It shines in blooming splendour gay

While zeph) rs on its bosom play *
Such was the intercourse between these congenial minds I
The Loves and the Graces smiled, and Apollo delighted to .con-
template their union. One evening when we were about to enjoy
a carousal at her house, Sappho sang for us an invitation to Venus
to preside over the festival.

T0VKNUS.

Hither Venus ! queen ot kisses,
This shall be the night of blisses !
This the night, to friendship dear,
Thou shalt be our Hebe here.
Fill the golden brimmer high,
Let it sparkle like thine eye !
Bid the rosy current gush,
Let it mantle like thy blush \
Venus hast thou e'er above
Seen a feast so rich in love ?
Not a soul that is not mine !
Not a soul that is not thine !f
She then sent the lyre to Anacreon who amused us with seve-
ral songs, two of which I shall here insert.

CUPID.

As late I sought the spangled bowers,
To cull a wreath of matin flowers,
Where many an early rose was weeping,
I found the urchin Cupid sleeping.
I caught the boy, a goblet's tide
Was richly mantling by my side,
I caught him by his downy wing,
And whelm'd him in the racy spring.
Oh ! then I drank the poison'd bowl,
And Love now nestles in my soul !
Yes, yes, my soul is Cupid's nest,
I feel him fluttering in my breast.

' OLD AGE.

The women tell me, every day,

That all my bloom has past away, '

♦Tni* ode, which is generally ascribed to Sappho, has been preserved
by Achilles Tatius. In the beginning of the second book of lhac ro-
mancer, Clitophron, he informs us that his mistress sung this eulogy on
the rose at an entertainment Fawhes has placed it among the fragments
of Sappho

f See Mr. Moore's note on ode xxxii.

240 Memoir* qfJmcrem.

"Behold," the pretty wantons cry,

M Behold this mirror with a sigh ;

44 The locks upon thy brow are few,

" And, like the rest, they're withering too !"

Whether decline has thinn'd my hair,

I'm sure 1 neither know nor care ;

But this 1 know, and this I feel,

As onward to the tomb I steal,

That still as death approaches nearer.

The joys of life are sweeter, dearer;*

And had I but an hour to live,

That little hour to bliss I'd give!

While Anacreon was thus enjoying himself with Sappho, I was
sedulously engaged in the study of the Greek poets who had for-
merly flourished, and improving my knowledge by conversing
with those of the present time. When the thoughts of the lovely
Myrilla obtruded upon my mind, I regarded her as either dead or
faithless, and strove to assuage the poignancy of my feelings in
the society of the companions of Sappho. Her genius and charms
had collected around her a number of females, among whom were
some of the most tender and impassioned poetesses that Greece
could boast. Seven of them in particular were so distinguisded
by the elegant symmetry of their persons and the splendour of
their talents, that Antipater of Thessalonica, who then wooed the
fair Anyta, with not less gallantry than truth, bestowed upon the
captivating assemblage the title of the bartvlt musks. From
these my heart involuntarily selected the youthful Erinna, as one
whose genius and beauty recalled the image of the lost Myrilla.
She possessed that heavenly beauty which seemed scarcely to be-
long to a mortal frame. The fire that enlightened her eye, and
the glow which burnished her cheek, bespoke the high source
from which she derived her origin. From it she inherited that
eloquent blood which overspread a countenance ever fair and ev-
er lovely ; from that inspiring influence arose the admiration and
awe which bent in adoration of her extatic charms.

* Pontanus has a very delicate thought upon the subject of old age :
Quid rides, Matrona ! senem quid temnis amantem i
Quisquis am at, nulla est conditione, senex.
Why do you scorn my want of youth,
And with a smile my brow behold?
Lady dear ! believe this truth.
That he who loves cannot be old.

Memoir* of jtnacreon. 241

With that retired modesty which is ever the companion of su-
perior genius, she was regardless of the splendour of wealth, and
unambitious of the wreath of fame. Her principal occupation
was at the loom and the distaff, and her chief delight was expe-
rienced in the endearments of a domestic circle. But as her tal-
ents were brilliant, so was her life distinguished by its brevity.
She died in the spring of youth, and the muses scattered violets
around the tomb of their favourite child.

ON ERINNA.

Scarce nineteen summer suns had shed
Youth's roses o'er Erinna's head
While by a guardian mother's side
Her customary tasks she plied—
Bade her fine silk the loom prepare,
Or watch 'd the distaff's humble care ;
Her modest worth the muses knew
Brought her rich talents forth to view ;
With their own fires they fill'd her soul,
Bade her young eyes in transports roll,
And ah ! too soon from human eyes
Bore her their handmaid, to the skies.*

Several of her poems, which are not less remarkable for their
tender and impressive pathos, than from the resemblance which
they bear to the mournful circumstances of her own fate, remain
to soothe the sorrows of her friends. I shall insert the following
epitaph upon her friend Baucis who died the night of her mar-
riage.

Strangers ! who with silent steps pass by*

Revere the spot where Baucis' ashes lie ;

And call the monarch of the shades severe,

Who doom'd to early death a maid so dear.

These mystic ornaments toe sadly show

Th' unhappy fate of her who sleeps below.

With the same torch that joyous Hymen led

The blushing virgin to the nuptial bed,

Her sorrowing friends did touch the fun'ral pyre

And saw the dreary flames of death aspire.

Thou too, oh hymen ! bad'st the jocund day,

That hail'd the festive season pass away

Chang'd for the sigh of wo and deep dismay. t
On the reverse of the marble around which she lingered in all
the despondence of unaffected grief, and the tender fondness of
* Anthol. anon. | Anon.

Vol. xii. 31

34* Memoir* of Aruurto*.

female friendship, she has thus feelingly addressed the silent em-
blems of mortality.

Say, thou cold marble, and weeping urn
And sculptured Syrens that appear to mourn,
And guard within, the poor and senseless dttstt
• Consign'd, by fond affection, to thy trust :
Say, to the stranger, as he muses nigh
That Baucis' ashes here lamented lie :
Of noble lineage— that Erinna's love
Thus mourns the partner of her joys above.*

I well remember the sad vicissitude of that night which the hus-
band of Baucis had long anticipated a* the era of felicity. The
guvsts were assembled to participate in the ceremony. The young
women were crowned with chaplets of the gayest flowers that are
sacicd to Venus. They commenced the nuptial song

•• 1 have changM my former state for one more happy/'
and the dancers whose light robes were variegated with sprigs
of myrtle, were entwining their delicate limbs ; the priest pre-
sented to the impatient bridegroom and the blushing bride, the
hymeneal ivy, the symbol of their union; when some demon who
regarded the blissful scene with a malignant eye, suddenly cast
dismay through the circle. The bride swooned— her thrilling trans-
ports were succeeded by a passive languor, a livid paleness ex-
pelled the blooming roses from her cheek ; she closed her eyes
and sunk in the silence of death !

Oh ! melancholy reverse ! oh 1 relentless death ! The em-
blems of joy that but a moment before were seen in every part of
the house were torn away, and with trembling hands and sorrow-
ful countenances, her former companions suspended the laurel
and the mournful acamhus in their places. Some united with the
unhappy family in their weeping prayers to Mercury, the conduc-
tor of departed spirits, and others endeavoured to console the
afflicted husband. We reminded him of the lessons which he had
received at the Academy ; those lessons so specious in prosperi-
ty, but so impertinent when the soul is saddened with grief.

« Oh philosophy 1" he exclaimed, " but a few moments are elap-
sed sincf you commanded me to love my wife, now you forbid
me to lauent her.'*

" £ut," said we, « your tears cannot restore her to life."

* Anthology.

Memoir* qfAnacreon* 243

"Alas,* he replied, "that reflection only makes them flow
inore rapidly.'*

As soon as it was known that she had expired, the whole house
rtsminded with crits and lamentations. The body was washed,
perftimed with odoriferous essences and clothed in a costly gar-
ment ; on her head, which was covered with a- veil, was pla-
ced a chaplet of flowers ; in her hands a cake of flour and honey-
to appease Cerberus, and in her mouth a piece of money to pay
Charon. In this state she was exposed a whole day in the vesti-
bule of the house. At the door stood a vessel of lustral water to
purify those who might touch the body.

This exposure is always deemed necessary to ascertain that
the person is really deceased; and died a natural death. It is some-
times continued to the third day.

The time of the funeral approached. The hour appointed was
tiefore the rising of the sun, a practice which the laws wisely di-
rected in' order that a ceremony so sad mi grit not be converted
into a scene of ostentatious magnificence. The friends arid rela-
tions were invited. We found the coffin surrounded by women who
were making loud lamentations ; some of them cut off lockis of
their hair, and laid them by the side of Baucis, as pledges of their
affection and grief. The body was placed upon a car, in a coffin
of cypress wood. The women followed the corpse ; the men went
before it, some with their heads shaved and all were clothed in
black and inclined their eyes stedfastly upon the ground. They
were preceded by a band of musicians, who played and sang me-
lancholy airs. We repaired to a spot which belonged to Autome-
don, the husband, where the ashes of his ancestors were deposited.

Although it is very immaterial whether our bodies be commit-
ted to the flames or returned to their original clay, when death
has deprived them of animation, much altercation had recently
arisen respecting their proper disposition. To so great a length*
was the spirit of opposition carried that some persons would have
been almost willing to undergo the ceremony, that they might
display the sincerity of their opinion. Automedon, being one of
the innovators upon the ancient custom of interment, the fair form
of his wife was laid u pon a funeral pyre ; and when it was consu-
med, the nearest relations collected the ashes and buried the urn,
which contained them, in the earth.

We were next summoned to the funeral repast, where the con-

/-

244 Memoirs of Anacreon.

versatioo turned upon the beauties, the talents, and the virtue*
of Baucis. On the ninth and thirtieth days after, her relations
habited in white and crowned with flowers, again assembled to
pay new honours to her manes : and it was resolved that they
should meet annually, on her birth day, to lament her loss, as if
it were still recent. This affectionate anniversary is frequently
perpetuated in a family, in a society of friends, and among the
disciples of the same philosopher. The regret testified on these
occasions is renewed at a general festival of the dead which is
celebrated in the month Anthestcrion.* I have more than once,
seen individuals approach a tomb, leave there a part of their hair,
and pour around it libations of water, wine, milk and honey.

The curious stranger who is attentive, not only to the origin of
these rites, but, to the sentiments by which they are preserved,
must admire the wisdom of the ancient legislators, who taught
that sepulture and its attendant ceremonies are to be considered
as things sacred. They encouraged the old opinion, that the soul,
having left its habitation, the body, is stopped on the banks of the
Styx, tormented by the desire of reaching the place of its destina-
tion ; and that it appears in dreams to the survivors, who should
interest themselves in its fate, until they shall have withdrawn its
mortal relicks from the eye of day and the injuries of the wea-
ther.

Hence that anxiety to procure it the desired repose ; hence the
injunction imposed upon the traveller to cover with earth a
corpse which he may find on the road ; and hence the profound
veneration in which tombs are held, and the severity of the laws
which protect them from violation.

Hence also the ceremonies practised with respect to those who
are swallowed up in the waves, or die in foreign countries when
it is impossible to recover their bodies. Their companions pre-
vious to their departure, thrice invoke them with a loud voice,
and, by sacrifices and libations, flatter themselves that they have
brought back their manes ; to which they sometimes erect ceno-
taphs, a kind of funeral monuments which are held in almost
equal veneration with tombs.

Among the citizens who enjoyed an easy fortune when alive,
some, conformably with ancient usage, have only a small column

* Corresjwnding with our months of February and March. Meuss.
Grace. Fer. inNutvc.

Memoirs qfAnacreon. 245

erected over their ashes, with their names inscribed upon it :
others, in contempt of the laws which condemn ostentation and
all pretensions to fictitious sorrow, perpetuate the memory of their
deceased relatives by elegant and magnificent structures, which
are ornamented with statues, and embellished by the arts. I have
known a freed man expend two talents for a monument to his
wife.

The premature death of Erinna, which happened shortly after
the death of her friend Baucis, and while I remained at Myiilene,
was severely felt by those who admired her talents and the many
who revered her virtues. Among the poets who did honour at
once to their own feelings and to the subject of their lays,
Antipater Sidonius, deserves to be remembered. The epitaph
which he composed and which was afterwards engraved upon her
tomb was in these words :

ON ERINNA.

Few were thy notes, Erinna ! short thy lay,

But thy short lay the muse herself has giv'n ;
Thus never shall thy memory decay,

Nor night obscure that fame which lives in heaven :

While we, the unnumbered bards of after-time,

Sink in the solitary grave unseen,
UnhonourM reach A vermis* fabled clime,

And leave no record that we once have been.

Sweet are the graceful swan's melodious lays

Though but a moment heard before they die;
But the long clatt'ring of discordant jays
The winds of April scatter through the sky.*
♦Anthol.
To be continued.

Art. XXII.— Poetry.
EPITAPH ON A CHILD.

{To this quaint monumental inscription we are unable to prefix the name
of its author. It may perhaps be referred to old Godfrey of Winchester, the
cpigrammatical poet.]

Beneath this little stone

Doth the dear reliques lie

Of my beloved son,

Whoever passeth bye

Leathern awhile reflect,

Their own mortality ;

24ti Poetry.

And spend a sigh at least)
Or else a tear let fall
On my sweet blooming son,
Whom God so soon did calL
Cruah'd by too cruel death,
In his most hopeful bud :
Blasting almost with all
The stock whereon it stood.

To m»9 8. on her •fnging a ScOtUk song.
Lady, the muse whose varied song,
Through Scotia's blooming vales has rung,
To thee, shall bend her raptur'd ear,
Again those magic sounds to hear,
Which fall from thy inspired tongue !

And Oh, should Scotia's wand'ring child,
Who strays afar from his native wild ;
Catch the soft strain he lov'd to hear,
Among his native glens so dear,

Where, in his youth, his harp he strung ;—

The blooming birk, the sunny bow'r,
Where gowan gay and mountain flow'r,
In native grace and beauty smil'd ;
The rippling burn, the Trosach wild,
Again on faded mem'ry fell !

To these will fond remembrance fly,
And dwell with ardent extacy,

On those lovM scenes forever flown, *^>- fjl .

And youthful sports forever gone, JJ * J ''*'« " *'• l
Whose transient dream thy lay recalB. Valerius.

Chloe declares that tho' my heart

Trembles its passion to impart,

Her piercing eyes can view ii ;

She says I love her,-— 'twould affect her,

Should I presume to contradict her ;

But hang me if I knew it!

Poetry. %&

ALEXANDER IN LONDON.

By J. Smith, Esq.
rTuqe « Charley over the water."]
1
2 have seen, lucky me, what you all want to see,

Good people give ear to my sonnet,
I have been in the ring with the Muscovy King,

And I have peeped at the Oldenburgh bonnet
At his sister's approach to get into her coach

Her brother steps forward to hand her ;
What extacies throb in the hearts of the mob-
To behold the renowned Alexander.
2
On each bracelet and seal you behold his profile,

In the shops too of " Laurie and Whittle,"
Nat Lee hold your prate, Alexander the great,

Is now Alexander the little.
At Lord Williams dell, near the Pulteney Hotel,

What multitudes every day wander—
They scamper like imps to indulge in a glimpse

Of the mighty renowned Alexander.
3
He dresses with taste, he is small in the waist,
t I have seen him with filucher and Platoff,
The Hetman appears with his cap o'er his ears,

But the emperor rides with his hat off;
He sits on his throne with a leg on each zone,

No monarch on earth can be grander,
Half an hour after dark all the pales in the park

Are scaled to behold Alexander.
4
" Have you seen him" *s the talk, Piccadilly's the walk,

I suppose if it is so, it must be,
And nobody thinks of that musical sphinx

Catalini, or great doctor Busby,
Anxiety burns every bosom by turns,

To flirt with this royal Philander;
Even Kean is forgot, we are all on the trot

To behold the renown'd Alexander.

348 Poetry.

5
Poor Madame de Stael is quite pushed to the wall

Chasseed by the czar and the duchess,
And since hi6 retreat even Louis Dixhuit,

Has been claw'd in oblivion's clutches.
Clerks run from their quills, haberdashers their tills,

John Bull is a great goosy gander,
And happy the wight who can utter at night

** This morning 1 saw Alexander."—-
6
When the town was illumed, how his residence bloom'd

With lamps to the balcony fitted,
I've heard, the Cossacks made eleven attacks

To drink up the oil ere they lit it.
The chronicle says that he laces in stays,

But perhaps this, is nothing but slander,
As his slay was not long, I will shorten my song

With huzza for the great Alexander !

London, 1818.

FRIENDSHIP.

Tho' friendship's a flower, that by many is cherished,
'Twill fade, when the blast of suspicion blows cold ;

And the one that has rear'd it, will find it has perish'd
Before all its beauties had time to unfold.

The hearts-ease with this plant, in the bosom combining
May seem to live on, tho' the soil round is dry,

But we know from its roots with the other entwining
When friendship is gone, 'twill wither and die.

Then why should we thus labour, so long broken-hearted.
To cherish a feeling whose joys are soon flown,

Whose deep root, when its blossoms have long since departed
Will canker the bosom in which it was sown ?

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Vol. XII. DECEMBER, 1821. No. II.

Art. I. — Memoirs of Anncreon; By J. E. Hall.
(Continued from page 245.)
The fate of Anyta, another of the companions of Sappho, was
not less melancholy. She had attained such a rank among the
poets of her time, that she was saluted with the distinguished ti-
tle of the female Homer. She was betrothed in marriage to An-
tipater. But death robbed the Thessalonican of a wife and
Greece lost one of its brightest ornaments, while her days were yet
few and her thoughts were unclouded by care. Her compositions
were sublime, beautiful and picturesque. I regret that I have
preserved so few of her effusions. The following lines were writ-
ten by her to be inscribed

OK A STATUE OF VENUS ON THE SEA COAST.

Cythera, from this craggy steep,
Looks downward on the glassy deep;
And hither calls the vernal gale
Propitious to the distant sail,
While ocean flows beneath serene
Sooth'd by the smiles of beauty's queen.

The following epigrams were occasioned by the death of two
of her young companions whom she tenderly loved.

ON PHILLIDA.

In this sad tomb where Phillida is laid,
Her mother oft invokes the gentle shade r-
VOL. XII. 32

250 Memoirs of Jtnacreon*

And calls, in hopeless grief, on ber who died,
In the full bloom of youth and beauty's pride.
Who left, a virgin, these bright realms of day,
On dark Acheron's gloomy coaate to stray.

ON AKTIBIA.

Unblest An tibia calls this mournful strain —
A lovelier maid thao all Diana's train.
Gay gallant youths ador'd her as their God
And noble suitors waited on her nod;
But to resist the pow'r of fate, how rain
Is beauty? Flow afresh my mournful strain!

While the sensibility of Sappho was bewailing the loss of two
of the most lovely in her train, Anacreon endeavoured to console
the unfortunate lover of Anyta by an ode, which he sung as he
presented to him a cup of sparkling wine:

TO ANTIPATER.

Within a goblet, rich and deep,

I cradle all my woes to sleep,

Why should we breathe (he sigh of fear,

Or pour the unavailing tear?

For death will never heed the sigh,

Nor soften at the tearful eye;

And eyes that sparkle, eyes that weep,

Must all alike be sealed in sleep;

Then let us never vainly stray,

In search of thorns, from pleasure's way;

Oh! let us quaff the rosy wave,

Which Bacchus loves, which* Bacchus gave;

And in the goblet, rich and deep,

Cradle our crying woes to sleep!

The brevity of life is a subject so trite, that it would be super-
fluous in me to dilate upon its melancholy effects in the breasts of
those who survive an early friend. Mimnermus, in common with
many of our po^ts, has urged it, as a forcible reason for hilarity;
and his strains, though lively enough for the mirth of the bacchant,

•Memoirs of Jlnaereon. 251

at the same time infuse a portion of the sad seriousness of the
philosopher.

Drink and rejoice! what comes to-morrow,

Or what the future caa bestow,
Of pain or pleasure, joy or sorrow,

Men are never wise to know.

Oh! bid farewell to care and labour,

Enjoy your life while yet y ou may; '

Impart your blessings to your neighbour,

And give your hours to frolick play.

Life is not life if free from passion,
From the wild transports love can give;

Indulge your liveliest inclination
Thus life is worth the pains to live.

But if you pass the fleeting pleasure,

And leav e the luscious draught unknown,

Another claims the slighted treasure
And you have nothing of your own.

To her friend Anyta, Sappho had endeavoured by every artir
fice of persuasion to transfer the love of her brother, Charaxus.
This young man, while he was travelling in Egypt, for the pur-
posed investigating its curiosities, was ensnared by the wiles of
a female of Eressns named Sappho.* In order to disentangle him

* 'According to some writers, the name of this lady was Dorica. Ma-
dame Dacier has ably vindicated the character of the poetess, by trans-
ferring the obloquy that has attended her, to another of the same name.
Every generous feeling conspires to add strength to her plausible hypo-
thesis.

Is it possible, says an acute critic, who is actuated by a laudable wish
to rescue the memory of an amiable and lovely woman from unmerited
indignity, is it possible, says he, that such a woman was a hypocrite, or
that while she was reproving the vice and folly of a beloved brother, she
was conscious of being the most dissolute and abandoned of her sex? No
author, earlier than the Augustan age, alludes to those infamous stories
which the writings of Ovid have circulated to her prejudice. Must the
character of this divine poetess be loaded with every species of obloquy
and reproach on so slight a foundation as the weak fancy of a profligate

£52 Memoirs of Jlnacreoru

from this ruinous connection she addressed him in a letter which
was replete with the most tender and prudent expostulations; and
she at the same time painted in glowing language the charms of
An yta with all those captivating graces of style in which she ex-
celled. But deaf to the remonstrances of affection and, the re-
proaches of virtue, he persevered in a series of irregularity which
finally terminated his existence. From the coincidence between
the names, those who envied her genius have since endeavoured to
confound the courtezan with the poetess, and thus to diminish
the fame of one by charging it with all the vices of the other. But,
if the poetess had merited the odious picture which has been
daubed by the hands of ignorance and envy, the inhabitants of
Mytileoe, however they might have admired the fire and anima-
tion of her genius, would never have perpetuated her memory
and their own disgrace, by stamping an impression of her head
upon their coin; nor would her picture have been thus honoured
by the virtuous muse of Democharis:

ON A PICTURE OF SAPPHO.

Whoe'er he was whose art this picture plann'd,
Twas plastick nature taught his skilful hand.
The glist'oing moisture of the eye is seen,
As if the power of fancy dwelt within;
The warm carnation of the features glows
With nature's roses, shines with nature's snows;
While the bright smiles and lips' nectareons dews
Tremble with lo?e and glisten with the muse.

And again, in the epigram on her leading the train of virgins at -y
a festival in the temple of Juno: ^

Come, Lesbian maids, to Juno's stately dome,
With steps, that scarcely touch the pavement, come,
Let your own Sappho lead the lovely choir,
And to the altar bear her golden lyre.

Roman? That such a woman as the courtezan Sappho was cotemporary
with the Lesbian maid, is a fact that cannot be doubted, and to her, as
the biographer suggests, belongs the infamy which is usually attached to
another.

Memoirs of Jtnacreon* 253

Then first in graceful order slow advance
And weave the mazes of the mysticjk dance:
While, plac'd on high, the heav'n rapt maid shall pour
Such strains, that men shall wonder and adore.

I hare preserved a few remarks which Anacreon made about
this time on the subject of poetry; and as every thing that he said
upon this topick is worthy to be remembered, his observations are
here inserted.

He said it had been well remarked by Aristotle, that the ex-
pression should be very much laboured in the inactive parts of a
poem; as in descriptions, similes, and narratives, in which the opi-
nions, manners and passions of men, are not represented.*

" Aristotle says that a poet ought to prefer things that are im-
possible, provided they be probable, to those which are possible
though improbable. This rule is involved in some obscurity; but
I will endeavour to explain it A thing may be impossible and
yet probable. Thus when a poet introduces a Divinity, any in-
cident, humanly impossible, receives a full probability, by being
ascribed to the skill and power of a God — thus is it that we re-

* Horace, who copied most of his criticisms from Aristotle, had his eye
on this rale when be wrote these lines:

Et tragicus plerumq, dolet sermone pedestri
Telephus, et Peleus, cum pauper, et exul uterq,
Projicit ampullas et sesqnipedalia verba
Si curat cor spectantis tetigisse querela.

In the descriptions of Paradise, Milton has observed Aristotle's rule of
lavishing all the ornaments of diction where the fable is not supported by
beauty of sentiment and energy of character. It may be observed
that in such parts, the expressions are more florid and elaborate than in
most other passages of the poem; and the exuberance of his imagination has
produced such a redundancy of ornament on this seat of happiness and in*
nocence, that it would be endless, as Addison remarks, to point out each
particular. See Longinus, }. 17.

This rule is still more necessary for the orator. He who would conquer
m the conflicts of debate must supply all those parts where his argument
is defective, by those dazzling expressions, which, like the apple of gold,
seduce the opponent from the path of success. <•

254 Memoirs of Jlnacrem.

concile the story of the transformation of the ship of the Phoea-
chns into a rock, and the fleet of JSneas into sea nymphs. But
such relations ought not to be too frequent in a poem; for it is an
established rule, that all incidents which require the intervention
of divinity to give them an air of probability, should be so disen-
gaged from the action, that they might be entirely expunged with-
out destroying its integrity. For instance, if we omit the trans-
formation of the ship, the action of the Odyssey will retain its per-
fection. And therefore those episodes which are necessary, and
constitute essential parts of the poem, should be founded upon hu-
man probability* Now the episodes of Circe, Polypheme, the Sy-
rens, &c. are necessary to the action of the Odyssey; but no one
will say they are within the bounds of human probability. How
then shall we solve this difficulty? Homer has artificially brought
them within the bounds of it. He makes Ulysses relate them be-
fore a credulous and ignorant assembly. He lets us into the cha-
racter of the Phceacians by saying they were a very dull nation.
Odyss. 6. v. 8.

" It is thus that the poet artfully gives probability to his fables,
by reciting them to a people who believed them; and yet, even
here, he is not unmindful of his intelligent readers. He gives
them all the pleasure that can be derived from physical or moral
truths disguised under miraculous allegories, and by this method,
he reconciles them with poetical probability.**

/' There are several heads to which probability may be reduced.
Either to divinity, and then nothing is improbable, for every thing is
possible to a Deity: or to our ideas of things, whether they be true or
false. Thus in the descent of Ulysses into the infernal regions,
there is not one word of probability or historical truth; but if we
examine it by the ideas that were then entertained it becomes
probable: or lastly, we may have respect to vulgar opinion or fame;
for a poet is at liberty to relate a falsehood, provided it be com-
monly believed to be true."*

* Horace calls these stories specious miracle*.

ut speciosa dehinc miracula promat,

Antiphaten, Scyllamq. et cum Cyclope, Charjbdim.

I)e Art. Poet.

Memoirs of Anacrton. 255

As we returned one evening to our chambers a little incident
occurred, which I must relate as it is illustrative of one of Ana-
creon's odes. We met a Doric youth who was playing with a
waxen image of Cupid. Anacreon, whose imagination at the mo-
ment was all love, asked the boy if he would dispose of it To
this he willingly consented, saying, with a simplicity which we
could not but admire, that he did not wish to keep it, as it made
him think too much of other things than his studies. Anacreon
gave him some money for the image, which he placed over his
bed. The circumstance is commemorated in a few lines.

ON AN IMAGE OF OUPID*

" Tell me, gentle youth, I pray thee,

What in purchase shall I pay thee

For this little waxen toy,

Image of the Paphian boy?M

Thus I said the other day,

To a youth who pass'd my way:

" Sir," (he answer'd, and the while

Answer'd all in Doric style,) •

" Take it, for a trifle take it;

Think not yet that I could make it;

Pray, believe it was not I;

No— it cost me many a sigh,

And I can no longer keep

Little gods, who murder sleep!"

" Here, then, here," (I said with joy,)

" Here is silver for the boy:

He shall be my bosom guest,

Idol of my pious breast1"

Little Lo?e! thou now art mine,

— — . t , ■ i

Longinus calls them dreamt, but adds, that they are the dreamt qfju-
pUer. toA/oc nvmt*. Sect. 9. See also Le Clerc's observations upon
this passage in the Parhasiana. p. 26.

* It is difficult to preserve with any grace the narrative simplicity of
this ode, and the humour of the turn with which it concludes. I feel that
the translation must appear very vapid, if not ludicrous, to an English
reader. M.

256 Memoir* ofJtnacrecn.

Warm me with that torch of thine;
Make me feel as I hare felt,
Or thy waxen frame ahaD melt
J must burn in warm desire,
Or thou, my boy, in yonder fire!*

About the same time, too, another circumstance happened which
I shall also relate in this place. Anacreon had purchased an
Athenian dove, for the purpose of sending it to Eurypyle. He
accordingly despatched the faithful bird with a letter under its
wingtwhich enclosed this ode:

TO EUHTPTLB. *

When gold, as fleet as zephyr's pinion,
Escapes like any faithless rainion,f
* And flies me (as he flies me ever),}
Do I pursue him? never, never!

i ■■ ■ i .11 ■ i i ■ i i ii

* Monsieur Longepierre conjectures from this, that, whatever Ana-
creon might say, he sometimes felt the inconveniences of old age, and
here solicits from t£e power of Love a warmth which he could no longer
expect from nature'. M.

f In the original 'O S^urmc o Xf9**** There is a kind of pun in these
words, as Madame Dacier has already remarked; for Chrysos, which sig-
nifies gold, was also a frequent name for a slave. In one of Lucian's dia-
logues, there is, I think, a similar play upon the word, where the follow-
ers of Chrysippus are called golden fishes. The poos of the ancients are,
in general, even more vapid than our own; some Of the best are (hose re-
corded of Diogenes. M.

J Ku <T, &ufAi pivyu. This grace of iteration has already been taken
notice of. Though sometimes merely a playful beauty, it is peculiarly ex-
pressive of impassioned ^entiment, and we may easily believe that it was
one of the many sources of that energetic sensibility which breathed
through the style of Sappho. See Gyrald. Vet Poet. Dial. 9. It will not
be said that this is a mechanical ornament by any one who can feel its
charms in those lines of Catullus, where he complains of the infidelity of
his mistress, Lesbia.

Cceli, Lesbia nostra, Lesbia ilia,
Ilia Lesbia, quam <Jalull»is unam,
Plus quam se atque suos amavet omnes,
Nunc, &c.

r

>

Memoirs of Anacreoru 9,57

No, let the false deserter go,
For who would court hiB direst foe?
But, when I feel my lighten 'd mind
Ho more by ties of gold confin'd,
I loosen all my clinging cares,
And cast them to the vagrant airs.
Then, then 1 feel the muBe's spell,
And wahe to life the dulcet shell;
The dulcet shell to beauty sings,
And lore dissolves along the strings!
Thus, when my heart is sweetly taught
How little gold deserves a thought,
The winged slave returns once more,
And with him wafts delicious store
Of racy wine, whose balmy art j

In slumber seals the anxious heart!
Again he tries my soul to sever
From lore and song, perhaps forever!
Away, deceiver! why pursuing
Ceaseless thus my heart's undoing?
Sweet is the song of amorous fire;
Sweet are the sighs that thrill the lyre;
Oh! sweeter far than all the gold
The waftage of thy wings can hold.
I well remember all thy wiles;
They witherM Cupid's flowery smiles,
And o'er his harp such garbage shed,
I thought its angel breath was fled!
They tainted all his bowl of blisses,
> His bland desires and hallow'd kisses.

Si sic omnia dixisset! but the rest does not bear citation. M.

Horace having imitated this passage is adduced as a proof of the au-
thenticity of the ode. Lib. 1. od. 26. H.

n«8«i> gva-f ax* xifi»c.

Horace has " Desiderique temperare poculum," not figuratively, how-
ever, like Anacreon, but importing the love-philtres of the witches. By
" cups of kisses'* our poet may allude to a favourite gallantry among the
ancients, of drinking when the lips of their mistresses had touched the
brim:

VOL. xii. S3

258 Memoirs of Jtnacrwn.

Oh! fly to haunts of sordid Tnen,t
Bat rare not near the bard agate;
Thy glitter in the Muse's shade,
Scares from her bower the tuneful maifi;
And not for worlds would I forego
That moment of poetic glow,
When my fall soal, in Fancy's stream,
Poors o'er the lyre its swelling theme.
Away! away! to worldlings hence,
Who feel not this dinner sense,
And with thy gay, nBacioos blase,
Dazzle their unrefined gaze.

After some days had elapsed, his \etter was brought to him
by a person who said he had caught the bird without knowing it
had been despatched on any special purpose; but that it had es-
caped from him; and in the violence of its agitation had dropped
the letter, which .he had opened, and now restored to the author
of it, with many apologies for the inconvenience he might have
occasioned.

This incident gave rise to an ode, in which Anacreon fancies a
dialogue to have passed between the dove and the stranger who
intercepted its passage. It is so exquisite that we can scarcely
suppose it to have been written by a man; but regard it as the
joint production of the Muses and Graces.

" Or leave a kiss within the cup,
And I'll not ask for wine."

As in Ben Jonson's translation from Pbilostratus; and Luoian has a con-
ceit upon the same idea, "it* »«# «r*F»r *jk«xai <jwx*f," "that you may at
once both drink and hiss." M.

f " The haunts of sonjlid men" are in Pkrygia according to the origi-
nal. Anacreon applies.the epHhet/fctfUfest , to the Phrygians, because,
as Mad. Dacier supposes, theirldng Lttottedon had defrauded Neptune
and Apollo of their reward for building the walk of Troy and Hercules
for rescuing Hesione the daughter of the king from the fangs of aaea-
monster. H.

Memoirs of Jfautcreon. 359

the ©ov«*

Tell me, why, my sweetest dove,
Thus your humid pinions more,
Shedding through the air in showers
Essence of the balmiest flowers?
Tell me whither, whence you rove,
Tell me all, my sweetest dove.
Curious stranger! I belong
To the bard of Teian song,
With his mandate now I fly
To the nymph of azure eye;
Ah! that eye has madden'd many,
But the poet more than any!
Venus, for a hymn of love,
Warbled in her votive grove, \

* The ancients made use of letter-carrying pigeons, when they went
any distance from home, as the most certain means of conveying intelli-
gence back. That tender domestic attachment, which attracts this deli-
cate little bird through every danger and difficulty, till it settles in its na-
tive nest, affords to the elegant author of u The Pleasures of Memory" a
fine and interesting exemplification of his subject.

Led by what chart, transports the timid dove
The wreaths of conquest, or the vows of love?

See the poem. Daniel Heinsius has a similar sentiment, speaking of
Dousa, who adopted this method at the seige of Leyden:

Quo patrie non tendit amor? Mandata referre
vjPostquam hominem nequiit mittere, misit avem.
Fuller tells us, that at the seige of Jerusalem, the Christians intercep-
ted a letter, tied to the legs of a dove, in which the Persian emperor pro-
mised assistance to the beseiged. See Fuller'B Holy war, cap. 24.
book. i« M.

t " This passage is invaluable, and I do not think that any thing so
beautiful or so delicate has ever been said. What an idea does it give of
the poetry of the man, from whom Venus herself, the mother of the Gra-
ces and the Pleasures, purchases a little hymn with one of her favourite
doves!" Longepierre.

De Pauw objects to the authenticity of this ode, because it makes Ana-
creon his own panegyrist; but poets have a license for praising themselves,
which with some indeed, may be considered as comprised under their gen-
eral privilege of fiction. M.

260 Memoirs ofAnacreon*

('Twas in sooth a gentle lay,)
Gave me to the bard away.
See me now bis faithful minion,
Thus with softly-gliding pinion,
To his lovely girl I bear
Songs of passion through the air.
Oft he blandly whispers me,
" Soon, my bird, I'll set you free."
But in vain he'll bid me fly,
I shall serve him till I die.
Never could my plumes sustain
Ruffling winds and chilling rain.
/ O'er the plains, or in the dell.
On the mountain's savage swell;
Seeking in the desert wood
Gloomy shelter, rustic food.
Now 1 lead a life of ease,
Far from such retreats as these
From Anacreon's hand I eat
Food delicious, viands sweet;
Flutter o'er his goblet's brim,
Sip the loamy wine with him.
Then I dance and wanton round
To the lyre's beguiling sound;
Or with gently-fanning wings
Shade the minstrel while he sings:
On his harp then sink in slumbers,
Dreaming still of dulcet numbers!
This is all — away — away —
You have made me waste the day.
How I'vechatterM! prating crow
Never yet did chatter so.*

* Longepierre has a quotation from iEliau lib. 6. cap. 7. to prove that
the crow, xopmt*, was sometimes employed in this office.

" In Egypt, near the lake Myris, the natives show the monument of a
crow of which they give the following account: that it was brought by one
of their kings called Marches, whose epistles it carried, wheresoever he
pleased, with greater«expedttion than the swiftest messenger: that, when
he gave his orders, it immediately understood which way to direct its
flight, through what countries to pass, and where to stop. To preserve
the memory of these services, Marrhes honoured the bird with a monu-
ment, and an epitaph." H.

Memoirs of Anacreon. 261

Anacreon resumed his remarks on poetry, some of which I shall
here insert without regard to the chain of the conversation.

He said that " the first rule with respect to the manners and
characters of the persons introduced into a play, is, that they
should be good: that is, the poet should take particular care not to
represent them worse, or more immoral than his subject necessa-
rily demands: an instance of the violation of this rule occurs in
the Orestes of Euripides, where the poet makes Menelaus appear
exceedingly bad, without any necessity for it Ut h *q»«
htynd. &c.*

" Homer, to preserve the unity of his action hastens into the
midst of things. Had he gone up to Leda's egg or begun much
later, even at the rape of Helen or the investment of Troy, it is
evident that the story of the poem would have been a series of
several actions. He therefore commences with the discord of
his princes, and artfully interweaves, in the successive parts of his
poem, an account of every thing material that relates to them, and
had occured before thffdissention." •

" In the same manner JEneas makes his first appearance in the
Tyrrhene seas, and within sight of the shores of Italy; because the
action proposed to be celebrated was his settlement in Latium.
But as it was necessary for the reader to know what had happen-
ed to him at the taking of Troy, Virgil makes his hero relate it
in an episode in the second and thifd books of the JEoeid, the
contents of which precede those of the first in the thread of the
narrative, though they follow it in the disposition of the poem, in
order to preserve the unity of action.t

* Injustice to the ancients it roust be observed, that they very rarely
erred in this particular; for though indeed it is not strictly true, that
every thing they said upon the stage had an immediate tendency to the
promotion of virtue, yet it is very seldom that they allowed of vile obsceni-
ty or prophanity, or indulged in any expressions which were offensive to
good manners: faults which are too frequent among the most admired of
modern writers.

The passage in the text, which is principally taken from Aristotle is
well explained and illustrated by Bishop Hare, in the dedication prefixed
to his Terence.

f Milton, in imitation of these two great poets, opens his Paradise Lost
with an infernal council plotting the fall of man, which is the action he

962 Memoirs of Jkuvrem.

" The author of an Epic poem should seldom apeak in bia own
person, but throw a* much of his work at he can iatathe mouths of
those who are his principal actors. For the mind of Ike reader
is more awed and elevated when he hears Achillea or JEneas than
when he listens to Homer or Virgil. Besides, the very impres-
sion that we are speaking the language of an eminent hero exalts
and expands the imagination of the author,* It is really surpri-
zing to remark in the Iliad and iEneid, how little proceeds from
the mouths of the writers."

"The great secret of heroick poetry, according to Aristotle, is,
to relate such circumstances as may produce in the reader at the
same time both belief and astonishment: or, in other words, the
fable should be filled with the probable and the marvellous. But
while the poet excites our astonishment he should be cautious not
to overstep the bounds of nature so far, that reason would revolt

proposed to celebrate. And, as for those great actions, the battle of the
angels and the creation of the world, which psjceded in point of time,
but which would have entirely destroyed the unity of his principal action
had he related them in the same order in which they happened, he gives
them in the fifth, sixth and seventh books, by way of Episode.

It may be observed here also, that as Virgil, in the poem which was de-
signed to celebrate the origin of the Roman Empire, has described the
birth of ils great rival, the Carthaginian commonwealth, Milton, with
similar art, in his poem on the Ml of man, has related the fall of the angels
who are his professed enemies. Besides the many other beauties in such
an Episode, its running parallel with the great action of the poem, hinders
it from breaking the unity so much as another episode would have done,
that had not so near an affinity with the principal subject

* Tully tells us, in speaking of his celebrated Dialogue on Old Age, in
which Cato is the chief speaker, that upon a review of it, he was agreea-
bly imposed upon, and fancied it really was Cato, and not himself, who ut-
tered his thoughts upon the subject!

Milton appears to have paid very particular attention to this rule. There
ia scarcely a third part of the whole of his poem which proceeds apparent-
ly from him; the rest is spoken by Adam or Eve or some good or evil spi-
rit, who is engaged either in their destruction or defence* His querulous-
ness about his own blindness, the reflections on the nakedness of Adam
and Eve, on the angels eating, and some other passages which might be
cited are exceptions, it is true— but who would lose a line of Milton?

Memoirs of JLnacr eon. 36*

from the dominion which hie genius enforces. Because, by car-
rying nature into exigencies hi which she cannot exist, he pre-
vents himself from making those observations on her conduct
which even extraordinary circumstances would justify. He thus
becomes a poet to the eye, but not to the heart Wonder is a qua-
lity which cannot be kept constantly in action. We may con-
template the objects which his fertile imagination has presented
to our'view, but we forget the man."*

" I think the Dithyrambick is the only proper metre for hymns
in honour of Bacchus. This sort of poem is strictly imitative, be-
cause the poet endeavours to exhibit the sentiments and delirium
which should be felt by a Dithyramb or chaunter of Dithyrambicks.
Its peculiar quality is a sort of enthusiastic wildness which, spurn-
ing at the trammels of the laws of poetry, admits of any boldness
and irregularity of expression, and the utmost extravagance of me-
taphor. The thoughts and the words are not confined to a con-
nected chain, and the versification flows according to the inspi-
ration of the muse."t

Anacreon-then concluded his entertaining remarks, but before
we retired to rest, he wrote the following lines, on a dish, which
he had received from our friend Stratocles.

ON TH* YIOTURS OF Et7R0P*4

Methjnks, the pictur'd bull we tee
•Is amorous lore— -it must be he!

* Milton's feble is a master- piece of this nature. The rebellion in Hea-
ven, the miserable condition- of the fallen angels, the state of innocence in
which our first parents lived, the temptations of the serpent, the fall of
man, &c. though very astonishing- in themselves, are not only credible,
but they are actually articles of faith.

f Horace expressively describes the Dithyrambick of the Theban.

Sen per audaces nova Dithyrambos

Verba devolvit, numerisque fertur

Lege solutis.
The learned are not agreed as to the etymology of the word, but they
hare amused us with a variety of uncertain conjectures.

\ This ode may perhaps be considered as a description of one of those
coins, which the^&donians struck off in honour of Europe, representing a

264 Memoirs of Jnacrem*

How fondly blest he seems to bear
That fairest of Phoenician fair!
How proud he breasts the foamy tide,,
And spurns the billowy surge aside!
Could any beast, of vulgar vein,
Undaunted thus defy the main?
No: he descends from climes above,
He looks the God, he breathes of Jove!

The next day we repaired to a rich carousal at the house
of Sappho, who strove to forget the disdain of Fhaon in the lyre
of Anacreon and the merriment of convivial society. Her love
for that beautiful youth must have been of a very exalted nature,
for instead of those feelings which are usually excited bj dis-
dain or treachery in the female breast, Sappho still cherished a
fondness for the memory of the insensate Phaon. She dwelt with
a mournful pensiveness on the graces which adorned his person,
and she delighted to contemplate with fancy's eye the smiles
which irradiated his countenance. Love, which acts with such
violence in some, had softened her feelings, added dignity to her
mind, and vigour to her genius. So calm and resigned did she
now appear, that her friends were flattered with the hope that her
former love had subsided, and that in the genius of Anacreon she
would forget the irresitible charms of the scornful youth. The
seductive graces of Anacreon's conversation and the bewitching
allurements of his lyre, had done much towards removing from her
breast the impressions of other attachments; and, could he have re-
mained longer at Mytilene, I have no doubt but that he would
have prevented the melancholy catastrophe which terminated the
life and misfortunes of the Lesbian Muse.

But while they were plunged in revelry and delight, when all
Mytilene seemed,, in the intoxication of festivals to have abstracted
herself from the world, and to have forgotten the existence of other

woman carried across the sea by a bull. Thus Natalia Comes, lib. viii*
cap. 23. " Sidonii numismata cum foemina tauri dorso inside nte ac oiare
transfretante, cuderunt in ejus honorem." In the little treatise upon the
goddess of Syria, attributed very falsely to Luciao, there is mention of this
coin, and of a temple dedicated by the Sidonians to Astarte, whom some,
it appears, confounded with Europa. M.

Memoirs of Jlnacrem. 265

countries, events of a«ad and solemn portent agitated the political
horizon of the Athenian republic.

By what means soever of stratagem or violence, Pisistratus had
acquired the sovereignty of Athens, the indignation of his coun-
trymen had long been lost in admiration of his talents, his justice,
and his moderation. The tyrant was known only by name when
they saw Pisistratus rejecting the adventitious aid of royalty, and ap-
pearing before the Areopagi, with no other protection than the
shield of innocence, to answer a criminal charge. When they
saw him not only pardon, but distinguish by enviable honours, the
youth whose excessive love had driven him to such desperation,
as to induce him to attempt to carry off the daughter of the king
from a public procession, they beheld one who had not lost the
feelings of a man tn the pride of power. When they saw him
striving by all the arts of solicitation to acquire the friendship of
Solon, and to enlist the wisdom of that venerable legislator in sup-
port of his administration, they contemplated a rival who had the
magnanimity to esteem his opponent, and a sovereign whose great-
est solicitude was for the welfare and dignity of his subjects.

Yet, as always has happened, and ever will happen, where the
people are flattered with notions of their own importance by the
specious bawling of the patriot, or dazzled by the more open designs
of the ambitious usurper, the mild government of Pisistratus be-
came obnoxious. Twice was he obliged to resign an ungrateful
authority and fly from the city, and twice did he resume his au-
thority.

The people, by which term I mean a large majority of the po-
pulation of every countryrare ever credulous and ignorant They
-are deceived by the flattery of the artful, and seduced by the
splendid talents of the ambitious. It is the aim of a vicious set
•of mea, who would disturb the tranquillity of society, to inculcate
the most dangerous maxims, and circulate the most flagrant false-
hoods: in this they persevere with a tenacity which no punishments
can wholly subdue, and nothing can divert, but the allurements
of wealth.**

* To such men how justly may we apply the vigorous lines of Beau-
mont: i
vol. xn. 34

266 Memoirs of Jnacreon.

Pisistratus, with the exception of these temporary interruptions,
enjoyed a peaceable reign. He saw the Athenian power exalted
bj his talents, and a visible and rapid improvement in literature
and the sciences under his fostering hand. He fell quietly to the
earth like the lofty oak which long withstands the assailing blast,
and at length yields to the destroying tooth of age!

Hipparchus and Hippias succeeded to the power and populari-
ty of their father; and one of the first objects of the attention of
Hipparchus, was to regain the presence of the poet whom he had
formerly admired. He despatched a barge to Samos for Anacre-
on; but not finding him there, the Captain set sail fur Mytilene,
and interrupted our merriment by a letter to the poet, in which
the young king informed him of all the events which had occurred
during his absence, and concluded by affectionately pressing him
to return to Athens. He said he wanted a counsellor, such as
the sage Anacreon, to assist him in a task so arduous for youth
and inexperience, and a friend such as the poet, with whom he
could unbend his mind, and enjoy the pleasures of refined and so-
cial intercourse.

This letter was very embarrassing to Anacreon. He felt it at
once his duty and his wish to fly to his friend, surrounded, as he
was, by all the difficulties and dangers that are incident to a new
administration over a fickle people; but it was death to part from
the lovely Sappho. She perceived a change in his deportment;
and after some days of anxiety she tenderly inquired whether he
had received unpleasant intelligence by the courier from Athens.
He could only reply by showing his letter to her, when she dis-
solved into tears and prayed him not to leave her.

" No, said the lover, as he pressed the weeping fair to his bo-
som, never will I quit thee, I would embrace thee as the ivy twines
around the oak — I would be the zone that encircles thy bosom, and
beats responsive to its throb."

They feed upon opinions, errors, dreams
And make them truths: they draw a nourishment
Out ofdefamings: grow upon disgraces;
And when they see a virtue fortified
Strongly, above the battery of their tongues,
Ob, how they cast about to sink it

Memoirs of Anacreon . £67

TO SAPPHO.*

The Phrygian rock, that braves the storm,

* Ogilvie, in his Essay on the Lyric Poetry of the Ancients, in remark-
ing ujion the Odes of Anacreon, says, " In some of his pieces there is exu-
berance and even wildness of imagination; in that particularly which is
addressed to a young girl, where he wishes alternately to be transformed
to a mirror, a coat, a stream, a bracelet and a pair of shoes, for the differ-
ent purposes which he recites: this is mere sport and wantonness."

It is the wantonness however of a very graceful Muse; ludit amabiliter.
The compliment of this ode is exquisitely delicate, and so singular for the
period in which Anacreon lived, when the scale of love bad not yet been
graduated into all its little progressive refinements, that if we were incli-
ned to question the authenticity of thn poem, we should find a much more
plausible argument in the features of modern gallantry which it bears,
than in any of those fastidious conjectures upon which some commenta-
tors have presumed so far. Degen thinks it spurious, and De Fauw pro-
nounces it to be miserable. Longepierre and Barnes refer us to several
imitations of this ode, from which I shall only select an epigram of Dion j-
sius:

Eid'cLVf/uoc yivo/ULMy cu St y% sux*o-& itratg1 *vy&t, &C
I wish I could like zephyr steal

To wanton o'er thy mazy vest,
And thou wouldst ope thy bosom- veil.

And take me panting to thy breast!
i
I wish I might a rose-bud grow.

And thou wouldst cull me from the bower,

And place me on that breast of snow,

Where 1 should bloom, a wintery flower.

I wish I were the lily's leaf,

To fade upon that bosom warm;
There I should wither, pale and brief,

The trophy of thy fairer form!

Allow me to add, that Plato has expressed as fanciful a wish in a dis-
tich preserved by Laertius!

Aci/>«c fj«-*0f mc, «r»g f/uoff. udff yivoijuut
OvgoFoc, at 4roxxojc o/up&<rtT us 9% $\tir».

TO STELLA.

Why dost thou gaze upon the sky?
Oh! that I were that spangled sphere,

268 Memoirs of Jtnacream.

Wai once a weeping matron's form;9"
And Progne, hapless, frantic maid,
Is now a swallow in the shade.
Oh! that a mirror's form were mine,
To sparkle with that smile divine;
And like my heart I then should be,
Reflecting thee, and only tbee!
Or, were I, love, the robe which flows
O'er every charm that secret glows,
In many a lucid fold to swim,
And cling and grow to every limb!
Oh! could I, as the streamlet's wave,
Thy warmly-mellowing beauties lave,
Or float as perfume on thine hair,
And breathe my soul in fragrance there!
I wish I were the zone, that lies
Warm to thy breast, and feels its sighs!f

And every star should be an eye,
To wonder on thy beauties here! M.

* Niobe, daughter of Tantalus, King of Pbrygia, having the vanity to*
prefer herself to Latona, the mother of Apollo and Diana, her children,
upon which she principally prided herself, were all slain by the offspring
of the goddess. The melancholy catastrophe so affected the unfortunate
mother, that her powers were benumed by grief, and she became stupid.
The license of Poets has transformed ber into stone, and Moore elegant-
ly terms her «« The Phrygian Rock." The story is finely told by Ovid.
Vid. Met. lib. 6. But see Pope in the twenty-fourth book of the Iliad.
There are two Epigrams in the Anthofogia on Niobe, one of which has
all the quaintness of Cowley.

'OTti/uCet woe, &c.

This weeping tomb within no corse contains;

This weeping corse without a tomb remains:

For, by a strange irrevocable doom,

This image is the carcase and the tomb. H

t This r tu* in was a riband, or band, called by the Romans fascia and
strophium, which the women wore for the purpose of restraining the exu-
berance of the bosom. Vide Polluc. Onomast. Thus Martial:
Fascia crescentes dominoe compesce papillas.

Jlfemotrs (if Jhwrt<x*r ?69

Or like those envious pearls that show
So faintly round that neck of snow,
Yes, I would be a happy gem,
Like them to hang, to fade like them.
What more would thy Anacreon be?
Oh! any thing that touches thee.
Nay, sandals for those airy feet—
Thus to be press'd by thee were sweet!-

" But, alas, my Sappho, the call of Hipparchus must be obeyed.
You know not the obligations I owe to that excellent sovereign;
and I should be ungrateful to him, and unworthy of you, were I
to forget them. I will depart but for a short time, and then re-
turn with fresh ardor to bask in the sunshine of your smiles."

" No Anacreon — among the brighter damsels of Athens you will
soon forget the unfortunate Sappho. Miserable woman that I am!
The God of Lore wounds my heart only to sport in the pang that

The women of Greece not only wore this zone, but condemned them-
selves to fasting, and made use of certain drugs and powders, for the same
purpose. To these expedients they were compelled, in consequence of
their inelegant fashion of compressing the waist iuto a very narrow com-
pass, which necessarily caused an excessive tumidity in the bosom. See
Dioscorides, lib. v. M >

* The sophist Philostratus, in one of his love-letters, has borrowed this
thought; • tf/iro* motu- -m **AA«c f x«/0tf «;. « <Tfi<r%vi<ufAen *yt» »«j <uajnt/>/oc
•cv mdL<r%v%T% /ui. " Oh lovely feet! oh excellent beauty! oh! thrice happy
and blessed should I be, if you would but tread on me!" la Shakspeare
Romeo desires to be a glove:

Oh! that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might kiss that cheek!
And, in his Passionate Pilgrim, we meet with an idea semewhat like
that of the thirteenth line:

He, spying her, bounc'd in, where as he stood, -

" O Jove!" quoth she, " why was not I a flood?"

In Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, that whimsical farrago of '( all

such reading as was never read," there is a very old translation of this ode,

before 1632. u Englished by Mr. B. Holiday in hisTechnog. act. 1.

scene 7." M.

270 The Ayrshire Legatees.

he occasions. Go, unkind Anacreon, and in the splendour of the
Athenian court forget the sighs of Sappho!"

" Oh! how cruel are your words, lovely maiden. I can never
lose the remembrance of your charms. I solemnly vow I will re-
turn as soon as I can quit Hipparchus, for I prefer the bowers of
love to the courts of Kings."

With these words he strung his lyre and bade her adieu.

TO SAPPHO.

Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn
The stream of Amalthea's bora!
Nor should I ask to call the throne
Of the Tartessian prince my own;
To totter through his train of years.
The victim of declining- fears.
One little hour of joy to me
Is worth a dull eternity!
{To be continued?)

Art. II. — The Ayrshire Legatees; or% the Correspondence of the
f Pringle Family.
(Continued from vol. xii. p. 58.)
Andrew Pringlef Esq. to the Rev. Charles Snodgrass.

Windsor Castle Inn.
My dear friend, — I have all my life been strangely suscepti-
ble of pleasing impressions from public spectacles where great
crowds are assembled. This, perhaps you will say, is but another
way of confessing, that, like the common vulgar, I am fond of
sights and shows. It may be so, but it is not from the pageants
that I derive my enjoyment A multitude, in fact, is to me as it
were a strain of music, which, with an inestimable and magical in-
fluence, calls up from the unknown abyss of the feelings, new
combinations of fancy, which, though vague and obscure, as those
nebulee of light that astronomers have supposed to be the rudi-
ments of unformed stars, afterwards become distinct and brilliant
acquisitions. In a crowd, I am like the somnambulist in the high-
est degree of the luminous crisis, when it is said a new world is
unfolded to his contemplation, wherein all things have an intimate
affinity with the state of man, and yet bear no resemblance to the

The, Ayrshire Legatees. %7\

objects that address themselves to his corporeal faculties. This
delightful experience, as it may be called, I have enjoyed this
evening to an exquisite degree, at the funeral of the king; but, al-
though the whole succession of incidents is indelibly imprinted on
my recollection, I am still so much affected by the emotion that
they excited, as to be incapable of conveying to you any intelligi-
ble description of what I saw It was indeed a scene witnessed
through the medium of the feelings, and the effect partakes of the
nature of a dream.

I was within the walls of an ancient castle,

" So old as if they had for ever stood,

So strong as if they would for ever stand,"

and it was almost midnight. - The towers, like the vast spectres
of departed ages, raised their embattled heads to the skies, monu-
mental witnesses of the strength and antiquity of a groat monar-
chy. A prodigious multitude filled the courts of that venerable
edifice, surrounding on all sides a dark embossed structure* the
sarcophagus, as it seemed to me at the moment, of the heroism of
chivalry.

u A change came o'er the spirit of my dream," and I beheld the
scene suddenly illuminated, and the blaze of torches, the glimmer-
ing of arms, and warriors and horses, while a mosaic of human
faces, covered like a pavement the courts. A deep low under
sound pealed from a distance; in the same moment, a trumpet
answered with a single mournful note from the stateliest and
darkest portion of the fabric, and it was whispered in every ear,
"it is coming." Then an awful cadence of solemn music, that
affected the heart like silence, was heard at intervals, and a nu-
merous retinue of grave and venerable men,

" The fathers of their time,
Those mighty master spirits, that withstood
The fall of monarchies, and high upheld
Their country's standard, glorious in the storm,"
passed slowly before me, bearing the emblems and trophies of a
king. They were as a series of great historical events, and I be-
held behind them, following and followed, an awful and indistinct
image, like the vision of Job. It moved on, and I could not dis-
cern the form thereof; but there were honours, and heraldries, and

272 The Jfyrshire Legatee*.

sorrow, and Silence; and I heard the stir of a profound homage
performing within the breasts of all the witnesses. But I must
not indulge myself farther on this subject. I cannot hope to ex-
cite in you the emotions wHh which I was so profoundly affected.
In the visible objects of the funeral of George the Third, there was
but little magnificence; all its sublimity was derived from the trains
of thought and currents of feeling, which the sight of so many il-
lustrious characters, surrounded by circumstances associated with
the greatness and antiquity of the kingdom, was necessarily cal-
culated to call forth. In this respect, however, it was perhaps the
sublimes t spectacle ever witnessed in this island; and I am sure
that I cannot live so long as ever again to behold another, that
will equally interest me to the same depth and extent Yours,

Andrew Pbingle.

We should ill perforth the part of faithful historians, did we
omit to record the sentiments expressed by the company on this
occasion. Mrs. Giibbans, whose knowledge of the points ©f or-
thodoxy had rtot their equal in the three adjacent parishes, round-
ly declared, that Mr. Andrew Pringle's letter was nothing but a
peasemeal of clishmaclavers; that there was no sense in it; and
that it was just like the writer, a canary idiot, a touch here and a
touch there, without any thing in the shape of cordiality or satis-
faction. Miss Isabella Todd answered this objection with that
sweetness of manner and virgin diffidence which so well becomes
a youthful female member of the establishment, controverting the
dogmas of a stoop of the relief persuasion, by saying, that she
thought Mr. Andrew had shown a fine sensibility. " What is sen-
sibility without judgment," cried her adversary, " but a thrashing
in the water* and a raising of bells? — could na the fallow, without
a9 his parleyvoos, have said that such and such was the case, and
that the lord giveth and the lord taketh away — but his clouds, and
his spectres, and his visions of Job — O! an he could but think
like Job! — 0! an he would but think like the patient man! — and
was obliged to claut his flesh with a bit of a broken crock or por-
renger, we might have some hope of a repentance unto life. But
Andrew Pringle, he's a gone dick; I never had comfort or ex-
pectation of the freethinker, since I heard that he was infected
with ths blue and yellow calamity of the Edinburgh Review in

The Ayrshire Legatee* 273

the which, I am credibly told, it is set forth, that women have not
souls, but only a gut, and a gaw, and a gizzard, like a pigeon-dove,
or a raven-crow, or any other outcast and abominated quadruped."
Here Miss Mally Glencairn interposed her effectual mediation,
and said, " It is very true that Andrew d^als in the diplomatics
of obscurity; but it is well known that he has a nerve for genius,
and that, in his own way, he kens the loan from the crown' of the
causeway, as well as the duck does the midden from the adle dib."
To this proverb, which we never heard before, our correspondent,
Mr. M'Gruel, subjoins an erudite note, in which he states, that
middens were of great magnitude, and often of no less antiquity
in the west of Scotland; insomuch, that the Trongate of Glasgow
owes all its magnitude and grandeur to them — it being within 'the
recollection of persons yet living, that the aforesaid spacious and
magnificent street, was at one time an open road, or highway4,
leading to the Trone, or market-cross, with thatched houses on
each side, such as may still be seen in that pure immaculate roy-
al borough of Rutherglen; and that before each house stood a lux-
uriant midden, by the removal of which, in the progress of modern
degeneracy, the stately architecture of Argyle-Street was formed.
But not to insist at too great length on such topics of antiquarian
lore, we shall now insert the Doctor's account of the funeral, and
which, patly enough, follows our digression concerning the mid-
dens and magnificence of Glasgow, as it contains an authentic an-
ecdote of a manufacturer from that city, drinking champaign at
the king's dirgie.

The Rev. Z. Pringle, D. D. to Mr. Micklewham, Schoolmaster
and Session Clerk of Garnock.

London*
Dbar Sir,-— I have received your letter, and it is a great plea-
sure to me to hear that my people were all so much concerned
at our distress in the Leith smack; but what gave me the most
contentment, was the repentance of Tarn Glen. I hope, poor fel-
low, he will prove a good husband; but I have my doubts; for the
wife has really but a small share of common sense, and no mar-
ried man can do well unless his wife will let* I am, however, not
overly pleased with Mr. Craig on the occasion, for he should have

vol. xn. 35

%1 4 the Ayrshire Legatees.

considered frail human nature, and accepted of poor Tam*s con-
fession of a fault, and allowed the bairn to be baptised without any
more ado. I think, honest Mr. Daff has acted like himself, and, I
trust and hope, there will be a great gathering at the christening,
and, that my mite may not be wanting, you will slip in a guinea
note when the dish goes round, but in such a manner, that it may
not be jealoused from whose hand it comes.

Since my last letter, we have been very thrang in the way of
seeing the curiosities of London; but I must goon regular, and tell
you all which, I think, it is my duty to do, that you may let my
people know. First, then, we have been to Windsor Castle, to
see the king lying in state, and afterwards, his interment; and
sorry am 1 to say, it was not a sight that could satisfy any godly
mind on such an occasion. We went in a coach of our own, by
(mrselves, and found the town of Windsor like a fair. We were
then directed to the castle gate, where a terrible crowd was ga-
thered together; and we had not been long in that crowd, till a
pocket-picker, as I thought, cutted off the tail of my coat, with my
pocket-book in the pocket, which 1 never missed at the time. But
it seems the coat tail was found, and a policeman got it, and held
it up on the end of his stick, and cried, whose pocket is this?
showing the book that was therein, in hisWid. I was confound-
ed to see my pocket-book there, and could scarcely believe my
own eyes, but Mrs. Pringle knew it at the first glance, and said,
« it's my guderaan's;" at the which there was a great shout of de-
rision among the multitude, and we would baith have then been
glad to disown the pocket-book, but it was returned to us, I may
almost say, against our will; but the scorners, when they saw on
eonfusion, behaved with great civility towards us, so that we got
into the castle -yard with no other damage than the loss of the flap
of my coat-tail.

Being in the castle-yard, we followed the crowd into another
gate, and up a stair, and saw the king lying in state, which was a
very dismal sight— and I thought of Solomon in all his glory, when I
saw the coffin, and the mutes, and the mourners, and reflecting on
the long infirmity of mind of the good old king, I said to myself,
in the words of the book of Job, " Doth they not die even without
wisdom."

The Ayrshire Legatees* 275

When we had seen the sight, we came out of the castle, and
went to an inns to get a chack of dinner; but there was such a
crowd, that no resting-place could for a time be found for us; gen-
tle and semple were there, all mingled, and no respect of persons,
only there was, at a table nigh unto ours, a fat Glasgow manufac*
turer, who ordered f^ bottle of champaign wine, and did all he
could uiythe drinking of it by himself, to show that he was a man in
well doing circumstances. While he was talking over his wine, a
great peer of the realm, with a star dn his heart, came into the
room, and ordered a glass of brandy and water; and I could see,
when he saw the Glasgow manufacturer drinking champaign wine
on that occasion, that he greatly marvelled thereat.

When we had taken our dinner, we went out to walk and see
the town of Windsor, but there was such a mob of coaches going
and coming, and men and horses, that we left the streets, and
went to inspect the king's policy, which is of great compass, but
in a careless order, though it costs a world of money to keep it
up. Afterwards, we went back to the inns, to get tea for Mrs*
Pringle and her daughter, while Andrew Pringle, my son, was
seeing if he could get tickets to buy, to let us into the inside of
the castle, to see the burial — but he came back without luck,' and I
went out myself, being more experienced in the world, atffd I saw
a gentleman's servant with a ticket in his hand, and % Itsked him
to sell it to me, which the man did with thankfulness, for five
shillings, although the price was said to be goldelf guineas. But
as this ticket admitted only one person, it was hard to say what
should be done with it when I got back to jny family. However, as
by this time we were all very much fatigu-d, I gave it to Andrew
Pringle, my son; and Mrs. Pringle, and her daughter Rachel, agreed
to bide with me in the inns.

Andrew Pringle, my son, having got the .ticket, left us sitting,
when shortly after in came a nobleman, high in the cabinet, as I
think he must have been, and he having politely asked leave to
take his tea at our table, because of the gr at throng in the house*
we fell into conversation together, and he understanding thereby
that I w>8 a minister of the church of Scotland, said he thought
he could help us into a place to see the funeral; so, after he had
drank his tea, he took us with him, and got us into the castle-yard

276 The Jiyrsliire Legatees,

where we had an excellent place, near to the Glasgow manufac-
turer that drank the champaign. The drink by this time, how-
ever, had got into that poor's man's head, and he talked so loud,
and so little to the purpose, that the soldiers who were guarding
were obliged to make him hold his peace, at which he was not a
little nettled, and told the soldiers that he had himself been a sol-
dier, and served the king without pay, having been a volunteer
officer. But this had no more effect than to make the soldiers
laugh at him, which was not a decent thing at the interment of
their master, our most gracious sovereign that was.

Howeyer, in this situation we saw all; and I can assure you it
was a very edifying sight; and the people demeaned themselves
with so much propriety that there was no need for any guards at
all; indeed, for that matter, of the two, the guards who had eaten
the king's bread, were the only ones there, saving and excepting
the Glasgow manufacturer, that manifested an irreverent spirit
towards the royal obsequies. But they are men familiar with the
king of terrors on the field of battle, and it was not to be expect-
ed that their hearts would be daunted like those of others by a do-
ing of a civil character.

{- Whefc all was over, we returned to the inns, to get our chaise*
to go back; to London that night, for beds were not to be had for
love or merfey.at Windsor, and we reached our temporary home
in Norfolk (street about four o'clock in the morning, well satisfied
with what we had seen,— -but all the mean time I had forgotten
the loss of the flap of my coat, which caused no little sport when
I came to recollect what a pookit like body I must have been,
walking about in the king's policy like a peacock without my taiL
But I must conclude, for Mrs. Pringle has a letter to put in the
frank, for Miss Nanny Eydent, which you will send to her by one
of your scholars, as it contains information that may be servicea-
ble to Miss Nanny in her business, both as a mantua maker, and
superintendant of the genteeler sort of burials at Irvine and our
vicinity. So that this is all from your friend and pastor,

Zaohariah Pringle*

« I think," said Miss Isabella Todd, as Mr. Micklewam finish-
ed the reading of the doctor's epistle, « that my friend Rachel might
have given me some account of the ceremony, but Capt Sabre

The Ayrshire Legatees. 277

seems to have been a much more interesting object to her than all
the pride and pomp that so bewildered her brother, or even the
Glasgow manufacturer to her father." In saving these words, the
young lady took the following letter from her pocket, and was on
the point of beginning to read it, when Miss Becky Glibbans ex-
claimed: " I had ay my fears that Rachel was but light headed, and
I'll no be surprised to hear more about her and the dragoon or a's
done." Mr. Snodgrass looked at Becky, as if he had been af-
flicted at the moment with unpleasant ideas, and perhaps he would
have rebuked the spitefulness of her insinuations, had not her mo-
ther sharply snubbed the uncongenial maiden, in terms at least as
pungent as any which the reverend gentleman would have em-
ployed. " I*m sure," replied Miss Becky, pertly, "I meant no ill,
but if Rachel Pringle can write about nothing but this captain Sa-
bre, she might as well let it alone, and her letter canna be worth
the hearing.** " Upon that," said the clergyman, " we can form a
judgment when we have heard it, and I beg that Miss Isabella may
proceed," which she did accordingly.

Miss Rachel Pringle to Miss Isabella Todd,

London.
My dear Bell,

I take up my pen with a feeling of disappointment such as I
never felt before. Yesterday was the day appointed for the fune-
ral of the good old king, and it was agreed that we should go to
Windsor, to pour the tribute of our tears upon the royal bier, —
captain Sabre promised to go with us, as he is well acquainted with
the town, and the interesting objects around the castle, so dear to
chivalry, and embalmed by the genius of Shakspeare, and many a
minor bard, and I promised myself a day of unclouded felicity-
bat the captain was ordered to be on duty, — and the crowd was so
rude and riotous^that I had do enjoyment whatever, but pining with
chagrin at the little respect' paid by the rabble to the virtues of
departed monarchy. I would fainly have retired into some so-
lemn and sequestered grove, and breathed my sorrows to the lis-
tening waste. Nor was the loss of the captain, to explain and il-
luminate the different baronial circumstances around the castle,
the only thing that I had to regret in this ever-memorable excur-

278 The Ayrshire Legatees*

sion— my tender and affectionate mother was so desirous to see
every thing in the most particular manner, in order that she might
give an account of the funeral to Nanny Eydent, that she had ne
mercy either upon me or my father, but obliged us to go with her
to the most difficult and inaccessible places. How vain was all
this meritorious assiduity, for of what avail can the ceremonies of
a royal funeral te to Miss Nanny, at Irvine, where kings never
die, and where, if they did, it is not at all probable that. Miss
Nanny would be employed to direct their solemn obsequies. As
for my brother, he was so entranced with his own enthusiasm, that
he paid but little attention to us, which made me the more sensi-
ble of the want we suffered from the absence of captain Sabre. In
a word, my dear Bell, never did I pass a more unsatisfactory day,
and I wish it blotted for ever from my remembrance. Let it there-
fore be consigned to the abysses of oblivion, while I recall the
more pleasing incidents that have happened since I wrote you last

On Sunday according to invitation, as I told you, we dined with
the Argents — and were entertained by them in a style at once
most splendid, and on the most easy footing. I shall not attempt
to describe the consumeable materials of the table, but call your
attention, my dear friend, to the intellectual portion of the enter-
tainment, a subject much more congenial to your delicate and re-
fined character.

Mrs. Argent is a lady of considerable personal magnitude, of an
open and affable disposition; in this respect, indeed, she bears a
striking resemblance to her nephew, captain Sabre, with whose re-
lationship to her we were unacquainted before that day. She re-
ceived us as friends in whom she felt a peculiar interest, for
when she heard that my mother had got her dress and mine from
Cranburn Alley, she expressed the greatest astonishment, and told
us, that it was not at all a place where persons of fashion could
expect to be properly served. Nor can I disguise the fact, that
the flounced and gorgeous garniture of our dresses was in shock-
ing contrast to the amiable simplicity of her's and the fair Ara-
bella, her daughter, a charming girl, who notwithstanding the fash-
ionable splendour in which she has been educated, displays a de-
lightful sprightliness of manner, that, I have some notion, has not
been altogether lost on the heart of my brother.

'*The Ayrshire Legatees. £79

When we returned up stairs to 'the drawing room, after dinner,
Miss Arabella took her harp, and was on the point of favouring us
witji a Mozart; but her mother, recollecting that we were Presby-
terians, thought it might not be agreeable, and she desisted — which
I was sinful enough to regret; but my mother was so evidently
alarmed at the idea of playing on the harp on a Sunday night, that
I suppressed my own wishes, in filial veneration for those of that
respected parent. Indeed, fortunate it was that the music was not
performed, for, when we returned home, my father remarked with
great solemnity, that such a way of passing the lord's night as we
had passed it, would have been a great sin in Scotland.

Captain Sabre, who called on us next morning, was so delighted
when he understood that we were acquainted with his aunt; that
he lamented he had not happened to know it before, as he would,
in that case, have met us there. He is, indeed, very attentive,
but I assure you, that I feel no particular interest about him, for
although he is certainly a very handsome young man, he is not
such a genius as my brother, and has no literary partialities. But
literary accomplishments are, you know, foreign to the military
profession, and if the captain has not distinguished himself by cut-
ting up authors in the reviews, he has acquired an honourable
medal, by overcoming the enemies of the civilized world at Wa-
terloo.

To-night the play-houses open again, and we are going to the
Oratorio, and the captain goes with us, a circumstance which I am
the more pleased at, as we are strangers, and he will tell us the
names of the performers. My father made some scruple of con-
senting to be of the party, but when he heard that an Oratorio was
a concert of sacred music, he thought it would be only a sinless
deviation if he did, so he goes likewise. The captain, therefore,
takes an early dinner with us at five o'clock. — Alas! to what
changes am I doomed, — that was the tea hour at the manse, of
Garnock. O when shall I revisit the primitive simplicities of my
native scenes again. But time nor distance, my dear Bell, cannot
change the affection with which I subscribe myself, ever affection-
ately, yours,

Rachel Pringle.

280 The Aryshirt Legatees.

At the conclusion of this letter, the countenance of Mrs. Glib-
bans was evidently so darkened, that it daunted the company like
an eclipse of the sun, under which all nature is saddened, " What
think you, Mr. Snodgrass," said that spirit-stricken lady, M what
think you of this dining on the Lord's day,— this playing on the
harp; the carnal Mozarting of that ungodly family, with whom the
corrupt human nature of our friends has been chambering." Mr.
Snodgrass was at some loss for an answer, and hesitated, but Miss
Mally Glencairn relieved him from his embarrassment, by remark-
ing, that " the harp was a holy instrument," which somewhat trou-
bled the settled orthodoxy of Mrs. Glibbans' visage. " Had it
been an organ," said Mr. Snodgrass, dryly, " there might have
been, perhaps, more reason to doubt; but, as Miss Mally justly re-
marks, the harp has been used from the days of king David in the
performances of sacred music, together with the psalter, the tim-
brel, the sackbut, and the cymbal." The wrath of the polemical
Deborah of the Relief-kirk was somewhat appeased by this expla-
nation, and she inquired in a more diffident tone, u whether a Mo-
zart was not a metrical paraphrase of the song of Moses after the
overthrow of the Egyptians in the Red Sea, in which case, I must
own,9' she observed, " that the sin and guilt of the thing is less
grievous in the sight of Him before whom all the actions of men
are abominations." Miss Isabella Todd, availing herself of this
break in the conversation, turned round to Miss Nanny Eydent,
and begged that she would read her letter from Mrs. Pringie. We
should do injustice, however, to honest worth and patient industry,
were we, in thus introducing Miss Nanny to our readers, not to
give them some account of her lowly and virtuous character.

Miss Nanny was the eldest of three sisters, the daughters of a
shipmaster, who was lost at sea when they were very young; and
his all having perished with him, .they were indeed, as their mo-
ther said, the children of poverty and sorrow. By the help of a
little credit, the widow contrived, in a small shop, to eke out her
days till Nanny was able to assist her. It was the intention of
the poor woman to take up a girl's school for reading and knitting,
and Nanny was destined to instruct the pupils in that higher
branch of accomplishment — the different stitches of the sampler.
But about the time that Nanny was advancing to the requisite de-

gree of pqfcction m chain steek a
some progress is the Lh^s pnyer '
boaring was introduced ai Irvine, and Xasxr i
a competent knowledge of that dsar ait. In :ik *
her sisters; and such was the (rah if :ieur appfii i '
stant industry, that her lafSu wiojndioW u* deae* •*
school, and continued t» p*y her !h^-e kmn ia a«v easy cir-
cumstances. TV fuctnatkos if MaoV in dune taae^i ties* fbai
it would not be wise to trast to tLe loons, and accar&ajjy Xaunt j
was at some pains to learm mtrTs-uiakzig: :
that she did so— lor tSe tzxLXaHnf sraf hlZt vgt otc «f i
and the flowering whkh &l«w«d sc^d leas ^ae i
tionof poor Nanny. 1W nuking of s«
led to the making of awurak^s, as* Tie uuViihl of 1
tarall j often caused Nanny to be caL*^ su at deat%u, urocn, a
process of time, promoted her to save the ukauaeeautK: of hurialn;
and in this line of business she has now a large proportion of due
genteelest in Irvine and its vklihy; and in *L her i
ments her bthaTionr has been as I
siduity has been uniform — in §o much, that tie
to whom she is known, take a particular j
with the newest patterns, and ear
varieties and changes of fashions; and In the i
good feelings in the breast of Mn. Pringle, ]
for the following letter. How far the iiiormation wtoca. h i
may be deemed exactly suitable to tee liMumviao
Miss Nanny's lot is cast, onr readers aaay j*4ge far
but, on die authority of Mr. M*Gruel, we are happy to state 6at
it has proTed of no small advantage to her: far nee it has been
known that she had received a full, true, and particular mono I
of all manner of London fashions, from so managing and notable a
woman as the minister's wife of Garnock, her consideration has
been so augmented in the opinion of the neighbouring; gentlewo-
men, that she is not only in the present season consulted as to
funerals, but is often called in to assist in the decoration and ar-
rangement of wedding dinners, and other occasions of sumptuous
banqueting; by which she is enabled, during the present suspension
of the flowering trade, to earn a lowly but a respected livelihood.
vol, zn. 36

282 The Ayrshire Legatees.

Mrs. Pringle to Miss Nanny Eydent, Mantua-maker, Seagate*
head, Irvine*

London.
Dear Miss Nanny,

Miss Mally Glencairn would tell you all how it happent that I
was disabled, by our misfortunes in the ship, from riting to you
konseming the London fasbons as I promist; for I wantit to be
pertikylor, and to say nothing but what I saw with my own eyes,
that it might be servisable to you in your bizness— so now I will
begin with the old king's burial, as you have sometimes okashon
to lend a helping hand in that way at Irvine, and nothing could be
more genteeler of the kind than a royal obsakew for a patron; but
no living sole can give a distink account of this matter, for you
know the old king was the father of his piple, and the croud was
so great* Howsomever we got into our oun hired shaze at day-
light; and when we were let out at the castel yet of Windsor, we
went into the mob, and by-and-by we got within the castel walls,
when great was the lamentation for the purdition of shawls and
shoos, and the doctor's coat pouch was clippit off by a pocket-
picker. We then ran to a wicket gate, and up an old timber-stair
with a rope ravel, and then we got to a great pentit chamber call-
ed king George's Hall: After that we were allowt to go into ano- '
ther room full of guns and guards, that told us all to be silent: so
then we all went like sawlies, holding our tongues in an awful
manner, into a dysmal room hung with black cloth, and lighted
with dum wax candles in silver skonses, and men in a row all in
melancholic posters. At length and last we came to the coffin; but
although 1 was as partikylor as possible, I could see nothing that
I would recommend. As for the interment, there was nothing but
even down wastrie— wax candles blowing away in the wind, and
flunkies as fou as pipers, and anunreverent mob that scarsly could
demean themselves with decency as the bodie was going by; only
the duke of York, who carrit the head, had on no hat, which I
think was the newest identical thing in the affair but really there
was nothing that could be recommended. Howsomever I understood
that there was no dragie, which was a saving; for the bread and
wine for such a multitude would have been a distinction to a lord's

TV fcnaiji Xj^atou- 28S

tiring: and this b ike an! y put dot tie &m «tii^f k5sr s
feonoral saj be Mint is fariie.

Since the barial w* have been tine&e play, wfcere rhe l*d-
dies were all m deep araraang; Vat iJJAfUug thaa same tad aLack

gOBUSvQTS SB\ iiwflT BeftBSy 1 SBW KKH SVT IOttlMB"^E«T u^K

bagles, I ca asbnre yaa, are net ivi at aC tiis <

1 j tins lnaf mast be a ivt

there is ao werietie, there cam be bat leetei tad* in yaar fc»e- Bat

one thing I sbswld net farg-t,aad that is thai ri tk? ^ra best

houses, after tea and comae after &wer, a carnal dram i* handed

about; bat likewise I caaud mw ttsnk fnag»nag«gmiw~h

the cheese, as isi aar part afw otamtry, wet obkj, afaer n* ii*ch
is drawn, with the wise; md aw sach a tiiae; a* a |a^-bpw! k la
be heard af within the fmv w*a± af Latnom. Hwamnw w*at I
principal y natiied was, that the tea azrt omfee k sat auaae W toe
lad y af the hawse, bat ma ef the raam, aac ir«*p.t a wra*awT sagar
or milk on serrsrs, every see **-;pa£ fcaMfciaaid «lt pjoi £:m-
sy loaf and batter b served — a* aach tzis* a* ffiart-aread. «wd»
cake, baa, miimlet, er jeeliy ta be sees, fi/i is aa at«iMiiL.'jaJ
plan, and well worthy af adaptatiam ia gjnteel hm^x* wt» nar-
row incomes, in irriae ar elsewhere.

Bat when I tell to* what I am n&w gvug to say, yoa w£ s**
be snrprizt at the great weald, ia Lk^ic I paid far a bamMae**-
gown, not a bit better than tx ooe oox w» at*** by yva taat tt*e
sore calamity befell, and aa <• ine n*£:i*er, n*r» dbaa tLr** t*j**»
the price; so job see, Mks Nanny, if yon were 5-^5 m» tpw&e
your fortane, yoa coc!d not do betvx tiaa pack cp tout e&d*a&d
jour awls and come to London. Bat jzrt far better at host*—
for this is not a town for any creditable yoL&g woman like roa ♦*
live in by herself, and I am wearying to be Lack, thow^i Hf* ha/4
to say when the doctor will get his connU vrttleL I with joa,
howsomerer, to mind the patches for the bed-corer dot 1 was go-
ing to patch, for a licht afternoon seam, as the muming for the
king will no be so general with yon, and the spring fa*hon* will
be coming on to help m j gathering— so no more at present Cram
your friend and well-wisher,

Jaaxr Pbj«0ls<

£84 Wu Atrshir* Jrff (riff*

Oh Siuxjaj WVflinfc before going to church, Jfr? Micklewhanj
called at the Manse, and said that he wished p*rti£pl^J^ to speajt
to Mr. Snodgrass^ Ujppu. b^ng admitted, he feM&d the young
helper engaged at ^r^kfast, with a bopk lying qo hi* table, very
like a vpjum$ flf ft nffi nprel called Iyauhoe. in its appearance,
bat of course, it i^u^ lwve lg$j* sprmow d<me up in that manner
to attract fashionable, fWftP' As soon, howler, *a Mr. Snodr
grass saw hjs visiter he; hastily removed the book, and put it in-
to (he, ftble-dra,wer. The, prepentor having taken a seat at the
opposite side of the pre, began somewhat diffidently to mention*
that he had received a letter from the doctor, that made him at a
loss, whether or not he ought to read it to, the elders, as usual, af-
ter worship, and therefore was desirous of consulting Mr. Sand-
grass on the subject, fQr it recorded, among tfher things, that the
doctor had been at the playhouse, and Mr. Micklewham was quite
sure that Mr. Craig would he neither to band nor to hold when he
heard that, althongh the transgression wa& certainly mollified by
the nature of the performance* As the clergyman, however, could
offer ao opinion until he saw the letter, the precentor took it out
of his pocket, and Mr. Sjiodgrass found the contents, as Mr*
M'Gruel has fairly and entirely transcribed it, to be as follows:—

the Rev. SB* jPringjte, D. D. to Mr. Micklewham, Schoolmaster
and Session-clerk, Oarnock.

London.
Dbae Sir,— You will recollect that about twenty years ago,
there was a great sound throughout all the West that a playhouse
in Glasgow had been converted into a tabernacle of religion. I
remember it was glad tidings to our ears in the parish of Gar-
nock; and that Mr. Craig, who had just been ta'en in for an elder
that fall, was for having a thanksgiving-day on the account there-
of, holding it to be a signal manifestation of a new birth in the
of-old -godly town of Glasgow, which had become slack in the way
of well-doing, and the church therein lukewarm, like that of La-
odicea. It was then said, as I well remember, that when the ta-
bernacle was opened, there had not been seen, since the Kaiins-
lang wark, such a congregation as was there assembled, which was
a great proof that it's the matter handled, and not the place that

!%e JyrsMft Legatees. ft 85

ntaketh pure; so that when yoa and the elders hear that I have
been at the theatre of Drury Lane, in London, you must not think
that | was there to see a carnal stage play, whether tragical or
comical, or that I would so far demean myself and my cloth, as
to be a witness to the chambering and wantonness of ne'er-du-weel
playactors. No, Mr. Micklewham, what I went to see was an
Oratorio4, a most edifying exercise of psalmody and prayer, under
the management of a pious gentleman, of the name of Sir George
Smart, who is, as I am informed, at the greatest pains to instruct
the exhibitioners, they being, for the most part, before they get
into his hands, poor' uncultivated creatures, from Italy, France,
and Germany, and other atheistical and popish countries. They
first sung a hymn together very decently, and really with as much
civilized harmony as could be expected from novices; indeed so
well, that I thought them almost as melodious as your own sing-
ing class of the trades lads from Kilwinning. Then there was a
Mr. Braharo, a Jewish proselyte, that was set forth to show us a
specimen of his proficiency. In the praying part, what he said
was no objectionable as to the matter, but he drawled in his man-
ner to such a pitch, that I thought he would have broken out into
an even down song, as I sometimes think of yourself when you
spin out the last word in reading out the line in a warm summer
afternoon. In the hymn by himself, he did better; he, was, how-
ever, sometimes like to lose the tune, but the people gave him
great encouragement when he got back again. Upon the whole,
I had no notion that there was any such Christianity in practice
among the Londoners, and I am happy to tell you, that the house
was very well filled, and the congregation wonderful attentive.
No doubt that excellent man, Mr. W***»*****», has a hand in
these public strainings after grace, but he was not there that night;
or I have seen him; and surely at the sight I could not but say to
myself, that it's beyond the compass of the understanding of man
to see what great tilings Providence worketh with small means;
for Mr. W. is a small creature. When I beheld his diminutive
stature, and thought of what he had achieved for the poor negroes
and others in the house of bondage, I said to myself, that here the
hand of wisdom is visible, for the load of perishable mortality is
laid lightly on his spirit, by which it is enabled to clap its wings

286 The Ayrshire Legatee*

and crow so crously on the dunghill top of this world, yea even
in the House of Parliament -

I was taken last Thursday morning to breakfast with hifi in.
his house at Kensington, by an Bast India director, who is like-,
wise surely a great saint It was a heart-healing meeting of ma-
ny of the godly, which he holds weekly in .tfee season; and we
had such a warsle of the spirit among us that the like cannot be
told. I was called upon to pray, and a worthy. gentleman said,
when I was done, that he never had met with more apostolic sim-
plicity— indeed, I could see with the tail of my eye, while I waa
praying, that the chief saint himself was listening with a pleasant
satisfaction.

As for our doings here anent the legacy, things are going for-
ward in the regular manner, but the expense is terrible, and I have
been obliged to take up money on account; but as it was freely
given by the agents, I am in hopes all will end well; for consider-
ing that we are but strangers to them, they would not have award -
ed us in this matter had they not been sure of the means of pay-
ment in their own hands.

The people of London are surprising kind to us; we need not*
if we thought proper ourselves, eat a dinner in our own lodgings;
but it would ill become me, at my time of life, and with the cha-
racter for sobriety that I have maintained, to show an example in
my latter days of riotous living, therefore Mrs. Pringle and her
daughter and me have made a point of going no where three times
in the week; but as for Andrew Pringle, my son, he has forgather-
ed with some acquaintance, and I fancy we will be obliged to let
him take the length of his tether for a while. But not altogether
without a curb neither, for the agent's son, young Mr. Argent, had
almost persuaded him to become a member pi Parliament, which
he said he could get him made, for more than a thousand pounds
less than the common price, the state of the new king's health hav-
ing lowered the commodity of seats. But this I would by no
means hear of; he is not yet come to years of discretion enough to
sit in council, and moreover, he has not been tried, and no man
till he has out of doors shown something of what he is, should be
entitled to power and honour within. Mrs. Pringle, however,
thought he might do as well as young Dunure, but Andrew Pringle,

Utt Jkwnkir* l^mu^ &£

my son, has not the a&Lry «f »ead 2U£ Mr. L******cy life, ni
is over free and act imifrrn, ami cumc m&* sent nun* "& nnfc?
his little go a great way, like tk w*Li-aeJii*«i }"uatr saapiiitt
Bat yon will be grieved tie hear 3jk Mr. l"1*1*^ s a. wowii-
tifln to die government, ami truly I am az a mm m minosamt nw
a nan of whig priaeimes can he an ar^ersicy m me Bn» of
Hanover. Bat I never mr&^*4 muds, s. pu:~ac£ amurc 0:43c «
this tone, when I pra&arsed Aacrew Prnar^- ny «■
ing to be a member af Farliamos, Mrv^fesamtLxe a* .
gainthathe would have £»d «fn*p^Le.

And aince we are an puiic caiicenA. I su wljl *eL ymv "ma: I
was minded to send van a n* ■ an y 1 a: o*t %£zmi£ nunc. 1 m. y
daj when we were dene wha h- Ban wi«aa wt Lure n nniaru
we found that we could set :>e an m iihijh 1 iir a «!■- mg * w»~ft
every morning but Suaday, m «ar hrtiiihst, wia^t wa* m murx
cheaper man baying a viole paper, -aoc M-%. rVao* tuinenn r
would be a great extravagmxe, aavd hi&sed vna I cane u -nuut
of fte has af time a newspaper entry d*y vwlj£ ■*ra«sw* n- vlt
people, I considered it vatld he very vrwj «f me u» sent m
any at all* For I do not tii^k Cat inmcst h«jl* j* a mr-m? rumv
try parish, should make or meddle wha r» tiiug* txac pemo. u-
government— the more especially, as it k w*£. htn, tua: tu?r*
is as much falsehood as truth in ■*■ juj* ^ and -susy nn* nor
the means of testing the statement*. Xa% nw?*9; tiac I mu
an advocate for passive obedie&te, God fcrfed, «* n* cumy^. d
ever the time should come, in my day, af a scrv-saym? tr-wc
attempting to bind the burden af prtLtxk ^hks£^» «a aw
backs, such a blast of the gospel trumpet wml4 for *ea?< m\ (**r*
nock, as it does not become me to say, but 1 l*av> h to yw and
others, who have experienced my capacity, as a m,Ajtr af tne vtvd,
so long, to think what it woold then be, Mean wLUe, I remain, my
dear sir, your friend and pastor, Z. Paia^c.

When Mr. Snodgrass had perused this epUtle, he paused s*me
time, seemingly in doubt, and then he said to Mr. Mkkkrwham,
that, considering the view which the doctor had taken of the "f-
ter, and that he had not gone to the playhouse for the motives
which usually take bad people to such places, he thought there
could be no possible harm in reading die letter to the elders, ami

£88 The Ayrshire Legatees.

that Mr. Craig, go far from being displeased, would, doubtless, be
exceedingly rejoiced to learn, that the playhouses of London were
occasionally so well employed, as on the night when the doctor
was there.

Mr. Micklewham then inquired if Mr. Snodgrass had heftrd
from Mr. Andrew, and was answered in the affirmative; but the
letter was not read. Why it was withheld, our readers must
guess for themselves; but the following copy was obtained by Mr.
M'Gruel, when, in the course of the week, he called at the manse,
to inquire respecting the health and welfare of the reverend doc*
tor, and his worthy family.

Andrew Pringle, Esq. to the Rev. Mr. Charles Snodgrass.

London.
My Dear Friend,

As the season advances London gradually unfolds, like nature,
all the variety of her powers and pleasures. By the Argents we
have been introduced effectually into society, and have now only to
choose our acquaintance among those whom we like best. I should
employ another word than choose, for I am convinced that there
is no choice in the matter. In his friendships and affections, man
is subject to some inscrutable moral law, similar in its effects to
what the chemists call affinity. While under the blind influence
of this sympathy, we, forsooth, suppose ourselves free agents! But
a truce with philosophy.

The amount of the legacy is now ascertained. The stock, how-
ever, in which a great part of the money is vested, being shut, the
transfer to my father cannot be made for some time; and till this
is done, my mother cannot be persuaded that we have yet got any
thing to trust tc— an unfortunate notion, which renders her very
unhappy. The old gentleman himself takes no interest now in
the business. He has got his mind at ease by the payment of all
the legacies; and having fallen in with some of the members of
that political junto, the saints, who are worldly enough to link,
as often as they can, into their association, the powerful by wealth
or talent, his whole time is occupied in assisting to promote thuir
humbug: and he has absolutely taken it into his head, that the at-
tention he receives from them, for his subscriptions, is on account

The Ayrshire Legatees. - 389

•f his eloquence as a preacher, and that hitherto he has been al-
together in an error with respect to his own abilities. The effect
of this is abundantly amusing; but the source of it is very evident
Like most people who pass a sequestered life, he had formed an
exaggerated opinion of public characters; and on seeing them in
reality so little superior to the generality of mankind, he imagines
that he was all theftime nearer to their level than he had ventured
to suppose; and the discovery has placed him on the happiest
terms with himself. It is impossible that I can respect his mani-
fold excellent qualities and goodness of heart more than I do; but
there is an innocency in this simplicity which, while it often com-
pels me to smile, makes me feel towards him a degree of tender-
ness somewhat too familiar for that filial reverence that is due
from a son.

Perhaps, however, you will think me scarcely less under the
influence of a similar delusion when I tell you, that I have been,
somehow or other, drawn also into an association, not indeed so
public or potent as that of the saints, but equally persevering in
the objects for which it has been formed. The drift of the saints,
as far as I can comprehend the matter, is to procure the advance-
ment to political power of men distinguished for the purity of their
lives and the integrity of their conduct; and in that way, I pre-
sume, they expect to effect the accomplishment of that blessed '
epoch, the millenium, when the saints are to rule the whole earth.
I do not mean to say that this is their decided and determined
object; I only infer, that it is the necessary tendency of their pro-
ceedings: and I say it with all possible respect and sincerity, that,
as a public party, the saints are not only, perhaps, the most pow-
erful, but the party which, at present, best deserves power.

The association, however, with which I have happened to be-
come connected, is of a very different description. Their object
is, to pass through life with as much pleasure as they can obtain,
without doing any thing unbecoming the rank of gentlemen, and
the character of men of honour. We do not assemble sucl) nume-
rous meetings as the saints, the whigs, or the radicals, nor are our
speeches delivered with so much vehemence. We even, I think,
tacitly exclude oratory. In a word, our meetings seldom exceed
the perfect number of the muses; and our object on these occasion's

vol. xu« 37

£9§ The Ayrshire Legatees.

is not so much to deliberate on plans of prospective benefits to
mankind, as to enjoy the present time for ourselves* under the
temperate inspiration of a well-cooked dinner, flavoured with ele-
gant wine, and just so much of mind as suits the fleeting topics of

the day. T , whom I formerly mentioned, introduced me to

this delightful society. The members consist of about fifty gen-
tlemen, who dine occasionally at each other's houses; the compa-
ny being chiefly selected from the brotherhood, if that term can be
applied to a circle of acquaintance, who, without any formal in-
stitution of rules, have gradually acquired a consistency that ap»
proximates to organization.— But the universe of this vast city
contains a plurality of systems, and the one into which I have been
attracted may be described as that of the idle intellects. In a
general society, the members of our party are looked up to as men
of taste and refinement, and are received with a degree of defe-
rence that bears some resemblance to the respect paid to the he-
reditary endowment of rank. They consist either of young men
who have acquired distinction at college; or gentlemen of fortune
who have a relish for intellectual pleasures, free from the ascerbi-
ties of politics, or the dull formalities which so many of the pious
think essential to their religious pretensions. The wealthy fur*
nish the entertainments, which are always in a superior style, and
, the ingredient of birth is not requisite in the qualifications of a
member, although some jealousy is entertained of professional men,
and not a little of merchants. T ■ . , to whom I am also in-
debted for this view of that circle, of which he is the brightest or-
nament, gives a felicitous explanation of the reason. He says,
professional men, who are worth any thing at all, are always am-
bitious, and endeavour to make their acquaintance subservient to
their own advancement; while merchants are liable to such ca-
sualties, that their friends are constantly exposed to the risk of
being obliged to sink them below their wonted equality, by grant-
ing them favours in times of difficulty, or, what is worse, by re-
fusing to. grant them.

I am much indebted to you for the introduction to your friend
CU- ,„ He is one of us,or, rather, he moves inan eccentric sphere
ef his own, which crosses, I believe, almost all the orbits of all
the classed and classifiable systems of London. I found him ex-

The Ayrshire Legatees. 291

actl y what you described; and we were on the frankest footing of
old friends in the course of the first quarter of an hour. He did
me the honour to fancy that I belonged, as a matter of course, to
some one of the literary fraternities of Edinburgh, and that I would
be curious to see the associations of the learned here. What he
said respecting them wasJiighly characteristic of the man. « They
are," said he, " the dullest things possible. On my return from
abroad I visited them all, expecting to find something of that
easy disengaged mind which constitutes the charm of those of
France and Italy. But in London, among those who have a cha-
racter to keep up, there is such a vigilant circumspection that I
should as soon expect to find nature in the ballets of the Opera-
house, as genius at the established haunts of authors, artists, and

men of science. B k gives, I suppose officially, a public

breakfast weekly, and opens his house for conversation on the
Sundays. I found at his breakfast, tea and coffee, with hot rolls,
and men of celebrity afraid to speak. At the conversations there
was something even worse. A few plausible talking fellows crea-
ted a buzz in the room, and the merits of some paltry nick-nack of
mechanism or science was discussed. The party consisted, un-
doubtedly, of the most eminent men of their respective lines in
the world; but they were each and all so apprehensive of having
their ideas purloined, that they took the most guarded care never
to speak of any thing that they deemed of the slightest conse-
quence^ or to hazard an opinion that might be called in question.
The man who either wishes to augment his knowledge or to pass
his time agreeably, will never expose himself to a repetition of
the fastidious exhibitions of engineers and artists who have their
talents at market. But such things are among the curiosities of
London, and if you have any inclination to undergo the initiating
mortification of being treated as a young man who may be likely
to interfere with their professional interests, I can easily get you
introduced.'*

I do not know whether to ascribe these strictures of your friend
to humour or misanthropy; but they were said without bitterness,
indeed so much as matters of course, that at the moment, I could
not but feel persuaded they were just 1 spoke of thejn to T ,

292 The Ayrshire Legatees.

who says, that undoubtedly G— 's account of the exhibitions
is true in substance, but that it is his own sharp-sightedness
which causes him to see them so offensively; for that ninety-nine
out of the hundred in the world, would deem an evening spent at

the conversations of Sir J B a very high intellectual

treat

G has invited me to dinner, and I expect some amuse-
ment; for T , who is acquainted with him, says that it is his

fault to employ his mind too much on all occasions, and that in
all probability, there will be something, either in the fare or the
company, that I shall remember as long as I live. However, you
shall hear all about it in my next* Yours,

Andrew Pringle.

On the same Sunday on which Mr. Micklewham consulted Mr.
Snodgrass as to the propriety of reading the doctor's letter to the
elders, the following epistle reached the post office of Irvine, and
was delivered by Saunders Dickie himself, at the door of Mrs.
Glibbans, to her servan lassie, who, as her mistress had gone to
the relief church told him, that he would have to come for the
postage the morn's morning. " O," said Saunders, " there's nae-
thing to pay but my ain trouble, for it's frankit, but aiblins the mis-
tress will gie me a bit drappie,andso Fll come betimes i' the morn-
ing."

Mrs. Pringle to Mrs. Qlibbans.

London*

My Dkaji Mrs. Glibbans, — The breking up of the old par la-
ment, has been the cause why I did not right you before, it having
taken it out of my poor to get a frank for my letter till yesterday,
and I do ashure you, that 1 was most extraor dinar uneasy at the
great delay, wishing much to let you know the decayt state of the
gospel in thir perts, which is the pleasure of your life to study by
day, and meditate on in the watches of the night

There is no want of going to church, and, if that was a sign of
grease and peese in the kingdom of Christ, the toun of London
might hold a high head in the tabernacles of the faithful and true
witnosses. But saving Dr. Nichol of S wall o street, and Dr. Man-
uel of Londonwall, there is nothing sound in the way of preeching
here, and when I tell you that Mr. John Gant, your friend, and

The Ayrshire Legatees. 293

some other flea-lugged fallows, have set up a Heelon congrega-
tion, and got a young man to preach Erse to the English, je maun
think in what a state sinful souls are left in London. But what I
have been the most consarned about, is the state of the dead. I
am no meaning those wha are dead in trespasses and sins, but wha
i are dead to this world, and all the miseries thereof. Ye will
hardly think, that they are buried in a popish-like manner, with
prayers, and white gowns, and ministers, and spadefuls of yerd
cast upon them, and laid in yauts, like kists of orangers in a gro-
cery siller, and I am told, that after a time, they are taken out
when the vaut is shurfeeted, and their bones brunt, if they are no
made into lamp-black by a secret wark— which is a clean proof to
me that a right doctrine cannot be established in this land — there
being so little respec shone to the dead.

The wase point, howsomever, of all is, what is done with the pray-
ers, and I have heard you say, that although there was nothing
more to objec to the wonderful Doctor Chammers of Glasgou, that
his reading of his sermons was testimony against him in the great
controversy of sound doctrine; but what will you say to reading
of prayers, and no only reading of prayers, but printed prayers,
as if the contreet heart of the sinner had no more to say to the Lord
in the hour of fas ting and humiliation, than what a bishop can indite,
and abookseller make profit o'. " Verily," as I may say, in a wqrd
of scripter, I doobt if the glad tidings of salvation have yet been
preeched in this land of London; but the ministers have good
stipends, and where the ground is well manured, it may in time
bring fopth fruit meet for repentance.

* There is anotherthing thatbehoves me to mention, and that is, that
an elder is npt to be seen in the churches of London, which is a
sore signal that the piple are left to themselves; and in what state
the morality can be, you may gueas with an eye of pity. But on
the Sabbeth nights, there is such a going and coming, that it's mae
like a cried fair, than the Lord's night-— all sats of poor people, in-
stead of meditating on their by-gane toil and misery of the week,
making the Sunday their own day, as if they had not a greater
master to serve on that day than the earthly man whom they serv-
ed in the1 week days. It is, howsomever, past the poor of nature
to tell you of the sinfulness of London— and you may well think

294 1Che Ayrshire Legatees.

what is to be the end of all things, when I ashure you, that there
is a newspaper sold everj Sabbath morning' and read bj those
that never look at their Bibles. Our landlady asked us if we would
take one, but I thought the doctor would have fired the house, and
you know it is not a small thing that lundles his passion. In short,
London is not a place to come to hear the tidings of salvation
preeched, no that I mean to deny that there is not herine more
than five righteous persons in it, and I trust the Comal's hagent
is one, for if he is not, we are undone, having been obligated to
take on already more than a hundred pounds of debt, to the ac-
count of our living, and the legacy yet in the dead thraws. But as
I mean this for a spiritual letter, I will say no more about the
root of all evil, as it is called in the creeds of truth and holiness,
so referring you to what I have told Miss Mally Glencairn about
the legacy and other things nearest my heart, I remain, my dear
Mrs. Glibbans, your feilou christian and sinner*—*

Jakbt Prikglb.
Mrs. Glibbans received this letter between the preachings-Hind
it was observed by all her acquaintance, during the afternoon ser-
vice, that she was a laden woman. Instead of standing up at the
prayers, as her wont was, she kept her seat, sitting with downcast
eyes, and ever and anon her left hand, which was laid over her
book on the reading board of the pew, was raised and allowed to
drop with a particular moral emphasis, bespeaking the mournful
cogitations of her spirit On leaving the church, somebody whis-
pered to Mr. R— n, the minister, that surely Mrs. Glibbans had
heard some sore news, upon- which that meek, mild, and modest
good soul hastened towards her, and inquired, with more than his
usual kindness, how she was — her answer was brief and myste-
rious— and she shook her head in such a manner, that Mr. R— — n
perceived all was not right— "Have you heard lately of your
friends, the Pringles?" said he, in his sedate manner — " when do
they think of leaving London?" " I wish they may ever get out
o't;" was the agitated reply of the afflicted Lady. " Pm very sor-
ry to hear you say so," responded the minister; "I thought all
was in a fair way to an issue of the settlement — I'm very sorry
tohear this.*" Mr.B n,»said the mourner— "Mr.R— n, don't

The Ayrshire Legatees.' £95

think that I am grieved for them and their legacy— ^filthy ware—-
no, sir; but I have had a letter that has made my hair stand on
end. Be none surprised if you hear of the earth opening, and
London swallowed up; and a voice crying in the wilderness, ' Wo,
wo/»

The gentle priest w^s not much surprised by this information;
it was evident that Mrs. Glibbans had received a terrible account
of the wickedness of London; and that the weight upon her pious
spirit was owing to that cause. He therefore accompanied her
home, and administered all the consolation he was able to give,
assuring her, that it was in the power of Omnipotence to convert
the stony heart into one of flesh and tenderness, and to raise the
British metropolis out of the miry clay, and place it on a hill, as
a city that could not be hid in the kingdom of Christ; which Mr*.
Glibbans was so thankful to hear* that, as soon as he had left her,
she took her tea, in a satisfactory frame of mind, and went, the
same night, to Miss Mally Glencairn, to hear what Mrs. Pringle
had said to her. No visit ever happened more opportunely, for*
just as Mrs. Glibbans knocked at the door, Miss Isabella Todd
made her appearance. She had also received a letter from Ra-
chel, in which it will be seein, that reference was made likewise
to Mrs. Pringleta epistle to Miss "Mally.

Miss Rachel Pringle to Miss Isabella Todd.

London.
My Dear Bell,

How delusive are the flatteries of fortune. The wealth that
has been showered upon us, beyond all our hopes, has brought no
pleasure to my heart, and I pour my unavailing sighs for your ab-
sence, when I would communicate the cause of my unhappiness.
Captain Sabre has been most assiduous in his attentions, and I
must confess to your sympathizing bosom, that I do begin to find,
that he has an interest in mine. But my mother will not listen
to his proposals, nor allow me to give him any encouragement, till
the fatal legacy is settled. What can be her motive for this I am
unable to divine, for the Captain's fortune is far beyond what I
could ever have expected without the legacy, and equal to all I
could hope for with it. If, therefore, there is any doubt of the le-

/ 296 The Ayrshire Legatee*.

gacy being paid, she should allow me to accept him; and if there
is none, what can I do better? In the mean time, we are going
about seeing the sights, but the general mourning is a great draw-
back on the splendour of gayety. It ends, however, next Sunday,
and then the' ladies, like the spring flowers, will be all in full
blossom. I was with the Argents at the opera on Saturday last,
and it far surpassed my ideas of grandeur. But the singing was
not good— I never could make out the end or the beginning of a
song; and it was drowned with the violins; the scenery, however,
waaiovely, but I must not say a word about the dancers, only
that the females behaved in a manner so shocking, that I could
scarcely believe it was possible for the delicacy of our sex to do.
They are, however, all foreigners, who are, you know, naturally
of a licentious character, especially the French women.

We have taken an elegant house in Baker-Street, where we
go on Monday next, and our own new carriage is to be home in
the course of the week. All this, which has been done by the ad-
vice of Mrs. Argent, gives my mother great uneasiness, in case
any thing should yet happen to the legacy. My brother, however,
who knows the law better than her, only laughs at her fears, and
my father has found such a wonderful deal to do in religion here,
that he is quite delighted, and is busy from morning to night in
writing letters, and giving charitable donations. I am soon to be
no less busy, but in another manner. Mrs. Argent has advised
us to get in accomplished masters for me, so that, as soon as we
are removed into our own local habitation, I am to begin with
drawing and music, and the foreign languages. I am not, however,
to learn much of the piano; Mrs. A. thinks it would take up more
time than I can now afford; but I am to be cultivated in my sing-
ing, and she is to try if the master that taught Miss Stephens has
an hour to spare— and to use her influence to persuade him to give
it to me, although he only receives pupils for perfectioning, ex-
cept they belong to families of distinction.

My brother had a hankering to be made a Member of Parlia-
ment, and got Mr. Charles Argent to speak to my father about it,
but neither he nor my mother would hear of such a thing, which I
was very sorry for, as it would have been so convenient to me
for getting franks; and 1 wonder my mother did not think of that

The Ayrshire Legatees. 997

as she grudges nothing so much as the price of postage. Bat no-
thing do I grudge so little, especially when it is for a letter from
you— why do you not write me oftener, and tell me what is say-
ing about us, particularly by that spiteful toad, Becky Glibbans,
who never could hear of any good happening to her acquaintance,
without being as angry as if it was obtained at her expense.

I do not like Miss Argent so well on acquaintance as I did at
first, not that she is not a very fine lassie, but she gives herself
such airs at the harp and piano— because she can play every sort
of music at the first sight, and sing, by looking at the notes, any
song, although she never heard it, which may be very well in a
play actor, or a governess that has to win her bread by music; but
I think the education of a modest young lady might have been
better conducted.

Through the civility of the Argents we have been introduced to
a great number of families, and been much invited, but all the
parties are so ceremonious, that I am never at my ease, which my
brother says is owing to my rustic education, which I cannot un-
derstand; for, although the people are finer dressed, and the din-
ners and the rooms grander than what I have seen, either at Ir-
vine or Kilmarnock, the company are no wiser; and I have not met
with a single literary character among them. And what are la-
dies and gentlemen without mind, but a well-dressed mob! it is to
mind alone that I am at all disposed to pay the homage of diffi-
dence.

The acquaintance of the Argents are all of the first circle, and
we have got an invitation to a route from the Countess of J****y, in
consequence of meeting her with them. She is a charming woman,
and I anticipate great pleasure. Miss Argent says, however, she
is ignorant and presuming; but how is it possible that she can be
so, as she was an Earl's daughter, and bred up for distinction.
Miss Argent may be presuming, but a Countess is necessarily
above that, at least it would only become a Dutchess or Marchio-
ness to say so. This, however, is not the only occasion in which
I have seen the detractive disposition of that young lady, who,
with all her simplicity of manners, and great accomplishments, is,
you will perceive, just like ourselves, rustic as she, doubtless,
thinks our breeding has been.

vol. xn. 58

.298 27ie Ayrshire Legatees.

I have observed that nobody in London inquires about wh«
another is, and that in company every one is treated on an equal-
ity— unless when there is some remarkable personal peculiarity,
so that one really knows nothing of those whom one meets. But
iny paper is full, and I must not take another sheet, as my mo-
ther has a letter to send in the same frank to Miss Mally Glen-
cairn. Believe me, ever affectionately, yours,

Rachel Pringlx.

The three ladies knew not very well what to make of this let-
ter. They thought there was a change in Rachel's ideas, and
that it was not for the better; and Miss Isabella expressed, with
a sentiment of sincere sorrow, that the acquisition of fortune seem-
ed to have brought out some unamiable traits in her character,
that, perhaps, had she not been exposed to the companions and
temptations of the great world, would have slumbered, unfelt by
herself, and unknown to her friends.

Mrs. Glibbans declared that it was a waking of original sin,
which the iniquity of London was bringing forth, as the heat of
summer causes the rosin and sap to issue from the bark of the
tree. In the mean time, Miss Mally had ^opened her letter, of
which we subjoin a copy.

Mrs. Pringle to Miss Molly Gleneairn.

London.
Dear Miss Mally,

I greatly stand in need of your advise and counsel at this
time. The doctor's affair comes on at a fearful slow rate, and
the money goes like snow off a dyke. It is not to be told what
has been paid for legacy duty, and no legacy yet in hand; and we
have been obligated to lift a whole hundred pounds out of the re-
sidue, and what that is to be the Lord only knows. But Miss
Jenny Macbride, she has got her thousand pound, all in one bank
bill, sent to her; Thomas Bowie, the doctor in Ayr, he has got his
five hundred pounds; and auld Nanse Sorrel, that was nurse to the
Cornal, she has got the first year of her twenty pounds a-year: but
we have gotten nothing, and I jealouse, that if things go on at this
rate there will be nothing to get, and what will become of us then,

The Ayrshire Legatees. 299

after all the trubble and outlay that we have been pot too by this
coming to London.

Howsomever, this is the black 9ide of the story; for Mr. Charles
Argent, in a jocose way, proposed to get Andrew made a parlia-
ment member for three thousand pounds, which he said was cheap,
and surely he would not have thought of such a thing, had he not
known that Andrew would have the money to pay for't; and, over
and above this, Mrs. Argent has been recommending Captain Sa-
bre to me for Rachel, and she says he is a stated gentleman, with
two thousand pounds rental, and her nephew; and surely she
would not think Rachel a match for him, unless she had an ink'
ling from her gudeman of what Rachel's to get. But I have told
her that we would think of nothing of the sort till the counts
war settled, which she may tell to her gudeman, and if he
approves the match, it will make him hasten on the settlement,
for really I am growing tired of this London, whar I am just like
a fish out of the water. The Englishers are sae obstinate in their
own way, that I can get them to do nothing like Christians; and,
what is most provoking of all, their ways are very good when you
know them, but they have no instink to teach a body how to learn
them. Just this very morning, I told the lass to get a jiggot of
mutton for the morn's dinner, and she said there was not such a
thing to he had in London, and threeppit it till I couldna stand
her; and, had it not been that Mr. Argent's French servan' man
happened to come with a cart, inviting us to a ball, and who un-
derstood what a jiggot was, I might have reasoned till the day of
doom without redress. As for the doctor, I declare he's like an
enchantit person, for he ha9 falling in with a party of the elect
here, as he 8ay9, and they have a kilfud-yocking every Thursday

at the house of Mr. U , where the doctor has been, and was

asked to pray, and did it with great cffec, which has made him so
up in the buckle, that he doe9 nothing but go to bible soceeyetis,
and mishonary meetings, and cherity sarmons, which cost a poor
of money.

But what concarns me more than all is, that the temptations of
this vanity fair have turnt the head of Andrew, and he has bought
two horses, with an English man-servan, which you know is an
eating mo tin But how he payt for them, and whar he is to keep

dOO The Ayrshire Legatee*.

them, is past the compass of my understanding. In short, if the
legacy does not cast up soon, I see nothing left for us but to leave
the world as a legacy to you all, for my heart will be broken—
and I often wish that the Cornal hadna made us his residees, but
only given us a clean soom like Miss Jenny Macbride, although
it had been no more: for, my dear Miss Mally, it does not doo for
a woman of my time of life to be taken out of her element, and,
instead of looking after her family with a thrifty eye* to be sitting
dressed all day seeing the money flying like sclate stanes. But
what I have to tell is warse than all this; we have been persuaded
to take a furnisht house, where we go on Monday; and we are
to pay for it, for three months, no less than a hundred and fifty
pounds, which is more than the half of the doctor's whole stipend
is, wheii the meal is twenty-pence the peck; and we are to have
three servan lasses, besides Andrew's man, and the coachman
that we have hired altogether for ourselves, having been persua-
ded to trist a new carriage of our own by the Argents, which I
trust the Argents will find money to pay for; and masters are to
come in to teach Rachel the fashionable accomplishments, Mrs,
Argent thinking she was rather old now to*be sent to a boarding-
school. But what I am to get to do for so many vorashous ser-
vants is dreadful to think, there being no such tiling as a wheel
within the four walls of London, and if there was, the Englishers
no nothing about spinning. In short, Miss Mally, I am driven
dimentit, and I wish I could get the doctor to come home with me
to our manse, and leave all to Andrew and Rachel, with kurators;
but as I said, he's as mickle bye himself as ony body, and says
that his candle has been hidden under a bushel at Garnock* more
than thirty years, which looks as if the poor man was fey; how-
somever, he's happy in his dclooshon, for if he was aflftctit with
that forethought and wisdom that I have, I know not what would
be the upshot of ail this calamity. But we maun hope for the best,
and, happen what will, I am, dear Miss Mally, your sinsare
friend,

Janet Prik«le.
Miss Mally sighed as she concluded, and said, riches do not al-
ways bring happiness, and poor Mrs. Pringle would have been far

Letter* from America 901

better looking after her cows and her butter, and keeping her las-
ses at their wark, than with all this garavitching and grandeur.
"Ah!" added Mrs. Glibbans, " she's now a testifyer to the truth
—she's now a testifyer; happy it will be for her if she's enabled to
make a sanctified use of the dispensation."

FOB. THB PORT FOLIO.

Art. IHw— Letters from an Englishman in the United States to
kis friend in Great Britain.

My Dear Sir, — A year having now elapsed since the period of
my arrival in this country, I shall, agreeably to my engagement,
give you some account of a country, which, in this age of emigra-
tion, cannot be too well known. Many things on which you may
wish for information, I shall probably altogether omit; and of
many others, speak but very imperfectly. Should I fail in my
endeavours to instruct or amuse you, I hope you will take the
uritt for the deed.

I arrived in New York, after a passage of thirty-two days, with-
out experiencing any thing like a storm, at which I did not feel
grievously disappointed. But as you know nothing of my adven-
tures since I bade you, and our snow-wreathed hills adieu, and as
you requested every information that might be useful or interest-
ing to yourself, or your friends who may wish to follow, me to the
wildernesses of America, I will suppose myself once more. on the
banks of the Mersey, and preparing for a voyage across the Atlan-
tic.

The first thing necessary for me to do in Liverpool was to find
a vessel, which was easily accomplished, as scarcely a week pas-
ses without the sailing of ships for American ports. Vessels bound
to New York or Philadelphia are in the greatest demand; Boston
being too far East; and Baltimore, Norfolk, and Charleston, too
far South. A friend of mine recommended the Hector of New
York, commanded by Captain J. Gillender. Like most American
vessels of the same class depending more on passengers than
freight, her accommodations were excellent. Her captain is a
man of amiable manners and disposition, which materially con-
tributed towards the comfort of our voyage.

502 Letters from Jlmericu.

Persons emigrating to America have to pass at the Custom-house,
and it is well to be provided with a certificate signed by the min-
ister and church wardens of their parish; but this is not necessary
if they have a friend who is an householder in the port from which
they clear out, who can testify to their trade, profession, &c. Fa-
milies emigrating, ought to dispose of every thing ponderous or
bulky, previous to their embarkation. Beds and bedding, house-
hold linen, and many small, portable necessaries, ought to be
brought out; but furniture, of all descriptions, can be purchased in
the United States nearly as cheap as in the " Old Country," as
Great Britain is emphatically denominated; and some articles
even cheaper. In every ship there are two prices, or rates of
passage; the cabin and the steerage price. Cabin passengers
have every thing provided by the captain of the vessel, and live
extremely well, having plenty of fresh pork, mutton, and poultry,
during the voyage, with wines and spirits whenever they choose.
The passage money is from thirty to forty guineas. Steerage pas-
sengers provide every thing for themselves, have ship room, fire
and water, and that is all. The passage money in the steerage
is from six to twelve pounds; children much lower. When many
ships are about to sail near the same time, the captains are obliged
to make the best bargains they can, and, like opposition coaches,
sail at reduced fares.

The duration of the voyage is uncertain, but may generally be
calculated upon at from twenty-five to forty days — sometimes a
little more and sometimes a little less. However, provisions for
seven or eight weeks ought al ays to be provided, for landsmen
would make but a poor shift to subsist on sea weed and salt water,
should the voyage out-last their stores. As the generality of per-
sons are sea-sick for two or three days it is very well to be provi-
ded with cold meat and pastry, in order to avoid the necessity
of cooking. Hams are well calculated for sea voyages; but the
captain is always the most proper person to apply to for advice in
the laying in of provisions. A few simple medicines should be
procured, which any apothecary or druggist can supply. When a
family emigrates it is customary to contract for the whole, rather
than for each separate individual, whereby something considerable
is saved.

Letters from America. 305

Having bade farewell to my Liverpool friends, I went on board
the Hector, on the morning of the 13th of April, where I was intro-
duced to seven other cabin passengers* In the steerage there were
fourteen. We fell down the river with the tide, but the wind being
light, the vessel was not able to make the channel off Black Rock,
before the tide was out; so that we were obliged to let go our an-
chor, having scarcely made good three miles of our thirty-five hun-
dred miles' voyage. We remained at anchor till the following
day at noon, when a breeze sprung up, and we were quickly waft-
ed from the lessening shores.

Fourteen days from our departure we made the eastern edge of
Newfoundland great bank, when a northwest wind sprung up, and
continued blowing for five days, at the end of which^we found that
we had been driven back about one degree. In passing the banks
we saw many icebergs, or islands of ice, some of which we esti-
mated at an hundred, or an hundred and fifty feet high. Others
that we supposed aground in forty or fifty fathoms water, arose
like silvery spires above the watery deep. Had it been foggy we
should have been in considerable danger of running foul of the
frozen wanderers; but the weather was serene and clear, which is
not often the case on the banks of Newfoundland. On the morning
of our twenty -eighth day we saw land, which proved to be the
eastern shore of Long Island; and, had the wind been favourable,
we should have breakfasted in New York the next day; whereas
we were obliged to beat about for four days more, when we took a
pilot on board, and arrived at the end of our voyage on the evening
of the fourteenth of May, — having been at sea thirty tm o days.

Letter II.
The entrance of the narrows, and passage up to New York,
is interesting and inviting to a foreigner; particularly if he delights
in rural scenery. The river or bay, at that part called the nar-
rows, where it is a little more than a mile wide, is strongly forti-
fied. On the left stands, what is denominated the Castle, (but my
ideas of a castle could draw no line of comparison) and on the op-
posite side the Diamond Battery. The latter is a large fort, re-
cently built, mounting a vast number of cannon, many of which I
was assured were one hundred pounders. I made an unfortunate mis-
take respecting this said battery, for when we first came in sight of it,

304 Letters from America.

at two or three miles distance, I very innocently inquired of the
captain of the ship if the building I saw on the right was a cotton
manufactory; for to me it certainly had such an appearance. My
ignorance quite shocked honest Gillender, and it was with some
difficulty I convinced him of the perfect simplicity of my mistake;
and that it was not made with the malicious intention of bringing
the Diamond Battery into disrepute.

In sailing up the bay, the city, with its numerous shipping, has a
striking appearance, as has the adjacent country. On the right is
Long Island, with its gently sloping green fields and painted cot-
tages, and on the left is New Jersey, with its bolder uplands, fer-
tile corn fields, and genteel looking country residences; with the
quarantine ground, and other public buildings, immediately on the
margin of the bay. In the foreground are two or three islands, on
one of which (Governor's Island) is a fort which commands the
town, as well as the entrance to the North and East rivers. Beyond
these islands you discover the city, through a forest of masts, and
the streaming pennants of various nations. Towering above these
are seen the tall spires of the churches and other lofty buildings,
tending altogether, to produce an imposing effect.

The first persons that came on board, before we dropt anchor,
were half a dozen news-men, sallow in their complexions, but
otherwise very much resembling shabby, genteel Frenchmen in
their dress and personal appearance. They were ravenously cla-
morous for English papers, and the captain being unable to supply
them all with regular files, from words they almost came to blows.*

* Miss Wright's description of this class of Dews-mongers, is, like many
other things in her book, quite ludicrous.

"While our ship slowly moved through the still waters, pointing her
course to the city,— —numberless little boats, well manned with active
rowers, darted from the different shores, &e. severally mooring along-side
our lazy vessel, with.the cry of All well? A dialogue ensued, commencing
with friendly congratulations, between the crews of the boats and the va-
rious inhabitants of the ship. On one side, queries respecting the length
of the voyage, the weather, the winds, and the latest news from Europe; on
the other, the health of the city, the nature of the season, of the harvest,
the arrival and departure of vessels, and a thousand nameless trifles inter-
estingjto men returning from a distance to their native shores. At the close
of the dialogue, one or other of the boatmen would carelessly ask it any of

Letters from America. 305

Next came a custom house officer, and to the credit of this coun-
try be it said, not such an harpy as would have boarded an English
ship, in an English port. Some of the passengers were allowed to
carry away small packages, without any questions being asked by
the officer, and on the following day, when any luggage was taken
onshore, no rummaging or ransacking took place.

The first peculiarity that forcibly struck me was, the great num-
ber of persons to be met with in every street, smoking segars. In
passing along you are assailed by those fragrant perfumers, for this
being a free country, they puff and spit, to the right and left, to
the great annoyance of those who may happen to have no taste
for delicacies of this description* Those nuisances, however, are
confined to the low and the vulgar, and children of from ten to
twelve years of age, who are allowed to do just as they please, for
it would be cruel, where all are free, to lay them under any re-
straint

We arrived at our hotel about nine o'clock in the evening, and
found preparations making for supper, which is always on the table
at that hour. But one gentleman was present, although knives and
forks indicated the expectation of at least a score. He was tole- .
rably polite, and seeing that we were strangers, answered all our
inquiries, which were not a few, although as we thought somewhat
oddly. Among other things we asked him by whom the house was
kept— what was its character,— whether there was a good table

the passengers wished to be landed; but the request was always made in a
manner which expressed a willingness to render a civility rather than a
desire to obtain employment. These boats bad something picturesque as
well as foreign in their appearance. Built unusually long and sharp in the
keel, they shot through ihe bright waters with a celerity that almost star-
tled the eye. Their rowers, tall and slender, but of uncommon nerve and
agility, were all cleanly dressed in the light cloathing suited to a warm
climate, their large white shirt-collars unbuttoned and thrown back on
their shoulders, and -light hats of straw or cane, with broad brims, shad-
ing their sun-burnt faces. These faces were uncommonly intelligent
Piercing gray eyes, glancing from beneath even aod projecting brows,
features generally regular, and complexions, which, burnt to a deep brown,
were somewhat strangely contrasted with the delicate whiteness of the
clothing." Views of Society, &c. p. 7.

vol. xii. 39

306 Letters firam J&merica.

kept? with fifty other questions of a similar nature, and we were
not backward, as is commonly the case with English travellers, in
making our remarks. In the morning we desired the waiter to in-
form the landlord that we wished to speak with him, when lo! who
should appear but the identical personage of whom we had made
our numerous inquiries, the preceding evening. We lost no time
in visiting the theatre, for having regaled ourselves with a most
delicious cup of tea, we hastened to witness the " Siege of Tripoli,"
the production of a Mr. Noah, of New York. It represents, in
extravagant colours, the conduct of the American infant navy
before Tripoli. I thought the performance excessively stupid,
and the scenery tawdry and deficient; but such shouts of ap-
plause! Such enthusiastic nationality of feeling! I never before
witnessed. The theatres have no half price, — a dollar introduces
you to the boxes,— and three fourths of that sum to the pit. But
alas! their theatre is no more! a few nights after my arrival, the
performance being just ended, the theatre was discovered to be on
fire, and in spite of every exertion* it was soon reduced to a heap
of ruins.

New York is situated on the southern extremity of an island of
the same name, which is about fifteen miles long, by two broad; but
in that part where the city is built it does not exceed one mile in
breadth. The streets, generally, are neither elegant nor commo-
dious; but there are exceptions. Many of them are planted with
rows of trees, which give them a rural and viHage-like appearance*
but I am told that they are a great nuisance in summer, and har-
bour numerous troublesome insects. Broadway is the boast of the
New Yorkers; and not without reason, for it is certainly one of the
finest streets I ever saw. It extends in a direct line, on the top
of a gentle ridge, for nearly two miles, and runs parallel with the
East and North rivers, each of which is more than a mile wide.
This street, as its name implies, is frroorf,— -the houses are built of
brick, ornamented with reddish free stone and white marble.— Be-
sides the churches, the city Hall, and State prison, there are but
few public buildings that arrest the attention of strangers. The
city Hall is a large and elegant structure; the front, sides, and sup-
porting pillars are of white marble. The lower parts of the town
near the rivers are said to be unhealthy owing to their damp situ-

Letters from America* S07

ations. New York ranks as the first sea port in the United States;
its situation for commerce being most admirable. Though the
tides rise no more than six or seven feet, yet there is sufficient
depth of water for their largest ships of war. I visited the navy
yard, which is on the opposite side of the East river, where there
was a seventy-four on the- stocks nearly ready for lanching. But
she will carry upwards of an hundred guns, and will be as hand-
some a vessel as ever sailed from any port At the navy yard
there was also a frigate, propelled by steam, with a bomb proof
roof, and equally strong throughout, mounting guns of an extra-
ordinary size* This frigate was built near the close of the last
war, and was never in action. What an infernal machine this must
be in a calm!!

In Bngland, the term Yankee is commonly understood, as ap-
plicable to all Americans, without distinction. But this opinion is
incorrect. The Yankees are natives of the New England states,
. which are also known as the eastern states, and are confined to
six, namely; — New Hampshire, Maine, Massachusetts, Rhode Isl-
and, Connecticut, and Vermont,— so that the people in the other
states do not consider the appellation as at all applicable to them.
The Yankees are a keen, shrewd, people; restless and wandering,
and are to be found in every part of the Union.

In this country of " Liberty and Equality," nothing is more ob-
vious than the nicest distinction in society; and here, where all are
accounted equal, we find the higher, the lower, and the middle
classes. To be sure they have no lords nor dukes; but notwith-
standing their apparent disapprobation of titles, they have their
people of family, and Boston abounds with " Honourables." If I
might judge from what I saw in New York, I should say that the
men were, generally, tall and thin, with dark hair, and sallow
complexions: that the females were, generally, tolerably fair, with
slender persons; yet few of them are tall. For some time after
my arrival in that city, I saw but few handsome women, but the
succeeding fine weather brought them out, and I assure you, that
many of them possess great beauty and elegance.

A few warm days made thg grass lands look charmingly, and
some fields of grain, in the vicinity of the city, were just coming
into ear. I made excursions into the country, in various directions.

308 Letters from America.

and saw gome pretty good farms; but there is in my opinion, a great
want of quick thorn hedges, and other cultivated fences. At pre-
sent the fences are made of split rails, except some few which are
stone. The cultivation of live fences would beautify the country
exceedingly; and I see no reason why it should not be attended to.
Although seed time is later than it is in England, yet harvest is
nearly a month earlier, owing to the greater warmth of the sum-
mer months.

In my next I will give you some account of Philadelphia, the rival
of New York. The distance between these cities, which is travelled
partly by water, and partly by land, is about one hundred miles.
The aquatic part of the route is performed by steam boats, for
which this country is very famous. The Americans lay claim to
this valuable invention, as they do to many others that I had never
dreamt of before I came among them; how far their claims may be
just I shall not attempt to determine; but will leave it to those,
who are more interested than myself* to settle a point of such vital'
importance to both nations.

Letter III.
The route from New Y ork to Philadelphia lies through JVeu;-
ark9* Brunswick, Trenton, and Bristol,* all called cities, I be-
lieve, but in England they would pass for indifferent market towns*
Trenton, the capital of the state of New Jersey, is situated on the
Delaware river, over which there is one of the handsomest bridges
in the United States. This bridge is about a quarter of a mile long;
it is neatly roofed, and the sides covered in, to secure the upper
parts of the structure from the bad effects of the weather. The
roads through New Jersey are very indifferent; indeed, after heavy
rains, they are almost impassible, which was the case when I tra-
velled through this state.t This I attributed to a want of suffi-
cient descent for the water, and a scarcity of road making mate-
rials. Notwithstanding these indifferent roads, the stage coaches
travel at the rate of from seven to nine miles per hour. Their
coaches are much lighter than ours, and carry no out-ftide* but

* These are contented to be mere towns. Ed. P. F.
f The traveller should have confined this remark to the road over which
he passed, part of which u sometimes very bad. Ed. P. F.

Letters from America. * 309

eight or ten inside passengers, who find it difficult in a rainy day
to keep themselves comfortable and dry. The upper part of the
sides of the carriage, is open to the four winds of heaven, for there
is not a particle of glass about the whole machine; but in lieu of
windows they have screens of leather, or some other less opaque
material, which can be let down as a partial defence against the
storm; so that in proportion to the wind and rain you exclude, you
shut out the light* To make amends for this inconvenience, at
the end of each ten or twelve miles, you hear nothing of " Re-
member the coachman if you please," with its echo " pray remem-
ber the guard;'9 and when you arrive in the cities you are carried
to whatever part or street you please, and in the morning are taken
up at your own door, without any additional charge on the speci-
fied fare. At the inns along the roads waiters expect no perqui-
sites; but in the cities this good custom is changing, for should
you leave your hotel, and forget to bid John a kind good bye, his
looks, at least, would betray his disappointment I attribute the
introduction of this odious tax, principally, to my own countrymen;
particularly to that insufferable class of puppies, sent over here to
transact their masters' business, who are known at home by the
significant appellation, of, countinghouse clerks, and Birmingham
bagsmen,— who possess no means of acquiring respect except what
they purchase, with their masters' money, from hostlers, waiters,
and shoe blacks.

Philadelphia, in point of population, is much upon a par with
New York; each city containing upwards of one hundred thousand
inhabitants. But it is more regularly built than the latter city, all
the streets being regularly straight, and crossing each other at
right angles. The houses are uniform and neat, and many of them
are onamented with white marble. The most conspicuous build-
ings are the churches, the state house, the United States and Penn-
sylvania banks, Girard's bank, the State prison, &c. The town is
situated on a neck of land between two rivers, the Delaware and
Schuykill: the ground declining slightly from the centre each way.
The Delaware is navigable to the city for ships of a large size; and
although its commercial situation is inferior to that of New York;

• This is not true now. Ed. P. F.

310 « Letters from America.

yet being the only seaport in the large and wealthy state of Penn-
sylvania, its exports and imports are great Against the city the
Delaware is about a mile wide, though ninety miles distant from
the sea; and the flood tides rise about six feet I like the appear-
ance of the Philadelphians better than that of the New Yorkers,
particularly the ladies, for I assure you among them there is no
lack of female charms* Their prevailing religion is the presby-
terian; but all sects are tolerated. Quakers are very numerous
in Philadelphia, and being generally, people of property, they have
a considerable influence in political measures. In a republican
country like America, one would expect to find but one political
creed— but it is quite otherwise. The denominations are not whig*
and toriesy nor royalists and ultra royalists; but federalists and de-
mocrats. The democratic party has been in power for a number
of years, and in all appearance is likely to continue so. In England
you would call it the radical party, because it is composed of the
people. It is the more powerful, because the more numerous, which,
here, constitutes strength, but is not the more respectable; nei-
ther does it act upon principles the most noble; nor has it always
pursued that line of policy, which is the most advantageous to the
American nation. The federal party ia comjwsed of men of more
liberal sentiments; less republican* in their conduct but equally
independent in their principles. Endowed with generous sympathies
towards Great Britain, rather than allying themselves with the
French revolutionists, they were opposed to the late war between
the two nations: and vtere, in consequence, accused of partiality
towards the mother country. Between the two parties I draw
this comparison; the federalists I compare tosour respectable
whigs; the democrats to Cartwright Hunt, Wooler* Cobbett, &c.
but to our high toned tones I find no compeers.

Some persons are always on the wrong side of the dike, and so
it has ever been with me; for in England you know I espoused the
cause of the party which has so long been growling for a share of
the loaves and fishes; but that has long been kept at bay by its
more powerful opponent; and now that I am here, I find myself

* He should have said less democratic, the federalists being altogether
republican in their principles. Ed. P. F.

Letters from America. SI 1

m the same predicament; for should it ever become necessary for
me to declare for either party, up goes my hat, with three cheers,
for federalism. Some people have the knack of shaping their po- ,
litics to times and circumstances, but this formed no part of my
political education.

Letter IV,
In a former letter I forgot to tell you that I attended a re-
view at New York, where the reviewing general was a taylor! and
yet the troops appeared orderly and respectable! This would not
do on your side of the Atlantic, nor will it do here* fifty years
hence. Another general who was present, and who <c covered him-
self with glory" in the last war, was originally a quaker school-
master. But the army is no favourite, and few men of the first
respectability enter into this service. It is the navy that is the
darling of the American people, and it really is a promising child.
The names of Truxtun, Decatur, Perry, Mac Donough, Lawrence,
Hull, Jones, Biddle are as dearly beloved as are our Nelson's,
our Howe's, and our Vincent's, and this is as it ought to be, for al-
though accustomed to act on a smaller scale:

" Each gemm'd his little orb with glory bright."
Decatur fell, not long since, in a duel with another naval officer.
These republicans are very tenacious of their honour, and have
more gentlemanly meetings than any other people I ever heard of.
—The city of Philadelphia swarms with doctors and lawyers.

The route from New York* to Philadelphia, through the state of
New Jersey, presents the traveller with little that is interesting.*
The soil in this state is but little of it good, which, perhaps, ac-
counts for the wild uncultivated tracts through which the roads-
pass. The southern part towards the sea board, is dry and sandy,
whereas the northern division is hilly and barren, and in some
places even mountainous. Near the sea shore there are extensive
flats of salt marsh, to reclaim which attempts have lately been

* The traveller passed over this road too rapidly to enjoy the pleasures
of a ride through New Jersey. There are a number of beautiful villages
on the road, well cultivated farms, an agreeable succession of hill and
dale, and every where, smiling faces and warm hearts. How could he pass
the learned institutions at Princeton without remark? Ed. P. F.

312 Letters from America.

made; and should the results prove favourable, so that thej may
be brought into a state of cultivation, the whole district will be
materially benefited. At present they diffuse intermittent fevers
through their vicinities, and generate millions of mosquitoes to the
annoyance of both man and beast. In the immediate vicinity of
Philadelphia, the land is by no means of the first quality; but from
its proximity to a good market it rents high, though not equal to
some of our English lands, situate in the neighbourhood of towns
very inferior in magnitude to this city. Within the last two or
three yearsa farms, and farm produce, in all parts of the United '
States, have suffered a considerable reduction in value; in conse-
quence persons in all situations are grumbling at the hard times.

As yet I have seen few places in this country which I think
equal to many situations to be found among our northern hills and
vallies. The main objection I find, however, is, a want of diver-
sity of scenery. Here are few, or none, of our beautiful hedge
rows; no avenues of aged oaks or spreading elms — no ruinous
castle walls and mouldering towers; — and the woods are irregular
reserves of the native forests, equally destitute of beauty and taste.
Buildings in the country are commonly of wood, and their roofs
are of the same materials. This renders them very liable to ac-
cidents by fire, and the newspapers detail many a melancholy ca-
tastrophe which could not have occurred had the buildings been of
stone, and covered with tiles or slates. Agriculture, I mean sys-
tematic agriculture, has been much neglected till of late years,
but at present it is becoming a very fashionable study and amuse-
ment;—•perhaps the stagnation of commerce tends to direct the
attention of commercial individuals towards the cultivation of land,
and the breeding of cattle. There was a merino mania among
the farmers of this country some years ago, when a ram would
sell for ten or twelve hundred dollars; and an ewe would fetch
nearly as much)—- but the infection has pretty generally subsided.
The common cattle of America are inferior to ours, although valu-
able oxen and cows are occasionally to be met with; and it is not
uncommon to hear of the importation of bulls and cows, of the
finest breeds, for the purpose of breeding farm stock. The horses
of Pennsylvania are superior to those of New York; but here again

Letters from Jknerica. SI 3

I must give the palm to Old England, for speed, strength and
beauty.

I will not drag yon with me through indifferent roads, and over
inhospitable mountains, nor introduce you to the accommodation
of every country tavern, (the name for all inns and public houses)
bat I will tell yon what company I sometimes keep. Fifteen miles
from the most polished city in the Union, the stage driver (coach-
man) sat down with me to breakfast, sans ceremonie. This class
of individuals is very unlike our London and Brighton coachees,
•• bloods of the first water," members of the " bang up" and w four
in hand" clubs; but on the contrary tawdry-looking, lank fellows,
acting in the triple capacity of coachman, guard, ant I hostler.
However, the circumstance I allude to I take to be a rare occur-
rence; and the accommodation of the taverns, generally, is tolera-
bly good, if a traveller bears along with him a disposition to be
pleased. To be sure in the wild and more remote parts of the
country, you have not all the delicacies and officious attention to
be met with at an English inn; but then you are not presented with
hills of extreme longitude, nor annoyed with insolent waiters, and
pert chambermaids.

Letter V.
You desire to have my opinion of the inducements held oat
by this country to British emigrants, generally. I would refer
you to Mr. R. with whom I communicated on this subject; but from
my own personal observation and from information I have acquir-
ed from unquestionable sources, since my correspondence with
him, I think it my duty to address you immediately on this sub-
ject*

My general sentiments are in favour of emigration, provided I
am allowed to select my emigrants. The indolent and profligate
who have already brought themselves to want and beggary, had
better remain at home, for I fear they would not be able to leave
their evil propensities behind them; and nothing is more absurd
than the idea of living in this country without capital, or exertion of

* On the subject of this letter, see an excellent essay in the Fort Folio
fee September, 1816. Ed. P. F.
VOL. XII. 40

£14 Letters from America.

either body or mind. To be sure a much smaller income is suffi-
cient for the maintenance of a family, as is also a much smaller
portion of manual labour, but even in this country, the one or me
other is absolutely necessary. I must be understood to speak ex-
clusively of the country, for house-keeping in the cities is quite as
expensive as in England. House rents are considerably higher,
whereas the wages of mechanics and handicraftsmen have been
much reduced.

There are two classes of individuals, to whom more particularly,
I would venture to recommend this country. Under the first of
these must be understood persons possessing some capital; wh*
would prefer a rural life; who are willing to dispense with some
of the luxuries of the effeminate and wealthy; and who do not rate
present prodigality above the comforts of age, and the welfare and
independence of the future representatives of their family and
name. The other class comprehends those who have been more
familiar with the humbler walks of life, and who have been accus-
tomed to labour, particularly in the culture of land. Although a
family of this description should arrive at their destination with
but slender means, and small capital, yet a trifling sum of money,
accompanied with habits of industry, and propriety of moral con-
duct, will not fail, in a short period, to ensure respect, plenty, and
content.

In the immense scope of country presented by the United States
to the choice of an emigrant, and containing such a diversity of
soil and climate, the great question to be solved, is, which is the
most eligible situation for an Englishman? On this subject opinions
will doubtless be various, and must depend on the peculiar views
of the emigrant. If he come in quest of new lands, he has heard
at home only of the western states or country; and the British pos-
sessions in Canada. Besides these places, however, when he ar-
rives on this continent he may find a vast tract of country which
contains much good land not yet brought into a state of cultiva-
tion, and evidently better situated for markets, than either Canada
or the western states. As it respects those parts of the United
States which have long since been brought into cultivation, we
have been accustomed from the accounts of our travellers to be-
lieve that the whole of them have, through the ignorance and

, Letters from America. 315

carelessness of their owners and occupiers, been long since worn
ottt, and the soil reduced to the most heartless and barren state^
from the effects of bad farming. This certainly does apply to
many of the old settled parts; the general custom of the country
being to seek for present profit, to the utter neglect of future ad-
vantages. But we need not wonder at the bad farming of the
United States, when we consider how short a time it is since agri-
culture was properly systematized at home; and in how many parts
of Great Britain, notwithstanding the exertions of the Board of
Agriculture, the antiquated systems are still retained.— A person
disposed to purchase a farm in an old settlement, can readily do
so any where from Maine to Louisiana; but Englishmen, I pre-
sume, will not be willing to go to the states south of Pennsylvania,
on account of the slavery which is still permitted to exist there;
One great evil of which is, to disgrace industry by committing it
"to the blacks, and giving to idleness the character of superiority.
Wherever there are black slaves, a division is drawn between
those who work, and those who do not work; and a white man who'
would depart from the line drawn, and established by custom, by
putting his hand to the labours of the field, would be considered
as having abandoned his cast, and be shunned by his white neigh-
bours as a tenegado from every thing decent, respectable, and pro-
per; and as an encourager of insubordiiration and sedition. Besides
this, the climate of the southern states is too hot for the culture of
most kinds of grain.

Wheat produces from five to twelve bushels per acre, and oats
are of a quality so inferior, that they are seldom raised. Cotton
and tobacco are the two great staple commodities of this portion
of the country, and Indian corn, (maize) is the kind of grain ge-
nerally cultivated. From these circumstances the southern states
would be out of the question for English farmers. Towards the
sea they are generally unhealthy, and the flat and marshy lands
extend a considerable distance into the country; but in the inte-
rior, and on the heads of most of the rivers, may be found situa-
tions that are dry and healthy; I am assured that the lands on the
heads of the streams in Georgia are among the most desirable in
the southern states, but they are as yet occupied by the Indians.

5 J6 Letters from America* f

If the slave states, as they are called, be out of the questio*,
then the choice is left from Pennsylvania to Maine (including
those two states) in which will be found great diversity of soil and
climate. Along the tine of sea coast, and for a considerable dis-
tance inland, the effects of the wind*, blowing from the sea, are
felt much tniere than they are further into the interior. This has
some influence on the spring vegetation, which 4s earlier near the
sea than in the same latitude more remote from it; but there are
said to be more frequent changes of temperature, and the usual
disorders, especially consumption, resulting from diem* are more
common than in the high lands remote from the influence of damp
sea breezes. In New York and Boston nearly one fourth part of
the deaths are from cases of consumption. In Connecticut, New
York, and Pennsylvania there are many pleasant and fertile situ-
ations. By a reference to your map of the United States you will
perceive that I overstep New Jersey, I would by no means ad*
vise a settlement farther to the north than these stales; as the win-
ters in Vermont, New Hampshire, and Maine, are long and severe;
however, taking the climate of the northern states, generally, I be-
Ueve it will be found as healthy as is usual in most parts of the
world.

I think I ought to have omitted Connecticut, as suitable to tike
views ef emigrants, for being an early settled part of the country
little or no land remains in its wild and uncultivated state; so that
cheap lands are not to be procured. As for the other two states, New
York and Pennsylvania, although many parts of them are thickly
settled, yet there remain millions of acres in their native wild-
ness. The eastern part of New York is hilly; in some places there
are considerable ranges of mountains, among which are the sources
of those rivers that fall into the Atlantic, The western portion of
• this state is much more level, and the land is of a superior quality
to that eastward of the mountains; but the water through a consi-
derable range of this districts impregnated -with calcareous earth,
which attaches to it the reputation of being Unhealthy; and the in-
habitants are subject to bilious attd intermittent fevers, called in
the idiom of the country " lake fevers." This character extendi
with little exception, over all that part called the Lake country, the
Genesee country, and the lands in the vicinity of Lakes Erie and

^ Letters from America. 317

Ontario* The Hudson river which is navigable for a considerable
distance above the city of New York, (to Waterford) has some
good lands on its borders; and in a part where it passes the Catskill
mountains, displays very picturesque and romantic scenery. Of
Ifeis kind there is much less in America than might be expected,
owing, in some measure, to all the hills, mountains, and vallies,
being in their native state covered with a continuous forest, which
prevents, in a great degree, the variety and diversity of tints and
outline so pleasing to a painter's eye.

The toil near the sea coast is inferior to that in the interior, ex-
cept in some few instances* Long Island, constitutes a part of
New York state; but it is meagre, gravelly land, with very little
to attract the notice of a farmer.

LftTTKR VI.

»
I recollect that just before I left England, our honest cobbler

of 0—, came to me with a long face, and intimated that he was
quite tired of thumping his lapstone, — that having saved a small
sum of money, he had been thinking of emigrating to America;
there to invest his little all in a piece of low priced land, and so
turn farmer; but having deferred his departure from time to time,
he was afraid he was now too late; " for," added he, " I am inclin-
ed to think from the great numbers of persons that have gone out,
within the last year or two, that every nook and corner, ere this,
will have been occupied, so that I should hardly be able now to
meet with a vacant situation*

Not knowing so much of this country then, as I do now, I for-
bore giving honest Crispin my opinion on the advantages or dis-
advantages of emigration, and as to replying to his doubts of want
of room, an immoderate fit of laughter conveyed the whole of the
information with which the good natured fellow returned to his
home. I, therefore, will thank you to inform the ignoramus, when
he brings home your shoes, that he might better his condition by
emigrating to this country, where there is, even yet, an abundance
of room;— and further oblige me by stating to him the following
dimensions, and I am sure you will be amused with the perfect
astonishment, which I know the honest cobbler will not fail to ex-
hibit From the eastern extremity of Maine, not far from the

318 Letters from America.

mouth of the river St Lawrence, to the Pacific ocean in the west*
the distance is two thousand seven hundred miles: and from the
upper part of the northwest territory, to the mouth of the Missis-
sippi river, it is one thousand six hundred and fifty miles; con-
taining two and a half millions of square miles, or fifty times the
extent of England and Wales. Now as the population of this vast
country, is not equal to that of England alone, it is pretty clear
that the honest cobbler may banish his apprehensions of finding it
occupied. This is only one instance of the extreme ignorance of
many of our countrymen as it regards America. I could recapitu-
late fifty others of a much grosser nature among persons that rank
infinitely higher than poor Crispin. One individual, previous to
my departure, addressed me with, " lord preserve us, what! you
surely are not going amongst the Americans, for they are all cut-
throats and savages! These were a few among them more enlight-
ened and civilized, but of late years we have transported our thieves
and robbers to Botany Bay, and the old stock have all died off!9'
Such are the opinions, and such the uncharitable and unjust no-
tions harboured by many of the ignorant and the prejudiced of
our countrymen.

I do not believe one half of the British emigrants, when they
land in this country, have any fixed motive in view, or marked line
of proceeding; while a still greater portion of them know no more of
this country, — its geography, climate and soil, — its people, their
habits and dispositions, than did the patriarchs who lived before
the flood. Is it any wonder then, that many of them should be
disappointed, having foolishly calculated on mountains of cheese,
rivers of milk, and luxuriant meadows of bread and butter: that
to be an Englishman was to be admired as a being of superior order,
and reading and writing were acquirements that would confound
and astonish. To be sure here are mountains, but as sterile and
barren as our hills of Cumberland and Westmoreland; — rivers,
numerous and large, but not more lactiferous than the streams of
our little island;—- fields and meadows, that will produce the ne-
cessaries of life in abundance, but not without the aid of that ab-
horred compound — toil and the sweat of the brow. The mere term
Englishman is no passport to honour or fame, for American citizen
is the magical watchword among all classes. As for education

Letters from America. 319

amongst the lower orders, the balance I believe is in the favour of
this country; for an American who is not master of reading, wri-
ting, and the simple rules of Arithmetic, would be considered as
ignorant indeed! Why then boast so much of our superiority.
Are we, generally, further removed from want and beggary? Are
we happier as a nation? Or are we more free? Until these and
•imiliar questions are affirmatively answered, I would advise all
vilifyers of the American people to look around them and begin at
home.

However, all this does not prove that here are none to be met
with but the polite, the accomplished, and the well informed; for
although the lower orders are tolerably well acquainted with their
own country, its constitution and affairs; many of them are ex-
tremely ignorant as regards foreign nations. As for us " English,'9
they imagine we are all slaves, and are astonished how it happens
that so many of us continue to escape from bondage; and their
knowledge of other countries is, perhaps equally correct

From the magnitude of the United States it becomes difficult to
describe the climate; for should I tell you that the cold in the north
is severe in March, and the ground buried in snow; a correspon-
dent writing from the south at the same date, might probably in-
form you, and with equal correctness, that their woods and mea-
dows were green, and their pastures covered with flowers. The
weather is, altogether, much more variable than I expected to find
it; for I had been taught to consider the climate of Great Britain
as 'changeable as any in the world; but my instructor being a dis-
ciple of the old school, the probability is, that his geographical
knowledge did not extend to the new world. In England we have
thunder storms from the south-west, and snow storms from the
north-east; but here, thunder storms, and frost, are all borne on
the pinions of the north-west wind.

Letter VII.
I am glad to find that you have read Mr. Btrkbeck's publica-
tions; nor am I at all surprised at the favourable impression they
appear to have left on your mind, with respect to the ding-dong
M western country S* His books are written in a taking style, and
to persons totally unacquainted with this quarter of the globe, ap-

320 Letters from America.

pear fair and unsuspicious. But Mr. B. was an enthusiast He
came to this country with a determined disposition to admire it in
ail its main bearings; while he seems almost frantic with joy at hi*
escape from the land of his forefathers, which he fails not to lash
with his severest sarcasms, whenever an opportunity occurs. He
is a man after the breed of our thoroughgoing radicals, and of
this he has taken an advantage; but I believe he acts from prin-
ciple, consequently his exertions, however ill directed, are the less*
to be condemned.

Before I proceed to give yon some accounts of the western
states, I must not omit to introduce to you more particularly the
flourishing state of Pennsylvania. This state is, generally, healthy.
The little flat land in it is principally confined to the vicinity of
the tide waters of the Delaware and Schuylkill rivers. The Alle-
ghany mountains cross the state nearly through its centre; the
waters on the west side of them falling into the Ohio; those on the
east side joining the Susquehanna and Delaware rivers. These
mountains, for the most part, are sterile, but some small fertile
vallies are to be found amongst them. The most noted counties
east of the mountains have taken the old English names of Ches-
ter, Lancaster, and York, where may be found many valuable'
farms, and good farmers. Several parts of Pennsylvania, especially
Lancaster county, were settled by Germans, whose steady indus-
try, and prudent economy, have made them, and their descendants,
wealthy. On the west side of the mountains is also to be found
much good land; but its situation renders it of considerable less
value than that, lying on the east side. Pittsburgh, on the Ohio
river, is the principal town in this part of the state, from whence
the produce is sent to New Orleans to market, a distance of more
than two thousand miles. One consequence of this is, that the
produce of a farm on the western waters, (as they are here called)
is comparatively of butlittle value. I saw a statement of the Pitts-
burg prices, a few days ago, in which superfine flour was quoted
at one dollar and seventy-five cents per barrel of one hundred and
ninety-six pounds, or seven shillings and ten pence halfpenny;
or at the rate of nearly one halfpenny per lb. Other kinds of grain
are in the same proportion, as are also other kinds of farm pro-
duce. There can be no doubt that the most eligible situation for

Letters from America. 321

a farmer is to be as near a market as possible; hence it becomes so
necessary for an emigrant to settle as near to a sea port as the na-
ture of his circumstances will permit.

One great objection to the western states is, their remoteness
from market; in consequence of which the prices of all articles of
farm produce must be comparatively low: as the mere expense of
taking them to a market is sometimes known to be greater than
the actual value when offered for sale. At present grain will not
bear the cost of exportation, and the distance being so great from
Indiana, Illinois, and Missouri, that a drove of cattle would con-
sume its own value, in travelling from thence to Baltimore, Phila-
delphia, or New York; a distance of from ten to fifteen hundred
miles. Another great and strong objection is the unhealthiness
of the situation on most of the western waters, owing to the flat-
ness of the land which subjects them to the annual overflowing of
the rivers, in this extensive section of the Union. Indeed the
Americans themselves acknowledge, that on the Mississippi, from
the mouth of the Ohio till you arrive at New Orleans, a distance
of a thousand miles, there is scarcely a spot where you will be out
of reach of the overflowing of the river, and no place where you
will be able to escape the annual fevers of the country. These
situations are certainly to be avoided; not merely by the farmer,
but by every other person.

The vale of the Ohio is reckoned among the most delightful of
these western elysiums; but it is not without its drawbacks. I will
relate to you an instance of the unhealthiness of this valley, which
I transcribe from Mr. Cumming's journey down the river. The only
doctor in the vicinity being sick, he proceeds thus; " prompted by
humanity we walked to the cabin occupied by Mr. Hunt's family,
where we beheld a truly distressing scene. In an Indian grass
hammock lay Mr. Hunt in a desperate and hopeless stage of the
yellow fever; his skin and eyes of a deep yellow, and he in a state
of apparent stupor, but still sensible. His house -keeper looking
almost as ill, and groaning piteously on a bed near him. One of
of his men seated on a chair in a feeble state of convalescence, and
another standing by almost recovered, but still looking wretched-
ly. On the floor were travelling trunks, cases, books, furniture,
and house utensils, promiscuously jumbled together, but all clean,

vol, xn. 41

S2£ Letters from America.

as was the cabin itself.— I could not help contrasting in my mind
Mr. Hunt's present condition, at so great a distance from his con-
nexions, from cultivated society, and from medical aid, with what
it was when he represented his native state of New Hampshire in
congress, or during his travels in Europe. Such are some of the
hardships and inconveniences attending the first settlers in a new
country."

I might mention another objection, and one of the greatest evils
that is ever likely to befal the western states. Having no outlet
but the Mississippi river, what would be the consequence in case
of a war between this country and any other power possessing a
navy superior to that of the United States? I can easily solve the
question for you; -a fleet would be stationed off the mouth of the
river, and the whole of this immense country would be placed un-
der an absolute embargo and blockade. You will naturally ask
where is the difference between a strict blockade, and a free com-
munication with all the world, if the produce to be exported will
not bear the expense of transportation? 1 would beg to be ex-
cused from attempting an answer, but refer you to Mr* Birkbeck
for a solution of the query.

I think, that with Mr. Birkbeck*s discernment he might have se-
lected a better situation, even if he was resolved to wean himself
from all civilized society, and to immerse himself and family in
these far away western countries. Why not select a residence on
the borders of some navigable river, in the neighbourhood of some
thriving town or village instead of locating himself at the distance
often or twelve miles from any stream of consequence, and that
but a branch of the Ohio. Mr. Birkbeck's two earlier publications
were completed before he had been in the country seven months.
He discourses of the seasons, summer and winter, with the most
perfect familiarity; but from my own personal experience I am
well convinced how little we ought to depend on others for infor-
mation of this nature. So it is on all other subjects; he tells us
what he intends to do; how much grain he will raise per acre, fitc.
but let him tell us what he has done, and then we shall know how
far he deserves our confidence.

By prairies, you are to understand large tracts of level land
without timber, being a sort of meadows covered with a tall, coarse

Letters from America. 325

grass. Here, then you may look in vain for limpid mountain streams,
and babbling crystal springs; for where water is found at all, the
quality is in general very bad. The smaller rivers, and rivulets
are called creeks* and afford the only water to be met with in the
prairies, without resorting to the laborious operation of sinking deep
wells. Many of the creeks are dried up in summer, and in others
the waters become stagnant and putrid. It is not uncommon in
those parts for a traveller to meet with no water for the distance
of thirty or forty miles; and in all that distance exposed to the
almost perpendicular rays of a burning sun. Mr. B. cares little
for the absence of this equally necessary and valuable element
He does not sufficiently prize the enjoyment of health, else he
would value more highly this great promoter — good and whole-
some water. He cares nothing for the absence of streams afford-
ing eligible situations for grist mills, fulling mills, saw mills, &c
for he intends to subject the winds to his control. He allows the
country to be a little unhealthy, for says he, " all Europeans un-
dergo a seasoning;" and he warns families, emigrating to his set-
tlement to be sure to bring their medicine chests along with them.
Do not these simple hints speak broad facts of the unhealthiness
of the situation? And from all that I have been able to learn among
experienced Americans, not a shadow of doubt, on this head, re-
mains on my mind.

And now for situation with regard to market Every person
must allow that there is but one outlet, and that at the distance
of one thousand three hundred miles from this garden of Eden,
alias " English Prairie." New Orleans being the only market for
the produce of all the country west of the Alleghany mountains,
the obvious consequence is, that the market must always be over-
stocked; for allowing the insignificant quantity of one barrel of
flour to every hundred acres of land, for the exports of this vast
country, the sum total would exceed sixty-five millions of bush-
els of wheat! Having no manufactures they are necessarily all farm -
ers, and are, or ought to be, all sellers, but no buyers. Since Mr.
Birkbeck made his calculations in 1817, the prices of grain have
declined full fifty per cent Wheat, he says, sold for seventy-five
cents, or 3s. 4 \-9d. English; and Indian corn (Maize) at twenty-
five cents or 13 l-2tf. per bushel; so that at present wheat will sell

324 Letters from America*

for Is. 8 I Ad. and Indian corn for 6 3-4*2. Bat this is not all;
money is scarcely ever seen, for every thing is transacted by way
of barter, which is here called trade. Now suppose A. and B*
two of Mr. Birkbeck's neighbours, wishing to transact business, the
mode would be this: A. has a cow which he values at fifteen dol-
lars, and B. has wheat worth thirty -seven and a half cents per
bushel, B. gives A. forty bushels for his cow, and so the bargain is
closed.

You hinted at the eligibility which prairies possess over tim-
bered lands, as regards the first expense of cultivation. In part
you are correct, but what signifies clearing or cultivating the soil,
beyond what is necessary for family consumption, where there is
no market? Would you not consider the enjoyment of health, and
a comparative proximity to the cities and sea ports, more than
balancing a little extra labour, in subduing thej>riginal wilderness?
The timber growing near the upland prairies (where timber is found
at all) is principally white oak, which certainly is not among the
most valuable of American forest trees. Maple, so abundant and
useful in some parts eastward of the Alleghany mountains, is not
to be met with among the prairies. In the early part of the spring
a juice or sap is extracted from this tree, which yields a consider-
able quantity of sugar, of a good quality, and very agreeable fla-
vour. A good sized tree will yield from four to eight pounds in
the season, which commonly lasts for three or four weeks; and an
honest quaker informed me the other day, that he made four hun-
dred and twenty pounds of sugar from forty-seven trees, in the
early part of this present spring, which gives an average of ten
pounds to each tree.

(To be continued.)

33*

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

WIER'S CAVE IN VIRGINIA.

Art. IV.— Description of W%er*8 cave in Augusta county, Virgi-
nia, in a letter from General Calvin Jones, of Raleigh, to his
Excellency William Hawkins, governor of North Carolina, da-
ted Botetourt county, Virginia, 17th March, 1815.
My Dear Sir,

Since my last from Winchester, I have visited the cave im
Augusta, and the Natural bridge in the county to which it has
given a name. The former exceeded, but the latter did not equal,
my expectations. I saw the bridge, I presume, under circum-
stances that were not favourable to the emotions of the sublime.
I had a little before seen the grand romantic scenery around Har-
per's ferry, where the Potomac passes through the Blue ridge. I
had just beheld the wondrous subterranean palaces in Augusta:
every step as I advanced up the rich and beautiful valley of She-
nandoah, bounded on one side by the blue ridge, and on the other
by the North mountains, presented objects, calculated to keep the
sublime emotions in a constant state of excitement. Besides, my
expectations concerning the bridge had been too highly raised by
Mr. Jefferson's splendid and fanciful description of it When I
saw it I felt disappointment. I walked to the edge and looked
down withoutany feeling of terror — I went below and looked up and
was not astonished. It indeed possesses in a great degree gran-
deur and sublimity. But Weir's Cave is much more worthy the
attention of the traveller. There, every thing that the mind can
conceive of grand and beautiful is realized. The bridge affords
only two or three views— the cave a thousand.

326 Wier>8 Cave in Virgin**.

In my progress up the valley I was attracted to Madison's cave
by Mr. Jefferson's description, but had some difficulty in obtain-
ing directions where to find it, other than those contained in the
Notes. Maps of Virginia I could no where meet with, though I
made diligent inquiry, except the old one of Fry and Jeffreys,
which I saw at Fravels in Woodstock; so it was not until I arrived
within twenty miles of the cave that I could ascertain its location,
and I there learned, for the first time, that another cave had re-
cently been discovered near it, and so far surpassing it in extent
and grandeur, that Madison's, had ceased to be an object of cu-
riosity.

I found the cave to be in the North East corner of Augusta
county, very near the Rockingham line, two miles from Port He-
public, a little town at the confluence of the two branches of the
Shenandoah,* a little put of the direct route from New Market to
Staunton, thirty miles from the former place and seventeen from
the latter, increasing the distance between the two places three
or four miles, bat more than compensating the traveller, (putting
other considerations out of the question) at this season of the year,
by the superior quality of the road. This place may be visited
from Charlotteville, on the other side of the Blue Ridge, thirty-
two miles distant, by a turnpike road through Brown's gap. To
Richmond is one hundred and twenty miles. I think you would
prefer the route by Brown's gap as Monticello would then be in
your way.

The hill, in which the caves are, presents a perpendicular front
of two hundred feet in height to the South branch of the Shenan-
doah, looking North-eastwardly towards the Blue Ridge, three
miles distant beyond the river. Its front along the river is about
half a mile; in the road it declines in height as it recedes back
until its dissolves into the plain. Of Madison's cave I shall say
but little, Mr. Jefferson's description of it being ample. It de-
rives its name from the father of the late#bishop Madison, who re-
sided near it, and who was famed for his hospitality, his convi-
vial disposition and his practical wit. It has been known sixty

* Pronounced with a fall accent on the first and last syllables—" Shan-
nondore."

Witt's Cave in Virginia. 327

or seventy years and is now little visited as a cariosity* The
earth in it affords salt-petre in the proportion of from two to four
pounds to the bushel. Two thousand weight has been manufac-
tured here within the two last years. The earth when brought
out, is, at the mouth of the cave put into a plank gutter which
conducts it to the margin of the river, where it is thrown into vats
mixed with wood ashes, water is passed through it and this is
evaporated to a salt by boiling. The lakes of water which are
found at the extremity of the cave, have been navigated by a boat
and thoroughly explored since Mr. Jefferson wrote. They are
thirty or forty feet in depth, and further bounded on their extremity
by rocks, so abrupt that a footing can no where be had, limiting
for the present all discoveries in that direction. I advised the
proprietor to put fish into these lakes, which he promised to do,
so that visitants may probably, in a few years, add fishing to the
entertainments afforded by the excursion.

Madison's cave, as you know from Mr. Jefferson's description,
has its entrance about two thirds of the way to the top of the hill, im-
mediately over the river. The mouth of Wier's cave is parallel
to it in the same hill, two or three hundred yards further up the
river. Madison?s cave penetrates one hundred and twenty yards;
Wier's nine hundred. This last was discovered in February 1806,
by the man whose name I have taken the liberty of giving to it
Of this cave I propose to give you some faint idea by a brief des-
cription, which must necessarily be very imperfect. But in some
measure to obviate its deficiences, and aid your comprehension I
shall furnish you with a map of the outlines of its course and apart-
ments, incorrect no doubt, but bearing some resemblance to what
it would represent, and the best I am able to offer. The letters in
the plan will be referred to in the course of our route. The index
points to the entrance: the arrows mark the descent in places
where it is most considerable.

The cave is of solid lime stone, sometimes ascending, but more
commonly descending in its course; narrow and low at the en-
trance, but increasing in height as you advance, until it becomes
eighty or ninety feet high. Water is constantly dropping from the
top and dripping down the sides; but not in quantities sufficient to
affect the light or incommode visiters. This forms stalactites of

3*8 Witr>s Cave in Virginia.

every possible form and of every variety of beauty. The colours
are for Die most part white, but sometimes red, occasionally varie-
gated. It is not every where that stone is formed by this percola-
tion of the water. Sometimes it finds little basins formed to re*
ceive it, and again there are sinks through which it falls and dis-
appears.

The entrance is closed by a door two feet and a half or three
feet square. You grope through a narrow passage until you reach
the anti-chamber, (A.) whose arch twelve or fifteen feet high is
supported' by stalactite pillars in the centre. On the left is a re-
cess, difficult to traverse on account of the huge masses of rock
which are every where thrown rudely about From the anti-cham-
ber you enter a narrow passage, creep in one place, and incline
your body to the left between two sheets of rock in another. Des-
cending some hewn slips and a wooden ladder, you come into
Solomon's Temple, (B.) On the left is a large fluted column cal-
led Solomon's pillar, and on the sides of the apartment are cur-
tains of stone, exactly resembling drapery, descending in wave-
like folds from the ceiling to the floor. This is twenty-five feet
high. A recess on the left, containing a few basins of pure wa-
ter, is called the bar room* Going forward you ascend a ladder
and find yourself on a steep, narrow rock, from which you look back
and see the various beauties of the temple to great advantage.
By another ladder you descend into the curtain room, (C.) which
is profusely ornamented with a great variety of beautiful drapery.
There is such elegance and regularity in those ornaments that if
seen in small detached portions, it would be difficult to persuade
one they were not works of art. The curtains usually descend
from the arch to the floor on the sides of the cave, and are from
five to six feet in width, and from half an inch, to two inches in
thickness. They hang from six to twelve inches asunder and are
commonly very white and transparent. As the drapery in this
apartment is the most remarkable, though it is found in lesser quan-
tities in every part of the cavern, it may be well here, once for all,
to take notice of two forms that most frequently occur in every
place. The explorer will see the best examples of each in the
sofa and gallery presently to be mentioned. At the upper edge
of the valance where the depending part commences, there is a cord

WierH Cave in Virginia. 32»

on running round each; from this the curtain descends; in one,
an indentation of semicircular cavities, about two inches in chord,
parallel and uniform; in the next instead of cavities, there is pre-
cisely the same form of projection, and the order and proportion
of both are as^ regular and exact as if they had been produced by
the chissel of the artist.

The Tambourin, or Music Room, (D.) is next This abounds
with stalactites similar to those in the preceding rooms, but they
are plain, finer and more variously toned, and the room is better
constructed for musical effect The tones produced by striking
these leaves of stalactite are various, sweet, and full, and if the
powers of each were ascertained, a skilful hand could draw mu-
sic from them, that might charm an Eurydice not to leave, but to
remain in a cavern.

You now ascend a natural and well formed staircase, with a
row of bannisters, running across the passage, and then, descending
a ladder, enter the Ball Boom, (E.) which is one hundred feet long
and the arch fifteen or twenty feet high. The floor is smooth and
level, and the sides ornamented with curtains, colonades and va-
rious resemblances to household furniture. Betsy's sofa is remark-
able for its elegance, and resemblance to art The floor has evi-
dently been lowered in time, some of the columns are ruptured
and dissevered in the middle of the shaft, and do not meet by
some inches* Others have fallen, and lie in ruins.

The curious explorer now comes to the most straitened passage
in -the cavern (F.) and which was for some time the boundary of
the discoveries. The way, though enlarged beyond its original di-
mensions, is steep, narrow and difficult He must creep on all
fours, and, on account of the descent, must go backwards. He is
covered with mud; fatigued with his posture and exertions; and
it in well if his head and back escape a rude contact with the
rough stones above him. At length he regains his feet, looks
back upon the narrow aperture by which he entered, reflects that
he is almeet a quarter of a mile from the regions of upper air, car-
ries his candle with more steady hand, and feels himself entomb-
ed. Knowing that our corpulent acquaintance Mrs. T****»***
had visited this cavern I asked my guide if she passed these
straits. He assured me that she did; that " she crept and tumbled

vol. xii. 42

338 ¥Vier9s Cave in Virginia*

and slid along like an otter, and got through without any difficul-
ty; and what was more," he added, " no woman ever yet stopped
halfway: they always went to the extremity."

Descending some steps hewn out of the rock called Jacob's lad-
der , you enter the Vestibule, (G.) the arch of which is about the
same height as that of the temple. On your left, as you enter, a
horizontal sheet of stone, a foot thick and twenty feet in diame-
ter, projects from the aide of the cave, about midway between the
floor and the ceiliug, called Mary's gallery. This is a striking
object from its rich ornaments. Connected with this vestibule it
the Saloon, (H.) Returning and entering a passage on the left,
Washington's Hall, (I.) the grandest part of the cavern is open-
ed to your view. You stand at the entrance; the guides go for-
ward and arrange lights at certain distances: the long level floor
rings beneath their tread: you see them at a hundred paces dis-
tance: and hear their voices resounding from the arch that rises
sublimely eighty feet over your head. Every drop of water that
falls rings in your ears. On your right is a row of stalactites that
resemble human statues. In the centre, before the entrance of
Lady Washington's drawing room, is one of noble mien, apparent-
ly in the habiliments of an ancient Roman, that is called Wash-
ington's Statue. You gaze on the whole scene and listen in si-
lent rapture. At length you are aroused from the enchantment
by being told by the guides that you have still much to see. La-
dy Washington's Drawing Room, (K.) is next visited— a hand-
some and spacious apartment. Just within the room, on your
right is a large bureau on which many names are inscribed. I
conformed to the general custom by engraving the initial letters
of one that I could always call to remembrance without an effort
In this apartment a rock of immense magnitude has fallen from
the arched ceiling above, and converted into a heap of ruins a
number of massive columns that were standing near it In Wash-
ington's Hall, a column two feet in diameter has fallen, probably
from the ceiling of the floor which certainly has a cavern beneath
it The Diamond Room, (L.) is next, and derives its name from
the sparkling brilliancy of its walls. The Enchanted Roam, (M.)
has a wild variety which by the help of a vivid imagination, may
be transformed into a new creation. Here, in one place, an im-

WUr's Cave in Virginia, 331

mense rock hangs so loosely over you, as apparently without sup-
port, that it seems to threaten you with instant annihilation.
Here is a basin containing a hogshead or two of pure water/
which, after the fatigue experienced, is grateful and refreshing.
Returning by the same passage through the Diamond Room, you
come to the Wilderness, (N.) rough and irregular below, on the
sides and above. Either here, or in the Enchanted Room, I do
not remember which, there is a column of twenty -five or thirty
feet in diameter, called the tower of Babel. The Garden of Eden,
(O.) is the last scene. This room is spacious, lofty and its deco-
rations are superb and various. A rock apparently floating over
you, called Elijah's mantle; a large white curtain, and a rock cal-
led Mr, Jefferson's Salt Mountain, seen at a distance through a
colonade, are the most remarkable particulars that I noticed here.

I now returned and regained the mouth of the cave after having
been within it two hours and three quarters. But the time was
much too shorty to enable one on a first visit to give any thing
like a full or correct description of it An English painter, who
spent several weeks here, said that years would be required to do
any sort of justice to a representation of it by the pencil.

The Saloon, (H.) cannot be very distant from Madison's cave,
and had time permitted, I would have attempted to discover a
communication between them, by firing a musket in one cave,
while the report was listened to in the other. The mention of
this, reminds me of the remarkable effect I was told the discharge
of a pistol produces in some parts of Wier's cave. The sound is
astonishingly loud, and is prolonged and echoed back from distant
recessed; and after a considerable silence, it is once and again re-
newed when you had supposed it exhausted, I had not the fore-
thought to supply myself with the means of making this experi-
ment.

The temperature of this cave, I am told, is fifty-five, and never
varies.

A German of the name of Jymand, was, until very lately, the
proprietor of this cave, and his name has usually been given to it.
It is now the property of Mr. Bingham, who keeps a good house
of entertainment near it; but the honour of the name is certainly
due to the discoverer. Mr. Wier made this discovery by pur-

332 Marine Velocipede.

suing with a dog a raccoon, which took refuge there, and once en?
tered upon it, he prosecuted it with as much ardour, and at almost
as much peril, as Cook did his discoveries in the trackless ocean.
The proprietor keeps a lock upon the door of the cave, and char-
ges each visiter fifty cents, which yields him a considerable re ven-
ue. Mr. Charles Lewis, who lives near Port Republic, accompa-
nied me in my subterranean excursion, and contributed much to
the gratification of it. In following me through the description,
I fear you will share more of the fatigues than pleasures; but if I
excite yourcur iosity sufficiently to induce you to take this place in
your route to Washington, at some future time, I shall have done
you an essential service, by enabling you to see and enjoy much
in a little space; an important consideration in the economy of a
life, whose .duration is contracted to a span.

I am, my dear sir, with every sentiment of esteem and respect,
yours, as ever.

Calvin J ones.

His Excellency, ihv. Hawkins.

» ■ " <i' ■> ' ■■■ ' ' ■ ■ ■ —

Aet. \*—yMarine Velocipede*

[Although it is stated in one of the daily journals, that Mr. Kent exhibited
this invention to thousands of persons, in the new dock which was open-
ed at Liverpool, on the day of the Coronation, we have great doubts
whether any practical good will result from it John Bull, though " a
thinking people," is wonderfully prone to be " Pleat' d with a trifle and
tickled with a straw." Mr. Kent's contrivance will follow the fate of
its predecessor on land.]

An exhibition improperly called walking on the water, has
been exhibited at Liverpool, by Mr. Kent of Qlasgow. The ap-

The Tyrol Wanderer. 333

)>arattts which he uses is represented in the wood-cut above,—
where a. b. c. are three hollow tin cases of the form of an oblong
hemispheroid, connected together by three iron bars, at the meet*
ing of which is a seat for the exhibiter. These cases* filled with
air, are of such a magnitude that they can easily support his
wieght: and as a. b. and a. c. are about ten feet, and b. c. about
eight feet, he floats very steadily upon the water. The feet of
the exhibiter rest on stirrups, and he attaches to his shoes by
leather belts, two paddles, d. e. which turn on a joint when he
brings his foot forward to take the stroke, and keep a vertical po-
sition when he draws it back against the resisting water; by the
alternate action of his feet, he is enabled to advance at the rate of
five miles an hour.

Art. VI.— The Tyrol Wanderer. From an English Journal.

Mr. Editoh— I have been in the habit of travelling a great deal
over the world, and though not an author by profession, and never
intending to become one, I have yet made it my practice to note
down in an Album, whatever I have seen or heard, which struck
me as extraordinary. Happening the other day to turn over some
of its pages, I fell upon the following history, related to me by the
man himself, a few years since, in Washington, in North Ameri-
ca, in which city he then resided, and I believe, still lives. He
had received a grant from the national legislature of that country,
in consequence of services rendered by him to the American ge-
neral,, Eaton, during his incursion upon Tripoli His story is a
singular example of what human ingenuity can do, when operate^
on by the stimulus of necessity.

Gervasio Probasio Santuari was born at a village near Trent,
in the Tyrol, on the 21st of October, 1772. He was brought up
'in oqe of the schools of that country, in which part of the learn-
er's time is devoted to literature, and part to the exercise of the
agricultural and mechanic arts. He was then sent to college for
the purpose of being educated for the Romish church, but not
liking his occupation or prospects, he renounced his theological
studies, and, young as he was, became a Benedicts instead of a
monk. His first employment, after his marriage, was as a swr*

334 The Tyrol Wanderer.

veyor of land. Shortly afterwards, however, when Joseph the
Second ordered an expedition against the Turks, he entered the
army under Laudun, and marched to Belgrade, after which he
sustained Ms' share in the siege of Mantua. After the capitula-
tion of that city he deserted from the Austrian army, to avoid the
consequences of a duel in which he had been involved. The pun-
ishment for such a crime, according to the rules of the Austrian
military code, is death. He joined the French at Milan, and
went by the name of Carlo Hassanda% but growing weary of the
suspicion which attached to him as a spy, he poisoned the guards
by administering to them opium in their drink, and escaped to a
village in the south of Switzerland. Here, to avoid detection, he
assumed the name of Joan Eugena Leitensdorfer, and having sent
word to his family how he was situated, they sent him a remit-
tance, with which he purchased watches and jewellery, and tra-
velled as a pedlar through France and Spain. In this capacity
he arrived at Toulon, where his terror and his necessities induced
him to embark on board a vessel, which was bound for Egypt Af-
ter his arrival he wandered, on to Cairo, where the French forces
were then quartered, under the command of Menbu, and to the
agricultural and economical projects of the Institute he rendered
considerable aid. In the mean time, our forces landed, and after
the victory, which the life of Abercrombie dearly purchased, he
conceived that things were likely to take a change, and deserted
without scruple to the British army. The English officers encou-
raged him to open a coffee-house for their entertainment, and he
soon collected a sum of money which his enterprizing spirit indu-
# ced him to expend in the erection of a theatre, where the military
amateurs used to perform. Here he married a Coptic woman.
On the departure of the English he found it necessary to retire
from Alexandria, and abandoning his wife, child, and property,
he arrived, after an ordinary voyage, at Messina, in Sicily. At
that place, being out of employment, and utterly destitute ot re-
sources, he entered as a novice in a monastery of Capuchin friars,
and practiced their discipline, and enjoyed their bounty, until an
opportunity offered of running away, of which with his usual ala-
crity, he availed himself and sailed for Smyrna. He soon reach-
ed Constantinople, where he was reduced to the last extremity of

F

Othe Tyrol Wanderer. 335

want, having wandered about the city for three -days .and three
nights without food or shelter. At length, meeting a Capuchin
friar, he begged of him a pack of cardg and a pistol, and with the
aid of these he exhibited tricks which in some measure retrieved
his desperate fortune. About this time Brune, who commanded
the French army at Milan, when he made his escape, arrived at
Constantinople as the French ambassador; and fearing that he
might be recognised by some of the diplomatic suite, he enlisted
into the Turkish service. Two expeditions were then on foot; one
against Passwan Oglou, in Bulgaria, the other against Elfi Bey,
in Egypt He joined the latter, and on the defeat of the Turk-
ish detachment to which he belonged, saved his head by betaking
himself to the desert, and courting protection from the Bedouin
Arabs. After this unfortunate expedition he continued to make
his way back to Constantinople, and endeavoured in vain to pro-
care from the Russian minister a passport into Muscovy. His
next attempt was to obtain re-admittance into the Turkish service,
in which proving unsuccessful, he assumed the habit and character
of a dervise. These are the functionaries of religion, and always
combine with their sacredotai duties the offices of physician and
conjurer. To be initiated into this order he made a formal re-
nunciation of Christianity, denounced its followers, for the wrongs
and injuries they had done him, professed the Mahometan faithin due
form, and to show that he was in earnest, circumcised himself.
This being accomplished, he then joined, under the new name of
Murat Aga, a caravan for Trebisond, on the southern shore of the
Black sea. On the way he practised his profession by giving di-
rections to the sick, and selling, for considerable sums of money,
small pieces of paper on which were written Sentences from the
Koran in Turkish, which he pretended to sanctify by applying to
the naked shaven crown of his head. At Trebisond he was in-
formed that the Bashaw was dangerously ill, and threatened with
blindness; and he was called upon instantly to prescribe for this
grand patient, which, however, he refused to do, unless he was ad-
mitted into his presence. To this sovereign presence he was ac-
cordingly conducted through files of armed soldiers and ranks of
kneeling officers. Having arrived in the sick chamber, the der-
vise displayed all the pomp and grandeur of his calling, by so-

$36 The Tyrol Wanderer.

lemnly invoking God and the Prophet He next proceeded to
inquire under what disease the Bashaw laboured, and found that
he was afflicted with a fever, accompanied with a violent inflam-
mation of the eyes. Judging from the symptoms that it was like-
ly he would recover both health and sight, he boldly declared it
to be God's will that both these events should happen after the
next new moon, provided certain intermediate remedies should be
used. Then searching the pouch containing his medicines and ap-
paratus, he produced a white powder, which he ordered to be blown
into the Bashaw's eyes, and a wash of milk and water to be fre-
quently applied afterwards. Sweating, by the assistance of warm
drinks and blankets, was likewise recommended. He was well
rewarded both by money and presents; and the next day departed
with the caravan towards Persia, intending to be nine or ten days
journey from Trebisond, before the new moon sjwuld appear, that
he might be quite out of reach, in case the event should prove un-
fortunate. The caravan, being numerous and heavily laden, was
overtaken by an organised and armed banditti, who pursued them
for the purpose of plunder, and finding they must either fight or
purchase terms, they preferred the latter. This affair being thus
settled, he heard two of the marauders talking to each other con*
cerning the grand dervise who had cured the Bashaw of Trebi*
sond. He heard them say, that the recovery was confidently ex-
pected, as the more violent symptoms had abated, and the prospect
became daily more encouraging. The event justified their obser-
vations, and on the return of the caravan the dervise was received
with open arms at Trebisond, pronounced by the lips of the so*
vereign to be a great and good man, and once more loaded with
donations. Here ne remained until another caravan set out for
Mecca, and he joined the body of pilgrims and traders in his hi*
therto auspicious character of a dervise. They arrived in doe
time in the region of Yemen; hot the Wechabites had commenced
their fanatical encroachments. ■ They had, in part, demolished the
old religion of Mahomet, set up their new revelation m its stead,
burned the body of the prophet, and sequestered much of the reve-
nues of his shrine. The caravan did not choose to encounter the
zeal and determination of these daring innovators, and according-
ly it halted at a distance. But Murat availing himself, partly of

The Tyrol Wanderer. 337

bis sanctity as a priest, and partly of his personal adroitness, went
over to their camp, and was well received. Having tarried as
long as he pleased in Mecca, he went to a port near Jidda, a city
on the Red sea, and thence crossing to the west side, he coasted
along to Suez. In that place he entered as interpreter into the
service of Lord Gordon, a Scottish traveller, and with him he
travelled to Cairo, and thence to Nubia and Abyssinia. His last
employment, previous to Ins leaving the service of that gentleman,
was to decorate with flower*, fruit, leaves, branches, and chande-
liers, the hall in which his employer, on his return, gave a splen-
did fete to the foreign residents and consuls then at Cairo. Thence,
after an absence of six years, he returned to Alexandria, and on
inquiring after his Coptic wife, was told that she was in conceal-
' ment A separation was readily agreed upon, and by mutual con-
sent, she formed a connexion with a Copt, a man of her own sect.
Returning once more to Cairo, he wholly relinquished the occu-
pations of a dervise, and assumed the office and uniform of an
engineer! Here he was engaged in planning military works, and
in superintending their execution. While thus employed news
was brought him that the American captain, Baton, had arrived,
and was in search of a confidential and intrepid agent, to convey
a message to Hamet Cavamelli, the ex-bashaw of Tripoli, in Bar-
bary. At an interview which took place between them, the cap-
tain first swore Murat to secresy on the Koran, and then commu-
nicated his project Having agreed upon the conditions, Murat
took the earliest opportunity of deserting the Turks, and penetra-
ted through the desert to the Mameluke camp, where Cavamelli
was, poor and dependent, but respected. It must be remember-
ed that Egypt is divided into Knglish and French parties; the
Turks being attached to the French, and the Mamelukes to the
English. With a single attendant and two dromedaries, he pro-
ceeded with the swiftness of the wind, feeding the animals on
small balls composed of meal and eggs, and taking no other sleep
than he could catch upon the back of the hard -trotting animal, to
which he had himself tied. He reached the Mameluke camp in
safety. The Sheik, in token of a welcome reception, gave him a
few sequins, and refreshed him with coffee. In a short time he so
arranged matters with the ex-Bashaw, that one night Cavamelli
vol. xn. 46

338 The Tyrol Wanderer.

went forth, as if on an ordinary expedition, with about one hun-
dred and fifty followers, and instead of returning to his Mame-
luke encampment, sped his* way over the trackless sands, and
with that force reached the rendezvous of the enterprizing Ame-
rican. With all the forces thej could jointly assemble, they tra-
versed, with extreme toil and suffering, the deserts of Barca, for
the purpose of making a diversion in favour of the squadron of
armed ships which the United States of America had ordered
against the city of Tripoli* After surmounting incredible hard-
ships, they arrived at Derna, and gained an advantage over the
troops of the reigning Bashaw in a skirmish. Immediately after
this, a peace was concluded with the American consul, Mr. Lear;
in consequence of which, orders were sent to the squadron of the
United States, then on the coast, and to the co-operating land
forces under Eaton, to discontinue hostilities. The Egyptian host
were requested to embark in the ships of their allies. Part of
them, thus stopped in their mid -career, did so; and the rest re-
mained on shore, subject, now they were inferior in martial
strength, to the cruelty and caprice of the baffled and exasperated
despot. Leitensdorfer was one of the persons who went on board,
and witnessed the mortification of the ex-bashaw, and the ravings
of liis lieutenant-general, at this unexpected order, so subversive
of their plans, and so ruinous to their hopes. In this vessel he
acted as a colonel, and proceeded with her by way of Malta to
Syracuse.

From Syracuse he went to Albania, taking the route of Corfir
to Salona, with the design of inquiring by letter what had become
of a son by his first marriage, whom he had left behind in the Ty-
rol. Immediately, however, . upon his landing among the Turks,
he was seized as an apostate Mahometan and reduced to slavery.
The miseries of his situation were in some degree relieved, from
the circumstance of his having fortunately recovered several sick
sailors during the voyage. In addition to this, he pleaded the ne-
cessity which he felt, when in the American army of Africa, of
conforming to the dress and manners of that strange and peculiar
people of the west, under a belief that necessity justified his de-
ceit, and that to act as an American was not to feel as a Christian.
By degrees, the rigours of his servitude were alleviated, and he

The Tyrol Wanderer. 539

was at length restored to the entire freedom of a faithful Mussul-
man. He next visited Palermo, and there formed a temporary
marriage with a fair Sicilian, who " laughed at all ties but those
which love had made."

About this time, the new king of Naples threatened to conquer
Sicily, in spite of all the resistance that Ferdinand IV* and the
English could make* On this, Lietensdorfer became alarmed for
his personal safety, knowing well that he neither deserved nor
could expect mercy from the Frenchmen. He then determined
to embark as a passenger for the United States, but no master of
a vessel could be found to receive him in that capacity; and b jing
obliged to offer himself as a sailor, he was entered as such on
board a ship bound for Salem, in the State of Massachusetts.
Here he learned to hand, reef, and steer, and in a short time be-
came an active and perfect seaman. Arriving at Salem, in De-
cember 1809, he soon went on a visit to his old friend and fellow
warrior at Brimfield, by whom he was hospitably entertained and
sent to Washington, furnished with ample testimonials of his bra-
very and services, for the inspection of the President and Secre-
tary of State. By these officers he was referred to the Secretary
at War, and enjoyed, for a time, the paradise of suspense into
which every state expectant is sure to be initiated. By contin-
ued references, however, from one person to another, his skill in
surveying, drawing, and engineering, happened to become known
to the surveyor of the public buildings, and he thereby acquired
some of the patronage of Mr. Latrobe. There he now lives, oc-
cupying one of the vacant chambers in the northern pile of the
capitol, as a watch 01 ffice keeper; providing and cooking for
himself, and employing h * hands in almost every kind of occupa-
tion, from the making of shoes to the ensnaring of birds and the
delineation of maps*

This extraordinary man is about five feet ten inches in height,
with dark eyes, black hair, and a brown complexion. His looks
are lively, his gestures animated, and his limbs remarkably flexi-
ble and vigorous. His forehead is ample, Iub features expressive,
and his figure rather spare and lean. With such natural marks
and powers, he has been enabled to assume the respective charac-
ersof Jew, Christian, and Mahometan; and of soldier, linguist,

340 The Coronation*

engineer, farmer, juggler, tradesman, and dervise, with apparent
facility. In short, he has shown himself to be one of the most
versatile of human beings, having acted, during his multifarious
life, in. about thirty different characters! In the course of his ad-
ventures he has received several wounds, and his eccentric life
has afforded incidents for a theatrical exhibition on the stage of
Vienna! He can utter the Hebrew words of worship almost ex-
actly like a Rabbi in the Synagogue; he can recite the Christian
Catholic ritual, after the manner of the Capuchins; and he pro-
nounces the religious sentences of the Mussulmen in Arabic, with
the earnestness and emphasis of a Mufti. To complete this
" strange* eventful history," the Congress of America have, at the
instance of Mr. Bradley, who detailed the leading incidents of his
life on the floor of the senate, passed a bill, bestowing on him a
half section of land, (320 acres) and the pay of a captain, from the
15th of December, 1804, to the same period in 1805, being the
time that he served as adjutant and inspector of the army of the
United States in Egypt, and on the coast of Africa* Leitensdor*
fer is at present but forty -eight years of age, strong, and healthy,
and if his rambling disposition should continue, likely to add ma-
ny more pages to a biography, which, perhaps, has few parallels
except in the adventures and vicissitudes of Trenck. Nefos.

Art. VIL — The Coronation. From an English Journal.
Letter from a. Gentleman in Town, to a Lady in the Country.

Dear P ■ — . The newspaper which I sent, gave you I fear,

but a very faint idea of the magnificent and impressive ceremony
of the Coronation, although I selected that which appeared to me
to offer the most full and faithful account. Buf the short time al-
lowed to the daily writer for the execution of his task, and the fa*
tigue in whicjj he was left, sufficiently apologize for his rapid, im-
perfect, and uncorrected relation* On reading the several papers
of the day, I could not but feel, from my own disappointment in
tiie description of such parts of the pageant as I did not myself
behold, that your curiosity would be but miserably fed throughout.
I could realize nothing from the long cold columns; every thing
was named in processional order, but the relation would have
suited the course of a funeral, as well as the order of a Corona*

The Coronation. 341

tion. 1 looked through the editor's glass; but I saw darkly! It
is my intention now to give you as faithful a history of the day,
as my memory will compass; and I hope that I shall be able in
some measure, by the smooth honesty of my narrative, to apply a
little balsam to your disordered and wounded curiosity. Pray let
your sisters read this letter, and do not fail to sweeten your mo-
ther's herb tea with some of the richest morsels of the feast

I was not put in possession of my ticket for Westminster-hall,
until the day previous to the ceremony, so that I was thrown into
an elegant bustle, about the provision of suitable habiliments for
the occasion. Gentlemen of limited incomes are not proverbial
for having layers of court dresses in their drawers, or for seeing
the pegs in their passages swarming with cocked hats; I was com-
pelled therefore " to wood and water,91 as the sailors term it, for
the day, or, in plain words, to purchase the antique and costly
coat, and the three cornered beaver, to fit me for appearing before
royalty. I only wish you could have seen me cooked up for the
Hall, you would have allowed that I was " a dainty dish, to set
before a king."

The very early hour at which the doors of Westminster-hall
were to be opened put to flight all notions of sleep; and he must
have been a rash man indeed whose mind could dare for that
night, to bend itself to bedward. At twelve o'clock I began to
array myself, and I will not say how long I was employed in this
perplexing work, let it suffice, that at half-past three o'clock, I
was competent to sally forth from the house of a friend near the
Abbey, and to approach that door of the House of Lords, by which
I was to enter the Hall. Never was seen so calm and fair a
morning, and the very freshness and breath of the country seem-
ed, amongst other luxuries, to have been brought to Westminster
for this day and its noble ceremony. I emerged a little before
the sun, and had something of the feeling of being rather the
brighter of the two;— -but the soft sky over my head tempered the
pomp and pride of my mind, and subdued me to quiet feelings,
and more humility.

When I reached Abingdon Street, which, I must take leave to
inform you of the country, is a street very near to the Hall of West-
minster, I found soldiers, both horse and foot, standing and lying

S4£ The Coronation.

about in every direction. The dull of the morning seemed to af-
fect them, and they were stretched at full length under the piazza,
partaking of that comfortless sleep which the stones coldly afford,
and the summoning trumpet breaks. A man* so minded, migit
have walked over foot-soldier » like so many mushrooms,— for they
slumbered around in most gorgeous plenteousness. I walked idly
about the street and the passages, looking into the carriages, which
stood in line, filled with many feathers and a few ladies, or watch-
ing the workmen, even at this advanced hour, accomplishing the
'passage to the Abbey,— or observing the small, but splendid,
crowd, nestling around the yet unopened door,— -or contemplating,
amid all the confusion, and lustre, and pride of the space around
me, the serene dawn opening above me in the sky, like a flower.
The jingling and shining arms of the cavalry,*— the courtly dresses
of the approaching people,— the . idlesse of the sleeping soldiery,
—the dingy appearance, and earnest labours, of the workmen,—
the passing splendour of some richly clothed officer, — the echoing
silence (if I may so express myself) of the air,— the tall, graceful,
and solemn beauty and quiet of the Abbey,— all contrasted—- each
with the other,— and filled the mind with an excited conscious-
ness that a great day was dawning. 1 felt this — and at length took
my station at the door, anxiously waiting for admission. •

The moment at length arrived, and the door was opened to the
crowd. 1 advanced, ticket in hand, with a delight not easily to
be depressed, and succeeded in gaining, by many passages, my en-
trance into the Hall.

I must endeavour to die best of my ability to give you a picture
of Westminster Hall as I now beheld it How different was its
appearance at this time from that which it made not many moons
past, when I was rushing about after wandering and pampered
witnesses, and calling them together " to save my cause at Nisi
Prius." Imagine a long and lofty room, (the longest and widest
in Europe, 1 believe, without the support of pillars,) lined with two
tiers of galleries covered with red cloth, and carpeted down the
middle with broad cloth of blue. At the very end, facing the
north, were erected two gothic towers, with an archway, which
led to Palace-yard, and over this was a huge gothic window. The
tables for the feast rap down on each side; and at the head, on a

Tfte Coronation, 34S

raised platform, was a bright gold throne, with a square table
standing before it, on which was a costly blue cloth worked with
gold. Doors on each side led up to the galleries. The dark fret-
ted roof, from which hung bright chandeliers, was an admirable
relief to the whole. Yon will perhaps have no very clear notion
of the hall after this description, but I shall send you a sketch
which has appeared in the Observer newspaper, by which you will
be able to realize my imperfect picture.

I entered by a door behind the throne, and was astonished at
the magnificent spaciousness and rich adornments of the place.
The long galleries were nearly half filled, (for other doors had
been previously opened), and adown the cloth-covered pavement
all was life, and eagerness, and joy, and hope! Here you would
see the pages putting back a cluster of plumed beauties, with a
respectful determination and courtly haste. — There you should
behold a flight of peeresses, feathered, and in white attire, winging
their way as though in hopeless speed, like birds to their allotted
dove-cotes. In one place you would behold some magnificent sol-
dier, half in confusion, and half in self-satisfaction, pausing in be-
wildered doubt and pleasure over his own slpendid attire. And
in another part, those who had reached their seats were sighing
happily, adjusting their dresses, and gazing around with delight
at the troubles of others below them. I had much difficulty in attaining
my * place of rest;" and, from the confusion of the pages, I verily
believe that I attained it more from having " Providence my
guide,'* than from meeting with any earthly assistance.

It might be about four o'clock, or a little after, when I took my
seat. The light streamed in at the great window, like a flood of
illumined water, and touched every plume, and every cheek. Ex-
pectation appeared to have given a bloom of life to each female
countenance, as though to make up for the ravages which broken
rest and fatigue had endeavoured to make. I beguiled the time,
which might else have passed most tediously, by watching the se-
veral parties of peeresses, and others, enter from behind the throne,
and pass by the state box, in which some of the royal family were
seated at a very early hour. The most eager, aud the most gor-
geous lady, became spell-bound at the sight, and checked herself,
in her maddest career, to drop a curtsey to « her Highness of

344 The Coronation.

Gloster." I was much pleased to see that when the Duchess of
Kent, or any new member of the familj, joined the illustrious par-
ty, the greetings had all the kindliness and affection of persons
whose hearts are their whole wealth; and the young daughter of
the Duchess was kissed as frankly and tenderly, as though she
had had no diamond in her hair, and her eyes had been her only
jewels. Oyer the royal box, the ladies of the principal officers of
state sat; and immediately opposite were the Foreign Ambassa-
dors, and their suite. I should however, tell you, that the Du-
chess of Gloster wore a beautiful silver transparent dress over li-
lac, and had a rich plume of ostrich feathers in her head. I so
well know how interesting this information will be to you, that I
cannot think of omitting it. About seven o'clock, Miss Fellowes
(his Majesty's herb-woman), with her handmaids in white, was
conducted into the Hall by her brother, and took her seat at the
lower end of it At this moment, I wished that you could have
seen this pretty and simple group, I was so sure that it would
have delighted you.

The Hall now filled rapidly, and not with mere visiters only,
but with knights and pages, and noble serving-men, all in the
richest dresses. The Barons of the Cinque Ports rehearsed the
ceremony of bearing the gold canopy down the Hall, to the no
small mirth of the company,— for they staggered along at most un-
even paces; and one splendid personage, in powder, could not
walk straight, in spite of himself, so encumbered was he with
the sense of his own magnificence. Apart of the regalia was brought
in, and deposited on one of the side tables.

The interest manifestly deepened now at every moment, and
not a plume was still in the galleries. At length the Judges, the
Law officers, the Gentlemen of the Privy Chamber, the Aldermen
of London, and the King's Chaplains, entered the Hall, and gave
sign of preparation. The Knights of the Bath arranged them-
selves at the lower end of the Hall; and, certainly, their dresses
were highly splendid. The officers attendant on the Knights
Commanders wore crimson satin vests, ornamented with white,
and over these a white silk mantle. They also wore ruffs, chains,
and badges. Their stockings were of white silk, with crimson
roses. The Knights Commanders of the Bath wore the prevalent

T%e. Coronation. 345

costume of the day, that a la Henri Quart™, with ruffs and hats
turned up in front Their vests and slashed pantaloons were of
white satin overspread with a small silver lace; their cloaks were
short, of crimson satin, embroidered with' the star of the order,
and lined with white. Their half-boots were of white silk, with
red heels, crimson satin tops, and crimson roses; their spurs were
of gold, their sword-belts and sheaths white; and their hats were
black, with white ostrich feathers. The dress of the Knights
Grand Crosses had all the beauty of that of the Knights Com-
manders, with somewhat more magnificence, it being in all res-
pects the same, except that for the short cloak was substituted an
ample flowing mantle, and for the feathers a larger and loftier
plume.

The Privy Counsellors were dressed in blue satin and gold.

All at once the doors of the Hall, which had been opened,
were suddenly closed; and there was a confused murmur among
those at the gateway, which was soon circulated and explained,
by a buzz of " The Queen.'9 Some of the attendants were alarm-
ed for the moment; and the ladies were, for an instant, disturbed
with an apprehension of some mysterious danger; — but the gates
were presently re-opened, and all proceeded as gaily as ever.

The peers now poured in from behind the throne, all robed in
crimson Velvet, with ermine tippets, and rich coronets. The Roy-
al Dukes also entered, and took their seats on each side of the
ihrone. At about half-past nine the names of the peers were cal-
led over by one of the heralds, and the order of their procession
was arranged* It is impossible for me to describe to you the
hushed silence that reigned at intervals over the whole of the com-
pany; sd breathless was the expectation, that the King was imme-
diately about to enter. All that was noble in character and per-
son, all that was imposing and lustrous in dress and costly furni-
ture, waa lavished before the eye-— and the massive taole and emp-
ty throne only waited for one presence, to crown and complete
the magnificent effect The long wished -for moment arrived; and
the people arose with waving handkerchiefs, and lofty voices, to
greet the entrance of the King.

His Majesty advanced, arrayed in a stately dress. On his head
was a rich purple velvet cap, jewelled, and adorned with a plnue

vol* xir. 44

S46 The Coronation.

of ostrich feathers. His robe was of crimson velvet, spreading
amply abroad, and studded with golden stars. Eight young no*
bles supported the train. You would have thought that such magnifi-
cence was not of the earth, but of the fancy;— not made by mor-
tal hands, but wrought by fairy spell out of wonders of the sea
and air. It seemed that being once in existence, it could never
pass away; but would glow for ever so brightly, so beautifully, so
full of matchless romance. The King looked down his hall of
state with a proud expression of delight; and the eyes of the at-
tendant ladies seemed to sparkle thrice vividly with the conscious-
ness of their being the living lights and jewels of the scene.

The whole arrangements for the procession being perfected,—*
the Duke of Wellington, as Lord High Constable, and Lord How-
ard of Effingham, as Earl Marshal, ascended the steps of the plat*
form, and stood at the outer-side of the table. The train-bearers
stationed themselves on each side of the throne.

The three swords were then presented by the Lord Chamber-
lain, and the officers of the Jewel office; and the gold spurs were
in like manner delivered and placed on the table. It was curious
and amusing to see the anxiety and care with which the bearers
of these made good their retreat; they walked backwards, but with
a wary eye to the steps; prud ently guarding against any accident, like-
ly to affect the solemnity of the ceremony, or the safety of their per-
sons. The noblemen and bishops who were to bear the Regalia x
having been summonnd, the several swords, sceptres, the orb, and
crown, were delivered to them separately, and the procession im-
mediately began to move*- There was some confusion towards the
gateway of the Hall, arising from the tardiness of those whose du-
ty it was to attend the ceremony; but after much idle* bustle in
the defaulters, and considerable anxiety and exertion on the part
of the bertiUte, the noble and brilliant multitude was lanched in-
to the air. The martial music heralded the cavalcade fitly along;
and the procession itself seemed one stream of varying and ex-
quisite colour. It poured forth through the gray gothic arch at
the end of the Hall, in slow, solemn, and bright beauty; and cer-
tainly nothing could surpass the gorgeous effect of the whole
scene. A copy of t'ic Herald's ** Order of the Procession," which
cannot fail to be more correct than any work of the memory, is

The Coronation. 347

given in every newspaper; but its length induces me to refrain
from copying it here;— if you are inclined to read it, you have but
to class all the noble names of England in the most harmonious
order, and you will immediately have a list well befitting this au-
gust ceremony.

The King left his throne, and descended the steps of the plat-
form. He paused at the first flight; and a gentleman in a scarlet
uniform immediately advanced to tender his support. His Ma-
jesty, placing his right hand upon the shoulder of this gentleman,
descended the second flight of steps and dismissed him with gra-
cious thanks. The splendid golden canopy, of which I have be-
fore spoken, awaited his Majesty at the foot of the steps, — but he
walked under and past it, and so continued to precede it, until
he left the Hall; whether that he wished the worthy Baron-sup-
porters to have further trial of their strength and skill, or that he
chose at first to pass unshroiided before his people, I know not
Very magnificent was his course down the thronged avenue into
the open air, — the ladies standing up with waving kerchiefs, and
the brilliant attendants thronging around the sovereign with busy
pride, and a restless consciousness of their glory. The King look-
ed about him with marked delight, and smiled on his people. He
walked slowly, and with a sort of balanced precision, not from
any immediate weariness, but as though he were husbanding his
powers for the labours of the after-day. He certainly looked well,
and much younger than I expected to find him.

When his Majesty had passed half down the Hall, I arose
from my seat in the gallery, and scrambled along over red baize
seats, and flowered skirts of coats, and muslin and satin trains,
from box to box, until I reached the music gallery at the very bot-
tom of the Hall, which had now become emptied of flutes, and
kettle drums, and hautboys; and from which I imagined a good
view might be had through " the great gazing window." 1 ima-
gined qprectly enough; for by a little scratching at the white
painted pane, I procured an excellent sight of Palace-yard, and
the covered platform on which the King was to walk to the Abbey.
Most of the panes of the window were cleaned in a similar man-
ner by the company, and feathered heads were jostling each other
for a peep, as eagerly as though they never would see day -light

348 The Coronation.

again. I had one of my feet as handsomely trodden on by a
white satin shoe, with a lady'* round violent foot in it, aa heart
could desire; and my new coat was clawed in a fearful manner,
by several ardent and unruly kid gloves; so mueh so, in fact, aa
to make me tremble for its silken safety. But let me quit thia
handsome strife, and proceed to give you some description of the
scene abroad, as I beheld it.

The fronts of the houses in Palace-yard were clothed with box-
es from top to toe, that is, from roof to area, as you see the sides
of a theatre; and a very pretty effect they had, being lined with
scarlet cloth, and decorated with becoming ornaments. The
crowds here were certainly very great, and I know not when I
have seen so rich a multitude in the open air. Close to the side
of the platforms there was a row of horse soldiers; but this guard
was by no means considerable, and the people were admitted to
approach very near to the platform itself. I could see that every
nook of building, or scaffolding, was tenanted by man or wo-
rtan,—

All, all abroad Xognzel
and even the lamp-irons and balustrades of Westminster-bridge
(which I could just distinguish through the opening to the right
of me) were tenaciously occupied by those who coveted something
more indistinct than a bird's-eye view.

The covered platform to the Abbey took a circular course to
the left immediately before me, so that I could clearly see " the
order of the course." — And, if any thing, I think the dresses look-
ed more superb and magnificent in the warm and free day-light,
than when subdued by the enormous roof under which I had at
first observed them. The vivid, yet soft lustre, of the satin cloaks
of the Knights of the Bath floated before the eye like liquid silver*
—The Peers9 long and matchless robes of solemn crimson stream-
ed over the purple foot-way, and looked nobility; while the daft
blue garbs of the passing pages seemed to relieve the irch and
flowing stream of colour, which else had been too, too bright!—
Do not think that I speak extravagantly here. It was all en-
chantment.

I saw the King advance along the platform before I saw him;
•—for the boxes which fronted me literally thrilled with shaken

The Coronation. 349

glOvcs, and hands, and handkerchiefs;— and the shouts, mingling
at first, and then overwhelming the music beneath me, brake like
thunder on ray ear. The band of the horse-guards was stationed
immediately under me, in the Palace-yard, and it appeared to play
with increased vigour as the Ring passed, — but in vain! The
trumpeter swelled, and thrust forth his brass furniture with zea-
lous fury; but he only looked the blast The double-drum waved
his sticks, and beat with anvil-strokes; but it was like beating
wool. The cymbals flashed in the air, and met with lightning
fierceness; but they kissed as quietly as lovers at the twilight.
And, breathe earnestly as they would, the flutes and hautboys
could but " pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone." The right of this
music was to me deeply interesting; for I could fancy it all that
was rich and enchanting, even amid the deafening and multitu-
dinous noise that shrouded it.

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter?

His Majesty now passed slowly before me, and seemed to walk
amid the voices of his subjects. I looked till 1 could look no lon-
ger; and then, like Fatima in Blue Beard, I came down, lest I
should be fetched down. The Hall was very soon nearly half emptied*
by those who had tickets for viewing the solemn ceremony of the
Crowning in the Abbey. I had no ticket; but I took my walk
abroad, to look at those who had, and I gained from several friends
the few particulars which I now venture to give you.

My friend F. whose eloquent tongue and happy memory have
more thasf once surprized you, says that the entrance at the north
door of the Abbey was very forbidding, owing to the intricate
roots of the scaffolding; but that when you were in the interior,
the scene was truly impressive. The early morning pierced
through the lofty shafts, and touched angle and point; while, with
gray light, the crimson boxes stood bravely out from the solemn
walls on each side. The throne of gold raised in the centre of
the cross, had a solitary grandeur, which he declares he can never
forget; and the sacrarium, or chapel, fronting the throne, was mag-
nificently furnished forth. The pulpit of crimson velvet and gold,
fued to a pillar, had also a grand and simple effect And ihe ta-

o5Q Vie Coronation.

ble of gold plate, standing under the canopy, supported by palm-
trees, struck him as singularly elegant An ottoman of enriched
tissue, intended to be held oyer the King at his unction, was pla-
ced on one side of the altar; and there was also a blue velvet chair
aud desk for the King's devotions. King Edward's throne, an an-
tique golden chair of state, stood in the middle of the area. You
will have some idea of this sacred scene, if you recall to mind the
cathedral of your neighbouring city, and imagine it thrice spa-
cious, thrice lofty, thrice beautiful. Conceive that the whole of
the aisle, from the door to the altar, is left open, and that the box-
es for the company occupy each side between the pillars. Ima-
gine a throne of gold, raised on a platform, opposite the altar, with
royal seats near to it. You will thus really have a picture of the
Abbey « in little."

There was aB much bustle in the Abbey as in the Hall, by my
friend's account, at the approach of the King; and the agitation of
the ladies was no whit inferior to that which was got up at the
first sight of His Majesty. The royal musicians stood in act to
hurl forth the anthem, the moment the signal should be given.
The procession was ushered into the gateway, by Miss Fellowes,
and her white cluster, scattering flowers. On the King's canopy
appearing, a universal shout arose, and the coronation anthem was
commenced: " I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go in-
to the house of the Lord.9' The full chorus was awfully sublime,
and thrilled all hearers; while the august crowd poured on like a
grand visible accompaniment under it. The canopy stopped at
the chancel, and His Majesty advanced to the sacrarium, attend-
ed by the officers bearing the regalia.

The King now stood up, and the Archbishop turned on all sides
to the people, saying, * I present you, King George the Fourth,
the undoubted King of this Realm; wherefore, all you that come
this day to do him homage, are ye willing to do the same?" The
shout was sublime— the multitude standing up, and waving caps
an A handkerchiefs for several minutes. The plumes tossed about
in the chancel and transept like a brilliant stormy sea; and a
thousand glowing colours played within gray nook, and from
graceful pillar.

The Coronation. 351

Certain services were now performed, and after short prayers
were said, a Sermon Was delivered by the Archbishop of York;
the text chosen was, " He that ruleth over men must be just, ru-
ling in the fear of God. And he shall be as the light of the morn-
ing when the sun riseth, even a morning without cloud b; as the
tender grass springeth out of the earth by clear shining after rain."
.My friend rejoiced that the morning was fine, to correspond with
the. text; for he thinks a louring day would have ruined the effect
of this beautiful verse* However, he consoles himself with think-
ing, that the Archbishop may have had another text for bad wea-
ther, in case he. had been driven to use it The sermon was not
such, perhaps, as Parson Adams would have selected for His Ma-
jesty's ears,-— but it was sufficiently honest and shorb-^and con-
ciseness at such a time is a virtue.

The Coronation Oath was next administered to the King.
Sir, is your Majesty willing to take the oath?
King.— I am willing.

The Archbishop then ministered these questions; and the King,
having a copy of the printed Form and Order of the Coronation
Service in his hands, answered each question severally, as fol-
lows*—

Arch. — Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the
people of this United Kingdom df Great Britain and Ireland, and
the dominions thereto belonging, according to the Statutes in Par-
liament agreed on, and the respective laws and customs of the
same?

King.— I solemnly promise so to do.

Arch.— Will you to your power cause law and justice, in mer-
cy, to be executed in all your judgments?

King. — I will.

Arch*— Will you to the utmost of your power maintain the laws
of God, the true profession of the Gospel, and the Protestant Re-
formed Religion established by law? And will you maintain and
preserve inviolably the settlement of the United Church of En-
gland and Ireland, and the doctrine, worship, discipline, and gov-
ernment thereof, as by law established within England and Ire-
land, and the territories thereunto belonging? And will you pre-

352 The Coronation.

serve unite the Bishops and Clergy of England »d Ireland, and
to the United Church committed to their charge, all sueh rights
and privileges, as by law do, or shall appertain to them, or any of
them?

King*— All this I promise to do.
. Then the King arising out of his chair, supported as before, and
assisted by the Lord Great Chamberlain, the Sword of State being
carried before him, went to the altar, and there being uncovered,
made his solemn oath in the sight of all the people, to observe the
promises; laying his right hand upon the Hdly Gospel in the great
Bible, which had been carried in* the procession, and was now
brought from the altar by the Archbishop, and tendered to kirn as
he knelt upon the steps, saying these words*—

The things which I have here before promised, I will perform and
keep.

SohelpmeGod.

Then the King kissed the book, and signed the oath.

Now followed the anointing, and a couple of anthems. The Dean
of Westminster afterwards dried away the oil from die King
with fine wool or linen.

After other ceremonies had been performed, in the course of
which the King was robed by the Dean of Westminster, and was.
invested with the armill, the Archbishop stood before the altar,
took the crown, and prayed over it. The King then sat down in
Edward's chair, and was crowned by the Archbishop. At this
moment the shouts of the people had a fine effect The trumpets
rang out their martial music, and the guns of the Park and the
Tower were fired instantaneously.

The noise ceasing, the Archbishop rose and said,—

" Be strong and of good courage: observe the commandments of
God, and walk in his holy ways: fight the good fight of faith, and
lay hold on eternal life: that in this world you may be crowned
with success and honour, and when you have finished your course,
you may receive a crown of righteousness* which God the righ-
teous Judge shall give you in that day." Amen.

Then the Choir sang a short anthem: after which, the Bible was
presented and duly returned -and the King was solemnly blessed
by the Archbishop.

The Coronation. 353

His Majesty was now borne to his throne by the bishops and
peers around him. Homage was Aen done publickly and solemn-
ly,—the Treasurer scattered silver medals as largess from the
King. The Peers, having done their homage, stood all together
round about the King; and each class or degree going by them-
selves, all the Peers, one by one, in order, put off their coronets,
singly ascended the Throne again, and stretching forth their
hands, touched the Crown on his Majesty's head, as promising by
that ceremony to be ever ready to support it with all their power,
and then every one of them kissed the King's cheek.

During the homage, the Sceptre with the Cross was held, on
the King's right hand, by the Lord of the manor of Worksop; and
the Sceptre with the Dove, by the Duke of Rutland.

My friend declares that this part of the ceremony was very im-
pressive; and he observed, that the King was much affected when
his Royal Brothers prepared to kneel before him— he raised tiiem
almost in tears (my friend says His Majesty was in tears; but I
dare not trust my friend; for, when his feelings are excited, he is
apt to exaggerate), and looked upon them with a kind and manifest
affection. The Holy Sacrament was now administered to His
Majesty, and an anthem sung, at the end of which the drums beat
and the trumpets rang, and the people shouted, Long live the
King. The Archbishop then went to the Altar, and prayed for
some time — and the ceremony ended.

You cannot expect that I should describe this part of the day
with any peculiar force or effect, as I can but speak from the com-
munication of another. My friend will have it that the Abbey
was a finer scene than the Hall, but you know his old propensity
to extol what he alone enjoys or possesses. I am free to confess,
that I lost a very solemn and gorgeous ceremony, by being absent
from the Abbey,— but I would not have given up the chivalrous
banquet in the Hall, ftr all the middle aisles in the universe on
such a day. The procession began its return, says my friend,
and in the words of honest Casca, " then the people fell a shout-
ing, and then I came away!"

I rushed back Jo the Hall with a velocity quite appalling to the
common people, intimating by my speed nothing less than that a
Knight of the Bath was burning down; and only staying my course
voi*. xii. 45

354 The Coronation*

for five minutes to look after the balloon, which some kind crea-
ture told me " was up," but which, like myself, had been "up too
long;" for it was certainly not visible, though I yielded to his re-
peated inquiries, and confessed that I saw it plainly. When I
reached my box in the Hall again, the servants were lighting the
chandeliers, which hung finely from the fretted roof, and turned
with a courtier-like ease to the hand that could give them bril-
liance, at this time there was assuredly no need of any artificial
lustre; for the sun-light was beautifully alive on wall and gallery,
and shamed to death the branches of a hundred lights that were
pendent in the air. But as it was considered, I presume, an in-
decorum to light a candle before a King; and as it was concluded
that his Majesty would not quit the Hall till after day-light, we
were compelled to endure this struggle of light— this litigation of
radiance— this luminous suit carried on in Westminster Hall,—
Sol versus Wax,— in which a verdict was recorded in every la-
dy's eye for the plaintiff.

. The white cloth had been laid on the tables during the King's
absence, and a silver plate placed before each seat; — to a gentle-
man, whose mouth had tasted only of the cameleon's dish for some
Id hours, this preparation for " the solids, Sir Giles!" was about
as painful an exhibition as Mrs. Brownrigg's loaf placed at a respect-
ful distance before her half-starved apprentices. I longed, jet
dreaded, to see the Baron of beef brought in (a Peer of some like-
lihood now in my estimation); I thirsted to hear the champagne
cork explode at intervals, though to me the minute guns of dis-
tress! But what!— could I not diet myself upon splendour? or
what business had I there? Hungry I might be; but had I not the
satisfaction of beholding a couple of fellow-creatures perishing on
each side of me, and of the same gnawing death! What signi-
fied it that I was dry!— Was I not about to see " robes and furred
gowns" filled as full of hock as though barrels, and not men,
were ermined for the occasion! I did not, perhaps, start these de-
cisive reasons at the time, but I now see how very idle it was to
be faint. — I have just dined.

There was an air of indolence now spread over the whole scene.
A few officers were loitering about, leaning against the rails in
the Hall in their happiest attitudes, or idling in the best light, to

The. Coronation. 355

give their golden lace and trappings a beam of the sun*- -a few
servants were furnishing forth the tables with knives, and nap-
kins, and bread; — the doorkeepers (selected from the most emi-
nent bruisers, as I was informed; but never having seen them, I
cannot vouch for the information;) reclining in part against the
side of the gothic arch at the door, or quietly banqueting in some
contiguous apartment; — when the distant bray of a trumpet, or a
voice at the gateway, struck life and confusion into all. The rush,
the hurry, the flight to and fro, the distant and faint noises, the
instantaneous flutter of feathers, the pretty womanly alarm, — all
seemed but the picture, the mockery, of what the first faint can-
non sound must have been at the ball in Brussels, — the awful
summoner from revelry to battle! The effect, methought, was
similar, — "alike, but oh! how different!" — here were joy, and spi-
rit, and splendour, and pleasure, awakened, and by day; — there
death spake to the gallant, the proud, and the beautiful, and its
voice came through the night I know not why I intrude this
dreary contrast upon you (for it is no comparison, although I cal-
led it such); but the thought did, in reality, occur to my mind at
the time, and therefore, I do not withhold it It was evident that
the cavalcade was on the return, and all that had duties in the
Hall were summoned to their posts. I was all anxiety again, and
watched the door with an eager eye.

First came Miss Fellowes, with her six beautiful flower girls,
scattering rose-leaves over the blue cloth, as though they had been
Flora's hand-maids; indeed, Miss Fellowes seemed to me a more
important personage than Flora herself. After them, the proces-
sion entered, not by twos and threes, as it left the hall, but iii
rich, yet regular, clusters, Nothing could have a finer effect than
the dress of the choristers; all in an excess of white, they appear-
ed to be the personification of day -light The arrangements were
for a moment now somewhat impeded by the ardour of the Alder-
men of London, which, at the sight of the white cloth and silver
plates, became quite unmanageable, and carried and dashed them
with a civic fury into the first seats they could reach. Happily a
herald, or some person of trust called them back to the ranks;
but they were evidently impatient "to get a good place," having
once tasted the gout of a cushion! After the Law officers had

360 "JJie Coronation*

entered (the gloomiest part of the pageant, by the by), the Knights
Commanders of the Bath advanced under the archway. 1 can
give you no idea of the effect of their magnificent appearance. Their
plumes rolled like the foam of the sea, and were all silver white! The
day streamed in with them, as though glad to bear along so ra-
diant a company. I have spoken of the dresses of these Knights,
but no description can indeed touch them. Next came nobles
and standard-bearers, — and marvellously rich and chivalrous did
the standards float into the banquet-hall. Barons, Viscounts,
Earls, Marquisses, and Dukes, all followed, in separate clusters,
all wearing their coronets and full robes, and walking as though
they stepped in the best bright days of England. The gorgeous
company appeared to swarm in as to some fairy hive! All the
colours of imagination seemed housing from the world — and the
eye became enamoured of beautful dyes, and seemed to dance up-
on a sea of gorgeous and restless beauty. Each dress was exqui-
sitely neighboured, — pink and gold and white — and soft blue —
and light and deep red — all mingled as though they were married
by magic hands. The colours ran into each other like waters, —
they played together even as music! — they shifted— -*nd were the
same.

The procession now promised no end, and for my own part I
would have had it thus ever pour on — I could endure! The He-
ralds, and Archbishops, and Officers of State, succeeded the Dukes.
At length, alone and in stately silence, entered Prince Leopold.
Princely indeed was his bearing— but methought there was a me-
lancholy in his eye that spake of all that had been, and all that
was not to be. He walked up the Hall, amid the plaudits of
thousands,— but his spirit walked not with him*— The Royal
Dukes followed: — and after some Nobles of State, the King again
entered the banquet-room. He looked weary, but cheerful. He
was habited in robes of purple velvet, furred with ermine; the
crown of state was on his head, — in his right hand was the scep-
tre, and in his left the orb with the cross. He walked under the
canopy, which was supported as before. Officers and Yeomen
of the Guard closed the procession.

I cannot help feeling how difficult— ray, how impossible it is to
give you any, the smallest idea of the effect of ihe whole scene:—

The Coronation. 357

recall fill that you have read of chivalrous banquets, and you will
do more in your own fancy than I can achieve for you. — You will
wish me, however, to be more particular in my account of some of
the dresses; or such will be the wish of your sisters; and I shall,
therefore, to the best of my ability, select you a few of the rich-
est habits, and describe them as aptly as I may. The King reti-
red for a couple of hours previously to the dinner; so you may
feast on my description until his return.

The Privy Counsellors had vests and hose of deep blue silk,
with mantles of blue satin lined with white. They had ruffs, with
black Spanish hats and plumes. The Registrar of the Order of
the Garter, and a Knight (the Marquis of Londonderry), were in
the splendid full dress of the order — a purple velvet mantle, with
red velvet cape, &c. His Lordship's hat was enriched with
most dazzling jewellery, and surmounted with an ample plume of
white feathers. His Majesty's Vice-Chamberlain and the Comp-
troller of his Household were both in crimson velvet cloaks, with
black hats and white feathers. Their cloaks were laced with gold;
their vests blue, slashed with white; and their stockings, shoes, and
rosettes, all white. The Treasurer of his Majesty's Household
bore, in virtue of his office, the bag with the medals. He was
dressed in a crimson velvet cloak; and was succeeded by a Pur-
suivant of Arms, the Herald of Scotland, and the Herald of Ire-
land, all in tabards; the two latter with collars of SS.

The Earl of Mayo, in his robes of estate, as a peer, carried the
standard of Hanover, a red flag, bearing for its device a white
horse, and preceded the barons. The noblemen of this rank im-
mediately followed, the juniors walking first. They, as well as
all the other peers, were in their robes of estate, namely, a crimson
velvet mantle, with an ermine cape, having two rows of spots, a
white silk vest, breeches, stockings and shoes, with white rosettes;
a crimson velvet surcoat, and sword belt.

The Lord Chamberlain of his Majesty's Household, in his robes
of estate, was attended by an officer of the Jewel Office in a scar-
let mantle, with a crown embroidered on his left shoulder, bear-
ing a cushion, on which were placed the ruby ring, and the sword
to be girt about the King. The Lord Steward of his Majesty's
Household was also in his robes of estate. He was immediately

358 The Coronation.

succeeded by Karl Harcourt in his robes of estate, carrying the
Royal Standard, a flag emblazoned with his Majesty's arms.

Three Kings of Arms followed, namely, the Ionian, the Glou-
cester, and the Hanover, dressed in their rich tabards. They car-
ried their heraldic crowns in their hands as they went to the Ab-
bey, and on their return wore them on their heads. Dukes came
next: and then the three other Kings at Arms, namely, Ulster,
Clarenceaux, and Norroy, decorated as the former.

The Lord Privy Seal and the Lord President of the Council
wore their robes of estate; the Archbishops of Ireland, and the
Archbishop of York, their black and lawn; the Chancellor his
robes of estate, with a ftill bottomed wig; and the archbishop of
Canterbury, like the other Prelates, black and lawn.

The Lord Lyon of Scotland, and Garter Principal King of
Arms, were in their rich tabards, with their crowns and sceptres.

The Usher of the Black Rod wore a scarlet dress slashed with
white, a crimson mantle lined with white, with the Red Cross
shield embroidered on his left shoulder, red stockings and sword-
sheath, white shoes with red rosettes, and a black hat and feather:
he carried in his hand the black rod.

The Deputy Lord Great Chamberlain of England wore his
robes of estate as a peer, and carried in his hand his white staff.

Prince Leopold was dressed in the full habit of the Order of
the Garter, wearing a long purple velvet mantle, cap, and feathers,
and carrying in his right hand his Marshal's baton. His train
was borne by gentlemen in the following dress— a white silk vest
and breeches edged with gymp, white stockings, shoes, and ro-
settes, a blue velvet sword-belt and sheath, a plain blue satin
cloak lined with white silk, and a black hat with white feathers.

The Barons of the Cinque Ports wore a scarlet satin dress,
puffed with blue and gold gymp edging, a blue satin surcoat, blue
velvet sword-belt and sheath, scarlet silk stockings, white
shoes with scarlet rosettes, and a black hat with scarlet and black
feathers.

The Train-bearers and Masters of the Robes were habited alike
in a white satin dress, slashed and laced with gold, a crimson
velvet cloak, laced with gold, crimson velvet sword-belt and sheath.

The Coronation. 359

white silk stockings shoes, and rosettes, a black hat and white
feathers.

The Gentlemen Pensioners wore a scarlet dress slashed with
blue, and almost wholly covered with gold buttons, spread like
lace over great part of the habit; red silk stockings, white shoes
with red and black roses, white gloves, and a black hat with red
and black feathers.

The Lords of the King's Bedchamber had a peculiar dress,
consisting of a blue vest slashed with white and gold lace, white
stockings, shoes, and rosettes, a blue velvet sword-belt and sheath,
a crimson velvet cloak laced with gold, and a black hat with white
feathers.

The Keeper of his Majesty's Privy Purse succeeded them. He
wore a blue satin cloak trimmed with broad gold lace, a blue sa-
tin dress slashed with white and laced with gold, white stockings,
shoes, and rosettes, a black hat and white feathers.

The Gentlemen of the Bedchamber wore a blue dress edged
with spangled gymp, and slashed with white, a plain blue satin
cloak, lined with white; blue silk stockings, white shoes, with blue
roses; blue sword-belt and sheath, a black hat and white feather.

There: — I think I have made up a dish of dress sufficient for
the most inordinate female appetite. I now must forward. The
King returned to the Hall precisely at the time he promised, and
took his seat at the table, on which was a noble display of gold
plate. Previous to the King's entry, however, I should not omit
to tell you that orders were issued that the middle of the Hall
should be cleared, which occasioned great consternation amongst
groups of ladies, who were quietly and happily refreshing them-
selves in all directions. The order frayed them like birds, and
they were seen flitting up and down, without any place of rest.
Lord Gwydir pursued them with the fury of a falcon, and he
eventually succeeded in effecting a clearance. His Majesty wore
his crown and mantle on his return, and the Royal Dukes, and
the Prince Leopold, sat near him at his table.

TTie passage from the kitchen to the lower end of the Hall was
now opened; and the gentlemen bearing the golden dishes for the
first course were seen in regular line, ready to proceed to the
King's table. At this moment the doors at the end of the Hall

560 2fe Coronation.

•

were opened, the clarions and trumpets sounding bravely at the
time, and the Duke of Wellington, as Lord High Constable, the
Marquis of Anglesea, as Lord High Steward, and Lord Howard
of Effingham, as Deputy Earl Marshal, entered upon the floor on
horseback. The Marquis of Anglesea's horse was a beautiful
cream-coloured Arabian; Lord Howard's was a dun; and the Duke's
a white steed. After a short pause, they rode gracefully up to
the royal table, followed by the gentlemen with the first course.
When the dishes were placed on the board, the bearers first re-
tired, with their faces towards the King; and then the noble horse-
men retreated, by backing their steeds down the Hall, and out at
the archway. Their noiseless steps on the blue cloth conveyed
the idea that the horses had been shod with felt, according to
Lear's invention. The Duke of Wellington's white charger
" w^]ked away with himself in the aptest manner; but the Mar-
quis of Anglesea had great difficulty in persuading his Arabian to
retire tailwise. The company could hardly be restrained from
applauding, although it was evident that a shout would have set-
tled the mind of this steed in a second, and have made him reso-
lute against completing his unpleasant retreat The pages sooth-
ed him before and behind, but he shook his head and tail, and
paused occasionally, as if he had considerable doubts upon the
subject

Before the dishes were uncovered, the Lord Great Chamberlain
presented the basin and ewer, to bathe his Majesty's hands; and
the Lord of the Manor of Heydon attended with a rich towel
The dishes were then bared; and his Majesty was helped, by the
carvers, to some soup. He tasted it! This was a source of end-
less wonder to a lady near me.

At the end of this course, the gates of the Hall were again
thrown open, and a noble flourish of trumpets announced to all
eager hearts that the Champion was about to enter. He advanced
under the gateway, on a fine pie-bald charger (an ill -colour), and
clad in complete steel. The plumes on his head were tri-colour-
ed, and extremely magnificent; and he bore in his hand the loose
steel gauntlet, ready for the challenge. The Duke of Wellington
was on his right hand; the Marquis of Anglesea on his left When
he had come within the limits of the Hall, he was about to throw

Sffle Coronation* 661

%
down his glove at once, so eager was he for the fray,-— but the He-
rald distinctly said, " Wait till I have read the Challenge,1' and
read it accordingly, — the Champion husbanding his valour for a
few minutes:—

* " If any person, of what degree soever, high or low, shall deny
or gainsay our Sovereign Lord King George the Fourth, of the
United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Defender of the
Faith, son and next heir to our Sovereign Lord King George the
Third, the last King deceased, to be right heir to the Imperial
Crown of this United Kingdom, or that he ought not to enjoy the
same, here is his Champion, who saith that he lieth, and is a false
traitor; being ready in person to combat with him, and in this
quarrel will adventure his life against him on what day soever he
shall be appointed.99

At the conclusion of this " awful challenge," as a gentleman
near me termed it: the Champion hurled down his gauntlet, which
fell with a solemn clash upon the floor. It rang in most hearts!
He then stuck his wrist against his steeled side, as though to show
how indifferent he was to the consequence of his challenge. This
certainly had a very pleasing and gallant effect. The Herald, in
a few seconds, took up the glove, delivered it to the Squire, who
kissed it, and handed it to the Champion. In the middle of the
Hall the same ceremony was performed: and at the foot of the
royal platform it was a third time gone through. The King then
drank his health, and, methinks, with real pleasure, for the Cham-
pion had right gallantly conducted himself. His Majesty then
sent the cup to him; and he, taking it, drank to the King, but in
so low a tone, that I could only catch the meaning by the tumul-
tuous shouts of the people. The noise seemed to awaken the
courage of his horse; but he mastered his steed admirably. The
ceremony of backing out of the Hall was then again performed,
and successfully, with the exception of the Marquis of Anglesea's
Arabian, whose doubts were not yet satisfied, and he was literally
shown out by the pages.

In Hall's Account of the Coronation of Henry VIII. and Ka-
tharine of Arragon, there is a very quaint and interesting account
•f the challenge, which, as I think it will aptly illustrate this
• vol. xn. 46 ^

36$ The Coronation*

$

part of my letter, and serve to amuse you, I shall take leave im

copy:—

"The seconde coarse beyng served, in at the haule doore enter-
ed a Knyhte armed at al poyntes, his bases rich tissue embrouder-
ed, a great plume and a sumpteous of oistriche fethers on his hel-
met, sittyng on a great courser trapped in tissue and embrouder-
ed with tharmes of England and of Fraunce, and an herauld of
armes before hym. And passying through the haule, presented
hymself with humble reverence before the Kynge's Majestie, to
whom Garter Kynge of heraulds cried and said with a loude
voyce, Sir Knyhte, from whence come you, and what is your pre-
tence? This Knyhtes name was Sir Robert Dimmoke, Champion
to the Kynge bj tenour of his enheritaunce, who answered the
said Kynge of armes in effecte after this manner. Sir, the place
that I came from is not material], nor the cause of my repaire hy-
ther is not concernyng any matter of any place or countrey, but
onely this. And therewithal commanded his herauld to make an
0 Yes: Then said the Knyhte to the Kynge of armes, Now shal
ye hear the cause of my comynge and pretence. Then he com-
manded his own herauld by proclainacion to saye: If there be
any persone, of what estate or degree soever he be that will sale
or prove that King Henry the Eight is not the rightful inheritor
and Kynge of this realm, I Sir Robert Dimmoke here bis cham-
pion offre my glove, to fight in his querell with any persone to
thutterance."

The champions appear to have been more familiar in the olden
time, and to have discoursed more freely with those about them)
— but perhaps the less that is said the better amongst fighting
men; so I shall not differ with our present Sir Knight on account
of his solemn taciturnity. The same old writer from whom I have,
given you the above description, speaks curiously of the pageants
which were had to enliven the procession of Anne Boleyn from
the Tower of Westminster. The Three Graces, he tells us, took
their stand on Cornhill, and the Cardinal Virtues in Fleet-street
—-a fountain of Helicon ran Rhenish wine; and the Conduit in
Cheap, with a laudable courtesy, spouted claret But I must not
lose myself amongst books.

The€foronaHon. 363

On the Champion retiring, the second course was served up as
before: the Marquis's horse becoming more and more unmannerly.
It was not amiss that his duties were over.

Certain services were now performed, which generally ended
in a peer, or some other fortunate personage, carrying off a gold
cup. The most interesting was the present of two falcons to his
Majesty from the Duke of Athol.

The King's health was about this time drunk with great accla-
mations, and the national air of " God save the King" sung in a
grand style. I think I never heard it sung better before.
, The King, standing up, drank to his people; notice of which
honour, was communicated by the Duke of Norfolk; and very
shortly afterwards (JVon Nobis Domine having been sung, in
which I heard the King take a part,) his Majesty retired amidst
the joyous clamours of his people.

I now descended into the body of the Hall, which was thronged
with splendour and beauty. Hock and champagne, and fruit and
venison pasties, were passing and repassing; and the most bril-
liant ladies were snatching at all the good things of this world
from officers and gentlemen waiters. I was not idle; for having
asked for a glass of water, and being informed " You get no water,
take the wine, Great Potentate." I fell seriously to work upon a
cherry pie, the nearest dish, and followed this victory up with
others of a more decisive nature. I forgot that I had been fam-
ished; and lifting a cup of burgundy to my lips, declared that the
fatigue of the day had been nothing — a jest — a merriment — a
thing to tell of to the children of 1896, or to write to kind friends
in 1821. Before I quitted the banquet-room, I took the liberty
of pocketing a sweetmeat dolphin, filched from the top of the
Temple of Concord, which I shall long preserve amongst my
scarce papers and curious coins, as a relic of the great Corona-
tion Feast. Thus ended this splendid day.

I have detailed the particulars of the pageant as faithfully as
possible; and I only hope that the length of my letter, and its tedious
minuteness, will not weary you. I have purposely abstained from
any political discussion about the exclusion of the Queen, or her
Majesty's morning visit, because I only intended a description of
the pageant, and I knew that you cared not to have a repeatedly

364 Eleanor Selby and the Spectre-Horseman of Soutra.

discussed subject discussed again. In the same manner I shall
desist from sobering the conclusion of my letter with any solemn
reflections on the events of the day,— you have the mind to reflect
for yourself, if this Alexandrine of a letter will allow you the time.
Do not fail to tell me how you all " like the play," and to what
extent you have envied me. I think 1 see Mrs. — * struck calm- "
\y mad at the profusion of satin.

I am,&c.
July, 1821. En. Herbert.

P. S. If you covet the dolphin, I will send it to you; but it is
a curiosity you must keep from children. I wish I could pack
you up a Knight of the Bath in all his glory; but I fear he would
not bear the carriage.

Art. VIII-— jEfeanor Selby and the Spectre -Horseman of Soutra*
And she stretched forth her trembling hand,

Their mighty sides to stroak,
And ay she reached, and ay she stretched,

'Twas nothing all but smoak;
They were but mere delusive forms,

Of films and sulphry wind,
And every wave she gave her hand,

A gap was left behind.

James Hogg,

* A bright fire, a clean floor, and a pleasant company ," is one
of the proverbial wishes of domestic comfort among the wilds of
Cumberland. The moorland residence of Randal Rode, exhibited
the first and second portions of the primitive wish, and it requir-
ed no very deep discernment to see that around the ample hearth
we had materials for completing the proverb. In each face was
reflected that singular mixture of gravity and humour, peculiar I
apprehend to the people of the north. Before a large fire — which
it is reckoned ominous ever to extinguish, lay half a dozen sheep
dogs spreading out their white bosoms to the heat, and each placed
opposite to the seat of its owner. The lord or rather portioner of
Fremmet-ha himself lay apart on a large couch of oak antiquely
carved, and ornamented like someofrthe massive furniture of thedays

• Eleanor Selby and the Spectre-Horseman of Soutra. 565

4sf the olden church, with beads, and crosses, and pastoral crooks.
This settee was bedded deep with sheepskins-r-each retaining a
fleece of long white wool. At each end lay a shepherd's dog — past
its prime like its master, and like him enjoying a kind of half ru-
minating and drowsy leisure peculiar to old age. Three or four
busy wheels, guided by as many maidens, manufactured wool into
yarn for rags, and mauds, and mantles. Three other maidens, with
bared arms, prepared curds for cheese, and their hands rivalled in
whiteness the curdled milk itself. Under the light of a large can-
dlestick several youths pursued the amusement of the popular
game of draughts. This piece of rude furniture ought not to es-
cape particular description. It resembled an Etruscan candelbra,
and was composed of a shaft, capable of being depressed or ele-
> vated by means of a notched groove, and sunk in a secure block
of wood at the floor, terminated above, in a shallow cruse or plate,
like a three cocked hat, in each corner of which stood a large can-
dle, which rendered the spacious hall where we sat as light as day.
On this scene of patriarchal happiness, looked my old companion
Eleanor Selby contrasting, as she glanced her eye in succession
o'er the tokens of shepherds' wealth in which the house abounded,
the present day with the past— the times of the fleece, the shears,
and the distaff, with those of broils and blood, and mutual inroad
and invasion, when the name of Selby stood high in the chivalry
of the north. One might observe in her changing looks the themes
of rustic degradation and chivalrous glory on which she brooded—
and the present peaceful time suffered by the comparison — as the
present always does in the contemplation of old age. The con-
stant attention of young Maudline Rode, who ministered to the
comfort of her ancient and wayward relative, seemed gradually to
soothe and charm down the demon of proud ancestry who main-
tained rule in her breast; and after interchanging softer and softer
looks of acknowledgment and kindness with her fair young kins-
woman, she thus proceeded to relate some of the adventures she
had witnessed in the time of her youth. These she poured out in
a very singular manner-— unconscious, apparently, at times of the
presence of others— and often addressing herself to the individu-
als whom her narrative recalled to life, as if they stood life-like,
and breathing before her.

366 EUatwr Selby and the Spectre^Horseman of S^utra.

" When I was young, like thee, Mtndttne Rode, a Marvel hap-
pened, which amazed many— it is, and will be a lasting tale, and
a wonder— for it came even aa a vision, and I beheld it with these
eyes. In those days, the crown of this land, which now stands so
'-sure and so shining on the brows of him who rales us, was held as
one of ambition's baubles that might be transferred by the sword
to some adventurous head; and men of birth and descent were
ready with trumpet and with brand to do battle for the exiled
branch of the house of Stuart Rumours of rebellions and inva-
sions were as frequent as the winds on our heath*— and each day
brought a darker and more varied tale— of risings in the east, and
risings in the westr— for the king abroad, and for the king at home
—and each relator gave a colour and a substance to his tidings
even as his wishes were. The shepherd went armed to the pas*
turage of his flocks— the lover went armed to the meeting with
his mistress — those who loved silver and gold sought the solitary
and silent place, and buried their treasure; the father and mother
gazed at their sons and their daughters, and thought on the wrongs
of war— and the children armed with hazel rods for spears and
swords of lath, carried a mimic and venturous war with one an-
other under the hostile banners of the lion and the bonnie white rose.
Those who still loved the ancient church, were dreaded by those
who loved the new; and the sectarians hated both, and hoped for the
day when the jewelled mitre, would be plucked off the prelate's head
—and austerity that denies itself, yet giveth not to others— and
zeal, which openeth the gates of mercy, but for a tithe of mankind
—should hold rule and dominion in the land. Those who had
broad lands and rich heritages, wished for peace— those who had
little to lose, hoped acquisitions by a convulsion— -and there were
many of the fiery and intractable spirits of the land who wished
for strife and commotion, for the sake of variety of pursuit ■ and
because they wished to see coronets and crowns staked on the
issue of a battle. Thus, hot discussion and sore dispute, divid-
ed the people of this land. It happened on a fine summer even-
ing, that I stopped at the dwelling of David Forester, of Wilton-
hall, along with young Walter Set by of Glamora, to refresh my-
self after a stag hunt, on the banks of Derwent water. The
mountain air was mild and balmy, and the lofty and rugged out-

Eleanor Selby and ike Spectre-Horseman of Soutra. 367

line of Soutra-fell, appeared on a canopied back ground of sky
so pare, so bine, and go still, that the earth and heaven seemed
blended together. Eagles were visible, perched among the moon*
light, on the peaks of the rocks; ravens roosted at a vast distance
below, and where the greensward joined the acclivity of rock and
stone, the flocks lay in undisturbed repose, with their fleeces
shining in dew, and reflected in a broad deep lake at the bottom, so
pure and so motionless, that it seemed a sea of glass. The living,
or rather human portion of the picture, partook of the same silent
and austere character, for inanimate nature often lends a softness,
or a sternness to man— the meditative melancholy of the moun-
tain, and the companionable garrulity of the vale, have not escaped
proverbial observation. I had alighted from my horse, and seated
on a little green hillock before the house, which the imagination
of our mountaineers had not failed to people at times with fairies
and elves-— tasted some of the shepherds9 curds and cream*— the
readiest and the sweetest beverage which rustic hospitality sup-
plies; Walter Selby had seated himself at my feet, and behind me,
stood die proprietor of Wilton-hall and his wife, awaiting my
wishes with that ready and respectful frankness, which those of
birth and ancestry always obtain among our mountain peasantry.
A number of domestics, shepherds and maidens, stood at a dis-
tance—as much for the purpose of listening to our conversation as
from the desire to encumber us with their assistance in recom-
mencing our journey. ' Young lady,9 said David Forester, ' have
you heard tidings of note from the north or from the south? The
Selbys are an ancient and renowned race, and in days of old held
rule from sunny Carlisle to the vale of Keswick— a day's flight
for a hawk— They are now lordless and landless, but the day may
soon come, when to thee I shall go hat in hand, to beg a boon, and
find thee lady of thy lands again, and the noble house of Laner-
cost risen anew from its briers and desolation." I understood bet-
ter than I wished to appear, this mysterious address of my enter-
tainer—and was saved from the confusion of a reply, either direct
or oblique, by the forward tongue of his wife. ' Marry, and God
forbid," said she, "that ever old lady Popery should hold rule in
men's homes again— not that I wholly hate the old dame either,
she has nplly some good points in her character, and if she would

368 Eleanor Selby and the Spectre-Horseman of Soutrtu

put fat flesh in her pot o' Fridays, and no demand o'onea frank
confession of failings and frailties, she might hold rule i' the land
again for aught I care; though, I cannot say I think well of the
doctrine that denies nourishment to the body in the belief of bet-
tering the soul. That's a sad mistake in the nature of us moor-
land people — if a shepherd lacks a meal a minute beyond the
sounding of the horn all the house hears on't — ifs a religion, my
lady, that will never take root again in this wild place, where men
scorn the wheat and haver food and make for lack o' kitchen—
the fat mutton eat the lean." The good woman of the house was
interrupted in her curious speech by the arrival of one of those
personages, who with a horse and pack, distribute the luxuries and
the comforts of the city over the mountainous regions of the pro-
vinces. His horse, loaded with heavy panniers, came foremost,
anxious for a resting place, and behind came the owner, a middle
aged man, tall and robust, with hair as black as the raven, curled
close beneath a very broad bonnet, am! in his hand one of those
measuring rods of root grown oak, piked with iron at the under
end, and mounted with brass at the upper— which seemed alike
adapted for defending or measuring his property. He advanced
to the spot where we were seated, like an old acquaintance, asked
for, and obtained lodgings for the evening, and having disposed of
his horse, he took out a small box, resembling a casket, which he
placed on the grass, aud seating himself beside it, assumed one of
those looks of mingled gravity and good humour— prepared alike
for seriousness or mirth. He was not permitted to remain long
in silence* ' Ye come from the north, Simon Packptn," said one
of the menials — ' one can know that by yere tongue — and as ye
are a cannie lad at a hard bargain, ye can tell us in yere own sly
and cannie way, if it be true, that the Highland gentlemen are
coming to try if they can set with targe and claymore the crown
of both lands on the brow it was made for." I looked at the per-
son of the querist— a young man of the middle size, with a firm
limb, and a frank martial mien, and something in his bearing which
bespoke a higher ambition than that of tending flocks — his face
too I thought I had seen before — and under very different circum-
stances. « Good sooth, Wattie Graeme,' said another of the me-
nials, ' ye might as well try to get back butter out o9 the black

EUmnor Selby and ike Spectre-Horseman of Soutra. 369

dog's throat, as extract a plain answer from Sleekie Simon — I ask-
ed him no farther than a month ago, if he thought we would have
a change in the land soon — « the moon, quoth he, will change in
its season, and so maun all things human.' ( But do you think,9
said I, 'that the people will continue to prefer the cold blood of
the man who keeps the chair, to the warm kindly English blood o9
him that's far away?9 ' Aye, aye,9 quoth he, ' nae doubt, nae doubt
— when we wou9d drink ditch-water rather than red wine.* But,
said I, would it not be better for the land, that we had the throne
made steadfast under our own native king than have it shaken by
every blast that blows, as I hear it will soon be? — ' Say ye sae!9
said he, ' sae ye saei better have a finger off than ay wagging,9—
and so he continued for an hour to reply to every plain question
with such dubious responses of northern proverb, that I left him as
wise as I found him. This historical sketch of the pedlar obtained
the notice of the farmer's wife, who with the natural impatience
of womankind, thus abruptly questioned him, ' we honest moorland
people hate all mystery; if you: are a man loyal in your heart and
upright in your dealings, v6u may remain and share our supper—
bat if ye be a spy frofcn these northern marauders, who are com-
ing with houghs as bare as their swords to make a raid and a foray
upon us— arise, I say and depart— but stay, tell us truly, when
this hawk of the old uncannie nest of the Stuarts will come to
wreck and heme us?9 To all this, Simon the pedlar opposed a
look of the most impenetrable good humour and gravity, and turn-
ing over his little oaken box, undid a broad strap and buckle — ap-
plied a key to the lock-— took out combs, and knives, and specta-
cles, and some of those cheap ornaments for the bosom and the
hair, and all the while he continued chanting over the following
curious song — addressed obliquely to the good dame's queries—
and perfectly intelligible to all who knew the poetic language and
allegorical meaning, which the adherents of the house of Stuart
employed to convey tidings of importance to each other.

THE OUOKOO'S A BONNIE BIBB.
1.

The Cuckoo is a gentle bird, and gentle k bin note,
4nd April it is pleasant, while the sun is waxing not?

vol. xii. 47

370 Eleanor Selby and the Spectre-Hariemm cf Bottom.

For amid the green woods growing, and the fresh flowers'
Forth comes the gentle Cuckoo with his meek and modest sons;.

The eagle slays the little lambs on Skiddaw high and hoar,
The hawk, he covets carnage, and the gray glede griens for gore.
The raren crooks aloud for blood, through spring and summer Ions;
While the bonnie Cuckoo gladdens us with many a merry song'.

3.
The woodcock comes, and with the swan brings winter on his wins;,
The groves cast off their garments green, the small birds cease to sing;
The wild birds cease to sing till the hi lies scent the earth,
But the Cuckoo scatters roses round whenever he goes forth.

4.

The Cuckoo is a princely bird, and we will wait awhile,
And welcome him with shout and song, in the morn of green April;
We'll lay our thighs o'er our good steeds, and gird our claymores on,
And chase away the hooded crows that croak around the throne.

" I could not help glancing my eye on this curious and demure
traveller; but the perfect simplicity of his looks baffled all ths
scrutiny which the mysterious import of his song induced me t»
make. Walter Graeme, one of the shepherds, sat down at his
side, desirous of purchasing some of his commodities, but the frank
mountaineer was repulsed in an attempt to dip his hands among
the motley contents of the pack — and had it come to the arbitra-
tion of personal strength, there could be little doubt of the issue—
for the merchant had a willing hand and a frame of iron. Silence
ensued for a little while — the pedlar, who for some time had stolen
a look at me, seemed all at once to come to some conclusion how
to proceed, and fastening up his little box, approached me with a
look of submission and awe, ' Fair lady, the pedlar is but a poor
man, who earns an honest penny among the peasantry— but he
has a reverence and a love for the noble names which grace our
verse and our chivalry — and who has an English heart that knows
not— and beats not high at the sound of Selby's name— and who
bears a Scottish heart that sorrows not for the wreck and the de-
solation of our most ancient and most noble fee. I tell thee, lady,
that I honour thee mora lady, as thou seemest to be, but of a

JtU&nor Mbg and tie Spectrt-Hortema* of&outra. 371

Jtirtfe and a steed,— than if thou aateat with a footstool of gold — *
and hadst nobles' daughters bearing up thy train. This cross and
Msary,"-^and he held in his hand these devotional symbols, carved
of dark wood, and slightly ornamented with gold,—4 are of no com-
mon wood— a princess has sat under the shadow of its bough, and
seen her kingdom won and lost— and may die fair one, who will
now wear it, warm it in her bosom, till she sees a kingdom long
lost*— won as boldly, and as bravely, as ever the swords of the
Selbys won their land.9 And throwing the rosary around my neck
as he concluded— away he went— opened his pack anew, resum-
ing again his demure look and the arrangement of his trinkets.
Walter Selby, who all this while— though then a hot and forward
youth— had remained mute, addressed me in a whisper. ' Fair
Eleanor-— mine own giddy cousin— this pedlar— this dispenser of
rosaries, made of queen Mary's yew tree— he, whom the churls
tall Simon Packpin, is no seeker of profit from vulgar merchan*
diae— 111 wager a kiss of thine own ruddy lips against a kiss of
mine, that he carries swords made of good Ripon steel, and pis-
tols of good Swedish iron, in yon horsepack of his— wilt thou pledge
a kiss on this wager, my gentle cousin. And instead of a brain,
stored with plans for passing an English yard for a Scotish ell,
and making pieces of homespun plaiding seem costly works from
the looms of Arras or even of Leeds, it is furnished with more
perilous stuff, pretty Eleanor— and no man can tell us better, how
many of the Scottish cavaliers have their feet ready for the stir-
rup, and on what day they will call on the Selbys to mount and
strike for their ancient lord and their lost inheritance.' Something
of this colour had been passing in my 'own mind, but the temper
of the Selbys ever required more to be repressed than encour-
aged—and so I endeavoured to manage thee, poor Walter Selby,"
—she went on in a slow solemn tone — " I saw thee, thou last and
thou bravest of all the Selbys with thy banner spread, thy sword
bright, and thy long golden locks waving on thy shoulders, when
the barriers of Preston were lost and won, and the gallant lairds of
Ashiesteel fought like brothers by thy side — O, that tins last bright
picture were all I remembered of thee. But can the heart of wo-
man, though her head be gray, forget that she saw those long locks
which made the dames sigh, waving, soiled and bloody, on the

372 Eleanor Selby and the Spectre-Horiemm of Soutra.

gates of Carlisle. There is muck done in this world must be an*-
swered for in the next, and this cruel and remorseless deed is
one — " old Eleanor, while she spoke, looked as though her agitated
fancy had given semblance to the picture she had drawn— and her
eyes became as fixed and as frozen, as stars in a winter night
This passed away with a smothered groan and a passing of her
hand over her bosom, and she again resumed her narrative.
" Truly," said I, "my froward cousin* thou art the best soldier
our poor prince could peril his cause with— thou canst make a
pedlar churl into a deep plodding politician, capable of overturning
a throne. And his pack filled with shreds of lace and remnants
of ribbon, into a magazine of weapons fit for furnishing an army.
What will thy most wise head make of these dubious sybil verses,
which this mysterious politician of thine has been doling out for
thy especial instruction? < By the rood, my witty Eleanor,9 said
Walter, * I shall win a battle, and wed thee in revenge for thifc
But thinkest thou not, that the box which has endowed that round
white neck of thine with a cross and rosary of gold and wood still
more precious, may not contain things equally curious and strange?
Some golden information, this pedlar— since pedlar thou wilt have
him— carries in his looks— I wish I could find the way to extract
iV The stranger, as if guessing by our looks and our whispers
what was passing between us, proceeded to instruct us in his own
singular way— he described the excellent temper of his Sheffield
whittles— praised the curious qualities of his spectacles which
might enable the wearer to see distant events, and after soothing
over some lines of a psalm or hymn, common to the presbyterians,
he proceeded to chant the' following ballad, of which I regret the
loss of several verses.

THE PEDLAR'S BALLAD.
1.

It is pleasant to sit on green Saddleback top,

And hearken the eagle's cry;
It is pleasant to roam in the honnie green wood,

When the stags go bounding by.
And its merry to sit when the red wine goes round,
'Mid the poet's sweet song and the minstrel's sweet sound.*

Eleanor Setby and the Spectre-Horseman of Soutra. 373

2.
It is merry in moonshine to lead down the dance,

To go starting1 away when the string
Shakes out its deep sound, and the fair maidens fly

Like the sunlight— or birds on the wing.
And its merry at gloaming aneath the boughs green.,
To woo a young maiden and roam all unseen.

3.
But its Uyther by to when the pennon is spread,

And the lordly loud trumpet is pealing,
When the bright swords are out, and the war courser neighs,

As high as the top of Hevellyn.
And away spurs the warrior, and makes the rocks ring,
With the blows that he strikes for his country and king.

4.

Our gallants hare sprung to their saddles, and bright

Are the swords in a thousand hands;
I came through Carlisle, and I heard their steeds neigh

O'er the gentle Eden's sands,.
And seats shall be emptied, and brands shall be wet,
'Ere all these gay gallants in London are met

5.
Lord Nithsdale is mounted by winding Nith,

Lord Kenmore by silver Dee;
The blythe lads spur on from the links of the Orr,

And Durisdeer's greenwood tree.
And the banners which waved when Judea was won*
Are all given again to the glance of the sun.

The Johnstone is stirring in old Annandale,

The Jardien— » the Halliday's coming
From merry Milkwater, and haunted Dryfe bank;

And Eske that shall list at the gloaming,
The war shout—the yell, and of squadrons the dash,
And gleam to the claymore, and carabine's flash.

Then come with the war horse, the basnet and sword.

And bid the big trumpet awaken;
The bright locks that stooped at a fair lady's feet,

574 Eleanor Selby and tlu Spectre-Hortenan of Sovtr*.

Mid the tempest of war most be shaken.
It is pleasant to spar to the battle the steed,
And cleave the proud helmet that holds a foe's head.

8.
Thy sword's rusty, Howard — hot Dacre art thou

So cool when the war-horse is bounding?
Come, Percy; come thou, like a Percy of yore,

When the trumpet of England is sounding:
And come, gallant Selby— thy name is a i
While a soldier 1ms soul, 1

9.
And come too, ye names that are nameless come mount.

And win ye a name in proud story,
A thousand long years at the sock and the share

Are not worth one moment of glory.
Come arm ye, and mount ye, and make the helms ring,
Of the Whigs, as ye strike for your country and king.

"The whole household of Wiltonhall, including Walter Selby
and myself, had gradually gathered around this merchant-minstrel,
whose voice from an ordinary chant, had arisen, as we became in-
terested, into a tone of deep and martial melody. Nor was it the
voice alone of the stranger that became changed— his face, which
at the commencement of the ballad had a dubious and sinister ex-
pression, brightened up with enthusiasm-*- his frame grew erect, and
his eyes gleamed with that fierce light, which has been observed in
the eyes of the English soldiers on the eve of battle* ' What thick-
est thou pretty Eleanor, of our merchant now,9 said Walter Selby
— ' I should like to have such a form on my right hand when I try
to empty the saddles of the southern horse of some of the keenest
whigs.9 — ' And I'll pledge thee, young gentleman,9 said the pedlar
— raising his voice at once from the provincial drawl and obscurity
of lowland Scotch into the purest English,—' any vow thou askest
of me to ride on which hand thou wilt— and be to thee as a friend
and a brother, when the battle is at the hottest— and so I give
thee my hand on9t— «I touch no hand,9 said Walter Selby, 'and I
vow no vow either in truce or battle, till I know if thou art of the
lineage of the gentle or the churl — I am a Selby, and the Selbys — 9
'The Selbys,9 said the stranger, in a tone, slow and deliberate,

Eleanor Selby and the Spectre-Horseman of Soutra. 375

'are an ancient and a noble race*— but this is no time, young gen-
tleman, to scruple precedence of blood. In the fields where I
have ridden* noble deeds have been achieved by common hands —
while the gentle and the far descended have sat apart nor soiled
their swords—I neither say E am of a race churlish nor noble —
but my sword is as sharp as other men's, and might do thee a
friendly deed were it nigh thee in danger.' — « Now God help us,'
said the dame of Wilton-hall, ' what will old England become —
here's young Wat 6elby debating lineage and blood with a pack-
man churl— in good truth, if I had but one drop of gentle blood in
my veins, I would wrap him up in his own plaid and beat him to
death with his ell wand*— which I'll warrant is a full thumb breadth
short of measure.' I stood looking on Walter Selby and on the
stranger— Hie former standing aloof with a look of haughty deter-
mination—and the latter, with an aspect of calm and intrepid reso-
lution, enduring the scoff of the hot-headed youth, and the scorn of
die vulgar matron. It might be now about nine o'clock— the air •
was balmy and mute, the sky blue and unclouded, and the moon,
yet unrisen, had sent as much of her light before her as served,
with the innumerable stars, to lighten the earth from the summit
of the mountains to the deepest vales. I never looked upon a more
lovely night, and gladly turned my face from the idle disputants
to the green mountain-side, upon which that forerunner gleam,
which precedes the moon had begun to scatter its light. While I
continued gazing, there appeared a sight on Soutra-fell side-
strange, ominous, and obscure, at that time, but which was soon
after explained in desolation and in blood. I saw all at once, a
body of horsemen coming swiftly down the steep and impassable
side of the mountain— where no earthly horse ever rode. They
amounted to many hundreds and trooped onwards in succession —
their helmets gleaming and their drawn swords shining amid the
starlight. On beholding this vision, 1 uttered a faint scream, and
Walter Selby, who was always less or more than other men, shout-
ed till the mountain echoed. ' Saw ever man so gallant a sight?
A thousand steeds and riders on the perpendicular side of old
Soutra— see where they gallop along a linn, where I could hardly
fly a hawk! 0, for a horse with so sure and so swift a foot as these,
that I might match me with this elfin chivalry. My wanton brown,

376 Eteanor Selby and the Spectre-Honeman of Arafat.

t

which can bound across the Derwent like a bird with me on its
back, is but a packhorse to one of these.9 Alarm was visible in
every face around— for we all knew what the apparition foreboded
— a lost battle and a ruined cause. I heard my father say that
the like sight appeared on Helvellyn side, before the battle of
Marston-tnoor — with this remarkable difference — the leader wore
on his head the semblance of a royal crown, whereas the leaden
of the troop whom I beheld wore only earls coronets* f N«w hi*
right hand protect us,' said the dame, of Wilton-hall, * what are
we doomed to endure? — what will follow this?'— f Misery to many/
answered the pedlar, ' and sudden and early death to some who ,
are present' ' Cease thy croak, thou northern raven/ said Wal-
ter Selby — ' if they are phantoms let them pass — what care we
for men of mist? — and if they are flesh and bone, as I guess by
their bearing they must surely be— -they are good gallant soldier*
of our good king, and thus do I bid them welcome with my bugle.'
He winded his horn till the mountain echoed far and wide—the
spectre horsemen distant nearly a quarter of a mile seemed to halt
—and the youth had his horn again at his lips to renew the note,
when he was interrupted by the pedlar, who, laying his hand on
the instrument, said, ' young gentleman be wise, and be ruled—
yon vision is sent for man's instruction— not for his scoff and his
scorn'— the shadowy troop now advanced, and passed towards the
south at the distance of an hundred yards; I looked on them as
they went, and I imagined I knew the forms of many living men
—doomed speedily to perish in the battle field, or on ike scaffold.
I saw the flower of the Jacobite chivalry — the Maxwells, the Gor-
dons, the Boyds, the Drummonds, the Ogilvys, the Camerons, the
Scotts, the Foresters, and the Selbys. The havoc which happened
among these noble names, it is needless to relate — it is .written in
tale — related in ballad — sung in song — and deeper still it is writ-
ten in family feeling and national sympathy. A supernatural light
accompanied this pageant, and rendered perfectly visible horse
and man — in the rear I saw a form that made me shudder — a form
still present to my eye and impressed upon my heart— old and
sorrow -worn as it is, as vividly as in early youth. I saw the shape
of Walter Selby— his short cloak, his scarlet dress— his hat and
feather — his sword by his side— and that smiling, glance in his

Mice and Berenger. 377

deep dark eye which was never there but for me, and which I
could know among the looks of a thousand. As he came, he laid
his bridle on his horse's neck and leaned aside, and took a long
look at me. The youth himself, foil of life and gladness beside
me, seemed to discover the resemblance between the spectre*
rider and him, and it was only by throwing myself in his bosom,
that I hindered him from addressing the apparition. How long I
remained insensible in his arms I know not, but when I recovered,
I found myself pressed to the youth's bosom— and a gentleman
with several armed attendants standing beside me — all showing
1>y their looks the deep interest they took in my fate.*'*
Lammerlea, Cumberland.

(To be Continued.)

Art* IX< — Mice and Berenger. From the French.

Ix 1S74, under the reign of Charles the fifth, so justly surnamed
the Wise, was born, in a castle upon the banks of the Seine, a short
distance from St Germains, Berenger de Presles, son of a brave
gentleman attached to the court of the king.

It was in the midst of the rejoicings on account of the truce,
that the baptism of this infant was celebrated, to whom the king,
in remembrance of the services of his father, appointed as god*
father, John lord of Neuville, one of the most renowned captains
and knights of that brilliant age. Berenger was yet in the cradle
when his father died*

After he had attained his 12th year, the lady, his mother,
having causedf him to be instructed in the first principles of a
military education, sent him to his illustrious godfather, to com-
mence his career as a pursuivant, (a kind of apprenticeship, during
which the pupil bore the lance and basnet of the knights, learned

* The attested account of this extraordinary vision, as we find it in tbe
pages of several travellers, differs little from the narrative of Eleanor Selbj;
it is signed by two peasants, Daniel Stricket and William Lancaster, who
with about twenty four other persons witnessed this spectral procession for
several hoars. Several learned men have written many wise pages, to
prove that all this was either real or imaginary— a conclusion to which
many will probably be able to come without tbe aid of learning.

vol* xii. 48

378 Mice and Berenger.

to ride, and was instructed in the profession of arms.) On the morn-
ing of the day of his departure, the youth entered the chamber of
his mother to receive her blessing. She made him recite the poem
of Hugh of Fabarie upon the order of chivalry, and placed on hi*
neck a small chain, by which was suspended a flint, which one of his
ancestors had brought from the banks of the Jordan, and on which
were engraved these words, " God, France, and Honor." The
lady after having embraced her son, with tears, confided him to
the care of an oM servant, and ascended the turret of the castle
to follow him with her eyes as far as it was possible.

Berenger did not arrive until the following day at the castle of
Neuville. Its warlike appearance was the first thing that fixed his
attention. The embattled walls, the marchecoulis, the wide fosse,
the double drawbridge, the elevated keep, the bell of the chapel
which was ringing the Ave Maria, at the moment when the young
pursuivant arrived, all these objects, strangers to the peaceful en-
virons of Presles, excited in his mind astonishment mingled with
awe, of which he retained the impression, when he appeared b»
fore the lord of Neuville.

This nobleman embraced him, promised to treat him as a son,
and conducted him to the countess who received him in die most
affectionate manner/

The little Alice, her daughter, one year younger than Berenger,
and whose grace and beauty seemed to be beyond her age, wan
seated near her mother, who was teaching her to work in tapestry*
On the next day the pupil of the count, was initiated in his new
office, and soon after subjected to all the duties of the military life,
to which he was destined. The slightest fault was punished with
a severity which often caused the tears4 of the good little Alice to
flow; but Berenger consoled himself with the reflection that it was
at the same price that the lord of Neuville had obtained the great
fame which he enjoyed. Military exercises did not however occupy
all the time of Berenger; he dedicated some hours every day to the
study of poetry, which he passionately loved, and in which the
prior de Rieux, great uncle of the countess, gave him instructions.
The prior had an irresistible passion for writing satires against
the most distinguished personages ot the court Like all the li
hellers of that time, who had muclj diihculty in keeping themselves

concealed, Ike wicked abbe took the precaution of placing himself
under the veil of an anonymous writer. In order to be more se-
cure, lie caused his verses to be copied by the young scholar, who
perceived not his malice, and who thought himself happy in learn-
ing at the price of a compliance of which he did not suspect the
danger, the rules of the roundelay, the eclogue, and the ballad.
Berengerloved the last kind of poetry only, and he soon compos-
ed with grace and facility, without perceiving that the name of
Alice glided into all his verses, sometimes even at the expense of
the measure.

The castle of Neuville was built on the coast and commanded
the river Oise. At the end of the park, from the top of a small
hill of which some rocks crowned the summit, a stream of pure
water fell in a cascade and meandered in a wood of ash trees. It
was from this place, whence the eye overlooked the plain, that the
count usually set out for the chase, and hither in fine weather the
countess and her daughter repaired to await his return. Berenger
was always the first that Alice perceived, and the lord of Neuville,
had scarcely descried the tower of the castle before Berenger in-
formed him that Alice was at the place of meeting.

The habit of seeking and waiting at the same spot had inspired
them with a lively attachment to the fountain of ash trees before
they suspected that which they entertained for each other. The
young scholar had been two years in the castle, where all seemed
to contend who should love him most, when the count determined
to appoint him his esquire.

Berenger was not fifteen and yet no one managed with more
skill a warhorse, or carried with more grace the helmet, upon the
bow of the saddle, nor understood better how to put on armour, to
lace a cuirass, or to close a visor. In severs^ dangerous encounters,
when he had accompanied his noble master, he had displayed an
intelligence and courage beyond his age. There was no talk
at the court of Charles, but of the esquire of the lord of Neuville.
Esteemed by his illustrious protector, beloved by his equals, se-
cretly adored by the charming Alice, the object of his timid vows,
he seemed to enter upon life under the happiest auspices. Alas!
so lovely a morning was only the forerunner of a stormy day. Af-
ter some time the most odious satires overflowed th* court And

380 Alice and Berenger.

the city; and their author in the midst of the darkness which
spread around him, escaped the resentment of those whom he *
abused with so much violence and cowardice.

Young Berenger, hitherto a stranger to the world, to its pas-
sions, to its intrigues, was always, unconsciously, the instrument
of tlfe prior's malignity.

An historical event of great importance furnished the abbe of
Rieux with a new occasion for employing his satirical pen, and he
suffered it uot to escape.

The duke of Berri had just failed through a want of foresight in
a military expedition which had been skilfully planned* On this
occasion the abbe composed some verses in which the delay which
the duke had caused, to the execution of the king's orders, was in-
terpreted in a manner the most injurious to the honour of the
prince. Berenger had just copied the verses and had them about
him, when the count charged him with an important message to
the king. He set off immediately for Paris. His majesty was at
Vincennes and was to return the same evening to the hotel Saint
Pol where he then resided. Berenger waited on him there; he ful-
filled the object of his mission, received orders to proceed to Fon-
tainbleau where the queen was then, and did not return to Neu-
ville, until he had been absent a week. He had been well received
at court; he brought back a satisfactory answer to the despatches
with which he had been charged. He went to see Alice after a
separation of eight days. One may judge with what sentiments his
heart was filled, with what ardour he urged on his swift steed.

Already he discovers, from the bank of the Oise, the turrets of
the castle; he distinguishes the tops of the trees of the fountain of
Ashes, which shine in the last rays of the sun; he recognises the
chapel by the brilliant reflection of its window of stained glass.
Standing upon his stirrups, his eyes fixed towards the fountain, he
thinks he sees, or he beholds in reality the young Alice; she waves
her handkerchief in the air. Berenger's horse no longer runs, he
bounds, and leaping over the hedges and ravines, he bears in a
moment the impatient youth to the foot of the hill. Alice, fol-
lowed by the oldest of her women, rushes before him and in a
voice stilled with tears, « fly," she cries, " fly Berenger; you have

•flics end &wft£vr. ^1

much to fear if you enter the castle!" It is inposrible to prat lb*
frightful disorder which these words and the tears of Alice exci-
ted in the mind of the unfortunate youth. Scarcely has he strength
to ask the cause of the dreadful evil which is announced to hiav
Alice is ignorant of H, bat she has witnessed the anger of her
father; and fears from it the most melancholy effects. Berenger
recovers his spirits, his conscience reproaches him with nothing,
and honor made it a duty to justify himself in the eyes of his bene-
factor. Alice presses him in vain to depart; at least for some
hours, but he refuses to leave her.

. During this painful debate, the day began to close; the cry of
the bird of night was heard mingling with the distant «ong of the
returning labourer* The lady Bertha, who had accompanied Alice,
reminded her that the sound of the horn had been heard three
times, and that the gates of the castle were about to be closed.
Alice took the path towards the park, and Berenger remounting
his steed, crossed the drawbridge at the moment when it began to
tremble.

No servant presented himself at the steps to take his horse,
which he left in the court He repaired to the hall of arms, where
he found the count who was talking with the prior of Bieux, and
who received him with a terrible look.

Without permitting him to say a word, he showed him the sa-
tire in his own hand writing, which had fallen from his pocket
while he was at the royal hotel Saint PoL The duke of Berri had
transmitted it to the lord of Neuville, leaving to him the punish-
ment of the culprit. At the sight of this paper, of which he in-
stantly discovered the crime and importance, the unfortunate youth
grew pale, blushed, and turning his eyes filled with tears towards
the prior, who sought to avoid them, he contented himself with pro-
testing his innocence. Of what avail was a simple denial, opposed
to written proofs!

The count, after having addressed him with the most bitter re-
proaches, ordered him instantly to leave the castle for ever.
Stricken down by this last blow, Berenger, fell at the feet of the
prior, and pronounced only these words u ah! Monsieur Prior/'
He had the meanness to preserve a silence which his victim wa«

382 JUct and BerengeY.

too generous to break. It was in Tain that the countess, alarm-
ed by the grief of her daughter, interceded for the young master
of horse. The count was inexorable.

The castle clock was striking twelve, and the moon in all her
splendour, shed a sweet lustre over the country, when the youth
recrossed the moat Berenger, with despair and death in his
thoughts, paused a few steps from the fosse, and as he contem-
plated these walls from which he was banished, burning tears roll-
ed from his eyes. He kept them fixed upon the window of the
chamber where the tender Alice had gone to pass a night of pain.

The sentinel who was walking on the inner parapet, perceived
him and compelled him to depart Uncertain of the part he was
to act, Berenger wandered some time at random, and finally took
the road to the castle of Presles, where he might find, near his
good mother, the consolation of which his heart had so much need.

The emotion which be felt, on beholding once more, the spot
where the years of his childhood had flitted away, on dreaming that
he was going to embrace his mother after a separation of four years
occupied his whole heart He followed a path of the forest, which
he remembered to hare traversed, the first time that he rode on
horseback* This path conducted him to the outer court, where he,
found a great number of peasants assembled. Their mournful and
silent countenances at first excited only surprize; but he felt some
uneasiness when he perceived the aged Raymond in tears, as he dis-
tributed alms to the crowd of poor, who surrounded him.

Berenger alighted from his horse and called him. Raymond re-
cognised his young master, uttered a mournful cry and fell at his
feet The unfortunate young cavalier had lost his mother! She.
yielded after two days to a cruel disease, against which her youth
contended for many years*

At this dreadful intelligence Berenger lost his senses. During
eight days that this melancholy continued, the names of Alice, and
of his mother, were the only words which he was heard to pro-
nounce* The care bestowed upon him was not without success;
his life at the moment when* it was nearly extinguished was re-
stored. As soon as he had recovered sufficient strength he re-
paired to the tomb of bis mother* She reposed near her husband

m the centre ef
whole day in i

This duty Milled,
castle the care of lot <
name, four of the i
fret children should take the i
pared the second tisae ts leave I
of his departure, ke akut
wrote a letter to Alice, wkkk ke
her. and to brine; Ma tke ;
pass some time at tke coart of J

Daring a risk whick the awke of
iordofNearUle,:

Ideas of grandeur and;
saw in glory tke only sarin* of
koped to find at tke coart of Fkwjp
guishing himself and attaining tke !
this hope that ke directed kis <

On tke eighth day from kis leaving tke castle, ke<
some leagues from Aaxerre. Tke beat
as well as himself required some repose. Be
throwing the bridle over kis arm, ke seated himself at tke loot of
a tree, abandoning himself to refections, in whick tke reeatsn-
brance of Alice was mingled wftk sweet hopes, kis eyes gradually
closed, and without change of object kis thoughts were concerted
into dreams. He slept profoundly, until ke was awakened ky a
slashing of swords.

The first impulse of the yoang squire, was io leap npon kis
horse, and to hasten to the place, whence tke noise proceeded.
He found three men attacking a fourth, who was ready to mil an-
der their blows. Berenger flew to his succour. His sadden ap-
pearance, and the rigour of his attack, alarmed the assailants,
who dispersed and sought refuge in the depth of die forest The
knight to whom the youth had rendered this service, was the brave
marshal de Loigny, who had been surprised in the neighbour-
hood of his castle by some of the armed brigands with which Prance
was then overrun. Berenger thought he ought to conceal his name,

384 Alice and Berenger.

but the marshal required no less than that he should remain some
days with him. This noble warrior haying retired from the court,
enjoyed in his honourable retreat, the happiness of private life, to
which his love of letters added a new charm*

• His castle was the resort of the troubadours, and every day
witnessed some new festival. These pleasures, in which Beren-
ger at any other time, would have indulged with so much delight,
could not alienate his thoughts from the remembrance of his dis-
grace, the loss of his mother, and the adored image of Alice.

This deep melancholy at so tender an age, made the marshal
desirous of knowing the cause; and his entreaties became so pres-
sing, and so affectionate, that Berenger was obliged to yield to
them. He employed some concealment in his recital, that he
might not place tiic conduct of the prior of Rieux in an unfavour-
able light, but the marshal was convinced of his innocence, and of-
fered to conduct him to the court, to justify himself in the eyes of
the prince. Berenger declined this offer, declaring to his illustri*
ous protector that honour imposed silence on him, and on the morn-
ing of the fourth day from his arrival at Loigny, full of impatience
to meet his faithful servant at Dijon, he took leave of the marshal
who gave him, at parting, testimonies of the most lively affection.
He arrived at Dijon; Raymond had been waiting there two days;
he brought him a leaf of Alice's tablets, upon which the lovely girl
had traced some words in haste:

" The anger of my father is still great," said she, " but he will
not fail to be pleased with the glory which you will gain. Adieu."

These two lines, which made no change in the destiny of Beren-
ger, were to him a source of inexpressible joy, and revived his ^
courage and his hope. He suspended to the chain which his mo-
ther had given him, and which he bore on his neck, this talisman
of love.

' He loaded Raymond with presents, and sent him back to the
castle of Presles, with a billet in which he contented himself with
writing these words:

" You shall never see or hear any thing unworthy of me."

The next day he presented himself at the castle of the duke of
Burgundy, where he found that entrance was refused to simple
esquires. After eight days, more mortified than fatigued withjhe

journey which 1m had i

leave Dijon, 1m

against the duke of Gulden, i

lunteer, the arm y which the

campaign was not so bag, a* it was hiosdy.

himself with glory, and sunny hriffiimt deeds of

gained for bam

the duke of Bern obliged 1

The duke of Guilders lifi 1 1 the war by <
king of France, and
games, which were shout so he <

These games, recently huststuted em ai
Isaure, engaged the attention of the i
of the victors were fuuiliimrd uurensjosut Fc

As Berenger excelled in the Cnuunt Jaunn^ hei
the happy auspices of the new reign, which he 1
bly. ItwmssuperWtothoseofCortdj^ienodel
most famous poets of the tisne, and
unanimously decreed to hhuu It was at the <
he heard of his success, to \
ed to pat a finishing stroke by i
this dignity* Berenger thought of no (

The chapel of the castle was i
Many of the umruhals emmfammm m aww^ wm m^k4 U k, mA
came completely armed. After Stwrnems^m^i^i^bmh^^m^
\Av^fo*imo™*itec*mdM*Urtemm^ aVuJomwtonom
the spurs, the mail, the cmramt, ami pmmOeL Thmtmm+rtM
girded him with his sword, flaying?

"Berenger, I give yon this sword and tonunit it to your bonds,
praying God to bestow on yon such and so good a heart that yon
may be as brave a knight as was formerly your father of valorous
memory."

Then having given him the salute, and struck him three times on
the neck with his sword, he added:

"In the name of God, of Saint Michael and Saint George, I
make thee knight, be worthy, brave and loyaL"

Hie rest of the day was spent in festivities.

voi. xn. 49

386 Alice, and Berenger.

The young knight was to* sensible of bis newly acquired* dig-
nity, to delay doing honour to his, illustrious patron. The fes&»
vals which wore preparing at St Denis, in honour of Louis II king
of Sicily ami cousin of Charles, offered him a brilliant opportunity.
Tournaments were announced* The proudest of the nobility both
French and foreign were admitted* Berenger repaired thither and
attracted notice, no less by his youth and gracefulness than the
simplicity of his armour.

His shield* without any coat of arms, bore a simple cipher com-
posed of the letters A. and B. which were entwined, with a branch
of ash. The tournament was to commence after the service which
the king had celebrated. in honour of the grand constable.

Berenger placed himself in the church so as to hear the funeral
oration of Bertrand Duguesclin, which was pronounced by the
bishop #f Auxerre. We may judge of hi9 surprise and his pleasure,
on perceiving Alice, the charming Alice, at the foot of the queen's
throne, with her eyes fixed on his shield. Placing himself opposite
to her, he raised his visor which he had kept half closed. Alice
recognised him* and all that the human heart contains of tender
emotion, was at once shown in her angelic form.

On the following day, Berenger, who had enrolled his name in
the list of combatants, presented himself first at the place of the
tournament* the most brilliant which had been seen for a century.

All the court was. present, and by a chance which a lover alone
can appreciate, Alice had been chosen by the queen t» crown the
victor. Who but Berenger could obtain such a reward!

Four times he entered die lists, and four times his triumph was
proclaimed. The king wished to be acquainted with this brave
youth, and was not less surprised than pleased to learn that this
was the same troubadour who composed the Chant Royal.

Berenger came to receive from the hands of the trembling Alice,
the scarf which was decreed him: in putting it on his neck, she
whispered these words:.

" In three days — at eight in the evening-Hit the fountain of ash
trees."

The duke of Bern, who witnessed the triumphs of Berenger,
could not hear without emotion a name, which recalled to his mind

Alice md Berenger. 987

an injury: his position near the king whose displeasure he had in*
curred, and the little favour he enjoyed in the ptbtic opinion, did
not permit him to pursue his revenge openly; but he cobcealed not
his plans from d'Amauri, lord of Beaume, one of the most power-
ful noblemen of the court, to whom the king had parrtly promised
the hand of Alice.

How long these three days of delay appeared to Berenger! At
last the third was closing; 'tis seven o'clock; the day fades; the
lover advances, trembling with fear and hope, to the banks of the
Oise, where every step awakens in his mind some delightful re-
collection.

He stops a moment beneath the walls of the abbey of Maubuis-
son, at a short distance from the castle of Neuville, to await there
the precise moment of meeting. Eight o'clock sounded from the
abbey clock; he runs, he darts through the thick underwood with
which the foot of the hill is covered; he arrives at the fountain of
ashes. He quenches his thirst in its waters,— he kisses every tree
where he finds his name carved by a dear hand;— he goes, returns,
stops,— he trembles at the least rustling of the leaves. Some one
approaches; 'tis she. Berenger is at the feet of Alice.

Her emotion takes away her strength; she trembles; he supports
her; he presses her in his arms.

What a moment in life, or rather what life in a moment! After
some moments of silence, of which no language can express the
charm— Alice, in few words, informs her lover of the misfortune
which threatened them!

" My father," she said, " to whom the king himself has made the
demand, has promised my hand to the lord of Beaume; but he is yet
ignorant of a secret, which will again give you all his affection,—
a secret which the prior on his death-bed has just revealed to my
mother."

" Your merits have made you known to the king: I will acknow-
ledge, if necessary, before him, the love which I have for you, and
he will not condemn me to the pain of disobeying him, for I give
you my word, Berenger, my life shall only be devoted to you or to
God."

Such a promise, in the face of heaven, in a retreat which had
been the mysterious witness of so many sighs and tears, between

388 Life of Hugh Williamson, M. D.

two young lovers united from their infancy,— such a promise was
without doubt half fulfilled. But I hasten to the catastrophe of
this fatal history.

Some days after the interview in the grove* Berenger, at the
entreaty of Alice, and with the consent of her father, to whom the
confession of the prior had been made known, went to throw him-
self at the feet of the king, whom he interested so strongly by the
representation of his misfortunes and his love, that the monarch
gave his formal consent to the marriage of Alice and Berenger,
and promised the latter an honourable situation near his person.
Armed with this precious writing, Berenger fears to lose a moment;
it was eleven o'clock at night, his impatience would not allow him
to wait for day; he flies back to Alice.

Already he discovers the lantern which beams at the summit of
the castle tower. As he passed the foot of the hill of ashes, several
assassins, completely armed, sprung from the midst of the coppice,
and pierced him with many mortal wounds.

To the cries of the unfortunate youth, the nearest sentinel an-
swered by a shout of alarm which roused all the castle. They
hasten to the spot; Alice whom a mournful presentiment warned of
her misfortune, flies to the fountain; she finds there Berenger ex-
tended lifeless, and pressing with his lips the scarf which had re-
warded his exploits in the tournament.

The unfortunate Alice did not abandon herself to vain grief.

The day after this dreadful event, she retired to the abbey of
Maubuisson; where she took the veil, and died in a few months.

Her last wish was regarded; her body was intered near that of
Berenger, in the grove of the fountain of ashes, which was after-
wards called the Fountain of Love.

Art. X.—Life of Hugh Williamson, M. B. L. L. B. Abridged
from a Memoir, read by David Hosack before the New York
Historical Society.

(With a Portrait.)
Hugh Williamson was a native of the state of Pennsylvania;
he was born on the 5th day of December, 1735, in West Notting-
ham township, near Octorara river, which divides Chester from

Life of Hugh Williamson, M. D. 38&

Lancaster county. His parents were natives of Ireland, but their
earlier ancestors, it is believed, came originally from Scotland.

His father, John Williamson, was an industrious tradesman,
who had pursued his business, that of a clothier, in the city of
Dublin. He came to America, and settled in Chester county,
about the year 1730.

The mother of Dr. Williamson, Mary Davison, was a native of
Deny; with her father, George Davison, she came to this country,
when a child about three years of age: on their way to America
they were captured and plundered on the coast, by Theach the
noted pirate Blackbeard; upon being released they arrived in Phi-
ladelphia. She died about fifteen years since, having attained her
90th year. The parents of Dr. Williamson were married in the
year 1731, shortly after his father's arrival in this country; and
ten children, viz. six sons and four daughters, were the fruits of
that connexion. Hugh was their eldest son.

His father, observing that Hugh was of a slender, delicate con-
stitution, and that he was not likely to attain to that vigor which
would enable him to support himself by manual labour, resolved
to give him a liberal education. After having received the com-
mon preparatory instruction of a country school, near his father's
house, he was sent at an early age to learn the languages at an
academy established at New London, cross roads, under the di-
rection of that very eminent scholar, the Rev. Francis Alison,
justly entitled, from his talents, learning, and discipline, the Bus-
by* of the western hemisphere.

In the prosecution of his studies, while at school, he distinguish-
ed himself by his diligence, his love of order, and his correct,
moral, and religious deportment; for, even at that early age, he
had imbibed from his parents and instructors, a due sense of that
"intimate connexion which subsists between letters and morality,
between sensibility and taste, between an improved mind and a
virtuous heart"* Accordingly, under the impulse of these first
impressions, through life, he

-all his study bent

To worship God aright, and know his works.'
* Johnson.

390 lAJTvfHughmUivKxm.M.B.

Thus prepared under the care of bis eminent teachers, he retir-
ed from the seminary of Dr. Alison, and, at his father's house, ap-
plied himself to the study of Euclid's Elements, of which, in a short
time, he became master.

The father now proposed to ^send his son to Europe to finish his
education that had been so successfully begun; but as a charter had
been obtained for the academy in Philadelphia, about the time he
was to have sailed, it was concluded that he should immediately
proceed to that city. Accordingly, he entered in the first class in
the college of Philadelphia, where he remained four years; and at
the first commencement held in that college, on the 17th day of
May, 175?, he received the degree of Bachelor of Arts. It is an
evidence of the talents, the industry, and of the success, with
which Mr. Williamson prosecuted bis collegiate studies, and of the
high estimation in which he was held by the professors and trus-
tees of the university, that during the time he passed at college,
he was successively employed as a teacher, both in the Latin and
English schools, connected with that institution. A little anterior
to this period, his father and family bad removed to Shippensburgh,
Cumberland county. His father died in the same year that his
son received his first degree.

Hugh was appointed his sole executor, and, upon the event of
his father's death, took up his residence with his mother at Ship-
pensburgh, where he remained about two years, during which pe-
riod he, in a great degree, devoted himself to the settlement of his
father's estate, personally collecting the debts that were due to
it, and which were very much scattered*

As has already been intimated, Mr. Williamson's mind was
early impressed with a sense of religion.

During the period of his residence with his mother, he devoted all
his time not occupied by the business of his father's estate, to the
Study of divinity, frequently visiting Dr. Samuel Finley, an emi-
nent divine, who preached at East Nottingham township, and who
then directed his pursuits. In 1759, Mr. Williamson went to Con-
necticut, where he still pursued his theological studies, and was
licensed to preach the gospel. After his return from Connecti-
cut, he was also admitted a member of the presbytery of Philadel-

phia. He preached but a short time, not exceeding two years,
and then hie preaching must have been only occasional; he never
was ordained, or took charge 06 a congregation, for his. health did
not permit him to perform the stated duties of a pastor. The in-
firm state of his Health, in early life made it very questionable
whether his hings would bear the exertion of public speaking: he
accordingly left the pulpit, and entered upon the study of medi-
cine.

In the year 1760, he received the degree of Master of Arts, in
the college of Philadelphia* and was immediately after appointed
the professor of mathematics in* that institution. He accepted the
professorship, regarding it a most honourable appointment* but with-
out any intention of neglecting his medical studies*

On the 8th of October, 1768i Mr. Williamson gave notice of his
intended resignation of his professorship; and in 1764, he left his
native country for Europe, for the purpose of prosecuting his me-
dical studies at the University of Edinburgh.

He remained in that city, enjoying the advantages of instruc-
tion aJfbrded by the lectures of the elder Monro, Whytte, Cullen,
Home, Alston, and Dr. John Gregory, the author of the Legacy,
and father of the late distinguished professor of the practice of
physic in that celebrated seat of learning. When he left Edin-
burgh, he made a tour through the northern parts of Scotland, after
which he proceeded to London, where he remained twelve months,
diligently pursuing his studies. From London he crossed over to
Holland, and proceeded to Utrecht, where he completed his me-
dical education* He afterwards amused himself with a tour on
the continent, from which he returned to his native country in a
state of health considerably improved.

After his return, Dr. Williamson practised medicine in Phila-
delphia for some years with great success, as it respected the
health of his patients, but with painful effects as it regarded his
own.

Shortly after this time, the attention of the philosophers, both of
Europe and America, was directed to an event which was about
to take place, of great importance to astronomical science and to
navigation: I refer to the transit of Venus over tire sun's disk,
which occurred on the third day of June, 1769; " a phenomenon

392 Life of Hugh Williamson, M. D.

which had never been seen but twice by any inhabitant of our
earth; which would never be seen again by any person then living
and on which depended very important astronomical conse-
quences."*

The observations published on that memorable occasion, by the
Rev. Dr. Ewing, Mr. David Rittenhouse, the Rev. Dr. Smith, by
professor Winthrop, of Massachusetts, as well as those by Dr.
Williamson, and other American astronomers, were considered
by the philosophers of Europe, as highly creditable to their authors,
and of great importance to the cause of science. By the astrono-
mer royal, the Rev. Mr. Nevil Maskelyne, they were referred to
with peculiar notice and approbation:

" I thank you," says that eminent philosopher to his correspon-
dent, the Hon. Thomas Penn, " for the account of the Pennsylva-
nia observations of the transit, which seem excellent and complete,
and do honour to the gentlemen who made them, and those who
promoted the undertaking."

In 1770, Dr. Williamson prepared and published, through the
same channel of communication^ some observations upon the
change of climate that had been remarked to take place more par-
ticularly in the middle colonies of North America.

The publication of this interesting paper, with those which had
preceded it, procured for Dr. Williamson, not only the notice of
the various literary institutions of his native country, into which
he was shortly after introduced as an honorary member, but they
obtained for him abroad the most flattering distinctions. The Hol-
land Society of Sciences — the Society of Arts and Sciences of
Utrecht— conferred upon him, in the most honourable manner, a
membership in those distinguished institutions; and about the same
period he received from a foreign university, I believe from Ley-
den, as the further reward of his literary labours, the degree of
Doctor of Laws.

New scenes now opened upon his view. From some letters ad-
dressed by Dr. Williamson to his friend, the late Rev. Dr. Ewing,

* Rush's Eulogium on Dr. Rittenhouse.
f Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, &c vol. I. p.
336. 2d edition.

Life of Hugh Williamson, M. D. S9S

now in the possession of his family, it appears that in 1772, the
doctor made a voyage to the West India islands, for the purpose
of collecting subscriptions for the academy of Newark, in the state
of Delaware, of which institution he and Dr. Ewing were both
trustees. w His stay in the islands," (says the sensible writer* of
the communication with which I have been favoured,) * seems to
have been protracted by severe bilious fevers; from the effects of
which, he almost despaired of recovering his former state of health:
his zeal, however, in the cause of literature, was not abated, and,
finally he procured a handsome subscription. On his way home,
he passed a short time in Charleston, where he received some li-
beral fees for medical advice."

Exceedingly anxious for the prosperity of the academy, while he
was yet in the islands, he planned a tour through Great Britain
for the benefit of that institution; his project was communicated to
the trustees, and received their approbation: accordingly, in the
autumn of 1773, Dr. Williamson, in conjunction with Dr. Ewirig,
afterwards provost of the University of Pennsylvania, was ap-
pointed to make a tour through England, Scotland, and Ireland,
to solicit further benefactions for the same academy of Newark.

Thus honourably associated, and the reputation they had ac-
quired from their late astronomical observations having preceded
them, they were received with great attention by the literati, and
other men of influence in Great Britain: a circumstance in itself,
highly favourable to the object of their mission.' Their success,
however, was but indifferent, owing to the irritation of the pub-
lic mind against the colonies, which about that time was already
considerable; yet their characters as men of learning, procured
them much personal attention, and some money.

The constant hope of accommodation with the colonies, and the
example of the king, from whom they received a liberal donation,
notwithstanding his great displeasure towards his American sub-
jects, encouraged them to persevere in the business of their mis**
sion until the autumn of 1775. Hostilities having then commen-
ced, Dr. Ewing returned to America, leaving Dr. Williamson in
London, who determined to remain, and to make some further ef-

* Mrs. Hall, of Philadelphia, daughter of the late Dr. Ewing.
vol, xiu 50

394 Life of Hugh Williamson, M. B.

forts for the establishment of his favourite academy.— rBut I must
return to some circumstances of importance which here claim our
notice.

The vessel in which Dr. Williamson had engaged a passage for
Europe, lay in the harbour of Boston, to which place he had pro-
ceeded, and was waiting for her sailing at the very time at which
that remarkable circumstance took place, the destruction of the
tea of the East India company. Upon Dr. Williamson's arrival
in England, he was the first to report to the British government
that occurrence; and, after a private interview with lord Dart-
mouth, was examined on the subject before his majesty's privy
council: that examination took place on the 19th of February, 1774.
On that occasion, Dr. Williamson ventured to declare, that, if the
coercive measures of Parliament were persisted in, nothing less
than a civil war would be the result Time soon verified his pre-
diction; but the want of correct information on the part of the
British ministry, as to the state of public feeling in this country,
seems almost incredible. Lord North himself has been heard to
declare, that Dr. Williamson was the first person who, in his hear*
ing, had even intimated the probability of such an event

We now come to an event, memorable by the commotion it ex-
cited at the time, and by the magnitude of the consequences which
have since arisen from it; I refer to the discovery of the celebrated
letters of Hutchinson and Oliver: and here I beg leave to call your
notice to a few of the earlier circumstances of the late revolution-
ary war, in order to communicate a fact hitherto unrevealed.

Although the disturbances which originated in the famous stamp
act, had nearly subsided with the repeal of that obnoxious measure,
and returning sentiments of friendship were every day becoming
more manifest, yet new obstacles to a permanent reconciliation ap-
peared in the attempts of the British administration, to render cer-
tain officers of the provincial governments dependant on the crown
alone. This measure of the court gave particular offence to the
colony of Massachusetts, from the peculiarly obnoxious character
of their governor, who at times, impelled by avarice and by the
love of dominion, had, in furtherance of his schemes of self-ag-
grandizement uniformly manifested the most determined support
to the views and measures of the mother country*

Life of Hugh Williamson, M D. 395

However discreditable to his reputation it may be, certain it is,
that governor Hutchinson was secretly labouring to subvert the char-
tered rights of the colony, whose interests he had sworn to protect.
His agency in procuring the passage of the stamp act was more
than suspected, and apparently upon reasonable grounds.

The illustrious Franklin, who at this period resided in London,
as agent for the colonies of Pennsylvania and Massachusetts, ob-
tained possession, through the agency of a third person, of certain
letters written by governor Hutchinson and other servants of the
crown; and sent by them from Boston to Thomas Whately, es-
quire, member of parliament, and a private secretary of lord
Grenville.

In these letters, the character of the people of Massachusetts
was painted in the most odious colours, and their grievances and
proceedings misrepresented by falsehoods the most glaring and un-
founded.

Dr. Franklin lost no time in transmitting these letters to his
constituents at Boston. " The indignation and animosity which
were excited, on their perusal, knew no bounds. The house of
representatives agreed on a petition, and remonstrance, to his
majesty, in which they charged their governor and lieutenant go-
vernor with being betrayers of their trust, and of the people they
governed; and of giving private, partial, and false information.
They also declared them enemies to the colonies, and grayed for
justice against them, and for their speedy removal from their
places."*

The petition and the remonstrance of the people of Massachu-
setts were communicated to his majesty's privy council by Dr.
Franklin, in person, and after a hearing by that board, the Gover-
nor and Lieutenant-governor were acquitted. It was on this oc-
casion that Mr. Wedderburn, (afterwards lord Loughborough,) who
was employed as counsel on the part of the governor, pronounced
his famous philippic against Dr. Franklin; which has always been
considered among the most finished specimens of oratory in the
English language. In this speech, he charged that venerable per-
son with having procured the letters by unfair means.

* Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Frank Ho, 4to. p. 183. London-
«*.1818.

396 Life of Hugh Williamson, M. I).

But the truth is, these letters could not be considered in any-
wise as private; thej were as public as letters could be. To use
the emphatic language of Dr. Franklin himself, " they were not of
the nature of private letters between friends; they were written by
public officers to persons in public stations, on public affairs, and
intended to procure public measures: they were therefore handed
to other public persons, who might be influenced by them to pro-
duce those measures. Their tendency was to incense the mother
country against her colonies, and by the steps recommended, to
widen the breach, which they effected. The chief caution expres-
sed with regard to privacy was, to keep their contents from the
colony agents, who, the writers apprehended, might return them,
or copies of them, to America. That apprehension was, it seems,
well founded; for the first agent who laid his hands on them,
thought it his duty to transmit them to his constituents.9'*

But it is time that I should declare to you, that this third per-
son from whom Dr. Franklin received these famous letters, (and
permit me to add, that this is the first time the fact has been pub-
licly disclosed,) was Dr. Hugh Williamson.

I have before Stated his mission in behalf of the academy. Dr.
Williamson had now arrived in London. Feeling a lively interest
in the momentous questions then agitated, and suspecting that a
clandestine correspondence, hostile to the interest of the colonies,
was carried on between Hutchinson and certain leading members
of the British cabinet, he determined to ascertain the truth by a
bold experiment

He had learned that governor Hutchinson's letters were depo-
sited in an office different from that in which they ought regularly
to have been placed; and having understood that there was little
exactness in the transaction of the business of that office, he im-
mediately repaired to it, and addressed himself to the chief clerk,
not finding the principal within. Assuming the demeanor of of-
ficial importance, he peremptorily stated, that he had come for the
last letters that had been received from governor Hutchinson and
Mr. Oliver, noticing the office in which they ought regularly to
have been placed. Without a question being asked, the letters

* Franklin's letter to the printer of the Daily Advertiser.

Life of Hugh Williamson, M D. 397

were delivered. The clerk, doubtless, supposed him to be an au-
thorized person from some other public office. Dr. Williamson
immediately carried them to Dr. Franklin, and the next day left
London lor Holland.

By this daring measure, was detected and put beyond question,
the misrepresentations and designs of Hutchinson and his asso-
ciates; and, perhaps, no event in the previous history of the pro-
vinces excited more bitter indignation, or was calculated to call
for opposition to the measures of Great Britain, to which these
misrepresentations had given rise.

The lively interest, and the conspicuous part which Dr. Wil-
liamson took in public affairs, did not prevent him, while in En-
gland, from bestowing a portion of his attention upon scientific
pursuits. Electricity, whose laws had been recently determined
by the discoveries of Dr. Franklin, and by his genius introduced
among the sciences, was then a study, which, like chemistry at the
present day, largely engrossed the minds of philosophers. In con-
junction with Dr. Ingenhouz, Mr Walsh, Mr. John Hunter, a*d Dr.
Franklin, he frequently instituted electrical experiments, to which
I have often heard him refer with juvenile feelings, at the same
time professing his ardent attachment to this branch of knowledge.
The only paper which bears testimony to his investigations on this
subject, is that entitled, " Experiments and Observations on the
Gymnotus Electricus, or Electrical Eel," which was first publish-
ed in the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of Jjon-
don, for the year 1775, and has since been reprinted in the abridg-
ment of that work.*

Dr. Williamson had scarcely made his tour through Holland
and the Low Countries, when the news of the declaration of Ame-
rican Independence reached him. He now concluded to return
to his native land. He proceeded to France, and after a short
time spent in that kingdom, during a great part of which he was
confined by sickness, he sailed from Nantz in December, for Phi-
ladelphia, at which place he did not arrive before the 15th of
March. The ship in which he sailed was captured off the Capes of
Delaware, but he, with another passenger, escaped in an open boat

* Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London, abridged
hj Hntton, Shaw, and Pearson, vol. xiii. page 597.

S98 Life of Hugh Williamson, M. D.

with some very important public despatches, of which Dr. Wil-
liamson was the bearer.

The American army, at the period of Dr. Williamson's return
from Europe, was, in some measure, organized, and every office
in the medical staff, or in the line, that he could with any proprie-
ty accept, was filled up. He resolved, therefore, to remain in pri-
vate life, waiting for opportunities which he trusted would present
themselves in the course of a dangerous struggle.

He repaired to Edenton, North Carolina, from which place he
traded to neutral islands in the West Indies; but while he was thus
engaged in trade, he determined to resume the practice of medicine:
this he did with the same success as he had done formerly at Phi-
ladelphia, and in a short time acquired the confidence of the peo-
ple of Edenton.

During the period of his residence there, he was invited to
Newbern, for the purpose of communicating the small-pox to such
as had not experienced the benefits of inoculation. These cir-
cumstances in part contributed to spread the name of Dr. Wil-
liamson, *pd to lay the foundation of that fame and confidence
which he afterwards obtained in the state of North Carolina.

The doctor had taken an early opportunity of informing the go-
vernor of that province, that if any circumstance should occur in
the course of the war, in which he could be of use to the state, he
might immediately command his services. It is known that the
British troops took possession of Charleston in the winter of 1779
—80, and that the assembly of North Carolina ordered a large
draft to be made from their militia, of from four to six thousand
men, who should join the regular troops then ordered for the re-
lief of South Carolina. The command of the North Carolina mili-
tia was given to their late governor Caswell, with the rank of major
General. The general putting Dr. Williamson in mind of a for-
mer promise, handed him a commission, byjwhich he found himself
at the head of the medical department, as physician and surgeon.

An occasion now presented itself, in the which doctor had an
opportunity of displaying his firmness of character, his humanity,
his professional skill, and his incorruptible adherence to the cause
in which he had embarked. On the morning after the battle near
Camden, on the 18th of August, 1780 which the doctor witnessed,

Life of Bugh Williamson, M. D. 399

he fell in with general Caswell, and requested of him to give him,
a flag, observing that, although a great part of the militia had be-
haved ill, yet many of them, as he must have observed, fought with
distinguished bravery, and that a considerable number, in conse-
quence, were wounded and made prisoners* They claimed our
attention. The general advised him to send in some of the regi-
mental surgeons, observing that his duty Ad not require that ser-
vice from him* The doctor replied, that the regimental surgeons,
such of them as he had seen, refused to go; being, as he suspected,
afraid of the consequences* But, said he, if I have lived until a
flag will not protect me, I have out-lived my country; and, in that
case, have lived one day too long* To this observation, no reply
was made— he obtained a pass, and the necessary instructions.

He remained two months with the enemy in Camden, during
which time he rendered very essential services to the prisoners
committed to his care* Such, too was the estimation in which the-
medical skill of Dr. Williamson was held by the enemy, that
during the illness of one of their general officers, in which the ad-
vice of a physician became necessary, his attendance was request-
ed in addition to that of the surgeons constituting their medical
department*

Early in the spring of 1782, Dr. Williamson took his seat as a
representative of Edenton, in the house of commons of North Ca-
rolina* In that assembly he fortunately met with several mem-
bers, whose brothers, sons, or other connexions, he had served in
the army, or while they were prisoners. Those services were not
forgotten* It was to be expected that a gentleman who had seen
much of the world* and whose education had been so extensive,
could hardly fail, with the aid of moderate oratorical abilities, to
become an influential member in a deliberative body* Such in fact
he proved* Among other bills which he introduced with sup cess,
we find one for erecting a court of chancery, which had often been
attempted, in vain, in that state. It may be presumed, that old
members who had been accustomed to conduct the business of that
house, were not gratified with being left in the minority by a gen-
tleman who was, at that time, comparatively a stranger in their
state. Yet when the election came on for members of congress,
those very gentlemen added their influence to that of the friends

400 Life of Hugh WiUiam&m, ML D.

whom he had acquired in the army, and he was sent to the
general congress without opposition. He continued at the head of
the delegation for three years, the longest time that any member
was then permitted to serve.

During the three years in which he was not eligible to hold a
seat in that body, he served the state occasionally in its legisla-
ture, or in some other capacity.

Iu the year 1786, he was one of the few members who were sent
to Annapolis, to revise and amend the constitution of the United
States; and who, finding that they had not sufficient powers to do
any thing effectual, recommended to the several states to make
another choice of delegates, and to invest them with the requisite
powers. In that year Dr. Williamson published a series of Essays,
deprecating paper currency, and recommending an excise to be
imposed. In the year 1787, he was one of the delegates from
North Carolina, in the general convention at Philadelphia, who
formed and signed the present constitution of the United States.

The assembly passed a law for a general state convention, to be
held at Hillsborough, in July, 1788, for the purpose of determining
upon this constitution. The convention, after much debate, ad-*
journed on the 2d of August, having refused to adopt the propo-
sed constitution by a majority of more than two to one, viz. one
hundred and eighty-four to eighty-four.

As a representative of the people in the legislature of North
Carolina, and in the supreme council of the nation, he was occu-
pied many years. No man, I believe, ever enjoyed in a larger de-
gree the confidence of his constituents, for integrity of conduct;
and the influence of his character will be readily appreciated,
when we advent to the many important services he effected during
the most eventful period of our political history.

He was anxious to prove himself worthy of the high trust reposed
in him, nor did he ever permit any private or selfish views to in-
terfere with considerations of public interest. As chairman of
numerous committees, — as the mover of important resolutions,—
as the framer of new propositions, and new laws, — he devoted die
best energies of an active mind, and was ever prominent in the
business of the house. In debate, his elocution was striking, but
somewhat peculiar. The graces of oratory did not belong to Dr.

Life of Hugh Williamson, M. D. 401

Williamson; yet the known purity of his intentions, his inflexible
devotedness to the interests of his country, and the unblemished
tenor of his private life, awakened an attention which was well
supported by the pertinency of his observations, the soundness of
his reasoning, and the information he possessed upon every sub-
ject to which he directed his attention.

While in congress, his duties as a legislator were his exclusive
study, and this advantage seldom failed of a success which was
denied to the lengthened debate and declamation of his opponents.

In his answer to a letter enclosing the thanks of the general as-
sembly of North Carolina, for his long and faithful services, refer-
ring to his own conduct, he observes, " On this repeated testimony
of the approbation of my fellow citizens, I cannot promise that I
shall be more diligent or more attentive to their interests; for ever
once I have had the honour to serve them in congress, their par-
ticular interest, and die honour and prosperity of the nation, have
been the sole objects of my care; to them 1 have devoted every
Jiour of my time."

In January, 1789, doctor Williamson was married to Miss
If aria Apthorpe, daughter of the late Charles Ward Apthorpe,
formerly a member of his majesty's council; for the province of
New York: by that lady he had two sons: she died when the young-
est, was but a few days old*

After the loss he had sustained by the death of Mrs. William-
. son, he resolved to retire from public employment, to Settle his pri-
vate affairs; to prepare for publication his work on Climate, and
his more elaborate performance, his History of North Carolina:
but the object of attention which lay still nearer his heart, and
which especially induced him to withdraw from the very honour-
able station he had held, was the education of his children: to them
he devoted, with great solicitude, a large portion of his time and
attention. His eldest son, who died in 1811, in the 2£d year of
his age, gave evidence of the parental care that had been exercised
in the superintendence of his education, and of the success with
which it had been conducted.

The younger son, whose constitutional infirmities gave little
promise, by his death soon after, filled up the measure of his father's
afflictions. Although the doctor was never heard to lament the ietfs

vot. XII. '51

40£ Life of Hugh JVilliam$on, M. B.

of his children, jet do fortitude of mind that he possessed could
prevent him from feeling, that in the death of his elder son in par*
ticular, he had lost his companion, the staff and solace of his old
age. But his minU did not require that repose which his feelings
otherwise solicited. From this period, the pursuits of philosophy
became the more exclusive objects of his regard.

In 1811, his "Observations on the climate in different parts of
America, compared with the climate in corresponding parts of
the other continent," were published, in one volume 8vo. It is in
vain to attempt any tiling like an analysis of this performance, at
this time: a few remarks, however, on this interesting subject, may
not be irrelevant. Actuated by patriotism and the love of truth,
Dr Williamson indignantly exposes the sophistry of those writers
who have asserted, that America is a country in which the frigid
temperature and vice of the climate, prevent the growth and ex-
pansion of animal and vegetable nature, and cause man and beast
to degenerate. He altogether discards the notion, that a new or
inferior race of men had been created for the American continent
A firm believer in the Mosaic writings, he labours with the learn-
ed bishop of Clogher, to prove the conformity of things to biblical
history. He believes our country, in her rivers, mountains, lakes,
and vegetable productions, to be formed on a scale of more magni-
ficence than those of the old world, and thinks that the winters
are more temperate on the western than on the eastern coast of
North America; although in some parts of this continent they are
colder than in corresponding latitudes of Europe: he maintains a
gradual amelioration of our climate. He considers the opinion
that the Indian is of a new race, to be altogether untenable; that
every part of America was inhabited when discovered by Colum-
bus, and that North America was settled from Tartary or Japan,
and from Norway; that South America was peopled from India.

In the following year, 1812, appeared his History of North Ca-
rolina, in two volumes 8vo.

The author commences his undertaking with a short account of
the discoveries made in America by adventurers from the differ-
ent parts of Europe. He next relates the attempts of Sir Walter
Raleigh to settle a colony in North Carolina, and from that time
the history of that colony is continued down to the beginning of the

Life of Hugh Williamson, Jif. D. 403

American revolution: the work closes with a view of the soil, pro*
duce, and general state of health in different parts of that country.
In the proofs an^j^planations annexed to each volume, are inserted
many valuable documents* selected w\th care, illustrative of mat-
ters contained in the body of the text

There are other writings by die same author, of a minor nature,
which merit notice. He was at no time an indifferent spectator
of passing events, and even after he had actually withdrawn from
public life, was repeatedly engaged, exclusively of his works on
Climate and on North Carolina, in various publications relating
to natural history, medicine, and other branches of a philosophical
character. In 1797* Dr. Williamson wrote a short but important
paper* on the fevers of North Carolina, as they had prevailed in
1792, in Martin county, near the river Roanoke, and as they had
appeared in 1794, upon the river Neus, pointing out the treatment
that had been found most successful, and the fatal effects of blood-
letting in fevers of that type: these remarks were afterwards ex-
tended, and compose a chapter in his History of North Carolina,t
highly interesting both to the pupil and practitioner of medicine.

In the American Museum, by Mathew Carey, he published se-
veral fugitive pieces on language and politics.

In his communication on the Fascination of Serpents, published
in the Medical Repository4 he offers some new and ingenious opi-
nions on that still inexplicable phenomenon in natural history. -

He enriched the American Medical and Philosophical Register
with several valuable papers. The first entitled, " Remarks upon
the incorrect manner in which Iron Rods are sometimes set up
for defending houses from Lightning,-' &c. conveys some import-
ant practical instruction upon that subject His other papers
were, "Conjectures respecting the Native Climate of Pestilence;'9
" Observations on Navigable Canals;9' " Observations on the means
of preserving the Commerce of New York," and u Additional
Observations on Navigable Canals;" all printed in the same peri-
odical journal, under the signatures of Observer, or Mercator.
Doctor Williamson was among the first of our citizens who enter-

i m .. . m i ■ . ■ ■ ■ iii i i ■ ■! i. "

* See Medical Repository, voL 2. p. 156. f Sec vol. 2.
t VoL 10. p. 341, &c.

464 Ufe of Hugh Williamsop, M. D.

iained correct views as to the practicability of forming a canal te
connect the waters of Lake Erie with the Hudson river; and the
importance of this great work so engaged his feelings, that besides
the papers already mentioned, on canal navigation, he published a
series on the same subject, under the title of AUicus. These pa-
pers were so well received, that many thousand copies have been
circulated through the medium of newspapers, and the pamphlet
itself has been several times reprinted.

In the year 1810, Dr. Williamson was appointed by the New
York Historical Society, to deliver the anniversary discourse, il-
lustrative of the objects of that institution: he readily complied
with their request, and upon that occasion selected for his sub-
ject, u the benefits of Civil History." That discourse is evidently
the result of much reading and reflection.

In 1814, associated with the present governor* of this state, and
some other gentlemen friendly to the interests of science, and de-
sirous to promote the literary reputation of the state of New York,
Dr. Williamson took an active part in the formation and establish-
ment of the Literary and Philosophical Society of this city; and
contributed to its advancement by the publication of a valuable
paper in the first volume of its transactions.
* The life of this excellent man was now drawing to its close.
Hitherto, by means of the uniform temperance and regularity of
his habits, he had, with very few exceptions, been protected from
any return of those pulmonary complaints with which he had been
affected in his youth. His intellectual faculties remained to the
last period of his life unbroken, and in their full vigor.

He died on the 22d day of May, 1819, in the 85th year of his
age.

It remains for me to detain you, while I offer a few observations
illustrative of such parts of Dr. Williamson's character as are not
embraced in the details that have already occupied our attention.

In his conversation, Dr. Williamson was pleasant facetious, and
animated; occasionally indulging in wit and satire; alway re-
markable for the strength of his expressions, and an emphatic man-
ner of utterance, accompanied with a peculiarity of gesticulation,

* His excellency De Witt Clinton.

Life of Hugh Williamson, M. D. 405

originally in part ascribable to the impulse of an active mind, but
which early in life had become an established habit.

As 1 was to be expected from the education of Dr. Williamson,
and from his long and extensive intercourse with the world, his
manners, though in some respects eccentric, were generally those
of a polite, well bred gentleman. Occasionally, however, when he
met with persons who either displayed great ignorance, want of
moral character, or a disregard for religious truth, he expressed his
feelings and opinions in such manner, as distinctly to show them
they possessed no claim to his respect. To such, both his lan-
guage and manner might be considered as abrupt, if not posses-
sing a degree of what might be denominated Johnsonian rudeness.

His style, both in conversation and in writing, was simple, con-
cise, perspicuous, and remarkable for 'its strength; always dis-
playing correctness of thought, and logical precision. In the order
too and disposal of his discourse, whether real or written, such
was the close connexion of its parts, and the dependence of one
proposition upon that which preceded it, that it became easy to
discern the influence of his early predilection for mathematical in-
vestigation. The same habit of analysis, arising from "the puri-
fying influence of geometrical demonstration,'* led him to avoid
that profusion of language, with which it has become customary
with some writers to dilute their- thoughts: in like manner, he care-
fully abstained from that embroidery of words which a modern
and vitiated taste haft rendered too prevalent.

Under the impressions and precepts he had very early received*
no circumstances could ever induce him to depart from that line
of conduct which his understanding had informed him was cor-
rect. His constancy of character, the obstinacy I may say of his
integrity, whether in the minor concerns of private life, or in the
performance of his public duties, became proverbial with all who-
knew him. Nothing could ever induce him

" To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind.9'

406 Luccockon Brazil*

A&t. XII.— Notes on Rio Be Janeiro, and the Southern parts oj
Brazil, taken during a Residence of Ten Fears in that Conn*
try, from 1808 to 1818. By John Luooook. London: Leagt,
1820. 4to. Pp. 659/ From an English Journal.

We fell in with this volume somewhat accidentally, as it does
not seem to have had the advantage of that publicity, now so ge-
nerally obtained through the medium of newspapers and literary
journals; but we were induced, by the attractive nature of its title,
to look into it; and, we can freely say, we think it replete with
matter so curious and important, and to be so ably written, as to
give it a well-founded claim to our best offices. Its author visited
the country, which he describes, in the capacity of a merchant.
Though he is a man of no pretensions, he shows himself to be pos-
sessed of very various knowledge, remarkable candour, much good
sense, and genuine British feelings; and to these qualifications he
seems to have added a talent for observation, with an industry
disposing him to record whatever came under his notice. As his
business led him to make several journies into the interior of the
country, and to have intercourse with men of very different charac-
ters and conditions, he was enabled to collect a mass of materials,
descriptive of the geography, the agriculture, the commerce, the
social and the political state of Brazil— of all which, the volume
before us is the result and is arranged according to the order of
the time when its miscellaneous information was collected, ft is
far from being of equal value— many of the details are rather too
minute— and the style, though in general perspicuous and pure,
is not unfrequently marked by a tinge of affectation. But, most
assuredly, the work is highly creditable to its author, and much of
what it communicates, especially respecting the improvements
made in St Sebastian, the capital*, since the court became resident
there, is peculiarly interesting.

Our author describes the streets of that city as straight and nar-
row, paved in the middle with granite, but without raised or se-
parate foot-paths. The houses are constructed of stone, with
some attention to uniformity, and are generally two or three sto-
ries in height, the ground floor being commonly used as a shop or
a warehouse, and the upper stories accommodating families. In
1808, when Mr. Luccock's Notes commenced, the projections
called jealousies, constructed so as to allow persons to look down-
wards into the street, without being seen themselves, jutted out
from the upper windows, and gave a heavy suspicious appearance
to the houses, besides rendering the streets dull, and indicating
that the inhabitants had little sociability. A few months after
the arrival of our author, an order was issued by the regent to cut
them down to modern balconies; and the ostensible reason for the
change was a wish to make an improvement in the appearance of
the city, corresponding with its advancement in the scale of pri-
vileges and importance; but « the real cause, it was reported,"

Luccock on Brazil. 40T

says Mr. Luccock, " was an apprehension that, sooner or later
these jealousies might become ambuscades for assassins, who, un-
seen and unsuspected, might from thence discharge a fatal bul-
let."-—" Be this as it may," he continues, the regent, by a stroke of
his pen, has done more to promote the health and comfort of Rio,
than could have been effected by the suggestions of foreigners,
backed with all the force of reason, in a whole century."

In the outskirts of the town, the streets were unpaved, the hou-
ses *f one floor, low, small, and dirty; and the doors and windows
were of lattice-work, opening outward to the annoyance of pas-
sengers. The retail shof>s were chiefly on the Eua Da-(tyi-Tan-
diy tne wholesale warehouses nearer toe water; and this ojgtinc-
tion, of such consequence to foreign traders, together wfln the
crowd of people in the streets, inspired Mr. Luccock with hopes
of finding at St. Sebastian a good market for British commodities.
He estimated the number of the inhabitants, at this time, at sixty
thousand, of whom one-third were white people or mulattoes; and
he arranges the whole into the following classes; 1000 connected
with the court; 1000 in public offices; 1000 resident in the city,
but drawing their revenue from lands or ships; 700 priests; 500
lawyers; 200 medical men; 40 regular merchants; 2000 retailers;
4000 clerks, apprentices, and commercial servants; 1250 mechan-
ics; 100 vintners, commonly called yenda-keepers; 300 fishermen;
1000 soldiers of the line; 1000 sailors belonging to the port; 1000
free negroes; 12,000 slaves; 4000 femalesat the head of families, and
about 29,000 children. This last number, he notices* is small, but it
seems that few children comparatively are born in Rio; many are
carried off in infancy by improper treatment; the children of slaves
are placed in the same list with their parents, as belonging; to the
same class; and, " it is painful to add, that means of the vilest na-
ture are often employee! to prevent the birth of children, and that
infanticide is by no means uncommon."

Beef is one of the most important articles of food in this city;
but the sale of it being a monopoly, there is only one slaughter-
house, which, with the carts used to convey the meat to tne li-
censed shops, is disgustingly filthy. Carne-secca, beef, cut into
flitches ana dried in the sun, is in common use in the city. Mut-
ton is in small request, the people alleging, perhaps jestingly,
though quoting Scripture, that it is not proper food for Christians,
and for the same reason, a fortiori, we presume, lamb is never ea-
ten by them. The vea^nsed is obtained from animals of a year
old. Pork is eaten with avidity; but as the swine devour many of
the reptiles with which the country abounds, their flesh is not
palatable, and perhaps nfit very wholesome. Fish is equally va-
rious and abundant, and most kinds of European poultry are ex-
posed to sale. Wheat-flour bread is used; but the powder called
Farinha, the produce of the Mandioca or Cassava root, is, in Bra-
zil, the staff of life. It is eaten with orange juice, or gravy; and
the negroes give it a slight boiling. Our culinary vegetables thrive

408 Luccock on Brazil

well, and are much valued; and those called Feijam, different
sorts of kidney beans, are as common in Brazil as potatoes with
us. Fruits, both those which thrive in Europe, and many peculiar
to the country, are abundant, and are either eaten raw or made
into sweetmeats. The cultivation of the grape was prohibited, to
prevent interference with the staple produce of Portugal; and the
wines in common use are the poorest sorts yielded by the vine-
yards, of Portugal and Spain. Milk, butter, and cheese are scarce,
and of inferior quality. ,f The butter in use was generally Irish,
and its state may be conjectured, without much danger of mate-
rial error."

Thl reflection of the sun's rays from the surrounding rocks
makA the heat of Rio extremely intense. Mr. Luccock has seen
Fahrenheit's thermometer in the sun at 130°, and 96° in the
shade. The sea breeze, which is a great comfort in these parched
regions, begins about eleven o'clock, and continues to blow till
sun -set; then a sultry state of air, with a heavy dew, ensues; af-
ter which the land breeze rises and blows till morning. The dry
season breaks up towards the end of September with thunder and
lightning, and the heaviest rains fall in November. An eruption,
called the prickly heat, bilious complaints, fevers, elephantiasis,
and small-pox, are the most common diseases, but perhaps filthi-
ness and vice contribute more to their formation than the cli-
mate.

u Our countrymen who carry good looks to Brazil, seldom fail
soon to lose them; but there is more change in appearance than in
reality. Where they have been indisposed, their ailments were
not, in general, to be ascribed to the climate, or to the sickliness of
the country, if they arrived in health, they were at first Utile af-
fected by the heat, used more exertion, and required less indul-
gence, than the natives. They partook more of the common las*
situde in the second or third year, and then appeared to need the
repose of the afternoon, as much as those who had been accustom-
ed to it from their birth. The more important effects of change
of climate appeared to depend greatly on constitution, previous
habits, and on the modes of living, which were adopted. With
their utmost care, however, many of them fell into bilious com-
plaints, which they might probably have escaped at home, and suf-
fered from them more than the old inhabitants."

The author has a long chapter on the public buildings, institu-
tions, &c. of the cily, from which we shall content ourselves by
taking three extracts, one of them descriptive of the funerals in
Rio, and the others strongly expressive of the degrading influence
of superstition, — all of them, therefore, unpleasant to be sure, but
quite characteristic.

" The body was conveyed through the streets in a sort of open
litter, or rather tray, covered with black velvet, ornamented with
gold lace, and furnished, like European coffins, with eight handles.

Luccock on Brazil 409

The tray or Mer is about two feet and a half wide, six long, and
from six to eight inches deep, so that the body, when laid upon the
back, is fully exposed to view. As in this warm climate, the mus-
cles do not become rigid, and as funerals take place within a few
hours of the last scene of life, the corpse, as it is carried along, ei-
ther by the hand or on men's shoulders, has a considerable decree
of motion, which greatly resembles what might be expected from
a living subject in the lowest state of debility. It is convened,
also, not with that slow and solemn pace, and orderly procession,
which seem best to agree with deep-rooted sorrow, but in an inde-
cent hurry, a sort of half-run, attended with loud talking, and a
coarse air of joy. The shattered remains of man are decked out
in all the gaudy trappings of a gala-day; the face painted, the hair
powdered, the head adorned with a wreath of flowers or a metal-
lic crown; the finery being limited only by the ability of surviving
friends to procure it" — " At the church-door the corpse was laid
down, and continued for some time exposed to public view. It
had not acquired that cadaverous appearance which dead bodies
usually assume with us; for, indeed, disease is here so rapid in its
operation, and interment so quickly follows death, as to prevent
it. This exposure of the body, in a country where assassination
is much too common, appeared to me an excellent custom; it gave
the surrounding multitude an opportunity of ascertaining whether
the deceased came to his end by a natural process, or by violence
—unless poison might have been so administered as to excite no
.. suspicion, or a wound might be concealed under the gaudy array.
At all events, it renders file concealment of murder more difficult
than it otherwise would be. In due time, the priests receive the
body, perform over it the rites of the church, and deliver it to
those who are charged with the ultimate ceremonies. By these
men I saw a body, the dress and ornaments of which were unu-
sually rich, entirely stripped of them; and the work was. done so
coolly as to demonstrate that the men either had a right to do so,
or had been long accustomed to do it In general, the trappings
are only cut or torn from the bier to which they have been fasten-
ed, in order to keep the corpse from rolling over; it is then tum-
bled into the grave, which, for white people, is always within some
sacred building; a quantity of quicklime and earth are thrown
in, and the whole beaten down with huge wooden stampers. This last
circumstance appeared to me more inhuman and shocking than
any I had ever witnessed at an interment, and I even thought it
not many degrees short of cannibalism itself."

The corpses of the poorer people, especially the blacks, Mr,
Luccock says, were treated with much less ceremony; but he gives
us to understand, that in subsequent years, along with sundry
other improvements, " the common harshness of the proceedings
at funerals was much softened."

The next quotation relates to a figure in the Royal Chapel, and
of the use to which it is applied.

vol. XII* 52

410 Luccock on Brazil.

" The orchestra is well supplied, and the music admirable; but
its effect is not a little counteracted by a circumstance which has
often excited the risible faculties of heretics* Directly in front*
and below the railing of the orchestra, is a well carved figure,
much like what in England is called a Saracen's Head. The face
expresses wonder, rage, and consternation, or rather a sort of sup-
pressed ferocity. Its eyes are large and glaring, and fixed so di-
rectly upon the small crucifix, which stands on the altar, than no
one can mistake their object. The mouth is coarse and open,
containing a concealed pipe, which communicates with the organ.
In the more pathetic parts of the mass, and particularly at the
elevation of tne Host, the key of this pipe is touched, and the
head utters a dismal groan, expressive of the horror which infidels
must feel on such an occasion. Whatever may be thought of the
conceit, such mummery cannot be Christian worship."

To this we add the description of a painting in the convent of
St. Bento, the principal one in Rio.

" In the anti-room, at the entrance of the convent, is a curious
painting. It represents the tree of life, round and expansive, with
firm roots, a strong stem, and branches full of foliage. It is, at
once, in flower ana fruit; the former a sort of rose, not unlike the
flower of the tree which produces the celebrated Brazil wood, and

Srobabljr intended to represent it; the fruit is of a most unusual
escription, — a Benedictine monk, in the full habit of the order,
seated in the midst of the flower. Hie countenances and figures
seem to be drawn from the life, and are well done. A man who
has no reverence for monks, may smile at the strange conceit; yet
the picture is so designed and executed that it is almost impossi-
ble not to mix some feelings of admiration, at the sight of if, with
those of contempt. It brings to mind the history of the order, its
wealth, and ease, and its unrivalled influence over Brazilian af-
fairs."

Persons leaving the city on business sometimes place their
daughters in one of the Recolhimentos, or religious houses for fa-
milies; husbands, who suspect they do not possess the entire
hearts of their wives, send them thither, when they go from home;
some women, whose characters are known to be bad, are confined
there by way of punishment; and, again, females of rank and cha-
racter often choose to live in these houses during the absence of
their husbands. Thus the Recolhimentos " present a strange
jumble of ace, character, and purpose, young and old, the in-
nocent and tne corrupted, female schools and magdalene hospi-

The arrival of the Royal Family of Portugal in Brazil, is stated
to have occasioned universal regret among the people. The vice-
roy had been accustomed to receive the most profound homage
from all classes of society; even the distant shadow of his equip*
age in the streets made them uncover their heads and bow the

Luccock on firazil 411

knee; and no one ventured to pass a common soldier on duty, or
to read a public notice stuck against the wall, without performing
some act of homage. These humiliating marks of respect were in
some measure compensated by the studied courteousness which
descended from the representative of royalty through all the gra-
dations of society, ana the easy intercourse which subsisted be-
tween him and his courtiers, ana the citizens. The comparative-
ly exclusive state, and the more ceremonious bearing, in which it
behoved royalty to regulate its intercourse- with the people, were
therefore at first deemed by them as a serious public evil, and the
circumstances of privation and distress to which the House of
Braganza were at that time^ reduced, must have deepened this
feeling of regret, in as much as the real condition of royalty came
far short- of the splendour and magnificence with, which in Brazil-
ian ideas it had been dignified* The queen was too old to feel
the whole extent of her misfortunes, and though her person was in
Bio, her imagination waa said to have presented to tier generally
Lisbonian scenes. Her son, the Prince Regent, has been accu-
sed of apathy; but his want of energy i* to be ascribed to the
"cowardly sycophants and hypocritical priests" by whom his
councils and conduct were influenced. His gratitude to the Bri-
tish nation was shown in the kindness and the protection display-
ed toward the English resident in Rio. The Prince Regent's
consort is described as a woman of energetic character, and the
widow of his brother was a person of mud uninteresting habits,
but retired from public life. Besides these personages. His fami-
ly consisted of seven children, and a relation from Spain the In-
fante Don Carlos de Bourbon. All of them, with their attend*
ants, nearly three hundred in number, were crowded into a mise-
rable abode, which had formerly contained the mint and a prison,
and was united by a covered way with the convent of Carmelites.
The royal equipage was a small chaise, drawn by two mules; the
guard rode on unshod, lame, blind, and galled "horses, and were
clothed in jackets, exhibiting every possible shade of blue, "that
vaiious and varying colour," and many of them were much patch-
ed; they had no waistcoats, gloves, or stockings; and their boots
Were old and torn, never blacked, nor even brushed. The Prince
Regent's wife sometimes went out on horseback, when, in compli-
ance with the custom of the country, she rode astride. The
children very seldom took the air, until a good strong family-cha-
riot arrived, a present, it is said, from the King of Great Britain.

a Some idea of the low state of the colony, low in the arts and
conveniences of life, may be formed from the fact, that on the an-
niversary of the Queen's birth-day, which occurred some months
after my arrival, there were only six carriages mustered on the
occasion, and these all open ones, with two wheels, and driven by
dirty negroes. Yet this was a gala-day, and the wealthy part of
the community had done their utmost to make a show*"

4 12 Luccock on BraxiL

The lawyers meet every unhallowed morning in the street cal-
led Rua-da-Qui-Tandi, to transact business; and we have a ludi-
crous description of their dress and appearance*

" The generality were dressed in old, rusty black coats, some
of them well patched, and so ill adapted to the height and form of
the wearers, as to excite a suspicion that they were not the first
who owned them. Their waistcoats were of gayer colours, with
long embroidered bodies, large flaps, and deep pockets. Their
breeches were black, so short as scarcely to reach either to the
loins or the knees, where they were fastened with square buckles
of mock brilliants; their stockings of home-spun cotton, and their
shoe-buckles enormously large. Their heads were covered with
powdered wigs, surmounted by large fan-tailed greasy hats, in
which was usually placed a black cockade. The left thigh bore a
very old shabby dirk. It was amusing to observe with what punc-
tilious ceremony these gentlemen and their subalterns addressed
each other; how exactly in order they bowed, and held their dirty
hats; with what precise forms, and cool deliberations, they com-
bined to pick the pockets of their clients. There were in the
crowd a few respectable-looking men, but they were indeed a
small proportion; the leading characters of the profession did not
find it necessary to attend these street meetings. In general the
meagre and sharpened features of the persons present, and their
keenly piercing eyes, added to their sallow complexions, would
have lea a pretender in the science of Lavater, to determine the
features of their minds with a glance, and to come to no very fa-
vourable conclusion/9

Apothecaries shops are fitted up in a gaudy style.. Merchants
make their purchases of goods before breakfast, dine at noon, and
then sleep till the evening; when they come forth to pay their vi-
sits and enjoy their amusements. They are represented as la-
mentably ignorant

" Merchants as respectable in their line as most in the country,
have excited our astonishment, by asking in what part of London
England was; which was largest, Great Britain or Madeira; which
farthest from Rio. Their ignorance extended beyond geography;
few of them were acquainted with more than the first principles
of arithmetic; in reading they spelled out the meaning, ana to
write a letter was a dreaded task."

The mechanics are said to be very unskilful, vet so proud that
they think it beneath them to be seen carrying their tools. Slaves
are sent into the streets to act as porters, ana regulate their step
by an African song. No playfulness of the young, or shouting of
the more advanced, is to be seen or heard in the streets of St Se-
bastian. Begging is not confined to the necessitous, for even the
wealthy ask boons, borrow with a tacit understanding never to pay,
and buy on an undefined credit; officers of the army have been
seen soliciting charity; " and it is to be regretted, but ought to be

liUccock on Brazil. 413

recorded, that more than one person who wore a star, fell into
deeper disgrace — stole, and were detected." The dress of the fe-
males is extremely slight, often nothing more than a single habit
" bound about the waist by the strings of a petticoat;" they wear
no stockings, and seldom slippers. Their hair is long and fanci-
fully decorated with artificial flowers; their manners are coarse
and pert; and their minds uncultivated*

" At eighteen in a Brazilian woman, nature has attained to full
maturity. A few years later she becomes corpulent, and even un-
wieldy; acquires a great stoop in her shoulders, and walks with an
awkward waddling gait. She begins to decay, loses the good hu-
mour of her countenance, and assumes, in its place, a contracted
and scowling brow; the eye and mouth both indicate that they have
been accustomed to express the violent and vindictive passions;
the cheeks are deprived of their plumpness and colour; and at
twenty-five, or thirty at most, she becomes a perfectly wrinkled
old woman.*— ■" Premature age is owing partly to climate, partly
to a constitution enfeebled and ruined by inactivity; most of all
to the unnatural and shamefully early age at which females are
allowed to marry.

The shopkeeper and his servants both eat and sleep on the
ground -fldbr of the houses occupied as shops and warehouses; and
persons of rank and riches inhabit the upper stories, to which
there is an entrance from the streets. The front room is called
the Sala, and is fitted up in rather a fantastic style; the varanda is
in the back part of the nouse, and is usually occupied by the fami-
ly. The principal meal is the dinner at noon, which consists of
soup full of vegetables, carnesecca, feijam, and farinha. Knives
are used only by the men; women and children employ their fin-
gers. The female slaves eat at the same time in different parts
of the room. Wine is drunk only during dinner; after it coffee is
brought in; then water is carried round for the purpose of washing
the mouth, the hands, and even the arms, and is generally poured up-
on the guests by a female slave; and, lastly, each retires to his si-
esta, to indulge in w the luxury of laziness." There is among the
Srazilians a great want of personal cleanliness— the houses and
e beds are overrun with vermin — and filth of all kinds is allow-
ed to accumulate in the streets.

" When a gentleman calls upon another, if he be not intimate
at the house, he goes thither in full dress, with a cocked hat, with*
buckles in his shoes and at the knees, and with a sword or dirk '
by his side. Having reached the bottom of the stairs, he claps*
his hands as a signal to attract attention, and utters a sort
of sibilant sound, between his teeth and the end of his tongue,
as though he pronounced the syllables chee eu. The servant*
who attends the call, roughly inquires in a nasal tone, who is
it? and being told, retires to inform the master of the house,
what are the wishes of the visiter. If he be a friend, or one so

414 Luccockon Brazil,

well known as to be received without ceremony, the matter quick*
\y conies to him, and ushers him into the Sala, making loud pro- .
testations of the pleasure given him bj the visit, mixing his com-
plimentary speeches with a great number of bows. Before busi-
ness is entered upon, if that be the object, repeated apologies are
offered for the free mode in which the visiter is received. And,
indeed, there is often no little occasion for such apologies, for the
gentleman very generally makes his appearance with a beard of
many days growth, with his black hair in the roughest state, though
besmeared with grease, and with no clothing over his cotton shirt
This garment is, indeed, well made, and ornamented with needle-
work, especially about the bosom. But then it is commonly worn
in the house, so as to expose the breast; and the sleeves are tuck-
ed up at the elbows. ' Or if, by chance, it be secured at the neck
and wrists by its globular gold buttons, the flaps appear on the
outside, hanging half way down the thighs, over a waistband,
which secures round the loins a short pair of trowsers; while the
legs are quite bare, and the feet covered with tamancas. All this
is not very delicate; more especially as the skins of the Brazilians
abound with hair, and are much sun-burnt about the breast and
legs.

*• Should the call be a ceremonious one, a servant* is sent to
conduct the visiter to the sala, from which, as he enters, he often
sees the persons who were in the room escaping at the other door. Here
he waits alone, it may be, half an hour, when the gentleman ap-
pears in a sort of half dress. They both bow profoundly, at a
distance; after a sufficiency of skill m this science has been dis-
played, and thus time gained to ascertain each other's rank and
pretensions, they approach; if unequal, with corresponding digni-

?and respect; if supposed to be nearly equals, with familiarity,
he business is then entered upon, and despatched at once. These
bows between strangers, and this slow approach, I almost love, as
they give men some opportunity to measure and appreciate one
another, and prevent a thousand awkward blunders, and equally
awkward apologies. With my countrymen in general, I partici-
pate in an abhorrence of the Brazilian embrace.

" In the city, persons retire after dinner to their own houses, to
take their repose and spend the evening as they please. Out of
the city, particularly if the moon be nearly full, evening finds the re-
maining guests in lull gaiety of spirits; sleep has dissipated the
* fumes of wine, if too much had been taken, the company is cn-
m larged by an assemblage of the neighbourhood, the guitar strike?
up, for every one can touch it; the song succeeds, generally in soft
and plaintive notes; and the dance is not forgotten. In this way
the hours of evening pass, or in the ever-varying deals of m anil la,
in free remarks and smart replies, in feats or agility and harmless
frolics. The reserved character, which seldom fails to make it-
self conspicuous in the earlier part of the day, wears off; and not
unfrequently people run to the opposite extreme The loose at-

Luccock on Brazil. 4 1 5

tire of the ladies is peculiarly favourable to the exertion of their
limbs, and they engage with great hilarity in the rough, but inno-
cent exercises of the other sex. Here and there a jealous old
husband looks after his young and sprightly wife, and she deems
it prudent to restrain her gaiety; but it makes little difference,
and occasions no interruption of the general glee."

" Their feet are the most cleanly parts of their persons, for it
is necessary to wash them occasionally, in order to keep them
from the injury which the neglected bite of different insects fre-
quently produces. The faces, hands, arms, bosoms, and lees, all
of which are in both sexes much exposed, are rarely blessed with
any cleansing; and hence, more than from a burning sun, acquire
a considerable degree of brownness. The skin of young children
is commonly fair, but being permitted to roll about continually in
the dirt, and being seldom, or carelessly washed, their hue soon
becomes as dingy as that of their parents. No such instrument
as a small-tooth comb, nor any substitute for it but the fingers, is
known in this part of the American continent. Men and women,
children and servants, indulge publicly in one of the most disgust-
ing of Portuguese customs; one reclines with his or her head in
the lap of another, for a purpose unnameable; even monkeys are
taught to fill the same office, and do it with dexterity and plea-
sure."

Our author, in quest of a better market than Rio afforded, made
a voyage to the Plata, and thereby obtained some valuable infor-
> mation respecting the newly acquired Brazilian territory in the
south. This, he says, cannot be less than seventy thousand square
miles in extent, possesses the natural advantages of a fine climate,
a fertile soil, ana mighty rivers, and comprehends nearly the whole
of the district first civilized by the Jesuits. It is divided into two
capitania's or provinces, named from the rivers by which they are
bounded. The information in the following extract is worth
knowing.

" One of these rivers, the Parana, rises in the heart of Brazil ,
flows through the country to receive the Paraguay, and becomes
the western boundary of the province, to which it communicates its
name. The latter river had been, previously, the limit of Brazil
on that side, from its remotest source, and of the province of Pa-
rana from the lake of Xarays. Their united streams flow with a
sea-like majesty, until they contribute to form the immense estu-
ary, familiarly known as the Rio de la Plata. Different persons
who have written of these rivers, have confounded the names of
the principal and the tributary streams, in a way which an ac-
quaintance with the native language might have prevented. Para
always describes a large body of water; Na or Nha signifies suffi-
ciency; hence the term Parana, besides being technically riven to
one particular river, is applied also to the ocean, as well 4s any
great expanse of fresh water. Guay describes a smaller portion

416 Luccock on Brazil.

of water, and signifies a bay, inlet, or creek. It follows that Pa-
rani must be the name of that portion of the river which has the
largest expanse, and Paraguay of the smaller tributary stream. With a
view to accurate distinctions, it may be useful to observe, also,
that yg or yk denotes fresh water, and is the term which water-
carriers in Brazil make use of, when they cry their commodity
about the streets for sale; though generally expressed in Portu-
guese and Spanish writings by y alone, or hy. In this state it
forms the termination of several names of rivers, as Uruguay, Ta-
coary, Acarahy. When placed at the beginning of a name, and
connected with some other descriptive word, it is generally writ-
ten yg as, ig; or Iguasu, the great river; Iguape, the navigable ri-
ver; Jguape-mirim, the little navigable stream."

The author's description of the plant called matte, and the use
to which it is applied, is also interesting.

« In Brazil it is commonly called Caneunha, or Congenita;
which is probably a corruption of Caancunha, the woman's leaf.
It grows, not in the province of Parana alone, but more or less
over the whole Table-land. Its qualities and consequent estima-
tion are various; the best is said to be found in the vast Serro Ma-
racaju. It is the produce of a low shrub, so much like the tea
plant of China, that two gentlemen, who had been in the east,
first led me particularly to notice it, as a species of wild tea. Be-
ing curious to discover whether there was any other similarity,
besides the appearance, they gathered some of the leaves, dried
them on hot stones, and produced a beverage of an agreeable bit-
ter taste, not unlike Bohea. In the common preparation of mat*
te, the collected leaves are laid in large heaps upon hides, and
placed between two fires, so as to be thoroughly dried. They are
then broken small, and though more yellow, form a substance
much resembling what is called the dust of tea. When ready for
sale, it is packed in hides, or in sacks made of a kind of reed or
cane, opened and made flat. To prepare it for use, it is infused
in water, generally in the half of a cocoa-nut shell, variously or-
namented, and not poured into cups, but sucked through a pipe,
which has a strainer at the lower end to prevent the herb from
entering the tube. In taking it, the vessel is commonly passed
round to a whole company; and whatever disgust may arise from
the sight of some of the mouths receiving the pipe in their turn, it
would be deemed the height of ill-breeding to decline a share of
the matte."

This seems a different article from the caa-miri, or herb of Pa-
raguay, according to Mr. Southey's description, in his history of
Brazil. The caa-miri, he says, is obtained from a tree of the
genus ilex; it resembles the orange-tree, but is of larger growth
and softer foliage, and bears white flowers in clusters; is found
in marshy ground some hundreds of miles east from the town of
Assumption; and is prepared for use by roasting the leaves over a

Luccock on Brazil. AIT

slow fire, end afterwards pulverizing them in a mortar. It is
used as tea, and is in great demand throughout the whole of South
America.

The following highly interesting anecdote may suggest some
important reflections. . The author is at Maldonado.

" Returning to dinner at the inn, our hostess favoured us with
* dish of beefsteaks, of which she had learnt the name, and which
she supposed to be the favourite food of Englishmen. As in these
houses there is no respect of persons, and as in this part of the
world there is no notion of the comfort of a party eating by them-
selves, we had a great deal of company during dinner. Trie con-
versation was lively, and turned on a most unexpected subject.
A few days before I left Rio, the Spanish frigate Zwoa 1 ad touch-
ed there, in her way from Plymouth to the Plata. In England,
the crew had been furnished by the British and Foreign Bible So-
ciety with copies of the New Testament, in Spanish, two of which
I had bought in the streets for six hundred and forty Reis, that is, '
three shillings and sixpence each, intending to improve my know-
ledge of the language during the voyage. In this object I was
disappointed, the translation proving to be an impure dialect of
the Spanish, which none of our crew well understood. The peo-

Sle belonging to the frigate had sold other copies at Maldonado,
efore we arrived there, one of which appeared in the inn. Seve-
ral persons were poring over it, and endeavouring to turn a nar-
rative, vn which they had lighted, in one of the evangelists, into
intelligible Spanish. The matter was evidently new to them, and
excited a very lively interest On this subject the conversation
turned, and, fed by their inquiries* we were induced to become
lecturers in Christian divinity, while we ate bar dinner; the office
devolving chiefly on one of our party, who spoke the language of
the listeners with fluency. The scene appeared to us most ex-
traordinary at the time, occurring as it dia among subjects of the
most bigotted of Catholic powers in Christendom; nor can I, at
this tistant period, cease to contemplate it in something of the
same light'*

From the year 1809 to the year 1813, our author had his resi-
dence in the town of St. Pedro" do Sul, or Rio Grande. *The en-
trance into the river is impeded by a broad and shallow bar; and
the coast exhibits a flat and barren aspect. The town stands in
a level plain, contains about five hundred houses, and two thousand
inhabitants, two-thirds of whom are white, or but slightly tinged.
At this place there is a ferry, which pays a rent to the crown; and
tf its farmer the following anecdote is told:

" When he heard that the royal family had arrived in Brazil,
he owed to the crown ei^ht hundred thousand Reis. He therefore
mounted a horse, and with the greatest secrecy set off without
passports for the capital, where he arrived at the end of three
weeks, having travelled nearly eight hundred miles, by an unusrfl

ve*. xru 53

41S Lttccock an BraxiL

route, for the sake of avoiding pursuit and detention. He threw
himself at the Prince Regent's feet, confessed the debt, and his
utter inability to discharge it His royal highness was so much

S leased with this mark of his confidence, as generously to remit
lie sum, and reinstate the man in his poet."

The admission of British vessels to Buenos Aires had produ-
ced an influence on the trade of Rio Grande. The demand for
hides, tallow, wheat, onions, cheese, and charqued beef, had in*
creased, and British manufactures were sought after. Yet our
author soon found that he had brought a cargo of the greatest va-
riety to a wrong or an overstocked market. The goods were giv-
en to retailers to be sold on commission, or to hawkers to be car-
ried through the country, and disposed of by barter. Still, little
was sold, and then recourse was had, but with no advantage, to a
public auction, the proceedings of which are thus described:

M The second officer of the customs presided, and he' appointed
the clerk and the auctioneer. To the latter, a black man, the pre-
sident, with becoming gravity, delivered a bit of straw when the
lot was too bulky for him to carry round the room, directing him
to present it to the company as representative of a certain lot of
goods, containing so many pieces or yards, or dozens, or pints, and
distinguished by its peculiar number. With this straw, lifted
above our heads, he danced about like a Merry Andrew, loudlj
vociferating the words of the president, and calling upon die peo-
ple to buy. Having by his boisterous and absurd gestures produ-
ced more merriment than serious attention to business, and got-
ten to the highest bidding, he returned the straw in form, an-
nouncing the price of the lot, and the name of the purchaser.
Aware of the prevailing opinion, we had provided a person to ran
up the lots to a certain amount; in consequence the first fell back
into our hands, and the second and third followed without awak-
ening suspicion. At length a conviction of the truth excited
among the bidders much laughter at their own simplicity, and the
superior address of the strangers. No change, however, wA pro-
duced in their disposition to buy, and not a single lot was dispo-
sed of."

The three first days of Lent are called the Intrudo, and are al-
ways days of frolic among the Brazilians. The chief amusement
of that season is the pelting each other with hollow balls of va-
riously coloured wax, about the size of an orange, and filled with
water. The combat is continued till all concerned are well
drenched. This custom was brought, we believe, from the mo-
ther country; and it is a curious fact, that one of a similar des-
cription prevails among the inhabitants of the Birman empire at
the commencement of the year. Thus we learn from Captain
Syme, that on- the last day ot the year, the young women of that
country arm themselves with flaggons and long syringes, and pre-
j>are to give the men a wetting; that the men thus treated also

Luccock on BraxU. 419

throw water upon their assailants; and that, notwithstanding this
license, good humour is never interrupted nor indecency com*
mitted.

Strangers from the interior, of rather a singular character, oc-
casionally made their appearance in Rio Grande, as purchasers of
Sods. They were short and robust, while a thin beard, lank
ir, and an unsettled eje, were indications of their having a mix*
ture of Indian blood in their veins. They were clothed with long
coarse cotton shirts, fastened with a girdle about their loins; they
. had hats of felt, straw, or palm leafjandthouffhtheyhad neither shoes
nor stockings, each had spurs fixed to his heels by a strip of raw hide '
They were armed with knives stuck in their belts, and bad oyer their
shoulders a pouch of skin, containing a flint, a steel, and tinder*

" When they were about to make purchases, they usually came
m small parties, alighted at a store without speaking or taking no-
tice of any one, turned the reins from their horses' necks, and
suffered them to trail on the ground* in which state the horses
would stand and sleep, without stirring from the spot Entering
the store, they looked round, until some one seeing an article
which he wanted, pointed to it, uttered a few words respecting
the price, generally purchased, and immediately paid for it. Re-
suming his upright position, he again looked round, pointed, pur-
chased, and paid. There seemed to be no sense of difference of
qualities or varieties of price, no idea of abatement. Thus the
party proceeded until they had spent their dollars, if they saw in
the place all that they wanted. If they did not, some one would
occasionally ask for an unseen article; and if it was not to be had,
their trading was finished; they asked for nothing more, and could
not be induced to look any farther, but gathered up their purcha-
ses and retired. If a seller ventured to recommend his goods,
their common suspicions of craft seemed to be immediately con-
firmed; and I have seen them in such a case leave a store without
speaking another word."

Mr. Luccock made several journeys into the interior, taking
with him a guide, horses, provisions, and arms; the guide equip-
ped himself with the knife, lasso and balls. The lasso is made of
plaited thongs, is about seven yards long, and fixed to the saddle,
and is used to entangle oxen and other beasts. The halls are
three in number, and are made by filling a purse of soaked hide
with wet sand, and then wringing it, when it becomes as hard as
a stone. This apparatus, most readers know, is much used in
Brazil. A well-trained horse stops when it is thrown, and even
pulls against the entangled animal. On the eastern side of the
River Gonzales is a great extent of land, called Charqueados— a
name whence the charqued beef of Brazil is derived. This dis-
trict prepares and exports a great deal of that article. When the
cattle are killed and skinned, the flesh is taken off from the sides
in one broad piece, something like a flitch of bacon; it is then

490 Luccock on Brazil*

•lightly sprinkled with salt, and dried in the sun. To give as
idea ot the quantity of meat prepared in this manner, the author
mentions an individual of the Charaueados, who, in one year,
slaughtered fifty-four thousand head or cattle, and charqued their
flesh. After the immense piles of bones thereby collected are

Sicked by vultures, jaguars, and -wild dogs, they are usually re-
uced to lime. The farms in this part of South America are in
size from twenty thousand to about six hundred thousand acres;
to each three square leagues belong five or six thousand head of
cattle, about a hundred horses, and six men. Hogs are generally
found near the farm-houses, but sheep are little attended to, both
on account of the danger to which they are exposed from beasts
of prey, and the prejudice existing in the country against mutton.
The breed in the country is ill -shaped, and has coarse wool, which
is partly used for stuffing beds and mattresses. Every farm has
an enclosed place called the Rodeio, where the cattle are occa-
sionally collected, examined, marked, and otherwise treated as cir-
cumstances may require. These few feet* are sufficient to show
the great capabilities of the country, were it fully peopled and
carefully cultivated; and may warrant the hope, that at some dis-
tant day it may be the seat of civilization and happiness. The
following extract contains a good account of the rural manners and
hospitality of Brazil.

" In the abodes of respectable farmers, or rather graziers, there
is usually a lodging-room reserved for strangers; to this room their
saddles, bridles, and all their baggage, are carefully conveyed.
The horsea being stripped and led away by slaves, are considered
as under the exclusive care of the master of the house, or his ser-
vants; and it would be regarded as a want of confidence, if anj
individual were to show any concern about his beast, Br way of
marking peculiar attention, a guest is sometimes asked how he
would wish the fowls to be dressed. While the supper is prepa-
ring;, conversation is maintained with spirit, more especially if
there be travellers present from different quarters. At supper,
which is often graced with a large exhibition of silver plate, the
host places himself at the head of the table, where he stands and
helps every one plentifully; using his knife, fork, and fingers in-
discriminately. Wine, if produced, is taken as a part of the
meal; never after it The attendants are frequently numerous,
seldom, as may be supposed, expert. About eleven o'clock a
slave appears, with water and a towel, for the hands and face; and
is soon followed by another, with warm and cold water to wash
the feet, — a most grateful custom in a hot and dusty country. The
bed-room being prepared, according to the number of guests, the
master conducts them thither, and points out to each where he is
to repose himself. The Brazilians do not always undress; where
there is nothing to disgust them, Europeans commonly follow
their own more refreshing mode. In the morning all put on their
tincleaned boots, and, with unshaven chins, meet the host at break-

Luceock on Brazil. 4&JL

fast, whose beard is, probably, still longer than theirs. Immedi-
ately after breakfast the horses make their appearance, and are
saddled at the door. A thousand compliments, thanks, and good
wishes, are exchanged between the friendly entertainer and his
guests, who finally now from the saddle ana depart. Should they
return by the same route, to omit to call at the houses where they
had been kindly received, would be accounted unpardonable.'9

When the author returned to Rio de Janeiro in 1813, he found
it greatly improved. New streets were added to the city; the
markets were extended and improved in cleanliness; the jWom-
sies* had been removed from the houses, and the balconies orna-
mented with flowers and plants; numerous villas had been built,
and gardens formed; the roads were widened; the brushwood and
other impediments cleared away; the court had assumed a Euro-
pean magnificence; the levees of the prince were frequent, and,
as he placed himself so as to etqoy the open air, the ceremony of
kissing hands was witnessed by the populace; a taste for. dress
and domestic comfort had been inspired, and the spirit of loyalty
reigned among the people; the prince had opened a new public
fountain, improved the police, promoted the Brazilians to places
of honour and trust, made the people feel their importance as a
state, and by these And similar acts of condescension and good
government, had become a great favourite, and was hailed by the
title of " Monarch of the South."

" Few," says our highly intelligent author, ** few are disposed
to be disloyal, who are allowed to witness the ceremonies of a
court, who know that they also may present themselves to the
sovereign, complying only with established forms, and find the
Iroad to honours equally open to merit wherever it appears."

The prince, with his family, often attended the theatre, and
hence it became a fashionable place of resort. •" In the pieces re-
presented, the manners, vices, dialect, and other peculiarities of
the colony were ridiculed, and the public taste in consequence
amended." Ecclesiastical affairs had also undergone improve-
ment; a nuncio had arrived from the Pope, not so much to enforce
papal mandates, as to keep up a connection between Rome and
Brazil; a bishop had been appointed to the See of St Sebastian,
who managed with dexterity the ignorant and superstitions mul-
titude; he encouraged marriages and solemnized them in per-
son; he caused the churches to be cleaned and ornamented, bells
to be introduced, and cemeteries allotted to the British and
the negroes; he discountenanced the devotion of children to a mo-
nastic life, directed abuses in convent discipline to be amended,
and obliged the priests to maintain propriety of conduct. The
altars were decorated with images; the processions of the Host;

* Some of our readers will at once trace this word to the French jufow
He, a lattice.

4£t Luccock en Brmztt*

which were lets frequent, were conducted with greater decency,
music was improved; and festivals, which combine religion and
pleasure, something like the old English wakes, were revived and
multiplied.

" Among the minor circumstances influencing public manners,
may be reckoned a song which obtained a large circulation, sati-
rizing one of the prevailing vices, and into the chorus of which
was happily introduced the name of an individual foremost in the
ranks of the infamous. It was set to a simple air, which was dai-
ly played through the streets, as the military marched from the
barrackg to the palace. The music accorded with the public taste,
the negroes and boys were perpetually singing in merry ridicule,
and the song became familiar to all. In consequence, the man
particularly pointed at, either left the city, or hid himself in it, or
was hidden in the grave, foe he was seen no more, and his abet*
tors were glad to pass unnoticed. In no other instance did I eve*
see ridicule so well, so inunediately and effectually applied."

These alterations and improvements were not relished by all
the members of the community, and the individuals who, from "bi-
gotry, or bad principles, opposed them, manifested the bitterness of
tneir resentment by conspiring against the life of the able and active
minister, Don Rodrigues Conde de Linharoa, by whom chiefly they
had been either originated or enforced. His successors fell far short
of his enterprising and valuable character; and hence, it was not likely
that, after he had been laid in the grave, the plans which he had
projected would be carried on to the full amount of their promise.
Still, there was much good resulted from his labours, which even
the impolitic conduct of Don Joan d' Almeida, whom our author
describes as the worst and onost obnoxious of the subsequent mis*
isters, was not sufficient utterly to destroy. In sundry respects,
which we have not room to enumerate, the Brazilian government
acquired a consistency and an efficiency which might fairly enti-
tle it to bear comparison with some of the old establishments of
Europe; and with this advancement towards political importance,
there naturally sprang up an increasing attention to the useful arts,
the embellishments and luxuries of social life. But we must pass
from these generalities.

In a building on a rock in the harbour of Rio, lately assigned to
the British for an hospital, but formerly appropriated to persons
labouring under elepnantiasis, Mr. Luccock had an opportunity
of seeing a case of that singular malady, the Guinea-worm*

" The patient was a negro-boy, about fourteen joars of age,
among whose countrymen the disease chiefly prevails. The ani-
mal, if so it may be called, appeared^ coiled up beneath the skin;
after some time, what was said to be" the head, protruded itself,— r
this was seized with a small forceps, and the worm drawn out to
the length of two inches; the extracted part was then wound
about a small stick, to prevent its return. In a few hours after,

K. JOtl
a similar precesBw Qe ■« » »-^f or* aanj
it, the iWe was extracted, ta*i -:*a. uo*9ur?4 l*>- i r.*i ir-'.:
thread of carsat, anal was- *?*ei v-1" n »**urn^ ~:t* mt u*
these wemw ia every far? af u* J*ty. latt *rta ~r~jn.-i vr r— l
in his own cautry, imi to 4^-nnfC Tunraoi^ bbl ifi rjo~ *.-
count, kid bra «old *y i_* ;ar»-r:* ?ir tvi yum? *c ci»~atn lav-
es. He rrii: +4 ia "fue hakh *u- u#»ii* iu-** w*- *». wi* uatr-i.
I believe, is a state sr -mncN^i «l.-titjii«l. nut iuei c* juittebc jv-
red. For fire year* ar-*—wi- ri.-Tir s. rot-r ***r7 uij ic ma
I nv Km, he resubmit f-t* inm. iii* wi iJ^.;r. l.dl »n"-ri. an.
excellent terns:, or1 a esji i^i; i*tf E-ir.-.u'ut \i in* n*ir*i*r n.
warm and m:«* jem.^ X^ ii.T»**- n *-~-ist_* it* v.i».«i «a*
'sold ae;m are nv iti* ^r I n*** 7m >r-r/ 2 -.a.** n.-i^u-* jl
addtafc t*\r I ««*: wti ti*- jui n ?-«*->> a -#r »«#sr 1* >. uuc :iatf

at Baraa/*

Oar «*rjr. wt*» iib€ :''*n»^r w^afetife 1* varwra* tur mat/.*?
westward of Rj» o* Ju**urii. ia* r^*a- 'i* irj*enari.rut nrao* ov-
raj bis jowraey*, a «e cm&wzL vrnmruxn^ Vi * «ao~ ae**?
from it a few of c* aw**?. «ATT*Mir paruci-arv

A village called M*u Fwrcu-u it- ''iti«^jC » ;u. a cuts**-.:, wwjt
exhibits **a» en*-** W tut Hu y Girt*:"'— «t*awr y, * u. ****%
punted like a barber"* po.t. hvyyvr^vz a Uuarc v- 91 «cl tu^r*
appears a dure, »rrvci«G*3G v.tt. a jc^vy- Tin* *a**>^* i* muO to
have lo§t its on^iol (/a*^. v*rc^e- JWtmuo Hau Puroo% 1* an
indifferent reaic^ace uf Vj«r -Sweragn <rf hoou'i* liut fc^udwMHidv
and acceptable prea^xr.^-d U> Uil, o& #:U arhiau 11* tMr vwkitrr, \ij
a private mercruiit. Id (Vvst of it a* a ^avr«ar tuat nad be*-t»
aent ever ta hi* Ron! rLr^et^ irr *i*e iKve af S'oruuMuUrLa«*d,
an exact copy of ciat le&c .^r *-*> £*** Houm?« Tue y^i'^fu La*
a niie view, and r.e aii;*.»: ^l-j: zv.k+ui, v*>*£i *«* iii ^uud ta*U*,
are an excellent s^b»titiite Utt t^e iLjm-± or for***" at *-n-t^d ua
their site only a few years ago. A weii marked ev*d*;Lce of the
improvement that has taken place in tLis part <if tbe country ia
•ommnnicated in the following anecdote:

* It is somewhat carious to recollect, that in 1796, one of the
passengers by the Duff, riding to this small distance from the ci-
ty, found himself beyond the limits of civilization, and even of
military protection. He was attacked by persons who attempted
to catch him with the lasso, and was obliged to gallop for his
life."

" What a rapid change in the state of society!" exclaims our
author, in continuation; " Who can contemplate such improve-
ment without pleasure! Who without astonishment can recol-
lect that it extends nearly round the whole count of South Ante*
rica!*

4£4 Luccoek on BraziL

The country round Venda Grande, which is seven miles from
the city, appears, from its present flat and sandy constitution, to
hare been formerly flowed by the ocean, bat, farther inland, the
rocks assume a bold character, the forests are richer, and the val-
leys have a thicker covering of gramma. Mr. Luccock once met
with a p&rty of Swedes in this neighbourhood; they were on their
way to St Paul's, intending to work an iron mine; but the project
is said to have failed, owing to the ignorance of the director, and
by no means to defect in either the Quantity or the quality of the
ore. " In Brazil," he informs us, M tnere are considerable moun-
tains of almost pure metal." But he adds, "by a natural, though
selfish stroke or policy, the people were not allowed to work it,
before the emigration of the court from Portugal." A few miles
farther off lies the estate of Santa Cruz, once a principal settle-
ment of the Jesuits, but now the property and occasional residence
of the king, who does not seem to cultivate it with the energy of
its former masters. When speaking of that singular body, in a
subsequent part of his narrative, Mr. Luccock seems to do equal
justice to the amount of their services and the methods by which
they were effected. His remarks on the subject are not new, in-
deed, but they are abundantly expressive, and deserve notice.

" Numerous are the evidences which the Jesuits have left, in
this part of the country, of the power and splendour of their order,
and of its admirable political management. Speaking generally
and dispassionately, it may be said, that whatever was well con-
trived and executed was done by them, and that the common pros-
perity and happiness have declined since their dispersion. Vet it
must be acknowledged, that they were little scrupulous in the use
of indirect means to attain their end. Two circumstances, illus-
trative of this fact, are related in the neighbourhood. The society
asked, and easily obtained from Lisbon, the privilege of a tax on
espregos,* which word, in Portugal, describes small nails, and the

{overnment was well aware that such articles were here little used,
n Brazil it means a fastener, and is applied particularly to sipo,
the pliant twig, which is universally employed to bind together the
frame-work of buildings. So established was a tiling once brought
into general use, that, long after the dissolution of the order, tne
tax, devested to a different quarter, is still a subject of complaint
The other instance occurred about the time when the society be-
came suspected at court. By a petition it stated, that there was
a piece of water, belonging to the crown, which would be useful to
the house at Santa Cruz, as a duck-pond, and prayed for a graiit
of it It was not thought expedient to comply without examina-
tion, and, on inquiry, it turned out that the pond was no other than
the Bay of Angra, containing four hundred square miles of water,
and several valuable fisheries. The idea of a duck-pond was pro-
bably suggested by the multitude of brown divers, here called Pa-

Luccock on Brazil* 425

tog, which then appeared in the Bay, and are still occasionally seen
on flat and unfrequented shores.'9

Deceitful conduct and dishonest artifices are not to be imputed
to the Jesuits alone, for, according to our author, the mercantile
character of the Brazilians is greatly contaminated, and the temp-
tations of avarice seem occasionally to be much too powerful for
the pride or the principle of persons in office, and even members
of the royal household. He gives some instances of meanness, ar-
rogance, and fraud, apparently with regret, but conceiving them to
be truly illustrative of the general character, and at the same time
considering himself as doing a real service to the planters and tra-
ders of the country, believing that '« every honest man among them
will allow that he is entitled to thanks for the exposure."

A countryman and friend of our author had, several years ago,
purchased a farm at some distance from the city. It consisted of
about two thousand acres, and, together with the expenses, cost
about 83000. There were on it two houses, each ot which was
surrounded with pasture ground, coffee, and fruit trees. Having
purchased slaves, the first object of the new proprietor Was to clear
some of the ground for the purpose of planting, and at the same
T?me procuring timber for necessary buildings and fences. He
then introduced mandioca on the sandy soils, and milho on the
loamy ones; coffee was reared on the clays, and the swamps were
prepared for rice; the European modes of culture being occasion-
ally combined with the agricultural practices of the country. Be-
sides the produce of his fields, which seems to have amply remu-
nerated his industry, our farmer profited much by the conversion'
of a bed of clay and different coloured earths, into bricks and tiles,
and earthen ware, if not a kind of porcelain; and the surplus of his
wood, after being cut into billets, was disposed of for fuel, at the
rate of about three halfpence for thirty pounds weight As his
farm improved, and conveniences were multiplied, he planted the
sugar-cane, which was found to thrive admirably. He then erected
a mill and distillery, the latter being formed on the most approved
British principles— but this part o? his speculation did not suc-
ceed, owing to the prejudices of the people, by whom, it is insi-
nuated, irreparable mischief was done to tne apparatus, during the
absence of our countryman. On the whole, this seems to have pro-
red a prosperous concern, and we have thought it worth while to
enumerate these particulars, in order to show the nature of fann-
ing in this country, under what, it will readily be imagined, was a
judicious system of management. Lands are obtained here by
grant as Well as by purchase; and, as they are distributed by the
map, and not by survey and measurement, it is not wonderful that
a great deal of confusion and many contests arise with respect to
the boundaries of property.

" To ascertain and establish their claims, many landholders fix
around their borders a number of small tenants, called Moradores,

vol. xn. 54 *

426 Luccock on Brazil,

who pay a trifling rent, procure their subsistence chiefly by the
cultivation of vegetables, and answer the important purpose of
watchmen, preventing the encroachments of neighbouring proprie-
tors and the robbery of the woods. They are generally white peo*
pie who have families* sometimes a slave or two, and add much to
the population of the country; but they love and affect indepen-
dence, and seldom continue after the limits of an estate are well
ascertained, and its remoter parts brought into cultivation,"

Mr. Luccock speaks very unfavorably of their (general character
and habits. Their removal, which is often capricious, and com-
monly without concern, is frequently succeeded by the occupation
of a more valuable class of tenants, who possess a small capital,
which they invest in slaves, and who pay the rent of still larger
portions of land, either in money, labour, or produce.

" If the article raised be sugar-cane, the most profitable culture
in Brazil, half the produce usually goes to the landlord, for which
he no* only furnishes the soil, but crushes the tenant's share of the
caue, distils the syrup, or converts it into sugar, according to the
wish of the individual. Such a bargain is considered as advanta-

r us to a man, who possesses land without much capital, because
is thereby enabled to construct sugar-works aaapted to his
whole estate, and to keep them more fully employed. The tenants
are bound also to plant a certain quantity of cane on additional

S'eces of ground, and to crush the produce at die mill belonging to
e estate; and these minor farms fall successively into the owner's
hand, and add to the value of his property. At the same time
many of the tenants improve their own condition, become advanc-
ed in the scale of cultivators, and ultimately proprietors of land."

The mode of laying out or stocking farms, seems to be greatly
modified by the distance from the city, and the comparative ease
or difficulty with which produce may be conveyed to the market.
Vegetables, fruit, and two sorts of grass, are the chief growth of
the lands in the vicinity of Rio, and are usually taken in to it by
canoes and boats, or on the heads of negroes, each of whom carries
from one to two hundred weight, according to his strength. Thia
is reckoned severe labour in such a climate, especially if the dis-
tance be three or four miles; and, till lately, these porters were
obliged to lay down their burdens when they happened to be met
by any of the sovereign's family,— -a troublesome piece of homage,
for which a simple halt is now substituted. Between the distance
of four and twelve miles from the city, the pasturing of cows oc-
cupies a large part of the land, and a good deal of sugar is culti-
vated. The milk is conveyed to the city in large tin cans, on the
heads of negroes, " who run along with it, cheering their labour by
a song." Much of the sugar-cane is also taken to town as food for
cattle. Beyond the distance of twelve miles, the influence of the
capital on the state of agricultural enterprise is less directly per-
ceived. There it is customary to leave a portion of a farm under

Luccock on BraxiL 427

lis natural wood, for the purpose of supplying the city with fuel;
and the cleared lands are planted with coffee, sugar, rice, and
mandioca or milho, according to the nature of the soil, and other
local peculiarities*

" There is great simplicity," says our author, "in the usual ma*
nagement of a farm. The master and his family commonly reside
upon it, and, except a feitor or bailiff, who sometimes has a family
also, are the only white people. On the farm of Maranbaya, my
friend would willingly have employed free wliite labourers instead
of negro slaves, as usual, and given any reasonable encouragement
to some of the many British and North American subjects, who
were wandering about in a destitute condition; but he could not
succeed with men who loved a vagabond life, and preferred the
gains of fraud to those of labour."

The chief agricultural implement is the hoe, and it succeeds
amazingly well. Many attempts have been made to introduce the
English plough, but hitherto without success, neither the blacks
nor the Brazilians having acquired skill enough to use it: and such
instruments as the scythe and the sickle are almost unknown in
the country.

The following anecdote may be considered a very striking illus-
tration of the low degree of intellect, but fine natural feeling, of
the people alluded to. It affords also a good idea of this remarks*
We country.

" The owner of an estate, wishing to provide himself a better
house, consulted a few of his friends as to the choice of a spot for
the purpose. On our pointing out the summit of a small woody
hill, as a place where, we thought, he might enjoy pure air and
pleasant scenery, a score of slaves were ordered to cut a narrow
road through the wood, by which we might ascend and examine
the spot more accurately. They immediately went to work, but
so far misunderstood their master's order, as to leave all the wood
standing on the crown of the hill, by which we were as effectually
precluded from looking around us, as if we had been enclosed witn
a lofty wall. Almost three hours more were spent in cutting down
tree after tree, each of which, falling against its neighbour, re-
mained, for the most part, in an upright position. At length, one
large and hard -wooded tree giving way towards the south, the rest,
which had been upheld by it, followed. The effect was like draw-
ing aside a curtain. In an instant there lay before us a complete
view of the city of St Sebastian, its Ions islands, shores, and sur-
rounding mountains, together with a wide expanse of ocean. The
very slaves were struck dumb with astonishment, feeling the ef-
fect of beauty beyond description bursting unexpectedly upon
them. The silence and the clamour which succeeded were both
expressive: in various languages, used by natives of three different
quarters of the globe, the same sentiment was heard: « Surely this
is a goodly world which we inhabit.9 "

430 Luccock o* Brazil.

a large proportion of which consists of priests and lawyers, and
proverbially noticeable for " its singular propensity to legal squib*
oles;" and Pirasenunga, a place of some consequence, near which
various mechanical improvements, chiefly of British origin, have
recently been introduced, and where our author witnessed a so*
lemnity of so extraordinary, and yet characteristic a nature, as
Well to deserve description:

" It was matter of regret to me that I could not enjoy the prof-
fered honour of dining with the clergy, whom Easter brought to*
gether here. The approach of evening set me at liberty, ana I at-
tended divine service at a chapel belonging to a private house, the
owner of which is obliged to keep it open to die public, especially
at this season, when the free-will offerings are made. The altar
stood at the end of a long varanda, and around it sate a great
number of females, in ranks on the floor, with their legs crossed
under them. The men, not quite so compactly arranged, stood
behind them, and others sate on benches down the sides of the va-
randa. At the end, opposite to the altar, were two tables, with the
proper officers to receive and register the offerings. Some of these
met with great respect and gratttude, others were received with a
marked coldness, which seemed intended to be admonitory. As
each offering was registered, it was delivered for sale to a sort of
auctioneer, who marched with it up and down the place, vocifer-
ating the last bidden sum, and exhibiting ail the wit he was mas-
ter of, to induce a higher offer.

" The British strangers, four in number, had been introduced
into a large apartment of the house, which commanded a view of
all that passed in this motley scene. Though they conversed gayly
with the family and other visiters, it was in an under tone, out of
respect to the religious ceremony which was going on; yet the
joke, the smile, and giggling laughter,' which were seen and heard
all around them, plainly showed that nothing was farther from the
hearts of the assembly, than thoughts of serious and devout wor-
ship. Indeed, the ecclesiastics themselves are in general so guilty
of like indecorum, in their holy places and employments, as to
make it manifest that they consider themselves only as actors,
having each his part assigned in the drama of the day. They seen
to expect, on common occasions, no other attention from a con-
gregation, than a care to bend the knee, bow the head, cross then-
selves, and smite their bosoms at proper points of the service, and
to make their responses in unison. The sacred sale passed hea-
vily; few appeared willing to pay more for a cock, consecrated by
its having reen devoted to the service of heaven, than for one
equally fine from an unholy brood. To infuse a little life into the
scene, the heretics, after being assured that they might do so with-
out offence, began to raise the prices, and bought a few trifles at
an exorbitant rate, or enjoyed the mortification of an opponent,
when they cho9e that a contested article should fall into his hands.

Luccock on Brazil. *3*

The first lot which fell to my own share, was two dozen of eggs,
which cost nearly a penny each; the next was a cake, made no
doubt in the best style of the donor. This I begged permission, if
not absolutely contrary to all rule, to divide among the ladies who
were with us; and being allowed to eat, it was presumed i that
drinking would not be improper, and the mistress of the house
produced wine. The auctioneer, elevated, as it might seem, by
the high prices which he had obtained, quitted his beaten ground,
stepped into the ranks of the females, and strode over their shoul-
ders. Incommoded by his freedoms, they at first repaid him with
jokes, and afterwards with pinches on his naked legs and feet, and
at last with hearty slaps on the buttocks, which a short jacket lett
unskirted. In this manner, they beat him off the field, and the
feat was applauded as excellent sport The ofl&ciating priest
seemed to participate in our feelings, on the conversion of a reli-
gious ceremony into a scene so ludicrous; for he commenced the
more serious part of the service, which imperatively demanded
silence, and vindicated its claim to attention. At this season, si-
milar offerings are made all over the country, and generally dis-
posed of in the same way. In these sales, the common character
may not often make so unreserved a display of itself, as in the
present instance; yet a man wishing to become acquainted with
Brazilian manners, will be well repaid for the time which he may
spend in an attendance upon them."

In the year 1817, our author made a journey into the province
of Minas Geraes, when he put himself under the guidance of a
tropeiro or carrier, partially adopted the dress of the country, and
supplied himself with a variety of articles, both of furniture and
table requisites, which show that, to take a journey in Brazil, is a
very different thing from travelling in Britain. Goods are earned
into the interior on the backs of mules, two hundred and fifty -six
pounds being the average load of each; but on this occasion a poor
animal carried a load of tea-boards, which, with their counterpoise,
amounted to four hundred and sixteen pounds weight. On fre-
quented roads, says our author,

" The owner of a large estate builds what is called a Rancho,
which, in general, is nothing more than a long and broad roof, co-
vered with tiles, and raised upon rough and unhewn posts, about
twenty feet high; intended to afford shelter from the sun and rain,
but it has generally no walls whatever, and very frequently the
ground upon which it stands is not even rendered smooth and level.
In these respects, therefore, they are inferior to the common hovels
of English farms, under which cattle are usually housed. Beneatn
these sheds, those who travel with a troop, for the most part, take
up their residence for the night, and have no communication what-
ever with the house or the owner of it Just by he establishes a
venda, that he may be able to dispose of milho, a chief article which
the farm produces, and too bulky and heavy to be conveyed over

432 Luccock on BraziL

mountainous roads to a distant market, where also the price ob-
tained would hardly defray the expenses of carriage. At a small
distance also, upon the farm, is a pasture, into which the cattle be-
longing to the troop are turned at night This is generally in
some secluded valley, where the mules require neither enclosures
nor keeper, for they seldom stray from the spot, separate from each
other, or mingle with the individuals of another troop. For pas-
turage a smalt sum is paid to the owner of the land, and he de-
rives the additional advantage of keeping his estate in some mea-
sure free from brushwood, and in a condition suitable for furnish-
ing his own cattle with grass."

The country to the north of the capital is finely diversified with
hill and dale. The scenery of one of the tributary streams of the
river Parahyba, reminded the author of the vale of Matlock; and a
fine vale at some distance from the banks of the Parahyba itself,
had some resemblance to that of the Tees near Barnard castle.
At the ferry of another river, the officers of the register were
found employed weighing gold dust, which they had received as-
the produce of the washings, by a number of country people who
had brought it in.

" These men, some of them negroes, appeared to be very poor,
who, having collected a few oitaves of metal, carry it to the regis-
ter, where it is examined, weighed, and a small sum advanced
upon it These circumstances are entered in a book, the dust,
wrapped up in a small packet, is deposited in an iron chest, and
the man departs to search for more. When he has collected as
much as he thinks will make a bar, a certificate is given to him of
the gross weight and probable value; the metal itself is sent to the
smel ting-house, where it lies for several months. In the meantime
this written certificate is negociated by the searcher, and circu-
lates until the bar which it represents be inquired for. One of
these documents fell into my hands in the city, which had been
issued at Sahara, two years before. On presenting this writing at
the smel ting-house, the bar is produced, and with it a certificate of
the gross weight of the dust, the waste it suffered in smelting, of
the quantity deducted as the royal fifth, of the present weight, as-
say and value of the bar. These bars, bearing the royal arms, the
name of the place where they were issued, the weight and qua-
lity of the gold, accompanied by their certificates, circulate as coin,
in the province of Minas Geraes, and some others* but now, when
they find their way to that of Rio de Janeiro, they must be carried
to the treasury, where they are coined into pieces of 6,400 reis, or
4000 reis each. The former of these certificates, it is evident, be*
comes actually a paper currency, and on a small scale produces in
commerce some ot the same effects; the latter also, though in the
present mode it rather encumbers the circulation, might be made
a very convenient kind of bank note, payable on demand, by the

Luccock on BraziL 433

bar which it represents, or exchangeable for treasury paper after
date,"

The gold searchers exhibited specimens of the dust they had
collected, but with the utmost secrecy, as the sale of it to foreign-
ers is prohibited. Upon the lower part of the river Parahybuna,
searching for gold is interdicted; yet a considerable quantity is
procured from it in a clandestine manner. In reference to the
prohibition, an old searcher shrewdly remarked to our author,
*• you know, sir, the night has no eyes." A cone of wet sand three
feet, high, which takes a man a day to raise, and two days to wash,
yields gold to the value of from twenty to five and twenty shil-
lings.

v The party now entered upon the province of Minas Geraes, and
travelled through a fine pastoral country with cattle grazing
around. The range of the thermometer in the course of the day
wa9 from 54° to 76°. The nights and mornings, of course, felt
cool, but the air was finely bracing. In the course of their journey
the party had some invitations to dine at the houses of rich far-
mers, or had fruit and other delicacies sent to them at the ranchos
where they stopped. The route lay through a couutry resembling
the West Riding of Yorkshire in external aspect; and from one of
its hills our author was presented with a splendid scene.

" Here was nothing romantic and rough, no gray and naked
peaks, no abrupt precipices and projections, but one expansive pic-
ture of elegant symmetry. Yet, having proceeded a few yards over
the brow, a still more delightful scene burst at once to view. We
looked down upon an ocean of mist, through whose surface broke,
for many miles round, the tops of innumerable mountains, ranged
like islands upon the bosom of the deep; all formed by the most
delicate hand, painted by the richest pencil, and enlightened by
the full splendour of a newly risen sun; even my negro boy, who
might have vied with any one in human shape, lor want of sensi-
bility and taste, gazed in silence for a time, and then cried aloud,
u He muito bonito" — It is very fine! Could I have passed such a
spot without admiration, I should have thought myself destitute of
one capacity for joy, if without feelings of devotion and gratitude,
incapable of praising that Being, who, naving formed, looked upon
creation and pronounced it good."

The town of St John D'El Rey is two hundred and sixty-five
miles distant from Rio de Janeiro. It is of a circular form, and,
in point of situation and. size, bears a strong resemblance to Hali-
fax in Yorkshire. The intermixture of public and private buil-
dings, the white-washed walls, the red tiled roofs, the gray paved
streets, the yellow sands of the river, and the green shrubbery of
the gardens, combined to form an interesting picture. This town
was blessed with a good governor, and it is certainly delightful to
find among such a people, so much humanity and integrity, aa are
exhibited in the following extract:
v*l. xn* 55

434 Luccock on Brazil.

" The character of the governor soon displayed itself, not i
ly in the frankness of his manners towards strangers, and the easy
terms upon which he admitted to his presence every respectable
individual of the place, but also by the kind notice which he took
of a poor sickly Indian boy, who had accidentally seated himself
upon the steps" of the house; the tender interest which the condi-
tion of this poor outcast excited in the bosom of a person whom
fortune had placed so much above him, quite won my heart, and
rivetted my esteem for a man so gentle and humane; nor had I oc-
casion afterwards to detract my respect. As a friend, he was
warm and sincere, as a judge, upright and inflexible. In the latter
respect, his character just before had been put to a severe trial, by
the appearance of a person at his tribunal who had till then shared
his esteem, and for whose acquittal great interest had been made;
nevertheless he suffered not the friend to usurp the seat of justice,
but passed an unmitigated sentence. On this account some were
disposed to think him severe, yet, besides the satisfaction arising
*")m the consciousness of having done what was right, he possess-
ed the respect, the affection, and blessings of the people. Without
reserve, parade, or affectation, he showed himself among them, and
was every where received as their guardian and friend."

The poorer classes are here employed in searching for the pre-
cious metals. Some of them collect pieces of quartz, break them,
and examine the fragments; others take up the sand of the river
and wash it; and others dig holes and divert the stream into them.
Westward from the town, the ground on the declivity of a hill is
trenched and washed. Our author thinks, and we dare say justly,
that it would be more profitable to crop the ground, than to treat
it in this manner. The mine which gave being to the town is no-
thing but a deep pit, near the government house, into which the
rills from the neighbouring hills were guided, and the sand with
which they were charged afterwards searched.

" Here accounts relating to gold are kept in marks, ounces,
oitaves, and vintems, twelve vintems being equal to one oitave, or
eighth part of an ounce, and eight ounces to one mark* Hie in-
tegral weight or ounce of the metal, when pure, or twenty-four
carats fine, and, when the royal claim or fifth has been satisned,1a
estimated at 13.090 10-11 reis, which, at an exchange of sixty-
pence per miireis, gives three pounds five shillings and fivepence
halfpenny, nearly as the sterling value of pure gold, when issued
from the smelting-house; or for British standard gold, which is
only twenty-two carats fine, less than three pounds sterling per
ounce. The relative value of every quality or gold may be easily
found by multiplying the number of carats by 75, or otherwise, at
one operation, by using as a multiplier the number 130.9166,
which gives the product in British farthings. Hence it is evident,
that the intrinsic value of gold, when taken from the earth, and
without any duty being paid upon it, is something teas than forty-

Luccock on Brazil* 435

tight shillings per ounce for British standard, or that quality
which is twenty-two caratB fine*"

Besides the trade in gold, this town enjoys a considerable share
in the commerce of the country. The imports consist chiefly of
British manufactures, the demand for which is great, and likely to
increase. Oxen, horses, and mules; bacon and cheese; cotton,
sugar, and coffee; gold, and precious stones, with some manufac-
tured articles,^— are given for them in exchange. The military of
this town and the comarca or county of which it is the head, con*
sists, as in ererj part of Brazil, chiefly of militia; hence every
person of note is an officer, and very tenacious of his military
rank. The climate is fine and dry from March to November.
Rain always comes from the south; snow sometimes falls on the
hills, and ice is occasionally formed in the night, but neither can
resist the heat of the midnday sun. The disorder called goitre,
here papas, prevails throughout the mining district, affecting peo-
ple of all colours, classes, and conditions, and not sparing even
the cattle. Salt, a luxury highly relished, both by the people and
the brute creation, seems to be very efficacious in preventing and
curing this disease.

From St John the party proceeded to Villa Rica, through a
country similar to that already traversed; but the elevation of
which was so much greater, that the thermometer, which, before,
had not been observed below 50°, now descended to 37°. The first
appearance of Villa Rica is like an assemblage of well-built white
villages, perched upon the salient points of the northern hill. But,
on a nearer approach, these objects prove to be churches and other
public buildings, while the dwelling-houses are found in the hol-
lows between them. Nothing but the love of gold could have
raised a town on such a spot; yet it is substantially built, kept
clean and in good repair, and is supplied with abundance of pure
water. It contains two thousand houses, all white-washed, four-
teen public fountains, numerous bridges across the streams, ten
churches, and the edifices of state, such as the governor's palace,
the treasury, mint, and custom-house. The town is placed at the
junction of several streams, whose waters have only one outlet by
a narrow chasm. The united streams take the name of Rio die
Carmo, and its sand is productive of much gold. In a small plain
near the town, which is often flooded, trenches are opened by any
one who chooses, and the mud deposited in them is carefully col-
lected, and washed at home. The rills from the mountains are
carefully examined for particles of precious metal; and in places
where there is no natural flow of water, a series of pits is dug, a
stream conducted to them, at proper seasons the water is drained
off, and the 6ediment collected and searched. Drifts have been
also run horizontally into the softer parts of the mountain, to al-
low the water impregnated with gold to ooze through the shistose
materials of whicn it is composed. These drifts are about twen-

456 Luccock m BraxiL

ty yards long, and about four broad; but the smaller And softer
hills in the vicinity have been bored to a much greater extent.
Such, and various other methods, more or less laborious, are now
necessarily resorted to by the miners of Villa Rica. But when
this place was first discovered by the gold searchers, it is said
that they had merely to pull up the tufts of grass from the side of
the hills, and to shake the precious dust from the roots. The in-
habitants spin and weave wool, worsted, and cotton; but their ma-
nufactures are purely domestic. The town is of some importance
in a commercial point of view, as it now divides the trade to Go-
yaz and Cuyaba, with St John D'El Rey. St. Bartholomew, in
the neighbourhood, is famed for its sweetmeats, and sends a large
quantity of marmalade to Rio»de Janeiro.

" From the steepness of the streets in this town, wheel-carria-
ges would be almost as useless there as in Venice. As a substi-
tute for them, a large vehicle, like a sedan chair, is used, and car-
rpd by mules instead of men; the workmanship of it is very clum-
sy, and the harness far inferior to ours. But an English saddle
having found its way thither, the harness-maker, much to his cre-
dit, borrowed it, took it to pieces, and put it together again, in
such a manner that the owner did not perceive any alteration. The
man had the ingenuity to imitate what he had thus examined; and
I saw a saddle-tree made by him which came little short of his
model."

" The temperature of Villa Rica, and its neighbourhood, is low;
in the morning, during my stay, the thermometer varied little
from 60© ; at noon it was generally 64« or b5<» in the shade. There
is a considerable degree of moisture in the climate; the mornings
were in common foggy, which sometimes turned to a drizzling
rain, coming uniformly from the north, over the brow of the hill.
About ten o'clock the atmosphere cleared and brightened, and the
sun became scorching until four; but there is something ungenial
in the heat, which parches the skin, without materially warming
the air. The evenings were clear and beautiful, and the stars
shone brightly at night, as during a frost in England, unobscured
by a prevailing ^low of light, which rendered distant objects un-
commonly visible."

Mr. Luccock returned to the capital by a different route; but
the particulars of this part of his journey are not of sufficient im-
portance to detain us. The last chapter of the book contains in-
formation which deserves particular attention. During the pe-
riod between 1813 and 1818, the inhabitants of the city had been
gfeatly increased by the arrival of many foreigners from the Spa-
nish provinces, North America, and Europe. Several of the la-
bouring class of foreigners had dispersed themselves through the
country in the vicinity of the city: and others had gone to the in-
terior to enjoy a cool climate, as better adapted to their constitu-
tions than that of Rio. As these foreigners nad brought the know-

Luccock on Brazil. 437

ledge and habits acquired in their native country along with them,
the works of art in progress exhibited more skill and taste than
had been hitherto displayed in this part of the world. A new
church, and several chapels with steeples, had been built, as also
a new treasury and an exchequer. The furniture of houses, and
the dress of the people had been improved. " All tended to create
a great air of bustle and importance, to banish, in some measure,
the formality which had prevailed until then in the manners of
the city, and to render it a showy and intrusive place:" This
change required the police to be strengthened, as a considerable
number of bad characters had found their way to the city; among
whom was a largje proportion of Frenchmen, " whose characters
had been transmitted from the Police Office at Paris." A sort of
Alien Office was, in consequence, established, where every for-
eigner was compelled to enrol his name, and take out a license of
residence. A military academy had been established for the in-
struction of officers, and books of tactics translated for their use.
Troops had arrived from Portugal with such equipments, discip-
line, feelings, and habits, as they had acquired under Lord Wel-
lington. '

Mr. Luccock gives the following account of the insurrection
which lately broke out in Pernambuco. The extraordinary drought
of 1816 had caused a scarcity of provisions, from which the peo-
ple of that province had suffered severely. The emigration of
the Court to Brazil had cut off the connection between Pernam-
buco and Lisbon: but it had become rich by the exportation of cot-
ton to Great Britain, at an exhorbitant price. Hence, in the nee-
dy circumstances of the treasury, it was flattered and indulged;
and when the inhabitants saw other states rising into independ-
ence, " they recollected and boasted of their former services to
the Crown of Portugal, and now became tired of its yoke." Si-
milar sentiments were cherished in all the northern provinces;
.and the whole of that part of Brazil was on the eve of a revolt.
Early in March, 1817, two military officers were murdered, and,
in the subsequent affair, a few people lost their lives. But the
leaders proved themselves utterly nevoid of capacity for success-
fully managing a resistance to the established government

" They not only neglected the supplies, and the means of de-
fence, wliich common prudence might have told them would be-
come necessary, but seemed to court resistance, and in mockery
to (of) the government in Rio, sent the expelled governor thither,
to carry the news, and tell his own tale. At that period the Con-
de des Arcos, whose vigour of mind and promptitude in action
place him amOng the first men of Brazil, was governor of Bahia;
so soon as the news reached him he despatched two vessels of
war, to blockade the port of Pernambuco, and thus intercepted
the supplies of the place, and rendered the scarcity of provisions
which prevailed still more distressing. He despatched also, by

438 Luccock on Brazil

land, a body of troops, whose advanced guard took possession of
Pedras on the 24th of April, and Tramender* on the 29th; the
main body arrived on the 3d and 5th of May; a slight skirmish en-
sued, in which the rebels were routed and their four leaders tak-
en. Thus terminated, in little more than ten days, and almost
without a struggle, the wild projects of a drunken coward, a pro-
fligate priest, a mad assassin, and a cunning knave.9'

When the king heard of the insurrection, he exclaimed, » How
is it that my subjects revolt? I have always tried to do them
good; I do not know that I have injured any one: what do they
wish for?" His conduct on this occasion was vigorous. Accom-
panied by the heir-apparent, he visited the treasory, the arsenal,
and other offices of state; examined the stores, the storekeepers,
and their books; punished negligent officers, and replaced them
by better men; and by this means created among the people a
feeling of loyalty which must have been peculiarly gratifying.
The palace was crowded with people offering services or money.
In the city alone, 7000 volunteers were enrolled, and L.60,000
Sterling raised. The performances of the theatre were suspend-
ed by rapturous expressions of loyalty and patriotism.

" I confess, that though a foreigner, and interested only in ge-
neral with domestic politics, this burst of national sentiment thril-
led to my very soul, t saw a whole people at once forget the ex-
ecrable mode in which the administration of the country had been
conducted, and the oppression under which almost every man had
laboured. I saw them bury it all beneath the love of a sovereign
whom they knew to be benevolent, though inactive; deceived, but
not personally cruel."

The troops appointed to suppress the insurrection, had seen
service in Spain, and were officered by men of talents and loyal-
ty. A blockading squadron sailed from Rio on the 2d of April;
the voyage was prosperous. The fleet entered the Recife on the
20th of May; Ohnda rehoisted the royal standard, and was treat-
ed with mercy.

" When the troops which composed the expedition returned to
Rio, they were complimented with the proud epithet of Pernam-
bucanos; and although they had actually never seen an enemy,
were as vain of their exploits as if they 'had gained the best dis-
puted field. They met there, however, two regiments of uncom-
mon merit, from Portugal, who were distinguished as Talaverrans,
because they had been engaged in the battle which bears that name,
and in every subsequent affair which had opposed their progress
from Torres Vedras to Toulouse. The dialogues and disputes
which occurred between the bloodless hero of Olinda, and him
who had bravely marched up to, and scaled the breach at St. Se-
bastian's, would have been highly diverting, had they not display-
ed much ill temper, and laid the foundation of serious affrays, in
which some lives were lost. These were generally fomented by

Luccock on Brazil 439

the Brazilians, because they hated the people from Portugal; while
all impartial men could not but be struck with the superior dis-
cipline, energy, and temper of the men of Talaveira. In this
moody state of things, some insane blockhead, or desoerate traitor,
obtained an order from th», king for a review and sham-fight, to
take place a day or two afterwards around the palace of St. Chris-
topher in which the two parties were to try their skill in attack
and defence. All sober-minded men became alarmed, and the
Tery day before the review was to take place, it was discovered
by accident that the Pernambucanos had provided themselves with
balls, buttons, nails, and other missiles, tor the purpose of doing
mischief. The troops from Portugal were instantly ordered to
their barracks, auditing examined by their officers, frankly own-
ed that they were not unaware of the mischief intended for them,
and that if any one man among them was hit, they had agreed to
disobey orders, to charge with the bayonet, and march over their
opponents. It is scarcely necessary to add, that the review did
not take place, and that the circumstance produced a spirit among
the parties which it would be very difficult to control. In the
full exercise of such rancorous feelings, I left the troops in the
year 1818."

In the subsequent part of the volume is some curious informa-
tion respecting the internal police of the country, the regqal ho-
nours bestowed upon it, the acclamation of the lung, and the in-
crease of knowledge and taste, with sundry observations on sla-
very and the slave trade. We cannot enter on these particulars;
and must now come to a conclusion by a few- notices concerning
the commerce of Brazil.

" While looking at the intercourse of foreign vessels with Rio,
every Briton must be gratified at the wonderful preponderance
which his own country possesses in that branch of commerce, both
as it respects the direct trade from British ports, from colonial
ones, and between Rio and other foreign ports; — a branch of com-
merce almost new in itself, of great importance to every maritime
people, and of immense value to our shipping interest, although it
makes no figure either in our custom-house entries or our reports
to parliament. This, however, loudly calls for legislative interfe-
rence, not only to nurture and protect it, but to control and pre-
vent it from doing mischief. It is certain that no vessel ought to
navigate under the British flag, without the government knowing
precisely where she is, and what she is doing. Every such vessel
which goes from one foreign port to another, ought not only to
take a consular clearance, but to specify, definitely, the port to
which she intends to proceed; her arrival, or non-arrival there
should be noted, the duration of her voyage, the nature of her car-
go, and such other circumstances as may be thought connected
with the object which she has in view.

440 Letters from, the West.

" These particular should be transmitted also to the Board of

Trade, not so much with a view to make known the nature of the
traffic in which the vessel is engaged, as to prevent British ships
from abusing their privileges, and foreign ones from appearing un-
der a protection to which they have no title, and making use of
the flag as a cloak, in distant seas, for such proceedings as the
British government would not justify. In proportion as the com-
merce we are speaking of expands, care ought to be taken to main-
tain the purity of mercantile character, .the acknowledged recti-
tude and generosity of the British ensign. Wherever that is dis-
played it should be the rallying point of the injured, the pavilion
of the distressed, — always indicating a place of refuge to be sought,
and never appearing as a beacon to oe shunned."

This branch of foreign commerce is of advantage to Brazil, as
it takes off her surplus produce, and supplies her with British
manufactures; for her trade is still only in the state of barter.
American vessels call at Rio for bullion, which they carry to Asia
to purchase cargoes that arc distributed through Europe and the
United States. " In this important and lucrative branch of com-
merce, Britain," says the author, " has no share: she prohibits it
to herself!" Political relations, and a friendly intercourse sub-
sist between Brazil and Spain, Russia, Austria, and Sweden, as
well as some of the other states of Europe. Respecting the late
marriage of an Austrian princess to the ueir-apparent, Sir. Luc-
cock remarks, that " from a connection of this kind, Austria could
expect no immediate or direct advantage; and the state of banish-
ment in which the princess must be placed, can be compensated
only by the consideration, that Brazil, like South America, in ge-
neral is a rich country, and affords a field for royal as well as
commercial adventurers."

Art. XIIL— Letters from the West. Letter III.

Jlpril 18tfc. This morning we left Wheeling. Between this
place and Marietta, there is little particularly worthy of attention,
except the mounds and fortifications, on Mr. Tomlinson's farm at
Grave Creek. The " Big Grave," as it is called, is about a quar-
ter of a mile from Mr. Tomlinson's house, in a south-westerly di-
rection; it is a circular mound, sixty-eight feet high, and fifty-five
feet in diameter at the top. This is one of the largest mounds in
the western country, and it exhibits every indication of great an-
tiquity, its whole surface being covered by forest trees of the lar-
gest size, and the earth presenting no peculiarity to distinguish it
from the adjacent soil.

The " Long Reach," where the Ohio pursues a direct course for

Letters from the We*. #fl

17 miles, may also be noticed in this place, as presenting y re-
markable exception from the general character of this river.

19th. Marietta is beautifully situated at the month of the Mu»»
fcingom river, and has an appearance of neatness and regularity,
which is not usual in the villages of this country. The Ohio hH|
occasionally overflowed its banks at this place, but its inroads
might easily be prevented by a slight embankment, and it is pre*
suraed that the inhabitants will not neglect a precaution so nece*»
eery to their health and convenience. Ship building was carried
on here to some extent several years ago, and great expectations
were entertained of thg future commercial importance of the town;
but a* yet they have not been realised. As early as the year 1798
or 99, commodore Pretty built a brig of 120 tons at this place,
which probably was the first sea vessel lanched in the western
waters-

1 would gladly have stopped for a short time at this place, for
I began to be heartily tired of the boat* A voyage of any kind is
disagreeable enough at Ijest, for give it what variety you may, it
still involves confinement of the body, and a correspondent re-
straint of the mind. The fancy, it is true, may wander over
boundless regions, but the feet are as fond of wandering as the im-
agination, and it is by no means pleasant to have them limited
within the space of a few yards. Yet disagreeable as such a situ*
ation naturally is, I have found so many recreations to amuse me
on the present occasion, so much novelty in the objects which are
continually presented, and so much interest in the recollections
which crowd upon my mind, that I cannot say my most idle mo-
ments have been wearisome; and I am convinced that with the aid
of a little ingenuity, and some good humour, no man need ever
despair.

The heart must be cold indeed that would not glow among
scenes like these. Rightly did the French call this stream La Belle
Miviere (the beautiful river). Its current is always graceful, and
its shores every where romantic. Every thing here is on a large
scale. The eye of the traveler, let it wander as it may, is con-
tinually regaled with magnificent scenes. Here are no pignry
mounds dignified with the name of mountains; no rivulets swelled
into rivers. Nature has worked with a rapid, but masterly hand;

vol. xi*. 56

443 Letters from the Wed.

every touch is bold, and the whole is grand as well ad beautiful;
while room is left for art to embellish and fertilise that which na-
ture has created with a thousand capabilities. There is much
sameness in the character of the scenery; but that sameness is
in itself delightful, as it consists in the recurrence of noble traits
which are too pleasing ever to be viewed with indifierence; like the
regular features which we sometimes find in the face of a lovely
woman, their charm consists in their own intrinsic gracefulness,
rather than in the variety of their expression. The Ohio has not
the sprightly, fanciful wildness of the Niagara, the St. Lawrence,
or the Susquehanna, whose impetuous torrents, rushing over beds
of rock, or dashing against the jutting cliffs, arrest the ear by their
murmurs, and delight the eye with their eccentric wanderings.
Neither is it, like the Hudson, margined at one spot by the mea-
dow and the village, and overhung at another by threatening pre-
cipices and stupendous mountains. It has a wild, solemn, silent
sweetness, peculiar to itself. This noble stream, clear, smooth and
unruffled, sweeps onward with regular majestic force. Continually
changing its course as it rolls from vale to vale, it always winds
with dignity, and avoiding those acute angles, which are observa-
ble in less powerful streams, sweeps round in graceful bends, as
if disdaining the opposition to which nature forces it to submit
On each side, the romantic hills rise, piled on each othor, to a tre-
mendous height; and between them are deep, abrupt, silent glens,
which at a distance seem inaccessible to the human foot, while the
whole is covered with timber of a gigantic size, and a luxuriant
foliage of the deepest hues. Throughout this scene there is a plea-
sing solitariness, that speaks peace to the mind, and invites the
fancy to soar abroad, among the tranquil haunts of meditation.
Sometimes the splashing of the oar is heard, and the boatman's
song awakens the surrounding echoes; but the most usual music is
that of the native songsters, whose melody steals pleasingly on the
ear, with every modulation, at all hours, and in every change of
situation. The poet, in sketching these solitudes, might, by throw-
ing his scene a few years back, add the light canoe and war song
of the Indian; but the peaceful traveller rejoices in the absence of
that which would bring danger as well as variety within his reach.

Letters from the West. 443

You are to observe, that I am speaking of the Ohio only so far as
I have already seen ft; after we leave this hilly region, its shores
no doubt present a different aspect. We have just passed the
Muskingum Island, and the country already seems to be much less
mountainous, though not less romantic. The prospect immediately
below this island is singularly characteristic and picturesque. The
river making a long stretch to the west, affords an uninterrupted
view for several miles. On one side are seen several log houses
surrounded by newly cleared fields, exhibiting the first stage of
improvement; a little further on a neat brick house surrounded by
fruit trees, just putting forth their blossoms, indicates a more ad-
vanced state of civilization, and marks the residence of a more
wealthy, or more industrious citizen. Beyond these are lofty hills,
whose long shadows fall upon the water, and all around is the
gloom of the forest. On the opposite bank a rude bridge thrown
over a deep ravine is discovered through the trees, and near it a
few frail inclosures fabricated of rough stakes, designate and
protect the tombs of some of the early adventurers to this wild
country.

I never was a friend to the incarceration of beauty, as I always
believed that every pretty woman, to say nothing of the ugly ones,
was intended to assist in beguiling the cares of some poor fellow,
who, like myself, had more of them on his shoulders than he could
well attend to. Yet, whenever I gaze on the silent shores of the
Ohio, t am tempted to think how pretty a convent would look in
one of these romantic vallies, where deep melancholy shadows
curtain every spot, where no discordant sound disturbs the soli-
tude, and where no unhallowed object intrudes upon the eye, that
could excite " a tumult in a vestal's veins." But this illusion is
easily destroyed. When I forsook the deck, and struck into the
oountry among the farmers, who fearing the atmosphere of the ri-
ver, build their houses at a distance, leaving a strip of the forest
standing to intercept the damps, 1 found something very different
from nuns and anchorites.

To day, our boat struck on a sand bar, through the carelessness
of the captain, who was sleeping below, when he should have been
minding his business. The boatmen jumped into the water with
great alacrity, and attempted to "heave her off;" but |>eing unaWe

4M JL*Ur$ firm* ike West

to do it, we were obliged to procure a Sat boat to ligjrteu, and
hands to assist us. These were roadil y and cheerfully funuabed
in the neighbourhood; and we suffered no other inconvenience
than that of a few hour*' detention. In the mean time, I took asf
fowling piece, and scoured the forest on the Virginia aide. After
shooting some squirrels and partridges, which were very plenty,
I stopped at a farm bouse, where 1 was hoapitabl y received* My
arrival had been foretold, not like that of Fit&4ames, by " a nun-
strel old and blind," hut by the good man of the house, who said
he had heard the sound of a aAot-gwio the woods, and knew there
mere strange** eta*. He eyed my piece with a great deal of joon-
tempt, and wondered I did not shoot with a rifle. Throughout the
west, a fowling pierce is viewed rather as a toy for children, than
a* a weapon for man. Hunting is here, as Walter Scott expresses
it, « mimicry of noble war." The people scorn a weapon less
deadly than the rifle, and practice has made them remarkably
*apert in the use of it « Luck's like a shotgun, mighty iw
certain," if a common saying, and indeed the poor sftot-gtf* iae
standing butt for ridicule, and a common subject of comparison
with every thing that is insignificant* J obtained no other in-
formation here, than that the country was healthy, and that law*
yers were very plenty; my respondent added, by the by, that the
latter were wondered good shots. Returning, I passed over*
newly -ploughed field, where a fine strapping country girl, and M
gegro wench were planting corn, and having npthjng else to do, I
sat down and inquired the whole process, which I understood so
well as they did, but which they explained very amiably.

To*dsy we passed two large rafts lashed together, by opens of
which ample conveyance, several families from New England
were transporting themselves and their property to jibe land of
promise in the western woods. Each raft was eighty or ninety
feet long, with a small house erected on it} and on each' was a stack
of hay, round which several horses and cows were feeding, while
the paraphernalia of a farm yard— -the ploughs and wags**, ptgo,
obildren, and poultry, carelessly distributed, gave the whole more
the appearance of apennajieot residence* than of a caravan of afU
venturers seeking a home* A respectable looking old lady, with
« spectacles on nose," was seated on a chair at the door of one of

tetters from the West. 445"

the cabins, knitting; another female was at ike wash-tub, the men
were chewing tobacco with as much complacency as if they had
been in the " land of steady habits," and the various family avo-
crtiens seemed to go on like clock-work. In this manner these
people travel at a slight expense. They bring their own provisions,
Ibcar «*ft floats with the earnest, and honest Jonathan, surrounded
bf his scolding, grunting, squatting and neighing dependants, floats
to tiie "point proposed," without leading his own threnode; and on
Ms arrival there, may step on shore with his house, and csmmenee
businesslike a certain grave personage, who on his marriage with
a rich widow, said he had " nothing to do but to walk in and hang
<p his hat."

The evening of this day brought m to Parkersburg, a small vil-
lage in Virginia, famous tor its maniilhctory of bank notes, of which
a goodly quantity were, some years ago, ushered into an ephemeral
existence. They have now entirely disappeared — the shop is shut—
and as this specks of domestic industry will find no protection
from Mr. Baldwin's contemplated tari&bill, the inhabitants will
be obliged to exert their ingenuity ^rpon some other branch of the
arts. The town, composed of a few scattering houses, is beauti-
fully situated. The approach by water is singularly pretty; the
houses presenting themselves through a cluster of intervening
Jrees, which, with a proper taste, have been allowed to stand on
the shore. We had hut a glimpse of it before night came on, when
the lights shining through the numerous foliage, reminded me of a .
Chinese feast of lanterns; and we were so long in getting to the
shore* that even these were extinguished before we reached it.
The sky was delightfully serene, and the moon beams playing over
the tree tops, and drawing out the forest shadows into a thousand
fantastic shapes, invited us to a stroll. Our curiosity was soon sa-
tisfied. The villagers had retired to rest^-the silence of the for-
est was around their dwellings— the stranger's foot-step alone dis-
turbed it We therefore soon returned; but the boatmen were
more successful in their researches after novelty. In their little
tour they discovered one of those engines of justice, to which the
philanthropic compiler of the Navigator,, has demoted a page or
two of invective, namely: a vile whipping post. The honest old
gentleman last mentioned, could not have been more scandalized

446 Letters from tlie We*.

at the appearance of this unsightly fixture, than were our unen-
lightened mariners, who being mostly Pennsylvanians, were unus-
ed to this instrument of corporeal punishment, which they forttarith
removed from its place, and lanched into the river, observing that
" them that wanted to be whipped might go after it"

Nor did the amusements of the night end here* The adventure
of the whipping post bad exhilarated the spirits of the crew, who
now seating themselves in groupes on the bank, actuated* no doubt,
by the genial influence ot " the chaste cold moon," began to chant
their rude ditties of " bold young felfars," and «* ladies gayf * an ac-
* complishment in which some of them had acquired a tolerable pro-
ficiency, and which they appeared to value more highly than their
rough natures would seem to indicate. Here was a fond of enter-
tainment for me. It is amusing to see poetry dressed in rags, and
limping upon crutches. Dignified and lovely as she is in her robes
of majesty, she becomes the most quaint, ingenious, entertaining
little imp imaginable, when she condescends to play the hoyden;
and I assure you, that I adored her with ten-fold ardour, when I
beheld her versatility, and saw her, like a good republican, con-
forming herself to the company in which she happened to be
thrown. She has indeed risen wonderfully in my opinion, in which
of late years she had rather sunk, in consequence of the suspicious
company she had kept— a virago with Lord Byron, a voluptuary
with Anacreon Moore, and with Monk Lewis, a wrinkled old hag.
She has again appeared in her native integrity; I have seen her in
the robes of nature, and heard her in the innocency of her heart
To the admirers of the simplicity of Wordsworth, to those who
prefer the naked effusions of the heart, to the meretricious orna-
ments of fancy, I present the following beautiful specimen verba-
tim, as it n>wed from the lips of an Ohio boatman:

Its oh! as I was a wal-king out,

One morning* in July,
I met a maid, who ax'd my trade,—

Says I " I'll tell you presently,"

" Miss, I'tt tell you presently!"

I challenge the admirers of that celebrated poet to point out, in
all his works, or in those of his disciples, a single verse which is

Letters from the West. 447

more simple, more descriptive, or which contains so much matter
in so small a compass.

In the following amatory stanza, the lover betrays his tender*
ness with great delicacy:

Here '8 to you, and all the rest,
And likewise her that 1 love best;
As she's not here to take a part,
I'll drink her health with ail my heart/'

What a manly spirit breathes through each line, where the poet
pays an honest tribute to poverty, sympathises with the forlorn
wight, too often the object of ridicule, who lives in " single bles-
sedness," and satirises the cupidity of the world, all in the com-
pass of a single verse, as thus:

" Here's to (hose that have old clothes,

And never a wife to mend 'em;
A plague on those that have half joes,

And hav'nt a heart to spend 'em."

There was one ballad particularly, of a very pathetic nature,
which I regret I have forgotten, as the singer observed very feel-
ingly, that " he set more store to it, than all the rest." It began
thus:

<; Oh! love was the 'casion of my downfall

I wish I had'nt never loved none at all!

Oh! love was 'casion of my misery,

Now I am bound, but once I was free!" '

But I have no more room for criticism. These brief extracts
will convince you that I have not decided in favour of the " River
Melodies," on slight grounds. By some future opportunity, I will
send you some more of them; in the mean while I bid you good
night, in the words which the rowers are even now sounding in
my ears as they tug at the oar:

Some rows up, but we row down,
All the way to Shawneetown,

Pull away — pull away!

LETTER IV.

You will have seen already, that it is not my intention to con-
ine this correspondence within the limits of any fixed plan; or to

44S Letters from the Wirt.

enter into any of those elaborate details which belong to wore pa-
tient and more learned investigators. I shall not lay down cour-
ses and distances, analyse minerals, or describe the volant or the
creeping tribes; but when an amtasing anecdote, or a precious mor-
sel of biography presents itself, I shaJl preserve it with the zeal of
a virtuoso. You may smile when I mention biography, as among
the subjects of interest in a Western tour; but you have yet to
learn that your tramontane countrymen cherish among them
many names which deserve "a monument more durable than
brass;99 and that these rocky barriers* which- until recently have
repelled the tide of population, have concealed behind them pa-
triots and heroes, whose deeds would give dignity to any age or
country. Among these, not the least conspicuous, was a gentle-
man, whose name is familiar to me from its connection with the
traditions current among the inhabitants of that part of Western
Pennsylvania in which I have resided for several years past. His
history recurred to me this morning as we passed the village of
Neville.

Here were passed, in seclusion, the last years of a man who had
shone in the brightest circles, and borne a conspicuous character
in public life. General Presley Neville was born in Virginia
in the year 1756; he received the rudiments of his education at
Newark academy, in Delaware, and graduated at the University
of Pennsylvania in 1775, when he received an honour, and spoke
the Latin Salutatory in the presence of the American congress.'
Immediately after leaving college, he abandoned the idea of one
of the learned professions, with a view to which he had been edu-
cated, and joined a company commanded by his father, the late
general John Neville, then stationed at fort Pitt The latter gen-
tleman was promoted about this time to the rank of Lieutenant
Colonel in Colonel Woods9 regiment of the Virginia line, and his
son obtained command of the Colonel's company, with the rank of
Captain Lieutenant He marched to Boston in 1775; and passed
through all the grades to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. He was
at the battles of Brandy wine, Germantown, Monmouth, Princeton
and Trenton, and indeed, in most of the distinguished actions
which occurred, and was finally taken prisoner at the surrender

Letters from the West. 449

of Charleston in Sooth Carolina, and remained on parole until the
end of the war.

In the early part of his service he was aid-de-camp to Major
General Stevens, whom he shortly after left, " to follow to the field
a warlike lord." La Fayette was then a popular chief; his youth
—his gallantry — his rank— his foreign lineage, and his zeal for the
republican cause, threw an air of romance about his achievements
which rendered him the favourite hero of every circle. He was
the mirror in which old men advised the youthful champions of
that day to shape their manners. Invited into his family in the
capacity of aid -de-camp, colonel Neville became the bosom friend
and companion in arms of the gallant Frenchman. He remained
with him three years, sharing with him the toils of war, the tri-
umphs of victory, and the gratitude of emancipated thousands.
Community of danger, and similarity of taste, produced an ardent
friendship between these young soldiers, which was not damped
by separation, nor cooled by the shadows of old age. La Fayette,
after spending the morning of his life in deeds of virtuous daring,
retired to his native country, to devote its evening to philosophic
repose; Neville remained on the busy scene, but an intimate cor-
respondence was kept up between them until the death of the latter.

At the close of the revolutionary war, general Neville married
the daughter of the celebrated general Daniel Morgan; and re-
moved to Pittsburg, where he spent many years in affluence and
happiness, such as rewarded the labours of but few of the veteran
founders of our republic. Here he was elected to the General As-
sembly; once, it is believed, by an unanimous voice, and always by
such overwhelming majorities, as sufficiently showed his unbound-
ed and merited popularity. He continued to represent the county
of Alleghany, until his fondness for domestic life induced him to
retire. He was several times nominated as a candidate for Con-
gress, but always declined the service.

But I am inexcusable in detaining you so long, with a detail of
those honours which are, or ought to be, but the ordinary rewards
of merit— so true it is that in contemplating the trappings of wealth
and office, we forget the merits of the wearer. The most capti-
vating traits in the character of general Neville, are yet untold—
to depict them we must pass his threshold, and observe him in that

vol. xii. 57

450 Letters from the West.

circle of which he was the centre, soul, and life. We have see*
that he was not only himself a revolutionary hero, bat was the torn
of a gallant soldier, and the son-in-law of one of our most distin-
guished leaders. Imbibing thus a military spirit with his dearest
associations, his whole heart wa$ filled with chivalric ardour.
Fresh from the study of Greek and Roman models, he had plunged
into the horrors of a civil war, with a mind teeming and glowing
with classic images of military and civic virtue— and he had the
rare felicity of realizing the visions of his fancy?— in Washington,
Hamilton, and La .Fayette, he saw Athenian elegance, combined
with Spartan virtue, while Rome in the maturity of her fame, was
eclipsed by the youthful vigour of American valour. These events
operating on a young and ardent heart, contributed to nourish and
expand a romantic loftiness of feeling, which gave a tone to the
character and fortunes of the future man. He thought, felt, and
acted with the pride, the enthusiasm, and the energy of a soldier-
but he also acted, felt, and thought on every occasion with that
benevolence which is so attractive in the character of a truly brave
man, and with that courtesy which belongs exclusively to (he well-
bred gentleman. No man could boast more from family and for-
tune—yet no man ever wore his honours with more becoming
gracefulness. He was a proud man— but his pride was as far above
the vanity of unmeaning distinctions, as his heart was above fear,
and his integrity above reproach. He was the kindest of human
beings; — there were a thousand tendrils about his heart that con-
tinually entwined themselves in the little world around him. His
fancy often roved abroad with the classic poet, and loved to linger
with the heroes of other days — but his affections were always at
home. No man was too great for his friendship— none too insig-
nificant for his kindness. His understanding was strong, and
highly cultivated; he was a lover and patron of the arts; elegant
in his manners, and easy in his conversation.

The house of general Neville was the seat of festivity, and hos-
pitality smiled at its portals. It was resorted to by the gentry 6f
those days, as a temple consecrated to conviviality and intellectual
enjoyment, whose shrine was always accessible. The Cerberus
which modern fashion has placed at the doors of the wealthy, to
snarl at indigent merit, was then unknown; nor had the heartless-

Letters from, the West. 451

ness of the bon tan contrived that ingenious system of pasteboard
civilities, by means of Which the courtesies of social intercourse
are now so cheaply paid and received. The hospitalities of that
day were substantial; and never were they dispensed with more
profusion than under the roof of general Neville. Pittsburg and
its vicinity were then but thinly populated, and houses of enter-
tainment were scarce. Strangers of respectability almost always
brought letters of introduction to the general, to whose house they
were invited with a frankness which banished all reserve on the
part of the guest. Here they remained during their stay in the
country, and such was the hearty welcome they received, and the
continued round of social pleasure which they enjoyed, that their
visits were often delayed beyond the original limit. But it was
not under his own roof alone, that this gentleman dispensed hap-
piness; he was the constant patron of merit, and the needy never
appealed to him in vain for relief,

A man so highly gifted was not calculated to pass unnoticed
through life; nor was all of his time devoted to its enjoyment.
Besides the offices which he exercised, he was in other respects an
active citizen; a liberal promoter of all public improvements, and
a careful guardian of the rights of his fellow-citizens. He was
often referred to by the federaf government for local information,
and was once appointed on a mission to France, but was taken ill
at Boston, where he was about to embark, and obliged to decline
the duty. He also, at different periods, held the offices of survey-
or, county lieutenant, and paymaster general to the army of the
insurrection. These trusts he discharged with fidelity. The
friendship of Washington, and of most of the conspicuous men of
that day, which he had gained as a soldier, he forfeited not as a
citizen.

Such was the man who was doomed in his old age to present a
striking example of the instability of fortune. His notions were
too princely for a private individual, and adversity was the inevi-
table consequence. His fine fortune dwindled under his lavish
beneficence; and was perhaps more deeply injured by those who
shared his bounty, and whom he trusted without suspicion. There
was no guile in him, and he suspected it not in others. He found
himself at last, dependent in a great measure for support upon an

452 Letters from the West.

office which he held under the state of Pennsylvania. But even
this was not left to him. It would have been inconsistent with the
practice of those times to have allowed an old soldier to carry his
gray hairs in peace to the grave. Party spirit had reared its gor-
gon head, and as merit is ever the first object of. its vengeance,
the revolutionary veteran had nothing to hope,* But his sun was
already setting, and the twilight of his existence alone was dark-
ened by the storm. Still it was a sad reverse: —

" The harp that once in Tara's halls,

The soul of music sbed,
Now hung- as mute oo Tara's halls,

As if that soul was fled."

Thus deprived of all but an unsullied reputation, general Ne-
ville retired to this spot, and seated himself on the land which had
been earned by his revolutionary services. Here he lived in in-
digence, and died in obscurity. His remains were removed to
Pittsburg, by the filial care of his eldest son, where they were
interred with the highest military and civic honours. *

I was at the burial of that gallant man. While living I never
saw him — but I wept at his grave. It was a touching scene. That
man, in prosperity was idolized— in adversity forsaken — in death
honoured. There were those around his last earthly receptacle,
whose feet had long forgotten the way to his dwelling — but there
were none who remembered not his virtues. There were those
who had drank of his cup — and whose hearts had smote them at
that moment, could they have felt, as .that sleeping warrior had
felt, "how sharper than the serpent's tooth, is man's ingratitude."
The young soldiers whose nodding plumes bent over the corpse,
had been the infants who played about the good man's path, and
now remembered only his gray hairs and gallant name, — there was
a flush on their cheeks— but it arose from the reflection, " that the
dearest tear that Heaven sheds, is that which bedews the unburied

head of a soldier."

•

* He was dismissed, with many other soldiers of the revolution, by Go-
vernor M'Kean.

Dwight^ Theology. 453

Art XIV. — Theology explained and defended, in a Series of Ser-
. mons. By limoth/ Dwight, S. T. D. L. L. D., late President

of Yale College. With a Memoir of the Life of the Author.

In five Volumes. 8vo. Price 3/. 10s. Middietown, printed :

London, re-printed, 1819. From an English Journal.

America has not of late years been indebted to this country
for any theological publication of greater value than these lectures
of President Dwight. If that jealousy of our transatlantic breth-
ren, which has too long manifested itself in the supercilious tone
of English writers towards every thing American, were not alrea-
dy subsiding, this work might seem sufficient to give a check to
the language of disparagement, and to compel a more respectful
estimate of at least one branch of her literature. But, unfortu-
nately, that one branch is the least likely to obtain in this country
adequate attention, or to be fairly and impartially appreciated; the
American divines being too closely identified, in the minds of a
large class of persons, with the English Calvinistic Dissenters, to
stand a fair chance of having their claims to high consideration
generally recognised. A modern essayist actually ranks Presi-
dent Edwards among English Dissenters, being ignorant that the
Author of the acutest piece of metaphysical reasoning in the lan-
•guage, was an American. For any thing that appears to, the con-
trary in respect to the purity of his style and the extent of his
literary information, the Author of these volumes too might pass
for an Englishman. And his masterly exposition and defence of
the doctrines of the Reformation, might occasion his being referred
to that class of theologians who in this country are stigmatised as
Calvinists or evangelical divines. The truth is, that he was a man
whom any religious denomination might be proud to claim, one
whom every troe Christian, of whatever country or language, must
delight to recognise as a brother. Such men, the Latimers and
the Leigh tons, the Pascals and the Fenelons, the Owens and the
Henrys, the Brainerds and the Martyns, the Doddridges and the
Dwignts, are the property of no exclusive community : they belong
to the Catholic Cnurch. And one might be allowed to apply to
them the apostolic designation: they are "the angels of the
churches, and the glory of Christ."

Timothy Dwight was born at Northampton in the county of
Hampshire, state of Massachusetts, on the 14th of May, 1752.
His paternal ancestors were English, but his family had been set-
tled in Massachusetts upwards of a century. His mother was the
third daughter of President Edwards; and to this excellent parent,
young Dwight was indebted for the rudiments of his education,
and for his early impressions of piety. She is said to have pos-
sessed uncommon powers of mind, and having been accustomed
from infancy to the conversation of literary men at her father's
house, was well aware of the importance of intellectual acquire-
ments. It was a maxim with her, that children generally lose

454 Dwight's Tkeolsgff.

several years, in consequence of being considered by their friends
as too young to be taught She accordingly, began to instruct he*
son almost as soon as be was able to speak, so that before he was
four years old, he was able to read the Bible with correctness.

" At the age of six, he was sent to the grammar school, where
he early began to importune his father to permit him to study
Latin. This was denied, from an impression that he was too
young to profit by studies of that description ; and the master was
charged not to suffer him to engage in them. It was soon found
to be in vain to prohibit him ; his zeal was too great to be control-
led: Not owning the necessary books, he availed himself of the op-
portunity when the elder boys were at play, to borrow theirs; and,
in this way, without his father's knowledge, or his master's con-
sent, studied through Lilly's Latin Grammar twice. When his
master discovered the progress he had made, he applied earnestly
to his father, and finally obtained a reluctant consent that he
might proceed ; though every effort short of compulsion waB used
to discourage him. He pursued the study of the language with

great alacrity, and would have been prepared for admission into
ollege at eight years of age, had not a discontinuance of the
school interrupted his progress, and rendered it necessary for him
to be taken home, and placed again under the direction of his mot
ther."

The conduct of the father will remind our readers of the simi
lar prohibition which was laid, from the same mistaken kindness,
on rascal, and which gave occasion for the astonishing display of
his precocity of genius. Mr. Dwight was an intelligent man, and
in the company of the well educated persons whom his hospitality
attracted, his son had valuable opportunities of enlarging his in-
formation, and was stimulated to ardent exertion. In his four*
teenth year, having, during the previous twelvemonth, improved
Mb knowledge of the Greek and Latin languages in a respectatle
school at Middletown, young Dwight was admitted a member
of Yale College ; but the disorganized state of the college
at that period, together with the interruptions of ill health, ren-
dered the first two years which he passed there, all but abso-
lutely lost time. His intense application during the subsequent
two years, laid the foundation of a weakness of sight which caused
him great distress during the remainder of life. He formed a re-
solution, to which he faithfully adhered, to employ fourteen hours
every day in close application to his studies. In the year 1769,
being a little past seventeen years of age, he received the degree
of Batchelor of Arts. On leaving college, he was employed to take
charge of a grammar school at New Haven, and during the two
years he passed in that situation, his time was thus distributed :
six hours in school; eight hours in close and severe study ; ten
hours to exercise and sleep* In Sep. 1771 1 he was chosen a tutor
in Tale College.

Dwight's Theology. 455

" When he entered upon the office, more than half the members
of his class were older tnan himself; and the freshman who waited
upon him, was thirty-two years of age. Notwithstanding a cir-
cumstance generally so disadvantageous, he proceeded in the dis-
charge of his official duties with firmness and assiduity; and in a
short time gained a reputation for skill in the government and in-
struction of his class, rarely known in the former experience of
the College- In addition to the customary mathematical studies,
he carried them through Spherics and Fluxions, and went as far
as any of them would accompany him into the Principia of New-
ton. He also delivered to them a series of lectures on style and
composition, on a plan very similar to that contained in the Lec-
tures of Blair, which were not published until a considerable time
afterwards. His application to study during the si^ears he re-
mained in office, was intense. In the year 1772, he received the
degree of Master of Arts, on which occasion he delivered, as an
exercise at the public Commencement, a Dissertation on the His-
tory, Eloauence, and Poetry of the Bible. This production, com-
posed ana delivered by a youth of twenty, on a subject then so
new and of such high interest, was received . with the strongest
marks of approbation. A copy was immediately requested for the
press; and it was afterwards re-published both in America and in
Europe. The field of thought was new in this country. The
Lectures of Lowth, if then published, were not known on this side
of the Atlantic; nor do we know of any work, except the Bible it-
self, to which the Author appears to have been indebted for his
plan or his illustrations."

During the second year of his tutorship, he subjected the physi-
cal powers of his constitution to an experiment which had very
nearly proved fatal. In order to save the time spent in bodily ex-
ercise, he resolved to attempt how far he could obviate the incon-
veniences attendant on habits of constant sedentary application
by, abstemiousness. He began this system by gradually reducing
tne quantity of his food at dinner, till he brought it down to
twelve mouthfuls. After trying this regimen for six months, feel-
ing ' less clearness of apprehension than was desirable,9 he adop-
ted a vegetable diet, without increasing the quantity. His con-
stitution was strong enough to enable him to persevere in this
rash system for a twelvemonth. At length it gave way, although,
strange to say, Mr. Dwight, when he first perceived the reality of
the change in his health, had no suspicion of the cause. Repeated
attacks of the bilious cholic brought him, at last, to so extreme a
degree of emaciation and weakness, that it was with great difficul-
ty that he was removed to Northampton, and his recovery seemed
even to himself hopeless. He was recommended, when some im-
provement had been effected by the aid of medicine, to try the ef-
fect of vigorous bodily exercise as the only means of restoring his
constitutional health; and to his perseverance in following up this

456 Dwight's Theology. ,

advice, he was doubtless indebted for bis complete recovery*
Within a twelvemonth, ^e walked upwards of two thousand miles,
and rode on horseback upwards of three thousand.

In May 1777, the College was broken up in consequence of the
American War, Mr. D wight, who had recently married, retired
with his class to Weathersfield, where he entered on the labours
of the pulpit, and continued to occupy himself with instructing
his pupils and preaching on the Sunday, till September. He then
resigned his charge, and being appointed Chaplain to General
Parsons's brigade in the patriot army, joined the forces at West
Point.

" The generous enthusiasm," remarks his Biographer, " which
then pervadgd the country, not only prompted our young men of
honour in civil life to take the field, but induced many of our cler-
gy of the first reputation for piety and talents to attach them-
selves to the staff. The soldier of the revolution need not be told
how animating were their sermons and their prayers, nor how
correct and exemplary were their lives." *

Mr. Dwight remained with the army a little more than a year,
during which he distinguished himself, not only by the diligent
discharge of his official duties, but by writing several patriotic
songs, which contributed not a little to keep alive the enthusiasm
of the soldiers in the cause of freedom. The melancholy death
of his father, who fell a victim to the disease of the climate in a
distant expedition, leaving a widow and thirteen children behind
him, imposed upon him new duties as the elder son and the bro-
ther, lie now removed with his family to Northampton, where
he devoted himself for five years to the education of nis younger
brothers and sisters, and to the superintendance of a farm, the
maintenance of the family depending almost entirely on his per-
sonal exertions. He also established a school for the instruction
of youth of both sexes, which was almost immediately resorted to
by so great a number of pupils, that he was under the necessity of
employing two assistants. During this period, he preached on the
Sunday almost without intermission.

" The filial affection and dutiful respect and obedience which he
exhibited towards his mother, and the more than fraternal kind-
ness with which he watched over the well-being of his brothers and
sisters, deserve the most honourable remembrance. To accomplish
this object, he postponed his own establishment for life and a pro-
vision for his family. To accomplish it, though destitute of proper-
ty, he relinquished in their favour his own proportion of the family
estate; laboured constantly for five years with a diligence and
alacrity rarely exam pled; aud continued his paternal care, and ex-
ertions, and liberality long after his removal from Northampton.
Often have we heard his mother acknowledge in language of elo-
quent affection and gratitude, his kindness, and faithfulness, and
honourable generosity to her and to her children. The respect

Dwight's Theology. 457

which she felt and manifested towards him, though perhaps net his
inferior in native powers of mind,resembled the affection of a dutiful
child towards her father, rather than the feelings of a mother for
her son."

In the years 1781 and 1782, he twice represented the town of
Northampton in the etate legislature; and it was owing to his ex-
ertions and those of his colleague, the Hon. Joseph Hawley, " in
opposition to the current of popular feeling and to no small weight
oi talents and influence, that the new constitution of Massachusetts
was adopted by the convention of the most important county in
the state." His talents, his industry, and his eloquence soon ren-
dered him one of the most influential and valuable members of the
legislative body. He was at this period warmly solicited to devote
himself altogether to public life; but his attachment to the duties
of the Christian ministry induced him to decline every offer of a
permanent employment in a civil capacity; and in November 1783,
ne accepted of the pastoral charge of the church at Greenfield, &
parish in the town of Fairfield in Connecticut. Here, to supplv
the deficiencies arising from an inadequate stipend, he established,
absolutely without funds, an academy for both sexes, and support-
ed it with unexampled reputation, devoting six hours every day
to the instruction of his pupils, numbers of whom were carried
through the wbojf course of education customary at college. He
♦dopted to & consideiable degree one part of the Lancasterian me-
thod, making it the duty of tne older scholars to hear the recita-
tions of the younger. During the twelve years of his residence at
Greenfield, he instructed more than one thousand pupils.

^ " When it is considered that, from his leaving college as a tutor,
his eyes were so weak as not only to preclude him almost entirely
from reading and writing, but to cause him very frequently ex-
treme pain and distress, it will naturally be concluded, that he
must have passed a very industrious and laborious life. Such,
however, was his capacity for every kind of business in which he
was engaged, that he was able to devote as much time as was ne-
cessary to the calls of company and friendship, as well as to per-
form the extaa-parochial duties of a minister to his people."

In 1787, Mr. D wight received the degree of doctor of divinity
from the college at Princeton, New Jersey. In May, 1795, the
presidency of jYale College becoming vacant by the death of the
Rev. Dr. Styles, he was unanimously appointed to that honourable
station, and once more removed with his family to New Haven, to
the extreme regret of the parish over which he had so long presi-
ded. The state of the college at this period was truly deplorable:
its discipline was relaxed, its reputation deservedly on the decline,
and to such a height had the prevalence of a shallow and flippant
infidelity arisen, that a considerable proportion of the class which
he first taught, had assumed the names of the principal English
and French infidels, by which they were more familiarly known
than by their own.

VO*. XBIv 58

458 Dwight's Theology.

" To extirpate a spirit so pernicious and fatal, he availed him-
self of an early and decisive opportunity. Forensic disputation
was an important exercise of the senior class* For this purpose,
they were formed into a convenient number of divisions; two of
which disputed before him every week in the presence of the other
members of the class, and of the resident graduates, it was the
practice for each division to agree upon several questions, and then
refer them to the president to select which he thought proper.
Until this time, through a mistaken policy, the students had not;
been allowed to discuss any question which involved the inspira-
tion of the Scriptures; from an .apprehension that an examination
of these points would expose them to the contagion of scepticism.
As infidelity was extensively prevalent in the state and in the
country, the effect of this course on the minds of the students had
been unhappy. It had led them to believe, that their instructors
were afraid to meet the question fairly, and that Christianity was
supported by authority and not by argument One of the ques-
tions presented by the first division, was this, ' Are the Scriptures
of the Old and JSrew Testament the word of QodP To their sur-
prise, the president selected it for discussion; told them to write
on which side they pleased, as he should not impute to them as
their own, any sentiments which they advanced; and requested
those who should write on the negative side o£ the question, to
collect and bring forward all the (acts and arguments which they
could produce: enjoining it upon them, however, to treat the sub-
ject with becoming respect and reverence. Most, if not all, of *the
members of the division came forward as the champions of infideli-
ty. When they had finished the discussion, he first examined the
ground they had taken; triumphantly refuted their arguments;

Iwoved to tliem that their statement of facts was mistaken or irre-
evant; and, to their astonishment, convinced them, that their ac-
quaintance with the subject was wholly superficial. After this, he
entered into a direct defence of the divroe origin of Christianity
in a strain of powerful argument and animated eloquence which
nothing could resist. The effect upon the students was electrical.
From that moment, infidelity was not only without # strong hold,
but without a lurking place. To espouse ner cause, was now as
unpopular as before it bad been to profess a belief in Christianity.
Unable to endure the exposure of argument, she fled from the re-
treats of learning ashamed and disgraced.'**

A man who could by means so mild, yet so decisive, achieve
such a revolution as this, must have been of no ordinary character;
and had we no other data than this solitary anecdote for forming
an exalted estimate of the distinguished subject of this memoir, it
would be amply sufficient to prove that he must have united, in a

• Two discourses " on the Nature and Dancer of Infidel Philosophy," addressed
to the candidates for the Baccalaureate in Yale College, which president Dwight
published in 1797, hare been reprinted in this coentry.

bwighfs Theology. 459

very striking .degree, calmness of temper and coolness of judg-
ment with moral intrepidity and decision. The means which he
adopted, were undoubtedly the most direct and the most prudent;
and yet, in the hands of a man of inferior powers of mind, the re-
sult, if not doubtful, would, assuredly, have been far less triumphant
It is in vain to speak of the omnipotence of truth, in any other
reference than its ultimate prevalence; for, in the practical en-
counter with infidelity, truth is often found powerless, owing to
the unhappy facility with which minds iu love with error may re-
pel the utmost force of argument, and escape from their own con-
victions. The confutation of confirmed scepticism would seem,
indeed, to be a hopeless adventure. But in the instance before
us, it was with ignorance as much aa with scepticism, that presi-
dent Dwight had to contend; and it is quite evident, that he won
the day as much by his conciliatory policy, as by his power of
reasoning. The young men were taken by surprise, by a conduct
so different from what they had been accustomed to; while the mild
energy of their president was well adapted to conciliate, not only
their respect, but their confidence. At precisely the right mo-
ment, he interposed the full weight of his authority, and the whole
force of his eloquence, in vindication of the truth; and then it was,
that feeling themselves grappled with by a superior mind, they
were not only conquered, they threw away their arms. Had he
previously attempted to decide the dispute by his own authority,
whatever had been his powers of reasoning or of oratory, he would,
in all probability, have failed in producing any lasting conviction
on the minds of his pupils. On the other hand, had he, with mista-
ken candour, permitted them to remain in any degree of indecision,
had he betrayed any deficiency of clearness or certainty in his own
convictions, or any languor in the tone of his belief,— had he disclaim-
ed the wish to bias their minds in matters of infinite interest, their
infidelity would never have been vanquished. His conduct on this
occasion was in perfect contrast to that 6purious liberality of opi-
nion which would tolerate the ceaseless renewal of such discus-
sions, in what is termed the spirit of free inquiry, as a scholastic
exercise. Between the mistaken policy which precluded alto-
gether the discussion of any question involving the inspiration of
the scriptures, and the worse than impolitic conduct which would
give up the fundamental truths of Christianity to be bandied about
with daring nonchalance in academic gaines, there is surely to be
found a practicable medium. Our readers will, perhaps, call to
mind bishop Watson's remark on the themes selected for disputa-
tion in the Soph's school at Cambridge, when lie was Moderator:
w The liberality of principles in which the University of Cambridge
initiates her sons, would, had he been acquainted with them, have
extorted praise from Mr. Gibbon himself."* By such praise Dr.
Dwight would not have considered himself as honoured.

i • Eclectic Rtriew. N. ». Vol. IX. p. 101.

460 Dwight's Theology.

There were other circumstances which rendered Ids utmtitt
as presiden* of the college at that period, one of peculiar difficulty.

" A general sentiment of insubordination, growing out of the

Kriitical situation of the civilized world, had seized the minds of
e young as well as the old. High notions of freedom and per-
sonal independence prevailed among all ages. And the first im-
pulse to which, in many instances, the minds of youth as well as
men, were disposed to yiekl, was, resistance to authority. Many
of our higher seminaries of learning have witnessed its effects in
scenes of riot and insurrection, which have, for the time, subverted
their authority, and destroyed their usefulness. Yale College
wholly escaped these evils. No general combination of the stu-
dents to resist its government, ever occurred during his presiden-
cy. This fact is to be ascribed to the wisdom and firmness of the
president and his associates in office. He well knew that the tran-

Jjuillity of such an institution must depend on the respect and af*
ection of the students, and the steady watchfulness of its officers.
Deeply read in the human character, and emphatically so in the
character of young men, he foresaw the approaches of the storm
which so extensively prevailed, and provided in season the means
of defence and security. On every occasion of this kind, he de-
rived the utmost benefit from one trait of his character, his energy;
a trait which no man ever possessed in a more eminent degree.
His decision and inflexibility to his purpose cannot be surpassed."

On his accession to the presidency, the number of the students
was only a hundred and ten* Almost immediately after his ac-
cession, thej began to increase, till they amounted* at one time,
to three hundred and thirteen. His conduct towards the young
men was truly paternal. He encouraged more especially tne se-
nior class, in all their difficulties and troubles, to come to him for
advice and assistance; and those who, on leaving college, wished
to be employed as tutors, regularly applied to him to procure them
eligible situations*

" He remembered the feelings of a young man just leaving col*
lege without a profession, without property, and with no means of
support but the blessing of God and his own exertions. Nothing
gave him higher pleasure than to encourage the heart of every
youth so situated, to save him from despondence, and to open to
Kim the road to property* to usefulness, and to honour. The num-
ber of his students whom he thus essentially befriended, would
almost exceed belief. With others who were in more affluent cir-
cumstances, he would enter into a free and confidential conversa-
tion on their plan of life, explain to them their peculiar dancers,
and lead them to aim at eminence in their professions, and to form
for themselves a high standard of moral excellence. His pupils
familiarly spoke of him by the most honourable appellation, the
• Ytrang Man's Friend.' »

Bwight's Ifeofagf 461

Buring twenty years, Yale College continued to enjoy the
watchful superintendence and indefatigable labour* of this inva-
luable man; and at the age of sixty -three, his constitution exhibit*
ed no symptoms of decay or infirmity. The regularity of his ha*
bits, and the uniform course of exercise which he pursued, ren-
dered him at that age more active and energetic than most men are
at forty. It was his constant practice, when the season admitted
of it, to work for at least one hour before breakfast in his garden.
He also walked, or rode on horseback, for some time every day;
and often iu the winter, when no other mode of exercise was con-
venient, would employ himself in cutting fire-wood. By these
means, he secured the uninterrupted enjoyment of vigorous health,
till, in February 1816, he wad seized with the first attack of the
painfiil disease to which he ultimately fell a victim. For several
weeks, he endured with unyielding fortitude and resignation the
most excruciating pain; and when at length he obtained, by sur-
gical aid, partial relief, it was evident that the disorder had made
the most fearful ravages in his constitution* During the summer,
he was able so far to struggle with the disease as to resume his
professional and official labours. But, although his cheerfulness,
as well as the activity of his mind, were unabated, his strength
was visibly ebbing away. Often, languid and scarcely able to
support himself, he would enter the lecture-room, announcing his
intention only to ask the students a few questions; but, kindling
with the subject, * his physical system,9 says his biographer, " seem-
ed temporarily excited by the action of his mind, and he would
discourse with his usual eloquence and interest, and even threw a
charm of sprightliness and brilliancy over his communications.'
Only a week before his death, he heard the theological class at his
own house for the last time* His sufferings were extreme; his de-
bility so great that it appeared a painful effort for him to speak;
"but again, his mind abstracted itself from sympathy with an
agonised frame," and, in a discourse of "one hour and a half, he
expatiated on the doctrine of the Trinity in a strain of cogent rea-
soning and interesting; illustration, which left an indelible impres-
sion on the minds of nis pupils. He continued in a state of suf-
fering, but not of inactivity, his amanuensis being kept in constant
employment during his long confinement, till the dtn of January,
181 7, when he was seized with new and alarming symptoms, and
after lingering till the 11th, expired without a struggle.

We have deemed this brief sketch of the life and character of
the admirable author of these volumes, the best introduction to a
review of their contents, and, possibly, the most effectual recom-
mendation of them to our readers.. The high veneration which the
memoir is adapted to inspire, although by no means necessary to
secure the attention which they demand, and which they will so
richly repay, prepares the reader to enter with appropriate expecta-
tions on the perusal. We have of necessity omitted many very in-
teresting details illustrative of his finished character as a preacher,

462 Dwight's Theology!

a theological tutor, a citizen, and a Christian, will be found in the
very ample narrative of bis biographer. It would admit, in some
parts, of a little compression, and a revised form, would be highly
deserving of separate republication, since the magnitude of the
work will place it out of the reach of many individuals to whom'
the memoir will be highly acceptable.

The lectures contained in these volumes were planned, and in
part composed and delivered, during Dr. Dwight's residence at
Greenfield. When appointed to the divinity professorship, in ad-
dition to the presidency, of Yale College, his practice wad, to preach
one of them on every Sunday morning during term time; by which
arrangement, he finished the course once in four years, so that
every student who completed the regular term of his education,
had the opportunity of hearing the whole series. The lectures
were published as they were dictated to the amanuensis, with
scarcely any corrections. He wrote no plan of them himself, and
yet, the analysis of them drawn up by the editor, exhibits the most
exact and lucid arrangement. They are strictly, and in the best
sense, sermons, and sermons of a highly practical nature, while
they are fully entitled by their systematic order, their metaphysi-
cal acuteness, their depth and comprehensiveness of thought, and
their logical accuracy of reasoning, to the character of theological
lectures. u Their primary object," the editor justly states, M » to
explain and prove the great truths of theology; their second, to en-
force them on the conscience, and to show their practical influ-
ence." His most obvious purpose was, to promote the salvation of
those to whom they were addressed.

The two leading divisions of the work are, a series of lectures
on the doctrines, and a series on the duties of religion. The first
series is rather arbitrarily, and not very correctly subdivided,
in the editor's analysis, into doctrines of natural religion, *nd doc-
trines peculiar to tne Christian religion. With no propriety are
the discoveries of Revelation respecting the decrees of God, the
existence and rank of angels, the fall of man, and the impossibili-
ty of being justified by the works of the law, ranked among doc-
trines of natural religion. For such an arrangement, Dr. Dwightis
not responsible. His own division of the subjects, is, into, Scrip-
ture truths, and Scripture precepts. The first sixteen sermons
treat of the existence and attributes of God, and embrace, of course,
a notice of what is termed the atheistic controversy. These are
followed by nine sermons on the works of God, including a spe-
cific consideration of the nature and the end of man. To these
succeed a series on the providence of God as Creator, in which
the probation, the fall, and the consequent depravity of man, to-
gether with "the situation in which mankind are by means of their
corruption,1' are treated at large. These thirty -four sermons have
a general correspondence, as to their order and contents, to the
first book of Calvin's Institutes, Be cognitione Dei Creatoris.
Dr. Dwight has followed the same natural order of the Apostles*

Dwight's Theology. 466

creed, in proceeding to treat, in the subsequent sermons, on the
doctrines which come under the title of his second book, Be cog*
nitione Dei Redemptoris. In these, the Socinian controversy
comes under examination; and many of the remarks and illustra-
tions which occur in this part of the series, are peculiarly striking
and original. The following is the order of the subjects which it
comprises: the deity of Christ (in seven sermons), the humanity of
Christ; (one sermon\ the covenant of Redemption under which
he acted (one sermon), his threefold office as prophet, priest, and
king, including the special consideration of the nature, necessity,
and extent of his atonement (sixteen sermons), the miracles, of
Christ, his resurrection, and the amiahleness of his moral charac-
ter (each, one sermon). The consequence* of Christ9s mediation
are treated of under tne heads of justification by faith, regenera-
tion, adoption, and sanctification, with its fruits and evidences, in
sermons 64 to 90; corresponding to the third book of Calvin, De
modo percipiendm Christx gratia, et quifructus inde nobis prove-
niant. The doctrine of the Holy Spirit's agency, and that of the
Trinity, come under consideration in this part or the series. The
"system of duties," which occupies sermons 91 to 162, comprises,
first, an exposition of the Commandments, and secondly, all those
subjects which come under the general designation of means of
grace. The subjects of Calvin's fourth book, therefore, De exter-
nis Mediis ad Salutem, are embraced in this part of the work, in-
cluding the subject of church government, as well as what is too
often considered as foreign from theological discussions, a code
of christian morality. Death, the resurrection, the final judgment,
and the future state, which are treated of by Calvin in his third
book, among the fruits of Christ's mediation, are with more cor-
rectness reserved by Dr. Dwight for what might be termed a fifth
book. We see no propriety, however, in the general title given
to them in the analysis; a " system of dispensations." They be-
long in fact, with tne exception of the first topic, to the truths of
revealed religion. They form a part only, and are but the con-
summation of that great system of Providential dispensations which
commences with the mediatorial intervention of the Saviour. This,
it is evident from the author's own language, was the light in which
he himself viewed these subjects, although, from their mixed na-
ture, he deemed it more proper, instead of classing them with
other doctrines of religion in connexion with the scheme of re-
demption, to reserve them for a separate series that might form an
impressive conclusion of the whole course. They consist of nine
sermons, which, with two concluding lectures on the internal evi-
dence of the truth of Revelation, supplied by this view of the
christian theology, make a total of one hundred and seventy -three.
Besides these, Dr. Dwight had collected materials for a series
of fifty lectures on the Evidences of Revelation; some of which he
delivered in the year following his induction. But the weakness
•f his eyes compelled him to desist, and they were left unfinished.

464 Dwight's Vuokgff.

This subject, however, strictly speaking, forms no part of a system
of theology; and it is possible that the author was leas, anxious
to complete his design, from feeling that it was more proper for
the lecture-room than for the pulpit, as being of a Less practical
nature. He might also think, that the internal evidences of re-
vealed religion are those which it is moat safe and moat beneficial
to bring forward; and these he takes frequent occasion, in these
volumes, to insist upon. He well knew, that a man may acknow-
ledge the authority of the scriptures and the credibility of the
gospel history, and yet remain, as to the substance of revelation*
an infidel. In all these lectures, he takes the truth of Christianity
for granted, and argues from the declarations of Scripture as from
first principles, never neglecting, at the same time, to show the
reasonableness of its dictates, and the harmony of revealed truth
Avith the soundest deductions of logic We cannot but consider
this as the most rational, the most philosophical, as well as the
most salutary mode of investigation. Theology pre-snppoaes a
revelation, and that revelation is not merely the primary source
of our knowledge as to a large class of the most important truths,
but it supplies the only medium of proof. This holds good with
regard to the doctrines of what is termed natural religion, not less
than with respect to the discoveries of the New Testament. Not
only were they not discoverable, as the history of the most civi-
lized nations of heathenism shows, by the light of reason; but the
divine testimony is the only basis of certainty upon which, as prin*
ciples of theological science, they can rest, and faith in that testi-
mony is the only means of our knowing them. The practice,
therefore, of exhibiting those doctrines apart from Revelation, we
cannot but consider as wholly unadvisable, since it is to separate
them from their true and proper evidence* Even the infidel who
rejects tne authority of the Scriptures, derives from the very Re-
velation he impugns, the knowledge of those primary theological
truths which he attempts to turn against the believer* The exist-
ence and authority of Revelation must, then, be assumed aa a first
principle, in laying the foundation of theological science, and the
legitimate purpose of a priori reasoning is, not to prove the truth
ofwhat, being revealed, is certain, but to answer the objections
brought against the matter of Revelation. It is an unwarrantable
and dangerous concession to the Humes, the Gibbons, and the
Paines, to seem to admit, by the style of our reasonings, that there
is any reasonableness in their scepticism as to the genuineness and
credibility of the sacred records, or that Christianity, at this time
of day, stands in need of being proved to be true. Yet, in many
of the apologies of its advocates, and many lectures on the exter-
nal evidences of Revelation, there is, we think, something too
much of the tone of concession; and there is in some theologians a
hesitating or timid way of referring to the Scriptural proof of re-
ligious doctrines, as if the inspiration of Scripture were really ones-
tionable; as if "Thus saith the Lord" were a less philosophical

Dwight's Theology. 46$

reason

on for believing, than, Such is the testimony of Tacitus, or,
such the reasoning of Mr. Hume.

The theological lectures of Dr. Dwight ait characterised by
a manner and spirit the very opposite of this. There is no dog-
matism, neither is there any compromise of Ae claims of Revela-
tion. He treads firmly, with the air of a man who knows the
ground he has taken, and feels his position to be impregnable.
There is, at the same time, a calm earnestness of manner, which
bespeaks his conviction of the intrinsic value and practical effi-
cacy of the truths he advocates. There is none of that profes-
sional sang-froid with which sometimes theological subjects have
been discussed and lectured upon. The connection between his
intellectual powers and his moral sensibilities, seem never to be
suspended, but a wholesome circulation is going forward, which
communicates warmth to his most abstract speculations. The
consequent effect is,. that these lectures are admirably adapted to
make the reader not merely a rational believer, but a devout
Christian.

In proceeding to substantiate these remarks, we feel no small
difficulty in making from so large a mass of materials, our selec-
tion of extracts. The eighth and ninth sermons treat of the bene-
volence of God.* In the first of these, the scriptural proposition,
that "God is love," or benevolence (Ay**v), is proved from the
works of creation and providence.

" Although,' says Dr. Dwight, c I can by no means admit with
many of my fellow-men respectable for their understanding and
worth, that the Benevolence of God is not capable of being com-
pletely proved, or that it is not in fact completely proved, by the
scriptures, yet I cannot help believing, that, if the proof furnish-
ed by reason be satisfactory also, and can be fairly exhibited as
satisfactory, the minds of many men, at least, will rest on this
subject with a conviction more unmingled, a confidence less ex-
posed to danger and disturbance. The question concerning the
amount of the evidence which Reason gives concerning this doc-
trine, has long been, and is still disputed. The proofs of the Di-
vine benevolence from Reason, are regarded by many persons of
reputation as insufficient. I have myself entertained, neretofore,
opinions on this subject different from those I now entertain. As
I have not seen it discussed in such a manner as satisfied my own
wishes, I shall now consider it with more particularity than might
otherwise be necessary.'

Having, in the previous lectures, proved from the self-existence
and necessary attributes of Deity, that God is absolutely inde-
pendent,— that is to say, that ' he needs, and can need, nothing
to render his ability either to do or to enjoy whatever he pleases,
greater or more perfect,' — he proceeds to argue in proof of the
necessary benevolence of God, first, * that God can have no possible
motive to be foalevolent.' The nature of things can furnish no

vol. xii» 59 .

466 'D wight's Theology,

such motive, since it is impossible to suppose, that to be malevo-
lent is a more desirable state of being, than to be benevolent
And no such motive can be presented to God from without him*
self, since all other beings, together with all that pertains to them,
being what he, antecedently to their existence, chose either to
produce or to permit, it is certain that he could gain nothing to him-
self by the exercise of malevolence. Therefore, if malevolent,
he must sustain that character without a motive.

The second argument is, that, inasmuch as an Omniscient Be*
ing cannot but see, that to sustain and exhibit a benevolent cha-
racter is more glorious to himself and more beneficial to his crea-
tures, than the contrary, and as the glory of the Creator and the
good of his creatures involve every thing that is desirable,— an
infinite motive is constantly presented to the Creator, to the ex-
ercise of benevolence; that the exercise of malevolence would,
therefore, be not only without a motive, but against the influence
of the strongest possible motive to the contrary, and could arise
only from an original inherent propensity in the Infinite Nature,
— 'a propensity uninfluenced by truth, and immoveable by mo-
tives.*

Thirdly. * The only conduct which a Creator can receive with
pleasure from his creatures, must plainly be, attachment, reve-
rence, and the voluntary obedience which they produce;9 and *it
is impossible that God should not choose to be loved, reverenced,
and obeyed.' But the Creator has so formed his works, and so
constituted his providence, that the minds of men irresistibly, and
of absolute necessity, esteem a benevolent being, and hate and
despise malevolence, To suppose the.Creator to oe a malevolent
being, therefore, would be, to believe, 'that he has necessitated,
beyond a possibility of its being otherwise, his intelligent crea-
tures to hate and despise that which he supremely loves and ap-
proves, viz. his own moral character,9 and to esteem and love the
opposite.

-Fourthly. « The Creator has placed mankind either in a state of
trial, or a state of reward: but our present state is, on neither of these
suppositions, compatible with the doctrine that he is malevolent'
Rational creatures can exist in no possible situation except one of
these two. * If, then, we are placed in a state of reward, we are
beyond measure more happy, and less miserable, than is consist-
ent with the character of malevolence in the Creator.' If in a
state of trial, our circumstances are equally at variance with the
supposition, all our opposition to such a character being necessa-
rily approved by our own consciences. And * God has so consti-
tuted the world, as to make misery the only legitimate and natu-
ral consequence of malevolence, and happiness the only natural
consequence* of benevolence.'

^ Lastly. 'The goodness of God displayed in the present world,
is a strong argument that he is a benevolent Being.' This is il-
lustrated by the following considerations pursued into detail. The

Dwight's Theology. 4QT

last is urged in a very forcible manner as a proof of the forbear-
ance of God*

' 1. God makes mankind the subjects of extensive enjoyment in
the present world. 2. God has furnished mankind with many al-
leviations and many remedies for the evils which they suffer in
the present world, 3. The original and main design of each par-
ticular thing, appears plainly [as insisted upon by Dr. Paley J to
be benevolent 4. All the blessings experienced by mankind are
bestowed on sinful beings.'

Dr. Dwight then notices the objections usually made against
this doctrine as a dictate of reason, which are reducible to two:
the existence of moral evil, and the existence of natural (or, more
properly, physical,) evil. Here he frankly avows himself to be
unable, and expresses his complete conviction that all other men
are unable, to explain this subject so as to give an inquirer clear
and satisfactory views, by the light of reason, * of the propriety of
permitting the introduction of moral evil into the Intelligent Sys-
tem.' He contents himself with insisting on the following posi-
tions: 1. ' God cannot be proved to be the efficient cause of sin;'
and till this is done, man is unquestionably to be acknowledged
as the cause of his own sin. 2. * It cannot be proved, that God was
obliged, either by justice or benevolence, to prevent sin from ex-,
jsttng;' inasmuch as a state of trial supposes a liability to sin, and
it cannot be proved, that it is inconsistent with justice or benevo^
lence, for God to place his rational creatures in a state of trial.
3. < It cannot be proved, that the existence of sin will, in the-end,
be a detriment to the Universe.' The objection drawn from the
existence of physical evil might seem scarcely deserving of sepa-
rate discussion, physical evil oemg but die consequence of moral
evil. The considerations urged bv Dr. Dwight,—- that, of a lam
proportion of such evils, men are themselves the authors, that the
evils inflicted by God are always less than the subjects of them
merit, and that afflictions have often a beneficial influence,— do
not appear to us to be urged with his usual acuteness, since they
leave the. previous difficulty undiminished. The case of infants,
he evades, rather than fairly disposes of. In fact the existence
of physical evil, viewed apart from that of moral evil, is wholly
inexplicable. An infidel can give no answer to the question— how
death originated; the only solution is that of the Apostle — " By
one man sin entered into the world, and death by sin." Reject-
ing this, or attempting to go beyond this, we are lost in intermina-
ble conjectures. Although afflictions have unquestionably a bene-
ficial effect on the miuds of many individuals, it is ecnjally cer-
tain, that their effect on others is of a prejudicial kind. That they
are overruled as means of good, may be admitted to supply a
striking proof of the benevolence of the Supreme Moral Governor
in his providential dispensations; but, unless the necessary ten-
dency of pain and suffering were beneficial, which assuredly it is

468 Dwigfat's Theology.

not, the existence of physical evil is by no means accounted for.
The only conclusion on which we can repose as a dictate of rea-
son, is that at which Leibnitz arrives in his Essaj on the Good-
ness of God. ' Infinite Goodness united to Supreme Wisdom,
could not but choose, out of all possible things, that which is best
An objector may reply, that the world might have existed with*
out sin and without suffering; but I deny that it would therefore
have been better.* Every thing,' he adds, ' having been foreseen
bv God, has contributed as it were ideally (idealmentU before its
actual existence, to the determination formed in the Divine mind
respecting the existence of all things. If, therefore, the smallest
evil which arises in the world, were not to take place, it would no
longer be that world which, all things being taken into the ac-
count, has been deemed the best by the Creator who has made
choice of it.' ' I may not be able to show you in detail how any
other conceivable worlds would be inferior to that in which we
exist; for can I comprehend, or can I represent to others, infinite
things, and compare them one with another? But you ought to
conclude with me that it must be so, ab effectu, since God has
chosen the world such as it is.'*

Dr. Dwight admits, in concluding the discourse, that the argu-
ments he has adduced, scarcely amount to a demonstration in lie
strict logical sense, but they furnish the most solid foundation
for rational and immoveable confidence. He adds very forcibly:

' Intuitive or demonstrative certainty concerning the moral cha-
racter of God, might exist in every supposable case, without any
useful influence on the heart or on the life* Nor would he who,
in the possession of high probable evidence that God is a benevo-
lent being, have demanded a demonstration of this truth before he
would yield his heart to his Maker, be at all more Inclined to
yield it, when he arrived at the demonstration. Confidence, on
the contrary, is always a virtuous state of mind, being invariably
a cordial assent to that truth which is its object Confidence in
the moral character of God is a virtuous emotion, capable of reach-
ing to any degree of excellence predicable of rational creatures,
and being founded on evidence which, like a converging series,
will rise higher and higher for ever, it will increase eternally in
strength and excellency; and will more and more intimately, in
an unceasing progress, unite the hearts of all moral beings to
their glorious and perfect Creator.9

The proof of the doctrine from Revelation is very strikingly en-
larged upon in the subsequent discourse. Among other arguments,
what amounts almost to demonstrative evidence, presents itself in
, the considerations, * that, in the law which God has given to man-
irind for the regulation of all their moral conduct, He has requi-
red no other obedience than their love to himself and to each

* " TheodMe." 12mo. Tom. i. pp. 84.-6.

^Wight's Theology. 469

other;', and, that * God requires the whole regard which he claims
to be rendered to him, only as a benevolent God.' One of the in-
ferences drawn from the whole argument, is this; that * the per-
fect benevolence of God must delight in greater good more than
in that which is less, and most in that winch is supreme.9 The-
present system, therefore, it is argued, in accordance with the
sentiment quoted from Leibnitz, must be the best and most per-
fect system of good; and the means employed for the accomplish-
ment of God's final end, must also be the best and most proper
that could be chosen. ' The whole work of creation and provi-
dence, composed of the means and the end, is, then, a perfect
work entirely suited to his character.'

In the fifteenth sermon, on the Decrees of God, in which the
reader will find some very able reasoning, the same sentiment is
thus expressed.

* It cannot but be acknowledged, that He knew what system
was, upon the whole, most desirable, wisest and best If he did
not resolve on it, it was plainly because he did not desire or choose
to bring it to pass. In plain English, then, he did not desire the
chief good of his creation, or the supreme glory of himself, with
sufficient good-will to resolve on it Can this be infinite goodness?
Can it be moral perfection? If he did not resolve on the superior
system, it must be that he chose to do less good, rather than
greater.'

In thfs sermon, we meet with one of the very rare instances .
which the work contains of Americanisms.

rThe metaphysical nature of Moral Agency both in God and bis
creatures, is a subject, perhaps, as tenuiaus, as difficult to be fas-
tened upon, and as easily evanescent from the mind, as any which
we can attempt to examine.'

In the twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh sermons, on the proba-
tion and fall of man, this vast, and fathomless, and ever recur-
. ring question, Si Deus est, unde malum? again presents itself;
and our Author's views of the metaphysical difficulties of the sub-
ject, are still further developed. After enlarging on the character
of the Tempter, and the subtlety which distinguished the manner
of the temptation, he remarks that the character of the persons
was probably singular.

'They were newly created; were innocent; were holy; and, con-
sidering the short period of their being, were undoubtedly posses-
sed of no small discernment in divine things. Still, tney were
imperfect beings, without experience, and destitute of knowledge
in many particulars which would naturally be wished* in a case
where art and falsehood were employed against them; and,
although furnished with a clear comprehension of their own duty,
were totally ignorant of the character, and unable readily to con-
jecture the designs 6f their adversary. The first deceit which

470 Dwight's Theology.

they ever knew, was now practised on themselves; and the first
falsehood of which they ever heard, was now directed to their own,
destruction. Of the rebellion of the Angels, they probably knew
nothing; of the character of the Tempter, they would not natural*
ly form even a suspicion. Accustomed to hear only truth, they
would not easily expect a lie; and, habituated only to faithfulness
and friendship, fraud and malevolence were, in their approach to
them, assured of a necessary and sufficient disguise. That art-
less, childlike simplicity which so delights the mind, and embel-
lishes the pictures of the historian and the poet, which adorned
the life, and endeared and enforced the lessons of the Redeemer
himself, and which now constitutes no small part of evangelical
excellence, was then a principal trait in their character. In the
peculiar kind of wisdom which we call prudence, they certainly
nad made little progress; and caution must have been known to
them only in lessons of instruction.

' Thus they were, in several important respects, beings fitted
for imposition, and not unnaturally the victims of insidiousness
and cunning. The same means, at the present time, ensnare
persons ot the same character; and it is not in the nature of things,
that superior sagacity, however employed, should not possess the
power of influencing, more or less, the same simplicity, firm
obedience, such as they were bound to render to their God, a
prompt undelibe rating refusal, and an original steadfast determina-
tion not to listen, would have secured them from yielding; but
when they began to hear, and to investigate, they began tone ex-
posed; and their danger increased with every step of their pro-
gress in inquiry.

' In the meantime, it seems that neither of them thought of sup-
plicating the aid of their Creator. A single prayer would have
put the Tempter to flight, and dissolved the charm of the tempta-
tion. A single recollection, also, of his commands, his kindnes-
ses, and his instructions, might easily have produced the same ef-
fect. But neither prayer nor recollection was summoned to their
assistance. Like their descendants, when forgetful of God, and,
in a sense, forgotten by him, they were weak, frail and exposed
to every danger.'

The Author then briefly adverts to the immediate consequences
of the temptation, and passes on to a consideration of the * two
great questions' so perpetually iterated: * Since our first parents
were entirely holy, how could they become sinful?' and, « Why
did God permit Adam to fall?'

The first question, he remarks, in its. simple and proper form,
is no other than this: ' How can a htoly being become sinful, or
how can a holy being transgress the law of God?' To this, no
philosophical answer can, he thinks, be given. It has, however,
been unnecessarily embarrassed by the modes in which answers to
it have been attempted. To refer the effect* in the case of Adam,

Bwight's Theology. 471

to a principle of action inherdfcin his nature, would seem to in-
volve the subject in deeper difflHlty, because, if the only princi-
ples of moral action in Adam were holy, the question returns;
How could a holy principle be the cause of a sinful action? Dr.
Dwight is of opinion, however, that a fallacy lies concealed under
the vague and equivocal word, principle. He admits that 'there
is a cause of moral action in intelligent beings, frequently indica-
ted by the words principle, affections, habits, nature, tendency,
propensity, and several others;' terms indicating a cause, the ex-
istence of which is proved by its effects, but the real nature of
which is to us wholly unknown. They intend no more than this;
that ' a reason really exists, although undefinable and unintelligi-
ble by ourselves, why one mind win, either usually or uniformly,
be the subject of holy volitions, and another, of sinful ones.' The
existence of such a cause must be admitted, unless we acknow-
ledge it to be a perfect casualty that any volition is sinful rather
than holy* But there is no such thing as a casualty in this sense;
that is, an effect uncaused. This unknown cause is what the
Scriptures denominate the heart. It is the state of mind out of
which volitions arise, and from which they receive their character;
a state of mind neither unchangeable, nor so powerful as to neces-
sitate that the volitions should uniformly correspond to it, so as
absolutely to prevent either from sinning, where the mind is in-
clined to holiness, or from acting in a holy manner, where it is
inclined to sin. To explain the effect in question, therefore, it is
necessary only to suppose ' that a temptation actually presented
to the mind, is dispronortioned in its power to the inclination of

that mind towards resistance.'

^^ •

• There is no proof/rom the nature of things, that finite strength
and stability are sufficient to resist all possible motives to sin.
From facts, we are irresistibly led to admit the contrary doctrine.
Angels, though entirely holy, yielded to such motives, as did our
first Parents also, who possessed the same virtuous character.
These facts furnish a strong presumption, at least, that it is not
within the limits of created perfection, to resist temptation in all
possible cases; and that the final perseverance of saints and an-
gels, both in a state of trial and in a state of reward, is derived ul-
timately from the Almighty Power of God.'

We are desirous to exhibit Dr. Dwight's sentiments, rather than
to express on these points any opinion of our own. Some of our
readers may be surprised that he makes no reference to the nega-
tive principle in created beings, on which theologians 'have gene-
rally laid so much stress. His object is, let it be remembered, to
dispose not so much of the metaphysical as of the moral difficul-
ties of the subject; and the consideration alluded to is purely me-
taphysical, and adapted to meet a philosophical objection. Leib-
nitz, in reply to those who contended that God is the only asrent
in the Universe, remarks: ' When lye say that a creature depends

47ft JJwighfs Theology.

upon God for all that he is, anddk* all that he does* and even that
his preservation is a continual aWof creation, we mean, that God
is constantly imparting to the creature, and producing in htm, all
that is positive, all that is good and perfect, every perfect gift
coming down from the Father of lights; whereas the imperfections
and defects attaching; to his operations, proceed from the original
limitation of which the creature could not but be the subject from
the earliest commencement of his existence, owing to the ideal
reasons which set bounds to his nature* For God could not bes-
tow upon the creature every thing, without making him a God.
It was necessary, therefore, that there should be different degrees
in the perfection of things, that there should also be all varieties
of limitation.' ..... Evil, then, is like darkness; and not only
ignorance, but even error and malice formally consist in a certain
species of privation. The will of the creature tends to good in
tne abstract; it ought to go forward towards the perfection which
is suited to our nature; and supreme perfection is in God. There
is in all pleasure some sense of perfection. But when the mind
*tops short at the pleasures of sense, or any other kind of gratifi- «
cation, to the prejudice of its higher interests, such as health, vir-
tue, union witn God, felicity, the defect consists in this privation
of an ulterior tendency. In general terms, perfection is positive;
it is an absolute reality: imperfection is privative; it proceeds from
limitation, and tends to further privation. Thus, it is a saying as
true as it is ancient; Bonum ex causa Integra, malum ex quoUbet
defectu. And again: Malum causam nan nabet efficientem, sed d&
ficientemS*

Important, however, as this distinction mav be in philosophical
reasoning, it contributes Very little to a satisfactory view of this
inscrutable subject; and we are disposed to agree with Dr. Dwight,
that the most adviseable method of examining it, is, ' to consider
the man and the facts, and not the abstract principles.' But the
very terms, sin and holiness, are abstractions; and his own state-
ment of the case assumes a metaphysical character. It seems, in-
deed, impossible, if we go beyona the literal circumstances of the
fact, to avoid adopting such a phraseology. Thus much is clear
and certain, that man fell through forgetfulness of Gtod, and
therefore, it cannot be viewed as otherwise than most equitable,
that he should have been suffered to fall. And further, since the
display of his own perfections is the highest end which an Infinite,
Self-existent Being can propose to himself in the creation and

government of his creatures; it is conceivable how it should be in-
nitely worthy of God, to allow of an occasion being afforded for
the exercise df mercy to those who had so come short of glorifying
him by obedience. To suppose that God was bound antecedently
to interpose, is to hold, that sin merited the favour of God, which
is~a contradiction in terms; and yet, a secret disbelief of the demerit

* « ThtodicteJ' Tom. i. pp. 106, 7.

Dwight's Theology. 473

of sin, lies at the bottom of the sceptics reasonings* or rather
feelings, on this subject; a disbelief arising from viewing sin in re-
lation to human infirmity, instead of in its more important and
primary relation to the holiness and claims of God.

It appears to us to be incorrect to say, that Adam, prior to his
defection, was the subject of no other principle of action than a
holy principle; or that his defection arose entirely from what has
been termed a negative cause. There was a positive principle of
action involved in his transgression, a principle neither holy nor
unholy in itself, but deriving its moral character from the direction
of its exercise. We are not going to plunge again into abstrac?
tions; we mean only to remark, that an inclination to seek its own
enjoyment is an inherent and necessary principle of all animal
and intellectual existence: it is a universal instinct, founded in
the nature of things, since it is impossible to conceive of a being
that should not seek its own happiness, Man participated in this
principle in common with the brute creation; and because he was
capable of a higher happiness, a happiness suited to a moral agent,
the principle wnich impelled him to seek that happiness was not,
on tnat account, either virtuous or the contrary, it was a neces-
sary principle, one upon which he could not but always act But
then, what distinguished him from all inferior ranks of existence,
was his being the subject of another principle, which bound him to
his Creator; and this principle not being necessary, its exercise be-
ing voluntary and rational, it followed, that the former might be
called into exercise, while the latter remained dormant The
principle which bound him to his Creator was a natural tendency,
leading him to seek that happiness which he could not but instinc-
tively seek, in God. But this natural holy tendency, was not a
necessary law of his being. God was even then an object of faith;
and the religious exercise of his intellectual powers, which was
requisite to keep alive the principle of love to God, and to subor-
dinate the natural principle of self-gratification to that which was
designed for its guidance, was not essentially different in Adam
before his transgression, from what it is in the Christian now. It
was properly faith as opposed to animal instinct

It is the incommunicable property of the Divine Nature, that the
source of happiness and the end of his operations are within him-
self* It is an essential law of created intelligence, that the source
of its happiness should be without itself, and that its perfection
should consist in union to the source of its happiness. This union,
it is manifest, can be only of an intelligent and voluntary nature;
it is the principle of love. Nothing is more clear from even the
concise narrative of Scripture, than that our first parents, when
they listened to the tempter j were induced to seek their own gra-
tification independently of God, — that they did not, at the actual
time of transgressing, love God, — that they had for the time lost
the sense of &od,-— that the principle of faith was wholly merged
in the instinct of self-gratification,— -and that the prevalence of" ift-

voi. xn. 60

474 Dwight's Theology.

ferior motives over those infinite considerations which should have
enforced obedience, arose from the blind operation of a natural
principle, neither holy nor unholy in itself, in the suspension of
that higher principle of love to their Maker, which, in a holy na-
ture, tKe faintest act of remembrance, the slightest recurrence to
the Invisible Author of their being, might seem sufficient to have
awakened. The transgression involved an act of self-idolatry: it
was a withdrawment from God as the supreme object of affection
and confidence. To maintain, then, that the Almighty was bound
to prevent sin, involves one of these absurdities: either that a crea-
ted nature should have been so constituted as that its union to
the Divine Being should have been other than moral and volunta-
ry, so as to afford no scope for moral agency; or, that the crea-
ture's voluntary withdrawment from his maker, his ceasing to love
the Author and Source of his happiness, affords a reason why he
should have beeh made the subject of a special act of favour.

We are aware that this by no means supplies a complete an-
swer to the question which is in every child's mouth on first learn-
ing the existence and history, of moral evil, Why did God permit
Adam to fall? It goes some way, however, towards showing the
unreasonableness and unphilosophical nature of the flippant ob-
jections of full grown sceptics. To that question, the best an-
swer that can be given in the present world, is, as our Author re-
marks, that which was given oy our Lord concerning one branch
of the Divine dispensations: " Even so, Father, for so it seemed
good in thy sight'* * It was,' he adds, ' a dispensation approved
by infinite wisdom, and seen by the Omniscient eye to be neces-
sary towards that good which God proposed in creating the uni-
verse.' To this it may be subjoined, that it was a dispensation
which afforded occasion for a transcendent and ineffable display of
the Divine character. And unless it can be proved that, on the
whole, the fall of Adam was a greater evil m the system of the
Universe, than the death of Christ was a good,— all die effects
and relations of which stupendous event, no human intelligence
can pretend to appreciate,— no objection can lie against the legi-
timate conclusion which is established by reasoning ab effectu,
that the existing system of things, is, in all its parts, the best pos-
sible.

The practical remarks which Dr. Dwight makes in the conclu-
sion of this sermon, are most excellent. 1. * How superior is the
Scriptural account of the introduction of moral evil into the world,
to every other!' 2. ' How dreadful the evil of sin as exemplified
in the malice of the Tempter!' 3. * The only time of successful
resistance to temptation, is the moment when it is presented.*
4. * The ultimate safety of mankind, when they are tempted, lies
in God only.'

' Had Eve sought the protection of God when she was assailed
by the Adversary, she had never fallen. Had she remembered

The Flicker. 475

the character of God, she had never believed the declarations of
the Tempter. Had she admitted no jealousy, no suspicion, of
the Divine wisdom and goodness, she had, in all probability, kept
her happy state.

' The same dangers attend all her descendants. If we wish to
overcome, or escape temptations, it is indispensable, that we re-
member the presence, and acknowledge the character of God; that
we distrust in no degree his sincerity or kindness; and that we
go directly to him for the succour which we need. The closing
petition in the prayer taught by Christ to his disciples, is, " Lead
us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil;" that is, Suffer
us not to be led into temptation, but, should this danger betide us
at any time, deliver us from the evil to which we shall then be
exposed. Of six petitions only, of which this prayer consists, a
prayer taught by him who knew all the clangers and necessities of
n\an, this is one. So necessary did he determine this assistance
and guardianship to be; and so necessary our continual prayer that
it might be afforded.

* In the first temptation, we see the doctrine strongly illustra-
ted. Here no prayer ascended for aid. Here, therefore, no aid
was given; and nere, left to themselves, the miserable victims were
of course destroyed. Let us, then, learn wisdom both from their
example and their end. Let us avoid the one, that we may es-
cape the other. For protection from tempters and temptations,
both within us and without us, let our prayers unceasingly rise
with fervent repetition. Especially, when the Serpent approach-
es, when the charm is about to begin, and when his mouth is rea-
dy to open and swallow us up, let our cries for help ascend to
Heaven, that He who is swift to hear, and always prepared to
pity and relieve, may mercifully extend his arm, ana snatch us
trom the jaws of destruction.'

We feel restricted by the length to which this article has al-
ready extended, from entering in this place on any fresh topip.
We must, therefore, injustice to the merits of the work, request
the indulgence of those readers whose dissatisfaction with conti-
nued articles is equal to their impatience of long ones, in reserving
some account of the contents 01 the remaining volumes till our
next Number.

Art. XV. The Gold-winged Woodpecker, or Flicker. (Picus Au-
ratus.) From Wilson's Ornithology.

UPicaux mks dortes, Bwpon VII, 89. PL enl. 698.— Picus Jbiratiu, Linn. 8y$U
174.— Cueulua oik demwotis, Klein, p. 30 — Catbsby, 1. 18.— Latham, II.
597.— Barteam, p. 289.— Peale's Mweum, No. 1988.
' With an elegant coloured engraving.

This elegant bird is well known to our farmers and junior
sportsmen, who take every opportunity of destroying him; the

476 The Flicker.

former for the supposed trespasses he commits on their indiau
corn, or the trifle he will bring in market, and the latter for the
mere pleasure of destruction, and perhaps for the flavour of his
flesh which is in general esteem. In the state of Pennsylvania he
can scarcely be called a bird of passage, as even in severe win-
ters they may be found within a few miles of the city of Philadel-
phia; and I have known them exposed for sale in market every
week during the months of November, December and January,
and that too in more thau commonly rigorous weather. They, no
doubt, however, partially migrate, even here; being much more
numerous in spring and fall than in winter. Early in the month
of April they begin to prepare their nest, which is built in the
hollow body or branch of a tree, sometimes, though not always, at
a considerable height from the ground; for I have frequently
known them fix on the trunk of an old apple tree, at not more
than six feet from the root The sagacity of this bird in discov-
ering under a sound bark, a hollow limb or trunk of a tree, and
its perseverance in perforating it for the purpose of incubation, are
truly surprising; the male and female alternately relieving and
encouraging each other by mutual caresses, renewing their labours
for several days until their object is attained, and the place ren-
dered sufficiently capacious, convenient and secure. At this em-
ployment they are so extremely intent that [they may be heard till
a very late hour in the evening, thumping like carpenters.

I have seen an instance where they had dug first five inches
straight forwards, and then downwards more than twice that dis-
tance through a solid black oak.

They carry in no materials for their nest, the soft chips and
dust of the wood serving for this purpose* The female lays six
white eggs almost transparent The young early leave the
nest, and climbing to the higher branches are there fed by their
parents. * *

The food of this bird varies with the season. As the common
cherries, bird cherries, and berries of the sour gum successively ri-
pen, he regales plentifully on them, particularly on the latter; but
the chief food of this species, or that which is most frequently
found in his stomach, is wood lice, and the young and larvce of
ants, of which he I9 so immoderately fond, that I have frequently

The Flicker. 477

found his stomach distended with a mass of these and these only,
as large, nearly as a plum. For the procuring of these insects na-
ture has remarkably fitted him. The bills of Woodpeckers in ge-
neral are straight, grooved or channelled, wedge-shaped and com-
pressed to a thin edge at the end, that they may the easier pene-
trate the hardest wood; that of the Golden-winged Woodpecker
is long, slightly bent, ridged only on the top, and tapering al-
most to a point, yet still retaining a little of the wedge form there.
Both, however, are admirably adapted for the peculiar manner
each has of procuring its food. The former like a powerful wedge,
to penetrate dead and decaying branches, after worms and insects;
the latter like a long and sharp pick-axe to dig up the hillocks of
pismires that, inhabit old stumps in prodigious multitudes. These
beneficial services would/ entitle him to some regard from the
husbandman, were he not accused, and perhaps not without just
cause, of being too partial to the indian corn when in that state
which is usually called roasting-eara. His visits are indeed ra-
ther frequent about this time; and the farmer suspecting what is
going on, steals through among the rows with his gun, bent on
vengeance, and forgetful of the benevolent sentiment of the poet;
—that

—Just as wide of justice must he fall

Who thinks all made for one, not one for all.

But farmers in general are not much versed in poetry, and pretty-
well acquainted with the value of corn from the hard labour re-
quisite in raising it.

In rambling though the woods one day I happened to shoot one
of these birds, and wounded him slightly in the wing. Finding
him in full feather, and seemingly but little hurt, I took him home
and put him into a large cage made of willows, intending to keep
him in my own room that we might become better acquainted.
When he found himself enclosed on all sides, he lost no time in
idle fluttering, but throwing himself against the bars of the cage,
began instantly to demolish the willows, battering them with
great vehemence and uttering a loud piteous kind of cackling,
similar to that of a hen when she is alarmed, and takes to wing.
Poor Baron Trenck never laboured with, more diligence at the

478 The Flicker.

walls of bis prison than this son of the forest in his exertions Car
liberty; and he exercised his powerful bill with such force, dig-
ging into the sticks and shaking them so from side to side, that he
soon opened for himself a passage; and though I repeatedly re-
paired the breach, barricadoed every opening, yet on my return
into the room, 1 always found him at liberty, climbing up the
chairs or running about the floor, where from the dexterity of his
motions, moving backwards, forwards and sideways with equal fa-
cility, it became difficult to get hold of him again.

Having placed him in a strong wire cage, he seemed to relin-
quish all hopes of escape and soon became very tame, fed en young
ears of indian corn, refused apples, but ate with avidity the ber-
ries of sour gum, winter grapes., and several kinds of berries; he
exercised himself in climbing or rather hopping perpendicularly
along the sides of the cage, and as evening approached, fixed him-
self in a hanging position with his head under bis wing. As soon
as dawn appeared, even before it was light enough to perceive
him distinctly across the room, he descended to the bottom of the
cage, and began his attack upon the ears of corn, rapping so loudly as
to be heard in every room in the house. After this he would some-
times resume his former position, and take another nap. He was
beginning to be very amusing and even sociable, when, after a
lapse of several weeks, he became drooping and died, as I con-
ceived from the effects of his wound.

Some European Naturalists, and among the rest Linneeus in the
tenth edition of his Systema Nature, have classed this bird with
the genus Cuculus, or Cuckoo; that it is almost always on the
ground; is never seen to climb trees like the other Woodpeckers,
and that its bill is altogether unlike theirs; every one of which as-
sertions I must say is incorrect, and could only have proceeded
from an entire ignorance of the habits of the bird. Except in the
article of his bill, and that, as has been observed, is a little wedge-
formed at the point, it differs in no one characteristic from the
rest of its genus. Its nostrils are covered with tufts of recum-
bent hairs or small feathers; its tongue is round, worm-shaped,
flattened towards the tip, pointed and furnished with minute barbs;
it is also long and missile, and capable of being instantly protrud-
ed to an uncommon distance. The os hyoides, like those of it?

2V Flieker. 479

tribe, is a substance in strength and elasticity resembling whale-
bone, divided into two branches each of Die thickness of a knitting
needle, which pass on each side of the neck, to the back part of
the head, where they unite and run up along the scull in a groove
covered with a thin membrane or sheath; they descend into the
upper mandible by the right side of the bill, to which they are at*
tached by another extremely elastic membrane that yields when
the tongue is thrown out, and contracts when it is retracted. In
the other Woodpeckers we find the same apparatus, differing a
little in different species. In some, these cartilaginous substan-
ces reach only to the top of the cranium, in others to the nostril,
and in one species they are wound round the bone of the right
eye, which, for its accommodation, projects considerably more than
the left.

The tongue of the Golden-winged Woodpecker, like the others
is supplied with a viscid fluid secreted by two glands, situated
under the ear on each side, and are at least five times as large in
this species as in any other of its size. In this the tongue is con-
tinually moistened, so that every small insect that it touches ad-
heres to it.

The form and strength of the claws and tail, prove that the bird
was designed for climbing; in fact I have scarcely ever seen it
on a tree for five minutes at a time without climbing, hopping,
not only upwards and downwards but spirally, pursuing and play-
ing with its fellow round the body of the tree. I have also seen
them a hundred times, alight on the trunk of the tree, though more
frequently on the branches; but that they elimb, construct their
toests, lay the same number and similarly colored eggs, and have
the manners and habits of the Woodpeckers, is notorious to every
American Naturalist, while they have no resemblance to the
Cuckoo except in the bill being somewhat curved, and the toes
being placed, {wo before, and two behind.

It may not be improper, however, to remark, that there is ano-
ther species of Woodpecker, also called Gold-winged,* which in-
habits the country near the Cape of Good Hope, and resembles the
present, it is said, almost exactly in color and form of the bill, and
in the tint and markings of its plumage, with this difference, that

* Picus Caper, Turton'* Linn.

48* The Flicker.

the mustaches are red instead of black, and the lower side of the
wings, as well as their shafts, are also red, while the others are
golden yellow. It is also considerably less. With respect to the
habits of this new species we have no particular account; but there
is little doubt of their being found to coincide with those of the
one which we are now describing.

The abject character which the Count de Bufibn, with equal
eloquence and absurdity, has drawn of the whole tribe of Wood-
peckers, belongs not to the elegant and sprightly bird now before
us. How far it is applicable to any of them, will be examined
hereafter. He is not " constrained to drag out an insipid exist-
ence in boring the bark and hard fibres of trees to extract his
prey,'9 for he frequently finds in the loose ruins of a mouldering
stump, the capital of a nation of insects, more than is sufficient for
the wants of a week. He cannot be said to " lead a mean and
gloomy life, without an intermission of labour," who usually feasts
at the first peep of dawn, and spends the early and sweetest hoars
of the morning on the highest peaks of the tallest trees, calling on
his mate or companions, or pursuing and gambolling with them
for hours together.

Can it be said that " necessity never grants an interval of sound
repose „ to that bird, who while other tribes are exposed to the
rude peltings of the pitiless storm, lodges dry and secure in a snug
chamber of his own constructing, or that " the narrow circumfer-
ence of a tree, circumscribes his dull round of life" who, as the
seasons and inclination inspire, roams from the frigid to the tor-
rid zone, feasting on the abundance of various regions? Or is it
a proof that " his appetite is never softened by delicacy of taste,"
because he so often varies his bill of fare, occasionally preferring
to animal food the rich milkiness of young indian corn, and the
nourishing berries of the wild cherry, gum and cedar? It is truly
ridiculous and astonishing that such absurdities should escape the
lips or pen of one so able to do justice to the respective merits of
his subjects; but the Count de Buffon had too often a favourite
theory to prop up, that led him insensibly astray, and so, forsooth,
the whole tribe of Woodpeckers must look sad, sour, and be mise-
rable, to indulge the caprice of a whimsical Philosopher who takes
it into his head that they are and ought to be so.

The Flicker. 481

But the Count is not the only European who has misrepresent-
ed and traduced this beautiful bird. One has given him brown
legs,* another a yellow neck;t a third has declared him a cuckoo,}
and in an English translation of Linnaeus, lately published, he is
characterised as follows*—" Body striped with black and gray,
cheeks red, chin black, never climbs on trees, &c."§ which is
about as correct as if in describing the human species we should
say— skin striped with black and green, cheeks blue, chin orange,
never walks on foot, $c« The pages of natural history should re-
semble a faithful mirror, in which mankind may recognise the
true images of living originals; instead of which we too often find
this department resembling the hazy medium of wretched window*
glass, through whose crooked protuberances every object appears
so strangely distorted, that we scarcely know our most intimate
neighbours and acquaintances.

The Gold-winged Woodpecker has the back and wings above,
of a dark umber, transversely marked with equi-distant streaks of
black, upper parts of the head an iron gray, cheeks and parts sur-
rounding the eyes a fine cinnamon colour; from the lower mandi-
ble a stripe of black, an inch in length, passes down each side of
the throat, and a lunated spft of a vivid, blood red, covers the back
of the head, its points reaching within half an inch of each eye;
the sides of the neck, below this, incline to a blueish gray; throat
and chin a very light cinnamon or fawn color; the breast is orna-
mented with a beautiful crescent of deep black; the belly and
vent, white, tinged with yellow and scattered with innumerable
round spots of black, every feather having a distinct central spot,
those on the thighs and vent, being heart-shaped and largest The
lower or inner side of the wing and tail, the shafts of the larger fea-
thers, and indeed of almost every feather are of a beautiful golden
yellow, that on the shafts of the primaries being very distinguish-
able even when the wings are shut The rump is white, and re-
markably prominent The tail coverts white, and curiously serra-
ted with black; upper side of the tail and tip below, black, edged
with light loose filaments of a cream color, the two middle ones

* See Encyc. Brit. Art. Picus. f Latham {Klein. } " P. grueo nigroque
ttatwerritn rtriahu"— -^« truncos urborvm turn 9ca*dit." Ii$. Orn. t.
I. p. 242.

VOL. XH. 61

48£ The Bridge at Philadelphia.

nearly wholly go. Bill, an inch and a half long, of a dusky horn
color, somewhat bent, ridged only on the top, tapering, but not to
a poiirt, being a little wedge-formed. Legs and feet light blue;
iris hazel. Length twelve inches, extent, twenty. The female
differs from the male chiefly in the greater obscurity of the fine
colors, and in wanting the black mustaches on each side of the
throat This description was taken from a very beautiful and
perfect specimen.

- Although this species is, generally' speaking, migratory, yet
they often remain with us in Pennsylvania, during the winter.
They also inhabit the continent from Hudson's Bay to Georgia,
and have been found on the north west coast of America.

They arrive at Hudson's Bay in April, and leave it in Septem-
ber. Mr. Hearne, however, informs us, that the Gold-winged
Woodpecker is almost the only species of Woodpecker that win-
ters at Hudson's Bay. The natives there call it Ou-thee-quan-nor-
ow, from the golden color of the shafts and lower side of the
wings. It has numerous provincial appellations in the different
state* of the Union, -such as " High hole," from the situation of
its nest, " Hittack," " Yucker" " Piut" « Flicker" by which last
it is usually known in Pennsylvania. These names have proba-
bly originated in a fancied resemblance of its notes to the sound
of the words, for one of its most common cries consists of two notes
or syllables frequently repeated, which with the help of the hear-
er's imagination may easily be made to resemble each or ail of
them. .

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

AaT. XVI. — The Bridge over apart of the Delaware, at Phila-
delphia.
[With ao Engraving.]
Notwithstanding the opposition which interest and prejudice
excited against this noble enterprize, the legislatures of New Jer-
sey and Pennsylvania have granted permission to erect a bridge
from the Jersey shore to the island opposite to this city. The ar-
guments employ -d to defeat the plans of Messrs. Farrand and
Sharp a*e few and feeble. It has been objected, in the first place,
that t\\fy propose to build but a half-way bridge, which will not

Uie Bridge at Philadelphia. 485

•bviate the necessity of a ferry; and it is added that if a traveller
once gets into a boat, it is not material to him how far he is to be
conveyed in that manner. As the ferries are at present, the. dis-
tance run by the boats from Market-street to the opposite shore is
8750 feet, or about If miles, by the usual course round the old
wreck at the north end of the bar; and 10,200 feet, or two miles,
if they go round the south end of the island. From our wharf to
the island, the distance is less than 900 feet, and from the city
wharves to the Jersey shore, it is nearly 4000 feet. Thus the dis-
tance will be abridged nearly 11-12 tbs of the water navigation
round the island. The serious difficulties arising from running
aground, which so frequently occurs, and the imminent danger and
loss of lives during the winter, will be entirely avoided. But it is
not necessary to enlarge upon this head, because the bridge cannot
supersede the use of the boats, until experience shall have con-
vinced the public that it offers a preferable mode of crossing the
river. Until that fact shall be clearly demonstrated, the boats will
continue to ply, and every person may select the conveyance which
he prefers.

It is further objected, that the bridge, by obstructing the stream,
may create bars in the main channel, on this side of the island, and
thus become injurious to the navigation of the port This is really
too ridiculous for grave refutation. On the other side of the island,
the water is shallow and it flows at the rate of 1 J knots or miles
an hour. On this, which is the main ship channel, the rate is 3J
knots. A sluggish, shallow stream is to force obstructions into one
which is deep, strong and rapid!

Again, it is said that the city side of the island will be wharfed
out, so as to narrow the passage of the water in the main channel.
The port-warden^ to whom the regulation of wharves is confided,
by act of assembly, can obviate this objection without any difficulty.

We throw out of view, as unworthy of consideration, the paltry
argument, that the projectors of this important enterprise are ac-
tuated by motives of self-interest. What public undertaking among
us has ever been achieved, without touching this chord? Let it be
demonstrated that the proposed canal to connect the Chesapeake
and Delaware, will yield 6 per cent to the stockholders, and that
project will not be suffered to sleep in the Philosophical Society a

4*4 The Bridge at Philadelphia.

single day. It is a strong proof of the correct judgment of Me
Farrand and Sharp, in this measure, that it received the approba-
tion of nearly all the constituted authorities of the city and county
of Philadelphia, besides a fair proportion of our most respectable
individuals. To this weight of authority is to be added the Legis-
lature, composed chiefly of persons who may be called practical
men on subjects of this nature. It would be a difficult matter to
persuade such intelligent minds that a bridge at Philadelphia would
produce any effects against the course of nature, notwithstanding
all the clamour which might be excited, in order to produce such
a belief.

The Board of Directors have published a report, by which it ap-
pears that the cost of the bridge, boats, tavern, stables, 4 acres of
ground on the island, &c. &c. will be 8140,000; and they estimate,
from satisfactory documents, the present annual income from all
the ferries, at about 856,000.

No positive opinion can be formed as to the proportion of mis
income, which may remain with the boats if the bridge should be
erected. The owners of some of them do not hesitate to admit
that their business would be destroyed entirely, and they offer to
join the Bridge Company on equitable terms. No one will deny
that in winter and at all times when the weather is inclement,
travellers will prefer that mode of crossing which keeps them not
more than one minute on the water. Against such an advantage,
the ferry boats cannot long contend, and if the whole of the busi-
ness should fall into the hands of the Bridge Company, the stock
would become incalculably valuable.

We conclude, therefore, by warmly recommending to the pa-
tronage of individuals, a measure which has been so powerfully
sanctioned by all the public authorities. Instead of joining in the
. senseless clamour which it has created, we think the projectors en-
titled to all praise for the zeal and perseverance with which they
have prosecuted this scheme.

Poetry. 485

Art. XVII.— Poetry.

VERSES ON BURNS' PUNCH-BOWL.
Written extempore* at the house of R ■ B Esq. by one of
the gentlemen present, when Burns's Punch-Bowl, (after din-
ner,) was introduced, full primed with excellent whiskey-toddy.
Thou bonie, tosh, wee, modest bowl,
When wayward fate would dare to scowl,
How aft thou's cheerM Burns' drooping soul,

When prim'd wi' nappy,
Round him. and thee care then might growl,
But he was happy.

Though death, felonious, snatch'd away—
The richest gem frae Scotia's lay,
And left thee fatherless to stray

'Mang deeps and shallows,
End now thy woes, thou's found thy way

'Mang honest fallows.

For here's mysel, a funny loun;

And there's my jovial neighbour B n;

A better chiel to our Auld Town

Ne'er came before,
He's drawn us round thee,— now weHl drown
' A' care— encore!

Sae fill the glass, but e'er we pree,
Round this dear relic reverently,
Well brighten Scotland's downcast e'e,

For sair she mourns*
And toast thy honoured memory

Immortal Burns!

STANZAS,

BY MRS. MORTON, OF MASSACHUSETTS.
I like— it is my choipc to live unseen,—
Unsought by all whom busy eyes admire;

486 Poetry.

To watch the blossom's gem, — the deepening green,
And from the giddy glare of wealth retire.

I like the gracious Spring — the Summer gay—
The Autumn, in his harvest-bounties kind,

The social Winter's unpretending day,

The kindly converse, and the modest mind.

What is to me the City's joyous throng?

I love the sighing of the solemn grove,
The soft half warble of the twilight song,

The fragrant eve's refreshing calm I love!

If friends have passed, and sorrows found their place,
And the hurt mind laments its lone career,

If lost, ,of life, the sunshine and the grace,
Yet may the tender gleam of Hope appear.

There the crushed thought shall find a voice, and there
Some healthful Pleasure on the sick heart rise,

Some living lowliness— some banished care,

Warm the cold cheek, and light the languid eyes.

S9NG.

And ye shall walk in silk attire,

And siller hae ta spare,
Gin ye'll consent to be his bride,

Nor think o' Donald mair:
Oh! wha wou'd buy a silken goun,

Wi' a poor broken heart,
Or what's to me a siller crown

Gin frae my love I part

The mind whose every wish is pure,

Far dearer is to me,
And e'er I'm forc'd to break my faith,
. I'll lay me down and die:
For I have pledg'd my virgin troth,

Brave Donald's fate to share,
And he has gien to me his heart,

Wi' a' its virtues rare-

Foetry. 48r

His gentle manners wan my heart,

He grateful, took the gift,
Cou'd I but think to seek it back,

It wou'd be war than theft,
For longest life can ne'er repay

The love he bears to me;
And e'er Pm forc'd to brqfk my troth,

I'll lay me down and die.

SONNET.

Mais les Terns stmt changes, aussi bien queles Lieux. Racine.

How dear that time, on which the weeping thought

Of pensive Memory delights to dwell;
When each new day some glorious triumph brought;

Beyond the power of eloquence to tell!

How dear that place, the paradise of thought,

Where sacred Love and Friendship us'd to dwell;

Where echoes faint in ev'ry gale are brought,
That still, to Fancy *s ear, of pleasure tell.

On eagle wing the hours of rapture flew,

And from this bosom ev'ry comfort bore;
Reluctant sorrow bade those scenes adieu,

Which still to me a pleasing aspect wore.
The scenes of bliss again these eyes may view,

But Pleasure's season will return no more!

SONG.

The muse of Robert Herrick, who flourished in the reign of Charles
I., was a genuine descendant from that of Anacreon, as the fol-
lowing song will testify.

Gather the rose-buds while ye may,

Old Time is still a flying;
And this same flower that smiles to-day .

To-morrow will be dying.

48* F<**ry.

The glorious tight of heav'n, the fun,
The higher he's a getting,

The sooner will his race be run,
And near he's to setting.

The age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;

But being sffent, the worse and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coj, but use jour time,
And, whilst ye may, go marry;

For haying lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.

SONNET.
Dispregiator di quanta H mondo brama* Petrarch.
How blest is he who for the love of gain,
(A love, I fear that never will be mine,)
With cheerful heart can every toil sustain,
And Freedom's self without a sigh resign!

For me, how oft must I lament in vain,
The wayward taste of these romantic eyes,
Which many an object view with fix'd disdain,
That all the world besides agrees to prize!

Content through life's sequester'd vale to glide,
By wealth unloaded, and to fame unknown,
If Friendship's foliage deck'd my smiling side,
And Love's fair ttow'rets on my banks had blown,
And were the muse her voice at times to join,
All that this heart desires would then be mine.

80NG.

I want not a goddess, to clasp in my arms,
With the wisdom of Pallas, or Venus's charms;

Poetry. 489

But give me a maiden who smiles without art,
With sweetness of temper and softuess of heart;
With breeding accomplished, and virtue improv'd,
With soul that can love, yvt never has lov'd;
To her Pd resign all my freedom and ease,
Contented to love her and happy to please.

I sigh'd when I saw what I lov'd in a maid,
With graces that won me as soon as survey 'd;
I look'd and I lov'd, but too rashly I find,
How wretched I should be if she were unkind—
Her virtue may tempt one more worthy to woo;
Her taste is so nice and her judgment so true —
How can I pretend her affections to move,
With no charms but my music, no merit but love.

But yet she delights in my music and rhyme,

And my love is so warm it may melt her in time;

Of late as I sung in a passionate strain,

She was mov'd with my song and perhaps with my pain;

9Tis foolish to hope — 'tis in vain to despair,

If I fail to possess her, adieu to the fair —

By reading Ml strive to recover my rest,

And grow wise in mere sp.te, if 1 cannot be blest.

TO MY CHILDREN.

Hen! quam minus est reliquis versari, quam vestrorum meminisse.

These verses were written, as the author informs us, under the influence of great
depression of spirits. The subject is of a nature we should have thought, too sa-
cred for the public eye, had not Cowper taught us that a mind of acute and shrink-
ing sensibility, can strangely find a solace in laying open to that unseen public the
inmost recesses of the heart. We envy not the feelings of him who can peruse
these lines without emotion: they abound with images which must fidd a mirror in
the breast of every parent.

My babes, no more I'll behold ye,

Little think ye how he ye once lov'd,
Your father who oft did enfold ye,
With all that a parent e'er prov'd; —
vol. xn. 62

490 Foetry.

How with many a pang he is saddened,

How many a tear he has shed
For the eight human blossoms that gladdened

His path, and his table, and bed.

None knows what a fond parent smothers,
Save he who a parent has ben;

Who once more in his daughters, their mother's.
In his boys, has his own image seen!

And who— can I finish my story? —

Has seen them all shrink from his grasp;

Departed the crown of his glory,
No wife and no children to clasp! —

By all the dear names 1 have uttered,
By all the most sacred caresses,

By the frolicksome nothings I've muttered
In a mood that sheds tears while it blesses;

By the kisses so fond I have given,
By the plump little arm's cleaving 1wine,

By the bright eye whose language was heaven,
By the rose on the cheek pressed to mine.

By its warmth that seemed pregnant with spirit;

By the little feet's fond interlacing;
While others pressed forward to inherit

The place of the one thus embracing;

By the breast that with pleasure was troubled,
Since no words were to speak it availing:

Till the bliss of the heart was redoubled.
As in smiles on the lips 'twas exhaling.

By the girl who, to sleep when consigned*
The promised kiss still recollected,

And no sleep on her pillow could find,
If her father's farewell were neglected;

Who asked me, when infancy^ terrors
Assailed her, to sit by her bed;

Foctry. 491

And for the past 'day's little errors
On my cheek tears of penitence shed;

By those innocent tears of repentance,
More pure e'en than smiles without sin,

Since they mark with what delicate sentence .
Childhood's conscience whispers within*—

By the dear little forms, one by one,

Some in beds closely coupled half sleeping,

While the cribb'd infant nestled alone —
Whose heads at my coming all peeping,

Betrayed that the pulse of each heart
Of my feet's stealing fall knew the speech;

While all would not let me depart,
Till the kiss was bestowed upon each;

By the boy who, when walking and musing

And thinking myself quite alone,
Would follow the path 1 was choosing

And thrust his dear hand in my own;
Joy more welcome because unexpected;—

By all this fond store of delights,
(Which in sullen mood, had I neglected

Every curse with which heaven requites,

Were never sufficient for crushing

A churl so malign and hard-hearted,)
But by the warm tears that are gushing,

As I think of the joys that are parted;

Were ye not as the rays that are twinkling

On the waves of some clear haunted stream?
Were ye not as the stars that are sprinkling

Night's firmament, dark without them?
My forebodings then hear! By each one

Of the dear dreams through which I have travelled,
The cup of enjoyment from none

Can I take, till the spells, one by one,
Which have withered ye all, be unravelled.

492 Foetry.

ADDRESS TO THE GENIUS OF SHAKSPEAHE.

This is decidedly saperkw to any ode of Akeoside's. tod bod it appeared among the
works of Collins, few persons would have sospected it to be spurious. It is, oo-
qoestiooably, a very beautiful, tboogb not a faultless poeiu. The last tbree lines
are objectionable, wfcemer in point of sentiment or merely of phraseology, we will

When first thine eyes beheld the light

And Nature bursting on thy sight,
Poured on thy beating heart a kindred day:

Genius, the fire-eyed child of Fame

Circled thy brows with mystic flame,
And warm with hope pronounced this prophet lay:

" Thee, darling Boy! I give to know

Each viewless sourccof Joy and. Wo,
In thee my vivid visions shall unfold;

Each form that freezes sense to stone,

.Each phantom of the \rorld unknown,
Shall flit before thine eyes, and waken thoughts untold.

" The bent of purpose unavowed;

Of Hopes and Fears the wildering crowd;
The incongruous train of wishes undefined;

Shall all be subjected to thee!

The excess of bliss and agony
Shall oft alternate seize thy high attempered mind.

" Oft in the moody summer vale,

When Evening breathes her balmy gale,
Olt by the wild brooks' margin shalt thou rove;

When just above the western line

The clouds with richer radiance shine,
Yellowing the dark tops of the mountain grove.

" There Love's warm hopes thy breast shall fill,

For Nature's charms with kindliest skirl
Prepare for Love's delicious ecstasy;

Thy prostrate mind shall sink subdued,

While i 1 a strange fantastir mood,
The wild power fires thy veins and mantles in thine eye!

Poetry. 493

•* For know, where'er my influence dwells,

Each selfish interest it expels,
And wakes each latent energy of soul;

Indifference, of the marble mien,

Shall ne'er with lazy spells be seen,
To quench th' immortal wish that aims perfections goal.

" These shalt thou burst, whate'er it be

That manacles mortality,
And range through scenes by fleshly feet untrod;

And Inspiration to thine eye

Shall bid futurity be nigh,
And with mysterious power approximate to God.**

CHILDHOOD.

In a child's voice, is there not melody?

In a child's eye, is there not rapture seen?
And rapture no£ of passion's revelry;

Calm, though impassioned; durable, though keen!

It is all fresh, like the young spring's first green!
Children seem spirits from above descended,

To whom still cleave Heaven's atmosphere serene;
Their very wildnesses with truth are blended;
Fftsti from their skiey mould, they cannot be amended.

Warm and uncalculating, they're more wise,—

More sense that ecstasy of theirs denotes,—
More of the stuff have they of Paradise,

And more the music of the warbling throats

Of choirs whose anthem round th' Eternal floats,
Than all that bards e'er feigned; or tuneful skill

Has e'er struck forth from artificial notes:
Theirs is that language, ignorant of ill,
Born from a perfect harmony of power and will.

OTHELLO'S ACCOUNT OF HIS COURTSHIP.

Her father lov'd me — oft got drunk with me,
Captain, (he'd cry,) come tell us your adventures,

494 Poetry.

From year to yean the scrapes, intrigues, and frolics.
That you've been versed in.

I ran them through, from the day I first wore scarlet
To tiie very hour 1 tasted his fine claret;
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances
Of hair-breadth 'scapes from drunken frays in taverns,
Of being taken by the insolent foe, and lodged in the watch-house,
Of my redemption thence, with all my gallantry at country quar-
ters.
When of rope-ladders and of garret windows—
Of scaling garden-walls, lying hid in closets,
It was my hint to speak, (for I love bragging,)
And of the gamblers that each other cheat,
The pawn -brokers that prey on needy soldiers,
When sword or waistcoat's dipt All these to hear,
His daughter Prue would from a corner lean,
But still to strain the milk, or skim the cream,
Was call'd to the dairy,r—

Which when she'd done, and cleanly lick'd the spoon,
She'd come again, and sit, with gaping mouth,
And staring eyes, devouring my discourse;—
Which I soon smoaking,
Once seiz'd a lucky hour, and entertained her
With a full history of my adventures;
Of fights in countries where I ne'er had been,
And often made her stare with stupid wonder
When I did talk of leaping from a window,
Or lying hid on tester of a bed.
She gave me for my pains a gloating look;
She swore, ecod 'twas strange, 'twas woundy strange,
Twas comical, 'twas hugely comical;
" V fags, you officers are vicked creatures,*'
She'd be afraid of me, she vow'd — " and yet
You are so comical and entertaining,
Well, I declare, of all the men on earth,
I like a soldier." On the hint 1 spoke.
She lovM me; for the sex loves wicked fellows,
And I lov'd her to get her father's money.

Foetry. 495

A HEW PROLOGUE TO

"THE POINT OF HONOUR."

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

" The Point of Honour! what a pretty name!"
Methinks I hear each auditor exclaim;
While Fancy roams abroad on airy wing,
And each anticipates a different thing.
"The Point of Honour!" cries a matron sage,
" Honour indeed! in this degenerate age!
" Tis Satire surely — some mischievous poet, •
" Has mark'd our folly and would let us know it.

* When /was young — if I remember right,
" The point of honour was to be polite,

" To act with due decorum, and to speak

" With staid demeanour, and with accent meek;

" No flippant mis9 then dar'd the public gaze,

" Unless protected by a hoop and stays;

" In ample folds the glossy satin fell,

" And she who carried most, was most a belle;

" Then so discreet their conduct too appear'd, —

w For pretty maidens then were seen, not heard,

" The beaux too, then their wigs and small-swords sported,

« Ah! men were men indeed, when I was courted!

* The Point of Honour!" cries a dashing blade,
" An author teach a gentleman his trade!
u Why curse his impudence! the knave no doubt
"Would teach us how \o call each other out,
" Prescribe the distance, measure out the lead,
" And tell the game cocks how they should be fed!"

The younger ladies sit in glad surprise,—
(I think I see it dancing in their eyes,)
" The Point of Honour! I would bet a pair

* Of white kid gloves, 'tis full of sweet despair, —
" Of love and fighting, danger and delight, —

«• Wooing and wonder, frenzy and affright,—
" A cross old guardian, and a maiden aunt—

* A gallant lover and a spectre gaunt, —

496 Literary and Scientific Intelligence.

« He gains her heart — and then when he has won her,
" To get her off, must be his Point of Honour;
"Her Point of Honour, every lady knows, —
" To please a lover, and to plague a spouse."
Mercantile men witSi formal length of phiz,
Fancy the thing must be a sort of quiz;
And eager to avert th' expected stroke,
Whisper, " 'tis known that /have never broke —
" I pay my debts — 'tis true my notes are out,
M But who can say that they are hawked about
" In broken banks I've not a cent of stock,
"Nor do I shave — I'd rather pick a lock.
" My credit's good — nor do I e'er forget
" The Point of Honour when I owe a debt."

Thus in suspense, to you and us distressing,
You seem resolved to make it up in guessing;
for us — We care not what your guesses are,
If you'll confine them to the bill of fare;
Nor let your critics hint with wintry looks,
" The Lord sends victuals but the Devil cooks." O.

Art. XVIII. — Literary and Scientific Intelligence*

A third edition of Sig. Carlo Botta's history of the War of the
American Revolution, in the original Italian, has been transmitted
by the autnor to the American Philosophical Society. This edi-
tion was printed at Milan, in 1819 " with some corrections" by
M. Botta.

The French House of Deputies caused to be published in 1818,
a complete list of the pensioners of government, with the amount
of * heir several pensions. This list is printed in 10 vols. 4to.
The whole number of pensioners is, 196,205, and the amount of
pensions is nearly twelve million of dollars. The greater part of
these pensions is paid for services rendered to Bonaparte, and ei-
ther were grantee! before the restoration, or have oeen given to
the military who have since retired from service. The pension-
ers are thus divided into three classes:

Persons. Amount. Average*

Civil, . . . 7,881 a,294,ti82 f. 295 f.

Military and Widows, 132,918 48,340,484 371

Ecclesiastics, . 55,505 12,959,837 2S3

196,205 63,595,003— —811,924,000.

Literary and Scientific Intelligence. 4gff

Compensation to Author*. In the case of Power v, Towert
lately tried in London, it appeared in evidence that in the year
1811, the plaintiff entered into an engagement with Mr. Moore
ftp a period of seven years, during which time the latter was to
supply the former annually, with one nuroher of Irish Melodies, and
certain other works specified, for the consideration of five hundred
pounds sterling, (82,220), at the expiration of the seven years, a
Further agreement was entered into tor the term of six years,

Mr. Jackson has published a translation of " An account of a
Journey from Fas, to Timbuctoo, performed in or about the year
1787: by Bl Hage Abd. Shabeeny." Shabeeny is a musselman, a
native of Tetuan, who, at the age of fourteen, accompanied his fa*
ther to Timbuctoo: here they resided three years, and then pro-
ceeded to Housa; their residence in this place was for two years,
when they returned to Timbuctoo, resided 7 years there, and then
tame to Tetuan, From this account it is evident that this per-
son, if in the least intelligent, and to be depended upon, is ex-
tremely well qualified to give information respecting a part of
Africa scarcely known to Europeans. Mr. Lucas, the British
Consul at Tetuan, was well acquainted with him, and the informa-
tion this work contains was obtained through Mr. Lucas, in an-
swer to questions put by Mr. Beanfoy. It is a very important work,
clear in its details, and, as far as internal evidence goes, entirely
worthy of credit

The " Travels to the sources of the Senegal and Gambia," are
from the pen of M. Mollien, who was sent by the French govern-
ment to discover the sources of the Senegal, Gambia, and Niger;
to ascertain if any communication existed between the two former,
to descend the Niger, to traverse Bambouch, and visit its gold
mines; and to return by way of Galam. The more novel and dif-
ficult parts of this expedition he was not able to execute: he has,
however, added considerably to our knowledge of the geography
of this part of Africa— having ascertained the sources of the Gam-
bia to be distinct, though very near to each other, and having ex-
plored the source of the Senegal, The information he received .
respecting the Niger agrees with that which all the natives of this
part of Africa, and the travellers to Timbuctoo, give— -viz. that it
Falls into the Nile. Except in a geographical point of view, M, Mol-
lien's work is not entitled to much praise; many of his adventures
and accounts are tinctured with egotism or the marvellous,

Mrs. Bailejr, of Philadelphia, has issued proposals for republish-
ing, by subscription, a scarce and valuable work entitled, A com-
plete view of Episcopacy, as exhibited from the fathers of die Chris-
tian church until the close of the second century, containing an
impartial account of them, of their writings, and of what they say
concerning bishops and presbyters; with observations and remarks,
tending to show, that they esteemed these one and the same order
ff the ecclesiastical officers, in answer to those, who have repre-

VOL. xii. 63 .*■»»

I

49ft Literary and Scientific Intelligence.

sen ted it as a certain fact, universally handed down, even from
the apostles' days, that governing and ordaining authority was ex-
ercised bv such* bishops only, as were of an order superior to pres-
byters. lJy Charles Chaunoy, D. D. Pastor of the first church
of Christ in Boston. Price one dollar. This title is so ample as
to supersede the necessity of any explanation from us. To those
jresbyterians who wish to obtain acinar view of the power* pecu-
iar to the office of bishops in the apostolic age, this work may be
recommended with great confidence.

James Hall, Esq. of Illinois,1 late of the United States army, it
preparing a Treatise on Military Law, on an enlarged plan. It
will be put to press as soon as sufficient encouragement is received.
There is no work in which this subject is treated so fully and fun-
damentally as its importance requires; and if we take into consi-
deration the number of courts martial which are created in this
country, and the gross ignorance which is too often displayed by
the judges, it may be affirmed that there is no book more wanted.
On the law of evidence, for instance, these gentlemen, who, with-
out the intervention of a jury, are called upon to decide questions
which may affect the honour or the life of an individual, are often
as ijrnorant as a stupid justice of the peace. They have been known
to reject, with scorn, rules deduced from the gjavest authority,
merely because they did not coincide with the imperfect notions
which they had rashly adopted. To some practical experience in mi-
litary affairs, Col. Hall has the advantage of adding the profession-
al knowledge of a lawyer, and we may therefore expect from his
pen a systematic treatise on this anomalous branch of jurisprudence.

JIFismefi, — The beautiful temple known by the appellation of the
Maison Carree, has undergone considerable repairs. The roof
has been restored to its ancient shape; and the cornice in the
eastern facade, which was much decayed and very loose, has been
rendered quite firm, and secure. It is now intended to clear
away the rubbish below, which has accumulated to a depth of near-
ly nine feet, and to restore the bases of the columns; so that the
temple will be completely visible, although much sunk beneath
the level of the surrounding place, from which it will be separated
by a handsome iron pall i sad in g placed on the top of the stone
faring of the area surrounding this beautiful relic of ancient ar-
chitecture. These repairs are undertaken in consequence of the
exertions of the General Council for the Department du Gard, se-
conded by the liberality of the King.

Denmark. — Grumbach has translated, from the Anglo-Saxon, as
ancient Gothic heroic poem, entitled Biowutfs Drapa; a compo-
sition of very great antiquity, having been written more than ten
centuries- — Professor Ranbeck has also produced a translation of
the Mala or Saga of Brennunia> one of the oldest and most curi-
ous of Icelandic Sagas. It is printed in the first volume of his
Northern Tales. Since this eminent writer and elegant poet

Literary and Scientific Intelligence* 499

has turned his attention to the traditions and mythology of the
early periods of the Northern Nations, much may be expected
from so industrious and skilful a pen. The Icelandic Literary
Society continues its labours with uninterrupted and indefatigable
zeal. The Sturiunga Sa*a, an undertaking of extraordinary mag-
nittide, and of no less historical importance, is now completed.
The society contemplates a. other design of equal interest, namely
—editing a collection of the best Icelandic poets. Professor
Finn Magnussen observes, in his interesting papers on Northern
Archaeology, that the extraordinary attachment which Oluf llos-
kaldsen (who was Hording in Iceland in the tenth century,} had
for sculpture, is now remarkably displayed in the illustrious Thor-
Taldsen, who is the twenty-fifth in oescent from that personage.

Sola, another Spanish artist, has likewise exhibited a group of
extraordinary merit. It represents a mother, who is instructing
her infantine son to shoot, and assists him to draw the string of
the bow with one hand, while she directs the arrow with the
other. It is needless to inquire what is the" history attached to
these figures, or the particular incident here represented, since
their exquisite beauty and sportive grace sufficiently prove to the
spectator that they are

Dame Venus and her sagittary boy

Who work to gods and men such sweet annoy.

Roman Antiquities at Casttr. — Since the late discovery of Ro-
man remains at this place, there has been found a tesselated pave-
ment of extraordinary splendour and beauty: it is surrounded by
a strong, foundation, and is in the most perfect state of preserva-
tion. There have been likewise discovered many other articles
and curious specimens of Roman manufacture, such as floors of
painted plaster, urns, coins, trinkets, and four pieces of elephant's
horn.

Botanical Gardens*— -The most ancient Botanic Garden, of
which there is anv authentic record, is that formed by Theophras-
tus, with the assistance of Demosthenes of Phalerus, about 300
years before the Christian cera. In the Capitularies of Charle-
magne are to be found directions concerning gardens, and lists of
the plants to be jjrown in them. At the request of Messer Gu ;I-
tieri, the Republic of Venice formed a public garden for the cul-
tivation of medicinal plants, in the year 1333; and in the sixteenth
century Italy exhibited mauy simdar establishments, although the
French claim the merit of having given the first example of any
thing of the kind in the botanical garden at Montpelier. This,
however, did not exist until the reign of Henri IV; yet was
certainly the first of the kind in that kingdom, and prior to the
•ne at Paris by five-and-twenty y ars.

Panoramas. — Professor John Adam Breysig:, an architect and
scene painter of considerable eminence in Germany, and author

500 Literary and Scientific Intelligence*

of various essays on perspective and theatrical decoration, has pub-
lished a paper in the Berlin and Spener Zeitung, by which he
lays claim to the merit ef bein" the original inventor of the Pano-
ramas, the principle ef which ne discovered before the ingenious
Englishman, Barker.

Cleaning of Medals.— Professor Lancellotti, of the Royal In-
stitute at Naples, read at a late sitting of that society, an account of
process which he employs in order to remove from ancient silver
medals the rust that covers, and often renders them illegible. He
first lays the medal in oxy dated acid of halts, afterwards in a so-
lution of sal-ammoniac for a short time; then rubs it with a piece
of linen until all the rust disappears. His experiments have al-
ways been attended with success; and the discovery is of impor-
tance to those who study numismatics, since a greatjnumber of silver
medals, whose inscriptions have hitherto not been legible, may
now be rendered so.

Mechanical Inventions. — M. Kuhaiewsky of Warsaw, a very
excellent mechanist, h:*s produced the following inventions, viz.
1. A Ttireshing Machine ; which has the advantage of being very
simple in its constru tion, durable, economic, and not expensive;
and is likewise superior to every contrivance hitherto formed for
this purpose, being the only one that injures neither the stalk
nor the grain in separating the former from the latter. The ma-
chine consists of several wheels, two of which (one at either end)
are furnished with 48 flails: these are put in motion by one mam
as he walks to and fro within the machine, and thus a single la-
bourer is enabled to perform the work of a great number. The
most complete success has attended the experiments that have
been made, and there can be no doubt of the efficiency of the inven-
tion. 2. A Sawing Mill, which is also worked by a single person*
without any assistance from water. 3. An Astronomical Watch*
which indicates the difference of time in the principal places in
different parts of the globe: this has been accepted as a present
by the Emperor Alexander, who has sent M. Kuhaiewsky, is re-
turn, a magnificent snuff-box, and has assigned him a sum to ena-
ble him to continue his important labours

Prophecies. — Councillor Lillienstern, of Frankfort on the
Mayne, has published a very singular work, in which he attempts
to prove argumentatively and methodically, that the predictions
respecting Antichrist are now on the eve of being accomplished.
Antichrist, he asserts, will appear in 1823; his arrival will be suc-
ceeded by ten years of religious wars; after which the millenium>
as he assures lis, is to commence in 1836.

Zoology.— Ml. IHard, a youn» French naturalist, found at Suma-
tra, in 1819, a tapir, an animal which, until then had never been
met with except in the New World. It does not differ from the
American tapir, except in colour; the extremity of the ears, the
rump, the back, the belly, and the sides, being white: while every

Literary and Scientific Intelligence. 501

other partis of a deep black. This fact is the more worthy of no-
tice, as it overturns the reasonings of Bufibn, respectingfthe dif-
ference between the animals of Asia, and those of America.

Institute.— The prize proposed this year, by the • Academie
Royale des Sciences,' in the class of Plyysics, is — to determine,
by means of accurate experiments, what are the causes of animal
warmth,— whether chemical or physical? The academy expressly
requires that the quantity of caloric emitted in a given time, by a
healthy animal; and the quantity of caloric produced by its respi-
ration, be ascertained with the utmost exactitude; also that this
caloric be compared with that produced by the combustion of car-
bon, in forming the same quantity of carbonic acid. The prize
will be a «old medal, of the value of 3,000 francs, to be adjudged
at the sitting of 1825.

Belxoni. — The city of Padua, of which this celebrated travel-
ler is a native, has struck a medal in commemoration of his dis-
coveries, and in testimony of their gratitude for the valuable gift
he made to this place, he having presented to it two curious pieces
of antiquity, — two lion-headed statues of granite, now deposited
in the hall of the Palazzo della Ragiotie.

An Italian translation of his interesting travels, is expected to
appear about this time. It will contain some alterations made by
the author himself, — and will appear in two volumes pctavo, ac-
companied by six numbers of plates. The publisher is Bettoni of
Milan.

Lisbon.— Jlbolitum of ike Punishment of Deaths— The Portu-
guese Cortes have, by the application of a long violated principle of
justice and humanity, abolished this dreadful punishment, so op-
posite in its effects to the interests of society, and so degrading to
civilization;— one which has been so deservedly reprobated by
Beccaria, and a number of other eminent philosophers and writers
on the criminal and penal system. Public morality would be
muclff better consulted by the adoption of solitary confinement as
* a punishment for crimes, than it is at present by the spectacle of
death.

Portable Houses.— The Swedish journals speak very highly of
certain portable houses, that hare been invented by Major Blom*
who is celebrated at Stockholm for his knowledge of mechanics.
These edifices, which are constructed of wood, may be elevated
in a single day, and contain, if not every comfort, at least all that
is necessary for a small family. In cold weather they are warm-
ed by a stove.

Spanish Literature.— Don Torribio Nunnez, Professor of the Uni-
versity of Salamanca, has collected the various writings of Jeremy
Bentham, and formed them into a regular system of politics;
such a one as he conceives to be particularly adapted to the want*
of his countrymen at the present juncture. The title of this work,
which has already met with great commendation, is Sistema de la

5oe Literary and Scientific Intelligence.

Ciencia Social Ideado por el Jurhconsulto Ingles Jrremias Bent-
ham, y pursto en egecucioi: confo-me a los principios del autor
original, por el Dr. IK Torrfbio ATunnez, &c. — Marshal De Ha-
ro's Account of the Defence of Gerona, Relation Histnriea de la
drfema de Gerona, is a publication that may be consulted with
advantage both by the historian and the military tactictioner, and
is particularly rich in materials for a narrative of the important
events of the late war. Several works have been translated from
the English and French: even the Memoirs of Bergami, and
the Queen's Trial, have found both translators and publishers
But books of more permanent interest are not overlooked, as is
proved by an annunciation of a Spanish version of Robertson's
Charles V. and of the Principes de la Legislation Universel.—
The Thirteenth Volume of the translation of Mrs, Bennet's Novels
has appeared, containing Rosa 6 la nina Mendiga (the Beggar
Girl); and a female writer, named Donna Juana Barrera, has trans-
lated another English Novel, under the title of Caecilia 6 el Pa-
dre y at Hija* — I). Vincente Fernandez Villares has produced a
good translation from a French novel of Ducrav-Dumenil, called
l)ias en el Campn 6 Pintura Historica de una piquena Familia.
— Little original poetry has appeared; nothing indeed worthy of
mention, except some political and patriotic Odes, and a perfor-
mance of D. Rafael de Cttceres, which deserves notice mere-
ly from the extravagance of the subject, it being a system of
myology in verse. The title of this curious poem is, Rxposicion
Metrica Succinta y Exacta di todos los Musculos del Cuerpo Hu-
man o 6 sea la Miologia puesta en verso Castellano!

The first volume of an historical work of very superior merit,
and indeed of more importance than any produced during the last
century, has lately issued from the press at Madrid. It is enti-
tled, Im Historiade la Dominacion de los J&rabes en Espada, sa~
cadu de Manuscrito* y Memorias Arabigas and is written by the
Academician Josef Antonio Conde, who died last year. The Spa-
niards have for a long time, been indebted to the researches of
the literati of other countries, but have at length, applied them-
selves to the investigation of this interesting epoch of their na-
tional history; and, notwithstanding the number of documents
that have been destroyed, enough vet remain to supply the defi-
ciencies, and to correct the errors of the old chroniclers, and thus
dispel the obscurity in which the annals of this «ra are enveloped.
Conde, whose early death is to be lamented as an irreparable loss
to Spanish literature, ventured into this immense and bewildering
mine, examined the valuable MSS. deposited in the various libraries
of Madrid, as well as those in the archives of the Escurial, and,
after attentively collating and studying them, produced a work
that will confer immortal honour on his memory. The policy of
the Arabian conquerors, their military tactics, their government and
legislation, their system of taxation, the administration of their
police, their institutions for public charity and education, their re-

Literary and Scientific Intelligence. 593

Ugious toleration, manners and customs, form the principal objects
of the author's attention; and the facts and documents are all ori-
ginal and authentic. He has, moreover, incorporated many frag-
ments from the Arabian poets, partly for the purpose of elucida-
ting events and customs, and partly to give an Oriental air to the
whole composition. He has, likewise, derived from Arabic sources
of biography, murh important information relative to those great
men who distinguished themselves, either in literature or in arms.
The work is divided into four books; the first of which commences
with a brief account of the situation of the Arabians, at the time
of their first irruption into Africa. The author then proceeds to
describe their attact upon Spain; the government of the Omars;
their policy, and their conduct towards the people whom thej
conqueivd; th- feuds between the Oinars themselves; the events
which brought Spain under the dominion of the Caliphs of Damas-
cus; afid, lastly, he presents a vivid picture of the actions and the
char. ct -re of the first Arabian conquerors in Spain, during the
interval from 710 to 748. The second book treats of the Arabian
Monarchv in Spain, (as it existed independent of the Caliphs);—
of the prunes of this powerful dynasty, and the extension of tneir
power, both within and without the peninsula; of the government,
manners, wealth, arts and sciences of the Arabians, until 1 he break-
ing out of the war in 1080, to which period we are brought down
in the present volume, which consists of 660 pages in 4to. The
third and fourth books will be comprised in the two succeeding
volumes, which are partly printed. It was the intention of the
author to give a glossary and explanation of all the Arabic words;
and also a comparative geography, and a map of Arabian Spain;
this, however, he has been prevented from executing by death, ,
which seized him in the midst of his labours.

^ .Russia.— According to the latest estimation, there are 350 liv-
ving authors in this country, about one-eighth part of whom are eccle-
siastics, but the far greater proportion consists of persons of rank.
Backmeister, in his Russian Library, computed that, previously to
1817, there existed about 4000 different works in that language.
In the extensive collection of national literature belonging to the
A< ademy of Sciences at St. Petersburg, there were, in 1800, 3000
works printed in the Russian tongue; among which, only 105 be-
longed to the class of novels and romances. Since this period,
authorship has increased so much, that last year no fewer than 8000
volumes were printed in this language. Translations are very
numerous, particularly of dramas, novels, works of imagination,
and the belles lettres. There are newspapers and journals, both
German and Russian, published at St Petersburg. Moscow, Riga,
Revel, Abo, and other principal cities. At the first of these places
there are 15 printing houses, and 10 at Moscow.

A Poetical Journal, — entitled Die Muse, has keen commenced
at Leipzig, by Kind. One of the most important articles that

554 Litermry and Scientific JnfeUjgene*

9

have appeared in it, is a specimen of a translation, by Nordaterm,
of Childe Harold, in the Spenserian stanza of the original, the
writer, however, is not sufficiently master of this difficult form of
versification. In addition to the poetry, this publication is intend*
ed to contain theoretical, polemical, and satirical essays*

TV Bell and Lancasterian Systems.— A work has appeared at
Lyons, attacking the system or education pursued in what are
called, on the continent, schools of mutual instruction, condemn-
ing it as pregnant with danger, and pointing out the mischiefs to
be apprehended from its adoption. The title of this work is,
L'Enseignment Mutuel De voile, ainsi que sea Jongleries at l:re-
tintailles Revolutionnaires; ou I'Art d'affranchir l'Kducation de
l'Enfance de toute Influence Morale et Retigieuse!

Italian Literature.— -A voluminous publication has been com*
menced at Milan: it is intended to form a complete series of the
best historical works in every language* and is entitled, Biblinteca
Storiea di tutti i Tempi, e ditutte Te JSTaxioni. The first work
selected by the editor is Muller's General History of the World,
in six volumes. Next, the History of the American War, by Bot-
ta, an author who has been called, by the journalists of Philadel-

Chia and New York, the Livy of the United States; and who has
een universally admired, as one of the most philosophical histo*
nans of the present age. To these succeeds the eloquent work of
Gibbon: a very unfinished and incorrect translation of him had be*
fore appeared in Italy; but this has now been entirely rewritten,
and completed by Bertolotti, the successful translator of many
other English worksv— Bettoni's Letters mi Giurdini ai Venezia
is another publication, from the Milan press, deserving of notice.
In these seven epistles (four of which have been before printed,}
the writer describes, in an elegant style, the noble garden which
has been formed, of late years, in the centre of that city, the natu-
rally romantic situation of which it is well adapted to render still
more picturesque, especially should those improvements be made
which Bettoni suggests. He proposes that it should be embellish-
ed witMmonuments, statues, temples and other elegant decora-
tions of art. This work is sentimental and poetical. — The Cava-
lier Luizi Bossi continues to labour indefati^abl v in the prosecu-
tion of his laborious work on Italy, Le Storia dy Italia Jntica $
Moderna. The twelfth volume has just been published at Milan,
by Giegler and Bianchi. It begins with the overthrow of the
Western Empire, from the time of the acknowledgement of Theo-
doric, as king of Italy, to the founding of the kingdom of Lombardy,
and finishes with a description of the situation of the province^
cities, and islands .of Italy under the dominion of the Goths and
Lombards.— Vita e Commercio Letterario, $c. the Life and Cor-
respondence of Galileo Galilei, a posthumous work of the learned
Florentine Senator De Nelli, is an interesting piece of biography
of the great Italian astronomer, composed from the most authea-

Literary and Scientific Intelligence. 505

tic sources and original documents, the author having purchased
all the manuscripts and letters he could meet with of Galilei, Co-
ricelli, Castelli, Vivian*, and other mathematicians of the 17th
century- The work, which is in two volumes quarto, is embellish- *
ed with ten plates: two of them are portraits of Galilei; the first
taken when he was 40, the other, 77 years of age. Both of them
are engraved under the direction of the celebrated Raphael Mor-
ghen*— The first volume of the Collexione degli anticki Storici
Greci volgerizzati, edited by Sonzogno* of Milan, contains a trans-
lation, by Compagnoni, of Dictys Cretensis, and of Dares the
Phrygian. In the second, third, and fourth volumes, are the first
and second books of Diodorus, also translated by Compagnoni,
and the nine books of Herodotus, translated by Andreas Mustoxidi
of Corfu, who has added to them a Commentary.— The anony-
mous Storia di America, intended as a sequel to Segue's General
History, gives an account of the moral and physical features of the
New World. The writer has borrowed much from Humboldt,
but has not availed himself of the assistance of Azara and Sobre-
vielo. In the sixth and last division of his work, he treats of the
different dialects of America, and their origin: he considers that
their number, said by some to amount to 1264; has been greatly
exaggerated, although it is certain that in a single* province a va-
riety of dialects are used orally which are not employed in writing.
—A work on the science of history, by the Duke di Ventignano, a
writer before known to the public by his tragedies, has issued from
the press at Naples, under the title of Pensieri sulla Scienza del-
ta 8toria. In this treatise the author follows the steps of Rio,
whom he calls the founder of the Synthesis of History; and he en-
deavours to systematize this important study, and to reduce it to
certain principles founded in the nature of man. In conformity
with this theory, he attempts to develop the progress ot civiliza-
tion, and the changes which society and government have succes-,
sively undergone. — The interesting biographical work entitled Vite
eRitratti dhllustri Italiani, is now closed with the 60th number,
containing the Life of Filangieri, by Carnebali, and his portrait,
engraved by Caronni. There is another work of nearly a similar
nature and title, Ritratti dHllustri Italiani VI vent i, of which the
fifth number has just appeared, with the portraits of Palette, Per-
ticari, Rossini, Stratico, and Venturi, The sixth number will com-
plete the work. Among the portraits which have already been
riven are, Appiani, the scene painter, Botta, the historian, Canova,
Morghen, Paer, the composer, Pindermonti, Scarpa, Visconti, the
archeeologist, and Volta.

History of Russia. — Ca- telneau's Essai sur VUistoire Ancienne
de la Nouvelle Russie is an historical work of great research.
The labour of collecting materials for such an undertaking, was
considerably enhanced, by the rapid succession of the different
tribes, who have made themselves masters of this country, from
the time when it was first described by Herodotus, until it was in

vor.. xii. 64

506 Literary and Scientific Intelligence.

corporated with the rest of the Russian Empire. M. Castelneau
has divided his history into three distinct portions or eeras; the
first, commencing with the most remote antiquity, ends at the
conquest of the Crimea by Mahomet II. in 1475. The second,
which records facts better authenticated, and less perplexed and
obscure, comprises three centuries, terminating in the year 1784;
when the country was ceded to the Russians. The Author has
spared no pains, that he might produce the first complete and ge-
nuine history of a people, with whose annals we have hitherto been
but imperfectly acquainted,— of those warlike Tartars and Cos-
sacks, who have so often rebelled against the Porte, and have con*
stantly been at variance with Poland and Russia. The third,
and last portion of the work is not deficient in interest, to those
who prize tiie cultivation of intellect more than the subjugation
of territory, and who consider the advance of agriculture, com-
merce, art, and civilization, to be more truly glorious, than all the
pomp, pride, and circumstances of war and conquest. These pro-
vinces, so long exposed to devastation, now present a scene of
prosperity. Their situation on the borders of the Black Sea, the
navigable streams by which they are intersected, the fertility of
the soil, and the possession of a flourishing and increasing com-
mercial city, render them the most important possessions of the
Russian empire. At the end of the work, is an interesting account of
a Journey made by the author through the Crimea, for the purpose
of collecting information relative to its geology, natural history,
numismatics, statistics, agriculture, trade, and navigation.

The Journal of Jurisprudence, No. IV. by J. E. Hall, will con-
tain an Analytical Digest of the English Reports of cases, decid-
ed in the courts of Common Law, ana Equity, of Appeal and Nisi
Prius in the year 1820. To be continued annually.

Harrison Hall proposes to publish a third volume of hoorb's
index, which will embrace the reports of Anstruther, W. Black-
stone, Burrow, Cowper, Douglass, Forrest, Loft, Price, Smith,
Wightwick, Wilson, and the volumes of Taunton, Barnewall and
Alder son, Moore, &c. which have appeared since the publication
of the previous volumes.

Also, A Law Glossary of the Latin, Greek, Norman, French,
and other languages, interspersed in the Commentaries of Sir Win.
Blackstone.

In Dugald Stewart's Dissertation prefixed to the supplement to
the Encyclopaedia Britannica, Vol. V. part I. p. 166. we have pe-
rused, with cordial satisfaction, the following well-earned tri-
bute to the labours of one of our friends to whom the readers
of the Port Folio owe more than we are permitted to acknowledge.
After stating that he had received the " Report of the Histori-
cal Committee, &c." this profound writer proceeds: " It was with

Literary and Scientific Intelligence. 5Q7

*

great pleasure I observed, that one of the first objects to which
the committee," (i. e. Mr. Duponceau) " has directed its attention,
is to investigate and ascertain, as much as possible, the structure
and grammatical forms of the languages of the aboriginal nations
of America* The Report of the corresponding secretary, (Mr,
Duponceau) dated January 1819, with respect to the progress then
made in this investigation, is highly curious and interesting, and
displays not only enlarged and philosophical views, but an inti-
mate acquaintance with the philological researches of Adelung,
Vater, Humboldt, and other German Scholars. All this evinces
an enlightened curiosity, and an extent of literary information,
which could scarcely have been expected in these rising states for
many years to come."

" The rapid progress which the Americans have lately made in
the art of writing has been remarked by various critics, and it is
certainly a very important fact in the history of their literature.
Their state papers were, indeed, always distinguished by a strain
of animated and vigorous eloquence; but as most of them were
composed on the spur of the occasion, their authors had little time
to bestow on the niceties or even upon the purity of diction. An
attention to these is the slow offspring of learned leizure, and of
the diligent study of the best models. This I presume was Gray's
meaning, when he said, that u good writing not only required great
parts, but the very best of those parts;*'* a maxim, which if true,
would point out the state of the public taste among any people of
the general improvement which their intellectual powers have re-
ceived; and which, when applied to our Trans-atlantic brethren,
would justify sanguine expectations of the attainments of the ri-
sing generation."

The " Presbyterian Magazine" recommends the Conversations
on the Bible, lately printed at the Port Folio office, to " families,
schools, and Bible classes, as a pleasing and important help, in
the study of that portion of. the inspired volume to which the
work relates/'

A new edition of Nicholson's Dictionary of Chemistry with im-
provements by Dr. Ure of Glasgow, has lately been published in

* Note of Mason on a letter of Gray's to Dr. Wharton* on the death of
Dr. Middleton.

508 Literary and Scientific Intelligence.,

Great Britain, and republished by Robert Desiiver in this city;
with valuable notes by Dr. Hare. The high reputation of these
gentlemen entitles this work to confidence.

The London Literary Gazette, for September last says the Pi-
rate, does not move so fast under Die press as to afford any hope
of his appearing very speedily. Perhaps it may be Christmas' be-
fore he issues forth.

» POSTSCRIPT.

Since the Account of the Tyrol Wanderer was printed off (vid.
p. 333.) we have discovered that what is there acknowledged to
be borrowed from an English Journal was actually stolen from us,
as any one may be convinced who will refer to the Port Folio for
August 1812. This explanation may excite a smile at our ex*
pense, although this Journal was not then under our control. "

INDEX TO THE TWELFTH VOLUME.

JULY TO DECEMBER, 1821.

EMBELLISHMENTS.

I. A Cart Horse.

II. The Bank of the United States.

IIL Portrait of Hugh Williamson, L. L. D.

IV. The Bridge at Philadelphia.

V. The Flicker; or Golden-winged Woodpeoker.

Abyssinia, present state of, . • • 184
Africa letters from, ..»..!
Alexander the Great, a new Seng, 247
Alice and Bereoger, a tale, . . S77
Allen's history of the Reformation re-
viewed, 8t

America, Miss Wright's Views of, 207
Aminta de Boxheda, a Spanish Story, 102
Anacreon, memoirs of, . . 232. 249
Ayrshire Legatees, the, . • 42. 270

Bank of the United States, described, 204
Bible, new manner of printing the, 12

. Conversations on the, reviewed, 86

Bogle ofAnneslie, a tale, . . . .133

Botanical Garden 489

Brazil, Luccock's Notes on, review-
ed,^ 406

Breck, on internal Improvements in

Pennsylvania, 76

Bridge over the Delaware, on the, . 482
Burns' Punch Bowl, 485

Canova, letters to, . . ; , . . 1
Cherokee Schools, account ofthe, . 58
Coronation, description of Jfce, . . 340
Crocodile, habits of the, . » * . 137

Deborah and Barak, Song of, . . 92
Denmark, literature in, .... 498
Dwight's Theology, reviewed, . . 463

Edinburg and London compared, . 53
England, funeral of the King of, . 271

Epitaph on a child, 245

on Phillida, ...... 249

n on Antibia, 260

federalists, vindicated from the as-
persions of Miss VI right, . . .211
Flicker, description of the, . . . 475

Friendship, lines on, 248

Funeral, a Greek, 242

of George III 271

Grattan, Moore's lines on, ... 167

Hall, James, on Martial Law, . . 498
Herrick, Robert, song by, ... 487

Hogg's Mountain Bard 191

. Some account of him,, . , . ib.

Honour, the point of, 496

Hosack, Dr., memoir of Dr. Willi-
amson, 388

Howard, John E, on Roads and Na-
vigation, 77

Humboldt, extract from, . 136

Irish Melodies, Moore's, . .165
Italy, Lady Morgan's, reviewed, . 228
Italian literature, 504

Jackson's Timbuctoo, .... 499
Johnson Dr., on the style of, . . 32
Jones, Calvin, on the Cherokee

Schools, M

description of Wier's Cave, . 826

Index.

Legal Lyrics, reriewed, . . . .17*

Letters from Africa, 1

from the West, . ' . 66. 440

■ from an Englishman, . . SOI

London, manners in, 61

Loccock on Brazil, reviewed, . . 406

Macdonoogh's Victory, described by

Miss Wright, 222

Marine Velocipede, described, . . S3*
Moore's Melodies, renewed, . . 165

compensation for, . . .497

Mollien's Travels, tt.

Morgan's Italy, Lady, reviewed, . 228
Morton, Mrs. verses by, ... 486
Mountain Bard, Hogg's reviewed, . 181

Neville, Mr. , on internal improve-
ments, 77

: — General, some account of, . 448

New York, first appearance of, . 301
Niagara, Falls of, described, . .217
No Fiction, reviewed, .... 121

" O think not your pleadings are al-
ways so sly," . . ... 174
Othello's account of bis courtship, 493

Parry's Voyage of discovery, . . 156

Pedlar's Ballad, the, 372

Pennsylvania, soil, climate, &c. —
See Letters from the West, and
Letters from tan Englishman.
Pensions in France, amount^ of, . 496

Philadelphia, an Englishman's opi-
nion of, 306

Pisistratns of Athens, his character, 266

Reeve's edition of the Bible, . . 12

Reformation, Allen's history of the, 82

Rio de Janeiro, Loccock on, - . 406

Russian literature, 503

Saatuari, Gervasio Probasio, life of, 33S
Schill, Major, some account of, . .175
Selby, Eleanor, and the Spectre-
Horsemen of Sootra, .... 364
bhakspeare, to the Genius of, . . 482
Spanish Story, a, . . . . • . 102

literature, . • • . . 50j

Steamboat, account of the burning
of a, 224

Theology, Dwight's reviewed, . • 453
Tyger, habits of the, ... .140
Tyrol Wanderer, the, . . . . SSS

Valerius, verses by, 246

Views of Society, etc. in the U. S.

reviewed, . • 207

Western Country, letters from

the, 66. 440

Whiskey, in praiee of, . . 168

Wiert Cave in Virginia, described* 326
Williamson, Dr. life of, - . . . 388
Woodpecker, me, described, . . 43*
Wright's, Miss, Viewsof Society, &c. 207
■ ■ description of the New York

...... 304

INDEX TO THE ELEVENTH VOLUME.

JANUARY TO JUNE, 1821.

EMBELLISHMENTS.

I. Head of a Fox.

II. Head of a Hound.

HI. Portrait of Charles Phillips, Esq.

IV. Portrait of Reubens.

V. Convention of Dogs.

VI. Facsimile of Gov. M'Kean's Signature.

&S23L+ \ -6£,So H^o, Sir Johnson. letter

tax?*?*. : Sr^^^^J'

Audience, a remarkable, 96

Ayrshire Legatees, the, - - 411 Impromptu, an, - . 240

' Inquisition Unmasked, Poigblanch's,

Baillie Miss, on her Play*, - 3S9 reviewed, - - . $10

Columbus, a legend by, - 470 frig's Knickerbocker, reviewed, 131

Beauty, ode in praise of, - - 70

• Bible, on the translation of the, - 93 J*flray, Madame, an eccentric wo-

Braddock, General, see Shirley. man, - - - - 4*8

Ball, John and his family, in Paris, Johnson, Dr., Sermon on Marriage, 9

homoroos account of, • 56 his style criticized, - 300

Caltborpe, a novel, reviewed, - 360 Kenilworth, review of, - 161

Chalmers' Commercial Sermons, Knickerbocker, review of, - 131

reviewed, - . . 193

Coffins Iron, a law case, - 119 Ladies, Select Poems by, . 86

Columbus, a legend, - . 470 Literary and Scientific Intelligence, 241

Love is selfish, - - - 238

Dog, anecdotes of the, 1

Floridi, accent of, > . II JKS*1 *"&»*> »"«" «*. - *"
Foxhole, of A*, - - II m^E?J?m'*.m1mnl?tn- 4*

Index.

Montagu, Mrs., her Letters, re-
viewed, - - ]50
Monthly Magazine, New, announced, 244
Moore's Odee of Anacreon, see Jina*
, creon,
Music, review of New, - - 124

Neele's poems, review of, - 136
Newcastle, Duchess of, poems by the 136

Partridge, history of the, - 284

Parricide punished, the, a tale, 27

Pennsylvania, Ebeiing's History of, 244

Peruvian Bark, discovery of, a tale, 214

Peters, Hugh, anecdote of, - 88

Piano, Wornum's Patent, - 129

Bobbin, the, sonnet on,

256

Robinson, on Spain and her colonies, S78
Rose, ode to the, - - 75

Salmagundi, the new, - - 1S1
Sappho, see Jhutcreon.
Shirley, William, letter from, - 38
Snow-storm, the, a tale, SI

Spain and her Colonies, - 378

Story, Judge, extract from bis speech, 367
System, on the Planetary, a sonnet, 2S6

Voltaire, an advocate of the Deity, 279

Wheelock, Dr., life of, - 48

Wisdom and Polly, struggle between, 239
Wit, on, a poem, - 87

Zuma, or the Discovery of Peruvian
Bark, a tale, - 142

* ft